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#Sirius’s star earrings >>

luveline · 1 year

Text

losers | remus lupin

“Please.”

“Please?” he says back, mirroring your soft tone. “You think you need to say please?” His pinky bumps under the waistband of your trousers. There isn’t much give. He traces the lining to your zipper, fiddling with the small piece of metal as your eyes darken. “I should be the one saying it.” His voice keeps dropping, an utterance in the shell of your ear, his words for you and you alone. “I’m at your mercy, dove. Don’t say please with me. Okay?”

you find remus’ number on an abandoned motorbike. things snowball from there. [10k words]

fem!reader, fluff, first date, smut mdni, implied inexperienced!reader, almost rockstar!remus, mentioned that remus takes painkillers, muggle!au, early 2000’s au

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ There’s a motorbike outside of the cafe.

It’s huge. Too heavy for you to move. Technically, you hadn’t found it at all, it was left there in the dead of night a few days ago and hasn’t budged since. It’s illegally parked, a fact that your manager won't stop muttering about while she’s elbow deep in latte foam and coffee cakes.

“I’m getting the bastard thing towed,” she grumbles that morning. “Let the police deal with it.”

That seems rather harsh to you. It isn’t necessarily in the way, and it looks well loved. Perhaps whoever left it can’t remember where they left it, having stumbled home on inebriated footing after one too many at the pub across the street. You think about how much it must cost to get your stuff back after it’s been towed, and though you aren’t sure of the specifics, you know it can’t be cheap. So, when your manager falls into conversation with a regular and your break begins, you creep outside to do some investigating.

It’s a hulking thing made of more black than silver. There are stickers across the left side of the body, weathered and peeling, though one is newer than the others and immediately draws your eye.

A phone number.

If lost, please call.

You take your phone out of your pocket, a flip phone with one dangling charm in the shape of a star. You click each faded button slowly. You're scared to talk to someone you don’t know, but relieved to maybe save the day.

It goes for ages.

“Hello?”

“Hey,” you say, dropping your voice into its sweetest tones, though nerves make you too soft, and you worry you’re hard to hear. “Hey, um, sorry to bother you. I work at The Mill, it’s a– a cafe in the city centre… Are you missing a bike, by any chance? A motorbike?”

“Oh, thank you. Yeah, it’s my friend’s. He can be… forgetful.” The voice that speaks is both smooth and gritty, impossibly, like whoever it is that’s talking smoked half a pack of cigarettes before he answered the phone. He clears his throat. “I hope it hasn’t been an imposition for you.”

“Actually, uh, my manager wants to have it towed. Like, now. I can try to fend her off but honestly she’s like, that physics law, um, unstoppable force? Uh,” —you’re stuttering, making it worse, because his voice is surprisingly handsome and you’re an idiot through and through— “yeah, so could you come and get it?”

“Yes! Yeah, absolutely, we’re on our way. Thank you.”

“Sure. Of course.”

You hear something not meant for you, the tail end of, “Sirius, get up. You better call Marl and—”

Phone back in your pocket, you take a quick glance around the street before reaching out to run your finger over the cracked leather of the motorbike seat. You’ve never ridden one before. You’ve never wanted to. The level of fearlessness one needs for it isn’t one you possess.

You’re the opposite of fearless.

The sun hides behind a wave of clouds. Your skin chills near immediately, your prim slacks and apron a worthless defence against the cold. It’s an average day here, grey and quiet. Occasionally a couple will pass you, hand in hand as they traverse the worn pavement. You smile at an elderly man and his dog as they shuffle across the street and into the cafe. Your smile fades as you tune into the fierce tones of your manager, demanding to know where you’ve gone. If your absence is what distracts her from calling the police, so be it.

You’re considering getting your phone back out to play Snake when a passing car slows beside you. You straighten up and out, feeling your spine click in more places than it should as the passenger door opens and an insanely attractive man throws himself out of it.

“My angel!” he cries, heading straight for you.

You take a panicked step backward. The man dives for his motorbike. You flinch, mystified by his enthusiasm and his opposite appearance. Short sleeves reveal arms full of dark tattoos, with one side marred by a brutally long scar from his elbow to the back of a ring-laden hand. You tear your eyes from him as a second door closes across the street, and feel all the air rush from your chest as a second man approaches.

He’s very pretty. It might be redundant to say it to yourself, presented as you are with an undeniable truth, but you think it anyway. Sandy brown hair, pale skin, and in enough layers to make up for his friends lack thereof, the second man ignores any dramatics and meets you head on.

“Hi,” he says, holding out his hand, “you’re the one who called?”

Closer now, you can see the scars on his face. They stretch over the ridge of his nose and into his eyebrow. A smaller one tugs as he talks against his top lip.

You take his hand and shake it limply. “Yeah, that was me.”

If he’s concerned with your nervousness he doesn’t show it. His smile doesn’t move. “He wants to say thank you. He will, once he gets over himself.”

“Thank you!” the dark-haired man calls. “She’s my everything. I’ve been sick with worry.”

“Have you?” the man in front of you asks, his voice steady, almost intimidating in its impassiveness.

“Yes, Moons, I have been… not that you’d know.”

“Some of us have real problems,” Moons snips, though he quickly looks at you like he’s embarrassed. “Sorry. He brings out the worst in me.”

“You must be good friends.”

You don’t know why you say it. He only smiles.

“We must be.”

The first man stands up from checking over his motorbike and beams at you. You suspect it’s an expression that works in his favour more often than not. “What can I give you, doll?”

“No, nothing. Please. I’ll just be glad to hear the end of it.”

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, really."

Your manager calls your name, clear as day despite the thick pane of glass and brick walls separating you.

"That's you?" Moons asks.

"That's me. Sorry."

"No, don't be. Thanks so much for calling."

You nod hurriedly, throwing them both a 'nice to meet you, I'm sorry for leaving so fast' kind of smile and head back inside.

You take a sneaky look back when you're behind the counter again. They’ve turned their backs to you, Moons' friend ruffling his hair roughly. After a minute or two, Moons gets back in his car, and the motorbike pulls away like it was never there to begin with.

What sort of name is Moons? you ask yourself. It's a question that stays with you for a few days. You find yourself hoping you'll see him again, or that his friend's motorbike will turn up outside of the cafe for a few long days and give you an excuse to call him. His number stays unsaved in your recent calls menu for a while. Eventually, you forget about him altogether; the motorbike, the call, the gentle wave of his hair.

You're hard-pressed to forget his voice, though. There'd been something familiar about it.

"Nice highscore."

You jump hard and wince as the metallic taste of blood hits your taste buds. To make it worse, you slam your phone up into the counter it was hiding under in shock. It makes a fatal crunching sound.

You shove it into your pocket and look up. Standing there, in all his handsome weariness, is Moons, sans friend. He's wearing nice clothes, clean and clearly ironed. You're immediately aware of your ratty uniform and your unkempt hair.

"Shit," you say, which is so fucking embarrassing, honestly, you could fall through the floor and stay there, "Sorry. What can I get you?"

His eyebrows inch up his forehead. "What's the easiest thing to make?"

That's not a question you get often. "Uh, regular black coffee, or tea, or, the uh– the hot chocolate's not that hard. But you should order whatever you like, of course."

Moons smiles at you. You're starting to understand the nickname (assuming it is a nickname). He has this odd but enticing presence about him, like that awestruck feeling of looking up at night and seeing all the teeny tiny stars and the moonlight that comes down with them, bright and somewhat daunting.

"Sure you don't mind?"

"I'm paid not to mind."

"Can I get the biggest cup of tea you can make? Milk and two sugars, please."

"Absolutely." You sidestep to the register and click a bunch of the wrong buttons. You're unprofessionally flustered. "Uh, three sixty five?"

He passes you a five pound note. Your tip cup is for the more generous type, and he has no trouble dropping his palmful of change into it. He barely looks. You're expecting him to take a seat but he stays standing, one arm pressed to the counter, the other held up. He scratches behind his ear absentmindedly, as though he has nowhere else to be.

"Are you in a hurry?" you ask, confused.

He stays quiet for enough time to shit you up. You're tipping milk over your hand and hoping he hasn't seen it when he says, "No rush. I'm here to see you."

You look over your shoulder at him. You can't help it. "To see me."

"Yeah."

You spin back to his tea. The counter is covered in spills and sugar, cup tops and wooden stirrers. You take them all in with wide eyes. Nobody ever comes to see you. Not your friends, not family (unless they want something). Especially not boys you met once for two minutes.

"Is there something wrong?" you ask.

You clip the lid onto his big tea and wrap it in napkins so it doesn't burn his hands.

"Nothing's wrong," he says kindly. "I wanted to apologise. Your boss was upset with you. It was Sirius' fault. We owe you for it."

"You really don't have to say sorry. She wasn’t that mad. No harm, no foul."

You put his cup of tea down in front of him and try to smile like girls do in the movies. Soft doe eyes, not too bright, not too awkward. You give up after a second and feel it twist into something regrettable.

His long silence makes you squirm.

"A thank you, then.”

He offers you an envelope. You take it.

The paper is crisp and thick. Your fingers are clumsy, and it takes you too many seconds to fold the envelope's lip and pull out the card stock inside.

You look up in shock. "I can't–"

He's not there. You look to the door, catching what might've been his hand as he walks out of view.

He's left you two concert tickets. You don't go to concerts. You might have, when you were younger, and had friends to follow. As it stands he's given you two seated tickets for a show in the Pointer Arena not far from where you work, for a band you've never heard of. The price on each is a solid £20, which is way too much repayment for ringing a number from a sticker. Worse, you're not sure you have somebody who can use the second one.

You hope he'll come back for clarification alone, and a little to see him, but he doesn't, and soon the date on the ticket matches the date on your calendar and you're standing outside of the venue with no clue how to hold yourself.

You stand in line for a while. It's a very long line made up of mostly younger women. You listen for the calling of a reseller and spot a group of young girls trying to haggle with them, reluctantly leaving your place in line.

"Hi," you say quietly to the one furthest from the epicentre. "I'm sorry if this is weird. I have an extra ticket tonight, and I was wondering if you'd like it? I know it's seated, but maybe you could use it to get in and then, uh, not sit? Or just sit." You could writhe around on the ground in shame. You hold out the spare ticket. "If you want it."

"Are you kidding?"

"No, seriously."

She takes the ticket and you walk away before she can try and give it back to you. Whether she uses it or not, it's no longer your problem to deal with. The lady who'd been standing behind you lets you back in line, for which you're extremely grateful, and you shiver your way to the front with nerves churning your stomach.

You've imagined being turned away twenty times by the time they usher you through the doors. The air is buzzing with excitement, enough of it to ramp up your nerves, and you smile weakly at the people who pass you on the way up to the seating area you've been designated. The Pointer Arena is a smaller venue with much more standing than seating capacity available. The seats are at the sides and back of the second floor, looking down at the pit with a safety barrier in front.

You slide into your seat and peer down at the crowd as it fills up one ant of a person at a time. You can't distinguish one person from another after a while. It’s a moving sea of dark clothes.

It takes a long time for the opening act to come on. You're not having much fun. You'd tried to use the computer in the cafe to research the bands playing tonight but the dial up hadn't been working and your manager hates when you take long breaks, so you aren't sure you'll even enjoy yourself. You're not sure why you came here — is it sad, to come here alone? It looks sad, you think, pathetic, but it doesn't feel sad. You're not very good at talking, anyways. It's so difficult. Or maybe you just make it that way.

This is why you regret coming. Any time spent by yourself is time to think. You hate thinking, but it's all you seem to be able to do. Think and think and think. Your mind runs in the same circles. Things you've done, things you wish you did, things you want to do so badly it makes you feel sick. You can't stand it.

The crowd begins to rise in volume. Cheers echo against the atrium ceiling, and you push yourself to the edge of your seat to see what's making them all so excited.

The opening band. They're too far away to see clearly. First on stage is a man with brown skin and a head of black curls, a guitar swinging from his neck, the body barely held as he waves to the masses. Next comes a paler man with hair tied up in a bun who sits down behind the drum kit and doesn't move much after that. A girl practically sprints to centre stage, scooping up a waiting guitar (or bass?) and strumming down the body appreciatively. She has purple hair, bright and choppy, particularly abrasive against the alabaster white of her skin.

And last on stage… last on stage is Moons.

You move forward suddenly, smacking your face against the plexiglass barrier and biting your cheek for the second time in a week. Used to your mistreatment, the poorly healed skin wastes no time splitting, and the metallic taste of blood makes you cringe.

That's Moons. There are two huge screens either side of the stage that magnify him. First his hand on the microphone, a scar coiling up from his wrist to his thumb purple against his skin. Then his face. You wouldn't forget what he looks like so soon, not when you've half obsessed over him for days with could-be's because he'd wanted to see you and you have a bad habit of inventing future's with people you don't know, but even if you did it wouldn't matter. You've never met anyone else with three scars as he has across his face, taking centre stage.

You hadn't realised the tickets were to see his band. It makes sense, now, why your seat is in such a quiet area, and why the people sitting close by aren't firecracker happy at the sight of them. They must've received their tickets in the same way, gifts or thank yous for small favours.

Your mouth dries as they begin to play. It's not what you're expecting. Of course, you haven't really had time to expect anything, and yet you're shocked when they start to play a slow song. He doesn't really look like a rockstar, but a heartthrob? You can see it easily. The long lengths of his lashes, and the dark honey of his eyes. His smile, so small but somehow piercing.

His voice is careful. He doesn't sing anything impressive —there's no belting or high notes— but you still find yourself wringing your hands together, entranced by his confidence. He dances around the melodies and fills up every space he can find between the beat of the drums and the searing guitar riffs that follow.

They only play five songs. By the time they've finished you're feeling sick to your stomach, and you can't get your heart to calm down. You hadn't known a word of the lyrics, but you'd felt them.

They're good.

Like, too good to be openers for long.

The crowd echoes your sentiment. They clap and scream and wolf whistle. The noise vibrates in the depth of your stomach. The cheering doubles when the headlining band’s techies emerge. The lights go down. Equipment begins to roll out.

You scrounge through your purse for a lip balm and think about heading downstairs to the concession stands for an overpriced bottle of water to wash away the unfortunate tang of blood. It aches to pay, but if you don't soon you might get nauseous, and that would be a real disaster, throwing up here of all places.

You hear his voice before you see him. He's laughing, talking to somebody about the set.

"It was great!" compliments a feminine voice. "I don't know what you were so worried about, Remus, you're really great. And if you weren't, Marl would've saved the day anyways with her gorgeous showmanship."

"Thanks, baby," says a second voice. Marl.

"Thanks, Mary," Moons says.

What had Mary called him? Remus? Odd, not quite as strange as Moons.

You try not to tense as footsteps approach.

"Can I sit?" he asks.

You look up too fast. He's a little damp, the hair closest to his face curled with it, but he smells good as he sits down. He must've washed up.

"I– I've been calling you Moons in my head," you admit, not sure what to say.

He's intimidating. You don't imagine he knows it. He sits in the chair without any fanfare, setting his forearm on the rest between your two seats and turning his face to you completely, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth, almost like he doesn't want to smile but can't help himself. His eyes are the slightest bit lidded, emphasising the brilliance (and unfairness) of his lashes, so thick and dark you wonder if he's wearing makeup.

"You can call me whatever you want to, but my name's Remus. I should've told you that before. I was… distracted."

He isn't being coy, you realise. He easily could be if he wanted to, but he was genuinely lost for words for a second.

"I didn't really tell you mine," you say, hoping to ease his gentle confusion.

He says your name like it's easy. Like he enjoys the sound of it. "Y/N. Do you like music?"

Is that a trick question? His eyes trace up to your eyebrows as they pinch together, but he doesn't amend his question. Not a trick, then.

"I like music,” you say.

"I realise it's brave to ask someone to come and see you on stage. And that I look like a tosser sometimes with the stage lights and makeup."

"No," you say quickly, "you don't. You looked just fine. You looked good. I bet it's hard getting on stage like that, and in front of this many people. And singing. You have a really nice voice."

His eyes soften. "Thank you. Do you wanna go get a drink with me? There's a bar. It's quiet."

Your elbow brushes against his long sleeve. "Yeah." You're not breathless enough to embarrass yourself, but it's a close call.

Remus leads you up and out of the seats. The venue is large in that it has just as many hallways and back rooms as it has places to watch the show. Remus’ warm hand catches your elbow, a friendly touch that guides you around the barrier and through a dimly lit hallway that takes you to the bar.

The bar overlooks the stage, but the sound of the band and the crowd is dampened severely, making for a sorely needed respite. VIP's mill around the room on plush leather sofas and cushy bar stools sipping from sweating glass bottles. Remus' hand moves up to your shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze as a familiar face waves you over.

"Hey, it's you!"

You smile at Remus' motorbike friend. You're a hundred percent sure his name is Sirius, but you won't say it aloud in case you're wrong. Beside him sits the other man you'd seen on stage with them, the guitarist with brown skin and a head full of thick hair. You look between the three of them in secret shock, wondering if handsome attracts handsome or if it's just dumb luck that they ended up together.

"James, this is the babe that found Stacia," Sirius says.

James wrinkles his nose. "Hi," he says, in a voice that sounds deeply apologetic, years of it like the rings of a tree. "How are you?"

"I'm good. Um, and you?"

"I'm good! Thanks, I'm good, it's nice of you to come see us. Did you like the show?"

"Yeah, I did. I had no idea you guys were musicians."

He splits his attention between you and his jacket. He pulls a glasses case out of his pocket, clicks it open, and straightens out a pair of wire frames.

"Couldn't tell from our baby boy's general demeanour?" he asks. "Hey, that's better, I can see you now."

"Sirius is the youngest," Remus says.

"And the handsomest."

"No, Marl's clearly the handsome one," James says lightly.

Sirius takes the rebuttal in good jest and brandishes his drink toward you like a toast. "Want a beer?"

"I'm getting her one," Remus says, "come on, give me a minute here."

Everybody laughs. You laugh too, turning your face into your shoulder to smother the sound.

"Well, come and sit with us, make yourself comfortable," James says, moving his jacket off of the chair in front of you.

Remus makes a small, apprehensive sound. "Drinks first." He looks to you for confirmation. "Yeah. We'll be back."

You follow him to the bar. Your shoes, a pair of dirty converse you wish you'd swapped for heels or something sophisticated, squeal against the hardwood floor. How were you supposed to know you'd see him again tonight? In what world does stuff like this happen to scruffy waitresses? You're starting to think he might be somebody.

Not that it matters if he is or isn't.

But if he is… This is embarrassing, right? Not knowing who he is.

There must be a couple thousand people here tonight. Then again, his band were the opening act, so it doesn't necessarily mean they're all famous or anything.

"Hey," Remus says softly, stopping your thoughts cold. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. Sorry. I've never been in here before, anywhere that's like it,” you say.

"Venues are all different but the bars don't change," he says. "What do you like?"

"I'm not a big drinker."

"That's okay. I just wanted an excuse to be alone with you." He doesn't even give you time to recover. "Truth is, I wanted to ask you out. But between shows I couldn't find time, and next week I'm in San Marino."

What you mean to say is, you wanted to ask me out? But instead, you choke, "You're going to Italy?"

Remus pushes a seat out for you, helping you up with a solid hand, and, while your fingers are still warm from his touch, he says, "San Marino isn't Italy. I didn't know that 'til a few months ago. But pretty much."

"What's in San Marino?"

"A wedding." He climbs into the seat next to you, smiling.

The tan colour of his long-sleeves contrasts his pale hands. Your eyes flash to his ring finger. Not his wedding.

Remus isn’t easy to talk to. It's not wholly his fault. He doesn't force conversation, leaving you awkwardly searching for something to say. You're not the best conversationalist either. He clearly doesn't mind it.

You're in the midst of a clumsy retelling of a shitty customer service moment when he tips his head to the left just a touch.

"Maybe we can go on an actual date when I'm home,” he says.

He says it like he's talking about the weather. You'd be worried he was messing with you, but then he smiles again, flicking his index finger against your wrist mildly. "You don't have to answer me now. Finish telling your story."

"It was pretty much finished. And– and I'd like to. Go on a real date. I've never been out of the country, so you'll have to forgive me if I want to know everything about San Marino."

He looks at your lips. Says, "Good," and doesn't give any indication that he's noticed how nervous you are. That is, until he covers your trembling hand with his and presses it flat to the bar.

"You're really pretty," he murmurs. He takes a moment, and he smiles. "Come with me? If I don't give Sirius some attention soon he'll start showing off."

—

James is starting to wonder if he should invite you to San Marino. He's not that stupid; it would be a huge pain if you were standing in the middle of all his wedding photos and you and Remus don't work out. But, while he's certainly and majorly jumping the gun, he has a suspicion he’ll be seeing you again.

James has never seen Remus like this before.

His friend is usually quiet, quipping every now and then perhaps at Sirius' insufferable antagonism but otherwise brooding. He hasn't seen him smile this much, ever.

James is under no illusions — he knows Remus loves him very much. He knows Remus is happy, and not always healthy but managing. He knows Remus is pleased with their lives and ecstatic to have their music take off. But he also knows Remus won't let himself have a good thing, not really. Maybe that's why he's asked you out now, when in a week they'll be in San Marino, and a week after that they'll be in Cardiff to officially start the new tour.

He knows Remus, sweetheart, kind hearted, miraculous Remus, tends to let people down. He's a stickler for asking people out and cancelling the day before. It's how it always goes. James will ask how the date went and Remus will shake his head and say, "it didn’t work out."

He knows Remus doesn't mean to hurt anybody. He just… can't get close.

But he's trying, with you. A glass of cordial in one hand, the other behind your chair, Remus tells you one of his more embarrassing stories about how he'd taken a bad fall and ended up in A&E with half of an eyebrow. He doesn't mention the painkillers that made him woozy.

You've relaxed considerably since sitting down. James would be happy to report that you're having a good time. You have your own drink in hand, and your eyes are bright, with a receding space between your face and Remus' as the story goes on. It's like watching two magnets fight to hold themselves apart.

Matter of time, James thinks to himself smugly.

—

Honesty is important. You admit to yourself that you and Remus aren't exactly a perfect match. Both quiet, both not quite social butterflies, your conversations had occasionally been stilted and slow, but you've only met twice. Things don't have to be perfect, and more than that — there's a spark there. A twinge of a possibility. He'd liked what little he knew about you enough to ask to see you again, and you'd like what little you knew about him in turn to say yes.

It doesn't have to be perfect, you insist to yourself, a bundle of nerves. Nothing does.

He looks pretty perfect. Base of his palm pressed to the brick wall of the cafe, hand angled down as his fingers grasp the neck of a bouquet whose flowers have been shedding petals onto the damp pavement below. He holds his other hand against his chest, clicking buttons on his phone.

You approach from the left and watch him play a game of Snake.

"You play Snake?" you ask.

"Doesn't everybody?" he asks back, his smile softening what might otherwise feel like a chastisement. He doesn't look up from his phone.

"Woah, how long have you been out here?" you ask, eyeing his weirdly long snake.

Remus guides the snake into a wall on purpose. It dies, his high score flashes across the screen, and he aims an apologetic look your way. "Sorry, that was rude." He doesn't try to hide that he's looking over your face. "Thanks for coming."

He leans in and kisses your cheek. Delighted warmth curls in your stomach, worse when he passes you the bouquet of flowers. They've mostly survived his poor treatment, and there's a lot of them. He's left the price tag on and you're not sure if he's noticed. You pretend not to see it.

"Thank you…” You look away from the flowers, all whites and reds and baby’s breath, to ogle him as subtly as you can manage. “Wow, you've caught the sun. Was it lovely in San Marino?"

"I'll tell you all about it over dinner,” he says. “I thought we'd walk, it's not far." He holds out his hand. You wipe your palm against your side before you take it, worried you'll have clammy hands. He must guess, because he says, "Don't be nervous."

"I am," you say hopelessly. "I've never been on a date before."

"This is your first date?"

You feel a hot flush coming on. "I– yeah. That's embarrassing, I shouldn't have told you that."

"No, it's a good thing. Now I know it has to be extra special."

"It doesn't," you say.

"I was hoping it would be." He pulls you down the pavement and further into the city centre toward the main high street. "San Marino. It was beautiful, and I took a couple of photos but I didn't have room on my phone. Well, I could've deleted Snake–"

"Why would you?" you joke, grinning.

He laughs, and squeezes your hand slightly. "Exactly. I have priorities. It's a long flight, and looking over the photos can only take up so much time. No, but it really was… it was beautiful. I'd never given much thought to a destination wedding. They make sense, right? It's the best day of your life, why would you have it here?"

He tilts his chin toward the grey sky. You look up with him, feeling the cold wind kiss the sides of your face and pull through your hair.

"Come on, Remus, it's not that bad. If it's sun you're after, you could just wait for British summer time. You know, the whole three days of it."

He laughs — you've made him laugh twice already. This is going okay. Laughing while looking at one another, a bouquet in one hand and his hand in the other, you feel that curl of delight begin to bloom. It fills your insides up, has you smiling until your eyelashes brush in the corners.

"It was James' wedding. Do you remember which one that was?"

He asks so kindly. You don't doubt for a second that he wouldn't care if you forgot. It's refreshing, even if it's something you'd expect.

"I remember. I didn't realise he was getting married."

"Don't ever say that in front of him, he'll put himself on the cross." He swings your hand as you turn a corner. The Italian restaurant you'd agreed on winks from a distance.

"He's devoted," you guess.

"He's insane. He was worse when we were younger. His girlfriend– his wife," he amends, "Lily, she's really something else. Warm and funny, but she's been keeping him on his toes for years. She has family in San Marino, hence the wedding."

You listen to him talk eagerly. His voice is as handsome as his face, and the more he says the less stilted he becomes. There had been a strained quality to it before (strained, or restrained? something he wasn't saying) that's all but disappeared.

"It was like a movie. White linen, sand, crying."

"Did you cry?" you ask, expecting a puffed up chest.

"So much. Too much, maybe. I was half of the best man."

"Half?"

"We had to share, me and Sirius. They've always been…" Remus slows his steps. "Am I being boring? I'm talking too much about me."

"We have time. I want to hear it. I'd like to hear it," you say.

James and Sirius are brothers. Remus sees your surprised look and doesn't condemn you for it. Sirius is unofficially adopted. The Potter's fostered him from ages thirteen until he aged out, and though they tried to adopt him, Sirius was reluctant. Remus doesn't get into the reasons beyond that, and you don't ask. You suspect he's only telling you about it to drive home how much the Potter's love Sirius. How much James does.

Remus had been Sirius' friend from their very first year of comprehensive school. Sirius moved in with the Potter's, and, adoring as they were, they let him have friends over whenever he liked. James, Sirius, and Remus spent the next decade together like that, hiding in Sirius' room. Best friends, entirely inseparable, and all fiercely protective of each other.

"They've always been like brothers."

"But not…"

He understands what you're worried to say. "I think it would've been weird… I had a candle burning for James. For a long time."

Your jaw drops a little. "And you just had to watch him have the most romantic wedding ever," you whisper sympathetically. You're joking: it's clear the candle isn't burning now.

"Told you I cried," he says. "No, but you've seen him. He's a supermodel. It's awful."

"Remus, I think you might be underestimating how handsome you are," you say. You bite your lip and look at his chin rather than his eyes.

He's generous. He gives your wrist a tug and chuckles warmly. "I'm glad you think so. Tonight might have been awkward, otherwise."

You duck together inside of the restaurant, hands falling apart as Remus gives his last name for the reservation. Lupin. Your face has a mind of its own.

"Charming, isn't it?"

"It is," you say emphatically, denying his sarcasm. "I've never heard anything like that. Lupine, like a fox?"

"Wolf."

A server shows you to your table and hands you two leather covered menus. Leather, not plastic, a sign that tonight is going to be classy. You've dressed for the occasion in a smart blouse and slacks, too terrified of wearing a dress. Remus seems to have done the same as you, reaching for smart but dodging the mark in a button down and a casual jacket. When he takes off his coat, he looks perfect. He fits right in.

"Could we get a glass?" he asks the server. "For the flowers? If it's not too much trouble."

"No trouble at all."

You run your hand across the silken tablecloth and the space between you both feels somehow smaller than when you'd been holding hands. Outside, you could let your gaze drift to the pavement, the fenced in trees, the couples that passed you by. Here, you're forced to watch one another.

It's not so bad. It's agonising.

"This is weird," you say. You flinch when you hear yourself. "Sorry, not that you're weird! I'm weird. I've never ever done this."

"No, I know," he says, almost murmuring, "it's okay."

"I just blurted out what I was thinking–"

"I know." He sits back in his chair. His head tilts down, his eyelashes kissing the skin above his brows as he fixes you with a look. It has the intended effect, tension easing from your rigid spine and tight shoulders. "This is weird. But it's still early. It could get weirder."

You like that he says it as if it's a good thing.

You order the same thing he does, and you don't turn down his offer to get a bottle of wine, though it feels too grown up. You keep forgetting you're an adult, and that your life isn't on hold. Things can happen to you at any time.

"I want to address the elephant in the room," he says.

Not promising. "Okay."

"Are we having dessert?" Remus leans forward on both forearms. Hair falls in his eyes. He's dressed nicely and he's handsome but there's something homespun about him, something golden. You can't help looking at him and thinking impossibly forward thoughts, cheesy waffle from the films. He's familiar. "Nobody ever wants to get dessert with me. It's actually a real issue for me."

"I'll get dessert with you." A smoother you with more confidence, who wore the dress and asked him to go to the Thai restaurant instead, would've said something more suave. We're having whatever you want, handsome.

Remus flips the menu to the very last page and reads the desserts aloud. For himself, it seems, half-muttered and apprehensive. "Chocolate cake from places like this will either be the nicest thing we've ever eaten or burnt in the microwave. And it's childish that I want chocolate cake. I should be spoon feeding you creme brulee. Or whipped cream and strawberries."

He tips his head back and rubs his eyes. It's a charade of feigned self loathing that makes you laugh.

"I'm a child," he laments, thumb and index finger pressed into his eyes. He checks to see if you're watching before doubling down.

"I like cake," you say, and you'd lie if you thought it was what he wanted to hear. Handsome, kind, and funny. Not to mention talented. He needs smart for the sweep.

Remus falls out of his dramatics. You mourn the loss, beggy a good look on him, but forget all about it when he slides his chair around the table to share the menu with you, your heads inclined as you read it together again. He smells woody. You hope he likes the jasmine of your perfume.

"It all sounds really nice," you confide, afraid to disturb the comfortable hush. "I haven't had gelato since I was a kid. Oh, did they have real gelato in San Marino?"

“They had a lot of stuff in San Marino… I want to hear about you.”

“What do you want to hear?”

The questions start and don’t stop. Where did you grow up? That’s the easy part. What did you study in school? Were you in sports? The art club? And what do you do now, when you aren’t working in the cafe? The more he asks, the easier it is to answer. He doesn’t slow when the waiter brings a glass for your bouquet, simply stands and places them inside with exceedingly gentle hands, smiling at you from between the stems. You eat slowly when the food arrives — you're busy talking.

It feels fucking amazing. To have someone want to know anything about you. And unless he’s an actor of the highest regard, he’s obviously enjoying your conversations, though they wilt and wane and wind around one another. You lose track of time and thread as the night goes on, distracted by the near unnoticeable asymmetry of his smile, and the way he laughs when you laugh, like an echo.

You get cake like he wanted. Triple fudge cake with buttercream thick but melting from the heat. It looks straight from the pages of a magazine, glossy and dusted with sugar powder, but he doesn’t seem to like it. He takes a couple of bites and leaves it alone. You don’t want to look greedy, so you do the same.

The date is suddenly over.

“Could I walk you home?” he asks, when you’ve both put your coats back on, and the damp roots of your flowers are leaving an imprint on your chest.

You nod rather than answer.

Things are good, not perfect. That’s what you keep thinking. There’s something he isn’t saying. Or, horrifyingly, something he doesn’t like about you. Still, the sky is velvet black and the air is crisp. Stars like needlepoints dot the air. Street lights work to hide them, casting a warm yellow glow over the pavements and your meandering shoes.

A brisk wind whips past you. You shiver and press your lips together hard, hands quick to rigidity. Remus looks at you sideways, and breaks the quiet. “Are you cold?”

“A little.” No point in lying when he can see you trembling.

“Do you want my coat?”

“No, no, it’s alright–“ You cut off as he steps in front of you, his hand vying for yours.

He tucks the flowers under his arm and sandwiches your fingers between his. He has short fingernails, and another scar down one pinky finger. How’d you get that one? you want to ask. How’d you get any of them?

His breath clouds the air. “I should’ve thought about the cold.”

“This is better,” you say. Than a warm taxi home. His thumbs brushing down the backs of your hands.

You walk to your flat building and hesitate at the foyer door. The potential for a kiss goodnight has flayed your thoughts. The image of his hands climbing your arms, holding you still, plays like a flickering film. You have no idea if he’s going to do it.

“How will you get home?” you ask quietly.

“I parked by the cafe, it isn’t far.”

“Oh…” The lights from your building paint him the faintest shade of pink. Your breath fogs out in front of you, as does his, and the warmth of walking will soon fade. “I–“

“Here,” he says, handing you the flowers again.

“Thank you. They’re beautiful.”

“Fits the recipient.”

It takes a second for you to get it. Oh, you think. You can hardly feel the cold now. Your heart hurts, and you’re begging him to want to take a step toward you. The silence goes for too long.

“I– I’d love to see you again,” you say. Love comes out funny. Maybe because you can feel his rejection coming.

“I won’t be here next week. Not for a long time. We’re touring properly, now.” He scratches the side of his face.

“Right. Right, of course you are. Um, good luck with that. And thank you for tonight, for dinner.” You wave your flowers weakly.

He looks at you. He takes a half step toward you. You can see his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows.

“You really are pretty,” he says finally. “Goodnight.”

He smiles quick and turns quicker. You watch him walk a few steps but ultimately can’t face it, pushing into the foyer of your building with a hardset frown. Your hands shake, minute abstractions of the sharp rejection panging in your chest. Your ears roar and then go quiet. What did I do wrong? you think, shocked and upset and trying to rationalise. He doesn’t have to kiss you. He asked you out on a maybe, and now whatever question he had is answered.

The door creaks open. You spin on your heel, too wrapped up to think about hiding your expression. Remus stands in the doorway of the porch, his arm pressed to the glass panel, the other held out to you.

"Come here," he says quietly. It isn't a question, but he's asking.

You step into his reach, letting him pull you by the waist against his chest. He leans down until his nose glances against ýours, and he starts to say something. You push your chin up in your eagerness and he doesn't try again. He kisses you, once, contrite, and he pulls back and his hand clasps your arm tight as he ducks in for another. His lips are fast to lose the cold of the weather, but his tongue is a hot shock at the seam of your own.

You go weak in his arms. The flowers between you crunch and smother themselves. You can’t think about it. Your hands are numb. He takes over every one of your senses until you’re more kiss than thought, reciprocating his slow, deep searching. You run out of breath.

He eases you backward, cupping the side of your head in his big palm.

“I want to see you again,” he says hoarsely. “But I– I don’t know when I’ll be back.” His hand adjusts against your cheek, like he’s worried you’re slipping out of his hold. “I don’t know what to do.”

“I can wait,” you say.

“I couldn’t ask you to.”

You rub your buzzing lips together, each heaven of your chest marked by the crinkling sound of cellophane.

“Do you want to come upstairs?” you ask.

He strokes the edge of your mouth with his thumb. “Are you sure?”

You kiss him. You don’t know if this will work, any of it, the broad stroke or this one night, but you want him.

—

Remus doesn’t know what he’s doing. He knows how to fuck somebody, that isn’t the problem. He doesn’t know what he’s doing with you. The same thing that made him walk away had pulled him right back in, had him skipping steps on the staircase up to your flat, drinking in the back of your head and roll of your shoulders as you’d made apologies for the mess inside.

He doesn’t feel like himself when he’s with you. He thinks of it like this — what he is, his pain, his wants, that’s all set in stone. Any change is an erosion, and little by little over the years he’s managed to whittle himself down into the smallest, cleanest version of himself. Then suddenly the band’s making money, people are listening to his voice on the radio in countries all over the world, and he can’t hide anymore. Maybe he hadn’t wanted to, after all. What else inspires a performer into the spotlight? The music, he thinks desperately, knowing it’s half a lie.

Isn’t it why he’d asked you to the show? Come and watch me sing. See me at my most impressive. My most curated.

And now he’s following you into your bedroom after one date, about to strip it all away.

“You didn’t have too much wine, did you?” he asks. You hadn’t really finished your first glass, but it won’t hurt to make sure.

You peel your jacket off and drop it over the back of a wide armchair. “I don’t think so. Did you?”

“No.” His head has never been this clear.

He thinks about what you said. This is your first date, and he’s not clueless enough to assume that never going on a date means never having sex, but he wants to be careful with you anyway. He wants this to last beyond a dinner date.

Which means he has to get out of his head.

Beyond all of his own mess, he really does think you're pretty. More than pretty. You’re beautiful, and your voice…

He wants to see what other sounds you make.

Remus gets his hands on you. Soft touches, his hands coasting from your elbows to your warming hands. He squeezes your fingers, leaning in for a quick kiss. He rests his nose against the skin beneath your eye. “Tell me if it’s too much?” he asks, a murmur of hot air.

“Yeah.”

“I’ll go slowly.”

“Okay.” Your voice is barely audible.

He pulls away to make sure you’re alright, and is surprised to see a glassy sheen in your eyes. He holds your face in both hands and works your lips open against his, guiding you backwards into the plush of your poorly made bed. He’s all sweet touches and eager kisses, cautious not to hurt you, or let too much of his weight press against your soft torso. His kisses follow to the corner of your mouth, the tip of his nose tender against your cheek. “You’re so quiet,” he says. He isn’t complaining, but he wants to hear your voice.

“I’m a bit preoccupied.”

He laughs into your skin, kissing down to your jaw. “You’re right,” he says, revelling in the goosebumps that rise under his hands.

Your shaking inhales cleave a pit in his stomach. He mouths at the side of your neck, half-kisses, tiny warning nips before he thumbs open the first button of your shirt. He meanders, dropping a path crescent moon kisses into your front until the fabric of your bra gets in the way. The soft hill of your breast staggers to a halt beneath him. He can tell that you’re holding deliberately still.

Kisses. You need more kisses, an absolution from any lingering nervousness. Your hands thread into his hair gently, your fingers raking wavy strands behind his ears as you give in. You melt into your sheets, your legs parting from the pressure of his hips.

Your hands fall from his hair to needle between your two bodies and undo the rest of your buttons. The fabric falls aside, your chest and tummy his to catalogue. He drops his hand against your stomach, smoothing a line down to your slacks. His lips ache against yours as he asks, “Can I?”

“Please.”

He smiles at your daunted expression. “Can I take these off?” he asks you, his fingertip running under the edge of your underwear. “Please?” he teases.

Your skin is a furnace, hot hot hot everywhere he touches as you nod your permission and Remus undresses you, one piece of clothing at a time. Your trousers, your shirt. Your bra, your underwear. His fingers slip in his ardency as he tears out of his own button down.

Your thumb traces a scar.

He looks up from your chest, startled, but you aren’t giving him anything he doesn’t want. There’s no pity in your gaze, no curiosity, no sadness. Just lust, your trembling hands pulling his slacks down the lengths of his thighs.

He pulls the condom from his wallet in his pocket and lets it fall to the floor.

Remus hooks his hands under your arms and urges you back against the headboard, a pillow behind your head, your thighs tipping open as his hand runs down between them. He grabs at them greedily, handfuls of fat that have his mouth dry as a bone.

“Has anyone ever done this to you before?” he asks. He needs to know.

You squeeze your eyes closed and shake your head.

Fuck. “Hey, look at me,” he says, waiting for your eyes to meet before continuing. “I just want to make you feel good. If I don’t, you let me know.”

He waits for you to answer aloud. “I will,” you say, your hand behind his back and urging him forward. “Please.”

“What did I say?” he jokes gently, letting his weight bear down on you again.

He closes his eyes, his lips in what feels like a new home at the juncture of your neck. His hands skirt dangerously close to your heat.

He’s gentle. He rubs a sweeping line against your cunt with the front of his fingers, heart hammering fast as a mouse’s when he finds the little button of your clit. You shiver and shudder and squirm as he toys with you, your fingers steadfast against the plane of his back while he opens you up. His lips part in tandem, not nearly as kind as his hands. His teeth scratch against your throat.

Your soft moans move through him as he hickeys over your pulse, chasing each capering thud of blood. He winds you up. You’re snug around his fingers, fluttering, and he knows he’s probed something sweet when your breath catches and you whine.

“Was that alright?” he asks.

You nod, heavy headed, and lick your lips as he tears open the condom and eases it onto his cock, one measured roll at a time.

“Can you– I want you to–” You turn your face from him, the line of your jaw kissed by the lamplight outside, and the rest hidden.

He drags you down to lay flat on your back and holds himself over you, nudging his nose against yours until you lift your head. Face to face, he gives himself time to adore the shape and colour of your eyes, the side of his hand brushing along your cheek. “Do you think you’re ready?” he asks sincerely. The slickness between your legs is obvious, but he doesn’t want to blindside you. “It will feel…”

You nod, saving him the explanation. It will feel weird. Good, but foreign. “Will you kiss me again?” you ask feebly.

He can’t stop himself. He kisses your lips sore, his hand behind the crook of your knee pushing your leg up toward your stomach as he slides into the space he’s made there. He breaks the kiss to listen to your breathing as he pushes forward.

Remus hadn’t been lying — he wants it to feel good. He takes it slow, his thrusting almost languid as you get to grips with the feeling. He pulls his bottom lip between his teeth and bites down hard, struggling to smother the moan that escapes him as he feels you clench around him. You gasp, your arms tightening around his waist, destroying any semblance of space between your sweat-damp bodies as you hold him tight. He murmurs praises in your ear, his forearms tucked beneath your shoulder blades, hands gripping your shoulders a touch too hard. He can’t remember the last time he was this close to somebody, can’t remember ever feeling so maddeningly lost, like he’s one good push from hurtling over the edge.

He kisses your cheek, calling you all the things he’d been too scared to say before. “Lovely girl,” he pants, “how’s that feel?” And, when you answer, “Yeah, you’re taking it so well, dove. Think you can take a little more?”

All that nervousness and desperation shrinks down to dust, and the smiling girl he’d been with at dinner comes to the forefront. There’s no mistaking it. You giggle something awful and turn your face into his, kissing him between sounds, dizzying him with the tender scratch of your nails down his back as he starts to move.

“There she is,” he says lightly, almost smirking. “Feel good?”

“Feels– oh,” —you shiver violently, filled all the way up— “feels good.”

Remus let’s his forehead fall to your chin, his eyes closed in pleasure, his cock to the hilt. Every move he makes evokes a near sinful sound from you, mewling, silvery whimpers and pleased little laughs when he angles his hips right. He’s a mess, desperate to cum from the second you touched him and running on stolen time as he presses you deep into your mattress. One of your hands flies backward into the pillows and scrunches up into a ball, the look on your face too tempting to ignore.

The first time you fuck someone — it’s never timed right. Remus knows he hasn’t quite figured you out, but he knows enough to get you where he wants you. He slides his hand between your bodies and your soft cunt to draw circles into your clit, entranced by your twitching lashes as the pleasure builds. You chase him with your hips, and he grabs your hand at the last second to stop you from covering your mouth, holding it above your head as you come apart.

He cooes at you. The sound you make — the breathless little cry that leaves you, your hips jutting up to meet him. He’s at your mercy, just like he said.

Remus fucks into the extra tightness, drawing your climax out for as long as he can. You’re smiling as you shove his arm away, a playful chastisement that wanes when you see the look on his face. “Are you close?” you ask, brushing a curled strand of hair from his eyes.

Close? Remus is fucked.

“You can go faster,” you say, “rougher, whatever you want.”

“Shit,” he hisses, leaning back.

His rutting hips slap the backs of your thighs. He squeezes your waist, his eyes fixed on your cunt as it pulls him in. One last wavering, “Oh, fuck,” from you is all it takes for Remus to lose it. White hot pleasure tightens his whole body, his abdomen aflame. You scramble to gather him back into your arms. You kiss him, swallowing his resulting string of moans.

He has to catch his breath afterward. You comb the hair back from his face, your eyes droopy with pleasure.

“Did I hurt you?” he asks, voice stringy.

“Of course not.” You’re quickly losing your confidence. Remus hates it, but he understands. This vulnerability can only stretch so far.

“Let me clean you up,” he says.

“You look like you’re gonna fall over if you stand.”

He strokes your face with the back of his ring finger, his nail ghosting along the highest point of your cheek. “Funny,” he says dryly.

He gets confused in your bathroom, and you won’t let him towel you off, but when he lies down beside you with his boxers back in place you don’t push him away. You drop your face into his chest and curl up.

He drags the quilt over your naked back.

Was that okay? he wants to ask. “Sore?” he worries instead.

“Don’t think so.”

He chews his cheek. “You’re alright?”

You stir, looking up at him through your lashes. He thinks you’re the kind of pretty people might not always see. You’re clearly beautiful, but there’s something else to it. The way you move, maybe. The way your eyes smile before your lips can catch up.

“I’m fine. I’m good… Can I…”

He hums. “What?”

“Could I kiss you again?”

You speak so quietly, he hears the vibration in your throat more than the sound of your voice. It’s endearingly timid. He feels his attraction for you flare violently.

He wants to ask you to come with him to Cardiff. He knows he can’t. It’s yards too soon, but for a second he entertains the thought.

“Wait for me to come home,” he says. He’s still asking for more than he should. “I want to see you again. You can kiss me as much as you want, if you say you’ll wait.”

You nod immediately. Not a flicker of reluctance to be seen.

You lift your chin and kiss him. He tries to make it the kind of kiss worth waiting for.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

thank you for reading! i hope you enjoyed! if you did, please consider reblogging cos it helps more than you might think <3

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moonstruckme · 7 months

Note

could you do a poly!marauders with fem reader where reader doesn’t swear at all (or like REALLY rarely) and the boys are with her and something happens and she just starts cussing like a sailor and the boys are like O: ??where??did??that??come??from??

Thanks for requesting my love! This is not based at all on anything that's ever happened to me ofc (I've never cursed even once in my life and am a very attentive driver) but it was fun to write!!

cw: near-miss car accident

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 820 words

“I can’t believe you keep the seat so far back,” you say, squinting into the rear view mirror.

“Right?” James backs you up from where he’s gently massaging Remus’ knee in the backseat. “Moony, your height is an injustice to us all.”

Sirius smirks out the passenger window. “I don’t mind it.”

You laugh, glancing into the mirror to assess Remus’ countenance. He’s usually the one to drive the four of you around, but he’d woken up this morning with his knee aching and none of you had wanted to chance him getting a cramp or tweaking a muscle while he had his foot on the gas. He claims the pain isn’t bad and the rest of you are playing along, but his promises do little to reassure you. Remus’ tolerance is crazy high from years of aches, pains, and injuries, so him saying it doesn’t hurt very much is like when Sirius says he’ll be over in five minutes; he probably believes it to be true, but everyone else knows better.

Remus’ lips are twisted slightly upward at your bantering, though, and when you scan his face for signs of tension or discomfort you don’t find any. He starts to lean onto James’ shoulder, then shoots back up, eyes widening.

Sirius’ sharp inhale has you whipping your attention back out the windshield, where another car is trying to butt into the small space between your car and the one in front.

“Fucking fuck!” You hit the brakes and slam the butt of your hand into the horn, letting it blare until the intruding car swerves back into their lane. If you’d hit them, it would have been Sirius’ side colliding with the driver’s door. Your blood pounds in your ears. “What the hell, jackass? Stay in your own fucking lane!” You start to pass them, and the driver hastily puts down his phone, avoiding your gaze. “Yeah, how about we stay off our goddamn phones while we’re on the road? Fucking dumbass.”

You blow out a harsh breath, refocusing on the traffic around you now that the danger has passed. The car has gone completely silent. “Oh no, Remus, did it hurt your knee when I braked, honey? I’m so sorry.”

A beat, and then Remus clears his throat. “Uh, no.”

The tension doesn’t break. You wouldn’t blame the boys if they were still in shock from your near-miss, but the quiet is a bit unnerving. You’re fighting the urge to look over at Sirius or glance at Remus and James in the rear view mirror, not wanting to take your eyes off the road again.

You jump when James asks, “What just happened?” at the same time as Sirius shouts “Fucking yeah, baby!” and holds up his hand for you to high-five.

You barely brush it with your fingertips, hesitant and a bit wary. “What?”

“Dove,” Remus says hoarsely, “I’ve never heard that kind of language from you.”

“Oh.” Your ears burn. “Yeah, sorry.”

Sirius makes a sound that’s half startlement, half something else. You chance a look his way, and he’s grinning at you, mouth hanging slightly open. You think those might be stars in his eyes. “Don’t fucking apologize,” he laughs, sounding downright giddy. “That was great! Fantastic! I didn’t know you had this side to you, gorgeous.”

You shrink a bit in your seat, but there’s nowhere to go. You know if you check your mirror, you’ll find two more pairs of eyes staring at you from the backseat. “I don’t usually…well, you guys haven’t been around me while I’m driving before.”

James guffaws. Sirius has begun to shake with silent laughter beside you. “Do you mean to tell me this happens every time you drive?” James asks.

“Not every time,” you say defensively. “They spooked me.”

“They spooked you?” Sirius hoots from beside you, and now you can hear even Remus’ quiet chuckling. “Baby, I didn’t know you knew half those words! If that’s what happens when you drive, I want you behind the wheel every time.”

“Oi,” Remus objects, but there’s no offense to be found in his tone. “It’s not like I don’t cuss.”

“No,” James replies, reaching up to squeeze at your shoulders playfully, “but with you it’s not usually such a performance. That was a spectacle!”

“I don’t know why you’re all so surprised,” you say, but you’re giggling now too, worse when Sirius joins in on James’ teasing, pinching at your side. “You all curse like sailors, you were bound to rub off on me eventually.”

“It’s not like you’re not allowed to curse, dovey,” Remus says. “It’s just that we weren’t expecting it from you.”

“And what, you’re gonna act like it’s our fault?” Sirius scoffs, poking you in the ribs and grinning when you squirm away. “As if any of us would ever say ‘fucking fuck.’ That’s an amateur's work, gorgeous. Can’t blame us for that one.”

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t1oui · 1 month

Text

“i’m going to marry you someday,” james says, running his fingers through regulus’s curls. regulus smiles, his ear pressed to james’s heart.

“yeah?” he asks. “when?”

“as soon as you graduate.” james’s heartbeat stays steady, like this is a regular conversation on a regular night.

“yeah?” regulus asks, glancing up, meeting james’s eyes. his eyes are gray like a storm, and they’re so, so beautiful. “how?”

james smiles. “in the fields behind my parents’ house,” he says. “in summer. we’ll have everybody there — sirius and moony and peter and the girls, and all your friends, too. it’ll be perfect.”

regulus settles his head on james’s chest again. “you have this all planned out, don’t you?” he asks. james stares up at the sky, searching and finally locating regulus’s star. his star.

“of course i do,” he says. i love you, he almost says, but he leaves that for another night.

“i’m going to marry you someday,” james says, pulling regulus closer. his laugh lights up james’s world.

“tell me about it,” regulus says, intertwining their fingers.

“we’ll dance like this,” james says, placing his hand on regulus’s waist. “all night. with everybody, all our friends. and we won’t get tired.”

regulus laughs again. his eyes are closed, and he’s pressed his cheek to james’s chest. “how will we manage that?” he asks.

james thinks for a moment, still swaying them back and forth across the floor of the astronomy tower. he’s never been good at multitasking.

“potions,” james decides. “and firewhiskey, probably.”

“mm,” regulus hums. “i won’t drink any.”

“no?”

“no.” he pulls back, opening his eyes, and smiles up at james, gray eyes twinkling. “i want to remember every second of it.”

“i’m going to marry you someday,” james whispers, trying to ignore the way his voice cracks. “and then i’ll get you out of here.”

regulus gives him a weak smile and scoots closer, turning around and pressing his back to james’s chest.

“tell me where we’ll go,” he says quietly. “when we run away.”

james swallows thickly, glances down at the mark on regulus’s forearm.

“away,” he says. “where they can’t hurt us.”

where i’m free, he doesn’t say, from you.

“i wish i was a coward,” james says, his eyes fixed on the sky. on that star — not his, after all. he looks away, but it doesn’t matter. tears cloud his vision. “i wish i didn’t have to run away from you.”

there’s no response. he’s not surprised. there’s nothing for the headstone to say anyway. james bites back a sob, wiping the tears away just in time for more to appear.

“i wish i didn’t have to run away,” he says, setting the ring down in the grass, “but i’m not sorry i left.”

#idk what this is #sorry?#i just felt like doing something angsty #i want it to seem like regulus might’ve never loved james idk if that comes across #hp fandom #harry potter fandom #hp #marauders era #jegulus #james potter x regulus black #james potter #regulus black #sunseeker #starchaser

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my-castles-crumbling · 19 days

Text

Sirius, to James, sighing resignedly: I've decided to try to be supportive of you and my brother. So...I guess you can talk about it if you want. I talk to you about Moony, after all.

James, excited: Oh, great! Well, we went on a date last night!

Sirius, uncomfortable: Oh, that's...that's good. How did it go?

James: Great! We went out to eat and then looked at the stars, it was lovely, really.

Sirius, sighing: Well...that sounds great, Prongs. You really like him, then?

James, happily: He's amazing, Pads! And such a good kisser-

Sirius, standing up and covering his ears: Argh! Moony! I tried! I can't do it! You have to do this, my ears are melting!

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solarisburns · 2 months

Text

Pandora Rosier who dreams of the future, who doesn't just dream of a boy drowning in a cave. but sees her brother laying on the ground; not moving, the normally cheerful Barty screaming for his mother in the dark. Who hears Dorcas' sobs ringing in her ears no matter what song she hums.

It's not just her friends she sees in visions, one day Marlene Mckinnon falls from her broom and a flash of her falling after being hit with a spell haunts Pandora for weeks. Lily and James bickering in the hall turns into death on Halloween. Alice's shrieks as Frank tosses her in the lake morph in screams of pain. Sirius staring at his brother across the dining hall melt into him staring at his brothers star from a prison cell. Remus reading alone in the library turns into his sitting alone at a graveyard. Oddly enough she never sees Peter though.

Pandora Rosier who is cursed with far to much knowledge and no power to change it. Pandora, who will see her own demise after watching all those she cares for go before her.

#i have thoughts about her #not many of them are happy #pandora rosier #regulus black #barty crouch jr #dorcas meadowes #marauders era #marauders #marlene mckinnon #lily evans #james potter #alice fortescue #frank longbottom #remus lupin #peter pettigrew

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sweetiecutie · 1 year

Text

Pairing: Remus Lupin x fem! Reader

Warnings: NSFW, fingering, praising, remmy being a bit of a meanie but also absolutely lovely, public sex and exhibitionism but not really?,

Synopsis: Remmy fingering you in his bed with curtains drawn while all the boys are in the dorm as well, so you better be quiet, don’t you?

A/n: it’s my birthday today!!!🥳🎂 happy bday to me and have this lil treat<3 I really hope you like this lil thing

You and Remus were huddled up on his soft bed, numerous blankets and duvets are scattered everywhere, keeping two of you warm and comfy. Thick heavy curtains were drawn all around the bed, painting everything inside their confines deep scarlet, securely concealing both of you from the noise and havoc that usually reigned in boys’ dormitories.

You were laying on your sides facing each other, your leg thrown over Remus’ hips, head laying comfortably on his shoulder. His arm, that you were laying on, was curled protectively around your shoulders, big warm hand rubbing your back up and down soothingly.

You couldn’t help a small whimper that escaped your lips, but, thankfully, James was wailing so loudly about a new rare card that he got in chocolate frog that his booming voice successfully concealed all of your small sounds. Remus’ fingers kept sliding in and out of your drenched with slick pussy, thumb nudging swollen needy clit persistently, making you shake and writhe around in his arms.

- Now, pretty girl, I told you to be quiet. This time we got lucky, but we don’t want boys to hear what a little slutty thing you are, do we? - Remus murmured softly, his voice low so that only you can hear him. He pressed his lips against the heated skin of your forehead, leaving a chaste kiss there.

You only buried your face into the cozy crook of Remus’ shoulder, his comforting scent hit your nose - he smelled of fresh laundry, fluffy blankets and something sweet that you couldn’t quite decipher - he smelled like home. You wrapped your arms tighter around his neck, bringing yourself even closer to his hot body.

- Spread your legs a bit wider for me… yeah, just like that. Such a smart little thing, aren’t you? - Remus cooed against your ear as you readjusted your position a bit, sliding your leg higher up boy’s torso, increasing by that the gap between your thighs.

You smiled at his praise, leaving a few wet kisses on the side of his neck, nibbling gently on soft skin there but not enough to leave a mark, knowing how much boy disliked that. You could barely contain a moan as Remus increased the speed of his fingers fucking into you, new angle allowed him to reach even deeper inside. Your moth fell open in a silent moan, eyes shutting tightly and you heard Sirius’ roaring laughter and some repetitive hollow thudding, assuming that James and Peter must have started a vicious pillow fight.

Remus’ fingers curled a bit, massaging your frontal wall oh so deliciously, making you jolt harshly at pleasurable feeling.

- Easy, doll. I’ve got you, - Remus tutted into your hair, you could practically hear that well-known shit-eating grin in his voice.

The new positioning of his fingers allowed Remus to strokes you in all the right spots, you felt your orgasm nearing rapidly, heavy pleasure spilling in the bottom of your stomach. You leaned closer into your boyfriend, your hips moving ever so slightly in tandem with his fingers, trying to intensify the feeling.

- Remmy, ‘m really close, - you mewled weakly, words muffled because of your face squished against boy’s warm chest.

- I know, baby, just let it go. C’mon, cum on my fingers, make me proud, - Remus encouraged, his voice was dripping honey, which, doubled with his constant praise and nimble fingers fucking into you so good, sent you right over the edge.

Your eyes rolled back at the intense feeling of raw pleasure spreading through your body in crashing waves, white stars filled your vision. Your hands were grabbing desperately onto Remus’ soft sweater, teeth sank into your bottom lip, trying your hardest to suppress all of sweet moans and cries.

Remus rode out your orgasm, never stopping to fuck his long fingers into your sweet pussy, his other hand rubbing your back and shoulders, whispering sweet nothing into your flushed ear. He only stopped when you started wriggling your hips, trying to get away from his now painful caressing against your overstimulated sex.

He carefully pulled his fingers out, bringing them up to his face and burying his sticky with your slick digits in his warm mouth, sucking and lapping at your juices with immense pleasure. You flushed deeply, smacking Remus’ chest playfully and muttering quiet ‘pervert’ under your breath, causing boy to chuckle airily. He put his now clean fingers away from his mouth, leaning forward to slant his wet lips over yours, kissing you long and lazily, completely taking your breath away.

You broke off first, silver string of saliva was connecting your mouths, Remus eyes shining prettily in a dim light. Your shaky hand came to tuck a string of his soft sandy hair behind his pierced ear, thumb caressing chiseled cheekbone affectionately. Remus leaned in to place yet another kiss on your pretty lips but was stopped half-way by loud cracking sound and heavy cussing:

- Holy fucking shit, Prongs! McGonagall’s gonna fucking skin us alive for this! - Sirius’ panicked, but still more excited voice shrieked, you rushed to put your underwear and pajama pants back on before peeking your head out of crimson curtains, curious to see what had happened.

In the center of a room James, Sirius and Peter were all standing looking extremely disheveled and panting heavily, pillows clutched tightly in their hands. They all were staring at the floor where you spotted a huge hole a size of a quaffle, loud ‘what the fuck’ coming from the inhabitants of a room below. You heard Remus groan behind you, string of heavy expletives rolling off his tongue as he scrambled out of bed, racking his brain for possible ways to fix the breakage without teachers being involved.

James caught your eyes, shrugging silently, keeping unnaturally quiet, not wanting to get on Remus’ nerves when he was so angry. Sirius standing beside him could barely suppress his laughter, clutching his pillow to his chest in attempt to ground himself in any way possible. Peter’s face was completely blank, eyes wandering all around the dorm as if nothing ever happened, swaying from side to side lightly.

At the end of a day, they managed to fix the hole in the floor and all three of them got a smack on the back of the head from extremely querulous Remus.

Likes, reblogs and comments are highly appreciated, they inspire me on creating even more content for you💖

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remuslupinslittleslut · 3 months

Note

poly!marauders x drunk!reader at a party and reader needy but they don’t want to help reader because they don’t want to do anything when reader basically unconscious of what’s happening because reader is drunk. So they try to explain to reader that they will gladly take care of them after they get better and go to bed. Thank you!

OH to be manhandled by poly!marauders

I changed it slightly, reader is not quite unconscious, but still to drunk to make sane decisions, and the boys interfere because we love consent!

Smutty part two here!

Throwing the last of your drink back, you let your eyes wander over the three men standing across the room. They’re tall, handsome, and the blinking lights of the party only make them look that much more delicious to you.

Deciding to make your way over, you almost trip as you climb over limbs, pressing your body between others.

“Hi darling, having fun?” Asks one of your three boyfriends, as you fall into his arms, having been pushed lightly by the moving crowd.

“Yes, Siri, very fun,” you say, leaning in to kiss right below his ear.

You feel another set of arms around you, knowing it to be James’. He and Sirius usually got the most overprotective of you in these types of situations – Remus just kept an eye on you from across the room, not feeling the need to be near you all the time, knowing you’d be going home with them anyways.

“Love,” James laughed, “You are drunk.”

Turning your head to look at him, you find stars covering your eyes, and when they disappear, you have some trouble knowing which of the two sets of eyes are really his.

“No, Jamie, I’m not, just a lil happy, s’all,” your words come out slightly slurred, only proving James’ accusation to be true.

They share a look, something you’re too busy to notice. Your lips are pressing into Sirius’ neck, hands holding on to his shoulders, small moans escaping your lips.

“Baby, it’s time to go home,” he murmurs, lips pressed to the top of your head.

When you get home, you feel like you’ve won, it’s finally time to take those pants off. You hold on tightly to James as Sirius helps you out of your clothes, your head racing, ready for the feeling of lips against your core. That never comes. Instead, a t-shirt is placed over your head, and you’re handed a cup of water. Deciding that this was no fun, you instead make your way over to the bed, where Remus lay. You’re not very graceful as you climb over him, resting your thighs on either side of his hips.

“Hi, darling,” he says, arms wrapping around you.

“Hi Remmy,” you sloppily move your hips, lips kissing along his shoulder.

“What’re you doing, love?” Remus asks, hands holding your hips to stop them from moving.

You sigh, one hand moving down to touch the growing bulge in his pants.

“What’s it seem like? I’m tryna get in your pants,” you say, irritation growing.

His hands wrap around your wrists, legs maneuvering you to lay down next to him.

“No, baby, you’re too drunk,” he says, kissing the top of your head lightly. “You can’t give proper consent when you’re like this.”

“But Remmy, I want it,” you argue.

“No darling,” says James, having plopped down on the bed next to you, one hand brushing strands of hair away from your face. “You’re not sober, you can’t make a sound decision right now, we’re not gonna have sex with you tonight.”

You sigh heavily, kicking your legs in annoyance. The heat in your core, the dripping of your juices down your thighs doesn’t just stop because you had a few drinks.

A head of curly hair pops out of the adjoining bathroom, toothpaste running slightly around the goofy smile. “We can have sex tomorrow, when we’re all sober!”“Yeah, love, we love fucking you, but right now, we’ll cuddle, and then we can have other kinds of fun in the morning,” Remus says, reassuringly.

#mywriting #amathelia writes #fanfic #marauders era #poly!marauders #poly!marauders x reader #sirius black x reader #Sirius Black #remus lupin #remus lupin x reader #james potter #james potter x reader #fluff #consenting kings

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whorediaries-09 · 5 months

Note

oneshot in which reader is drunk and desperate for sex but james feels like she'd give her consent drunkenly so it wouldn't be proper consent, but she's begging, and he eats her out and she's babbling out thank you's

hi love, thank you for sending in the request. i quite literally am in love with it.

meddle about;

pairing- fdad!james potter x reader warning(s)- age gap (nothing borderline illegal), 18+ content, mention of alcohol. (let me know if i should add more) a/n- might make a part two if ya'll want to.

ps- okay so for better understanding, reader is harry's friend and is as the same age as oliver wood.

the slut club early winter event

'cause it's not just a figure of speech you got me down on my knees

you're warm. you don't know whether it's because of the alcohol stimulating every inch within you, or because you can feel your friend's dad's toned thighs underneath yours. either ways, it's a nice feeling that fills you up. to be on a motorbike, your shoulders clad in a sweater that isn't yours, riding under the stars under the lucent light of the streetlights. it's blinding you think, how your heart beats with how tightly pressed you are against his back.

it wasn't supposed to be him picking you up. you had called harry, and somehow his dad was there, a few moments later. you were drunk, and similarity of their features had fogged you for a few moments. you'd successfully stopped yourself from hugging him like he was your best friend. he'd smiled at your dumb found expression, before his eyes raked over your figure, the skimpy dress upon your body. mid november, you stood, your arms wrapped tightly around yourself. he took of his sweater and made you wear it.

you remember yourself asking what he was doing with sirius' motorbike. you remember his grin while he elaborated his explanations, slowly so you could catch up,

'i'm learning how to ride one. and besides my car is at the mechanics. the broom wouldn't exactly be okay if i just carried it to a muggle bar, and well disapparating is really complicated when one is drunk.'

so that's how you ended up here, on the warm couch of james potter, exhaustion dripping of your body.

'hi,' you blink, as he appears with a bunch of things on a tray. he offers you a subtle smile, setting the tray on the coffee table. his hands cup your cheeks, while he makes sure you're watching him, and your subconscious is with the moment.

'hey, dove. i'll wipe your makeup off okay?' he asks, the question tearing off softly from his lips. you stare at his lips longer than you intended to, longer than it was appropriate,

'yeah, yeah,' you nod. his hands work with the packet of wipes, slowly rubbing the cleanser soaked sheet over your face, wiping off your unsettled makeup.

your mind swirls south. his hot breath is fanning over your face, hand holding your face in place while his tongue prods out from between his lips. you inch closer to him, your knees touching with his. you feel the edge of his nose almost touch yours and you shudder. it's a weird feeling of warmth that pools in your stomach when you think how his lips would taste against yours. you wonder how his strong hands would grip you, while he'd rut his cock into you. you wonder how his voice would sound while he'd whisper sensual words in your ears.

with utmost adoration, you look into his hazel eyes. the moonlight beams through the window, enlightening the softness of his eyes. you feel his breath hitch as you move closer to his face, tilting your neck. he gulps, his heart beating against his throat.

'we shouldn't do this...' he whispers. but he doesn't let go of your face.

'but i want to. i need you mr. potter, so bad,'

your world collapses. his lips entangle with yours, as he pulls you closer to his body. he ravages your mouth with his tongue, exploring every bit there is left untouched. he sucks on your teeth, bits on your lip, and caresses your body as if he's got it memorized, as if he's got you written across his mind. he kisses you as if you'd flee if he left you. he devours with his passion, consuming you whole.

you think he might kiss you till you're lips are blue. he tastes of cinnamon and oranges. you're breathless by the time he leaves you, with a little shake. he grunts, trying to scoot away from you, but the beauty of your swollen lips and disgruntled sighs leaving your mouth leaves him mesmerized.

'fuck,' he says. you raise an eyebrow, moving towards him. he stands up.

'what's wrong?'

'no...i don't think we should do this-this is wrong-'

'i need you, please, please have me,' you beg. he's standing against the wall, your hands wrapped around him, pushing him towards the wall behind him.

'no no, you're drunk,' he says. you bite your lip,

'i maybe drunk, but i want you. i wanted you sober, i want you drunk,' you insist. he looks down upon you, contemplating your words. your fingers reek over his chest, trailing up to his neck. your finger entangle with his curls, and you bring his face down.

'feel my cunt, it's so wet, just for you,' you mumble against his lips. his breath shudders. he takes a deep breath, inhaling in you. his hands arm around your hips, wrapping your legs aground his hips. he dives into your mouth, pushing away things strewn across the hall, taking you to his bedroom. his hand fumbles with the door, as he locks it.

he pushes you on his bed, his hands not fast enough to get rid of the dress you're wearing.

*****

it's maddening, the pace his tongue works on your clit. you're over the edge of the bed, your legs spread apart, his face buried into your pussy. filthy moans leave your mouth, as his tongue dives into your cunt, devouring you better than your wildest dreams could ever. you'd dreamt about his face buried between your thighs, while he ate you out and made you scream till your throat was raw.

'ple-please,' you beg, rutting your hips into his mouth. you feel him smile against you, the frame of his metal glasses cold against your hot skin. his finger circles over your clit,

'you taste so good sweetheart,' he croons. you numbly nod your head, fondling with your breasts.

'thank you,'

he shoves his finger inside your sopping cunt, diving his mouth between your legs again. he licks a stripe up your slit, curling his finger inside you as he sucks upon your sensitive bud. he swirls his tongue, spitting on your cunt, rhythmically moving his fingers. your breathing rate increases, stomach rising and falling as you feel the coil of orgasm build within your guts. your hand reaches his head full of curls, pushing his face closer to your dripping cunt. your thighs wrap around his head, and you scream.

'fuc-fuck i'm so close,'

he hums, the vibration sending chills down your spine. he increases the pace of his fingers, feeling your walls clench around him.

'oh fuck, fuck, thank you, thank you-' you slur, as your toes curl, and eyes roll backwards. your hips rise, and he growls,

'god cum on my tongue,'

you vigorously nod your head, moving your cunt against his splayed out tongue, letting your orgasm grip you. you release your juices on his tongue, and he devours you, lapping up every inch of your juices on his tongue.

'thank you, thank you, fuck, thank you,' you babble, mindlessly.

he stands up, his cock erect and huge in all its glory. he holds you by your neck, making you sit on your knees, the fabric of the carpet digging into your skin.

'now you're gonna return the favor won't you, love?' he whispers.

#james potter fluff #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter #marauders #james potter x reader #james potter imagine #marauders era #marauders headcanon #the marauders #james potter x you #james potter smut #james potter one shot #james potter fic #james potter x regulus black #marauders fanfiction #james potter fanfiction

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moonyswife · 10 months

Text

I heard a rumor….

from Inez

Remus Lupin x Fem!Reader

G: Fluff, jealous, irritable and oblivious Remus.

Warnings: NOT proofread, smoking, written late at night from an insomniac writer.

The dark winter sky was the only visible thing from the gryffindor common room, as the cold chased everybody inside, four best friends sprawled across cushions in front of the fireplace , trying desperately to get homework done, at least Remus was, his friends way to gossipy to get anything done, he has had enough of his friends fooling around, it seemed as if the world was ganging up on him, his friends were being annoying, homework was harder than ever, the full moon’s tomorrow, and you were out with some boy, at least that what was heard from some hufflepuff girl called Inez.

Huffing and groaning he got up, “What’s wrong, moons? Don’t you like that your girl may be snogging another boy?” Sirius laughs while mockingly pouting, James laughs, too loudly for Remus’s liking, still gathering his things “What’s wrong, pads? Can’t find anyone who likes you for more than just shagging?” Remus’s venomous tone surprised him even, James didn’t laugh, they just sat in awkward silence, it wasn’t strange for Remus to become more irritable as the full moon was incoming, that was somewhat understandable, they’re friends, they’ll put up with him and his attitude, but something else set him up this time, so they just let him leave, good, he needed to take a breather.

As Remus furiously left the common room, his mind was running, between his classes and his overbearing hidden need to overachieve, the way the full moon’s closing in, how his condition will always outrun him, the way his friends one day will get fed up with him, he’s too much anyways, his breath was staggering, he needed air, he needed to get out, but no matter where he’ll go, he knows he’s a liability.

The astronomy tower seemed like the perfect place for him to settle down, he walked in only to find out someone beat him to it, you were there, his heart did a flip and threatened with jumping out his mouth.

as he was about to leave you alone, you looked up, eyes meeting, Remus felt like fainting, all his emotional buildup was still persistent, but butterflies swarmed his stomach, “hi, Rem” “hi, y/n” “what’re you doing up here?” you asked eyes filled with curiosity, “Could ask you the same” he felt comfortable enough to sit down next to you, “I asked you first” fair enough. “Just needed a little bit of air, take a walk, this is the closest that I can get to the outside without freezing” he found himself letting out a long breath, “tough day?” “tough week, tough year, tough life apparently” she laughed, Merlin, her laugh, the ways her face looks when she does, absolutely beautiful, breathtaking.

They sat in comfortable silence, looking at the stars, hands nearly touching but neither of them was brave enough, Remus cleared his throat ready to break the silence “I heard you were going out with a Ravenclaw boy” he couldn’t help sounding bitter, “mmm, really? Who did you heard it from?” hope “Inez, well, Sirius, but he heard it from her in herbology, so it was just a rumor?” “Inez is so noisy, kind, but so annoying sometimes” she kept quiet, Remus didn’t push her to speak, “well, yeah, a ravenclaw boy sent me a note asking me out in charms, I said yes to not embarrass him in front of his friends, but afterwards I told him I couldn’t go out with him” a blush crept into her cheeks as she talked, Remus sweared that every time he looked at her he fell even harder, “why did you tell him you couldn’t?” Remus felt nosier than Inez and his friends, but he needed to know, “well…” she went shy all of a sudden, sigh “well ‘cause I like someone else, like a lot and I felt bad playing with his feelings”

Remus felt like throwing up, she likes another boy, all hopes are dead, as dead as he wishes he was, “you ok?” her sweet voice was music to his ear, “yeah, ‘m fine” “are you sure” “yeah, well, I should go, the guys are probably wondering where I am” bullshit, he needed to scream, to punch someone hopefully the guy she likes, as he was getting up she grabbed his hand, “please stay a little longer” she asked with teary eyes, “love, what’s wrong?” the pet name rolling of his tongue like a promise, “nothing just, I don’t want to be alone, but I don’t want to talk either, just… sit here, with you” her big eyes following her mouth pleading for him to stay and who was he to say no. He nodded sitting back down, putting his hand in her back, rubbing as she sobbed.

“It’s just, the boy I like” sob “probably doesn’t like me back” she takes a breath “ I like him a lot and he barely pays attention to me, always running out of a room when I enter” she was describing the dumbest guy Remus would ever know, “it’s ok, doll, he’s dumb, you’re the best that there is” me, I’m here, I love you, that’s all he wanted to say, but she’s down and sad, he wouldn’t take advantage, and he doesn’t know why his words make her cry harder, “I’m sorry, I don’t know what I did wrong” with her head in her hands she mumbled something incoherent, “what?” she gets up suddenly, “sorry, that was dumb, sorry for bothering you, rem, you’re a good guy, sorry again” she ran out so fast Remus could barely hear her last words.

Full of worry he went back to his common room, decided to not do his homework, he’ll blame it in the full moon, and as he laid down in his bed all he could think of was you, and breaking the nose of the guy that made you cry that way.

Laying in your bed the events of today replaying in your head, what else could’ve went wrong?

A nice guy asked you out, that’s great if you weren’t stupidly in love with your friend Remus Lupin, you got shy in front of his friends awaiting for your answer, so you said yes forgetting the fact that rumors travel fast at Hogwarts, especially with the noisy duo on Sirius and Inez.

All your friends went crazy, asking if you were finally over your silly crush, if you were really going out with another boy, wondering when and what’ll happen or what you’ll wear, you tried to tell them that in the end you turned him down, but to no avail, they wouldn’t listen, so like outside was freezing, you figured that the astronomy tower was the safest option of a santuary, before you could cry your eyes out, to add insult to injury, Remus Lupin seemed to think the same thoughts as you.

Everything would’ve been better if you had stuck to your comfortable silence, but nooo, he had to ask questions, how can he be so oblivious, that he was the guy, that you like him, you’ve kept sending him signals since two years ago during third year, and every time you try to stop and get over him he sends a small signal that maybe, hopefully, he feels the same, some hidden glances, small touches, meaningful smiles, all of this could be part of your friendship, but there’s something about them, just something that gives your heart hope, or maybe you’re delusional.

You ended up falling asleep on you wet pillow with tear stained cheeks.

03:17 AM

y/n woke up, she needed a air, she needed Remus, she needed sleep, she needed a smoke.

She settled for the cigarette solution, but she couldn’t open a window in her room without waking her roommates up. Walking down the stairs of the girls rooms to the common room she saw that a particular sandy haired boy has had again her same thoughts, but alas, this time he beat her to do it.

Blowing the cigarette smoke out the window Remus spotted her, with messy hair, mismatched socks, plaid red pants, a t shirt four times her size that looked like it belonged to a grampa, and looking as beautiful and gorgeous as ever, “hey, are you feeling better?” Rem whispered, scared someone could hear and ruin their peace, “hi, yes, I’m a bit better now, care to share? Just want a bit not the whole thing” ignoring the urge to run away, she decided that enough was enough, so what if he didn’t like her, he’s her friend, she’s not going to throw it out of the window because of her ego. “Yeah, sure,” Remus extended his arm to pass her the cig, hypnotized as she put it between her perfect lips took a drag, inhaled, watching her whole face take it in, eyes closed, eyebrows slightly furrowed, just the perfect sight, he also noticed her puffy red eyes and swollen lips, also the tip of her nose was a bit red, she’s been crying.

Smoking in silence, but compared to before, it was a bit awkward, “the guy, the one you like, who’s he?” She sighed “why do you want to know, Rem?” “To beat them up, I can tell you’ve been crying all night, that’s no good” y/n was getting fed up “are you really that oblivious, Remus Lupin?” wow first and last name, Remus knew she was mad, why? he had no idea, “what? What’s wrong?” she looked at him and god, how can he look so handsome and pretty and cute while being the biggest idiot known to mankind, “what’s wrong is that I can’t tell you the truth, it’s embarrassing” now he was even more confused “what? Wait you can tell me, you know I’ll never judge you” she put out the cigarette and looked at him then took a deep breath, “ well, the guy that I like, he’s my friend and I like him since forever, but since third year I’ve started sending him signals, like the I like you signals, but either he doesn’t like me like that or he’s very oblivious” Remus’s heart broke even more if that’s possible, maybe you liked James or Frank or Sirius that’d make everything worse, as she saw the gears working in his mind, she knew he wouldn’t get it “you know what’s worse” “what, love” the love made her want to tear her neck out, “he’s the smartest person I know, but when it comes to this, he apparently can’t put two an two together”

Remus’s mind was working harder than ever, which one of his friends was smart? “Oh” realization hit him, butterflies swarmed his stomach, was he dreaming, was she talking about him, “oh, indeed, I’m talking about you, Remus, all these years it’s been you”.

Remus Lupin fell to his knees.

“Are you serious, you like me?” “Don’t be mean, Rem, please don’t laugh at me.” “ love, I’m not laughing” he wasn’t but he was smiling like a fool, she was about to cry again, here she was confessing to him, and there he was laughing, “I’ve loved you ever since I saw you on the train, at the start of second year, with your braids and your cat, I love you now and I’ll love you forever” she was frozen, all this time he felt the same, she was grinning like an idiot now, falling in front of him bringing her hands to his cheeks caressing them. “Please, can I kiss you, doll?” “Remus, you can kiss me whenever and wherever you want”, his eyes were full of adoration as he leaned in, her hands on the back of his neck creeping up his hair, his hands sneaked into her waist grabbing firmly, he sat down pulling her into his lap, searching for more closeness.

“We’re idiots” she breathe breaking their kiss, “yeah, but we’re idiots in love” he said making their noses touch, once he had her he couldn’t get enough of her, and couldn’t stop kissing her, not that she complained, she felt like heaven was brought upon her when he kissed her, “I kiss can’t kiss believe kiss that kiss we kiss took kiss this kiss much kiss time kiss” “why don’t we take this to the couch, it’ll be more comfy” she said while kissing his neck, “.or we could go to my dorm, the guys are asleep, we can make out all night” all she had to do was nod to be picked up and brought to Remus’s bed.

James, Peter and especially Sirius had a great time in the morning when they found you in the same bed, by lunch Sirius and Inez had already made sure that all that was talked about was yours and Remus’s relationship and you couldn’t be happier to be finally together.

#remus lupin #remus lupin x you #remus x reader #remus lupin x reader #remus fluff #moonyswife

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hana-no-seiiki · 10 months

Text

yandere! aquamarine x reincarnated! reader x yandere! ruby blurb

warnings: yandere themes, spoilers(?) just don’t search up kamiki if you don’t want to know. rushed and unedited.

[ PART TWO ]

Much like the twins you, Saitou [Y/N], were born into the world with memories of your previous life intact. As their younger adoptive sibling from Miyako and an unknown male idol, you were pretty much under strict supervision since day one.

You preferred to keep your reincarnation a secret as you had no idea they were reborn like you. Thus, to them you were just a frail little child that needed protection.

Ruby didn’t know why she was so entranced by you, perhaps it was because you were just so adorable — so utterly irresistible with those huge, sparkly eyes — that despite her overflowing obsession with her mother at that time, she still had room to swoon over your plump cheeks. She was a face-con at heart after all.

Aqua didn’t really appreciate you much until the death of his mother and even then he was still a cold bastard. You could see the bloodlust in his eyes, the way it would darken when he would give into those emotions. You acknowledged his authority over you, and would always follow his instructions to a tee. You were the moon between two stars, a lonely and shy existence.

It was until you didn’t go through that he finally noticed your true brilliance.

Bartering.

The one benefit of being the moon was that you could easily hide behind the clouds to do whatever you want.

Throughout your teenage years you’d actually been performing in your school and other venues. You had even revealed yourself to previous friends and colleagues.

One such colleague, had an offer. You were to perform as an idol once again in his company, in exchange for a few favors, that is assistance to be provided to Komachi B in their promotions and Aqua’s in his search for his father.

At this point Ruby and Aqua were quite literally your second family.

And you had a feeling, a feeling that if you’d do this everything will be unveiled.

“Don’t look away — !” You sang the last line to the song you’d written for this moment.

The stage, it had been so long since you’d been on it yet it still felt like home. You see in your previous life you had breathed and lived through music. It was your air. Your reason and basis for life.

When Aqua and Ruby saw you perform it was as if explosives had gone through their head. Their eyes were glued to your movements and ears were peeled to your voice throughout the entire song. They had never seen you dance or sing before, they didn’t even know you could do so. But in that moment you looked you like you belonged under the spotlight. No, you were the spotlight.

What they thought was the moon was actually the brightest sun.

“Fantastic performance. As expected from the top of the international industry.” Your benefactor clapped. They’d seen you perform before a multitude of times but you never ceased to entice them with your stage presence.

“You flatter me.” You smiled, your eyes glowing as bright as the binary stars your stagename was chosen after. Your gaze flicking back and forth at those flowers they’d given and their face.

Sirius.

“Kamiki-san.”

[note]: will be expanded upon if asks are sent/if this gains enough traction lol.

[ PART 2 NOW OUT: CHECK IT ]

#yandere #yandere x reader #oshi no ko #oshi no ko x reader #yandere oshi no ko #aquamarine #ruby #yandere aquamarine x reader #aquamarine hoshino #ruby hoshino #yandere ruby hoshino #yandere aquamarine hoshino x reader #yandere x you #yandere ruby x reader #yandere idol

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inkdrinkerworld · 6 months

Note

wait :(( i particularly get so anxious on sundays bc i hate mondays so much and i shut down at least one time on sundays bc i don't like classes the next day :( but imagine sirius just sitting with you and calming you down (i usually cry when jt happens) and just making you feel better w the sweetest pet names and planning things to look forward to:( if not that's okay !! ilysm and ur writing is amazing !!! <3

Kinda made this autistic!reader x sirius black I hope you don’t mind

“Poppet, you’re gonna make yourself sick,” he says soothingly. Sirius is well versed in this dance: the Sunday scaries.

Every Sunday there’s an overwhelming feeling of being stuck, of your feet drying in tar and asphalt while the day moves on, zipping past you with near supersonic speeds.

This feeling of ‘am I going to be able to handle it?’ ‘Should I even bother?’ And then tears, tears that burn climbing up your throat and that makes your shoulders shake when they face down your cheeks and chin.

Sirius is currently holding you in his lap, one hand in your back and the other wiping the tears that collect in your chin.

“Hate that it makes you this nervous,” he murmurs, lips pressed into your cheek. “But if you keep up this level of upset you’re gonna get sick and that’ll make you feel worse.”

You nod, sniffling as you lay your sticky cheek to his bare chest.

Sirius had done your usual Sunday dance, washing the sheets, folding laundry, meal prepping breakfast and hoovering the living room and kitchen while you’d organized the cupboards, your books and everything else.

Now he’s got lavender oils in the diffuser and the bedroom lights are all off- save for your flower lamp on the bedside.

He’d even talked you into taking a soak in the bath to calm down.

It all helped till it didn’t and now you’re unable to sleep or settle down.

“Wanna watch the fruit thingy?” He asks, heart beating steadily beneath your ear. “The one that calms you down?”

“Can you do the moon one this time? And can you brew another chamomile tea?”

Your voice is scratchy from the tears and your red rimmed eyes and pouty lips has Sirius giving in with not a single tease of you requesting an ‘old lady’s brew.’

“Course poppet, sit pretty f’me in the mean time yeah?” He fiddles with the tv a bit before settling on the right video and then pops off to the kitchen.

When Sirius comes back you’re swaying in your spot on the bed, shoulders much more relaxed as you watch the stars and the moon move along the screen.

“Here, sweet girl,” he kisses the crown of your head as he passes over the tea cup. It’s not ten sips before you’re yawning and a lot more calm than you had been earlier. “S’all gonna be okay, m’love. Don’t worry.”

#siriusblack #sirius black #sirius black one shot #sirius black fanfiction #sirius black imagine #sirius black drabble #sirius black fluff #sirius black blurb #sirius black fic #sirius black x black!reader #sirius black x reader #sirius black x you #sirius black x yn #sirius black x y/n

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dearharriet · 2 months

Note

congrats on 150!! for your celebration can I please have 🫧 with sirius black + “oh, that’s new”? Maybe reader got a tattoo without telling him and he likes it

thank you for requesting! 🩷 (wc: 664)

Sirius can’t stop staring at you in the sauna towel you’re wearing. You’ve both been in for several minutes now, and you’re relaxing more and more into the wood bench. He’s not sure he’s ever seen your shoulders so far away from your ears, and he’s definitely never seen your hair pulled off your neck the way that it is.

It gives him too much skin to work with, visually speaking. You’re completely free and clear of any curtains, your skin sticky with dew, legs sprawling and bare. The two of you make a happy sight.

As the air thins down, you stretch up and ladle more water over the hot rocks. Sirius watches a bead of sweat race down the back of your neck with rapt attention. He loses sight of it when he spots your tattoo.

“Oh,” he breathes, a strange twisting in his chest, “that’s new, yeah?”

You hum breezily, pouring one more generous scoop onto the hissing stones before giving him your questioning eyes.

“What’s new?” Sirius brings a hand up to absently rub at his own bare nape, and you seem to catch his meaning, sweeping your fingers over it bashfully. “Oh, that. Yeah. You’ve seen it haven’t you?”

He shakes his head no. “When was this?”

“Umm,” you dally. “Like a week and some ago? I wasn’t really planning it at all.”

Sirius watches you carefully, perhaps reading a small bit too far into your rosy flush. The air in the steam room is thick and hot now, thanks to you, which could easily be the cause. Still, you’ve retreated from him slightly, holding your arms nervously over your torso.

“Can I see?” Sirius requests, beckoning you to his side of the room. You oblige him, standing and relocating to the spot on his right.

You face your back to him, pushing away nonexistent baby hairs to clear the view. Sirius tentatively takes your neck under his fingers, holding you still.

It’s worse up close, which is to say dangerous for his health. He can’t believe what he’s looking at.

“You got a star,” he says distantly, not quite trusting his voice to keep steady. A star.

Your head falls forward and Sirius marvels at the way your tattoo stretches, wraps tight over your vertebrae.

“Like I said, it was a spur-of-the-moment thing.”

“Yeah,” he breathes, “right.”

Reluctantly, Sirius peels himself away from you, returning stiffly to the cedar bench. His skin feels alive, thrumming with heat.

You settle back beside Sirius instead of returning to your bench.

“Is it what you hoped?” he asks, half to break the tension and half because he’d really like to know.

You nod, and Sirius’ eyes train down to the black shape again, unable to resist now that it’s right there.

“Yeah. I always wanted something for my neck, but I never could decide what.” You’re picking at your towel wrap awkwardly, sickly aware of Sirius’ hot gaze on you. You knew for a fact he hadn’t seen the tattoo yet, and you were almost dreading when he'd finally catch sight of it.

“I like it,” he says in passionate agreement. “I really, really like it.”

Your lips twitch into a smile, and you throw a sideways glance his way. “Yeah?” He nods avidly, and you release a relieved laugh. “I was hoping you would.”

“Can I see it one more time?” he asks. You laugh some more.

“Um, okay. Yeah.”

Sirius stares at the ink for another long minute, long enough for you to begin fidgeting with impatience.

“Yeah,” he concludes finally, “you’ll have to show this off more. Keep your hair up like this, maybe?”

Puffing in amusement, you peek over your shoulder shyly. “If you say so.”

“I say so,” he laughs. “I definitely say so.”

Stomach swooping with butterflies, you face forward again, trying to retain some semblance of composure.

“Well, okay then.” You sit back, relaxing some, milling in the warmth you feel inside and out.

thank you for reading! xx

masterlist

join the celebration!

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moonstruckme · 4 months

Note

i don’t really request so idk if this is where i should be asking but I wanted to know if you could do a Sirius x reader story where Sirius is trying to ask out or “woo” the reader but she is rarely noticed romantically and sort of confused and surprised by sirius genuinely liking her

You nailed it, babe! Thanks for requesting :)

cw: alcohol, mention of vomiting

Sirius Black x fem!reader ♡ 1k words

The smell of vomit has escaped the bathroom and is seeping out into the hallway. You scrunch your nose and try not to breathe. Or hear. Your friend is purging all the alcohol she’s drank over the last few hours with your other friend holding her hair and murmuring slurred but heartfelt encouragements, and because you’re a sympathetic puker you’ve been put on bathroom guard duty.

“Sorry,” you croak when another person comes up to you. “This one’s occupied. I think there’s another upstairs, though.”

“I’d really rather people not use that one,” he says. His voice is silky smooth. “Last time I allowed that, everything in my medicine cabinet had moved around the next morning.”

You blink. “This is your party.”

“I’m Sirius.” He gives you a smile and sticks out his hand for you to shake. His palm is cool against yours. There’s something disarmingly intense about his gaze, the way he holds yours the whole time you’re touching. “This party is one-third mine. I live here with my roommates.”

“Right, I—uh—” You try to reclaim control of your tongue. “I think one of my friends knows one of your—James?”

Sirius nods thoughtfully. “Seems likely. Is she in there?” He nods to the closed bathroom door.

You feel embarrassed at the scene now, though you’re not sure why. “Yeah. She’s helping my other friend, who’s, uh…having a rough time.”

He purses his lips. The movement accentuates his cheekbones, which you can’t help but notice are ridiculously striking already. They certainly don’t need the extra help. “Think either of them will go through my medicine cabinet?”

Your eyebrows bunch. “No. What?”

But he’s already knocking on the bathroom door, cracking it a tad. He brushes a piece of hair behind his ear as he bends at the waist to poke his head in. It’s a deep, impenetrable black which moves fluidly like dark water.

“Hi.” His voice softens as he addresses your friend. You imagine the situation probably looks dire. “She alright? It’s—no, it’s fine, babe, it happens. Would you like to use my bathroom? It’s a bit cleaner, more privacy. I mean, if you think you can make the journey?”

Someone must answer in the affirmative, because then Sirius is ushering them upstairs. You take up the rear, providing vocal but cautiously distant support and trying not to gag when your friend does.

“Well,” Sirius says, closing the door to his bedroom behind him, “that’s taken care of.”

“That was really nice of you,” you reply. “Thank you.”

“Oh, it was mostly selfish.” He grins, leaning over the banister to look down at the party. “See that broad-shouldered, smiley bloke in the middle of the couch, looks like he plays every sport known to man?”

You laugh and acknowledge that you do.

“That’s James. You can see, I’m sure, how it’d be fairly easy for him to shake me about by my ankles if I let his friend kneel on the dirty floor of our downstairs toilet. Plus, now I get to keep the general public away from my bathroom and you don’t have to look so green and uncomfortable at our party anymore. Everyone wins.” He turns his head to look at you, eyes twinkling. “But mostly me.”

Fuck, being in this guy’s presence is like being in a dark room with a shining star. You’re blinded by the sheer presence of him.

“Did I really look green and uncomfortable?” you ask him.

Sirius smiles like he’s trying to stop himself but not really. “I mean, you were obviously stunning regardless, but yes. You’re much improved now, though.” He nods downstairs. “Let me get you something to drink, doll.”

You’re concerned you might be actually reeling, but you manage to nod, and Sirius takes your suddenly warm and sweaty hand in his cool one, leading you down to the kitchen. You don’t know what’s happening, how it came to be happening to you of all people, but you’re more than willing to go along with it.

A girl named Marlene has requisitioned the party’s alcohol. She pours Sirius a gin and tonic, giving him a meaningful look and a smile when he turns to you to ask what you want and you squeak out “The same.” He hasn’t let go of your hand.

“So on a scale of want-to-leave-right-now to best-night-of-your-life, how good a time are you having?” he asks conversationally as he guides you into a loveseat.

You clear your throat, doing your best to act casual. The most gorgeous man you’ve ever seen is sitting right next to you, holding your hand and talking to you like you’re halfway interesting. This night is ranking pretty highly. “That’s quite the range.”

“Well, I want to allow for plenty of variance,” Sirius explains. “Earlier, you were standing outside our nastiest toilet and looking like you could be sick, so I might have interpreted that as a two and I’m hoping things have improved since then. What would you say?”

You smile into your cup, hoping the lighting hides your blush. “Definite improvement.”

“Really?” He grins, sparkling. You try not to swoon. “That’s excellent news.”

“Is it?”

“Of course. I want you to have a good time, gorgeous.”

Your heart does an odd, stuttering thing. You feel suddenly warmer. You wish any of that could be chalked up to the alcohol. If he keeps talking to you like this, you’re worried you’ll actually go into shock. These things don’t happen to you.

“Why?” you ask, dumbly, before you can stop yourself, because you’re an idiot.

“I mean,” Sirius swipes his hair behind his ear again, gaze dropping from yours for just a millisecond, “you might stay longer if you’re having a good time. I’ll take you for as long as I can get you.”

His eyes have found yours again, but they’re different. There’s less bluster behind them. You feel the beginnings of a slow, shy smile spreading across your face. He actually does like you. Somehow, realizing his nervousness lessens yours. Maybe you’re on equal footing here.

“I’m having a good time,” you tell him. “I want to stay.”

Sirius mirrors your smile, and his charm is back in full force, but this time you can see through some of the smugness. It feels like he’s let you in on some sort of secret. “Thrilled to hear it, doll. Want to dance with me?”

You find you really do.

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