Bellatrix x cis male reader who makes her laugh and makes things light-hearted when everything's too dark and heavy
Bellatrix Lestrange x Cis!Male!Reader ⟠843 words
SUMMARY ⟠When the world grows too dark and the war weighs too heavy, youâre the only one who can make her laugh.
WARNINGS ⟠N/A
NOTES ⟠1) I am so sorry for how long it took me to get this to you. Work has been incredibly busy and time-consuming, and Iâve just had no energy nor the mental capacity to focus on writing. 2) I wasnât quite sure how to specify the gender you requested, so Iâm sorry if it comes off as a bit clunky. 3) I hope you can enjoy this for what it is!
The corridors of the manor are quiet. Too quiet, in your opinion. The sort of quiet that presses against your ears until it feels like the house itself is listening. Shadows cling to the walls like loyal servants, stretching long in the dim candlelight.
Bellatrix stands at the end of the hall. She leans against the tall window, wand twirling lazily between her fingers as she stares out at the black gardens just beyond the glass. You immediately clock the tension in her posture. That restless energy of someone who has been wound too tightly for too long.
For a moment, you just watch her from the doorway. Admire the way her silhouette seems to blend in seamlessly against the frosted windows.
Most people would have turned around immediatelyâif they value their lives, that is. But you canât help but be drawn to her. You always have been.
You sigh softly and push off the wall. âDo you ever take a break from brooding?â you ask. âOr is this just part of the uniform now?â
Bellatrix doesnât turn around. She doesnât make any move to acknowledge your presence nor your words. But you know she hears you. She has a knack of hearing mostly anything that happens around her, even if itâs just in passing or from a few doors down. So you jam your hands into your trouser pockets and wait patiently.
Then finally, she speaks, the tone of her voice suggesting maybe she realizes you arenât just going to turn around and leave her to brood.
âYouâre very brave,â she says slowly, âor very stupid.â
âBoth, usually.â
This earns a small reaction. Just the faintest twitch at the corner of her mouth. A mere hint that her stoicism is capable of cracking. Itâs encouraging.
You step further into the room, unpocketing your hands to fold your arms across your chest. âIâm just saying, Bella. If someone walked in right now, theyâd think you were rehearsing for a tragic opera.â
Bellatrix turns then. Her dark eyes narrow at your masculine frame, painting her in that portrait of obscure intensity that everyone seems to know her for. With her fair skin stretched across delicate yet strong features and the dark curls dancing wildly around her head, you must admit she looks like a visionâaristocratic and dangerously feminine yet fierce and undoubtedly dangerous.
âA tragic opera?â she echoes, her lips curled into that familiar sneer.
âYes,â you confirm seriously. âAct One: dramatic staring into the distance. Act Two: monologue about betrayal. Act Threeââyour voice drops into a theatrical whisperââlightning strike. Possibly thunder.â
For a moment, she just stares at you. Then something unexpected happens. She laughs.
Itâs not the wild, manic cackle that people whisper about. Not the deranged giggles that send fear up their spines. Not the cruel laughter that follows a curse.
Itâs a real laugh. Short, sharp, and startled out of her like she doesnât mean to let it escape.
âWell,â she says after a moment, lips curling, âthat was terrible.â
You nod, your own mouth twitching. âThank you.â
âYouâd make an awful playwright.â
âI prefer âmisunderstood visionary.ââ
She studies you then. Really studies you. Most people canât hold her gaze for longer than a few tense seconds. Youâve long since learned the trick is just not to challenge her, but also not to fear her. You simply exist beside the storm.
And somehow, youâve learned, she seems to prefer that.
âYouâre an odd man,â she notes.
âHigh praise coming from you. Iâm flattered.â
âYou mock me.â
âOnly lightly.â
Her dark eyes gleam. âDangerous habit, Mr. (Y/N).â
You shrug. âSomeone has to remind you that the world hasnât completely collapsed yet.â
Her wand stills between her fingers. For a brief moment, the room feels different than before. Quieter and not quite as sharp.
âYou think things are⊠light-hearted?â Her question is uncharacteristically soft, but that mocking undertone grounds the moment.
âNot at all. Quite the opposite, actually,â you respond. âEverything is far too dark lately.â You gesture vaguely around the manor. âI just figure someone has to balance the scales somehow.â
She tilts her head and studies you with that curious, predatory interest she adopts when something puzzles her. âAnd you believe youâre that someone, do you?â
You shrug again. âIâm doing my best.â
Bellatrix steps closer.
Most people would back away. But you donât. You canât. Her presence is intense, like standing too close to a fireâbeautiful, lethal, and absolutely impossible to ignore.
âYou make jokes in the middle of war,â she murmurs.
âYou laugh at them,â you counter easily. âIâd say weâre both at fault.â
Youâre gifted another flicker of amusement.
Her smile is slow this time. âCareful, Mr. (Y/N),â she warns, leaning in just slightly. âIf you keep making me laugh like that, I might just decide to keep you.â
You grin. âSounds like a promotion, Madam Lestrange.â
For a second, she stares at you. Then she laughs again. And somehow, in a world drowning in darkness, the sound feels like a small rebellion.
Iâm looking forward to completing any requests you lovelies might have, but please see below for some guidelines:
⥠I am currently only writing âx Readerâ stories. In the future, I may be open to expanding into canon pairings, but not at this moment.
⥠You can see which characters and poly!pairings I will write for on my pinned masterlist.
⥠Anything I write will be intended for all characters to be at least 18 years of age, including characters who are canonically minors. It may not be explicitly stated in the content itself. But I will never write an underage character or pairing unless itâs a platonic relationship.
⥠I will generally default to a fem!reader in my stories out of habit, but I am more than happy to write for any gender if you clarify in the request.
⥠If you are requesting a prompt, please name the prompt list or link it in the ask. It will make it easier for me to find and also ensure that I am writing for the correct one.
⥠You can always check the status of my requests on the pinned masterlist. As of right now, I am keeping them open. But if that should change, it will be clarified.
⥠Iâll try to complete any and all requests as fast as I can, but I will never promise a timeline in which one will be answered. Work does take up the majority of my time and life will always find a way to interfere.
⥠I donât have any hard limits when it comes to writing. If something in a request makes me uncomfortable, I will politely decline and explain why.
⥠Lastly, donât be afraid to ask questions! If you are unsure or just want to double check about something, please message me. My inbox and DMs are always openâand this doesnât just apply to requests! Feel free to drop by with anything.
Poly!Marauders (minus Peter) x Reader ⟠1.2k words
SUMMARY ⟠One shared flat, four personalities, and absolutely zero peace.
WARNINGS ⟠Fem!Reader intended but no gender descriptions used.
NOTES ⟠N/A
The flat always feels the most like home in these moments when itâs too loud, too warm, and just a little bit ridiculous.
Late afternoon light spills in through the windows, catching on dust mites and half-forgotten clutter. Jamesâs scuffed trainers sit abandoned by the front door, the laces splayed like he simply evaporated out of them when he got home. Siriusâs leather jacket is slung haphazardly over the back of the sofa, one sleeve trailing onto the floor. The kettle is still warm, steam ghosting faintly into the air, and the herbal aroma of brewed tea lingers over everything.
Youâre curled up in the bay window, knees tucked to your chest, watching the chaos unfold with the quiet satisfaction of someone who knows this is exactly where theyâre meant to be.
James barrels out of the kitchen brandishing a wooden spoon like a weapon, his hair sticking up in a dozen directions. Sirius is right on his heels, wielding a cushion from one of the dining chairs with dramatic flair, laughter already breaking from his chest.
âGive it back!â Sirius demands. His voice echoes off the walls in a rumble of betrayal and delight.
James vaults over the arm of the sofa with reckless confidence in his escape.
âI made it!â he calls over his shoulder. âItâs my tea!â
âYou drank mine!â
âThat sounds like your problem!â
You snort softly, hugging your legs tighter as James nearly trips over the rug and Sirius skids to a halt, swearing creatively. Remus sits at the table across the room, a book open in front of him and reading glasses sitting low on his nose. He hasnât turned a page in several minutes, just as enthralled by the chaos as you.
âYâknow, you're just encouraging them,â he accuses mildly, his eyes still on the text.
You grin. âPretty sure theyâd still be like this even if I wasnât.â
Remus sighs fondly. âThatâs true.â
James finally skids to a stop in front of you. His chest is heaving, his face flushed with exertion and triumph. â(Y/N), sweet angel,â he breathes. âPlease tell him heâs being unreasonable.â
Sirius pops up behind him a moment later, his hair wild and eyes bright with mischief. âTell him heâs a bloody criminal.â
You open your mouth to answer, but Sirius darts forward unannounced, fingers pressing suddenly into your side. The sound that comes from you is entirely involuntary.
You squeal and twist sharply, laughter bubbling free before you can even process whatâs happening. Your balance shifts, leaving you to clutch at the frame to keep from tumbling off the still. Your pulse is quick and fluttery beneath your skin.
The room falls quiet. Like a groundbreaking revelation has just been brought to light.
Oh no.
James stares at you like heâs just witnessed a miracle. Sirius freezes mid-grin, offending fingers still hovering where they touched you. Across the room, Remus slowly lifts his gaze.
âOh,â Sirius says softly, dawning delight creeping into his voice. âOh. Thatâs interesting.â
Jamesâs lips part, mouth splitting into a grin. âDid you see that?â
âNo,â you deny quickly, heat rushing to your face. âNo, you didnât. That didnât happen.â
Sirius tests it againâbarely a touch, light as a feather against your side. You squeal again and jerk back, laughter spilling out of you unbidden. Breathless, helpless, completely exposed.
His grin turns feral. âMerlin, youâre ticklish.â
âI am not!â You scramble off the bay windowsill as James takes a step towards you. âI was just surprised!â
âSurprised,â James echoes, taking another step, and then another, already moving faster. âYet, youâre running.â
Panic sparks bright and sudden in your chest. You dart across the room, giggles bubbling up again as Sirius joins in the chase. Their footsteps pound against the floorboards behind you. United by a common target in the aftermath of their squabble.
âThis is a violation of flatmate trust!â You nimbly dodge around the coffee table.
âYou signed away your rights when you moved in with us, bunny!â Sirius volleys cheerfully.
You donât even thinkâyou just make a beeline for Remus, grabbing the front of his jumper and ducking behind him.
âRemmy,â you plead, pressing your face into his shoulder blade. âProtect me!â
Remus stiffens, startled, his arms lifting instinctively as if to steady you. âIâwhatâabsolutely not.â
James and Sirius stop short. They exchange a look so synchronized itâs genuinely unsettling.
âAh, she chose you,â Sirius says, delighted.
James clutches his chest. âThatâs adorable.â
Remus exhales slowly. His eyes close for a brief moment as you cling tighter, your fingers curled desperately into the soft wool of his jumperâthe very one you knitted him for his birthday.
âYouâre all impossible,â he sighs fondly.
You peek around him. âYou wonât let them near me, right, Remmy?â
He hesitates. Itâs just for a fraction of a second, but you feel it immediately.
âOh, no,â you whisper. âRemus, donât you dare.â
âIâm merely saying,â he starts calmly, âthat if you just admitââ
Sirius lunges.
Remus yelps as fingers jab into his side. The sound is sharp, startled, and entirely unguarded. He jerks away, the book tumbling from his lap as choked laughter bursts free despite his obvious attempt to suppress it.
Jamesâs eyes go wide with fiendish joy. âMoony?!â
Remus flushes, mortified, trying to recover his composure. But Sirius, completely thrilled, does it again. This time, Remus actually laughs, breathless and helpless. His shoulders curl inward to try and cut it short.
âOh my God,â you gasp, giggles reigniting as you watch. âYouâre ticklish, too!â
James looks between the two of you like heâs just won the lotteryâand then he grins at Sirius. âWeâre unstoppable, Pads.â
The flat descends into absolute chaos.
James abandons Remus only to scoop you up around the waist, spinning you away from your shield as Sirius resumes his assault on Remus with gleeful abandon. You shriek as your feet leave the floor, uncontrollable laughter tearing from you.
âBetrayal!â you wheeze.
James laughs into your shoulder, nearly dropping you as he stumbles towards the couch. âYou started it!â
He deposits you unceremoniously onto the cushions. You barely have time to catch your breath before he dives in beside you. His hands are everywhere all at once, fingers tickling your sides and ribs without mercy.
Youâre goneâgiggles loud and breathless, body curling in on itself uselessly, tears pricking at your eyes.
âI hate you!â you gasp between laughs.
James just grins, glasses sliding down his nose. âNo, you donât, angel.â
Across the room, Remus finally escapes. He straightens his jumper in an attempt to regain dignityâonly for Sirius to reach out and prod his side again.
Remus yelps again, and you lose it completely.
Sirius lunges for the couch and collapses beside James, laughing just as hard as he drapes himself across his side. He presses an affectionate kiss to his cheek. James kisses him back without hesitation, wrapping an arm around his waist.
Then, eventually, mercifully, the tickling stops. You lie boneless on the sofa, your chest heaving, cheeks flushed and aching from smiling too much.
Remus sits beside you. He draws you tenderly into his side, fingers smoothing your hair back with quiet care. âYou all right, dove?â
You nod, still giggling as you say, âIâm never trusting any of you ever again.â
Remusâs smile is soft and fond as he presses a kiss to your temple. âYou will.â
âGroup cuddle!â Sirius calls as he throws himself across both of you. âMandatoryâyes, that includes you, Moons.â
James follows immediately after, sprawling on top of the pile with absolutely no regard for personal space.
saw this being debated and just wanted to talk about it too.
"is it rude if I politely ask a writer if they use ai or chatgpt on their works because I'm almost certain they do?"
yes, it is rude. no matter how polite you are being when you ask them this.
you say you are almost certain. so you are not absolutely certain.
unless you are absolutely, undoubtedly certain â with actual proof â that their writing is ai generated, never ever ask an artist if their work is ai generated.
I know several writers who would stop writing and delete all of their works if they were ever accused of using ai. so it doesn't matter if you are polite when you ask them this, you are suggesting that their works are ai generated, that they didn't create the works they could have spent hours, days, weeks, months or years working on.
ai and chatgpt are trained on real humans' works, they are trained to mimic the way real humans write. so if you say a genuine writer's work "looks ai", I'm gonna have to ask you what you think ai was trained on.
a writer whose English isn't their first language may also write in a way that "looks ai" to some, if they write in English and have to rely on translator.
using em dash isn't a sign of ai. I do it all the time. my fellow writers all love em dash.
having long paragraphs with "overly described scenes" isn't a sign of ai. I do it all the time, and so do my fellow writers.
all the "ai signs" are actually just what most writers actually do. they get mistaken for "ai signs" because sometimes the way writers write or describe a scene in a fanfic or an original work is different than the way people talk or text. because they're writing a fic and describing a scene, not chatting with a friend. the way I talk is different than the way I write my fics.
if you suspect a work was ai generated, but are not 100% sure, you can always just stop reading said work without saying anything.
if someone does use ai to write, they will either a.) deny and continue using ai to write or b.) admit because they see nothing wrong with it and continue using ai to write.
if a genuine writer was wrongly accused of using ai, they may stop writing altogether.
asking a writer if they use ai or chatgpt to write will always do more harm than good. witch hunting will always do more harm than good.
you are not "fighting against ai" by throwing around such accusations. you are harming genuine writers and artists.
all of the fanfic writers, whom I personally know, say the same thing that they would feel discouraged and might delete all their works if they were asked this.
itâs not âhey do you like x or yâ question. itâs a subtle implication that your work looks like it was written by a robot within a minute. if you personally donât find that offensive, thatâs cool. but I know a lot of writers do. and they have the rights to be discouraged by it.
also we are talking about fanfic writers who write as their hobby, getaway or safe place, writers whose works you read for free. not writers who sell their works and are making profit from what they write. fanfic writers donât owe you anything.
This just came across my dash. I'm going to be blunt.
Asking a writer or artist if they âuse AIâ is an accusation, no matter how you dress it up. Itâs not neutral. It implies you think their effort, style, or voice is artificial. It implies that their human work doesnât look human enough for you.
You donât protect the community by policing people who are actually creating from scratch. You protect it by supporting human creators, reporting confirmed AI misuse when thereâs evidence, and learning the difference between this sounds different than what Iâd write and this is machine-generated.
Writersâespecially fanfic authorsâalready pour their time, emotion, and identity into what they share for free. They donât owe anyone proof of authenticity on top of that. And if your question makes someone want to quit writing, itâs not protecting the community. Itâs shrinking it.
If youâre not 100% sure, just scroll. AI ethics donât need to turn into public inquisition season.
It doesnât matter how you phrase it. The question itself is a criticism on the authorâs writing style. It suggests their content isnât human enough for regular consumption.
And that is 100% an insult.
We need to keep in mind that AI is constantly adapting to sound more human. It learns from the content we produce. Thatâs why it is becoming much more difficult to distinguish between human production and something that is spit out by a machine.
I periodically put my own work through AI checkers just out of morbid curiosity. Do you understand how often it will result as being anywhere from 40% to 80% AI? Nearly every time. Do you know how much of my work is actually AI-generated? Absolutely none. I use AI for help with titles or summariesânever for the content itself.
Just because something is written differently than you would write it or described in a way you wouldnât necessarily relay in a verbal conversation does not mean it wasnât written by a human.
So unless you have concrete evidenceâwhich is virtually impossibleâthat a writer is using AI to generate their stories, you should not throw around the accusation. That is a sure-fire way to discourage writers from sharing their content and chase away the ones who already have.
Poly!Marauders (minus Peter) x Fem!Reader ⟠1.2k words
SUMMARY ⟠A stubborn head cold is no match against your partners.
WARNINGS ⟠Bit of a bratty!reader. Casual dominance. Mentions of illness.
NOTES ⟠This is just a simple experiment. Iâm trying to improve my capability of weaving in multiple characters for poly!relationships.
You know you shouldnât be out of bed, but thereâs a layer of dust on the floors that needs desperately to be swept.
That thought has been circling your head for the last ten minutesâright alongside the pressure throbbing behind your eyes, the congestion clogging your sinuses, the way every breath feels thicker than it should. But knowing you shouldnât doesnât stop you from grabbing the broom.
Chores donât pause themselves just because youâre not feeling well. The house just feels wrong when itâs not clean, and sitting still or lying down, especially when thereâs work to be done, just makes you feel worse.
You coughâdeep, wet, painfulâand pause just long enough to steady yourself against the counter. The room behind you falls quiet. Not an empty silence, but a focused one. You feel the shift long before you hear it.
âSheâs sweeping,â Sirius says.
Damn it.
You close your eyes for a moment before turning slowly. All three of them are watching you like youâve just admitted to committing a crime. James stands near the doorway, tea abandoned lonesomely on the table to grow cold, concern written plainly across his face. Remus leans against the wall with his arms folded loosely over his chest, his expression calm in that terrifyingly patient way of his. Sirius is closest to youâtoo closeâhis eyes sharp and jaw tight.
Your hands readjust their grip on the broom handle. âI was just finishing up,â you rasp, your voice scratching its way from your throat. âItâll only take like, two minutes.â
Remus sighs. âStop.â
You ignore him and continue sweeping.
James steps forward and places his foot gently over the bristles, halting the broom mid-motion. He doesnât rush you. Doesnât yank it away. He just looks at you.
âThatâs enough, love,â he says quietly.
Your throat tightens. âI donât understand why youâre all acting like Iâm dying,â you snap. âItâs just a head cold.â
On cue, youâre thrown into another coughing fit. Your chest rattles hoarsely with each attempt to expel the congestion. You bow forward without meaning to as you struggle to catch your ragged breath.
Siriusâs hand immediately steadies your back, grounding, holding you upright until the wave passes. He keeps it there even after you straighten back up.
âYou have a fever,â he says plainly. Calm. Flat. Certain.
âAnd?â You sniff harshly through your clogged nose. âI can still do things.â
Remus pushes off the wall and comes closer. âNo one is saying youâre incapable, dove,â he says evenly. âWeâre saying youâre sick and should rest.â
James reaches for the broom. You hold onto it for half a second longer than necessary. A stubborn reflex more than intention.
âLet go,â he instructs gently.
You do, but not without a scowl. Arms folding tight across your chest. You hate when they do this. Hate the feeling of being watched. Of feeling weak.
More than that, you hate that part of you actually wants them to stop you.
Sirius exhales sharply and runs a hand through his hair. âYouâve been ill for two days, bunny. Two,â he tells you. âAnd youâre still trying to scrub floors like the place will collapse without you.â
âI donât like sitting around when there are still things to do.â
âAnd I donât like watching you make yourself worse.â
Siriusâs words land harder than the others. Theyâre not loud or cruel, but theyâre edged with a genuine frustration that ices the air. The room stills, and you feel yourself shrink just a little underneath their weight, guilt prickling behind your ribs.
He notices immediately.
The tension in his shoulders loosens just a bit, and his voice lowers. âThat came out sharper than I meant,â he says. âBut I meant what I said. Youâre gonna run yourself ragged if you donât let yourself rest.â
Remus steps in smoothly, reclaiming control of the moment. âHere are the expectations,â he says calmly. âYou are done with housework. You are going to bed, and you are staying there. No arguments.â
âAnd if I donât?â you challenge, even though your voice is thicker now. Resigned and tired.
James answers without hesitation. âThen weâll stop you.â
âEvery time,â Sirius adds, softer now but no less firm. âAs many times as it takes.â
You huff, your shoulders tight, and reluctantly let them guide you down the hall. Resentment simmers under the exhaustion as you drag your feet.
âI could at least wipe the table,â you mutter.
âNo,â Remus objects immediately.
âBut I couldââ
âNo,â Sirius repeats, firmer.
By the time you shuffle to the bed, youâre scowling in full. You plop down onto the mattress and cross your arms, glaring at the wall like itâs personally offended you.
James pulls the blankets back and tucks them around you anyway. âYouâre allowed to be annoyed, love,â he says gently. âYouâre not allowed to ignore us.â
Remus passes you a mug. The steam curls up towards your face, soothing and herbal. You squint at it.
âDrink,â he instructs.
Your scowl deepens as you take it reluctantly, suspicious even as you sip. It tastes warm. Comforting. Slightly bitter under the honey.
Halfway through, you pause.
âYou put something in this,â you accuse.
âI did,â Remus admits.
Your eyes narrow. âYou drugged me?â
James snorts. âMerlin, (Y/N). Of course not.â
Remus meets your gaze steadily. âItâs just a mild sleeping draught mixed with something for congestion,â he explains calmly, like you didnât just accuse him of chemical restraint. âYouâre ill, dove. Your body needs rest.â
Despite yourself, you swallow another mouthfulâand realize, with mild betrayal, that your limbs are already starting to feel a touch heavier.
âThatâs not fair,â you mutter.
Sirius settles beside you and gently pulls you back against his chest. His arm wraps around your waist in a way that leaves no room for escape but offers plenty of comfort. You canât help but lean into it.
âGood girl.â He punctuates his murmur with a kiss to your temple. âThank you for drinking it for us, bunny.â
Your irritation flickers and then softens under the praise. Heat blooms in your chest.
James brushes your hair back from your warming face. âYouâre doing exactly as we asked,â he says softly. âEven though you donât like it.â
âAnd we notice,â Remus adds. âWe appreciate it.â
You sniff as the annoyance dims into something sleepier. âI feel useless.â
Sirius tightens his arm just slightly. âYouâre resting,â he counters. âThatâs your only job tonight.â
âAnd youâre doing it very well.â James kisses your forehead.
The medicine is starting to settle in your system properly now. Itâs pulling you down, your resistance blurring at the edges. Your eyes are getting harder to reopen after you blink.
âI still donât like it.â
Remus presses a kiss to the top of your head. âYou donât have to like it, dove.â
Sirius smiles faintly. âYou just have to stay.â
A deep sigh pushes past your lips. You finally let yourself sink into the bed. Into them.
âOkay,â you huff. âFine.â
âGood girl,â Remus hums.
The lights dim. Jamesâs hand lingers warmly at your shoulder. Sirius stays solid behind you.
And even though a part of you is still sulking, you donât try to get up again.
I lowkey feel that Iâm the only one who likes tomarry/soul seeker with female Harry Potter đđđ I read so much wolfstar and m/m soul seeker that I just got tired, I really need some good fics with femharry
NOTES ⟠To be honest, this was inspired by an episode of American Dad. It also inspired me to create THIS aesthetic. Iâm also considering maybe turning this into a mini-series (like a series of one-shots), so please let me know if thatâs something youâd be interested in.
Music swells through the ballroom. Strings and champagne bubbles and the soft rustle of money brushing against silk. Crystal chandeliers scatter light like fractured stars, and everyone there is pretending they arenât exactly who they areâcriminals with better tailoring, saints with blood on their hands, and governments wearing tuxedos.
They say the safest place to hide a secret is somewhere loud.
You belong thereâand thatâs the problem.
The flash drive rests warmly against your thigh, secured inside a slit sewn into your dress by hands steadier than most surgeonsâ. Matte black and unmarked, worth more than the GDP of several small countries. It all depends on who you sell it to, and who youâre willing to ruin along the way.
Youâre debating leaving early when you feel it. That shift in the room. The tightening of the air.
Predators always know when another one encroaches on their territory.
You donât turn immediately. That would be too obvious. Instead, you finish your champagne and set the flute down with deliberate care. Then you smile at your reflection in the mirrored column beside you. Red lipstick and calm eyesâa woman who looks as though she belongs to a list of benefactors rather than a watchlist.
âStill favoring exits,â a familiar voice comments behind you. Soft. Mild. British. Like a wise professor gently correcting an error.
You close your eyes for half a second.
Of course.
Remus Lupin doesnât announce himself. He never has. He simply exists near you one moment, and then your world rearranges itself around the fact.
âI like to know my options,â you reply, turning at last. âSome habits die hard.â
Heâs dressed in all black tonightâtailored suit, charcoal shirt, no tie. Itâs giving less gala and more funeral. His hair is a little longer than the last time you saw him, curling just enough at the temples to look careless if you didnât know any better. But his face is still unfairly kind. All soft lines and tired eyes.
The most dangerous men always look apologetic about it.
âGood evening,â he greets, as though weâre merely strangers meeting by chance. Then, he adds quieter, for your ears alone, âYou look expensive.â
You lift a brow. âYou look like youâre about to steal something.â
The corner of his mouth twitches. âOccupational hazard. Iâm sure youâre quite familiar.â
You study each other. The years between you flicker in the silent pause. Burned aliases, near misses, and bodies neither of you ever talk about. Youâve crossed paths a total of three times before, always orbiting the same catastrophes without colliding. A weapons broker in Prague. A data leak in Lisbon. A man in Berlin who didnât live long enough to regret either of you.
âYou shouldnât be here, (Y/N),â he says lightly.
âAnd yet,â you gesture around you, âI was invited.â
âThat makes it worse.â
You smile. âYou always were bad at parties, Lupin.â
He sighs through his nose. Something like fondness ghosts across the scars stretching over his face. It irritates you how real it feels.
A waiter passes. Remus plucks two glasses from the tray and offers one to you. You take it without hesitation. Poison is so gauche these daysâeven he has more class than that old trick.
âTo old acquaintances,â he murmurs.
âTo unfinished business,â you counter.
You both drink.
He watches your throat when you swallow. Not hungrily, but with calculation. As if measuring how close he needs to get.
âI hear youâve been busy,â he notes. âNew syndicate. New name. New rules.â
âPeople evolve.â
âVillains rebrand,â he corrects gently.
You lean in just enough for your perfume to reach him. Something dark and resinous. âCareful, Remus. Youâre blurring the line between agent and judge.â
His eyes flicker. âThere is no line with you, (Y/N).â
Ah. There it is.
The truth beneath the banter.
The music shifts into something slower. Deliberate. Smooth. Couples begin drifting towards the center of the floor like moths.
Remus glances at it, then back at you. âDance with me.â
Itâs not a request.
You laugh softly. âYouâre bold tonight.â
âI donât get many chances with you.â
âThatâs because you keep trying to arrest me.â
âI prefer stop you before you hurt someone.â He offers his hand.
You place your palm in his. âAnd yet,â you muse, âhere we are.â
His hand is warm. Steady. Too familiar.
You move onto the dance floor. Your bodies align with an ease that makes your spine prickle. He guides you with subtle pressure, his touch respectfulâalmost chasteâbut every step is a negotiation of space. Of intent.
âYouâre after something,â you say casually, resting your hand on his shoulder.
He hums. âAlways.â
âCare to tell me what?â
He leans closer, lips brushing near your ear. âIf I told you, sweetheart, youâd move it.â
âI already have.â
His breath hitches. Just a fraction. You file it away.
âYou always do,â he says.
His hand slides lower to rest at your waist. You feel it thenâthe test. The brush of his fingers against the curve, searching seams and gauging reactions. A lesser man would already be patting you down. But Remus Lupin understands the art of consent even when lying through his teeth.
âYou know,â you murmur, âif you wanted to search me, you couldâve just asked.â
âI did,â he replies. âI asked you to dance.â
You laugh again, genuine this time. âYouâre insufferable, Agent Lupin.â
âAnd youâre stalling, Miss (Y/N).â
The two of you soon. Light fractures around you. For a moment, you look just like any other couple in the ballroom. Beautiful, dangerous.
Pretending.
âWhy this file?â he asks quietly. âYouâve never been sentimental.â
âNeither are you.â You lift a brow, the corner of your mouth twitching. âYet here you are, chasing ghosts.â
His jaw tightens. âPeople will die if you release it.â
âPeople already did to create it.â
You lock eyes. The dance slows.
âYou could walk away,â he offers. âGive it to me. Iâll make sure it disappears.â
You tilt your head. âYouâre lying.â
âYes,â he admits. âBut for a good reason.â
You smile sadly. âThatâs the problem with you, Remus. You still believe in good.â
His hand slips, precisely and expertly, towards your thigh. For a moment, you let him think heâs won. Then he feels the absence before he registers the truth.
His fingers still against your skin.
You lean in, painted lips brushing his ear. âCheck your jacket.â
You pull back just as the music ends.â
Applause ripples through the room. Couples separate. Remus reaches into his inner pockets. You watch his expression shift from confusion to understanding.
The flash drive is there. But itâs not the flash drive. Itâs just a decoy.
Identical weight. Identical shell. Empty as a promise from a government agency.
âYou taught me that trick,â you say softly. âBerlin. Remember?â
He closes his eyes for a moment. When he opens them again, thereâs no anger. Just resignation.
âYouâre getting better,â he says.
âSo are you,â you reply. âYou almost had me this time.â
You stand there, inches apart, as the world roars back to life around you.
âWill I see you again?â he asks.
You step back, already fading into the crowd. âThat depends.â
âOn what?â
âOn whether you stop chasing me,â you say over your shoulder.
He watches you go, eyes sharp and thoughtful.
You donât look back when you slip out through the service corridor, your heels silent on the marble. The real drive rests cool and secure against your skin.
Remus Lupin will regroup. Reframe. Tell himself this isnât personal. But heâs wrong. It always has been.
NOTES ⟠Iâm not going to lieâthe only reason I kept this as a drabble is because I couldnât figure out how I wanted to continue or end it. But Iâm still relatively pleased with what Iâve managed.
You sink deeper into Remusâs lap. The creaky, old armchair envelops you both like a secret cocoon. The fire has long since died down to glowing embers, casting a soft, intimate light over the empty space, but the true heat comes from Remusâs body pressed against yoursâsolid, warm, and unyielding.
His arms wrap around your waist with a gentle firmness. One hand slides up your thigh to push your skirt aside, calloused fingers ghosting over the damp fabric of your panties.
âThatâs my good girl,â he murmurs softly into your ear, his voice a soothing rumble that makes your core clench. âSitting so pretty for me, arenât you, dove? Câmon, show me how much you need this.â
You nod breathlessly. Your hips roll subtly over the hard outline of his cock straining through his trousers. Remus chuckles lowly, his free hand catching your chin to tilt your head back against his shoulder, exposing your throat for a trail of soft, open-mouthed kisses. Heâs always like thisâgently dominant, guiding you with tender commands that leave no room for doubt.
He shushes you reverently, fingers finally dipping beneath your panties. âIâve got you, dove,â he whispers as he circles your throbbing clit with agonizing slowness. âYouâre gonna take what I give you, yeah? Nice and slow.â
Sirius paces the room like a storm waiting to break. His grey eyes are locked in on the way you melt into Remus, focused on your soft whimpers filling the air. The sight drives him mad. His girlâtheir girlâgrinding shamelessly on Remusâs lap. He canât take it anymore.
In a flash, heâs towering over you. His hand fists your hair with a deliberate yank that arches your back further, pulling a sharp gasp from your lips.
âFuck, look at you,â he groans, his voice dripping with raw hunger as he crashes his mouth onto yours.
The kiss is filthyâwet, messy, his tongue plunging deep and fucking your mouth in sloppy, demanding thrusts that leave saliva dripping down your chin. You moan against his lips, your body trembling as Remusâs fingers work you quicker. Sirius doesnât let up, his grip on your hair tightening just enough to sting.
He breaks away with a wet smack, eyes blazing as he watches you squirm. âNeedy little bunny, arenât you?â he coos, using his thumb to smear the mess across your swollen lips. âGrinding on Moonyâs cock like a desperate slut. Just begging to be stuffed full, hmm? You think you can tease us like this without getting ruined?â
Remusâs hand stills against your slicked cunt, drawing a pathetic whine from you, but he shushes you gently, securing his arm around your waist. âEasy, dove,â he murmurs, the effortless authority lacing through his velvet-soft tone. âPads is rightâyouâve been such a tease tonight. But youâre going to be good for your daddies now, arenât you, sweet girl? Up.â
He taps your hip twice, and you obey without thought, lifting up slightly. Remus makes quick work of freeing his cock from his trousersâthick, veined, already leaking at the tip. He guides you back down slowly, inch by inch, until heâs buried to the hilt inside of your dripping cunt.
âOh, fuck,â you gasp as he stretches you perfectly, your walls fluttering against the exquisite burn as he holds you still. He doesnât thrust yet, doesnât move. He just fills you up.
Itâs torture and bliss all at once.
His cock twitches inside of you while he whispers praises that nearly undo you right there. âThatâs it, sweet girl,â he murmurs, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. âJust sit pretty and take me. Feel how deep I am? Youâre doing so well, dove. Clenching around me like you were made for this.â
Sirius watches with heated fascination, his hand still tangled in your hair as you adjust to the feeling. âGods, youâre soaked, arenât you? Dripping all over Remusâs cock like the greedy little girl you are,â he taunts, his free hand shoving down to palm himself through his trousers. âBet you want me to fuck your mouth while he stretches that tight little pussy, hmm? Make you choke on my cum while Moony breeds you deep.â
Remusâs hips thrust up once, gently, sending a jolt through you. A gasp pushes past your lips before it dissolves into a whimper of their names, a desperate plea. He keeps the pace slow and controlled in spite of your growing need. His hand returns to your clit, rubbing in firm, loving circles that have you keening.
âListen to him, pretty girl,â he encourages, nipping at your shoulder tenderly. âHeâs gonna make you beg for it. But first, youâre gonna cum for usâjust like this, warming Daddyâs cock until youâre shaking.â
Sirius tugs your hair again to force you to meet his eyes. He leans in closer, his breath warm against your flushed face. âYeah, beg for it, bunny. Tell Daddy how bad you need us to wreck this pretty little cuntâfuck you until youâre stuffed full of our cum.â
His filthy words ignite you. Your cunt clenches desperately, hips fighting Remusâs hold to grind down harder, your body chasing the edge as their combined touches and taunts push you toward oblivion.
The pleasure coils tighter and tighter. Heat simmers in your lower abdomen, swelling until it burns. Tears prickle your eyes along your lashes as your lips part in staggered gasps.
âCâmon, dove,â Remus coos, pinching your clit gently but deliberately. âLet go for Daddy. Show us what a good girl you are.â
And with that, the coil shatters.
Your orgasm crashes over you in shuddering waves. Clear slick drips from your cunt as you clench around Remusâs cock. Sirius slots his mouth over yours in another brutal kiss that swallows your cries.
