You’re in love with Spencer from the minute he gets you in his bed. [4k]
c: fem/afab. smut mdni, p in v sex, oral, fluff, aftercare, early intense feelings, spencer in sweetheart mode, flirting.
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It’s a cold day in November when you see him across the bar. He’s sitting at a table of friends drinking from a tall glass of coke. He’s normal. Non-imposing, undeniably cute, laughing with a smile that shows his teeth. His tie is to his belt and his suit jacket’s been thrown over the back of the chair.
He looks like he might have fun with you, if you can catch his attention. Something about him seems… eager to please.
You watch him, and you watch his friend. He seems more your usual type, muscled, confident. He’s the key. You let your gaze linger on the curly-haired boy until the friend glances your way. You give him a look. Hey, who’s your friend?
You look away once you see an arm rise. There’s elbowing, arguing. You sit relaxed at the bar and twists your straw through cherry spritz, ice cubes tinkling. After a minute you think, Oh, come on. After two you worry you aren’t his type.
Then comes salvation. The curly haired boy slots between your seat and the next, beckoning the bartender forward with a nearly perfect, “Excuse me?”
“Right there with you.”
You wait. He seems cute, but you’re not trying to take him home if he doesn’t have the chops for it. And not because you see yourself as some deadly thing to be pleased, but you can’t spend another night fluffing someone else’s feathers.
“Hey,” he says finally, surprisingly without the nerves you’d read before. He must’ve breathed through them. “How’s it going?”
You lift your gaze from the dark purple of your spritz. The first thing you notice are the beauty marks you couldn’t see before, along his cheeks and hiding among a light shadow of stubble. “Hi, handsome,” you say softly. You can’t imagine him liking a firm touch, but that might become more apparent later on. “Nothing’s going on, I suppose I was just waiting for you.”
“Yeah?” he asks.
“Mm-hm.”
He puts one arm on the bar. You let your eyes dawdle on his hand. “Are you here alone?”
“I was with a friend,” you confess, lifting your gaze to his, making steady eye contact for as long as he’ll allow you to. His gaze flits to your mouth as you continue. “But she met somebody. I was told not to wait up.”
“So you’re in need of company?”
You tip your head to give him the best glance at you, all eyes and gentle smiles as you nod. “Would that be you?”
“What are you drinking?”
“Cherry spritzer.”
“Can I buy you another one?”
“Just one, please.” You believe in the overarching reach of sexuality, of being with someone, but you don’t believe in drinking and sex, nor allowing a man to pave the way. “This is my first. If I have more than that I’ll be too tipsy to do what I want tonight.”
“What’s that?” he asks.
You tap your nose. The boy —the man— to your delight, seems to like the gesture very much.
The bartender approaches. Your unknown, lovely looking man asks for a coke and a cherry spritzer, extra cherries, though you didn’t tell him too. He nods to your little plate of cherry stems and asks, “Can you tie a knot?” But before you can answer, he adds, “I’m good at it.”
Spencer proves to be good at a few things. Kissing, touching, his face in sweet places and his spit-wet thumb to a nerve. One moment you’re sitting at the bar wondering if he’ll take you home and the next you’re taking a taxi, you’re lying in his bed being stripped of your stockings, being laid on top of. You didn’t know he had it in him, this sweaty, adoring kissing in the dark; there’s a difference between kissing for hunger’s sake and kissing with love, and for some strange reason Spencer doesn’t seem to know the difference.
“Have we met before?” you ask, the ache between your legs sharper than ever as his hand flirts with the boundary of your stomach and the apex of you, begging to go back there and prolong what he’d started.
“No.” His lips are on your neck, kissing as he slips a finger behind your ear. “I’d remember.”
His chest pushes into yours again, triggering a breathy gasp as the button of your nipple takes the brunt of him. He turns your face, that flirting hand abandoning your wanting cunt to squeeze at your sides, your ribs, the soft hill of your breast.
“Do you wanna cum again?” he asks softly. The best part is that he’s earnest, not a second of bravado in it as he lays his lips against your cheek.
You could. He’d done stuff with his mouth you’ve never experienced before, fingertips teasing your wetness as he told you something about tantrics and pleasure, his hand under your knee, holding you open. You’d felt so suddenly out of control and —and honestly, you’d thought yourself half in love with him for the way he was kissing you alone. No shyness, but softness. No rushing, no annoyance when it took you time to tip into pleasure. He’d been delighted when you seized, had sat up to draw the climax out with circles, matching pace to your rising chest.
You slip a hand into his curls and treat him with the same sweetness he’d given you, kissing him like you love him: for whatever time this is, you really do. He’s the prettiest boy you’ve ever fucked. All it took to meet was a snowstorm and a need to escape the rigid cold.
“I think you should fuck me now,” you say, scratching his scalp lightly, not so frantic, no more pulling. “Please.”
He kisses you, kisses your jaw, and doesn’t pretend he isn’t eager as he snatches the condom from the dresser. For a while things are giggly and breathless, nervous for a pause, then achingly tight. You stay and Spencer wraps his arms behind you, kissing your neck as you let your leg fall to the side.
“When did you tell me your name?” you ask, breathless again as his kiss matches his rhythm, slow grinds of his hips, flirting as his hand had been, just a few inches from filling you completely.
“I don’t remember,” he says through a kiss.
“Spencer.”
“Yeah?”
“I just thought I’d try it,” you say, covering your eyes with your hand as his hips flex and he touches that worst part of you over, and over, and over.
Spencer turns your face to take your hand, slowing to a crawl. He checks your gaze, and sinks into you again. Slow fucking, long kisses, his hands rubbing up the juncture of your neck and down again, then stroking your arms, comfort for a pain you don’t feel.
“What do you want me to do?” he asks quietly.
“Just this.”
“No, but what do you want?” he asks, lips pulled into a smile that didn’t quite make it into a laugh. “What feels best? I can get you there again.”
So you end up more on your side than your back. He helps you lift a leg over his hip and then he’s back to kissing you senseless. You can’t think of anything but being kissed, being fucked, it doesn’t just feel like an okay pastime with a vaguely handsome guy heightened by a drink, it’s fucking with intent. He curls an arm behind your back to hold you against him and he lets you have everything.
Something must give you away, a shaking leg, the way you breathe; he knows you’re ready before you do, kissing down your chest as his hand sinks between your hot thighs. Slick or not, he finds where he wants to touch, your eyes filling with heat as he slows.
He draws it out. The second his lips find your chest you trip into cumming for the second time. You hadn’t realised he was close but you cum and he quickly follows, his nose at your collar. He sounds insane. Beggy, breathy moans, a shade from laughter.
“Can I keep going?” he asks just under your ear.
You can’t say yes fast enough. He’s kind, ignoring your desperate tone.
You don’t count the number of times you fuck that night. It’s not clear, really. They aren’t separate occasions. You come down and he’s stroking the skin of your neck as you catch your breath, drawing lines down your arm, murmuring, “You okay?” as you nod and slip a hand behind his back.
He hugs you like he’s known you for years. When you kiss his blushing chest, kiss downward, he turns breathless. It goes on like that for a while. Afterwards, he situates himself between your legs and lets his weight force your thighs into your abdomen, just enough to feel the pressure, searching kisses pressed to your knee.
It’s not that you fuck all night, it’s just different than before. And when he encourages you under his sheets to lay behind you, there’s a part of you that wants his hand to stray between your legs again, no matter how tired you are.
“I’d say sorry for keeping you up, but you sounded like you liked it,” he murmurs in the dark, wrapping a solid arm around your stomach and pulling you tightly to him.
You have no regrets. For perhaps the first time ever, it feels as though all your gasps and teary sighs were adored, and not just smugly kept. “You didn’t notice me falling asleep?”
He laughs at your teasing, his breath kissing the back of your neck. “When did that happen?”
“…I don’t want to fall asleep, now.”
“You don’t have to… I can make you a cup of tea, or…” He draws another line down your arm, ending in a swirl before your elbow. “You could shower.”
Both sound nice, but no. Your legs are still weak from being held, the ache of a good fuck taking home in your stomach. Truthfully, nothing could make you wanna leave whatever it is he’s doing to you now. The shape of his lips warms your shoulder.
“That was amazing.”
“You’re amazing,” he says, wrapping you up all over again. He can’t decide how to hold you. You grab his hand and keep it there under your breasts, letting your eyes flutter closed.
How can he say that? He has this strange way of touching that’s making you feel yards prettier than you usually do, and he’d just fucked you like a dream. You couldn’t manage that sort of pleasure alone.
“Where have you been hiding?” you whisper, toying with his fingers. Might as well do everything you can while you can.
“Nowhere.”
“So where have you been?”
He takes a breath. “Turn around?”
You begin turning and he takes you like a dance, leaning in slowly to kiss you, until his smoothness gives way to a smile. He pulls back. In the barest lick of light from the window, you can see a blush spreading across his nose.
“Sorry. I should ask, I shouldn’t just kiss you,” he says, cupping your cheek.
How might you go about marrying this boy? You decide to play it cool, kissing him until you fall asleep in his arms, your lips still parted for another lazy press of his as he pulls the sheets over your shoulders.
—
You wake to something new. There isn’t a man against you hinting for a morning tryst, nor an empty bed, a note to let yourself out when you’re ready. There’s a real, gentle hand on your neck. It slides to your shoulder and rubs.
“You okay?” a voice asks.
You force your eyes open, blurry vision further occluded by a face.
His hair is damp. Like he showered a while ago. Spencer’s hand travels to the back of your neck and touches accordingly. “I wouldn’t have bothered you, but it’s almost one. I was worried you might be sick.”
You close your eyes, smiling, better when he scratches the back of your neck with short nails. “I was up late.”
“I know, I’m sorry.”
You wait for him to tell you why you have to leave, any manner of excuse, but nothing comes.
“So are you? Okay?” he asks gently.
“I’ll leave soon.”
“That’s not what I’m trying to say. If you’re not sick, you can go back to sleep.”
“And just lay in your bed all day,” you murmur, disbelieving.
“If you wanted to. Or… you can shower, and I can make you something to eat.” His thumb takes to your cheek. One night stand sex can’t be something he does often, or there’s a real possibility that he’s the first man to ever do it right.
His eyes are so much bigger than you realised. “Do you wear glasses?”
He stammers, embarrassed, “How would you guess that?”
You raise a hand to his face and draw a short line against his nose. “You have the marks here. Were you reading?”
“Just while I was waiting for you.”
“What do you do?”
“What?”
“I didn’t ask what you do, I don’t think we managed to ask each other much of anything,” you say, rewarded for your vulnerability with a chest-aching smile, his canine teeth peeking from under his lips. He still looks kissed, lips a shade of sore you’re sure you’d see on yourself in the mirror.
“I work for the government,” he says, catching your hand to cradle your wrist, “for something called the behavioural analysis unit.”
“Like, statistics?”
He lets your hand fall against his chest, a thin grey t-shirt under your knuckles failing to hide the shapes of him, of which you’d explored at length last night. You kissed as much of his chest as you could and it hadn’t felt like enough, Spencer leaner than you’d realised with a stomach on the soft side, easy to kiss relentlessly.
Your mouth is drying thinking about it. Spencer watches you wordlessly, before saying, “I guess it is like statistics, especially for me. We try to think about serial criminals in terms of their motives. It’s an attempt at math for something not usually quantitative.”
“And you’re good at it.”
“I’m good at math, yeah.”
“Probability of a,” —your breath betrays you, slightly too hopeful as it catches— “morning kiss if I brush my teeth first?”
His eyes light up. He leans down carefully, and gives you a chaste, firm kiss.
You forget that you’re naked, not worried about being shy. The sheets fall away from you as you lift up to meet him. He holds them to your naked waist, the other hand skirting just below your breast. You wish he’d touch you like he did last night, but he isn’t so forward. His kiss is kind. You frown as he pulls away.
“I had a really great time, last night,” he says, tip of his thumb setting your nerves aflame as it drifts over your skin. “Really great.”
“Me too.”
“And you’re okay?”
“What do you mean?”
“Nothing hurts?” he asks.
“No, of course not.” Your confusion clears. “No, you weren’t like that. I think my legs might be aching but that’ll go away in the shower.”
“I can run you a bath, if you want. It’s a half bath so you might not be able to stretch out, but it’ll help.” He gives you a smile. The familiarity between you doesn’t want to ebb.
“Shouldn’t have showered without me,” you say, soft, lest playful be something he doesn’t want on a new day.
“My hair was greasy. Someone kept touching it.”
You sit up. Spencer’s hands fall to yours.
It’s hard not to play with someone’s hair when it’s in their face, and when they’re trailing kisses in warm places. He doesn’t blame you really, you can see it in his eyes.
For a pause, you just sit.
This is nice. Not being thrown out, left with that aching gap in your chest like you gave something you hadn’t intended when it started. Sex will never be easy again, you realise, not when you know it can be good.
“You’re not working today, are you?” you ask.
“No, why?” he asks in turn, his thumb brushing over your knuckles.
“Maybe we…” He waits. He’s pretty enough to force your hand. “We could get to know each other,” you say, gaze taking refuge on his hands. “If you want to.”
”Really?”
“I’ve never had that with someone. Maybe we’re, I don’t know, compatible in more ways than one.” You remember yourself, lifting your head, startled by the sheer want in his expression as he holds your fingers. “You’re handsome, and you seem kind. We could have fun.”
“We could have so much fun,” he says, that flushed blush already spreading across his nose again.
You draw a line up his chest. “I might need help getting my back, in the shower. That’s not a tight squeeze, is it?”
“We might have to stand very close.”
You giggle wildly as he pulls you up, worse when he drapes a sheet over you worrying about the cold. It’s treatment you could grow used to.
—
Spencer’s trying to figure out how he got here. You, across the bar sending him looks —Derek swore you were— and the second he got to your chair he realised you were out of his league, but he had nothing to lose beside his pride.
Then there was you, in bed, pulling on his tie murmuring sweet somethings, sweet pleadings, really, taking another kiss as he moved as you asked.
Then you, the morning after. You’d slept for long enough to scare him, but when you woke you were exactly the girl you’d been the night before, only slower. Ever so slightly bashful. We could get to know each other.
Spencer’s not sure how he managed it, but you don’t go home. And on Monday you go to work and come back. On Tuesday he meets you outside of your building to take you for dinner, and you come back with him again, another night up in his arms, tangling his hair with enthusiastic fingers. The sex is good, it is, not just ‘cos his past catalogue of lays were with women who wanted casual experiences solely, or those few times with Ethan where it ended too fast and left him useless. You fuck him like you love him. It’s crazy, except he’s acting the same way.
When you’re not fucking you’re in his lap, or sitting at the coffee table with your face on his thigh driving him crazy, or you’re laying with your feet tucked under him telling him something about you. He is desperate for the details.
Like, this is it. You’ve pulled your chair as close to his as humanly possible and thrown both legs over his, basically sharing his seat as you laugh around a messy mouthful of Thai noodles.
“Don’t look, I’m being disgusting–”
“You’re never disgusting, let me–”
He’s heard you pee. He’s kissed you all over. The human aspects of you don’t bother him.
“Spence, can you–”
“It’s going up your nose–”
“–stop, holy s–”
He pinches your nose clean. “Tada. Kiss now?”
“You wanna share?”
“Yes!”
“No.” You press your hand to your mouth before he can lean in.
He lets you swallow your mouthful. Your ankle is cool in his hand. When people talk about love, it’s about meeting someone, the dates and the phone calls, the big questions. Spencer didn’t know you could do it like this. Every time you go home, you’re asking if you can come back or pestering him to come your way.
“Can I kiss you now?” he asks imploringly.
“No, we’re done kissing for a bit. I want another one of those massages.”
He can’t joke about it or he’ll turn crimson. You enjoyed a polite leg massage, until he got to your thighs, and things got out of hand.
“No massages.” He taps you under the chin, letting his hand travel wherever it wants over the side of your face.
“Fine, no massages. Unless you want one?”
“No, we agreed tonight we’d just– sleep. My boss is onto me.”
You wink involuntarily as he cups your cheek, his fingers pushed lightly over your eyes.
You aren’t fiends, but finding someone who matches as you do makes it hard to abstain from the fun. Last night was tame, though; he’d made sure you were happy and fallen asleep to grateful neck kisses. Tonight, he won’t say no, but these all-hours affairs have to stop. Derek’s suspicious of him, Hotch has the situation entirely sussed, he's sure, and Spencer’s sixty percent sure Rossi saw you both outside of Quantico tonight kissing against a toll booth.
Not that it matters. Spencer has a good feeling you’re not a fling.
“I got you some stuff earlier,” he says.
You pull his hand from your face and ask, “What stuff?”
“Like, stuff you need here. I don’t know what you like, but there’s a cleansing balm– are you allergic to chamomile?” You shake your head. “Um, it might be weird, I got you underwear, just ‘cos of the situation yesterday–”
“I liked wearing boxers, they were snug in a certain region is all–”
“–and some shampoo. That sort of stuff. Just so you can stop suffering with mine.”
“You know what shampoo I use?”
“I deduced it.”
“Ah, yes, mister profiler,” you mumble, bending into your knees to hold his face. “If I hadn’t looked you up online I’d think you were a stalker. How can you guess my favourite ice cream flavour when I never told you?”
He smiles shyly. “I just can.”
“Is there anything else you’ve guessed about me?”
“Every meal with you takes a half hour. You’re easily distracted.”
He laughs as you protest, “You’re distracting! You don’t need to guess that.”
“You distract me, too.”
You gather yourself up and stand over him to kiss his nose. “Spencer,” you whisper, your fingers sliding into his hair, “thank you. You don’t have to buy me stuff, I could’ve just gone home.”
“I don’t really want you to.”
You raise your head to see him eye to eye. “I don't want to either. This is… I like you.”
He hums, wrapping his arms around you. The hugs are rarer than kisses, but only because you’ve shared so many of the latter in the dark. He’s been thinking of kisses as the extension to fucking, that they’re okay as long as it’s done in bed, but the more time you stay, the more kisses you’ve shared for no reason at all. You kissed his cheek on the train earlier and he felt it like a shock, tipping his chin down to peck you on the lips, your arm curled behind his back as the traincar rattled over a bend.
“I like you too,” he laughs.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah, of course I do.”
“Not just…”
“It’s not just the sex,” he says, waving his hand behind your shoulder as you curl into him all over again. It feels amazing.
“Should we go out, then?”
“We do.”
“No, should we date? We could be partners, officially.”
Spencer can’t take it, scooping you into his lap, though you do sit obligingly on his thigh. He shifts to take the weight.
“Please, let’s be partners,” he says softly.
“Maybe we shouldn’t, it’s still soon.”
“Five days and counting. That’s longer than some marriages, you know.”
“Maybe we can be, like, tentative boyfriend and girlfriend. If you change your mind, no hard feelings.”
“And if I don’t?” he asks.
“Then we get married in Vegas.”
“You could meet my mom.”
“I’d love to meet your mom.”
“Do you really wanna be my girlfriend?” he asks.
“I mean… there’s not such a big difference in dating and what we’re doing, right? This is relationship stuff, we just sort of skipped the awkward first dates.”
“We did,” he says, failing to hide his grin.
You stroke his cheek with your nose.
Your attempt at abstinence doesn’t last, but neither party is to blame. You have to celebrate somehow. So you finish your takeout dinner and wash dishes bumping hips. He locks the door for the night and you, giggling, struggle to change his A/C. When he drags you by the sleeve to the bedroom, he doesn’t intend on jumping right into it, and for a while he doesn’t. You lay on top of him between his parted legs and he spends a sluggish hour stroking your hairline, listening to you talk. But his devotion turns to your ear, and he’s kissing behind it, and you’re hitching yourself up his chest soon enough.
“That cherry spritzer was worth it, huh?” you ask lowly, scratching his jaw as you sit over him.
You really are pretty, amplified by your syrupy smile.
“I guess that depends what you think. Was I as good at making knots as I promised?” he asks.
“I can’t remember.”
“I can remind you?”
“That might be prudent, Dr. Reid.”
“I never should’ve told you about that,” he murmurs, your lips atop his, ready to be parted.
“I would’ve found out eventually. I’m gonna find out everything about you, honey.”
Spencer lets his eyes shutter closed. Me first, he thinks, giving in to another endless kiss. He has the advantage, after all.
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Peter Parker x roommate!reader who has no boundaries [1k words]
CW: writers first time writing for Peter Parker so I'm sorry if the vibes are off, reader's gender is not specified (gn!reader), reader doesn't know Peter's spiderman, reader walks in on Peter half naked
It’s not a big deal; it shouldn’t be a big deal; it’s never been a big deal.
Peter had known long before signing the lease as your new roommate that you were the kind of friend who had little-to-no boundaries. This had been more than evident when you were merely lab partners, further proven when the two of you became friends, and solidified upon moving in together.
And it has been fine, because like he said, it’s not a big deal…it’s never been a big deal.
There had been one time you walked into the bathroom — without knocking — as he was rinsing the shampoo from his hair, and he took a moment to be very grateful that the two of you had an opaque shower curtain that spared him at least a modicum of his decency.
He isn’t sure what you even came to talk to him about, he only knew that you came to talk. And talk you did, all the way through the rest of his shower, continuing even when the water was shut off and Peter stood there with quickly spreading goosebumps as a result of the cool air that permeated the bathroom without the steamy relief that the running water had provided. It wasn’t until he politely interrupted you – asking if you “would mind” – that you finally paused in your tangent.
“Mind what?” You had asked sweetly, and Peter folded his lips over his teeth to fight against a laugh as his forehead landed against the tile wall with a thud.
“I need to get out of the shower now, lovely. My towel is sitting beside you.”
You had been full of apologies; hastily retreating from the bathroom and singing your sorry’s all the way down the hall, continuing your apology tour when he finally emerged from the bathroom — fully clothed — as you handed him an apologetic mug of cocoa.
So maybe that’s what makes this feel like a big deal. Because Peter’s just pulling off his suit — standing half in it and half out of it — when you come flying into his room to ask him whether he would prefer you make frozen egg rolls or the frozen pizza for dinner; both of you freezing like two stray cats sizing each other up in some dark alley.
And you say nothing.
You blink, blink again, blink some more, and then you take one large step backwards and all but slam his door shut.
No sorries, no lamenting, no questions.
And if it wasn’t for the fact that he just completely outed himself to you as Spider-Man, he’d be very perturbed that someone now knows that Spider-Man often, embarrassingly, foregoes underwear when he’s in the suit.
He swallows around the bile and embarrassment in his throat – how could he manage to outsmart and outmaneuver every bad guy in all of New York City, yet you manage to sneak up on him?! – as he pulls on a pair of sweats and quietly opens his bedroom door.
The apartment is quiet, and if it wasn’t for his heightened senses – which apparently still work, thanks for nothing – he’d have assumed you left. As it rests, he can hear you puttering in the kitchen.
Peter looks across the hallway longingly at the bathroom, wondering if he should opt out of his post-patrol shower in favour of performing some damage control. But then he hears you turn on the TV and lower yourself onto the couch, and he figures that if you haven’t gone running for the hills yet, he can probably spare a few minutes to wash the sweat, blood, and grime off of his person.
Peter plods towards the kitchen; sock-clad feet sliding hesitantly along the floor as he mentally curses himself for failing to come up with a way to broach the topic in his shower.
Apparently, he didn’t need to.
“Hey.” you greet breezily, sparing him a quick look over your shoulder before you’re turning your attention back to your show. “I went with the egg rolls, by the way; they’re on a plate in the microwave for you.”
Peter stands behind the couch with his mouth ajar, his harddrive stalling and stuttering as it tries to recalibrate to this unsuspected reality.
“I- okay, yeah. Thanks.” He finally manages, forcing his body to move in the direction of the microwave where he stands dumbly staring at his reflection in the door before he ultimately abandons that idea and makes his way back over to you.
“Listen, did you…you know, have any questions?” He murmurs as he rests his elbows on the back of the couch, looking at the plate resting on your knees instead of your face when you turn to look up at him.
“Questions about what?” You ask simply, tilting your head further when Peter’s brows furrow and he’s forced to turn his gaze to you instead of your egg rolls and plum sauce.
He shrugs, feigning an air of nonchalance he certainly doesn’t feel. “I guess just about what you saw? Back there? In my room?”
Me, half naked, very much shucking off the suit of New York’s very own superhero. Half naked.
Whatever Peter had been expecting your reaction to be, it wasn’t the fond eyeroll and casual shrug of your shoulders as you turn back towards whatever was on TV. “I saw nothing.”
“I-”
“Nothing.”
Peter remains glued the edge of the couch as he cracks his knuckles, staring at the top of your head like a particularly difficult math equation he was determined to solve.
“Get your egg rolls, Pete. They’re gonna get cold.” You affectionately order him around a bite of your own, and Peter relents, pressing a chaste kiss to your hair before he does as told and returns a few moments later with his own plate to take a seat beside you.
The two of you sit in contentment – faces illuminated by the glow of the screen – before you opt to break the reverent silence.
“Though, it would have been nice to know that you’ve got a banging bod under all those band tees, Parker.”
poly!wolfstar x afab!reader who tries DVP for the first time [1.1k words]
CW: fem!reader, explicit sexual content, p in v smut, unprotected sex, double vaginal penetration, porn without plot
“Easy dovey, easy.” Remus breathes, a gentle hand landing at the base of your spine as his thumb brushes circles against your tailbone; Sirius’ thumbs stationed on either side of your waist mimicking the movement. “You okay?”
No one’s moving, the only sound in the room the occasional breath punching out from your lips.
“Hey gorgeous; talk to us.” Sirius reminds you, one hand moving to push some of your hair away from your eyes that was blocking your gaze from his line of sight.
“You still okay? Or do you want to stop?” Remus asks again; you go shake your head but regret it immediately when it serves to create more friction.
“No, no. I’m okay.” You try again, hyper aware of every point of contact your body has with your surroundings; your knees against the mattress, your hips hovering over Sirius’, one of your hands gripping Sirius’ shoulder (likely quite painfully) whilst the other held onto the headboard, Sirius’ hands trailing up and down your sides as his exhales puffed against your tits, and Remus’ steadying hand making itself home between the dimples of your lower back.
And both of their cocks fighting for space in your tight, drenched cunt.
“Tell us what you need, dove.” Remus coaches, not daring to move a muscle lest the tip of his length he was barely managing to insert into your hole cause you any discomfort.
You swallow thickly, taking a deep breath that seemed to make Sirius quite pleased as he sang your praises.
“That’s it, baby. Breathe.”
“Just tight.” You tell them, causing Remus to breathe out a chuckle and Sirius to groan.
“Fucking tell me about it; holy shit.”
“Too much?” Remus carries on, though there’s a tightness in his voice that tells you he’s just as pleased as Sirius is about the overwhelming warmth of having your cunt clenching around him and Sirius’ cock rubbing against his own.
“It’s…no. Not too much; just a lot.”
“Alright.” He agrees. “I’m going to pull out a bit, okay?”
You accept his warning and moan as he slides out of you slightly before ever so gently urging his way back in; Sirius nearly whimpers at the motion.
“Breathe, dove. Deep breath; talk to me.”
“I’m okay.” You whimper, feeling so incredibly full that you are almost embarrassingly close to tears. “I’m okay, I’m okay.”
“Whoa whoa, easy. Easy.” Sirius manages; his own words breathy as he fights to ignore his own ecstasy as he averts his attention to you. “You don’t need to convince us, yeah?”
“No it’s good, just…do it again, Rem.” You suggest, sparing a look over your shoulder to see the way Remus’ eyes are glued to the spot where Sirius disappears inside of you and where his own cock is trying to join. “Pull out a bit and then add some more.”
“Yeah?” He breathes, flicking his eyes up to watch you nod. “Okay, you tell me to stop, alright? Red and we’re done.”
You bring your forehead down to Sirius’ who is quick to raise his hands up to your neck as he massages you tenderly, whispering sweet words and telling you how great you’re doing and how wonderful you feel.
You feel the head of Remus’ cock catch the edge of your hole before he slowly urges himself back in; you let out a breath out that quickly turns into a moan as the sting of the stretch builds and crescendos as his cock slides against Sirius’.
“Holy fuck, the two of you feel so goddamn good.” Sirius grunts; his voice debauched and broken even though he manages to stay perfectly still and his hands remain gentle and reverent.
“You’re doing so well, dove. So well.” Remus manages with a tight voice, stopping at about the same point before he eases out again.
The feeling is so unlike anything you’ve ever felt before; the sting is so sharp that it brings tears to your eyes and leaves a tingling in your fingers and toes. You’re so unbelievably wet, both from the two orgasms they’d managed from you prior – in order to make sure you were loosened up and relaxed before even attempting this – and from how unbearably turned on you are at the breathy, desperate, erotic sounds leaving their lips.
And then the stinging starts to turn into a noticeable but tolerable burning and you swear you can actually feel your cunt simultaneously working to make room for the two boys and greedily clenching around them.
“Holy shit, holy- baby, fuck, you’re incredible.” Sirius tells you, his breathing no better than yours as you watch his chest rise and fall discordantly.
A groan leaves Remus as you feel him shift his weight on his knees; his own balance shaky as he starts to lose himself in pleasure. “Fucking ethereal is what you are.”
You go to laugh but it comes out as a cry; you’re so full, so full, so full and you’re so warm all over as every nerve ending in your body begins to thrum in synchrony.
Remus all but growls. “Fuck, Sirius, I-”
“I’m not gonna last much fuckin’ longer.” Sirius whimpers, Remus groaning again when he feels Sirius’ dick twitch inside of you for the second time.
“Neither am I.”
“Oh god, please,” you beg, “please cum.”
Sirius’ hips don’t move – he, apparently, having grown the willpower of a saint – whilst his hands grip your ribs bruisingly as he pulses inside you; orgasm seemingly never ending as he fills you up with his cum.
“Jesus.” Remus barely manages as his own hips stutter, barely managing to thrust back into you before he, too, was spilling into your cunt and over Sirius’ cock.
“Were you fucking waiting for permission to cum?” Remus asks incredulously, slowly slipping out of you which causes Sirius’ deflating cock and both of their seed to come spilling out of you too.
“‘Course I was.” Sirius scoffs derisively; chest still heaving and his eyes screwed shut. “I’m not a fuckin’ amateur.”
“Fuck, I guess not.” Remus breathes through a laugh as he runs his hand up and down the length of your spine. “Neither is our girl, eh?”
“No,” Sirius agrees quickly, stationing a hand on either side of your face as he presses gentle kisses to your cheek and jaw, “fuckin’ perfect.”
firefighter!James Potter x plus-sized!reader who is stuck in an elevator [942 words]
CW: fem!reader, reader worries about her size, brief mention of body insecurity, James being a brazen flirt even when he’s working
Your displeasure was two-fold.
You were disappointed; having officially missed class as you sat rather dejectedly on the floor of the lift-turned-prison that decided to go on strike with you still inside of it.
You were also anxious, because soon there was going to be a team of people trying to get you out of here, likely accompanied by an audience, and the thought of being so thoroughly witnessed by a group of strangers caused something to twist unpleasantly in your gut.
You didn’t find yourself to be a particularly insecure person. You’d done a lot of work to carry yourself with an assured confidence that sometimes waxed and waned, though you figured you could hardly blame that on your size; you suspected that was a relatively universal experience. But picturing someone trying to weasel you out of a rather tight opening or – God forbid – having to lift you out of a tight opening was not a reality you were prepared to face.
God, apparently, had other plans.
You’d have to discuss this with her later.
“Hey there!” A rather cheery voice sounded from the otherside of the closed lift door. “Everyone okay in there?”
“I-” you tried, voice cracking and causing you to pause in order to clear it. Great, this is going well already. “I’m fine. It’s- erm, it’s just me in here.”
“Brilliant.” The voice sounded again, apparently not nearly as concerned about any of this as you were. “Now, you’re going to hear us fussing a bit over here, but don’t mind us, alright? We’re going to start with getting the door open, but the doors have a few layers we need to get through to get to you. Sound alright?”
“Alright.” You offered warily, and you’re not sure why, but you could almost sense the beaming smile being directed at you through the (multi-layered) lift doors.
“That’s great, sweetheart; I’ll be quick.”
You did, indeed, hear some fussing from the otherside of the door; the sound of metal, latches being shifted, doors being shoved aside, more latches, another click, a grinding sound, and then-
“There you are!”
The messiest head of curls you’d ever seen shoved its way into your enclosure, paired with a rather charming pair of round, wire-rimmed glasses and a beaming smile that produced matching dimples on either cheek.
“Hi…”
The man’s smile softened slightly at the sight of you before he seemed to remember himself.
“Sorry, I haven’t even introduced myself yet; how rude. My name’s James, I’m here with the fire department.”
“Hi James.” You greeted, though you felt the blood drain from your face when you registered the fact that James was currently just a head and shoulders floating approximately four feet above you, with a gap of maybe four feet above him meaning you were going to have to be hoisted out of the lift and you were going to be shoved through a tight opening in front of the various boots and shoes – likely attached to human bodies – that you could see walking behind James’ head.
“Hi. What’s your name, gorgeous?” James tried. You offered your name in turn, but it must have been clear on your face that you were more focused on how exactly you were meant to get the fuck out of here.
“Hey, you leave the hard work to me, yeah?” James tried, his dimples making another appearance as he smiled encouragingly at you seeing the corners of his eyes crinkling in response. “Getting you out of here is my job, you just keep being your beautiful self.”
“How are you going to get me out of here?” You asked; ignoring the rather brazen flirting for a professional as well as the way your heart fluttered in response to it in favour of performing intricate maths equations in your head which ultimately concluded that you were going to live in this lift now.
“It’s not too high, yeah? I figure you’ll be able to turn around and put your back here,” he explained, slapping the concrete wall of the lift between floors with a bare hand, “I’ll get my hand under your arms and around your torso, and then hoist you up.”
Your eyes flickered up to meet his, apparently translating how much you did not enjoy this plan.
“What?” He queried, tilting his head like a cocker spaniel. “Don’t you trust me?”
You let out a high-pitched, startled laugh as you looked back down at where his hand rested against the exposed concrete. You felt that – despite only knowing James for all of two and a half minutes – you probably could trust him. But…
“I don’t know…”
“That’s alright, sweetness,” James shrugged with a smile, “Fortunately for you, I do know. You ready?”
Another laugh – bordering hysterical – left your lips as you took a small step towards him. “I’m pretty heavy.”
James’ brows furrowed almost imperceptibly before he seemed to realize what your hold up was. Suddenly he was smiling rather salaciously at you.
“Well, I’m pretty strong.” He offered with a wink.
It managed to elicit another laugh out of you, which seemed to please James. You watched his smile soften as he beckoned you closer.
“Come on gorgeous, let’s get you out of here, hm? I couldn’t live with myself if I left such a pretty girl stranded in a finicky lift.”
Reminding God that you would have some choice words for her later, you conceded to the protection of this guardian angel; following his instructions as he embraced you with two strong arms, promising one last time that “he’s got you” before he hoisted you up and out of the lift.
Lexy this was everything!! How did you know I needed this? How did you know I was going through it body image issue wise and this James made my week honestly!
love of my life, queen of all things smut and marauders..........I have a request if you don't mind 😈
I was thinking of this with Sirius, but it could truly be whoever you think fits. But what do you think of a fic where reader x Sirius have sex for the first time (FWB, relationship, whatever fits the vibe), and Sirius finishes and moves his attention to reader who goes "oh it's alright, I've never been successful at that part of sex before...." & then it becomes this fun challenge for Sirius who spends the rest of the evening finding out what works for her until he finally gets her off 😃
xoxoxoxooxoxoxo
Thanks for the request and for weathering the long wait gorgeous Elle <3
cw: smut mdni, reader is afab and has trouble with orgasming
fwb!Sirius x fem!reader ♡ 1.2k words
“Fuck.” Sirius’ forehead crashes into yours, his breath hot on your lips. “Are you close?”
“You should come.” Your voice is tight, strained, though not nearly so much as his.
“Not before you.”
“Please, Sirius.” You both moan as he thrusts deeper inside you, your legs squeezing tight around his middle. “Please, I want you to.”
“I don’t—shit.”
His brow tenses along with the rest of him as he spills into you. You feel the condom fill up with a heady satisfaction. You run your hands up his back soothingly, until he relaxes into you.
“Fuck, gorgeous.” Sirius tilts his face to kiss at the slope of your cheek. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think I would…you just feel too good, have you gotten that complaint before?”
You laugh. “It’s not usually a complaint.”
“No, but in this case…” He tuts, picking his head up to look at you. You expect to be self-conscious—it’s your first time seeing each other like this, and part of you is still fighting the urge to cover up and preserve your modesty—but the heavy drag of his gaze only makes you feel admired. “Well, anyways, sorry. How close are you?”
“Oh, it’s okay.” You smile at him. Your finger traces the line of a tattoo on his bicep. “Don’t worry about it. I had fun.”
Sirius blinks, and then his brows come down. “Hold on, that’s not fair. I want to get you off.”
“Sirius, it’s really fine. I’m not…” You hesitate. You and Sirius have been friends for a while; it’s not as though you haven’t shared secrets before. And given what you’ve just shared with each other, you shouldn’t probably be embarrassed, but… “I haven’t exactly been…successful at that part of sex before.”
Sirius’ eyebrows furrow as though he doesn’t quite understand what you mean.
“I haven’t come,” you clarify.
His eyes widen, lips parting. It’s horrendously attractive, worse with him still inside you. “You haven’t?”
You shake your head.
“Not ever?”
You shake your head again.
“Not even by yourself?”
“Let’s just assume the answer to all of these questions is going to be no.” He shifts in you slightly, and you squirm. “Can you…?”
“Oh. Yeah, sorry.” Sirius pulls out of you, looking somewhat awed. “So, forgive me, but what exactly are you getting out of this if you don’t expect to come?”
You give him a droll look. “I guess I’m just a giver.”
It’s more true than you let on. You enjoyed yourself more than you expected just now, watching Sirius come, knowing it was the sight of you and the feel of your flesh under his hands that did it. You hope he lets you do it again.
“I don’t have to come to have good sex,” you say in a more genuine tone. “It’s still fun for me.”
“Right. Right, yeah, but—”
“Listen, I’m only telling you so you don’t take it personally. It’s not a you thing, it’s just…” You gesture helplessly. “I’m not sure I can.”
Sirius looks indignant. “I’m sure you can.”
“I haven’t found any proof.”
“Well, it’s—there’s a first time for everybody, doll. Can I try?”
You sit up, drawing your legs closer and forcing him to sit back. “I told you, it’s not you.”
“It could be me, though.” He grins roguishly.
You roll your eyes, fighting a smile. “Don’t make this a pride thing.”
“I’m not. I’m not, babe.” Sirius scoots towards you. He looks at you, sincere. “But it could be any number of factors, you know? Maybe you just haven’t tried the right thing, or there’s a lubrication issue, or something. It would be fun to try.”
You rub your lips together. “It’d probably be a waste of time. And I don’t want you to be disappointed if it doesn’t work.”
“I won’t be,” he promises. He crawls toward you on the bed, taking your ankle in hand to tug you closer. Your heart riots at the sight. “Let’s waste some time, gorgeous. I’ve got nothing else to do tonight. And you said you have fun even if you don’t finish, right?”
“Right,” you admit.
Sirius grins, flashing canines. “Lay back, then. Let me play with you a while.”
It doesn’t take long to figure out that lubrication is not the issue. Between Sirius’ hands and his mouth, you’re spilled like warm honey across his sheets in minutes. He bites marks into your thighs, goes from gentle to masochistic to gentle again with his hands on your breasts, curls his fingers inside you so that you make sounds you don’t recognize. All the while, he calls you sweet names rolled up in taunts, making your cheeks burn and your body seem to give up any will of its own. It begins to feel cruel; the combination of who Sirius is and what he can do to you.
But it’s when he uses his tongue that you start to tremble.
Your hand clamps blindly down on his shoulder, caught between keeping him close and pushing him away. Sirius’ hum, heavy with smugness and intrigue, is a vibration like you’ve never felt before. He takes your clit into his mouth.
It’s altogether too much and not enough. You shift your hips, gasping, but after a while your breaths even into a steadier pant. You start to adjust to this new pleasure. Just when you think you’ve got it under control, you’re safe, Sirius slips his wicked fingers into your entrance again.
“There you are.” His voice thrums with satisfaction as he kisses your clit. “You’ve been so good, sweetheart. So patient.”
“Sirius, I—”
“What?”
“I feel—”
“What, pretty girl?”
“Sirius.”
“Okay, I’m sorry. I’m being mean.” He nibbles ever so gently at your clit, making you jolt away from him. Your walls clench around his fingers. “You’re just so much fun when you’re worked up like this, I can’t help myself.”
He curls his fingers into that torturous spot along your inner wall, and what you want isn’t more sensation, but you can no longer find the words to tell him so. You dig your nails into Sirius’ shoulders and squeeze your eyes shut, feeling on the precipice of something great and terrible. Some kind of wreckage.
“You’re okay, doll,” Sirius soothes. “You’re just fine. You like this, don’t you? Don’t you want to come?”
With his low, sweet question, you do. You wreck like a ship against the shoreline. Splintering, screaming, crashing and drowning. Sirius laughs like the enemy vessel as you do.
It’s some time later when the stars clear from behind your eyes. You let out a shuddering breath. “Fuck.”
“Mhm. That’s usually how it goes.” Sirius is all tenderness now. He kisses up your sweaty, overworked abdomen until he reaches your collarbone, where he nibbles rewardingly. “Good job, sweetness. And good job me, if I do say so myself.”
You open your eyes to peek at him through your lashes. “Aren’t I supposed to say so?”
He chuckles, pressing a kiss to your chin. “Fairly sure you just did. I wouldn’t have guessed you had sounds like that in you.”
“Me neither,” you admit.
“Well, now I’ve got something new to work towards, I suppose.”
“Sirius,” you sigh. “That was the first time I’ve ever come, and it took nearly an hour. I’m not sure if I’ll be able to do that again.”
“Oh, such a defeatist.” Sirius cups your face in his hands, thumbs moving sweetly down your cheeks as he presses a firm kiss to your lips. “I meant getting those sounds out of you again. But don’t worry, gorgeous, we’ll manage both.”
Sirius Black x fwb!reader who wants more [966 words]
CW: fem!reader, reader tries to call it off with Sirius when she realizes she wants more, some slight angst for a minute, inspired by this great fic that came across my feed based off of a scene from Gilmore Girls
“Okay, one more time?” Sirius asks again, the heels of his palms pressing into his eyes that you’re sure have him seeing a kaleidoscope of colours.
You think you might’ve been tempted to laugh, were it not for the lump in your throat; were it not for the words he’s asking you to repeat again that took you nearly three weeks to build the courage up to say at all to begin with.
“I…I need this to stop.” You manage, mouth dry as you stare at the heather grey t-shirt he’s wearing instead of his face.
“This,” he starts, hands falling to his hips as he tries and fails to make eye contact with you, “being…”
“You and me.”
“Right,” he agrees slowly, “you and me being…”
You let out a breath and look to your left, chewing on your lip as you try to find a delicate way of saying “the sex, Sirius.”
“But why?” He finally manages, letting his weight fall back into the back of the sofa in a half-seated, half-standing position. You really picked a horrid place to have this conversation; you asked to come over, and Sirius - none the wiser - was likely excited for a romp, but then you were taking your shoes off to be polite but not allowing him to take your jacket, slapping him with the “I can’t do this anymore” before you were even five whole steps into his flat.
“It’s…I don’t know, Sirius. It’s not enough for me.”
“I’m not enough for you.” He parrots in monotone; not a question.
“No, Sirius, that’s not what I’m saying.” You moan. “But, just, this arrangement - it isn’t enough for me anymore. I want more.”
“You want more. More, what?”
“Sirius, come on.” You groan, finally looking at him in exhaustion and hoping he can hear the desperation in your tone. “Are you really going to make me say it out loud?”
“I just don’t understand what’s changed!” He pleads, standing again and holding his hands out helplessly.
“I have!” You shout back, immediately feeling guilty because this wasn’t meant to be a fight, and this was probably exactly why he insisted on this kind of arrangement with you.
“I have,” you try again, softer this time, “I just…I want more. I want a boyfriend. And I can’t have that if…”
“If you’re sleeping with me.” He surmises, earning him a nod as you go back to studying the soft grey of his shirt. “But…we agreed, yeah? We agreed that that’s all we’d be.”
“I know.” You admit. “I know, and I’m sorry, I just…” Your shoulders raise helplessly, causing him to sigh.
“Was it…something I did?” He asks carefully, joining you in looking to the left of the room instead of at each other.
“No, Sirius. And I don’t hold anything against you.” You insist delicately. “I’m not asking you for anything you’re not able to give me, either. That’s why I’m-”
“-leaving.” He finishes for you. The word apparently sour in his mouth, the aftertaste leaving his lips puckered somewhere between disgust and hurt.
“This was just temporary, yeah?” You try, nudging your socked toe against a scuff in the hardwood floor beneath you. “This was never meant to be forever; not exclusive, no commitment.”
He turns to look at you at that, face pained as if you hadn’t just repeated his own rules verbatim.
“Those were your rules.” You remind him gently.
“But you want more.” He offers, again, not a question.
“I’m sorry, Sirius.” Is all you can think to say.
You try not to shrink under his gaze, your own eyes flitting between his - that look suspiciously red rimmed - and his t-shirt; apparently the thin fabric covering his heart safer territory than his eyes as they search your face for, what, you aren’t sure.
“Alright.” He says simply, apparently having come to some decision.
“Alright?” You ask carefully, watching him as he stands and shakes out his hands, rolling his shoulders as if stepping away from a fist fight.
“Alright,” he repeats, “you want a boyfriend? I’ll be your boyfriend.”
“Wha- wait, Sirius-”
“What? That’s what you said, right? You want more?” He’s gaining on you as he asks, and this time you do shrink under his gaze; feeling about two feet tall as he makes it to you, his chest centimetres from your own. “I’ll give you more, then.”
“You- no, I…that’s-”
“You want a boyfriend, I’ll be your boyfriend.” He says again, softer as he slips his fingers into the belt loops of your jeans; not touching you, exactly, but enough to make him feel like an anchor for your fluttering heart.
“I don’t want you to be something you don’t want to be. I don’t want to force you.”
“You’re not forcing me.” He says, grey eyes mapping out points of your face. “I said this wouldn’t be exclusive but…it sort of already was for me. Might as well just call it what it is, then.”
You shake your head, not in disagreement, but in disbelief. “You said you don’t do relationships.”
His eyes narrow slightly as if wanting to wince, but they stay open in favour of watching the way you pull your bottom lip between your teeth.
“No, I don’t.” He admits, and the little flicker of hope in your chest is almost snuffed at his admission. “But I’ve never really wanted to do a relationship before. But I want you.”
“You want me?”
He must notice the tentative, hopeful smile on your lips, because a matching one grows on his own before his eyes flicker up to yours. “I want you.”
“But…I want a boyfriend?”
His smile softens but doesn’t shrink as he lowers his forehead to yours. “Then I guess I have myself a girlfriend, don’t I?”
dads!wolfstar + daughter!reader who is a player [878 words]
CW: reader’s birthday is in the summer, has many admirers, fluff
Remus had to admit that he’d had an inkling. There were certain perks that came with being a well-liked professor, one such being that students didn’t often lower their voices when gossiping in the halls.
It was, however, very different to have the evidence of his previous hunch sitting so glaringly obvious in the front parlour of their home, worst of all standing beside his semi-distraught husband who he hadn’t yet shared this inkling with.
“What….the fuck?” Sirius whispered into his hands, staring at the various packages and letters and parcels and gift baskets - some of which still had (growingly agitated) owls attached to them waiting for their payment for a job well done.
“Seems like her classmates remembered her birthday…” Remus offered noncommittally. “Even with it being summer holiday and all.”
Sirius let out a disbelieving scoff at that as his hands finally fell, though they only made it to his hips where they rested as he continued scanning the pile of presents all in your name.
“Did anyone in the sodding school happen to forget?” He asked incredulously. “Or am I really gonna find one from Mrs. Norris in here?”
“Our daughter is well-liked.” Remus said; a half truth. You were well-liked…
“Who in the sodding hell is Dennis Creevey?” Sirius spat as he glared at a card before shoving it back into its appropriate parcel.
Remus snorted at that, nearly choking on his tea in the process. “That’s, erm, a first year, I believe.”
Sirius spun to level Remus with a look that told his husband he had been caught.
“Are these from admirers, Moony?!”
Remus narrowed his eyes in thought, cautious in responding with “Define admirers?”
“Oh my Godric!” Sirius shrilled as you came down the stairs.
“What’s all the shouting fo- oh! Wow, people really went all out this year, hm?” You commented, plucking a card from a basket and furrowing your brows at it.
“Who in the sodding hell is Dennis Creevey?” You muttered before offering the owl a few scritches which it (thankfully) accepted as payment and vacated the parlour through an open window.
“Are you just about ready to go, my love?” Remus asked you instead of waiting for Sirius to figure out how to ask you if you were - what he thought he heard kids these days call - a player.
“Where are you off to, birthday girl?” Lily asked as she stepped in the front door, offering you a beaming smile and pulling you into a fierce hug as she wished you a happy birthday.
“Thanks, auntie Lil.” You replied into her hair before she finally released you. “‘Mione and I are meeting for breakfast and then we’re meeting up with the boys at the mall.”
“I thought you were meeting up with Pansy?” Sirius blurted, causing the two witches to look at him bemusedly.
“We’re not meeting up until later tonight; we’re getting ready for the party together.” You explained.
“Finally got your dads to let you throw a rager, hm?” Lily laughed.
“This was dad’s idea!” You laughed in turn, and Remus thought Sirius might actually call the whole thing off in light of his recent discovery. That is, until you turned to look at him with so much love that Remus thought he could feel the ire seeping right out of his husband’s pores. “They’re the best, aren’t they?”
You were quick to press a kiss to each of your father’s cheeks before grabbing your wand and waving goodbye, leaving your parents and your aunt with the various presents bestowed upon you.
“Wow…Harry wasn’t kidding.” Lily murmured mostly to herself as she took a quick inventory of the room. “She really does have a lot of admirers.”
“Merlin’s saggy fucking balls, Moony! Our daughter is a player!”
Remus hardly had a moment to wince before Lily was cackling; a full, belly aching, bending-over-at-the-waist and slapping-your-knee chortle that bounced off of the walls. It was a sound neither wizard thought they had heard from the fiery witch since their school day.
“What, pray tell, is so funny?” Sirius muttered petulantly as he waited for Lily to collect herself.
“I- oh godric; Merlin and Morgana both. This...this is priceless.” She managed to get out between fits of giggles.
Remus sighed as he flicked his wand over his shoulder, charming a kettle on in preparation of offering Lily tea and sneaking in a calming draught for his soon-to-be catatonic husband.
“I can’t believe you, ‘our daughter is a player, Moony’. Of course she is! This is Mr. Sirius flirts-with-anything-that-has-a-pulse Black and Remus Casanova-of-Gryffindor-tower Lupin’s daughter we’re talking about here!”
Lily shook her head in exasperation and showed herself to the kitchen, giggles ricocheting off the walls along her way.
Remus hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath during the silence that followed until Sirius broke it.
“What have we done?”
Remus tried his best to offer his husband a smile, though it felt more like a grimace. “Well…at least the party is being held here?”
But Remus watched Sirius’ face fall when they realized that this meant they would be once again coming face-to-face, quite literally, with their daughter's popularity.
“Oh my Godric,” Remus murmured, bringing his own hand up to his lips, “what have we done?”
Remus Lupin x gn!reader who holds all the aces [1.5k words]
request from @darlin-collins who felt that Hozier’s cover of Do I Wanna Know? just screamed Remus
CW: written for a fem!reader in mind but no pronouns used, alcohol and drinking, being drunk, clubs and dancing, one-sided pining (OR IS IT!?!?!?!……), Remus’ internal dialogue so it’s messy and rambling
Remus can hardly hear the grating music playing in the pub over the melodic tinkling of your laugh; so effervescent in your joy that your eyes are shut tight and you lean into Marlene for support.
Remus doesn’t know what was so funny, he missed the joke; he was too busy watching the way your eyes were beginning to turn glassy and your cheeks were starting to glow as the warmth from the multiple drinks you had enjoyed so far began thrumming through your veins.
He wonders if you even realise how many aces you have up your sleeve; how you’ve managed to fully enrapture the simple man sitting across from you at the pub. You’ve probably managed to enrapture many men sitting in this very bar, but Remus tries not to think of them.
He thinks of them anyway, imagining you even smiling at anyone who may be less than deserving (let alone tangled up with them) feels like digging his thumb into a fresh wound. He imagines that this feels better than actually having to see you smiling at someone less deserving, though.
His musings are cut short when you smile over at him.
He falls asleep that night with the sound of your laughter echoing in his head.
You’re doing it again.
Granted, all you’re really doing is sitting beside him on the settee. He turned his body completely towards you early on in the evening, both as a way to hide the small blot of red wine he’d spilled onto James and Lily’s sofa, but mostly so he wouldn’t miss a second of your company.
He takes a moment to wonder if the way your body was also angled towards him meant anything before he mentally slaps himself.
Does he want to know if this feeling flows both ways? He imagines that, for these small, stolen moments he can pretend that it does and decides that this is ultimately the safer alternative to finding out definitively that no, it does not.
He knows the likeliness of it being entirely one sided is high; he’s not a foolish man.
He’s too long and lanky, too brittle and sore. He’s quiet and reserved and you’re bright and bubbly. He’s grumpy and awkward and you’re lovely and affable. He’s a mess and you’re perfect.
Remus’ conviction to not know is solidified when Lily calls you over to the kitchen to help her make some cocktails. You turn to look at him apologetically as though he’d been anything more than a decorative piece beside your main attraction, but he still finds himself sad to see you go, sort of wishing you’d want to stay on this small, wine stained sofa with him.
Remus takes a large enough swig from his wine that he dribbles more onto the couch; he leaves the scene of the crime, heading across the room to fall into conversation with Sirius and Mary.
He shouldn’t have agreed to come; the lights were blinding yet he found he still couldn’t see anything in the dark, strobe light filled club, and the music was so loud that he basically had to shove his tongue down someone’s ear in order for them to hear him.
That was fine, though, Remus didn’t really feel like talking. Instead, he stood along a wall with a drink in his hand as he watched you laugh and twirl on the dance floor with Lily, Mary, and Marlene.
The four of you are really quite a sight to behold. Completely lost in your own bubble of music and girlhood and bliss, your group dances like there’s no one else in the room.
Every once in a while, some dumb bloke will feel brave enough to approach you four, and Remus almost laughs at the way you all glare and snarl at them until they back off.
Almost.
Because he can’t really blame them but he does anyway.
And then Sirius moves in and steals you away; he’d asked all four of you if you’d like to dance, but James moved in on Lily right quick after that and Marlene flipped him the bird before grabbing Mary and heading towards the bar.
You smile sweetly at Sirius, laughing when he bows and holds his hand out to you like an aristocrat in the regency era asking you to participate in an intricate ball dance with him.
And then the two of you are pressed close to one another, swaying in time to the music; your fists are tangled in Sirius’ clothes in order to keep him close and his hands cradle you reverently.
He leans down to murmur something into your ear and he must have said something horridly crude because you’re swatting at his chest chidingly and laughing. And Remus feels like he’s going to be sick, so he tosses his still full cup in the garbage and pulls an Irish goodbye.
He’ll text everyone later.
But he feels just as sick at home as he did in the club and even the two more beers he manages to drink on his own doesn’t help settle his nerves as he watches his phone and waits.
And waits and waits and waits.
For what, well, Remus isn’t quite sure.
It’s well past closing time, the bars would have long kicked the lot of you out.
He wonders if you’ve ever thought of calling him when you’ve had a few. He wonders if your fingers ever itched to ring him the way his own do right now.
He falls asleep on his sofa, the image of you and Sirius pressed up against each other seared into the back of his retinas replaying on a loop when his eyes finally fall closed.
Remus doesn’t go to the club the next time everyone goes out. The group lets out a series of complaints and protests, but what almost has him second guessing his decision is the furrow of your brows as you consider him.
Almost.
But he’s still being plagued by images of you and Sirius slotting your hips together on the dancefloor and he can’t do it.
Not again. Not tonight.
So he stays home, and he stays up well into the early morning hours with his paperback in his hand, and he doesn’t realise that he’d actually been staying up for a reason; that he’d actually been staying up waiting for something. Hoping for something.
He doesn’t realise this until his phone starts to ring, and his stomach unfurls and he’s dropping his book - effectively losing his spot - and launching for his phone.
It’s you.
“Hello?” He manages to get out, bemusement and excitement both evident in his voice. He nearly kicks himself for the blunder until he hears you let out what sounds like a sigh of relief.
“Rem?”
He smiles unbiddenly. “Hi, dove.”
“Hi, Rem.”
Remus pulls his lips between his teeth as he fights against a beaming smile that you couldn’t see anyway but it still feels like an admission.
“Where are you? Are you alright?”
“Yeah.” You let out with a long sigh. “I’m alright.”
“Where are you?” He asks again.
“Home.”
“Yeah? That’s good.” Remus says. The line is quiet, save your breathing.
“Did you have fun tonight?” He tries.
You let out a noncommittal sound. “Yeah…yeah I had fun.”
“You don’t sound so sure.”
“Wasn’t s’much fun as last time.” You slur; somehow, that makes Remus smile even brighter.
“Yeah? Why’s that?”
You let out another long sigh. “I d’know.”
Remus hums into the phone and reclines back onto his sofa, listening to the sound of your breathing and wonders if maybe you aren’t falling asleep on him.
“Rem?” You ask suddenly.
“Yeah?”
You let out a hum of acknowledgment. “Thought you were gone.”
Remus hums in the negative. “I’m right here.”
More silence.
“Why’d you call, dove?” Remus asks, and he immediately squeezes his eyes shut in regret because he already decided that he didn’t want to know - couldn’t handle to know - if this flows both ways, and it feels like too much of an admission.
You held all the aces; this man sitting on the other end of the line often falls asleep to the sound of your laughter, obsesses over images of you with anyone who doesn’t happen to be him, who has to physically hide his phone from himself when he’s drunk because he yearns for nothing more than hearing your voice.
Like this…
“I just…” you start, your drink-addled brain working hard to articulate your thoughts properly. “I just wanted to talk to you. I just wanted to hear your voice.”
Remus should have known you’d be ten times braver than he.
“Have you ever thought of calling when you’ve had a few, Rem?” You ask him in turn.
And, well, if the two of you were being honest…
“All the time.”
You let out a pleased hum. “Good.” You decide. “I was worried it was just me.”
please this was so so so damn good! The yearning, the little scenes, remus being remus, reader calling him!!! the incorporation of the actual lyrics!! I want to cry! Thank you so much for this lexy!!!!
hehehehehe.... 😈 big shout out to @maladaptiveescapism for daydreaming and yapping about this with me - some of the 'ratings' are courtesy of her!
Professor!Remus Lupin x Professor!reader: 5/5 chilli peppers [1.7k words]
CW: fem!reader, flirty/sexual comments made about both professors by students [indirectly], suggestive content but nothing explicit and SFW
You were sitting cross legged on Remus’ desk; heels discarded on the floor as you used one hand to scroll through your phone whilst the other brought your glass of wine to your lips.
Remus probably shouldn’t think you look adorable, but Remus thought you looked adorable.
You hummed excitedly as you quickly swallowed your sip and pointed at your phone. “Listen to this one!” You enthused, clearing your throat and sitting up straighter as though you were about to deliver one of your lectures. “Professor Lupin should be banned from wearing those khaki slacks - you know the ones - how can anyone pay attention to the migration of Germanic peoples through Western Europe when that perfect arse is *right there*?”
Remus’ face felt like it was probably five shades darker on account of his furious blush as he topped up his own glass of wine and let out a sound halfway between a laugh and a groan.
“They’re just trousers!”
“Oh but they are so not.” You drawled salaciously, smirking into your glass.
“Knock it off, you minx.”
“Shan’t.” You replied as you squinted at your phone again. “Oh! This one’s good: when he starts rolling up his sleeves and then leans on the desk, it’s suddenly worth waking up at seven AM for a morning class.”
“Stop-”
“And someone responded with ‘I didn't believe in god when I was forced to take an eight AM lecture, but I did believe in god when she blessed us with Professor Lupin as an apology’. You’re a hit, Lupin.”
“I’m horrified.”
“You’re an icon.”
“Did these student’s even learn anything in my classes?” Remus let out with a laugh.
“Sure.” You agreed quickly. “This one says you guys spoke about Freud?”
“I- what?” Remus asked, wondering when the hell Freud came up during his Early Medieval Europe course.
“‘We were discussing Freud and made a daddy joke. Professor Daddy.’”
“Alright.” Remus gruffed as repositioned himself on the loveseat in the office. “That’s enough out of you.”
“Hey,” You placated, raising your hands - still holding your phone and a glass of wine - in mock surrender, “I’m just the messenger.”
“What is this site called again?” He asked as he pulled out his own phone.
“Rate my professor. Oh, this one’s boring.”
“What’s it say?” He asked with a snort.
“Says you’re a harsh grader but fair, and you allow people to resubmit their assignments to bring their grades up.”
“Finally, an accurate and reasonable review.”
“All in all, you’ve gotten 5/5 chilli peppers.” You sing-songed, looking up and smirking at him. “My my; do office hours run long, Professor Lupin?”
Remus swallowed thickly and ignored the subtle tightening of his pants. “You think mine are bad?”
“No, I think yours are great.” You corrected.
Remus hummed as he smirked at you before reading from his screen. “Took the class because it was the only one available and now I’m wondering if I can retake it because this might be the hottest woman I have ever seen. BRB booking an appointment to change my major.”
“No way!” You squealed with laughter; Remus’ smile grew exponentially as a result.
“Did Plato come up this semester?” He asked you then; you nodded your head yes. “I don’t know why she thinks I can focus on platonic ideals of things when she is in the room? Platonic ideal of hot.”
“Oh my god!”
“This one simply reads ‘someone call Victoria’s Secret. One of their angels is posing as a university professor.”
You shook your head and looked up at the ceiling at that one.
“Looks like you’ve got 5/5 chilli peppers too, Professor.” He quipped.
“That’s just because I’m only one of two Professors at this university under 50 years old.” You chuckled, Remus cocking an unimpressed brow in response.
“Wouldn’t that be my excuse too?”
You quickly hummed in the negative.
“No?”
“Nope.”
“Why not?”
You narrowed your eyes at him. “Uhm…because you’re hot, Remus.”
“Is that so?”
“That is my professional, academic opinion, yes.” You agreed resolutely.
“I think there might be some flaws in your assessment, dove.”
“Is that so?” You drawled slowly, parroting his earlier comment earning you a challenging hum of affirmation.
Remus watched your eyes narrow slightly before you lifted your phone back up.
“You did receive one ⅘ rating.” You commented solemnly.
“Bastard.” Remus scoffed with no real heat, running his tongue along his teeth as you repositioned yourself on his desk; shifting closer to the edge and leaning over your own legs as though trying to subconsciously inch closer to Remus. “I hope they failed my course.”
You let out a roaring laugh, throwing your head back into it and exposing the length of your neck.
“They said,” you continued loudly once you collected yourself as though scolding him for having interrupted you, “minus one chilli because I’m pretty sure he’s shagging that other hot professor in the department.”
“Now why would they think that?” He asked innocently, though he knew exactly why they would think that.
The two of you were new to the university faculty this year; you were close in age, by far the youngest professors on the payroll, and both part of the history department. The two of you had picked up a quasi-antagonistic yet relatively genial relationship; rumours that the department would be letting go of one professor at the end of the school year what with the two of you being the lowest in terms of seniority didn’t bode well, resulting in a slight rivalry that saw no real animosity.
But regardless of the semi-competitive nature of your relationship, the two of you were the youngest professors at the school, meaning you weren’t always taken very seriously and were often each other’s only allies.
This meant the two of you became fast frenemies.
It started in the first term when he went to reserve a book for the class, only to find you had put it on hold first.
“Oh? Did you need this book, Lupin? Sorry about that….you’ll have to be faster next time.” You’d offered him with nothing more than a wink, leaving him standing there, gaping in your office as you walked away.
Then it turned into him letting himself into the lecture room 26 minutes past the hour whilst your class was finishing up even though your class only finished 25 minutes past the hour and his class didn’t start until 35 minutes past the hour, just so he could enjoy the way your nose scrunched up in frustration as your students started giggling through your concluding remarks.
You showed up to one of his lectures once - he’d somehow missed you sneaking in and taking a seat in the back row - when you began volleying questions in an attempt to fluster him. You’d teased him once about his need for structure and scripts for his classes, and you’d gone to prove him right by asking him hard hitting questions slightly beyond the scope of this particular class that he was not prepared to have to answer. The class ended with his tie loosened and his sleeves rolled up as he scowled at you and you smiled sweetly at him.
Once he had fucked around with your powerpoint lecture without your knowledge, so as you opened up the first slide, everyone read: blimey, sorry to everyone stuck with Professor Y/N for the next hour or so. You really ought to try one of Professor Lupin’s courses instead - they’re way better!
You sticky-noted his entire office for that one.
Friendly and not so friendly comments were passed in the corridors as the two of you passed one another, some heard by students and others not. Remus had guest lectured for a course of yours and you had offered a talk in one of his.
Ultimately, the school had seen the two of you interacting. Remus probably should have been more mindful of the way his gaze often lingered on you.
But it couldn’t be helped, really. You were maddeningly intelligent, engaging in the way you spoke in an academic sense and a personal sense, you were funny and quick, and fuck him if you weren’t the most gorgeous thing he’d ever seen.
So yeah, he knew exactly where those rumours had come from. He’d probably been caught a few too many times ogling you.
Much like he was being caught ogling you now, though you were the only one present to catch him in his faux pas.
Your eyes were glassy from the amount of wine the two of you had shared to celebrate the official end of exam season, the top few buttons of your blouse seem to have come undone at some point in the evening exposing a beautiful expanse of skin, if you asked Remus. He noticed you swallow thickly as your legs fell over the edge of the desk, bare feet dangling well above the carpeted floor as you watched him watch you.
“Beats me.” You murmured in response to his question.
“We’ve been drinking.” He commented, seemingly apropos of nothing.
“We have.”
“And we’re technically at work.” He continued.
“We are.”
“One of us could be getting let go.”
“We could.” You agreed again.
The two of you stared at one another as you teetered this liminal space between friendly and decidedly not, between professional and inappropriate, between surrendering and resisting.
And then the corner of your mouth turned up in a smirk.
“Fuck it.” Remus let out with an exhale, and in two quick strides he was standing between your legs, grabbing your face in his hands and kissing you soundly as you hummed into the kiss and fisted the back of his shirt with an iron grip.
He couldn’t believe he’d waited an entire academic year to do this.
Could we possibly…maybe…please get a glimpse of when the team finds out the sexy long legged muscular thighs Remus and team doctor!reader are seeing each other 👀👀
YES - UH HUH - YUP - NO PROBLEM (ty ty ty ty ty)
hockey player!Remus Lupin x team medic!reader who are found out [2.6k words]
part 1 | part two | part 3
CW: fem!reader, blood, injury, talk of needles and stitches but the process is not described, hockey, proof of authors completely biased love of Swedes
Away games made you itchy.
The locker rooms were different, their medical rooms were different, and you spent what was likely an absurd amount of time before each game in the dark room (that each locker room had for concussion protocol) just familiarizing yourself with the set up.
Hockey players were known for being superstitious, and they accused you of being much the same. But the difference between yourself and the team was that the medic hoped to the hockey gods each game that they wouldn’t be needed, while ensuring they were adequately prepared should they be needed.
And when your team wasn’t on home ice, you never felt adequately prepared.
“I like watching your pre-game rituals.” Fenwick commented casually from his seat on the medical table - part of his pre-game ritual ever since you helped him stretch out his hamstrings before one game and he scored a hat-trick. Now he haunted your exam room like his career depended on it, much to your chagrin.
“I don’t have a pre-game ritual, Fenny.” You grumbled as you reorganized the supply cabinet below the sink. “I have a job.”
Fenwick made a non-committal sound as he continued taping up his stick - meticulously - when the door to the dark room opened.
“Doc, I was wond- are you really still on this, Fenz?” James paused as he furrowed his brows at his teammate.
Fenwick let out a tired sigh as he gave you an exasperated look that read ‘can you believe this guy?’ before looking back over at James. “Cap, what you do to get ready for a game is your business, what doc and I do to get ready for a game is ours.”
“For the last time, Fenwick, I don’t have a pre-game ritual.” You hissed before taking a calming breath. “What do you need, Captain?”
James had the grace to turn a little bashful. “Erm, well…there’s no more tape.”
You felt your shoulders sag as you gave him a disbelieving look. “I’ve asked you guys not to go through the medical tape; you need to ask the equipment managers to pack some if you need your own.” You repeated, again.
James grimaced as he went to respond, but was saved from needing to when a taller figure approached him from behind.
“Coach asked the arena management for more, we’re all good.” Remus offered quickly, flashing you an apologetic smile over James’ shoulder as he clapped his captain on the back.
“Oh Loops, you beautiful, beautiful man.” James cheered before roughly pulling Remus’ head down to plant a smacking kiss to his cheek. “I love the Swedes!” He declared as he waltzed back into the locker room, earning him a cheer of approval from Isak Grönvall.
“Five minutes, Fen.” Remus continued, causing Benjy to hop down from the table with an excited whoop.
“Sorry doc, duty calls! Good luck out there!”
You let out a tired sigh as you fought the urge to shout “I don’t need luck - I’m doing my fucking job” after him.
“You okay, doc?” Remus asked gently then, and you felt treacherous at how much of your ire simply seeped out of you as you saw his honeyed gaze and soft smile being directed at you.
“I hate away games.” You pouted rather petulantly, causing Remus to let out a laugh.
“Home games are better.” He offered carefully as he moved further into the room to stand in front of you. “But away games have hotel rooms.”
You hummed in agreement as the two of you shared a look, but the door to the room opened again, causing Remus to take a significant step away from you.
“Doc!” Sirius called breathlessly. “There’s no tape!”
“Loops found tape!” You heard someone call from further in the locker room, causing Sirius to let out a sigh of relief.
“I fucking love the Swedes!”
“It’s like they think I spoke some ancient Swedish proverb and a viking hand delivered medical tape to me personally.” Remus murmured quietly as the two of you watched Sirius disappear back into the locker room before you heard coach Moody shout for everyone to listen up.
“Duty calls.” Remus offered with an almost disappointed smile at having to leave your company.
“Good luck out there.” You parroted Fenwick’s earlier sentiments.
Remus’ disappointed smile grew more sincere; softer around the edges. “You too, Doc.”
The Lions were up 4-1, and the Raven’s were not happy about it. It was turning into a rough game, and you had held towels up to more players' faces (threatening them with a weeks worth of bench time if they were hiding more injuries from you) than you could count, when the crowd went wild.
Dearborn all but shoved your arm away from him in favour of standing against the boards to watch the action, and you couldn’t find it in you to be all that perturbed when you stepped up onto the bench to get a better view of the ice too, watching Remus’ line - the marauders, the team had taken to calling them - fly up towards the opposing team's side of the ice.
James was the kind of guy to skate right through people versus around them, shouldering and checking people out of his way, while Sirius Padfoot Black seemed to swirl and dance his way across the ice like this was simply a well-rehearsed ballroom dance he could perform in his sleep.
And for what Remus lacked in brute force or dancing grace like that of his linemates, he made up for tenfold in speed. He beat both James and Sirius to the otherside of the ice, slowing ever so slightly to allow Sirius to push the puck over the blue line before joining it on the home teams side and stationing himself near the side of the net as James forced his way to the goalies crease, and Sirius played keep away from the Raven’s with his defenseman, waiting for the perfect opening.
The perfect opening came in the form of both of Ravenclaw’s defensemen fussing over James for blocking their goalie as said goalie craned his neck in an attempt to see over the clump of bodies in front of him, leaving Remus wide open.
The puck bounced from Sirius, to Grönvall, who shot it to his fellow defensemen, who passed it back to Sirius who faked lining up for a slapshot before passing it to Remus who quickly tipped it in to the top shelf of the Raven’s net, causing the red light to flash and the goal horn to blare.
In Remus’ focus on putting the puck in the net, he missed the Ravenclaw defensemen who had handed off James’ assault to his linemate in favour of directing his ire at Remus; checking him hard when Remus hadn’t even seen him, sending him face first into another Ravenclaw player who lifted his own arms, causing Remus’ face to make contact with the players stick before going down hard.
You watched as Remus tried to pick himself back up again before his limbs simply sprawled out, flattening back down on the ice. Every player from both teams crowded around the net and nearly directly on top of Remus as they paired off in a brawl.
“He’s still down.” You said aloud as if the coaches didn’t know, as if they couldn’t see. “He’s not getting up.”
The entire bench was standing and leaning against the boards as if just itching to join the chaos out on the ice; all four referees blowing their whistles and trying to pry players off of each other before turning around to pry two more apart.
James was still spitting words at the Ravenclaw captain when you made it down to the boards yourself.
“Captain!” You tried, feeling your throat constrict when he didn’t seem to hear you. “JAMES!”
James paused where he was bending down to retrieve his helmet he’d lost in the fighting to look at you, seeming to recognize the panic in your face as he abandoned the rest of his equipment in favour of skating towards you.
“He’s down; he’s still down.” You said, though it sounded more like a beg.
“Okay doc, okay.” He agreed breathlessly, offering you his elbow as you stepped out onto the ice, sneakers sliding as he helped you all but hobble across the ice to where Sirius was bent over Remus - seemingly talking to him, thank god - also sans helmet and a bloody lip.
“James…” You whined after the third time your feet threatened to come out from underneath you, clearly attempting to move faster than James was willing to skate with you before he wrapped his arm around your waist and simply hiked you up underneath his arm like a fucking football, skating you the rest of the way to Sirius and Remus.
“Hey, there’s our guardian angel.” Sirius offered with a wink as James gently placed you onto the ice, you forgoing all grace and falling to your knees and all but crawling over to Remus.
“Lupin you son of a bitch.” You hissed instead of crying, bending in an attempt to look at his face where he was positioned on all fours. “What the fuck was that about?”
Remus let out a breathy chuckle as droplets of blood landed below him, contrasting starkly against the pristine white snowed up ice. “I don’t think they liked that I scored.”
Something tight unclenched in your stomach leaving you feeling hollow and a little nauseous as you let out a slightly hysterical laugh at Remus’ joke.
“No, no. I don’t think they did. What hurts?”
Remus shook his head minutely. “Just my face. The wind knocked out of me when I landed and then there was fighting.” He explained. “I thought it best to just stay down.”
“I agree.” You said as you held a towel to Remus’ cheek. “Just your face?”
“Only where the stick hit me.”
“Your head?”
“Is fine.”
“I’ll decide that, yeah?”
Remus sat back on his heels as the crowd slowly started clapping. James pulled you over towards himself, picking you back up to skate over to the bench as Sirius helped support Remus back over and the two of you disappeared through the tunnel towards the dark room.
“I’m fine, doc.” He argued as you pointed at the exam table.
“Protocol.” You responded simply as you closed the door behind you, your eyes struggling to adapt to the low light as you dug through your medical supplies.
Syringe, two needles, local anesthetic, sutures and suture needle.
You washed your hand thoroughly as Remus held the towel to his face, donning a pair of surgical gloves before bringing your supplies over to him.
“Quick flash.” You warned before shining a light in his eyes; you were relieved by the results.
“Told you I’m fine.” He tried to tease as you clicked your flashlight back off and pulled the supplies you had placed on a rolling table over to you.
“You’re bleeding through the towel, Remus. You’re not fine.” You bit back; words and tone harsh but hands painfully gentle as you pulled said towel away from his face to assess the injury.
The cut was small, but clearly deep; directly under his right eye high upon his cheekbone.
The two of you were silent as you worked; you disinfected the wound and cleaned up the blood from his face, numbing the area before tying four quick stitches, taping over the injury more as a means of protecting it when you knew Remus would insist on going back out onto the ice again.
You hadn’t even realized his hands were on you until his thumbs started moving. You were stationed between his legs which were hanging off of the exam table, his hands had landed on the back of your thighs at some point during your work, and the pads of his thumbs began drawing soft circles when your hands started to shake, only after you placed the tape over his stitches.
“I’m okay.” He whispered again; his face so close to yours that you could feel the breath of his words fan across your face.
“Okay.” You responded, voice tight with emotions as your eyes started to swim with tears.
“Baby.” He cooed pathetically as he tried to pull you closer to him by your thighs, though between the exam table and all of his equipment, there was really no way to get any closer than you already were.
“I’m sorry.” You whimpered as you pressed the backs of your gloved fists to your eyes, humiliated at the onslaught of emotions now that the adrenaline had worn off.
“My poor girl.” He breathed out, pressing delicate kisses to your forehead. “I didn’t mean to worry you.”
“I don’t know why I’m acting like this.” You admitted; trying to laugh at yourself, though it came out more like a sob. “This is my job.”
Remus hummed as he kept his lips pressed to your head, giving you a moment to catch your breath before he continued. “Yes, but that’s why you don’t do my ongoing care now, right? Because…it’s different.”
“Yeah.” You whispered, still not trusting your voice to not crack under the pressure in your throat.
“You’re okay, babylove.” He murmured.
You sucked in a few deep breaths, willing yourself to toughen up and get back out there when the door to the dark room suddenly flung open.
“Doc, is Loops oka- oh my fucking god.”
You fought back a groan as Remus simply breathed out a chuckle from his nose and Fenwick continued his sputtering from the door.
“Oh my god!” He shrilled.
“Christ Fenz; will you keep it down? Lupin could be concussed.” You heard the coach bark.
“It’s worse!”
Remus let out an offended scoff as you turned to look at him. “Worse?”
“They- they’re, fucking- they’re….they’re fucking!!” Benjy ended up sputtering very ineloquently.
You heard a flurry of movement before Sirius and James’ torsos appeared in the doorway; the two boys nearly wrestled each other out of the way in order to get a view of what the hell Benjy was talking about before they both started smiling, though in very different manners.
“Now…I don’t know how you do it, Fenny, but that is not fucking.” Sirius taunted salaciously.
“I fucking knew it! You owe me ten bucks, Krum!” James called as he walked out of the dark room, followed by Krum grumbling something in Russian.
“Who bet on finding out after the All-Stars?” You heard Dearborn ask. “Because you bastards owe fifteen.”
That was followed by more grumbling.
“Doc!” You heard Grönvall call breathlessly, turning to find him standing in the doorway with a wide smile on his face. “You do love the Swedes!”
Remus let out a loud laugh as his arms wormed their way around your waist. “No, she loves this Swede.”
Grönvall laughed and nodded his head as if to say ‘fair enough’. “Well gratulerar! You’ve made me a rich man!”
You shook your head as you shared a look with Remus before hearing a scandalized “OH MY GOD” from the locker room.
“Doc’s the one with the wicked mouth!” James shrieked, and you felt all of the blood in your body migrate to your face as you buried your face in Remus’ chest - very uncomfy due to his pads.
“Tell us something we didn’t know, Cap.” Sirius laughed. “She hands our asses to us every day with nothing but that sharp tongue.”
“But-”
“Okay, going into the third period-” Coach started, and the topic of you and Remus (and your wicked mouth) was put to rest… for now.
STOP OMG ELLE THE WOMAN YOU ARE THE WAY YOU BROUGHT THE MARAUDERS NAME IN THERE AND REMUS CALLING READER BABYLOVE AND YHE WICKED MOUTH!!! I AM MELTING AND KICKING AND SCREAMING OUT OF GIDDY
hockey player!Remus Lupin x team medic!reader who didn't account for Remus' shorts [1.3k words]
CW: fem!reader, guys teasing each other about their place of origin (all in good fun - shout out to Sweden and Russia), suggestive -> nothing happens in the fic but it's very clear what has taken place and readers mind strays to...less then polite places for a moment -> mature content, viewer discretion is advised
It’s not that either of you had been keeping it a secret, per se, but rather that you were keeping it quiet.
The league was aware. Or, at least they knew as much as they needed to know when you and Remus requested that his on-going care be transferred to one of the other league doctors citing a conflict of interest in your own care of the athlete.
So they may not know, but… they knew.
The coach knew and the PT knew as well as a few other members of the coaching staff, but the equipment manager, the media team, and the general manager didn’t know.
Oh, and the team.
The team didn’t know either.
You had worried that it would be hard, especially when things were still so new between the two of you, spending extended periods of time in each other’s company without exchanging heated gazes or hungry exchanges. But, after years of working in medicine, you found it was very easy to put your team scrubs on and see Remus as just another one of the boys you were treating - an athlete you were responsible for, a body to heal.
Out of those scrubs though? Well, that was a completely different story.
Turns out you should have been a little more careful in your shared time together sans scrubs.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hang the fuck on!” James shouted as he pulled his headphones away from his ears to rest on his neck, jumping to place one foot on either side of the treadmill before hitting the stop button.
You - alert in the gym should anyone get hurt - uncrossed your legs and sat at attention, concerned that you might be needed
“What the fuck is that, Lupin?” He continued with a breathy laugh, causing Remus to remove his own headphones and cock an eyebrow at his teammate.
“Fuckin’ Potter, always chirpin’.” Benji snickered to Sirius who snorted in return.
“What’re you on about now, Cap?” Sirius called over.
“Look at Lupin’s leg!” He nearly shrilled, causing Benji to cackle.
“Spend a lot of time oggling your teammate’s legs, Potts?” Caradoc taunted as he slowed his stride on the treadmill next to James’ to a walk.
“No, just Lupin’s. Can you blame him though? Fuckin’ look at them; they go on for days.” Benji called over, making a show of stretching his neck as if it was necessary to fully appreciate Remus’ legs, causing Remus to toss a balled up sweaty towel at him.
“Fuck off, the lot of you.” Remus laughed at the same time James started sputtering.
“Look! On his thigh! He-”
“Chirst Potts, you’ve got it bad.” Wood interjected.
“- looks like he’s been mauled and fuck off, Wood!” James finished despite the interjection.
And, much to your horror, everyone did look at Remus’ thigh and now that you were too, you couldn’t even appreciate the well defined muscles from years of skating, cardio, and weight training, nor the way they shined a little with sweat from today’s workout, nor the way that he was sitting on the weight bench which caused those shorts - already a little short for a man with legs so long - to ride up sinfully further due to the fact that there was a well-defined and blatantly obvious love bite sucked into the soft skin of his inner thigh.
“Holy shit! Did ya find yourself a baby shark or something, Loops? And why’d you let it so close to your crotch?” Benji called over causing everyone to hoot and holler at him.
“Fuck off.” Remus laughed with a shake of his head as he tried to adjust his shorts in an attempt at some modesty - it was all for naught.
“I didn’t even know you were seeing anyone! And damn, she’s gotta a fuckin’ mouth on her, eh?” Sirius added as he came to lean against the side of James’ treadmill in favour of his third set.
“Okay, debate about whether or not you’re dating a vampire aside - blink twice if you need help - how’d you even find time to receive that hickey? We’ve been on the road for almost two weeks!” Potter grilled then, pausing for the briefest of moments should Remus need to blink, which he did not.
“None of your fuckin’ business, that’s how.” Remus commented dryly, though you could see his tongue in his cheek as he tried to suppress his own laughter. You thanked the hockey gods that the blush Remus was currently donning could be explained away by the exertion from his work out, but you knew it was different, you knew the signs.
You knew exactly how far that blush went when you whispered how beautiful his eyes were. You knew the way his breath hitched - perhaps even which rib it got stuck under - when you brushed the pad of your thumb just below his waist band sitting on his hips. You knew the sound that left his kiss bruised lips when you sucked that mark into his leg; no shorts impeding your view of his very impressive body, watching the golden colour of his eyes eclipse behind pupil as he watched you reverently.
You knew that blush probably went right to his chest, past the pretty pink nipples you’d also spent some time suc-
“No fuckin’ fair! How’s Loops finding chicks on the road? He doesn’t even go to the bars with us!” Benji whined.
“Don’t have to.” Remus shrugged. “Look at me, I’m gorgeous.”
“Oh, I’m sure the hotel staff were just throwing themselves at you.” Sirius sneered, though his smile proved it was all for show.
“Just make sure not to do it in front of doc, yeah? Don’t wanna hurt her feelings.” James called as he turned his treadmill back on, causing you to choke on the drink of water you’d opted to take instead of either salivating over your - boyfriend? Could you call him that? - or chewing nervously at your lip, convinced that everyone was onto you.
“Why me?” You barely managed without shrieking.
James offered you a casual shrug of his shoulders. “We all know you love the Swedes.”
“I don’t love the Swedes.” You retorted, though a few of the guys were cackling at your expense.
“Everyone loves Swedes!” Isak Grönvall called excitedly. “Vänaste land uppå jord!” [a/n: lyric from the national anthem of Sweden, believe it translates to "loveliest land upon earth"]
“No.” Krum grunted then as he let the weights fall to the ground. “Everyone love Russia.”
“No one loves Russia, Krum.” Benji offered with faux consolation as he patted him roughly on the back.
“Why not? Is most good!”
“We’re getting a little off track here.” James butt in.
“I think you’ve gotta let it go cap, Loops just doesn’t like you like that.” Sirius stage whispered. “Besides, we’re going to make doc jealous if we keep pointing it out.”
“Black!” You barked. “Back to your machine; ten more reps.”
“Ten!?”
“Ten.” You confirmed.
Sirius looked just about ready to succumb to his fate before a flash of hope danced across his features. “Wait…you can’t tell me what to do in here, you’re not my coach!”
“Coach Moody?” You called calmly.
“Ten more reps, Black.” Moody gruffed without looking up from the gameplay board in his hands.
Sirius groaned.
“You too, Lupin.”
The gym erupted into laughter.
You tried to will your cheeks to cool down as you returned your focus to the notes in your hand when you felt your phone vibrate.
[Remus]: Are you happy, now? You’ve gotten me in trouble.
You looked over in a way you hoped appeared casual to see Remus smirking down at his phone in his lap.
[You]: It’s not my fault at all.
[Remus]: No? Whose fault is it then?
[You]: Yours! Those shorts are fuckin sinful.
[Remus]: So is that mouth of yours.
You felt a sinful smirk take over your face.
[You]: Really? You didn’t seem to mind much last night.
Remus shook his head and readjusted himself in his seat.
And omg this turned out so fucking fun and I love the team banter and their dynamic and just the image of Remus’ trained thighs is making me go feral!!!!
cw: discussion of experienced transphobia, discussion of someone else's homophobia, the Black Family, writers poor understanding of UK politics, mature themes and discussion of full service sex work
link to series masterlist
“Absolutely bloody fucking not, are you out of your mind?”
“Cas, please.” You begged as you followed your roommate out of her room and into the kitchen.
“You have plenty of bags, why do you need to borrow mine?” She grumbled as she flicked on the kettle.
“The room is booked at the Ritz, Cas; I cannot walk in with my fraying duffle.”
Her movements paused as she turned to look at you incredulously. “The Ritz? Fucking hells, babe, where’d you find this guy?”
You shrugged your shoulders helplessly. “He found me.”
“Blimey…if he has enough money to throw around for a casual stay at a hotel like that and-”
“Me.” You finished for her. “I know…I- I’d like it to go well, in case…”
“In case he decides to book again.”
You nodded solemnly at Dorcas who continued staring at you, only looking away when her water came to a boil.
“Fine. Fine…okay, you can borrow my Prada bag.”
You squealed as you hugged your friend from behind as she prepared her tea, ignoring her grumbling on account of the pleased smile she had on her face.
“Thank you, Cas. Really…this….this could be good for us, yeah?”
Her face softened as she turned to look at you as you backed towards her bedroom to retrieve her bag; guilt, grief and hope intermingling in her eyes as she nodded at you.
*ೃ༄.ೃ࿐
Your cheap heels clicked across along the marble floor which reflected the lights like diamonds under the many crystal chandeliers hanging on the high ceilings. You were wearing your most expensive jacket, but you still felt horribly out of place; you weren’t exactly wearing a whole lot underneath it (everything was going to be coming off shortly anyway…), and you were delusional enough to feel like everyone in the lobby was somehow onto you.
This late into the evening, most guests were dressed to the nines as they made their way to casinos and orchestras; cocktail dresses and more than a few tuxedos painting your vision in every direction you looked. You couldn’t get to the elevator quickly enough, though you were forced to spend the ride up staring at your reflection ad infinitum on account of the parallel mirrors in every direction.
Fifth floor, room 522.
The room itself had its own miniature chandelier hanging above the room number illuminating it in the hall. You looked back at the text on your phone to confirm you were at the right place.
Great! Looking forward to seeing you: room 522 on the 5th floor
You’d had high paying clients before – men who could afford to spend their money on sex – but not like this, never like this.
You suddenly felt incredibly nervous and hoped you could make a good impression; if he was pleasant, you’d be more than happy to have him as a repeat client.
You’ve been through worse.
You took one last look through your borrowed bag to make sure you had your essentials, as well as your ID and taser in case of emergencies, before taking a deep breath and knocking gently; cautious of the hall of other rooms who may be winding down for the evening and not wanting to draw attention to what was very clearly an escort.
Please let this go well.
“Okay, so, explain to me again why you couldn’t just hire an actress or some theatre student?” James asked as he rubbed painfully at his temples.
Sirius groaned and threw his head back. “Because James; an actress will have a portfolio – a history - that my family can dig into. They’ll also have dreams of pursuing other acting jobs after this one. I need someone nondescript, unheard of, and not going anywhere so that my mother and her cronies can’t poke holes into our story.”
“Same reason he can’t use a friend.” Regulus added from his place on a tufted chair in the luxurious hotel room currently being paid for by his and Sirius’ family.
“Right. Mother and everyone will know if I’m using a friend, or an acquaintance and it will point back to this larger scheme.” Sirius agreed readily.
“But wouldn’t it make more sense if you had met your new fiancé through a friend?” Remus questioned.
“Sure. If my friends weren’t the two of you, Lily, and Marlene.” Sirius added simply.
“I just don’t understand how we jumped straight to prostitution.” James muttered.
“Look,” Sirius levelled, “I’ve thought about this long and hard. I’ve also discussed this with Andromeda and our Uncle Alphard, and they both agree this is the best way to go. Our family won’t have any reason to have met our prostitute unless they themselves have hired a prostitute, and this girl is supposed to be from the opposite end of town, so I doubt there’d have been any overlap anyways. She also won’t have much of a background for them to dig into – and she’d be hard to get to if they tried.”
“Why would she be hard to get to?”
Remus grimaced and answered James for him. “Prostitutes often have pimps, James. Men that...organise the contact for the girls. Sirius would have had to go through one to find this girl.”
“I thought that was a myth?” Regulus interjected, but Remus shook his head.
“It’s estimated that approximately 65-85% of prostitution is pimp-dominated.”
“So, some guy sold her to you?” James asked incredulously.
“Sort of...I guess.” Sirius admitted.
James groaned and looked at the ceiling “I hate this.”
“This is the beginning of the end, James. We’re taking the Black’s down once and for all; they won’t be able to hurt any of us ever again.” Sirius lamented, his eyes moving from James towards his younger brother at the end of the sentence.
Regulus nodded at his brother before there was a gentle knock on the door.
“Well boys, show time.” James said as he stood from his seat and moved to answer the door.
Sirius wrung his hands nervously as he heard James greet you at the door, sharing nervous looks with Remus and Regulus who both sat up straighter.
“-get you anything? There’s a full bar here, you can help yourself to whatever you want.” James was saying, though Sirius could almost hear your grin and polite shake of your head.
“I’m alright thanks, I’m not-”
But the second you stepped into the suite's living room you fell silent and looked at the three boys in horror; Sirius realised what he’d done wrong too little too late.
Both Remus and Regulus stood to greet you, and you pulled your bag into your chest and stepped back so quickly that the picture frame on the wall you slammed into shook.
“It’s okay, we-”
“What is this?” You whispered overtop of Sirius, eyes darting nervously between the four men now all standing with their hands raised in placation, though Sirius felt as though it likely had the opposite effect.
“Fuck this looks bad, doesn’t it?” James muttered nervously.
“Shut up, James.”
“What is this?” You repeated a little louder.
“Y/N, right? My name is Sirius, love. I’m the one you spoke with on the phone.” Sirius offered as calmly as he could muster. “I’m sorry we surprised you, but I promise you’re okay, this isn’t what it looks like.”
“We just want to talk.” Remus added, and you let out a hysterical laugh.
“You hired an escort to chat?” You deadpanned, and Sirius’ noticed your eyes turning glassy in your panic.
“Okay, okay. Hang on, just…” Sirius started, moving in slow motion as he stepped towards the side table his wallet was sitting on whilst holding your eye contact the entire time. “Look, this is the price we agreed upon, right?” He asked, only breaking your eye contact to count the bills out in his hands as he inched closer to you. “You can take this right now and leave if you want, but-” he continued, fanning out the rest of the cash he’d withdrawn, “It’s tripled if you stay and just hear us out.”
You looked at him in pure discombobulation as he placed the agreed upon sum in your hand and closed your grip around it for you before backing away slowly.
“Sit, please; we can order room service, you can help yourself to anything from the bar. Just…hear us out.” Remus offered as he gestured towards one of the wingback chairs.
You swallowed thickly and let your gaze drift over the four men again; Remus who was looking at you pleadingly, Regulus who looked very pained on your behalf, James who looked very embarrassed by this whole misunderstanding, and Sirius who was looking at you like you were his only hope.
“This…it’s not-?”
“No. No, there’s…no. No sex, nothing funny, just…a sales pitch.” He offered awkwardly.
You scanned the room again, and though your knuckles were no longer white, you were still hugging your bag tight against your body.
“Can I take your jacket?” James offered, taking a step towards him. You simply looked at him before your gaze fell to the rather informal clothes everyone else was wearing.
“Do you have something more comfortable to wear in your bag?” Remus offered, obviously reading your worry for what it was as you nodded at him.
“The washroom is right there, if you wanted to change? Or…if you wanted to call a cab.” Sirius offered. You nodded at him before disappearing through the door and locking it behind you.
“Fucking smooth, Sirius.” Regulus muttered as he sat back down with a dramatic sigh.
“Well I don’t fucking know, Reg! I’ve not exactly done this before, either.”
“That could have been bad.”
“Well we don’t know if she’s going to agree or not so it still could be bad.” Remus countered.
“I don’t think I can stomach having to hire another one.” Sirius muttered as they heard the door to the bathroom click.
You exited, still looking nervous but you were no longer wearing your jacket which Sirius took as a good sign.
You were wearing a pair of well fitting jeans and a black turtleneck with a pair of black heeled boots - classic and nondescript. You looked put together enough, but like you wouldn’t draw attention to yourself. Though, Sirius figured a girl as pretty as you was likely to garner a few stares regardless of what you were wearing.
That was probably good for business, which reminded Sirius why you were here.
“Are you hungry? Do you want to order something to eat? Anything to drink?”
“No, thank you.” You replied as you accepted the chair Remus was gesturing for you to sit in. You allowed James to take your jacket, but kept your bag in your lap.
“Water?” Regulus asked, and you finally managed to make eye contact with one of them.
“I have a bottle of water, thank you.”
That seemed…fair, Sirius supposed. He guessed you were used to spending time in the company of rather predatory men.
“Okay, so, I’m really sorry about the confusion, but the reason I hired you is that I was hoping for your help.” Sirius said as he hooked up his laptop to the TV and started his slideshow.
“You did not actually make a presentation.” James snorted, causing Sirius to look at him nonplussed.
“Of course I didn’t.” He responded simply, blushing only when he turned to notice you were looking at him with one raised eyebrow. “Regulus made it.”
“Someone had to.”
“This really is a sales pitch?” You asked almost disbelievingly; the ghost of a smirk on your lips.
“Okay, well, if everyone would shut up, I’d get on with it.” Sirius chided with a smile, glad that you were relaxing enough to at least chuckle lightly at his expense.
And Sirius told you.
He told you that his name was Sirius Black, that he came from the rather ignoble Black dynasty that had their claws (and more importantly, their heavily lined pockets) deeply entrenched in the rightwing government; currently backing the particularly problematic Tom Riddle who was running for Prime Minister. He explained that he’d run away from home at only 16 to live with James and his family due to the abuse and hostility his parents held, and how he could not support what they stood for. However, when his younger brother came out as trans to his parents - his parents who were now relying on their only remaining child to continue their legacy and help paint a picture of themselves as the proper, wholesome political family they pretended to be - they were desperate to play damage control.
They promised to leave Regulus alone - they’d have nothing to do with him, but they wouldn’t publicly shame him - if Sirius played nice. Nice, meaning living a respectable, traditional lifestyle. This meant that Sirius and Remus had been dating behind closed doors for almost eight years now whilst Remus worked as Sirius’ personal assistant, and Sirius pretended he wasn’t in contact with his younger sibling should the press ask.
His parents folded at Sirius’ friendship with James and Marlene, simply because no one would be able to explain away Sirius and James’ nearly lifelong friendship (he’d lived with his family for Christ’s sake), and even the Black’s understood the power in having ties with other wealthy and powerful families like the Potter’s and MacKinnon’s, even if their politics didn’t align with their own.
“How does this all involve me?” You asked then, surprising Sirius out of his well rehearsed schpiel to find your eyes trained on him.
“Right, so…my parents are tired of my bachelor lifestyle.”
“It doesn’t paint a very traditional picture to have the heir to a powerful family pushing 30 and still living in a bachelor pad with his unmarried mate and employee.” Remus offered dryly.
“They want you to find a girlfriend.” You deduced.
“They want me to find a wife.” Sirius corrected.
“And that’s…me?” You asked around a chuckle, your smile falling when you realised no one was laughing with you. “Oh my god…”
“I’ve told them I’ve been seeing someone for quite some time now, but didn’t want to bring them into this world until I was sure about them - until I was sure they weren’t ‘just after the family money’.” Sirius explained solemnly. “They want me to make it official, and they want me to start bringing you around.”
“Around…”
“Events; galas, fundraisers, press opportunities. The likes.” Regulus explained flippantly.
“Right…” You offered in monotone. “And you want to show up to galas, fundraisers, and press opportunities with a hooker?”
James turned to give Sirius a look that seemed to read ‘see?’, but Remus responded first.
“Well…we were sort of hoping he could show up with you.” Remus corrected gently. You seemed surprised and more than a tad confused at Remus’ apparent defence of you.
“They’re terrible people, Y/N.” Sirius blurted. “They are terrible and they stand for terrible things. They put all of their money into anti LGBTQIA+ propaganda and organisations, they actively work towards harming a large portion of UK citizens, they want to reverse any progress the country has made in reproductive healthcare and women’s rights, they’re trying to ban fucking children’s books, I-”
“Then why play along? Why play nice, as you said? Marrying an escort seems like a very dramatic way to keep your brother out of the limelight.” You argued.
“Clever girl.” Regulus murmured as he leaned further back into his chair.
“Family inheritance.” Sirius offered plainly. “I have access to use family money, but do not have access to direct family money. Not until I fulfil the requirements of my inheritance.”
“The requirements being an approved heterosexual wedding.” James filled in.
“Regulus is no longer entitled to his sum of the inheritance after my parents disowned him.” Sirius continued. “But that means that, should I be successful, I would inherit both of our portions.”
“Which would make Sirius the primary shareholder in the Black estates.” Regulus continued.
“Meaning you’d have final say over allocation of funds…” You finished for him.
“You are clever.” Remus agreed with Regulus’ earlier sentiments. You turned bashful and looked down at your lap to avoid having to look at any of them, Sirius found himself smiling at the top of your head.
“And I just…play along?” You asked then.
“You’ll be paid - handsomely - any time you’re with any of us. And once I have access to the estate, you’ll be given a portion of it.”
“It’s no small sum, either.” Regulus assured you.
“I will make sure it is well worth your time, Y/N.” Sirius promised.
He let that sit in the air as he moved towards the bar and poured himself a drink before picking up his wallet. “And here.” He added as he handed you the other portion of the cash he’d taken out for you.
“What?”
“I promised you triple if you heard us out; you’ve heard us out.” He responded simply as he took a seat beside Remus.
You fanned out the bills in front of you like you couldn’t believe your eyes; you weren’t counting them, necessarily, but proving to yourself it was real.
“They’re terrible?” You asked then, but when Sirius looked up, he could see you were asking Regulus.
“Awful.” Regulus murmured, eyes staring unseeingly at the coffee table in front of him as James placed a comforting hand on his knee. “Honestly, I’m…scared; not necessarily for myself, I mean, I know I’m safe and have people in my corner, but…there are so many people out there like me who don’t and…”
You nodded in understanding as Regulus trailed off.
“Okay.” You whispered as you folded up the money as best you could and put it in your bag before standing.
“Okay?” Sirius asked as he stood, too; quickly followed by Remus, James, and Regulus.
“Okay.” You repeated, nodding once to yourself before meeting Sirius’ gaze. “I’ll do it, I’ll…I’ll help.”
Sirius felt a smile take over his face as he looked at you - his dame in shining armour for all intents and purposes - as you accepted your jacket from James.
“Tell me what you need me to do, and I’ll do it; I’ll help.”
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