wolfstar as neighbours meet-ugly/meet-cute kinda double-life au
remus moves into a new apartment already exhausted and quietly seething from unpacking. then the upstairs neighbour cranks the music far past any reasonable hour. annoying, but manageable. he pulls on noise-cancelling headphones and decides to survive the night.
until a moan cuts straight through the silence. loud. filthy. unmistakably erotic. headboard starts slamming the wall. fragments of “yes, yes” and “don’t stop” follow. remus snaps. he grabs the broom left by the previous owner and hammers the ceiling, barely-heard shouting match erupting the second he yells “shut the fuck up.”
it escalates into “fuck off” / “no, you fuck off,” then “god, our neighbour is a prude” versus “i didn’t subscribe to a free pornhub experience when i signed the lease.”
meanwhile, during the day, remus meets a stranger smoking on the building stairs. he bums a cigarette. they talk. remus is startled by those big grey eyes. they smoke in comfortable silence broken by easy, genuine conversation. suddenly remus is living a double life: quiet cigarettes with the pleasant stranger by day, full-scale war with the moaning menace by night.
he starts distinguishing the voices upstairs, one rough and masculine, the other a gentler, sing-song tone that moans like a porn actress. remus refuses to admit how hot that voice is.
the worst moment comes when he’s in the shower and realises his neighbours have chosen the exact same time for shower sex right above him. he shouts, “for fuck’s sake, can a man not even take a piss without hearing you two dafts going at it?” and gets a short, amused “jealous much?” in that sing-song voice. more obscenities fly. the neighbour yells “suck my dick!” remus fires back “go ask your boyfriend to do that!” and instantly regrets it—because the next thing he hears is the low masculine voice moaning about how good the other one is taking him. remus is bright red and, to his own disappointment, rock hard.
somehow it does get worse. another night he tries to kill the mood of the neighbours who fuck like rabbits and receives “you need to get laid, you poor old virgin!” then that sing-song voice drops lower, filthier, deliberately aimed: “stranger from downstairs—” a long, open moan “—please come and fuck me too. please. make my boyfriend watch. want you both—fuck, please—”
remus’s entire body goes rigid. he doesn’t even notice when his own hand traitorously wraps around himself.
and now ladies and gentlemen, news flash: the quiet, pleasant stranger on the stairs and the filthy sing-song voice upstairs are the same person. sirius. remus just doesn’t know it yet.