hey besties, this is an archive of all my works! and my fic recs ! that’s all that’s here <3
you can find my main account @mirclealignr where i post all my fics <3
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Today's Document

❣ Chile in a Photography ❣

izzy's playlists!
Not today Justin
almost home

Origami Around

Love Begins

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JBB: An Artblog!

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@mirclesjournal
hey besties, this is an archive of all my works! and my fic recs ! that’s all that’s here <3
you can find my main account @mirclealignr where i post all my fics <3
if you're still doing drabbles ... what about clark or azriel reacting to you flinching ??
Pairing: Azriel x Reader
Word count: 810
Warnings: mentions of previous abuse, angst, fighting
a/n: Drabble masterlist can be found here. I'm doing a drabble spree to make up for being gone <333
____________________________________________
"I told you. I don't feel comfortable with you around him," Azriel practically seethed, the argument continuing in its vicious circle. "He wants you. He always has."
You laughed, incredulous. "You're being unreasonable! Tobias has never wanted me. We've known each other for years!"
"I've known you for years."
"Yes, well, we are mates. Have a little faith in me. It's almost insulting at this point—the number of times I have had to reassure you that there is nothing, and there will always be nothing, with my friend."
Rage and frustration simmered beneath each of your words. This fight had been going on for far too long, a product of the agitating week the two of you had had. Azriel was overworked and filled with stress. You were irritated by the dead ends in your research.
hey !! how r u doing? love ur header btw 🫶
omg hello dear friend!!! @mirclealignr
I have been so MIA, my bad but I’m doing well and eager to get back into the fandom!
I hope all is well with you :)
ahh! hello i missed you!!
no it’s okay, i have too. had so much and still have so much going on haha
thank you, you too <33
SLYTHERINSLUT0’S KINKTOBER
fuckfest. the slytherins — groupsome / drunk sex.
KINKTOBER MASTERLIST. | 2024.
summary: malfoy manor is a great place for drinks, laughs, and…. orgys?
warnings: 18+ MDNI, SMUTTTTTT, porn with negative 100 plot, literally just sex and mentions of alcohol, group of uni students that love to consensually gangbang when they have the chance (sorry i’m cackling at that), pansy and reader kiss a few times, multiple orgasms from some of the boys, anal sex, fingering, oral.
Habits are simple, predictable things, slipping into your life without much thought. Some are reckless, some harmless. And some, well—some come with the taste of someone else's lips.
i’ve been thinking about james with a reader who really enjoys physical touch and closeness.
i feel like james would be sooo about physical touch, just glued to readers side. just massive loverboy energy from him all the time
idk if this is enough detail to be a proper request, but would love to read you thoughts or something similar to it
you're so real for this actually, anon! here's a little drabble for you <3
James Potter x reader ✩ 550 words
cw: just fluff
“I wish I could crawl inside your skin,” you murmur, your voice thick with sleep, barely more than a whisper.
James’s fingers stay tangled in your hair, warm and steady. It’s late – far later than either of you should be awake – and the soft pull of exhaustion drapes over you both like a heavy blanket. But you cling to the last flicker of wakefulness just to stay here a little longer, pressed close to your lovely boyfriend.
“What?” His voice carries a bemused lilt as he tilts his chin down to look at you, eyes soft beneath the dim light. You’re sprawled against his chest, your face warm and hidden.
You bury yourself deeper into the heat of him, nuzzling the thin cotton of his shirt like you’re trying to dissolve into it. His arm tightens around your waist in response, and though you can’t see his face, you feel the slow, familiar grin spreading beneath you.
“Nothing,” you mumble, voice muffled and low. If you could melt right into the mattress, slip into the sheets and become one with them, you would.
parent-teacher meetings - remus lupin
summary: professor lupin hates having meetings with parents. but maybe he hates them a little less after meeting you, a single mother to the kindest student he has taught. wc: 1.7k+
If there was something Professor Remus John Lupin hated more than anything, it was having parent-teacher meetings. There was something about having to owl parents about their kids’ behaviour or academic performance that made him feel guilty, as though he was snitching on a good friend. But sometimes, it was crucial.
Remus paced in his office for thirty minutes before you were scheduled to meet him, his sympathetic system tossing him into fight or flight mode. Would you be a kind parent, with the best interest for your child, or would you be a strict, unwelcoming person who took everything from him as an attack? Godric, he wished it was the former.
At four o’clock sharp in the afternoon, the dreaded knock of Remus’s office door was heard. The professor scrambled up to get the door, patting down his clothes one last time before swinging it open. His jaw almost dropped. You were absolutely beautiful, wrapped in a warm coat that only exposed the bottom of your shins and feet, clad in tall heels. Clearly, you had just come from work, Remus thought. “I apologise if I’m late, Professor Lupin, I came straight from work.”
You knew you were right on time.
Remus shook himself out of his daze, stepping aside so you could enter his office. “You’re right on time, Mrs. l/n.” You smiled gently at him, heels clicking on the floor as you moved to sit in the chair he gestured to. “Oh, I’m not married, Professor Lupin.” Great, he had already managed to embarrass himself. “Oh, I apologise. Devon did mention it was just the two of you.”
Ah yes, Devon. The entire reason you were here.
Merely a naive first year, eager, pushing his glasses up his nose as he scurried over to his next lesson. He was a bright kid, the kindest one Remus knew, and he was failing almost all of his classes. “Has he done anything wrong?” You asked, a sudden look of worry overtaking your features. “Right,” Remus cleared his throat uncomfortably. This was not going to be a pleasant conversation. “I told Devon to come meet us in fifteen minutes, because I wanted to discuss the situation with you first. As you know, the academic reports for the first term will be out soon, however, Ms. l/n, I have to warn you, it’s not looking good.”
Remus feared you might cry with the way your face fell, so he just kept speaking, hoping something would make you feel better. He heard the pace of your pulse increase, going unsteady. “Devon is an incredibly bright wizard. He’s the first to pick up every spell, and participates in class all the time. His enthusiasm to learn is truly admirable, but when it comes to assignments and assessments, he seems to fall short.” Your eyes turned glassy, and you brought your gaze down to the hands folded in your lap.
“I can’t believe it.” Remus felt a pang in his chest at the way you said the words, helpless and guilty. He wanted to stand up and give you a hug. “I thought he was doing perfectly fine. We send each other owls all the time - I, I don’t know why he wouldn’t bring up the fact that he was struggling.”
Remus stood up from where he sat at his desk to come sit down in the chair next to you. He placed a friendly hand on your shoulder. “It’s normal for kids to want to impress their parents. And, don’t worry about it. The reason we’re having this meeting now is so that we can figure what the problem is early on.” When you met Remus’s eyes again, he saw that they were filled with tears. “I’m sorry, Professor Lupin, I don’t know why I’m-” You cut yourself off the second you heard your own voice break, immediately looking away from the professor.
“I don’t want you to feel like this is your fault, okay? We’ll sort things out together. I honestly called you in for this meeting because I actually have a suspicion to why I think he may be struggling.” Your head snapped towards Remus, eyes wide, and Remus extended a hand to wipe the tears away from your cheeks before realising that you were the mother of one of his students. He felt his cheeks go hot, pulling his hand away from your face.
“I think Devon might be dyslexic.” You straightened your posture, sniffling slightly, and your faced morphed into one of realisation. “Oh my god. How did I not notice?” “It’s normal for you not to. I only noticed it may be a possibility because I’m dyslexic myself.”
“Oh.”
But before Remus could say anything else, there was a knock on the door. You frantically wiped away at the tears on your cheeks and straightened your posture, watching as Remus walked over to the door. It’s normal for parents to want to impress their kids, he realised. “Hiya Professor Lupin.” Devon greeted in his usual cheery voice. “Hi Devon.” Remus moved out of the way, and Devon’s eyes bulged out of his face as his eyes landed on your now standing figure. “Mum!” He yelled, running over to you and throwing his arms around you in a tight hug. Cupping your son’s cheeks in your hands, you ducked down to press a soft kiss to the top of his head.
“Why are you - oh. Did Professor Lupin tell you about my grades?” He asked, voice much lower, eyes fearful for any disappointment you might hold on your face. “Yeah, he did, Dev.” Devon frowned, letting you guide him by the hand to sit down. Sitting in front of him, you brought your voice down so only he could hear you. So you thought.
“I’m not upset, Devon. I just wish you told me you were having trouble. I thought we trusted each other enough for that.” Devon nodded at your words, swinging his feet above the ground. “I know. We do. But I didn’t want you to worry.” You chuckled lightly, a fond smile on your face. “That’s sort of my job though, isn’t it?” Devon shrugged his shoulders, not meeting your eyes as he mumbled “I guess.”
Remus’s heart warmed at the sight. He couldn’t believe that he was worried about meeting you. You were so motherly, he thought. So caring. In fact, Remus couldn't believe that you weren't married. Remus stepped forward to sit in front of his desk, interrupting the moment between you. “Devon, can I ask you a question?” Remus asked. The boy silently nodded. “Do you have trouble reading? As in, do you find it difficult to process things after you’ve read them? Or have trouble writing things down?”
Devon’s only response was “I know how to read.”
“Well, I’ll tell you what, Devon. I know how to read too, but I always have trouble understanding things after I read them. Sometimes the words even look like they’re moving on the pages for me. And that makes it difficult for me to write sometimes.” Devon’s head snapped up to look at his Professor, mouth agape with a silent question. “Come here for a second.” Remus said with a nod of his head towards him. Devon obliged, trudging around the desk as Remus pulled out a textbook from one of his drawers.
Flipping over to a random page, he looked at Devon expectantly. “Pain to read, right?” Finally, a response. Devon nodded, looking back at Remus, his humiliation finally fading away. Remus brought his wand up to the page, mumbling something under his breath. He turned his gaze to Devon once more, who was so surprised that he pulled the textbook closer to him, eyes wide with shock as he scanned over the pages. “How did you do that?”
“Simple spell, really. I’ll teach it to you tomorrow after our lesson, alright?” Devon nodded, his fingers tapping rhythmically on the textbook pages. "Devon?" Devon's head shot towards you, and he rounded the desk, returning to you with a smile on his face. "Do you think this will help with your grades? Or are you struggling with your lessons too?" Devon glanced towards Professor Lupin, who was looking at him with the same careful expression as you. He finally shook his head. "No. I think classes are pretty easy most of the time." Remus heard your sigh of relief as a small smile made its way onto your face. You nodded twice, blinking slowly.
“That’s it then, Devon. You can go, if you’d like.” Devon looked back and forth between you and Professor Lupin, throwing his arms over your shoulders in a loose hug. “Winter break is only two weeks away. I’ll see you soon.” You whispered to him, tilting your head down to press a kiss to his cheek. “Okay. I love you mum.” He said, pushing the glasses up his nose, leaving a smudged fingerprint on the lens. “I love you too, sweetheart.”
Your gaze followed Devon as he ran out of the office, a slight furrow between your eyebrows. You couldn’t help but worry about him. Standing up, you turned to face Remus, smiling softly to him. He walked around his desk, leaning back slightly on the wooden surface. He only now realised that even in heels, he stood taller than you. “I don’t know how to thank you, Professor Lupin.” Go out with me for coffee, he thought. Instead, the words that came out were, “Remus is just fine.”
You laughed softly, nodding. “Alright, Remus. Thank you for this.” “I’m happy to help.” Remus responded, a smile making its way on his face at the sound of your heart speeding up. “Well, I’ll see you around.”
He saw you two weeks later, standing on platform 9 3/4, snuggled warmly in a coat, scarf wrapped around your neck to keep you warm. The bottom half of your face was fully hidden, but when you spotted Devon walking off the train, you lowered the scarf, waving to your son with a wide grin. Remus swallowed thickly, then. Remus hadn’t stopped thinking about you since the meeting.
He hoped he could come home with you for Christmas too.
I hate you. I'm lying.
Sirius Black x fem!reader ✩ 4.3k words
summary: Wedding bells are ringing and your unstable friendship with Sirius has become a real one. He looks too good to be true and you both find yourselves on a balcony again.
cw: enemies to friends to lovers, fluff, a little bit of angst, Reg is readers biggest supporter
an: this is the final part!!! how exciting!
<< previous part
The morning blooms soft and golden across the countryside, sunlight spilling through clouds in dappled patterns across the sprawling grounds. Flowers are everywhere – tumbling from railings, curled into small bouquets, woven through the white iron trellis where Regulus and James will soon stand, hand in hand, eyes shining.
Inside the old estate house, the air buzzes with energy. Laughter drifts from the kitchen. There are shouts for bobby pins, a steamer, someone to please find the missing ring box.
But upstairs, in the quiet of the bedroom, it’s still. Sacred. Soft.
You’re crouched beside Regulus, pinning a white rose into the small cluster of greenery at his lapel. His suit is already immaculate, made up of sharp black lines, polished shoes, silver cufflinks you’d teased him about earlier for being obnoxiously perfect.
“You’re not breathing,” you murmur, eyes narrowing as you adjust the stem. “You’ll pass out before the vows.”
“I am breathing,” Regulus replies, too quickly.
You huff a laugh, standing to give him a final once-over. He looks stunning. Ready.
He fidgets with a cufflink.
You swat his hand. “Stop fussing.”
“I’m not fussing.”
“You always fuss.”
IM SO SORRY—I FEEL SO LATE. I DIDNT EVEN NOTICE YOU’VE POSTED THE LAST PART ALREADY BUT HERE WE GOOOO. I am super duper gonna miss this little series, Flo. How I wish this was very long so we could all suffer from heartache and have to sit through and groan from how dumb these two are being—HSHAHAHHA but jokes aside, I am so happy they finally got together—they deserved it, and also I teared up a little bit during James and Reg’s wedding, did you know? Especially the part where Regulus was saying his vows. 😭🫶
you could never be late tally!! TYSM i'm so glad you enjoyed, the whole thing was soo out of my comfort zone, i'll miss this little series too (i need a break from big angst though haha) James and Reg's wedding was one of my favourite parts to write even though they're not the main focus 🫶🏻🫶🏻
She Will Be Loved
james potter x reader, black!brothers! x fem!sister!reader
'Til All That's Left Is Glorious Bone— part 3 (drabble)
synopsis: at Potter Manor in spring, even a Black can begin again—where healing stumbles, but sweetness lingers, and love, warm as frosting and softer than rain, finds its way home. ( i suck at summaries)
cw: chronic illness, emotional breakdowns, physical pain, unfiltered intrusive thoughts, references to childhood neglect, emotional repression, fluff fluff fluff, tooth-rotting fluff x2, lots of reassurance. can be read as a stand-alone!!
w/c: 6.5k
a/n: based on she will be loved by maroon 5, this is probably the most adorable shit ever </3
part one part two masterlist
“You’re stiff-wristed, sweetheart. The secret’s in the swirl, not the stab.”
Her voice—Euphemia Potter’s—wraps around you like the hush of soft rain against old glass, all lilting warmth and quiet command.
Ahhhh!!! Congrats on 1000 it is so deserved!!! Can I request the prompt "this is the worst decision you will ever make, I'll see you at seven" with a post azkaban sirius? I think it would be hilarious if reader is the one to say the line, but I would love to see whatever you do with it!!
Hi! Thank you ❤︎ I know this ended up being short, but for some reason, I struggled to write this. But it's pure fluff and I think everyone enjoys fluff ❤︎
1,000 Followers celebration
Hope y'all enjoy ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎
Drinks
Sirius Black x fem!reader
microfic - 942 words
cw: fluff
Paying attention during Order meetings proved to be difficult. Moody’s voice melted into an incomprehensible buzz as you stared across the room. The room was slightly stuffy; old wizarding homes didn’t have the ventilation that they really needed, even in the kitchens. Moody was recapping the points of a mission that you weren’t going on. It made you feel less horrible about zoning out.
Across the table from you was Sirius Black. You knew him from when you were at school. You didn’t expect him to recognize you; you were a few years younger than him. Being as popular as he was, the whole school knew about him and you didn’t have that recognition. Within your own year, you had some traction, but it was nothing compared to the Marauders.
Sirius’ personality, as you observed it during meetings, hadn’t changed much since school, which you found intriguing. The man had been to Azkaban and escaped. He managed to maintain who he was despite constantly being around dementors. That wasn’t something the average person could do. And if you add in the fact that he actually fought in the first war – you were still in school – and lost friends? He should be a shell of man. And yet, he wasn’t.
Point of no return - Remus Lupin
ˋ°•*⁀➷ Phantom of the Opera
☆ 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ☆ 𝐍𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 ☆ 𝐌𝐀𝐉𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐂 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐇 ☆
summary: When Sirius and Remus find you at the celebratory party your parents organised for you, they discover the unfortunate truth of the ultimatum your parents gave you. Luckily for you though, Sirius is quick to think on his feet, wc: 1.6k+
Remus was under the impression that he would never get to see you after watching your on-stage performance. A picture of you would be etched in his mind forever, teasing, calling him, but he’d never get to speak to you. You’d be yet another thing Remus longed to have but would never meet. Apparently though, when Remus agreed to come watch your show as moral support, that wasn’t the only thing he’d signed up for.
Remus had never been to Grimmauld Place, or the rich gardens your parents had built on the property. As Sirius dragged Remus into the house, he looked for signs of misery around the house that Sirius had courageously returned to after running away from his parents. He really must love you, Remus thought, because he never thought Sirius would dare to step foot in his parents’ house again.
He was led to the ballroom, which had been decorated to fit the Phantom’s theme. The lights had been charmed blue, and blue bows were ribboned around chairs. The boy’s eyes scoured the room to find your bright smile that had lit up the vast stage. Sirius stopped in his tracks, and Remus mimicked the movement, following his friend’s line of sight.
And there you were.
But instead of a smile gracing your face, your eyebrows were furrowed, betraying the incredible way you looked tonight, in your dark gown and styled hair. Remus heard Sirius scoff in amusement: he wasn’t surprised you weren’t happy whilst speaking to your parents. All they did was upset people, left and right. Remus observed the way you sharply nodded to your parents before turning away from them to greet the people who had started filling the room.
You lingered next to a tall man who looked to be at least a decade older than you, but you seemed rather comfortable with him, linking your arm through his as you spoke. “Regulus!” He heard you call out, watching as your brother approached you. “This is my co-star you wanted to meet oh so badly.” You teased your younger brother, who immediately turned red, shaking your cast mate’s hand. Remus frowned for a moment before it dawned on him. He played the phantom. No wonder he barely recognised the man.
Remus shook himself out of his thoughts, but instead of finding you next to the two men again, you had disappeared. Sirius muttered something under his breath, grabbing Remus by the wrist and guiding him out of the ballroom before the celebrations even began.
Sirius led Remus further into the Manor, up the staircase grand enough to belong at Hogwarts and into a dark hallway with portraits of relatives who whispered judgementally as they walked past them.
Sirius came to a stop in front of an opening at the end of the hallway. There was a large round bookshelf lining the walls, though they stopped at pristine white double doors with ornate victorian designs. Sirius knocked on the door twice, and was almost immediately rewarded with a cry of “Who is it?” Remus’s breath hitched in his throat at the sound of your muffled voice, and he immediately straightened his collar as Sirius responded.
The door swung open and you squealed at the sight of your brother, throwing your arms out to hug him. Sirius laughed joyously as he wrapped his arms around your waist, giving you a compliment on your performance. You thanked him, eyes closed as you basked in your brother’s warmth. Pulling away from Sirius, you quietly gasped as you saw the man standing behind him, biting the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from embarrassing yourself. You had noticed him in the audience as you did your bows, watching as he stood alongside everyone else to give you a standing ovation. You felt proud that such a handsome man enjoyed your performance and you didn’t think by any means that Sirius had brought him there with him.
“This is Remus,” He started, and Remus smiled, taking a step forward and offering you his hand. You shook it with a shy smile, mumbling a “Hi.” as Sirius continued “He came with me. He’s my best mate.” You inhaled sharply. This was the famous Remus Lupin who had pulled so many pranks with Sirius? Who had spent seven years at Hogwarts sharing a dorm with your brother? You were immediately angry with yourself for not having met him sooner.
“You were absolutely wonderful tonight.” He told you, and you almost melted at the sound of his voice. You smiled, thanking him softly, but both men in the room noticed the way your smile didn’t reach your eyes. Turning away from them both, you took a seat on the edge of your bed, an almost sad look on your face. “So, uh, how did you like the rest of the show?” Sirius frowned, taking two long strides to shut your bedroom door before coming back in to sit next to you on your bed.
Remus felt like he was intruding.
Sirius draped an arm over your shoulders, lowing his voice despite the three of you being alone in the room. “What did they tell you? You know you did great, yeah? Don’t let them tell you otherwise.”
You shook your head slowly. “It’s not that, no.” You glanced up at Remus before looking back to Sirius, a questioning look in your eyes. Do we trust him enough? Sirius nodded, urging you to go on. We trust him. You huffed, one hand coming up to rub your arm as your thoughts began racing. “It’s - like I knew it would happen eventually but I just thought I’m doing so well right now that they wouldn’t be focused on it!” Sirius furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. Remus inhaled deeply, feeling his chest tighten at the sight of your pain.
You seemed so different now, so vulnerable, compared to the character you played mere a hour ago. Your eyes shone with tears but you blinked them away, finally looking up from your lap. “They’ve decided it’s time for me to get married, apparently.” Sirius made a pitiful noise, but you ignored it, standing up abruptly.
“So since I’ve made such a name for myself in the industry, they’re saying I need a husband who’s also an actor, so our children can be musical theatre prodigies. They’ve given me an ultimatum. Either I find myself a successful husband in the next six months, or I marry Lewis — my cast mate. Who is twelve years older than me.”
Remus winced at your words. He wondered how your parents could be so cruel and now it seems as though he’s receiving a live example. How could they be so perpetually controlling? Was it not enough that you already had a pristine reputation? An impeccable career? You also had to be married before you even reached your mid-twenties? Sirius stood up, putting both his hands on your shoulders, watching you for a short while before bringing you into another hug. Your hands hopelessly rested limply by your side, and you were staring at the wall, deep in thought.
When Sirius pulled away from you, you sighed, smiling defeatedly at him, putting both your hands on your hips. “I’d marry pretty much anyone other than him!” You cried, and you remembered the second man in the room. If only he had been your cast mate. In that case you’d never even try to look for another husband.
“Anyone?” Sirius asked, watching as you sat at the chair in front of your vanity. Sirius turned his gaze to Remus, who was watching you with a sad expression on his face. “What about Remus?” Both your heads snapped towards Sirius in an instant, eyes wide with shock. You were both scared that the other would be repulsed by the offer, terrified to look at each other in the face. “Remus, you’d marry my sister, wouldn’t you?” Remus felt his face flush as you turned to look at him, and he spotted the hopeful look on your face from the corner of his eye. “Mate, I’d do absolutely anything for you, you know that.”
Sirius grinned, turning to look at you now. “Remus is better than anyone else! Who better to marry than my best mate? He’s a great man, darling.” You didn’t need convincing to agree to marry Remus. He had already said he would marry you, despite it being for your brother, and just moments ago you’d wished for him to be your husband to be instead of your boring co-star. You gulped, watching his handsome features twist into one filled with worry, running a hand through his soft looking hair.
You nodded. “I’d marry him.”
Remus released a breath he didn’t know he was holding, and felt his face flush as he realised what he had agreed to. A marriage. Something Remus had thought for years that he would never have, but here you were, agreeing to marry him. But then Remus remembered your parents’ criteria. “But I’m not an actor.”
You finally stood up from your spot on the cushioned chair, walking towards Remus with a confident smile on your face. “Well, do you want to be? You’ve definitely got the face for it.” And Remus found himself saying yes, tying him to the single person in the theatre industry who had more connections than anyone else. He found himself tossing aside his dilemmas of what he wanted for a career to accept an entirely new course of action. So when you shook Remus’s hand with a smile and hugged your brother, thanking him for thinking on his feet, Remus knew he had sailed into the storm.
He was past the point of no return.
Think of me - Remus Lupin
ˋ°•*⁀➷ Phantom of the Opera
☆ 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ☆ 𝐍𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 ☆ 𝐌𝐀𝐉𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐂 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐇 ☆
summary: Sirius has to bring moral support with to come watch your debut as Christine in the Phantom of the Opera. Despite the judgemental pureblooded families around the pair, they are both serenaded by your enchanting singing a/n: this is more of an introductory chapter, the real story begins in the next one!
Sirius had not exercised his skills on being the ‘perfect pureblood’ in just about, well, since he was taught them. However tonight, he hadn’t only gone to the extent of putting them into practise, but he even taught Remus the few rules he could remember, and everything about theatre etiquette.
All to impress you.
His favourite family member, and the only pureblood with perfect reputation he could stand being around.
Walking into the theatre, Sirius knew that he and Remus never looked better: in old, untouched suits Sirius had specifically tailored to fit them perfectly, all to put every other snobby, rich pureblood coming to watch you to shame. He didn’t hide his smirk as he and his best friend walked into the theatre, aware of the heads turning to look at him, long haired, pierced, tattooed, and his best friend, scarred, freckled, a half-blood. Remus nervously fiddled with the end of his blazer, playing with the metal cuff-link, but to outsiders, his scary resting face gave them the impression he was confidently fixing his appearance, judging all those around him.
Sirius patted Remus’s shoulder as they finally reached the front row of seats, and Remus walked in first, though he didn’t have to move far because their seats were front and centre: the best seats in the house.
Courtesy of you, of course, though the wealthy families around the two men didn’t need to know that. “I could get used to this.” Sirius whispered to Remus, spreading his legs slightly and looking around him. He gaze caught on a curly-haired boy to his right. His younger brother, who nodded curtly to him when their eyes met. Regulus was sat with your parents a couple rows back; clearly you hadn't offered them any free tickets. The older couple was engaged in an enthusiastically fake conversation with another couple, but their rich laughs reached Sirius’s ears, and he shuddered, turning to face the front again.
The last bell rang in the theatre, signalling any wanderers to finally make their way to their seats. Remus’s gaze was drawn down to the orchestra below them, hidden by a railing above the pit. As the lights died down and the orchestra began playing the overture, Remus turned his line of sight to the empty stage. Remus wasn’t a theatre connoisseur. Unlike these wealthy pureblooded families surrounding him, he had only been to a community theatre once when he snuck out of the orphanage with the few friends he had to watch a local production of Matilda. But now, as the live music flooded his veins and the actors started appearing on stage, he decided he liked the rich culture of theatres in the wizarding world.
Remus barely understood the start of the show, but the second he spotted you across the stage — with unmistakable features that belonged to an entire bloodline of Blacks, but so undeniably you — he was taken.
From everything Remus had learned from your parents, he always hated them, but he couldn’t help but agree with them on the fact that you had more than just links to the most powerful wizards in the industry. You had talent. No wonder they had sent you to beauxbatons, where your full potential as a performer could be reached. Your voice was melodic, angelic, serenading even.
So when the show ended and you smiled so widely through your first bows in your run as the lead in the Phantom of The Opera, Remus silently promised you that he would think of you, think of you fondly when you’ll part ways tonight. He’ll remember you once in a while, or perhaps even more than that, because it will be impossible to get your enchanting cadence out of his mind.
Angel of music - Remus Lupin
ˋ°•*⁀➷ Phantom of the Opera - Prologue
☆ 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ☆ 𝐍𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 ☆ 𝐌𝐀𝐉𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐂 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐇 ☆
summary: You had always been grateful that your parents put all their money into making you the best at something you loved - musical theatre. The opening night of your new show is opening doors for you beyond your career.
Deluded by your parents’ insistence of this industry’s difficulty, you imagined all the women in the audition room glaring at you. Whether it be due to their belief that you would fail, or their jealousy, you didn’t know, but it was okay, because you were only imagining it. You’d finally learned that after three years of countless auditions. Each time you booked a role, your confidence in your abilities was reinforced. Shutting your eyes, you let yourself be serenaded by the piano on the other side of the thin wall, an auditionee singing to her heart’s desire.
“Ms. Black?” Your eyes snapped open, and you stood up with a kind smile on your face, instantly putting up a confident front as you followed the lady into the audition room. The woman who had gone before you was just finishing up, thanking the panel before walking out. You didn’t miss the discouraging look she gave you, and you couldn’t suppress the surprised tug of your eyebrow. Despite the obvious years she had on you, the grown woman still had the audacity to try and scare you. Pathetic.
“Right, Ms. Black, we’ll have you sing for us first.”
The casting director’s words echoed in your mind as you stared into the opera theatre’s blinding lights, your co-star now commanding you “Sing, my angel of music!” for the first time in front of your audience. All of the wealthy, noble wizarding families watched you with scrutinising — no, mesmerised gazes, your siren song ringing in their ears and manipulating their thoughts to secure the idea that the Black family had the best performer in the history of wizards. And it wouldn’t stop with you. With your legacy, any children you bring into your bloodline had to be performers, classical singers, dancers, embodiments of elegance and beauty.
Just like you, they would be angels of music.
As you did your bows at the end of the show, holding hands with the rest of The Phantom of the Opera’s brand new cast, you bathed in the praise. You were aware that your parents had pushed you to become the perfect pure-blood woman. The more your brothers rebelled, the tighter of a hold they had on you. But in this moment, hearing the applause from over a thousand of the richest wizards in world, you were grateful. Grateful that whilst you had been torn apart and sewn back together until every unique strand of hair was in its place, it had been whilst your parents paid for lessons with the most talented teachers to make you the best at what you loved: musical theatre.
You weren’t aware of the two men your age sitting at the second row of the stalls. They were both up on their feet, feeding into the standing ovation the crowd had given you, but your brother and his best friend were officially your two biggest fans, and they wouldn’t let you forget it.
Seeking Solace ⏾⋆.˚
pairing: remus lupin x reader (no specific pronouns are used but remus calls reader pretty)
synopsis: full moon fast-approaching, remus browses the library in search of a book that will help him forget, but he finds something even better: you.
content warnings: loser!remus coded (kind of), lots of yearning, slight angst, bad writing
word count: 749
love
Hi Flo, hope this ask finds you well! Saw your post on requests so here is an idea, hopefully you like it.
Everybody decided to head out to a pub for the night. Reader’s tell for being tipsy is the fact that her lips and tip of her nose start to feel numb. After three drinks (and giggling uncontrollably at whatever story Sirius is telling her) bf!Remus asks if shes feeling alright (cause Sirius is never that funny when she’s sober). Instead of answering she asks Remus to give her a kiss (which he obv gives her) and she follows it by a worried smile and a „yeah, i’m definitely tipsy”. To which Remus is just smitten. Idk if it makes sense but hopefully it does!
Hi darling! love your brain for this idea, thank you for requesting! <3
Remus Lupin x reader who is a very giggly drunk ✩ 900 words
cw: drunk reader, smitten remus, fluff
The sofa feels like a cloud beneath you, and the edges of the world are softening, blurring at the corners. But it's nice. It's fun. You’ve thrown yourself down next to Sirius, after an intense bout of karaoke with Lily, and folded yourself over. Back flat against the seat cushions, chin tucked into your chest, you already know tomorrow’s stiff neck will be worth it.
It takes a second to clue in on exactly what Sirius is doing, his arms wide and theatrical as he gestures, and smiling as he speaks. He must be telling a story, probably to James. But when James rolls his eyes and walks off, curiosity tugs at you
“Sirius, Sirius, Sirius–” whether it's the incessant chanting of his name or the poking in his side that gets his attention, you’ll never know. He's got a lazy smile on his face as he turns and a pink flush to his cheeks that comes along with intoxication.
“Oh! Hi, babe,” he slurs, blinking slowly. “Whatcha doin’?”
“What were you talking about? With, uh, James?” you ask, your own voice syrupy with drink.
“Telling ‘im my madeira cake joke.”
It’s a joke that Sirius has told a million times before, a terrible one, something about the prices of cakes. The mention of it is all it takes for giggles to start falling out of you in droves. Sober you would likely have the same reaction as James but the drink flowing through you has made everything a hundred times funnier.
When your laughter prompts Sirius’, the sound of his laughter makes yours all the more intense. You try to sit up for air, but the shift in weight sends you slipping off the edge of the sofa, landing hard on the floor with a graceless thud. Sirius nearly falls off after you, doubled over, wheezing.
It all comes to a head when your laugh turns into an aching cough. You think, somewhat dramatically, this might be how I die.
CUTE
Ooooo okay I do think Remus is the best choice in this one!!! How is it when the two of them start to have feelings? Does Remus fall first and want to hide it? I need more of them 😭
To answer your question plainly ml, no Remus doesn’t fall first (he fs falls harder though) <3
cw: modern au, patriarchal dating norms, the boys are goofball idiots
Who’s That Girl AU
roommate!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 781 words
“Wha—” Sirius is laughing at you. Never a great sign. “Where did you take these?”
“Around,” James hedges.
You pull your legs up onto the couch, trying not to look as self-conscious as you feel. “James thought it’d be a good idea for me to show a…variety of hobbies.”
“Do you actually know how to rollerblade, though?” Sirius asks, scrolling through the photos James took on your phone. “You look like a baby giraffe in these. And—oh, god—you definitely don’t know how to rock climb. Is this photoshopped? Remus, come see this.”
Remus, finishing fixing himself a cup of tea in the kitchen, comes to lean over the back of the couch. Evidently, his curiosity has outweighed his general disinclination to do as Sirius bids him.
“We weren’t going to actually go find a mountain,” James says defensively, “and she didn’t want to go to my climbing gym.”
“Where’d you take this, then?”
James mutters, somewhat abashedly, “My room.”
Sirius snots. “Well, if your aim was to make her look loony, you’ve succeeded.”
bacon, egg, and cheese | patrick zweig x reader
warnings: SMUT 18+, dbf!patrick, this picture has awoken a beast within me, not proofread, this is a blurb
You really shouldn't have gone to that party.
Stumbling out as the sun was barely beginning to rise, makeup running down your cheeks, hair matted, the morning chill only accentuating the pounding in your head... yeah. You shouldn't have gone.
You sat down on the curb, not even caring about the dirt, phone slipping from your fingers as you stared blankly at the sky paling into color. Your head throbbed. Your mouth was dry. Somewhere inside, someone was still playing music—tinny, distant.
There was no way you could call your dad. No way.
You scrolled. Bit the inside of your cheek. Hovered.
Then you pressed Patrick’s name.
He picked up on the second ring.
“Hey,” he said, voice low and a little raspy—just on the edge of sleep or maybe freshly caffeinated. “You okay?”
You winced. “Hi. I—um. I’m sorry. I know it’s early. I just... I didn’t know who else to call.”
A soft pause.
“Where are you?”
You rattled off the address, voice small. You were already kicking yourself.
“I’ll be there in fifteen,” he said. No sigh. No lecture. Just that calm, practical tone he always had when things went sideways.
“Are you sure?” you asked quickly. “I didn’t mean to wake you, I just—”
“Relax,” he said, and you could hear the smile in it, even if it didn’t reach his voice fully. “I’ve got morning practice anyway. You’re just giving me an excuse to swing through Starbucks.”
A little breath of laughter escaped you, surprised and grateful.
“Hang tight,” he said. “Try not to fall asleep on the curb or anything. I don’t wanna have to scrape you off the pavement.”
“Got it,” you murmured. “Thanks, Patrick.”
Another beat. A little softer now: “Of course.”
The car rolled to a stop a few feet away, headlights off, sun just beginning to bleed over the trees. The driver’s door creaked open, and there he was—gray hoodie tugged over his head, black sweatpants slung low on his hips, hair tousled like he’d barely combed it. His tennis bag was tucked in the backseat, half-zipped.
Patrick.
You squinted up at him, cheeks burning in spite of yourself.
“Didn’t I tell you not to fall asleep?” he said, voice teasing, with something gentler underneath. His eyes swept over you quickly—not lingering, but taking everything in. Your ruined mascara, the strap of your dress slipping down your shoulder, your legs curled tight to your chest.
You started to get up, but your balance betrayed you, and you staggered a little.
Patrick was already there.
“Hey, easy.” His hand closed around your arm, steady but careful, like touching you too much might cross a line.
“Sorry,” you mumbled.
“You don’t have to apologize,” he said, guiding you to the car. “Just get in. I turned the heat on for you.”
You blinked. “You did?”
“I’m a man of many talents.”
The passenger seat was warm. Or maybe that was just him—close now, buckling your seatbelt because you weren’t moving fast enough. You could smell him: clean, woodsy, like soap and early mornings. Your skin prickled where his knuckles brushed your collarbone.
When he finally shut the door and rounded the hood, you exhaled.
He slid into the driver’s seat like he hadn’t just touched you at all. Adjusted the heat. Picked a random radio station on low volume.
“You hungry?” he asked. “I’m stopping for a sandwich.”
You hesitated. “Kind of feel like dying.”
He grinned. “Perfect. Bacon, egg, and cheese it is.”
The gas station was almost empty when he pulled in. Patrick killed the engine and stretched—arms overhead, shirt riding up just enough to expose the cut lines of his waist. You looked away too fast.
“I’ll be five minutes,” he said, already climbing out. “Text me if you want anything that isn’t a heart attack on a biscuit.”
He shut the door before you could answer.
You closed your eyes while he was inside, but the moment the car door opened again, the smell hit you first—bacon, melted cheese, butter-soaked bread.
Patrick dropped a paper bag into your lap. “Eat. You look pale.”
“You look pale.”
He gave you a look. “You look like someone wrung you out and left you on the porch.”
You snorted and unwrapped the sandwich. It was stupidly good—warm, greasy, exactly what your stomach didn’t know it needed. You were halfway through it when you realized he was watching you.
“What?” you mumbled, mouth full.
He shrugged, biting into his own. “Just making sure you don’t pass out. Or choke.”
You narrowed your eyes. “You always stare at people when they eat?”
“Only the ones in tiny dresses who call me at sunrise.”
You swallowed a little too hard.
He didn’t look away. “You still cold?”
You nodded.
Without a word, Patrick reached into the backseat and pulled out another hoodie—his hoodie.
“Put this on,” he said. “Before you turn into an icicle and I have to explain it to your dad.”
You hesitated, fingers brushing his as you took it.
It smelled like him. Like eucalyptus body wash and sweat and something a little sweet underneath. You pulled it over your head and didn’t miss the way his gaze dropped—just for a second—to the way it dwarfed you.
He cleared his throat and looked back out the windshield. “There. Now you look even more like a bad decision.”
You raised a brow. “Yours or mine?”
That made him laugh. Low, quiet, kind of dangerous.
“Careful,” he said, glancing at you sidelong. “You keep talking like that and I’m gonna forget I’m supposed to be the responsible one.”
You didn’t answer.
You just looked at him.
And for a moment, the inside of the car felt too small. Too warm. Like maybe he was thinking the same thing you were.
The silence stretched. Not awkward. Not quite. Just… full.
Patrick reached for a napkin and wiped a bit of grease from the corner of his mouth. His eyes flicked to you again. He was still chewing when he said, “You’ve got something right—”
His thumb brushed just beneath your lip.
You froze.
So did he.
The pad of his thumb lingered longer than it needed to—half a second, then a whole one. His gaze dipped to your mouth, then flicked away.
“You’re fine,” he said, voice lower now. He looked forward again, like maybe the windshield had something urgent to say.
But his hand didn’t move far. It settled between you, fingers flexing once on the center console.
You didn’t think. Just placed your own hand over his.
His breath caught. Just barely.
“I’m not a kid,” you said quietly.
He didn’t answer.
“You don’t have to treat me like one.”
Still, silence.
And then—slowly—he turned his hand palm-up beneath yours. Interlaced your fingers.
His grip was warm, strong, sure.
When he finally looked at you, there was something behind his eyes that hadn’t been there before.
“I know,” he said.
His thumb traced a lazy line along your knuckles. “That’s the problem.”
His hand tightened around yours.
You didn’t say anything. Neither did he.
But something had shifted—something neither of you could walk back.
Patrick’s gaze dropped to your mouth again. This time, it stayed there. He leaned in just slightly, enough for you to feel his breath, warm and coffee-sweet, against your cheek.
“I shouldn’t,” he murmured.
You didn’t move.
“Say it,” he added, barely above a whisper. “Say I shouldn’t.”
Your heart was in your throat.
Instead, you whispered, “I can't.”
That was all it took.
His lips crashed into yours—hot, hungry, reckless. One hand slid to the back of your neck, the other cupped your jaw like he couldn’t bear to let you go. You kissed him back with everything left in you—drunk on exhaustion, adrenaline, and him.
He pulled you toward him, over the console and into his lap. The gear shift dug into your thigh, your knee knocked the door, and both of you cursed in the same breath before breaking into breathless laughter. It didn’t matter. You climbed on top of him like you were meant to.
His hoodie bunched up around your waist as his hands moved beneath it—palms dragging over your thighs, your hips, your ribs. He kissed you like he was starving. Like he was tasting something he wasn’t supposed to have.
“You have no idea,” he growled into your mouth, “how long I’ve wanted to do that.”
You smiled against his lips. “Pretty sure I do.”
He kissed you again. Longer this time. Deeper.
Then, without a word, he shifted underneath you and leaned forward, reaching past you to push the seat forward. He jerked his chin toward the back. “Go.”
You blinked. “What?”
Patrick’s voice dropped. “Backseat. Now.”
You didn’t argue. You crawled through first, hands bracing on the center console, dress riding up with every inch. He followed right after, awkwardly maneuvering into the cramped space with a low, breathy curse as his elbow hit the ceiling.
The car was quiet again—no music now, no hum of the engine. Just your breathing. Just the heat.
And then his hands were back on you.
He looked at you like he was starving—like if he didn’t get his mouth or hands on you again, he might actually lose it.
“C’mere,” he murmured, breathless, yanking you onto his lap before you could blink. “Need you. Fuck, I need you.”
The kiss was messy, frantic—your teeth bumped, your noses knocked, and someone elbowed the door with a thud. You both burst into a quick, breathless laugh before diving back in.
His hands were everywhere—gripping your thighs, sliding under your dress, palming your ass like he couldn’t decide what he wanted to touch first.
“You’re gonna kill your car,” you gasped as your knee hit something.
Patrick just growled into your neck, “Totally worth it.”
He pulled your panties down with a desperate kind of focus, bunching them at your knees. “These are mine now,” he said, tucking them into the pocket of his hoodie like a little shit.
Then his fingers were on you—slicking through your folds, pressing in like he already knew the shape of you. One finger first, thick and slow, then two, curling just right as he began to thrust them in rhythm. The wet sound of it filled the tight car space, obscene and perfect, while his free hand slipped under your dress to palm at your breast, thumb brushing over your nipple. You couldn’t decide what made you burn more—his touch or the way he was watching you, jaw tight, like he was trying to memorize every twitch you gave him.
“You’re so wet already,” he breathed. “Fuck, you’re unreal.”
You moaned, hips jerking into his hand.
He kissed you again—hard—then leaned back just far enough to watch you fall apart. His thumb circled your clit while two fingers thrust deep, slow and steady, crooking just right.
You tried to hold back the noises, but they spilled out anyway. Every stuttered breath, every high-pitched gasp, just seemed to make him harder beneath you.
“Don’t go quiet on me now,” he said, grinning even as his voice cracked. “I wanna hear it.”
You clenched around his fingers and came hard, head buried in the crook of his neck, thighs trembling as you rode it out.
“Fuck, that’s it,” he whispered. “That’s so good. Jesus.”
You were still shaking when you reached for his waistband. “You next.”
He didn’t hesitate—just groaned and fumbled for his wallet, tearing the foil with shaking hands.
You both laughed when his knee knocked into the door again. “We’re gonna destroy this car,” he muttered.
“I’m shocked it hasn’t exploded yet.”
You rolled the condom on for him, and when you sank down onto him, he let out the kind of sound that made your whole body clench again.
“Holy shit,” he gasped. “You’re—god—don’t move yet.”
“Why?” you teased. “Gonna embarrass yourself?”
“Absolutely,” he groaned.
You grinned and rocked your hips, slow and deliberate. He hissed through his teeth and grabbed your hips like he needed something to ground himself. Your thighs were slick where they met his, your breath catching every time you bottomed out. His hands roamed constantly—up your sides, around your back, down to your ass—never still, like he needed to touch every inch of you at once. The sweat-slick friction between you, the squelch of movement, the heated press of skin to skin—it was all too much, and not enough. He cursed so loud it bounced off the windows.
You started to move in earnest then, both of you panting, bodies slamming into every surface possible—door, seatback, each other. Every time you changed rhythm, Patrick swore and begged you not to stop.
“Feel so fucking good,” he breathed. “You’re gonna kill me. This is how I die.”
“Wouldn’t be the worst way to go.”
You were dizzy. Slick with sweat. Fingers tangled in his hoodie.
The second orgasm hit harder. Your whole body locked up, pulsing around him as he pulled you tight against him.
“Shit—fuck—fuck,” he groaned, following you over the edge.
You collapsed into each other, lungs on fire.
Your knee was definitely bruised. His elbow was definitely going to swell.
Worth it.
Neither of you moved. His nose was in your hair. Your hand rested over his heart.
And the car finally went quiet again.
Everything buzzing. Everything perfect.
He kissed your cheek, your shoulder, the corner of your mouth.
"Your dad’s gonna murder me."
You laughed, still breathless. "You’d put up a fight."
Patrick grinned. "Glad one of us has faith in me."
He glanced down at the crumpled seat beneath you. "Shame. These were nice seats."
You snorted, tugging his hoodie back over your head. "Guess that’s what happens when you treat a Honda like a motel."
He reached out, tucked a strand of hair behind your ear with a grin that had no business being so soft. "If anyone asks..."
"We were getting breakfast," you finished.
He smirked. "Damn good breakfast."
-----
tagging: @kimmyneutron @babyspiderling @queensunshinee @hanneh69 @jamespotteraliveversion @glennussy @awaywithtime @artstennisracket @artdonaldsonbabygirl @blastzachilles @jordiemeow
babe. i have to do this.
james potter and a classic amortentia situation, but instead of being all bashful he realises this is actually the best way to confess bc what are you going to do? DENY that he's in love with you?
"PROFESSOR, MINE SMELLS LIKE HER!!"
Silence. Remus is facepalming. Sirius is grinning.
summary: Slughorn had asked for a volunteer to take a whiff of armontentia—also known as one of the strongest love potions during potions class, and James—finally seeing it as a way to pour his feelings for you, seized the opportunity faster than the crack of lightning.
pairings: James Potter x Fem!reader
warnings: none! pure fluff. James being the Gryffidor that he is.
note: thanks for this request, twin. So sorry this has taken a bit long to be written. Anyway, I hope enjoy this you lovely angel <3
James Potter Masterlist
The moment James stepped foot inside the potions lab, he was surprised by the scent that welcomed him. It wasn’t the usual musty scent that lingered in the air due to the poor ventilation of the classroom… It was something familiar, something he was sure he had smelled before but couldn’t pin a name on.
SHUT UP THAT ENDING WAS SO CUTE AND GIGGLY !
also i love this: “But there’s nothing really surprising when it comes to Gryffindors as they wear their heart on their sleeve like a badge of honour.”
love love love !