Caleb McLaughlin the man that you are. My guy is just out here sayin “yeah stranger things was never meant to be mainstream or for a general audience and it’s always been about the weirdos freaks and outcasts” “yeah no mike and el just felt pressured to be together because everyone around them romanticized them” like I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s roaming around here on tumblr with us. He’s out here spittin his shit🗣️🗣️
Request !! If this is odd feel completely free to disregard, but I wanted to make a smut req (i am 18+) w some dacryphilia and praise either for james or poly!marauders where reader starts crying bc it’s just so good 😭 maybe one of the first times it happens and they get worried and stop and she’s like Absolutely not and reassures them. I love your writing sm and thought u would be the best to execute my idea !!
thank u lovie i hope it lives up to expectations!
no such thing as too much
poly!marauders x fem!reader
summary: you promise your tears are the good kind ⊹ 1.3k
warnings: smut mdni, dacryphilia, praise, piv, overstimulation sorta, lmk if im missing anything
· ─ ⋆⋅✶⋅⋆ ─ ·
Every touch from your boyfriends sends a jolt through your body. You’re not sure how long you’ve been going, or how many times they’ve made you cum. If asked, you probably couldn’t even tell them what day it is anymore—your brain has gone to mush, rendering you completely at their mercy.
Remus is sitting behind you with his head tucked into the crook of your neck, sucking bruises into your skin. A hand flat on your tummy holds you firmly against his chest, and the other is between your thighs, rubbing slow circles against your clit, coaxing airy whines from your throat. He’s using his legs to keep yours open for James, who kneels between them. Pistoning his hips into yours at an unforgiving pace. The head of his cock hits your gummy walls just right with every thrust.
Sirius is propped up on the heel of his palm to the right of you, leaning over your body and lavishing attention on your tits. He circles his tongue around one nipple before sucking it between his lips, and you arch into him and Remus’s hand, a broken moan falling from your lips.
They’re practically smothering you. Nothing has ever felt so good.
James runs a hand down your leg as they start to tremble, aggressively so, not letting up even a little as he puffs out a laugh.
“Look at you. Taking it so well, love,” he hums.
You don’t respond, barely even registering that he’s talking to you as he slams his hips against yours.
“So good for us,” Remus murmurs into your neck. His teeth graze your earlobe, sending a shiver down your spine.
Every nerve in your body feels electric. You screw your eyes shut as you feel your body nearing the edge again. James tilts his head back and groans when he feels your walls fluttering around him.
It feels so good, so much, so everything. The world around you has melted away completely, and the brain power you have left is completely focused on your impending orgasm. Your whole body is taut, and tears well in your eyes. One of your hands finds Sirius’s hair. He groans at your tight grip, doubling his efforts and using his free hand to pinch and tweak your other nipple.
Each thrust of James’s hips is now met with a needy squeal. Your boys know how you are when you’re close, if the stream of pleas falling from your lips wasn’t a hint enough. Remus presses his finger harder against your clit, and you swear it’s never felt this good before.
“Pleasepleasepleaseplease—”
A sob sharply cuts off your string of babbled pleas, the sound of which has James’s head snapping toward you. His eyes fall on your face, seeing the tears that have spilled down your cheeks without your notice.
His hips come to a stop with his cock still buried deep inside you.
“Hey, hey, are you alright, love?”
Remus and Sirius immediately still at the alarm in James’s tone, popping their heads up from where they were pressed against you.
“No, please,” you whimper pitifully when all their movements cease and hands slide away from your body, leaving you helplessly on the edge of an orgasm that’s already slipping away.
“Are you hurting? Am I hurting you?” James asks, his voice riddled with concern as he swipes at your tears with his thumb. Remus’s hand accompanies his, carefully brushing some hair out of your face.
“James,” you say in a whine, a poor attempt at begging him to move again, but it only worries your boyfriends more.
“No!” you cry out, reaching out for him. You might really burst into tears if they stop now.
Remus puts a hand over the top of Sirius’s, trying to calm him too now as he murmurs to you, “It’s alright, darling. Can you take a deep breath for me?”
You do as he asks, taking one long breath and trying to relax against his chest. You know you’ll get nowhere if you don’t show them you’re okay.
“Talks to us,” Remus whispers, pressing his lips to your temple. “Do you need us to stop?”
“Please don’t stop,” you whisper, bottom lip jutting out as you lean your head back on his shoulder, gazing up at him. Your eyes are still brimmed with tears that spill when you blink. Remus kisses them away as they fall.
James runs his hands up and down your sides. “What’s going on then, love? You’re scaring us here.”
You turn your attention to your hazel-eyed boyfriend, who’s looking at you like you’re broken. You see the worry and fear in his eyes too. The possibility that he could have caused you any discomfort, any pain, has put a sinking feeling in his stomach.
You lace your fingers with his. “I promise it feels good,” you reassure him. All of them. “It-it’s just a lot. But it’s good.”
“You sure? You’re crying,” Sirius says with a frown. You realize how much he’s backed off, kneeling as far away from you as possible while still being on the bed, giving you the breathing room he thinks you need. But distance is the last thing you need from any of them.
Your frustration bleeds into your tone as you plead with them. “God, please. I just need you to keep going. I swear it’s good. I’m good. Please. Please? Just—”
“Okay, okay. Hey. Look at me,” James says, squeezing your hand to get your attention.
You sniffle. “Please, Jamie,” you beg pathetically as you squirm, trying to create any amount of friction between you and him.
“It’s not too much?” James checks one last time.
“No such thing,” you swear, and he can tell how earnest you are.
“You’ll tell us if it is,” he states more than questions.
“Promise. Please just keep going… I need you,” you beg, your voice seeping with whiny desperation.
“Fuck—alright. Okay, love,” James says gruffly, your words winding him up.
He starts to slowly move his hips, and a loud, satisfied moan reverberates from your throat as you visibly relax into Remus who still cradles you from behind.
“Oh yeah, she feels good,” James says smugly, picking up his pace as his thumbs rub soothing circles against your hip bones.
Remus keeps his eyes on you, reverently running his hands along every inch of your skin he can reach. Rubbing up and down your arms, massaging your shoulders, pressing kisses to the side of your face. You cry out when his hand finds its way back between your legs.
Sirius is the most hesitant to give in to you, but when your hooded eyes find his, and you call for him with a whiny cry of his name, he can no longer resist diving back in, first kissing your lips before finding his way back at your chest.
Having all three of them back on you is intoxicating. With an expert swirl of Remus’s finger as Sirius sucks your nipple back into his mouth and James fucks you just right, you finally come undone for them.
“That’s it, good girl,” Remus murmurs in your ear.
“Did so good, baby,” Sirius hums, trailing gentle kisses over the swell of your breast to collarbone.
“So pretty,” James says, in awe as tears that no longer scare them slide down your cheeks.
Now that they know they come from a place of pleasure and not pain, it’s the most beautiful thing in the world, seeing you fall apart like this.
summary: sirius thought he could handle anything, until he found himself caught between a girlfriend on her period and a boyfriend nearing the full moon. now he attempts to help, armed with questionable tea, quiet affection, and lots of love.
“Remus, are you sure you’re alright?” Sirius’s voice was quiet and careful.
Remus didn’t answer right away. He was curled on the couch, spine pressed deep into the cushions, one hand splayed protectively over his stomach, the other fisted in the hem of his jumper.
Across from him, you sat with your knees drawn to your chest, a hot water bottle nestled low against your abdomen.
You hadn’t said much in the past half hour. The cramps were worse today — dull, insistent, with a leaden pull that radiated down your back and into your thighs.
But how could you speak of your own pain, however sharp, when Remus looked like this?
His breathing was controlled, but uneven. His fingers twitched now and then, as though pretending he wasn’t holding himself together by the seams.
Sirius moved closer, lowering himself to a crouch beside the couch. “Moons, love,” he said softly. “Don’t wait too long this time, alright? If it gets worse, we’re going in. I mean it. No stoic nonsense tonight.”
Remus gave a faint nod. “I know,” he murmured. “I’ll say something.”
Sirius didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t push. Instead, he reached out and brushed his hand along Remus’s shin, thumb moving in quiet, rhythmic strokes over the fabric of his trousers.
You shifted slightly, pressing the hot water bottle more firmly to your abdomen.
You told yourself you could handle it. That a little discomfort wasn’t worth mentioning. That voicing it would feel selfish.
Then Sirius looked at you.
His brow furrowed, concern flickering in his eyes. “You alright?”
You nodded too quickly. “Yeah. It’s just—” You hesitated, tried to make light of it, forced a laugh that didn’t quite make it out whole. “Cramps. It’s nothing.”
Remus looked over at that, his expression faintly softening even through the haze of his own pain. “Still bad?”
You hesitated. Then nodded. “Kind of wrecked, yeah.”
It hit without warning.
One moment, you were sitting quietly on the edge of the couch, blanket tucked around your legs, trying to focus on the low hum of the room and the sound of Remus’s breathing.
The next, a sharp cramp sliced through your lower abdomen like a fist clenched from the inside.
It came so suddenly and with such force that your breath caught in your throat, and your entire body folded in on itself with the pain.
You curled your arms around your stomach, pressing your hands flat against the fabric of your jumper, as if that might somehow hold you together.
The heat rose behind your eyes too quickly. You barely registered the pressure of tears before they slipped free, and you turned your head to the side in shame, trying to make yourself small, trying to breathe through it.
That was all it took.
Sirius was across the room before anyone could blink.
He dropped everything in his hands without hesitation—blanket, mug, whatever he’d brought.
All of it hit the ground as he knelt in front of you, eyes wide with panic masked as control.
“Hey—hey, hey, baby, what is it?” His hands hovered near your arms but didn’t touch yet. “What’s wrong, love? Tell me where it hurts. Come on. Talk to me.”
You could barely see him through your lashes. Your arms were still clutched around your middle. You didn’t want him to see your face.
Remus stirred from the other end of the couch as his voice broke through the haze, strained and low. “Is she—Sirius, is she okay?”
Sirius looked over his shoulder briefly, his voice gentle but quick. “She’s hurting. It’s okay. I’ve got her.”
You shook your head fiercely, still hunched over. “I’m fine, I’m—fine—just—just cramps—”
But your voice cracked halfway through. You tried to swallow down the sob that followed, but it bubbled up anyway, hitching your chest, making the words come out broken and small.
“Sweetheart,” Sirius whispered, finally placing a hand over yours. “You’re shaking. Talk to me, yeah? Where does it hurt?”
You shook your head again, fingers digging into the fabric of your jumper. “Everywhere,” you managed, the word barely a whisper.
Another sob slipped through.
You covered your face instinctively, ashamed of the way your lip trembled, of how you couldn’t stop the hiccupping gasps that followed.
You didn’t want to do this. Not in front of them. Not while Remus was already hurting.
Sirius’s hands came up to gently cup your wrists, his voice barely above a breath. “No, no, no, don’t hide. Please, love. Don’t do that. Let me see you. Let me help.”
When you didn’t move, he slowly reached up and brushed your fingers aside with his own, peeling your hands from your face.
“There you are,” he murmured when your tear-streaked face finally met his gaze.
His expression softened at once, like something in him unclenched the moment you let him see you properly.
He reached up, fingers brushing softly across your cheek, catching the salty tracks of your tears like they were something precious.
“There’s my pretty girl,” he said quietly, voice low and steady. “Now talk to me, yeah? Where does it hurt? Is it the cramps again, or are you feeling nauseous?”
You couldn’t hold it back anymore. A sob slipped out before you could catch it, and suddenly Sirius’s hands were on either side of your face.
“I’m sorry,” you whispered, and it felt ridiculous even as you said it. “I just—I didn’t want to make it about me.”
Sirius closed his eyes for a second like the sentence physically hurt him. When he opened them again, his voice was nothing but softness.
“You never have to apologize for hurting. Do you understand me? Never.”
“I know Remus needs—”
“And I need you,” he said. “He needs you. We both do. And right now you need someone too, and that’s me. You don’t have to choose between being strong and being loved.”
You were trembling now, the heat of your own tears making you feel dizzy. Sirius just stayed there, holding your face like you were the most important thing in the world.
“Let me take care of you, yeah?” he said again, quieter this time.
He reached under your legs and around your back, moving as smoothly as he could, and you didn’t resist as he lifted you into his arms.
“I’ve got you,” he murmured again and again, as if the words themselves could knit your pain into something softer.
He crossed the room and lowered you beside Remus, careful and precise.
Remus reached out with trembling fingers the second you were close enough, brushing the back of your hand as Sirius tucked the blanket around you both.
“There,” Sirius said quietly, crouching beside the couch and looking at you both. “Now you can be in pain together. A real bloody power couple.”
The words hung in the air for a beat, and despite everything, it was a little funny. Darkly, stupidly funny.
You, tear-streaked and curled up like a discarded doll, pressed against Remus, who looked like he’d been personally steamrolled by the moon itself. The two of you were a matching set of misery.
You let out a tear-choked laugh in spite of yourself. Remus gave a weak chuckle too, though his face was drawn tight with worry as he looked at you.
Sirius had gone quiet, which was rarely a good sign.
After bundling the two of you up on the couch and adjusting the blanket three separate times, he pressed kisses to both your temples and straightened with a determined huff.
“Alright,” he said, standing with a sigh. “I’m heading to the kitchen. Gonna make some tea — I read somewhere that it helps with period pain. And if it doesn’t, at least you’ll both be mildly hydrated and warm.”
And then he disappeared into the kitchen.
The moment the door swung shut behind him, a hush settled over the room — a gentle, almost sacred quiet that felt strangely welcome after the wave of emotions that had just crashed through.
You shifted, slow and careful, and leaned sideways until your head rested gently in Remus’s lap.
He made a soft sound of surprise, but didn’t move away — only adjusted his position so you’d be more comfortable.
You closed your eyes.
A second passed, and then his hand came down slowly, fingers threading into your hair, the motion delicate and soothing.
Then, in that soft, unmistakably Remus voice, he murmured, “You know… you don’t have to do that.”
You blinked. “Do what?”
His fingers paused briefly, then resumed their slow pattern. “Hide your pain because of mine.”
Your heart sank a little at the words — not because you didn’t expect him to notice, but because of how gently he’d said it. No accusation. Just quiet, aching honesty.
“I wasn’t trying to—” you started, but he cut you off gently.
“I know. I know you weren’t. That’s the thing. You weren’t trying. You were just doing what you always do, making space for everyone else.”
You let out a long, shaky sigh and turned your face slightly into his thigh.
“It’s not like it compares. You’ve got… I mean. It’s your entire body breaking down.”
“And yours isn’t?” he asked. “Just because mine’s attached to a full moon and a curse doesn’t mean yours is nothing. Pain is pain. It doesn’t need a hierarchy.”
You didn’t respond right away, so he kept going, his tone still quiet and certain.
“I hate when you think you have to earn help. Or that if you’re not bleeding from the eyeballs, it doesn’t count. That’s not how this works, love.”
You exhaled, eyes fluttering shut. “I guess I just didn’t want to be another problem.”
Remus laughed softly — not at you, never at you — but with that kind of exasperated fondness that only comes from someone who loves you completely.
“You’re not a problem. You’re the person I want to help through problems. There’s a difference.”
You were quiet for a beat, then mumbled, “When did you get so good at this?”
“I’ve had a lot of practice hurting,” he said simply. “Eventually you figure out how to recognize it in other people. Especially when you love them.”
You turned slightly so you could look up at him. “I do love you, you know.”
His lips curved into a soft smile. “Yeah. I do know.”
His hand moved again, slower now, sweeping back your hair as he looked down at you like you were something he’d never get tired of seeing.
“I love you too,” he said. “And so does the madman currently reorganizing our entire kitchen based on your tea preferences.”
You snorted. “Do I even have tea preferences?”
“You do now,” he said. “I heard him muttering something about lemongrass and rebirthing the uterus.”
You both laughed — gently, because your stomach still ached, but real laughter nonetheless. The kind that loosened something tight in your chest.
The moment had almost turned quiet again — Remus’s hand brushing gently against your shoulder, the weight of the heating pad soft against your abdomen— when Sirius’s voice broke through the calm.
“Remus?” he called from the kitchen, sounding bewildered in a way that was rarely promising. “Do we even own a kettle?”
Remus didn’t even flinch. He simply tilted his head toward the ceiling and exhaled like a man who had stared into the abyss one too many times.
You could feel the resignation pouring off him before he even opened his mouth.
“It’s exactly where it’s always been,” he said, loud enough for Sirius to hear but still soft around the edges.
“Right-hand side of the counter, next to the spice rack. It’s silver, has a handle, and in case you’ve forgotten, it’s the only object in the entire flat that whistles.”
There was a pause — the soft clatter of something being set down— and then Sirius’s voice again.
“Oh, that’s what that is!”
Remus turned his head toward you, blinking slowly. “He’s been using it to water the plants.”
You pressed your hand to your mouth to stifle a laugh. “You’re joking.”
“I wish I were.”
Just as Remus reached for your abdomen again, Sirius called out a second time, this time sounding somehow both triumphant and confused.
“Where’s the actual tea kept? You know, the… leaves? Or do we just buy it?”
“It’s in the middle cabinet above the stove,” Remus called out, voice low and tired. “Second shelf. The tin with the loose chamomile.”
There was a pause. Then Sirius’s voice from the kitchen:
“Is it supposed to look like… this? Kinda yellow and dried out?”
“No,” Remus grumbled. “That’s turmeric, you idiot!”
Remus turned to you again, eyes tired but affectionate, and leaned in slightly.
His thumb brushed softly along your cheekbone, and his voice lowered in a way that only belonged to you.
“Now that we’ve briefly returned to pretending we live in a functioning household,” he murmured, “tell me— how are the cramps now? Still awful?”
You smiled faintly, tilting your face into his palm. “Still awful, but slightly less noticeable now that my survival instincts have kicked in.”
“Good,” Remus said with a tired nod. “Tea as distraction therapy. Not ideal, but it’s something.”
Sirius reappeared from the kitchen carrying a tray that looked like a mismatched collection of whatever was clean.
Two mugs sat side by side — one a scratched-up beer glass, the other a Quidditch World Cup souvenir with a plastic broomstick handle. Next to them was a bowl of chunky soup still steaming, and an overfilled hot water bottle.
He set the tray down carefully. “Here we go. Tea by whatever means necessary.”
Remus glanced at the beer glass. “You’re seriously using my stag party stein?”
Sirius grinned. “It was either that or a flower vase. I figured this was the lesser evil.”
You didn’t say anything. You were too busy trying not to laugh at the deep, sludgy brown color of the liquid in your glass.
It looked like something a healer might prescribe after a curse backfires.
Sirius beamed at you both and sat down, watching eagerly as you each picked up your mug.
You took the tiniest sip possible, more vapor than liquid, and immediately felt your entire soul attempt to escape your body through your nose.
It tasted like bark and soap and something floral that had clearly never meant to be steeped.
Remus made a barely audible sound of protest after his own sip, then forced his mouth into a painfully neutral line and set the cup back down like it was radioactive.
Sirius leaned in, eager, almost childlike. “So? Be honest. Do you feel better? Is it healing you physically? Did you feel your uterus unfurl?”
You nodded slowly, then gave him the gentlest smile you could manage. “I… I felt something.”
Remus, ever the diplomat, added, “It has a very strong presence.”
Sirius grinned. “Right? I added ginger and lavender and that weird red stuff from the back.”
“The red stuff?” Remus asked, eyes narrowing.
“Yeah. The… earthy one. It smelled like forest!”
You and Remus exchanged a silent look, then turned back to Sirius.
“I just want you both to feel taken care of,” he said softly, his voice shifting again, dropping low and sincere in a way that made your chest ache.
And despite the taste still lingering on your tongue and the odd thickness of the tea coating your throat, you both smiled and meant it when you said, together:
“We do!”
Sirius leaned back, his arms draping behind both of you again as he looked between you with that impossible, boyish devotion that never faded no matter how old any of you got.
“Good,” he said, settling in again. “Because I’m planning to overdo this for the next twelve hours.”
You smiled against the rim of your cup and prepared your stomach for another sip of horrendous tea.
But if it meant staying wrapped up like this — warmth, noise, love — you’d drink the whole thing.
Sirius flopped down between you both, tugging the blanket up again and nudging Remus with his knee.
You and Remus exchanged tired, grateful looks before turning to him.
You reached out, fingers brushing against his hand. “Thank you,” you murmured softly. “We couldn’t have done this without you.”
Remus leaned in slightly, his fingers brushing Sirius’s before curling around them. His voice was low but certain. “We’d be wrecked without you.”
Sirius gave a quiet scoff, squeezing his hand back. “Yeah, well. I live to serve the emotionally and physically unstable.”
You snorted into your tea. “That includes you, by the way.”
“Exactly,” Sirius said with a grin. “Truly a one-man support group.”
The silence didn’t last long. Sirius then dramatically sighed, his voice heavy with mock frustration. “Y’know… I hate being normal.”
You both turned to look at him in bewilderment.
“What?” he said, completely unbothered. “You two get cool biological attacks every month. I just get stress and skin problems.”
Remus muttered under his breath, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, “You really are weird, Sirius.”
You couldn’t hold it in — a bright, genuine laugh burst from you, filling the quiet room with something light and easy.
A soft, amused giggle escaped him. “Oh please, the ones who turn into wolves every month and bleed from their vaginas get to call me weird?”
You jabbed him lightly in the ribs. “Hey! We can’t help that, you wanker!”
All three of you laughed, the teasing bouncing back and forth like an old game. Sirius smirked, eyes sparkling, and started rattling off little quirks only someone living with you both would know.
“Like how Moony gets all grumpy and broody every full moon, like he’s got the weight of the world on his shoulders.”
Remus rolled his eyes but shot back with a smirk, “Excuse me, Black—I do carry a heavy weight every month. You just don’t see it!”
The room filled with warm laughter again, the teasing folding seamlessly into the quiet comfort between you.
Yet somehow, beneath all the teasing and mismatched mugs, there was an unspoken truth.
You and Remus both knew, without ever needing to say it, that Sirius would always be there every time, without question and complaint.
And Sirius knew this with equal clarity: that no matter how much it hurt, no matter how often it returned, he would hold you both through it all, month after month, pain and all, for as long as you’d let him.
summary: sirius thought he could handle anything, until he found himself caught between a girlfriend on her period and a boyfriend nearing the full moon. now he attempts to help, armed with questionable tea, quiet affection, and lots of love.
“Remus, are you sure you’re alright?” Sirius’s voice was quiet and careful.
Remus didn’t answer right away. He was curled on the couch, spine pressed deep into the cushions, one hand splayed protectively over his stomach, the other fisted in the hem of his jumper.
Across from him, you sat with your knees drawn to your chest, a hot water bottle nestled low against your abdomen.
You hadn’t said much in the past half hour. The cramps were worse today — dull, insistent, with a leaden pull that radiated down your back and into your thighs.
But how could you speak of your own pain, however sharp, when Remus looked like this?
His breathing was controlled, but uneven. His fingers twitched now and then, as though pretending he wasn’t holding himself together by the seams.
Sirius moved closer, lowering himself to a crouch beside the couch. “Moons, love,” he said softly. “Don’t wait too long this time, alright? If it gets worse, we’re going in. I mean it. No stoic nonsense tonight.”
Remus gave a faint nod. “I know,” he murmured. “I’ll say something.”
Sirius didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t push. Instead, he reached out and brushed his hand along Remus’s shin, thumb moving in quiet, rhythmic strokes over the fabric of his trousers.
You shifted slightly, pressing the hot water bottle more firmly to your abdomen.
You told yourself you could handle it. That a little discomfort wasn’t worth mentioning. That voicing it would feel selfish.
Then Sirius looked at you.
His brow furrowed, concern flickering in his eyes. “You alright?”
You nodded too quickly. “Yeah. It’s just—” You hesitated, tried to make light of it, forced a laugh that didn’t quite make it out whole. “Cramps. It’s nothing.”
Remus looked over at that, his expression faintly softening even through the haze of his own pain. “Still bad?”
You hesitated. Then nodded. “Kind of wrecked, yeah.”
It hit without warning.
One moment, you were sitting quietly on the edge of the couch, blanket tucked around your legs, trying to focus on the low hum of the room and the sound of Remus’s breathing.
The next, a sharp cramp sliced through your lower abdomen like a fist clenched from the inside.
It came so suddenly and with such force that your breath caught in your throat, and your entire body folded in on itself with the pain.
You curled your arms around your stomach, pressing your hands flat against the fabric of your jumper, as if that might somehow hold you together.
The heat rose behind your eyes too quickly. You barely registered the pressure of tears before they slipped free, and you turned your head to the side in shame, trying to make yourself small, trying to breathe through it.
That was all it took.
Sirius was across the room before anyone could blink.
He dropped everything in his hands without hesitation—blanket, mug, whatever he’d brought.
All of it hit the ground as he knelt in front of you, eyes wide with panic masked as control.
“Hey—hey, hey, baby, what is it?” His hands hovered near your arms but didn’t touch yet. “What’s wrong, love? Tell me where it hurts. Come on. Talk to me.”
You could barely see him through your lashes. Your arms were still clutched around your middle. You didn’t want him to see your face.
Remus stirred from the other end of the couch as his voice broke through the haze, strained and low. “Is she—Sirius, is she okay?”
Sirius looked over his shoulder briefly, his voice gentle but quick. “She’s hurting. It’s okay. I’ve got her.”
You shook your head fiercely, still hunched over. “I’m fine, I’m—fine—just—just cramps—”
But your voice cracked halfway through. You tried to swallow down the sob that followed, but it bubbled up anyway, hitching your chest, making the words come out broken and small.
“Sweetheart,” Sirius whispered, finally placing a hand over yours. “You’re shaking. Talk to me, yeah? Where does it hurt?”
You shook your head again, fingers digging into the fabric of your jumper. “Everywhere,” you managed, the word barely a whisper.
Another sob slipped through.
You covered your face instinctively, ashamed of the way your lip trembled, of how you couldn’t stop the hiccupping gasps that followed.
You didn’t want to do this. Not in front of them. Not while Remus was already hurting.
Sirius’s hands came up to gently cup your wrists, his voice barely above a breath. “No, no, no, don’t hide. Please, love. Don’t do that. Let me see you. Let me help.”
When you didn’t move, he slowly reached up and brushed your fingers aside with his own, peeling your hands from your face.
“There you are,” he murmured when your tear-streaked face finally met his gaze.
His expression softened at once, like something in him unclenched the moment you let him see you properly.
He reached up, fingers brushing softly across your cheek, catching the salty tracks of your tears like they were something precious.
“There’s my pretty girl,” he said quietly, voice low and steady. “Now talk to me, yeah? Where does it hurt? Is it the cramps again, or are you feeling nauseous?”
You couldn’t hold it back anymore. A sob slipped out before you could catch it, and suddenly Sirius’s hands were on either side of your face.
“I’m sorry,” you whispered, and it felt ridiculous even as you said it. “I just—I didn’t want to make it about me.”
Sirius closed his eyes for a second like the sentence physically hurt him. When he opened them again, his voice was nothing but softness.
“You never have to apologize for hurting. Do you understand me? Never.”
“I know Remus needs—”
“And I need you,” he said. “He needs you. We both do. And right now you need someone too, and that’s me. You don’t have to choose between being strong and being loved.”
You were trembling now, the heat of your own tears making you feel dizzy. Sirius just stayed there, holding your face like you were the most important thing in the world.
“Let me take care of you, yeah?” he said again, quieter this time.
He reached under your legs and around your back, moving as smoothly as he could, and you didn’t resist as he lifted you into his arms.
“I’ve got you,” he murmured again and again, as if the words themselves could knit your pain into something softer.
He crossed the room and lowered you beside Remus, careful and precise.
Remus reached out with trembling fingers the second you were close enough, brushing the back of your hand as Sirius tucked the blanket around you both.
“There,” Sirius said quietly, crouching beside the couch and looking at you both. “Now you can be in pain together. A real bloody power couple.”
The words hung in the air for a beat, and despite everything, it was a little funny. Darkly, stupidly funny.
You, tear-streaked and curled up like a discarded doll, pressed against Remus, who looked like he’d been personally steamrolled by the moon itself. The two of you were a matching set of misery.
You let out a tear-choked laugh in spite of yourself. Remus gave a weak chuckle too, though his face was drawn tight with worry as he looked at you.
Sirius had gone quiet, which was rarely a good sign.
After bundling the two of you up on the couch and adjusting the blanket three separate times, he pressed kisses to both your temples and straightened with a determined huff.
“Alright,” he said, standing with a sigh. “I’m heading to the kitchen. Gonna make some tea — I read somewhere that it helps with period pain. And if it doesn’t, at least you’ll both be mildly hydrated and warm.”
And then he disappeared into the kitchen.
The moment the door swung shut behind him, a hush settled over the room — a gentle, almost sacred quiet that felt strangely welcome after the wave of emotions that had just crashed through.
You shifted, slow and careful, and leaned sideways until your head rested gently in Remus’s lap.
He made a soft sound of surprise, but didn’t move away — only adjusted his position so you’d be more comfortable.
You closed your eyes.
A second passed, and then his hand came down slowly, fingers threading into your hair, the motion delicate and soothing.
Then, in that soft, unmistakably Remus voice, he murmured, “You know… you don’t have to do that.”
You blinked. “Do what?”
His fingers paused briefly, then resumed their slow pattern. “Hide your pain because of mine.”
Your heart sank a little at the words — not because you didn’t expect him to notice, but because of how gently he’d said it. No accusation. Just quiet, aching honesty.
“I wasn’t trying to—” you started, but he cut you off gently.
“I know. I know you weren’t. That’s the thing. You weren’t trying. You were just doing what you always do, making space for everyone else.”
You let out a long, shaky sigh and turned your face slightly into his thigh.
“It’s not like it compares. You’ve got… I mean. It’s your entire body breaking down.”
“And yours isn’t?” he asked. “Just because mine’s attached to a full moon and a curse doesn’t mean yours is nothing. Pain is pain. It doesn’t need a hierarchy.”
You didn’t respond right away, so he kept going, his tone still quiet and certain.
“I hate when you think you have to earn help. Or that if you’re not bleeding from the eyeballs, it doesn’t count. That’s not how this works, love.”
You exhaled, eyes fluttering shut. “I guess I just didn’t want to be another problem.”
Remus laughed softly — not at you, never at you — but with that kind of exasperated fondness that only comes from someone who loves you completely.
“You’re not a problem. You’re the person I want to help through problems. There’s a difference.”
You were quiet for a beat, then mumbled, “When did you get so good at this?”
“I’ve had a lot of practice hurting,” he said simply. “Eventually you figure out how to recognize it in other people. Especially when you love them.”
You turned slightly so you could look up at him. “I do love you, you know.”
His lips curved into a soft smile. “Yeah. I do know.”
His hand moved again, slower now, sweeping back your hair as he looked down at you like you were something he’d never get tired of seeing.
“I love you too,” he said. “And so does the madman currently reorganizing our entire kitchen based on your tea preferences.”
You snorted. “Do I even have tea preferences?”
“You do now,” he said. “I heard him muttering something about lemongrass and rebirthing the uterus.”
You both laughed — gently, because your stomach still ached, but real laughter nonetheless. The kind that loosened something tight in your chest.
The moment had almost turned quiet again — Remus’s hand brushing gently against your shoulder, the weight of the heating pad soft against your abdomen— when Sirius’s voice broke through the calm.
“Remus?” he called from the kitchen, sounding bewildered in a way that was rarely promising. “Do we even own a kettle?”
Remus didn’t even flinch. He simply tilted his head toward the ceiling and exhaled like a man who had stared into the abyss one too many times.
You could feel the resignation pouring off him before he even opened his mouth.
“It’s exactly where it’s always been,” he said, loud enough for Sirius to hear but still soft around the edges.
“Right-hand side of the counter, next to the spice rack. It’s silver, has a handle, and in case you’ve forgotten, it’s the only object in the entire flat that whistles.”
There was a pause — the soft clatter of something being set down— and then Sirius’s voice again.
“Oh, that’s what that is!”
Remus turned his head toward you, blinking slowly. “He’s been using it to water the plants.”
You pressed your hand to your mouth to stifle a laugh. “You’re joking.”
“I wish I were.”
Just as Remus reached for your abdomen again, Sirius called out a second time, this time sounding somehow both triumphant and confused.
“Where’s the actual tea kept? You know, the… leaves? Or do we just buy it?”
“It’s in the middle cabinet above the stove,” Remus called out, voice low and tired. “Second shelf. The tin with the loose chamomile.”
There was a pause. Then Sirius’s voice from the kitchen:
“Is it supposed to look like… this? Kinda yellow and dried out?”
“No,” Remus grumbled. “That’s turmeric, you idiot!”
Remus turned to you again, eyes tired but affectionate, and leaned in slightly.
His thumb brushed softly along your cheekbone, and his voice lowered in a way that only belonged to you.
“Now that we’ve briefly returned to pretending we live in a functioning household,” he murmured, “tell me— how are the cramps now? Still awful?”
You smiled faintly, tilting your face into his palm. “Still awful, but slightly less noticeable now that my survival instincts have kicked in.”
“Good,” Remus said with a tired nod. “Tea as distraction therapy. Not ideal, but it’s something.”
Sirius reappeared from the kitchen carrying a tray that looked like a mismatched collection of whatever was clean.
Two mugs sat side by side — one a scratched-up beer glass, the other a Quidditch World Cup souvenir with a plastic broomstick handle. Next to them was a bowl of chunky soup still steaming, and an overfilled hot water bottle.
He set the tray down carefully. “Here we go. Tea by whatever means necessary.”
Remus glanced at the beer glass. “You’re seriously using my stag party stein?”
Sirius grinned. “It was either that or a flower vase. I figured this was the lesser evil.”
You didn’t say anything. You were too busy trying not to laugh at the deep, sludgy brown color of the liquid in your glass.
It looked like something a healer might prescribe after a curse backfires.
Sirius beamed at you both and sat down, watching eagerly as you each picked up your mug.
You took the tiniest sip possible, more vapor than liquid, and immediately felt your entire soul attempt to escape your body through your nose.
It tasted like bark and soap and something floral that had clearly never meant to be steeped.
Remus made a barely audible sound of protest after his own sip, then forced his mouth into a painfully neutral line and set the cup back down like it was radioactive.
Sirius leaned in, eager, almost childlike. “So? Be honest. Do you feel better? Is it healing you physically? Did you feel your uterus unfurl?”
You nodded slowly, then gave him the gentlest smile you could manage. “I… I felt something.”
Remus, ever the diplomat, added, “It has a very strong presence.”
Sirius grinned. “Right? I added ginger and lavender and that weird red stuff from the back.”
“The red stuff?” Remus asked, eyes narrowing.
“Yeah. The… earthy one. It smelled like forest!”
You and Remus exchanged a silent look, then turned back to Sirius.
“I just want you both to feel taken care of,” he said softly, his voice shifting again, dropping low and sincere in a way that made your chest ache.
And despite the taste still lingering on your tongue and the odd thickness of the tea coating your throat, you both smiled and meant it when you said, together:
“We do!”
Sirius leaned back, his arms draping behind both of you again as he looked between you with that impossible, boyish devotion that never faded no matter how old any of you got.
“Good,” he said, settling in again. “Because I’m planning to overdo this for the next twelve hours.”
You smiled against the rim of your cup and prepared your stomach for another sip of horrendous tea.
But if it meant staying wrapped up like this — warmth, noise, love — you’d drink the whole thing.
Sirius flopped down between you both, tugging the blanket up again and nudging Remus with his knee.
You and Remus exchanged tired, grateful looks before turning to him.
You reached out, fingers brushing against his hand. “Thank you,” you murmured softly. “We couldn’t have done this without you.”
Remus leaned in slightly, his fingers brushing Sirius’s before curling around them. His voice was low but certain. “We’d be wrecked without you.”
Sirius gave a quiet scoff, squeezing his hand back. “Yeah, well. I live to serve the emotionally and physically unstable.”
You snorted into your tea. “That includes you, by the way.”
“Exactly,” Sirius said with a grin. “Truly a one-man support group.”
The silence didn’t last long. Sirius then dramatically sighed, his voice heavy with mock frustration. “Y’know… I hate being normal.”
You both turned to look at him in bewilderment.
“What?” he said, completely unbothered. “You two get cool biological attacks every month. I just get stress and skin problems.”
Remus muttered under his breath, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, “You really are weird, Sirius.”
You couldn’t hold it in — a bright, genuine laugh burst from you, filling the quiet room with something light and easy.
A soft, amused giggle escaped him. “Oh please, the ones who turn into wolves every month and bleed from their vaginas get to call me weird?”
You jabbed him lightly in the ribs. “Hey! We can’t help that, you wanker!”
All three of you laughed, the teasing bouncing back and forth like an old game. Sirius smirked, eyes sparkling, and started rattling off little quirks only someone living with you both would know.
“Like how Moony gets all grumpy and broody every full moon, like he’s got the weight of the world on his shoulders.”
Remus rolled his eyes but shot back with a smirk, “Excuse me, Black—I do carry a heavy weight every month. You just don’t see it!”
The room filled with warm laughter again, the teasing folding seamlessly into the quiet comfort between you.
Yet somehow, beneath all the teasing and mismatched mugs, there was an unspoken truth.
You and Remus both knew, without ever needing to say it, that Sirius would always be there every time, without question and complaint.
And Sirius knew this with equal clarity: that no matter how much it hurt, no matter how often it returned, he would hold you both through it all, month after month, pain and all, for as long as you’d let him.
writing request ! Could you do a ploy!marauder x fem!reader; I’d like the situation where they all thought everybody already new they were in a relationship w the ‘reader’ but they thought it was js James and ‘reader’ in a relationship and Remus with Sirius in a relationship so when ‘reader’ or whoever kisses another on the cheek or smth in front of the other grifindors they think their cheating on each other and get the other two people alone to tell them. ITS A LONG ONE IM SORRY TAKE UR TIME IF YOU DO THIS AT ALL..
poly!marauders x reader where apparently no ones knows you're all dating*. ⋆ 1.1k words
cw: fluff. fem!reader. misunderstanding. multiple mentions of cheating obviously. lmk if i missed something!
a/n: changed it a bit at the end i hope it's okay<3 enjoy and remember english isn't my first language!
breakfast at the gryffindor table is always chaos. it’s loud and warm and full of laughter—mostly because james refuses to eat quietly, sirius insists on stealing everyone’s food, and remus is the only thing keeping the entire operation from falling apart.
you sit between james and remus, half-awake, buttering your toast while sirius explains some ridiculous new prank idea to james in rapid detail. remus is reading the prophet, his brow furrowed, mouth twitching like he’s trying not to comment on whatever disaster is printed on the front page.
“you’ve got something—” you murmur, gesturing vaguely to your own face.
remus blinks at you, confused.
“on the corner.” you clarify.
“where?” he asks, swiping at the wrong cheek.
“other side.” you laugh, and before you really think about it, you reach over, thumb brushing the corner of his mouth. there’s a tiny smudge of jam there. you wipe it off, then—without realizing how it looks to the rest of the table—lean in and press a quick, small kiss to the spot.
“got it.” you say, smiling.
the entire table goes silent.
you frown, looking up to find half your house staring like you just murdered someone.
“what?” you ask.
“you just kissed remus.” marlene whispers, horrified.
you blink. “yeah? he had jam.”
“but you’re with james!”
james, who’s been far too busy laughing at something sirius said, looks up mid-bite. “what about me?”
lily leans across the table.
“she just kissed remus!”
james chews, swallows, and says cheerfully, “good for her.”
the gasp that follows could probably register on the seismic scale.
“i’m sorry, what is happening right now?” you say, half-laughing, but it’s too late. the gryffindor table has already dissolved into frantic murmurs.
“she’s with james!” someone hisses.
“but remus and sirius—”
“does that mean—?”
“poor james!”
the rumors spread fast—hogwarts fast. by lunch, you hear someone whispering that you’ve left james for remus. by dinner, someone else claims they saw sirius comfort james after he caught you two snogging behind the library.
and the next morning, someone catches sirius kissing james.
apparently, two girls saw them together in the astronomy tower, nearly fainting of surprise when they started kissing—with tongue.
and somehow, the four of you spend your days like nothing happened, oblivious to how all the students whisper about you in the corridors.
one day, after class, you walk into the common room hand in hand with james, only to find lily and marlene standing there like they’re about to hold an intervention.
sirius is sprawled dramatically across the couch, remus beside him, reading a book.
“sit.” lily orders.
you blink. “uh, okay?”
marlene crosses her arms.
“we need to talk.”
sirius grins. “finally. is this about the dungbombs? because that wasn’t me.”
“it’s not about the dungbombs!” lily snaps. “it’s about your relationships.”
you glance at james. “our what?”
“don’t play dumb!” marlene says. “people are getting hurt, and you’re all just—” she waves her hands dramatically—“carrying on like nothing’s wrong!”
“hurt? who’s hurt?” you frown.
“you!” lily says. “and james! and sirius! and remus!”
james leans forward. “are we dying?”
“you’re cheating!”
there’s a pause.
a very, very long pause.
“...what?” sirius says finally, blinking.
“you’re all cheating on each other!” marlene insists. “she kissed remus, james is dating her, sirius kissed james, and no one seems upset about it! what’s going on?”
you stare at them, utterly bewildered. “wait—you think we’re cheating?”
“what else are we supposed to think?” lily demands. “you’re all—mixing and matching!”
“mixing and—” remus looks offended on principle. “we’re not… mixing.”
“we’re dating,” you say simply.
“you and james.” marlene says slowly.
“no,” james says. “she and me and sirius and remus.”
lily blinks.
“come again?”
sirius waves a hand lazily. “we’re all together. the four of us. we’re one big, happy, disgustingly affectionate group.”
marlene looks between you all, horrified. “wait—like—all of you?”
you nod, trying not to laugh. “all of us.”
“since when?” lily asks faintly.
“since… forever?” sirius says. “well, a few months, technically, but it feels like forever.”
“you never said anything!”
“we didn’t think it mattered!” sirius grins. “hogwarts doesn’t exactly give out relationship forms.”
remus snorts. “though maybe they should, for this exact reason.”
lily drags a hand down her face. “do you have any idea what people have been saying?”
“apparently, yes,” james says, looking far too pleased. “and it’s absolutely mental.”
“mental?” marlene repeats. “james, half the school thinks you’re breaking each other’s hearts!”
“well, technically, we’re not breaking anything,” sirius says. “unless you count beds.”
you press your lips together, trying not to laugh, but the look lily gives you makes it impossible to hold back for long.
“okay, okay, but what were we supposed to do? tell people every time we kiss someone so no one gets confused?”
“that would’ve helped,” lily says, exasperated.
“oh, brilliant,” sirius says. “we can make announcements before breakfast. ‘attention hogwarts! we’re all still dating each other!’”
“sirius.” remus says again, quieter this time, but his shoulders shake a little.
“this isn’t funny!” marlene says, though she’s starting to smile too.
“it’s a little funny,” you admit.
“no, it’s ridiculous!” lily says. “you’ve been parading around the castle, kissing whoever’s nearest, and everyone’s been whispering about how tragic it is that james doesn’t know, or that you’re sneaking behind remus’s back, or—”
“wait, so they’ve all been talking about this?” james interrupts, scandalized.
“yes!” marlene exclaims. “the entire castle’s been betting on when you’ll all find out about each other!”
there’s a long silence.
then sirius bursts out laughing so hard he nearly falls off the armrest. lily looks moments away from disowning all of you.
“you’re incorrigible. all of you.”
“we just don’t see the problem,” remus says mildly. “we’re not ashamed, but we didn’t think anyone needed to be informed.”
“well, now everyone is informed,” marlene says. “wrongly.”
“then we’ll fix it,” you say cheerfully. “we’ll just be extra obvious. more hand-holding, more kissing, make it impossible to mistake.”
“that’s not—” lily starts, but she stops herself halfway, realizing who she’s talking to. “you know what? fine. do whatever you want. just stop giving people heart attacks.”
“no promises.” sirius says, smirking.
“none.” james echoes.
lily and marlene leave the room, utterly defeated, and remus leans toward you.
“you realize this is only going to make things worse, right?” he murmurs.
“probably,” you whisper back, smiling. “but at least we’ll look cute doing it.”
“i already know what i need to do” sirius says, already plotting. “tomorrow morning, i’m kissing all of you at breakfast. maybe that’ll clear things up.”
summary: during a sunny pool day with your boyfriends, a few careless words from nearby girls leave you spiraling into body insecurities; questioning whether your body is worthy of being seen beside theirs. doubt creeps in, making you want to stay out of the water entirely.
warnings: body image issues, fatphobia (overheard), chubby reader, self-esteem struggles, suggestive flirting, insecurity about weight and appearance, affectionate physical touch, comfort after distress, emotional vulnerability, hurt/comfort, reader cries, mentions of comparison to others, heavy self-doubt, fluff ending.
word count: 4.1k masterlist
“I’m not going in, James.”
Your voice is light, almost casual, but there is a quiet firmness beneath it. James pauses where he stands, sunlight glinting across his chest in shifting patterns.
His curls hang damp over his forehead, clinging in loose, unruly strands. He blinks once, watching you, and then his mouth curves into that familiar grin — the kind of smile that always manages to hold just enough trouble in it to make your chest ache.
“Not even a little?” he asks, tilting his head with a hopeful glint in his eye. “You don’t even have to swim. You could just sit on the steps with me. I’ll behave. No splashing, I swear.”
You lift an eyebrow, unimpressed. “James, that might be the worst lie I’ve ever heard.”
He laughs, not bothering to deny it. “Alright, maybe a few splashes, but only the polite kind. Nothing aggressive, sweetheart.”
You shake your head, fingers tightening slightly on the edges of your towel. “I don’t think I’m up for it right now. I just want to sit for a bit.”
He watches you for a moment, then gives a small nod, slower this time. “That’s fine. No pressure. I thought maybe I’d lift you in, just for fun, but if you’re not up for it—”
“I don’t want to be carried,” you interrupt, and though you try to keep your voice even, it comes out sharper than you intended.
James steps closer, out of the pool now, wet footprints left behind on the tiles. “Okay,” he says again. “I hear you. I just thought… you know, it might be fun.”
“I know,” you say, voice softer now. “It’s just… not today.”
He studies your face for a quiet moment, his gaze softening with something unspoken, then leans in and presses a tender kiss to the corner of your mouth.
His voice is low, kind, full of ease. “You don’t have to explain anything. I’ll go bother Sirius for a bit. He gets grumpy when I’m too quiet anyway.”
And just like that, he lets it go.
You sit back on the lounge chair, towel still firmly wrapped around you despite the sun warming everything in sight.
Sirius and Remus had gone off in search of something cold — slushies, probably, or some novelty ice creams from the café nearby.
They’d offered to bring back whatever you wanted, but you’d waved them off with a smile and a vague excuse about not being hungry.
You’d told them you were just going to tan a little, enjoy the quiet.
And now, here you are.
You pull your sunglasses down over your eyes and try not to keep watching James as he dives back into the pool.
He slices through the water like he was born in it, easy, confident, laughing as Sirius tries to dunk him under.
You know that laugh — open and unguarded, his favourite one — and you know the way it makes people look at him. He draws attention like a flame does moths.
You notice the girls long before they pass by.
They are beautiful. Effortlessly so. Legs like illustrations, hair still sleek despite the humidity.
Their swimsuits are bold, the kind that cling in all the right places, and their laughter is low and liquid as they stroll past you in a slow, perfect formation.
You do not look at them directly, but you see everything (as if they have kept anything left for the imagination, anyway)
You see the way their eyes catch on James. You see the flicker of confusion when he stops at your chair again, water dripping from his chest as he grabs your bottle without asking, takes a sip, and leans down to kiss your cheek with an ease that’s nothing new but still feels like something not everyone is meant to see.
“You sure you don’t want anything?” he asks, wiping his mouth on his shoulder.
“I’m good,” you say, voice even.
He nods once, then jogs back to the pool, muscles shifting under his skin like he’s been carved out of some better mythology than yours.
The girls walk past right after. Not in a hurry, but not idly either.
As if they’ve timed it deliberately, as if they want you to hear every word.
“I mean, opposites attract, I guess,” one of them murmurs, just loud enough to carry. Her tone is light, amused, like this is a joke she expects you to be in on.
“I still don’t get it,” the second one says. “He could have literally anyone, and he’s with her?”
The other snickers quietly, glancing over with a pointed look. “Exactly. I mean, look at her body.”
You stay very, very still.
Your stomach knots, pulling tight under the towel. You sit there with your knees drawn in, your sunglasses hiding your eyes, your hands clenched slightly in the terry cloth like you could disappear into it if you tried hard enough.
The laughter fades as they move further down the path, already on to the next topic, the next judgment.
You sit motionless until it fades entirely. Then, finally, you take a breath.
You look toward the water, where James is now being dragged into some ridiculous splash battle between Sirius and a laughing Remus, all of them completely unaware.
You keep your face carefully blank, your body still beneath the towel. But your eyes drop slowly to your thighs, the curve of them pressed together in your seated position, the way your swimsuit clings no matter how you adjust it.
You become acutely aware of the way your swimsuit cuts into the softest parts of you — the fold at your stomach that deepens whenever you shift, the way your thighs press together with no space between them, the curve of your hips that never quite settles comfortably into these plastic chairs.
The fabric clings too closely. Every inch of your skin feels exposed in the sharp heat of the sun, and for a moment, you are no longer a girl sitting by the pool with people she loves.
You are only a body, one you have spent years trying not to shrink from in the mirror, now laid bare beneath the gaze of the world.
Your hand reaches for the towel beside you — you think it is Remus’s — and it smells faintly like him, like clean cotton and something subtle and steady.
You fold it quickly, roll it once, and place it across your lap. Your arms follow, crossing over it as though casually, as though the weight of your own body is not pressing down on your thoughts like a stone.
You pretend it is for comfort. You pretend you are simply cold. But the truth is simpler and crueler: you cannot bear the sight of your stomach folded the way it always does when you sit, or the way your thighs spill over the edge of the chair.
Your mind keeps on spinning.
You wonder, not for the first time, how it looks to other people.
The contrast between James and you. Between Sirius’s long limbs and your softer edges. Between Remus’s slender elegance and the way your swimsuit cuts at your thighs when you sit too long in one position.
You know what you look like. You know you are not the sort people glance at once and then again. Not the kind that girls whisper about in hallways with envy in their tone.
And today, under this sun, in this moment, you are so painfully aware of it you could scream.
And you hope, desperately and quietly, that no one is looking.
You are still lost in your thoughts when a shadow falls over you. Soft and familiar. You blink up quickly.
“Love?”
Remus’s voice breaks gently through the haze. He is holding a cherry slushie in one hand, two paper straws already pushed through the lid.
His brow is furrowed, not in frustration but in quiet concern. He crouches slightly beside the chair, hand brushing lightly against your knee.
“Love, I’ve said your name three times. Are you alright?”
You sit up a little straighter, startled. “Oh. Sorry. I— I didn’t hear you.”
He smiles, soft and unconvinced. “That’s alright, dovey. Just didn’t want you to think we’d all vanished on you.”
You manage a small smile, trying not to let your eyes linger on the girls now sunbathing at the far edge of the pool.
Remus follows your gaze for a moment before sitting down on the lounge chair beside yours. His eyes land on the towel in your lap.
“Mind if I take that?” he asks, motioning toward it. “Left mine by the vending machine like a complete idiot.”
You hesitate.
And he notices. Of course he notices. You pass it to him slowly, and the absence of it feels somehow louder than its presence.
Your arms fold instinctively across your stomach in its place. Your eyes drop again, and this time, he does not look away.
“What is going on in that head of yours?”
You shake your head. “Nothing.”
“You know I do not believe you.”
You laugh, but it does not reach your eyes. “You’re poop relentless, you know that?”
“I’ve been told. Usually by Sirius when I force him to eat breakfast like a functioning human being.”
You glance at him sidelong, but he is already watching you. His eyes are soft, but there is something steely beneath the concern.
He knows you are not yourself. He knows how to wait.
“I’m fine,” you say eventually, quietly. “I’m just tired.”
“You’re not just tired,” he says softly, watching you carefully. “You’re overthinking everything. You haven’t laughed once since we got here, barely touched your slushie, and earlier, when James kissed you, you looked like you wanted to disappear.”
Your throat tightens. You glance away.
Remus reaches out and gently touches your arm.
“You don’t have to say anything you don’t want to,” he says softly. “But something is hurting, and I do not like watching you pretend it isn’t.”
The tears come faster than you expect. You try to blink them back, try to keep your expression steady, but one slips free before you can stop it.
And of course he sees. Remus always sees. Without hesitation, he shifts closer, his touch gentle as his hand finds the back of your neck, his fingers brushing lightly against your skin like he is afraid you might break if he presses too firmly.
“Hey,” he says softly, his voice lower now, warm and careful. “Please do not hide from me like that. If something is hurting you, I want to know. You do not have to pretend with me, not now, not ever.”
You shake your head, swallowing hard as your eyes drop to your lap again. “Please don’t turn this into something. I can’t— I don’t want to make it into some big dramatic moment. I’m fine. Really. I’m just being ridiculous.”
Remus exhales, slow and measured, his thumb brushing gently beneath your eye where the tear had fallen. He does not look frustrated or doubtful. He only looks like someone who loves you more than he knows how to say.
“You are never ridiculous, dovey,” he says at last, with such quiet conviction it almost undoes you.
“And even if you were, even if none of this made sense to anyone else in the world, it would still matter to me because it matters to you. I am not here to push or prod or force anything out of you. I just want you to know that whatever this is — whatever you’re feeling — you do not have to carry it alone.”
You look at him for a long moment.
Then you lean into him, and he wraps his arms around you without hesitation. He holds you like you are allowed to fall apart and still be beautiful.
He simply stays, warm and steady beside you, while your thoughts slowly untangle themselves beneath the weight of his silence.
Then, voices break the silence.
You hear James first, louder than the rest, calling something to Sirius about a missed dive. Then Sirius responds with something unrepeatable that makes James nearly choke on his laughter.
You shift instinctively. One hand comes up to your face, quick and practiced, wiping under your eyes before the tears can fully betray you.
You sit up straighter, forcing a breath deep into your lungs, steadying yourself.
Remus notices but does not comment. He only releases you slowly, giving you the space you pretend you do not need.
James rounds the corner first, shirtless, water gleaming across his chest, hair dripping into his eyes. Sirius follows behind him, equally soaked.
When their eyes land on you, both of them pause — not long— but long enough for you to know they’ve noticed. Your cheeks still burn. Your eyes, still faintly red, give you away.
But neither of them says a word.
“Remus, you’re not hoarding all the attention again, are you?” Sirius calls as he drops onto the edge of the lounge chair beside you, water pooling around his ankles. “That’s not very nice.”
James offers you the lemonade, then leans over to kiss your temple with a familiar kind of affection that makes your stomach ache in the gentlest way. “You doing alright, sweetheart?”
You nod, offering him a smile you hope looks real. “Yeah, just warm.”
He doesn’t press, though his eyes search your face for a second longer than usual. Then he settles back, sipping his drink, still watching you.
Sirius narrows his eyes at you playfully. “You’ve been out here for an hour without even dipping your toes in. That’s odd.”
“I don’t know,” you say. “I just—”
“No excuses,” James cuts in, standing beside Sirius now, both of them towering over you with damp hair and bare chests. “You love the water.”
You sigh with mock defeat and take Sirius’s hand. “Fine, but if you splash me, I’m going back to Remus.”
“I would never,” Sirius says, utterly insincere.
“Neither would I,” James adds, already smiling too widely.
They guide you toward the pool, their fingers laced through yours like they’ve done it a thousand times.
The water sparkles beneath the light, impossibly blue. Your heart thuds as you approach the edge.
“I swear,” you say, laughing, “if either of you tries to throw me in—”
“You say that like it’s not exactly what’s about to happen,” Sirius grins, already positioning himself behind you.
James moves to your side, arms slightly raised like he is preparing for liftoff. “We’re going in together.”
Panic flickers in your chest, warm and sudden. You pull back instinctively, stepping quickly toward Remus, holding your hands up.
“No, no, wait. You cannot throw me in.”
Sirius stops in place, blinking at you. “Why not?”
You hesitate, biting the inside of your cheek. Then the words tumble out before you can stop them, too fast, too soft.
“Because I’m too heavy.”
There is a moment of silence. Complete, uncanny, and still.
James’s head turns toward you slowly, his brows together. “What?”
Sirius’s face falls from teasing to stunned. “What the hell are you talking about?”
You try to laugh it off, but your smile cracks at the corners. “I just meant— it wouldn’t work. It’d be awkward. I’m not— built like that.”
James steps forward immediately, his voice lower now, serious in a way he almost never is. “You think I couldn’t carry you?”
“I didn’t mean it like—”
James furrows his brow, stepping even closer until the sun glints off the water droplets still clinging to his chest. His voice is quieter now, but there is something incredulous beneath it, something a little wounded by the suggestion alone.
“Wait, I do not understand. Are you saying you think I cannot carry you?”
You glance away, embarrassment prickling hot beneath your skin, but he does not give you space to deflect. He reaches out, fingertips brushing your wrist, grounding you in a way only James can.
“Sweetheart,” he says, as if the very word might soften the weight of everything swirling behind your eyes, “I can bench press two hundred and fifty pounds, easily, and without breaking a sweat. You think I could not carry you?” He shakes his head, baffled. “You think that would even come close to hard for me?”
You open your mouth, then close it again. “It’s not that,” you murmur. “I just— I don’t know.”
Sirius steps closer now, no longer laughing, no longer playful. His tone has changed entirely. “What is it, love?” he asks, voice low and gentle in a way that somehow still commands all your attention. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”
Your breath shudders as you try to hold it back, but you cannot. The words slip out before you have a chance to control them.
“I just don’t feel like I… belong next to you.”
Both boys freeze. The air stills with them.
You keep going, because now that it has started, it will not stop.
“I mean look at you. All of you. James with his stupid perfect body and stupid golden tan and those ridiculous muscles, and Sirius with his cheekbones and abs that makes people stare even when he’s not trying. And then there’s me.”
James blinks, almost as if the words stun him like a spell.
Sirius just moves without hesitation.
“No,” he says, firm and immediate. “Absolutely not.”
James shakes his head slowly. “Baby, no. That is not— that has never been how we see you. Never.”
“I do not care what they see,” Sirius adds, voice rising slightly with emotion. “I care what you feel, and if you feel like we would ever be ashamed of you— if you think for even a second that your body makes you any less worthy of being loved out loud, then we have clearly failed you in ways I cannot stomach.”
James nods, eyes never leaving yours. “And if I have to spend every second of every day reminding you that I am in love with every part of you, I will. Every curve, every inch, every bit of skin you try to hide from the sun. I want all of it.”
You stare at them, throat tight, heart stumbling. Sirius moves first, wrapping one arm loosely around your waist, his palm warm and solid.
“I don’t ever want to hear you talk about yourself like that again,” he says. “Because you are ours, and you are stunning. Do you understand me, love?”
You nod, a little shakily.
James grins suddenly, eyes gleaming with something warmer now, lighter.
“Alright,” he says, tilting his head. “Let me prove it.”
You blink. “What?”
“I think it’s time for a demonstration.” He crouches slightly, wiggling his fingers with a grin that spells nothing but trouble. “You want to know if I can carry you?”
Your eyes go wide. “James. No.”
His grin only widens. “James, yes.”
“Don’t you dare—”
“Oh, I dare.”
Before you can properly scramble away, he hooks one arm under your thighs and the other around your back.
You shriek, laughing, half-panicked, half-thrilled as he lifts you clean off the ground like you weigh nothing at all.
“No. No, no, no,” you cry out, kicking your feet gently as Sirius laughs and Remus watches from the patio with an amused, indulgent expression.
James turns toward the pool. “Say the magic word.”
“Put me down!”
“Wrong word.”
“James!”
He does not wait another second, he tosses you into the pool.
The water swallows you with a splash, cool and sudden and clean. You resurface with a gasp and a laugh already building in your throat, hair plastered to your face, your heart thudding with something that feels dangerously close to joy.
James jumps in right after you, surfacing beside you with a triumphant grin. He swims closer, gathering you into his arms.
“Still think I cannot carry you?” he whispers, water dripping from his lashes, his smile soft now, not teasing anymore.
You press your forehead against his, eyes closing, and for a moment the entire world is just this. His arms, the warmth of his chest, the echo of Sirius’s laughter as he dives in after you with remus pulled in forcefully into the pool.
Their warmth suddenly surrounds you before you even realize it. Sirius’s hands at your waist. Remus’s breath soft against your shoulder. James’s arms still cradling your legs as the water sways around you like a second heartbeat.
You feel them everywhere — soft kisses pressing against your cheeks, your collarbone, your neck, the slope of your shoulder.
It is overwhelming, and somehow exactly what you’ve always needed.
Sirius kisses the spot just below your ear, and you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding.
Remus trails a line of kisses along your upper arm, and James, still holding you with effortless strength, presses one to your jaw that lingers too long to be innocent.
“Wait,” you murmur, your voice catching somewhere between a laugh and a plea. “We’re in the pool, people can see us.”
James leans in close again, and when he speaks, it is hoarse and raspy, quieter than everything else.
“We will show you later at home how good you feel,” he murmurs.
And just like that, you feel your swimsuit grow damp with something slick and warm, your knees nearly giving out — if not for Sirius’s steady hold on you.
Remus’s low laugh rumbles from beside you, warm and fond and unmistakably amused.
“Will you two stop flustering her?” he says, voice soft with that familiar edge of mischief only he manages. “You’re going to make her combust.”
Before you can reply, Sirius swims up beside you with a splash, shaking the water from his hair with a grin that feels entirely too proud of itself.
He loops his arms loosely around your waist, leaning in just enough for his breath to brush against your ear.
“Well, she happens to be my prettiest girl,” he murmurs, lips brushing the sensitive spot just below your jaw. “So it is only fair we worship her properly.”
You let out a noise of protest, half-gasp, half-laugh, and try to wriggle free, but his grip is loose and playful, more affection than restraint.
James shifts closer on your other side, still dripping from the water, that boyish glint in his eyes now softened into something quieter.
“Can’t believe we’re being told off for loving our girl too much,” James says, dramatically offended. “Tragic, really.”
“Tragic,” Sirius echoes solemnly, though the corner of his mouth twitches.
Shrieks of laughter escape you as cold splashes hit your skin from either side, the water catching you off guard. James and Sirius are both grinning like mischief incarnate, flicking handfuls of water your way.
You try to shield yourself, sputtering through giggles, but they only splash harder, the water catching in your hair, across your shoulders, trailing down your back.
“No, stop— stop, I mean it— oww, James, that splash got in my eye,” you squeal, swatting at him. “You’re both ridiculous!”
And then you’re slipping away from them with a shriek, swimming toward the other end of the pool where Remus waits, smirking and entirely too pleased with himself.
You wrap your arms around his neck as you reach him, letting yourself rest against his chest with a mock pout.
“Remmy,” you whine, voice sweet and with a pout that Remus cannot resist, you murmur. “Protect me. James and Sirius are trying to drown me.”
Remus chuckles, his arms coming around your waist with ease. He presses a kiss to your temple, then another to your cheek, and rests his chin lightly on your head.
“I think you secretly like it,” he murmurs.
You bury your face in his shoulder to hide the way your smile stretches too wide for your face. “Maybe, but you still have to save me.”
Behind you, James is dramatically paddling closer. “Oi, that’s not fair, you cannot just swim off to Moony!”
“I can and I did,” you declare, tightening your grip on Remus with faux determination. “Remus loves me more. He’s my safe place.”
Sirius floats up beside James. “We all love you, sweetheart. Which is precisely why we’re not letting you off the hook for saying you couldn’t be carried.”
“You’re lucky you’re charming,” you say quietly, your cheeks warming more than you’d like to admit.
The moment settles gently around you, light and warm, flowing with effortless ease.
Remus holds you steady in the water as James closes the gap and kisses your forehead, soft and lingering.
Their touches are not rushed or urgent — just quiet reminders that you are loved, and known, and wanted exactly as you are.
After a long pause Remus’s voice breaks the silence tender and sure “I hope you know there is no version of you that we would not love none at all not ever.”
He tightens his hold, his hand resting gently on your stomach. In that simple touch you find something rare—a quiet certainty that your body is seen, held, and loved just as it is.
Looking at the other girls in their flawless bikinis no longer brings doubt or unease. Because deep inside, you know it is this body, your body, that has captured the hearts of these boys completely.
It is only you they love, fully and without hesitation.
Hiya :3!!! I really really love and admire your writing and I’ve been in such an angst addict mood for some reason😭. I was wondering if you could perhaps write somthing for Sirius Black or poly!marauders and (usually)bubbly!fem!reader where they get into a heavy argument and the reader kinda just shuts down/goes really quiet and doesn’t talk to anyone since she’s worried it’ll just bother sirius (and/or the rest of the boys)? It’s completely understandable if not though, I hope you have a wonderful day/night!!💜
No Going Back Now
poly!marauders x reader ✰ 4.5k
summary: as sirius is overwhelmed by the weight of a certain day, his anger finds its way directly to you. caught in the crossfire of pain that was never yours to carry, you’re left to navigate the sharp edges of his temper and the silence that follows.
warnings: angst, heated arguments, screaming, lashing out, crying, mental health struggles, past abuse, toxic behavior, emotional, verbal conflict, intense guilt, insecurity, remus and james are protective, fear of abandonment, sirius being a shit asshole but then grovels, realistic conflict, hints of bubbly!reader, fluffy happy ending.
authors note: the divider was actually suggested by @yasministration she knows too well that i live for angst ;) this was so yummy and realistic to write.
“Guess what!” you call out, already smiling, already alight with whatever news is glowing in your chest. “Guess what, guess what, guess what!”
The door swings open into familiar air — warm parchment, faded cologne, and the sweet tang of whatever James spilled last night.
You step in without pause, satchel bumping your hip, shoes tapping lightly on the worn floor.
They are all here. James lies on his bed, his arms behind his head, his eyes fixed upward as though the ceiling might offer him an answer he has not yet found.
Remus stands near the window, his shoulders tight, arms folded across his chest. Sirius sits on the edge of his mattress, hunched forward, head resting heavily in his hands.
The silence in the room isn’t normal.
The joy within you is too fresh,and it pulses insistently through your body like a secret desperate to be shared.
“I finally did it,” you say, nearly breathless with excitement, your smile unfaltering. “That ridiculous elemental incantation Flitwick said we’d maybe manage by NEWTs if we were lucky? The one I’ve been practicing every single night, the one that nearly scorched my eyebrows off last week? That one. I got it!”
You don’t yet register the way James shifts only slightly, his eyes flicking sideways toward Sirius as though bracing for an aftershock. Nor do you catch how Remus exhales, not in amusement or pride, but in something resigned.
You step toward Sirius, drawn to him without thinking, your joy still undiminished.
“You remember, don’t you? You told me I was rushing the second syllable, that I needed to breathe through it more gently—”
“Could you fucking shut up?”
His voice cuts through the room with such clarity and force that it steals the breath from your lungs.
You freeze.
He does not look at you. His hands fall from his face, but he does not raise his eyes. They remain fixed on the floor as though his anger has rooted him there, refusing him even the small grace of meeting your gaze.
Then, all at once, he stands. The motion is sudden and graceless, and your outstretched hand — the one you had extended instinctively— is knocked aside, brushed away as though it meant nothing at all.
“For fuck’s sake, do you ever shut up?” he snaps, voice cracking with the weight behind it. “Every time you walk into a room, it’s like it has to be about you. You talk and talk like nothing’s wrong, like the rest of us don’t even exist!”
Remus is out of his chair in a heartbeat, the wooden legs screeching against the floor with such force that it sounds almost like a protest.
He places himself between you and Sirius with no hesitation. His face is pale with anger, jaw tight, eyes ablaze with something you rarely see from him — not frustration, not even disappointment, but true, quaking fury, pulled taut by a restraint that is already beginning to snap.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Remus shouts, loud and shaking with rage. His hand slams hard into Sirius’ chest, shoving him back a step. “You don’t get to talk to her like that! You don’t get to talk to anyone like that! Not here, not while I’m fucking standing here—what the bloody hell is up with you?”
Sirius doesn’t flinch. If anything, he stands taller, jaw tight, hands curled at his sides. He starts pacing, back and forth in short, jerky lines like he needs to burn the anger off before it eats through him.
“Oh, spare me the fucking lecture, Remus,” he spits, his voice cracked open at the edges. “Not tonight. You think you’re so bloody noble, don’t you? Always ready to play the saint, always ready to jump in and protect the one who needs saving. You never miss a chance to be the hero.”
“I’m not trying to be anything,” Remus shouts back, louder now, all restraint gone. “I’m standing here because you screamed in her face. And I’m not going to let you pretend that’s just something we let slide.”
“You think I planned that? You think I wanted to be like—”
“Sirius,” James says, quiet but firm from the corner.
Sirius falters for the briefest moment. His hands clench at his sides. His chest rises and falls too quickly, as though he is losing the rhythm of his own breath. But the moment passes, and he sets his jaw again, a wounded animal dressing itself in anger because it has nothing else left to wear.
“Right,” he says flatly. “Because you two are always right. Always calm and rational.” He turns his gaze to James for only a second before looking back at Remus. “Must be easy for the two of you, always thinking the same thoughts, always knowing where you stand. I wonder what that feels like.”
Remus takes a single step forward. “I’m not ganging up on you,Sirius,” he says, his voice low, firm. “I’m calling you out. There is a difference —one you used to understand.”
Sirius scoffs, sharp and cruel, like he wants it to cut. You flinch instinctively, even though it’s not aimed at you. He spins on his heel and storms off, the slam of the door rattling the frame behind him like the final punch of a fight.
You’re frozen in place. You hadn’t noticed how quiet it had gone until now, the only sound left is the soft buzz of tension still lingering in the air like static. Remus and James both turn slowly to face you.
And then they see you.
Your lips part slightly, as if you’re trying to draw breath through the tight knot choking your throat. Your eyes burn, vision already hazy, and then—like a thread finally snapping—you start to cry. It is the kind of sob that tears through you without warning, as if it had been gathering in your chest all day,waiting for this very moment to break free.
James reacts first. “Hey—hey, love—oh, sweetheart—” he says, crossing the room in three strides, already pulling you into his chest. His arms wrap around you instinctively, strong and steady.
You don’t even remember moving, but suddenly you’re curled into his chest, clutching his jumper with shaking hands and sobbing hard enough that your whole body trembles. Your voice is muffled against him, broken up by hiccups and sharp gasps between tears.
“I—I'm sorry,” you stammer, barely getting the words out. “I didn’t know—I didn’t know I was bothering him—I didn’t mean to.”
“Hey, hey—shh, no. No, none of that,” James murmurs into your hair, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head, and then another. “You are not bothering anyone, love. You hear me? Sirius is being an arse today, yeah? He’s being a bloody prat. That’s on him. Not on you.”
You just keep shaking your head into his chest, as if you can argue with him by movement alone. Your voice is raw when you try again. “But I came in laughing—I didn’t know you were fighting—I was being loud, I was just—”
“Sweetheart, no. You weren’t doing anything wrong,” he says firmly, almost fiercely. “You came in happy. You didn’t know. You were being you, and that’s never a bad thing, alright?”
“I should’ve seen it—he didn’t even look at me, James, he just—he looked at me like I was—” Your voice breaks again. “Like I was a burden. Like he didn’t even want me there.”
James pulls you tighter, almost rocking you now. “He doesn’t think that, love. Not really. He’s just… he’s angry, and he’s hurting, and he’s taking it out on the wrong person. Which is not okay. But don’t you dare start thinking it’s because of you.”
“I know,” you whisper weakly. “I just… today’s hard for him. It’s the day he left Grimmauld Place, remember? It’s been a year. He always gets like this, and I should’ve been more careful—”
“No.” James tilts your chin up, gently but firmly. “No, we are not doing that. You don’t have to tiptoe around him just because it’s a hard day. It doesn’t give him the right to hurt you. He’s not a bloody storm you have to weather. He’s supposed to be your boyfriend, not some landmine.”
You try to wipe at your tears, but they’re falling faster than you can stop them. “He’s just—he’s never looked at me like that before.”
“I know,” James says softly, brushing a few strands of hair from your face. “And I’m going to have words with him about it. You didn’t deserve that.”
Behind him, Remus has sat down on the arm of the couch, his breathing still shallow, a hand pressed to his side where the worst of his post-moon aches usually settle. His gaze is tired, but gentle when it meets yours.
“He’ll come back when he’s cooled off,” Remus says, voice rough but steady. “And when he does, he’ll have some explaining to do. But James is right, love. This isn’t on you.”
You nod, barely, your fingers still clutching at James’s jumper like letting go might break you.
James pulls you back into his chest, pressing kiss after kiss into your hair. “C’mere. No more tears now, yeah? I can’t bear seeing you like this. He’s not worth your tears today.”
You sniff, managing a breath that doesn’t quite catch. “Sorry. I just—I didn’t mean to ruin everything.”
“You didn’t ruin anything,” James says firmly. “You’re the best part of this bloody day, alright? And I won’t hear another word otherwise.”
He leans back just enough to smile gently down at you, thumbing a tear off your cheek. “Now—tell me about that spell you were working on. You said you finally got it right, yeah? What’d you do?”
Despite the ache in your chest and the weight of Sirius’s silence, a faint, tear-wet laugh escapes you.
You don’t quite recall when the conversation shifted—from laughter at some ridiculous comment James made about Filch to the quiet companionship that settled between you both.
You find yourself now, a few hours later, slouched beside him on the common room floor, wrapped in the soft stillness of the late hour. The fire has faded to glowing embers, casting a warm amber light across James’s glasses, which slip down his nose each time he tilts his head in amusement.
But even through the warmth of it, you could feel the weight pressing down beneath the laughter. James’s smile did not quite reach his eyes. There was a faint tremor in the way he exhaled, a hitch that never used to be there.
His eyes kept flickering toward the staircase as if expecting a particular someone to come storming in, grinning and reeking of cigarette smoke. But the staircase remained stubbornly empty, and Sirius remained nowhere to be found.
Deep down, you knew James was trying. Trying to distract you, to fill the growing silence with noise and nonsense and jokes he did not believe in, because it was easier than admitting how much it hurt.
And you, ever so foolish, let yourself believe it for a while. Let yourself be pulled under by the laughter like it could somehow drown out the ache blooming like rot in the hollow of your chest.
But Remus was not so easily deceived.
He had excused himself hours ago, saying something about needing rest, though you all knew it was more than that. He simply did not have the energy to pretend tonight.
He curled up on one of the beds with his back to the room, his breathing shallow and uneven in that way that told you he was not quite asleep but trying hard to be.
The truth was plain between the three of you, though no one had dared voice it: Sirius had been awful today. A bitter edge to every word, sharp where he usually was quick, reckless in a way that no longer felt charming.
Still, as the clock crept past eleven and into the deeper folds of night, your heart began its quiet unraveling. James had dozed off on the couch barely twenty minutes ago, one arm thrown over his head, mouth slightly parted.
You turned to glance toward the boys’ dormitory bed where Remus lay in unsteady sleep. He had not stirred in four hours. For a moment, you wished you could lie down beside him and let unconsciousness take you too. But you knew yourself too well.
You were not going to sleep tonight.
So you pulled on your shoes, fingers fumbling clumsily with the laces. You wrapped a scarf around your neck—thick enough to hold back the midnight chill—and slipped out of the common room without a sound.
The halls of the castle were as silent as a graveyard, shadows stretching long across the stone floor like they, too, were searching for something they could not find. You moved quickly and quietly. You knew exactly where to go.
The Astronomy Tower.
There had only ever been one place Sirius went when he was like this. When the weight of the world pressed down too heavily on his shoulders.
You climbed the last steps with your breath held in your throat, heart pounding.
And there he was. Sitting near the edge, back turned, limbs sprawled with a kind of exhausted elegance that only Sirius could pull off. He was staring into the dark, but not at anything in particular. His head was tilted slightly down, as if in conversation with someone you could not see.
You stepped forward softly, your footfalls just audible enough to betray your presence.
“Just go away, Remus.” His voice was low, nearly hoarse, as if strained from crying.
You smiled despite yourself, though it felt like trying to catch sunlight through a cloudy sky. You folded your arms gently across your chest, steadying your breath as an uneasy thought settled in: you were here alone with him. And for the first time, you weren’t quite sure how to feel about that.
You knew Sirius cared for you deeply. Still, there was something unfamiliar in the quiet between you—a chill of distance, a restless tension you hadn’t felt before. It wasn’t fear of him, but of walls he built around himself when things got too heavy.
That uncertainty was new to love. Yet it lingered quietly in your chest, impossible to ignore.
Your voice came out soft, almost uncertain. “I’m not Remus.”
He turned quickly, eyes widening in surprise that you were the one standing there. You watched as his expression shifted—confusion, then recognition, and finally something raw he tried to conceal.
He blinked as if unsure whether he was really seeing you. The moonlight painted silver into the hollows of his cheeks, the tired beneath his eyes, the bruised curve of his mouth.
You sit down next to him slowly, like you’re unsure if you’re allowed to. He doesn’t look at you right away, just stares out ahead, jaw clenched, hands limp between his knees. You part your lips to speak—
“Sirius—”
“I—”
You both pause, voices overlapping in the quiet like a tangled thread. There’s a beat of stillness before the corner of his mouth twitches. You let out a breathy laugh, and so does he. It’s soft, but real.
Then, finally, he turns to look at you, properly. His grey eyes are tired in a way that makes your chest ache. “I’m sorry.”
You nod. “I know.”
“No, no—don’t do that,” he says quickly, the words catching on something raw. “Don’t do that thing where you—where you say ‘I know’ like it’s nothing.”
“What thing?”
“That. That thing where you just—nod and understand like I didn’t fuck up, like I didn’t snap at you when all you were doing was—being good and sweet and you.” He blows out a shaky breath, fingers carding through his hair in a frustrated, frantic motion.
“And I—God, I was a complete arsehole. Not just to you, but also to James and Remus. And you just…” His voice trails off, and he shakes his head with an incredulous scoff. “You act like it’s fine. Like it's nothing. Matter of fact, this is breakup-worthy and you’re still here, and it’s—”
“I’m not breaking up with you, Sirius,” you cut in gently, your voice soft but sure, as certain as the way your fingers curl into the fabric of your coat to keep them from trembling.
His head snaps up at that, eyes wide, almost hurt by your forgiveness. “I know!” he blurts, almost like it’s an accusation.
His voice falters on the edge of cracking. “That’s the worst part! You should be mad. You should be screaming at me, throwing shit, telling me I’m a bastard and that you deserve better because you do—you do.”
His hands tremble slightly in his lap as he goes on, a little breathless now. “And instead you’re here, looking for me, when I should be the one crawling on my fucking hands and knees trying to fix this.”
You don’t speak immediately. You just let the heat of his self-loathing rise and settle. The quiet between you stretches only as long as it needs to, and then you sigh—softly, almost like it escapes you by accident.
“I am mad,” you say finally, lifting your gaze to meet his. “Just… not in the way you want me to be.”
He shakes his head before you’ve even finished. “No, not mad enough. You’re not—God, you’re not even reacting. You’re just so fucking calm and—kind—and I don’t deserve that from you. I keep being… awful. And you keep loving me like I’m not. It doesn’t make sense!”
You shift a little closer without really thinking about it. Your knees bump his, and he doesn’t flinch. Just watches you warily, like he still doesn’t understand why you’re here.
“You think I’m not reacting?”
He’s startled into silence, eyes caught on yours.
You exhale, but your breath shakes this time. You can feel the lump in your throat rising like floodwater, but you press forward anyway.
“You don’t know what it’s like, Sirius. Walking in and feeling everything in the room shift. The silence hit me like a slap. I knew something had happened. I could feel it.” Your voice thickens slightly.
“And my first thought was—what did I do? Was I too loud? Did I say something wrong? Was I too happy today when you weren’t? Did I annoy you without realizing it?”
He opens his mouth, eyes softening with horror, but no words come out.
You keep going, voice lower now, but steady. “I tried to ignore it. Told myself to just be normal. That maybe if I was just… me, it’d go away. That maybe you’d come around if I stayed out of your way. And then you snapped. And for a second, I thought you—” you pause, because it still stings, “—I thought you hated me.”
His entire expression folds like paper. You see it all over him—the guilt, the shame, the way regret buries itself deep.
“But then,” you add, and your tone shifts, gentler, “I remembered what today is.”
He closes his eyes tightly like hearing that physically hurts him.
“I remembered what it means for you. What it always has. And I knew it wasn’t just about me. That it couldn’t be. The way you were cold, distant… it wasn’t about something I’d done. It was about something you were feeling. Something bigger than either of us. And yeah, it hurt. It still does. But I chose not to throw it back at you, I chose not to escalate it.”
You breathe slowly, not even sure if you’re trying to convince him anymore or just saying what’s been sitting on your chest since this afternoon.
“It’s not that I didn’t feel it. I just… didn’t want to make things worse.”
He stares at you like he’s trying to memorize your face, as if committing you to memory will somehow absolve him.
“And it’s not just you and me,” you say, your voice softer now, edged with a quiet kind of certainty. “It’s you, me, Remus, and James. I’m part of this. But I’m not the only part. I know that when you go back, Remus and James are going to give you an earful. Probably more than that. I mean—Remus might even greet you with his infamous disappointed silence.”
Your lips quirk. “And James is going to throw an absolute fit. I’m honestly surprised he didn’t already drag you by your hair back to the dorm.”
Despite himself, Sirius lets out a hoarse laugh. His eyes are still glassy.
“I just thought,” you say, shrugging, “maybe I don’t need to pile on. Maybe what you needed from me wasn’t anger.”
His laugh slips into something more fragile. He wipes at his eyes quickly, like pretending he’s fine will keep the weight of it all from caving in.
“You make it really hard to hate myself when you’re like this.”
You lean your shoulder against his. “Good.”
He looks at you like you hung the stars. His voice breaks a little as he speaks.
“I don’t deserve you.”
You roll your eyes, but your heart aches. “That’s not up to you.”
He shakes his head. “You’re going to make me cry, and I hate crying.”
You laugh, and it’s soft and real. “Sirius, I’m not not mad. I’m just… mad in a way that still loves you. Mad in a way that says, ‘Don’t do that again.’ In a way that wants you to talk to me before it gets that bad. And I just really want you to feel safe enough to say, ‘I’m hurting,’ instead of pushing everyone away. You get that?”
His fingers find yours slowly, weaving them together. He holds on like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.
“I get it,” he whispers.
You reach out and gently squeeze his hand, your touch steady and grounding. “I know some days carry heavy meanings, many days, in fact. I know those days bring back memories that hurt—memories you don’t want to face. But I think, instead of making those days harder on yourself, you could let us in. Let us be there for you.”
He nods once, quickly, like if he speaks he’ll lose it again. “I’m sorry.”
“I know.”
After a moment, he speaks again, his voice so low it’s barely a whisper.
“Do you think they hate me?”
“Remus and James?” you ask quietly. “I think they’re probably worried sick and probably mad. But hate you? Never.”
He stares down at your hands like they’re the only thing tethering him to the ground.
“They’ll come around. We all do. You’re not quite easy to hate, Sirius Black.”
He snorts quietly, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “Thanks.”
“But you’re worth it.”
His eyes flutter closed, and he leans into you, head resting lightly on your shoulder, like he’s finally letting himself exhale.
“Stay with me a little longer?”
You don’t even have to think about it. “Always.”
He exhales slowly, as though the air inside him has been waiting for this moment to be let go.
The silence has softened now, no longer brittle with hurt, only heavy with the aftertaste of it.
“I’m sorry,” he says again, voice quieter than before, almost reverent. “I know I already said it. But I am. I shouldn’t have raised my voice. I shouldn’t have looked at you like that. It wasn’t about you. It never is. You just… walked in at the wrong time, and I lost control.”
You gently cut him off, your voice soft but firm. “Sirius, it’s okay. You already apologized.”
He shakes his head, voice stubborn but honest. “No. I need you to hear it. I need you to know I mean it.”
You nod gently, your fingers brushing his wrist in a silent reminder that you’re still here.
“I need to do better,” he continues, looking down at the floor. “I don’t want to be the kind of man who takes his anger out on the people he loves. I’ve seen what that turns into. I won’t become that. I promise you.”
His eyes meet yours, unwavering.
“I need you to promise me something too, though,” he says, the ghost of a smile playing on his lips. “Next time I do something like that—anything close to it—I want you to slap the shit out of me. And I mean it. Don’t forgive me until I’m grovelling. Make me work for it. Make it hurt.”
A surprised laugh escapes your mouth before you can stop it. He smiles at the sound, a genuine one this time, laced with relief.
“Hopefully,” you murmur, nudging his shoulder, “there won’t be a next time.”
He lifts your joined hands and presses his lips to your knuckles. “Hopefully.”
By the time the conversation has exhausted itself into something tender and quiet, the room is dipped in deep night. It’s already two in the morning. Sirius rises first and holds out his hand.
“Come on,” he says softly, “let’s get you back.”
You take his hand and let him pull you upright. His lips find yours for a moment, the kiss gentle and unhurried, like a secret kept between just the two of you.
As you pull away, a wide, helpless yawn escapes you. He laughs softly, warm and low, and draws you gently into his arms.
“Yeah,” he murmurs against your hair. “Me too, baby. I’m sleepy too.”
You rest your head against his shoulder as the two of you walk slowly down the corridor, your body leaning into his like gravity has made its choice. Your steps falter more than once, your eyes fluttering closed between blinks.
By the time you reach the door to the dormitory, you are half-asleep, barely upright.
But the moment the door swings open, the haze is shattered.
James is pacing by the desk, arms crossed, jaw set. He looks up sharply at the sound, his expression a storm just barely contained. Across the room, Remus is already seated on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, his eyes locked on Sirius with a gaze so serious it slices through the room like a blade.
He doesn’t yell. He doesn’t even raise his voice. He just says, in a voice far too calm to be anything but furious—
“Sit down, Sirius. We need to talk.”
The sleep drains from your body like a bucket of cold water. Sirius stiffens beside you. You feel him swallow, his hand tightening slightly around yours.
Then he lets out a long, weary sigh, muttering quietly under his breath, “Well. I’m in for it.”
summary: in which you spiral mid-study session, convinced a single compliment means your boyfriends secretly hate you.
cw: light-hearted emotional spiraling, dramatic overthinking, excessive fluff, playful miscommunication, tickling, mild language, sassy!reader, remus is extra hot in this one, slightly suggestive content at the end, no smut but some mentions of it, james has a praise kink, flirting, and overall fluff with crack.
a/n: this is self-indulgent to the core masterlist
“You’re cruel,” you mutter, dragging the word out like it physically pains you to say it.
You’re sprawled sideways across the study bench like a dying poet, your legs dangling off one side and your upper body twisted at an angle that could not possibly be helping your spine or your focus.
Your chin is propped miserably in your palm, lips turned into a dramatic pout, nose scrunched, and eyes fixed on Remus like he’s personally responsible for every injustice in your life (which he currently is).
He doesn’t even glance up.
“Actually sadistic,” you continue, flopping further across the table with an exaggerated sigh.
“Why am I the only one suffering while those two get to run around outside, chasing each other like golden retrievers in heat?”
Remus flips a page in his textbook with infuriating calm. His quill taps rhythmically against the margins, neat notes scrawled in ink you’re pretty sure he mixed himself.
His brow is furrowed just slightly, like he's solving something far more important than your academic misery.
“Because,” he replies, without sparing you a single look, “you have an exam in the morning. And unlike James and Sirius, who actually studied during the week, you spent the entire weekend charming your quills to sing and trying to hex the library chairs into becoming massage seats.”
You let out an offended gasp. “I was being innovative. You’re punishing creativity.”
“I’m punishing procrastination,” he says, finally looking up with a single raised brow. “There’s a difference.”
You groan, letting your forehead fall against the desk with a dramatic thud. “You’re literally in love with me. Shouldn’t that mean something? I thought love meant acceptance, support, and mercy.”
He doesn’t even blink. “Love does not mean letting you fail your Potions exam and ruin your chances of ever brewing a non-lethal Sleeping Draught.”
You twist your face against the table and let out a muffled whine. “Why do you care about sleeping draughts? You don’t even like sleep.”
“I care about your education,” he says, folding the corner of the page neatly before turning it. “And your safety, and my own, frankly. The last time you brewed something unsupervised, my eyebrows nearly caught fire.”
You lift your head just enough to glare at him. “You always do this. You pretend to be all calm and responsible and noble while you’re actually a complete tyrant. You’re like... a very, very handsome academic prison warden.”
Remus finally sets his quill down and looks at you fully, the corners of his mouth twitching with amusement he’s trying to hide.
“If I’m the warden, that makes you the inmate. And I hate to break it to you, dovey, but inmates don’t get to argue their way out of scheduled study time.”
You flop backwards again with a groan, kicking your legs uselessly and throwing your arm over your eyes. “I am going to die. Right here, right now! And you’re going to be the reason.”
“You are not going to die,” he says, clearly trying not to smile.
“I am. I can feel my brain turning into soup. My spine is disintegrating. I’m emotionally withering under the weight of your expectations.”
“I expect you to pass.”
“Unrealistic!”
“You just have to get through this chapter,” he says, pushing the book an inch closer to you. “One chapter. Then we can go find James and Sirius and you can brag about how hard you worked.”
You peek at him from under your arm. “Will you tell me I’m brilliant and brave and that you’re madly in love with me and reward me with cuddles and kisses?”
Remus sighs, fondly exasperated. “If you finish this chapter, I will tell you you’re brilliant, brave, and my entire world, and I’ll cuddle and kiss you till my dying breath.”
You blink at him, stunned by the sincerity tucked under all that usual dry wit, and then you straighten just enough to pull the book toward you like you haven’t been dramatically resisting it for the past hour.
“Fine,” you grumble. “But I’m still dying.”
Remus just hums. “As long as you’re dying while reading page ninety-four, I’m not complaining.”
You shoot him a glare, but the corner of your mouth betrays you, tugging up despite yourself.
Just as you were about to launch into another dramatic complaint, the door creaked open.
Sirius steps in first, windswept and flushed from the cold, a broom slung casually over one shoulder and his scarf trailing behind him like he doesn’t notice it’s half falling off. His cheeks are pink from the wind, and his smile stretches wide when his eyes land on you.
James is close behind, curls damp with sweat, his Quidditch robes only half-fastened and his usual grin already in place, like he never took it off to begin with.
His eyes light up when he sees you, sprawled miserably in a nest of pillows, and something about the way he kicks the door shut with his heel tells you they’ve arrived with the full intention of causing a distraction.
Remus doesn’t look up.
Sirius does a lazy twirl of his broom before leaning it against the wall, then shrugs off his outer cloak and tosses it into the nearest armchair.
“You look like you’re studying against your will,” he observes, amusement curling in his voice as he toes off his boots.
“I am studying against my will,” you reply instantly, dropping your head back with a groan. “Remus is holding me hostage with threats of future academic ruin.”
Remus flips a page with that same insufferable calm. “Remind me who didn’t review any of the material over the weekend.”
“I was busy being vibrant and alive,” you say dramatically, lifting your hands as if the air itself should understand your suffering.
James drops to the floor beside the bed with a thud, his head immediately finding your lap like it belongs there.
He exhales, long and content, like he’s just returned from battle. “You poor thing,” he says, reaching up to gently tug on your sleeve. “Trapped in here with Professor Moony and a textbook written in 1472."
Sirius’s eyes found you instantly, lounging miserably in a sea of parchment. He smirked.
“Your hair looks nice today,” he said smoothly, shaking dust from his sleeves.
You stared at him for a long moment. Then narrowed your eyes.
“So it didn’t look nice yesterday?” you asked, voice laced with venomous offense.
Sirius blinked. “What?”
“No no, it’s fine,” you continued, dramatically snapping your textbook shut and tossing it to the side. “Just admit it. I looked like a troll yesterday. You’ve been thinking it this whole time. Go on, say it.”
James blinked as he dropped onto the bed beside Remus. “What the hell did we walk into?”
“Spiraling?” you repeated, offended. “I am calmly and logically asking my boyfriend why he thinks I only look good today.”
Sirius looked baffled. “I didn’t mean—”
“So you do think I looked awful yesterday,” you concluded with a triumphant but heartbroken gasp, pointing at him like he had personally murdered your self-esteem.
You crossed your arms, lips pressed into a pout, glaring straight ahead as Sirius blinked at you in complete confusion.
Sirius blinked again. “What? No!”
“I knew it,” you whispered, crossing your arms tight over your chest, lower lip sticking out in a pout as you stared straight ahead.
“Just say it. Say I looked like a mess. Say you’ve been faking it all this time. Say you’re embarrassed to be seen with me and that my existence is a heavy, crushing burden.”
Sirius was gaping now. “I’m just saying I like your hair!”
You turned your head slowly, eyes narrowed. “So just today.”
He groaned. “Merlin, help me.”
You inhaled, eyes wide and tragic. “Say I’m ugly. Say I’m annoying. Say I’m a burden you regret every single day.”
“What are you even talking about?” he asked, genuinely horrified now, hands half-raised like you’d just threatened to hex his broom.
“No no, it’s fine,” you replied, turning on your heel.
“I get it. I’m a problem. A hideous, dramatic, insecure problem who isn’t even good at Potions. Sirius thinks I’m ugly. Remus thinks I’m stupid.”
James, who had just bitten into a chocolate biscuit and was halfway through a chew, looked up in absolute alarm as you stormed across the room and collapsed into his lap like a shattered painting.
“James,” you whispered dramatically, one hand pressed against your forehead like a dying heroine, “Sirius thinks I’m ugly and Remus thinks I’m dumb.”
James stared at you, still chewing. Slowly, silently, the biscuit fell out of his hand and onto the blanket.
“What?” he said, his mouth full of crumbs.
“I didn’t say that!” Sirius called, absolutely flabbergasted from across the room.
“And I definitely didn’t say that,” Remus added, now closing his textbook with the same energy a professor might use when deciding a class was simply beyond saving.
James wrapped his arms around you instinctively, soft and warm and familiar, brushing a kiss against your temple like that alone might settle your outrage. “What happened? Who said what?”
Sirius stepped forward, running both hands through his hair in a gesture of pure distress. “I said she looked good. I said her hair looked nice. How did that become me calling her ugly?”
You turned your face into James’s neck, muffled but still dangerously dramatic. “Because he only said it today. Not yesterday. Not the day before. Which means he noticed a difference. Which means he thought something else before. Which means—”
“I was literally complimenting you!” Sirius burst, a laugh threatening to break through.
“You looked pretty, I said so, that was supposed to make you happy.”
“But you didn’t yesterday!” you replied solemnly, lifting your head to level him with a look of betrayed melancholy.
“Yesterday I had to survive without a single compliment. Do you have any idea what that does to a person?”
“I—oh my god,” Sirius said, turning in a slow circle like searching for divine intervention. “I cannot win.”
Remus pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’d think you’d have learned by now.”
James just kissed your cheek again and whispered, “Don’t worry, sweetheart, I think you’re brilliant every day.”
You sighed contentedly, melting further into his lap. “At least someone loves me.”
Sirius threw his hands in the air. “I love you! You’re gorgeous! I said you looked nice because you looked especially nice today! Why is that a crime?!”
You blinked at him.
“So you admit I looked especially not nice yesterday.”
Sirius made a noise so strangled it barely qualified as human.
James was still gently rubbing circles into your back, soothing you like you’d just survived a heartbreak instead of your boyfriend’s compliment.
“You know he didn’t mean it that way,” he said softly, as if Sirius weren’t five feet away and actively losing his mind.
“Thank you,” Sirius muttered, arms flailing in surrender. “At least someone in this room still believes in me.”
You peeked up from James’s lap with a pitiful blink. “I just think I deserve daily validation.”
Remus finally looked up from his book, brows raised with unimpressed calm. “Are we done rewriting reality? Or are you planning to accuse James of conspiring against you too?”
Your head turned slowly, gaze locking onto Remus with a look of pure betrayal. “You made me study Potions for two hours. You didn’t let me take a single break. You told me to focus. You said—and I quote—‘stop whining and read page ninety-four.’”
“Yes,” Remus said, blinking. “Because you asked me to help you study. You said, and I quote—‘Remus, please don’t let me get distracted today.’”
You gasped. “So now I’m needy?”
The moment the word left your mouth, Sirius moved like a switch had been flipped.
“Oh, you want to be needy?” he repeated, voice dropping into something low and dangerous and completely unserious. There was mischief in his eyes now—full-blown trouble.
Before you could react, before even James could fully process what was happening, Sirius was across the room in two strides.
He bent down, scooped you clean out of James’s lap like you weighed nothing at all, and stood tall with you dangling in his arms.
You shrieked in protest, legs kicking helplessly. “Sirius! Put me down!”
“I am putting you down,” he said smugly, already striding toward the bed. “Right where you belong.”
You burst into laughter before you even hit the mattress, flailing in his grip as he tossed you gently onto the bed and followed immediately after, landing with a bounce and that signature grin stretching across his face.
“Don’t you dare,” you warned, trying to crab-crawl backward. “Sirius, no. No—”
“Yes,” he said, voice gleeful and merciless. “You said you were needy. I’m here to deliver.”
He lunged, fingers diving straight for your ribs.
You kicked at him half-heartedly through your giggles. “Stop! Stop! Sirius, I’m serious—!”
Sirius only laughed harder, grinning down at you as he dragged his fingers across your sides again, then dipped just behind your knee—your absolute worst spot.
You howled. “No! I was joking! I take it back, I’m not needy! I’m not—I’m fine—”
“Fine?” he repeated, eyes sparkling with mock offense. “You’re miserable, clearly. And tragically misunderstood. Lucky for you, I’m here to fix it.”
He ducked down again, trailing kisses along your jawline between tickles, warm and slow and maddening.
“Sirius—stop—stop—” you gasped, breath breaking on a laugh, your legs flailing wildly as you tried to roll away.
“Stop?” he murmured against your cheek, his breath brushing your skin. “But I thought you needed attention, sweetheart. I thought you wanted to be held.”
“You’re horrible,” you whimpered, half-laughing, half-dying, writhing beneath him. “This is abuse. I’m being tortured.”
“Please,” he scoffed, pausing to kiss the corner of your mouth with exaggerated care. “This is what affection looks like. I’m literally worshipping you. Beautiful, brilliant, deranged thing that you are.”
You tried to glare at him, but the moment was ruined by the grin breaking across your face. Your cheeks hurt, your lungs burned, and your stomach ached from how hard you were laughing.
Sirius’s touches slowed, gentling now into soft kisses. He pressed them along your cheekbones, your temple, the bridge of your nose, all reverent and breathless.
“Stunning girl,” he whispered, lips brushing your forehead. “The smartest. The softest. The funniest. My favorite.”
“She definitely is,” came Remus’s voice from the other side of the bed—low, warm, and unmistakably fond.
You turned your head just in time to see him standing above you, still amused, though there was something unmistakably affectionate in his eyes too. Calm, steady, inevitable.
“I think that’s enough chaos for one afternoon,” he said lightly, already stepping forward.
You barely had time to catch your breath before Remus leaned down and, with an ease that felt entirely unfair, plucked you straight out of Sirius’s grasp.
You let out a startled noise as your weight shifted, arms instinctively wrapping around his shoulders.
“Remmy!”
He didn’t flinch. He just adjusted his hold on you — one arm steady beneath your knees, the other wrapped across your back — and pulled you closer, cradling you against his chest like it was second nature, like you belonged there.
Behind him, Sirius sat up with a theatrical huff, hands flying into his hair as if he’d just been robbed. “Hey! I wasn’t finished adoring her!”
“You were mauling her,” Remus said calmly, not even glancing back.
“I was making it up to her,” Sirius muttered under his breath.
But Remus wasn’t listening anymore. His attention was fixed entirely on you — on the way your lashes fluttered from the rush of being swept up so suddenly, on the way your hands clutched instinctively at his shoulders like your body trusted him before your brain could catch up.
His gaze softened — not the way people look at something pretty, but the way they look at something sacred.
Like you’d just cracked his ribs open and built a home in the space beneath.
Then, without a single word, he leaned down and kissed you.
It started soft. Just a brush of his lips against yours, reverent and careful. A question, not a demand. But the moment you tilted your face up and kissed him back, it shifted.
The pressure deepened, his mouth warm and coaxing against yours, and your whole body sighed into it. Every muscle unraveled. Every thought quieted.
He pulled back barely an inch, his breath still mingling with yours as he murmured, “You did so well today.”
You blinked at him, dazed and a little floaty. “What?”
His lips found your cheek next, skimming along your skin like a whisper. “Studying that long,” he said, between kisses.
“Keeping up with the most chaotic men in the castle. Staying upright through a spiral that would’ve taken me out.”
You huffed a soft laugh, burying your face in his shoulder. “Remus—”
He kissed the tip of your nose. “You’re brilliant, you know that?” Another kiss, slower this time, at the corner of your mouth. “Sharp and radiant. Always have been. And your hair today—Merlin, your hair—”
You groaned, twisting like you could escape the praise, your face burning. “Only today? So I’ve been a disaster every other day?”
Remus chuckled, low and warm. His mouth hovered near yours, eyes shining. “Every day,” he corrected, quiet and certain. “Every hour. Every version of you.”
Then he kissed you again, but not just once.
He kissed your cheekbones, both of them. Then the hollow just beneath your jaw. The spot behind your ear that made you gasp. He kissed your eyelids, your temple, the curve of your brow.
Kisses fell from his lips like confessions, slow and steady and endless, until you were breathless all over again.
“You,” he whispered between each press, “are my favorite girl. The most smartest witch ever.”
You could hardly breathe through it. The way his hands held you like you were breakable, and yet his mouth kissed you like you were the strongest thing he’d ever known.
It left you trembling — not because you were cold, but because you felt known. Utterly, terrifyingly known.
Behind you, James and Sirius had gone quiet.
Then Sirius cleared his throat, sounding a little strangled. “Okay. That was disgustingly hot.”
James, propped on the edge of the bed with that ridiculous, soft smile, nodded solemnly. “Yeah. Remus wins this round.”
You buried your flushed face in Remus’s neck, feeling the heat of both their gazes on you. You wriggled in his lap, half-laughing, half-sighing, pushing playfully against his chest. “You’re ridiculous.”
He smiled against your skin, voice low and warm. “Ridiculously in love with you.”
With a teasing smirk, you slipped from his arms and padded over to James, who was already stretching his arms wide like a magnet waiting to pull you in.
You stepped into his embrace with ease, folding against him like you belonged there.
His body was warm from the afternoon sun, his scent a mix of sweat and soap with a hint of something sweet—whatever treat he’d been sneaking earlier.
His arms tightened instantly around you, and he pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head as you exhaled, sinking into him.
“No more spirals?” he murmured, chin resting gently on your crown.
“No more spirals,” you promised, voice muffled against his chest. “For now.”
“Good,” he said, squeezing you tighter.
You laughed softly into his shirt, feeling the familiar warmth of Remus settling behind you again, one hand sliding softly along your spine as he settled onto the bed.
Then, just as the peaceful moment settled in, James shifted awkwardly, clearing his throat again.
You raised an eyebrow. “What now?”
He flushed a deep shade of red and looked down briefly, voice low and sheepish. “I kinda have a… situation.”
Then your eyes dropped lower, and your face lit up with sudden mortified understanding.
“James Potter!"
“I can’t help it,” he muttered, voice thick with embarrassment. “Remus getting all soft and whispery about you—it’s kind of distracting.”
Sirius chuckled from the other side of the room. “Distracting? Who even gets a bloody boner from praise talk?”
James groaned, fingers twitching nervously. “I’m suffering here, okay? I came to hold you, and instead, I’m this close to losing control.”
You shook your head, a slow smile spreading across your lips. “Sounds like Remus’s praises have a stronger effect than we thought.”
Remus grinned, his fingers brushing over your side in a lazy, teasing gesture. “Maybe I should compliment you more often.”
Sirius leaned in, eyes gleaming with mischief. “Oh, definitely. Let’s see how much of a mess he can become.”
James groaned again, mock-defeated but clearly amused. “I’m too old for this nonsense.”
“Too old for what?” you purred, slipping your fingers through his curls and tugging him down for a kiss that was both warm and teasing.
He pulled back with a smirk, eyes dark and playful. “To get this turned on by my boyfriend’s boyfriend talking sweet to you.”
You giggled, fingers dancing lightly along his chest. “Sounds like you want more of it.”
“Maybe I do,” he admitted softly, voice low and rough. “Maybe I’m addicted to the praising.”
Sirius snorted. “He’s completely undone. We might as well have some fun.”
Remus smirked, voice husky and playful. “Well then, let’s see how far we can push this.”
James groaned, part-exasperated, part-eager, but didn’t pull away as Remus shifted closer, stepping right into his space.
“Feeling a little out of control, Potter?” Remus whispered, fingers brushing deliberately along James’s jaw.
James swallowed hard, eyes flickering down, voice lower than before. “Yeah...”
Remus’s smile deepened. “Good. Because I’m only getting started.”
You and Sirius exchanged a glance, heat pooling in your core you as you watched James come undone.
Sirius’s grin widened, voice low and husky. “Looks like it’s going to be a very interesting night.”
James’s breath hitched as Remus’s hand slid possessively down his chest, and you felt your own pulse quicken, the anticipation electric and delicious.
The night had started with playful teasing and laughter, but it had quickly slipped into something hotter, more charged—proof that, yes, you all definitely had a praise kink, especially for Remus.
summary: you’re quiet by nature, content in the background, until someone pushes too far. When a girl flirts with Remus, something shifts. With one kiss and a quiet claim, you remind everyone exactly who he (and Sirius) belong to.
warnings: possessiveness, jealousy, strong language, suggestive content, heated kiss, and public displays of affection.
wc: 3.4k masterlist
You’ve never been the loudest in the room.
You don’t need to be. Not when Sirius is tossing his head back laughing beside you, all glittering chaos and charm, or when Remus leans in close, voice low and deliberate, like every word he says is meant only for you.
They fill the space so effortlessly—Sirius with his magnetic presence, Remus with his quiet gravity—and you find yourself fitting between them like a breath between heartbeats. Steady, constant and soft.
You like watching more than speaking. Not out of shyness exactly, but because you enjoy observing—feeling everything. It’s the way Remus’s thumb circles over your knee under the table without him even realizing. The way Sirius always saves you the last bite, even when he swears he won’t. You don’t need to be loud to be loved here.
They know you. They’ve always known you.
Sirius, who pulls you into the middle of the common room and spins you in dizzy circles until you’re breathless with laughter. Remus, who presses his nose into your hair when the world feels too sharp and mumbles poetry against your skin.
Between the two of them, you’ve never had to shout to be heard. They listen in the silence. They love you in the quiet.
But sometimes, even the quiet hums with something fierce.
And today, it’s starting to burn.
The loud music thumps through the walls, pulsing in your veins, but all you can hear is Remus’s voice rising above the chatter of the party. He’s talking to a girl, one whose name doesn’t matter.
because you’re already irritated.
Sirius is speaking beside you—his voice low and animated, probably bantering with James about something as thrillingly idiotic as who cheated in the last round of Exploding Snap—but the words barely register.
They fade into the background like the bass of the music humming through the party, the way laughter spills and drips from every corner of the Gryffindor common room like syrup.
You’re curled up beside him on the leather couch, soft and familiar, half draped across his lap like you belong there, because you do. His palm is warm against your skin, fingers lazy as they trace circles over your thigh, an unconscious kind of touch that says mine without needing the word.
But your attention isn’t on Sirius.
It’s fixed, razor sharp and unblinking, on the girl across the room.
She’s all lip gloss and bright laughter, the kind of girl who doesn’t walk into a room so much as glitter through it. Her blouse is buttoned just low enough to draw the eye, her skirt just short enough to be a statement. She leans in closer to Remus like she’s in a slow-motion daydream, twirling a strand of hair around her finger as she giggles at something he said.
Except Remus isn’t laughing.
He’s smiling, but you know that smile. It’s the strained one. The tight-lipped, please-don’t-make-this-weird smile he gives when someone crosses the line and he’s too damn kind to push them away.
And she—well. She’s not backing off.
Your fingers tighten around the stem of your glass. Not enough to shatter it, but enough to feel it, to ground yourself before the rising tide inside you gets too high.
You watch her touch his arm, watch her eyes flutter and her voice pitch just so. You watch Remus stand there with all that quiet discomfort in his shoulders and all that unnecessary politeness keeping him rooted in place.
And something inside you shifts.
You’re not the loud one at these parties. You’re not the girl who shouts or struts or demands. You’re the one who stays curled up in the lap of your boyfriend, sipping your drink while the chaos unfurls around you.
But not tonight.
Because tonight, someone is trying to touch what’s yours.
And whether Remus knows it yet or not, whether that girl ever figures out just how royally she’s miscalculated, one thing is already certain.
You are about to stop being the quiet one.
“Moony’s got his fan club going tonight, huh?” Sirius says, his tone casual, his fingers playing with a loose thread on the hem of your sleeve. “I swear, every time he talks to a girl, she looks like she’s ready to devour him.”
You hum, an absent sound, not really acknowledging him. Your gaze stays fixed on Remus and that damn girl, the way she’s tossing her hair back and laughing too loudly.
“You okay, love?” His voice drops a little, his fingers tracing the line of your spine with a slow, deliberate motion.
You want to lie. You want to say it’s fine, that you’re just tired or distracted, but the words get stuck in your throat. Instead, you give a small shake of your head, the fluttering in your chest too strong to ignore.
“I’m fine,” you mutter, a little too quickly. “Just… thinking.”
Sirius’s eyes narrow slightly, but he doesn’t push. He knows you well enough to sense when you need space.
Remus laughs again from across the room, and this time, the girl reaches up to touch his arm, her fingers trailing lightly along his sleeve.
The sight, the sound, the way her body leans just a little too close to his, sends a pang of something sharp through you. Your breath catches in your throat as you watch her lean in, her lips too close to his ear as she whispers something.
Your fingers grip the edge of the couch, your nails digging into the fabric. You feel like you’re going to snap at any moment, and you’re so sick of it.
Sirius seems to notice the shift in the air. His hand halts on your back, and he turns his head toward Remus and the girl, then back to you. His expression softens, understanding settling in.
He leans forward, his voice low as he speaks, a slight smirk playing on his lips. “Love, I think we’ve reached a new level here,” he says, voice laced with something almost teasing. “You’ve been staring at him for ages now.”
You swallow hard, trying to keep the fluttering in your chest under control. “I’m not staring,” you say, but even you can hear the edge in your voice.
He raises an eyebrow. “Oh? ‘Cause I think you’ve definitely been staring. You want me to go over there and break it up?”
“No!” you snap, a little too quickly, and then you freeze, realizing just how harsh you sound. You soften your tone, but the words still feel like they’re cutting you open. “I… I don’t know.”
Sirius doesn’t push you, but he watches you carefully, his lips curling into a small, knowing smile.
You shift uncomfortably, your gaze returning to Remus and the girl. It’s like a magnet pulling you in, the way she laughs again, her hand resting on his shoulder now, fingers tracing the outline of his collarbone.
The thought makes you want to scream.
It’s an obvious flirtation, the kind of thing that would make anyone else swoon, but you just feel your stomach twist in knots. Her touch lingers. And Remus—sweet, gentle, infuriating Remus—doesn’t stop her.
He doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t step back. He doesn’t even glance in your direction.
And maybe that’s the worst part.
Maybe he thinks you don’t mind, that you’re tucked up on the couch beside Sirius, warm and safe and unbothered. Maybe he’s forgotten that while you may be quiet, you’re not blind.
But oh, you care.
There’s a pressure building in your chest, a weight that has nothing to do with insecurity and everything to do with possession.
You’ve always known what’s yours.
And Remus?
He is yours.
The room around you begins to blur, voices fading into background noise, like someone’s turned the volume down on the rest of the party. All you can see is the way she’s looking at him, lips parted in a practiced little smile, eyes batting as if she’s never had to work hard for attention in her life.
And suddenly, you are no longer the quiet girl curled in the corner.
You are standing up, not with a shout or a dramatic flourish, but with a kind of cold certainty. Sirius shifts beside you instinctively, his hand brushing your back as he senses the change in the air, his voice dipping with curiosity.
“Love?” he says quietly, brows raising. “Everything alright?”
You don’t answer.
Because your eyes are still locked on the girl in the too-tight blouse and the too-pretty smile and the entirely wrong assumption that she has any right to touch your Remus like she belongs there.
She doesn’t.
And she’s about to learn exactly why.
Sirius’s hand slips off your thigh, stunned. “Where’re you going?”
“To get what’s mine.” you say, and your voice is soft, sultry, but it slices through the noise like a blade.
James chokes on his drink. Lily turns, eyebrows lifting as she watches you stalk forward, hips swaying, jumper slouching off one bare shoulder. You hear someone mutter, “Bloody hell.” and you don’t even need to look to know Marlene is probably grinning like a wolf.
The girl is still touching Remus. Still laughing.
You don’t give her the chance to speak. You don’t give him a moment to explain, or to blink, or to pretend he doesn’t feel the air shift as you close the distance between you like a storm cloaked in silk.
Your fingers slip beneath the hem of his jumper, curl tightly into the soft wool, and tug. Hard. Hard enough that he stumbles forward, just one step, just enough to crash into your gravity.
His eyes find yours, startled and wide, and for a heartbeat he forgets where he is. The party, the music, the girl whose perfume is still clinging to the air around him—all of it vanishes the moment your lips catch his.
It is not a kiss built from politeness or affection. It is not the kind of thing meant for privacy or delicacy.
This kiss is war.
Your hand tangles in his curls and tugs, just enough to make him gasp into your mouth. Your other hand slides down to his belt, fingers brushing over the buckle, teasing with the lightest hint of promise. You tilt your head to deepen it, your lips parting just slightly, just enough to taste him.
He groans, low and helpless, the sound caught between your mouths, and you smile against him, smug and sinful.
When you finally pull away, his lips are pink and glistening and parted like he’s about to say something but hasn’t figured out what language he speaks anymore.
His hands are still hovering at your hips, and his chest is rising with uneven breath, eyes clouded with something that’s definitely not confusion.
You turn to the girl, and she looks like she’s just witnessed something religious and blasphemous at the same time. Her mouth is hanging open. Her expression is frozen in that awkward no-man’s-land between horror and disbelief.
“Oh,” you say sweetly, voice thick with honey and venom, “were you still talking? Only he seems a bit busy now.”
She blinks. Opens her mouth. Closes it. You don’t give her time to think. You trail your fingers down the front of Remus’s chest, slowly, like you’re remembering the way his body feels under your hands and enjoying every second of it.
You play with the collar of his shirt, letting your nails drag across the fabric, soft and sure.
Your eyes never leave hers.
“I mean,” you go on, voice quieter now, conversational in a way that is somehow even more intimidating, “I don’t blame you. Honestly. Look at him. He’s got that whole clever boy thing going on, right? The kind of boy who knows all the answers in class and still somehow makes you want to climb into his lap and ruin his concentration. And don’t even get me started on that body—tall and lean and unfair, and the scars…” you let your fingers trail over his chest again, nails teasing the fabric, “Too bad only me and Sirius get to see it though.”
A grin spreads across your face, wide and wicked like a cheshire cat.
Remus lets out a sound that’s definitely not family friendly and buries his face in your neck for a second, either to breathe you in or to hide the fact that he might actually combust.
You lean in close to Remus, pressing your lips to the shell of his ear. “But here’s the thing,” you whisper, just loud enough for the girl to still hear.
“He’s mine.”
Then you pull back and look her dead in the eye, your gaze soft but lethal.
“And I don’t share.”
The girl blinks once. Then turns with all the grace of someone trying not to run.
Remus just stares at you for a long moment, breathless, hands still planted on your waist like he’s afraid to let go in case the earth tilts and he floats away.
“What the hell just happened?” he asks, voice low, rough, and wrecked.
Sirius appears beside you like smoke, sliding his arm around your waist as he grins like you’ve hung the bloody stars for him.
The girl’s mouth parts, clearly searching for a clever retort, something sharp or self-righteous or maybe even pathetic to claw her dignity back from the floor where you left it. But the words never come. Her lips tremble like she’s buffering. You don’t give her the chance to reboot.
Instead, with calm that borders on cruelty, you turn back to Remus and brush your lips against the corner of his mouth.
You feel the way he freezes for just a moment, breath hitching as your fingers slide up to rest at the base of his throat, just enough pressure to remind him—and everyone watching—exactly who he belongs to.
And then James, bless his nosy little soul, practically falls off the arm of the couch. He stares at you with something like religious awe, eyes as wide as Galleons, hand clutching his drink like a lifeline.
“That,” he says reverently, voice cracking with disbelief, “was the hottest thing I have ever witnessed.”
Sirius doesn’t even bother to pretend he’s unaffected. His grin is crooked and wild, like he’s seeing you for the first time all over again.
“Merlin’s tits,” he says, almost reverent. “I think I’m in love. Again.”
Lily, sitting upright with her legs crossed like she’s hosting a panel discussion, blinks slowly. Her jaw is slightly ajar, her drink forgotten on the floor.
“Did she just… flirt and threaten simultaneously?” she asks, clearly reevaluating everything she thought she knew about you.
Marlene doesn’t even bother to hide her grin. She claps once, loud and delighted, and leans forward with sparkling eyes.
“Oh, I love her,” she announces with glee. “Someone give that girl a crown and a throne and maybe a leather corset. She just out-Slytherined the entire House.”
You don’t look away from Remus. He’s still breathless, a little dazed, his lips parted like he’s forgotten how to speak. His hands are at your waist now, gripping softly like he needs to touch you just to make sure you’re real.
You lean in, voice velvet-sweet, and say, “Now Remmy, were you going to let her keep touching you or should I start hexing?”
Sirius, meanwhile, is thoroughly entertained, one arm draped across Remus’ shoulder with a love-sick gaze in his eyes.
Remus just blinks for a moment, his mouth parted, completely undone. Then a sound escapes him, surprised and delighted, something between a laugh and a groan, like you’ve just knocked the wind out of him in the best way.
“I promise dovey, no one gets me except you and Sirius,” he says, a little dazed.
You shrug, casual as anything, but your pulse is thundering and your eyes are glowing and the adrenaline is still singing in your bones like an aria. “Good,” you say simply.
james potter x reader | face sitting. orgasm control. squirting. *. ⋆1.7k words
extra content: begging. orgasm denial. crying. fingering. bit of degradation. dirty talk. overstimulation.
kinktober masterlist
you don’t even know how the teasing starts. maybe it’s the way james looks at you across the room, eyes dark behind his glasses, watching you squirm as if he already knows what you need. maybe it’s how he spreads himself lazily on the bed, broad thighs open, one hand rubbing over the bulge in his sweats like he doesn’t care that you can see.
but then he crooks his finger, that cocky grin tugging at his lips. “come here.”
you roll your eyes, but your body betrays you—you’re already moving toward him, knees hitting the mattress as his hands slide to your waist. james tugs you forward until you’re straddling his stomach, the hem of your skirt brushing his ribs, heat pooling between your legs.
“up.” he orders, voice low, dangerous.
his glasses have slipped down his nose and his curls are messy from where he’s been dragging his hands through them, but there’s no mistaking the command in his tone. “on my face. now.”
your stomach flips. “james—”
“don’t make me ask again,” he growls, digging his fingers into your thighs. “need to taste you, sweetheart. need you drippin’ all over me.”
your breath catches as he drags you higher, until your knees are planted either side of his head and the thin lace of your panties is pressed against his mouth. his hands are huge, fingers spread wide, locking you in place even as you instinctively try to pull back.
“fuck, you smell so good,” he groans, already mouthing at you through the fabric. his tongue presses against the damp spot, sloppy and desperate, and you gasp as the vibration shoots through you. “can’t believe you kept this from me all night.”
“james— wait—”
he ignores you, hooks one finger under the waistband and yanks your panties to the side. the first swipe of his tongue against your bare slit rips a moan out of your throat before you can stop it. he’s greedy with it, licking you from your entrance all the way up to your clit, nose bumping against you as he hums like it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted.
“merlin, that’s it,” he mutters into your cunt, eyes fluttering shut as his grip on your thighs tightens. “ride my face, baby. don’t hold back.”
your hips move without your permission, grinding down against his mouth, and james fucking groans like you’ve given him the greatest gift of his life. he latches onto your clit, lips sucking, tongue circling with messy, wet pressure that makes your vision blur.
“you like that?” he pants against you, smirk curving his lips as he looks up, mouth shiny with your arousal. “like using me like this? making me your toy?”
your only answer is a broken moan, thighs trembling as you rock against him. james chuckles darkly, and then he’s back at it—his tongue flicking faster, fingers kneading into your ass to force you down harder.
the wet sounds echo in the room, filthy and obscene, and your head drops back as heat coils tight in your stomach. you’re close, so close, and james knows it. you can feel him smiling against your cunt, tongue teasing the sensitive bundle of nerves before he pulls back, breath hot against you.
“not yet,” he says firmly, voice hoarse with need. “you’re not coming until i say you can.”
you whine, hips jerking against his face, but james shakes his head, grip like iron as he pins you in place.
“no, sweetheart. i’ll ruin you when i’m good and ready. for now, you just sit there and take it.”
and then he dives back in, licking you with deliberate, devastating strokes, dragging you right back to the edge only to ease off again when you’re about to topple over.
it’s torture. beautiful, unbearable torture.
your thighs are shaking, nails digging into the headboard for something to hold onto as james works you over. every time you think he’s about to let you fall apart, he pulls back.
“you’re fucking dripping for me,” he teases, slipping one thick finger between your folds just to spread the slick all over before pulling away again. “haven’t even given you my cock and you’re already this messy.”
“please,” you choke out, voice wrecked, hips rolling despite yourself. “james, i—”
“please what?” his tone sharpens, that dom edge slicing through the filth. his glasses are fogged up, mouth swollen from sucking on your cunt. “use your words, sweetheart. tell me what you want.”
you’re panting, thighs quivering as he strokes lazy circles around your clit with the flat of his tongue—barely enough to keep you trembling on the edge.
“want to come,” you whimper. “fuck, james, let me come—”
he laughs. actually laughs, the bastard. “already? greedy little thing. you think you deserve it after teasing me all night?”
he punctuates the question with a sharp suck to your clit, and you almost scream, clutching at his curls. he groans when you tug, grinding his tongue harder into you for a few devastating seconds before pulling back again.
“nah,” he says, breath ragged. “not yet. i want to watch you fall apart when i say so. not before.”
you feel like you’re losing your mind. every nerve in your body is on fire, your cunt clenching around nothing, desperate for more.
“james— please— i’ll do anything—”
he smirks up at you, eyes dark, lips glistening. “yeah? anything?”
your nod is frantic, almost shameful, but you can’t bring yourself to care.
“then you’ll sit here,” he says, voice low and commanding, “and you’ll take it until i’m satisfied. i want to see how many times i can drag you to the edge before you break.”
and then he’s relentless. tongue flicking, swirling, alternating between messy, sloppy licks and sharp, precise pressure that has you crying out, thighs clamping around his head. he hums against you, the vibrations making you buck forward, grinding down on his face like you’re starving for it.
you’re incoherent, babbling pleas, sobs, curses—anything to get him to finally let you come. but every time your body starts to tighten, every time the orgasm builds too close, james pulls back, holding you down with a strong hand on your thigh, lips curled in a wicked grin.
“look at you,” he taunts, voice dripping with satisfaction. “so desperate, so needy. can’t even think straight, can you? just my greedy girl, grinding on my face like she was made for it.”
you whimper, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes. “i can’t— james, i can’t—”
“you can,” he cuts you off, tone sharp, unyielding. “you’ll take it until i say otherwise.”
he slides two fingers into you suddenly, and you cry out at the intrusion. they’re thick, filling, curling perfectly against that spot inside you, while his mouth is back on your clit, sucking hard.
“fuck!” you scream, the pressure unbearable, your orgasm teetering on the brink.
and then he pulls back again, fingers still buried in you but going still. his smirk is devastating.
“not yet,” he whispers, kissing your inner thigh. “you’re not ready.”
you’re sobbing now, body trembling, cunt clenching around his fingers with every pathetic pulse.
your voice is hoarse from begging, tears streaking down your cheeks as james pushes you through another round of torment. your body can’t take much more. your cunt is aching, clit swollen and raw from his tongue, thighs trembling with exhaustion.
“please— please, james.” you choke out, hips rolling helplessly against his mouth. “can’t— need it—”
he growls into your cunt, the sound vibrating through you, and his eyes flick up over the rim of his glasses, dark and wild. “you think you’ve earned it?”
you nod frantically, fingers twisted in his hair, tugging so hard he groans against you.
“say it.” his voice is sharp, commanding. “say you’re mine. say you’ll do anything for me.”
“i’m yours!” you cry, head falling back. “fuck— i’m yours, james— please let me come—”
his smirk is wicked, satisfied, and then he finally gives you what you’ve been begging for.
his mouth clamps around your clit, sucking hard, tongue flicking mercilessly, while his fingers pump into you fast and deep, curling against that perfect spot inside you. the combination is devastating—you’re already right on the edge, and the second he stops holding you back, you tumble headfirst into it.
the orgasm rips through you like fire, your entire body convulsing, thighs clamping around his head as you scream his name. pleasure blinds you, white-hot, overwhelming. so sharp it almost hurts.
but james doesn’t stop.
he keeps going, relentless, fucking his fingers into you harder, sucking on your clit like he’s starving.
“that’s it,” he groans against you, voice muffled by your cunt. “come for me. make a mess for me.”
you sob, nails clawing at his scalp, the overstimulation unbearable and perfect. your body arches off the bed as a sudden gush of liquid sprays from you, soaking his mouth, his chin, dripping down his chest.
“fuck yes,” james growls, pulling back just enough to watch it happen, his grin feral. “that’s it, sweetheart. look at you, squirting all over my face. prettiest thing i’ve ever seen.”
your cheeks burn with humiliation and pleasure all tangled together, but he doesn’t give you a chance to come down. he latches back onto your clit, tongue flicking furiously, determined to drag another wave out of you.
“james— no— i can’t—”
“yes, you can,” he snaps, pinning your hips down as you thrash. “you’re going to give me another. and another. until i’ve had my fill.”
you’re wailing now, overwhelmed, but your body betrays you, clenching around his fingers, juices gushing again as another orgasm tears through you. your thighs tremble uncontrollably, slick soaking his face and chest, but james is insatiable.
“look at you,” he says, voice rough with lust. “absolutely ruined. and you’re still so fucking wet for me.”
your vision blurs, your throat raw from screaming, every muscle trembling as he finally eases up, kissing your soaked thighs tenderly.
he pulls his fingers from you, coated in slick, and slips them between your lips before you can think.
“taste yourself, sweetheart,” he murmurs, watching your eyes flutter as you suck them clean. “that’s mine. every drop belongs to me.”
he leans up then, face shiny, chin wet, grin smug as ever. he kisses you, filthy and deep, making sure you can taste yourself on his tongue.
“good girl,” james whispers against your mouth. “next time, i’ll make you do it sitting on my cock.”
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