hi lovely!! this is my first time requesting, i was wondering if you were willing to write remus x gn!reader comfort where reader often has anxiety regarding their relationships? maybe they often worry that their affection towards others is not reciprocated (at least to the same extent), or maybe they misinterpret remus' behaviour as him being closed off/losing interest in them?
even if you choose not to write this i just want to say i love your work!! i've probably been reading your drabbles + larger works for at least two years now! :-) just wanna give you some appreciation for being one of my fav pages on here!! 💞
Thank you for requesting angel! I sort of mixed this with another request about love languages conflicting, so thank you to that anon too!
a/n: Please do not misconstrue my participation in the marauders fandom as support of JKR. If you’re new here and want to participate in the fandom, I encourage you to do so without participating in anything that would provide financial gain to her or her transphobic agendas
Remus Lupin x gn!reader ♡ 1.2k words
You don't know which of you is being more selfish. Remus, for drawing it out, or you, for knowing, and letting him.
It's probably you. You love Remus so much it hurts, even though you don't think he loves you anymore. You're holding on to him for as long as you can. You keep trying to win him over.
It's a futile hope—that if you love someone well enough, they'll have to love you back—but you're trying anyway.
"Christ." He covers his eyes with a hand, grimacing.
"Oh, come on." You tug at his wrist. "Don't be a wuss."
"I don't know how you can watch this."
"It's funny!"
"It's horrible." He shudders as the character in your film launches into a particularly shudder-inducing speech. "I don't know how you can stand it."
You laugh at his misery. "I love that you're so compassionate, but maybe this could be good for you. You should see what life is like for those of us who make fools of ourselves more regularly."
Remus scoffs. Only when the scene ends does he he uncover his eyes, taking a handful of popcorn from the bowl in your lap. "You're a masochist," he says, munching anxiously.
You lean your head on his shoulder. "You love me anyway."
You get a hum in return, and then Remus' body tenses as more on-screen embarrassment ensues. With little warning, your eyes begin to burn fiercely. You stand and mumble that you're going to the restroom. Remus reaches for the remote.
"No, don't pause it," you say. "I've already seen this part."
You lock the bathroom door behind you. Stare at your reflection in the mirror, like you can stop this before it starts if you're stern enough with yourself. It doesn't work.
An uncomfortable heat builds in your throat as tears form indistinct deltas on your cheeks. You take a piece of toilet paper from the roll to wipe beneath your nose when it starts to run. It was petty and cruel to test Remus, but you keep doing it anyway, and it never goes how you wish it will. You only wanted him to say that he loved you. Even if it was only in agreement.
You make yourself breathe slowly. No sounds escape the bathroom.
When your eyes look normal and you feel like you have a leash on your emotions, you unlock the door. Remus has paused the film. You're self-conscious of the squeak of the sofa as you sit down beside him.
"I told you you didn't have to pause it," you murmur.
"I know," he says, nudging the bowl of popcorn back into your lap, "but you like this film, and I didn't want to watch without you. Is everything okay?"
You're grateful to have the popcorn to avoid giving a full answer. You hum around a mouthful.
Remus pokes your leg, where you've curled up with your cold toes underneath you. Ordinarily you'd stuff them under Remus' thigh while sitting here like this, but you've kept away from him unconsciously. "Cold?"
"Guess so."
Remus hums knowingly, standing. He sets his hand briefly on the top of your head as he passes by, a small gesture of affection. Your heart wrings itself out like a wet rag.
He returns shortly with a pair of your winter socks. You can hardly look at him as he tugs them on for you, breathing out a soft, "Thanks."
"You alright?" he asks, with all the lightness of unsuspicion; he probably assumes you're only tired, or possibly suffering an upset stomach.
You reply that you are, thinking that it's you who should be asking him. Remus doesn't usually beat around the bush, but he has been for weeks with this. If he's going to end things with you, you don't understand why he hasn't done it yet. Why you're sitting here watching films and bantering when he can't bring himself to say that he loves you.
Remus reaches for you. "Come here, then."
It's the simplicity of it that does you in. To be asked for your closeness so casually, and to know that each night you have with him could be the last, and you won't know which it is. Heat floods your sinuses.
You press your lips together hard to keep them from trembling. Remus looks stricken.
"What?" he breathes.
You shake your head, cheeks wet again. "Sorry."
"Did something happen?" His tone is all soft concern. "Lovely, what's wrong?"
"I—"
Two things happen seemingly at once: your voice fractures, and Remus drags you into his lap.
"That's alright," he shushes you. "I'm sorry, take your time. You're alright."
It is easier to voice it into the curve of Remus' neck. Even now, his scent is lulling, like home. He holds you steady until you work up the guts.
"I don't think you love me anymore," you whisper.
Remus goes still.
His lack of a denial hollows you out. A rushing fills your ears, and you almost don't hear him when he asks, "Don't I get a say in that?"
You back off from him, confused. Uncaring of your swollen eyes and wet nose.
Remus doesn't look very different. Less of a mess, more hurt than heartbroken, but doubly as confused. His hands settle on your hips. "I think if I'd fallen out of love with you, I'd have noticed," he says.
"You never say it." You don't mean for it to sound as accusatory as it does; the wounded bent to Remus' brows deepens.
"I don't?"
"No," you murmur.
"Well, I…" His eyes flit over you, like he's looking for something. You'd give it to him if you knew what it was. "I suppose I didn't think I had to. I thought you knew."
Your voice thins, but you force it out. "Do you still love me?"
"Yes," he breathes. "I thought that was obvious. Do you, still?"
"Of course." It feels awful of him to ask you, as if you haven't spent the past month loving him so loudly, hoping it would echo back at you. "I tell you all the time."
"People can say things they don't mean, sweetheart," he murmurs gently. "Did you mean it?"
Whatever pain breaks across your expression is enough to make Remus flinch, his fingers tightening around your hips. "Of course," you say.
"Okay." Remus' forehead drops to yours. Tears drip from your chin into the space between your bodies. "I'm sorry," he says, sounding hoarse, "that I haven't made you feel loved."
"It's not about how I feel. It's that you never say it."
"I didn't think I had to," he says again, quietly. "I do love you, though. Very much." He finds your hand, rubbing his pinkie against yours. "I don't put on masochistic comedy films for just anyone."
A wet laugh bubbles out of you. It's a joke, but it's true. Remus bears a number of things he ordinarily wouldn't, even for James or Sirius, because you ask him to. He does things you don't ask him for, too. Putting on the kettle just before you get home on chilly evenings, and keeping track of your car's maintenance so he can take it to the mechanic for you. Bringing you a pair of warm socks when he notices your feet are cold.
Remus threads his fingers through yours. "I'm sorry. I can say it more often."
"I think," you hesitate, "I could probably listen better. To when you tell me in your way."
could you write a blurb about princess! reader getting jealous that remus has asked other girls to dance, but not her? thank you!
tysm for requesting! i just think it’s a really silly request and i have been really enjoying this au.. please more princess au reqs i love it!!!!!!!!!
warnings: princess!reader, reader is james’ little sister, royalty au, reader is a bit of a prat, hardly any mention of time period, but assume it is not modern lol
from this au
pairings: remus lupin x fem!potter!reader 1.1k
This night, you realize how much alike you and James are.
It’s not about the fact that you have the same smile, or get that twinge in your eyebrows when you’re upset; or even the way that you practically laugh in sync.
No, it’s the pit in your stomach as another waltz starts up. It’s the way that you have to remind yourself that you’re different and it isn’t a fear you have, but a fact. You know this routine and know your brother knows it as well as you do. You watch as dance cards get signed all night and know yours will not be touched, not because they don’t want to, but because of who you are.
You would have untied the ribbon from your wrist, if not for the moment you took it off your mother would notice. A tight lipped reminder, especially after the fight from last night, of who you were would follow. ‘You have to set an example,’ with a slight tap on the inside of your wrist. ‘They look up to you, especially.’
You try to swallow the grimace you know is growing on your face as Remus spins a girl.
She steps on his toes as she rounds back, but the warmth on her cheeks is eased by the gentle smile he gives her.
It feels worse when they share a quiet laugh together, and at this point you aren’t sure you can keep watching from your seat next to your mother.
Your nails pick at the armrest and the metal’s cool is the only thing grounding you in this moment. The song ends and Remus bows, politely, in-distance. As he always does. If it’s a song he particularly likes, he presses a chaste kiss to their fingertips before finding his next partner.
You know you must be a sight and that becomes even more apparent when James walks quietly next to you, and nods towards the dance floor.
“Hi, poppet.” James smiles.
“Hi, James. Do you need something?” Your nails still from your restless picking.
When you meet his eyes, your shoulders fall because you already know what’s coming.
“Gonna put all those dance lessons to use?” With the way you frown at him, James knows he’s going to have to pull out the big-guns.
“Please,” he starts, eyes big. “Please, my sister who’s always right and so brilliant, and..”
“And?” You’ve already decided to say yes, but you want to see if your charm still works just the same.
“And I will take you into town this week for the library. However long you’d like, whenever.” You smile, not because of his promise, but because you know James will always be this sweet on you.
You fix your skirts as you stand and try to hide your smile behind narrowed eyes, and an even dryer tone.
“Alright,” You take his hand. “Just one.”
As he leads you down the marble steps towards the dance floor, you can feel the crowd shift. Some moving away to make way for you two, some finding partners quickly to join in on the next dance now that you’re out of your seat. You aren’t sure what feels worse, what you had been watching before this— or the feeling of being a commodity.
You can hardly see anything past James’ body and you use that as an excuse to ease your nerves. How can anyone see you, if you can’t see them; you tell yourself. When the tune starts, you’re grateful that you still have to count your steps in order to keep James’ toes safe.
James spins you to the left, to which you perform your part. By the time you’re rounding back towards him, you realize which dance this is. When he spins you past him and to the next person you’re meant to dance with, you don’t even have to look up to know who it is.
“Good evening, your highness.” Remus starts, and his lips are slightly curled up.
“Hush,” you murmur. “I need to focus.”
“Can hardly feel my toes,” He moves to turn you. “No harm done if you do step on them.”
Remus and you move around each other, fingers brushing to close the gap you’re trying too hard to hold. When you meet his eyes, your frown falls, and all that’s left is a weariness that even he can see.
“Are you alright?” He moves to your opposite side.
“You’re very sociable tonight,” is what you say, no matter if you meant to.
“You’re–” Remus starts, but can’t contain the laugh that follows. “You’d been hiding that card in your sleeve the entire evening.”
You flush because Remus is right, but he shouldn’t be. Not when he had danced with half of the ton.
“I did not want a dance from you,” You can’t meet his eyes, not when he’s smiling like he’s got you figured out.
“You look very beautiful tonight,” Remus moves back in front of you, his dark lashes kissing his cheeks.
“My,” you swallow dryly. “My dance card was out. It always is.”
He spins you once more. “And your hair is really nice. Style it differently?”
Remus passes you back to James, as the dance insists and you send him the meanest face you can without your mother being able to notice from her seat.
When James spins you towards his chest, he tilts his head at you.
“S’warm, poppet. You okay?” His thick eyebrows furrow. “Want a drink?”
You don’t think you can respond, not with the tremor in your hands, and how you’ve lost the rhythm. The numbers in your mind jumble, and you’re not sure where the song starts or ends anymore.
James tries to ignore it, especially when your heel digs into the toes of his leather shoes. He knows you’re a lost cause, and his feet may be after this dance.
You help him ice his feet later that evening, unsurprisingly and disgustingly.
explicit content
Leon experiences a moral shock when he realises just how badly he loves teaching you to touch him. In bed and outside of it—every woman he’s ever been entangled with knew more than him, and he learned how to touch women through their hands. How to pet their hair back, how to kiss too-sensitive places. How to coax a woman into his lap, and nip her throat, and make her shudder.
You know nothing. He’s your first boyfriend, lover, partner. You’ve never been touched, which is his own private agony, and a delight at all hours of the day as he gets to be your first kiss, your first fuck, and your first cuddle. He teaches you how to open your mouth and use your tongue, how to take what you need from him and anything else you want, too. He teaches you how to relax when you’re against someone, and how to draw shapes down their back. He shouldn’t find it so achy. He’s never been like this before. The hesitant way you tuck hair behind his ear as you lean up to kiss his cheek has him stirred and quickly useless, your hand tumbling down his back to tickle him like a damn slap. He shivers when you scratch his scalp and says, That’s perfect, bub, with enough condescension to hide his sincerity. He’d love you if you knew everything there was to know, want you without introductions, but he loves being trusted so deeply by you, and he loves the way you smile when his patience exceeds your expectation. He doesn’t get mad. Doesn’t ever laugh at your shy questions. He’s putty in the palm of your trembly hands.
The worst of it is that you know. Not that you like it, being led and taught and told, commanded around with a gentleness he can’t fake, no. The worst part is when you wait to be told what to do, after a hundred kisses and hours upon hours boiling up in his lap. Like this? you ask into his neck, your teeth dull at his pulse and your tongue hot.
Leon grabs you by the thighs and yanks you against his front every time, a poor picture of restraint, praising his baby through gritted teeth. Yeah, honey. You listen so well.
i’m a sucker for anything with sirius being all soft and in love if you fancy writing something like that!! luv u
im a sucker for soft sirius too!! love ya <3
sirius black x reader ✩ 642 words cw: slight allusions to sex
Sirius can hardly believe his luck. There's dust drifting lazily through the room, illuminated by the sunlight coming in through his bedroom window. You're curled beside him, head sinking into the pillow with eyes closed looking moments away from sleep. He sits propped against the headboard, absentmindedly running his fingers through your hair.
The window is open to let in fresh air and cool both of your sweat slicked skin, Sirius listens to the noise on the street – car doors slamming, people laughing, all a steady thrum – with half an ear, his attention drifting back to you.
There isn't a happier man in London.
“Stop.” you mumble, voice thick with sleep.
You don't open your eyes as you raise a hand in what's meant to be an attempt to swat him away. Instead, your palm lands over his hand, trapping it against your head.
Sirius lets out a surprised laugh, bright and boyish. He leans over you, unable to deny himself a better look. Your eyelashes brush your cheek. Your hair mess (thanks largely to him) and you’ve tugged a t-shirt on that sits twisted on your torso. You're lovely.
“What?”
“Playing with m’hair.” you grumble, words slurring together. “I’m gonna fall asleep.”
“You can go to sleep.”
“Can’t. We’re going to the pub, remember?”
Sirius rolls his eyes and, despite your hand still resting over his, resumes the slow stokes through your hair. He can’t believe you care about the pub later while you have each other like this. Stupid pub with stupid friends. He could be here soaking in you.
When he doesn't answer, you open one eye to get a look at him and find yourself not all that surprised to find him looking down at you. His dark hair falls messily but as per usual Sirus looks flawless. Perfect. Beautiful.
“No one will care if we don’t show up.” he says, though even he doesn’t sound convinced.
He slides further down the bed until he’s lying beside you properly, wrapping an arm around your waist and nudging his forehead against yours.
“Yes they will!” you exclaim, pushing away from him but not getting far, “I didn’t hear the end of it last time and–”
Sirius cuts you off with a kiss. His lips are warm, slow, lingering. By the time he pulls away from your lips, he’s already pressing soft kisses across your cheek. They trail across your jaw and down the side of your neck.
Every now and then he nips lightly with his teeth before soothing the spot with another kiss, trying to distract you. It pulls a content sigh from your lips.
When he pulls away, it’s with a smug smile like his convincing couldn't possibly fail. See? It says. Problem solved.
“We have to go.”
Sirius’ face falls and he leans forward to bury his head in the curve of your neck while letting out a dramatic groan. You raise a hand to thread through his hair now, settling at the base of his neck.
He’s mumbling against your skin, incomprehensible words that have the tone of complaint. It makes you smile.
“Fine.” He sighs, lifting his head just enough to look at you again. “What do you wanna eat before we go?”
“Beans on toast?” you ask to tease because you know it’ll make his lovely nose scrunch in disgust. He spent most of his life too posh for it and he still seems it now. Sure enough his face pulls.
“You’re horrible, y’know that?” he says, sitting up just enough to make a show of leaving. He doesn't get far as you slip your arms around his middle, keeping him where he is.
“You love me.”
“I do,” he admits with an exaggerated sigh. “You’re lucky I do.”
“Oh?”
“Mhm.” He nudges his nose against yours, unable to stop smiling. “You minx.”
heyyy…… i just think he’s so mean and cute and silly. so here. also, jily mentioned! i just really wanted to write baby harryyyy.
summary: you think remus knows you have a crush on him.
pairings: remus lupin x fem!reader 0.9k
You know it’s silly.
Silly that you changed your outfit three times before you left for Harry’s birthday party, and even sillier that you’re still fixing the skirt to your dress as you stand at Lily and James’ steps.
“Hi,” a voice speaks up behind you.
When you peek over your shoulder, it’s Remus, and he’s also holding a gift. It’s wrapped in newspaper and twine, most likely a book. His fingernail picks at the twine as he half-smiles at you, leaning onto the banister.
“Hello,” you say, almost breathless.
“You look very pretty,” he says easily.
You nod, too stiffly, because he smiles, much wider than the polite one he used to greet you.
“Thank you,” It comes out like a question.
“Are you sure?” And you feel like shrinking into your shoes, twisting the ribbon handles of the gift you’ve brought.
The door opens seconds later, much to your saving grace, and James is holding Harry at his hip, tiny party hats on both their heads.
“Come in, come in!” James pulls the door open wider with his leg and Remus follows behind you closely as you walk into the hallway.
You can’t help, but coo at Harry, pudgy cheeks and little fingers wrapping around yours as you greet him sweetly.
“You’re getting so big, aren’t you?” you smile, and Remus laughs. Your cheeks warm at the sound, but you ignore it when Harry pulls from James to be held by you.
“C’mon, you,” James starts, turning away to bring Harry back towards the party. “She’s just gotten here.”
After you settle your gifts and make your way outside, you find a seat next to Remus on a small sofa. Your thighs touch, and you try not to pay attention to how the cotton seams dig into your skin. It seems Remus is because he nudges his leg with yours, smiling.
“I’m sorry,” you tilt your head, confused. “For earlier.”
You look at him then, hands pulled into your lap, playing with a loose string lining your hem. You can feel the warmth on your cheeks, but you don’t meet his eyes in fear it’ll worsen.
“You really do look pretty in that dress,” he continues.
“You’re being mean,” you say, but the smile betrays your words.
“A bit,” Remus leans back, all too pleased with himself.
Sirius comes soon after, already holding Harry as he enters the backyard, blowing raspberries into the infant’s tummy.
“My boy’s grown!” Sirius starts, and Lily laughs.
“He’s only one,” she smiles, eyes warm as Harry giggles.
“Far too old, some would say,” Sirius moves to sit across from you, Harry perched on his lap.
“Want a drink, lovely?” Remus says, hands on his knees, bracing himself to stand.
You don’t even want to respond, especially with the way he’s blocking the sun, leaning to look at you. His brown hair falls over his eyes and you have to fight the urge to push it away from his lashes.
“Yes, please,” Sirius speaks, leg bouncing Harry.
Remus rolls his eyes as he finally stands from his seat, and walks into the house. The rest of the party arrives soon and the backyard is filled with adults, who are practically hot-potatoing little Harry for a bit of his attention.
The seat next to you stays empty; and you’re not sure that Remus is ever coming back with a drink for you, even less Sirius. When it’s your turn to catch Harry, Mary promptly places him into your lap and leaves without another word.
Harry stares up at you, and you completely forget the knot tightening in your stomach. His dark eyelashes, like James’, flutter over his pretty-little green eyes. He’s a happy baby, maybe the happiest you’ve ever met.
Harry’s decided that your necklace, a smoothed circular stone piece, is much more interesting than whatever you’ve got going on. You find that even a little bit of his attention, even if it’s not on you, is enough.
Remus comes back from the kitchen to find you humming a song to Harry, bouncing him lightly as he babbles mindlessly to you. You don’t even look up at him as he places your drink on the glass table in front of you and almost jump out of your skin when Remus sits down next to you.
He leans back to watch you two, your humming becomes quieter under his stare. Remus puts down his own glass with a soft ‘clink’, and leans into Harry’s little bubble.
“She singing for you?” Remus smiles, fingers pulling at Harry’s cheeks softly. His voice has lightened, “What’s she singing, huh?”
Harry babbles mindlessly at the attention of one of his uncles, and it seems even Remus can’t help but fall for his charm. As they “talk”, you softly pick at an eyelash on Harry’s pink cheek, and Remus hums tunelessly. Harry immediately turns his head to you (not without some wobble), and his bright eyes stare up at you at your sudden poking of his skin.
“Isn’t she sweet, Harry?” Remus says.
You know Remus can see the way your bounce has off-kiltered, how your cheeks warm as you swallow dry, and undeniably how you will not face him; finding the bushes much more interesting. You wish you could feel humiliated if not for the fact that his attention is all you want.
When Harry is moved from your lap, it’s into Remus’. Remus begins humming again, Harry’s tiny fingers clawing onto Remus’ long ones. He leans in, nose bumping with Harry’s lightly as the baby smiles.
hi! could you do a blurb about remus comforting princess!reader after she fights with her mom about marrying? tysm! loving them so far
hi! tysm for the request, i hope you like it!
warnings: princess!reader, reader is james’ little sister, royalty au, arranged marriage (not between reader and remus) and mentions of such, jily!, reader is a bit of a prat, hardly any mention of time period, but assume it is not modern lol
from this au
pairings: remus lupin x fem!potter!reader 0.7k
When Remus finds you in the gardens, your heels are dug so deep that the hem of your dress is sufficiently soiled in the wet grass below it. Remus knows what had happened, most of the castle likely did when your mother and you got into a fit with each other. Your shoulders are trembling on the stone bench you’re sat at, and he thinks it just might be the saddest thing he’s ever seen.
He pushes himself to finally step next to the bench and sits, the only noise of acknowledgment you give Remus is a very wet sniffle.
“Are you alright?” Is the only thing Remus can manage to think of to say.
His heart falls, watching you try and wipe your tears with a now ruined glove, touches of your makeup smeared across the palm of it. He watches your bottom lip jut slightly, trembling as you try to catch your tears before they fall.
“I don’t pity you.” He says.
“But you don’t understand.” You manage out through the short exhales. “None of you do.”
“You.. You get the choice, nevermind choices, to marry who you want,” Your lashes catch thick tears. “To say no.”
“I know, dove,” Remus isn’t sure anything he can say will make you feel better, but this is all he can offer. “S’not fair.”
You shake your head messily, breathing slowly. You repeat his words, “Not fair.”
Remus reaches into his pocket and hands you an old handkerchief, stitched with different flowers. Some of the flowers are stitched cleanly, while others are fraying at where the thread loops. He smiles at your hesitation and a quick, ‘It’s clean,’ has you reaching for it. You both sit in silence, and Remus listens as the intervals of your sniffling become longer. Your elbow graces his lightly, yet you’re now looking down at his handkerchief.
“It’s very pretty,” you murmur.
He knows you won’t look at him, not right now. You’re too stubborn and beyond that he knows that although the rules are why you’re like this, you’ll follow them because it is your duty.
“My mother made it,” he smiles softly at you.
“But you stitched this,” your finger taps at one of the messy flowers, it has four lopsided petals.
“Yes,” Remus laughs, but nods nonetheless. “Yes. That one is mine.”
“S’not very good,” you murmur through the thick of your sadness, yet the tears have finally stopped.
“Yeah?” He moves slightly across the stone bench until your shoes are touching. “Going to give me a lesson?”
This makes your frown soften, the corner of your lips picking up. It makes Remus’ heart stutter.
“As if you would listen,” you say.
‘I would listen to you forever,’ is what Remus wants to say, but he settles for a very mundane, “I’ll try my hardest.”
The glove sits on your lap, as you continue to stare at it, fingers tracing the seams. Although your tears are gone, your thick eyelashes are evidence of the past hour. You finally look up at Remus, all the tension from your face eased.
Remus picks up his hand, gently picks something off your face. His fingers hardly touch your damp cheek and he smiles suddenly.
“Eyelash. Make a wish?” His thumb is already up.
Your smile grows slowly, picking up your thumb to wrestle his for the wish. “Mhm.”
With that agreement, you both silently make your wishes and push your thumbs together.
When your fingers part, the eyelash sticks to your thumb and satisfied noise leaves your lips. Remus watches as you blow it away gently, turning back to him.
“Wish for something good?” Remus says.
He looks at you this time, dress muddied and makeup strewn across your eyes from tears; and yet, you still are as beautiful as this morning. Your head tilts at his staring, and you send him a face with an eyebrow raised. But it doesn’t really matter to him, he thinks, he knows he’s being selfish.
“I think so,” you reply softly, turning back to the gardens.
You two sit there until your sniffling stops, until the fireflies come out and until Remus decides it’s probably time for you to head inside.
hi! could you do a blurb about remus comforting princess!reader after she fights with her mom about marrying? tysm! loving them so far
hi! tysm for the request, i hope you like it!
warnings: princess!reader, reader is james’ little sister, royalty au, arranged marriage (not between reader and remus) and mentions of such, jily!, reader is a bit of a prat, hardly any mention of time period, but assume it is not modern lol
from this au
pairings: remus lupin x fem!potter!reader 0.7k
When Remus finds you in the gardens, your heels are dug so deep that the hem of your dress is sufficiently soiled in the wet grass below it. Remus knows what had happened, most of the castle likely did when your mother and you got into a fit with each other. Your shoulders are trembling on the stone bench you’re sat at, and he thinks it just might be the saddest thing he’s ever seen.
He pushes himself to finally step next to the bench and sits, the only noise of acknowledgment you give Remus is a very wet sniffle.
“Are you alright?” Is the only thing Remus can manage to think of to say.
His heart falls, watching you try and wipe your tears with a now ruined glove, touches of your makeup smeared across the palm of it. He watches your bottom lip jut slightly, trembling as you try to catch your tears before they fall.
“I don’t pity you.” He says.
“But you don’t understand.” You manage out through the short exhales. “None of you do.”
“You.. You get the choice, nevermind choices, to marry who you want,” Your lashes catch thick tears. “To say no.”
“I know, dove,” Remus isn’t sure anything he can say will make you feel better, but this is all he can offer. “S’not fair.”
You shake your head messily, breathing slowly. You repeat his words, “Not fair.”
Remus reaches into his pocket and hands you an old handkerchief, stitched with different flowers. Some of the flowers are stitched cleanly, while others are fraying at where the thread loops. He smiles at your hesitation and a quick, ‘It’s clean,’ has you reaching for it. You both sit in silence, and Remus listens as the intervals of your sniffling become longer. Your elbow graces his lightly, yet you’re now looking down at his handkerchief.
“It’s very pretty,” you murmur.
He knows you won’t look at him, not right now. You’re too stubborn and beyond that he knows that although the rules are why you’re like this, you’ll follow them because it is your duty.
“My mother made it,” he smiles softly at you.
“But you stitched this,” your finger taps at one of the messy flowers, it has four lopsided petals.
“Yes,” Remus laughs, but nods nonetheless. “Yes. That one is mine.”
“S’not very good,” you murmur through the thick of your sadness, yet the tears have finally stopped.
“Yeah?” He moves slightly across the stone bench until your shoes are touching. “Going to give me a lesson?”
This makes your frown soften, the corner of your lips picking up. It makes Remus’ heart stutter.
“As if you would listen,” you say.
‘I would listen to you forever,’ is what Remus wants to say, but he settles for a very mundane, “I’ll try my hardest.”
The glove sits on your lap, as you continue to stare at it, fingers tracing the seams. Although your tears are gone, your thick eyelashes are evidence of the past hour. You finally look up at Remus, all the tension from your face eased.
Remus picks up his hand, gently picks something off your face. His fingers hardly touch your damp cheek and he smiles suddenly.
“Eyelash. Make a wish?” His thumb is already up.
Your smile grows slowly, picking up your thumb to wrestle his for the wish. “Mhm.”
With that agreement, you both silently make your wishes and push your thumbs together.
When your fingers part, the eyelash sticks to your thumb and satisfied noise leaves your lips. Remus watches as you blow it away gently, turning back to him.
“Wish for something good?” Remus says.
He looks at you this time, dress muddied and makeup strewn across your eyes from tears; and yet, you still are as beautiful as this morning. Your head tilts at his staring, and you send him a face with an eyebrow raised. But it doesn’t really matter to him, he thinks, he knows he’s being selfish.
“I think so,” you reply softly, turning back to the gardens.
You two sit there until your sniffling stops, until the fireflies come out and until Remus decides it’s probably time for you to head inside.
auror harry… auror harry…!!!!!! cannot stop thinking about him. how moody he’d be some days and others the sweetest thing since packeted sugar. i have to write something for him sooo bad.
remus, who’s so thoughtful it makes you shrink when he remembers things you try to forget about yourself. like the mug you had left out on your kitchen counter, the fact that your socks haven’t matched in weeks, or that you’re using such an old hair tie, the rubber is peaking out from it.
he likes all these things about you, you think. you wish you didn’t have to see the way his face softens when you retie your hair, or realize you’ve forgotten the same thing the third day in a row. yet, you do. and he’s more than pleased with the fact that you can see he likes it.
it makes your tummy hurt, and he can tell, which makes it turn worse because he can’t help but make you aware of the fact that he knows. he’ll come over and make you tea in that same cup, give you a pack of ties knowing it’ll go untouched, and tap his sneaker against yours when he notices the bunnies on your left don’t match the polka-dots on your right.
yes, it makes you embarrassed, but he treats it like every little thing about you is perfect. you just might be.
can we possibly get the one where Gideon doesn’t like bombshell reader and poor Spencer is watching like☹️
Spencer feels a little like a child of divorce. Like, he absolutely is a child of divorce, but he didn’t think he’d feel this way at work. Lately, all Hotch and Gideon do is argue.
It’s especially odd in that Hotch doesn’t usually go against Gideon’s judgement, even when he doesn’t agree, but you seem to be something Hotch is willing to fight for, and Spencer has no idea why.
“We don’t need her,” Gideon says. Spencer knows it isn’t Gideon being cruel, just stern. “We have a fine team without her.”
“But with her, we’re better. And we have an opening. I know you like Greenaway for it, and I do too–”
“Everyone likes Greenaway for the position, she’s more palatable than L/N, and she works harder.”
Spencer tries not to whip his face back and forth like he’s following a ping pong ball, but it’s hard to keep up. He has no idea what his mentor’s talking about in all honesty, you’d seemed more than palatable when you met him last week. You were nice. And barely anybody is nice to Spencer.
You sounded like you actually wanted to hear him talk, something Gideon has often been alone in. And palatable is a subjective word.
“That’s not necessarily true,” Hotch says, knowing he’s losing.
“We’re not gonna rush into picking someone,” Gideon says, less stern, more neutral.
“No. I have invited her to the Georgia consultation this afternoon.”
Gideon sighs through his nose. The afternoon rolls around quickly. Spencer doesn’t want to think about it but he’s excited to see you, and he feels conflicted in that; Gideon is the first person in a long time who actually seems to care about him, so Spencer is guilty of always aiming to please, but he can’t understand why Gideon dislikes you so much. Am I being easily led? he wonders.
He’ll admit to finding you attractive. In his head, that is. You’d spoken so particularly, you’d looked stunning, and you didn’t make a fuss when he wouldn’t shake your hand. You called him beautiful.
It’s the nicest, kindest attention he’s had since he started. Morgan calls him pretty boy. Spencer knows it’s not the same thing.
They gather in the conference room, Morgan, Hotch, Gideon and Spencer, just a few minutes before 2PM. A minute later, you’re knocking on the door.
“Hello…” You smile when you realise they’re here. “Am I late?”
“No, L/N. Come and take a seat,” Hotch says.
There’s a plastering of documents on the table and an empty seat by both Morgan and Spencer. You choose the one beside Spencer despite a stack of manilla folders, tucking your chair in neatly. “Oh, the grizzly stuff. This will upset my feminine energy.”
Morgan laughs. Gideon glares at the table.
Spencer likes it when you’re around. One more person and suddenly the consultation is a conversation and not a debate. You can keep up with everyone. You laugh at Spencer occasionally and he doesn’t know why, but he can tell it isn’t cruel laughter; he’s had a long time to work out the difference.
Gideon excuses himself for a coffee half an hour in.
Hotch immediately leans across the table. “I’m trying to help you,” he says.
You grimace. “What am I doing wrong now?”
“The laughing.”
“You laugh.”
“I know.” Hotch smiles at you. “You’re getting good at this, you have good insight on the dark triad. You read the book I sent?”
“How’s Haley?” you ask.
He shakes his head, but his smile stays. “Don’t joke about that.”
You’re not flirting. Or, Spencer doesn’t think so. It’s more likely you’re joking as Hotch says, everything about your body language pointing to amicable friendliness besides your flirting tones. “I read the book,” you say. Your gaze turns to Spencer. “Bet you’ve read it too, huh? Morgan said you’ve read every book ever written.”
“That’s an exaggeration,” Spencer says.
“But close?” you ask. “I’d love some recommendations. You know. For profiling.”
“Don’t let her fool you, Reid, she’s well read,” Morgan says.
“Wait, Gideon doesn’t like you because you laugh?” Spencer asks.
It’s a socially inept thing to say, he realises after. You lean back in your chair all sweet and soft with your legs crossed, your dark stockings thin at the knees. He’s so, so worried you’re going to be offended and that’s exactly what he needs, a possible friend isolated again by his inability to read the room, but you don’t chew him out. You nudge his leg gently with the toe of your heel.
“Now who said he doesn’t like me, handsome?” you ask teasingly.
Spencer regrets the heat that floods his face and neck.
“It’s complicated,” you add, your smile more than friendly, Spencer can’t work it out. “But don’t worry, I’ll turn him around eventually. It’s one of my many talents.”
Oh, he thinks. That’s what it is. Spencer’s finally in on the joke.
more princess!reader pleaaaaase!!! it’s so cute. maybe something about remus leaving her flowers
omg anon……. thank u for giving me another excuse to write this au.
warnings: use of flower language, princess!reader, reader is james’ little sister, royalty au, arranged marriage (not between reader and remus), jily!, reader is a bit of a prat, hardly any mention of time period, but assume it is not modern lol,
remus lupin x fem!potter!reader 1.1k
The first thing you notice sitting next to your book in the drawing room is a flower.
It’s a geranium, budding a deep purple and petals falling into a soft purple. It sits kindly on top of your book, no note. It’s not a holiday, nor a special occasion, but you assume James has left it for you from the ongoing orders from your mother.
Touching the cold spine of the flower, you turn to one of the maids, asking for it to be put into your room.
The day passes, another trip to the modiste with your mother, lunch with Lily as she tells you about her morning ride, and another night spent fighting about turning down suitors that you had very little interest in. The same as the day before, and the day before that.
When you exit the throne room, your chest feels heavy walking the path to your room. It seemed your mother was never going to be in agreement with your needs and when she got like that; you couldn’t even consider hers. Your legs carry you, feeling boneless. The large halls echo as your fingers tremble, and the silence almost makes you want to scream.
When you reach the hall of your room, James is at the opposite end where his room rests, and is leaning against the frame talking to Sirius and Remus. Sirius looks about as restless as James, while Remus looks like he can hardly stand for another minute. When they hear your heels reach the floor, their faces turn to you, but none of them comment on the wobble in your lips.
“Good evening,” you manage to mutter.
James’ eyebrows furrow, but he seems to know better than to bring it up in front of everyone. “Evening, poppet.”
He looks at you with those eyes, the ones that say, ‘I pity you, but I don’t know it’s pity.’ It makes you want to shrink within the layers of your dress.
“Did you ever get to the book I lent you?” Remus suddenly speaks, fully turning to you.
“The Poe poems?” he nods, a tilt on his lips.
“Yes,” you swallow lightly. “I liked To Helen.”
Remus smiles at that, dotted cheeks rising. “On desperate seas long wont roam,” he offers.
Your fingers tighten around the hem of your sleeve and you nod quickly, too quickly because his smile only grows.
“Something like that,” the warmth at your cheeks betrays your tone. “Goodnight.”
Yet, when you return to your room, the violet geranium reminds you it hadn’t been the same.
The next day after your french lessons, you walk down the halls, your pale pink dress trailing behind you as your heels click. You walk straight to the tea room, knowing a warm cup is waiting for you next to a sandwich.
The doors open for you and you take a seat at the daybed in your usual spot, sighing into the cushions. Your skirt falls around your ankles, ruffles making way for your heeled feet to peek out. When you reach for your tea, your hand stills before you can even make it halfway to the saucer. Two flowers sit prettily next to it, a pansy and an iris.
It makes you stop in place, and your back hits the frame of the seat. It stumps you at this point, a second day of flowers, for whatever reason.
The pansy’s yellow pistol peeks from its burgundy petals and its stem is crossed with the iris; purple and vibrant. Again, no note left from James. With the new vase of lilies in the corner of the room, you can’t help but assume another delivery has come in.
By the third day, you expect another flower, yet your morning is empty of them minus the grand vases that sit across the rooms.
You’re sat outside, a pale yellow dress hugging your frame as you watch your brother, his friend, and betrothed play pall-mall.
Lily hits Sirius’ boxwood ball, and he groans, throwing his long hair back.
“Not very kind, Evans,” He narrows his eyes at her.
“I wasn’t trying to be,” she says easily as James laughs loudly.
Remus walks onto the stone, coming from the open doors that lead to a sunroom. He walks towards your table, but James and Sirius capture his attention as his fingers touch the back of the chair across from you.
“Took you long enough, Moony.” Sirius smiles wolfishly, pushing his dark curls from his eyes.
“Some of us have jobs to do, I’m afraid.” Remus hums, pulling out the chair to sit.
Sirius waves a dismissive hand, turning back to the game of pall-mall.
When you look back up from your book, Remus is already looking at you and you can’t stop the frown that forms as your chest warms.
“I didn’t know you’d be coming today,” you start. “I would’ve returned your book.”
He shakes his head, eye closing as he smiles softly at you, and you feel like you might be the sweetest thing.
“Return it whenever,” Remus taps the empty glass on the tray next to your book. “Or don’t. I don’t mind.”
“I’m forgetful, so you’d best hope I don’t.” You manage through your frown, but it lacks any bite at all.
His smile grows slowly at that, and he goes to open his mouth before suddenly sitting up straight. His body turns to the side, as if hiding, and digs into his pocket. He places something in front of you carefully.
Remus’ hand moves back to his lap, his lips tight. “Before I forget.”
You look down, and it’s a honeysuckle. The petals are slightly crumpled from turning in his pocket. They match your dress, and when you pick it up, you can’t seem to find anything to say.
It turns between your fingers before you place it onto your lap, and you see Remus’ shoulders unstiffen, his head turning to the pall-mall game. Your book is opened again and you don’t dare to say a word because you’re unsure you can speak at all.
—
When you arrive at your room that night, you place the honeysuckle next to the other flowers; a geranium, a pansy, an iris, and now a honeysuckle. None of them sit together very prettily, but you don’t care all that much as your nails grace each stem.
You stare at them for longer than necessary until your stomach turns and your face heats just a quickly.
Because it is necessary. Especially when he had been having a conversation with you for the past three days.
summary: you’ll never fall in love, especially not by arrangement; and especially not with remus lupin.
warnings: not proofread!!!! (sorry… i’ll go through it again eventually), princess!reader, reader is james’ little sister, royalty au, arranged marriage (not between reader and remus), jily!, reader is a bit of a prat, smoking, hardly any mention of time period, but assume it is not modern lol,
a/n: hihi (: i hope u enjoy. I’ve been thinking of remus sm lately, gotta get it out somewhere i guess. I would like to continue this au w drabbles and maybe other stories. So if u have any requests, send them in!
pairings: remus lupin x fem!potter!reader
wc: 3.1k
The tea room seems to be the only place where you can find any semblance of peace. The halls bustle with preparations and every dinner conversation seems to be riddled with plans and details that you care very little of. You know it’s mean of you, it is your brother’s wedding, but since when had he been the one to settle?
James was getting married to Lily, a smart and charming girl who you couldn’t help, but like. It seemed he couldn’t either because his many years of refusing to marry had ended upon meeting her. And after that, it was all he could talk about. It was all anybody could talk about these days, with the wedding’s date merely weeks away.
At this rate, with how many times you’ve been to the modiste with both of your mothers and Lily, they’d have to remember your measurements by now.
Yet, none of this had charmed your heart into change. Love was off the table, no matter how much your mother used this wedding to persuade you. And the threats from her of ending up as a spinster had started to sound like a delightful retreat away from how delirious they all were for the ceremonies to follow.
The doors open with a dramatic swing, and your shoulders drop at having been caught. Much to your dismay, it’s your brother, James. He’s been nothing, but a bumbling, bright light of excitement the last month.
You place your book down with a sigh as James collapses beside you on the daybed, an exaggerated groan is the only greeting he gives you. His friends, Sirius Black and Remus Lupin follow into the room, taking the seats across from you.
James’ head is leaned back, but he peaks an eye at you, smiling. “Hiding, are you?”
“Mother’s not gonna like that,” he grins teasingly.
“I’m not trying on another dress for ten years, so that’s too bad.” you frown, already picking back up your book.
“Soon, this’ll be you,” he murmurs.
Your head snaps towards him, eyebrows furrowing before you can hide your reaction. He laughs at that, sitting up.
“I hope not.”
“That’s what he had said, too.” Remus adds with a smile and you can’t help but deepen your frown at him.
“I don’t think I remember asking,” you say plainly.
“The heart doesn’t ask either.” he gives you a half-smile.
Sirius sucks on his teeth, rolling his eyes, “Does the heart want a thousand pounds of flowers as well?”
“My soon to be, beautiful, smart, talented–”
“We got it, James,” you wave your hand and he puts a finger up to silence you.
“Amazing– did I mention how brilliant she is? Wife did,” all too pleased with himself, he leans back into the cushions.
You wished you could understand. Yet, it was simple for him, he had choices and beyond that, was afforded a love match. A one-in-a-hundred chance that others like you would never be given, let alone dreamed about.
It seems James can hear how hard you’re thinking because he sits up with a pat on your knee. He’s looking at you like he knows exactly what’s going through your head and somehow that makes you frustrated, because of course he does.
“Want you to have a good time too, okay?” James tries.
“I’m happy for you,” you nod, eyebrows softening. “I will.”
He claps at that, standing immediately. Sirius groans, already knowing what’s coming.
“Well, we must head off. More deliveries and such. Let’s go,” And he’s already walking out the door, a very exasperated Sirius following behind.
Remus is the last to leave the room, looking down at you as he stands. His smile hasn’t left his face and you can’t help, but frown when his hair falls past his ears.
“Emily Dickinson?” He offers, maybe a branch.
“Yes,” you start and you don’t mean for it to come out so dry. “It’s a collection.”
Remus nods, shifting on his feet. He looks like he wants to say something else, but settles for a hum.
“You’ll have to tell me what you thought,” Remus says.
You look up at him, lips pursed, trying to figure him out. “If you’d like.”
“I would, very much.” he smiles.
Chewing the inside of your cheek, you turn the page, hoping the book hides how warm your chest feels.
“You look lovely today,” and you know he can tell what he’s doing.
“I think there’s more flowers coming in.” You try, but it falls to deaf ears.
“Thank you for reminding me,” Remus’ smile widens, fingers pressing into the top of the chair he had just been sitting in.
A call of his name has him moving through the room easily, and you deflate into the cushions as soon as the door closes behind him.
No, love wasn’t for you. And Remus Lupin certainly was not either.
–
The mallet hits the boxwood ball with a dull smack and the boys erupt in an argument, just as the last serve had.
You fan yourself lightly as Lily sips at her lemonade, a roll in her eyes as James jumps at Sirius. You can’t help but watch at how her lips curl into a smile the longer she stares at her betrothed. It’s small, but her lashes flutter softly as she leans into her palm to study him.
This, you would never understand. To be this openly infatuated with someone made your stomach flip and lips tighten; and you could only avert your eyes back to the pages of your book.
The game paused as James called Lily over and they spoke softly to each other before beginning to walk the grounds of the garden.
With the game at a standstill, Sirius sat on the grass, tossing his mallet to the side.
“Love,” he started. “Always ruining my fun.”
“Good, you have too much fun, anyhow,” Remus smiled.
He turned from Sirius, looking at your table and you tried to pretend you hadn’t met his eye.
Well, it hadn’t worked because within a couple of long strides, Remus was in front of your seat. You don’t look up at him, but your fingers stiffen on the fan, the waving becoming messy.
“Lovely day, very warm.” he starts
And when you don’t reply, he takes Lily’s seat. His fingers tap the metal table, fingers tracing the curled patterns of the wired vines. Remus pours a glass of lemonade and before you can think anything of it, he slides the glass next to the book.
You peek over your fan at him, and he has that smile. The same smile he gave you in the tea room after he complimented you and you think you’re just about sick of it.
“To cool down,” Remus leans into the table, resting his arm fully.
“Thank you.” you say.
He looks down at the book, seeing it’s an entirely different novel.
“Finished the collections?”
“A couple of days ago, yes.” you hum, turning the page. Remus tilts his head at you and you know what he’s asking of you immediately.
“It was good, I like her writing,” your voice trembles slightly when you finally meet his eyes, but he doesn’t let you know he’s noticed.
“Yeah? What’re you reading now?” The smile he gives you tells him you could’ve said the complete opposite and he would’ve asked anyway.
“I don’t really like lemonade, you know.” you slow your fanning, eyeing him.
“Should I get another refreshment for the lovely lady, then?” The fan closes with a snap.
“Are you always like this?” your fingers tap the wooden handle of the fan as your lips fall into a frown.
“No, not very,” his fingers touch the corners of your book, flicking the old pages softly.
Your mouth stills, any retorts, any snide comments, immediately disappearing. You’re not breathless enough to embarrass yourself, but you fear if you speak you just might be. Remus looks at you, thick eyelashes fluttering against his sunkissed cheeks. You know you’re supposed to say something back, yet you haven’t managed to even find the words to even tell him to leave you alone.
James rounds the grounds with Lily, her head thrown back in a laugh as they walk past Sirius and back to the table. She picks up the skirt of her dress and steps carefully onto the stone, standing in front of Remus. Without a word, he stands, pulling the chair out with enough space for her to sit.
“You’ll have to let me know how this one is as well.” Remus steps from the shade of the umbrella, hand coming up to block the sunlight from his view of you.
“Only if you do the same,” you finally speak, no matter how tight your chest feels.
James raises an eyebrow, looking between the two of you and then pulls Remus away without another word back over to Sirius, who’s completely laid onto the lawn.
Lily sits with a sigh, the smile on her lips looks almost engrained on her face, and even more so when she leans towards you.
“Are you excited for the soiree?” she says.
You nod as politely as you can, opening your fan slowly. You try, especially with her, to not be the girl that hates love; especially when her love is joining yours.
“We can get ready together,” It seems your smile isn’t polite enough. “If it makes you feel any better.”
You feel bad. You know she can tell, but it doesn’t matter to make any excuses at this point. So you simply smile at her and murmur a soft, ‘definitely’, in hopes it makes the conversation feel lighter.
–
The muslin slides over your corseted body, fingers tightening the ties in the back. The charcoal blue dress is another new one, made for tonight after your last trip to the modiste. As much as you disliked the trip, you had to admit the dress was very pretty. The lacy lining and dark floral silk patterned layer down the skirt matched the silver jewelry that sat at your neckline and hung from your ears.
Lily was to your right, the green dress she had bought fit like a glove. Her long, red hair hung in a thick braid behind her as she fixed her skirt layers.
“You look very pretty,” you spoke softly.
“Thank you,” Lily smiles, looking down at her dress, fingers running over the cotton. “I’m very nervous for tonight.”
At that, you mumble a quiet ‘thank you’ to your lady’s maids, nodding to the door. Once the door closed behind them, you move towards Lily, standing behind her in the mirror.
“They will all be lucky to meet you tonight,” she swallows lightly. “just as we have been.”
At this, her shoulders fall slightly, the crease in her eyebrow softening. Lily turns to you and takes your hands, holding them in hers.
“I don’t know why I care so much,” She laughs, but it comes out airy.
“And you shouldn’t,” you smile at her, this time it’s genuine. “You’re family now.”
Lily nods at that before pulling you into a hug. It’s the first between you two, yet it feels right, normal. When she pulls away, the flush on her cheeks rivals her hair. Your hands fall to your sides as she moves across the room. The chair at the vanity slides back, and she nods at you.
“Come, let me do your hair.” she asks and you don’t have the heart to tell her no.
Her fingers thread your hair, braiding some pieces, and pinning others as you look at the jewelry boxes that line the wood.
“I know the wedding preparation has been a lot for you,” Lily says.
“Has James been talking to you?” you sigh, shoulders falling slightly.
“He can’t help it,” she smiles easily. “He cares a lot about you.”
“Maybe too much.”
She clips a final hair piece, silver and layered in pearls, to the side of your head. The brush hits the wood with a clink, and the hair pins follow with a soft clatter into their pan.
“Just try and enjoy it,” she shrugs. “Before it’s over. At least, for me. I hardly can.”
Her hands rest on your shoulders and she leans in. Her face is next yours and you meet eyes in the mirror as she narrows her eyes at you.
“Promise?” Lily asks.
Your lips tighten, but you nod anyway.
“Promise.”
–
The party is the same as others, except James hasn’t stopped showing Lily off to anyone who will listen.
The pounds of flowers Sirius complained about litter the room, orchids mainly, and they’re surrounded by decorations your mother had been setting up the whole week. The green and white banners hang from the ceiling, flowing down the pillars. It’s as Lily had described the prior week over lunch; and with the way she’s smiling into James’ arm, you think she’s more than happy. Refreshments are carried around, yet you don’t think you can hold anything down tonight.
The lights are just as bright as you remember and the music holds a steady beat in your chest that you can’t seem to escape from no matter where you move in the room. Yet, that isn’t the worst of it.
The empty conversations of no substance, of dresses, of the wedding, eventually gets to you. They’re filled with slight nods, empty laughter, and even emptier promises. You spend the evening giving polite smiles to anyone who looks like they want to stop you for a chat, walking aimlessly as if you have somewhere to be.
By the third round of dancing, you’re sick of the violin and laughter. You hope it doesn’t show on your face as you head out the open doors towards the gardens, where many are standing around and talking. You walk past the nobles, guards, and soon the hedges as you enter the garden.
The party’s noise quiets after a few paces, muffled behind high walls of greenery. Your fingers touch the weathered rope of a swing, sitting underneath a large tree that’s certainly older than you.
You can barely sigh to yourself when there’s a step in the grass behind you, making you jump at the noise.
You stand quickly, ready to bow to whoever, only for it to be Remus. Remus, who’s dressed in a coat nicer than his usual one, smiles at the sight of you holding onto the swing.
You sit back onto the swing without another word, heels pushing lightly into the dirt.
“Good evening,” you say quickly.
“Good evening, your Highness.” Remus moves to the swing next to you, the wooden seat hitting his knee.
Your face crumples in disgust, “Oh, stop that.”
He laughs, sitting in the swing next to you. His fingers grip the ropes, leaning forward to look at you.
“Not enjoying the party?” With the way he’s looking at you, you’re enjoying it even less.
“No–” you start, frowning. “I just needed some air.”
Remus nods, worn shoes pushing into the grass until he’s at a matching pace with you. It’s nice, quiet; and he doesn’t push for you to speak, unlike the partygoers. You manage a look at him and he’s looking up at the sky, fingers tapping the rope. Remus is handsome, as much as you don’t want to admit it. Infuriatingly so, and even more so, that you know he doesn’t believe that with the way he carries himself.
You swallow dryly, digging your heel into the grass to stop the swing. “Remus?”
“Yes, dove?” His face turns to yours, tired-eyes lidded.
“Do you have a cigarette?” And he freezes, his lips curling up slowly.
“I do.”
“Oh, please,” You roll your eyes. “Don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?” You have to look away from him, especially with how his swing is leaning towards yours.
“It’s not courtesy to make your Princess wait.” You can feel your chest warm as he tries to hide his laughter.
“I would never make you wait,” he reaches into his pocket. “Not on me.”
Remus passes you a cigarette, and your fingers grab at it, placing it between your lips.
“Want a light?” A silver lighter, engrained with vines, already in between his fingers.
When you nod, he leans towards you, flicking the flame to life. His eyes focus on lighting your cigarette and at this distance, it’s impossible not to stare at him. The fire lights the faded scars on his face and fingers, your own holding onto the cigarette.
Once lit, he leans away and moves to light his own. The two of you swing, the music and laughter filling any silence you both had decided was needed. His leather shoe taps your heel lightly, and you can’t help but return it.
The cigarettes burn and ash flows from your fingers with quick taps until you drop it into the damp grass beneath you.
“Don’t tell James, he’d murder me.” You smile at him, probably the first.
His fingers make an x on the left side of his chest, “Secret’s safe with me.”
You manage a nod, leaning against the rope, tapping your shoe against his again. Remus hums a laugh at that, tapping his back at your pointed toes.
Love wasn’t for you, but maybe you could change your mind on Remus Lupin. Just for tonight, at least.
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