todays bird
Jules of Nature
One Nice Bug Per Day
$LAYYYTER
Cosimo Galluzzi
cherry valley forever
Sweet Seals For You, Always
KIROKAZE
occasionally subtle
Show & Tell
Three Goblin Art
No title available
Not today Justin
Game of Thrones Daily
trying on a metaphor
⁂
No title available
AnasAbdin
izzy's playlists!
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seen from Canada
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from T1
seen from France
seen from Türkiye
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Brazil
seen from Germany
seen from Argentina
seen from Canada
seen from United States
seen from France
seen from Singapore
seen from Türkiye
seen from United States
seen from United States
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@sunflowerabyss
R.J. Lupin Masterlist
Find all of my Remus Lupin works here!
Fluff: ❣ | Angst: 🌧
Series:
Charms of Fate—Completed ❣🌧
The Phoenix Rises ❣🌧
Drabbles/One-Shots:
Brewing Hearts ❣
Crescent Resurgence 🌧
Moonlight Understandings ❣
A Lesson in the Patronus Charm ❣
Order's Tension ❣
Dances in the Dark ❣
The Art of Understanding ❣🌧
Jealousy ❣🌧
Rainy Day Chess ❣
Stuck in Torment ❣🌧
Seas of Redemption ❣🌧
CUT LOOSE
[ ✦. ] Sylus x nonmc! reader, isekai, soulmate au
“What the hell?”
Imagine waking up in a game world... A game you played in your last life. Well, how are you so sure? Because you have seen this dark, rich, and mysterious place plenty of times from the game.
You sit up from the sofa, scanning the room, unsure of what you’re looking for.
“So the unknown lady finally wakes up?”
Bam! Your heart almost jumps out of its place. The voice is clear and sharp, but there’s a gentleness and warmth in it, one you’ve always yearned for but never found.
When you look at the source, there, standing as erect and stable as a pillar, you find him.
Sylus.
You gape. He quips his brows and looks at you in amusement. Then something else catches your eyes when you look at him.
Red string.
On Sylus’ pinky finger.
Slowly, your gaze follows where the string leads.
No.
No. No way.
It shouldn’t be possible.
“That’s funny…” You laugh, humourless and dreadful.
As an avid reader, you’re not foreign to fanfiction with this concept. Specifically, soulmate AU—where there’s a pair tied together by a red string of fate on their pinky fingers, said to be destined together in life. Hell, you gobble these kinds of tropes in your past life.
“Why is it tied to me?”
His string connects to you.
A thread wraps around your finger, weighs nothing but glows a vibrant red that might just sear into your skin.
“Have you finished your musings?” He asks.
“...Hi. Sorry about that,” you focus on the man in front of you. His eyes, a glowing ruby that could rival the string, watches you. They never leave you from the start.
You raise an arm and stick out your pinky, “Can you see this?”
Sylus takes a few moments to look at your finger. A breath, a second, a third, then— “Nothing.” He tilts his head, “Why, is there anything that I'm supposed to see?”
You remember spending nights watching his story unfold, the way his loyalty across lifetimes tattoos itself into devotion to her. And yet, now, that same devotion bears a name: yours.
Sh*t.
You retreat your arm and shake your head.
“No, nevermind.”
Another female approaches the two of you.
“You’re finally awake! How are you feeling?” Her face is vibrant, lips lifted into a kind smile. Too familiar, too uncanny as though seeing your favorite painting comes alive.
This is the Main Character—the MC—with the same face you design her to look like in your game.
The main character of this game is fated to be with Sylus. Not you. Never. You did wish for love; you tried and failed, and you cried to have a love as dangerous and beautiful as Sylus' and MC’s; But, you never wish to change the game.
If this is a gift in exchange of the bad luck in your past life, then you will refuse ardently. Who knows? Maybe this is another angst story where you’re going to suffer and watch them be together while the string around your finger slowly disappears. Who knows, right?
You are going to find a way to cut this damn string off.
and tell me some things last | masterlist
you had it all: perfect family, mom, dad, the sweetest little brother. and then you lost it just as quickly, in the earthquake that claimed so many. left as the sole provider for your little brother, with mountains of bills piling up, doing everything in your power to give him the world. and you’re doing your best, even if the odds are stacked against you.
enter steve harrington, a blast from high school past, and your brother’s baseball coach. and somehow, your… soon to be husband.
marriage of convenience. sole guardian f!reader to her ten year old brother. r has asthma. baseball coach steve.
🩵
Chapters:
(Also on AO3)
Chapter One
some protector — series masterlist
─────── · · status: ongoing · · ───────
pairing: steve harrington x reader series summary: steve harrington used to be your other half. practically bonded at the hip since you were both in diapers, but when he starts high school the steve you once knew no longer seems to exist. instead he's been replaced by an ass who only seems to care about sports, parties, girls, and his popularity. when steve starts seeing your best friend nancy you're forced to face the one thing you've been running from — how you actually feel about steve. but with the disappearance of will byers and your other best friend barbara holland, you come to find out that things are not what they seem in hawkins and steve and you are forced to face more than just how you feel about each other. warnings/includes: cursing, alcohol use, smoking, graphic depictions of death, bad childhoods, mental health issues, survivors guilt, 18+ sex scenes, ptsd, miscommunication x100, friends to strangers to lovers, the slowest of slow burns, angst, and the idea that love prevails all.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
season one: ⟡ chapter one ⟡ chapter two
⟡ chapter three
season two:
season three:
season four:
season five:
landslide - s.h
❝ well i’ve been afraid of changing, cause i’ve built my life around you ❞
slight season 5 finale spoilers
masterlist
word count :: 2.3k
pairings :: steve harrington x reader
content warnings :: fluff so sweet you’ll need extractions for your cavities, pregnancy, doubt, pre-established relationship, takes place during season 5 epilogue
writers note :: it’s so bittersweet, the show i’ve been watching since i was ten finally ending like wdym… when i heard fleetwood mac oh i was DONE FOR. my face is still puffy from how much i cried— and im so happy with it all, the epilogue was gold. still writing the SAME llie chapter (like why am i so stuck) it’s coming out i SWEAR
anyways this was inspired by when they were talking about kids on the WSQK rooftop and by steve’s incredibly hot suit. thx for reading!!
i do not allow my content to be stolen, copied or reposted anywhere else. do not put my work through any ai tools or generators
(stop using ai for gods sake.)
༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅
Eighteen months had passed since the fight. Thirty-six months since the earthquake. Five hundred and forty-seven days of finally remembering how to breathe.
And even though things still weren’t exactly normal, it was close enough to stop flinching at the word.
You and Steve moved in together, into a small apartment just outside Hawkins. Not much to look at. Thin walls. A heater that rattled like it might give up every other night. But it was yours.
It was fifteen minutes away from Hawkins and only twenty minutes away from the kind of house the two of you talked about in half-jokes. The one with a big yard, a wooden porch, the one that didn’t smell faintly like old paint and dust. Something you could afford someday.
Something your kids could grow up in
Today was like every other day, and lately, you liked that.
You liked how the air stayed still, undisturbed except for the low hum of the radiator pushing warmth into cold corners. How the windows didn’t shake. How the floor stayed solid beneath your feet. How the air was clear and smelt like pine oak— courtesy of the candle Steve bought to make it a bit more homely
You liked the way time moved slower now— not because it dragged, but because nothing was chasing it.
Steve was in the other room, close enough that you could hear him moving around, the soft scuff of socks against the floor. Normal sounds. Safe ones. The kind that anchored you without trying.
But when you said this was like every other day… you were partly lying.
Because wedged between your fingers was a pregnancy test.
One you’d taken five minutes ago.
Recently, you’d been feeling off. Not the unsettling kind, not the something is wrong kind, but the why am I throwing up every morning kind of off. The kind that lingered in your throat and followed you into the bathroom before you were fully awake.
And, not to mention, your period was eight days late.
It was no question that you and Steve fucked like rabbits and you’d always wanted kids.
Someday. In the near future. Not at this very moment. When everything felt settled and solid and planned. But now? Now it felt like your life had only just begun again and you were already being shoved headfirst into the deep end. The big, terrifying adult deep end.
You’d only just gotten your job. How were they supposed to feel about you asking for a leave of absence so soon? Before you’d even learned everyone’s coffee orders. Before your name felt permanent on the schedule.
And your family— your brother, your mom. How were you supposed to explain this to them without sounding like you were drowning? Like there was too much going on right now for you to be calm— how were they not going to worry?
But most importantly how the fuck were you going to tell Steve?
You already knew he’d be excited. He always was, heart-first, consequences later. He’d smile too fast, pull you into his arms, start talking about names and cribs and someday before thinking about the reality of it. about today
The apartment only had one bedroom. And even calling it a bedroom felt generous. Because it was barely bigger than a broom closet. There was no space for a baby here. No room for a crib, or late night pacing, or anything small and human that cried. You couldn’t even get a dog because Steve said there was no space.
Which means moving. Again. Another change stacked on top of all the others.
Your pulse starts to pound, loud enough that it fills your ears.
Deep breaths.
Everything will work out in the end.
Will it?
You turn the test over in your hands, plastic warm from your grip. Your thumb hovers over the little window, hesitant. Like if you don’t look, this doesn’t become real.
You hear Steve shift somewhere in the other room. The world keeps going.
You look.
For a split second, your brain refuses to process it. The lines blur, your vision swimming as your heart stutters in your chest.
Then it clicks.
Two lines.
Not faint. Not questionable. Not something you can dismiss as a trick of the light.
Two solid, unmistakable crimson lines.
Your breath leaves you in a sharp exhale, your hands flying to your stomach. It’s still as flat as it was ten minutes ago, still familiar. Still unchanged.
And yet… everything feels different.
The room feels smaller. The air heavier. Like something invisible has shifted its weight inside you.
You’re not just holding a test anymore.
You’re holding the proof that nothing will ever be the same again.
“Hey, baby— you okay? You’ve been in there for ages.”
Steve’s knuckles tap gently against the door, his voice warm in the way it always is. Familiar. Safe. Worried.
“Uh— yeah”
You say quickly. Too quickly.
“m’ fine. Just… feeling a little faint. One second.”
Your voice cracks anyway. Tears sting behind your eyes and you tilt your head up, staring at the popcorn ceiling like it might rearrange itself into something that makes sense.
Steve hums on the other side of the door.
“Really? Maybe we should get that checked out”
He says.
“You’ve been really sick recently.”
He notices. He always does.
Your chest tightens.
You shove the test behind the shampoo bottle on the shower shelf, plastic clacking softly against tile, then turn on the sink and splash cold water onto your face. You breathe. Once. Twice. You unlock the door then step back.
Steve slips inside, his expression caught somewhere between concern and routine as if he’s trying not to alarm you but failing anyway.
And then there’s his outfit.
A white button-down, sleeves rolled just enough. Beige suit trousers. Too put together. Not at all normal for a regular sunday morning
“I was gonna shave real quick”
He says.
“Thought I’d clean up a little. You sure you’ll be okay for today?”
Today.
Dustin’s graduation.
Fuck. Of all days— why did you take the test today?
Steve steps closer, his hand settling at your lower back. You flinch before you can stop yourself it’s barely there, barely noticeable but enough.
His thumb starts rubbing slow circles anyway.
You hope he doesn’t notice.
He notices.
His hand stills. His brows knit together.
“Hey”
He murmurs barely over a whisper.
“What’s wrong?”
You shake your head too fast.
“Nothing. I’m just a bit tired.”
He studies you, eyes flicking over your face, your posture, the way you won’t quite meet his gaze. He doesn’t push, not yet. But his concern doesn’t fade.
“We don’t have to stay the whole time”
He says gently.
“We can leave early if you need to. Dustin will understand.”
You nod, even though your stomach twists.
“Okay”
You say.
“I’ll be fine.”
Steve leans in, presses a soft kiss to your temple— lingering like he’s grounding himself as much as you. Then he reaches for his razor and the can of shaving cream, turning toward the sink.
“Anyways, Robin wanted us to escape a bit earlier too so that we could have that little catch up— remember, like we did last month”
You nod
“Shit”
He mutters, giving the can a little shake. It answers with a pathetic hiss of air.
“Did we run out of shaving cream?”
He asks, already half-looking toward the shower.
“Uh—”
Your voice sticks.
“I think so?”
He hums, thoughtful.
“It’s fine. I’ll just use conditioner.”
No.
No, no, no.
He steps toward the shower, curtain already sliding back with that familiar shhk of plastic rings on metal. Your pulse spikes so hard it makes you dizzy.
“Steve—”
You start, but he’s already reaching.
His hand goes straight to the shelf.
Right past the soap.
Right past the loofah.
His fingers brush the conditioner bottle.
Right next to it.
The shampoo.
The shampoo bottle you shoved the test behind.
Time stretches thin.
You watch his knuckles nudge the shampoo as he grabs the conditioner, the bottle wobbling slightly on the slick tile. Your lungs forget how to work. You swear you can hear your heartbeat in your teeth.
The test shifts.
Just a little.
Steve freezes.
“…Did you move stuff around in here?”
Fuck.
You swallow hard.
“I— no. Why?”
He turns his head slightly, eyes narrowing at the shelf. The conditioner is in his hand now, but his attention isn’t on it anymore.
It’s on the sliver of white plastic peeking out from behind the shampoo.
He places the conditioner on the sink top and reaches back. For the test.
Your vision blurs and you move.
Immediately.
You grab him, spin him around by the front of his shirt and crash your mouth into his.
It’s clumsy. Too fast. Teeth knock, lips miss before finding each other again. The kiss tastes like panic and mint and the desperate hope that this will buy you time— just a second, enough to keep his mind on something else.
Steve makes a surprised sound into your mouth before instinct takes over, his hands finding your waist, grounding, familiar.
You pull back just as quickly.
He barely lets you.
Steve lingers there, lips still brushing yours, breath warm against your face. You can feel the curve of his smirk before you even open your eyes.
“You feelin’ better?”
He asks softly, amusement threading through his voice like nothing in the world is wrong.
He laughs under his breath, stealing one more quick kiss before finally stepping back.
And just like that, the moment slips.
But the test is still in his hand.
The smile fades.
Slowly.
His gaze drops— to the white plastic, to the two unmistakable lines. He then lifts back to you, searching. Careful now. Serious in a way that makes your chest ache.
“Steve, I swear I was going to tell you— I just—”
Your words tangle over each other.
“I took it ten minutes ago. I didn’t— I didn’t even have time to—”
Your voice fractures completely.
The sob comes out of nowhere, ripping through your chest before you can stop it. Your knees give and you slump down onto the closed toilet seat, hands coming up to cover your face like that might hold you together.
You don’t look at him.
You can’t.
“Hey— hey”
Steve says immediately, crossing the space between you in two steps.
“It’s okay, baby. It’s okay. It’s not your fault. You’re okay.”
His voice is steady, grounding.
“I’m not mad. I swear to you, I’m not mad.”
He crouches in front of you, his hands finding your arms, rubbing slow, familiar paths up and down your sleeves— the exact way he does when he knows you’re spiraling.
You finally look up at him.
His eyes are glassy. Not panicked. Not angry. Just… full. His jaw is tight, his expression caught somewhere between worry and something softer. Something almost stunned.
“Are you actually—“
He starts, then stops himself, breath hitching.
You nod.
Once.
That’s all it takes.
Steve lets out a shaky laugh that sounds like it was pulled straight from his chest. His hands slide to your knees, grounding himself now too.
“Oh”
He breathes.
“Oh my god.”
He runs a hand through his hair, then laughs again— quieter this time, disbelieving.
“We’re— we’re having a baby?”
The word baby makes your stomach twist.
Your doubt rushes back in all at once.
“Steve, I don’t know if we can—”
You start.
“The apartment, our jobs, we barely—”
He shakes his head, not dismissive, just sure.
“Hey. Hey.”
He leans in, forehead pressing to yours.
“Not all at once. You don’t get to do that to yourself.”
Your breath stutters.
“I’m scared.”
“I know”
He says immediately.
“I am too.”
Then he pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes bright, smile small but real.
“But I’m also… really happy right now.”
You swallow hard.
“You are?”
“We made a baby.”
He nods as he says it, like he needs the motion to make the words real. His voice is threaded with disbelief, wonder creeping in around the edges.
“We made a baby”
He repeats, softer this time. Then he’s moving.
Steve pulls you up from the toilet seat before you can argue, before your legs can remember how shaky they are, and wraps you in his arms. Tight. Protective. Like he’s anchoring you to the ground.
Your face presses into his chest, his heartbeat loud beneath your ear.
“I know you’re scared”
He murmurs into your hair.
“I know this is a lot. And you don’t have to feel how I feel yet. You don’t even have to feel happy.”
You stiffen slightly at that— like you’re bracing for the but.
It never comes.
Steve pulls back just enough to look at you, hands firm at your waist, thumbs warm where they press into your sides.
“You don’t get to be alone in this”
He says instead.
“Not for even a second. I’m not going anywhere. And I’m not letting your brain convince you this is the end of something.”
His hand slides gently to your stomach— tentative, like he’s asking permission without words.
“This is just the start”
He whispers.
“And yeah, it’s terrifying. But it’s also… kind of incredible.”
Steve’s hand stays at your stomach, warm and careful, like he’s memorizing something he hasn’t even met yet.
You look at him, really look; at the way his smile wobbles at the edges, at how his eyes are still shining like he’s holding onto something fragile and precious all at once.
“Hey”
He murmurs, like he’s afraid to startle the moment away.
You don’t answer.
You just lean in.
The kiss is slow. Not rushed. Not desperate. His lips are warm and sure against yours, grounding and hopeful all at once.
It doesn’t taste like panic this time. It tastes like possibility. Like something unfolding instead of collapsing.
Steve’s hands cradle your face gently, thumbs brushing your cheeks as if to remind you you’re here. That you’re real. That this is happening.
When he pulls back, just barely, his forehead rests against yours.
“We’ll figure it out”
He whispers again. Not as a promise. As a truth.
Written In The Scoreboard - S.H.
Baseball Coach Steve Harrington x AP English Teacher Reader
Written in the Scoreboard is a slow-burn teacher x coach romance set in Hawkins, where long nights, Friday games, and quiet classroom moments turn into something much bigger. What starts as small glances and hesitant conversations grows into a steady rhythm of shared coffee runs, playful banter, and late-night grading sessions. Over the years, their bond deepens through laughter-filled traditions, a small petty argument, and the kind of ordinary magic that makes even the simplest days feel extraordinary. It's not a whirlwind romance-it's a patient one, stitched together with soft touches, awkward beginnings, and the promise of something lasting.
General Warnings: Occasional Cursing, Fluff, Awkward Flirting
Chapter I -> Here
Chapter II -> Here
Chapter III -> Here
Chapter IV -> Here
Chapter V -> Here
Chapter VI -> Here
All The Ways We Break Masterlist
Summary: You love Jonathan Byers, Steve Harrington loves Nancy Wheeler. Together, you try to save Nancy and Jonathan from making a terrible decision—while making plenty of your own
Warnings: smut, unprotected piv, 18+, mdni, angst, insecurity, fake dating, enemies to lovers
Part One
Part Two
Part Three
Part Four
I’d Find You | Steve Harrington
Summary: Steve Harrington survives the end of the world, but his memory doesn’t [8.1k]
Warnings: memory loss, angsty, insecure reader, fluff, a sobfest really
♡
The hospital room smells like antiseptic and the ghost of his cologne.
There’s a mug of coffee gone cold on the windowsill, wilting carnations Robin brought in, and your own shampoo clinging to the collar of his gown because you leaned over him for too long and cried into his shoulder.
The beeping is steady.
So is the rise and fall of his chest.
You sit curled in the hard plastic chair they shoved into the corner, one knee up to your chest, fingers worrying the hem of your sweatshirt until the threads fray. Your eyes burn—too many sleepless nights, too much crying—and the clock above the door ticks loud enough that it feels like it’s inside your skull.
You stare at him.
You never get tired of looking at Steve Harrington. Even like this.
His hair is flattened in places from the pillow, but still curls at the ends, brushing his forehead. A bandage wraps around the side of his head, white against warm skin. Purple bruises bloom along his jaw. Scratches arc down his throat like something tried to claw him back.
You swallow around the ache in your chest and reach for his hand—careful of the IV lines, careful of everything—and lace your fingers with his.
They fit the same as always.
You squeeze gently. “Hey,” you whisper. “It’s me.”
You bring his hand toward your lips, your thumb brushing lightly over his knuckles.
“They say your scans look better,” you tell him quietly. “So that’s… that’s good. I know you probably don’t care about medical stuff, but I thought you’d like to know you’re still uh, still fighting.”
Your throat tightens.
You lean forward, foreheads nearly touching. “And you’re not getting out of putting together that stupid bookshelf, you know,” you murmur. “I’m not doing it by myself. You promised. So. Wake up.”
Your breath shakes as you let it out.
You don’t let go of his hand.
“Robin says she’s going to read to you later,” you add, sniffing softly, “but I told her if she picks anything other than a magazine you’re gonna wake up just to tell her to shut up.”
There’s no response—not a twitch, not a sigh—but the beeping stays steady, so you count it as a victory.
The door opens softly.
Robin steps inside, rubbing at tired eyes with the sleeve of her sweatshirt. Her face is drawn, but she still musters a crooked half-smile.
“Hey,” she whispers. “Any change?”
You shake your head. “Just me talking his ear off.”
“Good,” she says, pulling a chair up on the opposite side of the bed. “Someone has to. He hates being left out of conversations.”
She tries to joke, but her voice cracks on it.
A moment later, Dustin appears in the doorway—hands shoved deep into his pockets, chin trembling before he swallows hard and steels himself. He comes to stand at Steve’s other side, staring down at him with wide, glassy eyes.
“Hey, Steve,” Dustin says, voice cracking and pretending it isn’t. He clears his throat. “I brought you the new issue of that car magazine you pretend you only read for the articles. Also, if you don’t wake up before I start explaining my next campaign to you, I’ll consider it a personal insult.”
Robin huffs a tiny laugh. You manage a small one, too.
It feels like a warm hand pressing over a wound—doesn’t fix anything, but keeps you from falling apart.
Dustin sits. Robin sits. You all watch him breathe.
The beeping stays steady.
The room stays quiet.
You keep holding his hand.
You keep waiting.
–
It’s two a.m when you feel his fingers twitch.
At first you think you imagined it—your eyes sting from exhaustion, and you’ve had too many false alarms, too many times you thought the monitors jumped because of something you did.
But then his brow pinches.
And his hand moves again.
“Steve?” You sit forward so fast the chair squeaks. “Steve—hey—can you hear me?”
Robin is on her feet instantly shouting for the doctor.
Dustin scrambles backward, “I’m gonna call the others.”
Your heart leaps into your throat.
His lashes flutter, jaw clenching around a grimace.
“Steve?” you whisper, terrified and hopeful at the same time. “I’m right here—just breathe, okay? Just—”
His eyes open.
Not all the way. Barely a squint. Hazel and unfocused, pupils blown wide. He stares at the ceiling first, then the bright light the doctor swings over him, then Robin and Dustin hovering anxiously at his sides.
And then…finally at you.
His gaze lands on your face.
You expect something, a smile, a blink of recognition, a sarcastic comment about how bad your hair must look at two in the morning.
Instead, his expression shifts into confusion. Deep. Sharp. Like you’re a puzzle piece he’s holding the wrong way.
“Wh—where…” His voice rasps, raw and hoarse. “What happened?”
The doctor steps in. “Mr. Harrington, you’re at Hawkins General. You’ve been unconscious for several days. You took a hard hit during the collapse of the chemical plant at the old Creel house.”
Chemical plant. The official government line.
Steve frowns like the word doesn’t match the picture in his head. “How long?” he asks.
“Ten days,” Robin says too quickly, trying to sound encouraging. “You—you scared the crap out of us, dingus.”
He tries to laugh, but it comes out as a muffled cough.
Dr. Patel continues gently, “Steve, I need to ask you a few questions. Just to check how your brain is doing.”
He nods stiffly.
“What’s your full name?”
“Steven Harrington.”
“And your birthday?”
He answers.
“And the year?”
He hesitates. You see the panic begin to creep in around the edges of his expression.
“Uh… ‘86?” he guesses. “Summer? We just—we just dealt with—” His breath shakes. “Vec—” He stops abruptly, brow furrowing, correcting himself to fit the “earthquake” explanation he’s been given. “The, uh… the tremors, from the earthquake?”
Robin and Dustin trade looks.
Dr. Patel hums thoughtfully. “Steve, tell me the last thing you remember before waking up here.”
He swallows, throat bobbing. His eyes dart across the room, searching for something that isn’t there.
“I was talking to Nancy,” he finally says. “In the RV. We were… I don’t know. Catching up, I guess.” His voice softens in confusion. “She was scared. We all were. And then… then the ground started to shake. And… nothing.”
Your pulse pounds.
Because that was a year and half ago. Before he met you. Before your first apartment together and late-night confessions and soft I love yous whispered into your hair. Before everything you built with him.
The doctor finishes the test, as the door bursts open. Jonathan is first inside, breathless, eyes wide. “We came as soon as Dustin called.” Eddie and Nancy trailing behind him equally as breathless and relieved.
Eddie leans on the foot of the bed like his legs might give out. “Jesus H. Christ, dude—you scared the shit out of us.”
Steve blinks at all of them, overwhelmed.
“Could I speak with you all,” Dr. Patel says quietly, “out in the hall?”
Robin squeezes Steve’s shoulder. “We’ll be right back, okay?”
He nods, breaths coming uneven.
Dustin stays behind as Steve’s shakingly pleads, “Don’t—don’t leave me alone yet.”
Dr. Patel closes the door gently behind him. His expression is gentle, but serious. “Steve shows signs of retrograde amnesia,” he explains. “The memories leading up to his injury—months, possibly more than a year—are currently inaccessible.”
“Like… gone?” Eddie asks, eyes wide.
“Not gone,” the doctor corrects. “Think of memory as a file drawer. The files are there, but the drawer won’t open.”
“And when does it open?” Robin presses.
There’s a heavy silence.“It could be days,” the doctor says. “Or weeks. Or years. Or… never.”
Your lungs stop working.
“Can we… tell him?” Eddie asks, voice pitching higher. “Like, fill in the gaps? Show him photos, talk him through it?”
Dr. Patel shakes his head. “Not yet,” he says firmly. “Forcing memories can be damaging in cases like this. The brain is in a vulnerable state. If you bombard him with information, try to ‘make’ him remember, it can cause severe anxiety, confusion, even setbacks in his recovery.”
“And—and we’re supposed to just pretend he didn’t lose the last 18 months of his life?” Nancy whispers.
“Pretend? No. Avoid triggering details? Yes,” Dr. Patel says. “Keep him grounded in what he does remember. Familiar routines. Familiar places. Familiar people.”
Your heart splinters. Because you…you are none of those things to him anymore.
Eddie clears his throat awkwardly. “So uh… where’s he supposed to stay? ‘Cause he sure as hell can’t go back to the house he doesn’t remember living in.”
Jonathan nods toward you. “He was staying with—”
“No,” you interrupt immediately. Too fast. Too sharp. “He can’t… he doesn’t know me. That would freak him out.”
Robin winces sympathetically.
Nancy adds, “And staying with me and Jonathan would confuse him even more. He doesn’t remember patching things up.”
“I’ll take him,” Eddie says without hesitation. “My place is basically a cave of familiar smells and poor hygiene. Should feel like home.”
It draws a strained, grateful laugh from the others.
You nod numbly, “Yeah. That’s… that’s good.”
The door opens again, Dustin peeking out, “He’s asking for you guys,” he says softly. “He’s… um… kinda scared.”
Steve is sitting up more, breathing hard like he’s trying not to panic.
His eyes scan each face—Dustin, Robin, Nancy, Eddie, Jonathan—landing on each with some level of recognition.
Then he looks at you. And his brows pull together in apologetic confusion.
“Um,” he says, voice hoarse, “sorry but… do I… know you?”
For a second, no one breathes. You force a small smile. Force your voice to work.
“I’m just… a friend,” you whisper. “One of the people who came to see you.”
His shoulders relax, but he still looks guilty. “Sorry. I’m just—everything’s blurry.”
You swallow the burn in your throat. “It’s okay,” you tell him. “You’re okay. That’s all that matters.”
–
The day Steve is discharged is strangely bright.
One of those Hawkins afternoons where the sun feels performative, like it’s trying too hard to pretend everything is normal. The hospital lobby hums with murmured conversations and the low squeal of wheelchairs against polished floors. Families gather with flowers and get-well balloons; nurses laugh at inside jokes you’re not part of.
You’re not there.
Instead, you stand in the middle of the apartment you once shared, drowning in the silence that used to feel comforting and now feels impossibly loud. It still smells like him—laundry detergent, cheap coffee, the cologne he always applies too generously in the morning because he insists it “fades by noon.” The couch cushions hold the shape of his favorite spot. His sneakers lie abandoned in the corner, one toe pointing toward the door like he left in a hurry. His jacket hangs over the back of a chair the same way it always does, never quite making it to the hook he installed and promptly stopped using.
On the fridge, the Polaroids watch you as you move. You, in his old Scoops hat, smiling like an idiot, while he flips off Eddie behind the camera. And the one Eddie took where Steve isn’t looking at the lens—just at you. Eyes crinkled. Mouth mid-laugh. A moment caught in the exact shape of adoration.
He doesn’t remember any of it.
You walk through the apartment like you’re trespassing in your own life, touching objects that feel suddenly foreign. You kneel beside the bed and pull out a duffel bag, spreading it open like a wound you’re trying not to look directly at.
T-shirts first. Sweatpants. Socks—even though he never matches them, insisting that the washing machine “eats the good pairs out of spite.”
Robin kneels beside an open duffel bag on the bed, her expression tight with concentration as you hand her his favorite mug with the stupid cartoon shark on it, wrapped carefully in an old sweatshirt you stole from him months ago. “This sucks,” she says conversationally, yanking a hanger free. “Like, in case you were wondering, this sucks. Ten out of ten, do not recommend.”
The cassette box sits by the stereo, full of tapes you made together—his messy handwriting, your neat labels. You pick it up gently, thumb brushing over the one marked simply: YOUR STUFF.
You snort weakly, “You don’t say.”
“You sure you don’t want to come to the discharge? We could go with Joyce and Hopper, then straight to the trailer. Like a whole welcome-home parade. Balloons, confetti, you bursting dramatically out of the cake.”
You make a face, “Absolutely not.”
She sobers, “Okay, but for real. You don’t have to hide.”
“I’m not hiding,” you lie. “I’m just… doing this instead. If he woke up and they told him he had to move back to a house he doesn’t remember packing for, that’s weird. At least this way when he gets there, he has his stuff. That’s… useful.”
“And you?” she presses softly. “What’s useful for you?”
You shrug one shoulder, eyes on the socks you’re shoving into the side pocket of the bag. “I’ll be fine.”
“You don’t have to be. Not with me.”
You blow out a shaky breath. “If I go,” you say quietly, “if I stand there and watch him walk out of that hospital and into… not our home… I’m gonna fall apart. And I really… really don’t want to do that in front of him.”
“Okay,” she accepts. “Then I’ll go. I’ll take this—” She gestures to the duffel. “I’ll say it’s from his parents’ place, or something. But now he’ll probably think I raided his underwear drawer.”
Meanwhile, Eddie guides Steve out of the hospital, one hand hovering near his elbow like he expects Steve to topple over at any moment. Steve insists he’s fine—“For the fifteenth time, Munson, I can walk”—but the stiffness in his movements betrays how exhausted he really is. “My parents aren’t here?” he asks, tone attempting casual but landing closer to wounded curiosity.
Eddie adjusts his grip on Steve's arm and shakes his head. “Business trip. Overseas. They got the messages, though. Said to tell you they’ll call once they’re back in the country.”
Steve nods in a way that tells Eddie he expected nothing else.
Eddie jogs ahead, swinging the van door open with an exaggerated bow “Your ride, sir.”
Steve rolls his eyes but can’t quite smother the smile. “Did the royal chariot break down?”
“This is the royal chariot,” Eddie retorts. “She’s got character.”
“She smells like Cheetos,” Steve says, hoisting himself up into the passenger seat, “And maybe… weed.”
When they pull up outside the trailer, Steve goes quiet. The place is the same and not. The cracks in the ground nearby have been filled, the damage patched badly. There are still scorch marks on the grass where things fell from the sky that “didn’t happen.”
The trailer is cluttered but clean. There’s a blanket thrown over the back of the couch. Two mugs in the sink. A stack of tapes by the TV—some horror, some metal concerts, some romcoms Robin smuggled in “for balance.”
“That’s your room,” Eddie says, gesturing toward the small door off the hallway. “I mean, technically it’s my room and that’s technically my bed, but I’m feeling generous.”
Steve steps inside like he’s expecting the floor to shift under his feet. There are posters on the wall he half-remembers. A pile of laundry in the corner. The bat—the bat—leans against the wall, grip worn. He runs his fingers over the bedspread, the edge of the nightstand, the window frame. His head hurts. He sinks onto the mattress, elbows on his knees, palms pressed to his face.
Eddie watches him carefully. “You alright? You look like you swallowed a brick.”
“Just… trying to make it all match up,” Steve mutters. “Doc says about ‘one year,’ but it feels like someone ripped pages out of a book and kept the ending. I’m assuming we won. And that Vecna’s… gone. But I don’t know how. I don’t know what we did. Are the gates closed? I don’t know when Max…” He trails off, swallowing hard. “When did she wake up? How bad did it get? What did I… do?” There’s a jagged frustration under the questions. A helpless anger at his own brain.
Eddie sees it. Hears the edge in his voice. “That’s a story for another time, pal,” he says gently. “All you need to know is that Vecna is gone for good, Hawkins is still miserable, and all you need to worry about is your flat hair.”
Steve huffs out a startled laugh, the tension in his shoulders loosening a fraction. “That’s, like, three things.”
“I believe in your ability to multitask,” Eddie says.
Robin appears in the doorway, hair windblown, cheeks flushed from the cold. The duffel bag you packed hangs from her shoulder, heavier now with everything you folded so carefully. “Special delivery!” she announces, stepping inside with exaggerated flourish. “Straight from Casa Harrington.”
Steve brightens a little. “My parents’ place?”
“Yup,” Robin lies smoothly. “They, uh… left the key taped under the mat. Super secure. Very responsible.”
“Thanks,” he says, soft. “Really.”
Robin’s smile falters for a second—just a second—before she recovers. “Yeah, dingus. That’s what friends do.”
Eddie catches her eye. She gives the smallest shake of her head. Steve doesn’t see that either.
They spend the next twenty minutes unpacking shirts and socks and the hoodie he doesn’t remember buying. Robin chatters about mundane things—Joyce’s attempt at making bread that could double as a weapon, Lucas’s new videogame obsession, Dustin’s twelve-step plan to introduce Steve to every campaign he missed. Steve tries to laugh in the right places. He tries to feel grounded in the little stories of a life he doesn’t remember living. Still, every few minutes, his gaze drifts to the door.
To the empty space beyond it. To the missed presence he can’t name.
He doesn’t know who’s missing. He doesn’t know why.
He only knows that something important isn’t here— and that the absence feels wrong.
–
Movie nights, dinners, and game nights stop being weekly and start happening every other day, now. Not just for Steve, but for everyone. Staying alone feels worse than crowding into too-small spaces, so they choose noise.
You skip the first movie night because you’re scheduled for a late shift at work. The second because you tell yourself you’re tired. By the third, you don’t even bother coming up with an excuse.
But the invites never stop.
Robin calls you while you’re sitting cross-legged on the bed, a half-unpacked box of Steve’s things open in front of you—things you didn’t have the heart to finish putting away. His sweatshirt is folded on top, soft from too many washes, still faintly smelling like him.
“We miss you,” she says into the receiver, voice light but tired. “He misses you.”
Your chest tightens.
“He doesn’t know me,” you reply quietly.
There’s a pause on the other end. You can hear the low hum of voices behind her, the sound of a life continuing just out of reach.
“That doesn’t mean—”
“It does,” you interrupt gently. “It does mean something, Robin. He doesn’t need… complications. He needs to feel normal.”
You hang up before she can argue, the silence feeling louder than the conversations you’re avoiding.
At the next get-together, Steve volunteers for the snack run.
He comes back with grocery bags filled with a specific brand of chips none of them remember him liking, a box of cookies no one else reaches for, and a candy bar that makes Eddie wrinkle his nose.
“Since when do you eat those?” Robin asks, watching him unload everything onto the counter.
Steve shrugs, unconcerned. “I don’t know. Just… grabbed them.”
“For who?” Dustin presses, crouched on a chair to see over the counter.
Steve pauses. He feels it — that moment when his brain stalls out mid-thought. A faint pressure builds behind his eyes, like trying to remember how a dream ends after you’ve already woken up.
“No idea,” he laughs, the shrug coming a second too late. “Must’ve looked good.”
It’s a few gatherings later when he finally brings it up.
It’s late. The kids are swallowed by a board game, voices raised in mock outrage. Eddie stands at the sink, washing dishes. Jonathan leans against the counter, arms crossed, watching soap bubbles drift down the drain.
“Can I ask you something?” Steve says.
Jonathan glances over and nods. “Sure.”
“The girl from the hospital,” Steve continues carefully. “She said she was a friend.”
“Yeah,” Jonathan says. “She is.” He hesitates, then adds, “She doesn’t come around much anymore.”
Steve frowns. “Why not?”
Jonathan exhales slowly. “She’s trying to deal with all of this on her own. Everything that happened. Losing people. Almost losing people.” His gaze flicks briefly toward the living room. “Being around all of this can feel like reopening a wound.”
Steve absorbs that, jaw tightening. “That seems backwards,” he mutters. “Wouldn’t it help? Being around people who actually get it?”
Jonathan looks at him — really looks.
“Sometimes,” he says quietly, “people think staying away is easier. That it hurts less in the long run.”
Steve frowns deeper. “That still doesn’t make sense.”
Jonathan gives him a small, sad smile. “No. It usually doesn’t.” After a beat, he adds, “Next time you see her, you should invite her. Maybe she’ll listen to you.”
–
The grocery store smells like overripe fruit and burned coffee.
You’ve been standing in the cereal aisle for too long, staring down two different boxes like one of them might solve something bigger than breakfast. Your cart has the basics — bread, milk, eggs — and the coffee you swore you wouldn’t keep buying anymore because it still feels like buying it for him.
You tell yourself this is normal. That it’s fine. That you’re doing fine.
You reach for the box on the left.
At the exact same time, someone else reaches for the one on the right.
“Sorry—”
The voice stops you cold.
You don’t look up right away. Your fingers stay curled around cardboard. Your heart slams painfully against your ribs, the sound of it loud enough that you’re convinced he must hear it.
You already know.
Steve Harrington stands in front of you in a worn Tigers hoodie and faded jeans, hair doing that familiar floppy thing that makes your chest ache. He looks healthier now — less pale, steadier on his feet — but there’s a faint scar at his temple that your eyes go to automatically.
His eyes widen.
“Oh,” he exhales. “It’s— it’s you.”
You swallow. “Hi.”
You don’t mean to smile. It happens anyway, small and brittle, like your face remembers before the rest of you can stop it.
He shifts his weight, suddenly unsure of where to put his hands. One of them rests on the red plastic handle of his cart; the other hovers, then drops awkwardly at his side.
“I was hoping I’d run into you,” he says, then winces immediately. “That sounded weird. Not like— I mean—”
“It’s okay,” you say quickly, because it always used to be your job to make things less hard for him. You almost laugh at that thought. “I just… yeah. Hi.”
He nods, once, then twice, like he’s confirming something invisible. “Hi.”
There’s a beat where neither of you move. The store hums around you — carts rattling, a kid crying somewhere near produce, the muffled sound of a radio playing something forgettable overhead.
Steve clears his throat. “Jonathan said you might… might be doing this whole ‘handling everything by yourself’ thing.”
Your mouth tilts faintly. “That sounds like him.”
“Yeah,” he huffs. “He’s annoyingly perceptive.”
He glances down at your cart without thinking and freezes.
Coffee.
The exact one.
His brow furrows, confusion flickering across his face. “Huh.”
“What?” you ask, too quickly.
“Nothing,” he says, then pauses. “I just— I keep buying that.” He gestures vaguely. “And I don’t even like it. It tastes burnt.”
Your fingers curl tighter around the edge of the cart. “Then why do you buy it?”
His eyes go distant for half a second, frustration tightening his jaw. “No idea,” he admits. “I just… felt like I needed to.”
Silence stretches between you, fragile and heavy.
He breaks it first. “So,” he says, forcing casual into his tone. “Uh. There’s… there’s stuff happening. Movie nights. Dinner. Game nights. A lot of… togetherness.”
You nod. “Robin’s told me.”
“Yeah, well,” he rubs at the back of his neck, sheepish. “Robin tells everyone everything, so.”
You smile despite yourself. There’s a pause. Long enough for the hum of the lights to fill the space between you.
Steve clears his throat. “So, uh—” He rubs the back of his neck, suddenly unsure. “There’s another movie night coming up. Dinner too, probably. People crammed onto couches. A lot of noise.”
You wait.
He gestures vaguely. “You don’t have to stay the whole time. Or talk about anything. Or— you know— do anything, really.” He winces, clearly aware he’s rambling. “This sounded smoother in my head.”
“Okay,” you say finally. “I’ll… come. Next time.”
His face lights up so fast it’s almost embarrassing. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Great,” he says, then catches himself. “I mean— cool. No pressure. Totally casual.”
You smile, real this time. “You’re terrible at casual.”
“You should see me try flirting,” he replies before thinking.
You both freeze.
He flushes immediately. “Not— not flirting with you! I mean— not that I—” He groans, dragging a hand down his face. “Wow. I’m just gonna shut up now.”
You laugh.
It slips out unexpectedly, warm and sharp and painfully familiar.
His eyes soften when he hears it.
“Guess I’ll see you,” he says, backing toward his cart.
“Guess you will,” you answer.
He pauses, then adds, quieter, “I’m really glad I ran into you.”
“So am I,” you say, and you mean it — even though it scares you.
–
The next movie night is at Hopper’s cabin.
You stand in the driveway for a long second before you knock, keys cool and solid in your palm like an anchor. The windows glow warm against the dark, voices overlapping inside—too loud, too alive. Laughter punches through the wood of the door, Dustin’s unmistakable cackle cutting loudest.
You almost leave.
Almost.
Before you can talk yourself out of it, the door swings open.
“Hey!” Robin says, already grinning—and then she’s hugging you. Tight. Arms locked around your shoulders like she’s afraid if she lets go you’ll disappear. “You actually came.”
“Careful,” you mutter into her shoulder. “You’re gonna break a rib.”
She ignores that and squeezes once more before pulling back. “Worth it.”
The cabin smells like popcorn and woodsmoke and something questionable Eddie brought in a foil tray. The couch is already half-full—Lucas and Max twisted together at one end, Dustin sprawled on the floor with a blanket, Eddie perched on the armrest like furniture is more of a suggestion than a rule. Nancy looks up from where she’s setting drinks on the table and offers you a soft, relieved smile.
You step farther inside, shrugging off your jacket, trying to remember how to occupy space like this again.
And Steve—
Steve is in the kitchen.
He’s got his back to you, sleeves pushed up, hair a little wild like he forgot the mirror existed today. He’s holding a mug beneath the coffee pot, focused in a way that suggests he’s taking the task far too seriously.
“Okay,” he mutters to himself, barely audible over the noise. “Not boiling. That’s… probably important.”
You pause. For a second, it feels like stepping into a room you used to know by heart. Not rushed. Not heavy. Just him half-awake in your apartment kitchen, hair sticking up, leaning in to press a kiss to your temple while the coffee brewed.
You shake the memory loose and move farther into the room.
When he sees you, his expression shifts—subtle but unmistakable. Like tension easing from his shoulders, like something unknots behind his eyes before he can stop it. “You came,” he says, surprised enough that it doesn’t sound casual.
“I said I would.”
“Right,” he says, nodding once, then glancing down at the mug like he’s suddenly remembered it exists. “Uh— drink? Coffee, soda, whatever. Eddie tried to make punch again but I’m pretty sure it violates some kind of health code.”
“I’ll take coffee,” you say before you can stop yourself.
Your fingers brush his when you take the mug from his hand. The contact is brief. Barely anything. But still sparks something sharp and familiar, a lightning-bolt jolt that runs straight through you.
You retreat to the far end of the couch, heart beating a little too fast, mug warm in your hands. The taste is right. Warm. Familiar in a way you don’t examine too closely.
The movie ends sometime after midnight.
You don’t know exactly when it happens—only that at some point the room gets quieter, the sugar rush burns off, and the easy noise settles into something softer. Dustin is half-asleep on the floor, Lucas and Max murmuring to each other beneath a blanket. Eddie’s fallen into an argument with Robin about whether the movie counts as “cinema,” and Hopper has retreated to the doorway with a beer and a headache.
You stand to grab your jacket quietly, trying not to draw attention to yourself, almost making it to the door.
“Hey.” Steve’s voice isn’t loud. It’s careful, like he’s testing it out before committing. He’s standing near the couch, hands shoved in his pockets, the easy sprawl he usually carries himself with dialed back into something smaller. There’s a moment where it looks like he might say something else—but then he straightens, decision made.
“Are you heading out?”
“Yeah,” you say. “It’s late.”
He nods. “Right. Yeah. Makes sense.”
There’s a pause. The kind that asks for something without saying what.
“Do you want me to—” He cuts himself off, clears his throat. “I mean. I can walk you out if you want. It’s dark.”
You consider it. The driveway. The woods. The quiet that will follow once the door closes behind you.
“Okay,” you say.
The word seems to surprise him.
Outside, the night air is cool and sharp, the kind that seeps under your sleeves and wakes you up a little. Gravel crunches underfoot as you step down from the porch. The cabin behind you hums faintly with muted laughter, the sound softened by walls and distance.
Steve walks beside you, not too close. Just enough to be there.
They've filled the cracks in the ground near the treeline, patched the scars as best they can. It’s obvious where things broke anyway. Hawkins wears it quietly now.
“You good?” he asks after a moment.
“Yeah,” you say. “I think so.”
He hums, not convinced but not pushing.
“Thanks for coming,” he adds. “I know it probably wasn’t… easy.”
You glance at him. His gaze is fixed ahead, jaw set, like he’s afraid if he looks at you he’ll read too much into whatever expression he finds.
“I’m glad I did,” you say.
That earns you a quick look. Something warm flickers there before he reins it in. Steve stops a few steps back, rocking on his heels. “So. Uh. Next time—if you don’t feel like staying long, that’s okay. Or if you don’t come. Or if you—” He exhales, frustrated with himself. “I’m bad at this.”
“At what?”
He hesitates. “Inviting people without making it weird.”
You smile softly. “You’re doing okay.”
He studies that answer like he’s checking it for cracks. “Good,” he says. “Then… next time?”
You nod. “Next time.”
A beat passes. Another.
“Night,” he says.
“Night, Steve.”
You get in the car, shut the door, and don’t pull away right away. Through the windshield, you see him still standing there, hands in his pockets, watching until your headlights come on.
And for the first time in a while, the quiet that follows doesn’t feel empty.
It feels… anticipatory.
–
You never say it out loud.
You barely admit it to yourself.
But some small, stubborn part of you still hopes that one day he’ll remember.
And on the days when that feels like tempting fate — like asking the universe for something it’s already taken — you hope instead that time will do what it always promises to do.
Soften things.
Sand the edges.
Turn this ache into something survivable.
Because loving him like this feels less like healing and more like erosion. A slow wearing-down. A thing you can’t stop without walking away completely — so, you learn how to exist in this strange in-between.
Movie nights blur into sleepovers. Dinners turn into late evenings where no one wants to be the first to leave, because empty houses feel louder now. You show up, linger, and leave early. But Steve keeps finding his way to you.
Not pointedly.
Not obviously.
Just… naturally.
He doesn’t remember you — not in the way that matters — but his attention keeps skidding in your direction all the same. Catching on little things he can’t explain.
The way you tuck your hair behind your ear when you’re thinking.
The sound of your laugh, which seems to echo oddly in his chest, like he’s heard it before in a dream.
It starts small.
At a crowded diner table, he ends up across from you, shoulder tipped just slightly in your direction. He asks what you’re getting and then orders something new from the menu. When the food comes, you trade plates without discussing why, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
At the arcade, he drifts closer as the place fills, not invading your space so much as silently claiming it. He leans in over the din of machines to say something stupid about high scores, his mouth near your ear, his voice pitched only for you. When you laugh, he smiles like he forgot what he was going to say next, eyes lingering a beat too long before he looks away. Later, when you step back to grab tokens, he follows without realizing — like you pulled him there with an invisible thread.
Sometimes it’s quieter than that.
You sit on the hood of someone’s car after a long night, the air cool and damp, everyone else talking in loose clusters behind you. Steve leans beside you, forearms braced on the metal, eyes on the stars like he’s trying to map something familiar.
“You ever think Hawkins feels… smaller?” he asks.
You hum. “Yeah.”
He smiles at that. “Good. Thought it was just me.”
He asks questions.
Small ones. Safe ones.
“What do you order at diners?”
“Have you always lived around here?”
“Were you always into that music, or did it just… happen?”
He listens when you answer. Really listens. And every time, something in you tightens — because it would be easier if he didn’t.
He saves you a seat. Hands you his jacket without comment when the night cools. Walks you home after group dinners even though his place is in the opposite direction. He says it’s late. That it’s dark. That it’s not a big deal. He keeps pace with you anyway, close enough that your arms brush when the sidewalk narrows.
Sometimes you talk about everything.
Sometimes you don’t talk at all.
Either way, it feels dangerously close to intimacy — the kind you’re no longer sure you’re allowed to have.
That’s when you start to think of it as a slow death.
Because leaving always hurts.
And staying close somehow hurts worse.
–
Of course you notice Nancy.
You always have.
She’s impossible not to notice — all sharp edges and sharper mind, fearless in a way that feels deliberate. You respect her. You always have. That almost makes this harder to stomach.
You notice the way Steve looks at her sometimes. Like he’s lining up memory against reality and trying to see where they overlap.
You know what the last clear thing he remembers feeling is. You heard about the conversation in the back of the vehicle — whispered hopes about kids and road trips and growing old. A future shaped in the middle of chaos.
Not with you.
If his memories never circle back to you… why wouldn’t they land on her instead? Why wouldn’t that path feel safer? Simpler?
So when you step out onto the cabin porch for air and find them there, your chest sinks before either of them even speaks.
They aren’t standing close. They aren’t touching. But they’re angled toward each other, voices low and serious, framed by the soft glow spilling out from the cabin behind them. You don’t hear the words.
You don’t have to.
You see Steve lean back against the railing, hand rubbing the back of his neck. A gesture you know by heart — the one that means something matters.
Nancy’s posture is steady. Arms crossed. Expression soft but intent. Like she’s anchoring him through something delicate. Personal.
Your stomach drops.
The screen door creaks behind you before you can stop it.
Both of them turn.
“I was just—” Nancy starts.
“I’m—” you say at the same time, already stepping back. “Sorry. It’s getting late.”
Steve takes a half step forward. “You don’t have to—”
“It’s fine,” you interrupt, forcing a small smile that feels brittle on your face. “Really. I need to head home anyway.”
You don’t wait for a response. But by the time you reach your car, your hands are shaking. You don’t tell yourself not to cry, just let the thought settle, heavy and unkind in your chest:
Maybe he doesn’t remember you because he wasn’t meant to.
–
The porch is quiet, washed in the soft hum of insects and the distant noise from inside the cabin.
Steve leans back against the railing, elbows locked, gaze drifting out toward the dark tree line.
“I mean… you and Jonathan seem good,” he says, glancing over at Nancy. “Like you figured things out.”
Nancy hesitates. It’s subtle — just a slight shift of her shoulders — but it’s there.
“And how does that make you feel?” she asks carefully.
Steve lets out a breath. Not heavy. Not shaky. Thoughtful.
“I remember what I said before,” he admits. “What I wanted. Or what I thought I wanted.” He rubs a hand over the back of his neck. “And I know that mattered. It mattered a lot.”
“But?” Nancy prompts gently.
“But it doesn’t feel like that anymore,” Steve says, frustration edging into his voice. “That’s the part that’s messing with me.”
She doesn’t interrupt.
He gestures vaguely, like he can’t quite grab onto the thought, “I remember loving you,“I remember being so sure. But when I picture my life now…” he continues, a faint frown pulling at his brow, “it doesn’t land there. I keep waiting for that feeling to come back. Like I’m supposed to want that future again. And I don’t.”
Nancy studies him for a long moment. Then she smiles — small, soft, and understanding.
“That means you’re healing,” she says quietly. “Even if it doesn’t feel like it yet.”
Steve exhales, shoulders easing just a little, then adds, “I am happy for you, though. For you and Jonathan.” A corner of his mouth lifts. “I’m… actually glad we’re friends now. All of us. That part feels right.”
–
Eddie’s trailer is quiet in a way Steve still isn’t used to.
Not peaceful — just empty between sounds.
He lies awake on the mattress, staring up at a crack in the ceiling he’s been tracking for the past ten minutes. It vaguely resembles Indiana. Or a boot. Or nothing at all. His brain won’t settle on it.
His chest feels… off.
Not tight. Not panicked. Just restless — like something is vibrating just underneath his ribs, an irritant he can’t scratch.
He rolls onto his side. Then his other side. Then onto his back again.
“Come on,” he mutters under his breath, pressing his palms flat against his stomach like that might help. “You’re exhausted.”
He is. He knows he is.
But every time his eyes start to drift closed, something tugs him back.
A sense of… unfinishedness.
He exhales and lets his gaze drift, unfocused, toward the dim outline of the wall. He doesn’t fight the thought when it comes this time.
You - like a gravity point.
The way you listen. The way you pause before laughing, like you’re deciding whether to let yourself. The quiet steadiness of you, the way being around you makes his shoulders drop without him noticing until afterward.
His mouth curves slightly, fond despite himself.
He drags a hand down his face. “This is ridiculous,” he mutters, though there’s no heat in it. “I don’t even—”
The thought stalls.
Because that’s not true.
It’s not just liking you. It hasn’t been for a while now. Not the way his chest reacts when you walk into a room. Not the way he keeps finding reasons to stand near you, talk to you, walk you home like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
The realization settles, heavy and unmistakable.
I’m in love with her.
The word doesn’t scare him.
If anything, it feels like relief — like finally naming something that’s been quietly demanding his attention for weeks.
He stares up at the ceiling, breathing slow and even.
“Okay,” he whispers to the dark. “Okay.”
Tomorrow, then.
He’ll ask you out. Nothing big. Just honest — just the feeling in his chest that hasn’t been wrong yet.
The restless pull eases, finally dulling into something warm.
Sleep comes softly, catching him mid-thought.
–
He wakes with a sharp gasp.
For a disorienting second, all he knows is pain — bright and sudden behind his eyes, like someone just switched on a light inside his skull. He fumbles blindly, squinting at the dim red numbers on the clock.
3:07 a.m.
He sucks in a sharp breath, hand flying to his face as he squeezes his eyes shut. The room feels wrong. Too unfamiliar. Too small. His heart is pounding hard enough that he can hear it in his ears.
“Shit,” he mutters hoarsely.
He sits up too fast and the world tilts. For half a second, he doesn’t know where he is — doesn’t know whose blanket he’s holding, why the air smells like cigarettes and old flannel instead of detergent and burnt coffee.
Then it hits him.
He’s on his feet before the thought finishes forming, bare chest goosebumping in the cold air, the floor icy under his soles. He stumbles into Eddie’s chair, sends it clattering, doesn’t even slow down.
Eddie jerks awake with a startled noise. “What the—?”
Steve yanks the door open, cold air slamming into him.
“I gotta go,” he blurts over his shoulder, voice hoarse and urgent. “I—I gotta go right now.”
Eddie blinks. Then smiles, tired and knowing and soft at the edges. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “Figured.”
The night air burns his lungs, sharp and unforgiving. Asphalt bites into his feet, each step a jolt of pain he registers distantly, like it’s happening to someone else. Streetlights streak past as he sprints, chest heaving, breath puffing white.
By the time he reaches your building, his heart is trying to beat its way out of his ribs. He takes the steps two at a time, slips at the landing, catches himself on the railing.
He pounds on the door with both fists.
Once. Twice. Again.
“Please,” he breathes, forehead pressed to the wood. “Please.”
The door opens.
You’re standing there in an oversized sleep shirt, hair a mess, confusion still clinging to your expression.
Steve can’t speak. For a split second, he just stares — at your eyes, wide and alarmed; at the familiar hallway behind you; at the sad, wilted spider plant hanging near the keys.
“Steve?” you ask, voice thick with sleep. “What—are you okay? Why are you—”
Your gaze drops.
Bare feet. Red and scraped. His chest rising and falling too fast. No jacket. No shoes.
“Did you run here?” you start, alarm bleeding into your voice. “Steve, you’re barefoot—”
He doesn’t let you finish.
He steps forward, hands coming up to your face like muscle memory finally given permission, and kisses you.
It’s not careful.
It’s not slow.
It’s desperate and grounding all at once, like he needs the contact to convince himself you’re real. His mouth crashes into yours, breath shaky, lips cold from the night, kissing you like he’s been holding this in for weeks without knowing why.
You freeze for half a heartbeat.
Then you melt into it.
Your hands fist into his shoulders, pulling him closer, anchoring him as his breath stutters against your mouth. When you finally pull back, you’re both breathing hard.
“I remember,” he says, voice breaking on the word.
You still.
“What?” you breathe.
“I remember everything,” he says again, softer this time. “You. Us. The apartment. The fights and the good parts and the stupid plant you kept forgetting to water.” A shaky laugh escapes him. “I fell asleep thinking about you and the next thing I knew, I woke up and it was just… there. Like my brain finally caught up.”
Your breath stutters. “Steve—”
His hands are still caressing your face when the words start to tumble out of you, messy and panicked now that he’s really here.
“Steve, I— I’m sorry,” you stammer, tears already blurring everything. “The doctor… he said we couldn’t force it. Said it could hurt you, and I— I,” Your voice breaks. “… wondered if maybe this was your chance to go back. To something easier. Someone…” You swallow hard. “Maybe Nancy. Maybe someone better than me.”
He makes a broken sound in his throat and shakes his head, eyes shining, completely undone.
“No,” he says hoarsely, shaking his head against your skin. “No, no— don’t do that.”.
You keep going anyway, breath hitching. “I thought if you never remembered me.. You could go back to-”
He cuts you off by kissing you.
Not your mouth this time, but your forehead. Your temple. The corner of your eye, where tears are still spilling over. Your cheek. Everywhere he can reach, like he’s trying to erase the words before they can carve permanent scars into you.
“Hey,” he whispers, voice shaking. “Hey. Look at me. You really thought forgetting you would make me want someone else?”
You meet his eyes and lose the fight to stay composed altogether, you sob, nodding helplessly.
He’s crying now too — tears slipping down unchecked, mouth trembling as he cups your face tighter, like you might break if he doesn’t hold you together.
“There is no someone better,” he says, voice rough and earnest and wrecked. “There never was. Not even when I didn’t remember. Not even then.”
He presses his forehead to yours, breathing hard, thumbs brushing desperately over your cheeks.
“Even when I didn’t remember you,” he continues, tears falling freely now, breath uneven, “I still wanted you. And I still couldn’t stop wanting to be near you. Couldn’t stop looking for you in rooms. Couldn’t stop feeling wrong when you weren’t there. Every instinct in me knew something was missing, and it was always you.”
A sob shakes through him, “I fell asleep thinking about you, wondering how to ask you out without screwing it up. Wondering why not being near you made my chest hurt. I fell in love with you all over again,” he says shakily.
You press your hands to his chest, feeling his heart racing under your palms.
“My sweet silly girl,” he breathes, voice cracking wide open. He kisses your mouth then — soft, aching, sure. “I’d find you in every lifetime.”
One Step Away From You Masterlist
(Eddie Munson x Plus Size!Fem!Reader/You)
A Best Friends to Enemies to Best Friends to Lovers fic.
18+ MDNI
Chapters:
1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7
You move back to Hawkins after 3 years away to finish out your senior year. Can you salvage the friendship you once had with your ex best friend, Eddie? Will you be able to push down your deeper feelings for him, or will it all come bubbling out in disaster?
Author's blurb/Fic Warnings: Eddie and Reader are both flawed, traumatized babies but they're trying their best! Y/N will only be used in dialogue, and I'll try my best to keep it at a minimum. The events of Eddie's Flight of Icarus book is canon, but you don't need to have necessarily read it to read this fic (relevant parts will be mentioned and explained). There is no upside down in this fic universe. Friendships outside of Eddie with Steve, Robin, and the younger kids will be relevant and explored. Fic will contain mentions of toxic family relationships, substance use (cigarettes, weed, alcohol), mental health struggles (anxiety, depression, etc.), and some fatphobia/insecurities and bullying. Reader is plus sized and overall comfortable/confident in their body, but still struggles with some moments of insecurity. I will go into more detail with warnings by chapter!
Slow burn, idiots in love, mutual pining. There will be angst, but mostly fluff, and a little smut ;)
ALSO idk about y'all, but I maladaptive daydream about Eddie with music a lot, it's where I come up with most of my ideas. I have a whole Spotify playlist dedicated to it with songs from 86' and before that I'd listen to as a teen in Hawkins in 86'. SO, music will be incorporated into the fic. The fic title itself is from Shot in the Dark by Ozzy Osbourne.
If anyone is interested in being added to a taglist for each chapter, just comment, message, or send me an ask!
it's been seven hours and fifteen days
summary: in a world where an object lost by someone is always found by their soulmate, you have a box full of them, and you know they belong to your best friend. he doesn't, though. in fact, he doesn't even believe in soulmates. that box never stops growing, not even when you leave, not even five years later, when you meet again in a much different time in your lives.
warnings: friends to strangers to lovers, soulmate!au, angst with a happy ending, loads of flashbacks, miscommunication, second chances. no use of y/n, but she is referred to by a nickname (joan).
prologue
part one
part two
part four
part three
part five
All Roads Lead to Love?
Summary: A chance encounter with a young patient with a universe-bending Quirk makes you realize, across the multiverse, perhaps the safe reality you're living currently is missing just one simple detail.
Alternatively - you are in love with Izuku Midoriya in any universe except this one. Supposedly.
Pairings: Izuku x Reader
CW: sci-fi-esque, alternate realities, miscommunication, comedy, love triangle (tail-end of one), doctor, Hero!reader
A/N: Crossposted on AO3!
Chapter I
Chapter II
Chapter III
TBD
WOVEN TOGETHER ━━━ remus lupin x reader
━━━ 𖥻︰ 2091 words
summary: despite your best efforts, remus lupin might just become your friend.
pairing: remus lupin x reader
tags: platonic remus lupin x reader, she/her pronouns, reader is a gryffindor the same year as the marauders, shy reader, mentions of anxiety
The common room was one of your least favourite places to be, but your dorm room was worse, so there you were. It was getting late, and you had a potions assignment due the next day, so you were sitting in a quiet corner trying to work on it. Well, trying to want to work on it. You were only just passing by the skin of your teeth, and if you failed this essay then it would bring your grade down from an Acceptable to a Poor, and that meant that you wouldn’t be able to get the NEWTS you needed. You weren’t sure what those NEWTS were, as the idea of having to do anything after finishing school filled you with fear, but you figured it probably would have something to do with potions. You sort of just picked the electives you enjoyed and then did your best.
Unfortunately, your best didn’t seem to be good enough with this essay, as you had been working on it nonstop for the past four days and you still had another 10 inches of parchment left.
“Disfigurement,” a voice came from above you. You looked up from your homework at a boy, looking bashfully at your parchment.
“Excuse me?”
He had the good graces to look embarrassed by the way you were looking up at him. “Disfigurement is one of the major side affects of using lacewing flies in the potion, a big part of the reason that it’s level three restricted by the ministry,”
Now, normally, a man standing above you and explaining something that you already knew would absolutely ruin your day, Merlin only knew it happened often enough. But normally, the men doing it didn’t look like they were talking about it out of pure interest.
His eyes got slightly dimmer as he realised your annoyance, a darkened honey colour that people wrote songs about. “Sorry, I should’ve- Just because you paused writing doesn’t mean you didn’t know what you were talking about. Sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it.” You decided on after a minute. You knew who he was, of course, you didn’t spend seven years in the same grade as someone without learning their name, but you were nearly one hundred percent certain he didn’t know yours.
“I just came over for…” he gestured uselessly at the small collection of cups on the table beside you, with a metal pitcher of ice cold water that stayed full no matter how much you poured it. A group of boys in your year had tried to use it to flood the common room one time. You had a sneaking suspicion the boy in front of you had been involved, despite the fact that he never received detention for it like the others did.
“Go for it.”
He poured two glasses of water and paused, looking at you. “I really am sorry. I’ve offended you.”
“I’m not offended,” you replied honestly. “I normally would be, but I’ll allow it just this once.”
The boy cracked a smile, slightly crooked, and it evened out his whole face, as though he had been created just to smile like that. “Thank you, then.” He corrected softly. “For not being offended by my interruption.” He put the cups down gently and looked for a moment as though he might shake your hand, before thinking better of it and leaving them hanging uselessly by his side. “I’m Remus.”
“So I’ve heard,” you didn’t mean to sound pretentious. “I just mean- we share a lot of classes, so I’ve seen you around a lot.” Now it was your turn to be embarrassed.
Remus continued smiling. “No, I know. I see you all the time. You always snag the good table in the library.” He gestured to you, testing your name out experimentally on his tongue, as though afraid to get it wrong. You nodded.
You liked studying in the library because it made you feel like an actual student. Doing homework on your bed, while the more common alternative, made you feel as though you were doing it wrong somehow. As if, because you hadn’t put in the effort to go all the way to the library and bring your study materials with you that you didn’t deserve to do well on whatever it is you were working on. “Do I?” your voice sounded far away, even to yourself.
“I’ll forgive you, though,” Remus said good naturedly, noticing your change in tone. This interaction had gone on far too long for your liking. You were beginning to feel exhausted. How embarrassing.
Talking to strangers for longer than ten seconds makes my stomach do a backflip, you thought bitterly to yourself. That was why your dorm room didn’t feel as welcoming as it was perhaps meant to. The girls in there talked, like they were friends. And they were friends, it was easy to see that.
You’d been so removed when you first started at Hogwarts, when you were only eleven. So overwhelmed by the hundreds of rooms and the hundreds of students, that when your roommates stayed up all night chattering and getting to know one another, you had felt nothing inside you aside from a desire to go to sleep. It took weeks before your nerves calmed enough to even attempt to contribute to their conversations, and by the time you had realised that maybe you did want to be friends with them, they had accepted your silence.
You gave Remus an awkward smile, the polar opposite of the one he’d given you. As if your grinning was a defect, not something you were designed to do. Sometimes it felt like maybe you weren’t.
He was still standing there. How could you make him go away without explicitly telling him to? You felt nauseous, squirmy under his gaze. Why hadn’t he left yet? “That essay Slughorn gave us is a real doozy, isn’t it?”
You cracked a real, genuine smile at his word choice. You didn’t know anyone who used the word ‘doozy’ and the best part was, it seemed to be entirely unironic. “Yeah, I guess.”
“I was planning on spending the afternoon up in the library, working on it.” His hand fiddled with the hem of his button-up. “Any chance I could sit at the good table?”
You nodded almost instantly. “Yeah, no, sure. It’s all yours. Sorry, I didn’t mean to hog.”
“You’re not,” he let out a breathy laugh. “You’re jumpy, aren’t you?” You felt it, and your cheeks burned at the notion that he could tell. “If you wanted to still study at your same table, and I was also to study there, both of us in complete silence, then I don’t think that would be so bad?”
Remus could see that you wanted to say no, and he didn’t want to push it if you were clearly uninterested, but he also knew that it had been seven years of you being the only Gryffindor girl he’d never spoken to, and also being the only Gryffindor girl he’d ever felt a strong desire to speak to. The others were great, sure, Lily and Marlene had become friends to him more concretely now that Lily and James were seeing each other, and Alice had always been sweet. You, on the other hand, had been described by your roommates as sad. Not ‘pathetic’ sad, but a more deep sadness.
“She’s awfully kind,” Marlene had told him once, hushed in the back of a History Against Magic Lesson. He hadn’t remembered how your name had been brought up. “Think she just likes it quiet.”
“The table’s yours,” you offered. “It’s okay. I can just study down here, it’s warmer.”
“It’s louder, though,” Remus reasoned. “Up there there’s no… well, no guys coming over here to explain something you probably already understand.”
“I thought you said you were going to be there?” You were genuinely confused at what he was asking of you by this point, but he laughed it off. You staved off a frown.
“I always find that homework is nicest when you’ve got someone there,” he offered finally. “Even if you’re not talking, just purely sitting there.”
You didn’t see how that would help at all. You’d probably be too distracted by anyone to even get any work done. But, you realised with a start, the notion of someone wanting to spend time in your vicinity, as innocent as Remus’s intentions were, made your heart ache.
He probably just wanted to be able to sit at the good table without putting you rout, you understood that. But at the same time, if he really wanted to sit there, and he really wanted to not disrupt your routine, then you didn’t see why not, even though maintaining eye contact with him for any longer than a second felt as though you were going to combust in a caramel-irised explosion.
“You can come,” you conceded, gently, hoping as not to come off rude or too territorial about your space. Perhaps it would be better if you studied outside, or in an empty classroom. That way you weren’t getting in his way.
“Excellent,” he was talking too loud, and he could tell that by the way you shrank back in your seat. “Maybe I can finally get my transfiguration grade up, Merlin knows you’re doing well in that class.”
Why would he say that? That made him come across as a stalker who knew all your grades. He hoped you didn’t think that implied you did need help in potions. Your reactions weren’t giving him much, and it was making him nervous. He definitely shouldn’t have come over here, but he had been scrambling for something to say, and now he had to take water over despite the fact that no one had asked for water.
“I’m sure you’ll be fine.” You closed your textbook so gently it didn’t even made a paper noise as the cover closed. “But if you really do need help, then I might be able to.” You offered him one final smile, cheeks tinged with a visible blush.
You hoped he couldn’t see how dizzy you were getting. You wanted to go sleep and pretend this was all a dream so you could go back to ignoring Remus’s existence like he could go back to ignoring yours.
Unfortunately for you, though, he’d found your little hidey-hole study space that you occupied yesterday, coming in to tease you light heartedly about abandoning him for transfiguration. You didn’t not want to talk to Remus, it was nothing about him. He’d been nothing but sweet and funny in the very limited interactions you’d shared, you were the issue.
“Should’ve known you’d ditch me,” he’d said with a sigh as he sat down, opening his textbook up. You found you didn’t mind his being there as long as you weren’t expected to contribute much to the conversation.
“Thought it would be obvious.” You’d attempted to match his airiness in your tone. It came out strangled.
He sighed gently. “I wanted to pretend it wasn’t so, sweetheart. I thought you and me had something special. I told you about disfigurement in potions and you tell me about disfigurement in transfiguration.”
He’d been attempting to do the spell for about an hour, trying to turn a ball of yarn into a scarf. It was a simple spell that’d normally be of no issue to him, but he just couldn’t get it this time.
After nearly forty minutes of mumbling all but silently to himself so as not to disturb you, you had enough. You reached over and, so delicately he’d thought at first it was simply a breeze, uttered the spell while controlling his hand movements. A long, thickly knitted navy scarf burst from the ball of wool, landing pooled by his crossed legs. You looked up at him, expecting to be reprimanded for the touching, knowing you would have done exactly the same.
“You’re not real,” he said after a moment. Sometimes you felt that way too. “We’re officially studying together every time, now.” He grinned to himself, picking up the scarf and wrapping it securely around your neck multiple times, tucking the ends in to your jumper. It was soft. “Every single time, you little wonder.” You maybe didn’t mind as much this time as you had when he’d last suggested it. Your smile was almost hidden behind the mass of fabric you’d just helped him conjure, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t see it.
of moons and gowns / r. lupin
remus lupin x reader; royal!au
part 1
a/n: here´s part 2!!!! this is the end of this specific storyline, but if you're interested in deeing specific scenarios in this au, send in a request! i hope you enjoy this! i had a lot of fun writing.
tw: mentions of abuse and torture.
summary: the life of a servant in the palace was hectic. the life of a servant in the palace who so happened to get along with the princes, was even more so.
In the days that followed your encounter with Prince Remus in the palace corridors, life took an unexpected turn. The upcoming royal ball was now tinged with the prospect of attending as Prince Remus's guest. You tried not to dwell on it however, as you knew it was probably an attempt to get on your nerves or play a light joke on you as James and Sirius often did.
Still, not much energy was left to dwell on the invitation as the palace was a hive of activity and you were at the center of it. Chores multiplied, and you found yourself engulfed in a whirlwind of tasks, leaving little room for leisure or the company of your royal friends.
The days blended together in a blur of scrubbing, polishing, and arranging, all under the watchful eyes of strict supervisors ensuring perfection for the impending event.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the palace grounds, you finally trudged back to your modest chambers. Your limbs ached, and weariness clung to every step, but the promise of rest spurred you forward.
Upon entering your room the crowd of maids gathered near one of the beds caught your attention. And as you started to unpin your hair you approached them.
“What are you lot staring at?”
Your presence took them by surprise, as they all rapidly turned their heads toward you with huge grins.
“You may not want to settle down just yet”, Lucy said with a mischievous tone,
You raised an eyebrow as you realized they were all huddled around your bed, and that there was something laying on top.
“It looks like you’ve caught the attention of yet another prince”, she said as you inspected the beautiful blue, silk dress that had been left extended neatly on your bed.
Your mind was racing at a thousand miles per minute as you reached for the small piece of paper that sat neatly next to the dress.
You opened it and felt as the rest of the girls peered over your shoulder.
In the chaos of these hectic days, I thought a respite might be in order. Please consider this an invitation (rather than a command) to join me for dinner. I promise not to bore you with tedious tales of courtly affairs or James and Sirius’ latest plan (unless, of course, you insist).
I’ll wait for you at the gardens at 8.
Yours sincerely,
Remus
You could feel your cheeks warm up. Dinner with Remus Lupin had been the furthest thing from your mind when you started your day of chores. Yet, as you slipped into the dress laid out on your bed and your hair was once again tamed into soft waves by your fellow maids, you couldn't suppress the flutter of excitement in your chest.
The evening air was crisp and scented with the fragrance of blooming flowers as you strolled through the garden. The soft glow of lanterns illuminated the way, casting dancing shadows on the cobblestone walkways.
You fiddled with your fingers as you made your way towards the center of the garden where you found a picnic set up, and sitting on a nearby stone bench was Prince Remus with a book in his hand.
You didn’t know what you were expecting, but it definitely wasn’t this. A picnic seemed almost too mundane for a prince. But in a strange way it made you feel comforted. You would rather have this than a big elaborate dinner.
As if on cue, Remus seemed to notice you. He closed his book and set it down quickly as he stood up. He was wearing a loose white shirt underneath a blue waistcoat along with some trousers and boots. He looked terribly handsome.
“There you are”, he said as he approached you with a gentle smile. “I must admit, I wasn’t sure if you were going to come”.
You said nothing and offered him a sheepish smile instead. You still weren’t sure how you were supposed to behave with him.
“You look beautiful,” he said as he offered you a hand, which you took and allowed yourself to be led to the blanket laid out on the ground.
“Thank you, your majesty. I must say that I’ve never worn a dress like this”, you replied. “Besides, if I may be so bold, you look rather dashing yourself”.
He sat next to you and smiled. “Please, just call me Remus”.
You remained quiet for a second before daring to look up at him with the smallest of smirks. “Is that an order?”
He bit his tongue, trying to suppress the smile that crept onto his face, but failing. “It’s a request.”
“As you wish then…Remus,” you said as you tried to suppress a teasing smile of your own.
With that settled, a satisfied Remus reached out for the basket as he began unpacking.
You sat down along with him; your flowy dress falling around you.
"I hope you like strawberry tarts," Remus said, holding one out to you on a small plate. "They're my favorite."
You accepted the tart graciously, taking a small bite and savoring the burst of flavor. "They're delicious," you remarked, genuinely impressed.
Remus smiled warmly, pleased by your reaction. "I'm glad you think so. I had to ask Euphemia for her recipe. But, I must admit, I had a bit of help from the palace chefs. They insisted after seeing me covered in flour."
His revelation made you laugh. It was endearing to think about the crown prince of Crescenwatch flustered in the kitchen while covered in flour.
“While I do appreciate the intention, next time let me stick to the baking”, you said amidst a fit of giggles.
He lowered his head slightly and with a soft smirk peered over his lashes. “So there will be a next time?”
You worried at your lip and stared at him contemplatively. “That’s not really up to me”, you replied with a soft smile while raising your eyebrows.
He made a soft sound of understanding before changing the topic once again. The conversation flowed effortlessly as both of you made your way through the food Remus had prepared, and exchanged stories about your respective days. His down-to-earth demeanor put you at ease. In no time you were as comfortable with him as you were with James or Sirius. And as the night passed, you found yourself laughing freely at Remus's witty remarks. The initial awkwardness between you, now gone.
Remus joined in on your laughter, and he tried to suppress the pride he relished in whenever he managed to make you smile and giggle. Still, the twinkle in his eyes was not easily hidden.
The sound of chirping birds brought you back to reality after a long while. It was then that you realized that you had spent all night out with Remus. What was supposed to be a small dinner, had turned into a full evening with the prince.
You looked at him, lying down on his side, supported by his elbow as he stared at you. You couldn’t help but laugh with slight delirium. The lack of sleep had started to get to you, and the situation you were in (which in normal circumstances would have frustrated you with the thoughts of the day ahead), humored you.
He seemed to share your amusement as he laughed along with you.
“I have to get going,” you said finally as you stood up and patted down your wrinkled dress.
Remus hurriedly stood up. He tried to fix himself up, his waistcoat had long been discarded and his white shirt had been untucked.”Let me walk you back”.
You smiled as you slipped your slippers back on. “That’s alright my prince. You don’t need to do that.”
Remus tilted his head and gently tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “Don’t tell me you’re going back to formalities now. Besides, I insist”.
You chuckled. “Sorry, force of habit. If it makes you feel better, I still call James and Sirius by their titles sometimes”.
He chuckled. “But I’m not Sirius, or James, am I?”, he said, trying to get you to look at him.
Your cheeks warmed up. And in your flustered state, you could not muster up a witty answer. Butterflies fluttered around in your stomach, making you feel all tingly inside.
He seemed to relish in this small victory. Whilst in your flustered state, he offered you his arm, which you took, and with the picnic basket in his other hand, he walked you back to your chambers.
The path to your chambers had seemed to become shorter than you remembered it. On a usual day, they seemed to be impossibly far from where you needed them, but as of right now, they couldn’t have been far enough.
“I had a great night, thank you for inviting me,” you said as you stared up at him.
“Thank you for coming,” he replied.
A brief moment of silence passed between the two of you , trying to make this moment linger as long as possible. Still, you knew it couldn’t.
“I should…go…” you breathed out with a sad smile. You turned to open the door and walked in with one final smile. However the calling of your name made you stop in your tracks.
“I…I just-”, it was the first time you had seen Remus this nervous. His usual calm and composed demeanor was what you’ve grown accustomed to, and to a certain extent, it seemed weird for a prince like him to become this speechless, especially with a servant such as yourself.
“I don’t mind being called a prince…”, a small pause. “Your prince.”
A smile broke out through your features, it seemed that you couldn’t stop yourself when you were around him. You stood on your tiptoes and lightly kissed his cheek.
“Thank you for such a wonderful evening, my prince”. And with that, you turned on your heels and walked into your chambers.
✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦
Unfortunately, your dream-like evening had to remain on the back of your mind the next few days. With the ball approaching, the bustling around the palace had increased. Young yourself running around more than usual, so much so that you barely had any time left for meals or even alone time. You were currently occupied with the flower arrangements in the main ballroom. A calming chore like this was a nice change of pace from the usual, more strenuous things you had to attend to.
You were lost in your thoughts as your fingers danced along the stems of various sorts of flowers. Either cutting leaves or thorns. Despite the enjoyment of preparing the flower arrangements, you had to make them with certain speed and agility, which is why various small cuts littered your hands.
“Ah, here she is,” a voice echoed through the room, followed by the sound of tumultuous footsteps.
“Good morning Sirius”, you said without taking your eyes off of your task. “Good morning James”.
“And a good morning to you too!” James yelled back, as if he was saying something threatening.
“Is there something I can help you with?”
“Yes actually,” said Sirius. “You can start by telling us what enchantment you have placed on our Moony”.
You chuckled, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Maybe this will ring a bell. Tall, charming, handsome, dorky man with a lovesick smile that was previously not there?” James said as he peeked over your shoulder looking at the arrangement of flowers.
“He is quite handsome”.
“Yes well, we all know that already. What we want to know is why is he acting like a teenager all of a sudden?” Sirius pressed.
“He is?”
“Well, if talking all day long about the pretty girl he asked to ball, and how he loves how she rebukes every flirty commentary he throws at her isn’t acting like a lovesick teenager, I don’t know what is”, James replied.
“He thinks I’m pretty?”
Sirius sighed in exasperation. “They’re both hopeless”.
“Yes yes, you’re pretty, I’m impossibly charming,” James jumped in. “Setting the obvious aside. Will you tell us what has been going on between the two of you?”
With a nervous smile you finished with the arrangement and finally turned to face them. You realized that this was uncharted territory for you. Sure, your friendship with the princes was very close and you could tell each other almost everything (they surely took advantage of that). However, you had never talked about other boys with them.
With trembling hands you lowered your gaze and twisted your fingers before supplying them with the answer they had been bugging you about. “We sort of went on a date. At least, that’s what I think it was”.
Silence.
And then raucous, ear-splitting screams of what you hoped was joy.
James was jumping up and down while Sirius ran his hands through his hair and paced around.
“And?” James said with a huge grin as he approached you like a madman.
“And what?”
“And how did it go?”
With a grin of your own, you explained how your date had gone. However, you kept the specifics to yourself, relishing in those hidden moments that no one had been witness to.
As you spoke of your date with the prince, you couldn't help but notice the eager anticipation in James's eyes and the barely contained excitement in Sirius's demeanor. Their enthusiasm was infectious, but you knew better than to let it sway you. After all, you were just a servant, and the idea of something more with someone like Remus was not in the cards for you.
“So you’re coming right?” James asked. You could practically see the cogs working in his brain.
“What do you mean?”
“To the ball, of course”,Sirius replied.
Your heart sank. The prospect of attending such an event seemed like a cruel joke, a reminder of the gaping divide between your world and theirs. You knew they meant well. They often ignored the blatant divide between you, how scandalous it would be for someone like you to be seen with someone like them in an event of that magnitude. Their words were a painful reminder of the barriers that stood between you.
You looked at them with a sad smile. “You know I can’t. For all I know that night was a one time thing. I’m a servant, we don’t get to mingle amongst royalty”.
As Sirius's expression soured and he began to voice his objections, you felt a pang of frustration building within you. Him out of all people should understand. His anger only served to fuel your own, and before you could stop yourself, you interrupted him, your voice tinged with a hint of desperation.
"Please don't," you pleaded, your words a whispered plea. "I've made my peace with it. It's been hard enough."
With a heavy heart, you gathered the discarded stems and leaves in your basket, your movements automatic as you sought solace in the familiar routine of your duties.
Leaving behind a perplexed James and an angry Sirius, you made your escape, the weight of your conflicting emotions pressing down on you like a burden too heavy to bear. As you walked away, the echoes of their voices faded into the distance, leaving you alone with your thoughts and the ever-present reminder of your place amongst their world.
✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦
It had been a couple days now since your small fight with the royals. You had been avoiding them -all of them.
You had asked one of your fellow maids to take your turns in tending to their fireplace or taking the breakfast, in exchange for other duties. She had happily done so, despite her brief worry for what must have caused such a request.
You could not say that you did not miss your friends. Your life at the palace was made fun by their antics -even if they did stress you out sometimes-. But the thought of facing them, of being reminded of your place in the hierarchy, was enough to keep you away.
As the night of the ball arrived, you found yourself busy with other chores, anything to keep your mind off the lavish event taking place in the ballroom. You scrubbed floors, dusted shelves, and tended to the gardens, the rhythmic motions a comforting distraction from the festivities happening just a few corridors away.
It would be a lie to say that you hadn’t specifically requested to not attend the ball, and instead you had taken on double the amount of chores you usually did to compensate for that.
So, after a long day of work, you sought refuge at the library. A place you were sure no one would come in, especially not tonight, when everyone wanted to mingle amongst the princes. You, on the other hand, had decided that it was better for you if you maintained your distance.
However, a certain chocolate-eyed man did not think so.
“You’re avoiding me”, a voice came from behind you, making you freeze in your steps. The pile of books on your hands seemed impossibly heavy now.
You remained in silence, hoping -praying-, he would leave. But luck was not on your side today.
“Why?” he continued. This time his voice was impossibly soft. Your heart sank, hearing the sadness it carried.
You turned to face him then, and you thought that you could be strong enough to tell him the truth. But as you looked at him, you realized that you couldn’t.
“Shouldn’t you be at the ball?”, you said in an effort to avoid the topic as you set down the pile of books and pretended to skim through one of them. “I’m sure there’s a lot of disappointed girls out there right now.”
“Maybe. But the one girl I’m interested in decided not to show up”.
You had to remind yourself that to him, you were probably just a fun time. Someone he might never see again. But to you…
“I’m certain that you have a bunch of beautiful girls lining up to take her place”, you replied.
If you weren't so busy trying to avoid his gaze, you might have noticed how his expression seemed to morph into that of disappointment. And quickly into one of frustration.
“I talked with James and Sirius”, he said. His voice is now much more sharp.
“Well, Sirius has a lot of experience in that department. James might not be that helpful, he’s pretty hung up on Princess Lily-”
“They told me that you had made ‘peace with it’”, he said, cutting sharply into your sentence as he took a step towards you.
You faltered for a moment, before trying to hold on to the unbothered front you had been trying to put on. However, he didn’t give you time to recover.
“That you don’t get to ‘mingle with royalty’”, he continued as he approached you, making you take some steps back. “And that it was a ‘one time thing’”.
Your back hit a shelf, and before you knew it, Remus was looming over you. His hand reached for your book before setting it on a higher shelf. He then gently took a hold of your chin, and he forced you to look up at him. “You’re a smart girl. Don’t tell me you actually believe that”.
You caught how his eyes softened for a fraction of a second. Still, that wasn’t enough to stop the small burst of anger that bubbled up inside you.
“You’re a smart prince,” you said, your words now had an edge to them. “Don’t tell me you’re unaware of the repercussions this might have”.
“To hell with the repercussions-”
“That’s because you can afford to do that Remus!” you retaliated. He seemed surprised by your outburst, as he took the smallest of steps backward. “I’m a servant, and if they were to see us, do you know what they’ll say about me?” you continued as you jabbed your finger in his chest.
“Do you have any idea how I was treated back on Blackhaven?” you debated for a moment if this was really worth telling, but you quickly decided that if he wanted to know about the repercussions, you would tell him about them.
“After enduring Orion’s punishments, befriending Sirius was the most wonderful thing that happened to me. But rumors started spreading on how I was his slut. On how I ‘kept him satisfied’ in exchange for protection!”
Remus kept silent. His hand held on your arm gently, trying to keep you close.
You slumped against bookshelves, and looked up, trying to keep the tears at bay. It wasn’t like you had forgotten it. It plagued your nightmares. But it had been years since you had to purposefully remember the punishment that made Sirius decide to get you out of his kingdom.
“Orion found out,” you continued, this time your voice much softer. “So he decided that his normal branding wasn’t enough this time. He said that I would not taint his bloodline -that a servant would not ruin his bloodline.”
Remus’ eyes searched for yours, trying to find a hint that it wasn’t true. That somehow you got saved from being punished. He was familiar with the king’s punishments. He remembered a particular night in which Sirius had not been able to handle it anymore, and he broke down in James’ room.
“So he branded me in the usual place…and then on my hip. And then, he had me lashed…while Sirius watched.”
You could feel how his fingers tightened around your wrist, but you avoided his eyes. In a brief moment he pulled on your wrist and dragged you to a dark corner of the library where he pulled on a book and a part of the wall popped open, revealing a small room the size of a maintenance closet.
The sound of a click brought you back to reality. And the small warm light that followed it revealed that the ‘maintenance closet’ was not that at all, but rather a really small study.
You sighed and turned to face him. He dragged you a few paces up until you were next to the desk. He took you by the waist and hoisted you upwards, so you were sitting on it, before prompting you to continue.
With a shaky breath you went on.
“I tried not to make any noise for Sirius’ sake. But Orion decided that he wouldn’t be satisfied until I screamed my throat raw,” you had started untying your apron. “ So he didn’t stop, not even when I passed out. Sirius’ pleads and screams kept waking me up, until Orion got tired.”
Remus watched you carefully, his heart heavy with the weight of your pain. He could see the turmoil in your eyes as you struggled to find the courage to speak, and his own words felt inadequate.
As you untied your apron, he noticed the tension in your shoulders, the way your hands trembled slightly. Without a word, he moved closer, his movements slow and deliberate as he reached out to help you.
His fingers brushed against the fabric of your dress, the gentle touch a silent reassurance of his presence. With practiced ease, he located the ribbons at the back of your dress, his touch feather-light as he began to untangle them. You tensed at his touch, a shiver running down your spine as the faint outline of the lash scars hidden beneath your dress were revealed.
But he didn't look away. Instead, he continued to untie your dress, his movements slow and deliberate as he revealed more and more of your scars to him. With each inch of exposed skin, his heart broke a little more, but he refused to let his own emotions show.
Finally, the ribbons completely untangled from your corset, and your dress hung loose around your shoulders, the scars on your back fully revealed to him. Remus felt a lump form in his throat as he took in the sight, the raw brutality of your old life laid bare before him.
But he didn't turn away. Instead, he reached out, his fingers tracing the contours of your scars with a tenderness that brought tears to your eyes.
He had tried to avoid it at first, but the Blackhaven crest that was engraved into your skin screamed at him for attention. The crest was jagged and uneven, the lines distorted from where you had thrashed in pain during your punishment. It was a brutal symbol of the cruelty of the Blackhaven royals, and a mark that would forever brand you as a victim of their tyranny.
Remus felt a surge of anger rise within him as he looked upon the crest. You felt as his gentle fingers made its way up to it. His touch was feather-light as he traced the outline of the crest. He could feel the heat of your skin beneath his fingertips, the scars rough and raised against his touch.
“That was what he was most proud of,” you said, breaking the heavy silence that had settled between you. “It made me his property. He tried to make the lash marks disappear later. He said they would just ruin a pretty thing. So they mostly healed. But I guess my body wasn’t able to erase that memory completely.”
More silence.
“The crest on my hip was a final gift. Something about how if I wanted to be a slut, people should know who I belong to. I woke up in the infirmary days later, to the news that Sirius had ‘gifted me’ to Noblehaven”.
For a moment, neither of you spoke, the weight of the moment hanging heavy in the air. But then, without a word, Remus leaned in and pressed the softest of kisses to your back. And then another. And another.
His lips moved reverently over the scars. As he trailed kisses along the jagged lines of the crest, you felt a rush of emotions wash over you—pain, sorrow, but also something else. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as you felt his lips press against the scars.
The contrast of the tender action amidst a place that had been ravaged by brutality and cruelty was devastating.
His hands slowly snaked their way to your cheeks, and as they softly made you turn to look at him they wiped the tears that had escaped your eyes. Without a word, Remus pulled you into his arms, holding you close as though trying to shield you.
“Be my queen,” he whispered tenderly, out of the blue. His pain-stricken eyes reaching for yours.
“Remus-”
“No harm will ever come to you”.
Your words caught in your throat as you gazed into his earnest eyes, the depth of emotion swirling within them almost overwhelming. The vulnerability in his voice tugged at your heartstrings, and for a moment, you were lost in the intensity of his plea.
"Be my queen," he repeated, his voice barely a whisper, yet it echoed loudly in the silence between you. His fingers brushed against your cheek, his touch gentle and reassuring.
Your breath hitched as you searched his gaze, seeing the raw sincerity etched in every line of his face. The weight of his request hung heavy in the air, the gravity of his words sinking deep.
"Remus..." you began, your voice trembling with uncertainty. "I'm just a servant."
He whispered your name, but his gaze seemed to be undecided on whether it wanted to fixate on your eyes or your lips. “Please…” he begged as he leaned in closer, his breath fanning your lips.
“Please,” he whispered again. This time the plea seemed to weigh so much more.
Ever so slowly, you pressed your lips to his.
His arms encircled you, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you, and you melted into his embrace. His lips moved against yours with a gentle urgency, a silent plea for you to say yes, to choose him, to become his queen.
When you finally pulled away, a soft smile graced Remus' lips. “Is that a yes?”
You smiled up at him, and tilted your head slightly. “It depends. Was that a command?”
Remus chuckled and cupped your face with his hand as he pressed your lips to his once again. It was soft and desperate at the same time. So much longing in one single action.
“I think you know I’m in no place to give commands when it comes to you,” he whispered as he trailed his kisses up to your ear.
Remus’ hands snaked in between your dress, softly caressing the scars on his way down. The piece of fabric now pulling at your waist.
“Say it,” he pleaded as he trailed kisses down your neck and back to your mouth. “Say you will.”
“I will,” you breathed out.
He pulled away slightly, admiring you for a second before wrapping his arms around you once again.
tags:
@lovelyygirl8
of moons and crowns / r. lupin
remus lupin x reader; royal!au
part 2
a/n: hiiii! i've been mia for a bit now. life's been pretty hectic. i've had this one on the drafts for a really long time, so in my spare time i've been slowly adding to it, and i think i got carried away. there's a part 2 in the works, so let me know if you'd like to see that. also i'm really sorry for all the requests i haven't put out. there's some that i have already started. i'll try my best to get to them. but honestly, i try to work on what inspires me rather than the order in which they were sent since i can't dedicate a lot of time to this anymore because of college. as always, let me know what you think. also, i think this is the first marauders fic i publish!
summary: the life of a servant in the palace was hectic. the life of a servant in the palace who so happened to get along with the princes, was even more so.
It wasn’t everyday that a royal ball was announced. Especially not one where the three crowns would be attending.
The kingdom was buzzing with excitement, and even whilst doing your daily chores you could not be spared of the gossiping and chattering.
“Do you think that both Black princes will attend?” one of the maids -Lucy- asked dreamily from across the small pond you were washing your clothes at.
“I sure hope so!” another chimed in. “But I have my eye on the Crescentwatch prince…” she continued dreamily.
“I’ve heard he is quite handsome”, you said with a giggle. As you couldn’t help but to offer your two cents of the conversation.
“You already have two handsome princes in your palm,” she said in a joking manner. “Leave some for the rest of us.”
“I can assure you Eva, that Sirius and I have no romantic intentions with each other. And as for James…well, he is James”, you explained simply as you splashed a bit of water into your fellow maid,
Your friendship with the princes was a strange phenomenon. Royalty would usually limit themselves with interactions amongst their social ranking, however thanks to your time working with the Most Noble House of Black, an out-of-odds friendship had sparked with the heir. Truth was, your time with them had not been a fairy tale. In fact, it had been quite the opposite. You had experienced their abuse and mistreatment first hand whilst working for them. And last time the Blackhaven monarchs had visited the kingdom, they made sure to make your life impossible, just for old times sake. You were no stranger to the Kingdom of Blackheaven’s tyrant rulers. But you were also no stranger to the kindness of their heir. Sirius Black had been your only distraction from the torment of the monarch’s unending chores.
Your friendship with Sirius started one night when he found you out in the gardens after a particularly cruel punishment from King Orion. Your hair was a mess, and angry tears had rolled down your blotched face.
✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦
You had been pacing angrily and muttering to yourself about how you would give him a piece of your mind one day. How you couldn’t care less about losing your head if that meant you could be far from them.
In a moment of pure anger and frustration, your hand flew out in a fist and hit a tree. You had immediately regretted that, as all you received back was a pair of bloody knuckles.
“You might want to be more careful”, an amused voice said, immediately flooding you with panic. The previous heat that had been flowing through your body because of the anger vanished. Being replaced with dreadful cold instead.
“Your majesty…” you breathed out, as you straightened your posture. There in front of you stood Sirius Black in all his glory. His long hair was tied up, and his white shirt was sloppily tucked in his waistband.
For a brief moment you considered acting as if nothing had happened. As if he hadn't caught you cursing the absolute hell out of his parents. But you were tired. You could not put up a front anymore.
Your body deflated visibly once again, and you ran a hand through your hair.
“I would say that I’m sorry for my imprudent behavior, my prince. But that would be a lie”.
A moment of silence passed between you two. You patiently waited for him to say something. A death sentence maybe. However the next thing that came out of his mouth was far from that.
Laughter boomed from deep within his chest, making your head snap up immediately. Was he mocking you? Was death just a joke to him? For a brief moment you chastised yourself from expecting anything different from the Black Heir. After all, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.
“I would greatly appreciate it if you didn’t mock me. I doubt that death is a laughing matter, even for royalty”.
Sirius’ laughter dissolved into small chuckles. “Death? What do you mean?”
“My execution. I got punished earlier today because I poured the king the wrong type of wine. I highly doubt that you'll let me off the hook with just a warning for badmouthing them”.
A flash of anger and hurt passed through Sirius’ eyes before a soft grin adorned his features. “Lucky for you, I’m not my parents”.
Confusion made its way to your features. “So you won’t kill me?”
“Why would I do that?” he said approaching you. He inspected you for a moment before taking your hand and eyeing your bloody knuckles.
He dragged you to a nearby bench and without hesitation ripped a part of his shirt before proceeding to carefully -but sloppily- wrap your wounds with it.
You stayed quiet through it all. The correct thing would have been protest and decline his acts of service. He was royalty after all, and you were supposed to be attending him. But you were so tired.
“Let me see it”, he spoke up after a while.
“What?”
“Your punishment”.
You glanced up at him with tired eyes. You considered sparing him from the sight of the marks on your back. But to hell with everything. He should know what his servants were going through under his father’s reign. He was going to be king one day after all, and he needed to know if a change was going to be made.
You turned your back to him and carefully unbuttoned the back of your dress. The fabric had been scratching at your new injury, making it redder than it already was.
There in between your shoulder blades was a deep scorch mark in the shape of the king’s crest. The wound was deep from the several burnings you had gotten over the years. Some were even unaligned from their usual place. A result of your trashing and pleading for mercy.
You expected a gasp or an indication of surprise from the prince. But you heard nothing. Instead, from your peripheral vision you saw him uncorking a small vial of a dark purple paste. He dipped his fingers into it and carefully smeared it on your back.
The cool sensation of the paste combined with his fingers on your skin and the stinging of your wound, made you tense up.
“I’m no stranger to my father’s rage” he whispered.
Only then did it occur to you that the rumors of Sirius’ rebellious personality and his constant acting out in events might not please Walburga and Orion.
“Has he branded you too?” you asked bluntly.
“Yes, but not with the family crest. That would mean that he’d had to consider me his property. And if it were up to him, he would have disinherited me a long time ago”, he explained as he closed the vial. “He prefers a simpler method when it comes to me”, he continued.
You did not expect him to show you anything. Royalty tended to protect their honor in that way. They didn't want to appear weak, especially not in the presence of their subjects. But Sirius kept surprising you. Slowly, he untucked his shirt and lifted it just enough for you to see the lash marks that peeked over his stomach and seemed to take root from his back.
You didn’t say anything. Your hand twitched in your lap, aching to trace the scars and maybe provide the same attendance that he had offered you. But you stopped yourself and instead just looked at him, eyes full of exhaustion.
“Why haven’t you abdicated? You can get out of here. I’ve heard of your friendship with Prince James and Prince Remus. Everyone knows that the Noblehaven royal family would take you in in a heartbeat”.
He chuckled. “I hardly think it's fair to leave my kingdom behind. I want to free my people of my parent’s torture. And I think that his anger is a sign that I’m going in the right direction. It means that I’m making changes -changes he doesn’t approve of”.
You chuckled. “I’d hardly call getting drunk during the Queen’s Jubilee making changes”.
He laughed. “No one ever speaks to me like that”.
“Does that mean that I just got myself a death sentence?”
He smirked, “It means I like you. You say what you mean. Unapologetically”.
You chuckled and smiled to yourself. You wouldn’t admit it to him, but you thought you liked him too.
Ever since then, your meetings with Sirius had become more frequent. Whenever his father decided to punish either of you, the other would attend to their wounds. You would both bond over your dislike for his parents and would never fail to make the other laugh.
It wasn’t until one particular bad punishment that Sirius decided he needed to get you out of there as quickly as possible. So against your wishes, he arranged for you to be presented as a “gift” to the royal family of Noblehaven.
“You can’t be serious!” you screamed as you stormed into his chambers.
“I’m always Sirius,” he said, unbothered by your anger.
“You can’t just gift me away! I won’t go!”
Sirius closed his book and slowly looked up at you. “I’ll miss you too. I’ll miss you so much. But I can’t keep seeing you get punished. It’s not fair. I already talked with James. He’ll take care of you. You’ll be in good hands, I promise”. You noticed a teary smile make its way to his face. “You’ll be safe”.
You tried to stay mad, you tried so hard to not break. But a sob managed to escape your lips and you crushed into his body as you wrapped your arms around his torso.
“I can’t leave you Sirius. I can’t go knowing you’re still here. Who will take care of your wounds?”
He laughed, amused by your protests. Truth was, you did so much more than just take care of his wounds. He couldn’t imagine his life these past years without you. But for your own good, he will have to now. “I can manage”, he replied as he hugged you back and buried his nose in your hair.
✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦
The Noblehaven royals had done right by their promise. They provided you with far more commodities than the Blacks ever did. You had also managed to befriend Prince James. You often found him in the halls and he made sure to send a flirty comment your way, which you always replied with a sickly sweet voice, pretending to swoon with his advances. Your whole act was amusing for him. Which is why he also liked to search for you whenever you had work to do, so he could chat your ear off.
It was to no surprise then, that when the ball was announced, James had come running to you to give you the news. You were over the moon when you realized you’d see Sirius again soon, which had put you in a fantastical mood for the rest of the day. Perhaps in too good of a mood, since you had forgotten that Sirius would not be coming alone.
Your thoughts were interrupted by the sound of your fellow maids, as they called out your name. You hadn’t realized you had been harshly scrubbing the coarse fabric against your skin, causing it to turn visibly red. You looked up to find the girls already looking at you with amused expressions.
“I think someone’s waiting for you,” one of them said as she subtly signaled to something behind you.
Following her gaze, you came to find none other than James standing by the outhall of the gardens. Your heart immediately jump started. He could possibly bring news of Sirius.
“I’ll be right back,” you said, smiling apologetically at your friends.
The two of them giggled before easing your worries, offering to take your basket of unwashed clothes in with them if you weren’t back by the time they were done.
You thanked them quickly before skipping over to the prince.
“Your highness”, you said as you curtsied.
James chuckled and offered you a little bow of his own. “My lady, I bring pleasing news for you”.
“Get over with it James!” you said as you punched him lightly. “Sirius is coming right? Will I be able to see him? Please don’t let me be their maid in waiting again!”.
“Calm down dearest”, he said as he patted the arm that had been previously interlocked with his. “The Blacks did send in a particular request for you, and unfortunately it’s not mine to deny”.
Your posture deflated immediately. You were so lost in your thoughts that you hadn't noticed James leading you to the guest wing of the palace.
“We're here…” he said as he let your arm go.
Your eyes immediately went wide. “They're here already?!” you whispered harshly. “I can’t go in there! They’ll kill me if I show up like this!” you rambled as you pointed to the tethered dress you wore.
“It’ll be alright. I won’t leave your side”, he assured you. Although his words did little to calm you down, you knew they couldn’t cause you actual harm in here. Which is why you weren’t throwing an absolute fit over the situation. You were a maid after all, and it was your duty to do as the royals requested.
You sighed and attempted to fix your clothes along with your wild hair which had begun to set itself free from the braid you had constricted it into just this morning. “I thought you were supposed to give me good news…” you mumbled before straightening up and reaching for the door handle, missing completely the grin James was trying to suppress.
You prepared yourself mentally for facing the two most terrible people you ever had the displeasure of meeting. But you were surprised to find one figure instead of two. He was the same as his father, except that he was totally different in all the right ways. His sharp features had never looked so beautiful to you, and his tied up hair was a good sign. He felt comfortable.
Your hands immediately flew up to cover your mouth and you felt your knees buckle. “Sirius…” you whispered as a huge smile morphed your face.
“Well, don’t just stand there…” he said with a laugh as he opened his arms, inviting you in for a hug.
You wasted no time immediately running up to him and jumping into his arms. “I’m so happy to see you!”
“I´m happy to see you too,” he said. You felt his chest rumble with deep laughter, and it just settled in the fact that he was here.
“Oh god…” you separated immediately from him. “Where are your parents? They're going to kill me”, you whispered frantically.
“That's the best part,” James jumped in as he wrapped his arm around Sirius cheerfully. “They are not coming”.
The revelation that the dreaded Black monarchs were not attending the royal ball lifted a tremendous weight off your shoulders. The relief was palpable, and you couldn't help but feel grateful to whatever twist of fate had kept them away.
Sirius noticed your visible relief and chuckled, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "No need to worry. James and I have our ways of handling them. We convinced them that attending this ball would not align with their interests. Besides, they've grown tired of these social gatherings."
You exchanged a glance with James, who winked at you playfully. It seemed the princes had orchestrated this whole scenario to ensure your peace of mind. Your gratitude towards them deepened, and you couldn't help but smile at the thoughtfulness of your friends. You also couldn't help but to think of what Sirius had implied. It wasn’t in the likes of the Blacks to show weakness such as exhaustion. They would always make sure to show other kingdoms their coldness and unwavering manner. But if what Sirius said was true, maybe Walburga and Orion’s reign was coming to an end. Maybe it was finally time for Sirius to step up to the throne and finally lead Blackhaven into prosperity. No wonder he looked so healthy.
✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦
As the days leading up to the royal ball unfolded, life within the palace took on a whirlwind of excitement and preparation. Noblehaven was adorned with flowers, banners, and elaborate decorations, creating an enchanting atmosphere in anticipation of the grand event.
Sirius and James, with their usual mischievous flair, took it upon themselves to involve you in the preparations. You had already told them -repeatedly- that your attendance at the ball was not assured, and even if it was it would not be as a guest, but rather as a servant. That did not discourage them, however, from imagining your dress, which was starting to sound more like an elaborate pastry to you.
In the midst of this bustling activity, you found yourself navigating the corridors of the palace on an errand to deliver a message for King Fleamont, James's father. The palace, as majestic as it was, could be quite confusing for someone not accustomed to its intricacies.
In your rush to fulfill your duty, you turned a corner and collided with a figure rushing in the opposite direction. Books and papers scattered across the floor, and the collision left both of you momentarily stunned.
"I'm so sorry! I should have been more careful," you exclaimed, hastily bending down to collect the fallen items. Heat rushed to your face, praying to whoever was listening that this mysterious figure was not any sort of royalty.
A warm chuckle reached your ears, and you looked up to find a young man with sandy-brown hair and gentle hazel eyes, who was also crouched down, gathering the scattered belongings. Your first instinct was to plead for him not to worry about the mess you had just made, but one look at him had you speechless.
"No, it's my fault. I was not looking where I was going," he replied with a smile, handing you a few loose papers.
Standing in front of you was none other than Crescentwatch’s own heir, Remus Lupin himself.
You had heard James and Sirius talking about him. Everyone knew they were basically brothers. The other maids also talked a lot about him. His handsome face, his mysterious scars, his dreamy eyes, and his soft hair. But for some reason you had always seemed uninterested in the topic. You supposed that royal gossip wasn’t as entertaining when you were so close to it. You had enough things to deal with with James and Sirius, adding another royal to the mix didn’t sound as appealing, especially if he would be as rambunctious as the other two.
Still, the prince’s handsome features were not lost on you.
“I'm so very sorry your majesty!” you said as you offered him a curtsy.
“Oh please- that's not- '' his words were cut short by a louder voice coming from down the hallway that called your name.
“I've been looking all over for you!” James said as he jogged up to the pair. Next to him, Sirius’ grin widened as he realized who you had just bumped into.
“Ah! So you’ve finally caught the third prince uh?”
“I-” you looked frantically between the three men who now blocked your way to King Fleamont’s study. “I’m sorry, I should’ve looked where I was going”, you said frantically trying to get past them.
James laughed. “I hope that you’re on your way to try your dress on”, he teased.
“Are you sure you’d like to know about my dress or are you more interested in Princess Lili’s gown?” you shot back as you reorganized your papers and combed a hand through your messy-looking hair.
Sirius laughed, Remus chuckled and James turned red. “That’s what I thought”, you mumbled pleased with yourself. “Besides, the only gown I’ll be wearing is my uniform. The fancier one, if you’d like details.”
Sirius groaned. “But you were supposed to be my date!”
You rolled your eyes and sighed. You would’ve loved to attend the ball with them. They were your closest friends. Despite that, you could not ignore your social standing. It would not be appropriate for a prince (a crown prince, at that), to be seen in such a formal event with a servant.
“I already get enough comments on how I charmed my way into your bed and out of Blackhaven Sirius. I don’t need more of those, especially when they aren’t true.”
Sirius sighed dramatically.
Remus spoke up then, “what about me?”
Your shocked expression made a small smile appear on his face. Up until now he had watched you retaliate James’ and Sirius’ comments with ease. Leaving you speechless was something he prided himself with. Even if you had just met a few moments ago, both princes would not stop talking about you.
“What about you, your majesty?” you asked.
He chuckled at the title. “What if you were my date?”
You glanced around at the boys. James’ mouth hung open, and Sirius had an unbelieving smile on his face.
“You sly dog…” you heard the latter mutter as you gently tapped Jame’s chin close.
“Is that an order?” you asked with a small tilt of your head. You still weren’t sure where exactly you stood with him.
“It’s an invitation,” he replied, without missing a beat.
After a moment of silence -and uninterrupted eye contact with the Crescentwatch prince- a small smile broke its way onto your face, despite you trying to remain serious.
“Goodbye your majesty,” you said with a curtsy, before turning around and resuming your way to King Fleamont’s study.
Silence remained amongst the three boys. Each still trying to comprehend what had just happened.
“So the good news is…”, James said after a moment. “That wasn't a no”.
That seemed to break Sirius off his trance as he jumped onto Remus and started blabbering about how he didn’t know he had it in him.
Remus however, did not hear a single thing his friends were saying. With a smile still gracing his features, he wondered what his next move would be.
:O
I love your works omg tysm <33😭😭😭
Aww thank you! I love yours too! 🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻
King Of My Heart (Body And Soul)~ R. Lupin.
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Synopsis: when James and lily died, and your brother was sent to Azkaban, Remus was the only person you had left. Until he left too. What happens when he returns after the events of Sirius's escape, only to find out you have a son? A son that's his. Content Warnings: lots of italics, probably grammatical mistakes, kiss(es), might be ooc idk, child (?), fem reader, italics are flashbacks ( idk), love (ew),mentions of self harm, attempt to suic*de, accidental pregnancy, pregnancy, Established relationship, deals with sensitive topics, angst, use of curse words, slow burn (ish)
Chapter 1- Stranger That I know ( posted 27.02.2024) Chapter 2- Expectations (posted 29.02.2024) Chapter 3 - Helpless (posted 08.03.2024) Chapter 4 (coming soon)
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The Phoenix Rises: Chapter 8
Pairings: Older!Remus Lupin x Fem!Professor!Reader
A continuation of the Charms of Fate series.
Series Masterlist
Plot Summary: Starting your third year at Hogwarts as the Charms professor proves to be difficult without having Remus by your side as you face new and irritating challenges at work, as well as joining a secret society.
A/N: Sorry for dropping off the face of the Earth for a bit. I started college and it's been hectic! Anyway, enjoy!
Warnings: Angst
________________________________
The next month was a whirlwind of chaos. Juggling between teaching and attending Order meetings and stakeouts, exhaustion became a constant companion. Even though you managed to spend weekends with Remus, it felt like your time together was slipping through your fingers. The increasing presence of Tonks added an extra layer of tension, her subtle advances persisting despite having dialed down from when you first met her. Remus, ever oblivious, remained untouched by her advances, making it challenging to direct any frustration toward him.
Work at Hogwarts had transformed into a dreaded ordeal. The atmosphere, once vibrant and engaging, had deteriorated into a nightmare, thanks to Dolores's oppressive presence. Her intrusive supervision loomed over everyone, making each day feel like an uphill battle. A sigh of relief escaped your lips as the last class concluded. The prospect of stepping outside for some fresh air became a beacon of solace in an otherwise overwhelming routine.
Navigating the corridors, you could sense a commotion ahead. Curiosity propelled you forward, and as you reached the courtyard, a disconcerting scene unfolded. Dolores and Sybill Trelawney stood at the center, surrounded by a sea of students. Sybill, tear-streaked and distressed, stood next to her belongings scattered at her feet. Dolores's stern expression communicated a harsh reality.
You quickened your pace, furrowing your brows at the unsettling sight in the courtyard. Students huddled in groups, whispering urgently, while Dolores Umbridge stood tall, a disapproving figure next to the distraught Sybil Trelawney.
"What's going on?" you asked a passing student, who looked at you with wide eyes.
"Dolores is kicking out Professor Trelawney! It's crazy!" the student whispered, their voice filled with a mix of shock and excitement.
Your heart sank, and you approached the scene, catching snippets of the conversation. Dolores's high-pitched voice cut through the air as she spoke to Sybill, her tone condescending and dismissive.
"You can't do this," Sybil stuttered out, her voice watery.
Dolores held up a piece of paper, "Actually, I can.
"Sybil Trelawney, your so-called 'prophecies' and vague predictions have no place at Hogwarts. Your services are no longer required," Dolores declared, a cruel smirk playing on her lips.
Sybill, on the verge of tears, pleaded, "Please, Dolores, you can't do this. I have nowhere to go!"
Dolores responded with a cold laugh, "Perhaps you should have thought of that before filling these students' heads with nonsense. Hogwarts needs serious educators, not charlatans."
The surrounding students watched in silence, some in shock, others in anger. You felt a mix of emotions – sympathy for Sybil and an intense frustration towards Dolores's unwarranted cruelty. As the crowd murmured in discontent, you couldn't help but think about the injustice unraveling before you.
The tension in the courtyard escalated as Dolores continued to gloat, but relief washed over you as Professor McGonagall arrived, a stern expression on her face. She approached Sybill, offering a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Shh, shh, my dear," McGonagall said, her voice soothing.
As the two women held each other, Dolores couldn't resist taking a jab. "Minerva, is there something you'd like to say?" she sneered, a malicious glint in her eyes.
McGonagall turned to Dolores, her lips thinning with restraint. "There is a great deal I would like to say, Dolores, but I'll save it for a more appropriate time."
Just then, the grand doors to the castle swung open, and Dumbledore strode out, his usually calm demeanor marred by a visible anger. The atmosphere shifted as all eyes turned to the powerful wizard.
Dumbledore, with a stern expression, turned to Professor McGonagall. "Minerva, would you please escort Sybil back inside?" he requested.
Sybil, still teary-eyed and emotionally overwhelmed, reached out to Dumbledore as she walked past him with McGonagall. "Thank you, Professor Dumbledore, thank you," she repeated, gratitude pouring from her voice like a balm for the wounds inflicted by Dolores Umbridge's harsh actions.
Dolores, undeterred, addressed Dumbledore, "Dumbledore, may I remind you that under the terms of Educational Decree Number 23, as enacted by the minister--"
Dumbledore cut her off, his voice stern, "You have the right to dismiss my teachers. You do not, however, have the authority to banish them from the grounds. That power remains with the headmaster."
Dolores smirked, defiantly adding, "For now."
Dumbledore, not willing to engage further, turned away and addressed the students, his voice commanding, "Don't you all have studying to do?"
He walked away, leaving a trail of subdued murmurs in the courtyard. The weight lifted from your shoulders as you released a breath you hadn't known you were holding. The injustice seemed momentarily halted, but the lingering presence of Dolores Umbridge reminded everyone that darker times loomed over Hogwarts.
____________________________
The flames in the fireplace crackled as you sat on the couch in your living quarters, the trio of Harry, Hermione, and Ron joining you. The atmosphere was tense, and Hermione voiced her frustration, "That foul, evil, old gargoyle. We're not learning how to defend ourselves. We're not learning how to pass our OWLs. She's taking over the entire school."
The radio is playing in the background and you can faintly hear the Minister's grating voice speak softly through the speakers. "Security has been and will remain the Ministry's top priority. Furthermore, we have convincing evidence…that these disappearances are the work...of notorious mass murderer Sirius Black."
You rolled your eyes, calling Fudge every bad name in the book. Caught in a slight daze, you jump when you hear a voice coming from the fireplace.
"Harry."
You and the three young students look towards the fire, Sirius's face emerging from the ember and soot.
"Sirius," Harry said, kneeling down. "What are you doing here?"
"Answering your letter," Sirius replied. "You said you were worried about Umbridge. What's she doing? Training you to kill half-breeds?"
"She's not letting them use magic at all," you retort, rolling your eyes once again.
Sirius let out a snort. "Well, I'm not surprised. The latest intelligence is that Fudge doesn't want you trained in combat."
"Combat?" Ron wondered aloud. "What does he think, we're forming some sort of wizard army?""
"That's exactly what he thinks. That Dumbledore is assembling his own forces to take on the Ministry. He's becoming more paranoid by the minute. The others wouldn't want me telling you this, Harry…but things aren't going at all well with the Order. Fudge is blocking the truth at every turn and these disappearances are just how it started before. Voldemort is on the move."
The weight of Sirius's words hung in the air, and you couldn't help but feel a bit panicked. Between this toad-faced twat and no nose Nancy, on top of lesson plans, grading, the Order, it was almost...too much.
As the trio and Sirius discussed the dire situation, you interjected, "We can't let Umbridge control the narrative here. Hogwarts should be a place of learning, not a breeding ground for fear and prejudice. We need to be prepared for what is inevitable."
Hermione nodded in agreement, "You're right professor. We need to find a way to resist her influence and keep learning. Knowledge is our best defense."
Ron chimed in, "And what about Dumbledore? Why isn't he doing anything about it?"
You sighed, "Dumbledore's hands are tied. Fudge has the Ministry wrapped around his finger. We need to figure out a way to defend ourselves and the school without relying on the official channels."
"It won't be easy, but we can't let them win," Harry replied.
You nodded, "Agreed. We'll need to be strategic and find allies within the school. Strength in unity." Before you bid your goodbyes to Sirius, you couldn't help but ask about Remus.
Sirius hesitated before answering. "He's okay. Misses you like crazy. He's been going on more missions. Sometimes alone, sometimes with..."
"With..?"
Sirius sighed. "Tonks. Well, he doesn't invite her, she kind of just tags along. I'm not sure what her intentions are, but I make sure she knows he's in a happy, committed relationship." You groaned in annoyance, ignoring three curious sets of eyes on you. Sirius turns his attention back to everyone. "I'm sorry I can't be of more help. But for now, at least, it looks like you're on your own."
And just like that, he was gone. You threw your head back against the couch, sighing deeply. Great. Another thing I need to worry about. A girl who doesn't know when to take a hint.
You feel tears well up in your eyes. You try to blink them back, but one falls down your cheek regardless of how much your eyelids flutter. You feel someone take your hand and you're surprised to sees it's Ron. You use your free hand to wipe you're face.
"Godric," you half laugh, half sob, "I'm sorry, I don't know what's the matter with me."
"It's okay Professor," is all he said. The four of you sat in silence, comforting each other.
_____________________________
"Dumbledore's Army?" you asked rather loudly, munching on chocolate sent from Remus, hunched over your desk, grading your students' homework. Everyone was out for the day, either going to Hogsmeade or lounging in their respective common rooms.
"Shh!" The trio hissed, casting a glance over their shoulder to the slightly ajar classroom door. You stop mid-chew, looking up at them, an eyebrow raised.
"We've been thinking, with Umbridge tightening her grip on the school, we need to do something. Dumbledore can't openly oppose her, but we can."
Hermione leaned in, her eyes reflecting the intensity of her thoughts, "We want to start a secret group, a defense class. Dumbledore's Army, to teach students how to defend themselves."
Ron, ever pragmatic, added, "It's not just about us. The whole school needs it. Especially since Dumbledore is gone."
You listened attentively, a mixture of concern and determination etched on your face. "Starting a secret society is risky, but I understand why you'd want to," you replied quietly. "How can I help?"
Harry looked relieved at your support, "We need a place to meet. We can't risk Umbridge finding out."
Hermione nodded, "And we need someone trustworthy to help with organizing and logistics. Dumbledore's Army has to stay off Umbridge's radar."
You set your chocolate and red pen down, leaning back into your chair. You noticed Ron trying to take a peek at whose work you're grading, snickering when he sees it's Fred's a giant red P in the top right corner. You scowl at him, pushing your papers in a desk drawer.
"I'll tell you this bit now," you begin, "you can't use this classroom." Harry began to open his mouth in protest. You held up a finger. "But, there is a room that might be able to aid you. It adapts to our needs and provides a level of security that other places can't guarantee. The--"
"The Room of Requirement," Hermione interjects in a whisper, "Of course." You smile slightly at her.
"Great. So where is it?" Ron asked.
You shook your head. "I don't know. It moves around the castle and only appears for those who is in need and actively seeking it."
"Guess we better start looking. Thanks Professor," Harry said, the three leaving your room.
"Be careful!"
____________________________
The weekend had finally arrived, and with it, the anticipation of seeing Remus at 12 Grimmauld Place. As you opened the door to the building, a sense of excitement filled you. However, the atmosphere inside was tense, and Sirius, appearing in the hallway, attempted to divert your attention away from the dining room.
"Hey there! What's the rush?" Sirius grinned nervously, blocking your path.
You tried to smile back, but your eagerness to see Remus outweighed any interest in Sirius's playful banter and you were starting to grow irritated. "Where is Remus? Is he in the dining room?"
Sidestepping his attempts at distraction, you pushed him aside and walked into the dining room. Your heart sank as you saw Tonks practically in Remus's lap, both of them laughing. Suppressing your frustration, you loudly dropped your bag on the table, drawing their attention.
Sirius followed you into the room, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Ah, I see you're back! Ready to join the fun, I see."
You shot him a look, silently asking him to drop the act, but he only raised an eyebrow in response.
Remus stood up, a radiant smile on his face. He was genuinely happy to see you. However, your excitement quickly turned to anger. "We need to talk," you gritted out. His smile faded, and he nodded, following you upstairs to his room.
Remus's expression turned concerned as he observed your demeanor. "Everything alright, love?" he asked softly.
You hesitated, feeling a surge of frustration mingling with hurt. "I'll explain in a moment," you replied tersely, not wanting to have the conversation in front of Tonks.
"What the bloody hell is that, Remus?" you demanded as soon as the door closed behind you. He looked genuinely confused, asking what you meant. "Tonks! What is going on with you and Tonks?"
Remus's brow furrowed in confusion. "Nothing, why do you think that?" he replied, genuinely puzzled.
"Because every time I see her, she's bloody all over you!" you retorted, your frustration boiling over. "I know we don't see each other as much as we used to," you continued, your voice tinged with a mixture of hurt and frustration. "Is it because she's younger, prettier?"
The words hung heavy in the air, each syllable laden with the weight of unspoken doubts and insecurities. Remus's expression flickered with a mix of surprise and hurt, his features contorted with a mixture of emotions.
"It's not about that," he started, his voice strained with the effort of trying to explain. "It's just…"
"Just what?" you interrupted, your tone edged with impatience. "Just that she's more convenient? That she's always around?"
Remus's gaze wavered, a flicker of remorse crossing his features. "It's not like that," he insisted, his voice tinged with regret.
"Then what is it like?" you demanded, your voice rising with frustration. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you're letting her take my place."
The hurt in your words was palpable, a tangible reminder of the distance that had grown between you. Remus's expression softened, a hint of understanding in his eyes.
"I never meant for you to feel replaced," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "You mean everything to me."
The sincerity in his words tugged at your heartstrings, stirring a whirlwind of conflicting emotions within you. Despite the hurt and doubt, a part of you still longed to believe him.
"I want to believe you," you admitted, your voice barely audible. "But it's hard when I see her always by your side."
The admission hung heavy in the air, the unspoken tension between you threatening to suffocate any semblance of resolution. Remus's expression softened, his concern evident. "I'm telling you, Y/N, it's not what it seems, believe me. Tonks is just a good friend," he reassured you, reaching out to touch your arm.
But your frustration only intensified as you confronted Remus about his obliviousness to Tonks's advances.
"Remus, how can you not see it?"
Remus's brows furrowed, his expression shifting from confusion to defensiveness. "What are you talking about?" he retorted, his tone tinged with irritation.
"I just told you what I'm talking about!" you shot back, your frustration bubbling to the surface. "I'm tired of seeing Tonks all over you, and you doing nothing about it."
Remus's eyes narrowed, his jaw tensing with frustration. "You're being ridiculous," he snapped, his voice tinged with annoyance.
"Ridiculous?" you echoed, disbelief coloring your words.
"You're being insecure," Remus retorted, his words cutting through the tension in the room. His tone was sharper than you'd ever heard it, and it stung more than you cared to admit.
"Insecure?" The word hung in the air, heavy with hurt and disbelief. "Is that what you think?"
Remus's expression softened for a moment, but it was fleeting. "Look, I don't know what you want from me," he continued, frustration evident in his voice. "Tonks is just a friend. Nothing more."
"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" you shot back, your voice trembling with a mix of anger and sorrow. "Because it doesn't."
Remus sighed, running a hand through his hair in exasperation. "I can't keep having this conversation with you," he muttered, his eyes avoiding yours.
"Then maybe we shouldn't be having any conversation at all," you replied, the words bitter on your tongue. With that, you turned and left the room, the weight of disappointment heavy on your shoulders.
As you stormed down the stairs, tears streaming down your face, Sirius intercepted your path, his concerned voice breaking through your turmoil. "Hey, wait a minute. What happened?" he asked, reaching out to touch your arm.
You recoiled from his touch, shaking your head in frustration. "Not now, Sirius," you muttered, your voice thick with emotion. Pushing past him, you continued your descent, your heart heavy with the weight of betrayal.
At the foot of the stairs, your eyes locked with Tonks's, who sat there casually sipping a glass of water. The smugness in her gaze only fueled your anger further. Every fiber of your being wanted to lash out, to retaliate against the perceived betrayal.
Instead, you bit back your initial impulse, the urge to dump the water over her head subsiding. With a bitter edge to your tone, you muttered, "He's all yours," before turning on your heel and storming out, leaving the bitter taste of resentment lingering in the air.
