hello lovely! could we possibly get a thawing out drabble? i’m missing them rn 😌 it could be holiday themed or whatever you’d like to write 💜
Thank you for the request lovely! Need you to know I messaged Elle as soon as I got this like "omg someone else remembers thawing out!!" I miss them too <3
collab with @ellecdc, read the Thawing Out series here
a/n: Please do not misconstrue my participation in the marauders fandom as support of JKR. If you’re new here and want to participate in the fandom, I encourage you to do so without participating in anything that would provide financial gain to her or her vile agendas
cw: modern au, chronic pain references, mostly just fluff
poly!wolfstar x fem!reader ♡ 970 words
You’re each loaded down with bags from the Christmas market, you’ve been on your feet for hours, and still Remus won’t rest his hip until you’ve stopped for hot cocoa.
Well, regular hot cocoa for you. Tea for Remus, and a salted caramel cocoa for Sirius.
You find yourselves a bench near the small ice rink at the center of the market, long enough for the three of you to sit and for Remus to put his leg in your lap. Sirius whines about the cold until Remus takes off his own hat and wrestles it onto him.
“God, this is hard to watch,” Sirius laments, eyes on the disorganized mass of patrons who have paid for some time on the ice.
“I think it’s nice,” you say. “Nobody’s worried about showing off or looking silly. It’s all just fun.”
Sirius scoffs. “Because they all look silly.”
Remus gets an arm around his neck, tugging him close to kiss his cheek. “Be nice.”
Sirius mutters something too low for you to hear, but he’s obviously pleased by Remus’ attention. You don’t think all that color in his cheeks can be blamed solely on the cold.
You do really enjoy watching the community come out to skate like this. It’s sweet, different from anything you usually see at your rink even during free skate hours. There’s a towering Christmas tree on a platform at the center of the ice, packed with balls and baubles and lights that twinkle faintly even in the bright day. Patrons skate in a jumbled circle around it; partners holding hands, groups of friends, parents with their children. It’s messy, and of course if you looked you could critique anyone’s form into oblivion, but it’s joyful. The laughs each time someone falls echo back to your own childhood, Sirius’ hand in yours to pull you back up.
“It’s a dying art,” Sirius says. He scoffs, gesturing towards the rink, “Look at that. That girl’s boyfriend lets go for one second and she’s done.”
You follow his gaze. “Sirius,” you laugh.
“What?”
“That’s Lily.”
“No it’s—oh.” Sirius blinks as the boyfriend—James—spots you all and starts waving. You wave back. A moment later, James has to return both hands to an unsteady Lily, and Sirius snorts into his cup. “Amateur.”
“I think they’re trying to make the circuit to come talk to us,” Remus notes. Amusement coats his voice as he watches the pair begin advancing wobbily around the circumference of the ice. “Might take a while, though.”
“Oh—whoa!” You put up your hands as an out-of-control kid comes skidding towards you, fully off of the ice. She manages to stop before you have to catch her.
“Sorry!” she squeaks.
Sirius looks stricken. “This is why boards are necessary,” he mutters to you behind Remus’ head.
“That’s alright,” says Remus, with his infinite patience. He looks at the small girl kindly. “Do you know how to stop?”
She grins sheepishly. “Grab onto something?”
You swallow a laugh. She can’t be more than ten; she reminds you of Sirius at that age, always throwing himself into things and figuring it out as he went, consequences be damned.
Remus’ mouth ticks. “Would you like to learn?”
And so, even though your purpose for sitting down was giving Remus a rest, you lose him to the ice. You probably should have seen it coming. None of you can be near ice for long without tracking down a pair of skates, even the disgusting, communal monstrosities they rent out (as Sirius refers to them). Remus couldn’t be expected to resist. You and Sirius move closer with his space on your bench vacated.
“Oh my god,” you murmur, watching as Remus demonstrates a beginner’s stop. He keeps a close eye on the girl to see that she understands.
“Yeah,” Sirius replies.
“He’s so cute.”
Sirius chuckles and kisses the side of your head. “He’s a good coach.”
“Ooh, careful. He might hear you.”
“Fuck off.”
“It’s okay, I’ll keep your secret.” You smize at him. “But it’s a good thing someone saw all that potential early on and asked him to coach for us, isn’t it?”
Sirius narrows his eyes back at you. He squeezes your waist warningly. “Have I told you how insufferable you are lately?”
“Not that I can recall.”
“Hm.” He pecks you on the lips. “Well, remind me to do that later.”
“Is this before or after I wrap your gifts for you?”
“Oi.” His brows come down as he looks back to the rink, the levity dropping from his tone. “What’s happening?”
You follow his gaze to find that Remus’ school of pupils has grown. Now, in addition to a couple of kids, there’s a man of about your age holding onto Remus’ shoulder as Remus keeps him upright.
“He’s fucking batting his eyelashes at him,” Sirius seethes.
You frown. “He can’t lean on him like that—he’s going to hurt his hip.”
“Also that!” Sirius stands, shoving his cocoa into your hand. “Watch the bags. I’m putting a stop to this.”
You watch as Sirius marches around the rink to where Remus is, getting your boyfriend’s attention. They exchange a few words—even from a ways away, you think you catch Remus rolling his eyes—before Sirius is stalking over to the skate rental counter.
“Bloody—fucking—uneven ice,” he gripes as he sits down next to you, putting them on. “These things smell like a hundred other feet. Fuck’s sake, I’m going to have to shower when we leave here.”
You watch him, immensely entertained.
“Baby, you’ll watch our stuff while I show this prick how you’re actually supposed to skate, won’t you?”
You grin, fond despite yourself. Your idiots. “Yeah, of course.”
Sirius’ eyes flicker like he sees some of what you’re thinking, but he kisses you sweetly nonetheless. “Thanks, gorgeous.”
oooh please do coach!remus and cheerleader!reader for your multiverse monday, something about the power dynamic and him asking you push more is so HOT
today is multiverse monday!! send me any au you can think of :)
i want to state that this is COLLEGE CHEERLEADING, i wouldn't be pairing remus up with some high schooler don't freak out 💀 this post is 18+, minors dni.
one day you pull a muscle and have to sit out from practice, and you're lamenting not being able to cheer for a week or two while it heals but you always come and watch the rest of your team. you just hang out on the bench, and coach!remus keeps you company, he chats with you about your life and how your day went, etc
you're not gonna deny that he's absolutely gorgeous, or that some part of you almost doesn't want to heal because it would mean you don't get to sit with him for hours every week just talking about nothing while watching your friends practice - you're also not gonna deny that he seems to be growing closer to you, that he's started sitting with his thigh pressed against you more often, that he's started staring into your eyes for longer than he needs to, that he's started walking you to your car at the end of the night where he'd usually just head to his own
one day you end up mentioning how it hurt when you stretched your good leg earlier, and that you're worried your down time is making you less flexible. You don't mean anything by it, but instead of walking you to your car at the end of the night, remus offers to 'help you with your stretches', and he's keeping his slender, veiny hands on your legs as he pushes them as far apart as possible while he pounds into you atop his desk so that 'his star cheerer stays as flexible as possible' 🥴🥴
Volleyball coach/Neighbour Remus finding your videos then spying on you through the window while you live stream and slowly making perkier jokes during volleyball practice to see how long it takes before he has you begging on your knees.
Sorry if this is too long
i think the “joke” that does it is when you’re about to leave practice.
he’s taking down the net, nodding at you, “you leavin’ in a rush- it’s because it’s friday isn’t it?”
and you’re just nodding not even processing the question until a few moments.
you turn around pale, and he’s smirking at you, head cocked, “i watch that ass every evening, y’think i wouldn’t recognize it on camera?”
summary: You and Sirius are in dire need of a new coach just weeks before the Olympics. Remus is a former figure skating prodigy forced to retire after a career-ending injury. Though it's not smooth skating right away, those stiff Olympic village beds are dying to be broken in.
collab with @ellecdc
part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 7 | part 8 | part 9 | part 10 | part 11 | part 12 | part 13 | part 14 | part 15 | part 16
cw: modern au, chronic pain
poly!wolfstar x fem!reader ♡ 1.3k words
Remus still wakes before dark every morning. It’s automatic, an urgency and excitement that thrums through him like an old instinct, born from years of his alarm clock rousing him at this time. The rink is always at its best right now, when they’ve just finished resurfacing the ice and no one else is around. It was Remus’ favorite time to practice.
Now, he has a new reason to get up. His hip clicks as he does it, so he starts his day with a couple of proactive painkillers. If he really wanted to be proactive he would stretch like he’s supposed to, but there’s no time and Remus doesn’t feel like it. He’ll pay his toll for the negligence later.
The webpage of his Airbnb boasted a five-minute walk to the rink, but with his hip it takes Remus seven. It’s like an odd sort of muscle memory, an old routine from another life that feels as bitter as it does comfortable. He heads out early to give himself some cushion. The streets are empty but for bakers and baristas, the first hints of dawn tinging the sky a deep blue. When he turns a corner and the rink comes into view, the absence of his bag hanging from his shoulder is a phantom ache.
The front doors are locked but the side one staff uses isn’t, the Zamboni driver already inside. Remus lets himself in, makes a cup of tea from the hot water dispenser they leave out when concessions are closed, plants himself on a bench, and waits.
And waits.
And waits.
Remus has nearly nodded off when two pairs of shoes come bounding up to him. Well, one pair bounds. The other drags.
“Hi, sorry we’re late.” You’re breathless and hauling a sullen-looking boy along behind you by the hand, but you manage a smile when Remus looks up at you. “I had to run over and get him out of bed. It’s good to meet you!”
You hold out your untethered hand. Remus might normally stand to take it, but he no longer feels like doing you the courtesy. Your grip is firm and warm.
“You were supposed to be here at six,” he says.
You wince. “I know. Sorry, Sirius is really not a morning person.”
Remus thinks that he might put more stock into your apologies if you looked a tad more contrite. As it is, your countenance is almost cheery, a fizzy eagerness about you as you look between him and the ice like you can’t wait to get out on it.
In stark contrast, the ill-tempered boy behind you seems not to have a clue where he is. He looks rumpled and disoriented, squinting in the rink’s fluorescent light.
“Then why didn’t you pick another time?” Remus asks.
He hadn’t realized he was still looking at Sirius, or that the other boy could talk, so it’s a surprise when he answers. “Wasn’t my bloody idea.”
By the way you grin, Remus wonders if you’ve even heard the obvious bitterness in your partner’s tone, or whether it’s gone straight over your head.
“I like the rink better early,” you explain. “No one else ever comes before the hockey practice starts at nine, and they’ll have just finished resurfacing the ice.”
Begrudgingly, Remus nods. “I always preferred it about now, too.”
He realizes immediately that his agreement was a mistake, because your smile grows into something far too brilliant for the early hour. Christ, what has he gotten himself into? There’s you, starry-eyed and effervescing all over the place, and your partner, who looks more inclined to fall asleep on your shoulder than put on his skates.
And this is the pair skating duo Remus is supposed to take to the Olympics.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
“Watch that back foot!” Remus shouts across the ice.
Sirius doesn’t look happy about it, but he corrects the placement of his skate, transitioning smoothly into the next synced turn.
“Good,” Remus murmurs to himself.
Once Sirius got out on the ice and woke up a bit, he was good. He skates with the technical proficiency of someone who’s been in the sport since before they started primary school, and the intuitive artistry of someone who loves it. You’re much the same, though your virtuosity and obvious competence are consistently undercut by hesitation, the grace of your movements interrupted when you second-guess yourself. But these—technical prowess paired with devotion—are the basics of what makes a good figure skater. You’ll have to be flawless if you want to do well at the Olympics.
And Remus has found many flaws.
“No, no—shit!” Remus stands as you fall out of your jump again, catching yourself on your forearms. “You’re still under-rotating! Come on!”
Sirius snarls a quick “Hey!” over his shoulder before turning his back on Remus, going to help you up. He speaks to you quietly, checking you over as you stand. Remus seethes.
He has no clue why he’s been called out here to coach a pair. Remus doesn’t know pairs, has never been a part of one. He was a solo skater. And frankly, it makes him wary that what’s supposed to be the best skating pair in Britain has asked him, a former solo skater who’s been isolated from the figure skating community in general for the past two years, to coach them. But Remus does know figure skating. And he knows when skaters are making stupid mistakes behind their skill level.
“What aren’t you understanding?” asks Remus as you skate back to the edge of the rink. He really wants to know. “It’s simple. You can do this.” He knows he could have. As easy as breathing, and he would kill to have the chance again.
“What the fuck is your problem?”
Sirius’ glare is sharp as knives. He steps off the ice before you can, positioning himself between you and Remus. Your lips purse with a knowing sort of apprehension.
“Sirius…”
“No, you don’t talk to her like that,” Sirius spits. “It was a tiny mistake.”
Remus raises his eyebrows, incredulous. “I’m trying to help her! It was a giant mistake, with a simple fix. You ought to be telling her the same, unless you’re okay with your partner snapping her ankle weeks out from competition.”
“None of that means you get to fucking yell at her! Who do you think you are?”
“Okay—”
“I’m her coach,” says Remus, voice rising, “and—”
“Then coach her! Maybe if you’d give some actual fucking feedback instead of just nitpicking—”
“Okay!” Your shout cuts through the space, echoing in the empty rink and silencing the other two. “That’s enough.”
You haul Sirius back by his shoulder. Your grip doesn’t look severe enough to move him, but he goes, stepping back to your side. His eyes never leave Remus’.
Your own gaze jumps between both boys, that same spark he’d seen in you earlier burning with a different light.
“Let’s call it for today,” you say firmly. “Okay? We’ll try again tomorrow.”
Neither boy speaks, though Remus nods. It seems to be taking all of Sirius’ willpower to bite his tongue. He gets the impression it isn’t something he succeeds at often, so Remus isn’t ashamed to say that it brings him a perverse sort of joy to see it now. His tiny bit of smugness fizzles out, though, when your eyes land on him. There’s something desolate in your expression that’s a salient deviation from how you’d looked at him before. Remus has the sinking feeling that he’s disappointed you. It’s more distressing than he can account for.
“We’ll be here on time tomorrow,” you say in that same steady tone. “And my jump, I’ll work on it.”
Remus nods again. You return it, and when you turn to leave, you drag Sirius after you by his shirtsleeve, picking up your bags along your way. Remus’ mouth feels dry. His lips are chapped, his fingertips hurt from the cold, and the sight of your skates sinking into the rubbery floor makes his hip ache terribly.
It’s only once you’re nearly out of earshot that he manages to mumble, “Thank you.”
part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 7 | part 8 | part 9 | part 10 | part 11 | part 12 | part 13 | part 14 | part 15 | part 16
cw: modern au, some mature themes (in that it vaguely references past smut), allusion to past abusive dynamics/child abuse
poly!wolfstar x fem!reader ♡ 2.7k words
Somehow, Sirius’ hand is cold even underneath the covers.
Remus wakes with it like a cool weight in the center of his chest, fingers curled slightly with sleep. The other boy’s arm is cast over you, stretched out like Sirius had been determined even in sleep to keep you both close.
You’re considerably warmer, sandwiched between the two boys in the large shirt you’d thrown on to slink into Sirius’ room in the early hours of the morning. You’re all crammed in tight on Sirius’ bed, chosen because it’s still intact whereas yours is now only a mattress on the floor (Remus hopes you don’t need to explain that to anyone in charge of your lodgings). Remus’ leg is only just balanced on the edge of Sirius’ mattress, and Sirius himself is lying with his backside pressed against the wall, cheek resting on the mattress as he’d evidently given up on trying to share the pillow at some point in the night. The sunlight coming in through the window plays prettily over both of your features, and Remus’ chest warms with something like—wait. There’s sunlight. Coming in through the window.
He nearly falls out of bed reaching for his phone.
You make a soft sighing sound, rolling forward into the space he’s left.
“Remusss,” Sirius mumbles. “Stop moving.”
“We need to get up,” says Remus, breathless. His voice croaks with sleep.
“Hm?”
“Up, up.” He pats both of you on the shoulders before devoting his efforts to Sirius, tugging the sleeping boy upright. Remus has chosen correctly, because you rouse on your own, sitting up on your elbows with a squinty, confused look Remus really wishes he had more time to admire. “We’re on in forty minutes. Did nobody set alarms?”
You sit all the way up now, eyes going wide. “We are?”
“Did you not set an alarm?” Sirius asks him. “I was counting on you two for that.”
You shoot out of bed without an answer to your question. “My phone’s in my room.” Now that you mention it, Remus thinks he can hear a faint chiming coming from the room next to Sirius’. These walls must really not be very thick. You look at Remus, very much awake now. “Forty minutes?”
“Forty minutes,” he confirms, trying to tamp down on his own panic in an effort to avoid exacerbating yours.
You nod. “I’m going to stretch. Meet outside in ten?”
“Alright.” Remus gives you a small smile. He doesn’t blame you for not thinking to return it as you rush out the door. He turns his attention back to Sirius, still looking half caught in a dream and like he might return to it at any moment. “Oi.” Remus gives him a hard look. “I have to go get dressed. Can I trust you not to fall back asleep?”
“Yeah, yeah.” Sirius rubs his eyes. “I won’t miss the bloody Olympics.”
“Good,” says Remus. He starts backing towards the door, trying to look stern while silently praying there’s no one in the hall to see him in his underwear. It had been one thing in the dead of night, but now… “Ten minutes. Get some stretching in, especially that ankle.”
Sirius seems to come a bit more awake, lips stretching in a grin. “Yes, Coach.”
Remus ignores his flirty eyes, though his face feels distinctly pink as he steps out the door, making his way quickly to his own room. He’d gotten a tad bossy the night before, not harsh but certainly directive, because it had seemed at times that you and Sirius were too timid to take steps by yourselves and damn it—Remus had waited long enough for what was about to happen. So out of impatience and necessity, he took charge. Sirius’ particular enjoyment of that came as a not-unpleasant surprise.
Remus dresses quickly, grateful he doesn’t need to stretch as you and Sirius do. He fills the time instead by fetching tea and coffee from the dining hall. They don’t have any fancy coffee syrups for Sirius, but the spoiled twat will just have to make do. He finds you where you said you’d be exactly ten minutes later, already knocking anxiously on Sirius’ door.
“Here you are.” Remus passes you your drink of choice. “He’ll be nearly ready, just give him a moment.”
“I’m coming, I’m coming,” Sirius gripes from inside, sounding characteristically cheerful after a rushed wake-up.
“Oh. Thank you.” You take the drink from Remus, looking down at your other hand. He follows your gaze, and you’ve a drink carrier of your own. Three drinks identical to the ones Remus has brought.
A little laugh tumbles out of him. “Where did you find the time to get those?”
“Drinks are always my job.” You shrug, smiling a little. You look nervous, tension sewn into the muscles of your shoulders and preventing your happiness from reaching your eyes. Remus has the urge to drag you back into bed and soothe it out of you. “I went first thing. Had to rush my makeup, though.”
Since dragging you to bed doesn’t seem particularly timely, Remus settles for an ardent kiss to the top of your head. He takes the other drink carrier from you.
“You look lovely,” he says, meaning it. Your hair is smoothed away from your face, your makeup simple but dramatic, bold sweeps of eyeliner and color across your lids. Underneath your sweats he knows you’ll be wearing your costume, and the overall effect is bound to be mesmerizing enough that Remus hopes he can pay attention to your routine. “Extra drinks never hurt anyone.”
“Alright!” Sirius’ door whooshes open. He’s made up similarly, formidable slashes across his eyes and face set in determination. “Let’s go.”
He takes his coffee with a brief thanks. If the flavor isn’t to his liking, he doesn’t complain. This ritual, the stretched-taut tension of going to compete, should feel like coming home to Remus, but he can’t help but feel a bit odd.
If he’d taken the time to imagine what waking up next to you and Sirius would be like, it would probably have gone a bit slower. Soft rousings, lazy kisses, maybe a fond argument about who had to get up to get tea before you all decided to stay in bed just a little while longer. Not, perhaps, quite so much of this rushing, with none of you talking to each other and Remus fighting to keep up as you and Sirius speed-walk towards the competition.
He’s just caught sight of the boards when Sirius stops short. You falter beside him. Both you and Remus trace his gaze back to where two people, a man and a woman, are advancing on him with a steely resoluteness Remus knows but can’t place.
“Sirius Black.” The woman seems to be leading the charge, a stormcloud of dark hair and hateful eyes. “Horrid, ungrateful child!”
Remus blinks. The movement feels slow and dumb. You snap out of your stillness, taking several steps forward—not just in front of Sirius, but towards the woman.
“Get out of here.” Your expression is as fierce as Remus has ever seen it. The woman’s stare catches on you for a moment, a frigid flicker of annoyance, then dismisses you. “What makes you think you can just—”
“Thousands of pounds on skating lessons,” she seethes, the cold hiss of her voice somehow louder than anyone else’s. “The best tutors, private training facilities, and after all that you neglect to invite your own family—”
“He doesn’t have to invite you to anything,” you snarl.
Family, thinks Remus. Yes—the dark hair, the cool, scornful eyes—this woman is Sirius is his cruelest form. His mother.
“Sirius doesn’t have to go anywhere with you,” you go on, fervent. “You lost that privilege, both of you, you—”
Sirius never talks about his family. Ever. What does it mean, that they’re here? The way you’re speaking to them—you know them, you’ve met before, but there’s certainly no kinship there.
“—need to leave. Leave him alone—”
“Quiet,” Sirius’ mother spits. Her voice is like the twigs of a barren tree rattling against each other in the wind, harsh and grinding.
Remus looks at Sirius. He doesn’t at first know why, realizing only after he does it that he’s waiting for the other boy to stand up for you. To move his body in front of yours, fiery and protective, the way he always does. But Sirius looks rooted to the spot, his expression frozen and eyes just slightly widened. A weight sinks into Remus’ gut as he remembers what you’d told him the night after he got in Sirius’ face for the first and only time.
It’s not my place to tell you about what his life has been, you’d said, hedging. You can shout at him all you want, but just stay away from physical stuff like that.
Remus looks at Sirius’ mother, all cold fury as she tries to get closer to her son. You, continually stepping into her path, eyes blazing like some goddess of guardianship and inner strength. And Sirius, as passive as Remus has ever seen him. Afraid.
“That’s enough.” Remus hardly recognizes his own voice when it comes out. It’s harder than any he’s used as your coach, harder even than the one he’s used on himself. Sirius turns to him in surprise, but you keep your eyes on the woman in front of you, unyielding. “No one,” he says, “no one, regardless of their relations, comes in here and harasses my athletes. You will leave, or you will be escorted out.”
If possible, the woman’s expression grows colder. “How dare you. My husband and I are—”
“You two,” Remus ignores her for a moment, softening his voice some to address you and Sirius. You turn now, eyes flickering to Sirius first as if to check he’s okay, “go get ready by the boards. I’ll meet you there in just a moment.”
There’s not much left for you to do to get ready, but Remus knows better than anyone the importance of having a clear head before competition. Neither of you need to be here for this.
Remus waits as you nod, going back to Sirius and looping your arm through his before continuing towards the boards, keeping yourself purposefully between Sirius and his mother all the while. Remus watches you go, and then he turns to face Mrs. Black.
Remus has never gotten to kick anyone out of a rink before. It’s a significant mood-booster. The way Walburga—he’d learned her name when she’d shrieked it at the staff no less than a dozen times, endeavoring madly to gain some favor from her surname, which Remus had never heard before Sirius but in Walburga’s mind apparently ought to have the lower classes bending over backwards—had screeched and threatened as she and her husband had been dragged out was almost enough to make Remus regret sending Sirius away so he couldn't witness it himself. But, of course, Sirius is always better off with you.
Evidence of this arises as soon as Remus finds you. You’ve both shed your sweats, your matching costumes and makeup making you look nearly a mirror image. Sirius’ head is cupped between your hands, your foreheads bent together as you whisper to him ardently.
“Fuck. Them.” You push your forehead into his.
“Yeah.” Sirius’ brow is furrowed, his eyes closed. “Fuck them.”
There can only be a minute or so before you’re supposed to go out and perform, but Remus hangs back. Letting you have this, he thinks, might prove more effective than anything he could say.
“They don’t deserve you,” you tell Sirius firmly, “they never did. You’re here because of your hard work, not because of anything they gave you.”
Sirius takes a breath. Pushes it back out. “I know.”
Remus’ heart gives a painful squeeze for the both of you. As though by some sixth sense, Sirius looks up, blue eyes landing on his.
“They’re gone,” Remus says. You let out a breath, expression easing, but Sirius only nods. Remus draws closer. “You alright?”
“Yeah,” Sirius replies. He turns, catching sight of the staff member coming to tell you it’s your turn. “Let’s do this.”
Remus watches you two go out onto the ice, hoping he looks more confident than he feels. He doesn’t doubt your ability to perform well—he never could, after all he’s seen from you these past several weeks—but you’re angry and Sirius is something else, neither of you collected enough to summon the focus you need to pull this off. Remus forces himself to take a deep breath as you finish your loop around the rink and come to a stop in your starting position, telling himself he’ll be happy for you no matter what.
He should have had more faith in the both of you.
As soon as the music starts it’s like the confusion of the past few days is wiped away entirely. You’re the same as you were, as you’ve always been, gliding alongside each other like the rest of the world doesn’t exist. The only difference is that the energy between you that’s always been there has shifted ever so slightly. Still love, but fuller now. Actualized.
Your costumes, gauzy layers of deep indigo, billow behind you to create the impression that you’re actually painting on the white canvas of the ice, each step a brushstroke done with intention and artistry. You and Sirius sweep around each other, undulating and circling and drifting apart before coming back. Your blades hit the ice after each jump like a crash of cymbals, perfectly on beat.
Towards the end of the routine, Sirius takes your hand in his. You start to circle him, backwards, one skate off the ground. Remus tenses as Sirius lowers himself into a squat, looking at you down the length of your arm. There’s not so much as a flicker in either of your expressions as he lowers you all the way.
Remus draws in a sharp breath of cold air.
You adjust beautifully, your training taking over to guide you through a move you’ve never practiced, back arched and skirt fluttering in front of you. You go through a few rotations that way before Sirius lifts you up and propels you seamlessly into a spin. The death spiral finishes out flawlessly.
For just a second after your spin, you catch Remus’ gaze, eyes smiling as if to say, See?
He beams.
Remus is still beaming when he meets you in the kiss and cry, feeling soppy and ridiculous and overwhelmingly proud.
“That was brilliant,” he says, taking you by the shoulders when you make it to him first. You’re smiling too, radiant, eyes sparkling as sweetly as the day he met you. He squeezes you warmly. “Brilliant.”
He catches hold of Sirius next, cupping his neck with both hands. The other boy’s eyebrow twitches, a sheepish smile coming to his face.
Remus laughs, “Prick,” and kisses him in the center of his forehead.
You make an ill-contained squealing sound, throwing your arms around them both. “I knew you’d do it,” you say, putting your lips to Sirius’ cheek, overflowing with happiness. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”
Sirius gives a short laugh. He’s no doubt enjoying the onslaught of affection, but he rolls his eyes anyway. “Yeah, sure. Just ask next time.”
part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 7 | part 8 | part 9 | part 10 | part 11 | part 12 | part 13 | part 14 | part 15 | part 16
cw: modern au, chronic pain, one vague suggestive joke
poly!wolfstar x fem!reader ♡ 1.1k words
Remus woke before dark this morning. Your hair tickled his cheek, and he realized that you’d drawn closer to him in the night, your body half on top of his and his arm curled around your shoulders as though to keep you there. Remus’ other arm was asleep, trapped beneath Sirius’ ribs. Somehow, on a twin bed, the three of you had managed to get close enough that there was room to spare.
He didn’t move, but something about Remus’ waking must have caught your attention. He saw your eyes open through the darkness. You’d likely already been rousing, as he had, your body gearing up for a practice that wouldn’t be taking place today. You turned your face up to see him, and the two of you shared a fond, sleepy smile. Then you kissed his chin and went back to sleep.
It had been a late night. Not the bad kind, but it left you all tired nonetheless. After a long day of talking to press, shaking hands, and celebrating your silver medal (not gold, but Remus reasoned that it wasn’t such a bad thing to lose to the undisputed best skating duo in a generation, and after some pouting even Sirius had agreed. When you stood next to Virtue and Moir on the podium, you’d looked so starstruck Remus was worried you’d faint) you’d been eager to be alone with each other. You’d talked until nearly morning, tenderhearted conversations that perhaps might have taken less time if you’d all been less easily distracted by each other or if Sirius hadn’t made that joke about his parents that made you fall off the bed laughing. Remus can’t bring himself to regret the detours.
Neither of you seem to either, though Sirius laughs when you yawn in line to drop off your baggage at the airport.
“What is that, five yawns since we’ve left?” he teases, wrapping an arm around your shoulder and smushing a kiss to your cheek. “Poor girl.”
“Shut up,” you mumble, leaning into his side. “I’m not used to being up all night like you are.”
“Well, you’d better get used to it, baby.”
Your brow wrinkles. “What is that supposed to mean?”
Remus laughs, giving Sirius a little shove. Sirius responds by bumping his hip into his own suitcase, forcing Remus to readjust his grip. You shoot Sirius a condemning look.
In the spirit of good coaching, Remus had volunteered to carry your bags. He’d been more concerned with getting you and Sirius into bed over the last few days than ensuring you were properly stretched out, so when you’d both complained of soreness this morning he felt the need to make it up. You had completely refused and said you’d carry your own, but Sirius had relinquished his hulking suitcase readily; he did, however, insist upon massaging and kissing Remus’ hip for twenty minutes before they left for the airport to prepare it for the journey.
“Don’t worry,” Remus tells you. “You’ll have plenty of time to sleep in after today.”
You blink. “No practice?”
“I think you deserve a couple of days off.”
“A couple?” Sirius raises an eyebrow. “We just won silver at the Olympics. I’d say we’re due a week at least.”
Remus eyes him, biting back a smile. “Maybe four days,” he says.
“God, four days.” You blow out a breath. “What are we gonna do with all that time?”
Sirius makes a pffting sound. “Like you won’t be at the rink anyway.”
“Like you won’t be there, too.”
“Take some actual rest,” Remus chides, ignoring the ridiculous warmth in his chest; it’s obscene how listening to your teasing has become such a comforting familiarity. “You’ve been working hard, you need it.”
“Alright, Coach,” Sirius says with mock solemnity. “If that’s what you think is best.”
Remus looks at you.
You roll your eyes, relenting. “Okay.”
“Good.” He smiles, winding an arm around your waist and tugging you from Sirius’ hold to press a kiss to your head.
“Hey!” Sirius protests.
You laugh. The warmth in Remus’ chest flares again. It’s odd to think about the person he was when he left home to coach you two, and how much has changed since then. Remus had been grieving, a years-long grief, focused only on what he lost and uninterested in trying for anything new. He’d been lonely without knowing it, isolated and purposeless, but you and Sirius had defied his expectations in every way imaginable. He thought he’d simply coach you, take you to the Olympics, and go home. Now, Remus’ sense of home is different than what it was before.
He wants to stay with you. He’ll coach you and Sirius for as long as you’ll have him, and if someday he’s not what you need anymore he’ll find someone else to coach. He thinks he’ll need to get an apartment instead of an Airbnb, someplace to unpack his things and make his own, preferably with three chairs at the kitchen table and a bed big enough for all of you. He wants to continue feeding off the energy of you and Sirius in your element, readying you for competitions, making you the best you can be. Maybe eventually Remus will get back out on the ice, too. Not like he used to, never to compete, but maybe just for fun. It doesn’t sound so daunting when he imagines skating with you and Sirius alongside him, there to catch him if he falls.
You’re looking up at him with a small, curious smile. Remus realizes he must be looking mortifyingly in love. “What?” you ask.
“Nothing.” He kisses you, partly because he wants to and partly to watch your smile bloom in full. It does, and Remus relishes the feeling. Like standing in a pool of sunlight.
“Oi.” Sirius glares, relaxing only when Remus kisses him, too. He grins and takes another for himself, delivering a playful nibble to Remus’ lip. “That’s more like it.”
“We’re going to give the woman at the counter a heart attack,” Remus notes. “She looks terribly confused.”
“Probably just starstruck,” Sirius says without looking.
“Oh, shit!” You smack your forehead. Remus and Sirius both frown, Sirius taking your hand in his to prevent further damage. “I was going to steal one of the Olympic mugs from the dining hall, and I forgot. I need to find a souvenir.”
“Ooh, should we get shirts?” Sirius’ expression turns eager. “Something like I went to the Olympics and all I got was this stupid t-shirt.”
Remus thinks of the silver medal in Sirius’ backpack and actually guffaws. Both you and Sirius beam at him. “I think you got a bit more than that.”
You laugh and loop your free arm through Sirius’, drawing both boys close. “That’s true.”
Mae!!! I am so happy to see you opening up requests for Thawing Out because I am genuinely OBSESSED and I haven’t stopped thinking about it 💖💖💖 So, what if during practice, Remus (unknowingly, obviously) said something to r, like making a correction or something, and it’s something Peter had said. And Sirius recognizes it too!! And you can decide what happens 🥰 Love you! 💖
Thank you for requesting lovely <33
collab with @ellecdc
part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 7 | part 8 | part 9 | part 10 | part 11 | part 12 | part 13 | part 14 | part 15 | part 16
cw: modern au, chronic pain, Peter mention
poly!wolfstar x fem!reader ♡ 2k words
You’re an angel on the ice. Gliding and sweeping, your movements so ethereal Sirius half expects to look down and find that your skates are floating above the surface of the ice, or that you’ve etched the next great work of art into the canvas beneath your feet. But he doesn’t, because it’s clear as day that the true art is in the creation, and it’s got its fingers clasped around his. Sirius feels lucky to bear witness.
You have the look of someone who’s given themselves over to their craft, your expression poised but eyes sparkling as you transition neatly from one move to the next until you’re coasting alongside Sirius. You’re wearing leg warmers today, far from unconventional in your sport but it’s humiliating how adorable he finds it on you. Your nails are short and neat, fingers surprisingly warm in his own, eyelashes fluttering as you tilt your head back.
You make it look easy. The way you arch your back until you’re nearly parallel to the ice, skating on only the edge of one skate while Sirius draws you in a circle around him. He starts to lower himself, finding the position you’d practiced off ice. Your grip on his hand is strong, your head tilting until the hairs escaping from your bun are whipping just above the ice, until Sirius is sure you can feel its chill on the back of your neck, and he can’t do it.
He keeps you a few inches above where he knows you’re supposed to be, holds you there with the momentum of his spin, and then hoists you up and into your spin.
You look at him bemusedly as you land on your other skate, a questioning flicker of eye contact Sirius pretends not to notice. You finish out the rest of your routine perfectly.
“That was great,” Remus says from the entryway. Sirius has noticed that he’s taken to watching you from there rather than from the bleachers on days when his hip isn’t giving him as much trouble. He wonders if Remus is almost tantalizing himself, standing on the edge of the ice but knowing he can’t go further. “Y/n, you had a lovely arch going into the spiral, but I want to see you stay more on that outside edge during the lutz-loop combination. Just play it safe on that one, alright?”
“Yeah.” You nod, looking encouraged. “Sorry, I felt myself slip a bit there.”
“You managed it just fine,” Remus reassures you. He gives you a gentle smile, and Sirius stomach does something fluttery and unsanctioned. “It’s good that you noticed, we only want to keep an eye on it, yeah?”
You smile in reply. The commotion in Sirius’ stomach worsens.
“And Sirius,” Remus turns to him, “we still have to get a bit lower on the spiral. Her head should be below her knee.”
Sirius frowns. “I know.”
It’s a non-answer and Remus knows it, but he doesn’t snipe back at him. His brows twitch together thoughtfully. “We’ve still got a few days. Do you need more time to practice off ice?”
“No,” Sirius replies. He wishes the other boy would get angry with him, give him something to shoot back at, something other than kindness and temperance and this lame, irksome understanding. He almost wants to roll his eyes as he adds, “I’ll work on it.”
Remus seems (frustratingly) appeased with that. “Alright, just be careful on your left pick when you get down there.” His voice takes on a teasing lilt. “We don’t need any more accidents this close to competition, Pads.”
Sirius waits for the flash of irritation. But your laughter rings out brilliant and lovely, and Remus is smiling at the both of you with something like fondness, and he can’t seem to find it.
Fucking James. Sirius ought to know better than to automatically trust anyone his best friend likes—you’ve both suffered the consequences from that once already—but it’s difficult to summon his usual disdain for Remus after watching the two of them chinwag and snicker like old friends at practice the other day. It was odd seeing James so familiar with someone else, but Sirius found he couldn’t muster any jealousy. As much as he loathes to think of it, you were right—learning James and Remus were old friends did make him think. In ways that remind Sirius why thinking is one of his least favorite activities.
He shoots Remus the bird over his shoulder. Unfortunately, in doing so, he fails to notice a blemish in the ice which catches his skate, causing him to pitch forward before righting himself.
Remus’ lips twitch, but Sirius holds up a hand. “You can keep your quips to yourself.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“Then you can keep your looks to yourself.”
You implement Remus’ alteration to your lutz-loop combination flawlessly. It’s something you’ve always been good at, confident enough to take feedback and skilled enough to make the changes stick. It’s part of why you’re as good as you are, the amalgamation of every scrap of advice you’ve ever received and a fierce determination that's all your own. You jump and spin and twist your way through the routine beautifully.
Sirius, on the other hand, is not so great with critiques. The death spiral stays exactly the way it is, with your head safely above the ice and neither of you low enough to get full points. And that’s likely how it will stay.
He can tell you and Remus are both getting more frustrated, more disappointed, every time he fails to take it all the way, but Sirius can’t bring himself to go any further. His heart won’t let him.
“We’ll do some more off ice tomorrow,” Remus decides for him as you both take off your skates. “We’ve got the time, everything else is looking beautiful. Sirius, maybe work on getting low on your own today, so we’ve less to cover tomorrow.” Sirius nods down towards his skates. He doesn’t feel like looking at either one of you. “And y/n, the only thing I’m still noticing from you is that landing on your triple axle. You’re a bit wobbly. I want you to focus on controlling your descent and really sticking it. It looks nearly perfect, you’re just making me a little nervous—this would be a shit time to have to go into an early retirement, wouldn’t it?”
It’s said lightly, a hint of a smile at the tail end, but your face twinges like he’s snapped at you. Remus’ brow furrows in mild confusion, and Sirius feels a hard fist clench in his chest. He wouldn’t know what had made you react like that either, if you hadn’t repeated Peter’s words to him yourself.
He told the other coach that I was one bad jump away from injuring myself into an early retirement.
“I’m not actually worried about that—you’re too skilled for an injury that severe to be very likely, I just,” Remus is watching you carefully, clearly trying to reason out where he went wrong, “thought I should bring it to your attention. Only as a precaution.”
You nod several times, quicker and harder than necessary. “Yeah.” Your lips press into a smile. “I’ll be careful, thanks.”
Sirius sets his hand on top of yours, shit at comfort but meaning to try anyway, but your hand slips away as you get up and sling your bag over your shoulder.
“I have to get home,” you say, squeezing Sirius’ shoulder as if in apology. Your expression is tight. “I’ll see you guys tomorrow, okay?”
“Okay,” Remus echoes. He watches you go with a half-remorseful look on his face, like he doesn’t know what he’s done but he feels bad for it anyway.
Seeing as you haven’t waited for him, Sirius supposes he’ll be walking home on his own today. He sets his skates in his bag, beginning to tug on his shoes.
Remus broaches the silence almost tentatively. “Did she seem alright to you?” Sirius doesn’t know how to respond to that, but the other boy goes on before he has to. “Did…do you know if I said something to upset her?”
Sirius shrugs. “Nope.”
Remus can probably smell the lie—he’s not gone to any great lengths to conceal it—but Sirius doesn’t care. The look of hurt on your face has set a familiar protective ire buzzing beneath his skin, and Remus is the one who caused it. Neither of you owe him any explanation.
Remus falls quiet again, but he waits while Sirius finishes packing up, walks with him towards the exit.
“How long have you and James been friends?” he asks.
“A long time,” Sirius answers shortly. “I moved in with him and his parents when I was sixteen.”
“Oh.” Remus turns to look at him. Sirius feels his gaze, wide and curious, on the side of his face. “Yeah, a long time, then. It was nice to talk to him again. We used to run into each other so often, but I hadn’t seen him since…well, since I left, I suppose.”
There’s a melancholy that lays itself down over those last few words, the nostalgia in Remus’ voice smothered underneath. Maybe it’s that quiet tone, maybe it’s the image of James and Remus together, laughing and talking about their futures on the ice during early mornings at the rink, but Sirius feels himself softening.
“He mentioned something,” Remus says tentatively, “about your last coach. It didn’t sound like things ended well.”
Sirius pushes out a breath. “They didn’t.”
“Was he not very good?”
“No,” he can hear the frustration seeping into his voice. He wishes Peter were worse at his job. That he’d been an idiot, didn’t understand your styles, and none of you had ever managed to get along. It would have made everything so much easier. “He was good.”
“I’m not trying to pry,” says Remus, “but if what happened with him is going to affect how you two are with me—if it has anything to do with how I upset y/n today—I would appreciate if you told me.”
So Sirius does. He’s not sparing with the details, and Remus doesn’t begrudge him the anger that grips him as he talks about Peter’s betrayal, where it left the two of you, how it’s still coming back to hurt you even now. It makes him furious, but where he’d expected Remus to take it all in calmly, Sirius is surprised when the other boy’s jaw gets tight as he listens. He has questions: How long had you worked with Peter? Did either of you have to get involved with the case, or did his emails speak for themselves? Does Sirius know how long Peter was playing double-agent?
By the time they’re on Sirius’ block, Remus has begun alternating between shaking his head and huffy, revolted exhalations.
“I can’t believe he said that to her.” He shakes his head, guilt digging into the space between his brows. “I can’t believe I said it, either, but I was only trying to make a joke about myself, not…she’s far too skilled to have a fall like that—well, anyone could, but she’s only as likely as anyone else at her level. Which isn’t very many people.”
“That’s what I told her,” Sirius agrees. “I think she was mostly over it, but…”
“I reminded her.” Remus sighs. “I’ll have to make it up to her.”
“She’ll be alright,” he says honestly. “I think it just surprised her.”
“She’s really good.”
“I know.”
“She has to know that.”
“She…” Sirius hesitates. “Do we ever really know it, about ourselves?”
“Oh, come off it.” Remus gives Sirius a knowing look. His mouth tugs up on one side. “You clearly know how good you are.”
Sirius feels a pleased tingle of warmth in his face. He walks backwards up the stairs to his flat, leveling Remus with a cocky grin. “Am I?”
“Don’t. You maintain your own ego well enough without my help.”
“Oh, but it never hurts to have disciples.” He fishes out his key, unlocking the door. “You could remind me from time to time, just for fun.”
When he turns, Remus is watching him from the sidewalk with a gleam of something like amusement in his eye. “Nail the spiral,” he says, “and we’ll see.”
Hiiii I’m loving Thawing out so far and this is kind of a bland request but I feel like it would be cute if Remus shows up to practice late one time and when he gets there reader and Sirius are working on like footwork or anything else really but they’re just so much isync together and he’s just staring at them in awe. Anyways it’s totally up to you if you want to use that and where you want to put it but yeah :)
Thank you lovely!! And everyone say thank you to Elle for her genius "Pads" idea ;)
collab with @ellecdc
part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 7 | part 8 | part 9 | part 10 | part 11 | part 12 | part 13 | part 14 | part 15 | part 16
cw: modern au, chronic pain, implicit mention of traumatic injury, blasphemous and untrue comments about Sirius' butt
poly!wolfstar x fem!reader ♡ 1.6k words
Sirius is a few minutes late to pick you up the next morning. A few more and you would’ve assumed he overslept, texted him to meet you at the rink, but Remus doesn’t make one comment about it. It seems that, like you, he finds that quips at Sirius’ expense aren’t as much fun when he’s not around to gripe at you for them.
When Sirius does come it’s with drinks, one in each hand and a third nestled in between his elbow and his side. He had to have gotten to the coffee shop only about the same time as the baristas if he’s getting them to you this early. You plant a kiss on his cheek, reading the meaning behind the gift, the apology he won’t say aloud. It’s quite the sacrifice for him to wake up that extra bit earlier. By the way Remus’ eyes soften as he takes his drink, he reads it, too.
Of course, once you set off the teasing commences.
“Do you not own a scarf?” Remus asks, eyeing Sirius’ wind-flushed cheeks. “Or a proper coat?”
“Oh, don’t come for his jacket.” You grin at him. “He’ll lose all his cool points if he trades that in.”
“I can either look good, or I can be warm,” Sirius says stiffly, though you can tell by his expression he isn’t truly offended. “You can’t have both.”
Remus doesn’t hesitate. “I’d rather be warm. You look like you have ice crystals forming on your nose.”
Sirius huffs. “Can I smoke now?”
“No,” you say primly. Remus appears to be hiding a grin.
Sirius rubs the bottom of his nose and lets the two of you rag on him all the way to the rink.
Practice is the same steady improvement, except for the death spiral. Remus is letting you grasp Sirius’ hands with both of yours for now, but you’re not bending your knee enough and Sirius’ leg is too far back. You haven’t even begun to tackle the jump you’re supposed to be launched into afterwards yet. But Remus is patient with you, and Sirius is more receptive to feedback than he has been since Peter. With the rest of your routine going so well, you’ve got time to perfect this one thing.
You’re whipping out of one of your other turns when a particular sort of smile breaks out over Sirius’ face. It’s one you know well, reserved only for one person. You don’t even need to look as he starts skating towards the edge of the rink.
“James,” you say, following him, “what’re you doing here so early?”
“I was given very strict instructions to make up for what happened yesterday.” James holds out a paper bag to Sirius, wrestling him into a hug. “It seemed best to comply.”
“I hope your gift comes with an excuse,” you tease, though when it’s your turn you hug him too. You love having James around. He brightens everything he looks at, especially Sirius.
“Well, it was Cam’s birthday,” James says as he squishes you to his front, “and he had to pick his mum up from the airport during our usual practice time. But my main excuse is that I didn’t realize it was yours we were stealing.”
Trust James to disrupt his entire team’s practice—and yours—for one guy’s birthday.
“You’re not forgiven,” says Sirius, popping a doughnut hole into his mouth. He sounds too pleased for his grudge to be even a little believable. “We couldn’t practice at all yesterday because of you.”
“Alright, then I’ll just have those back.”
Sirius moves quick to keep the doughnuts away from James, though he does hold one out to you.
“Mm, as I suspected,” James hums. “Anyway, I have to arrange practice for twenty three guys. You only have two, and from what I just saw you hardly need it.”
“Three,” you correct him. “But you haven’t met our new coach. This is—”
“Remus!”
James is looking over your shoulder, where Remus has come over from his spot at the bleachers to join you. You blink in surprise, but Sirius does a full double-take.
“Do you know each other?”
“Yeah.” Both boys are smiling, Remus faintly and James with his whole face, as usual. “Rem and I used to practice at the same time. Back when I would come out before the team to run drills.”
“A long time ago,” Remus agrees. A sympathetic bit of worry starts up in your chest, but he doesn’t have that same melancholic hue to his voice that he usually gets on the rare occasions someone gets him to talk about his skating career. He sounds almost nostalgic.
“Surprised I never ran into you,” Sirius says. He’s eyeing Remus, a familiar sort of possessiveness in his stance. You see Remus’ eyebrow lift like he notices it too.
“Wow.” James is still beaming. You’re beginning to feel inclined to follow suit. You already like Remus, but James’ stamp of approval means everything to Sirius. You’d like to see him try to hate your coach now. “When you said you got the best of the best, you really weren’t kidding, were you?”
You nod. “I told you.”
Remus’ cheeks start to pinken, and your smile becomes irrepressible.
“Right,” Remus mutters. “We’re losing practice time here. The doughnuts will be there when you get off the ice.”
“Well, they might.” James finally succeeds in stealing the bag away from Sirius, popping a squat on the bench. “I may feel inclined to snack while I watch. You don’t mind if I sit in on practice, do you?”
“No, of course not,” you say.
It wouldn’t make any sense for him to leave only to come back in half an hour when his practice begins. Plus, you know that no matter how many times Sirius skates in front of him, neither James’ wonderment nor the gratification Sirius gets from it ever wear off.
James whoops and hollers when either of you land even the simplest of jumps, and you see the two boys chatting behind the plexiglass. You see Sirius seeing them, too, his expression conflicted as he watches how well they get along.
Unbeknownst to either of you, Remus and James are watching you both with nearly equal amounts of awe, despite the fact that one of them has won heaps of gold medals in figure skating and the other couldn’t do an arabesque without falling on his face.
“God,” says James, watching you and Sirius go through the simple footwork leading up to your spin sequence, “they are good.”
“They are,” Remus agrees in a soft voice. His eyes are pinned to each of you, not analytical for once but simply appreciative. You and Sirius are art in motion. “They’re so in sync with each other, it’s incredible. I could have never done that with someone.”
He feels the weight of James’ gaze when the other boy looks at him sideways. “I wasn’t sure whether you’d want to hear from me after you left, but I wanted to say I’m sorry about what happened.”
“It’s fine, it’s hardly your fault.” The response comes easily to Remus’ tongue, a particular sort of muscle memory, well practiced during the months of grief following his injury. “Thank you, though.”
“Is it nice to be back?”
“Yeah, actually. I didn’t think it would be, but they’ve been good to work with.” Remus doesn’t know precisely what lulls the honesty out of him, but James has always had this effect. Even when they were little more than acquaintances, he felt like he could tell him anything. “They’re amazing to watch, and they…well they keep me on my toes.”
James laughs. “I bet they do.”
A comfortable silence descends over the two boys. They only watch you, your jumps and spins and the natural, effortless way you flow around each other on the ice. That is, until Sirius falls on his ass.
He hits the ice hard enough that you can hear the oof he makes upon contact. You skid to a halt immediately, sliding onto your knees beside him.
“Did you hit your head?” you ask him, slipping your palm beneath his skull to feel around.
Sirius only groans an elongated, passionate, “Fuck,” and rolls onto his side.
“Sirius,” you say more urgently. “What did you hurt?”
“Did he hit his head?” You look over to see Remus standing in the entryway to the rink. He looks like he’s contemplating coming out on the ice.
“No,” Sirius finally answers you both, loud enough that Remus and James can hear. “Just my ass.”
“That’s alright then,” James calls back. “It was flat to begin with.”
Sirius sits up to glare at him, a smile tugging at his lips. He rubs his tailbone.
“Asshole,” you mumble, nudging his shoulder gently. “You scared me.”
“I fucking scared me, I thought I broke something. That hurt.”
“Am I going to have to get you pads like an amateur?” Remus asks as he steps out of the entryway, silently encouraging you both off the ice. James lets out a riotous bark of laughter.
“Oh my god, please do,” he begs Remus as you both skate over to them. “It would be so fun to watch him compete at the Olympics in those.”
“Who invited you anyway?” Sirius gripes. The effect is lessened when he winces upon sitting down.
Remus rolls his eyes and passes him the bag of doughnuts. “Make sure to ice it, Pads.”
You turn your face towards the skates you’re unlacing to hide your smile, but James makes no such effort. His booming laughter will probably echo through the rink for years to come.
Sirius makes sure you get your fair share of the doughnuts. They don’t even make it out of the rink with you.
“That was interesting,” you say, tossing the empty bag into the trash as Sirius holds the door open for you. “Funny that they already knew each other. James seems to really like him.”
