#fat remus

[queerlybelovedwerewolf]

Remus Lupin is doing community service.

For punching a man in the face outside a gay club.

(The guy deserved it.)

He’s working at a Muggle library — resentful, chain-smoking on breaks, covered in scars, and hating everyone.

Enter Sirius Black.

He walks in all sunshine and leather — tiny waist, long glossy curls, confidence radiating from his pores.

“Excuse me, I’m looking for Gatsby,” he says, voice low and posh.

Remus, who has been hiding behind a stack of romance novels:

“Watch where you’re going, princess.”

Sirius: “Did you just shoulder-check me in a library?”

Remus: “You take up too much space.”

Sirius: “I literally walked past you.”

Remus: fuming, queer, and absolutely in hell

(Later: Remus stares at Sirius from across the stacks and thinks, he’s got the body I want and the face I want to ruin.)

(Even later: they hook up in the back room after an argument about Twilight.)

[cherry-sofa-729]

Fat punk Remus Fat punk Remus Fat punk Remus Fat punk Remus Fat punk Remus-

[queerlybelovedwerewolf]

Remus walks with a cane now.

Has since the late 80s. The transformations never got easier — just older. The bones don’t set right anymore. His hip catches if he stands too fast. His knees throb when it rains.

He’s fatter now too. Not soft, not quite — he’s still ropey with muscle in the shoulders, but his belly rounds, heavy and low. Scars cover nearly every inch of him: claw marks down the neck, one ear shredded at the tip, a bite-shaped ridge on his thigh that never fully closed.

He looks like something dragged half-dead from the woods.

And Sirius — Sirius who hasn’t seen him since he was nineteen and untouched — stares like Remus hung the fucking stars.

“You kept getting hotter,” Sirius rasps. “How’d you manage that?”

Remus laughs, hoarse. “You’re mad.”

“Mad for you.”

[queerlybelovedwerewolf]

Remus got fat.

He’d call it recovery, but it wasn’t, not really. It was survival. A little softness after decades of starvation, war, and misery. He could finally eat. Could finally rest.

So he did. And now his robes are tighter. His belly fills his lap. And he avoids looking at Sirius.

But Sirius — who’s spent twelve years in a stone box, lonely and starving — looks at Remus like he’s the first meal he’s ever been allowed.

“There’s more of you,” Sirius murmurs, reverent. “And I’m starving.”

[queerlybelovedwerewolf]

Remus hovers, unsure, thighs trembling where they straddle Sirius’s face. “I don’t want to smother you—” he starts, voice shaking.

Sirius grabs his hips and yanks him down. “You better,” he says. “I’ve waited too long for this.”

And then he devours him.

Tongue pressed deep, lips wrapped around his clit, Sirius moans like he’s tasting divinity. Remus jerks, groans, tries to lift up—Sirius growls and pulls him closer.

“If your thighs are heaven,” he pants between licks, “then I’ve died already.”

Remus can’t form words. Just cries out, clutching Sirius’s hair, already falling apart.

Sirius doesn’t stop until he’s slick and shaking and sobbing his name.

[queerlybelovedwerewolf]

In their sixties, kisses came slower. Their bodies had softened, both of them slightly stooped, and Sirius’s bad knee meant he didn’t bend the way he used to. But he still pulled Remus close every morning, still brushed kisses over knuckles and temples and shoulders like rituals.

One quiet evening, Remus was reading in bed with a hot water bottle pressed to his hip. Sirius came in wearing that awful tartan robe he refused to throw away, and without a word, leaned down and kissed him. Slow. Long. Reverent.

When he finally pulled back, Remus raised an eyebrow. “What was that for?” Sirius smirked, brushing grey curls behind his ear. “Because I’ll forget to later. And you always complain when I forget.”

[queerlybelovedwerewolf]

Remus has learned to live with hunger.

Not just for food, though he eats more now — softness on his hips and gut that helps cushion the worst of the full moons.

No, the other hunger is worse.

The one that wakes him up thinking about Sirius’s teeth on his throat.

The one that burns when Sirius stares at him across the kitchen table like he’s something Sirius wants to tear open and nest inside.

Animagus brain is like that. Messy. Possessive. Animal.

And Remus, fat and tired and aching, wants nothing more than to give in.