James Potter, a soldier of the royal guard, is assigned to protect the princess at all costs. His new duty proves far harder than he imagined, for the princess has a habit of doing exactly what she’s not supposed to, and hiding a secret no one must uncover.
‘Til All That's Left Is Glorious Bone— (hurt/comfort + angst) (part one) (black siblings centered)
being a Black means believing love is conditional and obedience is expected, so when kindness is offered, you hesitate, unsure how to accept what doesn’t hurt. (10k)
↳ —So You'll Bury Your Own (hurt/comfort + fluff) (part two): after a rough night that nearly tears you and your brothers apart, everything you've all been avoiding comes to the surface. healing doesn't come easily, but slowly, a change begins. (10k)
↳ She Will Be Loved (hurt/comfort + fluff) (part three) (extra): at Potter Manor in spring, even a Black can begin again. the road of healing is long and tumultuous, but not too bad when James is always there to catch you when you fall. (7k)
About You (hurt/comfort + fluff)
in a world where soulmates see color upon meeting, james always saw hues he couldn’t explain, until the girl from his childhood returns, and he realizes it’s always been about you. (6k)
The Ferret and the Chaser (fluff)
in which you turn into a ferret to sneak into james’s quidditch match, and he can't help but dote at you. (2.1k)
Share Your Girl (smut)
james and sirius have always shared everything; detentions, cigarettes, secrets. but there’s one thing sirius hasn’t shared. until he decided it's time to share his girl. (8k)
♡ who paid for them? (fluff + crack)
james isn’t exactly thrilled when he finds out that someone else paid for your nails. (1.7k)
do you wish you were athletic? (fluff + crack)
james is flabbergasted when you ask him if he wishes he was athletic - or in which you ragebait your fiancé. (1k)
♡ unexpected company (fluff)
caught in the kitchen at three a.m., james can’t resist making a move on his elusive, hot roommate. (2.4k)
dilf james potter (smut)
working at a cafe is easy until james potter, the hot dilf who visits every week, completely destroys your concentration. (2.1k)
Idk if you’re taking requests but can you maybe write hurt/comfort Sirius or Remus (or both 😛) x fem reader who has food poisoning but is trying to hide it, or maybe people around her ignore it? I’m trying to make my own self feel better I just threw up 😭 <333 love your work!
Remedy - poly!wolfstar
Masterlist ₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊
summary: food poisoning is miserable, spending an entire shift trying not to throw up is worse... realizing nobody has noticed you're suffering at all might be the worst part. luckily, Sirius and Remus are waiting at home.
pairing: poly!wolfstar x reader
tags: hurt/comfort, warning for illness and vomiting, fluffy happy ending!!!
author's note: honey dear anon!! i hope ur feeling better when this is up and if you're not then i hope this makes you feel better, stomach issues suck so much ass :( i worked with muggle!au since i feel most comfortable doing so. requests remain open and i thank u endlessly for trusting this comfort on my hands. hope u enjoy, besitos!!!
You woke with the distinct feeling that something wasn't right.
Not wrong enough to justify calling in sick to work, not wrong enough to earn a day curled up in bed with the curtains drawn and your phone on silent. Just... off. The nausea sat low in your stomach, easy to ignore when you first opened your eyes. A dull, unpleasant sensation, like your body was trying to tell you something in a language you didn't quite understand.
You rolled onto your back and stared at the ceiling. Maybe you'd eaten something bad. Maybe you were coming down with something. Maybe it's just PMS, the days before periods usually fuck everything up worse than the actual period.
The alarm on your bedside table continued its relentless beeping until a hand emerged from beneath the duvet and smacked it silent.
"Thank Christ," Sirius mumbled into his pillow. Despite yourself and the pain, you smiled. "You say that every morning."
"And every morning I mean it." He says with a grin after you plant a small kiss on his cheek.
Beside you, Remus made a soft sound that might've been a laugh. He was more awake at this hour than either of you, as usual, propped against the headboard with a book balanced in one hand and a pair of reading glasses sliding down his nose.
"You look pale," he remarked matter of factly, like he was commenting on the weather. You groaned. "Good morning to you too, baby."
"I'm serious."
"So am I. Good morning."
Remus lowered the book. You busied yourself with untangling the blankets before he could get a proper look at you. The movement made your stomach twist unpleasantly, a brief wave of nausea rolling through you before settling again. You swallowed.
Fine.
You were fine.
Sirius finally sat up, hair sticking up in every conceivable direction, and squinted at you worriedly. "Moony's right, love."
"Oh, not you too."
"You do look a bit rubbish."
"Thank you." You shoved his shoulder as you climbed out of bed. The room tilted for half a second.
Not enough to stumble. Just enough to make you pause. Then it passed.
That was the thing about adulthood, really. Most of it seemed to involve ignoring things and pushing through.
Ignoring sadness.
Ignoring headaches.
Ignoring the growing pile of laundry in the corner.
Ignoring the strange churn in your stomach because rent still needed paying and shifts still needed covering and life, unfortunately, did not stop simply because you felt a bit under the weather.
By the time you made it downstairs, you'd already convinced yourself it would pass.
As you shower, brush your teeth and get ready, you make a mental inventory of all the terrible decisions that brought you here: chicken sandwich, eggs and fried bacon, two cups of tea... nothing out of the ordinary. It's probably just your stomach acting up. Still, you decline the french toast Remus made for you that morning.
"I'm not really hungry, give it to Sirius." You smile, making sure Remus doesn't feel rejected and by the small shrug and smile he offers back, you succeeded.
Sirius, naturally, looked delighted by the prospect of inheriting your breakfast. "You're an angel."
"I'm aware."
Remus watched the exchange with narrowed eyes. You knew that look.
It was the same look he gave whenever Sirius claimed he wasn't cold despite visibly shivering. The same look he got when one of you insisted you weren't tired while actively falling asleep on the sofa.
A look that said: I don't believe you for a second.
"You sure you're alright?" he asked.
For a moment, you considered saying no. Not because you felt particularly awful. You didn't. Not yet. But there was a part of you that wanted to stay. To climb back into bed between them, to spend the morning half-asleep while Sirius complained about the state of modern cinema and Remus pretended not to enjoy listening to him.
Instead, you grabbed your bag from the counter.
"I'm fine, honey, don't worry." The answer came too quickly.
Remus noticed. You could see it in the slight furrow of his brow.
Sirius, thankfully, was distracted by french toast. "Text us when you get there," Remus said.
You rolled your eyes affectionately.
"Yes, Dad."
"That's not what—"
"Bye, boys."
Sirius caught you before you could escape, wrapping an arm around your waist and pressing a kiss to your temple. "Love you."
"Love you too."
Remus's goodbye kiss landed on your forehead. The touch lingered for half a second longer than usual. Checking for temperature. You pretended not to notice. The nausea followed you all the way to work.
Getting out of your car and looking inside to witness a huge line of already stressed costumers should've been enough to send you back to bed and into your partner's arms. But Tina was already on leave and Jason was covering someone else's shifts so your manager was already stressed.
So you text "just got to work :) all good. ly!!" to the group chat you share with Sirius and Remus, put the phone back in your purse and suck it up. Ignore it. Get the shift done, go back home and sleep.
But by ten o'clock, you'd gone to the bathroom three times.
By eleven, you'd stopped counting.
The nausea no longer came in manageable waves. It sat permanently at the back of your throat, sour and insistent. Every movement seemed to aggravate it. Walking too quickly. Bending down. Turning your head too fast. Even smiling at customers felt like too much work.
You caught your reflection in the staff bathroom mirror during one of your increasingly frequent trips there. You looked awful. Your skin had taken on a strange grey pallor, the shadows beneath your eyes seemed darker than usual, tiny beads of sweat clung to your hairline despite the building's aggressive air conditioning and the shivers felt worse every time they came.
The first time you threw up, it barely felt real: One second you were stocking shelves, the next you were sprinting for the bathroom with a hand clamped over your mouth.
Afterwards, you sat on the cold tile floor for a minute, forehead resting against the wall. Your stomach cramped violently as you tried your best to breathe in and out without vomiting again.
You waited for someone to come looking for you.
Nobody did, and so, eventually, you dragged yourself up from the floor.
Were people extremely irritable that day? Were they reacting to your cadaveric disposition with anger instead of concern?
By the later hours of the afternoon, you had been yelled at by three ladies and one old man. That didn't help the headache forming behind your eyebrows or the tears already threatening to spill after your fourth run to the toilet floor.
At some point, you passed your manager in the hallway. "Everything alright?" she asks, sighing as she checked some inventory.
Finally.
Fucking finally.
"Actually I-"
"Good! This shift has been hell."
All hope drained from your face in two seconds.
Of course, the question was rhetorical: a social reflex. Of course she hadn't asked from a place of actual concern. The words were the same category as good morning and how are you and see you tomorrow.
The answer had never mattered.
You swallowed hard against the sudden lump in your throat.
The stupid thing was that you weren't even upset with her.
Not really.
People had jobs to do and places to be and problems of their own.
The world didn't stop turning because your stomach had apparently declared war on you.
Still.
You found yourself retreating to the bathroom again ten minutes later, sinking onto the closed toilet lid with your head in your hands.
The fluorescent lights buzzed incessantly overhead, one of them flickering periodically.
Your skin felt clammy. Every joint ached. You couldn't remember the last time you'd eaten anything. When had that been? Breakfast yesterday? No, you'd had something for dinner. Hadn't you?
The thought of food made your stomach lurch violently.
Outside, the business kept running. Someone laughed at another 's complaints about a customer, someone asked if they wanted coffee, someone passed by the door.
Not a single knock; not a single soul looking for you.
It wasn't fair.
Not being sick, people in worse situations got gravely ill.
But because if Sirius were here, he'd have taken one look at you and marched you straight home.
Because Remus noticed before you'd even opened your mouth this morning.
Because somewhere along the way, they'd spoiled you with the expectation that being unwell meant someone would care.
You pressed the heels of your hands into your eyes until little bursts of color appeared behind your eyelids. Then, because there was nothing else to do, you stood up, rinsed your mouth, and went back to work.
When the clock finally released you, you walked to your car, unsure if the weather demanded a jacket or a sweater. Or if it was hot or cold. Or if you were hot or cold. The shivers hadn't stopped after around two pm.
You skipped the last two red lights before your place, because you needed to get to a toilet or sink as soon as possible. The car was parked carelessly as you grasped your bag and entered the house.
Before the front door clicked shut behind you, or Sirius' greeting even registered, you were already pulling your hair back and vomiting into the sink.
"Jesus Christ, doll..." you think you hear Sirius mumble, helping you with your bag and pulling your hair back for you. "Moony!" He calls out as he places a gentle hand between your shoulder blades, caressing the space as you keep puking.
You think you hear Remus's faint steps down the stairs, quick and worried. When you manage to compose yourself, he’s already handing you a napkin and a glass of water. You catch your breath, swallowing the acid taste down your throat with help of the water.
“What happened?” Sirius sighs, getting some hair out of your face, pushing it back and blowing some cool air into your skin.
You rinse your mouth with the water Remus handed you and lean heavily against the counter.
"Nothing."
The silence that follows is immediate. You don't have to look up to know they're both staring at you.
"Nothing?" Sirius repeats.
You shrug weakly. "I think I ate something weird."
A hand lands on your shoulder, Remus. Steady. Warm. There.
"How long, sweetheart?" The question makes your stomach twist harder than the nausea did all day. You keep your eyes fixed on the sink.
"How long what?" You say, doubling down now that you see he's still in his dress shirt. Which means he just got home from work, from handling eight to ten year olds all day. He came running down the stairs because he was in your room changing.
"How long have you been sick?"
You hesitate. Too long. Sirius lets out a disbelieving laugh.
"Doll."
"What?"
"Don't do that."
"Do what?"
"That thing where you pretend we're stupid."
Normally the comment would've earned him a laugh. Today, all it does is make your throat tighten. You pick at a loose thread on your sleeve. "It got bad after work." You all but sniffle.
Neither of them says anything. The silence stretches. Then Remus speaks.
"How long?"
The same question, gentle, patient.
You hate it.
Because he already knows the answer; he saw you this morning. You swallow.
"Most of the day." The words barely make it out.
Sirius closes his eyes in disbelief and almost betrayal. "Sweetheart..."
"I thought I could manage it."
"By yourself?" he asks.
You shrug again. A pathetic little movement that makes your stomach lurch again. "Yeah I don't uh, I don't know..."
"You should've called." Remus says.
"I know."
"We would've come and gotten you." Sirius continues.
"I know."
The tears start burning behind your eyes. You blink hard. Not here. Not now. You'd spent all day holding yourself together. You weren't about to fall apart in your kitchen in front of your boyfriends that, for all you know, have had equally bad days as yours.
Remus's thumb rubs absent circles into your shoulder. "Talk to us."
There, the dam cracks.
"I really thought I could manage it." You say as tears spill rapidly from your eyes.
"I know, honey." The sympathy in his voice is what does it. Not the nausea. Not the fever. Not the exhaustion.
Sympathy.
Before you know it, you're crying so hard your chest hurts.
People had been rude before. Customers yelled all the time. Managers forgot things. Coworkers got busy. None of it should've mattered.
And yet—
"People were so mean today." The confession comes out small and miserable. Immediately Sirius's expression softens.
"Oh, doll."
You cover your face in embarrassment, in shame. Because it sounds ridiculous now that you've said it aloud. You'd spent the entire day vomiting and shaking and somehow this was the thing making you cry.
"Nobody noticed," you whisper.
The words hang in the air. You laugh wetly and wipe at your eyes.
"I know that sounds stupid."
"It doesn't," Remus says immediately.
You shake your head. "It does."
"It doesn't." The certainty in his voice makes you look up.
His arms are already opening before you've consciously decided to move. You cross the distance in two steps. The second Remus wraps his arms around you, the rest of your composure dissolves like sugar on water.
You bury your face in his shoulder and cry. Not gracefully. Not quietly. The ugly kind. The kind that leaves your chest aching. You don't even notice Sirius rumaging through the medicine cabinet.
One of his hands settles at the back of your head while the other rubs slow circles across your back. Sirius is beside the two of you and takes your hand as he keeps looking for the pills. "You don't score points for suffering alone, sweetheart." The words hit harder than they should.
Because somewhere along the way, you'd started believing you did.
That being an adult meant handling things yourself.
Pushing through.
Keeping your head down.
Not bothering anyone.
Another sob escapes you.
“You’re home now, it’s okay” Remus whispers, kissing your head softly, raking his hands through your hair. “Sirius is bringing some pills, okay? Have you drunk enough water?”
You shake your head. “M’sorry honey,” you sob, miserable and puffy and so guilty it breaks both their hearts. Remus immediately shushes you with a gentle mention of your name. “You have nothing to apologize for.”
“You just got home from work and now I’m sick and I’m forcing you both have to look after me—“
“Forcing us? Doll, we love you, we don’t want to see you hurt, you’re not forcing anyone—” Sirius is back with the medicine and even though everything inside you screams not to take them because anything entering your stomach is going to hurt… you do.
“Thank you.” You mumble, before taking the pills from his hand and swallowing with the rest of the water Remus gave you. “I just had a horrible day.” You say, sniffling and cleaning your face with the sleeves of your shirt.
“Come on, let’s get you to bed” Sirius offers gently, taking your hand and letting you put all your weight on him.
The climb upstairs feels longer than usual.
Or maybe you're just that tired.
One hand remains tangled in Sirius's as he guides you up each step, patient despite your sluggish pace. Remus follows close behind, a steady presence at your back in case your legs decide to give out entirely.
The room is lit only by Remus's warm bedside lamp, giving it the comfort you've been seeking all day. Something inside you just stops. Settles. The stubbornness that had been carrying you all day just disappears as you sag in the edge of the mattress.
He helps you out of your work clothes piece by piece, treating you with the same quiet care one might reserve for something fragile. Every now and then he presses a kiss against your knee or squeezes your hand when another shiver passes through you.
"There we are," he murmurs softly.
Across the room, drawers slide open and shut. Remus returns carrying an oversized t-shirt stolen from his side of the wardrobe and a pair of Sirius's boxers.
The sight should be ridiculous.
Instead, it nearly makes you cry again. Not because you're sick, but because they're taking care of you as though there is nowhere else in the world they'd rather be.
Remus kneels beside you, brushing damp strands of hair away from your forehead.
"Let's get you comfortable, sweetheart."
The shirt smells faintly like Remus.
Laundry detergent. Old books. Something warm you have never quite managed to identify. You pull it over your head with more help than dignity, your arms feeling strangely heavy as they emerge through the sleeves. The fabric hangs off your frame, swallowing your hands entirely.
Normally, Sirius would make some comment about how unfair it was that you looked cute while sick. Tonight, he only helps you settle back against the pillows.
Another shiver works its way through you.
"Christ," Sirius mutters.
You curl instinctively into yourself.
"I'm fine."
Both men look at you.
You groan. "Right. Sorry. Forgot we're not pretending anymore."
That earns a small little laugh, but a laugh nonetheless.
Remus disappears for a moment before returning with an extra blanket draped over his arm. The weight settles over you immediately, then another. Then, Sirius, apparently deciding hypothermia is your greatest threat, tucks the edges beneath your sides until you resemble a particularly miserable burrito. "There."
"I can't move." You mumble, a mix of amusement and coziness.
"Good."
"Sirius."
"You've had enough freedom for one day, and look where that got you" He smirks, kissing you forehead and despite everything, your mouth twitches.
The smile barely lasts a second before your stomach churns again. The nausea is different now. Not gone. Just... quieter. Less sharp. The pills might be working.
The room tilts lazily around the edges as exhaustion settles deeper into your bones: you hadn't realized how much energy it took to keep yourself together until you no longer had to.
Remus settles beside you, one knee pulled up onto the mattress. A cool hand presses against your forehead. Then your cheek. Then the side of your neck. You watch him through half-lidded eyes.
"What?"
His brow furrows. "You've definitely got a fever."
"I gathered."
"You should've stayed home."
The words aren't accusatory, if anything, they sound sad. Like he wishes he'd been able to stop you. You stare down at the blanket gathered beneath your fingers.
"I know."
Silence settles between the three of you. Comfortable, the kind that only exists after years of loving someone.
Rain taps gently against the window, a car passes somewhere outside, the house creaks, the world continues.
For the first time all day, you don't feel like you're running behind it. Sirius brushes a strand of hair away from your face.
"You scared us, you know." The confession catches you off guard as you glance over. His expression is soft. Worried.
The kind of worried he usually tries to hide beneath jokes. "I did?"
"You came through the door looking like a Victorian ghost."
You snort. Immediately regret it. Your stomach protests.
"Easy there."
"I wasn't trying to be funny."
"You never are."
You kick weakly beneath the blankets. Sirius looks delighted. "There she is."
The room falls quiet again, your eyes drift shut. The mattress shifts slightly. A familiar weight settles near your feet. You don't have to look. Sirius has stretched himself across the lower half of the bed, refusing to leave.
Remus remains propped beside you. One hand absently carding through your hair. The repetitive motion pulls at something deep inside your chest. Something tender. The kind of hurt that only appears once everything else is over.
You swallow. Hard. "I really hated today." The admission comes so quietly you're not entirely sure either of them heard it.
They do. Of course they do.
Remus's fingers never stop moving. "I know, sweetheart."
You squeeze your eyes shut. The memory returns all at once: The bathroom floor. The fluorescent lights. The manager walking away. The customers. The loneliness of feeling awful in a room full of people.
A fresh wave of emotion threatens, smaller this time. Less violent. Just sadness. Plain and simple. "I kept thinking about coming home." The words emerge before you can stop them, again. Neither man interrupts. "I just wanted to come home." A lump forms in your throat. "And then when I got here..." Your voice breaks, not from tears. From relief. "...you noticed."
The room goes very still, and, for a moment, nobody says anything. Then, Sirius reaches across the blankets and takes your hand like it is the easiest thing in the world. Like he plans on keeping it.
"Doll," he says softly.
You open your eyes. His thumb brushes over your knuckles. "We always will."
And somehow, after everything, after the fever and the vomiting and the terrible shift and the tears—
That is the thing that finally allows you to sleep.
author's note.2: I hope you enjoyed this nonnie and everyone! (Sending nonnie lots of love and a fast recovery!!). Requests are open, I have a band!au remus x reader pending, very angsty and dramatic so stay tunned for that one, and when I'm done with it I'll get to any requests you have as soon as I can. As always, thank you for reading, hope u enjoyed. Besitos! -L.
Fluff 🎀 ; light Angst 🧸 ; deep heavy ANGST 🌹; drabble 🪐 ; one shots 🤎 ; Series 🌷 ; Silly 🦇 ; suggestive ✨; smut 🦋
⯎ Poly! Marauders
The secret in the castle walls 🌹 🌷 🧸
The secret in the castle walls (2)
The secret in the castle walls (3)
↳A runaway princess living as a maid in Gryffindor Castle is determined to stay invisible and forget the crown she left behind. But when she accidentally uncovers the Marauders’ forbidden secret, she’s dragged back into danger—caught between protecting her own identity and saving the three men whose lives could be ruined by what she saw. ONGOING
People you know to people you don't 🌹 🌷 🧸
People you know to people you don't (2)
People you know to people you don't (3)
people you know to people you don't (4)
↳ After a prank in earlier years goes horribly wrong, leaving someone humiliated, Y/N begins to distance themselves from the Marauders. The boys you once loved and trusted—the ones who used to make you laugh, who felt like home—now feel like strangers. Over the next two years, your friendship quietly dissolves, leaving teachers and classmates puzzled at the sudden coldness and avoidance. ONGOING
"Marauders , as we were" 🎀 🪐 🦇 ( 𝙿𝚘𝚕𝚢!𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚞𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚡 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 || 𝚁𝚎𝚐𝚞𝚕𝚞𝚜 𝙱𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚡 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 )
↳ A nostalgic, heartwarming journey through the Marauders’ years, captured on six old videotapes. From late-night stargazing and playful pranks to whispered confessions, silly games, and your first kiss with Regulus, each tape preserves a perfect, fluffy moment of friendship, love, and mischief—reminding you of the chaos, warmth, and unbreakable bonds of Hogwarts life.
Never had much faith in love or miracles 🎀 🧸 🌹
↳You were best friends with the Marauders and Lily, woven into their circle with teasing, study sessions, and quiet lakeside talks. But one night, rounding a corner, you saw them — James, Sirius, Remus, and Lily — tangled together in intimacy, kissing and laughing in ways that felt closed off to you.
Dressesd to kill (them) 🎀 🪐 ✨
↳ You’re trying on an outfit for a Hogsmeade weekend (maybe a dress, maybe something more daring), and all three insist you show them. Sirius whistles, James beams, and Remus just smirks in that knowing way. You’re left red-faced while they "debate" who gets to take you out first.
... and so the story goes 🧸 🌹🤎
↳ ✨Fifth Marauder AU✨—you’re part of the chaos, the pranks, the ride-or-die friendship… until war hits and everything spirals. Friendships crack, love gets messy, and choices literally change lives. Flashbacks, angst, found family feels, and a gut-punch of an ending years later.
The Option, Never the Choice 🌹🤎 🌷
The Option , Never the Choice (2)
↳You gave James, Remus, and Sirius everything, but you were always the option, never the choice. One overheard “Y/N’s too clingy” broke you. You faded with excuses until they noticed, and the fight was messy—accusations, heartbreak, and flinches where there used to be love.
The day the stars fell silent 🌹 🤎🌷
↳They had been your world — your brothers, your friends, your loves. Until one night burned the constellations to ash and left you a traitor in their eyes. Years of devotion erased by one shadow on the wall. They hunted you. They cursed you. They wanted you dead. But you lived. And now, they want you back. ONGOING
If trust is a wound, ours still bleeds 🎀 🧸 🌹
↳ A simple errand turns into a near disaster when you’re cornered by Death Eaters and walk away with a wound you’re too scared to share. You tell yourself it’s fine, that the boys don’t need one more thing to worry about—but they notice, and their fear explodes as fury
The Archer 🎀 🧸 🤎
↳ They kept asking themselves the same question over and over—why didn’t you snitch? You walked in, caught them mid-Animagus transformation, clearly saw everything... and yet, you didn’t run to McGonagall, didn’t tell the ministry, didn’t even mention it. The fear wasn’t in what you saw, but in what you didn’t say. And just when they started to unravel completely… you collapsed bleeding on their dorm floor, and they finally realized—you had a secret too.
ₒₚₑᵣₐₜᵢₒₙ : ₚᵢₙₑₐₚₚₗₑ ₚᵤₙcₕ 🎀 🪐 🦇
↳The day u accidently ruined your totally platonic friendship.
In search of the right, don't forget to have fun with the wrong ones 🎀 🧸 🦇
↳ What starts as playful pursuit turns into a whirlwind Hogsmeade day of snowball fights, secret libraries, and stargazing. By the end, you realize “perfect” was never about a checklist. It is about feeling alive. And somehow, three wonderfully imperfect boys make it feel real.
He’s your friend. He has been for a very long time, but one night at your place and theoretically very innocent conversation can make both of you cross that thin line. You always talk openly about sex but there’s this thing you didn’t tell anyone and now you accidentally reveal your intimate secret.
Sirius learns that you use toys and once this imagination show up in his head, he doesn’t seem to be able to get rid of it. So, he won’t stop until he sees you in action with your own eyes.
Every Kinktober's story includes a quote from a song chosen by me. I highly recommend playing the song while reading, or at least just getting acquainted with it. At the end of the month, I will post the full playlist for Kinktober 2025.
╰⪼ Word count: 4,8 k
╰⪼ Warnings: sex toys; dirty talk; tits stimulation; masturbation // smut
🕷Kinktober / 🕷Masterlist
So welcome to my kingdom and for you there's no escape. I'll give you back a piece of heaven while I'm savoring your taste.
— Dirtier Thoughts by Nation Heaven
“You must be joking,” Sirius looks at you as if you suddenly grew a second head. “You haven't been with any guy since you dumped that jerk?”
You roll your eyes at the disbelief on his face and go back to looking for the piece of paper with further instructions.
It's Thursday evening, and you and Sirius are sitting on the floor in your bedroom, trying to organize the millions of pieces you have to assemble your new wardrobe. Some time ago, he offered to help when you announced that you needed to do a little rearranging, and you gladly accepted. Not only because you enjoy spending time with him, but also because you ordered a really big wardrobe, and most of the pieces it will consist of are very heavy, and you wouldn't be able to do everything on your own.
While you try to find everything you should have to take the first step, you talk to Sirius about everything and nothing. As always. You feel comfortable around him, he is one of your best friends, and as a rule, there are no taboo topics between you.
Except for your sex life.
“I don't sleep with just anyone, Sirius, you know that,” you say, looking at him and realizing that he's still staring at you with an expression that makes you want to throw a pillow at him. All his attention is now focused on you, which doesn't really bother you, but you'd rather change the subject.
“I know, but... It's been a year,” he says, his eyes wide with surprise. “You haven't been with a guy in a whole fucking year?”
You frown because you have no idea why he finds it so strange. After all, he knows you better than anyone else. He's been your friend for so many years that he should have noticed by now that you only sleep with guys you're in a relationship with. And since breaking up with your ex, you haven't been in a relationship. The conclusion is easy to draw.
“Have you seen any potential candidates in my life lately?” you ask amusedly. Well, if there's one thing you don't doubt about Sirius, it's that he doesn't have the same moral standards as you. He's known for his one-night stands. You've never judged him for it, never even cared much about it, but you couldn't live like him. Too much risk. Too much uncertainty. What's more, you need an emotional connection before any physical intimacy.
“No, I haven't, but honestly, is anyone good enough for a woman as wonderful as you?”
He smiles broadly, and you roll your eyes, but you return his silly, charming smile. Sirius has his flaws, but he's your biggest supporter in the whole world, except maybe your parents. He always believes in you, encourages you, and teaches you confidence, just because he wants you to be happy. At least that's what you think.
“But I still don't understand why you don't even want to try.”
You hand him the set of screws, sigh, and shake your head. You've talked about this many times, despite your reluctance to bring it up with him. He thinks you should relax a little and not worry about it too much, and you think he should stop fooling around and start taking life more seriously.
“Sirius, do I really have to explain this to you again? It's too big a risk for me. I value my health and the freedom that comes with not having children.”
You pause for a moment to collect your thoughts. Meanwhile, your friend focuses on assembling the boards, following the instructions to put together the first set of parts, staring at them intently, as if looking for a good retort to your words. You watch how skilfully he handles the screws, one by one, his eyes focused and his mouth slightly open.
“I understand what you mean,” he says after a moment, when he finally sees the shape emerging from the few boards. “But it must be frustrating.”
“What must be frustrating?” you ask, taking the screwdriver from his hand and working on the next set of screws.
He looks at you and, with comical concern on his handsome face, says, “Not being able to fuck anyone. Or be fucked, whichever you prefer.”
You freeze mid-motion, raise your eyebrows, and look at him as if you can't quite believe what he just said. He shrugs his shoulders as if he were wondering aloud whether you add sugar to your coffee, not whether you like to get fucked.
“What? We're not kids anymore, honey. We can talk about fucking, right?”
He smiles broadly, and you let out a quiet, incredulous laugh full of not-so-carefully suppressed embarrassment.
“Yes, of course. It's just that...” you pause, not entirely sure you want to go down this road. Yes, it's Sirius, and he's your friend, but when you look at him and say those words out loud, you feel a strange tingling in your stomach.
“What?”
You sigh.
Ah, screw it. Is he your friend or not? So, what if he's a guy.
You can talk about these things with a guy, especially one you're close to.
“It's not like there's no way to vent that frustration, you know,” you say, nonchalantly handing him the screwdriver and shrugging your shoulders. He doesn't say anything, but he continues to look at you with curiosity. As if he doesn't quite understand what you're talking about. Or maybe he just wants you to elaborate on the subject yourself.
You raise your eyebrows again.
“Careful, Black. Say something, or I'll think you've never jerked off before.”
He laughs quietly. “Oh, honey,” he smiles mischievously, “there's no doubt about that.”
You shake your head, trying not to imagine your friend jerking off, and suppress the smile that is forming on your lips.
“Exactly. Women masturbate too, you know. It's not a male privilege,” you say, trying to sound casual and nonchalant, but he looks at you as if he's struggling internally with what to say to you now. His lips are tight, his gaze cautious, but a hint of a smile appears at the corners of his mouth. You feel a twinge in your lower abdomen.
“What?” you ask, looking back at the instructions as if you don't care what he's about to say. In reality, you feel like you have to look at anything else, anything but his mouth.
“Nothing. Just...” he shrugs, “is that even satisfying enough?”
“You know what?” you ask, getting up quickly, thrown off balance by his question, and he follows your movement with his eyes. “I'm going to need some wine to talk about this stuff, Black.”
He chuckles, and you walk around him and leave the bedroom, heading for the kitchen, completely unaware of how his gaze pierces the fabric of your sweatpants. The grey pants you're wearing are a little too big, just the way you like to wear them at home. They don't emphasize your curves, but Sirius knows that underneath the thick fabric is an ass that men constantly stare at. He stares at it himself when you're not looking, because even though he considers you his friend, there's something about you that makes him want to cross the forbidden line.
But people say that once that line is crossed, there's no turning back, and he cares too much about you and your friendship to be so reckless and risk it all. Or maybe he's just afraid you'll reject him when he suggests pushing those boundaries a little.
When he hears you rummaging in the cupboard, he tells himself to stay calm and relaxed, just like he has for the past ten years, when he didn't pay attention to what your body looks like, how your lips curve into the most beautiful smile when you joke with him, or how you bite the inside of your cheek when you're thinking about something.
“Here you go,” you say, returning to the room and handing him a glass full of red wine. He puts on a nonchalant expression, as if he couldn't care less, giving no hint as to where his thoughts have wandered off to.
“You want to get me drunk, huh?” he jokes as always, raising his glass in your direction as you sit down in front of him again. You clink your glass against his and take a sip before replying:
“I want to get drunk myself,” you say, half-jokingly, half-seriously. You wonder where the hell your agreement about no taboos has gone to. Ten years of friendship and you need alcohol to talk to him about sex and masturbation?
Pathetic.
But there's something about Sirius that suddenly makes you feel nervous. It started quite recently, maybe a month or two ago. One day he was like a brother to you, and the next day you were looking at his slender muscles, very visible through the fabric of his tight-fitting T-shirt, and wondering what they would taste like if you licked them.
“So,” he clears his throat, leaning back and nodding toward you, “is it even satisfying?”
“Don't you know the answer to that question?” you mutter under your breath, pretending to still be thinking about how to put together your wardrobe, but honestly, you know it's a lost cause. You couldn't focus even if you wanted to.
Maybe tomorrow.
“Yes, but how do I know that your satisfaction is no different from mine?”
You sigh, and a slightly embarrassed smile appears on your lips.
“Honestly, it's okay,” you reply, without even looking at him. Out of the corner of your eye, you see his silhouette—strong, slim, and tall. He leans back against the bed and stretches his legs out in front of him. He's attractive. How did you survive so many years around him without noticing?
“Really? I mean...”
“Don't tell me I really have to explain how it works, Black.”
You exchange glances. Yours is slightly embarrassed, his, on the other hand, very amused.
“I'm sorry, honey, but I only use my hand, and I have to tell you, it's not even half as satisfying as being with a girl.”
“Luckily for me, women have a lot more options than just a hand,” you blurt out, looking at his playful smile that appears as your words reach his brain. The smile grows bigger by the second, as does your embarrassment.
You glance at your wine and take another sip, just to have something to do with yourself and not have to look at him.
Oh fuck, my life. I started this, didn't I?
“Now you've got me interested, baby.”
You roll your eyes, trying to keep your cool, but you feel the heat spreading across your neck, chest, and cheeks, leaving bright red marks of your embarrassment in the form of a blush.
“Don't get so worked up, Black,” you mutter under your breath. “You won't find out anything else. It's a private matter.”
And at this moment, your biggest mistake is that one quick, subtle glance toward the nightstand. Sirius, extremely observant, notices it, of course. Well, no wonder, since he can't take his eyes off you, revelling in the charming sight of your confusion because of him. Something that has never happened before since you've known each other.
He follows your gaze, and his smile grows wider and wilder.
“Something interesting hidden there?” he asks, putting down his wine glass and slowly getting up from the floor.
“Don't you fucking dare,” you growl, putting your glass on the floor, but before you even manage to get up, he's already standing on the other side of the bed. You're pretty sure your face is already as red as a fucking tomato.
“Sirius, please,” you whimper, jumping on the bed to catch him faster.
You have no idea how much he likes it when the word please comes out of your mouth. How his cock twitches when he hears his name combined with that word coming out of your pretty mouth.
“Don't be like that, baby, I'm curious.”
“I'll kill you,” you threaten, hanging onto his arm, but he's already holding the handle of the bottom drawer, as if he knows it's the forbidden one he shouldn't open.
“I'd like to see you try,” he says, winking at you. He grabs both your wrists with one hand and holds them tight while he opens the drawer with the other.
At that moment, you just want to disappear; vanish into thin air and never come back. Sirius stares at your little collection like a madman, smiling like a lunatic, and then looks at you with a dangerous gleam in his eyes.
Fuck.
You don't know if you want to kill him or fall to your knees before him. His figure suddenly becomes strangely powerful, and he towers over you, looking as if he already possesses you.
You swallow, feeling a wave of excitement wash over you.
“Show me,” he murmurs, his eyes never leaving you. “Show me how satisfying it is.”
“Oh my God,” you moan, falling back onto the bed and burying your face in your hands. “I can tell you about it, but I can't show you, Black.”
The room is silent, the silence hanging over you like a thick, sticky fog. You don't even want to look up, so you don't have to look into his eyes. Ten years of friendship, and now you're sitting in your room questioning every life decision that led you to this place, starting with inviting him over tonight.
Sirius, on the other hand, doesn't feel the slightest bit of embarrassment. He looks at you, breathing calmly and organizing everything in his head. He wants to pick you up. Hell, he's wanted this for a long time, and maybe, just maybe, he finally has the chance to do it.
Pressing his lips together, he looks at the open drawer and all the things lying in it and feels his penis slowly coming to life. Damn, his imagination isn't helping. He can practically see you lying on that bed, with a little pink vibrator between your legs, moaning and screaming his name while he watches you.
“There's no reason to be ashamed, you know,” he says in a quieter voice than before. Quieter. Steadier. Lower. Hoarse. Making you tremble. You press your lips together and dare to look at him through your fingers. He hasn't moved an inch, still standing in front of you, right next to the drawer. He looks at you with his grey eyes, as if he wants to see right through your soul.
“Shut it,” you whine, nodding toward the drawer. “You're humiliating me enough already.”
“Humiliating you?” he chuckles. “Why do you think that baby?”
“Black, I'm warning you.” You want it to sound like a threat, but your voice is too whiny, too high-pitched.
And then something changes in it. You see the moment so clearly, as if he were holding a neon sign with an arrow above his head. His expression changes into something you've never seen before. At least not towards you. The way he looks at you practically pins you to the bed.
As if he were hungry.
“Sirius, what are you...”
He leans forward, resting his hands on the bed, and the distance between you is now frighteningly small.
“I understand what you meant when you said it could be satisfying,” he says, looking at you as if searching for the answer in your face, “but somehow I still don't believe it.”
You swallow, trying to study his face as closely as possible, but the intensity of his gaze makes it almost impossible to bear.
“What...” You take a deep breath. “What do you mean?”
You see him lower his gaze, looking at your lower lip, which you have unconsciously caught between your teeth. And then he raises his hand, slowly, as if checking to see if you will stop him from making the move. But you don't even flinch, waiting to see what will happen. Excited and terrified at the same time.
He cups your face with his hand, brushing your lip with his thumb.
“I want you to show me,” he whispers.
Your heart stops.
Fuck.
He's your friend. Your best friend. But you've been looking at him differently for some time now. You fight these thoughts when you're around him, which is very often, and it's slowly driving you crazy.
You feel attracted to a guy you've known for over ten years. The way his dark hair curls at the ends, brushing his shoulders, makes you want to run your hands through it. The way his jeans hang low on his hips, held up by a belt, makes your blood boil.
“Sirius,” you practically whisper his name, not quite sure why you're doing it. Do you want to stop him? Do you want to encourage him? Do you want to grab his shirt and pull him toward you, kiss him on the lips, taste him on your tongue?
He smiles as if he can read your mind. As if those thoughts were written all over your face.
The face with subtitles, as he always says.
You're still kneeling on the bed, right in front of him, feeling the electric tension in the air. All you want right now is to feel his hands on your body, so much so that you have to squeeze your thighs together to create a little friction between them and relieve yourself a little.
“Already turned on by the thought, huh?” he asks with a smile. He saw it, of course he did. Nothing ever escapes his gaze.
And then several things happen at once: he leans forward, you lean forward, your lips meet in a hungry kiss, his hands move, and he shifts his weight to force you to change position. So that you are lying flat on your back. Now he is hovering over you, holding both hands on either side of your head.
He turns you on, kissing your lips, your jaw, your neck. He makes you sigh and moan quietly, while praising your skin with his tongue.
He makes you want more.
“Sirius,” you moan his name before you can stop yourself. You feel him smiling at your collarbone now.
“Yes, baby?”
You swallow, and this movement makes him shift his attention to your neck, running his tongue along its entire length.
“Do you want to tell me which one is your favourite?” he asks in a low, hoarse voice, the vibrations of which send shivers down your body.
“What?” you ask, snapping out of your moment of bliss. You raise your upper body, now leaning on your elbows, and look at him with a surprised expression.
He moves away from you slightly so he can look you in the eyes.
“Your collection, baby,” he says, nodding toward the open drawer. “I want to know which one is your favourite.”
You clench your teeth on the inside of your cheek. He looks at you so intensely that you feel as if he is looking deep into your soul. You know his eyes like your own. The colour of his irises, the shape of his eyelids, the length of his eyelashes. You love his eyes, you've always thought they were beautiful, but tonight there's something different about them. There's a sparkle in them that you haven't seen before.
There's desire in them.
Hunger.
And for just a second, for the blink of an eye, for one heartbeat, you decide to forget that he is your best friend.
“The little pink one,” you whisper.
He smiles mischievously and bites his lower lip, looking at your body, taking in the view, then reaches behind him and quickly pulls the little pink thing out of the drawer.
It looks so small between his long, slender fingers. The sight alone makes you clench your thighs. He's holding your clit stimulator.
Sirius is now holding your clit stimulator in his large hands.
Blood rushes to your face, making you blush so much that Black can't help but chuckle quietly.
“Pretty girl, suddenly so shy,” he murmurs, licking his lips.
You fall back, tilting your head so you don't have to look at him. It's bad enough to hear his heavy breathing and not spread your legs for him on command.
“I won't do anything unless you let me,” he says quietly, watching your embarrassment, but already brushing your calf with one finger. “Unless I hear,” he moves his finger higher, to your knee, and your chest rises with a deep breath, “you tell me I can.”
Fuck.
You want to tell him to do it. You want to tell him to take off your pants, touch you, kiss you, lick you. You can already feel the excitement between your legs, hot and sticky. You haven't been with a man in a long time, and now the most handsome man you know is leaning over you, wanting to please you.
Fuck.
You close your eyes, count to three in your head, and hear your own voice say, “Use it on me.”
You don't have to repeat it to him. You don't even have to lift a finger. Before you can blink, his slender fingers grab the edge of your sweatpants and pull them down along with your red lace panties. He doesn't do it slowly, he's not too gentle. His fingers are greedy and eager for action.
You feel the cool air hitting your wet body and you shiver, automatically trying to close your legs, but he puts his hands on your thighs, holding you in place.
Now he's practically fucking you with his eyes.
You look at him, and he watches your body with genuine admiration. As if you were a valuable, lost work of art, and he were a connoisseur.
“Look at yourself,” he moans, barely refraining from running his fingers over your body. Instead, he spreads your legs even wider and holds his breath. “Fuck, you're already wet.”
You would definitely blush if your face wasn't already red. You're so hot that your skin feels like it's on fire. You're melting in the clothes you have left on.
“Undress me,” you moan. You've already made one bad decision, so another, however reckless, won't make any difference. Besides... The idea of him, fully clothed, holding a vibrator against your naked body was somehow exciting. You want to let him take control of you.
You trust him.
“Do you want to show me your pretty tits?”
“Do you want to see them?”
He chuckles, putting the vibrator down for a moment.
“I've wanted this for a long time, baby.”
And just like that, he almost rips your shirt and bra off, leaving you with literally nothing on your body.
“Jesus Christ,” he murmurs, looking you up and down. “Fucking perfection.”
His praise makes you moan. You can almost feel his gaze as a physical touch on your hot, burning skin, and when he actually touches you with the fingers you fantasized about in your dirty scenarios, you feel like you're about to go crazy. And he only cups one of your breasts, twisting your nipple between his index finger and thumb. You sigh, arching your back slightly, pressing yourself even closer to him.
He changes position. He kneels between your legs, stimulating your breast with one hand, reaching for a small pink thing with the other. You hear a familiar buzzing sound, the one that has accompanied you on many nights.
“Let's play.”
Sirius slowly, painfully slowly, brings the vibrator closer to your wet pussy, watching you moan and sigh. He touches you with it, and the air hits your clit with such force that you're already screaming his name.
“Oh yes, beautiful,” he whispers, looking at you with such admiration that you would probably melt under his gaze if you could only keep your eyes open. You arch your back even more, moving your hips to get more friction. This little thing imitates sucking, making you lose your mind. You love it. It's your little kink that you haven't told anyone about yet.
You love clit stimulation, but your ex never did it, even when you asked him to. You bought this stimulator long before you broke up with him. You didn't want to force him into it, but you really needed to satisfy your needs.
Sirius continues to play, moving his hand in small circles, intensifying the sensations on your body. His other hand is no longer playing with your breast, but you don't mind. You are in a trance, placing your hands on your breasts, gently squeezing them. Your head is tilted back, your eyes closed, and your lips slightly parted. The moans coming from them are like music to Sirius's ears.
He never thought he would see you like this, so vulnerable, so aroused, so beautiful. He could look at you forever. He knows that the image of you, falling apart before his eyes, will stay with him forever.
His beautiful, amazing best friend moans his name, and he can look at her naked body, absorb the whole image and never forget it. He will cherish this moment for the rest of his life, and if he died at this moment, he would die as the happiest man in the world.
“Black, I'm about to...” Your voice is interrupted by a loud moan escaping your lips. He knows you're close. Your hips arch again, your back bends into an arc, you breathe loudly and heavily. You squeeze your breasts harder, twist your nipples, and the mere sight of you makes his penis harden in his pants to the point that it hurts. His hard penis presses against the inside of his jeans.
“Fuck,” he murmurs. He shifts, adjusting his cock in his pants and pressing harder with that small, innocent, yet powerful device against your clit. “Scream for me, baby.”
And you scream. You reach the edge and jump off it with such force that you see white spots before your closed eyes. You see stars. You clench your hands on your breasts, digging your nails into your skin, leaving semicircular marks on them. You scream his name without even thinking about what the neighbours might think. You're loud. Too loud.
And you don't care. You feel so fucking good that it can't even compare to the orgasm you can give yourself. And Sirius hasn't even touched you. He hasn't touched your hot pussy with his fingers, even though you'd much rather feel them there than a vibrator right now.
Maybe it's the thought of him watching you. Him drinking in your every moan, every sigh. Him completely dominating you at this moment, and you being at his mercy.
You're panting heavily and don't even notice when he reaches into the drawer and pulls something else out. Your orgasm subsides and you slowly calm your body, shuddering and moaning because the sensations are too intense for you now. Everything is too much, too strong, too hard.
“Sirius, please,” you say, trying to escape his touch by moving your hips sideways, but he quickly presses his hand against your stomach, holding you in place. “It's too much.”
“Then let's try something else then, okay, baby?”
The clit stimulation stops, giving you a moment of respite, so you fall back onto the mattress, trying to relax your muscles, but something else appears between your legs. Something that Sirius runs over your wet folds several times, brushing your clitoris, moistening it with your own juices.
You open your eyes, quickly looking first at him, completely absorbed in the sight of what his hands are doing, and then between your legs. Sirius slowly slides the fucking dildo into you.
“Fuck, Black,” you curse under your breath. You haven't recovered yet, and he's already filling you with another toy. You tilt your head back as the toy touches your G-spot and then gently withdraws.
“One more time,” he whispers, pushing harder, “and then I'll prove to you that this,” he pulls out the dildo and slides it back in, eliciting more moans, “is nothing compared to the satisfaction I'll give you, baby,” he pulls it out and slides it back in, hitting your sensitive spot once again.
And so, he fucks you with the dildo, and he does it so hard, so fast, and so skilfully that it doesn't take long before another orgasm hits you with even more force than the last one. Before you see stars under your eyelids again. Before you disturb your neighbours with your screams.
Before you reach out in a daze to touch the hard bulge between his legs with your hand, very excited to see if his penis will actually make you feel even better.
I'm actually not quite satisfied with this one. It's much shorter than the previous ones but since I haven't got much time the last couple of days, that all I managed to write.
