What about number 40? With Remus? Where Remus is the "you're so pretty." And the reader just spoils Remus with compliments when Remus doesn't believe them when they're like "have you looked in the mirror?"
prompt: 40- "You're so pretty." "Have you looked in the mirror?"
pairing: Remus Lupin x Reader
summary: You just can't help but admire how beautiful Remus Lupin is. When he doesn't believe a word your saying, you make sure to layer it on thick.
warnings: none!!! just a short and sweet story!!
notes: I love Remus Lupin so frickin much. That's it. That's the note.
The later afternoon light in Remus' flat was warm and drowsy, spilling through the blinds in soft stripes. You were curled up comfortably on his couch, one of his worn knit blankets was draped over you, the scent of his laundry soap clinging faintly to it. Across the room, Remus sat in his favorite armchair, half turned towards you with a steaming mug in one hand and a worn out paperback book in the other.
He wasn't reading to you, not exactly. He was talking about the book as he read it, his hands moving just slightly when he got to certain points that really intrigued him.
His voice was steady but quiet, the kind of tone of voice you could let wash over you like background noise.
But you weren't following the plot of the book anymore at all. You just couldn't help it. You were too focused on watching him.
The way his hair curled just a bit at the ends. How his sweater sleeves were pushed up, revealing the scattered scars along his forearms. The way his mouth quirked at the end corners when he was about to say something he thought the author of the story didn't get quite right. The lines at the corners of his eyes that told stories about years of smiling and years of surviving.
You didn't even mean to say it out loud.
"You're so pretty."
It was soft, but the words still caught him off guard. He blinked, a little startled, and then that shy smile appeared. The one that made your heart flutter in your chest. He shook his head, chuckling under his breath.
"Have you looked in the mirror?" he asked, tone light but with a self deprecating edge that you knew he used way too often for your liking. "I'm not the pretty one here, darling."
You sat up straight on the couch.
"No, Remus, I'm being serious."
He waved a hand dismissively, still smiling like he thought you were joking with him. "Y/N, come on-"
"No, you come on," you cut in, already pushing the blanket off your legs so you could sit forward more without any restrictions. "You're stunning. Like... unfair levels of stunning, really."
His brows pinched together in disbelief, but you could see the faint pink creeping onto his cheeks. "I- You don't have to say things like that."
"I'm not saying it because I have to," you said simply. "I'm saying it because I can't not say it. Do you have any idea how good you look right now? With the sunlight hitting you like that? You look like... like the kind of person painters in the 1800s would've fought each other to paint."
That earned you a startled laugh, but his eyes darted away.
You got up, padding over to where he sat, and perched yourself on the arm of his chair so you could really look at him. "Your eyes alone should be something that is studied," you continued and deliberately leaning closer to him. "They're so warm and soft and deep, I feel like I could drown in them. And when you smile-"
"Y/N..." he cut you off in a warning voice, low in tone, but it was shaky.
"-when you smile, it's like this little secret the world gets to see for a second before you go and hide it again." You reached out, brushing your fingertips along his jaw. "And your scars? They're a beautiful part of you. They make you look like someone who's lived through bad things and came out the other side stronger. They make you real. And I think they're so beautiful."
He swallowed hard, his eyes closing for a moments like he was trying to collect himself before he could look at you again. When he opened them again, they were softer but he still shook his head faintly. "I've never thought of myself like that. I just can't."
"That's fine," you said with a simple shrug, "I'll just think it for the both of us. Every single day. Multiple times a day, actually."
That pulled another laugh from him, but his voice was almost whisper like when he admitted, "You're going to make me blush if you keep on like this."
You grinned, gently taking the book out of his hand. "My mission is accomplished then."
And now it was undeniable, he was blushing. A deep rosy hue spreading across his cheeks and up to his ears. You leaned in a little more, the joking tone in your voice gone now. "You're beautiful Remus. Always have been. Always will be. I'm lucky I get to be the one who tells you that."
For a long moment, that felt painstakingly long, he just looked at you like he didn't know what to do with the weight of your words. Then he reached up, cupping your cheek in his warm and slightly calloused palm, and pulled you down toward him.
The kiss was slow and soft, his thumb brushing along your cheekbone. It lingered like he didn't want to let go, and when he finally did his forehead stayed pressed to yours.
"I love you," he murmured, his voice vulnerable and honest.
"I love you too," you whispered back.
He kissed you again, smiling against your lips. "You make me feel like maybe... maybe I could be all the things you think I am."
"You already are," you said, brushing your nose against his. "You just need to hear it enough times to actually believe it."
He chuckled, moving his hand to rest peacefully on the top of your thigh. "Then I'm afraid you're going to have to keep saying it for the rest of our lives."
prompt: 18- “Dude, you’re soaked.” “I left my umbrella in your car and dropped my key in a storm drain. Where have you been?”
pairing: Barty Crouch Jr x Male!Reader
summary: Barty has been ignoring you, so you decide to go to his apartment unprompted. All hurt and angst, maybe the littlest sliver of comfort at the end. Barty is toxic, of course.
warnings: Toxic relationship, reader can't catch a break, is Barty being sincere or is it manipulation? depends on how you see it.
notes: This is super short I apologize. I hope I did Barty okay! This is lowkey just angsty because I've been feeling angsty.
You don't know what hurts more, the cold rain stinging your skin like needles, or the way your chest is splitting open with every single step you took towards Barty's apartment.
The rain had started as a light drizzle when you left your place. A petty and impulsive choice made in extreme frustration, hell, maybe even desperation. Now the rain was pouring down, as well as a full blown storm. It was angry and relentless. Like it knows exactly what you were feeling on the inside.
You were drenched by the time you made it to Barty's building. Absolutely soaked through your entire hoodie, jeans heavy with rain, and shoes squelching every time your feet hit the pavement. Your fingers are stiff from the cold of the rain as you tried desperately to dig in your pocket for the spare key Barty gave you months ago. Back when things were easier. Back when he actually wanted you in his life.
But your fingers were met with nothing.
Panic hit your chest instantly. You took a deep breath and checked your other pocket, but only your phone occupied it. Your checked your hoodie pocket, your back pockets, and even your soaking wet socks. Then it hit you like a truck, your key must've fallen somewhere on the way here. Your hand flied to your chest, your heart feeling like it's going to fly out of your chest. You spin around, scanning the sidewalk through the rain, like just maybe the world will take pity on you just once tonight.
Sparkling in the rain like a glimmer of hope, you see the edge of the silver key on the storm drain just down the street.
You crouch down with your knees hitting the wet pavement with a painful thud, and stretch your fingers toward the grate. But the second your hand brushed the key, a gust of wind slams into you like someone had shoved you.
Your palm hits the curb, your balance completely lost, and watched helplessly as the key slipped through your fingertips and vanish into the dark water blow the drain.
You don't scream in frustration. You don't cry at another thing that is making your night absolutely worse. You just sit there for a second, rain soaking through your entire being, with your jaw clenched so tight it hurts.
You can't remember the last time Barty answered any of your texts. You can't remember the last time he really even looked at you. Not just glanced. Not just nodding at you to acknowledge your existence. But actually looked. Actually saw you.
You're tired of chasing a ghost.
But tonight, you just needed something. You needed to know he was still there. That he even cared that you still existed. You needed him, not who he was being with the walls up around him to keep you out.
So, you drag yourself up off of the ground, knees scraped under your jeans, and trudge the last to his door.
You start knocking without any hesitation. Not loud at first. Then 5 minutes pass and you do it again, harder. Then again. And again.
Until finally, after 30 minutes of knocking, the door swings open.
Barty stares at you, eyebrows raised, and hair disheveled like he just rolled off of the couch. Or maybe this is how he looks when he rolls out of someone else's bed. You try not to think about that too much.
"Dude," he says, rubbings his fingers over his eyes and yawning loudly. "You're soaked."
You let out a bitter laugh, the sound was broken and humorless. You felt like you were losing your mind.
"I left my umbrella in your car," you said through your teeth, breath shaky. The last time you had seen Barty, it was a rainy day. He drove you home so you didn't have to talk in the rain. How ironic. "And I dropped my key in a storm drain. Where have you been?"
Barty frowns but doesn't answer or move. He doesn't reach for you. Doesn't tell you to come in.
You cross your arms over your chest for some extra protection, and trying to keep your voice from cracking when you asked him again.
"Where have you been, Barty?"
The question comes out softer than you mean it to, or even then Barty deserves. Barely a whisper. But it lands like a clattering knife between the two of you.
Because it's not just asking 'where were you tonight while I just got soaked in the rain?'
It's 'Where were you when I needed you for the last week?'
It's 'Where were you when you stopped answering my texts?'
It's 'Where were you when I felt like I was the only one still trying for us?'
"I was out," he says, vague and defensive like always, already backing up into the apartment, giving you an entrance way.
You step in, dripping on his hardwood floor, and watching him retreat like you're the storm that's blowing in.
"I didn't ask you to come here," he mutters, grabbing a random towel from the laundry basket that was sitting in the middle of the living room, and tossed it your way without sparing you a glance.
The towel hits the floor between the two of you.
You stare at it. Then at him, forcing him to meet your eyes.
"No," you whisper, your throat feeling like it was closing from trying to hold back tears. "You didn't. But I'm here now."
Five awkward minutes later, you're sitting on the edge of his bed still in your wet clothes, not caring about making it damp. You're too cold and upset to care. Barty disappeared into the bathroom without a word.
When he comes back, he pauses in the bedroom doorway. You don't meet his eyes, but you can feel them on you. You can feel the tension radiating off of him like a heat, but it's not the heat of passion that you were used to having with him. It was guilt. Or maybe fear. Maybe he was actually feeling bad about the way he's been acting.
He sighs.
"Take that hoodie off. You're going to get fucking sick."
You don't move at his demand. You don't say anything back. You're not sure if you can do much of anything right now.
Eventually, Barty walks over to you. Carefully and slowly, treating you like an injured animal he's afraid he'll scare off before he can help.
When he reaches you, his fingers hover near your sleeve before gently tugging the soaked fabric off of your shoulders. He doesn't say anything about the trembling of your body. He just works quietly at stripping away the cold layer of clothes like peeling back armor.
Then, for the first time in weeks, he sits beside you, his knee touching yours.
His voice is low and rough when he speaks. "You shouldn't have come out in the rain."
You turn your head, faces only a few inches apart. "I shouldn't have had to. But it was the only way."
That silences him for awhile.
For a long time the only sound is the storm still raging outside. You sit shoulder to shoulder, knee to knee, and damping and aching. Both hearts full of words neither of you have said.
"I'm a fucking screw up."
You looked at him, surprised. Definitely not expecting that he would admit to anything even being wrong.
"I know I am," he says. "I've been...disappearing. Pushing you away and shit. But it's not because I don't care about you."
"Then why?"
Barty runs a hand through his hair, and you notice how he grips it hard at the base before speaking, like a quick punishment to himself for how he's been treating you.
"Because caring about someone hurts. Because you're the first thing in my shitty life that's ever felt like it could go somewhere and not end in a dumpster fire. That scares the shit out of me. Because...if I let myself need you, and then I lose you because I'm a fuck up, I don't know if I can come back from that. I'm afraid of who it could make me become."
You could feel your heart starting to shatter.
"I'm not going to go anywhere," you say quietly. "Unless you keep making me feel like I'm not wanted."
Something breaks in Barty's expression at that. Like a dam was cracking.
He climbs under the comfort on his bed, pulling you with him. He wraps his arms around your cold body, instantly warming you up. You're stiff at first, not trusting yourself to give in. Not yet. But when he presses his forehead to yours, and exhales like he's been holding it in since the last time he really saw you, you let your fingers curl into his black shirt.
"I'm sorry," Barty whispered, his eyes closed and his voice wavering, giving him away. "I should've come to you. I should've answered. I should've been better. Let me try again."
You closed your eyes and nodded. You knew no matter what Barty did, if he asked for another chance, you'd always give it to him.
prompt: 18- “Dude, you’re soaked.” “I left my umbrella in your car and dropped my key in a storm drain. Where have you been?”
pairing: Barty Crouch Jr x Male!Reader
summary: Barty has been ignoring you, so you decide to go to his apartment unprompted. All hurt and angst, maybe the littlest sliver of comfort at the end. Barty is toxic, of course.
warnings: Toxic relationship, reader can't catch a break, is Barty being sincere or is it manipulation? depends on how you see it.
notes: This is super short I apologize. I hope I did Barty okay! This is lowkey just angsty because I've been feeling angsty.
You don't know what hurts more, the cold rain stinging your skin like needles, or the way your chest is splitting open with every single step you took towards Barty's apartment.
The rain had started as a light drizzle when you left your place. A petty and impulsive choice made in extreme frustration, hell, maybe even desperation. Now the rain was pouring down, as well as a full blown storm. It was angry and relentless. Like it knows exactly what you were feeling on the inside.
You were drenched by the time you made it to Barty's building. Absolutely soaked through your entire hoodie, jeans heavy with rain, and shoes squelching every time your feet hit the pavement. Your fingers are stiff from the cold of the rain as you tried desperately to dig in your pocket for the spare key Barty gave you months ago. Back when things were easier. Back when he actually wanted you in his life.
But your fingers were met with nothing.
Panic hit your chest instantly. You took a deep breath and checked your other pocket, but only your phone occupied it. Your checked your hoodie pocket, your back pockets, and even your soaking wet socks. Then it hit you like a truck, your key must've fallen somewhere on the way here. Your hand flied to your chest, your heart feeling like it's going to fly out of your chest. You spin around, scanning the sidewalk through the rain, like just maybe the world will take pity on you just once tonight.
Sparkling in the rain like a glimmer of hope, you see the edge of the silver key on the storm drain just down the street.
You crouch down with your knees hitting the wet pavement with a painful thud, and stretch your fingers toward the grate. But the second your hand brushed the key, a gust of wind slams into you like someone had shoved you.
Your palm hits the curb, your balance completely lost, and watched helplessly as the key slipped through your fingertips and vanish into the dark water blow the drain.
You don't scream in frustration. You don't cry at another thing that is making your night absolutely worse. You just sit there for a second, rain soaking through your entire being, with your jaw clenched so tight it hurts.
You can't remember the last time Barty answered any of your texts. You can't remember the last time he really even looked at you. Not just glanced. Not just nodding at you to acknowledge your existence. But actually looked. Actually saw you.
You're tired of chasing a ghost.
But tonight, you just needed something. You needed to know he was still there. That he even cared that you still existed. You needed him, not who he was being with the walls up around him to keep you out.
So, you drag yourself up off of the ground, knees scraped under your jeans, and trudge the last to his door.
You start knocking without any hesitation. Not loud at first. Then 5 minutes pass and you do it again, harder. Then again. And again.
Until finally, after 30 minutes of knocking, the door swings open.
Barty stares at you, eyebrows raised, and hair disheveled like he just rolled off of the couch. Or maybe this is how he looks when he rolls out of someone else's bed. You try not to think about that too much.
"Dude," he says, rubbings his fingers over his eyes and yawning loudly. "You're soaked."
You let out a bitter laugh, the sound was broken and humorless. You felt like you were losing your mind.
"I left my umbrella in your car," you said through your teeth, breath shaky. The last time you had seen Barty, it was a rainy day. He drove you home so you didn't have to talk in the rain. How ironic. "And I dropped my key in a storm drain. Where have you been?"
Barty frowns but doesn't answer or move. He doesn't reach for you. Doesn't tell you to come in.
You cross your arms over your chest for some extra protection, and trying to keep your voice from cracking when you asked him again.
"Where have you been, Barty?"
The question comes out softer than you mean it to, or even then Barty deserves. Barely a whisper. But it lands like a clattering knife between the two of you.
Because it's not just asking 'where were you tonight while I just got soaked in the rain?'
It's 'Where were you when I needed you for the last week?'
It's 'Where were you when you stopped answering my texts?'
It's 'Where were you when I felt like I was the only one still trying for us?'
"I was out," he says, vague and defensive like always, already backing up into the apartment, giving you an entrance way.
You step in, dripping on his hardwood floor, and watching him retreat like you're the storm that's blowing in.
"I didn't ask you to come here," he mutters, grabbing a random towel from the laundry basket that was sitting in the middle of the living room, and tossed it your way without sparing you a glance.
The towel hits the floor between the two of you.
You stare at it. Then at him, forcing him to meet your eyes.
"No," you whisper, your throat feeling like it was closing from trying to hold back tears. "You didn't. But I'm here now."
Five awkward minutes later, you're sitting on the edge of his bed still in your wet clothes, not caring about making it damp. You're too cold and upset to care. Barty disappeared into the bathroom without a word.
When he comes back, he pauses in the bedroom doorway. You don't meet his eyes, but you can feel them on you. You can feel the tension radiating off of him like a heat, but it's not the heat of passion that you were used to having with him. It was guilt. Or maybe fear. Maybe he was actually feeling bad about the way he's been acting.
He sighs.
"Take that hoodie off. You're going to get fucking sick."
You don't move at his demand. You don't say anything back. You're not sure if you can do much of anything right now.
Eventually, Barty walks over to you. Carefully and slowly, treating you like an injured animal he's afraid he'll scare off before he can help.
When he reaches you, his fingers hover near your sleeve before gently tugging the soaked fabric off of your shoulders. He doesn't say anything about the trembling of your body. He just works quietly at stripping away the cold layer of clothes like peeling back armor.
Then, for the first time in weeks, he sits beside you, his knee touching yours.
His voice is low and rough when he speaks. "You shouldn't have come out in the rain."
You turn your head, faces only a few inches apart. "I shouldn't have had to. But it was the only way."
That silences him for awhile.
For a long time the only sound is the storm still raging outside. You sit shoulder to shoulder, knee to knee, and damping and aching. Both hearts full of words neither of you have said.
"I'm a fucking screw up."
You looked at him, surprised. Definitely not expecting that he would admit to anything even being wrong.
"I know I am," he says. "I've been...disappearing. Pushing you away and shit. But it's not because I don't care about you."
"Then why?"
Barty runs a hand through his hair, and you notice how he grips it hard at the base before speaking, like a quick punishment to himself for how he's been treating you.
"Because caring about someone hurts. Because you're the first thing in my shitty life that's ever felt like it could go somewhere and not end in a dumpster fire. That scares the shit out of me. Because...if I let myself need you, and then I lose you because I'm a fuck up, I don't know if I can come back from that. I'm afraid of who it could make me become."
You could feel your heart starting to shatter.
"I'm not going to go anywhere," you say quietly. "Unless you keep making me feel like I'm not wanted."
Something breaks in Barty's expression at that. Like a dam was cracking.
He climbs under the comfort on his bed, pulling you with him. He wraps his arms around your cold body, instantly warming you up. You're stiff at first, not trusting yourself to give in. Not yet. But when he presses his forehead to yours, and exhales like he's been holding it in since the last time he really saw you, you let your fingers curl into his black shirt.
"I'm sorry," Barty whispered, his eyes closed and his voice wavering, giving him away. "I should've come to you. I should've answered. I should've been better. Let me try again."
You closed your eyes and nodded. You knew no matter what Barty did, if he asked for another chance, you'd always give it to him.
Can we please please please please get a number 17 with Marlene and a female reader 🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻 I'm begging you. Where the reader is scared of storms and Marlene jokes at first but she ends up comforting her in the end
prompt: 17- "You're scared of storms? Seriously?"
pairing: Marlene Mckinnon x Female!Reader
summary: Y/N is scared of storms, and Marlene thinks it's little funny...at first. Then when she realizes it hurts Y/N's feelings, she feels like an asshole. Some nice fluffy fluff at the end.
warnings: talk of being scared of storms & childhood friends being assholes
notes: I love Marlene more than I love myself. I yearn to write more for her. Pls send in prompt requests that are pinned on my page, or just requests in general!!!
The first crack of thunder was distant enough not to have the panic set in just yet, it was just a low rumble threading through the walls of Marlene's apartment. It was like a whisper of what was to come. You were sitting cross legged on her couch, your blanket tucked around your lap and your phone clutched loosely in your hand as the TV flickered through some shitty reality show neither of you had really been paying attention to
You just kept telling yourself, 'It's just some rain. It's just stupid weather. You're fine. It's going to be fine.'
But the tension was starting to set in your shoulders. The wind outside was picking up, enough that you could hear it pushing against the windows like an unwanted guest trying to get in. The once soft patter of rain had now turned to something that was heavier and more relentless.
Marlene had only been gone twenty minutes. She'd left to grab pizza from the corner place two blocks down, deciding it wasn't worth making someone deliver so close to the store. She insisted she could make the trip herself in ten minutes. That had been before the sky opened up and decided to ruin your night.
You glanced at the clock. She'll be back soon. The rain just must making her take longer.
You checked your phone when it buzzed, hoping it was a text from Marlene, but you were just met with a weather alert. You shoved it facedown on the coffee table and tried not to picture the lightning and loud thunder that was bound to follow this storm. You wrapped the blanket tighter around yourself, trying to convince the pounding in your chest to slow down. You were safe. You were inside. There was nothing to worry about.
The wind howled again, and the thunder cracked louder now, like the sky was splitting down the middle right above you. The sound made you flinch so hard you knee smacked into the coffee table.
Your breathing started to quicken. You reached for your phone, thumb hovering over Marlene's name. Just call her. Tell her you're not doing great and just want to know where she is. You weren't sure what you would specifically say, but you didn't want to be alone in her apartment anymore. You didn't want be by yourself while your heart was trying to break out of your chest.
You were about to hit dial when the apartment door swung open with a loud bang.
"Damn," Marlene said cheerfully as she stepped inside with a soaked hoodie clinging to her frame and a pizza box in one hand. "It's really fucking pouring out there. Looks like it's going to be a hell of a storm."
She grinned, looking absolutely delighted despite the rain dripping from the ends of her hair and falling onto the carpet. She kicked off her shoes and glanced toward you as she walked over to the coffee and set the pizza down. "The lightning seems like it's coming down every few seconds. It's actually pretty beautiful." She turned away from you to head to the kitchen to get your drinks sorted out.
You stayed frozen in your seat, sitting on the edge, feeling panic in your lungs like it was the air you have to breathe. Your eyes flickered toward the window, where water streaked down the glass like a veins. A flash lip up the room in a stark flash of light, and was followed just seconds later by a crack that boomed like cannon fire.
You jumped so violently that your elbow knocked against the side table. An empty glass that perched there tumbled to the floor with a loud thunk.
Marlene whipped around back into the living room at the sound. Her expression instantly shifted from her amused look to startled. "Love?" she asked, her voice much softer now. "Are you alright? What happened?"
You shook your head no before you could think. Just a little movement that was small but truthful. But then the worst part of being honest about your fear happened...
"You're scared of storms? Seriously?"
And then she was laughing. Not cruelly, not trying to mock you, but like it was absurd and sort of adorable. You noticed her hoodie was only wet now in a few patches as she walked closer to you, picking up the fallen cup.
"No way, babe. You? You stand up to grown men at the bar and don't even blink. I mean, shit, you told Barty off like it was nothing when he was being a snotty rich boy and upsetting the bartenders. And you're afraid of some weather?"
She was giggling now. It was warm and filled with light banter. "Should I get you a thunder buddy like from those stupid Ted movies? A little plushie that can tell you 'Don't worry, the sky's just a little grumpy'?" She smirked. "Actually, no, I think I could make a good drinking game out of this. If you get scared you drink. If you jump, double shots."
You wanted to laugh, you wanted to play along with her antics like usual, just brush it off like it was nothing but a little joke. But your throat felt too tight and your chest felt too heavy.
Another flash, another loud boom.
You tightly shut your eyes. The tears had already started to fall before you even knew it was happening.
Then there was silence. No more jokes. Just the sound of the storm and your ragged breaths. You would've thought Marlene had left the room if you couldn't physically feel her presence.
"Hey," she whispered, her voice barely audible. You heard her feet shuffle right next to you, slow and careful. "Oh, my sweet girl..."
She crouched beside you, and wrapped her arms around your blanket covered form, pulling you closely until your head was laying on her chest.
"Baby. Hey, it's alright. You're safe here with me."
Her voice was gentle, her words low and comforting. She pressed a kiss to the top of your head while her hand moved up and down your back, trying her best to sooth you.
"It's okay, love. You're okay. I'm so sorry. I didn't know it was like this. I didn't think..." She held you tighter as your body trembled against her. "It's not really that bad out there, alright? I promise. Just some annoying noise and some annoying light. It's already starting to pass us."
You curled more into her, your fingers twisting her hoodie into a ball in your grasp. She didn't mind, she didn't even act like she noticed.
After a while, she maneuvered you both onto the couch, pulling you into her lap and cradling you close. She reached for the TV remote and clicked on your favorite move, the one you always turned to when you were feeling overwhelmed and just wanted to numb your senses. Then, she turned the volume all the way up, and shot a look toward the ceiling like she was daring the upstairs neighbor to complain.
She kissed your forehead, and then your temple. Her arms stayed secured around you, sturdy and secure. You could feel your body start to relax.
"I didn't mean to laugh, sweetheart," she murmured. "I didn't know it scared you this much. Why didn't you ever tell me?"
You sniffled, your voice as quiet as your could manage to get it. "Because...I was afraid to. I've been scared of storms since I was a kid. Everyone always teased me. My old friends used to scare me on purpose. If they knew it was going to rain that day, they'd hide from me, and shout 'BOOM' to scare me, or they would play thunder sounds to wake me up in the mornings at sleepovers. Even when I grew up, people just acted like it was ridiculous any time I mentioned it. So I just... stopped talking about it to anyone."
Marlene let out a breath that was part sigh and part guilt. She brushed your hair behind your ear and kissed your cheek.
"Fuck, baby, I'm so sorry. That's awful. And I just... made it worse."
"You didn't mean to," you whispered, trying to hid the hurt in your voice but failing miserably.
"No, but I still did it. And I'm gonna make it up to you, alright?" She pulled moved the blanket so it covered the both of you. "From here on out, no more jokes. Not unless you make them first. And when there's another storm, I'll be right here with you. We'll watch movies, blast the speakers, and eat semi cold pizza until it blows over. That sound like a deal?"
You gave a small nod in response. She smiled softly and tucked your head under her chin.
"I've got you," she whispered. "And I always will."
Can I get 47 with Remus and male reader? Pretty please
prompt: 47- “We should get you home.” “Well, that doesn’t sound very fun or very likely.”
pairing: Remus Lupin x Male!Reader
summary: hurt/comfort, Remus doesn't know how to talk about things, and Y/N doesn't know how to deal with it anymore. When Remus finds Y/N drunk and takes him home, Remus decides to finally open up
warnings: more hurt than comfort tbh, arguments, Y/N gets drunk, and Remus is very sad
notes: I tried very hard on this, and I hope it's okay! It's x male reader, but there's limited to really no mention of the readers gender or pronouns.
The argument you and Remus had, was loud.
Not in volume, per se, Remus rarely raised his voice at you, but it was loud in the weight it held. Every word spoken between the two of you that night had carried the sting of weeks, maybe even months, of things left unsaid. Words sharp from being bottled up too long. They came out brittle, snapping off like dry branches under too much pressure.
You stood in the middle of the apartment's living room, fists clenched at your sides. You eyes were glassy, but not from tears yet, but from the kind of emotional exhaustion that makes you feel like you're drowning.
"You don't even talk to me anymore," You had said, voice cracking slightly. "You used to tell me when something was wrong. You used to trust me."
Remus had stood across from you, arms folded like a shield across his broad chest. He wasn't angry. He wasn't yelling. He was just...distant. His silence screamed louder than any words he could hurdle at you.
"I'm tired," he had said eventually. "I'm...I don't know, Y/N. I need some space."
And that had been it.
A sharp breath. A nod that came too quick. Your coat grabbed from the hook by the door with a violent tug. And then the door slamming shut behind you like a it was the final word of the fight.
You didn't go to Peter's, which was the usual route when things got messy with Remus. He always let you crash on his couch when Remus started to go quiet on you. You didn't text James or one of your other friends to hang out, to try and get the argument out of your mind.
You walked until the wind numbed your face, your heart still pounding like it thought the fight wasn't over. And then you took a turn, almost without thinking, into the side street bar three blocks away from your building. It was the kind of place where no one asked you any questions and the liquor came cheap and in warm glasses.
You weren't there to meet anyone. You weren't there to flirt, or dance, or pretend you were okay. You were there to drown your thoughts in alcohol, and forget even just for a little while, that the one person who made you feel safe was the same person you no longer felt welcome with.
Three drinks in, the room was spinning a little.
Five drinks in, your elbows were on the bar, head tipping slightly toward a guy sitting beside you. He had curly hair, was soft spoken, and looked like a shadow of someone else you thought you knew.
You laughed at the jokes he would say. Or maybe they weren't even jokes. Maybe it was just the shape of a joke. You weren't clear on what was going on around you. It didn't matter. You laughed because it was easier than crying, and the bar was loud enough that no one would notice the difference anyways.
You felt your phone buzz in your pocket again and again, but you didn't bother to check it. You didn't want to know who was worried about you, or who Remus had told, or who was trying to fix something that felt unfixable.
Your fingers wrapped tight around a half empty glass. The lights above the bar made the liquor glow like a pretty shade of amber. You stared into it like it held the answer's that Remus refused to let out.
And then you felt it.
A hand. Gentle on your shoulder. Not demanding, or possessive. Just there. Like it was trying to ground you.
And then a voice spoke, low and familiar. A voice that sounded like it was cracked around the edges, and filled with sadness.
"We should get you home."
You tried to blink the blurriness out of your vision. Your stomach was unsettled and your brain was several seconds behind reality. But when you turned your head, you knew who you'd be met with. Remus was not someone whose presence went unnoticed for long.
He was kneeling beside the bar stool you were occupying, face pale with worry and eyebags that carried hours upon hours of exhaustion. Rain drops were atop his coat and hair like he'd run through a storm the whole way there.
You looked up at him through your haze, lips twitching into a drunken, cynical smirk.
"Well," you said slowly, "that doesn't sound very fun or very likely."
Remus exhaled through his nose, something that was between relief and grief kept flickering through his expression.
"You're drunk."
"Do you want a gold star?" you muttered, tipping your glass like a mock toast to him.
Remus rose slowly, and you could hear the sound of his joints popping, and he then took the glass from your hand and set it on the counter. He didn't start to lecture you like you expected. He didn't scold you, either. He just reached down, his arms steady, and told you again, yet soft this time, "Come on. Let's go home."
You swayed as you stood, leaning into him more than you wanted to at the moment. Your body betrayed you. Your chest, even under layers that held resentment, knew the curve of his shoulder like it was an instinct to be attached to it. And when his arm slid around your waist, you didn't fight against it.
You let him hold you. At least for now.
His truck was cold when you got into it. You were slumped against the window, cheek pressed to the glass, and your fingers rubbed at your temple as the world titled and shifted all around you.
Remus didn't make any attempt to speak right away, but you did.
"You left me," you slurred. "You were still in the apartment physically, sure, but you were gone. I don't know when it started. But I know when I felt it."
Remus's knuckles tightened around the steering wheel. "I didn't mean to-"
"You always say that," you interrupted, your voice rising. "But I was there, Remus. I was there. Every single night. I sat next to you while you stared at the wall. I kissed you goodnight and you barely even blinked. I said I loved you, but you just looked away."
The way Remus's jaw clenched looked painful. "I didn't know what to say."
"You didn't have to say anything," you snapped, tears starting to build up now, and they were hot behind your eyes. "You just had to let me in. But you shut the door and turned off the lights and expected me to wait outside for you until you were ready to feel again."
The truck pulled up outside the apartment building, but neither of you moved.
"I thought you were going to leave me," he said finally, his voice barely audible.
"What?"
He looked over at you, the weight of unspoken things were dragging at his shoulders.
"I thought if you saw...all the worst parts of me, if you saw how I fall apart, how I spiral, that you'd leave. You'd wake up one day and realize I'm too much. That I'm too damaged, too scarred."
You stared at him, tears tracking down your cheeks now.
"Do you really think I'd only love you if you were perfect?"
Remus didn't answer.
You reached for the handle of the truck door, stumbling out of the truck without another word.
Remus followed behind.
Back inside the apartment, Remus helped you remove your shoes one by one. You sat on the edge of the bed, hands limp in your lap and body heavy with anger and heartbreak. Remus pulled the covers back on the bed gently. You crawled in without hesitation.
"I'm still mad at you," you murmured as he tucked the blanket around you.
"I know," he said, brushing the hair away your forehead.
You grabbed his hand before he could pull it away from you.
"Don't leave," you said, voice slurring and cracking.
To your surprise, he didn't.
Instead, he sank to the floor beside the bed, his back to the wall, his legs bent, and his head resting on the mattress by your side. The room was quiet for a long time.
Then Remus spoke.
"I grew up thinking pain was something you had to deal with in silence. That if you talk about it, it only gets worse. That if you show any of signs of something being wrong, people only look at you and treat you differently."
You reached and grabbed for his hand, squeezing it as much as you could. "I'm not just people," you whispered.
"I know," he whispered back. "I think that's what scares me the most."
He looked up at you, the whites of his eyes turning red with tears.
"You make me feel like maybe I can have something good. Something real. And that means if I lose you...I'll fall apart in a way that I don't think I'll be able to come back from."
You could feel your heart clenching in your chest. The anger you felt was starting to fade into a sadness you felt for the man you loved.
"I don't want to protect you from me anymore," he whispered again, you could see the tears start to fall where his head was laying on the mattress. "I just want to be better. With you. For you."
You leaned over the edge of the bed, moving to brush your thumb across his scarred cheek.
"I'm not expecting you to be perfect," you said. "You just have to be honest. I love you. All of you. Even the messy bits, even the bits you can't stand."
Remus closed his eyes shut, taking a deep breath in. "Then I'll try the hardest I possibly can."
The next morning, the sun was too bright shining in through the curtains of the bedroom. Your head felt like a sledgehammer was having a blast trying to break through your skull.
But when you opened your eyes, Remus was there. He was still on the floor. Still by your side. He looked up at you when he felt you start to stir.
"Hey," he said softly.
You gave him the smallest smile you could muster up. "Hey."
There was a few beats of silence that passed, as the birds outside the bedroom window chirped.
"I was awful last night," you muttered.
"So was I," Remus replied. "But we're still here. I think that's a good sign, yeah?"
You nodded cautiously.
"Are we okay?" you asked, trying to hide the panic that was laced in your voice.
Remus crawled up onto the bed beside you, pulling you gently into his arms.
Can I get 47 with Remus and male reader? Pretty please
prompt: 47- “We should get you home.” “Well, that doesn’t sound very fun or very likely.”
pairing: Remus Lupin x Male!Reader
summary: hurt/comfort, Remus doesn't know how to talk about things, and Y/N doesn't know how to deal with it anymore. When Remus finds Y/N drunk and takes him home, Remus decides to finally open up
warnings: more hurt than comfort tbh, arguments, Y/N gets drunk, and Remus is very sad
notes: I tried very hard on this, and I hope it's okay! It's x male reader, but there's limited to really no mention of the readers gender or pronouns.
The argument you and Remus had, was loud.
Not in volume, per se, Remus rarely raised his voice at you, but it was loud in the weight it held. Every word spoken between the two of you that night had carried the sting of weeks, maybe even months, of things left unsaid. Words sharp from being bottled up too long. They came out brittle, snapping off like dry branches under too much pressure.
You stood in the middle of the apartment's living room, fists clenched at your sides. You eyes were glassy, but not from tears yet, but from the kind of emotional exhaustion that makes you feel like you're drowning.
"You don't even talk to me anymore," You had said, voice cracking slightly. "You used to tell me when something was wrong. You used to trust me."
Remus had stood across from you, arms folded like a shield across his broad chest. He wasn't angry. He wasn't yelling. He was just...distant. His silence screamed louder than any words he could hurdle at you.
"I'm tired," he had said eventually. "I'm...I don't know, Y/N. I need some space."
And that had been it.
A sharp breath. A nod that came too quick. Your coat grabbed from the hook by the door with a violent tug. And then the door slamming shut behind you like a it was the final word of the fight.
You didn't go to Peter's, which was the usual route when things got messy with Remus. He always let you crash on his couch when Remus started to go quiet on you. You didn't text James or one of your other friends to hang out, to try and get the argument out of your mind.
You walked until the wind numbed your face, your heart still pounding like it thought the fight wasn't over. And then you took a turn, almost without thinking, into the side street bar three blocks away from your building. It was the kind of place where no one asked you any questions and the liquor came cheap and in warm glasses.
You weren't there to meet anyone. You weren't there to flirt, or dance, or pretend you were okay. You were there to drown your thoughts in alcohol, and forget even just for a little while, that the one person who made you feel safe was the same person you no longer felt welcome with.
Three drinks in, the room was spinning a little.
Five drinks in, your elbows were on the bar, head tipping slightly toward a guy sitting beside you. He had curly hair, was soft spoken, and looked like a shadow of someone else you thought you knew.
You laughed at the jokes he would say. Or maybe they weren't even jokes. Maybe it was just the shape of a joke. You weren't clear on what was going on around you. It didn't matter. You laughed because it was easier than crying, and the bar was loud enough that no one would notice the difference anyways.
You felt your phone buzz in your pocket again and again, but you didn't bother to check it. You didn't want to know who was worried about you, or who Remus had told, or who was trying to fix something that felt unfixable.
Your fingers wrapped tight around a half empty glass. The lights above the bar made the liquor glow like a pretty shade of amber. You stared into it like it held the answer's that Remus refused to let out.
And then you felt it.
A hand. Gentle on your shoulder. Not demanding, or possessive. Just there. Like it was trying to ground you.
And then a voice spoke, low and familiar. A voice that sounded like it was cracked around the edges, and filled with sadness.
"We should get you home."
You tried to blink the blurriness out of your vision. Your stomach was unsettled and your brain was several seconds behind reality. But when you turned your head, you knew who you'd be met with. Remus was not someone whose presence went unnoticed for long.
He was kneeling beside the bar stool you were occupying, face pale with worry and eyebags that carried hours upon hours of exhaustion. Rain drops were atop his coat and hair like he'd run through a storm the whole way there.
You looked up at him through your haze, lips twitching into a drunken, cynical smirk.
"Well," you said slowly, "that doesn't sound very fun or very likely."
Remus exhaled through his nose, something that was between relief and grief kept flickering through his expression.
"You're drunk."
"Do you want a gold star?" you muttered, tipping your glass like a mock toast to him.
Remus rose slowly, and you could hear the sound of his joints popping, and he then took the glass from your hand and set it on the counter. He didn't start to lecture you like you expected. He didn't scold you, either. He just reached down, his arms steady, and told you again, yet soft this time, "Come on. Let's go home."
You swayed as you stood, leaning into him more than you wanted to at the moment. Your body betrayed you. Your chest, even under layers that held resentment, knew the curve of his shoulder like it was an instinct to be attached to it. And when his arm slid around your waist, you didn't fight against it.
You let him hold you. At least for now.
His truck was cold when you got into it. You were slumped against the window, cheek pressed to the glass, and your fingers rubbed at your temple as the world titled and shifted all around you.
Remus didn't make any attempt to speak right away, but you did.
"You left me," you slurred. "You were still in the apartment physically, sure, but you were gone. I don't know when it started. But I know when I felt it."
Remus's knuckles tightened around the steering wheel. "I didn't mean to-"
"You always say that," you interrupted, your voice rising. "But I was there, Remus. I was there. Every single night. I sat next to you while you stared at the wall. I kissed you goodnight and you barely even blinked. I said I loved you, but you just looked away."
The way Remus's jaw clenched looked painful. "I didn't know what to say."
"You didn't have to say anything," you snapped, tears starting to build up now, and they were hot behind your eyes. "You just had to let me in. But you shut the door and turned off the lights and expected me to wait outside for you until you were ready to feel again."
The truck pulled up outside the apartment building, but neither of you moved.
"I thought you were going to leave me," he said finally, his voice barely audible.
"What?"
He looked over at you, the weight of unspoken things were dragging at his shoulders.
"I thought if you saw...all the worst parts of me, if you saw how I fall apart, how I spiral, that you'd leave. You'd wake up one day and realize I'm too much. That I'm too damaged, too scarred."
You stared at him, tears tracking down your cheeks now.
"Do you really think I'd only love you if you were perfect?"
Remus didn't answer.
You reached for the handle of the truck door, stumbling out of the truck without another word.
Remus followed behind.
Back inside the apartment, Remus helped you remove your shoes one by one. You sat on the edge of the bed, hands limp in your lap and body heavy with anger and heartbreak. Remus pulled the covers back on the bed gently. You crawled in without hesitation.
"I'm still mad at you," you murmured as he tucked the blanket around you.
"I know," he said, brushing the hair away your forehead.
You grabbed his hand before he could pull it away from you.
"Don't leave," you said, voice slurring and cracking.
To your surprise, he didn't.
Instead, he sank to the floor beside the bed, his back to the wall, his legs bent, and his head resting on the mattress by your side. The room was quiet for a long time.
Then Remus spoke.
"I grew up thinking pain was something you had to deal with in silence. That if you talk about it, it only gets worse. That if you show any of signs of something being wrong, people only look at you and treat you differently."
You reached and grabbed for his hand, squeezing it as much as you could. "I'm not just people," you whispered.
"I know," he whispered back. "I think that's what scares me the most."
He looked up at you, the whites of his eyes turning red with tears.
"You make me feel like maybe I can have something good. Something real. And that means if I lose you...I'll fall apart in a way that I don't think I'll be able to come back from."
You could feel your heart clenching in your chest. The anger you felt was starting to fade into a sadness you felt for the man you loved.
"I don't want to protect you from me anymore," he whispered again, you could see the tears start to fall where his head was laying on the mattress. "I just want to be better. With you. For you."
You leaned over the edge of the bed, moving to brush your thumb across his scarred cheek.
"I'm not expecting you to be perfect," you said. "You just have to be honest. I love you. All of you. Even the messy bits, even the bits you can't stand."
Remus closed his eyes shut, taking a deep breath in. "Then I'll try the hardest I possibly can."
The next morning, the sun was too bright shining in through the curtains of the bedroom. Your head felt like a sledgehammer was having a blast trying to break through your skull.
But when you opened your eyes, Remus was there. He was still on the floor. Still by your side. He looked up at you when he felt you start to stir.
"Hey," he said softly.
You gave him the smallest smile you could muster up. "Hey."
There was a few beats of silence that passed, as the birds outside the bedroom window chirped.
"I was awful last night," you muttered.
"So was I," Remus replied. "But we're still here. I think that's a good sign, yeah?"
You nodded cautiously.
"Are we okay?" you asked, trying to hide the panic that was laced in your voice.
Remus crawled up onto the bed beside you, pulling you gently into his arms.
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