moonylupinraven

[moonylupinraven]

Chuusano in their first onscreen interaction just remind me of that one audio that’s like

“let’s settle this cat fight in the ring”

“let’s settle this in bed”

[moonylupinraven]

The hottest thing a man can do is be Remus Lupin.

[moonylupinraven]

palmistry - neville longbottom

summary: when you begin learning advanced palm reading with professor trelawney, you don't only uncover new truths about you, but those around you — particularly one boy you have your eyes on. wc: 3.3k+ cw: half the stuff about palm reading is based on wikihow and the rest is made up.

For the first time in a long while, the common room was practically empty. It was a Hogsmeade weekend, meaning most of your classmates and peers were out of the castle and roaming the village nearby, but you and your friends had decided to stay in for the day and catch up on some homework. Your divinations textbook laid open in your lap, one of your hands holding Neville’s, eyes flickering between his open palm and the textbook in front of you.

You hummed, tracing the four major lines on his hand. "The heart line, the headline, the lifeline and the fate line." You spoke aloud, "I’m just going to do your right hand, which shows what you’ve gotten from life."

Lavender and Seamus watched you from where they sat on the couch facing you — Lavender learning from your words so she could improve her understanding (it’s a part of her revision, she said), but Seamus was rather interested in the way you held Neville, cradling his hand gently in yours, your finger tracing each line.

"Your heart line is long, and ends below your index finger, which shows that you’re content with your love life, but it’s also broken up, signifying emotional trauma. The head line shows everything about your approach with knowledge and learning. Your line is curved, meaning you prefer creativity and spontaneity rather than practicality and conventional learning approaches. It’s curved downwards, which means you are creative, but is also separated from the life line, which shows that you have enthusiasm for life and learning."

You traced your nail along Neville’s life line, just above his thumb and crossing towards the edge of his palm. He shivered at the drag of your nail, fist closing in reflex, but you softly eased it open again. "Your life line shows that you’re cautious, particularly regarding relationships, but it’s also kind of curved?" You hummed, deep in thought as you scanned the open page of your divination textbook. "I should have paid more attention in class." You mumbled, and Neville chuckled softly, bringing a hand up to brush from hair away from your eyes.

Seamus bumped Lavender’s shoulder, but she only bumped is shoulder in return, unaware of what he was pointing out to her — an oddly comfortable display of affection between you and Neville. One he wouldn’t necessarily call platonic.

"The curve means you have plenty of energy, I guess. Anyway-" Cutting yourself off by bringing Neville’s hand closer to your face, you moved his hand from side to side, taking in the depth and pattern of his fate line in the dim light of the common room. "Your fate line starts up joined to your life line, which says that you’ve developed your aspirations from a young age, but it breaks apart and sort of changes direction up here. This means…" You let go of Neville’s hands, flipping over to a new page in the text book before going back to the previous page. "You’ll have many changes in life due to universal forces. Could be good or bad."

Neville placed his hand in his lap, but you were quick to tug it back towards you with both hands, telling him "I’m not done. You have earth hands, which makes sense for the herbology expert. You have solid values, you’re responsible and work with your hands. You have a low mercury and jupiter mount — under your pinkie and index fingers. These mean that you probably lack confidence and are quite shy, but you have a high sun mount under your ring finger, which means you have high imagination. Now for the hand size…" You brought Neville’s hand up, examining it before reading through the textbook again. You chewed on the inside of your cheek, unsure what to make of the writing in your book.

"Do me next!" Seamus said, raising his hand high up in the air, elbowing Lavender with his free arm. You glanced at the Irish boy, then Neville, who smiled and nodded towards Seamus with a playful roll of his eyes. "Go ahead." You laughed quietly, bringing a hand down to Neville’s knee and squeezing softly before gathering your textbook and rounding the table to slump down on the rug in front of Seamus. You placed the textbook on your crossed legs and looked up at Seamus’s extended hand. Lavender glanced at Seamus with furrowed eyebrows, understanding that he wanted to tell her something, but not knowing what.

"Alright," You began observing Seamus’s hands, fingers playing with the corners of your textbook pages as you took in the deep lines on his palm. "Your heart line is kind of-"

"You’re not going to hold my hand and trace all my lines?" You straightened your shoulders up, taken aback by Seamus’s question. Your friend had a smirk on his face as he continued "Or is it only Neville who gets the special treatment?" You licked over your lips, feeling your cheeks go hot at Seamus’s words. But instead of showing him how flustered you were, you curled your fingers around his wrist and tugged his hand forward, causing his entire torso to jerk down towards you at the harshness of your tug. "I’ll hold your hand if you want me to, you wuss."

The heart line was different for each and every person.

Though the basics of divination only showed up to eight variations and meanings for them, there was always more meaning to it. It was in third year that you’d initially learned to read palms, but Professor Trelawney had told you all to revisit the topic before Monday’s lesson, where you’d learn the real magic behind the markings in your skin. As you listened to Professor Trelawney discuss the minor, less noticeable lines, you scribbled down some notes, occasionally glancing at your own palm in an attempt to read it.

But of course, no one was as good as the master herself. After the note taking was done, Professor Trelawney advised everyone to have a go at reading their partner’s palm. Lavender snatched your hand from across the table, eager to reveal whatever was engraved in your skin. "Godric, why is your palm so line-y?" Asked Lavender, already regretting her decision to go first. She hummed absentmindedly, glancing down at the notes then back at your hand, furrowing her eyebrows in confusion. Even after a good five minutes of pure staring, she had no idea where to start. "Uh, let me try reading your love languages. Give me your other hand."

You obeyed Lavender’s command, but not without laughing at her first. You glanced around the room, watching the other pairs clearly already discussing their findings. "Time is ticking, Lav."

"Oh please, it’s not my fault you have such a complicated reading." Lavender’s annoyed words were timed perfectly — much to your dismay — for Professor Trelawney to hear as she was passing by your table. The woman immediately glanced over Lavender’s shoulder to take a look at your hand, eyes lighting up as she began reading the lines in them. She summoned a cushioned seat next to Lavender’s chair, and you already knew you were in for some humiliation, because once Professor Trelawney started talking, everyone immediately tuned in.

"Very interesting reading, indeed." You bounced your knee under the table, watching as Trelawney guided your hands away from Lavender. Unlike your friend, Professor Trelawney didn’t need to follow any notes as she took in the map of your palms, nodding her head in interest. "Your two hands show very different things. Who can tell me the difference between the right and left hand?" Hands shot up in the air at the Professor’s question, and she nodded towards a couple of Slytherins in the back of the room. "Ms. Parkinson."

"In palmistry, a woman’s right hand shows what they were born with, but the left shows everything they have developed over time. For men, it’s the opposite for each hand."

"Good. The lines under Ms. L/n’s heart line on her right hand indicate that she was born to show love and affection through words of affirmation, but the left shows that she has developed an inclination towards physical touch, and partly acts of service. While her right hand has a short heart line — which indicates what, Ms. Abbott? —"

"It indicates that there’s little interest in romantic involvements."

" — Her left hand’s heart line begins right in the middle of her hand. It’s quite short."

Lavender didn’t wait for Professor Trelawney to ask anyone what it meant, leaning forward with a wide grin on her face. "She falls in love easily."

"Not necessarily falls, Mr. Brown, but it does mean that she has fallen for someone very easily. Someone who has changed the paths of the lines on her hand." You gulped thickly, painfully aware of all the eyes glued to you. "There’s a boy who yearns. We can see next to your fate line that your paths are crossed with his. It is likely that his means of life have changed alongside yours. Whatever you feel for this boy, Ms. L/n, it is reciprocated. The fate line is connected to the lines below your heart line, which shows that your love life is in good hands."

Professor Trelawney stood up swiftly, crossing the room as though she hadn’t just exposed your entire love life to the class. Lavender kicked you under the table and you shrugged, blatantly ignoring her as she mouthed Neville’s name and turning back to listen to Professor Trelawney’s next words.

"Ms. Parkinson, perhaps your lines would look more like your classmate’s if you had better taste in men."

"Professor, it’s the fate line that keeps leading me to these men, I just can’t help it."

Physical affection.

Something so small and yet something that changed your life forever.

It was never present in your blood, or in your childhood environment. You were conditioned to only believe your worth when it was stated aloud. "Good job." And "I’m proud of you." were words you heard constantly. And so when your parents looked at you with a disappointed glint in their eyes, refusing to say anything to you, you knew you hadn’t done well. So when you grew up, made friends in school and went to Hogwarts, you told your friends the things you loved about them and gave them whole-hearted advice on anything you could help with.

But then you met him.

Shy, too nervous to show people his real self. But kind, and most importantly, your best friend. Neville grew up almost completely oppositely to you. His grandma scolded him and was strict enough to scare people away, but then she hugged him and Neville knew everything was okay. She pressed aggressive kisses to his cheek, leaving him with bold lipstick prints that he desperately tried wiping away. But those small touches made him feel loved, and when you finally got close enough for him to open up, reassuring him with your caring words, Neville began showing you affection in a way of his own. Hooking your pinkie with his when walking down the halls, or holding your hand in his when he noticed your mood was down, and wrapping an arm around your shoulders in the cold common room, ensuring that you were safe with him.

It was a way that you quickly adapted into becoming yours too, but only with him.

Only for him.

"It’s so cold!" You whined, snaking two hands around Neville’s arm, snuggling into his body warmth. You looked at the group of friends around the bonfire — none of whom were wearing any extra layers over their short sleeved shirts. The summer solstice had just passed, and with that, all and any jumpers your friends owned had suddenly disappeared, but your low tolerance for the cold hadn’t. Neville chuckled, extending an arm out in invitation for a hug. "I have warmth, come on." You grinned widely, moving from Neville’s side to cuddle into his chest, wrapping your arms around his body. He caressed your back soothingly, resting his cheek on the side of your head.

You had a perfect view of Lavender, Seamus and Dean huddled together in discussion, Hermione, Ron and Harry only casually listening in on their conversation, not too in tune with the drama of your friend group. But from the thrilled look on Lavender’s face, gaze rapidly flitting back and forth between you and the boys, you knew she was vividly recalling the events that had occurred in divinations class.

It wasn’t difficult to know about your feelings for Neville, who showed more care for you than anyone ever had, but you didn’t need the news to be announced to the friend group, especially after they had all been so suspicious of you in the first place.

You’re not going to hold my hand and trace all my lines? Or is it only Neville who gets the special treatment?

You melted into Neville’s chest as he brought a hand up to the back of your head, cradling you softly. "You alright?" He muttered, and you nodded into his soft polo. Now you had to stay glued to Neville all night, because the second you would join your friends, the teasing would begin. But unfortunately for you, Seamus called your name loudly, and you huffed, eyes fluttering shut for a moment. "Come here for a sec!"

"Give me a minute to warm up!"

"Oh, you can leave the man for two seconds!"

Neville chuckled as you begrudgingly pulled away from him, trudging over to the group and sitting down next to Lavender on a log. "Let me guess, Lavender couldn’t keep her mouth shut."

"Don’t blame me, blame Trelawney."

Dean leaned towards you, elbows placed on his knees. "So, your love life’s in good hands, huh?" You scrunched your face up in disgust at Dean’s words, turning back to glance at Neville, who had begun making his way over to you. "None of you say a word." You warned in an angry whisper as Neville approached you. He stopped right behind you, bringing his hands down to your shoulders. Seamus grinned widely at the sight of his friend, and you knew from that instant; you were fucked.

Not everyone has a fate line.

It is believed in palmistry that those who have no fate line are guided by their own free will. Your fate line was faint, meaning your path of life was led by both by fate and personal decisions, and in this moment, you knew it was your personal decision of taking Divinations as a N.E.W.T subject that would lead to Neville’s inevitable discovery of your feelings for him.

"Am I allowed here, or is there some top secret conversation going on?"

You patted the spot on the log next to you, and Neville squatted down until he could sit on the log, extending his long legs in front of him. "Heya Neville, the girls were just telling us about the new palm reading they were doing in divination," Started Seamus, "And you know, since we basically have a palm reading expert here, I was gonna ask for a palm reading."

"I don’t really remember anything from today," You cut in with a shrug of your shoulders. "I’ll have to go over it before I can give you a proper reading."

Whatever Seamus’s plan was, you wanted to avoid it at all costs. But just like any prophecies, by trying to avoid destiny, you’ve only accomplished it. Lavender snatched one of your hands, placing it in her lap. "I will be taking that palm reading expert title, thank you Seamus." You tried closing your hand into a fist, but Lavender was quicker, pressing her second hand above yours so you couldn’t close it. "What was it Trelawney said? You have a short heart line, so you fall in love quickly. Or was it, she said you fell in love quickly?"

You yanked your hand away from Lavender, but she secured her grip around your wrist, pulling it towards her again. "Lav." You begged, tilting your head to the side. Your best friend took mercy, letting go of your hand and shrugging with mock disinterest. "Yeah, I don’t remember much. Something about fates intertwined and a good love life." She sighed deeply. "Wish I could relate to that."

If there were such thing as an anger line, you were sure you’d have it. You refused to speak to Seamus, Lavender and Dean for the rest of the night, even as they attempted to bring you back into the conversation. In fact, the only reason you were still with them at all was because of the causal arm Neville had around your shoulders. When Dean suggested going on a walk and was pursued by Seamus and Lavender, you stayed put. And Neville, closely watching you to see what you would do, stayed right there with you. “What’s wrong? I don’t understand what they’ve done but I know there’s something.”

“It’s fine. They had good intentions.” Neville nodded, shuffling along the log to make some space between you. “So, do you actually not remember about the palm reading, or were you just saying stuff?”

“I don’t know, I’d have to try first.” Neville wordlessly offered you his hand, smiling softly. You traced his palm, asking “Is this your left?” Neville nodded, and you shook your head, reaching for this right hand. “Wanna read the right one. Actually, keep both. I’m gonna read your love languages.” You replayed Professor Trelawney’s lecture in your mind, running your thumb over the shirt lines at the base of his palm. Left and right, physical touch could be found in a crease on his hand, but there was something else too. “Words of affection. I didn’t know you liked that.”

“It makes sense. You always express your affection in words. I’ve grown to like it.” You felt your cheeks heat up at Neville’s words, and you cleared your throat as you traced his fate line. Just like yours, it was connected to his minor heart lines. You opened up one of your hands, holding it palm-up to compare them. Nearly identical.

“What are you looking at now?”

“I don’t know. I think-godric, I think divinations is a load of bullshit.” Neville laughed loudly, shaking his head. “No, you love divination.”

“Yeah, I just- It’s difficult to believe something that’s not tangible.”

“Well tell me anyway. The thing you’re finding hard to believe.”

Shrugging, you carefully held Neville’s hand in both of yours, thumbs caressing the soft skin of his palm. “Professor Trelawney read my palm. She said there was a boy who,” Your voice trembled, and you focused your gaze on Neville’s hand, watching his fate line. “A boy who yearns, and his paths cross with mine in our fate lines. She said my love life is in good hands. And I, I just can’t stop thinking about you.”

A hand touched your chin, pushing your face up so Neville could take a good look at you. He smiled at you, searching your eyes. “And you think it’s too good to be true?” You nodded wordlessly, and Neville brought his arms around you, tugging you into his chest in a comforting hug. “It’s only too good to be true if you let it be.”

You brought both hands to Neville’s chest, pushing him away from you gently. “What does that mean?”

“It means, it means we don’t have to make things complicated. If what you’re saying is you like me, I like you too. And I have liked you. For ages. So don’t let it be too good to be true.”

“I don’t really know what to say to that, Nev. I’m just- I don't" You shuffled closer to Neville again, placing your hands on his chest. He smiled as you leaned in closer to him, dipping his head down slightly to meet your lips in a soft kiss. Your eyes fluttered shut, your hands trailing upwards to rest on his shoulders as Neville’s arms rested around your waist.

Sometimes fate wasn’t always a good thing, but as you locked lips with Neville, finally pouring your feelings into a kiss, you thanked whatever power led your friends to taking that walk.

taglist: @ravisinghs-wife, @starry-remus, @pain-in-the-ashe, @hiireadstuff, @treefairy-28, @superlegend216, @kitkatkl, @juliet-017, @fl0weryannie, @tiaajosephin, @dream-alittlebiggerdarling, @dearlizzies, @matcha-kitty13, @thenasoneshots, @slytherin-princess-x, @bxuzi, @rory-cakes, @dlljdhsh, @girlontheblock, @5sospenguinqueen, @bluebvrriee, @aouoo, @spider–girl, @fandomhoe101, @user010380, @simp-for-fiction, @selenewowww, @paytonluvxx, @sharkers00, @joonbread, @rhettsluvr, @gr1mesgirl, @iluvhrj, @mischivana, @sunnywithlotsoflove, @krokietino, @paankhaleyaaar, @tea-biscuits-books, @lahniii, @whitemanswh0r3

[moonylupinraven]

cheater - harry potter

wolfstar daughter au summary: when the potter and lupin parents' morning coffee is interrupted by loud arguing from upstairs, they fear the worst. but luckily for them, it's not what they think... wc: 3.5k+ cw: i don't wanna spoil, but arguing, smut, teasing, manhandling, a little rough a/n: i think i really nailed the best friends to lovers dynamic with this one, a.k.a they both purposefully annoy each other and i love it divider by @thecutestgrotto

The soothing morning between four best friends and their mugs of coffee and tea was rudely interrupted by a loud clatter of things upstairs. Lily Potter sighed in synch with Remus Lupin, both of them shooting each other a silent look of amused disbelief while their husbands carried on with their conversation. Of course, ever since children had come into the picture, they hadn’t been able to get a single full hour of relaxation. It seemed that whenever they were awake, so were you and Harry, and whenever they were asleep, you and Harry were still awake. So usually, they took the early mornings of weekends to enjoy the quiet as you slept in until noon. However it seemed that today, you and Harry had woken up earlier than usual and decided to take away from their peace. But now, instead of hearing a crying baby over the monitor, it was two screaming teenagers.

“I can’t believe you cheated!”

An accusatory yell full of betrayal sounded into the house, the open door of Harry’s bedroom allowing the adults to hear everything. In unison, the four adults in the living room straightened up as you shouted back “You went through my things!? That’s such an invasion of privacy, Harry!”

“Well it doesn’t seem you deserve that privacy if this is what you’re using it for!”

Sirius and Remus looked at each other for a long moment, the blood draining from their faces. You were cheating on Harry?

“You have no proof that-hey, give that back!”

Remus and Lily both scrambled up in unison as another clatter was heard upstairs, leaving James and Sirius frozen in their seats. The last thing they needed in the world was for you and Harry to break up. What would that mean for their friendship? What would that mean to their families? Would they have to defy the lifelong dream they were able to achieve of living next door to each other just because you had made a silly mistake? But no, they refused to believe you would do such a thing. You were you; caring, gentle and protective of those you loved. Those who included Harry.

Lily and Remus cautiously made their way up the stairs, listening closely as the sounds of arguing became louder. They followed along the corridor quicker as the sounds of a struggle became apparent to their ears, only stopping in front of the open doorway when they took in the sight in front of them.

You and Harry were sat facing each other on his bed, both tugging at something Harry had a good grip on. You were on your knees, trying to use your full body to yank the object out of Harry’s hands. Harry’s face read of pure betrayal and fury, sat cross-legged on his bed, his quidditch trained arms flexing as he pulled the cards back in his direction.

“Let go! Those are my well earned properties.”

Properties? Remus placed his hands on his hips, face dropping in a weird sense of disappointment. Because, of course, laid out between you on the bed was a full monopoly set. “You cheated! I was going buy this one!”

“I bought it first, doesn’t mean I cheated!”

If you were aware of your parents’ presence, you didn’t show it. They both sighed a long exhale of relief, and Lily rolled her eyes fondly, reaching over to grab the door handle, pulling it shut. Immediately, the sounds of arguing became muted, the silencing charm working miracles for them.

“Monopoly.” They explained to James and Sirius, who looked like they were awaiting a verdict for a death sentence. The two men immediately sunk back into the couch, James clutching a hand over his chest while Sirius snaked his fingers through his hair.

Upstairs though, the fight was nowhere near over. Harry yanked at the property cards in his hands, and you squealed as the force tugged you forward, causing you to sprawl out onto your front on his bed, halfway across the monopoly board in front of you, sending little buildings and flimsy monopoly bills flying through the air. Unfortunately for Harry though, your relentless hold was still on your beloved property cards. How they didn’t rip between you was a miracle. Harry groaned as you flipped over onto your back, using your legs to push away from him, taking the cards with you.

Your boyfriend sacrificed one hand from the cards so he could curl a finger into a belt hoop of your jeans, stopping you from travelling any further away from him. Harry huffed as the cards began slipping away from between his fingers, getting up from his seated position to roll onto his knees, swinging a leg over one side of your hips so he could straddle you. You pulled at the cards in Harry’s hands one last time, making a small sound of success as they slipped away from his grip, but Harry was quicker. He immediately brought a hand down to curl around your wrists, pinning them over your head. You gasped as he stretched above you, distracted by the sliver of his midriff that became exposed and the dark patch of hair that disappeared under his jeans, while he used his free hand to uncurl your fingers from the cards, freeing them from your grasp.

You slumped back on the bed in disappointment and Harry grinned at his success, his grip unrelenting on your wrists, even as you tried to wriggle out of his hold. He sat there for a moment, waving the cards in your face. "I'll give you 150 for this set."

"No way! I paid like five times that amount for it! I'm not just gonna give it to you." Harry raised his eyebrows at you, comfortably putting his weight on you from where he was straddling you. He glanced at the properties, then back at your helpless position.

“Give me 800 and they're yours.”

“You know what, I don't think I want your properties, I'm enjoying this a little too much.”

You whined your boyfriend’s name long and hard, tugging your wrists down, but he was too strong. “Admit to cheating and I’ll let go.” He compromised.

“But I didn’t cheat!” You argued, a pout forming on your lips. Harry ducked his head down, pecking your lips quickly before returning to his original position atop you. He seemed too smug like this, thighs caging your body, one hand securing yours in place. You planted your feet on the bed, taking a deep breath before bucking your hips up with as much strength as you could muster. Harry’s eyes widened in shock at the power, his free arm shooting out to find something to stabilise himself with. Alas, he lost balance on top of you, making it easy for you to scramble out from underneath him. You snatched your hands out of his grip, scurrying away from him on the bed, but Harry leaped towards you, arms wrapping around your front and pulling your back snug against his chest before rolling you onto your stomach. You tried getting onto your knees, but Harry’s weight on your back didn’t allow it. He fished for your hands in front of your torso, pinning them behind your back again with the same hand as before.

Harry pressed himself further into you as he attempted to take some of his weight off you, knees finding the mattress on either side of you, and that was when you felt it, poking into your thigh as you caught your breath. You pushed yourself back against him in disguise of wiggling out of his hold, making sure you weren’t imagining things. You almost laughed. No way Harry got so turned on at the prospect of manhandling you that he popped a boner. Instead of fighting him any longer, you decided to tease a little.

“Are you going to do something about this position, or just keep me like this forever?”

Harry leaned over you, his breath brushing the side of your neck. He paused for a moment, then pressed a soft kiss to the soft skin there. You shivered as he ran his tongue down the length of your neck before covering up the trail with kisses. He brought a hand down to the small of your back before snaking it in front of you, playing with the button of your jeans. “I’m gonna take these off now, okay?”

You nodded quietly, heart rate rapidly increasing as the anticipation built. Harry toyed with the button of your jeans, and you lifted your hips up to try and help him, but you only pressed yourself back against his erection more, causing a quiet groan to leave him. He cursed under his breath, chewing on his bottom lip and squinting his eyes as he continued fiddling with the button, hoping that it would be obedient and just pop out of its place. He sucked in a sharp breath as the button let up, quickly moving his hand down to unzip the trousers. Harry moved his hand back to where it was behind your back, curling it into the waist band of your jeans and pulling it down desperately.

The jeans didn't budge.

"Does someone need help?" You teased, glancing back at your boyfriend, whose face was growing more frustrated by the minute. Harry stubbornly shook his head, huffing as he paused, thinking of what to do next. "Don’t move your hands." He demanded, and you nodded again, mildly amused at his struggle. He let do of your wrists, now using both hands to frustratedly tug your jeans down your legs. When the piece of clothing was finally over your ass and bunched around your knees, Harry guided your legs out of each pant leg, carefully moving your body around. He tossed the jeans somewhere on the floor, then quickly stood up so he could take his off too.

He stumbled onto the bed again, running his hands down your thighs and back up to your ass, groping you contently. Harry leaned down, pressing a quick kiss to your ass before he was returning again, much less gentle as he sunk his teeth into your skin, biting down relentlessly. You yelped, jerking away from him, but Harry held you still by the hips, even as you brought down a hand to snake through his hair, trying to pull him away from you.

"Ouch, Harry! You’re such a jerk." You complained to him despite the way your thighs clenched and your panties grew wetter. You watched with a pout as he pulled away, leaving a bite mark on your butt cheek. Harry grinned, bringing both his hands back up to rub your skin to 'soothe it', but he harshly smacked your ass, leaving you with a hand print on one side and a bite mark on the other. "What’s wrong with you!?" You asked, lifting your chest off his bed to turn around and look at him with an incredulous expression.

Harry grinned, hands snaking up your body to clutch your biceps as he pressed an apologetic kiss to your jaw. "Finally able to touch you. 'M never going to take my hands off you."

"Yeah, pretty sure everyone already knows that by now, dumbass."

Harry rolled his eyes playfully, yanking your arms back and pushing your chest forward so your front slammed on his mattress. "Yeah, yeah. And I said hands stay right here, dumbass." You huffed, letting Harry drag you backwards onto the bed so that your face wasn’t so close to the edge, rolling you over wonky monopoly pieces in the process. You shifted uncomfortably, mumbling your boyfriend’s name to get his attention, but he was already running a hand between your body and the mattress, moving aside any uncomfortable toy pieces from under you. Finally, Harry dragged his pillow away from the bed’s headboard, gently tapping your thigh so he could slide it underneath your hips.

"Everything good now, princess?" He asked with a mock annoyed tone, happy that you couldn’t see the loving smile tugging at the corners of his lips as his fingers hooked into the fabric of your panties. You hummed, lifting your hips for Harry to take your underwear off. Again, when he was done he repeated the movement on himself, freeing his cock from the confines of his boxers. Harry’s hands guided your thighs apart slightly, licking his lips as he caught your glistening wetness in the light.

But still, Harry ran two fingers through your folds, finding your clit like second nature so he could rub tight circles onto the sensitive bud. He waited until you began squirming underneath him to slide his fingers away from your clit and into your entrance. They glided in without struggle, and Harry only pumped them into you a few times before deciding that you could take him, motivated by your quiet moans.

Harry stroked himself with his already slick hand, spreading precum over his cock, sighing as he brushed over his sensitive tip. You pushed your ass back, and Harry couldn’t help but grin at the sight of his bite marking your skin. Harry stabilised himself by wrapping a hand around your wrists, obediently kept behind your back, leaning his weight on you slightly as he guided himself into your entrance. “Fuck,” He mumbled as his tip caught on your entrance. “Already making me struggle.”

Your delighted laugh took Harry aback, his eyebrows furrowing in astonishment. “What are you laughing at?” He asked, his movements completely stilling. You didn’t answer, but you wiggled your hips, sighing as his tip popped out of your entrance, slipping down and nudging your clit. You just wanted the full heaviness of his cock inside you. “Harry, please.”

Harry hummed, briefly wondering if he should give in to your plea or not. He shrugged his shoulders, pushing back into you with one slow forward drag of his hips. Your mouth dropped as he slid all the way in, shutting your eyes tightly in pleasure. “Fuck, I should have gotten a mirror for this room.”

You squeezed your thighs, rocking your hips back to encourage Harry to move, but when he set a hand by your head on the mattress, gaining composure, you exhaled deeply, mumbling “I told you so.”

Harry huffed, pulling out of you until just the tip was notched inside you, then slammed right back into you, his hips loudly smacking against your ass. You cried out loudly, missing the way Harry rolled his eyes, complaining “You are so smug. Fuck, turn around, I want to see your face.”

But before you could even comply to Harry’s words, he had pulled out, grabbed you by the hips and flipped you onto your back. You winced at the sting on your ass from Harry’s earlier displays of affection, and Harry smirked, hiking both your legs over his hips and holding your ankles over his shoulders. He leaned his weight onto you, easily sliding back in and almost folding you in half as he began thrusting into you again, firmly gripping your shins.

Harry’s jaw went slack at the immediate pleasure that filled him, but his gaze was glued to the way your face morphed into pleasure, eyebrows scrunching up as your lips parted, moans flying out of your open mouth as you dug your head back into the mattress. Harry glanced down at where he disappeared inside you with every thrust — a mistake, because the second he saw the way you kept swallowing him up, juices pooling around him and wetting the expanse of your thighs and his dark patch of pubic hairs, Harry almost came on the spot. You followed your boyfriend’s gaze, whimpering at the sight of his cock plunging into you with perfect repetition, making you take him over and over and over again. Not that you were complaining.

“Harry,” You panted, both hands gripping his dark bedsheets. “I wanna kiss.” Harry groaned at your words, feeling himself twitch inside you with pure need. “God, my baby wants a kiss?” You nodded desperately tears forming in your eyes as his pelvis brushed against your clit, an overwhelmed gasp flying from between your lips.

Harry gently eased your legs off his shoulders, laying them on the bed gently so he could fully lean over you, slamming his lips onto yours. You moaned loudly, both hands flying up. One tangled in Harry’s hair, pulling him deeper into the kiss as you parted your lips, the other desperately gripping his shoulder to help ground yourself. Harry tilted his head to the side, kiss sloppy as he kept up his abuse on your cunt, tongue chasing yours and swallowing up all your pleasured noises.

You hooked both legs over Harry’s hips, linking them behind his back to pull him closer, deeper inside you. Harry groaned, breaking the kiss to dig his head into the crook of your neck, leaving a mess of drool and saliva all over your skin as he sucked and nibbled on it. His hips stuttered, losing their control for a short moment when you tugged at his hair particularly hard, before regaining momentum.

“Harry,” You started, voice breaking as he brought a hand down between your folds to rub your clit. He hummed against the skin of your neck, desperately trying to hold his orgasm off and make the moment last longer. Your pussy clenched around him and he bit down on your neck, causing a high pitched sound to leave your lips, interrupting your train of thought for a brief moment. “Didn’t cheat.”

A half-hearted laugh surprised you, and you eagerly found Harry’s eyes when he pulled away from the dip in your neck, planting a hand on the side of your head to keep balance, straightening up a little so he could look down at you. He admired you for a moment; the way dots of sweat decorated your shirt and your hardened nipples showed even though you wore a bra. He admired the flushed look on your face, and the heat radiating off your skin, but most importantly, he admired the way one of your hands clutched his bicep for support and tears rimmed your eyes with pleasure, gaze dropping down for just a second to glance at his fingers working your clit into overstimulation.

Capturing your lips with his again, Harry mumbled something incoherent into the kiss, but he pulled away, lips still grazing yours as he said “My perfect girl. I know you didn’t cheat.” Your breath hitched at his words, and Harry briefly smiled, interrupted by a wave of pleasure that had his face scrunching up, but he still worked his way through his next words, panting as he said “Just like to tease you. My baby… You close?”

You nodded, lifting your head up slightly to kiss Harry again. He groaned, pushing you deeper into the mattress as he fought the shake in his thighs, keeping up a consistent pace. Harry slipped his tongue into your mouth, moaning into the kiss as your thighs tightened around his waist, pushing him impossibly deeper into you. Your back arched and you cried out, lips separating from his as your cunt clenched around him, your orgasm flooding your senses. Harry trembled, cursing loudly as his cock twitched, balls emptying his entire load into you with thick ropes of cum.

He pulled his hand away from your clit so he could stabilise himself as his orgasm overtook his body, shaking from head to toe. You unravelled your legs from around him, letting them slump on the bed as you pressed a kiss to Harry’s sweaty forehead. When the aftershocks of his orgasm were over, Harry lifted his face up, catching the fond look you watched him with. He hummed, pressing his lips against yours, and you cupped his cheek, lips parting so you could lazily make out, sweaty bodies pressed against each other and loving kisses exchanged.

It didn’t take away from Harry’s wandering hands though, because soon enough, you jumped up, Harry’s groping hands squeezing the tender skin of your ass. You pulled away from the kiss, mumbling “Ouch, Harry.”

But your boyfriend only seemed all too pleased with himself, finally pulling out of you and toying with the hem of your shirt. “I bet some cold water would make that feel all better, huh?” You furrowed your eyebrows, but still lifted your arms up as Harry eased your shirt above your head, tossing it aside and then making way to take your bra off next. You gasped as your sensitive nipples became exposed to the chilly air, and Harry only looked at them for a moment and licked his lips before taking his own shirt off.

“Shower?”

You laughed lightly, a smile tugging on your lips, almost identical to the one Harry had. You extended your arms out, and Harry leaned down, snaking his arms under your back before lifting your torso up. You kept your arms wrapped around him in a hug, and Harry peppered short kisses onto your neck.

“Shower.”

But even as Harry pulled you in direction of the bathroom door, you both knew there was only about twenty seconds before you got distracted again.

 taglist: @ravisinghs-wife, @starry-remus, @pain-in-the-ashe, @hiireadstuff, @treefairy-28, @superlegend216, @kitkatkl, @juliet-017, @fl0weryannie, @tiaajosephin, @dream-alittlebiggerdarling, @dearlizzies, @matcha-kitty13, @thenasoneshots, @slytherin-princess-x, @bxuzi, @rory-cakes, @dlljdhsh, @girlontheblock, @5sospenguinqueen, @bluebvrriee, @aouoo, @spider–girl, @fandomhoe101, @user010380, @simp-for-fiction, @selenewowww, @paytonluvxx, @sharkers00, @joonbread, @rhettsluvr, @gr1mesgirl, @iluvhrj, @mischivana, @sunnywithlotsoflove, @krokietino, @paankhaleyaaar, @tea-biscuits-books, @c0ldstvfh, @thenasoneshots, @blablablacookie, @greylykaylee, @mialovesthemoon, @sociallypink, @alohastitch0626, @notmeduhh

[moonylupinraven]

being a dead poets society fan is all fun and games until you start to relate to neil perry or todd anderson

[moonylupinraven]

💔

[moonylupinraven]

“I was good, i was really good”

[moonylupinraven]

the casting for Meeks’ mom is CRAZYYYYY like yup that is definitely her son

[moonylupinraven]

i think your house is haunted (and i think you should come live with me)

sirius black x reader ✰ 6.8k

synopsis: "sweet tea in the summer, cross my heart, won't tell no other. and though i can't recall your face, i still got love for you"

— or in which you return to the town you left at eight, where the haunted house still stands two doors down and the boy from your childhood waits. together, you wander where trees were planets, swings were ships, and love was only ever pretend. but somewhere between saturn and moon, pretend begins to feel like something real.

cw: childhood friends to strangers to lovers, childhood trauma, implied child neglect and abuse, grief and loss, first love, virgin!reader, first kiss, heavy nostalgia, bittersweet memories, soft angst, mentions of found family, childhood flashbacks, vulnerable dialogue, muggle modern au.

masterlist

It has been twelve years since you last stood on this street, though the road has barely changed.

The sun drips slow gold onto the front lawn, pooling over manicured hedges and pale white shutters, casting long shadows from the wrought iron fence that still curls around the perimeter like it’s guarding something precious. 

You step out of the car, the heat clinging to your skin, your arms full of cardboard boxes, the scent of soil already slipping into your senses.

Your father moves ahead of you with purpose, two heavy boxes stacked in his arms, his voice calling out over his shoulder. “Just put your things in your room, sweetheart. Same one as always.”

As if it hasn’t been over a decade. As if this is just another summer, and not the beginning of something you don’t yet have words for.

Your mother lingers by the garden gate, already kneeling, hands disappearing into the tall grass that has grown untamed since the last time she stood here. “We’ll bring it back,” she murmurs, more to the soil than to you. “It’ll be just like before.”

You don’t answer. You’re too busy letting the house look at you. It’s still beautiful — smaller than you remembered, painted in shades of bone-white with wide bay windows and a garden that once bloomed so fiercely it made the neighbors whisper. 

There are five houses on this street, each spaced with intentional elegance, each trimmed with green like something from a magazine. Your parents' house is the brightest among them, sun-warmed and quietly proud.

But two houses down, the contrast strikes you like a breath caught in your throat.

That house, black, sharp-roofed, and peeling at the edges, seems to exist in a different season altogether. 

The shutters are closed. The curtains drawn. The grass is overgrown, brittle and yellowed in places, as if even the earth there has learned not to hope. You pause on the steps with the last box in your hands, your eyes narrowing slightly. There’s something in the silence of that house, something that stirs at the edge of your memory like a ripple over still water.

“Mom?” you call softly, setting the box down by the door and stepping back out onto the porch. “That house down there. The one that looks abandoned. Who lives there?”

She doesn’t look up from where she’s trimming the hedges, but her voice carries easily. “That’s the House of Black.”

You turn to glance at it again, the name sending something peculiar through your chest.

“The House of Black?” you repeat, the name strange on your tongue.

She finally rises, brushing the soil gently from her knees, a wistful smile tugging at her lips. “Don’t you remember? You used to be really close with the boy who lived there. He went to school with you for a while — mischievous one. Sirius, wasn’t it? You two were inseparable once, like the best of friends, always getting into trouble together.”

Sirius.

The name hits you in a place that still remembers freckles and laughter and hands that held yours too tightly during storms. You don’t say anything. You only nod and carry the last box into the house.

Inside, everything is like it was left waiting — the polished floors, the tall ceilings, the quiet scent of cedar that lingers in the corners of the rooms. Your old bedroom feels like it’s been frozen in time. 

The window still faces the same view of the road, the pale blue wallpaper is faded only slightly, and the bookshelf still holds a few forgotten toys and a dusty snow globe with a miniature swing inside. You run your hand along the desk where you once drew pictures of monsters and fairies.

“I’m going for a walk,” you call out toward the hallway as you lace your shoes by the door. “I just want to see it all again.”

“Don’t be too long,” your mother replies gently. “Lunch’s in an hour!”

You step out into the early evening light, and it feels like the past reaches out to wrap around your shoulders. The road stretches ahead, framed by the five houses you once knew by heart. 

Beyond the end of the street, past a rusted fence and a line of old maples, the lake comes into view.

It’s just as you remembered, wide and glimmering, wrapped in trees. A place where the sky always felt closer, where time used to loosen its grip. 

You follow the familiar path, gravel crunching softly under your steps, your fingers brushing along tall wild grass as you go. Just beyond the lake lies the woods — dense, green, and slow with memory. You pass the tree you once named Saturn. And there it is.

The swing.

Still hanging from its old branch, its rope faded but strong. The wooden seat is chipped now, moss curling at the edges, but it’s there. And behind it, just visible through the trees, is the house you once believed was haunted.

Your mind drifts back to when you were seven, to afternoons spent beneath this very tree, where everything seemed larger than life.

-

The tree was huge, the biggest one near the lake, its bark rough and speckled with moss, tied with rope so thick it scratched your hands when you touched it. Your father had tied the knot last summer. 

It was summer, and everything smelled warm. You wore your favorite dress, the one with the little blue flowers on it. Your mum had ironed it that morning. Now it was crumpled and slightly muddy at the hem, but you didn’t care. 

You sat on the swing, legs swinging back and forth, hair flying in your face, and behind you was a boy with messy dark hair and a stick in his hand.

You didn’t really remember how he looked. His face was all fuzzy now, like trying to see through a rainy window. But you remembered his voice. You remembered how he pushed the swing just right, not too hard, not too soft. You remembered how he laughed when you laughed.

“Higher,” you giggled, gripping the ropes.

“I can’t,” he said, pretending to grunt as he pushed. “You’ll fall off and the crocodiles’ll eat you!”

“There aren’t any crocodiles in the lake,” you said, kicking your legs.

“Yes there are. There’s millions, big ones, and they love princesses.” He waved his stick in the air. “But don’t worry, I’ll save you. I’m the pirate and this swing’s our boat.”

You rolled your eyes, even though you were smiling. “That’s wrong! It’s supposed to be a prince saving a princess from pirates. Not a pirate saving a princess from other pirates.”

“I don’t wanna be a prince,” he said quickly, with a frown in his voice. 

“Princes are boring. They just wear fancy clothes and sit on horses and don’t do anything. Pirates are cool, they have swords and ships and treasure and... parrots.”

You twisted around to look at him, trying to see his face, but the sun was behind him. “But pirates are the bad guys.”

“I’m a nice pirate,” he insisted. “A good one. You’re the princess and I’m the pirate and we’re sailing away to India.”

“Why India?” you laughed.

“Because that’s where treasure is. That’s where everything is!” He puffed out his chest. “My uncle has a book about it. The colors there are shiny. I saw them.”

You didn’t know much about India except for the map in the globe in your father’s office. You used to spin it until it made you dizzy.

Nearby, your plushies were sitting in a circle on a picnic blanket. Your rabbit was there, and your bear, and the small dog with one ear bent the wrong way. 

They were all watching the game, very seriously. The rabbit was the captain, and the bear was the lookout.

“This boat needs snacks,” you said suddenly, hopping off the swing and letting your bare feet touch the grass. “I’m gonna get apples.”

But instead of apples, you ran toward the tree next to the big one. It was smaller, but you had always liked it. You could climb it easily, especially if you stepped on the knot in the trunk. Sirius called out from behind you.

“You can’t do that. You’re a princess! You’re supposed to stay on the boat.”

“I’m a different kind of princess,” you shouted as you started climbing. “One who can do what she wants.”

He ran up to the bottom of the tree and stared up at you. “My mum says girls have to sit nice and boys have to be strong and loud. So you can’t climb, only I can climb.”

“That’s dumb,” you called down, wrapping your hands around a branch. “If girls want to climb trees, they can. Maybe your mum just doesn’t know how.”

He looked like he was thinking very hard about that. You swung your leg over a branch and perched there like a bird.

“See?” you said proudly. “Now I’m taller than you.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m the pirate. Pirates are supposed to be the tallest.”

You just stuck your tongue out and stood up, wobbling slightly on the branch before jumping down. You landed with a loud splat in the mud and your dress got dirty all over the back. You stared at it for a second, then laughed and wiped your hands on it too.

“Now I’m a pirate princess,” you declared. “See?”

He stared at the mud, at your feet, and then started laughing too. “Fine,” he said. “You’re a pirate princess. But I’m still the captain.”

“No, the rabbit is the captain.”

“That’s not fair. He doesn’t even have a sword.”

“You can be the cook.”

“I’m not being the cook!”

“Then you can be the pirate who sings songs and ties the ropes and swabs the deck and steers the ship and—”

“I get it,” he said quickly. “I’ll be everything.”

You nodded. “Okay. You be everything, but I get to name the trees.”

“This one’s Saturn,” you said proudly, pointing at the tall one.

“Sat-ren?” Sirius wrinkled his nose. “What’s that even mean?”

You shrugged, picking at the edge of your sleeve. “I dunno. It just sounds really fancy. I heard my mum say Moon and Saturn in the kitchen once, and I think they go together. Like best friends.”

He looked at the trees for a minute, then nodded slowly. “So I can be Saturn, and you can be Moon.”

You looked at him funny. “No, silly. Those are Saturn and Moon. The trees, not us.”

“Oh.” He scratched the back of his neck. “Well… I still wanna be best friends like Saturn and Moon.”

You thought about it for a second, then smiled really big. “Okay! You can be a star, and I’ll be the sun. Stars and suns are best friends too.”

He perked up like you’d just given him the best idea ever. “Ooh, I like that. But only if I get to be a really cool star.”

You thought for a second, squinting at him in the sunlight. Then you pointed at his shirt. “You’re wearing grey, like the stars.”

He looked down at himself.

“And I’m wearing yellow,” you said, twirling a little so your dress spun out. “So I’m the sun.”

 “So I’m a star?” he said, grinning.

You nodded fast. “Yep. A star star. Like, up-in-the-sky star.”

He grinned so big you could see the gap in his front teeth. 

“And I’m the sun. So we stay close forever. Like... right next to each other forever and ever!” you said seriously.

Sirius held out his pinky. “Pinky promise?”

You hooked yours with his and gave it a squeeze. “Pinky promise.”

You looked up at the trees, then at him. The sun was behind him again, so his face was still blurry, still hidden.

“Let’s sail between them,” he said, lifting his stick-sword and pointing to the space between the trunks. “If we go through Saturn and Moon, that means we’re halfway to India.”

“What if the crocodiles come?”

“I’ll fight them,” he promised. 

You picked up your rabbit and handed him to Sirius. “Here,” you said, very seriously. “He’s the captain. You have to listen to him.”

He held the rabbit like it was real, tucked it under one arm, and nodded. “Aye aye, Captain!”

You smiled so wide your cheeks hurt.

-

The memory fades slowly, like sunlight sliding off the swing ropes, like warm air settling back into stillness. 

You blink and find yourself in the present again, your footsteps soft on the curve of the road, the sky above tinged with the early hues of evening. The wind still carries stories you thought you’d forgotten.

You walk past the same five houses that made up your world once. Yours still looks bright, white and gentle, with its garden waiting to bloom. But as you move down the road, it’s the one two doors away that pulls your attention again.

The House of Black.

It sits in the shadows, even though there’s still sun in the sky. The roof is sharp, the shutters closed, the grass left to dry and curl in patches. 

You slow your steps, drawn to it without meaning to be, and the closer you get, the heavier it feels. You stare at the second floor, the crooked windows, the empty porch, and something tugs at you again — soft at first, then clearer.

Another memory.

It comes back not like a wave, but like the sound of your own laughter echoing somewhere far away.

-

You were seven, and the tea party was very, very important.

You’d set it up just right — your favorite pink blanket on the grass, your plushies all sitting in their places. 

Rabbit was in charge, because she was the queen, obviously. Bear was her royal guard. The cat was lying sideways with her paw in the sugar bowl, but you let it slide. Mrs. T kept tipping over, but turtles were slow, so that made sense.

You had your sparkly headband on and your mum’s old scarf tied around your shoulders like a cape. 

“Rabbit says you’re slurping too loud,” you told him, pouring pretend tea into his empty cup.

He looked at Rabbit like he was thinking about starting a fight. “Well Bear says Rabbit’s being bossy again.”

“She’s not! She’s the queen, and queens make the rules.”

He frowned and slurped even louder on purpose. “Bear’s gonna steal the sugar bowl and run away to the forest.”

You giggled, loud and sudden, until your headband nearly slipped off. “No running away! This is a peaceful tea kingdom.”

Sirius grinned a little but then went quiet. He looked down at the plate in front of him, picking at the crumbs with one finger.

Then, out of nowhere, he asked, “What time do you hide in your closet?”

You blinked. “Huh?”

“When the monsters come out. Do you hide before bedtime or after?”

You tilted your head. “I don’t hide. There’s no monsters in my house.”

He looked surprised. “Not even at night?”

You shook your head. “Nope. My house is boring.”

Sirius didn’t say anything for a moment, his eyes distant and serious. Then he nodded slowly. “Well… mine has lots of monsters.”

You leaned closer, elbows resting on your knees, voice soft with curiosity. “Where?”

“In the walls, I think,” he whispered. “And under the stairs. They bang on stuff, and it makes Mum and Dad really mad. Then they yell, alot.”

You didn’t know what to say, so you just blinked at him, letting the silence hang between you.

“Sometimes they break things,” he added quietly. “That’s when I hide Reggie.”

“Who’s Reggie?”

“My little brother. He’s a baby, kinda. I put him in the closet at eight o’clock. That’s when the monsters get the loudest.”

You felt a strange flutter in your chest—not quite fear, but the ache you get when you read a sad story by mistake and it stays with you all day.

“Well,” you said carefully, “I think your house is haunted too.”

Sirius looked at you, surprised but not dismissive.

“Your dad’s always mad,” you confessed softly, “and your mum is… whatever she is. It’s always making you sad.”

He nodded slowly, like he’d been waiting to hear that.

“The ghosts,” he said quietly, pulling up his sleeve to reveal a dark blue mark blooming across his skin, “they give me these when I’m asleep. They hurt Reggie too.”

You reached out a hand before thinking, voice steady and sure. “You can move to my house. We don’t have ghosts or monsters.”

But Sirius shook his head stubbornly. “I won’t leave Reggie with the ghosts!”

You reached for the last biscuit on the plate — the one with the most sugar — and handed it to him. “It’s okay. You can live in my house, and you can bring your brother!”

He blinked at you.

“Just for now,” you added. “Until your house gets... un-hauntedly ghosted.”

He stared at you for a second, then let out a weird little laugh. “That’s not a real word!”

“It is now.”

He smiled sadly. “My house is never gonna be un-hauntedly ghosted.”

“Then stay in mine forever,” you said. “We have pillows, and a closet with fairy lights, and no monsters at all.”

Sirius didn’t answer. He just took the biscuit and held it with both hands, like it was something special. 

Then he looked at Rabbit, nodded very seriously, and said, “Thanks, Your Majesty.”

-

The road is quieter in the afternoon, lined with the soft hum of cicadas and the hush of sun-filtered trees. You’re walking back from the lake, shoes brushing against gravel, hair tied up to keep the heat off your neck. 

You pass the Black house without meaning to slow, but something makes you look.

The shutters are open.

For the first time since you came back, the windows aren’t closed and the porch doesn’t look like it’s holding its breath. There’s light on in the front hallway, warm and real, spilling out behind the glass.

You pause.

A second later, the door creaks open, and someone steps out.

He’s tall, effortlessly commanding the space around him. Broad-shouldered, his silhouette strong and sure beneath a pair of dark, well-worn jeans and a leather jacket that’s softened with age, the collar casually turned up, giving him an air of quiet rebellion.

His hair is long and black, cascading past his chin in soft, unruly waves that catch the fading light. The edges of his sharp jawline catch the glow too, tracing a perfect line that hints at something both dangerous and magnetic.

He moves with a lazy grace, the slow stretch of his arm as he pulls out a cigarette, then leans against the railing with a casual ease that somehow feels deliberate, as if every small gesture is part of a silent rhythm only he knows.

He doesn’t see you.

You watch him for a moment longer than you intend, caught between fascination and something unspoken. Then, almost reluctantly, you turn away.

Four days pass.

You fall into something soft and predictable. Mornings are for walking, afternoons are for errands, evenings are for sitting with books you don’t finish. You pick wildflowers near the lake. You refill the bird feeder. 

And then, on the fourth day, it happens.

You’re coming back from the bakery with a paper bag of warm rolls tucked under your arm. It’s nearly noon. The sun is high, and you’re walking up the drive, keys in hand, when you see him.

He’s standing on your porch.

That same man. The one from the Black house.

But this time, he isn’t leaning back in silence. Instead, he’s engaged in conversation with your parents, his hands moving expressively as he speaks. His voice is low and warm, carrying a quiet confidence. A genuine smile plays on his lips, and in response, your parents return the gesture—soft, easy smiles that light up their faces.

As you step closer, your father turns toward you, a warm smile breaking across his face. “Oh, Y/N, there you are!”

Your mother’s eyes light up as she beams, “Look who it is.”

The man turns, slowly, and for a heartbeat, the world seems to tilt off its axis.

You find yourself staring, breath caught in your throat, because it’s not just any someone standing there. It’s him.

“Hi,” he says, and there’s a lilt in his voice that is familiar, even after all this time. “It’s been a while.”

“Sirius,” your mother says softly, like she’s offering the name to you gently. “You remember Sirius, don’t you?”

Your mouth opens. You almost say no. Because that can’t be Sirius.

Not the boy with scraped knees and biscuit crumbs on his lip. Not the boy who once called himself a pirate and promised to fight monsters with a stick-sword and a crooked grin.

Because this man—this Sirius—is the hottest man you have ever seen.

“Hey,” he says, quiet, almost cautious. “It’s been a while.”

Sirius takes a step forward, but your mother is already ushering herself and your father back toward the door, her hands clasped together.

“We thought you two might want to catch up,” she says, and the front door closes behind her with a soft click.

You and Sirius are left on the porch, facing each other in the late sun.

His voice breaks the silence first. “Want to go for a walk?”

You nod.

You do not trust yourself to speak yet.

You walk side by side in the softened light of late afternoon, your sandals brushing through the tall grass that edges the road, his boots pressing into the earth like he’s done this a hundred times before. 

He keeps a careful distance and you’re grateful for it. The silence between you isn’t uncomfortable, just full. Like there is too much to say and neither of you know which part should come first.

“So,” he says eventually, glancing at you, his voice low and smooth. “You really don’t remember me?”

You look at him quickly, a little startled. “Of course I do. I mean, not everything. Just… pieces.”

“What kind of pieces?”

You hesitate. “The swing by the lake. Tea parties. You had a stick and called it your sword, and I made you wear flower crowns.”

He laughs, soft and warm. “Sounds about right. You were very bossy, if I remember correctly.”

“I was not!”

“You absolutely were. You told me Rabbit was the queen of the world and I had to bow to her or be banished.”

You smile in spite of yourself, looking down at the path ahead. “You didn’t seem to mind.”

“I didn’t,” he says, more gently now. “It was the only place things didn’t feel awful.”

You glance sideways at him. His face is unreadable.

“I went to school here,” he says after a moment, his voice low and thoughtful. 

“Just outside town in this old, creaky building. It felt like a castle sometimes, big and cold, with the worst heating you can imagine. The uniforms were awful too, stiff collars and scratchy ties.”

You chuckle softly, shaking your head. “Sounds like something someone made up.”

He grins, eyes sparkling with a hint of mischief. “I know, right? It sounds almost too strange to be real. But it was real enough for me. That’s where I met my closest friends, James, Remus, and Peter.”

You nod, sensing the weight behind his words. “That must have meant a lot.”

You don’t say anything to that, but your gaze softens. Then you ask softly, “Do you still live here?”

He shakes his head, a small, almost wistful smile touching his lips. “I moved out when I was sixteen,” he continues, his tone lighter now, as if saying it aloud eases the weight a little. “Into James’s house. His parents took me in, and I never really came back here after that. Not unless I had to.”

You nod slowly, understanding settling between you. “Because of the monsters.”

He gives you a strange look — startled, almost — but you don’t flinch from it.

“We were just kids,” you say quietly. “But I still remember the way you said it—how there were monsters in your house. I didn’t understand what that meant back then. I just thought maybe you had ghosts. But I guess… it wasn’t ghosts.”

Sirius exhales through his nose, a sound almost like a laugh. “Yeah, though monsters is quite fitting if you ask me.”

He looks at you then, curiosity softening his gaze. “Why did you leave, Y/N?”

You walk in silence for a moment, the sound of your footsteps mingling with the distant rustling of leaves.

“I left the summer I turned eight,” you finally say. “My dad got sick, it was sudden. We needed to be somewhere with better hospitals. So we packed everything and moved to the city. I barely had time to say goodbye to my dolls, let alone the people.”

He nods slowly, his eyes drifting toward the curve of the road, his voice quiet but full of something that’s sat in his chest for years. “I used to wonder what happened to you. One day, you were just gone, like you’d disappeared overnight.”

You exhale, the weight of time curling in your throat. “I didn’t mean to vanish,” you say softly. 

“It all happened so fast. My dad got sick, and we had to move almost immediately. I barely had time to say goodbye to my dolls, let alone the people. But I thought about this place all the time. I never really let it go.”

He looks at you again, his expression unreadable, the silence stretching between you like something delicate. “And now you’re back.”

You nod. “Just for the summer, maybe longer, I haven’t decided yet. The city’s loud and always moving, always demanding something from you. I used to think I liked that—liked the pace and the noise—but lately, it just feels like I’m always behind, always exhausted, and somehow still alone. It stopped feeling like somewhere I could stay.”

He tilts his head, considering that, the way he used to when you were both small and everything was simpler. “And here?”

“It’s still quiet,” you say, your voice softer now. “Still slow in all the right ways. And I think… I need that.”

Sirius smiles, and it’s a different smile than you remember—older, a little heavier, but still touched with something golden and familiar. It lingers on his face as if it belongs there, as if it never really left.

“I always liked your house,” he says, glancing back over his shoulder. “It always felt warm. That soft white paint, the porch full of flowers. Your garden smelled like strawberries, and your mum used to leave lemonade out even when it rained.”

“She still does,” you say, your lips curling with affection. “She says someone might come by and need it, even if they don’t know they do.”

He lets out a breath, not quite a laugh, but close. “Your mum loved me. I don’t think I ever understood how much until I got older.”

“She did,” you say gently. “She always said you were too thin, and too quiet for a boy who was supposed to be causing trouble. I think she wanted to keep you.”

“I loved her too,” Sirius says, and this time his smile is real and soft and full of something almost childlike. 

“She gave the best hugs. Like, actually the best. And her food—don’t even get me started. I still remember that stew she made with the star-shaped carrots. I thought it was magic.”

“She called it that. Kitchen magic. Said if you were going to feed kids, you should do it with a little love and a little fun.”

He nods, thoughtful. “Maybe I’ll come steal a glass of that lemonade. For old time’s sake.”

“You’re welcome to it,” you reply, smiling. “But only if you bow to Queen Rabbit first!”

Sirius laughs, the sound low and warm in the air between you. “Naturally. I wouldn’t dream of disrespecting the crown.”

You both laugh again, and the sound is light enough to lift something heavy from your chest. You walk further until you can see the lake glinting through the trees, and for a while, neither of you speaks. The silence feels more like company than distance.

Then, without warning, you speak.

“You had a brother.”

He goes still beside you. The change is immediate, the lightness in his shoulders fades, the lines in his brow sharpen, and his hands curl slightly in the pockets of his jacket.

“Yeah,” he says, voice quieter now. “I did.”

You tread carefully. “Is he… not here?”

There’s a long pause.

“No,” Sirius says at last. “He didn’t move out. He—” He stops, and when he speaks again, it’s with practiced calm. “He drowned a few years ago in an accident.”

Your breath catches. “Oh. Sirius… I’m so sorry.”

He nods once, but doesn’t look at you. His eyes are on the lake, on the rippling water and the light it throws onto the trees.

“I didn’t really talk about him much,” he says. “Even then. Reggie was… soft. Too soft. I tried to protect him, but I couldn’t always be there. And in the end I wasn’t.”

You don’t know what to say. No apology seems large enough to meet that kind of loss.

So instead, you reach over, very gently, and your fingers graze his. It is not a grand gesture. It is not anything loud. But his hand doesn’t move away.

You stay like that a moment longer, just watching the light on the lake, remembering what it used to be like before you knew the names of the things that broke your hearts.

When the lake comes into view, you pull ahead a little, feet kicking up dust as you start toward it. Your eyes brighten.

“God,” you say suddenly, spinning halfway back to look at him. “It’s so much smaller than I remember.”

Sirius lifts a brow. “What, the lake?”

“Yeah. When I was little, it felt endless. I thought it touched other countries.”

“Maybe it does,” he says. “Maybe there’s a secret portal in the middle.”

You scoff. “Please. If there was, we’d have found it by now. We practically lived here.”

“I mostly remember being bossed around here,” he replies, grinning. “You made me fight invisible monsters and serve tea to a rabbit.”

“Rabbit was royalty,” you say. “You were her loyal knight.”

“I was her prisoner.”

“You had fun.”

“Maybe I did.”

You smile and step closer to the water, watching how it catches the late sun. Then you nod toward the trees flanking either side of the lake.

“Those still have names.”

Sirius follows your gaze. “Saturn and Moon?”

You nod.

“Come on,” he calls, glancing back. “We’re climbing the tree.”

“No, we’re not,” you say flatly.

He stops. “What do you mean no?”

“I haven’t climbed anything in years. I’ll probably fall and break something!”

“You used to say girls could climb better than boys.”

“I was seven.”

“You still said it.”

You cross your arms. “So what? You want me to prove it?”

He smirks. “I want to see if you’ve still got it.”

You stare at him, then at the tree.

“Fine. But if I fall, it’s on you.”

“Deal,” he says. “But I’ll catch you anyway.”

You shake your head, biting back a laugh. You approach the tree and begin climbing, awkward at first, but your muscles remember. You settle onto a thick branch, legs dangling, and breathe out slowly.

Sirius stays below, hands in his jacket pockets, looking up at you with that lazy, amused expression.

“Well?” you ask. “Do I look ridiculous?”

“Not even a little,” he says. “You look like a princess-pirate.”

You rest your arms on your knees, watching him. “You’re still full of lines, huh?”

“I mean it.”

You look away for a second, caught off guard.

“So,” you say, shifting the conversation. “What have you been up to, pirate boy?”

He rolls his eyes. “God. You haven’t changed.”

You jump down from the tree before you let that line settle too deeply, but your foot slips slightly as you land, and he steps forward instinctively, hands at your waist, steadying you.

“Careful.”

“I’m fine,” you say, voice a little breathless.

You meet his eyes for a second. Long enough to feel the warmth press into your ribs. Then you step back, brushing dirt from your skirt.

“You should come in,” you say, voice easy but hopeful.

He blinks, as if he didn’t quite hear you right. “What?”

“For dinner,” you clarify, tucking your hands into your pockets. “My mum would be thrilled to see you. And if she made that lemon chicken I think she made, you’d be out of your mind to say no.”

Sirius studies you for a beat longer than necessary, eyes searching your face like he’s still not sure if this is real. “Are you sure?”

You nod, a smile tugging at your lips. “Yeah. I mean, unless you’re busy doing pirate business.”

He smirks. “Only if Queen Rabbit summoned me personally.”

“Well,” you say, nudging your shoulder against his, “until then.”

“Until then,” he echoes, a little softer this time.

And together, you begin walking toward the white house at the end of the street, the porch light glowing gently in the dusk like it never stopped waiting for someone to come home.

Your mother greeted him at the door like he was an old neighbor rather than a boy you hadn’t seen in over a decade. 

She ushered him in with a warmth that felt startling and inevitable all at once, like she had expected this day to come, and now that it had, she wouldn’t waste a second treating him like family.

“God, Sirius,” she said, beaming as she waved him inside. “Look at you. Last time I saw you, you were eight and covered in mud.”

Sirius grinned, stepping in and shrugging off his jacket. “Honestly, not much has changed. Still a magnet for dirt, just slightly taller.”

Your father stood from the dining table as you led him in, wiping his hands on a napkin and eyeing Sirius curiously — like any father might be with a ghost from their daughter’s past suddenly walking into their whitewashed home.

“It’s good to meet you again, Mr. and Mrs. L/N,” Sirius said, extending his hand first to your father, then your mother. “It’s been a while.”

Your father nodded, still measuring him. “You’re the boy from the end of the road, the Black house, Sirius, right?”

Sirius’s smile shifted just slightly, softened at the edges. “That’s the one. Though I don’t stay there much anymore.”

“You’re back for the summer?” your mother asked, already returning to the kitchen to pull out another plate.

“Sort of. Passing through, I guess,” Sirius said, lowering himself into the chair beside you. “I live in London now. Did a music degree at uni, took a while to figure things out. I do freelance audio production now—sound design, recording sessions, mixing. A bit of everything. It’s good work.”

Your mother placed a new glass in front of him, nodding as if trying to absorb a fuller picture of the boy he’d become. “How wonderful. I always thought you were more artistic than the others.”

Sirius smiled. “That’s a kind way of saying I was a little strange.”

“Well,” your father said, cracking a half-smile, “we like strange in this house. As long as you’re not picky about the food.”

“Never,” Sirius said easily. “I’ve missed real food, honestly. Can’t beat a home-cooked meal.”

Your mother flushed with pleasure and began serving more onto his plate than he could possibly eat, but Sirius took it all without protest.

The conversation flowed gently around the table—your father asking about the studio he worked with, your mother pressing for details about his friends in the city. 

Sirius answered every question with a quiet sort of charm, never too slick, never too rehearsed.

You watched him speak like you were trying to piece him together: the boy he had been and the man he had become, sitting there with his fingers curled around a glass of water like it was something holy.

And when you laughed at something he said about a recording session gone wrong—a sound tech accidentally looping cow moos under a serious ballad—he looked at you the way someone might look at sunlight falling through blinds.

Like he hadn’t expected to find it here, like he wasn’t sure if he deserved it.

Dinner melted into tea, then tea into comfortable silence, and when the sky outside turned navy and the breeze came soft through the windows, he stood to leave, promising to stop by again soon.

And he did.

He came by the next day with two iced coffees and a half-melted croissant in a paper bag. 

The day after that, he knocked again. Said he needed help finding his old bike in the garage, but you both knew it was just a reason to see you. He stayed for hours, poking around the shelves, pointing out things that hadn’t moved in twelve years.

Soon, it became routine.

Sometimes, he came by late in the afternoon when the house was quiet, and you’d sit in your room with the window open, your legs crossed on the bed, his on the floor beside it, playing old songs through his phone and arguing about which ones had aged the worst. 

Other times, he’d turn up in the morning with a toolbox, claiming he was helping your dad fix the car, though most of the time they just ended up leaning over the engine, talking about music and whatever Sirius called “life’s current madness.”

He showed you around town again—drove you past old buildings that had been turned into cafes, new murals stretched across crumbling walls. He knew every hidden path, every shortcut, and most of the baristas by name. 

You met his best friends: James, who had the kind of warmth that made you instantly want to sit beside him, and Remus, who looked at Sirius like he knew exactly who he was and chose to be friends with anyway.

The three of them were chaotic in their own way, constantly ribbing each other, constantly orbiting around Sirius like he was the center of something—like he always had been.

And soon, you began to feel like someone who had roots here again. Like the girl who used to wear yellow dresses and climb trees and believe that lakes had no end was still inside you, just quieter. You let her speak again, slowly, gently, whenever Sirius looked at you like you mattered.

And he did look at you like that.

Often.

Sometimes too long.

Sometimes not long enough.

You didn’t ask him what he saw when he looked at you like that, and he didn’t say, but something was building.

You felt it every time his shoulder brushed yours, every time he sat too close on the edge of your bed, every time he handed you a cup of coffee and didn’t let go right away. You felt it in the way he said your name, carefully, like it was something worth handling gently.

The summer was unfolding. And you were beginning to unfold with it.

And now, the sun had gone soft again, dipping into late afternoon like it didn’t want to burn too brightly. You and Sirius walked slowly along the path toward the lake, your shoes crunching over dried grass and sun-baked dirt. 

In your hands, half-melted popsicles dripped lazily down the wooden sticks.

His was electric blue. Yours, lemon yellow.

He stuck his tongue out suddenly, mischievously, the color startling against his teeth. “I look like I ate a Smurf.”

You laughed, nearly choking on a piece of ice. “You look disgusting.”

He grinned. “Let me see yours.”

You opened your mouth and stuck your tongue out, too. “Sunshine girl.”

Sirius snorted. “You always were.”

You rolled your eyes. “Oh, come on.”

He nudged your arm with his elbow, softer than a joke. “Do you remember the first time we met?”

You didn’t need to think long.

“Yeah,” you said. “My seventh birthday.”

The memory came in bright colors: pink, gold, and the warm scent of summer.

-

You had worn the fluffiest pink dress your mother could find, the kind that swished when you twirled and had tiny pearl buttons down the back.

A plastic crown sat crooked on your head. You were a princess, officially. The paper invitations had said so.

Your parents had decorated the front lawn with balloons tied to the fence and hung streamers from the porch. 

All the neighborhood kids had come—some running around screaming, some already sitting on blankets and nibbling on triangle sandwiches.

But your eyes weren’t on the party.

They were on the boy sitting far away, crouched near the end of the road, next to the pavement where the grass cracked and the hedges were too wild to trim. He was fiddling with rocks, stacking them, knocking them down. 

You had seen him before. On the swing at the park. Beneath the giant oak tree near the lake. In the back row of your classroom, staring at the desk like it held secrets. He was your age. Maybe even in your class. But he was always alone.

Always, always alone.

And he always looked sad.

What could he be sad about? He had the whole world to run in! There was cake to eat! Balloons to chase! You watched him for a few more seconds, frowning. And then, crown bouncing on your head, you marched over.

He didn’t see you at first. You crouched beside him, folding the layers of your dress underneath you.

“Hi!” you said.

He looked up. His eyes were grey like the sky after a storm. His hair was dark and messy and stuck up in the back like a bird had nested in it.

“Are you lost?” you asked.

He shook his head.

“Why are you sitting here?”

He shrugged. “Just am.”

You glanced back at the party. Someone was already unwrapping the presents without you.

“It’s my birthday,” you told him proudly. “I’m seven!”

He blinked. “You look too pink.”

You narrowed your eyes. “I look like a princess.”

He tilted his head. “Are you a real one?”

“Yes,” you said immediately. Then you added, “And if you come to my party, you can be a prince.”

He made a face. “Yuck! Princes are boring. They wear shoes with buckles and talk too much.”

You thought about that. It was a fair point.

“Okay,” you said. “You can be a pirate.”

He stared at you like you’d offered him treasure. “Really?”

“Yeah. We need one. You can be the pirate and I’ll be the princess, and you can steal the cake.”

He hesitated, then stood up slowly, brushing the dirt off his shorts. “I guess that’s okay.”

“What’s your name?” you asked.

“Sirius.”

“Like serious?”

He rolled his eyes. “No, not like that!”

You giggled. “I’m Y/N.”

“Hi, Y/N.”

“Come on, pirate.”

You took his hand.

The moment you dragged him into the yard, everything changed. He didn’t say much at first, didn’t even run around like the other kids. But when the food came out, he came to life.

To say that Sirius ate a lot at your birthday party would have been an understatement. He devoured two plates of sandwiches, three slices of cake, and so many biscuits your dad raised an eyebrow.

At first, it was funny.

Then it wasn’t.

Your mother came over gently. “Sirius, sweetheart, do your parents know you’re here?”

And everything stopped.

Sirius went stiff. His shoulders locked. His hand, holding a biscuit, dropped slightly. His cup of juice slipped from the table and shattered on the patio. Orange juice spread across the concrete.

His eyes went wide. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean— I’ll clean it, I can do it, I didn’t mean to break it, I swear—”

Your mother was already kneeling beside him. “Sirius. It’s okay. It’s just juice, love. It’s just a cup.”

He was still babbling apologies under his breath.

“Sirius,” she said again, pulling him into a soft hug. His whole body locked up for a second, then slumped. “You’re alright. You didn’t do anything wrong, sweetheart.”

You stood frozen, watching. Something strange settled in your chest, something heavy and confused.

Later that evening, when the sun had begun to fade and the candles on your cake had melted down into puddles of wax, Sirius came up to you, eyes a little less stormy.

“Thanks for the cake,” he mumbled. “And the pirate job.”

“Want to play more tomorrow?” you asked. “We can go to the lake, there is a swing there. We can fight monsters!”

He nodded, just once. “Okay.”

When he walked home—barefoot, carrying a napkin full of biscuits for someone—your parents pulled you aside.

“Sweetheart,” your mother said, brushing your hair back. “Where did Sirius come from?”

You pointed down the road. “The black house. Two doors that way.”

Your father nodded slowly, and exchanged a look with your mother.

“If Sirius ever needs somewhere to go,” he said gently, “if he needs to come over for dinner, or stay the night, you bring him here. Okay?”

You frowned. “But I already did that, today.”

“I know,” your mother said. Her voice was soft. “Just promise us. If he needs to come over, you let him.”

It felt like a strange thing to promise. Wasn’t that obvious?

Still, you nodded. “Okay. I promise.”

-

When the memory faded, you blinked yourself back into the present. The sun had dipped lower, the lake gleaming gold and glassy beside you. 

Sirius was looking at you again, but differently this time. His expression was quiet, unreadable, like he was trying to match the girl in the memory with the woman beside him now.

You glanced sideways. “What?”

He tilted his head. “Nothing. You’re just really, really pretty.”

Your step faltered slightly. The popsicle in your hand dripped unnoticed.

You laughed, flustered. “Oh, don’t say that out of nowhere.”

“But it’s true,” he said, bumping your shoulder. “Even with lemon on your chin.”

You wiped it quickly, cheeks burning. “You’re the worst.”

He smirked. “The worst pirate.”

You shook your head, smiling at the ground.

And then, like it was the most natural thing in the world, he stopped walking. Turned toward you.

You turned, too, not fully understanding, not fully ready.

But he kissed you.

His lips met yours softly, like a question asked in a language only the two of you understood. There was no rush, no push—just quiet, steady warmth. He tasted faintly of blueberry ice and something familiar you couldn’t quite name.

When he pulled away, you were still, stunned silent. Your breath caught somewhere between your ribs and your throat, eyes wide, heart knocking against your chest like it had just remembered how to beat.

He noticed, of course he did.

His voice came low and amused. “Was that okay, or did I just commit some kind of unforgivable crime?”

You blinked, lips parted, but nothing came out at first. Then, quietly, like the truth might dissolve if spoken too loud, you said, “That was… my first kiss.”

His eyebrows lifted, surprise flickering across his face. “Seriously?”

You nodded, a little slow, a little embarrassed. “Yeah. I guess I just…”

He looked at you for a long moment, something unreadable in his eyes before it softened. Then came that familiar, lopsided grin—the one that always made the world feel slightly off its axis in the best possible way.

“Well,” he said, voice gentle but teasing, “I’m honored. And a little shocked, to be honest. A girl like you, in the city, has never been kissed before?”

You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling now. “City boys weren’t exactly my type.”

He grinned slowly. “And what is your type, then?”

You grinned wide. “Pirates.”

He barked out a laugh, too loud for the quiet around you. “Well, good thing. I’m terrible at being a prince.”

You looked up at him, a little smile dancing on your lips. “There isn’t even a princess around here.”

“No pirate either,” he said, hands in his pockets.

Then he turned to the lake, still as a mirror, the sky blushing down onto its surface.

“Come on,” he said, reaching for your hand. “Let’s go back to Saturn.”

You laughed, breathless, letting him drag you through the grass until you were at the base of the tree. The swing still swayed slightly in the breeze.

He pulled you under its branches, into the shade of everything you used to be.

And then, grinning like a child again, he stood taller and cleared his throat. “Princess,” he said formally, “the seas are wild and the moon is high, but I have come to rescue you from the wicked storm!”

You blinked up at him, suppressing a laugh. “And who exactly are you?”

He bowed. “Your favorite pirate, of course. The one who sails from Saturn to Moon.”

You played along, tilting your chin and sweeping your arms out dramatically. “I demand treasure and tea before I agree to go anywhere.”

Sirius took your hand and spun you gently beneath the tree, the breeze lifting your hair. “You shall have both, princess. If you promise not to fall from the mast this time.”

You pretended to pout. “I did not fall. I jumped. And besides, I was rescuing you.”

He stepped closer, voice softer now. “Guess we keep rescuing each other, huh?”

You looked up, something catching in your chest.

And then, without hesitation, he touched your cheek again and whispered, not in character this time, “Love you to the moon, and to Saturn.”

You smiled, slow and sure, heart stammering in your ribs. “Love you to Saturn, and to the moon.”

Somewhere between Saturn and the moon, in that quiet seam of sky where make-believe dares to become real, you reached out your hand to a boy sitting alone beneath the trees.

You had just turned seven, barefoot and fearless, your crown of summer leaves slipping low on your brow. And though you couldn’t have known it then, that single, innocent gesture would become the anchor he held onto for years.

You didn’t know that twelve summers later, it would be you who led him out of the haunted house. That it was your voice, familiar and full of light, that pulled him back from the brink, when the grief of losing his brother turned the world hollow and the monsters in his bloodline came far too close.

But that’s the thing—you never needed to know. You were a princess, after all, and Sirius had always vowed to protect you.

He thought, sometimes, about telling you. About how he still wanted to be your pirate, how he had never stopped, but it could wait. There was time, time to say that even if he was never a prince, he had always been yours. And always would be.

Passed down like folk songs, your love lasts so long.

a/n: this was so gut-wrenching to write omg </3 i can't write kids dialogue for shit, sadly! i feel like this could have a part two possibly? either ways i loved this

[moonylupinraven]

hide (X Japan), Sugizo (Luna Sea) & Imai Hisashi (Buck-Tick) for GUITAR HEROES, 1997

[moonylupinraven]

reblog if you believe fanfics are as valid as books that were published and sold by authors who write as their main careers. I'm trying to prove a point

[moonylupinraven]

𓍢ִ໋📜✧˚ ༘ Happy Mother’s Day, DPS fandom! ⋆｡˚♡

[moonylupinraven]

DPS as posts

[moonylupinraven]

[moonylupinraven]

reblog if you agree

AI art is not art AI fanfic is not fanfic AI destroys the environment

[moonylupinraven]

kill the imposter syndrome in your head because not only is there someone out there doing it worse than you, they’re also using chat gpt to do it

[moonylupinraven]

chatgpt is the coward's way out. if you have a paper due in 40 minutes you should be chugging six energy drinks, blasting frantic circus music so loud you shatter an eardrum, and typing the most dogshit essay mankind has ever seen with your own carpel tunnel laden hands