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shinyrevolvers · 2 years ago

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valentine’s day special

“Lily Evans, Lily petal, Lily flower of my life,” James loudly recited with a sonorous charm casted to his throat.

To the right of the courtyard, there was a choir of violins (only two) playing and an unenthusiastic boy in a diaper, wearing a wreath made of cheap quills held together with a sticking charm, playing with a toy bow and arrow. He had wings on the back of his shoulder blades and was being levitated by one of the violin players.

“The day is the 14th of February, a day for the celebration of love—“ a violin squeaked unceremoniously (“Peter!” “Sorry, Prongs, I don’t think I got enough rosin on the bow.”), “the celebration of love, an ode to romance, a dedication for soulmates of the world.”

“Evans, lovely lass, do me the honour on this gracious day, and be my valentine!”

A beat.

The dark red headed girl looked unimpressed, her green eyes pierced straight into James’ as he squirmed uncomfortably in his anticipation.

“Sirius,” James hissed quietly at the boy levitating in a diaper, “where’s the fireworks?”

“Keep it in your trousers, mate, it’s supposed to be happening now.” Sirius shot a paper arrow at James, which crumpled as it hit his broad chest. “I told Patel—“ who was set up at Hagrid’s hut, “to set them off at 8:55.”

“Patel? That incompetent blunder?” The bespectacled boy whined.

“It’s 8:54. You rushed your speech, dolt.” Remus stopped playing the violin and only Peter’s under average playing could be heard. Some students covered their ears.

“Well, love has no sense of time, I couldn’t possibly control the speed of how my words come out to my little Lily flower,” James turned back to the little Lily flower in question, who was fuming at the presentation.

“Petal?” He inquired anxiously, “Is something the matter?”

“Potter, you arrogant—“

The fireworks set off finally, big grand flashes of numerous colors and designs materialized into the air, mainly hearts. A shoddily sketched portrait of what was supposed to be Lily Evans was blasted up into the air, with a comically large forehead though.

Lily gasped in horror, “Oh, you-“

At that, she launched a barrage of hexes at James.

“I— will— never— be— your— valentine— you— swine!”

She stalked away with a stressed McGonagall on her tail and her giggling friends skipping to follow her.

As James laid on the grass, staring up at his fireworks, he sighed softly and reached up to the sky, where the portrait of Lily stuck like tiny stars.

“Bad luck, it must have been. She seems like she was in a mood already.”

“Next time, for sure.”

“You alright, Prongs?”

James only shut his eyes and felt his chest as it rose and fell.

“Yeah, I am. Not a big deal.”

ONE HOUR LATER

“Ger’off me!” James cried as he held firmly onto the sides of the opening of the tower. His foot was planted up on the threshold, attempting to lunge forward. “I’m jumping off!”

“Prongs, no!” Sirius, Remus, and Peter held onto their friend, tugging and pulling him away from the edge.

“Mate, get a grip on yourself.” Remus grunted, curling an arm around James’ forehead to knock his balance off.

“No! No grip, I want to let myself loose— off this tower!”

“Be reasonable, please!”

“Think about this!”

“Fine!” James stopped for a second to breathe heavily, “I’ve thought about it.”

“And?”

“I think that I need to jump off this bloody tower!” He struggled against Sirius’ arms wrapped around his stomach, his eyes bulged against Remus’ hold on his held, his shirt stretched from Peter’s grip.

“No!” The boys collectively yelled.

#marauders imagine #james potter fluff #james potter imagine #james potter x lily evans #lily evans #james potter #marauders fluff #marauders era

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shinyrevolvers · 3 years ago

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working on she’s a quidditch mom pt 2 & it’s very fun i think.

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shinyrevolvers · 3 years ago

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100 notes on ‘she’s a quidditch mom’!!!

i didn’t expect it to get that attention but thank you so much!! please don’t be afraid to comment reactions or feedbacks because i eat that shit up xx

if you haven’t already, might i suggest you also take a peek at my first fic ‘i said some things (that i should never say)’, it’s remus lupin x vampire!reader, set during the first wizarding war (which will be incorporated in the third part!)

as for a part 2 on ‘she’s a quidditch mom’… i haven’t started on it but i’d say since it was originally just a blurb, it’ll take a few days? maybe more because i’m working on the third part of the remus fic as well.

but that’s it! thank you for enjoying my work <3

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shinyrevolvers · 3 years ago

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she’s a quidditch mom

platonic!marauders x reader, james lives au, set 1984.

very small drabble, i saw that trending lulu lemon jacket and thought of soccer moms then thought of this concept. i did not read thru this enough for spelling mistakes or grammar errors so if there are any… no there aren’t :$

works

Children were so enamoured by the prospects of it all, having watched multiple games of the real deal. It was mesmerizing, their big doe eyes flitting back and forth to track the players on their brooms, bums barely keeping themselves on the edge of their seats when the chasers had one hand on their broom and a quaffles tucked under the other, while an opposing beater was right on their trails, bat held out and ready to swing; the whole ordeal was captivating.

So much so that, to your discontentment, your child was caught in the webs of it. At a mere 4 years, your little girl had accumulated a collection of quidditch paraphernalia and memorabilia, all courtesy of your weak inhibitions and your family’s indulgence to spoil your daughter rotten. You shook your head at them all, but not without gifting your daughter another beater’s bat, this time a new color, at the same time.

You don’t exactly know how she came to her obsession with quidditch, but you figured that the influence of your own quidditch enthusiasm was the root of it.

You, yourself, had the same penchant for collecting quidditch merchandise. It was so often that it was a problem, you concerned even yourself.

It started with posters, like it always does, ones you buy from a shop, then it progresses to the foldout posters from magazines, to prints. Then it was the shirts, quidditch gear, and you were in the quicksand before you could even notice it.

You even owned an limited edition Bally Castle Bats x Gladrags underwear set with patterns of red bats and signatures of the whole roster. (You particularly treasured Humphrey Higgins’, the Bats’ star chaser, who was also heralded Rookie Of The Year by Quidditch Now Magazine.)

Your daughter didn’t share this sentiment with you, preferring Chudley Cannons for some reason, but you suspect it was because your father had been whispering into her ear about it. He was an avid Cannons supporter, your dad was. It irked you, having to bite your tongue with each slight he snarks out, but the streak of their losses satiate you enough.

So in hindsight, it wasn’t a surprise when your daughter shrieked happily when you told her there was a community led program hosting an open quidditch game for children aged 4-6 years. She immediately ran to her room, tiny feet comically padding along the hardwood floor, and lugged out her bright orange beater’s bat.

It was from a Chudley Cannons junior quidditch kit that came from your (traitorous) mother, you remember scowling as she hid it behind her back to surprise your daughter on her 2 and a half birthday.

Was that even a thing? You had outrageously exclaimed aloud, and your mother sniffed, nose turning up, “yes, yes it is!”

You didn’t have it in you to argue when you saw your daughter cuddling up to the bat in her bed.

But now, you were severely regretting it, standing in complete shock to see her speeding around the miniature pitch, flying circles around all the other kids, her orange bat held tightly in her hand. She had her lower lip jutted out, and her eyebrows pinched, and you knew from this that she was much too engrossed into the game.

She was chasing the opposing team’s seeker, a small boy with unruly black hair that stuck out in every direction. He was fast, just as fast as her, but she was proving to be a menace on the pitch, leaving her fellow beater in the dust.

You were bewildered to see her manipulate the games’ modifications that were set in place to protect them. The bludgers were much softer and lighter, easier to push and it was absorbing energy from impacts so the hits would hurt less. They were charmed to move slower, only side to side, a bit sluggishly, and less aggressively that the children could dodge it.

Unfortunately, this meant that they were easily controllable and your daughter was fully aware of it, as she quickly maneuvered it with her bat to move in tandem with her, dribbling it like a football, as she swiped at it side to side, fast enough that it wouldn’t go out of reach from her.

It would have been impressive, if it were not for the sole fact that she was a beater and that she should not have been chasing another player.

You wanted to cover your face in embarrassment but when a young man with similar untamed black hair stood, yelling out the words, “Foul! That beater is a menace!”, your face soured and you jumped to your feet, coming to her defense.

She might have been a menace, but she was your menace. And what she was doing was hardly a foul, it just wasn’t very conventional! In fact, it was original— you said in your head, trying to convince yourself.

“Keep going, darling, Mummy’s so proud! He’s gonna turn at the end of the pitch,” You cupped your hands around your mouth to amplify your voice, “swing when he moves to the corner!”

He looked at you with indignation, a scandalised gasp slipping from his mouth.

The banter went on between you two, advising your flying children and coaching them from the sidelines. Sometimes you’d catch a troubled look on their faces, looking at the parent section then back at the game. But the more you heard the man’s annoying voice, the louder you got.

He had a couple of friends by his side, one was very good looking, with long sleek hair and a glass like complexion, and the other had shades on, his sandy hair was mussed up and there were scars littering on his exposed forearms. There was a few small ones on his face as well.

They had seemed amused by this interaction. The good looking one had a crooked smile, you found, as he roared with laughter. The scarred one had an attractive smirk playing on his lips.

“You tell your daughter to follow the rules!”

“Piss off! She is following the rules, not her fault your boy can’t see the snitch!” You pointed at the boy. “Look at him, he’s squinting around.”

It was true. The snitch flew lazily in front of the seeker, but although it was in reach of him, his hand was stretched out and kept missing whenever it moved a bit. It was still right in his face though.

“His glasses aren’t meant for quidditch!” The man protested.

“He has goggles, mate.” His friend wearing shades commented, arms now crossed.

The father groaned unhappily, “You know how fussy he got when I tried putting them on him!”

The whines had almost distracted you, nearly causing you to miss it.

The two children reached the end of the pitch, and just as you had said, the seeker made to turn the corner, and your daughter stopped dribbling the ball, only to grin widely and swing hard.

You cheered loudly, “Go (D/N)*!” You whistled, clapping like mad.

When the soft bludger had floated ceremoniously towards the boy, and bumped into him, the light force wobbled him for a few seconds before he promptly lost balance and fell, laying splayed out on the terf. The snitch fluttered a few seconds on top of him, then flew over to the middle of the pitch.

The father of the seeker held his head in his hands, “We need to get you used to the goggles, Haz.”

Your daughter flew a few inches down and patted the seeker— ‘Haz’s’ head, before zooming right off to see to another bludger, one that she planned on aiming straight for a chaser that finally grabbed a hold of a quaffles.

You wanted to tell her that that chaser was on her team but she was grinning so wide, you didn’t have the heart to.

“Great sportsmanship— keep going, baby!” You urged her on, and smiled softly when she looked up at you to giggle.

When you sat back down, you found that the three men were heading your way. Your fingers nimbly found the strings of grass beneath you and began to rip them out. You hoped they were just going to pass by, but the father of that Haz boy had his eyes trained on you.

With a sigh, you had steeled your courage and faced their approach with a big (fake) smile.

“Hullo boys.” You blocked out the sun, which seemed to burn a little hotter in that moment. “Good day, wouldn’t you agree?”

*: (D/N) means Daughter’s Name

#marauders #marauders x reader #james potter x reader #remus lupin x reader #sirius black x reader #james potter fluff #harry potter x reader #marauders imagine

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shinyrevolvers · 3 years ago

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amazing just learned how to do the keep reading thing. the full length story kept getting on my nerves.

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shinyrevolvers · 3 years ago

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i said some things (that i should never say) 2

prequel: i said some things (that i should never say)

remus lupin x vampire!reader, set in the first wizarding war period; (heavy?) angst, sort of ooc remus

tbh this is really short & to the point but i never really planned this out much. there was gonna be a make up plot & fluff end but i am a masochist, i love angst.

A week passed quickly after Remus had left. You had the sneaky suspicion that he was stewing in his anger at Peter’s place, because you visited Sirius the day after the argument.

You’d asked Sirius if he had seen Remus around, like he would admit it if he did, and he put his tongue in his cheek, replying that he hadn’t since the wedding and that you should “just lay low for a while.” And while you couldn’t smell him around, you could pick up traces of him under a strong scent of disinfectant, nose still sensitive from an earlier feed. What a liar, you bit your tongue and promptly left his flat.

But you did.

Lay low, that is, yet Remus never came.

In the early mornings, you awoke with a jolt, eyes flitting around the room and arms scrambling to feel around in the dark, hoping that you would feel something— feel him. You stared at the dent on the other side of the bed, the dip more prominent than when he was there. It was mocking you, you thought.

You began to get irritated when the second week passed. Desperate hope came and said their farewells all too quickly. He was dragging it on much too long, probably knowing that the prolonged absence would hurt you. Granted, you said horrible things, but didn’t he as well?

Despite your strong willed words during the fight, the self loathing came back anyway. It always did, no matter how well life was going, whether your boss knew you were sipping on a canister of blood during your shifts or not.

A beast, he had called you, degraded you down to. Merlin, it couldn’t have hurt any worse coming out of his mouth than some petty school girl from Hogwarts, but it did. So much so, that you had believed it to be true.

If you could be that cruel with your words to him, dismissing the years of tenderness and gentle whispers into each other’s ears, then how could you not be a monster?

The deliberation only worsened as the amount of days without him grew. James and Lily Potter, you enviously thought, were already back from their honeymoon, and as soon as Lily was free from her (very) clingy husband, you immediately called her over.

You would have felt guilty, tearing her away from the start of her glorious marriage that you were sure would spring off enough lovely mop headed babies to make an entire roster of a quidditch team (if James could have his way), but Lily was all too agreeable when she answered the phone after one ring. You hoped things were okay, but from the sound of James whining in the background, you assumed that she was just in need of another person to be in company of.

The doorbell chimed loudly and your heart churned. You wished Remus was at the door, partly so you could see him, feel him, apologize and kiss him hard, the other part wanted to open the door for him— then slam it right in his face, effectively shutting it closed. But Remus never used the doorbell, he had his own keys.

You looked through the peephole, and there Lily stood. She looked as well as ever. You wondered if marriage made you glow like how people boasted pregnancy did, because if it existed, Lily was certainly proof of it.

You couldn’t say the same for yourself. Even thinking about blood twisted your stomach, making you remember Remus and his words. You stopped feeding on the blood bags, and your body reflected your decision severely, suffering the consequences. Your skin paled, bones ached and felt weary, and your hair lost its shine just the day before.

Lily gasped when she’d seen you at the door to invite her in. You expected her to tremble and make an excuse to leave, but she barged in immediately, swinging open the freezer and taking out a foil pouch.

There was a stray pot on the stove, and she filled it with water from the tap, cranking the flame up to medium, and tossed the pouch into the water. She meant to thaw it. Your stomach turned.

“I don’t want it.” You refused to look at her.

“You need it. You’re losing weight, how long ago was your last feed?” She glared at you with red cheeks. You would have had those too if you were feeding, as the shame you felt surely would’ve heated your cheeks. For now, they were just gaunt, and you covered all your mirrors in the house.

You felt silly, you couldn’t help but feel reprimanded. Guilt clouding over, like you had just been caught with one hand digging into the infamous cookie jar.

“Two weeks or so. Lost count.” You sighed, slowly lowering yourself onto your sofa, hoping that it would take the strain off your joints.

“Are you mad?” She fumed. “Does Remus know?”

You snorted soundlessly. “Remus doesn’t know anything. He’s been gone for two weeks.”

“What?” Lily shrieked. You winced at the sheer volume and she apologized, immediately noticing your discomfort.

You closed your eyes, hoping that the light would dim and that your head would cease its pounding. “Had a bit of a row while you and James were shagging your ‘til your heart's content,” Lily looked scandalized, “well, not a bit of a row. It was quite a lot. He said some things he probably shouldn’t have said, I said some things that I should never have said.”

Lily contemplated it for a few seconds, her lips pressed together solemnly. The water was simmering by now and she stood to retrieve the pouch. A small hand towel wrapped around it, and Lily made her way to you, but went back into a drawer in the kitchen, pulling out a green silly straw and returning back to you. She gave you the straw in 5th year, the Christmas when she had pieced together your affliction. It was a gag gift you humbly received, and it made you feel lighter whenever you used it. You took the materials in your hands, laughing softly and looking back up at her.

It was the first time you had laughed since Remus left.

You inserted the straw into the pouch and forced yourself to ignore the dark liquid slowly emerging and moving through the loops and curves of the straw. You winced once the warm blood hit your tongue, and Lily furrowed her brows at you when she noticed.

She didn’t say anything about it, though, and you were glad for it.

You tossed Remus out from your mind, fixating on your friend in front of you and forced a smirk on your face.

“So, d’you use my wedding gift?”

Lily bit the inside of her cheek, furrowing her eyebrows. “Be specific. James decided to take everything in one go, and opened them all like it was Christmas.” She huffed and for a moment, you thought she was annoyed but her nose twitched, and you could see her stifling a fond smile. “Ripped all the paper and mixed the cards, the idiot.”

You barked a laugh and wet your lips.

“I’ll give you a hint then.”

She dipped her head, eyeing you cautiously.

“It’s battery powered, bright pink and about 9 inches—“

Lily burst out. “That was you?!”

You vaguely remembered the rest of the night, as soon after, you skipped towards the liquor cabinet and pulled out the brand new firewhiskey you bought from Diagon Alley. You had a moment of weakness when you straightened after taking out the bottle, looking at a framed photo of you and Remus. Peter took it, when he was in another one of his passing phases, Photography.

You remember the moment that it was captured. It was after graduation and your entire friend group had travelled to some tropical island, signing up for a ride on some jungle cruise tour, sightseeing magical creatures and plants. Lily had been so ecstatic, she nearly fell off the boat, surprising everyone and cracking James up.

In the photo, you two were in the back of that same rickety boat of a shady tour guide that James found in an advertisement while scouring the Daily Prophet for cheap rides. The sun filtered through the mesh net that hung above the boat, but you wore Remus’ hat anyways, pulling it down to use the visor part to cover your face from the sun, claiming that you had delicate skin and that you tanned quite easily.

(Remus knew it was a lie, you had just wanted to hide the fact that you were turning a bit green from seasickness and if Sirius had seen, he would’ve teased you endlessly.)

Your bodies leaned against each other, yours more so than his, and Remus’ legs were spread a bit while yours were crossed. Your left hand held his left hand, both resting on his knee, while his other hand was holding the back of your head, keeping it still as he kissed your temple through a smile. You looked thoroughly pleased, if only a bit uncomfortable from the water making you nauseous.

Unfortunately, it didn’t move, though, you always thought that it didn’t really need to.

Something bitter crawled up your throat, souring the memory, and you turned the frame down. You couldn’t stand to look at it any longer, not without the sufficient amount of alcohol to narcotise yourself.

Remus came home eventually. It was bound to happen. You were sitting at the dinner table, his plate already made and yours half eaten. You stared at his food, most likely cold, with hard eyes. You kept waiting for him to come but you realised, you didn’t know what you would do if he had decided to show up. You only planned for the waiting part. The confrontational part was to be determined. Thoughts ran through your head: should you be angry? Ashamed? Apologetic?

Should you plead on both knees for him, to stay, stay, stay?

Should you tell him to never do it again, make him whisper it like a promise and curl his pinky around yours?

Or should you decide to throw in the towel?

But here he sat, on the sofa that you two had purchased a month after moving in (after James had broken and began to spew his much valued thoughts about their lack of furniture and interior design).

When Remus entered the flat, he was silent, head dropped and walked with a bit of a limp. He had come just after recovering from the full moon, you could tell it had been a rough one from the multitude of bruises and scars that he gained. You were light with your touches, afraid that you would’ve reopened some of his wounds that just scabbed over.

Remus didn’t talk, but you forgot all about the food on the table and blanched, scrambling out of the chair quickly, causing it to fumble and fall over. The sound had him wincing, but you enveloped his form with your arms and led him over to sit.

No words were exchanged for nearly an hour, just the sound of his ragged breaths and watching his chest rise and fall.

He cradled your head to his chest with a hand, and you held the wrist of it tightly.

“Should we have it out now?”

Remus held you a bit firmer. “If you want.”

“But do you?”

“I’ll do anything you want, Love. Just say the words.”

The candle seemed much more enticing to look at now, instead of him. The way it’s flame flared and wavered every two seconds, wax crying from the sides, trickling down to the base of the candlestick.

You blew air out from your nose.

“You love me.” Not so much a question but not a statement either.

He hummed in agreement.

“I try to love myself.” He said nothing to this.

“And I love you,” You stared at him, his scars looked sharper somehow, “but you are determined to loathe yourself.”

He had the sense to look properly chastised, you noted with some satisfaction, but it tugged all the same, jerked at your chest.

“How do we move forward?” You asked him, head lifting from his chest, looking into his eyes and through your lashes.

Remus shrugged, pushing some hair out of your face gingerly.

It spilled from your lips, instinctively, “I’m sorry, Remus, what I said..” you shook your head, “it was wretched and I meant none of it.”

He shushed you and gave you a half smile, tilting his head a bit but you could tell he was still pained by the weight of your words.

“I know, I know.”

“No, you don’t.” You stressed, a hand reaching out to cup his cheek. “You can hate me for it, I don’t mind— I hate me for it. I never meant it to come out but it did and it hurt you, and I wish it didn’t— come out.”

“If I got hurt by every mean, rude comment about werewolves, I’d have been beaten to death. It hurt no more back then than it did that night.” Which didn’t say much nor relieve you, you frowned.

“Hey,” Remus knocked his forehead on yours affectionately, “honest, I’ve had time to come to terms with what my dad said, and considering the context, I don’t think I can hold it against you. Werewolves—“

“Are deserving of love, no matter the three nights of transformation, it doesn’t negate you, Remus.” You insisted. You could tell he was ready to protest but you cut him off before he could.

“I love you. Straightforwardly…”

He finished, “Without complexities of pride.”

A tender gaze rested on your face, and you leaned into his touch once more, keeping your eyes trained on him. You stared at him expectantly.

“What?” Remus blinked. A troubled glint flurried his eyes and you bristled.

“You had your fair share of things said that night,” You said, fully removing yourself from him, “the least you could do is apologize for them as well.”

He kissed his teeth, nostrils flaring angrily. When he was silent, you prodded him with a finger to his side.

“I’m sorry.” He sounded like he was everything but sorry. He spat his apology out with a curled lip and you wanted this to be over, you wanted to accept it anyways and take him home. But you remembered— that you ‘gallivant around’ like you’re normal and your eyes hardened.

You refused to show the underside of your belly, instead wearing your pride like armour, and you stared at Remus with unwavering resolve.

“Are you serious?” Vulnerability slowly slipped away from your voice, ice frosted your words when you were increasingly beginning to form awareness of his lingering anger.

“Oh, fuck off, you told me you wanted an apology.”

“That wasn’t an apology, dolt. Do you even know why you’re sorry? Why you should be sorry?”

“I was gone for two nearly three weeks.”

“That’s all?”

“If you’re referring to what happened prior to my boycott—“

“Boycott?” You parroted incredulously.

“— then I’m not sorry. I do accept your apology though.”

A beat.

“You fucking peabrain.” You said lowly, shaking your head.

You didn’t expect him to answer, you didn’t want him to. And he didn’t. He just stood there, having the gall to look unbothered, chuffed even. You swore loudly then, spending a few seconds with your head in your hands, until you sighed and looked up at Remus. He still looked unmoved, looking down at you with an unreadable expression.

You were in the same place, but so far away from each other. You thought, with a heart now heavy, you didn’t know much about him anymore. You thought you did, but quickly, you realized that at some point, you didn’t know how to get through to him these days. Not like before, when you were 16 and fresh eyed; naive to this harsh reality of languor and cruelty.

“Damn you,” You whispered with a tremble, standing up, “I don’t know why I even try with you anymore, you always fucking do this.”

If there was one thing, just one thing, that you knew would be constant with Remus, as a couple, it was that you fight.

A lot. All the time— nearly nonstop, and more often than not, it was ugly.

You two never learned after every time it happened.

Even now as you throw jabs and cleverly hurtful words.

A wave of familiarity washed over you, knowing that you had been here before. Sharp tongues, panting breaths, pointed fingers.

You don’t think you could handle this again, the silence after the storm, the anger that courses through your veins, the shame that enshrouds you, everything that exposes itself when Remus comes around. You loved him still, you don’t think you could ever stop, but there is a point, you noted, where love stops being enough. It doesn’t reach the mark, doesn’t feel worth it to spend nights in his arms, if you’re hating yourself while in those same arms.

The end was so clear, so vivid. It would be so easy, it was inevitable, heading straight for the two of you, like a bullet, bulldozing through the air with one solid purpose. It was chasing you, you realised soon, after the fights got snarkier and began to tear rifts irreparably. But you had prolonged it anyways, and you ran and ran and ran away, like it would spare mercy, but the truth was, and it remained to be, that— it was damned from the start.

You thought you knew love, knew it well enough to make breakfast for Love in the mornings when he was drowsy and tired from the night before; to greet Love when he walked through the door after a long day at work, and let Love fall into your arms (because he fell into them so perfectly); to kiss Love’s tears when they fell; to clean Love’s scratches and scars, spreading dittany along the jagged, open cuts, and apologizing profusely when he winced; to hold onto Love like a lifeline, even when he was gone for two nearly three weeks after saying harsh things to each other, and Love refused to apologize.

You could have begged Love, asked for a second chance, but you knew better. Love shouldn’t hurt anymore than you did, and Love didn’t deserve that. He didn’t deserve that.

You picked yourself up from the cushy sofa, and walked to your shared bedroom. Remus’ voice called out from behind you but it didn’t follow you. Inside the closet, you hauled your trunk from Hogwarts out and opened the top. Slowly, you filled it with your belongings, sometimes pausing to stare at items that half belonged to you and half belonged to Remus.

When you emerged from your bedroom, lugging out your trunk, you saw Remus go bug eyed, you didn’t say anything— you couldn’t. Desperate, warbled apologies slipped from his mouth, tears broke from his lashes like tides against the shore; he could promise a thousand things, maybe even a million, but none of them would have mattered.

You wanted to say sorry again, this time for leaving, and as much as you chanted in your head that it was for the best, it didn’t feel right.

It would eventually, you prayed as you finally walked across the threshold of the door of the flat.

#remus lupin imagine #remus lupin angst #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin x you #remus x you #remus x reader #remus lupin #marauders x reader #marauders angst #marauders imagine #no beta we die like men

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