Who knows?

Sirius drabble, 500 words exactly, fluff

He’s a very pretty boy, you reason mentally. He sort of looks like a doll, pale skin and dark hair, pretty grey eyes, he’d be a good princess you think. Snow White maybe. It makes you giggle. Sirius Black as Snow White. Your boyfriend smiles in his sleep and his eyes flicker open, eyeing you where you lay, elbow propping your head up as you grin and examine his pretty face. 

“Find something you like?” He teases.

“Yeah.” You hum, leaning forward to kiss his forehead. “Do you believe in true love?” You murmur against his skin.

“I used to not.” He admits quietly. Hand lifting to cup your jaw when you pull back.

“Used to? What about now?” You ask, cheeks warm from how he gazes up at you.

He hums softly and lets his thumb trace your face.

“How could I not?” He whispers, his other hand comes up to your waist, not holding, just touching. He takes a few more minutes to look at you, appreciate you. His eyes scan your face, your hair, your lips, then something much deeper, someone no one else can see. 

“You’re sweet.” You mumble, leaning forward to kiss his lips gently. His eyes flicker closed instinctively.

“I prefer charming.” He says when you pull back.

“That’s my job.” You hum.

“What?” He laughs. “Are you saying I’m not charming?” 

“You’re plenty charming, but that’s not your job, it’s mine.”

“Oh yeah? Then what is my job?” He smiles, taking a strand of your hair between his fingers.

“Ummm.. being pretty.”

He bursts out laughing at that, chest shaking, head thrown back, your heart swells.

“I think that’s your job, lovely.” Sirius says, when he catches his breath.

“I dunno.. You’re doing it really well.” You murmur, a big smile on your face.

“I’m glad you think so. I ought to be pretty for my girl, yeah?”

You just smile and kiss his cheek.

“Do you know how Snow White is?” You murmur against his skin.

“Can’t say I do.” He replies softly.

“She’s a princess.”

“Ah.” He clicks his tongue. “Mystery solved, I don’t really know any muggle fairytales.”

“Well, you remind me of her.”

“I do?” At your nod, his eyebrow quirks. “I remind you of a princess?”

“Yeah.” You say softly, the word filled with love. 

“Does that make you my prince?” He grins softly.

“Well we'll have to test to make sure I'm a good fit before we decide that.”

His eyebrows furrow and he frowns slightly. “How do we test that?”

You smile and close the space between the two of you, lips pressed together, eyes closed, melting into a soft puddle together on his bed. It’s not very rough or passionate, just soft and warm, you don’t pull away till you need air. When you finally do, you rest your forehead against his, breaths mingling together. 

“True love’s kiss.” You whisper into the warm air.

Poly!Marauders x Werewolf!Reader 1.5k words, angst, not proofread, unexpected part two

Remus has been keeping an eye on you all week. Every hangout, date, and class together, he’s watching you. Looking for signs of pain, soreness, strain, anything that he missed that night. Suspicion and concern saturate your interactions, it’s sweet, and stressful. You know you’ll have to explain everything soon, but you’re not ready to yet.

You have a date tonight. It’s been a while, with school and assignments and curfew, there’s just not much time to have an actual ‘dress pretty’ date. You get ready in quiet, your roommates at their respective partner or friend’s dorms, the sun will be setting soon. You like the quiet sometimes, now it feels heavy. Heavy with dread, like a weight on your shoulders. You stand in front of a tall mirror, clad in undergarments only, and you worry. Not because of something you see but because of something you don’t.

Old stretch marks mar your skin, the only evidence of the full moon's effect on you. When you were younger, like most wolf cubs, transformations were a little clumsier than they are for you now. Tension in an adolescent body could result in stress while shifting, which would lead to things like this, stretch marks or soreness. And although you grew out of it, the stretch marks stayed, nothing to be ashamed of in your mind, every wolf you knew had them. These marks connected you to every wolf in the world, silver stitches uniting families of werewolves. Some people saw them as badges of honor, proof of their identity, or just a sign of aging. It's a subtle look, more than the average human had, but not enough to be noted as intriguing by someone who didn’t know what it meant.

Bitten werewolves had them too, but they hardly noticed them at all. Too preoccupied by their scars. Scars that litter their body. Always a bite mark, often scratches, rarely claw marks. Most bitten wolves, you learned, hated these scars. You didn’t know many werewolves, just your parents and some of your moms family, almost all of the wolves you knew were born. Besides of course, your father, and some older gentlewomen you met later in life. Your father had never uttered a word of hatred towards his scars. Though your mother often looked at them with a fond sadness. When you got older, you heard people talk about scars like they were something disgusting. When you met Remus, you learned that he too thought of his scars like that, like they were something to be ashamed of.

Remus hated his scars. He hated the evidence of his lycanthropy. He hated that people asked him where he got them from. He hated where they came from. He shied away when you touched him too lovingly, when Sirius’s nimble fingers brushed a scar on his back, when James’s hands traced the grooves on his hands. Remus, who loved so thoughtfully, truly and deeply hated his scars. 

You wondered if Remus would hate your stretch marks. It felt like a bitter, horrible thought. Like you were taking his pain and making it your own. How dare you, you thought. But there it was. The thoughts that plagued you, the marks that proved your flawed existence. 

You never used to think it was flawed before.

The marks on your skin were evidence of your lycanthropy just like the marks on his skin were evidence of his. And although the marks were different in shape and making, the root cause was the same, and Remus only hated his scars because of that cause. Your traitorous mind asked if he’d see your marks and only see his own hatred. 

You felt sick, the way the blessed often do when confronted with the cursed. Survivors’ guilt maybe. You had always loved your skin, loved your marks and loved the moon. Even when the world punished you for who you were, you never stopped loving yourself, briefly, perhaps you did once, but when you stood up at the end of the day, unchanging and learning to be unapologetic for it, you loved yourself.

The issue is, when you begin to love someone else so much, you lose some of yourself. You grow careful, worried, especially when that someone isn’t loving you the way you love them. But it hurts to admit that, because then you’d be admitting that Remus doesn’t love you the way you love him. It’s not your fault, nor is it Sirius’s or James’s, it’s not even really Remus’s fault. It's just that it's hard to love someone fully when you don’t love yourself, and Remus at heart, does not love himself, not the way you love him, not the way the boys love him. It’s a self-based insecurity, not unique entirely to Remus, but it’s something he can’t ignore. Which means it's something no one else can. 

It’s the fact that his insecurity is rooted in a part of him that you both share. It makes you feel terribly cruel for loving that part of yourself, and it makes some part of you want to shy away, to hide that piece of you. How could you ever explain your lycanthropy to him? When he hates it so.

But the sun is setting now, so you walk away from the mirror and those haunting thoughts. James had called it a picnic in his letter, something in the Astrology Tower. You pick through your closet until you grab a pretty blouse and nice pants. You take a few minutes to get ready, before making the trek to your date location.

It’s pretty. There’s a blanket on the ground, food scattered around the plaid. James stands waiting for you, and he smiles brightly when you walk in.

He greets you with a hug and a soft kiss on the cheek.

“Am I the first to show up?” You ask, sitting where he leads you.

“Surprisingly, yes.” He answers, setting a sketchbook on your lap. 

“Why is that surprising? I’m a very punctual person.” 

“No one’s more punctual than Remus.” James laughs, rubbing your head.

“True.” You hum, flipping to a blank page. “Wonder what's taking him so long.”

“Guess.” A new, dry voice answers, and you look up to see Remus standing by the entrance, Sirius following right behind. 

“Guess what?” Sirius asks, head poking in through the entrance of the Astronomy tower.

“Nothing.” James laughs. “Come come sit.” 

“This is very nice James.” Remus murmurs, walking over to join the two of you on the blanket. On his way, he plants an appreciative kiss to James’s hair.

Remus sits next to you, Sirius skips over and sits beside James, eyeing the treacle tart in the middle of the blanket.

“It is nice, thank you James.” You murmur, grasping his hand and pressing a light kiss to his knuckles.

“Are we loving on James now?” Sirius grins, leaning into James’s side.

“No, we're eating.” James huffs, ears red.

The date is fun. The boys are lovely. By the end, you’re laying down, head pressed to Remus’s chest. His fingers tangled in your hair. Sirius lays beside the two of you, his head on James’s lap, everyone looking at the sky.

Your fingers graze Remus’s waist and his breath hitches. It’s a small “nothing” thing, and you don’t say anything when he grabs that hand gently.

“Sorry.” You murmur after a few moments, quiet.

“For what?” He hums lightly. You don’t say anything. 

It’s nothing. Yet it’s everything to you.

You sit up and he comes up with you, still holding your hand, still looking at you. You lift his hand and press the back of it to your lips. It's not really a kiss, just a lingering touch, soft and lasting. You stay there for a bit, the clouds pass over the moon, a bird flies by. After a moment you sigh softly, pressing your forehead to the skin instead.

“I wish you saw yourself the way I see you.” You murmur. Your eyes flicker up to his and he catches the silent meaning, the words you wanted to say but couldn’t give voice to. I wish you loved yourself the way I love you. God, you love him. Your moony, your moon.

You can feel your throat constrict, and you let out a soft breathy laugh to soothe it. 

“It’s about time for me to go, boys.” You say, shaking off the sadness and breaking the delicate walls of the moment. You stand, Remus’s hand slips out of yours and you smile to them all. “Goodnight.” You murmur and disappear before they can think to question or follow you.

Poly!Marauders x Werewolf!Reader Oneshot, fluff mostly, kind of Sirius heavy, not proofread!

“What are you doing?” The voice broke through your soft haze. You opened one eye and peered at the disruption, finding the very lovely, very disheveled Sirius Black gaping at you like you had two heads, which, in all honesty, wouldn’t be that strange for you.

But you didn’t have two heads, you had lycanthropy, which explains why Sirius looked so…. dirty felt like a rude word to use after he and James had just spent all night wrangling your other, also wolfy, boyfriend. In your cloudy state though, no other words came to mind.

“Hmm?” You hum dreamily, eyes soft.

Sirius just continued to stare at you.

He had broken from the trio to check on you, practically running through the halls of Hogwarts to ensure you were okay. It wasn’t your first time transforming, you’d done this for years, but they had only learned about it recently. On the other hand, you had known about Remus’s issue for many years. It didn’t take a genius to figure it out, just a fellow werewolf. When you started dating at the end of sixth year, you figured he probably knew about your condition too, after all, you weren’t exactly hiding it from them. They never realized though, too caught up with Remus’s wolf. It was probably better that way, as Remus seemed to have it marginally worse than you did.

The key difference between your condition and Remus’s condition was how they came to be. Remus had been bit at a young age, he had a life before the wolf, and the wolf was an intruder in his human body. You however, had been born with lycanthropy. Both your birth mother and father had been werewolves, and you came out of the womb with the same affliction as those before you. Your mother had been the same as you, born wolfish, while your father was like Remus, bitten. Unlike Remus, there was no before the wolf. You were born on a full moon, furry and pawed and beautifully delicate. Neither you nor the wolf intruded in each other's lives, instead you coexisted. She wasn’t alien, you weren’t demanding, and from birth, your body had been shared, not by two different souls, but by two sides of the same coin. 

Transformations weren’t harsh. They were clumsy at first, sure, but they were natural. Your bones, naturally dynamic from the nine moons that formed your wolf. Your skin, softer, stretchier than that of a bitten wolf. Perhaps some extra stretch marks patterned your skin, like silvery stitches, but that wasn't unusual for your type. 

You pity the bitten wolf, you pity your boyfriend and you bless your father. You think it helped you develop empathy though, watching the difference between your father’s transformations and your mother’s, wondering why something so natural and beautiful to you could be so painful to another.

It brings you back to now.

“Hmm?” You hum to Sirius, prompting enough to break him out of his trance, but not enough to break you from yours.

You were laid on your bed, soft-limbed and dazed, smiling gently. The world always seemed so beautiful during these mornings

Sirius stalks forward, his eyes flitting over your body, your face, your hands.

“Well don’t I feel objectified.” You murmur teasingly, his eyes snap to yours. Usually he’d say something teasing back, something to match your ease. Not today though. He drops to his knees beside you, and you take the time to rake your gaze over his figure. He looked dirty, his clothes disheveled, a soft red bruise is blooming across his jaw, but besides that he looks totally fine. Your fingers raise to graze the welt gently.

“You’re okay?” He asks quietly, not leaning in yet.

“Mhm.” You hum, matching his volume. It’s soft again, he’s not an intruder in your floaty bubble anymore, but a part of it. You almost want to fall back asleep. “Remus?” You ask softly.

“He’s alright.” Sirius murmurs, his hand landing on your stomach and gently stroking the blanket above your tummy. “No big injuries.”

“That's good.” You murmur, head heavy against the pillow.

“Sleepy?” Sirius asks. 

You just hum softly.

“You’re really not injured?”

You hum again in a lower tone, in a way you hope communicates denial. His palm moves over your belly softly, over your thighs and calves and back up to your belly, like he’s making sure you truly are okay. It coaxes you further into your trance, and he laughs softly. 

“Merlin, angel you look… like an angel.” He mutters, his thumb reaching up to push some hair away from your cheek.

You laugh, but it's barely a laugh, it’s barely anything at all but a breath of air.

“I must look like a mess.” You murmur. 

“Not at all.” He insists. “Did you shower before you fell asleep? You’re so clean.”

“I briefly remember rinsing off when I got back.” You hum.

He huffs out a soft laugh-like sound and leans forward to kiss your forehead, before slowly coming down to press his nose against your cheekbone. 

“You’re really not hurt?” He mumbles against your cheek.

“Not at all.” You murmur.

“...hungry?” He asks.

“Ate a fish.” 

“F’course.” He sighs, kissing the fat of your cheek.

“I wanna see Remus.” You say, letting your body slowly re-gravitize.

“Yeah? Okay. C’mon.” Sirius responds, gently helping you up. 

He gives you a moment to slip into something comfortable, one of James’s hoodies and Remus’s scarves, along with some loose robe pants. You look unbearably soft to Sirius.

You both make your way down to the castle infirmary. It’s empty in a way that makes you realize how big the room really is, which makes it very easy to spot the only taken bed in the corner of the room.

“M’back lads.” Sirius says as he yanks the curtain open.

Remus’s eyes open immediately, and James is standing the second he sees you.

“Angel.” James murmurs, crossing the short distance to get to you and taking your face in his hands. He kisses you so gently, his hands are warm and callused and oh you feel floaty again.

“Is she okay?” Remus asks Sirius, his voice is scratchy and your worry for him makes you pull away from James. James doesn’t let you go though, he takes a second to observe your face, your expression, before gently relenting and letting you slip into Remus’s bed.

“She’s perfect.” Sirius mumbles, going over to James’s side.

“Oh Rem.” You sigh worriedly, hand going to his hair. 

He takes your hand and presses his lips to your palm, before inhaling softly.

“You’re not hurt?” He asks.

“Not at all.” You murmur,

“How’s that possible?” James mutters curiously, leaning heavily into Sirius now.

“Beats me.” Sirius responds. 

Meanwhile, Remus tugs you into his chest, holding you close and pressing his nose to your scalp. “Was so worried.” He mumbles.

“We all were.” James adds in.

You take a moment to settle, curling into Remus’s chest. Your eyes flitter over all of his injuries, new and old. It’s an interesting feeling that settles in your chest. Worry, you surmise, but also something else. An age old feeling of dread, carefully nurtured from watching your father’s transformations. You let yourself melt into Remus’s chest instead of giving into the urge to kiss each and every one of his wounds. You think he’d let you if you tried, but you don’t wanna deprive him of the contact he clearly needs. His hands slip under your sweater and your face reddens instinctively. Scarred hands feeling your bare skin, prodding flesh and searching for some sort of injury or bruise to fuss over. 

“Pervert.” You murmur weakly, still not brave enough to let them worry over you without interruption. He ignores you and continues searching.

“You’re not hurt?” He asks after a moment, one hand slipping out of your sweater to feel your arm. 

“Nothing.” You murmur.