giulia ☀️

You belong with me. 💚💛💜❤️🩵🖤

he’s your favorite marauder’s favorite marauder! 💥

"Yes I knew him. Or I thought I did."

He will enter the room looking beautiful, and suddenly, Sirius can't move or even breathe because—oh—he is absolutely mesmerized.

Or he will be sleeping on his shoulder or chest after a particularly rough full moon, and Sirius won’t move an inch or make a sound, too scared of disturbing him and waking him up. He will sit there for hours, legs going numb, arms cramping, but he won’t complain, not when Remus is warm and safe against him, not when he can feel the steady rise and fall of his chest.

He will freeze in place when Remus reaches for his hand, brushing his fingers lightly across his wrist before pulling back, his heart racing at the fleeting touch. He can’t even bring himself to speak, overwhelmed by the feeling of Remus’s skin on his own.

He will sit still even when his whole body is buzzing with restless energy, because Remus’s fingers are tangled in his hair, absentmindedly scratching at his scalp as he reads, and Sirius swears he could stay like this forever.

Morning kisses

During the first month of their relationship, Sirius wakes up every morning a little earlier than Remus to brush his teeth so that Remus doesn’t notice his morning smell — he’s afraid he won’t like to kiss him if he does.

Remus, of course, ends up realising what he’s doing.

One morning, before Sirius can get up, he grabs him by his waist and showers his face with kisses. Sirius giggles and squirms in his arms while complaining: ‘I didn’t brush my teeth!’

To what Remus asks: ‘Do you remember when you asked me if I would still love you if you were a worm?’

Sirius tilts his head, confused. ‘Yeah… why?’

‘I would also love you if your breath stank, which it doesn’t, or even if all your teeth fell and you couldn’t pronounce my name anymore. So stop leaving me alone in bed every morning and kiss me already, you silly thing.’

Now, every morning Remus wakes up with Sirius giving him a slow, sweet kiss on the lips and murmuring a soft ‘morning, moons’ that tastes just like him, no mint toothpaste to distract him from his own favourite flavour.