hey nini, what do u think about ftm sirius and cis remus?? love u
first of all, i think they’re beautiful and would be a great couple! second of all:
remus keeps a secret folder on his phone titled “starboy” full of candid shots taken over the years: pre-t jawline becoming a sharper one, the first visible happy trail after months on testosterone, the way sirius’ laugh lines deepened once he stopped performing softness for the world. he scrolls through it when sirius is having a rough day and then shows him one at a time like proof of how fucking beautiful he is
they have matching little scars now, tiny burns from the same joint they passed back and forth the night sirius told remus he was getting top surgery. remus kisses sirius’ every time they get intimate, like a thank you for letting him witness the becoming
they fight over the bathroom mirror in the mornings because sirius takes forever doing his facial & hair routine (the little ritual of it makes him feel solid in his skin) and remus just wants to brush his teeth in peace but ends up leaning against the doorframe watching, completely gone for how focused sirius looks
they have this private game during long drives where sirius picks the most absurd roadside attraction (like the world’s largest round hay bale type shit) and remus has to come up with an elaborate fake history for it that always ends with them as the tragic romantic heroes who met there in another life. it’s stupid and they laugh until they cry
sirius gets this particular post-t musk that drives remus insane. remus will push him against the wall right after a run or a long shift at the garage, bury his face in the crook of sirius’ neck and just inhale like he’s trying to mainline it, sometimes licking a slow stripe up the sweat before they even make it to the bedroom
sirius keeps a half-empty tin of that strong italian hair gel in the bathroom and remus has learned to recognize the exact moment the tin is running low because sirius gets twitchy about his hair not sitting right. remus orders the next one before sirius even notices, then spends half an hour on the couch taking care of sirius’ curls while sirius’ eyes go heavy and trusting
remus learns the exact dose and injection schedule better than sirius does sometimes. he’ll sit on the bathroom floor with the alcohol swab and steady hands, kissing the spot right before the needle goes in, whispering “there you go, love, another day closer to feeling right in your skin”. it’s mundane and special at the same time
when they’re out in public and someone hesitates on sirius’ pronouns, remus slides an arm around sirius’ waist, pulls him closer, and says my boyfriend loud enough for the person to hear, casual as anything
they have this ritual where remus helps sirius pick new clothes after every big milestone (new dose, post-op checkup, legal name change). remus sits on the dressing room chair like a king and looks at sirius with such hungry, proud eyes that sirius feels seen as fully, undeniably boyish in a way the world rarely offers
remus loves fucking sirius from behind because he can wrap one arm around his chest (flat, strong, his) and use the other to get him off, and feel the whole living, changing reality of him at once. he whispers filthy praise about how perfect sirius feels inside and out, how lucky he is to be the one who gets to love every inch
when sirius doubts whether remus could want him long-term as a trans man, remus pulls out this worn notebook where he’s written poetry over the years, dated entries about falling more and more in love with sirius’ every day. he reads it out for sirius
sirius collects vintage razors & brushes and has this whole obsessive routine with a particular boar-bristle brush he found in a berlin flea market. remus learns the exact angle sirius likes the lather worked in and sometimes does it for him on sunday mornings when the light is soft, their knees knocking under the tiny sink, no talking, only the scrape of metal and the smell of cedar soap
remus is mildly obsessed with mycology and drags sirius on damp forest hikes to hunt chanterelles. sirius complains the whole time about mud on his boots but secretly takes close-up photos of remus’ hands covered in dirt and spores, later printing them grainy and pinning them inside his sketchbook
they keep a shared notebook (ugly spiral bound thing from the dollar store) where they write single lines to each other just to be even more disgusting. they reread it during arguments to remember they’re on the same team
on bad days sirius refuses mirrors but demands remus describe him out loud in excruciating detail, like what his shoulders look like from behind, how sharp his jaw is, the way his throat moves when he swallows. remus does it reverent at first, then sometimes filthy when the mood is right
sirius keeps his binder on a little too long sometimes because he hates how soft his chest still feels after top surgery scars healed, and remus notices every single time. he’ll come up behind him in the kitchen, slide his hands under sirius’ shirt, and just rest his palms flat over the scars, kissing his neck until sirius relaxes into the hug
they have this running thing where remus calls sirius “pretty boy” in the softest voice and sirius acts like he’s embarassed by it but his ears turn this lovely pink every time. it’s their thing during sex too, remus whispering it against the inside of sirius’ thigh while he’s going down on him
late nights when sirius is dysphoric and can’t stand being touched, remus just lies next to him in the dark and talks about everything and nothing: his dumb coworkers, the book he’s reading, what they should make for dinner tomorrow. his voice is the safest thing sirius knows
sirius is fiercely protective of remus’ chronic pain days (the limp, the bad hips, the way he winces when he thinks no one sees). he’ll cancel plans without asking and build a whole nest on the couch with heating pads and remus’ favorite tea. then he curls up half on top of him like a guard dog, chin on remus’ chest, daring the world to try anything
their first time after sirius got top surgery was this careful, emotional thing. remus kept asking if anything hurt, if it felt right, and sirius ended up crying because it felt like coming home in his own body while the person he loved most was there celebrating every inch of it
sirius has a tattoo of a tiny moon on his ribcage right under where his heart is (remus traces it with his lips and tongue sometimes when they’re lazy and naked and the city noise is far away). remus has the same but it’s a star
