The white cloud came spewing out your mouth. Your teeth chomp together to let out a low threatening growl as a few men surround you. It's your last taste of freedom; it's something you feel in your bones. A sharp sting to your thigh. The world tilts and a growl dies in your throat. 

“Its going to be okay, big girl. You're safe now.” That was the last thing you heard before it went dark. 

You don't know just how long you'd been in the pound, but it was long enough that many people passed you by. Meals of kibble that you didn't remember the thrill of the hunt or the smell of blood. You stay curled up in the corner. A cot for a bed, a bowl for water, and a singular toy. You noticed the dog across you had one. They all must. 

Different employees would sit with you, trying to comfort you in different ways. They'd try to get you to be more friendly, but you'd growl when they'd get too close. You wouldn't eat the treats they tried to give you. Eventually they stop. 

At the front of the shelter you hear the bell of the front door. You were used to the noise. Your ears perked on instinct, flicking towards it. It didn't matter though. None of it did. This is just another day that you wouldn't be picked. Just like all the others. 

“We have dogs of various breeds, different sizes, and different needs based on what you've told us of your work, house, and the extra details of preferably a bigger breed as use of a guard dog we have a few options.” You hear the voice of an employee, a young girl. You hear the page flip on the clipboard, “We have Roxie a German Shepard she came to us last week and is up to date on shots, there's Duke a Pit Bull Terrier also up to date on shots and has an amazing temperament, and lastly there's Ford a Black Mouth Cur mix…” she carried on as they passed your cage and then,

“Who's this? Why wasn't she on the list?” an unfamiliar voice asks. 

You look up lazily to see a brunette looking at you curiously, she smells of cherry blossoms and green tea. 

“Oh well this is Shaggydog. One of our younger employees said she looked like one of the Direwolves from Game of Thrones. We believe she's a wolf dog, but she's got a bit of a temperament issue and doesn't let any of us near her. So we don't have her on the adoption list currently.”

The brunette crouched down to look at you. You look at her and she looks into your eyes.

“Her eyes are beautiful. They almost seem human.” She mentioned and you perk up. 

‘She sees me!’ You get up from your spot, slowly padding to the front of your cage, sniffing cautiously. You pick up the scent of the redhead mint and metal. 

The brunette's hand reaches out slowly, trying to let you decide if you want her or not. 

You do.

You press your head into her hand. A soft gasp coming out of the employee. “She's never done that.”

“We'll take her.” The redhead speaks without warning, giving no room for argument. Though the employee did try, but both the redhead and you gave her the same look. 

“I'll get the paperwork ready.” She said quickly before walking off. 

“Did you hear Tasha? We're taking you home Shaggydog. You're going to be our good girl huh? You're going to be so pampered and loved.” The brunette spoke in a higher pitched voice. One that people saved for animals and babies. 

“Wands I dont know if she understands you.” 

The brunette now known as Wands looked at you. Looking into your eyes again. 

“I think she does though Nat. I don't know, there's just something in her eyes.” Wands gave you head scritches and you practically melted. 

Wands put the collar on you when you growl at the employee. “It's okay, Shaggydog. No one is going to hurt you.” She presses her forehead to yours, closing her eyes and you close yours.

‘Can you see me? Can you see who I am inside?’ You think, hoping she can hear you.

She pulls back and smiles. 

“Come on, let's go home sweet girl.” 

⋆˚🐾˖°₊˚⊹ 𐂯⋆˚🐾˖°

You were overwhelmed by the house.

Too big. Too many smells layered over each other—wood polish, old fabric, soap, something citrus, something floral, something sharp and metallic that belonged to the redhead. You padded through it all, nails clicking softly against the floor as you mapped every corner like your life depended on it.

Because it used to.

You sniffed the couch first, then rub along it, pressing your scent into it. Then the doorways. The corners. The shoes by the wall; two pairs worn often, familiar, safe. No blood. No fear soaked into the floorboards. No shouting trapped in the walls.

You paused. Listened. The house listened back.

The brunette, Wands, sat on the couch, watching without speaking. Smart. Still. Letting you decide. The redhead hovered near the doorway, arms crossed, eyes sharp. To you she was guarding.

Pack behavior. You didn’t realize your tail had lifted until it brushed the side of a chair. There was a hallway. Narrow. Enclosed. Good.

You slipped down it, nose close to the floor, following scent trails like ghost-memories. One room smelled like sleep;warm blankets, shared space, something deeply theirs. You didn’t enter. Just lingered at the threshold, cataloging.

Another room smelled like books and ink and dust. Calm. Quiet.

Then,

A room that felt right.

Low light. Soft rug. A corner tucked away beneath a window. There was a bed, it was set up but barely smelled like them. Your body made the decision before your mind could interfere. You circled twice, then curled into the corner, spine to the wall, eyes on the door.

Safe angle. No blind spots. You exhaled for the first time since stepping inside. Wands noticed immediately.

“Oh,” she whispered, like she’d just witnessed something sacred.

She didn’t approach. Just smiled softly, hand covering her mouth for a second like she was overwhelmed. The redhead glanced at her, then at you.

“She picked her spot,” Nat said quietly. Approval threaded through her voice.

You flicked an ear. You felt a smirk on your face, but you were sure it didn’t translate.

Minutes passed. Maybe more. Time still felt strange.

Eventually, Wands stood and moved slowly, deliberately, grabbing something soft from the couch. A blanket. She lowered it near you, not on you. 

Your nose twitched. You pawed at it until  it was pulled close. Then you grabbed it with your mouth and attempted to put it over yourself. A human instinct you thought long forgotten.

The brunette’s smile went watery.

“You’re doing so good,” she murmured.

Your eyes slid shut. Just for a second. Not sleeping, but resting. Letting your body settle into the shape of the room.

For the first time in a long time, nothing hurt. Nothing chased you. Nothing tried to take and somewhere deep in your chest, beneath fur and instinct and memory, something fragile and human stirred and thought,

Maybe this is where I stay.

Wands disappears for a moment.

You hear her moving in another room; soft footsteps, drawers opening, the whisper of fabric shifting. Your ears flick, tracking her without you meaning to. When she comes back, she’s holding something.

Small. Soft. You lift your head, instantly alert.

It looks like a wolf.

Not real. No smell of blood or dirt or fear. Just fabric and stuffing and something faintly like the store and the hands that chose it.

Nat crouches beside her. “We bought it weeks ago,” she says quietly, like it’s a confession. “Didn’t know who we were bringing home yet. Just… knew.”

Wands kneels slowly, setting the toy down on the floor a few feet away from you. She doesn’t push it closer. Doesn’t make it a test.

“We wanted the right one,” she murmurs. “And that turned out to be you.”

Your chest tightens.

The wolf toy lies there, still and harmless, black fur stitched soft and plush. Familiar shape. Safe shape. A thing meant to be held, not fought.

You inch forward, nose stretching out first. You sniff it carefully. No threat. No trick. You nudge it with your muzzle.

It topples over.

You freeze.

Nothing happens.

You grab it.

Your jaws close around it instinctively—not hard, just enough to feel it. The fabric gives. Warmth blooms in your chest so suddenly it almost knocks the breath from you.

Mine.

You retreat with it, backing into your corner, curling around it protectively. Your body tucks the toy against your chest, chin resting over it like it belongs there. Like it’s always belonged there. A sound slips out of you before you can stop it soft, low, almost embarrassed. You close your eyes.

The toy smells like them now. Like home. Like something that was waiting for you before you were ready to be found. 

You press your nose into it and finally, finally let yourself sleep.

The two women retreat, letting you rest, but not before Wanda takes a sneaky picture to share with their friends and more than likely make it her lockscreen. 

You hear the soft click before you understand what it means. Your eyes slit open just enough to see Wands standing a little too still, phone held low, her smile guilty and glowing all at once.

Nat catches it immediately.

“Wanda,” she murmurs, warning threaded with amusement. “Did you just-”

“I know, I know,” Wands whispers back, already lowering the phone. “I couldn’t help it. Look at her.”

Nat glances at you, curled around the stuffed wolf, chin tucked over it, black fur rising and falling slow and even.

Her mouth softens despite herself.

“…Okay. One picture.”

Vampires and Werewolves do not mix. Not at all. So when you, a werewolf, keep running into Baran Al-Hashimi, a vampire, it starts to get annoying.

It almost seems like she’s following you sometimes. You arrive at a bar, grab a drink and, suddenly, there she is. And it happens every other night. She’s just there, alluring and sexy and annoying and so, so very off limits.

“There’s my favorite puppy.” Baran’s voice cuts through the music of the bar you’re standing in. So close. Your hands clench tight around your glass.

“Don’t call me that, bloodsucker.” You argue as you turn to face her, trying to keep a nonchalant expression on your face. It’s the tenseness of your jaw that gives it away.

Baran just barely smiles, tilting her head to the side. “You’re so defensive.” She remarks calmly, like she’s actually trying to help. You swear for a second her eyes drift down, away from your eyes. What the fuck? “You need to learn to relax, tooleh sag.”

“I’d be more relaxed if you stopped following me.”

“Following you?” Baran’s eyebrows raise. As if this is a surprising idea to her. “Maybe we just have more in common than you realize.”

She says it with such seriousness you both pause for a moment. Your scoff is the only thing that breaks the silence. “Fuck off, Baran.”

As you push past her, Baran turns to watch, drink in hand, a small, amused smile on her face. Like she knows exactly what she’s doing.

The alleyway is quiet when you push out the back door of the bar. A sharp contrast to the bass-heavy music inside. The moonlight glows brightly above head—a comforting sight for any werewolf to see. You pull out a cigarette from your purse easily, then begin fishing for a lighter.

“Damnit…” You mumble. No lighter. No matter how much you feel around or what pockets you look through. Your head thinks back against the brick wall, a groan pulling from your throat.

“Hm. You really do sound like a kicked puppy right now.” There it is again. That familiar, smooth voice. You don’t even have to open your eyes to know.

“Didn’t I tell you to fuck off, Baran?”

“I highly doubt you really believe that’d stop me.” She deadpans, head tilting to the side as she takes a step closer. “You need a light.” It’s not a question. It’s a remark. And she’s right.

“I’m fine without it.” You mumble, not even looking over at baran and her perfect curls and perfect eyes that reflect the moon like that.

“You could just stop being so stubborn for once and just let me give you—“

“I’m not being stubborn.”

“Yes, you are.” Baran takes another step closer. She really does make it sound like she’s scolding a misbehaving puppy.

You scoff in response. A strange mix of frustration and… something you can’t name stirs in your gut. “I don’t need to hear from a vampire how I am or am not behaving.”

“You don’t need it,” Baran agrees, her tone shifting to something of condescension when she hears your frustration. “But you want it, don’t you? Praise? To be told you’re behaving well?”

Your cheeks go bright red. For half a second, the idea of Baran praising you conjures some… inappropriate images.

“Fuck you.” It comes out quickly. Too quickly. Undeniably defensive. Baran’s expression turns even more amused.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

That’s it. That one, teasing little comment. That's what breaks the dam. Before either of you can process what exactly is happening, your hands tangle up into Baran’s hair and yank her into a kiss. It’s rough and hard, more like a point to win an argument than a romantic move. More like telling Baran she’s not the one in control.

Well, at least, that you believe she’s not in control. Which you do. For now.

The kiss deepens as you guide Baran back, pushing her against the opposite wall of the alley. She chuckles against your lips, hands sliding around your waist, pulling you in closer to her.

A sudden sharp pain snaps you out of the moment. Right into the skin of your lip. Fangs. Baran’s fucking fabgs. You let out a groan into her mouth, faltering for just a moment… enough for her to take control. She grabs your wrists from where they remain pushed into your hair and shoves you around, fully shifting the positions. Now Baran stands in front of you, shoving your wrists up against the wall, above your head, thigh pressing between your legs. The pained noise turns into something more akin to arousal.

“Fucking- bloodsucker.”

Baran just laughs and leans in, lips brushing your next, torturously slow.

“Don’t pretend you don’t like this, puppy.” She laughs softly against your throat, big brown eyes flickering up to your expression—a twisting mix of confusion, frustration, and lust. Before you can spit back some witty remark, the now familiar feeling of Baran’s fangs prick into the side of your neck.

“Shit!” Your head tilts back almost involuntarily, arms pressing against her hold. She doesn’t even waver. She takes it as a chance to press you harder against the wall, to dig her fangs deeper into you. The warm mix of pain and arousal floods your senses.

“Keep your hands up.” You hear Barn murmur against your neck as she unlatches. Her tongue licks a line up to your ear as her hands slide down slowly. The second you try to move your arms, her hands shoot up again. Goddamn vampire speed.

“Behave, azizam.” She whispers right next to your ear. “Or I'll leave you like this.”

A legitimate whine slips from your lips. It’s involuntary, needy and frustrated… but you listen. Hands stay pinned up above your head. Baran grins, kissing the bite marks on your neck just to see you jolt again.

“Good girl.” She mumbles, her hands trailing back down, over your sides, moving as she licks along any bare skin she can find.

Her hands move down as she lowers herself, slowly kneeling in front of you until her knees hit the alley gravel. You can’t take your eyes off of her. God, you hate her but… fuck, you can’t bring yourself to ask her to stop. Not when she’s on her knees, kissing your thighs, fangs dragging across the bare skin where she’s pushing up your skirt. She moves at a torturously slow pace, dragging out every push of her fangs—not quite piercing your skin again—and every lick just to watch you squirm. And when you do? She pins you harder, hands gripping your thighs and pressing you harder against the wall.

Baran’s warm breathing ghosts against your upper thigh, just close enough for you to feel it against your pussy. And Baran sees how you react—even just briefly. The way your thighs twitch? It sets her off. She grins up at you, her fingers finally pressing under your skirt… sliding it up, slowly exposing more of your bare thighs. Until the fabric of your panties is exposed to her. Finally.

Her tongue drags over fabric first.Not quite tasting you. Just enough to hear your breath catch. Just enough to distract you while her fingers hook into the fabric of your panties to pull them down

“Oh, already wet, puppy?” She chuckles, looking down at your pussy like it’s her next meal. “Of course you are.”

Then she finally gives in. She leans in, licking through your wet folds with unshakeable confidence. Her curls brush your thighs as she presses in closer to you… while she begins really tasting you. She doesn’t go slow now. She pushes her tongue against your cunt faster, curling and probing as she licks up your juices. Baran could swear there’s something different about the taste of a werewolf. She wonders what it’d taste like to make you cum. And, fuck, that only makes her more determined.

“You taste good, puppy.” She mumbles against your pussy. The vibrations pull a whine from your throat.

“Shut up.” You groan back. She just laughs against you, tongue doubling down until you’re moaning instead of bitching. She licks you with almost clinical precision. Like a woman who knows exactly what she’s doing.

Baran’s tongue is enough to bring you close almost embarrassingly fast. And, on top of that, because Baran does nothing halfheartedly, just as you’re letting out a moan, one hand slides from where it rested on your thigh, and two fingers push right into your pussy. No warning, no teasing, just the stretch of his fingers in you. She curls then just right into your warmth just as her tongue flicks over your clit. Your hips buck helplessly against her. She just uses her hand to press you harder against the wall.

“Are you gonna cum?” She mumbles against your pussy, tongue pressing flat against you in another lazy lick.

“F-fuck you.” Yeah, still not breaking that stubborn streak.

Baran pushes her fingers up into you in retaliation, making you moan again. She doesn’t need a verbal response to know exactly what she’s doing to you. She goes in harder, licking and kissing while pumping her fingers into you. Your moans echo with the wet sounds coming from your pussy against the alley walls. It’s obscene. And that’s all on top of the whole vampire and werewolf thing… and your hating her. But fuck. Right now, you can’t even think about that. If anything, the obscenity just makes you more wet for Baran.

A few more pushes of her fingers and Baran feels you clenching around her. She hears your moans, growing louder and more needy, as if you’re finally letting go. She goes faster, fingers pumping until you can feel her pressing into every clench of your walls, tongue circling your clit, licking up all the juices she can get from you.

Then it comes. An orgasm that has your hips bucking against her face, squirming against her hold on you. Baran doesn’t let up until her chin and fingers are coated with your slick and you’re basically shaking. She pulls away slowly, already rising back to her feet while she retracts her fingers from your cunt.

You’re trying to catch your breath, when Baran’s hand grips your chin. She angles your face to hers. “Open.” She mumbles. And she waits. Until you finally give in and part your lips. A smile spreads on her face as she brings her fingers—still wet with your cum—and pushes them into your mouth. You gasp against her digits, but she doesn’t pull away or soften for you. No, instead, she pushes her fingers a little deeper, until you’re gagging around them, finally sucking like she wants.

“Good girl.” She praises, leaning in to press a kiss to your cheek. She loves how your cheeks heat up like you’re embarrassed to be so into her. Baran retracts her fingers from between your lips after a moment, resting her hands against your hips instead. “I’m glad you finally came to your senses, puppy.”

You glare back at her… but it’s so half hearted now. Like your never is just an act you can’t drop quite yet. Baran laughs softly, leaning in to finally kiss you. She smiles against your lips when you lean into it.

“Maybe next time, we could do this in a real bed. Not a back alley?” Baran says softly against you. The first thing that hasn’t been mocking, hasn’t had a bite to it. And, fuck. It makes you feel a little softer.

So instead of their usual routine of transforming in the shack, letting Moony out, following their trail where they run (and roll, in Moony & Padfoot’s case) down a large hill before chasing each other along the river bank, grabbing a drink from the edge of the Black Lake and slowly making their way back to the shack…Moony no sooner got to the bottom of their hill before he picked up some scent and followed it down dark, wandering paths through the Forbidden Forest.

Padfoot had tried encouraging a mouth wrestle and romp - no dice. Prongs tried taking off in a sprint, hoping to elicit Moony’s instinct to chase - no dice. Wormtail bit Moony’s foot which only saw him nearly stomped on as the werewolf continued on his journey. Prongs tried bodily shoving Moony back in the direction of the shack to no avail. 

Padfoot was just about ready to pick a bloody fight with the beast when he heard snuffling followed by a low growl.

Unfortunately for Padfoot, Moony didn’t miss it either, and before he knew which way was up, Moony took off in a sprint towards the sound. 

Padfoot hoped to come back in his next life as a border collie - maybe he’d have better luck with the likes of sheep.

And that decision was only solidified when he turned the corner to find Moony staring down another werewolf who had her hackles raised and teeth bared at the bastard who seemed either ignorant to canine body language or was actively choosing to ignore it.

At least sheep will have the bloody wherewithal to avoid danger. 

Padfoot made a quiet whimpering sound, hoping to encourage Moony to get the hells out of here, but it only served to have Moony’s ear flick in his general direction before returning to his new wolf friend. 

Prongs huffed a breath and stomped his hoof into the earth, and Padfoot noticed then that Wormtail was nowhere to be found - the bloody coward. 

Moony tried to crane his neck forward to sniff at the wolf's paws, only for the wolf to snarl and snap at him before smacking him with said paw like a sodding cat. 

Moony at least had the grace to lower himself to the ground in submission for but a moment before he bounced back up to try doing much the same. 

This time, the wolf charged at Moony, pinning him to the earth by his throat as she growled at him; the sound muffled by the fact that Moony’s sodding neck was in her mouth.

Prongs grunted and made to charge in Moony’s defence, causing the wolf to release Moony and look at him sceptically, and Moony to growl at Prongs warningly - he did not want their help. 

Fine by Padfoot. He wasn’t much interested in helping a werewolf with a death wish anyway. 

But when the wolf decided this was all perhaps a bit too much for her, turning away from the strange pack to continue on its path - of which the marauders should be on their own, thank you very much - Moony went to follow, and dammit, this was Padfoot’s pack.

And if it wasn’t his pack, it was his herd, and what kind of border collie would Padfoot be if he let his pack sheep out of his sight?

Not a very good one, is what.

So, with a huff of resignation, Padfoot trailed behind the wolves - one that kept turning to nip, snap, and snarl at pesky Moony, and pesky Moony who kept trying to get a sniff or even, more disturbingly, incite play with a gentle nip - Prongs (and Wormtail, by means of Prongs’ antlers) trailed behind him. 

The wolf seemed resigned to her fate in having company for the rest of the evening, though that didn’t mean she was pleased about it. Every time Padfoot thought the wolf’s hackles were going down, Moony playbowed in front of her like an overgrown lanky puppy, and they rose right back up. 

The new wolf, for her part, spent the evening snuffling through the dried leaves and moss on the floor, stretching against tree trunks and using the bark to sharpen her claws (still not unlike a cat), and chewing on a stick. 

Padfoot thought that actually all seemed like a really nice way to spend the evening.

Or, you know, it would have been, had he not been in charge of this ridiculous rag-tag group of misfits he unwittingly found himself responsible for. 

But eventually, the evening had to come to an end, and that end was signalled by the twitching of Moony’s muscles underneath his fur as the moon started pulling at his bones, and it appeared to be doing the same for you.

But the night couldn’t end, it seemed, if you weren’t coming with Moony. And for as annoyed as Padfoot had been all evening, he was growing increasingly anxious. 

You abandoned your stick and stood, beginning to limp away from them when Moony grunted and hurried after you, causing Padfoot and Prongs to bark and bleat respectively. 

Any levity that the wolf had found for the marauders quickly vanished in the face of her oncoming transformation and the pain radiating through her when she turned on Moony and lunged at him. Padfoot whimpered and felt his heart try to escape through his throat as earth flew up in the air due to paws digging into the ground for traction and scrambling for purchase. 

The wolf's growls were different now, though; they weren’t bored, they weren’t dismissive, and they weren’t even all that threatening. The wolf was scared - panicked, even. Padfoot could see it in the speed of her breathing and the whites of her eyes that she was quickly descending into terror. 

They were close, so close, to the shack; Padfoot was certain he could get Moony back before the transformation if he would just get a sodding move on.

But it appeared Moony was wholly unwilling to leave without this wolf, and he wasn’t taking no for an answer. 

The wolf seemed to come to the same conclusion as Padfoot, stepping away from Moony before submitting for the first time all evening, and wincing as Padfoot heard one of her joints shift. 

Moony let out a sigh, moving over to the wolf who seemed so small now that she was cowering at the base of the tree with Moony standing above her, nudging her face and neck with his nose before licking over her face. 

The wolf whimpered, and Padfoot watched as Moony’s right hind foot came out from underneath him for a moment - as if he tripped - telling him that the transformation was starting. 

Padfoot whined, and he swore Moony actually nodded his head in understanding before he gently grabbed the wolf by the scruff of the neck and encouraged her to stand. 

Resigned to her fate, the wolf followed the pack towards the shack, barely making it into the room before the transformation took over.

The first thing you noticed when you came to wasn’t the pain, though that was there. It was always there. 

No, the first thing you noticed when you came to was the feeling of linen on top of you and something soft below you. 

That wasn’t right; that couldn’t be right, could it? You were supposed to be in the cave. 

But when you shifted your arm and felt the linen - a blanket? - fall from your shoulder, you knew it was true. You were not in the cave. You were not in the cave, and someone had found you. 

“I think she’s awake.” 

Someones had found you.

You were not in the cave, people had found you, and you were not alone.

You sat up suddenly, holding the blanket to your chest as you shuffled away from the sounds before your back met something solid. Your head felt heavy and off-kilter, like you were standing on a boat swaying on rolling waves.

You had a wicked migraine coming on.

“Whoa, whoa. Easy there doll.” Another voice sounded.

“What-” You tried, cutting yourself off to clear your throat when your voice came out gravely and painful, threatening to bring up whatever you still had in your stomach from dinner two nights ago; the last time you could manage food. “Why are you- why am I here? Where am I? What-”

“Open your eyes, L/N.” The second voice offered, though you could tell the inflection was softer than it naturally was; you wondered if that took him a lot of effort. “You’re okay.”

Your breaths began to quicken because you didn’t feel okay, this didn’t feel okay. Someone knew, they knew; they had found you, you were found out.

The sun was still low, so the light in the….room? shack? hut? was dim, though it still made your eyes water with the impending migraine lined up in your temples as if just waiting for a good excuse to wreak havoc on your brain. 

You were accosted with the sight of Sirius Black crouching in front of you, elbows on his knees as his eyebrows hooked in the middle; James Potter standing behind him with his arms crossed over his chest as he looked at you much the same. 

“You’re okay.” James repeated, nodding his head encouragingly as your vision began to swim.

“Try to relax, doll; you’re not going to feel very well if you work yourself up.”

You let out a hysterical breath that bordered between a laugh and a sob as a few tears spilled out. “Relax? I- what… How could you- why are you here?”

James grimaced. “Sorry, that would be Moony’s fault.” 

“Moony? I-” But your question was cut off  when you heard the shuffling off bedding from across the room, and both James and Sirius turned towards the sound, exposing Remus Lupin sitting up on an old mattress, rubbing at his eyes as a blanket fell and pooled at his hips, exposing his bare torso that was….covered in claw marks.

“Oh gods.” You let out with a sob. “What did I- Did I do that?” 

“What?” Remus let out groggily as both Sirius and James quickly denied it. 

“No, no. Listen, angel, please relax-”

“Stop telling me to relax.” You nearly shrilled. “And stop calling me nice names!”

Too tired, too freaked out, and too confused to have chosen your wording carefully, you appeared to have said something wrong when Sirius’ mouth turned up in a salacious smirk. 

“You like our nice names?”

“No!” 

“I think you do.” James continued.

“Leave the poor girl alone.” Remus grumbled before he fell back onto his bed, rubbing harshly at his eyes.

“Where are we?” You asked simply, swallowing around your gag reflex.

“The shrieking shack.” James answered just as simply.

“Okay.” You acknowledged. “Why?”

“Well, Moony wouldn’t leave without you, so we sort of had to bring you with us.” Sirius answered.

“Moony…?”

“That’s me.” You heard Remus mutter, voice muffled from behind his hands. 

“And…I didn’t hurt anyone last night?” You asked slowly. 

James’ face softened as he started to shake his head no, but Sirius scoffed.

“Define hurt, gorgeous. I was pissed, for one. Two, you had that wanker by the throat for most of the night.” He said, gesturing behind him to Remus with a careless thumb. 

“Why?”

“He wouldn’t bloody leave you alone! I was exhausted just watching.” Sirius continued.

“Would you stop bloody shouting?” Remus grumbled, and you couldn’t help but agree as you rubbed at your head. 

“Anyway,” James continued at a more appropriate volume, “he wouldn’t leave without you, so we brought you back here for the transformation. Where…where were you going to go for the transformation?” 

You flushed as you wrapped the blanket tighter around your person. “There's…a cave I usually go to.” You admitted in a whisper.

“Well, I bet this is an upgrade then, no?” Sirius offered somewhat haughtily, but his face fell quickly when you began speaking again.

“You can’t tell anyone…please.” 

“Tell anyone?” James repeated.

“I…no one knows, no one can know.”

“Whoa, babe, hang on. Who’re we gonna tell?” Sirius asked then, a disbelieving look painting his features. 

“I-” you started, swallowing again “I don’t know but, I just, you can’t-”

“We weren’t gonna tell anyone.” James assured you. “We aren’t going to tell anyone; there’s nothing to tell.” 

You must have looked sceptical, because Sirius quickly intervened.

“Alright look, we promise not to tell anyone about your lycanthropy, as long as you promise not to tell anyone about Remus’, or about James and I being illegal, unregistered animagi.” 

Your mouth actually fell open as you looked between the three of them; James as he turned to grab some vials of pain potions and healing balms, Sirius who was smirking at you salaciously, and Remus who was carding his hand through his hair and smiling (try grimacing) at you apologetically. 

“Welcome to the pack, L/N.” Remus said wryly before he downed the potion James handed to him in one, effortless swig and laid back down. 

“We’re called the marauders.” James explained as he handed you a matching potion. “We’ll have to find you a nickname. Don’t worry though, we have a whole month to come up with one.” 

What the fuck?