— 𝐒𝐄𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐌𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝟏𝟗𝟕𝟔 🌶
Sirius Black, a man with the experience who's slept with half the girls in their year, found self-control in a mere inhale of a cigarette, and unlike him, Remus lacked both.
Remus pushes off his robes and kicks off his shoes as soon as he enters the prefect's bathroom. He didn't want to risk getting into the big tub in case anyone comes in, so he walks straight to one of the shower stalls on the other side of the room. He tosses his uniform on the bathroom floor and steps into an empty stall, turning on the shower on full blast and closing the door behind him.
After settling everyone else in the dormitories for the night, Remus noticed that you and Sirius had yet to return to the tower. Before leaving to patrol the halls, he swiped the map and decidedly went looking for you. He thought you'd be somewhere near Dumbledore's office, instead he found you writhing in the arms of his best mate nearby the Whomping Willow.
It had taken everything in him not to stalk over and shove Sirius out of the way and have you all to himself. Remus' senses were reeling as Sirius kissed your skin, felt your orgasm around his fingertips, and saw your face flush with pleasure. Remus was fuming, angry and more than ready to throw Sirius on the branches of the Willow, but more than that, he was angry at himself.
Why? Because he was turned on.
As the hot water runs over his shoulders, he presses one hand to the tile wall and grasps his cock with the other. After hearing your moans, watching you squirm, and feeling the blood pump to his lower body, he needed to come.
Desperately.
A curse leaves his breath. After growing up together, watching you change and become the person he's always longed for, Remus would be lying if he said that he hadn't fantasized about you in a certain way many times over the past few Summers.
He left as soon as he heard Sirius asked you to be his girlfriend, in fear of hearing that you might actually say yes. He couldn't bear it, and walked off in the pouring rain back into the castle.
He is thick, hard and aching all at once. He rubs his thumb over the wet tip and continues stroking it. And he sees it in his mind, like a beautifully painted canvas. You straddling him, making love to you on his back as he pumps his hips into you. His skin burning with need from his neck down to his groin. He wanted more than just to kiss you, more than just feeling you through your clothes.
He grunts your name under his breath.
Remus' lungs empty as he imagines your nipples taut, your breasts bouncing deliciously above him. He wanted nothing more than to stare at your body, drinking you in like he can't get enough. He fists his hard cock, white fluid dripping from its tip. He wanted his hands, his mouth all over you, your skin tingling because of him.
He breathes through gritted teeth, stroking himself harder and faster, his mouth parting as he longed for a taste of you. He imagines your lips on his, his jaw, his neck, trailing lower and lower past his stomach. He wondered how it would feel with your mouth on him, gripping your scalp as he dips himself in between your wet lips.
"Fuck," he hisses.
Remus pumps hard and fast, his voice filling the large expanse of the empty bathroom. He moans as he feels the ghost of your body against his skin, hot and alive.
He spurts out onto the wall when he abruptly stops moving, gripping the base of his cock and bringing his head up with a groan. He resumes his movements after the second stream reaches the tile, this time slower, prolonging the pleasure and dragging out another couple of spurts.
Finally spent, he releases himself and rests his forehead next to his hand on the wall, heavily breathing. He was both sated and unsatisfied at the same time. He had the impression he'd never be fully satisfied until he had you completely, until you were his to make love to as much as you liked.
"You sure have been coming here more often," a soft high-pitched voice whispers close in his ears, "and I mean that in both literal terms."
Remus glances over his shoulder, his nose going right through Myrtle's ghostly face sticking out the door. He abruptly steps back deeper in the shower, almost slipping under the wet tiles. "For fuck's sake, Myrtle!" he curses, startled.
He quickly collects himself, not even bothering to cover up after the number of times she's seen him naked over the two years he's been prefect. Only grumbling in annoyance, he rushes past through her, feeling the eerily cold sensation for a brief moment as he exits the stall, and grabs a fresh towel from the rack.
"No need to get riled up about it. I'm just stating a fact," Myrtle says nonchalantly, hovering just behind Remus as she watches him dry off his shaggy hair.
"Then stop sneaking up on me or better yet, stop watching."
The hardest part of puberty, exploring one's body changes, and spending most of one's days in a crowded boarding school was that privacy was hard to come by these days. Regardless of whether Remus was in the regular bathrooms or a prefect one, Myrtle's ghost constantly haunted him and his mates. Disturbed at the level of familiarity over the years, they'd slowly grown used to her popping out of nowhere to watch.
But today, Remus was too caught up in the moment to remember the ghost of a teenage girl when all he needed was to relieve himself of the ache between his legs.
Myrtle rolls her eyes. "And pass up the chance to enjoy the view? No, thank you." She casts a quick glance at the previously occupied shower stall then at Remus. "Hmm, lucky girl. I mean the girl you were just getting off to. If only someone thought of me that way."
"Go haunt someone else's cock. I'm done here," Remus snaps with a harsh tone in his voice, frustratingly grabbing his clothing off the floor and throwing them over his shoulder.
Myrtle smirks, her gaze trailing down to Remus' groin as he wraps the towel around his waist. "Clearly." She gives him a dismissive wave before adding, "Oh, stop glaring. I will." She rolls her eyes and floats off in the direction of the next bathroom. "There's only so much a dead girl could do around here."
—
Late one night, the Marauders sat around the quiet common room, occupying the fireplace, and miserably guessing and scribbling on their star charts for Astronomy class. You'd gone to bed early, already finished with your own homework. Remus had completed his own too, and was luckily not on patrol tonight. But he was just as eager to get some shut eye until Peter begged him to stay and help.
Sirius and Remus never discussed what happened. When he had you wrapped around his fingers while Remus didn't mention where he'd disappeared to.
They understood that it was every man for himself, whatever you chose to do with either of them was none of their business because for one, jealousy aside, this was a competition, two rivals vying for your indecisive heart. And when you returned from the showers that night and kissed Remus on the cheek, albeit a bit guiltily, on your way back to the dorm, he knew you hadn't answered Sirius when he asked you to be his.
Remus still had a chance. And a month went on as though he and Sirius never spotted each other in the rain that first day back.
"Prongs, you do know you could just put a circle in your chart instead of a badly drawn version of my face?" Sirius says, eyeing James' attempt of illustrating a portrait of him.
"Where's the fun in that? After all, you are Sirius," James mockingly bats his eyelashes and sighs dreamily. "The brightest star in the night sky."
Sirius narrows his eyes. "Shut it or I'll stuff that homework of yours down your throat." He grabs the rubber off the coffee table and tosses it towards James, ordering him to erase it.
"And if you connect this star here, you have the Plough—consisting of seven stars of the constellation Ursa Major," Remus says, bent over Peter's homework on the floor as his finger glides over the parchment.
"Oh, I see it!" Peter eagerly nods, sketching in the finishing touches.
"Remus," You call out, a soft voice echoing with dread as you enter the common room.
The boys look up to see you behind the couch, your head slumped and shoulders hunched over a parchment in your hands, the sides of your face obscured by your hair.
"This just came in," You say, your voice hoarse from the dryness of your throat. "It's from Lyall."
"Why couldn't he have just owled it to me?" Remus shakes his head before getting to his feet to make his way towards you. "Nevermind. What's it say?"
When you look up to meet his gaze, too slowly to be normal, there is a sadness in your eyes. The color in them too glossy as hot tears stream down your face, falling fast and thick onto your damp camisole.
Remus' eyes widened with worry, one hand on your cheek and the other placed at your hip. "What's wrong?" he asks, wiping a tear with a calloused thumb. He could feel the warmth of your skin and each drop as it emerges from your glistening, open eyes.
The others are on their feet in an instant, alert and just as concerned. But your eyes stay fixated on Remus, your mind reeling so fast you barely register it in your mind when he draws you in closer.
Your voice trails slowly, like your words are unwilling to take flight. You want to speak, but all you do is croak. "It's your mom. Hope, she..." You swallow the lump in your throat, forcing yourself not to look away despite the blur in your vision. "There was a raid at home."
"That's not funny." He pulls back, blinking. "You're joking, right?"
Remus' insides tighten as his emotions become jagged once more. And he's back at the tiny cottage, the vulnerable boy, feeling the same dread he felt when you told him you hated him, when he thought he'd lost all chances to make amends, when he got himself bitten and became a burden to his parents.
"The Dark Mark was there when Lyall got home," You whisper, nestling your head beneath his chin. "I'm so sorry, Remus."
And something shattered inside him, like brittle glass and felt the shards tearing at his guts. He couldn't speak, the blood leaves his face and his hold on you loosens for a moment. Time seemed to stop for him.
"No..." he shakily breathes out, fighting the tears that threatened to spill over.
Remus buries his face in your hair, his cool and collected demeanor slowly breaking at the seams. You were his lifeline when he found himself drowning. His arms wrapped around you, hugging you closer, tighter, holding on so he could breathe. He needed to stay afloat, but hearing your words, and the pain that came with it seeping into his system, hurt to hear, to believe.
He couldn't. It was impossible to think his mother was dead.
"No, no, no." A sob racked from deep in his chest, frantically shaking his head. "Merlin, please no."
He just received a letter from her two weeks ago, complaining how there was a Boggart hidden in one of the attic's wardrobes. He just saw his mother at King's Cross through the window when they boarded the train, and her singing in the kitchen while making cinnamon toast before they left.
Remus knew you wouldn't lie to him about something like this, but more than anything, he silently prayed, hoping this was some terrible joke, a nightmare he could wake up from.
But the anchor around his ankle was too real, weighing him down and causing his knees to buckle under him as you both sank to the floor, still clutching each other and refusing to let go. Your soft cries filled the once quiet and peaceful room.
"We'll be alright, Remus. I promise," You manage to mumble, desperately trying to stay strong for him.
When your own mother died with you in her arms, Hope was the closest thing to one you ever had. She was the light at home. A breath of fresh air after every hard day, every storm, and Lyall knew it, too. He had been smitten with her since the first time he saved her from a Boggart the day they met.
She was lovely, sweet, and carefree. You and Remus grew up fascinated by her own adventures in the Muggle world, learning their complex yet innovative contraptions and machinery. You adored her in the same way that Remus did. And now, you'll never be able to hear another story from her again.
Your voice momentarily lets Remus breathe through the heavy bricks in his lungs. Somehow despite it all, he believed your words but that didn't stop the cry that escaped him.
With each touch more tears fall, tears neither of you wipe away.
Mischief Managed
Well, that took a whole 180 turn 👀