Moony’s Prophecies

Welcome to Moony’s Prophecies— Hogwarts’ least approved publication ⊹₊⟡⋆ Browse our archives or submit any rumours you’ve heard recently! est. 1978

[starry-eyed-moony]

Welcome to Moony's Prophecies! ˖ ⊹ ࣪

⤷ the unofficial #1 paper for Hogwarts' students ˎˊ˗

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ᯓ★ dive through our archives for the latest gossip surrounding the class of '78

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disclaimer: i do not support jkr. all writing is fiction and for entertainment purposes only. i do not condone minors reading my work.

never copy and paste any of my work.

[evil-twink-reg]

need sirius black thinking he’s homophobic bc he saw remus flirting with a guy and was filled with rage

[starry-eyed-moony]

ੈ✩‧₊˚ it's the little things | poly!wolfstar x reader

pairing: poly!wolfstar x reader

summary: sirius can't help but think about how much he loves you and remus during even the most mundane tasks, like making breakfast

word count: 1.3k

ִ ࣪𖤐.ᐟ content: pure fluff, sirius pov, very brief mention of past childhood abuse

author's note: this is so plotless but i was feeling really domestic and soft so here you go. i wrote this in an hour im sorry if it's bad and i'm also not proofreading so double-sorry

ᯓ★ˎˊ˗ deep dive the archives

Sirius yawns, stretching himself out across the leather chaise lounge, something in his back cracking as he rolls his neck, ring-clad fingers tapping across his tattooed sternum. He supposes that, really, he should be up by now, but his spot is so comfortable, especially with the sun pouring through the window in the way that it is, heating his bare chest and his shoulders, glittering in his inky black hair.

He can hear you and Remus in the kitchen. It’s a sound he doesn’t think he’ll ever get bored of; the chimes of porcelain dishes against metal cutlery, your hums to the crackling radio that sits on the windowsill above the sink, and Remus’ soft instructions as he navigates the kitchen as head chef.

Before, Sirius didn’t know you could find such happiness in the mundane things. He didn’t know seeing a piling of washing on the side of one of the sofas could spark so much joy. Remus’ jumpers folded among his band tees and your patterned maxi skirts, his bright red socks balled beside your floral ones. And they smell like all three of you; because you all have the same home; the same place you bathe, the same place you eat, the same place you relax.

It belongs to all of you. He glances down at the rug that you had picked—the same one that he and Remus had carried on their shoulders down four roads for you. He remembers huffing and puffing, and how hot it had been that day, and how he wasn’t even sure he liked the rug, but you had insisted he ‘couldn’t see the vision’.

You’d stopped him at one point to take the hairtie out of your own hair and tie his out of his eyes for him, and he remembers how his heart had skipped several beats, and how Remus’d had to call his name for him to stop staring at you and move. Everytime he looked at the rug, he thought of that moment, thus recalling how stupidly in love with you he was. And still is. And always will be—he is sure. 

You were right, of course. The rug looks great in your living room. It sort of reminds him of the Gryffindor common room, especially with the fireplace at the center of everything. 

He runs his hand across one of Remus’ biggest plants, the one that blocks out half the sunlight streaming from one of the large windows. He feels the large leaf between his forefinger and his thumb, and he thinks about how much he complains about it tickling his back when he likes to sit in his favourite chair—but how much pride Remus takes in it, and how much Sirius’ heart had melted when he caught Remus speaking to it once—absentmindedly, when he thought he was home alone—just muttering away as he clipped off some dying brown bits.

Your laugh breaks him from his train of thought. He can hear Remus’ chuckle, deeper than yours, quieter, but not any less meaningful. He hears a draw close, utensils rattling, and he realises that it smells like pancake batter, and his heart flips. 

Suddenly, he can’t stand the distance of the doorframe separating the living room and the kitchen. Sirius hauls himself from the chaise lounge, Remus’ plant tickling his bare shoulder, your rug soft beneath his feet as he pads to the doorway, and leans against it, watching as you use a spatula to try and peel a pancake from the bottom of the pan. 

Both your gazes seem to find him immediately, and he nearly flushes. He holds the wood of the frame, his knuckles nearly whitening as his typical Sirius Black grin takes over his face, and he shakes his head.

“You’re making pancakes?” He asks softly.

“More like crepes,” Remus says, and plants a hand on your shoulder. “Just chuck it in the sink to soak. We’ll get out a different pan. That one’s a lost cause.”

Sirius clears his throat. “I thought you were making egg soldiers?”

“Yes, but pancakes are your favourite,” you explain to him as if it’s obvious, and hand the pan to Remus who dunks it into the soapy dishwater, and hands you a clean one, which you place back on the stove, adding some butter. “I’ll turn down the heat a tad this time.”

“Good idea,” Remus quips amusedly, wrapping his arms around your waist and pressing a fond kiss to the side of your head. 

Sirius can’t help but watch in awe as Remus breaks away from you to grab the fruit pots from the fridge. Coming from such a tense household, he can hardly comprehend how burning breakfast and wasting time hasn’t caused you to fall out with one another. He remembers how hard it was for him to understand at first, and even now, thoughts of what his mother would say flickers through his head. 

“You alright?” Remus asks him gently. 

Sirius nods, and he plants a kiss to Remus’ lips. “Yeah. Why are you making my favourite?” He asks, and leans against the breakfast counter to watch you both. “I’ve not done anything to deserve it. Just been sat on my arse since I woke up.”

“But looking good while you do it,” you tease him, and Sirius can’t help laughing and shaking his head, even averting his gaze to the countertop. 

“We just wanted to, love,” Remus tells him with a small, knowing look. 

Sirius nods. “Thank you.”

“‘S’alright,” you say, “Do you mind slightly stodgy pancakes, Siri? I’m a bit scared of burning them again.”

Remus laughs, putting down the knife and heading over to you. He presses a light hand down on your shoulder, the other moving around you to take the spatula from your grasp. 

“Sweetheart, how about you chop up the fruit and I’ll keep an eye on the pancake mix?” He offers. 

“Fine,” you grumble half-heartedly, and surrender your weapon to move over to the chopping board and the fruits Remus has spread out. 

You lean across the counter and press your lips to Sirius’, picking up the knife to start cutting. He watches you, his silver gaze flickering to your hands where your fingers are clad with rings he’s gifted you over the years. His eyes consequently move up to your neck, where you wear a necklace with his and Remus’ birthstones. 

Your tongue pokes out ever so slightly as you concentrate on chopping the strawberries and bananas. You have this quirk where you like to make sure your chopping is perfect for Remus, who often has you on veggie-cutting duties during dinnertime. Sirius has accidentally discovered your saved videos folder on TikTok before, and seen an embarrassing amount of videos on the correct way to dice an onion, or how to chop potatoes to get perfectly uniform chips. 

He thinks about it then, and it makes him smile fondly, a huff of amused air leaving his nose. He can’t help leaning across to kiss your forehead, and your eyebrows shoot up, a surprised smile crossing your own lips. 

“What was that for?”

“I just really love both of you. So much,” Sirius murmurs. “And I don’t think I say it enough—but I think it all of the time.”

Remus glances over his shoulder and you pause your chopping, the both of you looking at him in such awe that Sirius almost feels embarrassed. You coo, and reach across to grasp his jaw, dragging him into another kiss that he welcomes eagerly. 

“You’re only saying that because we’re making you breakfast crepes,” Remus quips, though his tone is so soft that Sirius knows that Remus knows Sirius is being honest. “We love you, too.”

“So much,” you promise, and stick a strawberry in his mouth, pulling the stalk out when he bites down. You eat the last of it and toss it in the bin. “Nutella on your pancake, handsome?”

Sirius feels so fond it hurts. 

“You know me so well, beautiful.”

starry-eyed-moony ᯓ★ˎˊ˗

[starry-eyed-moony]

what should i write next??

poly!wolfstar x reader

poly!jegulus x reader

poly!prongsfoot x reader

poly!moonchaser x reader

poly!moonseeker x reader

Voting ended onMay 7

[starry-eyed-moony]

ੈ✩‧₊˚ safe and sound | poly!moonchaser x reader

pairing: poly!moonchaser x Black fem!reader (remus lupin/james potter x reader)

summary: remus and james realise all you do is look out for your brothers. nobody ever looks after you.

word count: 4.8k

ִ ࣪𖤐.ᐟ content: angst, hurt/comfort, black brother angst, child abuse, abusive!walburga, james/remus/reader are in a pre-established situationship, physical and emotional violence, reader is sirius' twin sister and referenced as looking like him

author's note: when you realise moonchaser is an option... i actually really loved writing reader as sirius' twin

ᯓ★ˎˊ˗ deep dive the archives

It occurs to Remus after a night where only you could console Sirius, that nobody ever looks after you. 

He knows James and Peter are also explicitly attempting to avert their attention—to make it look like they are doing anything except listening to you and Sirius—because that is what he is doing, too. However, it is hard when you live in a cramped dormitory, with little to no privacy. 

The curtains are mostly drawn around Sirius’ bed, but in his state, it’s obvious that both of you forgot to close them entirely, and the Muffliato charm hasn’t crossed either of your minds in the last half an hour. 

Remus had considered casting it for you, but Sirius’ temper prevented him from doing so. The thought of upsetting him even more, or embarrassing him by letting him know they’d even heard bits and pieces, wasn’t worth it. 

So, perhaps cowardly, Remus buries his face in his book. He doesn’t miss the glances that James keeps stealing from behind his own homework. Peter is probably doing the best job at keeping busy; he’s drawn his own curtains and must be ‘having an early night’ to escape it all. 

“I know, I know,” your voice carries slightly louder than Sirius’ heaving sobs, not-surprisingly strong, because Remus knows how well you always manage to keep it together for both of your brothers. 

“I can’t—I can’t—-”

“You can. You’re alright, Sirius,” you reassure him firmly, and he catches the movement of your hand brushing through his long curls as he lays his head in your lap, essentially cuddling your legs. “Reggie is fine. I’m fine.”

“I just wish you would both—both come with me,” Sirius says, his chest rising and falling with his cries. 

“I have to keep an eye on Reg,” you say quietly. 

“But you and Reg can come to James’,” Sirius pleads, “you know it’s better than at that house. It’s so much better.”

Remus listens to the silence of your pause. He has heard this conversation angrily whispered between the two of you too many times to count, and the verdict is always the same—you have to stay with your parents to look after Regulus. 

You always tell Sirius you’re not as brave as him to leave, but Remus always thinks you’re a different sort of brave for staying. He doesn’t blame either of you. Sirius deserves freedom, but you deserve it too— and so does Regulus. He thinks if Regulus could only take a chance himself, then you wouldn’t hesitate to leave your wretched parents behind, too. 

Remus notices the way James’ gaze flickers up at his name being mentioned, before his head immediately tilts back to his parchment and quill. James hasn’t written anything new in the last twenty minutes, and he’s awful at pretending. 

His lip is tugged between his teeth as if, for a brief moment, he can’t decide whether or not he should say something. Thankfully, Remus thinks, James decides to keep silent.  

“I’d love to come and stay at Jamie’s,” you tell him so gently that Remus wonders if you’re trying to stop yourself from becoming overemotional too. 

James pulls a face like he’s trying to do the same thing. 

“But more than anything, Sirius, I need to keep Reg safe.”

“That’s not your job,” he says desperately. 

“No, I know. It shouldn’t be.”

“He’s made his own mind up,” Sirius says, and like clockwork, he starts to get angry. “He didn’t want to come. He said himself that it is a privilege to serve Voldemort.”

You shush him in a way that only you are able to without making Sirius angrier. Remus would like to see anybody else try to silence the eldest Black sibling without getting their head chewed off. 

“Reg is younger than us,” you try. “And he’s confused and he’s wrapped up in the wrong group at the minute. But you know he’s just scared. He’s just listening to mother and father.”

“They’re not my mother and father,” Sirius protests sourly. “Might be yours and Reg’s, but not mine.”

Remus wants to jump in and exclaim how unfair that is. They all know how Walburga detests you almost as much as she hates Sirius. They all know how much the toxicity of the Noble House of Black gets to you—the pureblood traditions, the family duties. 

Sometimes, Remus wonders if it’s worse for you because you are the only daughter. He has a strong feeling that it’s been worse for you since Sirius left, a theory both him and James had whispered about before. Though you’d never say anything, and he was almost certain you’d never let it on to Sirius. 

Though Remus thought perhaps the reason Sirius was always so upset and angry at the world was because he did know it deep down. He likely knew how his estrangement was impacting the relationship between you, Regulus, and your parents. He wouldn’t say it out loud though, and maybe that’s why he blows up like this.  

It’s why you’re the only one who can help him. And you’d mentioned to James once about how you have to do the same thing for Regulus sometimes. 

Remus wonders what you do, when you must inevitably feel the same way as your brothers. You weren’t born to look after them, you weren’t created to make them feel better while you act as though everything is fine. You are not a robot, and yet he’s not sure he’s ever seen you cry about it. Even when Sirius is crying so hard he cannot breathe, and it looks like you’re seconds away from joining him. You never do.

“I just can’t stand how he won’t look at me. I wish I didn’t care about him.”

“He’s your brother. You’re supposed to care,” you tell him. “We all care about each other. You feel all of the care for him that mother and father should. Just as I do.”

Sirius’ sobs become less intense, dying down into embers of sniffles. Remus dares to glance up slightly, and he sees that Sirius has his eyes shut as you wipe a tissue across his face. 

“I worry about you too, Y/N,” Sirius murmurs after a few moments. “I know you hate it when I say that, but I worry about you the most. I don’t want them to break you or use you up. You’re too good. You’re better than I am. Or Reg.”

“I’m not. The three of us are all just different,” you say stiffly. “The cards that we have been dealt are none of our faults.”

Remus watches curiously, to see if you’re angry, but you only look defeated as you brush a curl out of his face. Sirius hums in the same bitter way Remus knows means he doesn’t agree, but he doesn’t argue with you either, and instead settles against you to lay in a blissful silence. 

It’s then that Remus watches you tilt your head to the ceiling, as if you are coming up for air, or breathing in something that doesn’t feel like clogged tears and heavy hearts. Your hand never stops brushing through Sirius’ hair, as if you are on autopilot, but he watches as your eyes begin to water. 

He quickly averts his gaze when yours flickers over, and with pursed lips, you flick your wrist and the curtain whizzes fully shut, closing the small gap. A moment later there is a faint buzzing of the Muffliato spell. 

Remus watches James finally stops pretending, and sits with his back against his bed, defeated. 

⋆˚꩜｡

It’s only a few days before the summer before your final year when James finds you quietly arguing with Regulus by the Potions classroom. 

He freezes in his tracks when he sees the tears that are silently streaming down Regulus’ face, and the distraught expression on yours as you sigh and bury him against your shoulder. 

“He left us, Y/N,” Regulus says, a mixture of strained anger and frustrated sadness. “He chose the easy way out— he didn’t actually care if we follow or not.”

“Reggie, he begged us to come,” you remind him softly. “He was going to stay, remember? You’re the one who told him to go in the end. Mother was being horrible to him.”

“But mother’s just… like that. To all of us sometimes. That’s just how she is. We still have to—respect her.”

“Sirius doesn’t see blood as an obligation the way that you do, Reg,” you remind him. “Sirius sees family in his friends. He sees it in you and I. He sees a future without mother and he decides that’s what’s best for him. I don’t blame him, Reg. Not after the things she said to him.”

“She says those things to you and you never leave,” Regulus says. 

James feels his heart squeeze in his chest. He knows he shouldn’t be listening, as he’s clutching his late Potions essay in his hands and hiding around the corner like a coward for you two to finish speaking. Only, he can’t help it. It’s sort of answering the missing puzzle pieces he could never ask you or Sirius, the ones that he and Remus often wondered about. 

“Right, but I can’t leave you,” you admit. “I’d rather die than leave you with them alone.”

“I could handle it,” Regulus replies numbly. “If you’d like to just leave, too.”

“You know I won’t go until you do.”

“If you ask me one more time, I’ll never speak to you again,” Regulus suddenly huffs, and even James can detect the trembling in his tone, but he knows it still must be terrifying for you to hear. “I’ve already told you—I’m committed to the cause.”

James sticks to the wall as Regulus marches past him—so blinded by his anger and desperation to escape the tension, that he misses him. James hesitates and wonders if he should confront you, but then he hears your shallow breaths and all reluctance flees out the window. 

“Y/N?” He murmurs as he rounds the corner, and you quickly flinch. 

“James,” you say firmly, and eye the papers he’s holding. “You just missed Professor Slughorn. I think he’s retired for the evening.”

“Oh—I’ll—leave them on his desk, then,” James replies anxiously, and scratches the back of his head as if it will stop the thousands of thoughts from flying around in there. All things he wants to say, but never could. 

You nod, and just as you turn to leave, he gently reaches out to you, his large hand splaying up your forearm and to your bicep, where he very carefully pulls you back into place, so you are subtly forced to look at him.  

“Regulus really doesn’t like it when other people know his business, so it’s best you don’t repeat anything that you heard,” you say. “Even to Sirius. Actually, especially Sirius.”

James becomes even more flustered as he clears his throat and shakes his head. “I wasn’t going to say anything to anybody—or Sirius. I just wanted to check on you.”

“Me?” You repeat, dumbfounded. “I’m alright.”

“Are you sure?” James asks. 

“Yes. Are you alright?”

James hesitates. “I’m fine, Y/N. You know, it’s just… Remus and I… we were worried about how much pressure there is on you. To keep it altogether. I can’t imagine how overwhelming it must be.”

Your nose prickles. James knows that you have the same self-destructiveness as your brothers—the thing he sees in Sirius all too often. He knows you have that same deep-down self-loathing, and the dismissiveness that comes with the Black genetics. 

He’s terrified of scaring you off. At least when he scares off Sirius, Sirius runs to you. He has no idea where you go. 

“If you ever need to speak to someone,” James attempts to smooth things over, but he can see it in the way your eyes shift behind him and in the movement of your pursing lips that he cannot save this. “Remus and I. And Peter. We’re all your friends, you know? And the girls, of course, but you already—you’d already know that. I hope.”

Lily has already confirmed to him that you do not speak to her about your issues when he dared to ask her once. He’s overheard Mary and Marlene whispering about the way you’re always looking after your brothers one night—as if you were their mother. 

“I know. Thank you, James,” you muster a small smile. “I should head off. It’s getting rather late.”

“Alright. Goodnight, Y/N,” he says, so softly that he’s unsure if you hear him, because you take off without looking back. 

⋆˚꩜｡

Summer arrives, and Regulus is hauled up in his bedroom, and you are in yours, your door open as you stare across the landing at Sirius’ closed bedroom door. It nearly makes your eyes water—thinking of your best friend in the entire world living somewhere else, so hurt by the family you’ve both grown up in, that he saw no other choice than to leave. 

You can hear mother crying down the corridor. She goes through phases where Sirius’ name isn’t to be mentioned, as if he is dead to all of them, and then other phases where she misses him like she has lost a limb; sobs wracking her body, her hands smacking surfaces. 

Yourself and Regulus have worked out it is best to avoid her when she is in a manic state. Often, your similar appearances to Sirius brought out the worst in her. Especially you, with your longer hair, and your braver personality. 

It is dinnertime when things blow up. 

The house elves have poured her too much wine. You know it, father knows it, and Regulus knows it too—but nobody says a word, because mother keeps ordering more and more, and perhaps secretly, you all hope she’ll become the sort of drunk where she passes out prematurely and is forced to retire to bed.  

Unfortunately, she does not this time. Tonight is one of her drunken rampages. One moment, she is eating, and the next, her glass is shattering against the wall behind father’s head, alcohol spraying everywhere as she screams in frustration. 

Father closes his eyes. “Walburga—”

Your foot touches Regulus’ beneath the table. His silver eyes are wide but trained on his food, his fingers stiffening around his fork. 

“How dare he!?” Mother sobs hysterically, and she starts to sink to the floor with her face in her hands. “How could he leave me? Why would he leave his mother!? After everything! After all I have given him!”

Her wails are haunting, sending shivers down your spine. You and Regulus say nothing but try to force down some more of your dinner, knowing what was to come. And it comes, seconds later. 

“The ungrateful bastard!” She screams, and begins to kick her legs out at the table. 

Father did not rise, but sighs heavily and drops his fork onto his plate, the clattering noise hardly heard about his wife’s racket. He pinches the bridge of his nose. 

You can see the terrified look on Regulus’ face. He is usually good at hiding how he truly felt, but he struggles around mother. You know he loves her, but he also fears her more. Perhaps because one moment Walburga is the acting as the doting parents she knows she should be, and the next, everything is souring and rotting, and the mask is peeled back and nobody is safe from her sharp tongue and stern glare.

You slide onto the floor beside her. “Mother. Mother, it’s alright.”

“No, it’s not!” She seethes. “What an embarrassment he has caused to this family! What a sick excuse for a son. He’s horrible. He’s cruel. A disgusting, filthy blood traitor.”

You can feel your pulse rising and you swallow, doing your absolute best to bite your tongue and keep your mouth shut. 

“He’s better off dead,” she snaps, and it’s your final straw. 

“Don’t say that,” you order, your voice strained, your face clamped in a mixture of horror and fear for the repercussions. “Don’t speak about Sirius like that.”

His name leaving your mouth makes her expression go so firm that it rivals that of a rock. Her hand smacks your face so quickly that you jolt backwards, wincing as Regulus audibly flinches behind you. Hot pain explodes across your skin. 

“You can be horrible as he is,” mother hisses into the silent room. “You’re just not brave enough to follow him.”

Your lips tremble, a mixture of the pain and the grief, and you pull yourself from the floor. Regulus is watching you like a hawk, his silver eyes shining so sadly that you want to grab him and haul him with you to the furthest place you can to get away. 

“You’re both dismissed from the dining table,” mother mumbles into the floor, and Regulus is quick to shove his chair back and grab you by your arm, tugging you away from the dining room. 

He leads you all the way upstairs and checks your face, his fingers and thumb pressing into your chin. You huff, your hands pushing him off. He only takes one step back so you can see his glare, your own fingers touching your face where it throbs.

“Let me look after you this time,” Regulus snaps, his voice thick. 

“No. I’m your older sister. I’m supposed to be the one who helps you.”

“You help Sirius and he’s older than you.”

“By a few minutes. That hardly counts, Reg—”

“Oh, just don’t, Y/N,” Regulus huffs, and you watch as he begins to sniffle to keep his tears at bay. “You can’t keep defending him.”

“I have to, Reg. He’s our brother. I’d die for him. Just as I would for you.”

Regulus shakes his head. “You shouldn’t do that for me. I’ve been thinking a lot recently and you should probably just go with him. I know he keeps asking you. He needs you more than I need you.”

“That’s not true!” Your heart stutters in your chest. 

“You’re not made for all of this, Y/N. You’re just going to waste your life if you’re here—looking after me. You should follow Sirius.”

You can feel your chest getting tighter and you will it not to. 

“Come off it, Reg. You’re teasing me and it’s horrible. You say this to me now, but you’ll only resent me for it later like you do with Sirius now. You didn’t blame him at first—when she started smacking him and he had to go.” 

Regulus shakes his head. “You know it’s more complicated than that with Sirius.”

“I don’t see why it should be. He’s your brother like I am your sister.”

Regulus shakes his head. “It’s not like that between us anymore.”

You hold on your throbbing cheek and close your eyes. 

“I’m coming back. But I am leaving for a bit.”

Regulus swallows. “Maybe you shouldn’t come back.”

You still. “I have to.”

“You don’t want to.”

“No, I don’t. But you’re here. So I’m here.”

Regulus huffs at you. “You don’t get it, do you? You’ll only start resenting me soon. If you haven’t already, subconsciously. And I don’t need your help. I don’t want your help. You’re only going to watch me take the dark mark this summer, you know. There will be absolutely nothing you can do to stop it.”

Your chest is heaving. “Regulus. Please.”

“If you stay, they’ll marry you off, or they’ll make you take the mark, too. You do know that, don’t you? You can’t look after me. I’m not a child anymore. I appreciate it all while it lasted. But now you’re in more danger than I am. You’re eighteen in November. You should take Uncle Alphard’s money and get as far away from mother and father as you can.”

“You don’t want that?” You ask him tearily. “To start your own life somewhere else?”

“I want it for you,” Regulus whispers. 

“I’m coming back,” you tell him thickly. “I’m just going to… stay somewhere else tonight. To cool off.”

Regulus nods, his eyes following you around the room as you begin to shove a few things into a bag. He can’t help but think that you remind him so much of Sirius, the way you put things in there without checking what it is or folding it first. 

One day he wants to follow you both. But he can’t leave yet.

⋆˚꩜｡

You purposefully do not pack enough clothes for more than two or three days, so that you will not be tempted to stay. You love Regulus more than yourself, but the idea of escaping the house you detest so much is often times so overwhelming that you worry you’ll act before you think someday.

You’re thinking of him the whole time as you approach the doors to the Potter household. You know he can handle himself for the meantime. He’s mother and father’s favourite by far; mother’s never laid a hand on him, though you’d never put it past her, because she never used to hit you or Sirius. You’ll be back soon. Regulus will be fine.

Right now, however, you are not fine.

Your hand creates a fist that gently knocks on the front door, and you budge impatiently from foot to foot as you wait for a response. It feels like your heart is attempting to make its way up your throat and spill from your mouth, your palms damp with sweat. 

When the door finally cracks open, you feel no better as James Potter’s face drops at the sight of you, stood in his front garden with a stuffed bag hanging on your shoulder. You hesitate, and plant a finger to your lips. 

Contemplation flickers across his face, his dark eyes pleading. “Y/N, are—”

“Shh,” you snip at him, “I don’t want Sirius to know I am here.” Your face softens and you tug your lip between your teeth. “I’m sorry. I had nowhere else to go.”

James swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing harshly in his throat, and he leans forward to grasp your bag, and steps aside so that you can enter into the foyer of his family home. You’re silent as you follow him up the staircase, past the room your brother had recently become into possession of, and into his.

Your eyes widen a little at Remus sprawled out across James’ bed, flipping through what appears to be one of James’ superhero comic books. He quickly sits up at the sight of you, on his knees, and James clicks the door shut behind him, casting a silencing spell quietly.

“Y/N?” Remus murmurs, his eyebrows tugged together, so concerned he looked older. His hands twitch over his knees, like he wants to come over and hug you already.

“Sorry,” you sigh, though the exhale of air does nothing to release the tension in your chest, and it comes out as some sort of pathetic half-hearted noise. “I had to get away for a moment. I just don’t want—I don’t really want Sirius to know, because he’ll only worry more, and I can’t stay. I have to get back to Reg. But I couldn’t…” You swallow, and to your horror, your eyes begin to burn hot. “I couldn’t breathe in that house.”

“Shit,” James curses as tears silently cascade down your cheeks, and he lifts an arm to wrap around your shoulders, bringing you into his chest without hesitation. He feels you trembling as you wrap your arms back around him.

Remus sits at the end of the bed, his hands on his lap, his shoulders hunched as he sucks in a breath and holds it for a moment, sharing a soft, sad look with James.

“Sirius has gone to bed early, so you’re alright,” Remus murmurs, as if that’s any consolation to your list of problems. He understands perfectly why you wouldn’t want to speak to Sirius about them. Sirius would only try to convince you to run away. He had a habit of meaning the best, but only hearing what he wanted to hear—and telling you what he would do, and failing to realise that not everybody was like him. 

“Thanks,” you sniffle as you turn away from James, pressing your hands to your eyes.

“What happened?” Remus dares to ask, because he knows he will not like the answer, but a million different scenarios are running through his head, and he needs to settle on just one.

Your lips purse. “Mother—she smacked me.” Your throat bobs and you choke on another sob.

James’ jaw tightens and Remus looks like he can’t decide whether he wants to yell or be sick. They knew what Walburga was like; how the final straw for Sirius had been when she hit him so hard that he nearly fainted. From their understanding, it was mostly psychological and emotional abuse; shit designed to break you. 

They hope this is your final straw, too, but they also know you—and they know that you’re too stubborn to ever leave without your youngest brother. 

You sniffle and wipe your face. “Gods. This is pathetic. I am so sorry.”

“Why is it pathetic?” James protests. “You can speak to both of us. We’ve always told you that you can. Your mother is…”

“We’re not supposed to be like that,” you mutter, hastily ridding the puddles from your cheekbones. “We all said no…no feelings.”

Remus makes a noise in the back of his throat, and reaches his hand out to hold yours, squeezing your palm. 

“That’s what you said, sweetheart,” Remus says gently. “We already told you we’d be whatever you wanted us to be.”

You shake your head. “Sirius needs you both. I can’t take you from him.”

“We’re still there for Sirius, but that doesn’t mean we can’t be there for you, too,” James protests firmly, a conversation that the three of you have had far too many times over the last six months or so. “You don’t deserve any less than him.”

Remus hesitates. “You’re allowed to feel safe, too.”

James watches the way you pause, your watery eyes flickering between them both. “Do you feel safe with us?” He asks.

“When I’m with you two, I feel like I’m not looking after anybody for a few moments,” you admit quietly. “Like I’m my own person. Nobody’s sister. Nobody’s daughter.”

Remus can’t help but slide his hand up from yours, up your forearm, to your bicep, where he drags you closer to him. Instinctively, you bury your face into him like you had done with James.

“You’ve been distancing yourself from us, dove,” Remus whispers worriedly, stroking your hair. “Is it because you knew summer was coming up?”

“I don’t like relaxing for too long,” you mumble. 

James folds his arms across his chest. “By relaxing, do you mean feeling alright? Feeling happy?”

You shrug your shoulders, but it’s all the confirmation that they need to know that you’re just scared of having too much of a good thing, and the feelings that will come if it was to all go away suddenly. Sirius used to be the same. 

They remember a time before everything had gotten so bad, where you had been easy-going and light-hearted—where you knew everything about them, and they knew everything about you. Puberty and ageing had caused you to hang out Lily, Marlene, and Mary a bit more in the most recent years, but you in yourself had never changed. 

Not until the war became to prevelant in all of your lives. Not until Sirius left and your family was torn apart, you like a tuat piece of rope between them both, being tugged so hard that Remus and James were forced to wonder when you might snap.  

“We really like you,” James hesitates. “You should know. I didn’t want to scare you off by telling you, but…but you deserve to know. You can decide what you do with that information.”

You peel from Remus and glance up at him curiously. He nods. “Dove, we thought it was slightly obvious we’d be anything you want us to be. But we’d like to be more than what we’ve been for the last few months.”

“I’m scared.”

“We know,” Remus strokes your skin delicately. “We’ll look after you.”

He feels you sag against him at that, as James joins you, and runs a hand through your hair, his eyes meeting yours. He kisses your forehead.

“Just let us,” he proposes. 

You hesitate, but you nod. And Merlin, the feeling of the two bodies crushing you together feels so good. The pressure is perfect; the arms, the smells, the chests, the hair tickling you. It feels euphoric to indulge. And maybe you can stay here just a little while longer than usual.

Maybe you deserve peace, too. 

[colouredbyd]

this was such a lovely read, i’m obsessed 😋😋there’s something so devastating about the realization that reader has spent so much of her life looking after everyone else, carrying her brothers in the ways she can, and that james and remus are the first ones to truly notice that no one has ever really stopped to care for her in that same way

i loved how you explored the complexity of sibling relationships here. it’s not just love, it’s obligation, loyalty, and that almost inescapable pull to stay, even when leaving might be the better choice. the contrast between sirius leaving and reader choosing to stay for regulus was so well done. that idea that she could leave and that she isn’t trapped, yet she feels like she is because of how deeply she cares about reg, and that kind of emotional tether is so painfully real

and i have to say, one of my favourite things here was the characterization of walburga. i feel like so many people flatten and reduce her into this one-dimensional figure of pure cruelty and hatred, when the reality is so much more complicated than that. abuse and grief can coexist. control and mourning can coexist. the implication that she misses sirius and mourns him in her own twisted way makes everything feel so much more real and layered (walburga complexity rises !! )

also i’m such a sucker for pre-established relationships, and the way you wrote theirs felt so natural and intimate and lived-in. every interaction carried so much history without ever needing to overstate it

and overall, your writing is just so lovely. it’s soft where it needs to be, heavy where it should be, and it carries emotion so naturally. this genuinely made me want to open my docs and start writing some moonchaser fics again.

alisha, you continue to be one of my absolute favourite authors on here <333

[starry-eyed-moony]

first of all, this is such a compliment coming from you. i absolutely love your writing, and so that's just the cherry on top of this lovely review!

i appreciate anything anybody takes the time out of their day to say about my work, so to say i squealed when i saw you'd left me a ramble is a bit of an understatement!! thank you so, so much for letting me know what you thought! i'm trying to get better at that myself! it's so important to keep the fanfic community alive and thriving!

i am really, really pleased that you felt all of the things that i wanted you to feel. i love writing walburga as slightly more complex than just a woman who hits her kids because she's such a purist she has nothing else going for her.

i was also slightly anxious that the romance aspect would feel like it's washing away the dark themes, or that it wouldn't be obvious enough that there was a pre-established thing between remus/james/reader, so i really appreciate your feedback w/ that too!! and i was obsessed with writing a black!reader, it was so, so much fun. i had no idea i was such a sucker for black sibling angst until now omg

also please please open that docs tab and write moonchaser!!! i need more of the rarer ships in my life. i found it so refreshing and fun to write, so i know you will, too!!

thank you again dalia!!

[sodann]

Possessive Sirius? I say yes.

[starry-eyed-moony]

this is beautiful

[starry-eyed-moony]

poly!jegulus content ⋆˚࿔ᝰ.ᐟ

ᯓ★ˎˊ˗

★ CANON UNIVERSE

COMING SOON

[starry-eyed-moony]

poly!moonchaser content ⋆˚࿔ᝰ.ᐟ

ᯓ★ˎˊ˗

★ CANON UNIVERSE

safe and sound

[starry-eyed-moony]

ੈ✩‧₊˚ safe and sound | poly!moonchaser x reader

pairing: poly!moonchaser x Black fem!reader (remus lupin/james potter x reader)

summary: remus and james realise all you do is look out for your brothers. nobody ever looks after you.

word count: 4.8k

ִ ࣪𖤐.ᐟ content: angst, hurt/comfort, black brother angst, child abuse, abusive!walburga, james/remus/reader are in a pre-established situationship, physical and emotional violence, reader is sirius' twin sister and referenced as looking like him

author's note: when you realise moonchaser is an option... i actually really loved writing reader as sirius' twin

ᯓ★ˎˊ˗ deep dive the archives

It occurs to Remus after a night where only you could console Sirius, that nobody ever looks after you. 

He knows James and Peter are also explicitly attempting to avert their attention—to make it look like they are doing anything except listening to you and Sirius—because that is what he is doing, too. However, it is hard when you live in a cramped dormitory, with little to no privacy. 

The curtains are mostly drawn around Sirius’ bed, but in his state, it’s obvious that both of you forgot to close them entirely, and the Muffliato charm hasn’t crossed either of your minds in the last half an hour. 

Remus had considered casting it for you, but Sirius’ temper prevented him from doing so. The thought of upsetting him even more, or embarrassing him by letting him know they’d even heard bits and pieces, wasn’t worth it. 

So, perhaps cowardly, Remus buries his face in his book. He doesn’t miss the glances that James keeps stealing from behind his own homework. Peter is probably doing the best job at keeping busy; he’s drawn his own curtains and must be ‘having an early night’ to escape it all. 

“I know, I know,” your voice carries slightly louder than Sirius’ heaving sobs, not-surprisingly strong, because Remus knows how well you always manage to keep it together for both of your brothers. 

“I can’t—I can’t—-”

“You can. You’re alright, Sirius,” you reassure him firmly, and he catches the movement of your hand brushing through his long curls as he lays his head in your lap, essentially cuddling your legs. “Reggie is fine. I’m fine.”

“I just wish you would both—both come with me,” Sirius says, his chest rising and falling with his cries. 

“I have to keep an eye on Reg,” you say quietly. 

“But you and Reg can come to James’,” Sirius pleads, “you know it’s better than at that house. It’s so much better.”

Remus listens to the silence of your pause. He has heard this conversation angrily whispered between the two of you too many times to count, and the verdict is always the same—you have to stay with your parents to look after Regulus. 

You always tell Sirius you’re not as brave as him to leave, but Remus always thinks you’re a different sort of brave for staying. He doesn’t blame either of you. Sirius deserves freedom, but you deserve it too— and so does Regulus. He thinks if Regulus could only take a chance himself, then you wouldn’t hesitate to leave your wretched parents behind, too. 

Remus notices the way James’ gaze flickers up at his name being mentioned, before his head immediately tilts back to his parchment and quill. James hasn’t written anything new in the last twenty minutes, and he’s awful at pretending. 

His lip is tugged between his teeth as if, for a brief moment, he can’t decide whether or not he should say something. Thankfully, Remus thinks, James decides to keep silent.  

“I’d love to come and stay at Jamie’s,” you tell him so gently that Remus wonders if you’re trying to stop yourself from becoming overemotional too. 

James pulls a face like he’s trying to do the same thing. 

“But more than anything, Sirius, I need to keep Reg safe.”

“That’s not your job,” he says desperately. 

“No, I know. It shouldn’t be.”

“He’s made his own mind up,” Sirius says, and like clockwork, he starts to get angry. “He didn’t want to come. He said himself that it is a privilege to serve Voldemort.”

You shush him in a way that only you are able to without making Sirius angrier. Remus would like to see anybody else try to silence the eldest Black sibling without getting their head chewed off. 

“Reg is younger than us,” you try. “And he’s confused and he’s wrapped up in the wrong group at the minute. But you know he’s just scared. He’s just listening to mother and father.”

“They’re not my mother and father,” Sirius protests sourly. “Might be yours and Reg’s, but not mine.”

Remus wants to jump in and exclaim how unfair that is. They all know how Walburga detests you almost as much as she hates Sirius. They all know how much the toxicity of the Noble House of Black gets to you—the pureblood traditions, the family duties. 

Sometimes, Remus wonders if it’s worse for you because you are the only daughter. He has a strong feeling that it’s been worse for you since Sirius left, a theory both him and James had whispered about before. Though you’d never say anything, and he was almost certain you’d never let it on to Sirius. 

Though Remus thought perhaps the reason Sirius was always so upset and angry at the world was because he did know it deep down. He likely knew how his estrangement was impacting the relationship between you, Regulus, and your parents. He wouldn’t say it out loud though, and maybe that’s why he blows up like this.  

It’s why you’re the only one who can help him. And you’d mentioned to James once about how you have to do the same thing for Regulus sometimes. 

Remus wonders what you do, when you must inevitably feel the same way as your brothers. You weren’t born to look after them, you weren’t created to make them feel better while you act as though everything is fine. You are not a robot, and yet he’s not sure he’s ever seen you cry about it. Even when Sirius is crying so hard he cannot breathe, and it looks like you’re seconds away from joining him. You never do.

“I just can’t stand how he won’t look at me. I wish I didn’t care about him.”

“He’s your brother. You’re supposed to care,” you tell him. “We all care about each other. You feel all of the care for him that mother and father should. Just as I do.”

Sirius’ sobs become less intense, dying down into embers of sniffles. Remus dares to glance up slightly, and he sees that Sirius has his eyes shut as you wipe a tissue across his face. 

“I worry about you too, Y/N,” Sirius murmurs after a few moments. “I know you hate it when I say that, but I worry about you the most. I don’t want them to break you or use you up. You’re too good. You’re better than I am. Or Reg.”

“I’m not. The three of us are all just different,” you say stiffly. “The cards that we have been dealt are none of our faults.”

Remus watches curiously, to see if you’re angry, but you only look defeated as you brush a curl out of his face. Sirius hums in the same bitter way Remus knows means he doesn’t agree, but he doesn’t argue with you either, and instead settles against you to lay in a blissful silence. 

It’s then that Remus watches you tilt your head to the ceiling, as if you are coming up for air, or breathing in something that doesn’t feel like clogged tears and heavy hearts. Your hand never stops brushing through Sirius’ hair, as if you are on autopilot, but he watches as your eyes begin to water. 

He quickly averts his gaze when yours flickers over, and with pursed lips, you flick your wrist and the curtain whizzes fully shut, closing the small gap. A moment later there is a faint buzzing of the Muffliato spell. 

Remus watches James finally stops pretending, and sits with his back against his bed, defeated. 

⋆˚꩜｡

It’s only a few days before the summer before your final year when James finds you quietly arguing with Regulus by the Potions classroom. 

He freezes in his tracks when he sees the tears that are silently streaming down Regulus’ face, and the distraught expression on yours as you sigh and bury him against your shoulder. 

“He left us, Y/N,” Regulus says, a mixture of strained anger and frustrated sadness. “He chose the easy way out— he didn’t actually care if we follow or not.”

“Reggie, he begged us to come,” you remind him softly. “He was going to stay, remember? You’re the one who told him to go in the end. Mother was being horrible to him.”

“But mother’s just… like that. To all of us sometimes. That’s just how she is. We still have to—respect her.”

“Sirius doesn’t see blood as an obligation the way that you do, Reg,” you remind him. “Sirius sees family in his friends. He sees it in you and I. He sees a future without mother and he decides that’s what’s best for him. I don’t blame him, Reg. Not after the things she said to him.”

“She says those things to you and you never leave,” Regulus says. 

James feels his heart squeeze in his chest. He knows he shouldn’t be listening, as he’s clutching his late Potions essay in his hands and hiding around the corner like a coward for you two to finish speaking. Only, he can’t help it. It’s sort of answering the missing puzzle pieces he could never ask you or Sirius, the ones that he and Remus often wondered about. 

“Right, but I can’t leave you,” you admit. “I’d rather die than leave you with them alone.”

“I could handle it,” Regulus replies numbly. “If you’d like to just leave, too.”

“You know I won’t go until you do.”

“If you ask me one more time, I’ll never speak to you again,” Regulus suddenly huffs, and even James can detect the trembling in his tone, but he knows it still must be terrifying for you to hear. “I’ve already told you—I’m committed to the cause.”

James sticks to the wall as Regulus marches past him—so blinded by his anger and desperation to escape the tension, that he misses him. James hesitates and wonders if he should confront you, but then he hears your shallow breaths and all reluctance flees out the window. 

“Y/N?” He murmurs as he rounds the corner, and you quickly flinch. 

“James,” you say firmly, and eye the papers he’s holding. “You just missed Professor Slughorn. I think he’s retired for the evening.”

“Oh—I’ll—leave them on his desk, then,” James replies anxiously, and scratches the back of his head as if it will stop the thousands of thoughts from flying around in there. All things he wants to say, but never could. 

You nod, and just as you turn to leave, he gently reaches out to you, his large hand splaying up your forearm and to your bicep, where he very carefully pulls you back into place, so you are subtly forced to look at him.  

“Regulus really doesn’t like it when other people know his business, so it’s best you don’t repeat anything that you heard,” you say. “Even to Sirius. Actually, especially Sirius.”

James becomes even more flustered as he clears his throat and shakes his head. “I wasn’t going to say anything to anybody—or Sirius. I just wanted to check on you.”

“Me?” You repeat, dumbfounded. “I’m alright.”

“Are you sure?” James asks. 

“Yes. Are you alright?”

James hesitates. “I’m fine, Y/N. You know, it’s just… Remus and I… we were worried about how much pressure there is on you. To keep it altogether. I can’t imagine how overwhelming it must be.”

Your nose prickles. James knows that you have the same self-destructiveness as your brothers—the thing he sees in Sirius all too often. He knows you have that same deep-down self-loathing, and the dismissiveness that comes with the Black genetics. 

He’s terrified of scaring you off. At least when he scares off Sirius, Sirius runs to you. He has no idea where you go. 

“If you ever need to speak to someone,” James attempts to smooth things over, but he can see it in the way your eyes shift behind him and in the movement of your pursing lips that he cannot save this. “Remus and I. And Peter. We’re all your friends, you know? And the girls, of course, but you already—you’d already know that. I hope.”

Lily has already confirmed to him that you do not speak to her about your issues when he dared to ask her once. He’s overheard Mary and Marlene whispering about the way you’re always looking after your brothers one night—as if you were their mother. 

“I know. Thank you, James,” you muster a small smile. “I should head off. It’s getting rather late.”

“Alright. Goodnight, Y/N,” he says, so softly that he’s unsure if you hear him, because you take off without looking back. 

⋆˚꩜｡

Summer arrives, and Regulus is hauled up in his bedroom, and you are in yours, your door open as you stare across the landing at Sirius’ closed bedroom door. It nearly makes your eyes water—thinking of your best friend in the entire world living somewhere else, so hurt by the family you’ve both grown up in, that he saw no other choice than to leave. 

You can hear mother crying down the corridor. She goes through phases where Sirius’ name isn’t to be mentioned, as if he is dead to all of them, and then other phases where she misses him like she has lost a limb; sobs wracking her body, her hands smacking surfaces. 

Yourself and Regulus have worked out it is best to avoid her when she is in a manic state. Often, your similar appearances to Sirius brought out the worst in her. Especially you, with your longer hair, and your braver personality. 

It is dinnertime when things blow up. 

The house elves have poured her too much wine. You know it, father knows it, and Regulus knows it too—but nobody says a word, because mother keeps ordering more and more, and perhaps secretly, you all hope she’ll become the sort of drunk where she passes out prematurely and is forced to retire to bed.  

Unfortunately, she does not this time. Tonight is one of her drunken rampages. One moment, she is eating, and the next, her glass is shattering against the wall behind father’s head, alcohol spraying everywhere as she screams in frustration. 

Father closes his eyes. “Walburga—”

Your foot touches Regulus’ beneath the table. His silver eyes are wide but trained on his food, his fingers stiffening around his fork. 

“How dare he!?” Mother sobs hysterically, and she starts to sink to the floor with her face in her hands. “How could he leave me? Why would he leave his mother!? After everything! After all I have given him!”

Her wails are haunting, sending shivers down your spine. You and Regulus say nothing but try to force down some more of your dinner, knowing what was to come. And it comes, seconds later. 

“The ungrateful bastard!” She screams, and begins to kick her legs out at the table. 

Father did not rise, but sighs heavily and drops his fork onto his plate, the clattering noise hardly heard about his wife’s racket. He pinches the bridge of his nose. 

You can see the terrified look on Regulus’ face. He is usually good at hiding how he truly felt, but he struggles around mother. You know he loves her, but he also fears her more. Perhaps because one moment Walburga is the acting as the doting parents she knows she should be, and the next, everything is souring and rotting, and the mask is peeled back and nobody is safe from her sharp tongue and stern glare.

You slide onto the floor beside her. “Mother. Mother, it’s alright.”

“No, it’s not!” She seethes. “What an embarrassment he has caused to this family! What a sick excuse for a son. He’s horrible. He’s cruel. A disgusting, filthy blood traitor.”

You can feel your pulse rising and you swallow, doing your absolute best to bite your tongue and keep your mouth shut. 

“He’s better off dead,” she snaps, and it’s your final straw. 

“Don’t say that,” you order, your voice strained, your face clamped in a mixture of horror and fear for the repercussions. “Don’t speak about Sirius like that.”

His name leaving your mouth makes her expression go so firm that it rivals that of a rock. Her hand smacks your face so quickly that you jolt backwards, wincing as Regulus audibly flinches behind you. Hot pain explodes across your skin. 

“You can be horrible as he is,” mother hisses into the silent room. “You’re just not brave enough to follow him.”

Your lips tremble, a mixture of the pain and the grief, and you pull yourself from the floor. Regulus is watching you like a hawk, his silver eyes shining so sadly that you want to grab him and haul him with you to the furthest place you can to get away. 

“You’re both dismissed from the dining table,” mother mumbles into the floor, and Regulus is quick to shove his chair back and grab you by your arm, tugging you away from the dining room. 

He leads you all the way upstairs and checks your face, his fingers and thumb pressing into your chin. You huff, your hands pushing him off. He only takes one step back so you can see his glare, your own fingers touching your face where it throbs.

“Let me look after you this time,” Regulus snaps, his voice thick. 

“No. I’m your older sister. I’m supposed to be the one who helps you.”

“You help Sirius and he’s older than you.”

“By a few minutes. That hardly counts, Reg—”

“Oh, just don’t, Y/N,” Regulus huffs, and you watch as he begins to sniffle to keep his tears at bay. “You can’t keep defending him.”

“I have to, Reg. He’s our brother. I’d die for him. Just as I would for you.”

Regulus shakes his head. “You shouldn’t do that for me. I’ve been thinking a lot recently and you should probably just go with him. I know he keeps asking you. He needs you more than I need you.”

“That’s not true!” Your heart stutters in your chest. 

“You’re not made for all of this, Y/N. You’re just going to waste your life if you’re here—looking after me. You should follow Sirius.”

You can feel your chest getting tighter and you will it not to. 

“Come off it, Reg. You’re teasing me and it’s horrible. You say this to me now, but you’ll only resent me for it later like you do with Sirius now. You didn’t blame him at first—when she started smacking him and he had to go.” 

Regulus shakes his head. “You know it’s more complicated than that with Sirius.”

“I don’t see why it should be. He’s your brother like I am your sister.”

Regulus shakes his head. “It’s not like that between us anymore.”

You hold on your throbbing cheek and close your eyes. 

“I’m coming back. But I am leaving for a bit.”

Regulus swallows. “Maybe you shouldn’t come back.”

You still. “I have to.”

“You don’t want to.”

“No, I don’t. But you’re here. So I’m here.”

Regulus huffs at you. “You don’t get it, do you? You’ll only start resenting me soon. If you haven’t already, subconsciously. And I don’t need your help. I don’t want your help. You’re only going to watch me take the dark mark this summer, you know. There will be absolutely nothing you can do to stop it.”

Your chest is heaving. “Regulus. Please.”

“If you stay, they’ll marry you off, or they’ll make you take the mark, too. You do know that, don’t you? You can’t look after me. I’m not a child anymore. I appreciate it all while it lasted. But now you’re in more danger than I am. You’re eighteen in November. You should take Uncle Alphard’s money and get as far away from mother and father as you can.”

“You don’t want that?” You ask him tearily. “To start your own life somewhere else?”

“I want it for you,” Regulus whispers. 

“I’m coming back,” you tell him thickly. “I’m just going to… stay somewhere else tonight. To cool off.”

Regulus nods, his eyes following you around the room as you begin to shove a few things into a bag. He can’t help but think that you remind him so much of Sirius, the way you put things in there without checking what it is or folding it first. 

One day he wants to follow you both. But he can’t leave yet.

⋆˚꩜｡

You purposefully do not pack enough clothes for more than two or three days, so that you will not be tempted to stay. You love Regulus more than yourself, but the idea of escaping the house you detest so much is often times so overwhelming that you worry you’ll act before you think someday.

You’re thinking of him the whole time as you approach the doors to the Potter household. You know he can handle himself for the meantime. He’s mother and father’s favourite by far; mother’s never laid a hand on him, though you’d never put it past her, because she never used to hit you or Sirius. You’ll be back soon. Regulus will be fine.

Right now, however, you are not fine.

Your hand creates a fist that gently knocks on the front door, and you budge impatiently from foot to foot as you wait for a response. It feels like your heart is attempting to make its way up your throat and spill from your mouth, your palms damp with sweat. 

When the door finally cracks open, you feel no better as James Potter’s face drops at the sight of you, stood in his front garden with a stuffed bag hanging on your shoulder. You hesitate, and plant a finger to your lips. 

Contemplation flickers across his face, his dark eyes pleading. “Y/N, are—”

“Shh,” you snip at him, “I don’t want Sirius to know I am here.” Your face softens and you tug your lip between your teeth. “I’m sorry. I had nowhere else to go.”

James swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing harshly in his throat, and he leans forward to grasp your bag, and steps aside so that you can enter into the foyer of his family home. You’re silent as you follow him up the staircase, past the room your brother had recently become into possession of, and into his.

Your eyes widen a little at Remus sprawled out across James’ bed, flipping through what appears to be one of James’ superhero comic books. He quickly sits up at the sight of you, on his knees, and James clicks the door shut behind him, casting a silencing spell quietly.

“Y/N?” Remus murmurs, his eyebrows tugged together, so concerned he looked older. His hands twitch over his knees, like he wants to come over and hug you already.

“Sorry,” you sigh, though the exhale of air does nothing to release the tension in your chest, and it comes out as some sort of pathetic half-hearted noise. “I had to get away for a moment. I just don’t want—I don’t really want Sirius to know, because he’ll only worry more, and I can’t stay. I have to get back to Reg. But I couldn’t…” You swallow, and to your horror, your eyes begin to burn hot. “I couldn’t breathe in that house.”

“Shit,” James curses as tears silently cascade down your cheeks, and he lifts an arm to wrap around your shoulders, bringing you into his chest without hesitation. He feels you trembling as you wrap your arms back around him.

Remus sits at the end of the bed, his hands on his lap, his shoulders hunched as he sucks in a breath and holds it for a moment, sharing a soft, sad look with James.

“Sirius has gone to bed early, so you’re alright,” Remus murmurs, as if that’s any consolation to your list of problems. He understands perfectly why you wouldn’t want to speak to Sirius about them. Sirius would only try to convince you to run away. He had a habit of meaning the best, but only hearing what he wanted to hear—and telling you what he would do, and failing to realise that not everybody was like him. 

“Thanks,” you sniffle as you turn away from James, pressing your hands to your eyes.

“What happened?” Remus dares to ask, because he knows he will not like the answer, but a million different scenarios are running through his head, and he needs to settle on just one.

Your lips purse. “Mother—she smacked me.” Your throat bobs and you choke on another sob.

James’ jaw tightens and Remus looks like he can’t decide whether he wants to yell or be sick. They knew what Walburga was like; how the final straw for Sirius had been when she hit him so hard that he nearly fainted. From their understanding, it was mostly psychological and emotional abuse; shit designed to break you. 

They hope this is your final straw, too, but they also know you—and they know that you’re too stubborn to ever leave without your youngest brother. 

You sniffle and wipe your face. “Gods. This is pathetic. I am so sorry.”

“Why is it pathetic?” James protests. “You can speak to both of us. We’ve always told you that you can. Your mother is…”

“We’re not supposed to be like that,” you mutter, hastily ridding the puddles from your cheekbones. “We all said no…no feelings.”

Remus makes a noise in the back of his throat, and reaches his hand out to hold yours, squeezing your palm. 

“That’s what you said, sweetheart,” Remus says gently. “We already told you we’d be whatever you wanted us to be.”

You shake your head. “Sirius needs you both. I can’t take you from him.”

“We’re still there for Sirius, but that doesn’t mean we can’t be there for you, too,” James protests firmly, a conversation that the three of you have had far too many times over the last six months or so. “You don’t deserve any less than him.”

Remus hesitates. “You’re allowed to feel safe, too.”

James watches the way you pause, your watery eyes flickering between them both. “Do you feel safe with us?” He asks.

“When I’m with you two, I feel like I’m not looking after anybody for a few moments,” you admit quietly. “Like I’m my own person. Nobody’s sister. Nobody’s daughter.”

Remus can’t help but slide his hand up from yours, up your forearm, to your bicep, where he drags you closer to him. Instinctively, you bury your face into him like you had done with James.

“You’ve been distancing yourself from us, dove,” Remus whispers worriedly, stroking your hair. “Is it because you knew summer was coming up?”

“I don’t like relaxing for too long,” you mumble. 

James folds his arms across his chest. “By relaxing, do you mean feeling alright? Feeling happy?”

You shrug your shoulders, but it’s all the confirmation that they need to know that you’re just scared of having too much of a good thing, and the feelings that will come if it was to all go away suddenly. Sirius used to be the same. 

They remember a time before everything had gotten so bad, where you had been easy-going and light-hearted—where you knew everything about them, and they knew everything about you. Puberty and ageing had caused you to hang out Lily, Marlene, and Mary a bit more in the most recent years, but you in yourself had never changed. 

Not until the war became to prevelant in all of your lives. Not until Sirius left and your family was torn apart, you like a tuat piece of rope between them both, being tugged so hard that Remus and James were forced to wonder when you might snap.  

“We really like you,” James hesitates. “You should know. I didn’t want to scare you off by telling you, but…but you deserve to know. You can decide what you do with that information.”

You peel from Remus and glance up at him curiously. He nods. “Dove, we thought it was slightly obvious we’d be anything you want us to be. But we’d like to be more than what we’ve been for the last few months.”

“I’m scared.”

“We know,” Remus strokes your skin delicately. “We’ll look after you.”

He feels you sag against him at that, as James joins you, and runs a hand through your hair, his eyes meeting yours. He kisses your forehead.

“Just let us,” he proposes. 

You hesitate, but you nod. And Merlin, the feeling of the two bodies crushing you together feels so good. The pressure is perfect; the arms, the smells, the chests, the hair tickling you. It feels euphoric to indulge. And maybe you can stay here just a little while longer than usual.

Maybe you deserve peace, too. 

[starry-eyed-moony]

⋆˚࿔ᝰ.ᐟ voulez-vous series masterlist

poly!marauders x fem!reader modern university au

slowburn. strangers to lovers.

you meet sirius, remus, and james just in time for your second year of university, where you are desperate for new housemates and new friends. however, you get slightly more than you bargained for with those three.

part one

part two

[starry-eyed-moony]

ੈ✩‧₊˚ voulez vous | poly!marauders x reader

part two to 'chance meeting'. rebrand to make this into a proper series babayyy

pairing: poly!marauders x fem!reader

summary: modern university au. PART TWO. After finding housemates to move out with for your second year, you decide to go for drinks to get to know them better first. mdni

ִ ࣪𖤐.ᐟ content: lots of fluff, alcohol, clubbing and casual hookup culture (reader indulges), mentions of drugs and sex etc., some angst- allusion to trauma, slowburn poly!marauders x reader but they're all really affectionate already, and some barty x reader.

author's note: this isn't completely proofread and i wrote half of this on my phone on the bus :)

ᯓ★ˎˊ˗ deep dive the archives

part one

The trusty eyeshadow palette you’d had since you were thirteen sprawled across your dormitory desk, alongside a dozen makeup brushes and other bits and pieces you’d collected in your teen years. Designed for completing essays on, tonight, your desk had been transformed into a vanity, your main lights on as you examined your side profile in your mirror for the fifth time since spritzing your setting spray. 

You sipped your wine; the cheapest bottle of Pinot Grigio the Co-Op on campus had to offer, now (offensively, your posh flatmate would say) placed in a glass, a couple of ice cubes inside, which were periodically stirred around by your metal straw. 

It had been a few weeks since you had last gone out drinking. Not only was the exam period starting, but your coursework had been getting more intense, and you hadn’t wanted to go out with any of your flatmates. 

It was only a matter of time before you had to tell them that you were looking around to move out without them. Perhaps you’d feel bad about the short notice if they hadn’t been so horrible to you first. 

Your phone began to buzz from where it was propped up against your little standing mirror, and you accepted the FaceTime call without hesitation. 

“Baby girl!” Lily cheered down the phone. 

“You look fucking gorgeous!” Mary exclaimed, and appeared behind Lily, slinging her arm over the redhead’s shoulders. 

“Let me see,” Marlene’s muffled voice called in the background, and soon enough, all three faces were smushed into the camera, gawking at you. 

Your face felt warm as you waved a dismissive hand and grabbed your glass, sipping through your straw again. 

“Are you going out with your new boyfriends?” Lily asked with a smug grin. 

You rolled your eyes. “Yes. We’re meeting at the campus bar and Sirius said we might go clubbing afterwards.” 

“I’m glad you’re finally getting away from those other cunts,” Mary snarled. “Have you told them you’re ditching them yet?”

“Not yet,” you sighed, playing with your earring as you glanced out your window. “I don’t even know if I’m moving out with the three guys yet. I’m still apprehensive that they’re all…boys.”

Marlene began excessively gagging from where she had gone back to whatever she was doing off the camera. 

“Valid,” Mary insisted. “But from what you’ve said, they seem really nice.”

“Yes, but my old friends seemed really nice too, at first. And I’ve only seen them a few times. Most of our conversations have been so surface-level, which I suppose is fine because we don’t know each other. But maybe I should just lower my expectations. Only, I really, really wanted to have a close dynamic for my uni house experience, you know?”

“You’ll probably get there,” Lily said. “Or worst case scenario, you have three polite boys living with you who might make small talk in the kitchen. That sounds worlds better than your other friends.”

“Yeah,” you admitted. “Maybe tonight will help. I always feel more chatty with some alcohol. They’re all so, so nice. I just feel like I’m intruding.”

“Didn’t they offer you the room?” 

“Yes. But they’re desperate,” you replied. “But so am I, I suppose.” You sipped some more of your wine. “I have to meet them in half an hour. You don’t think I’m too dressed up, am I?”

“You look absolutely gorgeous,” Lily insisted, similar words coming from Mary. “Not too much at all.”

“I don’t want them to think I’m after them like that.”

“Are they fit?” Mary asked, and Lily looked like she was about to tell her off, but perked up interestedly, too. 

Your grin told them everything they needed to know, and suddenly they were all screaming. Moments later, you were putting the links to their Instagrams in your groupchat, and Mary was gasping. 

“Oh, they are! You lucky cow.”

Marlene made a noise in the background. “I like the one with the glasses. He looks like that masc I went home with once. You remember, Lils?”

Lily snorted. “How could I forget? You were obsessed with her.”

“She was gorgeous. Too bad she wasn’t willing to give up the communal strap, if you know what I mean.”

You screeched alongside your friends, your hand clamping over your mouth to quieten your laughter. Marlene then proceeded to recount her ‘situantionship’ in great detail, and although you had heard it a dozen times already, you listened and sipped as if she was speaking on a podcast. 

You supposed there was nothing like phoning your friends from home to give you a boost for the evening. 

Once your wine was gone, you bid farewell to your home friends, who had all gone back to your hometown for Marlene’s brother’s birthday party. You hadn’t been able to get the time off from your part-time weekend job, so there was no point in spending all of the money on a train ticket to only go for a few hours.

As soon as the FaceTime call ended, you realised how quiet your room was, since your music had automatically shut off when your Bluetooth connected to Lily. You sighed and stood up from your chair, wrigging your toes in your shoes to make sure you didn’t need that extra blister plaster, and heading into your tiny en-suite showeroom to check your makeup in the brighter lights.

“Alright, okay,” you whispered beneath your breath, juggling your keys and your phone, shoving them into the only small bag you owned. 

You packed your lipbalm and your lipstick as an after thought, and sprayed more perfume than you needed to.

 You weren’t used to clubbing or going drinking without your flatmates, and you almost dreaded one of them coming out of their room and seeing you leave. Part of you was terrified that they’d make the rest of your year hell if they found out you weren’t moving out with them in a few months. Right now, it was easy to pretend to be friends, and avoid them wherever you could. 

As quietly as you could, you opened your dorm door and locked it behind you. You could hear chatter coming from the kitchen further down the hall, and what sounded like Gilderoy’s ball being kicked around. Emmeline was squealing at something.

You hurried down the corridor (which felt longer than ever) and made it out of the main doors, letting them swing shut behind you as you hurried down the two flights of stairs and out of your university accommodation. The night air was warmer than you anticipated, but that was fine, because you had dressed appropriately as somebody who hated paying for the cloakroom fee at clubs. You’d rather shiver all night than lug a coat around with you. 

The university bar wasn’t too far from your accommodation. On the rowdier nights, if you had your window open, you could hear everybody sat outside drinking and laughing. You could see the back of the bar from your flat’s kitchen window—where drunk boys from the sports societies often went to piss, much to your dismay. 

You made sure that you were five to ten minutes later than you said you would be, because you didn’t want to be the first one to arrive, and you were sure all of the boys would be turning up together, considering they lived in the same flat in some accommodation only five minutes away from you. 

When you turned the corner, every bench was brimming with a group of students, and the drinks were flowing. You were glad that summer was starting, so the night was still bright, and you didn’t have to squint in the dark to see your potential second-year housemates. 

Remus was the first one you saw.

Stood several feet away, he had his back to you, clad in a tan leather jacket and some baggy jeans, his fluffy brown hair slightly longer at the nape of his neck, flicking into soft curls like the start of a mullet. He was speaking to two people sat down on the bench—Sirius and James, you realised—balancing four cups in his hands. 

James met your eyes first. Behind circular glasses, his dark eyes lit up when you began to approach them, his entire face brightening. Sirius craned his neck past Remus to look, and called out to you.

“Hi, guys,” you greeted them softly, as Remus placed all of the cups down.

You lifted your leg over the bench seat and sat down beside him, opposite Sirius, smiling gratefully when Remus shifted a glass of cider towards you. 

“I wasn’t sure what you liked to drink, but I thought you can hardly go wrong with a cider,” Remus said. 

“Thank you,” you exclaimed. “That’s so sweet. Next round will be on me.”

“Nonsence,” James cut in. “We’re trying to persuade you to pick our spare bedroom, aren’t we? What sort of rubbish estate agents would we be if we kept bumming drinks off you all night?”

You shrugged your shoulders and smiled slyly into your drink as you took a sip. “So what I’m hearing is that you will all be spoiling me all night instead?”

“Exactly,” Sirius grinned. “And you’re in luck, sweetheart, because payday was nice to me this month.”

Your smile widened. “Oh, you’re sugar-daddying me?”

“Oh yeah,” Sirius confirmed, “Of course.”

You were pleased that the three of them were matching your teasing energy without overstepping any invisible boundaries, or making things uncomfortable. They were silently passing tests that you hadn’t realised you had been setting, such as James asking you if you’d be alright walking to the bathroom alone and offering to chaperone you the short distance, or when Remus asked you lots about your degree, and then asked more and more and more questions, as if he found everything you said really interesting.

“Have you been looking at any more houses?” James asked as he sipped his beer, fiddling absentmindedly with a splintered bit of wood sticking up from the bench. 

You shook your head. “No, I haven’t.” You didn’t miss the way that they all beamed. “I think I’m definitely going to take up your offer on that spare bedroom, if you still don’t mind.”

“Of course we don’t,” Remus replied softly, instantly. “That’s why we offered it to you. ‘Could tell from the very start you were a sweetheart.”

You had to bite the inside of your cheek to stop the smile blossoming over your face. “Yeah. You three seem alright, too.”

Sirius batted his hand. “Aw, you.”

“You know how to flatter a man,” James quipped. “We’ll need more of your lovely words when we’re all in exam season.”

You chuckled. “Hm. You’ll have to earn them.”

“We’ll be good boys for you,” Sirius promised, and you buried your face in your hands as you laughed some more, shaking your head. 

“You’re all tidy, aren’t you?”

“Sirius is a bit on the scruffy side, but he’s not unhygienic,” Remus promised. 

“You make me sound like a dog!”

“He’s a bit like a dog,” James confirmed, and stroked the top of Sirius’ head. “If I do this long enough, his leg will start kicking.”

Sirius huffed and leaned away from James. You smiled as you looked between all three of them. Already, you felt more comfortable with them than you felt with your current flatmates. You wished there was some sort of way you could ditch your university flat now, and just live with the three boys. Maybe that was the cider speaking. 

“Are you tidy?” Remus asked her interestedly.

“I am. And I am just letting you all know now that just because I am the only girl of the house, does not mean I am the mother of the house, and does not mean I will be picking up after any of you, or doing your dishes, or—or whatever else. Alright?”

“Absolutely alright,” James agreed quickly. “Remus is mother of the house, anyway. You can’t dethrone him."

“Perfect, then. I just wanted to confirm. I know you probably wouldn’t, but I don’t want to fall into…gender stereotypes and things. Some of my female flatmates seem to like running around for my male flatmates like headless chickens, but I’m not that way inclined.”

“Don’t worry about that,” Remus placed a hand on your back, patting it. “We’ll look after each other—but nobody’s going to be putting all of the work in by themselves.”

You nodded. “Thank you.”

“Is that why you’re not moving out with your old friends now?” Sirius asked you, tilting his head to the side slightly. “Were they all messy?”

“They’re sort of messy, yes. It never bothered me that much until I started to stop getting along with them very well. Now, I can’t stand their mess. I just haul myself up in my room so I don’t have to look at the abominations they create in the kitchen. The worst part—” you sipped your drink as the boys gave you sympathetic looks. “-is that I really, really love cooking, but I’ve been sticking to sauce jars and ready meals and pot noodles just to avoid them.”

“That’s horrible,” Remus said. 

“Have you told them yet?” Sirius asked.

“No. I’m actually sort of worried to,” you admitted. “You know how hyperactive everybody was during freshers? All of the partying, and the screaming, and the constant drinking, and the excitement of living away from home? They have never left that phase. All of the time—it’s getting fucked up in the clubs, throwing up in the kitchen sink or—they threw eggs at the opposite flat’s door the other week!” You added as an exasperated after thought, and all of the boys made pinching faces of disgust or disappointment. 

“They were my eggs too,” you muttered glumly. “But I can hardly say anything, because they’re all like a unit. And so, I know it sounds pathetic, but I just let them do rubbish things, or treat me like shit— because at least then I’m not alone.”

Remus cooed gently, and rubbed your back again. “I’m sorry, dove. That sounds like shit.”

“We’d never throw your eggs,” James said in an effort to lighten you up, and it worked, the corners of your lips twitching upwards.

“You’re not going along with it, because you’re leaving them,” Sirius said. “And I don’t blame you for not telling them right now. I’d wait it out as long as you can so they don’t use your forks to unplug the sink or something.”

You feigned a gag. “Grim. Thanks for the new fear.”

Sirius grinned widely. “Well, actually, I can be quite creative if you ever need some revenge plan ideas.” 

You snorted. “I’ll let you know if they throw anymore of my eggs. Thanks, Sirius.”

“Always happy to help.”

A few more drinks in, you were buzzing at the idea of leaving to get to a club. The boys were also as enthusiastic, Remus perhaps a little more silently so, as you finished off what must be your fifth round of ciders and began to head for the bus stop at the edge of campus. 

“Bus is in three minutes,” Remus said as he checked the board. “Everybody got their passes?”

You got your up on the city bus app on your phone, nodding along, amused when you realised that the boys were right, and Remus definitely was a mother hen. He checked Sirius’ for him, sending him a rather fond look when Sirius was all too proud to show Remus the QR-code. 

You clambered onto the bus when it arrived. James let you walk up the stairs in front of him, and grabbed a hold of your waist when the bus started up again, a gasp leaving your lips as it jostled you back slightly. You chuckled gratefully to him as James huffed irritably down the stairs, “Wait one second, mate!”

“Impatient tosser,” James muttered, as you chucked yourself into the seats on the aisle next to Sirius and Remus. 

You adjusted your bag on your shoulder and shrugged. “Thanks for catching me. Nearly broke my ankle during fresher’s week on the bus stairs.”

“Clumsy, are you?” James smiled. 

“I have been told I am a nuisance when I am drunk.”

“Yeah, but was that from your shitty flatmates?” Sirius asked, and pushed himself so that his back was to the window, his legs kicked across Remus’ lap to look at you. 

“Unfortunately, my friends from home think the same thing,” you said. “Although Marlene isn’t here, and she is always the one dragging me down with her, I promise. She actually volunteers to drink the forbidden drink if nobody has by the end of each game.”

All of the boys pulled faces, and you laughed. “Oh, you’d love all of my friends. They’ll have to come over and visit when we’re all settled in our house.”

Sirius grinned so widely it nearly looked like it hurt. “Our house!” He repeated. “I am so excited.” 

You beamed across at him. “I can tell! But I am too. You three are—” you hesitated. “Really nice. Probably the best people I’ve met at uni so far.”

“Only probably?” James teased you. 

“Hm…” You teased him back, and he rolled his eyes, smiling.

It felt like you were only on the bus for a few minutes rather than the usual fifteen or so. James helped you back down the stairs, though you were certain you didn’t actually need his help, but you also weren’t declining it. 

Other students and young people were also leaving the bus, heading down the main road where a couple of the best clubs in town were. Remus grabbed a cigarette out of his back pocket before you all joined the queue to your favourite, lighting it and standing by the curb to smoke it. 

“Don’t mind if you guys wanna start queuing,” he said, gesturing to the line which was slightly longer than you were used to seeing it. 

You shook your head. “No, we’ll all go together. Nobody should be alone.”

Remus’ eyes softened. He’d picked up from some of your previous short conversations over the last couple of weeks that perhaps something bad had happened on a clubbing night and that was why your flatmates were no longer your friends, but he’d been too nervous to ask, and you hadn’t explicitly said anything just yet. 

“Yeah, ‘course,” he agreed, and handed the rest of his cigarette to Sirius, who hummed in thanks.

The club was packed when you entered. One of the boys had paid for your entry, though you weren’t sure if it was James or Sirius—someone’s phone had met the contactless machine before yours had been able to—and now Remus was paying for more drinks at the bar for everybody, his height giving him the advantage as he easily moved to the front. 

You sort of loved the smell of alcohol and perfume and cologne and vape and cigarettes. You hated it the morning after when it clung to your clothes and your hair, but for the night, it was perfect. It felt even better when Remus pushed a double vodka lemonade into your hand, and when Sirius raised all of your plastic cups for a cheers.

“I love this song!” You exclaimed, and took Sirius as your victim to jump with towards the centre of the dancefloor.

Sirius was an enthusiastic partner, mouthing the words boldly and even leaning into the fake microphone that you made with your hands. He was quick to grab a hold of James when he noticed him, dragging him into your circle. You were having so much fun. 

“Where’s Remus?” You called.

“Remus doesn’t dance!” James replied loudly against your ear, smelling like beer and his cologne, his breath warm. 

You gasped dramatically, shaking your head. “There’s no way. He has to. Wait here.”

You weaved your way through the dense crowd and made it back to Remus, who was by the bar with a drink in his hand, his eyes already following you as you made your way over to him. You stopped in front of him and grabbed his forearms as if you had known him for years, looking up at him eagerly. 

“Rem, you have to dance with me,” you pleaded with him. 

His lips twitched at the nickname. “I don’t like dancing.”

“Neither do I—until I’m drunk!” You agreed. 

“Not even when I’m drunk,” Remus said. “Sorry. I’m boring. Sirius and James love it though—you should take them for a spin.”

Your face went bright red, and Remus’ mouth fell open as he laughed. “Oh, shit. Not like that. That sounded awful, didn’t it?”

You laughed. “I know what you meant. Don’t worry.”

A hand skimmed your waist as a group of guys tried to get passed you. You glanced up at them, and paused when the one touching you smiled. He was handsome, the tips of his dark hair dyed bright green, a few piercings over his face. 

“Do you want to dance with me instead?” He asked loudly by your ear, and stuck his hand out so you could shake it. “Barty.”

Boys never usually offered you their names or their hands before they tried to kiss you in the middle of the club. You smiled, and shook his hand, which was adorned with plenty of silver rings. You already knew his type, but he was pretty, and you were really drunk and having the best night you’d had in such a long time. 

“I’m here with my new friends,” you told him. 

Remus shook his head. “If you want to dance with him, dance with him, dove. I’ll keep an eye on you.”

Your eyes found him again. “Rem, you should dance with me.”

He laughed. “Go ahead, dove.” He lowered his mouth by your ear. “I know you don’t just want to dance with him.” He watched your face go bright red. “But you’re too drunk to go home with him, alright?”

“Oh—oh,” you choked. “No, I don’t really do things like that—I don’t go that far.”

“Smart girl,” Remus murmured, and patted your arm. “Go ahead.”

And by some surprise, Barty was still waiting for you a foot or so away, and grinned widely when you finally approached him, grasping you by your arm and leading you into the crowds of people. 

starry-eyed-moony ᯓ★ˎˊ˗

[planetqueenxoxo]

Rip Remus lupin you would have loved lecturing people on why chatgpt sucks

[starry-eyed-moony]

rumour has it that remus lupin had a bad full moon last month because y/n y/l/n was too sick to turn into her animagus form and help out their boyfriends, sirius black and james potter. i heard she feels really awful about it

ੈ✩‧₊˚ fleabag | poly!marauders

thank you so much for submitting this rumour, anon. it's so juicy i had to write about it!!

pairing: poly!marauders x fem!reader

summary: when the reader has to miss out on a full moon because she is sick, moony has a bad night, and the reader is upset

word count: 2.1k

ִ ࣪𖤐.ᐟ content: final year of hogwarts, hurt/comfort, angst, fluff, happy ending, kissing, cuddling, no peter, descriptions of blood and wounds (not too graphic), reader is a scottish wildcat animagus and moony is obsessed

ᯓ★ˎˊ˗ deep dive the archives for more rumours !!

Sirius glances between you and Remus, as if he is not sure who to help first, and sighs in relief when James finally comes through the dormitory door. James is nursing a hot water bottle in one arm, and in the other, he, rather ironically, has an ice pack. 

Sirius doesn’t even manage to smile gratefully, and rather just nods at James as he hands him the ice pack he had looted from the kitchens. James moves over to you, where you lay on the other side of the bed to Remus, curled up in a ball, your eyes clenched shut.

“Hi, baby,” James coos softly, his slender fingers raking through your hair, brushing it out of your face so that he can see your flushed expression, and the way your teeth are chattering. “The Pepperup isn’t helping at all?”

You shake your head, your fingers curling against the hand he rests on the mattress beside you. You felt like you could cry, your head throbbing, your stomach aching, piercing pains shooting through your bones. You felt even worse that Remus most likely felt much worse than you, and that he was trying to help you, when he couldn’t even help himself.

“I’ve brought you a hot waterbottle, sweets,” James murmurs, and he tucks it against your abdomen which was hurting from all your muscles constantly contracting as you ran to and from the bathroom to be sick. 

Nothing was coming up anymore, but your body kept wanting to reject all of the water that the boys were forcing you to sip at. Every now and again, you were hot and sweaty, and the next second, you couldn’t get warm enough.

“She needs to stay cool,” Remus mutters without opening his eyes, his arm flung over his face he lay shirtless across the bed, the duvet around his waist as Sirius placed the ice pack to Remus’ neck, where his bones were already hurting.

“But I’m so cold, Rem,” you protest weakly, and you can feel yourself beginning to get teary because of all of the frustration you were feeling. 

“But you have a temperature, dove,” Remus reminds you. “And it’s best to stay cool. You’re not actually cold.”

“‘Don’t care,” you mumble childishly, and clutch one of the boys’ pillows tighter to your chest, holding your knees upwards so that the waterbottle stays against your abdomen. 

You whine loudly when James starts to pull it away. He sends you a sorry look, every part of his face softening. You can tell he really, really doesn’t want to do this to you, but he knows Remus is right, and you know Remus is right, too—because Remus is always right.

“You could try sleeping through it again,” Sirius murmurs, reaching across Remus to feel your arm with the back of his hand. “You are scalding.”

“No, I need to get up soon, anyway,” you protest softly, all while wincing at the ache that seems to reside in your bones, making even your skin sensitive to the bedsheets beneath you. You rub your legs together in an attempt to warm up.

“You’re not going anywhere,” Sirius replies immediately, and you roll your eyes—which he sees. “You’re too sick, baby. Remus understands.”

“No, I have to help,” you argue. “I always help.”

“Take your annual leave,” Remus jokes, and then shivers when his back twinges, and his skin prickles, becoming so much more heightened beneath the moon. “I’ll be fine with Padfoot and Prongs, sweetheart.”

“That’s not true,” you decline, and all of the boys know, unfortunately, you are correct—because Moony definitely has a soft spot for Snips, and when you hadn’t been able to go to the Potters over the summer, Moony had howled for her.

“We will look after him,” James promises firmly, giving your arm a very gentle squeeze. “You know we will.”

“Please let me help you,” you ask them all so sweetly that their faces all seem to soften at once, like they cannot believe they are going to have to say no to you. “Please, Jamie.”

“Oh, low blow picking off the weakest first,” Sirius quips, a raised brow. “I know your tactics, Fleabag.”

You roll your eyes at him. 

“Don’t call her that,” Remus coughs before you can speak, and then winces at the rattle across his body. “Sweetheart, I think it would just distress Moony if you were there all poorly. I think he’d know you’re closeby if you just stayed up here.”

James strokes your hair as you hesitate, your lip being pulled between your teeth in contemplation. You sigh, and settle back down against the oh-so-comfy pillow, your body immediately thanking you.

“Will you wake me up once you’re back?” You ask him worriedly. 

“Yeah, lovely. I will,” Remus promises, and kisses your forehead. 

“Go to sleep,” Sirius murmurs, stepping away from Remus to touch your forehead again. “And take this jumper off. You’ll only feel more sick.”

You nod. “I’m starting to feel hot again now, actually.”

James and Sirius help you out of Remus’ jumper as carefully as they can, being mindful of the winces on your face when you’re jostled too hard at one point. You sigh in relief as your aching body sinks back against the mattress once more, now just in a white tank top of yours, and a pair of pyjama shorts. You kick the covers down to your feet. 

“Night, darling,” Sirius murmurs, kissing your cheek.

You earn another from James, on the corner of your mouth. “We love you, Snips.”

“Love you all. Be safe,” you mumble sleepily, before the land of dreams takes you.

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ

When you wake, the sunlight is pouring through the windows of the tower. For a moment, you’re alive in blissful ignorance, and what a place it is to be, because once everything comes flooding back, it as if a bucket of ice water has been poured over your head.

You flinch up, the tightness in your chest making you cough. The bed is completely empty, and other than the lack of people, nothing has changed since the night before. Your hot waterbottle still sits on a chair beside your bedside, Remus’ icepack leaving a watery mess on his side table. 

Immediately, you know something is very wrong. You feel slightly better than you did last night, though you are so exhausted from the lack of sleep that you want to cry, that feeling amplified by the pressing issue that your boyfriends could be in serious trouble.

You shrug Remus’ jumper back on, and a pair of joggers that you keep in their dormitory, and that is all you do before you rush out of Gryffindor common room and down the dozens of staircases separating you from the infirmary.

Pushing the doors to the hospital wing open, your heart falls at the sight at the end of the empty stretch of beds—where three figures lay around, being tended to by Madam Pomfrey.

“I told you, Poppy, I’m alright,” Sirius complains, sat up on the bed as the school nurse dabs at his forearm. “I really need to go.”

Madam Pomfrey’s eyes flicker up at the sound of your footsteps, and she sighs, shaking her head. 

“I think you’ll find you do not need to go anywhere anymore, Mr Black,” she mutters, and sends you a weary smile as Sirius cranes his head over his shoulder, his eyes widening at the sight of you. 

Madam Pomfrey takes it as her queue to leave when James also sits up, muttering your name softly. It is only Remus who is still asleep, his eyes shut, his skin drained from any colour. He’s still shirtless, but this time his chest is practically mauled—covered in bandages and serums and bubbling blood.

Your hand quickly covers your mouth to stifle your sobs as the tears begin to run. Sirius holds his hand out to you, and your gaze flickers over them. Sirius has a scratch across his arm and a bruise blossoming over the entire left side of his face. James’ nose looks crooked, and he has a bandage wrapped around his torso.

“Jamie,” you croak, as Sirius pulls you between his legs, pulling your head into his chest as you cry harder, his eyes meeting James’ as they both shake their heads sadly.

“We’re okay, love,” James swears, wincing as he sits up. “It was a strong full. Moony was just…not having it.”

“Is he okay?” You sob, clinging onto Sirius harder, dreading the answer. 

“He’s fine, baby,” Sirius murmurs. “He’s just sleeping. He’s exhausted.”

It was as if he knew he was being spoken about, because his eyes slowly flicker open, and he swallows thickly, though it causes his entire body to strain, a wince flickering across his face and lingering across the creases of his forehead. You slip from Sirius’ arms to be by Remus’s side, as Sirius staggers over so he’s between Remus and James’ beds.

“Rem,” you mutter, sniffling. “I told you I should have been there.”

“It’s not your fault,” Remus replies weakly. “I was just antsier than usual.”

“Yes, but we know why,” you spit, and brush his hair out of his face. “For Merlin’s sake, Rem. You know anything would have been worth this not happening.”

He shakes his head and sighs, and his eyes lingering on your face. “Not true, sweetheart. Not in the slightest.”

His hand moves out to cup your face, and his thumb wipes at the tears streaming down your cheeks. You own trembling hand smooths over a blossoming bruise over his collarbones.

“That was me,” James winces. “I think. The antlers, you know.”

“I’ve never seen you all look so terrible.”

Sirius manages a grin. “Thanks, Fleabag.”

You turn around to feign a glare at him. “You’re the one with fleas, you mutt.”

“Not anymore!” Sirius protests, and his arm snakes around your waist. “I promise we are fine. Moony’ll be okay. How is your head?”

You roll your eyes and choose not to reply on purpose. Instead, you shuffle into the chair between Remus and James’ heads, one hand finding James’ curls where you began to drag your nails through them, just in the way he likes. He makes a small sound of appreciation, his eyes drifting closed.

“You can’t cope without me. Admit it.”

Remus’ mouth finally quirks upwards, and he shakes his head. “Alright. We can’t cope without you.”

“But you shouldn’t blame yourself for any of this,” James murmurs. “Remus is right—Moony might’ve become distressed if you’d shown up sick anyway—and you wouldn’t have been able to keep up with him.”

Your lips purse and you sigh, your eyes trained on the cuts up and down Remus’ body. You knew Madam Pomfrey would likely be able to deal with most of them, and that the remainder of them would fade well, but you still couldn’t stop imagining how distressed Moony must have been—ripping himself to shreds out of frustration, and attacking Padfoot and Prongs in an attempt for some sort of release.

“How are you feeling anyway, dove?” Remus presses.

“Like rubbish,” you admit, and pull your hand away from James’ hair, much to his dismay.

“You should rest,” Sirius murmurs, easily the least injured out of the three of them, draping his arms around your waist, his mouth finding your neck where he presses a couple of chaste kisses.

You chew the inside of your cheek. You want to rest, your body is literally screaming for you to lay back down and close your eyes, but you cannot imagine going back upstairs without the boys. 

James seems to see your hesitation, and perhaps he can read your mind, because he begins to smile full seconds before you actually start to shrink. Sirius gasps, his hands catching your pyjamas as they fall loose around the air.

You hear him laughing, and James’ snort as your vision suddenly becomes a lot more refined, and you can see Sirius’ socked feet and the bottoms of his pyjamas. You glance up at him as he smiles down at you fondly, and you rub your face against the side of his leg before you jump up onto the bed beside Remus.

“Snips,” Remus coos, and he lifts his arm up so that you can make a home between his bicep and his chest. 

You circle a couple of times until you have the perfect angle, and then you settle, purring against him, your large twitchy ears folding downwards slightly. Sirius leans towards you and strokes you gently. As a Scottish Wildcat, your coat is slightly coarser than a traditional housecat’s, your tail typically bushier, too. 

Sirius always can’t help but grab your tail in his hand and slide a closed fist along it when he strokes you, and you make a low grumbling sound that is also scarier than anybody’s average pet cat.

“Watch out, or she’ll remind you why we call her Snips,” James quips. 

Sirius laughs as you cuddle closer to Remus, your huge eyes flickering shut. 

“No. She loves us all really.”

starry-eyed-moony ᯓ★ˎˊ˗

[starry-eyed-moony]

Hi Alisha! I just wanted to tell you that over the past two weeks I read all the chapters of The Scythe and I absolutely loved it

Celeste is such a beautiful character to me because of her development; she conveys so much, and I can really understand what she’s going through. That says a lot about your writing

It’s truly a gem! I’m really looking forward to the next chapter 🌺

oh my gosh! thank you so much. i am so so happy you're enjoying it, that fic is my baby right now, and i love writing celeste!

you're the best <33

[starry-eyed-moony]

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never copy and paste any of my work.

[starry-eyed-moony]

new theme incoming!! still under editing, but so far im having lots of fun with it!

[amnmesias]

𝐯𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞

poly!wolfstar x fem!reader

word count: 6.5k

tags: fem!reader. rockstar!reader. modern au. rock band au. sort of nuisances to lovers, angst. eventual fame au.   

a/n: enjoy the comfort while you can! 

part sixteen ˚.⋆♪⋆ series masterlist

    

—

The first show is, surprisingly, not as overwhelming as you thought it’d be. Music is pounding from every direction, overlapping with claps and laughter and screaming—the venue is almost full by now, and you’re acutely aware of the sets of eyes looking at you, arms flailing from the first rows and flashes being pointed at you. Still, you feel like you’re floating through air. 

You’re not sure if your heart is what’s thumping inside you, or the music rattling your bones, or the energy coursing through your veins as you reach for your microphone. An anxious movement that slowly turned into a soothing tic the first minutes after you hit the stage. It has helped, mostly. Or it’d help better if Sirius stopped searching for your eyes during certain moments of your set. You’re thankful Remus is positioned at the far end of the stage and away from you. There’s only so much your erratic heart can take.

“Alright, alright,” Sirius laughs into the microphone, a breathy sound that distorts his tone. He reaches up to fix his in-ear, smirking down at his synth. “I’m sure you lot are growing tired of us.”

The crowd, unsurprisingly, reacts just like it tends to do when it comes to Sirius. They all cheer and scream in protest to his words, asking for an additional song and flailing their arms around. You sway nervously from side to side as James' quiet cymbals swell, building suspense before Sirius introduces the next and final song. Your song.

You fix your own in-ear, looking down at your guitar to try and tame the way your heart picks up its rhythm. Sirius’ fingers hover over the keys, hesitant before he’s glancing up at you.

“We’ve left a very special treat for you,” he announces, playing a few notes. You feel goosebumps when he hums the first notes into the microphone. Either edging the crowd or giving you a moment to prepare. “If you’re chronically online—I’m sure you’ve heard this one.”

A few people cheer, slowly increasing as Sirius starts properly playing the first notes of the song. You swallow nervously, humming along with him before turning your head just enough to meet his gaze. He nods encouragingly before stopping, cueing you in.

You take an achingly slow step closer to your microphone, sucking in a breath before singing the first line. I see the signs of a lifetime, you till I die. A few audience members jump and cheer when they recognize the melody. It makes the nerves settle enough for you to relax your grip around your mic. And your heart does a ridiculous somersault inside your chest when your traitorous eyes flicker to the side. Sirius smiles at you.

From the far end of the stage, Remus sways from side to side to your voice, head tilted to the side like he wishes to melt and get lost in the sound. A flash goes off somewhere deep in the crowd, and he has to shake his head to force his focus back on the song. It’s hard, though. It’s hard when your voice is hypnotic and laced with a heavy nostalgia that makes his heart rattle. He looks down at his bass, but the magnetic pull of Sirius’ eyes is too strong to ignore—thankfully, James bangs the drums loud enough to make them snap out of it. 

The crowd joins a beat later when they fully recognize the song. Chanting along with you to the lyrics that have gotten the most recognition in this sudden internet frenzy. Your lips curl into a tentative almost shy smile, looking down at your fretboard when the intensity of the song and the crowd starts getting louder. 

All you can do is sing and play like you’ve rehearsed countless times, trying to channel all the mental tranquility you personally rehearsed for this moment as the song picks up rhythm. And the crowd picks up their rhythmic chanting when you get to the second chorus. What if it’s not meant for me? You reach for your mic again, another reflex when the crowd answers back at you. It makes the thundering sound of your heartbeat spread all over your body, adrenaline pumping through your veins when you hear them chant the words back. You chance a quick look to the side—what if it’s not meant for me?

In a strange bout of energy and confidence, you point at the audience, repeating the chorus just one more time. They all react accordingly, screaming the words back with thunderous feedback. A surprised laugh bubbles out of you, turning back to your guitar to get to the final part of the song. The arena is fully filled by now, getting closer to the end of your set and for the main act to come out—you’d think all this attention would make you recoil. But, as you sing the words into the microphone, they all nod along and clap, some jump in response to your sudden spike of energy. 

Sirius’ laugh overlaps with you, though it’s hard to hear as he builds up the outro with his synth, smirking down at the keys when the crowd continues answering to the song. And better, the way you’ve loosened enough to welcome their boisterous applause. James bangs harder, the music pounds from every direction with the outro and the bass line that makes every emotion feel enhanced, adrenaline flowing through you in a way that it’s hard to notice until the song is over. You hum the final line, eyes slipped shut to force the energy to simmer down; dragging the final note enough to match the coming down of your high. 

The song comes to an end, and so does your set for the first concert of the tour.

The crowd starts clapping and jumping and cheering, a match to your heartbeat as you drop your arms to the side—releasing your fretboard from overgripping it as a sharp exhale comes out of you. It rattles your insides as you scan your surroundings. When your eyes find Remus across the stage, he’s gesturing at your in-ears, then at the view in front of you. He’s smiling so wide, pupils blown with adrenaline but full of warmth it’s hard to ignore him. You take out your in-ears, getting the first glimpse of how loud the crowd is reacting to your set.   

You step back, careful of the cables and your pedal board to set your guitar on its stand. Sirius is already standing by the center of the stage, waving and smiling and blowing kisses at the crowd. He beckons each of you over with a laugh, too elated with his own adrenaline spike. His arm comes around your waist when you’re within reach, pulling you to his side in the same reflex he does to Remus. If it’s any possible, all the energy you thought had simmered down skyrockets with his touch. 

James comes bounding from the back of his drums, already pointing around at certain girls at the front and others away. He’s throwing his drumsticks across the stage before anyone can realize what’s happening, and even less, how they actually launch themselves to catch them. He bends backwards with a bark of laughter, stepping closer to your side. You’re one beat too late to realize you’re supposed to bend over in a group goodbye—if it isn’t for the hand patting yours behind Sirius.

“Thank you!” James calls loudly, breathless and struggling to catch his breath. “Thank you!”

You try to follow his lead, but you’re too high strung with the welcoming crowd that you’re sure one more interaction will surely make you drop dead. 

Sirius tugs you closer to his side, uncurling an arm from Remus to take his microphone. “We’re the Marauders—don’t forget that name ‘cause we’re headlining this same venue very soon.”

James, of course, laughs louder at this. You only manage to hear it because he’s close to you, the crowd goes crazy at Sirius’ statement. You wave goodbye one last time before running out of the stage in a line, you nearly trip with the cables on the way had it not been by Sirius’ arm still around you. 

“Fuck—“ you breathe out, it comes almost like a wheeze. “Fuck, sorry. I… I didn’t see that.”

The sound he makes, a mix between a bark of laughter and a gasp is enough to make your knees almost buckle again. His hand flattens over your lower back like he knows. “You’re okay, lovely,” he smiles. His eyes are wide, shimmery eyeshadow catching the lights still coming from the stage and the spotlights, it’s slightly smudged to the side and under his lower lashes. He’s never looked so beautiful.

“That was,” James nearly shrieks in your ear, jostling you from side to side with his own high energy. “that was fucking incredible. You were incredible!”

“Thanks,” it’s all you manage to say, too breathless to sound coherent anyway. “I… that was,” you shake your head, trying to shake off the adrenaline rushing through your body. 

James laughs, arms dragging you closer into an entanglement of arms that is your group hug. You’re acutely aware of Sirius’ thumb sweeping the skin of your waist, curling around you. A weight is pressed lightly to your head, lingering enough for you to realize someone’s kissing your head in a rush before stepping back. Somehow, it makes your adrenaline skyrocket even more.

You brush your hair away, feeling pins and needles at the palms of your hands and your heart matching the pounding of the backstage wing. Technicians and crew members run around as they collect your instruments and finish the last touches for the main act to step out—20 minutes. It’s all chaotic and loud, it feels very comforting, how similar it is to your inner state. You feel very weird, like you’re not entirely inside your body. 

Peter comes running from the front row, weaving through technicians and muttering apologies. He waves his phone in the air with a wide grin.

“That was brilliant!” he points at the screen, blinding against the low lighting of the backstage area. “I got very good takes of your song—it’ll do numbers when it’s posted.”

You’re too behind, still reeling from the stage to notice he’s talking to you. Sirius, of course, reads this wrong from your face as he frowns at Peter.

“Why would you do that?” his voice is still breathless, though with a faint edge. His chest heaves as he tries to catch his breath. “You know she doesn’t like—”

Unconsciously, you raise a hand to his chest. “Sirius,” you say in your own ragged exhale. You turn to Peter. “Of course—can you show me the final take when it’s ready?”

Peter blinks, schooling the strange expression he sends Sirius before he smiles at you. Tentative and barely sure that you try and return with more confidence.

“Of course, yeah,” he nods, taking another step back. When his eyes flit down to your hand, you’re quick to drop it to your side. Peter clears his throat, forcing a smile back on his face as he pats his shirt. “Got you these in case you’re still interested,” he waves a few backstage lanyards, similar to his.

James’ face breaks into a wide grin, reaching to take one. “You did it!”

“Told you he’d do it,” Remus says, sounding calmer as he accepts his and Sirius. “Thanks, Pete.”

“No problem—they’re valid for the entire tour, by the way.”

“The entire tour?”

Peter smiles. “Turns out I’m a good negotiator,” he shrugs, handing you yours. “And for you.”

You take it, feeling the adrenaline begin to crash down. “Thanks, Pete,” you smile, fiddling with the cord. 

“Alright, then,” he looks around, watching as the crew members begin loading out your stuff and instruments. “Shall we? Kingsley said Kirley is actually very punctual with their concerts.”

They all nod and walk out of the wing in a line, but you linger back with a look over your shoulder towards the green room. Sirius moves his arm to reach for you, maybe in a reflex, when he realizes you’re not behind him. You run to catch up to them with a sorry smile.

“Um, actually, I think I’ll try and get this time to shower and head to the tour bus—if you don’t mind,” you run a hand through your hair, trying to take the hair grips out. “I’m a bit knackered, so…” your eyes flicker to them.

“That’s okay,” Remus smiles. 

“I’m coming with you,” Sirius says immediately.

“No, no, you stay,” you’re quick to say, doing an arduous job to not set a hand out again. Sirius’ eyes flicker over his shoulder, at the crowd still chanting and the technicians running around. Clearly debating about going or staying. You find yourself trying to reassure him. “You’ve clearly been wanting to watch the concert, and Pete said these are for the entire tour. I’ll join you soon.”

He parts his lips to speak, but James is pulling at his arm. Too excited for the concert to start to notice the change of demeanor and tone of the band. You look away, sidestepping him to walk to the back door. 

“Go have fun,” you wave them off. 

Sirius’ shoulders slump, watching as you turn to walk out backstage and into the open air. He hesitates enough to make his dimmed mood obvious. A hand settles on his cheek, stroking gently to guide his gaze away from the closing backdoor to a pair of amber eyes.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” he nods, swallowing thickly. His eyes move to the crowd, lingering enough to show Remus how much he wants to stay for the concert. “Yeah, I’ll just—” he points at the door.

“Don’t worry, love,” he cups his cheek one more time before dropping his arm. “I’m quite knackered, too. Now that y/n mentioned it.”

It works to pull Sirius out of his head. “You are?”

Remus gives his arm a gentle pull, guiding him through backstage to follow after James and Peter for the band’s designated area. 

“Yeah, but maybe I can enjoy the first songs,” he smiles, tucking his chin to level Sirius with a look. “Then I’ll call it a night, yeah?” I got her, he almost says. He gives their joined hands a soft squeeze before letting go.

…

“Oh my god!”

“Wait isn’t this—”

The bus door opens with a thundering sound in contrast to the little cocoon you’ve made of the front lounge. You drop your phone to your lap, scrambling to lower the volume of the video you’ve been watching. Videos, more like it.

Remus is running his towel over his wet hair as he steps into the bus, blinking quickly to adjust his eyes at the sudden darkness he steps into. He lets the towel drop over his shoulder, feeling around the wall to flip the light on.

You pull your blanket higher when the lights are turned on, hiding your face as a reflex to the harsh lights and sending your phone flying across the sofa. 

“Oh,” he feels around to turn them back off. “Sorry. I thought you were asleep.”

“You’re fine,” you mumble, lowering the blanket as he tests the light switches around to let them dim. “Sorry for scaring you.”

He smiles. “No need to be sorry,” his voice drowns out as he steps into the bunk area. 

The curtain is drawn to the side and muffled sounds make you think he’s settling down to sleep. You reach back to your phone, nimble fingers deleting all the evidence of what you’ve been doing as you close all the social apps with your videos and the band’s overall reception after today’s concert. 

Remus steps out of the bunk area a moment later, flashing you a little reassuring smile as he crouches to check the mini fridge. “Are you thirsty, dove?”

“Oh,” you blink, still fiddling with the blanket. “Sure, thanks.”

“We’ve got, uh… Water, sparkling water, iced tea—and this thing,” he pulls out a can that looks awfully similar to an energy drink. 

“Water’s fine,” you mumble, acutely aware of his silhouette as he stands, the way the jumper hugs his torso and the tousled way his hair sticks up in every direction. “Thanks.” 

He smiles, fiddling with his own drink. You don’t miss the way his eyes study you, even in the darkness. You can feel the warmth radiating off his gaze, mixed with hesitation as his eyes flicker to the empty space next to you. Remus points tentatively, not quite sitting yet.

It takes you a beat to understand his meaning, following the way he’s pointing before glancing up to meet his gaze. Remus doesn’t pressure you as you take a moment to think—but his face does break out into a smile when you nod. He doesn’t seem to mind when you scoot a bit away to make space for him, even if there’s plenty already.

A silence settles between you. Comfortable this time. 

“How was the concert?” you ask, looking down at your lap, pressing at your nailbeds in that obviously anxious manner of yours. 

Remus looks away, pushing down the urge to reach for your offending hand. “It was very fun, actually,” his voice is low, barely a whisper as he studies your fingers. “You’ll love it.”

“Yeah?” you glance up.

“Yeah, the crowd was…” he shakes his head, looking up to meet your gaze. “I’ve never seen anything like that.”

You nod, brushing your own half dried hair away from your face. Remus follows the movement with his eyes, tapping at the lid of his drink almost pensively.

“You did really great out there,” his voice quietens, it’s almost a whisper that makes your chest ache. Surprisingly nice. “They really loved you.”

“It felt great, too,” you pull the blanket higher over your chest. The bus is colder than you anticipated. “I s’pose I did get eased into it, eh?”

He huffs a quiet laugh. “Dove, you owned the stage.”

You roll your eyes fondly, sipping at your drink. Remus feels himself fully relaxing at this, settling back on the sofa by your side. His chest aches when you silently offer him the other end of your blanket. He’s not really cold, but he’d be stupid not to take it.

“You know, this isn’t my first time seeing them live,” he says conspiratorially, lips curling at the way your eyes widen in surprise. “James’ dad got us tickets for his fifteenth birthday—it was a whole thing trying to teach him and Sirius how to ride the tube.”

You laugh, trying to imagine them navigating the tube at such young ages. And clearly inexperienced. Remus smiles at the sound, unconsciously scooting closer to you. He fiddles with the blanket, flattening a hand over the soft material, just for something to do. Something to calm his heart at your quiet laugh. 

“We arrived two songs late,” he adds, chuckling when you laugh again. “And Sirius got his wallet nicked.”

“Of course he did,” you smile, shifting to cross your legs, no longer pressed closer to your chest. “Why am I not surprised?” 

“And then tried to pull the do you know who I am card at the entrance,” Remus shakes his head, voice laced with fondness as he recalls the moment. “Thank god Monty gave me the tickets for safekeeping, otherwise it would have been a lost cause.”

“Well, you could have always sneaked in.”

His eyes snap up at you, but you’re sipping at your water. Lips curled around the mouth of your bottle before setting it aside with a little smirk. Remus fists the blanket in response, holding himself back from kissing you senseless.

He holds your gaze. “Don’t tell me…”

“It’s actually quite easy, you know.”

 “Is it, now?”

You hum, smiling down at your lap. Remus feels himself angling towards you, his calf brushes your knee as he turns. He rests his arm over the headrest, eyes soft as he studies you. 

“The point is to know someone who’s got a ticket,” you start to say, hands picking up movement as you explain. “That way it’s easier to get through the line and find an opening when the guards aren’t looking—you also got to be very stealthy.”

“Were you?” he asks, eyes swirling with fondness as you begin lighting up.  

“The stealthiest of them all,” you nod, smirking. Remus huffs a surprised laugh. “But again, I feel like they only let me in ‘cause they needed to fill seats.”

“Who were you trying to see, anyway?”

Your smile turns a tad bashful at this. “Paramore,” you murmur, eyes glancing up with a knowing glint that makes Remus’ insides turn into mush. He stifles a laugh when you point a finger at him. “Don’t you dare tell anyone about this.”

His laugh is louder at this, raising his hands in surrender. Your lips twitch, betraying the smile you’re trying to hold back. “Consider me warned.”

Your shared laughter simmers enough to make room for another comfortable silence. Remus lets his head drop to his hand, smiling at the way your cheeks warmed up with the moment. He’s cruelly pulled back to that night at the pub, with your easy smile and the way you joked around with them. 

He looks away, channeling all his courage to move his hand, closer enough that his fingertip brushes your knee over the blanket. If you notice, you’re too busy toying with the ends of your hair to make much effort to mind. But your eyebrows twitch very faintly.

“It was my first concert,” your voice quietens, eyes downcast as you drop your arms to your lap. Very close to his hand. “All my friends had saved for it, made plans around it—had a whole trip planned.”

“Yeah?” 

“Hm,” you run a hand through the blanket, much like he did before. Remus feels his brows wrinkling at your tone. “I… I was too scared to ask my parents to go, let alone to pay for the ticket. So I simply went without telling them and sneaked in,” you pause, lips twitching from side to side, like you’re containing the words. “It felt easier at the time.”

His fingers shift slightly, closer enough to feel the warmth of his hand with yours. “It must’ve been worth it.”

Your lips twitch. “It was, yeah,” you nod, glancing up, almost tentatively as you meet his eyes. So warm and full of understanding, it tugs at your heartstrings. “They were just getting famous over there, so the place wasn’t as packed as it’d be now—it felt intimate, like they were just playing with us. Not at us, you know? It was one of the best nights of my life,” you look away again, Remus still nods. “But…”

He drops his arm from the headrest, shifting at the way you hesitate. “But…?”

“But then I went home.”

Remus feels his heart clench. It comes suddenly and painful, flashing memories cloud his mind as you look away. The slump of your shoulders, your need to flee at any given moment of uncertainty or pain—it was all there. 

He doesn’t answer right away. But his fingers shift again, brushing yours properly this time. A grounding touch that makes you look up.

“I’m sorry, it’s not…” you clear your throat, eyebrows bunching together when you fail to swallow the lump that’s beginning to form. Remus feels his heart tugging in your direction, nearly pressed against his ribcage in its need to get closer to you. “It wasn’t… like that. Not really—I feel like I’m making it worse than it was.”

“You don’t need to apologize for that,” he whispers back, moving his hand to place it over yours. “Never.”

You bite at your lower lip, looking down at your joined hands. “It wasn’t… it’s just—they didn’t do what you’re probably thinking. If anything it was mostly just the… lack of, I s’pose.”

“They weren’t there?”

“No, they were. But it was like they weren’t,” you glance up, fleeting before looking away again. “I tried telling them about the concert, made everything sound nice and interesting for them—for them not to get angry about where I got the ticket, or how I managed to afford the trip or go on about how I was wasting the little money we had, or how I kept making things difficult.”

His thumb strokes your hand, slowly and deliberate as you try to find the words. Remus scoots closer too, careful and slow in his movements. Tentative.

“They didn’t like having me around, but didn’t want me gone either. It was… weird, almost. Like we were stuck with each other, but I couldn’t do anything,” you shrug one shoulder. “Music helped, though.”

“Yeah?”

“Hm,” you look down, lips twitching faintly when his thumb sweeps higher on your hand, moving to your inner wrist. “They didn’t like that, either. But,” you laugh to yourself, a quiet and bitter sound that makes him scoot closer. Your eyes glance at your phone, discarded to the side. “Sometimes I wonder if… things had been different… if they would be happy for me. For making it all the way here.” 

While you don’t look up yet, Remus exhales deeply like he understands. Like the pieces fall into place. To that same morning, to the way you’ve been toying around that wound, your insistence on not being a singer for the band. Your need to walk out into the night, wandering around without thinking about the consequences—because there never were. 

“I…” he clears his throat, hand moving up. He strokes your forearm, the fabric of your jumper bunches with his movement. To his surprise, you lean closer. “I’m sorry—I didn’t know….”

“I know,” you nod, looking away. “No need to be sorry.”

Remus sucks in a breath, taking the leap. He shuffles closer, hand moving up from your forearm to the curve of your neck—acutely aware of your reactions, studying the way your eyes don’t glance up again. His hand cups the side of your neck, thumb sweeping at your baby hairs before guiding you face to meet his gaze.

“They should be, but they don't get to decide that anymore,” he whispers, holding your gaze to make sure you’re listening to him. “You made it here, dove. You’re here, and you were incredible tonight. That’s all it matters—everything you’ve done to get here.”

“It’s just…” you suck in a breath, it’s stuttery and heavy with the pain trapped in your chest. The words don’t come out, your throat is too clogged it’s impossible to speak past the jumble of emotions trapped there. “it would’ve been nice, s’all.”

He nods in understanding, feeling the ever familiar ache at the pain in your tone, the resignation of years of silence and hard work being ignored. Remus sighs deeply when a sniffle breaks the silence, reaching through the darkness to fist at his already predisposed heart. 

Neither of you know who moved first, but you find yourself leaning into his shoulder, hiding into the curve of his neck and tucked closer by a tentative arm curled around your lower back. Remus doesn’t drop his hand from your neck, moving it upwards until he’s thumping at your silent tears. 

He holds you against him until your sniffles quieten, until you’re not fighting to breathe or to silence the painful thoughts in your head. His fingers never stop cleaning your tears, his arm never loosens around you, and his lips linger over the crown of your head as you slowly relax into him. The weight of his kiss is enough to ease some relief into your chest, soothing the cracks of your heart as your arm, tentatively, moves to curl around his front. A quiet thank you for his gentle reassurance. 

Remus kisses your temple again. 

“I’m sorry,” you whisper into his chest, not quite letting go yet. “I’m usually not this emotional after a gig.”

“It’s okay if you are,” he whispers back, nuzzling his cheek against your temple. You slip your eyes shut with something akin to peace. “And it’s okay if you need a moment to yourself after a show, dove. They tend to bring out a lot of emotions that are hard to come off from afterwards." 

“I know.”

He hums, holding you closer in a quiet indulgence. And you let him in your own quiet indulgence. 

“Do you want more water?” he asks.

“I’m okay, thanks,” you reply. As if you could compromise this small moment to have a sip of water. “Do you want to watch a film?”

Remus’ lips curl against your skin, leaning a bit back to meet your gaze. “Of course,” one of his arms lets go to pat for the remote. “Not sure if the options will be any good, though.”

You make a quiet amused sound. “I was watching a funny one earlier,” you say, smiling to yourself when his arm returns around you. “But then it got weird and gave up.”

“What film was it?”

“Clueless.”

He sends you a startled look. “You’ve never seen Clueless?”  

“I have,” you nod, growing a tad defensive. But Remus only shakes his head with a little smile, still going through the film options. “But, Remus—they were siblings at some point. Isn’t that weird?”

“It’s supposed to be Emma,” he explains, typing the movie into the search bar. 

“Right, of course,” your lips twitch into a little smile. “I forgot who I was talking to.”

He takes the bait. “Oi, what’s that supposed to mean?” he clicks on the film, drawing you closer as the opening credits begin playing. You don’t answer, but he manages to catch a small glimpse of your lips curling with the telly’s glow. “You’re going to watch this cult classic and realize how much you love it.”

“I do,” you argue softly, there’s still tentativeness in your tone that he makes sure to soothe. 

“You just called it weird.”

“It is weird,” you press, pointing at the screen as the first riff of the opening song starts playing. “But the soundtrack? Do you hear that? Bloody brilliant.”

Remus smiles. “The kids in America,” he murmurs, mostly amused. “Bit fitting, isn’t it?”

You roll your eyes fondly, settling down when the film starts properly. He sinks deeper into the sofa, fixing the blanket over your bodies and hoping you don’t feel the way his heart thumps inside his chest. 

Right as the music fades for the dialogue, you clear your throat to force the words out. “Thank you, Remus.”  

You feel his lips curling around the skin just shy of your eye, not flinching when they linger a beat longer. For a moment, you let yourself enjoy this.

…

A thumb is drawing circles into your palm, slow and steady but repetitive enough to get your attention, even asleep. When you try to raise your head, open your eyes, someone hushes.

“Sh, it’s okay,” Sirius whispers, lips curled into a sideways smile at your sleepy frown. “S’just me.”

Under you, Remus begins to rouse as well. His hand comes around your back as an instinct, checking for you even in his sleepy state. It’s enough of a grounding touch that you’re slipping your eyes shut again, giving into your exhaustion. 

Sirius doesn’t want to comment on the way they’re the tiniest bit puffy. Enough for his chest to twist painfully. He tries to coax you to wake up again, thumb sweeping your knuckles when you don’t begin stirring. 

Thankfully, Remus is already blinking his eyes open. “Sorry,” he whispers. “We… sort of fell asleep waiting for you to come back.”

“Yeah?” his lips twitch into an amused smile. The film is long over, credits still playing faintly on the telly. “Was the film not very entertaining?”

“No,” Remus says immediately, a knee jerk reaction to being a contrarian with Sirius. He shakes his head with a fond eyeroll. “How was the concert?”

“Great,” he says. “Would’ve been better if you were there, though,” his eyes flicker between you two, smile dimming.

Remus, of course, reads right through this. “She…” he’s careful to lower his voice, in case you’re beginning to wake up. “She wasn’t feeling very well.”

Sirius feels himself frowning, that worrisome divot between his eyebrows returns as his eyes begin studying you. They drag a path from your puffy eyes to your relaxed face, lips slightly parted and pursed against Remus’ shoulder. 

He fixes the blanket over you. “Is she okay now?” 

“She will,” Remus nods, carefully shifting his hold around you to reach for Sirius. His hand cups his cheek again, in that familiar way that soothes them both. “Relax, love—she will be okay, yeah?”

“I…” he frowns. “I knew something was going on but…”

You stir, and Sirius immediately silences himself. It’s at record time in which he slips the mask on, flashing you a fond grin when you blink your eyes open.

“Oh,” your voice is heavy with sleep. “Sirius?”

“That’s me, babe,” he nods. “How was the nap?”

You blink again, slowly realizing where you are, who’s holding you, and most importantly, who found you this way. 

“Fuck,” you force out, a strained sound that breaks through the silence of the lounge room. “Fuck, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“Hey, you’re okay,” Sirius is quick to reassure you, eyes slightly widened in panic when they meet Remus’. “It’s okay, lovely—no need to apologize.”

Despite the reassurances in their words and actions, the panic has spread throughout your body as you try to pull away from Remus. Your movements are painfully deliberate in your embarrassment as you stand, not quite meeting their gazes as you brush your hair away from your face. 

Sirius stands as well, frowning at the evident panic on your face. “Hey—”

“Sorry,” it’s all you say, not quite stopping your anxious fiddling as you take a step back. “I… uh, I’ll just go to sleep now.”

“y/n,” Remus says, sitting straight. The blanket pools over his lap, amber eyes full of patience when your face snaps to him. “Don’t apologize, we—”

“Remus,” you say back in the same tone. And a little pleading, too. “I know what you’re going to say, but please just… not now.”

He closes his mouth, nodding with a clenched jaw. Your eyes flicker to Sirius, holding his gaze before turning to the bunk areas to get into yours. It’s clear you won’t sleep, but they let you go, anyway.

The silence you leave behind is louder than your absence, than the realization you’ve carried with you to the compact space of your bunk bed. You’re shifting inside, they can hear the sound leaking from the small crack of your curtain. Your earpods clink together with the hurry you try to untangle them, and it isn’t until the movement ceases that they share a look. 

Sirius shifts, brushing his hair away from his face. “I’m sorry,” he still whispers, afraid you might not actually be listening to music. “I shouldn’t have woken her up.”

Remus softens. “It’s not your fault,” he whispers back, reaching for his wrist. His thumb sweeps circles in the same way he did to you. “We agreed, didn’t we? That we’d try?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, then we keep trying.”

He lets out a deep exhale, looking back at the narrow corridor. “Okay, yeah,” he nods slowly. “Sorry, it’s just…”

“I know.” Remus mirrors his nod, lips twitching into a tentative smile. “I know, love—you’re okay.”

“Did…” he wets his lips nervously. “Did she have a cry?”

“Sirius…”

“Right,” he pulls back, nodding. Like he’s reining himself in. “Right, sorry.”

“No, it’s just… I don’t know how much I should say,” Remus holds fast at his wrist, pulling him closer until he has no choice but to sit. “But she’s okay now.”

“Oh.” Sirius’ shoulders slump. “Yeah, I… I noticed but didn’t want to put her on the spot.”

“I think she needed it.”

Sirius nods, turning to look out towards the window. 

Remus shifts, changing tactics. “Did you put your guitar in the other van?”

“Huh?”

“Your guitar, love,” he smiles, stroking at his temple. At the wet curls sticking to his skin with his post concert shower. “Can I borrow it for a bit?”

It takes a while, but Sirius comes back from the back lounge with his guitar in hand. His face is still adorned with a troubled expression, eyebrows pinched together where he settles next to Remus on the sofa. He wordlessly hands it over, not minding when he stalls to take it while he finishes typing into his notes app.

“Can I ask?”

“Ask what?”

“What is it about?”

Remus only sends him a soft sideways glance, lips curling into a little smile as he continues typing. “You’ll see,” he murmurs, eyes flickering quickly to the bunk areas before turning to his phone.

“Okay.”

Sirius sits back, pulling the blanket over himself as Remus finally takes the guitar. He balances the phone over his knee, strumming absentmindedly while whispering the lyrics to himself. He starts again, then pauses to delete and rewrite—sharing little glances with Sirius as they sit in the silence that is their creative process. 

When enough time passes, and Sirius is beginning to doze off to the melodies Remus is toying with, someone is gently nudging his knee. The same hand squeezes his wrist before setting a phone into his palm, the lyrics Remus has been working on. You don’t have to be sorry for leaving and growing up. You can see the world, following the seasons. Anywhere you go, you don’t need a reason. 

“It’s just… a work in progress,” he whispers, still strumming absentmindedly. “I’ve been toying with this idea for a while but never… had the right words, I s’pose.”

Sirius looks up, eyes full of understanding. “She told you, didn’t she?”

Remus blinks. “What?”

“About… sneaking out, and her…?” his voice is tentative, almost in fear that you’re listening to them. 

“Oh, yeah,” he lets his arms drop to his lap. “You knew?”

Sirius doesn’t answer. Instead, he gestures at him for the guitar. He begins strumming the same melody, humming quietly before whispering the first lyrics—

“I first started it when we had that night out after graduation, remember?” Remus whispers, quick to explain as his thumb hovers over the screen. “How you’d take your bike and ride around the neighborhood after your mum would…”

“Yeah.”

“I have been thinking about it for a while but I never… I didn’t want to seem too abrupt, or meddling,” he goes on. “So I kept it a secret, like a silent project to work on.”

“Until today.”

Remus glances up, meeting his gaze. “Until today, yeah.”

Sirius drops his hands, too. He looks down at the lit up screen before reaching for Remus, the kiss is slow and tentative, like a secret. A silent understanding.

They stay the whole night working on the song.

[starry-eyed-moony]

this series is all i ever think about

[amnmesias]

𝐯𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞

poly!wolfstar x fem!reader

word count: 7.3k

tags: fem!reader. rockstar!reader. modern au. rock band au. sort of nuisances to lovers, angst. eventual fame au.   

a/n: ah yes the good ol’ angst  

part fifteen ˚.⋆♪⋆ series masterlist    

—

“You’re joking.”

“What?”

“I’m not packing those,” you feel warmth spread from your cheeks all the way to your neck. You snatch the flimsy boxer briefs you tend to sleep in from her hand. “I can’t just walk around wearing these.”

“Why not?” Pandora frowns, genuinely surprised at your push back. She takes the boxers back. “You do it all the time here.”

“Yeah, because it’s just you,” you argue back, eyeing the way she starts folding them again. She takes a couple more to fold them as well. “and Reg but he hardly counts.”

Pandora laughs. “So what? Are you going to walk around covered from head to toe like a bloody nun?”

You pretend to busy yourself with a few tees. “Maybe.”

“God, you’re ridiculous. Fine—die of a heatstroke for all I care,” she mumbles in feigned upset, setting the folded boxers aside. “And if you’re not taking those, the lacy knickers stay back as well.”

You pause, feeling the intensity of her gaze. Your traitorous eyes flicker to the half packed luggage on the floor, where most of your underwear is already safely folded and packed away. Pandora smirks, taking the boxers back to set them inside the same section. 

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed, miss.”

You hum. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you hand her your tees to pack them as well. Pandora does an awful job at hiding her delight at your flushed cheeks. “I always wear those.”

“Hm, yeah,” she concedes, almost taunting as she pats the clothes. “But I don’t recall you wearing them this often.”

You scoff. “Are you in the habit of keeping tabs on my clothing choices?”

“Love, the day you stop forgetting to do your laundry,” she sends you a look with enough energy to make you raise your shoulders, properly contrite. She goes on, “is the day you can scold me for knowing what you are or not wearing.”

“Fuck off,” you grumble, twisting to begin folding your trousers. Which are, funnily, enough. When you pick the first one, a low waisted one you secretly stole from Regulus, you pretend to not notice her knowing gaze following your movements. “Oh, for fuck’s sake—I get it. I dress like a trollop, let’s move on.”

A rumpled jumper lands on your head, followed by Pandora’s offended gasp. “Don’t say that!” she throws you a pair of rolled up socks for good measure. “I mean, yes, you sort of do. But that’s not the point here.”

“And what’s the point?”

“That you’re packing like you’re preparing for something,” she lowers her voice, knowing how her words can either make you close up or make you act weirder. Like clockwork, your smile drops. Pandora draws a long sigh, shuffling in her knees to get closer to you. “Or… for a particular couple?”

You let the trousers drop to your lap, fiddling with the belt hoops, to give your hands something to do. They cruelly pull you back to that night at the pub after rehearsal, the way Remus had pulled you inside, gaze decisive despite the impulsiveness of the moment. The fleeting, charged touch of Sirius’ ring against your skin. Their lips—

“It’s just…” you rub your lips together, looking down at the trousers, then the rest you’re yet to pack. The boxer briefs and tops and tees. “Is it—Am I that obvious?”

Pandora’s lips curl in an almost smile, sympathetic despite her best attempts to keep it anything but. She reaches for your hands, taking the trousers and setting them aside. Like she can see the turmoil inside your chest, seeping into your heart, your lungs and cutting all your oxygen. The all consuming energy that pumps your veins at the memory rushes all the way to your head when your eyes, unconsciously, cut a quick glance to your dresser. The photobooth strip remains shoved deep inside.

You suck a stuttering breath. “Can I tell you something?” you whisper, all the volume you allow yourself to not fall apart. Pandora shuffles closer with a nod. It’s enough to make a small bout of relief blossom in your chest. “Something… happened. The other day.”

“Something with…?” She trails off, careful, searching in your eyes for permission to finish her question.

“With Sirius,” you nod. “Then with Remus, and then with both of them,” the words slip past your tongue like they’ve been waiting for permission to come out. To finally break free. “And… I liked it. A lot, actually.”

The confession feels less like a weight lifting off your shoulders and more like someone has reached inside your insides, twisting and twisting until your heart is beating so loud where it’s squeezed tight. Your hand flies to your chest, trying to tame it down, but it’s enough to set off the alarms in your head. It spreads to your legs as you shift to stand.

Pandora reaches for your forearms before you can flee, one of your knees stills mid air before she’s carefully guiding you back down and into her arms. She hugs you tightly, rubbing a hand up and down your spine like a steady anchor. 

You swallow thickly, willing your voice to remain quiet. “Why them, Dora?” you whisper, letting her pull you closer. Her hand travels to the back of your head when a sniffle escapes you. “Why did it have to be them? Why now?”

“Oh, love,” she murmurs, resting her chin over the crown of your head when you slide down in her embrace. 

“I’ve spent the entire fucking time telling myself it’s all in my head—that I… I imagined it. And it’s fine if I did, I can accept that,” you go on, words tripping out and barely coherent to your own ears. “But then they do things—things that I can’t pretend they don’t mean anything. I can’t, and it’s fucking me up ‘cause I said I wouldn’t stand between them, that I wouldn’t mediate and it’s exactly what I’m doing. They have each other, it’s just them and—”

Pandora tuts, guiding you away when your voice begins turning erratic, puffs of air that come out faster and faster to catch up with your thoughts. “Love, hey,” she holds your shoulders, forcing you to focus your attention on her. “Breathe. You’re okay, it’s okay.”

You shake your head. “No, it’s not. This is not okay, I’m not supposed to be even entertaining this. Why the fuck am I packing all these… these things like something could actually happen?” your voice is fraught, heavy with heartbreak that makes her own ache. “What the fuck am I thinking? It has always been Remus and Sirius, Sirius and Remus. No more, just them, and—”

“And you,” she says, still holding you in place in case her words make you walk away. They don’t, but your face does twist painfully at this, and Pandora draws you closer for another hug with a sorry smile. “And you, love. It’s quite obvious to everyone that it’s no longer just Sirius and Remus. At least not to them.”

Your stomach drops at this, at the firmness of her voice and how, deep down, you know this as well. This undeniable truth that you’ve been turning around in your head, making it make sense and disentangling it until it’s nothing but a silly memory. A fantasy you never should’ve entertained. Even if it has happened time and time before, with idly touches and strokes of skin, quiet whispers and shared looks. A fantasy that, at some point of this journey, materialized into something tangible. Something terrifyingly real.

“I can’t do that,” you shake your head, brushing your hair away. It brings another memory to your head, a pang to your chest that finds you dropping your hands to your sides. “I can’t do that to them. Or the band. I… no.”

Pandora sits back, listening to each of your words and all the contradictions that come out with each confession you make. She holds you close, taking the brunt of both your pain and the weight of your feelings, the ones you keep trying to hold all by yourself. Like you were taught to do from a very early age. 

You used to be better at it. Asking for help with the weight. But then you found yourself enjoying how capable it made you feel, how much it could dissolve into a faint annoying hum in your head and seeing your friends so unburdened thanks to you. It was a high you used to chase constantly, and one that was hard to pry you off from. It seems all your efforts have been in vain in the end.

“y/n, I need you to breathe, lovely,” she whispers, guiding you away when the sniffles grow in intensity. “You’re going to make yourself sick, holding all in. Breathe for me.”

You try. You really do. But all it does is tighten the knot inside your chest, reverting to damage control and scrambling to pull your insides back together. Pretending this wound hasn’t made them leak out of you, that it hasn’t brought out months of repression into the light. 

Somewhere down the hallway, the main door opens and closes. Shuffling sounds follow as Regulus begins setting his things down, toeing his boots off and getting rid of the day’s remains as he wanders around the flat in search for either you or Pandora. When he steps into the room, pausing just by the threshold, the glow around him dims when he notices the state of you. Pandora sends him a look that is close to a warning.    

His knuckle rasps the threshold, lingering enough to buy himself time. His eyes catalogue every corner of the room, every clothing strewn around or folded by your open luggage, ready to be packed away. 

You don’t look up, or pause your failed attempt to compose yourself to look at him. You’ve heard him come in, you can tell by his steps, the way he sucks in a breath before fully stepping inside. Pandora’s palm presses at your spine again, soothing enough to coax you out of your hiding place. She sends you a sorry smile when your gazes meet.

“Hey,” Regulus says quietly, lowering himself to sit by your side. He’s careful as he sets your folded trousers aside, taking the opportunity to just put them inside your suitcase to alleviate the burden of doing it yourself. “What’s the matter?”

His hands begin working on the rest of your clothes, folding and folding and folding until he’s holding a pile of just your trousers. He sets them aside by the rest of the clothes when you hesitate, eyes boring into the underwear and boxer briefs Pandora has already packed for you. A hand flies to your forehead, pressing hard at the skin like you’re suppressing a thought. A memory.

Regulus shifts to sit back with his legs crossed, scanning you closely before cutting a glance at Pandora. She almost ran, she mouths at him. Her eyes shot a quick sideways glance at you before focusing back on him. It’s about Remus and Sirius, she adds in the same way. Ah, it’s all he mouths back. 

He twists around, cataloguing what you’ve packed and what’s left to fold. His eyes land on the jumpers, and he gets started on it. Nimble fingers making quick work of the lump of clothes, he lets the silence do all the work to soothe you. Letting time and energy stretch enough to speak. 

When you don’t show signs of calming down, Regulus clears his throat. Hoping to ease his own nerves. “You know,” he starts to say, eyes downcast as he runs a palm over a jumper suspiciously familiar to one Pandora has been nagging him for stealing. “I kissed James the other day.”

It’s enough of a big confession to make you freeze. He only sets the jumper aside with the rest before twisting to take another. 

“I came home and cried my eyes out,” his voice quietens, chancing a quick glance at you. You manage to meet his gaze this time, breathing still a tad erratic but simmering as realization dawns on you. “I had never felt so hopeless and lost in my life. It was terrifying.”

“Yeah?” you ask back, voice raspy like your throat still won’t give you control of your feelings back. They remain trapped inside, like a caged animal pacing around their confinement. “Why… why didn’t you say?” 

“Honestly? I didn’t think it’d matter that much.”

You shake your head. “It does,” you counter immediately. “Of course it does, Reg. We could’ve helped you.”

His eyes flit to Pandora, lips twitching in a shared smile before he turns back to you. “Yeah, I know that,” he nods. You mirror it unconsciously. Regulus sets a palm over the pile, carefully sliding it out of the way to shuffle to you. “But I couldn’t find myself to do it. To let the words out—that would mean making it true, and I couldn’t handle that. I don’t think I still can.”

Your brows bunch together in empathy. Of course. No one could understand his predicament better than you. Regulus accepts your hug, one he suspects you need more than him.

“I think,” your voice is quiet, tentative almost. You tighten your arms around him, seeking the comfort you’re trying to give. “the scary part is not saying it, it’s…”

He guides you a bit away, enough to force you to look at him. “The after, yeah,” he nods, lips twitching in an almost smile. His own shoulders are slumped with resignation, with his own emotional weight he has been carrying. “It’s bloody terrifying, yeah. But you… y/n, staying quiet will make it hurt more, more than it already does, I’m sure.”

You look away, drawing a long and stuttering breath. It makes your chest rattle and the achingly loud thumping of your heart to simmer. 

“It’s just… I don’t know,” you start to say, hands flailing as you try to find the words. To force them out where they’re trapped in your throat. “It’s just—fuck.”

“Yeah,” the corners of his lips twitch, just enough to show his own empathy at your reaction. His eyes flicker knowingly at Pandora before turning back to you. “Okay, come on.”

You blink. “What?” 

Regulus pushes himself to stand, not quite letting go of your arm yet to pull you up with him. You’re too stunned, trying to catch up to his change of plans that your mind goes blank. 

“Come take a walk with me.”

“Now?”

“Unless you have other plans?” he asks, dipping his chin low to level you with a look.

Your eyes betray you by flitting to your dresser again, then your luggage and your clothes. Still halfway through being packed in the last days since you started. “But it’s late,” you argue. Just for arguing’s sake. 

“Oh, now you care about going out at night?” he jokes lightly, pulling you out of the room. You have enough wits about yourself to feel a tiny bit contrite at his knowing jab. 

“And you just got home,” you try again. A flimsy excuse. Less credible with each time you reach to brush your hair away, tucking it and untucking it from your ear in anxious movements. “from work...”

Regulus huffs a quiet laugh, bending to put his boots on again. “I know,” he glances up. “but we’re going for a walk, not the pub, so…”

Behind you, Pandora nudges you playfully. “S’okay, lovely. Your luggage will still be here when you get back,” she murmurs, beelining to the kitchen. She gives your forearm a loving squeeze as she walks past, nodding at Regulus before busying herself cleaning. Useless really, the kitchen is cleaner than it has ever been.

You take your time to gear up, hoping Regulus will lose patience and let it go. Of course, he’s leaning against the front door’s threshold when you glance up. He gives you a promoting nod when you finish shrugging on your jacket and loops an arm through yours. 

The weather outside is surprisingly nice for the hour, a slight breeze hits your face, a stark contrast to the warmth you feel on your skin, your face, your nape. It’s nice. It sort of helps. 

Still, you reach inside your jacket’s pocket for your reserve cigarette carton to take two. Regulus wordlessly accepts his without looking or letting go. A shared vice to finish the conversation that hangs in the air between you. If he recognizes your lighter from someone else, he makes a point of only handing it back with a little smile. You can’t say the same thing about the forsaken lighter—it feels as heavy as your heart when you pocket it back.

“M’sorry for making a big scene,” you mumble, blowing away from him. The breeze still makes it swirl back towards you. “I feel like I’m making it a whole thing.”

“Well, I don’t exactly know what led you to that point,” he says back, looking around the street in what one would think is a distracted manner. But he can’t fool you, his brows are wrinkled together in a pensive frown. “But I’d say you’re actually very calm about this whole thing.”

You huff a quiet laugh. “This whole thing?”

“You know, the tour, the EP… those tossers,” he gestures vaguely. “No wonder you’re so pent up lately.” You frown back at him. Regulus only brings his cig back to his lips, leveling you with a look at your apparent puzzlement. “y/n, please. Save me the trouble of calling you out.” 

“What?”

Regulus chuckles, taking another drag. “Beastie boys? Really?” he asks, voice laced with knowing amusement. You look away. “Remember that time you broke up with that bloke? You spent two bloody months listening to nothing but them.”

“They make good angry music,” you argue weakly, taking a short drag. You welcome the burn of smoke before speaking again. “And loud.”

“Loud?” he hums. You don’t miss the funny lilt of his voice. “Like the Wu-Tang Clan, I assume?”

“Is this you trying to tell me you don’t want to share accounts anymore?” 

He rolls his eyes, immediately picking up on the way you’re trying to divert the attention from this topic. But he won’t let you. Not anymore. 

“Where did you go last night?”

You take a longer drag this time. “Nowhere. I stayed home to start getting my stuff ready, remember?”

“No, after that,” he says, firmer now. But gently. “I came out of my room for something to eat and your room was empty. y/n, you weren’t home. Where were you?”

The silence that follows is an answer in itself, as much as you try to find the words to explain to him. But, at the end, you find yourself embracing it instead. Explain what? How you conveniently waited until he and Pandora were sound asleep to slip out? How you haven’t been able to sleep since that night out? How you keep forcing yourself to act like nothing happened with Remus and Sirius? Even if all you want is clarity to put your mind at ease?

“I’m sorry,” your voice quietens. “Is that why you came with me?”

Regulus looks away, taking a drag to steady himself as well. “Sort of,” he says. Quietly like you. The streets are empty enough for you to not mind, like the world is quietening for you. “I knew you’d do it later anyway. But… I sort of needed a walk myself, to clear my head,” he pauses, cutting you a quick glance. Your eyebrows are bunched together in empathy again. He sucks in a breath. “Figured you wouldn’t mind doing it a bit earlier. Or with company this time.”

You pull him closer with a light tug to your looped arms. “You know I don’t mind,” you say, flicking the ash off your cigarette. “I never do.”

“y/n,” he searches for your gaze. “You can’t keep doing this. It might’ve helped before but you’re not alone anymore—you’ve got people that care for you.”

“I know,” you manage to say, the words feel acidic in your throat. Guilty nausea that keeps coming and going. “I know, I’m sorry. I just… I didn’t realize I was doing it again.”

“I know,” he says, sounding a little guilty. “And I’m sorry I didn't realize sooner.”

“No, Reg. You…” you bring the cig back between your lips. Not quite taking a drag yet, thinking. “It’s okay, you don’t need to apologize to me. Never. I… these moods, they come and go and I don’t—”

“You can’t control them, I know. But it’d help if you allowed us to help sometimes,” he murmurs. “Especially when things will get more complicated soon. You’ll be away for too long, traveling and performing nearly every night—you can’t go with this headspace. It’ll eat you alive.”

Your chest tightens. Regulus stops by a bin, snubbing his cigarette out before turning to you, his brows are deeply furrowed at the way you keep looking everywhere but at him. 

“It’s just…” you whisper, trying to force the words out again. “It’s just… this wasn’t meant to happen. This… this thing between them, I… I’m not that type of person. I can’t just—it can’t happen.”

“Why not?”

“Because we work together, Regulus. We’re in a band for fuck’s sake, we’re about to go on tour across the globe and… and,” you suck in a breath. “If the band ends up splitting because of this… I don’t think I could handle that. I can’t do that to them.”

Regulus nods. “Okay, that’s fair. But only if they didn’t feel the same, y/n,” his voice is gentle but firm. “You and I both know that’s not the case here.”

“We don’t know that,” you shake your head, fingers trembling slightly when you bring the cigarette back to your lips. “And even if this is true… I can’t do this to them.”

“You keep saying that,” he frowns. “You can’t do that to them and the band. But what about you?”

The smoke comes out of your lips with a cough, the tight and constricting knot in your chest comes loose with the simple question. With his quiet voice and empathetic eyes. You look away at the first sign of stinging from your eyes, screwing them shut to avoid letting the tears fall. Regulus only takes a step closer, dabbing at the one that is sliding down the side of your neck. 

“I know it’s hard to think of yourself that way—worthy of love and affection when you’ve spent your life having it denied,” his words are gentle and clear, a balm to your tears as he continues cleaning the ones that escape your eyes. “But that doesn’t mean you are. y/n… you are, okay?”

“I…” you swallow thickly, it shreds your throat where it turns into a sob. “I don't know that.”

“Because you haven’t given yourself the chance to know. You keep saying what you can’t do for them, but haven’t once asked what you want.”

“I don’t want to ruin them.”

“And it’s ruining you.”

At the way your face twists again, Regulus chances a quick look around before pulling you into a hug. The streets are mostly empty now, being too late to have people outside, wandering through the dark night. It makes your sniffles sound louder, echoey and an exact mirror to how the realization dawns on your chest. 

When you begin showing signs of calming down, Regulus pulls away, enough to find your watery gaze. “Band aside. Let’s pretend for a second the band isn’t in the equation, or the tour or the label or anything else that’s making you worry… what do you want?”

You blink.

A flash going off snaps in your head, bouncing from side to side as the phantom feeling of lips against your skin begins tingling your own lips. Arms around. your middle and soft gazes when you’re doubting yourself. Late night texting and sharing quiet moments on a rooftop. A warm pub and inner jokes, laughter overlapping and a photobooth strip. It’s yours. Remus’ voice comes like lightning striking into your brain. 

You glance back up at Regulus, eyes wide with realization that cuts the air out of your lungs. 

He sends you a small smile, curling an arm around your shoulders. “Let’s head home, yeah?”

…

“No, I did leave them there. Check again.”

You’ve been pacing around the waiting area for a while now, sequestered into a small corner while you wait for the baggage carousel to start. It’s very early, and you’ve still got mascara smudged under your lower lashes from your heartfelt goodbye to your friends and your hours of sleeping during the flight. Your fingers are nearly trembling with the airport's naturally cold atmosphere and fiddling with the cord of your earbuds. Whoever has called you keeps adding fuel to the fire that is your frazzled nerves.

“How can it not be there?” your voice is sharp, sharper than they’ve ever heard from you before. “Just—hand the phone back to Alice. Yes, Alice. She’ll be more helpful than you.”

Remus frowns. 

“What’s that all about?” James asks drowsily, sitting across from him as he, too, watches you picking up pace around them. “Who’s Alice?”

“A friend from work,” Remus explains, voice airy in his distraction when you turn to take another lap around the carousel. Your fingertips are pressed hard between your eyebrows. “Maybe something came up.”

“I thought she quit?”

“She can’t quit, Prongs. That’s her best paying job.”

“But the band…?”

Remus lowers his hand, thumb sweeping Sirius’ sternum where he’s laying down by his side—uncomfortably draped across various chairs. His heart calms into a soft hum when Sirius shifts to lean his head over his lap.

“I don’t know,” he says honestly. “All I do know is that she moved some strings to get her holiday request moved for the tour.”

“And that her coworkers are useless,” Sirius adds, a dry bite that shakes the drowsiness of his own tone. “I mostly want us to do well so she can leave that place.”

A gentle pinch to his chest. “Sirius,” Remus chides, a placating tone that lowers when you rejoin them. Your call is long finished but your irritation seems nowhere near dissipated. He sends you a small smile. “Everything alright?”

“Yeah,” you nod, still rubbing your fingers on your forehead. “Yeah, just… a few things I thought I left explicitly explained and handled.”

Remus nods. It’s all he can do, really. A hand is set over his, squeezing softly before letting go. Coincidentally at the same time your eyes flit down to Sirius, their joined hands over his sternum and the way he squeezes Remus’ hand. You look away, jaw clenched as you cross your arms to pretend to scan the carousel. 

“They’re not out yet?” you ask, voice easing into something less tense. Your hand lowers to your mouth, covering a yawn. 

“No,” James yawns as well, standing to stretch. Another yawn takes over his words, louder than yours. He juts his chin towards the carousel. “Pete’s got it, though.”

You shake your head. “You need to stop treating him like an errand boy. He’s our manager.”

Sirius waves you off casually. “He said he didn’t mind.”

Your eyes return to him, a fleeting gaze that makes his heart ache. But you look away before he can read more into it, to find the real meaning behind your lingering gazes and the general lovelorn essence that radiates off of you. 

“M’going to find something to drink, maybe a coffee,” you put one of your earbuds back.

“I’ll come,” James says, finishing stretching to follow after you. “I need something to eat before I actually fall asleep.”

“Fall asleep again you mean?” you joke, voice fading out as you walk away. 

James gasps, feigning upset. They can hear him even from where they’re sitting. “Says you! Look at my shoulder—you’ve left it damp with drool.”

Remus watches you and James joke between yourselves, watching the sleepy but easy way you interact with him. The same way you used to be with them.

The silence you leave behind is so deafening, the carousel whirring to life lands like thunder in the room. Sirius shakes his head, trying to fully wake himself up before sitting straight. He shoots a quick glance at Peter, checking he’s away from earshot before turning to Remus.

“I can’t keep pretending anymore, Remus,” he still says quietly. When Remus turns to meet his gaze, he is grateful to find the same troubling look that he’s sure is showing on his face. “Do you…” a pause. “Do you regret it?”

“Regret what?”

“The… well…”

“The kisses?” he asks, direct. No going around it. Sirius still feels the air getting sucked out of him, but Remus is quick to add, “No, I don’t. But there could’ve been a different way to go on about it.”

Sirius holds his gaze. “To go on about what?” he asks, a quiet challenge. 

Of course, Remus is long past any overthinking when it comes to his feelings. “To go on about how we feel,” his voice is calm, a steady hum that works like a charm to ease the nerves in Sirius’ chest. “We should’ve talked about it first, not… not let the moment pass and consume everything.”

“I…” Sirius lets out a sharp exhale, brushing his hair away. He tries not to think about you, the touch of your fingers and lips and the way you keep looking at him. “I can’t stop thinking about it. About her and,” he pauses. “about us.”

“Me too,” Remus says, almost immediately. His hesitation takes a beat longer to arrive, but is undeniable there when his eyes begin scanning Sirius’ face. Slow and steady, cataloguing each inch as he gathers up the courage to finish off his thoughts. “Is that… something you’d want?”

Yes. The thought comes fast and thundering, having already settled in the days that followed that night at the pub. Sirius doesn’t realize he’s nodding until Remus is brushing his hair away again.

“Yes,” he speaks out, though it’s barely a whisper. “and it’s driving me insane how much I want it,” the words come spilling out of him before he can process it, but his expression is far from regretful when he catches Remus’ hand. “All of us. Together. Not you and me, and then her—not like that.”

His confession is so sudden and earnest it drags a stunned laugh out of Remus. But relieved, too. It’s obvious in the way his shoulders relax as well. “All of us, huh?” he smiles. It makes Sirius relax as well. “I like that, actually. Very much.”

Sirius feels himself smiling, too. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Remus nods. “For a while actually.”

“Why didn’t you say?”

“I didn’t want to jump to conclusions—I… well, we had just solved our thing. I didn’t want to,” he pauses, rubbing at his eyes. Even if the conversation has awakened him, there’s still sleepiness seeping into his movements as he drops his hands. “I didn’t want to scare you off, I suppose.”

“Remus, what?” he exhales deeply. “You… you’d never scare me off. Even less about this—I just thought… at the studio.. that we talked about this?”

“That wasn’t a very honest conversation, love. You can’t expect me to fully understand what you meant if you didn’t know yourself,” he explains, gentle but firm. “But yeah, that’s fair. I should’ve been clearer.”

“Me too.”

“Here we are, then,” his smile dims enough with more uncertainty. 

“Here we are.” Sirius echoes softly, shifting closer. “How are we going to make it right? With y/n?”

Remus hums, lips twitching into a little knowing smile. “Maybe try to go slower this time,” he quietens his voice when Peter walks past, wheeling the first luggage that comes off the carousel. “And be as clear as possible without scaring her off. The least I want is for her to feel uncomfortable again.”

“I know,” Sirius nods, looking away where you’re walking back with James. You’re laughing at something he’s saying, looking more awake and less stressed. As one tends to be with James. “Sounds like a plan, then?”

“What are you planning?” asks James, in his hand a big bag of crisps. A colour and flavour only Americans can come up with. He eats with a calmness that makes them forget its past 4 am. “And why am I being kept off said plans?”

Sirius turns, holding a hand out for a crisp. “That I’m taking the top bunker,” he says, popping a few into his mouth. He flinches. “Prongs—what the fuck? Why are you eating these?”

“What?” James frowns, popping more into his mouth. “They’re habanero, isn’t it bloody cool?”

“It’s disgusting,” Sirius shakes his head, he puts the crisps back on James’ open palm. “I hate them, did you at least get us something, you selfish prick?”

“Oh, yeah. y/n’s got them, though,” he turns, looking for you around the carousel. You’re busy talking with Peter and handing him his own drink and a pack of Oreos. “You know her—insisted on getting Pete something to make up for your taunting, you selfish prick,” he points at Sirius.

Sirius only throws him the bird. It lasts shortly when realization dawns on him, quickly blossoming into fondness when he sees you gently pushing the bag into Peter’s arms despite his polite refusal. He turns to Remus, and they share a silent knowing smile. 

…

“Okay, so… Sirius, this one’s yours, as requested,” Peter says, distractedly pointing at the bunk beds as he checks his notes. “James, you’re on the bottom one.”

James sighs, bending to shove his things under his bunk. He’s not above pettiness as he throws Sirius the bird with a halfhearted glare. 

“You never struck me as a sore loser, Prongs,” Remus hums, arms crossed as he waits to be assigned his own bunk bed. He fails at appearing smug when Peter points at the top one, pointedly across Sirius in the narrow hallway. 

“And, as requested as well,” Peter turns to you. “The bottom bunk.”

You blink, pulling your earbud out of one ear to focus back on Peter. “Sorry, what?”

“Nothing too important, just that we’ll be neighbors,” James curls an arm around your neck, jostling you playfully and accidentally yanking your other earbud out. “Oops, sorry.”

“S’fine, Jamie,” you chuckle quietly. It dies on your throat when he takes your suitcase to put it down under your bunk as well. “Oh, that’s not necessary.”

“Let him, dove,” Remus says, and your eyes snap to him. He momentarily regrets it, but your lips twitch very, very faintly and the thought dissipates as he smiles back. “He’s got to maintain his energy for tonight.”

“Oh, then,” you turn back to James. A knee jerk reaction to escape Remus’ kind eyes. “Thank you.”

James only salutes you before bending down to test his bunk bed. The curtain moves with his movement, clearly shifting around and trying to find a comfortable position in the compact space. 

You only put your earbuds back on before returning to the front lounge. Remus sends Sirius a look, and the boy only nods quickly before bending to take his things and begin preparing for tonight. Opening night of the tour.

Remus shoves the sleeves of his jumper up to his forearms, making a beeline for the mini fridge at the front. His eyes flit quickly to one of the sofas, you’re curled up—arms tight as you gaze out the window. Your face is impassive, eyes half-lidded where they follow the movement outside. Technicians and crew members are finishing loading out and into the venue. 

He pretends to be interested in the logistics when he sits across from you on the sofa, angled towards you under the pretense of staring out the tinted window. Okay, maybe he's not as brave as he hoped to be. 

To your credit, you don’t move. But your eyes still flicker to a sideways glance, like you’re scared of looking too long before turning to face straight ahead. Music leaks out of your earbuds, a testament of how loud it is. 

“What’re you listening to?” he asks.

“Hm?” you ask back, flinching a little at being caught when he flashes you a smile. “Oh, sorry. Um… the Beastie boys?”

Remus knows. He can make out the boisterous and gritty production even from where he’s sitting a considerable distance away from you. 

He smiles. “I know,” he crosses his arm over the headrest, setting his chin down to not be too obvious with his staring. “I can hear them from here.”

Your cheeks warm at this. “Sorry,” you mumble, taking the other earbud out to wrap them around your phone. “I didn’t realize it was that loud.”

“You’re fine. But it can be very dangerous for your ears in the long run, don’t you think?” he says easily, too easily perhaps. It borders on nervousness. “Do you usually listen to music that loud? I noticed you did it on the flight as well.”

Remus almost scoots closer at the way you smile, mostly to yourself, but still visible from where he’s sitting. Small steps. 

“Sometimes,” you shrug one shoulder. “It helps with the thinking.” 

“Ah,” he nods in understanding. “About your job?”

There’s a small moment, really small and fleeting, where your eyes almost meet his. Arms tensing around your legs before you’re shifting towards the window instead. You’ve squeezed yourself tight at the far end of the sofa, a small cocoon of yourself that makes Remus’ heart ache. He shoots a quick glance at Sirius, who’s busying himself pretending to go through his things and choosing his clothes for tonight. Their gazes meet with a silent reassurance.

“Is it—” you clear your throat, eyebrows pinching together as you find the words. “Was it weird for you to take a break at work for this, too?”

Remus blinks. “Break?” he asks, tilting his head to the side in curiosity.

“A holiday, I mean.”

“Oh,” Remus clears his own throat. “I… well, I sort of quit.”

“What?”

“It’s okay, dove—it was just a part time position,” he’s quick to reassure you. “I mostly did it for my dad, so…”

You frown. “Your dad? Is he…” your lips twitch from side to side, weighing your words before uttering them. “Does he not approve of you doing the band? ”

Remus’ lips twitch. “He’s easing up to the idea,” you turn your head, and he lets himself relax. “He wasn’t at first, wanted me to go on the same path as him and all that nonsense. Which—I don’t really think is a bad idea, and I think teaching is a lovely job but…”

“Not what you envision for yourself,” you finish off, tentative almost. Remus nods with a little smile, one you’re more likely to return this time. “I get it, I s’pose. What does he teach?”

“English literature—how surprising, isn’t it?” he says, feeling fondness spread in his chest at the way you try to hide your eyeroll from him. It’s mostly fond in a way that makes his heart flutter. “Mostly post war stuff. Novels, essays… that sort of thing.”

“Post war… that sounds posh. But very interesting.”

He laughs. “I mean, it is, yeah. If you’re into reading about misery and suffering,” he looks at you sideways, gauging your reactions. “But yeah… we had very different opinions about my future after graduating. We eventually compromised in a part time job at the library, I got time for the band and he got what he wanted. Sort of.”

You hum, lowering one of your legs to cross it under you. Small steps. “Did he blow a fuse when you quit?”

Remus smirks. “Yeah, he was almost livid,” he chuckles, fiddling with his ring. “Then I told him why and he understood. He was actually very thrilled afterwards.”

“Yeah? That’s sweet,” you turn back to look out the window. But the unmistakable curl of your lips is still visible to his eyes. “Like James’ mum?”

“No one can beat Effie, I’m sorry.”

You chuckle, it overlaps with his in the quiet lounge. Remus looks down at his ring, turning it and turning it when your shared laughter dissipates into a comforting silence. Or more comfortable than before.

“What about you?” he asks easily. “Was your family thrilled about the news?”

The smile dims on your face, replaced by a faint press of your lips as you look down at your lap. Remus feels his chest tighten.

“Oi, Moons—are you going to stay here all day showing off about your dad’s book, or are you going to actually unpack?”

Sirius stands by the end of the bunk beds area, arms crossed in one would think it’s a confrontational pose had it not been by the worried divot between his eyebrows. His eyes flicker to you, lingering enough to make the concern in his expression more evident. He shakes it off when you glance up at him, then at Remus. 

“Your dad wrote a book?”

He takes it for what it is.

“Yeah,” he nods, sending you a small smile. “It’s… a bit on the lengthy side, but I can lend it to you if you’re interested.”

“Oh,” you blink. “That’d be… thanks.”

Remus nods, you mirror it almost unconsciously. Feeling a pang of guilt at the way his eyes soften. Wheels whir against the carpet from the back area, and Peter comes out the hallway with his luggage, or yours. It’s hard to tell when you’ve got the same ones.

“y/n, I think they switched ours,” he says. His eyes flicker between you three with a strange look, something that makes you unconsciously shift impossibly farther from Remus. He rolls the luggage to where you are, and it’s not lost on you how he looks everywhere instead of meeting your gaze. “I’ll just… take mine.”

“Sure, Jamie put it under my bunk.”

“Thanks,” he nods curtly, nearly scrambling back to the bunk beds. 

“Weird bloke,” Sirius hums quietly, looking at him go. 

“Pads, be nice,” Remus chides.

“What? It’s true,” he says back, turning to flash you a smile. Remus rolls his eyes fondly, but you look away. Still unable to meet his gaze. “I’d check your things, lovely. We never know with Peter.”

Remus throws his arms up. “Sirius.”

“Alright, alright!” he does the same, smirking when you smile. Despite your best intentions to keep it at bay. “Come help me, then.”

He stands, taking the bait. You watch him go with a slight pucker to your lips, it spreads into a tentative smile when you glance up and accidentally meet eyes. Remus almost relaxes as he follows Sirius deep into the bus.

You lean over to check they’re far enough to pull the luggage into the sofa in front of you, opening it with cautious movements and only halfway to check your things. You never know.

Sirius’ voice carries all the way from the back area where he’s laughing and throwing jabs, James’ own laughter echoing a beat afterwards. It’s enough proof to know they’re properly distracted before you’re digging into the side of your clothes. They’re exactly how you packed them, nothing is moved or rumpled—Peter must have just noticed the makeup bag and realized it’s not his before closing it back. Still, you won’t take any chances.

You glance around before setting your toiletries pouch aside, digging between your trousers until you find it. At the very bottom of your luggage, the photobooth strip.