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but i crumble completely when you cry

MAFIA AU: poly marauders x reader

summary: twelve years after remus saved you from being killed in the underground, you’ve built a life beside him, james, and sirius at the center of one of the most powerful mobs in the country. but during a high stakes event, everything shifts when you become a target, and suddenly the life you’ve fought to keep is put at risk. ( 7.5k words )

tags: mafia au, reader has she/her pronouns, established relationship, angst, violence, blood and injury, murder, gun violence, fight scenes, kidnapping, hostage situations, torture, drugging, childhood trauma, starving kids, poverty, slut shaming, mentions of scars, healer reader, creepy snape, panic, fear, morally gray characters, remus centric, happy ending

a/n: this was written months ago and i just rediscovered it buried in my docs. might turn it into a mini series because mafia poly marauders has no business being this hot masterlist

You met Remus way before anyone knew his name, before the respect he earned and the reputation that made people step aside without thinking about it.

Back then, he was just another kid surviving off whatever the underground world didn’t manage to take from him.

Too thin, clothes hanging loose like they belonged to someone else, eyes dulled by exhaustion but still alert in a way that didn’t match the rest of him; no family, no one waiting, nothing tying him to anything except the instinct to keep going.

He didn’t beg, didn’t waste words, didn’t draw attention unless he meant to, which was rare. Most people passed him without noticing. The ones who did never looked long.

The first time you approached him, it wasn’t out of kindness. You were a starving teenager, and he looked worse.

You’d found half a sandwich behind a closed diner, warm and edible, something you should have kept. You meant to. But he was there, slumped against a rusted pipe, fighting sleep like it might take more from him than rest ever could, and before you let yourself think twice, you stepped forward, pressed the food into his hands, and walked away.

Remus never forgot you after that.

The next time you saw him, it was your blood soaking into the ground.

A group of men had him cornered deep in the tunnels. Even then, he knew how to fight; quick, efficient, and already dangerous in a way that came from necessity rather than skill, but there were too many of them and numbers always tipped the scale.

You moved fast despite your weak form, grabbed the nearest man, sank your teeth into his forearm hard enough to feel skin break, kicked, clawed, made noise, anything that would pull them off him long enough to save Remus.

It worked for a moment. Until one of them turned and drove a knife into your shoulder, clean and deep.

After that, everything blurred. Movement, sound, the sharp pull of breath you couldn’t steady; by the time your eyes could focus again, the men were dead, two at Remus’ hands, the third barely managing to crawl before the blood loss killed him.

Your parents didn’t make it either, they were both killed by an underground gang.

You weren’t given the chance to grieve them properly—not with your arm throbbing and your body struggling to stay upright.

Remus didn’t speak. Aside from a scatter of bruises and shallow cuts, he’d come out of it mostly intact—steady enough to catch you before your knees gave out, his arm firm at your back as he pulled you upright and kept you moving.

You went with him because there was nothing left to stay for, your weight leaning into him more with every step, the pain in your shoulder turning sharp and distant all at once. He took you deeper into the underground, to a man no one trusted unless they had no other choice—unreliable, difficult, but capable enough to keep people alive when it mattered.

Remus stayed.

Through all of it. While the man worked, cutting into your shoulder to stitch what he could, wrapping the rest, Remus didn’t step away, didn’t look elsewhere, didn’t leave you with it alone

The days blurred into each other after that.

You spoke less, kept your head down, learned quickly what not to react to; blood stopped meaning anything beyond whether it needed to be dealt with. Remus didn’t offer comfort, not out of cruelty, but because it wasn’t something he knew how to give, and you didn’t ask for it.

What he did know was survival.

How to move without being noticed, how to find warmth when the tunnels turned unforgiving, how to take what was needed without drawing the wrong kind of attention, how to end a fight before it had the chance to turn against him.

So he handled it, for both of you, without making it into something worth mentioning.

He considered teaching you, once or twice. You could see it in the way his attention lingered when you tried to handle anything, but it never went further than that. You were small, your strength unreliable, your hands unsteady even with something as simple as a rusted pipe, and he wasn’t careless enough to pretend otherwise.

The idea dropped, without discussion. Instead, he made sure you didn’t need to fight.

And in return, you learned how to keep him standing.

Every time he came back injured, you were there. Your hands weren’t steady at first, and you didn’t always know what you were doing, but you worked through it anyway; gathering scraps of cloth, heating water when you could, learning piece by piece until it became routine.

You never asked where his injuries came from.

Pain was something he understood, something he carried without complaint. You didn’t have that same tolerance for it. Those early years wore you down in ways he couldn’t ignore, even if he didn’t know how to fix them.

You got sick often—lungs too weak, body too fragile for the cold and the damp—and there were nights when the coughing didn’t stop, when it dragged on until breathing itself felt like work.

He never tried to soothe you with empty words. Instead, he stayed, sitting beside you in the dark, pressing the back of his hand to your forehead as if that alone could tell him what to do next. It never did, but he didn’t leave.

For a while, that was enough.

Things held together, barely, until they didn’t.

The fight came out of nowhere and everywhere at once, built from too many nights without food, too little sleep, too much pressure sitting unspoken between you.

You had given away part of your food, not much, just enough to quiet the whining of a stray dog that had been trailing you for days. You hadn’t thought of it as a decision that needed weighing. Remus had.

He had already been worn down by a horrible day full of fights, his patience stretched thin, and when he realized what you’d done, the reaction came horribly.

He told you that you couldn’t afford choices like that, that you were careless, that keeping you alive was costing him more than he could sustain, and even if the dog had been the trigger, it wasn’t the reason. You understood that much without him saying it.

You didn’t interrupt him. You didn’t argue, didn’t raise your voice to meet his, didn’t give him anything to work against.

You stood there and let him finish, quiet in a way that should have forced him to hear himself, to stop before he crossed the line he was already approaching. He didn’t stop. By the time he was worn out from his lash out, he turned away from you as if it had been nothing more than another conversation, laid down, and let sleep take him without a second thought.

By the time he woke up the next morning, you were gone.

Your clothes were still there, your blanket exactly where you’d left it, the tin box of stolen medicine untouched. Everything remained in place except you. There was no note, no sign that you had planned it beyond the fact that you had followed through. The absence said enough on its own.

He understood immediately what he had done and what it had cost without needing to search for another explanation.

The realization hit hard, and there was no way around it. This was on him. By the time he was on his feet, he wasn’t thinking about anything else except finding you.

He searched anyway.

Weeks of it, moving through every part of the tunnels he knew and plenty he didn’t, cutting sleep down to nothing, food to whatever he could grab without slowing himself. Every girl he passed made something in his chest tighten; every still body in a corner forced him to look twice, just in case.

Remus found you five months later, by accident more than anything else.

You were sitting slumped against a wall outside a supply depot near the edge of the underground, so thin you barely looked alive, clothes caked in dirt, head tipped forward like holding it up took more effort than you had left.

He almost didn’t recognize you. Almost kept walking. He looked again, properly this time, and the moment it clicked, everything in him went still.

He crossed the distance in a few quick steps, dropped into a crouch in front of you, said your name to try and pull you back. When he reached for you, there was no reaction at first. Then, slowly, your head lifted, your eyes found his, and recognition settled in with a kind of silence that hurt more than anything louder could have.

You looked away.

He didn’t give you the choice to leave again.

When he pulled you to your feet, you didn’t fight him. There wasn’t enough strength left for that, your weight giving easily as he steadied you, lifting without hesitation when it became clear you couldn’t manage it yourself.

He took you back without saying a word.

You didn’t speak for three days.

Most of the time you stayed where he left you, too exhausted to move unless you had to, your body giving out in short stretches of sleep that never lasted long. You avoided lying down, staying upright even when it hurt, as if the effort of lowering yourself was more than you could afford.

Remus handled what needed handling.

He cleaned the dirt from your skin, worked through the worst of it carefully, fed you what little he had, kept watch without scaring you away. He didn’t ask where you’d been or what had happened.

“I didn’t think you’d care if I left,” you croaked out a week after he rescued you.

Remus had just handed you a tin of soup. He froze.

“You told me it’d be easier without me,” you added, eyes fixed on the wall. “So I made it easier.”

He stared at you for a long time before answering. “If I say anything like that again,” he said quietly, “don’t listen. Just hit me, beat me up if you have to. Don’t walk away, don’t leave me again.”

That night, for the first time, he cried in front of you. Quiet, broken tears that traced the scars littering his arms and chest, each mark a story you’d never heard. He pressed his forehead to yours, voice trembling. “I might be a monster, but I cannot live without you. You can’t leave me again. Please, don’t ever leave me again.”

It wasn’t an apology, not in the way words usually are, but it was everything. That night, you promised him that you wouldn’t. And it was a promise you meant to keep.

After that, things changed.

He kept you close. He wouldn’t admit it, but he was different after losing you. Sharper, more alert and dangerous. He fought harder, stole more, built a name for himself in places where kids like him usually didn’t survive long enough to earn one.

And you stayed. You learned. Your hands stopped shaking when you cleaned wounds. You taught yourself pressure points, bone breaks, ways to stop bleeding when there was no thread.

You became someone people trusted when they had nowhere else to go. A healer in a place that didn’t believe in healing.

Almost exactly a year after Remus had pulled you from that alley, he returned with two new faces behind him.

The first was Sirius Black; lean, loud, reckless. His body was thin and covered in faded lash marks, evidence of a life spent running. He had cut ties with his family and spent the last two years with the wrong crowd, dealing drugs and learning violence the hard way.

The second was James Potter. He looked more put together but had clearly been through hell. Broad-shouldered, tanned, with dark curls falling over his forehead and striking brown eyes hidden behind glasses.

Despite their differences, the two of them stuck together almost like brothers (ironic now that you think about it, because they’re anything but brothers). They both needed shelter, both needed someone to keep them alive, and though you had no idea why Remus had saved them—he never trusted strangers—you knew one thing: if Remus trusted them, so did you.

And just like that, the four of you were no longer alone.

You had no idea, then, how much they would come to mean. But you knew, in your heart, that your life had changed the moment Remus found you.

And it was about to change all over again.

It is almost too easy now, twelve years later, to understand the extent of their protectiveness.

Years have passed, yet their vigilance has only deepened with time. You have come to know each of them in entirely different ways, loved them not in halves or fragments but in full, as they are, as they choose to be in the shadows of a world that demands more than loyalty. It demands blood.

Their devotion to you doesn’t come from anything gentle. It comes from the same place that taught them how to shoot, how to lie, how to kill with their hands and walk away without blinking.

So now, as you sit beneath a gilded chandelier in the grand ballroom of an estate that smells of wealth and corruption, it is easy to forget, just for a moment, what tonight really is.

On the surface, it appears to be a charity gala. People are laughing into fluted glasses, dressed in fabrics worth more than most make in a year. But beneath the satin and the small talk, tonight is a congregation of power. The five most dangerous syndicates in the region have gathered in this single room, each dressed in their finest.

And you are seated alone, at a table cloaked in cream linen, with your back to the far wall and your eyes on the men you came with.

You spot James first, standing near the eastern archway. He is speaking with a man you don’t recognize, a thickly built figure with twitching fingers and a smile that does not touch his eyes. James is smiling too, but it’s mostly a facade.

Remus stands a few feet behind him, arms crossed, eyes trained not on the conversation, but on you. He offers a small smile when your gaze meets his. You return it without thinking.

A sudden warmth at your side draws your attention.

Sirius appears beside you without warning, already close enough that you feel him before you properly see him. He slides into the chair next to yours in one easy motion, then pulls you into his lap like it’s the most natural thing in the world, one arm settling firm around your waist, keeping you there.

His suit fits him too well, dark against the soft gold of the room, his hair tied loosely at the nape of his neck, eyes scanning the crowd before dropping back to you. He leans in and presses a brief kiss to your temple.

“There you are,” he murmurs, voice low against your skin. “Been looking for you. How’s my girl holding up?”

You let out a slow breath, fingers catching lightly on the edge of your dress. “Tense,” you admit, eyes still moving over the room. “I hate these things, Sirius. One wrong move and everything turns into a mess. There’s too many of them here tonight, too many people who don’t trust each other pretending they do. It’s unpredictable.”

He hums, his grip on you tightening just slightly, thumb brushing absent circles against your side. “Yeah, it is,” he replies. “But you know Remus. Strongest one in the room, and he’s watching everything. Place is locked down, including entrances, exits, security—we’ve got eyes on all of it. Nobody’s getting close without us knowing, love.”

You shift against him, a quiet, uneasy laugh slipping out. “I know. It just… doesn’t stop me thinking about it. I hate that you’re all targets half the time, even if I know you can handle it.”

Sirius tilts his head slightly, studying you, his hand coming up to rest more securely at your waist. “All I want is for you to sit, relax, look pretty, and enjoy yourself. Once we’re back home, I promise, we’re gonna make it worth your while.”

You glance toward James, scanning his posture across the room, and then back at Remus, whose calm presence seems to hold the room in balance. “How are they holding up?” you ask, a little edge of concern in your voice.

“James is fine,” Sirius says with a slow breath, almost smug. “He’s in his element. Man could sweet-talk a corpse back to life if he wanted. Remus, on the other hand, is playing the long game. He didn’t like the Russians showing up uninvited, or Malfoy bringing his own security.”

Your stomach tightens at the thought, a low thrum of nerves threading through your chest. “So what am I missing? What’s really going on?”

Sirius’s jaw tightens slightly, the playful edge fading into seriousness. “There’s a leak,” he says quietly. “Someone’s feeding intel to the other families. Names, operations, schedules. Remus thinks it’s someone close, someone he’s trusted. He’s been tracking it quietly, trying not to spook anyone.”

You shift slightly in his lap, glancing up at him. “And that’s why you came over here? To check on me?”

He lets out a quiet scoff, like the answer should be obvious, his grip on you tightening as he leans in, pressing a slow kiss to your shoulder. “You think I’m only here for that?” he murmurs against your skin, voice dipping back into something lighter.

You huff a small laugh, shoulders lifting as his lips brush over your shoulder blades, the tension easing despite yourself.

Sirius hums softly, pulling back just enough to look at you. “We’re not leaving you sitting here alone while half the room’s watching us,” he adds, tone still easy but edged with something firmer underneath. “Remus didn’t want you worrying before we knew for sure, but that doesn’t mean we’re not paying attention. You’re covered. Always.”

You nod, though it barely soothes the knot in your chest, your eyes drifting back over the crowd, catching Remus’s faint nod across the room. You let out a slow breath, trying to sink into it, even as the tension continues to hum beneath your skin.

And then, as Sirius gently squeezes your shoulder and mutters something about needing to get back, a man in a waiter’s uniform approaches.

He’s smiling politely as he sets down a champagne flute in front of you with a subtle bow. You take a slow sip, the cold rim brushing your lower lip with familiarity.

In a life this precarious, where every shadow might hold a loaded gun and every handshake could be your final one, you've long known the value of perfection.The kind drilled into your bones by men who love you too much to be soft with you.

Remus taught you that lesson first, years ago in the blood-soaked corridors of the underground when he pulled you out from hell with his bloodied hands.

Mistakes weren’t small back then, and they certainly aren’t now. One slip can cost not just a life, but all the lives tethered to it.

And you do not make mistakes.

But sometimes, it's not about what you do. It’s about what you don’t notice. What slips through the cracks. What you forget to question.

And as the sip slides down your throat, smooth as liquid gold, something cold settles in your gut before the poison even begins to work.

You never ordered a drink.

And that realization alone is enough to make your spine lock. Your eyes flicker down to the flute still in your hand, now far more weapon than refreshment.

You force your breath to steady, to remain as it was, because movement—any movement—before confirmation could draw the very eyes you need to avoid.

You twist sharply, eyes scanning the floor, the servers, the crowd, until your gaze lands on the back of the waiter. It’s not his face that gives him away. It’s the hair. Slicked close to the skull, but a single braided rat’s tail hangs just above his collar.

Your breath catches as something hot coils low in your spine and spreads too quickly to ignore.

Your hand trembles, fingers curling in on themselves before you can stop it, your muscles tightening, then loosening in a way that feels wrong. You’ve felt this before. You recognize it immediately, even as panic tries to push in.

Paralysis. Fast onset. Your throat tightens, chest burning, your body slipping out of your control piece by piece. You force yourself to stay focused, to think through it instead of giving in.

Tetrodotoxin.

You know it from case studies and forensic files Remus made you read when he was teaching you how to recognize a killer’s fingerprint. Extracted from the pufferfish, odorless, tasteless, and lethal in micrograms. You have maybe—if you’re lucky enough—two minutes before your diaphragm stops working.

You turn, slowly and painfully, to the only three people who matter in this room. James, still mid-conversation, nodding at some low-level syndicate boss as if he doesn’t already know more than the man’s own mother. Remus, watching the exchange, smiling faintly with Sirius.

You try to get up.

That’s when the hand lands on your arm.

It’s firm, a companionable touch, like a friend leaning in with a secret or a lover about to steal a kiss. You brace, pivoting toward the stranger, only for his voice to drop into your ear, rich with condescension and amusement.

“Don’t make a scene, darling.” the command is low, velvety, and utterly sure of itself.

“You can’t fight it. Not anymore. And you don’t want to get anyone’s attention, now do you?”

Your hands twitch, useless. All you can do is turn your eyes toward him, only to meet a face you’ve never seen before. Which is far more terrifying than a familiar one.

He smiles, soft and tight. “There it is,” he murmurs, not unkindly.

You try to speak. Try to scream, but your jaw is already locked.

“You’ve been such a good girl,” he says, almost sweetly, as his hand snakes under your arm and gently lifts you to your feet like a dance partner. To anyone watching, it looks like nothing. A tipsy beauty and her suitor. “Let’s not ruin that now. Come on, walk for me.”

You barely register the way his hand tightens around yours, guiding you out of the ballroom step by step.

Your knees buckle more with each stride, your vision wobbling like water over glass. You catch a final glimpse—three suits like shadows across the marble floor, three sets of eyes scanning, unknowing. And then—

The sound falls away first, the chandeliers blur, and just before the velvet curtains swallow you whole, the world blurs away.

The last thing you think, before everything goes dark, is that you’re about to break the promise you made to Remus twelve years ago; you weren’t supposed to leave him again.

*******

James tilts his glass to his lips without really tasting the whiskey. He’s still engaged in meaningless diplomacy, his tone all faux charm as he converses with a Russian arms dealer too rich and too drunk to be useful.

His glass is untouched in his hand, his eyes flicking instinctively across the ballroom in search of you—just a habit by now. You were standing near the orchestra moments ago. Laughing and smiling in Sirius’ lap.

But you’re not there.

His smile falters.

James’s body goes still, the easy grin on his face freezing just slightly. His hand twitches. "Remus."

"Remus," James mutters again under his breath, turning toward the other man without taking his eyes off the spot. "Where’s she gone?"

"What?"

"I asked where she is." There’s a steel edge to his voice now. “She was just by the pillar.”

Remus follows his line of sight, frowning as he glances past the crowd. A cold flicker passes over his features when he doesn’t find you either. "I saw her not two minutes ago—" His words cut off. His eyes are moving faster now.

James doesn’t wait. "Sirius."

Sirius’ eyes snap up, finding James first, then Remus, then the empty space where you should be.

In an instant, he crosses the room eyes scanning, chest tight, every step measured for speed and control.

James is on his heels a second later. "Where the fuck was she standing?!” he hisses, scanning the crowd for the flash of your dress, your hair, anything.

“She didn’t leave through the front,” Remus mutters behind them. He’s pulled his earpiece into place, one hand disappearing inside his suit jacket. “James. Sirius. We lock this place down, now.”

There’s a subtle click beneath the music as James draws his sidearm and tucks it to his hip beneath his coat. His other hand lifts to press a button on his comms. "Code black. I want every single exit fucking sealed. No one moves unless I say. Shut the gates. Clear the floor. Confirm visuals on her—last seen by the east arch, ten minutes max."

The line crackles.

Remus’s voice crackles into the comms again, louder now, sharper. "Sweep the perimeter. Search every hallway, every service corridor. If someone touches her, I want them in pieces. James, Sirius—stay close.”

*******

Your world returns in pain.

Your head is forced downward, plunged into a basin of cold water with such force your teeth slam together. The water floods your mouth, shoots up your nose. You can’t breathe. Your lungs flare in agony. Your mind screams for air.

You are yanked back just as abruptly, choking and sputtering, water gushing from your lips as you cough uncontrollably. The sensation of drowning clings to your skin, your ears ringing with pressure, your throat raw from the violent intake.

Your blindfold is ripped away.

Light, white and sterile, floods your eyes. You blink rapidly, gasping, vision swimming as you try to adjust. Shadows dance around you until one shape sharpens into a man—tall, angular, hair black as oil slicked back from a pale, skeletal face.

Severus Snape.

You recognize him instantly. The face from every intelligence file you have flipped through, the name whispered in your boyfriends' meeting rooms like a curse.

"Ah. Welcome back," Snape says, his voice cold and composed, as if greeting an old patient. He circles you slowly, hands clasped behind his back. "Forgive the method of revival. I don’t usually favor theatrics, but you were quite... unresponsive, and I needed you awake."

You glare at him, throat burning. "You sick fuck. Let me go!"

He tilts his head, eyes assessing, almost bored. "No. I don’t believe I will."

"You don’t know what you’ve done," you hiss, struggling against the ropes. "You have no idea what they’ll do to you."

"On the contrary," Snape replies, and now there’s a flicker of amusement in his tone. "I know exactly what they’ll do. That’s the entire point, little mouse. They won’t come to negotiate or discuss business. They only come when something is taken."

His gaze drags over you slowly, taking his time, like you’re something he owns already. “So I took you.”

“It isn’t personal,” he continues as he steps closer, close enough that you can feel his breath against your skin. “From what I’ve gathered, you’re valuable. A truly skilled doctor, too. Useful in ways most people down here never manage to be. That alone would have made you worth taking.”

He tilts his head slightly, studying you, then lets out a low, dry laugh. “A loyal—” he cuts himself off, the word turning into something ugly in his mouth. “No. No, that’s not right, is it?”

“Wouldn’t call you loyal when you’re spread between all three of them like a whore, would I?”

You try to spit at him, but it barely makes it past your lips, your body too weak to follow through.

“Lupin, playing leader like he’s holding everything together. Black, the poor little traitor who ran from his own family. And Potter…” His voice tightens on the name, real hatred slipping through this time. “Fucking Potter.”

There’s something off in the way he says James’ name, it makes you wonder why he might hate him so much.

“Tell me, do they take turns, or do you let them share?” His mouth twists faintly. “Or do you just not care who you crawl into bed with as long as they keep you safe?”

Your hands curl against the restraints, anger cutting through the weakness. “Go fuck yourself.”

He smiles at that, slow and thin. “There it is.”

You yank against the ropes, the fibers digging into your skin hard enough to sting. “You’re a coward.”

Snape doesn’t react the way you expect. If anything, he seems calmer, like he’s enjoying it. “I’m alive,” he says quietly. “That’s more than most people who cross them get to say.”

You twist again, fury rising, the words slipping out before you can stop them. “Let me go, you fucking—”

He moves faster than you expect, the blade already there, resting flat against your pulse.

“Careful,” he murmurs, voice low and almost bored. “You strike me as smart. Don’t ruin that by acting stupid.”

The knife shifts just slightly, enough for you to feel the edge bite. "You speak again, and I will open your jugular so cleanly you’ll bleed out before you even scream. Don’t test me."

You freeze. The metal remains against your skin for several seconds, the threat humming louder than your own heartbeat. Then it lifts. He tucks it back inside his coat with maddening nonchalance.

You scan the room with your eyes now, desperate for anything; an exit, a weakness, something to exploit. But the room is concrete, windowless, reeking of mildew and damp. The only door is behind him.

He flips a small device in his pocket, eyes glinting as he tilts his head.

“Well, well, look who’s finally here,” he says slowly, savoring each word, letting the pause hang. “Your little fuckers, coming to save their precious whore.”

Your heart lurches. For a moment, hope flares like a match. Then his eyes meet yours again, and he laughs. A slow, cruel laugh.

“Oh, don’t look so relieved,” he says. “You think they’re heroes, don’t you? That they can just walk in here and snatch you back? They’re idiots. All of them.”

He crouches slightly, letting his eyes roam your face. “Lupin, the big-hearted fool. Black, the reckless little shit. And Potter… Potter, you little whore, I’ve never hated anyone like him. Tell me, mouse, do you even know why I hate him so much?”

Your throat tightens.

“You’ll see soon enough,” he continues, voice low, almost a hiss.“Here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to vanish into the walls. Your lovers are going to come storming in ith their guns, fists, whatever pathetic courage they have. They’ll think they’ve got you. They’ll think I can’t touch them. And you’ll sit there, pretty little bitch, tied up, watching and listening.”

He crouches to your level. Tilts his head. “But right as they let their guard down—right when they’re stupid enough to save you—I will paint the walls with their blood. And then, when they’re all dead, you’ll watch me slit your pretty throat.”

You scream and kick and thrash until the ropes cut into your skin. You scream again, hoping someone will hear, hoping your voice can reach through concrete and steel.

Snape sighs. "I don’t want you ruining my plans, little miss smarty-pants." He walks over, pulls out a strip of duct tape, and tears it slowly, the sound slicing through the air like a warning.

"You’ll sit still, you’ll stay quiet, and you’ll watch. That’s all you’re good for now."

He slaps the tape over your mouth with brutal finality, pressing it hard against your lips until your screams become useless muffled noise. You sob through it, chest heaving, vision blurring with tears.

And then he’s gone. Slipping into a hidden passage behind a shelf of crates. You’re left alone. Chair bound, gagged, and shaking with fear—not for yourself, but for your boyfriends.

You hear the door bang open a minute later, and for the first time, you don’t feel saved.

Remus is first through the door, gun raised, eyes scanning—walls, exits, angles of light, you. Then Sirius. His breathing is ragged, like he ran the entire way. Suit jacket open, shirt wrinkled, hair falling into his eyes. Then James.

All three freeze the moment they see you.

Remus lowers his gun just a fraction. His mouth moves, but no sound comes out. Sirius swears under his breath, rushing forward to tug the tape from your mouth, hands shaking, careful not to hurt you more.

James doesn’t move. He just stares, like his brain can’t process the sight of you bound, shaking, soaked in blood.

And in that moment, you realize something horrifying.

Snape was right.

You want to scream, to tell them to run, to leave you, to not play into whatever trap this is. But you’re still bound, still gagged before a word can escape.

The door slams so hard it nearly tears off its hinges. Gunshots echo. Another. And another.

Gunshots, gunshots, gunshots.

You jerk violently in the chair, chest heaving, throat burning behind the tape. Your eyes sting from tears and the harsh light, but all you can see is them.

James is the first to reach you, dropping to his knees so fast the floor cracks beneath him.

“Oh god, you’re okay—” His voice is breaking. His hands fly to the ropes, fumbling over the knots, muttering under his breath. “It’s okay. I’ve got you. I’ve got you. You’re alright. Fuck, baby, breathe—just breathe—”

You shake your head violently. The chair rattles with you. Your legs are trembling uncontrollably beneath the restraints, eyes wild, trying to scream past the suffocating gag.

“James!” Sirius’s voice cuts through from the other side of the room, sharp, gun cocked. “Is she okay? Is she—”

“She’s not hurt! No blood—she’s clean, just panicking. Fuck, her wrists are bruised—” James’s hands work faster, snapping one of the bindings with a hiss. “I’ve got you, baby, just—just keep looking at me—”

The last restraint comes loose. James reaches for the tape around your mouth and peels it back slowly, trying not to hurt you.

“Hey—hey, it’s okay. You’re safe now, we’re here, baby, just talk to me—”

Your breath starts hitching harder, your chest seizing with sobs so loud they echo off the stone walls. You’re gasping like you're drowning, eyes darting wildly behind them.

“No—n-no—no, y-you—Remus—Remus, pl-please—” Your voice is torn raw, barely recognizable.

“Sweetheart—” Remus is beside you now, crouched so close you can smell the blood on him. His hands hover, unsure where to touch. “Where does it hurt? Tell me where it hurts. Look at me, love, please—what did they do to you?”

“I—I—y-you h-have to l-leave—” You clutch his shirt, shaking like a leaf. “N-not safe, n-not s-safe—he’s—he’s still—Remus, h-he’s still here—he’s here—”

Remus freezes.

James looks back sharply. “What?”

You’re clawing now, sobbing harder, shaking your head. “P-please, you h-have to run, y-you have to go—you can’t be here—he said—”

“No. No.” Remus’s voice drops, low and cold. “We’re not leaving you. I’m not fucking leaving you.”

“Y-you don’t understand!” You scream, or try to, but your throat cracks halfway through. “He’s—h-he’s watching, he’s going to—he said he’ll kill you!”

“Where is he?” Sirius growls, eyes scanning the room. “Where the fuck is he?”

“H-he said—he said you’d think y-you saved me and then—then—” You choke on your breath. “Then he’d kill you. A-and then me—he said that!”

“She’s not making sense—” James starts, but Remus’s hand shoots up.

“She is,” he says, eyes narrowing. “It’s a trap.”

Remus’s hands cup your face now, gently, firmly, grounding.

“Where is he?”

You’re sobbing too hard to answer. Words collide in your throat, hopeless. Your gaze flicks to the far corner, to the shadows. Remus follows it instantly.

A slow click echoes.

“DOWN!”

The next moment erupts. A shot tears through the air, a scream splits the room, and a flash blinds you. Remus throws himself over you. James shoves the chair sideways to shield you. Sirius spins, firing three sharp rounds into the darkness, each shot precise.

Your ears ring, your body curls sideways, half-tied, half-broken, blinking through smoke and tears. And somewhere in the haze, a voice laughs.

“Touching,” Snape drawls, slow and deliberate. “Really. I almost cried.”

Gunfire tears across the room again, louder, relentless. James and Sirius react instantly, weapons raised, moving with practiced precision.

Snape steps out of the shadows, his crooked smile chilling, his hand lifted as if conducting an orchestra of violence. “You didn’t think I’d come alone, did you?”

Triggers click overhead. From the mezzanine and behind stacks of rusted machinery, a dozen men emerge, rifles trained on all of you. Every angle accounted for.

James clenches his jaw, scanning the upper levels. “Sirius, floor two, west side. At least eight.”

Sirius shifts smoothly, eyes sharp. “I see them. Left flank’s mine.”

Shots snap through the air. Steel and wood splinter under fire. One of Snape’s men screams and drops. You barely register it, trembling, pressed behind the crates where Remus left you.

Your hands shake so violently you can’t lift yourself upright, body rattling with leftover adrenaline. Then he’s there again, dropping to his knees behind you, chest pressed close, shielding you from debris.

“Look at me,” Remus says, voice low, tight, controlled. He cups your face, thumbs brushing your tears, grounding you. “Look at me, love.”

You cling to him without thinking, sobs shattering out in broken bursts.

“Hey,” he murmurs, brushing your cheeks. “No tears, not now. Don’t cry, dovey. You’re safe. We’ve got you. I’ve got you. Just hold on a little longer, alright?”

You shake your head hard. “N-no… Remus, you don’t… you don’t get it, he’s—he’s going to—”

“I know,” he cuts in gently, trying to soothe you, but you pull at his shirt harder, and your voice finally rips out in a scream, muffled by the roaring gunfire.

“You have to go! Please Remus—go! It’s not safe, he has more—he has more upstairs! Take Sirius and James—RUN!”

Remus flinches, his body jerking ever so slightly at your words, as though you’ve struck him with something sharper than any bullet. He goes still, staring at you, chest heaving, eyes dark with hurt, fear, and anger all tangled together.

“I’m not leaving you,” he finally says, there’s an edge that makes it clear your words wounded him. “Don’t say that. Don’t ask me that again.”

“But, you’ll die!” Your voice cracks, choking on fear. Your fingers dig into his blood-soaked shirt as though you can hold him in place. “Please—please—I can’t—I can’t lose you—I can’t—”

He grabs your face, pressing it closer until your foreheads touch, his eyes locked on yours, burning with certainty. “You’re not going to,” he growls, voice thick and fierce. “Hear me? You’re not. I’ll make it out. James will make it out. Sirius will make it out. And so will you. I will never let anything harm you or them. Ever.”

“You hear me?” he breathes, forehead pressing to yours tighter. “I’ll burn this whole fucking place to the ground before I let that happen.”

His hands tighten at your jaw, grounding you, keeping you here, alive. “You stay hidden behind these boxes. Don’t move and don’t peek. I need you safe while I make sure Sirius and James are okay, alright?”

You nod, your panic subsiding just enough as you watch him lift, ready to move, and the thought of him protecting your other two keeps the knot in your chest from tightening completely.

Your breath is hiccuping. He kisses you like he’s grounding himself in it, fast and firm, like there isn’t time to mean it properly.

Then the crates behind you shudder violently and Sirius stumbles around the corner, one hand clutching his shoulder, blood running down his arm, teeth gritted against the pain.

“Got tagged,” he mutters. “Upper right. Took five down but I think there’s more.”

Remus doesn’t hesitate. He pulls you tighter to his chest for one last second, then shoves you gently toward Sirius. “Take her. Get the fuck out. Go now.”

Sirius looks at him, reluctant to leave James alone there, but understands that he has to get you out. “We’ll meet you outside. You better make it out with James.”

“We always do.”

You’re lifted up before you can resist. Sirius drags you around the crates, one arm firmly around your waist. Outside the warehouse, backup has arrived. You can hear more engines now. You don’t dare look back. You just cling to Sirius, face buried in his neck, heart hammering.

And then you see the black SUV parked at the far end of the lot.

The door slams shut behind you and Sirius. He barely wastes a second before throwing himself into the front passenger seat to unlock the back door and drag you inside, arms looping around your waist with a trembling urgency.

You’re half-limp from exhaustion, adrenaline still flaring in bursts, barely even noticing the click of the seatbelt as he fastens it over your chest. The world outside feels like a blur of motion and noise. You can hear the shouting, the echo of gunfire, the rush of footsteps behind you.

Sirius is breathing hard. You can see it; the subtle shake in his shoulders, the way he stares out the tinted windshield toward the warehouse as if sheer willpower alone could summon James and Remus out from that inferno. His hands are clenched tight, white-knuckled, and for a moment you’re afraid he’s going to jump out and go back in.

“Sirius,” you whisper, voice hoarse and dry like ash in your throat.

His head whips around instantly, his eyes bloodshot and wide as he turns in his seat to look back at you. “Fuck. Baby.”

He’s already unbuckling. A second later, he’s in the backseat with you, one hand cradling your jaw, the other holding the side of your neck as if to steady himself more than you.

“Are you okay?” he asks, and the words are not casual. They carry fear, guilt, and desperation. “Are you hurt? Did they—fuck, did he do anything to you?”

“I’m okay,” you say, the words fragile and barely convincing, but they are all you can manage.

His thumb grazes your cheek. “Then why are you crying, huh? What’s all this, baby? Look at me.”

Your breath catches, and you struggle to put it into words. “I… I thought I was okay, I really did. But when everything happened—being trapped, Snape, the fire—I just… I panicked. I couldn’t stop thinking what might happen to you and… everyone.”

Sirius’s jaw tightens. His voice drops low, dangerous and raw. “You were gone. You disappeared, and I swear, I thought I was losing my mind. We didn’t know if you were alive. I couldn’t…” His tone softens suddenly, almost breaking.

You flinch at the intensity, and he notices immediately. He presses a hand gently against your cheek, grounding you. “No, no, no. Don’t look at me like that. I’m not mad. I just… Jesus, you scared the shit out of me.”

“I… I didn’t know my drink was drugged,” you whisper, voice trembling. “I didn’t see it coming until it was too late.”

Sirius leans closer, pressing a reassuring shoulder to yours, wrapping an arm around you. “It’s okay, love. It’s okay. You’re here now, you’re safe, and that’s all that matters. Nothing else matters as long as you’re safe.”

Your eyes flick to the mirror, catching the orange flicker of the warehouse fire outside. A new surge of panic hits. “Remus… James…”

“They’re dealing with Snape,” Sirius says. “They’ll be fine. Most of our men went for backup, it’s more than enough to take down Snape. That piece of shit’s going to wish he never touched you.”

Sirius pulls you into his lap, one arm wrapped around your shoulders, pressing you close. Your ear rests against his chest, and the steady thump-thump of his heart slows the frantic rhythm of your own. His hand rubs small circles along your back as he speaks quietly into his phone, checking on the others.

You watch the fire fade in the distance, each pulse of his heart a quiet promise: they’re all alive, they’re all okay.

Minutes later, the doors slam open.

James throws himself into the driver’s seat, blood streaked across his shirt, breath coming fast. Remus climbs into the passenger beside him, eyes sharp. Both covered in ash and smoke. The warehouse burns behind them, glowing orange in the distance, and the SUV shudders with the weight of escape.

“What the fuck are you doing hunched in the backseat like a goddamn cryptid?” James snaps, spinning the wheel sharply as the tires scream against asphalt.

Sirius glances up, still crouched beside you. “I was making sure she’s okay!”

James looks into the rearview mirror, his gaze locking on you. “You alright, love?”

You nod, still breathless. “I am. Are you both okay?”

“Yeah,” James says, driving like a mad man. “We’re okay.”

Exhaustion hits you fully. You bury your face into Sirius’s chest, letting yourself feel safe for the first time in hours. He holds you close, his arms wrapping around you like a shield, steady and unyielding.

From the front seat, you hear the faint rasp of a lighter. Remus leans out the window, cigarette igniting, smoke curling into the night air. Behind it, the faint echo of James laughing, Sirius whining about wishing he’d been there to see Snape bleed out. The words are distant and unimportant.

All that matters is the warmth pressed into your body, the steady rhythm of Sirius’s heartbeat beneath your ear, and the eyes of Remus in the mirror, soft with love. You know now that despite the violence, the blood, and the scars each of them carries, there is enough love in the four of you to fill every corner of the world.

The last thing you see before you let your eyes close, finally for sleep, is Remus’ smile, gentle and full of adoration, as he exhales smoke from his cigarette.

#poly!marauders angst

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