okay sooo i had an idea that might be incredibly outdated by now but it’s my favoriteeee and i’d love to see ur own spin on it
i’m thinking either regulus or barty (which ever u think fits better) who is incredibly warm like all the time, think walking radiator😭 and reader is just really cold 24/7 and uses him to warm up whenever she sees fit :,)
love love ur work and your page btw !! so beautiful
Stolen Warmth
bartylus x fem!reader
synopsis: in which barty, always the warmest among you, finds his heat intensified by a lingering fever—an unexpected advantage that you and regulus cannot ignore. perpetually cold, the two of you compete and conspire to claim his reluctant warmth, turning every cuddle into a battle.
warnings: mild illness/fever, light bickering, playful teasing, animagi chasing, mild emotional tension, some physical discomfort (cold/heat sensitivity), regulus being a little shit, sick/soft barty, fluff fluff fluff
wc: 2.1k
a/n: i did a little twist to this, and since i couldn't pick between barty and regulus, thought i'd do both <33 hope this meets your expectations!
masterlist
You bolt out of class the moment the professor mutters dismissal, not even bothering to shove your quill fully into your bag as you barrel through the corridors.
Your fingers are already numb, curled tightly around your scarf, and your thoughts are consumed by a single, glorious truth: Barty is in the dorm, and according to the sacred cuddle schedule, it is your turn—not Regulus’s.
You love both of your boyfriends, you really, really do, but cuddling with Regulus is an actual nightmare.
He’s beautiful, devastatingly beautiful, but he’s also so bloody cold, and curling up with him feels less like affection and more like someone’s slipped a block of ice between your ribs. You have endured it before, out of love and obligation.
Barty, on the other hand, is blessedly, unfairly warm, like some ancient elemental spirit of heat and comfort wrapped in sleepy eyes and strong arms.
And while most people assume that being in a relationship with two boys would come with all sorts of complicated emotional drama, the truth is, the only real conflict you ever face is the bitter, eternal war between you and Regulus over who gets to absorb Barty’s body heat first.
Today, the universe has aligned. Barty is in bed, warm beyond reason, and by all that is holy in the cuddle constitution, that warmth belongs to you.
Which is why you’re here, running full speed through the corridor like your life depends on it, because if Regulus gets there before you, he will wrap himself around Barty like a smug, aristocratic scarf and never let go, and you won't have any leftover heat.
Your footsteps echo sharply as you sprint down the stairs, nearly slipping when you round the corner that leads to the Slytherin dormitory.
You slow just enough to give the stone wall the correct password, then push through the entrance, half-blind with purpose and windburn.
But the second your eyes land on the corridor leading to your shared room, your stomach drops.
There he is.
A sleek black cat sits calmly just outside the door, tail flicking with smug precision. His pale green eyes meet yours, gleaming with the unmistakable glint of mischief.
“Regulus, you little shit,” you hiss, voice thick with betrayal.
He meows, almost mockingly, then turns and bolts.
Your legs move before your brain catches up. “Oh no, you don’t!” you shout, slamming your bag against the wall as you give chase.
Your boots skid on the polished stone floor as you race after him, your scarf flapping wildly behind you like a flag of war.
He darts around corners with practiced grace, sleek and unbothered, tail curling just so as if to taunt you. You, on the other hand, are panting and flustered, your frozen fingers clenched into fists as you throw yourself forward, heart pounding not from fear but from pure, unfiltered indignation.
He’s going to beat you to Barty.
And you’ll be damned if you let that smug little bastard steal your heat slot.
“Regulus!” you yell, chasing him as he darts like a shadow toward your dorm door and the warm, toasty boy inside.
You lunge the moment his slick black tail flicks around the corner, and just as Regulus-still in cat form—is about to slink triumphantly into the dorm room, you skid in front of the door and slam it shut with both palms.
The thud echoes like victory.
You whip around, hair disheveled, chest heaving from the chase, as the cat freezes just inches from the door.
He glares up at you with those imperious green eyes, his tail flicking like an insult, his tiny cat nose twitching in blatant offense—as if you’re the one committing treason.
But you’re already reaching into your robe pocket with the righteousness of a lawyer mid-trial, and you produce the parchment scroll with theatrical precision.
Barty’s gold-inked title gleams at the top like a royal decree: “Heat Access Schedule: Property of Bartemius C. Crouch Jr.” It sparkles obnoxiously.
You crouch to his level, unravel the scroll with theatrical flair, and jab your finger at the bold, clearly marked time slot.
“Regulus Arcturus Black,” you pant, triumph dripping from every syllable as you flash him your most evil grin, “it is my time. Seven to eight thirty. Right there. And I quote—‘Lap and chest privileges at full discretion of Y/N.’ That clause was reviewed, signed, and stamped with Barty’s wax seal. This is legally binding under the cuddle constitution and you damn well know it.”
He blinks slowly.
Then slowly, too slowly, he lifts his paw, unsheathes one delicate little claw, and rips the parchment in half. The sound of tearing paper is somehow louder than it should be.
You freeze, staring at the ruined remains of the schedule as they flutter pitifully to the floor like the ashes of your last shred of patience.
“Are you kidding me?!” you shriek. “You absolute menace! I need my cuddles, Regulus! Stop being a selfish little—”
You launch forward to grab him, but he’s already leapt backward like a slippery shadow, tail high and smug as he bolts for the dorm.
“Get back here!” you yell, nearly tripping as you scramble after him.
“YOU'RE A CAT, NOT A THIEF!—COME BACK AND FACE ME LIKE A MAN!”
He lets out a low, unimpressed meow that sounds suspiciously like a scoff. You swear he raises an eyebrow, somehow, despite having fur.
“Fine,” you mutter, standing up with exaggerated weariness.
“If rules don’t mean anything to you, then I guess I’ll just go all alone into the cold, where I’ll probably freeze to death. But no, it’s okay—don’t worry about me.”
You sniff loudly, tugging your scarf higher over your nose like a tragic orphan. “It’s not like I haven’t been feeling faint all day. I mean, I’m only showing early signs of hypothermia—tingling fingers, shivering spine, loss of will to live—minor things, really.”
You wobble slightly on your feet for effect. “I was just hoping for a little warmth. A little kindness or cuddle, maybe. But clearly…” You sigh as your voice breaks. “Clearly I was wrong.”
The silence stretches.
Then, with the softest rustle of fur and magic, Regulus shifts.
It begins with a shimmer around his paws, a ripple of something ancient and practiced. In the space of a heartbeat, where the cat stood, there is now a boy—pale-skinned and annoyingly elegant even barefoot in a dorm hallway.
His black curls fall into his eyes as he studies you, his expression exasperated but ever so slightly fond.
“Oh, amour,” he murmurs, voice like velvet steeped in sarcasm. “Are you truly that cold? I am so sorry.”
You blink at him, lips trembling—not from cold, but from the effort it takes not to laugh.
And in that single, suspended moment of sympathy, you twist, grab the door handle behind you, and barge inside.
“Barty!” you yell, throwing yourself onto the bed in a blur of scarf and limbs.
Behind you, there is a stunned silence.
“You sneaky lying maniac!” Regulus bellows from the hallway. “Tu es un démon! Une menteuse! Une petite actrice dramatique—je vais te tuer!”
You hear the slam of the door, the rapid slap of bare feet against stone, and then he is chasing you again—but it’s too late. You’ve already landed on Barty, who is lying sideways across the bed with his arms open in sleepy confusion.
He jerks upright with a startled grunt, arms instinctively catching you even as his eyes snap open wide.
“What the—what the bloody hell is going on?” he exclaims, voice pitched somewhere between alarmed and scandalized. “Did you just launch yourself at me?”
You look up at him, breath catching in your throat. His hair is tousled from sleep, shirt rumpled, and his hands are already settling instinctively around your waist despite his confusion.
Your voice drops, soft and a little breathless. “Barty,” you say, eyes searching his face, “I missed you.”
His brows draw together, tension easing just slightly as his lips twitch into something warmer, something fond.
“I missed you too, trouble,” he murmurs, brushing his fingers through your hair.
You barely have a second to enjoy the warmth of his chest and the way his heartbeat slows beneath your cheek—before the dorm door slams open behind you.
Regulus bursts in, wild-eyed and betrayed, breathing like he’s just sprinted across the castle and looking absolutely offended by the sight of you already cuddled into Barty’s arms.
“Putain de voleuse de chaleur !” he snaps, voice sharp and scathing. “You stole him! You stole Barty’s warmth, you freezing little traitor—sorcière glacée !”
Barty immediately tenses beneath you, looking from Regulus to you with the wide-eyed panic of a man caught in the middle of a house fire.
“What,” he says slowly, carefully, “did you both do?”
There’s a pause.
You and Regulus both inhale like you’re about to deliver reasoned, mature explanations.
And then—
“You ripped the contract!” you shout, flinging your hand toward Regulus.
“I’m colder than you!” Regulus yells back at the same time.
“You used your cat form to cheat and get here faster—”
“You cuddled him twice yesterday, for longer than your allotted time slot—”
“I needed this, my fingers were numb, Regulus—”
“I have poor circulation!”
“You tore up the only system we had—”
“You lied about being sick!”
“You always turn into a cat and sneak under the blankets—”
Their voices collide, climbing louder and louder until it’s impossible to tell where one ends and the other begins. Barty sits frozen between you, arms half-raised like he’s afraid moving might trigger further destruction.
Eventually, Barty sighs—a long, slow breath that carries all the patience and quiet surrender of a man who has given up.
He simply lies back down on the bed, rolling gently onto his side as if inviting the chaos to come to him. He pulls the blanket up over his chest, closing his eyes briefly before lifting one arm just slightly—an unspoken offer.
You and Regulus exchange a glance, both of you frozen for a moment, then drawn in by that quiet invitation like moths to a flame.
Without hesitation, you slip forward and curl into the warmth of Barty’s chest, your hands sliding beneath the soft fabric of the blanket, seeking the steady, comforting heat that only he can provide.
Regulus follows, settling on the other side of Barty, his cold fingers lightly brushing against your arm. His breath is soft and steady as he presses closer, resting his cheek near the curve of Barty’s neck, as if he’s finally found a place where he belongs.
The three of you lie there, perfectly still, the silence full and heavy with the weight of shared warmth and unspoken affection.
After a moment, Regulus slowly blinks up at you, his eyes shining with quiet tenderness.
“Je t’aime,” he murmurs, voice low and gentle.
You smile softly, warmth blooming in your chest.
“Je t’aime, me or Barty?” you tease lightly, nuzzling closer.
Regulus’s lips curve into a mischievous grin. “Je t’aime, you and barty.”
Barty stirs at that, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips despite the congestion weighing on him. He coughs softly, then says, “I love you too, Black.”
You both laugh quietly, the sound mingling with the gentle rhythm of Barty’s breathing.
Though Barty feels utterly miserable beneath his fevered skin, the contentment of being held by both of you is clear in his softened expression. His arm tightens just a fraction around your waist as he lets himself drift toward sleep.
He doesn’t complain, not really. If anything, there’s a sort of smug peace to him now, even in the throes of whatever miserable cold he’s caught. His fever, for once, has a purpose. His body, too warm to be comfortable for himself, is perfect for the two of you.
And even if his throat aches and his head’s spinning and his entire being feels like it's made of soup, he can’t help but feel vaguely victorious. He is loved, wanted, fought over. He is, in the worst of health, still the prize.
And for one perfect, quiet moment, it works.
The dorm is warm and dim, your breath soft against his collarbone, Regulus’s curls tickling the back of his neck, all of you tucked under the covers in one tangle of limbs and shared heat.
Barty lets his eyes fall shut. His body relaxes.
He starts to drift.
And just as the room settles into a perfect, peaceful stillness—
“AH!” you shriek, bolting upright as if struck by lightning. “Regulus!—move your freezing toes away from me!”
Can lift you over his head no problem, even without the Force
Will do exactly that because he knows it turns you on
You know how big dogs will do that thing where they lean really heavily on people they like? He does that, and sometimes he's a little shit about it because he's so much bigger than you, he'll just lean until you start falling over, and then takes the opportunity to "catch" you and hold you close.
Tenderness is the order of the day for this man. You cradle his face gently, and he absolutely melts
He's shy about sex at first, but once he realizes your love isn't conditional...oh boy
I N S A T I A B L E
Cannot keep his hands to himself. Wants to touch you constantly
U best believe all that training gave this man the stamina of Atlas. He won't get tired for a long time, and because I'm the writer and I say so, he can cum way more than a normal person, both in terms of load size and number.
Ask nicely and he'll edge you for hours
Found your g-spot/prostate the second time you fucked. You haven't known peace since.
High-key gets off on watching you orgasm. Watching you fall apart for him satisfies a part of him he only became aware of after meeting you
Is happiest when you're sitting on his face. Seriously, he cannot get enough of you writhing against his mouth, loves the feeling of your thighs wrapping around his head as he tongue fucks you
Shamelessly uses the Force for sex. Will levitate you so he can have complete access to your entire body. He enjoys watching you cum while suspended in the air, helpless in the most delicious way
One time used the Force to simulate the feeling of multiple cocks fucking you in every hole while he jerked off to your cries of ecstacy
Will not deny you anything. You ask for something in that breathy, fucked-out voice, he'll do it, won't even question it
The first time you suck his cock, homeboy nearly flatlines. He leaves massive dents in the walls with the Force, he cums so hard
Body worship
Like
Will spend hours just making love to you for the sake of it.
Praise kink, goes both ways. Tell him how good he feels, how much you love him, and he will PREEN. Loves to give you praise, if his mouth isn't otherwise occupied, he's keeping a running commentary on how perfect you are, so good for him, he's going to take such good care of you, promise❤
Loves loves LOVES watching his cock push excess cum out of you. As stated previously, your man has lots of cum for you, and he'll usually nut inside you a few times, he can't help it. Catch him staring as every thrust forces another gush of his cum out, making your thighs sticky as he sloppily fucks another load into you
The first time he fucks you while you're high, he just about loses his mind; having you so vulnerable and horny for him makes him go completely feral, he can feel your pleasure in the Force, around his cock, can hear it as you whine for more. It's sensory overload, and he's not even high. He rails you like his life depends on it, and all you can do is take it and beg for more, beg as he fucks into you like a jackhammer. He's already powerful, but there's something about you deliberately choosing to be inebriated, to be so very helpless and trusting him implicitly to take care of you that absolutely sends him
—ATTACHMENT, PART ONE
summary: attachments, possessions — these things are forbidden to jedi. but the jedi are dead and the boy calling himself starkiller is no jedi.
tags: enemies to lovers, mutual pining, redemption
a/n: my beloved starkiller fic, back from the dead and better written
The last stormtrooper fell with a dull thud. Your hands trembled around the hilt of your lightsaber.
You closed your eyes, slowing your breathing until the pounding in your ears faded and only once your hands stopped shaking did you deactivate your dualsaber, clipping it to your belt.
Avoiding looking at the bodies of the stormtroopers you had slain, you joined your master in the center of the Imperial station.
Kota was already firing off orders to his men. The soldiers, all seasoned veterans from the Clone Wars, followed his orders without question and started securing the station. You watched as they either completely ignored the bodies or pushed them out of the way like they were dead weight. Like they were never human to begin with. You wondered if you would ever be so unaffected by such a waste of life.
Through your troubled thoughts, a familiar feeling prodded at your mental shields, bringing with it warmth and a sense of slight worry.
You looked to your master to find he was already staring at you, concern etched into his brow. It was obvious he sensed your unease through the bond you shared. Shame from worrying the old man made you drop your gaze to the floor, the artificial world of Nar Shaddaa glittering beneath your boots. You pulled your thoughts close. Kota had enough to worry about without your lack of composure.
“General Kota!” One of the soldiers shouted, drawing your master’s attention away from you. A holoprojection of a light spacecraft of Imperial design appeared before you both. “He’s here.”
Your heart nearly stopped. You could feel it; the darkness creeping closer and closer, stronger than anything you had ever felt before. It could only be Lord Vader.
“I’ve finally drawn you out of hiding.” Kota murmured almost to himself, then ordered, “Lower the containment field on hangar twelve and tell the men to get into position.”
“Yes, General!”
“And you,” Kota turned to face you. “You need to get out of here. Now.”
You thought you would be ready for this. Your master had been certain that two Jedi attacking Imperial targets would be too much to resist for the Emperor’s enforcer, but that day had always felt so far off that it was easy to fool yourself into thinking it would never come. Your training was far from complete and Kota, the man who was both father and teacher to you, was ordering you to abandon him.
The idea alone caused your instincts to scream at you to stay, to fight at his side.
But before you could say a word, he raised his hand and interrupted, “I know what you’re going to say and I don’t want to hear it. We’ve talked about this, girl. You’re no match for Vader. You will die if you stay here and I’m not going to let that happen. There’s so few of us left.” While Kota’s words were blunt as ever, his voice was gentle as was his grip on your shoulders. He forced you to look him in the eye. “You’ll make a great Jedi someday, but for now; remember what I taught you, stay hidden, and I’ll come find you. I swear it.”
You bowed your head, fighting to speak around the burning in your throat, “Yes, Master. I’ll do as you say.”
Kota gave your shoulders one last squeeze. “Go. He’ll be here soon.”
There was some murmuring and you suddenly remembered you weren’t alone. The soldiers had all paused in their work to watch the scene between you two. But you weren’t embarrassed by the audience. After all, they had watched you grow up ever since Kota took you under his wing.
Each of them had played a role in your childhood; even the most hardened of Kota’s militia had a soft spot for you.
As you walked towards the station’s turbolift, the men and women nodded as you passed or patted you on the back. A few saluted. Kota’s unit was the closest thing you had to a family and the knowledge that most of them would be slaughtered by the Sith Lord settled heavily in your heart like a physical weight.
The lift’s doors opened. But you hesitated at its threshold. A thought pulled at you and you glanced over your shoulder. Kota stood in the room’s center, his lightsaber drawn. You had the most terrible feeling this would be the last time you ever saw him.
“Master!” You called out, prompting a bemused look from him. “May the Force be with you.”
Kota huffed, annoyed in his own affectionate way, “And with you, Padawan.”
Your mind and spirit a little more at peace, you stepped into the lift and let the door slide shut.
“Care to explain what we’re doing here on Onderon?” Juno Eclipse asked as she guided the Rogue Shadow through the planet’s colorful atmosphere. “A planet with a heavy Imperial presence, I might add.”
“Good question.” Starkiller spun around in the co-pilot’s seat to face Kota, who had been unusually taciturn the whole journey to the Japrael system. He kicked the blind man’s boot to get his attention. “What are we here for, General?”
Kota sat back in his seat, inhaling deeply. “My Padawan.”
“You have a Padawan? Since when?” Starkiller couldn’t keep the surprise out of his voice. There was no mention of any Padawan in imperial records or PROXY would have warned him before his mission to assassinate Kota. He ignored the lingering guilt that came with that memory.
The old Jedi leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “After the Jedi Order fell, I went looking for survivors. The Force brought me to Corellia. I found a little girl, strong in the Force and hiding from Vader’s Inquisitors.” He chuckled at some fond, distant memory. “Clever little thing. Managed to give me the slip a couple times before I proved she could trust me. I took her on as my student and we’ve been together ever since. She has more mastery of the Force than even some members of the Jedi Council did.”
“Approaching Iziz now.” Juno announced, giving Starkiller a pointed look.
“Get to the point, old man.”
Kota frowned at being hurried. “I promised her we would see each other again, but… well—” He gestured to his ruined eyes. “The point is, she’ll join your cause and inspire others to do so as well. I’m sure of it.”
Starkiller thought for a moment. “How do you know for sure she’s here on Onderon?”
“We had a plan in case we were ever separated. If she listened to me, she’ll be here.”
If. Not very reassuring.
Starkiller turned his seat back towards the viewport. They were quickly coming up on the capital city.
He couldn’t think of anything less he wanted to do than hunt down some Padawan on an unfamiliar planet, but building an army to challenge the Emperor had slowed to a crawl with too many potential allies intimidated by the Empire’s strength. Jedi were rare but still highly respected in the galaxy. Some had trusted him almost immediately because of the blue lightsabers he wielded.
The Jedi still meant something to people; a symbol of hope, of justice. He knew he could never live up to that ideal, but if Kota was right about his apprentice…
“Alright, we’ll do this your way, General. Take us down.”
“I’ll get you as close to the city gates as I can.” Juno’s hands flurried over the controls to start the landing sequence. “Good luck finding your Padawan, Master Jedi.”
Starkiller had visited many cities on dozens of different worlds but he had never been anywhere quite like Iziz.
It had been easy to get past the city gates with so many farmers passing through to sell their wares. The stormtroopers on the parapets seemed to be more for show than actually watching the people entering the city. The hordes of people led them through the streets to a sprawling and colorful marketplace.
He could sense the market was the beating heart of Iziz; lifeforms of all kinds making up a bustling crowd, endless shops and stalls in every direction — even street performers plucking instruments or dancing to their own rhythms. A sweet smelling smoke hung in the air, filling his lungs and making his mouth water. And despite the chaos and stormtroopers mingling with the crowd, it was oddly peaceful.
The planet had in small, seemingly insignificant ways, maintained its unique culture in spite of the Imperial occupation.
“So.” Starkiller said once he and Kota reached the market’s center. “Where will we find this Padawan—”
There was no answer and Starkiller turned to find Kota had stopped at a small stall selling colorful fruit. He fought the urge to roll his eyes at the old man’s antics as he backtracked, narrowly dodging a group of giggling children running through the street.
“I’ll take two.” He heard Kota say, pointing to a large, plump red-orange fruit. The merchant, a Pantoran man, eyed the covering over Kota’s eyes and then Starkiller as he approached.
Starkiller crossed his arms, glaring at the man. The Pantoran quickly took Kota’s credits and handed over the bagged fruit.
“Can we focus on why we’re here, General?” Starkiller’s patience was already running thin.
Kota’s head snapped towards him as if he was surprised he was still there. “By all means, my boy. No need to wait on me.”
The Jedi walked to a small stone staircase in the shade between two buildings, plopping down on the first step. He pulled one of the fruits from the cloth bag and took a large bite out of it.
Realization dawned on Starkiller. “You have no idea where she is, do you?”
Kota’s chewing slowed. He took his time swallowing, as though considering how much he wanted to share. “Before I lost my connection to the Force, my Padawan and I shared a bond.” He explained, his voice ladened with sadness. “I was always aware of her presence. I knew where she was, what she was feeling. I never thought I would lose that bond so it’s up to you to find her now. I can’t.”
Starkiller scanned the crowd. It was no Coruscant, but the Force still roared with thousands of voices — too many to single one out from the rest. “How do you expect me to find her in all of this?” He demanded, throwing an arm out to the throngs of people.
Kota huffed. “The old fashioned way; by looking.”
Now Starkiller did roll his eyes. “Can you at least tell me what I’m looking for? Is she human?”
“You’ll know her when you see her, boy. She’s strong in the Force — not unlike yourself. It should be easy for you to find a single Padwan in a crowd.”
The old man returned to his fruit, apparently finished doling out sage wisdom.
Starkiller marched away and with no clear direction to go, he joined the flow of the crowd again, wandering through brightly-colored aisles and dodging pushy vendors while keeping an eye out for… something. He slowed to a stop and reached out, allowing his Force to spread throughout the marketplace as a whole. Voices and thoughts that were not his own overwhelmed his senses and he could only endure for a few moments more until he cut himself off.
And there he sensed it; the unmistakable presence of a Jedi. A powerful one. Bright and tranquil, yet it was barely a whisper among the cacophony of life surrounding him.
He pinched the bridge of his nose, the beginnings of a migraine throbbing through his skull.
“Hey, civilian!” A modulated voice barked behind him.
Starkiller looked over his shoulder. Two stormtroopers stood behind him, their blaster rifles level to their chests.
“You’re blocking the road.” The trooper on the right said, gesturing with his rifle. “Move along.”
He was not blocking the road. There was plenty of space for them to go around him, but still he mumbled a soft apology and stepped aside, his back pressed against the post of an abandoned stall. He hoped they wouldn’t ask for his identification. He was strong in the Force, but he had never mastered the art of mind tricks and he had a feeling Kota’s Padawan would vanish at the first sign of trouble.
But the stormtroopers didn’t spare him a second glance as they marched past.
Once they were out of earshot, Starkiller sighed in relief and tilted his head back against the wooden post. He followed the troopers with his eyes as their stark white helmets bobbed through the crowd.
Something compelled him to keep his attention on them and there it was again —- a whisper in the Force, growing louder and louder.
His eyes picked out a figure moving through the throngs of people; a woman swathed in light, flowing robes with her face concealed by a low hood, a satchel thrown over her shoulder. She confidently strode past the stormtroopers as one of them stopped to watch her past.
Starkiller straightened up as she came closer. She tilted her head to look at him. Most of her face was hidden by her hood, but he could make out the curve of her cheek, a long thin braid woven with beads and strips of colorful cloth, and there wasn’t a trace of fear in her eyes as she stared back at him.
For one split moment, he could feel the depths of her strength in the Force. He could drown in it.
She turned her head and continued walking.
Starkiller pushed himself off the post, quickly falling into step behind the girl. She walked at an unhurried pace yet he had no doubt she knew she was being followed. But where she was able to move through the crowd with grace, Starkiller kept running into people and resorted to skirting around them and pushing back when they got in his way, ignoring the shouting he left in his wake.
He started gaining ground. The edge of her cloak was just within his reach — then the leg of a massive creature cut him off.
Starkiller stumbled backwards, nearly tripping over his own feet. He somehow hadn’t noticed a long caravan of farmers and their beasts of burden moving through the marketplace. The reptilian beasts were slow moving, at least three meters tall, and when he looked through the gaps between them, he could see the Padawan disappearing into the crowd.
She would be gone by the time he found a way around.
Starkiller took a few steps back, gathering the Force. He launched himself over one of the behemoths, landing on his feet on the other side. The beast startled and threw off the load it was carrying, forcing him to roll to avoid being crushed.
The farmer leading the creature shouted at him, but his only focus was on finding the Padawan. He caught sight of her dipping into an alleyway and broke into a sprint after her.
The roar of the crowd faded behind him as he pursued the girl through cramped alleys and empty streets as they raced further and further from the marketplace. But just like before, she somehow kept several steps ahead of him. It was starting to get on his nerves, but he also had to admire her stamina. It had been a long time since a target had challenged him.
But just as he followed her turn into another long alleyway, he was met with empty space. His chest heaved to catch his breath as he looked behind him, confused. There was nowhere for her to have gone.
Then he heard a distinctive hum above him.
Starkiller glanced upwards just in time to draw his lightsaber to block her lightsaber. He used her own momentum to throw her off of him and she rolled into a low crouch beyond his reach, gripping a white-bladed dualsaber with both hands.
Her hood fell away from her face. She glared at him. She shined in the Force. Beautiful in a way he’s ever known.
“I don’t want to hurt you, girl.” He switched off his lightsaber in an attempt to look non-threatening. “But you’re coming with me.
The Jedi dropped her satchel from her shoulder, down to her hand, and hurled it towards his face. Starkiller raised his arm to block it, but the bag was much heavier than he was expecting and he smacked himself in the face, his nose stinging from the blow.
“Ow! What’re you—”
She lunged at him, swinging low. Their blades crashed —blue against white— and they left scorch marks on the narrow walls as they pushed and shoved against each other. She met him blow for blow.
She aimed a kick at his chest and he easily caught her ankle. He could’ve easily cleaved her leg at the knee, but he only threw her off balance.
The Padawan recovered quickly, holding her dualsaber out in a guarded stance. He saw Kota’s training in the way her feet were planted firmly on the ground.
Starkiller advanced, taking his other lightsaber in hand as he charged at her. Unfazed by his change of tactics, she countered his restrained strikes until her onslaught put him on the defensive. She used the wall to launch herself over him but he easily swung his lightsaber behind him, protecting his back from her blade.
Before she could touch the ground, Starkiller pivoted on his heel and thrust his arms out, throwing her out onto the street. Her back hit a stone wall and she landed in a heap on the ground.
He walked slowly towards her. The Padawan groaned in pain, but she still pushed herself to stand, pulling her lightsaber to her with the Force.
“Wait — just listen to me, Jedi.” Starkiller implored, returning his lightsabers to his belt and holding a hand out to her.
She panted for air, eyeing him suspiciously.
“I was sent to find you. Your master—”
“Oh, good. You found her.”
They both snapped their heads towards Kota walking towards them, still holding that stupid bag of fruit.
“…Master?”
You almost didn’t recognize him. Obviously, he hadn’t been taking care of himself; his hair was matted and falling out of a sloppily tied knot, his armor was gone, his clothes torn and a strip of cloth covered his eyes, but what you found most disturbing was that the bond that once flowed so strong between you had gone silent.
It was as if he wasn’t even there.
You slowly lowered your lightsaber. “Master, what’s happened to you? Why can’t I feel you?”
“A lot has happened, Padawan, but we’ll talk about it later.” He said, grabbing your attacker’s shoulder amicably. “This is Starkiler. He’s got a plan to destroy the Empire and we need your help.”
Your gaze shifted back to the man who had chased you all over Iziz. Even without the Force, you would still be able to sense he was incredibly dangerous; his furrowed brow and the way he carried himself so aggressively put you on edge.
The Dark Side clung to him like a second skin. Rotting him from the inside out. How could your master be in league with someone like him?
“Padawan? You alright?” Kota asked, worried at your silence. You hadn’t realized how much you missed his voice until that moment.
“Yes. I’m fine. I just…”
You choked up. You could feel the sting of tears and instead of trying to put into words of how lonely the last few months had been, you rushed to your master and wrapped your arms around him, burying your face in his shoulder. Kota grunted in surprise but quickly reciprocated, one hand cradling your head and the other patting your back. Just like he did when you were little.
He… didn’t smell the best but he was warm and alive and that’s all that mattered to you.
Starkiller looked up at the darkening sky to avoid the tender scene happening next to him.
You and Kota let go of eachother. He squeezed your shoulders and you grasped his forearms in return. “C’mon.” He said. “We better get a move on.”
“Wait!” You turned back towards the alley, where your satchel and its contents were thrown on the ground.
Starkiller watched as you rushed over and started gathering your belongings. His nose still throbbed in pain, but it was mostly his bruised ego that made him snap at you, “What do you even have in there? Rocks?”
“Jedi texts, actually.” You said excitedly, ignoring or not even noticing his tone. You placed the tomes in your satchel with great care. “I bought them for almost nothing. I doubt the merchant even realized what they were. One of these was written by Master Yoda over two-hundred…” You trailed off and smiled at him somewhat apologetically. “I’m… sorry. About earlier. Is your face okay?”
Kota tilted his head to Starkiller.
“She hit me in the face with her bag.” Starkiller mumbled.
The old man tossed his head back, barking in laughter.
You flustered, “I thought you were an Inquisitor! And you were the one chasing me! Were you expecting me to be friendly?”
“If you listened to me, we could’ve avoided all this wasted time!”
“Alright, alright — enough you two.” Kota chuckled as he calmed down. “We gotta get out of here before someone comes to check out all the noise. Oh, wait — almost forgot.” He held out the bag he had been holding to you. Inside, you found a perfectly ripe meiloorun; a childhood favorite of yours. “Thought you’d be hungry.”
You could’ve cried from the thoughtful gesture. “Thank you, Master.”
You and Kota set off towards the city gates, Starkiller close behind.
Starkiller’s starship —the Rogue Shadow, he called it— came into view, cleverly hidden amongst the dense foliage of the jungle beyond Iziz. The ship’s lights cast a warm glow but your blood ran cold at the sight of it. You knew that ship. Kota’s hand on your back kept you pushing forward.
“Ah, welcome home, Master!” A slouched, seemingly half-assembled droid greeted as it noticed your group approaching. “I see you were successful in your mission.”
It plodded down the ship’s loading ramp and right up to you, invading your personal space and putting its faceplate uncomfortably close to your face. It felt like he was studying every pore, every flaw.
“Um… hello…?”
You earned only a thoughtful hum in reply.
“PROXY, give her some room, please.” A woman’s voice said and the droid obeyed. The owner of the voice, a tall blonde woman clad in an oil-stained flight suit, stepped out from underneath the ship’s hull. She politely wiped her hand clean on a rag before holding it out to you, smiling warmly. “Juno Eclipse. It’s a pleasure to meet you; General Kota spoke very highly of you.”
You took her hand. You liked her already. At the very least, you knew you would have an easier time with her than Starkiller.
You heard an odd noise, like a machine whirring to life and in the droid’s place stood a perfect mirror image of you, imitating your posture and looking back at you with devoid eyes. You self-consciously tucked your Padawan braid behind your ear. Did you really look like that?
“PROXY, knock it off.” Starkiller ordered and your doppelganger faded away.
“Now that you’re here,” Juno said, “I’ll set you up with a bunk and give you the tour.” She beckoned you to follow her up the loading ramp. Kota gently pushed you towards her, giving you a reassuring nod.
At the top of the ramp, away from Kota and Starkiller’s ears, Juno grabbed your arm and leaned in conspiratorially. “If I’m being completely honest with you,” she whispered, glancing down at the men, “I’m glad there’s another woman joining us. Too much testosterone for my taste.”
You shared a grin before heading inside.
Most of your life has been spent on starships. Kota thought it was wise to constantly keep on the move, especially with a youngling under his care. You grew into adulthood surrounded by stars and the flow of hyperspace; rarely ever feeling dirt, grass or sand beneath your feet.
The ship Kota and his men had traveled in — a relic from their service during the Clone Wars — had truly felt like a home, filled with warmth in the void of space. It was your home and in many ways, always would be.
On the other hand, Starkiller’s ship was cold. Impersonal. A tool to be used and cast aside when it was no longer useful. There was no history etched onto its walls, no personal belongings scattered about — nothing to indicate anybody even lived within the ship’s hull. The ship as a whole felt oppressive and uncomfortable. You doubted you would ever be able to fully relax here.
Once Juno was satisfied you were well acquainted with the layout of the ship, she led you to the cockpit.
The conversation you heard from outside abruptly stopped when the door opened. Kota sat in the co-pilot’s chair with Starkiller standing beside him. They turned their attention to you.
“Master. I think it’s time we had that talk.”
Starkiller bounced his leg impatiently.
Kota and the girl were taking too long. They had shut themselves in the common room, far enough to keep their conversation private but he could still hear the occasional raised voice. The longer they took, the worse his anxiety grew.
“I wonder what they’re talking about…” Juno mused. “You don’t think she suspects that you’re the one who—“
“If she did, I don’t think she would have come willingly.” Starkiller interrupted. He didn’t need to be reminded of what he did that day.
Juno frowned, not nearly as self-assured.
“I like her.” PROXY declared from his corner of the cockpit.
The door to the cockpit hissed open. You stepped through, Kota trailing behind you. You had taken off your cloak, revealing the inconspicuous street clothes you wore underneath and the dualsaber clipped to your belt. You fixed your gaze on Starkiller.
“My master has asked me to help with your training as a Jedi and build your Rebellion.” You said, “I want the Empire gone and the Jedi restored just as much as you do. I want to help you, but you need to be willing to learn from us. So, if you’ll have me, I’ll join in your fight against the Empire.”
Starkiller rose from his seat and held his hand out to you. You looked down at it, smothering the revulsion you felt at the thought of touching him.
“It’s going to crash into us if you don’t do something about it!” someone was shouting through the comlink you could feel in your ear.
You weren’t really sure what was going on, to be honest. Earlier, you’d taken a pretty bad knock to the head, and everything had been a blur ever since. You weren’t even really sure where you were . . . or why you were there for that matter. The only things you were really sure of were that the man you loved was currently trying to keep you awake and that the world around you seemed to be completely falling apart. Even in your hazy state, you could see the fear and guilt etched across Starkiller’s face.
“Don’ worry ‘bout me,” you slurred. “You go’ this.”
Your weak pep-talk seemed to force a chuckle out of him. “It’s too big, sweetheart. I can’t move something like that.”
“It’s not the size that is important!” the voice was yelling again. “It’s one object, so move it!”
“Go on,” you managed to say a little more clearly. “Save the day, Mister.”
Before your eyes, his steeled themselves. If you were more coherent, you would be able to recognize that that was the moment he realized that if he didn’t pull this off, you would both die. You watched his jaw clench and his nostrils flare as he inhaled sharply. He lunged down to press a desperate kiss to your lips before turning to face the Destroyer.
synopsis: caught between regulus's soft looks and barty's wild affection, you finally gather the courage to confess until you see them walk in hand in hand. you toast to their happiness, blind to the way their eyes linger, and break in the street where it hits different
warnings: hints of unrequited love, pining, missed signals, miscommunication, heartbreak, longing, bittersweet endings, soft angst, moments of throwing up and getting drunk, background wolfstar and jily, sirius as a brother figure to reader
w/c: 5.2k
a/n: very much inspired by Hits Different by Taylor Swift + You Too, Silly by @crescenthistory
masterlist
Love is a beautiful lie, and the truth is always fucking heartbreak.
It starts like every good mistake does—with a smile that tastes like trouble and hands that burn like sin.
You’ve always felt it, though you never knew when it began, when the line between friendship and something darker was crossed.
Regulus had always been there, lingering on the periphery of your life, always just close enough that you could almost touch him, but never fully there. He never needed to speak, never needed to explain himself.
You learned long ago that his silence was louder than anything he could say, that the way his eyes flickered when they met yours spoke volumes you couldn't translate. He had a way of holding you, not physically, but emotionally, like a tether that kept you grounded even when you didn't want to be.
He never made promises, never whispered sweet nothings, but his gaze always lingered a moment longer, like he was waiting for you to notice, waiting for you to understand that his affection wasn't a fleeting thing. He never said it, but you saw it in the way his fingers brushed against yours just a bit too long, in the moments when his eyes softened, like he wanted to pull you into him but couldn't quite bring himself to.
And you thought maybe it was enough, maybe you were enough for him to stay just as he was, quiet and distant, always close but never quite there.
Then there was Barty. The chaos in human form. He was fire, unrestrained and untamable. His laughter was a battle cry, sharp and wild, cutting through silence like it was made of paper. He wasn’t just there—he was everywhere, all at once, like he couldn’t stand the thought of being anything less than alive. He grabbed life with both hands, dragged you into the storm with him, never asking if you wanted to follow. You did. Of course.
With Barty, there was no hesitation. He was the whispered dare at midnight, the stolen bottle of firewhisky, the reckless grin that made you feel invincible. His touch was hot and lingering, like the singe of a cigarette burn, and his words came out jagged, unfiltered, tearing through every expectation you thought you knew.
Barty had a way of making you feel seen, of making you feel alive. His attention was intoxicating, the way he’d throw his arm around you without hesitation, the way he’d joke, laugh, pull you closer. He was never careful, never measured. He spilled over the edges of everything, uncontained and unapologetic. With him, you didn’t have to think. You just had to be.
You didn’t even need words with him. It was all about what was unsaid, the unspoken promise that he would never let you go, even when you knew it wasn’t true. You could never tell if he was genuine, but you didn’t care. Not then. You were caught up in the excitement, in the adventure, in the feeling that for once, you were someone’s everything.
But then there was the space between them—not a wall, but a quiet understanding. They never seemed to need words when you were around, like the three of you existed in your own gentle orbit. The air shifted when you were together, not with tension, but with the weight of unspoken loyalty and love. They didn’t always share the same space in the way they did with you, but there was no sense of rivalry—just two souls who loved you deeply and, in their own way, loved each other too. It was as if they were waiting, not for a chance to outdo the other, but for a moment when everything would finally make sense
You convinced yourself you were imagining it, that your growing feelings for both of them were nothing more than your own projections. You told yourself that the way Barty made you laugh, the way Regulus looked at you with those unreadable eyes, was nothing more than friendship. That you were just special to them, that you were just a fleeting moment in their lives.
But deep down, you knew that there was something more, something neither of them had ever said, but you felt it in the way they lingered near you, in the way they both seemed to pull you closer when the world was too loud.
You thought they might feel the same way about you, but you were terrified to say it. You were terrified because you didn’t know how to ask for something that wasn’t promised. You weren’t sure if you wanted the risk of it breaking you in the end, of putting yourself out there and realizing that they didn’t feel it too.
You blink, and the memory shatters like glass against concrete. You’re in your room now, draped in soft candlelight, Marlene flitting around with a glass of champagne while Lily curls your hair with slow, delicate precision.
"So, you’re finally going to do it, huh?" Marlene smirks over her glass, eyes glimmering with something like pride. "Confessing your undying love to those two troublemakers."
Lily’s eyes catch yours in the mirror, gentle and knowing. "It’s about time," she says quietly. "They’ve been waiting for you, you know."
Marlene laughs, her voice bright and sharp. "I mean, look at me and Dorcas. I was practically pulling my hair out thinking she didn’t want me back. Turns out, the idiot was waiting for me to make the first move." She pauses, then leans back against the vanity. "Sometimes you just have to take the leap."
Lily hums in agreement. "James was the same. I think he asked me out a hundred times before I finally caved." Her smile softens, and her fingers glide through your hair with gentle precision. "You’re stronger than you think," she whispers. "And those boys are fools if they don’t see it."
There’s a lull in conversation, just the sound of the champagne bubbling and the soft crackle of the candlewick.
Marlene is perched on your bed, swirling her glass, eyes a little distant. "Dorcas says hi, by the way," she adds casually, but her voice is softer. "She said you need to stop hiding away and come out more often. I think she misses you."
You laugh, a little hollow. "I miss her too," you say honestly, and Marlene smiles like she’s won something.
"And James?" you ask Lily, because it feels right.
Lily’s eyes brighten instantly, a blush creeping up her cheeks. "He’s good. Insufferable as always," she teases, but there’s warmth in her voice, the kind of warmth that speaks of late-night whispers and stolen glances. "He’s been working on his quidditch”
"That’s brilliant," you say, meaning it.
There’s something grounding about Lily and James, like no matter what chaos erupts around you, they will always be just like this—stubborn and starry-eyed, orbiting each other with a kind of inevitability.
"And Sirius?" you ask, your voice a little quieter, more careful.
Lily’s gaze softens. "Off with Remus. I think he’s teaching him how to fly again," she murmurs, fondness dripping from every syllable. "They’re probably somewhere in the Forbidden Forest, making terrible decisions and pretending they’re not."
Your heart twinges with affection, the kind that feels a little too big for your chest. Sirius has always been a constant, a force of nature who blew through your life like a storm and settled just as fiercely. Your older brother in every way that mattered, his presence a weighty comfort you’ve never taken for granted.
You think of him sometimes—how he was the first to punch the boy who called you mudblood, the first to pick you up when you fell off your broom, the first to teach you how to throw a punch and laugh when you got it right. He’s always been yours, in that strange, familial way that’s stronger than blood.
Marlene glances up from her glass, eyebrows raised. "You look like you’re ready to face the firing squad," she snorts. "It’s just Barty and Reg. They’re gonna melt like chocolate the second you open your mouth."
You scoff. "That’s the most optimistic thing I’ve heard all day."
Lily smiles, her hands gentle as she pins back the last strand of your hair. "They adore you," she whispers. "Everyone sees it but you."
You catch her gaze in the mirror, throat tightening with something you can’t quite name. "I just want to tell them," you say quietly. "I just want them to know."
Marlene clinks her glass against yours. "Then do it," she says simply, and there’s a finality to her words that makes you sit up a little straighter. "No more waiting."
Outside, the stars are blinking awake, bright and untouchable. You close your eyes, take a breath, and prepare to tell them everything.
-
The party is already alive by the time you arrive, the air thick with warmth and the lazy haze of firewhiskey and enchanted lanterns. Before you can even step fully through the door, Sirius is upon you, arms thrown wide with a grin that could split the world open.
"Look who finally decided to show up! I was starting to think you’d ditched us for a quieter life!"
Remus follows close behind, hands stuffed in his pockets but his smile just as welcoming. "Sirius was about to send a search party," he adds dryly, eyes sparkling with mischief.
Sirius throws an arm around your shoulders and steers you further in, practically bouncing with every step. "I even wrote a eulogy," he grins. "It was beautiful. Very moving. I might have shed a tear."
"He cried because he spilled whiskey on his trousers," Remus supplies helpfully. "Spent half an hour blaming Kreacher for cursing his bottle."
"That bastard is out to get me, I swear," Sirius mutters, eyes alight with that familiar recklessness. "One minute I’m minding my own business, and the next—sabotage. If I disappear one day, you know who did it."
"I’m sure Kreacher is plotting your untimely demise as we speak," you say, laughing despite the tightness in your chest. It’s easier with them, the fear and nerves diluted by their relentless antics, like pouring ice into boiling water, steam rising and vanishing before it can scald.
Sirius gasps, pressing a hand to his heart. "And here I was, planning to be your loyal protector all night. I guess I’ll just have to drink myself to death instead."
Remus rolls his eyes, but his smile softens at the edges. "I’ll make sure he only gets halfway there," he assures you, voice so smooth and steady it feels like an anchor.
You laugh, the sound shaky but real. But as Sirius drags you deeper into the room, the noise and light expanding around you like a pulse, you can’t help the way your eyes flicker around the space, searching.
"They’re here, you know," Remus murmurs as if reading your mind. His voice is low, careful. "Saw them near the back, with Rosier."
Your heart clenches, stomach flipping with something sharp and unsteady. You nod, trying to smooth out the expression on your face. Sirius, thankfully oblivious, is already waving at someone across the room.
"They’re probably waiting for you," Remus continues, voice gentle. "You look great tonight. They’d be idiots not to notice."
You smile, but it feels too tight, too sharp. "Here’s hoping," you say, but your eyes are still searching, scanning the crowd, waiting for a glimpse of silver eyes and wild laughter. It’s always like this—looking for them in every crowded room, like you’ve trained your heart to skip a beat at the mere shadow of them.
Sirius is already dragging you towards the bar, tossing back shots with the kind of abandon that only he can pull off, and Remus is smiling, shaking his head like he’s seen this scene a thousand times. But you—your mind is somewhere else entirely, lingering on the edge of a confession you’ve been holding too close to your chest for far too long.
The party hums around you, bright and shimmering, gilded with magic and blurred edges. You’re caught in the current of your own thoughts, wondering if tonight is the night everything changes—or if it all shatters instead, like glass catching moonlight just before it breaks.
The moment you step away from Sirius and Remus, your feet feel like they’ve turned to lead. There’s a heaviness settling into your chest, and with each step toward the door, you feel the familiar weight of nerves building in your stomach.
You can’t think of anything else but how you’re about to pour your heart out. You’re finally going to tell Regulus, finally going to confess to Barty—let them know everything you’ve kept buried so long.
But just as you reach the door, a loud scream splits the air, shrill and raw, cutting through the hum of conversation and laughter.
You freeze.
It’s not the kind of scream that’s full of fun. It’s something else—something urgent, something that grips your heart in an instant.
And then you hear it. The unmistakable sound of footsteps pounding towards the door, quick and sharp, like a drumbeat in your chest.
Before you can make sense of anything, the door swings open, and there they are—Regulus and Barty.
And, to your complete and utter shock, they’re holding hands.
The room quiets for a split second, every conversation, every laugh, suspended in time. All eyes land on them—on the two of them standing there, locked in a quiet moment between them, the subtle connection between their fingers telling a story no one else had known.
Barty, ever the dramatic force of nature, clears his throat loudly. "Alright, everyone! Get your champagne and your tissues ready because I’m about to make your night."
He grins like the world is his for the taking, and with a flourish of their interlaced hands, he practically shouts, "We’re together! Officially! Romantically! Disgustingly!"
There’s a beat of silence before the room explodes into chaos—laughter, cheers, a few gasps of shock. James nearly drops his drink, eyes wide with disbelief, while Lily nudges him in the ribs, grinning from ear to ear. Marlene and Dorcas are already whispering furiously, glancing between you and the pair at the door with knowing eyes.
Sirius’s mouth drops open for a full five seconds before he bursts out laughing, clapping loudly. "Bloody hell, it’s about time!" he calls out, raising his glass in their direction. "Knew you two were shagging since fifth year!"
Remus smacks him on the arm, muttering something about tact, but even he’s smiling, the kind of smile that crinkles the corners of his eyes.
And you—you can barely breathe. The world tilts, spins, rights itself in a new and cruel arrangement where the two people you love are standing there, fingers intertwined, looking like every secret wish you’ve ever had come to life... just not with you.
They make their way around the room, greeting everyone, laughter and congratulations spilling out in waves. James and Lily are practically glowing, Marlene’s already calling for drinks, Dorcas is smirking with that sharp-edged grin of hers, and Sirius has never looked prouder, arm slung around Remus as if the world has finally made sense.
And finally, finally, they turn to you.
Regulus’s eyes soften just a fraction, something unreadable flickering in their depths. "Hey," he says quietly.
"Hey," you reply, voice barely above a whisper. You can feel every eye on you, waiting for your reaction, but your mask is already in place, perfect and unyielding.
Barty grins wide, all sharp teeth and brilliance. "Well? Aren’t you going to congratulate us, treasure?"
You swallow the shards of your heart, forcing a smile that you hope doesn’t tremble. "Congrats," you manage, the word brittle on your tongue. "I’m... I’m happy for you."
"Thank you" Regulus says softly, and it almost kills you how genuine he sounds.
You nod, eyes burning, and before anyone can say anything else, you turn on your heel and slip through the crowd. You don’t look back. You can’t—not when the world has just shifted beneath your feet and you’re barely holding the pieces of your heart together, sharp edges cutting into your palms as you clutch them tight and pretend you don’t feel a thing.
You don’t remember how you got outside, only that the air is sharper here, knifing its way into your lungs like it wants to carve you out from the inside. There are people around you, laughing, shouting, wrapped up in their own worlds, but they’re nothing more than ghosts in the corners of your vision.
You think of them—of Regulus and Barty, fingers entwined like it was always meant to be that way. You think of the way Regulus would touch your wrist when he spoke to you, the way his eyes would linger just a moment too long. You think of Barty’s wild grin, the way he would throw his arm around your shoulders and call you his favorite.
You think of all the nights spent tangled up in laughter and reckless joy, hearts open and bleeding in the dark, and you can’t stop the laugh that rips from your throat—wild and broken and nothing like joy.
You stumble toward the bar at the far end of the garden, pressing your hands to the wooden edge to steady yourself. The bartender doesn’t ask questions, just hands you a glass filled to the brim, and you throw it back like it’s salvation. It burns, sharp and unrelenting, and you welcome the pain because at least it’s real.
The world is softer after that, edges blurring further, voices melding together in a gentle hum. You don’t know how long you stand there, glass after glass, filling the hollow spaces with liquor and pretending it’s enough. It isn’t. It never is.
You don’t know how long it takes before Sirius and Remus find you, but it’s long enough for the world to tip sideways when they appear, Sirius’s hands steadying you before you can stumble back against the bar.
"There you are," Sirius says, voice soft and aching. His eyes search your face, and you see it there—the pity, the sadness. You laugh, a jagged sound that tastes like regret. "Come to join the party? It’s a real fucking riot."
Remus steps forward, brows drawn tight with concern. "Maybe it’s time to get you some water," he suggests gently, reaching out to touch your arm. You pull back, shaking your head.
"Water’s not gonna fix this," you slur, voice wobbling with the weight of it all. "You know what would fix this? If love wasn’t the biggest goddamn joke in the universe. If I didn’t just watch the two people I—" You stop, choke on the words like they might kill you. "If I didn’t just watch them… holding hands. Smiling. Like I never even mattered."
Sirius’s face crumples, just a little, and you almost hate him for it. Almost. He reaches for you again, hands warm and steady. "You do matter," he says fiercely. "You always matter."
You laugh again, sharp and hollow. "Not to them," you whisper, and it’s not a sob, but it’s close.
"I was so fucking stupid. I thought… I thought there was something there. I thought when he touched my hand, it meant something. I thought when Barty smiled at me like that, it was because he wanted—" The words are unraveling now, spilling out of you like a confession.
"I thought they loved me. Isn’t that just the funniest fucking thing?"
Remus’s hand is on your back, rubbing slow circles that don’t help, not really. "It’s not funny," he says softly. "It’s not funny at all."
Sirius’s jaw clenches, his eyes burning with something dark and fierce. "You’re not stupid," he says firmly. "They love you. I know they do."
You shake your head, swallowing back the sob clawing its way up your throat. "No," you say, voice cracking. "No, they love each other. And I—I’m just the idiot who thought I could fit somewhere between them."
The silence stretches out, thin and brittle, and then Sirius pulls you into his chest, arms wrapping around you tightly. You shatter there, right there in his arms, with Remus’s hand still gentle on your back, and the world blurring away in the wake of your sobs.
And even as the tears fall, even as your heart splits open wide and ragged, you think of the way they looked at each other—how happy they were. And it hurts worse because you can’t even hate them for it.
The sobs subside eventually, leaving you hollowed out and fragile in their wake. Sirius holds you until your breathing evens out, until the trembling fades from your hands. Remus lingers close by, silent and watchful, his gaze soft with sympathy that only makes the ache burrow deeper into your chest.
You wipe your eyes with the back of your hand, the skin tender and raw. "I think I should go," you whisper, the words thick and unsteady. Sirius pulls back, his hands still steady on your shoulders.
"You sure?" he asks, voice gentle, and you nod, already stepping away. The world is too sharp around the edges, the music too loud, the lights too bright. You need space, air—anything but this suffocating blur of firewhiskey and regret.
"I’ll be fine," you say, though the words barely sound like yours. "I just… I just need to go."
Sirius looks like he wants to argue, but Remus rests a hand on his arm, shaking his head. "Let her breathe," he murmurs, and Sirius’s mouth snaps shut. His eyes are still heavy with concern, but he nods, finally stepping back.
You stumble back into the party, the warmth and noise pressing in on you from all sides. It’s almost dizzying, and you weave through the crowd, head down, eyes blurry. You find Lily by the entrance, her red hair catching the light like a beacon. She turns the moment she sees you, concern knitting her brows together.
"Hey," she says softly, reaching out to steady you. "Are you alright?"
You nod, not trusting your voice. "Just tired," you murmur, and she doesn’t look convinced, but she lets it go, pulling you into a tight hug.
"Want me to walk you back?" she asks, and you shake your head, forcing a smile.
"I’m fine, Lily," you say, patting her arm gently. "Just need to sleep this off."
She hesitates, but before she can argue, a familiar voice cuts through the haze. "Leaving so soon?"
You freeze, every muscle locking up as you turn to see them—Regulus and Barty, side by side, framed in the doorway like something out of a fever dream. Barty’s grin is wide and wicked, Regulus’s gaze sharp and piercing. They step forward in tandem, fluid and graceful, and you swallow hard, fingers curling into fists.
"We’ll walk you," Barty says easily, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. He’s already moving forward, slipping past Lily with a grin that’s all teeth. Regulus follows, hands tucked into his coat pockets, eyes fixed on you with an intensity that makes your heart stutter.
"You don’t have to," you manage to say, the words scraping against your throat. "I’m fine on my own."
Barty scoffs, throwing an arm around your shoulders like it’s the easiest thing in the world. "Nonsense," he laughs.
"Can’t have you wandering around alone at this hour. What kind of friends would we be if we let that happen?"
Friends.
The word scrapes against something raw, and you flinch before you can stop yourself. You wrench out of his grip, taking a step back. "I said I’m fine," you repeat, voice sharper this time.
Barty blinks, surprised, and Regulus’s eyes narrow, lips pressing into a thin line.
"You’re clearly not," Regulus says quietly, his voice steady and calm. It’s the same voice he always uses when you’re upset—soothing, patient, like he’s trying to coax the truth out of you.
But you’re done spilling truths tonight. You shake your head, fists clenched at your sides. "I don’t want you walking me," you snap, the words tumbling out before you can stop them. "I don’t want anything from you."
Barty’s grin falters, his gaze flickering to Regulus, but Regulus just watches you, eyes sharp and unyielding. "What’s going on?" he asks, voice edged with something you don’t want to name.
You shake your head, turning away before you can do something stupid like cry again. "Nothing," you whisper. "Nothing at all."
The night air bites at your cheeks as you step outside, the noise of the party muffled by the heavy oak doors that creak shut behind you. The silence is staggering, too loud in its emptiness, pressing in on your ears like a heartbeat gone wrong.
You barely make it to the courtyard before you hear footsteps behind you, hurried and unsteady.
"Wait!" Barty's voice cuts through the chill, sharp and breathless. You don't turn around. Your fists are clenched so tight your nails bite into your palms, but you don't care. The pain is a welcome distraction from the roaring in your ears.
"Please, amour" Regulus adds, softer, like he's afraid you might shatter if he speaks too loudly. You pause then, because it's him, and you can't quite bring yourself to keep walking. Not yet.
You spin around, the motion sharp and unkind. "What?" you snap, voice cracking at the edges. "What do you want? Haven't you done enough?"
They both falter, just for a moment. Barty glances at Regulus, eyes wide and searching, and Regulus's face is pale under the moonlight, shadows pooling beneath his eyes.
"We just wanted to make sure you got back alright," Regulus says quietly. His hands are still tucked into his coat pockets, but his shoulders are tense, braced for impact.
You laugh, the sound brittle and broken. "Oh, now you care? That's rich."
Barty steps forward, hands outstretched. "Of course we care," he says, and for once, his voice isn’t dripping with sarcasm or wrapped in bravado. It’s just him—bare and unguarded. "You’re our—"
"Don't," you cut in, voice rising with every word. "Don’t you dare. Save it. I don’t need your pity."
Regulus flinches, but his gaze doesn’t waver. "Soleil, please, let us just sit and talk" he says softly, like he’s stepping around shards of glass.
You stumble back a step, the world tipping dangerously. The alcohol is swimming in your veins, and it’s making everything too sharp, too bright. You swipe at your eyes, chest heaving. "You want to help?" you slur, voice cracking. "Then disappear. Both of you. Just…just go."
"We’re not leaving, tres" Barty says, his voice firm, unyielding. He takes another step forward, and you stagger back, nearly tripping over your own feet. The ground feels unsteady, like the earth itself is shifting beneath you.
"I can't—" You choke on the words, the tears coming fast and hot now. You stumble to the side of the street, knees hitting the pavement hard enough to sting. Your stomach lurches, and before you can stop it, you’re retching into the bushes, the world spinning wildly out of control.
Barty is there in an instant, holding your hair back, murmuring soft, frantic words you can’t understand. Regulus kneels beside you, his hand a steady weight on your back, rubbing soothing circles as you gasp for breath.
"I’m fine," you croak out, voice shredded and raw. You’re not—you’re so far from fine it’s laughable, but the words spill out anyway.
"No, you’re not," Regulus murmurs, voice achingly gentle. His eyes are wide, brimming with something like grief, and it only makes you cry harder. "Please, love, just talk to us"
You shove him off, the motion weak and clumsy. "You don’t get it!" you cry, voice cracking open like a wound. "You don’t get it, and you never will. I thought—" Your breath hitches, and you laugh, a jagged, broken sound. "I thought there was something between us!."
Regulus's eyes glimmer under the moonlight, and he doesn’t move back, even as you glare up at him. Barty's hand is still on your back, firm and grounding, and for once, he’s silent, just watching you with eyes that burn like fire.
"There is, gosh, there is" he whispers finally, voice splintered and soft. "I swear to you, just let us talk"
But you just shake your head, stumbling back to your feet. "No," you whisper, the word cracking on your tongue. "No. Ttop it, Regulus."
You stagger back, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, eyes red-rimmed and aching. "I can’t do this," you say, voice hollow and breaking. "Not right now"
They exchange a glance, unspoken words passing between them, but you’re already stumbling away, the world blurring at the edges. Your legs give out before you make it five steps, and you sink to the ground, sobs wracking your body with a violence that steals your breath. It’s ugly and raw, the kind of crying that shatters something fragile in your chest.
Barty is beside you in an instant, arms coming around you, firm and grounding. Regulus is on your other side, his hand threading through your hair, murmuring soft, desperate words. But it only makes you sob harder, the noise broken and unrestrained.
"It wasn’t supposed to be like this," you gasp out, voice strangled. "I thought—I thought you—" You can’t finish. You don’t need to.
Barty’s grip tightens, his forehead pressed to the side of your head. "I’m so sorry," he whispers, voice cracking. Regulus's hand rubs gentle circles on your back, his eyes squeezed shut like it physically hurts him to watch you cry.
You don’t stop. You can’t. The sobs come faster, harder, until you’re gasping for breath between them, your body trembling from the force of it.
You cry until your throat is raw, until your eyes burn, until the stars above blur and fade. And still, they don’t let go.
Not for one second.
The sobs quiet, fading into broken breaths and the hollow ache that lingers like a bruise. Barty’s hands are steady on your back, Regulus’s fingertips brush the edge of your jaw, lingering for just a moment too long before they fall away. You pull back, slow and deliberate, slipping from their warmth like waking from a dream.
Neither of them stops you. Regulus’s hand drops first, and then Barty’s, both of them watching with shadows in their eyes—heavy and unspoken. You don’t look back. You can’t.
Your footsteps are soft against the pavement, the night stretching out in front of you, long and empty. Streetlights flicker above, casting fractured light over cracked concrete and the breath of distant city sounds. Your hands shake as you press them to your sides, curling into fists to keep them from trembling.
At the end of the street, he’s waiting. Sirius leans against the lamppost, arms crossed over his chest, a cigarette dangling forgotten between his fingers. His gaze softens the moment he sees you, and he straightens, tossing the cigarette to the curb and crushing it under his heel.
He doesn’t say anything, just opens his arms like he’s been waiting for you to fall apart.
You don’t hesitate. You collapse into him, his coat smelling like smoke and winter rain, familiar and grounding. His arms come around you, strong and unyielding, one hand cradling the back of your head like he used to do when you were small and scraped your knees.
He doesn’t speak, just lets you cry—silently, violently—into the worn leather of his coat. His hand rubs slow circles along your back, his chin resting atop your head. When the shaking subsides, you pull back just enough to look up at him, your eyes red-rimmed and aching.
Sirius brushes a stray tear from your cheek with the pad of his thumb, his expression unbearably gentle. “You’re gonna be okay, you know,” he says, voice rough but steady. “Even when it doesn’t feel like it. Especially then.”
Your breath hitches, and he gives you that crooked smile, the one that’s always held more tenderness than it has any right to. “I’ve got you. Always.”
You nod, the motion shaky, and he pulls you back in, his embrace tightening just a little bit more. His voice drops to a murmur, low and almost to himself. “I promise you’ll be okay.”
You freeze in his arms, the words sinking into the marrow of your bones, hollow and aching. But his grip does not falter, if anything, it tightens, like he is holding you together by sheer force of will.
You press your face into his shoulder, eyes slipping shut, letting the words settle, jagged and unyielding.
It hits different when it is them, like clutching at something that was never real, love slipping through your fingers like smoke, a beautiful lie unraveling in your hands.
“You know you don’t have to do this,” you stated, leaning against the hull of the ship.
Juno was in the cockpit piloting, but in the back of your mind you were aware that she was using the monitors there to watch the little daytime drama that was unfolding in the back of the ship. Nosey woman as she was, it was nearly impossible to find a pilot as good with the same moral flexibility. It didn’t hurt that she was handy in a fight, too.
Ever since you started on this hellish little ride with the man known as Starkiller in his quest to (pretend) to be a Jedi, you couldn’t help the way you’d fallen for him. Once upon a time, you too had been trained in the Jedi ways; you’d been one of the few younglings to escape the slaughter Vader had committed in the Council Room. Helping Kota adjust to the blindness had been a stepping-stone to meeting the object of your affections, and being more Force-sensitive than most, you’d been able to sense the taint around him from the beginning. Seeing him use Dark Side powers was just confirmation of that fact. You liked to think that your acceptance of his darker tendencies had made him more fond of you, too.
“He betrayed me,” Starkiller was saying while you pondered your relationship, or lack thereof. “The Emperor needs to be stopped, and Vader needs to pay.”
“Or we can just leave them to kill themselves,” you shrugged. “Neither of us is exactly a white knight. We could just . . . disappear, and no one would ever know.” Your eyebrows raised in surprise at the look in his blue eyes when he turned to actually face you, and you actually froze when his hand came up to rest on your cheek.
“You have no idea how much I want to,” he murmured, eyes trailing over every contour of your face, “but I can’t.”
“I know . . .” The sensation of him touching you in a way that wasn’t simply friendship was unfamiliar, but you couldn’t help but lean into it. “Just . . . try not to die without taking at least one of them with you.” Neither of you were under any illusions that he would be making it out alive; there was no need to pretend.
That pulled a combination of scoff and a smile from him. “I’ll do my best.”
Juno’s voice sounded through the ship’s comm system, “Alright, I’m lowering the ramp. We’re here.”
“Good luck.” Your hand came up to rest against the back of his.
You thought you could see a spark of fear in his gaze along with something else that you couldn’t identify. Maybe it was desire? And suddenly, he leaned forward to seal your lips together. The kiss that followed was one that went completely against the tone of the conversation just prior. It was all desperate groping and teeth clicking as they bumped together since there was absolutely no finesse to the action. When he pulled away, you chased him, only for a second to steal one last peck of a kiss.
“May the Force be with you,” you murmured on the same breath as an awkward chuckle.
“Fuck the Force,” he replied, gently tapping his forehead to yours. “I love you. Take care of yourself when I’m gone.”
“Says the guy walking into a deathtrap.”
He smirked. “And you love me anyway.” And he was gone, jumping out of the ship onto the Death Star where he would surely meet his end.
