#poly!wolfstar

Remus wasn’t oblivious to their anticipation. He noticed the way their eyes widened whenever they heard the pet name fall softly from your lips, or how their necks would snap in your direction, as if hoping you would be looking at one of them rather than him.

After three weeks, James acknowledged it. 

“What made you start calling Remus that, love?” James asked you late one evening, the four of you huddled around the Gryffindor common room, each wrapped up in your own tasks.

You glanced up from your crochet needles, the crease between your brows deepening. You hummed as if to get James to repeat himself, sticking one finger in the guide you’re following, but then you realised what he was asking you and you exhaled amusedly. 

“Because it suits him,” you smiled with a shrug. 

Before you could return to your attempted crochet, Remus wrapped an arm around you and kissed the side of your head hard. You giggled and leaned into him, nuzzling your back into his side. Despite the twinge of jealousy, Sirius’ heart melted at the sight of you both. He wished that he were small enough to fit in the tiny gap between your bodies. 

“So, if honey suits Moony, what do we suit, then?” James brought it up a few days later when they were in Potions class. You were working with Remus a few stations away, the two of you quietly chatting to one another as you expertly got on with the work Slughorn had assigned. 

Sirius was slightly startled by the question and paused from chopping his crow claw. “I’m definitely going to get darling.”

James snorted. “Right.”

Sirius shot him a look. “Why is it that Moony, who turns into a ten-foot beast every full moon, can be suited to honey, but I am unable to achieve darling status? Beautiful, doting old me? Am I not good enough? Not darling enough?”

James laughed harder and shoved Sirius with his elbow. They heard the sound of something dropping in liquid, and Sirius cursed when his cauldron started to make a hissing sound. 

“You made me drop the rest of the crow claw! That was way too much, you bastard!” Sirius huffed, but he was half-laughing anyway. 

“Fuck,” James hissed worriedly, and his eyes landed on Barty Crouch Jr and Evan Rosier’s unattended cauldron. Slughorn was drawing closer. They could hear him praising yours and Remus’ work. 

They both shared a knowing look as Sirius darted for the other cauldron, and that was the end of their previous conversation. 

Sirius figured that if he was going to be in a bit of pain, at least James was in it with him. They did like to do everything together, after all. It had been well over a month since Remus had adopted his new title, and no matter how much he told them to just tell you how they felt, Sirius couldn’t. 

He was fully aware that it was pathetic to want a pet name so badly that it sometimes hurt to hear you call Remus by anything other than his birth-given name. Besides, he wanted you to come up with one for him naturally, as you had done for Remus. 

He attempted to call you pet names even more, just to see if that would jog you along a little bit. It didn’t work. You smiled when he called you baby, but you wouldn’t say the word back. You hadn’t given him a variation of it. 

 James called him out for being a sneak, but Sirius reckoned that James didn’t care as much as he did. James wanted a nickname from you, of course he did, but Sirius doubted it was making James as antsy as it was him. James had always been a better sport than Sirius was. You’d think he was the one who had grown up with siblings, and that Sirius had been the only child, with how spoiled he acted.

It was a rainy Tuesday when James became your second boyfriend to gain a pet name, and Sirius became the last man standing. 

Hogwarts’ library had a busy thrum buzzing through it, students everywhere preparing for their end-of-year exams, and Sirius could have bet exactly where he would find you and Remus. James had one arm tucked around his broom, his hair damp from sweat and rain during his Quidditch practice, his other large hand on Sirius’ back, gently and subtly guiding him over to where he had seen you and Remus. 

You were sitting on one of the huge armchairs by the fire, in the very corner of the library. With a leg chucked over Remus’ thigh, your head was buried in a book, whilst Remus’ was tilted back against the sofa, his jumper-clad arms extended above his face, holding a notebook that he circled things in with a Muggle pen. 

Sirius nearly broke out into a grin at the sight of you two. James sped up, and quickly, they chucked their things down in the middle of the table. You shrieked, shooting James a scalding look when his broom landed on some of your parchment at the edge of the table. 

“James!” You complained and gritted your teeth when you were hushed by someone further down the aisles. “Did you not see my work right there? It’s all soggy now!”

James’ face became the image of panic, his brows tugging together, his bottom lip jutting out—not even on purpose in the same way Sirius does to make people feel guilty—James was apparently just naturally that sweet.

“Oh, fuck!” He muttered, and he yanked his broom back, beating your hands to the work that was now smudged and dripping muddy water. 

“What made you think it was a good idea to put your dirty broom on the table anyway, Prongs?” Remus raised a brow, eyeing the stained wood.

“Sorry, Y/N. Sorry, Remus,” James muttered, and he shook the pages, but it only made the bottom tear away. “Shit! Right, I’ll fix this. Don’t worry, love. I’ll have it all rewritten before—when is it due?”

You sent him a warm smile, one that suggested that you could never be properly angry at him, and cooed, leaning forward. You grasped his face in your hand and kissed his lips carefully.

 “It’s due first lesson tomorrow, darling,” you told him gently. 

James swallowed, and you thought he was just worried about the deadline, but his face tinged pink, and he turned away from you quickly, shooting Sirius a look. Sirius’ eyes were like saucers, his mouth falling open slightly. His gaze flickered between you and James, and his head kept repeating your soft tone: darling, darling, darling.

It took everything to make sure his face didn’t show how he felt. He even reached up to gently brush his own cheek, just to be sure he wasn’t glaring. His hands dropped by his sides, but then he wasn’t sure what to do with them, and it felt like he was taking up far too much room without even existing at all. 

James could read exactly what Sirius is thinking. His top teeth bit down on his bottom lip, torn between saying something and trying to let it go. Sirius gripped the bag on his shoulder tighter, his knuckles growing white. 

“I don’t feel like hanging around while you lot do homework,” Sirius said. “Have fun. I’m going to go and see what Pete’s up to.”

“Oh, alright. I think I saw him in the common room, Sirius. He was with that Hufflepuff girl,” you told him with a small smile

He gritted his teeth with a false smile of his own. “Great. I’ll go and see Pete and the Hufflepuff.”

Sirius spent the rest of his evening in his bunk, the curtains drawn and his head against his pillow. His arms were folded against his chest, the crease between his brow never fading for a second. He’d changed into his pyjamas—a black vest and some plaid pyjama trousers—and tried to go to sleep, but he couldn’t stop thinking about the three of you down in the library, most likely studying and laughing and having pet names for one another. He wished he didn’t care so much. He wasn’t sure why he did. 

Of course, he would be the last one to get a pet name! Sirius began to wonder if he would ever get one. Perhaps you didn’t think fondly enough of him, or maybe he didn’t suit any of the sweet ones, like honey or darling. He wished he were one of the other boys, bathing in your affection, feeling so incredibly special. 

There was a rustle against his curtain, and your head stuck through moments later. 

“Why are you lying above your covers?” You asked him, though there was hardly a hint of judgment in your tone. 

Sirius huffed through his nose. “Too lazy to get in.” You laughed, your face brightening. “Room for one more?” You asked, but you didn’t wait for his answer, your knee nearly colliding with his thigh before he moved it out of the way at expert speed.

“Not really,” Sirius chuckled, but his arm extended to you anyway, and you climbed in against his chest, half lying on his body. His hair tickled your forehead. “You smell nice.”

You beamed up at him. “Thanks. I had to go and finish some bits in the greenhouse for Herbology. I think it’s lavender—something fell on me, anyway."

Sirius stroked your arm. In return, you traced one of the tattoos he had gotten over the Christmas holidays. Each time you saw it, you couldn’t help but grin, thinking about the look on Professor McGonagall’s face when she had seen it for the first time. It was even better when Sirius had proudly told her that he planned on getting more and more. 

“Love this tattoo,” you murmured, your finger following the outline of the moth on his right bicep. 

Sirius quirked an eyebrow. “Really? You told me I’d regret it.”

“Well, you do hate moths,” you reminded him. “But it’s a pretty tattoo. Suits you, Pads.”

“Pretty,” he scoffed. “My tattoos are not supposed to be pretty.”

“Everything’s pretty when it’s on you, baby,” you murmured to him, stroking up and down his chest, and he became scared you would hear the way his heart stammered in his chest, completely missing several beats before pounding harder than it ever had before. 

The last time he felt this giddy was when the four of you had started your relationship. Months of dying to hear a pet name come from your mouth, and you’d finally picked one for him. An endearing term that was created specifically for him. Something you would call only him, and something he’d only let you call him. 

“Baby?” He croaked.

You reached up and played with the curls in his hair. “My baby,” you confirmed, and kissed his jaw.

It only took Sirius a few seconds to recover and flip you so that you were beneath him. Your screeching laughs filled the room as he kissed you all over—your face, your neck, your hair, your shoulders.

“Sirius!” You laughed. “That tickles!”

“Say it again!” He demanded with a laugh. “Say it, Y/N!”

“Baby!” You wheezed, and your laughter dimmed when he chucked himself hard against you, nuzzling his face right in between your neck and shoulder.

The curtain opens, and Sirius grins up at Remus and James, who look equal parts amused and concerned. 

“It finally happened?” James asked.

“I don’t care if you told her,” Sirius grumbled into your skin. “My one is better than all of yours.”

You snorted. “You and James should have told me months ago you wanted me to call you something.”

James rolled his eyes. “Where’s the spontaneity in that?”

“You’re both pathetic,” Remus teased.

“Says the one who got his pet name first, you hypocrite!”

Sirius squeezed you tighter, not ready to share you yet. He felt awful for the one-sided annoyance he’d been surviving through, and the jealousy he’d felt every time Remus was called honey. It turned out, good things did come to people who waited. Sirius wasn’t sure how he’d survived eighteen years without hearing you call him baby before. 

Now that you’d said it once, he’d need to hear it every single day. 

Most nights, you slipped from your bed and disappeared beyond the edge of the grounds, feathered and weightless in the shape of a small crow, darting through branches and perching high in the canopy where no one thought to look.

What was unusual, however, was this: Remus Lupin limping through the forest, his arms slung around the shoulders of Sirius Black and James Potter like they were the only things keeping him from falling apart entirely.

Now that—that was something new.

You stilled in the trees, tucked between the leaves, dark eyes following the scene below.

It was strange, not because they were out after curfew. That much you’d come to expect from the troublesome Marauders. But because even here, in the middle of the forest, long past midnight, the three of them still carried with them that same impossible brightness. 

You had never spoken to them before, not once, and yet somehow you knew their names the way everyone did. James Potter, Quidditch star with a laugh loud enough to rattle windows. Sirius Black, the most troublesome student, who drew people to him like a flame. And Remus Lupin, softer than the others but no less magnetic, with his weary kind of stillness that felt older than all of them combined.

You’d seen them around—of course you had, everyone had, but you’d been watching them for longer than you’d care to admit. Not deliberately, or creepily, you hoped. 

It was just that once you started noticing them, you couldn’t seem to stop. 

They moved through the castle like they belonged to it, like the halls bent slightly to let them pass. Even when they weren’t trying to be the center of attention, the world seemed to place them there anyway, everything revolving around their presence like they were born to be the stars of some story no one else had been invited into.

And even now, deep in the forest where no one was meant to see them, that pull hadn’t faded. The trees themselves seemed to lean toward Remus, branches curving like they knew he was hurting. The wind circled Sirius like it was part of him, rustling his hair just so. And James—he kept his head high even though his shoulder bore half of Remus’s weight, eyes sharp and steady in the dark like someone who refused to be afraid.

From your branch above, your small body shifted forward slightly, feathers ruffling against the bark.

Remus looked worse than you expected. Pale and exhausted. His mouth was tight with pain, and he leaned heavily on both of them, clearly fighting to stay upright. It wasn’t hard to guess what had happened. You didn’t need someone to spell it out for you.

You already knew.

You’d known for some time now, if you were honest with yourself. It wasn’t a secret, not if you paid attention.

The monthly disappearances, the gray pallor that settled into his skin for days afterward, the limp he sometimes carried with him, the faraway look he wore when he thought no one was watching. 

It was clear, if you knew how to see it. Remus Lupin was a werewolf.

You weren’t afraid of him.

You weren’t sure what you felt, actually. Not pity, not fear. Just this soft ache in your chest, a fluttering concern that made your wings twitch and your claws dig slightly into the bark beneath you. 

You wanted, more than anything, to help. Not in a way that would ever be noticed, not in some dramatic act of kindness or courage. Just… to be useful. To ease the weight of whatever he carried, even if only for a moment.

But you didn’t move. You stayed quiet in the branches as they passed beneath you, Sirius murmuring something to Remus that made the corner of his mouth twitch upward, just barely.

James glanced up once, scanning the canopy, but didn’t pause. None of them noticed the crow perched above them, holding her breath.

You watched them disappear between the trees, the sound of their footsteps fading into the dark, and felt that familiar twist settle in your chest again.

You were never part of their world. That much had always been clear. You moved through corridors like a ghost with pockets full of silence, a soft-footed observer in a universe that burned far too brightly for someone made of distance.

Where they shone with the ease of constellations, you lingered at the edges like mist, half-invisible and entirely forgettable.

It was not envy that caught your breath when you looked at them, it was something lonelier than that. 

You told yourself it was mere curiosity, a passing glance toward something golden.

But the truth pressed heavier than that simple excuse. You had spent so long folding yourself into the corners of rooms, shrinking beneath your own voice, that to witness something so effortlessly vibrant felt almost otherworldly.

It was not that they demanded your attention. You would have resented them if they had. It was that your attention, unbidden and unwilling, bent toward them in spite of you.

As though their presence altered the air itself. As though their laughter rewrote gravity.

You tried to retreat, to withdraw as you always had, but the further you pulled, the harder you were drawn in.

It was the slow inevitability of celestial force, like a lonely moon being dragged across the dark by a sun too blinding to ignore.

You told yourself you were content in the quiet, and maybe you were. But every so often, when the night made the world gentler, and their noise softened into something almost tender, you allowed the wondering.

You let yourself ache for the impossible. To imagine, just briefly, what it might feel like to stand in the warmth.

And then, as always, you turned back into the branches, into the dark, into the small and silent shape of someone who was never meant to be seen.

You stay in the tree long after they pass, eyes tracking the shape of them as they disappear into the thicket, the way James’s silhouette leads, the way Sirius shifts slightly to support more of Remus’s weight without ever making it seem like a burden. 

They speak in low voices, too distant for words to reach, but the rhythm of their steps is steady, if uneven, and for a moment you allow yourself to believe they’ll be alright.

Still, you follow.

You shift in the branches, feathers settling against your sides as your body lightens, stretches, and then lifts, black wings cutting through the night with soundless ease.

You dart above the treetops, careful to stay far enough that they won’t hear the flutter of your passage, but close enough that you can still see them through the breaks in the canopy.

You watch as Sirius ducks beneath a low-hanging branch—too low, it turns out. The edge catches his shoulder, just barely, and he swears under his breath.

James chuckles while Remus winces and lets out a soft noise you can’t quite hear. They all pause for a beat, just long enough for Sirius to adjust his grip around Remus’s back.

And that’s when you see it.

The glint of something small and dark tumbling from Sirius’s cloak as he shifts. It falls soundlessly into the underbrush, half-hidden by shadow and leaf, but you catch the flicker of it all the same.

A button. Round, worn, and gleaming faintly in the moonlight as it lands near the base of an old root.

They don’t notice.

They keep walking, unaware, their laughter returning faintly on the wind as they near the edge of the woods.

You watch them for a few more moments—watch as James pushes the castle door open with his shoulder, as Sirius leans close to say something low into Remus’s ear that makes him sigh softly despite himself.

Their backs retreat into the stone, swallowed by the warmth of the light spilling from within.

Only once the door swings shut behind them do you move.

You dive, wings spread in a wide curve, and land beside the tree root. The button sits half-buried in moss, still holding the faint warmth of Sirius’s coat.

You press your beak against it, tilting your head. It’s not much, just a lost scrap. An unremarkable little thing that no one will miss.

You nudge it into your beak carefully, curling your claws against the bark to steady yourself. The metal is cool, and a little heavier than it looks. A strange weight for something so small.

You glance up once more toward the castle, just to be sure. And that’s when you see him.

Sirius.

He’s paused in the doorway, slightly turned, head tilted back toward the woods. His eyes scan the tree line..

For a second, your eyes lock—his wide, gray, still crackling with whatever storm he always carries behind them, and yours small and dark and unblinking.

Then he gives a tiny tilt of his head, just barely perceptible, like a question. 

Then he turns and disappears into the castle all the same.

And you lift your wings again, button tucked in your beak like a treasure, and fly after him—back toward the tower.

The days that followed blurred into one another with a kind of quiet that felt dreamlike. Nothing monumental had happened, but something within you had shifted.

You told yourself it meant nothing. Just curiosity, perhaps. A trick of loneliness. A moment that would fade if you left it untouched. After all, you didn’t really know them.

And yet, your gaze sought them in every room. You lingered in places you normally passed through.

You didn’t know how to name the feeling that followed you. It was not love, not yearning, not anything so clear. Just a soft ache that fluttered behind your sternum whenever they looked your way.

So you tried to smother it gently, the way you always had, with quiet rituals and familiar comforts.

That afternoon, the castle pulsed with early spring. Laughter echoed through open halls, and golden light spilled across the stone like a secret.

You had left the library later than usual, the small wooden box clutched protectively to your chest, your bag slipping slightly off your shoulder as you hurried to make it down the hallway before the rush swallowed you. 

You weren’t paying close attention to where you were going. Your fingers curled tightly around the lid of the box, and your thoughts, once again, had drifted far ahead of your body

You didn’t see them until you collided.

Your shoulder struck something solid—someone’s chest—and your breath caught in your throat as the impact jarred the box from your hands.

The lid sprang open, and in an instant, a hundred small fragments of your quiet world tumbled across the cold stone floor.

Buttons scattered in all directions, clinking and skipping like startled birds, tiny kaleidoscopes of color and shape spinning out across the corridor.

You dropped to your knees with a sharp breath, heart racing, hands frantically collecting what you could before they rolled too far.

You reached for them with trembling fingers, too humiliated to look up, your mind already preparing for the laughter, for the awkward glances, for the words you’d have to stumble through.

But the first voice you heard was warm, low, touched with a gentle humor.

“Are you okay, love?,” came the voice, unmistakably Remus Lupin’s.

Your breath froze.

You looked up slowly, dread tightening behind your ribs—and there he was.

Remus stood just above you, tall even when slightly tilted from the weight of his cane, his soft knit sweater stretched slightly across his frame, the collar turned wrong in a way that made your fingers ache to fix it. 

His gaze was steady, unreadable, but not unkind—warm in that quiet, bone-deep way he always seemed to carry, as if the tiredness in him was ancient and affectionate and chose what it wanted to notice.

Beside him, Sirius Black was already crouched to the floor, hair falling in black waves around his cheekbones as he reached for one of the stray buttons—a glossy red one with a cracked side. He held it between his fingers and tilted his head as he offered it out to you.

“I think this one belongs to you,” he said, and there was a smile in his voice—not mocking, not teasing, just bright and real and somehow far too much for your chest to hold at once.

You reached for the button slowly, your fingertips brushing his for a second too long. “Thank you,” you whispered.

Sirius turned the button once more between his fingers before letting it go.

“This looks exactly like the one I lost the other night,” he said thoughtfully. “Coat got caught on a branch, and I remember it falling.”

You blinked, your mind scrambling to build some sort of casual response. “Oh. That’s… funny. What are the odds?”

Sirius narrowed his eyes with mock suspicion, but only smiled. “Yeah. What are the odds.”

Remus’s voice broke in again, quiet but curious. “Do you usually carry a whole collection around with you?”

You glanced down at the box in your lap, half-full, many of the buttons still scattered across the stone. 

“I collect them,” you said. “I find them, and rescue them, I guess.”

Sirius leaned closer, crouching again, interest flickering in his expression. “You rescue them?”

“Yeah, I just think buttons are really cute,” you said softly, cheeks warming. .

There was a pause, quiet and weightless, suspended like a held breath.

Then Remus smiled, slow and gentle. He leaned down slightly, balancing his cane with practiced ease, his gaze steady as it met yours. 

“I think you’re really cute,” he said, voice low but certain, as though he were stating a simple fact rather than handing you the sun.

Your breath caught. The heat in your cheeks flared instantly.

Sirius, still crouched beside you, let out a bark of laughter. “Moony,” he said, grinning wide, “you’re absolutely flustering her.”

He then picked up a button shaped like a starburst and turned it over in his hand.

“Do they have names?” he asked, half-smiling.

You hesitated again, but they were both still looking at you like they genuinely wanted to know. And so—shyly—you nodded.

“That one,” you said, pointing to the pink with the curved edges, “is Dai. The red one is Cheri, the little navy blue one is Ruxy, and the green swirl one is Teo.”

Sirius grinned. “Ruxy looks like a cutie.”

“She is!” you said automatically, and then blushed again.

Remus gave a small laugh—barely audible, but sincere.

And then Sirius’s gaze flicked back to you, brighter now, edged with something that felt almost like a secret.

“Well then,” he said, voice low and amused. “Can I have a button named after you, Miss Ravenclaw?”

The words hit you all at once. You stared at him, mouth parting slightly.

“I—um. You can have the whole box,” you said too quickly. “If you want, I don’t mind.”

Sirius laughed, rich and surprised, eyes narrowing just slightly as he leaned in a little.

“All of them?”

“They’d be safe with you,” you answered, almost without thinking. “With you and Remus.”

Remus looked at you again, gently. “But I thought you said they were precious.”

“They are,” you murmured, your fingers curling tighter around the box. “But I think they would be safe with you.”

Sirius leaned back, something like admiration flickering behind his lashes.

You didn’t quite know what to do with the way they were both looking at you.

And just when the silence stretched a little too long, a voice called from the far end of the corridor—“Oi! Sirius! Remus!”

All three of you looked up.

James Potter stood down the hall, grinning, fingers laced with Regulus Black’s in a way that felt less surprising than it should have been. Regulus looked vaguely annoyed, but didn’t pull away.

Remus stood first, then Sirius, both of them brushing imaginary dust from their sleeves.

Before turning to leave, Remus looked down at you once more, his expression softer than it had been all afternoon.

“Buttons like these,” he said gently, his voice as low and warm as a lullaby, “are safest with someone like you.”

He smiled once more, and then he was gone—walking beside Sirius, their shoulders brushing as they headed toward James and Regulus, leaving you behind with your heartbeat in your throat and your button box held close to your chest like it had just turned into something more than what it had been that morning.

In the days that followed, you found yourself seen in ways you had not expected. It was never loud or showy. Just the kind of noticing that lingered in the spaces between things. 

Sirius would greet you with a grin that curved wide, his laughter always arriving half a beat early, as though he had been waiting for yours. 

Remus had a different quiet, a warmth that never needed words. He would glance at you across the Great Hall, the corners of his mouth tilting up slightly, as though something about your presence softened the sharpest parts of his day. 

Their light caught you even when you were not trying to catch it.

And somehow, you found yourself orbiting them without realizing when it had started. You did not speak of it. You simply moved in tune with it, steps quieter, glances longer, as though gravity had chosen for you.

But on full moon nights, the gravity changed.

You could never remain in the Ravenclaw dormitories, not when the thought of them beyond the walls left your chest tight and your sleep restless. So you became what magic had allowed. 

You shifted. Feathered and silent, you slipped into the dark as a crow, wings slicing through the wind with singular purpose.

You did not follow too closely. You never let yourself be seen, but you watched. You hovered high in the trees, a shadow among branches, waiting for their safe return.

It was not out of duty. It was something far deeper, far stranger. It was worry, but it was also something you refused to name.

Especially when it came to Remus.

There was something about the way he moved beneath the moonlight that left you breathless. Something quiet and aching, something wild and controlled all at once.

It drew you in the way a fire does to someone who has always lived in the cold. You had not meant to fall into such devotion, but you did.

What you had not meant to do was get caught.

You had not seen the branch until it was too late. It had splintered beneath your landing, sharp as a blade, and pierced clean through the delicate bones of your crow’s foot.

You had cried out, a sound that belonged to neither bird nor girl, and now you are trapped. Your leg is twisted, impaled through the narrow branch, wings fluttering uselessly, body trembling from pain and fear.

The forest is deep and dark around you. The sky is heavy with clouds. The world below is quiet in the way that makes sound feel impossible.

You try to pull free, but it only burns. You try to breathe, but each breath comes thin and shaky.

You had come to protect. You had come to be sure they were safe.

And now, you are the one in danger, and no one knows you are here.

Remus was lying curled in the grass, his body trembling with the aftershocks of transformation. His skin was slick with sweat, chest rising and falling in slow, shallow breaths. 

James crouched beside him, murmuring something too low to hear, while Sirius stood just behind, watchful and steady, arms folded tightly across his chest.

They were preparing to carry him back—like always. The routine had become muscle memory by now: someone took his shoulders, someone his legs, and they would move through the underbrush in silence, just three boys and the weight of what they refused to name.

You watched from above.

You always watched.

Perched in the tree line, your feathers damp and trembling, your heartbeat a staccato against the splintered wood that held you. The pain was sharp now—constant.

The branch had pierced clean through your crow’s leg, the wound throbbed with each flutter, and your small body had begun to lean sideways from exhaustion. 

You really were trying not to fall.

You tried to call out again, but the sound was strange and half-formed, stuck somewhere between your beak and your pain. You blinked, dizzy and panicked, watching Remus blink slowly up at the trees, unaware that you were breaking just above him.

Sirius glanced up. It was casual at first, a flicker of curiosity. His brows furrowed slightly, his gaze lingering.

"There's a crow watching us," he muttered.

James looked up too. “Bit early for birdwatching, innit?”

“Looks hurt,” Sirius added, voice quieter now, cautious. “Wing’s twitching.”

“Probably just spooked by us.”

But Sirius didn’t look away.

You wobbled again, wings fluttering helplessly, and this time the pain stole your breath entirely. Something gave—a soft sound, barely audible—but Sirius stepped forward like he heard it anyway.

“That’s not normal,” he said, a strange edge to his voice. “That—James, that bird's not flying off.”

James straightened, still holding Remus’s arm draped over his shoulder. “What do you mean?”

“I mean it’s not scared of us. It’s watching us. Bleeding, even.”

You blinked again, vision swimming. The pain was starting to blur the edges of things.

And Sirius had always been sharper than he let on. He stepped forward, squinting up into the tree line, eyes narrowing. “It’s too still, like it’s waiting.”

Something about the way he said it made your stomach turn.

They didn’t know you had followed them—every full moon, without fail. That you had shifted the second they were gone, just to make sure they were okay. That you stayed out of sight. That it wasn’t a coincidence, the way a crow always seemed to circle above them at the end.

They didn’t know because you’d never told them.

Because what would they say?

The shy Ravenclaw girl who barely spoke at meals. Who had feathers hidden beneath her skin and a fondness for strange winds. 

You hadn't meant to be seen.

You hadn't meant to fall.

And now, all it took was one branch and one mistake to unravel it all.

Sirius took a step closer.

“Something’s not right,” he said, voice low now. “I’m going up.”

“Pads—” James started, but Sirius was already reaching for a low limb, already climbing, already listening to something he couldn’t name but couldn’t ignore.

Sirius climbed carefully, boots pressing against bark slick with moss, one hand braced on a branch as he narrowed in on the trembling bird.

The crow didn’t flinch. It only watched him with dark, glassy eyes, chest rising unevenly with every breath. Its feathers were ruffled, one wing visibly twitching from strain, its claws caught by a jagged splinter of wood. The wound had darkened the bark below it with a smear of blood.

And beside it, nestled in the fork of two branches, was a small, uneven nest.

A nest filled with buttons.

Sirius froze.

Red. Pink. Navy. Green.

His breath hitched.

Cheri. Dai. Ruxy. Teo.

It struck him like a gust of cold wind, the memory rising all at once—how you had shown him those buttons in the quiet corner of the hallway when you bumped into him and Remus, your voice barely above a whisper, explaining that you named the small things you kept close. 

He looked back at the crow, still trembling, and his chest clenched with certainty.

“Y/N,” he said, voice low but sure, “it’s you.”

And in the seconds that followed, you shifted.

Feathers melted into skin. Wings collapsed inward and became arms, trembling and bruised. Your body curled in on itself, still perched awkwardly in the tree, leg bloodied and twisted at an angle that made Sirius’s stomach flip. 

You clutched the branch with shaking fingers, hair matted and face flushed with effort and something deeper—shame, thick and suffocating.

You didn’t cry from the pain. Not even when your injured leg gave a sharp spasm, tearing through the nerves like fire, or when your fingers trembled uselessly against bark still sticky with your own blood.

You cried because you had been seen.

It had always been the one thing you wished for. The softest, most secret ache of your childhood.

To be seen. Not glanced at, not acknowledged in the polite way professors nod at a raised hand or classmates murmur a distracted hello—but truly seen.

To be noticed with intention. To be understood in your full, strange shape. You had begged for it in silence, prayed to stars without names, asked the moon to make you visible.

And now the universe, in its crooked wisdom, had answered. You had been seen—bloodied, exposed, and caught in your smallest truth.

You had sat through years of being overlooked, of having your voice mistaken for wind or your presence mistaken for absence. You had learned to expect it, but never stopped wanting otherwise.

You had begged, in ways that did not involve words, to be noticed

And now, here you were.

Revealed in trembling flesh and blood. Not behind a desk, not through the soft offering of a smile or a story or a named button—but like this.

Injured, fragile, unraveled, and caught.

They had seen you, truly seen you. Not the version you curated in classrooms or in hallways with quiet nods and subtle glances. They had seen the strange bird who followed them into the night.

The girl who built nests out of threadbare things. The one who had watched them like they were made of light and belonged to a constellation she would never be brave enough to touch.

And it was cruel, wasn’t it? How the universe had finally answered your oldest prayer, but in the wrong language.

How being seen could still feel like being misunderstood.

You hadn’t wanted them to think you were weak. You hadn’t wanted their pity or confusion. You hadn’t wanted their worry to be born from the sight of your blood or the way your hands shook. You hadn’t wanted to be caught.

You had wanted them to understand.

You had wanted them to see the quiet devotion threaded through every watchful flight. The care behind every shadowed perch. The love it took to stay hidden when every part of you wanted to land at their side.

But now that they had—now that they had seen the part of you you kept hidden beneath feathers and wind—you wanted to disappear all over again.

Isn’t that the tragedy of it? That the very thing you once begged for could arrive in a form you didn’t recognize. That after all the aching, all the hoping, all the prayers you sent to unseen gods, being seen could still feel so much like being misunderstood.

And yet, even in that moment, even with shame biting at the edge of your vision and tears sliding down your cheeks, part of you still clung to the hope that perhaps—just perhaps—they hadn’t misunderstood you after all.

“Hey—hey. Look at me,” A voice low but urgent breaks through your haze.

Hands find your face, thumbs brushing beneath your eyes with a softness that makes something in your chest splinter further. 

“Don’t cry, love. Please don’t cry. You’re alright. You’re safe. I’ve got you, just breathe with me, yeah? Just stay with me.”

You try to look away, but he won’t let you. His gaze holds yours, steady and unwavering, the kind of look that feels like being tethered—pulled back to something real, something warm.

You barely notice Remus limping toward you until he drops beside the branch, breath catching in his throat.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, and his voice breaks around the edges. “Is it your leg? Are you hurt? Y/N—what happened?”

You can’t answer, not right away. Your mouth opens, then closes again, but Sirius is still there, crouched in front of you, hands steady despite the thudding panic you can feel rising in both your chests.

He speaks again, softer now. “You—you’ve been watching us? All this time?” His voice trembles with something between awe and heartbreak. “Alone? During every full moon?”

You nod once, a small, broken motion, tears slipping down your cheeks in silence. Your jaw is clenched so tightly it aches.

“I didn’t want you to know,” you whisper. “I thought—if you saw me, it’d be weird or pathetic, or—”

He cut you off gently, reaching out to cup your cheek with a care that made your throat tighten.

“Pathetic?” he echoed, incredulous. “Pathetic? Y/N, you’ve been dragging your body into the sky just to keep us safe. You bled for us tonight. You’ve been doing this alone. That’s not pathetic—that’s... that’s fucking brave.”

His voice broke on the last word.

Below, James appeared at the base of the tree, voice rising in concern.

“Sirius?” James shouted. “Is it hurt? Is it—wait, where are you?”

“It’s Y/N!” Sirius called back down. “It’s her. She’s an Animagus.”

“What?” James’s voice cracked. “What do you mean it’s her?”

But Sirius wasn’t listening anymore. He was already helping you into his arms, cradling your body close with infinite care, his hand pressed protectively to your injured leg, holding you like something precious and breakable. 

He whispered reassurances as he climbed down, slow, careful steps that betrayed the panic beneath his steady hands.

By the time Sirius’s boots hit the earth again, Remus was already beside him.

His breath came ragged, the lingering tremors of the transformation still curled in his limbs

Now, standing just steps from you, Remus looked like the ground had given out beneath him. All the color had drained from his face, but it wasn’t just shock. 

You tried to speak, but the moment Sirius set you down gently in the grass, Remus was already kneeling, like his body had moved before his mind could catch up.

“Y/N?” His voice cracked, hoarse and thin. “What—what happened? What were you doing out there?”

You couldn’t meet his eyes. Not with the weight of both their gazes pressing into your skin. “I didn’t want to be a burden.”

“A burden?” he repeated, the word leaving his mouth like it tasted wrong. “You’ve been following us? While I’ve been transforming? Every full moon?” His breath hitched. “While I was—”

“I didn’t want anyone to worry,” you whispered. “I just needed to know you were okay.”

Remus inhaled sharply and let it go like a wound reopening. His hand hovered near yours, trembling. Then he reached for you anyway, brushing your hair back from your damp, dirt-streaked cheek.

His fingers paused near the scratch below your ear, reverent, aching.

“You shouldn’t have had to do that alone,” he said, softly but with conviction, like he was swearing an oath he never should’ve forgotten. “You shouldn’t have had to hide this. You didn’t have to hide this.”

“I didn’t think you’d understand,” you murmured, tears threatening again.

“We understand now,” he said, brokenly. “And it shouldn’t have taken blood for us to see it.”

Sirius’s jaw was clenched so tight it trembled. Remus’s voice was frayed, but firm. And both of them looked at you like you had done something immeasurably brave. Like you were worth mourning, protecting, holding—everything.

You finally looked up at them, eyes glassy, face streaked with tears and dirt and disbelief.

Sirius exhaled sharply, pressing a kiss to your temple. Remus closed his eyes, his hand settling gently over yours.

James crouched nearby, still stunned, but his voice was gentle when he finally spoke. “Next time, you don’t watch us from the trees. Next time, you’re down here with us.”

The walk back to the castle was slower than usual. Not because the path had changed, or because the forest was any darker than it had been—but because something between the three of you had shifted.

Sirius carried you most of the way, arms secure beneath your back and knees, murmuring quietly each time you winced, while Remus walked close beside him, watching your face as though afraid it might disappear. 

James had gone ahead to clear the way and fetch Madam Pomfrey, but you hardly noticed his absence.

Your body ached, but it was the tightness in your chest that throbbed hardest. You had never meant for them to know, not the Animagus form, not the secret flights, and certainly not the nest tucked into the trees like a childhood you’d never outgrown.

By the time Sirius set you down gently on the edge of the infirmary bed, your throat was dry from trying not to cry again.

Remus didn’t speak at first. He just knelt beside you, hands gentle as he peeled away what was left of your sock and began tending to your leg. His fingers were deft but soft, brushing the dried blood away with a damp cloth, jaw clenched as he examined the wound with quiet intensity.

You hated the silence. You hated how heavy it felt.

“I’m sorry,” you said, the words breaking free before you could stop them. “I know it’s weird. I know I’m weird. I didn’t mean for you to find out like this.”

Sirius, who had been standing nearby, leaned forward suddenly, resting one hand on the mattress beside your hip.

“Stop,” he said, firm but not unkind. “Don’t do that. Don’t apologize for being the one person who cared enough to follow us into the dark.”

Your breath caught.

“I just… I didn’t want to be a burden,” you murmured, your voice barely more than a breath. “I didn’t think you’d understand.”

Remus’s hands paused in their careful rhythm as he finished unwinding the gauze. He looked up slowly, and when he spoke, his voice was quiet but certain.

“Y/N, if you truly believe we’d ever mock you for caring—for watching over us in the only way you could—then I’ve clearly failed to show you the kind of man I am, and the kind of man I hope to be.”

Your fingers curled in your lap. “I watched you,” you whispered, eyes flicking toward Remus. “Every month. I couldn’t sleep knowing you were out there. I just... needed to make sure you came back.”

Remus didn’t look away. He soaked the cloth in warm water and pressed it gently to your scraped skin with hands that trembled slightly—not from fear, but from how much he was holding back. “You never needed to explain that,” he said. “But I’m glad you did.”

Sirius moved closer, silent until now. He sat down beside you on the bed, his palm finding the small of your back, grounding you.

“You watched over us,” he said, his voice low and rough at the edges. “Even when we didn’t ask. Even when we didn’t know. You broke your body trying to keep us safe. And you’re still sitting here thinking we might call you strange for that?”

You looked up at him then, wide-eyed, voice shaky. “I mean... I collect buttons. I sleep with open windows so I can hear the wind. I speak to animals. I—I’m not exactly—”

“Normal?” Sirius offered, a half-smile playing at his lips. “Good. We’re not either.”

Remus finished wrapping your leg and looked up, expression softening like a wave pulling back from shore. “You think we’ve spent all these weeks noticing you for no reason? You think we didn’t see the way you listen more than you speak, or how your eyes always catch the smallest things—the things no one else notices?”

“You care in ways no one else ever has,” Remus added, more gently now. “You cared about me in a way I didn’t know how to accept until right now.”

Your breath caught. “Wait… are you saying...?”

Sirius laughed under his breath and leaned a little closer, his forehead nearly touching yours. “Love, we’re saying we’ve been completely enchanted by you for ages. We just didn’t know how to say it until tonight.”

You blinked, stunned. “Really?”

“Really,” Remus said, his voice warm. “In every way that matters.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but nothing came. Your throat was too full of something tender, too new. 

Remus leaned closer, his voice softening. “Listen to me,” he said. “You don’t have to hide yourself from us. Not your wings, not your magic, and certainly not your quiet. We like you—we care about you—for everything you are. You’re not strange, love.”

Your lip trembled.

“And the button nest?” he added, grinning now. “It’s the most heartbreakingly you thing I’ve ever seen. That nest in the tree… it wasn’t weird. It was beautiful.”

Sirius smiled, something quiet and bright in his expression. “Well, we were talking about it on the way back—Remus and I, and if there’s ever room for two more in that nest, we’d be honored to be named and to be part of something you created.”

You blinked. “You want to be… buttons?”

“Not just buttons,” Sirius said, bumping his shoulder gently against yours. “Your buttons.”

Remus looked up then, meeting your eyes with something deep and sure and aching in its sincerity. “If we’re lucky, maybe you’ll even give us names.”

You looked down at your lap, hands trembling in your lap, and then, slowly, a smile tugged at the corners of your mouth, tentative but real.

“You can be in my button nest,” you said, voice barely a whisper.

And for the first time, it wasn’t just that someone had seen you.

It was that they had recognized you — all the strange, quiet, fragile pieces you’d kept tucked behind your ribs, the ones you had never dared to name aloud.

They hadn’t flinched from your softness, or your silence, or the wild devotion stitched into the things you loved. They had understood it. And more than that, they had chosen it. 

Chosen you.

You had spent your life making altars out of small things. Buttons, feathers, the hush between words. You had prayed in your own language — not in churches or temples, but in the way you noticed everything others overlooked. You had asked the world for so little: just to be held in return. 

Just to matter to someone the way you had quietly, unfailingly let others matter to you.

And for so long, the world hadn’t answered.

But maybe it was not that it hadn’t heard you. Maybe it had simply taken time.

Because now, without asking, without performing, without even meaning to — you were seen. Not in passing, not in pieces, but fully, tenderly, and without having to translate your love to the world.

You were no longer a distant thing. 

And perhaps, after all, the universe had been listening the entire time.

Now, it had spoken , softly and reverently, in the form of two boys who looked at you as if you were something celestial stitched into the earth. 

After all, the button nest had always been waiting for them too.

a/n:

to the readers with soft hearts and quiet hopes; may someone see your soul the way you see the world. to the readers who love gently, who notice everything, and who wait, patiently, to be noticed in return; may your button nest always be full ❤️‍🩹

“Sweetheart,” Remus’ voice is gentle, oh so gentle, as Sirius fucks into you, “you’ve got to tell him what you want.” 

You look up at your boyfriend with wet eyes, fucked out and frustrated from chasing after the orgasm that keeps slipping away from you. You want Sirius to just know what you want, the way Remus does, even if you know it’s not fair to expect that of him. It feels mean to give Sirius directions. Like you’re saying he’s not good enough. 

Remus doesn’t have the same reservations. When you don’t speak up, he turns to Sirius and tells him plainly, “She likes it harder than that.” 

At the foot of the bed, Sirius’ eyebrows go up. “Yeah?” He looks at you. And there’s nothing unkind about his stare, but you still shy a bit under the weight of it. “Sorry, gorgeous, I didn’t want to hurt you. Tell me if this is better.” 

The next time he pulls out, Sirius slams back into you with so much force you’re sure his cock has gotten lodged somewhere in your stomach. You arch, a choked-off cry leaving your lips. 

Sirius huffs a laugh. “Suppose that’s my answer.” 

“That’s it, yeah.” Remus brushes the hair from your face, his touch comforting as you reach around blindly for his cock, desperate to give something back. You’d started out asking to go down on him, but Remus hadn’t thought it was a good idea to have your mouth around him while you and Sirius were only learning your way around each other for the first time. So instead, you’re lying on his lap with your legs spread for Sirius. The way you’re feeling now, you think Remus made the right call. 

“Don’t be afraid to get a bit rough with her,” he says. “She likes it.” 

Sirius grins at that. “Oh, yeah?” His grip tightens on your hips, squeezing meanly. “Is that true, pretty girl? You into that?” 

You think maybe all language has been jostled out of your head. You can only whine as Remus catches your hand before you can tug down the elastic waistband of his boxers, his thumb stroking over your knuckles despite the bulge you can see right beside you. 

Your body answers Sirius’ question for you, anyway. His fingers tighten even more, blunt nails biting into your skin as he hisses, “Fuck, baby.” 

Remus chuckles and kisses your white knuckles. 

“Fuck, Remus, can you—ah—can you get her leg for me? I want to—” 

Thankfully for you both, Remus knows what Sirius means before he has to fumble his way through getting it all out. Remus reaches sideways, grasping the underside of your knee and pulling it up by your chest. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” Sirius pants, and then he’s fucking you even deeper than before, harder too, the dull, satisfying pain intensifying until your vision blurs. You twist your fingers in the hem of Remus’ boxers and hold on for dear life. “That’s perfect. You’re so perfect, pretty girl, does he tell you that enough? Fuck, Rem, we should—we should put a mirror on the ceiling so she can see how she looks like this.” 

“Maybe we should,” Remus hums. He smiles down at you, and the last bit of sense in your brain dissolves like sugar into tea. “You’re doing so well, love. You’re being so good for us.” 

When you look back on it later, you won’t be entirely sure which of you he’s talking to, but that doesn’t stop you from going warm all over in the moment. Sirius’ fucking gets more frenzied as you get worked up, until you’re trying to get Remus out of his boxers again, feeling frantic with the certainty that the climax you’d just been chasing is now chasing you. 

“I can—I want to—” You try, distressed when he again catches your wrist in a firm grip. “—want to help you—” 

“Shh, I know, sweetheart.” Remus strokes the inside of your knee. “Let’s get a couple out of you first, and then once you get used to Sirius, we can try. Yeah?” He looks at Sirius. “Think you can manage?” 

He only hummed in response, the sound sending a tremor up your spine. Of course, he looked particularly sinful tonight, his dark hair messy from the days work, dressed in one of Remus’ too large button-down shirts that showed off way too many of the tattoos on his chest to be considered appropriate in decent society.

Sirius was hot. He knew it, you knew it, but it didn't change the fact that he was a decade older than you and in a committed relationship with another man. Who also happened to be exceptionally attractive. And also a decade older than you.

It was fine. You were fine.

It's not like you've had a debilitating crush on both of them since Bill brought you into the Order, right?

Right?

Then, like a vision from your filthiest daydream, Remus came plodding down the stairs, dressed in sweats and…nothing else. Just bare, burnished skin, lightly muscled and littered with pearly scars.

You and Sirius both sucked in a breath, then glanced at one another. Your eyes were wide like a deers, while Sirius’ narrowed, unreadable. Then, the faintest smirk hooked the corner of his mouth, and your lungs withered.

“Sorry, dove. Thought Sirius would have sent you to bed as well,” Remus said, his voice still thick with fatigue as he made his way to the kettle.

“And miss out on her charming company?” Sirius crossed the room to greet him, pressing a kiss to the taller man's scarred shoulder as he took over tea-making. “You're supposed to be sleeping, love,” he chastised, thought there was no real bite to it. Like he had anticipated Remus wouldn't be able to sleep.

“Couldn't,” Remus replied, glancing at you again before taking a seat at the kitchen table. “House is too quiet.”

“Ah, so you could hear her pacing a hole through the earth’s crust?” Sirius teased, winking at you.

You stuck your tongue out at him.

Remus chuckled. “It was hard to hear anything over Bill's snoring.” He pulled out the chair beside him, gesturing for you to take it. “Something on your mind?” He asked when you sank into it, your body suddenly feeling heavy on your bones.

Merlin, it had been a long day.

“Wouldn't even know where to start,” you said, sounding petulant even to yourself. You weren't usually the sort to sulk, but something in your body felt out of sorts, your mind racing a million miles a minute.

Remus' brow furrowed, eyes lifting to Sirius as the other man set a mug of tea in front of him, and then another in front of you.

Sirius' hand landed on your shoulder, squeezing experimentally. “Saints, you're coiled up like a snake, love,” he muttered, bringing his other hand up to massage your shoulders. “Poor thing,” he cooed, and your stomach flip flopped, heat climbing into your cheeks.

What the hell was happening? Had you fallen asleep on the couch and now were having the best dream?

His hands were burning, long-fingered and etched with ink, and the tension in your body started to give way to his coaxing. A soft sigh escaped your lips, and you quickly bit them together, stiffening once again.

“Sirius, you don't have to—”

“Ah, ah,” Sirius warned, squeezing a bit harder. “Relax, doll. Let us help you.”

Remus was studying your face, his eyes growing darker when Sirius tilted your head to one side, working his thumbs along the vulnerable curve where your shoulder meets your neck.

Your heart picked up, thrumming eagerly under your skin, between your legs.

“How's that feel?” Sirius asked, his face so close you could feel his breath tickled your skin. “Good?”

You nodded. “Y-yeah,” you breathed, perilously close to a moan.

“Just tell me if you want me to stop,” he murmured, then his lips caressed your jugular, the faintest brush, but it felt like you'd been electrocuted, a gasp wrenched from your chest.

Remus made a low sound of approval in his throat. “Seems you were right, Padfoot,” he said, taking a sip of his tea like nothing out of the ordinary was transpiring.

Sirius smirked, his lips on your skin growing heavier, more insistent as he charted a tingling path towards your ear.

“Right about what?” You asked, hands gripping the table, unsure of what was happening, or if you were allowed to touch him back. But fuck, you wanted to comb your fingers through that gorgeous hair so bad it made your skin itch.

“That a pretty thing like you could want us,” Remus answered with a knowing smile, and your jaw dropped.

Who wouldn't want them?

“He thought I was mad,” Sirius chuckled, one of his hands coming up to hold your jaw, turning your face towards him. His storm-cloud eyes were molten, dark lashes heavy with unmistakable desire.

“Not mad,” Remus corrected. “Just thought it was wishful thinking.”

“Was it, baby?” Sirius asked you, the tip of his nose grazing yours. “Am I dreaming that needy look in your eyes?”

You shook your head. If he didn't kiss you right that second, you thought you might die.

“Words, pet,” Remus ordered, his tone gentle despite the clear command. “Tell us what you want.”

“I want you both,” you whispered, hardly believing that you were saying it aloud. This long buried secret of yours that you only brought out in the dead of night, fingers between your legs, desperate moans muffled by your pillow.

Sirius surged forward, molding his lips to yours, and it felt like he knocked your soul out of your body. Gentle but insistent, tinged with nicotine and honey, he coaxed you open in a way only a man with experience could.

Already, this was different than any experience you'd had prior. Better.

His hand cupped the back of your neck, dragging you closer, his tongue prying apart your teeth to taste you. Your hands fisted his hair, rising up to try and press your bodies together, desperate to feel him.

Remus loosed a low chuckle. “Ever been kissed like that, dove?” He asked.

You shook your head, unwilling to break the kiss to answer, and Sirius smirked, his teeth catching your lower lip and tugging before disconnecting your mouths.

“Have to taste her, Rem,” Sirius said, his thumb collecting the string of spit still connecting your lips and feeding it back to you. You wrapped your lips around the digit, the salted, smokey taste of him it's own aphrodisiac. “So sweet, aren't you?” He cooed, watching you with open appreciation, eyes dark with desire.

“Come here,” Remus said, and your heart seized, excitement pooling low in your belly.

You released Sirius' thumb and slid off your chair, taking measured steps towards Remus in the hopes of not betraying just how eager you were. But he had no such reservation, his big hands grabbing you by the hips and pulling you down into his lap.

“Feel a little different than what I'm used to. All hard angles, that one,” he murmured, glancing at Sirius. His calloused hands glided over your curves, almost reverent as he studied you. “You’re a soft little thing.” He tightened his grip, pressing you harder against him, and you could feel just how eager he was pulsing against your covered heat.

“Remus,” you whined, nails biting into his bare shoulders. Meager lines of pink amid a map of scarred ruin.

“Shhh,” he soothed, bringing one of his hands up to cradle your face. You couldn't help but lean into his warmth, craving the safety, security you associated with him. “Don't worry, dove. You trust us?”

You nodded, pressing a kiss to his inner wrist. And it was true, Sirius and Remus had protected you on countless occasions against Snatchers and Death Eaters. You trusted them with your life.

He smiled, and Sirius made a soft, affectionate noise in his throat. “You are sweet, aren't you?” Remus asked, his thumb ghosting over your lips. He leaned forward, laving his tongue across the seam of your mouth, and you squeaked in surprise, parting for him instantly. But he didn't kiss you, leaning back against the chair again. “Can hardly taste anything through the smoke, you degenerate,” Remus remarked with an amused smirk, looking over at Sirius.

“Mhm, just like me,” Sirius purred, suddenly right behind you.

“Don't go getting territorial now, mutt.” Remus’ grip tightened even further, belaying his real strength. It made your head swim. The two of them could tear you apart, a werewolf and a murderous hound. “We both know that's a fight you'd lose,” Remus added, voice low.

“Oh, look what you've done, doll,” Sirius chuckled, running his fingers through Remus' hair to soothe him, the professor's grip loosening a bit. “Got us acting like proper beasts.”

It clicked then that they were just playing with one another, circling like dogs before they pounce. Just part of the game. You were the proverbial rope in their tug-of-war.

Remus stood suddenly, lifting you into the air and dropping you onto the table and rattling the tea cups. He finally kissed you then, towering over you like a god of war, he pillaged your mouth with his, laying waste to your mind and soul. Remus kissed like it was the first and last time—all desperation and ravenous fury. With none of the sweetness and reservation he carried on a normal day.

You were helpless to it, giving yourself to him, to them, completely as he laid you back on the wood. His hands slid beneath your knees, pushing your legs back and out, his body settling between them.

“Want a real taste,” he muttered, kissing down your neck before lowering his head between your thighs.

Sirius appeared by your head, smoothing back your hair. “We've wanted this for a long time,” he said. “Since that first day and you dove headfirst into battle with those Snatchers…”

Remus hummed in agreement, guiding your jeans down your legs and laying them over the chair he vacated.

“Knew then that you could handle us,” Sirius continued, lifting your shirt over your head, leaving you completely bare to them.

“So fucking pretty,” Remus said, pressing a kiss just north of where you ached for him. “You sure about this, dove?” His hazel eyes met your over the naked stretch of your body.

“Please,” you said, carding your fingers through his tawny hair. “I've wanted you both for so long too.” The admission made your head spin, relief ballooning in your chest.

“Yeah?” Sirius asked, nosing into your neck to kiss your pulse, the hot muscle of his tongue making you tremble. “You've been a little slut, daydreaming about older men, haven't you?”

“Padfoot,” Remus huffed at his crude language.

But you loved it, the filthy words electric. “Yes, Sirius,” you panted, arching your back when his lips reached the peaks of your chest, the liquid heat of his mouth enveloping you.

“You touch yourself thinking about us?” He asked, teeth scraping fragile, rose-colored skin. “Our names muffled into your pillow when you shatter?”

“Yes—countless times.”

Whatever was holding Remus back seemed to give way at your confession, and his mouth enveloped you over the fabric, his tongue laving a demanding stroke.

You cried out, pleasure crashing through you, and Sirius clapped a hand over your mouth, bringing his face up yours.

“Quiet, love. Unless you want Bill to get an eyeful,” he warned.

Something rumbled from Remus’ chest. Displeasure at the idea of Bill finding you, you imagined. Almost instinctively, you scratched at his scalp to soothe him, lifting your hips to encourage him to continue, and he obliged, settling once again.

A dog with a bone.

Sirius smiled, removing his hand and stealing a quick kiss. “Seems she's got you figured out, Moons,” he teased.

Remus didn't reply, his finger hooking in the gusset of your panties and tugging them aside so he could taste your properly. Your mind lit up like it was a reward, you'd passed some test.

Another moan bubbled up and Sirius caught it with his fingers, pushing them past your lips again while his free hand explored. You sucked on his fingers, lapping at the texture of his rings, quickly getting lost under their expert attention.

Remus was insatiable, sloppy with it, devouring you like a hot meal on a winters day. You felt like you were flying, pitched and tossed through crests of ecstasy and agony.

“Such a good girl,” Remus praised, easing a thick finger inside of you. “So fucking pretty. C’mere, darling.”

Intuitively, you knew he wasn't talking to you.

Sirius abandoned his work, having left a row of marks along your sternum, and slipped his fingers from your mouth. “Look at that,” Sirius hummed, bracing a hand on the table as he leaned down, watching Remus work.

Remus chuckled, shifting back so Sirius could have a taste while he toyed with you slowly, deliberately. Stretching you, you realized before another wave a euphoria crashed over you, rendering you thoughtless once again.

Sirius groaned, nuzzling closer as he savored you. His enthusiasm was your undoing. You had to bite your hand to keep from crying out when you finally came apart for them.

“That's our good girl. Well done, dove,” Remus praised, splaying his free hand over your ribs to stop you from shaking the table with your aftershocks. Feeling the rapid rise and fall of your chest, the clammy sheen of sweat over your skin. He withdrew from your heat when you started to wince, but Sirius didn't let up, drinking you down like a mountain spring.

You whined, trying to inch up the table and away from the overstimulation, but Remus wasn't having it, wrapping an arm around your thigh to keep you locked in place.

Sirius finally came up, ending your torment with a wicked a smile on his face. Tongue darting out to lick his lips. “Not done yet, are you, love?” He asked as he moved back up towards your head.

“No, just—fuck,” you panted, slumping back against the table. “I've never…that hard before.”

“No?” Remus asked, placing a final kiss on your inner thigh before straightening.

“A travesty,” Sirius said, standing fully behind you now, his eagerness straining against his jeans just a few inches from your face.

Now it was your turn to lick your lips.

“Surely, we must get a reward for that?” He asked, undoing his belt with one hand, the sliding under your hair to hold the nape of your neck.

“You think so?” You teased.

“I do.” He yanked you across the table, your head dangling just slightly over the edge. “And I know just what I want.”

“So rough,” Remus tsked, tugging you back the other way so your head was fully supported. “You'll break her neck.”

Sirius rolled his eyes, and you giggled. “I'm not going to break her neck—” he tugged you back down, though not quite as far as before. “I'm going to fuck her throat.”

Your hands immediately went to undo his jeans, practically salivating at the thought. Merlin, how many times had you dreamed tasting Sirius Black?

“I was going to tell you ask nicely, but apparently she likes being manhandled,” Remus chuckled, watching as you freed Sirius from his boxers.

“Fucking made for us, Moony,” Sirius moaned, head falling back on his shoulders when you took him fully into your mouth.

You moaned at the heady flavor of him, hot and silken on your tongue. You could already tell it was going to be a concerted effort to take all of him like this, but you were determined to please him.

“Yeah?” Remus tugged you back down, pulling you slightly off of Sirius. You were about to complain when you felt him glide through your heat, a ruthless tease. “Were you made for us, dove?”

You whimpered around Sirius, nails scratching on the table for something to hold. Sirius grabbed up both of your wrists, gripping them in one of his hands against your chest, effectively immobilizing you.

Like that, pinned and at their mercy, Remus finally eased into you, bullying through your clenched cunt into the gooey warmth of your body.

“Fucking saints,” he hissed, sandy hair falling across his brow.

“That’s a good girl,” Sirius praised, withdrawing a bit so you could breathe through the stretch, thighs trembling on either side of Remus' hips. “Take us both so well, don't you, dolly?”

You tried to nod, a strangled moan escaping from your chest when Remus started to move, the two men falling into a punishing but hypnotic rhythm.

They were everywhere, everything. They were twin planets, massive, grasping stars, and you were a speck of space dust, flung helplessly into their orbit.

You didn't stand a fucking chance.

“Going to come for us again?” Remus asked, lifting one of your legs to rest over his shoulder, hitting an entirely new, eye-crossing spot deep in your guts.

“Such a perfect little plaything, aren't you? Being fucked open by men a decade older than you—fucking hell,” he groaned when your throat tightened around him, your whole body winding tight as your orgasm built. Higher, higher, higher—

“Go on dovey. Show us how much you love this—”

You combusted, starlight exploding under your skin, and if Sirius hadn't been painting your throat white, you probably would have screamed loud enough to wake the dead. It ravaged you, scorched you, left you a pile of smoldering ash on the poor, abused table.

Remus released across your stomach, his moans stifled when he sunk his teeth into the meat of your calf, fucking into his clenched fist.

Sirius leaned forward, kissing along your face and neck, his hand massaging your wrists where he'd held them. “Did so good, baby. Fuck me, you're perfection—”

“Dove, are you alright? Did we hurt you?” Remus asked after tugging on some pants, his hand smoothing over your hip, the skin still stained pink from the ferocity of his grip.

“Blimey, look. We damn near broke the table—”

“Padfoot, not now—”

“M’okay,” you giggled, managing to press a kiss to Sirius' jaw, and the two of them relaxed a bit.

They managed to get you wrapped up in a blanket and onto the couch, tucked securely into Remus' chest. Sirius pressed your magically re-heated mug of tea into your hands.

“Please tell me you enjoyed that as much as we did?” Sirius asked, catching your lips in an airy kiss before you could respond.

So instead, you threaded your fingers through his wild hair, drawing him deeper. Trying to pour every ounce of excitement and relief you were feeling into him.

“No going back now,” Remus chuckled, grabbing your chin to turn you toward himself, nudging Sirius away so he could steal a kiss too.

A creak snatched your attention, making the three of you jump and look towards the stairs. But they were still dark and vacant, the air around them undisturbed.

Another creak, then—CRASH!

The table collapsed, the legs buckling entirely under the weight of the tabletop, and fell into a wooden heap on the floor.

Bill came flying down the stairs before any of you could move, wand aloft and still dressed in his pajamas.

“What the fuck?!” He cried, skidding to a halt by the table, his wand arm lowering a bit. Then, he turned to face the three of you, still mostly undressed and looking, well, thoroughly fucked. “Wha—what the fuck?”

Yep, no going back now

Remus sits up, taking another drink of his whiskey. He’s trying to form the words, trying to string them together and force them from his throat and out his mouth but he can’t get it quite right. He hisses against his teeth. “Sirius…”

“If you were going to throw me aside like some whore, you should at least have the decency to admit it before you run off!” Sirius crosses his arms in front of him, tongue poking the inside of his cheek as he shakes his head. Remus can’t help but think Sirius is at his most beautiful like this, though he’ll never admit that. 

The glass makes a small thunk as Remus sets it aside, letting out a huff of breath as he stands. Sirius stares directly into his eyes, waiting for an answer, for anything. His anger, red-hot and inflamed, is only covering up for his worry, his insecurities. They grow every moment Remus doesn’t speak, every moment he keeps looking at Sirius with that look on his face. 

Remus steps in front of him, lowering his face until their foreheads press together. Remus closes his eyes, but Sirius doesn’t, watching the way Remus’ face seems to crumble for a moment, his hands finding Sirius’ arms. 

“My father… is dead.” The words feel impossible to speak, if not only for the other ones he knows they will lead to. Sirius tries to pull away but Remus’ grip on his arms tightens, keeping him in place. “It was quite a shock.”

“Remus, I-” Sirius swallows thickly, his own hands finding Remus’ back, pressing him closer. He feels guilty for assuming Remus had tossed him aside, that the absence had been personal. He’s always been a selfish git, but now he’s truly feeling it. “I’m so sorry.”

Remus shakes his head, or at least as much as he can with his forehead pressed to Sirius’. The tips of their noses brush and something in his heart breaks. “No, I should’ve written to you. I wanted to write to you, only… I didn’t have an opportunity.”

Sirius’ lashes brush against Remus’ when he blinks, slow and fluttering. “Why not?” He asks softly, though he knows Remus will continue speaking anyway. 

“My mother. God bless her, she’s mourning him more than I am.” Remus swallows again and then clears his throat, pulling Sirius closer. “She was constantly hovering, she did not let me have even a moment of peace. I could hardly bathe without her knocking and asking if I am alright.”

Something about that makes Sirius smile, the corners of his lips tilting up, but it vanishes when Remus looks up to meet his gaze again, and that look is still there. The one that tugs low in his gut, and not in the good way that normally happens when he sees Remus. “What is it?”

“There is something I must tell you.”

Remus’ words hang in the air, thick and heavy like a cold mist. It raises goosebumps on Sirius’ skin in the same way, and his heart sinks lower than he thought possible. Maybe to Hell. Maybe lower. This time he doesn’t prompt Remus, he just stares, awaiting the death blow. 

“I… I am Lord Lupin now.” Remus’ voice sways on his new title, the idea of it straining his throat and he doesn’t know how long it will take before saying that sounds normal to him. He runs a hand through his sandy lock before speaking again. “And… because of that, it has become a new focus of my mother that I find a wife.”

Sirius feels like time stops. His brain refuses to process the words Remus is saying, the syllables just running on loop over and over like a scratched record. He doesn’t take in another breath, he feels like his heart doesn’t beat again for several seconds. 

“A wife?” It feels like he’s floating outside himself, his voice echoed and disembodied. Remus looks like he feels the same. That, or like he might be sick. It’s several seconds before Sirius speaks again, but it almost comes out as a laugh. “You?”

Something in Remus’ jaw sets but Sirius doesn’t back down, raising his brows just a bit. 

“My mother is insistent.” He says, but the look doesn’t leave Sirius’ face, though his color has started to come back. If anything, Sirius doubles down, his head tilting the way it always does when he’s being particularly snarky. “I like ladies,” Remus insists, “Just because I’m in love with you doesn’t mean-”

“What are you trying to say?” Sirius cuts him off, his words punctuated by a smirk and the cock of his hip. 

“I am trying to tell you that-”

“You’re replacing me with some dull, horrid woman from the Ton?” Sirius scoffs, then gasps dramatically, “If you marry my cousin, I will cut off your bollocks.” The look of disgust that takes over Remus’ face is enough to have Sirius’ teasing morph into a chuckle. 

Remus takes a breath and straightens his shoulders. “I am not going to replace you.” He reaches out for Sirius’ hand, interlacing their fingers together and giving it just the slightest of squeezes. “I do not want to take a wife, it will simply be to make my mother happy.”

“And to produce an heir,” Sirius’ fingers trace slowly down the skin of Remus’ neck, feeling the twitches and movements of his muscles underneath his skin. “Do not forget, I was to be a Lord once too. I know the expectations.”

“Perhaps, in several years, once I am done with my studies-” 

“Moony, please,” Sirius scoffs again and his hands fall away from Remus’ neck, his arms crossing over his chest, “Be realistic. Do you think your mother is going to allow you to continue your studies here while your wife remains in Mayfair? She wants an heir.” Remus opens his mouth to speak but Sirius shakes his head and raises a hand, stopping him, “As soon as you finish saying your vows, your mother is going to be speaking of grandchildren. I’m surprised she hasn’t already brought it up, truly.”

Remus’ silence is all the response Sirius needs. His shoulders drop, and his hands reach for his lover again, sliding over familiar ridges and settling softly against his back. “Remus, my love, my moon… What are you asking me?” 

“I… I’m asking you what you want?” 

Sirius purses his lips. He runs a hand through his hair and brushes his nose against Remus’ jaw. He sighs. He tangles his fingers in Remus’ shirt. 

“I want you.” Sirius whispers, tongue darting out of his mouth and wetting his lips. He pulls back to look up into the taller man’s eyes, “Always. Like always.”

“And you’re… alright with that?” 

“With being your mistress?” 

Remus can’t help but guffaw at this, but he guesses Sirius has a point. “Yes.”

“Well, is it truly that different from what we are doing now?”

The question makes Remus ponder. He has a secret apartment in the city, paid for through Sirius and purposely located far from any main streets. The two of them are sneaking around, have been sneaking around since the beginning of ‘them’. No one in good society would approve of the two of them galavanting around together. At least not together as they truly are. 

“I guess not.” Is what Remus finally decides on. Something softens in his stomach and it’s like he can take a breath for the first time in the last several weeks. 

“I just have one request.” Sirius says, face turning serious and his grip on Remus’ shirt tightening, silky fabric clutched between his knuckles. 

“Anything.” Remus says it, and he means it, though he knows it’s not entirely true. There are things Sirius could ask of him that he could not deliver, but he would try his damned best. 

“I want to approve of the woman you pick.” 

The words hang in the air for a moment, and Remus finds himself nodding, tugging Sirius closer and lowering his lips to his lover’s. 

“Done.”

°˖✧✿✧˖°

“She looks so pretty like this, doesn’t she?” Remus muses, smoothing a hand over the back of your head.

“Absolutely stunning,” Sirius agrees, his lips pulled into his signature smirk as he gazes down at you.

You’re on your knees, a position you quickly took as soon as the command left Remus’s mouth. Every grain of the hardwood beneath you digs into bone, but you don’t mind the dull ache it leaves. In fact, you revel in it as your two boyfriends tower over you, looking down at you like a meal they want to devour.

Sirius hooks his finger under your chin, tilting your head up some more. He runs his thumb over your bottom lip, just barely tugging on it with the pad of his finger, calloused from hours spent strumming his old red electric. You respond by parting your lips, opening your mouth wide for him.

He slides his thumb into your mouth and presses down on your tongue, letting you taste him while keeping you wide open for him.

“Want something, sweetheart?” Sirius asks gruffly.

You nod, eager eyes blinking up at him.

“Show us,” he says, replacing his thumb with two long fingers, his cold rings kissing your lips as he pushes them down your throat.

You close your lips around them, sucking and bobbing your head on them to show Sirius how good you could make him feel. Remus drops his hand from your hair to palm himself through his boxers, starting to feel the effects of his own impatience as they continue to tease you.

“Bet you wish it were a cock in that pretty mouth of yours,” Sirius coos, thumb stroking your jawline as you suck his digits.

“Mhmm,” you hum around his fingers. He pulls them out of your mouth, a string of spit briefly stretching between them to your lips until it snaps.

“What was that?” he asks, his tone slightly mocking as he wraps his spit-covered fingers around his cock, slowly pumping himself as you watch, anticipation (and something else) curling in your gut.

“Yes, I do. Please,” you beg, shuffling closer on your knees.

“So polite,” Remus muses, lips quirked into a smirk.

Sirius hums in agreement. “Don’t you worry. I’ll give you what you want, sweetheart.”

Sirius guides his cock to your open mouth, rubbing his leaking tip on your tongue before sinking all the way in.

“Mmm,” you moan as you wrap your lips around him, batting your eyelashes up at him as you bob your head and hollow your cheeks.

“That’s it, good girl. Take what you want,” Sirius praises, and you take him deeper. “Don’t forget about Moony,” he grunts, and your gaze falls on your other boyfriend.

Remus is watching hungrily as Sirius’s cock disappears into your mouth, his boxers now pushed down his thighs as he strokes his cock slowly. You replace his hand with your smaller one, expertly pumping him and twisting your wrist with every stroke.

“Just like that,” Remus grinds out, his head tipping back in pleasure.

“Atta girl,” Sirius praises as you tighten your grip on Remus’s cock. “Making us feel so fu- fucking good,” he falters as you take him so deep your nose presses into his pelvis.

You feel drunk on their cocks as you switch between sucking one off and stroking the other, gasping for air each time you do. Until Remus finally grabs the back of your head, holding you there so he can fuck your face, chasing release. Drool dribbles from the corners of your mouth, down your chin, as you gag around him. But you don’t pay it any mind, solely focused on deep breaths through your nose and relaxing your throat to take him as deep as possible. His long cock easily reaches the back of your throat, and it wasn’t easy learning to take him like this, but once you did, it became one of his favorite ways to get off.

Remus is pushed over the edge when he feels your throat fluttering around his cock, shooting ropes of cum directly down your throat, and the only option is to swallow. He pulls out in time for you to catch Sirius’s cum on your tongue as you work him through his own high with your spit-soaked hand. You stay like that for them to admire while they catch their breath. Tongue stuck out like you’re proud, Sirius’s warm cum held in your open mouth and streaking your cheeks and chin.

“So fucking pretty,” Sirius grunts, swiping some cum from your chin with his thumb and swirling his mess around your tongue. “Go on, swallow for me, baby,” Sirius murmurs, wiping his thumb off on your lip, which you greedily lick clean.

“There you go, good girl,” Remus praises as you swallow every drop, sticking your tongue out again to show them. “Took us so well, darling, c’mere,” he says, still trying to catch his breath as he helps you onto your feet. Your knees are bruised from being pressed against the floor for so long, and you wobble, finding it a little hard to stand on your stiff legs.

Your boyfriends continue to shower you with praise and sweet nothings as they guide you to the bed, where they plan to reward you for how good you’ve been for them.

Instead you hear Sirius’s boots thudding against the floor as he rushes over. “Love, stop. Stop—no, don’t,” he says, his voice nothing like before. The sharpness has been replaced with urgency, fear, and something unbearably tender. He drops down beside you, his hands hovering just above yours. “Fuck, baby, you’re bleeding. No, please—don’t touch it, okay?”

Remus is there a heartbeat later, his calm presence a steady hand against your panic. He kneels across from you and gently wraps his fingers around your wrist to still your frantic movements. “Dove, look at me,” he urges quietly, his amber eyes soft and unwavering as they lock onto yours. “You don’t need to clean this up. You’re not in trouble. We’re not angry at you, okay? Not even a little.”

“But I broke it,” you whisper, your voice so small it barely carries. Shame and fear curl tight in your chest.

Remus shakes his head slowly, reassuringly. “It’s just a cup. A thing. Things can be replaced. You can’t.”

His thumb strokes over your wrist, grounding you as you stare at him through watery eyes. Sirius sighs and presses closer, slipping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you against his chest with a desperate sort of protectiveness that makes your heart ache. His cheek rests against the top of your hair.

“We’re not mad at you,” he reiterates, his voice cracking slightly, and you can feel the guilt in him like a pulse.

You cling to him, trembling, while Remus carefully removes the shard from your bleeding hand and sets it aside. Their fight is gone—forgotten, meaningless compared to the heartbreaking sight of you panicking on the floor over an accident as little as a broken cup.

Remus wraps your injured hand with a cloth, his touch sure and tender. “We’ll take care of this, dove. The glass, your hand, all of it. You don’t have to do anything.” His eyes soften further as he adds, “You’re always safe with us.”

Held between them, the pressure of Sirius’s arm around you makes it hard to breathe, but not in a bad way. It’s grounding, tethering you against the wild spiral of your panic. His chest rises and falls unevenly against your cheek, and you realize he’s probably just as shaken as you are.

“Don’t move your hand, sweet girl,” he murmurs, his tone soft but firm. “Moony’s got you.”

You want to protest, want to tell them you should be the one cleaning up, fixing it, making it right—but Remus is already steadying your hand with careful fingers, his expression calm even as his jaw tightens at the sight of your blood.

“Deep breaths for me, dovey,” he says, guiding you without force, just the unending patience he always seems to have. His eyes flick up to yours, warm and reassuring. “That’s it. Good girl. Let’s get this cleaned, hmm?”

Sirius helps you to your feet, holding you close to his side while Remus flicks his wand, the shards of broken porcelain vanishing wordlessly. The floor is spotless in an instant, but still he checks, scanning with sharp scrutiny as if even one hidden piece will be unacceptable.

He notices you watching, shame still curling inside you, and he offers a soft smile. “See? Gone. No harm done.”

Sirius presses a kiss to your temple, his arm curling tighter around your waist. “Except for your poor hand,” he mutters with a quiet click of his tongue. “We’ll fix that up for you, sweetheart.”

Together they guide you over to the sofa, Sirius practically refusing to let go, as though you might disappear the moment he loosens his hold. He lowers you onto the cushions and kneels in front of you like he can’t bear to be any farther away.

Remus returns with a basin of warm water, a towel, and the little box of first-aid supplies from your bathroom. He kneels beside Sirius, his presence calm and sure.

“This might sting,” he warns softly as he takes your hand. His feather-light touch dabs away the blood with such care it almost makes you cry harder. “Such a brave girl for us.”

You shake your head, voice cracking. “I’m not, I—I panicked, made everything worse, I—”

“Hey.” Sirius’s voice is firm but gentle, his grey eyes forced as he cups your cheek. “You didn’t do anything wrong, baby. You got scared, that’s all. And we’re so sorry we scared you.”

Remus nods, his thumb stroking tenderly over your wrist as he finishes cleaning the cut. “Our argument never should have made you feel unsafe. That’s on us, not on you.” His words are quiet but weighted with conviction. “You’re not a burden, sweetheart. Not ever.”

Sirius leans in closer as you sniffle, his forehead pressing against yours, a slight tremor in his hand as he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. “If you break every bloody cup in this house, I’ll just buy you new ones. I’ll smash the rest myself if it means you never cry like that again.”

Remus finishes bandaging your palm with practiced gentleness. He then brings your hand to his lips, pressing a kiss over the wrapped wound. “All done, sweetheart,” he murmurs. “Safe and sound.”

You’re still trembling, but with both of them so close—with Sirius holding you like he might shield you from the whole world and Remus grounding you with steady touches—you finally feel the fear start to ebb away.

Remus settles beside you on the sofa, tucking you under his arm while Sirius stretches out along the cushions to curl against your other side. You’re sandwiched between them, cocooned in a net of warmth and safety.

“We love you,” Remus whispers into your hair. “More than you’ll ever know.”

“Mad about you, even,” Sirius adds, brushing a kiss to your shoulder. “Never mad at you.”

Their words sink deep into the cracks inside you, filling them slowly, carefully, like gentle hands piecing you back together. And for the first time since the cup shattered against the wood, you let yourself believe them. But even as you’re tucked between them, their warmth surrounding you like armor, the adrenaline still buzzes faintly in your chest. The silence is too heavy, and your thoughts start to loop in a destructive spiral.

You ruined everything. You ruined their night. They’ll start fighting again—

Sirius notices first. He always does. His grey eyes narrow just a touch, and then he leans back, squinting at the bandage on your hand. “Y’know, Moons, I think you’ve gone soft.”

Remus arches a brow, fingers still stroking a soothing pattern along your arm. “Soft?”

“Yeah,” Sirius confirms with a nod. “I distinctly remember you telling me once that scars make you look dangerous and mysterious. Yet here you are, patching our sweet girl up so carefully she won’t even get one. Coward’s move, mate.”

You blink, surprised, and then something akin to a laugh bubbles in your throat. Remus only smirks faintly. “Mysterious? Perhaps. Dangerous? Only when you’re involved, Pads.”

Sirius gasps in mock offense. “I’ll have you know I’m the picture of responsibility.”

That’s what does it—you actually laugh, the sound wobbling but real. Sirius’s eyes light up like he’s won some great battle. He leans over and peppers exaggerated kisses across your cheek and jaw, growling dramatically like some kind of overgrown mutt.

“See? She knows I’m right. Laughing’s proof.” He kisses the tip of your nose, grinning brightly. “Your giggles are worth ten times any bloody cup.”

Remus chuckles softly, watching the way Sirius all but drapes himself over you. Then his eyes catch yours, gentle and serious under the warmth. “He’s right, dove,” he murmurs. “Hearing you laugh is worth more than anything else.”

Sirius grins wider. “Oh, don’t give me all the credit, Moony. You’ll ruin my reputation.”

Remus rolls his eyes, but the affection in the gesture is palpable. He shifts slightly so you’re nestled even more securely against him, his hand rubbing soothing circles on your arm. “We argue, we get worked up, but none of that changes this—we’re yours, and you’re ours. Nothing fragile about that.”

You press your face into Sirius’s shoulder, still giggling quietly despite the tears drying on your face. He squeezes you tight like he’s proud he’s managed to pull the sound from you. And for the first time that night, the weight in your chest finally eases—not just because they reminded you that you’re safe, but because they’ve proved it, wrapping you up in love and laughter until the fear has no room left to breathe.

The laughter gradually faded into a warm lull, the kind that feels safer than silence ever does. Sirius shifts, tugging you down until you’re lying across the sofa, tucked securely between the two of them. His arm stays draped over your waist possessively, like he’s daring the world to try and take you from him, while Remus adjusts the blanket over all three of you with that careful, thoughtful way he always has.

Your hand still throbs faintly beneath the bandage, but it’s cradled between Remus’s palms like it’s precious. He keeps brushing his thumb over the soft linen wrap, his gaze lingering on you as though checking every few seconds that you’re still here, still breathing easier.

“You’re exhausted,” he murmurs. His voice is gentle, almost a lullaby, and when his lips press against your hair, your eyes flutter closed instinctively. “Rest, dovey. We’ve got you.”

Sirius hums in agreement, his chest vibrating against your back. “Go on, love. Let us fuss over you for once. I’ll even promise not to steal your blanket while you sleep.”

This pulls another quiet laugh out of you, softer this time, more relaxed. “You always steal the blanket.”

“True,” he admits, tightening his hold on you until you squeak softly. “But that just means you’ll have to sleep between us forever. Problem solved.”

Remus chuckles, low and fond. “You’d complain if she ever tried to move, Pads.”

“Damn right I would.” Sirius presses a lazy kiss to your temple. “She belongs right here.”

Your heart squeezes. Not with fear this time, but with something warm, steady, overwhelming in its gentleness. The argument, the broken ceramic, the panic—it all feels so far away now, replaced with their arms, their voices, the steady rhythm of their breathing around you.

Remus leans down, whispering against your ear, “Rest, dove. You’re safe.”

And with Sirius nuzzling against your hair, murmuring a half-coherent string of endearments—angel, sweetheart, bunny, ours—you finally let your eyes close. The steady weight of them on either side of you feels like a shield, unbreakable and sure, and for the first time in a long while, sleep finds you softly.

The sofa is warm, their bodies a cocoon around you, but drowsiness makes your limbs heavy, and Remus notices before you even realize you’re drifting.

“You’ll be sore in the morning if you sleep here,” he murmurs, brushing his fingers through your hair.

Sirius makes a low noise of protest. “She’s fine. Look how perfect she fits,” he whines, his arm tightening around you like a stubborn child clinging to a favorite toy.

“Padfoot,” Remus chides, voice patient but firm, “you’ll get a crick in your neck, and she deserves better than this lumpy sofa.”

You mumble something half-asleep, words slurred, and Sirius sighs dramatically. “Fine. But only because Moony’s a bossy bastard.”

The next thing you know, Sirius is sliding an arm beneath your knees while Remus steadies your shoulders. You squeak softly, eyes fluttering open, but Sirius only grins down at you.

“Relax, baby. We’ve got you.”

They carry you together, Sirius cradling most of your weight, Remus close at your side, his hand never leaving your back. The creak of the bedroom door feels like coming home, the soft bedding waiting like it’s been holding its breath for you.

Sirius lays you down with surprising gentleness, crawling in beside you almost immediately, while Remus pulls the blankets up and tucks them snugly around your shoulders.

The mattress dips as Remus settles on your other side, and you find yourself exactly where Sirius had claimed you belong—between them, cocooned and safe.

Sirius nuzzles into your hair, already fighting sleep, muttering half-coherent things about “our sweet girl” and “never letting go.” His hand finds yours beneath the covers, fingers threading through carefully, mindful of the bandage.

Remus, always steadier, opens a small book he must have left on the bedside table. His voice is low, soothing, as he begins to read—not for himself, you realize, but for you, the gentle cadence meant to lull you further into rest.

The words blur together, soft and safe, until the story itself no longer matters. All that matters is Sirius’s slow, steady breathing at your back, Remus’s warm voice wrapping around you, and the weight of their presence anchoring you.

As sleep pulls you under, the last thing you feel is Remus’s lips brushing your forehead and Sirius’s fingers tightening around yours like a promise.