#poly!wolfstar fic

“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?” 

You’re not all for breaking and entering, robbing, trespassing on private property, whatever stamp on your record Regulus hissed through a phone call when he realised Sirius had used his keys for a little more than “I just need to get the last of my shit, Reg. And then I’ll never go back,” but this certainly feels worth it.

Remus returns from the main home pushing a beverage cart that looks comically small shadowed by his height. He’s in a similar outfit predicament to Sirius: thin, sweat-proof shorts and a bare chest sheening with the whitish tinge of sun cream. He holds a plastic cup (leftover crockery from the small party Sirius had thrown two nights before) filled half-way with his choice of drink in between his teeth, nodding his head to the sounds of The Doors playing through a bluetooth speaker on the top half, the sound sending a buzz through the expensive glassware. 

You lean against the tennis netting, tight enough to support your weight, as you let your sweaty hair fall out of your ponytail and down to swing in and out of your vision. It kisses your cheek as you call out to Remus. “What’cha got for me, Moons?” you ask, squinting to block out the sweltering sun.

He chucks you a can of something icy cold to press to your burning neck and then something similar to Sirius who misses completely, letting out a shout as the beer clatters to the ground, the spray of liquid splashing over the lean muscle of his body. “Moony!” he cries out, voice half-drowned out by your laugh as he jumps out of his seat, promptly kicking away the can farther down the large court with the toe of his flip flops. It spins out before coming to a stop, spray calming down as cider flows weakly from the lip.

You crack open your own beverage slowly, taking a long sip and turning to Sirius with your best that’s what you get! look. He gives an affronted harrumph, sulking further into his seat as Remus comes around to hand him another. He bends forward to press a light kiss to Sirius’ temple and then scrape the skin of his face teasingly with his teeth.

The sun beats down on you and you shift uncomfortably from one foot to the other in your denim minishorts. They sit low waisted and kiss the top of your thighs, but they’re thick and itchy, and you can feel the beginnings of a chafe begin to form. You hadn’t thought about proper lounging around gear like Sirius and Remus had, and you’re reaping the consequences in your outfit fairly inappropriate for a tennis game.

Remus tosses you a tennis racket, and then digs deep into his shorts pocket to search for a second item. A ball of something blue soars through the air and then into your free hand. You hold the racket in between your legs to unravel the crumpled up thing slowly, realising that this is supposed to be the athletic gear you had requested: a thin tennis skirt shorter than your forearm that could easily be considered modest for a young child, but worthy of a public indecency fine on your figure. “Remus, what the fuck is this?”

Sirius lets out a low whistle and a wolfish laugh as he plucks the fabric from your hands, pulling the waistband as far as he can in between lithe fingers. “It’s a little modest, don’t you think?” he asks Remus sarcastically, thick eyebrows raised, “They’ve even got little built in panties!”

Remus blinks at your incredulous expression. “You said you wanted something lightweight to move around in.” he shrugs. It’s not in Remus’ nature to play dumb, but when he does he really really goes for it. You grab the scrap of fabric from Sirius’ big hands to further inspect it. You’re not really in the mood to journey back up the hill  and into the estate to find better clothing, and it’s not like a public court where half of your ass can be seen by the general public. Remus and Sirius have seen you in no clothing at all, anyways.

“Where’d you even get that thing anyways?” Sirius asks.

Remus deadpans. “Your mothers wardrobe.”

“Very funny,” Sirius jeers before pausing, “Wait, seriously?”

You leave the quarreling boys on the courts to pull open the doors of the on-court changing rooms, relishing in the cool air that dries your sweaty skin as you kick off your shorts and underwear. A whole estate with a private court and changing rooms is your fucking dream, and you feel a small tinge of envy for the Black family. But you’ve met Sirius’ mother (against your wishes and his) and you’ve heard enough stories to know that most of them border on evil. If money really does buy happiness, the Black family would have to become sextillionaires to pull the sticks out of their asses.

You pull the small curtain around you to step into the smaller changing areas, thumbing distracted circles at the razor burn on the top of your thigh. The door of the room hits the concrete wall as one of your two boyfriends strolls in. From the Led Zeppelin whistle cutting through the air, you can already tell it’s Sirius.

“Let’s get a move on, darling,” he calls out, flicking on the tap to probably wash off the sticky cider on his bare chest, “Don’t want to keep Coach Black waiting.”

“You’ve never even played tennis.” you scoff.

“Is something I’ll be saying to you when I see your first serve,” Sirius drawls, effectively poking at your competitive side to coax you back on to the courts. You hear the door creak open as he tells you, “And I want to see that skirt that Moony picked out for you. See if it’s suitable to wear at the home chapel when I have to repent for what I’m going to do to you and Moons in the dining hall later,” and then it shuts and you’re left with your own racing thoughts.

All you can do is roll your eyes, clench your thighs together at the last comment and step into the skirt. You blink down. There’s a clear circle where you can see the clean tiled floor with none of the built-in panties Sirius had boasted about. 

You pull them up, grateful for the stretchy waistband, and give yourself an experimental twirl in the mirror. At your full height, the hemline barely grazes the three-quarters of your ass, and when you bend at the waist, your whole cunt will be on display, already slightly glistening with slick as you crane your neck to get a good look. 

As expected, when you step out of your mini-fashion show you’re met with an empty wooden bench, your panties and shorts missing and 100% being twirled around Sirius’ index finger as a sick show of victory to Remus.

You don’t even bother to pretend like you have any modesty as you step back out, ignoring the way that Sirius wolf whistles and how his lounge chair has been dragged suspiciously around to your end of the court. When you ready your stance, you’re certain to give Sirius an eyeful of his next meal.

Remus has the audacity to blush when you pick up your racket, shifting his from one hand to the other like it wasn’t him who picked out your outfit in the first place. 

“You wanna play or what?” you ask boredly, though internally you’re applauding yourself for the smooth double entendre.

Remus swallows thickly then volleys first, clumsily hitting the ball in your direction and sending you running down your end of the net, serving it back with a jump of your own that has your skirt fluttering around your asscheeks. Sirius practically moans when he sees a sliver of your cunt and you watch amused as he pulls down his sunglasses to block out the sun and get a better look. He wiggles his fingers at you as if to say, “keep playing.”

Every skid, sprint and step has you showing off something to one or the other, whether it be the flash of your ass to Sirius or a peek of your bare cunt to Remus, who grows visibly frustrated at losing his game of tennis, though you’re certain you practically dangling your pussy in front of his face doesn’t do much to help his temper. You watch him rearrange his heavy cock in his shorts as he jogs back to retrieve your bright green tennis ball, breathing heavily through his nose as you pretend to stretch while you wait, sneakers squeaking on the hot floor.

You’re gripping the racket tight, ready for the next serve when Remus completely drops the ball, jaw going slack as he looks past your face and behind you, the ball rolling away. “Oh fuck,” he half-protests-half-moans, “Sirius!”

When you spin back around, Sirius has his head thrown back against the lounge chair in an inky black halo, legs spread and chest flushed as he pumps his tall cock wrapped up in your stolen panties. The moan he lets out when he notices your eyes is lewd, bordering on pornographic. A cool breeze whips your skirt high enough that he can see the front of your pussy and he shakes as he almost cums on the spot. Thighs quivering, the soles of his bare feet rubbing up and down the lounge chair as he tries to anchor himself to something, Sirius’ deep set eyes blink slowly at you and Remus, only fluttering shut when he grips his length harder. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” he groans out, thumb rubbing over his leaking slit, voice turning pitchy and whiny, “‘m gonna cum,”

You and Remus watch in awe as Sirius spills over his pale stomach, his eyes rolling back as he fucks himself through his orgasm. If the sun on your wet cunt had you glistening earlier, you would be lit up like a fucking star. Sweat drips down from your chin, into your shirt and past your hardening nipples, your mouth impossibly dry.

“Fucking hell,” Sirius groans out finally, looking pretty and fucked out as he comes back down to earth, still holding your pink panties now ruined by his cum, “any of you lovelies have any interest in playing with a different kind of balls?”

It’s crude and so very Sirius that you laugh at the silliness of it all, letting yourself bend at the waist to help with your shuddering diaphragm. The sound dies down in your throat when you realise you’re now showing off your pussy to Remus, swallowing thickly at the sound of a tennis racket clattering to the floor as he steps over the net to drag you towards Sirius.

You fall over him clumsily, forehead hitting his bare chest as the hand still carrying your tennis racket smacks the ground as you try to lift yourself up. Sirius’ cloth-covered cock digs into your stomach and he wastes no time dragging you further up his front to messily press his lips to yours, tongue pushing deep into your mouth. You haven’t even realised he’s plucked the racket from your hand when it comes to press against your entrance. 

A gasp leaves your lips as Sirius grins against them, looking up at Remus stepping out of his athletic shorts and pulling your sneakers off. The handle rubs slow circles around your clit, your sopping pussy allowing an easy glide around the sensitive nub as you arch back into it. You whine and Sirius presses hard into your clit before dragging the covered handle to your entrance, pushing in enough to make you moan against his mouth. 

He parts his legs further to allow Remus some room where he hovers straddled above Sirius’ thigh, the taller boy looking down at you. “Maybe we should fuck you with the racket,” Sirius says, voice held so straight you think he’d been asking you about the fucking weather, “Fuck your mouth. Give you something to bruise that throat on,” he sighs, contemplative. “Or, we could fuck your perfect litle pussy instead, hm?” he asks before fully pushing into your entrance, the handle sitting a comfortable half an inch in your hole as you groan, greedily rolling your hips back into it. 

“Look at it, Moons,” he coos, “Look at ‘er fucking suck it in,” Sirius hums and it leaves just as quick as it came, falling back onto the hot concrete. “Not today, maybe,” he tsks, “I’d quite like to have you stupid on my fingers instead.”

A long digit pushes past your gummy entrance, curling up against your spongy spot inside. “Shit,” you murmur, hole clenching around Sirius’ finger. He shifts you to curl into his side instead of sprawling out on top of him to give space for Remus to duck his head down and take Sirius into his warm mouth. He gives the pink head a quick kiss and a kitten lick before you watch it disappear down his throat.

“Remus,” Sirius begs now, previous bravado disappearing and his hips lifting so Remus’ nose can press into Sirius’ happy trail, his free hand guiding Remus up and down his cock by the back of his head.

You cry out Sirius’ name at the same time as marriage meets middle, two fingers pistoning quickly in and out of your soaked cunt. Despite the moans he lets out and the incessant stuttering of his hips, Sirius still manages to stay laser focused on fucking you just the way you like it.

The steady beat of your cunt speeding up to a wild, erratic thing has you pressing a warning kiss into Sirius’ neck. “I’m gonna cum,” you warn, thighs tightening as Sirius curls in faster and deeper, removing a hand from Remus’ head to encourage circles around your sensitive clit, “Siri, I’m going to fucking-”

“Cum for me, pretty,” he stops you, breath hot and heavy against the crown of your head. Remus takes the pitch in his voice as an indicator that he’s about to spill into his throat, letting Sirius take the lead and fuck into him at a bruising pace. “Fucking lovely, the both of you.” Sirius sighs before cumming with a shout.

You follow quickly after, pussy spasming as Sirius rubs slow, soothing ministrations to the soft muscle of your insides. Crude, but sweet.

Remus comes up for air, cheeks red and cock achingly hard as he wipes his sticky mouth with the back of his hand. When he leans down to kiss you sweetly, you’re allowed a taste of him. Mint gum, rum and coke, Sirius and tobacco flood your senses, and you lick greedily over a spot of Sirius’ cum drying on Remus’ chin. 

“What do you want, sweet girl?” he asks you, voice still hoarse and a hand rubbing up and down your sweaty back. Despite the skirt riding up your midriff and your thin tank top, you’re significantly more clothed than your boyfriends. Remus helps you to kneel on the chair with wobbly legs, letting you pull the tank top up past your foggy head. Sirius reaches up to palm roughly at your bare tits. “D’you want one of us in your mouth, another in your little hole? Tell us, pup.”

“Can you both fuck me?” you request.

“How d’you want us?” Sirius asks, already palming his length with another hand still massaging your chest. The words in his mouth leave soft and kind, but he pinches your nipples hard and mean.

“My back against your chest.” and then for an added safety measure, “Please.”

Sirius is already pulling your sweaty back against his chest, huffing slightly when your hair falls in his mouth. “Great idea, my darling,” he praises, emphasising his sentiment with a squeeze of your chest, “That way me and Remus both get a look at your pretty face when we get you all stupid.”

 You pant and squint up at the sun, hot and bright and beating down on your face, and like the gentleman Sirius is, he gently places his sunglasses on your face. He murmurs a quiet apology in the shell of your ear when he fumbles around blindly to line himself up with your hole. Remus does the same, fat tip running through your slick and sensitive folds. You can see him properly now through your protective eyewear, looking significantly tanner with a splattering of freckles all over his long torso. You make a mental note to kiss over all of them, and then some more, later.

“Don’t push in too quick, Pads,” Remus warns, gripping the soft fat of your thigh. 

Sirius does, because he’s Sirius, spitting roughly in his hand and smearing it all over your hole, pushing a middle finger in for good measure. You writhe against his back but his forearm keeps you locked in place, held extra tight when his head pushes past your ring of muscle.

“Hole’s so fucking tight, darling,” Sirius laughs, “Do I have to break her in again?”

It’s an agonizing stretch that seems to go on for hours, but when you feel Sirius slump back against the chair, you feel amazingly full. Your cunt throbs and you clench tight, grinning when Sirius curses in your ear.

He reaches down to stroke Remus’ cock, both of you watching in awe when he lets out a satisfied sigh and a click of his neck when his chin comes down into his chest. Remus lets Sirius pump his thick cock once, and then twice before slapping his ringed hand away. 

“D’you just not want me to last then, baby?” he laughs, realigning himself with your entrance.

Sirius doesn’t respond, but you can tell he’s sporting a lazy grin in the way Remus flushes a dark red. 

Remus pushes in, kinder and slower than Sirius but still with the same desperation, and you almost scream. The stretch from Sirius’ fingers help accommodate his length, but the sensitivity from your previous orgasm has you digging crescent shapes into your palms. 

“F-fuck!” you stammer, beating your fist into the chair as your heart jumps, “Please,”

“Please, what?”

“Please, just fuck me,”

Sirius obliges first, hips moving slowly as he starts a steady beat. He practically lifts you up with every thrust, and you watch in awe as he helps move you up and down Remus’ cock. Remus catches you on the up thrust, big palms under your ass keeping you still in the air so he and Sirius can put in all the work. 

Slick from your pussy pools and drips down your ass and onto Sirius’ cock, allowing him a faster pace in your ass. Your ears only focus on the sounds of Sirius panting in your ear and the squelching sounds as your cunt practically gurgles around Remus’ cock. The speed they’re both building up to forces lewd, pornographic sounds bubbling up past your throat and out of your bitten lips. 

“Feels like fuckin’ heaven, dove.” Remus groans, muscles flexed as he forces your back into an arch.

Sirius pulls your head to the side, nose almost knocking with his own sunglasses as his lips meet yours tasting slightly metallic. He must’ve bitten down on his lip so hard when he first fucked into you that his mouth fucking bled. “So sweet for us, so fucking sweet.” his hand snakes down to scoop slick from your sopping cunt and you jolt backwards, “Tastes so sweet too.”

Remus bends forward, chest pressed against your tits shiny with sweat. He presses a long kiss to your lips, sweet and soft, and then something shorter with much more tongue to Sirius’. “You’re right, our girl here is the sweetest.”

You want to roll your eyes and try to push down the heat in your cheeks but you can’t, all of your energy is focused on the coil building in your stomach and the tingly burning in your thighs. “Shit, I’m close,” you moan, your first full string of words other than the incessant whines leaving your tongue. “‘S so fuckin’ deep,”

Remus speeds up, chasing his own release as his tip bruises your sensitive cervix. Sirius does the same, canting his hips perfectly to reach a spot inside your ass that has him groaning and you cursing. The world goes bright, a hotter white than before, and before you can tell, you’re cumming with a shout.

“That’s our girl, that’s a good doll,” Remus pants, spilling into you with his own fucked-out sound, seed flooding your cervix.

Sirius, who was at his third orgasm for that hour, cums loud in your ear, words falling apart in his mouth to create something begging and mindless. “So lovely, angel, so fucking good. Such a good job.”

Your little blue skirt looks almost navy on your tummy, soaked through with sweat and you watch with tired eyes as Remus kisses past it and through the valley of your chest before collapsing, his forehead bumping your chin. 

“I hate you, Sirius,” Remus murmurs finally.

Sirius scoffs, affronted, “What did I do?”

“It’s all your fault. If someone asks me where the best sex of my life was, I’m going to have to say at this bloody mansion.”

You’re all giggling before the heat and exhaustion washes over you, floating back to silence as the birds chirp around the private court. “Remus?” you ask quietly.

“Yeah, lovely?”

You bite back a grin, going for something thoughtful and innocent and landing on something all too eager. “Didn’t you say there's a pool room we haven’t seen yet?”

“And I suppose you want to play there too?”

You sigh dreamily, your foot rubbing down Sirius’ ankle in your tangle of limbs. “I suppose.”

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

Until another full moon comes, or a call from Regulus in fear that things have escalated again. Or your boss has decided you’re too valuable for your job to let you go. Hours rise, missed moments, you stay silent because it’ll pass. Everything’s still fresh, you need to find your footing between them, and you can’t expect them to fully settle into this relationship when life itself won’t let them. It’s fine. You’re patient, you’re learning, and so are they. Because you know they love you, and you love them. So you wait, you stay silent and take what they give you— 

“I don’t know, love,” Lily murmurs, eyebrows twitched together as she listens to you. She sets another folded blanket aside before looking up at you. “Doesn’t sound healthy to me.”

“It’ll get better,” you assure her again, almost distractingly as you trace idle patterns on baby Harry’s head. He’s finally managed to fall asleep, maybe James is right and your touch is godsend. 

When you look up, trying to share a triumphant smile with Lily, she’s got a look that makes it dim. Not that it was very wide, they barely get to your ears lately. Your smiles come and go, but they never stay long enough. 

Of course, you don’t let it linger too much. “Don’t worry about me, Lily,” you whisper, rising to your feet with Harry in your arms. The baby boy doesn’t rouse, nor does he wake as you lower him to his cradle. “I’ll be fine, yeah?”

Lily nods, watching as you kneel low enough to continue tracing figures on Harry’s hand, his little cheeks and forehead. Touch featherlight and lips twitched into a fond little smile, smaller and smaller as time goes on. 

“I know you will,” she says after a long silence. “It’s just, y/n… you seem so sad for a girl so in love.”

You don’t answer, and Lily stands to go and put the blankets away. But her words hang in the air. Heavy in your chest and clinging to you even after you leave. Even when you get home to the lights on, hope flickering inside of you as you unlock the door. Even when you walk into the flat to see Remus and Sirius cuddled up on the sofa after a trying day. Even when you smile and offer each of them a cup of tea. Even when Sirius scoots a little to the side to make space for you. Even when, in his deep slumber, Remus reaches for your hand under the thick blanket. Even when you wake the next morning, and they’re gone. 

The flat is warm, and they’ve left you a freshly made cup of coffee on the kitchen table. Probably Remus. With a note. big day at the ministry, had to rush. see you at dinner? love you. sirius xx. You set it down, next to the fresh bouquet and drink your coffee in silence.  

You go through the motions right after. Put on a relaxing record on Sirius’ turntable, light on a candle and hope the lavender helps Remus’ migraines when he comes home. You tidy a bit between sips and changes of outfits, and pluck a flower from the bouquet to use as a bookmark before leaving the flat to go to your own job. 

It’ll pass, you tell yourself. Maybe being sad is a downside that no one tells you about being in love. A secret code that you must discover yourself. Whatever it is, you won’t let it taunt this, because it is a virtue to not let good love slip away. Because it is, even if it’s unhealthy or sad at times—you know, deep in your bones, that this love is good. So maybe staying silent and enduring a bit of uncertainty is a little frustrating, but is nothing compared to the love you know they feel for you. And you feel for them.

At work, you busy yourself being useful. Even if it’s a bit boring at times. Marlene makes a joke that the girl working at the Level 6 coffee shop has a massive crush on her, you pile on with your coworkers that maybe she’s just nice and has nothing to do with Marlene being a retired Quidditch star. Dorcas comes down to visit at some point and steals her away, and you have a stretch of free time where busying yourself being useful isn’t doing the trick anymore. 

Then, Sirius comes down from his Wizengamot meeting with a tense posture but a smile to ease any stress away. He kisses you and flirts with you before dragging you out for a quick lunch, claiming he’s famished and that maybe you should stop by Level 4 to coax Remus out of his cubicle. You let him, swallowing down questions about his meeting knowing well he’ll say it went well because he doesn’t want to worry you. You share a smoke outside the café after lunch, fussing over Remus and the upcoming full moon and how you shouldn’t worry about it because it’s the least they want for you. He dips you low with a long and sweet kiss before saying goodbye. You don’t ask where he’s going, knowing he’s meeting up with Regulus.

You do walk back inside the café to order a quick lunch for Remus, they wrap it warm and ready for you to drop it off at his cubicle on your way to yours. He looks up from his work, stressed and easily irritable. But never to you. You know it’s the full moon, and his migraines, so you kiss his head and wish him a good day before taking the elevator back to your level. 

Remus goes to find you hours later, looking apologetic and wondering if he can spend his lunch hour with you. You pretend to be casual about it, smiling and preparing two cups of tea for you instead of making it a big deal. To not make it so obvious, how you take whatever they give you. A shared smoke, a shared lunch—small stretches of time of their days before you have to return home. Alone. 

You water the flowers, you change into comfortable clothes and put on a film while you wait for them to return. It’s still early, anyway. The book Remus has been trying to read is on the coffee table, and maybe he won’t mind if you start reading it yourself. He hasn’t touched it in weeks, maybe if he sees you read it he’ll get out of his slump. You don’t get much into the book, but it’s nice. It’s nice to feel connected to him, somehow. 

The night stretches, and you make dinner for three. Leaving their plates on the counter ready to heat up for them to eat, it’s okay. You can sit with them while they debrief about their day, they’ve already told you that it’s okay to eat before them if you’re hungry. You bring dinner to the living room, and a small glass of wine. One you mentioned in passing to love and the same one Sirius stocked you up the next day. The film you choose is barely entertaining, but the thematic cores still make you cry. 

They come home later, together and very tired. Sharing murmurs and whispers, apologies about being away from each other and you for the entire day. Ready to share a small stretch of time before heading to bed. But all they find is a lavender candle on, Sirius’ wine and two glasses at the table, and their plates ready to heat up. It’s nearly midnight, and they know because of your calendar on the fridge that you have an early meeting tomorrow, so they eat in silence knowing you’re sound asleep in the room. Aware that you fell asleep waiting for them. 

₊˚⊹ ᢉ𐭩

The next morning, you don’t go to work. There’s no meeting. Or at least that early in the morning. Not like you’ve written down in your calendar. You prepare coffee for three, and water the flowers and write them a little note for them to find when they wake up. big meeting today! wish me luck, can’t wait to tell you all about it later. i love you. yn xx. The flat is silent, but smelling like coffee and lavender when you close the door behind you. 

You head directly to St. Mungo’s, to find a healer that can tell you what’s wrong with you. You’ve searched up symptoms, possible outcomes to your uneasiness and why you keep feeling the way you do. Desperate to fix whatever’s wrong with you and do it quickly, erase it before they can notice it. Before they can realize they’re what’s wrong with you. 

So when the healer says you’re fine, you stay silent. You nod and let her go on about possible reasons, work, maybe hormones, maybe you’re coming down with something. You stay silent and accept her instructions for a few potions that could help, thank her on your way out and head directly to the Ministry. 

When it’s lunchtime, your heart does a somersault when you step out of your cubicle to see them step out of the elevator. Remus holds the flowers when it’s obvious Sirius can’t, carrying various takeout containers from your favourite restaurant near the flat. You try not to be so obvious, how pathetically happy you feel by their presence. You try to push down your need to cling, to cling to them and accept their kisses and the way they listen to your made up stories about the meeting. In return, you try, maybe, with the confidence of this olive branch, to ask them about their endeavors. If Remus needs you to run to the shop for any wolfsbane or other potions he might need. If Sirius maybe wants company the next time he has to talk to Regulus. 

So when they turn it down, brush down your help and claim you shouldn't worry about them, that it’s too much and heavy for you to bear, you stay silent. You smile and continue eating and answering their questions about your day. You nod and laugh at their jokes and try not to cling to hope when they leave with a kiss each and a promise to see you later at James and Lily’s for Harry’s six months celebration. 

When Marlene returns from her own lunch break, you only suppress the weight on your chest. You smile and fill her in on your surprise visit, you ask her questions in return and she answers with a smile that rings the alarms in your head.

“What?”

She hums, turning in her chair. “Nothing, s’just… are you okay?”

You frown. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You just…” she scratches her eyebrow. Her nervous tell. “you just told me your boyfriends surprised you with flowers and a whole banquet for lunch, and yet you sound like someone ripped your heart out.”

You ignore the way her words feel like a crack in your heart, knowing they come out of a place of love and worry. “Have you been talking to Lily lately?”

Marlene sits straight. “Should I?”

“No.” You say immediately, turning to your desk and resume working. “I meant about Harry. Did she say what time we should be there?”

“Uh…” she looks around. “y/n.”

“I think I’ll get there earlier. Harry’s been a tad fussier lately and,” you go on, stream rolling any of her attempts to reroute the conversation to your obvious, apparently to everyone but yourself, sadness. “I’m sure she’ll need help setting everything up.”

Before she can speak, you make up a quick excuse to run to the loo. Marlene watches you go, knowing you’re not going to the loo. Not when you’ve taken your wallet with you. She only returns to her work and covers for you when your boss walks by and notices you’re not at your desk. 

You don’t go to the loo. You slip out of the Ministry and head towards Diagon Alley, desperate enough to bypass any worries that someone might recognize when you step into the apothecary with the healer’s written instructions. You buy your potions and drink them in a rush, hoping they’ll ease whatever’s wrong with you before tonight. When you return to your desk, Marlene asks you about work, and you return to your normal routine before clocking out.

Before heading to the Potter’s, you stop by the flat to change quickly and collect Harry’s gift. You suck in a nervous breath before pushing the door open, knowing it’s useless to hope but doing it anyway when you step inside. It’s exactly how they must’ve left it in the morning. The mugs are cleaned and set up on the cupboard. You put them where they belong, knowing it’s an easy mistake to make. You take the old bouquet and replace it with the new one and walk into your room to change. 

You take time picking your clothes, and pretend it’s not for them. You freshen up and collect Harry’s gift before walking out of the flat, heading towards the Potters with a weight on your chest that dissipates slowly with every step closer to the cottage. Before knocking, you suck in a breath and put on your best smile. Or what you hope is genuine enough. 

It’s okay, though. Because James opens the door with Harry in his arms, and the pain disappears almost magically. James makes small talk, knowing what he’s trying to tiptoe around and not giving him reasons to worry. Work is fine. Remus is doing better, his knee isn’t troubling him that much lately. I think Sirius had a small breakthrough with Regulus, I heard he’s accepted to look for flats. Me? I’m okay. I can’t believe Harry is already six months old. Just the usual. When Lily joins the conversation, sending you a knowing look, you go silent. 

Good thing Harry loves to fill your silences. A quiet and absurdly funny agreement you somehow managed to create with him. He gargles and giggles at you, holding your hand and asking you to walk him around the cottage like a glorified chauffeur. 

When the rest of the guests arrive, one by one, you pretend to be busy helping Lily make sure nothing’s missing when you poke your head out the kitchen every time the door opens. Hoping. Hoping. Hoping. Even if you tell yourself it’s just a matter of practically, checking who’s missing before setting plates out. You’re definitely not waiting for them to cross the threshold. 

Except, when they do, you barely notice. 

Harry has forced you to sequester yourself to his nursery to help him sleep. Candles have been blown, pictures have been taken and gifts opened, the baby is tired and Lily is too happy and cheerful with the festivities to make her leave. So you offer to put him to sleep. You trace idle patterns on his forehead, touch tender and featherlight; your fingertip travels from his eyebrows to his little nose and cheek and up again. He falls asleep not long after and you return to the party feeling a tiny bit lighter. 

“There you are, m’love.” Sirius says as soon as you climb the last step. Your heart picks up rhythm, tugging towards him where he meets you in the middle. When he plants a kiss on the side of your face, you feel stupidly teary. “I thought you went home.”

“I was with Harry,” you explain, savoring the way he hugs you. Selfishly, almost. But quick, too quick. You school your expression before it can give you away as he steps away. “Took a bit, but he’s sound asleep.”

“Thank you!” James calls out from the living room. “It’s almost a miracle how quickly you can put him to sleep.”

“She truly has the magic touch,” Sirius says agreeably, tucking you to his side. “Don’t you, love?”

“I think so,” you shrug, smiling a bit. 

“You do.” Remus says, reaching for you in the same way your heart stutters with hope. With love and affection and everything that has been craving. “Hi, saved you a piece of cake while you were upstairs.”

You blink, dazed and overwhelmed by their presence. “Oh. Thank you,” you accept it, wiggling your fingers before setting a hand out and hiding the way they shake. Remus is too busy kissing your cheek in greeting to notice, and you’re eating the cake before he can start paying attention. “When did you get here?”

“A while ago,” Sirius answers, tugging you with him towards the living room for the empty loveseat they’ve left for you. He smiles as he sits, eyeing you appreciatively. You try to control the way your heart flutters. “You look lovely.”

“Yeah?”

“Of course,” he pats the empty spot beside him, a funny lilt to his tone. “You always do. Doesn’t she, Moons?”

“She does,” Remus agrees readily, sitting down on the armrest by your side. His arm comes around your shoulders, without thought. It’s too much. “Is this the new dress you were talking about?”

You clear your throat. “Yeah. Got it the other day on my way from work.”

Remus hums appreciatingly, too. You look down at your cake, knowing how intoxicating their combined appreciation and affection can be. 

“y/n?”

You look away, searching for whoever’s calling for you. “Hm?”

Lily gestures at you from the bannister. “I think Harry woke up, can you… help me?”

“Of course,” you nod, standing up. Sirius wordlessly accepts your half eaten cake, frowning when he feels a light tremor in your fingers when they brush. “I’ll be right back.”

“Sure thing, dovey.” Remus nods, sliding down the armrest to take your vacated seat. Sirius wordlessly makes room for him as the conversation picks up again.

You climb the stairs with a knot in your chest.

When you get to the top, you’re surprised by how silent it is. No wailing Harry, not even fussing with discomfort. Complete silence, and Lily studying you quietly. Almost worryingly.

“What is it?”

“Do you need a couple of minutes?” she asks instead. 

“What?” 

“y/n…”

“I don’t. I’m okay.” You say quickly, feeling indescribably irritated by the interruption. For being dragged away from your boyfriends. “I’m fine.”

“Just—”

“Lily. I know, I know, okay?” you take a step back, down the stairs. “But I’m fine, I promise. You don’t need to worry about me.”

“I sort of do, love. You’re… well—”

“I’m fine,” you repeat. With finality. “Thank you, though.”

Before she can speak, you turn around to rejoin the festivities. Remus doesn’t move from the spot, but he does reach for you to sit on his lap. Not quite between them, just there. The conversation goes on smoothly, Lily climbs down a moment later and you feel guilt gnaw at your insides when your gazes meet. She sends you a reassuring smile before sitting down. 

At some point, Remus stands, claiming his knee is troubling him from sitting down all day. He drops a placating kiss to your shoulder before you can ask, or offer to go home. Sirius reaches for your hands when you’re back to his side, threading your fingers together and bringing your joined hands to his lap, then his chest. You feel drunk and happy and overwhelmed all at once. You don’t mind the way Remus shrugs down your help with his knee, not when he doesn’t pull away like other times. Maybe… maybe things are changing. 

As the night stretches and you say goodbye to your friends, the three of you go home with tension lingering between you. It grows and grows the more they touch you, the more they kiss you and the more you wish you could just go home and let them properly love you. And that they do. Careful and slow and steady and gentle and everything you had wanted for months. They kiss you and hold you and caress you until you’re spent and tired. You shower and share kisses and return to bed hours later into the night, even when the sun is beginning to peek between the clouds. You climb between them after returning from the kitchen, setting the mugs and the coffee grounds in hopes of sharing a quick breakfast before heading out for work. Sirius reaches for you in his sleep, and you fall asleep content and more in love than ever. 

When you wake, there’s a steaming cup of coffee on the nightstand, and two empty spots by your sides. The note by your alarm clock goes to your purse along with the rest. emergency situation at grimmauld place. will not be back until tomorrow cos of the full moon. we love you, s&r xx. You return to bed and cry yourself to sleep, or at least until your alarm goes off. Then, you’re off to work. 

₊˚⊹ ᢉ𐭩

After work, you go to the healer again, and you leave St. Mungo’s with an even heavier weight on your chest and a note with a number for a muggle healer. The mind kind. The kind that, according to her, would be of more help than anyone at that hospital. You shove the number deep inside your purse and go home. 

You go through the motions; tidy a bit, prepare everything for Remus, leave his potions and remedies at hand next to his side of the bed. You change the sheets again and stock up on tea and sweets. You go to a corner shop and look for the specific kind of biscuits Sirius likes, because you know he’ll be exhausted and fragile after handling whatever emergency at Grimmaul Place with Regulus and then the full moon. Then stop for the apothecary again for wolfsbane and more potions your healer instructed you to take whenever you resorted “to feeling wrong” again. You shove the potions deep inside your purse and return to the flat. 

When you get to the floor, you’re surprised to find the door lightly ajar, only one push does it to let you in. You look around, categorizing the little ways you can help. But your boyfriends have made quick work of the things you’ve left out for them. The tea has been prepared, the gauzes used and the jar of wolfsbane has been emptied and left to be on the kitchen sink. You venture deep inside the flat, not even shredding your coat or purse or boots before tiptoeing inside your room.

Sirius looks up from the edge of the bed where he’s setting a damp cloth over Remus’ head. Cold for his migraines. He makes you a silencing gesture before standing up, arm coming around your waist to guide you out the room and closing the door behind him.

You can’t help it, you still ask. “How is he?”

“He’s been better,” he answers. The same as always. Vague enough to not worry you further. “Where were you?”

“Went to… uh,” you blink. Mind going blank. Sirius frowns, bending sideways to search for your gaze when it takes you a bit to answer. You clear your throat. “Sorry, um, I went to get wolfsbane. I didn’t know if we had any left so…”

His shoulders slump. “Oh, my love,” he hugs you. And it’s pathetic how you nearly melt into his arms. “you shouldn’t have. It’s too expensive, you know I always cover that.”

“I don’t mind.”

“Still,” he squeezes you tight before letting go. You feel uncomfortably teary when he takes a step back. “You shouldn’t worry about this. I know you, it’ll make you sick with worry.”

You almost laugh. But the sound could wake Remus up, and honestly, you don’t feel like laughing. Not really. So you stay silent, and let Sirius hug you again. 

Once again, you hate yourself for asking. “Is…” you clear your throat. “Is Regulus okay? What happened?”

Like clockwork, Sirius steps back. He cups your face in his hands. “He’s okay,” he answers, but you know it’s mostly a lie. His throat bobbles like he’s pushing down something else. “Just… a bit of a false alarm. But he’s okay. Nothing to worry about.”

You take it for what it is. And you stay silent, nodding and pushing down the lump in your throat when he kisses your forehead. This time, you don’t feel your heart cracking when he steps back, eyes flickering to the room like he wants to check on Remus. You wordlessly take a step aside, letting him know it’s okay before turning to walk out the door. A full moon routine—stock up, come home, do a quick check up and pretend it’s your own decision to go outside to clear your head. Knowing Remus doesn’t want you to see him like this. You leave with a heavy heart and the same question you ask yourself every full moon, why does Sirius get to stay and not you? But now, with an equally heavy purse, you leave with an additional realization that maybe they’re what’s wrong with you.

₊˚⊹ ᢉ𐭩

It’s the end of the month, and the Ministry is a mess, everyone’s running around and getting work done, struggling to finish on time and ultimately staying extra hours to get the job done. Which means that they’ve seen less and less of you. Even if, funnily enough, things have gotten better. 

Regulus has successfully moved out of Grimmauld Place, signing a lease for a small home near Diagon Alley and turning his back to the Black Legacy. Remus has been promoted at his cubicle job, less hours and more perks. The past full moon was a cruel one but according to his calculations it won’t come back until a few more years in a strange astronomy breakthrough. Things look up for them now, but now you’re not there to be on the receiving end of said good news. 

They see you in passing between shared lunches and surprise visits, sharing kisses when you run through each other in the hallways and pretend they’re not going home to an empty flat. 

It isn’t until Marlene accidentally walks in on you crying in the Level 10 bathrooms that it’s collectively decided that something needs to be done. In the moment, though, all she manages to come up with is an elaborate excuse to get you out of the Ministry and back home before marching to Level 4 and not being at all surprised when Sirius is already there with Remus. Not even casual, just straight up flirting.

“You heartless little shits,” she gripes. 

Sirius twists, flashing her a grin. “To what do we owe that lovely moniker?”

“Don’t act so charming, Black,” she snaps. There’s genuine anger in her tone to make him falter, even Remus sits straight in his chair. 

“What’s the problem with you?” he frowns, never one to back down from a challenge. “Are you even allowed out of your desk? With all the work you’re supposed to be doing?”

“And how are you supposed to know that?”

Sirius scoffs good naturedly. “Have you forgotten?” he leans back on the edge of the desk, stealing a sip from Remus’ tea. “We’ve got the loveliest insider keeping tabs on you.”

Marlene bristles. Actually bristles. “I just found this ‘lovely insider’ crying at the deepest level of this fucking building.”

Remus stands. “What?”

“When? Now?” Sirius pushes himself to stand.

She scoffs. “Now you want to know?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I won’t explain to you what you’ve been too blind to notice,” she snaps, all sharp edges and barely controlled fury. “Go home. Now.”

Remus reaches for his coat, not even stopping to think how this might look to his boss. They’re out of the Ministry in record time, not even taking the walk home and straight up using the Floo Network to get to the flat. Hearts up their throats and a heaviness that, finally, matches the one you’ve been carrying for months. 

Except, when they get home, it’s empty. Exactly how you left it that morning. The brand new flowers at the center of the kitchen remain damp and recently watered, the mugs have been washed and put away in their respective shelves. But you’re nowhere to be seen. You must’ve taken the long way home. 

Sirius exhales deeply, slumping on the couch. He runs a hand through his face, calm at first before it turns cruel and painful. He rubs at his eyes and presses his heels until he sees stars, until Remus crosses the living room to guide them away. They share a silence, acutely aware of how deafening your absence is. 

“She’s been quiet lately.” Remus murmurs, pacing around the coffee table. He takes the book at the center, under the candle and one he recognizes. One he’s been meaning to read for months. “Quieter than usual.”

“I thought it was because of her weird boss but…” Sirius trails off. “Fuck, I don’t know.”

Remus drops a kiss to his head, thumbing at his loose hairs before standing straight. “We’ll talk about it, yeah?” he says, soft and gentle despite his own nerves. “Now we wait for her to get home. It won’t be long.”

“I wish she would stop insisting on taking the tube.”

“You know how she is.”

“Yeah, I know,” he sighs, dropping his face to his palms. “She’s probably having an off week at work.”

“I’ll prepare the bath for her, when she returns,” Remus says, voice echoey as he walks down the hallway and into the room. “Set out her comfies and make sure she feels better when she returns.”

Sirius stands, feeling torn with guilt and hopeful with purpose. He makes himself useful around the living room while Remus prepares the room for you, tidying a bit and setting everything for a quick dinner and a few cups of coffee or tea. He waters the bouquet and makes a mental note to get you a fresh one tomorrow. 

It isn’t until he’s walked a few laps around the flat that he notices Remus has gone awfully quiet in the room. 

He starts towards the hallway. “Hey, Moons. You think I’ve got time to run to—” he halts by the threshold at what he sees. Remus sits by the edge of the bed. Your side, usually. The drawer under the bed is open and he’s hunched over himself, running a hand through his forehead as he reads off various notes and pages. Sirius frowns. “What is it?”

Remus shakes his head once, clearing his throat before turning the crinkled page towards him. “Did you know anything about this?”

“What is it?”

“Healer’s instructions.”

Sirius feels the floor giving out under him. “What? Yours?” he asks, stupid really. He knows Remus would rather suck it up and suffer than go to St. Mungo’s, and, last time he checked, he hasn’t stopped by, either. And the only person they could belong to— “No.” 

“They’re from different dates.” Remus goes through them. Stacked together with a few potions’ instructions and the notes they’ve left for you. The first ones. “For fuck’s sake.”

“What is it?”

Remus doesn’t answer at first, but his posture has tensed up. He reads and reads and reads like the pages would change contents, turning them over and going through each before handing them over to Sirius to read. Trouble sleeping. Loss of appetite. Sleeping too much, or sleeping too little. Shortness of breath. Then, the notes. He runs a hand through his face, hand shaking and heart heavy. saw you in passing on my way out of the ministry, you looked really lovely today. love you. sirius xx. thank you for the chocolates dovey. they really help. love, remus xx. Notes and notes and more notes. It isn’t until he gets to the very last one, that he feels his heart being cracked open, to pieces and completely torn. Treatment options, Janus Thickey Ward or— 

He looks up, frowning at the ripped corner. “Or what?” 

Remus shrugs. “I don’t know.”

“How,” he goes through the notes again. Reading and rereading, trying to understand the words and somehow make them fit into you—surely they would’ve noticed? Right? “How didn’t we notice?”

“I thought…” Remus looks away, hunching over his knees. He runs a cruel hand over his face, elbows digging into his knees as he tries to think. “Fuck.”

Sirius paces around the room and ignores the fact that he’s left the tea to go cold in the kitchen. He sets the notes aside, on the dresser and away from his sight before doing a full turn out the room. Towards the foyer, with a shaking hand, he reaches for his jacket. Steps follow and a scarred hand is holding him back, stopping him from taking another step out the door.

“I’m going to look for her, Remus.”

“And do what?”

“She can’t be alone. It’s late, she—”

“She could be anywhere, how do you plan to find her?”

Sirius steps away. “And what do you suggest we do? Wait?”

Remus only nods, jaw tight. “Yes,” he says plainly. Eyebrows furrowed and face cracked open with guilt. “We wait for her to get home and try to talk to her.”

So they wait. 

They make themselves useful, tidying the living room and cleaning the cupboards. Sirius starts on the tea again and completely ignores the flower vase, staring back at him like the proof of what they’ve done. Remus only lays down the clothes on the bed, neat and clean. He folds the notes and the pages carefully and puts them back inside your drawer, chest heavy with guilt at his blindness and for finding them in the first place. They wait and wait, they make dinner and pretend it’s normal for you to take this long to get home. They wait and shower and get into their own pajamas to wait for you. 

₊˚⊹ ᢉ𐭩

When you return, it’s hours later. Long into the night. You look exhausted and awfully sad. Resigned, almost. It’s too late, and Remus and Sirius have fallen asleep waiting for you. The tea remains untouched, the bath goes cold and you change into your comfies in silence before settling on your side of the bed. You fall asleep crying, knowing you’ll wake up to empty sheets and an even emptier flat. A new note if you’re lucky. 

Except, when you wake. They’re there.  

You don’t open your eyes at first, they feel heavy and you give yourself a couple of minutes to start waking up. It’s still early, your alarm isn’t set to go off until a couple of hours. Maybe they’re having an early morning, a head start on the day before work. You lie on your back, staring at the ceiling and aware that the bed is empty but the flat isn’t. 

Maybe if you go into the living room, you might have a couple of minutes before they’re set to leave. Maybe you can have a quick breakfast, or a small lie in. Maybe Sirius would let you sleep a little on the sofa with him before Remus wakes him up and scolds him for being late again. Maybe you can bring your makeup to the living room and get ready while they drink their coffee?

You glance at the door, seeing their shadows under the sliver of light. Maybe today you’ll let them be. It’s okay, you tell yourself, you’ll talk to them later at dinner. You’ll try to do what the muggle therapist advised you to do and talk to them, maybe you’ll stop by the café on your way out of work for a few pastries—sweeten the conversation and pretend it’s not a coaxing technique to get them home early. Maybe it’s best to let them be, have a day for themselves before you… well, ruin it. 

A lump forms in your throat, and you turn to your side, curling into yourself and pretend it doesn’t hurt. Pretend you didn’t spend the previous day crying and sobbing inside a tiny office and hear a muggle tell you exactly what you feared was wrong with you. 

There’s a rasp on the door, quiet and tentative at first before it opens. Achingly slow before Remus pokes his head in. He’s not wearing his uniform, and his hair is tousled—like he’s just woken up or ran a hand through it over and over again. 

“Oh,” he blinks, surprised to see you awake. “Hi, dovey. Good morning.”

You turn, clearing your throat and pretending this isn’t turning your morning upside down. Your heart, too. “Hi.”

“Uh,” he steps fully inside, looking heartbreakingly lost and confused. It makes your throat constrict, and it’s a conscious effort to not make your eyes flicker down the bed. To your drawer where you’ve shoved the therapist’s notes and written instructions. “Sirius ran to that café you like down the street for breakfast, he should be back soon. Would you like a cup while we wait?”

You push yourself to sit. The question crawls and crawls up your throat, trying to escape. You’re staying? “That’s… okay, yeah,” you turn to the clock. “I’ve still got a couple of hours.”

“A couple of hours?”

“It’s Friday,” you explain, despite yourself. Knowing how against this is to your heart’s deepest wishes. They’re here, they’ve got breakfast for you and you’re saying you have to work? “I… well, I still have to go to work. I left early yesterday, I can’t miss it.”

You regret your words immediately after you speak, Remus’ shoulder slump, nodding in understanding and you turn to sit on the edge of the bed so you don’t have to see the heartbreak that comes with his amber eyes. So you don’t have to see him walk out of the room and let you be. 

Except… he doesn’t. You stand, forcing yourself to get started with your day and remind yourself that the heaviness of your chest is just something you’ll have to learn how to handle, how to endure and carry by yourself for a while. Or at least until you muster any ounce of courage to tell them about it. Maybe tomorrow night? Remus is looking at you in a way that makes you consider calling in sick—but what if it’s just for a couple of hours? What if they end up needing to go? They’re important at work now, they might be needed. But so do you. You can’t simply call in sick, even if… well, you do have a note. A reason—No, you can’t. You’ll tell them at dinner.

Right as you’re about to round the bed, start on your day and get changed, Remus stops you before you can get to your dresser. His touch is dizzying and overwhelming at once, thumb sweeping at your elbow as he tries to coax you to look at him. You want to, you so desperately want to let him hold you and look directly into his pretty eyes, but you know better. You know how weak you are, how easily you can give into the high of being on the receiving end of their attention, their affections. You know you will either let them kiss you and drag you back to bed, or end up spilling your heart open before breakfast. You’re at crossroads and Remus is looking at you like he can see it, like he knows. You wish he knew. Maybe everything would be easier… or maybe… just maybe… this wouldn't have happened, if they knew.  

No. You shake your head. Don’t go there. 

“...sweetheart?

You blink, forcing your head up to meet his gaze. “Hm? Yes?”

Remus parts his lips a bit, like he’s actively holding himself back and bracing for whatever he will ask you. You find yourself doing the same. But he shakes his head, too. His hand coasts up from your elbow higher and higher the length of your arm, all the way to your shoulder. It’s a nice touch, you almost shudder like your body is finally catching up and recognizing the feeling of his skin touching yours. You swallow thickly, feeling your weak defenses and self mantras dissolving when he pulls you to him into a hug. 

You suck in a breath, quiet so he doesn’t hear how complete you feel with his arms around you, chests pressed together in a way you know he’d hear your pounding heart if he pressed you closer. His arms tighten in the right places, around your back and shoulders with a hand up the back of your head that makes you think that maybe… things really are changing. Maybe you can call off work and talk things through. Maybe, yes, they’re what’s wrong with you, but there’s still time to make them right. But how can you even open your mouth to speak when the tears have already won you over? So you stay silent instead. Just a couple of minutes like this. You’ll take this, you’ll take the hug and the breakfast and the extra hours of morning light and warm coffee. 

His thumb strokes at the baby hairs of your neck, an absentminded sweep that one would think it’s just muscle memory if you didn’t know better. Remus’ hand splays over your back, pulling you closer like he physically wants—needs to mould you to him. It’s enough to make a sniffle escape you, traitorous and hopeful and pathetic. Naturally, more follow. Then, a sob tears right through your throat and the jumble of feelings you’re desperately trying to push down. And you can’t keep silent this time. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, a warm breath in your ear. His thumb strokes your nape again, again and again. “I’m so sorry.”

You shake your head, finding in yourself the strength to speak. “No. S’fine, I just…” your breath stutters, not quite catching up with the adrenaline of his arms around you. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me lately.”

Remus makes a sound, quiet but evident in his pain as he guides you a little away. His hands travel up to your face, eyebrows bunched together when your gazes meet and his eyes flit down to the tears in your cheeks. How many nights you spent the same way, crying, and crying and crying hoping they would come back—hoping they would hear or notice you’re falling apart between them in their sleep.

The front door opens and closes, followed by paper bags crinkling and tentative steps. You silence yourself immediately, knowing that, if he knew, if he heard… any plans to contain this would go down the drain. But Sirius has never been one to ignore the sound of your pain or the tension in the room once he notices it. Papers cling as he sets them down, boots stomping against the wooden floors as he starts towards the room.

Something primal about their worry, their combined panic and pain makes you move. You turn around, brushing your hair away and pretending nothing has happened, that you’re simultaneously choking on your own tears and the tension that has taken over the room. Sirius looks frustrated and sad and you’re desperately reminding yourself that it’s not at you. It can’t be at you. He would never.

“Hey—”

“I’ll be ready in a few minutes,” you speak over him, sidestepping Remus to get to your dresser. “Sorry.”

Sirius shakes his head. “What are you sorry for?”

You rummage a bit sharper inside your drawers, searching for what? You don’t know, but you have to move. You have to go. Their attention, while intoxicating as it used to be, now it feels like it’s cutting the oxygen of the room. You can’t tell them. You can’t, not when you’ve already ruined a perfectly good morning. Their plans for breakfast. Maybe walking you to work. All gone. Because you gave in, you clung to Remus and his touch and the way he hugged you. You can’t.

“You can’t what, sweetheart? Remus asks.

Your eyes snap up. “Huh?”

Sirius takes a step closer, deeper into the room. “You can’t… what?”

“What?”

They share a look, and alarm bells ring inside your head. You close the drawer, holding your clothes against your chest and trying to walk between them to get to the bathroom. Just a couple of minutes, a couple of steps—

“Wait.” Sirius says. His hand takes your elbow, too. It’s shaking. Or maybe that’s just you. 

“Sirius, I have to get ready,” you point at your clothes.

He bends slightly to the side, searching for your gaze and finding it hard to even look at him. Not when it’s hard to pinpoint what it means. Months ago, you used to know him and his moods, the way he thought and the way he went quiet when he struggled. Now you don’t know if the frown between his eyebrows has anything to do with you. Or stress. Or how he went out early in the morning for breakfast and returned to a flat full of doom and pain. This was a bad idea. You shouldn’t have waited, you should’ve get started on your day as you woke up and head out before it could get to this point. You should’ve stayed silent.

“Can you look at me, my love?”

You don’t at first. Not because you don’t want to, you so desperately want to look at him. But first you must swallow down whatever is obstructing your breath, the weight on your chest and make yourself better until it’s time to go. You want to look at him and smile and let him kiss you and guide you to the kitchen for breakfast. But part of you, the deepest and most selfish parts of you, wants to simply bite the bullet and look up. Let him see how much you’re hurting, even if that’s the least you want. It’s useless—you still don’t know what’s wrong with you.

He exhales deeply, it sounds shaky even to your own ears. But he only takes a step closer, hand lowering until he’s coaxing your arm out of holding onto your clothes to hold it to his chest. “Why don’t you stay home today?” he asks, voice at odds with his face. Soothing himself in real time when your eyes flicker up in surprise. “I know you need to go to work, but I… we can’t let you go like this. Not when there’s still something we’d like to talk to you about.”

Your throat constricts. “Talk?” you ask, eyes flickering from him to Remus. “About what? Can’t it wait?”

He glances up, definitely sending Remus a panicked look that you do catch this time. When you try to take his distraction to step away, to give them a moment, Sirius threads your fingers together. Pressed against his chest. 

“No, actually,” he says, surer this time. “It can’t. I’m sorry, love.”

You nod, swallowing nervously. “Okay. I’ll… um, see if I can call in sick at work.”

Remus clears his throat. “Why don’t you change, clean your face or take a quick shower while we set breakfast, hm?” His hand returns to your nape, grounding and heavy at once. Like the hand tightening around your heart.

A panicked and intrusive thought crashes into your mind out of sudden—what if they’re breaking up with you? What if this is it? What if all this time they were slowly pulling away to make the fall less painful, the news easy to digest? What if—

“It’s okay, dove. Nothing’s wrong,” Remus reassures quickly, like he can feel the panic radiating off you. Or picking up the way your heart pounds. Either way, it doesn’t help to calm you down. He takes a step closer. “We just want to talk, uh… catch up, more like it.”

“Catch up?”

“Yeah.”

Sirius’ thumb brushes the back of your hand, looking more and more like he wants to cry. You nod. You’d accept anything to lessen whatever tension has them looking so devastated, so sad. He mirrors it, looking a tad relieved and kissing your cheek before walking out the room. Remus does the same, giving your nape a loving squeeze before following him out. 

You don’t allow yourself to process it, not yet. You go through the motions first. You make the bed, switch your clothes and tidy the room before going into the bathroom to clean your face and brush your teeth and do your hair. Then, you call Marlene. It’s a conscious effort to keep your voice even when she asks if you’re okay, and you reassure her many times that you are, that you’re only feeling under the weather and that you owe her a favour for covering for you. When she hangs up. You let yourself cry. 

When you step out, a couple of minutes later, you think you’ve successfully rearranged your insides so they don’t come spilling out the moment you open your mouth. It takes a bit, and a hurried and pathetic attempt to remember everything the mind healer told you, the breathing exercises and the quiet mantras to calm yourself. They help, but just a bit. All the work comes undone when you step out the bathroom, finding the empty room and the door ajar. Whispers echo from the living room, quieter and broken despite their desperate attempts to even their tones. 

You muster your courage, your strength and your pain altogether to round the bed; crouching down to open the drawer and collect your notes. A small museum of your relationship, the good and the bad. The notes and the silence, the love and the loneliness. All cramped between your clothes and old books under the bed. You fold them and tuck them in your pocket before walking out of the room. Not yet. 

“It’s okay, love. It’s okay, we’re okay,” Remus whispers, over and over as Sirius holds onto him. “She’s okay. We’ll talk, yeah? We’ll fix it.”

“I don’t know.” Sirius whispers back, voice fraught and quiet. Too quiet. You stay silent, watching with a tightness inside your chest. He shakes his head. “I don’t know if this is something we can fix, Remus.”

“But we’ll try, yeah? We will.”

You look away. You stay silent. And you let them be. Not yet.

You walk back to the room, sitting on the edge of the bed and trying to ignore the dark pitch on your stomach, growing and growing. Maybe you were right. Things were changing, but it took you a bit to realize you’re not part of those changes. 

This time, you don’t check the lock before the first sob escapes your lips, embarrassed and frustrated at yourself for all your attempts going in vain. For staying silent in hopes of salvaging this, hoping things would go back to normal, that your patience was a small sacrifice for a greater purpose. That you clung to them, to stop this good love from slipping away. Not noticing it was already far from reach.

You let them be, and stay silent as you cry. You cry and cling to traitorous hope that they’ll notice, or not. Or let you be. You’ve trapped yourself in a dilemma that is ultimately the result of your own actions, wanting to be seen without having to beg. 

No. 

You shake your head, rub your face, then press the heels of your hands into your eyes. Not yet. Not yet. Not yet. You can still make it right. It doesn’t have to feel wrong, not always. Every love has its period of uncertainty, of pain and loneliness. This is a good love, you can’t let it slip away. Even good love has to go through changes. Not yet. You will talk to them—and say what? You will try, but not yet—

“y/n?” Sirius asks, tentative at first as he pushes the door open. Slow, a contrast to the way your hands fly to clean your cheeks. He sucks in a breath. 

You stand. “Sorry, I’ll be right there.”

He reaches for you, not even giving you enough time to take a step. His arms tighten around you, nearly collapsing into you with the force of his hug. His desperation. Whatever it is, you’re too raw and confused—it must rub off on you. Because it all goes downhill after that. 

₊˚⊹ ᢉ𐭩

The breakfast has turned soggy, you push it around your plate and pretend you’re not eating it because you’re still too raw. Not because you fear this will be the last. 

The notes and pages grow heavy with every passing minute, every hug and every silent look. How funny it all is, that you’ve finally gotten what you wanted, and you can’t bring yourself to enjoy it. Or at least not the way you’d want to. Not when you can’t bring yourself to open your mouth without feeling like you’re running on borrowed time, and silencing yourself immediately. 

You set your fork down, glancing around the flat. The table, same one you’d share early breakfast and late dinners. The first piece of furniture you picked together. Then, the living room, the coffee table, the bookshelves, the turntables and the kitchen and— your hand flies to your face, choking up on realizations and grief. This can’t be. How can it be the end? This is good, you formed a home together. This is a good love, how can it end?

A chair scrapes, and Remus is already crouching by your side, pulling it aside to reach for you. His knees crack but his arms are desperate and steady when they pull you to him. This time, you have no qualms in scolding yourself for melting into his touch, his embrace that feels sacred and devastating at once. Your chest hurts and hiccups as you cry, turning your head and maybe hide away in his arms. 

“I tried,” you whisper. It comes out like a whispered confession, like something that escapes your lips. “I just want you to know that I did try to keep up.”

He pulls away, but it’s Sirius who speaks first. “We know that now,” his voice is quiet, heavy with sorrow. Or grief. Whatever it is, your heart clenches. “We’re the ones who didn’t.”

“No—”

“We didn’t, y/n.”

“You had many things going on. Regulus, and the full moons and the transformations and—”

“And so did you. It seems.”

You suck in a breath, eyes flickering between them. Remus thumbs at your tears, his own eyes glassy and full of despair. “What do you mean?” They share a quick look, and the weight on your chest expands. Heavier and heavier, it cuts your oxygen. “Who told you?”

“That’s the thing, isn’t it?” Remus murmurs, thumb sweeping your cheek when tears won’t stop trailing down your face. “Someone had to point it out for us to notice.”

“Who?” you swallow thickly. “Was it Marlene? Lily?”

Remus closes his eyes, and Sirius only runs a hand over his face. “You see now?” he asks, too full of grief. “All the people who noticed before we did?”

“You had many things on your plate and I couldn’t do that to you, I knew you were struggling and—”

Sirius shakes his head. “You were struggling, too! For months!”

You look away. “I didn’t mean for it to get bad,” you confess. “I tried. I really did, I promise.” you explain. No, you beg. You plead. Because the idea of your silence being the reason they walk away is too terrifying to even entertain. “I just…”

Remus strokes your face. “Please don’t silence yourself,” his arm lowers to your lap, holding your hand in his. His scars glisten with the tears he’s cleaned. Yours, Sirius’, his own. “Don’t slip away.”

Your face twists in pain, because it is a virtue to not let good love slip away—and right now it’s beginning to feel like a flaw. For slipping away from them, for letting it get to this point. For staying silent.

“I just…” you hold onto his hand. “I just missed you, so, so much. And I didn’t know why.” Their faces crack at the way your voice catches, heavy with pain and grief and the months you had to endure their absence. 

“Oh, my love—” Sirius’ voice cracks, chair scraping as he stands. You’re fisting his jumper before he can even fully wrap his arms around you, clinging and clinging, and feeling the way they cling to you in return. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. They repeat, over and over and over, and you stay silent. Because it’s starting to feel like the moment they say goodbye. And you’re clinging to hope that maybe, you can get a couple of extra minutes like this. Clinging to hope. Clinging to them.  

Remus’ arms shake when he tries to fix his hold around you, and his fingers brush the pages peeking from the back pocket of your trousers. He draws back a bit, just enough to pull them out. 

Your breath hitches. Then even more when you look up to realize they’re not surprised at what they find. Remus unfolds them like he had been the one folding them back into your pocket, into your drawer. Sirius steps back, hands at your jaw as he cleans your tears. And the table suddenly feels like there’s something hanging in the air that you’re not privy to. 

“I was going to tell you,” you’re quick to explain, words tripping out of your tongue. Barely taking shape before you’re uttering them, barely making sense to your own ears before they make sense to them. “I just… I didn’t know how and I didn’t know…” you falter.

Remus looks up. “Earlier you said that lately you don’t know what’s wrong with you,” his voice is terrifyingly calm as he thumbs at the pages. He hands them back to you. “Is this… why?”

For some reason, you find yourself nodding. Speaking. Pushing past your dread and let the truth slip out. “Yeah,” you rub your eyes. “Yes. I… well, I thought maybe it was work at first but—turns out I’m fine. The healer said I was fine.”

Sirius dabs at his cheeks. “So you kept going.”

“Yeah. I… it didn’t make sense. What she said and how I felt.”

Remus’ hands travel up, resting on your shoulders before thumbing at your jaw, your neck. Grounding motions that only bring more pain rather than comfort. “And how do you feel?”

Even if you try to look away, his sad eyes are a sight too hard to ignore. You thumb at the pages, the corner you ripped with the mind healer’s number to hide it from them, the little love notes you clung to when uncertainty was too big to ignore. To brush off. 

“I…” your eyebrows twitch together, a fleeting movement that tells them everything. Everything you’re trying and failing to put into words. 

He can’t help it, Sirius shakes his head at your silence. Your struggle to find the words. “I’m sorry.”

“I just…” you run a hand through your chest, trying to suppress the weight inside. Forcing it to either dissipate or to take the shape of something that can be easy to understand. You look away, then. “You know, the first person I tried to talk about this with was Lily. One day I stopped by to visit her. I told her as best as I could, hoping she would help me understand… she listened. And all she said is that I seemed very sad for a girl so in love. And it’s the only thing that has made sense through all of this. I love you so much, and yet I’m sad all the time.”

Remus looks away, eyes slipping shut. You wonder if it’s too much for you to clean his tears, but then remember this might be your last chance, so you do. He leans into your palm, and the knot in your throat tightens. Sirius makes a sound that makes your insides rattle and freeze at the same time.

“No.”

“Sirius—”

“No. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.”

Your eyebrows twitch again. The faintest of movements. “I know.”

His voice cracks. “You were supposed to be happy and… and feel loved not—” his face glistens with tears. “Not sad. Not like this.”

You run a finger through Remus’ face, touch featherlight as you follow after a rogue tear that drags a path down one of his scars. He opens his eyes with realization, taking your hand in his to lower them to his chest. 

“You were sad because we kept asking you to wait, wasn’t it?”

Sirius looks back at you, fear and realization dawning on him when you don’t answer. Remus inhales sharply. 

You stare back at him, focusing on his tears and finding a way to make it easier to say. To make the words and their meaning easier to hear. “I just…” you sniffle. “I knew it was out of protection, that it was for my own good,” you pause, swallowing back a sob even when it begs to escape your lips. “But you never once stopped to ask me if that’s what I wanted.”

The silence that follows is deafening enough that you feel it in your own bones, your heart, freezing with dread and refusing to stutter with hope when the words finally leave your lips. Hope that they’ll understand. Hope that you love them despite it all. And hope that they know you would’ve stayed—

“I would’ve stayed,” you whisper, dragging the back of your hand over your cheeks. “There’s nothing none of you could’ve done or said to scare me off. I just…” you take a sharp inhale, and your hand turns, covering your face as the tears start falling again. “I just wanted to be there. Not just for the good—but… the ugly parts as well. That’s all I wanted.”

Sirius shifts, bending to take your face in his hands. Cleaning your tears when all you want to do is clean his. “You can have them. The good and the ugly parts.”

You shake your head. “You don’t have to say this.”

“I do. I do, y/n. I’m so sorry,” he holds you closer, bending down and down until his forehead is nearly pressed against yours. “You can have them.”

“Just,” Remus’ hold tightens around you. “Just please stop talking like you’re already halfway out the door.”

Traitorous hope flickers on inside your chest, too fast and burning too bright you can’t bring yourself to extinguish it. You swallow thickly, hoping it dies down. You know better than to go down that road again, but your heartstrings keep tugging you that way. Back to them, to their arms, their easy affections and the way they cling to you the longer the silence stretches on between you.  

You shake your head, just to yourself at first. Don’t go there, don’t go there. The more you repeat it to yourself, the higher the flame gets. Burning brighter and brighter.

“You said it, you said this isn’t something that can be fixed,” you explain. Almost pleading, pleading for them to understand you. To know why what they’re saying it’s only feeding the fire of your hope. “And maybe you’re right—”

“No.” Sirius says, with resolve and stuttering breaths as he shakes his head. “No, we’re not. Because that’s not what I meant.”

“What?” 

“I don’t know if the way we’ve hurt you is something that can be fixed that easily,” he says, bending closer until he meets your equally teary gaze. “that’s what I meant.”

“We’d never think of us as something unfixable, dove.” Remus adds, voice fraught. “Never.”

“No?” your voice quietens. Why wouldn’t it? When hope keeps pressing down and down at your chest, trying to find its way back in, it doesn’t care if there isn’t room for something else. “Even after this?”

“Even after this,” he agrees immediately. “There’s nothing worth more time and effort and fixing than this. Nothing.”

“But—”

“Earlier you kept saying you tried. Many times.” Sirius steps in, voice gaining momentum. “And you’re not the only one trying. Not anymore.”

You feel like the flame inside your chest has spread throughout your body. Hope is a dangerous thing. As intoxicating as it is painful. 

“I don’t know if I’d handle it again. I won’t survive it,” you confess, first to yourself before glancing up to meet their teary gazes. “Don’t make me hope.”

As soon as the words leave your lips, you brace. You wait for the moment they draw away from you, realizing the depth of your pain. What they’ll have to work with and decide it’s not worth it in the end. 

Except… they don’t. If anything, they get closer.

Remus brings your hands to his chest again. “Then don’t hope.” 

Your breath hitches. “What?”

“You took the risk before, and see how much it hurt you. It’s okay not to hope, and we won’t expect you to,” he goes on. “Because that’s for us to do… for us to earn.” 

“If you need to doubt, doubt us.” Sirius says, thumb sweeping at your cheeks and silently relieved there are no new tears to clean. “And…” he pauses, wetting his lips. “If you need time. Take it.”

And just like that, the flicker of hope extinguishes. But Remus only holds you closer, feeling the way it dims and the way your eyes gloss over again. 

“Not time away. Just time to earn your trust again, to show you that we’ll work through fixing this. To show you the good and the ugly parts.”

You nod, slowly and just once. “Okay,” you exhale deeply. Maybe the first one that actually leaves all the way in a while. “Okay, yeah.”

Sirius mirrors your nod, holding your gaze as you try to gather your thoughts. Remus brings your hand up to his lips, kissing your knuckles and pressing them to his chest. In the same stutter of breath, you reach for each other again. And this time, you don’t cling as hard. 

You nudge closer to him, and he turns his head to kiss your temple. So unbearably soft and tender you feel teary once again. Sirius steps back, holding your face in his hands and kissing the tears away while Remus stands. He drops a quick kiss to the crown of your head before reaching for the plates and the rest of the food to take them to the kitchen.

“Why don’t we go outside for a walk?” he says, rejoining you a bit later with a little, if fleetingly tentative smile. “The weather’s nice enough, maybe we can clear our heads. What do you think, dovey?”

“Actually,” you sniffle, brushing your hair away and feeling acutely aware of how not okay you might look right now. “I was thinking we could have a lie-in?”

Sirius tucks you to his side. “Of course.”

“But we can take a walk later.”

Remus hums, cupping your cheek. “That’s okay, too. But only if you feel like it,” his thumb strokes the corner of your lips. Feeling the way they twitch, the faintest of movements. “But first… breakfast?”

“Sure,” you nod. 

“Perfect.” Sirius holds you to him a bit tighter before letting go, pushing the sleeves of his jumper up his elbows. “What are you in the mood for? I got you french toast but I reckon we can whip you up something better.”

“French toast’s fine.”

“Yeah?”

“Of course,” you stand, suddenly aware that you’re still holding onto your papers. “But, um, I sort of need a big cup of coffee first.”

Sirius points at you. “You’ve got it, my love.”

Remus tucks you to his side, and your arms come around him in muscle memory that pushes past missed times and your own reservations. He guides you back to the room, pausing by the living room to pick up his book on the way. You settle between the covers, not caring if you’ve made the bed not even hours ago. He follows after you, settling by your side and making himself comfortable. 

“What did you think about it?” he asks, turning the book for you to see the cover. 

It takes you a bit to pinpoint the book and its contents. “Oh,” you shift, turning to lie on your side to look at him. “You were right. S’a bit boring.”

His lips twitch. “Yeah?”

“Heavy world building.”

“Hm,” he turns back to the book, contemplatingly. “Suppose I’ll have to sit this one out, then.”

“I mean,” you reach for the covers, fiddling with a loose thread. “I think you’ll like it, but I personally found it very slow at times.”

Remus shuffles closer, arm around you. “Are you calling me slow?” he asks quietly. Both in a shared secret and like he’s trying to coax a smile out of you. 

It almost works. Your lips twitch more obviously this time. You feel his lips curling into a smile when he kisses your temple.   

“Read it to me?” you whisper. “Maybe you’ll get me to like it.”

He pulls you impossibly closer to him, and your arm circles around his torso for steadying. Slow at first, tentative. But Remus shifts until there’s no other choice but to hug him. 

“Of course I’ll read it to you,” he whispers back. “Are you ready?”

“Now?”

“Sure. Unless you had any other plans in mind?”

“No,” you raise a hand, finger tracing idle patterns on his sternum. “Just sleep in I suppose.”

“Then you’ve asked the right person,” Sirius says as he walks in. Somehow managing to carry three steaming cups of coffee without burning himself. He sets them by your nightstand. “But wait for me?”

“Sure,” you reply, sitting straight to take your coffee. You pass Remus his as Sirius walks back out the room to get started on breakfast. “Here.”

“Thanks, dovey,” he takes it. Then winces at the scorching hot temperature of the mug. He still gives it a sip, and your lips curl around the rim of your mug as you drink yours. He sets it on his nightstand, and gestures at you to return to your previous position. 

You do. Readily. Surely. 

Sirius curses under his breath from the kitchen, cupboards opening and closing as he walks around preparing breakfast. You nuzzle closer to Remus, and he holds you to him before pulling the covers higher over you. Together, you wait for breakfast. 

When Sirius comes back, you share bites and sips of coffee between chapters. Pauses to shift and to ask questions about the book, small debates about what should’ve happened instead and what Remus, personally, had done if he was the writer. You finish your coffee and your french toast, leaving the plates together by the nightstand and settling more comfortably between them. Listening as they argue about whether the protagonist is too romantic with her descriptions of everything or that’s just poor writing—things you thought yourself when you first read the book. Sirius asks about your opinion and you pretend you’re falling asleep. He lets you, dropping a kiss to your shoulder and pulling you to him when Remus gets too heated reading and describing an action scene. 

“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.

your throat goes dry. “i wasn’t—”

“don’t lie.” remus murmurs from behind you, his voice soft but cutting through.

you jump slightly at the feel of his chest brushing your back, solid and warm, like he’s been waiting for the excuse to cage you in.

“you wouldn’t be here if you didn’t want it.”

sirius’ eyes narrow in satisfaction at that, and he leans in closer, so close your noses nearly bump. his hand moves from your chin to your cheek, a mockingly tender stroke.

“and here i thought she’d put up a fight. don’t tell me you’ve been dreaming about this too, sweetheart.”

remus’ hands settle heavy at your hips, pinning you right where he wants you. he dips his head, his lips ghosting along the side of your throat until his teeth scrape against your pulse point.

“listen to her heartbeat,” he says quietly, almost to sirius. “already racing.”

you let out a shaky breath, trying to turn your head, but sirius doesn’t let you. his smirk is infuriating.

“course it is. she knows what’s coming.” he presses forward just enough that your back arches into remus, your body caught perfectly between them.

“so,” sirius drawls, thumb sliding along the line of your jaw as though he has all the time in the world, “which one of us do you want first?”

remus chuckles, low and rough against your ear. “careful, pads. she’ll say both.”

your lips part, but no sound comes out.

sirius tilts his head, eyes gleaming.

“well?” he pushes. “don’t go shy now. you’ve been running that mouth all week. say it.”

the heat floods your cheeks, but your body betrays you, pressing back against remus’ steady grip while your gaze flickers to sirius’ mouth.

“both." you whisper.

sirius laughs, sharp and delighted, before finally slanting his mouth over yours. remus groans softly behind you. his lips find your neck again, sucking hard enough to make you gasp into sirius’ mouth.

sirius kisses you until your head spins, his tongue sliding in deep, greedy, like he’s been waiting for this since first year. his hands are already wandering—both palms skating down your waist, tugging your shirt up impatiently.

remus doesn’t rush. his grip on your hips shifts, guiding you backward, step by step, until your knees bump the edge of his bed.

“sit.” he orders softly, and you do, your legs spreading instinctively when sirius crowds between them.

“fuck, look at her.” sirius mutters against your lips, tugging your top over your head and tossing it carelessly to the floor.

his eyes go wide at the sight of your bra, and he whistles low. “knew it. fucking perfect.”

you make a sound—embarrassed, maybe, but it’s swallowed up when remus’ long fingers curl into your hair, pulling your head back so he can mouth at your throat again. his teeth catch just under your jaw, and you gasp, clutching at sirius’ shirt.

sirius smirks down at you, his hands sliding up your bare stomach.

“moony, you’ve been holding out on me,” he says, his tone dripping with mock-accusation. “keeping her all to yourself.”

remus hums, his lips dragging lower. “don’t worry. i don’t mind sharing.”

you shiver at the words, your thighs tightening instinctively, but sirius notices, of course he does.

“uh-uh,” he tuts, pressing a hand to your knee and forcing your legs apart again. “keep those open, darling. let us look at you.”

your bra strap slips down your shoulder, thanks to remus’ teeth, and sirius takes the opportunity to tug the whole thing down, cups falling away to bare your chest.

“fuck yes,” sirius breathes, ducking his head immediately to take one nipple into his mouth, sucking hard enough that your back arches.

remus’ laugh rumbles against your skin.

“greedy bastard,” remus says, but he doesn’t stop him. instead, he bends lower, lips brushing the swell of your other tit before his tongue flicks across your nipple—softer, teasing, a perfect contrast.

your fingers tangle into sirius’ messy hair while remus pins your thighs still with his broad hands. they’re both at your chest now, sucking, licking, biting, each tug of their mouths sending jolts of heat pooling between your legs.

sirius lifts his head just enough to glance at remus, grinning wicked. “bet she’ll be dripping already.”

remus hums again, steady and unbothered, though his hand does slip down, stroking up your thigh until his thumb presses firmly against the damp spot between your legs. you jolt, whining, and sirius chuckles smugly.

“told you.”

remus pushes you down flat on the bed before you can blink, his weight heavy as he shoves your knees apart. sirius climbs up behind him, already working his belt loose, laughing breathlessly.

“always thought you’d take it like this,” sirius says, eyes dark, grin sharp. “flat on your back, legs wide and begging for it.”

you don’t even have time to answer before remus yanks your underwear aside and spits against your cunt, lining himself up with zero hesitation.

“she’s fucking ready,” he mutters, and then he’s sinking into you in one rough thrust, burying himself to the hilt.

your head falls back against the pillow with a broken sound, your walls stretching around him, too much and not enough all at once.

“fuck, moony, she’s taking you so well.” sirius groans at the sight, his cock already out, fisting it lazily as he kneels near your head.

remus snarls—his pace brutal from the start, hips slamming into yours hard enough to rattle the frame.

“you like it, don’t you?” he bites out, one hand braced beside your head, the other gripping your hip so tight it’ll bruise. “knew you’d be this wet for us.”

sirius leans over, tapping his cock against your lips until you open your mouth. “go on, sweetheart. suck me while he ruins you.”

you choke around him as he pushes in deep, filling your mouth and your throat. he hisses, hips rocking shallow as he watches your eyes water.

“that’s it. fuck, you’re perfect like this. two of us using you at once—”

remus growls low in his chest, fucking you harder, his rhythm savage.

“open up wider,” he orders, eyes flicking to where sirius is holding your face. “she can take it.”

sirius laughs, almost mean, threading his fingers through your hair as he thrusts a little deeper. “hear that, love? moony wants to see you gag on it.”

your whole body is caught between them—remus pounding you into the mattress, sirius filling your throat—every thrust forcing another moan, another gag, another shiver of heat down your spine.

sirius pulls out of your mouth suddenly, wiping your spit off his cock with the back of his hand. “move over, moony,” he pants, climbing down the bed. “i want a piece too.”

remus growls, hips still pistoning into you, and shoots him a look that’s equal parts annoyance and lust. “greedy bastard.”

“takes one to know one,” sirius smirks, already pushing remus’ hand out of the way so he can spread you even wider.

your eyes widen as sirius spits in his palm, slicking himself up.

he glances at remus. “you’re not pulling out.”

it’s not a question.

remus’ jaw tightens, his thrusts slowing just a fraction as he realizes what sirius means.

“fuck,” he breathes, eyes flashing to you, checking, but before you can say a word, sirius is lining up at your ass.

“she can take it,” sirius says, tone wicked, fingers stroking over your skin. “she wants it. don’t you, love?”

the whimper you let out is all the answer they need.

remus’ head drops against your shoulder, and he groans like he’s already lost the fight. “fuck— fine. do it.”

the stretch when sirius pushes in alongside remus is almost unbearable—two cocks filling you at once, pressing against each other inside you, leaving you so full you can’t breathe.

your back arches, a strangled cry ripping from your throat as sirius sinks in inch by inch.

remus curses, eyes screwing shut, hips jerking as sirius’ cock grinds against his inside you. “merlin, pads—”

“yeah?” sirius pants, finally bottoming out. “tight, isn’t she? hot as fuck, squeezing the both of us—”

he cuts off with a groan when remus drags him into a kiss, filthy and desperate, their tongues sliding together while they’re buried inside you. sirius fists his hand in remus’ hair, pulling hard, and remus bites his lip in retaliation, making him moan into his mouth.

“move,” you manage to gasp, voice wrecked. “please, move—”

they do, thrusts messy at first, then finding a rhythm, pounding into you together.

every push makes you see stars, your whole body clenching around them both. the bedframe bangs against the wall, their groans and curses tangled with your cries.

sirius breaks the kiss, panting hard, forehead pressed to remus’.

“she’s losing her mind,” he rasps, looking down at the way their cocks disappear into you together. “look at her, moony. look at the mess we’re making of her.”

remus’ teeth bare in something halfway between a grin and a snarl. “we’ll break her like this.”

he pounds into you so hard your whole body jolts, sirius’ rhythm messy as he matches him stroke for stroke. the pressure is unbearable, every nerve in your body on fire, your cunt stretched wide around both of them, walls fluttering helplessly.

“listen to her,” sirius groans, nails digging into your hips as he slams into you. “fuck, she’s dripping everywhere. so wet she’s soaking the sheets.”

remus snarls against your throat, his teeth scraping down your skin. “greedy little thing, aren’t you? taking both of us like you were made for it.”

you sob, words breaking apart. “too much— f-fuck, it’s too much—”

“no, it’s not,” sirius snaps, voice dark, almost cruel. he pulls your hair back, forcing your head up. “you’re gonna take every inch we give you. gonna come all over our cocks until you can’t even speak.”

remus growls in agreement, lips catching sirius’ in another filthy kiss. they grind together inside you as their tongues tangle, groans vibrating against each other’s mouths. remus breaks it off with a guttural moan, biting down hard on sirius’ lip before shoving back into you, deeper, harder.

you’re clenching so tight around them both it’s almost unbearable, your body trembling with every thrust. sirius’ hand snakes between your legs, two fingers rubbing circles over your clit, merciless and fast.

“fuck— fuck, look at her, moony,” sirius pants, eyes wild. “she’s gonna break. you gonna come for us, love? gonna soak us like a filthy little slut?”

the heat coils low in your belly, pressure snapping all at once—you scream, back arching, and then you’re gushing, wetness flooding down your thighs, splashing against remus’ stomach and sirius’ cock as they keep fucking you through it.

remus swears viciously, head falling back, hips stuttering. “holy fuck— she’s— pads, she’s—”

“i know,” sirius growls, fingers working you even harder, smearing the mess all over your clit. “she’s fucking perfect. do it again. give us another one.”

you whimper, your body shaking uncontrollably, tears slipping down your cheeks as they don’t let up. remus’ hand slides down to your throat, gripping it tight enough to make your head spin.

“come again,” he orders, voice low, guttural. “do it for us. now.”

your cunt spasms around them, overstimulation burning hot—sirius’ filthy words in your ear, remus choking you just enough to make the edges of your vision blur.

you convulse, another gush spilling out of you, soaking them both, soaking the bed.

“fuck yes,” sirius snarls, hips snapping harder. “that’s it, make a fucking mess. our perfect little toy.”

remus growls into your ear, voice rough with desperation. “gonna fill you up, sweetheart. both of us, all over you, in you— can you take it?”

you can’t even answer, just sob, body clenching around them so tight it drags broken, guttural moans out of both men.

sirius’ head drops to remus’, sweat-slick foreheads pressed together as they both fuck you through the wet mess between your thighs.

sirius bites out a laugh. “she’s ruined for anyone else. ours. just ours.”

remus’ teeth bare in something feral, his hand tightening on your throat. “ours.”

and with that, they both come undone, filling you up at the same time, buried deep inside your trembling body, their mouths crashing together in another messy, bruising kiss as they spill into you.

lostrologyy © 2025.

"It is not! Ugh, you're so vanilla. It's a transaction. They get dinner, we get..." She does a little full-body shiver of pure bliss. "You know that feeling when you're so stressed your shoulders are in your ears, and then you get, like, the world's best massage? Times a thousand. It's a full-system reset. And it feels... honestly, it feels amazing."

You take a long sip of your drink, rolling your shoulders. The idea makes your skin prickle, and not entirely in a bad way.

"It's safe," she presses, seeing your hesitation. "It's totally mainstream now. It's called The Velvet Room. Sounds fancy, right? My guy is lovely. Very sweet. Says he's been doing this since the Great Depression, can you imagine?"

“You’re letting a Depression-era vampire drink your blood,” you reply, putting your glass down with a clink. “What’s next? Getting your hair done by a ghost from the Victorian era?"

Lisa rolls her eyes so hard you worry for her optic nerves. “He’s not from the Depression, he… lived through it. There’s a difference. And he’s very modern. He has an iPad.”

“An iPad? Wow, okay, a real techie. I should go to him for electronics advice, huh? I wonder what he uses it for..."

“He uses it for solitaire!” she defends, then frowns. "But that's not the point! The point is he’s professional. And discreet. You won’t even see a fang if you don’t want to.”

“Professional,” you repeat slowly. “In a place called The Velvet Room."

“It’s exclusive! They have complimentary towels that are insanely soft. Like, a cloud soft. I stole some last week. But I guess it's not really stealing if they're complimentary, right?"

“I don’t want a soft towel, Lisa! I want to not be someone’s Capri Sun!”

“You’re not a Capri Sun! You’re a… a fine vintage! A delicate, artisanal…” She gestures vaguely at you. “…soup.”

You stare at her. “You just compared my lifeblood to a soup.”

"A good soup! Something you'd pay a proper forty dollars for!" She slumps back, defeated. "Look. You're wound up so tight, your eye bags are insanely dark, and you look exhausted."

"Wow, thanks for the compliment," you deadpan. "You're so sweet, Lis."

"I'm being honest! You look like you haven't slept in a week." She leans in, voice dropping to a low, conspiratorial whisper. “Just come with me. Sit in the fancy chair. Drink the complimentary sparkling water that probably costs more than our electric bill. If you get the ick, we bail. No hard feelings. But if you don’t…”

She gives you a look. "You’ll finally understand why I’ve been so zen since April. I haven’t bitten a single nail.”

You glance at her hands. Her nails are, indeed, miraculously intact and even painted a cheerful coral. Probably the most compelling evidence of the night.

“The second I feel a single… slurp… noise,” you say, holding up a finger. "We're out. We're getting cheesecake, and you're never mentioning this ever again."

Lisa's face brightens. "Yay! You're gonna love it, I promise."

"I have my doubts." You sigh, resting your chin in your hand, swirling your drink with the other. “I can’t believe I’m agreeing to be soup.”

“The best soup,” she corrects cheerfully, already flagging down the waiter for the check. “A bisque, maybe. You have bisque energy.”

The Velvet Room is... not what you expected. It's like a kind of speakeasy, really.

Lisa leads you down a grimy alley, past overflowing dumpsters, to a nondescript black door. There's no sign, just a small, velvet-lined slot at eye level. She leans close.

"The moon is a lonely hunter," she whispers, clearly delighted with the phrase. You roll your eyes at her enthusiasm.

The door clicks and swings inward.

The ceiling is high and lost in shadow. The floor is scuffed wood, covered here and there with deeply coloured rugs that look like they’ve seen a century of parties. The walls are lined with shelves crammed full of books and records and strange little trinkets that you'd explore if given the time.

Low, squashy sofas and armchairs are arranged in little groups, lit by the soft glow of table lamps and hanging chandeliers. And there's jazz, a band playing in real time.

The place is busy. Not packed, but comfortably full. People are tucked into corners, talking quietly, laughing softly. You see a woman with red streaks in her hair offering her wrist to a vampire in a sweater.

A guy in paint-splattered jeans is leaned back in a chair, eyes closed in bliss while a vampire, who looks like she stepped out of a 1940s film, murmurs something near his ear.

"See?" Lisa squeezes your arm. "Totally upscale."

Before you can answer, a man rises from a deep armchair by the crackling fireplace. He’s tall, with a kind, tired face and a neatly trimmed beard.

This, you assume, is Lisa’s Depression-era solitaire enthusiast.

“Lisa,” he says, his voice warm and gravelly. “You made it.”

“Franklin!” Lisa chirps, darting over to give him a quick hug. “This is my friend. The one I was telling you about.”

Franklin turns his gaze on you. “A pleasure,” he says, extending a hand. You take it. “Any friend of Lisa’s is welcome here. We’ll take good care of you.”

He’s nice. He’s perfectly nice. But your attention is already snagged, pulled away like a compass needle finding north.

From a chaise lounge tucked in a darker booth near the band, two men are watching you.

One is all sharp edges and lazy grace, dressed in black, his hair a dark wave falling to his shoulders. He’s staring with a frank, interested intensity, a slight smile playing on his lips.

The other is softer. Curly, sandy hair, a worn-in jacket over a simple shirt. He looks like he’d be more at home in a library, but his eyes—a warm, amber colour—are fixed on you with a focus that makes your skin prickle.

They are, without a doubt, the most beautiful people you have ever seen.

“Your friends?” you whisper to Lisa, nodding subtly towards them.

Lisa follows your gaze and her eyes go wide. “Oh. Them. No. That’s… that’s Remus and Sirius. They’re kind of… legendary around here. They only ever feed together. And they’re really picky.” She lowers her voice further. “It's okay. Franklin’s great, I promise. Very sweet. Safer. I don't know much about those two.”

But it's too late. The one in all black stands up first, moving with a liquid sort of grace. He says something, his voice too low to catch, directly into the other man's hair.

The taller one—the one with the soft curls and the kind eyes—turns his head, listening, then his gaze snaps back to you. He nods, just once, and stands up.

Before you can blink, even, they're across the room, having come to a stop right in front of your little group. They don’t even look at Franklin.

“She’s with us,” the dark-haired one says, his voice low and smooth. His eyes never leave your face.

“Yes," the taller one murmurs, his tone softer but just as firm. “This one’s ours.”

Franklin lets out a small, resigned sigh. He gives your shoulder a gentle, almost apologetic pat. “Seems you’re in for a different sort of evening, my dear." He gives Lisa a look. “Shall we?”

Lisa looks utterly gobsmacked. “Uh. Yeah. Sure.” She gives you a wide-eyed, what-is-happening stare before letting Franklin lead her away to his cozy chair by the fire.

And then it’s just you and them.

“I'm Sirius,” the dark one says, finally introducing himself. He nods towards his companion. “And that’s Remus.”

“Hi, angel," Remus says softly, gesturing for your hand. You let him take it, watch in fascination as he presses a kiss to the back of your palm. He hands your hand over with entirely gentle care over to Sirius, who mimics the action, smiling against your knuckles.

“You were right, Pads,” Remus murmurs, hazel eyes tracing over your face. “She’s perfect.”

“I'm always right,” Sirius murmurs, lacing his fingers with the hand you'd extended to them, coaxing you towards their secluded booth towards the back of the room.

Remus sits first, settling back into the corner with an easy sigh. Then he looks up at you, pats his thighs. “Here, sweetheart. Best seat in the house.”

Your brain stutters. “On… on your lap?”

“Unless you’d rather sit on mine, baby,” Sirius murmurs easily, sliding onto the chaise beside Remus, his movements fluid. “But he’s comfier. And he gives better cuddles.”

“Sirius,” Remus chides, but he’s still looking at you, his expression open and patient. “Only if you’re comfortable. We won’t take a drop otherwise.”

Something in his soft, gentle tone makes the decision for you. Feeling surreal, you move forward and awkwardly perch on his thighs. His arm comes around your waist, guiding you to lean back against his chest.

“There,” Remus murmurs into your hair, his voice a soothing vibration against your back. “That’s it. Just relax.”

Sirius is immediately there, close. He takes your hand, his fingers cool as they find the frantic pulse in your wrist.

He lets out a soft, sympathetic tut. “Oh, sweetheart. You’re all wound up, aren’t you? Let’s fix that.”

You feel Remus’s nose gently nuzzle the spot where your neck meets your shoulder, pushing your hair aside with a tenderness that feels more intimate than any kiss you’ve ever had. “Ready, love?” he asks, his voice a low murmur right by your ear.

"Mhm." You feel like you're floating.

Sirius’s lips curve into a smile against the inside of your wrist. “Good girl,” he whispers. “You'll tell us anything you need.” It's a statement, not a suggestion. You nod anyway.

You feel Remus’s lips press softly against your skin, then a sharp, clean pinch that dissolves instantly into a warm, pulling feeling. At the same time, Sirius’s mouth finds your wrist—a kiss, then the same precise sting, melting into that same bone-deep, golden warmth.

The effect is... woah. You totally get why Lisa has been so zen recently. The constant, buzzing static in your brain fizzles out. The weight on your shoulders dissolves. A sigh slips from your lips, and your head lolls back against Remus’s shoulder.

“That’s it, love,” Remus coaxes against the soft skin of your neck. “Let it all go. We’ve got you.”

You float. The gentle tug at your neck and wrist is rhythmic, soothing. The jazz music wraps around you. You faintly hear Sirius makes a soft, humming sound of pleasure against your skin.

“Perfect,” he murmurs, his voice thick. “So good, baby.”

You are held, completely, between them. Remus’s steady strength at your back, Sirius’s focused attention on your hand. You're putty in their hands, being moulded to their whims, being shaped to their wishes. Time becomes a soft, shapeless thing.

You are, for the first time in living memory, completely quiet inside.

“Never,” Remus murmurs, his lips moving against your throat, the words vibrating through you. “Never tasted anything like you, angel. Like honey and sunlight.”

You feel Sirius’s slow, deliberate swallow against your wrist. He lets out a shaky breath. “So good.”

You make a soft, incoherent sound of acknowledgment, your head a heavy, blissful weight on Remus’s shoulder. You are completely, utterly droopy against them. Your limbs are loose. If they weren’t holding you, you’d slide right off the chaise into a contented puddle on the rug, and you're not sure you'd entirely mind.

You feel the gentle draws begin to slow, becoming softer, more languid. Savouring. They’re drawing it out, reluctant to let the moment end.

You feel two soft, cooling licks—a faint, soothing sting—sealing the tiny wounds. A final, lingering kiss from Remus at your neck, as if he can’t quite bear to let go of the spot.

Sirius turns your hand, his grip infinitely gentle, and presses a line of soft kisses from your wrist to the tips of your fingers. “Thank you, baby,” he says softly.

For a long moment, they just hold you, letting you float in the aftermath.

Remus rocks you gently. Sirius strokes your palm with his thumb.

You blink your eyes open. You don't even remember when you'd closed them. The world's fuzzy at the edges, like how it gets when you're drunk, only better, 'cos you're not nauseous now.

“Welcome back, sweetheart,” Sirius says softly. He’s looking at you like you’ve hung the moon.

Remus nudges your hair with his nose. “How do you feel, angel?”

It takes a monumental effort to form words. Your tongue feels thick and lazy. "Like jelly," you mumble, words slurring just a little. "The good kind," you add in reassurance. They probably don't need it. They probably know their effect on you.

Sirius lets out a delighted, choked laugh.

“Jelly,” Remus repeats, his tone rich with amusement. “I’ll take that.”

You try to nod, but your head just lolls to the side, coming to rest against Remus’s collarbone. You’re practically melting off his lap, held in place only by the secure band of his arm. You make a half-hearted attempt to sit up straighter, but your muscles just won’t cooperate.

“Oh, look at her,” Sirius coos, his voice dripping with fondness. He reaches out and brushes a stray strand of hair from your forehead. “Absolutely boneless. You did so well, sweetheart. We turned you into jelly, huh?”

“Sirius, don’t tease,” Remus murmurs, but he’s pressing a smiling kiss into your hair. “Here, love, let’s get some water in you.”

He gestures to someone above your head, and almost instantly, a glass of water appears on the low table beside you.

Sirius picks it up and holds the rim to your lips. “Come on, baby. Small sips. Just for us.”

You obey, mainly because it’s easier than not obeying, and partly because you want to hear their praise again. You manage a few swallows before turning your head away with a soft, protesting noise, nuzzling instinctively into the warmth of Remus’s neck.

“Alright, alright,” Remus soothes, chuckling. “That’s enough for now.”

You’re drifting again, lulled by the steady beat of Remus’s heart (do vampires have heartbeats? This one seems to) and the gentle stroke of Sirius’s thumb over your knuckles.

“So,” Sirius says after a moment, his voice unusually careful. “We have a bit of a problem, Moony.”

“What’s that?” Remus asks, his fingers tracing idle patterns on your arm.

“Well, we’ve found the perfect girl. And now we have to let her go walk out into the world, all wobbly and unsupervised. Seems irresponsible.”

A slow realisation curls through your jelly-like insides. They don’t want you to leave.

It makes you feel warm.

Remus hums in agreement, his chin resting on top of your head. “It does seem a shame. We’ve only just gotten her properly calibrated.”

You manage to peel your eyes open. “Calibrated?” you mumble.

“Mhm,” Sirius says, leaning in close. His grey eyes are soft and serious as he tucks a finger under your chin, tilting your head up to his liking, eyes softening when you go lax under his touch. “To us, sweetheart. You fit just right. We’d… we’d really like to do this again. If you want to.”

“We’d like to see you again, angel,” Remus adds, his voice a gentle rumble beneath your ear. “Properly. Not just here. Maybe for coffee, or... we could take you out to dinner.”

The offer hangs for a second. It’s crazy. You've just met them. They just drank your blood. But...

A slow, drowsy smile spreads across your face. You don’t have the energy for anything more. “M’gonna need a nap first,” you whisper. “A really long one.”

Sirius’s answering smile is brilliant. “We can work with that.” He tucks a card into the pocket of your jeans, his fingers lingering for just a second. “Our number. Text us when you wake up. Or don’t, if you don't want to. But we really hope you do.”

Remus helps you sit up, his hands steadying you as the world tilts a little. “Can you stand, love?”

With their help, you manage to get to your feet, though you sway like a sapling in a breeze, instantly leaning into Sirius’s offered side. They walk you back to where Lisa is sipping tea, looking thoroughly de-stressed.

“All in one piece?” Lisa asks, eyes wide.

“Better than,” Sirius says, his pride unmistakable. “She’s flawless.”

You give Lisa a wobbly, blissed-out thumbs up.

As you're guided towards the door, Remus leans down, his lips brushing your ear one last time. “Sleep well, angel. Dream of us.”

Your mother was furious when you returned without a ring on your finger. 

“Lord Lupin informed me that he had found you and would be caring for you in London. London! What in God’s name were you even doing in London? You stay overnight with him, alone-“

“We were chaperoned-” You can still feel the heat of the glare she’d sent you. It had quieted your arguments immediately.

“I am not daft! You risked your virtue, and you return home without even a proposal to show for it! You are incredibly lucky it was Lord Lupin who found you and no one else!”

She has not been quiet about her disappointment in you, and Lord Lupin’s lack of calling has seemingly fanned the flames. You feel incredibly guilty and ashamed, because everything she has said is true. 

You do believe that his lack of calling is your fault. The Viscount must think you are upset with him. You wish to reach out, but it seems you’ve been cut off from society altogether. 

“Mother, please, if I could just send him a letter-“ 

“You have done enough!”

“But-”

“Your room. Now.”

You try not to think about them, occupying your mind with anything and everything else you can think of. You’ve counted the number of boards on the ceiling at least ten times. The number never changes, but you do sometimes miscount and have to start over. You’ve read through the book on your nightstand twice. But none of it helps. 

So, you compose letters. You can’t send them, obviously, but you can write them. A small part of you hopes that maybe you could sneak downstairs to drop off a letter but you know the footman would alert your mother the moment he saw it, and he would never send it without her knowing. Still, you write. And write. And write.

You write until your wrist hurts and your eyes burn. You compose sentences, then cross them out and rewrite them, only to scrap the letter and start a completely new draft. There are so many things you want to say, so many things you want to know, and yet none of your words can convey exactly how you’re feeling.

You need to speak with the two of them. Remus, at least, though you don’t know if he is back at Lupin House or still in London. You have no way of reaching him, at least not without great difficulty given your shoulder and the way your head still pounds if you move too much. You’re just grateful that it wasn’t your writing arm that was injured in your fall. 

You pick up your quill and begin writing again. 

The pub is quite lively, far more than any social club in Mayfair would allow. The band is playing so loud that the group of men can hardly hear each other despite how crowded they feel at the small wooden table. Their drinks slosh and shift at any movement, but none of them seem alarmed by the raucous. In fact, the raucous is the reason the four of them chose this bar in particular. 

Sirius is leaning against Remus’ side, arm around his shoulder, already slurring like a drunkard despite the fact that all of them know he’s hardly tipsy. Remus has his arms crossed over his chest, eyes distant and distracted as they often are, though likely even more so than usual. 

“So, it was the same woman? You both fell for the same woman… separately?” James takes a large gulp from his mug before setting it back down on the table with a thunk, letting out a boisterous laugh. He seems to think this is the funniest joke that fate could have designed. Peter snickers over his glass, and even Sirius has to crack a grin at James’ contagious giggling. “And why are the two of you not with this woman right now? I could hardly stay away from Lily after she finally accepted my courtship offering.”

“I tried to tell him!” Sirius’ body sprawls across the table and Peter barely manages to catch his glass before it falls to the floor and shatters. Sirius’ voice is interrupted by hiccuping and his face morphs and shifts dramatically as he speaks. “I told him he should just go to her father and ask for his blessing, and propose! She’s going to say yes-”

“We do not know if she will say yes.” Remus is the only marauder at the table to have fended off the vibrant, contagious energy of the patrons around them. If anything, his jaw clenches harder, and his shoulders tighten as he says, “She asked to return home, and she has not yet given me any indication that she would like our courtship to continue.”

“How could she not wish to marry you?” It’s James that leans forward this time, face bright. His eyes move to Sirius. “Especially when she gets the both of you. Any woman should know that she could never be left unsatisfied with the two of you!”

Sirius grins, and leans forward to tap his glass against James’ mug. Peter lets out a loud guffaw, and then a hiccup. Remus is left with a grimace on his mouth, and he leans back until his shoulder is pressed against the wall behind him. 

“She is a lady,” Remus stresses, and the other three at least seem to understand the serious tone behind his words. “She hardly knows anything at all, and we just sort of bombarded her with ideas for a marriage she never even knew could exist, and now-”

“And now she is aware and will surely accept your proposal!” James says it with such certainty that even Remus’ heart flutters with the slightest bit of hope. 

“I would call on her myself, if I could.” Sirius offers unhelpfully, smiling with a dopey grin as he slides off of his stool, lifting his glass from the table. “Does anyone want another drink?”

All three men nod in the affirmative and he’s off toward the bar. Remus watches after him, heart full of longing despite the fact that his lover and best friend has been next to him all night. He’s never felt lonely in the presence of Sirius before, and it’s unsettling. 

“What’s the real reason you won’t call on her?” Peter interrupts Remus’ thoughts, eyes narrowing at the other man as he tilts his head to one side. His cheeks are flushed. “The two of you wouldn’t have fallen in love with a woman who’d get scared off by something as mundane as two men shagging.”

Remus shakes his head, lowering his glass and licking his lips before he answers, “That is not what the Ton thinks, things are different here in London.” He goes quiet for a moment, eyes following Sirius where he leans against the bar, ordering another round for the table. When Remus speaks again, his voice is quiet enough that the other two barely hear him and his gaze is lowered. “It is not so much that I think she would not be accepting of Sirius and I. I… guess I am afraid she will insist on ending the courtship because she wishes to be with Sirius, but not me.”

James visibly melts like ice in the sun, “Remus…” His voice is so full of pity it almost makes Remus’ eyes burn. “Why would you think-?”

James is cut off by the return of Sirius, who plants the four drinks down on the table so hard it causes the wooden legs to shake. His grin is bright, and it gets even brighter when he slams his hands on the table. 

“I have an idea!” Sirius announces, sliding back into his seat beside Remus. James and Peter lean in, intrigued and grabbing their drinks, but Remus looks uncertain, his shoulders still tense. Sirius holds out his hands as he says, “Call on her.”

James pouts as he leans away from the table, taking a large gulp from his drink. “I thought you really had something…” 

“I mean it!” Sirius insists, sitting down by Remus again, turning his body toward his lover. “If she wishes to end the courtship, then she will end it. But I think if that were her wish, she would have done so before she left to return home to Mayfair after her accident. What if there is some other reason she can’t write to you?”

Remus’ brain is slower than usual given the alcohol, and his brows furrow together before he speaks. “And suddenly you’re sober now?”

Sirius rolls his eyes, “I have been sober this entire time, and all of you know it.” 

Remus is silent for a long moment, the music pounding in his ears and making it even harder for him to think. When he finally feels like his thoughts settle, he asks, “And what would you have me do, show up unannounced?”

Sirius shakes his head, the corner of his mouth lifting in a half-smirk. “Don’t worry. I have a plan.”

Sirius’ plan seems a lot less like a plan and a lot more like a life-altering mistake in the morning when Remus is hung over and walking up the path toward your family’s home. He’d tried to back out more than once while preparing for the journey this morning, but Sirius had betrayed him and sent notice ahead of time, so he truly had no choice but to call on you.

The two of them had been so certain the last time they’d seen you. When Sirius revealed his secret new muse to be the debutante that Remus had already fallen for, he had been swept up in the idea that the three of you must be fated to be together. Sirius seems to think so, and it sounds romantic, but you had not been privy of any of their conversations while you were unconscious. 

Remus had been confused when you’d requested to return home. There hadn’t been judgment in your eyes, only… sadness, and what seemed to be a hint of betrayal, though he couldn’t possibly understand why. He wanted to know, he wanted to understand and explain himself, but you slipped out of his grasp and then went silent. 

He didn’t want to call on you if you didn’t wish to see him. 

Remus hadn’t meant to reveal that much to James and Peter. His insecurities, his fear of being unlovable, always linger at the back of his mind, no matter how many times Sirius tells him it isn’t true. 

Sirius is… beautiful, vibrant, full of passion and creativity and life in a way Remus never could be. Remus is a Viscount, and not by choice. He didn’t get to finish his studies. His father left his family in a substantial amount of debt that he doubts his own mother is even aware of. His body is marred with scars and stuck with stiff joints from punishments and strikes he hardly remembers (and many he remembers well). 

Remus would not blame you for falling in love with Sirius. He is in love with Sirius. 

He just doesn’t know if he could handle your rejection if you decide you don’t love him, too. 

Remus barely registers his greeting with your family’s footman at the door. The man seems surprised to see him, his face shifting just slightly after he announces his name. The footman bows his head and goes to announce the Lord’s arrival. 

Remus is left in the foyer for a few moments longer than he would like, before the footman returns with a pinched face, “Come.” Remus is led to the drawing room, a tea cart being prepared as he takes a seat on the chaise.

He sits stiffly, a light sheen of sweat appearing over his skin as he thinks about what he’s planned to say. He should’ve thought more, prepared more. He shouldn’t have agreed to do this when he was drunk with his friends in London. 

The doors to the drawing room open and Remus stands. The footman enters again, followed by your mother, who eyes him with enough disdain he can feel the muscles of his heart contract and tense. What had you told her?

“Lord Lupin,” She greets, though there is not an ounce of kindness in her voice. Her eyes trace him up and down, narrow and scrutinizing as he twitches under her gaze. He can feel his skin burning, and he already feels like he’s failed a test when she shakes her head and speaks again. “You have some audacity to show up in my home after sending my daughter back to Mayfair injured and alone.”

“I-” He swallows thickly, feeling like he might melt under your mother’s heavy glare. “She- She requested to be sent home.”

Your mother’s eyes only narrow further. Another test failed. “And you did not think to call on her the next day? To make sure she was alright?”

Every single choice he’s ever made has been a mistake. He’s never felt more like a failure than in this moment. Your mother hates him, which surely must mean you hate him as well. He flounders for a moment, clearing his throat and adjusting the collar of his shirt.

“I did not know if- if your daughter wished for me to call on her and-”

Remus is saved from his explanation by your arrival. He stands as you walk into the drawing room, and watches as your steps falter when you see him. You stop in the doorway, and things go quiet for a long moment. Remus watches you, sees as your gaze moves from him, to your mother, and back slowly. 

Your face breaks into a bright, happy grin, and Remus thinks maybe he is still a little drunk from the night before as his vision seems to spin, everything out of focus except for you.

“Lord Lupin!” You greet him with a small curtsy and he returns it with a bow of his head. Your joy makes his heart flutter painfully. It only gets worse when you move to sit beside him on the chaise, placing your hand atop his. “I am so glad you are here! I have been waiting for you to call on me.”

“You… have?” Remus’ own gaze strays to your mother again as his voice trails off, her lips pursed unhappily. You get his attention back when you giggle sweetly, and he can’t help but for his eyes to find your own again. 

“Of course I have,” You squeeze his hand, and give him another wide smile, “We have some unfinished business, do we not?” Your question is finished with a pointed look toward your mother, and Remus knows instantly that you’re referring to the proposal. She does not step up to interrupt the two of you, though Remus wouldn’t be surprised if she tried, given how angry she seems to be at him. 

“I… suppose we do.” He says with a nod, finally swallowing down the lump in his throat. “I was hoping to ask you to promenade tomorrow.”

Your mother opens her mouth to speak up, likely to demand he stop delaying and propose right this instant, but she doesn’t get the chance. You speak before she can, seizing the opportunity to talk to him with at least some semblance of privacy. 

“That sounds wonderful!” Your mother’s jaw clenches and a silent moment passes between mother and daughter before you speak again, “I think a walk in the fresh air will definitely allow us to talk with clear minds, don’t you think, Lord Lupin?” 

Remus loves you, he wants to be with you and Sirius forever. He does not want to be flayed by your mother. He thinks about Sirius. He thinks about how he never believed he’d find one true love, let alone two. He thinks about all of the amazing ways the three of you could be spending your time instead of sitting here in your drawing room, arguing with your mother. Something settles low in his stomach.

So, he says, “I quite agree. I think it is exactly what we need. Tomorrow it is..”

°˖✧✿✧˖°