#healing and hurting and growing

[shadesofhogwarts]

Smothered

(6) Poly! marauders x reader

Wordcount: 4.5k

A/n) I give you my beloved brain child. Enjoy💗

It started soft, like most dangerous things do.

The three of them– James with his infectious laugh and warm brown eyes, Sirius with that sharp grin and chaotic charm, and Remus with his steady calm and too-knowing glances– had always been a little magnetic. But you were never the kind of person to orbit stars. You stayed in your own little galaxy, tucked between the pages of your books and the corners of the common room.

But stars? Stars had gravity.

You don’t remember who first started drawing you in. It didn’t start with fireworks. No grand confessions, no lingering glances across candlelit rooms. Just... laughter. A joke at breakfast. A too-long glance during Charms. A comment tossed your way that made you feel seen–really seen– for the first time in what felt like forever.

It didn’t feel like a trap. It felt like light. Like belonging.

And you liked it. You liked the way they saw you, the way they orbited around you– laughing, teasing, pulling you into their world. There was a golden warmth to it, something dreamy, something you told yourself not to overthink.

You’d always been on the periphery of their orbit. Not a stranger, no. Just… not one of them. Not the kind of person people whispered about in corridors or followed around with wide eyes. Not someone who got tackled by James Potter for fun, who got pulled into Sirius Black’s wild schemes, who got bookmarked by Remus Lupin in quiet libraries like a page he never wanted to lose.

You weren't sure what this was– maybe they liked you, maybe it was platonic, maybe it was all three of them just being Marauders. But whatever it was, you liked being near them. You liked being wanted.

And slowly, steadily, it started to feel like you were the fourth in a constellation.

It started with Sirius. Of course it did. He was bold like that. Too pretty for his own good, too charming to be safe. One day, you were sitting in your usual spot on the Gryffindor common room couch, curled up with a book. The next, Sirius was dropping beside you like a comet crashing into orbit.

“Whatcha reading, sweetheart?”

Sweetheart.

It wasn’t the first time someone had called you something like that. But from him, it didn’t feel like a throwaway word. It felt like the start of something.

You answered cautiously, but he didn’t tease you. He didn’t mock the book or your taste. Instead, he listened. And then he stayed. Not just that day, but every day after. Like you’d unknowingly lit a beacon he couldn’t help but follow.

James came next. With him, it wasn’t words– it was energy. He started waiting for you after class, tossing his arm around your shoulder like it belonged there. When you spoke, he turned his whole body toward you, like you were the most interesting person in the world. It was addictive, the way he paid attention. Like you were this rare bloom he’d just discovered.

Remus was the quietest of the three, but perhaps the most dangerous. He didn’t flirt, not exactly. He observed. He remembered things you didn’t expect anyone to. How you liked your tea. That you always tapped your fingers when you were thinking. That you never liked sitting with your back to the door.

He started sitting beside you in the library. Sharing notes. Asking soft, pointed questions that lingered long after the conversations ended.

It was gradual, the way they enveloped you. Not overwhelming, not at first. Just a steady current of warmth pulling you in.

You started looking forward to seeing them. Noticing the way Sirius would light up when he spotted you in the hallway, like you were the only person that mattered. How James would slide into the seat next to yours in the Great Hall before you even sat down. How Remus would subtly angle his body toward you during group conversations, nodding along like he was reading the subtext in your silences.

And God, it felt good. Like you belonged. Like you’d slipped into some unspoken rhythm that had always existed, just waiting for you to join.

You didn’t question it. Not at first.

They were affectionate in a way that was uniquely theirs. Touchy, loud, loyal. They fought and flirted and tangled themselves into people’s lives without asking. But with you... there was a softness. A reverence. A way they carved out space for you between them, as if they’d already made room long ago.

It was James who started calling you ours in front of others.

“She’s ours, don’t even try it,” he said one night at a party when some seventh year tried to flirt with you. He was grinning when he said it, his tone light– but there was something dark in the way Sirius laughed beside him. Something heavy in the way Remus’s hand brushed against your wrist and stayed.

The word echoed in your chest long after.

You laughed it off. Because what else were you supposed to do?

...

There were moments– little ones– that made your stomach twist in strange ways. Like how Sirius would watch you when you laughed, gaze lingering too long, like he was memorizing your joy and cataloguing it for later. Or how James’s touches, casual as they seemed, always found the most intimate places– your knee, your lower back, the curve of your neck. Or the way Remus would say your name like a prayer, low and deliberate, like he was tasting it.

But they never crossed lines. Not really. They were just them. And you… you were just grateful to be let in.

You told yourself it didn’t mean anything. That the touches were friendly. That the looks were coincidental. That the flutter in your chest was just the high of attention.

But deep down, you knew.

Something was shifting. Becoming heavier.

And you liked it.

At least– at first.

...

There’s a sweet spot in every story. A moment where everything feels right– not too much, not too little. Just enough to make your heart swell, to make your cheeks warm, to make you believe maybe, maybe, this is something real.

You stayed in that moment longer than you should have.

The four of you moved like a constellation now. People started whispering in hallways– not maliciously, not cruelly. Just curious. Observing. Wondering if something was happening between you and the infamous trio of Gryffindor. If they’d chosen you. If you were theirs.

You didn't know how to answer.

Because how do you explain something that doesn’t have a name?

It wasn’t like you were dating. Not really. But it also wasn’t not like that. Sirius would walk you to class with his hand brushing against yours until it finally just slipped into place. James would sit with his legs wide open and tug you to sit between them like it was the most natural thing in the world. Remus would rest his chin on your shoulder while reading over your essays and hum in approval at your phrasing like it mattered deeply to him.

They each gave you something different, something impossible to refuse. Sirius gave thrill– he lit you up, made you laugh so hard your stomach hurt, made your blood fizz. James gave warmth– this overwhelming, honest devotion that made you feel chosen. And Remus? He gave depth. He saw you in quiet moments when no one else did, noticed when you were too tired to keep up the banter, and never made you feel like you had to.

And you?

You gave yourself in little pieces. A laugh here. A secret there. A touch, a look, a shared silence.

And they soaked you up like they’d been starving.

It became routine– the way they'd save you a seat without asking, the way they'd pull you into their dorm after dinner just to “hang out,” the way they'd always touch. Not always intimately, but constantly. Hands in your hair, arms around your waist, fingers trailing your spine. Sirius would trace shapes on your thigh under the table during meals. James would whisper into your ear and rest his cheek on yours. Remus would brush his hand over your knuckles while reading beside you and not let go.

It was fine.

It was fine.

It was fine… until it wasn’t.

...

The shift came quietly. Like a slow fog rolling in over a familiar street.

You didn’t notice it at first.

You noticed how Sirius stopped joking when someone else tried to sit next to you. How James’s laugh would flatten if you paid too much attention to someone who wasn’t them. How Remus started showing up wherever you were, book in hand, gaze cool but unmistakably observant.

You told yourself it was sweet. That they cared. That they were just protective, not possessive.

But then the looks started changing.

Not just admiring. Hungry. Eyes sweeping over you like you were something to be devoured. Like they were waiting for something– some permission, some shift– so they could claim you for real.

Sirius would stare. Not always. But enough. Long enough for your skin to crawl, even if he smiled afterward like it was nothing. James stopped joking about you being “ours” and started saying it like a fact. No grin. No wink. Just a quiet, loaded certainty.

Remus– God, even Remus– had started to ask questions.

“Where were you this afternoon?”

“Who were you talking to?”

“Why didn’t you come sit with us?”

Each one posed gently, but laced with that soft steel Remus always kept hidden under his calm. You realized, belatedly, that his sweetness wasn’t softness– it was intent disguised.

It didn’t feel like you were part of something anymore. It felt like you were caught in it.

Their affection, once warm and glowy, started to press on you like a too-tight blanket. You couldn’t breathe without feeling their eyes on you. Couldn’t laugh with someone else without feeling their moods shift. Couldn’t even sit alone without one of them finding you and sliding into your space like they owned it.

You wanted to tell yourself you were overreacting.

But the dread had started.

You’d walk into a room, and Sirius’s head would snap toward you like a predator scenting prey. James would straighten, eyes gleaming like he was proud– possessive. Remus would close his book, fold his hands, and watch you walk in like you were a show.

And you?

You’d feel it. That pulse of something heavy and hot. Not fear exactly. Not discomfort exactly.

But not right either.

They never touched you in a way you didn’t allow. Never said anything wrong. But their presence grew weighty. Sticky. Too much.

It got hard to smile at them. To laugh. Even when you tried.

You’d catch Sirius watching your mouth too intently. You’d feel James’s arm tighten around your shoulders just a bit too long. You’d catch Remus looking at you like he already knew something you hadn’t said– and it made your stomach turn.

And then one day, it happened.

You walked into the common room. James looked up immediately, like he’d been waiting. Sirius grinned lazily and spread his arms in invitation. Remus tilted his head, soft and steady like always, eyes unreadable.

And your skin crawled.

Something in you recoiled. Hard.

Their faces– all so familiar, all so adored once– felt like too much. Sirius’s grin looked wolfish. James’s brightness looked invasive. Remus’s gaze felt like a mirror you didn’t want to look into.

And suddenly, you couldn’t do it anymore.

The couch where they always made space for you? A trap.

The laughter you once chased? A net.

Their closeness? A wall.

Their eyes? Cages.

You didn’t even realize you were backing away until Remus blinked and said, too gently, “You’re not sitting?”

Your throat dried. You shook your head, murmured something– anything– and walked out.

Their eyes followed you all the way to the door.

...

You didn’t mean to avoid them.

Not at first.

You told yourself it was just a break– a breather. That the discomfort, the suffocation, was temporary. That you’d come back to yourself and it would all feel sweet again. That maybe you were just overwhelmed. Tired.

But the truth was… you couldn’t look at them anymore.

You tried. You did. But Sirius’s smirk made your stomach turn now. James’s bright eyes felt invasive, like he was always watching, waiting. And Remus– Remus with his unreadable calm– he looked at you like he was already ten steps ahead. Like he knew what you were doing. Like he was just letting you play it out.

And that made it worse.

Because you didn’t want to be watched.

You didn’t want to be read like a book.

You didn’t want to be wanted this hard.

It felt like being submerged– like no matter where you turned, you couldn’t come up for air. Their eyes were everywhere. Their presence, even in absence, pressed at you. The common room felt too full. The corridors too loud. The castle too small.

And everything they did now felt wrong.

Sirius’s laugh? Too loud. Too manic.

James’s constant loyalty? Clingy.

Remus’s gaze? Intrusive. Dissecting.

The same hands that once rested on your back like comfort now felt like claims. Their glances once made your cheeks flush with fondness– now they made your skin crawl.

The more they tried, the worse it got.

James cornered you after Transfiguration.

“Hey,” he said, too soft. “Everything okay?”

You forced a smile. “Yeah. Just tired.”

But he didn’t buy it. Of course he didn’t. He looked at you like he was trying to peel the truth out of you.

“I miss you,” he added, voice cracking slightly. “We all do.”

And that– God, that– made your stomach twist into something sharp and bitter.

Because you hadn’t even pulled away all the way yet. And already they were aching for you.

You couldn’t bear it.

You mumbled something– nothing– and escaped.

Sirius found you later. Half-smirk, eyes glinting, still so Sirius it should have felt like home.

“Ghosting us, sweetheart?” he teased, sliding in beside you at the library table, like he hadn’t been haunting your mind for days.

You didn’t answer. You didn’t even look at him.

Because if you did, you knew it would show on your face.

The ick.

The shift.

The sudden, inexplicable desire to push him away. To flinch when he leaned in. To run.

Because his presence– his everything– felt like a trap now. A beautiful one, yes. But a trap nonetheless.

And worst of all?

You hated yourself for it.

You hated how disgusted you felt by the people who had once made you laugh so hard you nearly cried. You hated the way their smiles now read as manipulation. You hated how their kindness felt weaponized. You hated that they hadn’t really done anything wrong– and yet, you wanted to burn the whole thing down.

You didn’t want to talk.

You didn’t want to explain.

You didn’t want to be perceived.

And every time one of them tried to reach you, it made it worse.

You started taking alternate routes to class. Sitting at the edge of the room. Leaving the common room early. Ducking out of conversations. Becoming small. Distant. Detached.

Because if you stayed too long, you'd start shaking with the need to scream:

"Leave me alone. You don’t own me. Stop looking at me like I belong to you."

You couldn’t even find their faces attractive anymore. Sirius’s sharp jaw and James’s broad grin and Remus’s honey-brown eyes– ick. The ick was everywhere. On their hands, on their voices, on their jokes. On their care.

And maybe the worst part was: a tiny part of you still wanted to be held.

But not like that.

Not by them.

Not when it felt like drowning.

...

It was bound to happen. You knew it. You could feel the tension gathering like a storm behind your back.

There were only so many times you could say "I'm just tired" before someone called your bluff.

And unsurprisingly, it was Remus.

He cornered you outside the library, somewhere quiet and tucked away where people didn’t usually linger. Somewhere you couldn't just vanish.

You froze when you saw him.

He didn’t say your name softly, not like James. He didn’t lean in with playful charm, not like Sirius. He just looked at you– sharp and serious, like a professor about to hand back a failed paper.

“I’m not stupid,” he said.

You blinked.

“You’re avoiding us. Me. All of us.”

There it was. Blunt. Flat. Impossible to dodge.

You wanted to run. You really, really did.

But you didn’t.

You stood your ground. And for a moment, you wondered if this was what you’d been waiting for all along. A reason. A break. Someone to put their foot down so you didn’t have to tiptoe anymore.

“I know,” you whispered. “I just… needed space.”

Remus’s jaw tightened. His arms crossed.

“You needed space,” he repeated slowly, like it was a word in a foreign language he didn’t understand. “From what? From people who care about you? Who love you?”

That word– it hit you like a slap.

Love.

You never said that word.

You never asked for it.

It was like they poured it on you without warning. Drenched you in it. And then looked surprised when you couldn't breathe.

“I didn’t ask for any of this,” you murmured, eyes darting away.

Remus’s voice sharpened. “Didn’t you?”

You looked up sharply.

He regretted it the second it left his mouth– you saw it in the flicker of guilt. But he didn’t take it back. Just watched you quietly, waiting.

You bit the inside of your cheek. Hard.

So that’s how it was.

You didn’t get to feel strange, or overwhelmed, or uncomfortable. Because to them, the beginning– the late nights and shared laughter and inside jokes– meant something. And maybe they did to you too. Maybe you had wanted them. At one point.

But now?

Now it felt like they were asking you to carry a boulder you never picked up.

“I liked you,” you said quietly. “All of you. I did.”

Remus didn’t move.

“But it got too much,” you continued. “Too intense. Too fast. I didn’t know how to stop it without feeling like the bad guy.”

The silence between you stretched long and tight.

And then, just as he opened his mouth to speak, the other two showed up.

James and Sirius. Of course.

“Moony, we’ve been looking for– ��

James stopped when he saw your face.

And Sirius? Sirius didn’t say anything. He just looked at you, blinking slow. Expression unreadable.

You wanted to disappear.

“What’s going on?” James asked, voice low and cautious, like he already knew the answer.

“I’m pulling away,” you said.

They all froze.

You said it again, firmer this time. “I’m pulling away. I have been.”

James looked stunned.

Sirius’s mouth twitched– something bitter creeping in.

“Why?” he asked flatly. “Because we liked you too much?”

You swallowed. “Because I felt owned. Watched. Tied down. Like every step I took had to be filtered through how it would affect you. Like I became a mirror instead of a person.”

“That’s not fair,” James said, quietly.

“No,” you agreed. “But it’s how I feel.”

You didn’t need them to understand. You just needed them to know.

And standing there, under the weight of three pairs of eyes– three hearts cracking open– you finally realized what you had been running from.

It wasn’t them.

It was the version of you they loved. The bright one. The affectionate one. The one who always smiled back, who never flinched at closeness.

But you weren’t her anymore. Not to them.

And that version?

She wasn’t coming back.

...

You didn’t cry after you walked away.

You didn’t feel relieved, either.

You just felt… hollow.

It wasn’t like you’d set fire to anything. You hadn’t shouted. You hadn’t accused. You hadn’t been cruel. But it still felt like you’d shattered something sacred. Something that once felt tender and beautiful and safe.

And maybe that was what stung the most.

Because it wasn’t supposed to end like this.

Not in silence. Not with three boys left standing in a corridor, eyes full of questions and hurt and a kind of quiet disbelief. James had looked like he might run after you. Sirius had looked like he wanted to be angry, but couldn’t quite summon the energy. Remus– Remus hadn’t said anything at all. And that silence had hurt worst of all.

You found yourself retracing old patterns.

Avoiding certain halls. Choosing library tables far from the windows. Turning corners with caution. Walking faster, smiling less, vanishing more.

The castle adjusted to your absence the way water accepts a stone– ripples, and then stillness.

But even in stillness, they were everywhere.

You saw James’s scarf draped over a chair and felt your stomach flip. You heard Sirius’s laugh echo down the hallway and flinched like it was thunder. You spotted Remus’s annotated copy of Great Expectations in the study lounge and felt your chest squeeze around something sour and sharp.

You didn’t miss them.

You missed before.

Before the shift. Before the pressure. Before the invisible leash tightened around your neck.

And yet…

You still looked for them.

Out of habit. Out of guilt. Out of some strange, twisted longing for a version of them that didn’t exist anymore. A version that knew when to stop. That didn’t push and smother and cling.

It had been a few days– maybe a week– before any of them approached you again.

And, of course, it was James.

He didn’t corner you. Didn’t crowd. Just sat beside you in the courtyard one crisp afternoon, quietly, like you were strangers again. He didn’t say hi. He didn’t smile.

He just said:

“I’ve been thinking.”

You didn’t look up from your book.

“’Bout what?”

“About how we didn’t ask.”

You blinked.

“We never asked what you wanted,” James said softly, picking at a blade of grass. “We just… liked you. And we kept showing it. Loudly. Constantly.”

Your fingers stilled on the page.

“I didn’t realize it made you feel like you had no room to breathe.”

Your throat tightened.

“And I’m sorry for that.”

You finally looked at him. He wasn’t looking at you.

Just at the sky, like the clouds might give him an answer to everything that had gone wrong.

“You were the best thing that happened to us,” he said. “But we were too greedy with it.”

The words settled in your chest like dust. Not heavy, not painful. Just… present.

“I don’t hate you,” you murmured.

He smiled a little. Sad. “We know.”

“I just needed air.”

James nodded, like he understood now– truly understood– and for the first time in weeks, you felt seen again. Not wanted. Not adored. Just… seen.

And it was enough.

...

Things didn’t go back to the way they were.

Not immediately. Maybe not ever.

There were no dramatic apologies in the rain, no desperate declarations under starlight. No one ran down corridors, panting with love or regret. The world didn’t stop for your grief. It just kept turning– gently, indifferently.

And in that quiet turning, something began to mend.

Not with grand gestures. Not with heavy stares or suffocating closeness. But with a nod in the hallway. A cup of tea left beside your book in the common room. A joke slipped into conversation that didn’t ask you to laugh– just invited you to if you felt like it.

You began to breathe again.

And they let you.

James no longer dropped everything to orbit you. Instead, he passed by, offered a soft “Hey,” and walked on. That space, that freedom– it was oxygen. Sirius, who used to look at you like you were something to devour, started looking at you like you were something to understand. Less fire. More gaze. And Remus– God, Remus– he gave you the most precious thing of all: patience.

You never unlearned the feeling.

Even in that peace, even in the softer way they treated you now– there was always that memory. That subtle dread curled up somewhere in your ribs. A flicker of what if it happens again?

What if their affection grows teeth?

What if they forget how to leave you be?

What if their love turns loud again, hungry again, and you’re back where you started– trying to smile with lungs full of smoke?

You didn’t pretend it wasn’t possible. You didn’t tell yourself, Oh, they’ve changed forever. You didn’t romanticize their restraint like it was some love language.

No.

You carried that knowing like a stone in your pocket– not to weigh you down, but to ground you.

Because you changed.

You stopped being the girl who mistook their intensity for warmth. You stopped thinking attention always meant care. You stopped letting love mean losing yourself.

You didn’t go back to them as the same girl who once swooned under their gaze.

You returned as someone who could say “No.” As someone who could walk away again, if she had to. Someone who would.

That made all the difference.

There were days when you still flinched at too much attention. Days when you saw them laugh together and felt a pang of guilt, as though your honesty had fractured something golden. But more and more, that ache began to feel like… growing pains.

They stopped treating you like a prize.

You stopped treating yourself like a villain.

And slowly, you came back to them– not because you had to, not because they asked– but because you chose to.

You let Sirius walk beside you down to the greenhouses without touching you. You shared tea with Remus again, letting the quiet stretch between you without pressure. And one evening, when the common room was buzzing and your eyes were heavy, James wordlessly offered you his sweater– nothing more.

You took it.

It was soft and warm and smelled like firewood and lavender and a little bit like safety.

Something new was growing in that sweater. In the quiet tea. In the space between footsteps.

Something smaller than love. Gentler.

Not obsession. Not infatuation.

Just care.

The thing about love– real love– is that it doesn’t just live in how someone looks at you.

It lives in how they listen when you say, “That’s too much.” It lives in how they pull back when you need air, even if it bruises them a little to do it.

So no– you didn’t forget.

You remembered everything.

And you still walked back.

Not because you forgot who they were.

But because you knew who you were now.

And you were someone who could leave the moment love tried to hold you too tight.

But this time?

They loved you without holding too tight.

And that’s how you knew it was real.

[avatarofthetired]

W were running drills at a flag practice today and the two people I was with didn’t want to run so they had me run the whole twenty minutes while they played defense (short down/back sprints constantly right after a scrimmage) and I was wearing a double sports bra and allergies were fucking me over so I asked one of them to switch with me and then she waits a sec and asks if I’m ready, to which I respond by dropping into a defense squat and she asks

“How are you just okay that quickly? You were dying a second ago and now you’re acting fine, you’re still pale yk take a second”

Nd yeah I was still dizzy as shit and all that but I like. Didn’t know I could do that? Could I just *not* be alright and take a second?

[engagemythrusters]

Here's some angst, because sometimes bodies just feel like a mess. plus a bad background xoxo