call me ysa

cheer up, sleepy jean

[livingawayfromhere]

about the author

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

hello hello!

ysa | 19 | she/her | gemini | identity crisis

i'm ysa! i'm so happy to see you and i hope you're doing okay these days <3

m. list | more blog info

recently released: untitled (sirius black x reader)

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be kind & spread love <3

[dismalflo]

i’m a sucker for anything with sirius being all soft and in love if you fancy writing something like that!! luv u

im a sucker for soft sirius too!! love ya <3 sirius black x reader ✩ 642 words cw: slight allusions to sex

Sirius can hardly believe his luck. There's dust drifting lazily through the room, illuminated by the sunlight coming in through his bedroom window. You're curled beside him, head sinking into the pillow with eyes closed looking moments away from sleep. He sits propped against the headboard, absentmindedly running his fingers through your hair.

The window is open to let in fresh air and cool both of your sweat slicked skin, Sirius listens to the noise on the street – car doors slamming, people laughing, all a steady thrum – with half an ear, his attention drifting back to you. 

There isn't a happier man in London.

“Stop.” you mumble, voice thick with sleep.

You don't open your eyes as you raise a hand in what's meant to be an attempt to swat him away. Instead, your palm lands over his hand, trapping it against your head.

Sirius lets out a surprised laugh, bright and boyish. He leans over you, unable to deny himself a better look. Your eyelashes brush your cheek. Your hair mess (thanks largely to him) and you’ve tugged a t-shirt on that sits twisted on your torso. You're lovely.

“What?” 

“Playing with m’hair.” you grumble, words slurring together. “I’m gonna fall asleep.” 

“You can go to sleep.”

“Can’t. We’re going to the pub, remember?”

Sirius rolls his eyes and, despite your hand still resting over his, resumes the slow stokes through your hair. He can’t believe you care about the pub later while you have each other like this. Stupid pub with stupid friends. He could be here soaking in you. 

When he doesn't answer, you open one eye to get a look at him and find yourself not all that surprised to find him looking down at you. His dark hair falls messily but as per usual Sirus looks flawless. Perfect. Beautiful. 

“No one will care if we don’t show up.” he says, though even he doesn’t sound convinced.

He slides further down the bed until he’s lying beside you properly, wrapping an arm around your waist and nudging his forehead against yours.

“Yes they will!” you exclaim, pushing away from him but not getting far, “I didn’t hear the end of it last time and–” 

Sirius cuts you off with a kiss. His lips are warm, slow, lingering. By the time he pulls away from your lips, he’s already pressing soft kisses across your cheek. They trail across your jaw and down the side of your neck.

Every now and then he nips lightly with his teeth before soothing the spot with another kiss, trying to distract you. It pulls a content sigh from your lips.

When he pulls away, it’s with a smug smile like his convincing couldn't possibly fail. See? It says. Problem solved.

“We have to go.”

Sirius’ face falls and he leans forward to bury his head in the curve of your neck while letting out a dramatic groan. You raise a hand to thread through his hair now, settling at the base of his neck.

He’s mumbling against your skin, incomprehensible words that have the tone of complaint. It makes you smile. 

“Fine.” He sighs, lifting his head just enough to look at you again. “What do you wanna eat before we go?” 

“Beans on toast?” you ask to tease because you know it’ll make his lovely nose scrunch in disgust. He spent most of his life too posh for it and he still seems it now. Sure enough his face pulls.

“You’re horrible, y’know that?” he says, sitting up just enough to make a show of leaving. He doesn't get far as you slip your arms around his middle, keeping him where he is.

“You love me.”

“I do,” he admits with an exaggerated sigh. “You’re lucky I do.”

“Oh?”

“Mhm.” He nudges his nose against yours, unable to stop smiling. “You minx.”

[luveline]

hi jadeeeeee <3 would you consider writing the only one bed trope for peter? thank you so much wish you the best possible week

hi thanks so much for your request! I implied plus size!reader hope you dont mind <3

"God, why is this happening to me?" you whisper desperately, staring down at your naked legs. 

The first horror of the day was finding out the only free room in the motel was a honeymoonesque suite with one bed and a disgusting heart shaped tub. The second horror was finding out you'd forgotten to pack your pajama pants. 

You couldn't wear jeans to bed and you wouldn't let Peter sleep on the floor. You had to be cool. Peter wouldn't care about you in your underwear… right?

You'd dragged your night routine on for almost forty five minutes now, washing and primping and then staring at yourself in the mirror, forlorn. You hated your legs, you hated your body, you didn't think you'd ever have to share a bed with Peter. 

"Bub, are you alright? Didn't fall asleep in the bath, did you?" 

You snort a laugh and climb up onto dead legs quickly, wobbling as you pull open the bathroom door. 

"I'm fine. Sorry, I got distracted." 

You move quickly from the bathroom to sit on the end of the bed by his socked soles, covering your naked thighs with your hands as much as you can. If he's surprised by your state of undress, he says nothing. Your shirt is thankfully oversized enough to cover the majority of your modesty sitting down. 

Peter hits his heel into your thigh. "You want a pair of sweatpants?" 

"I-" you worry you won't fit in his sweatpants. "I'm okay. I'm warm. Do you care?" 

"I don't care if you don't." 

You nod, scratching at a light stretch mark on the outer side of your thigh. 

"Hungry?" he asks.

You're too sick with nerves to eat. "I'm just tired." 

"Then let's go to bed," he says softly. 

You finally manage to look at him, bringing your gaze to his; soft, honey touched and expectant. He pulls the sheets back and pats the space besides him, waiting for you to crawl in. You do, and he tucks you in kindly. His tenderness doesn't surprise you, but it does make you ache. He pulls the string switch for the bedside lamp and the room is suddenly bathed in a velveteen darkness. 

He shuffles in next to you, arm brushing your arm, the hairs tickling you. 

You both lie on your backs, listening to the hum of the air conditioning. Your room smells like chlorine. 

"Is everything okay?" Peter murmurs. 

You tuck your arms across your chest and turn your head to the side. In the dark you can just about make out his eyes and their lashes, the ridge of his nose and the bump of his top lip. 

There's a shushing of cotton as he turns on his side. 

"Everything's fine. Are you okay?" you ask. 

His knee pushes into your thigh. "Sure am. You've been quiet ever since we got here." 

You hum in acknowledgement. He's right. You don't want to explain it to him. How to tell him this closeness terrifies you because of how much you want it? You can't. 

"Can I hug you?" he asks, and then, tacked on fast, "I'm not copping a feel. It's making me sad that you're sad, bub." 

"I'm not sad," you mutter. You think for a moment, and then nod. Even in the dark he sees it, and his arm is careful and kind where it comes up over your collar. His hand comes up to your neck. You stare at the ceiling, dazed and excited and terrified as he pulls you into his chest. 

Oh, you think. 

You bring your hands up to grip his forearm uselessly. 

"Is it 'cos of the one bed?" he asks in a whisper. 

He should be whispering. This conversation feels like it's made up of secrets, and the only way to confess them is in the dark. Typical Peter to go straight for the neck of the problem. 

"Kind of," you murmur. You don't recognise your own voice. So small. 

"Am I making you uncomfortable?" he asks. You hate him then, because you both know he isn't. Both know he's asking you to give some truth. 

"No," you whisper. 

His hand moves from your neck, tilting your head toward him. You let him do what he wants, let him pull you in closer, let him push his leg into yours as your foreheads kiss. He steals your exhales, thumb gentle where it strokes your cheek. 

Your heart is a riot. 

He scratches his fingers into your hair. You seize and then melt, the tension you'd been holding in your back and legs starting to wane. It doesn't take long before you're soft as butter in his arms. 

"There, that's better," he whispers. He presses a kiss to your cheek. You wonder if you've already fallen asleep, it feels so much like a dream. Gauzy and warm. "You okay to sleep now?" 

You nod, dazed. 

He waits. Maybe he's expecting you to push his arm away. You're selfish enough to hold him there, encouraging his light scratching and his closeness. His breathing shifts. 

You stroke the length of his arm, hugging it to your chest tightly. "Peter," you say, turning to face him once again, so close your noses touch.

"What, baby?" he asks. The way he says baby, like it's less of a word and more of a sound, a sleek, back of the throat utterance that leaves you feeling limp. 

"You know I…" like you. More than like you. 

He shifts his head from side to side so your noses kiss. "I think I do." 

You stay very, very still as he moves in, as his lips caress the cool apple of your cheek. He lingers there, hands warm on your body. 

You whimper, totally accidental and extremely embarrassing, and feel his kiss turn to a smile on your skin. 

"Sleep, beautiful. Know you're tired." 

Again, you nod mindlessly. Your eyes close. You worry you'll never sleep again, skin burning where he wraps you up in his hold. It's a heartbreaking discovery, then, how quickly you dissolve into sleep. The ghost of his lips on your face. 

[amnmesias]

𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠… 𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐮𝐭

remus lupin x fem!reader

word count: 3k

tags: fem!reader. spiderman au. spider girl!reader. friends to lovers. slowburn. gender bend spiderman x gwen stacy? blood and violence talk related to this universe.

a/n: this one tips a tiny tiny bit into the worldbuilding realm again! but we have yearning! and soft flirty remus! enjoy xx

part three 🕸️ series masterlist

—

You’re still reeling a little bit, clutching your side as you swing by, when you notice a familiar mop of tawny hair between the small crowd. Remus only flicks ash into a bin, not quite noticing you as he frowns down at his phone. It’s late enough that the brightness casts its glow on his face, highlighting his features and the divot between his eyebrows. 

Maybe a small detour home won’t hurt. 

You glance around, switching paths. When you land, sticky fingers against the brick building wall, arms crossed loosely, Remus still hasn’t noticed your arrival. Too engrossed in whatever he’s reading on his phone. A Spidergirl updates account.

You lean back, feeling irrationally upset and oddly touched about it. He takes a long drag, scrolling down and down until he starts finding pictures from last month. 

“Aw, missing me?” 

Remus jumps, cigarette flying out of his hand. “Fucking hell!”

“Fucking hell as in yes you missed me or,” you shift, leaning your arms over your bent knees. “Fucking hell in I’ve just found you watching the same edit over and over again?”

He scoffs, crouching down to pick the butt of his cigarette to throw it into the bin. “Fucking hell in stop sneaking up on me.”

“Oh, but where’s the fun in that?” 

“And it wasn't an edit,” he shakes his head. It’d be a credible lie if the tips of his ears weren’t pink. “Are you in the habit of spreading misinformation?”

“And are you in the habit of smoking in the middle of the street?” you tilt your head, smirking when Remus rolls his eyes at you. Fondly, almost. “Or looking at your phone in a busy area? Be glad I was swinging by.”

Remus huffs an amused laugh. “Right, swinging by.” He reaches inside his coat for his pack, pointedly ignoring the way you cross your arms at this. His lips curl around the cigarette as he lights it on. “You know, I’m starting to suspect that the one missing me is you.”

"Ah, still feeling smug, aren't we?" you tilt your head, Remus copies the movement as he blows the smoke out, smirking. It's a miracle you don't come stumbling down the wall at the sight. “I think I liked you better when all you did was fawn over me.”

“I did not fawn.”

“Uh, yes you did?” you slide down, sliding down the wall with such effortlessness it makes your stomach churn at Remus’ eyes following your every move. Thankfully, Spidergirl isn’t known for letting things go. “See? Just say you’re my biggest fan, Remus.”

Remus blinks, a stutter of breath where he genuinely looks bashful before he’s tilting his head again. You know him well enough to notice the gears turning behind his confused gaze, and it takes you an embarrassing longer beat to realize what you’ve said.

“y/n has told me lots about you.” You blurt out, an explanation that somehow makes everything worse. Jesus Christ. You clear your throat, forcing your voice to sound deeper. Just in case. “I mean, not a lot—I’d say it’s just a normal amount, but has mentioned you in passing. A couple of times, definitely not all the time. ‘Cause I don’t see her that much—can you stop looking at me like that?”

He blinks. “Like what?”

“Like I grew a third head,” you twist, climbing the brick wall to put as much distance between your rambling and Remus as possible. “Which, by the way, is a common misconception. Spiders do not have three body parts, let alone three heads.”

“I—Okay, that’s… really?” he tilts his head, both in confusion and reeling from whatever that was. You only nod once, fixing the hood of your suit as Remus takes a short drag. “Has y/n really talked about me?”

You drop your head, knees tucked up as you sit on your calves—making a small cocoon of yourself against the wall. Feeling stupidly embarrassed and doing nothing to help your case. Of course, and you’re secretly grateful, Remus reads this the wrong way.  

“Sorry for putting you on the spot, I won’t tell her you accidentally told me that,” he speaks around the cigarette, taking a long drag as you continue hiding into your knees. “I didn't know you were on talking terms.”

“How do you think we came to our little front page photos agreement?” you grumble, still not quite looking up. “And can you please pretend I didn’t say anything? She’d kill me.”

Remus laughs. “y/n won’t kill you,” he shakes his head, sounding awfully confident. “She’s not like that.”

You pointedly ignore the way your heart slams into your ribcage. “She’s mentioned you… in passing. Once or twice,” you pretend to look around. “Anyway, you’re dodging a far more important factor here.”

“Which is?”

“You do realize it’s nearly midnight, right?”

“Yes.” Remus nods, taking another drag and not having any qualms to hide his smirk. 

“Bit creepy to mope around the street alone at night, don’t you think?” you shift your weight, relaxing more against the wall in the same way Remus shifts his weight. Leveling you with a knowing look. “You’ve got the survival instincts of a raccoon.”

Remus laughs. “I thought we established you’re the creepy one, stalking civilians home…?”

You groan. “And I thought we established that it’s called vigilantism.”

“Right, of course. My mistake,” he takes one last drag before putting it out. Not quite looking away from you as he throws it into the bin. Remus tilts his head as he turns to you, hands shoved into the pockets of his coat. “Shall we, then?”

“Shall we, what?”

“Well, if I’m correct, this is just part of the vigilante agenda, isn’t it? Walking me home?”

You scoff. “Someone’s confident I’d say yes.”

“I can always pretend I didn’t see you.” Remus shrugs, already falling into step. “Or that you’re not lurking somewhere near. Whatever suits you best.”

You push yourself off the wall, landing silently and biting back a wince at the pain that shoots up to your ribcage. Remus pauses in the same breath your hand flies to your side, and it takes an arduous job to keep the skip of your step light and casual to try and catch up to him. Neither of you mention how you unconsciously turn the correct way towards his flat building—and if Remus noticed it, he’s too deep in thought to comment on it. 

His eyes keep flickering to you, looking at you sideways as the silence settles. Or as silent you can be in this part of the city, and at this hour. 

“Can I ask you something?” he asks, voice careful and nimble fingers already flicking the cigarette pack open. “And you promise not to tell… our friend?”

You nearly trip with your own feet, shooting web up towards the streetlight to hide it. Remus barely reacts as he watches you balancing on the pole. “What is it?”

“Have you… seen her? Lately?” he speaks around the cigarette, not quite lighting it up yet as he glances up at you. “I know I said I’d drop it but, I haven’t seen her in a week and well—”

“She’s okay,” you say. Maybe a bit too quick. But you fear that waiting for him to continue speaking would surely crack your composure. “Haven’t talked much to her but I’ve seen her around, always following me with her little camera.”

Remus finally clicks the lighter on, taking a long drag as he nods. You secretly pat yourself for your quick thinking. 

“I mean, no offense to you but,” he flicks ash onto his empty pack. Smirking when you hum in approval. “You do tend to get involved in… dangerous situations. And y/n is always two steps behind you.”

You lower yourself to sit on the pole, leg dangling in feigned casualness. “Is that why you were stalking that account?”

“I wasn’t stalking.”

“Scrolling, then.”

He waves you off, stopping by the corner when the red man switches on. You only make yourself more comfortable, leaning sideways on the pool—wasting enough time to gather your thoughts. And the feelings that are threatening to spill out of your chest. Or maybe that guy hit your head too hard. Maybe it’s a concussion.

“I saw that big fight on Riddle Industries, when that bloke nearly smashed you into the wall.”

“Ouch,” you fake wince. Like the evidence of that same incident isn’t making your ribcage throb. You make a flourish of gesturing at yourself. “Yeah, it was intense. But I’m here, aren’t I?”

Remus takes another drag, eyeing you carefully. “You can’t tell me that doesn’t hurt.”

“What doesn’t hurt?” you throw yourself backwards, hanging from the pole and tilting your head sideways. Remus tilts his head as well, trying to meet your masked eyes as you hang upside down. “You think that if it hurt, would I be able to do this?”

“I think so, yeah.”

You wave him off. “Yeah, I’m okay. If that’s what you’re actually asking me.”

He only hums, flicking more ash into the pack. The light turns green, and you launch yourself to the ground, landing silently enough that your wince doesn’t go unheard this time. Remus huffs a laugh, taking another drag as you turn to skip backwards in front of him. 

“Can I tell you something?”

“Yes, I won’t tell y/n you asked about her. Jesus, you’re a worrier.”

Remus glances down at his cigarette, eyes lingering on the scar peeking from his sleeve before turning back to you. “Try to directly head home after a… whatever you do—especially if you’re injured. It’s going to scar, if it hasn’t already.”

You glance down at your side, checking. “It’s not even bleeding,” you fix your suit’s hood. “Relax, I know these things like the back of my hand. You’d be surprised how efficient I am with a suturing kit.”

“Yeah? Maybe you can teach me a couple of things here and there,” he takes another drag. Longer. Like he’s bracing himself. “And maybe I can teach you about scar treatment.”

“Scar treatment?”

“Knowing you, I’m sure you need it more than me.”

This time, you do stumble. 

Remus halts, turning to—what? You don’t give yourself time to think about it as you launch yourself to continue swinging close to the ground. Enough to keep the conversation going but to hide the relentless sense that the floor keeps giving out under you. 

Of course, Remus misreads this for something else. Though you’re not sure if you’re thankful for the conclusion he draws out of you nearly eating shit on dodgy pavement. 

“See, and this is you saying you’re not injured.”

“That?” you scoff. “That was on purpose—can’t have you going around thinking I’m cool all the time. You’re already insufferable with your fanaticism."

He laughs, shaking his head and taking another drag before shoving the cigarette inside his pack. You watch him expertly throw it into the bin, one you recognize well and a clear sign that you’re close to his flat building. Pavement creaks with each step, and Remus kicks a small pebble the rest of the walk to his flat. 

You climb the streetlight right in front of his porch, reclining sideways in a way Remus has seen you do multiple times from your photographs. He suspects you’re actually sleeping in some of them, even if the position doesn’t seem very comfortable. You prop yourself on your elbow, tilting your head when he doesn’t immediately walk inside. 

“Is there anything else you’d like to confess?” you ask, mostly as teasing. 

But Remus only shakes his head, looking almost lost in thought as he fiddles with his keys. You shift a tiny bit to avoid lying over your side, and his eyes follow the movement. A thought seems to snap into place because he’s turning around to unlock his door before you can read too much into it.

“Don’t go yet,” he murmurs, knowing you’d still hear him even if he speaks low. “I have something that can help.”

“Help with what?”

Remus doesn’t elaborate, but does gesture at you to wait before walking inside. The door clicks shut behind him, and it takes a long stretch of buses driving past before a light turns on inside one of the windows. A warm glow that silhouettes movement in Remus’ flat. It takes you an arduous amount of strength to not climb up to that window, knowing it would expose the very important factor that Spidergirl supposedly doesn’t know exactly which window is his. y/n does, though.

He draws the curtains aside, struggling a little with the latch before he’s sliding it up. Remus leans over to search for you with a little frown before he spots you still leaned on the post. You’re moving before he beckons you over, sticky gloves against the brick wall holding you up as you climb. You don’t deign to enter, though. Even if your heartstrings are pulling you in that direction.

“Here,” he hands you a small tube of ointment. “I’d apply that as soon as you get home. If nothing gets in between, of course.”

You glance down at the ointment. “Most civilians just ask for a selfie, you know.”

His lips twitch, leaning more comfortably on the windowsill. “Yeah, well, most civilians haven’t seen you fall two times in the span of 20 minutes.”

“Jesus.” You take the tube. “You really are unfunnily observant.”

“And pretty, too. Don’t forget that.”

“You’ll never let me live that down, won’t you?”

Remus shrugs, lips twitching into that little smirk that stretches his scar. You’re thankful the mask covers the way your eyes linger on his dimple. It’s in this quiet observation that you notice it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. 

“Well,” he tilts his head. “scars do strange things to people’s perception. Thought I’d help a bit.”

You pause, flattening your hands against the wall when it feels like you might slip down. He only shrugs, shifting his arms on the sill as you reposition yourself. The air is thick with an unsaid question, one you’re sure Spidergirl could ask—but y/n wouldn’t. Not when she knows the answer and how much it pains Remus to retell it.

“Targeted accident,” he explains softly, gesturing at himself in feigned vagueness. It makes your heart clench, but Remus only leans back on the windowsill. “My da worked for Riddle Industries, and supposedly found something he shouldn’t have. Next thing I know? My school is going up in flames.” 

He doesn’t glance up as he speaks, not even when there’s a stretch of silence. You exhale sharply, working up the lump in your throat before even deigning to speak. 

You try to remain calm and soft, pushing down the edge of your tone. But of course, it pushes right past your own restraint. A bitter laugh escapes you. “Riddle keeps leaving bodies and violence behind and calling it accidents, huh?”

“Yeah.” Remus’ laugh is just as bitter as yours, though quieter. More restrained. “It seems we have more things in common than we thought, Spidergirl.”

Your heart skips a bit, and you shift your weight wrong. Any words you can come up with die on your throat when your glove slips against the brick. “Woah! Shit, shit—”

Remus jumps in surprise when you barely catch yourself with a web, then flicking your wrist towards the ointment before it can hit the pavement. 

“Fucking hell,” he breathes out, sharp and still reeling in surprise as he leans over to look down at you. “You okay?”

“Fuck.” It’s all you manage to say, still reeling slightly from what he’s said rather than your actual almost fall. But Remus doesn’t need to know that. “That was a close one, huh?”

Remus parts his lips to speak, watching as you shoot another web towards the windowsill to climb up. There’s an amused fleeting glint in his eyes when you reposition yourself back against the wall.

“Sorry,” you tug at the web with the ointment, catching it mid air as it flies up. “And I’m sorry.”

“For what?” his eyes glance down at the ointment, then back at you. “Nearly falling three stories down?”

“No. For what they did to you.”

He goes quiet, glancing down at his hands. Thoughtful, almost. A scar peeks from the sleeve of his coat. “It wasn’t your fault.”

You shift your weight more carefully this time. “Well…”

“No. You don’t have to carry every bad thing they’ve done.”

“I know,” you nod, head tilting. Remus’ lips twitch in recognition at the movement. It turns into a little smile, albeit more sincere this time. “It’s a great motivator, though.” 

“I thought you’d say something like that.”

“Of course you would,” you jump off the wall, swinging to the streetlight. Remus leans over his crossed arms, watching you with a little smile. “Wouldn’t expect less from my biggest fan.”

Remus only rolls his eyes. “Goodnight, Spidergirl.”

You only salute him with two fingers, waving the ointment in thanks before swinging away. Remus watches you go, not quite stepping away from the window until Spidergirl disappears into the night. 

He closes the window, drawing the curtains closed before beginning to shrug off his coat and begin to wind down for the night. Walking around collecting his clothes and books, the sound of his phone buzzing nearly goes unnoticed. Remus pauses, patting his rumpled coat to take it out. 

His stomach flutters. And so does his heart.

YN: sorry for going mia. coffee tomorrow?

RL: of course. You okay though?

YN: perfectly okay. sorry for worringyou

RL: no need to be sorry, I’m just glad you’re okay. see you tomorrow 

RL: goodnight dove x

[amnmesias]

𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠… 𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐮𝐭

remus lupin x fem!reader

word count: 2.8k

tags: fem!reader. spiderman au. spider girl!reader. friends to lovers. slowburn. gender bend spiderman x gwen stacy? blood and violence talk related to this universe.

a/n: oh my god??? i’m genuinely floored by all the love the first part received!!! this one is a bit heavy on the world-building (and angst! of course!) so pls bear with me haha. enjoy!! xx 

part two 🕸️ series masterlist

—

“No, no, no—fuck!” 

There’s a clatter, bins crashing together and rattling, then envelopes and card boxes shuffling as you scramble to stand, frantically looking around. James’ backyard remains as normal as usual, no reactions to the ruckus you’ve brought with you.  

You glance around the stretch of grass, then out the fence towards the driveway—checking there’s no one near or if Lily has already gotten home. No one is around, and you exhale sharply before getting inside from the kitchen entrance. It’s always unlocked. You’d have to find a way to make a case about it. Again.

The window is open, too. Jesus Christ. You slip in with the ever present frustration at your friends and their irresponsible behavior when it comes to locking their house. Making the least sound possible, you land over the colorful tiles, looking around before shaking the hood off; peeling your first Spidergirl layer before reaching for the mask—except… 

You pause, hand mid air at the movement you pick up, the shivers running down your nape. Somewhere down the hall, there are a few beeping sounds before James is popping his head out the laundry room.  

“Did you at least pick up the rubbish you threw in my yard?”

You exhale, both relieved and annoyed at the implications that you didn’t. “When have I not?”

“Well, you have broken bins before,” he steps out, smelling an awful lot like laundry detergent. “Forgive me for worrying. Do you know how stupid Lily thinks I am for letting the bin get ‘ran over’?”

“Skill issue,” you shrug. “You alone?” 

“Yeah.” James nods, gesturing towards the hall. “Water’s hot, I’d hop in now if I were you.” 

“Shit, shit, shit—” You take the mask off, mind split between trying to shrug your backpack off and scrambling towards his bathroom. 

James expertly steps aside to let you in, making his way deep into the kitchen and starting on snack preparations when he hears the rattling of the curtain, and your even more hurried whispered curses. A well practiced routine. 

Truth be told, when you first started as Spidergirl, the plan had been clear: save every person you can, make up for the ones you couldn’t and, without exceptions, tell no one. The plan had been foolproof, easy to follow and one you repeated to yourself every morning, night and patrol like a mantra. Of course, what you didn’t account for is that James has known you since you were in nappies—and of course your troublemaker next door neighbor was bound to notice Spidergirl climbing into your window one night. 

You still can’t live it down, with James and yourself.  How could you not anticipate that the same boy who saw you eat shit learning how to skate and who you shared an ophthalmologist with wouldn’t realize there was something fundamentally wrong with your sudden change of appearance, and how you mysteriously stopped needing glasses? 

The rest is—despite your attempts to pretend it wasn’t real—history. And now you’re hurriedly scrubbing your skin raw, and swallowing winces at the gnarly rash across your thigh that you definitely won’t have time to tend to properly before everyone arrives for movie night. 

An engine hums outside the driveway, then voices and the front door is opening. You peek your head out from the curtain, flicking your wrist towards the door and webbing the knob locked—just in case. You rush into the rest of the routine afterwards, showcasing the most graceful yet disastrous shimmy into your leggins. Then your comfies to make sure your thigh doesn’t bleed through the material. You’ve already used the period excuse too many times. 

When you manage to look somewhat put together and like a normal person, you finally step out of the bathroom. 

“Oh—” 

You swallow your wince back, feeling Remus’ leg hit your wounded thigh. He jumps back in surprise when you nearly crash into him. 

Remus blinks. “y/n, hi. Sorry, I didn’t realize you got in already.”

“Hi,” you scrape out, somehow sounding more breathless since your crash landing into James’ bins. “Remus—hi, sorry. Um, yeah… came rushing from tech rehearsal.”

Remus’ brows wrinkle. “This late?”

“Yeah, um… it was a bit of a long one, so…”

Well, that isn’t exactly a lie. Tech rehearsal did run longer than usual—from what you’ve gathered from the groupchat, seeing you slipped out when a tip came about a situation in North London. But what Remus doesn’t know, won’t hurt him. 

You clear your throat, fixing the strap of your backpack higher on your shoulder. “Didn’t have much time to stop by the dorm, so Jamie let me use the bath,” you explain. For some reason. “You’re early.”

“Yeah.” Remus seems almost sheepish, spreading an arm out to let you walk first. “The new draft had barely any notes, so Albus ended our meeting earlier. Why didn’t you say anything? I could’ve walked with you.”

“I know, I know—I did think about it but, well, I didn’t know about the meeting running short and I—” you shake your head quickly, blinking in sheer embarrassment at your rambling. “Yeah, um. Sorry.”

Remus laughs, that soft and amused laugh that tugs at your heartstrings. The same one he’d share with you, as Spidergirl. Jesus, you really need a drink. But swinging under the influence is yet another mantra you must repeat to yourself on nights like these. 

When you step into the living room, Lily is already on Sirius’ case, scolding him for denting the bins again. James does a decent job to stifle his laugh as he busies himself going through the film options. You narrow your eyes at him. 

“Bloody hell woman! I just got home!” Sirius spreads his arms out, hair disheveled from rehearsal as well. “How could it be me?”

“What’s the matter?” Remus asks, eyebrows furrowed ever so slightly that a small divot forms between them. You look away before your staring can be more obvious. 

“Lily says the bin is dented again—and that they weren’t like she left them.”

You busy yourself going through your backpack, pointedly ignoring the piercing glare James sends you. You rummage around until the suit is perfectly tucked deep down in your secret pocket before setting it aside with Remus’ by the foyer. When you return, the argument hasn’t settled yet.

“Have you thought that, maybe—and this is just a hunch, okay,” you start to say, almost patting yourself in self-pride when your voice settles into its usual easygoing cadence. “Have you thought that maybe it’s just a badger?”

Lily levels you with a deadpan look. “A badger.”

“Hm. Mischievous ones, those badgers.”

Remus huffs a laugh at this, and you feel your heart clenching in pathetic excitement at the sound. But Sirius is already pointing at you with a vindicated nod.

“See? Not me.”

“Right.” Lily nods, crossing her arms. “And this badger somehow managed to try to put everything back together after raiding the bin?”

“Maybe he was a nice one.”

“Or with the good sense of leaving things as he found them.” Remus adds casually, lips twitching when you glance at him. 

Lily sighs. “Remus, please don’t encourage her.”

“Me?” you ask, voice squeaking the faintest of squeaks. Remus glances up from his designated movie night armchair. “I didn’t do anything—this is all Sirius. He’s the one who dented the bins.”

Sirius gawps. “You traitorous little shit!” he scrambles to stand, pointing a paint-stained finger at you. “You’re throwing me under the bus after covering for you with Xeno?" 

At this, both you and James still. Remus pauses, too. Though with a confused frown adorning his features. When his lips part to speak, you feel the floor giving out under you. 

James scrambles to stand. “y/n, I actually needed help with something in the kitchen. Can you…?”

“Of course,” you scramble, too. Not quite casting a look to the room as you follow after him. It’s in your enhanced senses that you feel Remus’ eyes piercing through your back. 

At the kitchen, James is already pretending to pour kettlecorn into a bowl like there isn't already one for each of you on the coffee table. You busy yourself pretending to help, and it isn’t until you’re standing shoulder to shoulder by the sink that he sends you a wide eyed, panicked and very frustrated look.

“I’ve told you to stop using the theater department for excuses,” he whispers sharply, turning the tab on to drown out your voices. Thankfully, he could be speaking very, very quietly and you’d manage to hear him like he’s speaking directly into your ear. “Especially around Sirius.” 

“I know, I know—I panicked!” you turn around, leaning back against the counter to check no one comes in. “Remus was just there and I—”

“Yeah, yeah,” he waves you off. “The Remus effect.”

You scowl, repositioning yourself to cover his face before flicking your wrist at him. James’ answer is a silent and very muffled yelp as he tries to take out the web from his mouth. The front door opens again, and a rush of movement and clattering enters the house with Marlene’s arrival. James widens his eyes and you only point at the water running before turning to rejoin the living room now that it’s safe to return. Marlene brings enough chaos to counterbalance your own, enough distraction to pretend nothing happened. 

“Hi, hello—so sorry I’m late but,” she shucks off her trainers, letting them fly off in a completely different direction than Lily’s nook. “You won’t believe what happened.”

“What?” you ask, trying to sound genuinely curious and not like you’re jumping at the chance to change the subject. “You accidentally locked yourself out of the pub again?”

Marlene pauses her fussing to send you the bird. “No,” she shakes her head, shrugging off her layers and jackets before fully throwing herself on the sofa. House rules. “No, there was this whole bloody mess outside the Northern line. Flock of sirens and policemen and all that shit—”

“What?”

“Yeah!” Marlene goes on, picking up momentum as each of your friends begin seeming as interested as you. Though your interest is mostly a perfectly well executed ploy to hide your panic. “Apparently there was a whole hostage situation? I don’t know, tried asking around and no one could tell me anything,” she pauses to shove a fistful of kettlecorn into her mouth, draping herself over the couch and accidentally hitting your thigh with her knee. “Honestly, I only stayed back in hopes of catching a glimpse of Spidergirl but she wasn’t there.”

You feel the air getting sucked out of the room, and your lungs. Marlene doesn’t notice, but you shift away and away from her, hand patting the pockets of your hoodie for your phone. The other one flattens over your thigh, biting back a wince as you type into the search bar for any news on the Northern line. 

Remus glances around the room, where Marlene is going on and on about the bits and pieces she managed to hear or catch about the whole situation, all before shuffling closer to you. He doesn’t notice, of course he doesn’t, but the hair at your nape stands up in every direction when his scarred hand covers your phone. 

“y/n, I know what you’re thinking,” he lowers his voice. Funny, you feel like he’s yelling into your ear. “If she’s not there, there’s no point in going.”

You blink. A fleeting stretch of moment where your mind blanks and loses meaning about what he’s talking to. But then your phone buzzes again under your hand, and Remus’, and you’re cruelly pulled back to the reality of your two lives merging together at the worst possible moment. Right, of course—your supposed need to cover for Spidergirl’s heroic existence to sell the photos off to the highest bidder. 

“Still,” you hesitate, already standing up again. “I just want to make sure, I’ll…” you look away from his eyes, brows furrowed in that confused expression that makes your heart ache. “I’ll just go make sure… ask one of my sources—be right back.”

With shaky fingers, and a trembling thigh injury, you walk back into the kitchen and out the yard. Remus’ eyes staring straight into your back as the door closes behind you—just noticing the faintest of limps in your gait. But the conversation picks up with more intensity after you slip out, and it serves as a humming distraction as you type furiously into the search bar. Scrolling and scrolling and scrolling until you get to find the smallest of glimpses of a live coverage from a random stranger’s account. 

Of course, you’re not surprised to catch the Crouch Clan emblem stitched into one of the attackers’ trousers. 

You’re moving before you can even stop to think about a course of action, or a believable excuse, as you throw the door open and rush inside. James’ eyes catch yours almost immediately when you step into the living room and beeline to the foyer, swallowing thickly as you bend to take your backpack and shove your socked into your trainers. 

Sirius pauses his dramatic recreation of today’s rehearsal. “Where are you going?”

“She’s there,” you grumble, growing desperate when your other trainer doesn’t want to cooperate. “I have approximately twenty minutes to get there before she can save the day or whatever shit she’s going to do—anyway, I have to go now.”

“What about movie night?”

You swallow another wince, and the pain that shoots up your insides at the disappointed tone in that single question. With barely controlled frustration, you reach for your camera inside the backpack—small details to keep the lie afloat. 

“I’m sorry,” you jump to stand. “But I did really well with the other shots, and the paper is asking me for more. I’ll try to be back as soon as I’m done, yeah?”

You won’t, they all know you won’t. But Sirius only turns back to continue with the conversation, adding more levity to his tone to pretend his slumped shoulders aren’t because of your early departure. A knock forms in your throat as you throw your backpack over your shoulder, scrambling to open the door. James sends you a reassuring nod across the room where Lily has him pinned down in the world’s most domestic cuddle. You nod back before turning to walk out. 

Except—you jump before Remus can even properly touch the edge of the door, and he retreats his hand in surprise.   

“I’m sorry,” you blurt out, even if you don’t exactly know why you’re apologizing. From running off or jumping away from him. “I’ll be back I promise.”

“I’m coming with you then—”

“No.”

Remus’ head snaps up in surprise, at both your answer and the quickness in which it comes out. Like a knee-jerk reaction. You force your voice to cooperate, clearing your throat and taking a step back.

”It’s not necessary, I’ll just take enough pictures to show them to the paper tomorrow,” you shake your head, looking everywhere but at him. Remus inhales sharply, and you feel the floor giving out under you again. “I’ll be fine—”

“Dove, you’re limping.”

You shake your head, making a really conscious effort to not glance down at your thigh. “It’s nothing—just… a light fell down on me at rehearsal and…” 

He tilts his head, leveling you with a look that is universal code for you think I’m stupid? It’s enough to make your chest tighten. Always. You glance up, eyes following the path of a smaller scar across his jaw, marring his dimples when he smiles. You feel your chest caving in, in that familiar way. Especially when it comes to Remus coming any close to your Spidergirl emergencies. 

“Remus.” You force out, trying to command enough firmness to your tone without losing its usual softness for him. “I promise I’m fine. I’ll be back.”

Remus swallows thickly, very visible from where you stand, even as you slowly move out and out the door. Hoping he won’t notice. But then he drops his arm, nodding with a strange expression adorning his features. Troubled, almost. Resigned, definitely.

“I’m sorry.”

“Be careful, yeah?” he asks quietly. You hold his gaze, figuring it’s the least he deserves. “And text me when you get home.”

“Of course, yeah,” you take another step back, nearly missing the step down the porch. Remus takes a step forward out of reflex. “I will. You too?”

The corners of his mouth twitch, scar stretching when his dimple peeks out. “You know I will,” he nods encouragingly. 

You exhale sharply, turning around and walking away, away and away until you look over your shoulder to check he’s closed the door. The lights turn off a minute later, and you rush back through the backyard to sneak into James’ supposed gardening room to change quickly into the suit. 

When you leave, swinging away, Remus frowns when the bins clatter and come stumbling with a rattling noise.

[amnmesias]

𝐯𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞

poly!wolfstar x fem!reader

word count: 9.5k

tags: fem!reader. rockstar!reader. modern au. rock band au. sort of nuisances to lovers, angst. eventual fame au.   

a/n: well friends… we’ve made it to the end. 

part twenty two ˚.⋆♪⋆ series masterlist

—

Sirius pushes a suffering sigh, long enough for you to quickly pick up on his theatrics. You pause your strumming to glance at him, legs tangled together as you drape across each other from one end of the sofa to the other. 

“I can’t even understand what it says here—doll, I love your hands, I really do,” he says, eyes flickering up to wink salaciously before looking back down at your notebook. “But your handwriting is illegible.”

You huff a laugh, nudging his calf with your socked foot in a placating manner. “You’ll get better at reading it,” you say, smirking down at your guitar. 

Sirius ignores you to flip another page. He feigns a surprised hum. “Oh, this is familiar,” his voice has a funny lilt as he draws the notebook closer with a squinty look. His foot nudges your own legs, and you carefully set your guitar aside. Those nudges never lead to anything good.

“What is it?” you lean back against the armrest, stretching. “Read it to me.”

“Can’t even like you less—that one I remember,” he reads off the page, voice airy with mischief. His eyes keep flickering up at you before turning back to your notebook as he reads. “Oh, this is interesting. Why would I want to wake up alone in my bed when I could have you between my…” a pause, followed by his scandalized gasp. “y/n!”

“What?”

He pointedly closes the notebook, setting it on the floor before pushing himself to his knees. You meet his gaze, flashing him an innocent grin. Sirius clicks his tongue, shuffling closer to you until he’s nudging your legs open again. You laugh when his arms come around you, draping himself over your torso and crawling until he’s got you pinned down against the armrest.

“Sirius.”

“What?” he cocks his head to the side, pretty inky curls falling to his face. “I’m just doing what it says there—who am I to deny my girl anything?”

“This isn’t exactly what I meant when I wrote that,” you say, matching his tone. Sirius grins, canines at full display. 

He lowers his head, lips brushing yours. “Of course not, lovely girl,” he kisses you quickly. “But Moony has poured his everything into supper, it would be properly rude to show up satisfied.”

You hold his gaze, gauging his reaction and waiting for him to break. Just like he does with you. 

From the kitchen, someone curses loudly. “Ah—fuck.”

Sirius looks over his shoulder towards the kitchen, lips twitching faintly. “Everything okay?” he asks, not at all concerned. His hand runs up and down the length of your leg in absentminded touches. You look over his head towards the kitchen as well, where Remus is shuffling around opening and closing cupboards.

“Yeah,” he says, a faint twinge of stress in his tone. “Just put too much wine into the stew.”

“Is there any left?” Sirius asks.

“No.”

“Moony!”

Remus throws his arms up. “It was an accident!” he flicks the hob off, wooden spoon clattering as he puts it aside in the sink. “Takeaway okay?”

“Yes,” you say.

“No.” Sirius counters immediately. He pushes himself up, but not much. His hair tickles your cheek as he tries to look at Remus over his shoulder. “My best ideas come after a glass of wine. We need wine, Moony.”

Remus rolls his eyes, shuffling around the kitchen as he types into his phone. “You’ll survive,” he murmurs distractedly. Though his lips curl up faintly into a sideways smirk. “You were just climbing y/n like a tree—I think you can find some ideas from that.”

Sirius gasps again, though his scandalized reaction seems more genuine this time. As it always is whenever Remus is the one doing all the blatant flirting. You laugh, pinching the underside of his jaw. 

“You don’t know what she wrote.”

“I heard,” he mumbles, pacing around the living room as he types into his phone. You look away from his knowing amber eyes when he glances up, lips tilting upwards. “I’m actually quite interested in hearing the chord progression you have in mind for that one.” 

“We’re not releasing a horny hate song about me,” Sirius settles on top of you again, hand traveling down to hook under your knee. A startled giggle escapes you when he squeezes playfully. “But I want to hear it, too. If you don’t mind.”

You roll your eyes. “Of course you do—” the words die when he presses a bruising kiss on your lips. Remus huffs a laugh as he finishes typing your orders for takeaway (with a fake name as you’re forced to do lately), and letting Kreacher know beforehand as well. When Sirius pulls away, you’re already cupping his face in your hands, leveling him with a mock stern look. “You freak.”

Sirius kisses you again. “You’re the freak.”

You can’t help it, you poke at him again. “Why do you assume it’s about you?” 

“I can just tell, it’s a talent. You’d be surprised how many of those are currently residing in Remus’ notebook,” he says, little kisses to your bottom lip before lifting his head again. “Right, Moons?”

“A bit, yeah,” Remus answers, nimble fingers moving over the screen of his phone. When he seems dinner handled, he locks it to toss it to the armchair, lips tugging up into a smirk. “I wonder why.” 

“Yeah, I wonder why,” you add, words muffled when Sirius kisses you again. He quickly shifts gears, going all in as he ducks into the crook of your neck, hand at your knee stroking your skin. “See what we mean?”

Remus shakes his head, walking back from the foyer and patting a little notebook against his palm. He settles on the floor next to the sofa, back pressed to the coffee table. Your eyes find his, a fleeting mischievous glint crosses his gaze as he hums innocently, flipping the notebook open. 

Despite his evident contentment to your (and mostly his) current predicament, Sirius nibs playfully at the underside of your jaw one last time before carefully pushing himself off you. He sits by your legs, draping them over his lap, instead. This boy—always touching you. 

“Ooh,” he singsongs playfully when he spots the notebook in Remus’ hands. Your boyfriend, of course, seems unfazed by Sirius’ brazen flirting as he continues skimming through his notebook. “Bring it on, handsome—let’s hear how much you wanted me and hated yourself for it.”

“If you say so.” Remus shrugs, handing you the notebook. 

It’s hard to push down the giddiness that overcomes you with that single gesture, taking the notebook and his wrist to pull him to you for a quick kiss. He looks delightfully startled when you break apart, recovering quickly to lovingly pinch your calf as you settle back on the sofa. 

You bite back a nervous laugh. “Let’s see,” you hum, drawing the notebook closer. Sirius shifts closer to try and take a peek. “Hm.”

“What?”

“Interesting,” you hum again, nodding along to the lyrics you read. 

“What does it say?”

“You’re so conceited, I said I love you, what does it matter if I lie to you… I wonder who that is about,” you answer instead, eyes skimming through the lyrics with a badly repressed smirk. 

Sirius gasps. “Did you say I’m conceited?”

“I was a bit miffed with you when I wrote that,” Remus says easily, but he rubs a finger on his temple. “But yeah, you were back then.”

You laugh. “What even is a sycophantic, prophetic Socratic junkie wannabe, Remus?” 

“He did not write that.” Sirius says, pulling you closer to him. Laughter spills out of you at both his insistence to read off the notebook and the words Remus has written—very on the nose. “Oh God, you pretentious little shit.”

“It gets better.” Remus says, words heavy with amusement as he leans back on his arms. He juts his chin to the notebook in your hands. 

Your eyes flicker back down. “Oh my god.”

“What does it say?”

“You are a cliché, Remus. This is—” laughter cuts off your words, and the notebook falls to your lap. “What in the world does Epicurean philosophy even mean?”

At this, Remus does laugh. “It’s Greek,” he smirks, eyeing you amusedly. “Epicurus was a philosopher who just believed pleasure was the best part of living.”

“‘It’s Greek’ he says,” Sirius scoffs, pulling your legs closer to him to properly reach for Remus. His hands are at either side of his head as he drags him closer for a bruising kiss. “I’m totally enjoying this muse thing, y’know,” he murmurs, cleaning Remus’ lower lip as they break apart. 

You huff a laugh. “Of course you’re chuffed about this,” you pass a finger over the page, trying to read the little notes younger Remus wrote in the margins. “This song actually has potential, you know.”

They both turn to you. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, I like the repetition of the chorus. It can be catchy if we find the right sound.”

“Alright, let me see,” Sirius says, and you wordlessly angle yourself for him to finally read the lyrics. You bite back a knowing smirk in anticipation, laughing when he gasps. “Remus—what the fuck.”

“What?”

“That was one time!” he points at him, pale face now a pinkish hue. “You smug bastard—I knew you’d use it against me.”

Remus laughs louder at this. “I told you I was miffed with you when I wrote that,” he says easily, braceleting Sirius’ ankle. He squirms, ticklish in that specific area and holding your waist tighter in response. 

“Well, I think we should table it for consideration,” you say, sending Sirius a sideways glance when he hides in the crook of your neck. You pat his hand commiseratingly before picking the notebook back again. “I thought you loved being a muse?”

“I do,” he grumbles weakly into your shoulder. “Now why are you acting all mighty? I’m sure he has more incriminating material about you.”

Remus’ lips tilt upwards at this. “So what? Nothing she doesn’t know about, don't you, dove?” he turns to you, his gaze swirling with smugness at the way you raise the notebook higher to hide your face.  

“Don’t drag me into this,” you hum, a feigned attempt at nonchalance as you flip the page. “Can I read more?”

“‘Course.” Remus nods, face softening when your gazes meet. A silent permission that he grants you without a single doubt. 

Sirius nuzzles his face into your shoulder again, always touching you in that grounding manner that has turned into second nature between you. His hand travels down your waist into your wool jumper, calloused fingers stroking your skin as you read the different song ideas in Remus’ notebook. Both old, unfinished and the newer ones. His eyes land on your hands, missing a few plasters and bandages—some of the picking wounds have fully healed, but remain scarred from the times you reopened them between then and now. He drops another kiss to your shoulder.

For a moment, all you can hear is the sound of pages flippling. Remus watches you go through his notebook with aching care and patience, eyes flickering from side to side as you read and then up at him when you find something incriminating. He smiles every time, trying to push down the grand and oftentimes consuming feeling that spreads in his chest at seeing you this way. Love, really. Not because he’s shy or having second thoughts, he’s loved Sirius for years and you for months—there are many uncertain things happening right now, but not this. Never this.

You pause. Visibly pause. Sirius turns his head to look at you, noticing the way your eyebrows bunch together very, very faintly at what you read. He chances a quick look at Remus for confirmation before they both turn to you. Gauging your reaction.

Anywhere you go, you don’t need a reason. ‘Cause they never showed you love, you don’t have to be sorry for doing it on your own. Your finger brushes the margins, reading the notes and the doodles—the date it was finished, first night of the tour. 

Your eyes flicker up at him. Remus only nods, pushing himself to sit straight at the way you visibly can’t find the correct words to ask. They’re written all over your gaze the more you return to read, the more you brush a finger over his equally illegible handwriting —and Sirius’. A song they both wrote. 

A kiss is pressed to your jaw, barely a brush of lips first. You shift, brushing hair away from your face, visibly hesitating. Thankfully, Remus is already moving closer, resting his chin on your knee. 

“I started it a long time ago, when we were younger but couldn’t bring myself to finish. It felt too personal, you know?” he explains, voice softer than soft. “I tried to revisit it many times, but after that night I… well, the song just started making sense. It’s about you. Both of you.”

You turn to Sirius, gauging his reaction but finding him already looking at you instead. Nothing surprising about the way his lips quirk up in a tentative smile, like he knows. Like he’s scanning your face for the same reaction you do to him. 

Remus lowers his chin on your knee, dropping a little kiss. You chance another look down at the page, thumb hovering over the lyrics. You can throw a party full of everyone you know, and not invite your family, ‘cause they never showed you love. His lips linger on your skin, eyes soft and understanding as he studies your face.

“It’s…” you swallow thickly, lowering the notebook to your lap. But your fingers don’t stop brushing the lyrics, your badly wrapped plaster sticks into the paper with the movement. “I don’t know what to say.”

He smiles, lifting his head to meet your gaze. “It’s okay, we didn’t want to show it to you right away because…” he cuts himself off, finding the right words. “With everything that was happening, we figured it’d remain a secret project we worked on. But it’s okay, dove.”

“I just…” you brush your hair away from your face, hands dropping in the same beat you shift closer to wrap your arms around him. Remus exhales softly, gathering you against his chest. 

You nearly melt against him, feeling his thumb stroking the baby hairs at your nape in that steady rhythm of his before his palm is moving up and down the length of your spine. A grounding pressure that has become a second nature to him. You hide your face on his shoulder and he turns his head slightly to the side to kiss the skin just shy of your ear. After a beat of silence, he takes Sirius’ arm to pull him in.

Sirius hasn’t really let go of your waist, thumb stroking the skin as he settles around you—letting you be hugged from every side. It drags the raw and soft feeling out of you, then. You immediately reprimand yourself for taking so long to realize this was meant to happen.

“I love you,” you whisper, not quite letting go yet. But they simultaneously, and in their own way, tighten their hold around you. 

Sirius laughs first, an uneven and breathless sound that warms your skin over the soft fabric of your jumper. It sounds almost relieved. His hand flattens on your navel, fingers parted open over your belly button with your piercing in mind. His thumb sweeps your skin in slow, tender touches. An I love you in itself. 

Remus kisses just beneath your ear. “I know,” he says quietly. “We know,” he pulls a part, hands cupping your face. “I love you, too, dove.”

“Yeah?” you ask, the question comes spilling out before you can rein it back. “I mean, sorry it’s just…”

Sirius presses his lips to your shoulder before drawing back. His eyes hold a very specific softness as he scans your face, looking at you properly. Like he still can’t quite believe you said it first, disbelieving but not entirely surprised. 

When he finally speaks, his voice quietens. Softer, too, like his strokes on your skin. “Say it again.”

Remus cups your cheek before his hands coast down your face to the crook of your neck, finding Sirius’ hair and twirling it around his finger. “I love you,” you say again, a whispery confession that still feels new on your tongue. 

He exhales sharply, startled and moved as he tightens his hold around you. Cheek pressed against your back, feeling each of your intakes of air and the soothing thumping of your heart. “I love you, too. Very much,” a pause. “And good luck getting me to shut up any time soon.”

Your back shakes with your startled laugh. “Never expected any less, lovely,” you say, he squeezes your middle a bit tighter in response. “Will we get to see you again?”

“I’m quite content right here, thank you,” he murmurs into your shoulder blade. You share a knowing look with Remus, at the familiarity of the words. “I love you, too, Moons,” he adds, softer.

Remus huffs a laugh, cheeks turning a pinkish hue at this. “I never questioned it, love.”

“Still, I wanted to let you know.” Sirius shifts, pulling away to hook his chin on your shoulder. He sends Remus a feigned offended look. “Now say it back.”

“Greedy bastard.” Remus says instead, rolling his eyes and tone sticky with fondness before kissing him quickly, a bruising kiss to interrupt whatever quip Sirius was planning to retaliate with. “And yet I love you.”

“And yet you love me,” he agrees with an overly saccharine smile, just as sticky sweet as he nuzzles your neck. “Even with all the shit I put you through.”

“Oh, don’t start,” you roll your eyes at him, too. 

“I say we start,” he counters immediately, reaching blindly for your notebook again. “Let’s show our Moony what filthy songs you wrote about me during those first months.”

You cover your face. Remus wordlessly intercepts the notebook before your boyfriend can take it, pushing himself to stand when the intercom buzzes. He presses a kiss to your hairline on his way to the door, pocketing the notebook away from Sirius’ taunting.

Remus smirks. “We can revisit those after dinner.”

 

…

“Ooh, and what does this do?”

Moody looks up from his phone, eyes flickering from you to the monitor. “That’s the fader. Give it a go.”

You do, giddy despite yourself as you play around with his settings. Keys clatter as you try, then move around in his production software with different tools before turning back down to the guitar on your lap, giving a few strums to test. Moody hums in approval, unfazed by you as he wins yet another level of his silly mobile game.

You try the solo you’ve been working on for the song, feeling the corners of your lips tilting up and sideways into a little smirk at the amused sound Sirius makes from the lounge. Lily laughs at the way your cheeks warm, playing around with her camera before snapping a quick picture—she’s really taking her job seriously, capturing every minute of the recording session for the new single. She winks at you. 

Sirius smirks when you glance up. “Stop,” you threaten weakly, fixing the plaster around your forefinger. “Focus on your vocalizing.”

“Why would I?” he hums again, sounding less amused and very mischievous now. And another thing that you won’t even entertain if you don’t want to mess this solo. 

You shake your head, turning back to the monitor to toy around with Moody’s setup. A few clicks around and the solo plays through the speakers, a bit shaky but with the same sentiment. It won’t do, you must do another take.

“Uh, how do I…?” you point at the screen.

Moody’s eyes dart from your guitar to the monitor before pushing his chair closer, gesturing for the mouse. He explains slowly how to redo takes and delete what won’t work, using what you’ve played so far to save in your own personal folder. You bite back down a smile at this, at having your own folder in the studio’s monitor. 

“Alright,” Moody clears his throat, pushing his chair away again. “I’ve set the folder with a password for you—just type it in and hit enter.”

“Password?”

“Security measure, wouldn’t want anyone stealing your projects,” he shrugs, turning back down to his phone. “Bloody vultures the other producers. Let’s not risk it, eh?”

Other producers, you whisper to yourself, turning back down to your guitar. The corner of your lips remains permanently lifted up in a bashful little smile at this. Like clockwork, Sirius hums again from the lounge. Though this time it’s quickly intercepted by a distracted Remus as he places a hand on his mouth to stifle his salacious quip, not quite looking up from his phone, either. But you do see his lips quirking up much like yours.

Moody clicks something on the monitor before gesturing at your guitar, and you start again. Pointedly ignoring the way Sirius’ piercing eyes bore into your hands as you play. Remus, too, but he’s always been better at controlling his ogling. They all watch as you try and redo takes, asking them for input and fixing what’s not working—Moody continues playing with his mobile game, but steps in when you start wandering in different setups that won’t work with your song. He waves you off when you ask him for the fifth time if wasting studio hours won’t have consequences for the band and turns his chair away to focus on the next level. 

“Why is Reg taking so long? It was just lunch!” Sirius groans, draping himself over Remus in that characteristic theatrical way of his. You boyfriend only locks his phone, hand at his hip to steady him when Sirius almost comes falling off the sofa. “You think they got ambushed again?”

“I sure hope so.” Lily says, fiddling here and there with her camera. “That’s what they get for not bringing me my doughnuts.”

“In my defense,” you say, turning in your chair when the take is finished, clicking around the monitor. “I didn’t see your text until you were here.”

“I texted them twice!” 

“That’s what you get for dating the world’s biggest plonkers, Evans.” Sirius jokes where he’s leaned back and taking up most of Remus’ lap, draped over him almost catlike. You roll your eyes fondly, turning back to the monitor. 

Moody stands. “Speaking of lunch, I’ll go check mine,” he pockets his phone, pointing at you. “Remember to always save your progress.”

“Of course,” you nod, flashing him a smile before turning back to the monitor. His lips twitch as he walks out. “Thank you.”

He waves you off, the most you’ll get of him with his serious personality, but his eyes keep twitching until he’s half smiling down at his trainers on his way out. You turn back to your guitar, resting carefully on your lap as you click around the software.

There’s another knock at the door, timid at first before it’s being opened slowly. Sirius pauses his ogling to look up, Remus, too. Frank’s shoulders gravitate upwards when he notices the guitar in your hands.

“Oh, I’m sorry—am I interrupting?” he whispers.

“No, you’re okay,” you shake your head, swiveling in your chair to face him. “We’re not recording anything right now.”

“Great,” he nods. His cheeks are a tiny bit blushed as he steps inside, arm spread open to the door. “You’ve got a visitor.”

You barely have time to react before Alice is walking inside, wide eyed and properly awestruck as she scans the studio. The excited sound that escapes you is funny enough that it draws an amused chuckle from Remus. You set the guitar on its stand to walk up to her. 

“Hi,” you say, with barely contained excitement. Alice continues looking around the studio, lips parted before she’s launching herself to hug you. “Oh—”

“You daft girl! Do you know how worried I’ve been?” she grumbles weakly, arms tight around your shoulders. “And how many arses I’ve been berating back at the mailroom?”

“I’m sorry,” you laugh, hugging her tighter before stepping back. “I should’ve told you to come earlier.”

“Are you joking? I don’t mind waiting, I’m just glad you’re okay,” she nudges your arm. “How are you? Better now?”

You smile. “Much better, yeah,” you nod, biting back a blush when movement swishes behind you on the sofa. Your boyfriends or Sirius, more likely, trying to make himself noticed to be introduced. “Thank you for coming on such short notice.”

“Oh, please.” Alice waves you off. “Don’t worry about it. I knew you’d quit sooner than later—I see you nearly everyday on my tube ride, did you know there’s a few posters in Piccadilly?”

This does make you blush a bit. “There are?”

“We’ll get to that later,” she says again, shifting from her heels to her toes in that giddy way you know it’s just containment for the real thing. Her eyes keep flickering behind you. 

“Oh, right—so sorry,” you brush your hair away, stepping to the side. Of course, Sirius is already up and sporting his charming rockstar smile. “Alice, meet Sirius, Remus,” you explain, trying to keep the smile contained before continuing. “and Lily.”

“Nice meeting you.” Lily smiles, warm and welcoming in true character. 

“You too.” Alice nods, her own grin barely contained as she turns to your boyfriends. It turns into a smirk when her eyes flicker knowingly at you. “Nice meeting you. I’ve heard lots about you.”

Sirius, of course, perks up at this. “Have you, now?”

You ignore him. “And this is Alice, she’s my friend.”

“Ex coworker, too,” she adds, laughing when you roll your eyes at her. 

“Oh,” Sirius nods, eyes flashing with an amused glint. You brace yourself. “In that case, nice meeting you, Alice. We’re the boyfriends—in case you haven’t read the news lately.”

“Oh my god,” you drop your face to your hands.  

“Hi, Alice. It’s nice to finally meet you,” says Remus, sending Sirius a sideways glance before smiling back at Alice, stretching her hand. “We’ve heard lots about you as well.”

Alice’s eyebrows shoot up in delighted surprise. “Have you now?” 

“Of course I’ve talked about you,” you say, feigning defensiveness at the way she eyes you amusedly. “You were the only one keeping me sane in that godforsaken place.”

“Babe, don’t even remind me,” she pretends to faint, slumping into you. Almost as a reflex, you catch her. Used to her theatrics even from your time at work. Your boyfriends’ smile at the exchange. “Whatever will I do now that you’re not there? Gossip with Mark…? Mark?! y/n, you’re killing me.”

“What?” you frown, leveling her with a mock indignant look. “At least he won’t be stealing your lunches.”

“Damn right he won’t,” she shakes her head with resolve. “And I’ll break his bloody fingers if he tries.”

“y/n? Stealing lunches?” Sirius gasps in a scandalous way. You send him a half pleading half fond look. “You hypocrite, I can’t believe you got back at James for stealing yours.”

Alice, of course, piles on. “Oh, I heard that, too. How dare you throw your poor bandmate under the bus on live radio when you used to do the same?”

“Um, no—you specifically said you brought more to share with me.”

“The gall!” she gasps. 

“What? Didn’t you ask me to thank you in my award winning speech? I’m practicing,” you say, failing to contain your smirk. “Don’t know about the ‘finding a rockstar boyfriend’ bit. But give me a couple of days.” 

Like clockwork, Alice’s eyes flicker very fleetingly to the door before turning back at you. “I hate you,” she grumbles, tips of her ears taking on a pinkish hue. “You’re the worst.”

“I’m just following a very thorough list of requests,” you shrug, smirking smugly when you turn to meet Remus’ gaze. He levels you with a look, already picking up on your schemes when he follows Alice’s gaze as well. “Who am I to deny my friend her dreams?”

“You better not,” she nudges you again. “Alright, then. Where’s the stuff?”

You perk up. “Right, I forgot,” you turn, eyes scanning the room before Lily is wordlessly reaching for your bag to hand it to you. “Oh, thanks.”  

While it wasn’t an outcome you really wanted to come to, in the end, you had to quit your job. Your first day back was as hectic as it had been if you stayed out with the journalists, questions and insinuations being thrown at you from every direction to a point you couldn’t work properly. Your boss had been strangely supportive, and even less surprising when he asked for a signed copy of The Sun. And that had been it—no more early morning commutes, bargaining with the coffee shop girl for a quicker coffee order, no more sharing lunches and gossip in passing between hallways. No more of Alice’s theatrics every morning. It was oddly bittersweet, still is. In a way.

“Okay,” you turn back to Alice, who’s already talking with your boyfriends. Sirius’ arm is draped around a blushing Frank’s shoulders—definitely pulling him into the conversation. “These are the keys to my locker. My list of areas and floors, they’re colour coded depending on the priority. Red is the top tier, purple the least important.”

Alice blinks slowly, taking the folder and the keys. “That’s…” she glances down. “No wonder you were always sprinting around.”

You laugh. “You’ll get the hang of it pretty quickly.”

Sirius drops his arm to turn to you, lips twitching into that smirk that you know leads to nothing good. “Sprinting around?”

“Figure of speech,” you say.

“Um, no?” Alice laughs, eyes glistening with mischief when you look at her. “She quite literally flew around the building. It used to cause me headaches.”

“And vertigo,” you add. Fine, if she wants to taunt you, you can taunt back. “Remember that time—”

“Alright!” she says loudly, pressing the stuff to her chest. You bite back a laugh when her eyes flicker quickly towards Frank before turning back to you. “We get it. God.”

“Right,” you nod. “Do you fancy a coffee? There’s a posh espresso machine in the break room.”

She perks up. “Really?”

“Hm. Didn’t you walk by on your way in?” you tilt your head to the side, eyeing her with faux innocence before turning to Frank. “Frank, why wouldn’t you show her the best part of this building?”

Frank scratches his jaw, less blushed but still perpetually shy. “I didn’t know if she liked coffee.”

“I do, yeah.” Alice nods. 

You hum, lips curling up when a hand touches your lower back, squeezing placatingly in a way you know Remus has already picked up on your plan. 

“I actually want one, too,” Lily stands, busy between participating and continuing typing into her phone. Texting her boyfriends, no doubt. She locks it to look up at them, sending you a knowing look. “These boys have definitely been ambushed and can’t even get close to the coffee shop.”

You sigh, mildly disappointed but not at all surprised by this news. 

You’d think the attention would loosen or drift back after the news about Peter’s legal battle with the Black family—but it was the complete opposite. More questions were thrown around and raised upon the news, berating Peter and digging for more information about his betrayal to Sirius and the band. It feels very karmic and a little jarring, but it doesn’t hurt that public sentiment about the band has shifted because of this. You win some and you lose some, as Kingsley said.

Lily shepherds them out the studio with a little warm smile, almost conspiratorial when she glances back at you over her shoulder. The door clicks behind them, but you manage to hear the mumbling answers from Frank in response to Alice’s extroverted questions. You slump down into your chair, feeling oddly melancholic and a little pleased with yourself.

Sirius turns to you, eyes narrowed as he walks up to you. “You,” it’s all he says, draping himself in your lap. “are driving me mad.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you.”

“What have I done now?”

His eyes flicker to the guitar, then back at you. He cups your face, feeling the warmth rushing to your cheeks as he brings it closer for a quick kiss. It’s adorable really, how you still manage to turn to mush in his hands when he ambushes you like this. 

“Nothing,” he says, lips curled into a smirk when you break apart. He delights in your dazed expression, finger brushing your hair away from your face. “That’s why.”

You blink, trying to gather your wits. “What?”

“Pads, be nice.” Remus chides, sitting back down on the sofa. But he’s fully smirking now, delighting in your reaction as well. 

“I am being nice,” Sirius says. The audacity. His finger brushes another strand of hair away, swift hands cupping your face once again to kiss you. His lips curl against yours. “You on the other hand…”

“Sirius,” you scrape out, a weak warning. He chuckles when he tries to stand and you hold him back.

“Oh? Now you want in?”

“You’re the one currently sitting in my lap, you tell me,” you level him with a look. It’d work if you weren’t a tiny bit dazed still, stupidly delighted with the way his smile blooms. “Weak.”

“If I’m weak, what are you?” he pinches your cheek lovingly. “Look at this—and Moons hasn’t even entered the game.”

“Would you want me to?” Remus asks easily from the lounge, a bit distractedly as he shuffles a few pages on the coffee table. His lips twitch. “Just let me get these ready.”

You feign indignation, turning to Sirius. “See what you’ve done?”

“I haven’t done a thing,” he shrugs, drawing you closer for another kiss. Then he stands, smirking as he walks back to the lounge. “She’s all yours, Moons.”

There’s more sound of paper shuffling before Remus stands. Your stomach churns pleasantly when he looks up. But the door opens again, letting in a cacophony of sounds and whining as James, Regulus and Lily walk in. You turn to Remus, raising your hands in feigned innocence, almost mocking. Your boyfriend only huffs a laugh, shaking his head with exasperated fondness. 

“Who’s the girl flustering our poor Frank?” James asks, no shame at all. He looks a tiny bit rumpled, either from the wind or the journalists outside you don’t ask. “She’s talking his ear off.”

“I think it’s cute.” Lily adds, winking at you when you meet eyes. 

“That’s Alice,” you explain to James, pressing your fingertips to your cheeks, checking the temperature and making sure they’ve cooled down. Remus smiles at the knowing nudge he receives from Sirius, once again draped over his lap. “She’s my friend, came to pick up some things from work.”

“Ah. The Alice, isn’t it?” he nods, slumping down on the loveseat, dragging Lily down with him. Regulus bypasses them with a fond eyeroll to set camp in the armchair, nimble fingers already typing into his phone. Never resting, this boy. “So nice to finally put a face to the name. Is it safe to assume we will be seeing more of her soon?”

You hum, forcing your gaze away from your boyfriends to turn to James. “Maybe,” you swivel your chair back to the monitor, failing to bite back your endeared smile. “Hopefully.”

Remus huffs a laugh at this, shaking his head when Sirius sends him a questioning look. Never one to be left out of the loop, but then you’re hushing him to do another take. Setting the guitar back on your lap like a magnetic pull. You try with a few notes to find your pace before turning to the monitor again, checking everything’s ready for the take—exactly like Moody taught you. Sirius parts his lips to speak, probably another flustering quip before Remus is hushing him, too. 

It takes a few tries. Moody comes and goes, Alice returns to say goodbye with flushed cheeks and a shy smile, promising she’ll see you later at the pub. Sirius pretends to focus on vocalizing and trying to find the rhythm for the song with Remus’ help. But you won’t be deterred. You still have a week before the label’s deadline, anyway.

“Alright, why don’t we give it one try?” you turn in your chair, eyes immediately finding Sirius with a shy smile. His own is borderline endeared as he stands. “Just to see how it sounds with the mix we’ve got so far. We can come back tomorrow to start vocals.”

“Of course, m’love,” he says breezily, blowing you a kiss on his way into the booth. You look down at your keyboard, biting back an equally endeared smile. “I think I’ve got an idea but you tell me.”

You brush your hair away, trying to focus on the monitor instead. Moody makes a sound that is starting to sound like placations to keep Sirius from flustering you too much—of course, your boyfriend pointedly ignores him. Still as affected by your new creative role as you are of his flustering. 

Remus chuckles when you press your fingertips to your cheeks again. He makes a mental note to up his game for later. 

It’s safe to say you arrive at the pub a flushed mess and a little late—just barely missing the time for your private gig. 

…

Sirius is in the middle of his sixth retelling of how you joined the band when you step out. He winks at you, already anticipating your fond eyeroll as you sit on the chair Remus pulls out for you. A well practiced routine—he doesn’t stop talking, either. Ring clad hands flailing around demonstrating how, apparently, you made him eat his words. You love him too much to correct him on how it actually happened. And a little distracted, too.

Remus wordlessly hands you his pack, wiggling a cig for you without you so much asking for one. “Oh, thanks, love,” you blink, looking away from the pub’s window to take it. He smiles, tender and soft as he lights it up with his. Amber eyes warmed by the fire as he leans closer to you. They get a little mischievous as you both lean away, blowing smoke. “What?” you can’t help it, you smile. 

His eyes flicker to the window, inside the pub where you had been chatting with Alice and Frank. “Come here,” he says instead, speaking around the cig as he brings your legs closer—big fingers sprawled over your knees as he sets them over his leg, dangling casually. You smile, giddy despite yourself even after all these months together.  

“How long has he been at it?” you ask instead.

“A while.” Remus says, flicking ash onto the ashtray before turning back to you. He settles closer, leveling you with a look. “I know what you’re doing, dove.”

“Whatever do you mean?”

He juts his chin towards the window again, Alice is now sitting closer to Frank. When Remus turns back to look at you, it’s too quick you barely have time to school your expression. Looking far too pleased with yourself.

“Oh,” you look away, taking a short drag before flicking the ash as well. “They look lovely together, don’t they?”

Remus huffs a laugh, rolling his eyes in that fond way before blowing the smoke out of the corner of his lips. Away from you before setting the cig away to take your face. Your lips curl against his, teeth almost clinking together instead of a kiss. 

He hums, pulling back and having no qualms to hide his pleased smirk at your dazed face. “They do. Don’t think I’ve ever heard Frank talk that much, either.”

You blink, recovering quickly. “Oh, don’t even get me started. Alice could make a statue talk,” you say, hand flailing and ash flying with your movement. Remus nods, settling your legs over his more comfortably. A ploy to get you closer that you pick up on when your chair scrapes. “She used to get talking bans all the time.”

“Did she now?”

“Hm,” you blow the smoke away from him. “Quite the firecracker, that one.”

“I like her. She’s nice.”

“Yeah,” you smile, eyes flickering back inside the pub. “I’m going to miss her.”

“Well, it seems we’ll be seeing more of her,” Remus says, following your gaze back inside. Frank is finally talking back, or answering a question. Either way, he looks a tiny bit more relaxed as Alice nods along. “By the looks of it.”

“And then she took my guitar and did Purple Rain!” Sirius’ voice carries out, loud enough to cut through your subtle staring into the pub. He gestures at you. “Fucking purple rain! Didn’t you, gorgeous?”

Your shoulders gravitate a bit to your ears, noticing all the eyes on you before recovering quickly. “And you still couldn’t keep up,” you joke, lips curling around the cigarette at your boyfriend’s theatrical gasp. “He threw a tantrum and all. For weeks!” 

“That’s true.” Regulus adds, sending you a conspiratorial look before sipping at his pint. “He was insufferable.”

“Imagine living with him around that time,” James says, pushing his lower lip out in a dramatic pout. 

Remus points at him, nodding in agreement. You nudge his side placatingly. He reiterates with a playful squeeze to your knee, thumb stroking the fabric of your jeans. 

“I was stunned.”

“Try threatened, love.” Remus smirks, tilting his head to the side when Sirius narrows his eyes at him. You laugh, trying to hide it with a quick drag. “y/n agrees, don’t you, dovey?”

You wave the smoke away. “Oh, don’t. You already know my thoughts about it.”

Sirius perks up, pretty eyes flashing with mischief. “Oh, you mean…” you flare your eyes in warning and he cuts himself off with his own laughter. “Relax, baby. My mouth is closed.”

“She wrote an incredible hate song about him.” James still says, and you throw your head back in a dramatic groan. Not the whole truth, but you’ll take it. 

“No way.” Marlene says, perking up as well. She turns to you, putting her cig out. “Did you?”

“It was more like a you annoy me to no end type of song.” you correct quickly. 

“Don’t worry, Marls—she fixed it.” Sirius adds, already walking up to you. The smug bastard has the gall to smirk at you. A knowing look passes between you, and your hand unconsciously flies to the side of your neck. “Didn’t you?”

You drop your hand, letting him take the cigarette from you for a few drags. “Why are you throwing me under the bus?” you frown in feigned upset. “Conceited prick.”

Your group of friends fall into quips and questions when they register your words, knowing what it means. Sirius shakes his head, rolling his eyes fondly as questions are being thrown at him. 

“Oh, don’t ask me,” he raises his hands in surrender. “Ask Remus.” 

Mary laughs. “Of course Remus wrote that song,” she shakes her head, smiling into the rim of her pint. “Answer us this, Remus—what the fuck does Epicurean mean?”

You laugh at this, sound overlapping with Sirius’ in a shared joke. Remus squeezes your knee again, but his lips are twitching in that perpetual smirk. 

“It’s Greek.” Sirius explains, handing the cigarette back before taking one for himself. “Something about the greatest pleasures in life or something like that, isn’t it, Moons?”

“Just the gist of it.”

“Well, be glad your fans dig the self-aware pretentiousness.” Marlene says, always sounding a little judgmental in her creative director kind of way. But her lips twitch as she lights her own cigarette. “They’re already begging for a studio version.”

“We’re on it,” you say distractedly. “Still testing a few arrangements before settling for a final version.”

“The version you performed today was very good,” Mary says immediately.

Regulus hums in agreement. “Well, whatever version you settle on. It’ll definitely be well received from fans after the live lounge cover,” he shifts on the bench they’re sitting, leaning closer to James and bringing Lily’s legs closer on his lap. 

Marlene makes a sound. “Oh, that cover! My god,” she raises her hands in victory. “I’ve never enjoyed a downfall this much before.”

“Marls.” Mary warns her quietly.

“What? It’s true.” She frowns, looking around at you before turning to her. “That scumbag deserves what he’s getting and more.”

Sirius takes a long drag, shuffling to stand behind you. His arm hangs loosely over your front, wiggling his fingers in a silent question before holding his hand. You weave your fingers together, and your boyfriend only squeezes in reassurance. The plaster tickles the back of his hand as your thumb sweeps back and forth. Listening to your friends’ comments on what has been of Peter, the absolute backlash that he has been receiving since Regulus pulled his strings to get the Black Family on the case—rushing the process for his vicious vengeance. 

While it has helped with the public perception of the band, it’s no lie that Sirius still harbors complicated feelings about the whole ordeal—even more now that his family is fully aware and working to make sure Peter is handled. Even if their reasons have nothing to do with helping other than themselves. 

You feel his cheek on the crown of your head, a grounding pressure for both you and him. You bring your joined hands to your chest, careful as you take one last drag of your cigarette before putting it out. 

Regulus finds your gaze across the table, noticing the way Sirius’ mood dims before nodding at you. Your thumb’s sweeps slow down as he stands, ushering his partners and your friends inside under the pretense of spending time with the public and fans gathered in the pub. You send him a grateful smile on their way inside. 

You watch the bell chime and the door close behind them before giving your joined hands a gentle tug. Sirius moves around you and Remus wordlessly sets a hand back on your legs, pulling them with him as he slides to make room for your boyfriend. 

“You okay, love?” he asks quietly when Sirius doesn’t sit, only leans at the edge of the table in front of you. Eyeing the cherry of his cig with a frown. 

“Yeah,” he says after a beat, looking around. The pub, the streets, and the warm lampposts. “Yeah, it’s just… I hate that we still talk about him, that he’s still being brought up.  And I know Marls didn’t mean it but—fuck.”

Remus and you share a look, and you wait until he’s blowing the smoke out to take his hands. Sirius lets you, but he still shoots another glance around. Behind his shoulder specifically. 

“I know, love,” you murmur, thumb sweeping at the back of his hand. Back and forth and in circles that pushes a long sigh out of him. “We don’t have to talk about him tonight.”

“Or ever again.” Remus says after a beat, voice quiet but with endless patience. His eyes rove over Sirius’ face, studying him with that quiet warmth. “If you don’t want to.”

Sirius exhales shakily through his nose, bringing the cigarette back to his lips for a quick drag as he nods. He twists to put it out on the ashtray, and you give your hands a tug towards your chest to pull him closer for a kiss. However, he doesn’t follow. 

“There’s a bloke taking pictures across the street,” he explains when you frown, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze. Your lips part in surprise, and when Remus looks around, the softness of both your features changes when you seem to spot him at the same time. “Let’s go back inside.”

“Okay, yeah,” you nod, trying not to cringe when Remus’ arm comes around your waist to stand and help you stand as well. But Sirius conveniently stands in front of you, blocking any possible opportunity for whoever’s across the street to get a glimpse. 

You pile into the pub quickly, but you don’t miss the way Remus shoots a look behind his shoulder. Already categorizing the bloke and making a mental note of handling it later. As he tends to do as of lately.

A few of the patrons and fans try to stop you on your way deep into the pub, asking questions about the new song or trying their chances to get a photograph. You all try to give them as much attention as you can, but it’s clear your attention is elsewhere. 

With a few quick looks, you come to a silent agreement that it’s time to head home. Remus nods at you, but his hand continues flat on the back of Sirius’ back in that subtle way he tends to do as of lately, too. They stall with a few fans that have stopped them to ask about the unreleased songs, and you weave through the crowd in search for Pandora or Regulus to let them know you’re spending the night out. 

“Oh, um. Hello?” a girl says, trying to catch up with you. But it’s too loud and the voices are so overlapping you barely manage to hear her. It isn’t until you reach a dead end with the crowd that you notice her presence. “Hi?”

“Oh,” you blink, quickly schooling your expression into a welcoming smile. “Hi. Sorry, I didn’t hear you.”

“It’s okay. Don’t worry,” she smiles, glancing around. Clearly nervous. “Um… this is going to sound a bit weird, but—do you, um, do you remember me?”

You frown faintly, staring without trying to make her uncomfortable to try and remember her. The girl smiles, clearly unsurprised before brandishing something from the pocket of her trousers—her car keys. Then, hanging with the rest of the keychains, a guitar pick. 

“You gave this to me at the end of your first gig,” she explains, albeit a little bashful. “At that festival?”

“Oh god,” you blink, then again as the memory comes crashing on you. Of course—the girl who clapped and cheered all night long with her friends, whose support was a reassuring presence for you the entirety of the performance. Your first gig as the new member of the band. “Oh my god, yes. Yes!”

“Yeah?”

“Of course!” you smile, it’s hard not to when the memory itself is something you still cherish to this day. You spread your arms a bit, a silent question in case she doesn’t want to be hugged, but she jumps straight into your arms in the same beat you start hesitating. “Oh.”

“I didn’t think you’d remember me,” she says as she steps back. “It’s just… I wasn’t much of a Marauders fan back then but since you joined...”

“Really?” you ask, feeling weirdly emotional. “Um, thank you so much. I…” you look around. 

She probably reads this wrong, because she’s clearing her throat quickly. “Oh, sorry you probably have somewhere else to be—”

“No, no!” you spread your hands in front of you, stopping her from walking away. “Just making sure no one sees before,” you pause, reaching inside the pocket of your jeans with a conspiratorial look. “before giving you this.”

The girl gasps as you set your pick in her palm, one of the ones you used today at the studio that you forgot to save in your bag. She studies it quietly, thumb sweeping it in awe.

“For your collection.”

“Thank you,” she breathes out.

You shake your head, smiling. “No. Thank you.”

“Alright, dovey. Ready to go?”

You turn your head, nodding at your boyfriend before turning back to the girl. Who’s, of course, gaping when she registers both Sirius and Remus are standing in front of her.

“We hope to see you soon?” you ask her, a shared moment for only you two. 

“Of course,” she nods quickly, already fiddling with the pick. “You did really great today,” she tells the boys.

“Why, thank you, love.” Sirius’ smiles, and you feel the coldness of his rings at the sliver of skin on your back. 

You share a few more pleasanteries and then watch her weasel through the crowd to get back to her friends—they awe and cheer about the pick in her hands. 

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” you smile, accepting your bag from Sirius. “I was just looking for Pandora or Reg—”

“Oh, I wouldn’t if I were you,” Sirius says, hand lowering to hook a finger around your belt loops. One single tug and you’re already following them out the door. 

“Why?”

They share a conspiratorial look, and you try to get a look around the pub in search of your flatmates. All you find, instead, is Barty throwing a tantrum behind the bar in front of three equally flushed Reg, Lily and James. 

“What’s that all about?” 

“Well…” Remus starts to say, sending Sirius a chiding look when he tries to tattle first. “Let’s just say Junior is gonna have to start locking the storage room.”

You laugh, and Remus’ lips twitch as he opens the backdoor for you and Sirius. Swiftly out with an Irish goodbye.  

…

“Shit.”

“What is it?”

“I think I lost the key.”

“No, no. I’ve got it,” you say, patting along your dress for the hidden pocket. “Fuck, let me just—”

Remus tsks, fixing his hold around your waist. “Give it here,” he stretches a hand out, and you wordlessly set the award in his palm to search for the hotel key. 

“Fuck, I really—really need a bath.” Sirius groans, half slumped on the door. His eyeliner is slightly smudged, from the night and the performance and all the emotions in between. “And food, is room service still running?”

“We can arrange that,” Remus hums, balancing the award and now your heels as you start unlocking the door. He levels Sirius with a look when he wiggles his eyebrows. “The room service bit.”

“I actually need a bath, too,” you murmur, stepping into the cool and quiet hotel room. Cleaned and without a trace of the day’s rush, thankfully. “I don’t know about food, though.”

Remus sets the award on the table, then his rings and necklaces with the same quickness you let Sirius nearly come crashing into you—arms tight around your middle as he guides you to the bed for the world’s most tired, sleepy and somewhat glamorous cuddle. He laughs at your sparkly slumped out forms on the bed.

You meet his gaze, just as half-lidded as yours as you spread your arms open. “Come here, handsome,” you mumble, barely coherent. And hell, who even is he to deny either of you anything?

He settles atop of you carefully, smiling into your chest as you wrap your arms around his shoulders, feeling the planes of his back and the soft material of his dress shirt. His breath tickles you when he exhales deeply, fully content and lax between you and Sirius. 

“Is it me or is the room spinning?” Sirius grumbles.

“I think that’s just you, lovely,” you whisper back, lips brushing Remus’ temple. 

“Or the extra drinks you asked that waiter for,” Remus adds in that whispery tone as well. You feel his lips curling on the column of your throat when Sirius makes a disgruntled sound. “I still can’t believe you said that on live television.”

“I think it was attractive.”

Sirius’ hand pats around you until he finds your leg, squeezing lovingly. “Thank you, m’love. I knew you’d think so,” he sends Remus a faux indignant look.

“It was attractive, yes,” he amends, kissing your neck. “Not sure what the press will think about it tomorrow, though.”

“That I’m attractive and very funny?”

“Sure thing, love,” Remus nods, only agreeing because it’s the fastest route to get all of you up and moving to start getting unready. “Come on. You’re not getting into bed like that.”

“Five more minutes?” you ask, voice barely a whisper with the weight of your exhaustion. 

“Five more minutes,” your boyfriends reply. Though while Sirius sounds positively relieved at the prospect of five more minutes of cuddles, Remus sounds amusedly resigned.  

Sirius nudges your face gently with his chin, and you let him kiss you. Little brushes of lips at first before he’s pushing himself on his elbows, chasing your lips as you drop your head back on the mattress. On top of you, Remus sets a hand on your thigh where the slit of your dress is starting to ride up. Thumb stroking idle patterns on your skin. Their touches are reverent and gentle and heavy with exhaustion, but never any less loving. 

Later, Remus will try to rein himself in and shepherd you all to shower—and fail miserably. His hand coasts up your body until it rests on your navel, the piercing glistens with the warm lights, now matching with Sirius. A few minutes of snogging will turn into more, and you’ll all pretend it was a spur of a moment—somewhere in between, you’ll finally shower. You will order room service for Sirius and blissfully maintain the lie that he’s going to eat it all. Then you will get into bed and gossip about the night, who talked to who and who shared cheeky jokes between drinks. Which artist promised to catch up with you and which actress said they just saw you on your festival tour. 

You sigh blissfully at the idea, tightening your arms around Remus’ shoulders to pull him closer. He kisses your jaw, completely surrendering himself that neither you nor Sirius actually meant five minutes.

“I love you,” you whisper, breath stuttering. They both up their tender touches as an answer. 

How could you ever think love was not meant for you?

[moonstruckme]

remus x touch starved! reader ❤

i want him to hug me so badly 😭

<3

Me toooooooo! Unsure if this was a request but thanks for sending and potentially for requesting haha <3

Remus Lupin x fem!reader ♡ 707 words

Remus’ foot is touching yours. It’s incidental, thoughtless. You’re sitting on opposite sides of the couch, facing each other as you both read your books, only you’re not reading anymore because all of your attention has been stolen by the way your boyfriend’s foot is lightly pressing yours into the back cushion. The slightness of the contact, the smallness of it, it isn’t nearly enough, and yet you don’t think you could take any more. 

The other side of the couch seems a thousand miles away. 

“You alright?” Remus asks. You look up to find him studying you over the top of his book. 

“Mhm. Why?” 

“You just seem like you might be cold.” You look at him bemusedly, and he nods to the blanket around your shoulders. “You’ve wrapped yourself up fairly tightly there.” 

You look down. You’re holding the blanket closed with a near vice-like grip, cocooning yourself in warm snugness. 

“Oh.” You ease your grasp on it. “Sorry, I didn’t even notice.” 

“Nothing to be sorry for,” Remus replies easily, sitting forward and clasping a hand around your ankle. “Should I go turn the heater up?” 

Every nerve in your being has directed its attention to your ankle, your boyfriend’s fingers braceleting it loosely, casually. One finger moving slowly up and down as though to placate you. Your chest aches terribly. 

Some of it must show on your face, because Remus frowns. “What is it?” 

“What?” 

“You look upset.” He leans forward, his touch coasting up to your knee. His frown deepens. “Sweetheart, what's wrong?” 

“Nothing.” You close your eyes, feeling silly. Shake your head. “Sorry, nothing’s wrong. I’m fine.” 

“Are you sure?” 

“It’s really stupid.” 

Remus shushes you admonishingly. “I doubt that. Will you tell me?” 

“It’s just…” You push out a breath, not quite able to look at him. “It is, it’s silly. I feel like I miss you, but you’re right here.” 

Remus gives you a contemplative look, his lips downturnt. You almost want to laugh just so he’ll take you less seriously. You feel far too exposed. 

“That doesn’t sound silly,” he says after a moment. “I think…I know what you mean, sometimes. Maybe there’s something we’re missing.” 

“Like what?” you ask helplessly. 

He considers you. “Could we have a hug?”  

Now you do laugh. “Yeah,” you say, though you don’t move. “Of course, whenever you want.” 

“Whenever you want, too,” Remus reminds you. He takes the initiative, setting his book down and moving across the couch toward you. 

His arms come around you almost tentatively, one hand moving across your back while the other settles itself between your shoulder blades. You give a little shiver at the contact, and he strengthens his hold, your own fingers bunching in the material of his jumper. That ache in your chest begins to feel like a sort of fracturing. 

“I might cry,” you warn him wobbily. “Don’t worry about it.” 

Remus’ surprised chuckle jostles the first couple of tears out of you. “Oh, sweetheart.” He palms the back of your head. “I’ll try not to, but are you sure you’re alright?” 

“Yeah.” You clutch him tightly. “This helps.” 

“Okay,” he says softly. 

Remus lets you cry it out. He holds you, shuffles closer on the couch, presses his lips to the top of your head. When you’re done and you pull away to press a salty kiss to the corner of his lips, he picks up your fallen blanket and draws it around the both of you. 

Your legs are all tangled together, bent knees and coarse hairs and the jut of an ankle bone into your hip. Remus looks into your eyes with a steady fondness. 

“Do you feel any better?” he asks. 

“Yeah,” you answer honestly. “Sorry, thank you.” 

“Why are you always sorry?” There’s a bit of teasing in his voice now, softened by the brush of his lips against your nose. “You can always ask for hugs, you know. You should.” 

“Okay.” 

“I want you to.” 

“Okay.” Your face feels warm, but you feel a thousand times lighter. “I will.” 

“Good.” He gives you a little smile. “Can we do another now?” 

“Remus,” you smile back at him, “I’m really fine.” 

“I believe you. This one’s for me.”

[amnmesias]

𝐯𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞

poly!wolfstar x fem!reader

word count: 6.5k

tags: fem!reader. rockstar!reader. modern au. rock band au. sort of nuisances to lovers, angst. eventual fame au.   

a/n: enjoy the comfort while you can! 

part sixteen ˚.⋆♪⋆ series masterlist

    

—

The first show is, surprisingly, not as overwhelming as you thought it’d be. Music is pounding from every direction, overlapping with claps and laughter and screaming—the venue is almost full by now, and you’re acutely aware of the sets of eyes looking at you, arms flailing from the first rows and flashes being pointed at you. Still, you feel like you’re floating through air. 

You’re not sure if your heart is what’s thumping inside you, or the music rattling your bones, or the energy coursing through your veins as you reach for your microphone. An anxious movement that slowly turned into a soothing tic the first minutes after you hit the stage. It has helped, mostly. Or it’d help better if Sirius stopped searching for your eyes during certain moments of your set. You’re thankful Remus is positioned at the far end of the stage and away from you. There’s only so much your erratic heart can take.

“Alright, alright,” Sirius laughs into the microphone, a breathy sound that distorts his tone. He reaches up to fix his in-ear, smirking down at his synth. “I’m sure you lot are growing tired of us.”

The crowd, unsurprisingly, reacts just like it tends to do when it comes to Sirius. They all cheer and scream in protest to his words, asking for an additional song and flailing their arms around. You sway nervously from side to side as James' quiet cymbals swell, building suspense before Sirius introduces the next and final song. Your song.

You fix your own in-ear, looking down at your guitar to try and tame the way your heart picks up its rhythm. Sirius’ fingers hover over the keys, hesitant before he’s glancing up at you.

“We’ve left a very special treat for you,” he announces, playing a few notes. You feel goosebumps when he hums the first notes into the microphone. Either edging the crowd or giving you a moment to prepare. “If you’re chronically online—I’m sure you’ve heard this one.”

A few people cheer, slowly increasing as Sirius starts properly playing the first notes of the song. You swallow nervously, humming along with him before turning your head just enough to meet his gaze. He nods encouragingly before stopping, cueing you in.

You take an achingly slow step closer to your microphone, sucking in a breath before singing the first line. I see the signs of a lifetime, you till I die. A few audience members jump and cheer when they recognize the melody. It makes the nerves settle enough for you to relax your grip around your mic. And your heart does a ridiculous somersault inside your chest when your traitorous eyes flicker to the side. Sirius smiles at you.

From the far end of the stage, Remus sways from side to side to your voice, head tilted to the side like he wishes to melt and get lost in the sound. A flash goes off somewhere deep in the crowd, and he has to shake his head to force his focus back on the song. It’s hard, though. It’s hard when your voice is hypnotic and laced with a heavy nostalgia that makes his heart rattle. He looks down at his bass, but the magnetic pull of Sirius’ eyes is too strong to ignore—thankfully, James bangs the drums loud enough to make them snap out of it. 

The crowd joins a beat later when they fully recognize the song. Chanting along with you to the lyrics that have gotten the most recognition in this sudden internet frenzy. Your lips curl into a tentative almost shy smile, looking down at your fretboard when the intensity of the song and the crowd starts getting louder. 

All you can do is sing and play like you’ve rehearsed countless times, trying to channel all the mental tranquility you personally rehearsed for this moment as the song picks up rhythm. And the crowd picks up their rhythmic chanting when you get to the second chorus. What if it’s not meant for me? You reach for your mic again, another reflex when the crowd answers back at you. It makes the thundering sound of your heartbeat spread all over your body, adrenaline pumping through your veins when you hear them chant the words back. You chance a quick look to the side—what if it’s not meant for me?

In a strange bout of energy and confidence, you point at the audience, repeating the chorus just one more time. They all react accordingly, screaming the words back with thunderous feedback. A surprised laugh bubbles out of you, turning back to your guitar to get to the final part of the song. The arena is fully filled by now, getting closer to the end of your set and for the main act to come out—you’d think all this attention would make you recoil. But, as you sing the words into the microphone, they all nod along and clap, some jump in response to your sudden spike of energy. 

Sirius’ laugh overlaps with you, though it’s hard to hear as he builds up the outro with his synth, smirking down at the keys when the crowd continues answering to the song. And better, the way you’ve loosened enough to welcome their boisterous applause. James bangs harder, the music pounds from every direction with the outro and the bass line that makes every emotion feel enhanced, adrenaline flowing through you in a way that it’s hard to notice until the song is over. You hum the final line, eyes slipped shut to force the energy to simmer down; dragging the final note enough to match the coming down of your high. 

The song comes to an end, and so does your set for the first concert of the tour.

The crowd starts clapping and jumping and cheering, a match to your heartbeat as you drop your arms to the side—releasing your fretboard from overgripping it as a sharp exhale comes out of you. It rattles your insides as you scan your surroundings. When your eyes find Remus across the stage, he’s gesturing at your in-ears, then at the view in front of you. He’s smiling so wide, pupils blown with adrenaline but full of warmth it’s hard to ignore him. You take out your in-ears, getting the first glimpse of how loud the crowd is reacting to your set.   

You step back, careful of the cables and your pedal board to set your guitar on its stand. Sirius is already standing by the center of the stage, waving and smiling and blowing kisses at the crowd. He beckons each of you over with a laugh, too elated with his own adrenaline spike. His arm comes around your waist when you’re within reach, pulling you to his side in the same reflex he does to Remus. If it’s any possible, all the energy you thought had simmered down skyrockets with his touch. 

James comes bounding from the back of his drums, already pointing around at certain girls at the front and others away. He’s throwing his drumsticks across the stage before anyone can realize what’s happening, and even less, how they actually launch themselves to catch them. He bends backwards with a bark of laughter, stepping closer to your side. You’re one beat too late to realize you’re supposed to bend over in a group goodbye—if it isn’t for the hand patting yours behind Sirius.

“Thank you!” James calls loudly, breathless and struggling to catch his breath. “Thank you!”

You try to follow his lead, but you’re too high strung with the welcoming crowd that you’re sure one more interaction will surely make you drop dead. 

Sirius tugs you closer to his side, uncurling an arm from Remus to take his microphone. “We’re the Marauders—don’t forget that name ‘cause we’re headlining this same venue very soon.”

James, of course, laughs louder at this. You only manage to hear it because he’s close to you, the crowd goes crazy at Sirius’ statement. You wave goodbye one last time before running out of the stage in a line, you nearly trip with the cables on the way had it not been by Sirius’ arm still around you. 

“Fuck—“ you breathe out, it comes almost like a wheeze. “Fuck, sorry. I… I didn’t see that.”

The sound he makes, a mix between a bark of laughter and a gasp is enough to make your knees almost buckle again. His hand flattens over your lower back like he knows. “You’re okay, lovely,” he smiles. His eyes are wide, shimmery eyeshadow catching the lights still coming from the stage and the spotlights, it’s slightly smudged to the side and under his lower lashes. He’s never looked so beautiful.

“That was,” James nearly shrieks in your ear, jostling you from side to side with his own high energy. “that was fucking incredible. You were incredible!”

“Thanks,” it’s all you manage to say, too breathless to sound coherent anyway. “I… that was,” you shake your head, trying to shake off the adrenaline rushing through your body. 

James laughs, arms dragging you closer into an entanglement of arms that is your group hug. You’re acutely aware of Sirius’ thumb sweeping the skin of your waist, curling around you. A weight is pressed lightly to your head, lingering enough for you to realize someone’s kissing your head in a rush before stepping back. Somehow, it makes your adrenaline skyrocket even more.

You brush your hair away, feeling pins and needles at the palms of your hands and your heart matching the pounding of the backstage wing. Technicians and crew members run around as they collect your instruments and finish the last touches for the main act to step out—20 minutes. It’s all chaotic and loud, it feels very comforting, how similar it is to your inner state. You feel very weird, like you’re not entirely inside your body. 

Peter comes running from the front row, weaving through technicians and muttering apologies. He waves his phone in the air with a wide grin.

“That was brilliant!” he points at the screen, blinding against the low lighting of the backstage area. “I got very good takes of your song—it’ll do numbers when it’s posted.”

You’re too behind, still reeling from the stage to notice he’s talking to you. Sirius, of course, reads this wrong from your face as he frowns at Peter.

“Why would you do that?” his voice is still breathless, though with a faint edge. His chest heaves as he tries to catch his breath. “You know she doesn’t like—”

Unconsciously, you raise a hand to his chest. “Sirius,” you say in your own ragged exhale. You turn to Peter. “Of course—can you show me the final take when it’s ready?”

Peter blinks, schooling the strange expression he sends Sirius before he smiles at you. Tentative and barely sure that you try and return with more confidence.

“Of course, yeah,” he nods, taking another step back. When his eyes flit down to your hand, you’re quick to drop it to your side. Peter clears his throat, forcing a smile back on his face as he pats his shirt. “Got you these in case you’re still interested,” he waves a few backstage lanyards, similar to his.

James’ face breaks into a wide grin, reaching to take one. “You did it!”

“Told you he’d do it,” Remus says, sounding calmer as he accepts his and Sirius. “Thanks, Pete.”

“No problem—they’re valid for the entire tour, by the way.”

“The entire tour?”

Peter smiles. “Turns out I’m a good negotiator,” he shrugs, handing you yours. “And for you.”

You take it, feeling the adrenaline begin to crash down. “Thanks, Pete,” you smile, fiddling with the cord. 

“Alright, then,” he looks around, watching as the crew members begin loading out your stuff and instruments. “Shall we? Kingsley said Kirley is actually very punctual with their concerts.”

They all nod and walk out of the wing in a line, but you linger back with a look over your shoulder towards the green room. Sirius moves his arm to reach for you, maybe in a reflex, when he realizes you’re not behind him. You run to catch up to them with a sorry smile.

“Um, actually, I think I’ll try and get this time to shower and head to the tour bus—if you don’t mind,” you run a hand through your hair, trying to take the hair grips out. “I’m a bit knackered, so…” your eyes flicker to them.

“That’s okay,” Remus smiles. 

“I’m coming with you,” Sirius says immediately.

“No, no, you stay,” you’re quick to say, doing an arduous job to not set a hand out again. Sirius’ eyes flicker over his shoulder, at the crowd still chanting and the technicians running around. Clearly debating about going or staying. You find yourself trying to reassure him. “You’ve clearly been wanting to watch the concert, and Pete said these are for the entire tour. I’ll join you soon.”

He parts his lips to speak, but James is pulling at his arm. Too excited for the concert to start to notice the change of demeanor and tone of the band. You look away, sidestepping him to walk to the back door. 

“Go have fun,” you wave them off. 

Sirius’ shoulders slump, watching as you turn to walk out backstage and into the open air. He hesitates enough to make his dimmed mood obvious. A hand settles on his cheek, stroking gently to guide his gaze away from the closing backdoor to a pair of amber eyes.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” he nods, swallowing thickly. His eyes move to the crowd, lingering enough to show Remus how much he wants to stay for the concert. “Yeah, I’ll just—” he points at the door.

“Don’t worry, love,” he cups his cheek one more time before dropping his arm. “I’m quite knackered, too. Now that y/n mentioned it.”

It works to pull Sirius out of his head. “You are?”

Remus gives his arm a gentle pull, guiding him through backstage to follow after James and Peter for the band’s designated area. 

“Yeah, but maybe I can enjoy the first songs,” he smiles, tucking his chin to level Sirius with a look. “Then I’ll call it a night, yeah?” I got her, he almost says. He gives their joined hands a soft squeeze before letting go.

…

“Oh my god!”

“Wait isn’t this—”

The bus door opens with a thundering sound in contrast to the little cocoon you’ve made of the front lounge. You drop your phone to your lap, scrambling to lower the volume of the video you’ve been watching. Videos, more like it.

Remus is running his towel over his wet hair as he steps into the bus, blinking quickly to adjust his eyes at the sudden darkness he steps into. He lets the towel drop over his shoulder, feeling around the wall to flip the light on.

You pull your blanket higher when the lights are turned on, hiding your face as a reflex to the harsh lights and sending your phone flying across the sofa. 

“Oh,” he feels around to turn them back off. “Sorry. I thought you were asleep.”

“You’re fine,” you mumble, lowering the blanket as he tests the light switches around to let them dim. “Sorry for scaring you.”

He smiles. “No need to be sorry,” his voice drowns out as he steps into the bunk area. 

The curtain is drawn to the side and muffled sounds make you think he’s settling down to sleep. You reach back to your phone, nimble fingers deleting all the evidence of what you’ve been doing as you close all the social apps with your videos and the band’s overall reception after today’s concert. 

Remus steps out of the bunk area a moment later, flashing you a little reassuring smile as he crouches to check the mini fridge. “Are you thirsty, dove?”

“Oh,” you blink, still fiddling with the blanket. “Sure, thanks.”

“We’ve got, uh… Water, sparkling water, iced tea—and this thing,” he pulls out a can that looks awfully similar to an energy drink. 

“Water’s fine,” you mumble, acutely aware of his silhouette as he stands, the way the jumper hugs his torso and the tousled way his hair sticks up in every direction. “Thanks.” 

He smiles, fiddling with his own drink. You don’t miss the way his eyes study you, even in the darkness. You can feel the warmth radiating off his gaze, mixed with hesitation as his eyes flicker to the empty space next to you. Remus points tentatively, not quite sitting yet.

It takes you a beat to understand his meaning, following the way he’s pointing before glancing up to meet his gaze. Remus doesn’t pressure you as you take a moment to think—but his face does break out into a smile when you nod. He doesn’t seem to mind when you scoot a bit away to make space for him, even if there’s plenty already.

A silence settles between you. Comfortable this time. 

“How was the concert?” you ask, looking down at your lap, pressing at your nailbeds in that obviously anxious manner of yours. 

Remus looks away, pushing down the urge to reach for your offending hand. “It was very fun, actually,” his voice is low, barely a whisper as he studies your fingers. “You’ll love it.”

“Yeah?” you glance up.

“Yeah, the crowd was…” he shakes his head, looking up to meet your gaze. “I’ve never seen anything like that.”

You nod, brushing your own half dried hair away from your face. Remus follows the movement with his eyes, tapping at the lid of his drink almost pensively.

“You did really great out there,” his voice quietens, it’s almost a whisper that makes your chest ache. Surprisingly nice. “They really loved you.”

“It felt great, too,” you pull the blanket higher over your chest. The bus is colder than you anticipated. “I s’pose I did get eased into it, eh?”

He huffs a quiet laugh. “Dove, you owned the stage.”

You roll your eyes fondly, sipping at your drink. Remus feels himself fully relaxing at this, settling back on the sofa by your side. His chest aches when you silently offer him the other end of your blanket. He’s not really cold, but he’d be stupid not to take it.

“You know, this isn’t my first time seeing them live,” he says conspiratorially, lips curling at the way your eyes widen in surprise. “James’ dad got us tickets for his fifteenth birthday—it was a whole thing trying to teach him and Sirius how to ride the tube.”

You laugh, trying to imagine them navigating the tube at such young ages. And clearly inexperienced. Remus smiles at the sound, unconsciously scooting closer to you. He fiddles with the blanket, flattening a hand over the soft material, just for something to do. Something to calm his heart at your quiet laugh. 

“We arrived two songs late,” he adds, chuckling when you laugh again. “And Sirius got his wallet nicked.”

“Of course he did,” you smile, shifting to cross your legs, no longer pressed closer to your chest. “Why am I not surprised?” 

“And then tried to pull the do you know who I am card at the entrance,” Remus shakes his head, voice laced with fondness as he recalls the moment. “Thank god Monty gave me the tickets for safekeeping, otherwise it would have been a lost cause.”

“Well, you could have always sneaked in.”

His eyes snap up at you, but you’re sipping at your water. Lips curled around the mouth of your bottle before setting it aside with a little smirk. Remus fists the blanket in response, holding himself back from kissing you senseless.

He holds your gaze. “Don’t tell me…”

“It’s actually quite easy, you know.”

 “Is it, now?”

You hum, smiling down at your lap. Remus feels himself angling towards you, his calf brushes your knee as he turns. He rests his arm over the headrest, eyes soft as he studies you. 

“The point is to know someone who’s got a ticket,” you start to say, hands picking up movement as you explain. “That way it’s easier to get through the line and find an opening when the guards aren’t looking—you also got to be very stealthy.”

“Were you?” he asks, eyes swirling with fondness as you begin lighting up.  

“The stealthiest of them all,” you nod, smirking. Remus huffs a surprised laugh. “But again, I feel like they only let me in ‘cause they needed to fill seats.”

“Who were you trying to see, anyway?”

Your smile turns a tad bashful at this. “Paramore,” you murmur, eyes glancing up with a knowing glint that makes Remus’ insides turn into mush. He stifles a laugh when you point a finger at him. “Don’t you dare tell anyone about this.”

His laugh is louder at this, raising his hands in surrender. Your lips twitch, betraying the smile you’re trying to hold back. “Consider me warned.”

Your shared laughter simmers enough to make room for another comfortable silence. Remus lets his head drop to his hand, smiling at the way your cheeks warmed up with the moment. He’s cruelly pulled back to that night at the pub, with your easy smile and the way you joked around with them. 

He looks away, channeling all his courage to move his hand, closer enough that his fingertip brushes your knee over the blanket. If you notice, you’re too busy toying with the ends of your hair to make much effort to mind. But your eyebrows twitch very faintly.

“It was my first concert,” your voice quietens, eyes downcast as you drop your arms to your lap. Very close to his hand. “All my friends had saved for it, made plans around it—had a whole trip planned.”

“Yeah?” 

“Hm,” you run a hand through the blanket, much like he did before. Remus feels his brows wrinkling at your tone. “I… I was too scared to ask my parents to go, let alone to pay for the ticket. So I simply went without telling them and sneaked in,” you pause, lips twitching from side to side, like you’re containing the words. “It felt easier at the time.”

His fingers shift slightly, closer enough to feel the warmth of his hand with yours. “It must’ve been worth it.”

Your lips twitch. “It was, yeah,” you nod, glancing up, almost tentatively as you meet his eyes. So warm and full of understanding, it tugs at your heartstrings. “They were just getting famous over there, so the place wasn’t as packed as it’d be now—it felt intimate, like they were just playing with us. Not at us, you know? It was one of the best nights of my life,” you look away again, Remus still nods. “But…”

He drops his arm from the headrest, shifting at the way you hesitate. “But…?”

“But then I went home.”

Remus feels his heart clench. It comes suddenly and painful, flashing memories cloud his mind as you look away. The slump of your shoulders, your need to flee at any given moment of uncertainty or pain—it was all there. 

He doesn’t answer right away. But his fingers shift again, brushing yours properly this time. A grounding touch that makes you look up.

“I’m sorry, it’s not…” you clear your throat, eyebrows bunching together when you fail to swallow the lump that’s beginning to form. Remus feels his heart tugging in your direction, nearly pressed against his ribcage in its need to get closer to you. “It wasn’t… like that. Not really—I feel like I’m making it worse than it was.”

“You don’t need to apologize for that,” he whispers back, moving his hand to place it over yours. “Never.”

You bite at your lower lip, looking down at your joined hands. “It wasn’t… it’s just—they didn’t do what you’re probably thinking. If anything it was mostly just the… lack of, I s’pose.”

“They weren’t there?”

“No, they were. But it was like they weren’t,” you glance up, fleeting before looking away again. “I tried telling them about the concert, made everything sound nice and interesting for them—for them not to get angry about where I got the ticket, or how I managed to afford the trip or go on about how I was wasting the little money we had, or how I kept making things difficult.”

His thumb strokes your hand, slowly and deliberate as you try to find the words. Remus scoots closer too, careful and slow in his movements. Tentative.

“They didn’t like having me around, but didn’t want me gone either. It was… weird, almost. Like we were stuck with each other, but I couldn’t do anything,” you shrug one shoulder. “Music helped, though.”

“Yeah?”

“Hm,” you look down, lips twitching faintly when his thumb sweeps higher on your hand, moving to your inner wrist. “They didn’t like that, either. But,” you laugh to yourself, a quiet and bitter sound that makes him scoot closer. Your eyes glance at your phone, discarded to the side. “Sometimes I wonder if… things had been different… if they would be happy for me. For making it all the way here.” 

While you don’t look up yet, Remus exhales deeply like he understands. Like the pieces fall into place. To that same morning, to the way you’ve been toying around that wound, your insistence on not being a singer for the band. Your need to walk out into the night, wandering around without thinking about the consequences—because there never were. 

“I…” he clears his throat, hand moving up. He strokes your forearm, the fabric of your jumper bunches with his movement. To his surprise, you lean closer. “I’m sorry—I didn’t know….”

“I know,” you nod, looking away. “No need to be sorry.”

Remus sucks in a breath, taking the leap. He shuffles closer, hand moving up from your forearm to the curve of your neck—acutely aware of your reactions, studying the way your eyes don’t glance up again. His hand cups the side of your neck, thumb sweeping at your baby hairs before guiding you face to meet his gaze.

“They should be, but they don't get to decide that anymore,” he whispers, holding your gaze to make sure you’re listening to him. “You made it here, dove. You’re here, and you were incredible tonight. That’s all it matters—everything you’ve done to get here.”

“It’s just…” you suck in a breath, it’s stuttery and heavy with the pain trapped in your chest. The words don’t come out, your throat is too clogged it’s impossible to speak past the jumble of emotions trapped there. “it would’ve been nice, s’all.”

He nods in understanding, feeling the ever familiar ache at the pain in your tone, the resignation of years of silence and hard work being ignored. Remus sighs deeply when a sniffle breaks the silence, reaching through the darkness to fist at his already predisposed heart. 

Neither of you know who moved first, but you find yourself leaning into his shoulder, hiding into the curve of his neck and tucked closer by a tentative arm curled around your lower back. Remus doesn’t drop his hand from your neck, moving it upwards until he’s thumping at your silent tears. 

He holds you against him until your sniffles quieten, until you’re not fighting to breathe or to silence the painful thoughts in your head. His fingers never stop cleaning your tears, his arm never loosens around you, and his lips linger over the crown of your head as you slowly relax into him. The weight of his kiss is enough to ease some relief into your chest, soothing the cracks of your heart as your arm, tentatively, moves to curl around his front. A quiet thank you for his gentle reassurance. 

Remus kisses your temple again. 

“I’m sorry,” you whisper into his chest, not quite letting go yet. “I’m usually not this emotional after a gig.”

“It’s okay if you are,” he whispers back, nuzzling his cheek against your temple. You slip your eyes shut with something akin to peace. “And it’s okay if you need a moment to yourself after a show, dove. They tend to bring out a lot of emotions that are hard to come off from afterwards." 

“I know.”

He hums, holding you closer in a quiet indulgence. And you let him in your own quiet indulgence. 

“Do you want more water?” he asks.

“I’m okay, thanks,” you reply. As if you could compromise this small moment to have a sip of water. “Do you want to watch a film?”

Remus’ lips curl against your skin, leaning a bit back to meet your gaze. “Of course,” one of his arms lets go to pat for the remote. “Not sure if the options will be any good, though.”

You make a quiet amused sound. “I was watching a funny one earlier,” you say, smiling to yourself when his arm returns around you. “But then it got weird and gave up.”

“What film was it?”

“Clueless.”

He sends you a startled look. “You’ve never seen Clueless?”  

“I have,” you nod, growing a tad defensive. But Remus only shakes his head with a little smile, still going through the film options. “But, Remus—they were siblings at some point. Isn’t that weird?”

“It’s supposed to be Emma,” he explains, typing the movie into the search bar. 

“Right, of course,” your lips twitch into a little smile. “I forgot who I was talking to.”

He takes the bait. “Oi, what’s that supposed to mean?” he clicks on the film, drawing you closer as the opening credits begin playing. You don’t answer, but he manages to catch a small glimpse of your lips curling with the telly’s glow. “You’re going to watch this cult classic and realize how much you love it.”

“I do,” you argue softly, there’s still tentativeness in your tone that he makes sure to soothe. 

“You just called it weird.”

“It is weird,” you press, pointing at the screen as the first riff of the opening song starts playing. “But the soundtrack? Do you hear that? Bloody brilliant.”

Remus smiles. “The kids in America,” he murmurs, mostly amused. “Bit fitting, isn’t it?”

You roll your eyes fondly, settling down when the film starts properly. He sinks deeper into the sofa, fixing the blanket over your bodies and hoping you don’t feel the way his heart thumps inside his chest. 

Right as the music fades for the dialogue, you clear your throat to force the words out. “Thank you, Remus.”  

You feel his lips curling around the skin just shy of your eye, not flinching when they linger a beat longer. For a moment, you let yourself enjoy this.

…

A thumb is drawing circles into your palm, slow and steady but repetitive enough to get your attention, even asleep. When you try to raise your head, open your eyes, someone hushes.

“Sh, it’s okay,” Sirius whispers, lips curled into a sideways smile at your sleepy frown. “S’just me.”

Under you, Remus begins to rouse as well. His hand comes around your back as an instinct, checking for you even in his sleepy state. It’s enough of a grounding touch that you’re slipping your eyes shut again, giving into your exhaustion. 

Sirius doesn’t want to comment on the way they’re the tiniest bit puffy. Enough for his chest to twist painfully. He tries to coax you to wake up again, thumb sweeping your knuckles when you don’t begin stirring. 

Thankfully, Remus is already blinking his eyes open. “Sorry,” he whispers. “We… sort of fell asleep waiting for you to come back.”

“Yeah?” his lips twitch into an amused smile. The film is long over, credits still playing faintly on the telly. “Was the film not very entertaining?”

“No,” Remus says immediately, a knee jerk reaction to being a contrarian with Sirius. He shakes his head with a fond eyeroll. “How was the concert?”

“Great,” he says. “Would’ve been better if you were there, though,” his eyes flicker between you two, smile dimming.

Remus, of course, reads right through this. “She…” he’s careful to lower his voice, in case you’re beginning to wake up. “She wasn’t feeling very well.”

Sirius feels himself frowning, that worrisome divot between his eyebrows returns as his eyes begin studying you. They drag a path from your puffy eyes to your relaxed face, lips slightly parted and pursed against Remus’ shoulder. 

He fixes the blanket over you. “Is she okay now?” 

“She will,” Remus nods, carefully shifting his hold around you to reach for Sirius. His hand cups his cheek again, in that familiar way that soothes them both. “Relax, love—she will be okay, yeah?”

“I…” he frowns. “I knew something was going on but…”

You stir, and Sirius immediately silences himself. It’s at record time in which he slips the mask on, flashing you a fond grin when you blink your eyes open.

“Oh,” your voice is heavy with sleep. “Sirius?”

“That’s me, babe,” he nods. “How was the nap?”

You blink again, slowly realizing where you are, who’s holding you, and most importantly, who found you this way. 

“Fuck,” you force out, a strained sound that breaks through the silence of the lounge room. “Fuck, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“Hey, you’re okay,” Sirius is quick to reassure you, eyes slightly widened in panic when they meet Remus’. “It’s okay, lovely—no need to apologize.”

Despite the reassurances in their words and actions, the panic has spread throughout your body as you try to pull away from Remus. Your movements are painfully deliberate in your embarrassment as you stand, not quite meeting their gazes as you brush your hair away from your face. 

Sirius stands as well, frowning at the evident panic on your face. “Hey—”

“Sorry,” it’s all you say, not quite stopping your anxious fiddling as you take a step back. “I… uh, I’ll just go to sleep now.”

“y/n,” Remus says, sitting straight. The blanket pools over his lap, amber eyes full of patience when your face snaps to him. “Don’t apologize, we—”

“Remus,” you say back in the same tone. And a little pleading, too. “I know what you’re going to say, but please just… not now.”

He closes his mouth, nodding with a clenched jaw. Your eyes flicker to Sirius, holding his gaze before turning to the bunk areas to get into yours. It’s clear you won’t sleep, but they let you go, anyway.

The silence you leave behind is louder than your absence, than the realization you’ve carried with you to the compact space of your bunk bed. You’re shifting inside, they can hear the sound leaking from the small crack of your curtain. Your earpods clink together with the hurry you try to untangle them, and it isn’t until the movement ceases that they share a look. 

Sirius shifts, brushing his hair away from his face. “I’m sorry,” he still whispers, afraid you might not actually be listening to music. “I shouldn’t have woken her up.”

Remus softens. “It’s not your fault,” he whispers back, reaching for his wrist. His thumb sweeps circles in the same way he did to you. “We agreed, didn’t we? That we’d try?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, then we keep trying.”

He lets out a deep exhale, looking back at the narrow corridor. “Okay, yeah,” he nods slowly. “Sorry, it’s just…”

“I know.” Remus mirrors his nod, lips twitching into a tentative smile. “I know, love—you’re okay.”

“Did…” he wets his lips nervously. “Did she have a cry?”

“Sirius…”

“Right,” he pulls back, nodding. Like he’s reining himself in. “Right, sorry.”

“No, it’s just… I don’t know how much I should say,” Remus holds fast at his wrist, pulling him closer until he has no choice but to sit. “But she’s okay now.”

“Oh.” Sirius’ shoulders slump. “Yeah, I… I noticed but didn’t want to put her on the spot.”

“I think she needed it.”

Sirius nods, turning to look out towards the window. 

Remus shifts, changing tactics. “Did you put your guitar in the other van?”

“Huh?”

“Your guitar, love,” he smiles, stroking at his temple. At the wet curls sticking to his skin with his post concert shower. “Can I borrow it for a bit?”

It takes a while, but Sirius comes back from the back lounge with his guitar in hand. His face is still adorned with a troubled expression, eyebrows pinched together where he settles next to Remus on the sofa. He wordlessly hands it over, not minding when he stalls to take it while he finishes typing into his notes app.

“Can I ask?”

“Ask what?”

“What is it about?”

Remus only sends him a soft sideways glance, lips curling into a little smile as he continues typing. “You’ll see,” he murmurs, eyes flickering quickly to the bunk areas before turning to his phone.

“Okay.”

Sirius sits back, pulling the blanket over himself as Remus finally takes the guitar. He balances the phone over his knee, strumming absentmindedly while whispering the lyrics to himself. He starts again, then pauses to delete and rewrite—sharing little glances with Sirius as they sit in the silence that is their creative process. 

When enough time passes, and Sirius is beginning to doze off to the melodies Remus is toying with, someone is gently nudging his knee. The same hand squeezes his wrist before setting a phone into his palm, the lyrics Remus has been working on. You don’t have to be sorry for leaving and growing up. You can see the world, following the seasons. Anywhere you go, you don’t need a reason. 

“It’s just… a work in progress,” he whispers, still strumming absentmindedly. “I’ve been toying with this idea for a while but never… had the right words, I s’pose.”

Sirius looks up, eyes full of understanding. “She told you, didn’t she?”

Remus blinks. “What?”

“About… sneaking out, and her…?” his voice is tentative, almost in fear that you’re listening to them. 

“Oh, yeah,” he lets his arms drop to his lap. “You knew?”

Sirius doesn’t answer. Instead, he gestures at him for the guitar. He begins strumming the same melody, humming quietly before whispering the first lyrics—

“I first started it when we had that night out after graduation, remember?” Remus whispers, quick to explain as his thumb hovers over the screen. “How you’d take your bike and ride around the neighborhood after your mum would…”

“Yeah.”

“I have been thinking about it for a while but I never… I didn’t want to seem too abrupt, or meddling,” he goes on. “So I kept it a secret, like a silent project to work on.”

“Until today.”

Remus glances up, meeting his gaze. “Until today, yeah.”

Sirius drops his hands, too. He looks down at the lit up screen before reaching for Remus, the kiss is slow and tentative, like a secret. A silent understanding.

They stay the whole night working on the song.

[livingawayfromhere]

sirius black x reader

roommate au

summary: a continuation of this that i wrote forever ago?

word count: 310

contains: sleep-deprived reader gets sleep. with sirius. on the couch. roommate!james pov. cheeky lupin. mentions of james maybe being perverted but probably not.

When James wakes in the morning, he’s not unfazed to find one of Sirius’ boots sitting actual yards away from the rug at the door. Scattered across the middle of the floor like a dog picked it up and carried it around– nothing short of normal around the flat. He is, however, a little fazed at the humongous lump of limbs waiting for him on the couch in the pale morning light.

He really can’t help but stare. He knows he’s stunned but he can’t really figure out why? There are too many things swimming around in his head and drowning out whatever common sense exists there. First of all, how dare you sleep on the couch? Second of all, how dare both of you sleep on the couch? Does no one listen to him around here! And third– damn. You look peaceful. So peaceful. Sirius has got you clutched so tightly to his chest that James is surprised you haven’t been strangled to death in your sleep. Or maybe you have been. You’d deserve it for sleeping on the couch, anyway.

There’s something weirdly entrancing and maybe a little perverted about the way James is staring. He doesn't know why– it's just you and Sirius. He supposes that itself is the reason. He's never seen Sirius's hands hold someone so tightly. He's never seen you bury your face into his shoulder like he's the only safety you've ever known like this. He can’t understand the tug at his heart this causes.

He wonders how long he’s been standing there ogling at his flatmates, because eventually there’s a huff behind him. Remus is still rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, but he looks on the scene in amusement. 

“The nerve of those two, eh? What’re you gonna do with them?”

James merely shakes his head, but he’s bewildered as he thinks to himself 

Let them sleep.

a/n so i meant to upload this 2 months ago so how about that

m.list | sirius black | ysa's info

all content belongs to @livingawayfromhere. i do not consent to my work being replicated, modified, reposted, or redistributed in any format.

[ellecdc]

How about a fic where Remus falls for reader who is Sirius’ sister? If Sirius freaks out with Regulus and James, just imagine how protective he would be with a sister! Specially if she is sweet and kind (totally opposite of him and Regulus)

will I ever make a sibling fic that isn't chaotic? no, likely not. also, I didn't exactly make her the opposite of Sirius and Regulus but it could be argued that she's better than them anyways. ALSO, I've always refrained from reader-inserts with Black!sister reader simply because I see her as Reggie's twin who looks the way he does, and also can't get beyond the fact that she would have a celestial name SO, in any Black!sister fics going forward, please note that her middle name will have been Soleil which is French for sun, and the boys call her Sunny as a nickname <3

Remus Lupin x Black!sister reader who he has fallen head over heels for [1.5k words]

CW: siblings, threats of murder

Most boys at some point in their lives will be asked the following question:

Are you a mummy’s boy, or a daddy’s boy?

If a boy wasn’t asked such a question, it was likely because the answer was painfully obvious.

“Little Lucius Malfoy is such a daddy’s boy.”

“That James Potter, such a mama’s boy”.

“Oh, sweet Peter Pettigrew, he has always been a mummy’s boy.”

Since the answer was so painfully obvious, neither Sirius Orion Black or Regulus Arcturus Black had ever been asked this question. For them, the answer was simple:

They were their sister’s boy’s.

It was this fact that made Remus Lupin’s current predicament so bloody difficult. 

“Where is she!?” Regulus barked as he stormed over to the Gryffindor table where Sirius was sitting beside James across from Remus and Peter.

“Goodmorning, Reggie.” Sirius offered instead of answering his brother.

“For Sala- hi, Sirius. Where is she?”

“Where is who?” 

“Your sister.” Regulus spat, causing Sirius’ brows to furrow as he chanced a look over his shoulder at his brother. 

“How is she my sister? She’s your twin.”

“Nevermind that, do you know where she is?” Regulus muttered.

Sirius sighed and stood from his seat to scan the Great Hall. 

“Nope.” He offered with a pop of the p before returning to his breakfast.

“I’m going to avada that meddling witch!” Regulus hissed as he stormed off; Remus, James, and Peter all watching after him as Sirius continued happily with his toast.

“Are….you not worried about her?” Peter asked cautiously then.

“Not really.” Sirius responded quickly. 

James let out a breath at that and shook his head in disbelief. “Siblings are weird, mate.”

“Thanks, Siri.” You chimed as your head popped up between James and Sirius; the former shrieking not unlike a displeased mandrake plant as he clutched at his chest. 

Neither you nor Sirius paid him any mind as Sirius nudged his plate closer to you so you could pick from it. 

“What’d you do now?” Sirius asked.

“I simply told one of Reg’s admirers that he was already seeing someone; I hardly see what all the fuss is about.” You offered simply, causing Sirius to look at you in bemusement and mutter “Reg is seeing someone?” at the same time James looked at you in horror and hissed “Reg has an admirer!?” 

You simply smirked and looked at Remus who was sitting across from you and shot him a wink.

He hoped to all get out that no one noticed the heat radiating in his cheeks as he smiled nervously down at his plate, though he was relatively certain he could feel a set of spectacled eyes burning a hole into the side of his head. 

“Wait, why do you look like that?” Sirius asked then, causing the table to look at him to see he was surveying your form.

“Like what?” You asked him slowly, looking down at your uniform as if to see what Sirius could possibly be talking about. 

“You look…like…nice.” Sirius muttered as if that was a particularly bad thing.

“I always look nice.” You argued then.

“That’s not true, you usually just look fine.”

“You’re such a git.” You spat, taking the piece of toast he had in his hand and taking a bite of it.

“Doesn’t she just usually only look fine?” Sirius asked then, and Remus was horrified to see he was looking at him. 

“Me?”

Sirius nodded impatiently as if saying “yeah? What about it?”

“Why are you asking me?” Remus asked somewhat shrilly. 

“You’re objective.”

“And Peter and James aren’t?”

Sirius huffed as he kicked Remus in the shin under the table. “Would you just answer the sodding question?”

“I…well,” and Remus looked at you - you, who always looked nothing short of lovely and radiant and dauntingly perfect in every way, and today had been no exception. But he couldn’t very well say that. “She…she looks fine, yeah.”

Sirius’ brows furrowed further as he turned back to look at you, and Remus tried to pretend he didn’t notice a brief look a hurt cross your features. “You do, though. Look lovely today, that is.” He added awkwardly, simply receiving a half-smile in response. 

“Sunny!” Regulus barked then; apparently having found his way back to the Great Hall in his search for you.

“Oh, Merlin and Morgana.” You grumbled as your head fell back in exasperation.

“What did you tell him?”

“Who?” Sirius and James parroted. 

“Sunny.” Regulus repeated, his gaze never moving from you as he sidled up behind you. “What did you tell him?”

“Oh, stop with the theatrics, Regulus; you’re embarrassing yourself.” You drawled, sounding like a true upper-classman as you refused to look at your twin. 

“What did you tell Fenwick?” He gritted out slowly in a way Remus was sure would make a lesser man cower, but you simply rolled your eyes at him. 

“I simply told him that he was grasping at billywigs because you were already seeing someone.” 

Regulus held your gaze as you raised your eyebrow at him. “That’s it?”

“That’s it.” You hissed, completely unimpressed. 

“Who in the hells are you seeing?” Sirius asked then, causing the two of you to look over at him.

“Nevermind, Siri.” You responded in a bored tone around another bite of his toast.

“I will too mind, thank you very much! Who is my baby brother seeing!?”

“Oh relax, Sirius, there’s no need to call the DMLE; it’s not like Sunny’s seeing anyone.” He chuckled, causing Sirius to snort in laughter.

“That’s true.”

You made a disbelieving sound as you looked between your two brothers. “What in Merlin’s name is that supposed to mean?!”

“That means, my dear baby sister,” Sirius responded curtly as he yanked his toast back from you, “that you must never date, otherwise your big brother will end up in Azkaban.” 

“Oh give us a little credit, Sirius; we’d get away with it.” Regulus countered. 

“Why!?” You beseeched. 

“No one is good enough for you, obviously.” Sirius responded simply, as if you were quite ridiculous for even needing to ask. 

“And anyone who thinks otherwise will end up dead.” Regulus continued earnestly, causing James to bark a laugh.

“Don’t worry Moons, Pete and I will make sure your funeral is nice.” He said as he brought another spoon of cereal to his mouth.

Remus felt all blood drain from his face as everyone turned to look at him.

Regulus stared at him in a confused sort of horror, Peter looked at him with a sympathetically worried expression, Sirius didn’t look exactly horrified or disgusted as Remus had thought he would, but he definitely looked disturbed to some level, and you were looking at him with what he thought (and certainly hoped) was hopeful surprise.

James looked up at the silence to see everyone staring at Remus, whilst Remus just stared at him in betrayal.

“James!?” Remus whisper shouted; his voice having apparently run off along with his bollocks. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Regulus finally asked then, staring daggers at Remus as Sirius raised his hand slightly as if warning Regulus off of his best friend, though never removing his own scrutinising gaze from Remus. 

“James, what’d you mean by that?” Sirius asked James - eyes still glued to Remus.

“I, well, erm. I’m actually, not entirely sure? I just…well…”

“Do you fancy her, Moony?” Sirius whispered as if it was some horrid joke and so completely unfathomable that Remus could possibly find you as enchanting as he admittedly did. 

No, he wanted to say, of course not, Pads. That’s your baby sister, I’d never fall so head-over-heels for the sister of my best friend, that’s absurd. 

But that wouldn’t be true.

And he’d already been outed. 

His gaze moved to you and offered what he hoped was an apologetic smile before opening his mouth to respond. 

“Regulus is shagging James!” You blurted then, causing James to flinch so violently that his knees hit the bottom of the table top, and Regulus deflated severely from where he’d been staring down Remus like some well-trained guard-dragon. 

“Are you fucking kidding me!?” Sirius shrieked then, turning to point his glare at someone other than Remus, finally.

Remus had been so caught up in the verbal volleying taking place between Sirius, Regulus, and James that he hadn’t noticed you had disappeared from your spot beside Sirius until you popped back up beside him and were encouraging him up by the sleeve of his uniform jumper.

And you looked so sweet and so lovely and so hopeful and so mischievous and Remus really was helpless in the pull you had on him, which saw him rushing out of the Great Hall with your hand in his as you dragged him away from your brothers and laughing all the while. 

So yeah, this made Remus Lupin’s current predicament incredibly bloody difficult.

Because if Sirius and Regulus were sister’s boys, you were your brothers’ girl.

And that made Remus Lupin a dead man walking.

© ellecdc; do not copy, translate, or repost my work anywhere under any circumstances.

[livingawayfromhere]

sirius black x reader

roommate au

summary: sirius comes home late (early?) to find insomniac you curled up on the couch.

word count: 1.4k

contains: sleep deprived reader. mentions of chronic pain. implication that sirius is wearing reader's clothes. james cares very deeply about muscle strains. sirius knows you need a good sleep and is willing to face james's wrath to get you there.

a/n written in partnership with this but can also be read as a standalone :)

It all started because you wanted to sleep on the couch.

You’ve established to your flatmates: the bed is broken. The pillows are broken, the blankets are broken, you are broken, and the only thing not broken is the cushy couch in the sitting room because it’s the only spot you’ve been able to properly sleep in weeks. Or get anything resembling a proper sleep. You’ve learned this through a gruelling series of experiments. Endless nights awake in your sheets where you can feel the bags under your eyes growing heavier. Spontaneous naps on the couch in the middle of the day leaving you well-rested.

And you’re totally screwed over either way! Because not only has your circadian rhythm just up and tossed itself away, but your stupid flatmates– namely, James– think that sleeping on the couch is the end of the world. Something about support and muscles and shoulders and spines and all this anatomy jargon that frankly, James, you don’t really care for. Couch equals sleep. Sleep equals happy. 

Anyway. It all leads to tonight, the nth time you’ve snuck out to the sitting room.

James hasn’t caught you because you made your great escape while he was in the shower. Remus may as well know you’re curled beneath the throws because he has this way of just knowing (or perhaps it’s become predictable now), but you know that he has a heart and soul and understands that this is what you need. Sirius left hours ago, some plans to meet with your friend Marlene and some others that you knew would keep him out until the early hours of the morning. You count them on your fingers– one, two, three flatmates, and not a single one bugging at you! A win in your book.

Like a child after a bedtime story, you snuggle into the fuzzy throw that had been abandoned on the armchair hours ago, and sleep slowly washes over in hesitant waves– still more than your bed could offer you.

-

You barely hear the sound of the door, but you do. 

It’s all very faint behind the haze of sleep but somewhere far away there’s the jingle of Sirius’s keychains and the rustle of his feet slipping out of his shoes. There’s a thump, but you’re too incognizant to recognize it’s him saving himself from tripping in the dark.

It goes silent for a bit. Or maybe you’ve lost consciousness again. It floods back to you at the feel of fingertips against your shoulder. He’s cool against your hot skin and it makes you sigh pretty.

Sirius sighs back at you, giving in and sidling up against you, laying directly at your back.

“You’re not meant to sleep on the couch, y’know?” His voice is low. It might send shivers up your spine if you were awake enough to activate those neurons.

“Mm, I won’t tell James.” Your own voice is sluggish but decidedly decipherable enough when Sirius huffs quietly.

“Oh, you won’t then? And what when he catches you in the morning?”

“Tomorrow problem.”

“I hate to break it to you sleepy, but it is tomorrow. Deal with it.”

You mean to groan in irritation, but it sounds suspiciously like a contented sigh when Sirius starts dragging his ring-clad fingers up and down your bare arm in a stupidly soothing motion.

“You minx. I still need to wash up.”

You think for one glorious moment that maybe he’s going to sacrifice washing up to stay in his spot where he’s keeping you deliciously warm– but then he’s gone in the next instant and you can see the shine of the bathroom light against the wall when you peek your eyes open. You miss his touch in the instant that it leaves and something etched into your skull knows that your sleep has now been effectively ruined.

You will sleep to seep back into your bones. You wait minutes that drag on like hours. The yellow glow of light from the bathroom doesn’t go away. Seconds feel like eternity and you can hear Sirius bustling around somewhere. 

Ugh.

Taking your precious throw with you, you drag yourself to the bathroom.

When you get to the doorframe, Sirius is elbows deep in scrubbing eyeliner off. At the scuffle, he looks up at you through the reflection in the mirror, and a silly smile captures his face.

“Oh, so you are awake then?”

You glare back. “D’you wanna guess who’s fault that is?”

Sirius softens a little at that. “Yeah, yeah– I’m sorry. Really. I know your sleep’s been screwy. But really, what will James say?”

You sigh, defeated. “I know.”

He ducks his face back down to give himself another rinse before patting himself dry with his towel. Then he turns to lean against the sink and eye you.

There’s a pause in the air while his eyes skim over you skeptically. You almost say something just to fill the space when he does first.

“Were you really comfortable there?” he asks.

You nod vigorously– a little too enthusiastic but truthful. “I was sleeping. Mostly.”

“Mmm.” He sort of puzzles you when he’s oddly prodding and cryptic like this. “Well, c’mon then.”

“Where?”

“Back to the couch. You’ll have to wait for me to go change though–”

You shrink in something akin to fear. “What if James hears you? He’ll banish me to my own bed and–”

“James won’t have as much power if both of us are sleeping on the couch, will he? Two against one. It’ll be a downhill battle for him.”

He’s entirely wrong– James can just as easily mouth off both of you for being idiots and there’s good reason to believe Remus ‘Chronic Pain’ Lupin wouldn’t team up with him for a clearly unequal two on two. But Sirius is handing you what you want on a silver platter and you’d be an idiot to reject it.

You don’t bother with an Okay when you trail after him, the blanket dragging behind you like a cape.

Sirius disappears into the darkness of the hallway but returns a blink of a second later, clad in comfy sweats you recognize and a t-shirt you’re pretty sure you left in your room. You mean to ask about it but Sirius gives you this silly look with a flicker in his eyes that says, Yes, I raided your room for clothes but I’m the one not ratting you out, so what are you gonna do about it?

The thought is abandoned as you remember the couch and you collapse with little graciousness, but Sirius only seems to find it amusing. You lay this time facing him, and he winds up half on you half next to you. 

Limbs are settled. Blanket haphazardly strewn overtop. His skin is warm. He smells like the wash he uses on his face and that cozy Sirius smell that hovers about him. Somewhere under that, you catch the undertones of Marlene’s perfume and his own sweat– evidence of his night out. In all: you smell comfort. You let out a deep sigh that releases the tension in your joints.

Sirius takes notice. His hands come up from whatever warm cranny he was hiding them in to take your face gently as ever, lips pursing in a way that oddly resembles Remus. “You poor thing. You must be so tired, hm?”

You nod best you can while you’re in his hold. His thumbs stroke the sad spots beneath your eyes– spots that you’re sure are unflattering, but it doesn’t seem to waver him as his eyes study you.

You should feel intimidated. Something about Sirius’ sharp, grey eyes and his flatteringly quirky self giving you attention is the kind of thing that makes your head spin and the hairs on your arms stand. He’s looking at you so intently.

But in truth, his thumbs are still smoothing out those spots. Back and forth, back and forth. Gentle touch. You can feel his breath on your face. His legs are tangled with yours and– sorry, James– you know this will hurt your back in the morning, but you swear you’ve never been more comfortable in your life.

Your eyes slip shut and Sirius pulls your head into the warm pocket of his chest. 

“That’s it, you sleep now. Go to sleep.” One of his hands snakes down to rub circles on your back and you’re done for. 

m.list | sirius black | ysa's info

all content belongs to @livingawayfromhere. i do not consent to my work being replicated, modified, reposted, or redistributed in any format.

[livingawayfromhere]

after work

bucky barnes x reader

summary: you're exhausted– too exhausted– coming home from work. bucky's there to make things lighter.

word count: 1.3k

contains: use of a pet name (doll, which i kind of don't like but bucky would SO say that), reader is lowkey overworked but its okay, we're fluffy about it. mentions of bucky's Traumatizing Past, reader wears bucky's clothes. let me know if there's something i'm missing? very not proofread lol

You would almost think that the apartment is empty if it wasn’t for the quiet murmur of the tv floating down the hallway.

You shrug your aching heels out of your shoes. Somewhere in the back of your mind a voice echoes about put the shoes away in the closet, but that would require bending down and you’re not sure you would be able to get back up after.

So, socked and all, you traipse further into your apartment, shoes abandoned crooked on the mat.

You can’t get to the bedroom to change out of your dirty, sweat-infused, grimy outside clothes without passing the living room. Which is a good thing. You know he will be in there.

You get there and you spot him as promised. You think Bucky’s so odd sometimes; the lights are dimmed low– uncomfortably low, practically shut off– like he’s trying to disguise the place as empty. Like he’s hiding. or like he’s trying to be nonexistent. But the hum of the tv gives him away.

Anyway, there he is on the couch, your cozy super-soldier. One of your old blankets is haphazardly strewn over his legs and he’s got a book propped up in his hand. You wonder how he can make out the words in such low lights.

His eyes are on you the instant you come into his line of sight. He probably knew you were home before you even turned the key– he’s got funky senses like that. You could blame it on a certain super serum but it’s more fun to think he’s got a psychic connection that alerts him when you’re in his vicinity.

Whatever peace he was in before you walked in has been instantly ruined as his eyes start to really focus on you. You can tell by the way his shoulders deflate like he’s disappointed, the way his eyes melt like a puppy’s been kicked.

You wonder what he’s seeing that’s making him like that. You’re smiling at him– or at least, you’re giving your best attempt at it– you really are genuinely happy to see him. Erm. Now that you think about it, the smile might be part of the problem, actually. 

You probably look like shit. Shoulders hunched. Knees almost buckled. God knows the bags under your eyes. Your smile probably looks miserable. If you look anything like how exhausted you feel, you know it can’t be any good.

“Hey,” you try anyway. “I wasn’t sure you’d be here,”

Bucky hesitates, staring at you like he’s got something else to say. “Yeah– I texted, you didn’t answe– what happened to you?”

You slump on one hip, raising an eyebrow. “How nice, Bucky, Just the thing I wanted to hear.” You’re only teasing and he knows it.

Still, he surges forward, serious. “No, no, that’s not what I meant,” He’s at you in an instant, blanket abandoned in a heap. Your weight goes light as he pulls you to lean into him, like he’s forcing you to surrender your weight to him. Like he’s literally choosing to carry your weight. “Just– really, you look like you can barely stand right now,”

You laugh half-heartedly into his shirt. “Is it that obvious?” 

He lets out a sigh that sounds heartbroken. “C’mon. Let’s get you off your feet. You want me to run a bath?”

You mull it over. A bath would probably be heaven right about now. But in all honesty, your legs feel like they would really benefit if they were propped up on the couch. Warm and cozy under the blanket. And Bucky’s heartbeat in your ear…

“No thank you. I wanna change, though.”

Bucky gives you a teethy grin. “One step ahead of you.”

He wasn’t lying. There was a set of clean clothes on the bed waiting for you. They might as well have had a pretty ribbon tied to them with the way your heart warmed at the sight, too giddy to be normal. Bucky excused himself, promising to meet you in the living room with warm tea, and now, tying up the strings of the pants he had left out (from the pile of his clothes, you had learned. He had intentionally left out his clothes for you to change into. What a loser), you can’t wait to get there.

And as promised, when you make your way back to the living room, he’s there with warm tea on the table, a smile just as warm gracing his pretty face. You could collapse just at the sight of it, let alone from how tired you are.

“Sit.” It’s said like it’s commanding, but when it’s Bucky and most importantly you, it never is. You happily oblige, dropping yourself down on the couch next to him. 

He doesn’t seem to approve of the way you’re awkwardly slumped over, back twisted and bare feet still on the floor. He gently pulls your shoulders up and tugs your legs into his lap. 

Immediately, you feel better. Maybe you’re just pleased that your feet are propped up how you wanted them to be. 

It’s very peaceful. The tv is running an old sitcom that Bucky knows you like. The lights are warm and Bucky’s warm, and so you’re warm.

He’s rubbing absentmindedly at your legs like it’s something he isn’t even aware he’s doing. It is, however, everything you’re aware of. His fingers reach a knot in your calf and you feel your brows scrunch.

“You okay?” Bucky’s voice comes low and gruff, but nevertheless too caring for your own good.

You hum, because words don’t seem to want to find you.

Bucky doesn’t nod. “You have a rough day?”

You sigh and go looking for the words yourself. “No, it was… it was fine.” You know your voice is coming out slow, sluggish, but Bucky’s eyes are on your lips like it’s honey dripping out, so you force yourself to push out the rest of your thought. “It was a lot, though. So much to do, and really not enough time to do it, and zero time to spare just to take a break. It felt like I would fall too far behind if I didn’t rush, and…” you squeeze a breath out of your worn lungs. “I really like sitting here with you.”

He looks like he’s surprised at the last bit, eyes quirking up in that silly little way he doesn’t realize. But it quickly disappears in place of a small laugh. “Yeah?”

“Mhm. It’s been a really, really long day.”

“You miss me while you were at work?” He’s teasing. He’s ridiculous.

You slump into the cushion, cheek smushed and practically half asleep. “Uh-huh.”

You hear Bucky chuckle again, and the hold on your leg tightens comfortably. “Sleepy, are you? Gonna be knocked out before you can even eat something? Gonna make me carry you to bed?” Still teasing.

You try to mumble something, something you intended to sound like just leave me here and dinner is for losers but what actually comes out is: “Mhm.” 

A soft breath escapes you and you know it’s your downfall. You’re not getting up unless Bucky drags you. You’re here for eternity.

“Okay, doll. Close your eyes a bit. I’ll wake you up to eat later, yeah?”

You think you reply. It’s hard to tell when your body’s gone warm and your mind’s sort of hazy and Bucky’s voice is so soothing and he starts humming and you drift off quickly and quietly.

Bucky can’t help but smile to himself, watching how your tense shoulders go lax as you start snoozing. It’s funny how easily he smiles around you. He thinks back to the times where it seemed like he would never smile again, and wonders just how he got so lucky to find the one person he could probably never stop smiling around.

And then his thoughts shift to you. Exhausted, too hardworking, but so loving and trusting. He knows that the luckiest part of all is that you trust him enough to fall asleep in his arms.

He would never trade that for the world.

hi lol so not to rant but i've been very highkey obsessed with bucky for the longest time but haven't written for him because genuinely i adore him as a character and i really did not want to fuck him up. like he's too perfect for me to touch. but then i got home from work with my aching feet and said i need this for me so. here it is.

main m.list | bucky barnes | ysa's info

all content belongs to @livingawayfromhere. i do not consent to my work being replicated, modified, reposted, or redistributed in any format.

[livingawayfromhere]

mcu

bucky barnes | the winter soldier

after work (1.3k)

you're exhausted– too exhausted– coming home from work. bucky's there to make things lighter.

all content belongs to @livingawayfromhere. i do not consent to my work being replicated, modified, reposted, or redistributed in any format.

[heldbybarnes]

imagine reader cradling Bucky’s face just staring at him smiling and Bucky is like “what are doing?” Reader saying “I’m looking at my whole world” and Bucky getting all choked up “Doll you can’t just say things like that! I’m an old man, think of my heart, you’re gonna send me into cardiac arrest saying things like that”

Cause Bucky deserves to almost be sent into cardiac arrest from the sweet things his doll tells him -🐍

bucky deserves all the things!

----------

He never gets used to it— the way you look at him like that.

You’ve got both hands cupped around his face, thumbs soft beneath his cheekbones, your fingers brushing along the curve of his jaw. The early afternoon light spills across the room in slow, honey-thick ribbons, catching on the silver of his dog tags and the streak of gray threaded through his hair. He’s wearing one of his old henleys, sleeves shoved to his elbows, skin still damp from the shower.

And he’s just standing there, blinking down at you, eyes soft and uncertain in the way they always are when you look at him too long.

“What’re you doin’, doll?” he asks finally, voice low and rough, the corner of his mouth tilting up even as a blush creeps along his neck.

You hum, fingertips tracing the faint scratch of stubble across his jawline. “Just looking.”

“At what?”

You smile—quiet and unhurried. “My whole world.”

It hits him like a punch—a gentle one, right in the ribs. He goes very still beneath your touch. You can see the words sink in, see them find their way past every wall and scar he’s ever built.

“Jesus, doll,” he breathes out, shaking his head, though his throat works like it’s hard to swallow. “You can’t—” His voice cracks, and he laughs a little, helpless. “You can’t just say things like that. Think of my heart.”

“Your heart’s fine.” You grin, your thumb brushing over the corner of his mouth. “It’s strong.”

“Strong, sure, but old,” he counters, trying to make it sound light. “You’re gonna send me into cardiac arrest if you keep talkin’ like that.”

“Mm.” You tilt your head, pretending to consider. “Worth it, though?”

He huffs out a laugh—the kind that folds at the end, breaking apart because it’s hiding something softer underneath. “Yeah,” he admits, eyes shining. “Worth it.”

You pull him closer by the collar until your foreheads touch. He smells like soap and coffee—like home. He’s trembling, just a little, from holding it all in—all the years of believing he’d never have this, that people like him didn’t get to be loved like this.

“Hey,” you whisper. “Breathe.”

He does, slow and shaky. You can feel the rise and fall against your chest, the steadying weight of it.

Sometimes you forget that softness still scares him—that it still sneaks up on him like an ambush. He’s lived through too many decades where affection was a liability, tenderness a weapon someone else could use against him.

So you say it again, softer this time, like you’re teaching him a language he’s still learning. “You’re my whole world, Bucky.”

His hands come up to cover yours—warm and rough and trembling. His thumbs press over your knuckles like he’s memorizing them, like he needs proof that you’re real.

“You don’t know what that does to me,” he murmurs.

“I think I do.”

His laugh is quiet and shaky. “I was doin’ just fine, you know. Had my coffee, fed Alpine, thought maybe I’d tinker with the bike a bit—maybe take you out later. And then you—” He swallows, shaking his head. “You go and say somethin’ like that, and now I’m—”

“What?” you tease. “Ruined?”

He smiles, eyes soft. “Yeah. Ruined.”

You brush your nose against his. “Good.”

His hands slide to your waist, pulling you in until you’re flush against him. He’s still smiling, but his eyes are wet, lashes dark. He’s not crying, not really—just that almost-cry, the kind that catches in his throat, the kind he refuses to let spill because it still feels like too much.

“Y’know,” he says after a moment, voice quiet, “I spent a long time thinkin’ I’d never get this again. That maybe I didn’t deserve it.”

You trace the line of his metal arm where it joins his shoulder. “You do.”

He shakes his head, that familiar stubborn set to his jaw returning. “Doll, I’ve done things—”

“So have I,” you interrupt gently. “Just… different things. And I’d do them all again if it meant getting to stand here with you.”

He looks at you like he’s trying to believe it—like every part of him wants to, even the pieces that still don’t know how.

“God,” he whispers. “You’re somethin’ else.”

“I’m yours.”

That’s what undoes him completely. His breath catches—a small, broken sound that’s half a laugh, half a sob. He presses his mouth to yours, desperate and tender all at once, the kind of kiss that says thank you and don’t go and how did I ever get this lucky?

When he pulls back, he keeps his eyes closed, forehead still resting against yours.

“Y’know what I see when I look at you?” he murmurs.

You hum, waiting.

“Everythin’ I ever wanted,” he says softly. “Everythin’ I thought I’d lost for good.”

You smile against his lips. “Guess we’re even, then.”

He chuckles, that sound—low, warm, unguarded—filling the room like sunlight.

You stay like that for a long time, just breathing each other in. His pulse steadies beneath your palms. Your thumbs trace lazy circles against his skin. Outside, the city hums; inside, everything is quiet.

Eventually, he opens his eyes again—still glassy, but lighter now. “You really gotta stop sayin’ things like that without warnin’ me first,” he mutters.

“No promises.”

He groans, mock-dramatic. “Doll, one of these days you’re gonna kill me with kindness.”

You laugh, resting your head against his chest. “Not a bad way to go.”

“Yeah, well,” he murmurs, kissing the top of your head, “if I gotta die, I want it right here—with you lookin’ at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like I’m worth the trouble.”

You lean back, meet his gaze, and smile. “You are.”

And there it is again—that small, startled sound in his chest, like he’s forgotten how to hold this much tenderness at once. He kisses you before you can say anything else, soft and slow, like he’s learning every curve of your mouth by heart.

When you finally part, he exhales, forehead still pressed to yours. “See?” he mutters. “Cardiac arrest. You’re a menace.”

You grin. “A menace who loves you.”

“Yeah,” he whispers, voice breaking just enough to make you ache. “My favorite kind.”

He doesn’t say it often—not because he doesn’t want to, but because words have always been harder for him than action. But tonight, with your hands still cradling his face and the quiet promise of home wrapped around you both, he finally lets himself say it back, voice raw and certain.

“You’re my whole world too, doll.”

And the way he says it—quiet but sure, reverent but real—makes your heart skip in perfect sync with his.

You laugh softly, brushing your thumb over his bottom lip. “See? You survived it.”

“Barely,” he teases, eyes crinkling. “Next time, maybe give an old guy a little warnin’ first.”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

He laughs, and it’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever heard.

For a man who’s spent most of his life fighting battles, it feels like peace—like something he never thought he’d get to keep.

And when he pulls you into his arms, holding you close enough to feel the steady thrum of his heart beneath your ear, he thinks—if this is what cardiac arrest feels like, maybe it’s not so bad after all.

[livingawayfromhere]

I adore your Bob fics so much!! Thank you for keeping them largely gender neutral its so hard to find fics as a guy sometimes and you portray him so well!

I just wanted you to know that you are appreciated and I hope you have a lovely day!

so this made me kick my feet in happiness?? this message is so special and i feel so seen and thank you so so so much for this

making my writing as inclusive as possible has become a big priority for me and to hear that i'm actually doing something right is so reassuring <3 thank you so much for your kindness, it goes a farther way than you would think

[livingawayfromhere]

i just called to say

robert 'bob' reynolds x reader

summary: bob's missing you while you're away and then his phone rings

word count: 1.7k

contains: reader misses bob and bob misses reader. bob stress cleans. bob also kinda feels useless sometimes. mentions of general mcu combat and fighting, not descriptive. bob spills hot tea on himself accidentally

a/n: based on my fav stevie wonder song! schools been picking up with midterm season but trust i still love my mcu :)

Bob swears he isn’t much of a busy-body. He claims it’s because he just tends to mess things up, and I’m more useful twiddling my thumbs than getting in the way. You insist that he’s wrong every time he tries to use that as an excuse to exclude himself and opt out of tagging along on missions. But in the end you win, and he ends up getting dragged onto the jet. Not necessarily on the field, but soaking it all in because you’re one of us, Bob. Whether you’re out there or not.

It’s actually really comforting, regardless of the fact that he wouldn’t admit it to anyone.

This time around though, he doesn’t feel very fantastic about it.

An alert about an underground op came in last week, whisking away not two or three members of the team, but everyone. Bob had stood there sort of uselessly, watching everyone rushing around like that one scene in that Christmas movie he watched when he was younger, where the entire family was late for their vacation and rushed around packing suitcases and gathering passports. Except instead, the team were packing dark duffels and gathering an appalling number of weapons. And it wasn’t anywhere near Christmas. 

Somewhere in that mess, you had plowed through the commotion in search of Bob while hastily shrugging on a tactical vest. 

“You gonna come along?” Your eyes were wide with something that Bob thought might be hope– you wanted him to come with you.

“Uh–”

“He shouldn’t,” Yelena, strapping some kind of heavy-looking pistol to her leg, paused near the two of you. “Did you hear what Valentina said? High stakes. Not that you aren’t capable, Bob, but…” She looked apologetic. Bob knew it was sincere.

The same look was reflected in your face. “She might be right, actually.”

Bob nodded, understanding. 

You looked uneasy. “It’s not that we don’t want you there, it’s just–”

“I know,”

“I don’t want you to get hurt, this is a big mission.”

“Hey–” he put his hands over yours that had started to get hasty and frantic tightening a strap on the vest. He gently pulled yours away, doing the strap for you. “I know. This sounds…” He blew out a breath, “Big. Dangerous. You guys are good at big and dangerous.”

You gave him a sad smile, squeezing his bicep. Somewhere behind you, Mel said something about getting onto the jet, and the pressure to move quickly rose.

Bob smiled, patting your shoulder. “Get home safe.”

You returned the smile. “Of course. I’ll try my best.”

“Okay. See you soon.”

Before you could say anything else, Ava was tugging at your arm and you were being whisked into the elevator, no goodbye.

That was over a week ago. It’s been ten– no, eleven days since then. Part of Bob is happy to be sitting in the living room alone, where he’s far out of the way and just maintaining the Watchtower. It’s the job he assigned himself on day three. Reading could only hold his entertainment for so long, there wasn’t anything good on tv, and he almost burnt the kitchen down trying a new recipe. So he’s been trying to put himself to use in other ways. Sweeping the kitchen floor. Wiping the windows. Washing the dishes. That wasn’t as hard when it was just one dish that had been used for his sad plate of toast.

It’s sort of agony, being so lonely with nothing to do. Wondering about you for hours and hoping you're okay. But Bob hates even thinking about it that way. You’re out there doing God-knows-what, potentially even injured and hurting, fighting like hell for a cause bigger than you. And Bob’s just bored. 

It’s late now, with the sun setting over the skyline that Bob’s grown used to from the view the Watchtower offers. The dishes are drying, the floors are gleaming, and there’s not a speck of dust on the bookshelf. He’s gotten so bored that he’s willing to risk getting in trouble for using Bucky’s record player. It’s on the table, an old Stevie Wonder song playing as the record spins in circles. 

Bob isn’t very big on music, but he needed something to make the place feel even a little alive. So far, Stevie’s been the best solution.

The sky is painted a pretty orange that Bob likes. His chair is turned to the big window like it’s something to watch. There’s a cup of tea in his hands, warm and heavy. Besides that and Stevie, he’s sitting in the stillness, aimless and quiet, watching the sky. The sun sets slowly. It could keep him occupied for a while. Maybe you’re even watching the sunset, too– although, he doubts it. Who even knows where you might–

His phone vibrates. He jumps hard enough to slosh tea over the rim of the mug and he winces at the heat of it on his legs. The phone is still buzzing, trilling with a high-pitched ring-tone that he somehow keeps forgetting to change, and he hastily puts it to his ear to stop the incessant noise.

“Hello?”

“Bob?”

He freezes in place. He hadn’t checked the caller ID, but he knows that voice. He pulls the phone away for a moment like the screen will tell him, but it doesn’t. He says your name in confusion.

“Hi Bob, yeah, it’s me,” 

He swears that actual relief sinks into his bones. He sags into the chair and the tea that’s now staining his pants is a problem for never.

“Why do you sound offended?” you ask.

He lets out a laugh, sudden and loud. The goddamn tea. “Nothing, nothing, just… surprised you’re calling.” He says the sentence but then feels it turning in his mouth. “You’re calling? How are you calling? Is the mission over? Are you okay?”

He hears your laugh and swears his stomach does a backflip. “No, I’m fine, everyone’s fine. We– um– we’re just settling for the night. We haven’t gotten sleep this week.”

“What– this week? Like at all?”

Bob hears you sigh, and it’s like he can see your face right in front of him, exhausted and rubbing at your cheek in stress. “N-Not really, no. We’ve been all over the place, honestly– we were undercover for a while, then we’ve been tracking down this group that’s just always one step ahead, and–” you let out another sigh that sounds a little too tense. “It’s been hard. No fatalities, at least. I think Walker’s got a sprained wrist, but I think he’ll be alright.”

“That’s– that’s good,” Bob offers, because he doesn’t know what more he can say to help you.

Luckily, you seem to know there’s nothing better he can say, so you change the subject. “And what’ve you been busy with?”

He lets out a sort of half-laugh in irony. “You could say that. Just waiting for you guys to come back.”

“It’ll be another couple days, but not too long. I’ll be home soon, honey.”

His heart flutters. Honey. You throw that pet-name around like it’s just in your nature to, and Bob soaks it up like a bee gathers pollen. What gets him the most is that you only say it to him.

He snaps out of the thought, suddenly plagued with a new one. “You never answered my question,”

“Hmm?”

“Why are you calling me? I-I don’t mean it like I’m annoyed– I’m not! I just– I wasn’t expecting you to, and I didn’t even think you could– and–”

Your small chuckle pulls him out of his thoughts. “No, I didn’t think you were annoyed, I… I don’t know. I didn’t have a reason for calling. I just…”

The line goes eerily still for a long moment, and Bob contemplates saying something just to make sure you’re still there.

But then your voice comes again, quiet, but sure. “I just wanted to hear your voice. And say that I love you. It gets kinda hard when you’re not– um, when you’re not around.” Your voice hitches, and Bob’s heart clenches. “I know we’ll be back soon, but I’ve really been missing you.

Bob feels his throat tighten. It’s stupid, he nearly thinks, that the tears are prickling at his eyes just at the sound of your voice. But then again, it’s you. It can’t be stupid if it comes to you.

“Yeah, I… I miss you too. And I love you. A lot.”

You let out another sigh– you must really be exhausted, you’re sighing more than usual– and Bob hears a low voice faintly in the background. Then he hears your laugh.

“Bucky’s looking at me funny,” you say. “I’m talking to Bob,” That bit comes out quieter. You must've pulled the phone away to explain to the others with you.

“Bob!” Alexei’s voice, undoubtedly. Still cheery. A good sign, Bob thinks. Things haven’t gotten too rough.

There’s a cacophony of voices in the background, and you laugh again. “They’re saying hi. They miss you too.”

Bob smiles. “They’d better.”

You laugh again, comforting. 

Bob can think of a million things to say, but none of them feel right. So instead, it goes quiet, conversation traded for soft breathing and just existing in tandem. 

Eventually, though, it has to end. “I better go. I can’t lie, I’m– I’m beat. Gonna get some sleep.”

Bob nods like you can see him. He doesn't want to let you go but he knows you need rest now more than ever. “Yeah, you do that, please. Get some sleep. I’ll be here when you come home, alright?”

“Yeah.”

The line goes quiet again, like you’re both giving space for the words you want to say but can’t fit.

“Okay. I love you, Bob.”

“I love you.” A tear slides its way down his cheek and he shakes his head disapprovingly at it, rubbing it away and feeling stupid about it.

There’s a dial tone– you ended the call. No goodbye.

That’s become a common thing, he’s noticed. No one around here tends to really say bye.

He supposes it’s become a word associated with bad things.

Goodbye means not being together anymore. It means being gone and being away. It means an ending.

Eventually he slides the phone from his ear and puts it in his pocket. In case you call again. He remembers the tea on his pants and sighs to himself. At least it’s something to keep him occupied.

so this is actually a problem because i was supposed to write an essay for class due next week and definitely not another bob fic but what if i told you that my thesis is bob reynolds superiority and my textual evidence is this fic

main m.list | bob reynolds | ysa's info

all content belongs to @livingawayfromhere. i do not consent to my work being replicated, modified, reposted, or redistributed in any format.

[mrs-elsie-barnes]

Can't believe I forgot to post this!

September reading list, feel in love with Adrian Chase, read a lot of fics, bon appetit!

Please remember to share some love with your friendly neighbourhood fic writers ❤️❤️❤️

Adrian Chase

𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘 by @coligraven 🔥

- 𝐅𝐈𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐄 🔥

Best Served Cold by @moonlight-presence

BPM - AO3 🔥

Brat Behavior - AO3🔥

Dying For @jangofctts 🔥

eager to please by @strangelure 🔥

Fuck it, I love you -AO3 🔥

Hangover by @/moonlight-presence 🔥

Hot Venom - AO3 🔥

I'm your biggest fan, I'll follow you until you love me by @/moonlight-presence 🔥

insult to injury by @/strangelure 🔥

I owe you a black eye and two kisses. By @therealpunkrocked

Lowe's and Highs by @vigilanteh

Mark Your Territory by @ofstarsandvibranium

Instructional Video: Proper Knife Disarmament - AO3 🔥

Ivory by @/vigilanteh

Meet my mom? By @/moonlight-presence 🔥

Pain Kink ask by @strangelure 🔥

Photo by @/moonlight-presence 🔥

Pretty Girl- AO3 🔥

Respectfully by @/moonlight-presence 🔥

the winning hand by @/strangelure 🔥

Bob Reynolds

A Damsel in Distress by @brookghaib-blog

bandaged knuckles by @livingawayfromhere

Serpentine by @em1i2a3 🔥

Thirst Tweets by @pagesfromthevoid

WHEN YOU LEAVE, HE COMES by @feelingdozy

Bucky Barnes

40-love! By @superbassbuck 🔥

give it up for the thunderbolts*! By @superbassbuck 🔥

Good Press by @drabbles-mc

Light as a Feather by @sunday-bug

Make it fit by @fucky-barnes82 🔥

p*rnstar by @superbassbuck 🔥

Bucky/Mel

you move with me (i'll treat you right)

Clark Kent

ask me and i’ll say yes by @finelinevogue

Bambi by @starryxsuns 🔥

DOPPELGANGER. By @clarktologist

front page crush by @myladybelle

how to: fall in love again by @spideystevie

Say Yes by @jobean12-blog

Say Yes by @ramp-it-up 🔥

Gen/No Pairing

this is chaos incarnate by @heldbybarnes

Joaquín Torres

And Every Morning After by @daydreamgoddess14

"I'll give that mouth something to do." By @angclone

pb&jj roommates au: the one with the not-so-romantic getaway by @thought-you-knew

pb&jj roommates au: the one with pads with wings by @/thought-you-knew

Poly/Multiple Partners

Hard Launch by @everydaydreamer (Joaquín x Reader x Bob)

Plaything Protocol by @castielscaplan 🔥(Dean x Reader x Bucky)

Throuple Ask by @heldbybarnes (Bucky x Reader (& sort of Steve))

[livingawayfromhere]

I'M ON HERE I'VE NEVER BEEN ON ONE OF THESE!! thank you so much <33