a love so strong it tears their hearts

[mercuryrot]

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[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: 7.8k

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

a/n: fasten your seatbelts for this big emotional rollercoaster 

part eighteen ˚.⋆♪⋆ series masterlist 

   

—

You’re beginning to think that the nausea you’ve felt all day is not carsickness at all—the guilt grows and grows with every lap Sirius does around the lounge. His posture is tense, knuckles white where he hasn’t stopped clenching his fists to contain his anger. Even if you know it’s not directed at you, there’s something about his gaze that makes your body shiver with dread. 

“I don't understand,” he says again. “That fucking leech.”

“We should’ve known he had something planned,” James says into his palms. His curls are tousled and standing in every direction from the short hours of sleep he managed to get. He still looks massively hungover. “He was being all dodgy—no wonder he couldn’t stay back.”

“Did he even have those meetings scheduled?” asks Remus, his thumb continues stroking your knee in a way you’re beginning to think it’s mostly for him than you. 

You all turn to Mary at the little table. She glances up when she feels all your combined stares on her. “We can’t know,” she explains, not pausing her typing. The sound hasn’t stopped since news broke out. “Marls is on it right now but…”

Yeah, it could take a while. Marlene hasn’t been able to hang up the phone, her voice is beginning to grow hoarse with all the orders and questions she throws to the people at the label that answer her calls. Even with Mary’s help, being the only representative of the label here, and without a manager for the band, all the responsibility lands on her. 

Guilty nausea creeps up your throat again and your hand flies to your neck, pressing down until it’s all gone. You look away, trying to focus on the trees you drive past, blurring out and fading as the bus drives into the next destination for the tour. Even if your set has been put on hold for the next stop, or until you manage to come to a solution. 

You look down at your phone, the article stares back at you like a cruel, twisted and evil joke from the universe. How the one thing you kept saved for you, something even you couldn’t allow your eyes to see, now published and shared everywhere. The nausea turns into a big, painful knot in your chest as you stare down at the photobooth strip, the same one currently hidden at the far bottom of your luggage—edited together with backstage footage that reveal the same thing you never allowed yourself to feel. 

‘People and fans are allowed to draw their own conclusions, but those kinds of boundaries don’t just blur without reason.’ insider sources claim. 

With your stomach in knots, your thumb sweeps the screen of your phone to scroll down in the article. Nothing you haven’t seen, photos you haven’t spent hours watching and dissecting like you’re sure everyone else is doing. The photobooth strip, your first rehearsal as a band, you and Remus sleeping that first night at the bus, Sirius and you jumping and dancing that time you stayed back for the main act’s concert—fuck, even moments at the studio recording the EP. Things that, of course, show undeniable proof that this thing between you, Sirius and Remus was meant to happen sooner or later.

“Don’t do that,” Remus mumbles, taking the phone from you. “You’re only making yourself feel worse.”

You don’t look up yet, even if he’s reached to hold your hand. His thumb strokes your knuckles, and your eyes follow the movement. Remus brings it to his lap, trying to pull you back to reality, to drag you out of the visible self loathing spiral in your head.

“It’s my fault,” you wet your lips nervously. “I shouldn’t have—”

“You shouldn’t have what?” he asks, bending over the headrest to find your gaze. “How can this be your fault, dove?”

“It’s just…” you look down at your joined hands, brain cruelly pulling you back to that same spot, weeks ago when he held you through a post show adrenaline crash. “I don’t understand.”

Remus’ eyebrows pinch, his own face showcases his anger and frustration, but simmering under the warmth of his gaze. Like he’s trying to soften it for you. “I know, me neither,” his voice quietens.

“I do,” Sirius says, not quite stopping his pacing but very attuned to your hushed conversation. “I do—Peter saw us doing well, saw how we were about to break out and decided it won’t happen. He’s probably doing this because we didn’t let him into the band.”

“Maybe,” James says, voice hoarse still. “Maybe he did, or not. But that’s not excusable for selling us out this way. Or you, Pads.”

The guilt clenches your heart, eyes snapping up to look at Sirius. His posture slumps, eyebrows lowering when realization dawns on him. It’s fleeting enough, the heartbreak that flashes across his face, that you think you’ve imagined it. 

While it’s unfortunate the way photographs and footage of the band got leaked with the article, it’s no lie the exclusive is mostly an elaborate think-piece to shade Sirius and his family history. Dragging his past, his family and the tumultuous life he fled from with Regulus as soon as he was of age to take care of both of them. Suddenly, all the country’s networks, papers and media outlets have become obsessed with The Marauders, the band led by Lord Black’s ‘problem child’—who happens to be in a polyamorous relationship with his bandmates. James included. For fuck’s sake.

You press your fingertips to your forehead, tapping absentminded rhythms to focus your breathing on. The nausea fights to settle in your throat, and your inhales and exhales are borderline pathetic. 

“It’s my fault,” Sirius’ voice quietens, barely a mumble as he brushes the hair away from his face. His hands are shaking, faintly but clear to you. It makes your heart ache. “I was too harsh with him, I should’ve known it was going to bite me in the arse.”

“Sirius, no,” the words slip out before you can stop them, a knee jerk reaction to reassure him. “This is no one’s fault but Peter’s. He… he’s the one who used your friendship to get a gain.”

“But I pushed him to do it,” he still argues, too deep in his self loathing to really understand what you’re trying to tell him. “I ran his patience thin and he went to sell our story to the press as soon as we started getting attention.”

“Goes to show how long he’s been planning this,” James mumbles from his position, leaning back on the sofa at the other side of the lounge. His eyes are screwed shut with the throbbing lighting of the bus. “Yeah, maybe he had a secret resentment for how he was treated but that doesn’t fully explain how premeditated this is.”

You shake your head, forcing your gaze away from Sirius. “He sold everything!” he drops his arms, voice frayed with his anger and despair. “Our school photos? The rehearsal footage? Fuck—how did he even manange to get a copy of our photobooth strip?”

At this your jaw clenches, squeezing Remus’ hand as a reflex. He frowns, forcing his own gaze from Sirius to turn to you. But the guilt has fully taken control of your entire being, twisting and digging into your insides that makes it evident to everyone but you. 

“y/n?”

“That… that’s my fault,” you try to keep your gaze from flickering to the bunk areas, where your luggage is hidden. Of course, your heart tugs that way. “He probably saw it when I was unpacking that first day on the bus.”

Sirius pauses, and even Remus frowns at this. “You brought it here?” 

“I’m sorry,” you swallow nervously. “I’m really sorry, I… I couldn’t—I couldn’t leave it behind, and,” a pause. Remus threads his fingers through yours when it’s clear the guilt has cut off all your oxygen. “and I never thought… this would happen. How could I know he’d use it against you?”

He softens at the dread he finds in your eyes when you look up. Sirius exhales deeply, turning to crouch in front of you. “Not just me anymore, lovely. He used it against all of us—you included.”

You part your lips to speak, but the words remain trapped in your throat. 

“Alright,” Marlene says, stepping out of the back lounge to rejoin you. Her expression is still twinged with anger, but softened around the edges. “Just spoke to Albus and he’s in agreement that we should not comment right now. Not when we don’t have a solid manager for you,” she pauses, catching her breath. “In the meantime, I will manage your team and business for the tour until we find someone. And that’s their first course of action, find you a new manager—”

“No.” Sirius says immediately, rising to his feet. He shakes his head with resolve. “No one from the label.”

Marlene presses her fingers into her temple. “Sirius,” she says, stern and in a way that denies any opportunity to argue. “I can’t manage you, and we need someone that can pick up the things Pettigrew left unfinished—”

“I know, but how can we trust whoever they assign us?” 

“Sirius.”

“You’re not listening to me—it can’t just be anyone,” Marlene fires back, pointedly ignoring you and Remus trying to step in. “and I don’t know a single thing about managing!”

“What about Mary?”

Mary’s head snaps up from her laptop. “Me?”

“Bloody hell,” Marlene murmurs into her palms, clearly at her wit’s end with this situation.

You clear your throat. “What about Regulus?” 

They all pause. Marlene frowns, but Sirius turns slowly to look at you like you’ve just grown a third head. 

“I mean,” you’re quick to say, rubbing your free hand over your trousers. “He knows the band better than anyone. From the beginning, he sent your first demo to labels and even plays the new EP in the pub right now—did you know he’s the one who gave Peter the idea for the tour?”

“What?”

You go on. “He was at the cover photoshoot, he’s the one who scheduled that first meeting with Kingsley at the festival—who else could be better than him?”

“He’s the one who pitched the tour?” James asks, now sitting straight on his sofa. “But Peter said…”

“He discussed the idea with Peter, said we were ready and of course Peter claimed it was his idea,” you explain, voice taking a bitter tone. “Should’ve known better when he told me.”

Remus hums, pensive. “That’s… actually not a bad idea,” he turns his head to look at Sirius, then James. “He does know the band better than anyone.”

“It’s only going to get worse.” Sirius argues, shaking his head. “My brother as the new manager of the band? That’ll go brilliantly with the press.”

“He’s the only trustworthy person we know, Sirius,” James argues softly, though his eyebrows are furrowed in a conflicted frown. 

Sirius turns to him. “And he’s involved with the drummer of the band, too,” he goes on, pointing at James. “That will only make everything worse.”

Remus shifts, shaking his head as well. “Who do you suggest, then?” he asks, gentle but firm. “If not Regulus, who?”

The bus begins to slow down and Mary jumps to her feet once it fully stops to check where you are. Marlene follows after her when she checks out the window, parked right at the backlot of the venue—they rush out of the bus to find the managing team for the Weird Sisters, who are in crisis control mode as well. The entire tour is suddenly compromised because of Peter’s betrayal. 

A tense silence hangs in the room after the door closes, thick and unbearable as Sirius runs his hand through his hair. Once, twice, thrice. He paces around one more time before he’s storming after them and into the open air. James sighs deeply, raising a palm up at you when you make a move to stand. His eyes flicker to Remus before he’s following after Sirius with downturned lips and tense shoulders.

His absence snaps your composure loose when the door closes again. 

“I can’t believe he did that,” you whisper.

Remus sighs. “Me neither,” he brings your joined hands to his chest, then to his lips as he brushes a quick kiss to your knuckles. “Are you okay?”

“Are you?”

His lips twitch. “I asked first,” his thumb sweeps the back of your hand. “You’ve had a far more intense day than any of us.”

It takes you a while to understand what he means, but when it dawns on you, he smiles softly at the way you look away with a faint blush. He lets go of your hand to reach for your face, holding it in his palms with such gentleness the knot in your chest comes undone. 

“I’m sorry,” you say again. It feels appropriate. You don’t know why, though. 

“What for?” he asks, thumb brushing your jaw. 

“I…” you swallow thickly. That’s the thing, isn’t it? How can you pinpoint the exact reason the guilt has consumed your every thought and feeling? 

Remus shakes his head. “Whatever they say, whatever conclusions they think they’ve drawn about us—they’re based on glimpses. They don’t know anything about us.”

“But the pictures—”

“That’s what they are. Glimpses,” he searches for your gaze. “At the end of the day, no one knows what goes on behind the scenes. Not even Peter, even if he made everyone believe he did.”

“He must have known something,” you argue, voice barely a whisper with the weight of your shame. “And I practically handed him the missing piece he needed to understand what was happening.”

“No, dove. You didn’t, however he found that strip… that was nowhere your fault.”

“It wouldn’t be if I had left it back.”

“Even if you brought it here, he went through your stuff. That’s inexcusable no matter how you see it.”

You look away, horrified at the implications of Peter deliberately opening your things to search for something, anything that can be used against the band. Your clothes, the same ones you had packed for… well, with other intentions. Even if you were knee deep in your denial back then. 

Remus frowns when you stand, walking slowly to the bunk area to open your luggage. He leans over the sofa to see where you’ve gone, but you return to him with your palms pressed flat against your chest. He frowns, arms instinctively reaching for you when you sit back down.

“I…” you suck in a breath, not quite looking up at him. “I knew for a while. How you felt. You and Sirius, but I never… allowed myself to entertain the idea,” you wet your lips nervously, feeling your heart slamming against your ribcage. “I couldn’t…”

His eyebrows bunch together in quiet concern, hand flattening against your side with a grounding pressure. You find yourself shuffling closer to him, almost unconsciously. Like your body has already accepted you as someone deserving of his touch. 

You huff a quiet, bitter laugh. “I couldn’t even look at it without feeling like I was being a fool,” your palm presses harder against your chest before uncovering it. Remus’ eyes flit down as you show him the photobooth strip that you’ve been hiding all this time. “Even when it all pointed towards you feeling the same.”

His face softens, uncurling an arm from you to take the strip. Your eyes follow his movement as he studies it silently, the way his eyebrows furrow together in concentration, the faint scar on the underside of his jaw, the way his lips tug sideways when he smirks, the constellation of freckles that start at the bridge of his nose and end at the side of his cheekbones. Remus sends you a sideways glance, lips twitching into a little smile when he hands you the strip back. 

Even with his arm holding you, he twists around in search of his backpack—his eyes continue glancing back at you with a knowing glint as he digs inside. Your lips part in surprise when he hands you another photobooth strip, the one from your cover shoot.

“How did you get this?”

“Nicked it,” his voice has a pleased lilt at your reaction. “Sirius kept saying I was a sentimental prick but… I s’pose this is the same thing as yours. When we… we realized how we felt, I couldn’t stop thinking about this. How right it felt.”

Your thumb brushes the paper, slightly faded with the time it has been tucked away, carefully saved between his things. Remus watches you, soft amber eyes studying your face and the various expressions that come and go as you stare down at the pictures.

When your next inhale comes out shaky, his arm instinctively tightens around you to pull you closer to him. “I don’t know if it feels right now,” you confess quietly, voice barely a whisper. “Not when this is happening, it could only make everything worse.”

Remus doesn’t speak at first, but his thumb does freeze his slow strokes at your side. His palm flattens under your jumper, cold ring against your skin as the words hang heavy in the air. The implications.

“It might complicate things,” he speaks after a while, controlled and gentle as he searches for your gaze. “But it doesn’t make it worse, and it certainly won't change how we feel. Not for me, and not for him, either.”

“We don’t know that.”

“Dove,” his hand travels up, thumb hooking under your ear to guide your face to him. His eyes study you silently, surer the more you hesitate. “We’ve talked about this. Sirius and I—we… we’ve been choosing you for a while now, and we’re not stopping because it got complicated.”

You blink. “You have?”

“Yes,” he nods, thumb stroking circles into your side.  A grounding pressure that works for him as much as it does for you. “We have. More than you think.”

“Even before…”

He smiles. “Yes, even before last night.” 

“I thought…” you rub your lips together. “I thought it was a spur of a moment thing, I didn’t realize…”

Remus guides you closer, giving your lips one chaste but soft kiss before pulling away. His arm travels back down to hold you closer, hugging you to him when the words seem to fail you once again. He looks down at your face, but you’re staring straight ahead, at the closed door.

“Do you think he’s going to be okay?” you whisper. 

“Not immediately,” he whispers back, nails scraping lightly at your ribcage. “It’s going to be a while but he will be. He’s… this thing with his family, it has always been a delicate situation for him.”

“I can’t believe Peter used that against him,” your voice gains an edge at this, shaking your head with a new found anger on his behalf. “The way he painted Sirius like some… troubled degenerate.”

“I know,” Remus nods, jaw clenched like he, too, has to contain his anger on Sirius’ behalf. “Especially after all the times he saw Sirius struggle back at school—he went and did the exact thing, all because he felt a little casted to the side. Resentful twat.”

Your lips twitch unconsciously at his ire.

The door to the tour bus opens, and James is the first one to climb inside. His face is cracked open with an odd mix of frustration and relief as he beckons Sirius inside. You feel pins and needles at your palms when your gazes meet, his grey eyes hold a brewing storm that seems to settle at what he sees. His shoulders slump with fatigue, both physical and emotional as he nearly drapes himself over you and Remus.

“Everything alright?” you ask tentatively.

“No.” Sirius’ answer is muffled as he hides his face in your stomach. “No, everything’s a bloody mess.”

James sighs, plopping down on his previously vacated sofa. “Yeah but we’ll fix it. Right, Pads?”

Remus frowns. “What?”

“Regulus is on his way.”

…

Smoke curls around you with each exhale, it mixes with the fog that surrounds the little hideaway you’ve made of yourself in this bench. Tucked away in one corner of the park, you flick the ash onto the bin by your side, legs beginning to cramp up as you sit back on the cold bench. 

The music in your ears is high enough to drown out the external noise, and the internal one, too. You bring the cigarette back to your lips, staring straight ahead at the empty streets and lit up lamp posts. Inside the pocket of your jacket, your phone continues buzzing with missed calls and unanswered messages.

RL: where are you?

RL: please answer me dove

SB: are you okay? where are you? i can come find you. just send me your location 

SB: i’m coming to get you. where are you 

You exhale deeply, looking around the park. It’s cold out, it bites into your skin and cheeks and comes as a balm to the hot anger running through your veins. 

PR: i know this is the worst possible time but 

PR: they came asking for your number. i don’t know who snitched that you worked here. 

PR: dw i made barty throw them out 

Your hand tightens its grip around the phone, bruising your palm with the force of your anger, your hot frustration. The words flash through your mind like a cruel repetition of your worst nightmares—of course, your heart reacts accordingly to this, clenching so painfully your hand flies to press down at your chest. 

FAMILY SPEAKS OUT: We could tell early on she wasn’t going to settle for an ordinary life. Yes, like any family, we had our ups and downs, but we always encouraged to follow her passions. 

JP: poppet pls answer you’re seriously scaring me 

You bring the cigarette back to your lips, taking a long drag and looking around to try and remember the way you came from. There’s no rush, really—everyone will probably be spent and tired after the concert, you can take all the time to return. When you blow out, your jaw trembles from the cold, hands shivering as you drop your hand to your lap and flick the ash off. It’s not really that cold, but you wonder if the shivering is from something else entirely.

Your phone buzzes again.

SB: just tell me where you are. it’s late you shouldn’t be out by yourself 

RL: did you turn your phone off? 

RB: just landed. we’ll fix this yeah? 

You raise the volume again, higher and higher until it’s nothing but Ad-Rock screaming into your eardrums about mirages and sabotage. How fitting.

Your lips curl around the cigarette, an unconscious tug into a sideways little smile. Small and bitter as you take a long drag. The song finishes with a bang before another one fades in, louder and louder that drowns out any other possible noise in the park. Cars and buses drive past, a few people left out take the safest route through the park, and a group of drunk, giggling girls stumble out of a cab to get to their flat building across the street. It’s nice, not feeling so lonely even in this unknown city.

Time stretches out. You smoke one more cigarette, and when you reach for a brand new one, the pack is empty. You exhale, patting around your trousers for your phone and loose change before starting the walk back to the venue, back to the bus. It’s been long since you went out under the pretense of getting a new pack, but the more you wandered around in search of a corner shop, the more you enjoyed your time alone. Granted, you didn’t buy the pack, and you certainly stayed out longer than what you promised. 

She’s always been someone who feels things very deeply and forms very strong connections, it’s one of her strengths. But this strength can be a double-edged sword, especially in environments like that. Those boys come from well established backgrounds, and it’s not always easy to find you footing in a world like that. We just hope she’s being careful.

You turn your phone off. An unconscious and barely thought-out decision that makes your hands shake harder. The cold has gotten worse, you’re not sure how that happened—it hasn’t been that long. You shove your hands inside the pockets of your jacket, turning the corner and into the shop. The cold lights make your head throb, but the ambience is warmer in comparison to the one outside. 

The girl at the till seems completely indifferent to you, a mirror to your own face, probably. She barely casts a glance when you ask her for a pack, sliding it to you with slow movements and mumbling when she asks for your ID. 

“I’m not underage” you say, voice slurring from the cold.

“Maybe, but I don’t want to take any chances,” she mumbles, pointing up at the security camera above you. She doesn’t look up from her phone, either. “Do you have it?”

“Yeah, just…” you pat your trousers for your phone, turning it on again. “Does a picture count?”

“Sure.”

“For fuck’s sake,” you mutter to yourself, shaking your head in the same beat your fingers struggle to turn your phone back on. 

SB: i’m coming to get you 

You slide the message away. “Here,” you turn the screen to the girl, she only glances up before nodding. You slide the loose change towards her and take the pack. “Thanks.”

The girl only nods, multitasking between saving the money and returning to her scrolling, or whatever she’s doing with her phone. You hit the pack into your palm, walking back into the biting cold to take the path back to the tour bus. 

Each step is slow and hesitant, not quite looking up from your boots and the cord of your earbuds. Your fingers are barely functioning as you unwrap the plastic off the pack, setting one between your lips before digging inside your pocket for your lighter. It feels heavy against your palm, achingly familiar and cruel in a way that reminds you of the same people you’re actively avoiding—as much as you try to tell yourself it was just a short walk to get some air. Some habits are hard to shake off. 

You try not to think about Remus gifting the lighter to you after a similar situation, where you were just waiting for him to go to take a walk. You try not to think about Sirius and that night at the rooftop, when you shared a smoke in the still hours of the night previous to your life altering EP release.

You don’t look up from the lighter, blinking to adjust your eyes to the backlot’s dimmed lighting. The bus sits away from you. Inside, everyone seems to have gone to sleep, lights turned off and curtains drawn. Exactly how you hoped it would happen. The cigarette dangles from your lips as you fiddle with the lighter, walking closer until it’s too useless to smoke when you’ve gotten back. Least you need is to fill the place with smoke. It’s unbearable already. 

It takes you a delayed beat to react when the door swings open, and you jump back in surprise. Your hand remains paused mid air as Sirius comes running down the steps, nearly missing the last one as he runs to you.

“What were you thinking?” you think he asks. His mouth moves, but you don’t hear—the music is too loud still. His eyebrows are furrowed in an almost scowl, the same one he’d send you those first days since you joined the band—but now heavy with concern and anger and frustration. “Why would you do something so selfish?”

“Huh?” you frown, taking your earbuds out. 

Behind him, Remus climbs the steps of the bus a bit calmer than him. But the concern of his frown is evident, even with the fog surrounding you. 

“I just went to buy a new pack,” you tell him.

“For hours?”

Remus sets a placating hand on his shoulder. “Love,” his voice is clear through the fog, slowly dissipating from your thoughts. “Maybe don’t overwhelm her.”

“I’m sorry,” you mumble. “I got lost.”

“Did you, now?”

“Sirius.”

“I’m sorry,” you say again, the words losing shape and weight on your tongue. Remus sighs, taking the cigarette and the pack from you, sliding it inside and pocketing it in his own trousers. “I… couldn’t find a shop, and… and then I couldn’t find my way back. I’m sorry.”

“You better be,” Sirius grumbles, arms wrapping around you with such tightness it mirrors the one in your chest. “You scared the fuck out of me.”

“I’m sorry,” you say into his shoulder, muffled and low as he presses closer and closer to you. You can almost make out the loud beating of his heart against your chest. 

“You’re shaking,” he steps back, eyebrows back into a frown. His hand coasts up from your middle to your forearms and shoulders, cupping your jaw to guide your face up. “And cold.”

“It’s cold out,” you say, like that explains everything. Like that’s the real reason your body can’t seem to stop shivering, vibrating to the same hum of your anxiety and the frustration in your chest. “I didn’t mean to stay out for so long.”

Sirius nods, turning to glance up at Remus. You watch them share a look, but you find yourself too guilty to really try and dissect what it means. Sirius’ hands lower back to yours, taking the phone and the earbuds from you, he pockets them in his jacket—grey eyes tracing a path from your eyes to your cheeks and jaw. It’s clenched tight, your cheeks are pink and lips chapped from the cold. 

“It’s okay, dove,” Remus murmurs, taking a tentative step closer. His hands find your face, a gentle touch as he cradles it up to force your gaze up. “You’re here now.”

“Okay.”

His eyes are heavy with concern where they meet yours, thumb moving upwards until it’s stroking under your lower lashes and cheeks. Neither of them speak as he cleans the flakes of mascara and the makeup that ran down your cheeks with your tears—funny, you didn’t even realize you cried. It’s all dried now, both from the cold and as a clear indication of how long you were out. 

“Let’s get you warm again, okay?”

“Okay, yeah,” you nod, a robotic movement that has them sharing yet another concerned look. Sirius’ arm tightens around you, a quiet indulgence to help you up the steps. He knows that, any other day, you would wave his help away. 

“Oh, thank god.” James says as soon as you walk in. It takes you a moment to process it, but he’s already wrapping you into a tight hug. “I’m so glad you’re alright. You scared me.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he says, eyes flickering from you to Sirius, then Remus before returning to you. “Why don’t you sleep a bit while Reg arrives?”

You blink. “Regulus? Is he here?”

“Yeah, he said he landed a while ago—it might take a while before he gets here, though,” James explains softly. “You know how traffic gets in big cities.”

“Oh,” your shoulders drop, nearly slumping sideways into Sirius. “Right, of course.”

“Why don’t you sleep for a bit in the meantime?” Sirius asks quietly, thumb stroking your waist in a grounding manner. 

“Okay, yeah,” you say, walking deep into the bus and towards the bunk areas. 

You’re acutely aware of the sets of eyes following your every move, when you crouch down to open your luggage and the way you hesitate when the first thing you notice is the photobooth strip—sitting neatly atop everything. It brings a painful twinge to your chest, regressing you back to that time you couldn’t properly look at it as you shove it deep between your clothes and pajama bottoms and tees. 

Sirius is already changed when you step out of the compact bathroom, pacing around the lounge as he listens to whatever Remus is telling him. James’ curtain is drawn, night light turned off inside his bunk. 

They do a double take at your clothes, and your body finally builds some warmth on your cheeks as you hug your middle. “I forgot to do laundry at our last stop,” you explain. “I ran out of jumpers—I didn’t expect for the weather to get so cold.”

“I… It’s okay, dove,” Remus nods, sitting in front of his own luggage before handing you a folded green jumper. “You can use this, it’s thick enough to keep you warm.”

You hesitate. “Thank you,” your voice quietens, full of guilt that he immediately turns down with a gentle squeeze to your wrist. 

“No problem,” he smiles, standing to occupy the bathroom. You swallow thickly when he drops a kiss to your head on his way in. 

Sirius beckons you over, already wrapped under a thick blanket. You pull your hair out of the neckline, feeling the soft wool of Remus’ jumper warming you instantly—it soothes some of the guilt in your chest, giving you enough energy to walk to him. 

His hands are already on your face when you settle by his side, pulling the blanket over your legs before he’s reaching for the makeup wipe at the headrest by his side. Your eyes follow his every movement, tracking the way his hand cradles the underside of your jaw, patting your cheeks gently before moving upwards to work on your eyes. Sirius takes his time removing your flakey makeup remains, lower lip between his teeth as he goes. You find yourself scooting closer to him as a reflex. 

“None of that is you,” he starts to say, voice quiet and barely a whisper as he passes the wipe across your eyelids. “They chose to speak. They chose to twist it. It gets to you, and it hurts, I know. But at the end you learn it says more about them than it ever will about you.”

You open your eyes slowly, meeting his grey eyes. Sirius sets the makeup wipe aside, but his hands return to your face almost immediately. Like he can’t not hold you. Neither of you know who reaches for who first, but he gathers you against his chest in the same breath your arms come around his middle. 

“You don’t owe them a better version of yourself just because they’re finally paying attention.”

Sirius tucks you closer, almost in apology to how his words twist your heart, poke at the bruise inside of you that you mistakenly believed healed. You pull a bit away, finding his gaze—he doesn’t hesitate, thumbs sweeping the corner of your eyes at the silver lining he sees. He kisses your forehead, a peck at first that lingers enough to ground himself and you. 

The bathroom door slides open, and Remus steps out freshly changed with a jumper similar to yours. From his long collection, according to the ongoing joke running between you the entirety of the tour. His expression softens at what he sees, and Sirius only pulls away to make room for him. 

“Get in, Moons,” he pats the empty space by your side, forcing his smirk into a flirty one. Remus shakes his head with a fond eyeroll, but walks up to sit by your side. “She demands your lap.”

“I didn’t say anything,” you mumble, running a hand through your hair. Sirius guides it away when you begin rubbing at your eyes, a tad harsher than he had been as Remus settles by your side. 

He pulls your covered legs over his lap, lips twitching into a knowing little smile at your reaction. Remus runs a palm over your leg, comforting with a grounding pressure as your eyes flicker from him to Sirius with a dazed look. 

“What is it?”

“It’s just…” you brush your hair away. “I… I’m sorry, I s’pose—for making you worry. On top of everything.”

Remus’ palm flattens over your knee, pulling them more over his lap under the blanket. “Hey,” he murmurs, tilting his head sideways to search for your gaze. “That’s not something you need to apologize for.”

“Disappearing for hours, though?” Sirius huffs quietly, but not unkindly. He flashes you a placating smile when your shoulders raise to your ears, a tiny bit bashful. “That we should talk about.”

“We have talked about it,” Remus nods, softer as he looks between you. “Back home, haven’t we, dove? When you feel like everything’s too much?”

“Right,” you look down, fingers fiddling with the end of the blanket. “I know. It’s just… it was easier, I s’pose. And I didn’t want to worry you.” 

“Yeah, well. It was a noble effort,” Sirius smiles knowingly. “But you shouldn’t feel like vanishing on us. Or at least now when things are,” he cuts himself off, looking away. You frown, raising a tentative hand to his face, thumb stroking his jaw until he’s unclenching it. “Things are already a bit hectic, lovely. And not knowing where you were was…”

“I know,” you nod, eyebrows bunching together when he catches your hand. His thumb presses at your palm, then at your knuckles, the marred skin around your nailbeds. “I didn’t know I was doing it again.”

“That’s okay,” Remus says, softer than soft. “We’re not upset with you, yeah? We just… need you to tell us when you feel like you might slip away again.”

You find his gaze, cracked open with understanding and warmth that it makes the familiar ache in your chest return more painful than ever. Remus’ lips twitch sideways, a small smile adorning his features when you nod slowly.

Your eyes flicker between them. Sirius’ arm securely around your middle, thumb stroking idle patterns on your waist. His lips keep dropping little kisses to your cheek, your shoulder, the side of your eye; pulling you closer with each one until your back is fully pressed against his front. Your gaze drops to your lap, fully draped over Remus in a way you never thought deserving of. Deserving of being held like this, under their combined care and attention.

“Does this mean…” you clear your throat, forcing the words to speak through the clogged feelings in your throat. “That we’re… together? All of us?”

They share a look over your head, but Sirius speaks first. “It can be if you want to, lovely girl.”

“Oh,” you look away, acutely aware of the warmth spreading from your cheeks to your neck. Sirius’ thumb stills, enough to give you time to process their question, to search in yourself the answer if you want this. You find your heart answering before your brain can process it. “Yeah…” you brush your hair away, pausing to fiddle with your earrings. “Yeah, I do. This is… this is nice.”

A smile spreads over Remus’ face, so lovely it tugs at your heartstrings in that direction. 

“Can I kiss you?” you whisper.

He laughs, startled but very delighted. You find your lips curling against his when he dips his chin low, chasing your lips in a sweet but short kiss. It makes your insides churn and melt and twist pleasantly. 

“Of course you can, gorgeous—you don’t have to ask,” Sirius laughs, arms tightening around you. It draws a startled laugh out of you. “Never. Skip the pleasantries, if you can. Kiss us senseless if it strikes your fancy.”

“Okay,” you laugh. It turns into nervous puffs of air when he hides his face on your neck, dropping sweet little kisses in the column of your throat. Lingering in the smile spot he marked the other night. “Sirius—”

“Do you know how long I’ve waited for this?” he asks, breath warming your skin with his own chuckles. “You’re not depriving me of kissing my girl.”

“We’re going to wake James up.”

“James?” Remus asks with an amused lilt to his tone. “He can sleep through a storm. He’ll be fine, dove.”

“That’s true—remember back in Memphis when he fell off his bunk?”

You smile. “He scared me, I thought we crashed.”

“Oh, poor girl.” Sirius says rather sardonically, more comfortable now that your tears have been dried and your smile is more likely to return. “Now you see why I don’t care if we wake him up?”

“Maybe let’s not wake the entire bus, though, love.” Remus murmurs, reaching over your head to pinch at his jaw. “Jamie might be a heavy sleeper but Mary and Marlene aren’t.”

“Damn right we aren’t,” Marlene’s grumble comes from the deep end of the bunk areas. Heavy with sleep and still hoarse. “Quiet down.”

“Please.” Mary’s voice comes later, a tad quieter and, suspiciously, from the same bunk. “Congratulations, though.”

Your hands fly to your face, mortified.

…

“It’s posted.”

You swallow thickly, feeling the hand on your thigh tighten as a grounding pressure. You don’t know who it is for, you or Sirius. As an instinct, your hand flattens over his. 

“Yeah?” James asks from his own seat, shoulders tense as he bites into the straw of his iced coffee. His eyes are wide behind his glasses, slightly askew from all the times he’s fixed them. “Now?”

“Now.” Regulus confirms, glancing up from his laptop to meet his gaze. “On all your socials simultaneously.  But still check if it got posted correctly.”

Even with the loud thumping of your heart, leaping all the way to your throat, you manage to unlock your phone to check your own socials. The notifications are already going off, comments and likes and new followers. Like a cruel joke from the universe, the post appears right under a cut out picture taken from the collection of leaked content, one of the band’s fan accounts you first followed. 

Recent coverage includes private moments that were shared without our consent and presented out of context. We’re not going to comment on speculations about our personal lives. We’re taking this seriously and will be handling it privately. As for now, we’re focused on the tour and the music, and we appreciate the support. 

The Marauders. 

“Yeah, it’s posted on mine,” you mumble. 

There’s a chorus of agreement from the rest of the band. You drop your phone to your lap before your eyes can glance down to the rest of the comments under the post. 

“What now?” Sirius asks, momentarily letting go of you to brush his hair away. His hands tremble enough that both you and Remus reach to hold him steady. “What happens next?”

Regulus closes his laptop. “You tell me—are you proceeding legally with Peter?” he asks, already stepping into control mode as he looks at each of you. “Like everything, it has its pros and cons, so you have to properly think it through. After that, we recenter the music. Focus on touring, we can post live performances from the previous sets. I’m still waiting for the confirmation email from someone at BBC—they’re interested in offering you a slot for the live lounge.”

“What?”

“The live lounge?”

“BBC?” James asks, slumping back in surprise. He fixes his glasses again. “You’ve been putting in the work, haven’t you, Reggie?”

Despite his controlled composure, you manage to notice the way his cheeks take a pinkish hue at this. “It was supposed to be a surprise, when you returned.”

“Wait—” Sirius blinks, shaking his head as he points at Regulus. “You’ve been working on this the whole time? Before this even happened?”

“Yeah?”

“I told you,” you murmur. “Reg was the right choice.”

If it’s any possible, Regulus blushes completely. He opens his laptop once again. “Right,” typing sounds echo around the bus. “Then you continue the tour, like nothing happened. Be as ambiguous as you can, we can use it in your favour to keep the momentum going.”

“When you say be ambiguous,” Remus starts to say, eyes flickering from you to Sirius before returning to Regulus. “what exactly does that entail?”

“That’s not for me to say,” he shrugs, leaning back on his own seat. “Let the fans and the audience do the talking, ask the questions and draw the conclusions. Your relationship got leaked, you don’t have to explain a damn thing to anyone.”

Sirius parts his lips to speak.

“Just not too publicly,” Regulus adds, leveling Sirius with a look. Like he can already gauge what he planned to ask. “Enough to build intrigue.”

“Oh, that’s perfect,” Marlene says, nodding in approval. She hasn’t stopped taking notes the entire time, but this makes her finally speak. Her eyes are wide with excitement—finally something more positive than the stress she’s been under. “That’s perfect—we’ll make it the band’s mystique.”

You rub your lips together, trying to contain the uneasiness of the plan. Regulus glances up from his laptop, eyes narrowing slightly as he studies you. 

“y/n, it’s okay,” he lowers it enough to properly look at you. “I know this is a lot but…. think of it as,” he pauses, unconsciously copying your movements as he brushes his bangs away. Years of friendship and living together distilled to one single moment. “Pettigrew sold you out, he exposed it for everyone to read and comment—you lost control of your own story. Now you get to control how much people get to see it.”

While his words make sense in theory, you still feel the unease settling in your chest. Remus’ thumb resumes its methodical stroking to your shoulder. 

“Okay,” you nod slowly. “Okay, yeah… that makes sense.”

“We’ll go slow, yeah?” Remus murmurs, mostly for you to hear. 

“Slow… okay. I can do slow.”

“Good.” Regulus says, sending you a reassuring half smile before turning to the rest of the band. He raises an eyebrow at you. “Well?”

James frowns. “What do you mean, love?”

“What are you doing here?” Regulus goes on, pointedly ignoring the saccharine tone dripping from James’ words. “Soundcheck starts at 3. Come on, get on with it.”

“Right.” James jumps to his feet, nearly scrambling down the tour bus and towards the venue. He doesn’t have any qualms to kiss Regulus’ cheek on his way past, smirking to himself at the way he flushes. “You heard the boss—time for soundcheck!”

Remus shakes his head, laughing quietly as he stands. Sirius copies him almost immediately, pulling you up with him with his arm around your waist—his new favourite spot as of lately. 

You follow after them, but pause enough to wrap your arms around Regulus. He hugs you back almost immediately—like he has been waiting for this since he arrived.

“Thank you,” you whisper into his shoulder. 

“I’ve got you, remember?” he whispers back, stepping back. You laugh softly, overlapping with his own before someone is tugging your belt hoops. “Now go.”

Sirius gives your belt hoop another tug, smirking innocently when you follow along after them. Remus makes a show of exhaling deeply, arm around your shoulder when you stumble a bit on the last step. He sends Sirius a placating look that is quickly waved off with a quick kiss. You pat his side commiseratingly before walking towards the venue—your boyfriends follow after you right after.

[moonstruckness]

Enchanted - 14

Remus Lupin x fem!reader | series masterlist

Summary: You and Remus close the final chapter of your old lives, and begin anew.

Content: so much fluff that its sickening, mentions of death, Remus is down BAD, slightly suggestive in some parts, probably inaccurate regency wedding, lmk if I missed any!

Authors notes: I’m so sorry for taking a little longer to write this chapter, but here it is guys! We still have the epilogue, but I can’t believe this is basically the last chapter of this series :( it has been a journeyy with our oblivious idiots, but I have enjoyed every second of it!! And let me say, the bridgerton version of enchanted is the song of the chapter guys

Word Count: 11.7k

Contrary to your desire of wanting to tell your family about the engagement right away at the ball, you and Remus had ultimately decided not to tell your families until the next day. You had discussed it, but decided it would perhaps be too much of a shock to tell them as soon as it had happened. You also wanted time to process it yourselves.

You couldn't believe the position you were in now. You were engaged to Remus, the love of your life, and the soon-to-be Baroness of Lupin. You were still waiting to wake up from the blissful dream that it was.

To think that all this time, Remus had reciprocated your feelings, and had wanted you just as desperately as you had wanted him was absurd. Enough so that it had made you laugh, amused by the stupidity of you two and all of the trouble you had caused with each other because of it. If one of you had confessed, or simply communicated correctly the first time, you would have been engaged to Remus for a while already.

You wanted to slap yourself with how foolish you had been, with how you had jumped to conclusions after your first kiss with him. You hadn't even let him speak! Despite him already forgiving you, you still apologised for your foolishness and the pain you had caused him in return. Although, he made a fair point that he had been the one being horrible to you when all of this had started, and you couldn't argue with that.

The morning after your engagement, you and Remus met up in your spot in the park, this time with bright smiles and shameless loving stares. While you had talked, you had also done a lot less of it than you usually would by kissing. You came to realise kissing Remus was one of your most favourite things to do, and you never wanted to stop.

Aside from the passion you had communicated to each other through your lips, you had come to an agreement that once you both returned home after your time spent with each other, you would gather your families as soon as you could to tell them. It was only because you were both so eager to get married, and the sooner you informed your families, the sooner and quicker the wedding would be organised.

This would be relatively easy for Remus as he only had his mother to tell. You, however... well, your family didn't completely hate you now — at least, your parents didn't. You weren't so sure about how your brother still felt about you, but it wasn't like he was still giving you withering glares. Perhaps his hostility towards you would evaporate once he found out you were going to be married anyway.

The point was, you wanted your whole family to be in the same room when you told them, and you thought it would be a bit of a challenge to catch them all at home at the same time. There was also the tension that still lingered from the night of you rejecting Fabian. You hoped that your news would erase it.

You had been nervous all day, teeming with anxiety as you kept an eye on the movements of your family by asking your servants about their whereabouts. You grew wary that you would have to wait until the next day to gather all of them together, and although you were terrified of telling them, you still wanted them to know as soon as possible.

It was a miracle when your lady's maid informed you that everyone was in the drawing room, relaxing at the quiet time of five o'clock. Surprisingly, there was no event being hosted that day, and you were quite grateful for it.

Now, you stood by the doorway to your drawing room, out of sight from your family as you tried to compose yourself. With all honesty, you didn't know how they would feel about the engagement. You recalled your mother and Remus' having had a quiet desire about you and Remus potentially getting married when you were children, but times were different then. Would your mother think the same now? Or had Fabian won her over? And your father had always liked Remus, but did he like him enough to be happy with the idea of him marrying his daughter, especially as he hadn't asked for his blessing beforehand?

You were the most confident about Edith's reaction. She had subtly teased you about Remus before, almost as if she known how you felt about each other, so perhaps this wouldn't be so surprising to her. As for your brother? You suspected he would still be hung up on Fabian, and if he was, you decided that it wouldn’t your problem.

You took a deep breath, rolling your shoulders before walking into the drawing room before you could stop yourself due to fear.

Edith and your mother sat on the sofa next to each other, engrossed in a conversation while your brother and father had their own, standing by the table laden with sweets and a teapot. They hadn't noticed you yet, so you took the time to all observe their expressions.

They all looked so peaceful, and you were probably about to ruin that peace again. You were becoming good at it.

You pointedly cleared your throat to capture their attention, which worked as they all looked your way, their conversations halting.

You lost your train of thoughts for a moment with every eye on you. All that came out of your mouth was an awkward, "hello... family."

Your mother's expression filled with confusion, while Edith looked at you curiously with a slither of amusement in her eyes. Your father's face matched your mother's, while your brother already seemed irritated even though you had barely spoken yet.

"Hello... daughter," your father said cautiously, causing the others to chuckle, and even you gave a sheepish smile.

"Erm, I am asking for your attention because... I have news," you said, tilting your chin up as you felt a surge of confidence.

"You have come to your senses and have decided you want to marry Fabian?" Your brother guessed.

You frowned. "No."

"You have already told him you changed your mind, and you are now engaged?"

"Not exactly," you said, because you were engaged.

"Dear god, don't tell me he proposed to you and you rejected him again."

You scowled. "Oh, shut it! This has nothing to do with Lord Lindfield! How about you marry him if you think he is so wonderful?"

Your parents gasped, ready to scold you while Edith piped up amusedly, "unfortunately, he is already married to me, so I am to blame for the impossibility of that."

"Enough!" Your mother said.

"Yes, I quite agree. How has this been turned on me?" Your brother said incredulously.

"Alright, enough of this talk," your father said. "Y/N, what were you saying?"

You sighed, shooting a glare towards your brother for throwing you off before you composed yourself.

"As I was saying... well, this will be very shocking, so you may need to sit down," you said to the men.

"Oh brilliant, who died?" Your brother sighed.

"Just sit down and be quiet," Edith hissed at him.

Your brother rolled his eyes as he leaned on the piano instead of sitting, childishly so which made it hard to believe his grown age, while your father sat on the piano stool peacefully, looking concerned.

You released a breath through your mouth. Here it goes.

"I... am engaged, but I really do mean it when I say this has nothing to do with Lord Lindfield," you said tentatively.

Everyone blinked at you, not seeming to quite believe your words, or being unsure that they had heard you correctly.

"Pardon?" Your mother said.

You smiled sheepishly. "Well, Remus and I talked at the Weasley ball last night and... he proposed to me, and I said yes."

The silence you were met with was deafening, and your smile slipped off your face, a pit forming in your stomach at the bewildered expressions pointed your way.

"I know it is sudden and very unexpected, but-"

"As in Remus Lupin?" Your brother questioned.

"Yes, right. Lord Lupin," you clarified.

"I knew it!" Edith suddenly squealed, jumping out of her seat and running over to wrap her arms around you. "Oh, I could tell there was something between you and him! I am so happy for you!"

You laughed, hugging her back tightly, your heart relieved with warm for just this moment.

"Darling," your mother said, now out of her seat as Edith let go, stepping aside so that she could approach you. "I... it certainly is sudden. I mean, you spoke, and he just asked for your hand? I think he is a lovely man, but have you thought this through-"

"Mama, I have thought this through and even then, I don't need to. I love him!" You declared.

Your father sprung up from his seat, while your mother's eyes widened.

"You love him?" Your father said in disbelief.

"Yes. I am in love with him," you proclaimed, your face softening as you confessed quietly, "that is why I said no to Lord Lindfield. I was in love with Remus, and I couldn't bring myself to marry him while he was there."

Your gaze flitted between your parents' shocked expressions, and Edith's grin was a small comfort to you.

"Great heavens, I did not know you were in love with him. Why did you not tell me?" Your mother asked softly, taking your hands in hers, and your heart lifted with hope.

"I was too afraid. You were all so happy that Lord Lindfield was courting me, and I did not even know if Remus felt the same way. It was a difficult situation," you explained.

"One that you did not have to go through alone," your mother said gently, and a smile slowly crept onto her face. "Oh, you are getting married! And a love match at that!"

You let out a breath of relief as your mother embraced you. A weight lifted off your shoulders then — if your mother would support you through this, then you knew you would be just fine.

You were slightly nervous when your father walked up to you after your mother pulled away, but that thought quickly left when he wordlessly pulled you into a hug. You smiled, your heart bursting.

You had forgotten your brother's presence, only being reminded when your father let go of you and you saw him walk away from the piano and join the rest of you. His expression was still stern as he crossed his arms.

"Are you sure you're in love with him?" Your brother asked.

"I have never been more sure about anything in my life," you said confidently.

Your brother slowly nodded, seeming to believe you. "It all seems rather swift, does it not? He did not even ask for father's permission, nor mine. I shall talk to him about this-"

"Will you just be happy for her?" Edith said in exasperation.

"I am! I only want to speak to him," your brother defended.

"Don't scare him away," you said sternly.

"I shall do what I please."

"Oh, I cannot wait until I speak to Hope about this! The both of us had predicted you two would get married when you were only children!" Your mother said happily.

You couldn't even find yourself to be embarrassed by that, because perhaps it had always been written in the stars. No man would have ever understood you like Remus did, and you don't think any man could have stolen your heart like he had as well.

As your family started to discuss your future wedding, you couldn't keep your smile off your face. You felt the lightest you had ever been for the whole season.

***

It was clear your mother was not able to stay quiet about the news, because before you knew it, the whole of bloody London knew about you and Remus' engagement.

You weren't mad about it, of course. In fact, you were ecstatic that you wouldn't have to hide your true feelings anymore. Everyone would now know who both of your hearts belonged to, and that gave you a thrill. It was only that you hadn't expected word to spread so fast, but what you couldn’t be surprised by was the rumours that came along with it, seeing as you had just rejected Fabian's proposal.

But you couldn't care less for what anyone had to say. They could talk all they wanted, but what really mattered to you was that you were going to marry the man you loved, and you had your family's support. You couldn't ask for any more.

It was a bright day as you visited the boutique with your mother and Edith, looking through and examining the garments offered for your wedding dress. Usually for weddings, the bride would just use the nicest dress they already owned, but your mother insisted upon buying you a new dress for the special occasion. You weren't one to turn down her offer.

Your attention was pulled away from the garments you were studying when someone said your name, and you looked over to see Lily standing in the boutique, smiling at you and waving when you caught her gaze.

You excused yourself, giving Edith and your mother reassuring smiles before you walked over to Lily.

"Good day," you said a little nervously. The last time you had seen Lily, she had been sure that Fabian was the one you were going to marry.

"It seems as though it has been a good week for you! I cannot believe it, you and Lord Lupin?" Lily said excitedly, and you exhaled a breath of relief at her joy. "Actually, I can believe it. I do not know why at any point I had thought you two were just friends. Forgive me for being so oblivious."

"Believe me, no one has been more obvious than I," you chuckled. "Or Remus for that matter."

"To the fact that you have both been in love this whole time?" Lily said.

You raised your eyebrows. "You guessed that correctly."

"It is hardly a guess, because reflecting on all of the times I have seen you two interact, it is the only explanation. I mean, James was always telling me that Lord Lupin acted sulky every time you were with Lord Lindfield, but I thought he must have been misinterpreting it," Lily said, lowering her voice. "It turns out he was not wrong."

You perked up. "Did he truly act sulky?"

"Of course he did, clearly he was jealous," Lily winked, and you laughed, heart fluttering at the thought. You usually didn't like the idea of Remus being down, but in that context, you didn't mind it so much. "So I assume this was the reason of you turning down Lord Lindfield?"

You sighed. "Of course. I just couldn't do that to myself or Lord Lindfield, I knew he deserved better than that. It seems as though it was all for the best though, wasn't it?"

Lily grinned. "Indeed. Oh, Y/N, I am so happy for you. It's not everyday someone gets a love match."

"Thank you," you said sincerely as Lily pulled you into a hug, and you smiled, reciprocating the action. "Perhaps we could go on those outings together after all."

"Oh yes, that offer is still up! James gets along with Remus, so that shall make it even better," said Lily, pulling away. "Will you two live in London?"

You opened your mouth to answer, but you couldn't, because you didn't have one. You had so been caught up in the excitement of it all that you hadn't thought about that part yet. Where would you live? Remus had said that he was to remain in Wales before you had confessed your feelings for each other. Did he still mean it? Was he still set on going back to Wales? And how did you feel about it?

"We have not discussed it yet," you said, and you decided that it definitely needed to be.

"Well, I hope that wherever you end up living, you will at least come to Mayfair for the social season. I will miss you if you don't!" Lily pleaded.

You smiled. "Don't worry, I shall not disappear once I am married."

Lily returned your smile, satisfied with your answer. She looked over your shoulder at your family, and asked, "doing some research for the wedding?"

"Oh, yes. Both of our families had dinner together for the first time last night," you told Lily.

"Really? How was it?"

"It was very good," and that was the truth. Everyone had been enthusiastic in seeing each other, getting along like old times. The only small downside had been your brother eyeing Remus suspiciously for the whole night, yet not speaking a word to him. Remus had expressed his concerns to you, and you had only told him that your brother still needed to get used to it. At least, that was what you hoped.

"Y/N, come look at this pattern! I think you would like it," Edith called out.

"Alright!" You called back, and hesitated for a moment before grabbing Lily's hand, tugging her with you. "Come, you should join us."

Lily's eyes widened. "Oh, are you sure? I would not want to interrupt."

"You are not if I invited you. I shall like as many opinions as possible anyway," you assured her, grinning at her as she gave in and joined you.

***

You didn't hesitate to accompany your mother when she told you she was visiting the Lupins' house to have tea with Hope. Your reasoning was obvious, and it was worth seeing Remus' face light up when he walked into his drawing room to find you there.

Technically, you both were still required to be chaperoned since you weren't married yet, but your mother and Hope seemed willing to let the two of you be, barely sparing either of you a glance when you discreetly left the room and went off on your own.

Remus walked you through the garden of the house he and his mother had temporarily been staying in for the whole season. You were so grateful to finally have a moment alone with him after the chaos of the wedding planning in the past week, and you made the most of it as you both forgo the talk of the wedding and dowries, falling back into your comfortable conversation you only had with him, where you talked about everything and nothing at the same time. It felt domestic in a subtle way, and the thought of it becoming your everyday life made your stomach flip with anticipation.

A comfortable silence eventually fell over you, and Remus gently pulled you into his side, his arm sliding around your shoulder as he kept you pressed to him. Your cheeks started to hurt from smiling, burying your cheek into the crook between his shoulder and his chest.

"I cannot wait for this," Remus said quietly like his words were meant for just you. "Everyday."

You smiled up at him. "This?"

"Getting to talk with you for as long as I desire, having the privilege to hold you close like this," he said, squeezing your shoulder, and you giggled. "Just being with you. I cannot wait until this becomes our normal."

"I was just thinking the same thing," you told him. "Great minds think alike."

Remus laughed warmly, pressing his lips to your temple. "Indeed. And when we have our own home, we will get to do this wherever we want, whenever we want. Prepare to grow tired of me."

You let out a small laugh before your smile faltered, particular words capturing your attention that reminded you of Lily's question at the boutique a few days ago. Our own home.

But where would that home be?

You halted in your steps, and Remus halted with you, concern seeping into his features as he took notice of your faraway expression.

"Are you alright?" He asked sincerely, and you blinked, looking at him.

"Yes, but there is something I have been meaning to speak with you about," you said.

"Okay," said Remus, dropping his arms from your shoulder to turn his whole body to face you. "What is it?"

Suddenly, anxiety turned in your stomach, and you didn't know why. It was perfectly reasonable to ask him about the location of your future home together, and yet, you were fearful for his answer. What if he still never wanted to return to London? What if he never wanted to leave Wales again?

"Once we are married," you said slowly. "Where will we reside?"

Remus' mouth opened to form an O shape, and then he pressed them together. "That is certainly a good question. I haven't thought about it.”

"Well we should discuss it. I know you wanted to return to Wales before we were engaged, and I was wondering if you still mean that?" You asked. You added quietly, "and the never returning to Mayfair part, of course..."

Remus' face softened, eyebrows drawing together in concern as he laid his hands on your arms, "how long has this been troubling you?"

"Not for a while, but I have only realised it all recently, and I just would like to determine what is happening," you said honestly. You had an offhanded thought in the back of your mind of how nice it was to now always be truthful with Remus, no longer having to hide any of your feelings from him.

Remus sighed, his face scrunching up in deep thought. "I do love Wales, and I always will. It was my home, and it shall always hold a place in my heart. However, things have changed, and I now know that my home is with you, whenever you are, and I want you to be happy. Wherever you want us to be, we will go. So where do you want us to reside?"

"Oh, that's unfair! You cannot put the weight of the decision all onto me!" You protested. "My home is wherever you are too, and I want you to be just as happy. This is supposed to be our decision, because it will be our home..."

You trailed off, distracted by the fondness in which Remus stared at you, a soft smile on his lips.

"What?" You said warily.

"Nothing, I just love you."

Heat rushed to your cheeks, and you blushed as looked away from his smouldering gaze. "Are you going to do this every time I try to have a serious discussion with you?"

"Likely so."

You sighed, although you weren't really annoyed as you looked back to him. "You are still as annoying even when we are engaged."

Remus only laughed softly at you, leaning forward to kiss your forehead, and you playfully pushed him back by the chest, giggling quietly.

"Focus, Remus! Where are we going to bloody live?" You pressed.

"Where do you want to live?" Remus asked, finally seeming to obey you, although the palpable love still remained in his eyes.

"I do not know, that is why I am asking you?"

"Well, we are quite hopeless at this decision-making thing, aren't we?"

"It seems that way," you said, shaking your head with a smile. "But I do need to know if you would be content with living in London if that is what we end up doing?"

"Of course I would be content with that. Y/N, I like London," Remus assured with a chuckle. "I only said that at the time because I had been sure you were marrying another man, and I did not want to see you being happy with him while I drowned in the sorrows of my unrequited love."

Guilt washed over you, and you reached up to cup his cheek with your hand. "I would not have been happy, Remus, and it was never unrequited. I am sorry I made you feel that way."

"Don't apologise, I know that now," said Remus, smiling tenderly at you as he tilted his head to press a kiss to your palm, covering your hand with his, making your stomach flutter.

"'Drowning in the sorrows of your unrequited love...' are you sure you are not a poet?" You teased.

Remus' face reddened, and he used your hand to hide his face, showing his embarrassment. You laughed, taking a step forward as you pressed a sweet kiss to his cheek. "I was only teasing you."

Remus huffed, turning his face to you. "I have something to confess."

"What is it?"

"That poem you found in the book I gave you... I did not deliberately put it there, but I did write it," Remus told you quietly.

Your heart skipped a beat, and you only smiled at him. You had known it deep down, but it still felt nice for it to be confirmed.

"I had thought so," you admitted.

"I was not very good at covering up my tracks, was I?" Said Remus sheepishly, dropping your hand before settling his on your waist. His hold wasn't light like it had been all of the other times, no hesitancy in it. It was firm, now laced with the certainty that you were his, and he didn't have to doubt that anymore.

"No. You were far too obvious," you grinned. "When did you start writing poetry?"

"I don't, but when I am stressed, I write. I usually only write paragraphs detailing the complexities of my feelings, but that time, I unintentionally made it into a poem," Remus explained.

"It was really lovely," you said sincerely.

"Of course it was, it was about you."

You nearly swooned on the spot, your smile flustered as you looked down at your feet.

"I love that smile," said Remus unabashedly, giving you that overwhelmingly loving look again.

"Stop it! I don't know how I will ever have a productive conversation with you," you said, your smile only widening despite yourself.

Remus chuckled, and sobered before taking both of your hands in his, his warm skin soothing against yours. "If you want to stay in Mayfair, I am completely fine with that. I have never hated this place, I only liked Wales more, that is all it was."

"Do you remember when you said nothing was tying you down to Mayfair?" You said quietly.

"I do, and I was lying. You have been tying me down to this place for a long time. If it weren't for you, I would have been long gone by now," Remus told you earnestly, squeezing your hands.

"I just do not want to force you to stay in a place that does not feel like your home," you said worriedly.

"It will be home if you are there," Remus said firmly, looking into your eyes to emphasise his point. "I just want to be wherever you are."

You exhaled, playing a little with his hands as you contemplated the situation. You loved London, of course you did. It was your home, where you had grown up, and it was all you had ever known.

But that was just the thing. It was all you had known, because you had never been anywhere else. You loved London, but perhaps it was time for a change.

"Do you think I would like Wales?" You asked Remus after a few minutes of silence.

Remus smiled eagerly at the question, like he had already figured out the answer a long time ago. "I think you would love it."

You smiled at his answer, and stared thoughtfully into the distance. "I do remember how brilliantly you described Wales in your letters back when you still wrote to me. It would be nice to see if they were all accurate."

Remus' eyes lit up, and you knew it was worth it just to see that joyful look in his eyes. "So, what are you implying?"

"I am saying that I would like to go to Wales," you said.

"Truly? To live there? But I know you love London, and what if you do not even like it?" Remus said in a rush.

"I do love it here, but I have always wanted to travel the world, to at least visit a different country. I am in need of a change of scenery," you explained. "And as for Wales, I trust your judgement."

"That does not mean my judgement would be correct," said Remus, and you hummed to say he had a point, biting your cheek as you pondered the situation. Remus spoke up, breaking you out of your thoughts, "how about this? We go to Wales, and whether you like it or not, we travel the world afterwards like you want. We can go to Greece, or France, or to the Americas, wherever it is possible. For a while, we can just be whoever we want to be and visit all sorts of places."

Your heart quickened. "What- are you sure? Can we even do that?"

"Of course we can! I want to see those places too," said Remus enthusiastically, his eyes bright. "And we can make everyone in Mayfair envious of our exotic travels."

You giggled, your heart lifting as you imagined it. Seeing the places you had dreamed of visiting your whole life with your best friend by your side, being your unadulterated self with no shame. Not having to worry about the expectations of society, your shoulders free from the pressure.

"That sounds wonderful," you said warmly. "Let's do it."

Remus beamed, wrapping his arms around you as he pulled you closer to embrace you. You buried your face into his shoulder, soaking in his warmth. A shocked squeal escaped you when he lifted you off the ground, pressing kisses to the side of your face.

You were laughing when he put you back on the ground, adding, "We should stay at Magnolia Cottage for the honeymoon though. If we go to Wales right away, most of our marital bliss will be wasted away by long hours of travelling. Mrs Wright loves you anyway. I have not seen her since we got engaged, but she seemed delighted in ink when I sent her a letter about it."

You smiled widely. "That would be lovely. Magnolia Cottage is such a beautiful place."

"And soon, it will be yours as much as it is mine," said Remus, his forehead pressing against yours as he lifted one of your hands to press his lips against it.

Your chest warmed at the thought of it, and it took everything in you to not roughly kiss him right then and there. You had to remind yourself that your mothers could walk out at any moment and catch you in the compromising position, and even though you were already engaged, the scenario still wasn't ideal.

"I cannot wait to spend the rest of my life with you," Remus whispered, and the words settled like a promise in your chest, one that you knew he wouldn't dare to break. His thumb brushed over the ring he had slid onto your finger that faithful night, and your heart nearly exploded out of your chest as he pressed a kiss to that as well.

"I have not had the opportunity to tell you how much I love this ring," you said softly.

Something tenderly significant flickered in Remus' eyes, and he smiled, continuing to run his thumb along the band of your ring.

"And I have not had the opportunity to tell you that it is my mother's," Remus confessed quietly.

Your eyes widened. "What?"

"Before the Weasley ball — after you had turned Lord Lindfield down, of course — I told my mother everything," Remus admitted. "Well, not the part where we kissed of course, but I told her most of it. How I was in love with you, how I kept hurting you, how I wanted to fix it. She gave me a little scolding for how I had been treating you before she became excited about the fact that I loved you. But I had told her it was hopeless, that I was probably going to lose you forever. Then she told me about the story of how her and my father had fallen in love, even though I had already heard it a hundred times, and she gave me her ring."

Remus played with the ring on your finger, his eyes fixated onto it as you stared at his face, immersed in his story.

"And she refused to let me leave without it. She told me she would never forgive me if I continued to waste time and not tell you how I feel, and even after she said that, I still wasn't sure if I was going to do it," said Remus truthfully. "I was so scared, but I see now how foolish I was for feeling that way."

Your breath was shaky as you said, "I did not know it belonged to her.”

"It belongs to you now, and that is exactly the way she wants it," said Remus sincerely, holding your hand with both of his as he lifted his gaze back up to your eyes. "She will always love my father, and she does not need a ring to remind her of that. She is only passing it down."

Remus' eyes widened in concern when you sniffled, your eyes glassy.

"I will have to thank her for giving me something so important," you said tearfully, "thank you, Remus."

"You do not have to thank me," said Remus with a gentle smile, wiping a singular tear that rolled down your cheek. "I do not even think we have to be married for you to be in our family."

You chuckled wetly, leaning into his palm that cupped your cheek. "I just... your father gave this to your mother, I know how important that must be."

A nostalgic look passed over Remus' face. "My father might not be here in person to watch us get married, but I know he would want you to have this ring as well. He liked you."

You smiled emotionally, your voice a whisper as you told him, "he would be so proud of you, Remus."

Tears welled up in Remus' eyes, and you regretted saying it until he kissed your forehead, tucking your head under his chin as he held you close.

"Thank you," Remus said so quietly that you almost didn't hear it, and he didn't have to say any more for you to understand. How much those words meant to him, how much he needed to hear them in a significant time in his life where he deserved to have his father with him.

You tilted your head to press a kiss on his jaw before you settled against him, closing your eyes.

***

You and Remus' engagement party was hosted by your family at your home. Your mothers had come up with the idea over tea, and they hadn't given you and Remus much of a choice in the matter. You had nothing against an engagement party, but you did insist upon only inviting people you got along with, unlike the ones who were sweet to your face and acted the opposite behind your back. Thankfully, your mother was fine with granting that wish.

You were surprised by the influence your mother let you and Remus have over the engagement party, because usually, you had nothing to do with the planning when your family hosted an event, and Remus had never actually hosted one. But you supposed you both did deserve it, since the party would be dedicated to you two after all. You briefly wondered if your life would be like this once you were married, but you had a feeling you and Remus wouldn't be the kind to host parties.

The party fell on a Friday evening, almost feeling like any other soirée except that you felt much calmer, the atmosphere warm and heartening in the drawing room when your guests started to arrive, people you truly liked. But of course, Remus had been the first to arrive with his mother, immediately greeting you with a kiss on the hand, the most affection he was allowed to show in front of your families.

There had been no hesitation in inviting Lily and James, along with Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew. They had all proved to be you and Remus' closest friends this season, and the atmosphere had become more lively as soon as their entertaining banter and conversation had stepped foot into the room.

You and Fabian had shared a smile when he had made his entrance, and when Remus had tensed upon seeing him, you soothed him with your finger rubbing circles on the back of his hand.

"You should have seen how stressed he was before he gained the courage to propose to you," Sirius told you, only Remus standing by your side as the others were elsewhere, mingling with other guests. You weren't sure how you got roped into an individual conversation with Sirius Black, someone you had never really talked to, but you were enjoying his story immensely. "He acted as if the world was about to end, all because he thought all hope was lost with you."

"Will you shut it?" Remus said incredulously while you giggled.

"No, she's clearly enjoying it," Sirius smirked.

"I am," you confirmed, making Remus sigh in frustration.

"Do you dedicate yourself to humiliating people, Black?" Remus snapped.

"If I feel it necessary," said Sirius honestly.

"So it is necessary to expose me? What have I done to deserve it?"

"Nothing, I just enjoy watching your face go red, especially since your woman is here," Sirius grinned.

You snorted a little too loudly, your hand flying to cover your mouth as you laughed quietly. Remus shot you a glare, and you had a feeling if there weren't so many people around, he would poke his tongue out at you.

"You are no longer invited to the wedding," Remus told Sirius.

"Oh, he certainly is! Do not listen to him," you assured Sirius, and he grinned back at you.

Remus' hand that at been gently resting on the small of your back moved to your hip, where he gave you a little pinch. You shot him a playful look, and his lips quirked upwards into a smile.

"Lord Lupin!" When you turned to discover the face of the voice, your smile dropped. Your brother.

Remus blinked, looking around as if he wasn't the only Lord Lupin present in the room, and then set his eyes back on your approaching brother.

He stopped in front of Remus, his expression unreadable said, "forgive me for interrupting, but may I speak with you privately?"

You wanted to slap your brother over the head and snap at him. Honestly, did he have to do all of this now? At your engagement party out of all places?

Remus sent you a concerned look, one that stuck between asking for your help or asking for your permission. You only gave him a smile that was mixed with pity and reassurance, nodding your head slightly.

"Lord Grimmauld," your brother nodded at Sirius, then at you, "sister," before he lead Remus over to the quiet corner of the room, who radiated trepidation.

Sirius arched an eyebrow, intrigued. "What was that about? Does your brother not approve of Remus?"

"I don't know. He does not dislike him by any means, so I do not know why he is acting this way," you sighed, your eyes still on the pair where your brother began to talk, a serious expression on his face. You looked at Sirius, explaining, "my brother pushed me the most to marry Lord Lindfield."

"Ah," said Sirius understandably, and then gestured to the room around him. "Well, that match has clearly been forgotten."

"I know, but he is still acting upset. You would have thought he was the one who had been rejected," you complained. "I just hope Remus makes it out of the conversation alive."

"If he does not, his last memory will be me embarrassing him in front of you," Sirius smirked, and you laughed. His expression grew solemn as he said, "he really does love you, you know."

You smiled bashfully, looking down. "I think I know that now."

"Well, know it, because he does. It is sickening with how obvious he is about it, I wish he would tone it down," said Sirius with a grimace, making you chuckle. "He was very quiet at the start of the season, I could barely get anything out of him. Now, he is more talkative, and seems much happier, and it is definitely because of you."

You blushed. "Well, I feel much happier with him too."

Meanwhile, Remus was sweating profusely under his clothes, his heart beating wildly.

The rest of your family seemed to like him, love him, even. That included your father, which was all a man could truly want when he was about to marry the woman he loved.

But your older brother? Remus did not realise how much of an affect that would have on him.

Your brother had never been like this towards him when he was younger. Even when you two would prank him, he only ever really got mad at you. He had even been nice to him when they had seen each other for the first time after he moved away, when he had returned you to your home after your stay at Magnolia Cottage.

But something had changed now, and it clearly had to do with your engagement. Remus had discovered just how terrified he was of your brother, and was willing to do anything to get his approval.

"So, you proposed to my sister," your brother had started off, not bothering with beating around the bush.

"I did," said Remus nervously.

"Without courting her."

Remus didn't say anything, his heart sinking.

"Without asking for our father's blessing, or even mine."

Remus swallowed thickly.

"And it was quite... swift," your brother said, his tone accusing as he sharply arched an eyebrow.

"I know it was, and I do apologise for not having asked for your blessing beforehand," Remus said sincerely. "It was just... well, I did not want to wait."

"Why not?" Your brother asked sharply.

"Because I had spent the whole season waiting, wasting time all because I was too scared of what she would say," said Remus honestly, and your brother blinked, his stony expression faltering. "Lord L/N, I know I was not your first choice for your sister, and I respect that, but even if I cannot give her everything that Lord Lindfield could, I still want to give her all I have, and for her, that's enough. I have cared for her as long as I have known her, and she is my best friend as well as my... well, the love of my life. I know I did not do things traditionally, but it does not mean my love for her is any less stronger than it is."

The silence that followed Remus' passionate statement only strengthened the anxiety churning in his stomach, and he looked away from your brother's unreadable face, his gaze landing on you. You were still talking to Sirius, smiling and laughing at the things he was saying.

You looked completely comfortable, relaxed with no burden seeming to weigh you down, and Remus thought you looked so beautiful. You were gorgeous no matter what, but your beauty shined even brighter when you were happy and unbothered.

"You truly love her, don't you?" Your brother said, snapping Remus' attention back to him.

"I cannot imagine feeling any other way about her," Remus told him truthfully.

Your brother stared at him before sighing, his coldness seeming to melt away. "Forgive my... wariness. I am only protective because of how sudden it seemed, and I was just not sure if she knew what she was doing. She seemed so stressed at the thought of marrying Lord Lindfield, and the fact that she was so eager to quickly marry another only made me doubt it. But then again, you are no random man to her."

Relief flooded through Remus at your brother's admission. Was he being accepted by him now?

"And I confess, I did not believe you two were in love at first. I know of some people who married each other because they thought they were in love, only to quickly realise they were simply attracted to each other. I do not want that to happen to her, I want her to be in a marriage she will always be comfortable in," your brother explained. "But you two were inseparable when you were younger, and your connection clearly runs deeper than that. I do not know how I forgot that."

"I do not blame you," said Remus. "But my feelings for her certainly do run deeper than attraction. I am starting to believe I had always loved her, but it only started to really grow when I reunited with her."

Your brother smiled at Remus. "Well, I had been sure you fancied her when you were kids."

Remus blinked. "What?"

"Oh yes. Adrian thought so as well, in fact, he was more confident about it than anyone else. He thought it was set in stone that you would marry her," your brother told him, a nostalgic smile resting on his lips. "It turns out he was right, wasn't he?"

Remus felt an ache in his chest, one he would get every time his brother was brought up in conversation. His voice was slightly choked as he said, "he was."

Your brother placed a firm hand on Remus' shoulder, looking him in the eye as he said, "he would be very proud of you, I hope you know that."

Remus smiled gratefully at him, the words settling inside him just like yours had when you had said the same thing about his father. Somehow, it hit deeper this time, coming from your brother who had been set on disliking him only moments before.

Remus went straight to you after he parted ways with your brother, and your face was lit up, apparently having watched the way your brother had done the opposite of killing him. Sirius left to give you privacy as Remus slipped his hands into yours.

"I think your brother will let you walk down the aisle," said Remus quietly just for you to hear, and you huffed out in relief, squeezing his hands.

"I told you he didn't hate you," you said knowingly.

Remus smiled. "Yes, you were right, as always."

Remus took the moment to look around the room, to observe the guests all interacting with each other happily, enjoying the food and drinks provided as laughter hummed warmly through the air, radiating a cosy ambience with just the people you both wanted to be there.

Remus turned to you then, an idea forming in his head. He said your name, and you looked at him with a curious and peaceful smile.

"We should acquire a special license to have a private wedding," he suggested, taking you aback as you blinked.

"I- you think so?" You said in surprise.

"Look around us, Y/N. This evening is perfect because we had the say in who we invited. Truthfully, I do not want random people who I barely know or do not even care for to be at my wedding, to come to our special day," said Remus vehemently. "Especially if that includes the people who have disrespectfully gossiped about you all because you turned a proposal down. And it would feel right for us to have a private wedding, would it not? To have it anywhere we want, whenever we want."

"Well, I suppose so, but you do know the work that has to be put in to get that license?" You said warily. "It involves a whole process, and there is a fee, and you have to get a special permit from the Archbishop himself-"

"Who says we cannot try?" Said Remus, and you could see how much he wanted this by the enthusiasm in his voice, the eagerness that lit up the eyes you loved so much, and you felt your resolve melting. How could you say no to him when he looked at you like that, when he so clearly wanted it this way?

"It is not guaranteed that we would be able to get it," you warned him.

"I know, but I will try to wield all of the influence I have to acquire it," Remus promised. "Even if I am just a Baron."

You smiled softly. "Just give them the same look you gave me just now, and there will be a good chance that you can get it."

Remus laughed, his eyes crinkling at the corners, and the sight made your heart warm. The air was thick between you, charged with the desire you both had to kiss each other without the worry of anyone watching you.

Not yet, you reminded yourself. You were so close, and perhaps it would take a little longer now that you were going to attempt to get a license for a private wedding, but you knew either way, it would all be worth it in the end.

"You know what I am in the mood for?" You said with a wide smile.

Remus' gaze dropped to your lips, licking his own. "What?"

"A game of charades!" You said brightly, and Remus blinked, startled by your answer before you swivelled around to face the others in the room. "Would anyone like to indulge in a game of charades with us?"

"That is not what I thought you were going to say," Remus whispered in your ear as you received positive reactions to your announcement, a shiver shooting down your spine as his warm breath tickled your ear.

You looked up at him mischievously, biting your lip as he intently watched the movement. "Soon, Remus. You are a gentleman, remember?"

The noise Remus let out almost sounded like a growl as you laughed at his frustration, walking over to the fireplace to start the game as he trailed behind you.

He settled down on the sofa beside you, shoulder and thigh pressed against yours as everyone else found their places to play the game.

"Who knew that our next game of charades together would be at your engagement party?" Lily said amusedly to you.

"I hope you shall try not to murder each other with your glares this time," James teased, causing you and Remus to exchange a look before you burst into quiet laughter in unison.

Remus playfully nudged your shoulder with his, and you nudged him back, your heart content as you sat right where you were meant to be.

***

The next few weeks passed quickly, and somehow too slowly at the same time. You weren't a fan of the long and boring process that was organising your wedding, along with the addition of trying to attain the license so that you could both get the wedding of your dreams. You were desperate to be with Remus already, to lie in bed with him every night, to be his side everyday and kiss him however much you wanted to.

But eventually, it all worked out in the end. It felt like some sort of miracle when you and Remus were granted with the license, and you would have kissed him until you felt stupid had your family not been there to celebrate with you.

And now, you had blinked and suddenly, it was your wedding day.

The wedding was taking place in your family's garden, with far less guests than a typical wedding but enough to make a crowd. The guest list had only consisted of the same people who had attended your engagement party, along with a few more relatives. They were all gathered outside already, sitting in the venue that had been arranged, probably talking amongst themselves with you as the subject. As far as you knew, Remus would be standing out there by now, waiting for you.

And very much unlike the wedding in your dream, you were in a cold sweat. Your heart hammered against your chest, and you thought you were about to collapse from the panic you were feeling.

You didn't know why you were feeling this way, because nothing had gone wrong that warranted this reaction from you. Everyone that had been invited had come, the weather was impeccably pleasant, your dress was beautiful and fit you perfectly, the flowers and all other decorations were set up beautifully with no problem, and Remus was ready for you, and you knew he would reassure you in no time once he got ahold of you.

So why were you acting like everything had gone wrong?

It was only your mother and sister-in-law in the room with you, and they had easily noticed your distress. Your mother was telling you to take deep breaths in a soothing voice while Edith held a fan for you, blowing cool air into your face as you tried to follow your mother's instructions.

You looked to the mirror in front of you, trying to focus on the beauty of your dress, because god, you loved it dearly. The detailing along your neckline and bosom area was intricate, the sleeves puffed in no dramatic way with embroidery woven into the way it fitted over your shoulders. A layer of smooth tulle poured over the silk of your skirt, simpler with only a few embroidered flowers stitched into it.

You had fallen in love with the dress the moment you had first tried it on, and you had no doubt that Remus would love it, that everyone else would love it. So it couldn't have been the dress that was making you feel this way.

"I do not know why I feel like this," you said once you realised the deep breaths weren't going to work, voice wound tight.

Your mother's eyes softened, and Edith halted her fanning as your mother pulled you into a comforting hug. "It is perfectly reasonable to feel like this on your wedding day. It is exciting, but it is also very nerve-wracking."

"Lily said marriage is horrifying, that it is not easy," you said worriedly.

"Lily Potter? Why, I doubt anything could be horrifying in her household with that husband of hers. He is like a ray of sunshine," Edith remarked with a snort, and your mother must have sent her a look as her smile quickly fell.

Your mother pulled away, looking you in the eye. "I think you are just afraid of the big change, darling. You are about to become a wife, after all."

"But I have been waiting for this my whole life! And I have been so excited, even impatient to get to this day!" You whined.

"Yes, you feel eager for it until it actually comes, and that is when you start to realise how much it actually is," your mother said calmly. "I was the same way, believe me."

"Then how do I feel better?" You asked desperately.

Your mother considered her answer before saying, "you go forward with it. You push yourself, and soon, you will find yourselves handling it easily without even having to think. You must spend more time doing it rather than thinking about it."

"But I cannot walk down the aisle like this!" You complained.

"You look beautiful," Edith assured.

"But I also look as though I have seen a ghost. I have seen my own expression in the mirror," you said snappishly.

"Why do you not just think about Remus then? About how much you love him, and how excited you are for your life with him," Edith suggested. "It is all you have been talking about for the past few weeks."

"But it is different now!" You said, and you looked to your mother, your voice becoming small as you said, "what if I miss my life with you too much? What if I do not like living on my own without you?"

"Oh, darling, you know these doors will always be open for you," your mother said gently, running a soothing hand over your hair. "You shall always come back whenever you wish to. And you can write constantly to me. In fact, I encourage you to. I want to remain up to date on your life."

Tears welled up in your eyes as you whispered, "I am going to miss you," you looked at Edith, "and you. I will miss this."

Edith softened, and she stepped forward to wrap you up in an embrace, your mother soon joining. You felt some of the tension leave your body as your family cradled you, reminding you that you would always be able to see them whenever you needed to.

After a minute or so, you all pulled away, and you sniffled, dabbing at your eyes carefully as to not ruin your subtle makeup. "I am ready."

Your mother smiled at you like she was proud, Edith mirroring it, and your wild heartbeat calmed just a little.

Edith and your mother went outside after handing you the flowers, and you met your father at the doorway that led into the garden. He beamed at you once he saw you, taking you in.

"You look so beautiful," he said, and you smiled, letting him pull you into a hug. He placed a kiss on your head, and you felt a pang in your heart at the same time. You truly would miss this.

"Thank you for everything, father," you said sincerely, pulling away. "For all of this, for accepting it."

"Lord Lupin is a very good man, and he clearly loves you. I trust him to take care of you," your father said, and it made your heart swell. He held his arm out for you to take, "shall we?"

You bit your lip, taking a deep breath, and slid your arm into his, nodding. "We shall."

You stepped out into the golden light the sun radiated, your father leading you over to the venue. The chairs were set up in rows on either side of the gap separating them, where room was made for you to walk to your groom. Flowers were draped along the back of the seats, and your favourites hung on the archway behind where your groom stood. All of the guests who had been previously sitting down stood to their feet once they saw you, turning all of their gazes to you.

Your eyes locked with Remus', and you watched his lips part, his eyes raking over you as he took you in while you did the same. His sandy brown hair was styled handsomely as always, and he was clad in a beige coloured waistcoat, with his usual black tailcoat and white cravat. There was nothing extremely particular about his appearance, but the weight of what day it was, of what direction your lives were about to take changed something about the air around him, and whatever it was only made him seem more beautiful to you.

His eyes filled with that fondness he only reserved for you, and your heart skipped a beat, everyone else around you fading into the background as you focused only on him. Your eyes met again, and he gave you a small, warm smile, and you returned it, your heart suddenly lifting it.

The panic that had been coursing through your veins just moments before vanished as your father walked you down the aisle, Remus' soft and emotional gaze tugging at your heart. You broke your gaze from him only to look at your family, at the tears running down your mother's cheeks, the grin on Edith's face, and your brother's proud smile.

Before you knew it, you had reached the end of aisle, and your father let you go, hugging you one last time with a squeeze before he slipped away to join your tearful mother. You turned to Lily who stood there, acting as your bridemaid, and you beamed back at her as you handed her your flowers. You turned to Remus, walking over to join him in front of the officiator. Behind Remus stood James as his best man, who mirrored Lily's bright expression as he watched you.

You looked at Remus, your lips stretching into a wide smile as you stared lovingly at each other, and you thought Remus' eyes looked a little wet. He sent you a questioning look with his eyes, and you were easily able to read what he was asking.

You nodded, and with that, you both turned to the officiator, everyone else taking that as their cue to sit back down except for you, Remus, Lily, and James.

The officiator held an open book, launching into the standard speech required, a long drone of prayers and descriptions of the nature of marriage. You couldn't bring yourself to listen to a single word of it, instead thinking about the man beside you, the life you were about to begin with him, how far you had come and what it had taken to get you to this moment.

You never would have suspected that the man you marry would be your childhood best friend, but now, you could not have imagined it being anyone else. You had even made that oath when you were younger, promising to marry each other if all else failed. Even if you had reunited later on in your lives, that pact would have still been significant, because you would have caused all else to fail for you by searching your entire life for someone like him.

And you were marrying him now not because all else failed, not because you were a spinster and his mother was pressing him to marry, but because you wanted to. Because you couldn't possibly continue living your life without him being by your side.

You turned your gaze onto him, only to find he was already looking at you. He smiled tenderly at you, and you smiled back, having to look away so that you could stifle the laugh that suddenly bubbled up in your chest. You snuck a glance at him to read the same amused look in his eyes, his lips pressed together.

After what felt like an hour, it was yours and Remus' turn to speak, and so you faced each other, your heart pounding in your chest.

"I, Remus Lupin, take thee, Y/N L/N, to be my wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward," said Remus, his gaze unwavering from yours as the sincerity of his words settled in your chest, filling in something you didn't know was hollow.

"I, Y/N L/N, take thee, Remus Lupin, to be my wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward," you said softly, watching Remus' pupils dilate at the words leaving your mouth, making all of it real.

"With this ring, I thee wed," said Remus, his voice softening.

"With this body, I thee worship," you almost whispered, somehow slightly breathless.

Remus held out his hands, and you slipped yours into them, fitting perfectly like a puzzle piece slotting into place to complete the picture.

"And by the joining of hands, I now pronounce that they be man and wife together," the officiator said with a finality, closing the book he held. "You may now kiss the bride."

There wasn't a slither of hesitation in the way you and Remus leaned in at the same time to connect your lips, one of his hands reaching up to caress your cheek as everyone watching rose to their feet and started clapping, celebrating the palpable love between you and Remus as you kissed for a few seconds longer than acceptable.

He only pulled back a little, his lips still hovering over yours as he breathed, "you look so beautiful."

You smiled. "As do you."

You pulled away from each other properly to face the smiles of the crowd that showed genuine happiness for you. You could see now that Edith was wiping away the fallen tears on her face, and you swore even your brother seemed a little emotional.

You turned your head to meet Lily's gaze, grinning at her, as she looked as though she was about to bounce on her feet for how overjoyed she was for you.

The wedding reception was generally not long at all, but to you, it went on too long for your taste. You ate a few treats, greeting and talking with your relatives who you hadn't seen in a while, thanking people and smiling politely as they congratulated you. You had even talked to Fabian a bit, gracefully taking the 'I told you so' he sent your way. To your distaste, you didn't get much of an opportunity to talk to Remus, the both of you always caught up in different conversations.

So when it was finally time to leave for your honeymoon, you were immensely relieved. Although, you were still sad to leave your family as you hugged them goodbye in front of your home, your carriage waiting.

"You better visit if you really are to move to Wales," said Edith as she hugged you tightly, while your other family members said goodbye to Remus.

"Nothing shall stop me from seeing you again, believe me," you said earnestly, pulling away from Edith to look at her. "Thank you for your support during all of this, Edith. It meant so much."

Edith smiled softly. "That is what a sister is for."

You talked to Hope next, who almost squeezed all of the air out of you when she embraced you.

"Thank you for loving my son," she had whispered into your ear, and your heart melted, tears stinging your eyes at the words.

When you bid your brother goodbye, he was rightfully apologetic. "I am sorry for doubting you, sister."

You sighed dramatically, pretending to ponder his apology. "Well, I suppose I forgive you."

"But can you blame me?" He added teasingly, and you swatted his arm, laughing with him.

You finished saying goodbye to your parents, and laced your fingers with Remus' as you approached the carriage with him.

"Ready?" He asked.

You looked at your home one more time, a not sad, but sentimental feeling washing over you.

Then you looked at him, and nodded once more. "Ready."

You both climbed into the carriage, settling in the cushioned seat beside each other as the footman closed the door after you. Remus squeezed your hand, and you squeezed back, kissing his cheek before you looked out the window, waving to your family as the carriage started, pulling you away from what was now your old home, and beginning your journey to your new one.

You let out a sigh as you slumped back into the seat, and Remus smiled widely at you as he inquired, “how are you feeling, Lady Lupin?”

Your heart kicked at hearing the name addressed towards you for the first time, and you grinned brightly at him, turning in your seat to face him. “Quite well, husband, and what about you?”

“Splendid, wife,” said Remus in the same tone, leaning in so that his lips brushed yours, before he closed the gap between you, stroking your jaw.

The two hour ride to Magnolia cottage did not feel as long as you had initially feared, not when you finally had Remus all to yourself. You kissed for long minutes with no breaks in between to catch your breaths, you discussed the people you had talked to during the wedding reception, you both admitted how nervous you had been for the whole day leading up the wedding, and you told each other in detail how mesmerised you had been by the other upon seeing each other for the first time, giggling with mingled breaths like you were cheeky kids again who no one else could separate.

Except, a younger Remus certainly wouldn’t have leaned in and whisper in your ear the things he wanted to do to you, the things he wanted to make you feel. Although, a younger you definitely would’ve blushed intensely in the way that you had upon hearing the filthy words.

The sun had nearly fully set by the time you arrived at Magnolia Cottage, your head against Remus’ shoulder when the carriage had halted to a stop. You shared an excited look with him, pecking his lips before the carriage door opened, and you stepped out.

Your heart immediately warmed at the sight of the cottage you had missed, with it looking exactly the same as it had been when Remus had dragged you to the place against your will, back when you hadn’t been able to get along with him for the life of you.

As soon as you walked into the house with Remus behind you, you were greeted by the senior servant you had missed just as much. Mrs Wright seemed positively delighted at the sight of you, excitedly curtsying to you.

“It is an immense pleasure to see you again, my Lady,” said Mrs Wright breathlessly, her eyes shining.

“Please, call me Y/N,” you said kindly, taking her hand in yours. “And it is so lovely to see you again as well.”

Remus splayed a hand across your back as he watched the interaction with a smile, and he shared a look with Mrs Wright you couldn’t read, something knowing in their eyes, but you didn’t bother to dwell on it as Mrs Wright said, “dinner has been prepared for you both, my Lord.”

“Thank you, Mrs Wright,” said Remus warmly, nodding at her before he lead you to the dining room.

You both enjoyed the delicious dinner Mrs Wright had prepared for you, learning Remus was right in saying that she was an excellent cook. You ate quickly, eager to spend the night together. You took in every detail of Magnolia Cottage as Remus led you through the house, incredulous that it was all yours, that you had just as much ownership as Remus did.

You had been abruptly cut off from your thoughts when Remus suddenly swept you off your feet, hoisting you into his arms bridal style. You giggled at his antics, the sound ongoing as he effortlessly carried you through the rest of your house, and up the stairs to your bedroom.

Your laughter mixed with his became muffled as he carried you into the bedroom and closed the door behind you, where your new, long-awaited chapter together finally began.

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© moonstruckness

[amnmesias]

𝐯𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞

poly!wolfstar x fem!reader

word count: 7.9k

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

a/n: well

part seventeen ˚.⋆♪⋆ series masterlist   

—

You like Marlene, you really do. She brings a lot of creative energy and enthusiasm to the band and the tour—but there’s only so many trend videos you can record during your down time.

From the window, you manage to catch the way her and Mary are trying (and failing) to explain to Remus what he’s supposed to do for the video. Sirius lounges back on the sofa, strumming distractedly as he watches. His lips are curled up in a mischievous smirk that softens when he catches you looking.

You do a full turn at the steps, climbing down the bus and going the same way you came from. James is just walking out of the venue, freshly showered and dressed. 

“They’re still at it?” he asks, eyes flickering from you to the tour bus. 

“Yeah,” you look around, standing aside to let the crew members come and go with the equipment. “I’d wait a bit to get in if I were you.”

“Still not very into the trends, huh?”

“She made me wear all my outfits,” you say, smiling at the way his eyebrows snap up. “and dance. Dance, Jamie.”

James, of course, laughs at your feigned offense. You pretend a little longer, but the sound is so contagious you find yourself smiling back at him. 

“I quite enjoyed the house tour one,” he says conspiratorially. “I’ve never seen Moony so mortified in his life.”

“One would think he’s better at reading subtext,” you mumble. James pauses, eyebrows slightly furrowed as he turns to you. But you’re already scrambling to save face. “About the song, I mean.”

“Right,” he smiles, eyeing you curiously. 

You look around, running your clammy hands over your trousers. James tilts his chin up to try to get a glimpse inside the bus, it’s still slightly cramped now that they’re full on recording the video. He turns back to look at you, toying with the ends of your hair in a poor attempt to appear casual.

“Are you hungry?” 

“Hm?” your head snaps up, eyes a bit wide in surprise. “Oh, um, sort of?”

“Want to go find something to eat?” he tries to make his voice as coaxing and casual as possible when you hesitate. “I’ve always wanted to try one of those burgers with the silly hat.”

“Jamie,” you huff a quiet laugh. “I think we’re too deep in the country to find one of those.”

“What?”

“I think they’re a California only thing,” you send him a sorry smile. “Sorry.”

He does a show of acting heartbroken, hand pressed flat against his chest as he slumps sideways over you. It pulls a startled laugh out of you, trying to keep him up as he stretches the bit to make you laugh louder. You manage to notice his lips twitching into a smile.

“Alright, you big baby,” you pat his shoulder, dragging him away with you. “Let’s see if we can find you a silly hat.”

You don’t find the burger joint he hoped, but the place is nice. Close enough to the venue and the pictures in the menu have James visibly struggling to settle on just one thing to eat. It’s mostly filled with Weird Sisters fans and crew members that are taking their own break to eat, nodding in greeting as you look around.

When the waitress comes with your orders, steaming and making him perk up visibly at the smell, she lingers enough for you to understand her meaning. You kick James’ leg under the table when he begins digging in, totally unaware of the girl mustering the courage to ask for a picture, or an autograph, or just to chat.

“You’re from the Marauders, aren’t you?” she asks.

“Yeah,” you smile, setting your plates aside to stretch her hand. “Nice meeting you.”

“Oh,” she blinks, scrambling to tuck her notepad under her arm to accept your hand. “You too. I… I’m sorry I didn’t expect to see you today—I mean, I’m seeing you later at the concert but not… in person, you know.”

“That’s alright,” you laugh, settling back on your seat. “I’m y/n, and this is my friend James.”

James makes a show of swallowing, smiling at her. “Hi,” he reaches to stretch her hand as well. “Sorry for the… food.”

You roll your eyes, waving him off. “You’d think we starve him,” James gives his burger a pointed bite, both in rebellion to your jab and to make the girl laugh. It works, easing some nerves off her stance as she stops fiddling with her pen. “Do you… want a photograph?”

She shakes her head. “We can’t take pictures with our uniforms,” her voice quietens as she looks around the room, probably searching for her boss. “But I’m happy just talking to you—I really loved your new EP.”

“Why, thank you,” James grins, squinting his eyes to read off her name tag. “Thank you, Emmelie.”

Emmelie smiles back, still a little tentative as her eyes flicker between you. She looks over her shoulder quickly when a bell chimes. “Um, enjoy your food—if you need anything…”

You lean your crossed arms over the table, trying to channel all your confidence to flash her a smile. “Go look for a bloke named Peter after our set, yeah?” you send her a conspiratorial little smile. “He might have something for you.”

She lets out a sharp exhale, mixed with relief and bashfulness as she nods. You nod in reassurance before she walks away, not quite turning around until she’s being dragged by a friend.

James smiles down to his food. “You know,” he starts to say, careful as he fiddles with his napkin. “You’re very good at this.”

“What? Social interactions?”

“Being a public figure,” he looks up, meeting your gaze. “You’re very good with each person that walks up to us. Not sure if Pete will appreciate you bargaining for autographed copies the entire tour, though.”

You shrug, biting into a fry. “He said he’s a good negotiator,” your lips twitch into a smile, glancing up when he smiles back. “And what the label doesn’t know won’t hurt them. If anything, it’s easy publicity.”

“Ah, of course,” he nods, laughing quietly to himself. “Already thinking three steps ahead, aren’t we?”

All you offer as an answer is a bite into your own burger. James shakes his head, exasperatedly fond as he finishes his own food. Movement begins slowing down as time passes, clients come and go and technicians nod in goodbye when they step out to walk back to the venue. 

RB: how’s seattle

RB: btw i’ve already told like four blokes to fuck off cos they keep asking for ur number

RB: idk who snitched that you work here 

YN: seattles fine

“Jamie, smile,” you say, pointing your phone at him. His lips curl around the straw of his milkshake, soft and sweet like he can imagine who you’re sending the picture to.

YN: [sent a photo]

YN: he says hi

RB: i hate you

RB: im making your number public information 

YN: miss you xx

RB: ://

RB: joking. i miss you more xx

“Are they asking us to come back?” he asks, almost tentatively while you finish typing. 

“No, it’s Reg,” you mumble, setting your phone aside to lean your arms over the table. James immediately looks away, cheeks taking a pink hue. He sets a hand over the table, pretending to flatten the napkin over the surface. You smirk. “He says hi.”

“Oh,” James coughs, clearly startled. You only hum in feigned innocence at his sudden flustered reaction, swirling your straw around your melted milkshake. “That’s… nice of him.”

“It is, yeah,” you give it a sip, eyes flitting up with a hidden mischievous glint that makes him slump back in resignation. But you don’t offer more, letting it hang between you.

Plates and cutlery clatter around you, voices chattering and overlapping with the background music playing off the speakers. James continues fiddling with his napkin, not quite looking up yet. And you don’t press, finishing your milkshake. 

“I have to tell you something,” he says after a beat. “About Regulus.”

You nod, schooling your expression before it can give you away. “What is it?”

“It’s… well,” he fixes his glasses, shifting on his seat. You only nod encouragingly. “Lils and I were, um… the other day, I walked Reg home after his shift. I figured it would be alright, you know? But then…” he pauses, running a hand through his curls. “Uh…”

“You kissed.”

James blinks, dropping his hand to look up at you. “You know?”

“Yeah,” you shrug. “He told me.”

“Oh.”

“Jamie,” you reach for his hands, setting them flat over the table to calm his nervous fidgeting. “Relax, you’ve done nothing wrong.”

“No, I know, it’s just…” he frowns, looking down at the table like he’s racking his brain for the words. “Lily said the same thing but—I don’t want him to think he’s… like an afterthought or an addition to us. She’s so good with him, and patient and… I feel like I do the complete opposite.”

Your eyebrows bunch in sympathy, squeezing his hand. “You’re not doing the opposite, you’re just… not Lily. And that’s fine, too,” you search for his gaze. “She’s patient in one way, you’re… different in another. Reg needs both,” you pause. “if that’s… what you’re trying to say.”

“Yeah,” James nods, more decisively this time. “Yes.”

“Okay,” you say, reaching for your straw. “Okay. Does this mean you… you and Lily and… Reg?”

He grows a tad bashful at this, running a hand through his curls and tousling them even more. “We…” he clears his throat. “We’re still… trying it out. Haven’t really… talked it through with Regulus. Or at least not directly, the two of us.”

It takes you a moment to speak, but James doesn’t press, too lost in his own thoughts as he looks down at his milkshake. You share a comfortable silence, not quite meeting each other’s eyes as a realization hangs in the air between you. 

“You…” you clear your throat, leaning over your crossed arms to find his gaze. “You don’t have to have all the answers right now. Neither of you—Reg he… he doesn’t expect that, not when he’s probably just as confused himself,” you pause, brushing your hair away. “What I’m trying to say is… well, he probably just wants to be there. With you… and Lily. With both of you.”

James’ eyes snap up, noticing the way your voice quietens, heavy with the words that you’re trying to hold back—how much you wished you could hear the same advice for yourself. His eyebrows bunch together, nodding in understanding when you pat around for your phone, giving your milkshake one last sip before sliding off the booth.

“Just…” you hesitate, watching as he copies your movements. “Be careful, yeah? Regulus is tough, but sometimes that’s not enough.”

He lets out a sharp exhale, nodding as he reaches for his wallet. “Of course, yeah—yes,” he nods rigorously, it turns into a different movement as you wave at Emmelie over for the bill. “You really care for each other, don’t you?”

You shrug. “He’s my best friend, and I want him to be happy,” you look at him sideways, sending him a tentative smile. “And I know he will be.”

James nods, looking down at his wallet before meeting your gaze. “He said the same thing about you, y’know.”

Before you can answer, Emmelie comes back to hand you your bill. James is already handing her his card before you can either react or speak, winking knowingly at her before nudging you lightly. She comes back with a little smile, nervous and full of giddy anticipation—you make sure to remind her about looking for Peter, stalling enough to get your thoughts in order.

Thankfully, James doesn’t push you, nor does he try to reopen the conversation. He jokes and laughs with you about the tour so far, the weeks of trying to find a routine in the bus and how many times he’s almost fallen off his bunk because he moves too much. When you’re nearing the bus, you’re giggling and laughing to yourselves like little kids; he replays the newest video posted to the band’s socials. 

“Oh my god,” you wheeze, watching Remus’ poor attempt to lipsync to your voice—a stark contrast to Sirius. “Wait, play it back—”

James waves his hand, too breathless as he bends over his knees. His back shakes with every intake of air he tries, only to be eclipsed by a louder bark of laughter. When he’s too busy laughing, flailing his hand around, you take the phone from him to watch the video again. Your free arm reaches for his wrist to steady him when it’s clear he’s one more wheeze away from stumbling over.

RB: [sent a photo]

RB: radio one new music friday?? today’s top hits? congrats jamie x 

LE: reggie just told me the news!! so proud of you honey. we’re having a pint in your honour ;) xx

You sober up immediately. “James,” you swat his chest blindly, accidentally hitting his shoulder instead. “James—”

A few steps away from you, the door to the tour bus opens in one thunderous sound. Sirius comes jumping down with wide eyes and gripping his phone tightly, he looks around the street before spotting you. Remus walks out a bit calmer after him, but his grin is evident even from where you stand.

“Did you see?” Sirius calls out, not caring about the technicians standing outside their own bus. He waves the phone around. “Radio one!”

“What?!”

You press the phone to James’ palm, letting him find out for himself. He sobers up immediately, cheeks warming up at the endearments of the text messages and zooming at the photo to make sure his eyes aren’t deceiving him. He glances quickly at you before locking his phone, his blush has spread all the way up to the tips of his ears. 

“Radio one?” he repeats, big hazel eyes trying to latch onto something, someone. They flicker from you to Remus and Sirius. “Fuck—”

“Reg said he’s been playing it on repeat at the pub, and that it keeps being requested,” Sirius explains, his own joy barely contained. “And now this?”

Neither of you say it, but the implication hangs in the air between you. It’s all happening. You brush your hair away from your face, stifling your smile. 

Remus’ eyes find yours, his own smile barely contained. You’re too overjoyed with the news, it’s a miracle your knees don’t give out under you when he takes a step closer—his arm curls around you, pulling you into the band hug. A clumsy entanglement of arms and giggles as you all laugh at the news. You stay like that for a beat longer, soaking up as much of the moment before stepping back.

Sirius is still chuckling, shaking his head in delighted disbelief. “This is—fuck, I can’t believe it,” he whispers to himself before looking up. His smile softens when he meets your gaze before swatting James’ head. “Where the fuck have you been, anyway?”

James doesn’t have any qualms to be offended as he slings an arm around Sirius’ shoulders, wrestling playfully. 

“We went to get something to eat,” you explain, eyeing them amusedly. 

“And you didn’t say anything?” Sirius asks in feigned offense. “You traitors—mostly you, Prongs. I know that was your doing.”

“You were busy,” you shrug one shoulder, trying to tame the smirk that’s fighting to tug at your lips. Of course, you fail when you turn to look at Remus. 

Remus seems to understand your meaning, looking away with a bashful little smile. His cheeks are slowly turning a pink hue. “I told Marls I wasn’t the best option for that bloody video.”

“It was cute,” you smile. “We were actually watching it on our way back.”

“Yeah?” he holds your gaze, a silent question passing through you. 

“Yeah.”

“And why didn’t you bring anything back, you selfish prick?” Sirius continues, now the one holding James with a playful headlock. 

“We didn’t know!” James laughs.

“Sorry,” you add. Sirius’ head snaps up, gesturing at you to know you’re forgiven. It makes your cheeks warm at his easy smile and urge to reassure you. 

“You would’ve loved it, Pads. Our waitress, Emmelie said she’s coming to the concert later,” James explains, finally freeing himself from all the wrestling. His curls are tousled and his glasses are askew. “y/n really wooed her, didn’t you?”

If it's possible, your cheeks get warmer. “She was very nice. It was only natural that I returned the favour.”

Remus hums. “Of course you did.”

Your eyes flicker to him, feeling the ever familiar tug at your heartstrings. “Oh,” you frown, perking up. “I almost forgot—where’s Pete?”

“Don’t know,” Sirius says, disentangling his curls from his earrings. “Probably scurried somewhere else, why?”

“He said he had a meeting,” Remus explains with an eyeroll. He sends Sirius a chiding look before turning to you. “That was a bit ago, though.”

“I’ll go look for him,” you say, taking a step towards the venue. “I promised Emmelie I’d get her something.”

“Emmelie?”

“The girl from the diner, Pads,” James explains exasperatedly. He looks one beat away from shoving Sirius again. “We’re getting her an autographed copy ‘cause she couldn’t take a picture with us.”

“Oh, that’s…” Sirius pauses, turning to you. Like it makes sense to him that you had been the one to offer her that. “That’s very sweet of you, gorgeous. Where should we sign?”

A surprised laugh bubbles out of you at his eagerness. “That’s what I need Pete for,” you take another step back. “I’ll go find him to explain—then we can sign it, yeah?”

“Of course,” they both reply in unison. Voice interlaced with warmth and fondness as they watch you walk into the venue. 

From their side, James eyes them curiously. Then, knowingly. He crosses his arms, running a hand through his curls to channel all his attention to them. 

“Now that we’re just us,” he says, taking a deliberate step between them. He points behind his shoulder in your direction. “We need to talk.”

…

The venue is still pounding behind you, rattling your bones and blending into your body. Fans continue chanting and screaming for an extra song, even if the band is long gone from the stage and replaced by technicians. Even with the weeks you’ve spent watching the same show almost every night, it still makes your heart jump to your throat with excitement at the prospect of being in the crowd, on the other side of the room, and experiencing the same feelings you create during your own set.  

You hold the pick closer to your chest with a blinding smile, its beginning to cramp your cheeks. 

“I can’t comprehend how the fuck they get better every single time,” James shakes his head, leading the way out your reserved area. “The show gets better every time.”

“Maybe because you haven’t stayed back to watch since Nashville, Prongs,” Sirius says loudly, still having to scream with the ruckus around you. “Of course you’d think that.”

“Be nice,” you chide. “It was incredible.”

Sirius smiles, nudging your side with a soft smile. “Of course you’d think that, lovely,” he juts his chin at the pick, still pressed to your chest. “I’d keep that safe.”

From your side, Remus chuckles. “Let her be, she’s still starstruck, aren’t you, dove?”

“I can’t believe I’m holding Kirley Duke’s guitar pick,” you say instead, gazing down in awestruck at the pick in your hands. 

“Well,” James says, turning to walk backwards as you step backstage. He distractedly waves his lanyard around. “Talent recognizes talent, and he said he loved our set.”

“And your drum solo,” Remus hums, it sounds louder with the ringing in your ears. “But I’m sure that’s not entirely what you remember, right?”

James only shrugs, a smug smirk curling into his lips as he leads the way through the back door. “I didn’t hear any lies.”

“Insufferable prick,” Sirius fires back, but his smile is blinding as you step into the open air. “He said he loved all of us!”

“But he loved me and y/n more, right?” he turns back to look at you, eyes bright and full of mischief when they meet yours. You’re too overwhelmed with joy and adrenaline, all you can manage to answer with is a nod. 

“Don’t drag her into your self love fest,” Sirius flings the bus door open, holding it for you to climb inside. 

James halts by the steps. “We should go celebrate!” he nearly shrieks, the sound ricochets from one side of the front lounge all the way to the bunk area. “Is there a good place nearby?”

You’re too busy making plans for the night that you nearly come crashing into Peter on his way out of the back lounge, holding his luggage in one hand. Clearly packed and ready to leave for his flight back home—where he’s set to prepare everything for your return, meetings and bookings that are filling his mailbox and text messages. 

“Oh,” you blink, taking a step back. “Sorry, Pete—are you all ready to go?”

His eyes flicker between all of you, a somber expression that is fleeting enough to make you frown. He blinks it away, and for a moment, you think you’ve imagined it. The high of the night is probably playing tricks on you.

“Yeah,” he breathes out, patting at the handle. “Since it’s an international fight, I thought I should just get a head start with traffic.”

“Right,” you nod. “I’ve heard that New Orleans traffic is no joke.”

Peter nods as well. “See?”

“Do you really have to go right this second, though?” James asks, too.

“Yeah, we were hoping to go out and celebrate.”

“Oh,” his expression falters, eyes flickering from you to the boys. His eyes pause on Remus’ arm, hanging loosely around your shoulders. “I… really have to go.”

“One drink?” you bargain softly, trying to make your smile as coaxing as possible. 

“Sorry,” he shakes his head. “I really do—”

“Yeah, yeah, you have to go.” Sirius says, walking around the front lounge, picking up his things and changing his jacket for the night. He doesn’t so much as glance at Peter. “We heard you the first time.”

“Sirius.”

“What?” he asks, sounding genuinely confused. “He said he has to go.”

“Don’t be a twat,” James frowns, it softens when he turns to Peter. “Are you sure, Pete? Can I at least come with you to the airport?”

“Prongs,” Sirius groans. 

You wave them off, turning back to look at Peter. It makes your heart clench when you notice the darkness that overcomes his eyes as he glares at Sirius. Peter shakes his head quickly when he feels your gaze, schooling his expression to send you a little smile.

“S’okay, really,” he weaves through you. “My car should be here soon, anyway. I’m sorry.”

“You’re fine. Just be careful.” Remus says, watching him go. 

“Yeah, and let us know when you land,” James adds.

He lingers by the door, a faint divot between his eyebrows as he scans each of you. Like he’s cataloging your faces and huddled bunch before opening the door. Sirius still doesn’t look at him as he shrugs his jacket off in front of the mirror, switching it for another one. Peter shakes his head with resolve at this, climbing down the stairs and letting the door close behind him. 

…

At times like this, you’re deeply grateful you are well versed in holding your alcohol. You’ve had enough drinks to make Pandora blackout, and the only effect you’ve felt as of now is a bit of tipsiness—the light and frizzy kind that makes you giggle at every little quip. Also, the kind that turns off all your reservations about karaoke.

James cheers loudly, banging a hand on your table when the girls walk down the stage. The spotlight follows them all the way to their table, basking in the attention and cheering from all the people in the bar. You clap with equal excitement.

“That girl had some pipes.” Sirius says into his drink. 

He’s leaning back on the booth, shoulder pressed against Remus’ sternum as they lounge back in tranquility. Neither of them have been drinking much, probably because it’s obvious someone has to watch out for James, or you. Or both. He raises the drink at the girls, winking. “Haven’t seen someone do such a good rendition of Shania Twain since that bachelorette we played, remember?”

“Oh, you mean your rendition?” Remus jokes, lips curling into a smirk as he sips at his own drink. 

You laugh, it bubbles out of you as you turn to them. “You performed Man I feel like a woman?”

Sirius shrugs, feigning indifference. “Who was I to deny the ladies what they wanted?” he asks, flashing you a grin. When he winks, you feel the blood rushing to your cheeks.

“Oh, I say you gave them that and more.” James laughs, sipping at his drink as he stands. “Come on, poppet—we’re on.”

“Wait,” you frown, it’s not really one when you look around the bar. “Now?”

“We were after them, come on!”

Remus makes a startled and very amused sound. “You signed up?”

“Yeah!” Sirius adds, shifting as he watches you stand as well. “When was this?”

“You were out for a snog, or a smoke—whatever,” James says, wiggling his fingers at you across the table. You readily take his hand to walk to the stage. “Take a video! Reg is going to love this.”

Sirius barely has time to react when James is tossing his phone at him, blinking in surprise. You laugh at his reaction, accepting the microphone James hands you as he whispers around with the host before walking back to join you—he’s definitely past his own threshold for tipsiness. His smile is wonky and a little funny as the song starts.

“Oh god,” Sirius drops his face into his hands. “Not this song.”

At his side, Remus doesn’t have any qualms to stifle his amused chuckle. “Of course he chose this song,” he gives his drink one last sip before shifting to focus on you and James. “He’s got the tact of a bull, even sloshed.”

“No!” Sirius waves his arms. “That’s our song, James!”

“Not anymore,” you sing into the microphone. It’s muffled and distorted with both your giggles and movements. You’re trying to hype yourself up before the song starts, copying James.

When the synthesizer instrumental starts, many of the people in the nearest tables begin clapping and cheering for you when they recognize the song. James points at you with his arms spread open and puffing his chest in and out to the beat. You switch your microphone to your other hand to follow along to his antics, the words spill out of you with messy harmonies and giggles as you start singing.

“Oh god,” Sirius laughs, too delighted to even feel a little embarrassed for you and James. And, well, there’s not really a reason to. As soon as the beat drops, the bar erupts in claps. Of course, this causes James to miss his cue. “James!”

“Fuck—right… uh…” he twists around searching for the screen to read the lyrics. Sirius shakes his head with a chuckle.  

Your laugh eclipses his, bending over your knees as James rushes into the lyrics to match the song. Truly, it couldn’t get messier with the show you’re putting for the bar—and they all enjoy it as they cheer on when James finds his footing with the beat. He hops a little, hyping himself up until he’s full on jumping around you as he raps to Meet Me Halfway by the Black Eyed Peas. 

When your part comes, you do a far better job than him. Though the antics don’t stop, letting him twirl you and dance around you as you sing. Remus covers his face, trying to contain the laugh that’s bubbling out of him—borderline barks of laughter that will eclipse your chaotic karaoke performance.

Sirius sips at his drink, slumping back on the booth as he watches you. His smile has dimmed, but in a way that would make anyone melt—his eyes hold an affectionate glint that would make your insides twist and turn any other day. Or if you weren’t up on a karaoke stage having an absolute blast with James. 

“Pads, the video!” James says into the microphone, not caring about the distortion he creates.

Remus takes the phone from him when Sirius doesn’t make a move to start recording. They share a glance, heavy in realization before turning to the stage. You’re singing into the microphone like it’s just you and James at the bus tour after a set, making fools of yourselves to wind down from a particularly good performance. 

But tonight it’s… different. You’re looser, your smile is more likely to come than go, lingering when your gazes meet or when you perform. Like your slow but sure rise to fame, the compliments and support you’ve received from every angle and concert has unveiled a new version of you. A new version that doesn’t shy off being seen, being loved.

“Hello? The video!” you say, equally offended that no one is recording.

Remus blinks, focusing his gaze back to the stage where you and James are… whatever you’re doing. James is waving his arm from side to side, the other one holding onto you as he spins you around. The twirl gives your voice an airy quality as you sing, still giggling but cleaner than before. The shimmery eyeshadow from your show catches the colorful lights of the bar, making you look otherworldly in a way that has both Remus and Sirius reaching for each other in emotional support. It’s too much—seeing you like this.

The tables near the stage wave their arms from side to side like you, they sing when you point the microphone at them. James bends backwards laughing, nearly stumbling sideways with the force and how drunk he is. You instinctively reach for his sleeve to steady him, not pausing your singing and conducting the crowd. Exactly like Sirius taught you.

You point out the bar, and they all react accordingly, oohing to the beat. “Ooh, I can’t go any further than this,” you sing. Then, before singing the next sentence… you point at your table. The crowd, of course, thinks you’re pointing at them. “Ooh, I want you so bad it’s my only wish.”

Maybe it’s the drinks, or the intensity of the moment, or the lighting going up and around the room. But it is starting to feel like the floor has given up under them. Remus feels his hand cramping where Sirius’ hold turns into a grip in reaction to your singing. To the way you pointed at them.

The song fades out, but you and James are still knee deep in your dance session—too consumed by the loud cheering to fully stop. When the song properly finishes and the host is calling the next person over, you’re giggling to yourself trying to help James out of the stage. He can barely walk in a straight line, slumping down like a rag doll on the booth. 

“I think we should call it a night,” you say breathlessly, sipping at your drink. “Jamie—drink some of your water.”

James, of course, misses his mouth when he tries to drink his water.

“Selfish pricks,” he slurs. “You didn’t record a damn thing—what am I supposed to show Lily now? God, and Reg? He would’ve loved it!”

You pat his shoulder in commiseration. “They did you a favour,” you stand, giving your drink one last sip before gesturing to him to do the same. “Come on, time to get back.” When he doesn’t answer, and neither do Remus and Sirius, your eyebrows furrow in confusion. “Uh…”

“Right,” Remus blinks, shaking his head subtly before standing as well. His hand is still being gripped by Sirius, a fact you don’t miss when your eyes flit down to them. “Jamie, come on. You’re going to regret all that jumping tomorrow.”

James tries to argue, though it’s barely coherent as he lets himself be dragged through the bar. A few of the people clap and cheer for you on your way out, and the smile that adorns your features has Remus forcing himself to look away from you. Lest he gives into his urge to kiss you senseless. 

Sirius doesn’t have such qualms as he catches up with you, arm wrapping around your waist as you step out of the bar. “You were brilliant up there, gorgeous.”

“Yeah?” you ask distractedly, eyes still tracking James’ clumsy steps as he’s being herded away by Remus. When you turn to meet his gaze, Sirius delights in the way your blush isn’t from the lights this time. 

“Yeah,” he nods, voice quietening. It feels louder and echoey with the semi empty streets. Everyone either inside the bars and clubs or back home—as one tends to be during weekdays. “I’d say you’ve dethroned me with that Fergie impression.”

You laugh quietly. “I did my best.”

“I’d say you did more than your best, dove,” Remus says from a few steps ahead, still trying to keep James from tripping with his own feet. “You owned the room.”

They share a look when you flush again. 

With James’ pathetic slurring, still arguing about the damn video, the tour bus stands ahead of you like a silent truce. You let out a collective relieved exhale when you walk closer. The lights are off, signaling Mary and Marlene have gone to sleep after the concert—which will probably be disrupted when you try to get James inside. 

“You go ahead,” you say, digging into your jacket for your cigarette pack. “I’ll be there in a bit.”

“Wait—” James slurs again, but Remus is already opening the door for the bus. 

Their overlapping whispers drown out as Remus guides him inside, still arguing about the video and if he should return tomorrow to try again. You laugh at the visible stress adorning Remus’ features as he fends off a very sloshed James and his flailing hands.

You turn away from the door and the bus altogether to put a cigarette between your lips, pausing to reach for your lighter inside your pocket. But a hand is already handing you one. 

“Oh,” you blink, speaking around the cig when Sirius flicks his lighter in front of the tip. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” he says, bringing the lighter to his before flicking it off. Your exhales overlap as you blow the smoke out. 

He tries to be subtle with his movements, but his eyes can’t seem to look at anything that isn’t you. When you lean back over the side of the bus, looking around, Sirius pretends he’s studying his boots.

“Are you…” he clears his throat, giving his cig a long drag for courage. “Are you having fun? With the tour?”

You glance up, a tiny bit startled before your lips curl up. “Yeah,” you nod, copying his movements and taking a drag. “I am, actually. Every night is…” a pause. Long, but deliberate in the way your eyes bore into his. You brush your hair away, like you’re channeling all your courage before speaking, “is… lovely.”

Sirius sucks a breath. “Lovely?”

“Yeah.”

As you take another drag, not quite looking away, James’ voice rings into his head, looming and heavy like a broken record since that day outside the bus. You tossers need to get your act together with y/n. Yeah, it’s bloody terrifying—believe me. But you won’t get anywhere with this tiptoeing around. Sirius exhales sharply, smoke curling around his face and blending with yours.     

He takes a long drag again, welcoming the burn before stubbing out his cig. “You…” he brushes his hair away. “Do you remember that night in Seattle… when you made us sign a record for that girl?”

You blink, eyebrows momentarily bunching together like you’re recalling the memory before perking up. “Oh, with Emmelie?”

“Yeah, Emmelie,” he wets his lips nervously, looking around before turning to meet your gaze. You pause with the cigarette mid-air. “The way you talked to her, listened to her words and… and how you answered her questions about the EP and the song…” he pauses, so do his eyes where they’re scanning your face for silent permission. Sirius takes a step closer when you stub out your own cigarette. “That night I really, really wanted to kiss you.”

Your eyes track a path from his eyes to his lips, slow and deliberate like you’re battling a storm inside your head, a battle between your heart and mind. 

“Wanted?” you whisper.

Sirius takes another step. “And today? At the concert, when Kirley handed you his pick…” your eyes flicker down to his lip before snapping back to his eyes. “Then at the bar, how you—you were lovely.”

“But,” you wet your lips nervously. He doesn’t miss the way your eyes flicker sideways towards the bus door. “What about—”

He levels you with a look, fingers pausing at his sides where they tingle with anticipation. “Don’t tell me you’ve never noticed,” his voice quietens, a shared secret in the dark. “At the pub… the shoot,” he takes another step closer, face mere inches from yours. “The photobooth?”

You blink, but the dazed look in your eyes doesn’t go away. “What?”

“Remus is still quite cross with me for kissing you first, you know,” his lips twitch into a smirk. A nervous one despite all his bravado. 

He watches the way you channel all your courage with one fleeting glance at his lips. His hand moves slowly upwards, up and up until his fingers curl around your waist. 

“That was a kiss?” your whisper, searching for his gaze. Your pupils are blown wide, a mirror to his. 

“Well,” his other hand takes your waist. “I hoped it would be but then—”

You crash your lips into his before he can finish speaking. Sirius’ arms come around you instinctively, tightening around your waist and fisting the back of your jacket like he can’t contain himself—like he wants to blend into you. His lips are warm and hurried, soft but hungry, like he can’t quite make his mind about how to kiss you. Like he’s been waiting for so long he’s forgotten how to function. 

Well, you can’t say the same thing about yourself. All it takes is him backing you into the bus to forget how to breathe, breaking apart enough to meet his gaze before he’s pressing his lips into yours again. Sirius makes a pained, almost pleasing sound when your hands move his face, pulling him closer and closer like you, too, want to blend into him. 

“Wait,” you whisper, drawing back enough to catch your breath. Sirius’ chest rises and falls to the same rhythm yours does. “We shouldn’t—”

“It’s okay,” his voice is barely audible. “We’re okay, you…” he kisses you again, deeper this time before pulling back. His brows are furrowed together like it’s taking him an insane amount of strength to not keep kissing you. “We’re okay, lovely. I wouldn’t kiss you if neither of us wanted this.”

You’re too dazed and lost in the taste of his lips, clinging to your last shreds of control to not kiss him again, that you completely misunderstand what he means. “I do,” you nod, fingers traveling up to brush his hair away from his face.

Sirius pecks your lips again, lingering enough to make you try and deepen the kiss. “I know you do,” he whispers when he pulls back. “But I meant Remus and I—we… we want this. With you.”

“What?”

“I…” he wets his lips nervously, they’re beginning to swell because of your bruising kiss. “Well, if you’ll have us… that is.”

You blink again. “What?”

He’s pressed so close together to you, breath fanning your cheeks and mouth, it’s proving difficult to concentrate on what he’s trying to say. But your heart latches onto his words, holding them tight and thumping louder at what this means. Sirius’ thumb sweeps at the patch of skin of your waist, the back of his knuckles protect your skin from the icy cold surface of the bus, but his eyes never leave your face. 

You swallow thickly, forcing your gaze away from his lips. “I…” your voice quietens, your ears ring when his lips brush yours again. Neither of you pretend to rein your impulses when you push yourself off the bus to press your lips against his again. 

From the far end of the bus, the door opens. “Well, took some work but he—” Remus pauses by the last step. 

Sirius doesn’t immediately pull away, but you do push him in a hurried scramble to erase all evidence of what just went down. Even if his voice rings in your ears, you press yourself harder against the bus. But I meant Remus and I. We want this. With you. 

You suck in a shuddering breath when the door closes behind Remus. Steps crunch as he steps closer, and you find yourself looking down at your boots instead. A pair of trainers, Remus’ converse shoes, step into view before his hand is guiding your face up with one gentle touch. His eyes are warm and soft and understanding, even as his pupils begin widening the more you stare back at him. 

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, still slightly breathless as his eyes flicker back from your lips to meet your worried gaze.

“What for?” he asks in that same tone, though far less nervous than you. More confident. Like he’s not even remotely against what he just walked into.

You feel Sirius’ thumb brush your waist again, a grounding touch that has your heart leaping all the way to your throat. 

“I didn’t…” you swallow nervously. “I’m sorry.”

“No need to be sorry,” he takes a step closer, not at all minding the way he’s nearly pressed between Sirius and you against the bus. “You don’t have to apologize when we’ve been the ones acting like tossers for not confessing earlier.”

“Confessing?” your breath hitches, eyes flickering between him and Sirius. “You mean…”

His eyes flit down to your lips, thumb brushing the underside of your jaw in a way that drags you back to that night at the pub, when he guided your face the same way for a kiss. The way he looked at you tonight at the concert, his arm around you and making sure you were having a great time. The way he held you that night after your first concert—

Remus bends down, lips brushing yours. “Yeah,” he whispers. “Yeah, dove, that’s exactly what I’m trying to say…” his lips linger a hair’s length apart from yours, testing as his eyes study your face. 

From your side, ducked low where he’s nuzzling at your cheek, Sirius huffs a quiet laugh. “What was it you said tonight? At the bar?” he whispers, thumb brushing up and down, testing before kissing your cheek again. “With the song?”

It takes you a while, and mostly because you’re so overwhelmed with their touches that it takes you a moment to recall. But Remus can see the moment the memory flashes through your face, the way your cheeks warm under his touch in a way that has his restraint snapping loose. Of course, you meet him halfway. 

His lips are soft against yours, pressing and pressing until you’re unconsciously parting them for him. Remus makes a delighted sound, thumb pinching your chin gently to deepen the kiss. You readily let him, not knowing how much you wanted to kiss him until you did. When a pair of lips brush your cheek, dragging a path down your cheekbone, the underside of your jaw, your neck—you feel Remus’ lips curling against yours at the way your breath stutters pleasantly.

Your hands hesitate, moving up and down like you can’t quite keep up with your own body. Sirius pulls a bit away from your neck to guide them up, one remains around his waist while the other travels up and up until you’re pulling Remus down for another kiss with a tug at the hair of his nape. You smirk into the kiss, Sirius’ breath is warm against your skin as he chuckles at the sound it drags out of Remus. 

Even with their controlled touches and lingering kisses, every nerve of your body feels like a fizzling sensation, your fingers tingle with anticipation the more they kiss you, the more they touch you and the more you wish they’d never stop. Your ears ring with adrenaline the more you feel the bus against your back, pressing into your spine with the same bruising force Sirius nips at your neck. 

Above you, the lights of the bus flicker on from the window. Movement picks up as voices raise inside, but you’re too deep in your dizzy desire to pay it any mind. Even if the bus shakes slightly with the hurried steps around, the pacing and the voices that are slowly raising in volume. 

It isn’t until the door swings open that you realize you should’ve taken all those signs as warnings. When Mary comes running down the steps of the bus, she looks frazzled and stressed, like she was abruptly shaken awake. 

“Has anyone—” she cuts herself off, pausing when her head turns to your side of the bus. You spring away from each other. “Oh for fuck’s sake—so it’s true?”

You blink, trying to force your mind to focus. It’d be easier if Remus dropped his hand from your jaw, or Sirius stopped holding onto your waist. Mary shakes her head like she’s storing this to deal with later. 

“What’s true?” Remus asks, taking an achingly slow step away from you. 

She looks around, eyes flickering between you to the bus, rubbing her lips together like she’s reining her own nervousness and stress. It makes your insides pause their melting from the kiss to twist in anxiety. 

“What is it?” you ask, guiding Sirius’ hands away to turn to her. 

From inside the bus, Marlene is already fighting with someone on the phone. “That fucking traitorous rat!”

Sirius frowns. “What?”

Mary looks conflicted enough to make your heart clench with dread, even more with the way her eyes keep moving up to the bus window. Sirius follows her gaze, and before any of you realize, he’s moving. 

You follow after him in a line, feeling the adrenaline crash in a painful sensation inside your body at what you find inside. Marlene is pacing around the front lounge, flailing her hands around and radiating anger from each step she takes. 

“I don’t fucking care if it’s too early—I need you to get your people on the case immediately,” she barks into the phone.

“What…” Sirius’ frown deepens. “What’s going on?”

Marlene’s head whips up to the entrance of the bus, where you’re all huddled in panic at her anger. At the way she hasn’t stopped pacing and how she keeps glancing down at the iPad in her hands. She follows your gazes before crossing the lounge to set it on Sirius’ hand. 

When your eyes land on the screen, you feel the floor giving up under you. 

‘IT WAS NEVER SIMPLE’: INSIDER CLAIMS EMERGE ABOUT ‘NEW’ IT-BAND’S RISE AND THE FIGURE AT ITS CENTRE

[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.

[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.

[amnmesias]

𝐯𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞

poly!wolfstar x fem!reader

word count: 7.3k

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

a/n: ah yes the good ol’ angst  

part fifteen ˚.⋆♪⋆ series masterlist    

—

“You’re joking.”

“What?”

“I’m not packing those,” you feel warmth spread from your cheeks all the way to your neck. You snatch the flimsy boxer briefs you tend to sleep in from her hand. “I can’t just walk around wearing these.”

“Why not?” Pandora frowns, genuinely surprised at your push back. She takes the boxers back. “You do it all the time here.”

“Yeah, because it’s just you,” you argue back, eyeing the way she starts folding them again. She takes a couple more to fold them as well. “and Reg but he hardly counts.”

Pandora laughs. “So what? Are you going to walk around covered from head to toe like a bloody nun?”

You pretend to busy yourself with a few tees. “Maybe.”

“God, you’re ridiculous. Fine—die of a heatstroke for all I care,” she mumbles in feigned upset, setting the folded boxers aside. “And if you’re not taking those, the lacy knickers stay back as well.”

You pause, feeling the intensity of her gaze. Your traitorous eyes flicker to the half packed luggage on the floor, where most of your underwear is already safely folded and packed away. Pandora smirks, taking the boxers back to set them inside the same section. 

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed, miss.”

You hum. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you hand her your tees to pack them as well. Pandora does an awful job at hiding her delight at your flushed cheeks. “I always wear those.”

“Hm, yeah,” she concedes, almost taunting as she pats the clothes. “But I don’t recall you wearing them this often.”

You scoff. “Are you in the habit of keeping tabs on my clothing choices?”

“Love, the day you stop forgetting to do your laundry,” she sends you a look with enough energy to make you raise your shoulders, properly contrite. She goes on, “is the day you can scold me for knowing what you are or not wearing.”

“Fuck off,” you grumble, twisting to begin folding your trousers. Which are, funnily, enough. When you pick the first one, a low waisted one you secretly stole from Regulus, you pretend to not notice her knowing gaze following your movements. “Oh, for fuck’s sake—I get it. I dress like a trollop, let’s move on.”

A rumpled jumper lands on your head, followed by Pandora’s offended gasp. “Don’t say that!” she throws you a pair of rolled up socks for good measure. “I mean, yes, you sort of do. But that’s not the point here.”

“And what’s the point?”

“That you’re packing like you’re preparing for something,” she lowers her voice, knowing how her words can either make you close up or make you act weirder. Like clockwork, your smile drops. Pandora draws a long sigh, shuffling in her knees to get closer to you. “Or… for a particular couple?”

You let the trousers drop to your lap, fiddling with the belt hoops, to give your hands something to do. They cruelly pull you back to that night at the pub after rehearsal, the way Remus had pulled you inside, gaze decisive despite the impulsiveness of the moment. The fleeting, charged touch of Sirius’ ring against your skin. Their lips—

“It’s just…” you rub your lips together, looking down at the trousers, then the rest you’re yet to pack. The boxer briefs and tops and tees. “Is it—Am I that obvious?”

Pandora’s lips curl in an almost smile, sympathetic despite her best attempts to keep it anything but. She reaches for your hands, taking the trousers and setting them aside. Like she can see the turmoil inside your chest, seeping into your heart, your lungs and cutting all your oxygen. The all consuming energy that pumps your veins at the memory rushes all the way to your head when your eyes, unconsciously, cut a quick glance to your dresser. The photobooth strip remains shoved deep inside.

You suck a stuttering breath. “Can I tell you something?” you whisper, all the volume you allow yourself to not fall apart. Pandora shuffles closer with a nod. It’s enough to make a small bout of relief blossom in your chest. “Something… happened. The other day.”

“Something with…?” She trails off, careful, searching in your eyes for permission to finish her question.

“With Sirius,” you nod. “Then with Remus, and then with both of them,” the words slip past your tongue like they’ve been waiting for permission to come out. To finally break free. “And… I liked it. A lot, actually.”

The confession feels less like a weight lifting off your shoulders and more like someone has reached inside your insides, twisting and twisting until your heart is beating so loud where it’s squeezed tight. Your hand flies to your chest, trying to tame it down, but it’s enough to set off the alarms in your head. It spreads to your legs as you shift to stand.

Pandora reaches for your forearms before you can flee, one of your knees stills mid air before she’s carefully guiding you back down and into her arms. She hugs you tightly, rubbing a hand up and down your spine like a steady anchor. 

You swallow thickly, willing your voice to remain quiet. “Why them, Dora?” you whisper, letting her pull you closer. Her hand travels to the back of your head when a sniffle escapes you. “Why did it have to be them? Why now?”

“Oh, love,” she murmurs, resting her chin over the crown of your head when you slide down in her embrace. 

“I’ve spent the entire fucking time telling myself it’s all in my head—that I… I imagined it. And it’s fine if I did, I can accept that,” you go on, words tripping out and barely coherent to your own ears. “But then they do things—things that I can’t pretend they don’t mean anything. I can’t, and it’s fucking me up ‘cause I said I wouldn’t stand between them, that I wouldn’t mediate and it’s exactly what I’m doing. They have each other, it’s just them and—”

Pandora tuts, guiding you away when your voice begins turning erratic, puffs of air that come out faster and faster to catch up with your thoughts. “Love, hey,” she holds your shoulders, forcing you to focus your attention on her. “Breathe. You’re okay, it’s okay.”

You shake your head. “No, it’s not. This is not okay, I’m not supposed to be even entertaining this. Why the fuck am I packing all these… these things like something could actually happen?” your voice is fraught, heavy with heartbreak that makes her own ache. “What the fuck am I thinking? It has always been Remus and Sirius, Sirius and Remus. No more, just them, and—”

“And you,” she says, still holding you in place in case her words make you walk away. They don’t, but your face does twist painfully at this, and Pandora draws you closer for another hug with a sorry smile. “And you, love. It’s quite obvious to everyone that it’s no longer just Sirius and Remus. At least not to them.”

Your stomach drops at this, at the firmness of her voice and how, deep down, you know this as well. This undeniable truth that you’ve been turning around in your head, making it make sense and disentangling it until it’s nothing but a silly memory. A fantasy you never should’ve entertained. Even if it has happened time and time before, with idly touches and strokes of skin, quiet whispers and shared looks. A fantasy that, at some point of this journey, materialized into something tangible. Something terrifyingly real.

“I can’t do that,” you shake your head, brushing your hair away. It brings another memory to your head, a pang to your chest that finds you dropping your hands to your sides. “I can’t do that to them. Or the band. I… no.”

Pandora sits back, listening to each of your words and all the contradictions that come out with each confession you make. She holds you close, taking the brunt of both your pain and the weight of your feelings, the ones you keep trying to hold all by yourself. Like you were taught to do from a very early age. 

You used to be better at it. Asking for help with the weight. But then you found yourself enjoying how capable it made you feel, how much it could dissolve into a faint annoying hum in your head and seeing your friends so unburdened thanks to you. It was a high you used to chase constantly, and one that was hard to pry you off from. It seems all your efforts have been in vain in the end.

“y/n, I need you to breathe, lovely,” she whispers, guiding you away when the sniffles grow in intensity. “You’re going to make yourself sick, holding all in. Breathe for me.”

You try. You really do. But all it does is tighten the knot inside your chest, reverting to damage control and scrambling to pull your insides back together. Pretending this wound hasn’t made them leak out of you, that it hasn’t brought out months of repression into the light. 

Somewhere down the hallway, the main door opens and closes. Shuffling sounds follow as Regulus begins setting his things down, toeing his boots off and getting rid of the day’s remains as he wanders around the flat in search for either you or Pandora. When he steps into the room, pausing just by the threshold, the glow around him dims when he notices the state of you. Pandora sends him a look that is close to a warning.    

His knuckle rasps the threshold, lingering enough to buy himself time. His eyes catalogue every corner of the room, every clothing strewn around or folded by your open luggage, ready to be packed away. 

You don’t look up, or pause your failed attempt to compose yourself to look at him. You’ve heard him come in, you can tell by his steps, the way he sucks in a breath before fully stepping inside. Pandora’s palm presses at your spine again, soothing enough to coax you out of your hiding place. She sends you a sorry smile when your gazes meet.

“Hey,” Regulus says quietly, lowering himself to sit by your side. He’s careful as he sets your folded trousers aside, taking the opportunity to just put them inside your suitcase to alleviate the burden of doing it yourself. “What’s the matter?”

His hands begin working on the rest of your clothes, folding and folding and folding until he’s holding a pile of just your trousers. He sets them aside by the rest of the clothes when you hesitate, eyes boring into the underwear and boxer briefs Pandora has already packed for you. A hand flies to your forehead, pressing hard at the skin like you’re suppressing a thought. A memory.

Regulus shifts to sit back with his legs crossed, scanning you closely before cutting a glance at Pandora. She almost ran, she mouths at him. Her eyes shot a quick sideways glance at you before focusing back on him. It’s about Remus and Sirius, she adds in the same way. Ah, it’s all he mouths back. 

He twists around, cataloguing what you’ve packed and what’s left to fold. His eyes land on the jumpers, and he gets started on it. Nimble fingers making quick work of the lump of clothes, he lets the silence do all the work to soothe you. Letting time and energy stretch enough to speak. 

When you don’t show signs of calming down, Regulus clears his throat. Hoping to ease his own nerves. “You know,” he starts to say, eyes downcast as he runs a palm over a jumper suspiciously familiar to one Pandora has been nagging him for stealing. “I kissed James the other day.”

It’s enough of a big confession to make you freeze. He only sets the jumper aside with the rest before twisting to take another. 

“I came home and cried my eyes out,” his voice quietens, chancing a quick glance at you. You manage to meet his gaze this time, breathing still a tad erratic but simmering as realization dawns on you. “I had never felt so hopeless and lost in my life. It was terrifying.”

“Yeah?” you ask back, voice raspy like your throat still won’t give you control of your feelings back. They remain trapped inside, like a caged animal pacing around their confinement. “Why… why didn’t you say?” 

“Honestly? I didn’t think it’d matter that much.”

You shake your head. “It does,” you counter immediately. “Of course it does, Reg. We could’ve helped you.”

His eyes flit to Pandora, lips twitching in a shared smile before he turns back to you. “Yeah, I know that,” he nods. You mirror it unconsciously. Regulus sets a palm over the pile, carefully sliding it out of the way to shuffle to you. “But I couldn’t find myself to do it. To let the words out—that would mean making it true, and I couldn’t handle that. I don’t think I still can.”

Your brows bunch together in empathy. Of course. No one could understand his predicament better than you. Regulus accepts your hug, one he suspects you need more than him.

“I think,” your voice is quiet, tentative almost. You tighten your arms around him, seeking the comfort you’re trying to give. “the scary part is not saying it, it’s…”

He guides you a bit away, enough to force you to look at him. “The after, yeah,” he nods, lips twitching in an almost smile. His own shoulders are slumped with resignation, with his own emotional weight he has been carrying. “It’s bloody terrifying, yeah. But you… y/n, staying quiet will make it hurt more, more than it already does, I’m sure.”

You look away, drawing a long and stuttering breath. It makes your chest rattle and the achingly loud thumping of your heart to simmer. 

“It’s just… I don’t know,” you start to say, hands flailing as you try to find the words. To force them out where they’re trapped in your throat. “It’s just—fuck.”

“Yeah,” the corners of his lips twitch, just enough to show his own empathy at your reaction. His eyes flicker knowingly at Pandora before turning back to you. “Okay, come on.”

You blink. “What?” 

Regulus pushes himself to stand, not quite letting go of your arm yet to pull you up with him. You’re too stunned, trying to catch up to his change of plans that your mind goes blank. 

“Come take a walk with me.”

“Now?”

“Unless you have other plans?” he asks, dipping his chin low to level you with a look.

Your eyes betray you by flitting to your dresser again, then your luggage and your clothes. Still halfway through being packed in the last days since you started. “But it’s late,” you argue. Just for arguing’s sake. 

“Oh, now you care about going out at night?” he jokes lightly, pulling you out of the room. You have enough wits about yourself to feel a tiny bit contrite at his knowing jab. 

“And you just got home,” you try again. A flimsy excuse. Less credible with each time you reach to brush your hair away, tucking it and untucking it from your ear in anxious movements. “from work...”

Regulus huffs a quiet laugh, bending to put his boots on again. “I know,” he glances up. “but we’re going for a walk, not the pub, so…”

Behind you, Pandora nudges you playfully. “S’okay, lovely. Your luggage will still be here when you get back,” she murmurs, beelining to the kitchen. She gives your forearm a loving squeeze as she walks past, nodding at Regulus before busying herself cleaning. Useless really, the kitchen is cleaner than it has ever been.

You take your time to gear up, hoping Regulus will lose patience and let it go. Of course, he’s leaning against the front door’s threshold when you glance up. He gives you a promoting nod when you finish shrugging on your jacket and loops an arm through yours. 

The weather outside is surprisingly nice for the hour, a slight breeze hits your face, a stark contrast to the warmth you feel on your skin, your face, your nape. It’s nice. It sort of helps. 

Still, you reach inside your jacket’s pocket for your reserve cigarette carton to take two. Regulus wordlessly accepts his without looking or letting go. A shared vice to finish the conversation that hangs in the air between you. If he recognizes your lighter from someone else, he makes a point of only handing it back with a little smile. You can’t say the same thing about the forsaken lighter—it feels as heavy as your heart when you pocket it back.

“M’sorry for making a big scene,” you mumble, blowing away from him. The breeze still makes it swirl back towards you. “I feel like I’m making it a whole thing.”

“Well, I don’t exactly know what led you to that point,” he says back, looking around the street in what one would think is a distracted manner. But he can’t fool you, his brows are wrinkled together in a pensive frown. “But I’d say you’re actually very calm about this whole thing.”

You huff a quiet laugh. “This whole thing?”

“You know, the tour, the EP… those tossers,” he gestures vaguely. “No wonder you’re so pent up lately.” You frown back at him. Regulus only brings his cig back to his lips, leveling you with a look at your apparent puzzlement. “y/n, please. Save me the trouble of calling you out.” 

“What?”

Regulus chuckles, taking another drag. “Beastie boys? Really?” he asks, voice laced with knowing amusement. You look away. “Remember that time you broke up with that bloke? You spent two bloody months listening to nothing but them.”

“They make good angry music,” you argue weakly, taking a short drag. You welcome the burn of smoke before speaking again. “And loud.”

“Loud?” he hums. You don’t miss the funny lilt of his voice. “Like the Wu-Tang Clan, I assume?”

“Is this you trying to tell me you don’t want to share accounts anymore?” 

He rolls his eyes, immediately picking up on the way you’re trying to divert the attention from this topic. But he won’t let you. Not anymore. 

“Where did you go last night?”

You take a longer drag this time. “Nowhere. I stayed home to start getting my stuff ready, remember?”

“No, after that,” he says, firmer now. But gently. “I came out of my room for something to eat and your room was empty. y/n, you weren’t home. Where were you?”

The silence that follows is an answer in itself, as much as you try to find the words to explain to him. But, at the end, you find yourself embracing it instead. Explain what? How you conveniently waited until he and Pandora were sound asleep to slip out? How you haven’t been able to sleep since that night out? How you keep forcing yourself to act like nothing happened with Remus and Sirius? Even if all you want is clarity to put your mind at ease?

“I’m sorry,” your voice quietens. “Is that why you came with me?”

Regulus looks away, taking a drag to steady himself as well. “Sort of,” he says. Quietly like you. The streets are empty enough for you to not mind, like the world is quietening for you. “I knew you’d do it later anyway. But… I sort of needed a walk myself, to clear my head,” he pauses, cutting you a quick glance. Your eyebrows are bunched together in empathy again. He sucks in a breath. “Figured you wouldn’t mind doing it a bit earlier. Or with company this time.”

You pull him closer with a light tug to your looped arms. “You know I don’t mind,” you say, flicking the ash off your cigarette. “I never do.”

“y/n,” he searches for your gaze. “You can’t keep doing this. It might’ve helped before but you’re not alone anymore—you’ve got people that care for you.”

“I know,” you manage to say, the words feel acidic in your throat. Guilty nausea that keeps coming and going. “I know, I’m sorry. I just… I didn’t realize I was doing it again.”

“I know,” he says, sounding a little guilty. “And I’m sorry I didn't realize sooner.”

“No, Reg. You…” you bring the cig back between your lips. Not quite taking a drag yet, thinking. “It’s okay, you don’t need to apologize to me. Never. I… these moods, they come and go and I don’t—”

“You can’t control them, I know. But it’d help if you allowed us to help sometimes,” he murmurs. “Especially when things will get more complicated soon. You’ll be away for too long, traveling and performing nearly every night—you can’t go with this headspace. It’ll eat you alive.”

Your chest tightens. Regulus stops by a bin, snubbing his cigarette out before turning to you, his brows are deeply furrowed at the way you keep looking everywhere but at him. 

“It’s just…” you whisper, trying to force the words out again. “It’s just… this wasn’t meant to happen. This… this thing between them, I… I’m not that type of person. I can’t just—it can’t happen.”

“Why not?”

“Because we work together, Regulus. We’re in a band for fuck’s sake, we’re about to go on tour across the globe and… and,” you suck in a breath. “If the band ends up splitting because of this… I don’t think I could handle that. I can’t do that to them.”

Regulus nods. “Okay, that’s fair. But only if they didn’t feel the same, y/n,” his voice is gentle but firm. “You and I both know that’s not the case here.”

“We don’t know that,” you shake your head, fingers trembling slightly when you bring the cigarette back to your lips. “And even if this is true… I can’t do this to them.”

“You keep saying that,” he frowns. “You can’t do that to them and the band. But what about you?”

The smoke comes out of your lips with a cough, the tight and constricting knot in your chest comes loose with the simple question. With his quiet voice and empathetic eyes. You look away at the first sign of stinging from your eyes, screwing them shut to avoid letting the tears fall. Regulus only takes a step closer, dabbing at the one that is sliding down the side of your neck. 

“I know it’s hard to think of yourself that way—worthy of love and affection when you’ve spent your life having it denied,” his words are gentle and clear, a balm to your tears as he continues cleaning the ones that escape your eyes. “But that doesn’t mean you are. y/n… you are, okay?”

“I…” you swallow thickly, it shreds your throat where it turns into a sob. “I don't know that.”

“Because you haven’t given yourself the chance to know. You keep saying what you can’t do for them, but haven’t once asked what you want.”

“I don’t want to ruin them.”

“And it’s ruining you.”

At the way your face twists again, Regulus chances a quick look around before pulling you into a hug. The streets are mostly empty now, being too late to have people outside, wandering through the dark night. It makes your sniffles sound louder, echoey and an exact mirror to how the realization dawns on your chest. 

When you begin showing signs of calming down, Regulus pulls away, enough to find your watery gaze. “Band aside. Let’s pretend for a second the band isn’t in the equation, or the tour or the label or anything else that’s making you worry… what do you want?”

You blink.

A flash going off snaps in your head, bouncing from side to side as the phantom feeling of lips against your skin begins tingling your own lips. Arms around. your middle and soft gazes when you’re doubting yourself. Late night texting and sharing quiet moments on a rooftop. A warm pub and inner jokes, laughter overlapping and a photobooth strip. It’s yours. Remus’ voice comes like lightning striking into your brain. 

You glance back up at Regulus, eyes wide with realization that cuts the air out of your lungs. 

He sends you a small smile, curling an arm around your shoulders. “Let’s head home, yeah?”

…

“No, I did leave them there. Check again.”

You’ve been pacing around the waiting area for a while now, sequestered into a small corner while you wait for the baggage carousel to start. It’s very early, and you’ve still got mascara smudged under your lower lashes from your heartfelt goodbye to your friends and your hours of sleeping during the flight. Your fingers are nearly trembling with the airport's naturally cold atmosphere and fiddling with the cord of your earbuds. Whoever has called you keeps adding fuel to the fire that is your frazzled nerves.

“How can it not be there?” your voice is sharp, sharper than they’ve ever heard from you before. “Just—hand the phone back to Alice. Yes, Alice. She’ll be more helpful than you.”

Remus frowns. 

“What’s that all about?” James asks drowsily, sitting across from him as he, too, watches you picking up pace around them. “Who’s Alice?”

“A friend from work,” Remus explains, voice airy in his distraction when you turn to take another lap around the carousel. Your fingertips are pressed hard between your eyebrows. “Maybe something came up.”

“I thought she quit?”

“She can’t quit, Prongs. That’s her best paying job.”

“But the band…?”

Remus lowers his hand, thumb sweeping Sirius’ sternum where he’s laying down by his side—uncomfortably draped across various chairs. His heart calms into a soft hum when Sirius shifts to lean his head over his lap.

“I don’t know,” he says honestly. “All I do know is that she moved some strings to get her holiday request moved for the tour.”

“And that her coworkers are useless,” Sirius adds, a dry bite that shakes the drowsiness of his own tone. “I mostly want us to do well so she can leave that place.”

A gentle pinch to his chest. “Sirius,” Remus chides, a placating tone that lowers when you rejoin them. Your call is long finished but your irritation seems nowhere near dissipated. He sends you a small smile. “Everything alright?”

“Yeah,” you nod, still rubbing your fingers on your forehead. “Yeah, just… a few things I thought I left explicitly explained and handled.”

Remus nods. It’s all he can do, really. A hand is set over his, squeezing softly before letting go. Coincidentally at the same time your eyes flit down to Sirius, their joined hands over his sternum and the way he squeezes Remus’ hand. You look away, jaw clenched as you cross your arms to pretend to scan the carousel. 

“They’re not out yet?” you ask, voice easing into something less tense. Your hand lowers to your mouth, covering a yawn. 

“No,” James yawns as well, standing to stretch. Another yawn takes over his words, louder than yours. He juts his chin towards the carousel. “Pete’s got it, though.”

You shake your head. “You need to stop treating him like an errand boy. He’s our manager.”

Sirius waves you off casually. “He said he didn’t mind.”

Your eyes return to him, a fleeting gaze that makes his heart ache. But you look away before he can read more into it, to find the real meaning behind your lingering gazes and the general lovelorn essence that radiates off of you. 

“M’going to find something to drink, maybe a coffee,” you put one of your earbuds back.

“I’ll come,” James says, finishing stretching to follow after you. “I need something to eat before I actually fall asleep.”

“Fall asleep again you mean?” you joke, voice fading out as you walk away. 

James gasps, feigning upset. They can hear him even from where they’re sitting. “Says you! Look at my shoulder—you’ve left it damp with drool.”

Remus watches you and James joke between yourselves, watching the sleepy but easy way you interact with him. The same way you used to be with them.

The silence you leave behind is so deafening, the carousel whirring to life lands like thunder in the room. Sirius shakes his head, trying to fully wake himself up before sitting straight. He shoots a quick glance at Peter, checking he’s away from earshot before turning to Remus.

“I can’t keep pretending anymore, Remus,” he still says quietly. When Remus turns to meet his gaze, he is grateful to find the same troubling look that he’s sure is showing on his face. “Do you…” a pause. “Do you regret it?”

“Regret what?”

“The… well…”

“The kisses?” he asks, direct. No going around it. Sirius still feels the air getting sucked out of him, but Remus is quick to add, “No, I don’t. But there could’ve been a different way to go on about it.”

Sirius holds his gaze. “To go on about what?” he asks, a quiet challenge. 

Of course, Remus is long past any overthinking when it comes to his feelings. “To go on about how we feel,” his voice is calm, a steady hum that works like a charm to ease the nerves in Sirius’ chest. “We should’ve talked about it first, not… not let the moment pass and consume everything.”

“I…” Sirius lets out a sharp exhale, brushing his hair away. He tries not to think about you, the touch of your fingers and lips and the way you keep looking at him. “I can’t stop thinking about it. About her and,” he pauses. “about us.”

“Me too,” Remus says, almost immediately. His hesitation takes a beat longer to arrive, but is undeniable there when his eyes begin scanning Sirius’ face. Slow and steady, cataloguing each inch as he gathers up the courage to finish off his thoughts. “Is that… something you’d want?”

Yes. The thought comes fast and thundering, having already settled in the days that followed that night at the pub. Sirius doesn’t realize he’s nodding until Remus is brushing his hair away again.

“Yes,” he speaks out, though it’s barely a whisper. “and it’s driving me insane how much I want it,” the words come spilling out of him before he can process it, but his expression is far from regretful when he catches Remus’ hand. “All of us. Together. Not you and me, and then her—not like that.”

His confession is so sudden and earnest it drags a stunned laugh out of Remus. But relieved, too. It’s obvious in the way his shoulders relax as well. “All of us, huh?” he smiles. It makes Sirius relax as well. “I like that, actually. Very much.”

Sirius feels himself smiling, too. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Remus nods. “For a while actually.”

“Why didn’t you say?”

“I didn’t want to jump to conclusions—I… well, we had just solved our thing. I didn’t want to,” he pauses, rubbing at his eyes. Even if the conversation has awakened him, there’s still sleepiness seeping into his movements as he drops his hands. “I didn’t want to scare you off, I suppose.”

“Remus, what?” he exhales deeply. “You… you’d never scare me off. Even less about this—I just thought… at the studio.. that we talked about this?”

“That wasn’t a very honest conversation, love. You can’t expect me to fully understand what you meant if you didn’t know yourself,” he explains, gentle but firm. “But yeah, that’s fair. I should’ve been clearer.”

“Me too.”

“Here we are, then,” his smile dims enough with more uncertainty. 

“Here we are.” Sirius echoes softly, shifting closer. “How are we going to make it right? With y/n?”

Remus hums, lips twitching into a little knowing smile. “Maybe try to go slower this time,” he quietens his voice when Peter walks past, wheeling the first luggage that comes off the carousel. “And be as clear as possible without scaring her off. The least I want is for her to feel uncomfortable again.”

“I know,” Sirius nods, looking away where you’re walking back with James. You’re laughing at something he’s saying, looking more awake and less stressed. As one tends to be with James. “Sounds like a plan, then?”

“What are you planning?” asks James, in his hand a big bag of crisps. A colour and flavour only Americans can come up with. He eats with a calmness that makes them forget its past 4 am. “And why am I being kept off said plans?”

Sirius turns, holding a hand out for a crisp. “That I’m taking the top bunker,” he says, popping a few into his mouth. He flinches. “Prongs—what the fuck? Why are you eating these?”

“What?” James frowns, popping more into his mouth. “They’re habanero, isn’t it bloody cool?”

“It’s disgusting,” Sirius shakes his head, he puts the crisps back on James’ open palm. “I hate them, did you at least get us something, you selfish prick?”

“Oh, yeah. y/n’s got them, though,” he turns, looking for you around the carousel. You’re busy talking with Peter and handing him his own drink and a pack of Oreos. “You know her—insisted on getting Pete something to make up for your taunting, you selfish prick,” he points at Sirius.

Sirius only throws him the bird. It lasts shortly when realization dawns on him, quickly blossoming into fondness when he sees you gently pushing the bag into Peter’s arms despite his polite refusal. He turns to Remus, and they share a silent knowing smile. 

…

“Okay, so… Sirius, this one’s yours, as requested,” Peter says, distractedly pointing at the bunk beds as he checks his notes. “James, you’re on the bottom one.”

James sighs, bending to shove his things under his bunk. He’s not above pettiness as he throws Sirius the bird with a halfhearted glare. 

“You never struck me as a sore loser, Prongs,” Remus hums, arms crossed as he waits to be assigned his own bunk bed. He fails at appearing smug when Peter points at the top one, pointedly across Sirius in the narrow hallway. 

“And, as requested as well,” Peter turns to you. “The bottom bunk.”

You blink, pulling your earbud out of one ear to focus back on Peter. “Sorry, what?”

“Nothing too important, just that we’ll be neighbors,” James curls an arm around your neck, jostling you playfully and accidentally yanking your other earbud out. “Oops, sorry.”

“S’fine, Jamie,” you chuckle quietly. It dies on your throat when he takes your suitcase to put it down under your bunk as well. “Oh, that’s not necessary.”

“Let him, dove,” Remus says, and your eyes snap to him. He momentarily regrets it, but your lips twitch very, very faintly and the thought dissipates as he smiles back. “He’s got to maintain his energy for tonight.”

“Oh, then,” you turn back to James. A knee jerk reaction to escape Remus’ kind eyes. “Thank you.”

James only salutes you before bending down to test his bunk bed. The curtain moves with his movement, clearly shifting around and trying to find a comfortable position in the compact space. 

You only put your earbuds back on before returning to the front lounge. Remus sends Sirius a look, and the boy only nods quickly before bending to take his things and begin preparing for tonight. Opening night of the tour.

Remus shoves the sleeves of his jumper up to his forearms, making a beeline for the mini fridge at the front. His eyes flit quickly to one of the sofas, you’re curled up—arms tight as you gaze out the window. Your face is impassive, eyes half-lidded where they follow the movement outside. Technicians and crew members are finishing loading out and into the venue. 

He pretends to be interested in the logistics when he sits across from you on the sofa, angled towards you under the pretense of staring out the tinted window. Okay, maybe he's not as brave as he hoped to be. 

To your credit, you don’t move. But your eyes still flicker to a sideways glance, like you’re scared of looking too long before turning to face straight ahead. Music leaks out of your earbuds, a testament of how loud it is. 

“What’re you listening to?” he asks.

“Hm?” you ask back, flinching a little at being caught when he flashes you a smile. “Oh, sorry. Um… the Beastie boys?”

Remus knows. He can make out the boisterous and gritty production even from where he’s sitting a considerable distance away from you. 

He smiles. “I know,” he crosses his arm over the headrest, setting his chin down to not be too obvious with his staring. “I can hear them from here.”

Your cheeks warm at this. “Sorry,” you mumble, taking the other earbud out to wrap them around your phone. “I didn’t realize it was that loud.”

“You’re fine. But it can be very dangerous for your ears in the long run, don’t you think?” he says easily, too easily perhaps. It borders on nervousness. “Do you usually listen to music that loud? I noticed you did it on the flight as well.”

Remus almost scoots closer at the way you smile, mostly to yourself, but still visible from where he’s sitting. Small steps. 

“Sometimes,” you shrug one shoulder. “It helps with the thinking.” 

“Ah,” he nods in understanding. “About your job?”

There’s a small moment, really small and fleeting, where your eyes almost meet his. Arms tensing around your legs before you’re shifting towards the window instead. You’ve squeezed yourself tight at the far end of the sofa, a small cocoon of yourself that makes Remus’ heart ache. He shoots a quick glance at Sirius, who’s busying himself pretending to go through his things and choosing his clothes for tonight. Their gazes meet with a silent reassurance.

“Is it—” you clear your throat, eyebrows pinching together as you find the words. “Was it weird for you to take a break at work for this, too?”

Remus blinks. “Break?” he asks, tilting his head to the side in curiosity.

“A holiday, I mean.”

“Oh,” Remus clears his own throat. “I… well, I sort of quit.”

“What?”

“It’s okay, dove—it was just a part time position,” he’s quick to reassure you. “I mostly did it for my dad, so…”

You frown. “Your dad? Is he…” your lips twitch from side to side, weighing your words before uttering them. “Does he not approve of you doing the band? ”

Remus’ lips twitch. “He’s easing up to the idea,” you turn your head, and he lets himself relax. “He wasn’t at first, wanted me to go on the same path as him and all that nonsense. Which—I don’t really think is a bad idea, and I think teaching is a lovely job but…”

“Not what you envision for yourself,” you finish off, tentative almost. Remus nods with a little smile, one you’re more likely to return this time. “I get it, I s’pose. What does he teach?”

“English literature—how surprising, isn’t it?” he says, feeling fondness spread in his chest at the way you try to hide your eyeroll from him. It’s mostly fond in a way that makes his heart flutter. “Mostly post war stuff. Novels, essays… that sort of thing.”

“Post war… that sounds posh. But very interesting.”

He laughs. “I mean, it is, yeah. If you’re into reading about misery and suffering,” he looks at you sideways, gauging your reactions. “But yeah… we had very different opinions about my future after graduating. We eventually compromised in a part time job at the library, I got time for the band and he got what he wanted. Sort of.”

You hum, lowering one of your legs to cross it under you. Small steps. “Did he blow a fuse when you quit?”

Remus smirks. “Yeah, he was almost livid,” he chuckles, fiddling with his ring. “Then I told him why and he understood. He was actually very thrilled afterwards.”

“Yeah? That’s sweet,” you turn back to look out the window. But the unmistakable curl of your lips is still visible to his eyes. “Like James’ mum?”

“No one can beat Effie, I’m sorry.”

You chuckle, it overlaps with his in the quiet lounge. Remus looks down at his ring, turning it and turning it when your shared laughter dissipates into a comforting silence. Or more comfortable than before.

“What about you?” he asks easily. “Was your family thrilled about the news?”

The smile dims on your face, replaced by a faint press of your lips as you look down at your lap. Remus feels his chest tighten.

“Oi, Moons—are you going to stay here all day showing off about your dad’s book, or are you going to actually unpack?”

Sirius stands by the end of the bunk beds area, arms crossed in one would think it’s a confrontational pose had it not been by the worried divot between his eyebrows. His eyes flicker to you, lingering enough to make the concern in his expression more evident. He shakes it off when you glance up at him, then at Remus. 

“Your dad wrote a book?”

He takes it for what it is.

“Yeah,” he nods, sending you a small smile. “It’s… a bit on the lengthy side, but I can lend it to you if you’re interested.”

“Oh,” you blink. “That’d be… thanks.”

Remus nods, you mirror it almost unconsciously. Feeling a pang of guilt at the way his eyes soften. Wheels whir against the carpet from the back area, and Peter comes out the hallway with his luggage, or yours. It’s hard to tell when you’ve got the same ones.

“y/n, I think they switched ours,” he says. His eyes flicker between you three with a strange look, something that makes you unconsciously shift impossibly farther from Remus. He rolls the luggage to where you are, and it’s not lost on you how he looks everywhere instead of meeting your gaze. “I’ll just… take mine.”

“Sure, Jamie put it under my bunk.”

“Thanks,” he nods curtly, nearly scrambling back to the bunk beds. 

“Weird bloke,” Sirius hums quietly, looking at him go. 

“Pads, be nice,” Remus chides.

“What? It’s true,” he says back, turning to flash you a smile. Remus rolls his eyes fondly, but you look away. Still unable to meet his gaze. “I’d check your things, lovely. We never know with Peter.”

Remus throws his arms up. “Sirius.”

“Alright, alright!” he does the same, smirking when you smile. Despite your best intentions to keep it at bay. “Come help me, then.”

He stands, taking the bait. You watch him go with a slight pucker to your lips, it spreads into a tentative smile when you glance up and accidentally meet eyes. Remus almost relaxes as he follows Sirius deep into the bus.

You lean over to check they’re far enough to pull the luggage into the sofa in front of you, opening it with cautious movements and only halfway to check your things. You never know.

Sirius’ voice carries all the way from the back area where he’s laughing and throwing jabs, James’ own laughter echoing a beat afterwards. It’s enough proof to know they’re properly distracted before you’re digging into the side of your clothes. They’re exactly how you packed them, nothing is moved or rumpled—Peter must have just noticed the makeup bag and realized it’s not his before closing it back. Still, you won’t take any chances.

You glance around before setting your toiletries pouch aside, digging between your trousers until you find it. At the very bottom of your luggage, the photobooth strip.

[amnmesias]

𝐯𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞

poly!wolfstar x fem!reader

word count: 6.2k

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

a/n: the plan is in motion my friends 

part fourteen ˚.⋆♪⋆ series masterlist    

—

“Oh, and then we can end with Billy, so it matches the sound of the Weird Sisters.”

Remus pauses his absentminded plucking, letting his hand drop to his lap as he glances up. “I thought we agreed to end with the single?”

“Isn’t it better to start with that one?” you muse, not pausing your own strumming. Something to do with your hands, to distract yourself from the grounding pressure of Remus’ knee on the side of your thigh. Relatively away from you, but the touch sends shivers down your spine when he shifts, pressing closer to you by accident. 

Sirius continues pacing in front of you, fiddling with the microphone cord as he thinks. “Yeah, but how are we going to make an impression if we start with that one?”

“So they can recognize us?” James supplies distractedly, not quite listening to the conversation as he types furiously on his phone. 

“How about y/n’s song?” Peter adds, sounding slightly far away as he, too, types on his laptop. He’s set camp by the lounge near the entrance of your rehearsal room—especially requested for the band to begin preparing for this supposed tour. 

Your fingers freeze around the fretboard, a microscopic movement that passes by to the untrained eye, but Sirius pauses his pacing to glance down at you. 

“Maybe,” you hum, resuming your strumming like this one comment hasn’t rocked your world off its axis. Like you’re not feeling your heart pumping in your ears at the implication.

Peter, of course, is too far to pick up on your hesitation. “Why isn’t it on the setlist, by the way?” he looks up from his laptop, eyebrows furrowed like the thought has just occurred to him. “It’s the one song that’s getting more attention with the general audience.”

From across him at the lounge, Marlene hums in assent. “That’s true,” she says, her voice overlapping with her own furious typing as she works on the final touches for the band’s stage image. At the lack of answers, she glances up. “I mean, have you seen the stuff that has come up with the song? I’ve never wanted to participate that much in a trend before—how’s this?” she turns the screen to Kingsley.

You look away, finding it hard to think of logical counterpoints when their arguments are right. When there’s no point in arguing if it’s the plain truth. The song is doing well, along with your single, it makes for a nice mirroring experience for the EP in general—a cohesive question and answer about a situation that can be interpreted as similar, even if it isn’t. The fall in love phase versus the come down. It’s almost funny how you’re stuck between both.

The trend, itself, is sweet. Something out of youth culture and fantasies when you first fall in love, where they use inspiration from your overall band aesthetic and EP cover to post photobooth strips that started their love story. It’s all you can see when you search the song on different platforms—a bloody nightmare. Especially when you can’t find yourself to glance at the one photobooth strip that started this whole mess in the first place.

At your lack of answer, too deep in your head, Remus bumps his knee into yours to get your attention. His gaze is warm and understanding when you look up, nibbling at your lower lip with contained anxiety. He nudges your knee again, a quiet check in that makes your heart flutter.

You clear your throat. “M’m not opposed to it, it’s just… it’ll be a hassle to play live,” you shrug, all feigned nonchalance as you begin strumming again. The notes you pick are unconscious, but no one mentions how it’s basically the chorus of the song. “With the synth and all.”

“We can make it work,” Kingsley nods. “Add a synth to your instrument list for the set.”

“But,” your eyebrows pinch together, not quite stopping your strumming as the thoughts begin picking up in intensity inside your head. “How? I don’t have time to learn it, or maybe not for the first dates. And how about the guitar parts?”

Sirius clears his throat, lowering himself to sit at the edge of the makeshift stage to be at eye level with you. “I can play it,” he says, genuine care in his tone as he holds your gaze. “I can play the synth so you don’t have to compromise the guitar parts. If we decide to add the song, that is.”

He tilts his head slightly to the side, softening his expression when you begin drifting off. A curl falls off to his face, and you’re cruelly brought back to the rooftop, your whispered conversation, trading secrets in the dark like to lovesick teenagers. Your fingers tingle over your fretboard at the memory, pulling you back to the way he melted into your touch. 

You look away, dropping your hands to your lap. “It’s not just my decision to make,” you mumble, shifting your position. Remus does the same, not at all minding the way you’re now sitting a bit farther away from him. “We should put it to a vote.”

“I think you should add it,” says Peter.

“Band vote,” Sirius answers back, not quite glancing up. He turns to look at James over his shoulder instead. “What d’you think, Prongs?”    

James’ head snaps up. “Huh?”

At your side, Remus sighs. “Jamie, have you even been listening?”

“Yeah,” James pushes his glasses up, nearly missing his glasses with his drumstick. A testament of how distracted he is. “Yeah, about playing the single.”

You all groan. Unsurprisingly, yours sounds a tad more exasperated at this stalling—at the fact that you must revisit the entire conversation to put James in context before casting his vote. From the lounge, Kingsley exhales deeply, looking back down at his phone, and typing whatever he paused for this conversation. 

Sirius sits properly, twisting just enough to send James a halfhearted glare. “What are you even doing back there?”

“Yeah,” you pile on immediately, with the hope of, maybe, stalling enough to drop this vote thing altogether. “What’s got you so distracted today?”

“Nothing.”

Remus’ lips twitch amusedly when James’ face, as always, betrays him with a soft blush. “That’s not nothing,” he murmurs.

James scoffs, banging an absentminded rhythm. The tips of his ears are turning pink between his curls, bouncing as he grows momentum with his drums. A silent dismissal to the interrogation and conversation altogether. You don’t miss the way his eyes flicker to his phone, lingering just enough to make him miss a count.

At your side, Remus shifts as he draws his bass closer. “He’s been like this all day,” he tells you, quiet enough to pass like a secret he’s sharing with you. “Sirius and I suspect he’s stressing about leaving Lily and—” he stops himself.

You nod, prompting. “…and?”

“And his mum,” Sirius says. Too quickly. You don’t miss the way his eyes flicker to Remus before returning to you. “They never go a day without talking or seeing each other.”

“Oh,” you say, lifting your chin to look at James behind Sirius, still going at it with the drums. He’s unconsciously practicing your song as well. Jesus. You force your gaze back to your guitar. “That’s sort of sweet.”

“Yeah, she’s a very sweet woman, our Effie,” Sirius hums, grey eyes scanning you curiously. A fondness that clings to his expression every time James’ mum is brought up to the conversation. Totally not because he’s looking at you. “She’ll love you.”

You blink. “What?”

“She already does,” Remus adds, lips curling up into a tentative smile when your head whips to him. “Has been nagging both Sirius or James to invite you over.”

“That’s…” you frown, feeling an echo inside your body at their certainty that she would love you. Or that she already does. “I haven’t even met her?”

“She sort of has—Monty, that’s James’ dad,” Sirius shifts closer over the edge of the stage, unconsciously or not creating a bubble of you three as James continues in his own world and the managers in theirs. “Said she’s been playing the EP nonstop.”

Remus huffs a laugh. “It’s like that first demo we showed her, remember?” his voice is laced with nothing but warmth at the memory. You’re startled to hear it seep into his eyes when he turns to you. “When we recorded our first demo, she kept playing it day and night, every single day. The neighbors had to make a house call ‘cause they thought something had happened and they left the record player going.”

The story is so silly, and his eyes are so full of mischief, a surprised laugh escapes your lips. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

Sirius laughs, too. “Wish I was, lovely. And that’s not where the story ends.”

“There’s more?” amusement and warmth drips from your words as you speak, shifting in your own makeshift seat to listen closely. 

“She got all up on their faces,” Sirius goes on, lips widening into a genuine smile at your curiosity. “And then the police was called.”

“It was a whole fucking thing—woke up the entire neighborhood and everything,” says Remus, smirking as well at the way your lips part in delighted surprise. “And want to know what she did?”

Your eyes glisten when they flicker to meet his. “What?”

“She started telling them about the band.” 

“Oh, god,” you say, your chuckles grow in intensity at the implication. The absurdity of their story and how much sense it makes when you think this is James’ mum they’re talking about. “She didn’t.”

“She definitely did.”

You glance back at James, slowly coming down from his own spiraling. “That makes sense,” you mumble, feeling the vulnerability wrapping around your little bubble, trying to find a way in. “That’s so sweet.”

“Yeah,” Remus nods, leaning back over his arms. “Now you know why we can’t put it past her if she starts harassing people with the EP.”

You smile. “And I’d highly recommend you let her,” they share a look at your easy tone, the way you’re slowly but surely beginning to relax into the conversation. “Maybe James’ mum appearing on the news is all the promotion we need.”

This does pull a bark of laughter out of Sirius. You blink in surprise at his suddenness. Remus takes a second to bask in your reaction before dipping his chin low to whisper conspiratorially at you, “It wouldn’t be the first time.”

Your eyebrows snap up. “Not the first time?”

“Oi, you’re talking about George Harrison’s biggest fan,” Sirius says between chuckles. “Effie invented Beatlemania.” 

“You’re joking.”

“He’s not,” James says, voice less stern and stance more relaxed he stops banging his drums. “She used to be in tons of fan clubs when she was younger. M’sure you can find some footage if you go looking.”

“Wait,” you turn, leaning over Remus to look at James. “you’re not joking?”

This does pull a smile out of him, eyes tinkling with mischief as he nods. “Of course I’m not joking,” he laughs. “Why do you think I am the way I am?”

You laugh. “That’s fair, yeah.”

Of course, your shared moment doesn’t last much. The bubble bursts with a boisterous movement as the doors of the room slide open, ricocheting against the walls as a few of the label’s technicians walk in carrying a synthesizer. 

At the way your face slackens, spine straightening like a coil snapping loose, Sirius pushes himself to stand. He reaches for the mic, “Oi, what’s all this?” he asks the room, or the technicians, anyone who can answer. 

Kingsley clears his throat. “I’ve ordered them to bring it, so you can begin practicing the song,” he explains distractedly as he points at the synthesizer then at the makeshift stage. “We’re already running behind schedule with rehearsals so best to get on with it now.”

Sirius frowns. “But we haven’t even decided if it’s going on the setlist,” he argues, a faint edge to his tone. 

At this, Kingsley does look at him with surprise. Sirius tilts his chin up, a quiet challenge across the rehearsal room. 

Of course, Remus senses the tension beginning to engulf the room. “Why don’t we give it a feel first?” he asks tentatively, cutting a quick sideways glance your way before turning to Kingsley. “We’ve never even performed this song. We can’t decide if it’s stage ready if we don’t give it a go.”

His eyes flicker from Remus to Sirius, then at you. His head follows as he levels you with a look. “What do you think?”

Various sets of eyes land on you, like a badly timed horror film scene or a cruel joke from the universe. Instinctively, you pull your guitar closer to you, fingers finding the neck in a reflexive reaction. 

“Uh…” you pretend to look down at your phone, checking the time like you may have somewhere to be. Nerves prickle at your palms when a sigh comes from the deep end of the room, sounding awfully similar to Kingsley. “Okay, yeah,” you nod slowly.

“Yeah?” Remus asks again, searching for your gaze. If he shifts to lean back, pointedly blocking your view of Kingsley, you’re too busy fiddling with your strap to notice. 

“Yeah,” your voice quietens, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. “You’re right, how would we know if the song should be added if we’ve never played it?”

Remus holds your gaze, and for once, to let him. His amber eyes rove over your face, cataloguing any micro expression that may show him how sure you are about this. And you let him. You let him study you closely until he’s somewhat decided to go along with this. You carefully hold your guitar to push yourself to stand, swallowing with simmering nerves when he does the same. Your arms brush when you both walk to the makeshift stage.

Sirius wordlessly stretches a hand out to you, pointedly ignoring how he’s in the way to let the technicians finish setting up the synth, to help you up. He does the same to Remus until you’re all back standing on your marked places.

“It’ll be just a quick run through, yeah?” he still says, like he can’t help it. You nod rigorously, wetting your lips nervously. The movement makes a strand of hair fall to your face, and Sirius unconsciously unfolds an arm to tuck it away behind your ear. Careful of your earrings as he waits for your nerves to settle down. You glance up. “We don’t have to play it live, or decide anything right now. This is just so he can leave you alone, yeah?” he whispers to you.

You let out a sharp exhale. “Okay, yeah.”

His lips twitch into a small smile, sincere in his reassurance as he looks over your shoulder, nodding at Remus behind you. “Great,” his eyes flit back to you. 

“All done,” the technician says, walking away from the synth that has been installed next to Sirius’ microphone and guitar stand. Sirius only sends them a curt nod in dismissal. 

“Thanks,” it’s all he says, stepping closer to begin testing it and doing a few practice notes. It makes your nerves settle into something more bearable, something less intense. 

It takes a few trials and errors, trying to come up with the right balance of timing and placement. A lot of messing up the lyrics and Sirius giving you tips about how to ease the nerves of actually having to sing. Both his tone and his answers to your question are infinite in their patience, taking his time to answer each question and not at all minding when you pause mid song to ask another question. 

By the time you feel a bit closer to being ready, Kingsley is already frowning with certain impatience as he types something on his phone. The song is barely starting, synth leaking into the room and humming from the speakers before he’s whispering at Peter to excuse himself and walking out.

It’s enough to set free the knot inside your chest, around your ribcage and awfully close to your heart as you take a steadying breath to begin singing. Sirius smiles down at the synth, it harmonizes with your voice in a humming mix of nostalgia and longing. 

When the beat drops—in a deafening bang of drums behind you, the song nearly leaps out of you with the intensity of your frayed nerves and complicated emotions and the quiet intensity of your own voice—it seems clear to everyone, even you, that a decision has been made.

…

“No, no—that’s not how it happened and you know that, Moons!”

Remus is too busy chuckling into his hands to offer a counterpoint. You blow the smoke out of the corner of your lips, watching in quiet awe how Sirius, even in his feigned upset, pulls Remus by his sleeve. Saving him from walking into traffic as you stop by a red light. 

“Don’t listen to him, lovely,” he tells you, still clinging to his theatrics as Remus’ laugh fades slowly. It still spills quietly with a silent shake of his shoulders. “It was just an accident, I’m not secretly a robber, or anything.”

You laugh. “So you took her backpack by accident?” you reiterate, forcing him to reconsider his excuse. “Inside the girl’s lockers?”

“It was an accident! The doors didn’t have signs—and it was my first day!” he spreads his arms out. Remus laughs louder at this. Sirius only rolls his eyes, handing him his cigarette in hopes of making him stop taking the piss at his teenager self’s expense. “I wish James was here—he’d back me up.”

“James is the one who keeps retelling this story,” Remus chuckles, a puff of smoke leaving his lips at this. He waves it away when the wind drags it in your direction. “If anything, he’d back me up.”

“Love,” Remus levels him with a look. Love. You look down, taking a long drag and feeling your lips curl around the cigarette. “He’s the one who came up with Pads.”

Sirius swats him lightly, making a show of struggling to steal his cigarette back. “That traitorous snake—”

“Yeah, yeah,” Remus rolls his eyes, setting the cigarette between Sirius’ lips before shoving him away lightly, almost playfully before turning to you. “There you go, big baby.”

“You’re so cruel to me.”

“Cruel?” you ask, voice twinged with mischief as you smirk at him. “How about that poor girl you stole her pads from?”

Sirius gawps. “Et tu, gorgeous?” he points at you, taking a long drag before snubbing his cig out onto the pavement. “Bunch of traitors, the lot of you.”

Remus nudges your side. “Don’t forget her backpack.”

Before Sirius can come up with a witty response, the light turns green and he’s being lovingly manhandled to continue walking as the crowd moves. You follow after them without a second thought, feeling the corners of your lips permanently curled the more they bicker around you. Their quiet affections and the even quiet knowing smiles they share between them.

“…dove?”

You blink, shaking your head in one swift movement before looking up. “Hm?” you exhale, letting the smoke curl away from them before snubbing out your own cigarette. “Sorry, what d’you say?”

Remus’ lips twitch. “You’re fine—just wondering if you’re up for a quick pick-me-up before heading home?”

“Oh,” you blink again. Mostly to make your brain work. It’s hard when you’re under their combined attention. “Uh, sure, yeah. I could have a drink.”

Sirius flashes you a grin, arm looping around yours before you can finish speaking. He guides you through the crowd into a small pub at the very corner of the street, slightly full despite how hidden it can be if you’re not seeking it out. Remus walks a few steps behind with a smile that’s proving hard to shake off. 

He holds the door open for you two to walk in, smile turning fond when your gazes meet. The lights engulf you in that warm way that softens your features as Sirius guides you to the first empty table he can find. A small disco ball hangs from the ceiling in the middle of the room, spinning slowly and reflecting into every surface, every face and every person inside the pub. The music overlaps with the chattering of laughter and voices, clinking of pints and whistles. Remus feels the ever consuming and oftentimes unbearable tenderness hitting him square in the chest when he glances up from the bar to find you and Sirius whispering in one of the booths. 

He walks up to you with your orders and a pack of salted peanuts tucked under his arm. You scramble to stand and help him take them to the table, looking somewhat bashful when he smiles at you. Remus sends you one in return. 

“What’s this—ooh,” Sirius says, taking the bag of snacks for inspection. “You’re taking advantage that James isn’t here, aren’t you?”

Remus only shrugs, sipping at his pint without offering another explanation. His eyes wander to you, taking the pack from Sirius. You rip it open down the seam, pushing your torso closer to the edge of the table to stop them from falling down before setting the bag flat between you over the table. His heart does another somersault at this, at your ease and lovely smile that turns bemused when you notice them staring a bit too long.

“What?” you pop a few into your mouth. “I thought it was to share?”

Sirius watches from his peripheral as Remus takes another sip of his pint. Coward. “It is, gorgeous—help yourself.”

Your cheeks warm at the moniker, now less distracted to process how it sucker punches your heart. You reach for your own pint instead of offering an answer.

Sirius decides he’ll be benevolent for now. “Why didn’t James come, anyway? This was a band outing.”

“Oh, he said he had a thing with Lily,” Remus explains. Sirius turns to him, raising an eyebrow. Now you speak? Remus only winks at him in response before turning to you. “Didn’t really specify, right?”

“Yeah, he was being dodgy again,” you pass a thumb over the corner of your lips to clean the foam from your beer. An involuntary and well practiced movement that still makes their eyes follow your finger. “I get that he’s worried about his mum and Lily but this vagueness is excessive. Even for me,” you go on, unaware.

“Vague, yeah,” Remus clears his throat, drawing a finger over the rim of his pint. “But not really strange.”

“No?”

“No,” Sirius agrees, stretching his arms over his head. Remus sends him an unimpressed look when he leans back to rest a hand over the back of the booth. Sirius pretends not to have noticed, or like it was an accident. “He always gets like this when—” 

“When he’s stressed.”

Your eyes flicker between them, eyebrows raised in curiosity before crossing your arms over the table. “Alright, tell me what’s going on.”

Remus looks away from the warning glance he’s sending Sirius to focus on you. “Huh?”

“Yeah, what’re you talking about, lovely?” Sirius adds, his arm over the booth nudges your shoulder. “Nothing’s going on—unless you want to talk about that killer performance.”

“You’re being weird,” you say, leveling them with another mock stern look. “Every time I ask about James.”

“James?”

“Yeah.”

“Our James?”

You roll your eyes, leaning back on the booth. If Sirius’ arm brushes around your shoulders, you do a great job hiding it in your expression. “Alright, fine—be as sneaky as you want…”

“They’re at the pub. Him and Lily,” Sirius blurts out.

Two sets of eyes turn to him. One with resignation and the other with confusion. Your brows wrinkle to accompany the evident confusion in your gaze. “Why? They should’ve come with us.”

“Yeah, well,” he reaches for a fistful of salted peanuts for himself. “Maybe they wanted to go to that specific one.”

“They’re always there,” you send him a look. 

“Or maybe they just want a night for themselves?” Sirius presses, flashing you an innocent grin. He pointedly pops one into his mouth at your fond eyeroll. “Now that is settled and your curiosity has been quelled—”

“I wouldn’t say—”

“How did it feel?” Sirius goes on, like you hadn’t tried to cut him off. He sends you another cheeky smile, popping more salted peanuts into his mouth. From across the booth, Remus draws out a long suffering sigh. “Actually performing the song?”

Under the table, Remus nudges his boot. “Let her breathe, Pads,” he chides him softly before turning to you. “You don’t have to answer that, dove.”

You pause your sipping to meet his gaze. “No, s’fine,” you shrug one shoulder, seeming, surprisingly, fine with the question. “It helped. Performing it, I mean.”

“Yeah?” Remus asks, feeling his lips curling into a smile when yours do as well. He drops his chin to his palm, studying you in that quiet fondness as you try to find the words. “How so?”

His open curiosity tugs at your heartstrings, but there’s a nudge at your shoulder that makes the feeling more bearable. “Um, well,” you brush your hair away from your face, slightly rumpled with the air from outside. “Not having an audience was nice. I mean—I know it won’t always be like this, but… to start? It felt easier to let it all out, I s’pose.”

Sirius shifts by your side, scooting closer enough that his arm is one wrong moment away from properly curling around your shoulders. “We’ll ease you into it. First few shows, we test the waters… keep it small, see if the audience likes it, and build up to it, yeah?” he says, voice soft and steady when you turn to meet his gaze. He smirks at you. “Unlike that Kingsley, we’re not in the habit of throwing you to the wolves.”

Your smile is bemused when you hold his gaze. “You sort of did, not sure if you remember.”

“Oi,” he gasps, curling an arm around your shoulders to jostle you playfully. “Will you ever let that go, free me from my penance?”

All you answer with is another eyeroll, a much common reaction to his antics and how openly freeing it is to see them do it with you. Not around you. You give your pint another sip before the thought can show on your face. Of course, Remus notices when your eyes glance up at him. He gives his own pint a sip while holding your gaze. 

When his eyes linger to the side to Sirius’ arm still draped around your shoulders, you swear you can almost see his smile turn smug.

“Oh!” Sirius perks up, nearly choking with his own beer as he points at something behind Remus. You both follow his gaze only to stall enough to compose yourselves. It lasts shortly when you notice what he’s pointing at. 

As the crowd parts at the deep end of the pub, slowly emptying, you can make out the form of a large and very vintage looking photobooth sitting at the corner. There’s a small line outside, two couples and a large group of friends that you’re sure will struggle to fit into such a compact space. 

“I have an idea,” Sirius says, turning to Remus. 

Remus sighs. “I’m not carrying change.”

“I have,” you murmur. 

Sirius draws you closer by the shoulders. “Thanks, lovely—but that’s not the whole idea I had in mind.” Your eyebrows furrow. Not because of his sudden closeness, but because you can’t quite understand what his idea is. He only smiles, eyes flickering between the side of your face to an amused Remus. “We should seek one of those at every stop we do on tour,” he finally says after his dramatic pause.

“Every stop.” Remus repeats, mostly curious and not at all surprised by his boyfriend’s antics. “That’s going to be a big waste of paper.”

“Not true. They’ll be for safekeeping,” he argues, winking like his argument has a hidden meaning. Whatever it is makes Remus look away, giving you two a clear view of his blushed cheeks. “Or we can post them on our socials! Join the trend!”

“That’s… actually not a bad idea,” you say quietly. “It can be fun.”

Sirius’ smile spreads at this. “You think so?”

“Yeah, why not?” you shrug, trying to control the fluttering in your stomach. “It can be like a little souvenir.”

“You get it!” he reaches for his pint, nearly downing it before he’s sliding off the booth. “Come on, then. Let’s start.”

You blink, momentarily stunned. “Now?”

“Yeah, why not?” 

“But James isn’t here,” you say, watching as he begins running his fingers through his hair. “We can’t start the tradition without him.”

To your surprise, Remus stands as well. “Best to humour him, dove,” he whispers conspiratorially at you, lips twitching when you hesitate to stand. “or he’ll be nagging us all night about this.”

“Oh,” you nod slowly, watching as he waits for you to stand. Sirius has already made a run for the photobooth to stand in line. His smile is borderline ridiculous in its affection when he winks at Remus. Oh. “Right, yeah.”

You follow after him, reaching inside the pockets of your jeans for the spare change of your coffee run mid rehearsal. You’ve got enough for just their strip, but that’s fine. 

When you catch up to them, Sirius is already chatting up the group of girls standing outside waiting for their turn. He’s sporting his usual charmingly annoying frontman smile as they slur and flail their arms around trying to answer his questions. Remus watches by his side with a sort of bemused smile.

“Hope we get to see you at our next gig,” Sirius is saying, winking in their direction and causing exactly the reaction you knew it’d happen. You’re trying to copy his confidence when his eyes find you. “Oh, come here, lovely—look, this is y/n. She’s the mastermind behind your life changing night out.”

Your brows wrinkle in confusion, a reaction that Remus mirrors as you both turn to Sirius. Who, of course, doesn’t jump to explain as he points at one of the girls.

“Hi,” you smile at her, stretching a hand out. She takes it with wonky and overly excited energy. “Oh—um, nice meeting you.”

“I loved it,” she slurs, letting her friend hold her up. “And thank you.”

“Thank you,” you laugh, startled. “And… thank you?”

When she doesn’t jump to explain, either, a friend of hers clears her throat. “She kissed the girl she fancies during a night out while dancing to your song,” she explains. “The love one.”

Recognition dawns on you. “Ah,” you nod. Then you fix your tone immediately when you realize what it actually means. “Oh, fuck—that’s so lovely. I’m very happy to hear that,” the words stumble out of you, sincerely touched by the story. “I didn’t… wow—”

You feel a hand at your spine, pressed between you and the wall but still managing to stroke up and down. Remus makes an amused sound at your struggle to find the correct words. 

“That… actually means a lot,” you settle for, turning to the girl. “I’m glad you took the leap. What happened then, if it’s okay to ask?”

The girl, clearly sloshed, blurts out, “We shagged.”

Her friend nudges her. “Babe.”

Your startled laugh is louder this time. “Oh,” you cover your mouth, trying to control the giggles. The girl copies you in her own inebriated state. “That’s… I’m glad it turned out well.”

She parts her lips to speak, but her friends are already guiding her away. Clearly too gone to even stand still for a photobooth. 

“Sorry about that,” one of them says, staying back. “We really do love your music—it was an honour meeting you.”

Sirius smirks. “Why, thank you, babe. The pleasure was all ours,” he winks, then juts his chin out to the path her friends walked to. “And be careful on your way back home, yeah?”

Something twinges inside your chest at this, but Sirius is too busy talking with the girl to notice. Remus’ thumb strokes your back instead. Like he felt it too. The girl walks away to catch up with her friends, leaving behind a silence without their drunk ruckus. Or as silent it can be this part of the pub. 

“Right, so,” he clasps his hands, turning to the booth. It’s their turn now that the girls have walked away from the line. Sirius smiles when his eyes land on Remus’ arm, the direction it’s stretched towards. “Shall we?”

You blink, shaking yourself off the moment before stepping away to insert the coins. “Right, sorry,” you mumble, pausing before inserting the last one. “I’ve only got enough for one attempt, are you ready?”

Sirius is already stepping inside, pulling Remus along. “Yeah, s’fine,” they settle side by side. His arm comes around Sirius’ waist. You look down at the coins. “Hurry up, doll!”

You insert the coin quickly, even quicker in your movements to draw the curtain closed for them. But then, Remus’ finger is curling around your belt hoop, pulling you inside in such a hurry you stumble into their laps.  

“What—”

“Quick!” Sirius hurries, wrapping his arms around your middle, giving it a gentle squeeze when the countdown starts. Remus wordlessly draws the curtain closed. “Oh, fuck, we didn’t think poses—”

Remus twists, hooking his chin over your shoulder, flashing his characteristic soft smile for the camera. You do the same on instinct, though it appears wonky as the flash goes off when Sirius smooches your cheek at the last second. It makes the ground give out under you—thankfully, they’re there to hold you steady. 

“Wait, wait, I have an idea—we should do yours,” Sirius says quickly, between fits of giggles as he brings his palms to his cheeks. He pulls a face similar to yours in a way that is so absurdly cute, it pulls a startled laugh out of you. Of course, the flash goes off at that exact moment. 

“Prick,” you grumble with no real heat, pretending to shove him away. Sirius only holds you closer to his front, his thumb brushes the sliver of skin that shows up with your tee that keeps riding up with all the jostling. His ring is icy cold against your skin, and you instinctively put a hand over his. 

Instinctively as well, you raise an arm, clumsily reaching to curl it around Remus. He shifts closer, and you’re acutely aware of how this pose can look to the untrained eye when his cheek rests over the side of your head. The flash goes off before you can overthink it. 

The three of you are pressed so close together, it’s hard to know where you end and where you begin. Remus nuzzles his nose into your temple, fingers pinching your jaw to guide your face closer. He drops a quick kiss to your cheek at the same time Sirius does at the corner of your lips. The final flash goes off.  

A silence follows as the camera hums, then stirs like it's printing the strip. A beat where Remus’ lips linger, resting there before he’s pulling away in the same breath Sirius, slowly, grows the courage to move them slightly to the side. Enough to line them with yours. 

Someone bangs the side, cruelly dragging you back to reality. “Oi—what’s taking so long? Your turn’s over!” they call out.

You jump to your feet, brushing your hair away from your face without giving them so much as a second glance to step out of the booth. The boy outside blinks in surprise, and you offer him a sorry smile while Remus and Sirius stumble out behind you. 

The booth whirs loudly, and the strip comes out. Sirius, of course, is the one to reach out to take it. You cross your arms over your chest, wetting your lips nervously when he looks down at it. His expression is far from readable, eyebrows pinched together and lips downturned in a slight frown to match Remus. They lean closer to peer down at the strip before he’s turning to hand it to you.

“Oh, that’s not—”

Remus presses it to your hand, lips twitching into a tentative little smile. “It’s yours.”

You hold his gaze, then glance over at Sirius who’s studying you with the same intensity. Cracked open in vulnerability as you press it face down against your chest, lest someone catches a glimpse. 

The tension that embraces you makes your skin crawl. The walk back home is almost unbearable where they refuse to let the silence get longer, and you refuse to talk or answer to their attempts. Not when all you can think of is their lips on you, your cheek, your face, your lips. The way they had acted on the same impulse—fuck, and how you let them. How much you enjoyed it.

Their goodbyes are careful, bordering on iciness if there wasn’t actual proof of how not cold they feel towards you. Your navel feels warm where Sirius touched it. 

The strip remains pressed to your chest all the way up to your flat, and you don’t let yourself look at it until the door of your room clicks closed behind you.

You uncover it slowly, feeling your heart thumping and your ears ringing when your eyes land on the last picture. Your thumb brushes it in an absentminded manner, trying to ignore the realization that something has fundamentally shifted between you. And worse—something that you don’t think you’d pull away from if it happened again.

[amnmesias]

𝐯𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞

poly!wolfstar x fem!reader

word count: 5.3k

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

a/n: short chapter cos it’s mostly just angst (yes this is a warning) enjoy!! xx

part thirteen ˚.⋆♪⋆ series masterlist    

—

You’re starting to think you’re being a bit of a killjoy, slipping out of your own EP release party to have a quiet moment to yourself. The tinkling lights of the rooftop flicker above you with their years of misuse, barely illuminating your little hiding spot that you’ve deliberately chosen to stay away from any prying ears or worried faces. 

Without looking, you pat the ledge blindly to take your beer. The glass scrapes against the brick as you set it back down, almost empty and no longer an excuse should someone find you here. You reach for your pack to smoke one last cigarette, finding another excuse in your anxious coping to justify your absence downstairs.

Like clockwork, the door slides open in agonizing slow speed, tentative almost. You don’t turn, too busy flicking the lighter on to feed your curiosity. It’s not really necessary, anyway. The buckles of Sirius’ biker boots clink faintly with each step he takes.

“I thought we agreed you’d let someone know before disappearing,” he says, voice laced with amusement to hide his real concern. 

You exhale, watching the smoke curl in front of you. “I told Regulus,” it’s all the explanation you can give. Because it’s true, or partly. He had accosted you on your way to the stairs when he noticed your intentions. “I’m sorry, I just needed a smoke.”

Sirius makes an amused sound. “Now that’s rude,” he takes another step closer. “What happened to announcing smoke breaks? What if I wanted one as well?” he leans over the ledge, elbow brushing the side of your thigh. 

“You had just come from one.”

“Well, maybe I’m greedy,” he nudges you playfully. “Have you thought about that?”

“I have, yeah,” you murmur, without any real malice as you let your hand drop to your thigh. Careful of his jacket when ash comes flying off the cherry of your cig with the movement. “I’m sorry.”

“What for?” he steps back, changing courses when you don't make a move to step down from your spot over the rooftop’s ledge. “I know I’m greedy. In fact, I embrace it. I curse whoever made it a cardinal sin.”

His ridiculous arguments tug at your chest in that achingly familiar way. You bring the cigarette to your lips to hide the smile that fights to stretch at the corners of your mouth. Sirius only peers down over the ledge, thankful that it’s thick and long enough you don’t need to dangle your legs. 

“I’m sorry for slipping out,” you say, a vague explanation. “I just… it still feels weird, listening to myself.”

“Ah.”

Sirius nods, looking away from you and into the open sky. It’s not quite midnight yet, and the streets are packed with movement as they tend to do during a weekend. The line outside the building is still long, full of people waiting to hangout with The Marauders and celebrate the release of their new EP. Others simply wonder why in the world their favourite place is filled to the brim, playing songs that are different to what they’re used to. 

He reaches for his own pack inside his jacket, hitting it against his palm in an absentminded manner instead of meeting your gaze. Or breaching the silence. Always careful, like Remus said.

You look at him sideways. “Here,” you hand him a lighter, fingers brushing before you’re letting go to take a drag of your own cigarette. 

“Thanks,” Sirius mumbles around his, bringing the lighter to the tip. He manages to catch the logo at the front, a memory of a shared indulgence from months ago. “Where d’you get this?”

You glance over, lips parting in what he imagines is a troubled look before you’re schooling your expression again. “Remus gave it to me,” you look away. “I didn’t have a light and he said I could have it.”

“Oh,” he blinks. He immediately fixes his tone when he picks up on the way you react, the way his genuine confusion can be interpreted as something else. He’s quick to reassure you. “He nicked this from me a long time ago—I’m sort of relieved it landed in good hands instead of his scrubby paws.”

Your lips twitch bemusedly. “This was yours?”

“I mean. yes. After nicking it from someone else, I can’t remember,” he looks away, and you take his distraction to let your eyes linger a beat longer on his lips. “Set a thief to catch a thief, eh?”

“Right,” you look away, too. 

The silence that follows is surprisingly tense. Full of unspoken words that linger between you, thoughts you’ve kept yourself from even entertaining. Of course, one quiet moment with him is enough to set them free. You reach for your empty beer, flicking ash into the neck before passing it to him.

You feel him move, or hear him. His boots clink louder when he pushes himself to sit by your side, acutely aware of his closeness when he settles down. He turns his head, blowing the smoke away from you like you hadn’t been accidentally doing the opposite to him. Sirius only flashes you a grin when this thought passes over your face.

“You know,” he says, quietening his voice like you’re back inside the pub and not alone on a rooftop. “First time I heard my voice recorded, I was very close to unplugging the speakers,” he pauses, eyeing you curiously before turning his head to enjoy the view. “It felt weird. Like I wasn’t really in my body, you know?”

“Yeah,” you say, just for the sake of providing him with an answer. You really don’t know, and if you did, you’re too far deep in your heartache to give it more thought. “I think.”

Sirius nods, sending you a sideways glance. “Is that…” he looks down, flicking the ash into your shared bottle turned ashtray. “Is that how it was for you?”

Of course, you don’t answer right away. And for once, Sirius throws his carefulness out the window at the way you’re visibly drawing back and away from them, not within reach despite their recent attempts.

“I don’t…” he sighs, smoke curling with yours when you exhale. “If you’re having second thoughts about the song—”

“I’m not.”

“No?”

“No,” you shake your head, not quite glancing up yet. Instead, you seem to find the cherry of your cig more interesting than whatever turn your conversation could take. “I know it looked like that but… well, I sort of have mixed feelings about it.”

Your barely honest response does startle him, pausing mid air before turning to you. “Mixed?” he asks, watching closely as you hike a leg up and close to your chest. “Is it the song or… everything around it?”

“I think,” you start, eyebrows drawn together just enough to let him know you’re deep in thought. “I think I’m just a bit overwhelmed with everything.”

A half truth, enough to taste the waters of your own spiraling thoughts. See if they’d overflow, as they tend to do when you’re too close to him. Like they did after your walk with Remus. 

You set your hand down, feeling his pinky brush yours against the brick of the ledge. By your side, Sirius sucks in a long and stuttering breath, letting it out in short puffs of smoke.

“I…” you wet your lips nervously, pulling your leg closer. “I wasn’t allowed to… sing, or play, or listen to music. When I was younger—something about wasting time and money that could be used for something more… useful.”

“Useful?” he repeats incredulously, a knee jerk reaction. “That’s… Wasting time? On something like that? Music is never a waste of time.”

“To them, it was,” you shrug, turning to look down at your own boots. There’s something so heartbreakingly sad about your reaction, the way you’re seemingly so used to this load of nonsense to present a counterpoint. “I s’pose I just want to say that… it’s hard to shake that off. The voice that I’m doing something wrong every time I sing, or try to.”

“Except you’re not. That voice? Load of nonsensical shit, okay? I mean—” he stops himself, tapping at his cigarette as he finds the words. “I understand certain people can be strict, or controlling about money, whatever but—” he stops himself. Again.

There’s a gap there. One he doesn’t quite have the words or language, or experience to describe. Not when he’s stupidly used it against you before. He can’t afford to make the same mistake twice.

You chance a quick glance up at him. Sirius’ eyebrows are drawn together in his evident struggle to find the words, to rack his brain to go on with this conversation without making it worse. Or making you slip away. Which… is quite possibly his worst case scenario right now.

He tries again, softer this time. “But that’s not… nothing. Or useless.”

“Maybe not now. But it was back then, and that’s fine. It wasn’t something as secure as other paths, and I was too young to know anything about the world, so,” you mumble, twisting sideways to snub your cig out against the brick. “It’s just… now that I can probably make a living out of it… I can’t help but remember all those years I spent daydreaming about this.”

Sirius hums, a quiet sound that raises goosebumps to your skin. He takes a long drag before snubbing out his own cigarette. “Well, how I see it… that’s not wasted time,” he glances at you, silence settling into something less suffocating. “Daydreaming about this, I mean. That’s the part that kept it alive, that brought you here.”

You mimic his hum. “Maybe,” you concede. “I did spend too much time sneaking into the library to nick their guitar to get here, so...”

He looks positively delighted at this. “The library’s guitar?” he turns, reaching for his pack to take a brand new cigarette. You blink in surprise when he offers one to you, slowly bring it to your lips without meeting his gaze yet. “Is that how you learned how to play?”

“Yeah,” you breathe out, sounding awfully close like a relieved laugh. “It was right handed though, so I had to improvise a bit.”

Sirius laughs as well, feeling around for the lighter. You wordlessly hand it to him, trying not to focus too much on the warmth in his gaze. The pit in your stomach hollows out when he cocoons a hand around the tip of your cigarette, leaning closer to light it up for you without so much as thinking twice about it. Like this is a very normal thing between you.

“Ah, of course,” he breathes out after lighting his own, eyes lingering a beat too long on your lips before looking away. “When did the switch happen?”

“Oh, you don’t want to know. It was a whole fucking thing,” you laugh, looking away at the memory. “I kept playing the wrong notes, m’sure my neighbors thought a cat was getting it outside their window.” 

He huffs a laugh. “You’re joking.”

“Just the humble beginnings of The Marauder’s guitarist,” you shrug, feeling your lips tugging up in a sideways little grin at his lighthearted scoff. “The perfect sob story to get people talking.”

“Oh, don’t,” he shakes his head. “That’s nowhere near a sob story. It’s fucking adorable… How old were you?”

“Hm,” you look down. “Fourteen.”

Sirius pauses, cigarette mid air as he processes your answer. Adorable in retrospective, but you don’t exactly remember it that way. Not when the simmering dread of walking the streets alone at that hour is hard to forget, or the uncertainty of standing outside your childhood home with nothing but your brand new guitar (that you dutifully saved for) and a backpack full of clothes. It’s surprisingly hard to push down, to not let it show on your face how, apparently, you’re not so over it as you thought you were.

“…Fourteen?”

You shrug. “Told you, I was young.”

“I just…” he exhales deeply, shifting like he’s both finding his footing in this conversation and still processing what you’ve said. “I didn’t think it was… that…” bad, he almost says. He doesn’t need to, anyway. You look away like the thought flashes across his face. “that young.”

“Yeah, well…” you flick the ash off your cigarette, not quite looking at him yet.

Sirius shifts closer. “I didn’t—” he cuts himself off, shaking his head like the words are running faster than his mouth moves. Faster in a way that can be hurtful. “I didn’t mean to call it adorable like that.”

“S’fine, I knew what you meant.”

“y/n,” he says, a tad sharper. Enough to make you glance up at him in surprise. Sirius wets his lips nervously, running a ringed hand through his hair. He lets it drop to his lap, turning to finally meet your gaze. “You don’t have to make it sound smaller for me, you know.”

He must anticipate your reaction. Sirius bends sideways to chase your gaze when you look away, under the pretense of searching for the bottle.

“It’s not—it wasn’t like that,” you murmur, voice quietening enough for him to shift closer. “We just… didn’t have a lot, and they didn’t like wasting things. Time, money, resources—whatever,” you wave it off. Whatever feeling that consumes you with the memory. “I s’pose I wasn’t worth the investment. Or the time.”

Sirius stills beside you, something tightening in his jaw with the same intensity it tightens in your chest at his heavy silence. 

“That’s not—” he exhales deeply, there’s a subtle movement by your side as he shakes his head. “Is that what you think?”

You don’t answer, too busy studying the line outside, growing and growing as the time stretches. The closer it gets to midnight.

“That’s not true, y/n. Not even a little bit,” he says quietly, taking a long drag. You copy his movements, but mostly to give your hands something to do. “You weren’t some… investment or something to weigh up.”

“It didn’t feel like I had much of a choice,” you mumble, shifting to rest your chin atop your knee. Sirius watches the shimmery eyeshadow on your eyelids glisten with the movement. He fixes his expression when you turn to look at him sideways. “It was easier to just… work around the rules than continue letting them cause more harm.”

Sirius brings the cigarette to his lips, leaning sideways until his shoulder is pressed against yours. He hikes his leg up, mimicking your position as he tilts his chin over the top of his knee. You’re face to face now, impassive face a stark contrast to the troubled expression on his.

“I get it… the working around the rules bit,” he starts, wetting his lips nervously. “It feels easier than fighting something you can’t win, doesn’t it?” his shoulder presses a tad closer to yours, enough to keep your attention on him. “But that doesn’t make it any better. Or like you deserved it.”

You hold his gaze. Sirius shifts, resting his temple against his chin to scan you properly. The movement makes a curl fall off to his face, tickling his cheekbone and the tip of his nose. He doesn’t brush it away, and you’re secretly glad—it softens his features in a way that makes your chest ache.

You bring the cigarette to your lips, holding it there for a beat longer to free your hands. Sirius, to his credit, doesn’t react as your hand moves up. Slower and slower until your fingertips brush his cheekbone, a featherlight touch as you brush the strand behind his ear. Tucking it safely before letting your hand drop to your lap. Sirius’ eyes follow the movement. 

Behind you, the door slides open again. 

“Why are you—oh.”

A hand tightens around your lungs, and you immediately twist around to snub out your half smoked cigarette. Sirius mimics your actions, though less hurriedly as he carefully pushes himself off the ledge, taking the ash-filled bottle with him before offering a hand out to you. You pretend not to notice when you hop off the ledge as well, brushing the hair away from your face in a less gentle manner you did to him. He watches the movement pass with a quiet ache and faint downturn of his lips.

”Sorry, I was just… I needed a smoke,” your voice comes out hurried and breathless, tripping off your tongue as you pick up your pace. “Sorry.”

Remus’ eyebrows furrow for a stutter of breath, eyes flickering from you to Sirius before his expression relaxes into one of pure amusement. “You’re fine, dove. We’ve still got a few minutes to go.”

“Nice,” you nod rigorously, bypassing him in such a hurry a quiet, startled laugh escapes his lips. You’re walking out the door before he can ask. Or speak. 

He watches the spot with a small smile, twitching bemusedly at the corners as he turns to look at Sirius. “Everything alright?”

Sirius nods, smiling softly when Remus reaches for him, curling an arm around his waist to pull him closer. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Remus makes an amused sound, rolling his eyes in that endearing way of his. “Forgive me for worrying if I have to mediate between you again.”

This earns him a half honest gasp. “So little faith.”

“M’just wondering,” he pauses, dipping his chin to level Sirius with a look. “Wait, do I have to? 

Sirius swats him lightly, shaking his head with the beginnings of a shy smile. He tries not to think about your fingers brushing his face or tucking his hair away or his shoulder pressing into yours. He cuts a quick look at the ledge again, a fleeting but heavy glance that offers all the answers to any suspicious Remus may have. He drops a kiss to Sirius’ cheek, coincidentally on the same spot you touched.

He turns his head, letting Remus kiss him properly this time. “No,” he whispers, low enough he almost speaks into their kiss. Sirius only pecks his lips quickly before searching for his gaze. “No more mediating.”

…

“Oh my god.”

Regulus turns his head, scrambling to hold you steady before you can try to run away. His lips twitch into an almost smile at your over dramatic groan as he drags you back to the living room.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he goads, resting his chin over your shoulder. Basically trapping you before you can try to hide in your room again. “You of all people should know this is an important event.”

“An event,” you reply, deadpan. Regulus jostles you playfully, picking up on your feigned rancour as you warily scan the new decoration he’s put out. A vinyl copy of the band’s EP. “This is hardly an event. More like a home makeover, and that’s me being generous.”

From under you and draped across the sofa, Pandora swats you blindly, hitting your stomach in a placating manner. “Be nice,” she chides, not quite turning to look at you as she looks at the finished product. “That’s my girl’s record you’re playing down.”

“Not playing down,” you argue, just for arguing’s sake. Pandora rolls her eyes like she knows this as well. “Just stating the truth.”

“Well, since we’re now stating truths,” Regulus starts, dragging you along with him to the sofa. A weird lump of tangled limbs and bodies as you start cozying up to your flatmate. Pandora’s groan is muffled under you two. “I loved it.”

You blink, turning your head here and there like trying to poke your head out to meet his gaze. “You did?”

“Of course I did, why are you surprised?” he frowns, all theatrics as he lets his head drop to the side. His cheek squeezes against Pandora’s hip. 

“Even your song?”

Pandora groans again, followed by Regulus as they shift to turn to you. “You’re still maintaining that lie?” she asks.

This time, your frown is genuine. “What lie?”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Regulus says, shifting under you to pat for his phone. 

Pandora wordlessly slides hers to him, seemingly on the same wavelength when it comes to being contrarians. He taps and scrolls for a beat longer before a song is playing from the speakers. You groan. Loud and clear. Without any fear for their upcoming swats and soft pinching at your evident mortification to hear your own voice.

“Listen to this—”

“I wrote it. I know how it goes, Reg.”

“Listen to this,” he repeats, putting the phone closer to your ear. Like you don’t have the song memorized from start to finish. “That’s oddly specific.”

“Yeah, ‘cause it’s about you, prick.” 

“Hm, maybe,” Regulus hums, letting the phone drop somewhere over your lap or Pandora’s. He doesn’t pause the song, leaving it to play as the conversation continues. “But I’m not the only one that works at the pub.”

You feign surprise. “Aw, fuck—how’d you know I wrote this about Pandora as well?”

“You’re a nuisance,” he counters immediately, lacking any real heat as he pokes at your side. “An emotionally constipated nuisance.”

“Add famous, too.” Pandora hums, very quietly like your voices are beginning to soothe her. She’s one moment away from properly falling asleep in this weird angle. You’re petty enough to stroke her inner wrist to rush the process, that way she can save her quips for another time. Or save them in general, preferably.

“Not helping,” you still say, voice barely a whisper.

“Wasn’t planning to,” she quips in the same whispered tone, lips twitching into a smirk when you try to needle her with your elbow. Regulus yelps when you hit him instead. “Sorry.”

“You better be.”

You shift, trying to level him with a stern look. “You better start being nice to me or I won’t bring you anything from tour.” 

Regulus rolls his eyes, letting his head drop to the back of the sofa. It goes unsaid that it’s all empty threats, you’ve already made a list of things you can get your friends during your time away. 

You shove him when he smirks knowingly at you. “Prick.”

“Minx.”

Pandora puts a hand out, pressing down at someone’s chest in a lazy placating manner. “Stop moving.”

“Oh, sorry, did we wake you up?”

She cracks one eye open. “For you to wake me up I’d have to be asleep in the first place,” she mumbles, slowly picking up energy as she opens her other eye. “And the song is blasting in my ear, can you lower the volume?”

“Or turn it off?” you add easily, grinning at the scowl they both send your way. Regulus does lower the volume a bit, but is just as petty as you. He leaves it to play with the on repeat option turned on. 

He turns his head, accidentally bumping your temple with his chin. “Oops, sorry—I can’t believe you’ll be gone next month.”

“Sorry, right,” you grumble, massaging your temple before turning to meet his gaze. “And it’s going to be just a couple of months—I’ll be back before any of you can begin missing me.”

“Missing you? Who said anything about missing you?” Regulus jokes, but still works an arm out of your piled up bodies to curl it around your neck. He pulls you closer in an awkward embrace. But not any less loving. 

You scoff. “Wow. Just tell me you’ve put my room back on rent.”

“Well, yes,” Pandora hums. “We’ve been planning this for weeks. Why d’you think Regulus pitched the tour idea to Peter?”

You frown. “What?”

Pandora misreads this, shifting to nuzzle her nose over your shoulder in apology. “I’m joking. Of course we’ll miss you—”

“No, wait,” you struggle to sit straight. They share confused frowns at the sudden drop of mood. You twist to look at Regulus. “You’re the one who thought about touring?”

“Uh… yeah.” he blinks. “Why?”

“And you told Peter,” you say instead. Regulus nods slowly, brows drawn together in genuine confusion at your reaction. “…Who told Kingsley.”

“Who’s Kingsley?” Pandora muses quietly.

“y/n,” Regulus is frowning now, too. He searches for your eyes, looking around the room as you process this new information. “Why do you ask?”

“Kingsley is someone from the label,” you explain distractedly, beginning to wiggle your way out of the pile. They let you, but only because you look so genuinely thoughtful and confused. “I…” you turn to them, hand paused where you tried to brush your hair away from your face. “You pitched the tour?”

Regulus nods with more conviction this time. “Of course I did,” he says matter-of-factly, like it’s an undeniable truth how much he believes in you and the band’s success. “I know it’s a bit premature but you’re more than ready, y/n.”

Your eyebrows pinch together, hand dropping to your side as he holds your troubled gaze. Whatever thoughts that are running inside your head are beginning to dim your mood. 

Before any of them can connect the dots, you’re already turning to your room—steps oddly calm in comparison to your reaction as you shrug your jacket on and snatch the earbuds from your dresser. 

“Wait—”

“M’not going anywhere far,” you explain quickly. “Just… give me a moment, yeah?”

Regulus shakes his head. “Then let me go with you.”

“It’s fine.”

“y/n,” he tries again, watching helplessly as you bend down to tie your boots. “Don’t go. It’s late—”

“I’ll be back in a bit,” you call out before closing the door behind you. In the same beat, it nearly swings open as Regulus rushes out. “Regulus, I really have to go.”

“Go where?” he presses, almost desperately as he tries to pull you back inside. “It’s nearly 1 am, where could you possibly need to go?”

“Just…” you look around the hallway. “I need to go.”

He gives your arm another pull. “Go where?” he asks again, softer this time. Especially when he notices the faraway look that’s beginning to take over your expression. “You think I’m stupid enough to let you out in this weather? This late?”

“It’s not that late,” you still argue. For arguing’s sake. “1 am is hardly late.”

“For you, maybe.”

A frustrating and low sound drags out of your throat. “Reg, just—”

“Come back inside,” he says, quieter now. Softer. Like he’s trying to coax you to change your mind. “We won’t talk about it anymore, if that’s what you want. The tour. Sirius. Remus. The song—I don’t know what’s got you so pent-up but we’ll drop it.”

The casual way he mentions their names makes your heart clench, you step away like the words have struck you. Regulus takes this distraction as an opening to properly herd you back into the flat, lingering by the doorknob lest you try to run again.

He scans you closely. “Hey,” his voice drops to a whisper, searching for your gaze. “Hey, you need to stop running away. It’ll only make it worse for you.”

“M’not running away. I don’t do that,” you whisper back, too scared that raising the volume can open the floodgates again. “I don’t.”

“Okay,” Regulus nods, nudging your shoe to snap you out of whatever trance you’re trapped in right now. “Okay, yeah. Just… don’t do that when you go on tour, okay? If you feel like slipping away or… something, call me. Don’t do that in an unknown city.”

This makes your throat clog. It’s too much. His blatant support and belief in you. Both of them. It makes you want to hide away in your room until rehearsals start, or until it’s time to leave for tour.

“Sorry.”

“No need to be sorry,” he mumbles, pulling you into a hug. An awkward embrace with your body still slightly angled towards the door. Regulus uses this advantage to guide you away, deep into the flat before he’s letting go. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

You make a low, unsure sound. 

“Why don’t we call it a night, yeah?”

“But I’m not tired.”

“You’re not the only one that can be tired,” he says easily or as easily as he can be with the tension in the room. “Come on. You’ve got a free day tomorrow, we can go to that farmer’s market you like, yeah?”

You hesitate, knowing exactly what he’s trying to do. Regulus doesn’t have any qualms to hide his intentions as he sends you a half smile.

“Fine,” you grumble, letting him shepherd you to your room. “But only ‘cause I need to restock on that cleansing oil.”

“And Dora was just telling me this morning that she needs more herbal soap.”

“You’ve just made that up.”

“I actually did say that,” Pandora says groggily from the sofa. 

You roll your eyes, feeling the knot in your chest loosen just enough to breathe. Regulus tugs lightly at the ends of your hair in a playfully soft manner before you’re turning to walk inside your room.

He doesn’t fully sit back down until he hears a door open and close, then the shower running across the hall. 

You’re not surprised when you walk out of the bathroom, fleshly showered and clad on your flannel pajamas, to find him and Pandora sleeping soundly in the living room. A mess of limbs and hair as they drape across each other in their attempt to find a comfortable position. You’re almost certain they’ve decided to set camp at the sofa to make sure you don’t run off again. Silently, you flick the lights off for them to be more comfortable—making sure to leave the hallway light on before walking inside your own room. 

No sooner than the door clicks behind you, you start pacing around in circles. Sitting at the edge of the bed, rearranging your things and organizing your dresser. Checking your notes for new song ideas and using your down time to clean the neck of your guitar. Emptying your bag and checking the contents inside, finding receipts and coins and scribbles of old song ideas to store them away. 

By the time you run out of ideas to waste your time, you check your alarm clock to realize it has barely been two hours since your crusade started. The pacing starts again, nearly digging a hole into your rug as you circle the bed. Sleepless and directionless, you walk out of the room to fetch a cup of water, check on your flatmates, and make sure they haven’t accidentally dislocated their neck or a limb in their awkward sleeping positions. 

An hour later finds you sprawled across your bedding, hair now fully dried and room deeply cleaned. You stare at the ceiling hoping the boring colour forces at least an ounce of sleep into your fucked up head. 

Of course, your fucked up head doesn’t force sleep into you. But another thing. A low and careful voice that feels almost intrusive in both your mind and heart. If you ever have another episode, you can always have a word about it with Remus. He’s always been quite a night owl himself.

You blink, patting around the bed and your nightstand in search of your phone. The movements are wonky and awkward in your sprawled position, almost on autopilot as you lean over your elbows, squinting at the bright screen against the darkness engulfing your room.

YN: hi

RL: hello

RL: to what do i owe this pleasure?

You swallow nervously, eyes following your thumbs as they hover over the keyboard. 

YN: can’t sleep

Remus takes a bit to answer, and you watch the dots appear and disappear with a sudden anxiety that all it does is make you feel more awake.

RL: you’ve come to the right person 

[amnmesias]

𝐯𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞

poly!wolfstar x fem!reader

word count: 7.4k

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

a/n: i feel like this falls flat and feels like a filler at some points im very sorry </3

part twelve ˚.⋆♪⋆ series masterlist   

 

—

You’re glad to find the break room empty when you walk in to collect your things. A small, almost fleeting moment to yourself in the ruckus that is your work day. It lasts exactly four steps inside before someone is already walking in behind you. Thankfully, it’s just Alice. 

She smiles as soon as you realize this. “Just me,” she bypasses to take her own things, as done as you with today’s workload. “Relax, rockstar.”

You roll your eyes. “Not quite yet.”

“Hey, just ‘cause those blokes just found out about your second life doesn’t mean I must stay silent,” Alice’s tone is far from taunting as she nudges your hip, waiting for you to finish packing up. “But you can always report them if it gets too much.”

“Nah, s’fine,” you wave her off, slinging your bag over your shoulder. “Best to get used to it.”

“Remember me when you accept your first Brit award, yeah?” she wrinkles her nose, laughing at your expression as you walk outside. “And I’d like to dedicate this award to my dear and gorgeous friend Alice Fortescue for sharing her lunch with me when I couldn’t be arsed to prepare anything.”

You laugh, shoving her lightly. “I can be arsed. It’s just not as good as yours.”

Alice gasps, laughing as you hold the door open for her. She brings her fist up again, mimicking a microphone. “And who I openly stole from for years and who I will gladly find a fit and gorgeous rockstar boyfriend for.”

“I’m glad our friendship is finally paying off for you,” you smile, feeling around your bag in search of your earbuds. Alice turns, already walking backwards to begin her own commute home. “See you on Monday?”

“See you on Monday,” she nods, winking before she’s turning around. 

You exhale deeply, doing a full turn to begin your walk home. The smile you’ve sported all day, greeting coworkers and colleagues, handing out parcels and picking up more, accepting compliments about the recent discoveries of your apparent second life and pretending none of this is already making you regret even opening your mouth. Or making your socials public per the label’s request. 

While you know Alice is an absolute sweetheart with nothing but fondness and good intentions, her blatant support and monikers keep working as sour reminders of the treacherous turn your life has taken. Whether you like it or not.

The light is red when you stop by the corner, digging into your bag again for your pack and lighter. A coping mechanism that has turned more recurring with the recent… developments. You pull one out of the carton with your lips, multitasking between flicking it on and typing a quick text to Regulus about dinner plans. Of course, neither your text comes through nor the lighter turns on. You give it a shake before trying again, but nothing happens.

“For fuck’s sake,” you mutter, trying again. Nothing. You raise it to check its contents by your ear, barely hearing movement with the big shake you give it. 

Well, of course your lighter thieving karma would return to bite you back someday. And of course Pandora walks around with empty lighters—usually a ploy to blatantly flirt with people she finds attractive. 

With a new sense of irritation, you put the cigarette and lighter back inside the pack and shove it inside your bag. In quiet revenge, you click on Pandora’s account to use it for music. The Beastie Boys blast into your eardrums as you begin the walk back home.

Like clockwork, your phone dings.

PR: why in the world are u using my account to blast screamo music you weirdo

YN: why in the world are you walking around with empty lighters 

PR: serves you right for being a thieving marauder

YN: fuck off

PR: i love you too babe xx

PR: reg asks if you’re on your way home and if you can make a quick stop at that shop he likes 

PR: that last one was me

YN: yeah yeah i got it

You lock your phone, doing a full turn to change courses for your usual shortcut. The city and bystanders blur by you as you walk, taking all your time in quiet pettiness, or stalling to get home and sit with your thoughts again. You raise the volume enough to drown them out before they can get out of control, and against your better judgment when it comes to walking outside. 

Regulus’ favourite coffee shop appears at the corner like a balm to your irritation, feeling a sudden crave for caffeine. Seeing all your attempts for a smoke have gone down the drain, this is the next best thing.

It’s a tad fuller than usual, seeing it’s a weekend and you don’t mind the wait. Especially when it’s so cozy to ease the iciness of your palms, still reeling from the biting cold as you stand in line. Your phone rings again, and you only take a quick and very blurry picture of the menu to send Regulus to stop his pestering about his coffee order. Like you haven’t gotten him coffees on your way home for years since you discovered this place.

When it’s your time to order, the words slip past you in a practiced manner. And the barista smiles like she immediately recognizes you, tapping knowingly at her posh tablet before you can even finish speaking. A well practiced routine. 

She shakes her head when you hand her your card. “Do not worry about it,” she leans over the counter, seemingly trying to appear casual. Your eyes flicker to the way her fingers tap at her phone. “We’ve got it.”

You frown. “We?”

“It’s a big honour to have you here,” she says off-handledly, but her grin is bright when her eyes flicker from you to the line behind your shoulder. “Both of you—I can’t wait to hear your new stuff.”

You feel your frown deepening. “What?”

“y/n?”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” you whisper to yourself, turning very very slowly. 

Remus tilts his head to the side, a funny yet slightly concerned furrow to his eyebrows as you meet his gaze. His eyes, slowly, move around your face and scan you closely before snapping back up—like he’s making sure you’re indeed alright. You let him study you with a bit of guilt gnawing at your insides.

“Hi,” you say tentatively, turning to send the girl a quiet thanks. A small dismissal and a stop to whatever question she could ask you, but you still slip a few bills into her tip jar before walking out of the line.

“Hi,” he echoes, still careful as he returns to his spot by the window. His eyes flit down to your uniform, your thumb hooked under the strap of your bag, still hanging loosely from your shoulder seeing you simply won’t sit down. “Finished for the day?”

You nod, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. “Yeah, just heading home. Figured to take a small shortcut, change of scenery,” you explain to him. For some reason. 

Remus hums, nodding. He wordlessly hooks an ankle around the empty stool at this side, pulling it out for you to sit. His eyes are soft and understanding, like he wouldn’t hold it against you if you reject his invitation. But the guilt at your radio silence is too strong for you to even entertain turning away from him. Not after the way you’ve basically left him and the band on read since your last recording session.

“I…” you start, silencing yourself immediately. Remus doesn’t press, body angled towards you seeing you still haven’t sat down. You lower to sit with agonizingly slow speed, not quite meeting his gaze yet. “I’m sorry for going… quiet. I’ve had a few rough days at work.”

His lips curl up in an understanding smile. “You’re fine, dove. I figured that would be it.”

“Yeah,” you brush your hair away from your face, trying to appear less frazzled as you know you usually look after your shifts. Remus’ eyes follow the movement with quiet curiosity, he forces his gaze down to his half drunk coffee when you shift to face him. “No, I… um, that’s not the whole truth.”

“No?”

“No, I…” you wet your lips nervously, yanking the earbuds out of your ears. “Well, I feel like I acted like a bit of a fool.”

“Why would you think that?” he asks, genuinely baffled that you’ve even drawn this conclusion. 

You level him with a look. Remus quickly mirrors it in his own way. “Don’t act like you don’t know, Remus. That was embarrassing.”

“What? Your session?”

A hot and ugly feeling blossoms in your chest at his open concern, brows drawn together as he sips at his coffee, setting his book aside to give you his undivided attention. Like he did that day, when you couldn’t even meet his or Sirius or anyone’s gaze through the glass of the booth—when the rawness of your performance was too much to bear, let alone allowing it to be perceived by them.

You don’t offer an answer, only a small nod as you lower your bag to rest at the window ledge. It’s in this movement that your eyes land on the paperback under his palm, tucked aside with his coffee.

Remus takes it for what it is. He clears his throat, shifting to lean over his crossed arms. “How was your day?”

“It was fine,” you mumble, eyes flitting up to meet his soft gaze. His eyes look impossibly warmer with the oranges of the sunset hitting the side of his face. You look away again, fiddling with the cord of your earbuds. “I’m just glad the day’s over.”

He chuckles. “Me too.”

You turn, eyebrows drawn together in a funny frown. “Why are you here, by the way? It’s far from your place.”

“A bit, yeah,” he shrugs, tilting his head from side to side as he sips at his coffee. “But I work nearby and it’s a nice spot for decompressing.”

Your eyebrows snap up. “Work?”

Remus’ lips twitch into a smile. “Yeah, work,” his gaze turns bemused at your genuine surprise. “I know how it might be interpreted as, but the band isn’t my entire thing, you know.”

“Right,” you blink, nodding. You feel a little foolish now, and a lot guilty. “Right, sorry. It’s just… you never said anything.”

“There’s not much to say,” he shrugs, swirling his coffee around. The ice cubes knock against each other with the movement. He turns to meet your gaze again. “And it’s definitely not as interesting as bartending or running logistics.”

You feel the corners of your lips tugging up, despite your best instincts, into a smile. Sincerely enough that Remus visibly relaxes. “You’re giving me too much credit,” you wave him off, eyes flickering from him to the book. “Let me guess… bookshop? Wait, no—hipster record shop.”

Remus’ laugh is sudden and startled, visibly relieved to hear your olive branch. “God, dove—is that what you think of me?” he asks in mock offense. “That I’m nothing but a pretentious twat?”

“I never said that,” you raise your arms in surrender. “And don’t put words in my mouth.”

“Okay, okay, you’re forgiven,” he mimics your gesture, leaning further into his arms to meet your gaze. His posture is far more relaxed now, probably a mirror to yours. “I actually work at the library a few blocks away.”

Your eyes follow his finger, pointing at the way you walked from. “The uni library?” you ask.

“That’s the one,” he nods. “Told you, not as interesting.”

“Stop,” you nudge his stool. All you allow yourself to do. “It is interesting—what do you do? Oh god, are you a librarian?”

His smile turns into a smirk at the way you fail to hide yours. “Alright, laugh all you want.”

“I’m not laughing!”

He hums, narrowing his eyes at you before waving you off. “Fine, if you must know,” he says, feigning resignation as he shifts to face you. His shoe brushes yours, still hooked up to the footrest. “S’just an assistant position. All I do is put books back where people misplaced them.”

“That cannot be all you do.”

“Just the gist of it.”

You copy his stance, leaning over your crossed arms. “What’s the rest?”

He eyes you curiously. “You really want to know?”

“Why not?”

Something crosses over his face, a look that makes your stomach churn and that cruelly drags you back to that day at the studio. He forces his gaze down to sip at his coffee, in the same breath you look down at your phone.

Remus clears his throat. “Well, it’s… not really a whole thing. I basically just check things in. Help when people can’t find books. Things like that.”

You hum. “Sounds peaceful.”

“Most of the time,” his lips twitch again. “I do love telling people off to keep quiet.”

This earns him a fond eye roll. “Of course you do.”

He turns a little bashful when you tap the side of your nose twice. It pulls an unguarded and lovely laugh out of him, tugging at your heartstrings. His ears turn pink with his bashfulness and you only sling your bag back over your shoulder, noticing the way the barista walks over to the counter with your orders. She grins when your gazes meet.

Of course, Remus wordlessly follows after you when you go to pick them up. Your eyebrows furrow in confusion when you notice the coffee tray holder, all the cups filled. Even if you ordered just three drinks.

She points at the extra drink, then at Remus. “That one’s for you. The shop’s treat,” she explains, folding her hands behind her back. 

Remus’ eyebrows snap up. “Oh, uh… thanks. That’s very kind of you.”

“No problem,” she smiles, her grin widens when she turns to you. “Good luck on your release.”

At your visible surprise, Remus steps up, nodding as he nudges your side with his elbow. “Thank you,” he points at the door with his chin when you meet his gaze. “Have a good day,” he tells the barista.

“Thank you,” you echo, flashing her your most sincere smile as you walk outside. Pointedly focusing on the cups instead of his gaze as he holds the door open for you. “Thanks.”

“Let me,” he says, taking the tray from your hands.

“Oh, you don’t—”

“I don’t mind, dove.” Remus says easily, like the endearment doesn’t bring a pang to your chest every time. Of course he doesn’t, you look away before he can even notice your reaction. “And I hope you don’t mind if I walk you home.”

“Oh, that’s not—”

His lips curl into a knowing smirk. “Please don’t say it’s not necessary,” he bends slightly, searching for your gaze. “Last time I let you walk home alone you went missing for 3 hours.”

You flush. “I was just walking around. I lost track of time.”

“And that’s fine,” he allows. “But I’d feel better if you let me walk you home this time.”

Your lips twitch from side to side, looking around the street instead of him. You miss the flash of recognition that crosses his face at your expression. 

“Okay… thanks,” you say slowly, fixing your bag over your shoulder. “Are you sure, though? It’s… Am I not making you late?”

“Late? You? Never,” he waves you off, tilting his head. You fall into step, walking side by side. “I don’t mind, really,” he adds for good measure. When he realizes you still look somewhat sheepish for this.

“Okay.”

Remus hums knowingly, turning his face to focus on the walk. A silence embraces you, or as silent it can be with the ruckus of the street and bystanders and cars honking around you. But it’s nice. Familiar in the way it always is with him.

He holds the tray out for you, his smile turning bemused when you make a move to take it. Remus takes it back, and you understand his meaning. Your own smile turns a tad shy as you take just your coffee.

You should’ve known it was all a ploy when he speaks.

“Are you in the habit of walking around for hours?” he asks tentatively, his amber eyes are warm like he’s softening the question. “Without contact?”

You look away, sipping at your coffee instead.

“Not very recently,” you confess. It slips out of you without a warning. And, surprisingly, you find yourself wanting to tell him. Despite everything. “I… Well, I used to do it more often a while back. But last week…” you trail off, forefinger rubbing at your temple in a pensive manner. “I didn’t think I was doing it until I checked my phone.” 

“You had us worried sick,” he confesses back, like he’s saying it mostly for your sake. To level the emotional field. “I think you’ve broken the record of how many times Regulus has ever called me.”

“Sorry,” you say, a knee jerk response. Remus shakes his head, not in dismissal. Just quiet understanding. “I didn’t mean to worry you, it’s just… it felt easier at the time.”

Remus’ lips part in surprise, but you don’t let yourself stare too long into the concerned expression it pulls out of him. Instead, you find yourself instinctively reaching inside your bag for your cigarettes, realizing your current predicament as you flick the pack open, coming face to face with your empty lighter.

He balances the tray over his paperback, holding it carefully as he digs inside the inner pocket of his jacket. Your own lips part in surprise when he hands you his lighter.

“Oh,” you blink, suddenly bashful at his attentiveness. The way he manages to keep seeing you despite your attempts to stop him, or hide. It’s a confusion that makes you unconsciously flick it on to light up your cig. “Thank you,” you mumble, handing it back.

He shakes his head. “Take it.”

“Oh, no. That’s okay, I just needed the light.”

“I’ve got plenty,” he shrugs one shoulder, stance casual when his gaze is anything but. Especially when it keeps wandering down to your lips, at the way you take long drags to steady yourself. “‘Sides, it wouldn’t be the first one you steal from me.”

You look away, feeling your lips curling into a bashful smile at being caught, at being seen. Again. For fuck’s sake.

“I promise I don’t do it very often,” you say after a beat. Whether about your stolen lighter activities or… the other bit, you don’t specify. But Remus still nods like he understands your meaning. You clear your throat, forcing your voice to sound as casual as you can to even breach this subject with him. “I used to do it a lot more when I was younger,” you pause, taking a long drag. “It’s hard to shake off, I s’pose.”

Remus pauses as well, brows furrowed slightly like he’s not entirely sure on how to react to your sudden honesty. You can’t hold it against him, not even you know why you’ve confided in him with this. With something you’ve kept to yourself for so long.

A sudden urge overcomes you, to put this tension at ease and to halt his worried thoughts. You blow the smoke out of the corner of your lips, leaning a bit away so it doesn’t get to him as you try to collect your thoughts.

“Strict parents make for really creative outlets,” you joke. It doesn’t really land, even if Remus’ lips tick faintly for your efforts. Bless him. You flick the ash off your cigarette for distraction. “And, well, I used to worry that I’d give Regulus an early death, so.”

He raises the tray to sip at his own coffee. “Creative outlets, huh?” he says, shooting you a sideways glance. You try to not look away, even if every nerve in your body is urging you to do so. “That’s one way to put it.”

You hum in assent, bring the cigarette back to your lips instead of offering an answer. Remus watches the movement with a faint downturn of his lips. 

“I imagine there were easier ones.”

“Maybe,” you concede, careful as you watch your step. The path of ash you leave behind. “But music wasn’t… well, not really in the cards back then. Not like it is today.”

“Oh, was this before you started playing?”

“No. Before I moved out.”

His eyes snap to yours, flickering down to your lips as you take another drag, the cigarette is halfway burned down by now. A quiet understanding passes between you.

“You…” he clears his throat, looking around the street as you stop by the red light. “Sounds like you didn’t have much room to… be anything else back then.”

You put your cig out, stubbing it out with a slight frown. Like you’re not sure if speaking will complicate or smooth things over.

Remus wets his lips nervously, shifting his weight from one foot to the other as the silence settles between you. “Are things better now?” he asks, quietly. You don’t miss the way he bends slightly for you to hear.

Despite the way your heart thumps loudly, nearly in your ears, you glance up to meet his gaze. Studying the concerned downturn of his lips, his furrowed eyebrows and the way his eyes study you with the same quiet intensity as you do to him. 

“Yeah,” you say, sounding almost like a whispered confession. “They are.”

He holds your gaze, enough for the world to blur around you. Remus eyes flit down quickly, a barely noticeable movement before he’s forcing them back up to you. It’s enough of a distraction to pull you back down from the moment, to face reality as the crowd continues walking, green man flashing across the street. 

You try to push down the familiar tug at your chest, and the familiarity of his wandering gaze to the same moment his eyes flickered down to Sirius’ lips, nimble fingers pulling him close for a kiss with a gentle pinch at his jaw; the way his lips curled into a soft smile. You shake your head quickly, trying to force the memory to fade away, to leave you alone. 

As you turn the corner to your street, Remus’ phone rings. It brings a quiet crack to the tension as he pats his trousers for his phone, flashing you a small smile when your gazes meet. You force yours down to dig into your bag for your keys when he presses the phone to his ear. His smile is enough of an answer for any suspicions you may have of who’s calling him. 

“Yeah, I know. Sorry,” he says, careful of the tray as he continues balancing it over his book. “I ran into y/n on my way back, and I’m walking her home. Yeah, she’s okay,” he pauses, smile turning a tad reassuring when he catches you staring. “Of course, yeah. I’ll be there. Yeah, she’s okay, love. Stop fretting.”

You swallow thickly, climbing up the stairs for your porch. Love. Love. Love.  

“Okay, yeah,” he goes on, clearly unaware of the sudden shift in your mood. You pretend to tinker with the keys a little longer. “I’ll be careful—Hold on, I’ll call you back, yeah? Okay, thanks.”

Remus hangs up with his own shift of mood, smiling at you while you continue tinkering with your keys. It dims slightly when you half turn to take the tray from his hands.

“Sirius asked me to scold you for scaring him,” he still says, tone bemused as you jam the key into your lock. 

“You can tell him I’ve been appropriately scolded,” you force your lips into a smile as you face him. “Thank you for walking me home.”

He nods, fingers drumming against the cover of his paperback. “No problem. I… I had a nice time.”

You blink. “Oh,” your voice is barely a whisper, forcing you to clear your throat. “Oh, um, yeah… Me too.”

Remus lingers by the porch, lips parting and closing like he’s racking his brain for an adequate goodbye. Even if you’ve got a meeting early tomorrow morning. You glance around, at the street and the sun setting down behind the buildings, at the bystanders and the cars driving past. You secretly wonder if Regulus would mind if you get home a bit later again.

“Dove,” Remus starts, not quite meeting your eyes yet. You’re greatly thankful for this, he misses the way your eyebrows pinch in reaction to the ache in your chest that comes with the endearment. “I… I know this is not my place but,” he pauses, shifting his weight from his heels to the toes of his shoes. “can you promise me something?”

“Sure,” you say, sounding calm and collected despite the turmoil inside your head.

He turns his head, finally meeting your gaze. “Next time you feel like… disappearing,” he pauses, bending to chase your eyes when they wander away again. “could you let someone know?” 

It lands exactly like you expect it to. Hard. Suffocating in his open concern. “Hm,” it’s all you manage to say, it sounds mostly like a scrape than a real hum.

“Just so we don’t lose you for hours again,” he adds quickly. “…or at least not on your own, yeah?”

Your voice quietens. “Yeah.” 

“Yeah?”

You nod quickly, feeling your throat clogging up. Remus mirrors it before he’s taking a step back. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” you confirm, pressing the tray to your chest in response. “Thank you again… for walking me home.”

He smiles, a small and tentative thing. “Of course.”

You stand there for a beat, in front of each other and staring for what it feels like hours. Or well, him trying and failing to meet your gaze and you doing anything but. Remus only shoves his hands inside his pockets, eyeing you curiously when you haven’t walked in yet.

“What?”

His eyes move back to you, seemingly caught but not regretful. His lips twitch into an amused little smile. “While you know I would stay here all day, I’m sure Reg is upstairs pacing around ‘cause you haven’t gotten home.”

“I’m home.”

“You are,” he agrees easily, stepping closer. You feel your heart about to leap out of you. Remus finds your eyes when he leans over you to push the door open. His gaze is borderline knowing as he holds it for you. 

“Huh?”

“I’m sorry, dove but,” he sighs, a small sound that makes your traitorous heart skip a beat. “You’ve got that look again.”

Your insides twist painfully when you understand his meaning, the fluttering and thumping of your heart turns into guilty nausea when he holds your gaze. Not quite moving or hesitating as he waits for you to actually walk inside.

“Sorry, yeah,” you scrape out, forcing your feet to move in the completely different direction you had intended to go. You turn to walk inside, sending him a fleeting glance over your shoulder. “See you tomorrow.”

“See you tomorrow,” he says, his voice sounding awfully close to a relieved exhale when the door closes behind you.

Remus doesn’t walk away until you’ve disappeared into the stairs. You press the tray closer to your chest as you climb up, fiddling with the keys as you trudge through the path to your flat. They tinker with your rushed movements. Music leaks out into the hallway, a faint melody that indicates Regulus has started dinner. 

You walk in as quiet as you can at first, toeing your shoes off and balancing the coffee tray in your forearms. The bag slides right off your shoulder, and this time you don’t have any qualms to let it drop to the floor in your rush to walk inside.

“Got the coffees,” you call out, your voice comes out surprisingly calm despite the turmoil in your head. 

“Dinner’s almost ready.” Regulus answers back, sounding sincerely calm in contrast to you. 

Pandora comes bounding over from the kitchen to help you with the coffees. And you don’t realize you’re crying until she stands face to face with you, eyebrows drawn together in that startled and concerned way at your damp cheeks.

“Oh, love,” she immediately sets the coffees aside over the back of the sofa, not caring if they can come toppling over. “What happened?”

You shake your head, shrugging one shoulder in what you hope is a placating manner. She tsks in response, pulling you to her in a tight embrace. Her arms slot around you, fitting perfectly and pressing all the right places. None of you are surprised when a sob rasps out your throat.

At the kitchen, Regulus hurriedly lowers the fire at the hob, pausing his cooking in its entirety. This brings another sob out of you, and Pandora presses her palms to your back, taking the brunt of your sharp intakes of air. 

You don’t tell them what caused your tears, or the reason you’re slowly retreating to your old coping mechanisms.

…

“Wait, wait—go higher!”

“Yeah, higher!”

“Prongs, calm down.”

“Can she even hear me? Oi, y/n, can you hear me?”

“Oi, shut it. I can’t hear the mix.”

You look away from the video, projected against the white backdrop. The footage remains shaky and passing in a blur, your silhouette inside the booth is hard to make out with James excitedly bouncing around the control room. Peter has never been quite good at recording, even if it’s what he prides himself the most for. But, at the end of the room, Marlene seems pleased as the video continues rolling. 

With your EP done and announced, all you’ve been left to do as a band is wait. Wait and wait and wait for the day to come and brace for whatever happens, for the reviews of all the magazines and critics you’ve mailed the record to. Wait for the music video to be ready. And you, personally, continue waiting for your feelings to pass, to turn into a weird memory of this moment in your career. One quick look at the video is enough to realize it’s going to take longer than what you bargained for.

The song fades out with the quiet hum of the synth, leaving behind a lingering silence in the meeting room. Even with your nervous bouncing, pushing at your cuticles under the table. Marlene nods at her assistant for the lights, and they’re turned on with a flickering movement, harshness stings your eyes. 

“Well?” she asks, smile unmoved as she studies the executives in the room. 

You look down at your hands, fingers tender where you’ve been pushing at your nailbeds the whole time. The whole meeting where all of you have heard are comments and plans about what would happen after this, should the band continue growing like it is right now. Part of you is beginning to accept this new reality of yours, even if you had been very against it when the video was first published.

Even if Peter’s intentions had been noble, recording and posting footage of your EP recording journey to the band’s socials, you sometimes wish he had used a less… incriminating video. Or maybe it’s just your skittish predisposition, with your new discoveries and the reason things just keep being shoved to your face. Either way, there’s no point in making a fuss when it has done so well with your fanbase and audiences in general. 

Kingsley nods slowly, not quite looking away from the backdrop before he’s turning his chair towards you. Your knee begins bouncing again when his eyes flicker very fleetingly to you, lingering enough before he’s turning to study the rest of the band. It makes your heart clench slightly when you remember his surprised reaction at the final tracklist and run through of the songs for your EP. How you’d accidentally broken his no more changes rules. 

You’d feel a bit worse about this if Albus, the label’s director, wasn’t so visibly pleased with it. One quick look at him at the head of the table and it’s enough to bring some sense of calm to your chest when he nods approvingly. Totally because of that and not the constant brush of Sirius’ elbow at your side, shifting and shifting until it’s nearly resting over your forearm. 

“Wonderful video,” he says, not a drop of judgment in his tone. “No wonder it’s already making numbers. Good job.”

“Thank you,” says James, seeing Peter is not here to accept the compliment himself. Too busy organizing every detail for the release event. This meeting is mostly for information, anyway—or that’s what he said. 

Marlene nods again, clearing her throat to direct the attention back to her. “Well, as you know,” she points at the backdrop, the projector now showing a document behind her. A detailed to do list about the band’s image or whatever nonsense she considered important to discuss today. “Behind the scene footage has been very much in trend lately, especially with the band and all the content they’ve put out. So I went ahead and did a few changes for the single’s music video.”

“Changes?” you ask tentatively.

Sirius shifts again. “Music video?” he asks in the same tone.

“Well, of course. Every single needs a music video,” she smiles, holding a hand up in a placating manner. Then she points back at the backdrop, at a specific bullet point. Cover shoot mv, it reads. “I’ve gone ahead and made a rough edit for what we believe should fit, using footage of your past gigs and the behind the scenes for your cover shoot. You’d be surprised how cohesive it feels with the overall vibe of the EP.”

Mary, her assistant nods eagerly. “We’ve already done some test runs with possible audiences and it showed that it can open the doors for interactions and trends if we launch now.”

You turn slowly, sharing various looks with your bandmates before turning to her. “..trends?”

“Yes,” Marlene nods, pointing at her presentation. “Which is perfect for the momentum you’ve been getting from the recording session video. The more we do, the better.”

“Especially if we want to announce your tour.”

A beat.

You blink, lips parted in surprise. And so do the rest as they let the words hang in the air. 

Remus seems to be the one to process this news first. “Our tour?”

“Not yours, exactly,” Marlene says, sending Mary a chiding look. 

“This is why we’ve asked you to come,” Kingsley steps up, seeing the information is spilling over without giving any of you a moment to process. “The release event and music video are just the first steps to get the band going. You’re already known locally and outside the city in nearby indie communities, but if we want to cross borders and oceans—we must push you that way.”

“That way?” Sirius sits straight, hands braced over the large and expensive table. “You mean… Ireland?”

Albus tilts his head from side to side. “Think farther.”

“…France?”

“America.”

“America?” you nearly shriek, feeling quite literally like the floor has collapsed under you. “You’re joking.”

“Not quite, miss y/ln.”

Your knee bounces harsher than usual, rattling against the table. Sirius reaches under the table to hold it still, for once accepting his grounding firmness as the words dawn on you. The implications. 

“Isn’t that a bit… premature?” Sirius asks carefully. You feel his thumb brushing the side of your knee.

“We’re actually running a bit behind schedule in that aspect,” Kingsley shakes his head. “It was Mr. Pettigrew who pointed this out to me.”

“Peter?” James blinks, sitting straight as well in his own surprise. “He told you?”

“You’ve got a great manager, he’s been putting in tons of work to ensure the EP gets in the right hands.”

James sends Sirius a look, See? you know he’d say if you weren’t in the middle of a meeting. You force your gaze away from them, pointedly ignoring the thumb brushing at your knee and the soft amber eyes studying you from the other end of your side of the table.

Kingsley considers each of you with an amused little twitch of his lips, like he’s holding back a secret. “And,” he clears his throat, bringing the attention back to the task at hand. “It should start by the end of the month.”

“This month?”

He turns to you. “I’d ensure all your pending needs are fulfilled for when the time comes,” he says before focusing back on the rest of your bandmates. “The Weird Sisters started their tour here last weekend, they’ll do a short run of shows here in the city, then the rest of Europe before going to America next month.”

You feel your heart stop working right then and there. “The Weird Sisters?” 

All the answer he offers is a curt nod towards Marlene, who mirrors quickly before clicking at her laptop. She closes tabs and scrolls a bit before a poster is projected against the backdrop. An announcement poster for The Weird Sisters’ World Tour. At the very back, in the American shows section, With Special Guests: The Marauders.  

“Wait,” James says, trying and failing to keep his excitement contained. “You’re saying we’re going on tour with The Weird Sisters?”

“Exactly.”

“Jesus fucking Christ," he breathes out, slumping back into his chair with a faraway look. His glasses are slightly askew with all the times he’s run a hand through his face. “This is…” 

“Incredible.”

“Yeah,” you scrape out, nodding very slowly in the beginnings of your dissociation. 

“But we’ll discuss that when the time comes,” Kingsley says, passing a palm over the lapels of his suit. “First we’ll get the release out of our way before moving to our next course of action.”

“I think that’s best, Shacklebolt,” Albus chuckles, fixing his own glasses as he stands as well. “You’ve stunned the poor kids into malfunctioning.”

Remus blinks, fixing his tone before speaking up. “It’s just… a lot,” he says carefully, running a hand through his tawny hair. “When we were told there’d be a meeting we didn’t think it would be…”

“Like this,” you finish off for him, he turns in his chair to look at you. His expression softens at the tension he manages to pick up from your shoulders. “It’s all wonderful news but, well… very sudden.” 

“I apologize for that,” Mary steps in. “We thought you had been made aware of this.”

“Don’t you worry, miss MacDonald.” Albus nods, tucking his leather folder under his arm, walking calmly to the door. 

Kingsley pauses before following him out, turning to level each of you with a long look.You spring to your feet, immediately feeling the absence of Sirius’ touch as you force his hand away. The rest of the boys copy your movements, standing in a line in front of him with various degrees of excitement, overwhelm and nerves. So many nerves. 

“Good luck on your release,” he tells you, meaning every word despite his usual serious expression. “Go take a break—have a drink. You’ve earned it.”

You blink. “Okay.”

“Thank you.” Sirius nods.

“And thank you for the opportunity.” Remus adds immediately. You find yourself nodding. All you can do, really.

They all walk out in a line. Marlene at the very end, she slides the door closed with a proud little smile before turning away. Leaving you alone with the weight of what has been unveiled for your careers, what it means for you as a band and the future that is closer than you think.

“We…” you try, swallowing thickly. The words get stuck in your throat, unable to move around the constriction that cuts your air. “Fuck.”

“Fuck, indeed.” Sirius breathes out, brushing a few curls behind his ears. 

“So,” James clears his throat, clapping loudly as he turns to stand in front of you. His hazel eyes are wide, face adorned with a dazzling and overjoyed grin. “We’re going on tour.”

“With the Weird Sisters,” says Sirius. Like he’s trying to match his tone. He almost succeeds, the words sound heavy on his tongue. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

His blatant surprise presses at your chest, releasing your overwhelming shock in a deep exhale. It takes you a beat of silence, broken by your quiet chuckling to realize it comes out as a breathless laugh instead. They all whip their heads at you, frowning in confusion at your reaction. Shock and disbelief and dread and joy leaking sideways in a complex mix of laughter.

You press your fingertips against your forehead, trying to tame down your laughter as it increases in both intensity and speed—and how hard it is for you to stop. But it’s, quite literally, the only way your body has managed to catch your breath. Warmth breath fans your palms, and you force yourself to calm down with circular motions against your skin, then your temple and the divot between your eyebrows. 

“Dove?” Remus asks, a funny lilt to his tone as he turns to you, still laughing quietly against your palm. “Are you…”

“Yeah,” you breathe out, waving him off with barely coherent answers as a giggle escapes your lips. “It’s just… what the fuck…”

His lips curl up slowly, a tentative stretch of a smile as you drop your hands to meet his gaze. Your own is wide and swirling with every emotion that can fit your current situation—a lovely contrast to the last time he saw you. Remus shakes his head, feeling a laugh bubbling out of him at your blatant and slightly endearingly weird attempt at regulating yourself. 

James doesn’t have such qualms. His bark of laughter engulfs any other sounds as he bends backwards with the force of his cackle. He pauses to pull Sirius into a playful headlock. As he tends to do in his own joy overload. 

“Oi! Careful you buffoon!” he screeches, mostly muffled against James side as he pulls him closer, transferring his hold around him for a tight hug. “You kill me now and there won’t be a reason to celebrate.”

“Would it kill you to embrace my love, Pads?” James asks, not at all regretful as he ruffles Sirius’ hair in that way he knows he detests. Sirius doesn’t scowl this time, knee deep into his own joyful shock to even process it. “And who said we can’t? We can always use Reg to be your stand in—you’ve got the same handsome bone structure. It could work, right?”

Sirius does scowl at this. “Get off me—you hurtful prick,” he tries to shove him away, but James only squeezes his front tighter. “Oi!” he laughs.

James shakes his head, smiling bright as he releases one side of his embrace to reach for your arm—he pulls you into the hug before you can realize what’s happening. Remus rolls his eyes at this, pretending he’s above it all like his own heart isn’t one beat away from leaping out of his chest.

“Get in, Moons. Free of charge.”

He eyes the tight embrace of James’ arms around you and Sirius, holding you close and close to make room for him. A startled little chuckle escapes your lips at his feigned hesitation.

“Jamie,” he chides, even if he’s taking a step forward. “You’re going to dislocate her arm.”

“Not true, that’s her right arm.”

“I sort of need my right arm as well,” you mumble, a tad muffled as he pulls you impossibly closer to make room for Remus. You swear you feel an arm curling around you, the familiar stroke of a thumb at your back as Sirius hugs you to steady himself. Most definitely, and not at all as a selfish indulgence.

Remus huffs a laugh, taking just half a step closer before James is tugging at the hem of his shirt to pull him into the hug. If you feel his cheek pressed against the crown of your head, you don’t let yourself dwell on it.

[moonstruckme]

Hi mae!! I hope you're having a great day!!! I'm not really good at requesting, so I'm sorry if I'm doing it wrong, lol. But could I request poly!marauders with a reader who has ocd? I just read your last ocd!reader and loved it so if you could make the situation where the reader is obsessed with things being equal, to the pont of how she holds her phone, and for example if she gets hurt on her thumb she tries to replicate the hurt on the other thumb so it's "equal" or if she's holding hands with someone or hugging someone she has to do it on the other side as well and the marauders noticing these thibg and comforting her? If you're not comfortable with writing about ocd anymore I understand completely, and thank you in advance!!

Hey angel, thanks for letting me know you'd be okay with just Remus! I hope you're having a great day too <3

cw: reader has a form ocd that can motivate self-harm

a/n: Please do not misconstrue my participation in the marauders fandom as support of JKR. If you’re new here and want to participate in the fandom, I encourage you to do so without participating in anything that would provide financial gain to her or her transphobic agendas

Remus Lupin x fem!reader ♡ 969 words

“Did you move the laundry to the dryer?” you ask from inside the kitchen. 

Remus rubs at an incriminating smudge of ash on the coffee table. Smoking out the window only works so long as you don’t find out about it. Sirius is shit at cleaning up his evidence, and Remus will be hearing it from you if you catch onto what he and his friends do when you’re not home. “Yeah.” 

“Did you…take anything out first?” 

“No, why?” 

Your laugh is half sigh, but not the truly exasperated kind. You lean around the door that hides your laundry machines and hold up what appears to be a child’s jumper but looks an awful lot like one of Remus’. “This needed to lay flat to dry, lovely,” you say. 

Remus grimaces. “Bollocks.” 

“Sorry.” 

“No, it’s my fault. We can donate it, maybe.” 

You hum, piling the jumper into a laundry basket with the rest of your clothes. “Some kid will be happy to have it.” 

You swing the basket in front of you and head for him. Remus prepares himself to be drowned in warm, clean-smelling cloth when you dump it out on the sofa for you both to begin folding. You smile at him putting away his book in anticipation, and in your distraction smack your hip against the corner of the kitchen counter on your way out.

Your features pinch in a wince. Remus winces with you. Then he sees the way your eyes move, and he’s standing before even thinking. 

“Poor girl.” He takes the laundry basket, rubbing your hip consolingly and nudging you away from the offending corner. “Come sit down. Warm laundry cures all ails, I’m fairly sure that’s a saying somewhere.” 

“Oh, yeah?” You smile distractedly. 

“Mhm.” Remus herds you to the sofa, knowing he’s trapping you and knowing you know and hoping you don’t resent him for it. “Somewhere.” 

You look amused for a moment longer, but when your eyes dart back to the kitchen your smile slips. The pinch of your mouth is somewhere between guilty and distressed. “Remus…” 

He pushes you down by your shoulders so you’re sitting on the sofa. Softens his voice. “I know, love.” 

You’re wanting to hurt your other hip. Once you’ve felt something on one side of your body, you feel required to replicate it on the other. Remus, for obvious reasons, doesn’t want you to. It puts you at odds.

He could handle you being upset with him, though he’d rather you not be. What he worries more about is that you’ll regret sharing this part of yourself with him. It’s intimate knowledge, confessions whispered in the dark of your room at night of things you’d rather not think about but can’t help thinking anyway, and Remus hopes you won’t feel like he’s using that knowledge against you now. He doesn’t know how to help you. It’s difficult to say whether he’s making things better or worse by putting himself between you and what you want; maybe the agony in your head is ten times worse than a matching bruise on your other hip would be, but Remus is acting on instinct. 

He covers you in warm laundry and sits down beside you in it. 

“I swear I lose a sock every time we do this,” he mutters, more to say something than for any real purpose. Remus is shit at this. “It’s not like they even leave the flat. Where do they go?” 

He relaxes some when you pick up a pair of trousers and begin folding them. “Gnomes eat them.” 

“I forgot for a moment I was living with a conspiracy theorist.” 

You fold laundry for a while longer, but Remus can feel your unease growing. When you move to get up, his hand goes out on instinct to stop you. He’s careful to be gentle as he grasps your wrist. 

“Stay and help me with this,” he says. 

“I want to,” you reply. You look at him with tension all over your sweet face, frustration clashing with genuine stress. Remus’ chest throbs. “I just—I keep thinking that something’s going to happen.” 

“What will, lovely?” 

You press your lips tight. 

Remus nods. “Okay.” You don’t want to say. Sometimes you’re alright with sharing—you’ve even laughed about the ridiculous ultimatums your mind supplies for you, when you’re in the right sort of mood—but this time you’re not. Remus casts his voice low and calm. “If something were to happen, it wouldn’t be your fault. You haven’t done anything wrong. And it won’t hurt anything to stay here with me until we finish with this, will it?” 

You look down at him. Remus feels halfway to begging you, but it would probably be redundant. He thinks you know already how deeply his wants are railing against your own, like two magnets turned on their sides so they can’t help but push away from each other even though they’re of the same kind. After a while, you give in. 

Remus reels you all the way in, curling his arm around your waist and kissing your hair. 

“Thank you,” he murmurs. 

You puff out an agitated breath. “I’m sorry.” 

“Why? You shouldn’t be.” He begins folding one of your t-shirts with his arms still around you. Neither of you care that it means you can’t really do much folding yourself. “You’ve made me happy. Really.” 

Your face says you could argue, but you don’t seem to feel like it. Remus hooks his chin on your shoulder while he works, taking his time, dragging the chore out. Afterwards, he’ll come up with something else to occupy you both for a while longer. He might confess to the smoking inside. He’ll do his best to distract you; you might let him. You’ll both be alright in the end. 

[amnmesias]

𝐯𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞

poly!wolfstar x fem!reader

word count: 7.9k

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

a/n: yeah… buckle up my loves. 

part eleven ˚.⋆♪⋆ series masterlist  

  

—

You gasp, visibly delighted as Moody tinkers with the mix. “That’s it—yes!” 

Remus smiles into his palm, failing miserably to contain the warmth spreading into his chest at your unadulterated joy. You pace around the control room, humming to yourself and scribbling down in your notes, the side of your hand is stained with ink that has smudged to your wrist. 

“Keep it playing, let it fade in and out throughout the song,” you instruct, pausing behind his chair as he clicks around his monitor. “You know when you’re driving at night, windows down? Like that.”

Moody sends you an amused look over his shoulder, it flickers to the rest of the band as they lounge around the sofas. “I’m not familiar but I’ll see if it works.”

“Oh, please—don’t tell me you’ve never driven at night?”

“I have,” he turns back to the mix, adding the arrangements you’ve told him. “I’m not in the habit of blasting music, though.”

You smile, too overjoyed to be deterred. “Well, now you’ll know what it feels like.”

He only offers you a noncommittal hum, and you return to your seat while he works on the mix you’ve got so far. Sirius shifts in his seat to make space for you, almost unconsciously in his sleepy contentment, but you only lower yourself to sit on the floor. You raise your notes for him to see, pointing at the lyrics you’ve written to begin explaining.

From the corner of his eye, Remus notices the way Sirius shakes his head to focus on the song. Lips tentatively tugging into a little smile at what he reads, nothing new, but neither him nor James nor anyone has managed to get them out of their head. 

None of them were surprised at all when they walked into the studio to find you already there, pacing like a caged animal and muttering and humming to yourself. Still, nothing could’ve prepared them for the song you had whipped out for them to consider for the EP. A melancholic, almost heartfelt sentiment in the lyrics you’ve written about… well, Sirius doesn’t want to get too ahead of himself, but some of the lyrics are too openly vulnerable and fitting it’s hard not to jump to conclusions.

One quick glance at Remus and it’s obvious his thoughts have led him to the same conclusion, brows knitted together in an obvious tell that he’s pushing down something far more difficult to explain, something that would surely make you pull away again.

“Alright,” Moody turns in his chair, finger hovering over his keyboard as he finds your eyes. “Give it a listen, is this what you meant?”

He clicks at his mouse, and the mix starts playing. Still sounding a little rough with just the sample you’ve found from the label’s bank. It paints for a nostalgic feel that has you nodding rigorously, setting your notebook aside to jump to your feet. Remus’ hand flies to your arm when you trip in your hurry, smiling in reassurance at the bashful look you send him before walking up to Moody. 

“Yes,” you say, playfully swatting Moody’s shoulder with a little smirk. “See? I knew you had it in you, you romantic cliché.”

Moody lets out a laugh, despite himself. Like you’ve caught him off guard. As you tend to do with everyone you meet. “Be glad I had these at hand,” he points at the monitor, where the mix fades out. “So, should we keep that?” he asks you, but his eyes still turn to the rest of the band. He barely has any time to finish before they’re all offering answers in agreement. “Done. What’s next, then?”

“Uh…” you look at your notes, humming to yourself. “Can you play it again?”

He does, wordlessly repeating the mix without looking at the monitor. Moody leans back into his chair as you start humming again, pacing around the room in concentration. His eyes move to Remus, whose smitten smile has betrayed him as he watches you.

You turn, hands raised mid air. “Jamie.”

James scrambles to stand, nodding at you like a soldier would to his sergeant. You wrinkle your nose at his antics, and James mimics it as he follows you into the live room. Looking positively too giddy at the prospect of getting a glimpse into your creative process. 

Your hands flail around as you explain your idea to James, growing both in momentum and energy the more he nods at you, fixing the stool behind the drums to begin. 

Sirius blinks, feeling a light nudge at his side before he’s forcing his gaze away from the glass to Remus. He waves his cigarettes up, pointing with his chin at the door as he stands to walk outside. Sirius glances back at the live room before following behind.

Outside, the air is crisp, still early for the weather to turn despite the clouds that are beginning to form in the sky. Remus cups his hand around the lighter as he flicks it on, the flame comes to life and frames his features as he moves it to the tip of Sirius’ cig. A well practiced routine when they both blow nearly at the same time, smoke curling together before dissipating into the air.

Sirius flicks the ash off. “She seems to be doing better.”

Remus doesn’t answer at first. He stares out at the street, the cars passing and the people walking past them as he takes a long drag. Pensive as he shifts to lean against the wall, his free hand continues fiddling with the lighter like it’s the only outlet he allows himself.

“Yeah,” he exhales deeply, looking around as he taps at the end of his lighter. Sirius watches the downturn of his lips as he takes another long drag, the smallest dimple forming in his cheek. “She scared the fuck out of me, though.”

Sirius pushes a laugh, mostly to ease his nerves and then in full sincerity when he catches the way Remus’ lips quirk up. “Good thing you’re so observant, eh?”

His smile wavers at this, at the way Remus visibly hesitates. A weird feeling blossoms inside his chest, something that tugs at his heart and makes him ache—it increases the more he avoids meeting his gaze.

“Sometimes,” he hums, shifting to rest his head back. “Not as much as I’d like to be lately.”

“Remus...”

He shrugs one shoulder, finally turning his head to look at Sirius. There’s something so intensely open about his gaze, the look that he’s seen more and more of since that night at their flat, then at yours. Now immortalized in the cover of your debut EP. 

“You know, I didn't understand at first, or didn’t want to, honestly. That’s how I’ve always felt when it comes to you, to let it happen and worry about the consequences later.” Remus says, cigarette dangling as he speaks. “But with y/n…” he laughs, smoke puffs out of his lips. “She scares the fuck out of me.”

Sirius feels himself smiling, the faintest of movement in tenderness, one he’s only recently allowed himself to feel. It’s freeing to let it consume him so openly, but a little scary, too.

“You’re far better at hiding it, though,” he hums, looking around the street. “Sometimes I feel like I’ll ultimately fuck everything up again.”

“You almost did,” Remus hums back, though his tone is far from reprimanding. Still, it makes Sirius glance up at the same speed his heart skips a beat. “But it seems you keep tormenting yourself enough already, so.”

They look at each other for a beat, enough for the silence to settle, or until Remus’ smirk turns smug. Sirius rolls his eyes, swatting his arm lightly. 

“Fuck off.”

“Hey, I’m just being observant. As you said.” Remus shrugs, blowing smoke out of the corner of his lips, eyeing him closely. A warmth that’s so open in its affection, Sirius doesn’t have the heart to look away this time. “It’s nice. Seeing you like this.”

“Like what? Acting like a complete tosser?”

“No. Careful,” he says, too softly, like the words slipped past his lips without a second thought. His brows bunch together in realization, forcing his gaze away to take a long drag before sporting the same smirk again. “A careful tosser.”

Sirius doesn’t press, careful in his approach as he copies his movements. “Yeah, well—I don’t have much choice, so,” he taps at his cig with an absentminded rhythm; one that resembles the one you have been working on all day. Ash falls off to the pavement, dangerously close to his boot and forcing him to step a bit to the side. Closer to Remus, but that’s mostly a coincidence. He looks up, swallowing nervously. “I still can't believe she stayed in the band after what happened.”

Remus hums, shifting his weight to slide closer to him against the wall. “She’s stronger than she looks, Sirius. Do you really think you’re the first person that has ever put her motivations into question?”

“No.” Sirius says, almost immediately. Instinctively.  Like the thought has been consuming him entirely and the realization festering in his chest. “Did she say…?”

“No, but it’s not… Well, it’s not easy to ignore,” he looks around, brows knitting together in that concerned frown that keeps returning at the mere mention of that particular night at your flat. Remus exhales sharply. “The way she kept… She wouldn’t even let us look at her, and then at the pub…” he trails off.

Silence hangs between them, as it tends to do with the memory of your pale skin and half coherent slurring, slow chewing and your stubborn need to hold your ground at their attempts to help you. 

Remus takes one last long drag, holding it enough to stall and tame his heart into beating normally. It’s not an easy task, or something he’s sure he’ll be able to control soon. Not when all he can think of is the tender way Sirius caressed your face, the same way he himself cleaned your tears, the way you had looked at them that night—so openly frustrated with your own heart, your own yearning to entertain their presence a second longer. 

He plucks the cig off his lips, shifting against the wall like the bricks are digging into his back, puncturing his heart the same way the memories do.

“And then the other day at the shoot,” the smoke that leaves his lips thins out as he shakes his head. “She was just… herself again. Like nothing had touched her. Like she hadn’t—”

Sirius nods in understanding. Because he does. And he’s partly glad that the feeling that has been consuming him isn’t just affecting him. 

“The way she let go, and—and how she… she—fuck,” he breathes out, a strained little sound that tugs at Sirius’ heartstrings. He gives his own cig a quick drag, waiting for Remus to speak. Or not. Either is fine. “She looked almost… carefree. With us.”

The world shifts just enough with the weight of the word, the implication. With us. With us. With us. 

“And now there,” Remus waves vaguely at the studio, then around like he can’t quite make up his mind about the point he’s trying to make. Too deep in his emotional unraveling. “With the song and the way I just know she’s holding… something back. It’s driving me insane.”

“Something?” Sirius asks, tentative. Like he’s just as afraid of the truth as much as he is of the silence. 

Remus turns his head, breaths slowing down as he scans Sirius. The cigarette dangling between his lips is smaller now, but he doesn’t put it out immediately. Instead, he reaches for his wallet. He’s not usually one to keep it with himself at all times, or at least not until now. He shoots Sirius a quick glance before pulling a small piece of paper, glassy and thick enough it’s hard to not recognize it. A photobooth strip.

James is, naturally, pulling a silly face as he half turns to the camera, caught mid movement. Under him, Sirius is caught mid mischief as well, trying and failing to poke at Remus’ cheek, who looks simply too endeared and above it all as he simply smirks at the camera. What catches his eyes, though, even after days have passed, is you. Your grin is bright, lips tugged slightly to the side like you’re containing a laugh. Even if your eyes are telling a completely different story, glancing sideways to Sirius and Remus with something akin to… fondness. Hidden deep behind your mischief and your grins and the silly poses you pull out in the other pictures.

He stares down at it for a beat longer before handing it to Sirius. Their fingers brush, and Remus takes a leap of bravery, letting his thumb stroke the back of his hand before letting go. A small indulgence. 

Sirius swallows thickly, putting his cigarette out without a single thought before looking down at the strip, then again at Remus. Their gazes meet in that stretch of silence where the world seems to slow down. It pauses completely when he looks at the strip. At you. At your soft eyes and mischievous smirk, the same one that would drive him mad every time he thought about you, the same one that he didn’t think would ever be directed at him again. Just like your soft eyes, the same warmth you’d look at Remus, now at him. At them.

He chances a quick glance at Remus, who’s too busy putting his cig out to notice, or doing it exactly because he’s felt it. The feeling that consumes him is so sudden and intense, Sirius forces his gaze back at the pictures, or well, picture. The one that he can’t seem to look away from, thumb stroking it once, twice.

“This isn’t just something,” he murmurs, handing it back. Remus takes it with more confidence this time, storing it back inside his wallet for safekeeping. Sirius forces his lips into a smirk, pushing himself off the wall. “No wonder you nicked it. Was Marlene aware of your thieving plans?”

Remus simply shrugs one shoulder, tilting his head towards the door. “She was going to store them away after, so,” he clears his throat, forcing it to remain casual as he wraps an arm around Sirius’ waist, pulling him closer as they walk inside. “Better with me than at some dusty archive, right?”

Sirius smiles down at his boots. “Right,” his voice lowers, sounding close to a bashful murmur that makes Remus smile. Of course, it lasts little, because he’s looking up to meet his gaze in that characteristic charming and mischievous way of his. “You never struck me as a sentimental person.”

“Yeah, well,” Remus opens the door for them, holding it for Sirius with a little smirk toying into the corners of his lips. Like he’s not sure if he’s feeling pleased or smug. “And you never struck me as a martyr, so I guess we’re both discovering new things about each other.”

They share a smile, long and intense in its affection. Sirius doesn’t wait until the door clicks closed before he’s pulling Remus down for a kiss. This time, he doesn’t break apart, not even in his surprise or to catch his breath. Remus only holds him closer, hand curling around Sirius’ waist to steady himself and the uncontrollable fluttering in his chest at the tender and slow strokes at his cheeks, his jaw. Feeling his knees almost giving out on him.

Sirius breaks apart, just enough to find his eyes. So intensely open in both his affection and unease. “Yeah?” his voice quietens, heavy with the question that goes unsaid. But his eyes flicker to the end of the hallway, to the door to the studio. And they both understand.

Remus doesn’t let him dwell on it, chasing his lips for a quick peck before stepping back. “Yeah,” he smiles, tugging him to continue walking, arm still securely around his waist. “Glad you’ve caught up, love.”

A funny and almost relieved exhale puffs out of Sirius, looking positively less tense as he walks into the studio. Music immediately bursts out, making them pause in their shared realization at the ruckus they’ve left behind. 

James is still going crazy with the drums, grinning and chuckling with a fond look as you jump and cheer for him, too delighted with his performance or whatever he’s been inputting for the song. Peter scurrying behind you with his phone, trying to record as much content as possible of the making of your EP. A blur of movement that makes them wonder if something else transpired while they were away.

Moody swivels his chair to face them, looking far too pleased despite his usual deadpan expression. “Ah, you’ve finally decided to join us?” he asks, crossing his arms. 

Remus nods, eyes flickering back to the live room. “What…?” he points, trailing off seeing he’s entirely not sure of what he should even be asking.

“Drums and synth are done already, we’re just waiting for you two.”

“Synth?” Sirius blinks, forcing his gaze away from your bright grin to look at Moody. “We’re doing that?”

Moody shrugs. “Said it’s a bit of an experiment, but would wait for you to see if you’re okay with that,” he turns back to the live room, lips curling unconsciously into a small, almost noticeable smile. “It’s bloody brilliant, though.”

Before any of them can ask, he wordlessly clicks something at his monitor. Drums start, a ticking beat that sets the tone for a hypnotic synth that rolls in right afterwards. It still sounds a bit empty, but the sentiment is clear as day. Exactly like you’ve described it, a drive at night. Almost nostalgic of something they wish to ask, to ask what compelled you to write this song. If it’s… perhaps… about what they think it is about.

“It’s…” 

“Yeah,” Sirius breathes out, it sounds barely coherent. 

“Oi,” Moody says into the talkback, trying to get you to pause your cheerful brainstorming with James. ”Show’s over, come out so we can continue.”

From the glass, they watch as you turn to look into the control room. Your smile doesn’t ebb nor dims when you notice them. If anything, it spreads into a full grin as you follow Peter and James out of the live room. Like you’re as excited as them to show them your progress. They’d hear whatever you have to say if you keep smiling this way.

Remus has to nudge Sirius for him to find his words, prompting him to move when they’re the only ones standing. He looks around, bopping his head under the pretense of concentrating on the mix you’ve got so far and now the way you can’t seem to stay still. You draw your legs up on the sofa, then pull them down, then shift to sit over your legs.

“We’ve made some progress,” you say easily, smile betraying your words a little. “What do you think?”

Sirius parts his lips to speak, but Remus beats him to it. Before he can say something too straightforward that could make their own progress with you go down the drain. “I love it,” he says, trying to match your easy tone but failing miserably. He’s too moved by both your smile and the passion of your creative process to mind. “It’s very… cinematic.”

You perk up. “Right?”

He can’t help it, he smiles. “Yeah. Right, Sirius?”

Sirius only offers a small hum, muffled under his palm as he tries to quell the intensity of whatever he’s feeling right now. “Very dreamy,” he adds, for good measure. 

“Yeah?” you say, a little tentative when your gazes meet. Sirius blinks, forcing his expression to show the open admiration he feels for you and your song. “You don’t think it’s missing… something?”

Sirius frowns, evidently confused as you gesture at Moody to play it again. The mix fades in, drums starting before the synth. He tries to focus enough to find an answer to your question, but the answer presents itself in the form of Moody’s electric keyboard.

“Can I…?” he asks, mostly to Moody, but his eyes remain glued to yours. 

You nod, shifting to stand when he walks up to the keyboard. Acutely aware of your closeness, Sirius lets the tips of his fingers hover over the keys before testing with a few notes. His eyes flicker to meet yours, careful to not overstep or misunderstand the sentiment you’re trying to convey with your song, but all he finds is reassurance to go on. 

“How’s this…” he mumbles, playing a few tentative notes, blending into a melody that makes you pause. Sirius glances up, gauging your reaction and feeling pins at his palms at your faraway expression. Pensive. 

He doesn’t know he’s holding his breath until you’re gesturing at him to play it again. He does, feeling a ridiculous pleasure when you ask him to play it again, then again. Like you’re trying to make it fit in your head, each time blending better and better with the idea you have in your head. 

Before the words leave your lips, Moody is already clicking the mix to play it again. To see how it fits with the new additions—and even before you can turn, Remus is already crossing the room to take his bass. Bopping along to James’ drums and the synth and the melody Sirius is toying with at the keyboard. The vision of your song slowly coming to life before your eyes.  

From the deep corner of the control room, Peter continues recording everything. 

…

The mix fades into a hum when it ends, leaving behind a deafening silence in the studio. Moody hits the keyboard a little too harshly in his usual manner to pause the mix before turning to you, then at Kingsley and the rest of the executives standing by the door. 

You swallow thickly, feeling the suffocating tension of their presence as they begin whispering between themselves, drawing conclusions about what you’ve got so far for the EP. By your side, Sirius shifts again in his own attempt to contain his anxiety, curls brushing your shoulder as he presses closer to you. He’s got you nearly cornered against the armrest of the sofa, unable to move or to stop any of your attempts to look away or somewhere else. James and Remus remain passive and calm despite the way they each contain their own nerves. 

A small movement brushes the back of your hand, tentative at first before a hand is holding yours down over your knee, pausing the bouncing of your leg with gentle firmness. When you look up, Remus only sends you a small nod, barely noticeable in his own nerves before forcing his gaze away. 

Kingsley clears his throat. “It’s very cohesive, even with the song at the end—is it meant to be an instrumental, though?”

Remus squeezes your hand quickly before letting go, giving you all the reassurance to speak when they all turn to you. 

You clear your throat as well. “Um, no—we were just starting to record vocals,” you explain, tone sounding surprisingly calm despite the frayed nerves that are consuming your entire body. “We got the lyrics ready, and we—um, we’ve all come to a conclusion that it should remain as the last song of the EP.”

He hums in response, turning to share looks with the rest of the executives. They all nod in return. “Well, the rest of the EP does sound exactly like how you’ve pitched it… Except for this one song.”

Your heart clenches, very painfully as he searches for your eyes—like he wants to be direct when rejecting your song for the final tracklist. In this dizzy moment of pure anxiety, you wish Remus hadn’t taken his hand away from you. 

“I know,” you say slowly, trying to stall it as much as you can. “It’s still a work in progress, maybe revisit it later depending—”

Kingsley simply shakes his head. “It’s a good song. Great even, but seeing it’s very different from the rest of the EP and the other ones, we can’t make it a single.”

“Oh.”

One of the executives speaks up. “We’re actually thinking about making the Dublin song your single, to make you as recognizable as possible for your current fanbase while attracting new audiences.”

At this, James perks up. “Really?”

“Yes.” Kingsley simply nods. “We will appoint a meeting to further discuss those details. First, we need to make sure the EP is finished.”

“It is,” Sirius nods quickly. “I mean, just after we record vocals and do the necessary arrangements.”

The executives nod, clearly pleased with this news.

“Good.” Kingsley opens the door, summoning Peter to accompany him before turning back to the rest of you. “We’ll leave you to it. Great work.”

A collective relieved exhale, followed by James’ barely contained joy. “Thank you.”

Kingsley nods, opening the door for the executives to walk out of the studio. You all relax, but he pauses. Turning back as if just remembering something.

“And no more changes.”

While you know he’s speaking to the band in general, you feel nerves constricting your throat when his gaze lingers on you. All you can offer is a small nod before he’s finally walking out, leaving another deafening silence after the door clicks shut.

Wheels clack as Moody turns in his chair, shaking his head and muttering without caring if Kingsley can hear. “Bunch of twats,” he says under his breath. “Wouldn’t recognize a bloody gem even if it stood in front of them.”

It’s enough of an honest joke that makes you puff startled laugh, pushing past your nerves to sound somewhat honest. Moody’s lips twitch very faintly at this, turning to level you with a look, then at the rest of the band.

“I’d like to say it gets better but those fuckers only get more judgamental the more profit you bring to the label,” he blurts out, shrugging. “Seeing your EP is already moving things around here and with the public, it’ll only get worse. Best to listen to them now.”

You nod, pointedly ignoring the various sets of eyes falling on you. “Yeah, I know,” you shrug, pushing yourself to stand. “I’m just glad they’re letting us keep it in the EP, so,” you shrug.

James tsks, standing as well. “And we’ll show them why it was the best decision they’ve ever made. Right, Pads?”

Sirius nods, full of confidence when he notices your hesitation. He stands, stretching his hand out to you.

“What?”

“Let’s prove those judgmental pricks how wrong they are,” he says, eyes decisive as he glances down to the notebook in your hands.  

You swallow thickly, wetting your lips as he resumes his vocal warm up. Previously interrupted by Kingsley and the executives’ surprise visit. 

“Um, I’ll be right back—while you do that, yeah?”

Sirius blink, lips parted mid vocal run. You only reach for your jacket, quietly stepping out of the studio before any of them can react. Moody holds an arm out when he notices Sirius’ intention to follow after you.

“Let’s give her a minute, love,” it’s all you hear Remus say before the door clicks shut.

Your hand shakes slightly when you step into the cold, but you’re sure that’s mostly because of the clash of temperatures. The flame of your lighter works like a charm to warm your palms as you flick it on, sucking in a long and slow drag of your cigarette before the main door can fully close behind you. 

Love.

It brings a pang to your chest, the echo of the word in both your mind and your heart. The sweet and understanding cadence of his tone, the soft way they had looked at each other. The way he held your hand.

“For fuck’s sake,” you breathe out, pressing harder and harder at your forehead to halt those thoughts. All it does is increase them in intensity. Flashing one by one like a fucked up fantasy you know is all it’ll ever be.

The pavement scrapes with your steps, pacing around the small stretch of sidewalk. You leave a small path of ashes as you tap at the cigarette, burning as quickly as your thoughts. The more they pass through your head, the more you remember. The more you feel. 

You take a long drag, holding the cig between your lips to pat for your phone. An unconscious movement, tapping and scrolling until you find the pictures of your notebook. The same one you’ve left inside, at the hands of Sirius, easy for him to skim and get a peek of your thoughts and feelings. 

As you scroll, a picture immediately catches your eye. A blurry one you managed to sneakily capture without Marlene or anyone in the creative team to notice. The photobooth strip collage.

Your steps halt, and so does your scrolling as you zoom in. Like you’ve done for days and nights, scanning every single shot, every single pose and look and smile. The undeniable way you had, accidentally or not you still haven’t allowed yourself to ask that question, look at them. Smile at them. 

The realization hits you so sudden and intensely, you barely notice if the cigarette is fully put out before you’re swinging the door open. Walking inside at the same speed you push down the jolt that overcomes you, heart jumping to your throat with the quiet but harsh realization that the song was never for Regulus, about his unrequited feelings, and the way he’s been waiting for something, a fantasy that’ll never happen.

It was about you. A cruel and realistic epiphany hits you, that you’ve written a song about Sirius and Remus. About your own unrequited feelings for them. 

Love. Love. Love.

You shake your head, frantically deleting the picture as you walk inside, nearly colliding against the door as you search for the original picture of your notebook, or your lyrics. In a quiet stutter of breath, you take a moment to yourself to let the realization settle in your chest. 

Before you can step inside, the door opens. Of course. Of fucking course Remus steps out, jumping a bit when he nearly comes crashing into you on his way out.

“Oh, sorry, dove—I was just going to get you.”

You nod, looking around. Everywhere but at him. “S’okay, I’m sorry it took so long.”

“No need to be sorry,” he smiles, stepping aside to hold the door for you.

Your heart does a funny and traitorous little jump at this. “For fuck’s sake,” you mutter under your breath, reluctantly stepping into the studio.

“Hm?”

“Hm?” you echo, blinking to focus your attention back to the song, to the task at hand. And to school your expression. “Sorry, I was just saying that I’m ready.”

Remus scans you curiously, an almost amused tick of his lips as he lets the door close behind him. You don’t stay to let him dissect you, lest he reads right through you. 

You walk up to the control room instead, standing side to side by Moody. “Okay, sorry—shall we?”

…

You’re starting to grow frustrated. You won’t say anything, nor make it very obvious, but they can tell. 

It’s in the little things. The way you haven’t sat down since Sirius walked into the booth, pacing around the control room, asking him to try different variations of the same chorus. The same part you haven’t moved past for hours. 

Sirius’ voice fades out, humming quietly into the microphone. His beautiful voice harmonizes with the mix, sounding almost right. But, apparently, there’s something missing. Not as obvious to them as it is to you, but everyone in the room has fallen into a silent agreement to not say anything. Or at least not to say it so directly lest Sirius hears.

You tap at the divot between your eyebrows, once, twice, in hypnotic motions like you’re forcing it to make sense in your head. Remus steps into the studio with his third cup of coffee, and one for you. Decaf and lactose free. Just in case. 

He sets it down over the coffee table, careful of James, who fell asleep after the first forty minutes of the repetition. His snores overlap faintly (and very comically) with the mix playing from the speakers. 

You turn to Moody. “Can we…” you point at the monitor, and he only exhales deeply before pausing it. He gestures at Sirius to come out of the booth, pointedly ignoring the way your eyes widen in badly suppressed panic. “What are you—”

“I need you to be more direct in what you’re trying to convey. No metaphors or vague words. The truth.”

“But—”

“He won’t understand what you mean if you don’t say exactly what you want,” Moody says sternly, quieting his voice when Sirius steps out of the booth.

His eyes immediately find yours, wide and full of reassurance you don’t know if you deserve. Not when you keep making him do runs and runs of the same chorus, possibly making him doubt himself.

“It’s okay,” he smiles, a fleeting tentative thing that makes your insides twist and ache. You look away, forcing your feet to move as you begin pacing. Again. “I can take it.”

“No, you’re perfect,” you blurt out, mostly frustrated with yourself and therefore not entirely aware of what you’ve said. At least not immediately. “I mean. You’re fine, it’s just…”

Sirius nods, softening as he drops his crossed arms. “Yeah, the feeling is not hitting,” he says, turning to look at the monitor as well. “It doesn’t feel right to me, either.”

You nod, feeling the words hang in the room. The realization of what he means. “You, too?”

He hums in assent, tilting his head just enough to chase your gaze. When he finds it, he nods at the booth. A silent gesture that brings yet another wave of panic to your chest. You swear you imagine it, but Sirius’ eyes find Remus before he’s guiding you into the booth. Wordlessly and without your knowledge, Moody flicks the talkback on.

When Sirius closes the door behind him, you’re beginning to regret pitching the song for the EP in the first place. “I have an idea,” he says, carefully. Like he’s gauging his words as much as your reaction. “Why don’t you show me how it sounds in your head?”

“I have.”

“Yes,” he allows, spreading a palm out towards the microphone. “But not explicitly. I can get a general idea by your lyrics and the music, but… well—sometimes showing the real sentiment is better, don’t you think?”

It takes a beat for you to understand his meaning. But when it happens, Sirius only flashes you a reassuring smile. Small and genuine that makes you look away, too heavy in its trust on you to handle it.

“I don’t know,” you brush your hair behind your ears, looking less rumpled but still visibly frazzled by your creative stump. “I don’t…”

“It’s okay,” he’s quick to say. “It can stay between us. It’s just for me to get a general idea.”

“I don’t know,” you say again, less certain of your own uncertainty. 

Sirius nods slowly, unconsciously copying your movements as he tucks a few curls behind his ear. “That’s okay, but,” he looks around, racking his brain for the right words. “I don’t exactly know what I’m singing about here, lovely. It’d be nice to get a proper picture of what I should be doing right.”

Lovely.

You cut a quick glance at the control room. Moody is turned around, back facing you as he seemingly chats with Remus, who doesn’t have any qualms to look away from you when your gazes meet. He sends you a small nod, reassuring for all intents and purposes.

All it does is draw a resigned sigh out of you. “Okay,” you mumble, turning to Sirius.

His eyebrows snap up in surprise. “Okay?” he repeats. At your visible hesitation, he immediately clears his throat to fix his tone. “Okay, perfect.”

Your nod is slow and tentative, just like your movements as you take your phone out. Mostly to tame the erratic thumping of your heart, feeling with each beat of silence how close it is to leap out of your chest as you search for the lyrics in your gallery.

You wet your lips nervously, taking a deep breath before taking a step closer to him. “Okay, so… here,” you turn the screen, feeling your heart properly leaping out when he leans sideways to look. The tips of his hair brush your shoulder. “this is the core theme of the song. Every time the question comes, it’s like an intrusive thought. Like… when the thought comes so sudden, your only reaction is to… let it out.”

Sirius glances up, nothing amused in his gaze as he processes your explanation. “Let it out?” he repeats. “Like… screaming?”

“Sort of,” you mumble, suddenly shy.

He smiles. “It’s okay.”

“It’s just…” I’m scared, you think. The thought digs at your insides the more he holds your gaze. “You promise you won’t laugh?”

“Why would I laugh?” he asks, eyebrows furrowed in evident confusion. 

Like laughing never crossed his mind. Like he never considered this a laughing matter. You suck in a breath, nodding to yourself before turning back to your phone. 

“Right so, um,” you wet your lips, channeling all your courage. “Here, when the chorus starts building up…  she’s basically reminding herself, I work better on my own, and now I’m home, a little bit drunk and I ask myself—” you inhale deeply, not daring to glance back at him or see his reaction to your singing. 

You force your focus on the lyrics, the next part. Your own intrusive thoughts staring back at you. 

“And then she… um, it’s when the intrusive thoughts hit. When she realizes,” you inhale again, forcing your courage to remain unfazed. “What if it’s not meant for me…?” you pause, nodding along to the music in your head. “Love…”

You repeat it one last time, in the same intensity and sentiment you hope conveys what you’re trying to convey with the song. Not once looking up to meet his gaze, not until your hum quietens at the end of the chorus, when the rest of your courage has ebbed into something fragile. Something that could break to pieces if he asks you to repeat it again.

Except, when you cut a quick and careful glance up, Sirius is staring at you with an emotion that makes your stomach churn and twist and your ridiculous heart to skip a beat so abruptly it feels awfully close to a heart attack. You force your gaze back to the screen.

“Right, so,” you clear your throat, pocketing your phone. “Why don’t we give that a try, yeah? Okay.”

He parts his lips to speak, grey eyes wide with quiet awe and intense recognition that you don’t let him voice as you open the door of the booth to walk out. You hurry your steps, not caring about leaving him speaking as you nearly rush into the control room.

“He’s got it,” you say, feigning calm as you close the door behind you.

What you meet instead is silence. Thick and intense like the sets of eyes staring back at you.

“What?”

Moody nods slowly, lips downturned in his weird but characteristic pleased smile. “Well, it seems we’ve found what was missing,” he says, swiveling his chair from side to side as he holds your confused stare.

You frown. “Huh?”

The door opens behind you, making you flinch in surprise. Sirius does the same, blinking in surprise at the way you jump away from him.

Panic engulfs you. “What are you doing?” 

He doesn’t offer an answer, but his eyes do cut a quick glance at Moody. Then at Remus, where they linger in a silent conversation before he turns back to you.

“Dove,” Remus starts, careful in both his tone and approach as he searches for your gaze. “I think you know.”

You blink again. It’s in this flicker of movement that realization dawns on you. “Oh,” you blink again. “Oh. No, no. I told you—I don’t sing.”

“It seems to me that you do.” Moody leans back in his chair. 

You pointedly ignore his input to turn to Remus. “I told you when I joined. I don’t sing.”

He sighs. “I know, dove. And I understand, but…”

“The song sounded better.”

A more horrifying realization strikes you. “You heard?” you whip to Moody, eyes wide. “What the—”

“I’m sorry, kid. But sometimes that’s the only way to get into your bloody head,” he says, sounding a tiny bit sorry. Tiny, but it’s enough to make your shoulders slump. He sighs, too. “And, clearly, that was all the push we needed to find what was missing here.”

“Sirius has done it just fine,” you argue.

“But not like you.” Sirius argues back, albeit a little softer. 

You look around, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. Suddenly acutely aware that you’ve religiously fucked it all up for yourself. 

“Okay.”

Remus sighs. “y/n—”

“No, it’s okay. Just…” you clear your throat. 

Moody turns around in his chair, clicking a few things around in his monitor, saving the mix and all the progress before he’s turning it off. A sudden dread creeps up your throat, sitting heavy there and stopping all the air from coming out.

“We’ll record tomorrow,” he says, turning to you. “When you’re less tired, or burnt out. Today was intense enough.”

“But—”

“It’s fine. You’re fine,” he goes on, mostly like he’s trying to calm you down before you can drop dead rather than set some order in the room. “We’ve still got three days before the deadline. You can come back tomorrow, with a clear head and record the vocals.”

You swallow thickly. “Just me, right?”

At this, Moody visibly hesitates. Thankfully, Sirius immediately understands what you mean. 

“You can. We can skip it so it’s just you and Moody,” he allows, tilting his head from side to side. “But, well, if we go on tour or at a gig… You’ll have to sing it live at some point. It’s best to get that out of the way, don’t you think?”

“Live?”

“But we’ll talk about that when the time comes,” Remus adds quickly, shooting an admonishing look towards Sirius before stepping into your line of sight. “Right now, just focus on the song, yeah? We’ll worry about the rest later.”

Your lips twist from side to side, pondering. Remus doesn’t pressure you, as he never does. His amber eyes are a balm to the turmoil in both your head and heart. 

“Okay,” you say quietly. “Okay, yeah.”

He smiles, slow and tentative. “Okay,” he repeats, mostly for your sake. 

Moody stands, pocketing his phone and reaching for his jacket. “Alright then, Marauders. I’ll be seeing you back here tomorrow. Same time, unless something comes up. And if it does, it won’t come from me. Don't forget to turn off the lights.” he says, nodding at each of you before stepping out of the studio.  

You’re secretly grateful for his lack of tact, to not treat this like a great big thing as the door clicks closed behind him. 

“It’s just…” you press your fingertips to your forehead, tapping quickly before dropping your hands. “We don’t do this. I’m not the singer, I’m just—”

“I mean, we did back up vocals for Billy,” Remus hums, forcing nonchalance into his movements as he turns to swat James awake. “It sort of counts, doesn’t it?” he asks, gentle in his contradiction. 

“Those are back up vocals, Remus. Not a whole bloody song.”

Sirius hums from the floor, where he’s carefully packing your guitar into its case, sliding your notebook into the little outer pouch. Without you so much as asking him to do so. You immediately look away when he glances up at you.

“Well, you also said this was a bit of an experimental song, didn’t you?” he says, flashing you a little smile. 

“Yeah, but… with sound.”

“I think vocals count as sound, lovely.”

You look away, schooling your expression. “Right, yeah,” it seems to work, because Sirius’ smile spreads into a genuine grin as he hands you your guitar. “Thanks.”

You know you’re thanking him for more than his help with your guitar, and Sirius seems to have an inkling of this as he holds your gaze.

There’s a thwacking sound that makes you blink, forcing your attention away as James sits straight, looking around to find whoever woke him up. Remus only points with his chin towards the door without offering him an apology.   

James fixes his glasses, movements sluggish as he rises to his feet. “Did,” he yawns. “we get it? Is it done?”

You look down, following them out of the studio. But Sirius is first to step up. “No, Jamie. We’re coming back tomorrow.”

James nods, still halfway asleep as he trudges through the hallway. “Okay, that’s fine. Same time?”

“Hm.”

“Great,” he nods again, a tiny bit more awake this time as he opens the main door. “That’s perfect actually, ‘cause I’d love another nap.”

You smile at him, at his honest joke and the way you’re knee deep in your spiraling to offer an equally honest reaction. James doesn’t seem to pick up on the tension as he points at the car, sending Sirius a hurrying look to unlock the door.

Remus slings the trunk open, setting his bass inside and sending you a look, expectantly. You instinctively take a step back.

“Oh, that’s okay. I’ll just walk home.”

He frowns. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, don’t worry.”

Sirius turns, his frown is deeper and more open in his concern as he studies you. “But it’s far,” he argues, forcing gentleness into his tone. Enough to mask his worry. “It’s okay, we can give you a lift.”

You shake your head. “S’fine, I don’t mind walking.”

“But—”

“It’s okay,” Remus steps in, cutting another look at Sirius before smiling back at you. “Just be careful, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“And send a text when you’ve arrived,” he adds, closing the trunk. “Please.”

You blink. “Oh.. of course, yeah.”

Remus smiles, opening the door to get into the passenger seat. Behind him, James is already starting to doze off, glasses askew as he rests his head against the window.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” he asks. 

You only nod, forcing a small smile. It falls when you turn to walk away, taking enough steps away before cutting a quick glance over your shoulder. You catch the way Remus pinches Sirius’ jaw, guiding him closer for a kiss as they, seemingly, wait for the car to warm up. Clearly unaware of your lingering gaze.

You force your gaze down, pretending to wait for the green man to cross the street. With your free hand, you fiddle around inside the pocket of your jacket to take out another cigarette, a well anxious practiced routine as you flick it on for the journey back home.

By the time you feel you’ve spent enough time walking, you send a small text to the group chat to let them know you’ve made it home. 

You don’t go home.

[amnmesias]

𝐯𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞

poly!wolfstar x fem!reader

word count: 7.9k

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

a/n: yeah… buckle up my loves. 

part eleven ˚.⋆♪⋆ series masterlist  

  

—

You gasp, visibly delighted as Moody tinkers with the mix. “That’s it—yes!” 

Remus smiles into his palm, failing miserably to contain the warmth spreading into his chest at your unadulterated joy. You pace around the control room, humming to yourself and scribbling down in your notes, the side of your hand is stained with ink that has smudged to your wrist. 

“Keep it playing, let it fade in and out throughout the song,” you instruct, pausing behind his chair as he clicks around his monitor. “You know when you’re driving at night, windows down? Like that.”

Moody sends you an amused look over his shoulder, it flickers to the rest of the band as they lounge around the sofas. “I’m not familiar but I’ll see if it works.”

“Oh, please—don’t tell me you’ve never driven at night?”

“I have,” he turns back to the mix, adding the arrangements you’ve told him. “I’m not in the habit of blasting music, though.”

You smile, too overjoyed to be deterred. “Well, now you’ll know what it feels like.”

He only offers you a noncommittal hum, and you return to your seat while he works on the mix you’ve got so far. Sirius shifts in his seat to make space for you, almost unconsciously in his sleepy contentment, but you only lower yourself to sit on the floor. You raise your notes for him to see, pointing at the lyrics you’ve written to begin explaining.

From the corner of his eye, Remus notices the way Sirius shakes his head to focus on the song. Lips tentatively tugging into a little smile at what he reads, nothing new, but neither him nor James nor anyone has managed to get them out of their head. 

None of them were surprised at all when they walked into the studio to find you already there, pacing like a caged animal and muttering and humming to yourself. Still, nothing could’ve prepared them for the song you had whipped out for them to consider for the EP. A melancholic, almost heartfelt sentiment in the lyrics you’ve written about… well, Sirius doesn’t want to get too ahead of himself, but some of the lyrics are too openly vulnerable and fitting it’s hard not to jump to conclusions.

One quick glance at Remus and it’s obvious his thoughts have led him to the same conclusion, brows knitted together in an obvious tell that he’s pushing down something far more difficult to explain, something that would surely make you pull away again.

“Alright,” Moody turns in his chair, finger hovering over his keyboard as he finds your eyes. “Give it a listen, is this what you meant?”

He clicks at his mouse, and the mix starts playing. Still sounding a little rough with just the sample you’ve found from the label’s bank. It paints for a nostalgic feel that has you nodding rigorously, setting your notebook aside to jump to your feet. Remus’ hand flies to your arm when you trip in your hurry, smiling in reassurance at the bashful look you send him before walking up to Moody. 

“Yes,” you say, playfully swatting Moody’s shoulder with a little smirk. “See? I knew you had it in you, you romantic cliché.”

Moody lets out a laugh, despite himself. Like you’ve caught him off guard. As you tend to do with everyone you meet. “Be glad I had these at hand,” he points at the monitor, where the mix fades out. “So, should we keep that?” he asks you, but his eyes still turn to the rest of the band. He barely has any time to finish before they’re all offering answers in agreement. “Done. What’s next, then?”

“Uh…” you look at your notes, humming to yourself. “Can you play it again?”

He does, wordlessly repeating the mix without looking at the monitor. Moody leans back into his chair as you start humming again, pacing around the room in concentration. His eyes move to Remus, whose smitten smile has betrayed him as he watches you.

You turn, hands raised mid air. “Jamie.”

James scrambles to stand, nodding at you like a soldier would to his sergeant. You wrinkle your nose at his antics, and James mimics it as he follows you into the live room. Looking positively too giddy at the prospect of getting a glimpse into your creative process. 

Your hands flail around as you explain your idea to James, growing both in momentum and energy the more he nods at you, fixing the stool behind the drums to begin. 

Sirius blinks, feeling a light nudge at his side before he’s forcing his gaze away from the glass to Remus. He waves his cigarettes up, pointing with his chin at the door as he stands to walk outside. Sirius glances back at the live room before following behind.

Outside, the air is crisp, still early for the weather to turn despite the clouds that are beginning to form in the sky. Remus cups his hand around the lighter as he flicks it on, the flame comes to life and frames his features as he moves it to the tip of Sirius’ cig. A well practiced routine when they both blow nearly at the same time, smoke curling together before dissipating into the air.

Sirius flicks the ash off. “She seems to be doing better.”

Remus doesn’t answer at first. He stares out at the street, the cars passing and the people walking past them as he takes a long drag. Pensive as he shifts to lean against the wall, his free hand continues fiddling with the lighter like it’s the only outlet he allows himself.

“Yeah,” he exhales deeply, looking around as he taps at the end of his lighter. Sirius watches the downturn of his lips as he takes another long drag, the smallest dimple forming in his cheek. “She scared the fuck out of me, though.”

Sirius pushes a laugh, mostly to ease his nerves and then in full sincerity when he catches the way Remus’ lips quirk up. “Good thing you’re so observant, eh?”

His smile wavers at this, at the way Remus visibly hesitates. A weird feeling blossoms inside his chest, something that tugs at his heart and makes him ache—it increases the more he avoids meeting his gaze.

“Sometimes,” he hums, shifting to rest his head back. “Not as much as I’d like to be lately.”

“Remus...”

He shrugs one shoulder, finally turning his head to look at Sirius. There’s something so intensely open about his gaze, the look that he’s seen more and more of since that night at their flat, then at yours. Now immortalized in the cover of your debut EP. 

“You know, I didn't understand at first, or didn’t want to, honestly. That’s how I’ve always felt when it comes to you, to let it happen and worry about the consequences later.” Remus says, cigarette dangling as he speaks. “But with y/n…” he laughs, smoke puffs out of his lips. “She scares the fuck out of me.”

Sirius feels himself smiling, the faintest of movement in tenderness, one he’s only recently allowed himself to feel. It’s freeing to let it consume him so openly, but a little scary, too.

“You’re far better at hiding it, though,” he hums, looking around the street. “Sometimes I feel like I’ll ultimately fuck everything up again.”

“You almost did,” Remus hums back, though his tone is far from reprimanding. Still, it makes Sirius glance up at the same speed his heart skips a beat. “But it seems you keep tormenting yourself enough already, so.”

They look at each other for a beat, enough for the silence to settle, or until Remus’ smirk turns smug. Sirius rolls his eyes, swatting his arm lightly. 

“Fuck off.”

“Hey, I’m just being observant. As you said.” Remus shrugs, blowing smoke out of the corner of his lips, eyeing him closely. A warmth that’s so open in its affection, Sirius doesn’t have the heart to look away this time. “It’s nice. Seeing you like this.”

“Like what? Acting like a complete tosser?”

“No. Careful,” he says, too softly, like the words slipped past his lips without a second thought. His brows bunch together in realization, forcing his gaze away to take a long drag before sporting the same smirk again. “A careful tosser.”

Sirius doesn’t press, careful in his approach as he copies his movements. “Yeah, well—I don’t have much choice, so,” he taps at his cig with an absentminded rhythm; one that resembles the one you have been working on all day. Ash falls off to the pavement, dangerously close to his boot and forcing him to step a bit to the side. Closer to Remus, but that’s mostly a coincidence. He looks up, swallowing nervously. “I still can't believe she stayed in the band after what happened.”

Remus hums, shifting his weight to slide closer to him against the wall. “She’s stronger than she looks, Sirius. Do you really think you’re the first person that has ever put her motivations into question?”

“No.” Sirius says, almost immediately. Instinctively.  Like the thought has been consuming him entirely and the realization festering in his chest. “Did she say…?”

“No, but it’s not… Well, it’s not easy to ignore,” he looks around, brows knitting together in that concerned frown that keeps returning at the mere mention of that particular night at your flat. Remus exhales sharply. “The way she kept… She wouldn’t even let us look at her, and then at the pub…” he trails off.

Silence hangs between them, as it tends to do with the memory of your pale skin and half coherent slurring, slow chewing and your stubborn need to hold your ground at their attempts to help you. 

Remus takes one last long drag, holding it enough to stall and tame his heart into beating normally. It’s not an easy task, or something he’s sure he’ll be able to control soon. Not when all he can think of is the tender way Sirius caressed your face, the same way he himself cleaned your tears, the way you had looked at them that night—so openly frustrated with your own heart, your own yearning to entertain their presence a second longer. 

He plucks the cig off his lips, shifting against the wall like the bricks are digging into his back, puncturing his heart the same way the memories do.

“And then the other day at the shoot,” the smoke that leaves his lips thins out as he shakes his head. “She was just… herself again. Like nothing had touched her. Like she hadn’t—”

Sirius nods in understanding. Because he does. And he’s partly glad that the feeling that has been consuming him isn’t just affecting him. 

“The way she let go, and—and how she… she—fuck,” he breathes out, a strained little sound that tugs at Sirius’ heartstrings. He gives his own cig a quick drag, waiting for Remus to speak. Or not. Either is fine. “She looked almost… carefree. With us.”

The world shifts just enough with the weight of the word, the implication. With us. With us. With us. 

“And now there,” Remus waves vaguely at the studio, then around like he can’t quite make up his mind about the point he’s trying to make. Too deep in his emotional unraveling. “With the song and the way I just know she’s holding… something back. It’s driving me insane.”

“Something?” Sirius asks, tentative. Like he’s just as afraid of the truth as much as he is of the silence. 

Remus turns his head, breaths slowing down as he scans Sirius. The cigarette dangling between his lips is smaller now, but he doesn’t put it out immediately. Instead, he reaches for his wallet. He’s not usually one to keep it with himself at all times, or at least not until now. He shoots Sirius a quick glance before pulling a small piece of paper, glassy and thick enough it’s hard to not recognize it. A photobooth strip.

James is, naturally, pulling a silly face as he half turns to the camera, caught mid movement. Under him, Sirius is caught mid mischief as well, trying and failing to poke at Remus’ cheek, who looks simply too endeared and above it all as he simply smirks at the camera. What catches his eyes, though, even after days have passed, is you. Your grin is bright, lips tugged slightly to the side like you’re containing a laugh. Even if your eyes are telling a completely different story, glancing sideways to Sirius and Remus with something akin to… fondness. Hidden deep behind your mischief and your grins and the silly poses you pull out in the other pictures.

He stares down at it for a beat longer before handing it to Sirius. Their fingers brush, and Remus takes a leap of bravery, letting his thumb stroke the back of his hand before letting go. A small indulgence. 

Sirius swallows thickly, putting his cigarette out without a single thought before looking down at the strip, then again at Remus. Their gazes meet in that stretch of silence where the world seems to slow down. It pauses completely when he looks at the strip. At you. At your soft eyes and mischievous smirk, the same one that would drive him mad every time he thought about you, the same one that he didn’t think would ever be directed at him again. Just like your soft eyes, the same warmth you’d look at Remus, now at him. At them.

He chances a quick glance at Remus, who’s too busy putting his cig out to notice, or doing it exactly because he’s felt it. The feeling that consumes him is so sudden and intense, Sirius forces his gaze back at the pictures, or well, picture. The one that he can’t seem to look away from, thumb stroking it once, twice.

“This isn’t just something,” he murmurs, handing it back. Remus takes it with more confidence this time, storing it back inside his wallet for safekeeping. Sirius forces his lips into a smirk, pushing himself off the wall. “No wonder you nicked it. Was Marlene aware of your thieving plans?”

Remus simply shrugs one shoulder, tilting his head towards the door. “She was going to store them away after, so,” he clears his throat, forcing it to remain casual as he wraps an arm around Sirius’ waist, pulling him closer as they walk inside. “Better with me than at some dusty archive, right?”

Sirius smiles down at his boots. “Right,” his voice lowers, sounding close to a bashful murmur that makes Remus smile. Of course, it lasts little, because he’s looking up to meet his gaze in that characteristic charming and mischievous way of his. “You never struck me as a sentimental person.”

“Yeah, well,” Remus opens the door for them, holding it for Sirius with a little smirk toying into the corners of his lips. Like he’s not sure if he’s feeling pleased or smug. “And you never struck me as a martyr, so I guess we’re both discovering new things about each other.”

They share a smile, long and intense in its affection. Sirius doesn’t wait until the door clicks closed before he’s pulling Remus down for a kiss. This time, he doesn’t break apart, not even in his surprise or to catch his breath. Remus only holds him closer, hand curling around Sirius’ waist to steady himself and the uncontrollable fluttering in his chest at the tender and slow strokes at his cheeks, his jaw. Feeling his knees almost giving out on him.

Sirius breaks apart, just enough to find his eyes. So intensely open in both his affection and unease. “Yeah?” his voice quietens, heavy with the question that goes unsaid. But his eyes flicker to the end of the hallway, to the door to the studio. And they both understand.

Remus doesn’t let him dwell on it, chasing his lips for a quick peck before stepping back. “Yeah,” he smiles, tugging him to continue walking, arm still securely around his waist. “Glad you’ve caught up, love.”

A funny and almost relieved exhale puffs out of Sirius, looking positively less tense as he walks into the studio. Music immediately bursts out, making them pause in their shared realization at the ruckus they’ve left behind. 

James is still going crazy with the drums, grinning and chuckling with a fond look as you jump and cheer for him, too delighted with his performance or whatever he’s been inputting for the song. Peter scurrying behind you with his phone, trying to record as much content as possible of the making of your EP. A blur of movement that makes them wonder if something else transpired while they were away.

Moody swivels his chair to face them, looking far too pleased despite his usual deadpan expression. “Ah, you’ve finally decided to join us?” he asks, crossing his arms. 

Remus nods, eyes flickering back to the live room. “What…?” he points, trailing off seeing he’s entirely not sure of what he should even be asking.

“Drums and synth are done already, we’re just waiting for you two.”

“Synth?” Sirius blinks, forcing his gaze away from your bright grin to look at Moody. “We’re doing that?”

Moody shrugs. “Said it’s a bit of an experiment, but would wait for you to see if you’re okay with that,” he turns back to the live room, lips curling unconsciously into a small, almost noticeable smile. “It’s bloody brilliant, though.”

Before any of them can ask, he wordlessly clicks something at his monitor. Drums start, a ticking beat that sets the tone for a hypnotic synth that rolls in right afterwards. It still sounds a bit empty, but the sentiment is clear as day. Exactly like you’ve described it, a drive at night. Almost nostalgic of something they wish to ask, to ask what compelled you to write this song. If it’s… perhaps… about what they think it is about.

“It’s…” 

“Yeah,” Sirius breathes out, it sounds barely coherent. 

“Oi,” Moody says into the talkback, trying to get you to pause your cheerful brainstorming with James. ”Show’s over, come out so we can continue.”

From the glass, they watch as you turn to look into the control room. Your smile doesn’t ebb nor dims when you notice them. If anything, it spreads into a full grin as you follow Peter and James out of the live room. Like you’re as excited as them to show them your progress. They’d hear whatever you have to say if you keep smiling this way.

Remus has to nudge Sirius for him to find his words, prompting him to move when they’re the only ones standing. He looks around, bopping his head under the pretense of concentrating on the mix you’ve got so far and now the way you can’t seem to stay still. You draw your legs up on the sofa, then pull them down, then shift to sit over your legs.

“We’ve made some progress,” you say easily, smile betraying your words a little. “What do you think?”

Sirius parts his lips to speak, but Remus beats him to it. Before he can say something too straightforward that could make their own progress with you go down the drain. “I love it,” he says, trying to match your easy tone but failing miserably. He’s too moved by both your smile and the passion of your creative process to mind. “It’s very… cinematic.”

You perk up. “Right?”

He can’t help it, he smiles. “Yeah. Right, Sirius?”

Sirius only offers a small hum, muffled under his palm as he tries to quell the intensity of whatever he’s feeling right now. “Very dreamy,” he adds, for good measure. 

“Yeah?” you say, a little tentative when your gazes meet. Sirius blinks, forcing his expression to show the open admiration he feels for you and your song. “You don’t think it’s missing… something?”

Sirius frowns, evidently confused as you gesture at Moody to play it again. The mix fades in, drums starting before the synth. He tries to focus enough to find an answer to your question, but the answer presents itself in the form of Moody’s electric keyboard.

“Can I…?” he asks, mostly to Moody, but his eyes remain glued to yours. 

You nod, shifting to stand when he walks up to the keyboard. Acutely aware of your closeness, Sirius lets the tips of his fingers hover over the keys before testing with a few notes. His eyes flicker to meet yours, careful to not overstep or misunderstand the sentiment you’re trying to convey with your song, but all he finds is reassurance to go on. 

“How’s this…” he mumbles, playing a few tentative notes, blending into a melody that makes you pause. Sirius glances up, gauging your reaction and feeling pins at his palms at your faraway expression. Pensive. 

He doesn’t know he’s holding his breath until you’re gesturing at him to play it again. He does, feeling a ridiculous pleasure when you ask him to play it again, then again. Like you’re trying to make it fit in your head, each time blending better and better with the idea you have in your head. 

Before the words leave your lips, Moody is already clicking the mix to play it again. To see how it fits with the new additions—and even before you can turn, Remus is already crossing the room to take his bass. Bopping along to James’ drums and the synth and the melody Sirius is toying with at the keyboard. The vision of your song slowly coming to life before your eyes.  

From the deep corner of the control room, Peter continues recording everything. 

…

The mix fades into a hum when it ends, leaving behind a deafening silence in the studio. Moody hits the keyboard a little too harshly in his usual manner to pause the mix before turning to you, then at Kingsley and the rest of the executives standing by the door. 

You swallow thickly, feeling the suffocating tension of their presence as they begin whispering between themselves, drawing conclusions about what you’ve got so far for the EP. By your side, Sirius shifts again in his own attempt to contain his anxiety, curls brushing your shoulder as he presses closer to you. He’s got you nearly cornered against the armrest of the sofa, unable to move or to stop any of your attempts to look away or somewhere else. James and Remus remain passive and calm despite the way they each contain their own nerves. 

A small movement brushes the back of your hand, tentative at first before a hand is holding yours down over your knee, pausing the bouncing of your leg with gentle firmness. When you look up, Remus only sends you a small nod, barely noticeable in his own nerves before forcing his gaze away. 

Kingsley clears his throat. “It’s very cohesive, even with the song at the end—is it meant to be an instrumental, though?”

Remus squeezes your hand quickly before letting go, giving you all the reassurance to speak when they all turn to you. 

You clear your throat as well. “Um, no—we were just starting to record vocals,” you explain, tone sounding surprisingly calm despite the frayed nerves that are consuming your entire body. “We got the lyrics ready, and we—um, we’ve all come to a conclusion that it should remain as the last song of the EP.”

He hums in response, turning to share looks with the rest of the executives. They all nod in return. “Well, the rest of the EP does sound exactly like how you’ve pitched it… Except for this one song.”

Your heart clenches, very painfully as he searches for your eyes—like he wants to be direct when rejecting your song for the final tracklist. In this dizzy moment of pure anxiety, you wish Remus hadn’t taken his hand away from you. 

“I know,” you say slowly, trying to stall it as much as you can. “It’s still a work in progress, maybe revisit it later depending—”

Kingsley simply shakes his head. “It’s a good song. Great even, but seeing it’s very different from the rest of the EP and the other ones, we can’t make it a single.”

“Oh.”

One of the executives speaks up. “We’re actually thinking about making the Dublin song your single, to make you as recognizable as possible for your current fanbase while attracting new audiences.”

At this, James perks up. “Really?”

“Yes.” Kingsley simply nods. “We will appoint a meeting to further discuss those details. First, we need to make sure the EP is finished.”

“It is,” Sirius nods quickly. “I mean, just after we record vocals and do the necessary arrangements.”

The executives nod, clearly pleased with this news.

“Good.” Kingsley opens the door, summoning Peter to accompany him before turning back to the rest of you. “We’ll leave you to it. Great work.”

A collective relieved exhale, followed by James’ barely contained joy. “Thank you.”

Kingsley nods, opening the door for the executives to walk out of the studio. You all relax, but he pauses. Turning back as if just remembering something.

“And no more changes.”

While you know he’s speaking to the band in general, you feel nerves constricting your throat when his gaze lingers on you. All you can offer is a small nod before he’s finally walking out, leaving another deafening silence after the door clicks shut.

Wheels clack as Moody turns in his chair, shaking his head and muttering without caring if Kingsley can hear. “Bunch of twats,” he says under his breath. “Wouldn’t recognize a bloody gem even if it stood in front of them.”

It’s enough of an honest joke that makes you puff startled laugh, pushing past your nerves to sound somewhat honest. Moody’s lips twitch very faintly at this, turning to level you with a look, then at the rest of the band.

“I’d like to say it gets better but those fuckers only get more judgamental the more profit you bring to the label,” he blurts out, shrugging. “Seeing your EP is already moving things around here and with the public, it’ll only get worse. Best to listen to them now.”

You nod, pointedly ignoring the various sets of eyes falling on you. “Yeah, I know,” you shrug, pushing yourself to stand. “I’m just glad they’re letting us keep it in the EP, so,” you shrug.

James tsks, standing as well. “And we’ll show them why it was the best decision they’ve ever made. Right, Pads?”

Sirius nods, full of confidence when he notices your hesitation. He stands, stretching his hand out to you.

“What?”

“Let’s prove those judgmental pricks how wrong they are,” he says, eyes decisive as he glances down to the notebook in your hands.  

You swallow thickly, wetting your lips as he resumes his vocal warm up. Previously interrupted by Kingsley and the executives’ surprise visit. 

“Um, I’ll be right back—while you do that, yeah?”

Sirius blink, lips parted mid vocal run. You only reach for your jacket, quietly stepping out of the studio before any of them can react. Moody holds an arm out when he notices Sirius’ intention to follow after you.

“Let’s give her a minute, love,” it’s all you hear Remus say before the door clicks shut.

Your hand shakes slightly when you step into the cold, but you’re sure that’s mostly because of the clash of temperatures. The flame of your lighter works like a charm to warm your palms as you flick it on, sucking in a long and slow drag of your cigarette before the main door can fully close behind you. 

Love.

It brings a pang to your chest, the echo of the word in both your mind and your heart. The sweet and understanding cadence of his tone, the soft way they had looked at each other. The way he held your hand.

“For fuck’s sake,” you breathe out, pressing harder and harder at your forehead to halt those thoughts. All it does is increase them in intensity. Flashing one by one like a fucked up fantasy you know is all it’ll ever be.

The pavement scrapes with your steps, pacing around the small stretch of sidewalk. You leave a small path of ashes as you tap at the cigarette, burning as quickly as your thoughts. The more they pass through your head, the more you remember. The more you feel. 

You take a long drag, holding the cig between your lips to pat for your phone. An unconscious movement, tapping and scrolling until you find the pictures of your notebook. The same one you’ve left inside, at the hands of Sirius, easy for him to skim and get a peek of your thoughts and feelings. 

As you scroll, a picture immediately catches your eye. A blurry one you managed to sneakily capture without Marlene or anyone in the creative team to notice. The photobooth strip collage.

Your steps halt, and so does your scrolling as you zoom in. Like you’ve done for days and nights, scanning every single shot, every single pose and look and smile. The undeniable way you had, accidentally or not you still haven’t allowed yourself to ask that question, look at them. Smile at them. 

The realization hits you so sudden and intensely, you barely notice if the cigarette is fully put out before you’re swinging the door open. Walking inside at the same speed you push down the jolt that overcomes you, heart jumping to your throat with the quiet but harsh realization that the song was never for Regulus, about his unrequited feelings, and the way he’s been waiting for something, a fantasy that’ll never happen.

It was about you. A cruel and realistic epiphany hits you, that you’ve written a song about Sirius and Remus. About your own unrequited feelings for them. 

Love. Love. Love.

You shake your head, frantically deleting the picture as you walk inside, nearly colliding against the door as you search for the original picture of your notebook, or your lyrics. In a quiet stutter of breath, you take a moment to yourself to let the realization settle in your chest. 

Before you can step inside, the door opens. Of course. Of fucking course Remus steps out, jumping a bit when he nearly comes crashing into you on his way out.

“Oh, sorry, dove—I was just going to get you.”

You nod, looking around. Everywhere but at him. “S’okay, I’m sorry it took so long.”

“No need to be sorry,” he smiles, stepping aside to hold the door for you.

Your heart does a funny and traitorous little jump at this. “For fuck’s sake,” you mutter under your breath, reluctantly stepping into the studio.

“Hm?”

“Hm?” you echo, blinking to focus your attention back to the song, to the task at hand. And to school your expression. “Sorry, I was just saying that I’m ready.”

Remus scans you curiously, an almost amused tick of his lips as he lets the door close behind him. You don’t stay to let him dissect you, lest he reads right through you. 

You walk up to the control room instead, standing side to side by Moody. “Okay, sorry—shall we?”

…

You’re starting to grow frustrated. You won’t say anything, nor make it very obvious, but they can tell. 

It’s in the little things. The way you haven’t sat down since Sirius walked into the booth, pacing around the control room, asking him to try different variations of the same chorus. The same part you haven’t moved past for hours. 

Sirius’ voice fades out, humming quietly into the microphone. His beautiful voice harmonizes with the mix, sounding almost right. But, apparently, there’s something missing. Not as obvious to them as it is to you, but everyone in the room has fallen into a silent agreement to not say anything. Or at least not to say it so directly lest Sirius hears.

You tap at the divot between your eyebrows, once, twice, in hypnotic motions like you’re forcing it to make sense in your head. Remus steps into the studio with his third cup of coffee, and one for you. Decaf and lactose free. Just in case. 

He sets it down over the coffee table, careful of James, who fell asleep after the first forty minutes of the repetition. His snores overlap faintly (and very comically) with the mix playing from the speakers. 

You turn to Moody. “Can we…” you point at the monitor, and he only exhales deeply before pausing it. He gestures at Sirius to come out of the booth, pointedly ignoring the way your eyes widen in badly suppressed panic. “What are you—”

“I need you to be more direct in what you’re trying to convey. No metaphors or vague words. The truth.”

“But—”

“He won’t understand what you mean if you don’t say exactly what you want,” Moody says sternly, quieting his voice when Sirius steps out of the booth.

His eyes immediately find yours, wide and full of reassurance you don’t know if you deserve. Not when you keep making him do runs and runs of the same chorus, possibly making him doubt himself.

“It’s okay,” he smiles, a fleeting tentative thing that makes your insides twist and ache. You look away, forcing your feet to move as you begin pacing. Again. “I can take it.”

“No, you’re perfect,” you blurt out, mostly frustrated with yourself and therefore not entirely aware of what you’ve said. At least not immediately. “I mean. You’re fine, it’s just…”

Sirius nods, softening as he drops his crossed arms. “Yeah, the feeling is not hitting,” he says, turning to look at the monitor as well. “It doesn’t feel right to me, either.”

You nod, feeling the words hang in the room. The realization of what he means. “You, too?”

He hums in assent, tilting his head just enough to chase your gaze. When he finds it, he nods at the booth. A silent gesture that brings yet another wave of panic to your chest. You swear you imagine it, but Sirius’ eyes find Remus before he’s guiding you into the booth. Wordlessly and without your knowledge, Moody flicks the talkback on.

When Sirius closes the door behind him, you’re beginning to regret pitching the song for the EP in the first place. “I have an idea,” he says, carefully. Like he’s gauging his words as much as your reaction. “Why don’t you show me how it sounds in your head?”

“I have.”

“Yes,” he allows, spreading a palm out towards the microphone. “But not explicitly. I can get a general idea by your lyrics and the music, but… well—sometimes showing the real sentiment is better, don’t you think?”

It takes a beat for you to understand his meaning. But when it happens, Sirius only flashes you a reassuring smile. Small and genuine that makes you look away, too heavy in its trust on you to handle it.

“I don’t know,” you brush your hair behind your ears, looking less rumpled but still visibly frazzled by your creative stump. “I don’t…”

“It’s okay,” he’s quick to say. “It can stay between us. It’s just for me to get a general idea.”

“I don’t know,” you say again, less certain of your own uncertainty. 

Sirius nods slowly, unconsciously copying your movements as he tucks a few curls behind his ear. “That’s okay, but,” he looks around, racking his brain for the right words. “I don’t exactly know what I’m singing about here, lovely. It’d be nice to get a proper picture of what I should be doing right.”

Lovely.

You cut a quick glance at the control room. Moody is turned around, back facing you as he seemingly chats with Remus, who doesn’t have any qualms to look away from you when your gazes meet. He sends you a small nod, reassuring for all intents and purposes.

All it does is draw a resigned sigh out of you. “Okay,” you mumble, turning to Sirius.

His eyebrows snap up in surprise. “Okay?” he repeats. At your visible hesitation, he immediately clears his throat to fix his tone. “Okay, perfect.”

Your nod is slow and tentative, just like your movements as you take your phone out. Mostly to tame the erratic thumping of your heart, feeling with each beat of silence how close it is to leap out of your chest as you search for the lyrics in your gallery.

You wet your lips nervously, taking a deep breath before taking a step closer to him. “Okay, so… here,” you turn the screen, feeling your heart properly leaping out when he leans sideways to look. The tips of his hair brush your shoulder. “this is the core theme of the song. Every time the question comes, it’s like an intrusive thought. Like… when the thought comes so sudden, your only reaction is to… let it out.”

Sirius glances up, nothing amused in his gaze as he processes your explanation. “Let it out?” he repeats. “Like… screaming?”

“Sort of,” you mumble, suddenly shy.

He smiles. “It’s okay.”

“It’s just…” I’m scared, you think. The thought digs at your insides the more he holds your gaze. “You promise you won’t laugh?”

“Why would I laugh?” he asks, eyebrows furrowed in evident confusion. 

Like laughing never crossed his mind. Like he never considered this a laughing matter. You suck in a breath, nodding to yourself before turning back to your phone. 

“Right so, um,” you wet your lips, channeling all your courage. “Here, when the chorus starts building up…  she’s basically reminding herself, I work better on my own, and now I’m home, a little bit drunk and I ask myself—” you inhale deeply, not daring to glance back at him or see his reaction to your singing. 

You force your focus on the lyrics, the next part. Your own intrusive thoughts staring back at you. 

“And then she… um, it’s when the intrusive thoughts hit. When she realizes,” you inhale again, forcing your courage to remain unfazed. “What if it’s not meant for me…?” you pause, nodding along to the music in your head. “Love…”

You repeat it one last time, in the same intensity and sentiment you hope conveys what you’re trying to convey with the song. Not once looking up to meet his gaze, not until your hum quietens at the end of the chorus, when the rest of your courage has ebbed into something fragile. Something that could break to pieces if he asks you to repeat it again.

Except, when you cut a quick and careful glance up, Sirius is staring at you with an emotion that makes your stomach churn and twist and your ridiculous heart to skip a beat so abruptly it feels awfully close to a heart attack. You force your gaze back to the screen.

“Right, so,” you clear your throat, pocketing your phone. “Why don’t we give that a try, yeah? Okay.”

He parts his lips to speak, grey eyes wide with quiet awe and intense recognition that you don’t let him voice as you open the door of the booth to walk out. You hurry your steps, not caring about leaving him speaking as you nearly rush into the control room.

“He’s got it,” you say, feigning calm as you close the door behind you.

What you meet instead is silence. Thick and intense like the sets of eyes staring back at you.

“What?”

Moody nods slowly, lips downturned in his weird but characteristic pleased smile. “Well, it seems we’ve found what was missing,” he says, swiveling his chair from side to side as he holds your confused stare.

You frown. “Huh?”

The door opens behind you, making you flinch in surprise. Sirius does the same, blinking in surprise at the way you jump away from him.

Panic engulfs you. “What are you doing?” 

He doesn’t offer an answer, but his eyes do cut a quick glance at Moody. Then at Remus, where they linger in a silent conversation before he turns back to you.

“Dove,” Remus starts, careful in both his tone and approach as he searches for your gaze. “I think you know.”

You blink again. It’s in this flicker of movement that realization dawns on you. “Oh,” you blink again. “Oh. No, no. I told you—I don’t sing.”

“It seems to me that you do.” Moody leans back in his chair. 

You pointedly ignore his input to turn to Remus. “I told you when I joined. I don’t sing.”

He sighs. “I know, dove. And I understand, but…”

“The song sounded better.”

A more horrifying realization strikes you. “You heard?” you whip to Moody, eyes wide. “What the—”

“I’m sorry, kid. But sometimes that’s the only way to get into your bloody head,” he says, sounding a tiny bit sorry. Tiny, but it’s enough to make your shoulders slump. He sighs, too. “And, clearly, that was all the push we needed to find what was missing here.”

“Sirius has done it just fine,” you argue.

“But not like you.” Sirius argues back, albeit a little softer. 

You look around, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. Suddenly acutely aware that you’ve religiously fucked it all up for yourself. 

“Okay.”

Remus sighs. “y/n—”

“No, it’s okay. Just…” you clear your throat. 

Moody turns around in his chair, clicking a few things around in his monitor, saving the mix and all the progress before he’s turning it off. A sudden dread creeps up your throat, sitting heavy there and stopping all the air from coming out.

“We’ll record tomorrow,” he says, turning to you. “When you’re less tired, or burnt out. Today was intense enough.”

“But—”

“It’s fine. You’re fine,” he goes on, mostly like he’s trying to calm you down before you can drop dead rather than set some order in the room. “We’ve still got three days before the deadline. You can come back tomorrow, with a clear head and record the vocals.”

You swallow thickly. “Just me, right?”

At this, Moody visibly hesitates. Thankfully, Sirius immediately understands what you mean. 

“You can. We can skip it so it’s just you and Moody,” he allows, tilting his head from side to side. “But, well, if we go on tour or at a gig… You’ll have to sing it live at some point. It’s best to get that out of the way, don’t you think?”

“Live?”

“But we’ll talk about that when the time comes,” Remus adds quickly, shooting an admonishing look towards Sirius before stepping into your line of sight. “Right now, just focus on the song, yeah? We’ll worry about the rest later.”

Your lips twist from side to side, pondering. Remus doesn’t pressure you, as he never does. His amber eyes are a balm to the turmoil in both your head and heart. 

“Okay,” you say quietly. “Okay, yeah.”

He smiles, slow and tentative. “Okay,” he repeats, mostly for your sake. 

Moody stands, pocketing his phone and reaching for his jacket. “Alright then, Marauders. I’ll be seeing you back here tomorrow. Same time, unless something comes up. And if it does, it won’t come from me. Don't forget to turn off the lights.” he says, nodding at each of you before stepping out of the studio.  

You’re secretly grateful for his lack of tact, to not treat this like a great big thing as the door clicks closed behind him. 

“It’s just…” you press your fingertips to your forehead, tapping quickly before dropping your hands. “We don’t do this. I’m not the singer, I’m just—”

“I mean, we did back up vocals for Billy,” Remus hums, forcing nonchalance into his movements as he turns to swat James awake. “It sort of counts, doesn’t it?” he asks, gentle in his contradiction. 

“Those are back up vocals, Remus. Not a whole bloody song.”

Sirius hums from the floor, where he’s carefully packing your guitar into its case, sliding your notebook into the little outer pouch. Without you so much as asking him to do so. You immediately look away when he glances up at you.

“Well, you also said this was a bit of an experimental song, didn’t you?” he says, flashing you a little smile. 

“Yeah, but… with sound.”

“I think vocals count as sound, lovely.”

You look away, schooling your expression. “Right, yeah,” it seems to work, because Sirius’ smile spreads into a genuine grin as he hands you your guitar. “Thanks.”

You know you’re thanking him for more than his help with your guitar, and Sirius seems to have an inkling of this as he holds your gaze.

There’s a thwacking sound that makes you blink, forcing your attention away as James sits straight, looking around to find whoever woke him up. Remus only points with his chin towards the door without offering him an apology.   

James fixes his glasses, movements sluggish as he rises to his feet. “Did,” he yawns. “we get it? Is it done?”

You look down, following them out of the studio. But Sirius is first to step up. “No, Jamie. We’re coming back tomorrow.”

James nods, still halfway asleep as he trudges through the hallway. “Okay, that’s fine. Same time?”

“Hm.”

“Great,” he nods again, a tiny bit more awake this time as he opens the main door. “That’s perfect actually, ‘cause I’d love another nap.”

You smile at him, at his honest joke and the way you’re knee deep in your spiraling to offer an equally honest reaction. James doesn’t seem to pick up on the tension as he points at the car, sending Sirius a hurrying look to unlock the door.

Remus slings the trunk open, setting his bass inside and sending you a look, expectantly. You instinctively take a step back.

“Oh, that’s okay. I’ll just walk home.”

He frowns. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, don’t worry.”

Sirius turns, his frown is deeper and more open in his concern as he studies you. “But it’s far,” he argues, forcing gentleness into his tone. Enough to mask his worry. “It’s okay, we can give you a lift.”

You shake your head. “S’fine, I don’t mind walking.”

“But—”

“It’s okay,” Remus steps in, cutting another look at Sirius before smiling back at you. “Just be careful, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“And send a text when you’ve arrived,” he adds, closing the trunk. “Please.”

You blink. “Oh.. of course, yeah.”

Remus smiles, opening the door to get into the passenger seat. Behind him, James is already starting to doze off, glasses askew as he rests his head against the window.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” he asks. 

You only nod, forcing a small smile. It falls when you turn to walk away, taking enough steps away before cutting a quick glance over your shoulder. You catch the way Remus pinches Sirius’ jaw, guiding him closer for a kiss as they, seemingly, wait for the car to warm up. Clearly unaware of your lingering gaze.

You force your gaze down, pretending to wait for the green man to cross the street. With your free hand, you fiddle around inside the pocket of your jacket to take out another cigarette, a well anxious practiced routine as you flick it on for the journey back home.

By the time you feel you’ve spent enough time walking, you send a small text to the group chat to let them know you’ve made it home. 

You don’t go home.

[amnmesias]

𝐯𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞

poly!wolfstar x fem!reader

word count: 7.1k

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

a/n: the tides are turning my friends ;)

part ten ˚.⋆♪⋆ series masterlist

—

“Ow—”

“Stop moving, then.”

James leans over Regulus, leveling you with a look from his makeup chair. “Is he always this bossy?”

You make an amused sound, typing into your phone without looking down to let Dorcas continue doing your makeup. She smiles at you when she notices the quip you’re visibly holding back.

“Look up for me.” Dorcas hums, pointing up with her brush.

“Be glad you’re not the one living with him,” you say back, smirking at the reprimanding look Regulus sends you over his shoulder. His ears pink as he focuses on finding the right shade for James’ own makeup. “He’s worse.”

“I’ll poke your eye out with this pen,” Regulus answers dryly, not looking up from his notebook. He turns back to the palette, checking with the creative notes you’ve passed him from the meeting.

While it wasn’t a relatively easy task, and even less easy meeting, you’ve managed to settle on a vision for the EP. The label has assigned you a creative director for your project as they call it, who has been working with all your ideas and combining them to find a middle ground to keep everyone happy. Seeing the band is in a far better place than before, it wasn’t that hard to come to an agreement. And hell, Marlene McKinnon is too cool for you to ignore her vision.

It helps that your budget is enough to cover everyone’s creative needs without opening up any arguments. And, secretly, this is the part you have been more excited for. The cover shoot.

“Maybe purple?” Regulus muses out loud, half turning for you to look at the notes. “It’d go well with his eyes.”

James makes an amused sound. “Aw, Reg—” you kick his chair in warning. “Ow! What the fuck?”

“Don’t be cheeky,” you chide him. Pointedly ignoring the subtle grateful look Regulus sends you over his shoulder, you return it with a reassuring half smile.

Like a summon call, the door opens to reveal a chirp and overly excited Lily. She walks into the makeshift dressing room with two cup carriers, her camera bag hanging from her shoulder as she walks up to James. It makes your chest ache at the way he perks up, arms spread out to accept both his kiss and drink. Regulus takes a step back, swallowing thickly as he forces his focus back to the notes.

“I’m terribly sorry, I forgot to order my own drink,” she laughs, setting the cups down by James’ makeshift vanity table. “Uh, almond milk latte—that’s for you, y/n,” she reads off the label, handing you a cup without looking up. You take it with a surprised expression. “Sirius said you’re lactose intolerant.”

“Right, yeah,” you nod slowly, giving the cup a quick sip. Pointedly ignoring the look Regulus sends you. “Thanks.”

Lily smiles at you, turning back to start handing off orders. You swear her smile widens when she hands Regulus his, and this time it’s him who has to pointedly ignore the look you send him.

“How’s the shoot going outside?” James asks, completely besotted as he watches her begin preparing her camera.

“Oh, you don't want to know,” Lily mumbles, blowing a long strand of auburn hair away from her face. James wordlessly reaches to brush it behind her ear. “I think Sirius is giving the photographer a migraine.”

Regulus snorts from his spot, setting the palettes needed for James’ makeup. “How unnatural of him,” he says quietly, like it’s a joke mostly for his and your ears. “It’s like he must stress the living daylights out of every person he meets.”

James laughs, sipping at his coffee. “Ask y/n.”

You kick his chair again. “Be nice to me.”

“Like you’re one to talk, Jamie.” Lily makes an amused sound, she winks in your direction. You return it in a quiet alliance. “I still have grey hairs from being prefects with you.”

While her tone is light, you don’t miss the equally smitten look in her eyes as she wipes the cold foam out of the corner of James’ mouth. You force your gaze away, focusing on your reflection instead.

“Wow,” you breathe out, pushing yourself off the chair to have a closer look. From behind you, Dorcas smirks. “How’d you make it look better than I do?”

She shrugs casually. “Practice,” her voice is laced with amusement at your parted lips, still studying her work. It’s not any different from your usual makeup or the one you’ve worn on stage for gigs, but she’s made it look far better than anything you’ve ever done. “Don’t worry, I’ll teach you how to do it yourself.”

“Wicked,” you whisper, tilting your head from side to side to continue inspecting the look. The smudged eyeliner at the corners of your eyes and the subtle glitter on your eyelids. You feel prettier than with your usual makeup looks. “Thank you.”

“No problem,” she hums, turning her attention to James. He flashes her a grin in waiting, setting his glasses aside to let her work. Lily huffs an amused laugh from his side. “Will you promise to stay still?”

“Oi, why are you asking me that? I can stay still.”

You share a look with Regulus. He only nods his head towards the door, and you follow after him to let them be now that your makeup is done. But mostly in quiet support for him.

He forces a long exhale when the door clicks behind you. “I’m starting to rethink coming,” he confesses quietly, waiting until you’re within earshot. “I know it’s stupid of me to think that—but sometimes it feels like they’re shoving it to my face.”

Your expression cracks in sympathy, though more subtle when you remember how much he hates it.

“Whatever, I’ll survive.” Regulus shakes his head quickly, sipping at his coffee before turning to face you. “How are you feeling?”

You blink, recalibrating at the sudden change of topic. “Me?”

“Quit the act. I know you’re well chuffed about the shoot,” he nudges you, pointy elbow digging at your side. You return it almost immediately. “Unless this is about something else…?”

“I’ll make them kick you out.”

He sips his coffee. “It’s just a question, no need to get all worked up.”

“I’ll get you worked up.”

Someone huffs an amused laugh.

“Should I be concerned?” Remus asks, eyeing you curiously as he sips at his own coffee. His own makeup is less obvious and more smudged to even be visible. Still, it brings a ridiculous jolt to your heart at the sight.

His lips part like you’ve brought a similar reaction in him. But that can’t be, definitely not possible when he kept ogling Sirius during his own shoot. Still on going by the sound of flashes and words from the other side of the warehouse. You look away before the thought can betray you, focusing on looking around the makeshift studio in feigned nonchalance.

“You look lovely,” he still says, albeit a little quietly as he shuffles to stand by your side. His voice is barely a whisper, like it’s only meant for you to hear.

You sip at your coffee, biting into the straw to control the ridiculous fluttering in your stomach. “Thanks,” you say, matching his tone. “You too.”

Remus’ lips twitch, a faint movement you’re surprised you even manage to catch from the sideways glance you send him. He shoves his hand into the back pocket of his jeans, forcing his gaze to stay away from you. You do the same.

“How long has he been at it?” Regulus asks, sounding a little bored as he, too, watches Sirius pose for the photographer. Peter and Kingsley stare at the monitor with various degrees of frustration.

“I don’t know.” Remus answers honestly, though there's a certain fondness in his tone. You bite harder at your straw in response. “S’fine, though. Marlene said the booth is taking a bit to be delivered so this stalling isn’t so pointless.”

You shake your head. “I can’t believe they’re actually bringing that thing here,” both your tone and expression are twinged with disbelief. “We could’ve looked up where to find one and get a whole bag of coins.”

Remus huffs a laugh. “Pete did say we’ll need too many coins for this one,” his voice drops to a conspiratorial tone as well. Turning his head to meet your gaze. “We might as well use them all, right?”

“Didn’t know you were very into that.”

“Not usually,” Remus says, tilting his head from side to side. “But I liked the idea—and I’ve always wanted to try.”

You fully turn to face him, lips parted in surprise. “You’ve never done a photobooth?” you ask, incredulous. Remus shakes his head, eyebrows slightly raised in bemusement at your apparent shock. “Remus, what the hell! They’re so fun! Do you hate fun?”

Your question is so sudden, it makes him laugh louder in startlement. The smile that spreads across his face is so wide it makes you puff a quiet laugh, a little shy at your outburst.

“Sorry, that was rude, it’s just…” you’re so cool, you almost say. You shake your head quickly, schooling your expression. “This is going to be very fun, then.”

Remus pauses, eyes flashing with a strange look you don’t dare to try and understand. It makes your insides flutter again, in that ridiculous way you’re starting to find annoying. At how blindly hopeful it is.

“I’m ready!” James calls out, swinging the door open in a clattering movement. His eyes are decorated with subtle purple glittery strokes behind his glasses.

“Oh, thank god, Prongs. You can be quite the diva sometimes, d’you know that?” Sirius drawls from his spot, still posing for the camera.

James frowns, feigning upset as he marches up to Sirius. The photographer follows him with the camera, flashes going off in their hurry to get as much content as they can of the band’s interactions. Marlene hums approvingly from her spot, fixing the moodboard she’s brought to keep her inspiration going.

“Are they ready?” she asks loudly, not looking away from her board.

“They’re ready.” Peter confirms quickly, gesturing at you and Remus to join.

When he sets a hand over your lower back, you almost make a dent on the straw between your teeth. Regulus stifles a laugh when he takes the coffee from you, winking knowingly at the scowl you send him in return. His smirk is borderline smug when he notices Remus’ hand at your lower back, guiding you with a gentle touch to stand with the rest of the band. It’s safe to say, you have to school your expression before the camera can capture it.

“Perfect,” Kingsley nods approvingly, multitasking between typing into his phone and checking the monitor. “I still have to check a few things with the label, think you’ll manage to get through the whole shoot without any trouble?”

While you know he’s asking in general, none of you miss the way his eyes flicker to James and Sirius—already struggling to free each other from their playful wrestling. Kingsley lets out a long suffering sigh before walking away, already texting someone from the label to come and check everything goes smoothly while he’s away.

“Alright,” Marlene says, walking up to the photographer. “I’ve just received confirmation that the booth just arrived, but will take a bit to get installed. Why don’t we get a few group shoots in the meantime?”

“Sure.” Remus nods, seeing neither Sirius or James have finished with their silly games.

“Boys?” Marlene’s tone is firm and loud, commanding enough to make Sirius and James spring away from each other at record time. Your eyebrows snap in surprise at this. “We’re just waiting for you.”

James does look somewhat sheepish at this, stepping back to stand by your side against the backdrop. Sirius pauses to fix his hair and clothes before doing the same, winking at Marlene when he meets her glare.

You press your lips in a line at this, looking down at your own clothes to hide the smile that’s fighting to take over your face. Sirius blinks when he turns to find his place, eyes immediately finding you and the same clothes you’re studying. His movements slow in both speed and confidence at whatever he might be thinking, and it takes you a beat to realize he’s standing in front of you to glance up.

“Uh,” he clears his throat, brushing his hair away from his face. It’s been styled in his natural way, curls framing his sharp cheekbones and grey eyes. “You look… pretty.”

You raise a hand to brush your hair away, too. Sirius nods subtly, swallowing nervously before forcing his gaze away. And forcing himself to walk to his spot. He doesn’t wait for your answer as he turns to the camera, flashing his charming grin like nothing happened.

The photoshoot goes on smoothly after that. Marlene guides all of you and the photographer with the lighting and the angles, stepping into the scene when one of you needs a touch up with hair or when you don’t understand their pose ideas to demonstrate. But her instructions are always clear; be as natural as possible.

It’d be easier to follow if you were used to this much attention. Or to stand in front of the camera for so long. The props are helpful, but only sometimes. Turns out, it’s weird to pretend to hold the guitar when it comes to posing and not actually playing—but you make it work.

“y/n, look at the camera for me,” Marlene instructs, standing by the monitor as she bites into her pen, narrowed eyes studying the pictures you’ve got so far. “The rest of you just—improvise.”

You turn your head, coming face to face with the lens just as the flash goes off. Movement picks up around you as James and Remus switch places, posing in what they call improvising before the flash goes on again. Your gaze remains fixated on the lens, tiling your head here and there like Marlene instructs and pretending you can’t feel Sirius’ gaze studying the side of your face.

From the corner of your eye, assistants wheel the booth in, quick and hurried in their movements as they begin installing it. Unconsciously, you glance to the side at Remus, who smirks knowingly when your gazes meet. The flash goes off, and you blink in surprise.

“Keep going,” Marlene calls out as she walks up to the assistants, gesturing at the photographer to keep taking as many pictures as they can while the booth is ready. “Try to be louder with the poses!”

“Louder?” you ask, frowning in confusion.

“She means more chaotic.” James explains, running a drumstick through his curls.

“More chaotic?”

“You’re doing great, dove. Don’t listen to him.” Remus murmurs from your side, shifting the pose they’ve put him in with an arm around Sirius’ shoulders.

James turns, feigning offense. “How dare you, I’m helping her out!” he says, loudly. Your lips twitch to the side, smirking in amusement at his theatrics.

The flash goes off mid conversation, and the photographer seems pleased at what they have captured when it appears on the monitor. Marlene is being called over again, and it’s in this small pause that you break away to get a minute to compose yourself.

Regulus readily hands you your coffee, not pausing his hushed conversation with Lily. You bite into the straw, mostly out of a nervous habit than to actually get a sip. They continue talking, him asking questions about her studies and what she’s currently working on and her about his plans for the future and how the pub is doing. It makes for a nice background to the thoughts running through your head.

Your eyes unconsciously flicker to the side, forcing them back down to your coffee at what you find.

Sirius is fixing the glitter that has smudged on Remus' eyelids, going off about how he can’t keep his makeup untouched for a single second. Remus lets him, nodding his head along to the music echoing inside the set. It pulls you back to that night at your flat, when Sirius stroked your face and cleaned your makeup. The feeling that blossoms in your chest is so familiar, you don’t feel as startled when it hits you again. As it tends to do since that night.

“…y/n?”

You blink, glancing up to meet Regulus’ concerned gaze. “Yeah?” you ask, a bit breathlessly in fear of being caught. Of course you are, but just by Regulus. Lily remains unfazed as she begins packing her things.

“Lily offered to drive me to the pub, get a head start before you get there. Is that alright?” he asks, a bit hesitantly as he searches for your eyes.

“Sure,” you swallow thickly, sipping at your coffee again until you realize it’s empty. “Yeah, of course.”

Lily smiles at you, all soft and warm. “We’ll see you later?” she asks, fixing the hair that’s fallen off your half updo with all the poses you’ve been guided and forced to do. “Good luck with the rest of the shoot. And with these tossers.”

James makes an indignant sound. “I heard that, Lils!”

She only blows him a kiss before nodding at Regulus towards the door. He flares his eyes in fear before Lily is lightly tugging his arm to walk him to the exit. They leave silently before anyone else can notice they’re gone.

You blink. A stunned look flashing through your face before the thought snaps into place. It’s so sudden you whip your head around for the bin to throw your coffee and pat at your jeans, searching for your phone. Slowly, you repeat the idea in a whisper before it can slip away as you open your notes app. Irish goodbye, Reg’s song. Revise later.

“What’ya working on?”

You jump, turning quickly. Sirius only tilts his head, studying the way you don’t stop typing your idea without looking down.

“Fuck—sorry,” you breathe out, still startled but without losing your speed to type. “Just an idea, let me just…”

“It’s creepy you can do that,” he mumbles, eyes glancing down to your nimble fingers. They snap up to meet your gaze when you lock your phone. “What idea?”

“A song I’ve been working on,” you blurt out, looking around. It takes you an embarrassing beat to realize what you’ve said. “I mean, not that I didn’t mean to share it but—”

He raises his hands up. “Don’t worry, I won’t tattle,” he says, voice lilting into a funny cadence at your wide eyes. His lips twitch into an almost smirk. “Just let me know if you need help, yeah?”

Your lips part in surprise. Sirius exhales sharply, like he’s just realized what he said. His eyes flash with a look you don’t have the heart to decipher. So, naturally, you nod and turn back to type into your phone. When I see you, the whole world reduces to just that room.

“Marauders, can I get your attention for a second?” Marlene calls out, standing just outside the newly installed photobooth.

It stands just outside the backdrop, angled just out of frame for better lighting with the warehouse lights. The curtain is drawn to the side, open for the first brave member to try to get their first strip. There’s a little table set at the side with a bowl of coins.

“Okay, so,” she starts, holding the clipboard against her chest when you’re around her. “As you can see and know from what we discussed, the point is to make it as candid as possible. To show your true personalities with these and make you more marketable with your fans and to the general audience.”

Marlene pauses, making a point of meeting each of your gazes to make sure you understand. It takes a beat of silence to realize she’s waiting for an answer. Your nods are slow and tentative in response.

“Great,” she claps, smirking. “You don’t have to pose like in the other pictures. Remember, be as natural as you can, yeah?” There’s a collective hum of agreement. “Oh! And don’t forget to have fun—who wants to go first?”

You share looks between yourselves.

Of course, James raises his arm. “I will,” he says, sounding positively too excited as he reaches for a fistful of coins. He’s sliding the curtain closed before any of you can argue.

“He’s been waiting for this part for ages.” Sirius tells you, like sharing an inside joke. You only manage to make a half amused sound. “He’s been nagging me with pose ideas.”

You turn back to the booth, where the flashes keep going. The curtain moves with whatever movement James is doing inside to get his poses. His arm keeps poking out.

Remus hums by your side, studying the booth curiously. “How do you even have time to move when the flash goes off that fast?”

“It’s not that fast,” you say, feeling the ugly knot of insecurity in your chest when James steps out. It tightens cruelly when his strip comes out, looking as handsome and silly and charming as his true self. “But it does help to think on your feet—for the poses, I mean.”

“Oh, these are a blurry mess,” Marlene sighs, studying the strip. She turns it for you to see, and yes, James is barely focused. “James—when I said have fun I didn’t mean it so literally. What are you even doing in this one?”

To his credit, James doesn’t seem phased by this, laughing as he looks at how his pictures turned out. He’s made the strip look like a badly animated frame by frame strip. Obviously, it doesn’t work.

“We have to do it again,” she places it in his hand, checking her clipboard with more ideas. Your insides fill with concrete when she glances up, meeting your eyes. “Why don't you give it a go next?”

“Me?” you ask, voice a bit high in both your surprise and shyness. Marlene gets a funny look at this, holding the clipboard to her chest. “Shouldn’t we make sure James is done first?”

”He’ll get his turn.”

You swallow nervously. “Alright,” you mumble, unconsciously fixing your hair behind your ears.

Sirius frowns at your stalling, the return of your nervous habit. It feels like a reach, but he glances up to try and find Remus’ gaze. Thankfully, he looks just as attuned as him to your tells, setting a hand over your shoulder.

“Why don’t you give me a demonstration of how these work?” he asks, voice soft and with a twinge of mischief when you look at him. “Wouldn’t want to get in and make a fool of myself like James.”

James throws his arms up. “Oi!”

Whatever plan Remus had in mind to put you at ease seems to work. Your eyes sparkle with mischief in the small glance you share, dropping your hands to reach for a fistful of coins. He drops his own arm from your shoulder when you step inside, smirking to yourself when you close the curtain.

It’s more spacey than others you’ve done, but the sentiment is the same. The leather of the bench looks brand new, and the walls look like they’re out of wood, the booth smells brand new. You sit with leftover nerves, breathing slowly to calm down before putting the coins inside.

Remus really wasn’t kidding when he said the flash goes too fast. It does go faster than any other booths you’ve done, making your first photo look slightly blurry as you stare straight ahead. The rest pass as quickly as the first one, and you find yourself putting coin after coin. Flashes keep going off, trying different poses and laughing to yourself at the absurdity of it all. It doesn’t hit you that you’re not actually alone when a chuckle leaks from the crack of the small curtain.

You feel your heart skipping a beat, hurriedly drawing it to the side to see Marlene studying your strips with a grin and the rest of the boys around her with various smiles.

“Look at you.” James laughs, taking a strip to look at it properly. His voice is full of nothing but fondness before turning it to you. “You’re a natural!”

At your startled and a tad bashful expression, Remus chuckles quietly. “That did look very fun,” he says, arms crossed as he leans over Marlene to look at the other strips. “Oh, this one's perfect.”

Sirius turns, eyes tinkling with a similar fondness as he takes it for inspection. “Let’s see,” he murmurs. It makes your insides flutter at their careful attention to your pictures. But less intense this time. Surprisingly nice. “Oh, how adorable.”

“Adorable?” you repeat, walking up to them to check what they’re looking at. They smile at the way your eyes slip shut in embarrassment. “For fuck’s sake, I didn’t realize the flash had gone off yet.”

“Well, it’s nice.” Remus hums, taking the strips to hand them back to Marlene. “Very natural as well. You’ve done great.”

Your cheeks warm up at his compliment, even more at the earnestness of his tone. “Thanks,” you mutter, toeing at a few cables instead of meeting his gaze. “Uh, should we continue, or…?”

Sirius raises an arm. “I want to go next,” he declares, not waiting for confirmation as he takes a fistful of coins for his own shoot.

“That’s going to take a while,” you mumble to yourself, watching as the flashes start going off and the curtain moves with Sirius’ different poses. “It’s easy to forget everything when you’re inside.”

“Yeah?” Remus asks, forcing his gaze away from the booth to turn to you. His eyes are fond, it’s too much to handle. “Is that what happened to you?”

You push out a little laugh, it sounds a bit embarrassing. “Sort of,” you both turn to the booth. “It’s fun. We used to have one at the pub, but a client put too many coins and it stopped working. It made for a nice distraction during slow hours.”

Remus parts his lips to speak, but the strips come out. Marlene reaches for them instinctively, shaking her head in fond exasperation at what she finds.

None of you are surprised at the blurry movements that are Sirius Black in a photobooth. Posing with his arms up, then making weird gestures, smiling and winking at the camera. The first one is probably the most genuine, he’s looking at the camera with his head tilted, eyes looking at the curtain like he wants to know what’s happening outside.

The rest that come out pick up in movement, and it goes on like that until James has to physically drag him out to let Remus have his time.

“Let me see,” he takes the strips for inspection, less with curiosity like he did with yours. Almost scrutinizing how he posed in each one.

For some reason, you’re quick to reassure whatever he may be thinking by the knit of his brows. “You look very cool,” you mumble, feigning reluctance to compliment him. Sirius glances up, momentarily stunned before he’s smirking at you. “I don’t know about natural, though. It looks like you’re posing for an editorial.”

He takes the bait, handing the strips back to Marlene. ”Well, excuse me for not being naturally cool like you,” he jokes, crossing his arms. His eyes flicker very quickly back to the booth when the flash goes off inside, signaling Remus has started his own shoot. “Speaking of, eh? Let’s see this swot’s first photobooth attempt.”

It’s… exactly like you expected and completely different.

He’s not posing in the first one. Of course, like all of you, he simply stares at the camera seeing it never announces when the shoot has started. But still, he looks as handsome as ever as he transitions to the second one. Simple, a small smile. His usual soft expression, though his eyes begin glistening with that familiar mischief that increases by the next two. Mimicking one of Sirius’ poses, and the next one… mimicking yours. Hands at his cheeks, looking away in a less chaotic and adorable way to yours. The ache that overcomes you it’s so intense you have to walk away under the pretense of looking for something to drink.

Behind you, the flash keeps going off and James and Sirius are taunting Remus to make him get crazier with the poses. Laughter echoes through the warehouse turned studio, overlapping with the music and the loud thumping of your heart. Though that’s mostly you, you suspect.

“y/n, look at this!” James calls out, barely coherent between chuckles as he doubles down. Wheezing from laughing too hard as he waves a strip in the air. “We have to add this one.”

Marlene hums from his side, waiting for the right moment to snatch it from his flailing hand to study the strip. You walk up to her, putting as much distance as you can between you and the other strip that you’re glad isn’t in her hands.

This one, thankfully, is so blurry and with so much happening you can barely make out one face to the other. Remus is caught mid vague gesture, looking at the curtain before Sirius and James barge in with twin grins and mischievous expressions. The rest of the pictures are as chaotic as the first one.

“We should yeah,” Marlene says after a beat. “But with all of you. The whole band cramped in the booth.”

Your head snaps up. “What?” you ask, a little breathlessly. Your eyes flicker from the strip to her then the booth. “It’s too small.”

“Even better, it’ll make for more candid pictures,” she nods, seemingly pleased with her idea as she waves you off. “Come on, let’s get on with it. We’re already running behind schedule.”

“But how…”

Marlene pauses by the booth, drawing the curtain to inspect the space. She turns from the bench to you, cataloguing your heights and doing mental gymnastics to find ways to make this work.

She points at James and Remus. “You two, get in first,” her voice is firm, purposely not raising to the bait as James continues laughing. “You can laugh all you want inside, come on.”

They settle inside, sitting side to side at the bench. There’s no space left for you or Sirius, and it makes your skin crawl when Marlene realizes this as well.

But Sirius is already walking inside for her to attempt something else, dragging you in with him. Your heart drops at the soft touch of his hand around your wrist, thumb stroking your knuckles before he’s letting go. For a moment, you think you’ve imagined it.

“It’s a tight space. But it can work,” he concludes, settling over James’ lap before turning to Marlene as she stands outside. “We’ll have to be more careful with the poses, though.”

You nod quickly, hoping this makes Marlene reconsider her idea. Especially when you’ve got no place to sit, or barely stand. You’re nearly pressed against the wall.

Of course, your luck is rotten at best, because Marlene nods approvingly. “It’s perfect. Gives it a chaotic vibe, in tone with the band. It’ll match perfectly with the rest of the strips,” she hands you the bowl of coins. “Here—go crazy.”

“Uh…” you look down.

Sirius makes an amused laugh, nudging you with his boot. “Relax, just sit and be pretty.”

“I know. But there’s no space.”

“If you’re worried about sitting on my lap,” Remus says, voice so soft it makes you look away instead of meeting his gaze. “I promise you I don’t mind.”

You blink, recalibrating. Remus doesn’t pressure you, but his arm carefully curls around your back when the edge of the door begins digging into your spine. He gives you an encouraging nod, and you just rein your heart into functioning when you begin lowering to sit on his lap. Movements so slow it makes his lips twitch in amusement.

“Are we ready?” James asks.

No, you almost say. But Remus’ arm still pulls you closer to the frame like he’s seen it on your face, anyway. His face is full of amusement, studying you with that twitch of his lips before turning to the camera when Sirius inserts the coins.

You barely have time to ask what you should do before the flash goes off. James and Sirius wrestle by your side, pulling a funny smile out of you that is captured when the second flash goes off. Remus laughs, a startled sound that raises in volume when James pulls him to the bundle of arms and shoulders, arm slinging around his shoulders and dragging you along by extension. His hand settles around your middle before you can slip off his lap, and the flash goes off with an overlapping click to your shared laughter.

You try various poses, some standing, others pulling silly faces. Sirius even goes so far as to drape himself across all of you and winking at the camera. Each strip is as blurry and chaotic as you get more into it.

Your personal favourite, though? The one where James, in his giddy excitement to conduct poses, made you sit between him and Remus. Dropping a kiss to the crown of your head and instructing them to do the same. Your eyes are wide with fond surprise in the shot, smirking as Remus and Sirius kiss each of your cheeks.

Marlene is ecstatic by the time all of you come out of the booth, going on and on about how well you’ve adapted to her ideas and how they perfectly capture the band’s essence. You don’t bring yourself to look at the full board when she presents it to Kingsley when he arrives.

…

“Ah! My other prodigal daughter has returned!”

You look up from the tab you’re closing, feeling the corners of your lips spreading into a smile as Pandora hurries inside the bar. The regular, of course, mistakes this for something else as he leans closer over the counter.

Pandora’s smile is blinding as she walks up to you, pausing as her eyes study your attire and makeup—still fresh from your photoshoot.

“Would you look at that,” she says salaciously, taking your hand to give you a twirl. You’re too happy to see her to try and feign any reluctance. “I’ll have to buy a copy to keep at the flat—if you’ll look like this.”

“Behave,” you chide, face heating at her compliments as you return to your tasks. The regular smirks back at you when he thinks your attention is back on him, running a hand through his hair in hopes of making himself interesting to you.

To his utter displeasure, you turn to Remus and Sirius, pointing at their empty pints. “More?”

Remus blinks, pausing his animated conversation to face you. “Oh, sure. Thanks, dove,” he hands you the pint, and you wordlessly take Sirius’ as well.

The pub is as crowded as it tends to be during weekend nights. The music pounds loudly, each song as louder as the previous one, some popular and others too obscure you know Regulus must have queued them. From one end of the bar, he’s trying to ignore the blatant flirting James and Lily are busying themselves with. He’s so obvious in his frustration, Pandora immediately steps in to cover for him at that side.

“Here,” you smile, multitasking between giving them their brand new pints and making room for Pandora and Regulus to scurry around behind you.

Sirius and Remus pause, a little too late in their realization, seeing you’re already darting off to cover the rest of the regulars’ orders. You’ve kept the makeup of the photobooth for your shift, and it has proven to be a smart decision seeing all the patrons and customers that keep fighting to have your attention. The warm lights behind the counter accentuate the glitter over your eyelids, it goes perfectly well with the warmth of your smile in which you usually interact with clients during your shifts. It’s a lovely sight, every time they get to see this side of you when you’re working.

The song switches, a song you’re sure has been requested by a regular. Either that or Barty has managed to get his hands on the queued songs again. Even then, everyone at the pub begins bopping their heads, some nod in approval when the energy shifts. You smile down at your tasks, letting Pandora jostle you playfully with a hip nudge on her way to the other side of the bar, hands filled with beers and drinks ready to serve.

“Seems word got out that the Marauders are here,” Pandora whispers conspiratorially. She stops you by the storage room where she’s dragging Evan out of the cupboard to take more beers. “Or that you’re back.”

“Oh, please,” you scoff, helping her carry them back to the front. “Like they even noticed I was gone.”

She nudges your hip again. “Don’t act all coy with me. I know everyone’s trying to get a little of you now that you’re an official member.”

James raises his beer at this. “Cheers for that!”

You wrinkle your nose, feeling warmth spread to your cheeks and neck at their blatant support. Regulus only chuckles to himself, touching your head as he bypasses you to continue serving.

Remus taps at the rim of his pint, looking around the room in feigned distraction. His eyes keep wandering back to you, taking in the way you weasel around the bar, smiling a tad flirty at regulars and warmly at your friends, laughing at whatever inner jokes you share with them mid serving, and controlling your annoyance when a patron leaves without tipping. From his other side, Sirius doesn’t have any qualms to make his interest shown—he’s decided to call it that because attraction seems like too much of a word for whatever fluttering you cause him. He looks away when you catch him staring between breaks.

“Hey, love—can I get another round, please?” someone calls, smirking at you in that way they know you’re used to but still makes Sirius clench his jaw. “And one for you, yeah?”

You turn, sporting that usual smile that they're beginning to recognize as your flirty, performing smile. Remus feels a strange, almost uncomfortable feeling in his gut at the sight—that it’s not at them. Sirius sips his own beer like the same thought is crossing his mind.

“Of course. It wouldn’t be a Saturday night without your free pints, huh?” you smirk, hands busy as you begin serving his beers. The man pats the counter, winking when you lean over to hand him his order, returning the wink with one of your own. “I’ll add it to your tab—thanks.”

“No problem, doll,” he nods in gratitude before turning to walk away from the counter.

When he’s out of sight, you wordlessly hand Regulus the beer. Sharing a knowing look before he’s giving it a few quick sips, he hands it to Pandora to do the same. A quiet and well practiced routine.

“Who’s next?” you call out. A few voices call out, trying to get their turn to order. “Oi, settle down! This isn’t a circus!”

You raise a hand, pointing at the girl at the back. It’s in this moment that Sirius’ eyes, to their own accord, flit down to your body—heart skipping a bit and thoughts halting at the sliver of skin he manages to catch where your top has ridden up. He sucks in a breath at the black lace that peeks out from the waistband of your trousers. He forces his gaze away before it can make him fall off the stool. By accident, he manages to catch the way Remus does the same. Nervous chuckles leak out of them when their gazes meet.

“For fuck’s sake,” you say, exhaling deeply between sips of your gifted pint. “Either the place’s a mess or I’m losing my spark.”

Sirius blinks, shaking himself off the stupor to shift in his stool. His stance is calm and relaxed despite the way his heart is pounding inside his chest. “You? Losing your spark? Please.”

You don’t answer, but he smirks at the way your cheeks warm up, a pink hue that makes you look impossibly lovelier under this light.

When Regulus walks behind you, he pauses just enough to fix the hem of your top, pulling it lower. He winks at them before continuing with his work.

Sirius drops his head to the counter, screwing his eyes shut in frustration. You only send him a funny little look, and Remus has to guide him out of the pub for a quick smoke. He’s going to need one if they have to sit and watch you like this all night.

…

When Pandora walks into the flat, later that night after an arduous weekend shift at the pub, she immediately knows what mood she’s stepping into by the music playing off the telly.

You and Regulus are sprawled on different sides of the sofa like little puddles of sadness and heartbreak, staring out at the ceiling like it has all the answers to whatever has you feeling this way. The wine bottle remains empty at the coffee table with equally empty mugs—not even glasses.

“Uh… Is everything okay?” she still asks, voice tilting funnily as she zips down her boots. Your answers come in the form of overlapping muffled words. “Should I be concerned?”

“No.” Regulus grunts, lifting his head enough to send her a look. “Did you bring the leftovers?”

Pandora wordlessly raises the container, fried cheesy chips you ordered on a whim mid shift but forgot to take them on your way out. She sets it down over the coffee table between your wine mugs.

“Thanks,” you exhale, slumping sideways over a cushion to open the foam container. “Oh, God—I love these.”

“Hm, I can tell,” she hums, smirking to herself as she bypasses you to walk to her room. “Are you going to stay here moping all night?”

“Why? Want to join?” you tilt your head, squinting one eye to look at her over the back of the sofa. “You can have some chips if you stay.”

She laughs. “I think I’ll pass, but thanks, love.”

Regulus groans, biting into a chip and not at all caring about the cheese stain at his chin. “I hate this. I don’t know how you do it.”

“Do what?”

“Fancy someone. It’s terrible.”

“Horrid,” you add, humming quietly to yourself. “What rhymes with horrid?”

“Morbid?” says Regulus, dropping his head over your shin.

From the hallway, Pandora chuckles. “Lovely?”

You groan. “None of you are helpful.”

“Quit thinking about music,” Regulus chides you, swatting your arm when you lazily feel around the cushions for your notebook. He pats at the empty space between you. “Dora, come join the loveless club.”

Loveless.

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous. Quit acting like love is not meant for you.” Pandora says, voice soft in masked concern.

You blink. Then again in quick progression before jumping to your feet. Regulus yelps in surprise at your outburst, but you’re too focused repeating your idea under your breath to care. What if it’s not meant for me?

“That’s it,” you scramble for your pen, scribbling in a hurry as you quite literally run to your room.

Pandora and Regulus watch you go with twin confused expressions. But you only kick the door closed, reaching for your guitar before the idea can slip away from your mind.

You spend the rest of the night working on it, strumming and humming and pacing and scribbling until your fingers begin cramping. By the time the sun rises, you’ve finished your first song. Though, you don't allow yourself to ask who you've written it for or what it is about.

[amnmesias]

𝐯𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞

poly!wolfstar x fem!reader

word count: 6.7k

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

a/n: started rubbing my hands together like a fly after finishing this btw. thread carefully xx 

part nine ˚.⋆♪⋆ series masterlist

    

—

You’re acutely aware of the movements around you. Socks swishing with tentative steps, floors creaking faintly where the tiles switch to wooden floors into the living room. Whispers are shared and cabinets are closed as slowly and quietly as possible. It makes the nerves sitting at your throat enhance with every passing second of their silent fussing.

“Here.”

You crack one eye open, finding a pair of warm and concerned amber eyes studying you closely. Remus wordlessly sets the glass down, over a coaster. 

“Thanks,” you breathe out, tilting your head back into the cushion. Waiting for him to walk away. Then, a gentle touch, back of his fingers over your forehead. The coldness of his ring makes you shudder. “What…?”

“You don’t feel as warm now,” he murmurs, mostly to himself as his expression softens. 

“See? I’m fine.”

The corners of his lips twitch faintly, almost in amusement at your slurred answer. He suspects you don’t even notice how heavy the words feel when you speak, like you’re pushing past your last shreds of strength to prove your point. Of course.

“Your temperature may be normal now, but that doesn’t always mean you feel better.”

You make an amused sound, low in the way you seem to start sounding delirious. “I think I have an inkling of how I feel right now, thanks.”

Remus huffs a quiet laugh, not being able to contain his amusement any longer. The corners of your lips twitch like you know this, a barely there movement that goes away when you push yourself to sit. 

From the kitchen, cabinets and doors continue being opened and closed, water runs in the sink. Sirius curses under his breath before he’s hurrying to turn it off. You turn back to your glass of water with a small divot between your eyebrows. This is so unnecessary, you almost say again. But one quick glance up at Remus and you know the words are written on your face anyway. 

“Alright,” Sirius says, a tad careful as he walks out of the kitchen. In his hands a small plate with an arrangement of snacks. “Couldn’t find any stuff that can make a complete meal, but I reckon these will suffice for now.”

You peer down at the plate, pausing your careful sips to send him a questioning look. Said snacks contain a fistful of Pandora’s whole-grain crackers, a mix of walnuts and almonds, and cheese cubes. 

“You brought me a whole buffet,” you say dryly, setting the plate over your lap. Sirius watches as you pick a walnut between your fingers. “Please tell me you did not mix these in the container.”

“Uh… was I not supposed to?”

“Regulus is going to kill you,” you say. Or, well, try to. Your words remain low enough to pass as slurring as you slump back between the cushions. Hands gripping the plate to avoid the food falling onto the sofa. “But thanks.”

Despite the clear dryness of your tone, the one you keep clinging to when he trespasses his own boundaries with you, Sirius visibly softens. He brushes a few curls away from his face, a bit out of his depth as he looks around the living room to find a place to sit—seeing you’ve monopolized the sofa as you drape across the cushions.

You seem to pick up on his restlessness, lifting your head enough to meet his gaze. “You don’t need to stay, you know,” you mumble, half-lidded eyes flickering from him to Remus. “I’ll be fine.”

“Maybe,” Remus steps in, voice gentle but firm as he settles in the armchair across from you. “But it’s not very smart for you to be alone in this state.”

Your jaw clenches, and you try to hide it with another bite into a walnut. “I’ll feel better after these,” you point down at the plate, turning your head to stare at the ceiling. “James must be waiting for you at the pub.”

They share a look, both in amusement and worry as they turn back to you. You keep staring out at the ceiling, eyelids impossibly heavy as you chew very, very slowly. None of them have the heart to repeat the same thing to you again, that James already knows today’s songwriting session has been cancelled. 

It’s a testament of how out of it you must be. You keep forgetting these little details they’ve explained to you over and over, from the drive back to the walk up to your flat. Like you’re slipping in and out of consciousness, despite your desperate need to remain awake.

Remus clears his throat, gentling his tone as much as he can as he leans over his knees. Eyes warm and cautious studying the side of your face. “Are you feeling better?”

You hum in agreement, popping a cheese cub into your mouth. “Not that I felt bad in the first place, but yeah. Sure,” you shrug, chewing slower. Just like your blinks as you try to keep your eyes open. “Sorry for the mess.”

“Nothing to worry about,” he’s quick to say. “It wasn’t as bad as you think it was.” 

“Yeah,” Sirius says agreeably, too quickly in his desperation to appease you. “You should see our place.”

You snort, reaching blindly for the snacks on your lap. “I have.”

“Not after a gig, though,” he counters lightly. Not sounding casual at all. Panic begins to creep up in his chest the longer you take to process and speak your answers. “Are you really okay, though?”

“Yes. And stop asking me, you’ll end up reverse psyching me into feeling worse.”

“Yeah, well…” Remus starts, sounding as dry as you as he levels you with a look. To your credit, you don’t turn your head to meet it. “If that’s what we need for you to start taking proper care of yourself…”

You push yourself to sit, too sudden and fast it makes you reflexively hold an arm out to steady yourself. “I take care of myself,” you still argue, blinking quickly to meet his eyes with a glare of your own. Weak and with not much effect. “This was just—”

“A slip, yeah,” he shakes his head, disbelief adorning his usual soft expression. “How many more slips do you have to go through to realize this is not normal? You’re running yourself thin, you can barely stand.”

“That was because I ran to the pub to get there on time. It’s not my fault I’m in bad shape for cardio,” you wave him off, poking around at your snacks before popping a cracker into your mouth. “I’ll feel better after eating these.”

Even if he knows you’ll keep shutting down his arguments for the sake of your wellbeing, Remus goes on. “What did you have for lunch?” he’s not entirely surprised when you waver, even your chewing pauses as you hesitate. He sighs. “Breakfast?”

Your lips twitch from side to side, weighing your options. None of them miss the way you haven't looked up to meet their gazes yet. “I had lentil soup for dinner. Does that count?”

The silence that follows is so deafening you know they can hear the walnuts crunching when you bite into another one. 

“…Lentil soup,” Remus echoes.

“For dinner.” Sirius continues, equally aghast as they stare at you. “You’ve got to be joking.”

“It was late,” you argue, shrugging one shoulder. “And I didn’t have it in me to wake the entire bloody building to order take out.”

“Late?” Remus asks again, each time sharper as his eyes study you more inquisitively this time. “What were you even doing up?”

At this, your hesitation seems more obvious. You force your gaze down at your plate, trying to look for something to do and finding it almost empty. You reach for your glass of water instead, hiding behind careful sips instead of answering.

Still, Remus won’t be deterred. “y/n.”

“Hm?”

“How long has this been going on?”

“What,” another sip. Sirius takes the glass from you, long past any point of feeling guilty at your indignation when he sets it over the coffee table. “Stop acting like I’m doing something wrong or stupid.”

“Well, it’s not very smart, either.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” you mutter, voice airy as you press your fingertips to your forehead. “I… I get into these… episodes sometimes, okay?”

Sirius frowns, but it’s Remus who speaks first. “Episodes?”

“Yeah,” you draw circles into your forehead, like you’re taming down a migraine or complicated thoughts. “Insomnia episodes.”

A beat.

You drop your arms, chancing a quick glance at them to gauge their reactions. What you find is, personally, worse to the nausea you’ve felt all day and the exhaustion clinging to your bones. They stare back at you with various degrees of guilt and realization.

“I usually have it under control,” you’re quick to explain. The speed in which it slips out of you gives your words a slurring cadence again. “But I’ve been having more lately and…” you trail off, immediately silencing yourself before they can pick up on what you’re trying to say.

But it’s too late. They’ve already pierced it together, that it started since you joined the band, or since your fallout with a certain member. Or the complex situation you’ve found yourself trapped in, with the band and their relationship and the label and now this, apparently.

“When…” Remus swallows thickly, eyebrows crunching together. “When was the last time you had a proper sleep?”

Of course, you don’t answer. You push yourself to stand instead, an escape that you keep trying to attempt and one that never works. Remus accosts you before you can even take another step. In the end, his closeness is godsend when you trip with the corner of the rug; his arm returns to your back to steady you. 

“You’re running yourself thin,” he says again, not unkindly. But his frustration isn’t any less subtle, either. “And trying to power through will only make it worse.”

“I have to,” you argue weakly, feeling a little ridiculous when a relieved exhale escapes your lips. Remus takes the plate from your hands when you’re back to lying down. “I always keep up. This is just temporary, I know how it goes.”

“You don’t seem to really know,” Sirius muses, still eyeing you closely from his seat. “If you say it’s been going for a while. Surely you should’ve done something about it by now?”

Your relief lasts shortly at this, letting your eyes slip shut instead of meeting his gaze. It’s so intense in its worry you’re beginning to feel like he’s peeling layer by layer of your exhaustion. Until he gets to the bottom of this.

You’re not sure if he’d like what he finds. Or you. 

“Would you like more water, dove?”

“Hm?”

“Water?”

You force your lips to move, make sense of the words before speaking. But, ultimately, you find yourself too exhausted to even force them out. You only nod your head, hoping Remus will manage to see it from the kitchen. Movements pick up, quiet and tentative like they’re accommodating to your exhaustion.

A hand, very tentatively, finds your forehead, thumb stroking the baby hairs away from your temple. It’s so soothing and calm, you find yourself melting into the sofa. The touch slows in its gentleness, tapping carefully under your lower lashes to remove the smudged eyeliner you didn’t have time to clean.

“I… I’ll wash my face in a bit,” you whisper, voice hoarse like sleep is beginning to cling to your words.

Sirius hums, transferring his touch to the other side of your face. He continues stroking and stroking until he’s mostly removed all the smudged makeup. 

“Do you have any face wipes?” he whispers back, his own words heavy with cautious care. 

“What?”

“Or makeup remover,” he adds. “You can’t go to sleep like this, it’ll only stain your sheets.”

“And you can’t sleep here in the living room,” Remus adds, too, walking out of the kitchen with a brand new glass. He eyes you curiously, his expression far from indignant at what he finds.

It’s at this moment that you realize what’s happening. You sit up straight, forcing Sirius to retreat his hand from your face to give you space to move. He leans away, pressing his lips together as you push yourself to stand.

“You’re right,” you manage to say, slowing the speed of your steps towards the hallway. “You don’t have to stay. I can take it from here.”

Sirius parts his lips, both in surprise at your sudden withdrawal and the way you’re clinging to your last shreds of consciousness to keep control of the situation. He watches as you trudge around the living room, picking up sprawled clothes and holding them against your chest in a bundle of fabric. 

“Thank you,” you say again. “I’ll just…” a pause, like your brain has glitched and mind fogged with your sudden movements. You clear your throat, forcing your voice to sound firmer. “I still have to shower before bed, and… and remove my makeup. You don’t have to stay for that.” 

“That’s fine,” Remus nods, still holding the glass as he walks back to the living room to sit. “We can wait.”

“But you don’t have to,” you fire back almost immediately. A knee-jerk reaction no matter what your mental state is. 

“We sort of have to,” he shrugs, voice soft despite the way you keep turning down his help. “What if you’re showering and your body finally gives out?”

You hold the clothes closer. “I won’t faint, I’ve told you.”

Remus’ lips twitch. “Still, wouldn’t want to risk it, yeah?” he nods towards the hallway, where he suspects your room must be. “We’ll wait until you’re done—then we’ll get out of your hair.”

Sirius seems to pick up on this, copying his stance as he turns to you. Though less confident as he holds your halfhearted glare. “Best to start now,” he gestures vaguely at the clothes. “If you want us gone.”

If you had any leftover energy, you’d bristle at his casual tone. And if you knew him better, you’d know there’s nothing casual about him right now. Frustration and guilt gnaws at his insides, channeling them into amusement to keep holding your gaze.

“Go on, then,” he nods again, a little like a challenge. A well intentioned challenge that still makes you scowl. 

You turn slowly, walking deep into the hallway to dump the clothes in Pandora’s room. Untidy and still looking a little like a life hazard, you step out before whatever illness that clings to her room can get you. When you step out, eyes unconsciously flickering to the living room, Remus and Sirius are leaned closer whispering to each other. It makes your heart twist in that ever familiar and painful way.

Of course, you immediately shift your focus to the task at hand. You step into your room feeling a sense of doom at what you find, makeup and clothes thrown over the dresser and your desk. The notes of your late night writing sessions remain untouched and exactly how you’ve left them. Your bed, though, untouched. A bit rumpled where you’ve slept over the covers, but still tucked at the edges and pillows calling for you to finally sleep. 

You force yourself to move, picking and folding the clothes to set them aside, opening and closing cabinets a little too hurriedly you don’t return to close them again when they barely click. They’re filled to the brim, shirts and trousers being shoved in with the hurry of your need to shower and get ready for bed. Remus and Sirius remain whispering in your living room like they’re actually considering staying until you feel better. It brings a sense of urgency to you, enough to prompt yourself to move as fast as your exhaustion allows when you jump into the bathroom.

Outside, Remus starts trying to make himself useful. He doesn’t move until he hears the water running, and by then, it’s only a matter of time until you step out. Which could be a while, you could barely walk with the effort it took to move one foot in front of the other. Sadly, that means hanging back with Sirius—which isn’t the best alternative at the moment. 

Despite the water running, and fog curling around the bathroom, you don’t allow yourself a moment to relax into the shower when his movements pick up on speed, on intent. It’d be easier to ignore if the walls weren’t so thin. 

“Remus—” Sirius starts to say, lowering his voice to a muffled murmur that you can’t pick up. 

You only hurry your rinsing before turning the water off, quickly starting to dry and change into your pajamas. Your hair drips into the back of your shirt as you trudge out of your room, less lethargic with the shower but still in that sweet spot where sleep is coming for you whether you like it or not.

You find Sirius and Remus arguing quietly by the kitchen, shoulders tense and expressions full of troubled and complex feelings as they go on without noticing you yet. 

“Is…” you clear your throat, pushing down the hoarseness of your voice. They snap their heads in your direction. “Is everything alright?”

Remus blinks, recalibrating as his eyes flicker from the hallway to you. “You’ve showered already?”

“I’m quick,” you shrug. “And as you can see, safe. You can go now.”

His lips part, visibly torn by your evident pushback and the contrast of your overall appearance. Sirius takes a step back as well, exhaling sharply like he, too, got too caught up in the moment. Your eyes flicker between them with a look they’re starting to see more and more, one that you usually keep contained behind your walls. This time, Remus suspects that the only reason it’s so open in your expression, is because you’re far too exhausted to even try to hide it.

“Right,” he nods, jaw tight as he takes another step away from Sirius. “Of course.”

You swallow thickly, holding onto your elbows. “Thanks, though,” you murmur. 

“No problem,” he tries to smile, but finds himself exhausted to make it believable enough. Though his reasons aren’t the same as yours, he suspects. “Let me just finish setting these away, yeah?” 

Your eyes flit down to his hands, two cups of glasses remain untouched. Like him and Sirius tried to drink them but were too confused in their argument to do so. It brings a knot to your chest, throat clogging enough for you to only offer a small nod.

Remus mirrors it, and you bypass each other as he walks into the kitchen and you walk to the sofa. Water drops from the ends of your hair as you sit back down, curling into yourself against the armrest like you’re waiting for them to leave. You pointedly ignore the piercing gaze following your every move when the water starts running in the sink.

“Do you…” Sirius starts, trailing off when your eyes slip shut, head dropping to the back of the sofa. You make a lazy and vague gesture for him to continue, to let him know you’re not asleep. He secretly suspects you won’t fall asleep until they get out of your flat. “Do you feel better?”

You hum in assent, peering at him from your half-lidded eyes. Sirius shifts his weight, looking around the flat as he waits for Remus to be done with whatever he’s doing in the kitchen. 

He feels stupid and very guilty, but he finds himself trying again to get into your good graces now that you’re half unconscious. “James says he hopes you feel better.” 

“Yeah?” you whisper, eyes now slipped shut as you melt into the arm rest. Your head twisted in an angle that may be comfortable now, but will end up hurting you if you do end up sleeping here. 

Sirius decides he’s had enough. He sets his jacket aside to walk up to you, slowing his movements when he notices your breaths slowing. Even slower when he takes your arm, guiding it around his shoulders as he hoists you up. 

Your head drops into his shoulder with the movement. In his unexpected moment of indulgence, Sirius rests his cheek on the crown of your head as he walks you to your room. The bed remains untouched, and he has to maneuver a bit to pull the covers off for you to get in. An indescribable feeling blooms up inside his chest, it tugs cruelly at his heartstrings as you nuzzle your head into the pillow. A final breath leaves your lips in sleepy contentment.

He can’t help it, he touches your face. Thumb stroking the badly removed eyeliner under your lashes before he’s stepping back. When he turns to step out of the room, a sharp feeling hits him square in the chest at the look on Remus’ face. Not quite troubled, but immense in its fondness before he’s turning away to close your door.

…

The lights of the studio are on by the time you walk in, faint strumming leaks through the door, left ajar. You pause, eyes flickering to the recording sign, checking that it is turned off before pushing the door open.

Sirius doesn’t look up from his guitar, peering down at the pages and his phone before looking back at the fretboard. He toys a bit with the cords before starting again, pausing to return to his notes to begin humming whatever lyrics he’s currently working on. 

He looks so at peace and quiet you almost step back to leave him to be. The divot between his brows has relaxed, nearly nonexistent as he strums with more intent this time. His voice is heavy with emotion, even if he hasn’t sung any words yet, the soft tune he hums is enough to put you at ease. 

You take a slow step back, careful in your movements to walk out of the studio and leave him alone for a bit. But, of course, your recent unlucky streak remains untouched when your guitar case hits the threshold. Sirius pauses, head whipping up to look around. His eyes flare when they meet yours.

“Uh, sorry…” you rub your lips together, fingers fiddling with your bag. “I didn’t know it was in use.”

Sirius immediately sets the guitar aside. “It’s okay,” he breathes out, taming the surprise of his tone as he holds your wide gaze. “Just came here to get a head start on an idea.”

“Oh,” you blink, still standing by the threshold. “Me too. I thought I’d try to make up for…”

He nods, immediately catching your meaning. To make up for all your missed sessions. 

Sirius’ eyes, unconsciously or not it’s hard to tell, scan your face silently. Almost curiously like he’s checking if you feel better. You shift your weight from one foot to the other in apparent distress. 

You do look far better than before. Well rested, less frazzled, and more importantly, healthy. You’re not wearing your uniform today, it’s replaced by clothes that are intrinsically you in their comfort. Soft edge compared to him, a balm to his sharp edges.

When his eyes move up to meet your gaze, studying the careful eyeliner decorating your lower lashes, Sirius forces himself to look away at the flashing memories that overcome him. He looks down at the pages in front of him, the melody he’s been working on. Remus’ song.

“Is this…” you hesitate, finally forcing yourself to move. “Is this the song you were telling me about?”

“Yeah,” he nods, gesturing at the pages. A silent invitation for you to stop hovering and finally settle down. “We’re still a little stuck on how the post chorus should sound.”

You hum, setting your guitar down to reach for the pages. Sirius nods encouragingly when you hesitate, smiling faintly as he slides them to your side of the coffee table. The smile you send him in return is fleeting, almost a faint quirk of the corner of your lips before you’re nibbling at your lower lip in concentration.

He does the same, but out of anxiety as he drops his hands to his lap. Eyes cautious in their studying as you read off the page. His expression softens at the way you squint, trying to find sense in some of Remus’ scribbles. Never one to have neat handwriting during his creative outbursts, or in general.

“You wrote this?” you ask, voice tentative as you chance a quick look at him. 

“No. Remus did.”

Something passes over your face. It’s gone before he can dwell on it. “Oh,” you only say, forcing your gaze back down to the page. “It’s…” 

“Yeah,” he nods, all he can really do. It’s hard to put into words the feelings Remus has managed to showcase in the lyrics, the way he bared his heart open about a wound he didn’t know he created. “Moody said we should try making it a little slower, then pick up rhythm as it progresses. What do you think?”

It takes you a moment to remember yourself, and the fact that it’s only you two in the studio right now, to realize he’s asking you specifically. Sirius’ brows bunch together like he’s realizing the same thing, how naturally the question slips out of him.

“It’s…” you brush your hair behind your ears, gauging your words. “Hold on.”

You hunch over your knees to take out your guitar, eyes flickering from it to the pages. 

Sirius takes the moment to look at you properly, trace the careful strokes of your eyeliner and the way you’ve smudged all your lipstick off with all your anxious nibbling. The bags under your eyes are less noticeable with your makeup, and even then, he suspects you’ve rested better to not add more layers to your tired appearance. While your exhaustion hasn’t completely disappeared—especially when they now know it’s an ongoing thing you’re struggling with because of your episodes—you look far better than that fateful night at the pub. Then at your flat.

“…Sirius?”

He blinks. “Hm?” his gaze focuses, meeting yours where you stare at him with obvious amusement. “Yeah, sorry… you lost me for a bit.”

You stare at him for a little longer before turning back to the page, he follows your gaze to see what you’re pointing at. “Maybe we should start here,” you say again. “Here, where it says ‘Jump into the waves in your perfect storm’—we can use that to pick up intensity, like a mirror to the storm, what do you think?”

When Sirius doesn’t answer at first, silence lingering in the room as he takes his time to process, you glance up at him. You find a jolt in your chest when your gazes meet, where he had already been staring at you. His grey eyes study you, almost far away like he’s lost in thought. Totally not actually staring at you. 

“Yeah,” he speaks after a beat, shaking his head lightly to regain focus. “Yeah, I like that—makes sense, and it progresses as the rest of the song goes on.”

You hum in agreement, returning to his notes. “Can you show me the melody you’ve got so far?” you ask, taking the pages to read them better. It’s not lost on you how most of Remus’ scribbles and ideas are direct references to Sirius, or to situations that are too familiar to ignore. 

You’ve already schooled your expression when he takes his guitar again, strumming absentmindedly and pulling you out of your thoughts to focus on the song. It’s a conscious effort, especially when his eyes immediately find yours. Like he can see the complex thoughts running through your mind.

While you’ve heard him sing countless times before, being present when he’s recording takes and harmonizing with your guitar and his own voice, it still feels like a rug being pulled out from under you when he starts the song. His humming is low and tentative at first, like he’s tasting the melody before going all in. 

Sirius goes on, sneaking quick glances at you mid-singing, and you force yourself to try and mirror the notes to not seem too obvious with your—well, whatever he might see in your expression. When he gets to the end of the pre-chorus, you feel confident enough in your idea and the sentiment the song is transmitting to start improvising with a few chord progressions. His eyes widen with faint surprise, all before a knowing look flashes over his face when your guitars harmonize together. 

Turns out, you really do make a great team for songwriting. 

You try not to dwell too much on the way his face breaks into a sincere smile at the ideas you provide, a stark contrast to your guarded reactions when he agrees immediately. His voice is surprisingly gentle when an idea doesn’t fit, it makes your skin crawl in anticipation for his sharp correction, but Sirius only works around it to keep the idea and turn it into something better. 

By the time you’ve agreed the song is finished, your heart has already twisted and melted and done somersaults at the way he smiles at you. Your foolish heart that can’t differentiate between guilty attempts at redemption and plain kindness. With Sirius, you don’t know where that line began blurring. 

“I’m getting coffee from the break room, would you like one?”

You blink, setting your guitar aside. “Oh, um…” even if you try to deny it, your temples are beginning to throb lightly with the lack of caffeine. “Sure. Thanks.”

You’re surprised at the way your heart tugs in his direction when he walks out; behind him a deafening silence that forces you to sit with the vulnerability hanging in the air. The lights remain a bit dimmed, like you’ve asked mid session when they were starting to make your eyes water, and Sirius doesn’t change it back even when he leaves. It paints a cozy ambience to the studio, and you force yourself to stand and fix the lights before they can lead to another heavy moment between you.

It’s a miracle you’ve managed to hold his gaze so far, even when all it takes is the tick of his lips to remember his touch on your face, how he stroked your temple and your cheeks and cleaned your makeup. How he tucked you into bed and didn’t leave until him and Remus were sure you were fast asleep.

Another thing you can’t seem to stop thinking about, the way they looked at each other that night. The emotion of their hushed argument at your kitchen, how their eyes were wide and pupils blown with the weight of whatever they were arguing about.

“…here,” Sirius says, and you blink. His lips twitch faintly at the dissociated look that must show on your face. He doesn’t comment on it, only sets the coffee down when you don’t make a move to take it. 

“Oh, um, thanks,” you scrape out, clearing your throat to even the tone of your voice. “Is this—”

“Lactose free? Yes.”

You blink again, now startled for completely different reasons than before. “How…”

“You’re quite a creature of habit, d’you know that?” he explains easily, shrugging as he sits back down on the loveseat. “You’ve nearly used all their stock on vegan milk. Good thing you took a break, eh?”

You know he’s mostly joking, but the knee-jerk reaction is hard to shake off. “I’m sorry,” you mumble, giving your coffee a few careful sips. “I didn’t mean to…”

Sirius shakes his head. “No, you’re fine,” he says immediately, sounding a little sorry for his joke. “We’re just glad you managed to get time off to rest. This EP thing is a bit… intense sometimes.”

“Yeah,” you nod, drawing your legs closer to your chest. “It’d be if I participated more, though.”

“You do.”

“Sirius,” you press at your temple, fingers drawing a line up until you’re back at tugging your hair behind your ears. You’re wearing less earrings this time, he notices. “You don’t have to pretend right now.”

He feels himself frowning. “Pretending?”

“Yes. Acting like everything’s fine and that you’re not pissed at me for compromising the band,” you snap, almost unconsciously. Like it’s being dragged out by your frustration. “Just… out with it.”

“I’m not acting like everything’s fine. It is fine,” Sirius shifts, sitting closer at the edge of the loveseat to follow your wandering gaze. He bends and tilts his head until he finds it. “Only thing I could be pissed at is the way you’re overworking yourself. But it seems pointless now, so.”

Your eyebrows knit together, an unconscious reaction that makes your face crack open with frustration. To him or yourself it’s hard to tell, not even you know. Sirius sets his coffee down, leaning over his knees to hold your gaze.

“I don’t know what it’s like, I know that now. The things you’ve had to endure or had to fight to get to where you are, and I’m sorry I ever put that into question,” he exhales sharply, nervous fingers brushing his own curls away from his face. “I know that you do take this seriously, and that you’d do anything to make this work,” he gestures vaguely at you. “Clearly.”

A memory flashes over your mind. It makes your mouth twitch into a tentative, almost smile. It’s enough to give him confidence to continue.

“No one is angry or pissed at you for skipping the other sessions,” he goes on, shaking his head like the thought by itself is hard to comprehend. “I promise.”

You blink, startled at his earnest rant that, for once, is full of nothing but honesty. The intensity of his gaze is too much to handle, even before this strange change in your interactions, but now… it makes your chest ache. The reasons have changed, too. 

“Okay,” you say after a beat, voice low enough to pass as a whisper. 

“Okay,” he echoes, nodding firmly. In all his attempt to keep his casualness for this session, Sirius slumps back into the loveseat. Careful of his coffee as he settles between a couple of cushions, making himself as comfortable as he can in the midst of whatever that just went down. He sends you a sideways glance, feeling your gaze studying the side of his face. “What?”

“Hm?” your brows twitch, shaking your head subtly to erase the thoughts running through your mind. “Nothing.”

Sirius hums knowingly, turning back to his coffee to give it a few tentative sips. “You know,” he starts, wincing as he swallows the scorching hot sip. “If you ever have another… episode,” he says carefully, testing his words and your reaction. “you can always have a word about it with Remus. He’s always been quite a night owl himself.”

“What?”

“I mean,” he shifts, running his fingers through his hair in what you now know is a nervous habit. “If you want, of course.”

“Is that why he’s always sending song ideas in the middle of the night?” you ask, voice lilting into pure amusement. 

“That’s right,” Sirius’ tone nearly matches yours, though softer around the edges. Like he’s still tentative about how your interactions should go. “And now I know why you are always answering back.”

You roll your eyes, though less in annoyance this time. Frustrated? A little, more like frustratedly fond. But fond nonetheless. Sirius feels his lips spreading into a sincere smile at this.

“It’s not as bad as it sounds, you know,” you sip at your coffee, doing a far better job to mask your wince. “Sometimes I’m too wired from my shifts at the pub, it’s hard to fall asleep.”

“Well, of course,” Sirius turns his head, tilted back over the top of the sofa and giving you a lovely view of the column of his throat. You force your gaze away before your eyes can betray you. “I’d also be wired after a shift when I’m the regulars’ favourite girl.”

You scoff. “No, I’m not,” your voice is calm, but the tips of your ears have visibly tinted pink at this. Sirius feels his heart twisting fondly at this; it skips a beat when you level him with a look. “What? You still at it trying to scare off my groupies?”

He feels his heart properly stop functioning at this, air cutting short at your quip. It certainly doesn’t help that you keep holding his gaze like a challenge, lips tugging sideways into a little smirk.

Thankfully, in a brilliant turn of events, the door of the studio opens. The rest of the band walk in with the usual enthusiasm of a new recording session. Or, well, mostly James. Peter answers in an attempt to match his energy, and Remus doesn’t have such qualms as he closes the door behind him. 

He pauses when he notices you and Sirius, sitting at opposite sofas and clearly having finished a small creative session. Something passes over his face when Sirius meets his gaze, picking up his head in an inviting manner and eyes so, so warm it makes your chest ache again. It worsens when Remus visibly softens at this.  

“Hi,” he says quietly. It’s a miracle you manage to hear him with the ruckus that James and Peter are causing. “Have you been waiting long?”

“A bit,” you shrug one shoulder. “We were working on your song—it’s very beautiful, by the way.”

Remus blinks, they turn owlish as he processes what you’ve just said. “What?” he asks, frowning faintly before moving his gaze back to Sirius. “My song?”

“The song,” Sirius nods, making a point of sending him a reassuring smile.

“Oh,” Remus puffs out a breath, startled as he sets his bass down. “Thank you, dove—sorry, I forgot to ask… how are you feeling?”

This does catch James’ attention. He pauses his explanation to do a full turn to face you. “Yeah!” his voice raises, breaking the cozy ambience in the previously silent room. “How are you feeling? And how dare you leave my messages unanswered? I almost filled a missing person’s report.”

“I’m fine,” you laugh, full of amusement as you scan his wide eyes and worried expression. “Sorry, I’ve been… um, resting. Recharging, if you will.”

Though you’re mostly following along with James’ bit, your gaze flickers to Remus, nodding subtly at him. Remus returns it with a relieved exhale. 

The door opens again, but Moody doesn’t fully enter as he leans over the threshold. Silent enough to see your unabashed interactions as a band before clearing his throat. 

“While your enthusiasm is well received,” he starts, crossing his arms. “We're not recording today.”

“No?” James blinks. 

Moody shakes his head. “No. Come on, we’re needed at the meeting room,” he says. You all share a look, wide and a bit fearful. Like kids being caught causing mischief. “Relax, they just want to discuss creative stuff for the EP. Come on.”

He doesn’t wait for you to follow, and it takes an embarrassing beat where James splutters to catch up to him. The rest of you follow behind in a line. 

You pause by the door, and Remus only spreads an arm for you to walk out before him. When his hand finds your lower back again, it takes a big effort to not melt into his touch. 

From behind you, Remus finds Sirius’ eyes. “My song?” he whispers, a bit conspiratorially. His amber eyes full of amusement at the way Sirius blushes. 

“Our song,” Sirius mutters, blushing more when Remus holds the door of the meeting room for you, then him. 

“Our song, indeed,” he says, enjoying the way Sirius looks away with an eyeroll. 

Remus lets the door close behind him, smiling to himself.

[moonstruckme]

Oooooh just had a thought for boulevard!! What if reader gets sick and is so dedicated to powering through because this is her job, this is her shot, that she is just so obviously miserable? And one of the boys (rem probably) is like "you need rest in a real bed and to not be working so you don't pass out" and then r is forced into staying in a hotel room and not the tour bus

-🌙

Hi angel! Deviated slightly from your request but I think the bones are still there and I hope you enjoy it, thank you for requesting <33

a/n: Please do not misconstrue my participation in the marauders fandom as support of JKR. If you’re new here and want to participate in the fandom, I encourage you to do so without participating in anything that would provide financial gain to her or her transphobic agendas

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 7 | part 8

rockstar!marauders x journalist!reader ♡ 1.4k words

Waking up a bit achey is becoming routine for you on the Mischief Tour, but adding nausea to that feels overly cruel. 

Your mouth tastes stale. There’s a sticky gloop around your eyes, a sure sign that you neglected to take off your makeup before going to sleep. You turn your face into your pillow with a low whine of despair. 

Then you process that you have a pillow. 

Whatever mascara is left undoubtedly smears as you rub your eyes, prying them open a hair at a time. You’re in a room of all white and ivory, with a thin seam of light splitting through thick curtains and a bed you don’t reach the end of even when you stretch your arm all the way out. It’s not heaven, but it’s close. It’s a hotel room. 

Delight comes with dread fast on its heels. How did you get here? You know you didn’t pay for this. Even if you’d been drunk out of your mind, you would never in a million years have been stupid enough to empty your bank account for one night in a room like this. But…you might have been stupid enough to follow someone else into theirs. 

You lift the covers. You’re still wearing your top from the night before, but your trousers are missing. You spot them a moment later on the floor next to the bed. 

You cover your eyes, swallowing as your nausea swells. This is why you should never be off the clock. One night without your tape recorder and notepad between you and your interviewees, and you’ve corroborated everything the industry has ever thought about female journalists. 

All you wanted was a story that would keep you your job. 

For years, you wrote articles and sent them off to magazines like tossing rocks into the ocean. Most sunk, never to be seen again, and it was only when you were losing hope, only when you were starting to think that maybe you just weren’t meant to do this, that you got the gig at Spellbound. The pay is awful, but the work is good—better than good, if this first assignment is any indication of what’s in store for you. If they keep you, that is. It may not matter how good your feature on the band is if Spellbound catches wind of this. 

What was it all even for? You didn’t get one usable quote out of the whole evening. Even if you were to summarize what it is the Marauders are like on a night out, your memory of it all is too hazy to be trusted. You let yourself get sucked in. Into teasing and laughter, the feeling of someone’s warm hand on your back, a soft voice saying things that made you smile in a dark room. It wasn’t the glitz and glamor you might have expected, but it’s still not your world. You’re a journalist; you’re meant to look in, not step inside. And most importantly, wherever you go, you’re supposed to bring your readers with you. No one reading Spellbound is going to know what happened that night at that stranger’s house party with Britain's most sexed-up rockstars. You hardly know yourself. Which means you weren’t a journalist last night; you were only a fool.

You sit up fast, temples throbbing punishingly, when the door to the room opens. James comes in as you yank the covers up over your bare legs, his smile of greeting fading fast at your obvious panic. 

“Oh—god, I’m sorry.” He whirls to face the wall. “I’m so used to just barging into these rooms, I didn’t even think. That was rude.” 

You stare at the back of his head, reeling. “It’s fine,” you say slowly. “I mean, is it anything you haven’t…seen before?” 

“Are you asking if I’m familiar with a woman’s body?” James sounds startled, and halfway amused. “Because, yeah, obviously, but I like to think each one’s like a snowflake.” 

“No, I mean. James.” He glances over his shoulder, finding you haven’t moved. You plead with him to understand. “Is this your room?” 

James’ puzzlement appears to worsen, his brow crinkling in the moment before his eyes shoot wide. “Oh!” 

The pressure in your head cools to a more tolerable level. James gives a breathy, open-mouthed laugh. 

“Oh,” he says again. “Oh, you—we—” 

“Thank god,” you groan.

“Excuse me?” 

“Can you toss me my trousers?”

James obliges, and turns to face the wall again, overcome by spurts of laughter. Thankfully, by the time someone else knocks on the door, you’ve managed to get all your clothes on. 

James opens it once you say it’s okay, and Sirius and Remus come in accompanied by the welcome aroma of coffee. 

Sirius looks from his drummer, half bent over and eyes watery from laughter, to you. “What’ve you done to him?” 

“I don’t remember how I got here,” you admit. “I didn’t know what to think.” 

“Oh. Jamie,” Remus chides, passing you a cup of coffee. His own lips twitch amusedly. “Don’t be mean.” 

“No, I don’t—it’s not—” James sputters. His eyes shine as they meet yours. “It’s not that you’re not lovely, you just looked so horrified. Is the idea really so awful?” 

You roll your eyes, declining to answer. If it weren’t for your job, yes, you might not have such an adverse reaction to the idea. As much as you’d like to think the world a less vain place, musicians don’t rise to the Marauders’ level of fame without people wanting to sleep with at least a little bit. As Sirius pointed out, sexual appeal is part of their brand. The interest of James—or any of them, really—is something anyone would be lucky to have. You’re no exception.

“It’s not you.” James finally manages to quell his laughter, sending you a halfway apologetic look. “I’m just not looking right now.” 

You wave him off. “Right, I forgot about your secret girlfriend.” 

A funny expression crosses James’ face—you feel a twinge of remorse, worrying the comment may have come across as more prying than you meant for it to—but then he smiles and draws his finger across his lips, zipping them shut. 

“This room is yours,” Remus tells you. 

You stare at him. “Mine?” 

“Yes.” He starts to perch on the bed, sending you a look as though asking for permission, and at your obvious bewilderment sits the rest of the way. 

You watch him sip his coffee while your headache grows worse again. “But Lily said the band couldn’t pay for me to travel with you.” 

Remus shrugs. “The band isn’t paying.” 

“He is,” James says, almost pridefully. 

You feel your eyes grow and grow as the air in your lungs dries up. Remus holds up a placating hand. 

“It’s alright,” he says. 

“No, it’s not.” You shake your head, a bit manically. Your temples throb in protest. “What?” 

“Don’t get yourself all worked up.” Sirius leans against the wall, drinking from his own coffee mug while he eyes you appraisingly. “You look like any more upset might make you sick on the bed.”

You look between him and Remus. “But, why? You can’t. I can’t accept it.”

“Looks like you already have,” Sirius hums. He smirks when you glare. “Get over it, babe. We can’t have you as our own live-in paparazzi and then have it come out how badly your time with the Marauders fucked up your back. It’d be bad press.”

“It’s really nothing,” Remus assures you, far kinder than his bandmate. “Do you feel like you could eat? We were thinking of going to a cafe down the road.” 

“Might be a good idea to have something not from the hotel buffet,” James agrees. 

You blink at him. Sirius snickers, drawing your stare.

“You’re very talkative when you’re drunk,” he clues you in.

“God.” You tip your head down onto your knees. What’s smudging your mascara a bit more, at this point? “I’m so sorry.” 

Remus’ hand lays itself over your head with a strangely reassuring weight. “Don’t be sorry. Let’s go eat.” 

“Yeah,” Sirius says helpfully, “just get yourself cleaned up so we can go, yeah? Some real food might make you look a bit less ill.” 

“How are you not hungover?” you mutter. 

Sirius chuckles, and you don’t have to look up to know he’s winking as he says, “Rockstars are immune, gorgeous. You’ll want to write that down.”