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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.
EXCLUSIVE: FROM BACKSTAGE TO BREAKOUT. WHAT REALLY DRIVES THE BAND EVERYONE’S TALKING ABOUT
LORD BLACK’S LOST BOY EXPOSED AS UNUSUAL ROMANCE RUMOURS EMERGE AROUND THE BAND
‘IT WAS NEVER SIMPLE’: INSIDER CLAIMS SURFACE ABOUT ‘NEW’ IT-BAND’S RISE AND THE FIGURE AT ITS CENTRE
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.
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summary: The Marauders are in dire need of a new guitarist. You weren’t even planning to get involved. Sirius thinks you’re insufferable, Remus can’t quite figure you out, and James just wants the band to stop falling apart. Things (and feelings) get messy somewhere along the way.
tags: fem!reader. rockstar!reader. modern au. rock band au. sort of nuisances to lovers, angst. hurt/comfort. eventual fame au.
part one, part two, part three, part four, part five, part six, part seven
author's note: this it taking over my life tbh and i love it... second part incoming shortly (next few days probably hehe)
Just as Jud felt like he was settling into a rhythm with the parish, with the congregation themselves, the balance and security he’d tried to create for himself was upended in a second. There’s always a slightly unpredictable nature to mass, the result of humanity seeping through, like tripping over his feet or stumbling over his words, but it rarely escalates to such a degree where he disrupts the proceedings.
Halfway through the homily, a baby starts fussing. It’s not the ear-piercing, earth-shattering screams of a newborn, but the discontented gurgles of a child not yet comfortable with speaking. Searching the crowd, Jud’s eyes land on the little girl, seated in the lap of a woman who must be her mother. The young woman looks just as comfortable as her daughter sounds, so Jud sends a reassuring smile her way, hoping it does the trick to calm her nerves.
Jud isn’t the only one looking, though, and not everyone seems to have such a positive outlook on the upset child. You can feel their eyes on you, like bugs crawling over your skin, and you push yourself to standing, trying to make your exit as quick as possible without disturbing anyone too much.
A wave of deja vu rushes over Jud, of a different woman with a different baby, a different priest, but in the same church, and it makes him feel sick to his stomach. Before he can even really think, he’s speaking, cutting off his practiced comments on Scripture.
“You don’t have to go,” his voice rings out and quiets the whisperings that had gone up throughout the church, “God wouldn’t be bothered by a baby.”
The woman seems to hesitate before sitting back down, leaning over to whisper into her child’s ear. Jud resumes the mass and spends much of the rest of it on autopilot, ruminating on the moment over and over until he finds himself outside of the church, shaking hands with parishioners as they leave.
You’re trailing behind your parents as you leave church, a keen sense of embarrassment boiling in your gut. Hoping to get home without further incident, you try to slip around your parents and reach the car while they talk to the priest, but luck is clearly not on your side today.
“Hey,” the priest says, reaching around your father to touch your sleeve softly, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to force you to stay, but I didn’t want you to feel like you needed to leave.”
“Oh, no, it’s alright.” You smile at him, hike up Phoebe higher on your hip. Up close, the priest is much younger than you would have expected, and far more attractive than you’d ever admit.
“I’m Father Jud,” he extends his hand, and it feels oddly formal but you grasp his hand in yours as you give him your name. You glance to the side, but your parents are gone, chatting with neighbors near the parking lot.
“And this is Phoebe,” you tickle her beneath her ribs to get her to smile, “who is normally well behaved but has never had to sit still for that long before.”
“Not normally church goers?” Jud asks, and while the question would typically seem invasive, loaded with deeper judgement, he merely seems innocently curious.
“No, not at all,” you laugh awkwardly, but the priest just smiles at you, “we’re just staying with my parents for a bit.”
When you use your free hand to point to your mom and dad, a flash of confusion passes across Jud’s face, and even though it leaves as soon as it arrived, you feel that embarrassment grow again.
“They don’t talk about me much.” With that, you give one last small smile, and walk towards your parents, Phoebe looking back at the priest over your shoulder with a similar sort of smile.
Later that evening, when you’re home alone and Phoebe is crying her little eyes out and there’s a knock at the door, you find yourself cursing your unusually awful luck once again. Without your parents, you have no choice but to haul your daughter into your arms and bring her to the door, even as she threatens to blow out your ear drum with her restless screaming.
Typically she’s a very well behaved, contented little girl. You hadn’t lied to the priest when you said that, although you’re sure that’s what he had assumed. Today has put her through the ringer though, and even once you’d recovered from her outburst in church, you realized her favorite stuffed elephant had gone missing. While it wasn’t a problem most of the day, she gets more and more restless without her elephant the closer it gets to bedtime.
Opening the door, you’re met with the last person you ever expected to see on your parents’ doorstep. Phoebe’s cries quiet the second she sees what’s in his arms.
“I think this elephant had too much fun this morning, wanted to spend all day at the church,” Father Jud says, the fluffy elephant looking especially small in his hands. His smile seems to take up his whole face, and with the force of it directed at Phoebe, you’re able to lament the loss of such a beautiful smile, such beautiful hands, on a clergyman.
“Oh, thank fuck,” you all but sigh in relief, and Jud’s smile turns towards you. You could just take the elephant, thank him profusely, and send him on his way to enjoy a few hours of relative peace without your parents, but you find you don’t exactly want to. “Wanna come in?”
“I’d love to,” and you’re not sure if it’s just the way he is, but it seems so incredibly genuine you can’t help but believe there’s nowhere else he’d rather be.
It’s awkward at first, having a priest you barely know over to your parents’ house while they’re out, but both of your attentions soon turn to Phoebe, who’s been happily reunited with her beloved elephant. While Jud may look slightly out of place in the kitchen of your childhood home, he looks like he’s exactly where he’s meant to be when he’s smiling down at Phoebe, laughing to himself as she babbles away and shows off her toys.
“Do you want anything to drink?” You ask, feeling out of place without your daughter in your arms. She’s typically your security blanket, but once she calmed herself she started squirming, so you set her in her high chair instead. “We have tea, water, apple juice, teething biscuits, whatever you want.”
“I’m alright,” he assures you, sitting in one of the chairs next to Phoebe. You follow suit, sitting opposite the priest. It feels like some sort of divine punishment, going to mass for the first time in years and seeing what can only be the most attractive priest ever. It must be one of the circles of hell, retribution for one of your many wrongs.
“Thank you for bringing her back,” you nod to the elephant, and Jud just smiles again, revealing the dimples in his cheeks, “I don’t even wanna imagine the nightmare bedtime would be without her.”
“Didn’t want them to get lonely.” As if to prove Jud’s point, Phoebe squeezes the elephant to her chest in what would be a bone-crushing hug, showing off all her gums as she grins in delight. The two of you lapse into silence, only punctuated by your daughter’s happy squeals and nonsensical babbles.
“How long do you plan to stay in Chimney Rock?” Once again, you’re struck by how easily Jud is able to make a typically probing question seem like the result of mere curiosity, and maybe that’s because it simply is. Perhaps he just genuinely wants to know more about you. The thought simultaneously warms you and makes you feel like bolting.
“No idea,” you tell him honestly, sighing as you look over at your daughter, “I had to quit my job a few weeks back, when they switched the position from remote to in-person. I don’t have anyone to watch after Pheebs, besides my parents really, so I thought it would be best if we stayed here for a bit, at least while I tried to find a new job.”
“No luck so far?” He asks, but you can tell from the tone that he already knows the answer, so you just shake your head. “I’m sure something’ll turn up soon.”
When he smiles at you, it’s not accompanied by the typically pitying look you’d crown accustomed to over the last couple of years. With Jud, there’s nothing but warmth and sincerity in your eyes, and it’s been so unbelievably long since anyone looked at you that way. Even after you say your goodbyes and thank him again for the elephant rescue mission, you keep replaying that smile, over and over again.
A few Sundays go by, and both you and Phoebe seem to settle into the routine of mass. She barely fusses, sometimes babbling along with Jud or with the congregation’s responses. On your end, you rarely register the words coming out of Jud’s mouth, just content to hear him speak. It’s probably the single most counterproductive use of a church service, but you can’t really find it in you to care.
“Can I talk to you for a second?” Jud asks as you’re leaving the church, separating you from your parents who continue on to the car. You wonder if they’ll realize you’re gone before they leave. Simultaneously, you’re worried if you’re about to get scolded for the blank way you stare at the pulpit during mass, clearly not taking any of the words to heart.
“Of course,” you reply, and you mean it. The two of you haven’t had any real conversation since he stopped by to drop off the stuffed animal Phoebe left at the church, and the polite greetings and smiles when you bump into each other around town hasn’t scratched the itch lately. You barely know the man, and yet you find yourself craving just a simple conversation with him. Internally, you scold yourself for this bizarre loneliness that has you dreaming of a conversation with a priest.
“The parish could use some help, with records,” Jud explains, “there’s a fund set aside for the positions, we just haven’t been able to find anyone yet.”
“You’re offering me a job?” You’re confused, even as your heartrate ticks up in anticipation, excitement starting to flood your veins.
“Yeah, I am.” Jud smiles at you, and you can’t help but to smile back. “You could bring Phoebe with, it would just be the two of us over there.”
“I don’t wanna take advantage of your kindness.” In your experience, offers that are too good to be true usually are, and this has the warning bells ringing in your head already.
“You wouldn’t be,” Jud reassures you, “honestly, it’s a complete disaster. I can’t wrap my head around the filing system.”
Phoebe squawks, her routine disrupted by this conversation. You switch your hold on her, soothing her as you smooth your thumb over her shoulder.
“You don’t have to say yes right now, I didn’t mean to put you on the spot.” The words are directed at you, but he’s looking at Phoebe, who stares right back. You get a view of what looks like a tattoo peeking out beneath the collar of Jud’s vestments, and your mouth goes dry.
“I’ll be there.”
Come Monday morning, it’s a mad dash to get out the door. You’d had to pack a bag for yourself with your laptop and a notebook, completely unsure of what you were actually doing or what you would need. Phoebe is easier, you know exactly what she’ll need, but the girl herself proves more challenging.
When you finally make it to the rectory, Phoebe’s eyes are all red but her tears have ceased. Jud emerges from the front door like he’d been waiting for your car to pull up.
“Sorry we’re late,” you say in lieu of a greeting, “had a bit of a rough morning.”
Jud just brushes the apology off with a smile, and the tight feeling in your chest that has been ever-expanding since you woke up seems to dissipate. He leads you into the rectory, stepping into a small room. When you see what awaits you, a laugh bubbles up unprovoked.
“You really weren’t kidding,” you say as you take it all in, the mess of papers and filing cabinets askew, what you assume is a desk hidden beneath the chaos.
“I haven’t had time to get a jump on it.” Jud’s apologetic, but now it’s your turn to wave it away, your amused smile fading to something softer.
“It’s what I’m here for.” For a moment, it’s just you and Jud looking at each other, and it might be your imagination, but the air feels charged, different somehow. You wait for him to say something, he looks like he has something to say, but instead he just smiles and tells you he’ll be in your office if you need anything.
Finding a spot mostly clear from clutter, you set up Phoebe’s playmat and give her a handful of toys to keep her occupied while you set up a plan of attack. First, you come up with a new system for filing and documenting everything, and then you try to get a handle on the confusion of chaos that has taken over the tiny room.
When Jud returns around lunchtime, you’re impressed by your own progress.
“It looks great in here already,” Jud says as he leans against the doorway, and you preen under his compliment.
“Thank you,” you respond, before clearing your throat and setting down the paper you’d been looking at. Jud shifts his attention from Phoebe to you, and you press on. “Although, it’s starting to look like someone came in here and randomly pulled a bunch of papers from the cabinets and threw them around the room.
“Weird.” Jud’s mask of innocence cracks when he can’t contain his smile, and you grin back.
“You’re secret’s safe with me,” you joke, and Jud’s smile grows. You think he could rival the sun with a smile like that, but you try to brush the thought off and go back to work.
As surprising as it would have been to you even a few weeks ago, you come to really enjoy your work for the parish. Once you manage to reorganize everything, your workload lightens and all you need to do is stay on top of the incoming documents. When you bring it up to Jud, that you would really only need to come in once or twice a week and the church could keep its money, he just shrugs, says it’s up to you.
You keep coming in, claiming the routine is good for Phoebe but it’s good for you too. It gives you something productive to do, something to keep busy and out of the house. And, selfishly, you enjoy spending time with Jud, trading quips back and forth as you work or eating lunch outside together when the weather finally turns.
The weather had been so nice recently, you couldn’t resist the temptation of an afternoon walk. And, you were able to disguise your slacking with real work, which you knew wasn’t necessary with Jud but sometimes you couldn’t help but feel like you were doing something wrong, something bad. The diocese had called and Jud wasn’t in his office, so even though it wasn’t your job, you took the message and then you and Phoebe set off to find him.
Phoebe sets your pace, her steps slow and unsteady even as you hold her hand. When he’s not outside the rectory, you walk over to the church, and when you don’t find him there, you’re at a complete loss. You want to stop and think, trying to remember if you saw his car anywhere, but Phoebe wants to keep walking so you follow along.
She leads you down towards the woods, and toddlers her way to a path laid with woodchips. It seems safe enough so you let her take the lead, your mind racing a mile a minute. Your thoughts are eventually cut off by your daughter’s happy babbling, and by a sound you can’t quite place. It’s repetitive and solid, fist against something unyielding, growing louder the more you follow the path.
When you turn the corner, coming to a clearing in the woods, the sound stops abruptly, replaced by someone breathing heavily. To your absolute surprise, it’s Jud. Phoebe, however, is entirely unperturbed, and breaks free of your grip to race over to Jud, as fast as her little unsteady legs can carry her.
Without missing a beat, Jud scoops her up like second nature, just before she would have tripped over her own feet and landed in the dirt. You, however, are lagging, your brain still processing the sight in front of you. Jud’s sleeves are rolled up, and you can see another tattoo on his forearm, something else for you to obsess over when you should be doing literally anything else. It’s shocking how Phoebe looks right at home in his arms, how Jud looks so natural holding your daughter.
“You got a call from the diocese,” you say, mostly because you can’t think of anything else, or at least anything that would be proper and respectable in this situation. The rise and fall of his chest is still rapid, but Jud nods, readjusts his grip on Phoebe and grins when she giggles. You lead him back to the rectory, wondering what you could have possibly done to warrant such a cruel and unusual punishment.
Oooh with that new arranged marriage as you just posted, what if someone says something really disparaging to reader about being an outsider in her own kingdom and then in her own marriage, and reader suddenly starts reading james’a interactions with Remus and Sirius differently and she feels really bad, buttt in the meantime the marauders have grown fond of her so they’re not too happy when she starts pulling away?
Thank you for your request dusts <3
cw: muggle au, arranged marriage, hurt with no comfort (yet)
poly!marauders x princess!reader ♡ 1.8k words
James makes you smile. It makes sense that he would—he’s sweet, funny, handsome enough to frighten butterflies into flight in your stomach—but it almost alarms you how true it is. Half the time you’re with him you’re giggling like a schoolgirl at every other word from his mouth. Being asked to leave the castle grounds so that the media can get photos of James showing you about your new kingdom should feel like a chore. Your smile should feel phony, the act of holding your fiancee’s hand forced and awkward, but after an afternoon of touring all of James’ favorite haunts your cheeks ache with genuine happiness.
“Of all the people who should be getting free drinks.” James shakes his head, taking another sip of his apple cider. He hasn’t let go of your hand even though you’re back inside the castle, and despite the forecast you’d noted before leaving this morning you haven’t felt the chill so long as he’s been touching you.
“I know.” You sigh, blowing some steam off your own drink. “I feel kind of bad for taking this.”
“Wha—hey, I wasn’t talking about you. You’re different.”
You grin up at him. (See? It’s impossible to stop.) “How am I different?”
“Well, you’re a girl.”
“Mhm, and?”
“Pretty girls always get free stuff.” You come to a stop in front of James’ room, his shrug casual as your hands swing between you. “They wouldn’t have to know who you were.”
A warmth spreads from your chest, washing over your face and down your arms. You wonder if James can feel it tingling in your fingertips. “I’ll see you later?” you ask softly.
James smiles. “Yeah, I’ve just got a couple of things to handle first. I’ll come find you, yeah? For dinner?”
“Sounds great.” Your answering smile is irrepressible. He gives your hand a squeeze before letting go, slipping into his room.
It’s difficult, not to collapse against the closed door with a sigh like a lovesick girl in a film. You’ve no doubt that to anyone watching you give the general impression anyway, huge smile still stuck to your face and hearts in your eyes.
You hear Sirius’ voice from inside James’ room. You’re sure Remus is in there as well, his presence only less audible than Sirius’. You suspect they’re James’ couple of things to handle. You don’t mind; James likes to have at least some time alone with his friends each day, and you wouldn’t begrudge him it. It’s sweet. Honestly, it only endears you to James more that he has such close friends, friends which go all the way back to childhood and whom he clearly loves fiercely. You’re glad you’re getting to know them as well—not only because Remus and Sirius are nice to be around, but you don’t imagine it can be a bad thing to get along with your partner’s friends. Sirius seemed to have some trouble getting used to you, but you think you might be finally moving past that; if you’re lucky, you could all be quite happy once you and James are married.
You meander the halls a bit on your way back to your room, still buzzing with a restless, giddy energy, a throat-squeezing feeling of possibility. It’s as you pass the open doorway of an office that you hear your name.
“...see how he was holding her hand? It’s cruel.”
You stop on the other side of the door. You don’t grow up in a palace without developing a healthy proclivity for eavesdropping; if people in Gryffindor are talking about you, you want to know what they’re saying.
“They’re engaged.” That’s Lily’s voice, matter-of-fact. “Holding hands is part of the deal.”
“It is when it’s for the cameras.” You recognize Mary’s cadence now, too.
“You know James. He’s touchy with everyone.”
“Exactly, but she doesn’t know that,” Mary argues. She sounds the tiniest bit upset. “James can—I know he’s only being friendly, he doesn’t mean to, but he can flirt without having any idea he’s doing it. She’s going to get the wrong idea.”
Your stomach quiets. You can’t tell if the butterflies you’ve been feeling all afternoon have frozen in place or fallen dead.
“I know.” Lily’s voice is a murmur. “I know, but what do you want him to do? I’m sure he wants to tell her everything, but Remus and Sirius will know better than to trust her yet. She’s only been here a couple of weeks. If they tell her and she calls off the wedding, how would that look for Gryffindor? Or if she tells anyone else?”
Mary sighs.
“He’s the prince,” Lily says gently. “He has to consider the whole kingdom, and we can’t afford for this to get out. Not everyone is ready for…for…”
“For their king to be in a gay polycule?”
You choke on air.
“It’s not like it would be the first time,” Mary offers.
“Allegedly,” Lily says, though there’s a hint of a smile in her tone.
Mary scoffs. “Right, allegedly.”
There’s a long pause. You hear the scrape of wood against the floor and imagine Lily scooting her chair closer to Mary, playing with the ends of the other girl’s hair.
“I’m sorry,” she says. “It does feel…well, it’s not ideal. Maybe I can talk to James about being a little less…James.”
Mary’s voice lowers. “I just feel bad for her. She left her home, her family didn’t even seem to hesitate about sending her away—forever—and now she’s an outsider in her own marriage.”
The barb of their pity stabs through you. Lily murmurs something in response, but you don’t stick around to hear it. You’re done being gossiped about for the day.
You’re moving so quickly, you walk past the hallway to your room twice before finding it. There’s something warm and sour curdling in your gut, and you’re—you don’t know what you are. Hurt, indignant, nauseous. You feel like an idiot.
It all seems so transparent now. Horrifyingly, glaringly obvious. Remus’ hand on James’ knee when his bouncing was shaking the table. The private look on Sirius’ face when James fished a leaf out of his hair. How comfortable they all are with each other, touching and joking and speaking in a language you hoped—foolishly—you might one day crack. But it’s not meant to be shared with you.
You’ve thought, once or twice, that James hasn’t seemed as nervous as you are when you spend time together. Not since that first day. You told yourself it was part of his personality—he’s a confident man, not the sort to trip over his own feet when he likes someone, you shouldn’t read into it—but now, of course, this makes sense. None of this is real to him. The performance is as much for you as it is for the cameras, meant to keep you happy and incurious.
You would never have gone along with it if you’d known. It’s no wonder Sirius hasn’t been friendly to you; you’re encroaching on his relationship. On all of theirs. You’ve flirted with James in front of all of Remus and Sirius, planned dates, talked about your wedding. You wouldn’t have—god, you’re not trying to stand in the way of what they have. Even when you thought they were only friends, their love for each other was so obvious they couldn’t hope to mask it. You would never want to get in the way of that. You don’t want to do this to them.
But just as the acidic tang of guilt rises in your throat, another force shoves against it. You aren’t doing this to them. Every part you’ve played in this has been against your will. If you’d gone into this arrangement with your eyes open, you could have done things completely differently. Only you hadn’t been given that choice.
You don’t think James hates you. Remus might not, either. But whatever progress you’ve made with each of them seems pointless now. The impression you had upon first entering Gryffindor has never felt more true. No one wants you here. They never did.
You’re every bit the girl in a film now, laying on your bed letting tears slip down to wet the pillow. You register the cliche and do nothing about it.
You don’t know what to do. You can’t go home. Riddle is at Peleria’s doorstep. Even if you could get the King and Queen to commit Gryffindor’s armies without going through with the marriage, Lily is right; it would look bad for both of you to call it off now. You have to marry James. It’s all that’s been asked of you. It’s all you can offer your family, your kingdom. You can’t go home.
Gryffindor was supposed to be your new home.
A soft knock on your door summons you from the smog of your self-pity. You sniffle, scrubbing mostly dried tears from under your eyes and checking your reflection in the mirror before saying, “Yes?”
Remus pokes his head in. The sight of him makes your chest hurt—the slight uptilt to his mouth, the kindness of it. You wonder if this whole time, he’s only been kind to you out of sympathy. “Sirius is jealous that you and James got to spend all day in town,” he says. “He wants to go out for dinner. Are you ready?”
“Um.” Your voice comes out rough, and you clear your throat. “I’m a bit tired, actually. You guys go ahead.”
Remus’ almost-smile fades. “If you’re tired, we can eat here.”
“That’s okay.”
“Sirius doesn’t always have to get his way,” he says wryly. “It’ll be good for him.”
“I think I’m just going to…” You give your pillow a lame pat. “...go to bed.”
You don’t look out the window, at the sun hardly beginning to set; neither does Remus. His brows furrow, and you fuss with your comforter so as not to meet his eyes. Too clever, too discerning.
“Are you alright?” he asks.
“Hm?”
“You sound a bit hoarse.”
“Oh.” You press your lips into a smile. “I think it’s just the weather.”
He makes a soft hum. “I’ll have someone bring you a tea. We’ll see you tomorrow, then?”
“Yeah,” you murmur, lying back down. “Thanks.”
The door clicks shut behind him. A wave of feeling washes over you—silly, feeling abandoned when you’ve asked to be left behind. A couple more tears squeeze from your eyes nonetheless. They trace meandering paths down your face, the wetness cooling in their wake.
You wonder if this is how your life will be. Going out in front of cameras with James, smiling, holding hands, then delivering him to his true partners so you can return to your room. Alone. This arrangement isn’t what you thought it was, but you can play the part. For Gryffindor and for Peleria, for James and Sirius and Remus, you can.
You hope they’re enjoying their night without you.
trigger warning: NSFW 18+, kinktober is full of content/kinks that may be triggering for some. please read the content warnings before each fic, and please lmk if i need to add any new warnings. obviously mature content ahead, minors dni
october 1 - masturbation (remus lupin)
october 2 - kidnapping (dark!james potter)
october 3 - threesome (james potter/sirius black)
october 5 - dacryphilia (regulus black)
october 6 - intoxication (rafe cameron)
october 10 - cnc (ghostface!james potter)
october 11 - handcuffs (dark!james potter)
october 14 - omegaverse (alpha!james potter)
october 15 - sex pollen (enemy!sirius black)
october 17 - messy sex (dark!james potter)
october 21 - forced orgasm (james potter)
october 22 - gunplay (joel miller)
october 25 - double penetration (werewolves!remus lupin/sirius black)
welcome to my first kinktober ever! a collection of (basically) a lot of porn with plot, i hope you enjoy it as much as i<3
this features prompts from this list + some of my own ideas!
*. ⋆ please remember english isn't my first language, and that you are responsible for what you choose to consume here—if something is not your cup of tea, just ignore it!
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# 𝐨𝐜𝐭 𝟏 — JAMES POTTER | face sitting. orgasm control. squirting.
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𝔡𝔦𝔰𝔠𝔩𝔞𝔦𝔪𝔢𝔯: this is a kinktober masterlist. every work is smut, which means they’re strictly 18+ mDNI. most works in this masterlist feature hard kinks, so read them at your own risk. all of these works are x fem!reader. 🎃
𝔣𝔢𝔞𝔱𝔲𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔤: james potter, remus lupin, sirius black, and poly!marauders. 🦇
ཐི♡ཋྀ welcome to my second kinktober event, similarly to last years i'm still really nervous to post this. if anything's linked wrong or is missing lmk!
ཐི♡ཋྀ candy divider used here and in each post is by @strangergraphics
go to main masterlist?
fandoms ⟢ twd, cod, criminal minds, soa, mayans, marauders, the bear, shameless, and svu !!
taglist ⟢ the form link can be found here, submissions for each day closes at 6pm gmt the day of. any submissions for a day already posted will be ignored (ie the form gets filled out oct 6th and someone ticks day 1-5)
warnings ⟢ event is fully nsfw obvs, so minors do not interact!!!, minors will be blocked with zero hesitation. all posts are fem!reader, and all have their own tags and warnings, please read and heed them before proceeding to any fic posted !!
status ⟢ ongoing / complete
DAY ONE ⟢ Sirius Black
⤷ body worship + pregnancy sex
DAY TWO ⟢ Carmen Berzatto
⤷ mirror sex + praise kink
DAY THREE ⟢ Soap MacTavish
⤷ wet dream + dry humping
DAY FOUR ⟢ Angel Reyes
⤷ edging
DAY FIVE ⟢ Chibs Telford
⤷ quickies + semi public
DAY SIX ⟢ Rick Grimes
⤷ guided masturbation + stepcest
DAY SEVEN ⟢ Lip Gallagher
⤷ cam girl / sex on film
DAY EIGHT ⟢ Derek Morgan
⤷ drunk sex + public sex
DAY NINE ⟢ Juice Ortiz
⤷ panty stealing + mutual masturbation
DAY TEN ⟢ Angel Reyes
⤷ early morning sex
DAY ELEVEN ⟢ Richie Jerimovich
⤷ thigh riding + praise kink
DAY TWELVE ⟢ Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick
⤷ cockwarming
DAY THIRTEEN ⟢ Jax Teller
⤷ ruined orgasm | first part to day twenty eight
DAY FOURTEEN ⟢ Elliot Stabler
⤷ breeding kink + creampies
DAY FIFTEEN ⟢ Daryl Dixon
⤷ choking
DAY SIXTEEN ⟢ Tig Trager
⤷ handcuffs / tied up sex
DAY SEVENTEEN ⟢ Negan Smith
⤷ car sex
DAY EIGHTEEN ⟢ Chibs Telford
⤷ dry humping
DAY NINETEEN ⟢ Tig Trager
⤷ dacryphillia + spanking
DAY TWENTY ⟢ Spencer Reid
⤷ face sitting
DAY TWENTY ONE ⟢ Shane Walsh and Rick Grimes
⤷ uniform sex | part two to last years fic
DAY TWENTY TWO ⟢ Aaron Hotchner
⤷ sleepy sex + morning wood
DAY TWENTY THREE ⟢ Tig Trager
⤷ somnophilia + sexual frustrations
DAY TWENTY FOUR ⟢ Shane Walsh
⤷ strip tease + lap dance
DAY TWENTY FIVE ⟢ Captain MacTavish
⤷ daddy kink + brat taming
DAY TWENTY SIX ⟢ Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick
⤷ tit fuck / handjob + begging
DAY TWENTY SEVEN ⟢ Chibs Telford
⤷ dumbification + age gap + humiliation / degradation
DAY TWENTY EIGHT ⟢ Jax Teller
⤷ make up sex | part two to day thirteen
DAY TWENTY NINE ⟢ Bishop Losa
⤷ oral fixation + teasing
DAY THIRY ⟢ Luke Alvez
⤷ cock worship
DAY THIRTY ONE ⟢ Chibs Telford and Juice Ortiz
⤷ guided sex + first time / virginity loss + threesome
welcome to kinktober .⋆♱ this is my first year participating and i am sooo excited! the fics will be shorter blurbs to longer drabbles, and some will be porn without plot and others will have plot and (of course) smut. which is why this event is strictly 18+ mdni!! please read the warnings on each fic before proceeding <3
oct 1. sex tape / belly bulge ⋆ james potter
oct 3. vibrator / caught masturbating ⋆ roommate!sirius black
oct 5. pregnancy / breeding ⋆ husband!james potter
oct 7. kneeling / praise ⋆ poly!wolfstar
oct 10. thigh riding / innocence kink ⋆ sirius black
oct 11. somnophilia ⋆ james potter
oct 13. period sex ⋆ james potter
oct 15. eiffel tower / degredation ⋆ poly!prongsfoot
oct 17. tit fucking / just the tip / cock warming ⋆ james potter
“Promised vows master list”
featuring: poly marauders x reader (arranged marriage au) angsty but also fluff (later on)
summary: Y/N is married off to James, Sirius, and Remus due to family obligations, and though their relationship starts cold and distant, they slowly begin to fall in love with her.
“Promised vows master list”
featuring: poly marauders x reader (arranged marriage au) angsty but also fluff (later on)
summary: Y/N is married off to James, Sirius, and Remus due to family obligations, and though their relationship starts cold and distant, they slowly begin to fall in love with her.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
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