#do i wanna know? hozier cover

[ellecdc]

Do I Wanna Know?

Remus Lupin x gn!reader who holds all the aces [1.5k words]

request from @darlin-collins who felt that Hozier’s cover of Do I Wanna Know? just screamed Remus

CW: written for a fem!reader in mind but no pronouns used, alcohol and drinking, being drunk, clubs and dancing, one-sided pining (OR IS IT!?!?!?!……), Remus’ internal dialogue so it’s messy and rambling

Remus can hardly hear the grating music playing in the pub over the melodic tinkling of your laugh; so effervescent in your joy that your eyes are shut tight and you lean into Marlene for support.

Remus doesn’t know what was so funny, he missed the joke; he was too busy watching the way your eyes were beginning to turn glassy and your cheeks were starting to glow as the warmth from the multiple drinks you had enjoyed so far began thrumming through your veins.

He wonders if you even realise how many aces you have up your sleeve; how you’ve managed to fully enrapture the simple man sitting across from you at the pub. You’ve probably managed to enrapture many men sitting in this very bar, but Remus tries not to think of them.

He thinks of them anyway, imagining you even smiling at anyone who may be less than deserving (let alone tangled up with them) feels like digging his thumb into a fresh wound. He imagines that this feels better than actually having to see you smiling at someone less deserving, though.

His musings are cut short when you smile over at him.

He falls asleep that night with the sound of your laughter echoing in his head.

You’re doing it again.

Granted, all you’re really doing is sitting beside him on the settee. He turned his body completely towards you early on in the evening, both as a way to hide the small blot of red wine he’d spilled onto James and Lily’s sofa, but mostly so he wouldn’t miss a second of your company.

He takes a moment to wonder if the way your body was also angled towards him meant anything before he mentally slaps himself.

Does he want to know if this feeling flows both ways? He imagines that, for these small, stolen moments he can pretend that it does and decides that this is ultimately the safer alternative to finding out definitively that no, it does not.

He knows the likeliness of it being entirely one sided is high; he’s not a foolish man.

He’s too long and lanky, too brittle and sore. He’s quiet and reserved and you’re bright and bubbly. He’s grumpy and awkward and you’re lovely and affable. He’s a mess and you’re perfect.

Remus’ conviction to not know is solidified when Lily calls you over to the kitchen to help her make some cocktails. You turn to look at him apologetically as though he’d been anything more than a decorative piece beside your main attraction, but he still finds himself sad to see you go, sort of wishing you’d want to stay on this small, wine stained sofa with him.

Remus takes a large enough swig from his wine that he dribbles more onto the couch; he leaves the scene of the crime, heading across the room to fall into conversation with Sirius and Mary.

He shouldn’t have agreed to come; the lights were blinding yet he found he still couldn’t see anything in the dark, strobe light filled club, and the music was so loud that he basically had to shove his tongue down someone’s ear in order for them to hear him.

That was fine, though, Remus didn’t really feel like talking. Instead, he stood along a wall with a drink in his hand as he watched you laugh and twirl on the dance floor with Lily, Mary, and Marlene.

The four of you are really quite a sight to behold. Completely lost in your own bubble of music and girlhood and bliss, your group dances like there’s no one else in the room.

Every once in a while, some dumb bloke will feel brave enough to approach you four, and Remus almost laughs at the way you all glare and snarl at them until they back off.

Almost.

Because he can’t really blame them but he does anyway.

And then Sirius moves in and steals you away; he’d asked all four of you if you’d like to dance, but James moved in on Lily right quick after that and Marlene flipped him the bird before grabbing Mary and heading towards the bar.

You smile sweetly at Sirius, laughing when he bows and holds his hand out to you like an aristocrat in the regency era asking you to participate in an intricate ball dance with him.

And then the two of you are pressed close to one another, swaying in time to the music; your fists are tangled in Sirius’ clothes in order to keep him close and his hands cradle you reverently.

He leans down to murmur something into your ear and he must have said something horridly crude because you’re swatting at his chest chidingly and laughing. And Remus feels like he’s going to be sick, so he tosses his still full cup in the garbage and pulls an Irish goodbye.

He’ll text everyone later.

But he feels just as sick at home as he did in the club and even the two more beers he manages to drink on his own doesn’t help settle his nerves as he watches his phone and waits.

And waits and waits and waits.

For what, well, Remus isn’t quite sure.

It’s well past closing time, the bars would have long kicked the lot of you out.

He wonders if you’ve ever thought of calling him when you’ve had a few. He wonders if your fingers ever itched to ring him the way his own do right now.

He falls asleep on his sofa, the image of you and Sirius pressed up against each other seared into the back of his retinas replaying on a loop when his eyes finally fall closed.

Remus doesn’t go to the club the next time everyone goes out. The group lets out a series of complaints and protests, but what almost has him second guessing his decision is the furrow of your brows as you consider him.

Almost.

But he’s still being plagued by images of you and Sirius slotting your hips together on the dancefloor and he can’t do it.

Not again. Not tonight.

So he stays home, and he stays up well into the early morning hours with his paperback in his hand, and he doesn’t realise that he’d actually been staying up for a reason; that he’d actually been staying up waiting for something. Hoping for something.

He doesn’t realise this until his phone starts to ring, and his stomach unfurls and he’s dropping his book - effectively losing his spot - and launching for his phone.

It’s you.

“Hello?” He manages to get out, bemusement and excitement both evident in his voice. He nearly kicks himself for the blunder until he hears you let out what sounds like a sigh of relief.

“Rem?”

He smiles unbiddenly. “Hi, dove.”

“Hi, Rem.”

Remus pulls his lips between his teeth as he fights against a beaming smile that you couldn’t see anyway but it still feels like an admission.

“Where are you? Are you alright?”

“Yeah.” You let out with a long sigh. “I’m alright.”

“Where are you?” He asks again.

“Home.”

“Yeah? That’s good.” Remus says. The line is quiet, save your breathing.

“Did you have fun tonight?” He tries.

You let out a noncommittal sound. “Yeah…yeah I had fun.”

“You don’t sound so sure.”

“Wasn’t s’much fun as last time.” You slur; somehow, that makes Remus smile even brighter.

“Yeah? Why’s that?”

You let out another long sigh. “I d’know.”

Remus hums into the phone and reclines back onto his sofa, listening to the sound of your breathing and wonders if maybe you aren’t falling asleep on him.

“Rem?” You ask suddenly.

“Yeah?”

You let out a hum of acknowledgment. “Thought you were gone.”

Remus hums in the negative. “I’m right here.”

More silence.

“Why’d you call, dove?” Remus asks, and he immediately squeezes his eyes shut in regret because he already decided that he didn’t want to know - couldn’t handle to know - if this flows both ways, and it feels like too much of an admission.

You held all the aces; this man sitting on the other end of the line often falls asleep to the sound of your laughter, obsesses over images of you with anyone who doesn’t happen to be him, who has to physically hide his phone from himself when he’s drunk because he yearns for nothing more than hearing your voice.

Like this…

“I just…” you start, your drink-addled brain working hard to articulate your thoughts properly. “I just wanted to talk to you. I just wanted to hear your voice.”

Remus should have known you’d be ten times braver than he.

“Have you ever thought of calling when you’ve had a few, Rem?” You ask him in turn.

And, well, if the two of you were being honest…

“All the time.”

You let out a pleased hum. “Good.” You decide. “I was worried it was just me.”

[wttcsms]

unlike most of the loud-mouthed, irritating people sae itoshi finds himself constantly surrounded by, he’s long since learned that you are not the type to openly express what you’re thinking about unless explicitly asked. 

so, for you, he finds himself asking into the quiet, sleepy darkness of your bedroom, “what are you thinking about?” 

“that starting tomorrow, i’m going to forget all about you.” you hum, propping yourself up by pressing your palm against the muscular plane of his chest. one of the straps of your silky camisole slips off your shoulder; it shouldn’t be as tantalizing to him as it is, but he thinks everything about you, everything you do, is designed to specifically tempt him. 

he focuses on the tiny strip of fabric, on the smooth expanse of your skin, before his eyes flit back up to your face; he meets your gaze, cocks an eyebrow. “oh?”

truth be told, sae’s not a witty person. everyone lets him get the final word in because he’s got this cold aura and seemingly disinterested expression that screams “i don’t give a fuck,” but he does care. to a certain extent. he doesn’t care about the arguments he has with people; he just cares about winning. when he calls you, and you pick up, even if it’s on the second to last ring before he gets sent straight to voicemail, he considers that a win. when you open the door for him before he can even knock, he considers that a win. 

when you admit that you’re thinking about him, even if it’s to say it’s because you plan on erasing him from your memory, he considers that a win. 

“wanna know why?” you ask him, and he nods. if you were anyone else, he wouldn’t even care. 

“‘cause i can’t handle being the girl that keeps having her ex spend the night.” you sit up fully now, removing your hand from his body. he misses your warmth the moment your touch leaves him. 

“easy fix. we can get back together, then.” the two of you are practically together anyway. he cooks you breakfast the morning after, and you still wear his boxers as pajamas. his body’s pretty sensitive to most sensations, especially early in the morning, but his feet have gotten used to hitting the cold hardwood floor of your bedroom when he wakes up before dawn to brush his teeth and get his day started. 

“too late. i've already blocked your number from my phone.” 

he almost laughs at that. instead, he takes your right wrist, his thumb gently pressed against your pulse point; he likes to apply just enough pressure so that he can feel every beat of your heart. “yeah? i can buy a new phone, get a new number.” 

“you make breakups difficult for no reason.” you tell him, but not yanking back your wrist. it’s why he feels bold enough to bring your fingers to his mouth, lightly kissing the tips of your fingers. 

“we broke up?” he peers up at you, your fingers still so close to his mouth that you can feel the way he breathes life into his words. annoying. he’s so annoying. the worst part is, you’re pretty sure he’s somehow convinced himself that you ending things was just you throwing a tantrum. he’s still treating you the same as he always does. 

“i broke up with you.” not like he needs the reminder. 

“i don’t remember agreeing to that.” 

“you don’t have to agree. breakups don’t have to be mutual.” 

“i have a game next week. we’re going to be playing in france. i was thinking a day before the match, we could go visit the louvre, like you talked about.” he’s still going on casually, making plans like there was never a doubt in his mind that you’re going to show up to his game. you received the ticket he sent and somehow couldn’t bring yourself to toss it in the trash, right where it belongs, so it’s currently hiding in your nightstand drawer. 

“sae, i’m not going. i’m not your girlfriend.” 

well, you’re certainly his. he made sure to have you scream out a chorus of yours, yours, yours! to have it drilled into your pretty little head. 

“how do you know my name? i thought you forgot all about me.” he’s holding back a smile. 

“i’m forgetting all about you starting tomorrow.” you point out, and one corner of his mouth quirks up, a smug smirk on his face as he nods subtly to the alarm clock on your nightstand. 

“it is tomorrow.”

you blink, before staring at him curiously. “yeah.” you say slowly, having been bested by sae itoshi once again. “what do you think i should do now, then?” 

give him all your tomorrows for the rest of your life. 

he doesn’t say that, though. he just pulls you in for a long, deep kiss. when you say his name, breathlessly and full of longing, he takes the time to fix the strap of your camisole, knowing it’s futile since he'll be pulling it off your body soon, anyway. 

he wins.

[inlovewithmullez]

too busy being yours to fall for somebody new

[madaqueue]

i don’t think satoru would be able to move on after you left, i think he’d find himself crawling back to you, not happily (never happily), but doing it nonetheless. there’s a resignation sitting heavy on his shoulders as he walks up the stairs to your place, a heaviness in his knocks. he can’t escape you, no matter how badly he may want to

[man-i-love-folklore]

Hozier's cover of do I Wanna Know? being all over tiktok when ive had it on repeat for the past seven months is so jarring to me. like who are you people and why are you in my house.

[wormboytrav]

i’ve never done edits before is this anything

[sinisterxslade]

I need Hozier to make soulful covers of every song ever written, thanks.

[haloofsaturn]

on another note tho the cover of do i wanna know by hozier has been stuck in my head all day and has been making me want to lie down and become completely overgrown and overtaken by plants and animals until i am one with nature

[powerpointpartygirl]

[abewitchingwillow]

“Maybe I’m too busy being yours to fall for somebody new.”

[literatureisdying]

in my tragic desperate yearning gut wrenching nauseating romantic era kinda wanna change my theme

[meowyjean]

i’ve made the mistake of associating hozier songs to fandoms so strongly, that i can no longer work while listening to hozier if i don’t want to be overcome with an overwhelming itch to drop everything and read a 300k-long fanfiction.

[voidology]

Crawling back to you.

[fish-champ16]

something about hozier doing a more somber and romantic cover of “do i wanna know” has really altered my brain chemistry. it’s so full of yearning and heartfelt surrender i wish he was real 😔

[emilywaters]

Hozier's cover of Do I Wanna Know? Except it's ness

[darlin-collins]

"maybe I'm too busy being yours to fall for somebody new" but it's early neon serie raven