I Fell In Love

I fell in love

Escape || Remus Lupin x Reader SMUT

Request: no. A/N: I’ve been working on this for months. I am disgusted with myself for taking so long. Not fully edited, so probably lots of mistake. Forgive me. Word Count: ~9k Characters/Pairing: Remus Lupin x Reader, James, Lily, and Harry Potter, Sirius Black, Peter Pettigrew Summary: [NO VOLDEMORT AU, post Hogwarts Marauder’s era]It’s near a full moon, but you and your boyfriend Remus are going to Harry’s fifth (5th) birthday celebration. Remus gets really turned on when he sees you with Harry and tries to control it, but he can’t. WARNINGS: face fucking, breeding kink, rough sex, unprotected sex, oral sex (male and female receiving), vaginal sex, spanking, marking (scratching, hicks, biting), grinding hair pulling, choking, teasing, dom/sub relationship, overstimulation, dirt talk [all in no particular order god I’m disgusting] *not my gifs*

A loud crash sounds from outside your bathroom, making you jump in surprise and almost slip on the slick shower floor. Out of instinct, your arms come up to cover your chest, though the curtain covers you and whoever it was hasn’t made it to the bedroom yet. Quickly, you turn the water off, and you’re left cold as the remaining hot water runs off of your body. You grab the fluffy towel you had set out and wrap it around your frame before picking your wand up from the counter and slowly opening the bathroom door. You sneakily move to the bedroom doorway and peak down the hall. A tall shadowed figure stands in the great room, a duffle bag in one of his hands, a wand in the other.

“Y/n” the familiar voice calls to you when the man sees you. “Hold on. Lumos.” A small orb of light sits at the end of the man’s wand, and you can quickly identify the face of your boyfriend of several years, Remus, from under the blue-glow of the wand’s light.

“Oh, Remus,” you sigh, and your shoulders relax. “You scared me.” You walk down the hall to him and smack his arm playfully.

“Hmm, I missed you, too,” he grumbles and leans down, kissing you.

The kiss is soft and quick, but still holds all the love you’ve both built up over the years. When he pulls his lips away from yours, you whine, not yet having opened your eyes as you revel in the messed feelings of his lips on yours. He had just spent two weeks with one of his best mates, Sirius, but he was now home.

“Rem,” you say as you open your eyes, but he’s no longer standing in front of you. “Remus?” You call and turn back down the hall.

Czytaj dalej

Motion Sickness, Xu Shangqi

Yes, I wrote this out self projection. I myself have a very weak stomach and can therefor very easily and quickly catch motion sickness.

For those interested about what motion sickness is and what it means for me: Quick story of it, my stomach cannot stand a lot of motion, especially when my brain is unaware of the direction my body is moving in. I get nauseous and light headed and just feel the bile rising up in my throat. So when I go on long car rides for vacation and I cannot see the navigation, I could easily throw up in the car in a matter of seconds. When I sit on the wrong side of the car, I get sick. When I look anywhere else but outside in the car, I get sick. When the car is taking turns instead of driving straight ahead, I get sick. It’s really annoying and it’s still something I struggle with a lot. I get it on amusement rides, rollercoasters, boats; even when I just move around to quickly or too much. So when I was watching that scene in Shang-Chi where they drive to Ta Lo, all I could think about was how terrible I would’ve been in that situation. And it inspired me to write this (stupid as it may sound.) Yes, I am aware there is medication for this, but it happens a lot of the times and would I keep using and buying it, I would spend way more money than I actually need to. I only use it for long car rides and boat trips.

Fanfic, female! reader

Fluff, bit of angst

Tw: SPOILERS, motion sickness, description of nausea, lightheadedness, description of vomiting, rising temperature, half consciousness, self projected, description of losing consciousness (but not really), Shang-Chi being worried, established relationship, use of Y/N. Also, I could not find the script anywhere, so half of the dialogue is probably wrong.

Summary: When escaping Wenwu’s home, you join the ride to Ta Lo, even as you are aware that you get severe motion sickness in cars and most definitely will end up throwing up later. Shang-Chi knows this and tries to help, but you can’t talk nausea out of someone. Upon arriving in Ta Lo, you’re barely conscious and Shang-Chi gets concerned.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Shang-Chi asked, as you sat outside the car you just escaped in.

The ride from Wenwu’s home had been difficult to say the least. You got very nauseous in car rides, and you knew that, yet you wanted to be there for Shang-Chi when he would travel to his mother’s village. It was already clear it was not going to be an easy journey, but you insisted on joining the ride.

At the moment, you were catching some fresh air after the eventful car ride earlier. You forced your nausea down, smiling up at Shang-Chi.

“Oh yeah. I’ll be fine.” You assured, standing up and taking a deep breath in.

“You know you don’t have to come along.” He tried again, but you ignored his offer.

“I said I’ll be fine.” You insisted, walking back towards the car. Shang-Chi let out a sigh of defeat before opening the door to the passenger seat.

“Actually, Trevor was going to sit there. Seeing as he kind of holds the information and stuff.” Katy said, gesturing towards the man behind you two.

“He can do that from the back.” Shang-Chi said, but you shoo’d him, opening the door behind the passenger seat.

“I can sit here too.” You announced, sitting down before your boyfriend could say anything about it.

“Y/N-“ “Don’t Y/N me.” You interrupted. “If I get sick, it’s my own damn fault.”

He groaned before stepping in on the other side, his sister seated between the two of you.

“Is something wrong?” She asked, looking towards you with a worried glance.

“She gets sick in car rides.” Shang-Chi announced, putting on his seatbelt.

“Don’t worry.” You reassured her, “If I’m going to throw up, I’m going to aim for Shang-Chi. You’ll be fine.”

“You’re going to throw up?” She questioned, frowning at the statement.

“I’ll try not to, if it’s any consolation to you.” You offered, throwing off your jacket before bundling it up and letting it rest on your lap, holding it against your stomach lightly.

“I hope you’re strapped in. Morris tells us we need to leave now.” Trevor announced, simultaneously making Katy push the gas.

As you’re driving, Katy keeps a steady pace, causing a feeling of relief to wash through you. If this was going to be the pace you’d keep during the ride, nothing could really go wrong.

In front of the car, the trees suddenly started to separate, creating a road for Katy to drive on. You gasped at the sight, having never seen anything like it before.

“This is so cool.” Katy quietly awed. You hummed in agreement, staring at the greens out of the window.

“Morris says you might want to speed up.” Trevor announced, looking at the rearview mirror. Katy followed his look, before letting a curse word slip and speeding up. All three of you in the back quickly looked behind, eyes widening at the sight of the trees closing back.

You turned around the second you saw what was happening, not ready to move forward while looking back.

“Take a left.” Trevor instructed.

“When?” Katy wondered, sparing the man a single glance.

“Now!” He ushered.

Katy took a sharp turn at his words, causing you to immediately grab hold of the handle on the door. Xialing and Shang-Chi both fell towards your side, not having prepared for the turn. You let out a little chuckle at the sight of them, but stopped as the familiar feeling of nausea hit you again.

“Right!” Trevor instructed. Yet again, Katy listened to him, taking a sharp right turn as the woods split into two again.

You had yet to let go of the handle, but you figured it might the closest thing you’d get to grounding at the moment. You felt Shang-Chi’s eyes drill holes into your head, but you refused to look at him. Instead, you kept you eyes on the window outside, knowing shooting your glance anywhere else might lead to some unfortunate consequences.

“Right again!” And at those words, the car stumbled around. Your stomach started feeling heavy as your head grew lighter, but you refused to acknowledge it, silently wishing for it to be over soon. You knew what would happen. You brought this upon yourself and you had no one to blame but yourself. You were in this now and you would not complain about it.

“Left!”

The next turn came completely unexpected to you, causing you to lose grip of the handle and the jacket on your lap, your hands trying to hold onto the seat in front of you.

As the car was on a straight line again, Shang-Chi quickly leaned over, grabbing your jacket and handing it to you, before opening your window slightly, allowing fresh air to fill the car. He shot you a silent look before returning to his seat.

“Drive faster!” Trevor urged, looking in the rearview mirror again. The forest seemed to close in behind you in an even faster rate now.

Katy just followed his lead, pushing the gas pedal down all the way. The car was hurled forward as your stomach began to flip. You leant your head against the window, your jacket pressed tightly against your stomach.

“Right!” Trevor yelled, the wind that blew into the car now becoming louder than his voice.

As Katy followed his directions, your clothes began to uncomfortably cling to your body, your hair slowly sticking to your forehead. You felt the bile rising up your throat, but you swallowed it back down, knowing there was no way of stopping now.

As Trevor kept shouting instructions, you began to wonder when this maze would end. It had been more terrible than you predicted. Perhaps the nausea of the earlier car-ride still lay heavy on your stomach, which only increased with the current journey. Or maybe the fact that there were no blinkers or navigation used, made your brain confused and uncomfortable, leaving you with a sickening feeling. Perhaps it was a combination of both.

Had this been a bad idea?

Definitely.

Would you ever confess it?

Never.

“Close the window!” Trevor yelled to Katy, holding his hands over his ears.

“Do not close the window!” Shang-Chi shot after him, holding his hand beside Katy’s seat, leaving her unable to access the window buttons.

Your head rested against the backside of the chair in front of you, trying to keep the dizziness at bay, but with every following turn, you felt that uncomfortable substance rising back up. Your head felt too light to lift it now, but your stomach forced you to keep it up before everything would come back out.

You let your head fall towards the window, keeping it up in order to swallow everything down again. The sour feeling stung your throat, nearly making you gasp in uneasiness, but you did your best not to show it. The open window that provided you with fresh air, had begun to lose its purpose, now only filling you with a loud pounding in the ears, every other word suddenly passing by unheard. It wasn’t until you felt a warm hand on the one that clung to your jacket, that you moved your head.

Before even looking, you knew it was Shang-Chi, but there was little he could do for you now. He didn’t say anything. Instead, he held out a bottle of cold water and a plastic bag. You gratefully took the offer, taking small sips from the bottle before placing the plastic bag on top of your jacket, just in case things would go sideways.

Your hands had grown all warm and soggy, nearly gliding off of the fabric. Your shirt was now nearly glued to your back. The hair you had refused to put up earlier was now suffocating your neck with a heat attack. You could feel the sweat of it fall down your body, making you move uncomfortably in your seat. A sharp ringing filled your ears, your vision showing black dots from time to time.

The car increased its speed suddenly. You had no idea what was happening, but you closed your eyes, not willing to look outside anymore. You needed your focus on your body, trying so desperately to maintain it.

Katy’s screaming disturbed the ringing in your ears as you felt an annoying banging against your brain.

And just like that, the car stopped moving. Heavy breathing was heard all around the car, but you had yet to open your eyes. The nauseating feeling was far from over. You figured it was best to continue driving before you would have to experience everything again.

“Everyone okay?” Katy asked, which went answered by multiple hums.

“Morris says to go right through there.” The man in front of you announced.

“Through the waterfall?” Katy asked incredulously.

“Yes.” Was the simple answer.

And then, the car was moving again. You heard the window beside you shut, but you made no intention to open your eyes yet.

“Y/N?” You heard Shang-Chi ask, but you ignored him, waving your hand towards him in a “let it go” manner.

How long the car had been driving afterwards, you did not know. You didn’t look outside, the earlier trip still heavy on your stomach. It wasn’t until the car suddenly stopped, that your stomach decided enough was enough, and resorted to throwing everything out.

You were hunched over the bag in your hands, the vomit slowly leaving your throat, much to your discomfort. You felt two gentle, yet unfamiliar hands wrap around your hair before tying it in a simple pony tail.

Your body felt as if it was on fire, your shirt definitely drenched by now. You tried to catch your breath, but you threw yourself back over the bag before you knew it. A second round falling out just as terrible as the first one.

You could hardly comprehend the door beside you opening, followed by a hand slowly, but steadily rubbing your back. You kept yourself above the bag, even though you were fairly sure you were done now. You began tying it, but it was taken from you before you could grab the ends.

As you unbuckled yourself and stood back up, black spots appeared in your vision again, making you stumble outside, before forcing you to sit down, your back against the car.

“Babe, can you hear me?” You faintly heard, making you hum silently, leaning your head against the car too, your eyes closing again.

“Are you okay?” He asked again, the voice now nearer.

“I just threw up twice. What do you think?” You mumbled.

Your statement went ignored, a soft hand being placed on top of your head instead.

“You’re burning up.” He remarked, untying your hair and wrapping it in a bun instead, making you sigh in relief.

“Give me a few minutes.” You stated quietly.

“Can you give me that bottle of water?” You followed up in a whisper. It was quiet for a moment before you felt the cold bottle back in your hands. You finished it quickly, handing it back when you were done.

“Do you need anything else?” He wondered again, his hand softly touching your cheek.

“A cold shower.” You mustered out, throwing your head forward, making it rest against Shang-Chi’s chest. “And a few painkillers.”

A low chuckle escaped his throat as his hand rested on your back, making you since slightly at the hot and sweaty shirt now being pushed against your body.

“Can you move yet?” He whispered patiently, letting you go, though he allowed your head to keep resting against him.

“Give me a moment.” You muttered, one of your hands falling to your stomach as if it would calm it down.

“That’s okay.” He answered, shifting a little bit before resting his head on top of yours, one of his his hands connecting with the one that was on your stomach.

“Xialing is doing the talking anyway.” He explained, his second hand falling to your neck and stroking it affectionately.

“Tell me when to get up.” He proposed, letting you pick your time and comfort.

You hummed in response, happy to be in his arms back on solid ground. You tried turning in your position, but your body quickly show down the idea, fresh nausea returning fast.

Shang-Chi understood what you were trying to do, luckily. He grabbed your waist, carefully turning you around, making your back rest against his chest.

“You’re drenched in sweat.” He noticed aloud, though that was the only thing he did about it.

Your head fell back in the crook of his neck, making Shang-Chi smile and rest his head against yours. Your hand tried reaching for his, even though you could not see anything right now.

“You want more water?” He misunderstood, his voice vibrating through his chest.

You just shook your head lightly, grabbing his arm and letting your hand slide down it until your hand connected with his. He squeezed it in comfort, before wrapping his arms around your body, holding you against him tightly, your hands toying with his fingers.

“I’m tired.” You whispered. “Do you mind if I fall asleep right here?”

Once more, Shang-Chi chuckled. “Of course not, babe.”

“Thank you.” You mumbled, sinking into his arms, nausea slowly subsiding as your mind finally drifted off.

You were glad he had been understanding, instead of cocky and full of himself at the moment. He did not mention your stubbornness earlier or your stupid comments. And you were thankful for that. You were far too tired or nauseous to deal with these comments now. They’d have to wait until tomorrow morning. Besides, a cold shower was next on the agenda, whether Ta Lo had that or not.

Taglist: @wlfstxr

A Lot Of Firsts

Pairing: Chris Evans x female reader

Summary: You are not the type to go out a lot, shy and introverted as you are, but when your friend ditches you at a club the one evening you decided to go and Chris Evans wants to hook up with you, you just can’t say no, even though you‘re a virgin and as inexperienced as it gets.

Warnings: 18+ minors dni, some swearing, fingering (female receiving), vaginal sex, safe sex, virgin!female reader, first time, one night stand, some fluff, porn with plot

Word Count: ~11k

A/N: This is part one of a series I’m currently working on, the second part will be released next week :)

Likes, reblogs and feedback are appreciated so much ❤️

——————————————————————————

“How come I always have to do your laundry when I’m here?” you asked Finya, your best friend since childhood and self-proclaimed coolest person you knew. Looking around her little flat, at the other end of New York than you resided in, you seriously considered revoking that title, even if she’d be more than upset about it.

Finya, still laying on her twin sized bed and lazily scrolling through her phone, barely managed to look up at you plucking up dirty laundry from her more than filthy bedroom floor. “I never ask you to,” she pointed out, lifting one of her thin eyebrows. She laughed when you snorted. “It’s not my fault you do it anyway.”

“While that may be true,” you conceded, throwing another filthy sock into the laundry basket, “it’s still not good form.”

“I know. Thank you,” Finya added, smiling sweetly, and you rolled your eyes and continued. A few minutes passed, and you were so lost in your task you almost didn’t catch what she asked you.

“Come again?” you asked, smiling up at her apologetically.

Finya sat up on the bed, and from the pleading glint in her eyes, you already knew what was coming. You sighed. “You wanna go partying tonight? Since it’s a Friday night and all?” Finya asked anyway, even though she could see the downturned corners of your mouth.

“Come on, Finya,” you said, setting down the laundry basket and tapping your hands on your thighs. It was a nervous habit. “You know how I am.”

Finya put a ridiculous pout on her face, and it eased your tense shoulders a bit. “Please,” she said, and it sounded like it was honestly important to her. This wasn’t her whining out of spite, she actually wanted to go. “Please! When’s the last time we went to a club?”

It had been a while, you had to admit that. It was just… you didn’t enjoy it. One bit. Going out was just too much of a challenge for someone as shy and introverted as you were. You hated the thought of being on the dance floor, and the fact that you had to drink alcohol just to loosen up enough not to be a bore for Finya didn’t sit right with you. Staying in and watching a movie, or - even better - reading a book sounded much more appealing to you, and that’s also the reason why Finya rarely asked. If she did, you knew it was important to her. What, in turn, was the only thing that made you hesitate with a quick no, thanks.

“Finya…” you mumbled, lifting your shoulders in defense. “You know how I am. It’s just not-”

“You can’t always hole yourself up in your apartment. What’s the matter?” she asked, wagging her eyebrows. Her eyes were so pleading. You hated her so much for it. (You really didn’t hate her. You were just a dramatic idiot sometimes.) “Don’t wanna spend time with me?” she tacked on.

You rolled your eyes and pointed an accusing finger at her. “You know that’s not it. Play fair, and I might-” Her eyes lit up immediately, and you lifted your index finger in warning. “If you’re nice and if you won’t get it going with some guy and leave me alone in a damned club again, I might consider it.”

Finya started wiggling on the mattress like an overeager puppy, and it made you grin. It was so easy to make her happy, and you could even swallow down the lump of nervousness in your throat. Pushing the forgotten laundry basket aside, you walked to the bed and poked at her to make room for you. You laid down next to her, facing each other, and she excitedly clapped you on the arm.

“Ouch,” you said, wincing playfully. “Okay, two hours in the club. That’s all I’ll manage.”

Nothing could dim the grin on her face, even the notion of being there for two hours only. “Alright,” she said, not even arguing, because she knew just how much you despised going out. “Thank you for not being a debbie downer for once.”

“Yes, please, hype me up even more,” you answered dryly. You jumped up from the bed again, intent on getting her laundry done. “I’ll be up again in a sec,” you told her, and continued down to the laundry room at the bottom of the apartment complex. When you were alone with no one’s eyes on you, you worriedly bit your lip. You were already regretting telling Finya you’d go.

———

At 9 in the evening precisely, Finya dragged you through the entrance of the high end club she loved to go to. Her work colleague Sam had managed to get you free passes for a year because he liked Finya - probably more than she wanted to acknowledge. As always when she went out with you, Finya and you were like night and day with her dressed up to the nines and you trying to fit in with your tightest pair of jeans and a boring top that showed at least a bit of cleavage. Finya didn’t even hesitate before she maneuvered you to the bar and ordered you each a Sex on the Beach.

You took your glass, having long given up on saying no or being whiny again, and tipped your glass against hers. “Cheers,” you grinned.

“To a great evening!” she squealed and immediately took two long gulps of the beverage.

You laughed when she gasped for air afterwards. “To a great evening,” you responded, and were proud of yourself for keeping the sarcasm out of your voice. You had agreed to be here, so you wouldn’t act like a petulant child now that you had agreed.

After another round of drinks and some animated discussion topics, you started to actually enjoy the evening. Finya kept her word and turned away two guys that wanted to take her to the crowded dance floor.

“They were too drunk either way, wouldn’t have gotten it up for me anymore,” she observed when another admirer walked away with a bit of a tilt to his step.

“Is everything always about sex for you?” you asked, tittering quietly.

“Maybe after you’ve tried out sex, [Y/N], we’ll have that talk again,” Finya quipped and you shrugged your shoulders, silently agreeing with her. You still playfully stuck out your tongue at her, and she laughed at you, until her eyes wandered over your shoulder and turned dreamy.

“Oh no,” you mumbled, knowing that look, and when you turned around to find out what - or rather who - she was staring at, you saw a brown-haired man with a cocky smirk walking up to the two of you. He slid right past you to get to Finya, and you snagged your cocktail from the bar and stepped several feet back to give them some privacy. You knew how this particular event would go down though, because you’d lived through it a hundred times already: Finya was already thirsting over the guy, it was obvious in the way she flirted, and she’d wave you over in approximately three minutes to beg you to make an exception to “we’re not gonna leave each other alone in a packed club”. Sure enough, the guy retreated in the direction of the dance floor, clearly waiting for Finya to follow. Excitedly, she waved you back to the bar.

You held up a hand before you were even in talking distance, since you didn’t want to bear her prepared speech on how this dude was great and this time was different and otherwise she obviously wouldn’t do it. “I know what you’re gonna say,” you deadpanned, “and all of these scenarios will end with me alone in a nightclub again even though you promised me they wouldn't.”

Finya bit her lip, a bit of guilt clouding her beautiful features. “I really, really hadn’t planned on it,” she defended herself, and you believed her, but it didn’t change the end product.

Your eyes turned pleading. “Finya, come on. You know what we said-”

She interrupted you and grabbed your arm, puppy eyes on full display. “I know, but look at him. He’s so fucking hot!”

To be honest, you didn’t really see the appeal, but you didn’t have to jump into bed with him either - so it wasn’t really your place to judge anyway. You looked the guy up and down with another goal in mind: Did he look nice? Or was he giving any axe murderer vibes? To be fair, you couldn’t really find any, so the last reason to keep Finya with you melted like sugar on your tongue.

You tried one last time with a bit of whining. “I’ll be here all by myself!” you exclaimed dramatically. “You turned away all the others.”

She shook her head quickly. “But he’s different. Come on, don’t be a cock blocker,” she begged, blinking up at you with pleading eyes. You were caving, as you always were when she packed on the puppy eyes, and it gave you at least an excuse to get out of the damned club, maybe reading a good book once you were at home again. You already regretted ordering the last cocktail - you should have known when you had seen her talking to the guy.

You sighed, rolling your eyes. “Alright,” you said and Finya squealed, pulling you into a tight hug. After you leaned back, you pointed at your cocktail. “Will you please stick around in this club long enough so I can finish the drink and order an Uber?”

Finya sobered up a bit. Even if she was eager to go home with the dude, she wouldn’t do it if it put your safety at risk. “Of course,” she said, shaking her head disbelievingly, as if she couldn’t even understand that you explicitly asked for that. It was natural to her. “And text me when you get home,” she added.

You waved toward the dance floor, where the brown haired man was still waiting, and gave her a playful pat on the hip. “Go, tiger,” you urged her on, so she pressed a sloppy kiss to your cheek and disappeared into the mass of dancing bodies.

You didn’t even have it in you to be mad at Finya; in your head, you were already mapping out what you’d pay for an Uber to get home from this part of the city. You swirled the straw around in your cocktail, sloshing the yellow and red layers together to a bright orange. You were so engrossed by it that you didn’t even notice the guy sliding into the vacant spot of the bar next to you. When you did and looked up, you had to take a double take. Not only was the man looking down at you with a beer in his hand as gorgeous as a renaissance painting, you were also fairly certain it was Chris Evans. You gulped, mouth suddenly dry, and considered the possibility that someone had managed to drug you. Because. Well. Chris Evans?

He grinned while you still blinked up at him like an owl. “They seem to be pretty cozy, don’t you think?” he said, pointing at Finya and Guy Of Her Night wrapped together so tight that it was hard to make out which limb belonged to who. You looked back to him, and he extended a large palm, still a million dollar smile on his handsome face. “Hi, I’m Chris,” he added, almost as an afterthought, and confirmed your suspicions of who he was with that.

“[Y/N],” you answered, raising your voice a bit to be heard over the loud music. It came out a bit scratchy, but not as squeaky as you had feared. You shook his hand, and the warmth of his gently squeezing fingers made your brain short-circuit.

“You been ditched too?” he asked, pulling his hand back and nodding to the pair on the dance floor. You swallowed again. So Finya‘s dude was here with Chris, and Chris had probably seen the way you had whined a bit at Finya. Was this a pity talk? Or what was it? It certainly wasn’t the normal guy walks up to a girl at a bar move that you’ve seen Finya go through a million times. Because this particular guy was so far out of your league it wasn’t even funny. He wasn’t here to go down the same route as Finya did with his friend currently, that was for damn sure. You weren’t really upset about that, since your experiences with guys were as limited as they got. There was not a single ounce of interest in you to make a knob of yourself and test out your non-existent flirting skills on Chris fucking Evans.

“Yeah,” you said weakly, grabbing your cocktail like an anchor between your sweaty hands. You internally kicked yourself. Why did you always need to be so damned awkward? He wasn’t even hitting on you, and you were gasping for air like a fish on land. It was humiliating.

He waited for a longer reply, and when that didn’t come out of your mouth, he tried to carry on the conversation single-handedly with a slight tilt to his mouth. You were pretty sure he could sense your nervousness, and he was amused by it. It wasn’t as bad as him being put off by it, but Chris silently laughing at you in his head wasn’t much better. “She’s your friend?” he asked, lips twitching and eyes sparkling.

“Best friend,” you said with a bit more confidence in your voice, just barely refraining yourself from whispering out another awkward yeah. You cleared your throat, which did nothing to help the Sahara that was going on there, so you followed it up with a hasty sip of your drink. You ignored how the ice cubes shook a bit in the glass in sync with your hands. “And you‘re here with him?” you tacked on, not wanting the conversation to die out.

He smiled at your question. “Yeah. My friend Pete,” he explained without hesitation, and you wondered again why this conversation was even happening. You wouldn’t complain, though. It was better than standing alone at a bar like a loser, and on top of that, you liked the guy. He was good company.

“Looks like we‘ll be going home without them,” you observed with a small smile on your face, taking another pull from the straw. “They look seriously…,” you searched for the right word, “engrossed in it?”

Chris‘ head fell back when he laughed, and the left hand holding his beer twitched precariously. “Yeah, they won’t make it much longer on the dance floor before they’ll get going,” he said between laughter. His eyes found yours again, and you were mesmerized by the blue of them. You bit your bottom lip. “Good for them, though,” Chris added. “Pete and I fully support each other in order to get some.”

Your heart calmed down a bit, and you tried to tell yourself that you got this. It was a normal smalltalk while your friends were feeling each other up on the dance floor. And even though Chris had moved a bit closer to hear you better in the loud room, you didn’t feel suffocated by it the way you normally would. As weird as it was to you - he actually put you at ease more than you’d ever experienced before with a stranger. It was so at odds with his dark beard and bulky body.

“We have the full opposite of your rule in place,” you gestured between yourself and Finya, who was still sliding around in Pete’s arms, “for cases like this.”

Chris lifted his eyebrows, genuinely curious. He took a sip from his beer. “What do you mean?”

“I asked her not to hook up with anyone tonight,” you confessed in as much of a staged whisper as was possible with the thumping of the bass, but it made him laugh anyway. You smiled with him, a tad proud.

“That makes you such a bad friend,” he said challengingly, raising an eyebrow to let you know he was just being playful. “Shouldn’t you be rooting for her?”

“I am! I just don’t want to be left here alone,” you defended yourself, giggling.

The corners of Chris‘ mouth turned up, and a hint of curiosity seeped into his tone. “Seriously, though, wouldn’t she want you to get some too if the roles were reversed?” he asked, his eyes flitting down to your lips and up again.

You floundered a bit, not knowing how to answer the question. The honest answer would be that you and Finya had never been in the situation. You were as virginal as was possible, and Finya knew you had never considered hooking up with anyone - to let a complete stranger deflower you wasn’t exactly on your sex bingo card. Even now, on this evening, with a pleasant amount of cocktails sloshing around in your belly, no one but Chris Evans, your literal Hollywood crush, has made you reconsider that rule between you and Finya.

“Maybe,” you answered as cryptically as possible. “Maybe not.”

“Well, you can’t tell me you’ve never been in that situation,” Chris said, grinning. He leaned down to you, wagging his eyebrows, and you could smell a hint of cologne on him. He looked at you with as much mirth as kindness. It made your feet tingle, and you wished for a thousand different futures with him at once. The thought made you pause and panic. What the heck was going on in your brain? You’ve known the guy for ten minutes, and all he’d done had been to talk to you. He hadn’t even flirted. What was it with the embarrassing pining on your part?

You remembered to answer maybe a bit too late. You smiled apologetically. “No, not really,” you said, lifting your shoulders. Your cheeks warmed with the next statement, but it didn’t stop you from spitting the words out. Thanks, alcohol, for helping you put your foot in your mouth. “I’m not the one night stand type.”

Well, better than saying that you’re not the sex type altogether, and that at the crisp age of twenty-eight. You’d never recover if Chris actually knew that fact about you. No, you’d take that particular secret home with you.

“You’ve never had a hook up?” He sounded genuinely shocked about that. Not really in an unkind way, but it made you grimace nonetheless. You knew how embarrassing that was at that age.

“Nope,” you said, popping the p and mildly smiling at his curiosity.

He followed it up with the inevitable question about your age. “How old are you?” he asked, leaning closer to you, as if you two were plotting a murder. Your lips twitched up at his feigned secrecy.

“Twenty-eight.”

His eyebrows lifted. “And you never wanted to have some fun with someone from a club or something?” He hesitated, as if he wasn’t sure if he should continue with his sentence, but then he pressed on. “Never had someone walk up to you at a bar, trying to get a conversation going… Trying to buy you a drink,” he hinted, grinning. “You want another drink?”

You had the distinctive feeling as if your stomach had just fallen out of your body, landing between your feet. Was he saying what you thought he was saying? Was he hinting at what you imagined? Hooking up with him? You were not equipped at all to deal with that. No one had ever proposed a one night stand to you. You had never gotten such an offer, and now Chris Evans…? You had to be imagining that, and your nerves made you hastily drink the last of your cocktail. You put it on the bar behind you and Chris lifted an eyebrow, still smiling pleasantly.

“Another one?” he asked again, smiling away the awkwardness with such ease that you felt your breathing calm down.

You were in a clear limbo. The facts were clear: You were too inexperienced, and too shy to start anything with him, even though something inside of you whispered that this was a once in a lifetime chance. But the words wouldn’t travel out of your throat, and this girl you desperately wanted to be - a girl that went home with Chris Evans - just wasn’t the girl standing at this bar right now. You sighed, and the little flicker of hope in Chris’s eyes dimmed a bit. He didn’t look angry though, rather as if he didn’t mind your approaching rebuff.

“I don’t think I‘m the type for that,” you said hesitantly, lifting your shoulders. You bit your lip, and looked up at him with regretful eyes. Because you were regretting that you didn’t have the balls to take him home. “I wish I was,” you sighed, and it was the most honest thing you had said that evening.

Chris smiled easily. “That’s a damn shame.” He drank the last of his beer and put the empty bottle next to your empty glass. Then he turned back around to you, still intent on keeping up the conversation even though you had rejected him just now. It made him a thousand times more attractive. “One night stands can be great. I admit, the hit and miss rate is a bit higher since you don’t spend so much time getting to know them, but when you get a hit…,” he stopped for a second, his eyes drifting down to your lips and his tongue peaking out to lick over his, “the sex is amazing.”

You took all the bravery you had accumulated in your chest and poked him playfully in the chest. His face lit up like a christmas tree at the gesture. “Are you an expert or something?” you teased him.

Still grinning, he shook his head. “Nah, not really. Once in a blue moon,” he told you, easy as anything. He barked out a laugh. “Was a bit wilder when I was younger.” He brushed his hands down his shirt and looked over to the dance floor. Finya and Pete were nowhere to be seen, and he snorted at that. Turning back to you, he pointed over his shoulder with a thumb. “I gotta ask you one more thing, and I won’t accept a no now,” he told you matter-of-factly.

You lifted your eyebrows, smiling so wide your cheeks hurt. You weren’t even concerned, you simply felt safe with him. “And what’s that, Chris?”

“Can I take you home?” he asked, lifting a finger and clarifying immediately: “As in, put you in a taxi and take you home in it, watch you getting into the building so I know you’re home safely?”

Your insides warmed with a huge surge of affection and attraction. He was just so fucking perfect. You’d never tell him, since you didn’t want to boost his ego into the sky - where it probably already was, you couldn’t be the only one noticing how damn wonderful he was.

“That’s very kind of you,” you told him, “and I‘ll gladly take the offer.”

Chris‘s face broke into a relieved grin. “Great,” he said, pulling out a wallet, putting a twenty dollar bill on the bar and waving the bartender over. You pulled your wallet out too, but he waved you off. “Don’t worry about it.”

“No, I’ve got it,” you insisted, pulling out a bill.

He laid a hand over yours, and you froze on the spot as if petrified. “Humor me,” he said, smiling warmly, and you wordlessly put your wallet away again, swallowing dryly.

He put a hand on the small of your back while he led you out of the club and flagged down a taxi for the two of you. It felt like a fucking cliché, but it was true nonetheless: Everywhere he touched you, your skin felt on fire. You had to resist the urge to lift your right hand and inspect the spot where he had touched you. There had to be a permanent mark or something.

“Kinda cold already, huh?” he said, trying to make smalltalk, and you nodded with a brittle smile. You had never had those thoughts about anyone - but if he touched you on these parts of your body and you were already burning up, what would happen if there was real pleasure involved? Would it be just as good, or even better?

The taxi pulled up, and Chris opened the back door for you immediately. You scooted through to the opposite side, so Chris could get in next to you while you gave the driver your address. You cleared your throat and put your seatbelt on. While you pulled your shirt out of the crease in your stomach, you shot Finya a quick text telling her you got home alright and then… there was nothing to do. It was kind of awkward, because you could feel his eyes on the side of your face, and all you could think with every passing street corner was that your time with Chris was falling through your fingers like fine sand.

You were sitting so close in the cab and the fingers of Chris’s hand laying next to you twitched with the same nervousness you were feeling. Swallowing, you could feel that you were actually… not sad, but disappointed that you didn’t have the guts to just go for it with him. He seemed great. Funny, nice, patient. Maybe even more important for a one night stand, he was a hundred percent your type - it would be hard to find another man on this whole godforsaken earth that ticked even more boxes for you. Impossible, maybe. You wanted to be with him, and just this dumb societal bullshit that fed you how important your first time was, and that it should be with someone you loved, kept you from going for it. That, and potentially the ball of nerves clawing up your insides.

Biting your lip, you looked at him, and he was already staring at you. His eyes were glued to your bottom lip still caught between your teeth, and you could see the want in his eyes. That, probably, was the final push for you. Not only did you want him, for whatever widely illogical reason, he wanted you too. You had no idea what you had to offer, but all you knew was that you’d never forgive yourself if you didn’t offer at all. You swallowed dryly.

“Chris?” you rushed out before your mind could come up with a million reasons to stay silent.

“Hm?” he asked back, eyes still distracted with your lips.

You harnessed every ounce of courage you had in your body. “Would now be a weird time to change my mind about one night stands?”

His head whipped up from your lips so fast it looked like he was close to snapping his own neck. He unbuckled his seatbelt, sliding over to you without second thought. “Fucking hell, I was hoping you’d say that,” he mumbled, taking your head between his hands. Your heart stuttered to a stop before continuing at double the pace. Chris hesitated one last time. “You really want this? You sure?” he confirmed.

The way he took your consent won you a hundred percent over, and the annoying overanalyzing part of your brain finally shut up. “I am,” you answered, tilting your head up and hoping for a kiss.

You got it. Chris’s eyes lit up with want and excitement, and he wasted no time pressing his lips to yours. He was gentle at first, feeling you out, exploring the perimeters of your lips. You followed his rhythm, trying to gain some confidence now before the things that went beyond kissing, things you didn’t know, would start to go down. At first you were concerned about the taxi driver having a front row seat to your making out session, but Chris opened your mouth with the tip of his tongue and slid right in, letting every coherent thought spiral into a black abyss.

You barely realized the vehicle stopping on the side of the road, and neither did Chris. Only the slightly annoyed harrumphing of the driver made you pull apart, lips tingling, and Chris didn’t even look at the man before he slid him a way too high bill. Your hands needed two tries to open the car door, distracted by Chris’s hand on your waist, but you finally managed with an embarrassed laugh.

You two got your act together enough to make it up the four flights of stairs to your small flat. Your heart was beating out of your throat and your fingers shook while they opened the front door, his arms wrapping around your hips from behind and his lips kissing around the nape of your neck. You still couldn’t believe you were actually doing this, but your resolve to have sex with him never swayed.

You pushed the door open and Chris pulled you through immediately, flipping you around so effortlessly it almost seemed careless for a second, but he caught you with so much ease you relaxed into his arms. He smiled down at you, locking the door behind himself without ever turning his eyes off you. “Where’s the bedroom?” he asked, his voice dropping a few notches. You could feel his erection pressing into your hip, and your nervousness flared up again.

“Last door to the left,” you whispered, and he kissed your nose in such a sweet gesture your heart almost burst through your ribs. Next thing you knew, he was pulling you up at the hips and throwing you over his right shoulder. Panicking, you grabbed him around the middle in fear you’d fall off, and you’d deny the squeal that came out of your mouth until the day you’d be six feet under.

“Let me down,” you requested, half laughing, half mortified. His palm rubbed up the back of your thighs, feeling you out shamelessly. “I’m too heavy,” you added, cheeks reddening in embarrassment.

“Shut up with that nonsense, you’re not,” he simply said before he rounded the corner into your bedroom. He laid you down on your bed gently, so gently the mattress didn’t even squeak, and ripped his shirt over his head before he even followed you. You stared at his chest and abs while you kicked off your shoes with the socks, suddenly very aware of how average you looked - well, everywhere. He didn’t give you time to ponder these thoughts, practically planking over you and wasting no time in slipping his tongue back into your mouth. You put your hands around his neck and into the short hair at the nape of his neck, and he pressed closer to you, humming gently.

You kissed until your lips felt numb with it, and it made you relax a bit. Kissing, you knew. The rest though would be a challenge, and you didn’t want him to realize how inexperienced you were, so you went into full offensive mode. Untangling your right hand from around his neck, you slipped it down the front of his chest and laid it dead center on the big bulge in his jeans. Your hand froze as soon as it made contact. You were at your destination, but what the hell did you do now that you were? Chris’s lips stopped on yours and he groaned, pressing his hips down. You were still frozen solid, and he opened his eyes for a moment and looked at you - you must have looked like a complete idiot, one hand on his clothed dick and looking like a deer caught in headlights.

A slow smile spread over his lips, and he kissed your cheek softly. “Not the one night stand type, huh?” he murmured, kissing down your neck and pressing his hips down once more, cautious as if he didn’t want to scare you off. “You nervous?”

You laughed, embarrassed about your lack of experience. Your hand was still glued to his crotch - like it was literally glued there with superglue - and you knew it would be a bit funny if you weren’t horrified about it at the moment. “Yeah,” you said weakly, and tried to make out the shape of his penis through the two layers of fabric with trembling fingers, a first attempt at getting familiar with him. “I’m sorry,” you added silently.

Chris’s grin softened marginally, and he leaned down to kiss you again. Not with tongue, not with fire behind it. Simply a soft pair of lips pressing into yours, and it made you melt. God, he really could kiss. You had to give him that. “Absolutely nothing to be sorry for,” he mumbled into your mouth, nibbling on your bottom lip. He grinned, leaning back enough so he could look at you. “It’s actually fucking hot. You feel how hard I am? Hurts almost.”

Your first reaction was a relieved smile and a shy ducking of your head, which made his grin grow in return. Second reaction was a mild form of uncertainty. He hurt? You didn’t want him to hurt. Did you do something wrong - or didn’t you do enough? He could probably see your thoughts spiraling again.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said quickly. “Let’s take care of you first.” He chuckled warmly, pressing wet kisses on your neck. “It’s not like you’re a virgin, just a one night stand one. You’ll ease into it.”

Guiltily, you bit your lip. You knew that you didn’t actually owe him the information, but… Was this the time to confess? To say to Chris Evans: You know what, actually I am a virgin? No. Definitely not. It would be way too humiliating, and now that you’ve come this far, you didn’t want him to stop. Not when you’ve swallowed your panic and awkwardness a thousand times over and literally had this gorgeous person in your bed. Being a virgin at this age wasn’t hot, and it certainly wasn’t a turn on for Chris to deflower someone when he’s definitely only looking for a good, quick hook up. So you just pushed out a nervous laugh and nodded weakly. “Yeah, right,” you croaked.

Chris pulled gently at the side of your shirt. “Let’s get you out of that first, hm?” he offered, waiting for your small nod before he started to roll it up your stomach. Chris leaned down from your neck, dotting kisses on every single piece of skin that was revealed in the process. Your breath turned shaky. His lips were so soft, and you had never felt so confident in your body. You didn’t think about the fact that your stomach was probably too soft, because he worshipped every single inch. The sounds he made were so content, rumbling into your skin, and he kissed the cups of your bra with a bit of bite, leaving wet marks on the fabric.

“Chris,” you whispered, overwhelmed with the need and want to touch and be touched by this man, and he kissed up your neck to meet your lips again, not before pulling your shirt over your head.

“Alright?” he asked back when you two paused for a breath. He wiggled his hands under you to open your bra, and he pulled the straps off your shoulders. He breathed out a quiet fuck, immediately grabbing your breasts and kneading them with hungry eyes.

“More than,” you answered, laying your hands on his sides, rubbing up to the wide span of his shoulders to return some of the attention you were getting. This body was a work of art, and if you only got one night, you wanted to make sure you’d remember every single part of Chris. Your heart was still beating a bit faster, the pulse of it felt between your legs, but the calm authority of Chris put you at ease. He knew what he was doing, and if you followed his lead, this wouldn’t turn into a complete disaster.

“Alright, even though I could look at these two forever,” he said, leaning down to press an open-mouthed kiss over the top of each boob, “I’m opting for a change of positions.”

You bit your lip and raised your eyebrows, not knowing what to do or what he meant. He leaned back, and pulled you up with him, so you were sitting opposite from each other. He got up from the bed, hastily popping open the buttons of his jeans with one hand and pointing at you with the other. “Come on, get out of that, [Y/N],” he requested, gesturing at your own pair of jeans.

Again, a hint of your stubbornness made you press onward. You didn’t want to be the shy virgin that was too scared to lose her clothes. If you wanted to fuck him, you needed to be naked for it, simple as that. So you ripped open the button of your own jeans and unceremoniously slid them down your legs, your panties following soon after. This probably wasn’t the most sexy striptease he had ever seen, but it got the job done, and you were naked before you had thought too much about it.

“I bet you’re already wet,” he said, watching you with hawk eyes while you threw the clothing on the ground next to Chris’s pile. You weren’t brave enough to open your legs and put your pussy on full display, instead pressing your legs together so hard your muscles started to strain a bit. Chris was now only in his boxer briefs, and was apparently too distracted to shed these too. He kneeled back on the bed, and you mentally hyped yourself up to just open the damn legs and let him between them, when he simply crawled past you. Confused, you followed his movements with your eyes, and were surprised that he sat himself with his back straight against the headboard, opening his own legs. His briefs were straining over an impressive length, and if he’d now want for you to go to town on him, you’d probably die of nervousness.

That didn’t seem to be his goal, though. Instead he grabbed you by an ankle and pulled you closer to him, making you squeal. “What are you doing?” you giggled while he wrapped his arms around your middle, turned you around easily as anything and pulled you flush against his chest.

“Establishing a view for myself,” he mumbled, situating you on his lap, his cock clearly rockhard under you. Then he pushed his legs under yours, bending them at the knee, and now that he had your legs locked around his, he simply pushed his legs open again and opened yours with his like a clam. And there you were - glistening pussy on full display, and with  no way at all to close your legs with his locking them where they were. The blush on your cheeks deepened immediately, rushing down to your chest, and you complained with a whiny “Chris!” when he hooked his chin over your shoulder to stare down at your most intimate body part.

“You’re embarrassing me on purpose,” you muttered, closing your eyes when you heard his chuckle. In your head, you were busy calculating when you had shaved downstairs for the last time. It had been a few days, and a hint of stubble was visible. Chris didn’t seem to care about that.

“You’re fucking gorgeous,” he whispered, and since his face was so close to yours, it felt like he was whispering it directly into your ear. “God, you’re so wet. You’re glistening. Fuck.”

One of his big hands travelled down, and you tried to mentally prepare yourself for the first foreign touch on your pussy, but nothing could have prepared you. He cupped his hand over your whole vulva, just holding you gently, and you shuddered as if electrified. It felt good, and even weirder was that it wasn’t your own hand. You couldn’t predict what he would do next, and it put you completely at his mercy.

“I can feel you pulsing,” he said, his lips kissing your shoulder once before he hooked his chin there again. His eyes were flitting between your pussy and your face - he had to see how much he unraveled you, and that just with an unmoving hand cupping you. “You feel good?”

Your chest escaped a shaky breath, and it made you look down at your nipples. They were dark red and hard, quivering with your deep breathing. “Yeah,” you said shyly, not wanting to admit how good he was making you feel in case your stark reaction wasn‘t normal behavior.

His hand left you for a moment, but then he angled his hand upwards and his middle finger down, and then you felt an amazing spark sizzling through you. Your breathing stopped, and he did it again, brushing softly over your clit, his rapt eyes burning a hole into the side of your face. Your mouth opened on its own accord, your head falling back, and when he kissed the side of your neck, sucking a hickey into your skin in the process, you could feel his content grin. He knew exactly what he was doing to you.

He was still only ghosting featherlight touches over the side of your clit, not even fully on the wider middle, and you could feel the way he stared at the side of your face, cataloguing how you flinched a bit every time. You turned hot under his gaze, and hot from the way it felt as good as nothing else had ever felt before.

“You’re so fucking responsive,” he mumbled, in awe, and pressed an appreciative kiss the side of your neck. “I’m not even doing anything and you’re already shaking.”

He was right. There was a light quiver in the muscles of the inside of your thighs, and you whimpered, half turned on, half embarrassed. His hands travelled lower, gliding through your folds to gather a bit of wetness before focusing on your nub again. You blew out another shaky breath when he stopped the incessant teasing, but started a legitimate rhythm, brushing the clit‘s bridge from left to right, right to left. In the way your stomach clenched - if you had a sixpack like him, it would be flexing right now - you knew you wouldn’t last.

“Oh my goodness,” you bit out, pressing the back of your head onto his shoulder, his chin still firmly hooked over yours, watching everything. Just as you could feel the tension building, your thighs pushing against his legs that were still forcing yours open, you wanted to beg that he please, please didn’t stop - he did stop. You exhaled a frustrated whimper, but Chris soothed you quickly with a kiss to the cheek and his fingers picking up a different rhythm. Now he drew soft circles over the end of your clit, the spot where you were the most sensitive, but he managed the exact right pressure without overstimulating you.

“What do you like better?” he asked and proved how much he wanted to make this as good as possible for you. He was taking a fucking survey while his hand was literally doing magic. It would be a bit funny and a whole lot endearing if you weren’t completely gone with the pleasure seizing every muscle.

“Just like this,” you managed to choke out, and without realizing, you started to roll your hips in the rhythm of his hand, knocking him a bit off balance. He breathed hotly into your neck, and you could feel the way his cock twitched under you. You were making him feel good, and you were so proud of yourself it was probably ridiculous. Quickly, his other arm wrapped around your middle and halted your movements effortlessly.

“Wait, hold your horses,” he gasped out, his dick twitching one last time before he had himself back under control. He picked up the circles over your clit again.

“Why?” you whined, almost petulant, because you wanted him to feel a fraction of what you were feeling right now - which was complete heaven. Before you could inch closer toward orgasm again, his hand stopped altogether, feeling out your slit again, as if checking how wet you were. He patted over your pussy gently with the flat of his hand a few times. It still made you flinch, even though the direct attention to your clitoris was long gone.

He licked a line up the side of your jaw, stopping to nibble softly on your earlobe. Your body couldn’t stop shivering for even a second now; he had you completely in the palm of his - skilled - hands. “You were close already, weren’t you?” he husked into your ear.

“Yeah,” you answered honestly, and he laughed loudly at how disappointed you sounded.

“Don’t worry, I’ll make you come with my cock inside of you,” he promised, dotting another quick kiss onto his favorite spot on your neck that was already red from all the attention it was getting.

Then he lifted you off of him again, with as much ease as all of his moves before had been, and laid you dead center on the bed. He stood up and searched with fumbling hands for his discarded jeans, while simultaneously shimmying out of his briefs. When he almost fell head first onto the bed in the process, you both laughed in sync. But your giggling was abruptly cut off by the first real sight of his cock. Well, you had already felt underneath you that you were in for a big ride, but this big? You practically heard Finya‘s voice in your head telling you: “If you ever have sex, don’t worry, they’re never as big as they are in porn.” Well. Jokes on you and Finya both, because this was as impressive as it was a bit terrifying.

He made a cute aha victory sound when he found what he was looking for, pulling a condom from the back pocket of his jeans. So, he came prepared. Good. Because you wouldn’t have been, to be completely honest.

“Told you, Pete and I hoped one of us would get lucky,” Chris winked, ripping the wrapper open with his teeth, the damn show-off. He rolled it over his length, giving himself a perfunctory pull since he was already hard as a rock. He leaned over you, positioning himself between your legs, and kissed you again. He seemed to be obsessed with kissing you. Or not with kissing you, kissing in general. You were sure you weren’t that one golden exception to his usual habits. He kissed the top of your nose, sweetly grinning down at you, his cock brushing up the side of your inner thigh. “That I’d get this lucky though, baby. Who could have known?”

Baby. Your heart rate sky-rocketed, and it was a good thing he had distracted you with the pet name, because next thing you knew, the tip of his dick slid between your folds, searching out your entrance, and when he pushed forward, you froze under him. You felt a tweaking pain inside of you, as if he had ripped you open, and he felt even more enormous than he had looked. Fuck. This wasn’t pleasant at all, to be quite honest.

“Fuck. Um. Well,” you choked out, trying to breathe. Chris saw your pinched expression and stopped the movement of his hips immediately. “You’re fucking big.”

Chris was breathing heavily now, sweat gathering under his hairline. If you weren’t in that stinging pain, you’d preen at how much he was affected, and he was only inside with the tip. “What every man wants to hear,” he joked weakly, but stopped quickly again, his breathing heavy. “Fucking hell, you’re tight,” he groaned, leaning his head down to rest against yours. Your thoughts were spiraling into a black hole at the sudden epiphany that only his tip was inside, meaning there was still a whole lot to go. “Been a while for you?” Chris asked, ripping you from your panicking thoughts and referencing the obvious pain you were in.

You tried to breathe through the pain while simultaneously searching for your voice. “Yeah,” you said, voice sounding different than before, as if Chris taking your virginity had actually changed you on such a basal level that your voice was affected. You weren’t sure about how it felt, so you wiggled your hips a tiny bit and clenched around him experimentally. With a little pop, Chris slipped out of you again, and he hurried with a curse to get the latex-clad tip of his dick back inside. It wasn’t the same sharp pain as before, so you relaxed a bit.

“Fuck,” he bit out again, his hot breath fanning your blotchy face. “Can I move?”

No, would be the honest first answer, but then you thought of how literally everyone had sex, and that it had to start feeling good at some point. If you were being honest, the first ripping sting was already subsiding significantly, so you nodded and whispered out another yes. Chris pushed forward again, and you just couldn’t believe he was this big. Not only in length, but in girth as well. Every second that you thought, this had to be it, this had to be all, he just continued further and further until he bottomed out.

His thighs brushed against your thighs, and his cock was nestled deep inside you, as if you had been made only for him, and that was the first good feeling. Great, even. Your pussy started to throb again, and you wrapped closer around him. The pleasure was more discreet, not as upfront as his wicked fingers on your clit had been, but you liked this. So much the thought of not having sex with Chris after tonight was legitimately disappointing. Chris’s breath came even shorter and deeper, and you lifted a hand to lay on his cheek.

“Are you good?” you asked, mildly concerned.

“Yeah,” he said, swallowing. “You just feel really, fucking good.” You could feel in the way his cock twitched that he wasn’t lying. He made a figure eight move with his hips, feeling you out, and it made your thighs clench. God, this felt good. Chris groaned when he could feel you pulsing around him once. “Please, can I move?”

Excitement rushed through you, pain long forgotten. It was still there, but you didn’t care. You could feel the way his cock reached places no one had reached before, and if you imagined him pushing into said spots, the pleasure started to build already. “Knock yourself out,” you said with a grin and pushed your hips up to emphasize the words.

Chris… Well, Chris didn’t need to be told twice. He pulled out, just an inch or two, and pushed back in immediately, as if he couldn’t bear the thought of leaving your tight pussy. He fell into a deep, moderate rhythm, and for the first few pushes, there was a bit of pressure and pain again. But then your walls accommodated the long, hard length, and you had to suppress an elated laughter. This felt so fucking good, the pressure inside of your was already hotter than anything you’ve ever felt. It was also different to the way you’ve brought yourself to orgasm before. When you had masturbated, you‘d done it quickly with an impatient hand on your clitoris. This wasn’t as upfront, the build up was slower, as if a huge wave needed more time to build itself high into the sky. It was amazing. No hand on your clit, but still so much arousal coursing through you. Chris’s rhythm was unrelenting, so much deeper inside of your body, as if your pleasure belonged as much to Chris as it belonged to yourself, and maybe that was true in the way he obviously couldn’t hold back, getting faster and faster.

Chris’s head fell into the side of your neck, his breathy groaning with every push almost as sexy as his clenching ass and the tension in his thighs. You were so lost in the deep tingling inside of you, you didn’t even realize you had grabbed his backside with both hands, urging him on.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Chris rasped into your neck, pummeling faster and faster into you. He pushed you a bit up the bed with the force of his thrusts, and you almost hit your head on the headboard. You couldn’t care less with the tension building in your stomach, the tingling that started in your toes and climbed up your legs towards your center. Your walls started to clench around Chris with every push inside, and you threw your head back.

You weren’t a moaner, that was for sure for now, but you couldn’t help the small, broken “Chris” that slipped out of your trembling mouth. Your face was on fire, and Chris‘s breath was wet and hot on your cheek when he looked up at you.

He took one look at you through heavy-lidded eyes, his face sweaty and blotchy redness creeping down his chest, and without ever breaking the perfectly rough rhythm of his hips, he pushed a hand between you two and started circling your clitoris the way he had found you liked best. Tight circles without too much pressure, just the ghost of a touch, but it catapulted you into new heights.

When you started to come, he never stopped looking at your shocked face, and you didn’t even feel embarrassed, because you’ve never felt the way you felt now. Deep, bone-crushing pleasure coursing through you so violently your thighs shook around Chris‘s frame, and the ringing in your ears didn’t distract one bit from the length and strength of the orgasm.

You pulsed so rhythmically around Chris‘s cock it was like clockwork, and it seemed to pull out the last of his stamina. His hips stuttered two times before he was back in the perfect rhythm, elongating your pleasure until you were almost too sensitive for him to continue. You bit your lip, eyes wide in shock at what you’d just felt - was it even possible to label this monumental force as an orgasm? Chris’s groaning got a bit higher, his head falling into your neck again, and you could feel his thighs clench even more, so you guessed he was close to the finish line as well. You were proud of your body, and you felt sexy and feminine all of a sudden, and you wanted to see exactly what your body was doing to Chris. So you framed his red face in your trembling hands, lifting it from its hiding spot in the side of your neck.

You catalogued all of his gorgeous features - the bitten red, plump bottom lip, the fiery red cheeks, the flutter of his ridiculously long eyelashes. When your eyes met his and a blissed out smile pulled at your lips, it seemed to tip Chris into orgasm. He moaned, voice breaking, and pushed one forceful, final time deep into you. You could faintly feel his cock pulsing, and you suddenly hated the condom wrapped around him. You wanted to feel the wetness inside of you, the warmth of his come, and you wanted to be claimed this completely by no one but him.

Chris was still laying on top of you, his cock still twitching weakly inside of you, in the last throes of his own high. You tried to get your heartbeat and your breathing under control, your limbs still tingling with the aftermath of this monster of an orgasm, and your first thought was quite a sad one: It had been your first time, and you knew you had already peaked. You instinctively knew that it was very rare to click so well with a sexual partner, and the pleasure you had experienced was one of a kind. Wow, how depressing to think that it would probably only go downhill from here, except you managed to hit the lottery again with a future partner. But staring at this blissed out Chris, you really didn’t want to think about any of that.

“Holy hell,” you gasped out when he pulled out. You winced quietly at the sudden emptiness and the raw feeling inside of you, but Chris didn’t notice while he fell on his back beside you. He, too, was gasping for air, his cock laying on his thigh and losing stiffness already. Maybe it was weird, but you couldn’t stop looking at the pearly white come pooling in the latex tip of the condom that was barely visible in the dark.

“Great, good God,” he answered, and you turned your head to look at him with raised eyebrows. What the hell was he talking about? Great, good God?! He saw your confused face and started laughing, voice rough. “I thought we were using alliterations. Holy hell. Great, good God. I wanted to one-up you.”

You burst out laughing, and laughed even more when you saw how proud he looked that he had made you laugh. “You nerd,” you teased him gently, absentmindedly pressing your thighs together. They were still trembling faintly, still recovering from the sex. Holy hell and great, good God indeed.

Chris snorted, wagging his eyebrows playfully, and pointed at the wall opposite the bed that was completely covered with overfilled bookcases. “Me, the nerd? Says the one with the million books in her room. What the hell do you do with eight different copies of the Lord of the Rings?”

“You counted the amount of my Lord of the Rings copies while we were fucking?” you asked back, half horrified, half teasing. “Was I underperforming that horribly?”

Chris grabbed at his chest, his head falling back with such a loud laughter it rang through your bedroom. You just had to giggle with him. “No, this was seriously mind-blowing sex,” he assured you. “I saw the copies just now.”

“Good to know,” you shot back, grinning.

He shook his head, staring at the side of your face with glinting eyes. “God,” he said and reached over to brush a hand over your cheek, “you are so adorable.”

Your cheeks warmed with the compliment and the hand stroking you with surprising gentleness. This… didn’t feel one night stand-y at all, not that you had any experiences to compare this to. You tried to deflect, embarrassed with how much he managed to get your heart going with one simple sentence. “Only God? Good God, please, at least. We’re still in the same alliteration boat,” you said with a warning finger.

It didn’t help deflecting the spark in his eyes at all. If possible, his eyes grew even softer in the dark. “I am trying to search for an alliteration that says that this night was great,” he confessed, smiling softly. “But I’m tired and you fucked my brains out and I officially give up.”

His bluntness made you bark out another laugh. “Exit… eccepted?” you tried, trying to bend the word in your favor.

Chris grinned, leaning over to kiss you on the lips. “I am decidedly not going to exit, especially not this flat,” he said matter-of-factly, and it made your heart flutter. A part of you had been scared he’d simply dip the second he pulled out. He brushed your noses together. “Can I stay the night? I swear I make a killer breakfast. And can I use the bathroom for a sec?”

You tried not to let too much excitement show. Of course he could stay. You had wished silently that he would. “Yes and yes,” you announced, feigning graciousness. “Bathroom is the opposite door to the bedroom. Spare toothbrush is under the sink.”

“So you’re prepared for one night stands after all? Spare toothbrush and all?” he asked, mock-shocked. Maybe you only imagined the hint of real jealousy in his blue eyes. He grabbed his chest, looking crestfallen. His performance lost a bit of its glamour when he pulled off the condom, knotting and throwing it in the bin under your desk. “And here you were, boosting my ego by telling me I’m the only hook up you’ve ever had. My heart is broken. My ego deflated. My future dark. And all because you lied.”

“One, the toothbrush is for friends that wanna sleep over,” you started and ignored the way his eyes lit up with contentment. You couldn’t get your hopes up about Chris Evans, it would end in a disaster. “And two, says the guy walking into a club with a condom in the back pocket of his jeans,” you continued drily, lifting an eyebrow.

Chris laughed and climbed off the bed, his soft cock dangling from left to right. You tried not to stare too much before he put on his discarded briefs. “Touché,” he called over his shoulder while he went to the bathroom. “Touché, babe.”

Weirdly enough, you went into full panic mode the second he was gone. What the fuck? Chris Evans had taken your virginity and managed to make it amazing. But he was him and you were you and tomorrow morning you’d have to let him out of the flat and let him go altogether and you’d never manage to get over that. You were in way too deep, and you knew that for him it had only been a fun night - the condom told its own story; he would have picked up anyone if you hadn’t gotten so lucky that Finya had chosen Pete, which had led Chris to come talk to you. And now you were deflowered. Fuck.

A shaky hand traveled down between your legs and you felt a bit of wetness, so you cleaned up with some wet wipes you had in the drawer of your bedside table and threw them in the bin. You plucked a fresh pair of underwear from your closet and put on a wide t-shirt because you couldn’t bear the thought of Chris seeing you naked again. Now that the adrenaline of fucking was mostly gone, you were back to being embarrassed about your body next to this adonis. You heard the toilet flush just as you were climbing back into bed, pulling the covers up to your chin.

When he came back, he crawled into bed next to you with no hesitation at all. He scooted closer, eyes on your face, and maybe he saw a fraction of the mini-breakdown you had had while he’d been in the other room. He lifted a careful hand and brushed your hair from your forehead.

“So… now that I’ve ennobled you with the title of one night stand expert,” he began with the ghost of a smile on his lips, and you knew he was actively aiming at making you laugh. Of course he succeeded. Because he was wonderful and kind and funny and gentle and everything in between and your stomach turned cold at the thought of letting him go the next morning. “How’s your verdict on cuddling your hook up to sleep after some amazing sex?”

Part of you wanted to tell him no, thank you. Not because you didn’t want to, hell yes you did, but because you knew that everything you took with greedy hands now would chip away at you later. You had already sunken knee deep into this damned crush, and his baby blue eyes were too damn hopeful. It’s for him, you told yourself and lied as blatantly to yourself as a three year old kid who had eaten some forbidden candy. It’s only for him.

“My verdict on cuddling you?” you mumbled, turning toward him and smiling gently. “Absolutely yes.”

Chris was ridiculous, and he made you laugh again by throwing up a victory fist as if he had won the fucking Olympics with your cuddle approval. He practically tackled you to the bed, and you let him rearrange you into his side until he was content with your position, pressed together from chest to toes. You wouldn’t have known what to do anyway, since you were still a cuddling virgin as much as you had been a general virgin earlier in the night. There were a lot of firsts with Chris, and that thought made your heart clench again. So you pressed your face into the side of his neck and breathed him in deeply. He hummed, content, and wrapped his arms even tighter around you.

baby fever, part 3 [Remus Lupin x reader]

word count: 12k

summary: “You like that?"

“I like it,” you practically babbled.

“I know you do, baby.”

tags: marauders era, smut, nsft, friends with benefits with feelings, she/her pronouns used for reader, fem reader, 18+ only please

read part one and part two here

It was Marlene's birthday this weekend.

You and Marlene weren’t especially close as cousins go. You liked each other, looked out for each other when you could and told each other the gossip when you had it, but you didn’t hang out or plan to go places together, so you weren’t sure what to get her as a gift.

You were in James' kitchen. Lily took Harry for a day out with her mother and Sirius was busy at the farmer's market. You had no idea where Remus was and felt as though asking James would be enough for him to crack you open.

He'd invited you over on the pretense of needing "smaller hands" for the frog Palace. You didn't think your hands were all that small, but it was only an excuse, so far. You hadn't even seen the Palace yet, and you'd been there for two hours.

He had a radio screeching away in the other room, muggle rock, Sirius' doing. The day was brisk and bright, the Potter kitchen shining a blinding white despite how homely and welcoming it was. James was suggesting gift ideas.

"Is she in need of a pet? I know a guy who owns upwards of 11 frogs."

"I can't regift her one of Harry's frogs."

James flopped back in his chair, long hand braced against his forehead in stress. "Good lord. I can't do this anymore, Y/N. It's just too many frogs."

You leaned your elbow on the table, chin in your hand.  "You're not very grateful."

"Be careful of your next words, love."

"It can't be that hard. Surely they just live in your garden and eat grass and swim a bit."

"It can't be that hard! You won't mind taking one home then?" he said, kicking his heel against the floor.

You hesitated. "As much as I would love to say yes, I'm sure one jump towards me would do my nerves in."

"Yes, you are rather flighty."

You grumbled at him. "That's not the word I would use."

"What word would you use?"

You were silent.

"Jumpy?" he supplied.

"I don't want to speak to you anymore."

"Suits me."

You giggled, bringing your drink to your mouth in an effort to hide it.

"Flinch-prone?"

"That's terrible," you criticised, swallowing.

He flashed a brilliant grin at you, pushing out of his chair. "Come on, let's sort these frogs out before Lily's back."

It was an easy task that he had for you. The frog Palace was smart, a little wooden home filled with leaf litter and a swimming pool. You were almost in awe, not having expected such a fuss. Your job was to fit the window-shaped holes with tiny plastic windows.

It was punishing on your hands. Within half an hour you were bleeding under one of your fingernails, full of splinters and slightly agitated.

"This is ridiculously fiddly," you complained.

James was searching for frog number 7. "But what an excellent grade you'll get on your assignment, Miss McKinnon."

You pushed a window into the little frame, tugging and pushing and tugging so it fit just right. He must've measured and cut each on with care as they fit so snugly. You looked at him out of the corner of your eye, feeling fond. What an excellent father he had turned out to be.

You gasped. Where you hadn't been looking, hadn't been careful, you'd forced the thick plastic on both sides and it had snapped down the middle, catching the meat of your palm unforgivingly.

You pulled a sharp edge from your hand, watching in surprise as a big bead of blood came with it. The bloody trail traveled down your hand and soiled the cuff of your jumper.

"Flighty," James said again pointedly. He trudged over from his search to assess the damage. "Need to clean that for sure. Quick, no! Leave the windows. We'll fix it after. Get inside."

You felt immeasurably guilty. "Sorry, James. I wasn't looking, I'll-"

"Shush, would you? They were easy to make."

He led you back into the kitchen with your wet shoes, pouring hydrogen peroxide over the small wound. You hissed, eyes burning with unshed tears.

"That hurt more than the cut itself," you whined.

James laughed at you. "I bet it did."

"Don't laugh, I'll never help you out again."

He put a much too small plaster over the cut and tapped it with his finger. "Boom, fixed. You're welcome."

The front door pushes open, a voice calls down the hallway. "Prongs, do you have any - Y/N?"

"Hi, Remus," you said, tucking your injured hand out of sight.

He looked as handsome as ever despite ashen face, leaning against the kitchen doorway. You hadn't seen him in almost two weeks, though he'd phoned you a few times, as you'd been busy making final changes for your book.

"Hi yourself. Finally escaped?"

"Yeah, no work for me for a few days."

"Oh, brilliant. I was thinking we could-"

"Is this the royal 'we'?" James asked, raising his eyebrows.

Both you and Remus made eye contact and burst out laughing.

James was immensely testy from that moment on. “I hate you both. I wish I never let you mess around. Now I get ganged up on by literally everyone in my life.”

“You didn’t let us do anything, Prongs. Y/N’s a big girl, she makes her own decisions.”

“Totally,” you said, enjoying how the further tag-teaming was distressing James. “We’re all grown up, Dad. Stop ruining our lives.”

James threw his hands up in the air and stomped off up the stairs.

“Shall we follow him?” you asked.

“No, he’s alright. What’s with the hand?”

“Oh, this?” you asked, holding your hand up. “Toad palace.”

“Fucking toad palace,” Remus said under his breath. He took your hand in his, turning it left and right. “He’s ruined your lovely hands.”

Your hands were battered. “I have splinters,” you said unhappily.

Remus turned to look through the first aid kit James had left open by the sink. He procured a pair of steel tweezers.

He took your hand in his with the delicate touch you’d come to expect from him. Your eyes drifted to the skin stretched taut over his knuckles. He had nice hands, and it was hard to forget what they’d done to you the last time you’d been intimate. You shifted from foot to foot.

“Will it hurt?”

He looked up from examining your hand. “What? Maybe a little. Don’t worry, dove, I’ll be gentle.”

“I’ve heard that before.”

He stood so close you could see the smallest squint of his eyes, the barest of smiles. “I thought you liked it like that.”

He pulled a tiny splinter from your index finger, then another.

“This can’t possibly be safe for the frogs,” he murmured.

James stomped all the way downstairs. “For you, Sir Moony, my finest pepper-up. Bon appetit.”

He was still focused on your hands, but he managed a distracted thanks out the side of his mouth. James was pleased enough, flicking the kettle on with a wave of his wand. The kettle began to whistle obediently.

Remus must’ve managed to remove tens of splinters by the time James had made tea. Your hands felt worse for it, and your nails were still ragged and chipping. You’d have to take special care of them for weeks now. Still, anything for friendship.

Remus was discreet in taking the pepper-up potion. He looked a little better quickly, color coming back into his face.

“Rough night?” you asked.

“Just tired,” he said softly. He looked more than tired, like the energy had been stolen from him completely. You felt yourself soften, wanting to offer some comfort but not knowing how. Whatever it was that was ailing him, he could handle it. He’d done so for years now before you knew him. He was a tough dude.

Your eyebrows pinched together in sympathy despite yourself. James jostled your shoulder.

“He’s fine. Stop worrying so much, Y/N. He’ll be right as rain to knock your socks off in a few days.”

You felt your mouth open of its own accord. “I don’t care if he’s alright to fuck me, dickhead. I care how he is, he’s my friend.”

“Friend who can’t stop having sex with you at my house.”

“Technically, last time wasn’t here,” Remus piped up, stretching. “Only the seduction.”

“Brilliant,” James said. “That makes me feel much more clean.”

You wanted to say something witty, funny, impress them, but all you could think of was Remus. You blushed, putting your face in your hands. They’d be the end of you.

-

“You’ll be at Marlene’s this weekend?” you asked Remus, struggling with the zip on your coat with your hurting nails.

He frowned, reaching forward to do it for you. “No, I… I have some things to do.”

The way he’d hesitated, like he’d gone to say something else, gave you pause. You picked stray hairs off your skirt, trying to sound nonchalant. “That’s alright. I’ll miss you there. I mean - not that I miss you. Or that I don’t!” you panicked. “Just that it will be boring without you.”

He still looked poorly. He placed both hands on your shoulders, eyes warm. “I’ll miss you too. Next weekend?”

“Okay,” you said, voice high.

“Good,” he said. You waited for a kiss goodbye that never came, watching him walk down to the disapparation point sullenly.

“You’re in trouble,” James said.

“Tell me about it,” you murmured under your breath.

-

You didn’t look as nice the night of Marlene’s party as you had at other parties. You knew exactly what it meant when you couldn’t be bothered to dress up. You’d been on nail repair for days, trying to salvage them. They were shorter than before and the skin a-of your hands was still battered but you’d repainted them to a nice shiny, blushy pink to stay natural.

You wore simple beige trousers, a desaturated blue vest top with lace trim and a darker blue shirt over the top, unbuttoned. You did your hair with little care for perfection.

You’d decided to get Marlene a bottle of her favourite alcoholic drink in the end, feeling like a bad cousin.

There weren’t many familiar faces to be seen that night. Lily had stayed home with Harry, James and Sirius were similarly absent along with Remus. You entertained small talk with the Longbottom’s for an hour and then went home, unhappy with the realisation you came to.

You didn’t really seem to have many friends.

School friends weren’t the same anymore. You knew each other, but now that you didn’t see each other every day of the week, there was nothing to say.

Remus had a life, a big one, outside of you, and of course you knew that without any malicious force. But you felt sad that you didn’t have that yourself.

You called him the next morning, feeling lonely but not wanting to show it, craving his attentions.

He sounded like he’d been dragged through the wringer.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine," he said, sounding like he didn't believe it himself.

You could hear a voice in the background, manly, not familiar. You squeezed your eyes closed. You knew he had other lovers. You knew that ever since the first time. Still you hadn't expected him to answer the phone while a guy was still there.

"Are you, are you busy?"

"No, Y/N. Is something wrong?"

"No, I just wanted to hear your voice." Admitting that, knowing he wasn't alone, made you feel as though you might throw up.

You pushed the hard pretzels you'd been snacking on away, abruptly as your appetite fled you.

"Are you sure? Do you want to come over?"

"Now?" you asked, flabbergasted.

"Sure. My dad's going home soon."

Your hand flew to your mouth. You leaned your head against the wall, hitting your forehead repeatedly.

"What's that sound?"

"It's nothing. Nothing. Are you sure you're well enough for visitors?"

"Visitors," he repeated, laughing to himself. You didn't understand why. "Come over."

"Yeah, okay."

"See you soon." Click.

You rubbed the red spot on your head and a manic laugh bubbled out of you. Godric, you'd drive yourself to madness over this boy. His father of all people.

You thought about how you felt as you got dressed. It wasn't fair for you to be upset over his sex life, was it? You'd never agreed to any exclusivity. Especially when he wasn't even having sex to begin with, he was just sick. Flaring up while you gnaw yourself to the bone from envy.

You felt so guilty and embarrassed about being jealous that you had to lean over the railing by his flat and breathe through your nose until your heartbeat regulated.

It took you a long time to remember what floor he lived on and longer for him to open the door.

It was a fascinating sight. He was tired, leaning against the wall. Soft t-shirt full of holes and two day stubble.

You dropped your bag on the floor, wrapping your arms around him lightly. He hugged you back with one arm.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," you pulled away quickly. "Nothing, I'm sorry."

You encouraged him to get back into bed, and he did, although he refused to lie down. "I can sit, Y/N. I'm not that ill."

He was bleeding through his shirt. You didn't know whether to mention it. He didn't even look like he had enough energy to get hurt, so why was he?

You'd seen his naked chest. He had all types of scars, all lengths, no part of him untouched. You looked at him, thinking. Sick all the time, covered in scars like claws.

It clicked so suddenly you had to turn your head to look away from him.

Remus Lupin was a werewolf. Last night had been the full moon.

Oh, Remus, you thought. You were overpowered by the ache to hug him, but you settled for sitting by his side, throwing one leg over his. Moony, you thought. ‘It's a long story.’

"Is there anything I can do?" you asked him, staring up into his face.

He assessed your expression. "I'm alright. I promise you."

"You just look so tired," you said weakly, chuckling. You lifted a hand to push the hair from his face though you knew you shouldn't.

"I'll be okay in a few days."

"Until the next time."

"Until next time," he agreed. He took your hand into his. "I wish you'd tell me what's wrong."

"You're half bed-ridden bugging me about how I am," you laughed, squeezing his hand. "Sort out your priorities."

"I like my priorities."

“Whatever,” you mumbled, sliding down so you were flat on your back.

“Forgive me, but you seem cranky today.”

“I’m not cranky, I’m worried about you.”

Remus laid down too, hissing. He moaned when he finally came to a stop, turning his head so you were face to face. You frowned at him again. The little bleeding spot on his shirt hadn’t gotten any bigger so you left him alone on that front.

“Why’d you ask me over?” you asked, searching for a truth you didn’t actually want.

“I like your company,” he said, smirking. “Why’d you think?”

“Guess.”

“As much as I’d like to, I don’t think I could handle it. I can’t keep my eyes open,” he said lowly.

You left his bed in search of a book, intending to read aloud to cover your racing thoughts. He made a sound at your hands coming apart that he had no right to make. You picked up his roughed up cover of A Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy.

It felt like something so special, you held it like a new born baby, despite evidence that suggested he might not be so kind to it. You sat down next to him again, flicking it open to the first page. He pressed his forehead against your knee.

You didn’t start reading immediately, content to scan through his annotation. He protested. “Read out loud, dove.”

You sighed like this was a great inconvenience to you.

“Far out in the uncharted backwaters of the unfashionable end of the western spiral arm of the Galaxy lies a small unregarded yellow sun…”

As you spoke, his hand crept up so that it was resting on your ankle, then your calf. His head fell, and not too long after he was asleep. You read aloud anyways until your voice cracked and your mouth tasted funny, too worried he might wake up.

Your back ached. You didn’t dare to move in case you jostled Remus. Plus, you liked watching him sleep. He was handsome even if he looked a bit peaky.

You suddenly felt overwhelmingly sad. Remus was a werewolf, you were almost sure of it. Why else could he be so sick and so injured at the same time now that he lived alone? And the full moon couldn’t just be a coincidence, could it?

You thought back to that conversation you had at the Potter Christmas party about puppies, laughing wetly. God, he probably thought you were so stupid.

You did really want his puppies, though. In the future.

He flinched in his sleep. You brought a hand to his face to rub his hair backwards, a repetitive motion, hand soft against his skin, pleased when he stilled again.

It must be so hard to be a werewolf. Because of people, but because it was your own body working against you, stealing your choice and your mind. You never felt as sad as you did at that time, not for yourself or anyone else in the world. The pain rippled in your chest. You thought back to small Remus, always so sick, and felt immeasurably upset. It wasn’t fair.

He’d shown you a lot of kindness and made you really happy for the last few weeks, and you would admit to yourself you fancied him madly. Despite this, you thought it was the kind of thing that would still make you sad. You inhaled harshly, looking up at the ceiling to blink away tears.

When you were sure he wouldn’t wake up, you got to work. His flat was clean enough but you were going to make it shine. His clothes were organized in the way that a guy who hadn’t long ago been a teenager would so you refolded and pressed the corners. You washed every cup in the sink and scrubbed the floor down with a scouring sponge. You dusted every surface you could find.

He didn’t have a lot of food, but definitely enough for a soup. You called your mother from his telephone and had her whisper instructions on how to make something edible.

You cleaned up after yourself and set the soup to simmer on the stovetop. It was late evening by the time you’d finished, your arms aching. You didn’t let it get to you. Imagine what Remus is feeling right now, you thought. This was hardly hard work.

You climbed back into bed with him, curling in a ball so that his head was level with your sternum, like two interlocking commas, watching his chest move up and down.

You almost drifted off, hoping that when he woke up he’d feel better. He roused slowly, his movements alerting you. You pretended you hadn’t almost been sleeping yourself, and allowed him some privacy, continuing your charade by flipping the book open to a random page.

“Can you smell that?” he asked.

“What?” you whispered.

He opened his bleary eyes fully. “Did you make something?”

“Soup,” you answered, giving up on the book.

He pushed up onto an elbow. “What kind?”

“I just used what was in your freezer, mostly. Like minestrone without the pasta.”

“Hmm,” he said.

“How do you feel?”

“Less tired. Listen, you didn’t have to make anything.”

“I wanted to… if that’s okay.”

He looked adorable. “It’s okay. It’s nice. I forgot how nice you are.”

“You forgot?”

He backtracked. “I mean… in Hogwarts, you were the girl who would do anything for someone if they asked. Homework and tutoring and taking the heat. I don’t want to take advantage of your niceness.”

“I don’t remember being like that.”

“You wouldn’t, it’s second nature to you.”

You smiled affectionately at him. “You can rest easy, Remus. It’s just soup.”

“I’m talking about more than soup.”

‘’We’re friends, aren’t we? The ‘friends’ part of friends with benefits is caring about you.”

“And making me soup.”

“And making you soup, loser.”

“Don’t push it.”

-

You went home that night although he offered for you to stay. You had no idea if it was the right move to stay or leave so you made up a lie about seeing one of your friends. He called you the next day and the day after, both times sounding lethargic. The fourth day he sounded well enough.

You took the plunge.

“I made paella but it’s a really ridiculous amount because I don’t understand portion sizes. Do you want to come over and watch Rocky III on video?”

“Sure, Y/N.”

He looked happier when he arrived than he had in a while.

He had flowers. More than the single bloom he'd given you weeks ago, a bouquet. Ragged and windblown, but a bouquet all the same.

"It's to say thanks for organising my clothes. You folded my underwear, you weirdo."

You laughed nonsensically, bringing the flowers up to your nose. You actually knew this flower - gardenias. Big white gardenias with blue baby's breath.

"Thanks," you said breathlessly. "They're lovely."

You took one of the petals between your fingers lovingly. They felt soft as silk. When you looked up, Remus had a thoughtful look on his face.

Thankfully you'd had the good sense to clean your bedroom. You shouldered open the door, leaving him at the threshold. On your bedside table was a cup of water and the single violet rose he'd given you, still living unhappily. The cup was slightly too short for the bouquet but you didn't suppose it mattered, slotting them in. You'd only changed the water this morning so you hoped it would be fine.

You pushed the violet rose front and centre and turned to grin brilliantly at Remus.

"They're so nice. Thank you."

He ducked his head. “You’re welcome.”

“I have to heat up the paella again. Do you know how to do the VCR?”

“My mum was a muggle, so yes. I understand it just fine,” he said, smiling.

Was, he’d said. She wasn’t around anymore. Goodness, could things get anymore heartbreaking for this boy? you asked yourself.

“I watched a lot of videos when I was a kid,” he said.

“Really?” you asked, walking an inch apart.

“A lot. Like, a ridiculous amount.”

“You didn’t go out much?”

You were turned away from him, dishing out the paella into big bowls. When he didn’t answer you turned around to watch him fiddling with the tv.

“Not really,” he said eventually, as though settling for half an answer.

You nodded though he didn’t see. No, you couldn’t imagine he did.

“What was your favorite?

He hesitated. “Have you ever seen the Gnome-Mobile?”

“No,” you chuckled to yourself. “Somehow, that one escaped me.”

“I liked it very much. What was your favourite movie growing up?”

You thought about it as you pulled your wand out, casting a warming spell over your food. “I liked ‘Hello, Dolly!’”

“Hello, Rudey,” he began, not quite singing. “Well hello, Harry.”

“It’s so nice to be back home where I belong,” you sang back.

“You’re lookin’ swell, Manny.”

“I can tell, Danny.”

“You're still glowin', you're still crowin', you're still goin' strong!” you said together. He chuckled at your dramatic rendition.

“Dolly was so pretty. I was enamored with her - I wanted to be like her so badly I used to go in my mother’s room because she had one of those big stand up mirrors and I’d do all her sultry poses,” you told him, using a tea towel to carry the hot dishes into the living room.

You put them down on the coffee table. Remus had put Rocky III in the player no problem, waiting for you to come in before he pressed play on the player.

You sat cross-legged on the floor in front of one of the bowls. He followed your lead, though he didn’t cross his legs so much as you, keeping one leg straight.

“My mother loved Hello, Dolly!. She must’ve watched it a hundred times one summer,” he said quietly, with the steady voice of someone telling you something important.

You toyed with your food. Remus took a big bite. “She’s gone now?” you asked, knowing the answer.

“Last Autumn.”

“I’m sorry.”

He smiled at you earnestly. “It’s not your fault. She was sick for a long time.”

“I hope she didn’t hurt too much.”

“She didn’t.”

“What was her name?”

“Hope.”

You ate in silence for a while. You swallowed, hoping to fill the silence.

“And - and your father? What does he do?”

“He works for The Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Since I was little.”

“He must be very important.”

“He’s always busy,” he said agreeably.

The movie went on. You gave up halfway through your paella to lie down on the floor. You ignored the television to stare at Remus. He was incredibly attractive like this, languid. You watched in unbridled adoration as his eyes followed the characters, his long lashes fluttering with his moving. He was a little stiff, probably from the injury to his chest from days ago and his transformation.

“...you gotta want to do it for the right reasons. Not for the guilt over Mickey, not for the people, not for the title, not for money or me, but for you. Just you. Just you alone.”

Every time you remembered he was a werewolf you felt a little twinge of pain, though as the days wore on and you got used to the idea you just felt acceptance. You wanted to tell him you knew and that it was okay, and you didn’t care what society said because he was beautiful and kind and gentle.

“And if I lose?”

His hand was stretched out across the floor, half an inch from your own. You really thought about ignoring it, turning your eyes away and watching the film like you knew you should, but you couldn’t. You stretched your hand forward as much as you were able, nudging his fingers with your own.

“Then you lose. But at least you lose with no excuses, no fear. And I know you can live with that.”

He threaded his fingers through yours without saying a word,

-

“I’ve never seen the movies before this,” Remus admitted once the film drew to a close.

You gasped at him. “Remus! Why didn’t you say?”

“I didn’t think it mattered,” he laughed. You shook your head at him, stacking up your discarded plates and drinks to scrub in the sink.

“There’s a spell for that,” Remus teased.

You wrinkled your nose at him. “Have you ever eaten from a plate that’s been cleaned with magic? It’s clean, but the mind knows you haven’t washed it.”

“The mind knows,” he echoed. “Stop, stop,” he grabbed the brush from your hand, “I’ll do that.”

“Then what will I do?”

“What do you usually do after dinner?” He said, turning the hot tap on.

There was no point in standing there to watch him. You went back to the living room to square up the cushions, push the coffee table into a straight line. What did you do after dinner? Usually you got ready for bed, finding ways to waste time until you were tired or bored enough to sleep.

You abandoned the living room for your bedroom in a plight for your nail care bag. It was only a small bag. A circle shaped tin of cuticle wax, a small dropper bottle of oil and the tapered angle brush you used to apply it, your sheer red-to-pink bottom coat and clear top coat.

You used the wax first. It had been a struggle to fix your skin since the splinter’s you’d suffered at James’ garden. You tucked one leg up to lean on, rubbing and wiping the wax until your cuticles felt suitably balmed.

You painted them next. Remus walked in, eyes softening at the sight of you blowing on your nails. He sat at the end of your bed.

“You want me to do yours?” you asked him.

“I’m not sure there’s a point, they’d be ruined by tomorrow.”

You laughed. Once the pinky bottom coat had dried, you unstoppered the top coat, using your utmost concentration to neatly paint to the edges of your nails.

If Remus was bored, he didn’t complain.

“You do this a lot?” he asked you.

“My ‘perfect hands’ need a lot of attention,” you said, quoting what he’d said after your frog palace injury. The cut to your palm had scarred now, a smooth pink triangle.

“I can think of other places that require attention,” he said, sidling up to your side.

“My nails are wet!” you protested, holding them up.

“You’ll have to stay very still,” he simpered, kissing the corner of your mouth.

“Remus-“

“I know, it’ll be hard for you. I’ll make it up to you.”

You both laughed, thought you sounded more stressed out than he did. He moved to kiss you on the lips fully, achingly gentle, using his left hand to tilt your head, opening you up like a blooming flower. You could feel your pulse hammering through you.

He turned his head as though wading through water.

You felt silly doing nothing with your hands so you placed them down on the bed sheets.

He broke the kiss. “Be careful.”

It sounded more like a threat than a warning. You nodded without thinking, breathing hard.

His right hand was gripping your thigh, and as he nudged your face up to ruin your neck, it traveled higher, until your skirt was pooled against your stomach and if you could see, you knew your underwear would be exposed.

His teeth grazed your pulse point, his hand traced a line at the beginnings of your underwear. It was a monumental injustice that you could only sit there and be ravished.

You moved a hand and he pulled away. You mourned the loss of him.

“Don’t ruin your nails,” he reprimanded.

You put your hand back down obediently. He tried to keep a serious expression as he returned and failed. You could feel his smile against your skin as he kissed you.

“How long does that stuff take to dry?” he asked.

“Not long.”

“That’s too bad, I like playing with you like this.”

“I like being played with.”

He pulled back to look you in the eyes. “You do, huh, pretty baby? You like it?”

“Yes,” you said, closing your eyes in embarrassment.

“Hey, hey. Don’t be embarrassed. A pretty girl like you should always say what she wants, and a guy like me should always give it to her.”

You loved when Remus spoke like this. It was so different from his polite, gentlemanly demeanour otherwise. You felt like you were in on some private secret.

He held your face in his hands, your own pressed into the mattress. He encouraged you backwards, towering over you to bring one knee between your legs.

“You’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen,” he said.

You opened your eyes, saying in a voice barely loud enough to be heard. “Don’t say stuff like that if you don’t mean it.”

“I do mean it. Y/N,“ - his hands moved to your hair, pushing it all back from your face - “I’m not teasing you. You’re ethereal, understand?”

You swallowed, nodded.

“An angel,” he said. “Not just because we’re like this. Not because I want to fuck you.”

“But you will, won’t you?” you implored, pressing one of your fingertips atop the other. Your nails were dry.

“I’d do anything you asked me to,” he said.

You covered one of his hands with your own and smiled so wide it made your eyes squint shut. He kissed the edges of it, the the middle, kissing you so deeply you forgot to breathe. His knee inched up, up until you were whimpering in his mouth.

“You like that?”

You moved your hips down on him in answer. His hand came up under the edge of your shirt. He pushed his thumb deep into your skin, rubbing a half circle there. The simple motion stole your breath, made you feel more safe than anything else. Even when he wanted you he was tactile, loving even when he was rough.

He pushed his hand past the elastic of your underwear. His touch was so soft it tickled. You jumped under his touch. He smirked to himself at the wetness he found there.

“Oh, you’re done for.” He climbed off of you, pulling your skirt down as he went. You pulled your shirt over your head with your elbow and he helped pull it from your hair.

He leaned forward as if to start again and you stopped him. “I’m always the first to be naked,” you reached out, fingers at the bottom of his shirt. He let you pull it off without argument, though he was seemingly nervous at the sight of his own chest. You pressed your hand flat, touch light, against his chest, against scars.

He pulled his trousers off and then there you were, two idiots in underwear and socks, grinning at each other.

He pulled your socks off, kissing your ankle, your calf. He kissed the side of your knee and your thigh, and then he kissed your dampening underwear, right at the centre of you. You went a little dizzy with lust, barely processing that he was pulling your smalls off too.

You reached back to unclip your bra, exposing your chest. He licked your nipple and you held your breath. He blew cold air on you, laughing when your nipple peaked. He gave the other the same treatment, though this time he took you in his mouth to roll the bud between his teeth.

It sent butterflies straight to your abdomen and crotch. You pushed the hair out his eyes.

Pleased at his treatment he set you free with a lewd pop.

You sat up, intent on kissing him silly again before he could protest. He pulled you to him where he kneeled, wrapping his arms around your back. You folded your own arms around his neck, pleased at being higher up than he was.

You could feel the shape of him through his boxers pressed against your core. He rocked his hips, spreading slick everywhere. You broke the kiss to pant into the side of his neck, distracted by his moving. He lowered one hand, probing the soft skin of your cunt. He started with one finger although it quickly progressed to two as you were already relaxed from his wet-nails game.

His hand cupped the bottom of your arse. Each time he entered you the surface of his palm would hit your skin, causing a riot of goosebumps to spread up your back and thighs. He noticed.

“Cold?”

“No.”

He pulled his boxers down to his knees. You buck against him, too eager. Your legs were squeezing tight around his thighs, trying your hardest not to grind down on him. He let you do as you pleased, arms returning to your back, positioning you just so.

You whined, certainly not above begging if need be. Remus thrust up in response. You felt yourself tighten around the head of his dick, mewling at the ecstasy of him spreading you open on top of him.

You bounced on him, using his shoulders to push yourself up and let yourself drop back down. He enjoyed this, making sounds in your ears that felt like they’d put you in an early grave. You dropped down so harshly you hurt yourself, freezing in his lap.

He froze too at your pained gasp. “Okay?”

“Yeah,” you said, eyes watering. “Too fast.”

“Here,” he said, pulling out. He pushed you back, back flat on the bed once again.  “Want to stop?”

“No,” you shook your head vehemently. “It’s fine.”

“Are you sure, dove?”

“I’m sure, I swear it.”

He used the pad of his thumb to sweep circles on your aching clit. You can see his dick twitching at your panting breaths, gulping air to fight the sensation that was building.

You pushed your hips down, leaking cunt inching towards his dick. He braced himself on your hips and took it slow, spreading you open, laughing when your slick dribbled out. He was cautious, taking slow and shallow thrusts that had you sweating and begging him to move.

“I don’t want to hurt you again.”

“You didn’t hurt me, I hurt me. Please, go faster. Please,” the last please spurred him on, pleading as it was.

“Silly girl, this is why I tell you to stay still.”

“That’s ‘cos you like watching me squirm.”

He was refusing to bottom out, his thrusts quick, steady. Where he held himself above you, you watched his face contort in pleasure, his mouth opening as he rutted into you. You hooked your leg around his, arching your back in hopes of him fucking you deeper.

He took the hint, though he said, “tell me if I hurt you.”

“Doesn’t hurt,” you gasped out, hand gripping his arms so hard you worried you’d give him indentations from your fingernails. He stole your hand from his arm, the other from your side and held them high above your head, pressing them into the pillow. He rolled his hips forward in a deep thrust that hit the right spot.

“You like that? All fucked out like this, you’re fucking unbelievable. Unreal,” he said, voice silky smooth, his pelvis hitting you with enough force that the air rushed out of you.

“I like it,” you practically babbled.

“I know you do, baby.”

He used his free hand to abuse your clit, rough tight circles that brought tears to your eyes. You blinked them away, letting your legs fall to the side as you realised your climax was fast approaching, your abdomen on fire with the wind up.

It felt as though you were reforming around him, melding to the shape of him, and you didn't mind one bit.

You should have probably told him before it happened but it came on so fast, you couldn’t find the will to take in a breath. It ripped from you, and with it, you whimpered, “Oh, fuck.”

Your cunt contracted around him involuntarily, meaning that every thrust he took felt as though it was spearing you apart. You couldn’t form thoughts, though your mouth ran free.

“Your mother should’ve washed your mouth out,” he chastened, still working circles.

Your hands were indisposed, held up, your mouth unable to say what you were thinking, the second orgasm already beginning to dawn. You curled your hands into fists in his grasp.

You were almost limp beneath him, occasionally able to fuck your hips against him. Your legs were shaking, Remus’ thrust getting sloppier. You felt useless beneath him.

“Please, Remus,” you asked, eyes half-lidded.

“Please what?”

“Please, will you cum in me?” you begged.

“You want me to fill you up? Fill you up with puppies?” his hips stuttered against you.

“Please, please. I want your puppies. I want it.”

“Fill you up with my baby, hmm?”

You came as soon as he said it, the sound that escaped you almost panicked at the intensity of it, like you were trying to prevent it from happening - the force of it took you by surprise.

He was tired, you could tell, hair sweaty and sticking to his forehead. You tugged your hands free to pull his head down to your level and kiss his lips. He rested his forehead against yours.

“Please cum in me. Please,” you said.

He groaned, rutting into you until you were sopping full of his cum. He immediately deflated, collapsing into your chest. You brought your hands up to card through the hair at the back of his head, giggling at the feeling of his dick still inside you.

You felt as though one wrong move would send you over the edge, both of you catching your breath.

“You were more tired than I thought,” you said quietly.

“You come to my house looking like an angel when I can’t do anything about it and thought I wasn’t gonna fuck you as soon as I could? Grow up a bit, I beg,” he said.

“Someone’s cranky,” you said, teasingly moving your hips around him. He hissed.

“I would’ve given you head, just say the word.”

He tightened his arms around your waist. You liked the weight of him on top of you.

“As generous an offer as that is, your cunt is addictive. And your face. And the sounds you make,” he said, rolling off of you. You missed his warmth immediately, though you enjoyed the feeling of his dick pulling free, all the cum he’d fucked into you dripping out.

You brought your knees up to reach down and push a finger inside yourself, pushing the cum out and onto your bedsheets. They were a lost cause anyway at this point.

Curious and feeling lewd, you brought your fingers to your mouth and licked them inquisitively.

Remus brought a pillow over his face and groaned. You smiled, the sound sending little twitches to his dick.

You reached out tentatively, pumping a hand up and down his slick shaft. He hardened slowly under your touch, abandoning the pillow over his face to watch you.

You leaned on your side to kiss the skin of his stomach. He brought a shaky hand up to tangle in your hair.

You worked his shaft like all the sex-positive magazines said to, up and down and right to left, delighting in the precum you worked out of the tip. His hips bucked up into your hand.

"Stay still," you said, mocking him. You got up onto one elbow, kissing the tip of his dick, spreading his precum on your lips to tease him. He whined, unable to stop himself when you opened your mouth form guiding your head down onto him. He did half the work for you, using your hair to encourage you up and down his shaft.

You felt the dribble from being unable to close your mouth dripping down your lips onto him, rivulets of spit pooling at the base of him. You used your other hand to take care of the bottom, using your spit as lube.

You must've done something he liked as he started bucking up into your throat. You gagged around him, coming up for air. He used his second hand to wipe the spit from your face.

"Pretty baby, so pretty," he murmured.

"Yeah?" you said, eyes wide, head of his dick bobbing against your lips. You let him fuck your mouth like that, not overly rough but enough to bring tears to your eyes, almost reaching the back of your throat. You coughed, spitting dribble down yourself, feeling it run down your neck and bridge sticky lines from your breasts to his sides.

You licked the bottom of his dick, kissing and slurping up the mess you were both contributing to, using your thumb to wipe little circles on the head of him. When you pulled away his dick had left a wet stripe up your face.

He was close, bucking and writhing with every move you made. You pulled his dick towards your face, increasing the speed of your palming until he moaned like a fire was lit beneath him, crying your name.

You tried to catch his cum on your face unsuccessfully, ending up with white in your eyelashes. He cooed, wiping it away with his thumbs.

"I'm sorry, dove. Come here," he said. You pushed up and he hooked under your armpits, pulling you up towards his chest. He used the bottom of his palm to wipe the cum from your face.

"It looked cute though, right?"

"More than cute," he said. He kissed your nose. "Where are you learning these tricks?"

"You can thank Cosmopolitan for that one."

"Evil intrepid magazine."

"You liked it," you teased, lying on his chest so that you were looking up at him, almost cradled in his arms.

He pushed the hair from your face with the back of his finger in a motion that made your heart skip a beat. It was almost more intimate than any moment before.

He leaned down slowly, almost hesitating, using his nose to nudge yours. You tilted your head up obediently. With greater access now, he kissed you. Small kisses, open mouthed. Your hand traveled up his neck to rest at his jawline where you could feel the stubble coming in.

Eventually you were both too tired to keep kissing. You would've let him kiss you for days as long as he wanted to, but he really was tired from the full moon, you guessed, as he look half asleep.

You moved off of his chest to go find a wet towel. You came back in to find him where he was, almost dozing. You wiped all your body fluids off of him and pulled his boxers back up for him. You moved onto yourself, wiping down your legs and everywhere else that was covered in spit and wet and cum. Then you pulled his shirt on, a selfish, longing thing you absolutely didn't need to do. You didn't bother with underwear, knowing your sheets were soiled at this point and the underwear were damp anyways.

You pulled the blankets from under him, pulling them over both of you. You felt weak and knew as soon as you closed your eyes you'd drift off. Remus was already gone, but when you laid a hand softly on his chest, he pulled you close.

-

Someone was knocking on the door. You flinched awake, tripping over the duvet and yourself to find some bottoms. You got some clean underwear from your drawer, intending to answer the door whilst standing fully behind it.

You made your way down the hallway as the knocking increased.

You'd barely cracked the door open when Sirius burst in.

"McKinnon!" he said cheerily. "Sorry to bother you but dear old Remus has places to be today."

You shied away from him, knowing you smelled like sweat and sex and looked like both those things too. You could feel the mascara you'd forgotten to take off in the corners of your eyes.

"How'd you know he was here?"

"How did I know?" he laughed maniacally to himself. "'Oh, Pads, Y/N's asked me over. What do I wear? Do I get flowers?'" -he threw the back of his arm against his forehead dramatically- "'She's just so lovely isn't she, Pads?' Not that you aren't or anything Y/N, but it gets a bit long in the tooth when Mister Farmer’s Market won't stop pretending he doesn't fancy me."

You had to speed walk to keep up with him. He was almost to your bedroom door. He was cracking it open with force.

Remus blinked awake blearily. You grimaced at him in apology.

"Fuck off, Pads," he sighed, throwing his head back.

"We have things to do!"

"Like what?" you asked, pulling the edges of Remus' shirt to cover your bare legs.

"Motorcycle shopping," Remus groaned.

"Motorcycle shopping!" Sirius said simultaneously, beaming.

You blinked at them.

"This couldn't wait till afternoon?"

"Or tomorrow?" Remus asked.

"Time waits for no one, McKinnon. Not even you."

"Get out then, you prat," Remus said.

"Someone's cranky they won't get their morning turn."

Remus chucked a pillow at him.

You laughed, keeping to the edge of the room as Sirius left. You could hear him barging around your kitchen.

Remus made a sound of bone-deep tiredness, stretching. If your mouth wasn't dry before, it was now. You sat on the edge of the bed, watching Remus search the floor for his clothes.

He looked puzzled at his missing shirt. You cleared your throat.

"You want it back?"

He took your head in his hands, looking down at you with infinite softness. "Any other time, I'd say no."

You pulled it off, sitting there in only your underwear. He put the shirt on and kissed your cheek as a thank you. Then he rifled through your wardrobe to find a replacement shirt for you.

"Here, dove."

You smiled to yourself and put it on. You skipped out on your skirt for a tight pair of trousers that flared out slightly at the bottoms that you knew made your legs look good.

Remus waited for you to finish before he made for the kitchen, even pulling your chair out for you. There was no performance to any of his kindness, he just did it.

Sirius was helping himself to a cup of tea.

"Don't look so sullen, Y/N," he reprimanded. "I made some for you too."

"My hero," you said dryly.

He smiled.

"I thought you already had a motorbike?" you asked.

"He does," Remus said morosely. "It's magical."

"It's broken," Sirius corrected. "I had a problem with a telephone pole. The bodywork is fucked, so it's a write off at this point."

You nodded like you understood, accepting a cup of tea from Sirius. It wasn't quite right, but you appreciated the sentiment.

Now that you were sitting you could feel the subtle ache between your legs. You moved a hand to your lower abdomen and massaged the flesh there.

Remus was slumped forward, using his arm to keep himself upward. He hissed when he moved too fast.

"What the fuck, you two? Did you beat each other up last night?"

"I was still tired from th- being ill." Remus coughed.

"Not that tired, evidently. Y/N's got a wobble on."

You cringed at his wording, massaging the bridge of your nose. "Sirius, can we not talk about this?"

"If you're horrified, imagine how I feel," Sirius laughed like this was all good fun. He widened his eyes at you pointedly.

"I don't know what you mean," you said tiredly.

"Remember what happened with Perkins? I can do worse."

"No, you can't," Remus said.

"I don't want you jinxing Remus because my legs hurt," you laughed.

"I should be hexing you, poor Moony looks half-dead."

"Blame Cosmopolitan magazine," you said offhandedly.

-

Remus left to go motorbike shopping, though you weren't sure what he knew about motorbikes. Maybe because his mother was a muggle he could help with the transaction side of things. Still, you didn't get it.

You almost asked to go with them and decided against it. That was a girlfriend thing to do, and you weren't his girlfriend.

He called you later in the evening to ask how you were feeling. You strongly avoided the urge to ask him to come back over that same night although you really, really wanted him to.

This is why when he asked if you wanted to come over the next day you couldn't get over yourself. Your ego ballooned, thinking you must have some amazing sultry presence for him to want to see you twice in one weekend.

You didn't bother looking too nice. Honestly, you didn't truly have the energy for it. You showered and cleaned yourself to an immaculate standard and blow dried your hair without styling it, using a miniscule amount of make-up (mascara, some concealer).

You worried a little outside his door whether that was the right thing to do. You were wearing a midi skirt and an old band t-shirt with an asymmetrical crop to it, just enough to show your midriff if you raised your arms. You hardly looked presentable.

Remus loved telling you how pretty you looked but most every time you saw him you were dressed up to the nines, even if it was supposed to look "natural", it was likely you were highly polished.

It was too late now. You knocked on his door quick, three light raps.

"Let yourself in, Y/N!"

That was always a good sign. You pushed into the flat, greeted by the smell of pesto and something heavier.

You'd brought him a daisy you'd seen while walking. It was suffocated by your nervous hands. You shrugged off your jacket and bag, leaving them by the shoe rack at the door to find Remus in the kitchen, pulling a tray from the oven with a tea towel.

There was a frying pan bubbling away on the stove. That was the source of the wonderful smell.

Remus was cooking for you.

You pushed your hair back with your hand hoping it fell nicely around your face, straightening your shirt. The sandals you wore felt even sillier.

Remus didn't look especially fancy, thankfully, wearing jogging bottoms and a navy short sleeve shirt with ‘made in 1960’ printed across the front.

He turned to you fully. "I made pasta."

"I can see that," you said. You both grinned unbridled at each other. "It smells amazing," you said.

"You want to try it?"

"Sure!" you took the spoon he offered out of his hand, gathering a nice spoonful of sauce and pasta. You blew on it, the steam coming off of it hotly.

"This is so nice," you complimented, almost shocked. "Where'd you learn to make this?"

"Cosmo," he joked.

You put the spoon down on the counter, craning your neck to look him in the face from standing so close. "Someone told me that's a great magazine."

"It's definitely up there. Along with Mizz and Teen Vogue."

"What girl's been whispering women's magazines in your ear?"

"No one," he said, unexpectedly earnest. "There's nobody but you."

You blushed, didn't know what to do with your hands. If he was telling the truth, that was exactly what you wanted to hear.

"Well, nobody else is making me pasta," you said, hoping he inferred what you meant.

His eyes softened at the edges, so you thought he did. He turned off the burners, pouring the pasta into two bowls. He gave you the bigger portion.

He wouldn't let you see what movie he'd put in the VCR player.

You watched in anticipation, legs tucked under you on the floor in front of his coffee table. He sat right next to you so that you could both have an optimal view of his TV, laughing out of his mind when you realised he'd found the Gnome-Mobile.

"This is awful," you said, almost dropping pasta down your shirt.

"This is a classic. Be respectful."

You ate every bite of your pasta, holding your bloated stomach in regret. Remus ate your leftover garlic bread, letting you lean on him in sympathy.

"That was a terrible mistake," you moaned into his shoulder.

He rubbed your arms compassionately. "You'll be okay, give it an hour."

Gnome-Mobile was one of the worst things you'd ever had the misfortune of watching. When it finished you celebrated, remembered how sickeningly full you were, and promptly groaned, holding your stomach.

Remus fussed.

"It's my own fault," you laughed at him.

"I still feel bad."

"Worth it," you muttered to yourself. He made a great bowl of pasta.

"I think we might be boring young adults," he said, leaning against the seat of the sofa. You blew hair off your face.

"Why'd you say that?"

"Well, people our age are out partying or something. What are we doing?"

"Watching world beloved cult classic Gnome-Mobile?"

He pushed the arm that was between you both back onto the sofa, clasping his own hands. "I should've taken you out somewhere."

"What? Remus, I'm having a great time."

"Yeah?"

"Yes."

You squeezed his bicep. "Now, where's your cassette collection? I wanna see what you like."

Remus took you on a tour of all his favourite songs, stretched out on his bed to stare at his ceiling together. He had some classics and the a bunch of stuff you'd never heard.

You bobbed your head to KISS, singing the words passionately.

"Cos girl you were made for me…" you warbled.

"And girl I was made for you," Remus mouthed along. It was a funny time for your eyes to meet.

You didn't have it in you to sing the powerful chorus, choosing to laugh dizzyingly at his ceiling. Your eyes drifted to the posters on his wall, the trinkets on his desk. You suddenly remembered your own bedroom back home, your bouquet of flowers he'd given you.

"Oh, Remus! I have something for you. Stay here."

You had to climb over him to get off the bed. You collected your little unimpressive daisy from where you'd left it in the kitchen, forgotten by his fridge.

"Here," you said, crossing the threshold into his room.

"It's a daisy," Remus said. "Obviously. I don't know why I said that."

He stared at it for long enough you started to question if it was a bad idea.

"You know, daisy's have their own meaning," he said.

You quirked your eyebrows at him. "What do they mean?"

"White daisies symbolise hope and new beginnings."

"Yeah? What do the other colours mean?" you asked him, crawling back over his lap to sit next to him.

"Yellow daisies are for friendship. Pink daisies are for when you fancy someone, for gentleness. And red daisies are for passion."

"That's so cute," you said. He sat up and twisted the stem in his hand until the daisy blurred into a white circle.

When the daisy stopped turning, it was pink. You pursed your lips in confusion, failing to notice the wand in Remus' hand until he set it aside.

He offered it to you. "For you."

"You turned it pink," you said uselessly.

"I turned it pink."

"You fancy me?" you asked, struggling to get the words out.

"I do."

Tears welled in your eyes. You sniffled, holding the pink daisy in your hand like a precious gemstone. A mass of feelings came up to the surface. Remus fancied you. Remus didn't just want to have sex with you, he fancied you. Somebody, Remus, wanted you.

"Oh, Y/N, don't cry. I'm sorry, I don't want to upset you. Look, I know I'm not-"

"So I get to be your girlfriend?" you asked, pinning him with your gaze.

"What? You're not upset?"

You laughed wetly. "I like you too, Remus. A lot."

He pulled your free hand into his lap to hold. "Why are you crying?"

You wiped your eyes, daisy in hand. "I didn't think anyone liked me."

"I more than like you."

You grinned at him beatifically. "I can't believe it." He looked unhappy. You held your breath. "What?"

"I have something to tell you. Something important."

You nodded.

"And I understand if you don't want to see me anymore after, or if you hate me. But please, don't tell."

Your face crumpled in sympathy. "I already know, Remus," you said softly.

"That I-..."

You nodded.

"Who told you?"

"Nobody… I just worked it out."

"How long have you known?"

"The day I made you soup."

"That was pity soup?"

You spluttered. "No! That was I care about you soup. You're always tired and you were bleeding and, you know. When I thought about it, it made sense."

"Just so we're on the same page, you realise I'm-"

"You're a werewolf, Remus. I know," you finished for him.

"You don't care?"

You frowned. "Of course I don't." You flexed your fingers in his hand.

"It's okay if you do, Y/N. It's a scary thing."

You shook your head. "You'd never hurt me. Unless I asked you to."

He grinned, his face plastered in such obvious relief that it made your heart hurt. He deserved to always be accepted for who he was, and it was obvious that wasn't always the case.

"So, you're my boyfriend now?" you questioned.

"I'm your boyfriend," he said.

"Oh my god," you covered your face with your hands, smiling so hard you thought your face would split.

"I mean," his hand inched up your back. "Is it so surprising that I fancy you? I can't stop touching you, dove."

"I thought you were like that with everyone."

"No. Just you."

You weaved your arms around his shoulders. "Could you tell I fancy you?"

"A bit."

You flamed, pushing your blushing face into his hair.

"You did clean my entire flat."

You whimpered.

"And you dressed up so nice for me at the Leaky Cauldron, of all places."

You were dying of embarrassment, probably. You bit your lip.

"You're not so innocent yourself. How was I supposed to not fancy you? You made me look in two different mirrors to tell me how pretty I looked and then you bought me flowers."

"The whole point was to get you to fancy me, dolt."

"I thought you were this sweet on all your casual hookups."

"You're the only 'casual hookup' I've kissed fifty times every time I saw them."

You felt immeasurably pleased.

"You haven't kissed me once tonight."

He moved his hands from your waist to your face. "I've been preoccupied," he leaned in close. You shut your eyes. "Let me make it up to you," he whispered.

He kissed you. The rush of warmth that ran through you was palpable, intoxicating. He overwhelmed your senses, smelling like something soft and heady. The feeling of his hand running up and down your arm was enough to make you smile into the kiss. He smiled back, letting you push him down into the headboard behind him.

You let your hand travel down his torso to grasp the lean muscle under his shirt. Your hand teased the hem of his shirt, slipping underneath the fabric to trace a line up to his sternum. You trailed back down with the softest touch you could manage, relishing his shivers beneath you.

You broke the kiss, anticipating the changing in his ability to breath as you pushed your hand over the bulge of his dick in his trousers. You palmed him through the fabric, turning your gaze to the movements of your own hand.

He pulled your face towards him. "You're so fucking pretty."

You turned your face to peck his hand. "I look like shit."

"You're fucking perfect," he said firmly. "Perfect girl."

"You give me far too many compliments."

"I give you far too little," he denied.

He rose up to kiss you again. You drew a line at his waistband with your fingernail.

"Stop tickling me or I'm gonna tickle you back," he warned, holding your face in place so he could kiss you.

You didn't heed his warning, scratching lightly until he was shying away from your touch.

"We're finished," he said solemnly, snaking his hand under the fabric of your skirt. He used the pads of his fingers to tickle the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, zigzagging till he was a millimetre from your underwear. He teased the edge, running his fingers under the elastic.

Fine, you thought. If he wants to play dirty, I'll play dirty.

You let your hand dip under his waistband, keeping the lightest of touches, smoothing the flat of your hand against him lovingly.

You tried your best to stay on task, delighted at his hardening dick from your attentions, but Remus was making it increasingly difficult. He'd abandoned any pretense of tickling you and was instead using his long fingers to rub lines from your clit to your entrance, dipping in half an inch before travelling back up. It was maddening.

You'd given up on kissing for now as you were too busy concentrating. He dotted kissed down the curve of your neck to bite and suck your shoulder.

You pulled his dick free from the constraints of his underwear, enthused by the little dribble of precum that smattered the skin of your fingers.

Remus rested his forehead on your shoulder, panting. "I'm supposed to be winning."

"You definitely aren't," you told him, pumping his shaft much too smugly. "I like you like this, all needy."

"I've actually had enough of you," he said, laughing. You laughed too.

He grabbed the hand that you were using to touch him and pulled it away, shoving you enough that you got the idea to let yourself fall flat.

He pulled your skirt free to make it easier. You felt your eyebrows go up at the centre when he started pulling the pillows from under you.

"Lift your hips, pretty girl."

You did as he asked and he pushed the pillows beneath you so that your hips, cunt and upper thighs were elevated.

Godric, this was the trouble you'd feared. He pulled you underwear down next. You blushed at the wet string of slick that banded between your cunt and your underwear. Remus smiled smugly, tossing them gently next to your skirt on the ground.

"I'll ruin your pillows."

"Sacrifices," he said mournfully, leaning down to plant an open mouthed kiss on your clit. You gasped, fishing the sheets underneath you in one hand. When he didn't stop you covered your eyes with the back of your arm, keening.

"I knew you'd like that," he chuckled.

He fingered your cunt, licking hot wet stripes up the centre of you. When that wasn't enough, he located the bundle of nerves that was your clit with his tongue and manipulated it until you were a quivering mess underneath him.

"Remus…"

"What, baby?"

You only whimpered. Your brain felt like it was short-ciruciting, your whole body heaved.

You didn't trust yourself to put your hand in his hair, too afraid you'd rip strands from his scalp. He was doing a fine job without your assistance either way. The heat built up in the pit of your tummy, rising and rising til you were whining for him to slow down.

He listened. It did little to slow the oncoming climax. You came hard, cunt clenching down on his fingers. He pulled back, admiring the obvious contractions you were experiencing.

"Good girl," he praised. "My perfect girl. Ready to take all of me?"

"Yes," you said, voice wracked with tremors. "Yes, please."

He lined up, rubbing the head against your aching cunt with enough pressure to make you protest.

"Sorry, baby. I'll stop teasing," he murmured, spreading the flat of his hand on your abdomen. He pushed in, the elevated position of your cunt already making you feel spread open.

He took handfuls of your hips, the soft flesh there molding under his hands. He reared forward, fucking you so deeply you cried out in response.

"Yeah?" he said.

He pulled out, fucked in again. You were putty in his hands, limp under his touch. The stretching feeling was suddenly so pleasurable you reached down your hand to wrap around his forearm.

"Perfect girl with a perfect cunt," he said, driving forward again. You half-sobbed.

Where he shifted on his knees you could feel the mattress move under your back, feel it bounce back with each thrust.

He slowed down to a crawl, amused at your complaining. You moved your hips down, following his thrusts, chasing his dick.

"So fucking hot."

"Fuck me properly, jerk."

"Properly?" His hips snapped forward, his pelvis digging into you clit, sending sparks through you. "Is this proper enough for you, dove?"

He was unrepentant, fucking you so that each thrust drove you deep into the mattress. "Okay?" he asked, bringing his hand down to the bead of your clit, catching it between two fingers.

"Yessss," you said, voice high.

"Tell me if it's too much."

"It's not," you said weakly. "Fucking me so good," you praised.

He brought your hand up to his mouth to kiss your fingertips. He pushed deep inside you and stayed there, making circles with his hips that drove mewling cries from you that you'd be embarassed about in the morning.

"Ah, you're so deep in me," you babbled. "So deep."

"Just fucking made for me, weren't you sweetness?"

He bottomed out again, driving you to madness. Your eyes closed of their own accord. Every thrust was enough now, accompanied by a little sound in the back of your throat that wouldn't stop.

Remus liked it, fucking you hard and fast if only to listen to the sounds you made.

"Made for you," you echoed, gripping so tightly your knuckles went white.

"Yes, you were," he said.

He sped up, pulling your hips with surprising strength to meet his thrusts. You circled your clit, so wet it was difficult to find purchase.

He drove forward with one last great thrust, hitting you square in the sweet spot inside you,  pumping cum into you like you hadn't felt before, gasping at the sensation. He replaced your finger with two of his own, replacing preciseness with speed. You felt your heart stop, able to utter a single "oh god," before you came so hard your vision whited out.

You let your hips fall backwards off the pillows, aching in a familiar, comfortable way. You pulled on Remus' arm, forcing him to lie down beside you.

"Is this a good time to mention we'll definitely have cute kids?" he asked, holding your joined hands against his beating heart.

"Well, we've had a fair share of practice runs," you said, still breathless.

You both laughed.

-

"So what?" James asked, wearing his stupid florescent hard hat. You were cross-legged in front of the frog Palace, tasked with caulking the tiny windows with your pinky finger. "He's your boyfriend now?"

"Yep," you said, beaming.

James smirked at you. "Get me a nappie and you could call me cupid."

"Yeah, whatever," Sirius grumbled, also wearing a stupid hard hat. A frog perched on the brim, peering at you threateningly. "I hate happy couples."

"Farmer's Market boy wasn't cool enough for you anyways," Remus said, returning from his brief intermission to the kitchen. He balanced a tray of drinks in his hand.

"Harry agrees," Lily said, baby Harry gurgling happily in his hands. He had a smaller hard hat and a frog in his tiny grasp.

You cooed at Harry's delight. "I expect at least 12 frogs for my baby," you said to Sirius.

"Our baby," Remus corrected gently.

Sirius groaned in agony. "Fuck me."

<3

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Wild Thing | Timothee Chalamet

M A S T E R L I S T

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the rest will be released once I’ve hit 300 followers. thank you all for your support and kind words. you all mean the world to me, thank you for believing my writing is worth reading. xx

oh btw: the second part is the super filthy part. this part is mild at best. ;)

Czytaj dalej

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