The Distraction

The Distraction

Summary: Every now and then Peacemaker has a solo mission. Whenever these happen, Vigilante has to be distracted so he doesn't make the solo into a duo. The only person that is capable of that is the girl that Adrian hates... no, that can't be right. He doesn't hate her, not really. Quite the opposite, actually.

Tags: Friends to Lovers, Fluff and Smut, Movie Night, Inspired by Scream (Movies), Cock Warming, Blow Jobs, Awkwardness, Ghostface Mask (Scream), Roleplay

Music Recommendation: She's Crazy but She's Mine by Alex Sparrow

Peacemaker, Adrian Chase Masterlist - here

There was something about Y/N that Adrian didn't like. She wasn't particularly mean. She wasn't incompetent. She wasn't overly uncouth. He never could put his finger on why she irked him so much. All he knew is that there was something different about her from the rest of the 11th Street Kids and that if someone were to ask him what it was, he wouldn't have the faintest idea what to pinpoint.

"Black coffee for Harcourt," Y/N said as she placed the cup in front of Emilia. Of course she left Adrian till last. She always did. "And winner of the sweetest order known to man - or rather man-child - for the third consecutive month, here is your mocha cookie crumble frappuccino with two sugars, Adrian."

His drink appeared before him with a flick of her wrist. It looked good, no matter who gave it to him. It smelled heavenly. He took a sip, closed his eyes, and sighed blissfully at the taste. For the next few hours, he'd be on a sugar high.

"Y/N, take him with you to the store," Emilia ordered. There was no way she was keeping Adrian around when he would be jumping around the room, making annoying noises and distracting everyone from their work. Plus, somehow, Y/N could contain him. She had the patience to deal with his long rambles of nonsense and endless questions. It drove most people insane.

Not Y/N though. She simply smiled and nodded. "Come on, bud. We're doing a medicine run."

"Hate it when you call me that," he muttered under his breath as he stood up from his seat with a huff. He followed behind her obediently as he drank his drink, holding the cup with both hands to ensure he didn't drop it.

As they walked out, the pair saw Chris walking towards them. He was late. Like usual. That's one thing Adrian loved about Chris - he managed to make tardiness look cool. Fuck, everything Chris did was cool to Adrian.

"Hey dude!" Adrian yelled cheerfully at his friend and waved. And since they were best friends, Chris would definitely want to know "Tonight is my night off and was thinking, totally just a thought and not something concrete, you know, I'll get some beers and we could hang-"

"Oh my God, your voice is super whiny in the morning."

Seeing the way Adrian's face fell, Y/N couldn't help but retort, "It's one in the afternoon, dickwipe. Get inside. Your coffee, which I should've spat in, is on your desk," and pulled Adrian away to her car before Chris could say something else.

The pair made it to her car in silence, but it didn't last long. As he sat and buckled in, Adrian had to chastise her, "You shouldn't talk to Peacemaker that way. He's a nice dude! And as his number two bestie, I can't see you disrespect him like that."

Rolling her eyes, Y/N started up the engine and drove off. He always did that. If it came to light that Peacemaker had been the one who killed his family, Y/N was doubtful that Adrian would put aside his admiration and try to get revenge. That wasn't the case, but sometimes she wondered why the actual fuck he idolised the big goon so much.

"Okay, buddy."

"Stop calling me that."

Silence ensued again, then Adrian started rambling about his favourite House of The Dragon character, which was Aemond by a long shot because "Not only does he have an eyepatch, like all badasses do, but he delivered one of the coldest lines of the whole show."

Obviously, he was talking about, "I may have lost an eye, but I gained a dragon," and Y/N knew that too as she recited the line to him.

"Yeah! Exactly!"

There it was again. That feeling that made him dislike being around her reared its head. Adrian hated it. He tried to ignore it, even when it became a real problem. Because honestly, what the hell could he possibly do anyway? Fight her? Sure, he could, but that was probably the stupidest plan Adrian had ever come up with.

Hurting her was the last thing he wanted to do.

"Where did that brain of yours go?" she asked. He didn't realise that he'd zoned out until she brought him back to reality, and he found himself staring at her. For a moment, he forgot where they were. Oh right, she was driving…And she was looking directly at him and waiting for an answer...

His throat felt dry. "Um..."

"Ade, you okay?" she prompted, concern clear in her tone.

"Sorry, I was daydreaming."

She narrowed her eyes sceptically at him but chose not to comment on it. She just shook her head, as if telling him not to worry about it, and continued on with their previous conversation, her voice soft and calming and soothing and beautiful, like honey pouring down his ears - which was a contrast to their other friends.

It was always "You fucking idiot" from Harcourt. Or, "Dude, you're so Goddamn weird" from Economos. Sometimes a "What creepy little planet do you live on?" From Adebayo. And, a guaranteed "Not now, dipshit" from Peacemaker. None of that came from Y/N. No, she spoke to Adrian in a kind, gentle tone as if he mattered, as if he were a human being, as if he weren't some freaky piece of shit who was constantly causing trouble for her and their fellow colleagues.

A smile curled onto his lips involuntarily, unbidden and without meaning to, causing the corners of his lips to raise higher than they ever should. This was what Y/N did to Adrian. And he hated it. Hated how she controlled him. How she made him smile and laugh and feel things that he had never felt before. He didn't enjoy it. At all.

But he was powerless to stop himself from doing it. Because, after all, Y/N was pretty cool and funny and cute, and she got along really well with just about anyone. And Adrian, well, Adrian didn't possess such skills. He was alone. And that was fine. He could deal with the loneliness by himself. Alone. Completely alone.

They arrived at the store at the same moment the coffee began to take effect. The first indication that the caffeine rush had started was when Adrian slammed the car door and Y/N was sure that he was only a few newton's away from breaking the window.

"Woah. Careful, tiger."

It worked. His mouth shut, and he nodded. "Sorry. Still not used to having muscles."

As soon as they came across a bin, Adrian nudged Y/N to make a big spectacle out of it when he threw his empty coffee cup at it. "Kobe," he cheered with an expectant grin. He missed the bin and ended up hitting the wall behind it instead. The sound of plastic smashing against the bricks and the unmelted ice going everywhere reverberated through the parking lot.

"Go pick it up."

He complied as quickly as he could. By the time he returned from picking the trash up, Y/N had got a basket and was inside the store, already walking to the pharmacy section. He sauntered over to her, trying to look inconspicuous while taking his sweet time so he could watch every little movement she made. It was his own personal surveillance mission.

Her hair seemed to bounce every time she stepped. Everytime. And every time the bouncing happened, Adrian felt the urge to reach out and touch it, just to watch the way strands swirled around his fingers. Like, was it as soft as it looked? He hoped it was greasy and gross and completely disgusting to touch.

When he got to her side, he stretched to grab the bandages she was trying to grab at but was failing to because she was a little too short. With an almost coy smile, he smiled down at her and tried not to have a heart attack as she gazed up at him with the most beautiful doe eyes he'd ever seen.

Those damn eyes. Did this woman have no shame? Was she purposely flirting with him? Or was she seriously oblivious to all the feelings he was having for her? Either option sucked. Either way, the fact remained that Adrian Chase was experiencing feelings.

Feelings! Of all fucking things! Gross! Uncomfortable, annoying, horrible, embarrassing, disgusting emotions! And, he wasn't sure how much he hated how much it affected him. That was the worst part. Or maybe the worst part was that deep down he may have, possibly...there was a chance - no matter how slim - that he sort of liked having that weird fuzzy feeling in his brain whenever he saw Y/N. Maybe. Just maybe. A tiny bit. Not much, of course. A smidgeon. Enough, however, to be alarming.

"Ah, my hero," she teased, bumping his shoulder lightly with hers, and then proceeded to carry on down the aisle. "Do you want the fun band-aids?"

Scratch that. It's actually a lot. A colossal amount of like. Who knows, maybe he even adored her attention in the way a heroin addict is fond of spoons. Or heroin.

"Is that a question you even need to ask?"

Chuckling, she dropped two packs of Hello Kitty plasters into the basket. That basket was quickly taken from her hands and the handles were soon nestled in the crook of Adrian's arm.

"About later on - you know, what you were saying to Peacemaker - I'm not doing anything. If you want someone to hang out with, I'm free," she offered, and he looked slightly startled as she did.

There was no way someone was willingly going to invite him to spend time with them.

"Oh, I'm sure you'll be sick of me by then."

"Impossible," she scoffed, shaking her head at the idea. "I don't know if you've noticed, but I'm quite fond of you, Adrian."

And there it was again! The butterflies, not the alien body snatcher kind either. His heart was doing that stupid flip that it did whenever she said words like this. And that was why he needed to change the subject before they said something stupid that neither of them would be able to take back.

"Can I get some candy?"

"Sure."

Skipping to the confectionary aisle, Adrian was quick to survey the sweets as if it were the most important decision he could ever make in his entire life. Y/N stood beside him, an adoring smile on her face as she observed his antics but soon felt her phone buzz in her pocket and diverted her attention to that.

Boss Bitch: Run distraction tonight. Solo mission.

Adrian crouched down to get a closer inspection and almost lost his balance, but, like second nature, Y/N placed a hand on his shoulder to steady him. That simple touch did strange things to Adrian. But Y/N was oblivious to the effect she had and even went further to move her fingers to rest on the top of his head, stroking gently through his hair as she texted with Harcourt.

Peacemaker had solo missions every now and again. As did Vigilante. Though Vigilante did have a habit of intruding Peacemaker's solo missions. Why not? He wanted to spend as much time with his good buddy as he could. And a helping hand was always good, right?

Since Adebayo went back to her dog business and Economos had been promoted to be the warden of Belle Reve, Y/N was added to replace them both. Yet, there had become a new dynamic between the current four members of the 11th Street Kids.

Emilia had become an unofficial handler of Peacemaker. Y/N had done the same for Vigilante. The women were dignified badasses in their own right, but the other half of their squad were dignified idiots who needed, for lack of a better word, babysitting. So, often, Y/N was tasked with distracting Adrian for the entire night if Chris had a mission.

"Wanna have a movie night tonight? I've been planning to rewatch all the Scream's in prep for the new one," Y/N suggested, giving his head a little scratch so he'd pay attention to her words.

"Hell yeah! Fucking love those movies!" he cheered, craning his head back to beam up at her with the brightest smile on his face, making Y/N chuckle softly at his excitement. There was something endearing about a man who was so willing to show true, unfiltered enthusiasm.

After that, he gathered way too many snacks that he knew were perfect for their upcoming movie night and followed Y/N around with so much pep in his step. The rest of the day passed by in a blur, the hours passing in a flash as he waited for work to be over so he could get the frickin party started.

He'd been talking nonstop, which he usually did, and Y/N did a lot of nodding as he told her all sorts of trivia about the franchise. Sometimes she zoned out, not because what he was saying wasn't interesting - it was - but because he had a habit of getting the words out so fast that they would blur together and it took so much focus to hear them, break them down and understand that she stopped trying all together.

"Roman is actually a badass. He did all that shit by himself, y'know? Yeah, 3 is not the best and Jill is the most entertaining, but Roman not only was the singular ghost face - a real independent dude - but he was the mastermind behind Billy and Stu so that's some crazy planning! Although in the original script Angelina was supposed to help him out with it so you can take that into account if you want to..."

Her head fell onto her hand, watching as he talked and gestured animatedly with his arms. She found herself staring at him with a small smile forming on her lips, the warmth in her chest rising to her cheeks when he finally paused.

"What?" he asked, looking up from his hands and meeting her gaze, a slight flush of pink staining his cheeks as well.

"Nothing," she replied, shaking her head.

"Sorry, I was boring you. I get it. I'll -' He mimed pulling a zip over his lip, but still carried on talking. "I'll shut up, sorry. Peacemaker tells me all the time that I just go on and on and on and-"

"Please keep talking, Adrian. I'm enjoying listening to your voice."

Bullshit. He called bullshit. Complete. Only an idiot would fall for a trick like that.

"Yeah right," he scoffed dismissively, glancing away as he twirled his car keys around his pointer finger. "I promise I won't talk throughout the movie. I promise."

They'd watched the odd movie together before so she knew this was not entirely true. He often liked to add commentary and facts along with the film. Films were the easiest way to distract him. She was saving the Lord of the Rings marathon for a really important Peacemaker mission. And the Twilight marathon was for a life or death mission.

"I just need to shower and get changed. I'll be at yours in forty. Sound good?"

"Sounds good. Like, so good," he agreed readily. "See you in a few."

As he watched her walk towards her car, he let out a long breath and tried not to think about the fact that it would be just them. Just the two of them in his small apartment, the lights low and popcorn popping as they sat curled together on the couch as he tried his absolute best to make her laugh. He'd make sure she paid attention to him and not a movie. Every single bit of her focus needed to be on him, or he'd die. Actually die.

God, was he pathetic. Utterly pathetic. This crush was too strong. Too intense. It was a disease. And it didn't matter how hard he fought against it. It simply refused to leave his system and left him feeling weak. Weak and helpless and utterly alone in the vastness of the cruel existence she'd doomed him to live within for the foreseeable future.

Yet, he couldn't bring himself to feel down about it. He was cursed, yes, but a life without Y/N in it had been ten times worse than his current lovesick one. Ten times worse. Maybe ten thousand times worse.

Once he arrived at his apartment, it was go time. Adrian hurried to clear the odd bits of tat he'd left out and found the few comforts he had to throw on the couch to make it seem like this place looked lived in. His house was spartan and impersonal because he rarely spent time there. And due to the fact that it was a small place anyway - a tiny kitchen/living room, bathroom, bedroom, that's it - there wasn't a lot of space for him to have a bunch of shit. The majority of shelves were lined with DVDs and cupboards stuffed full of weapons.

Between his job and patrol, he only used his house to shower, jerk off and watch tv. (usually in that order). His car was the central hub for his life. The Vigilante mobile was where he ate, napped, changed clothes, and watched stupid YouTube videos to entertain himself when patrol got particularly boring.

Now, however, he had to pretend that he was a normal, dateable person instead of an insomniac workaholic. So much for the 'I need to impress her' speech that he gave himself whenever these movie nights happened. Y/N never seemed to mind his ineptitude at interior design, though.

There was one piece of hair that suddenly wanted to drift right in the middle of his forehead and it was pissing Adrian off so much as it would bounce back as soon as he swiped it away. The moment he went to pick up the scissors to really deal with it, his doorbell went off and stopped the whole new haircut moment from happening.

With no time to waste, Adrian swung the door wide open to reveal a very comfy looking Y/N wearing a pair of sweats and a loose fitting cardigan, one hand stuffed inside her pocket, a bottle of wine in the other one. He only realised he had been examining each aspect of her until she teased, "You gonna let me in?"

"Oh, uh, yeah," he stuttered, stepping aside, his brain not yet coming up with a reply that came close to sounding cool. What else was new?

Y/N breezed past him, greeting him with a quick squidge on his bicep as she made her way into the kitchen. He stared after her for a few seconds before following suit. As she set the bottle of wine down on the counter beside him, his eyes narrowed curiously as he asked, "Wine?"

Wine tasted too much like acid for him to like. Had all these adults lying about how nice wine had been his entire life? Because every time he tried it, it was as if someone had blended a battery and placed it before him as if to say 'Voila! Why don't we take grape juice, keep it in a jug until all the good things about the taste are removed and then pretend that it's better now?!'

Beer was just as bad. Does alcohol have to taste bad? Adrian thought. It would be nice if there was liquid out there that would make him look like an adult when he drank it - let's be real, cocktails gave a tendency to look stupid, especially if there's little umbrellas or sparklers in them - but be actually nice to consume.

Almost as if she had read his thoughts, Y/N announced, "Supposedly, it tastes like cotton candy. I was curious," and began unwrapping the foil around the top and pulling at the cork until a pop was heard, and she smiled widely, pleased at the sound.

And, since he hadn't moved to get them glasses - Jesus, of course he didn't own wine glasses - she took a swig from the bottle and held it out for Adrian to do the same. He hesitantly complied and took a small sip. Surprisingly, a pleasant and sweet taste spread through his mouth, which was something he'd never expected, and he let out an approving hum.

"Good?"

"Yeah, good. Really good," he answered with a nod and handed the bottle back, wiping his mouth clean on his sleeve. This wine didn't make him gag. He could appreciate that. "What food do you wanna order? There's a new Mexican place in town. I know you like Mexican so..." He trailed off unsurely, his hand searching for the menu he'd picked up just in case this moment ever happened.

Once he found it, he handed it to her and watched as her eyes lit up. "Oooooh!" She grinned happily, opening up the page and scanning the options.

Adrian observed in silence as she evaluated every picture and mumbled to herself about what they should order, occasionally pausing to look up at Adrian to check if he also liked the dish. He nodded and hummed and said the occasional thing when necessary, but he felt a little awkward standing around and guided her towards his couch so they could sit.

While Y/N phoned and ordered, Adrian busied himself by putting the movie on and neatly ordering the next consecutive movies on his coffee table. It was unneeded, but he got some weird kick from seeing them perfectly in order. Who knows why.

Then the call was done, and they could start, as you usually do, with the first movie in the franchise, Scream. They sat shoulder to shoulder, occasionally passing the wine between them. Adrian was a little stiff at first, his back rigid against the cushions, but eventually calmed down and started leaning into Y/N more with every passing minute. Her shoulder felt soft against his cheek. He'd soon come to realise that.

But, his annoyance spiked once the delivery driver knocked on the door, thus causing his head to no longer be resting against her. He was suddenly bereft of Y/N's warmth and quickly decided that killing the delivery man might have been a good idea. No. No. He couldn't do that. Instead, he took a breath, got to his feet, and retrieved their food with a grumpy pout on his face. So what if he was a little rude to this one random guy? At least he didn't kill him.

The moment his butt hit his sofa again, he dug right in, shovelling the food into his mouth faster than he thought possible. Honestly, he forgot when he last had a proper meal. The last week or so, he'd been on patrol a lot and took very minimal breaks for snacks.

"There's a common theory that you can tell if it's Billy or Stu behind the mask by the way they hold their knife," Adrian mumbled through a mouthful of food, his words barely comprehensible. "Stu holds the knife with two hands over his head, while Billy holds it with one hand and gets really into it..." He continued to ramble on about random facts about the film while eating, unable to stop himself. Since Y/N wasn't stopping him, why would he?

Y/N was nodding along, listening intently. Her eyes shone with interest, and her lips were slightly curved upwards. It was weird. Being listened to was weird for Adrian. He liked it, but he hated it too. Whenever he spoke and it fell on deaf ears, that was fine because his words wouldn't really amount to anything. They didn't matter since the other person wasn't going to remember them anyway.

Often, he lied and made up facts and tried to spread misinformation as a way to entertain himself. If his words held no weight, he might as well make them fun to say. He told the truth around Y/N, though.

When she looked at him with those beautiful eyes and listened to him talk without interrupting, he always felt a need to share himself. Share what he knew, what he found interesting in the hopes she'd find it interesting too. He liked to think that she did find it entertaining, and, most importantly, he liked her attention.

Even when his words were nothing special, even when he had no use for them anymore, Y/N still cared enough about him to listen, to pay attention to what he had to say. That was a feeling he couldn't help but treasure.

Finishing the final bite of his food, he crumpled up the wrapper and threw it at the bin. "Kobe!" This time, it went perfectly in. Then, satisfied with himself, he flopped back onto the couch pillow with a sigh, staring up at the ceiling and letting his mind wander.

Wouldn't it be so crazy right now if I, like, kissed Y/N? And she'd totally swoon and say, 'Oh Adrian, I think you're so cool and hot and would make a great ghostface. Huh, I bet you'd be even better than Roman.' Then we'd really start making out, and she'd be soooo impressed by how big my dick is. 'Why does Peacemaker call you thimble?' and I'd be all like 'He's just jealous of how sexy I am' and she'd giggle and agree, and that's how it would go down.

"Hey bud, you okay?" Y/N's voice cut through his musings, breaking him out of his trance and startling him for a second before he remembered where he was. Right. Y/N was beside him. Thinking of her in such a way was kinda weird when she was right there. Kinda. His gaze shifted to her, noting that she was looking back at him with a raised eyebrow.

A small shy smile spread across his face as he rubbed at the back of his neck. "Yea, yeah. I'm alright." He paused for a beat before he added, "What about you? Are you...okay?"

"...I think so."

"Good. That's good. Yeah, y'know, just say the word if not cause I'll totally... I'll do whatever I can to make you happy, like whatever. Need me to kill someone and I'll fucking do it, no question... just say the word, Y/N, whatever it is..." He trailed off nervously, scratching at his cheek and trying to sound as casual as he possibly could as he added, "I... I'd do anything for you."

Well, that came out of his mouth. Shit. Fuck. Oh fuck. Shit shit shit. There was no way, no fucking way that she would misunderstand the sentiment there. Panic instantly erupted throughout every single cell of his body.

Yet, the expression on her face softened. She leaned towards him, brushing that stray lock of his hair that had been annoying him so much away from his forehead, placing her fingers gently underneath his chin and tilting his head upwards. He blinked owlishly, watching her, waiting for her to speak.

Just as it seemed as if she was going to say something heartfelt, the infamous garage door death appeared on screen and Y/N's eyes flickered over to it briefly before settling back on his face, a mischievous smile playing on her lips.

"Anything?"

"Anything."

The sincerity behind his reply was evident.

"Pass me the blanket then."

Thank god. Adrian relaxed, let out a chuckle, and obliged, pulling the white fluffy blanket that hung beside him on the armrest and tossing it towards her. She caught it deftly and draped it over herself, holding the corner out to him expectantly.

"I don't bite."

"Hm. Sure ya don't," he laughed, moving closer and taking the fabric to wrap it around himself. He glanced sideways at her for a split second, catching a glimpse of her smile before she turned her face to the screen.

Huh, this had gone way better than he ever expected, and the relief he felt was undeniable. He sighed softly, inconspicuously sliding an arm on the back of the couch and subtly brushing his fingers over her shoulder. His heart hammered in his chest. He could feel his pulse racing and his cheeks burning bright red.

This was nice. It definitely was. The silence, the warmth, the comfortable atmosphere, everything. He never wanted this to end. He never wanted it to leave. But he knew it eventually would have to go, so he pushed those thoughts aside and rested his eyes on the screen, ignoring the pounding in his chest and the sudden butterflies that filled his stomach.

Scream one ended, and he'd managed to fully wrap his arm around her shoulders, resting comfortably on her without any misguided belief that she was oblivious to his moves.

All throughout two, he occasionally poked at her cheek or pulled at her ear, trying to divert her attention to him. Every time she'd smile and look at him from the corner of her eye, only to return to the TV and pretend to focus on the screen. Then, when he had done it enough times to actually be irritating, she caught his hand before he made contact with her cheek and placed her fingers between his own, lacing their fingers together.

Rather abruptly, he posed the question, "Who is your favourite ghostface?" and she took the time to ponder her answer. As Y/N thought, she gently tapped her fingertips against his knuckles, and that unconscious movement brought a blush to his cheeks.

"Jill is the obvious answer. She's a girl boss, and I think - I have no idea if this is a popular theory or anything - that she got Charlie to do most of the killing because she wanted to seem as innocent as possible. Only Charlie and Trevor died by her hand."

"Hmmm..." He hummed, thinking it over for a second. "That's actually pretty smart."

"Yeah, I'm a genius." Her playful tone was clear. "What about you?"

"Stu, I guess, cause he's the funniest. Or Roman. Or maybe Mickey since he was charming despite it all."

"And handsome."

He nodded and hummed in agreement but felt a brief pang of jealousy that only got worse when she admitted, "Mickey was definitely the hottest ghostface." Yet, it turned into a sly grin when she added "Though I gotta say all of them are pretty hot... that mask does something...something, I don't know what, to me."

"Even Mrs Loomis?"

"Especially Mrs Loomis," she replied with a smirk.

Ah, a plan was formulating. He just had to wait for a moment alone to execute it. After all, it wasn't every day he had the exact thing he needed to fulfil her wishes.

That time came sooner than anticipated when she excused herself to the bathroom as Adrian was in the process of putting Scream 3 on. They were already three and a half hours into the whole marathon, and taking a break maybe was beneficial, Adrian thought.

Was it a prank? Or a seduction technique? That would all depend on her reaction.

Y/N finished up in the bathroom and planned on moving back to the sofa and, most importantly, back to the comfortable embrace she'd been in. When she arrived at the couch, Adrian was nowhere to be found. Had he left? Was he in the kitchen getting more snacks? She didn't see him in the kitchen, and his house wasn't really big enough to hide in. Sure, they'd turned the lights down to ensure they got an 'authentic' cinema experience, but it wasn't that dark.

The only way she would have minor trouble when being able to see him was if he was wearing all black. He hadn't been. It was what he usually wore: blue jeans and a nerdy t-shirt.

"Ade? Where'd you run off to?"

She looked around but she saw no signs of him anywhere. Weird. After patting herself down to find her phone - which was in her backpocket like usual - she went to send him a quick text but was interrupted by someone yanking her back into their chest and a knife pressed against her throat.

Right next to Y/N's ear, she heard a very distinctive voice ask, "What's your favourite scary movie?" and she relaxed a bit in their arms. She should've guessed he'd have the whole ensemble, mask and all.

"Probably Jack and Jill, that Adam Sandler flick, god, it was awful. Just torture, if you ask me."

There was a robotic snort omitted from the mask.

"What about you, Mr Ghostface, what movie scares you?"

"17 Again. I'd kill myself if I had to revert to my teenage self."

Shifting her head to get a better look at the mask, she unconsciously bit down her bottom lip as she took it in, her eyes trailing all over it as if she was studying every inch of it. And when he held the tip of the blade under her chin to tilt her head up, there was no denying that she gulped rather thickly.

"You feeling a bit woozy there?" He smirked beneath the mask, leaning in towards her, the tip of the blade grazing along her jawline. She couldn't help but shiver slightly but didn't move back from the touch, keeping her gaze locked onto the mask.

Some small part of her brain was ringing alarm bells. Murder happy dude who likes to wear a mask is an apt description for both Vigilante and Ghostface. But, she told it to shut the hell up, to shut the fuck up and just go ahead and enjoy yourself, right?! It was Adrian, after all. He'd had plenty of opportunities to murder her before and hadn't taken it.

"Maybe I am," she replied in a breathless tone , her heart starting to thump loudly inside her chest. His smirk widened into a satisfied grin, and he cocked his head to the side.

Wordlessly, he let her out of the grapple and sat back on the sofa as if nothing had happened, leaving her slightly confused, somewhat disappointed, and very flustered. He reached over and grabbed the remote from where he placed it on the coffee table earlier and pressed play on the next movie. He didn't look over at her, nor did he acknowledge what had just happened at all as she took her place beside him.

Tension was thick in the air and neither dared to utter a single word. Y/N was watching him out of the corner of her eyes because, as safe as she felt, it was still weird to have ghostface right next to you while that same icon was killing people on screen.

Adrian was gathering the courage to make a move. An actual move and not one of those juvenile tricks that he'd got away with earlier. With his head facing the TV, his hand found the drawstring of her sweatpants and he undid the bow with dexterous precision. Once the strings came loose, he slid his hand slowly through the opening, letting his fingers trail along the fabric and lightly brush against her inner thigh.

Y/N inhaled sharply, not daring to take her eyes off the screen, afraid that if she moved, he would disappear and she'd wake up in bed with a crick in her neck from such a wonderful dream. It seemed surreal. It seemed too good to be true.

His hand travelled further up the hem of her panties and dipped to touch the soft skin underneath; she closed her eyes, her heart beating faster as his forefinger started a gentle circling motion on her clit. Slowly. He was giving her a chance to stop him if she wanted to. But she didn't want to stop him. Oh God, not at all. If anything, she wanted Adrian to go even further.

So, in the hopes he'd get the memo, Y/N shifted her butt closer to the edge of the couch and moved her hips to ensure that he'd have access to do whatever he pleased. When he kept torturing her with his movements, she tilted her head to the side to look at him.

"Eyes on the screen."

Her gaze remained on the mask.

"Watch the movie."

Still, she hadn't moved.

"You deaf?" he teased, using his free hand to grab at her chin and yank it back towards the TV. He could feel her face growing warm at his touch, and that made his lips curl into a smile behind the mask. Her eyes were locked onto the screen, and his thumb stroked the underside of her bottom lip. "I said," he repeated slowly, as if to emphasise his point, "Are you deaf? Answer me."

"No! No. I... I can hear you perfectly." Her voice sounded breathy, strained and filled with excitement. His smile grew wider as he watched her. "Just, um... distracted."

She licked her suddenly dry lips, and a flash of light caught his eye. The glow coming from her phone illuminated the dark room. He took hold of the device in question.

"The boss wants to talk to you, you wanna talk to her?" She shook her head and tried to snatch the phone out of his hands but was unsuccessful. He chuckled softly as he accepted the call and held it against Y/N's ear.

"L/N, Peacemaker's mission was a success," Harcourt began, sounding relieved. "You are free of Vigilante watch for the night."

"Oh, okay. Good to know," Y/N replied with far too much poise for Adrian's liking, taking the phone out of his hand.

Without warning, he slid his fingers down to her entrance and pushed his middle finger into her core, making the poor girl gasp.

"You okay there, Y/N?" Harcourt asked in concern.

"Hrmm, yeah. Fine." Y/N cleared her throat, trying to compose herself. This was definitely NOT how she pictured her distraction to go.

How the turntables.

Harcourt was unconvinced, Y/N could tell. "If you say so..." There was some rustling as if the person behind the phone was in a mini scuffle, then Emilia added in a huff, "Hang on, Chris wants to say something."

Hearing his buddy's name, Adrian decided to get bolder and began fucking two fingers into her, curling them in an effort to create the most obscene noises he could possibly imagine. Y/N bit down hard onto her lower lip so she wouldn't let out the most pathetic whine ever known to mankind.

"H-hey Chris."

"Is Adrian still with you?"

"Yeah," she answered breathlessly, daring to look across at Adrian again.

"Tell him to buy a four pack and meet me at my trailer."

Underneath the mask, Adrian was a mess. Y/N was letting him fingerfuck her and Peacemaker wanted to hangout? It was such an awesome day. Although, given his current situation, he was a bit preoccupied to give in to Peacemaker wishes.

"I'm busy," Adrian replied curtly. "Tell him."

Y/N shakily nodded and did as he said. "Ade says he is busy. Can't hang out tonight. Sorry!" Then, she quickly hung up and let out all the noises she'd been holding back until now. Adrian chuckled darkly at the sight, his smirk widening when he noticed she'd gone red, flushed with passion, and was writhing around on the sofa, coming undone just because of his fingers. His. And it only spurred him on more.

"Either you take your clothes off, or I'll cut you out of them," he threatened, his smirk turning into an evil grin as he trailed his fingers up along her thighs. She squealed when he hit a particularly sensitive spot with his middle finger, arching her body slightly upwards. "Which one will it be?"

Doing a mental price check for everything she was wearing, Y/N came to a decision. She held up her forefinger, and he stopped, letting her undo the clasp of her bra, wiggling it out from under her shirt and tossing it somewhere on the ground.

"It was an expensive bra," she shrugged with a grin, "The rest of my clothes? They are far more disposable."

For the first time in a really long time, Adrian's hand was slightly shaky as he held the knife. Adrenaline, lust, and a fear that because he couldn't fit his glasses under the mask that he might accidentally hurt her, flowed through every inch of his being as he pushed her so she'd lie with her back against the couch cushions.

Slowly and in, what he hoped would be, a sensual manner, he dragged the blade down Y/N's chest and stomach, not enough to cut the fabric yet, but enough to make her breath stagger and tremble in anticipation. Y/N bit down hard upon her lower lip, her eyes wide open and pleading at him above her.

Adrian placed his knees on either side of her thighs, bracing himself with one arm, and he gently booped her nose with the tip of the knife. Her face scrunched up cutely, and a small giggle fell from her lips.

"Can't believe I didn't know you're such a dirty girl, L/N." He trailed the knife down her cheek and down her neck, enjoying the way it elicited moans from the woman underneath him. As he neared her collarbone, he glanced up. A mischievous glint in his eye as he finally put some force in movements to cut through her shirt, revealing her breasts in all their glory to him. Adrian stared at the sight like a starving man who had just spotted the last morsel of food on a plate.

Before he had the chance to do anything else, however, the familiar sound of someone unlocking his front door could be heard. Adrian quickly did up the first button of Y/N's cardigan, threw the knife onto the coffee table, and flopped down on her to hide any glimpse of skin from Peacemaker.

It obviously was Chris. Who else had a key? The dead Chase's?

"Vee, what the hell are you doing that is more important than hanging out with -" Chris stopped as he surveyed the scene in front of him. "What are you wearing, dude? Is that a dress?"

"It's a robe."

"What?"

Tugging the mask off to reveal his flushed, sweaty face, Adrian repeated, "A robe. A ghostface robe."

"You two are fucking weird," Chris commented as he leaned forward and plucked the mask from Adrian's hands to examine it further, and then proceeded to throw it over the back of a nearby armchair. "Well, this looks boring. I'd rather slow dance with Bill Cosby than spend time watching you two do... well, whatever that is." Then he gave Adrian one final once over and grinned. "Text me a rating out of ten if you hit that."

Y/N rolled her eyes at Chris's comment while Adrian simply glared daggers at his friend. This definitely was killing his game. Fuck, he didn't even have the mask on anymore. The illusion was broken. Would she even want to go forward with him as just Adrian?

"Peace out, assholes!"

As quickly as he'd arrived, Peacemaker had left them alone again. Adrian tried his best to avoid eye contact with Y/N, which was proving difficult as her eyes seemed glued to him. Shit. Here comes the inevitable repulsion.

"Ade?"

"Hmm...?"

"Hey," she cooed and gently tilted his chin so he would finally face her. "Do you want to stop? We don't have to if you don't want to."

He sighed. "I want to." And he did. He desperately, desperately wanted to continue, to continue and explore every inch of this beautiful woman beneath him. To taste her lips, to feel her softness, to feel her warmth. He wanted everything about this moment. "Do y-you want to?"

"I do." Y/N gave him a bright smile, a genuine one that reached her eyes, making Adrian feel like 'Yeah! This could happen!' so he shot to his feet and went to retrieve the mask. But, she caught his wrist and stopped him in his tracks. "I'd like to see you without that thing on. To see your handsome face. Is that okay?"

Dumbly, he nodded, still trying to wrap his head around what she was saying. Had he been hearing this right? She wanted to see his face? While they fucked? He hadn't fucked someone as Adrian in a really long time. Vigilante was the guy who did all that. The last time Adrian did this as himself was...probably the time he lost his virginity.

She got to her knees on the couch, her kneecaps resting by the edge of the arm of the sofa, to be tall enough to cradle his cheek in her palm and caress it softly. Adrian closed his eyes, savouring every sensation she provided him with. His heart felt as though it was beating double speed, his blood pumping furiously in his veins, his lungs burning for air.

What was happening? Why was he feeling so goddamn good? Did her touch affect him this much? How could it? He'd never experienced love before. Was this how other people felt? Were humans supposed to experience happiness like this? Was he supposed to feel like this, to be overwhelmed by emotions, to want things more often, to crave more and more?

"Was it warm under the mask?" she asked in a quiet, playful whisper.

"Always is."

That made her grin wider and he couldn't help but return it. Her thumb ran slowly over his bottom lip, brushing across the soft skin lightly, teasingly. Adrian let out a light, shaky sigh and opened his eyes.

"Can you kiss me? I'd kiss you, but I can't seem to get the nerve to," he pleaded softly, looking at her shyly, his eyes full of hope.

In spite of all his doubts, she let out a giggle and did as he asked. She cupped her hand around his jaw and started at the mole on his cheekbone, kissing her way down his cheek until she finally reached his lips. And there was no hesitation, not even a single thought, as he reciprocated the kiss, wrapping his arms around her waist firmly while her fingers threaded through his hair.

They parted after a moment, yet Y/N was quickly drawn back in when Adrian's large hand drifted to her ass and pulled her tighter to his body. He deepened the kiss, pressing his lips firmer against hers, his tongue thrusting into her mouth boldly, taking possession of every corner of it greedily.

The longer they kissed, the more intense their kisses became until their lips were swollen and puffy and red. But Adrian found that he didn't care at all. He had never felt so alive; so free. And he knew without a doubt that this was the only woman who could possibly make him feel like this.

"You gonna take your 'dress' off?" she teased, giggling as he nuzzled his face into her neck and bit at her shoulder in response to that comment. "Ouch!" She exclaimed and laughed, trying to push him away, but Adrian wouldn't allow it. He kept hold of her waist, refusing to let go as he pressed his lips to every inch of her neck and shoulders.

When he finally pulled his face away, Adrian could hardly keep himself standing upright as he tugged the ghostface robe over his head and tossed it aside. He'd learnt that it was insufferably hot under there one Halloween and didn't make the same mistake of wearing his t-shirt and jeans underneath again.

Standing there in just his underwear, he suddenly got a little self-conscious and held his hands over the very obvious bulge forming between his legs. Her eyes sparkled with mirth, and she chuckled at the adorable sight before reaching out to take his hands away from his groin and lead them to her hair.

"Keep my hair out of my face, will you?"

Once again, he nodded as if there wasn't a single thought in his head and never had been, and obliged, collecting her hair in a makeshift ponytail. Although, he almost lost all grip on it as soon as she leaned forward to plant a smooch on his clothed cock before pulling away.

"Can I pull your underwear down? They look awfully tight," she whispered huskily, her fingers playing with the waistband of his boxers.

"Uh... yes, yes please. If you want."

"I do want." With that she pulled the fabric down his thighs to reveal his naked, erect cock, waiting eagerly for her touch. "May I?"

"Please."

Gently, Y/N wrapped her hand around him and squeezed, causing him to emit a low groan. Her eyes flickered upwards, meeting his as her tongue darted out to lick the head of his cock. Her touch made him feel like he was falling apart at the seams, but he had to remind himself to remain calm. He needed to stay strong and not cum in two seconds because that's fucking lame.

She'd think he was such a loser if he did that.

Adrian's confidence built as she began running her mouth along his length. He moaned loudly as he gripped her hair in order to ground himself, feeling so dizzy that he thought it might be the alcohol for a brief second. Then her mouth was closing around him, and, yeah, it was definitely the blowjob that was making him lightheaded.

"Oh fuck," he grunted, clenching his teeth tightly so that he wouldn't moan any louder. It would be so embarrassing if she heard him like that!

Wait a minute. Y/N had often told him that she wanted to hear whatever he had to say. Did that extend to whatever noises he'd make too? She had been the one to offer what was happening. Soo... A groan was let loose from his lips to test the waters.

Around his cock, she moaned and took him deeper into her throat. He wasn't a scientist by any means, but that seemed like a clear example of cause and effect. So he repeated the sound, a little louder this time, eliciting another loud moan from her.

This revelation relaxed him about the whole thing. Before he'd been preoccupied with seeming totally normal, and now he could enjoy the fact that a pretty girl was sucking his dick and enjoying it too.

That was all the reason he needed to move his hips and start fucking her mouth faster and harder. His hands bunched up her hair and tangled themselves in it as he praised, "Fuck, you're great. You’re driving me insane, holy shit. I wanna bruise that throat so badly. Can I do that, baby? Please?" He begged desperately, unable to hide the desire in his voice.

"Yes," she breathed heavily, regaining some semblance of composure before she gave it over completely to him.

Soon, he was a babbling mess of words and lustful rants that sounded like, "Take it all… Ahhh… fuck… you’re so beautiful… You always are... on your knees… swallowing my cock down… I'm desperate… so fucking desperate… I need you so bad…" He continued to ramble incoherently, losing control over his thoughts and actions as he let his orgasm roll over him and explode inside her mouth.

He could feel his entire body shudder uncontrollably, his breath short, and his balls tightening up to a point where he was sure they might break. Her hands caressing up and down his thighs were the only thing grounding him and keeping him from toppling over.

Finally, he regained some sense of equilibrium and came to his senses. He looked at Y/N and found her smiling sweetly at him. He couldn't resist the urge to laugh and gently brush away the tears in the corners of her eyes with the pad of his thumbs.

"Sorry, uh, sorry if I was a bit rough. Didn't mean to," he stammered anxiously, embarrassed.

"I liked it."

"Really?"

"Mhm..."

From the TV, a gunshot rang out as Sidney, in her attempt to rescue a bound and gagged Gale and Dewey, fired at Ghostface, and Adrian couldn't help but turn to watch. "The unmasking is just about to happen, this is always my favourite part," he said excitedly and planted his ass back down on the couch, absentmindedly making grabby hands at her until she got the memo.

But before she sat, Y/N removed her clothes to remind him that, yeah, he had chosen to watch Scream 3 (the worst one) instead of continuing their intimate moment, and perched on his thighs, her back resting against his chest.

"Oh hi, hi there," he grinned sheepishly, wrapping an arm around her stomach to pull her closer against his chest and resting his chin on her shoulder. She rolled her eyes playfully and snuggled further into him.

It took no time at all for the skin on skin contact to rile him up once again. She felt his member twitch impatiently against her backside as he rubbed his nose against her neck and shoulder, letting out an involuntary growl as he inhaled sharply.

With very minimal efforts, Adrian pushed Y/N forward a few inches and positioned his cock against her opening, slowly pulling her back down on him. She gasped at the sudden invasion but she adjusted to the sensation.

Yet, he didn't move just yet. He returned his gaze to the screen and tried to pretend that he wasn't literally inside her, which was difficult considering how many dreams he'd had about this moment. He had dreamed of being inside Y/N countless times, but this moment seemed more than perfect. The warmth of her body wrapped snugly around him, the softness of her skin, her intoxicating smell surrounding him; everything about this scene was blissful.

Y/N was squirming and wriggling on top of him, apparently eager for more action. He smiled softly as he moved his hands up and down her waist, rubbing soothing circles against her sides and trying to keep her still so he didn't give in. It was a test of restraint, Adrian thought to himself. His restraint. That didn't mean she couldn't have fun.

Not even his willpower was enough to stop his hand from wandering back down to her clit. His movements were at a leisure pace, there mostly to rile her up rather than give her exactly what she wanted. He wanted her to beg him to give in, to drive her wild.

And then suddenly, the movie was over. Adrian had been looking at the movie, but he hadn't really been watching. Sure, he'd seen it a thousand times before. Roman's the killer. He's Sidney's half-brother. Yadda yadda ya. Sidney stabs him. Bye-bye, Roman. Hello, a proposal by Dewey. Then, the credits roll.

Just as he hoped, she turned to face him and gave him the widest, most beautifully pleading doe eyes she could muster. He swallowed hard, licking his dry lips as he stared deep into her gaze, completely mesmerised by the sight before him.

"You gonna fuck me?" Y/N whined softly, a sultry look on her face that only caused him to tighten his hold on her.

"Is that what you want?"

"Uh-huh."

"Gotta say it out loud."

"Please. I want it now. I need it now. Don't tease me anymore," she pouted, giving him a playful glare as she bit her lower lip. The way she looked at him made his heart race.

He knew it wouldn't take long for him to give in anyway.

"You need me to fuck you, huh, baby?" She nodded eagerly. "Oh, I'll fuck you real good, so good that you'll totally fall in love with me and never want me to leave. Like ever. I promise."

"That's a bold promise."

"I'm a bold guy."

Tonight, he'd been especially bold.

In one swift move, he hoisted her up and dropped her face down onto the pillow, positioning himself behind her. With his knee, he nudged her legs open a little wider and lined himself up with her entrance, but before he eased himself in, he declared, "This isn't going to be a one time thing. If we do this, if you give me this pussy, it's mine. It belongs to me.If we cross this line, you're mine, you realise that?"

A beat. He paused, waiting for her response.

"Yeah," she whispered, looking over her shoulder at him.

"Good answer."

His cock slid inside her, stretching and finding itself home inside of her. She welcomed him fully and let out a gasp. At first it was slow and deliberate. They were both adjusting to each other, getting used to the feeling of finally fucking each other after who knows how long of teasing.

Eventually, as time went on, Adrian's movements became faster, his strokes became heavier and more urgent, his rambling growing sloppier. "Atta girl, holy fuck. We could've been doing this the whole fucking time! Just think of all those nights I spent fantasising about this." He moaned out loud as the sensations began to build up in his gut. "Just think of all those nights I spent imagining you underneath me, panting and begging me to fuck you."

A low rumble escaped his throat as he started moving faster. "God, it feels good. You feel so good." His breathing was heavy, uneven, and laboured. "So tight... so warm... I can't get enough of you."

"Fuck, don't stop moving, please."

"Wouldn't dream of it," he muttered, leaning down and sucking a mark on her neck roughly. He moved up to her ear and whispered, "Do you like feeling my control over you? Tell me. Tell me you like it. Tell me you want my cum. Tell me you need me."

Y/N whimpered, her fingers digging into his shoulders. "Oh my god, yes! I like it. Love it. Want you. Want to come," she breathed out in between grunts and moans.

Adrian pinned her wrists behind back while kissing every inch of exposed flesh along her jawline, tracing the bone tongue and sucking harshly on her skin. She arched into him, her moans becoming louder, needy, and more intense. She was close. So fucking close. And he knew it was only a matter of moments before he would follow. He felt it in his gut. In his loins. In his bones.

"Fuck Adrian! Oh shit."

There it was.

"Oh god… holy fuck… you’re getting tighter… So close, baby. I'm so - Fuck! Can I cum inside you, please? … Fuck, please?" Adrian begged frantically, his voice higher than he'd ever heard before.

"Yes. Yes! Please, babe, please!"

Another couple of thrusts was all it took for him to fall apart, releasing into her with a strangled cry and gripping tightly onto her hips as he came undone. He buried his face in the back of her shoulder and went limp, falling into a sea of giggles and kisses as he held her close in his arms.

"Do you think Harcourt and Peacemaker fuck like rabbits when they're alone?" she asked, craning her neck as far as she could to meet his eyes.

"Definitely! They definitely do!"

He took a glimpse at the mess they made, committed that image to his wank bank, then removed himself from her, muttering, "Gonna get something to clean you up with. You want a drink, too? I'm parched. Yeah, I'll get us a towel and two drinks. Coming right up," as he hopped to his feet and got on with the tasks he set himself. He even added to the list to grab some clothes so she wouldn't get cold.

"For you, my lady," he grinned as he walked back in with the clothes and towels and two cans of Doctor Pepper, setting it all on the table. "Want me to...?"

"I can do it, if you don't! -"

"No, no, I can." He kissed the tip of her nose and got to work cleaning her off.

As he cleaned her up, he noticed the developing bruises on her hips and pressed his lips to them, mumbling against her skin, "Sorry...sorry, I got carried away," and stroking the small marks lightly with his finger.

It was sweet to watch.

"Didn't know you were so cute, Ade," she teased, reaching for a can and taking a sip.

"I'll show you cute." He jumped on top of her, omitting a loud battle cry as he fell, and was quick to press a trail of kisses all over her neck, leaving wet smears of saliva as he went. "I've got a proposition for you."

"Another one?"

Pulling back, he gave her an amused look and found her hand he could easily take hold of, giving it a firm squeeze as he said, "Let me take you out tomorrow? We'll watch four and five right now. I'll get you a huge popcorn and a drink and nachos and whatever you want when we see the new one. How does that sound?"

"A date, huh?"

"What? Do you not - do you not want to... to -"

She interrupted by roughly grabbing the back of his neck and yanking him into a smooch, sealing their lips together forcefully, her tongue plunging in deeply and swirling around his own hungrily. "Yes," she murmured in between the kiss, "I'll go on a date with you."

Now, it wasn't the coolest thing he'd ever done, but Adrian actually did a little dance of joy. He'd never done his famous butt dance horizontally before, and he'd certainly never done it whilst on top of someone, but it made him happy.

"Go put the next movie on, dork."

"On it!"

Obviously, he ran towards the TV to pop the next DVD and almost fell due to the speed at which he banged his knee on the side of the coffee table. That didn't matter.

The only thought that passed through his head was 'Thank fuck for Ghostface.'

REMUS LUPIN | 00:33 ⏤FOR NOW

sum. : when you confess your feelings, remus has to reject you but there's a look in his eyes that makes you doubt his true feelings. when you suspect and unravel his secret, you settle for having just a small piece of him than all of him.

g. : remus lupin as spiderman ; reader as mary jane ; spiderman au ; modern au ; muggle au ; angst ; fluff ; rescuing reader twice ; attempted sexual assault ; nothing explicit ; iconic kiss

length : 2.1k

“I’m…I’m sorry,” Remus finally meets your eyes with a shaky exhale. You can see that he wants to say more but when he opens his mouth…nothing. 

For a moment, you look away and regain your composure, biting your lip absentmindedly as you do so. When you finally meet his soft brown eyes again and recognise a pain parallel to yours swimming in them,  the ache in your chest is, somewhat, soothed and the tightness in your throat gradually subsides. You anticipated this response from him beforehand but there’s always going to be that glimmer of lingering hope that still makes you feel the hurt, no matter how small.

Nodding, you force a small, timid smile, “It’s alright,” you step back and he steps forward, making you smile more easily to yourself; he still cares for your feelings despite himself. He’s so unbelievably kind. That’s the reason why you fell for him so hard. And why, maybe, it was for the best that you do let him go because he deserves someone better, someone who can be more than just a pretty face to stand beside him. Although, you’re sure that he would vehemently protest your self-deprecation if he ever heard you say it out loud, like he always does, “I’m sorry if I made things awkward for us but,” the next sentiment makes your stomach fall from the thought of it’s potential permanence, “I really value your friendship so I hope we can still be friends,” 

He nods. And you nod. Then walk away. 

Remus could only watch in his own heartbreak and anguish as you do so, your retreating back small and hunched over - not your usual self. People argue how you can so easily put up a front around others, unreadable and unapproachable despite your warm smile and sweet eyes, but Remus can read you so easily. It only takes a simple shift in your silhouette to express how sorrowful you were in that moment and Remus loathes himself for being the person to make you feel that way. 

But it’s for the best…

It happened when you were walking home, heartbreak still fresh and making a detour for a scoop of ice cream. You were just about to make a start on the waffle cone when the structure of the building beside you exploded, sending bricks and debris shooting out to passersby while you crash into the ground. Your ice cream cone is gone and your legs take the brunt of the damage. 

You stare down at the mess of broken bricks littering your legs and wince when you go to remove them, recognising the early signs of bruising on your exposed skin. The city was riddled with criminals that often go off the rails with their schemes. It’s like they’re all wanting to be recognised for a specific crime and the only way to do that was by being unique. Unfortunately for this criminal, you thought spitefully, making a building explode isn’t very noteworthy. Distracted with removing the detritus, you didn’t notice an approaching, imposing figure until their emerging shadow was cast over your, now, free legs. 

Frozen in place, you stare up at the smirking villain towering over you, mind racing with the scream to run away. But you couldn’t move, the fear paralyses your limbs and jumbles your thoughts, you can’t think straight. Before the villain could utter a word, however, there was a flash of red and blue that pulled you into a pair of arms as they quickly made work on temporarily curbing the criminal.

“I’ll be taking this hostage for myself, thank you,” the hero announced cheekily, “hold on tight,” he warns hurriedly before shooting into the air with you in his arms. Naturally, you’re screaming your head off and quickly move to push your face under his chin and your arms around his neck, “Lets get you somewhere saf-Ah!” he shouts painfully, losing concentration for a moment and sending the two of you to free-falling. A shrill scream rips from your throat and your eyes lock shut. Thankfully, he’s quick to pick you and himself back up and finally lands in a nearby park to set you down. 

“Oh my fu-” you couldn’t finish your curse as your lungs begged for air. 

“Looks like you can still stand, good! Get home safely, okay?” Spiderman waves a brief goodbye before moving to get back to dealing with the criminal. 

Panicking, you shout, “Wait!” he turns to you and you’re immediately flustered from the attention, “um…” the rapid movement of your eyes catch sight of his injury as you try to formulate your next sentence but are distracted by the treacle of blood leaving the wound on his upper arm, “oh no, you’re hurt,” guilt weighs down your heart as you observe his injury. That must be why he shouted in pain earlier, did he get shot at? It looks painful. 

“No worries, all in a day’s work but I should really get back to the guy, see ya’!” He was already up in the air when he finishes talking and you rush forward to shout your thanks. Hopefully he heard you.  

You make an interesting observation the next day. 

Yesterday night, you also couldn’t stop thinking about how familiar sounding Spiderman was, especially when, at one point, he was speaking right to you. 

Today, you connect the dots. 

Across the classroom, Remus sits in his uniform with gauze wrapping around his upper arm and peaking out from under his short sleeve. The realisation hits you like a ton of bricks, ironic especially after the events of yesterday, which a fair number of people have spoken to and pestered you about since video of you being in Spiderman’s arms was all over the news yesterday night. 

The constant badgering and prying of others was annoying but you could use it to your advantage. Angling yourself so that Remus was in your sight, you entertain the questions on your interaction with Spiderman as you subtly observe Remus’s reactions. 

If the main reason why he rejected you was because of his secret identity, you’ll understand but the fact will only make you love him even more, which can be troublesome. If he’s not, then…no- you were confident in your theory. 

“Come on! Stop being stingy with the details and tell us everything!” a blonde girl asks, her eagerness translating in her elevated volume. The others around her nodded and you sighed, acting shy and daydreamy. It wasn’t that much of an act, you still liked Remus very much and imagining him being the one that saved you made you swoon so much. 

“He was really sweet and made sure I was safe and away from the criminal before he went back to finish the job…” you confess, “he also had a really nice voice, it was soothing and really kind,” around you the girls swooned and you observed the pink hue tinting the tip of Remus’s ears. Interesting… 

“What else? What else?”

You allow some of your bashfulness to show, really selling the act even though all these feelings were genuine when you imagined Remus under the mask, “He also had really good muscles under his suit so it felt nice being in his arms,” this made the girls squeal loudly, made you giggle and made Remus run a veiny hand through his hair, biting back a clear smile as his cheeks blossomed an endearing shade of pink. You didn’t fail to notice how the movement of his arm exposed more of his neatly wrapped upper arm and smirked to yourself. 

So it is him, Remus is Spiderman. 

The revelation is bittersweet. Now you know why he rejected you despite the two of you clearly sharing a connection. It also explained the pained look in his eyes when he had to turn you away, maybe the feelings were reciprocated? 

However, he still isn’t yours and you don’t think he ever will be. 

Remus is as stubborn as they get but it all comes from a good place. He wants to protect his loved ones and do what’s best for them no matter the sacrifice. Unfortunately, that sacrifice is affecting the two of you and no matter how much you want to confront and reassure him, you know that the answer will remain the same. 

So, with a fond but bitter smile, you resolve to respect his decision and not initiate anything. 

If only you could reveal your confirmed suspicions to him, not for the selfish reason to have him for yourself but for consolidation. The rejection and distance hurt you but he was hurting too and you wouldn’t want to add any more to his suffering.

You realise too late that you should have taken your friends up on their offer of a taxi. It was late and the shortcut you confidently used to take looked far more dangerous under the moon than it did in the daylight. A curse pushes past your tinted lips and into the chilly night air before you pick up the pace but are stopped when your path is blocked by two tall men who manifested from the shadows of the alley. 

“Look here,” one chuckles, his words stinking of cigarettes and something nasty you can’t pinpoint, “what a beauty,” 

Despite the compliment, your expression becomes cold and hard like steel, “Get out of my way,”

“Oh! Feisty!” the other man laughs, reaching out to touch you but you slap his hand away, adding to his statement and shuddering when you see him lick his lips, “I like that in a woman…”

They weren’t going to let up until they had their way and you knew that so you ran. You couldn’t beat them with speed but tried to take as many twists to throw them off as much as you could. In the chase, you let out the occasional scream for help, wanting to alert others but not wanting to prolong a shout when you needed your breath to keep up your speed and endurance. You pray to god that someone calls the police as you turn the corner and feel your stomach drop to your feet. 

A dead end. 

“Looks like the little miss has ran out of luck,” the man with cigarettes on his breath utters, his amusement laced with anger at the wild chase you put up. His partner, however was more sickeningly satisfied by the pursue. 

“It makes the prize all the more worth it though,” he pants loudly, “give it up doll,” he slowly approaches as you back up into the brick wall blockading your escape. Tears surface and blur your vision as you shake your head vehemently, the bricks pressing into your back becoming a nauseous reminder of your harrowing circumstance. This can’t be happening…if only you had taken that stupid taxi! 

“I don’t think so,” came a typical line, cheesy but something you were incredibly grateful for because it meant one thing. Remus was here for you. 

“Shit!” the two men scatter but easily get apprehended and subdued by the hero, who immobilises them with his webbing and pins them to the brick wall that once was a symbol of your inescapable fate. The two men were black and blue with bruises, unconscious and looking like pinned up insects. Scum of the earth. They deserve to rot in hell and to be treated hatefully. 

Then suddenly, his voice calls out to you, warming your figure and making your knees weak, “Can I take the pretty lady home?” your heart stutters in your chest, the flattering remark meaning more to you knowing who it was really coming from. 

“Before that, can I please thank my hero for saving me twice, now?” you suggest with hopeful and suggestive eyes, slowly approach him as his lowers himself, hanging upside down with a string of strong webbing. If you can’t have him as Remus, you can have a small piece of him as Spiderman. 

He doesn’t say anything as you gesture to his mask and take his silence as approval to continue with your actions. Carefully, you pull his mask down past his lips and smile to yourself. You recognise his angular jaw and pretty lips anywhere. It’s really him, he’s Remus. You’re clear about your intentions and the fact that he isn’t pulling away must mean that he wants you too, that makes your heart race faster. Now with full confidence, you tenderly hold the sides of his face and you lean forward, capturing his lips in a searing kiss. You don’t know how long the two of you stay there, lip-locked, pressing kiss after kiss after kiss onto one another’s lips, neither one feeling satisfied even when the kiss escalates into a clashing but harmonious tango of tongues, moans getting swallowed up by one another. You never want to let go and Remus wants to savour the moment and your taste for as long as it takes. 

This will stop some of the ache in your heart for now. 

a/n : this is all because i've fallen in love with andrew garfield as remus lupin. also, this is the first time im including my taglist! ahhhh! i'm so happy!

taglist : @melinajenkins ; @astonishment ; @until-i-found-you ; @goodoldfashionedluvergirl ; @tiensmamains

navi.

tell me again on a good day [remus lupin x reader]

“Hi, pretty,” he murmured, tilting your head back to dot kisses from the corner of your lips to the centre. Your hand stuttered where it was moving from the attention. He covered it with his own and put you back on track. “That’s it, sweetheart.”

Your chest heaved. ”Am I doing a good job?”

“The best job,” his breathing turned shallow, eyelids drifting shut, “just like that.”

wordcount: 9.3k

summary: you’re pregnant from a terrible one night stand. remus only fancies you more for it.

tags: smut, hurt/comfort, first and second trimester of pregnancy, nsfw, marauders era, consensual but mediocre/uncomfortable sex at the beginning (not Remus), strangers to friends to lovers, not specifically muggle au but magic isn’t mentioned, breaking the cycle or something like that, she/her pronouns used for reader, fem reader, softie remus

Admittedly, you’d fucked up.

You were 21, living with your parents in the city. They were stricter than some. You had a 9.15PM sharp curfew, a 6.30AM wake up. You did everybody’s laundry, most of the cleaning and cooked 3 meals a day everyday for them. Call you fucking Cinderella, or whatever.

It wasn’t that bad. They didn’t force you to do these things, you knew it was expected, so you did it. They didn’t explicitly tell you that you couldn’t move out, it was never talked about, so you didn’t. They weren’t too keen on details, and you assumed a general brick wall were to be built between you and a life that was more than housekeeping and playing mediator.

They never mentioned boyfriends or, god forbid you, girlfriends, and so you never had one. You desired it sometimes - you were in your early twenties, most of your friends at that point had been having (terrible) sex for years. Your friends in school had all had boyfriends and slept with boys before you’d even been of age, and here you found yourself three years later having not known the touch of anyone.

For once, you wanted to do something unexpected. Your whole life had been written in stone from the day you were born. You took off your little cross necklace, went into town at 8.15 sharp, scoured the local for somebody mildly attractive, and you let him fuck you in an alleyway.

It was terrible, as things went. Dry as sand with your face pressed into unforgiving stone, your partner mistook your pants of general movement as pleasure. He said something wanton that should’ve been a turn on, like, oh, you like that huh?

“Yes,” you said. You were lying, of course, but felt trapped by indecision. Should you tell him to get off? You were shocked by how different this felt than how it looked in the movies or how it was described in books. It didn’t hurt so badly, a dull pinch, and then he was finishing. A horrible sound, like a fish learning it can’t breathe air.

He pulled away and you straightened, rubbing your cheek with your hand. You didn’t know how you felt or what you felt, only the slimey sensation of having been used. You pulled your trousers up and walked away, even as the guy started shouting for you to have his phone number.

No, you thought to yourself. No thanks. Maybe my parents were right after all, I should stick to cooking and cleaning. Rather a housemaid to them than some rando in the pub that couldn’t find your clit, even though it was literally right there, like a button. What could you do, draw an arrow?

You didn’t feel like touching yourself ever again at this point. When you got home at 8.34PM, you couldn’t help but think to yourself how you’d reckoned sex took a bit longer, and felt nicer, and as you filled the bath up with steaming water and undressed, you found you didn’t want to look at your body at all. You washed in between your legs with detachment and pushed your head under the water to sulk.

-

The boy working at the pharmacist was concerned about you, evidently. He’d been working here for maybe two years and you often saw him whilst buying topicals and once, embarrassingly, dioralyte for your mother. You’d thought he’d think it was for you and so had made a big show of seeming spritely. You didn’t know his name - he was shy, though lovely, and usually in the back while Lucy, your mother's friend, worked the counter.

You’d waited for Lucy to be out for her 5.45PM smoke break before going in. You went straight to the counter where he stood, hesitant and scared and cleared your throat.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hi,” you said. You could barely get the word out. It was enough for him to look at you with recognition. His hand drifted under the counter, and he pulled out a pregnancy test.

“I didn’t get to ask my question.”

“You have that look of dread on your face, so I assumed. Sorry,” he said. You nodded, taking the box in your shaking hands.

You looked up at him. “Can I ask you something embarrassing?”

He smiled kindly. “That’s what I’m here for. Total confidentiality, and I’ll try my best.”

You swallowed past the lump in your throat and tried to come up with the words. “Is it supposed to hurt so much afterwards?” you asked him, the words cracked and cleaved from you, a vulnerability you hadn’t ever wanted to give anyone. But you had nobody else to turn to.

He leaned forward, his hand between you both. “No, sweetheart. No. It’s not supposed to hurt.”

You nodded to yourself and blinked hard - you’d known that. You just needed somebody to tell you.

“Is someone hurting you?” he asked in concern.

You shook your head vehemently and smiled at him, paying for the test and thanking him for his help. You didn’t feel like you were the one controlling your hands as you walked out, slipping the test into your bra. Your hoodie covered the lump of the box but you still hurried upstairs to your bathroom.

You sat on the toilet with your head in your hands, counting the three minutes like a child. 1 Mississippi, 2 Mississippi, 3 Mississippi, 4. When you reached 180 you kept going, until you’d counted to 300, 500. You pressed your fingers into your closed eyes until they hurt and your vision was blobs of black and turned to the test feeling suddenly angry.

“You better be negative,” you said, furious. “Be fucking negative.”

You turned the test over and felt instant relief - one pink line. Clear as day, bright pink on white. You threw your head up and laughed in relief, checking again.

There… faintly, the second pink line was developed. Your head fell back into your hands. Yeah, you’d fucked up royally.

-

That night you thought about the boy at the pharmacy. He was tall, handsome, but importantly he was kind, soft. The way he’d seemed scared for you, the compassion he’d had for a total stranger, and the way he’d said sweetheart like the word was made of stained glass, that if he said it wrong it would’ve cracked apart, had you making a decision - there was nobody else in the world who could know what had happened to you. You suspected he wouldn’t mind giving you advice on what to do.

You tried to look pleasant. Your rolling stomach, still the same as before despite the chemical reactions taking place inside, had you shifting uneasily from foot to foot.

The bell on the door tinkled as you came in. The pharmacist boy didn’t notice, enraptured in his friend, who sat on the counter kicking his legs like a child. He was laughing, a cigarette between his fingers. Lucy couldn’t have been here.

You didn’t bother pretending you were here for anything, instead walking up to the corner unabashedly (outwardly) and cleared your throat softly. “Hi,” you said.

“Hi,” the smoking boy said.

“Sirius,” the pharmacist boy scolded.

“Can I - I’m really sorry. Could I talk to you about something?”

“Sure, no problem. Fuck off,” he added the second part much more quietly to his friend.

The friend’s laugh was roaring. He winked at you on the way out. The pharmacist boy cringed, “I’m sorry about him.”

You put your hands down flat on the auburn wood between you both. “That’s okay.”

“What did you want to talk about?”

You looked at him wearily, trying to gauge if you could trust him with this.

“Complete confidentiality. Can’t even tell my boss.”

You nodded quickly, “Right,” you said.

When you failed to keep talking he frowned. “Do you want to sit down?” he asked, gesturing his flat palm at the three chairs in the tiny waiting area.

“I won’t get you in trouble?” you asked him.

“No, no. Lucy loves me.”

You found yourself sat facing him, an empty foam padded chair between you both. “I - have to admit, I’m not sure you owe me discretion with this, because it’s hardly related to the pharmacy. Or medication. Or anything. I just didn’t know who to ask, and-“

He leaned forward a tiny bit, and you took it as a cue to stop talking. “It’s encouraged that people come to us with health questions that aren’t an emergency. Is it an emergency?”

You frowned. “No.”

“Then this is a great place for you to come.”

You pinched the fabric of your skirt between your fingers and covered your knees. “The test was positive. I don’t know what to do.”

You’d both know this was going to be the topic of conversation as soon as you’d walked in. He had the kindness not to act surprised. “The first thing you should do is make a doctor’s appointment, they can give you lots of choices, check how you’re doing,” he said gently. Then, hesitantly, “Are you alright?”

You felt again as though you could burst into tears. “I’m fine.”

“Last time,” he sat up in the chair, voice quiet despite the emptiness of the room, “you remember what you asked me? How are you now?”

You could feel your cheeks growing warm. It felt so strange to tell somebody who didn’t know you these things. “I’m fine.”

“Forgive me for asking, but did you use protection?”

You winced.

“No, I know, I’m so stupid. What could I have expected, right?” you said rapidly.

His face was comforting. “You’re not stupid, okay?” he was speaking to you so softly, you couldn't bear it, looking down at your lap. “I only ask because after stuff like this, it’s best to go to the clinic and make sure nobody gave you anything, right?”

The overwhelmed feeling was building. You hadn’t thought about that, too caught up in the whole being pregnant scenario, and the realisation was like being kicked in the stomach. You spread your hands against your abdomen. “Right,” you agreed with him.

He got to his feet and weaved around the counter to shuffle through leaflets. He picked up a few and came to sit with you again, spreading the first one out in his hands. “This is the sex clinic near us. You can call this number and make an appointment, or you can walk in and sometimes they can see you straight away.”

He tucked it underneath his hand and showed you the next leaflet. “This is the number for the local midwife - she can answer any questions you have about being pregnant,” he looked up at you and smiled, “she might know more than me about it.”

There was another leaflet on what to expect in the first trimester underneath it.

“And uh,” he showed you the last leaflet. “This is for you. You want me to go through it with you?”

You nodded uselessly, eyes scanning the cover. Abortion: Your questions answered.

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do,” he began, without opening the leaflet, “if you want to have an abortion or you want to have a baby, the choice is yours. It’s completely legal to have one and you won’t have to tell anyone about it, and like me the doctor can't tell a soul about it.”

He inched closer again to show you the page. You caught it between your index finger and your thumb. “It might hurt, but it’s completely safe.”

You nodded. He passed you the collection of leaflets and you held them in your hands, unseeing.

“Are you okay?”

You blinked, a tear falling from your eye. You wiped it away quickly. “I’m fine.”

“I’m sorry, I know it’s scary. But you have a lot of choices.”

“I think that’s the part that scares me,” you admitted, laughing wetly.

“My friend had a baby when she was young,” he said, likely trying to distract you. You wanted to be distracted, so you asked, “Was she scared?”

“So scared. I couldn’t believe it. She’s the smartest person I’ve ever met, and seeing her with no clue as to what direction to go in was startling.”

You wiped your face again.

“She didn’t want to have a baby?”

“She did. Her and James were thrilled straight away, truly. But she was still terrified… These things aren’t cut so clean, and it’s alright that you’re overwhelmed. It’s a really scary thing to happen.”

You knew it wasn’t a baby yet, but it could be. It’s been almost a month since you’d gone to that pub with misguided intentions, a week since you’d found out you were pregnant. You’d spent the days paralysed by what would happen but you’d also let yourself wonder, just a little, about what a baby would be like. Would it be loving and cuddly and charming? Would it burst your eardrums with its cries? Would it look like you? Would it be funny, and smart, and beautiful?

Maybe you wouldn’t feel so lonely anymore.

You breathed out.

“You don’t have to decide straight away,” he said, alarmed by your fresh wave of tears.

“Yeah.”

“It’ll be alright,” he tried again.

“I’m sorry. You’re the first person I’ve talked to about this. I’m sorry for crying.”

“It’s more than okay. I wish you wouldn’t, though. You’re much too pretty.”

You knew he was being nice for the sake of cheering you up: you had snot on your face. You pinched your nose and giggled despite yourself.

“Go to the clinic, make sure you’re good. They can give you some better advice than I did.”

“No, your advice was great,” you assured him, thinking much too hard about what was to come.

-

The next time you saw the pharmacist boy it was late, and you’d finally made a decision. You’d spent two weeks after that day at the pharmacist thinking about him and thinking about your situation. You went to the sex clinic and got the all clear, luckily, and then got your bloods taken to confirm you were definitely pregnant, which you were. You’d gone home and hidden away for a week, calling off work. You struggled to do your chores. Only when your mother had put you down for resting had you looked at her, really looked at her, and thought, I’m going to be a better mother than you. My daughter will never feel guilty for lying in bed after a long day. She won’t have to cook dinner for herself as soon as she learns how the oven works. She won’t have to cry herself to sleep, or ask strangers at the pharmacy what to do about her pregnancy. She won’t ever be alone like me.

You’d put your shoes and coat on, determined. The pharmacy would shut soon, half an hour if you were lucky and fifteen minutes if Lucy was in a bad mood.

The walk wasn’t far, you lived conveniently close to your town centre. Your legs burned as you traversed the steep hill leading to the pharmacy, and it made you think of how it would only get worse from here. The thought didn’t scare you, you realised. You were looking to it with an ironic sense of chagrin. Like, what can you do?

First things first, prenatal multivitamins. If you were going to do this, you were going to do it so well that nobody could doubt you. The pharmacist boy was there like usual. You smiled and made a beeline for him at the counter. “Lucy isn’t here, right?” you asked.

He put his fingers to lips. “She’s in the back,” he whispered.

“Oh,” you whispered back.

“How are you feeling?”

“Good. I’m still pregnant, if that's what you’re asking,” you said this even quieter than the last, weary of Lucy, who didn’t respect patient confidentiality if it meant being the centre of attention, overhearing and telling your mother, who she knew well.

He laughed. The sound was like jade, shining and shot through with silver. “That’s not what I meant, but that’s great. If that’s what you want?”

You bit your lip. “I think so. I’m here for prenatals.”

He grinned. “And so responsible! They’re at the front.”

“I don’t want Lucy to see,” you confided. He nodded in understanding, eyebrows raised just slightly.

“Right…” he looked over his shoulder into the back room where Lucy was standing with her back turned, organising boxes.

“You go wait out the front and I’ll sort it,” he told you. “Quickly, before she sees you in here and tells half the town.”

You waited for him around the side, hidden from Lucy when she left. Five minutes later he emerged.

“I realised that I don’t know your name and you don’t know mine,” you said to him. He’d changed out of his polo shirt and was wearing a grey t-shirt with a coat overtop.

“You’re Y/N,” he said, pushing his hand into his coat. “I’m Remus.”

You could’ve crawled into a hole and died. “How’d you know who I am?”

He offered you the box of prenatals. They were the fancy ones, omega 3 and folic acid and all the good stuff.

“I’ve seen you around, you came in with your mother once”

“How much do I owe you?” you asked him, squeezing the box between your hands, brushing your fingertips over the Braille.

“Nothing, they’re a gift. Congratulations, sweetheart.”

“Thanks,” you murmured. He was the first person to know and perhaps he’d be the only to congratulate you.

“Remus!”

You and Remus both turned to the voice. There was a young man with glasses hanging out the window of a nice car. “Remus, are you coming? Who’s your friend?”

“Where’s Lily?” Remus called back. “You should not be driving!”

“I’m a perfectly adequate driver!”

“This is Y/N!”

“Hi, Y/N! Do you want to come for dinner?”

“James!” Remus had begun the word shouting and ended it in a shake of his head. “You don’t have to, of course.”

“Um,” your mind was blank.

“We’re having spaghetti!” James warbled.

“Oh, well I’m convinced!” you called to James. He grinned, pleased, and sat back properly in his seat. “Is it okay that I come?” you asked Remus quietly, following him across the street.

“Sure,” he said, holding the car door open behind the driver's seat, “James doesn’t bite. Often.”

“I do,” James disagreed, turning around to face you. He had pearly white teeth and thick, dark hair that framed his brown face in a rugged halo, like feathers, “I’m James.”

“Y/N.”

“Awesome,” he said, “are you Moony’s girlfriend?”

Remus cuffed his shoulder. “Fuck up.”

James didn’t show if he felt it, instead putting the car into reverse and maneuvering out of his parking space with little finesse. Remus gripped the console.

“It’s not that bad,” James smarted.

“It’s worse,” Remus said.

“Y/N doesn’t think so, do you?” James asked you.

You let them tease each other, the box of prenatal vitamins still clutched between your fingers. You were gripped with the sudden thought that they could be driving you to somewhere secluded to kill you, and then that if your daughter ever got in a car with a stranger and a boy she’d only had one proper conversation with, you’d kill her yourself.

“How’d you convince Lily to let you drive this thing?” Remus asked James. You remembered that James was the boyfriend of the girl Remus had said had a baby young, which explained the car seat and the toys in the back seat.

“I’m allowed to drive, legally. I did all the tests. She can’t really stop me.”

“I’m still not sure if you cheated or not.”

“I didn’t!”

You could feel eyes on you.

“So,” James said. “How did you meet Moons?”

“That’s me,” Remus said helpfully. “Don’t plague her, James, she met me at the pharmacy. Where else?”

James gaped at his friend. “Let her speak, good grief! You have the manners of a vagrant.”

You laughed. “I did meet him at the pharmacy.”

“When?”

“Couple weeks ago.”

“You’ve had a girlfriend for weeks and haven’t said anything?” he said, turning to Remus, wounded.

“Prongs,” Remus said. Your eyebrows creased at all these peculiar nicknames. “She isn’t my girlfriend, please. She’s a friend.”

“Well, any friend of Remus’ is a friend of mine.”

“Except Ayesha.”

James scowled. “Fuck off, Ayesha loves me.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” you said. “But I’m not his girlfriend.”

“That’s too bad for him and brilliant news for Sirius.”

Remus glared at him. James took his hands off the wheel to shrug, which had you and Remus both protesting wordlessly. “Relax, I’m such a good driver. I don’t even need to watch the roads, see, my skills are that good,” James said, covering his face. He parted his fingers to see through the gaps.

“Drive normally or I’m ringing your mother,” Remus scolded. You were gripping the seat for dear life as James did an incredibly fast turn down a driveway and stopped, in front of an incredibly lavish looking home.

There was a pale red-headed woman standing at the front door with a child in her arms, looking 4 or 5 years old, skin similarly tanned as his fathers and hair just as thick, though he didn’t have glasses. He was wiggling in her arms, cheering for his dad.

“Dad!” he called.

“Harry, my little man!” he cheered right back, rushing from the car to gather the boy in his arms. You followed Remus’ lead and got out, the door slamming shut behind you with more force than you’d meant.

“God, I’m sorry,” you apologised.

James turned with his son in his arms, a mirror of himself, and smiled graciously. “Harry, Lily, this is Remus’ friend Y/N. She’s come for dinner.”

“Spaghetti!” Harry shouted gleefully.

“Spaghetti!” James echoed.

Lily skirted around her small family to offer you a hug. “It’s nice to meet you!”

“You too,” you said.

You soon glossed over the awkwardness of meeting new people because the magnanimity and charm of their family made it impossible to feel anything except enchanted with them. They were a unit, you could feel it in everything they did, and Remus fit into it too. He picked up toys and stirred the spaghetti, even walked off to answer the phone when James was busy chatting your ear off and Lily was helping Harry wash his hands before dinner.

James set the table and insisted you sit down. “But either way,” he was saying, “it’s so fun to tease him. He’s a sensitive soul, you know?”

“I hope you’re not talking about me,” a new voice said. The boy who’d been smoking cigarettes the first time you’d gone to Remus for help was standing there, smiling at you like you were an enigma. You remembered his wink.

“Obviously about you.”

“I’m Sirius,” he said.

“I’m Y/N.”

“We’ve met before?” he asked, with the air that he knew the answer.

“Yeah, at the pharmacy.”

“The pharmacy,” he said. Everything he said was smooth and soft, though his face was earnest.

“Wine!” Lily shouted, “James, get the wine!”

“It’s nice to meet you,” you said to Sirius.

He smiled. He was easy to talk to - they all were, sitting you down at their family table like you’d been there before, like the fifth chair had always been for you. James started to pour you a drink and you had to put your hand over the cup.

“Oh, I can’t,” you said.

The silence was palpable.

“I’m pregnant, not an alcoholic,” you said awkwardly.

“Oh wow, congratulations!” Lily said, clapping her hands together. Harry laughed at his mother’s happiness and started clapping too. James was side-eyeing Remus.

The boys were having a silent conversation. Sirius shrugged. “I’m not pregnant, Prongs,” he said, thrusting his wine glass towards James.

“Congratulations,” James said too, completely ignoring his friend in favour of clapping you good-naturedly on the shoulder. You shied away.

“Only a month, so nothing to be excited for,” you deflected, blushing.

“Not Moony’s, is it?”

“That’s so fucking rude,” Remus protested, “you can’t ask her stuff like that.”

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” Sirius said, sounding not too sorry.

You curled in on yourself, poking at the spaghetti in front of you to avoid eye contact. “It’s not. It was - some guy. I didn’t know him.”

“Aren’t all guys just some guy?” Lily asked.

“You’re a misandrist,” James said, sitting down again to finish helping Harry eat his pasta.

“Are you excited?” Lily asked you.

You’d thought a lot about it. You weren’t sure if excitement was the right word, you were determined, more like, to do a good job, and to love someone. “I don’t think it’s set in yet.”

-

Something certainly started to set in when you hit the 12 week mark. You looked down one day and suddenly you had a small, almost unnoticeable distension of your tummy. Of course, you noticed, you’d spent hours over these two months pressing your hand to your stomach to try and feel something, any sign that there was more than just you in there.

And now you had it - a bump.

The morning sickness started two weeks before the bump. You were sneaky, trying not to disrupt your parents or show any signs of your pregnancy - everything was hidden. The books, the leaflets, the original test, all of them were stashed far under your bed where nobody would touch them. You’d started saving despite a rising wave of fear that it wouldn’t be enough. You wanted to move out and give your baby a loving home.

You told Remus this over dinner at his house. You’d become fast friends along with the rest of his friends, and so James had been there too. It had been perhaps the first secret you had told him - you wanted, earnestly, desperately, to be a good mother, and to do this you needed to get out of that house.

“Are they bad?” James had asked.

“What?”

“Your parents, is it bad?”

You didn’t talk for a while. Neither boy pushed the subject until you were ready.

“How did you know?” you asked finally.

“People don’t leave home unless they have to.”

And so the group of friends had helped you look for a place to live. You wouldn’t move out until you’d saved enough money, was the plan. Enough to cover 3 months rent and to start buying in preparation for the baby’s arrival, which was 6 months away. 6 months away was no time at all.

You told them this too. You were hanging around the pharmacy on your day off to keep Remus company and Sirius had had the same idea. You were sitting in Remus’ chair, his orders, your hand pressed to your swelling stomach.

“I think she’ll come too soon,” you said. Truth be told, you brought up your baby slightly too often. Sirius rolled his eyes.

“What, she’ll be premature?” he asked.

“Not too soon for her. Too soon for me.”

Remus patted your shoulder. “You’ll be fine.”

Your stomach kept growing. Your morning sickness went away mostly, though your stomach still turned whenever it wanted to. Your favourite foods tasted wrong now and you craved things you’d never tried, not to the excess of some other people, but enough that Remus would often indulge you. He’d fallen into the habit of phoning you on the days he hadn’t seen you, asking you how you were. You’d ask after his health, his chronic pain, his bouts of depression.

“I’m brilliant, Y/N, don’t worry about me. How are you?”

“You’re lying.”

“It’s been a long day. What do you want?”

“What are you talking about? Nothing.”

“You sound distracted. You’re craving something weird again, aren’t you?”

Your face glowed with the guilty pleasure of being known by another person. “I want to try pistachios. I’ve never had them, have you?”

He sounded like he was laughing over the phone. “Baby Y/L/N won’t like them, trust me.”

And yet he’d still shown up at your door an hour later with a little box of pistachios. Your parents had given you an icy silence afterwards, but it had been worth it.

You couldn’t wear tight clothes around them anymore, so you were almost always in a jumper. One you’d stolen from Remus, one you’d been gifted by Lily, and one you’d found on clearance at the supermarket. You could’ve bought yourself some maternity clothes, if you wanted to, but you dreaded the idea of spending your money on yourself instead of the baby.

During your fourth month of pregnancy, you had a really bad week. You were worn down, worried that you were affecting the baby, Remus was bed bound with pain in his upper body and feeling useless because of it.

You’d been skirting around your feelings for Remus for a while. You liked him as a friend - he was the best friend you’d ever had - and you worried you loved him. You’d been sitting on a park bench. You’d taken many initiatives to be a happier, healthier person which included long walks through scenic paths and moments of contemplation. Remus had made a habit of accompanying you after you both finished work. You sat thigh to thigh, him with a coffee, you suffering with water. You stared at his hands in jealousy.

“Not long now,” he’d said.

“I’m not even halfway.”

“It’ll go so quickly, sweetheart. You know that.”

You did know that. It just didn’t feel like it yet.

You’d talked about the sky, Lily’s new job, telemarketing, the cinema, Remus’ new medication, the super moon, the book he was reading. He’d showed you the cassette player he’d found in the charity shopped and you’d listened to the tape that had been inside, music that was sad and not the best you’d ever heard, but there was a 30 second period where you’d both looked out over the grass and the damp pathways, knees touching, when you’d felt a kick.

You’d gasped so loud and so suddenly Remus had spilled his coffee all over the ground. You apologised profusely, pressing your hand to your stomach.

“What? What?”

You’d slipped your hand under your jumper and shirt, pressing circles into your stomach until you’d felt it. Your baby was kicking. You’d looked at Remus, eyes full of joy.

You’d grabbed his hand and held it over the place where the skin was stretching. It felt weird, uncomfortable and a smidge tight, but mostly it was a confirmation. Your baby was real. She was real and kicking. Remus had looked at you like you were the most precious thing on earth and you were hard-pushed to get his hand from your tummy afterwards. So yes, maybe you loved him.

You clung to this memory on the bad days and longed to feel a kick again. She didn’t do it often yet, but Lily assured you they could get aggressive.

You visited Remus. He was on his sofa, looking as though the colour had finally returned to his cheeks.

“Feeling any better?” you asked him.

“I am,” he said. His voice was clearer than it had been in days. “How’s bump?”

“Bumpy.”

“How’s mum?”

You flopped down on his sofa next to him. “Don’t call me that.”

He let his arm come around your shoulders in an imitation of a hug. You let your head fall on his shoulder. “How are you then, sweetheart?”

You scrunched your eyes shut. “I think I’m sick. It’s dangerous for me to be sick. What if something happens?”

“You’re not sick.”

“How do you know?”

“Do you have any cold symptoms?”

“…”

“You’re not sick. You’re tired. Go sleep.”

“I can’t sleep. I can’t stop thinking about my scan.”

“That’s days away.”

“What if something’s wrong?”

“It won’t be.”

“You don’t know that,” you mumbled into his arm.

“I know it’s,” he struggled for the words, “not my place, but if you want me to go with you, I will.”

You’d gone to your first scan alone. The sonograms of her, so small, hadn’t felt real. You kept the picture in a box of crackers in your room.

“I actually wanted to ask you something.”

You looked at him and realised you’d ignored his question. “Of course I want you to come.”

He nodded, looking filled with something. “Do you… like me?” he asked.

You kept your head in his shoulder. “You know I do.”

“Right, but do you like me? Because I like you.”

“You like me?” you asked incredulously, frozen.

“I’ll take care of you,” he said, voice wilting. “I promise.”

“You don’t have to say these things, Remus. You don’t have to take care of me. I’ll be alright.”

He pushed the hair back from your face. It was strange to be having such a serious conversation in such a relaxed position. You supposed he was so tired, like you were. And you both knew that although you had your own reasons to doubt yourselves, the love was there.

“Tell me again when I’m having a good day and I’ll believe you’re not just trying to save me,” you whispered.

“I will,” he promised. “I will.”

-

You sat with Remus in the waiting room of the ultrasound, leg jumping. He didn’t mind, reading the leaflets and posters tacked on the wall aloud for you to calm you down. It wasn’t working. This was your mid-pregnancy scan, you were 21 weeks along and looked it in today’s outfit, and you were terrified.

Remus put his hand on your leg. “It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine.”

“It’s fine.”

“It is not fine!” you said angrily, your hormones getting to you for once.

“You’ll love her no matter what, won’t you?”

“Of course I will!”

“Then it’s fine. Here, have one of these,” he said, offering you a worthers from his pocket. You took it roughly and then felt bad. “Thanks,” you said apologetically, mouth full.

“You’re welcome. Try and relax,” he soothed.

Soon you were called in by a stout, grumpy woman who called Remus ‘dad’. You didn’t bother correcting her, too nervous and your bladder so full that your mind couldn’t focus. You laid out on the table, hands shaking from the nerves. Remus deftly slid his fingers between yours and held your hand to his chest. You both watched the screen in morbid trepidation, and there she was.

The ultrasound technician worked mostly in silence, taking measurements and clicking buttons you didn’t understand.

“You want to know the gender?” she asked gruffly.

Remus was halfway through a yes, please, when you said, “Is she alright?”

“She’s fine. Beautiful, really, everything in order and she’s big for her age. 93rd percentile.”

Remus brought your joined hands to his mouth to kiss your knuckles and you promptly burst into tears.

-

“I’m so happy she’s okay,” you told him later, walking down the hallways with your cold, sticky stomach hidden back under your clothes and a biscuit and a napkin in the other. Remus was leading you by the hand down the hospital from the cafeteria, where he’d just bought you your buttery biscuit. You’d been so sick with worry you hadn’t been eating properly and he was determined to get some sugar in you before you crashed. Next he was thinking he’d force feed you something hearty before he sent you to bed for the foreseeable future.

“You’ve been taking great care of her,” he complimented you, grateful that you’d allowed him to hold your hand for so long.

Remus had fancied you since the day he’d first seen you and everyday after that, even when you’d come into the pharmacy looking peaky and then the second time, when you’d cried.

He wondered if today counted as a good day for you - it must, surely? Would you accept his confession now?

All he wanted to do was lie you flat in his bed and kiss you silly, sometimes. He’d settle for holding your hand. You realised eventually that you were still gripping onto him and so you squeezed his fingers a final time and let them drop, eating your biscuit ravenously.

“How’d you know she was a girl?” he asked you. Right from the start you’d been saying ‘she’.

You put your hand right at the bottom of your abdomen. “I just knew. It never occurred to me that she wasn’t.”

“Are you going home to yours or coming to mine?” he asked.

“Can I come to your house? I want to be happy about this out loud for a while longer,” you told him, wiping your fingers clean on your napkin.

“‘Course you can.”

You got a taxi home. He felt right as rain today and would’ve enjoyed the walk, but you’d been complaining of sore feet lately, and the bus was always so crowded out of the city.

“I’ll have to move out soon,” you said in the taxi. “They’re worse than before, and I’m getting more and more obvious. I left a breastfeeding leaflet on my bedroom floor the other day and only noticed it when my dad was standing in the doorway.”

“James says his mother can put you somewhere if you have an emergency, and you know you can stay with me,” he said lightly.

“It’s hardly an emergency… yet,” you said. “Anyways, the longer I stay with them the more money I can save for baby.”

“‘For baby’?”

“What else should I say?”

“The baby?”

“Well, she’s not the only baby, she’s just mine.”

He laughed at you, eyes drifting down to your lovely round belly. The pregnancy glow that people talked about was absolutely real, Remus would testify, he would swear it in court. You were gorgeous even tired and stressed, and he couldn’t help thinking about it now as you rubbed your hand up and down your stomach. Did it make you more attractive to him, how intensely you loved the life growing inside you? Maddeningly. He’d found you beautiful before. Now, you were angelic.

“Listen,” he said, “it’s only going to get harder from here. You’re so tired sometimes, you do too much. If you move out you can rest.”

You shook your head. “I have to work anyways, I can’t rest.”

“You can’t work and play housemaid.”

“I don’t play housemaid,” you said, scowling. He regretted his words, regretted how your good mood fell away.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he said.

You huffed. The taxi pulled up outside Remus flat and he paid, holding the door open. You said thanks with little attitude so he assumed he was forgiven.

“When baby's born I’ll have to work. If I can’t handle this now I won’t manage in a few months, and I need to be able to manage.”

Remus huffed a laugh. You didn’t say much in the lift and he didn’t mind, watching you in the mirrored wall. You walked out of the lift and he opened the flat door, where you wasted no time sprawling out on his sofa, careful of your bump.

He stood in the doorway, hesitant to bring it up again.

“Do you remember what I said to you? I’ll take care of you,” he said quietly, standing just in front of the closed door.

You stared at him.

“It’s a good day, isn’t it?” he asked you.

“Remus,” you started.

“I’m not saying you would stay home and play housewife all the time, but you need to rest and I want you to. I want what’s best for you, sweetheart.”

Your hand drifted to your tummy.

“Move in with me for now. Get your own place when you can - or don’t, I don’t care. And when baby comes you can finally stay still for a bit.”

"Remus."

"It's not a misaligned need to save you, or pity or worry or whatever you're telling yourself. You said to tell you on a good day and you'd believe me, so believe me.

"And if you don't want me, that's okay too. I just want you to know you have the option.”

"Of course I want you. I don't see why you want me, is all,” you said, pushing yourself up into a sitting position. “I’m pregnant, Remus, used goods.”

“Tell me you don’t think that of yourself,” he pleaded.

You smiled at him placatingly, in a way that made him want to wrap you up in bubble wrap, before looking down at your hands. “It’s true.”

He took careful, slow steps towards you.

“Your being pregnant doesn’t make you used goods. You can have as much sex as you like and you still wouldn’t be used. You’re funny, and smart and kind and pretty; you get prettier everyday. And the way you take care of you to-“ he gestured to your stomach, “to take care of her, that makes you the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.”

You held your hand out. He gave you his, heart pounding, and you put it against your stomach, smiling at him softly. “Alright, Remus. I believe you.”

-

“And you’re sure it won’t hurt the baby?” Remus asked, lips pressed to yours, hand just below your chest.

“I’m positive,” you said, giggling.

“But how can you know?” he asked, looking down at your baby bump sceptically.

“Lily told me so,” you said, hands already teasing the waistband of his dark jeans. Remus pressed you down flat against his pillows in a move he knew you enjoyed, having performed it many times in the month you’d been seeing each other officially.

Your hair spread out behind your head. You looked up at him, your bright eyes shining like the setting sun, lidded and charged. He licked a stripe up your jawline to make you laugh, unbelievably pleased when you did, batting his head away gently.

His hand crept under your flowing maternity smock shirt to explore your chest, deft fingers quick to locate your perked up nipple. Your breasts were heavy, tender under his touch - he loved the catch in your breath when he pinched your skin.

“And how does Lily know?”

“She’s been pregnant.”

“She’s not telepathic.”

“Remus,” you said, tone coloured with humour. “Do you really believe you’re big enough to reach my womb?”

He pinched slightly harder. You moaned and wiggled underneath him where he sat atop your thighs. He grinned in satisfaction and took the hem of your shirt between his fingers to pull it up to your neck, exposing your tits, which bobbed up and down with your moving chest.

“You’re giving me dead legs,” you complained.

“You liar,” he accused, face screwed up in disbelief.

“Take your trousers off, won’t you? Ease the load.”

“Are you trying to seduce me?” he asked, hand pressed to his chest.

“Depends,” you said, hands coming up to cup your tits, “is it working?”

“No,” he said lovingly, kissing the skin where your chest started to rise.

You moved your hands to his hair, brushing it out of his face with featherlight movements. “It won’t hurt again, will it?” you asked tentatively, lips pressed together in concern.

“No, sweetheart. As long as you’re ready, it’ll be fine. It’ll be more than fine. And if it hurts at any point, you tell me and we’ll stop. Okay?” he told you.

“Alright,” you said, chest deflating as you relaxed. He kissed your skin again and clambered off of you to strip until he was in just his boxers, helping you out of your shirt and thick, stretchy leggings.

He’d wondered a lot in the last month how you’d look completely nude. You hadn’t brought up sex once since he’d kissed you on the sofa, and so he’d assumed you’d let him know when you were ready, until one day you’d asked him, “Do you find my body unattractive?”

He’d cleared that up straight away. You really hadn’t been ready to have intercourse yet. Instead, you’d tried lots of different things beforehand that had proved mutually pleasurable for you both.

He was blown away by the sight of you - your legs were a feat of nature, truly. He took it upon himself to kiss up the length of them, amused by your shy smile, until he was face to face with your underwear, your legs pushed up as much as you could manage so he could lie between them. His thumb found your centre, pushing up into the flesh of your clit, the bud soft and warm under his touch, and your breathing hitched. He repeated the action, drawing soothing circles in the fabric, and soon your breaths were fast and shallow.

He pushed your underwear to one side and teased the line of your slit with his fingertip, circling your dampening entrance slowly. “Have you ever done this before?”

“No,” you said quietly. He nodded, pushing the beginnings of his middle finger inside you with extreme care. He flicked his eyesight between your face and his movements. Your mouth was open. If he went any lower down your bump would get in the way and he was determined to watch your expression, so he balanced on his elbow.

You were tight around his finger. He worked slowly and added the second, encouraged by your twitching thigh. He pushed in to the knuckle and you gasped. When he looked up you’d pressed your fingers to your mouth.

“Hurts?”

“No,” you said quickly, and then flushed.

“Swear?”

“It feels nice, stop fishing.”

He grinned, he had been fishing. He scissored his fingers inside you, wetness starting to really work out of you and ease his pumping. He adored the breathy sounds that floated out of you. His fingers pushed to the hilt, Remus set about finding your g-spot, or any pleasure he could give you, curling his fingers inside you. You gasped again, covering your whole face with your hands.

“You liked that, huh, bub?” he asked, curling his fingers again. You moaned in confirmation.

Remus pushed up onto his knees to regain control of his other hand and used it to circle your clit again. You were overwhelmed at first by both sensations and quickly got used to them in tandem, whispering for Remus to go faster.

“Faster?” he repeated.

You nodded. He quirked his wrist so that every thrust of his fingers had his knuckles flat at your opening. Your self-restraint was weaning and you couldn’t stop from moaning loudly, hips bucking to meet his thrusts, cunt shiny and reddened from the repetitive force against it.

He didn’t rush, taking great pleasure in your pleasure. Although he was no stranger to you, he felt like he was learning so much from the way you trembled, the lilt in your moans when he curled just right.

You caught his wrist. “I’ll finish,” you protested.

He paused, smiling up at you. “That’s the point.”

“I want to when you’re inside me,” you said.

He groaned, feeling his aching dick twitch in his trousers at the sentiment. “It’s not pay-per-cum, you can do it again.”

You laughed so loudly your voice cracked. “What’s wrong with you? I’m begging you to fuck me and you’re a comedian now?” you said, a splitting smile on your face.

“That was hardly begging. More like gentle encouragement. You can do better.”

You shifted, lost now he wasn’t touching you. “You’re really gonna make me beg?” you asked softly.

“Yes,” he answered, prodding your clit again. You jolted at the contact and closed your eyes, knees tilting inwards.

“Remus,” you tried, voice wavering, “please. Please, will you fuck me?”

“All you had to do was ask,” he said, and then, perhaps cruelly, rubbed a tight circle into your clit until you were crying out, back tensed.

He watched your cunt contract with fascination, felt his mouth go dry. He was straining against the fabric of his trousers. His hand slipped under them with hardly a second thought,

You opened your eyes reluctantly and figured out what he was doing, stretching your hands out towards him. “Can I?” you asked. He crawled across the rumpled sheets to kneel in front of your face. You turned onto your side and took his cock into your hand, touch like silk, clumsy despite previous attempts. He didn’t care in the slightest, hand rubbing up and down your shoulder as you played with him, tracing the soft pad of your index finger in a circle around the head of his dick. You were being your lip in concentration, so he held his hand to your face and pulled your cheek with his thumb.

You looked up at him quizzically. “Hi,” you said.

“Hi, pretty,” he murmured, tilting your head back to dot kisses at your jawline. Your hand stuttered where it was moving from the attention. He covered it with his own and put you back on track. “That’s it, sweetheart.”

Your chest heaved. “Am I doing a good job?”

“The best job,” his breathing turned shallow, eyelids drifting shut, “just like that.”

He dragged your hand up his shaft until he was confident you wouldn’t stop and set both hands at the slope of your shoulders, rising up your neck to bury them at the base of your skull, fingers weaving through your hair. You leaned forward to plant a kiss on the side of his abdomen before dropping down to do the same to his dick. He held your hair back as you worked him, sucking the head of his cock in your mouth.

You swirled your tongue around it like he was a lollipop. He encouraged you forward, careful not to fuck into your throat. Your morning sickness was mostly gone nowadays but your general nausea was like a faulty fuse. You bobbed up and down on his cock so that the head distended the soft skin of your cheek until he was covered in your spit.

He pulled away. “Be careful.”

You didn’t even have the decorum to look scolded, instead laying flat on your back again. He held your head up to push another pillow underneath your neck.

He pulled you sideways so you were on a diagonal, pushing one of your legs up to rest on his thigh. He rubbed the head of his dick at your entrance. You visibly held your breath.

“What did I say earlier?”

“Uhmmm…”

“Tell me if it hurts. I’m not joking.”

You gifted him a soft upturn of your lips. “I will, silly.”

“I’ll show you silly,” he said under his breath.

He pushed into you steadily, his thumb on your cunt to pull at your entrance. The other hand was gripping your waist, holding you in place. He pushed inside you with his teeth grit, pleasure going straight to the pit of his stomach as he inched forward. Your leg you were using to keep yourself in place was shaking. He pulled it down flat to relieve the strain, the other pressed to his chest.

His pelvis pressed to yours. You mewled, your fingernails digging into his hand on your hip. “How’s that feel, sweetheart?” This was your second time having penetrative sex, and he wanted it to be better than the first. You were abstracted, gaze clouded up where it was on his face. He pulled out to push in again, this time smoother, quicker. “Feel okay?”

“It feels nice,” you said quietly.

“Only nice?”

“It feels good,” you whined, his thumb further antagonising your clit.

Remus thrusted into you, spreading your tight cunt open. He could hear in your moans that you liked the stretched feeling, and your wetness was further evidence. He pushed into you, over and over, increasing his speed as you relaxed. He was hesitant to use an exorbitant amount of force, pacing himself when he longed to hit your walls, reshape you around his hard cock.

You were pleading, saying something quietly, washed out by his thrusts.

“Speak up, baby,” he said, holding your leg to his chest, allowing his dick to drive even deeper in your dripping cunt.

“Please, Remus,” you said, reaching between you both, a look of ecstasy on your face.

“What, baby, what do you want?”

“Faster,” you moaned. Well, he was never one to deny you, careful not to lean his weight on your abdomen as he adjusted, fucking into you and pulling you down to meet him simultaneously. You were overcome by this, pressing the side of your face into the cushions, mouth open and panting. Remus fucked into you so quickly he was panting himself, barely stopping to grab your wandering hand.

Your weeping cunt was soiling the bed sheets, a translucent circle formed beneath you. He couldn’t believe how wet you were, and slowly found it difficult to find purchase on your clit with one finger. He pressed all of his fingers in your sensitive button instead and opted for quick, fast lines of movement whilst he plowed into you. A moan like a half-sob left you, your hips tensing up under his hand.

“Fuck,” you said, throwing your hips down into his cock, spearing yourself open, “oh my god, Remus.”

He pushed into the hilt and towered over you, pushing your upper leg back as much as he could, weary of your bump. From there he fucked you deeply, hitting your tender spot over and over. You could barely look at him, barely speak, a stream of curse words and compliments slipping from your mouth. He hooked your leg over his shoulder and kissed your knee cap lovingly.

“Gonna cum again, sweetheart? I know you can.”

You looked as though you might start crying, tears clinging to your eyelashes. “You’re so deep.”

“Uh-huh, so deep in my girl. You take me so well, you know? So well,” he said, punctuating the praise with another deep thrust. You clenched around his dick and he groaned, the drag of him pulling out like heaven, your second release written all over your face.

He pinched your clit spitefully between his index and middle finger and smirked when you came, your leg over his shoulder digging in hard, your cunt clenching around him so tightly he had to pull out. He watched your pretty wet entrance clench around nothing, slick dripping out, with a regretful grin, lips pressed together. Once you’d calmed down enough to open your eyes he pushed back in, hand still on your clit. You reached between you both to steal his hand away, too sensitive for the prolonged stimulation.

“So fucking hot,” he said, so turned on he was sure half the mess between you both is his own precum. His dick pushed into your still trembling cunt, his head aching and so sensitive he had to stop inside you and take a breather, kissing the crest of your stomach, the skin between your tits, and then finally, slovenly, your soft, perfect mouth.

You brought your hands up to his face to keep him there, even though it was a terribly tight squeeze, your stomachs pressed together. If he’d been any shorter it wouldn’t have worked.

After a moment he pulled back to lean his forehead on yours. You were looking at him with wide, wet eyes, so full of fondness and pleasure that he came in you without thinking, a series of short shallow thrusts that milked his cum out of him relentlessly. He gave it a few thrusts for good measure, the mixture of you both seeping out and covering his pelvis.

You were giggling, fuck-drunk and blissed, kissing the length of his arm. “Good thing I already have a bun in the oven.”

He laughed too, pressing a wet smacking kiss to the skin just in front of your ear that had you squealing in protest. “Good thing,” he agreed, the flat of his hand pressed to your stomach.

<3

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Please, notice me | part. one

wordcount → 3.4K

summary → It has been eight months since The Blip. It also has been months since you live with Peter’s new obsession, increased feelings for a girl who isn’t you. You believed you would finally spend time with your friends during the Europe trip, this summer. It was without counting on Peter’s Plan. You try to enjoy those last days in New-York with your best friend.

disclaimer → This mini-series takes place during the events of FFH and NWH movies. The fic will contain many of those movie scenes, including some bonus scenes. the Spider-Man divider is from @silkholland

pairing ↳ peter parker x female!bestfriend!reader

warning(s)  → angst, jealousy.

taglist: @justapurrcat  @delightfulmuffinclamauthor if you want to be added in my taglist, please let me know just here

“I have a plan” Your best friend announced, as he sat spontaneously in his chair, somewhat agitated.

He didn’t wait a second longer to state his so-called plan, as if it seemed the best idea in the world.

But Peter wasn't Peter without his hard-contained hyperactivity, which didn't stop you from smiling to yourself. All of Peter's clumsy features made him incredibly endearing.

Ned listened intently to your friend's ramblings as you absentmindedly continued your drawing in your sketchbook. In fact, Peter always had a plan. Well, he almost always had one, except in the important moments when he let his instincts or his feelings take over. But lately, your sweet best friend had a multitude of plans, all aimed at one and the same goal. And that's why, despite all the consideration you had for the boy with the curly brown hair, you didn't give importance to his new schemes.

You still caught Ned telling your best friend not to do any of this, with a lot of irony, which made you split a small chuckle. You loved your friend’s candor. Ned always had the gift to make you laugh, or just smile, even when it was serious. He tried to convince your friend with arguments about the single life, which you didn’t really pay attention to. To tell the truth, it often happened that you locked yourself in your world while your two best friends rambled about various subjects. Today was not an exception.

Ned had never understood Peter’s sudden fondness for MJ, so do you. It was like your best friend, the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man from Queens, had woken up one morning with an obsession… Some wake up from a coma by speaking a language they never spoke… Others, like Peter, discover relatively sudden feelings for people they had never considered before. He always talked about her as if she were the most impressive person on the planet, He always looked at her as if she could hang the moon and the stars, He drank her words as if she could put the universe in a bottle. And it had been going on for months, without you knowing why his feelings had grown overnight. You felt like one day he was madly in love with Liz, the next day he was fighting his father, and the next day MJ had become all of Peter’s conversation subjects. And since then, you felt like your head was going to explode.

Your fingers continued to scribble while your mind continued to wander in your own thoughts. Chance, or the irony of fate, call it what you want, wanting the next song on your playlist to reflect exactly the feelings that lay dormant in you.. You were that kind of person who created incredible scenarios in your head when you were listening to music. Thus, a cover of “Mr. Sandman” could send your mind into a torrential rain, where your body was lying in a pool of blood while your soulmate, the biggest charismatic mobster in London, begged you to stay with him.

"Y/N ?" Peter asked

You looked up, the cloud of thoughts dissipating from your eyes to meet your best friend's chocolate gaze.

There was something with his eyes, something that always attracted you. A comforting warmth, a spark of innocence, an open window to the extraordinary person that was Peter Parker. But at that moment, his expression was one of expectation and as you turned your head towards Ned, you only met the same expression. A question on hold, awaiting your response, your opinion.

“No, yeah…Peter’s right. It’s a great plan”.

Ned shook his head in resignation while your other best friend gave you that idiot puppy smile. You always followed Peter's path, the Filipino knew it. And that sometimes caused tensions in the past. It had always been Ned, you and Peter but your friend was not fooled and knew that your feelings for the one who embodied Spider-Man during his free time, would always take over your decision. It was unintentional.

Yet, You didn't want Ned to feel left out again. You were therefore in an awkward position, not knowing the details of the conversation. But admitting you weren't listening might hurt Peter.

"But Ned isn't wrong either" you added, hoping to satisfy everyone.

Peter grimaced, a look of incomprehension on his face. At that moment, you wished you had listened to Peter's plan, but your heart wasn't in it.

"Okay, sure…" Peter said "But I really like MJ, man"

You have chosen this moment to return to your notebook until Peter's restless behavior distracts you from your drawing again.

"She's coming up. Just DON'T say anything." Peter panicked a bit.

MJ stood in front of you. You politely greeted her with a smile as the two boys rambled on. Ned threw the information that Peter had a plan then tried to catch up. You raised your eyebrows at the "teaspoon collection" excuse, even more so when Peter simply blamed it on Ned. What did you do to deserve friends like that? "Oh. Okay. Well, that was a real rollercoaster." MJ said and again, you try to suppress your chuckle. The brunette girl turned to you, patiently waiting, standing a bit awkwardly as she always did and you pinched your lips and shrugged. She was waiting for your own plans for this trip.

"I guess, I’m going to keep an eye on these idiots and take a little interest in art in Venice… but above all, keep an eye on these morons." "It sounds like a great responsibility," she said in her legendary laid-back manner. "It is."

Peter and Ned gave you their offended but quite adorable looks. It would be a lie to say that you weren't the quiet strength of the group. MJ then advised you to use VPNs to protect yourself from the government and you nodded politely again, this time uninterested in why the young woman was interested in conspiracy theories. Ned merely added a remark about the fact that all this had gone well, implying that MJ had not discovered Peter’s plan, and you laughed as your friend gave the Filipino a somewhat impressed and annoyed look, stalling his tongue against his cheek to suppress a sarcastic remark of which he had the secret.

You liked that side of Peter. You found it rather amusing. That little something, those little facial expressions that hinted that Peter could be pungent. That kind of look he just gave at Ned that told you he was holding back some sarcasm…a little verbal rant that would be extremely well thought out and not necessarily harmful. A kind of "no kidding?" non-verbal. And that made Parker sexy.

Sexy wasn't the first word one would associate with Peter Parker. Some would say: loser, weird, nerd or even would ask ; "who?". Usually, You would have said cute….but at that moment, his somewhat sarcastic attitude made your stomach turn deliciously. Peter's gaze softened as it rested on you and you felt your cheeks heat up.

"So, what are you going to do on this science trip?" he asked, as if you hadn’t already answered the question a few minutes earlier, when MJ asked you to. "Anything but science. I really go there for the art. I mean Italy and France are two countries known for their talented artists, right?"

Your gaze shifted to Ned, who shrugged, unaware of your words. Ned and Peter weren't really cheerful or interested with the Renaissance paintings, they were more like: Star Wars LEGO Death Star. What you also appreciate, you would not lie, but you appreciate the poetry in old paintings and sculptures. Some would call you pathetic, others would simply call you romantic.

The bell rang and you simply put your sketchbook in your backpack. You followed Ned and Peter down the halls, this time a little more focused on the conversation. Several students rushed to clean their lockers before the end of the year, while others seemed eager to throw away their classes as if they would no longer need them. You walked through the doors to a new hallway where you saw Flash throwing food from his locker into a trash can. You could not suppress a grimace of disgust.

"So what are you going to do on your last days in New York?” Ned asked Peter while you three walked through the hall. “Ooh, I have some errands to run.” started to answer Peter

You continued on your way when you felt the projectile thrown by Flash fall on your shoulder bag. You looked at the man with an angry look, not doubting that this piece of stale pizza was undoubtedly aimed at Peter. But the widespread indifference of your best friends about it just kept you going your way, so you could focus on the conversation again.

“I have to get a mini toothpaste, pick up my passport and then take down the Manfredi crime family.” “Oh” Ned said, impressed about the last part of Peter’s to-do list. “Can I come? I need to do that too!” you quickly said, only to face two surprised looks from your friends. “ I mean, except the take down Manfredi crime family thing”

There was hope in your eyes. You wanted to spend some time with Peter because a strange feeling told you that you wouldn't during this trip to Europe. The exchange of glances between your two friends indicated a silent conversation and Peter seemed to hesitate. He looked at you with his sheepish expression, his mouth forming an O, waiting to speak his words.

"Uh yeah.. yeah, I mean, if you have to do it…you can do it with me," he said, moving his head and shoulders frantically in a mismatch between his gestures and his words. You could sense the anxiety and hesitation in his behavior. "Are you sure? I can do it alone if you don't want me…it's just…"

You didn’t want to be a burden on Peter, You initially thought his reluctance was due to his Spider-Man business. Although you’ve been his friend for as long as you can remember, you were only made aware of his dual identity after Ned. The truth is, you discovered his secret recently at the prom. As you were leaving the bathroom to join your group of friends, you had met Peter who would run quickly towards the exit, without having seen you. You saw him lifting a bunch of lockers like he was wearing a light weight. Then Ned disappeared from the evening. The next day, you confronted them and were told: Peter Parker was Spider-Man.

You then thought that his purchases were then about his plan to seduce MJ. So, if he had things he wanted to do in your absence, that was perfectly legitimate. You asked only from a practical point of view. You could see the various feelings passed through the eyes of your best friend: the misunderstanding of your withdrawal, the fear of having possibly hurt you, the panic of your weak disappointment. Peter Parker was a quick emotional kettle.

"No. No, you can come with me. Come with me, please Y/N." Peter asked more peacefully, almost begging you to come this time.

You smiled politely, mixed emotions, and then nodded your head in acquiescence. You weren’t really sure that Peter wanted you to be there. You looked at Ned who shrugged and said he had to be with his Lola for the rest of the week.

You first went to Delmar to buy the necessary supplies: mini toothpaste, and small bottles to pour hygiene products into (shower gel, shampoo, make-up remover), without forgetting about electric plug adaptors. The best grocer in Queens kept cheering you up. He always did. His eagerness and interest in the lives of his clients were always remarkable and you loved the interactions he had with you or with Peter. You were amused to see Mr Delmar’s enthusiasm for the call-up of Europe, and how Peter had destroyed all the hopes of your favorite grocer by evoking science. Once again, you could only understand his reaction, the saw was not the main reason that convinced you to make this trip.

You quietly laughed at Peter trying to ask in Spanish for a headphone double adapter, - knowing that Spain was not a stopover on your trip to Europe, and that Italian, despite what you might think, did not look like Spanish at all - . You pinched your lips so as not to laugh more when the grocer answered him nonchalantly with a simple "what" in Spanish. However, you were not able to suppress a funny smile when Peter asked for the dual headphone adapter, this time in English. Mr. Delmar corrected him with a smile, as you strolled through the nearby candy stand, cuddling Murph who was laying on a display. Peter’s interaction with the grocer made your cheeks warm. Peter had this facility to joke with such confidence, blatantly denying that his Spanish was wobbly and that his request was almost accurate in comparison to the words used by Mr Delmar.

“You finally asked Y/N’s out. You’re a great guy, Peter Parker” Mr Delmar said with a “dad proud” look on his face. “Oh, no…no Mr. Delmar it’s not what you.. ” started Peter, trying to find his words.

Peter's gaze turned to you then to the grocer, several times in a row. His mouth opened and closed to find the words. He seemed to run out of words, overwhelmed, like a stray puppy.

Why did everyone keep believing that you and him could be a thing? May, now Mister Delmar, even Karen, the AI ​​of his suit seemed to believe that Y/N was more than a friend to him.

Could you think so too? Could you think that you both could be " a thing" ? Peter’s heart went crazy, not sure to be excited about it or stressed out, or terrified. You were his friend, right? He really liked MJ, by the way. But the idea of you both dating as…lovers? It couldn't be that bad… Peter shook his head to clarify his mind, trying in vain to find an answer to the grocer.

“We…well, She’s…” the brown haired boy continued.

How could this adorable stuttering boy be the brash and brave Spider-Man? You could clearly see two aspects of his personality… The mask must have helped, you thought.

You had to save Peter from this embarrassing situation. You must have. That's what friends do, right? And to be fair, it was awkward for you too. You wished it were true. You hoped that Peter feels the same way as you do. But you clearly could see how the thought of it disturbed your adorable dork friend. It was hurting you to hear your best friend arguing with his thoughts and words about it, over and over and over…and over. You approached the counter placing three small packets of gummy bears on it.

“We aren't together, Mr. Delmar… There’s for another girl.” you say with a small shy smile, lips pressed together, your cheeks burned with embarrassment.

Peter looked at you, he gave you the same smile you gave him a few seconds ago. You could feel the look of pity the grocer was giving you. This man knew everything, he was, as you liked to call him, the soul of Queens. Nothing escaped him, not a single gossip, not a single crisp story escaped his ears. He had always listened, voluntarily or unintentionally. He was the confidant of an entire neighborhood. The best sandwiches in Queens but also the best advice. Peter’s eyebrows frowned at the sight of the gelatin gummy bears, not sure of the reason for this compulsive purchase, on his check.

“Hey, what’s that for?” He practically shouted, somewhat offended by your audacity

You shrugged nonchalantly, almost too confident, a mischievous little smile on the corner of your mouth.

“You owe me one. I bought you some churros the other day” “Fine,” Peter said, defeated.

You wrinkled your nose smiling victoriously and, in your spontaneity, you thanked him while laying a kiss on his cheek, as his became redder than your favorite candy. He might be in love with another girl but Peter Parker, remained Peter Parker. An adorable boy very clumsy with girls.

It was a bad idea. It was even a very bad idea to follow Peter everywhere he needed to go before packing his suitcase for your student trip in Europe.

You were now in a pawn shop and your best friend was trying to resell figurines to get money to offer a special jewel for MJ - unsurprisingly -. Once again, you took a step back, letting Peter do his stuff as you had nothing to sell to this guy who seemed a little unpleasant to you.

“You’re sure about this ?” the salesman asked him. “Yeah. I wanna buy a girl I like something really nice”

Jealousy, Jealousy. You felt your blood boil and turn into liquid acid, and if curses had been real - after all, you lived in a world where your seventeen-year-old best friend had fought an alien in space - your skin would’ve turned a bright shade of green. Not the elegant, poetic emerald green, no. A straight-up radioactive green one that was the perfect metaphor for how "corrosive" was the feeling who grew in your stomach.

Especially since one of these figurines were gifts that you had given to Peter. So, seeing him like that, selling his goods to impress a girl, that put you out of your mind. You were hurt. You felt your worth was less than MJ’s. It wasn’t really about the figurine, you were aware that we were all growing up at some point in our lives and that it was normal for us to separate from material goods over time. You couldn’t understand his logic. Peter was in love, certainly…. But to the point of abandoning objects related to his passions, for a girl? It was improbable. It was totally disproportionate.

‘Hm. Well, I hope she’s worth it. Is it her?’

The man pointed to you, as you walked down the aisles again in search of a trinket. There were so many things at such different prices. You were pretty sure you’d find some treasures in the stalls of that second-hand store. Peter looked at you and his ears turned red.

“Oh. No. No, she’s my best friend Y/N. She’s nice, but she’s not… That’s not her” He tried to whisper so you wouldn’t hear him…as if you possessed his super-hearing. “Whatever.” “Are you done Peter? The passport office will close soon” you asked, a bit anxious to be late at the passport office.

Peter quickly looked at you, his chocolate surprised doe eyes. He blinked, tightened his grip on the strap of his backpack, eager to sell his figurines while hoping not to be scammed by the seller.

“Yeah…yeah” “So, all of them, buddy?” “Actually, can I keep the Lobot” Peter asked, like a sad child, moving almost unbalanced from foot to foot, hesitant.

He reached out to his figurine and the seller gave it back. Peter’s eyes landed directly on the little plastic toy, as if relieved to have picked up the Lobot, an adorable smile on his face.

“Thanks. Yeah, I'll keep that one.”

You rolled your eyes again, but this time, you were softened by the attitude of your best friend. Even though he was love-struck - and it always hurt you to realize that it wasn’t for you - there was still the Peter Parker you had always known. Same old nerd Peter Parker : nerd but cute.

Finally, you both went to the passport office. The line up was long and you felt Peter become increasingly stressed during the day. As your best friend seemed impatient, you looked up at him and saw him tapping on his phone. You dropped a little surprise cry when a little animal spider came out of her backpack.

"It’s all right, miss," the man in front of you asked you, looking worried. "Yes, yes… I… thought I saw a bee flying near me. It was a simple fly" you covered up your discomfort by coughing.

The stranger frowned and you felt the judgment, you offered him a tight smile before the man turned to focus on the waiting wire. A second later, the metal railing flew to a sold-out window and the red light vigil pointing to the closed station now indicated that it was open. You pinched the fun lips while watching Peter try to be discreet, turning on himself to reach the counter to ask for his passport. You followed it to take advantage of it as well. The trip to Europe could finally begin.

---

What’s Mine — Remus Lupin. Pt 6.

Pairing: Remus X fem!Reader.

Summary: you keep stealing Remus’s things until one day he snaps. (Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5)

Word count: 1.3k

Warnings: bad physical health, kissing, sexual tension, Remus being his assholeish self, mentions of his lycanthropy.

Note: sorry for the late ish update, I had no ideas how to continue it but… there we go

Remus spent days thinking of what Sirius told him, how to apologise to you, how to make things write.

He tried to do it many times but he backed out at the last minute.

He just needed to show you how much he cared for you, missed you.

He dangled his sore legs down his bed as he took a sharp breath, dealing with his health on top of all of this wasn’t exactly helping him apologise to you any sooner.

“You okay there bud?” James asked. “Yeah, yeah I’m good.” Remus responded as he finally stood up.

“Why don’t you take a break today?” James continued as Remus shrugged, not seeing the reason, his legs were always somewhat in pain, but he didn’t feel like using his crutches.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re limping.”

“Don’t worry about me James, I’ll be fine.” Remus gave his concerned friend a smile, taking a book and heading outside.

All he could think of is what he would say to you, his hand on his knee as he massaged it lightly, rolling his head back against the couch as he couldn’t take this pain any longer.

He heard the frame open, then shut.

His eyes went to the person who did it, your eyes locking together, then they went to his hand on his knee, frowning in concern as you stepped to walk away.

He didn’t expect you to care, and you shouldn’t.

Remus sat up, rubbing his tired eyes as he flipped through his book.

You wanted to talk to him, ask how he’s doing, but you figured Remus doesn’t want anything to do with you and it was such a hard pill to swallow.

You sat on your bed, thinking of what he said to you.

Is this all to push you away? Why would he?

You and Remus’s friendship wasn’t mutual at some times, you were close up until the third year, you felt him distancing himself then he tolerated you at best.

Not even sure tolerate is the right word to use.

You just wanted your best friend back.

It wasn’t long before you heard a knock at the door, sitting up and shouting for them to get in.

Remus’s sandy brown hair came in view as he walked in. “Can we talk?” He mumbled, you narrowed your eyes in confusion as he walked in and closed the door behind him.

He looked incredibly handsome, wearing one of the sweaters you used to steal from him, which you regretted because it’s the reason you both don’t talk anymore.

“What is it?” You sat on the edge of your bed, hoping he wouldn’t tell you anything that would ruin your mood for the next week to come.

As Remus walked inside your dorm, looked at your room and at you, sitting on your bed, waiting for him to talk.

He felt so tongue tied, what does he need to say?

He glanced at your lips, your hands, your eyes, your hair.

What is he doing here?

“Remus?” You’d asked as he was taken out of his trance for a moment. “What did you want to talk about?”

Then he recalled Sirius’s advice, apologise, hold your hand, apologise, hold your hand—

“I dreamt that I kissed you last night—“ Remus blurted, no no no, he blinked at the realisation of what he just uttered, fear crippling inside of his chest as he looked at how your face dropped to a thousand different colours.

He was supposed to apologise and hold your hand!

“Remus— what?” You chuckled awkwardly, feeling red in the face, and Remus saw it.

He blinked, taking a shaky breath that was a little louder than anticipated.

He stared at you as you were waiting for a response, he couldn’t take it.

He felt a rise of anxiety coursing through him as he turned to leave, but you wouldn’t have it, you stopped him.

You called after him, turning him around, his tall figure towering over you. “Why are you doing this to me?” You finally asked, your voice hoarse, nervously staring up into his eyes, fighting the urge not to cry once again.

“You changed so much, Remus… why?” You asked, your bottom lip trembling. “Why’d you come here? Telling me you kissed me in your dreams but then in reality you ignore me and you hate me and— what did I do?” You asked, taking a hold of his arms, desperate for answers.

Remus couldn’t believe he’d made you cry again.

“You made me fall for you, you— I wasn’t supposed to, I didn’t want to.” Remus finally confessed, his voice shaky, your hold on his arms loosening.

The look of hurt that flashed through your eyes made his chest ache.

“Why, am I so terrible to love?” You asked, your voice cracking as a tear fell down your face and he finally reached to wipe it, but you stepped away from him, still staring up at his eyes, Remus felt frozen.

What could he do? Could he do anything?

“I just didn’t want to, I couldn’t help it.” He finally answered as you tilted your head slightly at him, your eyes still glistening with tears. “Why are you punishing me for it?”

Then he thought of it, was that what he was doing? Was he blaming you for his own feelings?

Remus bit down his bottom, thinking.

“Is that it? Are you trying to get back at me because you fell for me?” Your voice trembled as he sighed, nodding.

“That could have been it, I don’t know.” Remus shrugged before you turned around, running your hand through your hair. “you’re mad at me and you want to get back at me for feelings I’m not responsible for, how’s that fair? How’s that love?” You questioned, turning around to face him.

“I love you, and it’s all I think about… think what you want but I’m so goddamn in love with you.” Remus blurted which made you speechless, couldn’t believe what you’re hearing.

“And you hate it, what do you want from me Remus? Shout at me? Hit me because you’re in love with me and you hate it? Go ahead.” You walked closer to him but he couldn’t think straight as he kissed you right there.

He did it, he held your waist in his hands, as they tugged at your body pulling you into him, his lips taking yours in a passionate, long awaited kiss, his tongue slid across your bottom lip as he felt his heart race.

You were a little stiff at first before you gave in, then you thought of how crazy this is as you pushed him away, gasping for air, looking at him in shock, his lips red from your own lipstick smeared on top of them.

“Stop, no..” you covered your face. “You still haven’t said you’re sorry, for everything you put me through.” You said as Remus was silent, he didn’t want to be sorry now, not when all he could think of is your stupid strawberry chapstick.

He longed to kiss you again, taste you again, he felt so ridiculous, he was ridiculous as he found himself leaning in for more.

“Get out.” You ordered at the lack of response finding it hard to look at him any longer, your lips still lingering with the feeling of his on your own, still feeling his tongue grazing your bottom lip, making you shiver and goosebumps rise on your skin.

And he listened, he left, knowing he screwed up once more, but oh how he couldn’t get the tension out of his head.

He knows you felt the same, and he’s going to get to kiss you again, maybe do even more than kiss you, and you’re going to let him, and you’re going to like every second of it.

Taglist: @wzrd-wheezes @jamespottersdaisy @myheartonthemove @ilovered7 @pureblood-nerd @peace-and-grunge @lilmaymayy @ur-pubic-hair @moonyunebi @turvi @helloitsmeeeeeee @wxIfztar @joeytribbiani18 @morganalatina21 @emma-cantmakeuphermind @cOnsc10usworld @bookish-dream @deathisthenextadventure @sevirius @cursedandromedablack @kers+666 @hobovsslut2707 @samberriejams @cancelledkaley @madison-rebel @alilium @avee09 @lizzieolseniskinda @no-soy-fer @mrsmaybank13 @fruityfrog505 @soulhasshattered @aphrcdites @rssami @littleshadow17 @limeren @silver-skelet0n @djlance-rock @rckstrbee @takem3tothelakes @my-beloved-fandoms

Infrunami

summary — peter’s memory is really good (no it’s not)

pairing — tasm!frat!peter parker x fem!reader

disclaimer — i don’t own tasm or peter. i’ve also been listening to infrunami on repeat for 4 days and had to do something about it.

warnings — mentions of drinking/alcohol, possible ooc, and this is (let’s all say it!) unedited

The frat house was just about as clean as it could be. It was rare for a house full of boys to be spotless, especially with weekly parties like the one going on right now. Surprisingly enough, this particular party had been relatively chill--no broken glass, no body shots. Maybe it was the pungent haze of weed in the air that floated from the mouths of those with sloppily rolled blunts and dying pens. Instead of a blunt, Peter's fingers were wrapped around a red solo cup.

"...and honestly, it's sort of weird because, y'know..."

There was a girl attached to his arm. He wasn't drunk enough to forget her name—well, he wouldn't have forgotten it if he even knew it in the first place. She seemed nice enough: a giggly blonde majoring in poli-sci...or was is psych? Honestly, her introduction was all sort of fuzzy. One minute, he was alone, the next, he was hearing about a research project that was 'sort of weird.'

"Hey, you mind if I go grab another drink?" Peter interrupted her rant, his voice low.

"Oh, yeah, sure," she nods in response, glossy lips stretched into a smile.

He gives her a closed-lipped grin of his own before picking himself off the wall and heading to the kitchen. He weaves his way through the house in an eerily graceful fashion. Upon reaching the kitchen, he looks down at his full cup.

Peter wasn't a dick. At least, he liked to think he wasn't a dick. He wouldn't just tell a girl to piss off if he wasn't interested; he'd make excuses and slip out as fast as possible. Maybe in the long run it was sort of a dick move, but he rarely ever saw those girls again (and if he did, he'd look the other way). There was the fact that he was bound to forget a few faces as well.

“No lady-friend tonight, Parker?” Zack—one of his frat brothers—chimed in his ear. He slipped past Peter and to the keg they’d set on ice in a plastic kiddie pool. Never once did he think he’d see a Sonic the Hedgehog themed kiddie pool next to the oven.

“It’s like, ten, give it a rest,” Peter shot back, sipping at his beer.

“I saw you talking to that blonde.” Zack smiled and made a gesture of approval as he filled his cup.

“Eh,” Peter shrugged.

“‘Eh?’” Zack’s eyes widened, “I’d say she’s at least three tiers up from ‘eh’ category.”

"Eh," Peter repeats, leaning his head back. It wasn't as if he had a girl wrapped around his arm at every party, but it also wouldn't be surprising to see it. Between his freshman and junior year of college, his body count had increased significantly. He had regular hookups—at least one every week and rarely ever with the same person more than once or twice. It was easier to just love 'em and leave 'em. At least, that's what he told himself every time he was ordering an Uber for the girl in his bed.

"Well, if you're gonna 'eh' her, mind if I give it a try?" Zack asked, taking a gulp of the beer, swiping the foam off his lip with his thumb.

"Be my guest," Peter waved him off casually.

"I'm gonna go full Zack-Attack," he grinned widely, shooting Peter a thumbs up.

"Never say that again," Peter called out, though, Zack had already turned his back to approach the blonde. And so it was just him and his beer. His beer and him. A cup and a hand, a drink and a tongue, a—damn, he was bored. Normally, he really liked these parties. He could get a decent buzz or high and usually end the night with someone going down on him. Tonight, though, was so dull. He felt (ironically) like a fly on the wall, watching the world around him through a vignette filter. The boredom was almost comforting. Nothing was happening, but then again, nothing was happening. He could bask in the fact that he had nothing and no one to do—

Thump.

Karma was real, and it was a total bitch. Right when Peter had decided that his night was going to be one of peaceful indifference, he watched an obviously inebriated boy stumble past him. He saw it all happen in slow motion: the way the his feet dragged into one another, one shoe catching the lace of the other. Before the realization that he was falling could hit, Peter grabbed the boy's shoulder and righted him. Unfortunately, the drink in the boy's hand hadn't been so lucky. It slipped from his hands and splashed out beyond him like amber rainfall. If Peter hadn't had much to drink, he probably could've caught it. But his senses were somewhat dulled, and the liquid was already pouring from the lip of the cup.

"Oh, shit."

Karma actually wasn't that bad, Peter thought, as his eyes flashed ahead of him. Instead of splashing onto the floor, the beer had landed on an innocent bystander. An extremely attractive innocent bystander.

Her face was crinkled up like a disappointed mother who just came home to see her kid shoving stuffed animals down the toilet. Though her jeans were nearly beer-free, her shirt was entirely soaked, Splash Mountain soaked. Her gaze first landed on the boy, then on Peter. Okay, so karma was actually really cool.

"I am so sorry!" The boy slurred, his eyes drawn open in horror.

"Yeah, I figured," she sighed. She didn't sound condescending—she just sounded like she was already over it. The ends of Peter's lips twitched, but he suppressed the smirk.

"I can't believe I spilled my drink on you!" The boy was much less over it than she was, "I'm so sorry! I—oh, man—"

"Hey, bud, I heard they're doing Jägerbombs out on the porch," Peter whispered to the boy. The guilt was gone from his face almost instantaneously, replaced with an almost childlike sense of wonder.

"I fucking love Jägerbombs!" He exclaimed, his empty solo cup forgotten as stumbled off and out of the kitchen.

"I've never seen someone move on so fast," Wet Shirt Girl spoke up, watching the boy nearly fall again.

"The power of Jägerbombs," Peter suggested. He slipped his windbreaker from his arms and held it out to her, offering a smile along with it.

"Here," he said, "It doesn't exactly fix the wet shirt, but it works for now."

"Thanks," she nodded, grabbing the jacket. She slid it on with an almost exhausted sigh before speaking again: "I’ll only smell horrible now."

Peter laughed at that. He watched her zip it up, he watched the way it strained against—

"I'm Peter." His eyes connected with hers again. A brief look of shock took over her face before it melted back into the same neutral expression she held before. He almost wondered if it was a brief stroke of imagination that made him see her widened eyes.

"I bet you are." Was her reply. Oh?

"That's usually the cue to introduce yourself," he said, a hint of a smile still on his lips.

"Usually is," she nodded. There was a brief moment of silence, an awkward pause at which they stood at a stalemate. Peter took her in again. She was cute. Really cute. Even if she had been weird about introductions, he couldn't help but admire her. So, he spoke up, his voice splitting through the silence but not the tension.

"Do you want to borrow a shirt?" He asked, "My room's right upstairs." When she didn't immediately reply, he quickly added: "I swear I'm not trying to pull anything, I just figured it would probably be pretty uncomfortable wearing a beer shirt."

She watched him for a moment, her eyebrows crinkling in a way that made Peter fight off another smile. He knew he'd won when she let out another sigh, the tired, over-it kind that he was already becoming familiar with it.

"Alright," she nodded. Peter chose not to hide his grin as he mimicked her nod. He led her away from the kitchen and towards the staircase, peering over his shoulder every once in a while to make sure she was still in his tow. Sure enough, every time he looked, she would be there, pulling the windbreaker—his windbreaker—around her.

His room wasn't messy, exactly. There were scattered papers and rogue socks, and of course his flannel sheets were crinkled at the foot of his bed, but it wasn't disgusting. Their entrance was nothing less than unceremonious.

"This is my room," he stated the obvious, gesturing around.

"I would've never guessed." She shook her head. He gave her another small smile before he crossed the room to his dresser. He searched his drawers for something baggy and stupid, something he wouldn't miss. After a few seconds, he landed on a gray shirt with a smiling pterodactyl on the front. Faded words words under the creature read 'You're Dino-Soaring!' Good enough.

“Hopefully this shirt isn’t too provocative,” he grinned as he handed it over.

“Hm, I’ll have to make it work,” she said, inspecting the shirt in an overdramatized sort of way. While she looked at the shirt, Peter went right back to looking at her. She’d be a welcoming sight to wake up to next morning. He wouldn’t even mind paying for her Uber—hell, he might even walk her out of the house, make sure she gets in—

“You got a bathroom I can use? To change?” Her voice interrupts his thoughts, and he shakes the clouds from his eyes.

“Yeah, of course,” he nodded. A few doors down and they make it to the bathroom. Peter goes first, checking for drunk bathtub dwellers, before slapping the doorframe.

“All yours,” he announced, leaning against the wall next to the door. She gives him a salute before entering and closing the door behind her. It only takes a minute or two before she’s emerging again, extending the discarded windbreaker to him.

“It’s a little sticky,” she warns as she hands the jacket back to him. Peter’s eyes wandered down to her shirt.

“Oh, look, you’re ‘Dino-Soaring!’” He chuckled, the low, throaty kind that says he’s holding back an actual laugh.

“I’m always Dino-Soaring.” Her laugh accompanies his. His lips curl up in another smile.

“Do you wanna get something to drink? I can promise this one won’t end up on you,” he suggested, holding that same grin.

“Alright.” Her nod makes his lips quirk up higher. In a reverse of moments prior, he leads her down the stairs and to the kitchen when the sticky remnants of the spill have dried to the floor.

“What’s your poison?” He asked as he tucked the windbreaker under his arm.

“Just Coke—I think I’m gonna tap out for tonight.” Her eyes travel over the sticky floor and the stained shirt in her hands.

“Two Cokes, coming up,” Peter nodded. Two red cans are procured from the fridge in an instant.

“Thanks,” she hummed as she took the drink from his hands, “And thanks for the shirt, too. It really would’ve sucked to have to wait until I’m home to change.”

“Don’t mention it.” He waved her off, cracking open the tab of the Coke.

“Living in a frat must be…sticky.” She can’t seem to peel her eyes off the spilled patch of beer.

“Sometimes,” Peter chuckled, “But it’s not all bad. I get to give out dinosaur shirts.”

“Oh, don’t tell me that I’m not the first girl to ever Dino-Soar around these parts,” she gasped in mock surprise.

“No, no, trust me, I’ve never seen someone Dino-Soar quite like you,” he grinned in reply. He liked her. She was a little awkward, but so was he. He liked her smile, her laugh. He’d probably like her name, too, if she would ever give it to him.

“You never told me what your name is.” His head cocked to the side in a questioning manner. Her expression twisted in a way that told him she knew that was coming.

“That’s right,” she hummed, “Never told you it. Before I do, can I ask you something?”

“Shoot,” he nodded approvingly.

“Do you not recognize me?” Her lips curled in a small smile, “Peter, we’ve had classes together since freshman year—and not just the lecture hall ones, like, the ones where there’s only twelve people in the room. It’s sort of a statistical marvel. I’m honestly less offended and way more impressed that you don’t know me.”

The words hit him like a semi-truck. Really? She’d been in his classes? She had to be joking—no, she wasn’t joking, the look on her face told him that much. He immediately searched through his memory for her face, combing through classes. Peter never took himself as someone with a bad memory, but he was starting to change his mind. She had to be lying—she wasn’t lying.

“You’re—”

“Where have you been? What the hell are you wearing?” He’s interrupted by another voice. Sliding onto the scene (and effectively ruining Peter’s chances of salvaging the situation into a hookup) is a girl with puffy red hair. Freckles dot her olive skin and scrunch with her as she brings her nose up.

“Long story,” Dino-Soaring Girl responds with a smile, the one she’d been giving to Peter only a moment ago.

“Okay, okay, we’ll come on,” the redhead grasped her arm gently, “I’ve been looking everywhere for you. Liv threw up after doing a Jägerbomb and we’re gonna head out. I don’t wanna leave without you.”

“The power of Jägerbombs,” Dino-Soaring Girl shook her head. Before she was dragged off, she turned to Peter for one last look.

“See you in class?” She suggested with a smile. He didn’t get to respond before she was gone, the redhead threading through the masses of people. Peter watched her go, unsure whether he should be confused or smiling. He chose the latter.

Peter Parker wasn’t dumb, but he was stupid. And, he was out of a dinosaur t-shirt.