#the thing is that my thing with gnomes is not about garden gnomes at all but they do also coincidentally have Me Vibes | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

rollingsins · 9 months

Text

all hers, epilogue

summary: Tara and YN try their hand at some healthier habits.

warnings: (+18), Tara is Ghostface, mention of violence. Smut.

word count: 5.3k

a/n: it's been a wild ride. thanks for all who have come along. all hers is over, but I will still be writing gf!tara drabbles in the same universe - maybe some college oneshots in the drabble files. Until then: enjoy the final chapter! :))

As the days turn into weeks and the weeks turn into months, slowly, the pain subsides.

Your normal? It’s potentially forever gone. It shouldn’t be a surprise, at this point.

Once you’d just been a teenage girl, crazily in love with another girl.

Who turned out to be a serial killer. Who’d somehow turned you into a killer.

Who’d made you cry, and laugh and love harder than you’d ever loved in your entire life.

In the grand scheme of things - the scar on your belly is probably the least of your worries.

But that doesn’t stop you toiling on it.

It always seems to be the way, doesn’t it? Worrying about the things that don’t really matter.

You worry nonetheless.

“It’s pretty,” Tara murmurs in comfort when you’re staring at yourself in the bathroom mirror, shirt lifted slightly, eyebrows pinched in dismay.

It’s not pretty.

It’s wiry and long and stems from the tip of your bellybutton down to your navel.

“It’s hideous.” You say, voice a little fraught.

It’s hideous and permanent.

You’ll never be able to wear a bikini again. You’ll never be able to take your shirt off again without being reminded of it.

Of her.

The woman who had tormented you for weeks.

The woman who you’d tormented for weeks. The woman whose son you’d taken from her. The woman who’d repaid you in mental scars to last a lifetime.

A belly scar to last a lifetime.

“It’s beautiful,” Tara says, pressing her lips to your shoulder, “It means you’re alive.”

She squeezes your hips, then lifts her own shirt.

“And it matches mine,” She says, eyes shimmering, “Matching knife wounds. Like soulmates.”

You snort.

Because of course Tara tries to make stab wounds romantic.

But to her credit - it works.

Your heart sings.

Soulmates.

Because that’s what you are.

“Who needs a wedding ring, right?” You say, biting your lip, insecurities suddenly fading.

Tara entwines your hands, lifts the back of your hand to her lips.

“You do,” Tara says, “And you’ll have one. Soon. I promise.”

You pull back.

“Not before-“

“College,” Tara says, rolling her eyes, “I know, babe.”

You press a lingering kiss to her cheek.

“I just don’t want to be one of those couples who rush into marriage and fall apart the moment they turn twenty-one.”

“That won’t be us,” Tara whines, and then she pouts, “Plenty of high school sweethearts get married right after high school.”

You groan.

“Tara, we talked about this already-“

“I know,” Tara says, voice hasty, “I’m just excited. I want you to be Mrs. Carpenter already.”

“Mrs Carpenter, huh?” You say, ignoring the fluttery rush that blooms through you at the thought, “And what if I want you to take my name?”

Tara cocks a brow and considers this.

“I don’t care, babe, I’ll change my name to garden gnome if you want, as long as I get to be your wife.” She says after a moment.

You smile. Squeeze her hand.

“You’d suit it,” You tease, “But Mrs and Mrs Carpenter has a nice ring to it.”

Tara tilts her head hopefully.

“So, maybe a high school wedding?” She asks, voice sly, “Mrs Carpenter would look good on your college application forms.”

You press a warm kiss to her lips.

“There’s no rush, babe,” You tell her, “And I need to save up. Get you a pretty ring.”

Tara squints.

“I’m proposing first,” She says immediately, “You promised, babe.”

You roll your eyes.

“Yes, you baby, I know.”

Tara tilts her head, seemingly satisfied.

You press a kiss to her lips. She��s cured your insecurity, for now.

But a new feeling gnaws at the bottom of your stomach.

Dread.

As you realize what comes next. You try to keep your voice light. Lighter than the heavy pit at the bottom of your stomach.

“Come on,” You say, trying and failing not to sound anxious, “It’s time for therapy.”

Dr Colmann is a five foot woman with long, flowing blonde hair and piercing blue eyes.

Her office is bland. Gray walls. Little decoration.

Like she wants your attention on her.

You’d met her first, a few weeks ago. Like a pterodactyl scouting out a potential nest for her baby.

Your situation is tricky - there’s only so much you can tell her.

And you’re no doctor - but even you know surely it’s impossible to diagnose an illness without knowing all the symptoms.

“I want to get something out of the way,” You’d said after a long moment, clearing your throat.

Dr Colmann had looked over at you, pen tilted and ready to write. With all the intimidation of a woman who was about to change your life.

“I’m aware my girlfriend is…” You had paused, trying to think of the right word, “A little… possessive.”

Dr Colmann said nothing.

“I know that, and that’s why we’re looking for help.” You’d bitten your lip, nervous, “And I’m also sure the first thing you’re going to tell me is to leave her. But that isn’t going to happen. I love her. And she loves me. We’re looking for coping methods. I want to help her feel secure. But I will not break up with her.”

Dr Colmann had just listened.

Her silence, if possible, made you all the more nervous.

“She’s not abusive or anything,” You’d clarified, hastily, “She doesn’t hurt me. She just gets… jealous.”

“And what does she do when she gets jealous?” She’d asked, finally breaking her silence.

“Um-“ You’d said, voice a little high. Memories flashed before you like nightmares and you’d been entirely grateful your thoughts couldn’t be seen.

“She lashes out. Not at me. At other people.”

Dr Colmann scribbled something in her notepad. Long, wiry, black inky marks.

You’d squinted, trying to make up the words, but she’d looked back at you before you’d had the chance.

“Do you have any examples?” Dr Colmann prompted.

You paused.

You had a fair few of those.

None of which you could disclose.

“Little things,” You said, “I used to play soccer. But I had to quit because Tara thought some of the girls might become interested in me.”

You chew your lip.

“And… I was just in the hospital. She got jealous of the nurse.”

“The nurse?”

“She tried to… give me a sponge bath and Tara freaked out.”

Dr Colman stared.

You swallowed. The words out loud somehow seemed even more ridiculous than they are.

“How did she freak out?” Dr Colmann asked.

“She tried to…” You swallowed again, “She didn’t want the nurse to touch me again. Not even to change my bandages.”

Dr Colmann pursed her lips.

“I told her that was stupid,” You’d said, hurriedly, “But when she gets like that, nothing can stop her. She calls it The Rage.”

Dr Colmann tilted her head.

“The Rage?”

You’d nodded.

“Yeah. It’s like… it’s like something takes over her. Like a demon or something. Something she can’t control.”

Dr Colmann had closed her notebook. She’d looked over at you, surveying. You’d blinked back, eyes wide, surely screaming help me, or something to that effect.

Then, she smiled.

“When can I meet her?”

You’re no less nervous the second time.

You greet Dr Colmann with a tight smile, draw Tara down into the seat next to you. Your knee bobs up and down, unable to quell the tide of anxiety rising deep within you.

Please, you think, a little desperate, please help her.

As Tara and Dr Colmann exchange pleasantries, you blink. Too many times.

Like you don’t know how this is going to go. The worst case scenario flashes before you: Dr Colmann in a body bag.

Tara in a jail cell.

You in a jail cell.

Never able to touch her, or hold her, or kiss her ever again.

You need therapy, the little voice in your head leers, judgmental, not being with Tara is worse than a woman dying?

“So, Tara,” Dr Colmann says, when you’re all seated. With all the cheeriness of someone who isn’t aware you’re imagining her as a corpse.

“Tell me about The Rage.”

An awkward silence settles over the three of you.

Tara shoots a hesitant look towards you.

You squeeze her hand and nod.

Then, she looks over to Dr Colmann.

“It’s an anger thing,” Tara mumbles, not looking her in the eye, “I’ve seen shrinks before, none of them can fix it.”

Dr Colmann tilts her head.

“And what did these other doctors do?” She asks, “Anger management classes? Medication?”

“Both,” Tara says, “Nothing ever worked.”

Dr Colmann hums.

“I’ve read through your file, Tara,” She says gently, “Fourteen different therapists across the state. That’s a lot of doctors. Especially for such a young girl.”

Tara assesses her. Her face is tight, guarded. Like she’s not sure if she can quite trust her.

Dr Colmann scribbles something in her notepad.

“Lots of kids have problems with anger,” Says Dr Colmann, “But anger is just a symptom, like any other emotion. From what YN has told me, anger isn’t the problem. Sharing is the problem.”

Tara frowns.

“Plenty of children have issues with sharing,” Dr Colmann continues, “Usually, it’s the parents who stamp it out. But not always. I see in your file your sister used to bear the brunt of most of these anger issues.”

Tara folds her arms.

“Not always,” She says.

“But most of the time,” Says Dr Colmann, pointedly. She squints, reading through her notes, “It says here you attacked your sister when you were four years old because she tried to play with one of your Barbie dolls. Then again, later that week for taking a bigger slice of pie.”

“Four year olds are allowed to have boundaries, aren’t they?” Says Tara, defensively, “That Barbie was mine.”

“And YN? She’s yours too?” Asks Dr Colmann, evenly.

Tara blinks.

“She’s my girlfriend.” Tara says, diplomatically. The question is a trap, one she’s determined to avoid.

Dr Colmann tilts her head.

“And you don’t like when other people play with her? Is that right?”

Anger flickers through Tara’s features. You bite your lip, and squeeze her hand. Try to keep her grounded.

“I suppose not.” Says Tara, voice tight.

“YN told me about the nurse,” Dr Colmann says, “And the soccer team. You made her quit? Why?”

Tara looks over to you, a little helpless.

“I didn’t make her quit,” She says, slowly, like she’s being very careful with her words, “I just… suggested it. Strongly.”

Dr Colmann makes a noise of dissatisfaction.

Then returns to madly scribbling on her notepad.

Tara frowns again, looking self-conscious.

Dr Colmann looks up.

“And what if someone on the soccer team had been interested?” Dr Colmann asks, “What would you have done?”

You avert your gaze.

Kill them, is the answer.

It’s already happened.

More than once.

Tara shifts.

“I wouldn’t like it.” Tara says.

“No reasonable person would like that, Tara,” Dr Colmann prods, gently, “But what would you do?”

“I don’t know,” Says Tara, sounding aggravated, “Not let her see them anymore.”

“And do you think that’s an appropriate request?” Dr Colmann asks, “Do you really think you should have control over who your girlfriend associates with?”

Tara narrows her eyes.

“YN would do it for me,” She says, “We’re in a relationship. Relationships are about compromise.”

“That isn’t compromise, Tara,” Dr Colmann says, gently, “That’s you demanding she do something and her complying. Do you not trust her?”

Tara blinks.

She looks over to you, then back to Dr Colmann.

“Of course I do,” She says, voice soft, “It’s other people I don’t trust.”

“And what do you think these other people are going to do?” Dr Colmann asks.

“I don’t know.” Tara says, voice small, as if she’s never really thought that far ahead.

She looks like a little lost puppy. You want to wrap her in your arms and tell her you’ll never talk to anybody else again if that’s what she wants.

You resist.

Healthy wife, happy life, is what you tell yourself instead.

Dr Colmann’s face washes with sympathy.

“Jealousy is pointless, Tara,” Dr Colmann says, voice gentle, “Worrying is pointless. If YN is going to cheat on you, she’ll cheat on you. If she’s going to leave you, she’ll leave you. There’s nothing you - or The Rage can do about it.”

Tara blinks.

“I-“ She says, as if Dr Colmann has just spit in her face “What?”

Dr Colmann sits forward in her seat. Her notebook discarded.

“What you need to do - is trust. Your girlfriend loves you. Clearly. She wouldn’t be here with you if she didn’t.”

Tara frowns.

“You’re afraid of losing her,” Dr Colman says, eyebrows knit, as if Tara is a particularly difficult puzzle she can’t quite get her head around, “But why? We’ve already established she loves you. She wouldn’t be here with you if she didn’t.”

Tara blinks. You soothe a finger across the back of her hand. Resist the urge to press a kiss to her pretty forehead.

You let the doctor do the work.

“Have other people you loved left you, Tara?” Dr Colmann prods, gently.

Tara’s shoulders tense.

Dr Colmann waits a moment.

“Who?” She asks, "Your Mom? Your Dad?”

“Both.” Tara says, voice small, “They both left me.”

Your heart aches.

If you could - you’d sucker punch the two of them right now.

It isn’t an option. Instead - you grip her hand tight, offer her a small smile of encouragement as she speaks.

Tara swallows.

“My Dad tried to fix me,” Tara says, “For years. I was an angry kid. They could never figure out what was wrong with me. Eventually he just… gave up. He walked out on me and My Mom and my sister. Left us, just like that.”

“That must have been very traumatic,” Says Dr Colmann, “How old were you?”

“Thirteen.” Says Tara, “My Mom never left. I mean, she did. She threw herself into work to cope with my Dad leaving. She started going on these long business trips. But she never officially left.”

Dr Colmann offers her a small smile, “And that’s why you get so jealous, is it Tara? You’re afraid YN will leave you? Like your Mom? Like your Dad?”

Tara hesitates.

She looks down at her hands.

“Yes.” She says, after a long moment.

“Baby,” You say, voice hushed. Tara squeezes your fingers.

Dr Colmann hums.

“That makes a lot of sense, Tara,” She says, her voice kind, “That gives us something to work with.”

She closes her notepad, offers the two of you a reassuring smile.

“Your anger - we can work through that. We can figure out some coping methods. But the main problem here isn’t anger, Tara. It’s trust. I know you said you trust YN but you’re still scared. Deep down you’re scared she’ll abandon you, just like your parents did. We need to work through that.”

“Is it something we can fix?” You ask, a tad desperate.

You’d lost count of the amount of times you’d promised Tara you’d never leave her.

And each time it seemed to fall on deaf ears the moment The Rage was invoked.

“We can try,” Dr Colmann says, “I can try. And it’ll take some hard work. But Tara, it’ll only work if you’re open to it. If you’re open to changing. Is that something you can do?”

Tara thinks for a moment.

And then she nods.

“Yeah,” She says, “I want to do it. I want to be different. For you, babe,”

She squeezes your hand. Thinks hard.

“And for me too."

You’re silent the entire way home.

Tara too.

She grips your hand so hard you think it might fall off at one point. It’s only when she pulls into the driveway, she speaks.

“I didn’t scare you off, did I?” She asks, chewing her lip as she looks over at you, “With all my… problems.”

“Never, baby,” You say immediately.

You lean over to kiss her cheek. She relaxes.

“I’m going to need a lot of therapy, aren’t I?” She says, sounding worried.

You press another warm kiss to her cheek.

“I’ll be with you the whole way,” You assure, “I'm not going anywhere, Tara.”

You hesitate.

“You know I’m not like your Dad, right?” You say, “Or your Mom. I’m not going to leave you.”

Tara offers you a small smile.

“I know, babe,” She says, “At least in theory, I know.”

You press a kiss to her lips.

“I guess I’ll just have to remind you then,” you say, “Everyday. I love you. You’re stuck with me. I’ll say it until you believe me in theory and in practice.”

Tara rests her forehead against yours.

“Okay,” She says, “And keep saying it after that, okay babe?”

You kiss her.

“Deal.”

Your Mom’s still in the hospital.

Her leg had been amputated after the attack, and the procedure hadn’t been easy on her or your Dad. She’d come home after two weeks and then been admitted once more when the wound became infected.

“Are you feeling okay?” You ask her now, chewing your lip, phone pressed to your ear.

Tara finishes up the dishes, setting down the washcloth to nestle in beside you, squeezing your hip comfortingly.

“I’m okay, sweetheart,” She says, “Will you come and visit tomorrow?”

“I’ll be there,” You promise, “Sam is going to pick us up after school.”

“And everything’s alright at the house?” Enquires your Mom.

You were staying at Tara’s place until your parents came back home, a decision that was quickly agreed on, for once.

“Everything’s fine, Mom,” You assure, “Sam’s working now, but she’ll be home in a couple of hours.”

Your Mom hums.

“And Tara’s there with you, isn’t she?” She asks, sounding a little worried, “You’re not alone?”

“Tara’s here,” You say and Tara kisses the back of your neck, “You don’t have to worry, Mom.”

“Is that Tara?” Asks your Dad through the phone, a little gruff, “Can I speak with her?’

“Dad wants to speak to Tara, YN, bye for now,” Says your Mom, “See you tomorrow.”

You barely get out the goodbye before you hear your Dad’s voice once more.

“Tara?” He asks.

“It’s me Dad,” You say, and he makes a noise of vague disappointment.

You roll your eyes.

“We’re fine, thanks for asking.” You say.

“Yes, yes, I heard you speak with Mom,” He assures, “Put Tara on the phone.”

You hand off the phone to your girlfriend and pry yourself out of her grip, busying yourself with playing the leftovers into their containers.

“Hello, Sir,” Says Tara, the way you might speak to the President.

She bobs her head, eyebrows knitting.

“Yes, I did see the 49ers play.”

You huff.

Tara averts her gaze.

“Yes, I did think they played like a bunch of seven year old girls.”

You roll your eyes once more.

Tara’s newfound friendship with your Dad is better than the alternative, at least. You’d lived the alternative.

It hadn’t been much fun.

“We’re okay,” Tara promises, suddenly, “I have every door locked down, alarms set and cameras operating.”

Your Dad murmurs something down the line you can’t hear.

Tara smiles, and then reaches for your hand.

“I’m not letting her out of my sight, Sir, you don’t have to worry,” She says, “I won’t let anyone hurt her. I promise.”

She hangs up not long after.

You should be used to it by now, the flutter in the pit of your stomach every time she gets protective, or calls you hers, but you’re not.

Butterflies cascade through your belly, branching out to the tips of your fingertips where they settle. You curl in around Tara and press your lips to her neck.

She smells good. No perfume, just the tinge of her skin and her coconut body wash.

You squeeze her hips and nip your teeth against the nape of her neck.

“Oh.” Tara sighs as you slip your fingers into the waistband of your jeans. She leans back into your touch, titling your head to capture your lips.

“Really?” She asks, a little excited.

You laugh.

You’d not had sex in a few weeks, hardly in the mood. Your wound aches most days, and the rest are spent really remarkably unsexy, despite Tara’s constant reassurance you’re the most beautiful girl in the world.

She turns in your arms, pressing another kiss to your lips.

“Sam won’t be home for hours,” You murmur against her lips, “Just you and me. The way it should be.”

“Your stomach doesn’t hurt?” She asks, a little soft. Her eyes swim with concern, “We can just watch a movie, if you want?”

You shake your head.

She looks good. Her dark hair pulled back in a ponytail. No makeup, her spill of freckles poignant, her pretty lips pouty and red and kissable.

“I want you, baby,” You murmur, nuzzling your nose to the side of her face, “Do you want me too?”

You don’t have to wait long for a response.

She presses a searing kiss to your lips.

“Do you even have to ask?” She says, biting her lip.

“No,” You smile, “But I want to hear you say it anyway.”

“I want you,” She says, immediately. She’s excited again, you can tell by the way her eyes flicker, “I want you all the time.”

“Come take me then,” You murmur against her mouth.

She doesn’t have to be told twice.

She leads you up the staircase, walking backwards. Her mouth fused to yours, her careful hands roaming every span of skin she can get her hands on.

She helps you onto the bed, far gentler than her usual gig of wild hands and wild lips. Instead, this time she touches you as if you might shatter into a thousand pieces.

You make an annoyed murmur as she pulls your jeans down your legs. It feels like an age, the way she softly untangles the button and the zipper. Her touch is light, so un-Tara.

When she finally pulls your legs from your jeans, you almost cry out of frustration.

“Babe, I’m not going to break.” You tell her, but it falls on deaf ears.

She’s pressing her lips to your thigh, tiny, gentle touches as she pulls your underwear down your legs at a pain-stakingly slow pace.

“Don’t rush me, babe,” She says as you reach down to help her, “And lie back. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I feel fine,” You say, tilting up to meet her kiss, “Please hurt me.”

Tara huffs, drawing back slightly.

“It’s not fair to say things like that when you know I can’t.” She pouts, “The things I want to do to you will almost certainly rip your stitches.”

Arousal coils deep in your belly.

Then annoyance.

“Now who's not being fair?” It’s your turn to pout.

Tara nudges her lips to your neck.

“I’m going to make love to you, baby-girl,” She promises, her eyes dark, “That’s more than fair.”

You tilt your head up and press a lingering kiss to her lips.

“Besides. If I rip your stitches I think your Dad will have something to say.”

You wrinkle your nose.

“Let’s not talk about my Dad when we’re getting naked, babe,” You suggest.

She hums in agreement.

And then you reach for her shirt.

“Off.”

If she’s going to spend the entire evening getting your underwear down your legs, the least she can do is give you something to look at, you reason.

Your touch is impatient.

You pry off her jeans like there’s a time limit. Strip her of her shirt and her bra until she’s hovering naked above you, making your mouth water.

And suddenly, what little patience you had left is gone.

You rise up, starling her.

“Babe-“ She protests, but you can’t be reasoned with.

You tilt her around, until she’s lying back on the mattress, nudging her bare legs apart with your thighs.

“Too slow, my turn.” You murmur.

Your lips are hungry.

You kiss her, fierce, groaning slightly as your hands get to work. They work down the curve of her hips, to her thighs. You squeeze her, a little rough, and then move your hands to take her nipples between your fingers.

She gasps, her hips involuntarily jerking up towards yours. You detangle yourself from her lips, leaning down to press hot kisses against her neck.

She threads her fingers through your hair, tugging, tugging, as she moves against you. She’s still holding back, being careful not to touch your stomach.

You can tell by the way she’s groaning it’s hard for her.

And so you make it easy.

Your lips move down from her neck to her breasts. You circle each nipple once, then twice, before you’re taking her in your mouth, curling your arms around each of her thighs.

“Baby,” Tara murmurs, “Baby, your stomach-“

You release her nipple with a wet pop and a frown.

“I’m fine, babe.” You say, and it’s true.

It aches, slightly, but it always does nowadays. No matter what you’re doing.

And if it’s her you’re doing, at least the ache is dampened by the forest fire of arousal surging through your veins.

You return to your pilgrimage down her body.

Your lips graze her belly-button, your tongue slips down over the jut of her hips to the crest of her thighs.

She sighs, seemingly satisfied as you slip down further. Moving your body to settle nicely in between her legs.

Then, she tilts her head up, biting her lip.

Her eyes are hesitant, though encompassed with want.

“Tell me if it hurts,” She says, “Tell me and we can stop. Or…re-adjust.”

You nod, impatient.

“Alright babe, I will,” You say, raising an eyebrow, “Can I go down on you now?”

Her cheeks flush red with arousal.

“Please.” She whispers.

She’s beautiful, as ever.

You press your lips against the soft skin of her inner thighs, grazing your lips just gently. You use your tongue to work your way inwards.

Your breath catches in your throat the moment you taste her. Wet, syrupy, bittersweet goodness.

You lick it up, greedy for more. You press your lips to her folds, use your hands to spread her open for you. You lose control of your tongue.

One minute you’re ready to tease, the next, you’ve worked yourself up too much.

Your tongue moves hot across her folds and then down to her entrance. Your top lip brushes her clit and she sings.

A low moan that vibrates through the room.

A moan that indicates it’s been far too long since you’ve touched her like this.

You apologize with your mouth.

Low strokes of your tongue at her entrance. The quiet murmur of your own moan as your tongue moves up to circle her clit.

Lazy, slow, movements.

Then fast.

Like you’re changing your own mind too quickly.

You settle for writing words with your tongue.

babygirl, is what you spell out against her clit.

Your name. Her name. You connect them with a heart.

And then: mine.

Tara lets out a quiet moan as you take her clit between your lips. Sucking gently until her thighs are gripping like iron bars around the side of your head and her nails against your scalp bruise.

You give up on using the alphabet.

You slip two fingers inside her, sighing as she encases you. She’s tight and wet and begging for more.

You give it to her.

Curl your fingers up in just the right way. Lap your tongue over her clit just the way she likes.

And then she’s gasping as she tightens around you. She cries your name in a breathy moan as she cums hard around your fingers and mouth.

It’s always over too quickly, you think briefly as you reluctantly slip out of her. You need to learn patience. You need to learn how to tease.

But there’s something about her, and you don’t know how she does it. You just have to give her what she wants.

She lets out a happy sigh as you climb up her body and press your lips to her forehead.

She’s still a moment, but you know better. She recovers quickly.

In less than a minute she’s shifting.

You groan as your back hits the mattress.

Her hands slip down to your thighs, gripping you like she has an agenda. And she does. You know it by heart.

First, the gentle touch of her lips against your neck.

Then she’s sliding your underwear down your legs.

She kisses your lips, slips her tongue into your mouth for only a moment. And then she’s trailing kisses down your body.

Your chest. Your breasts.

She pays special attention to your nipples. Her eyes locking with yours as she sucks, ever so gently.

Your body feels hot.

You grip her face, holding her in place.

And then she’s nudging out of your grip, dipping down to press her lips to your navel.

She doesn’t kiss your scar, but you can tell she wants to.

She looks up at you, eyes wide and vulnerable as she squeezes your hips.

“You’re beautiful.” She murmurs. She ducks down and presses a kiss to the top of your inner thigh, “You’re perfect. My perfect girl.”

“Tara,” You say, voice a little gravelly, “Baby, please.”

She doesn’t make you wait.

One moment she’s pressing her lips to your thigh. The next, she’s dipping down between your legs. You lean back onto the pillows with a sigh.

Her lips graze.

She kisses your inner thigh.

Drags her tongue over your entrance and you gasp.

Then, her lips are on your clit.

You moan as she snakes a hand around your waist. The other slips between your legs. She teases for only a moment before she’s slipping her fingers inside you. You gasp at the sudden intrusion.

It’s not as though you’re not ready for it.

You’re so wet you’d give her a snorkel if she wasn’t such an experienced sailor.

But she rides your high seas like it’s her full time job.

Lips on your clit, fingers working in and out. She squeezes your hip with her free hand. Her talented mouth is like fire. Dancing around just where you need it most.

You close your eyes and let out a low moan.

She’s being careful.

Gentle.

Loving you like she doesn’t want to hurt you.

You take back the impatience. You take back the need for more, more, more.

Your sweet, loving girlfriend is all you need.

Gentle mouth. Careful tongue.

Her between your legs, working you into oblivion like sex is just a vehicle to express how deeply she loves you.

“Tara.”

You cum with her name on your lips. Her mouth fused around your lips. You cum feeling safe and wanted and needed.

And when she’s done, she climbs back up your body and presses the softest kiss to your lips.

Nestles herself with her head in your chest. Right next to your heartbeat.

Where she should be.

You close your eyes once more.

Thread your fingers through her hair. Press the softest of kisses to her forehead.

And then she looks up at you, her pretty brown eyes shimmering.

“Love you.” She murmurs. She punctuates her words with a kiss.

Your chest is heaving. You allow yourself the moment. Body thrumming with your orgasm, the love of your life pressed tight to your side.

Tara curls into you. She waits a moment, then looks over at you,

“I’m going to be better for you,” She murmurs, “I’ve put you through hell, baby, and I know that. But it all ends now.”

You frown.

“I’m in heaven with you, no matter what you’ve done,” You say, after a quiet moment, “After what we’ve both done. Right or wrong, I love you. And you love me. And that’s all that matters.”

Tara tilts her head to yours.

She takes your lips in a long, searing kiss.

She says what she can’t with words.

You say it too.

And when you pull back, you know she understands.

She’s yours.

And you are undeniably, irrefutably, entirely:

All hers.

#all hers #tara carpenter #scream v #scream vi #jenna ortega #ghostface!tara #mine #fanfic #jenna ortega x yn #jenna ortega x you #jenna ortega x reader #tara carpenter x you #tara carpenter x reader #tara carpenter x yn

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cosmal · 2 years

Text

𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐑𝐨𝐜𝐤 — 𝐑𝐞𝐦𝐮𝐬 𝐋𝐮𝐩𝐢𝐧

summary — you and remus lupin have become really good at stealing each other away from parties.

or but if you're too drunk to drive and the music is right, she might let you stay but just for the night....she might want a kiss before the end of this song.

warnings/tags — fem!afab!reader, she/her pronouns, modern!au, friends to lovers, absolute idiots in love, mutual pining, oblivious!reader, oblivious!remus, drunk!reader, drunk!remus, alcohol consumption

note — this is inspired by lovers rock by tv girl!!! i think this is the longest thing i've ever written. I do very much like it as of right now. that'll probably change in a week.

word count — 12.4k

“Thank Godric, you’re here,” Mary groans from her position on the front porch, Marlene leaning into her side. Both are clearly enjoying a cigarette away from the din of the party. You can tell what type of night it’s going to be already. Not that you’ve arrived two hours late anyway.

“I’ve never seen you so happy to see me, Mary,” you giggle, crossing the threshold of Sirius’s front lawn, careful not to trip on his collection of stolen garden gnomes.

“I’m always happy to see you, lovely.” She extends her hand, the cigarette between her lovely red nails on offer.

“You know who’s going to be even happier?” Marlene coughs, as you take the smoke thankfully, taking a few calming puffs.

You pretend like you have any idea who she’s referring to, “Jamie? Haven’t seen him in a while. Miss that boy,” you laugh, voice strained through the thick smoke you exhale.

“No, you idiot.” Mary pipes up and you hand the smoke back, “Remus. He hasn’t shut up about you all night.”

“That’s if he’s sober enough to even notice you’re here,” Marlene laughs and so does Mary. You smile, small enough to not show how happy you actually are that you get to see him. It’s been too long.

“He’s drinking?”

“Absolutely hammered. We were hoping you’d get here earlier so he wouldn’t drink too much. Please go look after him.” Mary throws her arm around Marlene and she snuggles in closer. They both look content enough to fall asleep right there in the cool summer breeze.

“I’m sure he’s doing okay.”

“I’m sure he will be when you get inside.”

You move to toe your shoes off at the front mat, kicking them away so they’re not a tripping hazard.

“When has Sirius ever done that at your house, Y/N?” Mary laughs, looking down at your socked feet

“Oh, no. This is for me. Don’t want to get my shoes dirty.” You laugh when you grab the handle of the flyscreen, swinging the door open.

The girls’ laughter becomes a distant murmur when you enter the kitchen, met with mostly everyone sitting around the dining table. A deal of cards in everyone’s hands, and piles of coins and sweets sat in the middle.

James and Lily laughing and glowing under the downcast of the orange lighting, appearing to seemingly be winning. Sirius and Frank having their own side bets, throwing coins around before both calling tails. Then, there's Remus. You try to ignore the hitch in your breath when your eyes land on the sandy-haired boy.

He really does look drunk, eyes droopy but still bright when he hiccups a laugh at something James says. A quiet, airy chuckle that has his mouth creasing and eyelashes kissing his cheeks. A smile so pretty, you have to fight your own.

His head is propped up on the table by an elbow that looks like it’s about to slip off the edge, so you sneak up behind him and place your hand against his arm to stop him from falling face-first into the wood.

He looks up at you, a little startled for a second, and you can see the moment it clicks in his head when he realises who he’s looking at. He smiles, all surprised but content and you melt. The last time you had seen him was only for the third time ever at another one of Sirius’s parties. You hate to admit that the only thing you look forward to now is when you receive an invite from your workmate and you have another excuse to see his lanky best friend.

“Y/N! When did you get here?” Sirius chants, flicking his last remaining coin at Frank. He shoots him a well-deserved glare.

“About thirty seconds ago,” you smile.

Sirius looks down at your socked feet and frowns, “You took your shoes off again. How many times do I have to tell you, you don’t have to do that.”

You roll your eyes, “You’re gross, Sirius.”

Remus looks down too, the top of his head pressing into your side, a crush of his curls tickling the bare skin of your arm and you almost shiver. “Cool socks.” Is the first thing he says to you. You giggle.

They’re a dark cornflower shade, moons scattered across the material at random. They crease when you wriggle your toes, “Thanks. Got them from mum for my birthday.”

“She has good taste.” He moves off of you, slouching down in his chair until his knees are pressing Lily’s legs.

His head lolls backwards, neck bared under the warm light. You think you feel dizzier than he does. Even when he squeezes his eyes shut.

“What have you done to him?” you laugh, hand flat against his forehead to brush away his loose hair. He keens, sighing deeply under a hiccup.

“He’s very awful at poker,” James laughs, flicking a pastille across the table. You look at his high pile, and then Sirius and Franks’ which are almost of equal height. Then you look in front of Remus, the table almost bare. You laugh.

“We like to play a little differently,” Franks states over the rim of his bottle.

“Basically, you take a shot every time you lose,” James says, sober as ever. You think maybe he hasn’t lost yet.

“And Remus has lost every hand,” Sirius adds to the chime of details.

“Have not!” Remus finally pipes up, finger pointed at James instead of Sirius, too distracted staring at the ceiling. “Frank lost the first.”

“Anyways, Moons. You just lost and I think you owe us another.”

Remus groans, but sits up to reach for the bottle of Sambuca sitting in the middle of the table. You gently swat his hand and push him back into his chair.

“I think you’ve had enough,” you say, turning to place the bottle on the kitchen bench, along with the empty bottles.

“C’mon, one more,” Remus giggles, making hands for the bottle in the air. A child, you think.

“Yeah, Y/N! One more!” Sirius agrees, smiling boyishly.

“You’ll make yourself sick,” you chide with a small frown. Remus slumps against you, much defeated. He might fall asleep on you if you stand there any longer. You poke his cheek where it’s pressed into your clothes.

“He already is sick.” Sirius is smug when he speaks and you fret about what else he’s about to say, “Sick in love.”

You laugh. Could’ve been worse. But it still has your heart skipping in your chest. You really do hope Remus shares the feelings you hold for him. But then again, Remus is drunk and Sirius, is well, he’s Sirius. Despite the name, he hardly ever is.

“Boo. Awful.” You frown in faux offence, ignoring him when he winks at you. Sickening, really.

You lean down so your mouth is in line with Remus’s ear, “You wanna go lay down?” You realise you’re in quite a predicament. Coming over to parties to see Sirius’s best friend. Looking after him when he’s drunk. You’d hoped he would do the same.

“Please, no sex in my house,” Sirius states, standing to grab another drink. James guffaws.

You roll your eyes, “He’s drunk.”

“So, you do want to have sex with him?” he adds.

You almost choke on your tongue, “No, it’s just. He- Stop it.” You have to stop yourself from saying something wrong. It wasn’t a lie, you did want to. But you wanted much more than that.

“Leave her alone,” Remus chides, leaning back off your stomach. “You’ll scare her off and I’ll never see her again,”

He was right, his friends did intimidate you. But you’d hoped it would take more than not yet warming up to them to get you to never see Remus again.

Remus stands and you’re surprised he doesn’t stumble when he takes your hand to lead you away from the table and out into the lounge room. You poke your tongue out over your shoulder when you hear James make some sort of crude comment to Frank. Lily smiles warmly at you as an apology.

He sits down with all the gracefulness of a baby elephant and you have to bite back a laugh. He looks up at you, pretty eyes all droopy and a lopsided smile, and you feel like you’ll never come back from these feelings ever.

Before you can overly admire him for too long, he’s patting the space next to him with a floppy hand. “C’mon.”

You oblige probably too willingly, flopping yourself down next to him with a small oomph, your thigh pressing into his. He shuffles down the lounge to rest his head atop your shoulder, neck craned a little to reach it. You can’t find it in yourself to mind. His face is warm and it presses into your collarbone that’s peeking from out the top of your shirt. His light stubble tickles your skin and it’s weirdly soothing. God, you know you’re in deep.

“You smell good.”

You breathe in subconsciously, “You do, too.”

Under the strong scent of stale beer and sambuca, you can think you can discern a hint of his cologne. Woody and something like cinnamon. Mixed in with the light scent of his laundry detergent, like fresh linen and lavender. He's dizzying.

“I smell like beer,” he groans, hand finding its way between both of your thighs, your skirt tangled in his fingers.

“You smell nice,” you laugh.

You watch the doorway where James gets up to turn the dial on the vinyl player. The current song now loud enough to be heard where you’re sitting.

Humming along, you say, “I love this song.”

Remus gawps, “Me too. S’my favourite, actually.”

Remus having the exact same favourite song as you makes your head spin. “No way.”

“Yes way.” he smiles. If he were soberer, you’d gush to him over this. It’d have to wait.

He shifts his head from your shoulder and startles for a moment, eyebrows raised, “I didn’t even ask if you wanted a drink.” You get whiplash from the change of subject.

You sigh, very amused at his intent to be nice to you, despite being half-cut, “I’m okay. I wasn’t really planning on drinking tonight.”

He frowns, wrinkles his nose and you want to kiss it. God. “Why did you come, then?” The fact he thinks you came to get drunk and not just to see him makes you want to laugh.

The smile you’re still trying to fight every time he speaks makes your cheeks ache, “To see Sirius.”

He frowns even more and you think he wants to shift away from you. He roughly scratches at his face and you almost regret messing with him.

“Sirius?” He hiccups.

“I’m kidding.” You poke his bicep, “I came to see you.”

There’s a silence and then Remus is breaking out into one of the biggest grins you’d ever seen. You’d have the decency in you to blame it on being drunk. Nothing else.

“Me?” He hiccups, again. You place your hand atop his thigh and trace the thick seam of his pants.

“Yes, you.”

His smile dials back but doesn’t fade and his face relaxes. He leans down to place his head back against your shoulder, cheek all smooshed.

“Oh.”

“Oh?”

“Thank you.” he hums, hooking his elbow behind yours, completely squished against you. He thinks you must be cold in a skirt and a small T-shirt. “I like it when you’re here. You make it bearable.”

You want to accept his compliment, but when he hiccups for the third time, you remember he’s drunk. “That’s a bit mean, Remus. Will I tell your friends you can’t bear them?”

Remus stiffens and you stop rubbing his leg. Drunk Remus is very gullible. Sweet, but gullible all the same.

“Stop it. You know what I mean.” He pushes further into your shoulder and you feel yourself dip down against him, head almost falling against his. You wouldn’t mind if it did, but it wouldn’t be very comfortable, you assume.

“I don’t think I do,” you tease and Remus pinches your side, which results in a stifled yelp.

“Don’t be cruel.” He strains.

“I would never.”

When you shiver in your spot, Remus wonders what your answer would be if he offered you his jacket. He thinks he should test his theory.

“Are you cold?” he asks but doesn’t move his head from your shoulder.

“A little,” you yawn. Which then causes Remus to yawn. You laugh animatedly.

“Do you,” Remus blinks slowly, eyelashes kissing his cheeks as he attempts to keep his eyes open. “do you want my jacket?”

You’re glad Remus’ head is still propped on your shoulder lest he sees the blush creeping across your cheeks. Drunk Remus is gullible. But drunk Remus is still just as kind as he is when he’s sober.

“Then you’ll be cold,” you reply, giving his thigh a squeeze. You crane your neck to look at him. He looks tired.

“Better me than you.” He moves to take it off and before he can even get one arm out, you sit forward and place your hands on his chest. Fingers twisted in his cotton shirt, your turned knee pressing into his.

“Remus, I’m okay.” You give him your most reassuring smile. Being cold is no one’s fault but your own. You don’t want to be an annoyance.

“You sure?”

“Positive.”

Remus sits back, albeit begrudgingly, hands wrapped around the zipper of his jacket. The further he pushes back into the lounge, the more he looks like he’s about to fall asleep.

“Remus?” you murmur. Voice quiet under the din of the party. Sirius is a loud drunk, his laughter roaring at something stupid James is doing.

His head begins to dip into the edge of the cushion, headed for the arm of the chair. If he kept this up, he’d have a crick in his neck in no time.

He hums and you pat his cheek to encourage him to sit up. It’s bemusing how quickly he can drift off. You’re very envious. Maybe it’s just the alcohol.

“What’s up?” he murmurs in return, peeking from one eye, the other scrunched up. He’s adorable and you’re in too deep.

“You seem tired.” You poke his face this time and he beams, all warm and dozey under the mellow light of Sirius’s living room. A line of curls falling into his eyes and the apples of his cheeks a tinge of peach.

He hums again, much thicker than last. “M’not.”

You hold out your hand, all five fingers spread. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

He struggles, but pulls his hand from his lap and holds it up to yours, tangling your fingers. Palm flush against yours and much warmer in comparison. “Feels like five.” He pulls your entwined hands back down and you laugh.

You try not to shy from his actions, pretending like it doesn’t make your heart skip, and then almost stop completely when his thumb rubs circles into the top of your hand. You can feel the warmth seeping from his into your own and your fingertips tingle.

“Do you want to go home?” You twist so you’re completely on the edge of the lounge, hand still wrapped in his. You stop, “Or are you staying here tonight?”

He brings his arm up - with yours still tangled - and rubs his face with the back of his hand. Dragging you up and down. You giggle at his tired actions before pouting.

“I think.'' You can tell he’s trying to stay alert enough to hold a conversation with you.

When he wakes up in the morning he won’t remember being so tired here and will think you both had the best conversation. You’ll be okay with this. “I think Sirius was supposed to take me home, but he’s too drunk now.”

“You’ll sleep on the couch?” You frown and he blinks.

“I think I might have to.” He throws his head back and sighs. Strained and raspy.

You look at the size of Sirius’s two-seater and then Remus’s stupidly long legs. It wouldn’t work, and he’d end up with either a sore back or a worse-off neck than whatever it was he was doing right now. You don’t even really think before you say, “I can walk you home.”

Remus looks a little more alert, “You can’t sleep on this.” You prod the squeaky leather and it bounces back with absolutely no recoil. You’ll be sure to scold Sirius next time for having a horrendous couch, though enough money to buy everyone in the room ten of them. You know he won’t appreciate the exaggeration. But it’s for the sake of his friends’ backs.

“You don’t have to do that.” He sits up properly now and tries to situate himself to look convincingly comfortable. “I’ll make do.”

“It’s no big deal.” You shrug. “I’m walking home anyways.”

Now he’s sitting forward, his knees pushing into your leg and you almost stumble off the seat, grabbing his arm for purchase. “You just got here.” He almost frets and then coughs to hide his worry. He’s not very good at achieving a smooth, cool demeanour when half-cut. Not that he ever achieves it sober, he thinks.

“No, but I think you need to go home and sleep.” You look out into the kitchen that’s now surprisingly quieter. Lily looks like she’s about to fall asleep, leaning on James’s shoulder, who’s trying to play a horrible game of go fish with Sirius and Frank. Absolute party animals.

“I live too far away, anyways,” he says, leaning down to tie his shoelaces. “You’ll have to walk me home and then walk back, you’ll be walking for at least an hour and a half.” Why Remus is so afraid to suggest you can stay the night at his, he doesn’t know.

You squeeze his shoulder as he struggles to loop his lace through his fingers. He decides to go for the simpler, bunny-ear option. “That’s okay. You can stay at mine. I only live ten minutes away.”

When Remus sits back up after tying his laces too tight, his face is pink.

Remus Lupin has never been one for sitting comfortably, ever. With long, lanky limbs, he always has his legs sprawled out and his arms thrown over something. Anything he can take up comfortably, with enough space to spread, he’ll sit willingly.

On one hand, he’s thankful you convinced him not to sleep on Sirius’s couch. He didn’t need a repeat of New Year’s. Though, on the other hand, he could’ve made do.

Nothing was like sitting in your bedroom. He wouldn’t say he was uncomfortable, though deep down he was a little, a pit of anxiety creeping up his chest. He felt like he had little room to move - despite you owning a double bed - because he didn’t want to look stupid. He could take up space and not notice it.

Remus has trouble not taking in every detail he can in your room. Like your little trinket dishes filled with miscellaneous items, signet rings and seashells. The stuffed rhino toy in the middle of your pillows that you had told him - shyly at that - was named Clarence. Not before giggling at the poster of Twilight that you swore had been there since you were young. Your current read splayed open on the end of your bed, along with the stack of records in a blue milk crate in the corner, were things he promised himself he would ask you about when he wasn’t half tipsy and could hold a proper conversation.

In his admiration, one that was making his anxiety spread into warmth that seemed to be seeping from his bones. He’s too busy pretending like he isn’t taking in every small detail one shouldn’t when they’ve only known someone for only a month, and doesn’t notice that you’ve changed.

He looks over at you, in a pair of shorts littered with tiny daisies and a shirt that almost eats said shorts. Your hair pulled back and your face still sort of wet from where you obviously washed off the day's grime, causing the hairs around your face to curl. He doesn’t know if it’s the fading alcohol that’s causing him to hiccup even more, or if it’s seeing you all fresh and content from being at home that has his breath catching.

Remus Lupin is still a little drunk but he is also quite clearly growing to like you even more. That doesn’t change. He thinks he's done everything backwards. Meeting you, then seeing you now but too inebriated to say something redeeming, and then seeing you in the comfort of your own home before he even gets to ask you on a date. He also thinks he wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Remus?” Your voice is as calm as you look when you speak and he melts.

“Hm?” He blinks, shaking his head.

“You okay?” Warm light washes over you and paints you amber as you patter across the room, the moon socks that are still on your feet pressing into the white fabric of your rug. “You’re not feeling sick?” He thinks he should blame his daze on a fake sickness, but he doesn’t want you to worry even more, so he decides against it.

When you press the back of your hand to his cheek, that’s only warm because he’s a little overwhelmed, not because he’s feeling poorly, he can’t find it in himself to hold your gaze. “I’m okay.”

“I was saying I don’t think I have any clothes for you to change into.” You remind him after it felt like you were talking to a brick wall a minute earlier.

Remus pushes his hands into the rough material of his black jeans. He doesn’t see himself sleeping in anything else. “That’s okay.”

“You’re not going to sleep in those are you?”

What else would he sleep in if you have no other clothes? “Uh.”

“You wear boxers?” you grin.

“Yeah. Yeah, I do.” He wishes he was still a little drunker so he could blame his bumbling words on the effects of downing half a bottle of sambuca. Now he’s realising that’s just how he sounds when he’s overwhelmed by you.

“Sleep in those. I don’t mind.”

Your confidence, and your confidence only, is how he ends up pantless and under the covers of your bed. He doesn’t feel uncomfortable at all. You have a lovely way of making him feel at ease. He thinks that’s why he likes you so much.

You smell different than earlier in the night when your shirt tickles his arm. Like fresh face wash and night creams, and maybe even roses. He’d hate to think of what he smelt like in comparison to you. Probably still like beer, and maybe like sweat. He should’ve asked if he could’ve showered. That might’ve been too much, he’s definitely overthinking.

“You’re very quiet,” you say into the dimness of your room. He’s lucky your bedside lamp is so muted, lest you see the goosebumps raised over his skin and how his cheeks haven’t returned to their normal colour since he crossed the threshold of your room.

“M’thinking,” he returns, just as quiet. It feels wrong to disturb the calmness blanketing the room.

“I can tell.” He can hear you grin, “What about?”

He swallows and he wouldn’t be surprised if you heard it, “You.”

You huff a small laugh and push down into the pillow behind you, “Me?” Your voice is a little strained, and not louder than before. Maybe even quieter.

“Yeah. Thinking about the next time I’ll get to see you.”

“You haven’t even left yet and you’re thinking ahead to the next time we’ll see each other,” you tease, getting comfortable underneath your plush quilt and sheets. Probably too much for a summer night but there’s still a chill in the air, flowing through your open window.

“I’m just hoping I won’t be so drunk,” he admits, hating how he still actually does sound drunk.

“Hopefully,” you smile, “But that’s okay, we can blame it on James.”

“If only I wasn’t so shit at poker,” he laughs in a strained and animated voice, trying to hold back a yawn.

He finally gets comfortable, hands fisting the sheets around his body and head balancing restfully against the plush of your ivory pillows.

You can see his eyes flutter in an attempt to stay awake. You think it’s endearing but you also think he needs to sleep. “Remus,” you say, firm but caring at once.

“Hmm?” he mumbles, eyebrows pinched.

“You should sleep.” You push itchy locks away from his forehead and he sighs at the caring touch of your fingers.

“Don’t wanna.” He scrunches his nose, “I think I’m finally sobering up. Wanna talk t’you.”

You smile at his absolute urgency and think he’s adorable. Truly. “Please, sleep. We’ll talk in the morning.”

“You’ll be here?” This, you actually laugh at.

“Of course, Remus. You’re in my room.”

He closes his eyes, eyelashes kissing the freckles of his cheeks and his tired, darkened skin, “M’kay.”

When you wake up in the morning, almost midday, Remus plagued by the effects of alcohol, you too content to wake whilst being next to him, you both have separate texts from Sirius.

Your own chat log reads, aren’t U glad you came out? You don’t reply, not wanting to encourage him in any way.

Remus’s phone, on the other hand, reads,

uncle pads has a ring to it don’t you think? xxxx

He does in fact reply, too used to Sirius being a twat.

Nothing happened. Ur disgusting and I hate you.

what do U mean nothing happened?

I was drunk. She helped me basically stumble home.

U both stumbled. in her sheets.

Fuck off. Idiot.

Neither of you mention any of Sirius’s messages to each other the entire morning. Too busy enjoying each other's company.

The week spent after Remus had drunkenly stayed the night, you could pleasantly, though maybe even with a smidge of embarrassment, admit that he was all you thought about since.

It was a new feeling. You’d never felt it before. The endearment, but also the nerves, of realising you actually like someone. Some days it made your cheeks ache from smiling, and filled your chest with warmth. On other days, the warmth cracked your chest open, an aching chasm pleading to be filled and a head clouded with apprehension.

You were eager and scared all at once. But you were happy either way because Remus made you feel things. Good things.

You had spent the morning, forcing him to eat something, telling him it would make his hangover feel much better. He’d argued for no longer than two minutes before agreeing. Saying, who am I to argue with a girl like you?

“Like me?” you’d replied, mouth full of half-eaten pancake, pushing his own plate across the marble of your kitchen bar.

“Smart,” he smiled, picking at a blueberry, “Pretty.”

And after it was your turn to babble like a fool, he’d eased you open. Asked you about the record collection in your room (he was proud of himself for remembering). You’d rambled off your favourite artists, a lot similar, and he knew he’d be an idiot if he didn’t give you his number before he left.

And he did. Wrote his number on your hand as you stood at your doorway and he thanked you for breakfast. And for walking him home, drunk. You kissed his cheek and watched him press his fingers into his skin until he rounded the corner.

You wrote the number down on a piece of paper, magnetising it to your fridge as soon as you shut the door. Though your hands were sweaty - obviously because you were around Remus - and the last number had smudged. Was it a 3? Or an 8? Or a weird looking 5? You couldn’t tell and told yourself that was a problem you could deal with later.

It was later. A whole week later and you still hadn’t called him. If it was due to your nerves or the fact you had a missing number, that was your business only. You left the last space blank, the empty spot a blinding reminder of your stupidity. You’d just have to try every number until you found Remus. It would take no more than ten attempts.

Numbers zero through four were all wrong numbers. You were only met with a piercing tone before the line went dead. When you got to five, you were met with, what sounded like, a grumpy old lady. You tried to hang up straight away, well aware it wasn’t him, but she screeched and persisted that if she had a prank call one more time, she would phone the police!

Turns out, it was a 6 after all. The lovely tone of Remus’s voice rings down the line and you sigh in relief.

“It’s you.” Your voice is airy and Remus isn't sure he knows who it is.

There are only a handful of people who have his number. His friends, most of them called and checked in regularly, except Mary, who's always one to stop by instead. His parents and his neighbour had it too. But he seriously doubted the latter, unless his flat had been ransacked.

And then he remembers he'd given it to you and he laughs. All these thoughts happen within the span of two seconds. He hopes it's you, he's been anticipating a call all week. He was beginning to maybe think you didn’t actually want to hear from him. That he'd embarrassed himself in his drunken stupor. But then he remembered how nice you were to him.

You’ll make yourself sick.

“It is?” he laughs, still hoping it is in fact you. The image of his flat turned upside down, the spot on his mantle where his small TV is, now empty, flashes across his mind.

“Remus. It’s me!” you chirp and he pushes his phone closer to his ear as if it’ll make him hear your pretty voice even clearer.

”Me? I don’t think I know any me’s” he teases, fighting back an eager smile. Teasing you could be fun. Could become a constant. He’s imagining the warmth of your cheeks, and hopefully a small smile.

“Y/N,” you correct and he can almost hear the roll of your eyes.

“Oh. I know an Y/N,” he smiles, leaning against the lip of his kitchen bench. “She’s very pretty,” he pauses, wanting to drag it out, “and she’s super-”

“Remus,” you plead. Half wanting him to continue, half wanting him to stop to save your phone splitting in half where you’re holding it too hard. “Stop.”

Hearing your smile isn’t enough for him, “Super cool. Actually probably way too cool for me and…”

Remus sighs, very happy with himself.

“You done?” you ask.

“Maybe.”

“You’re a nuisance.”

Remus decides to not argue, you’re half right anyways. “I’m sorry. What’s up?”

You pause, thinking. You’ve forgotten why you called him for a moment. Too happy with just listening to him talk. You think you could do it all day if he let you. “I was wondering if you were coming out tonight? Drinks?” You feel silly asking now. It was drinks for James, he’d gotten a promotion, but of course, Remus is coming, they're best friends.

“Are you?”

You grin, “Yes. Yeah, I am.”

“Great. Me too.”

The excitement you feel when you know you’ll be seeing him again is palpable. Giddiness mixed with a number of nerves is always there whenever you think of him. He makes you feel like a schoolgirl again and you know he’ll be the cause of your undoing.

“Great.”

A face-splitting smile erupts across Remus’s features. If only you could see each other.

The amount of time you spend getting ready in the afternoon for James’s get-together is silly. After what's an almost stupid amount of time rustling through your closet to find something, the final thing you settle on you hope isn’t stupid. A red skirt that ends mid-thigh, a white tee and a leather jacket. Boots that you hope actually do your legs justice, not just how they look in the mirror.

You know exactly why you're making such a fuss with your appearance. Spending an extra amount of time making sure loose hairs are sprayed down and a fresh coat of nail polish that's applied probably a little too late before you make your way out your front door.

You think that maybe if you didn’t know if Remus was attending or not it'd be a lot easier on you. Or maybe worse. God, you're a mess. You just really want to make him like you.

Arriving at the pub a little early is probably a bad idea in the long run. You greet James and Lily with equal delight. You hadn’t seen them since his shindig at least two weeks ago. Sirius, pint in hand, greets you loud enough to let the entire pub know of your arrival. Frank and Alice are absent. In-laws. You feel as though you had finally found the perfect group of friends.

James had told you that Remus was probably going to be late.

Which gives you too much time to down an inappropriate number of vodka-cranberries, much to Sirius’s delight. Pressed into a corner booth, settled next to James and Sirius who have now also transitioned to fruity drinks.

When Remus finally arrives, the sun now set, you're at least five cocktails deep. The pub is a little loud now, though you’d never struggle to hear any of your rambunctious friends. They're probably half the noise. You're a giggling mess, warm from the effects of alcohol. You feel ridiculously happy like you expected to, but you haven’t even seen Remus yet.

When you sip back the last dregs of your drink, the rim pressed into your nose, determined not to waste a single drop, your eyes finally settle on Remus who's selfishly been admiring you from afar. Your eyes light up like a delighted puppy and he has to bite his tongue to stop himself from smiling like an idiot.

He walks to the edge of the table, wet and sticky wood pressing into his jeans and he grimaces. “Finally he arrives,” James cheers, mojito raised in the air.

“Moony! Looking as ravishing as ever, my boy!” Sirius cheers with equal flare.

Remus ignores both of them with a tiny smile, too used to their words it’s like second nature to ignore them. “Sweetheart,” he smiles at you and you light up even more.

“Remus! You’re here.”

Sirius gets up and slides along the wall to make room for Remus next to you, “He looks ravishing, wouldn’t you say, Y/N? Good enough to eat,” he repeats

“I am hungry,” you admit with a giggle as Remus settles down next to you, only enough room for a sheet of paper to fit between your thighs.

“Having a good time, lovely?” Remus gestures to the empty glasses taking up the table in front of you. Your lips are stained red and he has to lick his own.

“Amazing!” You lean into his side and your hair tickles his neck. Your warmth seeps through Remus’s skin and he doesn’t have a single problem with how close the two of you are sitting. He’d be kidding himself if he said he did.

“I’m glad,” he says, hands settling atop the table.

“Are you?” You blink, eyes bright and welcoming. He has to avert his attention to your nose instead. Feeling as if you’d swallow him whole.

“I am now,” he grins.

Distracted, the half-empty glass in your hands spills when you twist its stem a little too quickly. A puddle of cosmo seeps into the half-polished tabletop and you cringe.

“Oops.” Quick to act, despite how sapped you feel from the cocktails, you grab a too-big handful of napkins from the dispenser in front of you.

With little to no flare, you push the entire pile of paper into the split drink and probably make it worse. The napkins almost turn to pink sludge and you only spread the drink further. A cold, sticky mess.

Remus laughs and grabs your wrists, pulling them up from the mess, “What have you done, hmm?” He puts your hands in your lap and you slouch, defeated.

“Accident,” you huff. You watch Remus’s hands swipe across the table, much better at cleaning up your mess. Like it wasn’t even there in the first place.

Upset that your drink is now empty, when Sirius isn’t looking, too distracted talking quidditch with James, you reach forward and snatch his mojito. Cheering internally, too happy with yourself, you sip slowly.

“He won’t be too happy with that,” Remus laughs, pushing the serviettes to the side.

You shrug, pushing further into the leather of the booth seat, “Accident.” you repeat.

Remus chuckles. You scull back the last of Sirius’s drink and Remus braces his hand on the skin between your shoulder blades, with a gentle “Take it easy,”

You turn to him and wipe the line of drink from your chin with the back of your hand. Smiling before gently slamming the now-empty glass back to the table, a ring of condensation splashes across your palm.

You wipe it across Remus’s leg unthinkingly and he wrinkles his nose. A dark stripe up his thigh. He takes your hand by the wrist again and grabs another napkin. Dabbing your palm gently and you act unaffected by his attentions when you trace the water on the table with your free hand.

“Am I the one who’s going to be doing the babysitting, tonight?” Remus counts the glasses that hadn’t been collected yet. Five. Six, now counting the one you stole.

You nod, gleefully.

“Saves me, then.” Lily takes another swig from her Pimm's, very happy. James presses into her side and throws his head back.

“Merlin, I’m tired.” he huffs.

“Boo. No fun,” you pout, eyeing only his third drink that he hadn’t touched in way too long, “You drink too slowly, that’s your problem.”

He snorts, “I don’t have the drinking problems, lovely.”

You gasp, hand to your chest, sticky fingers pressing into your skin, “Just because I’m having fun!”

You notice the beginnings of a frown across Sirius’s face, clocking the glass in front of you, green to your past pink drinks, “You little sneak.”

You pout, “Okay, I’m sorry, let me get the next round.” You move to stand and when you’re upright, the room spins. You grab Remus’s shoulder for purchase and he grabs your forearm. His grip is grounding, flesh between his slender fingers.

“Okay, let me get the drinks,” he says, standing. The love-hate relationship you have with his height hurts sometimes.

“No, let me.” You rummage through the purse over your shoulder, through sickles and spare tampons, and pull out a measly fiver. You hold it up to him with a frown, paper crumpled in your hand.

Remus chuckles and places his hands on your shoulders, “Sit.”

You do what he says and ignore the warmth in the pit of your belly.

As Remus stands at the bar to wait for the drinks, he turns to watch you with a content smile on his face and a warmth spreading up his chest until it begs to swatch his cheeks. He watches as you cover your face with your hands, giggling madly at something James is telling you.

He thinks his heart is messing with him when it skips in his chest. When you throw your head back, neck bared and your eyes squinted, your shoulders raise like it’s the funniest thing you’ve ever heard (it could be but he doubts it), he thinks his heart has an actual fault. Almost halting completely when your eyes meet his and he thinks he’s been caught, but you smile contently and he has to look away before it jumps out his throat.

He knows he’s truly done for.

He returns with a tray of drinks, mojito’s for his friends and a pint for himself, a packet of crisps pinched between his teeth. If he doesn’t choose to drink cocktails with everyone else because he wants to be sober to keep his eye on you, that’s completely his business.

He places the drinks down, a hum of thank yous and cheers follow, he opens his mouth to let the crisps fall into your lap. You startle and look up at him, bemused.

“You said you were hungry.” He smiles.

You beam, hiccuping what he thinks is thanks.

“Where’s my fuckin food?” Sirius calls, voice very clear above the din of the pub. He throws a cube of ice at Remus and misses.

“Up your ass.”

Sirius goes to reach for a crisp and you clutch the foil bag close to your chest. He doesn’t try again, thinking you might bite him. “Fuck, I need a cig.”

He stands and stops Remus from sitting as he climbs over you. Squeezing past with almost zero care. You laugh, he seems hangry.

When he almost steps on your toe, “Look out, you prat.” Remus scolds.

“C’mon. Outside.” Sirius drags him away before he can even protest.

“You gonna ask her out, or what?” Sirus leans against the wall of the smoking area and flicks his ash.

Remus groans, “Don’t say it like it's easy or some shit.”

“Is it not?” Sirius laughs like it’s obvious. Remus envies his natural charm some days. He wished it came easy to him.

“No. She doesn’t like me like that.” Remus toes the gravel beneath his boot with a crunch. Watches as it skips across the ground and to the firepit. A distraction from the scolding that he’s expecting he’s about to get from Sirius.

Sirius coughs on a thick exhale of smoke, pushes himself off the wall. “You’re fucking with me, right?”

“What? No.” In some delusional, fucked up way, no, Remus is fucking with Sirius. Not since 7th year, anyways.

“She's mad about you,” Sirius laughs around the filter of his cigarette, “It’s sickening really. I mean she’s gotta be half dumb or something.” After another exhale he flicks more ash to the ground.

“Fuck up.”

“Whatever.”

There’s a beat before Remus says, “She doesn’t feel that way about me.” His head rests against the red brick behind him and wishes it would swallow him up. He wishes this was easier.

“What, you think she wears her best red skirt for people she doesn’t love?”

He lifts his head and glares at Sirius, “You really are a fucking twat, you know?” He steals the cigarette from between Sirius’s fingers and ignores his grunt as he inhales deeply. As deep as he can until Sirius swats his hand.

“I’m fucking kidding.” He takes it back, grimacing at the butt of what’s left.

“Still a twat,” Remus grunts.

Sirius flicks the orange filter to the ground and squashes it under his leather boot. “Seriously, Moons. Make a move already, it’s starting to get sad.”

He sighs, and Sirius almost wants to slap some sense into him. He doesn’t, remembering how he’d reacted last time he did. “I can’t. I’m not ruining anything.”

He decides to pat his shoulder instead, a gentler approach, “You’re a miserable sap.” He squeezes his sad friend, “She likes you, a lot, and she’s really good for you, y’know?”

“She is, isn’t she?” Remus sighs, lovelorn and dizzy, “Fuck, she’s so amazing. I don’t know what I’m gonna do. Have you seen her when she laughs? Fuck sakes.” He has to stop himself before he rants too much.

The both of them start to make their way back into the pub. “Alright, put your fucking cock away.”

Remus opens the door to the bar, “Get inside,” he laughs.

“If you don’t make a move soon, fuck I might.” Remus’s face goes slack and he pushes his dickhead of a friend towards their table with a little too much force. He stumbles with a hearty chuckle.

Left alone in the middle of the bar, a little incensed, he turns to look around and spots what looks like your aforementioned red skirt, standing in front of the claw machine.

Bemused, but more intrigued, he beelines for you with slow strides. When he stands behind you he places his hand to your shoulder. You turn around and smile warmly. You’re standing, more like swaying, with both hands inside your purse.

“What are you doing, dove?” he asks and squeezes your shoulder. You push back into him, probably for the stability you lack. He braces you with his thigh behind yours.

“You smell like a chimney.” You wrinkle your nose and he laughs. It reverberates through your chest and you have to blink away the way it makes you feel. Sleepy.

“Sirius is a horrible influence,” he says with an equally wrinkled nose.

“I’m looking for a coin,” you answer his question, looking back down into your purse. “Want to win you something.” Remus’s heart swells tenfold.

Before he can pull one from his pocket as an offering, you bend over and tip your entire purse to the paisley carpet, contents spilling everywhere. Wizard money, bright pink tampons, chapsticks and gum wrappers sit in a pile and Remus steps back with a disgruntled sigh.

You turn and crouch down to sort through everything, Remus looks down and gawps for a second. Half amused, half displeased. He bends down with you and helps as well.

“Do you think it'll take sickles?” you question, moving bandaids to the side. It’s looking like a lost cause.

Remus shakes his head with a laugh, “I don’t think so, honey.”

You frown.

“Here,” He handles a few items and places them in your purse, “I’ll help you clean this up and I’ll win you something, hm?” Remus thinks you’re a bit like Mary Poppins with how much stuff you have. He’d say this to you because you probably would understand the muggle reference, but you seem too upset over your lack of coins.

“Was gonna win you some chocolate,” you laugh, picking up more stuff.

The last few items fall back in with little organisation and he stands. You take his outstretched hands and let him gently tug you back up with a ruffle of your hair.

He pulls a coin from his pocket and slots it into the machine. You stand around to the side with your hands pressed to the glass like a little kid. The flow of colours washes you fluorescent as you point to a cherry ripe in a perfect spot.

He grips the joystick and moves it to where he thinks it hovers right above it.

“More to the left,” you say with your finger smooshed against the machine.

“You’re drunk,” he says before he pushes the red button on top of the stick, not moving it to where you’d said.

You laugh as it doesn’t even graze the chocolate. Claw coming back up with nothing. “Whatever.” He has two more chances at grabbing it and he’s determined.

The second time he does listen to you but still misses by the width of a hair. You both hold your breath as the claw gets lowered for the final time. You bend over to get a better view and watch as it gets picked up, not cheering until it gets dropped in the chute.

You clap as Remus cheers, taking the chocolate thankfully, opening it immediately with a crinkle of red foil. “Thank you, Remus.”

“Anytime.”

You break the chocolate in half and offer him the bigger portion. You both stand there, chewing on cherry and coconut and chocolate. You look at your sticky fingers and the worst of the after-effects of six cocktails suddenly hits you in a wave of nausea. Not enough to make you want to throw up, but enough for you to groan and grab your stomach.

“I think I should go home,” you whine, placing your half of the chocolate back into the wrapper and into your purse, probably just to melt and make a mess. A later problem, you think.

“Feeling okay?” he asks, turning to check you over. Etebrows pinched in concern already.

“I think I had too many cocktails,” you laugh, weakly at that.

“How are you getting home?” he asks.

You laugh, having flashbacks to your last encounter. “That’s my line.”

“It’s a good one.”

“I don’t know how I’m getting home,” you say.

“I’ll call you a taxi.”

You sigh, “That’d be lovely.”

After saying goodbye to the rest of the group, after they’d moaned about your fifteen-minute disappearance with Remus, Thought you’d gotten stuck in the cubicle! James had laughed. Drunkenly, you’d missed the joke. Remus had smacked him up the back of the head. But now, the both of you were making your way to the front entrance.

Remus has to drag you out the door, holding you upright as you stammer and trip on things that aren't there.

“Be careful,” he tuts, holding you closer under his arm.

“There was a frog!” you explain, very much exasperated.

“No there wasn’t,” he laughs.

“Was so!” you strain, fisting his shirt behind his back, sure to stretch the cotton.

“You just want me to hold you tighter.” He’s smug when he says it and can’t really help it. He has Sirius’s words ringing in the back of his head.

You stop at the gutter and kick a stone with your boot, “Maybe.”

Your knees ache, wanting nothing more than to crouch down to the ground. You think it would probably be a bad idea. Though with sore knees and a spinning head, bad ideas turned to the best.

You pull yourself from Remus' hold and bend your legs to crouch in the gutter. Remus’s eyes blow wide and he looks down at you. Not again, he thinks.

Before he can ask what you’re doing, thinking you've passed out, you look up, “Head rush,” you giggle with a huff of air. He sits down next to you, knees almost pressed into his chin.

Remus tugs your knee so you turn towards him, legs pressed together. He keeps his large palm over your thigh because being crouched in a gutter leaves little to the imagination to the drunks walking past and he’s not going to ask you to get up if you’re dizzy.

“You okay?” he murmurs.

You rest your head on his shoulder much like he had the last time you saw him. He hopes he had more care than you do with your cheek cruelly smooshed into his skin. “I’m just a little drunk.”

Lucky for Remus, before he thinks you’re about to fall asleep on his shoulder, your taxi is pulling up. He helps you stand, opens the back door and ushers you in.

Listening to your murmur of thanks Remus before he clicks you in.

“What’s your address, dove? So I can tell the driver.” You give him your address and he passes it off.

Before he can close the door for you, you grab his wrist.

“When can I see you next?” you ask brightly. Hopefully.

“Call me when you’re not hungover,” he laughs, brushing his fingers across your arm. Your grip hardens.

“You’ll answer?” He almost laughs again at how drunk you sound. Of course, he’ll answer.

“Of course, sweetheart.”

You lean across your seat, seatbelt pulling taut as you press a kiss to his cheek. Warm and buttery-soft just like last time, but maybe even worse now that his feelings for you are stronger. It burns.

“Thank you, Remus.”

“That’s okay, lovely.”

You in fact did call Remus, a couple of days after your night out. Expected, you were hungover so you waited a day after to talk.

Remus hadn’t really been expecting you to call him, despite how eager you seemed, he had talked himself out of believing you had any feelings for him. Like he’d imagined it or something.

So, when his phone rings, he’s not expecting it to be you at all. He answers with a sigh, thinking it’s James or Sirius.

“What do you want?” His voice is void of any excitement or joy you’d been selfishly expecting. You were also expecting a more welcoming greeting.

“Remus?” you say, and his hand stills in his cupboard where he’s distractedly putting clean dishes away.

He shuts the cupboard’s door a little too abruptly and cringes, clears his throat so he can speak, “Y/N! Shit, sorry. Hey.” He cringes even more at his stupidity.

“Expecting someone else?” you laugh.

He nods like you can see him, “Yeah, sorry.” He swallows and tries to fix himself, “How are you?”

“I’m good,” you say with a little sigh, “Really, really good.”

“That’s great!”

“Yeah, how are you?” you question.

Remus’s voice goes quieter, “Amazing.” Then there’s a small beat like you’re both thinking, “So, what’s up? Everything okay?”

In his mind, his stupid, paranoid mind, there’s a possibility that all you’ve done is pocket-dialled him. Or, accidentally pressed his name in your contacts, maybe mistaken the name Moony for Mum.

Is his name Moony in your phone? Or is it just Sirius’s friend? God, he wants his thoughts to shut up.

“I wanted to ask you something!” When it sounds like you actually want to talk to him, what almost feels like relief washes over him. Paints him bright as he settles on his sofa, beaming like a schoolboy when he says,

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah!” Your excitement is dizzying. “Are you free this weekend?”

He has to swallow before he speaks, eagerness bleeds through his skin. His foot taps and he picks at a loose thread on his battered shirt. “Yeah, I am.”

You chirp a happy noise, “Awesome! Cool. Um, there’s that gig on at The Red Lion if you wanted to come?”

Remus doesn’t see himself as a cool person and it definitely doesn’t show when he says, “Yeah! I’d love to.” in a tone pitched higher than normal.

“Great. I think Sirius is coming too, I told him about it the other day and said he should invite the others. I wasn’t sure if he had asked you yet.”

Oh.

Remus feels like the biggest idiot ever. You weren’t asking him out, why would you?

He leans down between his legs until all the air is forced from his lungs, he covers the receiver with his hand and groans, long and suffering in self-pity.

Is coughing to clear your throat and hide your disappointment a good thing? Because his voice is a little squeaky when he replies. When he sits back up his head spins. “Sounds great.”

He hears some shuffling on the end of your line before you say, “Amazing. I’ll see you then. Sorry, gotta go. Bye Remus!”

“Bye, sweetheart.”

Remus has about thirty seconds of wallowing in self-pity before his phone is ringing again. He wants to shove it in between his sofa cushions and forget about everything. But he sees Sirius' name flash up on the screen so he answers.

“Moony!” Sirius’s voice pierces the phone line and Remus cringes. “Remus, my good friend.”

“Did you just get lucky or something?” Remus gruffs.

“Huh?”

“You’re too happy. Calm it down.”

Sirius groans, “You’re so content with being miserable, Remus. Just because you can’t get your dick wet.”

Remus wished his stupid friend could see the displeasure on his face, “What do you want?”

“You’re free this weekend, aren’t you?” He questions and Remus hums a yes, expecting to hear the exact same question you had just asked him only three minutes ago.

“Well, you, me, the gang, and a few pints at The Red Lion. Sounds like a plan?” Remus detests his friend's happiness. Or envies it. He feels miserable and doesn’t think Sirius is deserving of his lack of enthusiasm just because you didn’t ask him out.

“Yeah, Y/N already asked me,” he replies.

“Well, don’t get too excited.” Sirius huffs a laugh.

“No, sorry. It’s just I thought she- never mind. Sounds good.”

“Awesome. I’ll send you the deets.”

Remus almost laughs, “The deets? Wait until I tell Marls you talk like that.”

“Shut up.”

“Bye, Sirius.”

Sirius hangs up before he can.

Remus spots you before you do, again. Watches where you lean against the bar on your tip-toes, talking to the bartender about something. He’s making you laugh and he feels the stupid need that it should be him instead.

He does what he always does; walks up behind you and presses his shoulder into your back. You chirp and turn around. Then, your eyes do that thing that they always do that makes him bite the inside of his cheek. They squint, confused, and then light up when you realise who you’re looking at. Remus could swear that they sparkle, but that’s just something he imagines in his lovesick head.

“Remus!” You smile, mouth upturning until the apples of your cheeks swell. You wrap your fingers around his bicep and pull him into your side. He lets you, willingly.

“Y/N,” he says probably a little too quietly for the setting. The pub is starting to fill quickly while the band does sound check, the general hubbub of the patrons mixes in with the strumming of guitars and the feedback from the mics.

“You’re all wet,” you giggle, pressing your fingers into the underside of his arm.

“Yeah, it’s starting to rain out there,” he says.

“You walked?” You frown, pulling your hands from his arm. He can still feel where your fingers were wrapped. A burn against his wet skin.

“From the bus stop.”

“You know there’s this thing wizards can do, I’m not sure if you heard of it. It’s called disapparition,” you quirk, mouth upturning into a teasing smile.

Amused, Remus says, “I don’t usually like muggles to watch someone appear out of thin air.”

You reach forward to grab some napkins from the dispenser on the bar, probably too many. “I would’ve picked you up,” you say matter-of-factly.

He doesn’t reply, just stops still when you reach up to brush away the damp hair from his eyes. There’s water bunching in his hair and falling in tiny beads down his face, over his top lip. You laugh when he licks it away before you dab across his forehead and then his cheeks.

“I missed you,” you say, bunching the paper into a ball.

Remus smiles, too hard he thinks. “You saw me last weekend.”

You think he might be teasing you, though you’re not sure. You feel like you’ve overstepped. Demure, your eyes widen at your error. “Sorry,” you laugh, airy and quiet.

Remus pokes you in your side, “I missed you too,” he laughs.

You nod your head and bite your lip. You feel eased. But embarrassed in the first place. Scrunching the ball of damp napkins in your hands until it pinches. Still, you’re overjoyed.

“What are you drinking?” you ask, splaying your hands over the bar, leaning where it comes up to your chest. You try to ignore everything. The way Remus is making you feel, the busy pub that’s teeming with rowdy people.

“Not sure,” he quirks, eyeing the taps at the end of the bar. “What about you?”

“I think I might just stick to squash,” you laugh knowingly.

“You’re on it tonight,” Remus laughs, splaying his fingers around your shoulder.

“I’m not having any repeats of last week.”

“Damn,” he pouts, “Drunk Y/N is cute.”

You warm, “Drunk Y/N is messy.”

He squeezes you, a funny pinch. “I think you can be both.”

You lean into his side while he orders your drinks. His hand doesn’t move and you don’t want it to. It’s warm and grounding and feels too good to be true. How touchy he is and how you love it. You imagine a world where he doesn’t just touch your shoulder. Imagining what he’d do if you were together. How ruining he would be.

Distracted by his grip on your arm, before you can even reach into your purse to grab your money, he’s paid.

“Remus,” you scold, pushing yourself off the bar.

“Dove,” he smiles, placating. He grabs both of your drinks, in one hand, fingers twisting. The other snakes down to grab your hand to guide you through the crowd of people.

“Stop paying for my drinks.” Someone bumps into you and Remus digs his elbow into your side to stop you from tripping. You smile thankfully.

You let him weave you through patrons, your hand flexing around his until you get to your table. Once you've sat down, he says, “Sorry, didn’t think a fiver would cover it.”

Faux scolding, you shove his arm. “I have more money on me this time.”

“Good,” Sirius pipes up, “you can buy me that cocktail you owe me.”

“I’m sorry, Sirius.” You act like it genuinely does upset you. Though the thought of how you acted when you were drunk last week, is worse. “I’m a really annoying drunk.”

“Sirius is being dramatic,” Remus sighs, leaning back against the booth. He throws an arm behind you, pressing it up against the wall. You stay sitting forward, not sure if it’d be too much to lean into him. Despite him making the first move. “You got your cocktail.”

“Yeah, you bought it,” Sirius faux scoffs. It’s hard to believe that he actually cares about a stolen mojito, easier to believe he’s determined to tease you until you die. “Doesn’t count.”

“I’ll buy you a cocktail if you really want me to, Sirius,” you lilt, happy to get him to shut up. It works when Remus shoots him a look you don’t understand. Sirius bites his tongue and sits back in his seat.

By the time James and Lily get back from the bar, the band has started their set and you’ve had enough time to think too much on whether or not you should lean into Remus’s side. His weight behind you feels like a magnet. The more you want to pull away the stronger the urge is to just give up and fall against him.

Much like everything is with Remus. The more you allow yourself to think you really do like him, the harder it is to keep to your regular ways. You’ve never allowed yourself to be so openly affectionate and loving towards someone without second-guessing every single thing you do.

Not that you don’t. Every time you speak to him, touch his arm for too long or allow yourself to wrap your own arm around his back, there’s that voice in the back of your head that’s screaming at you. Telling you that you’ve let your guard down too much for a boy you’re not even sure likes you as much as you do him and you’ve embarrassed yourself.

It’s totally overwhelming and constantly feels like a back-and-forth battle. Because, sure, it's no secret anymore to anyone who isn't Remus, that you like him. You just wished it were easier.

As if he can hear your head reeling, or he’s just noticed how quiet you’ve suddenly become, he nudges your leg where it’s crossed with his own jean-clad one.

“You okay?” he asks. His face is soft. Too soft for your dismissive and relentless thoughts to ebb. It’s suddenly painful to even be looking at him and you’ve only been around him for no less than twenty minutes. He’s always had that ability.

The nod you give him is unconvincing and your smile is even worse. His eyes flicker and you open your mouth to speak before he can, “Yeah, jus’ thinking.”

“I can tell.”

“You can?”

You chance another look back at him and regret it instantly when he’s smiling like he knows something you don’t. “Yeah.” He nods, “You’re making that face you always do when something’s eating at you.”

Hating being read for filth, you turn to take a sip from your drink, filling your mouth with your straw lest you say something stupid. You drink it too quickly, and once it’s down to its last dregs, your head aches. Brain freeze. You squeeze your eyes shut and try to distract yourself when you say, “What face?”

“Your lips part and your eyebrows pinch. Sometimes I have to double-check you’re not crying.” Remus is a lovely, horribly attentive boy. And if he keeps saying things like that, things that let you know he does actually pay attention to you, you’re not going to last. When you said you wondered how ruining he would be, this isn’t what you had in mind.

Remus says something to you again, but you don’t catch it. The band transitions into a much louder song and his words fall on deaf ears. You do, however, catch the look he shares with Sirius again over your shoulder.

Confused, you suddenly think fresh air would be better than to pain yourself through whatever’s happening around you. “I’ll go get that mojito,” you mumble.

You weave yourself over Remus’s lap, careful where your shoes and hands land, careful to also ignore where he stables you with his own hand on the back of your knee. You try to make it discrete as you beeline for the bar, taking a small turn to head for the back doors.

The warm air cast from the setting sun slowly dwindles away and you cross your arms over your body, leaning against the railing to the left of the smoking area. When the door shuts behind you, the music from inside slowly dies down and you’re grateful to be the only one out here.

The fear you have been feeling throughout your entire friendship with Remus does its best to claw its way up your throat. Makes your breathing staggered and your palms itch. You suspect if you spent any more time with him inside you would’ve only embarrassed yourself more than you feel like you already have. Best you do it out here instead.

The muffled music slowly grows louder when you hear the door open and you pay it no mind. Not until there’s a hand on your shoulder. You flinch and turn around, pushing yourself against the railing.

“Shit, sorry. Just me,” Remus smiles, pulling his hand from your shoulder.

“Remus,” you breathe, hand to your chest, “You scared me.”

“Sorry,” he frowns.

You pause. Trust him to notice your departure. You hope he doesn’t ask you any questions, you don’t expect yourself to hold anything in anymore if he soothes you over.

“You okay?”

Fuck sakes.

“Um, yeah.” You nod. Remus moves to your side, arm pressed up against the railing and you follow him. Turning so you’re face to face.

“You sure? You just kind of up and left.” he laughs weakly, stopping when he notices you don’t join in.

“Sorry,” you apologise.

“What for?” he asks kindly. You once more detest his kindness and his ability to get you to open up.

“I don’t know,” you sigh, leaning further into the railing and it rattles, “I’m being weird.” You’re not opening up like you’d expected, though the words you want to say to him are at the back of your mind, where they were once pushed away, slowly crawling forward. If he keeps looking at you like that, they might spill.

“You’re not.”

“I am. I’m thinking too much and it,” you heave a calming breath. You want to tell him how you feel, not ramble, “it hurts.”

“Hey,” He traces a line over the hinge of your elbow, “what’s going on in that head of yours, hm? Care to let me in?”

You swallow, “That’s the problem. I can’t find the words.”

“That’s okay.” He squeezes your arm, “Take your time.”

His gaze is soft though it still burns where it’s settled over your face, his grip on your arm is worse. Still, it’s grounding. You blink and take a few calming breaths.

The door opens up again and the band’s music spews back outside. It’s the same song that was playing the night you sat on Sirius's couch and you’d freaked about how it was both your favourite. In some cheesy, cliche way, you take it as a sign.

“I’ve never been one for showing, let alone telling someone how I feel about them,” you begin, “I’m not sure if that’s the most obvious thing ever, or if I’ve gotten really good at hiding it but…”

Remus is smiling widely, more smug than anything. It makes you nervous and you advert your gaze to the ground. Over the ash-strained brick tile under your sneakers, “Stop looking at me like that or I won’t be able to finish what I’m trying to tell you,” you sigh.

“Like what?” he asks like he’s oblivious. Like his mouth isn’t now upturned into the slyest smile.

“That!’’ Your face grows warm and you have to press the backs of your hands into them. You can feel the thrumming of your heart in your fingertips.

“Sorry, you were saying,” he chuckles.

“God, where did you get all this confidence from, Remus?” you ask, a little dazed. Maybe it’s the setting or the fact you’re both finally sober together that brings out a different side of him, though you can’t be sure.

Remus shakes his head, “I’m sorry, you just look so cute when you get flustered.”

Your mouth parts, a shocked, demure gasp slips past them. Gawping, you say, “You’re not drunk, are you?” It’s not the first time he’s said it, but it's the first time it feels different.

“Not this time. For once,” he laughs knowingly.

“Right,” you pause. Taking in a shuddered breath. In what world you would ever expect this to be easy, you’re not sure. You’re also not sure that doing this with Remus makes it easier. Easier, because he makes you feel secure and appropriately worked down to tell him anything; harder because it’s him you have to let your emotions go with. It’s him you have to let know of your heartachingly, sore feelings you have. He can’t just be there on the sidelines guiding you through it.

Remus watches you slip away into your shy, quiet self again. He can almost hear your thoughts reeling, “God, you’re worse than me.”

You giggle nervously, all pitched up and light, “You make me nervous,”

He steps forward and if your eyes weren’t stuck on the ground, you wouldn’t have noticed it. He’s smooth. “Do I now?” He hooks a knuckle under your downwardly pointed chin and gives it a tap.

You look back up, catching his gaze, “I hate you,”

“No you don’t,” he says matter of factly. Like its the most obvious thing ever. You’re sure it is.

“I don’t?” You blink slowly.

He closes the gap between you some more and suddenly you’re overwhelmed by him. The smell of his laundry detergent, something familiar and heady, mixed in with the cologne that you swear follows you home. Where the toe of his boot almost touches your sneaker and where the sleeve of his sweater catches on your bracelet because he’s as close as possible. Though you still think he’s not close enough.

His voice mixes in with the same song that’s playing inside and you can barely hear him when it builds to a crescendo and he says, “You weren’t about to go on some rant about how you love me?”

“Remus…” you murmur, quieter than the thumping of your heart in your chest,

“No?”

You bite your tongue, but it does nothing to stop you from saying, “God, yes. Just- kiss me, please.”

“What?” he asks, more shocked than you’ve been this entire interaction.

“Kiss me, Remus. Before the song ends.” You lean into him, up on the balls of your feet and pull your hands between your bodies.

Face to face, lips hovering over yours, he murmurs, “You sure?”

“Completely,”

It’s the last thing you say before Remus kisses you so hard, so deep, that you forget how it was even possible to form words in his presence before now. Snakes his arms around your back and holds you so close your shirt rides up until your skin presses into the soft material of his sweater.

He tastes of stout, a weird mixture against the lemon on your tongue. You can’t find it in you to mind when he hums into your mouth. A desperate, pleading sound that has you squeezing the flesh of his hips. Compared to the reserved and diffident relationship you’ve held with Remus up until now, the kiss you share is nothing alike. It’s passionate and heated. Longing.

The song ends and with a final tug of your bottom lip, he pulls away panting. Eyes skipping over your face, a little glassy and bouncy. “Fuck,” he murmurs.

Tugging on the hem of his sweater, you say, “What?’' with a light chuckle.

“If I…” Remus has to compose himself lest he says something embarrassing. Completely forward. “If I knew kissing you would’ve been like that…I would’ve done it ages ago.”

“I think I’ve wanted you to kiss me for a really long time,” you confess, giddily rocking back and forth on your feet. Canvas sneakers crushing into the ground.

“Yeah?” he hums. Smugness still ever present.

“Yeah.”

“Thoughts on me kissing you again?” he asks, still not letting you go where you’re held against his torso.

You look over his shoulder, “I think if you kiss me again, Sirius’s jaw might fall to the floor.”

Remus turns and spots Sirius and James almost pressed to the glass window. James doesn’t look as pleased, shoving a crumpled note into Sirius's palm. Turning back to face you, he rolls his eyes, “I think they had a bet going.”

“Should we give Sirius his money’s worth?” you giggle.

“I’m going to kiss you. But, not for Sirius.” Remus says, “Only because you look insanely beautiful right now and if I don’t do it again, my brain might go numb.”

“What are you waiting for then?”

“Nothing.”

#remus lupin #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin x fem!reader #remus lupin x female reader #remus lupin x you #remus lupin x yn #remus lupin fanfic #remus lupin fanfiction #remus lupin imagine #remus lupin oneshot #marauders fanfiction #the marauders fanfiction #marauder x reader

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wileys-russo · 7 months

Note

please can you write a little fic about Leah’s beanie in her most recent insta post, like her gf thinking she looks cute and making her post a pic or taking the piss out of Leah for posting a pic in the beanie x

garden gnome II l.williamson

"god its fucking freezing!" you shivered, subbed off with ten minutes to go as your body finally cooled down from all the running, the brisk london air sharp as needles as the wind blew on and you collapsed onto the subs bench.

"thank you less." you sighed in relief as alessia handed you your puffer, the blonde sending you a smile as the two of you leaned into one another a little more to stay warm, lia joining in on your other side.

all three of you jumped to your feet buzzing with new energy as the whistle finally blew announcing your victory. "steffyyy!" you cheered loudly, jumping on the older girls back who stumbled but let out a laugh as you kissed her cheek and hopped down.

"if you play like that with jet lag we're sending you back to melbourne for the week." you teased as she hugged you properly. "puddin points are best cooked under pressure." caitlin flung an arm over your shoulder with a grin as she and steph high fived.

you were flanked by lotte, vic and alessia as you did your thank you lap, clapping to the fans as you caught your girlfriends eye in the stands, clapping up at her making her roll her eyes with a smile as she chatted away to ellie who gave you a wave.

"lovesick much." alessia teased, bumping her shoulder into yours as vic echoed her word making you stick your tongue out at them. "look at her all bundled up and in her little beanie, she's so cute i just wanna go and give her a cuddle." you sighed still looking up at her.

"oi! jealous much?" you pushed vic who gagged at your words, the force of your push sending her tumbling onto her bum as she glared up at you. "run." alessia patted your shoulder as you took off, a string of angry dutch following you as the two of you raced in laps around the pitch until she caught you and punched you sharply in the arm, the team all called in for a huddle.

"hello gorgeous." a pair of arms tightly wound round you from behind as you settled happily into the extra warmth, tilting your head back and smiling up at the older blonde. she stayed holding onto you as you all bunched up for the post match talk, her hands only moving to clap loudly as jonas finished up talking.

"mum wants to see you." leah mumbled with a kiss to your cheek, nodding for you follow her as you both made your way into the fast clearing stands. "amanda!" you grinned as the woman pulled you into a tight hug. "love you played brilliantly! even if leah wouldn't shut up with her personal coaching the entire match." she rolled her eyes as leah protested the accusation.

"oh i've no doubt once we're home i'll get the full debrief on everything i could have done better. gaffa williamson loves to come out after a win!" you teased, leah pinching your sides with a stern look as you only smiled, pecking her lips.

"try raising her, every single little thing gets feedback even if you don't ask for it. for someone who can't cook god she just loves to critisise everyone else who can!" amanda added on with a dramatic sigh.

"yeah i bought the wrong brand of ham the other week. should have heard how she moaned about it for days!" "used to yell directions at me and scream for me to go faster when i drove her to training every week, as if i didn't drive her there every week."

"right fuck off what is it pick on leah day! i'm injured here thanks how bout a bit of sympathy?" your girlfriend huffed, crossing her arms with a scowl. "oh sorry baby i forgot how sensitive you are. is everyone being mean to you?" you continued to tease, pinching her cheeks in your hands as amanda watched on fondly.

"you look so cute in your beanie lee lee, my little garden gnome." you cooed mockingly, smooshing her face in your hands as her eyes burned into you with a murderous glare. "gnome-o and juliet eh?" amanda grinned making you high five her with a cheer.

"mum! god don't fucking don't encourage her she's relentless." leah groaned, pulling you into a headlock as you smacked her stomach through the three layers she was bundled in. "you love it." she let you up and pulled you into a tight hug, her arms curled around your neck and resting on your shoulders as the two of you chatted with her mum for a bit.

"oh i need a photo before i go! to mark the win." amanda was about to leave as she perked up, pulling out her phone as she tucked herself in beside you, leahs chin resting on the top of your head as the three of you smiled happily and amanda took a few selfies.

"beautiful. i'll see you both round for dinner yeah?" she reminded firmly as you nodded. "yeah we'll be round after five mum, i'll pick grandma up on the way." leah confirmed as amanda beamed, hugging you both goodbye as the three of you descended from the stands.

you and leah hung around for another half hour chatting with your team mates, cuddled into one another the entire time as you battled the ongoing teasing from your team mates, both claiming you were just keeping one another warm.

"what are you doing now?" leah sighed as you both made her way toward her car and you dropped her hand, pulling out your phone and ordering her to pose.

"capturing the memory. i'm gonna start a little garden gnome scrapbook of all your beanie pictures, this ones disappointingly not as pointy as normal but you still look adorable." you beamed snapping a few photos of her as you reached her car, the back lot where the players parked basically almost empty.

"leah!" you laughed as she huffed and yanked off her beanie, hair tied back into a low and loose bun as she pulled her hood up and advanced on you. "hi baby." you grinned as she pushed you against the side of her car, smile tugging at her lips as her arms caged you in.

"lee!" you laughed again as she tugged her beanie down over your head, covering your eyes and attacking your face with kisses as she held the material down on your head and you struggled to push her away.

"whose the little garden gnome now?" leah sung out, flipping up the edge of the beanie so your eyes were free to meet hers, the blonde giving you a dazzlingly bright smile. "still you, you've got the pointy cone head not me." you shrugged, tapping on the top of her head as her mouth formed a small o of offence.

"what am i going to do with you?" leah tutted, shaking her head with a sigh. "kiss me and never stop." you whispered, hands grabbing the sides of her hood and pulling her mouth to meet yours. though before anything got carried away she gently intertwined your hands and pulled away.

"oh just you wait till we get home cheeky girl."

#woso x reader #woso fanfics #leah williamson x reader #leah williamson #woso blurbs #woso #woso imagine #engwnt

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pedrisbanana · 1 year

Note

hi can i please request a smut where some opponent calls gavi a kid or something or insults him so gavi fucks the players wife/gf as payback 😳

Pablo and his andalusian charms...

Enjoy 🍌

Garden Gnome

"Fucking child, go back to La Masia and learn the rules. Little garden gnome." Your boyfriend was screaming at Pablo Gavi. Some portuguese swear words followed.

The referee was coming their way, but the two got themselves together before he decided to pull a card on them. Gavi was discussing with the neutral, but he waved him off until Pedri was pulling at the attackers sleeve.

Just a few seconds later the two opponents got at each other again. The Athlético striker pushed Gavi purposely during a corner kick. The short footballer was raging.

Your lips reading skills in Spanish, combined with the loud whistles coming from the crowd, weren't the best, but you were sure his words weren't nice. You couldn't even be mad. João could be very intense, especially when provoked.

---

You congratulated your boyfriend with a sensual kiss in the locker room of the guest team. He told you to wait for him as he was called for an interview. The locker room was nearly empty as all the players left for the bus , so you started to pack João's stuff into his small Goyard beauty bag.

"I can't believe Félix has got his fangirls stalking him up into the locker rooms." A light voice startled you.

Dropping João's beauty bag onto the bench, you turned around. Pablo Gavira was walking towards you.

"I'll have you know that I am João's girlfriend." you said, putting your hands on your hips.

"Ah yes. My bad, I should have recognized your ass from his instagram." he teased, leaning against the table across from you.

"Who's stalking who now, hm ?" you cocked an eyebrow.

The chuckle he let out was spiteful. "I'm looking for Félix because I want to clear out some things that happened on the pitch."

Gavi started playing with a bracelet on his wrist. The pearls were blue, red and gold. Probably self made and gifted to him by a fan. Cute.

"Well Gavi-"

He interrupted you. "Pablo."

"Pablo, João can be very rude when provoked, but to be honest, you aren't exactly tall."

Yes. Pablo was only 5'7, but you still only reached his shoulders and his height didn't change the fact that he was insanely attractive. His clothes complemented his athletic but slim built. The oversized sweater making his shoulders look broad.

The kiss came unexpected. His plush lips claimed yours as he trapped you against the locker with his body. Gavi's hands caught your hips.

His tongue played with yours and you moaned into his mouth, making him grind his hips into yours. You felt him swollen against the baggy denim of his jeans.

You were out of breath when the andalusian broke the kiss and pressed his forehead against yours. Your hands fisted the soft cotton of his fabric covered forearms for support. Knees feeling like jelly, you tried to clear your mind.

Gavi smelled like a fresh shower and male. In a situation like this it was the most intoxicating smell, making you forget that you were João's girlfriend.

He buried his face into your neck, kissing and nibbling on the sensitive skin. If he could feel your heartbeat on his lips, he would now that you were close to ventricular fluttering. His hands traveled down to hike your skirt up.

Your panties were soaked. It embarrassed you to be turned on by someone else than your boyfriend, but something about him made you mindless enough to let Gavi continue.

He pushed the thin scrap of lace down your thighs until it pooled at your feet. You were exposed to him now. His voice was like honey in your ear.

"You're so wet cariño. All for me, hm ?" Gavi's fingers spread the wetness from between your folds over your clit, making you clench. His touch was rough. Nothing about this was sweet. Your head fell back against the cold metal of the locker.

You whined when he let go of you.

He walked back to the table and patted the surface. "C'mere mi amor. I want to fuck you like the whore you are."

A pink tint adored your cheeks as you stepped out of your panties and walked over to him. He embraced you from behind, one of his hands pressing against your back, right were João's name was printed, so you laid flat on the table.

You're heard him unzip his jeans and anticipated his touch.

"Pablo." you moaned as he entered you.

The stretch of him send delicious shivers down your spine and you moved your hips against him. His hips snapped against your backside in a fast pace.

Gavi put all his pent up frustration towards Joao into fucking you.

"Your pussy is so tight hermosa, holding me in a vice grip." he groaned.

The wet sounds of his dick slipping in and out of you mixed with your moans, hollowing through the room.

His other hand moved to his mouth, wetting the fingertips, before he found your clit. Rubbing in figure eights you started to grind against his hips. The feeling of Gavi balls deep inside of you brought you closer to your orgasm.

"You're such a slut, letting another footballer fuck you in your boyfriends jersey." The hand on your back moved to grab your ponytail, pulling.

You arched into him as he leaned over you. His lips found your neck again, sucking. He wanted to leave marks.

"Pablo, harder please. I need to come." you whimpered, almost screaming.

"You need to be quiet, hermosa." He pushed two of his fingers in your mouth to shut you up.

You started sucking on them, teasing with your tongue. Pushing them deeper, saliva dripped from the corners of your mouth. Your clit was pulsing and you were sure you were coming every second now.

Gavi's lips pecked their way to your flushed cheek. Pressing a chaste kiss to it.

"Cheaters don't get to orgasm, mi amor." He chuckled and with a few hard thrusts, released himself inside of you.

His cum filled you up, but his fingers left your sweet spot, denying your own release.

You turned to face him after he pulled out. You didn't know what to say, words stuck in your throat.

"Clean me up." he smirked and stroked his cock in his hand, lubricated by your juices.

You sunk to your knees and looked up again.

"What ? Are you being shy now ? Don't give me the innocent act when you've got my cum squirting out of your pussy." Gavi grabbed your ponytail and pushed your face towards his cock.

You slowly took the tip between your lips, when the door burst open.

"Anjo, I'm sorry, they wanted me to-" The portuguese accent of your boyfriend made you freeze.

Gavi smirked, pulling his cock from your mouth, tucking himself away. He bent down to straighten your ponytail and wipe his sperm from your lips with his thumb. Flicking your nose, he smiled at you.

He walked towards a startled João stopping beside him.

"I just wanted a last review of my performance before going back to La Masia and looks like your girl has got a different impression."

A/N: Just a little smut for my comeback...

Leave me some feedback loves 💕

#pablo gavi smut #gavi imagine #gavi smut #gavi x reader #pablo gavi x reader #gavi one shot #pablo gavi

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istoleyoursk1n · 5 months

Note

Hello! I know I just requested something else, but I also have another request if you're up for it 🥰 How about all of the companies with a s/o who's really short and wears a lot of layers but it's later revealed that they're absolutely ripped and ridiculously muscular but nobody would have expected it? I think it'd be hilarious to see everyone go "Holy cow you could crush my head if you wanted to 😯"

Thank you so much again!!

•❅───────────✧❅✦❅✧───────────❅•

How would they react to a Tav who wears a lot of layers but is secretly ripped

: ̗̀➛ ASTARION

“So you’re telling me the little garden gnome could have manhandled half of us if they wanted to? Gods. Am I to be thanking you for sparing me and my pretty skin unscathed all this time?”

Probably the one making fun of your height and holding things up above you so you couldn't reach them.

He didn't really see you as anything he should be threatened by so he figured he could get away with a lot.

Besides you never really tried to fight back most of the time so he found his own little source of entertainment with his playful little jabs at you.

Was very much startled when you shook those layers off to reveal your muscular frame, he didn't expect it at all. You didn't even look strong in his eyes, until now at least.

Suddenly he’s wondering why you haven't once tried to punch him in the face after the amount of times he's poked fun at you.

Do not punch his face though (0/10) would not recommend, he bites.

Questions why you even bother to hiding yourself in layers upon layers of clothing? Is it some sort of deceptive tactic he wasn't aware of? (It probably wasn't but he’s appalled that you’d even hide something like this).

Other than that, he's impressed. Who knew you were hiding your own raw strength behind layers of clothing? Quite the sight for sore eyes if he does say so himself.

Encourages you to show it off more often, who needs all those rags when you have such an impressive build?

: ̗̀➛ WYLL

“Hells, to think that behind all those rags was the body of a true warrior! Safe to say that I’ll never be doubting your abilities again.”

Truthfully found you rather adorable since you were considered the shortest among the rest of your travelling companions.

You seemed harmless enough, but, he never once believed that you were completely fragile because of it.

However, there were times when he’d often do tasks that you knew you were perfectly capable of handling yourself over the fact that he was unaware of your true strength.

There have been a lot of times when he jumped in front of you during battles, worried that you couldn't handle it yourself.

However, the shock that appeared on his face once all those layers were shaken off was priceless.

He might have been a little bit embarrassed as well seeing as how he might have underestimated you a tad bit which knew could be quite undermining on your end.

Immediately voices his initial surprise and how amazed he is that you seem to look as fit if not even more so than him.

You look amazing! And he wishes you could leave all the layers more often if it's something you are comfortable with of course.

You knew he was already quite fond of you but now wistful glances from him would come as often as possible in pure admiration of your raw strength. Safe to say he’d never be underestimating your capabilities again.

: ̗̀➛ GALE

“It seems that until now, I find myself learning new information about you… though, I must say, you possessing a rather athletically built figure wasn't one of them. Not to say I don’t appreciate the way you look.”

Wasn't quite sure why you were wearing that many layers of clothing. The weather was already relatively hot and still, you insisted on wearing such things.

I mean, as long as you are comfortable and happy with them he didn't seem all too bothered by it.

Found you endearing in his own way, seeing as he would often find himself craning his neck or having to bend his body to meet your eye level but it made it all the more amusing for him.

Similar to Wyll, he found himself underestimating your true abilities as you truly appeared harmless in his eyes. Sure, if you had to kill a goblin for your own survival you would but you didn't exactly give off brutish vibes.

Even so, that never made him find your company any less enjoyable.

Though, he was quite startled when your true form was revealed, and all those extra layers of clothing were taken off from you. He wasn't even sure if he was looking at the right person.

One moment you appeared as innocent and delicate as could be only for you to actually have the body of someone who's probably more physically capable than him.

You've probably given him another reason as to why he admires you all too much. The new look on you is a tad bit distracting for him and Gale can't manage to hide how smitten he is for the life of him.

If anything, now you’re all the more distracting to him, and it takes him a while to break out of that haze he's put himself in.

: ̗̀➛ KARLACH

“Fucking hell, all the things I could have known about you but I never thought it would be this! You’re absolutely ripped! A badass body for one of the coolest people I know.”

Was practically squealing from how adorable you looked, especially in comparison to her towering height. You were like a little puppy in her eyes.

She couldn't understand why you’d wear so many layers of clothing, it's not like it was cold, and she knew that if she were to try that herself she’d feel uncomfortable as all hell.

But she won't press on it, as long as you are okay with it then wear as much as you wish.

The moment she was able to touch you, she was off carrying you around. She had wanted to pick you up for the longest time but she didn't understand why you felt slightly heavier than she thought you would be.

Perhaps it's all the extra layers of clothing? Either way, she didn't care. As long as she got to mess around with her favorite travel companion then what the hell.

Freaked out the moment you actually revealed how ripped you are beneath all the rags. You were practically as muscular as her.

It only seemed to excite her more because now she's fawning over how amazing you look and what you did to make your body look like this.

You've only grown to be ten times more awesome in her eyes and to see you use your true strength makes her swoon. She couldn't have chosen a better companion to have alongside her.

Suddenly the extra weight she felt carrying you made a lot more sense. Not that she’ll ever complain. Even with the newfound information, she’ll never stop lifting you up in her arms for the fun of it.

: ̗̀➛ SHADOWHEART

“I suppose there's more to be known about you, isn't there? I was not expecting you to be as fit as you are but I can't say it isn't something I’d find myself grow tired of seeing.”

She didn't think much about the extra layers of clothing you wore other than it being for comfort or aesthetics. She's not one to care much for it.

You've been a helpful and valuable member of the group thus far, she saw no reason to underestimate you even in terms of strength.

It was rather amusing to have you around as a much shorter companion than her.

It wasn't something she ever mentioned or poked fun of but the coy little smile on her face revealed just how much she found the height difference amusing.

She was pleasantly surprised the moment you revealed just how muscular you truly are, even with her insight she never would have expected it.

Regardless, she's impressed with your stature, knowing that obtaining such a form would have taken a long time to have.

With or without all the layers, she still thinks you’re pleasing in her eyes, and whether you choose to use that undeniable strength is all up to you.

Though, she will take a moment to admire you while she can. She’d never force you to quit using layers of clothing but looking at you when you’re like this has its own appeal.

: ̗̀➛ LAE’ZEL

“Just when I thought we’d have to eliminate you for your lack of use. Chk, perhaps I was wrong about you, istik. Consider my blade unsheathed for now.”

Practically disregarded you at first. You seemed so weak in her eyes that she wasn't even sure what assistance you’d provide for her.

She finds the layers upon layers of clothing unnecessary and it isn't practical when charging into battle. She's told you to leave it multiple times to your dismay.

Unless you have done something to prove that you are fairly capable of handling your own battles, she's very blunt about how incapable you seem to her.

It's even worse if you’re short cause she just has more aspects of you to undermine you with.

She’ll come off as really mean but that's mostly due to how she was raised. She can easily spot disadvantages and she won't hesitate to point out each one, especially if you two aren't close.

Was genuinely shocked to see you without the layers and what your true strength truly holds. She would have taken all those demeaning words the moment you've proved yourself.

Besides, seeing you in your true glory probably woke something up in her.

She's infatuated by strong, powerful warriors and seems that you fit the bill.

You were everything she thought you weren't and she’d come to realize just how wrong about you she was. You could have probably even sparred against her if only she had given you the proper chance.

She’d come around to actually apologizing for her earlier jabs at you sooner or later but she truly has gained a newfound respect for you. You’ll never find her insulting you again.

: ̗̀➛ HALSIN

“You’re full of surprises, aren't you? Perhaps you never truly needed my protection, you've been blessed with a body that I’m certain nature itself worked tirelessly to perfect. However, I stand at your side in case you wish for any assistance.”

Thought nothing much of your extra layers of clothing. If anything it made you look all the more adorable in his eyes.

You could tell he was already enamored by you every time you had to look up to him to speak, the smile on his face never seemed to have disappeared.

He was probably extra protective of you under the assumption that you weren't as strong as the rest. Not that it was something he considered to be bad, but he wanted to make sure you wouldn't get hurt.

He’d end up doing most of the fighting for you, insisting that he's got it handled even though you knew you were capable of fighting the rest off yourself.

Regardless, it wasn't unpleasant to have Halsin come in to protect you despite your capabilities, it showed how much he cared.

He was startled when you showed your body beneath all the layers of clothing, even having to take a few seconds to stare as if he couldn't believe it.

This only seemed to make him all the more interested in you now that his eyes managed to catch a glimpse of the skin underneath all those rags, it was a sight that he would have imprinted into his mind.

Nevertheless, he will never underestimate you again but he’ll always be there in case you still wish for his protection. He could never say no to you.

•❅───────────✧❅✦❅✧───────────❅•

#bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 headcanon #bg3 headcanons #bg3 wyll #bg3 astarion #bg3 gale #bg3 halsin #bg3 shadowheart #bg3 lae’zel #bg3 karlach #astarion #wyll #gale #shadowheart #halsin #lae’zel #karlach #bg3 x reader

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trashcanfanfics · 7 months

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Male yautia x fem reader

You an your mate live on earth in a picture perfect neighborhood. White pick-it fences, big backyard and one of those big roundabout at the end of the street.

Yep, life sure is good.

Except when the neighborhood bitch Karen and her group try and one up your husband. Karen and your mate have been in a while on fud for years. But your mate, ever the gentleman, acts like a petty white bitch back.

As for her husband? You an him golf every Sunday, a nice guy, just no back bone, an a grate baker.

Reader gender not mentioned, could be any gender

Getting your yautja to agree to a quiet life in a cozy little neighborhood would've been next to impossible if they weren't an elder looking to settle down. The fact that it was you they'd been able to settle down with helped too.

Everything was peaceful; you had a great house, a pet, your mate. All perfect. They'd even found a love for gardening, and you had fresh vegetables and fruits growing. It kept them busy and in shape, they said.

Of course, things can never be too perfect. Enter Cheryl, your neighbor across the street. She had been polite and nice at first, complimenting the flowers out front and your funny little gnome. Things went downhill after she met your mate, however. There was an unspoken hostility that made the tension in the air almost unbearable.

From then on, she and your mate made attempts to outdo each other. If your mate planted roses, she'd plant at least two bushes of different colors. Once at a block party, your mate made strawberry ice cream from an old recipe book and Cheryl was quick to pull her posse into shaming them for making a dairy product.

"What about the lactose intolerant people, hm? That's why MY dish is gluten and lactose free. For those who have dietary restrictions." Her smug look and the hushed laughter of her group infuriated your mate. They grumbled for a week after that and vowed to make her pay.

Her husband, Henry, on the other hand, was a genuinely good guy. How he ended up with Cheryl of all people is a mystery. You two walked your dogs together and fish on the weekends. Henry even shared his recipe for his famous angel food cake with you. He's the only reason your mate hasn't incinerated Cheryl by now. That and the fact that your mate secretly enjoys the challenge.

Overall, your life with your mate isn't completely peaceful, but you wouldn't have it any other way, and you know your mate feels the same whenever they look at you.

#trashcan answers you #yautja boyfriend #yautja girlfriend #yautja x reader #predator x reader #yautja headcanon

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gemini-sensei · 8 months

Text

Perv | Shy!Eli Moskowitz x Chubby!Best Friend!Reader ft. Voyeur!Demetri Alexopoulos

Kinkyober Day 8: Voyeurism A/N: this is a call back to a post I made a long ass time ago that I think is probably my most popular post lol. So enjoy. CW: noncon voyeurism, unprotected sex, creampie, fingering, a lil bit of body insecurity, monstercock!Demetri, jacking off.

Demetri had only come over to get back a video game Eli borrowed from him. That was all he'd anticipated using the hidden key for.

When he learned no one was home, he took the key from under the garden gnome and let himself in. He only planned to be there for a few minutes; he'd grab his game and leave just as fast as he'd gotten there. But of course that isn't how things worked out.

For whatever reason, when Demetri heard someone coming into the house, he hid in Eli's closet. He knew he wasn't supposed to be there at that moment, but it wouldn't have been the worst thing in the world should he have been found there. He was a long-time friend of Eli's, so anyone in the house would have understood him being there even if Eli wasn't there.

But it was too late to be thinking about other outcomes because he'd already sealed his fate. Especially when he heard Eli and Reader's voices making their way upstairs.

They entered the room and Reader took a seat on the bed. Eli shut the door behind them, his heart hammering away in his chest. Though they'd been in this situation before, it hardly got easier for him to believe it was happening. Reader was better with these things than he was, he could tell as she sat so pretty on his bed, as if that was where she belonged.

He sat beside her and licked his lips. He never knew how to start these things; these moments they had together all alone.

Reader, despite her cool and calm appearance, was just as nervous. They'd only done this a handful of times and she still couldn't believe Eli wanted her of all people. It made her heart beat like that of a hummingbird's. But she took some initiative and reached for his hand, taking it into hers gently.

Soon, they were gravitating toward each other and their lips met. Sparks flew, just like every other time, and it didn't take long for it to heat up. Eli wrapped an arm around her waist and laid his other hand on her thigh. Her arms wrapped around his neck and pulled him close, one hand slipping into his soft hair. He squeezed her thigh and she moaned into his mouth, making his head a little dizzy.

They pulled away from each other, panting heavily into each other's faces before he softly asked if she wanted to lay on the bed. She nodded and crawled further onto the mattress. Before she laid down, she pulled her shirt off and threw it aside. Eli's eyes stayed glued to her the entire time, mesmerized by every curve that made up her body.

Demetri, from his hidden position, couldn't believe his eyes. Through the slates of the closet door, he could see everything. Eli's bed was slowly becoming a stage and he had a front-row seat to the show. It was unbelievable, in more ways than one.

For starters, he had no idea his two best friends were together. While he had expected it for a long time, he thought they would have told him about it. Secondly, they were fucking! Another thing he at least thought Eli would tell him about.

The last unbelievable thing that caught him by surprise was the fact that he was getting turned on by the truth unfolding before him. He felt the tightness beginning in his jeans as his best friends undressed each other. By the time they were in their underwear, he was so hard that it hurt and he couldn't think straight because of it.

So when he started undoing his pants, he had little idea as to what he was really doing. He told himself it was to relieve the pain, but in the back of his mind, he knew only bad things could come of this.

"Eli..." Reader whined softly.

Demetri looked up to find Eli with his hands on her panties. They were wet and making the perfect imprint of her fat pussy and Eli was ready to pull them off of her. But she crossed her arms over her mostly exposed body.

Eli leaned into her and pressed a number of kisses to her lips and down her neck. He whispered softly, "You don't have to hide with me."

Demetri could hardly hear what was said, as the room was fairly quiet otherwise but his ears were burning and buzzing. He was still in a state of disbelief, his jeans halfway down his thighs and his cock straining against his underwear. He caught himself staring as Reader let Eli pull her panties off and unveil her pretty, wet pussy.

She shivered as the air hit her and she instinctively closed her legs. Eli let out a little laugh and she smiled. They felt so comfortable with each other, so safe. He made her feel like she was on top of the world and they could laugh with each other in these vulnerable moments. It was beautiful.

While he shed his boxers, she opened up her legs. Her hands slithered between her thighs and she began touching herself, spreading her wetness and collecting some of it onto her fingers.

Eli watched her with a sparkle in his eyes, lust deep-seated there but it was buried under a fiery passion. He licked his lips and pumped his cock, spreading the pre cum that escaped his tip over his shaft. Then he let her take over, although she was a little shy, and he moaned as she prepped him with her own arousal. Her hand felt a lot better than his own.

They were still inexperienced, still exploring what each other liked and didn't like, but they moved at their own pace and made sure they were ready. At the same time, they were needy and desperate for each other, so it didn't take long before Eli was positioning his cock at her entrance. He ran his tip through her folds before he pushed into her, letting out a low groan as she moaned loudly.

Demetri held one hand over his mouth as he watched them, his other hand pushing his underwear out of the way. His cock sprung free, weeping with need and relief as he finally set it free from its cloth prison. It hung heavy and he knew the tip was likely leaking all over the carpet, but he couldn't bring himself to care for that much as he watched Eli's cock sink into Reader's fat cunt.

They let out pretty moans and groans, little mutterings of each other's names. She was so tight wrapped around his cock, it brought about that dizziness again. When he bottomed out in her pussy, he dropped his head on her shoulder to gather himself. He needed a moment to collect himself, or else he may come sooner than he wanted to. She similarly needed a moment to adjust to the way he stretched her out.

In the meantime, he felt up her tits. He groped and lightly tugged on them before trailing his hands lower to her pudgy belly and waist. He whimpered softly, mumbling into her ear about how beautiful she was and how he always had to keep himself from staring at her. She whined and squirmed under his affectionate touch, smiling as he called her all sorts of pretty names. It made her feel so cared for.

Demetri handled his cock in the dark closet, trying to keep from making too much of a mess, but the littlest touch had him swallowing moans. He never got any attention, didn't know the touch of a woman, and so his cock was extra sensitive to any contact when he was hard. It was why he tried to never have any dirty thoughts because it was such a hassle to deal with, never mind the fact that he had an above-average cock.

Copious amounts of pre cum leaked from the tip and he tried to catch it in his hand only to have nowhere for it to go. So he pumped himself and slicked his dick up. He held down every moan knowing that if he let even one slip, he was in big trouble.

"Eli," Reader whined, catching Demetri's attention. "Please move!"

Eli nodded against her shoulder. He pulled himself up and braced himself against the mattress, pulling his hips back. He almost pulled all of the way out of her, but his tip caught on her pussy lips and he slowly pushed back in. He set the pace slow and built it up to something he knew they both enjoyed, fucking her wet cunt at a moderate pace. It was enough to make her pussy squelch and weep around his cock, pulling moans and gasps from her pretty lips.

With the show finally in full motion, Demetri was practically hypnotized by their performance. He used one hand to jack off and the other to keep himself quiet while he watched. As he did so, he knew it was wrong. He knew there was no going back from this; he'd have not only watched his two best friends fuck but gotten off to it. While he could only think about this moment, in the back of his mind he had no idea how they were going to continue to be friends after this. After all, Eli and Reader hadn't told him that they were together. How was he supposed to act natural around them after this?

"Oh god! Oh my god! Eli!" Reader moaned loudly.

Eli grunted from the back of his throat, watching her face as she threw her head back and let out such a pretty string of moans. He slowed down for just a moment so he could change the position ever so slightly, then grabbed her thighs and pulled them up onto his hips. She gasped as he seemed to hit a new spot deeper in her cunt.

She gripped the sheets tightly. "Right there!" Please! Please, right there!"

He tried his best to hit that spot again, thrusting into her a little harder as he concentrated.

Demetri uncovered his mouth and wrapped both hands around his cock, fucking them as he imagined what it would be like to fuck a fat, pretty pussy like Reader's. He wondered if he'd be able to bottom out like Eli had. He asked himself how long he'd last. He squeezed his shaft as he pushed it through his hands, biting his lip to keep his moans trapped. No matter how strong they felt, he swallowed each one so he could watch to the end.

With every passing second, he lost his morality - he was sure of it. He was slowly but surely beginning not to care about the moral implications and consequences of watching. The pleasure it gave him outweighed all the bad things and he pushed his hips into his hands at the same pace Eli was thrusting into Reader. He didn't necessarily wish he was fucking her, but anyone that might let him bury his long, thick cock in their tight hole. Maybe for a moment, fleeting seconds, he imagined being on top of her, but he chastised himself for it quickly because that was Eli's girl. Not his.

"I'm not going to last very long," Eli whimpered. He didn't stop or slow down, seeing the way Reader was close too. Her eyes couldn't stay in one place and her moans were rising in pitch. He wanted to bring her to her orgasm first and foremost, but couldn't stop himself from running down the high as well. It was too tantalizing.

She nodded, speechless as she got fucked to high heaven. She reached out for himself instead and he lowered his body to hers so that she could wrap her arms around him. Pulling him against her, they kissed messily and passionately. He kept pace for a while longer until his thrusts got harder and more pronounced. She moaned with each hard thrust into her, feeling her body being rocked into the sheets and the headboard started to tap the wall.

It didn't take long for her to fall after that. She came hard and creamed all over his cock, feeling her cum leak out every time he pulled out. Her toes curled and her legs shook as it washed over her, hardly able to keep kissing him as her tongue lazily twisted with his.

Demetri watched the point where they met, watching the mess his two best friends made as they fucked like rabbits. He tried to initiate what it felt like to have a spasming pussy wrapped around his cock, but he knew his hands were nowhere close to the feeling. So he watched as Reader wrapped her legs around Eli's narrow waist and pulled him in closer as the show came to an end.

Eli moaned and whined as he came, rutting into Reader's cunt until he couldn't anymore. His balls drew up as he sprayed her tight, velvet walls with his cum. He dropped on top of her, his face buried in her chest as she whimpered at the feeling of being filled. It was warm and came with a sense of naughtiness. It continued her buzz as her cunt milked him for every drop he had.

Demetri strangled a final groan as he came, almost forgetting that he couldn't leave any evidence of him being there. He struggled with the large ropes of cum that shot from his cock, eventually angling his cock down to come into his pants. It was a sticky, musky mess in his jeans that he knew he'd have to go home with, but as he brought his eyes up to the door, he couldn't care less.

He watched as Eli and Reader's mixed cum bubbled out from around his thick cock as he pumped her full. It was too much for her tight cunt to handle, leading to so many dirty thoughts that he couldn't control. Namely, if he had come in her it would be even harder to keep inside of her. He swallowed thickly, waiting for it to end.

Finally, Eli pulled out of Reader and a little more of his cum escaped her. He scooped it up with two fingers and stuffed it back into her used, winking hole. She moaned as he fingered it back into her, looking up at him with pouty lips and tired eyes. He leaned down to kiss her as he did it, seemingly unapologetic as Demetri panted as quietly as possible in the closet.

When he pulled his fingers out, Eli trailed them up her body as he groped her rolls. He laid himself beside her and pulled her close, kissing her again. They kissed as if it were going to be their last, hungry and needy, absolutely full of passion. They moaned into each other's mouths as if speaking their own language.

It was a world Demetri was left out of.

He watched as they came down from their highs, cuddled up to each other, their naked bodies pressed together so intimately. Meanwhile, his soft cock hung unattended, no one to slip it between their thighs as Reader was there for Eli. Her thick thighs looked so soft as he nestled his softened cock between them, staying as close to her as possible. It was romantic whilst Demetri was nothing more than a pervert in a closet.

Now that it was over, he didn't know what to make of himself other than that. A perv with a new fetish for watching his friend fuck, because he'd be a liar if he tried to tell himself he didn't want to see that again. He wanted to watch Eli hit it from the back or watch Reader be on top. He wanted to hear what it would be like when they dirty-talked to each other. There were a million possibilities.

It was a perverted fantasy that he knew he could recreate again, he just needed to time it right...

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