ch3rriewine
We're meant to be, but not yet
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Photo Booth Kissin' {P.P.}
summary: Peter's an awkward loverboy, but he's your awkard loverboy.
warnings: none i think just fluff :3, TASM!Peter Parker x reader hehe, no use of y/n, reader is kinda like super girly w the bows and sparkles idk
a/n: I HAVENT WRITTEN IN MONTHS SORRY here tho!
Peter’s life was boring—peaceful, but boring. Don’t get him wrong; being Spiderman is cool and all, but Peter Parker’s life could use some work. The most exciting thing that has happened to him recently was the time he got two yolks in one egg. Riveting stuff, right?
During another one of his literature classes that he doesn’t know why he took, he spots you. With a bow in your hair and a knit sweater falling over your figure, your head propped on your manicured hand while scribbling notes with the other. You sit in front of him and if Peter squints, he can see the small doodles littering the pages. Before he knows it, the professor announces that the lecture is done for the day. Peter panics; he wants to talk to you before you disappear and turn out to be a dream, but what would he even say? Doesn’t matter anymore since he chases after you to the door.
“Hey,” he says, looking a tad flushed after tripping over someone's water bottle.
“Oh, hi” you respond, your eyes a little widened at the sudden interaction.
“I, uh, I’m Peter” he say, sticks out his hand for you to shake. You take it and tell him your name. He repeats it in his head about a hundred times.
“I just, uhm, wanted to ask about…” he trails off, trying to remember if there were any assignments given. “The essay he said we had to do, yeah. When is it due again?” he hopes to any higher being that there was an essay due soon.
“Ah, yeah, it’s due next Monday” you reply, giving him a tight-lipped smile, ready to go back to your dorm.
“Cool, uhm, thanks! See you around, hopefully” with that, he bolts, leaving you confused and flushed. Hopefully
The cute boy in your class wants to see you around.
╰── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──╯
Two days later, Peter sees you again. It’s in the same class, and you’re as pretty as ever. He psyches himself up to sit next to you.
You look up from your laptop when he asks you if he can sit next to you. You nod, of course, and smile. He looks nervous, with fingers tapping on the table and cheeks a little red. It’s cute.
“Have you started on that essay?” you ask, trying to start conversation since it looks like he won’t.
“Huh? What essay? We have an essay?” he turns to face you, eyes wide.
“Yeah, the one you asked me about?” you laugh a little.
“Oh, no, I didn’t” his shoulders slump back down, and you smile at him.
“I didn’t either; I had other work to finish” he stares at you a little; it’s flattering, really. How shy he is around you. He barely knows you, but he’s convinced himself that you’re the greatest thing ever. He also may have looked up your instagram and fallen even harder as he looked at all your posts. Peter now knows what you ate at Thanksgiving 3 years ago.
“Same, I’m in STEM so you could imagine” he says, resting his head onto the table. Sleep deprivation a thing he is well acquainted with, unfortunately.
“STEM, wow, you must be smart then. Why’re you taking a classic lit class then?” Sure, you might’ve slipped in a compliment; it's not a crime to flirt a little. It takes Peter a few seconds to respond as he processes what you said, you think he’s smart.
“Uh, I was going through a phase with classic lit at the time, and I’ve been lazy to drop it. And, uh, I’m not that smart—pretty average actually. Like the most moderate person ever” He’s rambling and kind of lying. He’s doing really well in his other classes.
“Yeah? I think you’re pretty smart if you’re in STEM. Not everyday a guy is both pretty and smart.” His cheeks turn even redder, if possible, and he makes a sort of out of breath sound. “If you need any help with this class, I’d be happy to give you my notes on the book”
Jesus, you’re gonna kill the poor boy.
╰── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──╯
From then on, you sit beside him and throw in some flirty comments while he struggles to reciprocate. It feels too good to be true, how you seem interested in him and how you eagerly talk to him after lectures, even giving hm your number to talk about “class”. He’s waiting for the day you ghost him.
“Hey, would you maybe want to, like, hang out? Like on a date or something? Or just as friends! Actually, yeah, just hang out as friends; forget I said date sorry,“ he flounders, waiting for the rejection. Oh God, he’s just messed up the whole friendship and you’re gonna think that he’s weird and a creep and-
“I’d love to go on a date, Peter,” you smile “I was waiting for you to ask.”
“Oh, great, is Saturday at 3 okay? I’ll meet you outside your building and we could walk to that arcade?” He asks, eyes hopeful.
“Saturday at 3 is great. I love arcades, but you have to help me with the claw machines” For someone so smart and handsome, he doesn’t let himself think people like him.
“See you Saturday, Peter” you tiptoe to kiss his cheek, leaving sticky residue from your sparkly gloss and walk to your next class. He stands in place, a little starstruck and a lot flustered. He leaves the lipgloss there.
╰── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──╯
Saturday finally comes, and now it’s your turn to be nervous. You’ve switched outfits countless times, your hair is out of place, and your makeup doesn’t seem to flatter you. You’ve settled on a pretty blue dress with tights to protect you from the small chill. Two little bows clipped into your hair and knit cardigan falling over your shoulders—makeup finally looking presentable enough with maybe a little too much glitter on your eyes, but whatever. Your phone chimes as you’re applying pink sparkly gloss, and your heart skips a beat. He’s here.
You throw your phone and lip gloss in your purse and bolt out the door. You spot him outside your building, as promised. He looks wonderful. Brown sweater and worn-in denim jeans—you can’t believe he’s so shy around you when he looks like that. He finally spots you, and wow, he thinks.
“Hey," he scolds himself for being so casual when he should be whisking you away to Italy, or something. He could’ve at least gotten you flowers.
“Hi, you look great,” you say in front of him, and seeing you up close is making him fall even harder, if possible.
“You look, wow, you’re just, wow” he can’t even believe you’re into him.
“Cmon, I wanna win some plushies,” you say, grabbing his hand and pulling him along. He grips your hand harder and laces your fingers.
The walk is calm and the air is starting to get cool. You talk about class and a show you started. Peter listens intently, making mental notes about what you like and don’t like. Your hands stay intwined, and his thumb traces patterns on the back of your hand. He’s gotten more comfortable and less panicky in your presence, so you get to see his personality shine through. He’s incredibly funny. You can’t stop laughing on your way there, and he can’t stop thinking of more things to make you laugh.
The arcade is dark, with flashing lights from every game. Peter goes to buy some tokens, refusing your offer to pay half. Grabbing Peter’s hand and making a beeline for the claw machines, everyone knows they’re rigged, but you don’t care. You eagerly take the tokens and attempt to win the Kuromi plushie. After the 5th? 6th attempt? When the claw has dropped the plushie, you give up.
“Why do they do this to people! It’s false hope!” you whine to Peter as he laughs at your pout.
“Lemme try,” he nudges you over and puts in a token.
You watch with eyebrows furrowed as he wins it on his first attempt.
“What the hell, Peter?” you crouch to pull the plushie from the machine.
“What? Do you not like it?” He faces you, examining the stuffed, is she a rabbit? What animal even is Kuromi?
“I love her; just, how did you win it?” You look up at him incredulously. He must have some weird power that makes him win every claw machine.
“Oh, I don’t know; just position it right?” He laughs, his eyes crinkling in the process. You want to smooth them out with your fingers.
“Thank you!” you’re genuinely really excited over a cheap stuffed toy, not because you really wanted it, but because Peter won it for you. You wrap your arms around his neck in thanks. Peter freezes. He fees like a teenager at how he’s reacting to a hug of all things. He snaps back and hugs you back. You pull away to kiss his cheek. This is the second time you’ve kissed his cheek, and he doesn’t know how he’ll ever get used to it.
“Lets go play games, pretty boy,” pulling away and leaving Peter to gather his brain and follow along.
You watch as he plays Pac-Man; its silly, but you love his face when he’s focused. Brows furrowed and lips in a thin line. He really is the most gorgeous man you’ve ever seen. And he’s infatuated with you! Of all people! You swear half the girls in the class have a crush on him, but he gets nervous around you. You play some air-hockey, which you won (he let you win), and he won you some more plushies and some candy at the infamous claw machines.
When the games get old, the two of you leave the building. The sun is setting at this point, and you’re dreading leaving him.
“Oh, look! There’s a photo booth!” you point, excitedly tugging on his arm. “We should take some pictures.” you drag him into the booth, both of your thighs squished together and his legs at an awkward angle. He feeds the machine a few bucks, and the screen starts to count down.
You put on a sickly sweet smile, scrunching your eyes while Peter smiles big with pearly white teeth on display. The second photo you lean into Peter and he wraps his arm around you, pulling your body close to his. The third photo, you go for it. You grab his face and kiss him. His hands stay in the air as the glitter on your lips transfers to his. You taste like vanilla. You pull away, a little anxious that he didn’t want it. Those thoughts get pushed away when he grabs the sides of your face and kisses you until you can’t think. His hands are warm and big covering your cheeks as his lips move against yours. You reach up to wrap your arms around his neck once more and deepen the kiss. Your lips move together in tandem as he strokes your cheeks with his thumbs, the movement comforting.
The fourth photo is blurry, and you walk out with all your lipgloss on Peter’s lips.
#tasm peter parker#tasm!peter fluff#tasm!peter x reader#tasm!peter parker x y/n#tasm peter x reader#tasm spiderman#tasm!peter imagine#tasm fanfiction#tasm peter parker x reader#tasm!peter x you#tasm!peter x y/n#peter parker
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you kissed me.
how the marauders kiss you.
tags: james potter x gn!reader,, sirius black x gn!reader,, remus lupin x gn!reader,, headcannon,, fluffy,, self indulgent
james would absolutely forget where you are, who you’re with, and what you’re doing whenever he even thinks about kissing you. kissing you is his absolute favourite past time. with his eyes closed, he would slowly rub the tip of his nose all over your face. softly, gently, nuzzling your nose, your cheeks, your temples and your jaw, slowly breathing you in. until you’re nothing but a smiling and giddy besotted fool. he would rub his cheeks over yours, feeling every inch of your face just as you would feel his light stubble, his warm breath, and the light brush of his lips over your cheeks as he softly smiles. the entire act before the actual kiss just as intimate and soft and just as toe curling, making you feel like you’re melting. and when he finally does kiss you, it would be soft, and open, and warm, and amazing, your head cradled in his hands—breathing each other in.
sirius will make an absolute show of kissing you. he would grab your hips with one hand—connecting your front with his. he would look at you, a smirk pulling at his pink lips, while his other hand runs through his inky silken hair. his eyes shining with intensity and giddy mirth before tipping you backwards. his face inches away from yours but he wouldn’t kiss you yet, no, he would let the roars and hollers of the spectators reach your ears first. and then he would wait for some type of abashed consent from you. before finally, planting a soft, chaste kiss on your lips. when he pulls away, he would look into your eyes and smile all gentle and loving, no trace of that playful intensity. and then he would kiss you again, and again, and again. each one slower and more intense than the last. he wouldn’t stop until you say so, even when his arms begin to cramp.
remus would push your hair out of your face first. gently tucking locks behind your ears, and smoothing the back of your hair. he would run his fingers over your temples, down to the sides of your cheeks to your jaw and neck—so agonizingly slow. following each angle and line, looking at his own fingers trailing over your skin, as if it was the first time he’s seen it. as if he had to memorize you first. when he kisses you, it would start out slow, tentative, like it was the first time, like he would gladly spend the rest of his remaining time kissing you if he could. then slowly gaining momentum once you open your mouth. his tongue licking your teeth, your mouth and your lips. swallowing each breath and groan and moan coming out of your mouth.
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Lattes and love {R.J.L}
summary: You're new to town and the nearest coffee shop has a very cute barista.
warnings: 3.1k words, nothing rly :p just fluff
authors note: I HAVEN'T POSTED IN A WHILE SORRY!!! this is gonna be a series i think^^ send me requests!
The days start melding together after a while, the whir of the espresso machine always playing at the back of his head at this point. Nothing is interesting in Remus’ days anymore, sometimes a customer will yell at him for not having a specific pastry in stock, but he has thick skin. It’s just a continuous cycle, but he likes it like that. The familiarity is nice. But when you come in one day, all smiley despite the early hour of the day, yes he works the morning shift. What about it?
He stares from behind the counter watching you carefully. You make your way to the cash register and say your order to his coworker. You ordered a matcha latte, iced, with almond milk. His brain takes a second to process what's being asked of him, but he gets it soon enough. His hands moved gracefully from one area to the next, already having the instructions to make your drink etched into his brain. His mind was elsewhere, who were you? Did you just move to town? He's never seen you before, and believe that he would've remembered a girl like you. The green drink sits in his hand, the condensation from the plastic cup dripping down his hand, but he couldn't care less, his mind wandering as to who you were. He calls out your name from the cup.
"Hey! That's me," you say walking to the counter, an easy smile splayed on your lips. As you take your drink from his hands, the unthinkable happens. His fingers brush yours. "Thank you!" you hurry back to your laptop, afraid someone might swipe it off your table.
Did that actually happen? He stares at where your skin met his, the tiniest hint of a flush rising up his neck and to his cheeks. As soon as his coworker calls his attention once more with a new drink to make, does he snap out of his temporary trance.
Your fingers sit unmoving atop your laptop's keyboard. That damn barista. His damn freckles, damn fluffy hair, damn scarred hands, damn everything. He's completely taken over your mind, and you hate him for it. Maybe hate is a strong word, he is unbelievably attractive, so how could you hate someone as pretty as him? You try your best to ogle at him discreetly, but anyone who's looking for it will find you completely in awe of him. Maybe you should just go up to him and say hi, what could go wrong? A lot you realize as you think of the possible outcomes, so maybe not that. He could find you incredibly creepy, he could be in a relationship already, or he could just not find you attractive. That last one might be the worst of them.
You leave the small coffee shop unsatisfied and behind on your chapter. You went there to read and work, and all you could think about was that silly barista. You didn't even know his name! Silly, stupid boy. Your walk to your new apartment is quiet other than the sound of the city keeping you company. Your apartment isn't the biggest, but it's the best you could do on your salary as a writer. I mean, everything works so far, so who are you to complain? You moved in a week ago and still, your furniture is yet to arrive, so you're stuck with your futon and an air mattress, except for the small trinkets and appliances that you brought with you on your solo roadtrip. You land with a thud on your temporary bed, having changed out of your outside clothes. Maybe you should go to the little shop everyday till he falls in love with you. You laugh at the thought burrowing yourself deeper into your comforter and promptly drifting off.
The next day, you take a deep breath and walk out the door of your building ready to never see the cute barista ever again, maybe that was his last day? It was not, as he was there once again standing behind the counter looking as handsome as ever. Unfortunately for you he's behind the register today, so you'd have to talk to him.
"Hi!" you say to your mystery man, "May I have a, uhm, an iced dirty matcha latte? With almond milk, please?" you end your sentence with a simple smile. He notices.
"Mhm. anything else?" he smiles back, a crooked, lazy grin. Your heart rate picks up a tiny bit.
"Hm, what would you suggest? What's your favorite pastry here?" you ask, trying your hardest to not stumble over your words.
He thinks for a moment before saying, "Probably the chocolate chip muffin,"
"Okay, I'll have that then," you respond. He tells you your total and you pay in cash.
"And this order is for?" he asks. You tell him your name. He repeats it in a whisper to himself, like he hadn't called it out the day before. "I'll call you up when your order is ready," he says easily, voice smooth.
"Thank you..." you trail off, silently asking for his name. Wow, look at you go, you flirt.
"Remus, my name is Remus." he replies, leaning on his arm propped up on the counter.
"Thank you, Remus" you end the short conversation and walk away hot in the face, with your palms sweating. He's just a person, why are you so nervous?
He makes your drink immediately, leaving someone to tend to the register while he sets about his mission to make the best goddamn latte you've ever tasted. Why does he even want to impress you so badly? He would rather not dwell on that thought, so he doesn't and puts all his energy into making this silly drink. He completes it eventually, and even warms your muffin. Sure, you didn't ask for it, but he's being...friendly to the new girl, right? Last minute, before he forgets, he scribbles a silly drawing on the side of your cup. It's stupid, really, it's a drawing of a stick woman with hair similar to yours with a book he saw you holding and an arrow pointing to you labeled "you :]". What can he say, he knows how to impress a gal. He calls out your name once again and watches you practically leap out of your seat and rush over to where he is.
"For you," he gives a smile matching the one he scribbled on.
"Thank you!" you say cheerily, stabbing a straw through the top and mixing it. Taking a long sip, you watch as he stands almost nervously waiting for your reaction.
"Wow, this is pretty good," you compliment him. You saw him rush to make it, but maybe he just really likes making these drinks?
"Glad to hear," he replies, waiting for you to notice his, dare he say it, adorable drawing. You nod turning the cup once you see him looking at it in your hands. Your eyes light up just the tiniest amount once you spot it.
"It's like looking in a mirror," you look up at him, a little giddy he took the time to draw this, as simple as it is.
"I'm a great artist, as you can see," he scratches his neck, cocking his head a little.
"It's lovely" you hold your hand over your heart,"Thank you, Remus."
"Anytime, lovely" he smiles back as you walk away with a smile and your muffin. He tries to sneak looks at you his whole shift, most attempts being successful, apart from the time he caught some old guy's stare. He watches as you pack up and leave. Hopefully he'll make friends with you. Hopefully something more.
The days pass by and Remus only makes it better. Your banter, and borderline flirting, have a small brightness to your day, just the thought of your anticipated jokes with him make your heart beat even a little bit faster. You walk in that one Sunday morning to order your dirty matcha to start your day with a pep in your step from the progress you've managed on your current novel. You started a new coming of age story with the main character working in a bookshop meeting this cute boy and forming an unexpected friendship, maybe even something more.
"Hi Remus." you greet him with a tightlipped smile.
"Hey! I'm just about to go on my break, what did you want?" he shoots an easy smiles back.
"Oh..I'll just have a dirt-" he cuts you off.
"A dirty matcha, got it" he nods chuckling a little. Your cheeks heat a little.
"Yeah, the usual." you nod emphatically, playing with your fingers. You're a little disappointed at your arrival being at the same time as his break, leaving little time to ogle at him from your seat. He notices your disappointment.
"How bout I, uh, I take my break with-with you?" he looks at you from under the floppy brown mess that is his hair that is in need of a haircut.
"I'd really like that," you answer him, lighting up the tiniest bit. You walk to an empty table, flustered, he just does something to you. You settle down, putting your stuff on the chair beside you. You watch as he walks to the back and take his apron off before he disappears into the room. Your palms are a tiny bit clammy and you nervously fiddling and fixing your hair, why are you so nervous? He's just a new friend in a new city with new experiences. And maybe you have the tiniest crush on him, so what? It'll fade in no time, besides he probably has a girlfriend, or boyfriend. Probably not even attracted to you! So many possibilities that can be true. You're so consumed with your anxieties that you don't notice him standing at your table.
"May I sit?" he asks with a furrowed brow, slightly concerned with your blank, wide-eyed stare at the wood grain. That seems to snap you out of it though.
"Wha-oh! Yes, of course!" Maybe you said this a little too enthusiastically, what happened to being the cool mysterious girl from a strange town? Who cares at this point, you've had enough embarrassment in this shop already. He takes his seat across from you. He looks like he wants to say something, but doesn't look so confident in his statement. He gets through his internal battle eventually.
"Can I have your, uh, social media? Or your number, or any sort of communication." he ends it with an embarrassed chuckle. You honestly though he'd never ask, you've been friendly for how many days and he still hasn't asked you for anything, you were starting to think he didn't actually enjoy your company.
"Of course, give me your phone," your outstretched hand meets his cracked phone. You shoot him a look at the sight of the screen to which he shrugs.
"I'm clumsy," he explains. You roll your eyes and type your number into his phone, then your social medias, and maybe snap a selfie to add to your contact. He grabs his phone back to type something unknown to and unknown person. Your phone vibrates in your bag.
xxx-xxxx-xxxx
do u wanna hang out outside of my workplace???
You chew on your thumb, looking back up at him. He shoots you back a smile similar to a square bracket. You type back,
:]
yes ^_^
╰── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──╯
The bookstore he took you to is quaint and you love it. He texted you after his shift to meet him outside the coffee shop that Sunday afternoon so you two could walk there together. He said that this shop was run by an old married couple who have a mutual love for books. True to his statement, the only employees there are Martha and Clyde, said married couple. The place is decorated with pre-loved furniture and plants nurtured with care. You fall immediately in love with this place. You look up at him with an excited expression, morphing his to match yours. You grab his hand and drag him through the aisles to find the romance section, ever the romantic.
"Do you read romance?" you ask him while browsing the rows of books for something that will catch your eye.
"I've read a couple," he says absentmindedly, also surveying the collection of books that sit on the shelves in front of him.
"Hm, this one about rivals who fall in love," you hold up a book with green edges and a blue cover, "or this one where they're both dying?" you hold one up with a white cover and purple lettering.
"Both sound interesting," he takes them from you to analyze further "just get both." he decides
"Remus, I'm going to go broke if I get both," you're over exaggerating, of course, but you really don't need two new books when your unread book pile is already growing rapidly.
"Then I'll buy it for you" he looks up at you and raises his eyebrows in an unspoken question. Do you want me to?
"I can't possibly let you!" you throw your arms up. Why would he want to anyways? "Don't feel like you have to, I'll just get the one about the rivals." you make your decision walking down the narrow aisle, taking the your chosen book from his hands.
"Fine," he shakes his head, further messing up his hair and follows you out. He makes you stop by the science fiction section so he can browse too.
"You getting anything?" you ask him, standing behind him and fiddling with the hem of your skirt while he crouches to reach the very bottom of the shelf.
"Maybe..here!" his burst surprises you "I can't believe they have it!" he looks up at you with his mouth open and eyes bright.
"What book?" you crouch down to reach his level.
"It's a story I used to read as a kid, it's about this guy who turns into a monster sometimes," he looks at the back confirming that it's the book he's looking for. "I accidentally dropped it in a lake one summer and haven't been able to find it ever since, but now.." he turns to you, displaying the book in his hands. "I found it."
"I'm so glad," you warm a little. it's sweet he's so excited about this. His excitement makes you excited for him. "Can we check out now? My feet are killing me in these heels, let's grab food and you can tell me about the series." you take his hand once more to navigate where the cash register is.
Checked out and satisfied, you look for the nearest restaurant that won't drain your wallets. There's a small brunch place that looks cheap enough to satisfy your bank accounts and yummy enough to satisfy your tastebuds. He gets you a table for two and soon you're settled in a cute window booth with milkshakes and food. He goes on and on about this story and why the main character is so cool, and yet it doesn't seem to bother you at all. You even find it endearing how he's so passionate about this.
"So that's why-oh am I boring you? Sorry, I didn't mean to go on like that," he scratches the back of his neck in embarrassment, a pink flush tinting his cheeks ever so slightly. It's cute, he's cute.
"I don't mind, it's nice hearing about it." you say to him.
"What's your favorite book then?" he asks taking a sip of his chocolate milkshake. Now it was your turn to ramble. He watches you with careful eyes as you talk about how simple details mean so much more than what they seem. He loves you like this, all sucked into the fictional universe. It's cute, you're cute.
You two stay there for a while, talking about books and different interesting experiences that has happened in your life. By the end of it he has you laughing your ass off and a smile permanently stuck on your face, how do people find friends like his? You finally decide to pay and leave after an unknown amount of time, who even keeps track these days?
"I told James it was a stupid idea!" he laughs along with you.
"And he just did it anyways?" you giggle.
"Yes! That fucker never listens to me then whines about how he regrets it after," he shakes his head in fondness. He's so content right here, right now, sharing little stories back and forth, just getting to know each other. He never wants this to end. You're so interesting! Why would he ever want to stop talking to you?
"Oh my god! It's 7pm," you realize the time when you check your watch for the first time in a while.
"Is it really?" he asks and you confirm by showing your watch. He has work early tomorrow and he has grad school works to finish. "I have work early tomorrow, will I see you there?" he's hopeful that he'll get to see you and stare.
"Oh..maybe not, I have furniture to buy and assemble." your shoulders slouch in dissatisfaction. Why did you have to plan that on that day? "Will you be there the next day?"
"No," he drags it out slouching with you. "I have a pretty big presentation that day," you stare at each other, both disappointed at the fact you won't see each other for a while. You two get the check, pay, and walk out.
"I guess I'll see you next week" he smiles, in the lamp post lighting he looks ethereal, the shadow of his hair falling over his face. The shadow grows as he looks down to rummage through his pocket for a cigarette. He holds it in between his lips and lights it.
"You smoke?" your eyebrows furrow, tiny wrinkles forming on your forehead. He wants to rub them away.
"Unfortunately," he sighs and smoke follows out and into the night air.
"You can get cancer from that y'know." your lips purse.
"As I've been told." he laughs, looking down at you with a grin blessing his face.
"Put it out! I don't want you to die!" you scold him like he's a child and you're his irritated mother.
"Fine!" he drops it and stomps it out. After he's thrown it out, ever the environmentalist, he returns back to you under a lamp staring at him as he makes his way back to you.
"See you next week." he brings you in for a hug. That catches you off guard, frozen in place, but you relax into it. He smells of sandalwood and coffee. It's relaxing.
"See you" you respond in a meek voice. You're in a little too deep
#remus lupin blurb#remus lupin fic#remus lupin x reader#remus lupin#remus lupin fluff#remus lupin imagine#remus lupin one shot#young remus x reader#marauders fluff#marauders fic#marauders fanfiction#marauders#remus my babygirl#remus lupin headcannons#remus lupin x reader fluff
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i'm going to go insane
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.
Your room is a lot like you, things he hasn’t had the pleasure of seeing yet. 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 take off the last of your jewellery from the night and his breaths turn shallow when you lean across him and they clink into one of your many dishes.
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.
“Cunt.”
“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.”
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Pink in the night ♡ {R.L}
summary: Remus drunkenly confesses his feelings, romance ensues
warnings(?): 1.6k words, idk like fluff, loosely based off of the mitski song "pink in the night", little bad idk how i feel about this one, i wrote this with fem!reader in mind, reader has hair long enough to be tucked back lol, reader has a cat:D, remus is a cutie as always, remus is a clingy drunk, theyre at a party and drinking alcohol, like one mention of a weed smell, the time it takes for the pain meds to kick in is a tad unrealistic but it's fiction so who cares, i'll add more when i think of more
authors note: ahhh!!!!! second fic thing idk tell me what u think :p also tell me what else u want writing wise im trying to write more
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Remus needs to talk to you, even standing near you would be great. You might as well be glowing pink, and the alcohol makes you look no less than a ray of sunlight. In a little black dress and some kitten heels, you stand close to Emmaline. That dress does wonders for your already lovely self, he thinks. You arrived a little later than everyone else, so you only had a few sips of some cocktail in you. He stumbles over to you, okay maybe he's drunk, not tipsy. Still, he managed to get over to you. Your perfume hits his senses and suddenly he’s forgotten why he’s over there. Oh yeah,
“Hey” you speak up first glancing at him with furrowed brows accompanied by a concerned smile.
“H-hey!” he yells, maybe a bit too loud, over the music. You're still smiling, now it’s not in concern, it's in fondness. He hopes you never stop.
“Having fun?” you chide, cocking your head a bit to the side. The smell of vodka and a small hint of cologne is eminent on him.
“No, not really” he slurs his words ever so slightly, grinning the smallest bit of pearly whites showing and something glinting in his eyes that you can't quite place.
Small talk ensues, and then he starts following you around the flat, chatting about nothing. Soon enough you're sat on a couch that smells faintly of booze and weed with Remus playing with a small lock of your hair. The strands twirl through his fingers, he seems oddly entertained by it, how much alcohol had Sirius given him?
“Rem, you look tired, you wanna stay the night at my place?” you ask, worried he’d pass out in this sticky mess. It’s only a friendly worry, not I secretly want to take care of you because I like you a whole lot worry, totally not.
“If it’s not too much of a hassle, sure” he mumbles, apparently too tired to speak up. Thankfully, your flat isn’t that far within walking distance. You two eventually make it back with no problems, other than Remus would occasionally trip on nothing. You lead him to your couch and sit him down, he’s already half asleep and he doesn't notice you taking off his coat for him and his shoes. You drag him back onto his feet and lead him to your bedroom, a lot harder than it sounds when it's a six-foot drunk man you're dragging. He plops down onto your bed, sighing at the feeling of your blankets and pillows surrounding him. You get a glass of water and some paracetamol on your bedside table for his oncoming hangover, then leave to change into your pajamas. He slowly assesses your bedroom, your bookshelves, the color of the walls, to your photos hanging up. It’s so you, everything just fits in perfectly with your character. You emerge from your bathroom changed and cleaned.
You're so lovely, he thinks. With your sleep shorts and an oversized shirt, you make your way over to your bed. “Get some rest, please, you had a lot to drink” ending your sentence with a small smile. That damn smile again.
“You’re so beautiful” he admires while sitting up, his face flushed from the alcohol and maybe something more. He eyed your lips with hazy eyes. “I really like you, as I think of you all day, it's hard to get stuff done. I really want to kiss you right now.”
“You’re drunk, get some rest and drink water” you insist.
“I’m serious!” he presses “you're so lovely” he sighs and falls back down onto the mattress.
“Scooch” you push him lightly so he moves over to the other side of the bed. “You won't feel like this in the morning, you're drunk.” you look into his eyes in the dim room, his dark brown irises looking almost black in the dark.
“I will,” he says before closing his eyes “I always will”. After a while, his breathing deepens and he's snoring lightly. He was saying that you were the one that was beautiful but look at him. His fluffed-up yet put-together hair, his bushy eyebrows, and the small, sparse freckles dotting his face, I mean come on. You fall asleep with your body turned towards him.
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Remus awakes with meowing in his face. He blinks his eyes open slowly, looking at the black cat staring back at him. It was a small thing, with big yellow eyes and a pudgy figure. For a moment he was incredibly confused, he didn’t have a cat. He looked around to find that he wasn’t in his flat and he had a raging headache. His head was pounding and the shrill meowing wasn't helping. He looked over to his left seeing you. You were so peaceful like this, hair a mess, face completely relaxed, and hand resting on his chest.
He put the pieces together, he was in your flat after Sirius’ party, God did he say anything weird? Being too tired to think about it, he looks to his side to find water and some paracetamol. Downing the water, he turns toward your cat. Sashimi, he thinks is the name. Sashimi is sitting at the end of the bed now waiting patiently for his breakfast. Remus would feed him if he knew where you kept the cat food, so he has to wake you up. He dreads it, he'd rather not take you out of your peaceful state, but it’s for your son, as you call him.
“Hey, your cats hungry” he shakes you awake softly. “I'd feed him but I don't know where the food is”
You mumble something incoherent into your pillow, rolling into it. He laughs. That stupid, gorgeous laugh. “Ugh ok, I’ll feed him,” you say, not putting in any effort to get up. He rubs your arm comforting, the paracetamol already taking its effect.
You fight off the sleep still in your system and sit up. “Ok I’m awake, stay here if you want” Finally sitting up and getting out of bed. You smooth your hair, trying to salvage your appearance in any way possible. He follows close behind, walking out into your kitchen/living room, actually getting a good look at your living space. Your fake plants, your photos with your friends, and even a photo of you two. The photo is slightly blurry with you on his lap laughing wildly at something he said, a quaint smile spreading across his face at your reaction. It’s cute. He remembers that night, the party you guys were at, the smell of your perfume, the glitter coating your eyelids, the heels you took off halfway through the night, everything about you he remembers, yet he can't, for the life of him, remember what he said to make you laugh that hard.
The sound of a can opening pulls him back to the moment. Your cat meows at your feet, incessant with his demands for his breakfast. “Here you go, sweet boy,” you say to Sashimi while plopping the wet food into his bowl. Crouching to pet the cat’s soft fur, you turn your head and smile at Remus. “You want to go out for breakfast? There's a diner right around the corner.”
You sit opposite each other, him still in his alcohol-smelling clothes from the night before and you in sweats and a tank top with a flannel thrown over. The coffee is burnt and the bacon is too salty, but you couldn't be more content, what can you really expect from a diner whose main consumers are people like you, fighting hangovers with greasy food and coffee. “How're your eggs?” you ask, still kind of groggy.
“Rubbery,” he says around a mouthful of said eggs. “How’re your waffles?”
“Eh, they're ok,” you say moving your cut-up waffles around the plate with your fork, mind occupied.
“Are you ok? Something on your mind, lovely?” he asks. Of course, he can tell when you're out of sorts. Stupid, smart, amazing boy.
“You said, uhm, you said something last night.” you say “I just-I’m just thinking about it” you give him a small smile.
Oh God, what did he say? Did he mess it all up before he could even make a move? The poor boy looked mortified. It all came back to him, shit. He really said that to you? Drunkenly no less?
“I’m-I’m so sorry, genuinely. I was drunk and wasn't thinking and I should've expressed myself in a better way! I'll make it up to you! We can forget I said it or-” he rambles on.
“Did you mean it? Do you still feel the same way?” you stare at him anxiously, waiting for an answer.
“Do I-what?” he stares dubiously “Of course I do! How could I not? I meant every word I swear.” he takes your hands in his. This is all happening in a corner booth of a run-down diner, by the way. How romantic.
“Can I kiss you now?” he says, sincerely. Remus Lupin wants to kiss you, what a dream.
“Mhm,” you nod leaning over the table already. He laughs, shaking his head, then winces as his headache is coming back. You chuckle a little, it’s endearing in some odd way. He meets you halfway, putting a hand on your cheek and rubbing small circles with his thumb. His lips meet yours softly, just barely brushing over yours before you take the notion to deepen it. He smiles into the kiss, grabbing your face with both hands now. You break away after a while, smiling and on the verge of giggling like a schoolgirl.
“I think I didn't do it right,” he says tucking hair behind your ear "Maybe I'm still a little bit drunk," a knowing smirk ghosted his mouth.
“Oh yeah?” you question him.
“Yeah,” he nods “Can I try again?” a kiss “and again?” another “and again?” one last for good measure.
#remus lupin blurb#remus lupin fic#remus lupin x reader#young remus x reader#remus lupin one shot#remus lupin imagine#remus lupin fluff#remus lupin#marauders#marauders fluff#marauders fic#remus my babygirl#marauders era
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Made with love <3.
summary: you crochet remus a sweater after noticing his deminishing collection:)
warnings??: 1.3k words, fluff, fem!reader, crochet stuff, remus being a cutie, no use of y/n, they're in love we get it, young remus, the pace she finishes the sweater is a little unrealistic but eh, first fic bear with me here, ahhhhh idk dude lmk if im missing something
idk like authors note: this is inspired by @lonelyhe4rts imagine:D, go check it out its great! if they say they are uncomfortable with this i will take it down immediately. i just thought i'd make something similar idk also this is super old it's been sitting in my notes for a year. if there's any mistakes or something lmk!
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Currently hard at work with a wooden hook in one hand and a quarter finished woolen square in the other, yarning over and pulling through as quickly as you can.
You are in the middle crocheting your lovely boyfriend a sweater. Sure, it was ambitious to finish a sweater a few days before you planed to give it to him, but you were dead set on making him this — Plus you had already finished the front panel. The yarn is a gorgeous tan shade you thought would suit his personality perfectly. Found it in a small crafts store whilst visiting your muggle relatives and knew you had to buy some. Granted it was impulsive and you had no current projects needing this specific color, but it reminded you of Remus, so it was only right for you to buy it.
A couple hours later, and many breaks from her hand cramping, you finally finished the back panel and was beginning the first sleeve when it struck you — the best idea ever. You had the brilliant idea of putting tiny heart at the end of the sleeve so only he’d be able to see it. Yup you were a genius, you decided. The heart would be a blush color so it would blend in just enough to see it if you looked directly at it while not being too vibrant. Once it was on the inside of the wrist area, he walked in. There he was with his shaggy brown hair that somehow always fell right, his tall lanky stature, and his terrible posture. He smiles wide as soon as he spots you in an old armchair in the corner of the common room. Immediately you hide the work in progress behind your back, wouldn’t want to ruin the surprise now would we?
It was too late unfortunately, he has seen you with yarn and a hook in your hands and was immediately curious as to what you were making. He has always been a fan of the small bags or beanies you managed to weave up, so he wanted to know what this one was and why you hid it behind your back.
Striding over with furrowed eyebrows he asks
“Hey, what were you working on if you don’t mind me asking?” He plops down on the armchair beside yours.
“I do mind you asking actually” you reply with a slightly humored tone.
“Oh come on! I love your projects, please!” he drags out the end “Just let me see” He pleads now leaning over the small end table separating the 2 chairs, grabbing at your arm softly.
“No! I’m not gonna show you until it’s done!” You pull back your arm, crossing them and looking back at him with fake frustration.
“Please” He pleads “I’ll give you my love if you tell me”
“Hard pass” you say blankly, looking away to pretend to read some book left nearby.
Just as he was about to plead again, James, Sirius, and Peter walk in calling his name, looking to drag him into another one of their silly ideas. James spots him and makes his way over quickly. Before he gets another word out, he gets dragged by James excitedly. Finally, some peace in here. As soon as he’s out of sight, you get back to work. After maybe another hour or so, you turn in for the night. With a cramping hand and a bundle of woven scraps in your hand you walk into your dorm, crashing onto your bed. You’re alone for maybe 10 minutes before your boyfriend finds you and takes you into his arms.
“You gonna tell me what you were making now?” He asks playfully.
“Shhh stay quiet pretty boy, I’m tired” you mumble into his chest.
“Alright fine" he tucks your hair aside "But only because you’re tired” he sighs dramatically before burying his head into your hair.
Next morning he invites you to watch Sirius eat some weird candy they found, but you decline to finish the sweater, and you do. With a rested mind and a no longer cramped hand you were back at it again, crocheting peacefully with Remus in mind to motivate you. Doing the last stitch which hides the last yarn end, you hold it up to look at it in whole. A stranger would know it was handmade, but it was still done well enough to think it’d be stocked in a small store that sold that kind of thing. Smiling, you go to wrap it.
You fold the sweater neatly in a box along with a couple of his favorite chocolates. Maybe it was overkill since it wasn’t even Christmas, but who can blame you? You were excited and he deserved it. Wrapping the box in a simple sparkly pink wrapping paper you had lying around and tying a nice white bow on it, you write a nice card to tuck in the bow.
With the gift neatly enough wrapped, you sneak into his dorm to find his bed. There, you set down the box and smile. You hope he likes it, wait no, he better like it. Walking back to your dorm you see, who other than the Marauders walking to back to their dorm. You smile to yourself and speed walk back to your own dorm.
Maybe 5 minutes pass before you get a certain brunette boy knocking at your door. Opening it with a smile you see him holding the opened box with a matching smile on his gorgeous face.
“Was this you?” He asks despite knowing the answer.
“Hmm I dunno, do you know any girls who crochet you things?” You tease lightly.
He matches your grin "Maybe"
“Well who’s this lucky gal?” You try to suppress your smile now, but failing quite miserably.
“Some pretty girl right in front of me” His cheeks tinted pink now.
“Well do you like it?” You drop the bit, now slightly insecure.
“Like? It’s my prize possession now! I mean you made me this? I know why you wouldn’t tell me what you were making now!” He rambles slightly letting himself into your empty dorm.
“If you love it so much try it on!” He hurriedly pulls off his current sweater and pulls yours from the box and pulling it on himself. He adjusts, feeling the material before putting his hands on his hips, posing for you. You giggle, and he swears he’ll do that a million times just to hear it again.
“Fits perfectly” you say walking towards him to examine it on him.
“Of course it does, you made it how could it have any flaws” he flirts. Rolling your eyes you pick up your polaroid camera to snap a shot of him in your, first of many, sweater. He sees this, smiles, fixes his hair till he catches a glimpse of blush yarn and looks at his sleeve again with adoration at the tiny heart. Then there’s a flash in front of him. He turns back to you grinning and pulling out the photo. Waving it a bit to develop faster, you look at the photo. It’s a perfect shot, so genuine. It’s him looking at the small heart with slightly furrowed brows, a small smile on his face, adoration in his eyes, and pink dusting cheeks. He walks over to look at it too.
“You’re so handsome” You say dragging out the last syllable, teasing lightly when he grabs it from you to look at it. Looking at it he smiles fully now and places it down on the closest desk. Pulling you into a hug he mumbles into your hair.
“Thank you so much, dove. I love it, it’s the best thing I’ve ever gotten.” Your cheeks become hot and you bury your head into his chest further.
“I’m just glad you like it.” You smile into his chest.
#remus lupin fluff#remus lupin x reader#remus lupin#marauders#marauders fluff#remus lupin fic#young remus x reader#remus lupin imagine#remus lupin one shot#remus lupin blurb#remus my babygirl
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