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baby fever, part four [Remus Lupin x reader]

word count: 17k

summary: you and remus go on holiday

“Why do you always insist on teasing me?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” he asked.

You shook your head.

“Because I know you like it.”

tags: smut, nsft, fluff, new established relationship, marauders era, fem reader, she/her pronouns used for reader, post hogwarts

note: thank you to the anon who suggested they go on vacation and to nim, for listening to me complain and the good advice

read part one / part two / part three here

a playlist of sick little love songs that remind me of remus

Remus Lupin was 20 years old. He was a werewolf, at least some of the time, with more than enough scars to prove it. He was legally registered as being so, which made it almost impossible to find magical work, nice wizarding housing, or sometimes friends (luckily not in recent years).

He’d grown up far away from other children with his mother and father in a big house filled with both the material and love. His father was an academic, his mother a muggle - she loved TV and washing machines and going to the pub with her friends, and she loved Remus and his father and magic, though no matter how far she might stretch out her hands she would never get to use it.

Remus supposed that living close to magic and having none was an acute agony few could imagine, but she carried it well. She thought magic, namely his father’s, was something to be treasured and praised. Even when it couldn’t save her.

It felt strange now, Remus had only his father and his friends and you. He was tentative to add you to the list, sometimes, not for lack of desire, but because he held your relationship in his hands as though it were a spiderweb, silk stretched tenuously between each of his fingers. If he did something wrong, moved too fast or too disjointed, he feared the web would unravel.

He thought that his mother would’ve liked you every much, because you had enough similarities to get along and enough differences to keep interesting conversations, and you both seemed to like him well enough.

You were beyond his wildest dreams.

He remembered that very first night with you pressed to his side where he thought, maybe I should try this. He’d always thought you pretty and magnetic and so ridiculously soft-hearted, looking at everyone with entirely too much gratitude. You’d been wearing that dress and his heart had stopped completely, and Sirius had sent him a look that said, I saw that and you are so fucked, and you’d sat down right there in front of him like that was exactly where you wanted to be even though the room was teeming with people who wanted to see you.

Your dress had ridden up at the top so that your thigh was exposed and he’d felt so guilty for noticing that. You’d smiled, painted lips so perfectly shaped, and talked about nothing with so much care. You’d taken baby Harry in your arms with a look on your face Remus couldn’t quite describe properly, yearning and love and a little envy, maybe, and spoken to him so tenderly even as Harry had ripped your hair out.

He couldn’t help himself. He’d carded the hair from your face and bent down low to speak in your ear and when you’d turned to him later with half-lidded eyes asking him to have kids with you - well, what was he supposed to do? If he didn’t fancy himself half in love with you to begin with, he still would’ve done as you asked.

And so Remus has begun the seduction. Seduction labelled haphazardly, because it was also a wooing. And also a baring.

He’d ladened you with compliments and made you writhe and invited you around just to see you, and you’d still been so surprised when he admitted he fancied you, blood roaring in his ears, that you’d cried.

And then the worst part - having to tell you he was a werewolf. It was like walking across the edge of a knife, trying to guess which way he might fall after you knew. You hadn’t cared - had already known - and then you were his girlfriend. Remus had never had a girlfriend before. He’d had casual partners, hook-up’s and friends with benefits, but not a girlfriend. He was in the habit of taking love wherever he could get it, even if that was the rumpled bed of an acquaintance or the familiar arms of a friend who was just as desperate.

It surprised him how different intimacy was with you. You were relaxed under his hands, unwound, pliant in his bed like a long-bloomed flower wet with dew even that first night. Every time after you’d grown into yourself, a little more confident and a little more agonising.

Agonising was the right word. Stunningly beautiful standing in his bedroom doorway with the telephone in hand, laughing at something Lily was telling you down the line with his boxer briefs on. A pencil tucked up in your hair, you’d sit in his bed in the evening trying to perfect your book with a hand anywhere on his skin as though anchoring yourself to him. Or fully made up for a meeting with somebody important, doing a little twirl in the prospective outfit to ask if you looked okay.

“You look like a dream,” he’d said, trying to force the corners of his smile back down. You’d beamed, crawled up his sheets to kiss his jawline.

He was staying over at your place instead of you at his for a change, and he was quite nervous. You’d hardly not seen each other since you’d gotten together two weeks ago, even if it was just for five minutes on his break at work at the muggle supermarket. He’d died of embarrassment and you hadn’t cared, doting on his uniform and giving him a plastic Tupperware full of biscuits and a foil wrapped sandwich.

He had a bottle of wine neither of you cared for and a rucksack with pyjamas in it and he felt so stupid - how did adults navigate relationships? He felt like he was waiting outside and a friend's mum was waiting to let him in for a slumber party on the other side of the door.

He knocked the door, excited to see you even though he’d seen you yesterday morning, and the day before that, and the evening before that.

“Come in, Remus!”

And it was stupid, so stupid, but being expected was a pleasure he took guiltily, smiling as he toed off his trainers at your front door.

He heard you before he saw you. You were standing in your bedroom in a pair of spandex-material shorts and a camisole, hair dripping wet, damp bleeding down into the fabric by your shoulders.

“You want me to…?” he asked, gesturing with his wand at your hair.

“No, that’s okay. Magic makes my hair frizzy,” you said, skirting behind him for the hair dryer you kept in a basket of things he couldn’t name. Bottles of lotions and oils and a curling wand, a straightener, big bottles of shampoo and conditioner dripping with condensation.

You snaked your arms around his side and pressed a kiss to his bicep. Cheeks burning, he brought his hands up to grab your arms, unable to hug you back because you’d restricted his.

You flitted away from him just as quick, bending over to plug the hair dryer in. He looked away although he really hadn’t needed to. You fiddled with the switch.

“I hate this part,” you moaned. “I wish there was a little machine they would make that might dry my hair for me.”

Remus bit back comments about magic and how you could easily have charmed the hair dryer to float around you where you were standing.

“I’ll do it for you,” he found himself offering weakly, unsure of himself.

You looked at him over your shoulder, all shiny and lovely and shook your head. “That’s alright. You’re my boyfriend, not my serf.”

“Let me,” he said, moving to you. He took the hairdryer from your hands and you finished brushing through it with a wide-tooth comb, asking, “Are you sure, Remus?”

He was more than sure, he’d do things a thousand times worse for you if it meant you’d say his name that way again, soft and pleased. “‘Course I am.”

He flipped the switch on. He’d seen you use it before and had grown up with his mother using one herself so he was no stranger to how it worked, though he still worried he’d do it wrong. He started at the top of your head with a cooler setting, using his fingers to lightly partition the sections of hair and dry your roots.

You shivered at the sensation of his fingertips against your scalp, leaning your head incrementally backward toward him. He tucked the wet strands at the front of your hair behind your ear to kiss your temple, once, quick, before returning to your hair, trying not to

make it obvious that he was pointing the hair dryer down at your damp shirt at the same time. You let him turn your head without protest.

When your hair was mostly dry you stopped him, “That’s fine,” you said. He pushed it away from your shoulder to kiss the skin there adoringly. You whirled on him, looking at his face like you could see something beyond it. He wanted to ask you what it was and if it was good or bad. He settled for stepping on the toes of your ankle socks to try to pull them off instead.

You jumped away from him, indignified.

“Heathen,” you said.

“Maybe. I brought wine.”

You raised your eyebrows. “What are we celebrating?”

“You?” he laughed. “Nothing, really. I had it and thought we’d make some use of it.”

“Do I bore you, Moons?” you asked him teasingly.

It was foreign in your mouth, much like if you’d said Moony or honey or baby - you only ever called him Remus.

“All the time, I’m afraid. I was too afraid to bring it up, but-“

“Noooo!” you complained through a laugh, the sound making his chest heave. You barrelled at him, shoving your hand over his mouth. “Don’t, don’t even joke like that,” you said melodramatically.

“Y/N,” he began, muffled by your hand. When you didn’t take it away, he licked your palm.

You wiped it in his chest. “Ew. You’re like, five years old.”

“As I was saying,” he began again.

You fled the bedroom. “I think I might need some wine after this behaviour.”

“It’s barely wine. I’ve had raisins that are more alcoholic,” he said, trailing behind you.

You looked over your shoulder to grin at him.

In the kitchen, you poured wine into coffee mugs because you didn’t have any wine glasses and then wondered aloud if you were allowed to add ice.

“I have never seen someone do that,” Remus said.

“It’s warm,” you said, voice lilting up at the end. You chattered about spells you could've used to make it cold and then sighed forlornly, not confident enough in your ability to do them successfully.

“Then put some ice in it, dove, I won’t judge you much.”

You simpered and added the ice cubes. “I don’t know any actual useful spells, I’m afraid, but if you want to turn your nail polish different colours, I’m your girl.”

“You’re my girl anyways,” he said offhandedly, poking at the buttons on your TV until it flickered to life, throwing lines of coloured light up his face.

By the time he’d managed to find a tv channel worth watching with your faulty antenna you’d sunk deep into the middle of the settee, sipping at your wine with a blissful expression.

“You look happy,” he said, slotting himself between your warm body and the arm of the sofa.

“I am happy. Aren’t you?”

He leaned down to kiss you, your lips soft as a flower petal sticky with pollen whilst his were chapped. “More than happy.”

What he’d intended to be a peck turned into a kiss which turned open-mouthed, his hand encompassing the soft flesh of your thigh, inching closer and closer until you were tipping wine down the front of your shirt.

You spluttered, broke the kiss to hold the cold mug above your head. “That’s so fucked,” you said, laughing. He took your mug from you and set it beside his own on the coffee table. Your camisole was stuck to your skin, a deep red line like blood weeping down the valley of your chest in a tantalising display.

You gasped suddenly, pulling the sticky fabric away from your chest to peer down. “My bra is ruined.”

“Oh no,” he said sympathetically. “Let me see?”

You looked up into his eyes and grinned evilly, pulling the thin material up and over your head so you were shirtless. The wine had left a red-pink splotch on your ivory bra like a Rorschach ink blot, and a bead of it had travelled down your navel to your belly button.

“Will you?” you asked him.

He leaned forward to lick your chest. You squealed and pushed him away. “I meant with magic!”

“I know what you meant,” he said. “But how am I supposed to clean it when you’re still wearing it?”

He was pushing his luck and he knew it, but he also knew you were a needy, lustful excuse for a girl and would be titillated by the purest of suggestions if he said them just so. Your lips parted a millimetre, eyes bright and quick. You knew exactly what he was offering, he could tell from your expression, but you pretended not too.

“How come?” you asked.

“How what?”

“How come you can’t do it while I’m still wearing it?”

He leaned forward, hand against the skin of your inner thigh. You leaned back in tandem. “I might spell it from your skin too.”

“That would be convenient.”

“Then what would I lick off of you?” he asked.

His finger inched to the skin between your thigh and cunt, the barest touch. You shuddered. “I’m sure we could think of something…”

“Why bother?” He kissed the beginning of the wine on your skin that shone like frost in the white light of your living room. You weaved your fingers into his hair, touch gentle as it usually was, an erotic mewling sound escaping you. He kissed you until he was sure his lips were pink too.

He pulled up to kiss you. “You taste like wine,” you mumbled against his mouth.

“How strange, I was just thinking the same of you.”

You stretched your arms out behind yourself to fiddle with the clasp of your bra until it was falling away. Your tits were similarly stained. He grinned at you and you inhaled through your nose in response as he used his free hand to pinch the button of your hardened nipple between two fingers and roll it, your thighs drifting shut slowly in response, his hand trapped between them.

He took your nipple into his mouth and almost chuckled at the taste of wine on your skin, sucking so that when he let you go it was swollen and darkened.

“You taste sweeter than usual,” he joked, kissing you on each cheek. “Changed your moisturiser?”

You were half-lidded and smiling generously. “Not recently.”

“Are you sure?”

“I couldn’t be positive.”

“I’ll have to try the other.”

Your giggles turned quiet as he gave your other nipple the same treatment as the one before, rolling it between his teeth to relish in your gasps. He loosed his hand free from between your legs to bully your other breast, kneading the perfect flesh there under his palm.

He licked circles around the bud and blew cold air on it, amused and turned on by your smarting moans.

“Why do you always insist on teasing me?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” he asked. You shook your head.

He slid your nipple between his fingers and made a circle motion, touch achingly gentle. “Because I know you like it.”

You huffed. He rolled his eyes and pushed you down flat on the sofa, tucking a cushion under your head. He climbed atop you, careful to not press too much of his weight into you and slotted one leg between your thighs and the other outside.

“I know you do,” he said smugly.

“I know lots of obvious things too,” you replied weakly. “Like all the stuff that makes you blush, Remus.”

“Yeah? Like what?”

“You like it when I say please.”

He closed his eyes and tilted his head to the side. He did like it. “Mm,” he admonished.

“You like it when I say your name.”

“Will you?” he asked, leaning down to kiss your collarbone.

“Remus,” you said quietly, the words sending reverberations down into his mouth.

“And the rest?”

“Remus, please.”

“Please what, baby?” he asked, tugging your nipple between his fingertips. He knew you liked being called ‘baby’, knew it made a little pit in your stomach, marked by the way your legs wiggled under him.

“Kiss me?” you asked. And when had he ever said no to you? He doubted he'd find a reason now.

He pressed his lips against yours, drinking in the taste of you, wine-stained and wanting, the feeling of your perfect chest rising under his hand enough to send him into poetic drivel. You were soft beneath his touch, a tad shy even now, eyelids firmly shut. Your hands were smooth as silk, one at the juncture of his neck with your fingertip at the edge of his ear, the other braced around his bicep.

Your touch was down-soft, fingers pushing the little curls of sandy brown hair from his face with such tenderness it melted his heart. He brought both hands up to the bottom of your face to cradle it and give you what felt like a never-ending supply of kisses, quick and sweet like the graze of a butterfly's wing.

You looked especially blissed out when he finally had to catch his breath. He would pay ridiculous amounts of money if it meant you always had such a happy look on your face, and it made him feel as though he were walking on water to be able to give it to you through kisses alone.

“You’re so pretty,” he said, having been thinking it relentlessly.

You groaned, covering your face with a hand. “Stop, Remus. Please.”

“I don’t think I will, pretty girl.”

You let out a little laugh, more air than sound. "I'll have to start retaliating."

"Some might call it reciprocating their boyfriend's compliments. Retaliate sounds like I'm mortally wounding you."

You rolled your eyes and it drove him crazy. "Whatever."

"Oh, I just despise you," he said quietly, hand moving down the side of your chest to rest on your hip.

"So we're not gonna make out?"

"I never said that," he dipped down again. His leg was hiking up, in-between your legs to rest against your warm centre. Your skimpy shorts and underwear were hardly a barrier, he could feel the way the fabric slid over your wet cunt.

You drove down onto his knee with little shame, panting into the kiss you shared like you couldn't help yourself.

"Want me to take your shorts off?" he asked. It came out sounding like please let me take them off.

"Yes, please."

He grinned, pushing his fingers under the edge of your shorts and pulling them away from you along with your underwear. You brought your knees up tight so he didn't have to move back as he set them aside, shuffling back into a sitting position, teasing the edge of his shirt and lifting. He took the hint and pulled it up and off, insecure about his chest but unwilling to deprive you of your smallest whims.

He felt carved out as you ran your fingers down his chest. He was always so scared of them, the scars, and the way people saw them. He'd given them all to himself, and he worried that this would make you feel scared or sorry for him. You were neither. You didn't pretend they weren't there but you didn't make him feel other for them, treating them with the same love and respect you did every other part of him too.

Your hands travelled back up to his face. "My pretty boy," you said. You were half joking, mimicking him, but it still sent a spike of warmth through his chest.

You were both sitting, him slouched over you. He was kneeling where you were sitting with your legs either side of him. He pushed his hand slowly down the valleys and mounds of your body until he was dipping into the slick gathering at your core.

"You're so easy to rile up," he said gently, moving his fingers up and down. You curled your neck so your head was pushed into his shoulder, eyes on his hand and shuddering.

"You're incorrigible."

He located your entrance with familiarity, pushing just the tip of his finger in as a warning. You tensed up. "You alright?" he murmured.

You nodded, putting your hand over his to push him in further. He pumped in and out slowly, delighting in the feeling of you relaxing around his fingers and your weight leaning heavier on him with every push. He added a second digit carefully, spreading them open inside you, marvelling as your breathy panting turned into something with more body, little adorable moans that made him twitch.

He'd pushed his middle and marriage finger as far as he could, curling them inside you. You whined, pushing your leg off the sofa so you were spread wide open. He took this opportunity to flirt with adding his pointer finger to. You protested before he'd even met the first knuckle.

"Too much," you said. He went back to just two, curling and uncurling inside you against the soft barrier he'd found.

"Now how can they be too much when you take all of me?" he asked you, hand that wasn't focused on stretching you out coming up to stroke the back of your head, carding through your hair.

"How about when you play with yourself?" he asked, feeling mean, knowing it would send you into an embarrassed little tizzy to talk about it. "You don't fit three fingers?"

"No," you protested. He couldn't lie to himself, he was more than curious about how you touched yourself, when, and what, and who you thought of.

"I don't believe you," he said, laughing, into the side of your forehead. He kissed your temple. "I think you fit three fingers and you like it."

"I have smaller hands."

"That's true," he agreed, building the tempo, listening for the telltale gasp that you were enjoying his mildly rough treatment. His knuckles hit the soft skin of your cunt and with each thrust a damp thud sounded between you. "You treat your little cunt like this too?"

"No," you whined, "I don't. I don't."

"I think you do. We both know you like it a little rough, don't we dove?"

He pushed the pad of his thumb into the bud of your clit, fingers buried deep inside you and curling. "My pretty girl likes things a certain way, I don't blame her. Just tell me how you like it and I'll give it to you, dove, you know that."

"Remus," you said quietly, so quietly. "You're so-" you paused, calibrating your thoughts when he began moving inside you again, "dirty."

He laughed, pulling his fingers out of you completely, though he sustained his circular motions on your clit. He pulled your face up off of his shoulder, desperate to see the state of you. As he expected, you were glassy-eyes and flushed, lips wet, the sight of you so erotic he almost felt bad.

Almost. "I'm dirty," he said, beside himself, pushing the beginnings of his three fingers into you. You seized up, moaned, relaxed again as he pushed past the initial ring of tight muscle there. He measured your expression carefully, weary of hurting you.

"When you play with yourself like this, what do you think about, huh?" he asked.

Your head fell forward, chin on his shoulder as you hugged him tightly. He held you up with his free hand, the other moving against you at a modest speed. The sound you made as he approached the second knuckle each time had his dick jumping against his abdomen.

"You didn't answer my question," he scolded, pausing his ministrations.

"I think about you," you panted, faux-crossly at him. "About us."

"Well, let's give you some more material."

Your orgasm arrived quickly after that. You went rigid in his arms as he prolonged it for as long as he could manage, thumb working overtime into the soft button of your clit. "That's my girl," he said, kissing the top of your head. You jerked away from him eventually, overstimulated, like you'd been electrified.

"You're not as innocent as you let on," you said, albeit pleased, letting yourself rest on the arm of the settee behind you and out of his reach.

"I never claimed to be anything like that," he said, smiling.

He retreated to the middle of the sofa, pulling your leg so you sank on to the small of your back, cunt bared to him. He pushed his thumb in a stripe from your dripping entrance to your sensitive clit, back and forth till the mess was everywhere and he was pleased.

He paused, looking at your exhausted form. "Do you want to…"

"If you don't take your trousers off right now, Remus Lupin."

He shrugged bashfully. "You look half asleep."

"Do not," you denied. He shrugged his trousers off, reaching into his boxers to pump his aching cock. He'd already leaked a ridiculous amount of precum from the sound of you alone.

"Are you sure?" he asked. You blinked at him.

Your expression went all soft, like he'd said something silly and sorry. "I want you. Please? I'm not tired, I swear."

You shifted further down, closer to where he was kneeling. "You want the cushion?" he asked you.

You nodded rapidly. "Yes please," you answered. He stole one from behind him to slide under your lifted hips. He could feel his heartbeat in his dick, the head dribbling even now.

He spread you open with slippery, careful fingers. Your chest stopped heaving, holding your breath as he pushed in. First the bump of his head and then the rest, pulling back to drive in once again until the whole of his shaft was accommodated, his pelvis pressed to yours. You writhed, evidently dissatisfied by his stillness.

He groaned, hands braced on either side of you. He pulled out, moved back in, caught the look on your face and was so dazzled he was distracted enough to pause and lean down, kissing your smiling mouth.

You laughed, the sound all stretched out and blissed. "You still taste like wine," you told him, bringing your hand up to push the hair from his eyes.

"So do you!" he laughed back.

"I think you tipped it on me on purpose."

"Now what," he pulled out, pushed in, aimed for the right spot, "gives you that impression?"

Your hand clamped down on his arm, letting him know he'd found your sweet spot. He persevered to drive into it until your eyes were starting to water, playful little sounds of ecstasy riding out of you on a steam train.

"You like my tits," you gasped out.

He burst into laughter, stopping to wipe the gathering wetness in your lashes. You grinned back. "I really do," he admitted, looking down at your curving lips.

He held both your breasts in his hands and kneaded them, planting kisses on the skin between them. "How do I know you didn't tip it down yourself to seduce me?" he asked, struggling to fuck you, tease you and massage your chest all at once but trying his hardest.

You made up for his staggered thrusts by fucking your hips down to meet him, panting with the exertion of it.

"You were much too quick to show me the mess you made, sweetness. I barely had to ask."

"You ca- caught me," you stuttered, eyes pressing closed as his teeth grazed your left nipple. "Oh, you're the worst. I like you so much."

"That's brilliant," he said, moving back onto his knees, half sheathed in you still. "Because I like you too. Turn around?"

Your pupils were blown by this point. You did as he suggested with little resistance and he made sure you were comfortable, spreading your legs open with his knees.

He pushed in shallow at first. "How's that, lovely girl? That okay?"

"Remus, can you, will you-"

"This?" he asked, pushing his hand under where you rested to rub big circles with his hand into your clit. You keened, shoving your hands over your face.

"Yes, yes thank you."

"Don't say thanks to me, lovely girl." All he could think was, fuck, she's so fucking perfect, everything about you, your cunt stretching around him while you whined into your fingers, your lovely arched back and the stretch marks on your hips, the curve of your arse.

He pushed his hand flat on your arse to elevate himself and fuck into you, feeling the beginning of his climax on the horizon. You were silk around him. He felt almost remorseful at the way you're frame was relentlessly forced into the sofa and so he slowed down even as you protested for him to do it more.

"I don't want to hurt you, silly."

"I don't care," you said, throwing your hand back between you like you'd pull him towards you, though you couldn't reach.

"I do!" he said, chuckling, reaching forward to take your extended hand into his. You twined your fingers together and he used the connection to pull you back onto him. You clenched around him, sighing, mewling sounds, and it pushed him just over the precipice. He abandoned your clit with a smidge of guilt to grab onto your hip and rut into you forcefully.

You practically squealed in delight, forcing your own hand down to replace his touch at your clit and then you were both making loud, embarrassing sounds. Remus blushed at the moan that rocked through him as he came, pearlescent white emptying out into your core.

He pulled out, watched your cunt contract and push out his cum so that it was leaking to gather at the apex of your clit where you poked at it with your fingertips. He rubbed the head of his dick by your fingers, pushing his cum back into you.

You sighed. He finally left you be, collapsing back onto the seat to give his aching knees some repose. He watched you play amorously, watched you move your hips in half circles to make up for the loss of him until you were too tired to continue.

"Come here, baby," he prompted, catching onto your wrist. You turned on your side and struggled into a sitting position, "My stomach feels so weird," you said.

"Sorry," he murmured, pulling you flush up against his side. "Didn't hurt you, did I?"

You met his eyes and smiled beguilingly. "No, you didn't. Are you okay? Sore?"

His knees hurt more than he would ever admit. "No, I'm alright."

"You're a bad liar," you said, kissing his shoulder where you were slouched. "Is it your chest?"

"My legs," he admitted.

"Right… Will a bath help?"

He could feel his eyes burning. He hadn't told you truly how bad his chronic pain was, how it only seemed to get worse as he grew older, and still you were perceptive enough and always so caring. He knew that he should've had the self-preservation to not be on his knees, but he'd wanted to have amazing sex with his amazing girlfriend and not worry about his legs for once.

He didn't mind paying the price for it, though he couldn't deny the price was going to make him wince for a while.

"A bath would be nice."

You nodded, setting off down the hall and calling over your shoulder, "take your time, Remus! And bring the wine if there's any left!"

He snorted. You hadn't exactly had time to drink any of it yet, so there was plenty. He got to his feet, felt embarrassed about how naked he was and how tired he was, gathered the discarded clothes from the living room floor and his backpack and made his way to the bathroom.

You were sitting on the side of the small tub with your hand under the running water. Bubbles were slowly coming to fruition in a big, white mountain that smelled like you.

You smiled at him, hair sticking to your clammy skin, waist still red where his hands had clasped you so tightly. "You can get in, quick. Here, pass me all that," you said.

He did as he was told, feeling grateful for the mild healing powers of hot water. His eyes closed on automatic, feeling the pain recede just slightly in his aching legs. You put your mug by the side of the bath and gave the situation an assessing look.

"Move back?" you asked, already climbing in front of him tentatively, so careful of his legs. You sat in comfortable silence until you leaned forward to turn off the water.

"You know…" you murmured, leaning back into his chest but not resting your weight on him, "you don't have to be on top if it's going to give you so much grief. And-" you started at his sound of protest, "I know it's not always this bad. But still, it makes no difference to me."

He pulled you tight against his chest, wrapping his arms around your waist. You covered his hands with your own. "You're the biggest pillow princess I've ever met," he joked, hoping to deflect.

"I'm sorry, Remus," you said, sounding guilty.

"Hey," he said, turning your face to look up into his face, water running off his hands and down your neck. "I'm fine - I mean it. I've been dealing with this since I was small, okay? I know my limits. So if I want to fuck my lovely girlfriend, I'm going to fuck her however I think she likes it, and if the pain gets too much, I'll tell her. I promise."

You bit your lip. "I just don't want the reason you're hurting to be because of me."

He laughed at you. "This," he said, gesturing to his legs, "will never be your fault."

You ran your hand down his thigh absentmindedly. He took it in his hands, kissed your chipped nail polish and your palm and your lovely wrist. "Thank you for worrying about me, but you don't need to."

"Do they hurt horribly?"

"No. And some sacrifices have to be made, dove. I would endure pain a thousand times worse if it meant you'd always make sounds like that," he said lightly, lips pressed against your wrist so that the sound came out muffled on your skin.

"Remus…" you said, voice high in protest.

He let his other hand drop down past your belly button, into the warm water, laughing as you gasped at his touch.

-

You woke up disoriented, not sure how or when you’d made it to bed last night and why you felt so overwhelmingly warm. Then you realised your warm-blooded boyfriend was pressed against you like a jigsaw piece, sleeping like the dead.

Your stomach twisted. Godric, maybe you shouldn’t let him stay up however late he wanted just to ravish you. You struggled, especially in this new relationship territory, on whether you should be speaking out more when Remus was pushing it, but, like he’d said yesterday, he’d had his lycanthropy long before he met you and knew his own limits well. Still, you worried he’d overdo it and could hardly bear seeing him aching the next day. You tried not to think about it when he wasn’t talking about it with you, fearing that he’d read your worry as infantilising. You liked him very much, and wanted him to be okay, and you trusted him to take care of himself.

He was much worse around his transformation, which was soon approaching once again. It was relentless, really, that he’d recover and have a good few days as he could manage and then be right back to struggling again.

His chest rose, a steady rhythm. You moved your hand over his heart and listened to him breathe, a rush of fondness overtaking you. He was just as maddeningly attractive asleep as awake, lovely brown hair curling by his ears and eyebrows, pink-white scars stark against his warm skin. You brushed the hair from his face to kiss his eyebrow once, twice, settling back down with a contented smile.

You had such a lovely boyfriend.

He slept for another hour or so and you watched with a smug satisfaction. Remus Lupin was your boyfriend, he was yours. His intelligent and kind heart, his recklessness and his wit and his gentleness, it was yours to love.

His eyes slowly scrunched and opened. You smiled. When he realised you were already awake he pulled you instantaneously tight to his chest, breathing in the smell of your hair. It was still damp from last night's bath.

“How long have you been up?” he croaked.

“Not long.”

He groaned, covering the hand you’d laid out on his chest. “Merlin, what time is it, do you know?”

“It’s almost 1PM.”

His eyes shot open, dreamy expression fading away. His face was bashful again. “We slept a while, then.”

You needed it, you said in your head. “I was exhausted,” you said, heavily implying it to be his fault for the deplorable things he’d done to you in the bath last night with his fingers.

“Sorry, dove, but if you don’t want to be touched you shouldn’t be so pretty.”

“Oh, is that how it is?” you flirted. You almost couldn’t believe there was any flirt left in, though there always was when it came to Remus. He pulled it out of you before you realised what you were saying.

He was about to say something else when the phone started ringing. You winced, staggered onto your tired legs and felt the pinch of being fucked well in your abdomen. You hurried to the telephone, pulling it from its shiny red receiver.

“Hi, good morning!” you said, your work-friendly tone taking over. “Who’s calling?”

“Good afternoon!” a familiar, smarmy voice said. You sagged, rubbing your eyes. “What kind of day are you having where it starts at 1PM?” James asked, sounding like he already knew.

“It’s Sunday, James, I can sleep in.”

“Is that what we're calling it these days?” he laughed at his own weak joke. You blushed despite years of this particular brand of embarrassing innuendo.

“Is everything okay?” you asked. You could hear Harry’s bellowing cries in the background.

“It’s alright. Harry’s quite poorly, my little man, but he’ll be okay.”

“Oh no! Do you need anything?” you asked, leaning closer to the telephone as though it would infer your concern.

“We’re right as rain over here, Y/N, don’t worry. Mum’s come over to help us out and Lily’s sleeping, so I’ll have to be quick, but we were supposed to go on holiday on Monday - it’s all expenses paid, non-refundable and Harry is honestly too ill. You and Moony will go, won’t you?”

“Uh- what?”

“Quick, say yes so I can relieve my poor mother.” Harry’s crying had gotten much louder.

“I - James, are you sure?”

“I’m positive! I’ll send all the information over with an owl later and the hotel passes, oh, and the port key! Keep an eye out for it! Oh, and tell Moony I say hi!”

“James-“

“Bye, shortcake!”

The line cut out. You put the phone back down, head-spinning. A holiday? You drifted back into your bedroom, thinking much too hard to notice Remus’ inquiring face.

“What did he want?” Remus asked. You climbed up close to him and tucked your knees underneath you, staring down into his face where he was lying.

“Harry’s not very well.”

“What’s wrong with him?” Remus asked in concern, beginning to rise up onto his elbows. You pushed him back down, placing an assuring hand on his arm.

“He’s poorly, but James is more than sure he’ll be alright.”

“Oh, good.”

“He’s giving us a holiday.”

He shook his head, “What?”

“That’s what I said.”

“Seriously, Y/N,” he laughed.

“I am serious. He said it’s non-refundable, so we have to go.”

He smiled, hesitant. “Isn’t that a good thing?”

You swallowed, tracing shapes in his skin. “It sounds fun.”

“Then what’s wrong?”

“The full moon is only a week and a few days away. Do you… will you be up to it?”

He reached his hand up to cover your cheek. “If I spent all my time waiting for the full moon I’d never have any fun.”

“It’s by port key, so we won’t be travelling, and if you need to come home early we will, and-“

“I thought I was trying to convince you?”

You smiled beatifically at him. “Well, this will be fun, won’t it?”

“Really fun,” he agreed.

“And it’s not too much time to spend together?”

“You’ve lived at my flat all week. We’ll be alright, I think.”

You called your agent to tell her you’d be taking a few personal days, which wasn’t totally truthful but sounded better than admitting you had a new boyfriend and were going on an impromptu getaway. Remus had as many of his shifts as he could covered by other people at the supermarket and used his (meagre) holidays to have the rest off. You felt quite terrible about this, but he didn’t show that he was worried about it.

In fact, he seemed more excited than you did. James sent the paperwork over and the hotel sounded ridiculously fancy. The port key was a smooth, golden piece of flint that you were incredibly scared of accidentally touching and being whipped away to the holiday by yourself.

The rest of the day was spent rushing around wondering what you were actually supposed to take on holiday. Remus watched you flirt between different outfits with a funny look on his face. You kept telling him he could go find something more interesting to do while he waited, but he didn’t bother.

You finally settled on way more clothing than one girl could need, including sun dresses that would probably not see the light of day if British spring-time weather had anything to say about it and half your underwear drawer.

Remus went over to his own flat to pack what he needed while you made a home-cooked dinner for the two of you. You waited for him to return on the sofa, looking at the wine stain and not feeling any inclination to spell it away.

You slept quite early considering the time you’d both woken up, probably from the sheer exhaustion of packing for a 3-day holiday in one afternoon. When you woke up, it was to the pink light of dawn.

Remus slept a little longer. You crawled out of bed to make some tea, side-eyeing the little dull piece of flint like it was radioactive material. James’ letter said it would be active for a 30 minute window at 9AM.

You drank your tea, showered, let your damp hair dry for a while by itself as you struggled to powder your face. You supposed now that Remus had seen you in every state of undress that stuff like this didn’t matter, but you did it anyways - it made you feel prettier, more confident, and you liked the way it looked.

Remus found you cross legged on your floor, staring into the floor-length mirror in concentration while you did your mascara, hair mostly dry.

“Morning,” he said, peeking down at you.

You could see him in the mirror, but you turned to face him anyway, shoving the mascara wand back into the tube. “Hi, handsome.”

His smile increased by barely a fraction, but you still noticed. You vowed to tell him more often how good-looking he was. “What time is it?”

“8.10. I was gonna wake you up soon, so perfect timing.”

“How I wish I’d slept. Not often an angel wakes you up.”

You blushed, batting at his arm. “Give it a rest, Lupin.”

“Lupin. We’re finished,” he said, getting to his feet to stretch. He leaned down as he passed to kiss you on the temple.

While he was busy in the bathroom you checked the list he’d made. He was being much more casual than you’d expected him to be about this whole thing - you’d thought he’d be more critical about the time this morning, for one, awoken hours before you from worry. You’d also thought he’d be checking and rechecking you had everything on the list.

You felt a spike of domestic pleasure that he’d trusted you to check the bags and take care of his list. You tucked your make-up bag into Remus suitcase, which was fantastically charmed to be much bigger on the inside than it appeared.

All you had to do now was your hair. You ran oil through the tips before styling it and burning your fingers in the process. Then you tucked it up into a cute little bobble with some face-framing pieces at the front. The ends curled up cutely. More than impressed with yourself, you waited at the kitchen table for Remus to finish getting dressed.

You felt as though you were a gift to be opened, which sounded ridiculous and egotistical, but it was true. Knowing Remus would think you looked perfect with or without the effort made it all the more fun.

He came into the kitchen fully dressed and rubbing his hair dry with a towel, wearing an off white shirt with a desaturated square close-up photo of a blurry guitar that was a blur of pink, red and black.

You offered him the cup of tea you’d made in preparation and he gratefully accepted, letting the towel hang around his neck. He swallowed roughly. “Oh, merlin. Minty.”

He drifted in close to your seat and put the tea down, moving his hands towards you in question. You lifted your face up to the light and he took it in his hands, still slightly warmed from the tea.

His thumb drifted back and forth in a semi-circle, tugging at the soft skin of your cheek. You preened, eyes drifting shut. “Are you ready?” he asked you.

You nodded imperceptibly. “Yeah.”

He tilted your head up further and hunched down to kiss you quickly. “Good, because the port-key’s glowing.”

You opened your eyes. He was right, the little golden flint was pitching a circle of incandescent light. “Wow,” you mumbled.

“It’s pretty cool, right?”

Must’ve been expensive, you thought to yourself.

“Do you have everything?” you asked him.

“Yes.”

“The passes?”

“Yes.”

“Painkillers?”

“Yes, dove.”

“Your toothbrush?”

He had forgotten his toothbrush. He spun on his heel to go get it. You quickly rinsed the mugs of tea out and looked at yourself once more in the mirror to check everything was in order. Remus returned without the damp towel but now had his toothbrush, which he pushed into his suitcase next to your make up bag. He zipped it up tight and you cast a weightlessness spell on it so it wouldn’t be heavy.

You both stared at the port key.

“Have you ever used one of these before?” you asked him nervously.

“No, but it can’t be that bad. Can it?”

-

Port keys were awful. For one, you can’t control where you drift, and for two, if you’ve never used before, you should probably practice walking on air.

You landed first. Remus clattered half on top of you, which you were thankful for and enraged by at the same time.

“Oh my god,” you said, feeling as though little birds were flying about your head like an old cartoon.

“Are you alright?” Remus asked, eyebrows pinching together in concern. Where you’d landed was a mostly grassy knoll, interspersed with gravel. Your cheek had landed on such a patch of gravel, and you had a little scrape on your cheekbone.

“Oh, Y/N,” Remus said, suitcase dropping to the ground. He took your face in one hand and your fingers in another, squeezing them tightly. Your eyes were tearing up from surprise rather from pain, and you sniffed. Remus, taking this for upset, put his large hand over your shoulder. “Hey, it’s okay.”

“It doesn’t hurt,” you promised. “Was just close to my eye.”

“I see.”

He went a little silent, almost transformed into a fix-it version of himself, scrounging through the suitcase for his little tin of scratch-balm. He wiped the scrape with his sleeve to remove the dust and dragged some of the balm onto the back of his fingernail, smoothing it over the abrasion expertly.

It was worth being hurt for the attentive care he bestowed you with. You assured him it was more than alright, though you weren’t sure you’d willingly use a port key again. He laughed despite himself, dusting down your clothes and grimacing at your scrape again.

“If I spell it, it will definitely scar,” he said regretfully.

You shrugged. “It’s alright like this. Wow, the weather's amazing!” you said, noticing for the first time since you’d been dropped here that the sky was a brilliant blue, almost empty of clouds.

The air smelled like salt. You and Remus made your way out of the clearing and past a cover of trees, and you felt the breath leave you. There, right there, was a gorgeous stretch of beach, the tide was close enough to to run to. What seemed like hundreds of people were down on the coast, enjoying the sun and sea.

The sun was still coming up, shone brightly in your eyes, you shielded your face, gazing down at the sand with longing. It was obvious neither of you had been expecting such a breathtaking view. You stood there in silence, eyes skipping over the horizon and the beachside attractions, the fairground rides in the mid-distance and the seaside cottages.

“Fuck, Prongs has so much money,” Remus said, giggling. You were surprised by his words and found yourself giggling too. “Where do they hide these places? In rich people's magazines?”

“There’s a paywall and then they start unlocking parts of the country for you,” you agreed.

“I need to pick up more shifts if we ever wanna come back.”

“I need to write a good fucking book.”

You looked at each other and burst out laughing. Once you’d gotten over how much you liked being stood there with each other laughing at your own wit you remembered that you had to actually find the holiday grounds you were staying on. The brochure bragged of “adult-nights”, which you both agreed sounded sketchy, and lots of security, which was just ludicrously rich-sounding.

Why would you need so much security?

You found the entrance to the grounds and presented your paperwork to the security guard, who seemed to find the lack of car funny and the lack of a baby alarming.

“It says you’re bringing a ‘Harry’ with you, Mrs. Potter?” he asked you.

“Yeah… he was poorly so he’s staying with the in-laws for a few days,” you explained, trying to sound as Lily would.

The security guard looked at you and Remus like you were both crazy. “I see. Well, have a nice stay.”

“What was that about?” you asked Remus, following the map the apprehensive security guard had given you through the holiday park grounds.

"Ah," Remus said. "Things are starting to make much more sense."

"What?" you asked.

He pushed the brochure he was reading under your nose. "I think this place is like a kid's haven. All the entertainment is, well…" he let you read it for yourself.

Pantomimes, characters in costumes you could take pictures with, 4-12 disco.

You giggled and then laughed, surprised. Remus laughed too, and suddenly you were both stooped over laughing like you couldn't stop. Remus grabbed onto your shoulder for support and you leaned into his chest. You were trying to talk but it only made you both laugh more.

"That should have been obvious-"

"More than obvious-"

"I can't believe-"

"James didn't say!"

"Why would he?"

It was that terrible kind of laughter where even the sound of the other person failing to catch their breath was infectious, because it wasn't that funny. It was obvious and silly and embarrassing on both accounts.

"That's why the security guard was so freaked out!"

Remus brought his fist up to his mouth. "Oh, this is terrible. This is amazing. Oh, Y/N. How didn't you notice?"

"How didn't you notice! You see everything!"

"This is my first time seeing the brochure," he protested, trying to keep walking and move you along with him.

You felt like you’d been walking forever, seeing swimming pools and restaurants, huge stretches of grass, miles of neat chalets and hundreds of families and a massive white pavilion that boasted live entertainment on the side before you came across the hotels. They were holiday park endorsed buildings that towered over everything else, and you and Remus were staying in the biggest one.

“This is the one,” he said, stretching his arm across your shoulder to steer you through the impeccable glass doors, suitcase bumping behind you both.

The clerk gave you the same sceptical look as the security guard had. Sure, it was probably uncommon for parents to show up without their kids, but was this level of ridicule absolutely necessary, you wondered.

The clerk swapped out your hotel passes for a key to the room, and you were away. You were almost buzzing out of your skin with excitement, wondering what the room would look like and if it would have a fancy bathtub.

Remus pressed you closer still in the elevator. You grinned at him, the nerves of it all bubbling up. This was pretty early in a relationship to go on a vacation, right? But it felt like it could only be a good thing - you couldn’t get enough of Remus, and hoped he was similarly infatuated with you. Here, you could get to know each other more intimately without worrying about other people, and of course enjoy the luxuries of the holiday site.

Remus handed you the key upon exiting the lift, pretending to be busy with the suitcase. You put it in the lock and twisted, trying not to throw the door open with too much enthusiasm even though Remus could definitely already tell. You could’ve screamed at it all. The biggest bed you’d ever seen, sconces on the wall that shone bright white light up the wall, a mini fridge full of things you wouldn’t touch, but the option dazzled you.

“Wow,” Remus said, pushing the suitcase to the end of the bed.

You laughed, pushing open the bathroom door.

“Remus, come look at this!” you called. “Woahhh…”

“Oh, Jesus. How the other half live,” Remus said.

The other half, you thought to yourself, more like the ten percent. There was a freestanding bathtub that could’ve part-timed as a swimming pool, easily three times the size of your own, with a copper mixer tap that shined. The tiles were slate grey and stretched the floor and walls, with a shower in the corner of the room that was similarly copper and large. Even the toilet looked fancy.

“We are so getting in that,” you said, eyes on the tub.

“What, now?”

“Your hair is still wet from your shower,” you said, turning back to the bed. “Do they even have a name for a bed this big?”

“It’s called an Olympic Queen,” Remus said.

You resisted the urge to take his face in your hands. “You would know that, you nerd.”

“Like that, is it?” Remus asked, laughing, something conniving in his eyes.

“It’s always like that, nerd.”

It was funny, you’d never found Remus intimidating, but he did stir something in your abdomen when he stood so close to you, looking down at you. You sincerely believed that had you been hooked up to an EKG machine it would’ve showed your heartbeat ramping up when his hand climbed your arm, up to your neck.

“You're so mean to me. Don’t know why I let you,” he said.

“Easy, my charming good looks. Next question.”

“I’m fed up with you.”

"I can tell," you teased him. “Not too fed up, I hope.”

He made a sound of disagreement and caught your lips with his. You smiled, effectively ruining the annoyed facade between you both, desperate to return his affections.

Remus wasn’t ever shy, but he was proper. He never grabbed you or roughed you about, was always attentive and as caring as he could manage (at least at first).

He tucked the tendrils of hair that were free from your ponytail behind your ears and kissed you sweetly, the kind of kiss that made you feel like you were the only girl on earth, cupping your face to deepen it. You sighed into him, pleased as punch when he dragged you as close to his front as he could.

You pushed him away just slightly. “Definitely not fed up then.”

He chuckled and moved his lips to the corner of your mouth. “I don’t think it’s possible to be tired of you.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck and rubbed his nose with yours in a kunik kiss, closing your eyes. When you opened them again he was looking down at you. It startled you, though his gaze was nothing but loving.

“What?” you asked him.

He pushed his head into your neck instead of answering. “Are you hungry?”

“Are you?”

“Definitely.”

“Then let’s go eat.”

You tried to pull away and he stayed standing in place with his arms around you like his feet were dug into the ground. “In a minute,” he said.

-

You walked back through the park grounds to find a fish and chip shop on the beachside and ate them sitting on a picnic bench, the sun high in the sky. You forced Remus to use sunscreen on his face even when he didn’t want any, careful of his scars as you applied it. He was eating a chip as you did, indulging you even at the inopportune.

“There,” you said, pushing his hair back down. “You’re golden.”

“Thank you,” he said happily.

You wiped your fingertips in a napkin. Remus slid the tray of chips over to your side of the table.

You both looked out at the sea, squinting from the fierce sunlight. “We’ll go walk along the sea, shall we?” Remus asked.

You both shed your shoes at the start of sand. The tide was further out now so you had to walk for a few minutes before you got to it. Remus stared at it in trepidation, whereas you walked straight in, and Godric it was cold. Your sundress was short enough not to worry about the hemline getting wet, but you realised, as the waves washed over your feet, that Remus trousers were going to get wet.

You took his hand and pulled him back a yard, kneeling down in the damp sand to roll his cuffs up. “Tada!”

He took your sandals and carried both pairs of shoes without complaint, wading into the water beside you. The sun was on your shoulders and the tops of your heads, both of you shimmering with sweat. You grinned at him and pulled your dress up until you were almost flashing, going as deep as you could without getting your underwear wet.

“It’s cold, dove. You'll be freezing,” Remus said, holding out his hand, your swindles dangling from his thumb. You laughed and went back to his side, taking his offered hand.

“The sun will warm me up again.”

You walked along the front, chasing the sea until the picnic bench you’d eaten at was invisible and the sun was drifting incrementally down. The sea air was cold and though the sunlight kept you warm, Remus still reached out to rub the lengths of your arms whenever he could.

Eventually, you trapped his hand in your own to stop his worrying.

“Are you tired?” you asked him.

“No,” he said. “Hey, what’s that?”

He pointed. You gasped, eyes setting on a sand-white crab that was entirely too close to your feet. You almost tripped over yourself to be out of its path, which Remus found hilarious but laughed at sparingly.

“It’s harmless,” he said.

“It has pincers!”

“I’ve seen you tweeze your eyebrows, it could hardly hurt more than that.”

You blushed. “You’re not supposed to be watching me get ready when you’re getting ready.”

“I liked watching you,” he said, and then, wincing, “that sounded less creepy in my head.”

You raised your eyebrows, washing your sandy feet in the waves even though they’d get dirtied again straight away. “Stalking is a sickness, babe, I don’t judge you.”

He wrapped his arms around you from behind, walking you deeper and deeper into the water until it was almost at your dress’ hem. When you tried to retreat he became an iron cage. You leaned heavily on his chest to escape it.

“My dress!”

“Can’t hear you. I’m too sick.”

“Your trousers will be wet too!”

The waves lapped at your calves. “Oh no…” he said, disingenuous.

“Where are our shoes?” you demanded, any excuse for him to set you free.

“In the sand,” he said, head close to your ear. “Don’t worry, dove.”

His trousers were definitely wet at this point, the water having caught your skirt. It stuck to your skin, freezing cold. You screeched for a moment and then accepted it, thinking that if you were going to get wet, you may as well submit to him. He stopped, holding you in the water where it rose past your waist, waves big enough this far in to sway you both. You turned around in his hold. “Don’t let it blindside me,” you implored him.

“I won’t,” he said confidently. He leaned down to kiss you and had the manners to beg forgiveness when a wave hit you square in the shoulders.

“Remus!” you cried, feeling the salt water drip down your back.

“I’m sorry!” he called back, trying not to laugh at you.

You giggled, couldn’t stay mad at him, and kissed him.

His hand came up behind your head, felt your wet hair. “Oh, I’ve ruined your hair,” he said remorsefully. You ignored him, tried to catch his mouth and he evaded you. “I’m sorry.”

“You can fix it after,” you assured him, tone soft and pleased by his concern.

The sea was making a mess of you both. His beige trousers were the same colour as the sand underneath you, your dress was plastered to your skin, and it was so cold, the only warmth being his arm around your shoulders and your hands on his. Remus walked backwards and pulled you along until the water wasn’t so high.

You were sinking into the sand and could feel shells underfoot.

“I love your voice,” Remus said.

“My voice?”

“The way you speak. The things you say,” he furthered.

“You want to talk about voices? I could listen to you read the dictionary,” you told him, pushing up into his arms as much as you could. “Twice. Maybe three times.”

He lifted you up for a moment so you were floating in the sea, hands tight around your waist. “You sound inherently romantic. Everything you say. If I could, I would play it back.”

You shook your head, wet from your hair smattering down like rain on your shoulder blades. “It’s only because I’m talking to you, Remus.”

“See, how you say my name. It sounds less like my name and more like a-“ he paused and you suspected he couldn’t find the words. “Like a question.”

“And what question is that?” you asked him warmly.

“I was hoping you would tell me,” he said roughly.

“Mmm…” you pushed his hair from his face with your wet hands, assessed the way his eyes were darting to and from your mouth with a deep, impervious sense of fondness, something close to reverence. “Kiss me?”

He leaned forward. You didn’t close your eyes, didn’t move to meet him, letting him tilt his head and touch his lips so gently to yours. You pulled back half a millimetre, let him follow you, chest burning. “I’ve never been this happy before,” you told him, a confession.

“Close your eyes,” he told you.

You did. He finally kissed you, and you felt the sun bearing down on you. You thought, if you could see it, that you would both be painted golden and dripping in sunlight with the sea at your navel and his hands on your waist.

-

“I will never forgive you,” you told him, barefoot in the lift, a puddle forming around you. You were surprised you had any water left to drip from such a long walk back, and yet.

He grimaced. “How could I know the sea was that far out? You’re awfully distracting, you know that?”

“I liked those sandals,” you said mournfully, peeling your dress away from your skin for the tenth time. Remus was so sodden he squelched with every step.

“At least we left our wands here,” he said lightly, waiting for you to step out of the lift before following. You giggled to yourself, relief colouring your thoughts.

“Merlin, could you imagine? James would never let us forget.”

“‘How stupid do you have to be to leave your wands at the seafront?’”you impersonated James (badly).

“‘Wands washed away by the tide, what is this, amateur hour?’”

You threw your head back to laugh, pushing the door of your hotel room open. You made a beeline for the bathroom, pulling your soggy dress off quickly. Your underwear was just as wet underneath.

You fiddled with the shower until it was producing a steady, hot stream.

Remus wandered in at the sound with his wand and your toiletry bag. “I was going to dry you off, but your solution is better.”

You grinned and made grabby hands at him until he let you pull his shirt over his head. You kissed his chest, once, indulgently, the salt on your lips making your nose crinkle up.

The shower accommodated you both without having to squish together. Still, you stood close, letting the hot water wash away the sea on your skin with a sigh that felt like it came deep from within your chest. You closed your eyes and leaned your head back. Remus went face first, hands on either side of your body, braced against the shower wall.

You both rubbed shampoo through your hair in tandem, letting it wash away with the sand.

You squirted shower gel between your hands and rubbed it until it came to a fine lather, then started scrubbing your arms, chest and legs. The amount of sand on your feet had you crouching down in the stream, knees to your chest, wiping it away with your fingers.

When you looked back up Remus was blushing, looking so guilty, turned away from you.

“What?” you asked him, nervous. “Do I have something on me?”

He was red-cheeked. “I’m sorry. I was just thinking about you kneeling there, and you’re all soapy and I’m - embarrassed.”

Oh… he was more than embarrassed. You moved from a crouch to flat on your arse and then pushed onto your knees, kneeling like he’d pictured. Water ran down the centre of your chest to pool between your legs. “Like this?” you asked.

He covered his face with his hand. You turned his hips with your hand and he let you, revealing the source of his embarrassment. He was hard, achingly so, head brushing the skin under his belly button.

You cooed, which made him even more shy. You held your hand out. “Can I?”

“Please,” he said, voice quiet under the sound of the shower raining down on his back and your front. You shuffled a litt so you weren’t under the brunt of the water, pushing upon your knees to take Remus’ dick into your hand. As soon as you touched him he let out a groan that sent shocks of arousal down your front, hissing when you began pumping. He was already slick from the shower.

You let go of him and decided to play with him, thinking back to the last bath you’d shared that Saturday night, where he’d edged your orgasm until you were whining in his arms, begging him to use more than the barest pressure, more than just one finger. He’d laughed, continued to tease you until you were a whimpering mess, and attempting to use your hands to finish yourself. He’d taken them in his one hand, and said, so quietly, “Such a needy thing. I think you need a lesson in patience.”

You used the flat of your palm to cup him, slowly travelling up to his head and down again. You exerted the smallest amount of pressure that you could, travelling up to draw circles around his head with the tip of your finger. He twitched.

You pulled away from him. He was looking down at you, the beginnings of a realisation on his face. “A lesson in patience,” you murmured, kissing his thigh. You leaned your head there and continued to tease him. He held your wet hair from your face. His hand tensed ever so slightly against your scalp each time you crested the bump of his head.

You had no clue how he had the patience to tease you so much, though when his breathing shallowed you understood why he persevered. You dipped your finger in the bead of precum and lifted it, a line of pearlescence ribboning between your skin like a bridge.

You finally took his dick in your hand after minutes of teasing, still slow but using all your magazine tips to get him going, kissing the base of him as you did. His hand tightened in your hair, though he was careful not to move you.

You moved your hand down between your leg to rub your clit, curiously poking at the dribble of wetness that was pooling on the floor. The relief of touching yourself had you mouthing up his dick in open kisses. You decided to take pity finally, his breathy moans almost too much to bear, and sped up, pumping his head with fevor. He tensed up. “Wait, wait, Y/N.”

You did as he asked. He took your hand in his, took his dick in the other and finished himself off. You leaned back so he would get the hint to cum on your chest and he did, spurting white on your tits. It was hard to distinguish from the soap residue.

You sighed, pleased with yourself, moving your weight from thigh to thigh to deal with how turned on you were. Remus looked as though he’d crouch down to investigate and so you sprang up, weary of his joints.

Your own knees tingled with pins and needles from being sat on them. You let the shower wash away what was left of the soap and Remus’ mess. He leaned down to kiss the side of your neck, hand drifting down to your cunt, sliding a finger down the centre of you to dip into your entrance. You could feel his smile on your skin.

You reached behind you to turn the shower off. He raised his head, blinking. “My legs ache,” you said. “I know yours do too. Let’s dry off.”

“I want to-“

“You can. In the bed, like civilised people,” you said, cutting him off. You climbed out of the shower on cautious footing, wrapping a fluffy white towel around yourself, warm from the towel rack. Your eyes closed in content.

“So you agree, what you just did was uncivilised.”

“I learned at your feet,” you protested, eyeing Remus judgingly. He was drying himself down with a sense of urgency that riled you up even more than you were, his dick almost hard again already. You swore your mouth was watering.

“Literally,” he mumbled. You shoved his shoulder lightly.

“You’re not even trying to dry yourself!” he said, snatching the towel from around you to rub down your shoulders, then your torso and legs, though it was half a job. Neither of you cared much.

You wrung your hair out over the sink and let him half carry you to the bed, laughing.

He dropped you right at the edge, bringing both your legs to one side so your cunt was on show. You felt like you were burning, knees up against your chest, throbbing cunt bared, always bared to him. He sat down with your ankles in his lap, leaning over to probe your wetness familiarly.

You hissed at his rushed touch on your clit.

“Hm?”

“It tickles,” you told him.

He pushed his index and middle finger into the sensitive button there and laughed at your squirming. “The more you let me, the less it will tickle. Oh, you’re still so wet, look at this,” he cooed, pushing the pad of his thumb against your entrance, pulling it open gently so you were gaping, just a little. “Pretty,” he murmured.

You felt unveiled, unearthed, and wanted more than anything to push your legs down and cover yourself. “Remus, this is embarrassing.”

He rubbed a large warm hand down the length of your legs in his lap. “Sorry, dove. You’re beautiful, is all,” he said. He dotted a peck on both of your kneecaps and let your hips fall back onto the bed.

He stood up. “You want a pillow?” he asked.

You hummed to yourself. “Actually, I was wondering, and you can say no, obviously, but just because I know it makes your legs hurt and we’ve already had a long day and-“

He chuckled. “My legs are fine.”

“Can I be on top?”

He gasped in fake shock. “You?”

“You're being mean to me,” you protested.

He laid himself out flat with his head at the top of the bed and held his hands out. “Come on, sweetness.”

You reached out for his hands and climbed overtop of him, sitting down just below his dick. He pulled you forward just enough, your knees on either side of him, so that you slid over his dick. You loved how it felt, and, using his hands to anchor you, repeated the motion, eyes glossing over every time the head of his cock rubbed against your clit.

You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped you, peering into his clouded face with delight. He lifted his chin, as if to ask, why are you laughing?

“You don’t like that?”

“I like it,” he said, hands tightening around yours. “I would like it tenfold if you stopped teasing.”

“Ah, now you know how I feel,” you told him gravely.

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” he said, smirking. “Come on dove, forgive me?”

You leaned down to hover close to his face, felt his dick pop up from where it'd been trapped under you. “I don’t know,” you said, rolling your hips, “I’m mortally wounded.”

He wrapped his arms around your back and tried to kiss you. You moved your face up so his kiss landed on the corner of your mouth. "I'm still deciding," you said quietly.

He leaned around you to rub his cock up to your slit, and you sank down on it obligingly. You had to lift yourself back up, weary of the tightness before you tried again. You finally managed to sink down completely.

The feeling of being so full, the centre of you completely flush to the centre of Remus, overwhelmed you. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, pressing your hands flat against Remus' stomach.

He tugged your arm. "Does it hurt?"

You rolled on his hips, rubbing your pelvis against his semi-desperately. "No," you said breathlessly.

"So you've forgiven me?" he asked, trailing his hand up your shoulder.

"Yep. Totally forgiven," you said, riding him with little to no finesse.

You savoured the feeling of him against your walls, bringing your hips up and down in a repetitive motion.

Remus was watching good-naturedly, which made you feel worse. "You're lovely."

You laughed, pushing your face down into his chest. "This is so difficult. I'm already tired."

"You don't have to, Y/N."

"I can," you said, bringing your hips up. "I just need to practice."

Remus reached around to grab your hips in one hand and hold your head to his chest with the other. "Alright," he said, fucking up into you. You tried to tell him off, intent on being the one doing the hard work, but it felt so good and you were so full.

"Ah, fuck. Fuck, Remus."

"Eloquent," he murmured, pushing you down onto his rising hips. You gasped as he hit your soft spot once, twice in a row.

"You're cheating," you said.

"No I'm not. You're still on top, aren't you?"

"Barely…"

He stopped and you caught your breath, pushed back up. "This is humiliating."

"Climb off me, baby." You pouted, laying down beside him. He hiked up on his elbow and lined up with your cunt, arm encircling your leg to spread you wide on your side so your knee was pressed as close to your chest as it could be. "You did great."

"Liar," you said. He kissed your shoulder. Where his arm was under your leg, holding it up, his hand came up to touch your chest tenderly.

"I'm not lying. You weren't quite ready, yeah? So you did a good job. You gonna let me take care of my girl?"

You drove your face into the pillow and nodded.

He thrust his cock into you. You could feel the wetness pool out of you at his movements, feel his head drive up into your g-spot in a motion that made you dizzy with pleasure, hand screwed up in the hotel sheets. You moaned out, sound muffled by the cushion.

He brought his hand from your chest to turn your face towards him without saying anything. You knew he was watching you but couldn't find it in you to care, pleasure overwhelming your senses.

You felt your eyebrows come together at his thrusts, controlled as they always started, time to a perfect, abdomen ruining rhythm. You felt yourself stretch around him, contract when he pulled out only to be stretched again at his thrusts. He bottomed out, and at the realisation, pulled out to thrust back in with a bit more force.

"Look," he said. His eyes were looking down at where he was driving into you and you followed his gaze. He was to the hilt. "We fit perfectly."

"You're so full of it," you said between mewls.

"You're so full of me," he said. "So fucking full, aren't you sweetheart? Perfect cunt all stretched. Does it feel good?"

You whimpered.

He squeezed your tit, face in your shoulder, pushing fully into you and drawing circles with his hips. He was panting with exertion.

You reached down to mess with your clit, watching him spread your cunt with each thrust with something akin to fascination. Your leg shook every time Remus pushed into you.

Your arms were trembling. You reached up to cradle his face, hand struggling to stay still on his face. He covered your fingers with his free hand and leaned down to kiss you, thrusts slowing down to match. You tightened around him for kicks, revelling in the catch in his breath.

You couldn't think of anything except his mouth and his cock, the room filled with the sounds of your moans, Remus moans - which increased in volume as he got closer to his climax - and his pelvis hitting your cunt.

"Faster?" you asked him, feeling your orgasm coming in the tightening feeling in your core. His hips were working overtime, fucking into you so quickly that you fell into yourself, moans coming out in one long, never ending line that lifted in pitch everytime he pushed back in.

"Gonna cum around me?" he asked, perceptive of your descent into pleasure. "Cum for me?'

You couldn't answer, pressing your face into his neck. "Go on, pretty girl," he goaded, thrusting sharp and fast, "cum for me."

Your mouth opened. All that came out was a ragged breath, air ripped from you as your white-hot orgasm coursed through you. You shuddered, pressing a weak kiss to his Adams apple as you contracted on his dick.

He groaned, loudly, and then again. You realised he was on the edge of his own orgasm and pressed open mouthed kisses at his throat, voice pleading. "Remus, please."

Two words, so easy, so simple, and they were enough to get him to cry out, the arm that held you leg up pressing it more to his own body than your own so you were wide open. He said, "Fuck, Y/N," and came inside you after a particularly rough thrust that made your hips ache in a way you didn't strictly dislike.

He let your leg drop down from his hold to snake it between your head and the pillow to wrap around and pull you closer still. You lay there, both breathing heavily.

"I could actually have your kids, you know, with the amount you've cum in me," you told him, face still buried in his neck.

He sucked in a breath at your question. "Don't remind me."

"Don't want me pregnant just yet?"

"More than I should, probably. Evil girl."

You looked down at your tingling cunt and the cum leaking out of you and huffed a laugh.

"Are you okay?" he asked at your small silence.

"Just thinking." You turned to lay on your stomach, though your face remained in his direction. You threw your arm over his chest and he held it.

"I'll have your puppies one day, Lupin," you promised him, maybe warned him, voice flirty, eyes shutting slowly. He kissed your forehead, and you thought he might have said something else, but you were already asleep.

-

Remus woke up before you and groaned. He'd wiped you both down last night, you deep in the throws of sleep and him staving off the exhaustion with sheer willpower. The sight of you fucked out and marked up from his hands, sweaty and nude with stripes of white from the sconce light set something alight in him. He committed the picture to memory, vowing to himself that if you were still together in the years to come that he would always remember how you looked now, so earnestly caring and shy and new. He was always so pleased to notice something new about you that he hadn't before - a freckle, a stretch mark, a tiny, invisible scar.

He wanted to know every inch of you and he worried he might know it all and never find something new again. Every little thing he found made him all the more infatuated with you.

You snored softly beside him, the duvet he'd tugged free from under you the night before now strewn about so your naked chest was out. He pulled the covers up to your chin and smiled to himself. You were peaceful as people were in sleep, lips pouting, eyelashes kissing the semi-circle of skin under your eyes. He leaned closer to count them, so close his exhales had them shifting like blades of grass in the breeze.

You stirred. He bit his lip, regretful that his nearness seemed to have awoken you.

You blinked awake, eyes opening first confused and then softening. He watched your pupils dilate in awe.

You searched for his hand under the cover and twined his fingers with your own, eyes drifting closed again.

"Hi," he said, watching your mouth slowly curve into a cute smile.

"Hi," you said. It came out like hm, your mouth still heavy with fatigue.

"You must've been tired," he said gently.

"Yeah," you agreed. Your mouth opened with the start of a yawn. You, in your sleepiness, brought your joined hands up to cover your mouth and seemed confused at the weight of them together.

"Oh, godric," you said, finally opening your eyes. You were looking up at the ceiling remorsefully. "I'm sorry, I fell asleep, didn't I?"

"Don't be sorry. Isn't that what people usually do after they…"

"Get turned like a shish kebab?"

"The way you have with words is just breathtaking."

You chuckled and brought his knuckles to your nose like you were breathing in the smell of his skin. "We didn't brush our teeth."

"Who's we?"

You turned your face so he couldn't see your expression. "A loving boyfriend would've brushed my teeth for me."

"And how does one go about that?"

You struggled to sit up. Your back hunched as you leaned forward, obviously still tired. He trailed his knuckles down your spine.

"This is the biggest bed I've ever slept in," you told him.

"Me too."

"Do you think we'll have one this big?"

He smiled, knowing you weren't serious but still enchanted with you. "Bigger for all our children."

You blushed. "Right, what did I say last night?"

"You declared you'd have my puppies and then you fell asleep."

"I'm sorry if that was uh, kind of an awkward thing to say. I know we haven't been together nearly long enough to talk about stuff like that," you said apologetically.

He shrugged. "I don't mind. I hope you will one day, too, but there's no rush."

He could see your smile even through the curtain of hair that had fallen around your face. He sat up too, pulling your hands into his lap.

"I've known you had baby fever since the day I met you, Y/N. I'm hardly deterred."

You rolled your shoulders, eyes light. "Can we try the huge tub? I'm still sticky."

"Anything you want," he said.

You gave him a saccharine grin and pulled him up to the bathroom. He turned the water on, both of you impressed by the mixer, and ushered you in after you’d brushed your teeth. You groaned at the warm water, edging down so you were quickly submerged up to the neck. Remus could easily lie in the bath and not touch you. Fortunately that was the opposite of what you wanted; you threw your legs over his as soon as he sat down, where you both soaked in a comfortable silence.

You were a vision opposite him. You were half asleep from the warmth, limp and shining. The water lapped around your breasts like waves up against the sand, hair floating in the water. You struck him as something ethereal, like a water nymph.

He rubbed your calves. You sighed happily, gazing at him through hooded eyes.

You sank down under the water and emerged, hair completely sodden. The mascara that had survived last night's shower somewhat was now running streaks down your face. He shuffled forwards and pulled you into his lap.

You shrieked at his strength.

"What?" you asked him, laughing. You rested your hands on his hips, an inch or so of space between your pelvis'.

He used his fingers to rub the black smudges away from under your eyes. "Make-up," he supplied.

"Oh," you said. You shut your eyes, letting him rub away the makeup. He used his fingernail as gently as he could to catch what was under your eyelashes. He dipped his fingers in the water again and used the back of his hand to wipe your cheeks clean.

"Good as new."

You opened your eyes, moved your hands up to his face and shuffled right over his wanting lap. "Thanks, handsome."

-

After some slow, sleepy, and quite frankly dangerous activity in the bathtub, you and Remus got ready for a day in the pavilion. "It's not just kids stuff," you informed him, sundress floating through the breeze. "There's a huge cafe where we can have brunch, they have live music performances in the Sage Club, which is still in the pavilion but not quite, how weird is that? And then later on they do adult karaoke, so we could go do that and have a drink? What do you think?"

He noticed how you didn't mention the swimming pool and he thanked you for that. The last thing he wanted was to be exposed to strangers. The things you did mention sounded brilliant, and he soon found himself sitting across from you, where you'd ordered a ridiculous amount of breakfast foods that would've made his bank account cry.

You didn't mention money and wouldn't accept going halfsies. "You paid for dinner yesterday," you protested. A tray of fish and chips hardly counted as dinner, he thought, but he let you anyway, watching your back as you ordered with a gross amount of affection.

You tucked into the crepes, of which you'd ordered enough to feed everybody in the cafe, chocolate creeping up the corner of your mouth. "I don't know why we bothered coming out! Didn't James say the hotel was all inclusive?"

Remus shrugged. "I'm not sure I believe him. He would've said that even if it wasn't."

You laughed, mouth full of whipped cream. "That's true."

You wiped the corners of your mouth when you were done and keeled over in your chair. "I'm sorry, I always do this. Why don't you stop me?"

He was similarly full, despite continuing to eye the bowl of fresh fruit beside him. "You eat as much as you like, dove, don't worry about that."

"You'll have to carry me to the Sage Club."

He did end up carrying you, and you protested the whole way. In bridal carry he didn't last too long, but enough to make you laugh and blush which was all he would've asked for.

There were definitely kids everywhere still, but you were right that the live performances catered to everyone. The cover band on stage ended up playing KISS and you both sprung up from the small table you'd been sat at, sipping drinks, to sing passionately at one another, you much more unabashedly than him. He knew you were thinking of the day he'd confessed because he was too, and he spun you around even when people started to notice.

"I was made for loving you," you repeated, chest heaving, after the song finished, your hair all fluffy from the dancing.

He collected you into his arms for a tight hug. "I can't get enough of you, baby,” he said back, feeling much too fond.

You simpered in his hold, leaning back to cup his face in your familiar hands. You were giggling shyly, leaning forward to kiss him, so sweetly it made his cheeks hurt.

All sung out, you ended up skipping live karaoke to sneak into the pantomime. When the characters on stage called for the villian, you both shouted for them to turn around, and when the rip-off songs came on you sang the wrong words with the rest of the children. The parents were mostly drunk or on the way there, so it was a great show on and off the stage.

You and Remus shared a tall pint of beer that he enjoyed and you wrinkled your nose at. "Why don't you have something sweet?" he asked you.

"I'm still sick from the crepes this morning, Remus."

"That was hours ago!"

He convinced you to go back up to the bar and order something for yourself whilst he waited at the table to watch your bag. The lights were still down for the pantomime, though the kids were running rampant up and down the low steps. A small young boy ran full speed into your legs and fell, looking up at you worriedly.

Remus couldn't hear what you said, but he could read the kindness on your face. You crouched down to talk to the boy and offered him your hand, which he accepted gratefully. You smoothed down the collar on his small shirt and he said something to you. You laughed, from what he could tell, and watched as the little boy continued on to plough into somebody else.

He couldn't help himself if he tried, thinking about how one day you'd be dusting off the shoulders of your own kids. He prayed to god that they would look like his.

You finally ended up back at the table with a tall glass of Blue Hawaiian. You wiggled your eyebrows at him. "Try this! It doesn't even taste like alcohol."

You were right, and with every cocktail you shared they would taste less and less like alcohol and more and more like unlimited room service, until he was sat beside you in the huge hotel bed, both of you in various states of undress and gorging on stuff you nor he had tried before, until you fell asleep on top of each other.

-

Remus rolled the suitcase down the hotel steps, feeling like he'd been run over by a tractor. Or a steamroller. Or a train.

"Oh my god," you said, squinting into the sun. "Why is hotel checkout always so bloody early?"

You'd been awakened by a knock at the door to say that checkout was in an hour, so please could you make sure the room is ready for our cleaners, thank you.

Remus had looked at you, noticed the crab leg in your hand, and burst into raucous laughter. You were still red from the embarrassment now, and couldn't bare to meet his eyes. "Come on, dove, I was in a similar state of disarray!"

Remus was being charitable. He'd woken up with way less seafood on his person, though he'd been shirtless and with only one shoe.

You'd ditched the dresses today to wear a pair of trousers not dissimilar from his own and a vest he could've sworn he'd seen you wearing as pyjamas, a light, soft green with lace trim and then a borrowed flannel from his clothes overtop, in case it's windy Remus.

He suspected you just wanted to wear his clothes and he would never have stopped you. Your little silver necklace with a small shiny stone the colour of your birthstone dipped down between the valley of your chest.

"If we charm the suitcase really small we could go to the fairground," he suggested, stopping by your side. You had a bobble in your mouth, in the process of scraping your hair up into a ponytail.

"That would be so fun!" you agreed once you'd finished. "I don't know a spell for that though. Do you?"

He would've done it in the room but you'd been in such a rush to square up the bed, spell away the embarrassing signs of indulgence, and get ready for the day that it had slipped your mind. He pulled you into an alleyway and laughed at your suggestive glance, spelling the suitcase so it was the size of a 50 pence piece.

"Will our stuff stay small forever now?"

"No, I don't think so. Just don't lose it."

"I'm not carrying it! I'll definitely lose it."

"Here," he said. He tapped the suitcase with the tip of his wand and the handle turned into a circle of metal similar to a keychain clip. He attached it to one of your belt loops.

You awed at it. "It's so cute. We should've done this when we came."

"Then we would've been the couple with no baby and no luggage."

"They would've been like, damn, who's that hot rake and his chick? They're really slumming it."

"So many things wrong with that sentence," he said, throwing his arm over your shoulder. "Not sure where to start."

You giggled, letting him steer you through the holiday park grounds until the sound of screaming became apparent. The fairground came into view quickly, the top of the helter-skelter peeking over the huge colourful gates. The attractions were all more than popular, kids weaving through the adults and more prams than you'd ever seen in one place.

"I can't imagine Harry on any of these," Remus said, eyeing the Waltzers with mild fear.

"What, not even the dive bombers?" you joked.

Remus pointed at the cage ride labelled the Roundup. "I think wizards would go mad for that one."

You grinned. "Imagine trying to explain some of these to a pureblood."

"You should've seen Sirius his first time on the Hurricane Jets. Severely underwhelmed."

"I wish I'd seen it," you said, nodding. "I've seen him flying. Dude makes quidditch look like an extreme sport."

"That's 'cause you haven't seen me fly," he remarked. You'd walked deep into the crowd now, both of your eyes travelling over the attractions, the huge funhouse that boasted a show like no other.

"I have."

He almost clicked his neck from how quickly he turned to you. "You have?"

"Course I have. In school, when you subbed in for Sirius."

He pulled the collar of his shirt from his neck. "I'm not a brilliant beater."

"I fancied you a little bit, back then. Especially after seeing you hit a bludger at Kensington."

He squeezed your shoulder. "I fancied you a little bit back then too. Maybe more than a little."

You turned to him with poorly concealed excitement. "You did?" you asked curiously.

"You want to go in the fun house?"

"Don't change the subject!"

You went to the fun house. Remus carefully moved your attentions to other things until you'd forgotten (or at least had the generosity to drop the subject) that he said it at all, laughing at your stretched out and squeezed appearance in the trick mirrors.

Remus' inability to cross the rolling floors almost made you weep from glee, crossing your legs and crouching down to avoid wetting yourself. Once you managed to calm down you extended your hands out to him to help him cross the sliding metal bars. Then you climbed the moving steps behind him, almost falling and slamming into his thighs.

You gripped his waist and huffed. "I just met God," you told him worriedly, voice high.

"What did he say?" he asked amusedly.

"He said you tease me too often."

"Did he now?" he asked, helping you back down the stairs and to the giant wooden hamster wheel, which you both stared at in fear.

You stepped into it hesitantly. The wheel started moving almost instantly. You held your hand out to Remus desperately and he let himself get pulled in. At once, you both began walking and then jogging, and he only laughed a little when you fell over, mostly because he then fell over himself, which he didn't find as funny.

You emerged from the funhouse clammy and covered in new bruises. Remus didn't care, ushering you over to the ice cream stand in the middle of the park where you both got ice lollies that dripped down your hand and stained his sleeve. He couldn't find it in himself to mind when you kissed him and tasted, so sweet, like cherry brandy.

-

The next day you were awoken by a howler. “You do realise,” James’ voice said, half mad and half humorous, “that all inclusive means there’s a dining hall where you can go for lunch. Not that room service is free. How can you not know that?”

<3

my masterlist

that was a long one!

now presenting the tag club :3:

marauders tag list @marimorena06 @glimmering-darling-dolly @siriuslystfu @thatblackravenclaw @etneufaled @thatonecomfyjumper @lupinlust @touchdeprivedwh0re @vi0letblu3s @dracoslittlesunflower @mooncalvin

baby fever taglist @rosaliedepp @kissmeunicornbaobei @w0nt0b3y @buckyjbarneswhore @j-cat @justingnoreme @siriuslystfu @figlia--della--luna

i know deep in my soul that i recently assured someone id add them to the tag list and then i forgot. if that was you, i am so sorry! if you’d like to be added to or removed from the tag list please let me know!

thank you tag club, and thank you everyone for reading!

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