#Alibi!peter

[self-aware-sawtrap]

I’m so glad that other people had the experience of not being able to tell strahm and hoffman apart for the majority of saw v. when I watched it i didn’t even question that they were the same person. I was just like oh my god. this guy’s fooling everybody.

[alphacxntauri]

FLASH WARNING ⚠️

•He's my alibi.🤍🕷️

[skyetenshi]

Ich liebe es dass Peter eigentlich den Hund Shadow hat [wenn auch nicht in den Hörspielen] und noch mehr liebe ich es dass Peter den Hund Shadow nannte, weil er zunächst den Schatten gesehen hat.

Jetzt ist die Frage wie würden die andern beiden ihre Tiere nennen?

Justus traue ich etwas distinguiertes zu. Poe, Oppenheimer, Curie, Al Capone, Burke and Hare [vielleicht hätte er Ratten? Oder Rennmäuse? Wenn er nicht mehr unter Tante Mathildas Fuchtel steht]

Edit: Justus hat das süßeste Vieh unter der Sonne und nennt es Cthulhu.

Und Bob.

Ich glaube Bob wurde sein Tier Alibi nennen.

Und das wäre eine Katze oder ein ganz seltsames Haustier. Ein dressierter Wüstenfuchs, der ihm in einem Fall begegnet ist.

[filmabend]

Das Böse unter der Sonne – Film Stream (1982)

Originaltitel: Evil under the Sun

Das Böse unter der Sonne ist ein Kriminalfilm und ein Klassiker

Nach dem gleichnamigen Roman von Agatha Christie

In Das Böse unter der Sonne reist Hercule Poirot als Ermittler auf eine idyllische Urlaubsinsel. Das Paradies hat jedoch seine dunklen Seiten. 

Inhalt von Das Böse unter der Sonne

Der belgische Privatdetektiv Hercule Poirot wird von der „London Trojan Insurance Company“ beauftragt, den Verbleib eines kostbaren Diamanten zu klären, der seinem ursprünglichen Eigentümer, dem mehrfachen Millionär Sir Horace Blatt, im Rahmen einer Blitzaffäre mit einer Dame aus dem Showbusiness abhandengekommen ist...

[casually-eat-my-soul]

Okay so like stick with me but young Derek, alive hale fam au.

So like the Hale family finds out that Derek has a crush on Sheriff Stilinski’s delinquent son, and has mixed reactions. Talia is torn between amusement, worry and wanting to dislike stiles. Papa hale is very protective but thinks it funny that him and his son have the same tastes.

Peter is ecstatic, Stiles once beat him in chess when running from the cops. (stiles was running and sat down in the park around people for cover, turns out he interrupted a chess tournament. Peter challenged him to a game if stiles lost, Peter would turn him over to the police. If he won, stiles could use him as an alibi)

The rest of his siblings don’t really have an opinion other than using Derek’s crush to make fun of him EXPECT for Laura. Laura is in a one sided rivalry with stiles.

As the sheriff right hand deputy she was tasked with keeping an eye out for stiles and she constantly loses him. Which shouldn’t be possible because she’s a werewolf. She can never connect him to a crime he’s committed and can never prove anything. Can’t go to a judge a say “oh he left a scent trail which I followed because I’m a werewolf.”

Derek brings him home to dinner after they start dating. Unfortunately, the day that Derek brings him over, is also the day that Laura had to run around town taking reports of his crimes. She is fuming. Stiles looks her dead in her twitching eye and asked her how her day went.

The only crime she can connect him to is when he commit aggravated assault against a few of Derek’s teammates went to far with hazing. (Derek refused to fight back as not to hurt them) she lets him off.

[mamaspidershit]

Peter: Ms. Romanoff... I fucked up. Natasha: What now, kid? Peter: I need an alibi. Natasha, already pulling out her computer: I can doctor some footage. You've been here for the last three days, which police station- Peter: What? NO! I meant you need to tell Aunt May I was here last night! Natasha: ... So I don't need to carry on hacking into police files? Peter: NO!

[aanoia]

I Don't Know Who You're Talking About

Remus Lupin x reader words; 2817 warnings; angst, blood, sad, murder, the usual part two this is so cutesy (NOT!) I wrote this on my phone in the car so if there's any mistakes thats my excuse. Also Y/m/n stands for your/marauders/nickname because ofc you're a Marauder and of course you're an animagus. like duh.

“Remus, it's a full moon tonight, you can't go. We can't risk that.” I persisted, staring holes into the back of the boy's head.

He turned around angrily, “Why does it even matter, Y/n?” He yelled, and a drop of spit flew from his lips. “After everything that's happened, you're gonna stop me from going to that traitors trial?”

“If you're gonna act like this, yes! I am going to stop you.” I yelled back, taking a step towards him as my voice softened. “And we don't know if Sirius was framed or not, he's our best friend. Do you really think he'd do something like this?”

Remus shook his head, his shoulders dropping, “I think it doesn't matter, because James and Lily are dead. And Peter! Someone needs to be punished for it, and all the signs point to him.”

I frowned, “I don't think he did it.”

“Well, you think wrong.” Remus said, turning back around and walking out of the house, slamming the door behind him.

“Remus, I swear to Merlin, if you apparate to the Ministry-” I was cut off by the loud cracking noise of apparition. He didn't even grab his coat.

“Fancy seeing you here.” I said coolly as I sat next to Remus. He shook his head, anger radiating from his skin.

“You're ridiculous.” He muttered and I scoffed. 

“There's no way you're taking your frustration out on me, right now.” I flashed a smile at a woman I recognized from Hogwarts, she smiled back sadly. I focused in on the middle of the room, where an empty cage was being rolled out. 

“I can't even talk to you. You’re so annoying.” Remus stood up but was stopped as a new cage was rolled in. I gently pulled him back down as we stared at Sirius. He was caged and muzzled like a dog. 

Remus squeezed my hand, and I squeezed back. Sirius’ clothes were torn, his usual fancy jacket he stole from his mother covered in dirt and blood. He looked around the room frantically, eyes wide and tears streaming down his cheeks. He made eye contact with me and placed his hands on the bars, silently begging me to believe that he didn't do this, he could never. 

I gave him a look of worry as the Minister cleared his throat, “Sirius Black, son of Orion and Walburga Black, you are here today under the accusation of working with He Who Must Not Be Named and the murder of twelve muggles, one witch, Lily Potter, and two wizards, James Potter and Peter Pettigrew. How do you plead?”

The moment the muzzle was off his mouth he answered hastily. “Not guilty!” Sirius screamed, his voice shaky and broken. He shook in his cage, “I didn't do it, please! I would never hurt my frie-”

“Silence!” Crouch demanded, holding his hand up, his ring glinted in the candlelight. “We need not hear more.” He scribbled on a piece of parchment and handed it to the boy standing next to him. The boy studied the paper.

He nodded, “Of course, sir.” He left the room quickly.

There were quiet whispers floating around the room, speculating what the young boy could possibly be searching for. 

“Now, because there seems to be a lack of witnesses, which I am sure is just how you wanted it to be, unfortunately we cannot blindly believe that you are innocent.” The boy came back into the room, holding a small vial of clear liquid.

“Veritaserum.” Remus mumbled and I nodded. 

“It's a good idea.” I whispered.

The vial was brought up to Sirius’ lips, who drank it willingly, thankful to finally have a good alibi. 

“I will ask you plain and simply, did you reveal the hidden location of James and Lily Potter to the Dark Lord, resulting in them being murdered and their son orphaned?”

Sirius shook his head, “I did not.” My shoulders relaxed as it felt as if a weight had been lifted. Remus still looked at him coldly, his eyebrows furrowed. 

“Did you murder that group of muggles, and your own friend, Peter Pettigrew, leaving behind only his finger?”

“No, I did not.”

The room was silent as Crouch thought. They glanced between the man behind bars and the one upon a podium, his stare belittling. He glanced at the empty bottle on his desk, and back to Sirius before whispering to a man beside him. 

I glanced at Sirius who was already looking at us. He gave me a small smile and I returned it. 

“It is probable.” The man said quietly, but still in earshot. 

Crouch nodded and banged his hammer, “It has been decided. The Veritaserum that was given to was a flake. So, under Mr. Barty Crouch, Minister of Magic, you plead guilty, and are sentenced to life in Azkaban.”

Some people cheered, others let out yells of protest. Remus slipped away, walking out of the room angrily. 

“No, that's rubbish.” I yelled as he began to be rolled away. He screamed in fear, going crazy inside of the cage.

I stood up and pushed past people, carefully jumping down to the floor and below the Minister. The room silenced again and the cage stopped dragging across the floor. Everyone had their eyes on me. 

“Let me talk to him.”

Crouch looked amused, “Miss-”

“It is only a custom. Tradition, even. You must allow me a word with Sirius Black before you send him off. It's in the books.”

Crouch glanced at the book as the boy flipped to the pages. He sighed as he read the words, telling him that it was indeed allowed for loved ones to speak with the person before they are sent off. 

“I'm afraid he cannot be out of his cage, it is not up for discu-”

“I can talk through the bars, can I not?”

“Fine. Follow them.”

I followed them out quietly, ignoring the angry stares I got from people, even the spit that they shot at me, landing right in front of my feet. Once we were in the hall, the men stood to the side and I walked up the cage hastily, putting my hands on the bars.

“Sirius, I'm going to ask you this once, and only once, and I need you to tell me the truth. Whatever you say, I will believe you. Did you or did you not kill James and Lily?”

Sirius looked me straight in the eyes, desperate, “Y/n, please, I would never.”

“It's a yes or no question.”

“No. I didn't.” 

I paused, before grabbing his hand through the bars, “I believe you. It's okay, I'll figure this out.”

His eyes filled with tears again and being this close I could see the heavy bags below his eyes. His hair was a ratty mess and his skin was blemished and dirty. 

“Did you know she was pregnant?” Sirius asked and my eyes widened.

“She was?”

“Yeah. They were going to tell us all on Christmas, but James let it slip to me.”

I took a deep breath, “Oh my.”

There was a moment of silence between us, neither daring to break the quiet atmosphere.

“Does Remus hate me?” He whispered and my heart broke. 

“I don't know.” I answered honestly and he nodded, his eyes averting to the bottom of the cage.

“I didn't kill them. I'd never. He was my best friend, my brother.” Sirius began sobbing. “I've already lost him, and Lily. I've lost my godson. And now Remus. I can’t lose you, Y/n/n, I can’t.” he cut himself off with a gasp.

“It's time to go.” One of the men said, beginning to drag him away.

“I can’t lose you!” Sirius yelled as he was dragged away. 

“You won’t.” I whispered before I looked up at the man as he was dragged away, “Sirius! I love you!”

He smiled sadly, “I love you too, Y/m/n!”

I rubbed my hands together quickly as I walked up to the front door. I placed my hand on the freezing knob and opened it, silently cursing myself for not locking it before I left.

It was half an hour until sundown, so I immediately apparated home to help prepare Remus - and myself - for the night. It was probably going to be one of the hardest he's ever experienced, and I felt terrible for him. 

“Remus?” I called out, only to get no response. I furrowed my brows taking my jacket off slowly, “Baby, I know you're mad but I still want to help you tonight.” Still, nothing.

I set down my bag and slipped off my shoes before quietly walking to the bedroom.

“Rem?” I asked softly, pushing open the door and expecting to see him sitting on the bed, head between his hands as he cried softly.

But he wasn't. In fact the room seemed to be the same as it was before I left. The bathroom was dark and empty. No sign of Remus anywhere.

I walked to the kitchen, hoping to find him sipping from a mug of tea while staring out the window, like he usually is. But there was nothing.

I slipped on my coat and threw on my shoes, ignoring my bag as I quickly left the house. I pulled out the flip phone Remus had insisted on us getting.

“For easier communication.” He’d say.

I struggled to work the muggle device, but managed to send a quick ‘where r u?!’ text. At this point, the sun was beginning its descent and the full moon shone brightly.

I paused for a moment, thinking of any possible place he could be. 

“The Shrieking Shack.” I said quietly to myself, immediately apparating to the raggedy house. 

However, just like our own, it was also completely empty, save for one man. 

“Professor Dumbledore?” I asked quietly. The older man turned around and smiled gently. I didn't fail to notice the tears he wiped from his cheeks.

“Ah, Miss L/n, or is it Lupin, yet?” Dumdledore asked.

I shook my head, “Not yet, no. But speaking of the man, has he been here?”

Dumbledore looked around, “No, I'm afraid not.” He glanced out of the window, at the light in the darkening sky. “It is a full moon tonight, isn't it?”

I stood beside him with a sigh, “That it is.”

“And the night of Sirius’ trial as well, what unfortunate timing.”

“I'd have to agree.”

“You cannot find him?”

I turned around and leaned against the window sill, “No. We were fighting, before the trial. It's been rough for everyone and we took it out on each other.”

Dumbledore nodded, “Ah, it happens. I suppose, however, you should spend less time with this old man, and more time finding who I would assume to be a werewolf by now.”

I opened my mouth to answer but was cut off by a loud howl. The sun had completely dipped below the horizon, and the werewolves were born. 

“Well, it seems you'd be correct.”

“Was that him?” Dumbledore asked.

I shook my head, “No, his howl is deeper. I assume that was a female.”

“Ah.”

I shifted my feet, feeling awkward. “Uhm, I'm gonna go look for him.”

“Take a blanket.” Dumdledore said, handing me a brown bundle of cloth.

“Thank you.”

“Go.”

I nodded and pushed open the door. I sighed at the heavy snowfall, looking into the distant trees. It was going to be a long night.

The tears started as the sun made an appearance again. The weight of everything finally hitting and pressure built behind my eyes.

“Remus, please, where are you?” I called out, my voice hoarse and salty tears slipped into my mouth. I wiped the running snot from my upper lip, my shoulders shaking.

I passed a tree and the bright color of red caught my eye. A blood trail. I followed it eagerly, a small sob leaving my lips and I clutched tightly onto the blanket. It led behind a rock, where my heart broke.

Remus lay there, naked and in a fetal position. He had long cuts all along his body and the snow around him was trained red. He shivered in the snow and his lips were blue.

He glanced at me weakly, sadness filling his eyes. “Y/n.” He whispered, his voice almost non existent. 

I snapped out my daze and grabbed onto him, quickly pulling him to his feet and wrapping the blanket around him. He clutched onto me and cried, I cried with him. 

I apparated to the house silently and he fell to his knees, I followed him, holding him in the kneeling position. 

“It’s okay.” I whispered, biting back my own tears as he sobbed. “It’s okay.”

He cried, “It’s not!”

“Remus, let me clean you.” I said softly, wiping my tears after a few long moments. 

“Okay.” He whispered, staring ahead blankly. 

It was quiet, again, as I cleaned and bandaged. A few times he'd cry again, and I'd let him, figuring it was better to continue what I'm doing. I led him to bed and closed the curtains so the sun didn't shine through. 

“Do you feel better?” I asked quietly once I got into bed.

“I'm not sure I feel much of anything, right now.” Remus said, facing his back towards me.

I looked at him sadly and turned over, closing my eyes and finally letting sleep overtake me.

When I woke up the bed was empty. I sighed, assuming he was in the kitchen or living room. I used the bathroom and walked out of the bedroom. I walked out into the living room.

“Remus?” I asked. He wasn't there. I looked into the kitchen and he wasn't to be seen. The deja vu of the night before was prominent. “Are you serious?”

A note sat neatly on the fridge. I glanced at the magnet, it was a picture of Remus and I smiling wide, faces pressed against each other. We got it from a muggle - or no-maj - vendor when we visited america. I noticed the second one we had was gone. I shook my head and took the note from beneath the magnet. 

I immediately recognized the handwriting as Remus’. I stared at the letter, the one assigned to me. The last letter of my name was splotchy, stained with a tear. 

I gently tore open the letter.

Dear Y/n,

I don't know what I'm doing. I don't know why I'm doing what I'm doing. I'm so sorry for what I'm doing.

I am so scared. With James, Lily, and Peter dead, and Sirius in Azkaban, I just don't know what to do.

You mean the world to me. You're perfect, beautiful, intelligent, witty, talented, you're everything good and nothing bad. At this point you are the world for me.

 Which is why I have to do this. I can't drag you down to darkness with me, I'd never forgive myself. I know this will hurt you, it's hurting me too, but I also know you can get through this. 

I want you to be happy, and I think that's impossible if I’m in your life. So I'm taking the liberty to leave it. My stuff will be magically transported once I find a place to stay, keep the house, you deserve it more than I do.

I love you more than life itself. 

with the deepest of regrets,

Remus

P.S. you are worth EVERYTHING! don't ever settle for the bare minimum.

I dropped the letter and stared out of the window. The snow fell gently, piling up on the ground. It felt rather similar to the quiet tears dripping down my face. In the span of four weeks, I had lost everyone important to me. I didn't realize I had any tears left to cry.

I suppose I'll have to get a dog to keep me company now. 

“Welcome, Professor L/n.” Dumbledore greeted.

I smiled at the group of teachers that came to welcome me. “Thank you, I appreciate all of you. Especially you, Minnie.” I said with a wink and Professor McGonagall laughed wetly, wiping a stray tear from her eye.

“Okay okay, let's not suffocate her on her first day. Dinner is in an hour, I trust you to find your room.” Dumbledore said and I nodded as the teachers dispersed.

“Severus.” I called out and the man stopped in his tracks. I walked over as he turned around and pulled him into a tight hug. He looked at me weirdly once I pulled away. “I know you loved her too.”

He knew exactly who I was talking about, “I have no idea who you're talking about.”

“I know you don't.” I smiled and began walking towards my room. 

“I’m sorry about Lupin.” He said and I paused. 

“I have no idea who you're talking about.”

my masterlist

If you'd like to be added to my main taglist comment or DM me!

If you were on my Christmas taglist, you were tagged in this. If you wouldn't like to be on my main taglist (understandable, don't worry about it.) just comment or send me a dm/submission (i won't post it, just so it's private)

taglist; @loving-and-dreaming @1lellykins @poetrypirate @ashisabitgay @kodiskisses @whitemanswh0r3 @ultraoreoqueen @miss-mercuryy @peanutbutterinacup @r-scneptune @pheonixfucu @luannemaru @jluvsjpotts @its-a-ittle-bit-cold @maraudersgirlie @thescarletredwitch @irjdujsksjahhbs @irjdujsksjahhbs @1-800-ididurmum @jennasco @myradiaz @chellyrps @lixiefelicis @ittybittyhogan @lollloki @dreamingofmarauders @everybodyhatesari @agy-mari @wayytoocooll @notaboutlovebyfiona @harrington-potter @little-bubba @whoreforlupin @jdoshalablab-blog @mybelovedneilperry @bellathethirstybitch @poetrynerdsunite @talesof-old @remussbitch @keira-fitzsimmons @peopleisdumbs-blog @dunaahahah @starsshinebluewhite @lizzieolseniskinda @fast-slow-disco @bubblegumanatomy @sparkling-ariaria @blooberry-bagel @whiskeywineimfine @fluidfandoms @lyrahelmand @reaa88 @mysteriouslydeliciousmoon @randomchicksstuff @loca4moony @lynnleanist @alliacnh-blog @bullets-from-another-dimension @sususdiaryy @imafckingbitch

[lavylu]

You owe me

It was no secret, you knew Peter was Spider-Man. You had caught your boyfriend when he came from from his patrols. You were laying on his bed and saw him without his mask.

He was screwed.

But it was fine. You were supportive and offered alibis to others. You would even bring him sandwiches he could take with him on patrol. Things were looking good.

. . .

You breathed loudly as you tried to calm down. It was nearly impossible however, since a robber was pointing a gun at your chest. He demanded that you would open the cashier and empty the contents.

You obliged, with shaking hands. Your entire body trembled as the masked man stared you down.

When a crash was heard on the other end of the store you reached under the counter to grab the bat. Your manager insisted that the cashier would have a weapon on hand in case of scenarios like this.

Your hand gently rested on the hard wood, calming you down a little. But then the robber turned back and chills ran down your spine.

He held out his hand for the money bag, but before you could give it to him a web shot out and stuck his hand to the counter.

You let out a sigh of relief at your masked hero. Spider-Man gave you a wink as he punched the guy knocking him out cold. Your whole body relaxed as he was dragged outside.

After the incident was taken care of you clocked out of your shift and started to walk home. However you were met face to face with your charming boyfriend.

“Miss me?” He had a mischievous smirk on his face as he looked down at you.

You only laughed as you nodded softly. “Thank you, for what you did back there. I was scared to death.”

Peter licked his lips as leaned against the wall. “You know, you kind of owe me.”

“Is that so.” You couldn’t miss the bulge that was growing in his pants.

He only nodded as you gently pushed him backwards. His back hit the wall and your lips found his neck.

Leaving warm, love bites he moaned. You lightly bit his adams apple as you twisted his hair in your fingers.

Through hooded eyes you whispered “there’s an abandoned alleyway right there. Maybe I can find a way to properly repay you.”

Goosebumps shot up Peters back as he smiled wide. He quickly scooped you up in his arms and took you there.

Your legs wrapped around him as he thrusted upwards. With one hand he was undoing your blouse. Your breast fell forward: heavy and warm. You tugged his shirt off and immediately went back to kissing his chest.

Peter undid your pants and threw them aside. You don’t know when he lost his other clothes but you were both naked and rolling around on the alleyway floor.

Your breath hitched in your throat when you felt his tip at your hole. He gently pushed in, only going into the tip and then quickly pulling back out. He was teasing you and he was loving it.

He repeated the process a few more times till you were a whiny mess below him.

“Please… Peter please.” You begged

He only smirked as he thrusted his hips again. This time he went all the way in and you felt his balls slap your ass. He quickly found his rhythm as he pounded into you.

One hand went to your mouth and he stuck a finger inside. You sucked like your life depended on it. Peter only quickened his pace causing you to moan. Vibrations were being sent down his hand and he loved it.

You picked your hips up so he could thrust deeper, and he did. The entire time you heard his balls slapping against your skin. Then a hand went down your stomach till he was tracing your sensitive little bud. He rubbed you firmly as you threw your head back in pleasure.

Your high was building and Peter could tell. He quickened his assault on your clit and within moments you were at your high. Your walls clenched around Peter making him groan in pleasure.

He carefully set you down and took his cock in his hand. He stroked himself a few times and then came all over your chest. His cum decorated your breast as Peter looked at you proudly.

“I should save you at work more often.”

[webslingingslasher]

i woke up mad at peter today <3 he's getting the cold shoulder but trouble and ethan are getting showered in love💋 mwah my babies

you didn’t respond to peter’s good morning text. you usually do, but he assumes you over slept or had a busy morning and there’s nothing in his head to suggest otherwise. that was until he tried to greet you with a kiss and you pushed his face away with the glare of a thousand suns.

‘good morning, trouble.’ when he leaned in, your fingers made contact on his chin, forcing him away from you. peter wants to bang his head into a wall, it’s never easy.

peter looked up to the sky and spoke exuberantly, ‘why? why are you mad at me?’ you think you have a good reason. ‘i woke up mad at you today.’

‘oh, fuck this.’ peter walks away, slowly, just enough to make a few steps before he knew you’d be calling out. except you don’t, you really are mad. peter stomps back up to your side.

‘you really are mad at me.’

you sneer down at him, he’s never seen you so dismissive towards him. ‘you cheated on me. i hate you.’

peter raises his hands calmly, he’s trying not to poke the bear. he’s instantly sweaty, he’s looking at you like he’s about to diffuse a bomb.

‘woah. that’s a fair claim and we should definitely expand on it, but before we do, i swear i didn’t cheat on you.’

it doesn’t work, you look even more pissed. ‘you did. you fucking cheater. i saw it with my own eyes. i hate you.’

peter swears his heart just shattered.

‘hey, trouble. i’m sorry, i’m really sorry i did something to hurt you like that, but i swear i didn’t cheat on you.’

‘i saw it! you were all over her! and you kept making her fucking laugh and it’s all i can hear in my head!’ peter feels like he’s going insane, he can’t remember where he would’ve had not only the gall to cheat, but to do it with you in the same area.

‘who? when?’

you stare at him like he’s stupid, for a second he’s questioning if he really did cheat. ‘last night, peter.’ he has a solid alibi. he wasn’t with you.

‘i cheated on you last night?’

your arms cross over your chest, you snap at him. ‘yes.’

peter’s just trying to get the facts straight. ‘and you caught me with her?’ you try and speed him up, ‘yes, peter.’

one more time, ‘you swear this was last night?’ you roll your eyes, ‘oh my god, yes!’

‘right, right. solid argument, trouble, but, uh… i wasn’t with you last night.’

you’re just as defiant, peter’s excuse meant nothing. ‘no, you were.’

peter furrows his eyebrows, ‘no, i wasn’t.’ maybe you had gone crazy, he wonders if there was a gas leak in your dorm overnight.

‘alright then, where? where did i cheat on you?’

you look away from him, the idea makes you want to hurl. ‘in my dream. it was fucking disgusting and i hate you for it.’

peter feels like he could collapse, you held him on the edge of his seat, punishing him for something he didn’t do just to tell him it was all make believe. he wanted to pinch you and kiss you at the same time.

a smile spreads across his face, ‘oh, thank god. you really had me stressing there for a second.’ for the second time, you dodge his kiss.

‘i told you, i’m mad at you.’

‘but i didn’t cheat.’

you laugh like he thinks he got away with something, ‘sure as shit looked like you, sounded like you, felt like you.’

peter nods, ‘oh, i’m sure it did. but it wasn’t me, me. you know me, you know i wouldn’t do that.’ you sigh, ‘yeah, well, i also thought dream peter wouldn’t do that to me either.’

‘i’m sorry dream peter cheated, i can beat him up if you want.’

you smile wide, there’s no reason for such violence. you pat his arm and push up to kiss his cheek. ‘aw, thanks, petey. but, there’s no need. i already killed him.’

peter gives a faulty smile, he believes you a thousand percent and the look on your face tells him it was bloody. ‘that’s… great. so happy for you.’

[foxilayde]

Collisions in Entropy [Peter Roiter x Fem!Reader]

Summary: You were drawn to him like gravity. Like the only two bodies of mass on a lattice field, dipping in the center like marbles, stretching the fabric of time with the weight of yourselves and converging at the center into a singular point.

Length: 5.5k

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. Romantic smut. Oral: f receiving. PiV.

Author’s Note: I couldn’t stop thinking about Peter making it to Rome and then confining himself to wait out his remaining days like an invisible stranger, careful not to disturb this timeline. I like to think his curiosity couldn’t keep him away from a special event he never got to see firsthand. Enjoy!

The wedding of Callum Roiter to Rebecca Bradley took place at Creeksea Place in the Essex countryside on Saturday September 30th 2023. Is taking place, rather. Currently taking place. Peter Roiter arrives in a rented grey suit and gate crashes his own parent’s wedding, 13 months before his birth.

They’re taking the photographs now, the photographs that will adorn the walls of his childhood home. The same photograph he will accidentally shatter In 2032 while playing cricket in the house. He recognizes the angle of the pink jaunty bouquets up in the air, the collection of color in a joyous line on the red brick footbridge beside the white gazebo, a bridal party draped in lavender taffeta posed in what looks like “a silly one” where they lovingly encircle the blushing bride—Rebecca Roiter née Bradley.

The camera flashes weakly against the midday light and at the same instant a bridesmaid looks in Peter’s direction and smiles.

He’d cut his palm on that picture frame—the shattered one—the bridal party laid in fragments in that parallel future time. He looks down at his hand and the thick scar is still there. He wonders if the Peter Roiter who will be born 13 months from tomorrow will get the same cut. If he will hit the cricket ball in the same exact angle, turning his head to the same exact call of his mother’s voice from the other room. “Peter!” Crash. A vortex.

That’s what had ruined the photo in the end. Not the shattered glass, but the blood. Will this timeline’s Peter Roiter grow up and do what he’s done? Do it exactly the same? Blood and shattered glass in the parlor. Blood and shattered glass in the terminal 4 bathroom.

He’s never been to a wedding like this before. Never even heard of one with so many people, unrestrained smiles, photographs, laughter, dancing… nowhere outside of a movie, that is. His own wedding to Helen was private, as most weddings in 2050 were. Out of necessity. Sweet and civil. She held peonies and they danced to Marvin Berry in the backyard, underneath the stars and the patio lights. He has an insane urge to make a toast to the people of 2023 and tell them, “eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow we die.”

They’re so unaware. Unbothered. It’s beautiful to see. Like the carefree cheers-ing that must’ve been happening on the Titanic cruiseliner 10 minutes before they collided with an iceberg.

He doesn’t feel sorry for them. He is jealous. They’re feting in the last roaring moments of civilization, right before the interminable lockdowns will begin. He conservatively guesses that half of them will be dead within the next ten years.

He stays as invisible as he can, observing his parent’s tender happy moments from afar. They’re so young. He’s nearly old enough to be their father.

During the ceremony he sees both sets of grandparents for the first time in his life in person. Maybe that should be his alibi instead of “cousin of the bride”, he’s much more believable as “colleague of the father of the groom”. If only he could remember what Grandfather Roiter did for a living… insurance, maybe?

He won’t stick around long enough for anyone to ask just how he knows the lovely couple anyway. He’ll stay invisible for now, just another speck in this world that doesn’t belong to him.

This timeline might be defunct anyway, he may very well be cautiously tip-toeing around what he only assumes is a sleeping beast, but may in fact be nothing more than a carcass. Peter errs on the side of caution anyway and sips champagne from the further-most table.

Callum Roiter, looking everything like the father of his childhood, stands from the center of the high table and clinks his crystal glass. His cheeks look hurt and shiny from smiling, he holds his new wife’s hand and makes his toast, he thanks the guests for coming and makes a joke about how more guests might’ve showed up had they hosted the ceremony on the Boleyn Ground. He’s so young. So untroubled. The trip to Essex was worth every potential risk to the balance to see the joy in his parent’s eyes in real time. He feels supremely lucky to be a product of such an astounding love.

And then Callum raises his glass higher, winks to Rebecca and announces, “and lastly, a great big thank you to American psychologist Doctor Eliza Knight,” There is a knowing laugh amongst the wedding party who are privy to the story of the bizarre phone call from a Dr. Knight. “Without whom, I would have never met my beautiful bride. Wherever you are, love, cheers.”

“Cheers” the crowd responds. Peter downs the rest of his glass, “to Beatrix,” he mutters.

“You know what that’s about, don’t you?”

It’s the first time anyone has addressed him all day. He hadn’t seen her approach. The young woman from the bridal party. The one who smiled at him as the flashbulb went off. Pink roses, purple gown, shards of glass, blood, and a cricket ball.

“What’s about?” His voice slips into the Essex dialect like it’s nothing. He wonders how much of that is the chip and how much of it is his real voice— the one his mother and father taught him to use. He looks down at his lap when the woman sits beside him.

“The American doctor story.”

Oh he knows. He’s heard the tale his whole life, moreover he’s overturned timelines and sold out the souls of billions for the American doctor in question. “No,” he says to the pretty bridesmaid. “Would you let me in on it?”

*******

“Can’t believe you haven’t heard it before,” you smile, “would have thought Cal and Bex told damn near everyone in England by now.”

“Must be a good one.” He says with almost no defensiveness. Almost.

He’s cute. Older than you. A little scruffy, but in a very pleasing way—slightly overgrown at the nape of his neck and shadowed in the roughness of his sharp jaw. His eyes are kind though. So hopeful, sweet, and terribly familiar.

“Come outside with me and I’ll tell you, it’s getting warm in here.”

He glances to the high table, there’s a line forming of folks offering their congratulations along with envelopes of money to the young couple. He nods to you, leaving his grey rented coat on the back of the chair. He offers you his arm and you take it with a “thank you”, leading him to the French doors and stepping out onto the grounds.

The air is late summer. Warm and green. A million twinkle lights glow along the pathway to the pond, the place where you’d first laid eyes on him this afternoon.

“What’s your name?” You ask, trodding slowly towards the gazebo, your arm still in his. His forearm is warm under the white cotton dress shirt.

“Oliver.”

“Hmm.” You smile.

“What?” Defensive.

“Could have sworn it was something else.” You goad.

You can feel his pulse pick up from your fingertips on the crook of his elbow.

“What’s your name?” He counters.

You ignore him. “I didn’t bring you out here to tell you my name, I brought you out here to tell you a story, remember? Do you want to hear it or not?”

Peter breathes deep as if he’s winding up to tell you something but all he does with the breath is exhale and nod, “Please.”

“Last year, November the 23rd, 2022, to be exact, both Callum and Rebecca got a mysterious phone call from a Doctor Eliza Knight, a psychoanalyst from America, telling them that she knew their son. That he was a 39 year old time traveler sent from the year 2062 named Peter Roiter and he claimed to be on a mission to save the world. What do you think of that, Oliver?”

His grin is tight, dismissive, “sounds like a nut job.”

“The odd thing is, Callum and Rebecca had never met each other before. Doctor Knight gave each the other’s information and told them it was crucial that they meet and fall in love and have this child. Peter.”

Peter says nothing.

“So they do get together. Because of the absurdity. They go out for a drink, out of curiosity, to laugh about the madwoman who told them they were going to raise the messiah of the twenty first century.”

Peter leans against the railing of the gazebo and glances back to the house where the party is winding down. “And the rest is history.” He nods toward the red bricked abode.

“That’s not all,” you smile conspiratorially.

“No?”

“No. See, I looked into it, just to check to see if there was a Doctor Eliza Knight, and there is… or there was.”

He remains silent and surreptitiously fingers the raised scar on the inside of his hand while you talk. Nervous habit.

“See, the very next day after she made the phone calls, Doctor Knight walked into an airport bathroom in New York City and disappeared… disappeared! They checked all the security footage. She walks into the restroom and never walked out. They did find her clothes, and a shattered syringe full of blood that wasn’t her own, a tape recorder in a trash can. But her? Nowhere to be found. Can you believe it? The very next day after calling Bex and Cal. That’s insane, right?”

He nods, lost in thought across the lake.

“It’s funny, most people get a real kick out of that anecdote. I was excited to tell you. Brought you out to the dim ambiance and everything.”

“It’s a great story. Really. I’m just tired is all.” He folds his arms across his chest and looks at you with a believable amount of sleepiness.

“You’ve heard it before, haven’t you?”

“What do you mean?”

“That would be one explanation for your boredom— you know the story by heart… How do you know the bride and groom, Oliver?” You nearly whisper, stepping closer to him.

“Who are you?” He backs away a step, bumping into the rim of the gazebo and catching himself on a polished beam.

“Peter, you’re about to upset a very fragile ecosystem that we’ve been curating. I had to get you out of that party, I hope you understand.”

“We?”

“Peter, if you care about the future, you need to kiss me right now, in the next five seconds, it’s our only chance.”

Peter doesn’t hesitate. With a look of solid determination he takes two steps towards you, cradles your head in his hands and presses his lips to yours, kissing you with reserved lips that didn’t match the committed blaze in his eyes. You break the kiss in near disbelief and regret.

“That was mean, I’m sorry.”

Peter’s face scrunches and he takes half a step back, letting you fall out of his grasp.

“What? Wait, tell me who you are, what’s going on? Did the W.H.O send you? Do you have a message for me? Did the project work? Any word on Beatrix?”

You press your fingertips to your lips and your eyes widen.

“Are you fucking with me?” You accuse.

His face drops from hopeful to incredulous and the two of you stare at each other with mutual suspicion for a beat.

He licks his bottom lip. “Why did I need to kiss you? Who are you?”

“I’m… I’m a friend of Rebecca’s. I… hang on, are you— is your name really Peter? I just called you that because… because of what the doctor told Bex…” you can hear your heart hammering in your ears.

Peter’s eyes narrow, “you were teasing me?”

“Holy shit. The… the doctor? The story? Peter Roiter?”

Peter remains stock still, his back rigid, gritting his teeth.

You clap your hand over your mouth and laugh. “Oh my god! Bex is going to murder me if she finds out I snogged her son. This is so weird.”

“How did you know?”

“I didn’t! I mean, god, no one actually believes that story about the doctor, do they? it’s insane! something straight out of a movie! I figured they met each other on tinder and wanted a cuter “how’d you meet?” Story and made this one up for clout or something, but… then we were taking photos today and you were lurking in the back of the setting up, lurking the back of the ceremony, sitting all by yourself in the back of the reception— not talking to anybody… which is exactly what someone who isn’t trying to alter a timeline might do. What am I saying? And god you do really look like half Bex and half Cal… it’s uncanny.”

“You can’t tell anyone about this, you understand?”

“Tell anyone? No one would believe me if I did! I don’t even know if I believe me! Besides, I’m not joking about the whole ‘Bex would kill me’ thing, I’m kind of skeeving myself out right now. I mean they’re both fit and well obviously,” You gesture to Peter up and down before slapping your forehead, “oh my god, I need—I need to shut up.”

“Wait, wait, wait, just calm down. Okay. I need to—look, if this isn’t a dead timeline, I can’t have you treating Cal and Bex’s son any differently than you would had you not learned that.. that I’m him. So—“

“Hang on, dead timeline? What the hell does that mean?”

“Is the name not obvious enough for you?” Peter begins to pace around the pergola, the valley between his brows growing deeper by the minute.

Your eyebrows shoot up, “well excuse me for not understanding your sci-fi speak, Mr. Coherence.”

“Dead timeline. It means the statistical likelihood of salvaging the future of this particular timeline is… astronomically low. If this is a dead timeline, then there is a near 100 chance humanity will be destroyed within the next 40 years.”

“Oh god.”

“It might not be. There’s no way of knowing right now.”

“That’s reassuring.”

“It could be a loop timeline, in which case, it’s important for you to—“

“Not treat the forthcoming baby Peter Roiter any differently.”

“Exactly.” He breathes with relief.

“Even though he will apparently grow up to be a man who potentially puts me and everything and everyone I know and love into a dead future or whatever you called it.”

“That’s not—“

“It’s fine, Peter, the less I know the better, right?” You shift in your heels and lean against the polished railing. “Might make it difficult to take him out for ice cream knowing that I snogged him at his mum’s wedding. Bleeding Christ, I really am sorry about that.”

“You’re surprisingly easy to convince. And you’re taking this extremely well. I’m not used to that— people believing me. And it’s fine, its my fault for being here, for following you outside. I promised I wouldn’t interact with anyone and now we’re getting… inextricable.”

“I don’t know why I believe you. I mean I know it’s crazy, it’s the least likely explanation for all of this, but I just feel like, I have to believe you. I just… have to. Now that sounds crazy.”

He shakes his head. “I really thought I was being stealthy coming here today. It was probably a mistake.”

“Well, if we are in a loop timeline, as you called it, I don’t think there can be any mistakes. And if we are in a dead end, then the mistakes don’t matter, right?”

“Who are you?”

You tell him your name. He shakes his head with that same worried valley between his brows.

“I don’t remember you at all from my childhood. Or hearing about you from my mother. I’m not even sure you were in the photo that I broke.”

“The photo that you broke? What photo?”

There’s a sudden cacophony from the French doors where you exited the reception with Peter. A group of groomsmen stagger out, each with a champagne bottle in their hand, singing what you can only assume is a fight song from Cal’s alma mater.

Peter runs his thumb and forefinger over the stubble surrounding his lips. Those lips that you made him kiss you with. God, what is happening?

“C’mon,” he mutters placing a hand at your lower back and guides you to the path by the pond, further away from the celebration. “Just being cautious.”

There’s a bench aglow with twinkle lights near the pond, out of view of the estate house. It feels good to sit and take some pressure off the silk heels you bought special for this evening. You slip them off and let your feet rest on the cool grass.

“What photo were you talking about?” You ask.

“The bridesmaid photos with the bouquets on the bridge. I grew up with that photo in my house. But one day I was playing football— no, it was… it was cricket. I was playing cricket in the house and the photo shattered. I cut my hand trying to hide it from my mum, look.”

You take his hand, inspecting his palm and turning it over. He continues. “But I don’t recognize you. From the photo. I don’t think you were there. You weren’t looking at the camera. You were looking at me.”

“I don’t see a scar.”

“What?”

Peter pulls back his hand.

“It is kind of dark out, so that could be why.”

“Wha…” Peter holds his hands up to the twinkle lights in the willow branches above the bench. He shakes his head. “This doesn’t make sense.”

“Deja vu.” You whisper.

Peter’s hands fall from inspection, he rubs his fingers together at his sides. “What did you say? Did you say Deja vu?”

“Yeah. I’ve— I’ve been here before. This has happened before. With you. What’s happening?”

Peter sits back down next to you on the bench, grabbing your upper arms with insistence. “Are you messing with me again? Are you screwing with my head?” He’s breathing fast. He looks scared.

“No! No, I swear Peter. This just… feels so familiar. Do you feel it? The smell in the air, the champagne bottles popping, you checking your hands in the light, the kiss in the gazebo… what’s happening? What does it mean that I’ve felt this before?”

Peter lets go of your arms and runs his thumbs across the smooth insides of his knuckles. “It means… it means it’s elastic. This timeline is still alive. I’m not in a loop, I’m not in a dead end. Something is happening… or something will happen. Either way, we’re all still breathing…” Peter laughs quietly for a few moments before silencing himself with his own hand. “Somewhere, somehow, in the past 20 minutes or so, a vortex was formed— a shift in the timeline.”

“What does that mean? Is that good or bad?”

Peter shakes his head. “I don’t know. We—us in the future—don’t even fully understand it. It’s a technology we discovered from elsewhere in the universe. I’ve been thinking lately that we don’t have the receptive capacity to understand the dimensionality. Like trying to conceptualize a tesseract.”

“What are you doing here? Still trying to save the world?”

“No. That window closed. Or at least, I thought it had.”

“So your window is closed. You didn’t succeed?”

He stares into your eyes for several beats. He thinks about December 31st in Rome. How he waited on platform 23 at the piazza di Spagna until the last train came it at near midnight. And how he walked around the Villa Borghese alone when security shooed him away from the station, he walked back to the red tiled hotel alone. A doomed mission. He must’ve passed at least a dozen kissing couples that night ringing in the new year.

“No. I didn’t. I’m sorry.” His apology feels personal.

“It’s okay.” You say with a small voice, placing a hand on his knee. “So, now what? Do you go back, to your original time, the future?”

“Can’t go back. Can’t go anywhere. Even if I could, there’s no one to retrieve me.”

“So you just live out the rest of your days here in 2023 onward?”

Peter bites his lip and looks out over the pond. “Yeah.”

“What happens when baby Peter Roiter is born?”

“You’re too quick, you know that?” Peter snorts and shakes his head.

“I watch a lot of sci-fi movies,” you smile, shouldering off your lavender shawl and pointing out your tattoo. “See. It’s a—“

“DeLorean.” He traces his finger over the small line drawing tattoo.

“A 1981 DeLorean DMC-12 to be exact.” You grin proudly.

Peter swallows and traces his finger down your bare arm, making your hairs raise.

“You got it the day of your 18th birthday. You had a fight with your father and you got it on a whim. You were so angry at your father that you cried when you got it and when the tattoo artist asked if you needed a break from the pain you said—“

“How do you know this, Peter, you’re scaring me.”

“You said, I’ve had worse.”

“Peter—“

“I know you. We’ve been here before. This bench. The lights, the way they glow on your skin.” He swipes the side of your face lightly with the back of his unblemished hand.” He gulps. “I kiss you on the gazebo by the pond, I kiss you under a willow tree far away from the house, I—“ he shifts closer, his forehead nearly touching your own. “I carry you like a bride up the stairs and I kiss you in a room with golden leaves on the ceiling.”

You shift closer to him, your noses touching.

“Don’t you remember?” He asks, cupping your cheek. “No matter where I go. There you are. Entanglement.”

“I remember.” You nod. “Tell me, Peter. Tell me what happens when you’re born.”

Peter cradles your face in both of his hands and pulls back a fraction of an inch, eyes flickering between your own before he sighs and shuts them in a near grimace.

“I die.” He kisses you. And its so different from the kiss on the gazebo. Your little lie, your little trick in back there that got him to kiss you the first time. A lie— or so you thought at the time. Something made you say it to him you’re sure of that now. The deception was compulsory. It wasn’t why you led him out at the time. But now it its.

As sure as he knows the date of his own birth, he knows he will die. In almost exactly 13 months. Or sometime before; but never after. They didn’t teach him every facet at The Project, mainly due to their own ignorance; and he wouldn’t have to face his demise if he had only taken himself to the extraction point… but that had been out of the question. And what is he doing now? With you on this bench? 100 yards from his newlywed parents. This is a new dream he is fulfilling, the erasure of his scar, these new-old memories, the fulfillment of a loop.

Your silk shoes abandoned in the grass, he scoops up your knees onto his lap, he holds your face so tenderly and kisses you, and kisses you, and kisses you beneath the willow tree.

He carries you like a bride to your bedroom at the top of the stairs. If any party stragglers notice you, you aren’t aware. You cling to Peter with your face buried in his neck, holding to his broad shoulders, your bare toes make brushing contact with the walls of the stairwell as you ascend. You don’t need to tell him which room is yours, he’s been here before hasn’t he? You certainly have. In a dream. In another life.

He lays you gently on the bed, kissing up your ankles, sliding the satin of your sheath dress up your legs as he goes, crawling up and up and up you, his lips trailing over the rise of your knees with abject devotion. His strong hands splay and scoop under your dress, under your hips, to grab your lace panties. He looks into your eyes from where he kisses the crest of your thigh when he slides the material down your legs and tosses them to the floor.

“How could I have forgotten you?” He whispers with a longing against your skin, pushing your dress up until it pools in a satin puddle at your middle. He kisses the tip of your hipbone before he settles between your thighs, his stubble scratches pleasantly at the sensitive flesh when he runs his nose along the junction of your hip and thigh.

Cradling your hips in his palms, he shrugs your legs over his shoulders. He’s still fully dressed, the only disrobing he did of himself was the grey jacket abandoned on the the back of the far-table chair in the reception hall downstairs, and the blue tie he loosened and discarded somewhere near your panties. His disguise.

He crawls up further onto the bed to fully press his face into your sex. He latches onto your puffy cunt with his kiss-swollen lips and licks you open with messy, savoring swirls of his tongue. His mouth hot and slick, chin and nose pressing into you with a rocking hungry motion. You don’t intend to cry out at the sensation but he’s making love to you with his mouth like it isn’t the first time and you have no choice but to strangle your own keen of pleasure and fully and gracelessly recline on the bed, the prop of your elbows unable to hold you up through the slick furnace of pleasure that is Peter Roiter’s mouth.

You scrunch your eyes closed and bite your bottom lip when his tongue focuses in on your clit, hot mouth still sealed around your pussy, he lathes you with stern and steady lashings to your point of pleasure. Your hands fist in the pool, of silk at your belly. He sighs hotly into you and works his own fingers through yours, loosening your grasping hands from your dress. He laces all his fingers flush with yours, soothing the sides of your palms with his thumbs.

He never stops the hot assault of your spread sex with his tongue. Your grass stained heels rest lightly on the taut warm linen of his dress shirt. You can feel the way the muscles back there flex, your feet sliding every so slightly when his hips buck gently into the mattress. You don’t open your eyes until you’re desperately close to cumming in his mouth and when you look up all you can see are flashes of gold.

Your hips lift off the mattress with the arch of your back and the contraction of your thighs. You let out a long low keen and his face tilts up to follow your clit, sucking you lovingly, his hands gripping more tightly to your own than ever before.

“Peter,” your lips tremble, you slowly open your clamped shut eyes.

There it is. The gold leaf ceiling glinting in warm yellow light. Just as he said. Just as your remember. You stare dazedly at it and you know in less than a moment Peter will crawl up your shaking sweating body and place a kiss on your lips. He does. You grab him by his thick curls and push and pull and twist him in a debauched kiss till he’s flat on his back and you’re on top. His mouth is hot and sticky and so, so giving.

He runs his hands lightly over the open back of your dress. You only unbuckle him enough, and shimmy his trousers midway down his thighs, to get him inside of you. When you sink down on him he holds your forehead against his and gasps in disbelief.

“I—“ He chokes, catching his breath and fighting his eyes rolling back so he can get a good look at you when you take him all the way down.

“What?” You smile, stroking his cheek.

“I— I’ve missed you. Ahh.” He grabs you hard then, sitting up slightly and clawing your dress strap down so he can bite and suck the softest parts of your chest.

You cradle his head there, grinding into his lap slowly, gasping softly at the feel of him inside you.

“You won’t disappear, will you?” You whisper in a daze of pleasure.

No, he chants against your breast.

“No, no, no. I can’t lose you.” He holds you tight to him like he means it.

Peter has pulled the top of your dress down to your waist now and his hands roam freely over your back, plotting the elevated terrain of your shoulders, the valley between your breasts, and the maps of rivers at your wrists.

He lays fully back down and takes you with him. You smile against his kiss.

“Getting tired, old man?”

“Mmm, I’m younger than you—technically— negative one years old next month.” He bites your ear. You laugh. He thrusts up into you. You moan and clutch him by his clothed shoulders.

Peter cups your cheek in his hand. The one with the missing scar. You turn your face to kiss his unblemished palm. You rock on him slowly, his mouth parts in bliss.

“Does this mean anything can change at any time?” You ask, glancing at the inside of his hand.

“Yes but that’s always been a given.” Cheeky.

“No, I don’t mean just anything. I’m not talking about normal changes, I concerned about—“

“Dissolving out of a photograph? Ceasing to exist?” He teases, flicking your tattoo.

“Or Chuck Berry never writing Johnny B. Goode?”

“Who?” Peter delivers in convincing deadpan curiosity before breaking out into a beautiful grin.

You pinch his side. “Rat.” You can feel the intensity of his jerking response to the pinch where he’s buried warmly inside you.

Peter nods, “I don’t know. I hate saying that I don’t know and I hate that worried little look on your face, but I promise that it doesn’t change anything. We are here and like it or not the only thing certain is change.”

“The mortal agreement.”

“There is one thing I do know. No matter what I change, no matter where I go. I find you. Even when I send you away, you bounce back. Right back into my arms. A less scientifically minded man might think that love has it’s own special inter-dimensional set of physics. We just… keep extracting entropy from a closed system. No matter how hard I break the billiards they fly right back to the center of the table in formation. Not always in the same order, but… still… accounted for. I thought it was fragile, like butterfly wings, you know? But I’m learning it’s durable. It’s elastic, alive. And you always bounce back.”

“Sounds less like time travel and more like pattern reconfiguration.”

Peter tucks your hair behind your ear and drinks in your face, nodding thoughtfully. “Everything you say. Everything you’ve said. It’s all like something that’s on the tip of my tongue.”

You grin, bending over him, taking his pretty face in your hands, you kiss him and suck his tongue into your mouth, bobbing your mouth on the tip of it suggestively, “is it?” You smile. He’s still hard in you. You hope he never stops. This is how you should have every conversation about everything from here on out. Joined together, the beast with two backs as Shakespeare would say.

“I don’t want to cum.” He groans into your mouth, “when I cum I’ll have to stop being inside you, and I don’t want that, I want to live inside you.”

Call it the contrarian in you, but the admission only makes you want to force it out of him against his will. To make him fall apart precisely because he said he was trying his best to keep it together.

You clench, ride him, and moan into his ear until he’s nearly tapping out from ecstasy and when he comes he calls your name.

“Oh no.” You gasp, looking around worriedly.

“What? What is it?” Peter halfway sits up, adrenaline opening his eyes fully.

“Do you think your parents heard us?” You grin teasingly.

Peter sighs with relief and shakes his head, kissing your cheek and crushing you against his chest in a hug.

You don’t worry about tonight, the shoes you left outside, the rented jacket in the reception hall, or what will transpire in the next 13 months. Everything will bounce back in the end.

=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=

Tagging everyone who interacted with the post asking who was interested in this Peter Roiter fic:

@ozarkthedog @toracainz @mundivagantsoul @ominoose @astroboots @orestesimp @spacecowboyhotch @steven-grants-world @convrsation16 @onefinnedwonder-fm @grumpyeagleandfriends @miguellohara @winchestershiresauce @user215sstuff @greg-drunk @poeedameronn @piptoost @danilovesyarn @toracainz @red-hydra @motleyfolk @ladywillowgrey @munasolid @karoblaer @theaterm @howellatme @mistaknight @dailyreverie @guruan @lunar-ghoulie

Usernames that have been crossed out, I was unable to tag, check your tumblr settings to receive tag alerts.

[tatort-rocky-beach]

Peter cannot lie to save his life omg. Oder to save Bob's Alibi.

"Hiiii Bob is äh ziemlich weg. Ich- ich meine er ist gerade sehr nicht da!"

Really Peter?

[blueberrypancakesworld]

Where is your alibi?

warning : +18, smut, p in v, praise kink, fem reader, no use of Y/n, kinda public, thigh riding, kissing, body worship

Summary : He saw her every day from his office. Hoffman had no right to keep a beauty to himself, it was only fair that Strahm took something for himself. That he wanted to taste this beauty himself and how better to do it in the interrogation room and create an alibi.

Info : So finally something for our beloved Peter Strahm it was time that he get's his own One-Shot. So have fun reading everyone oh and Hoffman is there too ;)

masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He knew her and had seen her in and out of the police station several times. Over and over again. Maybe he had a crush on her, maybe he had looked a little too closely at her body, but he had only just realized that she was neither a repeated convict nor an informant. She was something else, something he knew about because she had told him.

She had always been ignored by the others when she was in the corridor, sipping water from the dispenser, touching up her lipstick and looking around until the door opened and she simply disappeared into the room. Nothing was seen or heard for a while before Strahm saw her come out again.

He was neither stupid nor blind. Her skirt had slipped where a bra had previously been on her breasts and there was nothing left to fix her hair after Hoffman had disheveled it in one position or another. As the red lipstick smudged and Hoffman's overly satisfied smile at his colleague let him know two things.

First, she was his and second, he would never get anything like that. Would he? Because if there was one thing Strahm knew, it was that he was Hoffman's equal and would use every opportunity to get this pretty angel for himself.

She wouldn't know what she was missing once she was with him, and maybe it was Strahm's ego that he walked up to her the next time she showed up, his gaze searching as he grabbed her by the arm right next to her breasts knowing she had felt it.

Her look of slight confusion at first he was sure she knew him if not by sight then by Hoffman. But it was her brief smile like a "try me" she seemed to hold out to him as he led her into the interrogation room, soundproof from one side and lockable from the other.

The bright light of the neon tubes left no shadows and the table and two chairs looked empty and naked as he pointed to them. Sit down, miss," he said and placed a file in front of her, an unnecessary procedure that had been discontinued a few months ago, but the look on her face told him that she knew he was trying to do something.

That something was different here and that she wasn't in any "danger", was she? ,,Oh that's well...what can I say officer your colleague...Hoffman has promised me anonymity if I please" she admitted and lowered her gaze with mock embarrassment to hear a feigned sniffle from her and Strahm had to suppress a grin.

Instead, he put his hand on her rough and warm, protective and irresistible as he gave her a ,,Don't worry sweetheart I think it's best if you show me where...you know I can help you don't you?" he appealed to her reason the reason to play this game of being the pretty doll, the pretty whore between them.

The toy they would share in one way or another. Strahm had seen it in her eyes, the desire that flashed whenever she came out of Hoffman's office looking absolutely fucked and met Strahm's gaze.

She wanted him and would have loved to take him there. The question briefly crossed his mind. Hoffman had to give her more than just money, and intimacy was sometimes worth more than money. That sex with Hoffman was probably worth all the money in the world.

Then he would have to change it. ,,Come on, how about it sweetie... show me where and I promise you it'll be all right," he said again and leaned back slightly in the chair as she rose from her chair, the bag slid to the floor and she began to slowly unbutton her blouse one by one and Strahm's blue eyes greedily soaked up every bit of skin.

Remembering how Hoffman had her for himself over and over again. ,,It's only fair that you should share, isn't it?" he asked as the other man crawled onto the table, her blouse long since slipped off, and she sat down on the table in front of him. ,,Officer, he touched me everywhere, I'm afraid...he kissed me, bit me, sucked me and...fucked me," she said as if she was really feeling shame, he saw the slight reddening of her cheeks cutely and yet the clenching of her thighs spoke against it.

A whore with the expression of an angel. Her legs at his side and smoothly lowered herself onto him he helped her like a self-sacrifice and his hands held her by the waist as she settled on his covered center. He could smell her sweet perfume vanilla and strawberry even if it seemed artificial it was the only thing in the room that mingled with his aftershave.

The rough leather met the sweetness. ,,Is that so? Darling, then I must be thorough," he whispered to her, his hand on her hip firm and steady as she naturally began to move. Again and again her panty moved over the growing hardness of his middle.

Her hands were resting on his chest, her pretty button eyes looking at him again and again as he saw the lust shining inside. ,,That's right just keep going...be a good girl" he whispered to her giving her a soft kiss on her heated cheeks closing her lips in a kiss tasting the sweetness of the make up as he suspected.

The thought of what she tasted like when he would have her so often for the first time made him groan into the kiss and move his hips towards her, feeling her tremble as she closed her eyes in pleasure. Despite the clothes between them, he seemed to feel her wetness coming on.

Her panties must have had more than just a wet spot for a long time, her fingers caressing the fabric of his shirt as the extra movement on his part caused the lust between them to be stirred. His free hand went to her back and opened the bra, the garment slid carelessly to the floor and he took care of her sensitive nipples.

The gentle bite was enough to make her moan and echo around the room and Strahm knew he was going to have a lot more fun with this sweetie. ,,Such naughty noises, pretty," he murmured between kisses and bites on her breasts as her moans and gasps were music to his ears.

The murmur she made let him know that she was about to reach her climax. ,,Come on be a good girl for daddy and come" she said knowing she understood she was a clever girl as he moved his hips a second time pushing her down on him before she came only moments later.

The heavy breathing and his smirk could be heard in the room as he gave her a moment to watch his hands roam over her body before Strahm sat her down on the table. ,,One more examination Sir?" she murmured, holding on to the metal table before taking off her panties, knowing full well what he wanted and what she still needed.

He took off her underpants and stuffed them into his trouser pocket, he got up from the chair himself, the chair was moved back and he opened his belt. He looked at her and with a smile she held her wrists for him, which was rewarded with a kiss. ,,Obey well," he murmured before he slowly pushed her onto the table, her wrists bound, knowing that they both had a lot more to learn and perhaps it was Hoffman who could learn.

Strahm pulled her closer by her hips, his smirk more than evident as she automatically wrapped her thighs around him, his groan stifled by a kiss she had caused.  ,,Bett-Better than Hoffman," she said, unable to catch her breath for a moment as she had to get used to his size, even if he wasn't as wide as Hoffman's, Strahm's was longer.

A fact that not only surprised her, but also Strahm, who began to thrust into her at her words. She pulled herself tighter around him, put her hands behind her head and tried to adapt to his rhythm. Which was still considerate at first, as when she rode him he admired her and took his time.

But now he just seemed to lose himself in her and the back of the ink could be heard moving across the floor as he pushed harder. The grin she had, however, was always uninterrupted by her sons as she tried almost in vain to hold on to the metal somehow. Her heartbeat increased as he took care of her breasts again, his massage rougher but still pleasant.

The tugging in her sensitive nipples didn't stop and her back arched again and again as she tried to get away and at the same time enjoy the pleasure of being good to him, of being good for him. She didn't see his gaze go down from her to the lonely mirror.

The bastard looked at Strahm knowing that with every thrust, every sweet moan, every vulgar sound that echoed through the room, Hoffman was getting aroused behind the glass.

Strahm could just see the hand on the window, the snarky grin on his lips and the bulge in his pants that he stroked. An animal demanding its prey.

Her noises increased as he came closer to his climax, his rhythm lost more and more. Surrendering to the pleasure more and more as she pulled herself tighter around him one last time and his hand wrapped around her neck for a moment as he came.

The moment was punctuated by a breath you both breathed as he slowly pulled out of her, she knew she wouldn't get her panties back. He straightened his pants and tucked his shirt into them and she tried to collect herself.

Even though at least the older one knew it wasn't over for the pretty one. ,,I think we can discuss this again... we don't want the fun to end," Strahm said and at least adjusted his chair as he lovingly stroked her wrists, leaving a soft kiss on her slightly red skin before he gave her a peck on the cheek and headed towards the door.

,,She's all yours...but give her a moment," he said, seeing her puzzled expression in the mirror as he walked past Hoffman who just gave him a snort, ,,You know I'm very...gentle," he said, closing the door to the meeting room behind him.

Strahm knew that he would have to do more than just turn on the overdubbing music for the other colleagues to cover Hoffman's session. But he could still take care of that when he watched the show behind the mirror.

As a small final reward and his own alibi to have an excuse why he was late. But for the sight of seeing her fucked on his face again, what was the point of taking a break when he had his beauty, right?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

@megustadilf , @lola-max-sugar , @slut4hoffman , @callmeklarise , @spookyghoullover , @tuttifuckinfruttifriday , @c0stass

[goldenprophetwrites]

if you want some marauders angst (and specifically sirius & peter) i invite you to listen to the unholy by slash (ft. myles kennedy & the conspirators)

some lyrics to share the vibe:

“How can you justify a lie? One more sacred alibi”

“Concealing your crimes (…) It's you that should be crucified”

“Echoes of your true intentions; Well I guess you failed to mention; What was in your heart”

“How can you justify? They loved you (…) You took them like a sacrifice; We finally know the truth about you”

enjoy :)))

[fireflymoon01]

Can you draw Mark Hoffman in the That’s Not My Neighbor style?

Ammmm I did my best, I still have a hard time drawing 😔👌🏻

Maybe I play Peter or I don't know some of the characters from Saw.

I don't know from my point of view, there would be no connection with anyone in the building, maybe Izaak but I don't know.

[takenbypeter]

Could I request prompt number 15 with Peter Maximoff? He meets the reader when he’s about to get in trouble for something he almost certainly did, and the reader just rocks up unasked and out of nowhere to provide him with a plausible alibi. The reader has somewhere else to be, so they have to rush off, but it’s pretty obvious to everyone in the vicinity that they’ve made quite the impression on one Peter Maximoff.

Convenience Store Crush

Peter Maximoff x reader

Words: 1102

Number 15: “they said my crush on you is obvious.”

Authors note: I totally forgot bout the running off part and the end of your ask so I do apologize for that but I hope u still like it

“How are you?” Asked a frequent buyer. She was an older lady who would come into the small corner store where you worked every week.

It was always the same faces in this small town. The same faces asking the same tired questions and you were honestly over it.

“Eh, same old, same old,” you replied scanning her few items.

“Sometimes that’s not so bad,” she said and as you were about to politely counter the doorbell went off signaling new customers entering.

You watched as a small group of people, seemingly around your age walked in followed by a gray haired guy. The guy looked in your direction for a mere moment before nonchalantly following his friends. He was another of your regulars…well sorta. He’s been coming in every week just to roam around but as always you let it go because you truly did not care.

They looked like a strange and colorful bunch together, it was obvious they were mutants. But you didn’t mind, personally you thought the whole idea of having powers was unique, sometimes you even wished you had some but alas you didn’t. Pushing that thought out of your mind you went back to your business cashing out your current customer.

“Have a good day,” you said as you waved with a cheesy smile, although you didn’t necessarily enjoy this job you considered all your smiles to be genuine. You waited bored as this was typically one of the dead hours on your shift.

As you laid there hunched over the counter you heard a commotion close by.

Growing curious you left your post and head to the noise and as you neared you began to pick up your manager's voice.

“I don’t know how you’re doing it but I know you’re doing it,” said your manager.

“I’m sorry, is there a problem here?” Asked a woman's voice. You peeked out from behind the next aisle as you began to match voices to faces.

“You bet there’s a problem! Every time this young man comes in, something goes missing! At least ten snacks go missing and a sign always goes missing.”

The red haired girl turned to the gray haired boy, while he automatically put his hand up in defense, “I have never stolen anything from here in my life, I swear.”

“Oh I don’t believe that for a second you’re out! You’re all out!”

“Actually, he’s telling the truth,” the group’s eyes fall to you as you come out from your hiding spot, “when he came in last week, he bought something. I cashed him out.” Now was that the truth? Not necessarily. The fact is he’s actually only bought something twice from your store and was that last week? No, but you didn’t care.

Your manager turned to him still accusingly but you continued before she could start again, “are you going to throw out a whole group of paying customers just because you think one guy is stealing? You don’t even have evidence!”

Your manager's hand went down into a fist as she glared at the group and she walked up to you before stopping, “if I catch him stealing, you’re outta here with them,” she whispered before pushing past you.

With your nightmare manager gone you turn back to the small group of friends, “sorry about that, please continue shopping,” you said leaving them be and returning to your post.

It wasn’t that long before they came up to you to get rang up. You went through them one by one and honestly every one of them seemed genuine.

Then came the last one.

The gray haired one.

He only had three items in his hand, “is this all for today?” You asked.

“Yeah, thanks.”

Picking them up you began scanning them. He took the opportunity to talk to you, “and thanks for what you did…earlier.”

“It’s no problem,” you respond, without taking your eyes off the scanner and his items.

“Do you believe me?” He asks.

“Nope. I know you did it,” you said, tone stating it in a matter of fact manner. “And I know you all are a part of the X-men. You? You’re the speedy one.”

“Quicksilver,” he corrected and you finally looked up at him, meeting his eyes which widened in the slightest.

“…But other’s know me as Peter Maximoff.”

“Am I "others "?"

Peter’s lips tug a little beginning to shape into a small smug little smile, “you can be, yes.”

“Well Peter Maximoff, is that why you come every week? To loot?”

Peter’s eyes looked up and to the side while his lips stuck out in thought, “mostly, I also come to see you,” he looked confident for just one second before he immediately made a face, “was that as creepy as it sounded because hearing it out loud sounded very creepy. If it did I most definitely am sorry.”

A smile now pulled on your lips, “…yes it was definitely creepy…but also weirdly sweet.”

“Ahem,” you heard a cough from behind him, no doubt coming from his group of friends that have been watching the whole thing. You watched as his friend, who wore red-tinted glasses nodded with his head in your direction. While you two stared at the group you failed to notice Peter’s hand behind the counter that was so obviously waving them off and at that signal you watched the red haired girl pull the guy with glasses’ arm before the rest followed after. You watched as they all left the store leaving behind just you and Peter.

“Right, so my friends…they say my crush on you is obvious, so I figured I’d come in here and just ask you out.”

“Oh…so is that your way of asking me?”

His eyes squinted as he let out a drawn out, “yeeesss?”

“Well if that’s your way of asking me out then no I will not go out with you.”

Peter’s lips pressed together as he put cash on the table and put his items in his hand.

“But, my shift is done at seven. if you come back then with a real way of asking, then maybe I’ll go out with you.”

Peter’s lips spread into an honest smile.

“But take it easy, some people need their jobs.”

“Right, sorry bout that.”

“Oh not me, I’m planning on quitting anyways but some other people.”

He let out a light chuckle, “right! Okay, see you at seven,” he said, almost dropping one of his items before he shoved the door to leave.

Suddenly this job just made your life a little bit more interesting.

-

Dialogue Prompt 2

[pascaloverx]

To Begin Again

TWELVE

Summary: You're a new teacher at a large and influential school. It's a risky step for you, as you've been running from your ex for almost two years. But when Dumbledore asks you to take on a class at the renowned Hogwarts, you can't refuse. However, your life as a newly arrived teacher won't be easy. Especially when the other teachers don't seem eager to make friends. Or rather, two teachers in particular: Sirius Black and Remus Lupin.

Author's Note: Welcome, dear readers. Please leave your comments if you enjoy fanfiction. This fanfic takes place almost in the real world (with the addition of werewolves) and is not a wizarding fanfic. There will be some differences and changes in things from the Harry Potter story or other fanfics in the HP universe, but I promise to do my best writing this fanfic. There will be a love triangle coming in this fanfic. So, dear readers, just as in this fanfic it's meant to imagine Remus Lupin as being Andrew Garfield and Sirius Black as being Ben Barnes, now I present to you the fancast of Severus Snape as being actor Enzo Vogrincic. Imagine him as Snape if you can.

ELEVEN THIRTEEN

A week later, things haven't improved. You managed to convince McGonagall that it would be best to change rooms, at least. The current issue is your emotional connection with Lupin. He feels too much, always intensely. For a man who barely expresses his feelings, he feels too much. And even by avoiding him physically, his feelings seem to have an absurd strength in reaching you.

"Are you sure this box isn't too heavy?" You ask Bellatrix, who as your new bathroom mate, is helping you with the move. McGonagall decided to switch you and Peter Pettigrew's rooms. So Sirius will have Peter as his next-door neighbor, and you'll have Bellatrix. It's better than having to avoid Mr. Black every day.

"I'm stronger than I look, sweetheart. I believe this is the last box. I said it would be quicker if I carried the boxes and you organized the room, right?" Bellatrix responds proudly, pleased to have been right. Thanks to her, you'll soon be able to go teach without worrying about organizing anything when you return to your room.

"Pay me back by coming over for a glass of wine tonight. They say it's good to have company for a nice wine on cold nights. What do you think?" Bellatrix says with a mischievous smile, and you can only think that drinking might help you forget your troubles.

"I think it's a perfect idea. I'll stop by your room later for wine," you say, kissing Bellatrix on the cheek. Strangely, she purrs when your face gets close to hers. She immediately kisses the corner of your mouth and leaves with a victorious smile. Unfortunately, you don't even have time to process what's happening in your life because you have to teach your students. So you rush towards the classroom.

The classroom has a distinct atmosphere. Ron and Hermione are sitting apart from Harry. Draco is relatively close to Harry. Pansy is sitting next to Luna. It seems different but not so bad. You had an idea of how your class would be. However, seeing your students like this, you thought of a more unique artistic dynamic.

"Today, we will work on ourselves. Before anything else, know that art resides within the artist. So everything you produce in this class will be a piece of yourselves. The main task is to create a painting that captures your essence. But before you worry about that, understand that the painting itself will be a project that will take several classes to complete. Today, we will focus on yourselves. I want everyone to think about something you like and something you dislike about yourself. One thing you admire about yourselves and another you despise. Does anyone want to start?" You ask the class of students in front of you, hoping someone will raise their hand and spare you from the awkwardness.

"I like being dedicated. Knowing more than most because I'm capable of it. What I don't like is how that can come across as arrogant or overly ambitious. I hate overthinking things." Not surprising anyone and saving you, Hermione Granger responds first. You look at her with pride, nodding as if to reassure your student that her account is important.

"I like how easily I can become attached to someone. Just give me a bit of affection and I can latch onto you. But unfortunately, I tend to develop expectations, and when those expectations are shattered, I become a mess," Ron Weasley opens his heart while holding Hermione's hand, as if she's supporting him, and looking towards Harry.

"I like being fearless. I enjoy adventuring, especially with my friends. And I don't like being aggressive, having a short fuse," Harry says, looking at both Draco and Ron, as if justifying his attempt to be less aggressive towards Malfoy. And so almost all the students went on pointing out what they liked and didn't like about themselves, until only Draco Malfoy was left.

"I like being better than most people I know. But I don't like the fact that it bothers me that feeling superior doesn't actually make me better," Draco admits reluctantly. You're pleased that he managed to share this. You speak to your students, observing them carefully as the school bell signals the end of your class. Everyone seems at least to be trying to take you seriously. As your students file out of the classroom for break, you begin packing up your things when you hear a knock on the door. Turning to look, you find Snape and Sirius standing side by side. Snape looks like a lost puppy who just found its owner, while Sirius appears genuinely furious.

"He wanted to speak with you, the one who helped him the day he lost his memory. Conveniently, now he has no idea what happened," Sirius replies sharply and straightforwardly, clearly in a bad mood. You understand that Snape is a risk for him, but the truth is, the Snape before you seems clueless about what transpired.

"I actually wanted to thank you. I have no idea how I ended up here or why I was in that forest, but I have a feeling you were the angel who saved my life. Right now, I'm going back to the United States to reclaim some of my life, and I wanted to say goodbye with my gratitude. Thank you so much, beautiful lady. If I ever come back here, you'll be the first person I visit." Snape speaks so passionately that it seems he has developed an extra fondness for you. Perhaps his heart holds more memories than his head. He catches you off guard by gently holding your face and kissing your cheek. Then he pauses in front of you for a few moments, gazing at you kindly. Before he can try to kiss you, Sirius pulls him back.

"I'm sure your brain hasn't forgotten basic manners. You don't just kiss someone like that, especially if you don't know if they're single. Can you imagine if you made the mistake of kissing her without her consent in front of her boyfriend? I think it's better if you show your gratitude by leaving." Sirius speaks impatiently and defensively, as if he were your boyfriend or something. Snape apologizes again, looking frightened, and quickly runs off. Clearly, he has lost his memory. Sirius would never scare him off like that if he were the Snape with memories intact.

"Expecting me to thank you for this is a waste of our time. Nice performance—it almost seemed like you were jealous, by the way," you say as you walk, followed by Sirius, who from your peripheral vision doesn't seem pleased at all.

"Were you going to let that repugnant man put his hands on you?" Sirius questions angrily, as if you were about to allow something horrible to happen.

"We both know what he did, but he doesn't. I wasn't going to let him touch or kiss me inappropriately. But that's hardly any of your damn business, Sirius. Go take care of your love life and personal affairs and leave mine alone." You turn, looking directly into Black's eyes, who huffs at your words. He's furious, but you don't care. You warned him that you wanted to stay away from him and Lupin.

"My love, it's hard to believe what comes out of your mouth when your eyes say you want me. I'm flattered that you want to play cat and mouse with me and Lupin. He might obey you, but I won't. Do you know why? Because I know there's a flame inside you that burns for me. And as long as I can, I won't let that damn flame go out." Sirius says, coming so close to you that you feel he could easily become a part of you. He seems angry but determined. You look at him for a moment, then place your hand on his chest for no apparent reason and lean in.

"You're going to end up hurting yourself by doing this. Because I can guarantee that even if I become a blazing inferno of pure desire for you, I will never let you get close to me in the way you imagine. Do us both a favor and give up." You speak so fiercely that, in the back of your mind, there is even a desire to bite Sirius's face. You particularly think this is the werewolf part of you speaking. You turn like a storm and head to your room, leaving behind an aroused and disappointed Sirius.

When you get to your room, all you can think about is how much you'd like to lie down on the bed and sleep. But soon you'll have to go drink wine with Bellatrix. So, you spend some time finishing tidying up your room and taking a good bath. When you get out of the bath and put on your robe, you hear someone knocking on the door. You find it strange because you're almost certain Bellatrix is supposed to be giving a lesson right now. But after tying your robe, you open the door. Remus Lupin stands in front of you, wearing only jeans and a shirt. You think he looks sexy, and unfortunately, from the little smile he gives, he knows you think that.

"What are you doing here?" you ask, leaning against the door and watching Lupin continue to stare at you as if you were a statue to be admired.

"I need you to let me in." That's all he says, while his feelings are too jumbled for you to understand. Something must be wrong. You move your head pointing into the room and let him enter.

"Your feelings are a complete mess. It feels like you can't focus on anything." You say looking at him after closing the door. He looks at you like he's in conflict with himself. That's when you realize you need to make him focus on something. Going against your own words, you do an impulsive act after waiting for him to organize his feelings. You approach Remus and kiss him. It should be a peck on his lips and you should walk away. But something pulls you closer, making you give Lupin another kiss. He leans you against the door, holding your waist, while he supports you against the door. There is a lot of excitement being felt. You know that every second the kiss intensifies, you want more and so does he. And then you throw Remus onto your bed.

"I'm being sabotaged. I had this theory since I transformed on a night that wasn't a full moon. But now it's concrete. The night you arrived here, someone let me out of the safe place where I should have been locked up near the cabin. Sirius and I thought it might be in our heads. A few nights later, I transform outside of the full moon. And now, I discovered that the lock on my little private prison was broken from the outside." Lupin speaks eloquently, and you're glad the kiss served some purpose. It seems crazy to think he might be sabotaged by someone, but it makes sense.

"Do you have any idea who it could be?" you ask, approaching Lupin, who looks distraught. You crouch in front of him, running your hand through his hair. Then the memory of the last time you saw someone crouched in front of him, looking at him the same way and with the same care as now, hits you. Instinctively, you fall back onto the floor, feeling embarrassed.

"You saw me and Sirius the other night. That's why you feel like we don't belong to you, isn't it? That's why you're running from us as if we were a disease? You're afraid of being left out," Remus questions with such confidence that it feels like he can understand you completely. You look at him, confused, while still on the floor, wearing only your robe. Lupin extends his hand to you to help you up. You take his hand and stand up. The two of you stare at each other while he waits for a response.

"If you want verbal confirmation, yes. I saw you two, I witnessed your love and how devoted you are to each other. You can't expect me to get in the middle of an already built relationship." You still speak very close to Lupin. He smirks, as if he finds what you just said adorable.

"If he and I are accepting you in the relationship, you're not getting in the middle of the relationship. Can't you see that we both want you?" Remus says and you put your finger on his mouth to make him shut up.

"You came here to talk about someone sabotaging you. Focus on what's important." You talk changing the subject. While you doesn't want to do romantic things right now, you are intrigued.

"My main suspicion is Bellatrix." Remus Lupin speaks, catching you off guard. You never thought Bellatrix could do anything to Lupin. However, you don't know their story well, and personally, you're a newcomer here. At that moment, someone knocks on your door a few times, distracting you.

"Who is it?" You speak loud enough for the person to hear, while also placing your hand over Lupin's mouth to prevent any misunderstanding.

"Hey, it's me, Bellatrix, your next-door neighbor. Just letting you know I've finished my last class of the day. I'm heading back to my room to take a shower, and then I'll be ready for your company. Sound good?" Bellatrix speaks loudly, and as you deal with Lupin's disapproving look, you begin to consider how to respond.

"Agreed. I'll be in your room as soon as I get ready here," you reply. After hearing Bellatrix enter her room, you remove your hand from Lupin's mouth.

"Are you really going to meet her?" Lupin asks, judging you while also appearing concerned. You look at him slightly uncomfortable.

"I know you believe she might be messing with you now. But to find out for sure, you'll need someone close to her to gather information. Unless you want Sirius to seduce her, I think I'm a good option," you say, being rational. Besides, playing detective could be fun.

"I feel uneasy about both possibilities. And you know that," Remus says, sounding like an overprotective boyfriend. You nod in response, assuring him that you'll be careful despite his concerns.

"Let's find out who's messing with you. Together," you say, a bit awkwardly. Remus gives you one last once-over and quietly leaves. You can't help but think that the hunt for the saboteur is officially on.