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colouredbyd · 22 days ago

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Hold On Tight, It’s a Wild Ride!

cowboy!remus lupin x fem!reader x biker!sirius black

synopsis : saddle up, trouble’s here! after getting caught by sirius, the towns sweet baker slips out of remus’s reach, leaving him lost in a haze of desperate need and restless nights. sirius is dead set on breaking through that sweet, guarded shell—ready to ride hard and take whats been teasing for far too long. three wild hearts tangled in a dirty game, with a brat determined to push them both to the edge and ride this madness straight to hell.

warnings: NSFW, explicit sexual content, graphic language, dirty talk, sexual tension, alot of teasing, semi-public sex, dirty thoughts, exhibitionism, lots of cum, eating out, oral sex, penetrative sex, blow jobs, spitting, fingering, eating out, degradation, praise kink, bratty behavior, brat taming. porn but with plot, everyone in this is horny!!!

w/c: 8.6k (pure filth)

a/n: this is 8k words of horny thoughts then smut <3 (posted at 4 am, therefore not proofread)

part one masterlist

Remus has a serious fucking problem — and that problem is you.

Not that he’s the kind of guy to moan about it out loud. You’re not some nuisance he wants to shoo away. He doesn’t hate you, doesn’t think you’re annoying, and damn sure doesn’t want you anywhere but near.

Hell, it’s the exact opposite — he likes you too much. Way too much. And that’s the goddamn problem.

He tries to look anywhere but at you when you bend down to pick up that jar you dropped. That dress you’re wearing is way too fucking short — and sure, Remus tells himself he ain’t staring (he totally is), but everyone else at this godforsaken town sure as hell notices.

That includes Lily, who’s already stepped behind you, blocking the view of your white panties you’re practically handing out like candy to every poor bastard around this town.

Remus doesn’t know if he should thank Lily for covering you up or tell her to move the fuck aside so he can see better.

Then there’s Sirius. That son of a bitch is leaning casually against the porch rail, smirking like the cocky bastard he is, eyes locked on Remus like he’s watching a damn rodeo. The way Sirius looks at him — it’s not exactly friendly.

That look on his face is a mixture of mischief and something more dangerous, like he knows exactly what kind of mess he’s stirring up.

Remus feels his jaw tighten. Him and Sirius? They go way back. Old friends, yeah — but the kind of friends who messed around casually, no strings, no promises.

That was supposed to be the past, something Remus told himself was done and dusted. That was before Sirius started slipping back into his life like a ghost, dragging all those old, confusing feelings with him.

Remus wants to convince himself it’s over, that he’s moved on. But every time Sirius shows up, with that damn smirk and those sharp eyes, his brain shorts out and his dick wakes the hell up like clockwork.

He shoots Sirius a glare, half pissed off, half... well, he doesn’t know what the hell else it is. Desire? Frustration? Both? But mostly irritation that the bastard has this power over him.

Still, Remus tries to keep his gaze on you — because you’re the real problem here, standing so goddamn close, making it impossible not to want more than just friendship. And if that wasn’t enough, here’s Sirius, watching the whole damn thing unfold like it’s his personal entertainment.

Remus still remembers the exact second Sirius Black walked through the bakery door five days ago. The bell jingled sharp and clear, cutting through the quiet heat between you and him.

You’d been caught in the middle of something—pressed close together, breathless and more than a little tangled—and then suddenly, the moment shattered.

“Am I interrupting?”

You jolt like you've been caught stealing something, which, to be fair, you sort of were—Remus’s breath, his body, his quiet unraveling.

The bell above the bakery door jingles again as it swings shut behind the voice.

“—because I was promised a raspberry tart and a man with manners. So far, I see neither.”

Remus swears softly, forehead thudding against your shoulder with a muffled groan.

“Sirius,” he mutters, like the name physically pains him.

You look up, and there he is—Sirius Black. Leather jacket, loose black hair dangling messily at his nape, a smirk so lived-in it might as well be stitched into his mouth. He doesn’t seem even a little sorry.

“Remus,” he returns, stepping further into the bakery like he owns the air. His eyes flick to you. “And you must be the infamous baker.”

You try to pull away from Remus, but his hand on your waist tightens just enough to say: don’t.

Sirius’s gaze drags slowly down from your flushed cheeks to your parted lips to the hand Remus hasn’t moved. There’s no shame in the way he looks at you—just curiosity, interest, something too alive to name. His tongue runs along his bottom lip, and he smiles like he’s already halfway through the punchline.

“Well, this is cozy,” he says. “Didn’t realize I was walking into a bloody rom-com.”

“Don’t you have a bike to crash?” Remus growls, still leaning into you but straighter now, all tense muscle and wary heat.

Sirius shrugs. “She’s cooling off.” His eyes stay on you as he adds, “Thought I’d do the same.”

Ever since that fucking day Sirius showed up at the farm, you’ve been avoiding Remus like he’s some goddamn plague. Like, you’ve been ducking him harder than a shitstorm you don’t want to get caught in.

You don't visit him, don’t meet his eyes when he’s in the same damn road as you, and for the love of everything holy, you haven’t come near the Lupin farm for a goddamn chocolate restock in what feels like forever.

Hell, when Remus finally dragged his sorry ass over to the bakery, you nearly pretended not to see him—almost walked right past like you hadn’t seen the dude who’s been circling your life like a fucking shark.

And Remus? Jesus Christ, he’s losing his fucking mind. Since you started ghosting him, he’s been pacing that goddamn farm like a caged animal, snapping at thin air and muttering all sorts of pissed-off nonsense under his breath.

He’s so desperate it’s pathetic — like, you can almost hear the poor bastard begging himself to grow a spine and just say something.

Every second you keep avoiding him, the harder he spirals, pacing and cussing like the farm’s about to fall apart around him because you won’t give him a single goddamn minute of your attention.

Sirius’s arrival hadn’t just interrupted whatever was between him and you—it threw everything Remus thought he’d settled into into a chaos he wasn’t ready for.

And deep down, Remus knows it’s going to take more than a few days—and a lot of stubborn fights with himself—to keep that old fire from burning everything down again.

Meanwhile, you’re behind the counter, wiping down the worn wooden surface, exchanging smiles and small talk with a regular customer when suddenly the familiar loud rev of a motorcycle engine cuts through the quiet street outside.

You already know who it is before the bell over the door jingles sharply.

And then he steps in.

It’s an odd sight—Sirius Black in your cozy little bakery. Tall, wild black hair falling in unruly waves, too many piercings glinting under the soft light, a leather jacket worn like a second skin, and the unmistakable scent of smoke and cigarettes clinging to him like a shadow.

The contrast between him and the warm pastel walls, the scent of fresh bread and cinnamon, feels almost surreal—but there he is, smirking like he walked into heaven itself.

He steps in like he owns the place, and for a moment—just a moment—it feels like he does. He belongs everywhere and nowhere at once. And he looks so damn amused to be standing in the middle of a bakery painted blush pink, with frilly curtains and little glass jars of pastel meringues lining the shelves.

His eyes flick over you once, slow and lazy. “Well, this is domestic.”

You don’t even blink. “Can I help you, Black? Or are you just here to loiter and bring down the property value?”

He smirks. That same crooked smirk that probably had girls unbuckling their skirts behind barns in three diffRemust counties. “Actually, I’m here for something sweet.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Try the exit.”

“Tempting,” he murmurs, sauntering to the counter. “But I see something better.”

His fingers tap the glass as he surveys the baked goods, but you’re not fooled. His gaze keeps sliding back to you, flicking down your apron to the hint of skin where your neckline dips. You feel it like a stroke. Like he’s undressing you one glance at a time and enjoying every damn inch.

Your thighs press together behind the counter. It’s instinct. Desperate, shameful instinct, truly.

Sirius’s voice cuts in. “Cinnamon roll, big one, drowning in icing.”

Of course he picks that one. The messiest fucking thing in the case.

You box it up wordlessly, fingers shaking just a little as you hand it over. He doesn’t take it away. He peels the paper back right there at the counter and bites into it slow, like sin made flesh.

Icing smears his lip. His tongue swipes it off in a way that makes your breath catch. And then he licks his finger. Slow. Sucking it into his mouth like he’s thinking about sucking something else.

Jesus fucking Christ.

Your brain short-circuits.

Because it’s not just the way he eats it—it’s the sounds he makes, low and satisfied, half a growl, half a groan. It’s the smug glint in his eyes when he catches you watching him, cheeks burning, mouth slightly open, thighs clenched tight.

“You always make ‘em this sweet?” he asks, licking a stray bit of glaze from his thumb. “Or is this one just for me?”

You want to say something clever, something biting. Instead, your voice comes out thinner than you like. “You’re disgusting.”

Sirius grins like it’s the best compliment he’s ever gotten. “You’re blushing.”

You are. And worse, your head is filled with the filthiest thoughts. Like how that mouth would feel sliding down your stomach. How his rings might dig into your hips. How it would feel to straddle that stupid, loud bike of his with his hand up your skirt and his tongue in your mouth–

Okay stop. You look away.

Because if you look too long, you’ll do something you’ll regret. Like asking him to stay or like begging him to touch you.

“Bit jumpy today, sweetheart,” he says, licking a streak of icing from his palm. “Don’t worry. I bite soft.”

You swallow around the lump in your throat, fists clenched at your sides.

He leans a hip against the counter like he’s got all the time in the world, licking icing from his thumb with deliberate slowness, eyes still fixed on you like he’s imagining how you taste instead.

“I said you’re disgusting,” you snap again, more breathless this time. You hate how he gets under your skin. How you can already feel your pulse between your thighs.

“And you keep saying that,” he says, cocking his head. “Yet here you are. Still standing there. Still looking at me like you want to lick this sugar off my mouth yourself.”

“You’re delusional.”

He chuckles—low, dangerous. “You think Remus doesn’t notice, sweetheart?”

Sirius steps closer.

“You think he doesn’t see the way you flounce around this little bakery in that short-ass dress, bending over the lower shelves every chance you get?” His hand gestures vaguely to the glass display, to you. “Like a desperate little bunny just begging to get caught.”

Your mouth opens, but the words short-circuit under the heat of his stare.

Then you move. A little too fast. Pretending to tidy something, needing to break the tension, needing air—anything honestly.

You crouch down, grabbing a container, the skirt of your dress riding up dangerously high.

You feel it before you hear it.

Sirius moves behind you—slow, steady footfalls across the floorboards. The heat of him right at your back before you can stand fully. His hand reaches out and cups your jaw, tilting your face toward him. The grip is gentle, but there’s nothing soft in the way he looks at you.

“Don’t play dumb,” he says, voice dipped in honey and smoke. “I know what you’re doing. All that innocent bakery girl shit. Sweet smile, pretty apron, acting like you don’t know how you’re driving every man in this town to fucking madness.”

His thumb brushes your cheek, then down—drags lightly over your bottom lip.

“You don’t want me to stop, do you?”

He’s close enough that you can taste the cinnamon on his breath. Close enough that if you moved just a little, your mouth would be on his.

You hate that he’s right. You hate it more that your body’s betraying you—heart hammering, thighs pressed tight, panties damp and clinging, soaked through from just the way he’s looking at you.

“Sirius…” It’s meant to be a warning, but it comes out like a plea.

He grins like sin itself, thumb still resting on your lip, a smear of sugar on your skin. “Say it again.”

Your breath catches, but before you can respond, he tilts his head, eyes flicking lazily down your body, the way your dress clings, how your nipples are hard through the thin fabric, how your thighs shift like you’re trying to stop yourself from rubbing them together.

“Gonna drive poor Remmy crazy, walking around like that,” he mutters, almost to himself. “All soft and soaked and ignoring the poor man.”

And something in you snaps. Maybe it’s the way he says “Remmy,” maybe it’s the condescension, maybe it’s just the filthy heat pooling between your legs—but suddenly you’re stepping forward, tilting your chin up, pressing your chest lightly against his.

Your voice is syrupy sweet, but your eyes don’t flinch.

“Well then,” you purr, “why don’t you go tell Remmy what a filthy little mess I am?”

You smile—slow and dangerous. “Tell him how I’ve been thinking about him every night since he kissed me in this bakery. How I keep fucking myself with my fingers imagining his hand on my throat and your mouth between my legs.”

He’s dead silent. Frozen. His hand tightens ever so slightly around your jaw.

You keep going, drunk on the thrill. “Bet you’d both like that, wouldn’t you? Watching me fall apart on my knees, moaning for one of you while the other ruins me.”

His breath catches audibly. And then he laughs—sharp, guttural, mean. It sounds almost like pain.

“Fuck,” he mutters. “You really are the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.”

His mouth is open, lips parted like he’s ready to either spit the filthiest thing he can think of or bite.

He’s leaning in—you can see it, feel it, the lazy drag of his breath against your mouth, the way his eyes darken as they drop to your lips. His hips shift forward, almost like he’s going to pin you right up against the counter and do something about that little speech you just gave–

–You step back.

“Oops,” you chirp, sweet as poisoned honey, like you didn’t just wreck him. “Looks like you’re not the only one who wants cinnamon today, Black.”

The bell above the door jingles just as Sirius’s mouth clicks shut, his body still strung tight like he’s about to lunge.

A middle-aged woman walks in—regular customer, probably here for her usual almond croissant—and she gives you a polite smile, completely clueless that she just stepped into a goddamn storm of unspoken filthy tension and raw, aching need.

Sirius doesn’t move. In fact, he’s never hated some poor innocent old woman this much for cockblocking him. Because right now she’s the biggest motherfucking wedge between him and what he wants.

If looks could kill, she’d be six feet under by now.

He’s still standing there like he’s been punched in the stomach, watching you swish back behind the counter like nothing happened, like you didn’t just whisper the word ruin into his ear while smiling about Remus.

“Hi, Mrs. Vance,” you say sweetly, already ducking behind the counter, cheeks flushed but not from embarrassment. “Croissant and lemon loaf today?”

“Please, dear.”

You serve her like it’s any other morning, grabbing the still-warm croissant from the rack and slicing her lemon loaf with practiced ease.

Sirius doesn’t move. He stands in the center of your soft, pastel bakery like a devil dragged into a prayer circle—black leather jacket, too many rings, silver chain glinting under the lights. Watching you with hooded eyes, tongue flicking over his bottom lip, catching stray sugar.

You slide the bag across the counter, take the woman’s cash, and chirp, “Have a lovely morning!”

She’s barely out the door before Sirius mutters, “You’re good at that.”

“At what?” you say, stepping away from the register, grabbing a napkin to wipe your hands, heart still hammering behind your ribs.

He follows you with his eyes, slow and slick. “Playing innocent.”

You scoff, but your dress sways dangerously high as you reach for the tub of cinnamon glaze on the prep counter. “It’s because I am.”

Sirius snorts. “Sweetheart, you were grinding on my best friend like a bitch in heat five days ago. You wanna tell me that was innocent?”

You pause, reaching over to the counter and dipping your fingers into the glaze you had set out earlier while prepping. Slowly, deliberately, you turn to him and suck a dollop off your finger, locking eyes as you do.

“Don’t act like you didn’t love watching it,” you purr.

He starts toward you again, like he’s about to crowd you into the counter—but you’re faster this time.

You sidestep just before he touches you, tossing the glaze-stained napkin in the bin and licking the last bit from the side of your mouth, letting it linger.

“I mean, if Remus was actually fucking me that day,” you add, voice light, “you wouldn’t have had to guess.”

Sirius’s nostrils flare.

You blink up at him all innocent, tilting your head like you’ve got no clue what kind of filthy-ass tornado you just whipped up in his gut.

You’re standing there in that damn dress that’s way too short, grinning like a devil, fingers dripping with some suspiciously white, sticky glaze—hell, Sirius doesn’t even wanna know what kind of sweet, slimy shit it is, only that he really is trying not to let his perverted thoughts wonder.

Then your lips part again, this time in mock surprise, fingers pressing against your temple as if some great tragedy has just struck you.

“Shit,” you gasp dramatically, eyes wide. “I just ran out of cinnamon powder—Remus had some stored in the back of the barn.”

You say it like it’s nothing. Like you haven’t just said his name with that soft, familiar note that Sirius swears does something rotten to his chest. Like you don’t know how close he is to yanking the apron from your waist and pinning you against the prep counter.

You untie the apron with one hand, dropping it onto the hook with the same lazy grace you seem to do everything with. Like being hot was just something you were born knowing how to weaponize.

Sirius watches, helpless, as your dress hikes even higher during the motion—bare thighs, that sway of your hips, the soft dip of your waist. It's a visual kick to the teeth.

“Well,” you chirp, already walking toward the back exit, your voice syrup-sweet and oblivious. “Catch you later, Black. I’ve gotta go grab some things from Remmy.”

You say it like that, and Sirius’s jaw clenches.

He hates—hates—how the image rushes in uninvited: you in that same dress, climbing the hill toward the Lupin farm, sun on your shoulders, dirt under your heels, lips parted just a little because you’re always flushed from the heat when you get there. And Remus is probably out back, sleeves rolled up, hands dirty, hair wild.

Sirius knows how that ends. He’s seen how that ends. You in Remus’s lap, whining into his neck, grinding like you can’t help yourself, like you were made to fuck on bakery counters and wooden barn tables and motorcycle seats and wherever the hell else your pretty little body wants to be worshipped.

Sirius blinks hard.

Fuck.

He shouldn’t be thinking this.

But he is.

He doesn’t like town girls. Never has. He grew up in places where girls wore lipstick sharp enough to draw blood, where they took shots faster than you could blink, laughed with mouths wide open and eyes dark. He fucked girls in pub bathrooms with his rings still on. He liked it filthy and fast and forgettable.

But you?

You walk barefoot through the market with your basket of flour and blueberries, leave pink gloss stains on straws, tuck daisies behind your ear without even trying.

And somehow, somehow, Sirius feels more perverse imagining what you sound like when you beg than he ever has with girls who would’ve let him tie them up in a booth at The Dog & Bone bar.

He swallows.

You’re halfway out the backdoor when his voice snaps through the haze. “I’ll drive you.”

You stop and turn around, eyebrows raised like he’s grown a second head. “To the farm?”

He shrugs, trying to play it cool, ignoring the way his throat is dry and his jeans are suddenly too tight. “Why not?”

You glance between him and the bakery, lips quirking. “Not getting on that glorified deathtrap you call a bike, Black.”

He grins slow, stepping closer. “Come on, you don’t trust me?”

“Nope.”

“I’d never hurt you.”

You pause at the door, one hand on the frame. “You sure?”

He means it. He thinks he means it. But the way you’re looking at him now—mouth glistening with sugar, neck flushed, dress riding high like you want him to see—you’re making it impossible to remember where the line is. If there even is one.

You tilt your head slightly, like you know exactly the kind of chaos you’re causing.

His throat’s dry. Jeans tight. Every logical cell in his body tells him to knock it off—but logic doesn’t stand a chance when you’re looking at him like that.

You sigh, all mock annoyance, but there’s a flicker in your eyes that’s anything but innocent. “Fine,” you say, letting the word drag a little. “But if I die, I’m haunting you.”

You turn and walk out into the alley, hips swinging like a fucking metronome.

Sirius follows like he’s under a spell.

He knows he shouldn’t be thinking what he’s thinking. Not when Remus’s name is still fresh in the air. Not when you smell like vanilla and innocence and everything he’s ever sworn wasn’t his type.

The engine’s rumble echoes through the alley, low and feral, like something breathing beneath the concrete. You hesitate at the edge of the curb, the hem of your dress flaring in the breeze kicked up by the motor.

Sirius is already astride the bike, long legs planted, black boots grounded like he owns the damn earth. He pulls a cigarette from behind his ear, lights it with a flick and a hollow click, and takes a slow drag—like he’s got all the time in the goddamn world. Smoke curls from the corner of his mouth as he looks back at you over his shoulder, eyes half-lidded, a grin tugging lazy and cocky at his lips.

And the problem is—he knows exactly what he’s doing.

You narrow your eyes. “You’re gonna smoke and drive?”

He blows out a slow stream of smoke, eyes not leaving yours. “Sweetheart, if that makes you nervous... you really shouldn’t see how I handle the curves.”

Your breath catches—and he smirks wider, smug and dangerous, the kind of man who doesn’t just walk into trouble.

“All that attitude in the bakery,” he laughs, tilting his head, lips tugging into a smirk. “And now what? Nervous, sweet girl?”

You try to scoff, but it comes out breathier than intended. “I’m not nervous. I’m—”

He cuts you off with a laugh, slow and indulgent. “Sure, sweetheart.”

You roll your eyes, but your fingers twist at the side of your dress. “I just didn’t think you’d actually drive me.”

His grin deepens. “Wouldn’t be a gentleman if I let a pretty little thing like you go wandering off alone, would I?”

You don’t answer. You can’t, because suddenly, Sirius Black is off the bike.

He moves fast, faster than you’re ready for—two strides and he’s in front of you, hands landing firm on your waist.

Big hands, warm even through the leather, gripping like they’ve been there before in some fever dream you’ve barely dared to admit to having. And then—

“Oh—” you gasp as he lifts you like it’s nothing, like you’re made of silk and air.

Your hands flutter uselessly against his shoulders, but he’s already got you seated behind him, legs falling around either side of the seat. The leather’s warm beneath you, but not as warm as the heat starting to pool low in your stomach.

“There you go,” Sirius says, and it’s filthy, the way he says it—quiet and rough, like a man proud of what he’s just done. He steps back slightly and looks you over like you’re his work. “Pretty girl.”

The air gets knocked clean out of your lungs.

Fuck.

That means two things, your brain helpfully supplies in a scream.

One: He’s great at sex talk. Like, dangerously good. Like he’s probably the type to press his mouth to your ear and say filth until you’re begging, soaked through, clawing at him just to make—God, please—let you come.

Two: He clearly wants you.

Because no one touches someone like that unless they’re thinking about what else they could be doing with those hands. No one says “sweet girl” with that kind of revRemusce unless they’re already undressing you with their eyes. And Sirius Black? He doesn’t do sweet.

You're already pressed flush to his back as he settles in front of you again, heat rolling off him like fire. Your chest brushes his jacket, and your cheek hovers just near his shoulder. You can smell the smoke in his hair, the faint bite of leather and clove.

“You good?” he asks, glancing back just slightly, voice low.

You nod, barely.

He revs the bike and that filthy little smile is back. “Thought so.”

But just before he pulls off, he glances down at your hands, still clutching his sides, and says, “You might want to hold on tighter, baby. I don’t take it slow.”

And fuck.

You swear your thighs tense up around the seat like instinct, like survival. You want to say something back. You want to snark or flirt or bite. But you’re too busy being halfway undone by a man who hasn’t even touched you where it matters yet.

So you grip tighter.

And when the bike tears down the street, wind in your hair, engine loud in your ears, Sirius Black between your legs, the only thing you can think is: I’m going to hell for this.

The ride out of town is a blur of roaring wind and roaring thoughts. Your arms wrapped around Sirius’s waist, your cheek brushing his back, and the sheer warmth of him bleeding through the layers of leather and tension. The world is a smear of golden fields and trees flying past — but your brain? Loud.

Because fuck, the way his thighs flex when he leans into turns. The way he half-tilts his head sometimes, murmuring something under his breath like “you enjoying the ride, sweetheart?” without even needing to say it aloud.

He knows exactly what he’s doing. And you know exactly what you’re letting yourself fall into.

By the time you see the faded Lupin farm sign and the soft stretch of earth around the property, your legs are sore from gripping him and your head’s a mess.

Sirius slows as he pulls into the drive, engine purring now, low and idle, as if the damn thing knows how to tease just like its rider.

Gravel crunches beneath the tires. The house looms ahead—modest, sun-dappled, framed by apple trees—and out front, beside the barn, stands Remus Lupin.

And God help you, again.

He’s in a henley, sleeves rolled up over his forearms, chest straining just slightly at the seams. There’s a faint sheen of sweat at his collarbone from the heat, his golden-brown curls tousled, jaw clenched as he leans on the counter by the shed—talking to someone.

You squint a little, your stomach curling.

She's pretty. Like, effortlessly pretty. All soft eyes and airy sundress, laughing at something he’s just said while tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

Remus is nodding, polite and charming, his hands moving as he explains something about produce or jam or fuck if you care.

Because you’re suddenly, violently aware of the fact that Sirius is still between your legs and your thighs are still aching with want — and Remus Lupin, tall and golden and gentle-looking, is smiling at another woman.

And worst of all? You want him to look at you like that. Even worse than that? You want him to look at you the way Sirius has been all damn day—like he could eat you alive and never get full.

Sirius kills the engine and glances back at you. His voice is low, amused. “What’s with the stare, sweetheart? That your Remmy?”

You bristle, sliding off the bike. Your dress hikes high again as you land, and Sirius’s hand definitely lingers on your hip a second too long as he helps you down. “You’re so annoying.”

He doesn’t answer. Just lights another cigarette and leans back against the bike like he’s watching a play.

You smooth your hair, trying to ignore how Sirius is blatantly eyeing the hem of your dress, and stride forward.

You march up the Lupin farmhouse steps like you’ve done it a hundred times before, even though your heart’s thudding out a reckless, bratty rhythm that has nothing to do with familiarity and everything to do with proving a point.

Your dress clings to you in the heat, riding higher with every step, and you don’t bother fixing it. Let them fucking look.

Remus is still out there, leaning against the porch railing like sin draped in denim, the late sun pouring over him in gold, and that girl’s beside him—fingertips twirling in her hair, laugh soft and sugar-spun, like she’s never once had to try, and maybe she hasn’t. She doesn’t look at you, doesn’t even seem to notice, but he does.

The moment your boots crunch against the gravel, his gaze snaps to you and stays there. It drags, slow and hot, over your frame like he’s searching for something he lost and only just remembered where to find it, like you walked out of one of the dreams he pretends he doesn’t have, the ones that leave him hard and desperate and too wound up to sleep.

You toss him a vague, disinterested wave, keep your chin up, and sashay right past the two of them like you didn’t just spend the last ten minutes gripping Sirius Black’s waist and thinking about what else those hands could do.

The breeze lifts your skirt at just the right angle when you pass, and you hope he sees the sway of your ass.

Inside the farmhouse, you make a beeline for the pantry, yanking open cabinets like you own the place, lips pursed, movements loud and pointed.

You’re not even really looking for anything in particular–fuck the cinnamon powder. You’re just mad, jealous, and turned on. All of it simmering under your skin like a burn you keep poking.

You hear them come in behind you—boots on floorboards, the shift of male bodies in too-small doorways.

“You always walk into other people’s houses like this?” Remus asks, voice warm but confused, like he’s trying to balance you against the version of you in his head—the soft girl who fed the geese.

You glance over your shoulder with a smirk. “If you can show up at my bakery any time you want, I can show up here.”

His brow twitches at that. Sirius lets out a low whistle from behind him.

And then, suddenly, it’s all a little too quiet.

Remus is staring at you like you’ve grown horns. His eyes flick down—slow, slow, slow—from your smirking mouth to your chest, where the sweat is gathering beneath the thin fabric of your dress, then lower, watching your thighs press together, the little rhythm you can’t stop, the ache in you practically glowing in the late afternoon light.

And you know he sees it. You want him to see it. Want him to finally understand what kind of game you’re playing.

Christ, you think, heart hammering. He’s actually looking.

You should be embarrassed. You should say something innocent and cute and bakery-girl sweet.

But you don’t.

You lean forward just slightly, pressing your hands to the old wooden countertop, swaying your hips back as you pretend to look at something on the lower shelf.

“Out of cinnamon again,” you mumble, purely for show, because you’re fully aware of the way both of them go still behind you—aware of the absolute filth that’s probably collecting in Sirius’s head and the deep, tightly-reined tension in Remus’s.

You straighten, turn with a little too much purpose, and glance between the two of them like butter wouldn’t melt on your tongue.

“You boys just gonna stand there staring or are you gonna help me find the cinnamon?”

Then you look at Remus.Your lashes flutter, your lips pout just slightly, like you’re daring him to do something about it.

He doesn't. Of course he doesn’t.

So you roll your eyes and push up from the chair with a dramatic sigh, hips swinging as you strut past them toward the pantry. “Fine, I’ll just help myself. God forbid one of you offers.”

Christ, Remus thinks, rubbing his face with a mix of exhaustion and frustration as you storm off to the pantry.

He can’t help but notice the way your short dress rides up, teasingly revealing that perfect, round ass—firm and daring him like a damn invitation.

That dress belong in the fucking trash or on a pedestal where Remus can properly thank it and worship it.

Inside the pantry, you make a show of standing on your toes, your dress riding indecently high as you pretend to reach for the top shelf. You hum to yourself—off-key, childish, annoying on purpose. You want him to hear you, you want him to snap.

Still nothing.

So you reach up higher, let your back arch, your legs press together in that spoiled, lazy way that says someone should be helping me right now.

You pout, much louder this time.

“Remmy,” you call out, all false innocence and dripping entitlement, “your shelves are stupid. Why are they so high? Honestly, it’s like this place wasn’t designed for anyone with a sense of proportion.”

There’s a pause. A shift in the air. You know what’s coming.

You just don’t know if it’ll be him or Sirius who breaks first.

Then: “Top shelf. Cinnamon’s in a jar with a blue lid,” Remus says, voice clipped.

You scoff. “I see it. I just can’t reach it.”

You spin around and lean against the counter, crossing your arms over your chest.

The pose pushes your tits up, makes your dress slip a little lower on your shoulder. Deliberate. “You gonna be a gentleman and help me, or are you just gonna keep staring like a perv?”

That does it.

Remus steps into the room, slow and controlled, but there’s heat underneath—barely leashed. Sirius stays leaning in the doorway, grinning like he’s watching a play written just for him.

“You always this difficult?” Remus asks, voice low.

You tilt your head. “Only when I don’t get what I want.”

The way you say it—sweet, teasing, a little cruel—hangs in the air like smoke. And you know he hears it for what it is: a challenge.

You wander a few steps toward the shelf by the window, pretending to scan for what you came for—what was it? Cinnamon? Apricots? Something dumb. Something you don’t need, not really.

You hum under your breath and let your fingers trail carelessly along the edge of the table. “Honestly,” you add with a dramatic sigh, “I thought someone like you would be more helpful.”

You hear Sirius let out a low chuckle behind you, probably still leaning in the doorway like a smug bastard. But you don’t turn to look.

You’re watching Remus out of the corner of your eye, watching the way his jaw ticks, how his fingers curl at his sides like he’s trying—really trying—not to react.

He does that a lot, doesn’t he? Keeps his composure. Wears that patience like armor.

But today? Oh, today, you want to peel that armor off and see what’s underneath. You want to see if he can snap.

Because he deserves it, you tell yourself. You’ve been nothing but sweet—so sweet—until five days ago. And then you ignored him. Cold-shouldered him like a fucking pro.

And yeah, maybe it was petty, maybe it was dramatic, maybe it was your own twisted little game of making him sweat. But he had it coming.

And now you’re here. In his house. In that tiny little sundress. Acting like you own the place.

You know exactly what you’re doing.

Remus hasn’t moved. But you feel the shift in him. It’s in the weight of his silence, the tight line of his mouth, the way his gaze drops to your legs—your thighs, your fingers, the hem of your dress. Like he’s cataloging all the sins he’s about to commit if he stops holding back.

And god, it’s thrilling.

You let out the tiniest huff, pout just enough to be bratty. “Ugh. This is taking forever.”

You stomp—stomp—over to the pantry like some spoiled little thing, throwing the door open with more force than necessary, and bend over, hips swaying as you scan the shelves.

You know what this looks like. You want to know what this looks like. You want to see how long Remus Lupin can last before he snaps the leash.

Because what you don’t say—but feel like wildfire in your blood—is that you missed him. Stupidly. Intensely. And you’ve been wanting to get under his skin the way he’s been under yours since the first time he walked into your bakery and complimented your cinnamon scones with that slow, unreadable look in his eyes.

You turn back around, half-expecting to still find him at the door—but no. He’s stepped closer.

Close enough that you feel the heat rolling off him like sunlight after stormclouds. His mouth is tight and his eyes sharp.

This is it, you realize. This is the breaking point.

And Remus?

God, he’s unraveling.

Because five days without hearing your voice had nearly driven him mad. You hadn’t stopped by with leftovers or pies, and the farm had felt colder without your footsteps, without your voice talking to the geese like they were friends. Without the smell of sugar and sass trailing behind you.

And now you’re here. Acting like nothing happened. Acting like you didn’t wreck him by simply being gone.

And worst of all?

You showed up on Sirius’s bike.

Wrapped around his best friend.

Wearing that fucking dress.

Remus is a patient man. But he’s not a saint. And every second you pout, and whine, and rub your thighs together like you're not even trying to hide the tension coiling inside you, it digs deeper under his skin. You’re all attitude and heat and need—and he’s drowning in the storm of you.

This girl, this version of you? She’s not the one who left him cherry pies and kissed his cheek after sending her apples from the orchard. She’s not the one who fed his chickens and giggled at his horses.

No. She’s bratty. Entitled, temptation in its purest form.

And Remus Lupin would sell the whole damn farm—barn, land, livestock, house—for just one more taste of your pussy.

But you don’t know that. You don’t know what you’ve done to him.

Not until you look up, meet his eyes—and see that all his patience has turned into something dark, and hungry, and shaking with restraint.

You run your tongue over your bottom lip, teeth catching the skin just enough to make his eyes flicker down.

And then you roll your eyes, toss your hair like you’re bored. “God, if I wanted a man who just stared at me, I could’ve stayed in Sirius’s lap.”

There it is.

That sharp, awful silence, like all the oxygen just left the room. You can feel it when it hits. Like lightning in the chest.

You didn’t even mean it, not really. Just a jab, a bratty little dig. But you knew it would hurt. Knew it would burn. That was the point.

And Remus—

Remus doesn’t say a word.

He doesn’t shout. Doesn’t bark.

He just moves.

Your back hits the wall in the next breath. His hand is at your waist, the other at your throat, not squeezing, just holding you there, keeping you still. Not letting you pretend anymore.

And his voice is low. Ruined. “Say that again.”

You blink up at him, heart pounding, mouth gone dry. But there’s still a smirk curled at the corner of your lips.

“I said…” you hum, saccharine and infuriating, “…Sirius is a much better ride than you’ve been lately.”

That’s it.

That’s the fucking match.

Remus exhales something like a growl, and the hand at your waist slides down—gripping, digging into your thigh, dragging your leg up around his hip like he needs you anchored, needs you open. His mouth is at your ear now, hot breath grazing your skin, and his voice is no longer calm.

“You think this is a game?” he murmurs, all grit and gravel. “You think acting like a spoiled little slut is gonna get you what you want?”

You gasp, breath stuttering, your fingers clenching at the front of his shirt like you might float away otherwise.

“Five days,” he mutters, mouth brushing your jaw. “Five fucking days of silence. Of you pretending I don’t exist. Of watching you climb on Sirius’s bike like a little tease, walking around in that dress like you’re daring me to break.”

He shifts closer—grinding into you, firm, deliberate—just enough to make your breath hitch. Just enough to make your head tip back against the wall.

“You want attention that bad, sweetheart?” he whispers, mock-gentle. “You want to act like a brat, make me jealous, throw your pretty little tantrum until someone fucks it out of you?”

You bite your lip, breathless.

“Then you should’ve just said so.”

Remus Lupin has finally snapped.

You scoff, pushing back against the counter with a defiant grin. “Yeah, you are. Got me pinned here and you’re still talking. Honestly, Remus, maybe I was wrong about you. Maybe you can’t handle me after all,” you tease, wriggling as you try to stand, but his hand presses firmly into your back, holding you in place.

The heat pooling between your legs is undeniable—you feel the dampness soaking through your panties. You clench your thighs, desperate for some relief, but the way he’s got you, there’s no chance of that.

Then it hits you—this is exactly how Remus must hold people when he’s trying to keep them in line on the farm. The strong, silent type who doesn’t need to shout.

Holy hell, that’s unbelievably hot to think about. So steady, so grounded, so damn reliable. The man who fixes fences by day and somehow always knows when you need comfort at night. Remus, who probably hides his desire behind that calm facade, who might even blush if he thought about ogling you outright—but that quiet restraint only makes you want him more.

And then he’s tugging your dress up, your panties sliding down your legs until they’re bunched at your knees, exposing your bare skin.

“You really are something else, you know that?” he murmurs, fingers tracing over the smooth curve of your ass.

Then, without warning, his hand slaps down hard enough to make you flinch—if you wRemus’t already trapped beneath him. It’s sudden, sharp, and damn intoxicating.

You’ve fantasized about Remus spanking you before, hell, you’ve been practically begging for it with all the stubborn, bratty shit you’ve been throwing his way these past few days.

“You act like you’ve got it all figured out—switching between this innocent girl act and that spoiled little brat whenever you think it’ll get me to look your way. I’m not dumb, you know. I see right through it. Just let you think you’re running the show, ‘cause honestly? It’s adorable how much you want to be in control,” Remus’s voice drops low, rough and teasing, as his hand comes down again and again, each smack burning with the promise of more.

You whimper—half indignation, half need—and Remus lets out a low laugh.

“Oh, now she gets quiet, c’mon sugar, don’t act shy now- let him hear you.”

There’s a creak behind you, floorboards shifting with the unmistakable weight of someone else stepping in.

You glance up through your lashes and catch Sirius, still lounging in the doorway, but now his grin has faltered—just slightly. His eyes drag over the scene with lazy hunger, like a man who’s seen this storm brewing and is finally watching it break.

Remus leans down, mouth brushing the shell of your ear. “Since you’ve been acting like such a spoiled little thing… maybe it’s time dear old Sirius gets a turn. What do you think, sweetheart?”

Your breath catches.

Sirius hums thoughtfully, pushing off the doorframe as if he’s just decided this is worth getting involved in. “You know, I was gonna be a gentleman about all this.” He saunters forward, boots thudding against the old farmhouse wood. “But you make it real hard when you’re like this.”

You glance over your shoulder, lips parted, spine still arched from Remus’s hand. Sirius’s gaze flicks down, then back up with a smirk. “Aren’t you just the prettiest thing when you’re being taught a lesson.”

You shiver.

Sirius’s hand closes around yours. “Come on, pretty girl. Let’s get you somewhere softer.”

They lead you through the quiet farmhouse, your feet brushing the old wooden floorboards, the air thick with heat and something unspoken. Remus’s room is tucked in the back—cooler, quieter.

The door creaks open, and you swear your pulse is loud enough to hear.

Sirius nudges you toward the bed with a wicked smile. “Let’s see if that bratty little attitude holds up when you're actually being taken care of.”

And gods, you're not sure whether you're burning from the anticipation or from the fact that—for once—you’ve got both their full attention.

Sirius drops you hard onto the bed before standing upright again, he and Remus standing side by side, smirking like they own you. The raw, dominant energy radiating off them makes your skin prickle with want and delicious fear.

“Isn’t she fucking gorgeous, Sirius? I can’t wait to break her in,” Remus murmurs, his voice low and rough. Your breath hitches, eyes wide and burning with heat as you try to steady yourself, pressing your thighs together, cheeks flushing red-hot.

You want to crawl away, but you know better. You’re their plaything tonight. Their little spoiled brat who’s been testing boundaries and pushing limits.

“Don’t get shy now, baby. You’ve been teasing us all day long, making us wait,” Remus leans over you, lips close enough to brush your ear. His voice is a wicked promise.

“You’re gonna take every inch of what we give you, and by the end, you’ll be begging for more.”

Sirius growls low, his hands sliding under the hem of your dress, pulling it up over your hips.

You sit up just enough for him to strip the damn thing right off you, leaving you naked in nothing but white lace.

You feel so exposed, so damn delicious, and they’re drinking it all in—the way your skin gleams, your chest rises and falls, the way your pussy clenches uncontrollably just from their hungry gazes.

They toss their clothes off without a care—boxers only now—revealing bodies carved like sculptures, muscle and strength you ache to touch and worship.

Sirius climbs back onto the bed, back resting against the headboard, and without hesitation, he grabs under your arms, hauling you up until your back presses hard against his chest. His arms are strong and possessive, holding you exactly where he wants you.

You’re straddling his lap, trembling with anticipation.

His calloused hands grip your thighs, prying them apart, and suddenly Remus is there too, lowering himself between your legs. His pretty brown eyes lock onto yours, dripping with want. Your breath catches. You’re drowning in the heat between them, your pussy slick and throbbing just at the thought of what’s coming next.

You want to scream, to beg, to lose yourself in the way they claim you like their most prized possession. Your body aches for them—every touch, every look setting your nerves on fire. This is exactly where you belong. Between them, broken and begging.

Remus kisses along your thighs, the warmth of his exhales teasing you, purposely skipping over your dripping cunt. You groan, bucking you hips toward his face, only to be held back by Sirius's firm grip on your hips.

“Ah-ah, sugar,” Sirius murmurs against your ear, voice low and teasing. “That ain’t how good girls behave, sweetheart.”

Your breath catches, both from his grip and the heat pooling low in your belly. You whine softly, already desperate, and Sirius chuckles, his palm splayed possessively over your stomach.

“Tell him what you want,” he murmurs. “Use that mouth you’ve been running all day, come on, baby”

“Please, Remus,” you whisper, your voice a breathy mess. “Please touch me. I need—”

“More than that,” Sirius coaxes, brushing his lips over your shoulder. “You were such a brat earlier. You think we’re just gonna give in without hearing you beg a little?”

Your cheeks burn, not from embarrassment, but from how much you want to be seen, undone, wanted.

Remus looks up at you with those amber eyes, gaze dark and hungry, but still so tender.

"Tell me what you need, love," Remus murmurs, dragging his nose lightly along your thigh, just shy of your aching heat. "Use that pretty voice."

“P-please,” you gasp. “I need your mouth—I’ve been so good, Remmy, I swear—”

“You think that was good behavior?” Sirius laughs softly against your neck, teeth grazing the skin there.

“You’ve been brattier than ever. Back-talking, strutting around town in that little dress. You’ve been begging for this.”

Your cheeks flame with embarrassment and arousal, your thighs trembling in Remus’s grip. His thumbs stroke you open gently, deliberately slow.

“She’s soaked,” he says, almost to himself, eyes fixed on you like you’re the only thing he’s ever wanted. “All worked up from nothing but a little teasing, such a slut.”

Sirius presses a kiss to your temple. “Look at you,” he murmurs. “Our pretty little plaything. You want to be ruined, don’t you?”

You nod helplessly, fingers fisting in the sheets, aching for more—anything. Remus leans in, finally, finally letting his breath ghost over the place you crave him most.

“You’ll take everything we give you,” he says, voice low and revRemust. “And thank us when you’re done.”

Remus's tongue delicately dancing up and down you slit before taking your swollen, needy clit into his soft lips, sucking hungrily.

You tangle your fingers in his tresses, pulling gently. Remus groans into your cunt, the vibrations bringing you even closer to the edge.

"You sound so fu-fucking good 'fa me, sweetheart," Remu stutters out, trying to speak and eat at the same time.

"You k-know it's rude to talk with your mouth full, right ahh.. right, Remmy?", you try to retort. Sirius's chest vibrates against your back with a chuckle.

His mouth hangs open, the gushing wetness of your pussy and the sounds you're making in response to his best friend devouring you fills the room. It's almost unbearable for Sirius to resist pushing Remus away and taking you all for himself.

"She's a sweet one, isn't she, moony?" Sirius raises an eyebrow at his friend, who peers up from between your legs and nods in response.

"Mhmm, she tastes so fucking good," Remus murmurs against you in response, his tongue still thrashing against you.

Remus teases one finger against your hole before plunging it deep inside you. Pumping in and out rhythmically, he finds your g-spot with ease.

He massages into you with the rough pads of his long, slender fingers. His lips latch around your swollen bundle of nerves, sucking greedily. You feel the coils tightening in your stomach, arching your back away from Sirius.

"I...ahh f-fuck..I'm s-so close, Remus," you cry out, trying to close your legs around his face. Sirius pries your legs apart and holds them open.

"Let go, baby. C'mon, be a good little slut...cum for him. Show him how good he's making you feel," Sirius whispers in your ear.

Remus pumps his fingers deeper into you, sucking even harder on your clit. The tightness in your tummy finally snaps, eyes rolling back in your head, a small yelp leaving your lips.

You feel yourself spray your release all over Remus's face. His eyes widen in surprise before he laps up everything you give him, relishing in the way your sweet juices coat his tongue.

You're shaking as he cleans you up with his tongue, riding the fine line between pleasure and overstimulation.

"Mmmm, you saw that Sirius?" asks Remus, "We found ourselves a squirter". Remus's tongue continues to lap you up. Sirius's eyes darken at that.

He pulls his digit out of your dripping pussy, presenting it to Sirius so he can taste you, too.

Sirius can't take it anymore. He's been rock hard against your back this whole time, fighting every carnal urge that's raking through his body.

When he finally gets a taste of you, the restraint he had been so desperately clinging to snaps.

He sucks you off Remus's fingers hungrily, eyes rolling back in his head at your sweetness.

Remus scoots back as Sirius pushes you onto your stomach, your chest against the mattress and hips in the air, his head dipping to meet your cunt.

He drinks up what Remus so generously left behind for him before straightening up again, sliding his boxers off. He positions himself behind you, teasing your clit with the head of his thick cock.

You groan at the sensation, the aftermath of your first orgasm still making your clit sensitive. You push yourself back against Sirius, only to be stopped by his hands taking a hold of your hips.

"Tell me what you want, sweetheart", he says, still teasing your clit with the head of his cock.

"I want you inside me...need to feel you stretch me out...please, Sirius," you beg, trying to push back against him again. Sirius chuckles at this.

"Dirty slut is learning fast isn't she? Being such a good fuck toy for us."

With that, he lines himself up with your dripping hole, and plunges deep into you, giving you no time to adjust to how thick he is as he drives himself deep into you. Your slickness from your orgasm is the only thing saving you from his thickness.

Remus leans down to kiss you, pulling his boxers off and discarding them. His long cock bounces out and sits rock hard in front of your face. You lick your lips at the sight of his pretty pink head dripping pre-cum, eyes half open, head bouncing from getting fucked into from behind.

"So fucking wet for me, sweetheart. You're taking me so well. Such a good little slut," Sirius gritted his teeth.

"C-can I please...oh-h fu-fuck...can I please suck you off, Remmy? W-want you to come down my throat," you stumble over your words, trying hard to keep your head upright as Sirius continues to drill into you, ramming directly into your sweet spot, his cock stretching you out so painfully, so perfectly.

Remus moans at your question. Because fuck were you such a sight for his poor sore eyes.

"Thought you'd never ask..go ahead, sweetheart. Be a good girl and let me fuck your mouth." His hand cups the underside of your jaw, keeping your head up for you.

You open your mouth and stick out your tongue for Remus, inviting him in. His hands tangle in your hair, wasting no time before plunging deep into your throat.

You gag around his length, eyes watering at the sudden intrusion.

Sirius is fucking into you so deeply, his powerful thrust pushing you deeper onto Remus's length.

Gagging and sputtering, you inhale deeply through your nose, adjusting to the pace before opening your throat for Remus.

"Jesus Christ, what a pretty pussy, she's fucking milking me," Sirius spits out, his unrelenting hips still plowing into you.

You can only moan in response, the vibrations running from the back of your throat into Remus's member, causing him to buck his hip, shoving his cock all the way down your throat.

"Such a pretty mouth..wrapped so tight around me..it's-it's so warm..o-oh fuck," Remus rambles, one hand on the back of your head, the other under your chin, holding your mouth open for him.

Your stomach begins to tighten up again, and you desperately clench around Sirius. One of his hands leaves your hips and reaches around to start rubbing vicious circles into your clit.

The added stimulation pushes you over the edge, and you cry out around Remus's cock, tears trickling down your face as your second orgasm rakes through you.

The sight of you succumbing to Sirius's relentless strokes while choking and moaning around his cock was enough to push Remus towards his own release, and he bottoms out in the back of your throat before shooting his come into your mouth.

His hips sputter and he hunches over, holding your face against his pelvis. Your eyes are rolled back in your head, your own squirting orgasm making it difficult for you to keep upright.

Remus pulls out of your mouth with a pop, your aching jaw still agape from Sirius continuing to slam into you, chasing his own orgasm. Your chest falls to the bed, unable to keep yourself up anymore, before you're lifted back up by Remus.

"Stay with me, pretty girl,," Remus coos.

"You're doing so good...let him keep fucking into you. You're taking his cock so well".

Sirius's head falls back, still pounding his hips roughly against your ass.

"I'm gonna fill you up, baby," Sirius pants. You turn your head to protest, but before you can utter a word, Remus's hand covers your mouth.

"Shut up and take my cum, slut. Be a good fuck toy and let me fill you." Sirius says through gritted teeth.

You moan against Remus's hand in response as you feel Sirius release inside of you, his hot, creamy ropes coating your insides.

He thrusts a few more times, letting your tight cunt milk every last drop out of him. When he pulls out, you feel your foundation waiver and you collapse onto the bed, your head falling into Remus's lap.

"You did so, so good for us, princess, lemme have a turn now, yeah?" Remus says, you head resting against his thigh, trying to regain your composure. You can only hum quietly in response, eyes fluttering.

Remus manhandles you and flips you around so that your face is in the mattress and your ass is perked up. He roughly spreads your cheeks apart and slips into your cunt with ease. You moaned out at the feeling of being overstimulated and fucked twice in a row.

“Fucking love this pussy,” He whined in your ear, the desperation nearly sending you over the edge, “Can’t fucking wait to feel you cum ‘round my cock. Do it better than anyone else.”

Remus’s nimble fingers slipped between your legs as kept up his brutal pace, his middle finger rubbing quick circles onto your sensitive, throbbing clit as he angled his hips to hit your G-spot so deliciously you were seeing stars.

The way his cock repeatedly slammed against that sweet spot deep inside you that had you creaming and crying out his name like you wanted someone to hear, and had you fucked utterly dumb.

“‘M close, Remmy — ‘m there!”

“Yeah, give it to me, baby. Let Remmy feel you cum on his cock — yeaaaah, such a good girl.” He coaxed, fingers speeding up ever so slightly and increasing pressure as your eyes rolled back, the coil in your stomach on the brink of snapping as Remus smirked against your neck, pressing open-mouthed hot kisses to your warm skin.

“That’s my girl.”

The phrase that once sent shivers down your spine in shame, was now pushing you over the edge to squirt on his cock.

You cried out in ecstasy as Remus bucked his hips harder into you, his cock driving deeper as you came harder than before, your juices coating this thighs.

“S-shit, baby, you squirtin’ again? Fuckin’ squeezin’ me so tight.” He huffed, grinding his teeth together as you milked his cock, feeling his own orgasm approaching as you writhed on top of him.

“Rem!” You whined, feeling suddenly overstimulated as he continued to ram his hot length into your fluttering walls, your eyes squeezing shut as you gripped his tense forearm.

“Sshh, baby, I’m there, God, ‘M fuckin’ cummin’,” He warned, his face tensing as his mouth fell agape as you clamped down on him once more, “Fuuuck, yeah, that’s it, yeah, take it, take it, take it—!”

Remus was extremely vocal as he let out a low groan, almost growling as he pumped his sticky load deep inside your willing cunt — pushing his cum so deep it squelched out the side of his cock and onto his already soaked thighs.

You whined deeply from your chest as you felt Remus fuck his cum deeper into you, wanting to make sure you took every drop.

“Shiiiit, sweetheart.” Remus laughed as he lifted you off his softening cock with a hiss, “‘Made a fuckin’ mess.”

You looked over to the side to see Sirius heavily panting as he jerked off to the sight of Remus fucking hard into you.

Gosh, it was so obscene, the way he was sweating and practically whimpering as he stared at Remus. These two really needed to fuck each other.

The two men look at each other before looking back down at your fucked out body. Remus rubs your upper back gently as Sirius massages your shaking thighs.

You all sat like that for a moment, relishing in the pleasure still coursing through your veins, the hot smell of sex sitting heavy in the room.

Suddenly, Sirius's deep, sultry voice cuts through the silence. "Don't quit on us now, sugar. We're just getting started," he taunts.

You barely have time to catch your breath before Remus is moving again. He presses a kiss to your temple—soft, deceptive—then pulls back with a look that’s pure wicked.

“You think that was punishment, sweetheart?” he murmurs, voice gravel and heat. “That was nothing but a warm-up.”

Your pulse jumps. That was a warm-up?

Remus crosses the room, opens an old cabinet, and pulls out a length of coarse rope—thick, strong, stained from years of real use. He tests the weight of it in his hands, like a farmer selecting the perfect tool.

Sirius lets out a low whistle. “Told you she was overdue for a real lesson,” he drawls, already shifting behind you. His arms slide around your waist, holding you steady as your body threatens to tremble apart.

“Hold her,” Remus orders, and Sirius grins against your neck.

“With pleasure.”

You don't even resist when Sirius gathers your wrists behind your back, firm but careful, while Remus climbs onto the bed with predator grace.

“We’re gonna tie you open and fuck you in both holes, how about that, baby?” Remus says, voice husky and low as he begins looping the rope around your thighs, spreading you just enough to make your cunt on full display for both men, practically gushing out with their cum.

“Gonna keep you right here, pretty and helpless. Just how you act when you’re trying to get your way.”

Sirius smirks. “No running, no hiding, no bratty little tantrums.”

Remus knots the last tie, then leans down, forehead nearly brushing yours. His voice is a dark, filthy promise against your lips:

“You wanted our attention, baby? You’ve got it. And now—you’re not going anywhere.”

Remus’s smirk deepens, fingers trailing slowly up the inside of your thigh like a warning and a threat all at once.

Sirius leans back, grinning like the devil, his hands still firm on your waist as he murmurs low:

“Buckle the fuck up, sugar—’cause you’re in for one hell of a ride.”

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