kaboompowkablewy

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alright i'll say it!! pillow princess remus lupin. that man has zero muscle tissue, no stamina and a bratty attitude in bed. his partner is doing all the work.

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Moonwater writing notes on each other's hands when they're not in the mood for talking and drawing little stars and moons next to their words.

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god grant me the strength to write my weird porn, the serenity to write my weird porn and the wisdom to write my weird porn

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Remus would record himself eating Reggie out, and later on used them while fucking himself.

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Remus who’s been indoctrinated into Fenrir Greybacks pack (truly or he’s undercover you decide) and present when they travel to Russia and meet up with Antonin Dolohovs pack (cuz Fenrir and Antonin are chill like that) ((and I headcanon Antonin as a werewolf leader, russias just more lax with humanoid magical creatures))

Anyway, Dolohov let’s the new pack stay in his massive mansion because ‘all wolves are pack.’ Remus prowls the halls of the mansion at night due to desperate want for just a second alone and rampant insomnia. And one night, during one of these walks, Remus happens upon Dolohovs pretty little mate. Freshly bartered straight from Europe, Regulus Black. He looks like a luxury. Bathed in milk and frail like porcelain. Remus wonders how a brute like Dolohov hasn’t broken him yet.

Remus thinks himself more civilized, so scared to even touch that he knows he’ll never break him. So… with nothing really left to lose, and Greyback’s ‘reap everything you desire Remus Lupin, you can’t truly live if you don’t let your wolf run’ mantra running through his head, Remus puts it all on the line for just a taste. He doesn’t even think someone like regulus would really go for him, he’s nothing compared to Dolohov. He’s not rich or strong or a powerful leader or anything like that… but regulus surprises him. Absolutely shocks him. Flabber-fucking-gasts him.

Regulus lets Remus touch him. Regulus lets Remus do more than touch him. Regulus smiles that perfect grin and beckons him away in the night for gentle caresses and rough fucking and Remus is drunk on the fine wine he’s being spoon fed. He’s a poor man being gifted milk and honey splendor, how is he expected to keep acting sane? An angel is holding him close, so Remus doesn’t give a right shit if he’s dancing some forbidden tango.

And soon enough, Remus is the happiest sinner on earth because Antonin Dolohov’s bitch is pregnant with his pup. No one knows but them, but when their pup is out there’s no way Dolohov won’t catch another man’s scent on it.

So the newly mated pair decides that the path they found each other on (while they wouldn’t change being forced onto it for the world since they’d have never met any other way) isn’t worth it. This ‘life’ theyre condemned to was the end of the line for both of them. If they runaway together, they can build a new one. They can actually be happy, they can really live. They just have to make it out first.

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continuation of this post → here

Regulus gets his own back for Rem humiliating him by sending his own video to the groupchat, a few days later.

On his knees, Remus is looking up at the camera, his cheeks flushed, a pleading expression adorning his face. His cock straining in tiny blue panties, that leave nothing to the imagination. A matching collar around his neck, the skin near it decorated with hickeys. One tug of his leash and he is crying to be touched. "Please Please Please, I'll do anything. I'm your good puppy, aren't I? fuck! puppy's don't talk, you are right, I'm sorry sir.....woof woof"

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My dick just twitched

rjl in blue panties

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DROOLING

fetishising, chaser behaviour, overstimulation

Barty loves dolling his partners up, girl or boy it doesnt matter he loves seeing them in skirts and panties and torn tights.

Trans masc Regulus was his wet dream come true, regulus looks like a boy but has all the pretty little girl parts for him to toy with.

He loves dolling regulus up, making him strut around in heels, torn tights and a skirt thats so mini you can see the way the growth in the panties pokes out and bulges in its pathetic attempt to mimic a real mans.

He pulls regulus up onto his lap, sucking his little A cup tits, hiking his skirt up and pushing the soaked panties to the side to fuck into his cunt, not caring that reg squirms and cries out.

He'll dip his hand down and play with regs "cock" too, the clit pulsing and jumping with every wave of pleasure that washes over regulus with his orgasm, the squirming doubles when barty doesnt let up.

Throwing them both back, fucking regulus at every angle possible, orgasm after orgasm, hickies and bites lining his pale skin, tights practically string and the mini skirt going squint across regulus hips, hiding nothing and everything in an addicting way.

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BARK!

I remembered I have free will

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as soon as remus gets into the door, and before he can shout his jokey "honey, i'm hooooome", he knows something is up with his husband's day. don't get him wrong, the whole house smells delicious and shostakovich's tenth symphony is blasting through the speakers. but that also means that a lot of stress baking and rage classical music is coming out of regulus.

tiptoeing around as not to disturb, remus gets to their kitchen and has to put both of his hands in front of his mouth to not make a not very manly sound from the adorable view in front of him. regulus is already out of his work clothes, hair washed and combed high in his head (yep. signs of a stress bath too), and a fucking strawberry apron covering his waist.

he doesn't see remus so he sure takes advantage for a few minutes to look. at his husband's long fingers wrapped around a spatula. at his hips slightly tilted to the side. at his strong jaw being flexed even if his face is neutral. at the delicious curve of his neck to his spine. and he can't resist closing the distance between them to wrap his hands around regulus' tiny waist through the apron.

"how about you tell me about these murder plans of yours, love? i'll put the kettle on." remus whispers in his husband's ear, tilting his neck so he can look into his eyes right after. regulus has a bit of flour smeared on his right cheek, but his smile is a half dangerous – half adoring. oh, his boy knows him so well.

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domestic moonwater!!

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Regulus had been suspicious from the start.

Remus was usually the reasonable one between them when it came to packing, the one who calmly reorganized Regulus' last-minute chaos and always surrendered a corner of his carry-on for whatever excessive luxury his boyfriend insisted he needed for the trip, his silk scarf, extra shoes, a hair mask he swore he couldn’t live without. But this time?

“No,” Remus had said firmly, zipping up his sleek black carry-on with finality, standing guard like a dragon before its hoard. “Mine’s full.”

Regulus had blinked. “You always have space.”

“Not this time. Sweaters. Coats. You’ll thank me.”

It was the way he said it, with a nervous sort of edge, as if he’d rehearsed the excuse. And Regulus, ever the bloodhound for secrets, narrowed his eyes.

But the mystery didn’t last much longer. Not after the airport. Not after the gate sign that read OSL - Oslo.

And certainly not after they landed in Tromsø and Regulus looked out at the snow-glazed city stretching beneath them, the air so sharp it nearly sliced into his lungs, and realized where they were.

“You absolute bastard,” Regulus whispered, stunned, blinking into the white. “You brought me to Norway.”

Remus only grinned, a dimple forming under his flushed cheek. “Happy birthday, love.”

They slept in the next morning, tangled under thick covers with the early winter light trying its best to coax them awake through the blackout curtains. Regulus stirred first, his breath fogging the cold air from the cracked window Remus insisted on keeping ajar for “freshness.” They ate lunch wrapped in matching wool scarves, wandering into a tucked-away café where the tea came in mismatched cups and the salmon was the kind that melted on the tongue.

Then, just as the sky began to tip from soft grey to the inky blue of oncoming night, Remus turned to him with a strange glint in his eye.

“I booked us something tonight.”

Regulus narrowed his eyes. “You’re being very cryptic lately.”

They get there and it’s the prettiest thing he has ever seen, a glass globe glowing softly against the snowy dark, inside a constellation of flickering candlelight. Fuzzy cushions and thick blankets were spread out with care, the interior warm and scented faintly of lavender and cinnamon. Regulus lets out a small breath, already half in awe, half in disbelief that this is real.

They sit, knees brushing, and Remus pulls a thermos of warm tea from the mystery backpack, pouring it into the waiting glasses. Regulus takes his gratefully, warming his fingers around it.

And then, when he turns to say something—thank you, I love you, I can’t believe you—he notices them. So many boxes, all different shapes and sizes, arranged in the space between them. Each is carefully wrapped and numbered from 1 to 25.

Remus gives him a sheepish, almost shy smile.

“Twenty-five gifts for your twenty-five years, my love.”

His breath catches.

He opens the first box with trembling fingers. Inside lies a tiny silver rattle pendant on a chain. His eyes dart up to Remus.

“Your birth year,” Remus says gently. “Engraved inside with the date and hour. Just… the start of everything.”

Box four makes him pause. He runs his thumb over the smooth plastic of the cassette and the clunky buttons of the old player before picking up the labeled mixtape.

“You made this?”

“I found all the songs Sirius said your mum played when you were little,” Remus replies, a little grin playing on his lips. “Some French lullabies too. You said she used to sing you to sleep with them.”

Box five is a breathless moment. Regulus unwraps it slowly, reverently, and reveals an original edition of Le Petit Prince, worn but clearly cared for.

His lips part. “This is... this is the exact edition I had.”

“I know,” Remus says softly. “It took forever to find one in that condition. I added a few notes. Just thoughts. I always imagined you underlining bits when you were little.”

He opens box eight and finds a delicate little book filled with pressed wildflowers, each page labeled in Remus’ writing.

“Those are the ones that grew the year you turned eight,” he says. “Sirius told me you used to pick them and hide them in old dictionaries. Said you liked flowers more than football.”

Regulus chokes out a laugh, already blinking back tears.

Box twelve is unexpected, a badge made of ribbon, stitched by hand, reading Spelling Bee Champion.

“You didn’t…”

“I did,” Remus teases, eyes warm. “Because even if the win wasn’t real, the effort was. You told me once you got so close, and then tripped on ‘chevaux’. You’ve never forgotten it.”

Box twenty makes his hands still completely. It’s heavier, and when he opens it, it’s a notebook, one of Remus’, clearly. He recognizes the handwriting instantly. Inside are letters, all dated, all unsent.

“They’re from the year we met,” Remus murmurs, watching him closely. “I wrote them when I was falling in love with you, and too scared to tell you.”

Regulus can’t speak. He just presses his hand over his heart and tries to breathe past the overwhelming feeling cracking open inside him.

Then box twenty-two: a velvet pouch. Inside it, a single smooth gray stone, cool against his palm.

“I picked it up that day we went to the sea, remember?” Remus says. “You skipped it across the waves like it meant nothing. I kept this one.”

Regulus presses his lips together and lets out a shaky breath, the tears now spilling freely down his cheeks. He looks at the final box. Number 25. The last.

He opens it to reveal a wooden box, simple and carefully made, and when he lifts the lid, a ring glints against soft velvet.

Remus reaches for his hand.

“I had my dad help me make it. Because I wanted something that would last, just like this.”

He swallows, his voice rough but steady.

“I want your 25th and your 98th. Will you marry me?”

Regulus cries as he nods, the only answer his heart has ever known.

“Yes,” he whispered. “Yes, yes, you ridiculous, perfect man.”

Above them, the sky flared into greens and violets. Inside, they held each other like a promise made solid, two bodies warm against the glass, wrapped in candlelight and the oldest kind of magic.

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Remus Lupin: Would you still love me if I were a werew-

Regulus Black: Yes, would you still love me if I said my family was in a cult?

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some men just need to be impregnated, and remus lupin is one of them

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Remus Lupin would have the greatest sex of his life at gunpoint.

If Regulus Black had a gun.

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Remus Lupin and his sad, whorish eyes deserve to be studied! Please picture him wearing Hello Kitty panties as you look at this.

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The reaction Remus lupin elicits from all

getting both wet AND hard because i don't let my physical form limit my self expression