papillon-mechant

[papillon-mechant]

spencer reid in criminal minds evolution

[papillon-mechant]

slight nsfw thought for mean!remus. remus and reader are having sex or just finishing. she's on top and about to get off but he stops her and is like "stay for a minute" and just like holds her while she's cockwarming him and she's trying not to read too much into it bc even though it's super intimate she knows it's just a fleeting moment

and i'm definitely not speaking from experience teehee

;))) this ruined me i hope you like it

x

[papillon-mechant]

no actually i keep going back to this and it gets more painful every time

healing touch

'between certainties and doubts' installment & part of the mean!remus agenda, aka a moment from a terrifyingly convoluted teenage situationship between remus lupin and an unidentified Hogwarts student (x fem!reader) wc: 2k  a/n: there’s a lot of him that needs healing, but remus has got to start somewhere. MDNI! this is very much touchy-feely smut, protected p in v, cockwarming… feel free to send requests for them!

—

It’s the sound of the front door rattling off the hinges that wakes Remus from his nap on the couch. Rain is pouring down in heavy sheets outside—falling against the downspout like strikes of lightning.

And then you’re coming through the threshold of his house in a vision of white light, backlit with the sounds of roaring thunder. He rubs at his eyes slowly to see a much better ending to the romcom he fell asleep to earlier. Toeing off your rainboots and shaking your umbrella off in the foyer, you see he’s nestled against his mother’s throw pillows with the TV casting a glow over his tired face—the only light in the dark room.

“Hey,” you coo, shuffling onto the worn carpet that looks like it’s seen better days. Rainwater drips down your face and he blinks up at you because for a moment he finds himself worried that you’re a dream he’s about to wake up from.

“You’re soaked, lovie,” he slurs, voice scratchy with sleep, “Told you not to come up here in this weather.” But still, he tugs at the denim that’s stuck to your body like a coat of paint, the damp seeping through the new cracks in his skin that’s bandaged poorly. It hurts to touch you, but he doesn’t falter, not even for a second.

“It was barely a ten minute walk up the hill, Rem. Wanted to see you,” you mutter, caging your legs over him, afraid of being too much for him to hold onto in his moment of respite, “your mum feeling better? She upstairs?”

He pulls you onto his lap in an effort to warm you up. 

“At work. Been too long without you,” he mumbles, nuzzling into your touch when you brush his hair out of his eyes. 

“It was only three days, baby. Care for a cuddle?” 

You press soft kisses along his jaw until his lips chase after yours, lazy but with intention. He mutters against your lips incoherently, half sleep and half desire, “Want more than a cuddle, lovely girl.”

You gasp, pretending to be scandalized, then laughing at the grin that grows on Remus’s face, “But I’m all wet!”

“N’that the point?”

You smack his face lightly and he closes his eyes and massages your hips, trying to memorize every bump and curve. Remus opens them again when you start to stand up.

“Gonna change. I’m stealing your clothes.”

“Gonna take ‘em off anyway, silly thing,” he smiles, throwing an arm over his eyes at the flash of lightning that comes through the window. He hears you scoff, and then you’re on your feet, slinging your bag over your shoulder and walk off. Remus listens to you move through his house like it’s your own. His mind wanders in the short moments that you’re gone—the sound of a jar hitting the kitchen table, soft pads of your feet going up the stairs, and the creak of his bedroom door. The familiarity you have with his home is as close as it gets to the real thing, he thinks.

And without meaning to, he basks in it, just for a short while.

Trying not to doze off, his brain spirals into thoughts of you—how this…thing would be if it were anymore real than this. The idea is fleeting, but like chasing smoke it comes and goes, without his permission. All he can do is lay there and take the blow. Blinking at the shifting weight on the couch, you’ve come back down the steps in a ratty t-shirt of his and not much else. He smiles, looking surprised even though he was already expecting you.

Remus groans as you settle upon his lap and every bone in his body is aching right now---but he won't dare push you away. He'll gladly carry the weight, and he does, his fingers grasping as much skin of yours that he can—thumbing through the softest parts of your thighs and traveling up past the seat of your underwear, squeezing the flesh of your ass and tugging you where he aches most, now hard and filled with the need for you to kiss him better.

“So now you’re awake, huh?”

“S’like being brought back to life. C’mere,” the sound of his voice comes out muffled as he’s plopped his face between your clothed tits and takes a deep breath of you through worn cotton.

“You sure about this?”

A small foil wrapper is dangling between your fingertips like a prize, swinging in his view like a pendulum of pent up desire—he kisses the hand that holds it, and then nods, “Think it might cure me, actually.” There’s a mischievous grin on your boy’s face now—revitalized just by having you here and your heart skips an extra beat.

Looking at him closely, there’s a new scratch on his cheek about the size of your palm. When you graze it, he grimaces.

“What happened here?”

Remus is already pushing down his joggers and shrugs his shoulders like it doesn’t matter to him anymore. His cock is standing upright, a single bead of precum leaking onto the shaft and trailing down the vein that covers it. There’s much more interest in how heavy it feels resting against your stomach and the idea of fitting so snugly within you is on the forefront of his mind.

“Nicked myself with mum’s garden shears. Tried to fix the trellis out back while she was sick,” Remus mutters. His thick lashes hide the green of his eyes that look anywhere other than your face right now, bandaged hands scrunching up the shirt that adorns your body, to focus on now instead of his few days without you.

“And this?”

Your hips are moving slowly over his cock, moisture from your underwear slicking up the sides and he shudders, eyes fluttering back open when you grasp his chin. Your other hand is holding his poorly bandaged one, pressing soft lips against his injured skin.

“Uh…Had a…” he swallows dryly, “duel against a carrot for the stew a few nights ago. Got me good.”

“Who won?” 

The deadpan expression he gives you is your answer, and he reaches around to smack your ass.

“Clumsy boy. Must’ve been a nightmare growing up.”

Remus laughs stiffly, only remembering how to breathe after he feels your fingers roll the condom onto his cock. Your movements are languid like falling sand in an hourglass. Pulling your panties aside, your eyes lock onto his, shifting slowly like you have all the time in the world—everything else doesn’t matter when you’re here. Not the full moon, not the uncertain future; he has you in his hold and Remus doesn’t feel so empty for once. Sinking onto him, neither do you—the friction beckons him to fill you up in the way that only he can, in the way that only he has.

You are his. 

This is a fact that neither of you want to admit, for very different reasons—but as you begin to rock back and forth on his length, bucking your hips to feel all of him, it feels like an unspoken agreement. It doesn’t need words, though if you could find them, they come out in hushed sighs and tender touches. A caress of your breast, and you leaning down to let him cage yourself against his chest. You kiss it through his shirt, damp with sweat as he hugs you close. 

His heartbeat pulses under the touch of your lips. This isn’t lust anymore, this is…

“My love…my lovely girl…” he gasps, finding the strength to plant his feet onto the couch cushion that is swallowing you both the more you move.

“Rem…mmh! Yes!”

He’s thrusting up into your sopping hole, the squelch proving to be music to his ears. You’re gripping onto his biceps, leaving marks of your own on his skin, the ones left by the moon long forgotten.

“So good to me…Want to be with you all the time.”

Remus is needier than usual, more candid in the way the words slip off his tongue. You groan into his neck, hips stuttering over his and the discord of your efforts—the feeling of you both crashing into that crest has your eyes rolling to the back of your head.

“You like it when I take care of you?” 

The words come out in a whine, sending shockwaves to his brain and he can’t do anything but hang on to the base of your scalp to see your face. He can’t do without looking at you anymore—can’t forget you now that he has you. There’s a white hot sensation that runs through his core the more he buries himself into you, and it almost feels like he could walk to the ends of the earth despite it being a day after the full moon.

Remus would do anything—especially since you feel this good.

“That’s my girl, that’s it…” he huffs, rubbing your back as you convulse. Your pussy tightens dramatically as you come down from the high; watching your pleasure makes him spill into the condom with a final groan.

Life resumes again when you open your eyes and push up on his chest.

“Feel better?”

The both of you start laughing like this is normal—perhaps for the both of you it is. Propping yourself onto your knees, you almost topple back onto him when he doesn’t let go of your waist.

“Wait…” he whispers, closing his eyes. Birds chirp outside the window and you notice the rain finally stopped. “You okay? Too much?”

It’s inexplicable to him how happy he’s been since you came into his life this summer and much more confusing to him that you haven’t left. Here you are, sat on his softening cock, and still looking at him with such care that can’t be labelled. It’d be a dishonor to you if he gets it wrong, he thinks, and this can’t last forever, but for now…

“Stay a bit longer.”

His hands press down on your back so you can lay on his chest, and with it comes a kiss that fills you with something much deeper than how he is now. You want to hold onto this and everything that comes with Remus Lupin for as long as you can.

Later, Mrs. Lupin opens the door to see you both asleep on the couch and tucked under a blanket. The sound of an opening window makes you stir.

“Sorry to wake you dear, want to stay for dinner?”

Nodding sleepily, you get up from the couch with a smile. She recognizes her son’s joggers tied tight around your hips and the t shirt he got from when she dragged him to volunteer at church.

“Glad you’re feeling better! Left some tiger balm on the kitchen table for you to not feel sore,” you say through a yawn. Squeezing you into a hug, she tosses a throw pillow at her son, who groans and rubs at his eyes. When you’re in the bathroom, they speak in hushed tones.

“Remus John, I swear to God if you get her pregnant—”

“Mam! No, not—” he pinches the bridge of his nose, “We’re…safe.” The look of relief on the older woman’s face is her response. Turning to pull ingredients from the fridge, she continues, “Is she your girlfriend now?”

Her son shrugs, taking a seat at the kitchen table, “Something like that. Probably a bad idea,” he mumbles. Hope hits him with a towel, the thwack against his arm making him wince, “And why is that? I like her for you!” The sound of the toilet flushing down the hall makes them pause, and Remus’s fists clench uncomfortably. The reality is that he doesn’t have to say anything for his mother to understand, and there’s a weight in the silence that follows. 

Remus grabs the tin of salve you left on the table and opens it with care. There’s a lot of him that needs healing.

He has to start somewhere.

—

i don't do taglists anymore! follow @ma1dita-mail & turn on post notifs :)

[papillon-mechant]

thanks so much for this i’m gonna go cry my eyes out now 🫶🏾

healing touch

'between certainties and doubts' installment & part of the mean!remus agenda, aka a moment from a terrifyingly convoluted teenage situationship between remus lupin and an unidentified Hogwarts student (x fem!reader) wc: 2k  a/n: there’s a lot of him that needs healing, but remus has got to start somewhere. MDNI! this is very much touchy-feely smut, protected p in v, cockwarming… feel free to send requests for them!

—

It’s the sound of the front door rattling off the hinges that wakes Remus from his nap on the couch. Rain is pouring down in heavy sheets outside—falling against the downspout like strikes of lightning.

And then you’re coming through the threshold of his house in a vision of white light, backlit with the sounds of roaring thunder. He rubs at his eyes slowly to see a much better ending to the romcom he fell asleep to earlier. Toeing off your rainboots and shaking your umbrella off in the foyer, you see he’s nestled against his mother’s throw pillows with the TV casting a glow over his tired face—the only light in the dark room.

“Hey,” you coo, shuffling onto the worn carpet that looks like it’s seen better days. Rainwater drips down your face and he blinks up at you because for a moment he finds himself worried that you’re a dream he’s about to wake up from.

“You’re soaked, lovie,” he slurs, voice scratchy with sleep, “Told you not to come up here in this weather.” But still, he tugs at the denim that’s stuck to your body like a coat of paint, the damp seeping through the new cracks in his skin that’s bandaged poorly. It hurts to touch you, but he doesn’t falter, not even for a second.

“It was barely a ten minute walk up the hill, Rem. Wanted to see you,” you mutter, caging your legs over him, afraid of being too much for him to hold onto in his moment of respite, “your mum feeling better? She upstairs?”

He pulls you onto his lap in an effort to warm you up. 

“At work. Been too long without you,” he mumbles, nuzzling into your touch when you brush his hair out of his eyes. 

“It was only three days, baby. Care for a cuddle?” 

You press soft kisses along his jaw until his lips chase after yours, lazy but with intention. He mutters against your lips incoherently, half sleep and half desire, “Want more than a cuddle, lovely girl.”

You gasp, pretending to be scandalized, then laughing at the grin that grows on Remus’s face, “But I’m all wet!”

“N’that the point?”

You smack his face lightly and he closes his eyes and massages your hips, trying to memorize every bump and curve. Remus opens them again when you start to stand up.

“Gonna change. I’m stealing your clothes.”

“Gonna take ‘em off anyway, silly thing,” he smiles, throwing an arm over his eyes at the flash of lightning that comes through the window. He hears you scoff, and then you’re on your feet, slinging your bag over your shoulder and walk off. Remus listens to you move through his house like it’s your own. His mind wanders in the short moments that you’re gone—the sound of a jar hitting the kitchen table, soft pads of your feet going up the stairs, and the creak of his bedroom door. The familiarity you have with his home is as close as it gets to the real thing, he thinks.

And without meaning to, he basks in it, just for a short while.

Trying not to doze off, his brain spirals into thoughts of you—how this…thing would be if it were anymore real than this. The idea is fleeting, but like chasing smoke it comes and goes, without his permission. All he can do is lay there and take the blow. Blinking at the shifting weight on the couch, you’ve come back down the steps in a ratty t-shirt of his and not much else. He smiles, looking surprised even though he was already expecting you.

Remus groans as you settle upon his lap and every bone in his body is aching right now---but he won't dare push you away. He'll gladly carry the weight, and he does, his fingers grasping as much skin of yours that he can—thumbing through the softest parts of your thighs and traveling up past the seat of your underwear, squeezing the flesh of your ass and tugging you where he aches most, now hard and filled with the need for you to kiss him better.

“So now you’re awake, huh?”

“S’like being brought back to life. C’mere,” the sound of his voice comes out muffled as he’s plopped his face between your clothed tits and takes a deep breath of you through worn cotton.

“You sure about this?”

A small foil wrapper is dangling between your fingertips like a prize, swinging in his view like a pendulum of pent up desire—he kisses the hand that holds it, and then nods, “Think it might cure me, actually.” There’s a mischievous grin on your boy’s face now—revitalized just by having you here and your heart skips an extra beat.

Looking at him closely, there’s a new scratch on his cheek about the size of your palm. When you graze it, he grimaces.

“What happened here?”

Remus is already pushing down his joggers and shrugs his shoulders like it doesn’t matter to him anymore. His cock is standing upright, a single bead of precum leaking onto the shaft and trailing down the vein that covers it. There’s much more interest in how heavy it feels resting against your stomach and the idea of fitting so snugly within you is on the forefront of his mind.

“Nicked myself with mum’s garden shears. Tried to fix the trellis out back while she was sick,” Remus mutters. His thick lashes hide the green of his eyes that look anywhere other than your face right now, bandaged hands scrunching up the shirt that adorns your body, to focus on now instead of his few days without you.

“And this?”

Your hips are moving slowly over his cock, moisture from your underwear slicking up the sides and he shudders, eyes fluttering back open when you grasp his chin. Your other hand is holding his poorly bandaged one, pressing soft lips against his injured skin.

“Uh…Had a…” he swallows dryly, “duel against a carrot for the stew a few nights ago. Got me good.”

“Who won?” 

The deadpan expression he gives you is your answer, and he reaches around to smack your ass.

“Clumsy boy. Must’ve been a nightmare growing up.”

Remus laughs stiffly, only remembering how to breathe after he feels your fingers roll the condom onto his cock. Your movements are languid like falling sand in an hourglass. Pulling your panties aside, your eyes lock onto his, shifting slowly like you have all the time in the world—everything else doesn’t matter when you’re here. Not the full moon, not the uncertain future; he has you in his hold and Remus doesn’t feel so empty for once. Sinking onto him, neither do you—the friction beckons him to fill you up in the way that only he can, in the way that only he has.

You are his. 

This is a fact that neither of you want to admit, for very different reasons—but as you begin to rock back and forth on his length, bucking your hips to feel all of him, it feels like an unspoken agreement. It doesn’t need words, though if you could find them, they come out in hushed sighs and tender touches. A caress of your breast, and you leaning down to let him cage yourself against his chest. You kiss it through his shirt, damp with sweat as he hugs you close. 

His heartbeat pulses under the touch of your lips. This isn’t lust anymore, this is…

“My love…my lovely girl…” he gasps, finding the strength to plant his feet onto the couch cushion that is swallowing you both the more you move.

“Rem…mmh! Yes!”

He’s thrusting up into your sopping hole, the squelch proving to be music to his ears. You’re gripping onto his biceps, leaving marks of your own on his skin, the ones left by the moon long forgotten.

“So good to me…Want to be with you all the time.”

Remus is needier than usual, more candid in the way the words slip off his tongue. You groan into his neck, hips stuttering over his and the discord of your efforts—the feeling of you both crashing into that crest has your eyes rolling to the back of your head.

“You like it when I take care of you?” 

The words come out in a whine, sending shockwaves to his brain and he can’t do anything but hang on to the base of your scalp to see your face. He can’t do without looking at you anymore—can’t forget you now that he has you. There’s a white hot sensation that runs through his core the more he buries himself into you, and it almost feels like he could walk to the ends of the earth despite it being a day after the full moon.

Remus would do anything—especially since you feel this good.

“That’s my girl, that’s it…” he huffs, rubbing your back as you convulse. Your pussy tightens dramatically as you come down from the high; watching your pleasure makes him spill into the condom with a final groan.

Life resumes again when you open your eyes and push up on his chest.

“Feel better?”

The both of you start laughing like this is normal—perhaps for the both of you it is. Propping yourself onto your knees, you almost topple back onto him when he doesn’t let go of your waist.

“Wait…” he whispers, closing his eyes. Birds chirp outside the window and you notice the rain finally stopped. “You okay? Too much?”

It’s inexplicable to him how happy he’s been since you came into his life this summer and much more confusing to him that you haven’t left. Here you are, sat on his softening cock, and still looking at him with such care that can’t be labelled. It’d be a dishonor to you if he gets it wrong, he thinks, and this can’t last forever, but for now…

“Stay a bit longer.”

His hands press down on your back so you can lay on his chest, and with it comes a kiss that fills you with something much deeper than how he is now. You want to hold onto this and everything that comes with Remus Lupin for as long as you can.

Later, Mrs. Lupin opens the door to see you both asleep on the couch and tucked under a blanket. The sound of an opening window makes you stir.

“Sorry to wake you dear, want to stay for dinner?”

Nodding sleepily, you get up from the couch with a smile. She recognizes her son’s joggers tied tight around your hips and the t shirt he got from when she dragged him to volunteer at church.

“Glad you’re feeling better! Left some tiger balm on the kitchen table for you to not feel sore,” you say through a yawn. Squeezing you into a hug, she tosses a throw pillow at her son, who groans and rubs at his eyes. When you’re in the bathroom, they speak in hushed tones.

“Remus John, I swear to God if you get her pregnant—”

“Mam! No, not—” he pinches the bridge of his nose, “We’re…safe.” The look of relief on the older woman’s face is her response. Turning to pull ingredients from the fridge, she continues, “Is she your girlfriend now?”

Her son shrugs, taking a seat at the kitchen table, “Something like that. Probably a bad idea,” he mumbles. Hope hits him with a towel, the thwack against his arm making him wince, “And why is that? I like her for you!” The sound of the toilet flushing down the hall makes them pause, and Remus’s fists clench uncomfortably. The reality is that he doesn’t have to say anything for his mother to understand, and there’s a weight in the silence that follows. 

Remus grabs the tin of salve you left on the table and opens it with care. There’s a lot of him that needs healing.

He has to start somewhere.

—

i don't do taglists anymore! follow @ma1dita-mail & turn on post notifs :)

[papillon-mechant]

window shopping

'between certainties and doubts' installment & part of the mean!remus agenda, aka a moment from a terrifyingly convoluted teenage situationship between remus lupin and an unidentified Hogwarts student (x fem!reader) wc: 1.3k  a/n: a day trip with remus takes a bit of a turn. slight-mdni, talk about sex toys and him imagining you) anyways spencer's existed back then, but wasn't in the uk....but i don't care, fuck accuracy enjoy! feel free to send requests for them!

—

The car horn blares out front, making you drop your mascara tube and sending it rolling across the floor of your grandmother’s guest room.

“Shit,” you mutter, bending down from the vanity to reach for it in your rush to meet Remus downstairs.

He honks again, for longer this time—your head crashes against the wood of the desk and you howl in alarm.

“Darling, I think your boy is waiting for you outside! He’s gonna scare the neighbors!” Even so, you can hear the smile in her voice wafting up from the kitchen, the smell of cinnamon rolls spreading through the house.

“Tell him off Mimi! Almost ready,” you call out as you scramble to powder your face before leaving. By the time you’ve slipped your sandals on and checked yourself in the mirror for the last (fifteenth) time, you catch the tail end of your grandmother squeezing Remus’ reddening cheeks as he idles in the doorway.

“Could hear you speeding down the hill even without my hearing aids on,” she says with a sparse laugh, the years she’s lived folding into the creases that carry her smile, “Be safe you two, and get back here in one piece!”

“Yes, Mi. See you later,” he says with a grin, pulling you by the hand and intertwining your fingers as you release yourself from the old woman’s hold. You skip down the pathway with matching excitement and then he’s holding the car door open to let you slip in.

When he makes it around the car to get to the driver’s seat, you’ve pulled the car mirror down and open to finish your makeup, applying your blush and lip liner. The car starts with a roar, black smoke popping out from the exhaust. He’s shaking his head and chuckling as he looks back toward the road.

“What?” you say, eyes darting between the side of his face and the extreme focus it takes to smear your lips in a smooth coat of gloss.

“‘ve already seen you. No need for all of that, lovely. You look pretty today,” he reasons, a rough hand making its way over the console to play with the threads of your denim skirt. Smirking, you shut the mirror and flip the visor back up. You squeeze your thighs around his hand on what must be instinct or muscle memory, or both.

“I’m doing this to look good for myself, you know? Not everything’s about you,” you tease, your tongue rolling against the skin of your teeth to hold back a smile. The music is low in the background, the lush green hills of the Welsh countryside stretching out as far as you can see across the horizon. Remus rolls his eyes at that, grabbing your hand that’s still clutching your lipgloss tube and pressing a kiss against it. The other is still rubbing at what’s sure to become a bump on your head from earlier.

“S’that?”

“You rushing me earlier. Hit myself on a knob.”

It barely hurts anymore, just stings when you prod at it—but Remus is pulling over into the grass and you look at him in confusion, “Rem?”

He’s flipped the blinkers on and tugs you toward him to kiss your temple right where it hurts. You swear it’s like slathering the bump with Bruisewart balm, or maybe your brain’s done a hard reset at the feeling of his lips on your skin. When your eyes flutter open, he’s pressed another on your nose. You’re giggling now, and he seals the sound with a kiss on your lips—nevermind the fact his own now shimmer sweetly once he pulls back to look at you.

“Hi,” he murmurs, face stretching to a grin as you swipe his mouth with your thumb softly.

“Get back on the road, Lupin.”

—

“Civilization!”

Remus is pulling into the parking lot of the mall about an hour later, and you look like you’re ready to jump out the window and kiss the concrete. It’s been weeks since you’ve seen anything that resembles the city, and this outing is proof of that.

No one would want to be stuck in the countryside of Mold forever, after all.

“Alright, come on now,” he says, looping his arm with yours and the car locks with a beep beep!

Window shopping can actually be quite fun, Remus realizes—as the many times he’s done it before with his mam was because they were short on money, or when he’s with his boys, he’d have to tussle for them to not buy him things. His pockets had always been a bit lighter than most, especially considering that he goes to one of the most prestigious wizarding schools in the world.

He’s gotten used to it—but now he’s finding the fun in traipsing through stores with you and trying stupid things on for the hell of it. Neither of you are planning to buy anything from Selfridges, but he does enjoy sitting outside the waiting room and watching you come out in different outfits like it’s his own private show.

Of course, he sneaks backstage for a bit when the attendant goes on break.

Both your feet ache by the time you’ve made your way to the top floor of the mall, and still you look at everything in wonder. There’s a tiny assortment of things you purchased for your siblings in paper bags around the arm that Remus isn’t holding onto you with.

“What is this? Knockturn Alley?” he mumbles as you walk through the doorway of Spencer’s Gifts. The neon lighting casts a purple and red sheen on your hair as you walk past the walls of shirts and novelty items without looking back.

“It’s a fun store, Rem. Like Muggle Zonko’s.”

One second, he’s looking up at an iridescent lava lamp and marijuana leaves printed on shot glasses and the next second—you’re gone. The music is blaring overhead and Remus squints, looking over the tops of the aisles to try to see you in the dark store.

Merlin, they should turn the lights up in here.

He finds you in the corner, squeezing your shoulder, “Can’t run away like that, lovely. Thought I lost you.” Turning to him with a mischievous look, you pout jokingly, “Aww, is wittle Remus scared of the dark?” He scoffs and pokes at your side, hugging you from behind and nuzzling your hair.

“Whatcha lookin’ at any—Oh.”

You’re scanning over a wall of personal care items, a bunch of things he’s never seen or never even imagined, though he’s definitely accidentally kicked open the small box under Sirius’ bed in the dorm. Nothing compares to what he’s seeing here though—machines shaped like roses, glowing silicone, throat-numbing spray and—Holy Helga, that can fit in where?

You’re not facing him, hands securing his on your stomach as you arch your back toward him and he knows in his gut and the burning sensation that’s rising in his core that you’re getting such joy from throwing him off-guard like this.

“Needed to get new batteries for my rabbit. Or maybe something new, as a treat?”

“For who?” he smirks, stamping a kiss onto your collarbone at the idea of you playing with yourself in your nan’s guest room, fingers slick as you rub against your toy and muffle your moans into your pillow.

Or maybe you moan into the quiet of the night, knowing no one can hear. Remus’ throat dries up like a desert in an instant.

“Earth to Remus.”

“Hmm?” he mumbles, clearing his throat. His jeans are uncomfortably tight, firm against your backside as you crane your head up to look at him, “Ready to go?”

He grabs the small, pink bullet out of your hand and places it back on the shelf—picking out a blue remote controlled one instead, with his other hand still grazing your waist.

And then he makes his first and only purchase of the day.

—

i don't do taglists anymore!! follow @ma1dita-mail & turn on notifs :))

[papillon-mechant]

basic chemistry

'between certainties and doubts' installment  part of the mean!remus agenda, aka a moment from a terrifyingly convoluted teenage situationship between remus lupin and an unidentified Hogwarts student (x fem!reader) wc: 2.5k a/n: amortentia fic!! they don't know that we know what they don't know! this kept me sane during finals, hope you enjoy! bit angsty, unedited. feel free to send requests for them!

—

“So is it true?”

The chair underneath you scrapes against the cobblestone as Pandora’s voice catches you by surprise. There are fifteen minutes before Advanced Potions starts, and the room is absolutely empty, save for Professor Slughorn phasing in and out of his office with two armfuls of scrolls in tow. Suddenly the blanket of peace that you’ve wrapped around your shoulders this morning feels like it’s been ripped from you—as a lot of things have in the wake of becoming the center of the rumor mill for everyone in your year.

“You’re mad if you believe that shit, Dora.”

“S’why I’m asking you. And I’m mad regardless of that,” she says with a smirk that makes her eyes glint in the candlelight, “Did you or did you not puke on Remus Lupin’s trousers at the party last week?”

“Is that what they’re all saying?”

A thick strand of blonde hair falls over her face, the color of a sunbeam—your best friend is grinning now as she scoots her stool closer to yours, “Some. I was going to ask you if you shagged him next.”

Your eyes lift up from the desk and you sniff, “I did not, for your information. I was drunk out of my mind.”

Technically that’s true. The drunk part at least—and you didn’t shag him. But you did sleep with him, next to him. All you remember of what happened after is faint breath against your neck and waking up to an empty bed. That time, he left before you did.

But the only thing consistent about it was that you ended things alone.

The door to the dark classroom flies open, and students start filing in, some with their eyes flickering to you and Pandora’s desk in the front of the room. Even with your head turned you could feel the weight of their stares and hear the hushed whispers no matter how much you tried to block them out. It’s been a week of dodging fake niceties and a week of Remus trying to make it up to you.

Of course, another thing you both have been consistent about is the inability of having a real conversation.

Professor Slughorn glides in with Remus in tow, his posture as stiff as a board. They’re murmuring to each other and even if you don’t mean to—you find yourself distracted by him and try to listen in.

“Well if you didn’t sleep with him, why’d he run after you through the portrait hole after you kicked him in his family jewels?”

“What?”

Your focus rips back to the blonde, who’s grinning now. She caught you staring at Remus’ back—and the sound of your voice makes him turn away from the lecture Slughorn is droning on about.

Your eyes lock.

Like a riptide, he pulls you in and draws back without a warning and without asking. You only start breathing again after you force yourself to look away. But it only took that singular moment for it to click in both Pandora and the professor’s heads from their vantage point at the front of the room.

“Ah yes, I have an excellent idea my boy—for this lesson, we’ll try something new,” the ghost chuckles, going to pat Remus’ shoulder, in which his hand phases right through to the boy’s rapidly beating heart. “You are a bright boy, Mr. Lupin. But you have to want it. Passing Advanced Potions will be an asset to your Auror registration, if you’re following in your friends’ footsteps!”

“I’m still not sure actually, pro–”

“Uh-uh,” Slughorn tuts, “nonetheless, you must not give up! Miss Rosier,” he says, floating over to your desk, “will you do me the pleasure of being Mr. Potter’s partner for the day?”

“Anything for you, professor,” she smiles sweetly to her head of house, before shooting you a look and gathering her satchel.

“But professor! Moony’s essentially my sous chef,” James bellows from the doorway as he falls onto his stool.

“The sooner you both stop looking at this Potions classroom as a test kitchen for mayhem, the sooner you’ll have better marks in this class!” They continue to lightheartedly argue and Pandora eventually wrangles James back into the seat she took next to him.

“Can’t even cook,” you mutter under your breath. Remus is gently setting his stuff down next to you like he’s trying not to set off a bomb, but smiles softly. It’s the first time you’ve addressed him since the party. Your body language tells him you’re still upset, or worse—that he can’t fix whatever he broke within you that night, but he’s trying in his own way. Brushing against you in any way he can in the halls, treats from the kitchen delivered by the house elves, and waking up early to feed the toads before you run Frog Choir practice, no matter how much they freak him out.

“I’ve always been better under your direction.”

It has been a long, agonizing week without his calm. And Remus reckons he’d do anything to have you back, if only you’d spare him a proper glance, even though you’re already hunched over the same desk.

“Amortentia! The potion that emulates the feeling of being in love,” your professor sighs dreamily as he walks between and through the desks and classically spirals into a tangent. He makes a point to walk through Sirius who reacts with a full body chill, making Dorcas snort beside him at the sight. The rest of the words go blurry in your head. You just have to get through this class, and everything will go back to normal—whatever that is must be better than giving Remus the cold shoulder.

“But be warned, my students—Amortentia will never be able to replicate true love. People spend most of their lives trying to find that feeling. And let me tell you right now, that it won’t be at the bottom of a vial,” he says knowingly. At the table next to you, Severus cracks his knuckles and looks uncomfortable. Lily Evans looks up from her notetaking to glance at him from afar, before turning back to Emmeline.

Everyone starts moving around you two, and you slowly push yourself up from the stool, “I’ll get the Ashwinder eggs. Start cutting the thorns of the roses,” you say simply. The tone of your voice makes Remus’ smile drop.

You’ve had a lot of time to think in your week of being Remus-free. But you’ve realized that he’s everywhere you can see, even when you’re not looking for him. Even when people stop their conversations when you walk past, or the tense silence that follows when you both walk into the same room, Remus Lupin is in the way you drink coffee in the mornings with a square of chocolate. He’s in the grass stains on your favorite jeans after laying in the field to read a book. Moonbeams through windowpanes on walks after dinner, and crescent-shaped indents in your palm because he’s not there to hold your hand. Worst of all, he’s even there when you close your eyes and tuck yourself into bed at night—the missing shape of him against your backside like a phantom pain you can’t quell with any spell you’ve learned at school or potion Madame Pomfrey can prescribe.

And now he’s here and looking worse for wear. Tired and sullen, with bags under his eyes like he always looks around the middle of the month when all his responsibilities and problems catch up to him. Maybe his mum is sick again, though you’d really like to think he’s losing sleep over you for just this once.

The bowl of Ashwinder eggs clink onto the desk with a sizzle once you’ve made it back to him.

And the lesson continues.

“Is this how it’s going to be?” Remus mutters, looking like a kicked puppy from the view you have of him in your peripherals.

“I don’t know what you mean,” you say simply, slipping your dragonhide gloves on and cracking three of the eggs into the cauldron with practiced ease. The glow coming from the mixture makes your face glow warm like sunlight in the dreary dungeons, he notices, momentarily distracted, and then he tries again.

“Cariad, what more can I do to make it up to—”

A gloved hand catches his wrist before he nicks himself with the blade, “Watch. Be careful. Eight rose thorns, and then stir for fifteen minutes counterclockwise.”

“You’ve always been better at this,” he mumbles. Not like another scar would’ve done anything— he’s had worse after all. But not like this. The simple touch is not enough. He wants to feel your skin again, wants it all back now that he can’t have it. He supposes that’s the cruelty of his fate, being sat next to you and not being able to do anything about it.

You pass him one of your gloves wordlessly, nodding in agreement as you remember the sun-soaked afternoons in Hope’s kitchen, a mess of flour and something always burning on the stove because he’s too busy kissing your neck or getting invested in the stupid magazines you read aloud to him.

“Potions is like basic chemistry,” you swallow, cleaning the leftover stems as he makes smooth chops over the sharp edges, “Everything needs to be precise and accurate for it to work, or else the results will be unexpected.” He gets a whiff of your perfume and feels like he can breathe again, the pearl dust erupting in a plume of sparkling smoke, making you cough.

Immediately, he drops the knife and rubs your back in gentle circles with his bare fingers coming up to rest at the nape of your neck without a second thought.

“Moony! You smell anything yet?” Peter calls out from his station across the room, accidentally dropping whole pearls into his cauldron and making Evan pinch the bridge of his nose in frustration.

Right. You’re not alone.

He drops his hand then, biting his lip as he starts to stir, “Never understood it. Chemistry. The reactions are incomprehensible to me, I suppose, like magic.” Remus feels like he’s talking to himself, but he knows you’re listening with the way you watch him slide on the glove.

The only sound at your table is that of the ladle clanking against the side of the cauldron in steady, measured motions, just as you’ve taught him.

—

“What a lovely sheen!” Professor Slughorn gushes, inspecting the contents of the cauldron in front of you. The fire burns low underneath it, a simmering bubble releasing a scent that wafts over its onlookers, you with eyes frozen onto the hardwood of the table, Remus staring at it curiously, and the professor who clearly thinks pairing you two up is the best idea he’s had in months.

“And the smell! Truly wonderful! I think you and Mr. Lupin have earned his first O for this course. Lovely work, you two!”

Remus is grinning proudly, hand going out to squeeze your thigh under the table and you flinch, blinking away any wetness that’s pooled in your eyes—the L word has you shaken about the other L word you’re coming to realize. Bells ring overhead and you grab your things, leaving him in the dark swirl of your school robes.

“Actually liked that lesson,” James chuckles, the other two boys dragging their feet behind him as everyone starts to leave the dungeons, “Maybe you should stay away from me more often Moony. Rosier isn’t half as bad as her twin.”

“He’s really not!” Peter pipes up, “Though I think I’m more scared of Pandora.” Sirius laughs next to the blond boy, helping him with his bag, “So is he.”

Remus hasn’t said a word, stuffing scrolls and half-bent quills into his knapsack and Peter shoves his shoulder, “So? What’d you smell?”

It was a peculiar situation, Remus will admit, as he looks up at his boys and shrugs, “Didn’t smell anything.”

Three resounding gasps of confusion arise as the Marauders look at their friend in utter confusion. Sirius scoffs, “Funny man you are, surely you must’ve smelled something.”

The green-eyed boy shakes his head again, “I didn’t smell anything. Honest. Maybe it’s a placebo or something.”

James rolls his eyes, “You and your secrets. Actually how does Slughorn smell if he’s dead?” The boys fall into a conversation of their own, and Peter hands Remus the glove left on the table, “Oh don’t forget this!”

“Thanks Wormy,” he sniffs going to clear his cauldron, and for a split second his eyes look up to see you crossing the threshold with Pandora and Evan. He can smell the notes of your perfume from all the way across the room as well as the Cadbury Milks he’s asked his mam to mail him sitting in the bottom of his bag—he’ll give them to you later if he’s still feeling well. The full moon is tomorrow night, and every sense of his is elevated, he reasons. With a tap and swish of his wand, the air feels different as the magic evaporates—musty and frigid, unlike the warmth it held before.

“So what was that?”

“Drop it, Dora,” you grumble as you walk briskly down the hall with the twins hanging off of you.

“Oh no, I saw it too,” Evan teases as he pokes at your side, “There’s a lot of tension there. Either you want to kill him or fuck him.” He only laughs when his twin slaps him upside the head for his crudeness, running off to join Severus and Regulus, since the younger boy’s been waiting for them in the hall.

“He won’t say anything. You know him,” Pandora says, making you take a deep breath as you blink tiredly.

“I know. I just don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

“Last thing I’ll say and then I’ll drop it. Pinky swear,” she says with a comforting smile as she links your fingers together, swinging them between you with every step. The crowded hallway begins to thin as you both walk toward the Ravenclaw common room to play Exploding Snaps with Xeno before dinner.

“If you must.”

“The way you look at him, honey. That’s not nothing,” your best friend says, tugging at your arm that suddenly feels like jelly under her touch—but she brings you back to earth as she says, “Alright, subject change. What did you smell in the amortentia?”

You sigh and take a deep breath again as if you’re still in front of the bubbling cauldron and the cloud of sparkles that got into Remus’ hair. The smile on his face that was too knowing, too intimate for acquaintances in the eyes of the rest of Hogwarts’ student population. It made your stomach twist into knots and your heart drop even further, fall even more at the confirmation of what you already knew months prior.

“I couldn’t place the smell,” you say cautiously, almost as if resigning to the truth, “but it reminded me of summer.”

—

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[papillon-mechant]

bored at work. send in some dealer!remus x strawberry thoughts ❤️

[papillon-mechant]

written all over your face

'between certainties and doubts' installment  part of the mean!remus agenda, aka a moment from a terrifyingly convoluted teenage situationship between remus lupin and an unidentified Hogwarts student (x fem!reader)  wc: 2k  a/n: the stupid map is almost mocking him now that school’s back in session. since when were you so popular…with everyone?? jealousy trope, some self-deprecation from remus as usual, surprise at the end. feel free to send requests for them!

—

Messrs Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs

Purveyors of Aids to Magical Mischief-Makers

are proud to present…

THE MARAUDER'S MAP

“Come on mate, you’ve been staring at that thing for hours—it still says the same thing,” James drones from his spot on the floor, “Or at least it should, last I checked.”

Silence is his response, and a paper ball that suspiciously looks like Peter’s Transfiguration homework hits the bridge of his nose, effectively breaking his reverie. He takes a glance down at the crumpled scribbles, and tuts.

“P, you spelled Grindelwald wrong. Two Ls,” he squints harder, “same with McGonagall—how’d you miss that?” 

“Listen Moony, I’m good at actual Transfiguration,” the blond groans as Remus passes the poorly straightened parchment back down to him, a pale cheek resting on the wooden foot of the bed, “jus’ dunno why we have to write so much about it. Maybe Minnie hates me and wants me to die.” James snorts at the notion, “Don’t say that Wormy, we’d be much less entertaining without you!”

“And far less entertained as well,” Sirius scoffs against his pillow as he wordlessly turns James’ hair different colors with subtle swishes of his wand—green, then blue, then red, before the bespectacled boy looks up and shrieks. Contrary to popular belief, James Fleamont Potter is much more touchy about his hair than Sirius is—being the heir to the Sleakeazy’s empire does that to you; not a hair out of place growing up in more ways than one. The noise distracts Remus from his earlier task and the furrow in his brow deepens as he taps the bewitched parchment once more with his wand.

Messr Padfoot would like Messr Moony to know that the special missus is still on her way to the Great Hall with Kingsley Shacklebolt, as she was the last time he checked five minutes ago. 

Remus’s eyes flicker toward the actual Padfoot currently lazily flipping through his stack of records for something to play.

Sometimes their charmwork was more perceptive than they were. The guilt eats at Remus whenever he closes his eyes—hiding the secret of you from the boys that have accepted him body, soul, and wolf makes his head hurt when he thinks too much. Which he always does.

And now he’s thinking about how he’s more worried about what their reaction would be—would they think him to be foolish? Unkind, for stringing you along, a forever so forbidden to him that Remus can’t even fathom what a future with you would look like.

He won’t let himself get that far. To do that would be a death worse than the fate he’s been handed for this life. But he’s not alone—and for now, that works completely fine enough.

He hasn’t been listening to the conversation, their chatter going in one ear and out the other, and James notices.

“I dunno, red might be a good look on me,” he chortles, “Whatcha think, Moony?”

The words are almost branded into the back of his brain for how long he’s been staring at this stupid map. 

It’s like it’s mocking him. 

Messr Padfoot thinks Messr Moony should just grow a pair and ask the bird out. 

Messr Wormtail agrees, and thinks that maybe she’d like flowers. Not button mums though, save those for when you go crying to mummy about how you waited too long and missed your chance.

Perish the thought—the magic taking form in the personality of his three best friends—his brothers, if he were ever fortunate to have any, ribbing at Remus’ misfortune of being so protective over a girl he can’t even call his. He’s been hogging the blasted thing since they got back for the start of fall term, and is starting to run out of excuses for why it’s still in his possession whenever he sneaks around Hogwarts. Prefect duty is barely an excuse since James got promoted.

“Remmy boy, are you even listening to a word we’re saying, mate?”

He shakes his head of the reverie he’s put himself in, the sounds of you cooing his name in the dark of night echoing in the blood that rushes through his ears (and other things). But to the boys—that was as much of a response Remus has given them in the past two hours. 

He’s too busy following the trail of tiny footprints with your name floating above it. 

Messr Prongs thinks Messr Moony is a right idiot and can’t believe that he’s gonna let a numpty like Shacklebolt steal his girl?

All of them groan playfully, eyes flickering among the three until suddenly, they dogpile onto the brunet who feels the added weight in the creaking of his bones (and his bed—this thing is about to smash into pieces).

“Blimey. Siblings or dating is what it looks like, is that what you want me to say?” Remus huffs frustratedly, a tangle of dirty socks and elbows in his face as he pushes them off one by one—Sirius somehow still makes a spot for himself, denim-covered arse on Remus’ pillow (which he’ll need to remind himself to change the sheets later).

“Who pissed in your cereal this morning, Moony? There will be ginger Potters running around one day, I’ll make sure of it!”

“Godric forbid, Prongs. Sounds like a threat!” Peter grins.

“Why are you here again? And making so much unnecessary noise? Don’t you have a swanky dormitory that you could be snogging your girlfriend in, Mr. Head Boy?”

“If I had that privilege, I’d take advantage of the amenities—” Sirius waggles his eyebrows to all of them then interjecting, “WE KNOW!”

Sorry, not Messr Moony’s girl. Since he gets so touchy about the specifics.

The parchment is plucked out of Remus’ reach, and with it, his intentions of finding out what exactly your business is with Kingsley Shacklebolt. And Edgar Bones. And Dorcas Meadowes and Pandora Rosier too, for the hell of it. Those girls have been glaring at him since passing the Marauders’ train car on the Hogwarts Express and Remus thinks they know something they’re definitely not supposed to.

Fuck, he’s really got to get his head on straight about what to do with you. A few ideas come to mind, the visage of you swathed in summer so far away from his reach now, when the future was something he could meld with his fingertips and kiss into your skin.

“I just miss the old times,” James says amidst the laughter that fills the cramped dormitory, “This, all of us—when everything was so much easier. Can’t blame a guy for wanting it all back now that the real world is creeping in on us.”

The comment almost evaporates into thin air, a moment of contemplation before Sirius and Peter are whacking him so hard with pillows that the down feathers sprinkle down overhead like freshly fallen snow.

For a moment it feels like back then.

And Remus finds himself missing moments he’ll probably never get again.

With no time for excuses, he snatches the cloak slung across James’ bag and storms out of there as fast he can. 

“Can I borrow this? Thanksmatebebacklater—Got something important to do!”

—

Remus’ pops out from behind a column and you swear there was no possible way he could’ve been there as you walked past seconds prior. 

“Merli—Mmf!”

The cool concrete makes you flinch as you’re backed into it and Remus is kissing you senseless, almost as if he has something to prove.

And laughter bubbles up his throat, spilling into your smile when he realizes you’re kissing him back. You can taste it off his lips, raw from being gnawed on and a smidge of chocolate he nibbled on his sprint here to make himself feel better

Kissing you has done that and more—soothing the aching feeling he’s had in his chest all week. You’re not pushing him away and clearly not stumbling into shadowy corners with anyone else but him. Remus is pressing you against the wall so firmly that if you were a ghost you might phase through it. But it’s delicious to be devoured like this, much more so when he does it like a man starved. He’s propping one of his knees between yours when you break away in a daze, lips swollen and slick that they mirror the candlelight twinkling off your eyes.

“Not that I’m complaining, but what the hell has gotten into you?”

There’s a stupid smile on your face that has his name on it when he sighs so loudly it wracks through his whole body in a wave of desperation.

“Do you know how fucking hard it is to get you alone these days?”

Blinking slowly, your eyes flicker back down to his lips with a smirk, and his index finger pushes your chin up so you look at him again, “Lovely, eyes up here.”

“You’re jealous.”

“I…” Remus shakes his head slowly at first, then rapidly as the insinuation sets in, “Am not!”

“You do know I have a life outside of you right?” You say crossing your arms cooly. The way your eyelashes flutter at him reddens his cheeks, being so easily caught in a lie. He used to be better at that—now he’s letting your fist wrap around his tie and tug him down like a lovesick fool.

Which he is not.

“Of course you do. I’m not at all bothered that I don’t have you to myself anymore,” he mutters through a scrunched face, “Go hang out with Bones some more, bet he’s dying to give you his o—” You squeeze his face in your hands, lips coming into a disgruntled pucker as you grin.

“Dunno, you sound pretty bothered, baby.”

Evil, evil witch. 

The pet names come easier for him but from you they’re a special treat—only used when you’re ruffling some feathers or when you get what you want out of him. Remus glares at you now, knowing he’d eat out of the palm of your hand if he wasn’t careful.

“You could have whomever you want,” he grits, scratching the nape of his neck, “Even the boys think so. I’ve heard them say it.”

“And unfortunately,” you peck his lips, “I want you. Can I please go to dinner now?” You sidle out of his warm grasp, narrowly avoiding the fingers that chase your hips as you swivel towards the other end of the hallway with a playful glance. 

“Besides, I’ve already kissed James,” you reveal with a grin as if nothing of the sort.

“WHAT?”

You were third-years and paired up for a Potions project and a conversation about his crush on Lily led to him spilling his guts about his mortifying fear of being too inexperienced for her. You told him you had never kissed anyone before either. The shared giggles led to an awkward and then very pleasant first kiss and then tentative snog in the Potions cupboard, a vial of powdered unicorn horn raining down iridescent sparkles.

Quite magical, for a bunch of fourteen year olds, but the less Remus knows is better. His jaw is clenched and if you weren’t sure before, he is definitely bothered now. 

“Two down, two to go—HEY!”

—

James sneezes quite unglamorously, like a foghorn, or an avalanche with a landslide rolling off his shoulders as they shake. And then another time, one that echoes straight into his girlfriend’s eardrum and Lily grimaces.

“Blimey, James. Cover your mouth!”

“I dunno, sweetheart! Just came over me,” he sniffs, pushing his glasses back up. Sirius leans over the table, knocking over a goblet of pumpkin juice straight into Peter’s lap, “Pads!”

“This girl I used to see always said if you sneezed twice, someone was talking shit about you.”

“With the record you four have, you’d all be sent to St. Mungo’s,” Marlene drones, flicking a spoonful of peas into Sirius’ hair. 

There’s an empty spot next to Peter, James notices, even if the boy is eating for two. Excusing himself, he steps out into the hall and blows his nose into a napkin from his pocket, pulling out the map as well.

A simple tap of his wand reveals the truth, his hazel eyes widening at the sentence that writes itself with no preamble.

Messr Moony is up to no good with a lovely Miss…

The letters of your name spell themselves out slowly, along with two pairs of footprints sharing a space in the corner of the parchment, and he cannot believe his eyes—but then the distraction leads to Filch confiscating the blasted thing for good.

“Mischief managed!”

—

[papillon-mechant]

leave a message at the tone

'between certainties and doubts' installment  part of the mean!remus agenda, aka a moment from a terrifyingly convoluted teenage situationship between remus lupin and an unidentified Hogwarts student (x fem!reader)  wc: 1.4k  a/n: it’s been a week since that night and he calls you up in case you’ve changed your mind. you’ve been waiting by the phone. fluff? miscommunication trope, loosely based off a true story...again... sorry for the mini-hiatus! it's finals week!!

—

The floorboards creak underfoot in this old house, no matter how silent he tries to be. He hears his mother’s footsteps pad down the hall, dainty and soft—and Remus tosses himself into bed in an attempt to not look like an idiot standing in the middle of his room at eleven at night.

His bedroom door swings open and the hinges squeak, and he smiles at her sweetly, the picture of an angel tucked into his bedspread.

She raises a brow.

“Can hear you pacing, boy. Get to bed RJ—” Mrs. Lupin whispers through a cracked door, “S’why yer whole body hurts in the mornings and you alwa—”

“Mam,” Remus drones, face dropping as he rolls over in bed to look at her, “Just can’t sleep. One of those nights,” he mutters, kicking the sheets away from his legs. They fall to the floor in a heap, and his mother tuts at the sight until he flops onto his stomach to pull them back up.

“What did you do to that poor girl? The one down the—”

“Nothing!” he exclaims, “Just…” Remus sighs loudly, like exhaustion is pulling his breath out of him until he crumples into himself, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and putting his head in his hands.

“Think’ve scared her off. She won’t want to talk to me.”

“Raised you to be a gentleman, so whatever it is, just do something about it, yeah, love? Aren’t you from the house of the brave? Griffins!” his mother huffs, tucking a roller back into place. “Gryffindor, ma.”

Talk to her. Or make peace with it. Better than what you’ve been doing moping in your room all the time,” she says with a knowing look in her eye. Since he dropped you off after the pharmacy run last week, he’s hesitated to see you or come by. Not that he didn’t wholly enjoy the experience of having sex with you—but it meant something.

And it was too much, and too fast, and too terrifying.

He feels like he took something away from you that he can never give back—even if you told him it was no big deal, there’s this guilt that’s been balled up and kicked under his bed since that day.

In return, he let himself be vulnerable too, skin against skin, and scars for you to see.

And what is he supposed to do about that?

Everything feels like the end of the world when you’re sixteen, and unfortunately for Remus Lupin, he feels this way quite a lot. So he goes through the motions of how to get his mind to rest, even for the night, before he faces tomorrow, getting up from bed and tiptoeing down the stairs toward the kitchen.

Maybe tomorrow he’ll drop by your house and knock on the door. He told your grandma he’d help her mow the grass, and wouldn’t want to break his promise to an old lady.

But also, he really wants to see you.

Shrouded in daylight, wearing nothing but his sheets, or maybe in the passenger seat of his beat up car with your hair whipping out the window, or holding all your bags when you get out of Tesco.

Remus pours himself a glass of cold water, gulping it down like a man deprived of everything essential—and as the empty glass clinks against the counter, he finds himself staring at the phone hanging off the back wall.

It’s too late to give you a ring, perhaps. (He knows you stay up past twelve reading trashy magazines because they make you laugh.)

Also, if your grandma wakes up, you’d be grounded. (She takes her hearing aids out after dinner.)

What if you don’t answer? (Well, he doesn’t know the answer for this one.)

Fuck. But his hand is already on the phone and he’s dialed your phone number before he can stop himself.

Waiting for your landline to ring felt like pulling teeth. Maybe he should hang up.

“Hello?” your voice spills into his ear, tentative and cool. Remus’ eyes widen as he chokes on his spit, sputtering out a, “HeeeEy! Hi.”

“Remus?”

Swallowing, he clears his throat and prays to Circe he hasn’t made an absolute fool of himself yet—but he’s too late for that. Mind racing a mile a minute, the brunet realizes you’re talking.

“So… Do you need something?” you ponder, voice crackling over the receiver.

Shit.

”I uh—How are you?”

Idiot. Idiot. IDIOT! Remus slams his palm against his forehead—it actually hurts, so he leans his face against the bumpy white surface of the fridge.

“You called me at half eleven to ask how I am?”

“I guess?” he murmurs, “Kind of?”

“Remus, we had sex and then you blew me off for a week.” He imagines the furrow in your brow worsening as you twirl the phone cord around your fingers as you sit against your bedroom door.

“Not exactly how I remember it,” he laughs sheepishly, “I..”

“Spit it out or I’m hanging up.”

“I just…I usually don’t see people after we… I…” he drags a hand down his face at how painful this conversation is.

“If you’re not going to talk, then I am,” you cut him off.

“Okay.”

“Yes, I was a virgin, but that doesn’t mean you stole away my innocence, or whatever you think this might be,” you huff, frustrated at how childish men can be when it comes to shit like this, “I’m not gonna like, marry you or whatever. It wasn’t an Unbreakable Vow.”

“Oh,” Remus says blankly, shoulders dropping.

“Oh is right. I think it was a bigger deal for you than it was for me, Remus. It’s okay,” you babble, “I’m okay. Not going anywhere, unless this is you calling me to fuck off or something.” The last part sounds unsure and shaky, just in case he’s changed his mind about this whole thing and you’ll have to spend the rest of your summer in Mold avoiding him.

“Really? You’re not going anywhere then?”

He swears he can hear you roll your eyes, and then the shifting of something in the background, “Yeah. I don’t care, you know? Quite comfortable in my bed, actually.”

Remus scoffs into the receiver and raises a brow, “Can’t change your mind then?”

There’s more thumping from your side of the line, and then silence.

“Are we still talking about the same thing?”

“I don’t know. If I show up in front of your house in…say, about five minutes, do you want to go for a drive?”

He sounds hopeful, stupidly so—whatever this is might be a mistake but Remus hasn’t known fun like this, without pretenses and worries about the future. At the moment, he knows he won’t regret it. In this moment, all he knows is that he wants to be with you until the sun comes up.

“I don’t know, I’ll have to find a jacket.”

“I’ll bring you one,” he rebuts a bit too quickly.

“Well, the headlights might wake Grammy up.”

“I’ll drive down the whole hill in the dark if I need to,” he throws back, knowing driving down the winding hill in pitch black darkness would be a safety hazard. You know it too, scoffing into the phone and for a second it’s as if you’re breathing against his face. He then realizes that a week without you is a week too long.

“But my magazine!”

“Lovely, I will read every word on that wretched piece of Muggle trash out loud to you if it means…” Remus sighs again, pinching the bridge of his nose. He hasn’t known himself to be a desperate person—Remus is the type of guy who yearns without words, but these come easy and thoughtless when he talks to you.

“Say it.”

A beat passes. And then, an admission that slips easily into the night, “I really want to see you.”

“I’ve already got my shoes on. Honk when you’re out front,” you say, and even by the sound of your voice it’s obvious to him that you’re smiling, equal parts relieved and excited at the prospect of a pretty boy you’ve slept with traipsing up your driveway at midnight. Maybe if he plays his cards right, you could do it again. You realize you want to just about the same time you realized you’ve slipped on a pretty bra and spritzed your perfume.

“But Gram—” Remus swallows, swiveling around and taking a few steps before realizing the phone he’s holding is still attached to the wall, cord springing him back towards it.

“Remus, she’s deaf, not blind, remember? Bring the blue zip up. That one’s cozy.”

He nods rapidly, almost forgetting that you can’t see him yet, “Yeah. I’m coming.” Green eyes flash in the dark, looking for his trainers that he’s thrown to the side of the door this afternoon.

“I’ll be here.”

The phone goes dead as he bends down to tie his laces, grabbing his car keys from where they’re hung on the wall.

“Be back ma!” he calls out, and his voice follows him out as Remus tears through the house. Footsteps clamber down the stairs as Hope makes an appearance to yell out to her son about where he’s going at this time of night.

But the stupid smile on his face is an answer enough.

—

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[papillon-mechant]

Omg imagine pastors daughter like bakes cupcakes and brownies for dealer Remus because he always seems to have them around so like she thinks he likes them. In reality those are just some edibles he made for order but how could he deny the baked goods she made him when she proudly showed them to him expectingly watching him as she ate, then asking if she could have one of his (a trade) and he's like those treats are no good for you strawberry ill make you another batch (without drugs but she doesn't need to know he makes them)

omg this is so late I'm sorry I'm just now seeing this! I love this idea so much!!!

You do your best to keep your head down as you walk through the unfamiliar neighborhood, trying not to think about how disappointed your father would be if he found out you were here. Approaching a rundown apartment building, you hold tightly to the fragile china plate in your hands as you make your way up a set of stairs so rundown it makes you wary of their sturdiness. The wind blows and one of the foil pieces covering the plate almost blows away and you almost fall down the stairs trying to catch it.

Reaching the top of the stairs, you take your phone out of your purse and double check your messages, a shiver running down your spine at the thought of knocking on the wrong door. When you're sure you've found the right door, you take a moment to adjust your outfit, making sure your skirt is just below your knees and adjusting the cross around your neck so it sits perfect on your chest.

Balancing the plate on one hand you knock softly on the door, trying not to seem too demanding. There's a quiet shuffling behind the door, then a small crash and a quick mutter of "shit" that makes you giggle on the other side. A moment later, the door opens and Remus stands in the doorway, a soft smile spreading across his face when he realizes it's you at his door. You take a moment to scan his frame, taking in the site of the tall man. His hair is disheveled, as if he had just lifted his head from his pillow. The muscle-t that he wears is cut low on the sides, giving a small glimpse of his muscular frame. It takes everything in you to tear your eyes away.

"Hello Strawberry." He quips, a softness to his voice that's only ever present when you are. He steps to the side, offering you entrance into his home. You graciously accept, feeling your skin heat up when Remus puts his hand on your shoulder to guide you in.

"To what do I owe the pleasure sweets?" Remus asks, gesturing towards a small recliner in the corner of the living room. Taking a seat you can't help but breathe in a little harder when the smell of Remus engulfs you from the chair.

"Well the last time you picked me up I noticed a container of brownies in your back seat. I wasn't snooping or anything! I just happened to see them and I kind of like baking too so I thought maybe I could make you some brownies and you could try them but if you don't want to you don't have to. Did you eat already? You probably ate already. I'm sorry I'll just-"

"Woah there fraise, slow down." Remus chuckles, always loving your tendency to ramble on. He caught about half of what you said, enough for him to understand why you showed up at his door with a plate of mystery treats in hand. You flash a shy smile, silently apologizing for your tangent. Remus laughs lightly, taking the plate from your hand and removing the foil, revealing a beautifully delicious looking pile of fudgy chocolate brownies.

"Oh darling, these look divine!" Remus grabs a square from the plate and wastes no time taking a bite. It's so good, he moans. Remus actually moans. The sound turns your face bright red, sending a strange feeling down your back.

"They're AMAZING love." He gushes, dramatically licking his fingers with the last bite. The praise makes you blush even harder as you physically feel your face getting hotter. A surge of pride washes over you, happy you're able to satisfy Remus' insatiable sweet tooth. Scanning the apartment, your eyes land on a container sitting on the kitchen counter that resembles the one you saw in his back seat. You start to get excited at the idea of tasting Remus' baking for yourself.

"Um...remmy?" You begin timidly, "Can I try yours now?" Remus' expression changes to one of confusion, following your gaze to the red container sitting on his counter. He can't contain the laugh that passes his lips while he thinks about how constantly he is reminded of your innocence.

"Not those Strawberry," He starts, and his heart breaks at the way your expression drops, bottom lip protruding, "They're no good for someone as sweet as you." He cups your face in his hands, brushing your wobbling lip with the pad of his thumb, "I'll make a fresh batch, just for you." You smile wide at the proposition, wrapping your arms around his neck for a hug, giggling softly when he tightens his grip on your waste and lifts you off the ground.

[papillon-mechant]

Hockey!James Potter x Lupin!Reader ❆ 1016 words | i found this in my drafts and reworked it a bit, enjoy!

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Your phone buzzes relentlessly in your pocket, and without looking, you already know it’s the group chat—the boys asking why you’re not outside the locker room like always. Win or lose, you’re usually there, ready to be swept along to their celebratory pub of choice or back to the house to drown their sorrows with video games.

But you haven’t had the time to text them back.

“You’ll have a good time if you join us, I promise.” You can’t recall his name, but you’re certain you’ve seen him on the ice during games against the boys. He’s never approached you before—probably too deflated by past losses to muster the courage. But tonight, with his team riding high on their win, his confidence has soared, and he’s wasting no time putting it to use, trying to persuade you to grab a drink with him. “We’re all heading to the pub down the road.”

“Doesn’t exactly feel right celebrating the win against my team.” You say blandly, your hand reaching up to pinch at the fabric of your brother’s jersey, drawing his eyes downward. The fabric is loose, but you regret the gesture as soon as you’ve done it, feeling uneasy about his eyes dragging over your frame.

“I won’t tell if you don’t,” He shrugs, that infuriating smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. His broad shoulder, the kind you might have admired under different circumstances, press casually against the cold wall as he mirrors your stance with a confidence that only fuels your annoyance.“C’mon, just an hour.”

Irritation twists in your gut. How he’s missing the hint is beyond you. You made it painfully clear you weren’t exactly thrilled when he sidled up next to you—yet here he is.

“Sorry, the only team I’m celebrating with tonight is the losing one.” You shrug, feigning indifference, but your patience is wearing thin. Your fingers twitch with the urge to pull out your phone and text the boys to come rescue you—something you’re two seconds away from doing.

“Celebrating what, sweetheart? Their loss? There’s nothing to celebrate—” The cocky blonde’s words falter as his gaze shifts to something over your shoulder. His smirk fades slightly as he straightens up. “Potter,” he greets, the name rolling off his tongue with a distinct lack of warmth. Your stomach flips at the sound of his name, and you peek over your shoulder to see those dark eyes trained on the hockey player in front of you.

He doesn’t stop until he’s right behind you, close enough that you swear you can feel the heat radiating from him, chasing away the chill that’s seeped into your skin from the arena. “Harrison,” he says, his voice low and deep, a sound you secretly adore far more than you’d ever admit. His gaze shifts, catching yours as you glance at him over your shoulder, and the intensity in his eyes sends a spark down your spine.

“Angel.” His cold tone softens slightly, and any greeting you had for him dies on your tongue. You’d never admit it—to him or anyone else—but you love the way he says it, the way his voice wraps around the nickname.

For a moment, you find yourself simply admiring James—his freshly washed curls still damp from the shower and that tight black workout shirt clinging to those muscles you’d happily drag your tongue over. The angry bruise blooming high on his cheekbone from a particularly brutal hit catches your eye, and as fucked as it is, you find it unbearably hot. Though, truthfully, you’d shot out of your seat in a panic the moment you saw him take that hit.

He catches your gaze, an eyebrow arched in silent question, and you can’t tell if he's asking whether you want him to handle the guy you’ve been talking to or if he’s just caught you checking him out.

“Do you two know each other?” Harrison asks, and irritation burns inyour stomach at the question. As if he has a right to ask that.

James nods, “Pretty well.” Your brows pinch, that wouldn’t have been the words you would have picked. “What were you two talking about?” James continues, his tone casual, almost lazy—but there’s a protective edge to his voice. One that makes your head feel fuzzy.

“I was offering for her to celebrate with the winning team.” Harrison shrugs, tucking his hands into his pockets. But you can see it—the shift in his posture, the subtle crack in his newfound confidence since James steps closer.

“Oh, did you?” James replies, his voice smooth and relaxed, but there’s the slightest scrunch of his nose, the subtle way his lips press inward—just like they always do when he hears something he doesn’t like.

“The offer still stands, sweetheart.” Harrison speaks, his eyes flickering back to you in a last-ditch effort to convince you to go out with him. That familiar unease crawls up your spine at the way his gaze lingers on you. Without thinking, you shift back into James, who instinctively places a hand on your hip, pulling you against him. Your breath hitches as the warmth of his large palm seeps through, and for a quick moment, you wonder what it might feel like against your bare skin.

Harrison’s eyes flick down to where James has you pulled close, his thumb hooked casually through a belt loop on your jeans. There’s a cocky glint in James’s eye now—and just like that, the sting of that loss from forty-five minutes ago seems to vanish from his mind, replaced by something far more satisfying: the look on Harrison’s face.

You reach down, your fingers grazing over James’s hand, and he looks down in surprise at the touch. Without hesitation, you flip his hand, threading your fingers through his. “Sorry, I’d much rather celebrate with him.” Fed up with the situation, you pull James along who follows you without a question. You catch sight of Sirius and Remus lingering near the locker room entrance, both quietly laughing to themselves at the smug, thoroughly satisfied look on James’s face.

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[papillon-mechant]

Hockey!James Potter x Lupin!Reader ❆ 980 words | it's been forever since i posted, hope you all enjoy this <3

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James Potter took his birthday seriously—it always had to be loud, chaotic, and completely unforgettable. It suited him. But this year was different. No plans to fly somewhere warm and throw a beachside party, no talk of renting out an entire pub for the night—nothing. 

Just a quiet night at a local pub with his closest friends—nothing more. When Remus and Sirius heard about the lack of celebration, Sirius’ shoulders slumped in dramatic disappointment. He’d already laid out his suitcase, half-packed and ready to jet off to wherever James decided to party this year. Remus, on the other hand, wasn’t nearly as dismayed. If anything, he was relieved. Traveling meant leaving you alone, which he was never fond of—and worse, it usually meant playing designated caretaker while the others drank themselves into oblivion.

Being James’ closest friends meant they fully expected him to change his mind. Any day now, he’d come bursting into their shared house, grinning like a madman, rambling about the last-minute trip he’d just booked—or the outrageous party he’d suddenly thrown together.

But none of that happens. And even now, as they sit in a perfectly average pub, Remus and Sirius keep one eye on James, still half-expecting him to announce some last-minute twist. But he doesn’t. He hardly smiles a real smile all night, nursing his beer and casting hopeful glances toward the door—like he’s waiting for something, or someone.

“Mate,” Sirius slaps his hand down on the bar beside Remus, startling him as he waits for his drink. Remus glances over at a rosy-cheeked Sirius, who’s pointing toward James with his drink in hand, as if he couldn’t tell exactly who he’s talking about. Any mention of you always seemed to loop back to James. “Did he invite your sister?”

“Very likely. He probably chatted her up at practice and slipped it in casually,” Remus replies, arching an eyebrow. “Why?”

“Is she coming?” Sirius presses, leaning forward with a hint of urgency in his voice.

Remus snorts. “She’s probably at home reading some romance book.”

Sirius frowns, nodding towards the phone he knows is tucked away in his pocket. “Call her. Right now.”

“Why?” Remus raises an eyebrow. 

“Because, look at that miserable bastard!” Sirius bursts out, his voice carrying across the pub and catching the attention of a group of girls sitting a few seats down. Remus flashes them an apologetic, embarrassed smile.. “He hasn’t taken his eyes off the door all night. I hate to admit it, but this night’s a total bust.”

Remus raises an eyebrow, his lips quirking into a half-smile. “So, you want me to call her so you can have a better night?”

Sirius glares at him, unamused. “No, I want you to call her so he can have a better night. Also, I didn’t get him a birthday present, and I’m pretty sure this would top whatever you all managed to get him.”

Remus glances over at James, and sure enough, he’s nursing his drink, his eyes flicking toward the door before quickly returning to the curly-haired girl in front of him. She seems completely unaware of his wandering gaze, but James, on the other hand, looks entirely disengaged from the conversation. It’s clear to Remus that Sirius is right—if you were here, James’s attention would be entirely on you. There wouldn’t be any doubt about whether or not he was enjoying his birthday.

Remus exhales a soft sigh, grabbing his phone and standing up. Sirius claps him on the back with a grin, muttering praises about making the right call.

You don’t take nearly as long to show up as Remus expected, leaving him wondering if you were already ready for James’s birthday but didn’t quite have the courage to show. His gaze lingers on the soft hue of lipstick glossing your lips, then dips to the denim skirt he’s certain he’s never seen you wear. An amused smile tugs at the corners of his mouth, slow and knowing.

“That didn’t take you long.” He comments casually. You shoot him a sharp glare, pure annoyance as you take the drink from Sirius’s outstretched hand. He ushers you along with a grin, clearly pleased by your arrival.

“I can’t stay long—” Remus hears you start to protest, your voice trailing off as Sirius pulls you through the crowd, undeterred. There’s a slight wince on your face when he cups a hand around his mouth and shouts, “Oi, James! Got your birthday present, mate!”

A few of their teammates whistle, exchanging knowing grins as their eyes land on you—well aware of James’s long-standing, schoolboy crush. Remus watches your expression shift somewhere between mortified and amused, but you let Sirius lead you on anyway. 

James turns away from the girl mid-sentence, a confused frown flickering across his face—only to melt into a grin the moment he sees you. He doesn’t hesitate, weaving through the crowd like nothing else exists. Remus can’t hear what he says, but he doesn’t need to. He knows James greets you with that soft, honeyed “angel”—a tone he reserves for no one else.

Remus has heard it a thousand times, but only when James is talking to you.

He makes a mental note to ask him about it later, but it’s obvious to him now that James kept things simple this year, just in case you decided to show up. There was no way you’d have gone along with the kind of wild birthdays he'd thrown in the past.

And for someone who insisted they weren’t staying long—who told Remus to fuck off, I’m busy when he first asked—you don’t exactly look eager to leave. There’s a soft smile tugging at your lips as you tilt your head up to meet James’s eyes, like you forgot what excuse you’d made in the first place.

Remus knows without a doubt that Sirius did win best present.

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[papillon-mechant]

plan b

'between certainties and doubts' installment part of the mean!remus agenda, aka a moment from a terrifyingly convoluted teenage situationship between remus lupin and an unidentified Hogwarts student (x fem!reader) wc: 2.5k a/n: there's a first time for everything. MDNI-- smut ahead, afab reader, cunnilingus, p in v, virginity loss, mentions of blood and contraceptives; feel free to send requests for them

—

The TV hums in the corner of Remus’ bedroom; a static, grating sound that crackles every few seconds like popcorn kernels on an open fire.

Neither of you say much in response to it—having learned to block out the noise after the second shitty show that’s come across the screen in the past hour. Too hyperaware of the feeling of his leg hair under the thigh he’s propped on his lap, his rough fingers trace shapes into your skin, making you shiver.

“When will this blasted show get on?” he grumbles. But to be honest, Remus doesn’t mind keeping you here longer, conveying an air of nonchalance despite the sparks that fly under the pads of his fingertips in the softness that kisses your denim shorts as you lie in a heap on his faded linen bedspread. The air is sticky, your skin is warm, and everything smells like sunlight.

It took Mr. Lupin three rounds of charmwork after quite an embarrassing display of begging from his only child late last night after dinner. Lyall worked on it into the early hours before his shift at the Ministry, and Remus fell asleep sitting up in anticipation to impress you, not quite sure what to do now that you see each other every day of this sun-soaked summer in Mold. So close yet so far away from being of age—he’s left to act like a child begging for a new toy for anything that needs to be magicked until the start of term.

So close, yet so far.

Your body is almost on top of his, and he has a thought that’s been simmering since you walked in, slow-cooking in the knowledge that no distance is somehow still not enough.

His cheeks redden. Maybe he can blame it on the heat.

The day prior, you’d both lugged the metal box up the hill he resides on—a fit of giggles and half-delirium all the way home from the thrift store. The antenna on top swivels with the soft gust of wind that blows through the open windows despite it all.

Lest he overreact, everything was going smoothly—so much so that Remus felt like he couldn’t breathe, too scared to fuck this up before it gets good.

Whatever this is, is really good.

Helga, he hasn’t even kissed you yet.

But in the three weeks, eighteen days, eleven hours, and thirty-four minutes that have passed since that run-in Tesco, Remus has thought about kissing you for all of it. What a peculiar, dangerous thing he’s wrapping himself around.

But he’s no stranger to a summer fling.

Your hand curls around the back of his neck, playing with sandy brown strands that swirl around your fingernails as if dancing, and you ignore his gaze, choosing to keep your eyes glued on the flickering screen. You don’t remember letting yourself get so comfortable around Remus. There’s no list to check off, no permission to this secret thing that lays atop the both of you like a thick blanket—and maybe that’s what makes it all the more exciting.

You’re still trying to learn all of him and somehow in the secret that is summer, he unravels at the slightest touch of your fingertips.

“Doctor Who comes on at half six, yeah?” you mumble, readjusting the pile of pillows under your head.

“If the telly even survives the next few hours.”

A laugh escapes you like the sound of windchimes tinkling in the breeze at the furrow in his brow, so earnest in wanting to get whatever this push and pull is into a steady flow of motion. He’s overthinking it again, hands clammy and throat hoarse. There’s a tension that lingers after the laughter, both of you staring dumbly at the other to speak next. But nothing is ever awkward with Remus, you find out—he’s not the type to speak unless he has something he really wants to say. You wonder if he has anything to note about the closing distance between your bodies as your arms brush again.

Humming the theme song under your breath, you lean your head on his shoulder, and Remus stiffens. This was not the plan, he thinks, you were supposed to watch the show, stay for dinner, and then if he had the guts to kiss you by the time he walked you home, then so be it!

One-night stands were somehow more practical in the past—drunken fumbles in a broom closet and nothing identifiable if he so wished to leave the light off. He doesn’t like them looking at him while he fucks them, something more detached and carnal. Less to explain of the stories that hide within his skin, no questions asked or answered.

But he’s watching the silly smile you have on your face and everything about you is light in itself that he can’t help but keep his eyes on you. And then he has to ask— ”Something funny, lovely?”

“Can’t believe there’s a day Baker won’t be the Doctor. He’s fun, isn’t he?”

He’s not quite sure where you’re going with this, but the words escape him before he can strap his mouth shut, “What do you like about him? Surely he’s not all that.”

“He’s kinda cute. Silly when he lets himself be,” you muse, nose tickling the collar of his t-shirt, “Nice brown hair and pretty eyes…”

Your eyes blink up at him now as he tries to rework his brain chemistry to focus on what you’re saying. Remus can almost taste the orange popsicle that stains your lips and swears a Niffler has made a home in his throat.

“Oh yeah? Bet you won’t say that when someone new comes along,” he gnaws on his bottom lip, and you’re smirking at him like he’s missing an important bit.

Can’t the boy throw you a bone?

“Don’t want anyone else. Quite like how things are going. Yeah?”

Remus swallows—you watch it travel down his throat, reaching out to rub the movement with the pad of your thumb and he sighs like you’ve lifted the weight off his shoulders even if all of yours is on him already.

Heart beating fast in the stillness, you both wait, watching each other for the next move.

To hell with his plans then—he moves right on to the next one and does what he’s wanted to do since the first night on his roof.

And so the next natural plan of action is to kiss you.

You wouldn’t be able to describe it if anyone asked how it felt to kiss Remus Lupin for the first time—but he had the stupid look on his face that boys get when they lean in so you shut your eyes instead.

Trapped in laughter, your lips lock and it all goes blurry from there. The kiss escalates into a proper snog—the pressure lifted from your shoulders and replaced with that of intermingling lips, hot breaths, and a growl that creeps out of his mouth as he loses himself in the feel of you.

Hands memorizing the curves of your spine, gripping the plush of your hips, and tugging at the sorry excuse of clothing you put on this morning to beat the heat feels like floating amongst the clouds, swimming against his faded linens. His movements are hasty—not like someone who wants to get the ordeal over with, but someone who yearns to discover all of you, down to the essence of it all.

When you open your eyes, Remus’ lips have detached from yours and you find yourself face down in a pillow.

Maybe you should tell him that you’ve never—

A moan rips from your throat in satisfaction at the way he licks you open from behind, eating your pussy out with a determination that only warrants the highest of praise. Remus has pulled you onto your knees, tasting, caressing—whatever thought process you had earlier is interrupted by flames of pleasure spreading across your belly and fingers clenched around down feathers.

“So pretty,” he mumbles greedily against your sopping lips, placing a kiss there that makes your heart stutter, “This what you want, lovely? Want me?”

Cheek splayed against his pillow, a crooning whine is the only answer you can produce. It’s unlike you to be at a loss for words, confidence flying out the window—but Godric, when Remus puts his mind to something, he makes sure he’s good at it.

“Merlin, you’re really good at that,” you whimper, echoing your thoughts. He lifts up, body encompassing yours like a shadow and the brunet laughs against the nape of your neck. This is the farthest from what you expected your summer to look like, but you’re not about to complain. If he keeps going, it’ll be the farthest you’ve ever gon—

“Not my name,” Remus inhales the scent of sweat and sun in your hair. His lips are printing a stamp of his smile wherever they reach, shorts hanging low and unbuttoned on his waist and all of him presses against you, hard.

“Remus, fuck, please…”

His thumb swipes at your clit in precise motions—shit, if your body could take a screenshot to remember how he’s making you feel, this was how it would do it. Looking over your shoulder, his emerald eyes are almost black with want, reflecting into your own. You nod, “I want you.”

Remus’ sigh of relief sends goosebumps across your skin. The sounds of rustling fabric make you try and turn over—and then he’s got a hand at the base of your scalp, using the other to notch his cock between your thighs, “This okay? Gonna make you feel good, lovely girl.”

You can’t shrug from this position so you wiggle your hips against him and the stiff warmth teasing against your opening makes your brain sound like the static of the TV in the background—the whirring sound of the TARDIS dampened by the lust that overcomes you. He breathes heavily, the suction of your slick entrance kissing his cockhead in a way that makes him hiss until he realizes you’re moving your hips back, the force swallowing his length inch by delicious inch. Your knuckles are turning white, gripping him like a fist—it makes him gasp loudly, “Woah…easy does it. You’re so…tight and wet f’me,” he groans, biting his lip. Remus’s hips stagger with the shake in his breath, thrusting shallowly until you welcome him in. Sweat drops off his forehead onto your body and rolls down your spine.

“There we go, gorgeous,” he swallows, sounding elated as he drives himself deeper into you, “taking me so well, yeah?”

You cry out again, an arm reaching out behind you to grab onto anything you can—slapping against his bicep and his stomach before locking onto his forearm, “Fuck! Feels so…” The liquid fire running through your veins melts any friction between you and him—skin smacking against skin in slow, purposeful movements that dig into the pit of your belly, faster and faster as you keen against him like a dog in heat.

Your knees shake against the mattress at the increasing force he puts into fucking you, whining against the pillows as his hands spread you open, liking the way your ass ripples against his hipbones.

“I need…I…” you murmur desperately, so close to the precipice but not quite there. Frustrated at how close you are to coming, your lip trembles and Remus sees, reaching down to press circles onto your clit hurriedly in an attempt to chase the wave of pleasure.

“Rem,” you sob out, “please, I need more. M’losing my mind!”

And then he throws caution to the wind and turns you over, and you see him for the first time in his naked glory, all the scars and spattering of freckles. He’s like a work of art under the late rays of light—as euphoria crashes through your system and clenches him deeper into your guts, you grin at him, never losing eye contact.

Van Gogh would’ve loved you, you think as your vision resurfaces.

You’d come by just looking at him, mouth agape in a whimper and stomach pressing against his in shallow breaths as your body arches closer to his skin, closer to what he’s kept hidden. Remus shudders under the weight of your stare.

Something in him shifts as he lets go, looking down at the sheen that covers your naked body instead. Remus Lupin denies himself a lot of things in this life—but right then and there he concludes he won’t deny himself this sight ever again.

—

When you wake up, the TV’s pitch black. Remus wiped the blood off his fingers and his cock in the bathroom as to not embarrass you, cleaning your crevices gently with a warm washcloth.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he takes a breath, licking at his lips, “Before we did anything.” Silence follows—there’s an answer here somewhere in the summer breeze, cool enough to raise goosebumps on sticky skin that keeps you two attached at the hip against the twisted linen sheets. You say nothing at first, dragging a finger downward on the curve of his neck, tracing a mark that leaks towards the flush of his collarbones. Remus shivers when he realizes you’re more interested in the scratches you left on him rather than the ones that already litter his body.

“Why wouldn’t you let me see you?” you counter, “Before we did…that.” Neither of you has an answer—but there’s a sort of understanding that passes in the moment.

I didn’t want you to see me differently.

Soft smiles and cuddles are enough for now— gentle hands in knowing and getting to know the other when laid bare for the other to see. Proof, maybe— in case for some reason this might never happen again. There’s an absence of fear here though; you feel it when he wraps his arms around you and pulls your body back against him, on top of him now so that he can see you eye to eye.

And you see all of him, for the first time, in the waning light of his bedroom, and you hope it’s not the last. By the time the sky outside gets dark, you both sit in the parking lot of the drugstore downtown with a Beatles song playing softly in the background of his mom’s old sedan. Your hands are wrapped against the seatbelt, words tight, “Can’t you come in with me?”

“The pharmacist goes to church with my mam,” Remus sighs, rubbing his face and deciding to look out the window, “Listen, Levonelle is free since we’re und—”

“It’s not about that, Remus,” you grit, “I’m the new girl in town who has to have the mandated talk with an adult about Plan Bs and safe sex, and you want me to go in there alone!” Jaw clenched, you swat his hand away when he reaches out for yours.

“Hey. M’sorry, okay? Would be easier if we were at school,” he murmurs, finally making contact to rub your cheek gently.

Would it be?

“I’ll be right out here, okay? And then we can do whatever you want for the rest of the night, promise.” Remus kisses your temple, and the furrow in your brow straightens out.

You slam the car door on your way out anyway.

—

i don't do taglists anymore! follow @ma1dita-mail and turn on post notifs <3

[papillon-mechant]

hands-on lesson

poly!marauders x afab!reader ⊹ 5.5k

direct continuation of visual learner (so no plot) mwah!

cw ⟢ smut 18+ mdni, swearing, lots of kissings, inexperienced!reader, praise, dry humping, fingering, lots of petnames, usage of "pet", aftercare

summary: it started out with a kiss but now youre well and truly in the deep end, and the boys think a hands-on approach is more effective.

a/n: two smuts in a row, no one call me a slut. this sinfully long and theres basically no plot and idc, theyre hot. i feel no shame! without a doubt doing a pt3 bcs this would be like 8k of fucking otherwise not proofread x

“Should we stop, or do you wanna keep learning?”

If your brain was anything other than a gooey mess in your head, you’d have been able to answer him, instead, all you could focus on were the soft kisses that Sirius planted against your skin, eyes shut—basking in his touch.

You’d forgotten he’d even asked when his questioning hmmm reached your ears, inhaling deeply through your nose, searching for the air to support your voice—but when your lips parted to answer, the words couldn’t seem to find their way out. Mind too foggy, the remnants of a shuddering breath falling from you as your response slipped away—the way he worked his way back up your jaw, pecking and nibbling at the skin—your head was all but spinning.

His hands had snuck under the hem of your top, the backs of his nails lightly dragging over the curves at your side, leaving goosebumps in their wake—a harsh shiver running through you, spine forming a delicious arch that made James’ throat dry. And as Sirius’ lips inched closer to yours again, you found yourself instinctively chasing after them, connecting your lips with a quiet, content sigh.

His grin against your lips was positively wolfish, though it didn’t last long—pushing back into the your lips with a feverish want that was palpable, to everyone.

James forcibly rubbed his palms against the fabric of his trouser, restless in his seat as he watched the way your fingers tangled in Sirius’ hair, room filling with your soft mewls—blending so prettily with the low groans you pulled from Sirius’ throat as he tilted to his head to deepen the kiss. James caught a glimpse of Remus, adam’s apple bobbing—gaze locked on the exposed skin of your torso that Sirius had so graciously bared, pads of his fingers dimpling the flesh.

Sirius had a way with his lips, undeniably intoxicating, dizzying you longer you stayed connected, a warmth burning low in the pits of your stomach. He was overwhelming every one of your senses and you couldn’t find it in yourself to pull away.

One of Sirius’ hands trailed up, palm resting over your throat, fingertips holding your jaw in place, taking your bottom lip into his teeth as he pulled away, eyes dark and lips stretching into a mischievous grin. Melting into his palm against your neck, letting him tilt your head back to nip at your collarbone again, small pants falling from you.

Words spread between the wet, open mouth kisses pressed to your skin, he huffed out a small chuckle—

”I’ll…take that…as…a yes…”

The quiet content hum you produced was barely a response, but it wasn’t your fault, Sirius had effectively turned your brain to goo and you weren’t going to stop him, savoring the warmth of his lips. He opened his eyes to sneak a peek at you, when his sights fell on James—cheeks almost as flushed as yours. Practically at the edge of his seat, fingers twitching at his sides, and Remus—he was no better. Shifting and fidgeting beside James, lips parted, gaze dark and intense as he watched.

He hadn’t meant to so self-indulgent, but you were all but putty in his hands and Sirius wasn’t going to deny himself such a luxury.

Though, he did feel a bit bad for poor James, he looked like he was about to combust from his efforts to restrain himself and remain seated.

Letting the hand that was delicately wrapped around your neck drift and join his other—cradling your face slightly, your eyes opened to find Sirius’ directly infront of yours, the tips of his nose brushing over the skin of your cheek. His lips were only just ghosting over yours, something glimmering in his eyes as they ran over your entire face—and though he held your head in place, he could feel the way you leaned into his touch.

Draw to his lips.

And it did nothing to quell his already inflated ego.

He was tempting—teasing you with another kiss, tilting his head when his tongue darted out to wet his flushed lips. Voice so low the vibrations sent a shiver through you—

“Mmmm, think Jamie wants a bit of your attention, sweetheart,”

Only then did you remember it was more than just you and Sirius in the room together, turning your head to find both James and Remus’ eyes already on you, burning so hot and intense you felt the air catch in your throat.

James’ self-control was already teetering on the edge, unravelling, thread by thread.

He was on you before you could even react, fingers slipping under your thighs as he pulled your onto him and out of Sirius’ lap. The smallest of gasps escaped you, fingers curling into his shoulders—your lips still buzzed with the remnants of Sirius’ kiss, and the heat of James’ palms as they gripped your thighs only added fuel to the small pit burning in you.

An amused chuckle sounded from beside you, Sirius, watching as you melted so easily against him, watching the way James’ eyes scanned you, as if sizing you up, like a predator evaluating his meal before pouncing.

James didn’t acknowledge his watchful gaze, or Remus’. He couldn’t take he eyes off you, not even for a second—his lips were so close to yours, almost touching, almost connected. Your breath fanned over the surface of his skin, leaving you in small huffs before you sunk your teeth into your bottom lip, looking up at him through your lashes, innocent—bleary.

"You’re coming with me," he purred, voice honeyed, lips grazing the shell of your ear.

He adjusted his grip, one arm secure under your legs, the other braced against your back as he lifted you up both up and off of the sofa forcing the air left your lungs in a startled gasp—carrying effortlessly through the dimly lit corridor.

"Jamie!”

He cut you off with a kiss. Slow, deliberate, his lips pressing to yours as he’d been starved of touch this whole time. His steps never faltered, even as your fingers found the tufts at the nape of his neck, tilting into him. He hummed into your mouth, tongue flicking teasingly against yours before pulling back just enough to grin at you.

Behind you, Sirius let out a low groan. "Now he’s just showing off."

Remus swallowed thickly, eyes tracing the curve of your throat—James’ mouth against it—the way your lips were still parted, dazed from the kiss. Before he worked his way back to your lips, you saw the way Sirius leaned in to murmur something to Remus, a smirk playing at his lips as they followed after you.

You barely heard the way the door shut with a soft click behind you, the loud ringing of your pulse thumping in your ears—James' lips were still on yours—harder this time, fiercer, as if the kiss in the hallway had only stoked something raw—desperate inside him.

A startled sound left you as he backed you against the edge of the bed, his hands tightening where they held you. There was nothing soft in the way he kissed you now—nothing patient. His lips moved against yours with a hunger that stole your breath, a bruising kind of want that left no room for uncertainty.

A snall whimper built in your throat, fingers curling into his shirt, and he almost growled—a low, frustrated sound against your mouth.

"So pretty," he muttered, words hot against your lips before biting at your bottom one, pulling until you gasped. "Don’t go shy on me now."

The bed dipped beneath you as he settled between your legs, hands bracketing your hips, thumbs pressing into the bone. He kissed you again, tongue sweeping into your mouth, deeper this time—searching, devouring. When you hesitated, overwhelmed, he rocked against you once, slow and deliberate, his hips pressing into yours with enough pressure to make your head spin.

A gasp slipped past your lips, and he smirked, pulling back just enough to drink you in, his pupils blown wide.

“Thaaat’s it,” he murmured, dragging a hand up your side, slipping beneath your shirt to press his palm flat against your ribs. “You’ll let me teach you, won’t you, sweetheart?”

Your heart hammered beneath your chest, breath coming quick, body alight with something new—something ovewhelming an addictive. Setting the surface of your skin alight—you struggled to find air—nodding dazed, and James leaned down, lips brushing the shell of your ear as he whispered, “Atta girl.”

From the doorway, Sirius let out an appreciative hum. “Bloody hell, Jamie, and you were worried I’d break her,”

He only smirked into your skin before tilting his head back up, claiming your lips again, leaving no time for you to catch your breath. His lips moved against yours, rough, insistent. His hands travelling along you wildly, unable to stay in one place for long before he moved it, grasping and groping—leaving goosebumps in his touch’s explorative wake.

He kissed like he wanted to ruin you—like he needed to, like every ounce of restraint had snapped the moment he had you beneath him. Almost every part of James was pressed against you, not even a slither of space between you, his palm curling around the under side of your thigh, hitching your leg up to his hip. Molding your body against him—fingertips digging into the flesh as he essentially manhandled you.

His hips rolled against yours, slow at first—taunting, teasing. The friction sent a jolt of heat straight through you, a soft, unbidden whimper falling from your lips. James caught it with a groan, teeth scraping your bottom lip before he tugged, drinking in the sound like it had gone straight to his head.

“Yeah?” he rasped, pulling back just enough to watch your face, to see the way your brows knit together, the way your breath hitched and shuddered with every shift of his hips. “You like that, sweetheart?”

You could only nod, hands fisting in the fabric of his shirt, trying to ground yourself as he rocked against you again—harder this time, his hips pressing down with delicious precision. The pressure was overwhelming, each slow grind setting your skin alight, winding something unbearably tight in the pit of your stomach.

"Words," his voice was hoarse, muffled against your jaw.

A breathless gasp tumbled out, but James didn’t let up. His hands slid under your shirt, thumbs brushing the bare skin of your waist, pressing into your ribs as he pinned you down, lips ghosting over your pulse—your body burned hot against his

"Come on, love," he purred, voice like silk, laced with something mean. "Let’s hear it."

Your nails dug into his arms, breath shuddering as he rocked into you again, dragging a strangled moan from your throat.

“James—”

“Mmmm,” he purred, pleased. "Knew you'd be good for me."

His praise made your head spin, warmth pooling low in your stomach. He kissed you again, swallowing every desperate noise that left your lips, his movements growing more insistent. Your thighs trembled beneath him, and you barely registered the low curse from beside you. Both Sirius and Remus had settled on either side of the mattress—watching in dark amusement, backs flush against the headboard.

Remus leaned over slightly, running his hand gently over your hair, tongue swiping over his bottom lip. ”This is more bullying than teaching, Prongs,”

James didn’t stop. Didn’t even acknowledge him. Instead, he smirked against your lips, eyes hooded as he murmured, “She can take it.”

Remus just swallowed thickly, exhaling a slow, hitching breath. His eyes wandering over both your figures, locking where James was grinding against you, discipline fraying with every moment because—fuck, you looked so good together.

Sirius was no better in his observation, joining Remus in his inclined position—breath tickling your ear, michief flickering wildly behind his eyes “Can you feel Jamie, sweetheart? Making you feel good?” his voice was teasing and syrupy, a perfect contrast to the way James’ hips moved with rough, calculated force.

Your head rolled towards him when James finally gave your lips a break—focusing on your neck.

Half-lidded eyes, blinking slowly as you tried to focus your gaze on Sirius, mewls still spilling from your lips with each mean buck of James’ hips against your core.

Gods, could you feel him.

Not just his lips—frenzied, nipping and sucking at the jaw, not just his hands—rough in the way they pawed at every part of your, from the curved of your ass to your hips and breast. You could feel him, the outline of his bulge, harsh and merciless in its rocking against you—making the saliva pool in your mouth, mind racing with lewd thoughts that sent even more heat rushing to the tips of ears.

He forced out a gasping whine when his hands came to pull you closer, bringing your hips up to meet his rough grinds. Your eyes were still on Sirius, you were nodding to him almost frantically—words breathy on another shuddering exhale.

“Yeah…mmph—’so big,”

Sirius’ brows cocked up into a suprised arch, always quick with his words until now, lips parting while he searched for a comeback and failing—a chuckle of disbelief falling from his lips, spreading into a grin.

If the combination of your moans and the delicious friction didn’t have James’ head spinning, your breathy little admission surely did the trick. His groan was deep, reverberating through his chest as he dropped his forehead against your shoulder, breath hot and uneven against your skin—rocking into you harsher, with more vigor, each rough grind sending little jolts of pleasure through you, making your body jolt lightly up the bed with the force of it.

The rough drag of his body against yours had you gasping, back arching as he set a pace that was utterly devastating. Each grind sent a pulse of pleasure through your core, stoked the warmth curling deep in your belly, made your thighs tremble where they bracketed his hips.

Sirius let out a low chuckle beside you, shaking his head in amusement. “Fuck, Prongs. You’re really set on breaking her in, aren’t you?”

James didn’t answer—too focused, too caught up in the warmth of you beneath him, in the way you gasped and clung to him with every deliberate roll of his hips. He was consuming you, and you let him, losing yourself in the sensations, in the deep pull of desire, in the way James knew exactly how to pull you apart.

Remus, lounging beside Sirius, exhaled a slow, measured breath. His eyes were sharp, intense, tracking every little reaction you gave, each quiver of your breath—your dazed expression. Letting out a half-exasperated sigh, the hint of a smirk curling at his lip, he shook his head. “James,” he chided, voice laced with amusement, “you shouldn’t ravish the poor girl.”

James groaned into your shoulder, pressing his weight against you one last time, rolling his hips in a way that had your breath catching in your throat. "I don’t hear her complaining," he muttered smugly. The warmth in his voice sent another wave of heat rolling through you, had your fingers tugging at his shirt like you wanted him closer even though there was no space left between you.

And yet, reluctantly, he pulled back, shifting onto his knees between your legs. His gaze flickered over you—your parted lips, the dazed, needy expression on your face, the way your chest rose and fell in uneven breaths. Your legs were still spread around him, your skin flushed, lips swollen from kisses and your own unrestrained biting, top rucked up to expose the smooth expanse of your stomach.

You were wrecked—and they hadn’t even truly touched you yet.

Sirius made a sound low in his throat, something between a chuckle and a groan, dark eyes flicking over your form like he was committing every little detail to memory.

James swallowed, sinking his teeth into his bottom lip—maybe he had got a bit carried away. Exhaling a breath, he sheepishly rubbed at the back of his neck, before finally shifting off you.

You barely had time to mourn the loss of his warmth before Remus moved, adjusting the pillows behind him before gently coaxing you up, guiding you to settle back against his chest. His arms around you, solid and warm, and the moment you leaned into him, a small gasp caught in your throat.

Because you felt it.

The hard, undeniable press of his arousal against your back, heat searing through the layers of fabric still between you. Your breath hitched, body going stiff for a fraction of a second before you melted against him, fingers unconsciously curling into the material of his trousers.

A deep hum rumbled through Remus’ chest, and his lips brushed the shell of your ear as he spoke, voice low and thick. “Y’alright, dove?”

He only felt you nod against him, still drinking in small breaths of air.

Chuckling softly, his hands smoothed over your thighs in slow, soothing motions, giving you time to come back into the room fully. After a few moments your breath evened he spoke again, “Wanna keep going?”

The question sent a fresh rush of heat flooding through you, but you nodded again, significantly more eager. He hummed lowly, palms still kneading your flesh, before slipping up, ghosting over the skin of your stomach. Tilting head to look down at you, he could see the way your lips were still flushed, a huffed chuckle punctuating his sentence—

“How about…we give your lips a bit of a break, love?” his lips just barely grazing your temple.

You still couldn’t trust your voice, humming in approval, tongue flicking lightly over your lips.

Sirius, who had settled beside you on his stomach, propped up on his elbows, let his fingers ghost over your leg, the touch barely there—teasing, absentminded touches that made your breath hitch. His gaze was dark, intruiged, dragging over your form with something keenly observant—like he was watching very closely for every little reaction you gave.

Remus shifted slightly behind you, hands sliding under the hem of your top, coaxing you to lift your arms. His movements were slow, patient, giving you time to stop him, but when you didn’t—when you let him—he hummed in approval, slipping the fabric up and over your head, baring you further to their hungry gazes.

The air kissed your newly exposed skin, raising goosebumps in its wake, and suddenly, you felt so aware of yourself—of the way their eyes were drinking you in, of the way Sirius’ tongue swiped over his bottom lip, of the way James’ breath hitched just slightly.

Sirius let out a low whistle, a slow, easy grin tugging at his lips. “Damn, sweetheart,” he mused, voice teasing but dripping with appreciation. “You’ve been hiding that from us all this time?”

Heat rushed to your face, but before you could stammer out a response, Remus exhaled a quiet chuckle against your skin.

Letting his palms smooth over your sides, murmuring his approval into your skin, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your shoulder. His fingers traced lazy patterns along your ribs, his touch feather-light, teasing. Sirius and James just watched, fascinated, as Remus took his time, dragging his fingers over the delicate lace covering your chest, gaze flickering over your figure.

Remus’ voice was softer now, a quiet murmur, honeyed and lightly laced with desire.

“I have something I want to learn, too.”

You almost didn’t notice the way his fingers trailed down your body, skin prickling at the back of your neck when Remus started toying with the waistband of your trouser. Only just slipping the pads of his fingers underneath the edge before pulling away again, testing, and each time his did—air catches in your throat.

His lips brushed against your ear, voice patient but filled with quiet intent.

“Do you want these off?”

You swallowed thickly, your gaze flicking downward, watching the way his fingers played with the fabric one again—waiting, asking.

Answering with a trembling breath, “Yes…please.”

Sirius hummed in approval, his grin slow and lazy as he sat up, his fingers joining Remus’ as they worked together to ease you out of the fabric, their touches warm and reverent.

“Hmmm, such good manners,” His praise was a murmur against your temple, a quiet rumble of satisfaction that had a shiver running down your spine.

Remus’ gaze never wavered, his fingers tracing along your newly bared skin, watching, studying, soaking in every little shiver, every sharp intake of breath, every unconscious tilt of your hips. His thumb ghosted over your hipbone, over the top hem of your panties and them under the one that hugged the seam of your thighs.

Touches slow and tentative, so much so that your almost forgot to breath—eyes following his fingers just as much as James and Sirius’.

Remus’ other hand skimmed lower, teasing at the inside of your knee, coaxing your legs to part just a little wider, making nonsense patterns into the soft flesh of your inner thigh. The pads of the fingers on his other hand, just barely grazing over the front of your clothed core. And though he couldn’t see it directly, he could feel it—the small wet spot the had formed, spreading and darkening the colour of the fabric.

Your eyes had already shut at the contact, hairs on the back of your neck standing on end—teeth sinking into the flesh of your barely settled, swollen lips. Hands by your sides, balling into small fists as Remus lightly glided over the fabric for what felt like forever.

Already squirming restlessly at the ghostly touch.

And when he finally—finally—dipped his hand under, you sucked in a sharp, trembling breath. Body tensing, ridgid in his hold, his palm was so hot against your skin and your mouth felt impossibly dry when you tried to swallow—rid yourself of the lump that had formed in your throat.

Remus was still careful, watching each twitch of your thighs, each skipping rise and fall of your chest—viligant. He’d still barely done anything. Just cupping you, hums of approval rumbling in his chest at the way your core practically drooled over his fingers.

The steady pulse of your heartbeat sounding in your ears almost drowning out his words, “f-fuck dove, you’re soaked,”

Your muscles burned from the strain, using every cell in your brain to not buck helplessly into his hand. It was torturous really. The way he kept his hand firmly pressed against your folds, unmoving, the way he muttered against your neck, “so wet,” pausing between each word to press a kiss to your skin.

Relishing in the way your body shuddered against his, burning hotter at the moments pass—he hadn’t originally intended to tease you so, but the small whimpers that built in your throat with each squirm just tempted him too much.

The way you chewed at your bottom lip, brows arched and pinched on your forehead as you melted into him—relishing in how sensitive you were, how responsive your body was to his words.

“y’this messy just for us, dove? Mmmm, we’re so lucky,”

Both James and Sirius hum appreciatively from beside you, your eyes were still screwed shut, but you were sure their eyes were stuck on your middle—watching attentively as Remus finally moved his hand, just slightly dragging a finger through your slit, twitching in his hold. Thighs instinctively shifting to close when Sirius’ hand caught you, hand coaxing your thighs to part further.

Your head fell back onto Remus’ shoulder the second he moved his hand, even the slightest bit of friction sending waves of pleasure over your body. A gasping whine rushing past your lips, “rem,”

His other palm was pressed flush against your skin, comfortable under the hem of your panties—massaging lightly into your hip bone. Smirking into your skin as your hips raised off of the mattress slightly—pushing into his touch, pads of his fingers just barely gliding over your swollen bundle of nerves.

Sirius’ smirk widened, fingers dragging feather-light over your thigh, gaze flickering from your core to Remus as he mused lowly, “Didn’t realise you were such a sadist, Moony,”

The corners of Remus’ lips split into a wolfish grin as he finally decided to relent, ending your torment by making a single pressurised flick over your clit—your body jolted in his hold at the feeling. A soft whimper of his name leaving slipping out, and it had him twitching shamelessly in his trousers.

With each deliberate, languid roll of your bud against his fingers had your hands gripping harshly at the sheets beside you, walls spasming and clenching around nothing. And Remus could feel it, the throb of your core against him—smirking against the dip of your neck. Drinking in the small pants that fell from your lips, each heave your chest—letting one of his hands trail leisurely up your torso taking a mean handful of your breast.

Kissing a path up to your ear, lips ghosting over the shell—earning a particularly sweet gasp when one finger circled your entrance, the low, candied cadance his voice took had you struggling to swallow the saliva that pooled in your mouth. Nipping gently at your earlobe between his words—

“Wanna learn…how…to make you…feel good, pet.”

He’d effectively turneed your brain into mush, sucking in a shuddering breath when his pushed in a finger, producing an obscene squelch that had Sirius’ adam’s apple bobbing in his throat.

Your head rolled slightly, brows twitching in the arch high on your forehead, unable to focus on anything other than the slow drag, the in and out and in out of his long strokes—

”G’na let me take care of you?”

God you could barely breathe, every sense overwhelmed, pressed firmly against Remus—splayed out on the mattress surrendered, at his mercy. And you could feel the pressure, the way all the eyes in the room were on you, trained to where you Remus’ hand pumped, tantalisingly slow.

Remus chuckled lightly behind you at the delirious little nods you made, followed by a satisfied hum—drunk on the way you clenched around him, practically gushing around his single digit. Walls fluttering around him when he pushed all the way in, knuckle deep—and it knocked almsot all the wind out of you.

Body slumping into him, squeezing your eyes shut impossibly tighter as your mewls bounced and echoed off the walls, “f-fuck—rem, ngh,” almost overshadowing the lewd wet sounds coming from your middle.

Thighs trembling forcefully when he worked another finger past the tight ring of muscles, jaw hanging loose—moans spilling uncontrollably from your lips. Unable to keep your body still, grinding against his hand. The stretch was immaculate, dizzying and it had the coil in the pit of your stomach twisting even tighter.

You barely heard the groan from beside you, just feeling the cold air against your folds, Remus had uncovered you, panties pulled lazily to the side. And you had no time to feel shy at the sudden exposure, because his was back to bullying his digits into you, fingers curling into your plush walls, searching for that one-

“Mmpfh! Hngh-”

Spine forming a delicious arch, jaw falling slack as Sirius inched closer to you, pressing small nibbling kisses into the flesh of your inner thigh, “—shit, so gorgeous, love,” taking his time to suck a small mark into your skin. Gaze shifting to James, who was just as breathless as you, palming his own tented trousers beside Remus, a smirk splitting onto his lips at the sight, “Look,”

Remus was reeling his two fingers back, all the way, just barely leaving them kissing the surface of your folds—spreading them slightly—a clear sheen of slick coating his fingers. Giving them a meer moment to admire you before plunging back in.

Rough pads of his finger prodding ruthless against that spot—over and over, like he was addicted to the fluttering clench of your walls around him. High on the sweet whines that spilled from you.

Muttering against your pulse, “Yeah, sweetheart? Right there?” grinning into your skin.

Your mind was scattered, chanting your hips up into his hand, desperate—feverish. The steady curling push push push had your eyes rolling into the depths of your skull, Sirius’ voice sounded far away, muffled—vaguely computing his words, “fuck, thaaat’s it, angel—you close?”

It was so overwhelming, the invasive heat that spread beneath your skin, the room practically spinning around you when you forced your eyes to open just a slither. Immediately met with Sirius’ hooded gaze, his smirk spreading wider across his lips, your fingers twitched endlessly at your sides.

Body jittering as the coil in your stomach wound tighter as the seconds passed—it wasn’t until Remus brought his thumb over your throbbing bundle of nerves, rubbing tight little circles in time with the rough prods he pushed against that spot—that your thighs threatening to clamp shut around his hand at the stimulation.

A sinfully sweet cry forcing its way out of your mouth, Sirius watched as tears sprung in your eyes, prying your thighs apart—and you heard Remus’ voice distantly in your ears, taking his own leg over yours to keep you in place,

“No, no, no keep them open, pet. Wanna make you feel good,”

He could feel the way you squeezed and pulsed around him, hips bucking wildly into his palm, choked incoherent whines filling the room. Sirius still littering marks over your thighs—his eyes flickering between you and James, who was desperately fisting his length in time with Remus’ hand—jaw slacked, huffing out breathless pants.

Tears clung to your lashes, teetering dangerously close to the edge, writhing in Remus’ hold—mattress creaking lowly, a lewd little staccato with the squelches from below.

Eyes rolling into the back of your head before squeezing shut—pushing tears out the corners of your eye. Desperately scrambling for purchase, anything to keep you tethered to the room.

Sirius interlocked one hand with yours, the other—clawing at Remus’ forearm as he worked to push you over the edge, words hypnotising and honeyed.

“you’re okay, sweetheart—that’s it, taaake it,”

Bringing his lips to suck a small bruise into the thin skin behind your ear, body seizing in his hold, forming a delicate little arch as your jaw slacked. Wanton babbles leaving you as the coil in your stomach snapped—high washing over you, stars clouding your vision. A string of strangled gasps “hngh—rem, so—remus,” spilling out.

Your eyes snap open, a broken little sob leaving you when his fingers didn’t stop—hips bucking away from his touch while he worked you through your high, muttering against your temples, “Goood girl, keep cumming f’me,” shuddering in his hold, the mantra of his name heavy on your lips even after you slacked into him.

Aftershocks wracked through you in quiet tremors, your body boneless against the mattress as your heartbeat echoed like waves in your ears—loud and steady and a little unmoored. Remus stayed holding you, murmuring soft praise as he slowly pulled out, careful and gentle with every motion.

He pressed small, fluttering kisses over your shoulder, the corner of your neck—reverent and grounding. One hand brushing hair from your damp forehead, palms warm and steady.

“Did so well,” words low and soothing as he whispered “Just breathe, love. I’ve got you.”

You let out a soft, trembling exhale, too far under to say anything yet, but the way your fingers curled around his wrist was enough.

Sirius inched up beside you, head resting lightly on your stomach, thumb grazing the edge of your temple as he took you in. “Hey, pretty girl,” he murmured softly, “Y’alright? Still with us?”

You gave him the smallest nod, blinking up at him with glazed, half-lidded eyes. Sirius sighed, all fondness, and leaned in to kiss your cheek, the corner of your lips.

James murmured something about water and padded off to the kitchen, returning a minute later with a warm cloth in one hand and a glass that he helped you sip from carefully, brushing his fingers under your chin as you drank.

Remus took the warm cloth, gently tending to you—every swipe over your skin tender and attentive, whispering praise into the crook of your neck, your hair, your temple. Eyes fluttering closed as you basked in the warmth of their touch.

[papillon-mechant]

You don't have to write anything for this 😵‍💫 Im just thinking like dealer Remus would so be the type to show up at his girls window if she couldn't sleep. He obviously wouldn't enter through the door in the middle of the night at the PASTORS home, but he would climb the tree to her window. Letting him in she’d look at him with her wrinkled nose from the smell of weed on him after he has made a late night drop off. Just some wholesome hanging out until the next morning the smell of weed lingers in her clothes from cuddling all night and her father would probably be like that's suspicious… but his darling daughter would never touch that stuff or be around people who did.

I LOVEEEE this idea.

She texts him at she can't sleep and he's in his car and on her block in less than ten minutes. He has to park around the corner because the pastor has been seeing his car around a little too much and he's starting to get suspicious.

Which is of course why he has to climb through her window to get to her. He scales the side of the house like it's nothing and lightly knocks on the window so he doesn't scare her.

When he gets inside he has to really control himself because of how beautiful and innocent she looks in her pink nightgown. She welcomes him into her bed with open arms, commenting on how he really has to take care of his "skunk problems" which makes him laugh.

He holds her all night, stroking his hands through her hair and over her body, careful not to overstep her boundaries, and eventually drifts off to sleep himself. When he wakes up, it's about 5 am, and he can hear the pastor downstairs yell for her to wake up. Careful not to wake her, he slips his body from under hers, being sure to tuck her in and plant a small kiss on her forehead before making his way out the window just in time as her father walks into the room.

At the table during breakfast, the pastor asks her how she slept and she tells him she slept amazing. To which he comments

"I don't know how you slept so well with that skunk so close to your window." Not even thinking for a second that the smell could be coming from something else because she's his perfect little girl and she would never be around those kind of people.

[papillon-mechant]

Hiii could you maybe do something on strawberry and dealer Remus getting into a small squabble and he's so gentle and honey toned when trying to get her to forgive him?

Hi! Yes I love this idea because remus would obviously never get angry at her or yell, he just wants her to be happy

It was so stupid. So small and insignificant and yet it made you so angry. It's not like you had much of a right to either, he wasn't your boyfriend, that's not allowed of course. So what reason would you have to be so upset at what you found?

He really hadn't meant for you to see it. Not that he was hiding things from you, he just didn't want to make something out of nothing (i.e. what you're doing right now), and in all honesty, he forgot it was there. Last week during a delivery, his customer, the girl who worked behind the counter at the roller rink, had just gotten off work. She complained the whole time, gossiping about people Remus didn't know, or care about, and crying about how uncomfortable her bra was making her.

"I wish I could just get rid of it, ya know?"

In an effort to get her out of his car quicker, Remus muttered a quick "Why don't you?" while he searched the duffle bag in his trunk as fast as he could to find her order. He hadn't really anticipated her actually listening to him. Nor did he think she would just throw it in his back seat. But he just wanted her out of his car, so he didn't complain. He got her product, made the sale, and drove off without another thought.

Another thing he hadn't anticipated was you finding it on one of your post-bible study rides.

"Berry..." Remus coos, lifting your chin with his finger and forcing you to meet his gaze. His heart flutters at the sight, though he can't tell if it's from joy or sadness. While the sight of you so angry at the thought of there being someone else did boost his ego a bit, the quiver in your lip and the ghost of a tear that had passed through your perfect make up broke his heart into a million pieces.

You shake your head, moving away from his touch and crossing your arms over your chest and Remus tries not to think about the way the action causes your shirt to stretch down just a bit, revealing the golden cross necklace that sits just above the crease in your chest.

"Is she pretty?" You mumble under your breath, not really wanting to hear the answer.

"Darling, it doesn't matter if she was the prettiest girl in the world," the statement makes you cringe and Remus immediately regrets his words, "She was just a customer, it's not what you think." He steps toward you again and you step back. The two of you continue this chase until your back is flush against the library wall. Remus uses his arms to trap you on either side, making direct eye contact with you.

"Listen to me," he starts, his voice at a low whisper, "there's only one girl whose bra I want on the floor of my car, and I'm looking right at her."

this was longer than I expected sorry lol

[papillon-mechant]

why do you and others like vaccines so much?

not dying of preventable diseases is actually one of my favorite hobbies