#I would do unspeakable things to and for him

[justcallmemrslupin]

Things About Remus Lupin That Fandom Keeps Forgetting

We talk a lot about Remus Lupin’s kindness. And yes, he’s kind. Devastatingly kind. Gentle. Wise. A quiet anchor in a chaotic world. But what we don’t talk about enough is how much pain he holds under that surface. How much control it takes to look kind, when so much has been taken from you.

Remus Lupin is not just kind. He’s flawed, he’s hilarious, and he’s deeply sad. And he wraps all that mess in a threadbare cardigan and a polite smile like a bomb disguised as a paperback novel.

Let’s talk about the coldness.

That icy, polite coldness when he’s suppressing something monstrous inside him, like when he wants to kill Peter — or rather spare him the Dementor's Kiss — but won’t let himself feel it too loudly, so it comes out sharp, flat. Or when he leaves Tonks during her pregnancy, fully convinced that being noble means being cruel to himself. That’s how he survives the unspeakable: by shutting the door between his heart and his face. You don’t make it to 38 as a werewolf in the wizarding world without mastering that mask.

And the dry humour. Merlin, it’s lethal.

"No one is hiding Sirius Black under their cloaks. Move along."

"Mr Moony presents his compliments to Professor Snape, and begs him to keep his abnormally large nose out of other people's business."

"Wadiwasi!" — casually shooting gum into Peeves’ nose.

“I thought ‘The Chosen One’ would be enough for you.”

“Not a very popular guest at dinner parties.”

And when young Remus, talking about a question on a DADA test on how to identify a werewolf, quips:

“One: he’s sitting in my chair. Two: he’s wearing my clothes. Three: his name is Remus Lupin.” That’s not just humour; that’s pain disguised as punchline. That’s a kid surviving shame with wit.

And while we’re here... can we PLEASE talk about how absurdly powerful he is?

This man cast a Patronus and conjured flames with his bare hands at the same time without a wand or words. Two advanced spells. Simultaneously. Silently. In control. While barely awaken.

Let’s be clear: the Patronus charm is hard. It’s fueled by happy memories. And Remus? Remus doesn’t have a bank of golden moments to draw from. His life is loss layered on loss. And yet he does it. Effortlessly. That’s not just skill. That’s willpower. That’s raw, terrifying strength.

And let’s talk about how Remus Lupin always knows what to say.

And no, not in the “manipulative Slytherin” fanon kind of way. I’m talking about deep, strategic empathy, the kind you only learn when you've spent a lifetime navigating how people fear you, reject you, or pity you.

He doesn't just speak well — he listens first. Then he shifts your perspective with a sentence.

Examples? Let’s go:

To Snape in Prisoner of Azkaban: "You fool... is a schoolboy grudge worth putting an innocent man back in Azkaban?" — Not “you’re wrong.” Not “stop.” He reframes the stakes. Makes Snape look in a mirror. That’s surgical.

To Harry when he catches him with the Marauder’s Map:

“Your parents gave their lives to keep you alive, Harry. A poor way to repay them — gambling their sacrifice for a bag of tricks.” — He doesn’t yell. He doesn’t shame. He brings Harry’s own values into sharp focus and holds them up like a compass.

To Molly, when she breaks down over her Boggart: “What would we do to your kids if anything happened to you? Let them starve?” - It’s funny. It’s tender. It’s so smart. He doesn’t dismiss her fear, he includes himself in the imaginary consequence, showing her that she’s not alone, and never has been.

Remus uses humour as a balm. He uses language as a bridge. He doesn’t control people; he guides them. That’s leadership, not manipulation.

And the irony? Most of the time, he can’t offer himself the same grace.

He knows exactly how to make other people feel worthy, safe, seen. But when it comes to himself, that voice is silent. That wisdom doesn’t reach inward. That’s what makes him so devastating.

He’s not flawless. He screws up. He leaves. He represses. But when you zoom out, Remus Lupin is the person everyone turns to when they need to understand something painful. And he always delivers. Quietly. Calmly. Sharply.

Remus doesn't just fight darkness. He translates it. And then he hands you the map.

Remus Lupin is not soft. He is sharp. Controlled. Bitingly funny. Brutally intelligent. Crushingly lonely. And yes, kind. But in the way a steel blade is kind when it spares a life.

He's the kind of man who apologizes for existing and still manages to save everyone else.

He burns quietly. But make no mistake: he burns.

Remus John Lupin was never just a cardigan and a sad smile. He was a storm wrapped in gentleness.

[rheaxsethi]

Rhea didn’t move right away. The warmth of his hand on her jaw, the weight of his forehead resting against hers—it all rooted her in a way she hadn’t expected. It wasn’t comfort so much as clarity. This wasn’t a moment born out of convenience or weakness. It was something rare and sharp and unspeakably human. The kind of thing she used to scoff at, back when pretending not to care was easier than admitting she wanted something real. Now, real was staring her in the face. And it hurt in all the ways that mattered.

His words didn’t surprise her. They cut, sure—but with the kind of honesty she respected, even when it stung. She hadn’t kissed him thinking it would fix anything. She didn’t believe in fixes anymore. She believed in glimpses—of truth, of longing, of possibility—and that kiss had been all three. A silent confession from someone who didn’t know how to say please, just let me feel something real again. “I know,” she said softly, her breath catching in the narrow space between them. “I didn’t do it expecting to be forgiven. Or trusted.” Her voice cracked on the last word, the emotion catching up to her mouth before she could smother it. Her hand came up to touch his cheek, not to soothe or seduce, but as if trying to memorize the shape of something she might never get again. “You think I don’t trust you? Maybe I don’t. But that’s not because I don’t want to. God, I wanted to and even that day at the festival, I thought about staying--but Duke, it was getting...heavier than I expected.” And she wasn't used to that. Hell, Rhea was a lone wolf, people didn't get close to her and even if they did--they left when they saw the truth of who she was inside.

She took a breath—the kind meant to hold grief at bay. Then she stepped back—slow, deliberate, like peeling herself away from the gravity of something that could have wrecked her if she let it. Her fingertips lingered at his chest, just over his heart. She wondered if it was racing like hers… or steady, like he already knew how this would end. “You don’t trust me,” she echoed, voice quiet but steady. Her eyes were tired, clear. “And I don’t blame you. I’ve spent so long disappearing before people could push me out. But for once… I wanted to stay.” A pause. Her throat tightened, but she kept going. “Even then, I didn’t give in to that instinct. I stayed. I came back. And now—you’re the one telling me to go. So… I guess that’s that.” She didn’t wait for permission. Didn’t wait for him to change his mind.

She stepped away—finally, fully—resigned to the quiet ache that this might be the last time they'd ever meet like this. That whatever thread had once pulled them together was fraying fast beneath the weight of what neither of them could say. Of course he wouldn’t want her now. She was a liability. A risk. And in his world, that was the same thing as dangerous but meant to be eliminated. So now--Rhea wondered if it was just a matter of time.

The kiss hit him like a freight train he never saw coming. One second she was talking about loyalty and choice, the next her lips were on his and every coherent thought scattered like dice across felt. His body went rigid, not from rejection but from pure shock, because this wasn't supposed to happen. Not now. Not when he was still nursing wounds from her disappearance, still trying to figure out if she was someone he could trust or someone who'd eventually burn him. But here she was, kissing him with all the intensity of a woman who'd been holding back for months, and Christ, he'd thought about this exact moment more times than he cared to admit. Just not like this. Not when everything between them felt so raw and unresolved. The shock lasted maybe three seconds before his hands found her waist, pulling her closer as he kissed her back with months of pent-up frustration and want. Every instinct told him this was a mistake, that mixing emotions with the mess they'd created would only make things worse. But feeling her fingers curl against his collar, tasting the desperation and honesty in her kiss, made it impossible to pretend anymore. This wasn't just physical attraction or some game she was playing. This was real. Messy and complicated and absolutely terrifying, but real. He kissed her like he was trying to communicate everything he couldn't say out loud, all the nights he'd wondered where she was, all the anger and worry and stubborn attraction he'd been carrying around.

When she pulled back, he couldn't move, couldn't speak, couldn't do anything but stare at her with his forehead pressed against hers. Her confession about not fixing anything should have irritated him, should have made him push her away and remind her that trust wasn't rebuilt with a single kiss. Instead, it made perfect sense. Nothing was fixed. He was still angry about her disappearance, still worried about what her knowledge of his world could mean for his crew. She was still someone who ran when things got difficult, still someone who kept secrets behind those careful eyes. "You're right," he said finally, his voice rougher than he intended. "It doesn't fix anything. We’re still who we are and I still cannot trust you. Just like I’m sure you can’t trust me when you fled that day." But he didn't step back either, didn't put distance between them like logic demanded. His thumb traced along her jaw without conscious thought, like his body had made decisions his mind wasn't ready for. “You should go.” He finally said, not knowing what else to say to her.

[impuls1veworm]

I’m not kidding anymore, I need Davrin in a way that’s concerning to modern feminism

[kenm4vhs]

sorry for the noise that’s just me barking

[alot0ftea]

ANTHING 4 YOU MY KING

[sabaliciouss009]

ugh i would let him use me nd abuse me guys 😖🙏🏼

also please don’t be afraid to follow me i love all uu guys 😚

and thank you for 20 notes on my first post 🥰🥰 !!

[cinnamonbungirl]

my heart stops everytime i see these pics of him

GOOD LORD

[c2-eh]

oh my GOD

[ihavenointerestinreallife]

thinking about homelander and tracking his s/o’s cycle… 18+

—

definitely don’t think he’d have an app or anything like his partner would, he’d just know. he’d know exactly when your emotions are high, the moment the bleeding begins– and he’d definitely know when you were ovulating.

in fact i think knowing your ovulation window is one of the things he’s the most knowledgeable about. he dreams about fucking you every single night that you’re in that time period, and you’d be stupid to think you were getting away with getting pumped full of his cum just once in a day.

you see, homelander’s biggest desire– after reforming america to his image, that is– is seeing your belly swollen with his offspring. if there’s anything that could excite him more than the reflection of himself in the mirror, it would be the physical embodiment of himself in your arms.

so when you’re home one night, windows open and fans blaring, your sticky body sprawled out on the bed wearing practically nothing trying to escape the heat, you weren’t surprised when your lovers footsteps were faster and more eager to get to you than normal.

he could see you from a mile away in just a small tank top and panties– could smell the sweat on your body, the heat between your legs especially. his silhouette stood in the doorway, wind from the outside messing up his hair from the day. he looked animalistic with his lips thinned down into a frown and his eyes slightly crimson.

the two of you exchanged no words, only sounds. sounds of skin colliding, the bed creaking underneath his weight, and homelander finding his head between your thighs before you could blink. he relished in the way your cunt was already sopping for him before you even saw him, as if your body knew he was coming.

your head fell back against the headboard with a small thud, but all you could worry about was how sensitive your clit was versus how it normally is, and how when his gloved fingers slipped inside you thought you were going to cum right then and there.

and honestly, you would, and you did. usually he’d force you to beg to even become deserving of such a reward, but tonight all he craved was forming you into his perfect image of a mother. he felt your walls clamp tightly around his fingers, and he thought right then and there you were the woman he was destined to be with.

when he came back up your lips collided feverishly, teeth almost clanging together with how eager the two of you were. the heat had ramped up, but all you could complain about now was the clothes separating the two of you from being skin to skin.

the fat tip of his cock rubbed teasingly against your clit, “could smell her aching for me from the elevator, fuck..” you knew he couldn’t tease you for much longer, it only took a moment for him to push past your opening and stretch you apart. your cunt had become accustomed to the burn that accompanied him, but instead of pain it always brought you pleasure.

“i– fuck– i’ve been in this fucking apartment all day just needing you, craving you.” you whined, hands reaching out to grab at his hair. homelander said nothing, instead laughing in response, because he’d be a fool if he didn’t already know.

“i know baby, i can tell by the way your pussy is gripping me, shit, it’s like you haven’t been fucked in weeks,” he grabbed your jaw, forcing you to make eye contact with him, “but we both know i’d never let you go that long without getting fucked like the whore you are.”

your walls clamped around him at his words of degradation, your fists tightening in his scalp. he laughed at your reaction again because he just knew this would happen, he’d been waiting for it for days.

“you want me to cum inside this pretty little pussy? huh?” his grip on your jaw is steadfast, his speed in which he thrusted into you only increasing as he got closer to his release.

“yes, please homelander,” he loved when you used his supe name during rough sex, “need you to cum inside..”

his breath hitched at your own admittance, thrusts slowing for a moment before catching their original speed again. “if you want it so bad, cum then. cum on my dick like i know you fucking want to, you little slut.” his tone was harsh and demanding, and you felt your stomach warm with some kind of sick butterflies.

your thighs began to shake underneath him, and with a couple more thrusts you gave in to the white light begging to shroud your vision. your walls clenched and signaled your orgasm, thought it was quite obvious from the gush of fluid that coated his pelvis.

homelander came right then and there, finally allowing the load he'd been holding in to coat your insides, fulfilling the silent promise that he'd get you pregnant.

[ringosmistress]

[blissfulbluee]

Sang-woo is better than me because if I encountered Gi-hun in this ugly lame ass outfit you wouldn’t be able to get me off of him.

[nottrusttworthy]

Callum Turner — someone in the mirror

[kenm4vhs]

god he's so batshit insane 🥵

[whoisspence]

he NEEDS to stop doing the tongue thing or i'm gonna actually lose it

[xeemaee]

Respectfully I need him to lay down on top of me

[cinnamonbungirl]

niall with old iphone camera quality is doing something to me omg