#threads ( rem ). | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ellecdc · 7 months

Note

Love, i hope youre staying hydrated 🩵

A poly!wolfstar idea that lives rent free is that Rem, for lack of a better word, hoards Siri and Reader as it gets closer to the fullmoon/ a specific type of moon. Like a dragon. Hes so openly, aggressively affectionate too and is much more likely to mamhandle them

thank you all for constantly reminding me to drink more water - you're my heroes.

poly!WolfStar x fem!reader

CW: territorial boyfriend, slight jealousy, dom/sub dynamics if you squint but SFW

You weren’t hiding. Not really...

But you were also sort of kind of definitely hiding.

You loved your boyfriends, both of them, so damn much. And for the majority of the month, it was Sirius driving the two of you up the wall (affectionately). But as the night of the full moon dragged closer and closer, you and Sirius could hardly move without Remus’ sights set on you.

Most of the time, you and Sirius handled Moony’s obsession quite well in your humble opinion; you usually relished in his neediness and all the affection he showered on you.

But exam season was around the corner, and you were currently hanging on by a thread.

Anything and everything that could have gone wrong today did; you got a run in your sheer tights at breakfast, you only received an acceptable on your most recent essay for Charms, you dropped your potion during class which spilt on your shoes, and you forgot your textbook for Transfiguration which earned you house points and detention.

So, you loved Remus – truly, you would die for him – but you needed to get this redraft of your essay for Potions finished (using the corrections you received on your dreadful Charms essay) and you could not deal with Sirius’ non-stop flirting and joking which you knew you’d have to deal with if you let Remus drag you up to his dorm room as he wont to do.

So, you were hiding.

Definitely hiding.

In the furthest corner in the library that you could manage which was probably not the best hiding place from the studious, book-loving lycanthrope – but you were too desperate to be making effective plans right now.

You probably should have tried a little harder.

“There you are.” Remus’ lilting voice floated to you in your little corner of solitude.

“Hey, Moons.” You called quietly as he approached you and placed a searing kiss to your lips, his hand at the nape of your neck keeping your head in place for him.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were avoiding me.” He whispered against your lips with a smirk.

Your face flooded with heat at the prospect of being caught, but Remus just chuckled and pressed another kiss to your lips before he pulled back and took a seat beside you.

“Where’s Sirius?” You asked.

Remus looked at you from the corner of his eye as he pulled out a book from his bag. “Practice, why?”

You felt your shoulders drop in relief at the idea that you may actually be able to finish this essay before Sirius came to (lovingly) distract you.

Remus hummed at you as a grin grew across his face. “Ah, perhaps it’s not necessarily me you’re avoiding?”

Your face heated again at the mortifying ordeal of being known.

“I love him, I love you, I love you both, but I-”

“Hey,” Remus interrupted what was quickly becoming an increasingly panicked tangent as he slid his hand into yours. “It’s okay dovey, you do what you need to do. I’ll try to control myself and keep Sirius busy, okay?”

And Remus kept his word...mostly.

He had his hand on you at all times: it started with your hand in his before you needed to pull it away to flip through your parchment, which became a solid grip on your thigh as he continued reading before that hand began to migrate further up your thigh and tease around the bottom of your skirt to which you whined “Moony” at and pushed his hand away.

It was when Remus - apparently provoked by some younger Hufflepuff allegedly “making googly eyes at you” from across the aisle - hauled you into his lap and began nipping at your neck that you decided you had gotten all the revising you were going to get done today, done.

“Hungry, dove?” He asked into your neck.

You wanted to roll your eyes, but the way his hands wrapped around your middle to envelop you in a sweet hug as he murmured into the crook of your neck made you melt a little.

“Yeah.”

You could feel him smile against your skin and press one more kiss to it before he was helping you off of his lap and packing your things up. “Let’s go to dinner then.”

Remus held your hand and carried your bag all the way to the Great Hall before all but seating you himself and pressing himself up against your side on the bench of the Gryffindor table.

Lily smirked at you from her place before ensuring no one around could hear her.

“If I hadn’t known it was Remus’ time of the month already, this would have solidified it for me.” She said with a salacious wink.

You tried to glare at her, but Remus took that moment to shove his face back into the crook of your neck causing you to flush and duck your head shyly.

You heard boisterous laughing at the entrance to the Great Hall as the Gryffindor quidditch team made their way in from their practice.

You smirked at the sight, specifically Sirius, who had obviously showered - his hair was still damp, and his cheeks were still flushed a pretty pink from the adrenaline of his flight.

A gruff moan from your boyfriend seated beside you alerted you to his shared appreciation of the scenery.

However, Sirius flashed the two of you a smirk and a wink before following McKinnon over to the Ravenclaw table where Dorcas was sitting with Pandora.

Remus tensed slightly but settled for pulling your closer into his side.

It didn’t last long, however, when a particular bark of laughter garnered yours and Remus’ attention only to find Sirius talking to a Ravenclaw girl everyone knew had a raging crush on him.

Now, it’s important to note that Sirius was not deceitful nor disloyal to you and Remus, but he was mischievous and... bratty... sometimes.

Usually, you and Remus would scoff and laugh, and he’d tell you he would deal with this later causing Sirius to pout and whine, begging for attention – but today Remus immediately rose from his seat and grabbed both of your book bags, calling over a hasty “let’s go dove” as he stalked over to the Ravenclaw table to throw your shared boyfriend over his shoulder and stalk up to Gryffindor tower.

You knew Sirius was going to pay for it tonight.

#ask elle #marauders era #marauders au #marauders fanfiction #reader insert #self insert #sirius black #remus lupin #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin x you #sirius black x reader #sirius black x you #poly!wolfstar #poly!wolfstar x reader #poly!wolfstar x you #wolfstar x reader #wolfstar x you #ellecdc fics

1K notes · View notes

soulgathered · 1 year

Text

rem tag drop .

#threads ( rem ).#answered asks ( rem ).#about ( rem ).#portrait ( rem ).#musings ( rem ).

1 note · View note

amjustagirl · 29 days

Text

chapter 4

pairing: hoshina soshiro x f! reader

genre: romance, angst

wc: 5k

summary: you've loved soshiro since you were seven. he will always place his duty above you.

chapt 1 / chapt 2 / chapt 3 / chapt 4 / chapt 5

When you blink open your eyes, you find yourself back in the Hoshina family estate.

The garden is exactly as you remember it. Bonsai trees, neatly manicured. The white gravel ocean raked with ripple lines. Heat shimmers off the ground, harsh summer sun bearing down on the tiled roof. A young man with dark hair and sad, violet eyes sits across you.

“Soshiro”, you cry, fumbling to your feet.

He looks right through you even when you’re standing right before him.

He’s wearing the navy hakama he reserves for formal occasions, the family crest embroidered in gold thread on the back, a ceremonial katana strapped to his hip. Something’s about to happen, you realise, the compound bustling with servants carrying paper lanterns. No one pays you any notice as you float behind him down the familiar corridors of the house, a ghost.

His father approaches, severe lines running through his forehead. “You know your duty”, he claps his son’s shoulder with a heavy hand.

Soshiro’s shoulders slump, an invisible weight bearing down on him.

His duty awaits outside the estate’s gates.

A young woman, clearly noble born, waits for them to greet her with her chin in the air, dolled up in matrimonial white, surrounded by a retinue of servants. She tilts her chin higher to assess her groom as he offers her his arm before bowing her head demurely, letting him help her up the stairs.

The sun in your eyes forces you to turn away. Another woman catches your gaze, the profile of her face backlit in the blue-grey dusk. Rough hands, a cheap, cotton yukata, she hides in the shade. Her anguish is apparent in the defeated curve of her mouth.

She’s you, you realise, with even sadder eyes.

This is a dream, you tell yourself. A shitty, crappy excuse of a dream that you probably caused by drinking one too many cans of beer. You really should take better to maintain a healthy REM cycle, maybe pick up some meditation or exercise, because heaven knows your psyche will suffer if your subconsciousness decides to torture you in your sleep too.

You close your eyes.

You still don’t find yourself back in your bed. Instead, the stench of manure hits you, then the scratch of straw under your feet. That sad girl - you, in another life perhaps, kneels before the same dark haired boy, Soshiro, still as a statue.

“The horse is saddled. We can ride somewhere, far away where no one knows either of our names, leave all of this behind. You don’t have to get married to a woman you don’t love -”

He’s carved of marble in the moonlight, doesn’t move to meet her gaze, not even when she tugs at his sleeve. “I am but a second son, but even I know my duty to my clan.”

“And what about love?” she asks. “What about me?”

Neither of them notice you when you tumble out of the stable into the night. But there’s nothing but darkness looming before you, the moon nowhere to be seen, and when you turn back, the stable has disappeared. In its place, a familiar, wooden hut, where a fire grows. The heat of the forge stings your face, ash flying, the smell of burning steel in the air.

This time, Soshiro’s in the lacquered leather of a samurai warrior from centuries past. “Is it ready?” he directs his question at the woman in the forge.

Wordlessly, she hands him the sword in her hand, red hot from hammer and tongs. He weighs it in his hand, swings it once, twice, flashing quicksilver in the dim light of the blacksmith’s forge. You recognise the blade. You’ve seen it hung up in one of many sitting rooms in the Hoshina estate, captioned as belonging to a Hoshina ancestor who never returned home.

You understand why her voice quivers when she calls out to him before he leaves. “My lord”, she says. “Will you ever lay down your sword?”

“Perhaps in another life”, he replies.

In the shadow of the forge, the violets in his eyes wither and die.

You cannot bear to watch this play out before you again and again, a twisted loop you’re powerless to stop. There is nothing you can do to shock yourself awake, a ghost in every lifetime you freefall through, so bone weary, you stop running, sink to your knees. Wherever you are, the nightmares stop once you close your eyes. The damp grass is cool against your back, the darkness becomes soothing. It’s easy to lose yourself to a deep, undisturbed sleep.

(wake up)

The thrum of your heartbeat starts to still. You think you hear a faint echo. It sounds like Soshiro.

For the first time in your life, you hesitate to answer.

(please, wake up)

“But it’s comfortable here”, you say to no one at all. “I’m so tired.”

The neverending grind of work, of long hours spent hunched over glowering flames and complicated weapon blueprints. The dull ache of heartbreak, the painful lesson of learning to be okay alone.

“Let me sleep”, you whisper.

The darkness holds you close, blankets you. It’s too easy to let yourself just be, no one to disappoint, no one who disappoints. You let yourself be pulled beneath the tide, the endless ebb and flow lulling you into a dreamless slumber.

Perhaps you could be content like this.

Perhaps not. You think of the menagerie of plants you’ve gathered, they depend on you for food and water. There’s a pottery class on Sunday that you’ve been excited to attend, an abstract pot that you want to attempt. You’re supposed to meet your mother for tea, you’re looking forward to feasting on peaches, in season in the dying weeks of summer.

Your eyelids are still heavy with the weight of sleep, but you force them open. A streak of pain that shoots through your right side, but you slowly sit up anyway. A sea of hydrangeas, shimmering violet-blue in the early morning light stretches before you.

An achingly familiar voice calls your name. You lift your face to meet the rising sun, feeling its warmth flicker through you.

Your heart begins to hum.

You’re not in your own bed when you crack your eyes open.

The room is too white, too pin-neat. There are clear tubes running from your arms, bandages restricting even your slightest movement, not that you really can do much other than shift about the too-narrow bed you’ve found yourself in, the sudden brightness disorienting you.

“Oh!”, an unfamiliar voice exclaims. “Call the doctor, she’s awake!”

Your head threatens to split open. It hurts too much to stay awake.

You fall back into a dreamless sleep.

You drift in and out of consciousness after that, the pull of sleep still irresistible, but you stay awake for longer periods of time. Doctors poke and prod at you, nurses fuss over you. It’s hard to recall any conversations you have during this time, your memories melding almost into your dreams.

People ask you questions about your name, your age, where you’re from. It feels as if you’re stuck underwater, it’s a struggle to gasp for enough air at times to answer them, but you think you find enough brain cells to rub together in the cotton wool jumble in your head, mumble the right answers so they go away.

Your parents show up to visit you.

‘’Llo”, you mutter. Your father looks strangely old, your mother tired.

You’re pleased that your mother brings chopped peaches for you, less so when you realise you have no ability to swallow solid food just yet. They disappear for a hushed conversation with the doctors, leaving you with little distraction so you drop back off to sleep.

The next time you wake, the room is dark.

Even in the dim glow of machines beeping, you make out the faint outline of a boy you know too well, curled up uncomfortably in a plastic chair. “S‘ro”, you mumble, half asleep.

A flurry of movement. He appears by your uninjured side, staring at you wide-eyed, as if he doesn’t believe you won’t disappear. You wonder if he’s another figment of your dreams because he stands so still drinking his fill of you, until he remembers to breathe again.

“Hey”, he says hoarsely.

“Mmph”, you grunt. In your vague, rambling train of thoughts, you register surprise that he’s even here. “S’ work?”

His laugh is wet. “Are you seriously askin’ me ‘how’s work’ right now?”

You frown. Why - why is Soshiro even here?

“I’m here for you, silly”, a warm hand settles on your left arm. “Go back to sleep. I’ll seeya later.”

You start to stay awake for longer stretches at a time.

Your parents gently fill you in on your situation. You were touch and go for a while, your mother recounts tearfully, your head injury making the doctors doubt you’d ever wake. You had to be cut open to stop internal bleeding in your gut, fix a multitude of shattered bones in your right hip and leg. Burns, on your shoulder and arm which required skin grafts, extensive medication to keep infection at bay.

Everyone treats you like you’re made out of glass even as your condition steadily improves, aided by the wonders of kaiju regenerative technology. Your parents fuss over you like a child, tucking you in too tight beneath starched hospital sheets. The nurses refuse to let you shower, only allowing you sponge baths which you detest.

Soshiro’s the worst of the lot.

At first it's endearing how protective and sweet he is. The doctors give him a wide berth, most of the nurses terrified of him, though he swears that he’s been utterly polite when you question him about it. He doesn’t allow you to do anything yourself, not even hold your own cup of water when you drink. Your bedside is overflowing with colourful greeting cards, half of them signed by him, and he brings you a fresh bouquet of flowers during each visit.

“That boy is besotted with you”, one of the nurses who isn’t intimidated by Soshiro trills in with her unsolicited opinion. “It’s adorable.”

He’s not”, you deny, frowning. “We’re just friends.”

It’s a little too much. The only visitor who doesn’t smother you is Sochiro, who snaps back to his usual self the minute you show a little of your usual snark. “Did you break your head too?” you ask, when he arrives bearing a hamper of fruit.

“Impertinent brat”, he snaps back. “I’ll have you know my father put me up to this.”

You grin. “I suppose that’s where your brother got his manners from. Pity you don’t have any.”

He glowers at you, but doesn’t storm out of the room. Instead, he brandishes a small, silver knife and starts peeling fruit. “I never wanted a younger sibling”, he grouses. “Should’ve dropped Soshiro in the drain the minute he was born, then I’d never have to deal with your smart mouth -.”

“Aww”, you coo. “Hoshina Sochiro, Captain of the Sixth Division, getting soft in your old age.”

“Shut it”, he snaps, while stuffing perfect wedges of fruit into your palm.

It reminds you of the easy friendship you had with Soshiro, not the way he’s behaving, almost as if he feels anything more than friendship for you - which he’s confirmed to your face that he mostly does not. It confuses you, the tender way he treats you, the lingering stares when he thinks you’re asleep, and you much prefer him to go back to the way he was before.

“Stop it!” you finally burst, when his smothering becomes too overwhelming. “Treat me like your friend - not like I’m some glass figurine you’re trying to keep safe.”

A plastic chair screeches back. He stares at you. “Do you even realise how close you were to dyin’?”

“Sorta”, you reply, though some gaps remain empty in your memories, “but I’m okay now, and ‘sides, what happened was just bad luck -”

“No it wasn’t just luck”, he replies. “It wasn’t. It wasn’t.”

“What do you mean?”

Something shutters behind his eyes. “It’s my fault you’re hurt.” He angles himself away from you. “I crashed into your building.”

“The kaiju threw you into the building”, you correct. “It wasn’t your fault.”

He lunges forward to grip your bed rail, his sudden intensity scaring you. “I could’ve been the cause of you dyin’-”

“My head’s pretty hard”, you try to diffuse the building tension with a joke. “Would take more than a fallin’ building to kill me.”

He makes a strangled sound of outrage in his throat. “Don’t. Just - don’t.”

His tone is devoid of its usual lightness. He’s - he’s angry, scared, face twisting into a scowl, body coiling, as if preparing for an attack. “You’re upset”, you murmur. “Don’t be.”

“You could’ve died.”

“Hey”, you beckon him forward, lifting your uninjured hand off the bed to place it on top of his. He grasps at it, a drowning man clutching at a lifeline.

“It’s okay”, you say gently. “I’m okay.”

“Promise me you’ll stay safe.”

“I’ll try my best”, you offer.

An angry sound escapes through his clenched jaw, his face strained. You brush the skin of his wrist with your thumb until the too-quick staccato of his pulse steadies.

“Go to sleep”, he finally says. “Just stay safe.”

After that, something shifts. Soshiro resumes the mantle of his chaotic, goofy self.

“I’m gonna yell at you when you’re better”, Soshiro huffs the next time he visits. “A daikaiju -it was a nine on the fortitude scale, y’know - decides to attack near you, and you not only choose to stay put, you run back into a collapsing building for whatever reason -”

“I was trying to save some of the blades -”

“How about you focus on savin’ your own damn skin -”

You sniff, deliberately closing your eyes. “I’m going back to sleep.”

“Oi”, he grounds out. “Stop pretendin’.”

The reappearance of the playful banter you’re used to sharing with him puts you back at ease. “Don’t you need to sleep too?” you ask, staring pointedly at the purple smudges beneath his eyes. “In a bed, not a hospital chair that’s going to give you a crooked neck.”

“S’fine”, he always replies. “Still way more comfortable than sleepin’ out in a forest durin’ kaiju hunts.”

“Still”, you insist. “You don’t have to visit me so often. I know how busy you are with work.”

He squints at you. “Do you not want me to be here?”

“That’s not what I’m saying and you know it -”

“Sometimes work can take a backseat.”

You beckon him forward, place a hand against his forehead. “No fever”, you pronounce. “That’s odd - the Hoshina Soshiro I know would never say that unless his mind is addled by illness-”

He pulls away with a splutter, cheeks a furious pink.

But awkward moments like this remain, no matter how much you try to keep your conversations light, breezy. There’s a tension Soshiro carries, especially apparent in the broad lines of his shoulders. He’s nervy, jumpy almost, the unguarded hitch in his breath when he draws in just a little too close. There’s something he’s keeping in, deep inside his chest that keeps trying to explode out of him whenever he’s not careful.

There’s a glimpse of that when you tell him of your plan to move back to Osaka to continue recuperating under your parents’ roof. You’ll miss your apartment where you navigated much of your young adult life, the routines you’ve built for yourself. But you’re tired of living in the hospital, sleeping on a too-hard bed, without much privacy from nurses who pop in and out of your room at odd hours at all times. Your parents agree to ferry you to check-ups and appointments, and they even got your brother to transport your plants to make you feel more at home.

“You’re not leavin’ for good, surely”, he frowns.

“I’m not sure”, you shrug. “Izumo Tech does have offices in Osaka, and there isn’t much tying me to Tokyo anymore.

There’s a sudden lull in the conversation as Soshiro falls silent, face stricken. He opens his mouth as if to speak, once, twice, before shutting it deliberately, Then his face slackens into a childish pout.

“Don’t go”, he whines. “Who would I hang out with when I’m off-duty?”

Caught off guard from this sudden change in mood, you refrain from pointing out that you’d each taken turns to studiously ignore the other before. “You’ll survive”, you pat his hand. “And, on the rare occasions you actually find the time away from work, you’re always welcome to visit me in Osaka.”

“I will”, he replies, so seriously that your traitorous heart skips a beat.

“I doubt you’ll get enough time off work”, you brush him off lightly before changing the subject.

You don’t expect him to visit, not when Osaka is two and a half hours away from Tokyo on the shinkansen, but he turns up at the doorstep of your parents’ apartment with roses, dusty pink like the flush up his neck.

“Hoshina-kun”, your mother exclaims. “Come on in!”

Something is up. Your mother bustles around, ushers him into your room, lays out before him an offering of cut fruit. Surprised at the tableau before you, you blink, looking up from your book.

“Don’t you have to work?”

“I do have days off, y’know.” He says, easing you into your wheelchair.

“Thought you said killing kaijus isn’t a nine to five job”, you remind him pertly.

He tweaks your nose. “Don’t be smart”, his eyes crinkle as he laughs, rolling you out of the confines of your parent’s house to a nearby park to enjoy the crisp cool autumn breeze, settling you down in the shade beneath a sprawling gingko tree.

“Well, how’s work?”

He considers you with a sideways glance. “I refuse to answer”, he says primly. “If I do, you’ll make use of it to accuse me of being obsessed with my job.”

“Aren’t you?”

“This is exactly what I mean”, he throws his hands out dramatically. “Shouldn’t you just be happy I’m here -”

“Actually”, you tease. “Isn’t the train fare really expensive? Can you afford that on your pay?”

“The Defense Force’s generous enough to give me food, clothing and a roof over my head”, he replies drolly. “So I think my bank account can take the occasional hit.” Then, he shoots another mock glare your way. “Anyway, I don’t wanna talk about work or anything related to work.”

“Then I guess there’s nothing else to talk about”, you tap your chin thoughtfully.

“Idiot”, he wrinkles his nose. “We haven’t even talked about how you’re doing.”

“Me?”

Exaggeratedly, he takes a look around. “I don’t see anyone else I could be askin’ about -”

“You wanna hear about my boring doctor appointments?”

His eyes are wide, earnest. “I wanna hear about everything.”

The sudden seriousness of his demeanour catches you off-kilter. Haltingly you tell him about the long check-ups that take hours, the doctors being optimistic about your progress, the physiotherapy sessions you’ve started. You’re slowly starting to walk again, a few steps at a time, giving you hope that you’ll be on your own two feet by the time of your brother’s wedding at the end of fall, even if you have to rely a little on crutches.

“I’m talking too much”, you say, looking down at your lap.

“Don’t stop”, he urges. “Keep talkin’.”

A snort. “You’re gonna get sick of the sound of my voice”,

“What a silly thing to say”, his gaze holds yours, steady, sure.

There’s something impossibly soft in his eyes, a tenderness in the curve of his mouth. You don’t dare to put a name to it yet, don’t even dare to look too closely at it lest you lose yourself to daydreams that can’t possibly be true. Yet, in the purpling dusk, even though the seasons dictate that there be no summer flowers this late in the fall, there’s a bud of hope in your heart that starts to unfurl, petal by petal, twining itself between the ribs of your chest.

(i like you)

(i’m sorry)

You remind yourself that your heart is not quite healed. Stitches remain, fleshy scars pink and raised. Ventricles working overtime to compensate for the damage he’s wrought just months prior. Mercilessly, you prune those hopes like unwanted weeds, chopping away at errant stems and leaves.

“I’m tired”, you break away from his gaze. “Shall we call it a day?”

He makes it difficult for you to safeguard your heart.

Once a week, he makes the trek from Tokyo to Osaka without fail, appearing at your parents’ door with a bouquet of flowers and a bag bursting with fruit, whatever is in season - peaches and peonies, apples and chrysanthemums. Picnics when it’s sunny, cafes or supermarkets when it rains. Your mother has a sudden change of heart regarding him, always asking you when he’s coming to take you out next.

“Seriously, don’t you have work?” you demand. “You can’t keep coming down here, it’s ridiculous.”

“Is it?” he asks quietly.

“It is”, you reply. “It’s a waste of your time and money.”

With careful, calloused fingers, he tilts your chin up to meet his gaze. “What must I do to make you believe it’s really, really not.”

You flinch, cramming your thrumming heart back into the confines of your chest. “You’re ridiculous”, you say as calmly as you can. If your leg weren’t still broken, you’d flee in the other direction, put as much distance as you can between you and Hoshina Soshiro, for fear of losing your heart again to him.

He’s relentless, a quality that makes him an excellent swordsman and soldier, though it does not bode well for your heart. You spend the next few weeks keeping your conversations light, unsentimental, refusing to allow that unnamed emotion budding in his eyes flourish any further, he remains undeterred. You catch him watching you sometimes, with something you don’t dare to name that bleeds into you, spreading the seeds of hope deep in your gut.

“I’ll be back next week to see you”, he always says. “Stay safe.”

You should tell him to leave you alone, let you replant your heart in another pot, give it a chance to learn to stop looking towards him for his light. But the words choke in your throat, and it’s all you can do to look the other way.

You don’t get any respite even at your own brother’s wedding.

It’s too large, too crowded an occasion, your parents booking out a banquet hall in an upscale hotel to cram in their swarms of guests. As the younger sister of the groom, you’re expected to greet each and every guest, thank them for their attendance even if you’d much rather be at home, warm and snug in bed. Instead, your head threatens to split open, your hip’s on the verge of falling apart. You curse your stubbornness in insisting against bringing your wheelchair, the crutches you lean on cutting into the tender flesh of your underarms.

“Did anyone tell you that you look beautiful tonight?”

As it was in your dreams, he’s in a haori, deep blue with golden thread, but this time he looks right at you. Your mouth goes dry and you can’t seem to swallow your heart back down your throat.

“Save your flirting for my cousins”, you retort, turning away. “They’re all aflutter at meeting you tonight.”

He doesn’t let you flee. An arm loops around your waist, sears through the silk layers of your kimono and smoulders. “You’re cranky cos you’re tired, so let me help you.”

You blame your capitulation on the absence of your wheelchair, not because you’re light headed from the sudden surge of helpless affection in your gut, as much as you refuse to allow yourself to believe his words. You let him steer you into your seat, palm flat against your back, heat suffusing into your skin.

“I’ll be here if you need me”, he says simply.

You don’t need him, you want to say, you can’t, but your mouth can’t seem to form the words when he leans in, tucks a stray strand of hair behind the shell of your ear, his touch feather light.

“Vice Captain Hoshina!?” As you foresaw, a gaggle of younger cousins goggle at him, drag him away for selfies and autographs. You don’t get a chance to speak with him again once the wedding starts, the seating plan placing him with his parents and other business associates of your parents, a few tables away.

The sheer scale and grandeur of your brother’s wedding isn’t what you’d have chosen for yourself, the cavernous ballroom feeling too large and impersonal, speeches dragging on for too long, but your brother and your new sister seem to radiate contentment, though you suspect the champagne toasts might have helped.

As the sister of the groom, you’re the target of your older aunts’ inquiry as to ‘when it’s your turn next’, never mind that you burrow into your seat, trying to disappear from sight, and when that fails miserably, try to divert their attention to anything, anyone but yourself. If you had full use of your legs, you’d make a hasty retreat by now, but you’re so painfully slow on your crutches that you’re sure even the oldest grandma questioning you on your dating status (or lack thereof) would be able to catch up with you.

“Ladies”, a smooth voice cuts in. “How are you all doin’ tonight?”

A boyish smile with a cheeky snaggletooth works wonders on elderly ladies, you learn. It gives you the chance to slip away to the bathroom, splash water on your face, shackle your heart back in place.

This brief reprieve doesn’t last long. Soshiro emerges from the shadows, pushing off the wall to pad quietly behind you.

“What are you doing here?” you demand. “You should be back inside -”

“I’m here to make sure you’re safe”, he replies. “Unless you don’t want me to make sure you don’t fall and crack your pretty head open?”

“Stop it”, you say crossly, your crutches clacking loudly on the floor as you speed up, trying to put some distance between you two. “You’re giving everyone the wrong impression.”

He follows right on your heels. “Perhaps I’m givin’ the right impression -”

“Just - just stop, Soshiro.”

You burst through glass doors to push your way onto the open rooftop in the hope that the nighttime air will cool the heat rising in your cheeks, but you miss your step, crutches sliding on marble tiles and oof -

Warm arms wrap tightly around you. You tell yourself it’s the shock of your almost-fall that makes you sag against a broad, lean chest, compliantly allowing Soshiro to tuck your face into his shoulders, settle an arm beneath your thighs, carrying you over onto a seat. A thick, rich fabric rests on your shoulders - his haori, you realise, the warmth from his body seeping into your skin.

“Are you hurt?” he drops to one knee in front of you.

The intensity of his gaze flays your chest open, exposing your beating heart, its stitches frayed. The spectre of the girl with sad eyes haunts you, leaving you terrified that you’ll suffer the same fate as her in this lifetime too.

“I need you to stop”, you shove him back, a trapped animal brandishing its claws. “I want you to leave me alone. I don’t want your pity -”

“Pity?!” he falls back on his haunches, gaping at you, incredulous. “Is that what you think it is?”

“What else could it be?” you demand wetly, eyes stinging. “Nevermind, I changed my mind, I don’t want to know -”

“Haven’t I made it obvious these past few months?” he asks, and you shake your head stubbornly, no. “What I feel for you - I’ve been goin’ crazy from the moment they told me a buildin’ fell on your head, so fuckin’ terrified I was goin’ to lose you just as I realised how stupid I’ve been -”

Your head swims. “I don’t -”

“I’ve loved you since I was eight. I just didn’t realise it til I nearly lost you.”

You push aside the clouds of anger and fear blurring your vision. You see Hoshina Soshiro kneeling before you, slicing his chest open with your blade to reveal his heart, pressing it bloodied and beating into your waiting hands.

In this lifetime, in this moment, he is yours and you are his.

There is no guarantee that this will remain. Duty will always call upon him, and he will answer without fail. That is his destiny, as much as he is yours. Realisation crashes into you, relentless waves pulling you underwater. You will have to share him with the rest of Japan, possibly the world. This too shall end, be it tomorrow or years down the road if fate smiles down on you both.

But even if his heart belongs to you for no more than a day, it’s enough. It’s all you’ve ever wanted.

“You love me.”

“Yeah”, he murmurs, moving so impossibly close that you see the violets in the depths of his eyes in full bloom. “And I kinda think you love me too.”

Instead of answering, you tug him towards you, tangle your fingers in dark hair, let your lips press against the seam of his lips. He doesn’t give you the chance to breathe, arm curling around your waist, his hand cupping your face so he can tilt your chin up to pour himself into you. You drink him in, greedy to take what you can get, mouth open against his, lost to the raging current of want, of love that pulls you beneath the waves.

“I think I do”, you say softly.

Hoshina Soshiro smiles at you, wider and brighter than the moon.

a/n: i hope this chapter soothes the anxiety from last week heh :>

squeal at me pls! muacks always <3

#hoshina soshiro x reader #hoshina x reader #hoshina soshiro #hoshina soushirou #kaiju no. 8

271 notes · View notes

silkscreaming · 1 year

Text

[ID: Trigun fanart of a Pushing Daisies AU. Vash and Knives are shown in a cafe, both wearing aprons. Vash is smiling at Wolfwood as he prepares a strawberry pie, and Knives scowls at Vash while holding a covered box which flies are buzzing over. Over them is the cursive text "Love and Pies." In the background, Wolfwood is staring at Vash with a lovestruck expression, and Kuroneko is sleeping on a diner chair. End ID]

there once were two pie makers who shared a gift: a touch that brought the dead to life.

the facts were these:

-the twins share the power. they discovered it as kids when Rem died suddenly, and learned its limits when vash hugged her goodnight. he blames himself, and doesn't like toying with the power.

-nai got involved in some unsavory business trying to find clues after their sister tessla went missing.

-enter wolfwood: a man with ties to the organization that has to do with tessla's disappearance. except: he's dead.

-nai brings wolfwood back to question him right as vash walks in to the wake. nai is unable to kill wolfwood again within the 60sec time limit. (he also has extremely foggy memory of his death and the events leading up to it)

-vash is a slight exception to the rule: he can give his own life force to bend the cost rule. nai loses the minute holding vash back from giving his entire life to keep wolfwood alive and spare the cost of someone else's life.

bonus things that didn't fit in my twt thread:

-nai is in touch with milly and meryl's detective agency to keep a tab on any clues. they are frequent customers at the pie shop.

-vash brought kuroneko back to life when they were kids. she immediately chomped on his finger. vash freaked out thinking she would die again but black cats have 9 lives and are also exceptions to the rule because i think its funny.

-like canon, vash can be pretty reckless when it comes to helping people and avoiding deaths. running into burning buildings and pushing people out of the way from cars running lights.

-wolfwood wears his sunglasses to hide his identity. it is extremely hilariously not effective.

-vash still has a prosthetic arm. wolfwood can hold One hand.

also here is the first sketch i drew of this concept way back in april where i simply had not figured out how to draw these two yet lol

[ID: Slightly sketchy Trigun fanart of Vash and Knives from the same AU, shown walking past each other against a light pink background. Vash smiles as he looks at a strawberry which is surrounded by sparkles, and Knives is scowling while carrying the box flies are buzzing over. End ID]

#trigun #stef draws trigun #vashwood #love and pies au #pushing daisies au!!!!!!!#ty princess-of-purple-prose for image id!

2K notes · View notes

aaronsguccitie · 2 months

Text

it’s been a long year (and all of our book’s pages dog-eared)

————

Despite all your pestering, Remus refuses to use a bookmark. Until you make him one (or several).

Cw: fem!reader, fluff, teenage Remus (sixth/ seventh year), mild damaging of books, use of petnames, no use of yn, soft softness

Word count: 2.6k

A/n: ahh my first time writing for Remus! The brainrot has been too all consuming lately so I just had to write this <3 I’d love to know your thoughts, but please be gentle with me lol :p

————

Softening your steps to match the quiet of the library, you turn the familiar corner and find yours and Remus’ usual table by the window, nestled between shelves. Sunlight streams in through the glass, illuminating the various books on the table—half the library’s contents, it seems.

The thick tomes are in one of two states: either spread open with folded, spare bits of parchment between the pages, or flipped upside down on the table, still open to mark where Remus left off. He’s sitting in the chair tucked further in, his back resting against the wall and his legs propped on the seat next to him, his knees bent, his head ducked as he absorbs the book in his lap.

The sleeves of his knitted jumper are pulled across his knuckles and his hair is a soft, disheveled mess, flopping over his forehead as he reads, not quite noticing you yet. A wrapped bar of chocolate rests precariously on the edge of the table, easy enough for Remus to reach if he got hungry. He knows full well the rules of the library, but he’s careful with his precious chocolates; closes away the library books and slides them to the opposite end of the table, quietly unwrapping the chocolate and keeping his cupped palm under it to catch any crumbs. This one is unopened, and you know he’s been waiting for you.

His outline is tipped in gold; soft streams of sunlight thread their way through his hair, gently hug the curved lines of his body. He looks a little too lovely, a little too gentle and warm and too much for you to handle, so when you drop your eyes to the books on the table, you grasp for the first thing to call him out on.

“Remus!” You chastise, your voice just a little too loud. It carries in the silence. Cringing at your own tone, you bite the inside of your cheek as he looks up.

“Shh,” he murmurs, doing some chastising of his own as he brings a finger to his lips. He doesn’t seem even remotely surprised at your sudden appearance. The light slants in, transforms his eyes, and it’s suddenly hard to swallow. “Did you forget we’re in a library?”

Your heart thumps softly against your ribcage. His smile is amused, but the hiss of Madam Pince is not. Ignoring her, you shrug off your bag with flaming cheeks and sit down opposite him, rightening an upside-down book as you do.

“Did you forget these are library books you’re damaging when you leave them like this?” You hope your voice sounds at least somewhat nonchalant as your eyes rove over his face, capturing the soothing warmth of him.

Remus blows a raspberry—a low one. “I’m not damaging them,” he says, frowning a little at the accusation.

A smile tugs at your lips. The wrinkle between his brows begs to be smoothed out, but you keep your hands to yourself. Running your finger down the cracks in the spine, you hum, “Are too, Rem. You can’t iron these out like you do parchment.” Looking around at the table, you search for something to mark the page with. “Don’t you have a bookmark?”

“Don’t need one. Besides, cracked spines are inevitable.” He dog-ears the page of the book in his hands, much to your horror.

You gasp. “Remus.” The scolding tone is back in your—thankfully lower—voice.

Remus grins brightly as he drops his legs and sits straight, turning to fully face you. “What? ’S’no big deal, only paper.” He shrugs. “I don’t mind it when it’s on my books.” He slides his battered paperback onto the table, the cover bent and worn. The sight makes you gape.

“But—that’s just—” Atrocious, you think. Criminal. “You can’t—” You splutter.

“Oh come off it, Miss Perfect,” Remus smiles, gentle and teasing as he reaches out to grab the library book out of your hands. “I’m not ruining these books.” He says, quite adamantly, tearing a corner of one of his essays and stuffing the parchment into the book. “See?” He tells you, a huffed laugh leaving him at the look of horror still on your face. “Does the job as good as any bookmark.”

“Now, let’s worry more about that Transfiguration test, hmm?”

The way the sunlight pools in his eyes makes you even more speechless, and he takes your stunned silence for an answer as he clears away the space for your Transfiguration material.

****

While you do appreciate the warmth of the quill shop as Remus peruses its assortment of quills, the silence is slowly driving you mad. Though not a library, the patrons inside are strangely quiet, talking in hushed tones as they leisurely mill about, and the only sound other than the murmur of people is the loud whip of the wind outside.

The two of you usually don’t walk about Hogsmeade together—or anywhere else for that matter, only meeting in the library to study or walking to and from classes—but Remus asked if you’d accompany him to buy some quills. His friends were busy with Zonko’s and yours with Honeydukes, so you’d agreed, not really in the mood for sweets. Remus had lightly bumped your shoulder and gave you a smile in return, one that warmed up your insides though your hands were slick with a cold sweat in your gloves.

Now, however, your hands are quite warm, gloves stuffed in your pockets, and you use a finger to poke Remus’ coated shoulder. “Remus.” You whinge as he bends over another selection of quills. “How many quills could you possibly need?”

Four are held loosely in his hand, and he doesn’t look up at you as he says, “They get run down easily. I thought you of all people would know,” he murmurs, the corners of his lips tilting into a smile when you scoff, “or are you just that studious when you’re with me?”

He straightens, a playful gleam in his hazel eyes.

“You wish, Lupin.” You say, distantly feeling your stomach swoop at his smile. He looks too smug, so you grasp for something to say. “Muggles, you see, have an ingenious invention called a pen.”

His eyebrows lift, not yet believing you—and quite right; you hadn’t picked up a pen in years. Still, you continue, “You don’t have to continually dip for ink and the tips don’t break off. You should try them.”

Remus nods sagely, “Maybe I will. Not like I’ve ever written with one before.” He brings the feathery end of one of the quills over his mouth, hiding his growing smile as your eyes widen.

Realization washes over you. Oh, Merlin. You always have to embarrass yourself in some way.

Typical.

You lick your lips. “…You…” You point at him, though you don’t know exactly why. “You’re…?”

“Halfblood,” Remus confirms cheerily. “I know what a pen is, believe it or not.” He sweeps the feather over your nose, tickling your skin. You bat it away impatiently.

“Well, hurry up.”

The grumble in your voice makes him laugh softly. “Just a little longer, love.”

Heat rushes to your cheeks.

You’ve seen your share of flirty boys, ignored their surface level flattery and saccharine pet names that spilled from their lips easy as breathing. Remus’ own buddies—marauders, they call themselves—have called you endearments more than once, annoyingly sweet and not one bit sincere, pet names and nicknames simply habit on their tongues.

But Remus—quiet, gentle, Remus—saying it to you in a way so different than the others, like he actually means it, makes you flush all the way down to your toes.

You look away, just in time to miss the blush on his cheeks. Turning on your heel, you look around for anything to set your eyes on; salvation comes in the form of, coincidentally, bookmarks. A large collection of them, in various colors and designs, some with ribbons looped through the top and others without. You head to the table and pick one up, determined not to go back to Remus until your cheeks have cooled.

With your thumping heartbeat and rapidly warming skin, you hardly see the bookmark in your hand, rather seeing through it as you toy with the ribbon. Love, love, love, echoes through your head, in his voice, and you silently curse Remus Lupin under your breath. It’s nothing. He probably says it to everyone. That recurring thought is what forces your heart rate back to normal.

You keep your head down, eyes skipping over the bookmarks as time passes too slowly. The material of your coat itches your heated skin as you set the bookmark down and mindlessly tap the other ones on the table, feeling wood and paint beneath your nails.

Then you hear his footsteps behind you. They’re unique; sometimes Remus walks with a small limp. “Are you getting one?” He asks.

Turning, you find six quills held in both of his hands.

“Me?” You raise your brows, trying to sound casual. For a split second your eyes fall to his lips, but you force them back on his. Bad idea, you think as you get lost in the warmth of them. “You should get one.”

Remus wrinkles his nose. “Don’t wanna.”

The expression warps the scars on his cheeks, and you find yourself mesmerized. “Why not?” You look away. A sky blue one catches your attention and you tap it lightly. “This one’s pretty.”

“’S’alright, I don’t need it.” He shrugs. “C’mon let’s go.”

You put it down with a blown out sigh, shaking your head as you follow him to the till. Remus looks back at you with a grin. “Why are you so bothered about the state of my books?” He questions.

“Because!” You huff, your brief awkwardness lost in a wave of indignation, “You’re damaging them. Folding the page? Cracking the spine? Might as well throw them in the fire.” You grumble, crossing your arms.

His laugh is soft. “You’re too dramatic, love. It’s just paper.” There goes the nickname again, and there goes the flush on both of your cheeks. He clears his throat, “What would you say if you saw me taking notes in them?”

His attempt at distraction works.

You stop in your tracks, turning to him with comically wide eyes. “You what?”

****

Remus’ laugh still rings in your ears, long after the two of you have parted. The rest of your day is spent with Lily and a few of your roommates as you flit from shop to shop, and eventually the Three Broomsticks. But as you drink your butterbeer and get lost in your thoughts instead of your friends’ chatter, an idea comes calling.

So, just before the shops shutter their doors for the night, you drag Lily back into the quill shop. Love, love, love, echoes again in your head as you walk in, your eyes finding the spots where you and Remus had stood. Skipping past the table of bookmarks with flutters in your stomach, your head for the stationary and thicker parchment.

That night, when you’re safe and warm tucked into your bed, curtains already drawn shut, you dump your haul on the sheets and get to work. The soft mattress of your bed is hardly the steadiest workspace you could find, but you make do. Your designs aren’t anywhere near sophisticated, anyway, though you do try your best.

It’s late when you’re finally done, the chatter of your roommates long since quieted down, but you know Remus often stays up well into the night. You pocket the fruits of your labor and throw a jumper over your pajamas before quietly slipping out of your dormitory, padding down the stairs and into the common room.

Unsurprisingly, it’s empty, but more surprisingly is that Remus is the sole occupier of the room. He’s sitting on one of the couches, his head in his hand, fingers threaded through his hair as he reads through the gigantic Charms book on his lap. Two more books are flipped upside down on the couch and there’s a roll of parchment at his side, one of his newly bought quills resting next to it.

You didn’t realize how late it was; looking at the clock, you find it’s gone 1 am, the sky pitch black beneath the frosted windows. The dying fire paints the common room a warm orange as you shuffle toward the occupied couch.

Remus looks up. He gives you a small, ever so sleepy smile. “Hey,” he says, his voice lowered to match the hour. It has the same warmth as the dying fire at your back. “What’re you doin’ up so late?”

You smile back, “Been working on something.”

“Oh? Care to share?” Remus drawls, his head falling back against the cushion to look up at you. He seems…overly relaxed, as if softened further by the fire and the empty common room, everything about him lazy and warm as shadows of his lashes dance on his cheeks when he blinks at you.

In response, you take out the four bookmarks you’d made. Two of them are solid colors—light blue and green—and the other two have patterns on them. One of which is a dotted sky, a few constellations you’d learned in Astronomy sketched across an inky blue, and the other has a simple pattern of swirls across the rectangle. You hadn’t wanted to do anything over the top, anything that he’d be potentially embarrassed to use, but solid colors for all of them just seemed boring. As you hold them out and see the stunned look on his face, you begin to shrink into yourself.

“I—uh, I made you several,” you rush out, skin ablaze, “to use in your library books and personal ones. You might not need them, dunno, and you don’t have to use them if you don’t want to—really, I made them for you more than me, it’s plain painful to see your books like this, so don’t—”

Remus stands. You stop, mouth clamping shut as he holds the edges of the bookmarks. You’re both holding them now—you’ve yet to let go—and you swear you could almost feel the warmth of his hands, even across the distance.

“Thank you.” He says quietly. His voice is sincere, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, and your shoulders slump in relief. The warm hazel of his eyes disarms you, the soft firelight behind you illuminating freckles dotted across his cheeks like stars, nestled between the lines of his scars.

You force yourself to look down, break his gaze. “You’re welcome,” you say to his hands, your voice low and a little choked. Finally letting go of the bookmarks, you step back and give him a smile. “Just please use ’em, yeah?”

Remus brings one of the bookmarks to his head and mock salutes. “Every day.” He murmurs, and you know that’s sincere. A flutter goes off in your heart and you nod, purely for having something to do.

“However,” Remus continues, his eyes bright as he taps your nose lightly with one of the bookmarks. “I still exercise my right to inflict damage on any personal books I might own.”

You laugh and put your hand on his wrist to push it away. His pulse beats beneath the warm skin, and his hand drops to his side. “You exercise that right a little too much, if you ask me.” The way he’s smiling makes your hands shake, so you thread your fingers together and begin to back away.

“Anyway, just wanted to give these to you. Night, Rem.” You reach the stairs and untangle your fingers to give him a small wave.

“Night.” He calls out softly, giving you a small one back.

It could be a trick of the fire—probably is, and you haven’t slept in hours—but you think you see a pink tint to his cheeks.

Any Remus requests are very very welcome ☺️

#remus lupin #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin x you #remus lupin x y/n #remus lupin fluff #remus lupin imagine #remus lupin fanfiction #remus lupin fanfic #marauders #the marauders #marauders era #marauders fic #marauders fanfiction #young remus lupin #<3

181 notes · View notes

revenantghost · 1 year

Note

can you explain why knives needed vash for his plan? is vash's power giving plants life?

So from what I gather, Vash is unique in his ability to both give and take from the higher dimension, which is the place where all plants get their energy from, and that's what humans use them for. (This is also where Conrad says their souls are instead of their bodies (possible bullshit, given the unreliable narrators we have), and also given Vash's conversation with Rem in episode 12 it's possibly connected to the afterlife???) Or, at the very least, Vash is different from most other plants, as they can only take. His power has been compared to something black hole-like, but I won't bore you with quantum physics since we don't know exactly what they mean by that yet, exactly.

In order to access and enter the higher dimension to rip souls free and shove them into the plants' bodies to birth independent plants, Knives needed to use Vash as a gate, as a tool, to open Vash up and let himself in so he could funnel that power out through Vash.

At least, that's just what I've gathered from watching Tristamp... way too many times and reading meta as I go. I'm probably a bit off in this explanation, so anyone feel free to add on anything I missed! I think we're going to get way more in-depth in the following season/s with the plot threads left hanging after episode twelve. Hopefully this makes sense! :'D

1K notes · View notes

lizard-on-a-window-pane · 1 year

Note

Hi baby, how are you? For your kinktober: 8 & 17 with Remus Lupin

kinktober request: 8. mirror sex and 17. dirty talk with Remus Lupin

word count: 2.2k

glad to hear from you! 😉 hope you enjoy 😘😘

“Fuck,” you let out when you feel his mouth move down your jaw onto your neck. He chuckles in response, and it tickles. He’s pulling you into his room after a fun night out, his hands and mouth not leaving you since the he shut his flat door behind him. You wrap your arms around him, one hand threading into his hair, the other one pulling him closer.

You’d been doing this for a while now, the discovery that your bodies excited one another as much as your minds leading you more and more frequently into each other’s beds. You push him to the foot of his, now you kissing his neck, and are about to push him onto it when you notice he’s looking behind you when you pull away.

He has a smitten, already slightly panting grin on his lovely face, his expression tugging at a prominent scar by his lip. But his eyes, usually on you, are gazing over your shoulder. Remus furrows his eyebrows and you turn slightly to follow his gaze. His large wardrobe is half open, clothes draped on the door, his room messier than usual.

“What?” your voice is a bit hoarse from how needy you are already.

“I have an idea,” he whispers raspily, and his smirk blooms into a fully fledged smile. He looks down at you, his eyes alight with mischief. Grabbing your face in his hands, he pulls you to his face, planting a quick forceful kiss.

Then he moves to his wardrobe. He tugs the clothes off the door and opens it all the way. The silhouette of your reflection greets you when he’s done.

“What are you doing?” you laugh toward him.

His eyes never leaving yours, he slowly stalks over to the entrance of his room and brings his hand up to the light switch. The brightness is a bit jarring at first.

You look confusedly but amusedly at him. He just chuckles and comes back over to you. His hands come to your shoulders. You expect his kiss, but instead, he moves you over a couple of steps then looks back over his shoulder. You’re centered in the mirror now, and it’s there that you catch his eye and finally understand. He quirks an eyebrow at you, implicitly asking what you think.

Smirking, your eyes glued to his reflected ones, you tiptoe to whisper in his ear.

“I didn’t know you were kinky, Rem.”

You lick up his neck and nibble on his ear.

His eyes roll back in his head as he grunts, “fuuck.” He turns back to you, kissing you hard. “Maybe you bring it out in me, love.” He shoves your coat down your arms and starts hurriedly undressing you. You reciprocate with enthusiastic urgency.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he admires, looking you up and down once you’re both naked.

“Not so bad yourself, Rem.” You trace the scars across his chest and up his shoulder lightly. He flinches at your initial touch, but lets you continue despite the slightly strained aspect his smile takes on. “You are,” you insist, catching it, and you start kiss and licking the trail your fingers had just paved.

“Mmmh,” he hums into your hair, weaving his hand into it and kissing the top of your head.

You grab his hip and pull him down with you as you lean back onto his bed. He makes out with you ardently as he gently pushes you the rest of the way down until you’re on your back with him fully on top of you.

You can feel his pulsing cock on your crotch, and you open your legs wider and thrust up into him. You feel his groan in his chest that’s flush with yours.

Remus keeps kissing you, feeling you, grinding onto you; then after a few moments he kneels up.

He’s fucking gorgeous from this angle, and you just admire his beauty. His broad chest heaves up and down with his heavy breathing. You follow the pronounced v of his muscles that lead to his hard, heavy length. You reach for it, grasping his cock. It jumps in your hand. His head rolls back, but his hand quickly grasps your wrist in response.

“Wait, wait, wait,” he whispers rushedly. You don’t ease up your tight grip, but you keep your hand still. He uses his hand on your wrist to pull you up to him.

He’s straddling you, towering above you. His eyes retain their bright mischief, but they are much darker than a mere couple of minutes ago.

He brings his forehead to yours; his nose rubs against yours; he brings his hand to your face and squeezes it, your lips pursing and mouth opening. He smiles then licks into your mouth, kissing you wetly.

“C’mere.” His large hands grab your hips, and he maneuvers you up and around until you’re kneeling with your front to the mirror. He’s kneeling behind you, your back flush to his chest. One hand caressing your side up and down, his other arm wraps tightly around your waist, pulling you back into him.

He grips your hair, moving it out of the way and tugging hard enough to bare your neck to his eager mouth. You lean your head back onto his shoulder, your eyes closed tight in pleasure.

When you open them, you catch a glimpse of his face. His mouth is moving expertly down your neck, across your shoulder. His eyes, however, are glued straight ahead of him, burning with a lust you’ve never seen so fervent. You look too, and you’re struck by how exposed you are.

You see yourself naked all the time, but your own reflection has never affected you like this. You’re sweaty and panting. The way your flesh gives under his strong hands, now groping at your tits, is entrancing.

Looking up from lidded eyes, his gaze meet yours in the mirror, and he smirks darkly.

“I’ve never seen anything so hot in my life,” he asserts into your shoulder, his lips moving across your skin with his words and pressing a kiss there after.

You don’t think you have either. You bite your lower lip and push your arse back into him. You bare your chest out, further accentuating your breasts.

“Fuck, baby,” Remus growls into your ear. “Fuck yes, please keep moving like that.”

His hands grip your breasts harshly, jiggling them roughly. He pinches your nipples, rolling them between his fingers and pulling on them. He wiggles and plays before letting go and massaging your whole tits again.

“Fuck, Remus,” you sigh, your body rolling in his embrace.

“You like that?”

“Yes.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes, Remus, yes.” You close your eyes, and he pinches your nipples sharply.

“Uh-uh, keep watching. Look at us.”

You watch your reflection in the mirror. You bring your hand back into his hair and tug. He chuckles and nibbles on your neck, playing with your chest the whole time.

“You like looking at us?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you laugh. “I do; I really fucking do,” you say as you turn toward him and lick his jaw.

You open your legs wider without even thinking about it, and he grunts, biting your shoulder.

“Tell me what you want, love.”

“Touch me, Rem. Please. Please touch me.”

His eyes intent on the mirror, he brings his hand agonizingly slowly down your stomach to your mound. Then quickly, roughly, he cups it and starts rubbing his palm there. You respond with a strangled “aah” and start rolling your hips into his hand, nodding ardently.

His fingers go do slightly further, and he informs you, “Fucking hell, you’re wet.” You feel it. “You really do like it,” he laughs.

“You’re one to tease,” you retort, grinding your arse back on his very prominent, very hard cock.

“Oh, I’m not teasing.” He humps harshly into you once then lets you keep grinding on him. “I love it. You look insane. So perfect. You look so fucking hot. We look so fucking hot.” You begin nodding sharply at his words, then he punctuates them by penetrating your wet hole with his long fingers, and you shiver in pleasure.

“Fuuuck,” he rasps, fingering you harder. “Yeah, baby. Mmm. Watch how my fingers disappear inside you. You take them so fucking well. It’s like fucking magic.”

Still nodding lazily, dizzy in the pleasure, you tell him, “Feels so good, Remus. Ohh fuck, it feels good. You’re so good. So good, baby. Please, please, yes.”

He picks up his pace, and you grind into his hand, your thighs shaking on either side of it. You’re so wet and he’s going so hard that a loud sloshing sound fills the room.

“Fuu—uuck,” you whine.

“Can you cum like this? Please cum like this. Let me see you fall apart.” He licks and bites at your neck and brings his other hand to tug on your nipples. His fingers piston in and out of you, and his palm rubs roughly against your clit with each thrust, and a few later, you feel the white heat building quickly.

“Yes, yes, yes,” you chant as you start cumming around Remus’s fingers. He’s pulling you impossibly close, pushing you through your pleasure, staring transfixed at the image of you orgasming filling his mirror.

You begin coming back down, shivers radiating down your spine. The sweat between your bodies feels cold in the aftershocks, and you lean completely back into him.

He moves a bit further back, and you whine, chasing his warmth. He’s chuckling as he pulls you roughly back with him, then he grabs and turns your face, gives you a chaste, long kiss, then, his mouth chasing after yours like he wasn’t the reason you were getting further, starts pushing your back forward away from him. You let him, and with your weakened legs and fucked-out compliance, you quickly find yourself on all fours. You look up into the mirror, and you’ve never seen Remus look so… hungry.

“Fuh. King. Hellll,” he whispers. “You look…” he shakes his head, unable to come up with appropriate words. All that comes out is another quick “fuck.” “I don’t think I can handle getting both views of you, baby,” he chuckles, looking between the mirror and down toward your arse raised right in front of him.

“Try,” you joke, smiling blissfully back at him, pushing your arse back.

“Anything for you, darling,” he chuckles back. He moves his length to your entrance and, his eyes for once not glued to the mirror, they watch it disappear into you. His eyebrows furrow; his mouth opens in a silent, almost pained looking “o.” His hands grasp your hips, and moving your body as much as his own, he starts dragging out and back into you slowly, repeatedly.

Despite everything you could be watching, you love getting to see his face as he takes you from behind. The expression of pure pleasure that takes over his features warms both your heart and your cunt. You begin moving more earnestly with Remus’s rhythm, and he in turn quickens it. Soon, the backs of your thighs are slapping the fronts of his at a bruising pace.

His large hand splays across your lower back and pushes a bit down. The slightly different angle has you yelping in time with his every thrust, your perfect spot hit over and over. Your tits are clapping against each other with the motion, and you’d never thought sex had a sound so much as in this moment.

Remus’s now-black eyes stare at you through the mirror. Despite your rapture, you shoot him a wink, and barks a laugh between heavy pants.

“You feel. Fucking. Incredible,” he tells you in the tempo of his thrusting. “So wet. And warm. And tight. And perfect.”

“Remuuuus,” you whine. “Yes, Remus. Fuck, baby, fuck, it’s so good. I feel so full. Fuck, I love to feel…ah… full of you.” His grunt is more of a growl at this, and he goes from rough to animalistic, pounding into you until your thighs shake and your core tightens.

His hand comes to your shoulder and he pulls you up until your back is flush with his chest. His arm pins you to him; his mouth attaches to your neck; his other hand bruisingly grips your hip to keep the angle right. With the arm around you, he grips your tits. His hand on your hip snakes to your clit, and upon contact, you start convulsingly cumming, shouting his name as you do.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” flows like a river out of him as he releases with you. He continues panting into your shoulder as you stare at each other in the mirror.

Remus smirks then full out laughs, and you quickly echo.

“Alright, kinky, take a good look because I’m pretty sure I’m about to collapse.”

“Mmmm,” he half moans half whines. He kisses your shoulder, leans toward the mirror, and coos at your reflection, “Until next time, gorgeous.”

“Next time?” you tease.

“Oh, most fucking definitely, darling,” he smirks as he pulls you down with him fully onto the bed, his embrace tight around your body and your heart.

#remus lupin #remus lupin smut #remus lupin imagine #remus lupin x reader #remus x reader #marauders #marauders fanfic #marauder x reader #kinktober 2023 #smut

535 notes · View notes