Rey

• anything for our moony • ᖭི༏ᖫྀ

[rey-lupin]

About me!

Rey, she/her

Fandoms:

marauders / harry potter

challengers

the hunger games

tlou

we were liars

dickinson

I write:

mostly for remus lupin 🩷 but I will probably dabble with other marauders

Open to requests!

Masterlist coming soon x

[cloverkittens]

IN LOVE ╱ with KARA ZOR-EL x F!READER

summary clark finds out about you and kara

warnings suggestive themes

“Listen, okay?”

Kara knows how this looks. Clothes strewn from the hallway to the foot of her bed, Krypto snoring from the living room instead of his usual place in her bed, and, most damning of all, the girl beside her, sleeping peacefully on her stomach with an arm draped over Kara’s waist.

Kara gently extracts herself from the bed and trips across the floor, pulling on a random pair of jeans before stumbling into the hallway with Clark, closing the door behind her.

“It’s not what you think,” Kara says. 

“And what do I think?” Clark whispers back, eyes wide.

“You tell me!” Kara defends. She can’t come up with something at all reasonable to say without exposing herself and subsequently, the lie she’s been telling Clark. A secret most of the time, dipping into dishonesty on some of the nights he asks to see her and she’s brushed off with a lame excuse.

Giving Krypto a bath. Cleaning the apartment. Wanting to turn in early.

“It looks like you got drunk and hooked up on a planet with a yellow sun! Fully powered, Kara!” Clark admonishes. And yes, okay. From his perspective this is all entirely reasonable and completely appropriate to be worried about. But Kara has just been pulled from her bed at eight in the morning after a very late night, and she can think of nothing else besides climbing back onto the mattress besides you.

“You and Lois—”

“Lois knows!”

“And—that’s—whatever!” Kara flings her arms up and sighs. “Look, Clark, I appreciate the concern. But really, it’s not necessary. Everything is fine.”

“Kara, I know you’re used to doing these things off-planet,” Clark tries. He sets his hands on her biceps, gripping softly. “But here on Earth…things are different. People talk. Superpowered beings are—”

“Kara?” The bedroom door creaks and you step out, wearing only Kara’s Blondie t-shirt. Just seeing you makes her blood pressure drop.

“Hi, baby,” she murmurs, pulling away from Clark and moving towards you. “You sleep okay?”

She cups your cheek in one hand, smiling softly as you lean into the touch.

“Mhm. You run so hot, the bed’s cold without you.”

“I’ll be right back, promise.” She leans down and kisses your forehead, letting her lips press longer than necessary. You hum happily.

“Don’t be too long. You can kick Clark out, right?”

Kara snorts and rests her chin against your head. “For you, yes. If you need incentive to be patient, I can offer a reward.”

“You’d give it to me no matter what,” you tease. 

“Go wait,” Kara says, shooing you back into her room. “I’ll kick him out.”

When the door closes, she takes a moment to rest against it. Deep breaths, in through the nose and out through the mouth. It’s just Clark. She can do this. She’s fought literal monsters. This is nothing.

(But truthfully—monsters are the easy part. A direct, violent target that needs to be taken down. Heartfelt talks are harder, tangled, always a mess. There’s no defeating the enemy hurting you, there is only the hitching breaths in the silence and the burn of unwanted tears.)

Kara turns around, and is surprised to find Clark watching. He looks—odd. Off. Face softened with slow understanding.

“She knows,” he says softly. “Doesn’t she?”

Kara exhales noisily. “Yeah. She knows.”

“How much?”

“I…” Kara looks around uselessly. How does she even begin to describe it all? The gentle tugging of your love on her soul. Giggles and sloppy kisses on the way home from a bar she can barely get tipsy at. Your hands combing through her hair as she whispers about Krypton, lips brushing your chest. 

I love you whispered for the first time by you, in Kryptonian, pressed against Kara’s ear. 

“She knows everything,” Kara says. 

“You love her?” 

And he’s—Clark’s looking at her like he knows. Something in Kara’s chest twinges. Months, she’s been hiding this from him. It was ‘just friends’ in the beginning, Kara unstable and volatile and off-center. She didn’t know she could love like this. That she could have someone to come home to every day, to smile at her or hold her and tell her that everything would be okay. 

She was so unsure that she’d be able to keep it. That something wouldn’t drive you away. Kara doesn’t have people. She has herself, Clark. And now: you. And you’ve shown that you’re staying. That you want to be here.

“More than anything,” Kara replies. Her eyes sting.

Clark leaves soon after, and Kara comes back into her bedroom, Krypto darting past her to throw himself onto the bed with you.

“Oh, hi,” you coo as Krypto throws himself wildly back and forth across the bed. “C’mere. You missed us, huh?” 

Kara collapses onto the mattress beside you. “Hey, what about me?”

You laugh and reach out a hand to stroke Kara’s hair. “Are you feeling neglected?”

“Yes,” Kara moans. She rolls over on top of you, resting her head on your chest. “Give me attention.”

You lean down and kiss the top of her head. “Anything for you.”

notes i'm so in love with kara omg. i need everyone to get more supergirl pilled rn

[7-wonders]

String of Fate

Morpheus/Dream of the Endless x Reader

Summary: Two of the three Fates don't like the ending that has long been written for Dream of the Endless, and endeavour to change that by bringing him in contact with his soulmate. While such a decision saves Morpheus's life, it also changes everything he thought he knew about the natural order of the universe when he discovers that his soulmate is a mortal.

Word count: 5.6k

A note from the author: I've had this soulmate idea stuck in my head for a very long time, but I worried that I would be unable to write it because it was out of character/I couldn't figure out how to get it to work. Then the first six episodes of season 2 dropped, I saw how much of a yearning, sad, pathetic lover boy Morpheus actually is (thinking specifically of the look he gives Nada when she comes to him in the Dreaming for the first time), and the hesitation on the faces of the Mother and Maiden before Morpheus's string is cut, and went "oh I can work with this."

Not sure yet if this will be a true series with chapters or just a series of one-shots, but there will be more parts (I've already started writing them)! I’m honestly really nervous to release this just bc of how ambitious it is haha. I so hope you enjoy reading, and would greatly appreciate hearing from you about your thoughts on this!

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Official String of Fate playlist

In a pocket realm masquerading as a cottage sit three women of varying ages, each appearing to be about twenty-five or so years older than the woman sitting on her right. The youngest, her tight curls shiny and skin clear of any blemishes, sits next to a spinning wheel and works at coiling her latest yarn into a ball. The next, a woman whose gray streaks and smile lines begin to betray the years she looks to have lived, continues to knit a scarf made of fine, black wool. The last, her white hair and wrinkled skin just barely scratching the surface of how old she truly is, idly pets a calico cat in her lap as she peruses the front page of what looks to be a newspaper.

The women are known by many names. The Gray Ladies. The Kindly Ones. The Fates. Maiden, Mother, and Crone. But at this moment, in this space so sacred to them which exists outside of the jurisdiction of any of the beings that they oversee, they are simply sister-selves.

“The Oneiromancer gave the key formerly belonging to Lucifer Morningstar to the angels,” the Crone notes blithely, summing up what she’s been reading.

“Where it should have been all along,” the Maiden says. “The Silver City cast Lucifer out in the first place and sent them to oversee Hell. Might as well finally have to clean up their own mess.”

The Mother sighs. “Speaking of messes, poor Morpheus must have one of his own to clean up after hosting all of those pantheons and realms in his very seat of power.”

“‘Poor Morpheus,’” the Crone mocks, rolling her eyes. “The last thing any of the Endless need is our pity, but especially him. No, the only thing he’ll be receiving from us is what his prophecy foretells.”

Though all three of the Ladies possess powers of Sight, the Crone has a special aptitude for events which have not yet come to pass. She also holds grudges like no other and still bitterly recalls the whole matter with Circe and the Dream King’s role in it, and has thus been keeping a particular interest in the length of the scarf currently being knit.

The Maiden, who has a memory longer than most and vividly recalls just how deeply the Sandman loves his son, despite how it may, at times, have looked otherwise, winces just slightly at the reminder of what is coming. Though the action was minute, the Mother, who is perhaps most like the name given to her in that she always wants the best for her ‘children,’ notices, as she always does.

“The oldest battle will begin, and—” the buzzing of a timer in another room cuts the Crone off. “Ah! That’ll be the cookies. One moment, lovies.”

The cat jumps off her lap as she stands from the couch with an agility that one would not expect from someone looking to be the Crone’s age and heads into the kitchen to begin preparing tea. 

“I’ll be sad to see this one end,” the Mother laments, running a hand down the rows of neat stitches. “Our sweet sister-self would call me a softie if she were in here, and maybe it’s true. How can I not be, though? Dream of the Endless is changing, though he once believed that impossible. It’s slowgoing, of course—”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less from him,” the Maiden notes with a small smile.

“Nor I. But there are futures out there where he is given the chance to change fully, futures where he accomplishes a whole lot.” This isn’t a mere guess; in the same way that her sisters can keenly recall the past and peer into the future, the Mother sees the potential paths of everybody who walks Destiny’s garden.

It comes to both Maiden and Mother at the same time that neither of them particularly wants to see Dream of the Endless’s story end in such a way as the Crone has been anticipating. 

The Maiden glances through the door, where the eldest-presenting of the three has disappeared to the kitchen. “There is…something we could do, you know.”

She gravitates towards a cupboard near the window, opening it and beginning to search through what looks to be an infinite supply of yarn until she finds the skein she’s looking for. After checking the identification tag that every skein carries, so as not to get any mixed up, she hums satisfactorily.

For a species so full of themselves, human mortals only know about five to ten percent of what they would consider to be the Universe’s mysteries. What’s waiting for them after death (whatever they decide), if there’s a god (many), if they’re the only signs of intelligent life out there (hardly, and it’s a stretch even to call the human race intelligent). Another one of those mysteries is that of love. Is there such a thing as true love, as soulmates? Though they are familiar with the concept, even going so far as to attempt to label their loves as soulmates, they truly do not know if the person they are attaching themselves to is the one meant for them.

If only they knew what almost every other species capable of higher thought does: that soulmates are very real, and finding one’s is not nearly as much of a guessing game when one’s senses are heightened. Currently, Morpheus and his soulmate do not meet. While Morpheus dies, his soulmate goes on without ever having any idea of his death. There would be a few relationships before a perfectly normal and loving marriage, but his soulmate would never know the all-consuming love of being fated to someone. Now, however…

“Oops.” The new yarn is dropped in the Mother’s lap, and sparks emit as it bounces against the other yarn.

The Mother grins, scandalized. “Naughty petal,” she teases.

“Quickly now, before she returns,” the Maiden urges, returning to her seat and becoming very interested in her own project once more.

The Mother’s deft hands go to work, relying on thousands and thousands of years of practice to begin to knit the new yarn into the well-established pattern already created. By the time the Crone returns, there is no feasible way for the yarns to be separated without stepping into one of the few domains they have no power over.

Her outrage and indignation can do nothing now, for the fates of two have been combined into one, and the future has already been set in motion.

•••

Dream of the Endless is, as he is told that the youth of today say, going through it. A simple family dinner (though is anything truly simple when it involves any of the Endless?) proved to be the catalyst for attempting to reverse one of his most regrettable and shameful decisions, only for his journey to turn into a cosmic fiasco when Lucifer Morningstar abruptly retired and gave him the key to Hell, a key that he neither wanted nor needed. Still, he dutifully oversaw the various pantheons and realms as they each vied for the key, if only to ensure the safety of the woman he originally sought to free.

Although he did not necessarily expect Nada to unilaterally forgive him for what he had done, Morpheus did hope that she would understand the sincerity in his actions at present. The opposite was true. She…struck him. Dressed him down as though he were a mere child. Still, he offered her what he once did ten thousand years ago, for his love for her had not diminished in those ten thousand years: the chance to rule by his side. The Queen of the First People, always so eloquent with words, turned him down with a barb that cut so deeply, Morpheus wondered if the wound left behind would ever heal. 

“I wonder if your kind is even capable of love,” she said to him, chin held high and looking every inch the ruler she once was.

Morpheus tried to defend himself, to make her see that he did love, and that he loved her. His efforts were futile, and she cared not what he had to say. She wished him well, ever the diplomat. Then Nada was gone, to see what the Waking had in store for her, leaving behind only devastation and loneliness, those old friends. 

That was mere hours ago, the Dreaming almost immediately becoming drenched in torrential thunderstorms thereafter. Morpheus made his way to a balcony at the top of the palace, content to let the rain drown him. Lucienne, however, would not stand for it.

“My Lord,” she said tersely, black umbrella shielding her from the brunt of the storm, “perhaps solace is not the best thing for you right now.”

Perhaps she was right, but Morpheus, who was in no mood to listen to helpful solutions, glowered as he stared off ahead into the distant mountains. “Then what would you suggest?”

She thought for a moment, then sighed. “I am sure Hob Gadling is worried after your last interaction, where you told him that you may miss your next meeting. And he has said that you are always welcome.”

Pride and anger almost have Morpheus shoot the idea down before Lucienne can finish speaking. However, as he thinks about it, he realizes that there might be some merit to her suggestion. Hob Gadling had faced many triumphs and challenges throughout his long (for humans, that is) life, matters of the heart surely being one of those. Might the immortal man have some wisdom for a situation such as this?

Now he sits in the temple Hob had inadvertently created while waiting for his oldest friend to return, the New Inn, hand loosely curled around a stem of red wine that he has not yet touched. While the majority of him wishes still to be drenched in rain, another part appreciates the way that the Waking feels real. The Dreaming is real, of course, but he can manipulate every aspect of his realm. Here, he is master of none, and experiences the sights and sounds of a small pub on a Thursday night as any being would.

Morpheus had not gotten the opportunity to ask Lucienne the question he had been meaning to pose to her before he left the Dreaming. So, here in the Waking, he finds that opportunity. “Do you believe that I am incapable of love?”

From across the table, Hob Gadling cocks his head in thought. “Did the woman—did Nada say that to you?”

Morpheus nods. “They were some of her last words to me before she…left.”

The immortal sits quietly to compose his thoughts, taking a sip of his drink and staring up at the ceiling until the words he believes will comfort the Dreamlord, while also telling the truth, come to him. “She’s speaking in anger, my friend. You did an objectively bad thing to her, and she has every right to react towards you in whatever way she sees fit. But,” he says quickly, knowing that Morpheus is a breath away from angering, “she is wrong. Do you not love your realm, the dreams and nightmares that you create? Do you not love the dreamers whom you oversee? Your family, your…friends?”

None of that is romantic love, of course, but Hob is right, as he so often is. Morpheus does experience love in every one of those instances—sometimes begrudgingly, but he does love.

“You speak true, my friend,” Morpheus acknowledges, feeling his sister’s realm loosen its hold on him just slightly as the shadows of Despair begin to shrink.

Hob grins and opens his mouth to speak, but movement from the front of the pub captures his attention, and he instead waves. A mortal approaches their table—braver than most mortals in this pub, who have, so far (as is usually the case when he’s in the Waking), taken one look at the Endless and shied away in fear.

“Hey, Rob!” the mortal greets, using a name Hob must be going by in this century.

“Now, my favorite TA wouldn’t be taking advantage of my pub to work on homework for my class that you haven’t done yet, would you?” he asks.

“I’m your only TA this semester.” The sentence conveys that this is a common line for Hob, who chuckles and waves a hand nonchalantly in the air.

“Semantics!”

“But to answer your question, a couple of us are meeting up before the history grad students’ weekly happy hour to work on our term assignments for Keller’s Archival Methods class. I would never work on your homework in front of you!”

The mortal looks at Morpheus and winks, letting him in on the secret shared between student and teacher that homework for Hob Gadling’s classes has absolutely been completed in this building before, and with one quick movement of an eye, Morpheus feels himself come undone. 

(In that little pocket realm masquerading as a cottage, two of the three Fates giggle and congratulate themselves on their impeccable timing, while the third sulks as she stares into the fire.)

The concept of soulmates is not rare among beings like himself. Indeed, out of all the species capable of higher thought, humans are the only ones who believe it to be a mere myth or fairytale (humans, of course, believe almost everything that they cannot understand is a myth or fairytale, which is why the other specieses don’t bother with them the majority of the time). To them, it’s a word one would use to describe the one whom they love most in the hopes that there are some forces of the universe out there steering them towards true love. 

Most of the gods and goddesses, fae, beings, and creatures of all kinds, who have spoken about it in his presence mention a number of “signs” that average humans, with their dulled senses and limited use of brain capacity, miss. Sometimes it is simply a feeling, as though the universe has been tilted off balance the entire time, and meeting one’s soulmate has righted it. In other cases, electricity seems to spark the first time soulmates touch. Some have known their soulmate’s name before they properly introduce themselves, and others know exactly what their soulmate’s first words to them will be. He has even heard rare tales of seeing the Fates’ work itself, strings of fate connecting soulmates when they’re first in proximity.

Morpheus has never doubted the existence of soulmates, nor has he doubted the experiences he has heard. No, what he has always questioned has been the intensity of such a bond. How powerful could true love actually be, to change the life of one so powerful? Surely, a soulmate did not exert that much sway over a being of myth and legend?

He has been in love before, of course—with Alianora, with Killala, with Calliope. For a moment, when he rescued Nada from Azazel, he allowed himself to hope that such a second chance was his sign that Nada was his soulmate.

Now, he knows that those loves were pale imitations of the love that one has for a soulmate. A single wink has transformed everything that he thought he knew about life, and where he once saw no future that did not involve taking his sister’s hand, now, he sees only possibility. It’s not just a mortal who stands in front of him now, one of seven billion faceless creatures that occupy his realm for a third of their short lives. 

No, it’s you. 

Morpheus comes to know your identity immediately by virtue of you being a dreamer, yet he thinks he will not truly be satisfied unless he hears it from you directly. For a brief moment, a black string appears around his wrist, stretching and morphing into a silver one as it loops around your own. Then, it’s gone, leaving behind only the startling realization that Dream of the Endless has met his soulmate. 

You bid farewell to Hob as Morpheus watches helplessly, uncharacteristically breathless when you, the deity he now worships faithfully, deign to smile his way before leaving. He is a mere planet sucked into the orbit of a bright, shining sun as his eyes follow you across the room, watching as you greet your friends at a large table. When you toss your head back in a laugh while removing a computer from your bag, he regrets that he’s too far away to hear the sound.

“My friend?” Hob’s voice is the life preserver he needs to pull himself out of the ocean he’s found himself treading through, and finally manages to look away. “Is everything alright?”

Morpheus is unsure. On the one hand, it seems as though he has finally found what he has spent nearly his entire, endless life searching for, right when he had decided that it might be time to stop altogether. On the other hand, the intensity of the bond forming…frightens him. Further, you’re a mortal, which means that he risks once again ending a civilization of humans thanks to his romantic aspirations. Instead of answering Hob’s question, he asks one of his own. 

“You have lived a long life,” Morpheus begins, trying desperately not to sound as shaky as he feels. “Surely you have heard of the concept of soulmates?”

Hob’s smile turns soft, wistful. “Of course. Some immortals think that it’s the universe or whoever giving them something to make unending life bearable; others, like myself, are simply romantics who are charmed by the idea of having a love to follow them from life to life. I’ve heard your lot have a much easier time finding soulmates than us regular ol’ immortals, that your heightened senses show you things the rest of us can’t see.” His brow furrows in thought as he digests the rather odd change in subject. “Why do you ask? Did…did you believe Nada to be your soulmate?”

Morpheus is relieved that Hob hasn’t made the connection between his oldest friend’s sudden odd behavior and the appearance of his student. “Yes,” he answers truthfully. “For a time, I did.”

None of his previous feelings matter anymore, though, now that the answer to his happiness is sitting across the room. 

“Forgive me, Hob, but I must end our meeting sooner than I hoped. There are…matters that I must attend to.” He needs to leave, for if he does not, he fears he may occupy this chair all night and watch you in a manner that would be considered ‘creepy’ by today’s standards.

To his credit, Hob does not act like their meeting is being cut short. “No worries at all. You know you’re welcome any time.”

“Thank you for your hospitality and counsel.”

Morpheus hesitates before leaving, defenseless against fate as his gaze is drawn back to you once more. After a moment, he opens the door to the pub and steps back into his own realm.

The ornate stained glass windows of his throne room do not allow him to see outside. But Morpheus does not require windows to know that the weather has already cleared, from booming thunder, bright lightning, and gale-force winds to clearing clouds and hesitant rays of sunlight beginning to dry the drenched landscape of the Dreaming. His realm’s weather is a direct reflection of his own emotions, and as he staggers to sit on the steps leading up to his throne, hope begins to warm his own waterlogged heart.

A soulmate. He would be lying if he were to say he hadn’t ever imagined the possibility of there being someone out there fated for him. Hob Gadling had called himself a romantic when explaining what he knew of the phenomena, and though Morpheus would never use the word to describe himself, he does think it apt. For all that he has been a being so devoted to his duties, he has also longed for someone to share those duties with.

If what he has seen is true, and he truly has become the first of the Endless to have a soulmate, then there is much to consider. There is only one person equipped to help him with this (only one person whose help he wants with this), even if she has never been through such an experience herself, which is how he finds himself in his gallery, staring ahead at the ankh placed in a frame.

“Sister,” Morpheus calls. “I must speak with you.”

“Hiya, little brother,” Death’s voice sounds from her sigil after mere seconds. “This a quick matter?”

“I would prefer that you come through, if you have some time.” Though no day can ever be slow when one is an anthropomorphic personification of a vital universal concept, Morpheus does hope that today, at least, is not busy for his sister.

“I always have time for you,” she says fondly.

One moment, there is nothing but air in front of him. The next, his beloved sister, her trademark smile the antithesis of the all-black ensemble she always sports. Said smile falters when she takes in Morpheus’s affect, likely resembling that of a wounded animal.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Death asks, placing a hand on his arm. “I figured you would be sad after the whole Nada thing—”

Wonderful, Morpheus thinks distantly, word of my rejection has already spread beyond the boundaries of the Dreaming.

“—but this is…not sadness. I’ve seen you sad before. A lot, actually.”

He tries not to take offense, for he knows that she speaks true.

“You have,” he agrees. “And you are correct.”

“Well, out with it then. What’s got you in such a state?”

He has to make an effort to say the words, a part of him worried that it might not be true if he actually voices what he’s just experienced. “It appears that I have…found my soulmate.”

Death’s smile slides off her face in shock before quickly reappearing, somehow wider than before. “Shut up!”

Morpheus’s brows furrow as anger rushes through him. “I beg your pardon?”

When she begins to laugh, those thunderclouds that were only just banished begin to build again over the palace. The Endless were never technically children, but at this moment, Morpheus feels every bit the little brother that he is as he perceives his eldest sister to be making fun of him.

“This is no joke, my sister.” His voice booms through the gallery, making the frames shake just slightly.

“No, sorry, I didn’t mean it in a bad way! You unintentionally quoted a movie, that’s all—remind me to show you that movie sometime, same actress as the one in Mary Poppins! I’m simply trying to say how shocked I am.” Death’s eyes shine as she looks at him. “Dream! Your soulmate? You’re sure?”

“The string of fate all but confirmed it.”

She squeals, a high-pitched shriek that echoes through his gallery, stopping suddenly when she realizes her merriment is not shared. “Wait. Why are you not excited? I thought you would be more excited!”

“It would appear that my soulmate is…mortal.”

Enthusiasm deflates out of her like air being released from a balloon. “Oh. Well. That is a problem, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” he agrees, even though that feels to be a massive understatement. His soulmate being a mortal is more than a problem; it’s a tragedy just waiting to happen.

Death’s eyes flick around the room before she looks at Morpheus again. “Y’know who would be able to help us with this?”

He knows exactly where she’s going with this and wants no part in it. “Sister, no—”

“Destiny!”

“It is alright, truly—” 

The last thing he needs is another of his siblings involved in this situation, specifically the one who can tell him what he fears to hear, but his words fall on deaf ears as Death stands in front of Destiny’s sigil.

“Hello, big brother!” Death runs a finger along Destiny’s frame. “May we come through?”

The reply is immediate. “You are both meant to be in my realm at this time.”

“Ooh, lucky us.” Death grins and takes Morpheus’s arm so that he cannot escape, stepping into Destiny’s Garden as the fabric between realms gives way upon their eldest brother’s invitation.

Destiny of the Endless stands before them, looking as he always does—wearing his robes and carrying his Book, stern and acting as though he carries the weight of many worlds on his shoulders (which is technically true). Out of all of his siblings, Morpheus speaks the least to Destiny, for he knows that there will never be room for a friendly conversation if the Book does not require it.

“Death. Dream,” Destiny acknowledges with a slight nod. Death darts over to give him a kiss on the cheek, and though he tries his best to keep his face as stonelike as the statues surrounding the garden, his lips still twitch up just slightly at the affection.

“Brother,” Morpheus greets. “Need I explain the situation to you, or has your Book explained it already?”

“Yes, I know what has happened.”

“Then you know that our sister believes you have answers to a number of questions.”

“Do not hide your curiosity behind our sister’s actions. You also want answers.”

Even though he knows Destiny isn’t being malicious by saying it, Morpheus still feels chastised and has to fight the urge to lower his eyes to the ground. “Yes,” he says, a little quieter than before, “I do.”

“Your path has stayed the same for centuries now, with little variation.” Destiny opens the Book to a page that must contain Morpheus’s story. “Yesterday, that changed.”

He gets the feeling that the debacle with the key to Hell has something to do with his story changing. “I was not supposed to meet…”

It’s impossible to bring himself to say the word to his brother, to breathe life into his hopes in front of one who could so easily crush them.

“No. But for reasons that I do not understand and cannot say, forces intervened. The moment that you left the Dreaming, it was providence that you would meet your soulmate.”

Though he knows that he must temper his emotions, that there is still a large part of the equation that has yet to be solved, this confirmation that the string of fate Morpheus saw connecting you to him was not a trick of the eye, that the sudden intensity with which he found himself falling for you was not mere desperation to be loved after crushing rejection, is a gift. 

“The first of the Endless to find their soulmate!” Death says beside him, likely almost as happy as he is, simply due to one of her siblings finding happiness. “And here I thought that the Fates simply enjoyed being cruel to us because of our power.”

“There is still the matter of my soulmate’s mortality,” Dream reminds both his sister and himself.

This, he believes, is where the fantasy comes to an end. Death may be pleasantly surprised that the Hecate allowed him a soulmate in the first place, but he worries that their cruelty lies in the linking of his soul to a mortal’s. There will be no falling in love, no learning another in every way that matters. There will be no marriage, no everlasting partnership. No, he will be forced to know that there is someone out there for him, but that making a move would ensure your demise, and likely the demise of many others. He will be forced to watch from afar as you go through life without him, until eventually his chance at true love takes his sister’s hand and journeys to the Sunless Lands.

“We are forbidden to love mortals, lest we bring about their ruin.” His voice sounds hollow as he repeats this unwritten law, matching the hollowness that he is soon to feel for the rest of his endless life.

Death smiles sympathetically, but does not seem as heartbroken for him as he might have imagined. “I have a theory, if you’d be willing to hear it?”

Morpheus nods. “By all means.”

“I’ve been thinking about this for a while, honestly, and the past few days have made me consider that there might be some weight behind this idea. Though we, the Endless, all have our different purposes, our main one is to serve humanity. Humans hold quite a lot of power, even if they don’t realize it. They decide where they go after they die, and their belief, or lack thereof, gives the gods power. Beings with power like to believe that we have control over humans, but if anything, they have control over us.

“Nada and the First People believed that to love an Endless meant devastation for them. Might that be why the First People were wiped out, and not because it’s an unwritten law?”

Morpheus has never considered this, and mulls the possibility over. Desire, specifically, had courted a mortal in order to sire a child in the hopes of Morpheus spilling family blood. Though they did not love Unity Kincaid, he knows from Unity’s own words that she loved her ‘golden-eyed man’ very much. Yet there was never the end of a civilization due to her love, nor did there seem to be any natural consequences for such a union.

Is Death right? Has Morpheus been living under a misguided belief all this time?

“Destiny?” Morpheus asks, yet again, afraid to know what his brother might say. “Is she correct?”

“The Gray Ladies, for all of their aforementioned cruelty and disdain towards us, respect the concept of love; they relish playing matchmaker. It is one of their favorite parts of their function.”

Their other favorite, of course, is when their services as the Kindly Ones are invoked.

Morpheus must uncharacteristically swallow to clear his throat. “So it is true? I will not bring about the end of modern civilization by pursuing my soulmate?”

Destiny remains silent, and Death whoops excitedly.

“That’s a yes!” she declares, wrapping an arm around Morpheus’s shoulders and squeezing—the closest to a hug he typically allows. “Thank you. This visit has been everything I hoped it would be.”

“It is time now for you both to depart,” Destiny responds. He’s not being rude by ushering his siblings out of his realm; it is simply what the Book demands, and he must follow that steadfastly.

“Yes, of course, we’ll let you get back to it. Farewell, Destiny!” Death bids, waving once before disappearing through the tear in the veil that will undoubtedly lead back to the Dreaming.

“Thank you, brother. Truly.” Morpheus would thank him more profusely than this, but it would be in vain. Destiny knows just how thankful Morpheus truly is.

“Dream,” Destiny calls as Morpheus has one foot back in his realm. 

He turns to look at his older brother, only to see the fond twitch of his lips typically reserved for Death or Delirium directed towards him.

“Good luck.” 

It is not the usual foreboding tone of someone who knows what is to come and is merely conveying the necessary information as required by his function. No, these words are sincere, are well wishes that one would give to someone they care greatly about, and he appreciates them all the more as a result. 

Morpheus nods gratefully, then makes his way through to the Dreaming, where Death stands beaming with her hands clasped in front of her.

“You have a soulmate,” she breathes, awed.

“I do.” While he knows he should be visibly thrilled, he cannot help but to remain serious as he works to fully digest the information, works through what it actually means for him and his future.

Death notices this, as she always does, and takes his hands in hers. “You get to be loved, Dream, just like you’ve always wanted. Don’t be scared of this gift that you’ve been given.”

But he is scared. Terrified is a better word to describe how he’s feeling. What if you deny him as Nada has done? What if the gravity of a soulmate bond, of loving one of the Endless, proves too tall a task for you? He could not bear it if his love—if the reveal of so much beyond the world you’ve been raised to know—were to cause you fear. He cannot get this wrong, will not get this wrong, yet…

“I know not how to court in this day and age, let alone court a mortal,” he says weakly. It is a flimsy excuse, of course, and one that Death sees right through.

“You’re asking the wrong being, since it’s been a good two hundred years or so since I’ve been truly involved with anybody. I’m quite sure that there’s some information on modern dating rituals—it’s called dating now, by the way, not courting—in that ginormous library of yours. Your raven was recently human, too, wasn’t he?”

He need not say anything, for they both know the questions are rhetorical. She squeezes his hands softly before releasing them and stepping towards her frame.

“I’ve got to get back to work, okay? But please don’t doubt yourself. You deserve this! And you’ll figure out how you want to approach this situation; you always do.”

Death has always had an unshakable faith in him, even when he does not believe the same of himself. “I appreciate your wisdom, as always, my dear sister.”

“Bye, Dream.” She opens her own rift between realms, likely to the Waking. “I expect to hear all about this soulmate of yours when we meet next!” 

Then Morpheus is alone, left to his own devices as he tries to figure out where one starts when they first meet their soulmate.

[chu16a-blog]

Dream x Reader - The Price of Mercy

Pairing: Dream x Reader

Warning: Spoiler season 2

Summary: Desperate to save his realm, Dream seeks help from a powerful, feared being ... you. Instead of demanding a painful price, you surprise him with a strange request. Flustered but out of options, he agrees.

Part I - The Price of Mercy

Part II - Dinner with a Goddess

Part III - Coffee, Confessions, and Choking

Part IV (End) - The Dream He Dared to Shape

The Price of Mercy

The Dreaming was bleeding.

Dream walked through its corridors, his palace of thought. The sky above cracked with silent thunder.

All because of what he’d done.

A moment of duty. A moment of justice. A moment of blood.

Family blood.

And by the ancient Law, that was enough to summon the Kindly Ones. They were not kind. They would come. They always did. And they would unmake him.

He had exhausted every path.

There was only one door left.

And even he feared it.

You.

He had seen you once, long ago, walking through a Roman temple as if you were bored by time itself. A creature of eerie calm, elegant and still like a mirror pond untouched by wind. Beauty in a form mortals could never survive, but you walked among them like you barely noticed the difference. You had looked at him once, just once, and Morpheus had felt… something.

He didn’t dwell on it.

Destiny had warned him then.

"Do not cross her. She is the unknown chapter, the untethered clause. The Law listens to her in silence. And she charges dearly."

But he was out of options.

So, he descended through layers of reality, past dreams and gods and concepts, until he reached the threshold of your realm, an impossible space suspended between choices and probabilities, colored like dusk and rimmed with the soft laughter of stars.

Your domain was quiet, but not empty. Lanterns floated, casting soft golden light against a midnight backdrop. You sat on a couch made of impossible geometry, legs crossed, sipping tea that shimmered between blue and gold.

You felt his arrival and smiled without looking.

“Took you long enough.”

Morpheus stood still. Tall, still robed in night and regret. His face impassive.

But his eyes… hesitated.

He looked at you, truly, and something ancient and strange twisted behind his ribs. Your beauty was… disarming. The kind that wasn’t trying to seduce or impress. Just was. Effortless. Alive. You were elegance without vanity, danger without cruelty. And you smiled at him like a cat with a secret.

He straightened. His cloak curled behind him like a shadow offended by the light.

"You know why I’m here."

You circled him slowly, watching how his shoulders tensed, how his jaw clenched when you got too close. A flicker in his gaze. He wasn’t used to this. Being seen.

"I do. You want a law bent. A rule rewritten. A leash placed upon the Kindly Ones before they tear you and your precious realm to ribbons."

"Yes."

"That’s not usually something done without consequence, Dream. The Laws of the Endless are older than even your melancholy. You’re asking me to interfere."

He stepped closer, tone taut, restrained.

"I have tried all other paths."

You sighed, the sound somewhere between weariness and dramatic flair.

"Of course you have. And now you’ve come to me, expecting pain. Sacrifice. A price so sharp it leaves your soul limping."

He stiffened. His heart beat once, too loud in his ears.

"I will pay what is necessary."

You tilted your head. Your voice shifted, becoming cool, detached. The same script you’d used with gods, devils, and fools alike:

"The favor you ask comes with cost. Not of coin. Not of blood. But of truth. Of surrender. Of something irreplaceable. All who have bargained with me have walked away different. Most do not walk away at all."

You turned. He was waiting for torment. For agony. His black eyes, so often hollow, held a flicker of dread.

And you were…

Bored.

Gods, they’re all the same. Expecting doom and torment. Never just… asking what I want. Not even a ‘how are you’. Tch. And that restaurant just opened too…

And then it hit you.

The restaurant. The one you had tried to go to last week, only to be turned away at the door because "no singles allowed."

So here he was. Tall. Brooding. Rather unreasonably handsome, in that haunted, starving-poet sort of way.

And available.

You grinned.

"I’ve decided your price."

He braced himself.

"There’s a new restaurant in the Waking World. They serve the best lobster this side of the galaxy. Problem is, it’s couples-only. And I want to try their spicy citrus-butter crustacean."

He blinked.

"…I beg your pardon?"

"You heard me." You walked towards him, hands folded behind your back, voice playful. "I want to go. I want their lobster. Their chef is a magician with butter and fire. But they don’t allow singles. I tried to bring my pet snake, but apparently that ‘violates the vibe’.

He frowned. "You… wish to dine with me?"

You smirked. "I want the food. They require a partner. You’ll do."

His brows furrowed. He searched the shadows for a trap. “That’s… it?”

You stepped closer, voice a whisper of amusement.

"What? Were you expecting I’d demand your memories? Your voice? Your first love’s heartbeat in a jar? Please. I’m not that cliché. I’m just bored. And hungry."

Morpheus hesitated. "You wish me to… date you?"

"Call it what you want, honey."

He choked. "…Honey?"

You leaned in, lips close to his ear.

"Too much?"

He straightened instantly, clearing his throat.

You watched, delighted, as his eyes flicked in every direction like he expected a trap to spring. “I—I don’t…”

“Relax. I won’t bite. Unless the lobster’s bad.”

His lips parted. Words failed him.

“So,” you continued, voice low and amused, “what’ll it be, Dream? Date or death?”

"I… accept. The terms. I choose the… date."

"Oh, how romantic," you teased, spinning on your heel. "Now. You’ll need to dress well. This place is fancy."

You turned, finger raised.

"You’ll need to pick me up. I expect you at eight sharp. No shadows. No sand. No ravens. Knock on the door like a normal being."

His voice was faint, nearly stunned.

"I… see."

"Do you?"

You stepped close again, smile playful, eyes glittering.

"You sure you’re okay with the price, Dream of the Endless? You seem a little… flustered."

He looked away quickly. "I am… simply surprised."

His ears turned faintly pink.

"Hm." You leaned back. "You’re cute when you’re trying not to blush."

Silence stretched, thick with something unexpected. Not doom. Not dread.

Anticipation.

"So," you said, extending your hand. "Do we have a deal?"

He stared at it, then at you.

There was no trick. No hidden malice.

Just you, beautiful, kind (against all rumors), and maybe a little lonely.

He hesitated. Then, slowly, solemnly, placed his hand in yours.

It was warm. Surprising.

“We have a deal.”

You smiled.

He turned to leave, half-floating, half-fleeing, his mind a storm of confusion.

And behind him, you laughed softly.

The Kindly Ones would be kept at bay. Your price was paid.

And perhaps… you wouldn’t be so bored after all.

You smiled. "Excellent. I’ll see you Friday. Don’t be late, honey."

He flinched again.

He stepped back through the veil, heart pounding like a mortal’s.

The Law had been bent. The Kindly Ones halted.

And all it cost him…

…was a date.

He touched the place on his hand where your fingers had rested.

Your laugh still echoed in his ears.

He could not stop the small smile that formed at the corner of his lips.

This is the first part of 4 delicious chapters, ehehehe, enjoy!

[glennussy]

so starved for content I might go to the real hellsite (wattpad)

[thecursivescribe]

An Entire Weekend

I'm back!! I know I fell off the face of the planet but YALL the way school kicked my ass this past term was next level. Anyways here's 7.5k of pure smut lol. Enjoy! (And ITOY part 3 is coming I SWEAR!!! 💛)

Pairing: Remus Lupin x fem!reader

Synopsis: You and Remus cannot get enough of each other. With the only thing standing between your weekend of no responsibilities together being a movie night with your friends, the question becomes, just how long can Remus keep his hands off of you for?

Words: 7.5k (i have no excuse i'm sorry)

Warnings/Tags: 18+, MNDI., smut!!!!! (from beginning to end 😉), we love a man who gets off on getting his lady off 🫦

Requests are: ✨opennnn!✨

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You and Remus were in that phase. The phase, lingering in the space between newness and just getting comfortable—all of the discoveries you’d made about each other, another of those very firsts getting checked off every time he saw you. Now you’d been together just long enough that he’d explored you a thousand times over—thoroughly—and was pleasantly, sickeningly addicted to doing so.

Beyond the physical exploration, Remus had found himself completely and utterly enamored with you. He always had been, but now those fantasies he divulged in at Hogwarts were things he could actually act on. He wasn’t even sure how, but he’d fallen even more in love with you since you’d gotten together and continued to by the day.

You were just as worse off—you’d used to be unbelievably shy around Remus when you met in first year. You’d gotten past it eventually, but the initial feeling that happened when you entered his vicinity never let up, you just got better at hiding it.

Now everything was out in the open. To think you could’ve been with him all those years, but neither of you had ever had the courage to break the barrier. Yet here you were, pushed up against his kitchen counter with his hand up the skirt of your dress, clinging to each other like you couldn’t imagine being elsewhere.

“Rem,” you moaned, grasping the fabric of his shirt at his shoulders.

“I’m right here, baby,” Remus murmured against your neck, while his free hand wandered from where your thigh was hitched on his hip, to your hip, bringing the light fabric of your dress along with him.

You gasped when you felt a tender but firm curl inside you.

“You look so pretty like this,” Remus said gently as he straightened to get a look at you, only able to keep his distance for a few moments—admiring the way your head tilted back while you desperately whined.

You’d been so shy when things between you had started—self-conscious about being too loud or too quiet. He remembered the first time you let a moan slip and he just about came right there in his pants. The thought had him diving back in to press open-mouthed kisses along the other side of your jaw. The amount of times he thought about doing just this to you as a teenager, his hand wrapped tightly around his cock while he pictured himself between your thighs—if fifteen-year-old Remus could see him now.

“Oh- Merlin,” you gasped breathlessly, feeling yourself heading towards the inevitable snap of that coil in your belly.

“I know, dove. You’re doing so good for me,” Remus said, reaching up to grab a handful of breast over your dress, moaning lightly when he realized just how thin the material was—the lack of a bra making the blood pump that much harder through Remus’ ears.

You preened at the affection, arching into his touch when he ran his thumb over the fabric above your nipple.

It was merciless, the way Remus had memorized all of the times you’d reacted positively while he explored the terrain of your body—every sigh, every whimper, now all compiled into one rhythmic, devastating attack.

“Rem—” you breathed helplessly, “fuck, I’m gonna cum.”

“I’ve got you,” Remus whispered into your hair, hold tightening on you.

You let out a helpless cry when Remus started a relentless push push push against that spongey part inside you, sending you barrelling over the edge.

“Good girl,” Remus mumbled, somewhat smugly, against your hair. He kept you at the peak of your orgasm for long enough that by the end of it you let out a sob, eventually—mercifully—slowing the draw of his fingers until your huffing turned to small mewls.

Remus pressed feather light kisses along your hairline while your breathing returned back to normal. When he was sure you could lean against the counter on your own, he lowered your leg back to the ground while pulling his fingers from you, digits covered in your fluids.

He cupped your jaw. “Okay?”

“Try mind-blowing.” You gripped his wrist loosely, limbs made of gelatin, brain reduced to goo.

Remus laughed quietly, leaning in to press a kiss firmly against your mouth, lingering just too long for it to mean nothing. He pulled back, eyes taking in your post-orgasm glow.

“We should order the food,” Remus said quietly, reluctantly letting you go so he could wash his hands in the sink next to you.

“But you didn’t—”

“That’s okay,” Remus cut you off, smirking at you. “We have time. You’re mine for an entire weekend, remember?”

Your stomach dipped at the reminder—an entire weekend. No plans, no responsibilities. Just you and Remus. The thought of what awaited you had your breath catching, you’d barely been here for half an hour before he’d pounced on you like he hadn’t just seen you two days ago.

“You’re right, I forgot,” you said, pushing off the counter to press your front to his side while he rinsed soap off his hands. You pressed a kiss into his shoulder, blinking up at him from between your lashes.

“Forgot, have you? Maybe I’ll have to remind you again later.” Remus turned off the tap, quickly drying his hands on a nearby tea towel, so he could wrap himself back around you.

You hummed appreciatively into Remus’ mouth when it connected back to yours.

“Why do we have to be social again?” You grumbled before leaning up to press butterfly kisses along the collar of Remus’ jumper.

“Because,” Remus started, somewhat breathlessly, “it’s my turn to host film night and I’m convinced Pads will report us missing to the Ministry if we miss another one.”

“I guess we have been a little preoccupied, haven’t we?”

Remus hummed in agreement. “I’m not complaining, though.”

“No?” You asked, a giggle threatening to slip. You were almost embarrassed at the way Remus could reduce you to your schoolyard-self when he was around: blushing, hiding shyly, finding everything he said way to hilarious.

“Bloody hell, no, I’m making up for lost time.” Remus cut off your laugh with another kiss, firmer this time, stepping you back into the space you’d just left.

Your teeth caught his bottom lip, his breathing picked up.

And just when he started tracing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your jawline—

“Oh, Moony, I’m hooome!” Came from the entryway, with a theatrical tone that could only belong to one person.

Remus dropped his forehead to your shoulder. “He’s early.”

You laughed lightly, weaving your fingers into the forest of his hair. “We’re in here, Siri!”

A dramatic gasp came from the entryway along with the clattering of boots being discarded. “That voice was way too angelic to belong to Moons.”

Remus lifted his head in annoyance just as Sirius rounded the corner. “Oi.”

“Moons! I almost forgot what you look like!”

“A little dramatic, Pads.”

“Dollface!” Sirius yelled when he spotted you tucked behind Remus, all but pushing the lycanthrope out of the way to get to you.

“Hi, Siri,” you laughed as Sirius picked you up and twirled you.

“You mangy wolf,” Sirius said, turning with you still tight in his hold. “You’ve been keeping her to yourself all this time. What about the rest of us, huh?”

Remus tilted his head when his gaze slid from Sirius back to you. “Can you blame me?”

“Can’t say I do, no.”

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Before long, Remus’ living room carpet and coffee table were covered in takeout boxes.

“It’s freezing in here, Remus,” Lily complained as she shoved herself further into James’ space. It was true—despite the day’s earlier on-coming summer warmth, Remus’ house was so surrounded by trees that the moment the sun dropped slightly, it may as well be December.

“I’ll go get some extra blankets,” you offered, having to detangle yourself from Sirius’ clinginess before making your way to Remus’ bedroom.

 It took some searching around, but eventually you found the extra stack of blankets Remus had at the top of the wardrobe. You were just reaching up to grab the pile, when a pair of calloused hands lightly grabbed your hips. Your stomach flipped at the sudden heat pressed up against your back.

“Let me,” Remus said from behind you, reaching up with ease and taking the first stack down.

“If Sirius realizes we’re both gone, he might implode,” you whispered conspiratorially and turned towards him.

Remus’ mouth quirked while he set the pile on the bed nearby. It was then that you noticed the door to the room was closed significantly more than it was when you came in; now only letting a sliver of the hallway light through.

“He’ll have to survive for a minute,” Remus said, bringing his hands back to your waist and pressing your mouths together like he’d been starved of it.

The soft sounds of your lips sliding against each other filled the space around you, the mumbles of your friends now only seeming like a small sound in the distance.

“This is dangerous,” you murmured quickly before Remus connected your lips back together.

“What’s your point?” He countered breathlessly.

“That our friends are in the next room,” you said, though as much as you were aware of it, you were also harbouring a vicious grip on Remus’ shirt—tugging him back to your mouth after every time you’d spoken.

“And?” Remus murmured.

You panted lightly. “I don’t know, I forgot.”

Remus laughed breathily, going back in to nibble at your bottom lip.

“I also realized,” Remus started, reaching for his back pocket and drawing out the soaked panties he’d pulled from you whilst in the kitchen. “That these were still in my pocket.”

Your eyes widened. “Those have been in your pocket the entire time?”

“Where did you think they’d gone?” Remus tossed the panties in the general direction of the hamper, reaching down to finger at the bottom of your dress.

“I hadn’t…really thought about it, to be honest.”

“You didn’t notice your panties were missing?” Remus hated to admit it, but the thought had his pants tightening.

“I had other things on my mind,” you whispered, blinking up at him through your lashes.

Remus’ eyes darkened noticeably, but before he could connect your lips back together, James’ voice came from the other side of the door.

“Oi! Whatever you two are doing in there better be rated PG, we’re waitin’ for you out here.”

Remus threw his head back with an audible groan. “We’ll be out in a minute, Prongs.”

“I hate to say I told you so, but…” You started before Remus pinched your sides, cutting yourself off with a yelp.

“Minx,” he muttered, his mouth hooking upward.

You pulled away from Remus, reaching up into the wardrobe to grab the other stack of blankets, aware of how dangerously high your dress rose up. You turned back to him innocently, holding the blankets to your chest, not missing the way Remus’ lips had parted.

“C’mon, handsome,” you called over your shoulder before making your way back to the living room.

“You get lost in there?” Marlene teased.

“Oh, hush,” you said, tossing her a blanket where she was piled with Mary and Dorcas.

Before long, your friends were all buried beneath quilts and knit throws and cuddled up to each other. With some protesting from Sirius—who wanted attention from both you and Remus equally—you settled sideways in Remus’ lap with your legs thrown over Sirius’ thighs. With Sirius sandwiched between Remus’ body heat and James’ who was huddled with Lily on the other side of the couch, everyone was finally comfortable enough to settle down.

The opening credits began, and just when you started to get distracted by the first scene, you felt Remus’ large palm slide up the length of your thigh beneath the blankets cover, bunching your dress at the top.

He felt you tense underneath his hand, prompting a smirk as he leant over toward you slowly. “You have no idea all of the things I’m going to do to you as soon as they all leave.”

A pool of heat formed at the bottom of your gut at the words. Though you fought to keep your face neutral, your thighs tightened, trapping Remus’ fingers between them and betraying your demeanor.

He didn’t move them for the entire first half of the film, only drew lazy circles with the tip of his index that crept higher just ever-so slowly enough that you couldn’t tell if it was intentional or not. You only knew that the longer the movie went on, the harder it got to sit still. You were sure a puddle of slick would leave a stain against Remus’ pants from where you were sitting.

Eventually you decided to even the playing field. You adjusted slightly, tucking yourself into Remus’ side and pressing your face into his shoulder. Slowly, you let your hand trail down the front of his shirt, over his belt, until you reached the very noticeable bulge beneath your thigh.

You felt Remus’ breath stall against you, prompting you to confidently cup him—firmly enough that he had to fight a whimper from escaping.

“Merlin’s tits, baby,” Remus whispered into your hair. “Don’t do that.”

“You started it,” you whispered back, retreating your hand and leaving Remus considerably harder than before.

By the time the heroine of the movie was coming up for her big scene, Remus’ hand had gotten so close to your heat, you were fighting the urge not to push it the rest of the way. Equal parts needing more and wanting mercy until you were actually alone.

At the moment the music of the film intensified, Remus slid his hand the remainder of the way to you, expertly spreading your lips to press the pad of his middle finger against your clit. You bit down on the gasp that rose inside you at the contact, and then again on the whine when his finger pressed firmly but didn’t move.

Cruelly, Remus only rolled his finger once every few minutes, not enough to do anything but make you more restless; something you fought against considering Sirius was clamped onto your legs. And when the film neared its close, he pulled his hand from you completely—pulling your dress back down your leg and moving to squeeze your knee above the blanket. The bastard.

When the closing credits started to roll across the screen, you could’ve cried with relief.

Hesitant to get up from Remus’ lap, you slowly slid yourself sideways, allowing for enough ruffling that Remus could give a quick wave of his wand tucked into the cushion beside you and cleared the puddle that had indeed formed over his lap. The resolution to his other issue, however, was dependent on your absence.

You smirked at him, moving to stand up with everyone else. Immediately you realized how much colder the house was now that you weren’t pressed up against Remus and his antics—Remus also realized given that he could now see your nipples poking through the fabric of your dress.

“Let me help you,” Lily said quickly. Standing up from her spot next to James and started picking up the takeout containers strewn around the room next to you.

“It’s okay, Lils,” you said, trying to wave her off on your way to the kitchen.

“Nonsense,” she said, following you in. “I need to know how things are with Remus before I go back to newborn chaos.”

A smile spread across your face involuntarily at the mention.

“You looked pretty cozy during the movie,” Lily teased.

“You can say that again,” Mary agreed, followed by Dorcas and Marlene who were all adding their own containers to the growing pile on the counter.

Your smile widened.

“So things are good, then?” Dorcas prompted, eyebrows raised.

You bit your lip to try and contain your smile while you nodded.

There was a chorus of ‘awww’s’ around you.

“I always knew you two were meant to be,” Mary cooed.

“We, uh…” you broke off with a flustered laugh. “We’re spending the entire weekend together.”

“The entire weekend?” Lily repeated.

You nodded while a blush spread across your face.

Marlene let out a low whistle. “I assume the only plans you have are in the bedroom?”

You covered your face with your hands. “Marls,” you groaned.

You heard Mary laugh next to you. “Okay well we’ll let you get to your romantic love-weekend. But, listen, we should have a wine-night soon. Just the five of us.”

You nodded eagerly along with the other three. “I’d love that. I promise I won’t bail on plans anymore.”

“Yeah, you will,” Dorcas countered with a wave of her hand. “Just as long as it’s not our plan.”

You squeezed her outstretched hand gratefully. “Deal.”

You followed the three girls to the front door where Sirius and James were waiting. Feeling Remus’ gaze heavy upon you, you intentionally avoided his stare.

“Nice to see you, beautiful,” James said, giving you a tight squeeze with a kiss to the side of your head.

“You too. I missed you lot,” you mumbled back, finally meeting Remus’ eyes over James’ shoulder. He winked at you.

“We missed you both, too. But for the record,” James pulled back and gripped your elbows, “you look the happiest I’ve ever seen you.”

“I am,” you mumbled sheepishly.

James hummed. “That’s exactly what Moony said when I told him that.”

A deep blush spread across your face and down your chest.

You waved goodbye to the girls and James as they all said their goodbye’s to Remus.

“Alright doll,” Sirius said swooping you into a big hug. “Don’t let your gangly boyfriend keep you to himself for another month.”

You laughed into his shoulder. “I’ll do my best.”

“That’s my girl,” Sirius said, breaking the hug to kiss your cheek. “See you at the next full moon, yeah?”

You agreed and turned back towards the kitchen while Sirius gave Remus an on-brand, theatrical hug—just catching Sirius’ claim that he was sure to never see Remus again.

You smiled to yourself, sorting all of the takeout containers that once covered the carpet, and now covered the counter.

When you heard the soft click of the front door closing, your stomach dipped. The volume that had filled the space around you for the past few hours diminished to only your breathing. Your movements didn’t falter, but your senses were on high-alert—waiting, slick gathering back between your thighs, your heart beating in your ears.

After a minute of full silence, two firm hands appeared at your waist. Remus pressed his chest against your back, reaching to pull your hair back from your face.

“Hi,” he said into your ear.

Your movements fully paused at his appearance. “Hi.”

“We’re alone now.” Remus started pressing slow but firm kisses down the length of your neck.

“I noticed.”

Remus only hummed against you, pulling you flush against him. When he travelled back up to the spot just below your ear, you gasped. It was all the persuasion he needed to keep you pressed to him with one hand, while the other reached forward to free your own of the container you’d gripped onto.

He spun you. Your lips met in brief, sparking kisses, as if he couldn’t quite decide where he wanted to pay attention to the most.

You panted heavily when Remus went back to attacking your throat, closing your eyes and savouring the feeling of his tongue lapping at your pulse point. But after a whimper slipped from you, you reached down to cup Remus’ face and eagerly rejoined your mouths.

“I need you,” you whispered against him breathlessly.

Remus needed no further invitation, but he also had no intention of finishing this so quickly. He’d savoured you over the past month you’d been together and would continue you to do so; he wanted to memorize you from the ground up—your scent, your sounds, your taste.

He left a trail of blazing heat down the column of your throat, the valley of your chest, over the fabric of your dress until he was on his knees before you.

Without breaking eye contact with you, Remus lifted one of your legs and put it over his shoulder, sliding a palm down your outer thigh and bunching the dress at your hips.

“Okay?” Remus asked quickly.

You looked down at him—angelic with dishevelled hair and parted lips—and nodded. “Perfect.”

Remus held your gaze, reaching up to run to fingers through your folds.

You whimpered, so sensitive from the hours of teasing he’d forced you to endure.

Remus hummed gratefully, rubbing the liquids over the surrounding area. “What’s got you so worked up, baby?”

Though before you could reply with what Remus knew would’ve been a rather dry remark, he flattened his tongue and ran a long stripe from your entrance to your clit, wrapped his mouth around the bud and sucked.

What started as a loud gasp at the new sensation turned into a loud moan by the time he’d made it to your clit. Your head made contact with a cabinet behind you as you gripped at the counters, struggling to keep your supporting leg from shaking or giving out.

Remus switched between pulsing sucks at your bead to kitten licking, circling your entrance with a single digit, dipping the tip inside every minute or so before pulling it back out.

Within minutes, he had you reduced to a trembling, mumbling mess.

“G- gods Rem,” you moaned as his finger dipped back in. “Please.”

Remus froze. He’d heard you moan, whimper, sob—but begging? That was new.

“Say that again,” he croaked, face dripping with everything he’d pulled from you.

You looked down at him, clenching at the sight of his sheened face, at the man you’d been in love with for years on his knees for you.

Remus waited patiently, circling your entrance once, twice more, dipping his finger in just barely and out again.

You panted, your knuckles whitening from their grip on the counter’s ledge.

“Please.” It came out as barely a whisper, shyness creeping in despite your intimate positions.

Remus’ lips parted at the plea falling from you and effortlessly slid one finger in for a single pump, before easing in a second finger and steadily rocking them in and out of you.

Your mouth fell open at the stretch, despite the hours of silent foreplay you’d tolerated, a shameless moan falling from you and echoing off the kitchen tiles.

It had Remus latching back onto your clit, repeating the same ruthless pattern of sucking and licking, coaxing you further and further to the edge. With a curl of his fingers, your hand flew from the counter to grip softly at his hair. His moan into you had your eyes rolling back, had you fighting the urge to grind into his face as that coil strung tighter and tighter inside you.

“Rem, fuck—”

Remus pulled his face from you. “Beg for it, dove.”

“Please Rem,” you said, no further prompting needed. “Gods- just- please. Please baby.”

You had no idea what you were begging for, but the curling into that spongey spot inside you became relentless. Your hand tightened in his hair, your thigh stiffened where it was still slung over his shoulder.

Remus could almost picture you exactly like this as an oil painting—art work, kept for his eyes only.

“I—” you broke off at another cruel curl inside you, but Remus had already memorized the whines and sounds that spilled from you when you were just teetering on the edge.

He took hold of your thigh, standing and hooking it onto his waist, now mirroring the exact position he had you in earlier as some kind of twisted foreshadowed fate. He loved holding you close while you fell apart, he wanted to feel it spread over his body as much as possible—wanted to pull all of your noises and juices from you before he bathed in them.

You clung to him, shoving your face into the corner of his neck while he pressed his nose into your hair, arm wrapped tightly around your back, pushing a curling motion into you once, twice more. Your fingers pressed half-moons into his biceps as he pushed you over the edge.

You gasped out silent cries into his shoulder as your body pulsed from your ears to your toes. Your eyes squeezed shut when Remus moaned like he was the one who’d just had an earth-shattering orgasm, pulling shakes and shivers from you until you started the descent from your high.

Slowly, Remus eased his fingers from you, pants tightening even more when you whimpered at the sensitivity. Just knowing he was the one to put you in such a state had his mouth watering. He reached blindly behind you for the tea towel he’d used earlier that day, wiping his hand quickly before securing his arms back around you and reaching up to brush the back of your head while you panted.

“Still with me?” He asked quietly.

You hummed and gave a weak nod, earning a kiss to your forehead.

Without his hand to keep your thigh hitched on his waist, it slipped slightly down his leg, bringing your body down with it and allowing you to feel the rough material of his pants from where his bulge was pressing into you.

You glanced down before flicking back up to meet Remus’ gaze—your legs turned to jelly as soon as you’d seen the obscenely dark shade they’d turned, almost consumed by pupil.

Remus reached to cup your jaw. “Do you want to stop here?”

Your eyes zeroed in on his lips as he talked, compelling you to reach for him with both hands.

“No,” you said breathily before slotting your lips back together.

Remus groaned against you and reached down to wrap your legs around his waist, though carefully, mindful of how sensitive you were.

You clung to him, shirt bunched between your fingers, as he stumbled blindly into his bedroom. You let a girlish giggle slip when he dropped you to the bed, clumsily following you down.

Remus took the opportunity to take you in—the object of all his desires, the love of his life. He leaned down to capture your lips once more and inhaled deeply when your hands tugged lightly at the baby hairs of his nape.

Not satisfied enough with the warmth radiating through his shirt, you reached down to its hem where it was tucked between you. Remus caught on immediately and rose himself onto his forearms just enough that you could slide your hands up the toned valleys of his body, bringing his shirt along with you. It ended up on the floor somewhere, alongside his pants which quickly followed, leaving only the thin material of his briefs between him and your heat.

With a small push to his shoulder, you flipped the two of you, bracketing his hips before pushing him to lay down. You leaned in to press a soft kiss to his lips.

“I wanna make you feel good,” you whispered, shy from the words.

Remus’ mouth parted, and before he could tell you that it was okay—that he really didn’t need it—you were kissing down the exposed skin of his body. You pressed butterfly kisses across the top of his underwear before beginning to peel it back slowly, kissing every newly revealed inch.

By the time you’d pulled his underwear down his legs, he had to keep himself from squirming at the anticipation.

You took in the prettiness of his length, rock hard as if it was the first time you were doing this. You reached out with the tip of your tongue to catch the bead of precum leaking from Remus’ tip.

He threw his head back with a groan. “Dove, you’re gonna kill me.”

You laughed breathily before deciding to end his misery. You braced your hands on either side of his hips, leaning down to kiss and kitten lick the cherry red tip that flourished.

Remus started panting.

You widened your lips, flattening your tongue along the underside of him as you slowly took more of him into your mouth. What you couldn’t fit, you grasped firmly with your hand, and you began the newly perfected craft that you were so eager to perform for him.

Remus let out a long, unashamed moan, sitting up on his forearms to watch the way your lips stretched around his cock.

“Fuck me, dove. You’re so—fuck—” Remus threw his head back when you swallowed around him, “you’re so perfect.”

You hummed appreciatively at the praise and Remus bit down on his lip to keep from bucking into your mouth from the vibration—he could feel his resolve slipping the longer he watched you slowly bob up and down on his length. He was already so desperate for you.

A shine appeared over your eyes the next time you blinked at him with your tongue lapping at his slit. And it might’ve been the way you gagged around him the next time you bobbed down, trying to take as much of him as possible, but Remus found himself reaching for you—he was simply unable to bear it any longer.

You gasped as you rolled, having no time to gather your senses before Remus was pressing white hot kisses down the column of your throat, hitching your legs up onto his waist, and pulling the dress up with it.

You arched your back so he could push it off, ducking under the fabric so you were bare before him.

Remus stared intently at your chest, anxiously leaning to take a nipple into his mouth, squeezing the breast with his hand—the other, had gone down to brush lazily over your clit.

You writhed beneath him, pushing your hips up into his hand in search of some sort of friction. You could feel your arousal dripping between your thighs.

Remus released your nipple, kissed back up to you and cupped your jaw with the hand that had been fondling your breast.

“Ready?” Remus asked gently, thumbing at your bottom lip.

“Ready,” you breathed. It felt like your entire body was buzzing with anticipation. To think you had an entire weekend of this…

Remus relieved your clit of his teasing and reached down to line himself up with your entrance, pushing inward and watching as your face contorted with pleasure, pausing any time a breath of discomfort passed over you.

He moaned loudly when he bottomed out. He pressed his forehead to yours in relief—he hadn’t realized how much he’d been aching to be inside you the last couple days, let alone the last few hours.

“Thank Godric,” he huffed.

You panted a laugh before reaching up to cup his face. Remus started to rock shallowly in and out of you.

He wanted to swallow every sound that leaked from your lips then, while you lay underneath him like that. He leaned his head down next to yours, keeping the same shallow pace.

Slowly Remus’ mouth began to wander, from along your jaw bone to your collar bone, over your shoulder blade to your elbow—he gently took hold of the arm and rose it above your head, holding it there. He repeated the same journey along the other side, collecting that arm and doing the same. He interlaced your two hands with his one at the top, letting the other roam appreciatively over the elongated curvature of your body.

You could’ve wormed out if you wanted to, but it was more of a gentle dominance that you felt compelled by than a demand to stay still—as if you could hear Remus asking you to be vulnerable for him as he worked his way around you.

“Baby,” he whispered as he skimmed your ribs with his mouth. “You’re so beautiful.”

You whined and arched into him, the slow drag of his cock against your walls enough to make you feel like you were losing your mind.

It was the soft brush of your nipples against his chest that had him picking up the pace slightly, enough to have you closing your eyes and biting your lip.

“Yeah? That feel good?” Remus asked, hitching your leg up higher onto his hip.

You squeezed his hand desperately. “Feels so good, Rem. Oh my- oh!”

Remus angled himself so that he could drag right along that spongey part of you at the end of every thrust, rubbing his thumb along your tangled fingers.

“Hang on, baby,” Remus released your hands and reached above you for the pillow that was on, what he’d deemed as, your side of the bed. He leaned down and swiftly lifted you just enough that he could wedge the pillow between you and the mattress.

You adjusted yourself slightly, whimpering when you felt the tip of Remus’ cock nudge your g-spot effortlessly.

He rubbed his hands up and down your thighs, squeezing them affectionately before picking up his pace, considerably faster.

Remus watched, entranced, by the way your tits bounced with every thrust, the way your back arched and your eyes rolled when he slowed on the drawback. He tried to save each individual sound somewhere in the back of his mind but was constantly won over by the one that came after it. As if you were a symphony he was blessed to hear perform.

You had half a mind to be embarrassed with how quickly your next orgasm had crept up on you, and the way you tensed against him told him everything he needed to know. He pressed his thumb against your clit and rubbed in smooth, slow circles.

“You can do it, sweet girl, come on,” Remus said gently.

You whined in response, your nipples perking from the encouragement. Remus sounded so pretty when he talked you through it, sometimes you thought it could make you cry.

He reached down to grab one of your hands with his, interlacing your fingers, and watching as your other gripped onto his bed sheets for dear life.

“C’mon,” Remus coaxed.

You came with your back arched, and your mouth open with silent moans.

“There you go.” Remus rocked his hips steadily into your g-spot as you writhed, holding himself there—hungrily taking in the way you twisted and cried out—until you slowly lowered yourself back to the bed.

“Holy shit, Rem,” you eventually croaked.

Remus laughed affectionately, careful not to jostle you and gave your hand a pulse. He leaned down to kiss your knee and lifted you just enough to remove the pillow from beneath you. He kissed his way back up to your mouth.

“How was that, lovely?”

“So good,” you whispered, eyes glazed and heavy.

“You alright to keep going?”

“Mmhm.”

“I need a ‘yes’, baby,” he whispered before kissing the spot under your ear.

“Yes,” you sighed, “please.”

Remus hummed against your mouth. “So polite.”

You giggled, skin still vibrating, brain on cloud nine; though when you felt Remus begin to ease out of you, you whined in protest.

Remus stood at the end of the bed and tugged your ankles until your hips were aligned again prompting a yelp from you.

“Polite, but impatient,” Remus teased.

“Can’t help it,” you pouted.

Remus looked down at you, took in your flushed chest, your dazed eyes, your glistening cunt. He bent down, put a hand by your head and pressed a light kiss to your mouth. “Can you turn over for me, please, darling?”

And how could you say no when he was asking you such a thing so gently while being well aware how contrasted his following actions would be?

You flipped onto your stomach and Remus positioned your feet on the floor on either side of his. You lifted your hips for him and he splayed his hands appreciatively over the presented area. He realigned with you and leaned down to press kisses up your spine as he eased himself back in.

Your head dropped at the sensation—you wanted to live with Remus inside of you. You could happily spend the rest of your days like this.

“You’re perfect,” Remus whispered when he reached the back of your neck.

You both moaned as he started moving—the new angle allowing him to hit the deepest, most tender parts of you.

Remus straightened, affectionately squeezing your hips before starting to drive into you in a way that had your back arching. He’d reached down to cup the back of your neck, but it felt more comforting than possessive—he wanted you to know that he was there. To make sure you didn’t forget it was him who made you feel these things.

“Gods Rem, you’re…you’re so deep.”

“I know baby, I can feel every inch of you.”

His words made your toes curl and you started to drive yourself back to meet his thrusts.

Remus bit his lip at your eagerness, leaning down so he was overtop you before wrapping his arms around your front. He prompted you to stand up straight and bent one of your knees up onto the bed. You were flush against him, with your hand bent back in his hair.

The new position left you completely in Remus’ hold. The hand that wasn’t in his hair was clamped down on his arm around your stomach; the other still had a firm hold on your hip, keeping you steady as he tried to press you into him as much as possible.

“Dovey,” he whispered into your hair.

You moaned helplessly in response.

Remus could feel you pulsing around him and he had to squeeze his eyes shut for a moment, attempting to slow down that burst you had him chasing.

He moved from your hip to your clit, rubbing at the surrounding area for a few torturous circles before settling on the bead and rubbing at a steady but devastating pace.

“Can you cum for me again, dove?” Remus asked—and there it was, just underneath the question, that tone of new-relationship uncertainty. He’d unravelled every corner of your body but still couldn’t quite believe it was him that got to see you this way, to hold you and love on you until your eyes were wet. He kept expecting to open his eyes and be back in his bed at Hogwarts, silently pining over you like the horny teenager he was. And yet, every morning he woke up, and you were still there.

You grasped his arm tighter. “Yes, yes, yes,” you panted. “Just don’t stop.”

“I won’t. I’ll never stop. Wanna be inside you forever.”

Your head rolled back to his shoulder at his words, and when you felt that coil reforming, beginning to pull tighter like you were in a corset, you whimpered.

The space around you filled with the moans from you both—desperate pleas that had Remus losing his grip on his self-control, whines, pants.

“Gods, baby,” Remus tucked his nose into your shoulder.

“I’m- Rem, I—”

“I know. I know, lovely,” he whispered against you, kissing a line down the slope of your shoulder.

You reached out blindly for something to hold onto, accepting that the only thing around you was Remus—scent, heat and touch. You grasped his forearm tighter, while the other dug into his bicep.

“My lovely, lovely girl,” Remus continued.

You moaned, pushing back against him as your high crept closer and closer.

Remus was barely holding his own off. His senses were overwhelmed with you but he was never satisfied—no matter how many times he tasted you while he pushed you over the edge, cupped your jaw while he watched your eyes roll back, he was always left wanting more.

He felt that familiar stiffness arriving where you were pressed flush against him, and he reached up to squeeze your breast, picking up the pace of his thrusts.

“Talk to me, baby. You close?” Remus asked just to watch the way you could barely form the words.

“S-so close—”

“I’ve got you, dove.”

You let out a sharp cry of pleasure as Remus brought you to your peak, his desperate groans from you pulsing around him only keeping you in that prolonged state of bliss.

Remus came the moment he knew you were on the descent, moaning into your hair, his eyes squeezed shut as he let his body soak you in. You could feel it all, the way he was filling you, the way the warmth pooled itself in your belly.

He had to fight the way his body naturally wanted to sag given that you were completely supported by him. He pressed butterfly kisses along your shoulder as he eased out of you, prompting you to lie down on the bed.

You did so half-consciously. Only just aware enough to pull yourself to Remus’ pillow, given that yours was on the floor somewhere. Already you could feel the pull of sleep, as if it was dancing along your eyelashes.

You almost jumped when you felt a warm cloth at your thigh.

“Just me, baby,” Remus said, placing light kisses wherever he could reach.

You hummed and reached out blindly with your hands until you found his hair, stroking your fingers through it as he cleaned you up.

He made quick work of it—disposing the rag in the hamper before maneuvering you under the duvet and then worming in next to you. Knowing he didn’t have to leave your side for a single minute all weekend somehow made the need to be beside you stronger.

He brushed your hair back from your face, smiling softly when you twisted your face to kiss his arm that supported your head.

Remus leaned towards you, gently kissing one eyelid, then the other before moving to the tip of your nose and finally your mouth.

“I love you,” he whispered against you.

Your eyes flew open—as if those three words had instantly recharged you.

“What?” You asked quietly, despite the way your heart had started racing.

Remus breathed a laugh at the sudden change in your demeanor. He leaned back in to press a kiss between every word he spoke. “I—love—you.”

You could’ve melted right there into his mattress.

“Say it again,” you asked with no shortage of desperation—Remus recognized it as the same look on your face when he finally told you about how he felt, as if you couldn’t quite believe it. As if you needed him to say it over and over until the words imprinted themselves on your brain.

Remus reached up to brush your cheek, rolling slightly so that you were supported by his arm and pillow but almost completely tucked underneath him.

Remus brushed his nose affectionately against yours. “I love you.”

“Really?” You asked, your eyes growing to the size of plates. “You do?”

“I’ve always loved you, dove.”

You stared at him for a minute with your mouth parted before reaching up to capture his lips with yours, holding him there with a passion that would never have indicated you’d just physically exhausted each other.

“I love you, too,” you said quietly once you were rested back on his arm with a look that said you couldn’t quite believe you finally got to say it out loud.

Remus thought he was prepared to hear the words once he’d admitted his own, but he couldn’t help the sheen that covered his eyes when he did. What he’d ever done to deserve love from someone as beautiful and kind and generous as you, he didn’t know. And for the first time in his life, Remus didn’t feel the need to dig around and find every minute detail about why you shouldn’t love him. You just did, and for once, that was enough.

“Yeah?” He asked, his voice only a whisper.

You cupped his face and nodded firmly. “Yeah. Since I was old enough to understand what love felt like.”

Remus dropped his forehead gently to yours. “You realize this means I’m never letting you leave this bed, yeah?”

You laughed airily. “Tragic.”

He smiled softly at you, leaning to press a kiss to your mouth, then to your cheek, your jaw, down your neck. He whispered soft, gentle praises that encouraged him as you started to pant, and goosebumps rose along your body.

“Mine,” followed by “dovey, you’ll be the end of me,” followed by “I’ll never stop needing you” until he was slotted back between your legs with his face hidden beneath the duvet.

To think you were going to spend an entire weekend like this.

Though really you knew that this is what awaited you as you settled into a life you deserved, with your person by your side and years of happiness before you.

[lostrologyy]

in a week. james potter x reader

james wants to rot inside you. and you let him *. ⋆ 3k words

part of the hozier series i'm writing with my girlies @twovialsofamortentia @mischievousmoony @prettydaisygirl !

cw: smut. fem!reader. established relationship. morning sex. light choking. spit. praise. degradation. tit focused (kinda). dry humping. piv. unprotected sex. thumb sucking. crying. begging. biting. unhinged/religious devotion. posessive!james. feral!james. overstimulation (he comes so many times i don't think it's possible). cursing. a bit of aftercare. lmk if i missed smth!

a/n: james would NOT survive in the same room as me

you wake up to the sound of birds.

the curtains move gently through the open window, the breeze soft against the bare skin of your arms, and there’s warmth at your back, alive, heavy, hard. his breath is slow on your shoulder. his thigh is tucked between yours and his arm around your waist, anchoring you to him.

james.

he’s still asleep. his cock is already half-hard, thick and insistent pressing on the curve of your ass. you shift slightly and he grunts, his nose nuzzling into your neck.

it’s not a surprise. he always wakes up like this, reaching for you in sleep like instinct.

as if he’ll stop breathing if he can’t touch you. as if he’ll rot without you in his arms.

you stay like that for a while, with the sweat slick warmth of skin on skin wrapping you like a cocoon.

the birds are chirping outside, awoken by the morning light. you see a few of them fly by, one or two even daring to land on the tree just outside the window.

then he speaks, low and raspy from sleep.

“still here,” he murmurs, tightening his hold. “thought you’d slipped away.”

“I never do.”

he exhales, rubbing and nuzzling deeper into your skin. “dreamt of you again.”

you hum. “yeah? what was I doing?”

“crying. moaning. you were… fuck, you were so wet.”

you feel yourself pulse at the sound of it—at the filth in his voice.

“I was inside you,” he says, his fingers slipping beneath your shirt, across your belly, higher. “and I kept thinking… let it kill me.”

his hand finds your chest, and he groans like your body hurts him.

“let me rot here,” he whispers. “right between your tits.”

“james,” you murmur, torn between laughter and a whimper.

“I'm serious,” he says, kissing your shoulder. “gonna build a shrine. right here.” he presses a kiss between your shoulder blades. “holy ground.”

his thumb flicks lazily over your nipple and he moans like your body is sunrise itself.

“I'm obsessed,” he whispers. “wanna live here. wanna die here.”

you squirm back against him and feel his cock twitch.

“oh, fuck—don’t do that,” he groans. “m’gonna come before we even start.”

“we haven’t started anything,” you tease.

“tell that to my dick,” he mutters. “he’s already giving his last words.”

you giggle, and james finally rolls you onto your back. his eyes are half-lidded, curls messy, and there’s something so beautiful about the lazy way he drapes himself over you, like your body is the only home he’s ever known.

he presses his face into your chest, nose nuzzling your sternum.

“I’m gonna die between your tits,” he murmurs.

“not very romantic,” you say.

“not very negotiable either.”

his lips move lower, tongue dragging over the fabric of your sleep shirt until it soaks through. he sucks gently at your nipple, even through the cotton, and you gasp at the heat.

“take it off,” he mumbles against your skin.

you lift your arms, and he peels the shirt away slowly, eyes trailing down your bare chest with open worship. his lips part. his hands shake.

“fuck me,” he says reverently. “you look carved.”

his mouth finds your nipple again, this time bare, and he groans. he suckles like he needs it to breathe—like this is communion. you whimper, hips shifting under him, and he growls, grinding down just enough for you to feel the thick press of his cock through both your clothes.

his hand slides down your thigh, then back up under the hem of your shorts.

“still have these on?” he asks, voice dark now. “that’s rude. you’re wet, aren’t you?”

you nod.

“words, baby.”

“yes,” you gasp. “I'm wet. for you. always.”

james moans, humping against you harder.

“gonna make you come just like this,” he mutters. “clothes on, tits out, my mouth on you. that’s all I need.”

his hips stutter. he spits directly onto your nipple, then sucks it clean. you cry out. your hands tangle in his curls. he’s rutting now, deliberate, hard, and filthy. the heat of him is overwhelming.

“feel that?” he pants. “that’s what you do to me. every morning. you walk around this house like a fucking dream, and i’m hard from the second i open my eyes. you know how many times I've come just grinding into your ass like this?”

you whine.

“too many,” he says. “and I’d do it a thousand more.”

you can’t think. you can’t breathe. his thigh presses between your legs and your clit rubs against the seam of your panties with every desperate shift of your hips.

you’re so close already.

james is panting against your chest, one hand splayed across your thigh, the other still gripping your breast like he’ll die if he lets go. you’re rutting against each other like animals, still mostly clothed, sweat slicking your skin where it touches.

“you gonna come like this?” he pants. “grinding against my cock like you’re in heat?”

you nod frantically. “i’m close… james, please—”

“yeah? want me to make a mess of you first?” he growls. “want to drip down your thighs before i even fuck you?”

you moan, your body trembling under his, and that’s all it takes—he presses his thigh harder between your legs, your clit catching perfectly against the pressure, and everything shatters.

you come with a gasp, hips jerking, nails digging into his shoulders. your thighs clamp around his leg, riding the wave of it, and james groans like it’s happening to him.

“fucking hell,” he breathes. “you’re so wet. fuck, I’m—shit, I’m—”

he ruts faster, cock twitching in his boxers, and then he’s coming too, his whole body stiffening as he groans into your chest. it’s filthy. raw. a low, desperate sound as he humps through it, grinding his cock against you until he’s trembling.

you lie there for a beat. ruined. his breath stutters against your chest.

“jesus christ,” he says eventually. “that was…”

you tilt your head to look at him. “insane?”

“religious,” he says. “that was sacred.”

you laugh breathlessly.

but james lifts his head, sweat damp at his hairline, eyes dark with something deeper now.

“I’m not done,” he says.

you blink.

“I need to be inside you,” he says, voice hoarse. “like—need it. right now.”

your body pulses at his tone. you nod, breathless.

he peels your shorts and ruined underwear down your thighs and tosses them somewhere behind him. his fingers trail through your folds, and he groans.

“you’re soaked. from just grinding on me. from my thigh and my mouth and my fucking voice.”

he leans down and spits onto your cunt, then rubs it in with his fingers, slow and dirty.

“open up for me,” he says. “let me ruin you properly.”

you reach between you to shove his boxers down. his cock springs free, already hard again, flushed red and leaking.

you whimper. “how the fuck are you—”

“angel,” he says, lining himself up, “I get hard just looking at you. you think coming in my pants could stop me?”

you laugh, barely. because he pushes in, thick and slow, splitting you open inch by inch until he’s buried to the hilt.

“oh my—james—”

he groans, head dropping to your shoulder. “fuck, you feel like heaven. like the end of me.”

he starts to move, slow at first, deep and measured. you arch into him, arms wrapped around his shoulders, mouth open in a silent moan.

“gonna fuck you like it’s the last thing I ever do,” he whispers. “gonna leave bruises where my name belongs.”

one hand wraps around your throat, not tight, just holding you, a claim. the other drags up your ribs, over your chest, squeezing your breast until you cry out.

“you’re all mine,” he says, voice wrecked. “you feel that? my cock in you, my hands on you. you let me spit in your mouth, ride my thigh, come in your sleep clothes like you’re made for me.”

you nod. “I am.”

he groans. “say it.”

“i’m made for you. just you.”

his hips snap harder now, the wet slap of skin on skin echoing in the room. he spits into your mouth and watches you swallow.

“fuck,” he growls. “that’s it. my good girl. my filthy, perfect girl.”

you whimper beneath him, your second orgasm already building, your body desperate.

“I’m close,” you gasp.

“then come,” he snarls. “come on my cock, baby. show me how wrecked you are.”

you do.

it hits like fire, ripping through you, white-hot and violent. you cry out his name, clawing at his back, and he groans, hips stuttering as you clamp around him.

“shit—gonna come too—fuck—you’re squeezing me like you want to keep me inside.”

“I do,” you pant. “come in me. fill me up.”

he growls, deep and low and possessive. and then he’s gone, emptying himself inside you with a choked, broken moan.

he doesn’t pull out.

instead, he stays there. deep. his chest pressed to yours. both of you heaving.

“let me rot here,” he says again, quieter this time. “right inside you.”

you thread your fingers through his curls and pull him down for a kiss.

“stay,” you whisper.

and he does.

you don’t know how long you lie like that—him still inside you, softening slowly, both of you wrapped around each other like ivy. the room smells like sex. sweat clings to your skin. and james keeps whispering things into your hair that sound more like confessions than dirty talk.

“i’d die like this,” he breathes. “inside you. warm. buried. want my bones to dissolve here.”

“morbid,” you whisper, eyes closed.

“romantic,” he corrects, and presses a kiss to your jaw.

you feel him hardening again.

you open one eye.

“again?”

he shifts slightly, and you moan as his cock thickens inside you.

“course again,” he murmurs. “you think I can stop? after that? after you clenched around me like you were scared I'd leave?”

you whimper. your body’s still trembling. your clit still aches. but he’s kissing down your neck now, gentle, then harder, until his teeth scrape.

“you want to stop?” he asks, breath warm against your collarbone.

you shake your head.

he grins.

“didn’t think so.”

he pulls out slowly, and your body throbs at the loss. but before you can complain, he drags you into his lap, settling you over his thighs so you’re straddling him, your pussy hovering just above his cock.

his hands grab your ass, squeezing once before pulling you down to grind against him.

“you’re gonna ride me,” he says, voice like gravel. “until you can’t see straight.”

your hands grip his shoulders. his cock slides between your folds, not inside yet, just dragging along your slit, teasing your swollen clit.

“look at you,” he whispers. “so fucked out already. you still want more?”

you nod, dazed.

“use your words.”

“I want more.”

“greedy,” he murmurs. “my greedy girl.”

he leans in to suck your tit again, messy and hungry, while his hands guide your hips to grind down on him. it’s torture. wet and hot and not enough.

“beg for it.”

“james—”

“beg.”

you whimper. “please. please let me ride you. i need it. i need to come again. i want your cock so bad it hurts.”

he groans. “fuck—you’re perfect.”

you lift your hips and line him up, then sink down slow. both of you moan, heads falling forward, foreheads touching.

“good girl,” he breathes. “take it. take all of it.”

you start to move, rocking your hips, rolling them in messy circles as his cock presses deep inside you. james is unraveling beneath you, moaning into your skin, biting at your chest.

“god, you feel like sin,” he groans. “warm and tight and mine.”

you start to bounce, each thrust sending sparks through your spine. james loses it—his head falls back, mouth open, chest heaving.

you lean in and bite his neck.

hard.

“fuck—” he chokes. “do that again.”

you do. sinking your teeth into the curve where his neck meets his shoulder. he thrusts up into you so hard it punches a moan out of your throat.

he grabs your hips and starts fucking up into you now, using your body like it belongs to him—and it does. you’re both gone. sweaty, loud, feral.

you spit into his mouth this time.

he swallows and groans like it’s air.

“I'm gonna come,” you gasp. “gonna come on your cock, james, oh my god—”

“do it,” he pants. “fucking soak me, baby. make a mess. show me what I do to you.”

you shatter. loud and wet and wild. you don’t even realize you're crying until james is licking tears off your cheeks, moaning praises into your mouth.

and then he comes, biting down on your shoulder, cock pulsing inside you, hips stuttering as he spills deep.

you collapse against his chest, trembling, boneless.

“I’ll never need anyone else,” he whispers. “ever.”

your bodies are tangled and soaked with sweat. the sheets are a mess. you’re not even sure where your shirt ended up, or when exactly james started trembling like he was about to cry.

but you’re still in his lap, his arms wrapped tight around you, cock twitching deep inside your soaked cunt, your heart beating against his chest like a war drum.

and james won’t stop kissing you.

lazy kisses. gentle kisses. desperate, open-mouthed ones that make you dizzy.

“still with me?” he mumbles, eyes glazed but fond. his hands are stroking your hips like he’s grounding himself.

you nod, forehead against his. “are you?”

“no,” he says softly. “i’m fucking gone.”

you laugh, exhausted.

but he shifts beneath you, and suddenly his cock is hard again. still inside you. still pulsing.

“james—”

“i told you,” he breathes, eyes dark and glassy, “i can’t stop.”

your thighs are shaking. your clit is raw. your whole body is too sensitive to move, but the idea of him fucking you again makes your core clench, greedy and ready.

james feels it. “oh, you liked that.”

he grins, devilish and boyish all at once, and then he lifts you up, just a little, until only the tip of his cock remains inside.

then slams you down again.

you scream.

“i know,” he whispers. “sensitive, yeah? but i need it, baby. need to see you come again. need to feel you fluttering around me while i ruin you for the fourth fucking time.”

you moan, overwhelmed and already so far gone that your eyes well with tears.

“aw, don’t cry,” he coos, cupping your cheek. “or do. i like it. you’re pretty when you sob for me.”

his thumb drags over your bottom lip, then shoves into your mouth. you suck on it instinctively.

“fuck,” he breathes. “you’d let me do anything to you, wouldn’t you?”

you nod, drooling around his thumb.

“that’s my girl.”

he starts thrusting up into you again, slow but punishing. you can’t even move anymore, so he uses his grip on your hips to bounce you, just enough to send lightning through your nerves. your eyes roll back.

“look at you,” he groans. “fucked dumb and still taking it. my perfect little mess.”

you whimper something unintelligible. he kisses your cheek.

“gonna come again?”

“I—I can’t—”

“yes you can,” he growls. “you’re going to. you’re going to soak me again and scream for it. come on, baby, give it to me.”

his fingers rub your clit, and it’s too much.

your orgasm rips through you, high and shrieking and borderline painful—and james moans like it’s his own.

he follows a second later, biting your collarbone, coming inside you one more time as your cunt flutters around him, pulling every drop from his cock.

this time, you really collapse.

fully limp.

james holds you tighter.

“my girl,” he breathes, over and over. “my girl. my girl. mine.”

you’re not sure when you blacked out. not passed out, just gone. drifting. floating somewhere above your own body, high on orgasm and heat and james’s voice murmuring filth into your neck.

you’re still in his lap. still full of him. the sheets beneath you are a disaster. his curls are damp with sweat and sticking to his forehead. and his cock is finally soft again, tucked inside you like it belongs there.

neither of you speak for a long while.

james just breathes. kisses your temple. rubs circles into your back like he’s tracing a map he never wants to lose.

you don’t even realize you’re crying until he wipes the tears away with his thumbs.

“too much?” he whispers. his voice is hoarse. wrecked.

you shake your head. “no. never.”

he lets out a long breath and kisses your cheek.

“didn’t mean to fuck you like I’d never see you again,” he murmurs. “but you… you make me crazy.”

you look up at him. his eyes are blown wide, glassy with something that feels like awe.

“you okay?” you ask, barely a whisper.

he nods, then pauses. “no.”

your heart jumps. “no?”

he cups your face like you’re porcelain.

“no, I'm not okay. I'm in love with you. I want to spend every day like this. every night. I want to wake up hard against your ass and go to sleep with your taste in my mouth.”

your throat tightens.

“I want to build a life around your body,” he whispers. “I want to die between your thighs. I want to come inside you so many times that you forget what empty feels like.”

you blink, tears falling again.

he brushes them away gently.

“I meant what I said,” he adds, voice low. “let me rot here. right inside you. let me be the man who never leaves your bed.”

you nod slowly.

“then stay,” you whisper. “forever.”

james smiles, soft and wrecked and completely in love.

“forever isn’t long enough,” he says. “but I’ll try.”

he kisses you then, slow and deep. and even though your body is raw and trembling and ruined, you know he’d take you again if you asked. he’d give you everything. over and over.

because he’s yours.

and you’re his.

completely.

hopelessly.

forever.

lostrologyy © 2025.

[rey-lupin]

this is the most romantic thing I’ve ever read on tumblr..

[evanpeterswhoresblog]

bad idea!

Remus Lupin x f!reader

warnings: smut, p in v, fingering, making out, rough sex, swearing, drinking (not underage), modern setting, post Hogwarts.... not drunk sex, kinda hungover sex... it's so hot.. I love this.

summary: it was a bad idea drunk calling your ex. but you never expected him to actually show up at your place...

word count: 4.7k

a/n: let me tell you guys I put all my desires into this one. I haven't spoiled you guys in a while, hope you enjoy!!! also yes, inspired by the girl in red song that's amazing!!! let me know what you think..

~~~

It was a bad idea

Calling you up

Was such a bad idea

I’m totally fucked

It was a bad idea

To think I could stop

Was such a bad idea

I can’t get enough

~~~ The pub was crowded, as pubs always seemed to be on Saturday nights—a haze of laughter, bodies pressed together, and the sharp tang of spilled beer in the air. Colored neon lights flickered across sticky tabletops. The live band’s bass vibrated in your chest, drowning out most conversation so that every word had to be shouted or delivered right against someone's ear. You perched at the bar, already on your second vodka cranberry, the chill glass leaving wet rings near your elbow. Mary and Marlene flanked you, trading stories about work and nudging you for input. You glanced down at your phone as you took a long sip from your lip-gloss-stained straw, shoulders brushing theirs with every movement.

“Where the fuck is she?” You asked. “She’s already twenty bloody minutes late.”

“Her location says she’s a few blocks away, probably caught in traffic. You know how she is, always the designated driver who struggles to find a parking spot,” Mary answered.

“Muggle cars are so strange,” you said with a sigh.

“Oh, they are the strangest things,” Marlene agreed. “But they’re great to get home in when you’re too fucked up to apparate.”

“You can get arrested by the Muggle police for that.” Mary looked at Marlene with concern. “You know that, right? I’m really hoping you know that.”

Marlene shrugged and took a swig from her beer. “Maybe I should’ve taken Muggle Studies after all.”

You doubled over with laughter at her comment, nearly spilling your drink. This was exactly what you needed. Since graduating from Hogwarts a year prior, you and the girls had slowly drifted apart, the way people do when the world pulls them in different directions. Marlene, Mary, and Lily dove headfirst into Auror training, their lives packed with late-night shifts and covert assignments. You, meanwhile, poured yourself into becoming a Healer—dueling had never been your thing, and you’d always found more comfort in mending than in fighting. Healing might not be as flashy as chasing dark wizards, but it kept the world turning just the same.

Tonight was one of the many girls' nights that were nonnegotiable. Once a month, no matter what, you and all your previous dorm mates go out and spend time together. While you do hang out with them separately and talk in the group chat almost every day, girls' night was a sacred thing. They were your best friends, and none of you ever wanted that to change.

“So, I know we agreed not to let the night be filled by pathetic talk of men, but I need to know, have you seen Remus’s recent post?” Mary suddenly asked, catching your attention.

You shook your head. “No, why?”

“Oh, you know, it’s nothing mad, just him and the boys went on a trip to Paris a few weeks ago.”

You took another long sip of your drink, the sound of the straw sucking in air as you finished it filling your ears. You’d avoided Remus’s accounts for a month now—like an old bruise you couldn’t help pressing, just to see if it still hurt. You and Remus had stumbled into love during your final year at Hogwarts, late-night talks stretching until sunrise, fingers intertwined beneath the library table. It lasted until a month ago. He wanted to move in together, to build a life, and you weren’t ready—not really. You told yourself it was mutual, but the truth was, you flinched at the idea of settling down at twenty, and he saw it in your eyes before you found the words.

You missed him. Of course you did. Sometimes you caught yourself reaching for your phone, scrolling back through old messages, hearing his laugh in your head. But you buried those feelings in work, convincing yourself you were too busy, too young, that there were other things—bigger things—to worry about. That’s what you kept telling yourself, anyway.

Before you even got a chance to respond to Mary, you caught sight of that familiar dark red hair from the corner of your eye. You quickly ordered another drink, a stronger one, before turning your body around in the barstool to greet the last member of girls' night. However, your smile faltered for a split second as you noticed she wasn’t alone.

“Lily flower!” Mary exclaimed, pulling the other girl into a tight hug. “We’ve missed you!” Then her dark eyes met the person beside their friend. “Oh, and James is here too.”

“Sorry, I know it’s girls' night, and I solemnly swear I will stay away from you ladies for the night, but Lily wanted to get wasted, and I volunteered to be the driver,” James explained, a soft smile on his lips.

“You can drive one of those things?” Marlene questioned skeptically.

“It took ages to teach him, but yes, he finally learned,” Lily replied. She looked at James sweetly. “Go on then, leave us be.”

“Of course, of course.”

James disappeared into the crowd, and Lily gave her full attention back to you and the other girls. After a small greeting, she sank into the empty seat and ordered her own drink. Conversation flowed—the highs, lows, and in-betweens of your lives tumbling out between sips and snorts of laughter. By your fourth drink, every joke—no matter how bad—had you cackling, doubling over until tears pricked your eyes. By your fifth, your words blurred into giggles and your cheeks ached from smiling. For the first time in ages, everything felt almost perfect.

At some point, you loudly announced you needed the loo, and without waiting for an answer from any of the girls, you stumbled through the pub to find it. Despite how drunk you were, you made it there in one piece. After you were done with your business and were drying your hands with a paper towel, your eyes fell to your phone, which sat still on the counter.

Mary’s question from earlier popped into your head. What could Remus have possibly posted that was worth bringing up? Your impulse control was far too gone at that point, but you didn’t acknowledge that. You grabbed your phone and quickly opened Instagram. You misspelled his username a few times, giggles left your lips each time, before finally finding his account.

The post started out the same way as all his posts did. Simple scenery, this time in Paris. You scrolled through the first few of the Eiffel Tower, the little muggle shops, and the silly ones of Sirius, James, and Peter, before you found one that made your breath catch in your throat. It was a mirror picture of Remus. He was wearing his usual outfit. A sweater, baggy jeans, and a pair of Converse. But that wasn’t what caught your attention. His face, his face that you hadn’t seen in a month. His hair was a bit longer, falling almost into his eyes, and the soft little smirk that was plastered on his lips was one you used to get butterflies from when you were seventeen.

He looked fucking perfect.

There wasn’t a logical thought that went through your mind at that point. Without hesitation, you closed the app and began typing his name on your phone. You hadn’t deleted his contact, and in retrospect, you probably should have. But you didn’t. So, with another quick click, you dialed his number and pressed your phone to your ear.

As the phone rang, you caught your own reflection in the mirror. Eyeliner smudged, lip gloss long gone, hair a wild halo from the humidity and dancing. At that moment, there was a reckless confidence in your messy look—something bold and a little dangerous. The tube top had slipped lower than you’d intended, jean shorts hugging your hips just a bit too tightly. You grinned at yourself, tipsy pride making you feel untouchable. (Tomorrow, you’d cringe, but right now, you liked what you saw.)

You’d been so caught up in examining your appearance that you'd forgotten your phone was ringing. It was only when a voice spoke up that you remembered what you were originally doing.

“Y/n?”

“Hi, Rem,” you spoke; your words slightly slurred. “I just wanted to let you know you have no right to post something like that.”

“What are you talking about? Are you drunk?”

You giggled and twirled a piece of your hair. “Maybe... Oh, Rem, you don’t know how much I’ve missed the sound of your voice.”

“I think you need some water. Where are the girls?”

“I don’t need water! I need you.” You sighed and leaned against the counter. “I miss you terribly, you know that.”

You heard him make a sound, perhaps a chuckle, before he replied. “I miss you too.”

“I miss you fucking me so much.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yes.” You suddenly felt too warm, the memories flooding your head without warning. “I need it so bad.”

“You need it?”

“Yes, come to my flat. I’m not sure-”

Just then, the door to the loo opened, and Marlene walked in. She took one look at you, specifically the phone to your ear, and immediately rushed to your side. The phone was in her hands instantly, and her jaw dropped as she read the name on the screen.

“Marls I’m-”

She hung up the phone and grabbed your arm to begin dragging you back out into the pub. “We shouldn’t have left you alone, sorry, love.”

“I’m fine!” You exclaimed. Your eyes lazily scanned the crowd of people dancing, and you grinned, already forgetting the entire phone call you’d made in the loo. “Let’s dance!”

Safe to say, the night was over. You attempted to take a shot, but the girls dragged you out of the pub before you could. Before you knew it, you were in the back of Lily’s car, your head heavy, and your eyes squeezed shut as James drove everyone home. You weren’t sure exactly who carried you up to your flat, but when you opened your eyes again, you were tucked into bed with your belongings carefully placed on your nightstand.

With a groan, you sat up, your eyes landing on the small alarm clock next to your bed. It was nearly three in the morning, and your head was pounding. You forced yourself to stand, and you quickly stripped all your clothes to the floor. Then, you grabbed an emergency hangover potion from one of your drawers and downed it as you pulled on a loose t-shirt and a pair of panties.

As you stood in your small kitchen and began to pour yourself a glass of water, there was a knock at your door. You froze for a second, debating whether you should run back to your room and grab your wand. But another quiet knock filled your ears. Surely if it were an intruder, they wouldn’t knock. Maybe one of the girls forgot they had something of yours and was dropping it off. You were too tired to care, so you made your way to the door and looked through the peephole.

Your eyes widened, and your heart nearly stopped when you were met with the sight of Remus Lupin standing on the other side of the door. What was he doing here at three in the morning? You thought back to the pub for a second, but your mind was hazy. Had he been there, too? You would remember that you knew that much. Whatever the reason was for him, being there must have been important, so you carefully undid the lock and opened the door.

“Remus,” you breathed, suddenly hyperaware of the sticky smudges of mascara beneath your eyes and the wild state of your hair. Your heart stumbled in your chest, nerves twisting as you tried to look anywhere but at his face.

You got a better look at him in that moment; the peephole only did him a fraction of justice. His hair was wet, falling into his hazel eyes in a way that made you think for a second that perhaps you were dreaming. He was wearing a loose t-shirt that you recognized as the one he’d bought last year when he’d taken you muggle thrifting. It was black, with the album cover of Pink Floyd’s album Dark Side of the Moon on it. Your eyes fell further, and you made note of the simple grey sweatpants and Nikes he was also wearing. He was dressed casually, far too casual for something important at three in the morning.

Your eyes returned to his face, and Remus offered a crooked, uncertain smile, lingering on your doorstep as though waiting for some unspoken permission to step inside.

"You called," he said, voice low, the hint of a question beneath the words.

For a moment, your mind blanked. The phone call. You'd almost forgotten—chalk it up to the haze of vodka cranberries and your pounding head. Embarrassment threatened to rise, but before you could say anything, Remus stepped over the threshold, his presence immediately charging the air between you.

It was quiet, but not comfortable. Suddenly, you were painfully aware of your bare legs beneath your t-shirt, the mess of your hair, the faint scent of sleep and leftover perfume clinging to your skin. Remus’s eyes flickered over you, lingering just a second too long. The kitchen felt too small, the silence thickening, your heart thudding loud enough you were sure he could hear it.

You swallowed, nerves dancing beneath your skin. "I—uh—sorry, I didn’t expect—"

He shook his head, taking another step closer, closing the distance between you. "You asked me to come."

Heat curled low in your belly. Everything about him felt familiar and dangerous all at once, and every inch of space between you crackled with the promise of what might happen next. You hadn’t expected him to really show up. Maybe he’d laugh about it with the guys, and you’d torture yourself with regret for being so stupidly drunk—but not this. Not him, here, barely a foot away, in your kitchen at three in the morning.

But all of that faded beneath the want simmering just under your skin. Clearly, your inebriated self was just worse at hiding it. You weren’t sure if you were grateful or mortified—or both.

Remus’s gaze flickered to your mouth, lingering. For a moment, neither of you moved, the silence between you taut and electric. His hand lifted, hesitated, then gently tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear. His touch was soft, familiar, making you shiver. Your breath caught, and when you looked up, his face was so close you could see the flecks of gold in his eyes.

“Is this okay?” he murmured, voice barely more than a whisper.

You nodded, the moment stretching, your heart thundering in your chest. That was all he needed. Remus leaned in, closing the last inch. His lips met yours—slow at first, tentative, testing the waters. The kiss deepened as you melted into him, hands finding his shoulders. His thumb brushed your cheek, grounding you in the present, in him. Everything else faded away.

Your lips began to move against his the way they used to in moments like these, fast and hard, practically stealing any breath you had from your lungs. He responded exactly as you wanted. Hands falling to your waist, circling around you to keep you where he needed you. You felt your back meet your wall, the sensation reminding you just how real the moment was. It had been so long, and you were painfully reminded by the aching between your thighs just how much you’d missed this.

His hands found the bottom of your shirt, and he wasted no time lifting the thin material. You parted the kiss only so he could remove the fabric completely and throw it to the floor. When it was gone, his lips met yours again, and you wrapped your arms around his neck to keep yourself from falling.

His mouth moved from your lips to your jaw, trailing down to your neck in a path he'd memorized long ago. You gasped when he found that spot just below your ear—the one that always made your knees weak—and you felt him smile against your skin.

"Merlin, I've missed you," he breathed against your throat, voice rough and low. The words sent a shiver through you that had nothing to do with being half-naked in your kitchen.

This is a terrible idea, some distant, rational part of your brain whispered. You broke up for a reason. You're going to regret this in the morning.

But then his hands were on your bare waist, thumbs tracing patterns on your ribs, and you couldn't bring yourself to care. Your fingers found the hem of his shirt—that Pink Floyd shirt you'd been with him when he bought it—and tugged upward. He pulled back just enough to help you, yanking it over his head in one fluid motion before his mouth found yours again, hungrier this time.

Your hands mapped the familiar terrain of his chest, his shoulders, finding every place you remembered. The small scar on his collarbone. The way his breath hitched when your nails dragged lightly down his sides. Muscle memory guided you, and when you pressed your palm flat against his stomach, feeling it tense beneath your touch, he groaned into your mouth.

"You still—" he started, but you cut him off with another kiss, pressing yourself closer. You could feel the dampness of his hair dripping onto your shoulder, the slight chill of rain still clinging to his skin, mixing with the heat building between you.

He walked you backward, hands gripping your hips, and your lower back hit the edge of the kitchen counter. Something clattered—your water glass, maybe—but neither of you stopped to check. His hands slid up your sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts, and you arched into him with a sound that was almost embarrassing in its desperation.

"Bedroom," you managed to gasp out between kisses, though your body was perfectly content to let him take you right here against the counter.

He nodded, pulling back just enough to look at you. His eyes were dark, pupils blown wide, lips already swollen from kissing. For a moment, you just stared at each other, both breathing hard, and the weight of what you were doing crashed over you. A month of missing him. A month of pretending you didn't. All of it culminating in this moment at 3 AM in your tiny kitchen.

Then he was kissing you again, walking you backward through the narrow space. You stumbled, still slightly unsteady from the lingering effects of alcohol and hangover potion, and he caught you, steadying you against him. Your hands fumbled with the drawstring of his sweatpants as you moved, fingers clumsy with urgency.

You knocked into the doorframe of your bedroom, his shoulder hitting it with a soft thud that made you both laugh breathlessly against each other's mouths. The sound was startling—too normal, too familiar, too much like before. It made your chest ache even as heat pooled low in your belly.

The back of your knees hit the bed, and you sat, looking up at him. He stood there for a moment, chest rising and falling rapidly, looking down at you with an expression that was equal parts desire and something softer, more complicated. His hand came up to cup your face, thumb tracing your cheekbone.

"I thought about this," he admitted quietly, voice barely above a whisper. "Every day. Thought about you."

Your heart clenched. Don't, you wanted to say. Don't make this more than what it is. Don't make me feel things I'm not ready to feel.

But instead, you reached for him, fingers hooking into the waistband of his sweatpants and pulling him closer. "Show me," you said, and it came out more vulnerable than you intended.

He leaned down, kissing you again as his knee pressed between your thighs, and you fell back onto the mattress, pulling him with you. His weight settled over you, familiar and right in a way that terrified you. Your hands slid down his back, feeling the flex of muscle as he held himself above you, and when your fingers dipped beneath the waistband of his sweatpants, he shuddered.

"You remember," he murmured against your lips, almost wonderingly, as your touch found exactly where he liked it. "You still—"

"Of course I remember," you breathed, and it was true. Your body remembered everything. The way he liked to be touched. The sounds he made. The way he always, always made sure you were okay before taking things further.

His hand slid up your thigh, fingers tracing the edge of your panties, and you lifted your hips instinctively. He hooked his fingers into the fabric, pausing just long enough to meet your eyes—that same checking-in he'd always done—and when you nodded, he pulled them down slowly.

This is reckless, your mind supplied again. This is going to hurt when he leaves. This doesn't fix anything.

But his fingers were sliding between your thighs now, finding you already wet and wanting, and when he groaned at the discovery, pressing his forehead against yours, you stopped thinking altogether.

"Just like I remembered," he whispered, and you weren't sure if he was talking about your body or something else entirely.

His fingers circled your clit with practiced precision, and you gasped, hips bucking into his hand. A month. A whole fucking month without this, without him, and your body was screaming for it now. He knew exactly how to touch you—the right pressure, the right rhythm—and within seconds you were already trembling.

"Fuck," you breathed, nails digging into his shoulders. "Remus—"

"I know," he murmured, voice rough. "I know, love."

The endearment hit you like a punch to the chest, but before you could process it, he was sliding two fingers inside you, curling them just right, and your back arched off the bed with a broken moan. He watched your face as he worked you open, pupils blown wide, breathing hard through his nose like he was barely holding himself together.

"You're so wet," he said, almost reverent, and the words sent heat flooding through you. "Merlin, I've missed this. Missed you."

You couldn't form words, could only whimper as his thumb found your clit again, working in tandem with his fingers. The pleasure built fast and sharp, a month's worth of pent-up need coiling tight in your belly. You were already close, embarrassingly close, and when he leaned down to capture your nipple in his mouth, teeth grazing the sensitive peak, you shattered.

The orgasm ripped through you hard and sudden, your whole body tensing as you cried out his name. He worked you through it, fingers never stopping, drawing it out until you were shaking and oversensitive and pushing weakly at his wrist.

"Too much," you gasped, but he was already pulling his hand away, bringing his fingers to his mouth and sucking them clean with a groan that made your spent body clench with renewed want.

"Fucking hell," you breathed, still trying to catch your breath. "That was—"

But he was kissing you again, hard and hungry, and you could taste yourself on his tongue. His hips pressed against yours, and you could feel how hard he was through his sweatpants, the thick length of him grinding against your oversensitive core. You reached down between your bodies, palming him through the fabric, and he broke the kiss with a sharp inhale.

"Off," you demanded, tugging at his waistband. "Get these off. Now."

He complied immediately, shoving his sweatpants and boxers down his hips and kicking them off. Your mouth went dry at the sight of him—hard and flushed and leaking at the tip. You'd forgotten how big he was, or maybe you'd forced yourself to forget, and now the reality of him made your core clench with anticipation.

You wrapped your hand around him, stroking slowly from base to tip, and he dropped his forehead to your shoulder with a shuddering breath.

"Fuck, I'm not—" he started, voice strained. "It's been a while, I'm not going to last if you—"

"Good," you interrupted, guiding him to your entrance. "I don't want you to last. I want you to fuck me like you've been thinking about for the past month."

Something in him snapped at that. His eyes went dark, and he grabbed your wrist, pinning it above your head as he positioned himself. "You want it rough?" he asked, voice low and dangerous in a way that made your breath catch.

"Yes," you breathed. "Please, Remus, I need—"

He thrust into you in one hard stroke, filling you completely, and you both groaned at the sensation. The stretch burned—it had been a month, and he was big—but the pleasure-pain of it was exactly what you needed. He gave you only a moment to adjust before he was moving, pulling almost all the way out and slamming back in.

"Fuck, yes," you gasped, wrapping your legs around his waist to take him deeper. "Just like that, don't stop—"

He didn't. He set a brutal pace, hips snapping against yours with enough force to make the headboard bang against the wall. His free hand gripped your hip hard enough to bruise, holding you in place as he fucked into you with a desperation that matched your own.

"You feel so good," he groaned, burying his face in your neck. "So fucking perfect, I've thought about this every night, thought about being inside you again—"

His words were broken, punctuated by harsh breaths and the obscene sound of skin slapping against skin. You could feel yourself getting close again already, the angle of his thrusts hitting that spot inside you that made your vision blur.

"Harder," you demanded, and he released your wrist to grab both your hips, pulling you into each thrust with bruising force. You braced your hands against the headboard, meeting him stroke for stroke, and the new angle made you both moan.

"Touch yourself," he commanded, voice rough. "I want to feel you come on my cock."

You obeyed immediately, your hand sliding between your bodies to find your clit. The added stimulation made you clench around him, and he cursed, his rhythm faltering for a moment.

"That's it," he encouraged, watching where your bodies joined with dark, hungry eyes. "Fuck, you're so beautiful like this, taking me so well—"

The praise mixed with the filthy words sent you spiraling. Your fingers worked frantically at your clit as he pounded into you, and when he leaned down to bite at your neck—not hard enough to break skin but enough to sting—you came with a cry that was probably loud enough for your neighbors to hear.

Your walls clamped down around him, pulsing with your orgasm, and he groaned your name like a prayer. His thrusts became erratic, desperate, chasing his own release.

"Where—" he started, but you cut him off.

"Inside," you gasped. "I'm still on the potion, just—please, Remus, I want to feel you—"

He came with a broken moan, hips stuttering as he spilled inside you. You felt the warmth of it, felt him pulse and throb, and it sent another small aftershock of pleasure through your oversensitive body.

He collapsed on top of you, both of you breathing hard, skin slick with sweat. For a long moment, neither of you moved, just lay there tangled together as your heartbeats slowly returned to normal.

Then reality started to creep back in. The weight of what you'd just done. The fact that this didn't solve anything. That in the morning, you'd still be broken up, still have all the same problems that led to the breakup in the first place.

It was a bad idea, your mind whispered again. You knew it was a bad idea.

But when Remus lifted his head to look at you, eyes soft and vulnerable in a way that made your chest ache, you couldn't bring yourself to regret it.

"Stay," you heard yourself say, even though you knew you shouldn't. "Just for tonight. Stay."

He pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, so different from the rough desperation of moments before. "Okay," he whispered. "I'll stay."

And as he carefully pulled out of you and gathered you against his chest, you let yourself pretend—just for tonight—that this could be enough.

[rey-lupin]

ugh so good

[rey-lupin]

LOOKING FOR MOOTS

Hiya!

Been really inactive lately but I wanted to come out here and say that I really REALLY want mooties

I loveee the hunger games and challengers and tlou

HEAVY on the marauders

And perhaps marvel… but I’m not THAT educated on lore 😞

I just want cool writer friends

[rey-lupin]

dont mind me I’m just thinking of inexperienced art donaldson being embarrassed that he has to go to stanford without ever hitting it

so you teach him

[rey-lupin]

guys I LOVE my marauders boys but am I the only one who doesn’t like them in muggle au’s

LIKE their appeal is the fact that they’re whimsical wizards why do you want to make them normal 😖

[rey-lupin]

there is not a even a scrabble word for how bad I feel

[rey-lupin]

Okay hot take

I don’t think Mirren needed a relationship in the series? I mean in the book she was alone, it made it more tragic when she died without anyone ever truly seeing her.

argue with the wall

also I haven’t watched the series yet..

[theannotatedbook-deactivated202]

We Were Liars // "Wuthering Heights" by Emily Bronte

[rey-lupin]

FINE ILL READ WUTHERING HEIGHTS FUCK

[deswhomst]

Lily: Hey, Peter

Lily: Kiss, Marry, Kill—Sirius, Remus, James

Peter: Kill you and James, frame Sirius for murder, and leave Remus alone for over a decade

Lily: Oh …