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Dec 8, 2024

I love you, I'm sorry

a professor! remus lupin x (legal) student fem!reader series

Warnings: fluff fluff /SMUT at the end so minors DNI! p in v (wrap it up), student x teacher relationship, age gap (reader is 20 something, remus is 38), size kink? (he barely fits), professor kink, reader is sucker for academic validation

summary: fucking your hot new professor 4.5k words

A/N: so once again uni has been killing me and i need academic validation from a hot professor and remus is my current bae so here you go. Also this will be a series cuz I'm way too invested in their dynamic so stay tuned. And there is an insane shortage of older remus lepin smuts btw. pls fix it guys

The September air was crisp as you stepped through the ancient wooden doors of Hogwarts, your heart thrumming with a mixture of excitement and nervous energy. This wasn’t your first time entering the castle, but it felt different now—this was the year you’d finally take Defense Against the Dark Arts, taught by the newly appointed Professor Lupin. You’d heard whispers about him in the hallways: brilliant, kind, but carrying an air of quiet sadness that intrigued you more than you cared to admit.

Clutching your books tightly, you made your way to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, arriving early to secure a good seat. The room was lit with flickering candles, their light casting dancing shadows on the stone walls. The faint scent of old parchment and wood polish lingered in the air, familiar and comforting. You chose a seat near the front, arranging your materials neatly as you waited, the quiet hum of anticipation growing in your chest.

The sound of hurried footsteps broke the silence, and when the door creaked open, you looked up. In walked Professor Lupin, his robes slightly frayed at the edges, his sandy-brown hair streaked with silver, and a battered leather satchel slung over his shoulder. His eyes, a warm hazel, swept across the room before landing on you. For a moment, he froze.

“Oh, hello,” he said, his voice soft but tinged with surprise. He adjusted the strap of his satchel, suddenly looking self-conscious. “You… you must be one of my students. I didn’t expect… I mean, I wasn’t expecting anyone this early.”

You offered a small smile, trying to put him at ease. “I wanted to make a good impression, Professor. This is my favorite subject.”

His brows lifted slightly, and a faint smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Ah, well, you certainly have. Punctuality is always appreciated.” He set his satchel down on the desk, his hands fumbling with the clasp. “I’m…” He paused, cleared his throat, and started again. “I’m Remus Lupin. Well, Professor Lupin, of course.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Professor Lupin,” you said, your voice steady despite the way your pulse quickened under his gaze.

He nodded, a faint flush creeping up his neck as he busied himself with arranging papers on his desk. “And you are…?”

You gave him your name, watching as he repeated it under his breath, as if committing it to memory.

“A lovely name,” he murmured, then seemed to catch himself. His eyes widened slightly, and he gave a nervous chuckle. “I mean, uh, it’s… a perfectly fine name. Good, strong. Not that I… Oh dear, I’m rambling, aren’t I?”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly, charmed by his awkwardness. “Just a little, but I don’t mind.”

He exhaled, a self-deprecating smile curving his lips. “Well, I’m glad one of us doesn’t. I’m usually more articulate, I promise.”

The door opened again, and other students began trickling in, breaking the quiet moment. Professor Lupin straightened, slipping into a more composed demeanor as he greeted the newcomers. But as the lesson began, you couldn’t help noticing the occasional glance he stole in your direction, as if you had caught his attention in a way he hadn’t expected.

The lesson passed in a blur of practical demonstrations and insightful lectures. Professor Lupin’s teaching style was unlike anything you’d experienced before; he made even the most complex topics seem accessible, weaving stories and humor into his explanations. He had a way of drawing you in, his voice calm and steady, yet tinged with a passion that made you want to absorb every word. By the end of the class, you felt more inspired than ever.

As students began gathering their things, you lingered, hesitant to leave just yet. You pretended to adjust the straps on your bag, stealing glances at him as he packed away his teaching materials. Finally, you took a deep breath and approached his desk.

“Professor Lupin?” you ventured, your voice steady despite the nervous fluttering in your chest.

He looked up, startled but quickly masking it with a warm smile. “Yes? What can I do for you?”

“I just wanted to thank you for the lesson. It was really… inspiring. I’ve never had a professor explain things so clearly before.”

His expression softened, and for a moment, he seemed genuinely touched. “That means a great deal, thank you. It’s always a pleasure to know my efforts are appreciated.”

You hesitated, then added, “If it’s not too much trouble, I was hoping I could ask you some questions about today’s material. I want to make sure I understand it completely.”

“Of course,” he said immediately, motioning for you to take a seat. “I’d be happy to help.”

For the next half-hour, the two of you discussed the finer points of defensive spells and magical theory. Despite the growing darkness outside, you felt a warmth settle over you as his passion for teaching shone through. He listened intently to your questions, his responses thoughtful and encouraging. At one point, he pulled out a piece of parchment and sketched a detailed diagram to illustrate a particularly complex concept, his movements precise and confident.

“You’ve really thought this through,” he said, glancing up at you with a look of quiet admiration. “It’s rare to see a student so eager to delve deeper. You’re going to go far, you know.”

Your cheeks warmed at the unexpected compliment. “Thank you, Professor. That means a lot coming from you.”

He gave you a small, almost shy smile. “Well, I’m just glad to have someone so engaged in the subject. It makes teaching all the more rewarding.”

As the conversation finally drew to a close, you gathered your things, feeling a strange reluctance to leave. As you stood to go, he spoke again.

“You have a remarkable mind,” he said quietly. “I can tell you’re going to do great things.”

“Thank you,” you repeated, your voice soft. You hesitated for a moment, then added, “I’m looking forward to the next lesson.”

“As am I,” he replied, his voice equally soft. “Have a good evening.”

You nodded and stepped out of the classroom into the dimly lit corridor. The warmth of his words stayed with you as you walked away, the echo of his quiet encouragement lingering in your mind. All you knew was that you were already looking forward to the next lesson—and to the moments when his gaze would meet yours, even if just for a fleeting second.

—----------------------------

The days that followed were filled with small, quiet moments that slowly deepened the connection between you and Professor Lupin. In class, he often called on you, his hazel eyes brightening whenever you answered correctly. There were times when he lingered after lessons, offering further explanations or engaging in discussions that felt more like conversations between equals than the typical student-teacher dynamic.

One afternoon, as the golden light of autumn streamed through the castle’s tall windows, you found yourself in the library, poring over a particularly dense tome on advanced defensive techniques. Your brow furrowed as you tried to make sense of a particularly convoluted passage. Suddenly, a familiar voice broke the silence.

“Struggling with something?”

You looked up to see Professor Lupin standing there, a gentle smile on his face. He held a stack of books in his arms, their spines worn and faded.

“A little,” you admitted, gesturing to the page. “This section on layered shield charms is… well, it’s a bit much.”

He set his books down and pulled up a chair beside you, his proximity sending a faint thrill through you. “Let’s see,” he said, leaning in to read over your shoulder. His voice was soft and soothing as he began to explain the concept, breaking it down into manageable pieces. As he spoke, his hand brushed yours briefly as he pointed to a diagram, the touch light but enough to make your heart skip a beat.

“That makes so much more sense,” you said when he finished, a smile breaking across your face. “Thank you, Professor.”

“You’re very welcome,” replied, his gaze lingering on yours for a moment longer than expected. There was a softness in his expression, a quiet encouragement that felt like a promise—though a promise of what, you couldn’t quite say. You found yourself hoping for more of these moments, fleeting as they were, where the world around you seemed to fade and it was just the two of you.

Over the following weeks, these small interactions began to multiply. Sometimes it was the way his hand would briefly graze yours when passing back an essay, or the way his eyes would crinkle with genuine amusement when you shared a clever observation during class discussions. Other times, it was the unspoken understanding you felt during your private consultations, where the conversation would drift seamlessly from the intricacies of magic to literature, history, or even philosophy.

One evening, as autumn gave way to the chill of early winter, you found yourself wandering the castle grounds after dinner. The moon hung low in the sky, its silver light casting long shadows across the frost-kissed grass. You’d brought your notebook, intending to sketch out some ideas for an upcoming project, but instead, you found yourself simply walking, letting the quiet envelop you.

“Out for some fresh air?” came a familiar voice, startling you out of your thoughts.

You turned to see Professor Lupin leaning against the edge of a low stone wall, a steaming cup of tea in his hands. His robes looked heavier than usual, lined against the cold, and his scarf was wrapped loosely around his neck. He offered a small, lopsided smile, the kind that always made your heart flutter.

“I could ask you the same thing,” you replied, moving closer. “Escaping the chaos of the castle?”

He chuckled softly, nodding. “Something like that. It’s nice to step away for a moment. Clear the head.”

You hesitated before sitting on the wall beside him, the stone cool against your hands. “Do you come out here often?”

“When I can,” he admitted. “It’s… peaceful. A rare commodity these days.”

You looked up at him, noting the faint lines of weariness around his eyes. “You must be exhausted,” you said, the concern in your voice unguarded. “Teaching all of us, managing everything…”

“It’s part of the job,” he said with a shrug, though his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “But thank you. It’s kind of you to notice.”

A comfortable silence settled between you, broken only by the distant rustle of wind through the trees. After a moment, you gathered the courage to speak again.

“You’re a really good teacher, you know. It’s not just the way you explain things—it’s the way you make us feel like… like it matters. Like we matter.”

He turned to look at you then, his expression unreadable. For a moment, you worried you’d overstepped, but then he spoke, his voice quieter than before.

“That means more than you know,” he said. “Truly.”

The intensity of his gaze made your breath catch, and you quickly looked away, your cheeks warming. To your relief, he shifted the conversation to lighter topics, asking about your project and offering advice that was both practical and insightful. The two of you talked until the cold began to seep into your bones, and he insisted you head back to the castle to warm up.

Beneath the surface, there was always the shadow of what couldn’t be said aloud. You both knew the boundaries that existed, even as the line between student and professor blurred into something more intimate. And yet, neither of you seemed willing—or able—to step away.

—-

Professor Lupin—Remus, as you’d begun to call him in the privacy of your thoughts—seemed to gravitate toward you just as you gravitated toward him. There was always a reason to linger after class, always a justification for a quiet conversation in his office, but the excuses were growing thinner with each passing day.

It was one such evening, after a particularly rigorous Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson, that you found yourself in his office again. The fire crackled softly in the hearth, casting a warm glow over the small, cluttered space. Books were stacked haphazardly on every surface, and a faint scent of parchment and tea hung in the air.

“You’ve outdone yourself with today’s essay,” he said, his voice warm with genuine praise. He held the parchment in his hands, his thumb brushing over the edges as he glanced at you. “Your analysis of nonverbal defense techniques was insightful, and your argument about their limitations was… well, brilliant, really.”

Your cheeks flushed at the compliment, though you tried to hide it by looking down at your hands. “Thank you. I’ve had a good teacher.”

He chuckled softly, but there was something in his gaze that lingered longer than it should have. “You give me too much credit.”

“I don’t think so,” you said, daring to meet his eyes. “You’ve made me believe I can do more than I ever thought I could.”

For a moment, the room seemed to grow impossibly still. His smile faded into something softer, something almost hesitant. He set the parchment down on his desk, his fingers lingering on it for a moment before he folded his hands in his lap.

“I see so much potential in you,” he said quietly, his voice tinged with a vulnerability you hadn’t heard before. “You’re capable of things you don’t even realize yet.”

“Is that why you’ve been so patient with me?” you asked, your tone light but your heart racing.

“Patient?” he repeated, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “You make it sound like a chore. It’s not. It’s never been that.”

The weight of his words settled between you, heavy and charged. You weren’t sure who moved first—if it was him leaning forward or you—but suddenly the distance between you felt impossibly small. His hand reached out, hesitating for a brief second before his fingers brushed against yours. The touch was light, tentative, as though he were testing the boundaries of what was allowed.

“I shouldn’t—” he began, his voice barely above a whisper.

But you interrupted him, your own voice steady despite the tremor in your hands. “I think we’ve both stopped asking what we should or shouldn’t do.”

His eyes searched yours, and for a moment, you saw the conflict warring within him—the weight of responsibility battling with the pull of something undeniable. Then, as if the tension became too much to bear, he closed the remaining distance between you.

The kiss was gentle at first, his lips brushing against yours like a question waiting for an answer. When you responded, leaning into him, the hesitation melted away. His hand came up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing against your skin as he deepened the kiss. There was a desperation to it, as though he’d been holding himself back for far too long and could no longer resist.

The fire crackled softly in the background, the warmth of the room wrapping around you like a cocoon. Every nerve in your body seemed to come alive under his touch, the world outside fading into insignificance. For a moment, it was just the two of you—no titles, no expectations, just a connection that felt raw and real.

When you finally broke apart, his forehead rested against yours, his breath coming in soft, uneven bursts. His hand remained on your cheek, his thumb tracing a gentle line along your jaw.

“This…” he began, his voice hoarse. “This is dangerous.”

“I know,” you whispered, your own voice barely audible. “But it doesn’t feel wrong.”

He closed his eyes, exhaling a shaky breath. “No, it doesn’t. And that’s what scares me.”

You stayed like that for a while, the silence filled with the unspoken understanding that whatever this was, it couldn’t be undone.

—---

It had been weeks since the first kiss, each stolen moment adding another layer to the unspoken understanding between you. It wasn’t just the kisses or the way his hand lingered on yours—it was the way he looked at you when he thought you weren’t paying attention. There was something in his eyes, a mixture of wonder and hesitance, as though he couldn’t quite believe you were real.

One evening, after a particularly long day, you found yourself once again in Remus’s office. The castle was quiet, the only sounds the occasional creak of the old walls and the faint crackle of the fire. His office had become a second home to you.

“You’re lost in thought again,” Remus said, his voice breaking the comfortable silence. He was seated across from you, a steaming cup of tea in his hands. His eyes, warm and inquisitive, searched your face.

You smiled softly, setting your own cup down. “I suppose I am. It’s hard not to be, lately.”

“Something troubling you?” he asked, leaning forward slightly. The concern in his voice made your chest tighten.

You hesitated, unsure how to put your feelings into words. “Not troubling, exactly. Just… overwhelming. Everything feels so much bigger than me lately—school, the war, us…”

The last word slipped out before you could stop it, and your cheeks flushed as his expression shifted. For a moment, he didn’t say anything, and you feared you’d said too much. But then he set his tea aside and reached out, his hand covering yours.

“Us,” he repeated softly, his thumb brushing against your knuckles. “That’s a word I never thought I’d hear in this context. And yet, it feels… right.”

Your breath caught at his admission, your heart pounding in your chest. “It does,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

The room seemed to shrink, the air between you charged with something electric. His hand tightened slightly around yours, and you saw the flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. He wanted this—you could see it—but he was holding himself back.

“I’ve tried to tell myself all the time that we shouldn’t,” he said, his voice low. “That it’s too risky, too complicated. But the truth is, I can’t stop thinking about you.”

You stood then, the need to close the distance between you overpowering. He followed your lead, rising to meet you as you took a tentative step closer. Your hands found their way to his chest, your fingers brushing against the soft fabric of his sweater.

“Then stop trying,” you said, your voice steadier than you felt.

He let out a shaky breath, his hands coming up to cradle your face. “You have no idea how much I want this. How much I want you.”

“Then show me,” you whispered.

The words were all the encouragement he needed. He kissed you, his lips capturing yours with a hunger that took your breath away. It was a kiss that spoke of weeks of restraint finally breaking, of emotions too strong to be contained. His hands slid down to your waist, pulling you closer as your fingers tangled in his hair.

The sofa was only a few steps away, but it felt like an eternity as he guided you toward it. His movements were careful, his touch reverent, as though he were afraid of breaking the spell. When your legs hit the edge of the sofa, he hesitated, his gaze searching yours.

“We can stop at any time,” he said, his voice rough with emotion. “You say the word, and we’ll stop.”

“I don’t want to stop,” you said, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw. “I want this. I want you.”

His breath hitched, and then he was kissing you again, more fiercely this time. He lowered you onto the sofa, his weight settling over you as his hands explored, each touch leaving a trail of fire in its wake. His lips moved to your neck, his kisses slow and deliberate, as though he were memorizing every inch of you.

“Tell me if I’m going too fast,” he murmured against your skin, his voice a mix of desire and restraint.

“You’re not,” you assured him, your own hands roaming, desperate to feel more of him. “Please, don’t stop.”

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, his lips brushing against your collarbone. “I don’t think I’ve ever told you that.”

Your response was a soft sigh, your hands threading through his hair as you pulled him closer. There was no rush, no urgency—only a deep, mutual need to be as close to each other as possible. Time seemed to stretch, each moment etched into your memory with perfect clarity.

He had just shrugged off his sweater, revealing the slightly faded button-down shirt he wore underneath. Your hands moved instinctively, reaching for the buttons to slide them open. His breath hitched, and then, suddenly, his hands came up to stop you. The look in his eyes was a mixture of vulnerability and hesitation, making your heart twist painfully in your chest.

“Wait,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. He swallowed hard, looking down at where your hands rested against his chest. “I… I have a lot of scars. I don’t want to scare you.”

Your heart softened at his words, and you smiled gently, tilting your head to meet his gaze. “You could never scare me, Remus,” you said with quiet sincerity. You leaned forward and pressed a soft, reassuring kiss to his lips. His tension melted slightly under your touch, and he gave a small, grateful smile in return.

Encouraged, your hands resumed their task, slipping the buttons of his shirt open one by one. He shivered slightly under your touch but didn’t stop you this time. Once the shirt joined his sweater on the floor, your hands roamed over his torso, tracing the raised, pale lines of the scars that criss crossed his skin. You didn’t flinch or look away. Instead, you admired the strength and resilience they represented, leaning down to place a tender kiss over one of them. Remus’s breath hitched again, but this time it wasn’t from fear.

Your hands moved lower, brushing against the waistband of his trousers. His sharp intake of breath was audible in the quiet room, and he hesitated for a brief moment before nodding slightly. You unfastened his belt, and he stood to step out of his trousers, leaving him standing before you in nothing but his boxers. As he slid those off as well, exposing himself to you fully, your eyes widened slightly, and a nervous laugh escaped him.

“Sorry, I just…” he began, but you cut him off with a soft smile.

“No, it’s okay, dear,” you assured him. Your eyes sparkled with affection as you leaned back against the cushions. “It will fit, don’t worry.”

His lips quirked up in a shy smile at your words, and his gaze roamed over you with a mixture of awe and desire. His hands moved to the hem of your skirt, lifting it slightly to expose the delicate lace of your panties. He bit his lip as his fingers hooked under the waistband to slide them down your legs.

“Darling,” he murmured, his voice husky, “I hope I’m the only professor you’re this wet for.”

Heat rushed to your cheeks at his teasing remark, and you hid your face behind your hands for a moment before peeking out to respond. “Of course. No one is as wonderful as you.”

He chuckled softly and grabbed your thighs, pulling you closer to him while your skirt bunched around your hips. You reached for the buttons of your blouse, slowly unfastening them as his eyes followed your every movement. When the blouse slipped from your shoulders, revealing your bare chest, his eyebrows shot up in surprise.

“No bra?” he asked, his voice tinged with amusement. You smirked in response, shrugging playfully.

His hand moved to your tie, loosening it with the intent of tossing it aside, but you stopped him with a hand on his wrist. “Wait,” you said, your voice soft but insistent. “Use it to tie me up… please.” Your eyes were wide and pleading, and he hesitated, his own cheeks flushing.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he admitted, his voice laced with concern.

“You won’t,” you reassured him, your voice filled with trust. “I want this, Remus.”

He nodded slowly, swallowing his nerves as he looped the tie around your wrists, securing it firmly but ensuring it wasn’t too tight. The silk of the tie felt cool against your skin, a stark contrast to the heat radiating between the two of you. His eyes flickered over your bound form, taking in the way you looked so willingly vulnerable for him. The sight sent a thrill racing through his veins, igniting a fire that made his hands tremble slightly as they traced delicately over your exposed skin. He hesitated, his touch reverent, as though he were afraid of breaking the spell between you.

He positioned himself between your thighs, the fabric of your skirt bunched around your hips, and his hand moved to guide himself. His tip brushed against your entrance, teasingly slow, and you squirmed beneath him, a soft whimper escaping your lips. When he finally pushed into you, your head fell back against the cushions, a gasp spilling from your lips as your body stretched to accommodate him. The sensation was overwhelming—a mix of pleasure and a hint of discomfort that quickly gave way to a delicious fullness.

“Oh my God, professor, fuck,” you gasped, your words slipping out before you could stop them.

Remus groaned deeply, the sound rumbling in his chest as his hands gripped your hips to hold you still. He stilled for a moment, his own breath ragged as he tried to steady himself. “God, dear,” he muttered, his voice thick with restraint. “I love it when you call me that. And you’re so tight… I’m not even sure you can take it all.”

The teasing lilt in his voice made your cheeks burn, and you whined in response, your tied hands flexing against the restraint. “No, I can take it,” you begged, your voice trembling with need. “Please, Remus, I need you.”

His laughter was low and rich, vibrating against your skin as he leaned down to kiss you. “Such a needy little thing,” he murmured against your lips before trailing kisses down to your neck. His lips found a particularly sensitive spot, and he nibbled gently, drawing a shiver from you.

As he began to move, slow and deliberate at first, his hands wandered over your body, touching and caressing every inch he could reach. Each thrust pushed him deeper, and your moans grew louder, filling the room with the symphony of your shared pleasure. His pace quickened, and the angle shifted just slightly, sending sparks coursing through you. Your tied hands flexed uselessly above your head, and the restraint only heightened your senses, every touch and movement magnified.

“You feel so perfect,” Remus groaned, his voice raw with emotion. His lips continued to worship your neck, marking your skin with faint red imprints of his teeth and tongue.

The pleasure built steadily within you, coiling tighter and tighter until it finally snapped. Your release washed over you in a powerful wave, your body trembling and arching into him as you cried out his name. The intensity of your climax sent him over the edge as well. With a low, guttural moan, Remus pulled out at the last moment, his release spilling across your chest in warm, white streaks.

Both of you lay there for a moment, your breathing ragged and mingling in the quiet intimacy of the room. He reached for a nearby tissue, gently cleaning you up before pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. His fingers brushed against the tie still securing your wrists, and he paused, his gaze meeting yours.

You pouted slightly, and he noticed immediately, his expression softening. “What’s wrong, darling?” he asked, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

“I wanted you to finish inside me,” you admitted, your voice tinged with disappointment.

He sighed softly, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I can’t,” he said, his voice filled with regret. “I… I’m scared of what might happen. I don’t want to risk making you pregnant. And there are… things about me you don’t know yet.”

You looked up at him with curiosity and concern, but you didn’t press him further. Instead, you cupped his face with your bound hands, offering him a small, understanding smile. “Whenever you’re ready to tell me, I’ll listen,” you said softly.

Remus’s heart swelled at your words, and he leaned down to kiss you once more, silently vowing to himself that he would find a way to share his secrets with you when the time was right. For now, he was content to hold you close, savoring the warmth and trust that flowed between you.

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