#thirsty thirsday | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

rae-gar-targaryen · 3 years ago

Note

Also now I also need Remus figuring out reader has a thing for being man-handled 😵‍💫🌻

HAHA I am UNWELL. Why can't I just write a simple blurb? Anyway, I hope you enjoy...

18+ only please -- thigh-riding, biting, finger sucking, throat grabbing, couch sex, my stupid ass.

something so magic about you [marauders!remus lupin x fem!reader]

word count: 4.2k (HAHA HOW) of unedited domestic bliss, nonsense, and my stupid attempts at sexy touching, my usual abuse of simile and metaphor.

If you enjoyed, please rb, thanks!

Some things break. You know this. Broken glass happens.

The noise of thin, blown glass shattering clinked and rang through your apartment, glass pieces like cracked eggshells mingling with the amber tea now spilled in splotched puddles along the faded tiled floor of yours and Remus’s tiny, shared kitchen.

As soon as he heard the noise, Remus shot up from his resting place at the little table near the window in corner of the kitchenette. Fresh berries halfway to his mouth when he took in the sight of you standing next to a puddle of what was once tea, the green glass mug that you had found whilst thrifting now in jagged pieces scattered around your socked feet.

Not wasting any time, or sparing any thought for his own similarly-stockinged feet, Remus strode to you – little care for the loose state of the cardigan drooping over your bare shoulder, or how one sock was sliding and bunched at your ankle – when he fixed both hands around your waist and scooped you like you weighed nothing. Settling you onto the kitchen counter and away from the mess.

Maybe it was the shock at Remus’s sudden action; maybe it was the thrill of him lifting you so easily up and away. (Was added strength a bonus of lycanthropy? Maybe you’d needed to look into this).

Whatever it was, the borderline-embarrassing shrieking little squeak you’d emanated upon being lifted onto the kitchen counter by your love was … well. Remus would have to tuck that one into his back pocket for later.

For now, his hands enveloped your face, cupping your jaw and concernedly searching your eyes for any pain, be it glass or burns.

“Are you okay, kit?” Remus asked, thumbs stroking over cheekbones as he assessed the mess.

“Of course, Rem,” you giggled, placing a hand over his heart as he stood between your legs, unconcerned for the state of his own dampening socks. Your heart rate returning to normal in the aftermath of the shattered glass and of Remus literally sweeping you off your feet. “Though I really wish you wouldn’t call me that, Moony. We aren’t school-children anymore.”

Remus sighed through his nose, the corner of his mouth quirking at your statement. You didn’t call him by his schooltime moniker often. He’d leave that to James and Sirius. Besides, you’d had your own names for him that were definitely reserved for the two of you alone. Sweetheart. Honey. Love… A few that were definitely more inappropriate, and he’d keep those to himself.

But for now, you were fine. Definitely fine, if you could sass him.

“Can’t do. Won’t do. You know you’re always my kit, my fox.” he pecked your nose quickly while turning from his most cherished place between your legs, spread on the countertop, long fingers trailing over the tops of bared thighs, as he turned to pluck the larger glass pieces from the floor and into the bin.

“You know, you literally have magic for that,” you called from your perch, watching Remus clean. You made to slide off the counter, only to be met with Remus’s eyes and a pointed finger.

“I wouldn’t entrust anything as imperfect as magic when it comes to taking care of you. Stay there, kit. I don’t want you near the glass.” The low timbre of his voice and the flash of his eyes compelled you to obey, the burn of where his fingertips had gripped your waist to lift you still at the forefront of your mind. He really could be commanding, when he’d wanted to. Or when you wanted him to.

“Fine,” you huffed, watching Remus go. “Suppose it’s fine. The cup was an old one. And in the grand scheme of things, aren’t some things made to be broken?” You swayed your feet along with the song playing softly from the wireless in the other room.

“Drinking glasses, my dear, are not made to be broken,” Remus amended, now mopping the sad state of what was supposed to be your morning tea from the old tiles. “Nothing is.”

“Untrue,” you crowed, beaming at him from your place on the counter. “Spaghetti if you have a small pot?”

Remus huffed; he knew you were pleased with yourself, taking in the curve of your smiling mouth, your lips full and eyes brimming with mirth.

He could kiss your laughing mouth, every second of every day. He really could.

“Come on then, k– my little fox,” he amended.

Eager to test the theory percolating while he’d cleaned, he’d scooped you once more, twirling you a bit as he’d moved you from the counter to the now-clean kitchen floor.

And there it was.

The pleased little hum. The rush of heat blooming against your skin beneath his fingertips. The sweet catch of your breath as he’d moved your body for you. You enjoyed it.

File that one away for later, indeed.

—

Remus was like autumn. Steady. Evoking warm, easy shades of yellow and amber. Embodying comfort, the desire for warmth. The heat of fading summer in his touches and behind his eyes, replaced with coolness of an easy temperament and reasoning. Quiet like the falling rain outside of your window.

And in some ways, an absolute torment. An even-keeled purgatory that made you long for an extreme. Like now, for instance.

And it was true. Remus on this day had to be some kind of torment concocted by a higher deity (that you didn’t believe in, by the way) who sought to punish only you. For today was a day for the two of you to relax; and only one of you seemed capable of following the rules of said day.

You sat on the leftmost cushion of the threadbare couch, space heater blasting warm, welcome air over your bare legs, clad in one of Remus’s stretched, thinning t-shirts that he had purchased from an art museum gift shop during a prior visit, the screen-print of Monet’s “Water Lilies” long-since faded, a barely-decipherable swirling blur of greens, blues and florals.

Thumbing your way through a copy of “El Club Dumas” that belonged to your beloved, enjoying the literary mystery of an ill-fated rare book collector. Soft music still playing, a plate of half-eaten toast with tart lingonberry jam left near the corner of the coffee table.

You enjoyed reading Remus’s copies from his own curated collection. They were well-loved, to say the least. Pages were dogeared to indicate favorites; lines were drawn under treasured passages with reverent blue ink, so as not to be lost. An occasional coffee mug stain adorned a back cover, a resting place of contemplative caffeination and prose.

And every so often, you were delighted to discover annotations here and there in a random margin, when something had occurred within the confines of Remus’s mind, which you often likened to the rippling surface of the ocean, caught within the changing tide. Cool, steady, churning depths that belied something deeper. Sea-green moments of tinged thoughtfulness with depths that others may never see.

Said annotations were also a puzzlement of dark, oceanic depth. For one, they were basically illegible-- between Remus’s cramped, looped handwriting and the smudging away of the ink due to his thumbing through the pages time and again, you could no sooner decipher about sixty percent of the notes than you could decipher the machinations swirling behind Remus’s honey-amber eyes when he would glance up from the pages of his own novel to stare out the window.

The two of you were supposed to be relaxing; and you were holding up your end. Reading in the comfort of cozy, well-loved clothes by the warmth of your sputtering heater. (Probably a fire hazard, though you certainly weren’t about to snitch to Remus’s overbearing landlady, who you were convinced hated you). The source of an endlessly embarrassing anecdote about her coming to the door to notify Remus of noise complaints by the neighbors, and could his guest please keep her voice down?

She’d come back a while later complaining of yet more noise – the two of you really needed to figure a way to stifle the noise of the headboard against the wall.

So, you were reading.

Remus, on the other hand. The light of your life? He was working. Poring over notes from his editor, scribbling angrily, huffing at pages rife with red ink.

You had been hoping, perhaps foolishly, that “relax,” when Remus had suggested it, was a euphemism for some mutually-beneficial form of relaxation. Perhaps a nice nap would follow a particular form of well-earned physical exertion. Flashes of Remus bending you over the couch, or of fucking you right on the living room floor near the space heater, permeated your mind. Your idea was clearly different from Remus’s, however.

How dare he sit across the room from you looking so inviting -- leaned back in his chair, pen in hand and between his lips in ponderment. His legs were spread wide, thighs creating an inviting “v” on either side of the chair. His sandy hair was slightly mussed and sticking up in funny patches, curled over his eas and indicating where he had been tugging on it in moments of the passive, absentminded frustration so frequently-suffered by deep thinkers.

He needn’t tug, you thought. You would be so glad to do it for him, if ever he would ask.

He wore clothes indicative of a lazy day -- an old plain t-shirt covered by a well-loved cardigan rolled to the elbows, his fine-lined and minimalist tattoos trailing down a bared forearm. Replete with a pair of grey sweatpants. Remus was a well-loved, cozy Autumn day.

It was honestly unreasonable how good he looked while sitting across from you, paying you no mind. Inconsiderate, really.

You could only sigh and rub your thighs together from your spot on the couch so many times before Remus was bound to get the gist.

So you sighed one last time, cheeks warm with your frustration and the proximity to the heater, rolling your eyes and closing the Reverte novel with a gentle whump.

“Peevish of you,” Remus broke the silence, turning to gaze at you, honey eyes blinking owlishly. “What could you possibly have to pout about today?”

You hmm’d lightly, “Rem …”

“Fox,” Remus countered.

“This was supposed to be our day to relax. It was your idea,” you nodded at his stack of papers and his aged typewriter, dog-eared pages beneath a steaming mug of tea dwarfing the card table that comprised his workspace. “You’re not relaxing.”

Remus exhaled, drawing his hands through his hair once more, your eyes following the journey of his fingers as he carded through tresses, leaning back in his chair with a groan and tossing the pen onto his stack of papers with a mild clack.

“Do I not look relaxed?” he rumbled, the barest hint of a dare behind his words. A dare you were confident didn't carry any depth as you watched your beloved now swipe at his own bleary eyes.

You rolled onto your stomach, burning eyes glittering and glaring up at him from your spot on the couch.

“No,” you passively rolled your eyes, “you don’t.”

“And that annoys you, does it, little fox?”

“Rem,” you sighed. “Don’t be irritating. You know damn well … it isn’t as relaxing for me if you’re working. Now I feel like I need to do something,” you were whining now. A tone you knew would either plague Remus until he paid attention to you, or endear you to him all the same.

Selfishly, you hoped for the former. The thrilling tingle of want that coursed through you at the promise of your lover's exertion in times of annoyance, of how he would respond to you so well was hardly a deterrent for being, admittedly, somewhat bratty.

Your love could be downright wolfish when he wanted to be.

And truth be told, you were very flustered. Whether said fluster was the result of Remus’s maddening inability to honor your lazy day pact, or the fact that his cozy, threadbare sweater and his spread legs rendered him devastatingly, ever-moreso inviting, you weren’t quite sure. But the heat radiating across your cheeks couldn’t only be the result of your proximity to the heater. That you knew.

Remus chuckled darkly, his honeyed eyes glinting with midnight mischief.

“Oh, poor fox,” he sing-songed, mock tone laden with lilting pity, “Surely no one has suffered as you have suffered.”

“Suffering is relative, then, don’t you think? Surely, there is some objective measure of ache, of pain?”

“Ache?" Remus quirked a brow at you, honeyed and hopeful, playful and piteous. "And if I fucked you silly, would you pipe down?”

“Hmmm,” you put your book down, marking the page before rising from the couch and swaying over to where your beloved was seated. “I’m not so sure. Can you even be trusted to pay attention to me?”

You perched yourself onto Remus’s lap, one of his thighs between yours, as you twined your arms around his neck, settling in and making sure to wiggle your hips over his thigh as you settled, teasing the building ache between your own legs as you went.

“You’re awful, you know,” You brought a hand up to cup Remus’s jaw, fingers trailing along the bow of his upper lip on their way as you murmured into his mouth. “You’re over here working, and I’m over there suffering while you look so… devastating. Uncaring for my condition.”

“Oh, poor fox,” he breathed, eyes traveling down to your lips, pleased at their proximity to his own.

You struck then, pressing your lips to your beloveds, sucking his lower lip into your mouth and letting your hands rove beneath his cardigan to feel the firmness of his torso beneath your own wanting fingers. Allowing your hips to roll teasingly over the apex of his thigh once, testing Remus’s parameters for your little game.

For his part, Remus helped himself to your form, trailing his hands up your bare thighs as you kissed, gripping your hips with one hand while the other roved up your torso. Pausing to roughly cup your breast through his faded t-shirt. Trailing up your collarbones and arriving at his destination – cupping his hand lovingly around the tender arc of your neck, pressing a long thumb into the column of your throat – delighting in the way he could feel the pleased little gasp in your throat and beneath his thumb.

You pulled back from his kiss then, his hot breath mixed with yours, your faces mere millimeters apart, breathing heavily into one another. You squeezed the hand at the base of Remus’s jaw, tipping his head back, and grazing your teeth along Remus’s jaw, biting his chin lightly. Your hips continue to buck into his thigh, chasing the something that was building. You release Remus’s chin, your teeth opting to sink in his plush lower lip, your hand continuing to squeeze his face lightly. Remus sighs contentedly as you relinquish your grip on his lip and lick your way into his mouth, soothing the sting of your bite as you go.

Remus’s grip on your waist was punishing now, encouraging the roll of your hips as you rode his thigh, breaking the kiss once more to take in your wild form, kiss-bitten lips and sparkling eyes, gasping breaths at your wriggling efforts along Remus’s lap, his erection now straining against his sweatpants.

“The incisors, who would’ve thought,” Remus breathed. “Fucking sexy, when you bite.”

“Yeah?” You murmured, heated honey falling from your lips and straight through Remus to settle between his thighs, he swears. “What a coincidence, Rem. I love your mouth,” you piteously sighed.

Taking your thumb and middle finger and trailing them over his lips, allowing them to press into the plush fullness of his lower lip, dragging it down and letting it settle back into place at your release, your eyes following the movement.

Remus’s lips parted just so, allowing you to slip your fingers into his mouth, where he promptly sucked on your digits. The sight and feel of him, of his warm, sinful mouth around your fingers caused you to groan, tilting your head back with fluttering lashes, bucking your hips into him with purpose.

The ache that burned through you at Remus’s words, at his mouth around your fingers, at his guiding hands along your rolling hips, at the feel of him beneath you, was coursing. It burned crimson, cloudy and acrid.

Remus gently released your fingers after a purposeful suck, kissing your fingertips before speaking to you again.

“I have to try something now, fox,” Remus pressed a plucking kiss to your lips now, chuckling at the confused wrinkle that crossed your brow as he stilled the roll of your hips. “Don’t worry, I think you’ll like it.”

The echoed memory of your little whines and gasps when he had picked you up to and from the counter played in his ears, drowned out by the very real, very present lilted moan that escaped your lips as Remus lifted you from his lap, carrying you to drop gently along the length of the couch.

Remus shed his cardigan and the shirt beneath it fluidly, stepping out of his sweatpants, his cock bobbing before you as he followed you onto the couch, covering your form with his own. Making to trail his hands once more along your thighs, up, up, up until he reached his goal, swiping a long finger over your clothed pussy, pleased to find the fabric of your boy-short panties damp beneath his touch.

“Knew it,” he breathed, pressing kisses along your neck that he followed with the scrape of teeth, pleased at the little gasping moans you emitted as he went. “You love when I toss you around a bit, huh, baby?”

His fingers continued to pluck and play with your clothed slit, the pleasant friction of your damp panties causing little, electric thrills to thrum their way through your body, rolling your hips to meet his hand, sheer delight evident in your little broken moans.

Quick as a flash, Remus swatted your thigh, a lightning crack along your already-sparking skin. Lifting your head and shoulders from the couch with a long-fingered hand that gently looped around your throat.

“I asked a question, fox,” his voice melted into you, an internalized rumble of far-off thunder. If the lightning swat of his hand against your thigh was anything else to go by, you knew your comparison of Remus to a stormy sea was nothing short of apt.

“Uh-huh,” you mewled, nodding as you continued to buck your hips into Remus’s hand. “L-love it.”

Remus gazed through hooded, caramel eyes down at your piteous form, writhing beneath him on the couch. Loving how ready you always were for him. Rife with alacrity.

“Well then…” Remus switched his grip, letting you fall back into the cushions of the old couch with a soft whump, gripping your hips with a hand that he knew would leave a bruise. The air was knocked from your lungs with a delightfully forceful flip of your hips by your beloved, causing you to now lie on the couch on your stomach. Instinctively arching your hips and ass up for Remus.

You can’t help but giggle at Remus’s treatment of your body, your feelings bubbling to the surface, lightweight little champagne clouds, alight with adoration for the man above you.

Remus could be, just, so … infuriating. Unfairly good looking. Whiskey-tea eyes and shining caramel hair. Slender, spider-like fingers, the elegant hands of a pianist. To you he’s the ultimate dichotomy: All sharp angles and simultaneous soft touches. Cotton candy sweetness, fluff and air, dissolved by dissonant volatility. He’s easy, soft-spoken until he isn’t; even when he’s teasing you, you can always find a warm glimmer in his gilded, mossy eyes.

Wolfish indeed.

How you find yourself consistently drowning, wrapped in the strong, warm embrace of Remus Lupin is a mystery to you. But here you are -- his arms around your waist, ripping your panties down your thighs and over one leg, leaving them to dangle on the other ankle. You feel the heat of him behind you. You, sense the grip he has on his own cock, teasing himself as he takes in your arched hips, your obviously-wet slit worked up from writhing in his lap, and from his treatment of your body, tossing you about as he pleased – his little doll.

“M’gonna fuck you, foxy,” he murmured, knocking your knees further apart on the couch and guiding his cock along your dripping slit, cooing at the sight of you dripping for him. Of your wetness gathered along the shaft of his cock before guiding himself home into your tight heat.

You groaned at the welcome intrusion, at the feeling of fullness your beloved rendered you with. Wriggling your hips impatiently as Remus began his game – the game you knew well – a chessmatch of slow, sensual thrusts that would build the bursting pleasure inside of you.

You breathed gasped, punched moans into the crevice of the couch arm, Remus’s hands wandering beneath his faded t-shirt that you still wore to skate along your ribs and grasp at your tits, pinching and rolling your perked nipples as he continued to thrust into you.

You loved when your beloved toyed with you, it was true. The feel of his lean, strong thighs pressing into the backs of yours with each thrust and roll of his hips. The way he would surround you with himself, his tall form pressing you into the couch. Heated musk and Remus pressing the heat building inside of yourself to a frenzied heated pitch.

Remus abandons your tits in favor of tilting your jaw back to allow your lips to meet his in a cloying kiss, bruised lips meeting, a strand of saliva following Remus when he breaks from you to spill heated murmurs into your mouth.

“Tell me you love me,” Remus breathed, his lips so close they brushed yours lightly as he spoke. The brush of almost. Of a paintbrush on a blank canvas, filling your heart and mind with watercolor promises. Spilling and spreading through pulpy, paper crevices. Like ink running through your bloodstream. “Tell me like a good girl.”

Remus’s thrusts were punishing now, the long fingers of his hand pressing you, your face, by the back of your neck, into the cushions of the couch, wrists locked behind your back in the grip of his other hand – When had that happened?

The heavy weight of him dragging inside of you with each thrust, filling you with him, with the bruising ache of your building pleasure.

“Oh,” you breathed. “I l-love you, Rem, of c-course I do,” you hiccuped your adoration with the uneven cadence of fucked-out breaths, a particularly keening whine escaping your plush lips and muffled into the cushions of the couch.

Remus held you the way he meant to, forceful. Like spilling like water over the sides and through the cracks of clumsily-cupped hands.

Pleased as punch with the borderline pornographic sounds of your wetness as he continued to fuck into you, of the ever-tightening of your pussy around him. He wriggled a hand between the couch and your hips to allow you to roll yourself, your clit, into his fingers while his punishing thrusts pushed you into the couch and over an unseen edge.

“P–please, Rem,” you gasped, “I’m s-so close. C-can you cum in me?”

And how could he refuse? You were the picture of sin. A portrait painted for him alone – tears gathered at the corners of your eyes, heated cheeks pressed into the couch cushions, watching him above you as he fucked you with bruising purpose. His release had been building as you clenched your thighs as close as they could allow, to squeeze your pussy around him as he fucked you harder, harder into the couch.

“Y-yeah, fox,” Remus grunted, “C’mon then,” picking of the pace of his fingers beneath you, relishing in the prolonged keen sigh and the pulse of your aching pussy that signified your cracked release, allowing himself to spill inside your walls not long after. Euphoric, heated rush – space heater be damned. He could live inside the heat of you for as long as you would let him.

You wriggled beneath him as he withdrew from you, turning yourself by your hips to lie on your back on the couch, plopping boneless legs along his lap with the loose and easy confidence of someone who’s just come, as Remus settled himself down into a seated position, aching bones and scarred skin. Content to settle into the sated, chestnut warmth of one another. A true relaxation day.

His amber eyes shine with adoration as they take you in -- rich, honeyed whiskey poured over glistening ice. If you indulge too long? The burn eventually fades, replaced by a smoky, whispering sensation that warms your bones. Which fades, too. Eventually. Until you’re left in a daze, with naught but the memory of how the weight of his romance made you feel, tipsiness tipping into sobering sobriety.

“I love your eyes, Rem,” you crooned, reaching up to trail a finger along the sharp curve of his jaw. “My beautiful love.” Pleased at the fond, blissed-out smile that bloomed across his lips at your words and at your intentions.

Eternally impassioned, your Remus. Now if only you could get him to take days off more often.

Thirsty Thursday: Send your Thots 💌

Tagging: @spidervee @luveline @withahappyrefrain @mrshipsmcgee @friendly-neighborhood-blondie @flightlessangelwings @peterthepark @reigndropss @blooming-violets @brucewaynefucks @lilacvine @summertimestyles @decadentpaperduck @2clones-1kamino @papaya-047 @inklore @clints-lucky-arrow @petcr3 @aphrogeneias @realspideyspice @phoenixhalliwell @abibliophobiaa @ouralcohol @levylovegood @harriedandharassed @lorosette @realspideyspice

731 notes · View notes