Latest Posts by adventures-of-impala - Page 6

Blue: James

Grey: Remus

Why do pro lifers show you a picture of an embryo and be like "THIS is what you're killing". Bitch ew I don't think we were meant to see that shit. What the fuck is that thing. Are you fucking kidding me it's just in there like that? Do you see how fucking terrifying that is. If I ever get pregnant this shit will haunt my nightmares just knowing that's what it looks like. Looking unblinkingly unseeingly at my insides. 🤮 Get out!!!!!!!

Sirius: Being a jerk isn't a personality.

Regulus: I beg to differ.

-

c: @humdrummoloch

Okay to preface: I’m a trans man and this is my opinion, and if you disagree or want to call me transphobic please go away and never come back and also look up the definition of “opinion” because it will help you.

I think Dean Winchester is trans and here’s why:

In the pilot episode we see a picture of young Dean, John, and young Sam, both wearing hats and plaid and sitting on the Impala. Dean is shown with shoulder length black hair and this is my first piece of evidence for trans!Dean.

Now, i know that boys can have long hair and I have seen plenty of little boys with long hair. Dean looks to be 12 in the picture, and both John and Sam have short hair. So we know they can afford haircuts (or are at least able to get them) and while Dean may have just styled his hair like this, i think that it was long because he wasn’t out yet.

The picture in question:

The next picture i want to talk about is this one:

Which shows us pre-series Dean also had longer hair but he looks much more masculine in this picture than in the previous one. This fake ID, along with a few others are more evidence for me. Dean has a fake drivers license where the sex reads female, and while thats probably a typo, we know that Dean and Sam’s fake IDs have been good enough to fool hundreds of people, so they have to be good fake IDs - meaning typos shouldn’t happen.

Also in the pilot episode, a cop asks Dean “you have anything that’s real?” And Dean jokingly replies “My boobs.”

And while i know that this line is intended as a joke, i also know that Dean uses humor to tell the truth sometimes. He will joke about something when he can’t talk seriously about it. We see examples of this all over season one, when Sam is grieving Jess. But as a trans person myself i also joke about my chest (to an extent, i personally dont like to bring attention to it), and it’s in Dean’s character to do that too. (I also want to mention that if i had just finished healing from top surgery and someone asked me that question i would probably say the same thing, just because its fun to finally say you dont have boobs anymore - and i also think dean got top surgery immediately pre-series, which is another reason for him to be away from John for so long and to have “lost” him)

During the three first seasons, we never see Dean’s naked chest - i believe there’s only one time in season 3 during Mystery Spot where we see his shoulder in the shower, but not his chest - which i think could be a way to hide top surgery scars. It’s only after he comes back to life in season 4 that we see his naked chest, where he’s confused by the absence of (hellhound) scars because Castiel healed him - also this could be a place where you could say Dean got bottom surgery, i.e., Castiel gave him a dick/fully functioning biologically male genitalia.

In season 4, the episode “Monster Movie” he says he’s been “re-hymenated” which is another joke, but also I don’t know of a single man who knows what a hymen actually is, much less a man who would actually say that to convey his virginity status.

Also the way the man dresses. I mean, he’s so hyper masculine that it feels like an extreme overcorrection. I did the same thing when i came out. He wears plaid, henleys, and jeans under big leather and army jackets. The man wears layers like he’s hiding three tits under there.

For the sex argument, all i have to say is toys (or the aforementioned holy bottom surgery). If Dean wants to fuck someone he can wear a strap on. Its not that difficult. We never see him naked below the waist so he could be wearing one, you dont know. Also does it matter what his genitals really look like? No. We never see them so its all just speculation.

I know dean isnt trans in canon because he’s fathered a child (Emma in season 7) and apparently the explanation of magic doesn’t explain how that can be possible between two biological women (eggs and uteruses).

Anyway. There are plenty of reasons that Dean can be trans. Sorry this was so long. I posted something similar to this and someone thought i was being transphobic i guess? So i wanted to try again with the added preface of “this is my opinion/headcanon and you dont have to think I’m right” to hopefully deter people from saying I’m being insensitive.

So yeah trans Dean, i love it and i wish the cw or any tv network had the guts to actually do that, even if the actor is cis, i dont care i just want a trans character. Thank you and good night

Some character boards for Stanford Era Au Claire and Dean

Transmasc Dean in which Cas made him amab when he raised him from perdition but Cas got scolded in heaven because Dean was "supposed" to be afab.

“You can run, but you can’t hideeeeee!” The monster chasing you calls out. But the monster doesn’t know that you are a marathon runner and so you just keep on running.

damn ok lake superior

A fawn curled up beside a fake deer which is used for target practice. 

Aziraphale: *being threatened by n@zis*

Aziraphale: "Well thats not very sporting.

Aziraphale: *gets betrayed by Rose Montgomery*

Aziraphale: "You can't kill me! There'll be paperwork!"

Crowley: *not so saunters in*

Crowley: "Sorry, consecrated ground."

Crowley: *dances on her feet while he saves Aziraphale*

@neil-gaiman

Question gender? I thought that was a given? Was it not a given?

favorite buttons with no context

Crowley: Walls have ears. Well, not walls. Trees have ears. Ducks have ears... do ducks have ears?

Crowley: *looks quickly at a duck*

Crowley: Must do. Thats how they hear other ducks.

@neil-gaiman

biker Barty asking med student Evan to hold his hand while they take his blood for tests

James : I’m quick at math. Sirius: Ok, what’s 38 times 76? James : 24. Sirius: That wasn’t even close. James : But it was quick.

oh my god Dean you’re so fucking stupid

people who write on their phones (word mobile, gdocs app, scrivener mobile, notesapp, etc) how does it feel to be taunting god every single day

𝐨𝐡, 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲

𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐮𝐬 𝐥𝐮𝐩𝐢𝐧 𝐱 𝐟!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

⭒⭒⭒

𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐛𝐥𝐮𝐫𝐛 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐮𝐬' 𝐛𝐢𝐠 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝.

𝟖𝟏𝟕 - masterlist

⭒⭒⭒

"I want one." I'd said, without even thinking.

Harry had just started to crawl. Lily was hovering over him rather nervously, wand at the ready to fix any bumps or bruises whilst James (who was very frazzled, but also very chuffed for his son) tried to figure out how to work the 'bloody muggle photo-thingy'.

Inside the Potter's living room, filled with laughter and joy, and so so much love for each other (and Baby Harry) it was all too easy to forget about the war. It was easy to forget the identifying questions James had made us answer on arrival, or the incantation we'd had to perform just to be able to see James and Lily's home. It was easy to forget the missions Sirius and Remus were being sent on, stretching out over weeks and days, or the missing muggles, witches and wizards, the rising death toll, the insistent nagging from The Dark Lord to change allegiances and join him.

On a lazy Sunday, where Lily would make soup and crusty rolls for lunch, and a roast for tea, where James and Sirius would spend hours transforming between their anamagi to amuse Baby Harry and Remus would read aloud whilst Peter and I played chess, it was easy to forget everything wrong with the world. It was so easy to just exist.

Remus looked up over the cover of his book and then down at his nephew, who was now sitting atop Padfoot, his father laughing maniacally whilst Lily shooed them out of the kitchen. He smiled an odd sort of smile, like he hadn't expected the words to come out of my mouth at all. Ever. Honestly, neither had I. Having children had been the last thing on my mind, in that time. But seeing the joy that Harry had brought to our friends, the life that Lily and James were building for him - it inspired me.

"Well," Remus mused, sitting his book down on the coffee table - careful to mind the cups of scattered tea everywhere - "I'll distract Lily. You could take Prongs in a duel. Easy."

His smile was wicked, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he came from the single arm chair to the sofa I was stretched across. He lifted my legs, sat them back on his lap, arm stretched along the back of the sofa behind me. I rolled my eyes at him, pouting, "You know fine well that's not what I meant, Lupin."

Remus laughed. A rare laugh, these days. My heart melted. He looked so much like the boy I'd fallen in love with all those years ago - the quiet (not at all quiet), studious, mysterious Remus Lupin. Little had I known he was the true mastermind to all 'Marauder' pranks, while remaining studious and mysterious, but also being the biggest, most sarcastic loud mouth I'd ever met. I had been in way too deep ever since.

"I know, love, I know." He patted my shin gently, lovingly.

He was thinking, behind those big, hazel eyes. I knew Remus inside and out, the moral debate was eating him alive. The self doubt, the inner fear he held of himself, of the wolf.

"I guess I never much thought of us having children. Of you wanting to have them, really, with me..." Remus looked pitiful, lost in thought, I frowned.

"Why wouldn't I want to have children with you? They'd be the prettiest, smartest, funniest babies to ever walk the Earth." I said confidently.

This earned me another laugh. Then, a shrug, "I dunno," Remus scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, "The wolf, I guess. It's not really one hundred percent that the kid wouldn't be."

I knew the possibility. But I also knew the progress that was being made in the ways of Lycanthropy. I knew how hard it had been for Remus, growing up. I knew he was cast aside, an afterthought, that people held prejudice against 'his kind', but I'd only ever loved him more for the strong man it had turned him into.

Not everyone was like this, though.

"I know the risks. I know you'll have put a lot more thought into it than me. A conversation for another time, maybe, but I'd like you to know," My hands reached for his face, guiding him to meet my eyes, "It would never be the wolf that put me off having children with you, Remus."

Remus smiled, a genuine smile and leaned forward to place his lips on mine. I settled back into the sofa, watched as Remus picked up his book, settling over my shins to read it.

"Your massive head..." I blew a whistle, "Now that might put me off."

Sirius cackled from the kitchen. Remus blew a raspberry and Harry copied him.

u ever in such a bad mood u feel urself turning evil?

Naming the female razor brand Venus is so personally offensive to me....you think Venus the goddess of love and sex and beauty was shaving her PUSSY? Go kill yourself

“sync your contacts” i’d rather be waterboarded to death actually tysm tho

𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬

remus lupin x f!reader

smut. p in v. creampie. unprotected sex. fingering. sex with a friend. language. 18+ content minors DNI.

3.2k - masterlist

summary - reader can't sleep. remus helps out. not with warm milk, though.

i'm supposed to be working on an assignment for college. but remus lupin is taking up space in my brain. so, enjoy :)

-

The air feels stuffy, too hot against your slick skin.

You blow a breath out in frustration, a piece of hair stuck to your forehead refusing to budge and you groan. The house is silent apart from the droning on of the electronic device between your legs that does little to abate the feeling clawing at your insides and it only makes you more frustrated. The lights in your bedroom are turned off, the world outside asleep. Everyone apart from you. You’ve spent two hours tossing and turning, and a further half hour trying to cure the ache between your legs.

It’s futile. You’ve tried everything. Every speed your overly expensive vibrator has to offer, every position, you even got out the glittery pink dildo Marlene got you for Secret Santa the previous year, leaving it out to the side after coming to the heart-breaking decision that it simply wasn’t big enough.

You feel like nothing will be big enough. Nothing feels right, nothing feels good enough, nothing is even close to tipping you over the edge. You shift, further to the left, and whine again, pressing the vibrator to a higher speed. It moves as you press the button, and the feeling of closeness is gone just like that. You growl, pushing the blankets off in a fit of rage and choose to stare at the ceiling in defeat. It’s not going to happen. You should just accept that. But you’re worked up, horny, and too fucking clammy.

The flat is quiet. Remus is asleep – the only reason you’re so nonchalant about the noise of your vibrator still buzzing against the mattress next to you, taunting you. You reach to turn it off, sitting up and putting your hair into a makeshift bun. You stare with narrowed eyes at the shadowed outline of the sparkly pink atrocity of a Secret Santa gift. It was given as a joke to make you blush. Your friends like to tease you for your innocence. It’s not something you ever would have bought for yourself. You’d blushed furiously and everyone laughed. It was addictive for the first few weeks, being able to explore your own pleasure. But now. Now, it doesn’t feel enough. Doesn’t feel as good. As big. As filling.

It’s a quick thought, a fleeting thought. A memory that makes your cheeks flush and your eyes close in embarrassment. Remus, fresh out of the shower, two seconds away from closing the towel around his waist. He hadn’t locked the door. It was an accident. You hadn’t meant to walk in on him. You’d been half asleep, bursting for a pee, and he hadn’t locked the door. Even worse, you hadn’t meant to look. But he was wide eyed and frozen, and your fight or flight had you trying to assess every part of the situation. And his nakedness was a large part of the situation.

You’re not proud of it. But you’d looked. And you liked what you saw.

And now.

Well, now, you can’t stop thinking about it. About Remus. Kind Remus who makes you tea on cold mornings, puts your pyjamas in the dryer for you when you get out of the shower, who cooks you dinner and leaves it in the oven when you work the late shift at the café down the road. He’s kind and attentive and always there to lend a helping hand. You feel silly as you clamber off your bed, knowing there’s a high likelihood that Remus will tell you you’ve taken his kindness to its boundaries.

Your feet pad quietly down the hallway of your shared flat. The under counter lights in the open plan kitchen at the end of the hall illuminate the space enough to see. Remus’ door is closed, but you twist the handle and push, wincing when it lets out an annoying squeal. Remus rouses at the sound, squinting sleepily at you as he turns. He lets out a breath, sits up on his elbow and pulls back his blanket to offer you the space beside him.

It’s not the first time you’ve climbed into bed with Remus, but you still shift nervously on your feet, biting at your lip.

“You okay, love?” Remus asks, voice deep and croaky.

It makes you flustered in your reply. Voice quiet, unsure, “Can’t sleep.”

Remus nods, reiterates pulling back the blanket to make room for you. You cross one leg over the other in front of you, fiddling with the metal daisy chain ring on your middle finger. Remus got you it when you got into university last year. It’s your favourite piece of jewellery you own, overpriced tennis bracelet from your overcompensating parents be damned. He catches your nervous tic and his eyes narrow, his head tilts, messy hair flopping sideways with the movement. There’s a slight stubble on his chin from running late this morning and skipping his daily shave and he’s sans pyjama top, having clearly also felt the heat.

He sits up fully and the blanket pools around his waist. His skin glows in the low light of the moon through the window beside his bed. He’s beautiful. This you’ve always known. Now, it’s tenfold because you’ve seen all of him. And all of him is what you want, in this moment. Your face is flames as you edge closer until you’re hovering beside his bed.

“Have you tried warm milk?” Remus asks, his voice almost teasing.

“Don’t want warm milk.” You pout.

There’s something about the way he’s looking at you, trying to sus you out. He knows. He must know something. You’re hardly being subtle. Remus’ lips twitch in a smile when you squeeze your legs together in front of you, again, lip between your teeth, eyes watery.

“What do you want?” He asks, voice breathy.

He wants you to say it. But you can’t. You won’t.

“Rem, please,” You whine, “I’ve tried everything.”

His hand reaches for yours, pulls you until you’re straddling him. His lips are a centimetre from yours, hot breath fanning out over your mouth. You press down hard against him, lips pouted. He doesn’t let up, just raises his eyebrows. A question. What have you tried?

“I couldn’t get the angle right with my vibrator,” You whisper, cheeks bright red and warm to the touch, where Remus’ thumb is gently rubbing back and forth, fingers cupping your wobbling jaw, “Then the thingy Marlene got me wasn’t-“ You huff.

Remus chuckles softly, endearingly.

“It wasn’t enough.”

Remus smiles, “You want my help?”

You nod eagerly, “Please, Rem.”

He’s on you in a second. Lips and tongue and teeth, so hot and heavy it knocks the breath from you. His hands fist the thin material of your shorts, at your waist and you bend into him, hands running up his sides, over his shoulders, into the hair at the nape of his neck. He’s hard beneath the flannel of his pyjama bottoms. You can feel it against the crease of your thigh. It makes you whine into his mouth, shifting until you’re perfectly aligned over him. His grip focusses on your arse cheeks when you grind down, a bruising grip that you relish in.

His hands push you forward, you pull yourself back. His lips leave yours, trailing along your jaw, down your neck. Your head tilts back, panting for breath, lost in the pleasure. Your stomach tightens the harder his grip gets, the harder you press down, the faster you move. You feel like a seedy teenager, dry humping yourself against him. Remus’ teeth nip at your collarbone, only to soothe over it with his tongue. You whine again, making your impatience known, but Remus doesn’t speed up.

He looks up, lips mouthing at the underside of your chin until you tilt your head back up to look at him. His pupils are blown, eyes hooded, lips curved into a sinful smirk.

“So needy.” He mumbles into your lips.

You push down harder in response. Remus grabs your hips, stills you. You pout, doe eyes watery. Remus tuts, shakes his head, “You want my help, we do it my way.”

He shifts until you’re lying beneath him, legs hiked up around his waist. He doesn’t waste time in stripping you. Your shirt, then your shorts, your panties following. He throws them across the room, and they fall into the shadows of his darkened room. You’re glad they’re gone. Your body feels like it’s burning up under his touch, featherlight as he traces the goosebumps across your skin. He presses kisses in the wake of his fingertips, to your collarbones, your chest, the tops of your breasts, your stomach, navel.

His lips are warm, wet, pressing kisses to the insides of your thighs. You’re high strung, keening, and needy. He comes back to face level, and you grumble, deep in your throat. So close. He was so close to where you need him. He’s smug. You’re about to protest when he slides a finger into you. Your mouth opens, head pushing back into the pillow. His fingers are long, but slender, and it’s not long before he adds another. Your back arches, eyes closing. The minute you close your eyes, Remus stops. You look up, furious, to find him smirking something evil down at you.

“Eyes on me, pretty girl.” He whispers, nose bumping yours.

You comply. Remus resumes, fingers pumping steadily in and out. When he’s knuckle deep, he curls them and your body jerks in response. It’s too much and not enough, a dizzying euphoria of Remus’ casual confidence and his skilful fingers. His thumb brushes your clit gently, the bundle of nerves swollen and begging for attention. You moan his name, thighs squeezing against his hips where they’re splayed open. It urges him on, he whispers quiet encouragements – good girl, that’s it sweetheart, you’re so wet for me – and you continue to writhe beneath him.

“Rem,” You gasp, hand encircling the wrist that’s pumping in and out of you, “Need you.”

“Soon,” He promises softly, lips pressing to the swell of your breast, teeth lightly nipping at the skin there, “Want you to come on my fingers first.”

His thumb moves in tighter circles, his fingers curl deeper, move faster. He adds a third, the stretch burns but in the best way. Your jaw opens on its own accord, a string of moans emitting from your throat, and you arch into Remus. His eyes meet yours, blazing with lust.

“C’mon, baby,” He urges, voice sinfully deep, demanding. “Come for me.”

You clench around his fingers, and he groans as you gush around his hand, voice high pitched, your grip on his shoulders vice like. He’s surprised you don’t snap in two with how high your back arches. His fingers pump you through the rush in your veins, his quiet reassurances blacked out by the sound of blood rushing to your ears. Your head spins and you see white as the orgasm you’ve been chasing for what must be hours by now crashes over you. You babble nonsense, buck against Remus’ fingers, mouth open, eyes wide, back arched and head pushed violently into the pillow beneath you.

Remus hovers over you when your breathing evens, eye’s a little less clouded, and his usual concerned look on his face. You smile dopily up at him, eyes bright.

“Good?” He asks.

It’s a double ended question – you good? Was that good?

You nod.

“More.” You whine, attempting to pull him closer with your legs around his waist.

“You’re insatiable.” He laughs lightly, head bending down to peck your smiling lips gently.

You nod in agreement, head tilted as you look up at him, “I’m blaming you.”

“Of course.” Remus nods, placating you.

He shimmies his pyjamas off, kicks them off the end of the bed, and comes back to crowd your space, again. Hard, he’s much bigger than you saw from Shower-Gate. Your mouth waters as his hand wraps around his dick, pumping a few times before looking back to you. His face softens when he notices your lip trapped between your teeth.

“Baby?” He questions and you soften.

“That’s,” You sigh, embarrassed, “That’s not going to fit, Rem.”

Remus laughs, the apples of his cheeks rounding out, his teeth appearing from behind his lips. His head hangs over your shoulder and you hide in his hair, mortified. The hand that isn’t supporting his weight runs softly up and down your thigh. You groan to show your mortification, heels digging into Remus’ tail bone to try kill his laughter.

“Rem,” You protest, letting a chuckle of your own slip.

Remus looks up, eyes soft, lips pressed together to stop his laughter, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, pretty girl. I’m not laughing at you. No one’s ever said that before, you just caught me by surprise.”

You giggle, squeezing his waist with your thighs, “They’ve definitely thought it.”

Remus shakes his head, “We don’t have to.”

It’s your turn to shake your head, “I want to. I really want to.”

He smiles, leans in to kiss you. When he pulls away to pump himself again, you let out a low breath. He brushes the tip against your folds, wet and puffy, a couple times before he pushes in slowly. He groans, you moan. You’re tight, fitting around him like perfection. He goes slow until he’s buried to the hilt. You allow yourself to get used to the feeling, whimpering softly when his thumb comes to circle your clit again, working you up.

“That’s it, baby,” He speaks softly, so softly, and you moan.

He pulls back, pushes back in. Takes it slow. Allows you to adjust.

But it’s not enough. You need more. You need the raw pent-up aggression you’ve seen Remus show pervs at bars when they touch you inappropriately. You need angry Remus, who threw a book at the mantle place when your parents missed another birthday. You need the Remus who tries so hard to hide the aggressive side of him but can never fully rid himself of his primal urges, of that white hot fury and determination.

“More,” You breathe, “Faster. Harder. I need more, Rem. Please.”

You’re babbling, begging. But Remus complies. He snaps his hips forward and you all but scream. He groans, breath hot and heavy against your neck. He’s attentive, hips attacking your pelvis. His wooden headboard slams against the wall, your hand reaching up to hold on and stop you from sliding further up the bed. An arm wraps around your waist, pulling you up, closer to him. He feels deeper at the new angle, hips battering into yours. He’s relentless, hitting every spot you need.

You’re babbling nonsense, but so is Remus. Words of encouragement, words that tell you how good you’re taking all of him, how tight you are, how perfect you are. You’re meeting his every thrust, hips grinding against him, the stubble creating friction that tightens the coil in your stomach.

Remus attaches his lips to your shoulder, biting down as he pounds harder against you. You say his name like a mantra, unable to think of anything other than the feeling of him, all over, everywhere, filling, stretching, pounding.

“Rem,” You whine – so close. So, so close – “Come in me.”

Remus’ head snaps up, pupils blown, mouth hung open. He doesn’t slow down, doesn’t falter, “What?”

“Pill. Just,” You gasp when he hits that spot, “Come in me. Please. Wanna feel it.”

Remus moans. Dirty and deep. He fucking moans.

He’s relentless, sweat dripping from his forehead, he releases your waist, hikes your thigh up over his shoulder, you scream. He urges you, tells you sweet things, details how he’s going to fill you up, bites the skin of your calf. His other hand reaches down, draws tight circles that have you seeing stars. You scream his name, loud enough for the entire street to hear, using the leverage on his shoulder to lift your lower back off the bed.

The feeling is dizzying, all consuming. It’s feverish, frantic, a wild chase to the end.

You clench, he hits the right spot, the sting of his teeth on your calf emulates up your leg, the stomach muscles holding you up clench, and he calls you baby, all at the right time. You see white. It feels like your entire body explodes, lights on fire, crashes and burns. You convulse, twitching and screaming, broken words and moans of his names, clenched vice-like around him.

You’re begging. Begging him to follow, to finish in you, even in your pleasure.

You’re still floating, but coherent enough, when Remus grows sloppy, uncoordinated, drops your leg from his shoulder, falls forward, hands at your sides to hold himself up. He jerks, groans, his head falls into your shoulder, and you whine, happily, dopily, when you feel the white-hot spurts of his come against your walls.

He’s breathing heavily, both your bodies slicked with sweat. He drops his weight onto you, and you welcome him happily. Your legs wrap around his lower back, you both wince with the movement. You can feel the slickness between you both, the way he’s dripping out of you. But you’re comfortable, lips pressed to his damp hair. You trace shapes on his back until he comes to, pushing up to press his lips to yours.

The clock on his nightstand reads four in the morning.

He gets up to leave and you whine, “Don’t go.”

Remus chuckles, “Just going to get a warm cloth. Be back.”

You allow him that, grateful he had the idea. You hear him running the tap in the bathroom and he returns with a warm cloth. He’s gentle when he wipes you clear. You wince and flinch, blushing when Remus presses gentle kisses to your thighs as he works. He whispers softly between kisses how pretty you are, how well you did.

He discards the cloth in the wash basket by his door and returns to the bed.

He groans as he settles, holding his arm out for you to fall into him. You do so, swinging a leg over his thighs. It’s then that you realise you’re both still very naked, and your shyness returns. Remus traces shapes on your arm, tucking his head over yours, lips to the crown of your head.

“I can hear your cute little brain running laps, you know.” Remus teases.

You roll your eyes, push your face further into his neck.

“I just came to you in the middle of the night for sex,” the post coital dread sets in tenfold, despite feeling the most relaxed you’ve felt in weeks, “I’m so sorry, Remus.”

You feel Remus shrug, “Don’t fret, sweetheart. I was more than happy to oblige.”

“But-“

“Get some rest, honey. We can talk more tomorrow.” He assures you, pulling the blanket further up your naked bodies.

You concede, pressing a kiss to the underside of his jaw, the stubble tickling your lips, “Okay.”

He pulls you closer, settles in. You allow sleep to wash over you, let the relaxation in your bones pull you under. It’s a dreamless sleep, a comfortable sleep, wrapped in Remus’ arms.

Halloween Part. 1 ♡♡♡

Reblog if you’ve made amazing friends online and are grateful for their existence

The Marauders playing Two Truths and a Lie:

James: Okay, erm...my first pet was a fish named 'Fish.' I'm an Aries. And...I've only kissed one of the Black brothers.

Sirius, scoffing: Obviously it's the first pet. Who names a fish, 'Fish'?

Peter: Nah, mate, I remember James's fifth birthday. Fish was a legend.

Sirius, not comprehending: But Prongs...you are an Aries.

James:

Sirius: So that just leaves...

James:

Peter:

Remus:

Sirius: What the fuck, Potter?

James: Sorry, Sirius, I just--

Remus: Wait! You and Sirius kissed?

Peter: Well....I have to go now.

Just saw someone say Sam and Dean Winchester are the American wolfstar and I don’t think I’ve ever seen a more wrong take, not only are they BROTHERS but Dean and Cas are literally right there!! Cas being Remus because they’re both supernatural creatures (Castiel being an angel and Remus being a werewolf) and Dean being Sirius because they’re both classic rock loving, leather jacket wearing bisexuals.

you promise?

Gives me Aziraphale/Crowley relationship vibes