When the Levee Breaks
pairing: Remus Lupin x reader
tags / warnings: friends to lovers fluff then smut, mutual pining, smoking weed (be responsible irl), high sex, explicit descriptions of oral (f receiving), fem!reader
NSFW notes: A LARGE PORTION OF THIS FIC IS NOT SUITABLE FOR MINORS; DO NOT READ IT IF IT ISN'T APPROPRIATE FOR YOU! HOWEVER, because such a long portion (like 2/3) has no sexual material (except for the implication at the very beginning), i have clearly marked where it becomes NSFW in case any age-appropriate readers want to read only up to that point (i know some people just want fluff not smut even if they're of age, and that's so chill); i will say there is drug use before then, so still adult material, but fluffy around that;
please please be responsible for your content consumption
random notes: set in the late 70's / early 80's, following canon of when the marauders would've met but the rest of the world building (e.g. au) left ambiguous
title inspired by a song on one of the albums mentioned
idk why this turned out similar to The Prettiest Star with Sirius Black, but i guess my fantasy is just to listen to music intensely with someone then fuck lovingly lol
word count: 6.4k
hope you enjoy! thank you if you read it! 🫶
You watch as his long fingers, practiced and adept, roll the spliff. You liked this part. You could stare at his hands under the guise of watching the rolling. Remus didn’t have to know how far from pot your mind wandered when you did. He didn’t have to know it made you wonder every time what else he could do with this fingers. Imagine how they would feel on you. In you.
At the thought, you squirm where you’re seated on his settee next to him. He chuckles in a low tone.
“Antsy?”
“No.”
He can tell you’re lying. You can tell he can tell. But you don’t care. As long as he can’t tell why you’re lying, it doesn’t matter, and you can keep wriggling.
“Whatever you say, jitterbug.”
Your wringing hands catch his attention, and his eyes fix on them even as his hands continue their work.
“Next time, you’re rolling it,” he says through a smile. “There’d be nothing left to smoke by the time you finished shaking it everywhere,” he laughs, too amused with himself, giggling as if he were already high.
“Remus?” you start, and he shakes his head and chuckles, loving how you get when he teases you.
“What?” he smiles, eyebrows shooting up at you, both a welcome and a challenge for you to say whatever you’re about to.
“Can you remind me who provided this wonderful gift on this wonderful afternoon?” You shake the baggy you brought to his flat not 15 minutes ago.
He laughs, now nodding, and concedes, “You’re right, sunshine. I should be so grateful.”
Remus brings the spliff to his mouth to lick the edge of the paper, and your retort gets caught in your throat as you fixate on his tongue.
A bit too late, a bit too quiet for your usual banter, you say, “You should be, Moons. I can still take it home and smoke by myself.”
“Oh now I’ve rolled it for you, yeah? Didn’t realize you were just here for my services. Should’ve known you were just pretending to love me till you got what you wanted.” He holds up his finished work — a beauty really — in front of you as he finishes his joke. You hum affirmatively, taking it from him and looking it over.
You inspect it exaggeratedly and with a theatrical sense of casual satisfaction tell him, “Hm, not bad. I was starting to regret the long con, but I think this was worth it.”
He’s giggling as he gets up, bumping his body against yours before he does, going toward his record collection. He walks over lazily, unhurriedly, his bare feet quiet on the floor, his hand coming up to mess with his hair. His loose, comfy clothes do a lot to hide the muscles you know are lean but strong underneath.
“Come help me choose,” he says over his shoulder as he falls to one knee to scan a lower shelf. Almost a whole wall of his small apartment is covered in shelves, boxes, stacks of records. It looks a mess, but it’s actually meticulously organized by release date.
You follow him, come up just behind him. You crouch, too, not all the way down like him. You lean on him, resting your head atop his, bringing your arms around his shoulders and neck.
He moans casually, seeming happy, and grabs your arms where they fall across his chest.
“Oh, Rem. You should know…”
“Hm?” he asks, looking up at you. You look down at him, seeing his warm smile upside down.
“This is the real reason I’ve pretended to be your friend all these years,” you fake seriousness as you nod toward the records. Remus rolls his eyes, but his smile stretches further across his lovely face. It pulls on a long scar that runs down his cheek.
“And may I ask how you knew when we were eleven that one day I would own such an epic collection?”
“Easy. You wore a Led Zeppelin t-shirt one of the first days we knew each other.”
He’s taken aback by your giving an actual answer.
“Did I really?”
“Yeah,” you shrug, smiling down at him. The warmth of reminiscing about those childhood years softening you.
“I think I remember that shirt,” he smiles nostalgically. “How do you remember that?” He twists in your embrace, coming to sit on the floor and pulling you with him. You’re sitting close to each other, and he’s watching you, rapt.
“I don’t know,” you shrug. “I remember being so nervous and lonely at the beginning. Wanting to make friends. And you seemed nice, so I noticed you.” You shrug again, look down for a moment, not wanting to express embarrassment at a more honest recollection: you had a crush on him immediately, even back then, even before you were really sure what it was you were feeling — that came with the years that followed. “The day you wore that shirt, it was like something familiar I could latch onto. Someone who liked something I liked.” Remus is smiling adoringly at you. Listening as intently as he is, looking as giddy, he looks like a child at the greatest story time ever from his seat on the floor.
“I even tried to talk to you about it,” you confess, cringing teasingly at yourself.
“Yeah?” He sits up straighter like a puppy hearing someone at the door.
“Yeah,” you exhale.
“I don’t remember that happening.”
“That’s because it didn’t,” you laugh. “I said tried to talk to you. I got too nervous and ran to hide before I could get the words out.”
He’s shaking his head in disbelief, his smile still plastered on his face.
“I can’t believe I hadn’t noticed you yet.” Remus looks especially contemplative for a moment then hums, biting his lower lip. “It’s crazy. Trying to think of my life before you is like remembering a blank canvas.”
Your cheeks warm and so does your heart.
You’re smiling a beaming smile at him but say, “There wasn’t much to notice. I was pretty quiet. And besides, your attention probably couldn’t handle a single thing more given you were getting to know Sirius and James.” He laughs lightly at the good memories but shakes his head at you a little more pronouncedly.
“I’m sure there was a lot to notice. I was just an idiot. And quiet, too. By comparison to that lot anyway. They spoke enough for the three of us. I probably would’ve wimped out if I’d tried to talk to a pretty girl like you back then.” The edges of his entrancing brown eyes crinkled from his smile. “I mean… to be honest… I’d get nervous for a while, talking to you at first.”
“You didn’t,” you tease but secretly really want to hear more.
“I did, yeah. Of course I did,” he laughs at himself. “I had a big crush on you. James and Sirius wouldn’t let me live it down for ages.”
You’re shocked at this news. And maybe your face shows it. What it doesn’t show is how desperately your mind is racing, questioning: “Wait, could things have been otherwise? Did he actually like me as more than a friend at some point? Did I ruin it somehow?”
Remus tenses slightly, his smile no longer reaching his eyes, which are attentive at your reaction.
“That was a long time ago,” he jokes to fill the silence that is beginning to stretch too long, his tone awkward.
“What happened?” you whisper, unable to help it.
He takes a second to answer, like he doesn’t know what to say. He’s searching your face, and you’re not sure how much he can read there.
He shrugs. His face gives an “I don’t know” scowl. He’s trying to escape answering, but you don’t let him.
“Remus,” you laugh and shove him playfully.
“I don’t know,” he giggles. “I don’t know. Then I got to know you I guess. And we became friends.”
You give a scoffy laugh. You know he probably didn’t mean it that way, but your stomach sinks at the idea that getting to know you would remedy him of his crush. You’re staring at the floor when his voice breaks you out of your thoughts.
“Hey, you okay?” He’s trying to keep the playful atmosphere, but you hear true concern in his tone. “Did I say something I shouldn’t’ve?”
You want to say “yes,” but you wouldn’t be able to tell him which part. So, you don’t say anything.
“I didn’t think you’d mind, after all these years,” he says more softly.
“No, Rem. Of course I don’t mind.” You shake your head as if dismissing the idea, attempting a laugh that still comes out strained. “I was just surprised is all.”
He’s watching you, nodding subtlety, worrying his lower lip between his teeth.
“Let’s choose something, yeah?” you nod next to you toward the wall, desperate to redirect attention.
“Yeah, yeah, ‘course.” Remus turns toward the records, skimming across his stacks. A thought catches him, and he moves purposefully toward a different shelf.
“What are you thinking?” you notice, your interest piqued.
“1971,” he says as if it’s an answer. It is to you.
1971: the year you met.
He pulls out a well-worn record, and the strain on your smile finally dissipates to easy delight. You come stand next to him, and he hands it to you.
“Do you remember how much we listened to that then?” he asks.
“How could I forget,” you smile, your fingers tracing the cover of Led Zeppelin IV.
It came out November 1971, but neither of you could get it till at least a month later, during Christmas break from school. When you finally did, the two of you listened to it nonstop. You absolutely loved the album, but you knew you listened to it that much because it was an easy excuse to hang out with Remus. You’d been listening to music together, often just the two of you, ever since.
“Fuck, I remember we’d listen to it in my room,” Remus reminisces. “And even Sirius, the biggest Zeppelin fan of us all, couldn’t take it anymore,” he laughs. “He’d turn it off when he found us listening to it, scolding us for ‘abusing a sacred thing.’”
“Yeah, I remember.”
“Oh, look at this,” Remus startles you, excited. He pulls another record off the same shelf.
“This is too perfect,” he giggles. “I didn’t remember this came out then,” he muses, looking it over. “Probably didn’t get my hands on it till much later, I guess. But it’s like it was made for us. For you.” He hands you Just As I Am by Bill Withers, but you still don’t get what he’s saying. He sees your confused look and chuckles. “Second track,” he hints. Your eyes land on “Ain’t No Sunshine.”
“Sunshine”: Remus’s nickname for you for years. You had Sirius to thank for it actually. He’d said you and Remus were like yin and yang. And since you all already called him “Moony,” you had to be “Sunny.” The other three of you cringed at the sound of that, so he tried “sunshine” instead, conceding it was close enough, and it stuck. Over the years, Sirius and James used it less and less, Remus more and more.
“It’s your song,” Remus urges, knocking his shoulder against yours. “There literally can’t be sunshine when you’re gone because you are sunshine.” He sounds too excited, and it’s adorable.
“You sound like Sirius saying he’s serious,” you tease. He just laughs and takes the record back.
“Whatever, grumpy. It’s an epic song, and you know it, and now it’s yours, and I don’t care if that’s cheesy.”
“I love it,” escapes you, teasing tone gone. His eyes snap to yours, and he looks at you warmly.
“Alright, sunshine,” he whispers. A beat. “Wanna listen to it?” he asks, voice almost normal again. You nod gladly then go back to the sofa as he sets it up.
Remus soon comes back and joins you. He grabs the spliff from between stacks of snacks you’d prepared for the afternoon then looks over at you.
“Ready, sunshine?”
“Mhhm.”
“You do the honours.” He hands it to you and grabs the lighter. Rather than handing that to you too, he lights it for you as it dangles from your parted lips.
You take a long drag, feeling it enter you and welcoming it. You cough lightly as you exhale slowly. You are no novice but are still always a cougher. Remus still always giggles when you do, but it’s never mocking. He has a glass of water ready for you, knowing you well, always looking after you. You trade him the water for the spliff, which he proceeds to hit with equal enthusiasm and less wheezing.
You pass it back and forth for a little while. It’s strong stuff and just three hits in, you feel it engulfing you. The settee feels softer; the music sounds better.
“Ain’t No Sunshine” is playing, and in your dazed state, you’re sure this is going to be the peak of the album even if it doesn’t coincide with the peak of your high. You close your eyes, and you can feel the music on your skin.
Remus chuckles next to you, and your face turns to him.
“You look so stoned right now,” he explains, giddy.
“That’s because I am,” you laugh. Once you start laughing it’s hard to stop; once Remus joins, it’s almost impossible.
You chat easily, observations and jokes from both of you greatly benefitting from the induced assistance. Remus has a revelation about your listening to HI-fi while high. Your mind is blown multiple times at how deep the lyrics are.
“They’re all talkin’ at him, but he doesn’t hear a word they’re sayin’, Moons! Not a word! I should do that,” you tell him as if it’s the most urgent thing in the world. He cracks up. “He’s so right, you know? Gotta keep the sun shining through the pouring rain, you know?”
“Uh-huh, I know, sunshine, I know,” he just laughs at you.
“You have such a nice smile, Moony,” you observe, dazed just as much from the feelings perambulating through your system than the pot doing the same.
“Yeah?” he asks, exaggerating it till he’s all teeth and squinty eyes.
“Yeah,” you laugh. “It looked funny upside down over there,” you remember. “Watch!”
You flip over on the sofa till your feet are up where your neck should rest and your head is dangling off the edge where your knees would normally be. You smile up at him. Remus doubles over laughing with you, bringing his face much closer to yours as he leans into it.
“You’re right. Looks funny,” he tells you much more softly than you expected after his cackling. He watches you intently then brings a hand to your upside down face. He traces your features lightly, and it’s warm and tingly. His long finger travels down your nose, across your eyebrows.
“C’mere,” you whisper to him.
“Where?” he whispers back, his voice a gruff chuckle again.
“Down here!” you whisper-yell.
You pull his shoulder down and start kicking his legs up as he contorts until you get him in the same position as you. You end up side by side, upside-down on the sofa.
Each of you giggles at the other as you steal side glances. Your faces, pulled the wrong way by gravity, softened more than normal by the smoking, look even goofier through your incessant giggles and pointless efforts at holding those back.
You listen, and laugh, to at least a whole song like this. You kick each other’s feet throughout. As one of your kicks brings you closer to Remus, he rolls over to tickle you. You laugh so loud you can’t even hear the record over it.
“Stop, Rem! Stop!” you plead. “I’m already too dizzy.”
He keeps it up a moment but soon takes pity on you and helps move your body the right way around, his strong hands manipulating you easily.
“Alright, dizzy. Enough upside-down,” he says as he fixes your now crazy hair.
You just nod and shift closer to him. You rest your head on his shoulder, and he shuffles to a comfortable height for you, laying his own head on yours.
A primary reason you enjoy getting high with Remus: you both get snuggly. You’re touchy normally, even more than most best friends you’ve seen, but not overly so. When you’re high, it’s overly so. But it somehow doesn’t feel weird. In fact, it feels wonderful.
So, it feels wonderful, not weird, when you absentmindedly reach over for his hand. He gives it to you easily, and you begin caressing it.
“Your skin is so soft, Rem.” You pull his hand closer to you, bringing it close to your face, looking it at like you’ve never seen a hand before. Remus takes the opportunity and quickly grabs at your nose playfully. You giggle at this as he responds to your initial comment.
“In between all the scars maybe.” He sounds matter of fact. There’s a lot less pain in his voice now when he talks about them than when he did in your younger years. You look forward to the day when you hear no pain there at all.
“No, the scars too,” you correct him gently, and you bring your thumb to a scar that runs from the top of his hand up to his forearm. You trace it with reverence, and he shivers at your touch. You know for a fact you’re the only person in the world he allows to touch them. You’re so grateful for his trust, and in this moment, your emotions heightened, your inhibitions lowered, the vibrations of the music moving through you, you feel the need to tell him so.
“Thank you for letting me touch you, Moony.”
Remus has been watching where your hands are connected until now, but at your words, he looks into your eyes. He just looks at you for a long moment. You can’t tell how long, time elongated and indeterminable in your current state, but you’re completely comfortable to sit in it through its entirety, looking straight back at him.
Eventually, the softest grin blossoms on his face. You mirror it.
“Thank you for not being afraid to,” he whispers. You genuinely don’t understand.
“Why would I be?”
“You know what I mean,” he tries to explain. He looks down in shyness but back at you before continuing, “Maybe ‘afraid’ isn’t the right word. Maybe it’s ‘disgusted’ or something…”
His voice is fading to a low whisper by the end, like the louder the words are the truer they’ll be.
Without hesitating, you tell him the truth: “Remus, you’re the least disgusting person in the world. You’re beautiful.” He grimaces like he can’t believe you, so you go on. “You are.”
You turn your body even more toward him, bringing your connected hands to your almost shared lap and bringing your other hand to caress his cheek.
“Silly Moony. You’re so sickeningly beautiful,” you chuckle. Your hand runs up through his hair. “This hair is ridiculous,” you inform him, tousling it. He leans into your touch like a content puppy. “These eyes.” You trace circles around each of them, first skimming his eyebrows then looping around. “They’re the easiest thing in the world to melt into, no pot needed.” You feel them crinkle as they smile into your compliments. “This nose.” You trace it slowly. “These lips,” you say more softly. You feel his gasp when you touch them then feel nothing, his breath held as you trace them. “And your scars,” you say with some finality. You trace a prominent one across his face. He closes his eyes while you do, opens them again when you reach its end. “You beauty isn’t one to be ruined by scars, Remus Lupin. Your beauty is the kind that incorporates the scar and makes that beautiful too.”
Remus squeezes your interlaced hands. Your faces are so close to each other that you could see his eyes moisten as you tell him all this. He closes them before full tears form and moves his face that tiny bit closer till his forehead rests on yours. You nuzzle his nose, and he nuzzles yours back.
“It’s so quiet,” you whisper, breaking the silence — noticing the silence. You didn’t notice when the album ended. Remus just hums in response.
The silence is loaded but peaceful. You don’t want to pressure him into having to say something back after you let yourself get so intense with him. It wasn’t about what he said back; it was about his understanding how you saw him, how you hoped he would see himself.
So, with his eyes still closed, you give the scar that runs across his nose a light kiss, do the same to another larger one across his jaw. Then you bring your head back to his shoulder, snuggling into him to mark the end of the moment, no further pressure necessary.
Remus shifts his body closer, as close to you as possible. He brings his arm around your shoulders without letting go of your hand. He’s holding you close, and your arm crosses your chest to keep your hands intertwined. He kisses the top of your head — new, sweet — then rests his own there again — familiar, warm. Your thumb absentmindedly strokes the back of his hand.
You sit together in the quiet a long while. You close your eyes, breathe Remus in, let his body, his presence envelop you then just bask in it. Everything feels pleasantly heavy — the air, his body where it touches yours.
You settle into him, and without your noticing you’re doing it, your hand on his stills.
“Don’t stop,” he whispers.
“Hm?” you need to ask, unsure what he means. You look up, and he looks down, and your faces are a breadth away from each other.
“I liked how you were touching me,” he whispers. “I always like how you touch me,” he adds like a secret.
He brings his hand that’s not holding yours up to your face. First, the backs of his fingers brush lightly over your cheekbone then he rests his hand there. His fingers hold your jaw; his thumb caresses your cheek. Like you tend to do, you lean into his touch.
His gentle, soothing touch flutters your eyes closed. Your inability to see his face makes it less scary to respond, “I always like how you touch me too.”
“Yeah?” he sighs, his hand holding you a bit more tightly, his thumb coming down to graze your bottom lip. You nod slowly, his hand moving with your head.
“Do you ever think about other ways we could touch each other?” he whispers. Your eyes fly open at this and land on his: lidded, dilated, gazing into your own.
“Do you?”
“I asked you first,” he giggles. “And I’ve already told you a secret today. It’s your turn.”
“What secret?” Your voices are still soft, whispering even though there’s no need for quiet other than your intimacy demanding it.
“About my crush.”
“I had a crush on you too,” you tell him. “So now we’re even.”
“That’s not fair, sunshine,” he smiles. You smile back.
Then, after a moment, like he can’t help it, “You did?”
“Of course I did.”
“What happened?” he echoes.
“Nothing,” you confess.
His eyebrows furrow, unsure how to interpret this. His eyes hold hope and trepidation at once.
“I got to know you… And we became friends…” you continue. His expression falls, and you’re pretty sure you recognize this look as disappointment. But you go on, “And it made me love you all the more.”
You’re ready to read his expression closely this time, but you don’t get the chance before he’s kissing you, before you’re kissing back.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ NSFW beyond this point ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It’s slow. Deliberate. His lips push on yours; his arms bring you closer. His tongue teases your lips, and though they part in response, his tongue traces them rather than push in. You whimper at the feeling of it, and he moans at your reaction. He breathes you in, covers your whole mouth with his, devouring the sound, devouring you.
Now his tongue enters your mouth, exploring, playing with yours. You’re not sure whether his movements are slow or whether they just feel slow because you’re still high. You are sure you have no desire to speed any of it up.
You bring your hands to either side of his face, holding him gently but pulling him to you. He follows easily, and when your chests are almost flush, you trace your hands down to his shirt and pull him on top of you as you lean back, lying down on the sofa.
You keep kissing a deliciously long while then Remus goes beyond your lips, kissing along your jaw leisurely. He mouths at your skin, licking, nipping his way unhurriedly down to your neck. Here he languidly runs his tongue along the length of your neck, kissing your pulse point, nipping behind your ear.
Everywhere he touches is buzzing, and you shiver at the sensation. When his breath blows cold air on your now wet skin, you shiver even harder, your body shuddering against his above you. He chuckles into the crook of your neck and continues.
After another while of his working his way down, he has to pull the neck of your shirt down to reach further. You bare your neck to him, loving his exploratory path.
When his mouth leaves your skin for the first time in several minutes, your impulse is to immediately pull him back to you.
“Let’s take this off,” he whispers sedately, gruffly, tugging at your top.
You pull it off and don’t waste time unclasping and sliding your bra off as well. Remus looks at you, dopey and delighted, but without further ado, pushes your chest so that you lie back again. His hand stays on you and begins lazily kneading your breast as he brings his mouth back to you.
He kisses the base of your neck and continues his previous ministrations across your collarbones. He seems to be on a mission to trace the entire surface area of your skin with his wandering mouth, and you have every intention of letting him and enjoying every long second of it.
As he makes his languorous way down your sternum, you arch your back, pushing up into him, and bring your hands to his messy hair, holding him close. You scratch and tug, needing somewhere to release some energy, every part of you he’s touched left humming warm and electric. He groans into your chest, and you’re certain you feel the vibrations move through your skin, across your chest cavity, and into your heart, where they ricochet within it, making it beat faster.
“Remus,” you whine adoringly. He hums into your skin again in response and speeds up his southward trajectory just the slightest bit.
His face comes between your breasts, and he runs his teeth down the valley, then licks his tongue up the same path. You shake a little, and his hand squeezes your breast tighter. The other one he mouths across until his tongue traces a slow, wet circle around your nipple. This shoots a hot, jolting current straight from where his mouth is connected to you down to between your legs.
He’s gentle for a while, moving back and forth between your tits, often agonizingly slowly, his hands kneading at your chest all the while. Without your expecting it, though, he bites one of your hard, sensitive nipples and tugs lightly. You squeal and push your chest into his mouth. He keeps going, switching as he fancies between rough and tender.
At a bite of the side of your breast, you rut up into him, and the movement has you feeling how wet you are. You’ve never been this wet before before direct stimulation.
Remus holds your hips down to the sofa but moves from your chest to your stomach. His roaming mouth proceeds at its perfect, maddening pace. It meanders to your ribs, down your sides, not following a straight path down.
Once he eventually reaches the threshold of your pants, he looks up at you.
Remus looks higher than you’ve ever seen him before. He looks elated, in awe.
“I want to spend hours and hours on your body like this,” he tells you, nuzzling his face into your lower stomach, kissing it as he detaches from you.
“Remus,” you whimper, running your hand into his hair and inadvertently thrusting your hips up. He chuckles, still sounding high, but his voice is as low as you’ve ever heard it.
He takes your trousers and underwear off in one efficient but slow tug. He pulls his shirt off much faster, and you touch all his skin you can reach before he’s repositioning himself.
Your thighs feel cold now uncovered, but it’s nothing compared to the sensation of fresh air on your soaking cunt. As you adjust your body, you feel a thick wetness drip from your entrance down to where your arse meets the sofa. You feel the coldness of that wetness even more as Remus pushes your legs further apart to position himself between them.
You’re completely sure you’re wetter than you’ve ever been before, but you’re not sure if you could possibly be as wet as you feel, thinking the high could be heightening your sensation of it. You’re worried it’s too much, worried you’ll put Remus off.
“I can clean up a little if —“ you start, but you’re cut off by Remus diving in, running his flat tongue slowly, firmly up from the base of your puddle up to your pubic bone. A strangled, prolonged gasp functions as the end of your sentence.
When Remus licks you again, your thighs shake on either side of his head. You feel him laugh into your cunt, and this time you imagine the vibrations shooting all the way up your body, following the chaotic roadmap his mouth left lingering across it.
Remus pulls back from you and rests his chin on your pubic bone, looking up at you.
He informs you simply, “You taste delicious, darling.” He looks drunk on it.
“Everything tastes better when you’re high,” you tease.
“Then I’m really going to enjoy this,” he smiles. “But I’m pretty sure you’ll get me high just by letting me do this other times.”
“Other times?”
“Well, yeah…” he giggles. His eyes bore into yours even though he’s the length of your torso away. “I though this was a first, not an only…”
“Good.” You sound giddy. “Just checking.”
“Silly,” he shakes his head at you. You thrust your hips up and laugh at the expression he makes when you bump his face, like he’s dazed. He squeezes your thigh harshly where he’s holding you.
“Behave, sunshine. It’s feeling dangerous down here.”
“I thought you were enjoying it.”
“I am.” A bite at your hip. “And I’m seriously getting the munchies, so just…” You don’t understand the end of his sentence, the words muffled against your skin as he starts eating you out.
It’s heavenly. High as you are, in love as you are, you think you’re on cloud nine. This gets you wondering where such an odd expression even comes from. It seems so random.
“Moony?”
“Hmm?” is grunted into your cunt.
“Why do you think it’s called being on cloud nine?”
He pulls back. The whole lower half of his face shines in your slick.
“Why are you thinking about that right now? Am I that bad at this?”
“Bad? It’s amazing.” You ruffle his hair in your groping hands. “Which is why I’m on cloud nine, which is why I’m thinking about that right now. Your hair is as soft as clouds, Moons.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“Am not,” you giggle.
“Are,” he teases.
“Can you keep going now? It felt so good. Your mouth is ridiculous.” You thrust your hips up at him again.
“Ridiculous and bossy,” he complains, but he’s smiling hard, and before you can even think of a retort, he does as you bid.
His mouth takes its time between your legs. He spends eternities teasing you: mouthing at the tops of your thighs, licking up your bikini line, nipping at your clit without giving it the attention he knows you want from how loud you whine every time he gives it the slightest graze. He loves all over your vulva, not leaving any part untouched, unworshipped. His tongue fucks into your entrance languidly; it swirls there. He licks your labia, sucks on it, gives the same attention to your clit when you moan loud enough. He travels back and forth, seemingly enjoying all of it too much to stick to any one attention too long. The next time he lands on your clit, he prolongs it.
Your legs shake; your back arches; your whines grow loud before turning strangled, and Remus takes his cue to reserve the relaxed approach for later. He picks up his pace, gripping your thighs tightly and shakes his whole face into you, alternating between licking and sucking rhythmically at your clit. You cum hard, and it feels like it goes on for minutes.
With your eyes closed, you truly feel like you’re floating, your only anchor to the world Remus Lupin where you feel his body attached to yours.
You’re laughing in pleasure, and the laughs turn to pants as you slowly, slowly come down. You love coming down to an already high baseline, and you giggle at the sensation of relaxing into a still heightened state.
It suddenly strikes you it feels like it’s been years since you talked to Remus, heard his mellifluous voice, and you startle your eyes open searching for him.
You see him immediately. He’s gazing at you with equal parts ardor and adoration, but when he sees your expression, his shifts to concern.
“Hey, hey, what’s wrong, my love?” He rushes to hover just above you. His face is close to yours again, though it’s scanning all over your body. His hand holds your face gently, his other arm holding him up. “Did something feel bad? Does something hurt?”
“No, no, I’m fine, Moons, I’m fine,” you rush to reassure. “I just missed you,” you explain.
“Missed me?” His eyes shoot to yours. “I’m right here, love; what do you mean you missed me?” He can’t help a subtle giggle, and his adoring expression takes back its rightful place on his beautiful face.
“I just thought I hadn’t seen you in too long.” Your hands caress his face, thread through his hair. “Or heard your voice…”
“Hmm,” he hums, leaning into your touch. “I’m right here. What do you want me to say?”
“Anything,” you smile.
“I love you.”
You’ve heard them before, but never like this, and they’re the best words in the world, in the universe.
“Remus,” you sigh, leaning up to kiss him. He tastes intensely of you, and you laugh into the kiss. “I’m sorry I got you so… so slicky.”
“I don’t mind,” he chuckles. “Means it was good, right?”
“Beyond. ‘Good’ is like… like one colour out of a whole rainbow for how that just felt.”
He’s beaming down at you and kisses you again, lingering there.
When he finally separates from you, his caressing thumb comes to wipe some slick at the corner of your lip. You grab his hand and kiss each of his fingers lightly. Then you lick down his long index finger, your tongue finding and following a scar up his hand to his wrist.
You look into his eyes, and he’s staring at you, transfixed.
“I was thinking about your fingers when you were rolling the spliff.”
“Yeah?” His voice is a desperate sigh.
“Yeah.”
“What were you thinking about?”
“How beautiful your hands are. How they’d feel touching me… How your fingers would feel inside me…”
“Fuck,” he whispers. “You wanna find out?”
“Yes,” you moan.
“Get them nice and wet for me, and I’ll show you.” They’re already lingering at your lips, but he slowly pushes them in. You welcome them enthusiastically and lazily suck on them, swirl your tongue around them.
“Fuck.” His voice is low. “Fuck, I want to feel everything there is to feel with you.”
“Mmm,” you nod, your mouth still full.
Remus takes his fingers out, kisses you, and lets his mouth stay on yours as his fingers trace down your chin, your chest, your stomach steadily, leaving a wet path. When they reach between your legs, you squirm in anticipation.
He rubs a couple of tight, slow circles on your clit. You’re so sensitive, and it feels amazing. You mewl into his mouth where it still hovers just above yours.
“Ready, my sunshine?”
“Mmhhmm.”
Remus pushes two fingers into you ever so slowly. You release a low, slow whine the whole time he takes to press in. He gives you gentle kisses, eating it up. When his fingers are in to the hilt, you wonder how you didn’t feel devastatingly empty every moment of your life before this one. When he adds a third, you’re sure you will every moment after.
You clench purposefully around him, and he moans into your mouth. Closing your eyes again, it’s the easiest thing to let yourself be consumed by the sensations, by Remus.
When he curls his fingers inside you, you clench again, this time automatically. You grip his hair and clutch his back, your arms pulling his body close to yours.
The spot he starts massaging feels like it’s a blazing fire, but everywhere else you’re connected, your chests, your mouths, is scattered scalding embers.
You’re savouring every second, every sensation, already feeling another high building but relishing in the time it’ll take to get there.
You run your hands down Remus’s back, feeling the bumps of his scars, the grooves of his defined muscles. For the first time all afternoon, you feel a desire to hurry…
You start moving your hips to meet his rhythm, eager, even more than for your own climax, for your turn to take your time on him.
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4Runner wingman
A scene inspired by the car sex scene in Say Anything. The scene isn't graphic whatsoever but it's their first time and it's very sweet.
Breathe
Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish x Fem Reader
18+ MDNI Sexual Themes, Angst to start, fluffy smut to smooth it out (Tasteful smut. Not my usual filth)
Synopsis: Your first time being intimate with Soap is within the confines of his 4Runner and after a lengthy deployment. And he shows you exactly what kind of sessions you have to look forward to.
I decided to use this as a scene where Soap and reader become intimate for the first time. Because why the hell not. Nothing sexier than a good first romp in the back of a 4Runner to heal the wounds of heartache and yearning.
And this is another piece for @glitterypirateduck Soap It Up Challenge. I used prompts 16, 19, 25 and 26.. Let's steam up them windows a bit, shall we.
WC 1.6k (Oopsies)
You could feel it. Feel it in the marrow of your bones and in the ever growing ache bellowing out deep within your chest. An ache that grew with every shallow breath, desperately trying to cage the sob in your throat and put on that calm and stoic demeanor for him while your mind branded every ounce of his being into your memories.
You were falling for him. And you were falling hard.
Like a dense boulder listlessly plunging further into the depths of his soul. Unable to find purchase on any parcel of reality as the world around you disappeared and all your focus turned solely onto him.
John MacTavish. The man who pulled you out of your own manufactured hell just as you were about to be shackled in a realm of unending misery.
--
"Ts'alright, bonnie. Only gonnae be gone a few months, yeah?"
His soothing voice abruptly snatched you out of your downward spiral. Batting your eyes with a quick shake of your head to rid the sorrowful thoughts leaching themselves into your weakened mind.
"Only a few months. Yeah," you replied.
Body silently trembling beside him in the passenger seat, fingers clawing at the denim of your jeans to take your mind off the loneliness you were about to endure in his absence.
And that debilitating ache burrowed itself deeper into your chest. Squashing out all notions of confidence, defeaning the electric cadence of your heart, and turning you into a hollowed husk of your former self as you slowly began to wither right in front of him.
"Eh. Look at me." His call yet again pulled you out of your tormented descent.
Gently placing his hand on your thigh to cement you back into the realm of unbearable reality.
Your eyes lingered on the calloused skin of his hand. Grit embedded underneath his nails, streaks of oil, and delicate scratch marks peppering over his knuckles.
In that moment, you cursed yourself for deciding to take it slow. Not giving him the chance to use those talented hands and work you over and over into a frenzied mess.
And you find your voice once more as the emotional toll ultimately breaks down the levee of your weathered composure.
"We haven't even had sex yet."
"So."
"So, what? What if you don't come back? What if I never get to see you again? Feel you again? Kiss you again?"
Mentally, you try to stop.
Breathe.
But the floodgates have burst. And your verbal torrent knows no bounds as the words of admitted misjudgment cascade like rapids over your quivering lips.
"I want to know what it feels like to have you, Johnny. To lose myself. To give in, let go. To feel you..."
You choke. Words trailing off into a breathless whimper as the lump in your throat threatens to swallow you whole.
Wrapping your fingers around his hand to feel his touch one last time in fear of him being pulled out of your crumbling reality.
"Aye. An' ya will," he replies in a promise that both soothes and breaks you entirely.
"It's not over, bonnie. This ain't no deep covert mission. More like, gettin groceries. Stoppin' at th'store, yeah."
You can tell he’s bluffing. Hear it in his voice. That same low rumbling hymn he uses to lull you to sleep now cradling your psyche within the verbal palm of his hand.
And it works. Every time.
Eventually he forces you to pull your eyes from the aimless stare on your thigh to meet his gaze. Bringing your hand up to his mouth to gently caress your knuckles with his tender lips, muffling his words as they roll over your supple skin.
“Is now a bad time to tell ya I gotta go, lass?”
You're once again thrusted back into reality by the soft timbre of his voice. The world falling back into place, not realizing that within the walls of your own self pity you hadn't noticed that you had made it onto the base.
Your head moved on a swivel. Desperately focusing on any familiar piece of architecture while your mind raced to pick up with the pace of the sporadic beat of your heart.
“Johnny, I’m not ready-”
Your futile plea was quickly silenced by Soaps gaping maw as he swallows the whimperings of your despair. Cupping your cheeks within the palms of his hands, cradling your existence within his grasp as he breathes rejuvenating life into your lungs with a passionate kiss.
Time once again stops. Moments trickle by like slowly descending droplets off the rim of a rusted spigot.
You feel him steadily begin to pull away and greedily you lean forward for one last kiss. Searing the blazing fire of his soul on the tips of your lips to brand him into the deep recesses of your spiraling psyche.
“Stay n’th car til I get through th’door, yeah,” he mumbles quietly against your lips. “I cannae bare to see ya at the ‘elm of my Breagha.”
“You talk like you love her more than me, Johnny.”
“Shu’it, lass.”
With one final blissful connection, he pulls away and exits swiftly out the driver's side door. Your eyes watching his every move as he grabs at the duffel bag from the backseat.
“I’ll text as often as I can, yeah.”
It’s a statement more than a pull for more conversation as he shuts the door before giving you time to answer. Pushing the lump in your throat down into your chest to let in fester and seep through your veins over the coming months.
You do as he asks. As always.
Waiting. Watching him stride over the pavement and disappear from your existence beyond the doors that you are prohibited to enter.
And with all the strength he bestowed on you with his life giving kiss, you shift over into the driver seat and easily adjust it to your body’s specifications.
Pushing down the unfamiliarity of being behind the wheel of his precious ‘Breagha’ as you subconsciously begin counting the days to his return.
--
The next three months are tortuous. Calmed only by the sporadic texts from Soap when he has the briefest of moments on base. They're never more than a few words at length, generally referring to his mental status of him and his fellow squad mates than the actual status of their missions.
You’ve grown fond of Gaz. He sounds like a true lad, one you’d like to share a pint with. And Price permeates the notion of a father figure to the team. A born leader not afraid to get his hands dirty when the line of duty calls for it.
And Ghost is exactly that. A ghost. Hauntingly working his way into Johnny’s texts, barely perceivable yet you feel he lends himself to be a mentor in the field to your Scottish soldier.
All these intermittent communications ease and soothe your weary soul until that final text jolts you out of bed at 2:30 in the morning.
‘RTB, bonnie. Coming home.’
--
Soap Mactavish made a promise to you three months ago. A pact sealed with a kiss that gave you the strength to carry on in his extended absence. Finding meaning in solitude and letting your heart yearn for him in a way you had never imagined.
And as a true man of his word, he kept that promise.
By God, did he keep it.
--
The air within the confines of Soap’s 4Runner was heavy. Thick with the sweet scent of sweat and sex as it lifted and blanketed the tinted windows with a dense layer of condensation. Leaden and rounded droplets descended down the slick surface that mirrored the meandering motions of your hands down the curve of his sweat ridden back. Curling your fingers to claw at his flesh as he pulled yet another orgasm from deep within your pelvic core.
You had lost count at how many times he brought you to the peak of pleasured ecstasy. Time becoming a meaningless construct as you found solace in each others embrace and allowing the blazing bonds of intimacy to mold your souls into one conjoined entity.
Arching your back and tilting your hips to meet his stuttering thrusts as you gasped for air. The muscles of your abdomen spasming and denying the much needed life force in selfish desire of unending release.
“Breathe, bonnie. Jus’ breathe fer me,” Soap managed breathlessly through his own heavy panting. Holding himself up to hover and give your chest room for much needed expansion.
You take the moment in its entirety within your grasp. Lengthening your diaphragm to fill your lungs as the burn of multiple climaxes flows like flames through your trembling muscles.
“Fucking hell, Johnny,” you exhale on a low, breathy moan. “Is it always gonna be like this?”
“Aye. It can be.”
“Jesus Christ. Only you would make me have to build an exercise routine around how you fuck me.”
His icy blue gaze bores into your exhausted and blissful expression with a smile that could electrify an entire city block.
“Nah, bonnie. This ain’t fuckin’ ya,” he mutters against your lips, leaning in for a passionate embrace as his muscular frame envelopes over you once more.
“I’d break th’suspension if I did that. Rather break th’bed. Easier ta replace.”
Your arms instinctually wrap around him to keep him firmly flushed against you. Fingers splayed out over the back of his skull to knead through his drench thickened hair.
An all too familiar lump forms within flesh of your throat, not out of anguish or loneliness. Something deeper. More meaningful. More affectionate.
And without a thought to hold you back the words spill out of your lips by their own accord before your mind has a moment to register the immensity of their meaning.
“I love you, Johnny.”
Soap pulls back immediately. A sudden silence bridging a gap between you as his blank expression is intensified by his piercing blue stare.
You hesitate to breathe. To move. Fearing your unconscious admission has created a rift that will ultimately pull himself away from you.
“Say it again,” he demands. The air of authority around him sending a pulse of renewed arousal coursing through your veins as all fears disappear within his commanding presence.
“I love you.”
There’s a sudden an enigmatic shift that sets deep within him. Eyes blowing wide as he lunges with an almost animalistic growl against your lips.
“Ah love ya, bonnie. So fuckin’ much.”
You had uttered those three words twice while he spent the next thirty minutes declaring his love for you by showing you the true power held within his hips.
He’d eat the bill. Take out a loan rather than deny the love of his life what she truly wanted.
Auto repairs be damned.
All you had to do was hold on and enjoy the ride. And focus on one word that he so patiently repeated.
Breathe.
4Runner Wingman Masterlist
@deadbranch @sofasoap @d3athtr4psworld @ghosts-goldendoodle @homicidal-slvt @jynxmirage @kkaaaagt @mykneeshurt @shotmrmiller @obligatoryghoststare @astraluminaaa @punishmepunisher @writeforfandoms @thetrashpossum @luismickydees @simpingoverquestionablemen @queen-ilmaree @havoc973 @foxface013 @haurasha @designateddeadend
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