Lis

80𝓈 𝓇ℯ𝒷𝓇𝒶𝓃𝒹𝒾𝓃𝑔. 𝔀𝓪𝓼 𝓹𝓪𝓾𝓵𝓸𝓼𝔀𝓲𝓯𝓮 𝓹𝓻𝓮𝓿𝓲𝓸𝓾𝓼𝓵𝔂.

[dead4gerard]

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 26

♤ 𝒇𝒍𝒖𝒇𝒇 ♧ 𝓪𝓷𝓰𝓼𝓽 ㅤ★ 𝓼𝓶𝓾𝓽

✦ 𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 & MARAUDERS જ⁀➴ 𝐭𝐨𝐦 𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐥𝐞 ♧ Ink And Shadows ╰┈➤ ★ Three at Once (ft james, remus, sirius <3) જ⁀➴ 𝐉𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐟𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐭 𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 ♧ Shattered ♤ Comfort in Scarlet જ⁀➴ 𝐒𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐮𝐬 𝐁𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐈𝐈𝐈 ♤ Dressing Rooms Heartbeats ♧ Ash and Starlight જ⁀➴ 𝐑𝐞𝐦𝐮𝐬 𝐉𝐨𝐡𝐧 𝐋𝐮𝐩𝐢𝐧 ♤ You Feel Like Home ✦ 𝐖𝐄𝐃𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐃𝐀𝐘 જ⁀➴ 𝐈𝐬𝐚𝐚𝐜 𝐤𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 ★ Midnight Confessions

small a/n : after a year of not writing, im planning to write again :p luv yall!!

[dead4gerard]

Ink And Shadows | ♤ FLUFF, ♧ SLIGHT ANGST

tom riddle x fem!reader

a/n : Because sometimes love doesn’t begin with kindness — it begins with a rivalry, a dare, a look held a second too long. Tom Riddle doesn’t fall easily. But when he does… it’s not gentle.

The castle always felt colder when autumn arrived.

Hogwarts in 1943 glowed like an old memory — lanterns burning low, the scent of parchment and ink, corridors echoing with whispers of names that would one day be history.

And at the center of it all: Tom Riddle, the boy who made you want to scream and shiver all at once.

He was brilliant, terrifyingly so — the kind of brilliant that made professors nervous. The kind of brilliant that made you want to win, just once, if only to wipe that calm, perfect smirk off his face.

“Still awake?” His voice cut through the library silence, smooth and quiet. You didn’t need to look up to know it was him — no one else sounded so certain all the time.

You didn’t bother answering. The scratch of your quill was answer enough.

Tom stepped closer, the soft rustle of his robes breaking the air between shelves. “You know, most people would’ve given up trying to outdo me by now.”

You set your quill down, slow and deliberate. “Good thing I’m not most people.”

He smiled — barely. The kind of smile that said you amuse me, but I could destroy you.

“I’ve noticed,” he murmured, eyes glinting under the candlelight.

That was how it always was: verbal duels that left your pulse racing faster than any hex could. Somewhere between loathing and fascination, something blurred.

You hated the way he looked at you like he knew you’d never admit what your heart was doing.

You hated that you’d started wondering what he looked like when he wasn’t wearing that mask of perfect control.

And most of all — you hated that part of you wanted to find out.

The first time you almost kissed, it wasn’t romantic. It was a challenge.

You were both in the Prefect’s study, arguing over patrol schedules. He’d accused you of lying about your shift — typical, arrogant Riddle — and you’d gotten too close when you hissed back that maybe if he weren’t so paranoid, people might actually like him.

He didn’t flinch. Of course he didn’t.

He just tilted his head, his lips curling into something dangerous.

“People don’t like me because they fear me,” he said. “And fear is far more useful than affection.”

You shot back, “Maybe that’s why you’ll never understand it.”

The silence that followed was sharp enough to draw blood.

You’d expected him to retaliate — to snap, to sneer.

But he only leaned in, voice low enough to make your stomach twist.

“Then show me,” he whispered.

You froze. His breath brushed your cheek — close, too close. You could smell parchment, ink, and something darker. The air between you felt heavy, charged.

Then, just as quickly, he pulled back, the faintest smile ghosting over his face.

“Didn’t think so,” he murmured, turning away.

You hated him.

You absolutely, unquestionably hated him.

So why did you feel like your heart had forgotten how to beat?

Weeks passed.

And though you told yourself it meant nothing, you caught him watching you more often — in the library, in the corridor, during Slughorn’s meetings.

Sometimes, his gaze softened, almost human.

Other times, it burned — as if he wanted to understand you, consume you, destroy you, all at once.

It became your unspoken war.

Every look a battle. Every smirk a truce.

And yet, every night when you sat by the fire, quill in hand, your thoughts strayed to him — his voice, his sharpness, his unbearable calm.

You told yourself you hated Tom Riddle.

But hatred had never felt quite so much like longing.

.

.

.

.

.

a/n:

[dead4gerard]

HI U GUYS IM ALIVE WHAT FF SHOULD I DO NEXT?

characters 😋🫶🏻 ps. yall help me w the ending for shattered pt2!! lmk what kind of ending for it

isaac smut pt2

shattered angst pt2

others (drop in comment)

Voting ended onSep 30, 2025

[dead4gerard]

🦇 Midnight Confessions | isaac night smut

summary: after a day of tension at nevermore, you risk sneaking into isaac’s dorm. he’s been waiting — and he makes you pay for it.

word count : 4.8k

a/n: lowercase bc it’s tumblr law. i blacked out halfway through writing this bc isaac being a smug bastard is a lifestyle. enjoy the filth <3

unedited

warnings : HEAVY SMUT, breeding kinks, isaac being a horny fucker, degrading kink

the day had been unbearable.

classes, wandering the halls, sitting through dinner — it didn’t matter where you were, you could feel him watching you. isaac night, all dark stares and sharper smirks, lounging like he owned the damn place while his eyes traced you every time you passed.

he hadn’t touched you all day. not once. no secret brushes of his hand under the table, no whispered filth in your ear when no one was looking. nothing. and it was driving you insane.

by the time curfew hit, your skin buzzed with restless need. you knew what he was doing. this was a game — making you crack, making you come to him.

so you did.

the dorm hallways were silent, shadows stretching long. you padded barefoot, heart pounding, until you reached his door. it was cracked open just slightly, like he’d left it for you.

when you slipped inside, isaac was already waiting. shirt loose, hair messy, sitting on the edge of his bed like he’d been expecting you all along.

“late,” he muttered, voice low, eyes burning into you.

“i—”

“shut the door.” his tone cut through the air. “and get on your knees.”

heat flooded you instantly. you obeyed, sinking onto the rug before him, looking up with wide eyes. isaac tilted your chin up with two fingers, thumb brushing your lip.

“pathetic,” he said, smirking. “sneaking into my dorm like a needy little slut. couldn’t even last one night without me, could you?”

your throat tightened, but you couldn’t deny it. not when your body was already aching for him.

“say it,” he pressed, leaning down. “tell me why you’re here.”

“because… i need you.”

his eyes darkened. “wrong. you don’t need me. you need my cock.”

before you could answer, his mouth was on yours, hard and hungry. he tasted like sin, teeth tugging at your lip as his hands dragged you onto the bed.

he didn’t waste time. your nightdress was shoved up, panties torn off, his hand already between your thighs.

“already wet,” he growled, rubbing slow, merciless circles on your clit. “fuck, you’re pathetic. dripping for me before i’ve even touched you properly.”

your hips jerked. you whimpered, but he only laughed, cruel and amused.

“beg,” he demanded.

“please—”

“louder.” his fingers pinched, making you gasp.

“please fuck me!”

that was enough. he freed himself, lined up, and slammed into you in one brutal thrust.

you screamed, nails clawing at the sheets, but he didn’t give you time to adjust. his hips pounded into you, relentless, the bedframe slamming against the wall.

“shut up,” isaac snarled, hand wrapping around your throat. “you wanted this. now take it.”

his other hand rubbed your clit mercilessly, dragging cries out of you.

“god, you love it when i ruin you. look at you — soaking my cock, begging for it like a whore. you want me to fill you up? breed this tight little cunt until it’s dripping with me?”

you moaned, clenching around him, and his grin was wicked.

“say it. say you want me to breed you.”

“please—breed me—”

that broke him. he slammed into you harder, groaning low in your ear before spilling hot inside.

you barely caught your breath before he flipped you over, pressing your face into the pillows.

“not done,” he growled, thrusting back into you. “not until you’re ruined.”

he yanked your hair, forcing your back to arch. every thrust was deeper, sharper, his voice a constant rasp in your ear.

“this pussy’s mine. you’re mine. you hear me?”

“yes—yes, isaac—”

“good girl.” his hand spanked your ass, the sting mixing with pleasure. “gonna fuck you again and again until your stomach’s full of my cum. until you can’t think of anything but me.”

your body shook, tears spilling as overstimulation wracked you. but his pace never faltered, not until you screamed his name again and came hard, clenching violently around him.

isaac groaned, burying himself deep as he came a second time, grinding in to make sure every drop stayed inside.

by the third round, you were trembling, spent. but isaac wasn’t letting you go.

he pulled you into his lap, forcing you to straddle him as he sank back in. this time his thrusts were slow, deliberate, but no less filthy.

“look at you,” he whispered, eyes locked on yours. “fucked dumb on my cock. you’ll never get enough, will you?”

you whimpered, trying to answer, but he only pressed a finger to your lips.

“shh. don’t need words. just stay right here and take it.”

he guided your hips lazily, rocking you on his length until you were whining, overstimulated all over again. his mouth pressed to your ear, voice low and dark.

“you’re going to sleep with my cock inside you tonight. keep it warm for me. so tomorrow, when you’re dripping all over yourself in class, you’ll remember who owns you.”

you whimpered his name, and for the first time, his grip softened, thumb brushing your jaw.

“good girl,” he murmured, kissing your temple as your body gave out against him. “mine.”

you drifted half-asleep, still impaled on him, his arms wrapped tight around you. isaac’s breath was steady against your neck, but you could feel him hardening again inside you.

he wasn’t done.

not by a long shot.

[dead4gerard]

Three at Once | poly!marauders x reader

Word Count: 3.2k

cointains : FILTHY ☆ - SMUT

A/N : ty guys for supporting my fics ilyall 🫶🏻💕

You should’ve known better than to wander into the abandoned classroom after curfew. The smell of parchment and dust mixed with the faint musk of James’ cologne hit you as soon as you stepped inside.

And there they were. Three of them—James leaning casually against the blackboard, Sirius perched on a desk with that wicked grin, and Remus… Remus standing quietly, but his eyes dark, hungry, like he’d been imagining you like this for hours.

Before you could protest, James grabbed your wrist, tugging you forward, his grip firm but teasing. "What’s this, little one? Wandering alone at night?" His voice was low, teasing, dangerous.

Sirius’ hands were on your hips next, sliding over your skirt, thumbs brushing your ass, sending a jolt straight through your core. "Moony, Prongs… she’s been asking for it, haven’t you, love?"

Remus didn’t speak. He just stepped closer, his hand sliding along your jaw, tilting your head back, lips brushing your ear as he whispered, "You’re ours tonight. You feel that? All three of us… and you’re going to take every bit."

And oh, you did.

James’ mouth was on your neck instantly, teeth grazing, hot breath sending shivers down your spine. Sirius was at your other side, teasing your earlobe, his fingers slipping under your panties, brushing your wetness as you whimpered, tugging at their shirts, desperate for more.

Remus’ hand moved to your thigh, spreading your legs slightly, brushing over the slick heat pooling there. "You like that, don’t you, kitten?" His voice was deep, commanding, and your knees threatened to give out.

You barely had time to respond before James pushed your skirt up, his fingers slipping inside you with a rough, demanding rhythm. Sirius mirrored him, two fingers brushing against your clit, teasing, making you mewl and grind down into their hands.

Remus’ hand found your breast, squeezing gently, thumbs pinching your nipples as he leaned in, lips claiming yours in a deep, demanding kiss. Tongues clashed, hands roamed, and you felt utterly, completely taken.

"You like it when we do this, huh?" James whispered into your ear, voice rough. "You like being our little slut."

Your breath hitched, "Y-yes… please…"

Sirius chuckled darkly, "Such a good girl for us… look at you, dripping for all three of us already."

Before you could react, they had you bent over the desk. James spread your ass cheeks, pressing two thick fingers inside you while Sirius knelt behind, his cock brushing against your entrance. Remus’ lips were on your neck, teeth grazing your skin, sucking bruises into your collarbone as he whispered praise.

Then James’ fingers left you, replaced with the head of his cock, teasing your entrance, sliding inside with a groan as Sirius pushed in behind him, slowly, deliberately, filling you. Two at once, and you were already trembling, moaning, overwhelmed.

Remus didn’t wait. He pushed you down gently onto your knees, his cock pressing against your lips. "Open," he commanded, and you obeyed without hesitation, taking him into your mouth while James and Sirius ruined you from behind.

The room was filled with your moans, James’ grunts, Sirius’ dark laughter, and Remus’ low groans. Every inch of you was taken, every sense flooded with pleasure. You were theirs, and they knew it.

"Look at you, taking all of us so well…" James groaned, fucking you harder, hips slamming into yours. Sirius mirrored him, filling you, teasing your clit with each thrust. And Remus, his cock sliding deep into your mouth, was pulling at your hair, holding you steady, praising every sound that left your lips.

You came first, trembling, crying out their names as they drove you higher, overstimulated and desperate. But they weren’t done. Not yet.

They switched, rotated, each of them taking turns sliding into you, making you beg, mewl, cry for release again and again. When you finally collapsed, exhausted, they were still there, pressing kisses to your skin, whispering filthy promises of “not done yet” as you shivered beneath them, completely spent and utterly theirs.

By the time the night ended, you couldn’t remember where one ended and the other began. You were just… theirs. And you’d never want it any other way.

[dead4gerard]

Shattered || James Potter Angst

words : ~2.1k

cointains : ♧ - HEAVY ANGST || pt2?

warnings: james being a total prick

You had always trusted James Potter.

Through the chaos of Quidditch practices, through the pranks with Sirius and Remus, through the starry-eyed confessions under the Astronomy Tower… you trusted him. You thought you were safe in the warmth of his hands, in the way he whispered your name like it was home.

Until tonight.

You weren’t meant to see it — the way James leaned against the wall of the common room, Lily Evans pressed against him. You weren’t meant to hear the muffled laughter, the half-swallowed moans, the unmistakable sound of lips meeting lips.

But you did.

The world tilted sideways, every sound muffled under the roar of your pulse in your ears. The bag of books you’d been carrying slipped from your hands, scattering across the floor. Both heads turned.

James froze, eyes wide, lips still swollen from a kiss he never should’ve given. Lily looked stricken, guilty, but not surprised.

You had always trusted James Potter.

Through the chaos of Quidditch practices, through the pranks with Sirius and Remus, through the starry-eyed confessions under the Astronomy Tower… you trusted him. You thought you were safe in the warmth of his hands, in the way he whispered your name like it was home.

Until tonight.

You weren’t meant to see it — the way James leaned against the wall of the common room, Lily Evans pressed against him. You weren’t meant to hear the muffled laughter, the half-swallowed moans, the unmistakable sound of lips meeting lips.

But you did.

The world tilted sideways, every sound muffled under the roar of your pulse in your ears. The bag of books you’d been carrying slipped from your hands, scattering across the floor. Both heads turned.

James froze, eyes wide, lips still swollen from a kiss he never should’ve given. Lily looked stricken, guilty, but not surprised.

“Y/N—” James’ voice cracked.

You shook your head, backing away before he could reach for you. “Don’t. Don’t you dare.”

Later, in the dormitory you’d shared so many nights, he begged.

“It was a mistake,” James said, running his hands through his hair until it stuck up worse than usual. His voice was frantic, desperate. “I don’t even know what happened, love, I swear—”

“Love?” Your laugh came out sharp, hollow. “You don’t get to call me that.”

His face crumpled, but you pressed on, words trembling with fury and heartbreak.

“Do you have any idea what that felt like? Seeing you—seeing her—” Your throat tightened, tears stinging hot, but you refused to let them fall. “I trusted you, James. I thought I meant more than just—just someone to keep around until Lily Evans looked your way.”

James stepped forward, reaching for your hands. “You do mean more. Merlin, Y/N, you’re everything. I don’t want her, I want you.”

“Then why wasn’t that enough?” you whispered.

Silence. The kind that settled like broken glass, sharp and cutting.

The next morning, you left him standing in the common room as you walked past without a glance. You ignored Sirius’ confused stare, Remus’ knowing frown. You ignored James calling your name until his voice broke.

Because you knew one thing: you deserved better.

And when you found comfort in someone else’s smile a week later — someone kinder, gentler, someone who looked at you like you were the only person in the world — you let yourself take it.

James saw, of course. He saw you laughing by the Black Lake, saw you holding another’s hand. His face was pale, his fists clenched, like he was watching his world collapse.

But you didn’t care.

Not anymore.

Still, nights were the hardest. You lay awake in your dorm, staring at the ceiling, haunted by memories you couldn’t scrub away. The way James used to whisper promises into your hair. The way his eyes crinkled when he laughed. The way he said forever like he meant it.

You hated him. You missed him.

And sometimes, you hated yourself for missing him.

It was raining the night he came back.

You were sitting by the fire, a book open but unread on your lap, when the portrait creaked open.

“Y/N.” His voice was rough, broken, like he hadn’t slept in days.

You looked up. James stood dripping wet, rain soaking his clothes, his hair plastered to his forehead. His hazel eyes found yours, desperate, pleading.

“Please,” he whispered. “Don’t shut me out. Not forever.”

Your chest ached, torn between anger and the ghosts of love.

You opened your mouth—

…and the dorm door swung open behind you.

“Y/N?” The voice of the boy you’d started seeing Evan — warm, steady, safe — cut through the tension. He walked in, eyes narrowing at James, then softening as he met your gaze. “Ready to go?”

The silence that followed was unbearable.

Two sets of eyes on you. One, full of regret and desperation. The other, gentle and patient, offering you a new beginning.

Your heart thundered. Your throat closed.—” James’ voice cracked.

You shook your head, backing away before he could reach for you. “Don’t. Don’t you dare.”

Later, in the dormitory you’d shared so many nights, he begged.

“It was a mistake,” James said, running his hands through his hair until it stuck up worse than usual. His voice was frantic, desperate. “I don’t even know what happened, love, I swear—”

“Love?” Your laugh came out sharp, hollow. “You don’t get to call me that.”

His face crumpled, but you pressed on, words trembling with fury and heartbreak.

“Do you have any idea what that felt like? Seeing you—seeing her—” Your throat tightened, tears stinging hot, but you refused to let them fall. “I trusted you, James. I thought I meant more than just—just someone to keep around until Lily Evans looked your way.”

James stepped forward, reaching for your hands. “You do mean more. Merlin, Y/N, you’re everything. I don’t want her, I want you.”

“Then why wasn’t that enough?” you whispered.

Silence. The kind that settled like broken glass, sharp and cutting.

The next morning, you left him standing in the common room as you walked past without a glance. You ignored Sirius’ confused stare, Remus’ knowing frown. You ignored James calling your name until his voice broke.

Because you knew one thing: you deserved better.

And when you found comfort in someone else’s smile a week later — someone kinder, gentler, someone who looked at you like you were the only person in the world — you let yourself take it.

James saw, of course. He saw you laughing by the Black Lake, saw you holding another’s hand. His face was pale, his fists clenched, like he was watching his world collapse.

But you didn’t care.

Not anymore.

Still, nights were the hardest. You lay awake in your dorm, staring at the ceiling, haunted by memories you couldn’t scrub away. The way James used to whisper promises into your hair. The way his eyes crinkled when he laughed. The way he said forever like he meant it.

You hated him. You missed him.

And sometimes, you hated yourself for missing him.

It was raining the night he came back.

You were sitting by the fire, a book open but unread on your lap, when the portrait creaked open.

“Y/N.” His voice was rough, broken, like he hadn’t slept in days.

You looked up. James stood dripping wet, rain soaking his clothes, his hair plastered to his forehead. His hazel eyes found yours, desperate, pleading.

“Please,” he whispered. “Don’t shut me out. Not forever.”

Your chest ached, torn between anger and the ghosts of love.

You opened your mouth—

…and the dorm door swung open behind you.

“Y/N?” The voice of the boy you’d started seeing — warm, steady, safe — cut through the tension. He walked in, eyes narrowing at James, then softening as he met your gaze. “Ready to go?”

The silence that followed was unbearable.

Two sets of eyes on you. One, full of regret and desperation. The other, gentle and patient, offering you a new beginning.

Your heart thundered. Your throat closed.

[dead4gerard]

Comfort in Scarlet | James Potter x Reader

Word Count: ~1.3k

Warnings: Period mentions, fluff overdose, comforting boyfriend James 🥺

Contains: cuddles, snacks, kisses, warmth, domestic vibes, soft!James

A/N : to celebrate my 50 milestone on tumblr🫶🏻

It started with the cramps. Those sharp, mean tugs low in your stomach that had you curled up under your blanket, groaning into your pillow like it might swallow you whole.

James noticed, of course. James always, noticed.

“Love?” His voice was soft at the edge of your bed, like he was afraid you’d shatter. He sat down, careful, his hand brushing gently through your hair. “Bad day?”

You peeked up at him, cheeks puffed from sulking, and mumbled, “Cramps. Bad ones.”

For a second, he looked like his heart cracked clean in two. Then, with the determination of a boy who had once led a Quidditch team through a downpour just to win, he sprang into action.

“Alright, don’t you move,” he said, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead. “Stay put, soldier. I’ve got this.”

You couldn’t help a small laugh. “jamie, you can’t fight my uterus.”

He shot you a grin from the doorway. “Watch me.”

Ten minutes later, he came back laden like a hero returning from battle. An armful of blankets, a heating pad he had charmed to stay perfectly warm, a plate stacked with chocolate frogs and biscuits, and a steaming mug of tea that smelled like honey and comfort.

“All for my best girl,” he said proudly, nearly spilling the tea as he climbed onto the bed. “Shift over.”

You let him tuck himself in beside you, the extra blankets piled high until the two of you were cocooned in softness. He pressed the heating pad against your stomach and then wrapped his arms around you, pulling you onto his chest like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Better?” he whispered against your hair.

You melted into him instantly. “Much.”

“Good.” He kissed the top of your head, then your temple, then the tip of your nose until you giggled. “I hate seeing you in pain, love. If I could swap places with you, I would.”

“That’d be terrifying for you,” you teased sleepily. “You wouldn’t last an hour.”

“True,” he admitted with a dramatic groan, “I’d cry immediately. But I’d still do it if it meant you’d be comfy.”

came to you, he meant every single word.

He handed you the tea, blowing gently over the rim first so it wouldn’t burn your lips, then broke off pieces of a chocolate frog for you to nibble between sips. At one point, when you wriggled uncomfortably with another cramp, he began tracing slow, soothing circles over your tummy, humming under his breath like he could coax the pain away.

You drifted somewhere between drowsy and awake, held safely in his arms, surrounded by his warmth and that familiar smell of broom polish and aftershave.

Your chest squeezed at the sincerity under his joking tone. That was the thing about James — he could be loud, cocky, and silly.

“Jamie?” you murmured.

“Mhm, darling?”

“I love you.”

His arms tightened around you, his voice low and soft, meant only for you. “I love you more. Always.”

[dead4gerard]

hiii lovely!! your writing is so good!! could i get a sirius black anything at all?? if you need something more specific, like. a cute clothes shopping thing would be nice, but go wild!! love youuu

yess this is soo good <3 ty!! ||

Dressing Rooms Heartbeats | Sirius Black X Reader

♤ - FLUFF

words ~1.6k

warnings : tooth-rotting fluff <3

---

You hadn’t expected Sirius to tag along when you mentioned you wanted to go shopping. Normally, he scoffed at the idea of spending hours in a store, muttering something about “soul-sucking fluorescent lighting” and “muggles putting prices on happiness.”

But when you casually asked, "Want to come with me to Diagon Alley? I need new jumpers" he leaned back in his chair with a grin and said, “Only if I get to pick one out for you. Deal?”

So now here you were, weaving through racks of soft jumpers and patterned skirts, Sirius at your side like a very handsome, very dramatic shadow.

“Pads,” you laughed, tugging a hanger away from him. “That’s the fifth leather jacket you’ve handed me. I’m not trying those on.”

“Oh, come on, love,” Sirius drawled, eyes sparkling. “Imagine us — matching leather. You and me, terrorizing the streets, the ultimate fashion icons of London.”

You rolled your eyes. “I think you just want me to look like you.”

“Guilty,” he said, with a shameless wink.

---

Eventually, you escaped his insistence on leather and found yourself clutching a few jumpers that actually fit your taste. Sirius followed you into the fitting area, leaning casually against the wall outside your stall, humming to himself.

“Show me,” he called. “C’mon, don’t be shy.”

“You’re impossible,” you muttered, but stepped out anyway, tugging at the hem of a cream-colored sweater.

Sirius’ jaw actually dropped. He blinked at you for a second, eyes softening in a way that made your cheeks warm.

“Well?” you asked nervously.

He pushed off the wall, circling you once like you were a masterpiece in a gallery. “Darling,” he said seriously, “if you don’t buy that, I’ll hex the register until it rings you up for free.”

You burst out laughing, shoving his chest lightly. “You’re ridiculous.”

He caught your hand and brought it to his lips. “Ridiculously in love, maybe.”

---

Every time you tried on a new piece, he had commentary. The plaid skirt? “Merlin’s beard, that’s illegal.” The oversized jumper? “Perfect for stealing so I can sleep in it.” The floral dress? He wolf-whistled, then immediately added, “I’m dead. Bury me in that dress.”

At one point, you came out in a simple cardigan, and he tilted his head, smirk tugging at his lips.

“Sweetheart,” he murmured, pulling you close by the hem of the cardigan, “you look like trouble disguised as innocence. My favorite kind.”

Your knees nearly gave out when he kissed you in the middle of the shop, not caring about the stares.

---

Later, with two shopping bags swinging from your arms (and one from Sirius, who insisted on carrying at least half), the two of you strolled down the cobblestone streets, his hand firmly linked with yours.

“See?” Sirius said smugly, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Told you I’d be the best shopping partner. I’ve got taste.”

“You mean I have taste,” you teased. “You just followed me around making commentary.”

He leaned down, lips grazing your ear as he whispered, “And you loved every second of it, didn’t you, love?”

You shoved him with your shoulder, but you were smiling, cheeks warm.

“Thanks for coming with me, Siri.”

He softened immediately, squeezing your hand. “For you? Always.”

And as the sun dipped low, painting the sky in gold, you realized that shopping wasn’t so bad when Sirius Black was tugging bags from your arms, making you laugh until your stomach hurt, and kissing you in every shop you walked into.

[dead4gerard]

You Feel Like Home

Pairing: Remus Lupin x Reader

Genre: Fluff, comfort

Warnings: none, just tooth-rotting fluff

Context: You’re both in the Gryffindor common room late at night, and Remus can’t sleep (as usual) <3

wc: 1.5k

contains: soft!remus, quiet confessions, hand holding, cozy blanket cuddles

It was one of those nights where the fire had burned low, leaving only soft embers glowing against the stone hearth. Most of Gryffindor Tower was asleep by now, but you found yourself curled up on the couch with a book balanced on your knees, the quiet hush of the castle wrapping around you like a blanket

You weren’t expecting company—until the portrait door creaked open and a familiar figure slipped inside

“Couldn’t sleep?” you asked softly, not needing to look up to know it was Remus

He let out a tired chuckle, shoving his hands in his pockets. His jumper looked too big on him (probably James’s) and his hair was rumpled, as though he’d been tossing and turning for hours

“Not really,” he admitted, sinking onto the couch beside you. His knee brushed yours, and you pretended your heart didn’t immediately leap at the contact

The quiet stretched for a moment, but not uncomfortably. He glanced at your book, then at you. “You’ll ruin your eyes reading in the dark

“Good thing I’ve got you to scold me then,” you teased, setting it aside

Remus’s lips twitched, but instead of replying, he leaned back against the cushions, exhaling slowly. The shadows under his eyes looked heavier than usual, and it made your chest ache. Without thinking, you tugged the blanket draped across the couch and settled it over both your laps

His gaze flicked to you, soft and surprised. “You didn’t have to—”

“I wanted to,” you said, voice quiet but firm

For a long while, you just sat like that. The fire crackled faintly, his shoulder brushing yours every time he shifted. When you risked a glance, you found him watching you, brown eyes warm in the dim light

“What?” you asked, flustered under his gaze.

He shook his head slowly, a half-smile tugging at his lips. “Nothing. Just… you always make things feel less heavy”

Your breath caught. Remus Lupin, who carried the weight of the world and then some, was looking at you as though you were the only thing anchoring him

You reached for his hand before you could second-guess yourself, threading your fingers through his. He blinked, startled, then tightened his hold like he never wanted to let go

“Stay with me?” he whispered, almost like he was afraid of the answer

“I’m not going anywhere,” you promised

And just like that, the boy who always kept everyone at arm’s length leaned into you, resting his head against your shoulder. You could feel his breath even out, his hand still clutching yours beneath the blanket

Maybe the world was cruel. Maybe the night was heavy. But right here, right now, with Remus Lupin curled into you like you were his safe place, it felt like the universe had given you a secret little pocket of peace

authors note : ty guys for 16 notes on my last sirius black fic <3 this means alot to me ♡

[dead4gerard]

A Sky Full Of You | anakin skywalker fluff ♡

cointains :

☼ domestic fluff

☼bad pancake-making

☼piillow-soft cuddles

☼ playful banter

☼ anakin being hopelessly in love <3

words : ~1.2k

The war was far away today. For once, there were no missions, no meetings, no alarms dragging Anakin out of bed before dawn. Just sunlight spilling through the small apartment window you shared, warming the sheets tangled around your legs.

You stirred awake to the sound of muffled laughter—Anakin, in the kitchen, very clearly trying (and failing) not to make a mess.

Padding in, still wrapped in the blanket, you caught him standing at the counter, flour streaked across his tunic and a pan smoking faintly behind him.

“Anakin Skywalker,” you said, half-groggy, half-amused. “Are you trying to burn down the kitchen again?”

He turned, sheepish grin in place, a wooden spoon in his hand. “It’s under control. I was… attempting nerf-shaped pancakes.”

You peeked over his shoulder. They were more blob-shaped than anything, but the effort tugged at your heart. “They look like asteroids.”

“Perfect,” he said with mock pride. “Asteroid pancakes it is.”

You laughed, slipping behind him to wrap your arms around his waist. He stilled for a moment—he always did, like he couldn’t believe you were really there—and then leaned back into your embrace with a quiet sigh.

“See,” you teased, resting your chin on his shoulder, “this is what the Chosen One does in his spare time? Ruins cookware?”

He tilted his head, smirking. “Only for you.” Then he reached back, swiping a bit of flour onto your nose before you could dodge.

You gasped, swatting at him, and he caught your wrist easily, pulling you into a twirl that ended with you crashing into his chest, both of you laughing.

Moments later, the two of you were curled up on the couch, plates of lopsided pancakes balanced on your laps. The city hummed outside, but inside, everything was quiet—peaceful.

Anakin pressed a kiss to your temple, his voice low, almost reverent. “You know… I’d fight a thousand wars if it meant mornings like this with you.”

You turned to look at him, soft and fond. “Good thing you don’t have to. You’ve already won me.”

And when he kissed you, slow and sweet, flour still smudged across both your faces, you decided this—this messy, ordinary kind of love—was worth more than every star in the galaxy.

[dead4gerard]

Ash and Starlight | sirius black x reader

જ⁀➴ ♧ - angst.

You always knew Sirius carried storms in his chest.

Not the quiet, rolling summer kind, but the sharp-edged tempests that leave you trembling and breathless in their wake.

Nights in Grimmauld Place were the hardest. The house felt haunted, and not just by portrait-shrieks and creaking floors—haunted by him, by what he’d lost, by all the years stolen. You’d find him in the drawing room sometimes, a glass of firewhisky untouched in his hand, staring at the fireplace like he was trying to pull the flames into his lungs.

“Pads,” you whispered one night, stepping carefully over the old rug. He didn’t look up, but his hand twitched at the sound of your voice. You slid down beside him on the worn sofa, your shoulder brushing his. The contact was small, but it felt like daring fate itself.

“You shouldn’t waste your time on me,” he said, voice cracked and heavy with everything he tried so hard to hide.

You tilted your head until your temple touched his shoulder. “Too late. Already wasted.”

That got the smallest huff out of him—half a laugh, half a sigh. His hand, rough and scarred, came to rest over yours, uncertain, but there.

The thing about Sirius was that he didn’t know how to ask for softness, even though he craved it more than anyone. So you gave it freely, tucking yourself against him, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt like you could anchor him here, now, away from the shadows of the past.

For a long while, the only sound was the fire crackling. Then, low and raw, he murmured, “Sometimes I think I’ve already burned through everything good in me.”

You turned to face him, your heart clenching. He was all sharp cheekbones and tired eyes, but when you cupped his face, he leaned into your touch like it was the only thing keeping him from unraveling.

“There’s still light in you, Sirius,” you whispered. “You don’t have to see it. I do.”

And for once, he let himself believe you—at least long enough to press his forehead to yours, the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips, as though your presence alone was enough to keep the storm at bay.

It had been weeks since you’d moved into Grimmauld Place with the rest of the Order, but it still didn’t feel like home. The curtains clung to dust, the walls groaned like they resented anyone daring to live inside them, and the air carried an ache you couldn’t quite name.

For Sirius, though, this was worse than uncomfortable—it was punishment. You saw it in the way he flinched at familiar corners, the way he lingered near doors like he wanted to bolt but couldn’t. Azkaban had taken twelve years from him, but this house was taking something else: the illusion that he was free.

You found him one night in the drawing room, hunched over in front of the fire. A glass of firewhisky sat in his hand, untouched, as though even that was too much. He didn’t look up when you entered, though you knew he heard you. He always did.

“Pads,” you murmured softly, careful with the nickname. “It’s late.”

He gave a humorless laugh. “Sleep and I… we’re not on speaking terms.”

You lowered yourself beside him on the sofa, shoulder brushing his. He didn’t move away, which was something.

“You shouldn’t waste your time on me,” Sirius muttered, eyes fixed on the flames. “I’m no good to anyone. Locked up in this bloody house… waiting for scraps of war. I feel like a ghost they forgot to bury.”

Your chest ached at his words. He’d always been larger than life, burning bright in every story James had ever told—but now he seemed fragile, shadows pulling at the edges of him.

So you leaned your head against his shoulder, voice steady when you said, “Too late. Already wasted on you.”

That pulled a rough huff of laughter from him—half alive, half broken. His hand, scarred and uncertain, came to rest over yours.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The fire crackled, painting his face in orange light, and you thought he looked both impossibly young and unbearably old at the same time.

“Sometimes I think I’ve already burned through everything good in me,” he whispered, so quiet you almost missed it.

You shifted, cupping his cheek with your hand. His skin was warm beneath your palm, and to your relief, he leaned into it. “There’s still light in you, Sirius. You don’t have to see it. I do.”

Something flickered in his expression then—doubt, maybe, but also the faintest spark of belief. His forehead pressed to yours, and for just a second, the storm inside him stilled.

He didn’t ask for softness, not once. But you gave it anyway, because you knew it was the only thing that could keep him tethered to the world he thought he’d already lost.

── .✦ authors note... ....

[dead4gerard]

────୨ৎ────Reckless Hands.

⤷ ゛ ˎˊ˗ A Jameson Blake x Reader Smut

☆ - smut

⤷ minors dni

⤷PURELY FANFIC

The moment the door clicked shut behind you, Jameson shoved you hard against it. The thud rattled the frame, your gasp swallowed instantly by his mouth crashing onto yours. His kiss was messy, teeth clashing, tongue ruthless—like he’d been starving and finally let himself eat.

“You drive me crazy,” he growled against your lips, one hand locking around your wrists and pinning them above your head with brutal ease. The other roamed lower, grabbing, squeezing, rough enough to leave you aching for more. “All night I’ve been watching you. Smiling. Teasing. You knew exactly what you were doing.”

His thigh pressed between your legs, grinding up until you couldn’t bite back a moan. That sound seemed to snap something in him. “That’s it. Pathetic. Falling apart already?” He dragged you harder against him, reckless, relentless.

You tried to protest, but he bit down on your neck, hard enough to make you cry out. He smirked darkly, licking the sting before sucking at your skin. “Don’t play innocent. Not with me.”

Your dress rode up as his hand slipped beneath it, fingers gripping your bare thigh so tight it burned. “You’re shaking,” he muttered, voice low and filthy. “So wet for me and I haven’t even started.”

His free hand tore at your clothes like he didn’t care if they ripped, the sound of fabric straining filling the air. When your bra strap snapped under his grip, his laugh was sharp and dangerous. “Mine now.”

He pinned you harder, chest to chest, his breath hot and ragged against your ear. “Say my name,” he demanded, grinding into you with reckless force.

“J–Jameson,” you gasped

“Louder.” His teeth grazed your jaw, hand squeezing your throat just enough to make you shiver.

“Jameson!”

“Good girl” His tone dripped arrogance and hunger. He let go of your wrists only to spin you around, bending you forward against the door. His hand spread across your lower back, pressing you down. “Stay. Don’t move unless I say so.”

You whined, aching, desperate, but he just chuckled darkly. “Patience. You wanted me rough? Reckless? Then take it!”

His mouth trailed fire down your spine, his hands greedy, claiming every inch. Every movement was fast, unrestrained—like he couldn’t get close enough, couldn’t ruin you fast enough.

When he finally pushed into you, the stretch was overwhelming, sudden. You gasped, fingers clawing at the wood, and he groaned behind you—low, guttural, like he’d lost control completely.

“Fuck—so tight for me,” he hissed, grabbing your hips with bruising force. “You feel that? That’s me. Deep inside you. Right where I belong.”

His pace was ruthless, reckless, the sound of skin slapping echoing through the room. You cried out, every thrust knocking the air from your lungs, his name spilling from your lips over and over.

“That’s it, scream for me!,” he snarled, pounding into you harder. “Let everyone hear who’s ruining you.”

You couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe—only feel him, rough and unrelenting, using your body like he owned it. Sweat dripped down your back, your legs shaking, but Jameson held you up, dragging you through it with pure force.

“Look at you,” he panted, pulling your head back by your hair so you met his wild eyes in the mirror on the wall. “Wrecked. Filthy. Mine.”

The sight of yourself—flushed, messy, falling apart under him—was almost too much. And when his hand slipped down between your thighs, rubbing hard, fast, ruthless, you shattered.

Your cries filled the room, body collapsing, but Jameson didn’t stop. He fucked you through it, relentless, his own moans rough and wrecked in your ear.

“Gonna come inside you,” he groaned, slamming into you with reckless abandon. “Fill you up, make sure everyone knows you’re mine.”

And with one final thrust, he buried himself deep, groaning your name like it was the only word he knew.

When it was over, you were limp against the door, trembling, marked, ruined. Jameson’s hand slid possessively down your spine, his lips brushing your ear as he whispered, breathless and smug

“Hope you’re ready. Because I’m nowhere near done with you.”

➤ authors note.... none

[dead4gerard]

Every Inch, Every Thrust────୨ৎ────

જ⁀➴ ☆ SMUT

જ⁀➴paulo avelino x reader smut

જ⁀➴minors DNI

જ⁀➴purely fanfic, i do NOT know paulo avelino inrl (im just a fangirl)

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The apartment was silent except for the faint hum of the city outside—and the sharp intake of your breaths. Paulo stood behind you, pressing you to his chest, the heat of his body a wildfire against your skin. His hands roamed over you, exploring, teasing, leaving you trembling with need.

Without warning, he grabbed your hand and pressed it to his fingers. “Let me show you,” he whispered, voice rough, low, commanding. His hand parted yours, sliding a finger against your slick, sensitive clit. Slow, deliberate circles made your back arch, breath hitching.

“Oh… fuck…” you moaned, clutching him, hips grinding involuntarily.

He chuckled darkly, lips brushing your ear. “Feels good, doesn’t it? All this… for me.”

He added a second finger, moving expertly, teasing, pressing, sliding in rhythm with your moans. Pack… pack… pack! His hips pressed against yours, thrusting subtly, each motion perfectly timed with the delicious torture of his fingers. You shivered, trembling under him, completely undone.

Paulo didn’t stop. He kissed your neck, shoulders, jaw, each touch claiming you. Then he pulled you toward the bed, never letting go, never breaking contact. He kissed you fiercely as he positioned himself, brushing over your most sensitive spots, teasing, pressing, driving you wild.

He moved inside you slowly at first, letting you feel every inch. Then he began thrusting harder, faster—pack… pack… pack!—driving into you with relentless force while his fingers still massaged you, expertly circling your clit. Your moans turned into screams, your body shaking, trembling, each thrust and rub a symphony of pleasure.

“Oh god… Paulo… don’t stop… please…” you begged, desperate, trembling against him.

“I won’t,” he growled, voice rough and possessive. “You’re mine tonight, every inch, every gasp, every shiver.”

He increased the intensity—fingers moving faster, hips pounding in perfect rhythm, lips claiming yours in a deep, hungry kiss. Pack… pack… pack! The sound of him thrusting, your moans, the slap of skin against skin filled the room, every motion a firestorm that left you breathless.

Then he pulled back slightly, whispering, “Not done yet… I want more from you.” He slid you onto your stomach, fingers still working expertly, teasing, while his thrusts changed angle, pressing into you in ways that made your body scream in ecstasy. You could barely hold on, every wave of pleasure shattering you again and again.

Paulo wasn’t done until your body was trembling, gasping, utterly spent—but still craving him. He collapsed beside you afterward, lips pressed to your temple, murmuring, “Mine… always mine.” His hand brushed lightly against you, a lingering reminder of the fire he had ignited.

Even in the quiet aftermath, your body burned with memory—every thrust, every pack… pack… pack!, every gasp, every finger, every moan, every whispered word. Paulo hadn’t just claimed you—he had consumed you, body and soul, leaving a fire that would never fade.

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The first rays of sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the tangled sheets. You stirred, still feeling the echo of last night—the way his hands, lips, and body had claimed you completely.

Paulo was already awake, lying beside you, eyes dark and heavy with desire. He watched you with a smirk that made your stomach twist. Before you could even move, his hand found yours, fingers entwining.

“You’re awake,” he murmured, voice low, rough, still laced with that commanding hunger. He traced his thumb over your knuckles, then let it wander, brushing along your side, making you shiver.

You tried to stretch, but he leaned over, pressing a soft, deliberate kiss to your neck. “Don’t move too fast,” he warned, lips grazing your ear. “I’m not done with you yet.”

Before you could react, his fingers slipped down again, tracing the familiar, impossible spots that made your knees weak. Slow, teasing circles, fingers pressing, rubbing, sending shivers through your still-sensitive body. You gasped, biting your lip, trying to catch your breath.

“You’re so perfect,” he whispered, lips brushing over yours, kissing deeply, possessively. One hand tangled in your hair, the other still massaging, teasing. Your body arched into him, needing more, desperate for his touch.

He didn’t relent—thrusts slow at first, then harder, fingers working expertly, every movement a promise, every touch a reminder of last night. Pack… pack… pack! The rhythm, the sensation, the hunger—they were all back, stronger than ever.

You moaned his name, shivering, trembling, completely undone even after hours of sleep. Paulo chuckled darkly, lips brushing your ear. “You’re mine… every part of you, still aching for me,” he murmured. Then he increased the pace, thrusting and teasing with precision, driving you wild again.

When the first climax hit, it rolled through you like fire, and he held you through it, whispering your name over and over, fingers still teasing mercilessly. Just when you thought it was over, he shifted, taking control again, building you higher, until your body was trembling, breathless, completely his.

Finally, he pulled you close, wrapping you in his arms, lips pressed to your temple. “Mine!… always,” he whispered. “And this… this is just the start.”

Even in the quiet aftermath, your body still burned with desire, every nerve alive. The fire from the night lingered, and you knew—Paulo’s control, his hunger, and his touch would haunt you all day, leaving you desperate, trembling, and utterly his.

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authors note⤷ ゛ ˎˊ˗ --------none.

[dead4gerard]

જ⁀➴Bitter Sweet Confessions.

⌯⌲Paulo Avelino x Reader

📍Warnings

Angst

Hurtful

I remember the night clearly. Rain streaked against the window like the world was crying with me. And there he was—Paulo—leaning against the doorway, cigarette dangling from his fingers, that same look in his eyes that made me feel like he could see straight into the pieces of me I tried to hide.

“You shouldn’t be here,” I said, my voice trembling even though I tried to keep it steady.

He didn’t answer. He never did. He just stepped in, rain dripping from his hair, and the room smelled faintly of smoke and something I couldn’t name—something dangerously close to desire.

“You think I’d let you drink alone?” His voice was low, steady, but there was a weight in it that made my chest tighten.

I wanted to tell him—everything. How much it hurt when he left me hanging on words he never said, on promises he never kept. How every laugh we shared felt like a memory I couldn’t reach anymore. But the words wouldn’t come out.

Instead, I said, “Go away.”

He smiled—half bitter, half sad—and took another step closer. “You always tell me to go away,” he whispered. “And I always do… until I can’t.”

The space between us disappeared, and suddenly I could feel the warmth of him, the intensity I tried to ignore, the pull I swore I’d never give in to. My heart was screaming at me, warning me, begging me—don’t fall again. But falling was inevitable.

“Paulo…” My voice cracked. “Why do you do this to me?”

He didn’t answer. He just pressed his forehead to mine and let the silence speak. And in that silence, I felt everything—love, anger, heartbreak, and the kind of longing that makes you ache from the inside out.

He pulled back just slightly, enough to meet my eyes, and said, “Because no matter how much it hurts… I can’t stop loving you.”

I wanted to scream. I wanted to fight him. I wanted to push him away and never look back. But I didn’t.

I let him stay.

And maybe that’s the problem.

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