sending you a little bit of extra love today, should you need it <333
THANK YOU SO MUCH! I really needed this love when it was sent, and I'm sure it was responsible for that boost of energy I felt while trying to survive my social sciences class in health. Thank you so much!
ticiii, pookie, I hope you're doing well, miss you smmmmm <333
(that sensation you're feeling is actually the numerous internet hugs I am sending)
-kayla (🪐 hehe)
Oh, Kayla, thank you SO much—I really felt those hugs. Thank you for that affection even in my absence. I really hope you're well and that VERY VERY good things have happened to you during this time 🫴💗💗
If you get a star ⭐️ in your inbox. It means your moot appreciates you, and your efforts in the community. Send this to 10 mutuals to continue the love! <3
Amore, I’m so glad to have found you between all the thousands of blogs on this app, you’re one of a kind, and I’m not ready to let you go😌🤍
Thank you for not giving up on me 😭😭🫂 and sorry for the delay in responding. I really appreciate this message, I hope you are well and still following F1 🫦
summary: James had an annoying habit: he didn't know when to stop. "Just one more," he'd say, but it was never just one more. Not when his hands remained wrapped around your waist, with no escape—not that you ever considered running away.
tags n warnings: suggestive, est. relationship, no use of y/n, a lot of kisses
a/n: look who’s back. I know it's been a LONG TIME since I posted anything, but I don't want to go on too long here, so you can come HERE, if you want to satisfy your curiosity.
divider by @uzmacchiato
James had an infuriating habit: he didn’t know when to stop. “Just one more,” he’d say, voice barely above a whisper, his face so close you could feel his breath brushing the curve of your cheek.
But it was never just one more. Not when his hands stayed wrapped around your waist, holding you tight against his chest with no chance of escape—not that you ever considered running.
You’d lost count of how many times you’d already been late because of him. But who could blame you? James could be especially convincing, and with every kiss, your resistance melted away just a little more.
It was like you became dough in his hands, reduced to sighs.
“I… I really have to go,” you said, with so little conviction in your voice it was hard to believe yourself.
James never made it easy for you, his soft mouth still trailing along your neck, pressing open-mouthed kisses without any real intention of letting you go.
He inhaled deeply, like he was trying to brand your scent into his lungs, and then, voice dangerously low and drawn out, asked, “Do you really?”
And you, not trusting your voice, gave a weak shake of your head. Your fingers clung to the soft fabric of his shirt like it was your lifeline.
“I can’t be late,” you managed to say, eyes fluttering shut when he pressed a firmer kiss to the pulse point on your wrist.
His grip didn’t loosen around you, but he did pull his head back from the soft curve of your neck. Inevitably, your gaze dropped to his mouth—or more precisely, to the way his lips looked red and swollen. The most kissable lips in the world. Lips that curved into a mischievous half-smile.
“Alright,” he said, his large hands still resting around your waist.
You frowned, not quite believing he was going to let you off that easy.
“What?” James asked, eyes glinting behind his glasses. “Weren’t you running late?”
“Yes, but—”
He didn’t let you finish, shaking his head gently. “You can go.”
You tried to pull away, but his hold was like steel around you. Your cheeks burned when his hands slid further down, gripping your backside firmly. You pushed at his chest, trying to create some space between you, but it was completely useless.
“James,” you said with a nervous, hesitant smile, “I really need to go,” you repeated, voice dropping as he leaned in closer.
He kept moving toward you, close enough that you couldn’t tell where your breath ended and his began.
“You can go,” he repeated too, without moving a damn muscle to actually let you go.
But the real question was: did you really want to be let go?
With him this close, it was hard to think clearly. Actually, it was hard to think of anything that wasn’t him. And how much you wanted him to keep kissing you until you forgot your own name.
You were the one who closed the last bit of space between you, your mouth finding his with that infamous familiarity.
He kissed you like he was born to do it. Like this was his life’s purpose. And you loved it.
Your hands made their way to the back of his neck, fingers tangling in his dark curls, a soft whimper escaping when he pulled you tighter against his body. God, you loved when he did that.
He pulled back—just a little—but enough for you to notice how smudged his glasses were. You seriously doubted he cared.
“Weren’t you late?”
If this were any other moment, you might’ve been annoyed at his insolent tone. But right now, you were only annoyed that he’d stopped kissing you.
“You can go,” he sang, the tease clear in his voice.
“James,” you said in a warning tone, narrowing your eyes.
If possible, his smile widened. “Yes, love.”
Your fingers tapped lightly against his firm chest, slow and almost absentminded. “When do you plan on letting me go?”
His eyes burned with a fierce kind of light, locking onto yours with the intensity of a supernova.
“Never,” he said.
The answer caught you off guard, making you look away, biting your lip in a failed attempt to hide the bashful smile threatening to take over your face.
“Hey,” he called softly, fingers gently curling under your chin to lift your face back to his. And there was so much tenderness in his eyes, you felt like you might melt.
“You look so pretty like this, you know? All shy. Makes me wanna bite every inch of you.”
“James!” you scolded, trying to pull away. But there was no real effort behind it, and he knew it.
You couldn’t hold back your laugh when he started planting kisses all over your face, nipping at your cheeks, making sure there wasn’t a single spot he missed.
“Beautiful,” he whispered against your lips before kissing you again.
And, well, you kissed him back—not really caring if you were late.
It feels like a century since I joined Tumblr, and honestly, it's been ages since I dared to write something.
I missed you all.
A LOT has happened since my last post, but in short: university has made a point of taking up all my time—that's what happens when you're a full-time student (and I'm still waiting for my grades to be released). But since my birthday is in a few days, I decided to write something hehe. It's short (embarrassingly short), but it's what I have.
I can't promise constant updates, but I'll try to get back to Tumblr little by little. I sincerely appreciate the messages in my inbox and will try to respond as soon as possible!
I have 90% of the second chapter of next door written, it was the only thing I managed to write these last few days, and I hope to be able to post it soon hihi
hi lovely, hope you're doing fine!! saudades de vc na timeline 🥲💖
ohh my love, thank you for the message, I really hope you are well <33 amiga, sua linda, morrendo de saudades. só esperando ter um sossego pra voltar a interagir por aqui 😔💗
tags n warnings: SMUT/MDNI, dubcon, blood, dead dove do not eat (nothing new to scream fans tho), gore, knife play, choking, rope, mirror sex. word count: 3.6k
"Did you like the gift I gave you?" The voice asked from the other end of the line, laced with an amused, almost melodic tone.
A small smile crossed your lips as you looked at the heart-shaped box resting on the table. Your fingers slid over the delicate wrapping, feeling the texture of the paper, while your eyes captured the note taped to the lid.
"Was it from you?" you asked, tilting your head slightly, your eyes dancing over the newspaper-cut letters forming a meticulously arranged sentence. "This is getting a little too romantic for my taste."
Your fingers glided over the note before picking it up, turning it between your hands. The weight of those cut-out words carried a strange familiarity.
It had been a while since the calls from an unknown number went from an annoyance to a nightly ritual. What once seemed like the plot of a horror movie now strangely filled a void you barely knew how to name. The voice on the other end, as smooth as a spell, was like a mist wrapping around your thoughts.
"Be mine forever?" you read aloud, raising an eyebrow. "How cliché."
"I can be a little cliché for you." He chuckled on the other end, his laugh slow and enticing, as if he could feel every shift in your expression. "Open the box. Don't be scared, I put a little bit of my heart in there."
Your lips parted, hesitation and curiosity dancing across your face. With a soft sigh, you pushed the note aside and carefully slid the lid off the box.
Your eyes met a white rose, its petals painted red with a viscous ink that glistened under the bedroom light. A subtle shiver ran down your spine. You lifted the flower, twirling it between your fingers, feeling the slightly sticky texture of the ink.
"Well, I have to admit this is genuine material." Your voice came out in a playful tone, but your gaze remained fixed on the crimson details dripping down the petals. "It really looks like blood."
"Have you ever read Alice in Wonderland?" he whispered, his voice sounding far too close, as if he were right beside you.
You closed your eyes for a brief moment, absorbing the hypnotic melody in his tone.
"Yes, I have."
"Do you remember the part where the Queen of Hearts painted the roses with the blood of foolish subjects?”
You parted your lips slightly, still twirling the flower between your fingers. The bottom of the box was red, stained unevenly, as if the ink were still fresh.
"Are you telling me you did this, Mister Mysterious?" you teased, resting your elbow on the table and placing the rose back into the box with a smirk, your eyes never leaving the small gift.
The silence on the other end of the line stretched a second longer than it should have. Your heart gave a small leap.
Then, he laughed.
Low. Sinister. Dangerous.
And for some reason, it made your skin tingle.
“Say goodbye to your abusers, my love.” He hummed. Your hands shook as you opened the false bottom of the box. A tuft of torn hair and eyes you knew so well. The scalp of your ex and the eye of his affair, your best friend.
The world seemed to slow down. Your breath caught in your throat as you stared at the body lying in front of you, red spilling across the floor in a cruel contrast against the white tiles.
"Oh my God." Your voice came out weak, a whisper broken by disbelief.
"Well deserved. She was such a backstabbing bitch." He laughed on the other end, casual, as if he were commenting on the weather.
You took a step back, horror spreading through your body like an electric current. Your hands trembled as they tried to wipe the red stain from your nightgown, but the blood wouldn’t come off, clinging to your skin like a filthy memory.
"I… I… why…" Your voice failed, your eyes wide as your mind refused to process.
"Oh, sweetheart. Are you shaking from excitement? It’s common. Don’t worry."
A shiver ran down your spine, your muscles tightening with pure instinct to run. Your gaze darted across the room, searching for any escape, any sign that this was just a twisted nightmare.
"How do you know I’m shaking?" you choked out, your voice a thin thread of desperation. Your chest rose and fell in quick, shallow breaths, struggling to contain the panic threatening to consume you.
"I’m always watching you. The fact that you’re so unaware of it makes you even more irresistible."
Your stomach twisted. The room around you seemed to shrink, the walls closing in on you. Every shadow became a threat, every crack a window for eyes you couldn’t see.
Your body moved before your mind could. You spun on your heels, stumbling toward the kitchen. Your desperate fingers yanked open the nearest drawer, rummaging through utensils until they found something solid—something sharp. Your hand gripped the biggest knife it could find.
"A knife?" He smiled on the other end of the line, his voice laced with something perversely amused. "Now this is getting exciting."
The way he spoke… as if he were savoring your reaction, every tremor, every restrained breath.
Your chest tightened. In a sharp motion, you hung up the phone, as if that could sever him from your reality. Your legs moved before you could think, rushing out of the kitchen, away from the feeling of being exposed. You squeezed yourself into a small, windowless room.
Your hands trembled so much that you almost dropped your phone while trying to dial. The numbers came out jumbled, your vision blurred by unshed tears.
But you did it.
"Hello? Please, I’m being stalked. There’s a stranger watching me."
"Ma’am, please. Calm down. What is your emergency?"
"I just told you!" Your voice cracked, your breathing erratic. You ran a hand over your face, trying to keep the tears at bay. "There’s someone watching me! He killed two people, and I think he’s coming to kill me!"
"Yes, I understand. Can you identify the suspect?"
"Identify?! How? I’m not stepping outside to get a good look at him!"
Your patience snapped, fear spilling into your voice. You hung up and shoved the phone into your pocket, your chest rising and falling in uneven gasps.
Curling yourself into the corner of the closet, you wrapped your arms around your legs, rocking back and forth instinctively, searching for some kind of comfort in the repetitive motion. Your lips moved in whispered prayers, anything to push away the creeping terror coiling around your mind.
Then, a sound.
A creak.
The front door.
You froze. Your heart pounded in your chest, fast, erratic, so loud you could swear he would hear it.
A hand instinctively flew to your mouth, muffling your ragged breaths.
Footsteps.
Slow.
Deliberate.
Like boots clicking against the floor. Like drops from a faucet dripping into the suffocating silence.
"You can't hide forever, sweetheart." The voice was close. And then came the whistle. Slow. Amused.
"Here, kitty, kitty. Where are you, little cat? My Cheshire kitten."
With every passing second, the footsteps grew louder. He was close. Too close.
Your blood froze the instant a sharp glint flashed in the corner of your eye. Before you could react, the closet door creaked open, long and menacing.
He found you.
A tall man, draped in a black cloak, his face hidden behind a Halloween mask. The cruel gleam of his knife caught the dim light of the room, dancing in an almost hypnotic rhythm.
"What’s wrong, my love? You look like you’ve seen a ghost."
Your chest heaved in a violent gasp before a scream tore from your throat. High. Sharp. Desperate.
No escape.
He lunged fast, strong hands yanking you from your hiding spot. But in the reflex of terror, your arm shot up—the cold blade of the knife you held meeting the flesh of his arm.
He let out a snarl, a mix of surprise and pain, releasing you instantly. His hand flew to the wound, dark blood staining the sleeve of his coat.
This was your chance.
Your body moved before your mind could. You bolted through the house, feet stumbling in your rush, eyes darting frantically for another place to hide. But there was nowhere to run.
Panic swelled in your chest, squeezing your lungs. You tried to dash toward the kitchen—maybe grab another weapon, another chance at defense.
No, that wasn’t going to happen.
You ran for your bedroom. If you could just lock the door—there, you’d be safe—
But then you felt his arms wrap around you.
A firm, immobilizing grip. A knife at your throat—the same one you had used to pierce his flesh.
"You’re more like the White Rabbit, sweetheart. Always in a rush. ‘I’m late, I’m late.’ That annoys me so much..." he taunted, his voice dripping with perverse amusement.
He pulled you even closer, his warmth starkly contrasting the suffocating cold of the mask that brushed against your skin.
"I still haven’t heard a thank you for the gift I gave you."
Your stomach churned.
"You’re sick." You spat the words, struggling against him, but he only laughed, utterly unfazed by your resistance. "Let me go."
"Sick?" The amusement in his voice was almost worse than the threat. "You’re the one who wanted them both dead. Caught them in your house, remember? I just did what you wanted."
Your eyes widened, your mind struggling to process the weight of his words.
"I just want a thank you in return," he whispered against your ear, the icy metal of his knife gliding slowly along your cheek. "What do you say? It’s the least I deserve."
Your heart pounded against your ribs. You needed to get out of there. Taking a shaky breath, you swallowed the bitter taste of fear.
"Thank you." The words came out barely above a whisper.
He didn’t loosen his grip.
"Didn’t hear you, bunny."
Your throat tightened.
"Thank you," you repeated, louder this time, your breath coming in sharp gasps.
The hold around you, however, only tightened. Before you could react, he grabbed your wrists and, with a swift, practiced motion, secured your hands behind your back with a zip tie.
You gasped, tugging against the restraint.
"Why? I already thanked you!"
He tilted his head, his cold mask pressing against your skin once more.
"I’m sorry, my love," his voice dropped to a venomous whisper. "But you need to learn that people have different ways of accepting gratitude."
With a firm yank, he turned you to face him.
Your body was frozen. Your mind, a whirlwind of pure terror.
"And I’ve been waiting a long time for this."
The horror within you escalated to a whole new level as he lifted his hands to the mask, pulling it off slowly—like he wanted to savor your reaction.
Your stomach turned. The air caught in your lungs.
When his face was finally revealed, your mind refused to accept it.
"Billy?" Your voice came out shaky, barely audible.
Shock paralyzed every muscle in your body.
Your classmate. The guy you passed in the hallways. The boy who laughed at his friends’ jokes and glanced at you when he thought no one was looking.
He grinned, his expression alight with sick pleasure. His eyes gleamed with delight as he took in your reaction, absorbing every nuance of your fear.
"Now you won’t be late to talk to me, bunny." He sang, his voice dripping with dark amusement.
Before you could react, Billy threw you against the furniture in one sudden movement. Your body slammed into the bed, the impact echoing through the room. You gasped, pain throbbing in your back and your bound arms.
Without thinking, your instincts reacted by kicking, your legs flailing in the air in frantic attempts to free yourself from him. But Billy was faster. His firm hands grabbed your ankles mid-movement, holding them tightly.
He laughed again, cruel amusement oozing from every word.
“Don’t make me tie you up, bunny.” His voice dropped to a slurred whisper. “I know you want this. I saw your history and all your fetishes.”
Your chest rose and fell in panic, your breathing ragged.
“Billy, for God’s sake.” You gasped, pulling uselessly against his grip. “Please, let me go.”
He didn’t let go. Billy’s gaze plunged into yours, dark, intense, dominating. And in that instant, you knew he had no intention of stopping.
“Billy—” You protested, only to receive your mouth covered with the palm of his hand.
“You drive me crazy.” He gasped, lowering his face to inhale the scent on your neck. “You don’t know how angry it made me to see you kiss that fucking idiot when I was right here, wrapped around your finger.”
Billy took a deep breath, as if he wanted to record even the smallest notes of sweat and scent on your skin, planting a strong kiss on your neck. He pulled away, looking at the small mark he left.
“It was torture seeing your neck marked by him. The same marks he left on that little bitch. She wanted to be you so much that she stole your boyfriend.” He spoke softly, looking at your eyes filled with thick tears. “But don’t be sad, my love. She’ll never steal me from you, no one will. I'll kill anyone who tries it.”
All of your screams were muffled by Billy’s hand on your mouth and his firm grip on your ankles. You could see his pants, revealing that he had been throbbing painfully in there for God knows how long. The light-wash pants were darker in one spot, the white shirt clinging to his body. As if the devil was trying to give you to that shameful moment of helpless victimhood creeping into your mind, a lethal poison that made you heat up.
“God, you’re so perfect.” He murmured, watching the way your body molded to that thin nightgown, raised to your belly.
The darker stain on the fabric between your legs revealed your depravity, unlike your body still trying to fight. He released your mouth to slide his palm to your breasts, rigid nipples from the air that entered through the crack in the window mixed to the heat from his hand.
“Billy, please. Don’t do something you’ll regret.” You begged, swallowing hard when he lowered his hands to your belly.
“Regret seeing your belly stuffed with my cock touching your stomach?” He smirked, caressing the skin as if he was already inside. “There’s no fucking way I’ll regret that and apparently you won’t either.”
He was right and you hated yourself for it. You’d always had a crush on Billy Loomis, it was like a virus that never really left your system. Somehow, you felt so attracted to that voice on the phone and a part of you wished it was Billy. The voice that had such an effect on you seemed even stronger close to your face.
“You can’t even hide it.” He chuckled, releasing your ankles and letting them fall open on either side of the bed. Billy stood up and pulled you to the edge of the bed abruptly, causing pain in your arms and your nightgown to rise even higher. “You love being treated this way.”
“No…” you mumbled, feeling him peel off the fabric of your panties down your legs, exposing you to his intense gaze.
“No?” He laughed, driving his hand down your face, guiding his thumb to your mouth, where he pressed it past your lips to the middle of your tongue. You gasped and without thinking, sucked on his finger, soaking. “I know you, bunny. Much more than you know yourself.”
He removed his finger and directed it to your clit, where he massaged the spot with your own saliva, watching you squirm to his touch. Billy laughed in disdain, pressing the circles, brushing the fingers of his other hand against your entrance, bringing them up to the height of your face to make you see your state. Deplorable.
“Stand up.” He commanded and your body took a while to obey and stand on its own feet.
Billy guided you to the vanity where he pushed your torso against the furniture, your breasts being pressed hard against the stable surface. Your nightgown was rolled up and you could feel something thick forcing into your entrance.
“Billy—”
“Shut up.” He interrupted, pushing his entire length in at once until it disappeared completely inside your walls, coercing a high-pitched moan from your throat.
“Billy… that hurt.” You whimpered, receiving only another thrust, rougher than the last in response. “It hurts so much. Don't do it.”
“This is what you deserve for not thanking me.” He growled, pressing his hand into your hair to pull your head up, where you could look at your reflection. “You’re gonna stare at the slut you are. If you let your asshole boyfriend fuck you, you’re gonna let me do the same to you.”
Billy pulled his cock out of you slowly, making you feel every inch of it stretching your walls and coming back in harder, your body moving forward as your tools shook with you. He pulled out once more and it felt like torture, your mouth opened without a sound coming out with the bewitching pleasure of feeling him inside you.
“You’re so quiet now. Am I so good that you can’t think of anything?” He mocked, forcing himself forward once more, faster. You moved your legs, your own excitement dripping. “You’re welcoming me so fucking well. It’s almost like you were expecting this to happen.”
His free hand went to your ass, where he gave it a loud slap. You bit your lower lip, hard enough to draw blood. The burning sensation smoothed soon after a caress that was placed on your red mark before he started going faster.
“Billy, Billy… stop, please.” You sobbed, rolling your eyes at the pressure on your sensitive spot, your moans becoming uncontrollable at this point. “Fuck, Billy. No. No. No. Good, good. Okay, on my— Billy.”
“You’re moaning like a slut.” He mocked, forcing your face down, but still at an angle where you could see yourself drooling on the wooden table, his gaze on your reflection. “You’re no good. You’re crazy about my cock. Tell me, is this what you wanted all along. Is this what you thought when that asshole fucked you— Fuck, so delicious. This pussy was made for me.”
He paused, lowering himself, pressing his panting chest against your bare back, his breath hot in your ear. He felt deeper in this position, the sound of skin on skin slapping like a sinful symphony in that room.
“Look at you… so beautiful welcoming me, rolling those eyes the way you did when I played with you.” He chuckled, kissing your sweaty cheek, sliding his tongue into your mouth to collect your blood. “I doubt that cocksucker made you cum. Did he? Tell me the truth, baby.”
“I—I don’t… I don’t know…” you mumbled, sticking your ass up to receive more of him, who crawled his hand up your thigh to lift it and go even deeper. “Fuck, fuck. Fuck, Billy. God, that. Not like that.”
“I’m gonna make you cum, I really am— I’m gonna make you squirt all over me so much that I’ll feel you squeezing me until I leave, with your pathetic—fuck—scent spread all over my cock so I can smell you for days.” He grunted, moving his mouth to your ear, nipping your earlobe. The emchanting metallic taste of the small earring mixed with your blood. “I want to destroy you, just like you’ve done to me all this time. Leave you with nothing, only thinking about me. Only. About. Me.”
“Billy, I’m feeling…” you cried out, your body shaking like a shockwave passing through your veins. He quickly pulled out of you and turned you around, placing you on top of the vanity.
“I’m not done yet.” He hummed, wrapping his fingers around his hard cock and sliding easily into your soaking pussy, holding your hips with both hands to resume his impetuous rhythm. “Do you really think I’d let you cum without me telling you everything?”
“No, no— I didn’t. No.” You moaned, pulling him closer with your legs wrapped around his hips, his abdomen punishing your clit with his movements.
“Wrong answer, darling.” He sneered, leaning into your face. “I’d let you cum on my cock whenever you wanted,bunny. You’d make me your fucktoy and I’d fuck you whenever you wanted. Now… tell me, do you want to cum?”
“I want it, I want it. I want it so bad. Please, Billy. Let me cum.” You begged, the knot in your stomach becoming unbearable to hold back as your spots were stimulated.
He licked his lips, approaching yours for a chaste kiss, looking deep into your eyes. “Cum.”
Your entire body tightened, your head went back and you came undone with a sharp moan, your legs trembling around him. Your head became an immense void, uncontrollable, your walls squeezing him with pleasure with each accelerated pulse.
Billy pulled your head back by your hair and closed the space between your mouths with a kiss, grunting against your lips. He pulled your hips back. You felt a warm liquid spilling onto your thighs, as Billy pulled you closer without breaking the kiss. When Billy stopped pulsing, he broke the kiss, looking at your destroyed face, with every shade of red on your cheeks, neck, lips and body, pressed and marked by him. Perfect.
“You are a hopeless slut,” he murmured, stroking her jaw with his thumb. “That’s exactly why you belong to me.”
summary: “You know what's funny?" His voice is low, drawling, like a secret whispered against your wrist. "What?" Your own voice trembles. "I swear my plan was just to make you sleep." His teeth graze your skin lightly. "But you're not helping, doll."
warnings: language, est. relationship, suggestive, love bites, no use of y/n, the marauders' reaction when they saw that you spent the night in the boys' dormitory.
a/n: sirius' m.list is my oldest draft (from early december), but only now have I dared to do something with it, I hope it didn't turn out too bad <33
Your footsteps on the stone staircase barely make a sound as you climb toward the boys' dormitories in Gryffindor Tower. The castle is drowned in the silence of the early hours, and the only light illuminating your path comes from the weakly dancing flames in the common room fireplace far below.
You've been here before. Many times. The path to him is as familiar as Sirius himself.
Reaching the top of the staircase, you push the door open slowly, slipping into the dark room. The air is thick with the dormitory’s woody scent and something unmistakably his—a mix of leather, smoke, and Sirius.
The other boys sleep deeply, their steady breathing filling the space. But your gaze is drawn to the bed at the far end, where crimson curtains are partially parted, revealing a cascade of black hair spread across the pillow.
Sirius lies on his side, one hand tucked under his face, his breathing slow and deep. The moonlight slipping through the window cracks casts a silver glow over him, highlighting the sharp angles of his face, the soft shadows beneath his closed eyes, the dark hue of his long lashes against his pale skin.
You move closer, soundless, kneeling beside his bed. Your heart pounds in your chest as you lightly trace your fingers over his arm, the tip of your nail grazing the warmth of his skin.
"Sirius..." your voice is barely a whisper.
He stirs, frowning slightly before his eyes slowly flutter open. Sleep-clouded gray meets yours, and a shadow of a smile tugs at his lips.
"Ah," his voice, rough and drowsy, slides through the silence like a secret. "So my imagination has finally materialized into flesh and bone?"
His lazy, slightly teasing tone sends warmth flooding through your chest. You smile softly. "If you're dreaming of me, then your imagination is terribly dull."
Sirius lets out a short chuckle, rolling onto his back and stretching an arm toward you. "Since you're already here, come on."
You don’t hesitate. The bed creaks slightly as you slide in, molding yourself against the warmth of his body. Sirius shifts to make space, pulling the curtains closed around you both with a lazy flick of his wand before murmuring a silencing charm. The world outside disappears.
His arms wrap around you, pulling you against his bare chest. The heat of his skin is comforting, and you can feel the slow, drowsy rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your cheek.
"Couldn't sleep?" he asks, his lips brushing the top of your head.
You shake your head against him, feeling the movement of his smile before you even see it.
"Lucky me, then."
"Why?"
"Because now I have an excuse to do this." His fingers trail idly up your arm, skimming over your shoulder, your neck, until finally threading into your hair. He plays with the strands absentmindedly while his other arm tightens around your waist, as if making sure you won’t slip away.
You sigh, sinking further into him.
Sirius tilts his head, pressing his lips lightly to your forehead for a lingering moment, his breath warm against your skin before he murmurs:
"Want me to tell you a story?"
You lift your face to look at him. "Since when do you tell stories?"
He shrugs, a lazy glint in his eyes. "Since now. I have a very selective and highly demanding audience to entertain."
You laugh softly but nod. "I do."
Sirius thinks for a moment, his gray eyes lost in the shadows of the bed canopy. Then, in a deliberately dramatic tone, he begins:
"Once upon a time, there was a great hunter in the sky. He was strong, invincible, arrogant as hell, but handsome enough to make up for it—"
"This is about Orion, isn’t it?"
"Hey, who’s telling the story here?"
You smile, resting a hand on his chest. "Go on, then."
Sirius clears his throat theatrically. "As I was saying, Orion was a legendary hunter. But he was also a little impulsive—and pissed off powerful people, which, let’s be honest, is a familiar trait."
The implication in his tone doesn’t go unnoticed. You smile against his skin, feeling Sirius's muscles relax beneath your fingers.
"He boasted that he could defeat any beast on Earth," Sirius continues, lowering his voice to a deep whisper. "And the gods, being the bastards they are, didn’t like that. So they sent a scorpion to kill him. And just like that, the invincible hunter fell."
He pauses, his eyes locked onto yours.
"But the gods placed him in the sky," he finishes softly. "A bright constellation, never to be forgotten."
The silence between you is filled only by the sound of your soft breaths and the slow beat of Sirius’s heart under your palm.
"Tragic," you murmur.
Sirius smiles faintly. "All the best stories are."
You watch his face in the dark, the soft fall of his dark hair over his eyes, the strong line of his jaw softened by the dim light. He looks caught between two worlds—one where he is Sirius Black as everyone knows him, and another where it’s just you and the way he melts into you.
You touch his face lightly, letting your thumb graze the curve of his mouth. "If you were a constellation, which one would you be?"
His lips part slightly under your touch, something warm flickering in his gaze.
"If I could choose..." he murmurs, "any one that’s next to you in the sky."
Your heart clenches.
Sirius seems to notice, because he leans in and presses his lips to yours in a slow, lingering kiss, as if trying to trap the feeling of you here, as if trying to make this moment eternal.
And in a way, it is.
The kiss starts soft. The kind of kiss Sirius gives when he wants to savor, when he wants to feel. But there’s something about you—the way your fingers tangle in his hair, the way your body molds against his, the way your lips return to his without a shred of hesitation—that makes him lose his patience.
The sound he makes against your mouth is deep, almost a low, satisfied purr, and then the softness dissolves. His hands tighten on your waist before sliding up your back, pulling you closer. You feel the tension in his muscles beneath your fingers, his breath becoming more uneven against yours.
Sirius kisses like it’s hunger.
And you surrender.
You get carried away.
Your bodies fit together in an almost desperate way, his hands traveling up your neck, into your hair, his fingers firm against your skin, as if he wants to memorize you. He takes your mouth with more insistence now, deepening the kiss in a way that makes it hot, consuming.
When you let out a quiet moan against his lips, Sirius exhales an almost exasperated sigh and flips you over in one swift motion, pinning you beneath him. His weight is comfortable, warm, and you feel every inch of him against you.
Sirius' gray eyes gleam in the dark, intense, hungry. He leans down, brushing the tip of his nose along your jaw, trailing slowly down your neck, letting his breath warm your skin. A shiver runs through you.
"You know what's funny?" His voice is low, drawling, like a secret whispered against your wrist.
"What?" Your own voice trembles.
"I swear my plan was just to make you sleep." His teeth graze your skin lightly. "But you're not helping, doll."
The shiver rolls down your spine even before you feel the first bite.
Sirius presses his mouth to your neck, sucking slowly before biting—not hard enough to hurt, but enough that tomorrow, you’ll see the marks and remember exactly how they got there.
You cling to him, fingers digging into his bare back, feeling the satisfied chuckle he lets out against your collarbone before biting there too, as if he’s claiming you, leaving his signature on your skin.
You feel him smile against your shoulder before he trails his lips up to your jaw, then back to your mouth. The kiss now is slower, more deliberate, as if he’s savoring the effect he has on you.
Then, as abruptly as he started, Sirius stops.
His lips still brush against yours, but he doesn’t push forward. His breathing is fast, just like yours, and for a moment, he just looks at you, his gaze hazy, intense.
The silence between you is thick, full of everything that doesn’t need to be said.
Then, with a sigh, he lets out a low, husky laugh. "If I keep going, you’ll never sleep."
He doesn’t pull away completely, but you feel the weight of his restraint in his shoulders when he closes his eyes for a moment, controlling his breathing.
Your fingers touch his face, tracing the sharp line of his jaw, feeling the tension beneath his warm skin.
Sirius opens his eyes again, and there’s something so devastatingly intense in them that your heart clenches.
He gives you a faint smile, lips still a little swollen. "You’re killing me, you know that?"
You smile back, sliding your arms around his neck. "If it’s any consolation… we’re dying together."
Sirius lets out a short laugh, then kisses your forehead and pulls you against his chest.
"Now sleep, my love." His voice is low, laced with the sleep that’s finally catching up to him.
Sirius' body is a warm shelter against yours, his chest rising and falling steadily as he holds you tightly, but not trapping you. He lazily runs a hand up and down your back, tracing invisible patterns with his fingertips, the touch so tender it makes your heart ache.
"Breathe with me," he murmurs into your hair, his voice still thick with sleep.
You obey, inhaling when he does, exhaling in the same rhythm. His chest vibrates against you when he lets out a contented sigh, and then, in a tone so soft it feels meant just for you, Sirius starts to hum.
The melody is gentle, little more than a low, resonant hum against your ear. He doesn’t sing words, just lets the sound fill the space between you, as if he’s lulling you into a song only he knows.
And it works.
Your muscles slowly relax, your eyes grow heavy, and the last thing you feel before finally slipping into sleep is the warm press of Sirius' lips against your forehead.
Morning arrives lazily, with the sun filtering through the heavy curtains and spreading a golden glow across the room. You're still deeply asleep, nestled against Sirius' chest, while he rests his hand possessively on your back, his fingers lazily curled in the thin fabric of your blouse.
Sirius is awake, but he doesn’t move. He just stays there, watching the way your relaxed face looks even more beautiful in the soft light, the way your breath against his collarbone sends shivers down his skin.
He could stay like this all day.
Unfortunately, the world has other plans. The bed curtain is abruptly yanked aside.
"WHAT THE F—"
"Shhh! For Merlin's sake, James!"
Potter’s shout barely has time to echo through the room before it's interrupted by the urgent whispers of Remus. Sirius narrows his eyes, irritated.
"Fuck off, James, shut up," he grumbles, his voice still thick with sleep.
James raises his hands in surrender, but his eyes are still wide as he stares at the scene before him. Remus just rubs his face, exhausted before the day even begins.
Peter, who has just lifted his head from the pillow, gapes and immediately looks anywhere but at the two of you. "Merlin!" he murmurs, his skin flushing instantly.
Sirius, now burying his head against your neck, lets out a low chuckle. He moves just enough to pull the blanket over his body, not because he wants to hide the marks—he’s actually completely satisfied with how they look—but because he prefers no one else sees them.
James, standing at the foot of the bed with his glasses askew and a scandalized look on his face, points an accusing finger. "Those are marks, Sirius!"
Sirius rolls his eyes. "Do you really have to shout about it? Fuck, she’s still sleeping."
"It’s impressive! You were irresponsible!"
"I was passionate," Sirius corrects, a cheeky smile forming on his lips.
Remus, who’s seen worse, just lets out a sigh. "Can we at least pretend to be adults?"
Sirius shrugs, lazily looking at them before simply pulling you a little closer against him.
"You guys talk too much in the morning," he murmurs, his lips brushing the sensitive skin just below your ear.
James grimaces. "I’m going to puke."
"Then puke outside."
Peter makes a muffled sound, clearly too embarrassed to contribute to the conversation.
Remus, always practical, crosses his arms and watches Sirius with an unreadable look. "You’re a shameless dog."
Sirius grins—a lazy, insolent smile that clearly says no, he definitely isn’t ashamed.
"Guilty," he says, his voice drawling.
James shakes his head, frustrated. "Merlin, Black. Could you at least try to look sorry?"
Sirius just smiles more.
And then, in an absurdly possessive gesture, he lowers his face and places a lazy kiss on your exposed shoulder, as if wanting to make it clear to everyone that yes, the marks are his, and yes, he wears them proudly.
"Now, if you don’t mind," he says, pulling the blanket over both of you and closing his eyes again, "get out of here before I get even more graphic."
James lets out a horrified grunt.
Peter rushes to grab his things and leave.
Remus just sighs, clearly used to this.
And Sirius, satisfied with himself, settles back against you, completely ignoring the chaos he’s caused.
