#well adjusted person that they would want to have in their house. be nice but not so nice that it's weird.

[running-in-the-dark]

why is viewing apartments so fucking stressful

it's genuinely one of the worst things ever for me, I hate it, I don't want to do it anymore

[always-a-slut-4-ghouls]

I grew my hair out mainly because I wanted to be able to wear it in a bun but now I have so much hair and still can’t figure out how to do it

[harrysfolklore]

the carlos sainz roast

summary: it's carlos' 30th birthday and what a better way to celebrate it than roasting him. wc: 2.8k

folkie radio: happy birthday to the smooooth operatorrrrr. i hontesly LOVED this idea that randomly popped in my head and writing it was sooo much fun, i hope you like it !

MASTERLIST | MY PATREON

Carlos Sainz was turning 30. The big 30.

You wanted to do something special to celebrate it, something out of the ordinary that he would never forget. After spending multiple hours on the internet looking for ideas, a brilliant one came to your mind: A roast.

"So all of you will take turns roasting me? Like making jokes about me?" Carlos asked, looking at you from the couch as you pitched him your idea.

"Exactly, baby, It's going to be so much fun!"

The next few weeks flew by in a whirlwind of preparations. You sent out invitations, coordinated with the other drivers, and gathered embarrassing photos and funny stories about Carlos.

The night of the roast, you transformed your living room into a makeshift comedy club, complete with a small stage and a spotlight. Each driver that arrived at your house complimenting your effort.

As everyone settled into their seats, you stood up and tapped your glass with a spoon to get their attention.

"Welcome, everyone, to the Carlos Sainz Roast!" you announced, catching Carlos's eye and winking at him. "We're all here to celebrate the man, the myth, the legend... the one who always leaves the toothpaste open - Carlos Sainz Jr. on his 30th birthday. And what better way to show our love than by mercilessly making fun of him?"

Laughter rippled through your friends as Carlos playfully rolled his eyes, "Thank you, amor, that's very nice of you."

You playfully blew a kiss his way before speaking again, "Now, before we start, let's remember the rules: keep it funny, keep it respectful, and try to speak slowly so Max can understand." You shot a teasing glance at Verstappen, who grinned and shook his head.

"First up, we have Charles Leclerc, Carlos's teammate and the only person who can make Carlos look slow on a good day. Charles, the floor is yours!"

Charles stood up, straightening his jacket as he approached the makeshift stage. He cleared his throat dramatically, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

"Thank you for that introduction," Charles began, "You know, when I first heard Carlos was joining Ferrari, I was excited. Finally, someone to make me look good! But then I realized, with his luscious hair and chiseled jaw, he was going to steal all my sponsorship deals. So I had to step up my game."

The room erupted in laughter, Carlos included.

"But seriously," Charles continued, "working with Carlos has been an experience. He's like a Spanish version of Google Maps – always recalculating, never quite sure where he's going, but somehow ends up in the right place eventually. That's why I had no doubt in my mind he was going to find an amazing car to drive next season, my bet was on the Safety Car but he opted for an even slower car, a Williams!"

Everyone erupted in laugh again, making Carlos shake his head with his eyes closed, "That one was low, Leclerc."

Charles took a moment to catch his breath, then added with a grin, “And Carlos, now that you’re 30, you’re officially a veteran in the sport. But don’t worry, no matter how many years go by, you’ll always be the guy who can make a Ferrari look like it's in a constant state of panic. Cheers to you, mate!”

You grinned at Charles as he stepped down, patting Carlos on the shoulder. "Alright, that was pretty good, Charles," you said, "But let's see if Lando can top that. Norris, you're up!"

Lando bounded up to the makeshift stage, his trademark cheeky grin plastered across his face. He adjusted the microphone, clearing his throat dramatically.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't the birthday boy, Carlos 'Smooth Operator' Sainz," Lando began, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "You know, when I first met Carlos at McLaren, I thought, 'Wow, this guy's got it all – talent, looks, charm.' Then I realized it was just his hair products messing with my senses."

The crowd burst into laughter, Carlos included, you ran a hand through his famous locks and he gently grabbed it to place a kiss on your palm.

"If I'm being completely honest," Lando continued, "Carlos taught me so much during our time as teammates. Like how to perfectly time a dad joke in team radio, or how to look devastatingly handsome while finishing P7. Essential skills in F1, really."

The room erupted in laughter once again, with Carlos shaking his head in amused disbelief.

"Carlos, you're one of my best friends," Lando's tone softened slightly, "Even if you did spend most of our time together trying to teach me Spanish pickup lines that work about as well as Ferrari's strategy team."

"But I have a girlfriend and you don't, mate. Even with my bad pickup lines." Carlos jabbed, making you throw your head back in laughter.

As the laughter died down, Lando raised his glass. "To Carlos, the man who proves that you can be devastatingly handsome, irritatingly talented, and still somehow likeable. Happy 30th, mate. May your midlife crisis be as smooth as your overtakes."

Lando stepped down from the stage, approaching Carlos who stood up from his seat to give him a hug.

"Love you, mate," you could hear Carlos say, making you smile.

"Next up, we have Fernando Alonso, Carlos's longtime mentor and fellow Spaniard!" you announced, making everybody clap as Fernando took the stage.

"Ah, Carlos. I've known him since he was just a little karting prodigy. Back then, I thought, 'This kid's going places.' Now, 20 years later, I realize I was right – he's gone to every midfield team on the grid!"

The crowd roared with laughter as Fernando continued, "But seriously, I always thought Carlos had potential, and I was right, he's got the potential to be the second-best Sainz in Motorsports!"

Carlos playfully rolled his eyes, taking a sip from his drink.

"But let me tell you something, Carlos," Fernando's tone softened slightly, "You've made all of Spain proud. You've shown that with hard work, talent, and a famous last name, anything is possible in F1. Well, almost anything, winning a championship might still be a stretch!"

As the laughter died down, Fernando raised his glass. "To Carlos Sainz Jr., the man who proves that you can be a great driver, a fan favorite, and still be overshadowed by your dad at family dinners. Feliz cumpleaños, amigo!"

Fernando stepped down from the stage, approaching Carlos who stood up to give him a warm, laughing embrace. As they parted, you stood up to introduce the next roaster.

"Now, let's hear from someone who's known Carlos since their early days in Formula 1. Please welcome to the stage, the reigning world champion and certified cat lover, Max Verstappen!"

Max sauntered up to the stage, he adjusted the mic and grinned at Carlos.

"If it isn't the new old man of the grid," Max began, earning chuckles from the crowd. "You know, Carlos and I go way back to our Toro Rosso days. I remember when we first met, I thought, 'Wow, this guy's got great hair.' Then I realized that's all he's got!" everyone laughed once again, "Back at Toro Rosso, Carlos was always so dedicated. He'd spend hours studying my telemetry, trying to figure out how to be as fast as me. Spoiler alert: he's still trying!"

The crowd roared with laughter, Carlos included, as he playfully threw a napkin at Max.

"But in all seriousness, Carlos," Max continued with a grin, "you've always been one of the most hardworking and determined drivers on the grid. You never give up, no matter how many times you've been dropped by your teams mid season."

Carlos laughed, raising his glass to Max in a mock toast. "Thanks for the reminder, Max."

"Carlos, you're one of the best guys in the paddock. With your resting bitch face and all, you're always there with a helping hand. Even if your driving skills are debatable," he added with a wink. "Happy 30th, mate."

Max stepped down, and Carlos stood up to give him a hug, both of them laughing. You took the mic once more, "Thank you, Max, for that trip down memory lane. Now, let's welcome to the stage a man who's known for his infectious smile and his matchmaking skills. Please give it up for Daniel Ricciardo!"

Daniel bounded onto the stage with his characteristic enthusiasm, flashing his famous grin.

"G'day, everyone! Carlos, mate, happy birthday!" Daniel began, "You know, I've known Carlos for years, but my proudest achievement was introducing him to his lovely girlfriend, YN," you smiled at this, feeling Carlos squeeze your hand, "I thought to myself, 'This bloke needs someone who can put up with his golf obsession and his constant need for mirror checks.' And boy, did I deliver!"

The crowd erupted in laughter, with you and Carlos exchanging amused glances.

"I remember the day I introduced them," Daniel continued, "I told YN, 'Look, he's a great guy, but be prepared for endless conversations about tyre management and the perfect hair product.' Little did I know, she'd be nodding along enthusiastically!"

You playfully rolled your eyes as the audience chuckled.

"But seriously, folks," Daniel's tone softened slightly, "watching these two together is like watching a perfect pit stop - smooth, efficient, and occasionally involves someone getting sprayed with champagne."

Carlos pulled you closer, placing a kiss on your cheek as everyone 'aww'ed.

"Carlos, mate," Daniel concluded, raising his glass, "you've found yourself a keeper. Someone who can navigate your mood swings faster than you navigate Eau Rouge. YN, love, you've got yourself a man who's smoother than a freshly paved track... at least when he's not tripping over his own feet trying to impress you."

Daniel stepped down from the stage, approaching you and Carlos. You both stood up, enveloping him in a group hug, all three of you laughing and thanking him for his words.

"Alright, that was brilliant, Daniel. Now, let’s hear from let's hear from someone who's about to get very familiar with Carlos's driving quirks. Please welcome to the stage, Carlos's new future teammate, Alex Albon!"

Alex strode up to the stage with a playful grin, adjusting the microphone as he faced the audience.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't my new teammate, Carlos Sainz," Alex began, "You know, when I heard Carlos was joining Williams, I thought, 'Great, someone to help push the team forward!' Then I remembered his time at Ferrari and realized he's just as confused about strategy as the rest of us."

The room erupted in laughter, with Carlos good-naturedly shaking his head.

"But seriously, Carlos," Alex continued, "I'm excited to work with you. I mean, who wouldn't want a teammate who's been through more teams than I've had podiums? Toro Rosso, Renault, McLaren, Ferrari... Williams is just the latest stop on the Carlos Sainz World Tour, isn't it?"

Carlos raised his glass in mock salute, chuckling along with the audience.

"I have to say, though, I'm a bit worried," Alex said, feigning concern. "I've seen how competitive you are, Carlos. I just hope you remember that at Williams, we're usually racing against the clock, not other cars. But hey, at least you'll always beat the safety car... probably."

"You know, Carlos, I just realized we have something else in common besides our great hair and questionable career choices. We're both proud members of the 'No Appendix Club'!"

The room burst into laughter, with Carlos nodding in amused agreement.

"That's right, folks," Alex continued, "Carlos and I have both had our appendixes removed. I like to think it makes us more aerodynamic, but let's be honest, in Carlos's case, it's probably just made room for more hair product."

Carlos playfully patted his hair, eliciting more chuckles from the audience.

"But seriously," Alex said, "I suppose this means we're perfectly matched as teammates. We're both down an organ, so when Williams inevitably asks us to give 100%, we can honestly say we're already giving everything we've got - minus an appendix, of course! Happy birthday, teammate, here's to a season of driving a tractor, but at least we'll be together."

Alex stepped down from the stage and approached Carlos, who stood up to give him a hug patting his back.

"Now, let's welcome to the stage a man who needs no introduction, but I'll give him one anyway. Seven-time world champion and fashion icon, Lewis Hamilton!" you said and everyone clapped.

Lewis sauntered up to the stage with his characteristic cool demeanor. "Carlos, my man," he began, "I've got to hand it to you. You've had quite the career. Toro Rosso, Renault, McLaren, Ferrari, next year Williams, it's like you're collecting team merchandise,"Lewis grinned mischievously as he continued, "You know, Carlos, I've got to thank you. You've done such a great job warming up that Ferrari seat for me. It's like you were my personal seat heater all along!"

The crowd roared with laughter as Carlos playfully buried his face in his hands, and you rubbed his back comfortingly while chuckling.

"But seriously," Lewis continued with a grin, "You've made that Ferrari seat look good. I just hope I can live up to your legacy of looking devastatingly handsome while trying to figure out what on earth the pit wall is thinking."

Carlos laughed, shaking his head in mock despair. "Thanks, Lewis. I appreciate the… kind words."

"You know, Carlos, I've always admired your ability to stay positive," Lewis continued his roast, "No matter how many times you've been dropped from teams, you always manage to smile for the cameras. It's like you've mastered the art of looking happy while screaming internally. I'm taking notes mate!"

After a few more jabs Lewis concluded his roast, several other drivers took their turns at the mic, each adding their own flavor to the celebration. George joked about Carlos's infamous beach photos, Pierre told some stories about their Toro Rosso days and even Oscar joked about being surprised about being invited since him and Carlos always push each other off the track.

Finally, it was your turn. You stood up, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness as you approached the stage. Carlos looked at you with a huge smile.

"Well, well, well," you began, locking eyes with Carlos, "what can I say about Carlos Sainz that hasn't already been said? He's talented, he's handsome, and he's the only man I know who spends more time on his hair than I do."

The room filled with laughter as Carlos nodded in mock pride.

"But seriously, living with Carlos is an adventure," you continued, "He's always talking about smooth operations, but let me tell you, there's nothing smooth about the way he leaves his socks all over the house. It's like living in a minefield of sweaty foot prisons."

Carlos threw his head back in laughter along with the rest of the guests.

"And don't even get me started on his competitiveness. Everything's a race with this guy. Brushing teeth? Race. Getting dressed? Race. I'm surprised he hasn't tried to overtake me in bed yet!"

The room erupted in cheers and wolf whistles as Carlos turned a shade of red.

"But in all seriousness," your voice softened, "Carlos, you're the most incredible person I know. You're kind, passionate, and you never give up, whether it's on the track or trying to convince me that paella is a breakfast food."

You raised your glass, "To Carlos, the love of my life and the smoothest operator I know. Happy 30th birthday, mi amor. May your future be as bright as your smile and your pit stops be faster than your hair routine."

As you finished, Carlos stood up, his eyes shining with laughter and love. He pulled you into a tight embrace as the room filled with applause and cheers.

"I love you so much," he whispered into your ear, kissing your temple softly.

"Well, folks, I think we've successfully roasted Carlos to a crisp," you said with a grin. "But before we wrap up, I think it's only fair that the birthday boy gets a chance to respond. Carlos, amor, the floor is yours!"

"Wow," he began, his accent thicker than usual, "I'm not sure whether to feel honored or insulted. But I guess that's the point of a roast, right?" He paused as chuckles rippled through the room. "First off, I want to thank all of you for being here. It means a lot that you'd all take time out of your busy schedules to come and insult me."

Carlos thanked each of his friends with a blend of humor and sincerity, making everyone laugh. He playfully teased Charles about making him look good on track, jested with Lando about the success of his Spanish pickup lines with you, and expressed gratitude to Fernando for his mentorship while vowing to become the best Sainz in motorsports.

"And finally, to my beautiful girlfriend," Carlos's voice softened as he looked at you, "Thank you for organizing this amazing night, and for putting up with me every day. You're the real smooth operator here."

The room erupted in cheers and applause as Carlos stepped down from the stage. You met him halfway, wrapping your arms around him in a tight hug once again.

"Happy birthday, amor," you whispered in his ear, pulling away to kiss him softly.

[stars-for-circe]

Firsts

Support Palestine

Tags / cw: weed, alcohol, implied making out, college party au, dealer!Ellie, tiny bit suggestive

The smell of weed was what first drew you outside to her. Well, it was a college party - there was going to be weed. But this was different. It was different. Somewhere, through that euphoric dizziness made from a punch that was more moonshine than mango juice, you smelled roses.

Like some fucked up cartoon, your feet carried your body out of the house, the air inside now warm from the oversupply of body heat and drunken dancing. God you were hot. A palm against your flushed red face once hidden from the colourful ambiance of the living room cooled you, as you weakly shoved your way around until you reached the door. Thank fuck.

“No, fuck-!”

You tripped. Either from your untied laces or the small ledge between tile kitchen and wooden porch, you couldn’t remember, but either way, you now found yourself face fucking first on the damp porch. Shit, you were drunk.

…And it felt nice. Really nice. So nice, in fact, that you couldn’t help but nestle your face against the cold floor, too focused on your slowing heart rate, your lowering temperature - the music from inside only detectable now in faint vibrations through the floor. You could stay here for a while, you thought. It was so quiet, and so cold and comfy,

“N’ it smells like roses…” you giggled to yourself.

“Yea? Think it’s just the weed, baby.” Ellie snickered to herself. And you jumped.

“Gah- holy shit!” You whisper-yelled and snapped your head up at her voice, body still splayed frozen like a starfish on the floor as your eyes adjusted to the dark. A couple metres in front of you sat Ellie Williams on the stairs, barely visible, and only by the small dot of light at the end of her joint and the soft glow of the street lamp.

She stared at you, while blinking slowly, a grin lazily painting itself across her face. You glared at her back, for destroying your peace, as she took another drag from that stupid joint. Your relaxed mind pinpointed the source of the roses - now stronger than ever - but it was too relaxed to understand what it really was. And Ellie noticed your staring.

“It’s uh, rose infused. My own special blend.” She waved it around as she spoke, looking proud of her creation. And the overstuffed baggie of cash by her side proved why.

“You wanna try some, cutie?”

You sat up at a leisurely pace, struggling a little in the dark. Then, you huffed out a laugh at this whole situation as you looked down at the floor in shame. Of all people you ran into, it was the fucking drug dealer. The only person you would have nothing in common with. You were 20 years old, for fucks sake, and you had never smoked weed.

“I um…can’t.”

“Why, already high? You look it.” She snickered again. Strong fucking strain, you thought.

“No, I just….can’t.”

“Oh.” Ellie furrowed her brows, leaning against the railing as she tried to find the words. God, this was so embarrassing, you just wanted to go back inside. And you almost did - twisting yourself around and leaning back on your feet to stand.

“…..want me to teach you?” She called out, waiting for your answer, and when you didn’t give one, she laughed, this time. Seriously, was it the fucking rose shit or what?

“Just-” Ellie tried saying, broken up with giggles.

“-come here. ‘M gonna try something.” Hesitantly, you tiptoed over to sit opposite her on the stairs, curious - and a little nervous - at what Ellie was planning. She took another deep drag, before sitting up straight and crossing her legs, focusing on you. And by now, you were blaming the butterflies in your stomach entirely on the alcohol.

“So, y’ever heard of shotgunning?”

Oh, fuck.

“Uh- yeah. Somewhat.”

And maybe if you weren’t so drunk, and if it wasn’t so dark, you would have noticed Ellie’s eyes trailing down to your lips. And maybe how her smart choice of shoes that night, a platform pair of converse, tucked itself perfectly between her legs - the slightest of pressure to ease the ache forming. But her eyes snapped back, all bleary and red, as she focused her attention back on making eye contact once again.

“And you won’t get nervous if I just…..get close or anything?” She was whispering now, already closing the distance bit by bit, a small smile adorning her face.

“No.”

She took another drag.

“And you won’t get nervous if I do this?” Her voice even softer now, as her hand - warm from resting in the pocket of her hoodie - gently cupped your face. The smoke coming from her mouth making your eyes water at the proximity, and the smell of roses making you heavy headed.

“No.” By now you were whispering, too. And she paused, eyes flicking to your lips again, this time lasting longer.

“Then close your eyes, baby.”

Through the rosy haze of weed smoke and alcohol, you could barely register her command, closing your eyes ever so slowly. You heard a small a small hitch of breath, and then a long deep puff of the joint in front of you. The hand cupping your face shifted slightly as Ellie rubbed her thumb gently along your skin, asking you to open your mouth. And when you did, you could have sworn you felt her thumb brush against your bottom lip, the both of you almost in a trance with each other, before the warm smoke blew into your mouth.

Fuck, was this really happening? You almost forgot to inhale it. But you did, in the end - the smell and taste of pungent weed lined with pink, airy roses sinking deep in your lungs. You let it sit there, resisting the strong urge to cough, before opening your eyes and exhaling slowly in tandem. And what a sight you were met with.

Ellie, with red, droopy eyes, mouth still open slightly as she watched your lips move and smoke billow out. Ellie, with the tiniest of curious smiles on her face as she watched your eyes slow to widen at the closeness of her face to yours. Ellie, coming even closer to your lips the longer you sat there.

“So, how’d you rate it?”

“Eh, a six….” You thought out loud.

“…I smell like roses now, though.” And you started giggling, as you stared at Ellie’s playfully unamused glare at your rating.

“First of all, fuck you - a six? Second of all, you smell like weed with roses.” She retorted, pinching your cheek softly. Fuck, her hand was still there, too. You tried to play your nervousness off, poking her in the centre of her chest as you tried to play back.

“And you smell good.” You whispered teasingly, leaning close once again. But Ellie, thank god for her higher tolerance, predicted exactly where you were going. Moving her hand from your cheek to the arm outstretched to her chest, pushing it to splay widely against her, trapping it there at the wrist, she met you in the middle. And your lips, between the thick smoke of it all, just breath touched. It went quiet again. But the heartbeat you felt between your fingers broke the silence each time it beat.

And you couldn’t see her expression so late at night - or so early in the morning, you should say - but the way her breath hitched, the way the soft beat of the music from inside of the house went quiet in your head, and the way the butterflies in your stomach became so very present-

“Do I smell good enough to kiss?”

You hesitated once again, hand once outstretched again her chest now closed in a loose fist.

“C’mon, baby…..you can’t do this, too?”

Oh, fuck you, you thought, stealing the joint and taking a hard drag, much to Ellie’s surprise - and amusement.

“Yeah, you gonna teach me or what, Williams?”

The joint now smoked the the butt, and crumbling to bits as Ellie scoffed, snatching it out of your grasp and flicked it onto the driveway. Both her hands free now as they grabbed your face and pulled you in.

“Better be more than a six…”

Taglist: @happysparklingshadows @irelandzo @r3starttt @iamaboringrattat @genderfluidlesbain999 @slut4mascss @rxreaqia @kylorey25 @massivepeacefemme @elliewilliamsfavborderhopper @elliewilliamsisactuallymygf @ratdungeon @elxarw @mariasabanahabanabana @vvynia @abbyshands @littlegingerperson5 @flowersforvi

[lovesickeros]

zhongli and neuvillette fighting over their reader 🤭🤭

scary dog privilege wherever you go, draconic courting gestures that would scare any regular person, they send each other deadly glares the moment you turn away,

stealing your clothes to just get a whiff of your scent, marking their territory all over your house - making it a battlefield basically, neuvillette (in my hc) is cooler and zhongli is warm so the cuddles are always so comfy ☺️😍,

they give you anything you want - you don't even have to lift a finger, they make you travel between the nations a lot though 😒 sooo clingyyy, extra gentle in their dragon forms as to not squish you, don't even get me started on the size difference 😍😍

just a little thought 🤭☺️

- 🐈‍⬛

Neuvi being colder is so real and canon. I see him as being colder + a lot more lithe, kinda lanky with smaller but sharper canines versus Zhongli who's warmer and a bit shorter then Neuvi + bulkier with bigger but not as sharp canines.

They've also got very different habits – Zhongli is very prideful not just of himself but his nation. He'll personally give your a tour and purposely drag it out as long as he can. Complimenting Liyue is basically complimenting him, checkmate Neuvi. Especially if he convinces you to try on some local Liyue fashion. Harmless and just a nice gift to anyone else but Neuvi sees it for what it is (since your wearing something from Liyue, technically wearing something of his. He loves his technicalities when it comes to staking a claim over you). Adds salt to the wound by touching you in totally innocent ways like to adjust you towards something he wants to show you or accidently brushing against you when he takes the bags of spoils he's practically drowning you in but really he's just making sure his scent sticks. He's just a sweet, nice gentleman with absolutely no ulterior motives trust.

Neuvillette does love Fontaine, but his habits are more about himself then the nation. He'll take you around if you ask or if the idea strikes him, but you'll probably stay around the making city area or the opera house specifically. He enjoys more personal time with just you and him then anything else. He values the immaterial to the material. Zhongli spoils you with gifts, but Neuvi tries to offer quality time irregardless of physical gifts (though he still gives them just not to the extent of Zhongli). He'll take you to see different operas if that's to your fancy, or leverage a bit of his authority to maybe see a few films since those seem to be hitting off in Fontaine recently. Bet that creaky old archon doesn't have those huh. He feels awkward if you want to watch a trial, but he'll reluctantly agree because. well. it's you. just don't wave or anything he's trying to work and he just Really wants to see you smile at him like that again and it makes him lose his train of thought. gets custom clothes designed by Chiori to replace your clothes from Liyue because they smell of Zhongli and it makes him sulky + he likes to match.

G-d forbid these two are in the same room as you because it's a war of attrition at that point. Constant accidental brush of the hand against your shoulder or elbow but it's just them trying to get rid of the others scent. they are side eyeing each other behind your back while being all smiles whenever your looking. If it's hot and you lean into Neuvi more he's practically GLOWING. not even smug he's just absolutely smitten and happy to be of service. immediately takes off his gloves and presses his hands to your face asking if your okay and if you want to go back with him. if it's cold out and you seek out Zhongli more hes smug as hell beneath the calm veneer. Offers you his coat and stay as physically close to you as he can under the pretense of being worried you'll catch a cold if he doesn't warm you up.

don't even get me started on your house either because you probably have tons of gifts from both of them accumulated everywhere. if Neuvi sees you use a tea set from Zhongli suddenly he had a fantastic gift idea he thought you'd like. he even got some tea included with it so why don't you let him make you some? Zhongli sees you using a goblet Neuvi gave you (totally a coincidence it's similar to his) and suddenly you have 27 square cups in your cabinets that you have no idea where they came from. if the goblet is mysteriously missing oh well. who knows :]

[juuuulez]

mikey is such a cutie patootie!! i imagine that his family all really love you (and maybe pin too much hope on you to ‘save’ him) so at holidays everyone’s just so sweet to you. everyone knows they can joke or make snide comments at mikey, but god forbid anyone goes after you (uncle lee made the mistake of accusing you of drugs too. it’s a good thing donna totaled her car because otherwise lee would be fucked up)

and idk mikey can be so sweet i know he can!! you’re kind of the pete to his sugar in a way

literally agree like he just needs HIS person and he would be so proud to show you off

a berzatto christmas is chaotic but you’ll quickly learn how to handle that energy, knowing it’s just common for them. everyone (or at least most of them) treat you well, and sometimes you’re even enough to diffuse the tensest of situations.

“hey! your hookers here!” uncle lee will shout when you walk through the door, not so much an announcement to mikey as it is to the room, something to gain a reaction. thankfully he isn’t around right now, for that would be the beat-down of the century.

you offer lee a thin smile, knowing by this point not to engage. “merry christmas to you, too.”

the house is warm and alive with energy, everyone you pass throwing a greeting your way. natalie stops you for a hug, her hands smoothing down your dress and making a comment about how nice it looks, but “aren’t you cold, sweetheart? did you drive here? we’ll get you a coat for later, okay?”

on the way to the kitchen, you have to physically evade richie’s hand coming to mess with your hair. it’s been perfectly done up for the occasion and his big hand serves as an obstacle, wanting to ruffle it like usual.

you huff and swat his arm away, ducking quickly through the door and missing the glare it earns him from tiff.

finally, you make it into the kitchen. it’s disorganised and messy, pots overflowing, spoons left on the counter. carmy is trying to reign in the situation, in his own silent way, not wanting to cause any additional tension.

“hey, d.” you greet donna from behind, who was too caught up in whatever to notice your arrival. she turns around with an exasperated noise, both her hands finding your shoulders before moving to your cheeks.

“how are you?” she asks, but is talking before you can get a response in. “i was reading this magazine, and there was this model, and i swear, it looked— hey! hands off!”

whatever tangent donna was on is interrupted as carmy goes to stir a pot, to which she bats his hands away, going on about its contents and how it needs to simmer.

“it smells good in here!” you chirp, a smile on your face as you open the fridge.

“wine,” donna continues, “did you want some wine? here, sweetheart. let me pour you a glass.”

“no, no, i’m okay!” you quickly interject, already having found a cold bottle from the fridge. “beer is good, beer will be fine.”

she makes an offhanded comment about needing to “treat yourself to something nice” and not drinking “cheap garbage.” meanwhile, donna continues pouring the aforementioned glass, only to sip from it herself while she cooks.

you take about three gulps of the beverage before footsteps bring another presence to attention. it’s always easy to hear mikey before seeing him, for he’s often already yelling to you from the other room. this time it’s a call of your name, loud and warm, so you flutter closer to the doorway to meet him.

“hey,” you greet with a smile, hands reaching for the fabric of his sweater while his find your hips. “you look good. like this colour on you.”

“says you,” mikey will quip back. “this fuckin’ dress on you, jesus. tryna’ kill a man, huh?”

it gets a giggle out of you, cheeks flushing red at the blatant compliments despite the others in the room. it was something you were still adjusting to: showing love so casually and shamelessly no matter the circumstances, like it was the only thing that mattered.

“merry christmas, bear.” you coo, pressing a kiss to his stubbled cheek.

it earns a squeeze of your hips, mikey moving to kiss back. “merry christmas, baby.”

“can you guys please fuckin’ move.” carmy snaps suddenly.

the peace is again broken, with donna scolding him and going on and on about something you pay no mind to. it onto causes carmy to heat up further, complaining about how you’re both in the way in that usual overwhelmed sense.

mikey doesn’t help, chiming in with his own remark. “oh, is our affection ruining your flow? you know what your problem is, you gotta chill out. it’s christmas, and you’re fuckin’ wound up—”

“okay, okay. we will move. let carmy have his peace.” you interrupt him, trying to save the conversation by giving mikey a little push to usher him out of the kitchen. it works, thankfully, for the second that he spots richie he’s going on again about some other story you’re sure you’ve already heard, but is somehow relevant right now.

[killualoverr]

hellooo :D

I see you want some requests for a while and I really liked your dating hc w persona 5 girls

can you a do a same one but with goro Akechi and joker ? (fem reader)

please don't overwork yourself dear<3 Have a nice day<3

₊ ☆ ‧₊˚ → ren/joker and akechi general relationship hcs!

cw: fluff, slight angst in akechi’s part, mentions of shido (and therefore spoilers)

note: ahhhhh tysm, you’re so sweet! i’m glad you enjoyed my other dating hcs and hope you like these as well! ( ˶ˆᗜˆ˵ )

- ren is a very flexible and accommodating boyfriend. it’s not that he changes his entire personality forcefully to fit your needs, it's just natural for him for some reason.

- he doesn’t mind some pda here and there

- he introduces you to his friends early on and you become part of their group pretty fast

- if you’re not a phantom thief he tries to not pull you into anything involving that sort of business just to avoid endangering you

- if you’re a phantom thief, in the metaverse he's always watching out for you.

- talking about watching out for you, he looks out for you in subtle ways, like walking on the side with the traffic, giving up an empty seat on the train for you, etc.

- he’s the type of boyfriend that wins the prize you want for you at an arcade (like after 7 tries but he still gets it nonetheless)

- sojiro is constantly giving you things on the house whenever you come to leblanc

- dates with him are practically anywhere, he just likes spending time with you.

- akechi doesn't want people knowing too much about his personal life as someone who's in the public eye. not only that, he wants to avoid getting you involved in any shido/phantom thief business.

- so your relationship is kept private for your safety. he’ll do anything to avoid putting you in harms way

- pda isn't common, however he makes lots of time for you! it’s a bit limited because of his occupation but he always makes sure to at least text you a few times throughout the day <3

- he adores quality time

- once he adjusts to literally one of the first healthy relationships in his life he's very sweet

- very very touch starved. at first he hates physical affection because it makes him feel vulnerable but after a bit of reassurance from you he eventually gets more comfortable with it.

- that being said, akechi has a very complicated past that affected him in more ways than one, so reassurance plays a big role in your relationship with him.

- he also values communication. whether you're going through something or on a rare occasion that you had an argument, talk to him and tell him what you need/want.

- dates will happen at akechi's apartment or at your house. if you guys are outdoors, it would be at a somewhere like a restaurant most of the time.

[sirfrogsworth]

Photo Restoration Project - Part 1

A long time ago, Katrina sent me some old photos of her family I could restore. Her parents have been helping me from afar for years and I really wanted to do something nice for them. Unfortunately my dad got much worse and I pretty much forgot about this project for quite some time.

But then I decided to visit Katrina in Orlando and we discussed having dinner with her parents and I remembered these photos. So I thought I would fix them up so I could present them as a gift in person.

The first and most important photo was from her parents wedding.

Old photo prints can fade over time due to UV light exposure. From what I understand, different colors fade at different rates and red/orange tones tend to be the least susceptible to this fading. Thankfully all of the color information is still there, it's just that the darks are not as dark and the lights are not as light. The dynamic range got squeezed like an accordion. However, if you do a levels adjustment on the red, blue, and green channels individually, you can unsqueeze the accordion and balance everything back to the way it was.

But you can't always save everything and there may be other damage that needs fixing. If something becomes pure white, there is no way to restore that detail. Thankfully I was able to use the new generative fill feature to bring back detail in the dress, the flowers, and the tuxedo shirt.

And because I hate front facing flash and how it makes colors look ugly and sterile, I may have also added a marble floor and pillars.

Next up was a photo of Anastasia, Katrina's mom, protesting Henry Kissinger on behalf of her home country of Greece. This suffered from the same color fading issues.

What made this one a little more tricky was an uneven fading. The left side had to be adjusted independently and the top was even more faded. I had to isolate the trees to bring back their color. And the protest signs were difficult to read, so I enhanced those as well.

Next we have this lovely photo of Anastasia tending to some house plants.

This photo was actually in decent shape. It lost a little contrast, had a little bit of fading, and her top retained almost no detail I could recover. Recovering accurate skin tones is probably one of the most important skills I learned when restoring these photos. I wanted to keep that filmic look of the era while avoiding making people look jaundiced or pale. Lightroom's new masking feature that let's you isolate every aspect of the people it detects in a photo. This made fixing skin tones much easier. I could isolate just her face or her lips or her hair or her eyes and make precise individual adjustments. This process could have taken a great deal longer without this feature. But, I brought back proper contrast and color, added a little bit of detail to her top with gen fill, and hopefully got fairly accurate skin tones as well.

Next up, forward facing flash strikes again in a photo of Mike and Anastasia during Christmas.

Film did not do well in low light. If it was indoors and nighttime, you pretty much had no choice but to use flash. But a flash is a very small, bright light source and this causes a very unflattering result on humans. Today we have much more powerful flashes with rotating heads. We can bounce the light into the ceiling or off a wall and increase the size of the light source to get a more flattering result.

In this photo I wasn't able to do much, so I just balanced the skin tones and brought out some hidden detail and called it a day. It's still a lovely memory and thankfully film has such character that it negates a lot of the unflattering aspects of direct flash.

Next up is some cuteness...

A big priority when editing photos is to make sure the subjects are the star of the photo. And in this one their faces were a bit obscured in shadow. There was also a lot of haze in the background hiding the beautiful vista. Not to mention when I cleared that haze, there was this super faint hint of something in the sky. I can't tell if it was a rainbow, but I decided to believe it was a rainbow. The only thing that I am still struggling with, and this seems to be common with a lot of old photos, is green. Getting a good, saturated, natural green to look right has been very difficult. Everything I try ends up looking toxic or fake. The only thing that ends up looking right with the rest of the photo is more of a yellow-y brown. It's something I'll have to work on as I learn, but as long as the overall photo looks balanced and natural, I'm okay with not perfectly nailing the greens.

Up next we have a lovely scene on a Greek dock...

As far as editing goes, this was pretty basic. I just undid the fading, adjusted the skin tones, replaced the blown-out sky, and made the colors pop. But I think this is actually one of my favorite before and after shots. I just love how such a simple fix brought this scene to life.

A new car is a big deal and Anastasia looks so proud here...

This image has another common issue in addition to the typical fading of colors. It has a yellowish orange color cast. This could have been an issue with the film used or the development process or a chemical reaction on the print. A color cast is a lot like looking through colored glasses. It's like a translucent color material was put on top of the image. This can be a little trickier to deal with, but if you know your color theory, you might already know the solution. Blue is the opposite of yellow/orange on the color wheel, so if you introduce blue to the image it should balance out. Also, add a sky if it was missing.

Next up we have a landscaping project...

This one wasn't too tricky, but there was one interesting issue I had to address. All light has a color temperature. Daylight has a temperature of around 5500K. But the inside of the garage was being lit by reflected light and so that light took on the color temperature of the things it was bouncing off of. So I had to mask out the people and the car and address the color temperature inside the garage to make everything look balanced. Also, the green fought me hard on this one. And with the theme of this picture being plants, I felt I really needed to find a tone that worked. I think I finally got there, but I spent way too much time in the color picker doing trial and error of green tones. Also, new sky.

With this next one I actually did a pretty thorough explanation of how I edited it. But this was probably my favorite puzzle to solve from this collection of photos.

I'll do the abridged explanation...

The physical photograph was printed on a paper with a very heavy texture. And when it was scanned, the light from the scanner bounced off that texture and created a pattern of unwanted highlights.

I was worried this was impossible to fix and I almost gave up on this photo. But after one final Google search I discovered something called "Fast Fourier Transform." It's a mathematical formula that can be used to detect patterns. And the image editing software Affinity Photo, just so happens to have a filter called FFT denoise that helps you remove unwanted patterns from scanned photos.

And thanks to that filter, I was able to remove a substantial amount of that pattern...

Then I did my standard clean up techniques...

Oh, and I decided to try learning how to colorize.

Photoshop has a new set of experimental filters and a colorization tool is one of them. It is not great yet, but it is a great starting place. Instead of having to hand paint every single thing in the photo, Photoshop gave me a base to work with and I could take it from there with traditional techniques.

That's all I have the energy for today, but there are a bunch of cool restorations to talk about. Hopefully you all find this interesting. It was such a great gift to give to Katrina's parents. And spending that time with them and making them happy felt like I was with my own parents again. So we all got a gift in that wonderful evening.

Part 2 coming as soon as I have the energy!

[notroosterbradshaw]

about: just some smut to fend off jetlag. i love sleepy Bradley, I make no excuses that I feel he does his best work in the early hours of the day. This was supposed to be a drabble… it’s not anymore. Sorry.

word count: 3.2k

warnings: nsfw 18+, language, pure fluff, smut.

masterlist.

The morning after the night before when Bradley met your family for the first time, you'd flown across the world to surprise your dad for his birthday and really, it luckily coincided with Bradley's time off. When you mentioned heading home for your old man's special day that usually kicked off your family's holiday season, you almost fell out of your seat when he said maybe it was time he met the fam face-to-face, not just making small talk over FaceTime. It almost didn’t seem fair that he was subjected to meeting everyone this way, but alas… here you were the next morning, jet lag kicking in while wrapped protectively in Bradley’s strong, golden arms and washed in the relief your family fucking loved him. You weren't overly surprised. 

Bradley's quiet, unassuming charm was just who your mum wanted you to end up with, he was into golf and surfing, so your dad and brothers thought he was the bee's knees. Your sister on the other hand... 

You had to fend her off more than you would have liked. You were confident in your relationship with Bradley, knowing he'd never allow anything to happen. "You're coming across a little desperate," you hissed after one or two drinks, which mortified her, and she apologised, admitting she was just happy to finally get to meet the guy who'd swept you off your feet. "Yes, my feet," you reminded her. When she pointed out how possessive you sounded, you didn't deny it. But she got it and gave you space for the rest of the evening. 

Ahh, sisters. 

Bradley felt your body writhe in the gentlest of movements against his and he sighed. Sleep hadn’t come easy for either of you and compounded with the food and booze you’d indulged in the day before, neither of you slept much. “You okay, sweetheart?” he whispered at God-knows-what-o’clock. 

“What time is it?” You asked softly.

“I dunno, baby. Sun is barely rising,” he admitted. “Can’t hear a peep in the house.”

Which was nice because yesterday was intense. Everyone was so excited to meet your new American boyfriend (fairly, it’d been about eight months, give or take with a few deployments), the incredibly handsome navy pilot whom you’d met one evening at a naval bar while travelling. You’d caught his eyes behind his sunglasses while he played the piano, the crowd around him as swept away with him as you were. The first half-smile in your direction, as he sang, had done you over in a way not one single person on the planet had before. 

He'd charmed you instantly. He still charmed you constantly. 

“Did you get any sleep?” you asked, biting back a yawn.

“Not really,” he peppered tender kisses into your shoulder blade and smiled into your skin as you pressed back into him, the oh-so-quiet moan made for his ears only waking him from his dreaded fog as well. “I’ll try and get a kip somewhere today. That fuckin’ flight murdered me.” 

“You were happy to fly economy,” you muttered. “I know you’re used to tight quarters, but fuck Bradley. It was 15 hours." 

“I know, I know I fucked up. I was looking at upgrades overnight. I’ll use my discount and stuff; we can do it flying home.”

“You sure?”

“Sue me for wanting to save a buck,” he sighed, with a tired, deep chuckle. “Flight was so full; people may as well have been sitting on the wings.”

“It’s Christmas. People travel.”

“You don't say,” he affectionately gripped your waist, rolling you to him and kissed you. “Good morning, I think," he nuzzled your nose against his and asked if you wanted some water or anything.

You shook your head, rolling back and snuggling into him as he adjusted his arms around you again, his nose buried in your hair. "I think Dad is gonna expect you for at least nine holes today." 

"I think so, yeah. Grill me and make sure I'm good enough for his little girl.” He murmured and if he was honest, he was the teeniest bit nervous. He’d never really been in relationships long enough to meet families… and who would he introduce anyone to, except for Mav?

"I think you'll be fine."

"He probably wouldn't be if he knew what a deviant I've turned his smart, beautiful baby girl into.”

You giggled quietly as you could feel the soft ends of his moustache curve into a smirk against the nape of your neck. "He'd send you back on the first flight to LA."

"I would believe that," he said softly. 

"I think yesterday went really well, Bradley," you confided quietly to him.

"You think? I was on my very best behaviour," he teased you.

"Yes, you were," you admitted. Not that he ever wasn't. Bradley was instilled with a remarkable set of manners. He was chivalrous and courteous to a fault, incredibly sweet and at times, pensive, even shy. Almost make believe that you were lucky enough to share his time. You wriggled back against him, and you could feel the hard-on straining through his boxer briefs. "Down, boy." 

"Can't help it," he sighed. "You know what you do to me with that ass. I know what you want. You're not that transparent."

You bit back your pleased smile as his wandering hands travelled down your side, fingertips toying with the hem of his old Navy tee that was now your bed shirt. At home, you were nude sleepers. At your parents' home during the holidays? You showed decorum and respect and you both hated it, preferring skin-on-skin of the other but alas, anyone could walk in at any time. 

“Have a thought about how we might be able to fuck this jetlag off…” 

“Oh, yeah?” at this point, you’d do anything and with Bradley’s travel for work, you hoped maybe he might have some insight. You had planned to just power through and try not to be the world’s most exhausted asshole. 

"You just move your thigh a little this way..." he murmured, his palm cupping your hamstring and you pressed back into him, grinning softly. “And I just slide up in here – ”

“Confident of you, don’t you think?”

“You’re always wet for me,” he whispered against your skin. “Unless you deny it.”

“Never…” you told him, reaching back to wrap an arm around his strong neck. “I just can't keep it down with you. Why didn’t you convince me to get the AirBnb?”

He loved how vocal you were during sex. Your moans, the hisses, the way you'd bite your lip when you were so close. That groan as you came, or the little squeal when you were too sensitive was burned into his brain as his favourite sounds in the world. 

"Just lemme hold you then, it's okay, sweetheart," he grumbled. “I’ll live if you can.” 

“Asshole,” you muttered as he chuckled. 

“Do you want a blowjob?” You nervously offered, turning back to him and he looped your thigh over his hip and perched you above him with such little effort on his behalf - you loved how strong he was but you knew what was waiting for you, Bradley made no secret he was turned on and you loved that you were able to have him on a knife-edge at all times. 

The one per cent, he’s told you once before. 

You’re so sweet to him as you slowly dragged your hand into the waistband of his boxer briefs, revealing more and more skin, cock springing free, slapping against his toned, tanned Adonis belt. Long, thick and dripping with precum already and he almost blushed at how eager he was.

“I’ll never say no,” he replied, “And I know you might be uncomfortable here. Your dad is right across the hall, baby."

“But my daddy is right here…” you immediately corrected him, and he smiled darkly to himself. You didn't use that term lightly, you couldn’t nfi fed to him he had the ability to bring out your innermost feral when you least expected it and he would do his utmost to encourage it (if you were comfortable). 

“Jesus,” his head was swirling, trying to keep calm and not blow his load the second you bared your tongue to him but there was absolutely nothing sweet about it. He was a preening mess when you went down on him. The night you'd told him you weren't overly experienced in blow jobs was the greatest night of his life, coaching you through what he liked and watching you perfect your generous technique time and time again. 

These days, you loved giving Bradley head. He gave you confidence, he made you feel sexy and not like it was only about him on the receiving end. He’s whispered and encouraged, and when it all got too much, he told you he was close. He was neither here nor there on the whole spit or swallow thing… until you and your preference but he was never left empty-handed.

"Shh," you hissed. "Not a sound." 

That one thing you did for him that absolutely made him come undone. And he'd bury his face in your pussy all day if you allowed him to show you how fucking grateful, he was for all the pleasure you presented him. Your sweet, tight wetness that he would eagerly drown himself in if you’d let him. 

Your honeyed tongue delicately tasted the flawless head of his cock, lapping up the precum as Bradley's eyes rolled back into his head and his big hands reached to knot into your hair as you went to work, swirling your tongue and looking up with your big, scheming eyes, knowing you had him at his most precarious. 

He was a weapon in his training, his mind and body were always primed to do what was asked of him, but you were the exception and it scared and excited him.

He could feel himself getting so close to painting the back of that beautiful mouth, and while it pained him to say it, the way your eyes softened told him he’d made the right choice. “Come on, baby, I want you.” 

You gently pulled away and asked, “You don’t want me to finish?”

“No, I wanna fuck, baby. Watch you lose control.” 

“Okay,” you said, your soft hand trading with your warm mouth to tenderly pump and tease him. 

“Gimme a sec. I don't have condoms close,” he whispered. “They're in my luggage.”

"Just pull out, sweetheart," you enticed him, wanting to feel all of him. It was so infrequent you fucked without protection, and of course, you both preferred it that way but after a pregnancy scare (or not, neither of you was really sure) a few months back, you'd both decided to stop tempting fate and ensuring there was a stash of condoms at his place, your place... the goddamn Bronco – Bradley understood that it was your body and you didn’t want to be on the pill. A condom was the least he could do, and he knew it. 

Bradley helped you move up his body and rest you above him. "Are you sure?" he kissed you, your gleaming teeth lightly stinging into his bottom lip with an affectionate nip. 

“I trust you,” you told him. "Cum where you need...”

Truth be told, he wanted to cum deep, but he licked back a wet smile and he moved to his knees to pull his navy tee over your head, bearing your beautiful breasts to him, full, round, nipples begging for attention. “On your back, baby,” he urged, guiding you under him, anticipating how wet you were for him, legs splaying open unashamed. He rested the head of his cock on your weeping cunt, his fingers spreading your bare lips and sweeping your slick across your clit, fascinated by that little peep of desperation from you. Your head fell back against the pillows, bliss sweeping through you as he sweetly pressed one finger into you. “Drippin’,” he reported, pressing in another finger and his thumb rubbing tenderly against your throbbing clit. “Gonna gush for me?” 

You probably would, Bradley’s ability to drag absolutely everything out of you blew your mind each time. “Need your cock. Fill me up, Bradley.” 

Pushing in, one delicious inch by delicious inch, licking his full lips as your back curved to take him as deeply as possible. He buried his face in your breasts, holding one in his calloused palm, eyes fluttering closed as he traced, left wet, open-mouthed kissed and tenderly bit the other, and the groan you let you made him clamp his palm over your mouth. “You’re so wet, baby,” he stared deeply into your eyes as he evened his breath with the first few rolls of his slender hips. "But you're gonna wake your parents if you don’t control yourself."

"Let them fuckin' hear," you muttered behind your hand (you’d die if they heard you though) as he chuckled and began his ruthless assault on your senses, one thrust at a time. 

"You're too good to me," Bradley reminded you in disbelief.  

"All for you," you confided, as you watched the beads of sweat break across his brow as you dug your nails into his well-worked traps, willingly knowing it would leave a mark courtesy of your fresh manicure. You raised your hips to meet his deep, plunging thrusts, fucking into you strong and deep. He felt incredible, you don't think anyone had loved on you as Bradley Bradshaw could. So thorough, and never one to leave you hanging. 

Too long, too sore? He'd pause and tenderly withdraw to hold you, reassuring you that it was fine, and your comfort was paramount. Too sensitive after coming too hard, he'd give you time to recover, finding other ways to bring you pleasure.

It was nice to be considered in your relationship, in your sex life especially. In the past, you'd been made to feel like a machine, if you didn't cum, partners still could, and you'd just deal with it. For a long time, that stuck with you and having someone consider you like Bradley would almost seem too good to be true at the start. 

But that consideration never lapsed. He was make-believe and you fucking hoped if this man and everything he brought to you was a dream that you’d never, ever wake up. 

Desperate to keep himself controlled, Bradley reached for the headboard of your old bed, gripping it for dear life as he tried so damn hard to avoid coming. He loved fucking you raw, and since birth control was completely your choice, you two had to stop playing this dangerous game. Because one day? It would beat you both.

"I need to cum, Bradley," you whined to him as he nodded, chewing his lower lip, and putting your delicate fingers in your mouth, not losing his rhythm. He knew. He knew how close you were. 

"Lemme see you touch yourself, baby. Get those fingers - " he gasped as you clenched around him. "Get 'em nice and wet and play with that sweet, tight pussy. Lemme see you fall apart.”

Before, language like that would embarrass you, but with Bradley, it only spurred you on. It was incredible the ways he’d helped you grow and mature as a friend, partner and lover. As instructed, and in the low early morning light, Bradley’s breath hitched, watching you touch yourself and you couldn’t help it, the beat of his cock against your g-spot, your fingers pressing rough circles into your clit and you started to come. 

“Yes, baby. Yes,” he urged, moving his mouth to your ear, whispering his sweet encouragement. “You feel so good, just a little mo – ” he forced his mouth against yours, kissing your pleasure to him, to keep the noise down. He wrapped his hand under your hip, lifting your waist to push harder into you as you trembled below him, your pussy clutching his cock, spasming as he shuddered against your lips. “Yes, baby.”

“Jesus, Bradley, fuck me,” you begged as his hips speed up like a piston, thrusting hard into your swollen, sensitive pussy, his hand clutching yours away from your strained clit and pressing intensely in your place, hoping to drag your orgasm out and as you fell, lifeless, back against the squishy pillows, pussy pulsating, Bradley grunted low he was coming and after his final few thrusts, he quickly withdrew and unloaded, stroking himself until he was spent, pearly ribbons of cum decorating your belly and breasts. 

He collapsed beside you, taking your cheeks in his face and kissing you wildly. “I love you. I love you, baby,” he kissed you again, and though you were spent, you returned his affections, because truly… you loved Bradley Bradshaw with your entire being. It was going to take a lot to change that. “Are you okay?” he asked, chest still heaving as he breathed, his pointer finger tracing through the mess he made on you.

“I’m good, sweetheart,” you assured him as he gave you one last, final kiss.

“Think that helped with your jetlag?” he teased.

“Makes me want another round,” you admitted as he chuckled and raised an eyebrow. 

“Of course you do,” he pressed a kiss into your pulse and lifted his lips back to yours, holding you close and just like horny teenagers, enjoying making out for a few moments in the afterglow. “Where’s that shirt gone?” he asked, peering over the side of the bed, and cleaning you up. “Jackson Pollack painting here.”

“Be less proud,” you told him as he snorted.

“Yes, ma’am,” he pressed another kiss to your lips. “Sure you’re okay?”

“Perfect, but let me go pee,” you whispered as Bradley kissed you long and deep, he nodded into the kiss but was not quite ready to leave you leave him. 

“Go, clean up, baby,” he helped you up from the bed, your legs precarious and meandering like Bambi. “Careful,” he sighed, wistfully. But he knew it already, you were thoroughly fucked, just how he liked it. 

A few hours later and thankfully, a few more hours of sleep, your alarm woke you, the sun much higher in the sky and the heat of the day starting to rise. You’d showered and told him to come down when he was ready, you’d help your Mum with some brekky.

“You want eggs?”

“Anything,” Bradley admitted. “Famished.”

“Okay, sweetheart,” you cupped his face in your palms and kissed him lightly. “Don’t rush.”

“Okay,” he gave a small grin but didn’t much feel like lingering. After a quick shower, he dressed, annoyed he didn't pack any golf gear, at minimum the shoes that you gave him grief for every time he wore them, but maybe he'd treat himself and buy some at the course today. He rifled through his bag, clutching the velvet box in his palm tightly, convinced more than ever that this was real, this was happening and soon, he'd hope to have you wearing his mother's engagement ring too. 

Slapping on his CVN-71 cap, he knew you went a bit feral when he perched it backward. May as well leave you with good thoughts while he was out and about, asking your old man for your hand on the golf course. And if it went badly, it was also something to identify him when the authorities found him if your dad said no. 

[chestharrington]

Fixation

Rating: E (18+)

Word Count: 6.1k

Warnings: SMUT (fingering, handjob, p in v). Dubious Consent (coercion, power imbalance, failure to pull out), unhealthy/probably illegal power imbalance, stripper!reader, gator is an asshole (like extremely), degradation, misogyny, sexual assault (by a non major character), brief violence, kind of stockholm syndrome if you think about it, unhappy ending

Summary: Gator Tillman’s fixation of the week just so happens to be you, for better or worse.

A/N: If you know me personally please do not read this thank u <3

The foggy clouds of your breath were painted pink by the glow of the neon sign— The Venus Lounge— with a cute little clamshell opening and closing and everything. 

You had a velour sweatsuit pulled over the skimpy costume you’d wear for your next dance, hot pink and bedazzled across the ass. It was trendy maybe fifteen years prior, so it cost just about nothing when you bought it at a bin sale. 

Sweet, strawberry-scented vapor poured from your lips as you exhaled. You hated this stupid thing— you’d rather smoke a cigarette like a goddamn adult. But the owner insisted, “You ladies gotta stay smelling nice and sweet and respectable for our clientele.” Which was fucking stupid considering they came in smelling like sweat and mud and body odor. 

From the alley, you could get a sneak peek of whoever was coming your way for the night— the big spenders, the handsy ones, the cheap ones… and Gator Tillman’s stupid entourage, who you avoided like the plague.

You made the mistake of getting cozy with him. Once. A few well-paid lap dances, then a private dance in one of the dimly lit back rooms. He’d been handsy, and you relished in it, in him. A handsome, powerful guy who looked at you like you were the hottest woman he’d ever seen. You sucked him off in the private room and he gave you a hundred to shut the fuck up about it. Like you were some sort of whore.

Gator. What a stupid fucking name. His dad was a grade-A cocksucker, so it made sense that he’d name his son something so goddamn stupid. The other girls were scared of Roy, with good reason. Their boyfriend get too rough? He’d brush it off— no domestic abuse charges on his watch. The man is the master of the house, and the woman is his property. One girl swore he came onto her, and she got a broken arm when she brushed him off. A lot of people thought that stepping to the Tillman’s meant winding up dead. 

Fuck that. 

You hadn’t wanted to wind up in this town anyway. You were married, once upon a time. You had the tattoo of his name on your hipbone, a shitty rental house in West Texas, and a wedding band he bought from a pawn shop. He found a job up north, and you followed like an obedient puppy. 

It wasn’t your fault he’d racked up gambling debts— that he owed the wrong people money he didn’t have. And it wasn’t your fault that he was fucking a waitress at the local diner— thin, blonde, perky. The divorce was settled quickly— but you were left penniless, in bumfuck North Dakota, in Tillman territory. 

Well, it was a good thing you still had your looks. 

You saw the police cruiser pull into the lot, heard the slam of the car door and the mindless chatter between the valiant boys in blue. Those assholes did about as much for the city as a tick does for a dog. Your phone buzzed against your hip, warning you that your break was up. You took one more puff from your vape and slipped back in the door to the dressing room. 

You warned everyone that Gator and his boys were out there as you slipped out of your jogging suit and adjusted your dancewear beneath— a baby blue bikini set that you’d bedazzled by hand. You slipped a sheer skirt overtop and surveyed yourself in the mirror. There was still a flush on your cheeks from being out in the cold, but it would be fine. 

You slipped out onto the floor, passing by crowded tables. It was busy, even for a Saturday, which meant more money to take home. A hand grabbed your ass and squeezed it in a meaty paw. It was some drunk old guy who probably couldn’t even get it up anymore but had maintained his pervy inclinations. You bit your cheek to keep from saying anything and kept making your rounds.

“You want a dance?” You’d ask the safe guys— the ones who looked nervous to be there, whose eyes kept flitting around like they’d get caught any moment. Their button-ups were ironed, their slacks pressed. Usually, they had a nice fountain pen in their pocket. Clerks, CPAs, any of those nerdy desk jobs. 

Most of the time they declined, too nervous to go that far, but occasionally you’d get a yes, do a bit of grinding, and walk away with a nice tip. 

You’d done a few lap dances by the time you passed by Gator and his crew. Your money was tucked into the band at your hip, concealing your ex-husband’s name. 

He called you like a dog– whistling low. You froze, and turned to face him, all smug and pleased with himself. 

“You need somethin’, Deputy?” You asked, jaw clenched, raising a brow. “Because if you do, you can ask like a gentleman. I’m a lady, not a dog.”

He laughed, glancing back at his pack of asshole cops to make sure they saw the next part. “Really? ‘Cause it seems to me you’re actin’ like a bitch.” They all laughed, because of course they did. They thought he was so, so clever. Before you could respond, he held up a fifty-dollar bill between two fingers. “C’mere, girl. I want a dance.”

Your eyes flicked between him and the fifty between his fingers. You were broke, but was it worth it? He saw your hesitation and his smug grin grew. “Aw, you need it that bad, huh?” He patted his thigh twice. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

Anyone in their right mind would’ve said no, and walked away with their dignity intact, but he was right— you needed it bad. 

So you approached and tried to pluck the money from his hand, but he pulled it away, clicking his tongue disapprovingly. “Nuh-uh, Sweetheart. Gotta earn it first.”

You huffed in disbelief, taking a step back. But meeting his gaze told you how serious he was. You swallowed your pride and straddled his lap, grinding to the beat. 

It felt degrading, dancing on him while his friends all leered. Your tits pressed against Gator’s shirt, his hands firm on your hips, even though he knew he wasn’t allowed to touch. If you called him out on it, he’d probably just say it was nothing he hadn’t done before.

It could’ve been one song, or maybe more. Probably more. When he finally removed his hands, he nodded for you to get off. You swallowed uncomfortably and took a few awkward steps back. 

“The money,” you said weakly.

His face scrunched slightly, like he was considering it. “Eh… I don’t think you earned it, Sweetheart. I mean, I’m not even hard.” 

He got a real kick out of that, and out of the kicked puppy look in your eyes. You swallowed it down like a bitter pill and met his gaze. “It’s not my fault that all the blow you do is killing your dick. Keep your fuckin’ money, Gator. I don’t want it.”

Which was a lie. You wanted it more than anything… but you knew you’d pissed him off. You could see the vein popping at his temple, the way his hand clenched around his beer bottle. Better to pretend you were better off without it and walk off with some dignity left.

It took about three steps to realize that there was a little less pressure on your hip than there used to be. Your hand felt along the band of the bikini and came up blank. He’d taken your fucking money. 

You heard him giggling behind you once he knew you realized, but what was the point? Who would you call to get it back? The police?

By the end of the night, you counted your meager earnings and tucked it away in your bag. Without your dancewear and the makeup and the heels, you could pass for the average citizen of Stark County. 

You bundled up in a parka before you walked to your car, a shitty, beat-up car nearly older than you were. One of the side mirrors was ripped off, and the bumper was caved in, but she ran. 

Tucked into the windshield was a tiny note, in a messy, nearly illegible scrawl— Impress me next time. You crumpled it and tossed it onto the asphalt.

  You saw him again on Monday. The club was closed on Sunday, due to an ordinance that Roy Tillman had put in place about businesses of ill repute operating on the holy day. You wondered what he thought about his son bankrolling the lives of half of the strippers who worked at the club.

He was alone, though, which scared and comforted you in equal measure. You watched him from afar, sitting at the bar, drinking a White Claw and puffing on that stupid fucking vape. 

There was a girl in his lap, one of the newer dancers who didn’t know better. Whatever. She’d figure him out soon enough. 

Mondays were slow. You did a few dances onstage, made the rounds, flirted with some of the regulars. Gator was blissfully elsewhere, which you loved. 

The night had been pretty tame until just before last call, when an overserved realtor got loud and handsy. 

“C’mon, why don't you take me back to one of those rooms without the cameras?” One asked as you gave him a half-hearted lap dance. His breath was like a punch bowl at a senior prom, and his fingers dug into the plush of your ass. 

You winced as he pulled you harder against him, and you felt the uncomfortable prod of his dick against you. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He was grinding up against you, sweaty at his temples and forehead. He was deceptively strong, holding you down against him so he could rut against you and get off. “Ya know, the private rooms for the big tippers. Better than all this over the clothes stuff.”

“You need to stop,” you said, as firmly as you could, shoving at his chest to really get your point across. He didn’t let up, and gave you a smarmy grin as he began roughly moving your hips of his own accord. “Hey, stop it, asshole.”

“Hey, you’re the one offerin’ me a dance,” he said. “I sold a nice big house today, got a real good commission. I could tip ya real good if you’re nice.”

“Let me go!” You shoved at his chest, slapping at him, but he just grinned. You were just wondering if biting his ear off would do the trick when you felt yourself pulled off him and tossed aside on the floor like a rag doll. 

Then there was the soft sound of blows landing against a stomach. Then the crunch of a broken nose. The wheezy rattle of the realtor’s breath once he started spitting up blood and teeth. Each punch made you flinch until finally, it relented. 

“Should’ve let her go, asshole.” Gator’s knuckles were bloodied, and you realized he was holding out a hand to help you up. You took it, nervously, and readjusted your costume where the realtor had tugged at them. “You hurt?”

You shook your head. “I’m fine but is— I mean, is he gonna be okay?”

Gator’s brows furrowed as he spared a glance toward the bloodied pile of meat on the floor. He spat in his direction and shrugged. “Who fuckin’ cares? Goddamn lowlife.”

You wondered if he could sense the irony. His face lit up in recognition, then he knelt beside the realtor, patting him down, searching for something. He stood and held up a fancy, monogrammed leather wallet. 

He sifted through, retrieving bill after bill. “Here. Y’earned it.” It was more cash than you brought home in a week. More cash than anyone should carry on themselves at once. 

“I’m not taking that,” you said weakly. “I can’t.”

He rolled his eyes, tucking the money in your bra. “Such a fuckin’ bitch, you know that? Can’t even say thank you or nothin’.”

He left you standing there over the broken body of the asshole realtor, who may or may not have been dying. Either way, you figured the Tillman’s would handle it. For better or worse.

  “I didn’t fuckin’ do anything,” you argued, which was a lie. And it’s not like anyone would listen even if it wasn’t. Police are on their way, they said. They’ll deal with thieving filth like you.

Well… they didn’t have to get quite so personal. You sat outside the Manager’s office at the stupid fucking sex shop, picking at your cuticles until you heard the police cruiser roll up outside. You heard the door slam, and muffled chatter until you saw him walk in.

“Well… look who got herself into some trouble. And here of all places too.”

Fuck. Gator Fucking Tillman. 

You glanced up at him for a moment before returning to your nails. The shop owner was talking the deputy’s fucking ear off until you heard the question you dreaded. 

“What is it she was tryin’ to steal? I mean… there’s a lot to choose from, I’ll tell ya that.”

You watched with a thin sense of dread as the shop owner laid out your would-be haul of lingerie that had been stuffed into your purse. Gator grinned as he glanced over at you, then back at the lingerie. 

“Can I have the office? I need some privacy to interrogate the perp.” The manager complied, bending to the will of the law or whatever. Gator grabbed you by the arm and tugged you inside, closing the door firmly behind him. 

You watched as he strode towards the nice armchair behind the desk, then sat down, legs spread wide. He unzipped the stupid police vest and shrugged it off, so it landed in a pile on the floor. For a moment, it was quiet as you stared at him dumbly, then he snapped his fingers. 

“What? You want me to tell you why did it? Three fucking guesses.”

He clicked his tongue, shaking his head. “No, I want you to try it on.” 

You swallowed, and when you spoke your tongue felt dumb and heavy. “What?”

“You heard me. Try it all on, and tell me if it was worth the trouble.” He looked at you expectantly, and when you didn’t move, he sighed. “It’s this, or I take you to the station, get you booked, and all that. I doubt anyone’s gonna pay your bail, so that’s a few days before arraignment. Then it’s a court case for larceny, and let’s be honest, you’re guilty.”

You stared at him, speechless. He stood up suddenly, grabbing his things before you interrupted— “Wait! Wait. Just… sit back down.”

He grinned. “There’s a good girl. Make it good for me, yeah? You know how.”

You huffed, heart pounding as you grabbed the first set and turned around to change. You had just pulled off your shirt when he cleared his throat behind you. Your hands shook as you turned around, barely covering your tits. 

“C’mon, I said to make it good, Sweetheart,” he said with a thinly veiled sense of amusement. “Nothin’ I haven’t seen before.”

The fucking asshole. But you took a breath and steadied yourself. “Okay,” you whispered, more to yourself than anything. 

His gaze was intense, tracing each curve and dip of your body as you moved. You slipped the bra on, clipping it shut with shaking hands.

“Alright, now you can turn around,” he said, nodding towards the panties in your hand. “And do it nice and slow for me.”

Your face burned with embarrassment as you turned around, working the buttons of your skirt so you could slip it down your legs. It fell into a pile around your ankles and fanned out like a flower. You hooked your thumbs into the panties you were wearing, pink with little flowers spotting the fabric. As slowly as you could manage while terrified and pissed, you slipped them down your legs. 

When you spared a glance at Gator, he was smirking right back at you. “Give those here,” he said, holding his hand out expectantly. 

“What?”

“Geez, you’re fuckin’ dumb. Lemme see ‘em.” He more or less snatched the panties from your grip, smiling like the cat who got the cream as he held them up. “Might have to keep ‘em. Evidence.”

You swallowed down your annoyance and pulled the lacy panties up your legs. When you were finished, you turned, arms crossed over your chest protectively. Shockingly, he was quiet as he looked at you, eyes raking over your tits, and every bare piece of skin he could see. It felt like you stood there under his gaze for hours before he finally spoke up. 

“It’s not doin’ much for ya, sweetheart. I mean, you don’t look very fuckable.”

It landed like a blow to your gut. He was an asshole, so it should’ve meant nothing… but he knew exactly where your soft spots were, and just how hard to dig his fingers in. “Fuck you, Gator.”

“Aw, c’mon, sweetheart,” he cooed, patronizing and smug. “So fuckin’ sensitive, huh? Can’t take a joke. C’mere, lemme see you.” He grabbed your wrist in the tightly packed office and tugged you forward, so you practically stumbled on top of him.

You flinched as his hand moved up the back of your thigh, warm and calloused. When he gave your ass a rough squeeze, you closed your eyes and shivered. 

“Ya know, I saw your husband the other day.” His finger traced along the name on your hip— Jack. Every loop and whorl of the cursive claimed by his touch. “Looked real happy with that girl of his. Sarah, right? The waitress he was fuckin’ behind your back?”

You swallowed hard and said nothing, but he was more than happy to keep running his mouth. “Well, she’s not special. I’ve fucked Sarah too, and she just laid there like a dead fish the whole time.”

“Maybe you just weren’t that good.” You smirked as you replied, unable to resist being a bit of an asshole right back. 

“You gettin’ smart right now?” He gave your ass a quick slap, making you squeak. “I was trying to give you a compliment, but you don’t fuckin’ deserve it. You’re so fuckin’ used up that you don’t even know what good is.”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m sure you think that. It’s easy to blame it on the girl when you can’t make ‘em cum, right?”

His jaw clenched, anger painting his features. “Wouldn’t you fuckin’ like to know, huh?” He caught sight of the smirk on your face and shoved you back. “Put on the next one.”

Fucking dickhead. You rolled your eyes and quickly stripped off the lingerie, throwing it in his general direction once it was off. You weren’t as graceful in dressing in the next set. Why give him a show and let him win? Once it was on, you crossed your arms and looked at him expectantly. 

“Well?”

He cocked his head to the side, a smirk playing on his lips. “Well, I like it better than the first, but I don’t think your heart’s quite in it. Gimme a twirl.”

You gave a slow turn, then met his gaze again, raising a brow. He ran a hand over his mouth, looking you up and down. You caught the slightest movement as he spread his legs a little wider. It only served to highlight the bulge in the front of his stupid fucking cargos.

“You’re really enjoyin’ yourself, huh?” You snapped, eyes narrowed. He laughed, following your gaze to his lap. 

“Well,” he began, lazily moving a hand to cup his growing hard-on. “I could always find a way to enjoy myself more. Bet you’d like that, huh?”

You ignored him and began trying on the last set you’d attempted to steal. A bright red set, skimpier than the others, which you were sure he fucking loved. Before he could ask, you gave a slow twirl. 

“Atta girl,” he cooed. He was blatantly stroking himself over the fabric, eyes half-lidded. You swallowed hard, watching the sight before you. It was like something out of a bad porno. Or a really good one. Jury was out. He patted his thigh, nodding you over. “C’mere, I won’t bite.”

A moment of hesitation passed through you, wondering if this was really what you wanted. It was like you could hear his voice in your head, asking if you could do any better. You sighed and slowly settled onto his lap. He looked at you with a funny sort of expression— not so much that he was smug, just… a bit pleased. 

“You gonna give me a dance?” His hand rested on your thigh, fingers tapping erratically. You shook your head and he rolled his eyes. “Is this ‘cause I didn’t pay the other night?” You scowled. “I mean, I think you owe me now. I paid ya back a hundred times over thanks to Mr. Realtor from the other day.”

   You stayed silent and still, looking anywhere but his face. He took your chin between his fingers and turned you to face him, so close you could taste the fruit flavor from that goddamn vape on his breath. 

“Remember how turned on you got just from havin’ my cock in that pretty mouth of yours?” He said, voice barely above a whisper. He ran a thumb along your bottom lip, tugging at it slightly. “I still remember the way you had to slip a hand between your legs to play with yourself.”

You made a weak sound in the back of your throat as you remembered it— that desperate, all-consuming need. Maybe it’s because he was an asshole, or maybe it was all of the authority. Maybe that’s why you shoplifted anyway. Because you knew he’d be the one to show up. 

“You ever been with someone as big as me before?”

You shivered. “No.”

A wide smile spread across his lips. “Since?” You just shook your head. “Betcha been dreamin’ about it too. Stuffin’ that greedy little pussy full of your fingers whenever you think about me.”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t quite deny it. It wasn’t a frequent fantasy, but it was there. “You’re a real narcissist. You know that?”

He grinned. “That’s not a no, is it?” He leaned in closer, nuzzling against your throat, his breath hot. “Bet if I slipped my hand inside those panties, they’d be fuckin’ soaked.”

And despite your better judgment, you fucking whimpered. All but confirming it. 

“Yeah, I thought so,” he cooed. His hand found purchase on the small of your back, and when he applied the smallest bit of pressure, you found yourself giving in. Slowly, your hips ground against his, making a soft sigh escape your lips each time your cunt met his clothed dick. 

“Want me to find some music?” He asked with a boyish grin. “I bet I have Pony somewhere on my phone.”

You shook your head before he could even try to grab it. “I’ll kill you if you even try.” He laughed, just a bit. It was rare to hear him laugh and have it not be at your, or anyone else’s expense. 

You grabbed his hands, moving them to your waist, just at your ribcage. The tips of his fingers brushed against your tits, and he smiled.

“Takin’ charge now, are ya? You could’ve just put ‘em right here.” He moved his hands up, cupping your breasts in his large hands. You moaned softly as he gave a slight squeeze, arching into his touch. “ See? That’s much better, huh? Just take what you need, baby. I’ll give it right to ya.”

Take what you need? You could do that. You moved your hands along his chest, fighting the urge to just tear off his shirt and reveal the white tank top you knew he always wore beneath. Instead, you slipped your hands to his goddamn cargos and made quick work of the button and zipper. 

He sat back and watched as you spit into your palm, his eyes hazy with arousal. You slipped your hand inside his pants and slipped beneath the band of his plaid boxers. A low groan escaped his lips when you wrapped your hand around him and squeezed.

“Fuck, sweetheart. Just like that.” His head fell back, leaving the plane of his neck for the taking. Your lips pressed against the skin there, leaving a mixture of soft kisses and bites as you worked him in your hand. 

Gator’s stamina was absolute dogshit. You could tell when he was close from the way he’d pulse in your hand and whimper like a fuckin’ girl. You’d just have to squeeze him at his base to stave it off, give him a few seconds to cool off before you kept going. 

“You want me?” You asked, lips brushing against the shell of his ear. 

“So fuckin’ bad.” He was bucking up into your fist, chasing the sweet pleasure of your soft hand around him. 

A smile spread across your lips. “Then earn it.” You pulled back, meeting his gaze as you removed your hand from him. 

He sat there, panting and staring dumbly as you sat atop the desk and spread your legs invitingly. “C’mon, Gator. You’re a smart boy, you’ll figure it out.”

He huffed with annoyance as he stood, towering over you as he pulled off his shirt to reveal that fucking tank top. He leaned down just slightly, so his arms were caging you in. “I’ll fuckin’ earn it, alright. I’m gonna own this pussy by the time I’m through.”

He knelt between your legs, kissing his way up your thighs. You cried out as his teeth dug into the plush skin, leaving an indentation that would probably turn purple the next day. 

“You’re such a fuckin’ asshole.” He just grinned, clearly pleased with himself. He hooked his thumbs in the waistband of your panties and tugged them down. 

He was quick to drag his fingers through your slit, coating them in your arousal. The wet sounds of him playing with you, spreading you open for him, made your cheeks burn with embarrassment. 

“I’m an asshole, but you clearly fuckin’ like it, huh?” He said, holding up his fingers, glistening with your juices, as proof. His smirk made annoyance and arousal bubble up within you, tangling in an utterly infuriating way. “Relax for me, yeah? Gonna stretch you out, make you feel real good.”

You moaned softly as his fingers pressed against your entrance, teasing you with the idea of being full. A gentleman would start off slow, work you up to two fingers gradually. Gator Tillman wasn’t a fucking gentleman, but you didn’t care. 

“Shhh… open up for me,” He said, speaking not to you, but to your cunt. “That’s it, atta girl.” A low whimper escaped you as his fingers pressed inside, thick and stretching you just right. Your walls fluttered around the intrusion, needing him deeper, more, more.

“Jesus Christ, Gator,” His fingers flexed at just the right spot, making you cry out desperately. He grinned, then pressed a kiss to your thigh as he began fucking you with his fingers, acutely aware that the slightest twitch of his fingers could make you fucking sing for him. 

It’s a funny thing he does with his fingers— not quite jackhammering them in and out like most of the other guys you’d been with but not exactly too far away. And you were fucking whining for it, your hips canting against his fingers until he finally had to throw his arm across your pelvis to just, in his words, keep you fuckin’ still.

It felt good, but you were also very aware that he was purposefully, or, worse, unknowingly avoiding your clit. The more you considered it, the more convinced you were that it was the latter. He was homeschooled, apparently, by his religious nut father, which meant his sex ed was probably just porn, and not even the decent kind. 

You squirmed slightly. “Gator—”

“’M busy.”

You rolled your eyes and huffed. I mean, sure, he was good with his hands, but you would also appreciate that skill applied elsewhere. Whatever, you weren’t helpless. 

His eyes narrowed as you moved a hand between your legs, circling your clit in time with his fingers. Your head fell back as a string of moans escaped your lips. That’s what you needed. 

“God, you’re desperate,” he muttered, but he didn’t bother to redirect your hands. “I coulda done that.”

You would’ve laughed if you weren’t already so close, the pressure and attention to your clit exactly what you needed to fall over the edge. 

“I feel you squeezin’ my fingers,” he said, voice low and dripping with satisfaction. “Wanna cum that bad, huh? Can’t even take what I give ya? Are you that fuckin’ needy?” When you didn’t think to answer, he leaned over and bit your thigh again. Harder.

“Fuck!” You shouted, annoyed that you’d have a second set of bruises to cover. But your annoyance melted right back into the siren call of pleasure. 

Moans tumbled from your lips before you could bring yourself to answer. “Yes, I’m that needy,” You gasped as his fingers moved deeper, harder with every thrust in. Your fingers moved faster on your clit, making your legs twitch on either side of Gator’s shoulders.

He let you teeter there on the precipice for a little longer, until you were sure you were going to tumble straight into sweet ecstasy. So close you could taste it, sweet and heady on the back of your tongue. 

And like that, Gator pulled away, slipping his fingers from your cunt and leaving you wanting. You sat there, panting and frustrated as he wiped his fingers off on your thigh. “Too fuckin’ bad. Bend over.”

He slapped the side of your thigh as he stood and looked down at you expectantly. Your legs wobbled as you stood in what little room he provided you, tits brushing against his chest for just a moment as you turned and bent over the desk. 

“Isn’t this a pretty sight?” He grabbed your ass, kneading the plush skin roughly before landing a rough smack. You winced at the sting as you spared a glance over your shoulder. He landed another slap on the opposite cheek, then spread you apart with his thumbs. “You’re fuckin’ killin’ me, you know that?”

He was quick to free his cock from the confines of his cargos and boxers. Over your shoulder, you could see the heap of clothes he’d made on the floor. In the back of your mind, you noted the very careless way he treated the gun in his thigh holster, but said nothing. It was hard to focus on improper gun handling when he had his length in his hand, stroking it slowly as he took in the sight of you. 

“You’re gonna pull out, right?” You asked, chewing your lip as you looked at him.

He rolled his eyes, the tip of his cock notched right at your entrance, making you arch against him. “You’re such a fuckin’ bitch. I’m not stupid, I’ll pull out.”

The prettiest groan escaped him as he rocked against your cunt, coating himself in your dripping arousal before the head of his cock nudged at your entrance. 

“You want me?” He asked, his breath coming in pants. Your body felt like a fucking live wire, hyperaware of the feeling of him, just barely outside of where you craved him.

You nodded. “Uh-huh. I want you. So bad, Gator.”

He sank into you, nice and slow, so he could relish in the warm, soft feeling of your walls around him. A sappier man would’ve said it felt like heaven. Gator wasn’t sappy. 

“Goddamn, you’ve got the tightest fuckin’ pussy,” He managed once he’d bottomed out, every inch of him fully sheathed inside. “Forget what I said about you bein’ used up.”

What a gentleman. You whined softly, pushing back against him to silently beg for more. He put a hand on the small of your back and pushed down so your back arched even more. Then he fucked you in earnest. 

The noises you made should’ve been illegal— some form of indecency or something. Loud and whiny, desperate for more. Your nails scratched at the laminate of the desk, seeking something, anything to hold onto for purchase as he fucked you within an inch of your life. 

He was so big you could’ve sworn you felt him deep in your stomach, even though you knew physically that was impossible. Each thrust punched out a keening moan from your lips, a swear, a breathy whine, or just his stupid fucking name over and over again. 

He reached a hand beneath you, so his rough fingers could play with your clit. “This is what you wanted so bad, yeah?” He asked, voice breathy as he quickly rubbed your clit. “Say thank you.”

“Thank you, Gator.” You were practically babbling. Thank you thank you thank you. 

Over your shoulder, you watched him using your body, chasing his high. Every slap of your ass was for his own gratification, just to see it jiggle. He was only rubbing your clit so he could feel you squeeze him even tighter. 

You didn’t care. You fucking loved it. Even as he manhandled you, lifting your thigh and placing it on the desk so he could fuck you deeper, you just laid there and took it like a fucking champ. 

“Woulda fucked you sooner if I knew it’d be this good.” His voice wavered slightly with the effort it took to maintain the relentless pace he had set. He slapped your ass hard, making you yelp and clench around him. 

What you’d said earlier was right— you were needy. You rocked back against him, meeting him with each thrust. The sounds of his hips hitting your ass with each thrust were nearly as pornographic as both of your moans. 

Gator didn’t shut up most of the time, but when he was buried inside of you he could mostly only manage pretty moans. 

“F-fuck, sweetheart. You’re… you’re really workin’ for it, huh?” His words were interrupted by low moans and grunts. “C’mon. Give it to me.”

He let you do most of the work, rocking back against him, making you fuck yourself on his cock. And he looked fucking smug about it too. 

The switch snapped suddenly when he grabbed your hips and fucked you without abandon, skin slapping against skin as he roughly bullied himself inside of you again and again. 

“That’s it. Just lay there and take it, sweetheart.” His voice was breathy and strained. Sweat beaded on his forehead. “Fuck! That’s it. Just like that.”

He came suddenly, thrusting deep and hard as he spilled within you. It annoyed you that he looked pretty when he came— his mouth ajar, eyes fluttered shut, his body trembling just slightly. 

And then you were annoyed because he fucking lied. He pulled out after he had ridden the aftershocks with a few shallow thrusts and quickly redressed. 

“You didn’t pull out,” you said, your voice was strained with annoyance and anger as you looked back at him. He was getting dressed, making sure he looked alright. He didn’t even care to get you off. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

He shrugged, trying to appear unbothered by it all. But you saw the annoyed tick in his jaw, the anger beneath it. Like a rattlesnake all coiled up, ready to strike if you made the wrong move. You were never on equal terms. You were no better than prey. And you should have known better, right?

Annoying, hot tears welled on your lashline, and you prayed to any higher power that he wouldn’t notice as you wiped at your eyes. You stood, doing your best to redress in silence, doing your best to remain small. He slapped a fifty on the desk and you flinched. “Buy some Plan B if you’re that fuckin’ worried about it. Jesus Christ.” He paused as he reached the door. “I’ll tell the manager we got it all sorted out. Isn’t that good enough for ya?”

You stood there, unsatisfied and used, with his cum leaking out of you, and stayed silent. It wasn’t good enough. It wasn’t anything at all. 

You walked out with fifty dollars, streaked mascara, three sets of lingerie you’d throw in the trash, and a newfound desire to get the fuck out of Stark County. And, maybe, some misplaced hope that next time might be different.

[starryevermore]

the house of snow (22) ✧ coriolanus snow

the house of snow ✧ a royal coryo au | pinterest board| ao3

pairing: king!coriolanus snow x fem!reader

series summary: the king of panem is in search of a bride. and, for reasons you can never understand, coriolanus snow has set his sights on you. it would never be a happy marriage, you’re sure of that. but none of that matters, because when snow decides he wants something, he will do everything in his power to ensure it is his. 

chapter summary: you and coriolanus adjust.

word count: 1,733

series warnings?: 18+ MINORS DNI, royal au, regency au, arranged marriage, rivals to lovers, obsessive!coryo, jealous!coryo, protective!coryo, eventual smut, eventual pregnancy, more tags to be added later

chapter warnings?: fluff, mention of morning sickness, pet name (petal), not proofread

The benefit of being pregnant was that Coryo and Coriolanus have seemed to become the best of friends. The drawback was that they became united in their overprotective tendencies. Coryo would insist that you stay in bed longer, and Coriolanus would sit on your chest to make sure you didn’t try to sneak away. Or Coryo would deny invitations to balls because of your morning sickness, and Coriolanus would attack the skirts of your gown to make sure it was in no occasion to be worn when you tried to convince your husband that you were well enough to be in attendance. It would have been infuriating if it wasn’t also so damned sweet. At least Coryo didn’t become the sort of husband who would keep you from your work. Probably because you were seated beside him and he could ensure that you weren’t doing anything that could potentially harmed yourself or the baby. 

You leaned your head against Coryo’s arms as he shuffled around some papers on the desk. He looked down at you, his brows pinching together. 

“Do you need to rest?” he asked. “Should I get the physician?”

You turned your head to press a kiss to his bicep. “Worry wart.”

“Forgive me if I’m concerned when my wife is entering the most dangerous part of her life—carrying another’s life,” Coryo said. He reached up, his cold hand resting on your warm face. His thumb stroked over the swell of your cheek. “I’m not going to take any chances when it comes to your health.”

There it was again. You knew of Coryo’s anxieties about your eventual pregnancy, but with everything happening so quickly, it was easy to be frustrated with his behaviors. With the exception of his adoration for you, Coryo kept his feelings so close to his chest. Even when it was obvious why he was being so overprotective, you sometimes forgot that part of him was still the broken boy who lost his mother. You took a breath, trying to steady your own overwhelming emotions.

“And I will tell you if I’m over-exerting myself. I may have never been with child before, but I know myself well enough to know when I’m pushing too far.”

A sigh escaped Coryo’s lips. “I just worry. I cannot lose you. In fact, I demand that I be the one to go first.”

You giggled. “I don’t think you get to demand things like that.”

“I am King. The only person who can tell me no is you, so, please, let me be the one to go first.”

You kissed his bicep again. “Very well. But you better live a long, long life with me before you go.”

“I wouldn’t dare sacrifice a single minute of a long life with you.”

“Would you sacrifice a minute to walk in the gardens with me?”

Coryo smiled and nodded. He stood first then held a hand out to you so he could aid you. Once you were standing, your hand slid to the crook of his arm and Coryo led you out of the office. He gave a curt nod to the Peacekeeper who was stationed outside the door and the two of you continued out of the palace and to the gardens.

The moment the sun hit your face, you couldn’t hold back your smile any longer. You had been holed up in the palace for the better part of the week, both because of Coryo and because of the morning sickness. It was nice to finally been the sun on your skin, the breeze in your hair. Maybe pregnancy would be easier if you spend the entirety of it outdoors. You looked up at your husband. Even the weight on his shoulders seemed to be lifted once he was out of the palace. 

You took a seat on a bench, and Coryo sat beside you. You reached for his hand and gave it a squeeze. “It’s nice to be out here,” you said. 

“It is. We should come out more often,” Coryo agreed. He caressed your face, a soft smile curving across his face. You leaned in, stole a kiss. “I am sorry if I have been overbearing.”

“It’s sweet. I am sure most husbands would only be concerned if the child I had was a boy,” you said. 

“Boy, girl, I don’t care. As long as you and our child is healthy, I will be happy.”

Leaning your head against Coryo’s shoulder, you said, “I probably will take a step back from our public engagements, though. It was exhausting just coming down here, and we haven’t even left the estate.”

Coryo barked out a laugh. “Well, if I knew it would be that easy to get my way, I would’ve taken you to the gardens sooner.”

“Oh hush!” But still, you giggled. “One a month, I think, will suffice. Fewer than that when I am further along, of course, and if the physician advises otherwise.”

“Ah, so I could have also been bribing the physician?” Coryo teases. 

You gave his chest a light smack. “Stop it, I’m being serious here.”

“I know, and I greatly appreciate that.”

“Now, what do you say we shirk our duties and spend the rest of the day in bed?”

Coryo grinned. “I thought you would never ask.”

You sat in the library, legs curled up under you, a book on your lap. Coriolanus sat at your feet, blinking curiously at you. You hadn’t intended for Coriolanus to have joined you, but despite you and Coryo coming to an agreement about your health, Coriolanus seemed to be certain that one wrong move would mean your end. 

“Well, this is a very non-traditional royal portrait,” Coryo said, stepping into the library and up to the painter. He watched as the artist. took delicate care in painting you. 

“This isn’t for my royal portrait,” you dismissed as you turned a page in your book. “We had that done weeks ago. Some finishing touches still need to be done before it can be unveiled, of course. But this is a personal portrait I’ve commissioned.”

Coryo looked over at you. His brow raised. You could see the gears turning in his head as he tried to figure you out. “Is that so? What do you need a personal portrait for?”

“Well, there will soon come a time when I am too tired and too pregnant to be in the office with you. I thought a portrait hung over the desk would serve as a good reminder of who you must consider in ever decision you make.”

The painter’s brush stilled. You watched as he slowly looked back at the King, undoubtedly waiting for a typical man’s rage—to yell at you for being so audacious, to destroy the painting, and to ensure that the painter never would be able to make art again. But your Coryo only laughed. 

“As if I could ever forget you, petal. I was planning to bring our work into the bedroom—”

“There is nothing less attractive you could say than that.”

The color continued to drain from the painter’s face. Poor fellow. Perhaps you should tell him to take a break while you speak with your husband. 

“Perhaps you are right.”

“No, I am. If you bring work into our bed, you will be swiftly removed to the Queen’s Chambers.”

Coryo smiled still. “Very well. Then I should thank you for being so courteous to not wholly deprive me of your presence.”

You flipped another page in the book. “I’m think of having another painting commissioned in a few months.”

The painter looked to you, his demeanor finally relaxing. “It would be an honor to paint you again, Your Majesty,” he said. 

“Have you done any maternity portraits?” you asked. “I know it is as non-traditional as this portrait, of course, but I thought it would be another nice present for my husband.”

The painter glanced back at the King standing over his shoulder. “I am certain His Majesty will be pleased with anything you present him. Your Majesty.”

“Something in the gardens, I think. Coryo has these beautiful rose bushes. We should incorporate them somehow.”

“I love when you pretend I’m not here, petal,” Coryo said. He patted the painter’s shoulder. “If you continue to capture my wife’s beauty as well as you have been, you will be the official royal portraitists.”

You watched as the painter flushed. “It would be a tremendous honor to be bestowed such a title,” he said. 

Coryo nodded at the painter then stepped around the easel. He walked over to you, bent down, and kissed you softly. “How much longer will this take?”

“Only an hour or so until we lose the sunlight,” you said. “Why? Are you becoming anxious without me by your side?”

Coryo smiled, his pretty blue eyes twinkling. “You know I always want you by my side.” He kissed you again. “I shall return in an hour then.”

“I eagerly await your return.”

He turned to Coriolanus and pointed a finger at the furry baby. “And I expect you to alert me if this ends even a second sooner.”

Coriolanus meowed in return. 

As Coryo left the library, you found the painter staring at you. You expected him to resume painting, but he continued to stare. “Is there something the matter?” you asked. 

“I have painted many couples in my time,” he said, “and I have never seen a husband as devoted as His Majesty. If it would please Your Majesty, I would love to come another day and paint a portrait of the two of you together.”

You smiled. “To add to our gallery of non-traditional portraits?”

“Of course,” he said. “Anything that the two of you wish for.”

Oh, you liked that. You grinned ear-to-ear as you asked, “And if I wished for another portrait of myself, done in the style of the goddess of old?”

He flushed. “Anything you wish, Your Majesty.”

“You are going to be quite handsomely paid by the time we are done with you.”

You turned back to your book, still smiling as you considered the various portraits you were going to gift your Coryo. He could give you a library, yes, but you were going to give him a gallery. If he didn’t appreciate art in all its glory before, he would soon enough. 

[flowermiist]

A warm heart - II

Click here to check out past chapters if you haven’t ♡

Pairing: John Price x Fem!Reader

Sypnosis: Some time ago, you started a cooking channel on YouTube as a way to relax, have a proper hobby and teach others your favorite recipes as you improved your own culinary skills too. Fame wasn't something you wanted, you were more than happy with your 50k subscribers... Yet you never thought you'd stumble upon one of them.

Word count: 3k

A/N: Hii!! I’m really excited for this chapter (as with every other) I’d like to apologize if this took me more time than I intended, work has been quite heavy lately but all the kind comments make me smile soo much. Enjoy!! And please don’t forget to like, reblog and let me know your thoughts about this chapter if you’d like!

After leaving your car at Harrison’s garage, you take an uber home. The mechanic told you it would take about three days to properly fix what was wrong with the engine, you didn’t give it much thought.

You sit in the back seat of the Uber and place your grocery bags on your lap, you sigh and open your purse, seeing the small note with John’s number – It was written on an old receipt the man managed to find in one of the pockets of his jeans, using a black pen you always keep in the glove compartment of your car.

You sink back into your thoughts while looking out the window. You don’t know whether to call his number or not, you sigh and keep thinking, as intense as it might sound, you know that if you call his number and he doesn’t pick up, you’ll be too embarrassed to ever attempt to call him again – You promise yourself that if he doesn’t pick up, you won’t call again.

It wasn’t like you wanted anything other than to thank him again properly for helping you back there. John was nice, yes, but he was still a stranger and you didn’t really know much about him.

You turn your head to the other window and realize you’ve reached your destiny, you pay the grumpy driver and make your way into place.

The charms hanging from the keychain jingle as you open the front door. You sigh and close the door behind you, locking it before you start walking towards the kitchen with the grocery bags in hand as well as your personal bag that has the receipt with the phone number of certain man – you make sure to place the groceries where they belong and you kneel down to the drawers of the counter where you store the bags you used, might come handy anytime.

The tripod is still on the counter where you left it. You check the battery of your camera before grabbing the ingredients for the homemade sourdough bread you’ve been preparing for your next video.

So after washing and drying your hands, you re-adjust the camera to the tripod and begin recording the process, making sure the lightning looks good enough.

When you try to start the small oven to preheat it and have it ready for the bread, it does not respond which makes you confused since last time you used it, which was over a week ago, it had been working – not anymore, apparently.

What is going on? Why is everything you own acting up? First the car now the fucking oven, great.

Not wanting to get pissed any further, you choose to use the oven of your stove which of course, was bigger and would take more time to heat up.

This was going to be a long night for sure.

John finishes putting the clean dishes away, the TV in the background with some History Channel show he was not paying attention to, but it was just the background noise he wanted.

Not particularly interested in what the telly had to offer anymore, he turns it off and does the same with the lights of the living room as well.

John Price has always had a pretty strict rule for himself and for his house, to turn off every light he wasn’t using – except for the old lamp he had in his living room next to the couch but besides from that one lamp, every other room that was not being used did not need any artificial lighting.

As he’s about to walk towards the stairs, the man remembers the laundry he had put in the dryer earlier, he had completely forgotten about it – “Fucking ’ell…” the words escape his lips as he clicks his tongue in annoyance and moves towards the uility room of his house, where the clothes should be.

After opening the small lid of the dryer, John places the clean clothes in the basket, grabs the old iron and the ironing board. He has never liked to leave things to the last minute, never liked to do things in a hurry and do them badly. John knows it’s better to iron the clean clothes now rather than leave them all wrinkly and forgotten.

Placing the ironing board in the living room, he folds out the winkly t-shirt and connects the iron, waiting for it to start producing enough heat and get this shit over with as soon as possible.

Some steam appears and he grabs the handle, making smooth movements with the iron, moving it from from the neck to the short sleeve of the green cotton t-shirt.

Looking back at it, the material is still the same, wrinkly and with obvious creases. John gathers his patience and moves the iron again, using a rough hand to stretch the fabric more and trying to press one of the buttons to make more heat yet nothing happens.

His mind drifts towards today’s events as all he can hear is the sound of the iron against the clothes – Your smile was still in the back of his mind and the thought of the big possibility of you not calling his number crosses his mind. Was he too forward? Would you call?

Without noticing, he moves the iron over his thumb and part of the back of his hand, groaning out in pain loudly as the sharp pain immediately hits him. John quickly grabs his left wrist. “God fuckin’ damnit, old fucking thing!” – Endless insults rumble through his chest, escaping through gritted teeth as the man is scrunching up his face with discomfort looking at the back of his hand where the bright red mark on his thumb throbs.

The smell of burning fabric and steam catches his attention again, looking down at the iron burning his shirt he quickly grabs it and places it vertically, taking a moment to manage the anger rising inside him, his face almost red.

John lifts up the green t-shirt, his gaze darkens as he sees the dark hole over the sleeve of the fabric. “Awesome.” He states with anger and sarcasm as he throws the t-shirt on the floor and unplugs the iron, contemplating smashing it against the wall for a single second but knowing it won’t solve anything.

Breathing through his nose while calming down, he walks to the kitchen sink, gritting his teeth in discomfort as he washes the burning part of his left hand – A first degree burn, nothing he can’t handle.

The basket with clothes ready to be ironed remains forgotten as John grabs one of the aid kits he keeps inside one of his kitchen counters. The man clearly has experience with dealing with these superficial wounds as he loosely wraps some of the bandage around it, covering the red area.

“What a muppet.” He grits through his teeth, directed to nobody but himself.

When you finally finish the video, you look at the clock, it is around 21:30 and you are tired, however; you aren’t too tired to go to bed just yet – and besides that, there’s still something you want to do before going to bed or rather someone you want to talk to.

The bread has such a good smell, freshly baked as you cut a big piece and put some cheese, tomato slices and arugula over it before biting and almost melting at the delicious flavor filling your palate.

You walk towards your bedroom and open the drawer of the nightstand right next to your bed to grab the pack of cigarettes on the second drawer. You were never a smoker but you liked the taste of nicotine on your mouth from time to time, especially after such a long day like this one.

You open all the windows to make sure the smell does not stay inside the apartment, you may like the taste and how the nicotine relaxes your mind but you still find the smell of it sticking to your clothes absolutely annoying.

Walking back to the living room, you grab our purse as the cigarette remains between your lips, the string of smoke and the smell over you now, your eyes open more when you look at the old receipt with the man’s number and smile, grabbing the cigarette from your lips and exhaling the smoke out of you.

At this point, all you are wearing is a pair of gray lacy underwear and a white tank top.

You look at the wrinkled paper and gather some courage before you dial the number and press on the green phone icon to call.

John sits on his back porch, a cigar between his index and middle finger.

His attention is immediately caught when he hears the ringing sound of his phone back in the living room, where he left it before moving to wash the dishes. Who would be calling him at this time of the night if it was not work related?

He grunts as his knees crack when he stands up and walks back inside, seeing the “unknown” contact and quietly staring at the number. Could it be?... No, he does not want to get his hopes up.

“Hello?” A hoarse, masculine voice speaks through the line with a tone full of curiosity and some clear seriousness, you immediately smile, holding the cigarette as sink down on the swing chair of your balcony.

“Hope it isn’t too late.” You say, bringing your hand closer to your mouth and position and the nail of your right thumb between your teeth when you hear a low chuckle. He recognized your voice, of course he would.

“How are you?” The man immediately asks after you stop talking – If you were able to see him, you’d see the way he scratches the beard on his cheek and goes back to his porch, a small smile between his thin lips.

“I’m good…” There’s a small silence before you speak again, keeping the phone close to your ear with your left hand. “Wanted to thank you again for everything, you know…”

John hums in acknowledgement – “No need to thank me, it was quite an honor for me to help my cooking teacher…” Is he flirting? No, that has to be a trick your mind wants to play with you for fun.

“How’s the car, eh? Hope it didn’t stop in the middle of the road.” He slightly tilts his head to the side while speaking, changing the topic rather fast.

“Well… I left it with the mechanic, won’t have it for a few days – took an uber home.”

You could have asked me to drive you home – He wants to say as he takes a puff of the thick cigar between his fingers. Of course, he would not rush into anything. He was still a stranger to you after all and the thought of possibly sounding creepy cringes him.

“Sounds like you had quite the battle then, with all those grocery bags?” His tone makes you chuckle and that gives him some relief yet he doesn’t want to think much of this call for now.

“I did, actually. Came home and filmed my next video.” You say, forgetting about the cigarette between your fingers and you move your hand away from your face.

“Mhm… Next recipe then?”

“Yes.”

“May I know ’bout it?”

“Nope.”

John chuckles quietly and it makes you smile.

“It’s a surprise...” The calmness of your voice is clear and it resonates in his ears.

“I don’t mind waiting then.” His voice is just as calm as yours.

There’s a comfortable silence through the line when the question pops out and you decide to ask it, to learn more about him.

“You said you had experience with changing tires.”

“Indeed.” John responds, giving you silence of his own for you to speak.

“Well, you got me wondering if you were actually my mechanic in disguise.” It lights up the mood a little bit when you hear a breathy smile. John grins before replying.

“I could be, you never know…”

“Where did you get the experience?”

He thinks of his answer...

“Different places ’round the world.” It’s vague and definitely not enough for you to figure him out completely and you are eager to do so.

A hum sounds through your throat, you take a drag of your cigarette and exhale. Not keeping the smoke inside for too long.

“You travel a lot?”

“Quite a lot, yes.” His voice is still calm. John is pondering whether he should say more or leave it at that, he is not the most open man when it comes to his line of work.

“Business men travel a lot.” The suggestion arises in the air when your words are spoken.

“They do, don’t they?” The sarcasm he uses answers absolutely nothing, he’s messing with you and you can clearly tell he finds it funny.

“Maybe you’re a famous lawyer traveling from one boring conference to another…” Another one of your suggestions.

John can’t help but grin a little at your response – “No, nothing like that.”

“Doctor?”

“No, not that either.”

You sigh, you won’t deny this is entertaining but you were getting nowhere so you give it one final try – “Well... They say military men travel a lot... Are you one of them?”

“Correct.” A calm voice replies and you try not to cheer loudly at finally guessing a part of this man’s life.

“So you’re in the military?” You want to make sure you’re right, even if he was clear and brief.

“I am.”

The line goes quiet before you break the silence.

“Explains a lot then.” You try to sound unimpressed as you shrug and it does get to him because now he’s curious.

“Does it?” He moves the cigar to his lips again, taking a puff and looking up at the dark sky.

The phone call hides the teasing smile painted over your lips. “Yeah, you look it.”

Before John can question your words any further, you change the topic.

“I’m pretty sure there are evil gnomes messing with my stuff.”

Your words don’t fail to impress him as he exhales smoke through his nostrils.

“You believe in that stuff?” The thick british accent and his raspy masculine voice could not be more noticeable as he tries not to sound rude while making fun of your possible beliefs.

A chuckle escapes your lips and you pretend to act offended by his selection of words “And what if I do?” A brief pause – “First my car then my oven…”

It catches his attention, John tilts his head like some curious dog and keeps the phone pressed against his ear.

“Did the secret recipe go wrong?”

“Well, almost.” You sigh and elaborate. “So I got this… smaller oven, easier to use compared to the bigger one that comes with the stove but as I tried to preheat it, it stopped responding.” “I’ll have to get a new one tomorrow.”

With a sigh, you get up from the swing and get closer to have a view of the street under your building, you take another drag of your cigarette as you place your elbows on the frame of the balcony, feeling the cold breeze embrace your exposed thighs and caress your almost naked arms, moving your hair with it.

“Could help you look for a new one.” The same husky voice sounds through the speaker of your phone. John’s eyes dart around his back yard, a man like him is never fully off guard. No matter where.

“You’ve already helped me enough… I- don’t really want to bother you.” There’s some embarrassment in the tone you use, looking up at the dark night sky while exhaling a slow – thin string of smoke out of your lips.

The man gazes at his bandaged thumb then at his fingers holding the cigar.

“Wouldn’t mind a shopping expedition, could use one m’self.”

This catches your attention, curiosity enters your mind. “Yeah?”

John won’t admit the fact that he burnt his hand with the old iron because he was distracted, he would rather lie that sound like a fool.

“Got this old iron at home, burnt my bloody hand while trying to use it, burnt my goddamn t-shirt too.” Some embarrassment makes the british man scrunch up his face, he doesn’t want to sound like a potty mouth.

He clears his throat before continuing – “Would be good to kill two birds in a stone, ya get your oven and I get my iron… Some advice could be useful too – ’bout the iron, ’course...”

A small smile escapes your lips as you reply to the man on the line - “Sounds like a good plan then...”

“Sounds like it.”

“Could drive you to the store with me if that’s alright.”

Right, you haven’t thought about how you’d get there.

“Will need one.” Of course you will, dummy, You don’t have your car with you – Says that little voice within your head, the one that tries to prevent you from saying too much.

His deep voice is heard again through the speaker of your phone. “Right, no problem.”

John replies, his tone monotone and casual about it which you’re thankful for.

“What time can I pick you up at? Got all day.”

“I get out of work at five, a friend will drop me off at home… Is six too late for you?”

“Don’t worry ’bout it, six ’s fine.” John says calmly and you smile.

“I’ll text you the address then.” You sit back on the hanging chair as the wind moves your hair and you squish the head of the cigarette against the ashtray placed on the small glass table of your balcony.

“Six it is then.” That voice rumbles through his chest and without even knowing you just put your cigarette away, he sticks the head of the cigar against the wood of his porch, leaving a small mark, putting his own cigar away almost at the same time as you.

“Good night, John.”

“Sleep tight, Y/N.”

Taglist: @bumblebeesfromvenus @thesevi0lentdelights @zekes-beard @blckbrrybasket @shuttlelauncher81 @thychuvaluswife @airzonaaa @mamanmae @cadotoast @ateliefloresdaprimavera @heyitsmarimari @markitvz @live-love-be-unique @syoddeye @hyriefortuno (Let me know im the comments if you’d like to be added! Dm me for removals! ♡)

[listofwhyyouloveher]

Hi dear I hope you're doing well and I was hoping if you can do the whole greaser gang with a s/o that's like Fiona Gallagher from the show shameless? Like she's taking care of her six siblings and her dad who's usually at the bar or passed out somewhere. Their mother ran out and is mentally ill so their s/o is left to be her siblings mother/father/ and nurse fill free to ignore if you want to do and I hope you have a good day!

Summary: The Outsider x Fiona Gallagher!Reader Warnings:mentions of absent mother, drinking, very toxic adult behavior, dysfunctional family Author's Note: gonna be busy tmrw and weekend again, ill try and post 1 fic per day but no promises.

PONYBOY CURTIS

Ponyboy doesn’t really live in a dysfunctional family, yes his home life is tough but Darry loves him and tries his best and pony knows that

However, pony cant mentally put himself in Darry’s shoes of having no-one to lean on and having to take care of many siblings

When he first met you, he was absolutely smitten. And when you told him of your problems, he thought you were the toughest chick in town

He often asks Darry what to do to take a couple of burdens off your shoulder. He applies it to you and also at home, you’ve made him a better person.

JOHNNY CADE

Has a dysfunctional family and can understand, to an extent..he still gets fed sometimes and doesn’t have to work to stay in his home

But he doesn’t have a hard time adjusting to you.

He’s very open and loves your siblings, so he tries to take them out as many times as possible to give you some rest.

He genuinely doesnt understand how your parents could have left you doing all this by yourself when you’re such a perfect girl.

SODAPOP CURTIS

Soda admires you like you’re a work of art. 

He takes everything into consideration, for example, if he wants to take you on a date he’ll invite some of the gang members to hang out with your siblings and keep them away

Never asks you for anything, not to rant, vent or anything. He feels as if his problems could never measure up to yours so his whole world revolves around you.

Tries to spend as much of his money as possible to get you nice things and spoil you.

STEVE RANDLE

Steve understands how tough it is for you mentally. He’ll often stop by your place with something for you, like a box of chocolates or something. 

Whenever he’s over, he makes an effort to get to know and play with your siblings, he even was going to introduce himself to your dad. You convinced him it was a bad idea so he didnt.

He makes it known that you can tell him anything, literally anything, and he’d listen. He also wants you to know that you can call him anytime and he’d come for you.

Reassures you that he won’t ever leave you, that you’re special and he’s madly in love with you.

TWO-BIT MATHEWS

Two-Bit has some kid experience so he tries his hardest to keep your siblings company and even brings his sisters for ‘playdates’

Really enjoys spending time with you and would even do the chores around the house with you to keep talking with you.

He’s not very good at comforting people and he tries to make up for it by using his humor. You get where he’s coming from and it often helps a lot actually.

Tries his best to look nice for you when he comes over, he wants you to know he’s not a washed up nobody like your parents and wants to be a rolemodel to your siblings.

DARRY CURTIS

Often tells you that you’re perfect and that your siblings will grow so much better with you as their ‘parent’. He once made you cry because of what he said and he just held you in his arms while you sobbed.

He can sort of relate to what you’re going through but his is not as extreme as yours. 

Whenever he can he drops by to help you. Date night consists of making dinner for your siblings, washing the dishes and having a late night dinner together after you put your siblings to bed.

He knows you'd make a perfect wife since he’s old enough to marry, just waiting on the right time to pop the question.

DALLAS WINSTON

Dallas is insensitive and rude to you. He knows what you’re going through, he just doesn’t care.

However, once you caught him putting on a bandaid for your younger brother. He wasn’t kind about it, saying things like “can’t you do this yourself?” but he still did it.

He knows you saw it and thinks that hanging around your house and helping you with chores and siblings will keep you quiet about it

He doesn’t like kids, but he tolerates them for his reputation, and because you’re growing on him.

[icallhimjoey]

Explain Us

♥ ♥  Joseph Quinn x Fem!Reader

Summary: So, more than flatmates... but, what exactly? Would be fantastic if you would just, you know, talk about it. But communicating is not your strong suit and you're extremely certain that it's fine. Confusing and vague, but, fine.

CW / disclaimer: rpf, fem!reader, a continuation of define close, no need to read it to enjoy this, though it will help!, language

Author’s note: happy end or nah? HAPPY END OR NAH????

Wordcount: 4.6K

part one - part two - part three - part four - part five

You had to fix it.

Had to apologise and not leave it too long, because if you left it too long, you’d just leave it forever and then you’d never fucking sleep again.

“peperoni or chicken?” you texted, then waited.

It had been just over two hours since you’d walked out of Joe’s flat and you felt extremely stupid. It only got worse when you saw Joe had received and read the message, but then went offline again.

Left on read. Great.

“veg?”

Double grey checkmark.

“just cheese?”

No response.

So, pizza wasn’t the answer. What a crazy concept. It had been the exact right answer for a long time, but, for you. Sharing a pizza with Joe was his fix for you.

What could be Joe’s answer? What could be your fix for him? Your apology didn’t have to be huge. He’d moved out without a heads up, for fuck’s sake. You’d just knocked over a plant.

Oh.

A plant?

Yea. A plant. A big one. A big, green, nice leafy plant.

For in the corner. Or, wherever else Joe wanted to put it. He got to decide that for himself. You knew where it would go best, but, it wasn’t your flat, so you weren’t going to push your opinion. Not unless he asked. It would absolutely look best in that bit of dead space by the–

No.

His flat. His plant. His choice.

A big plant. A gift from you to him. Former flatmate to former flatmate. To be friendly and kind and normal.

To say sorry.

But, without words.

Joe could just accept the gesture and not mention it and then you could go back to normal. Or, well, find a new normal. That would be best.

People gave people plants for house warming gifts, didn’t they? This was normal. If someone would ask, it wouldn’t be weird. And the little plant that you carried in the tote around your shoulder was technically his, so that wasn’t strange either.

“Here you go!” someone else entered the shop just as you left, and held the door open for you.

“Yea, got it! Thank you!” you tried to sound more upbeat than you were whilst you carefully manoeuvred yourself out. Polite smiles got exchanged and you adjusted your grip a little, the big kentia palm heavy in your hands.

House warming gift.

Normal.

You were a normal friend, making your way over to your normal friend who was  moving into his new normal flat and you were bringing normal house warming gifts.

If his dad was still there you could say that you just went out to go and replace what you’d accidentally broken.

You really hoped he would be there still, weirdly. His dad. Wished for the barrier of another person there.

And your panicked walk-out from earlier was easily explained too. You’d made a mistake and had felt embarrassed.

Normal. Hauling a massive plant across London, maybe not so normal. But fine. With every step you took the plant grew heavier and you grew more uncomfortable. Two nights of barely any sleep really weren’t working in your favour here. But, it was fine.

Walking up, you noticed the moving van was gone.

When you rang his doorbell, you waited to maybe hear Joe’s voice ask who was there, but the door just buzzed and you were let into the building.

You didn’t have to wait for the lift, and you kind of wished that you did. That you’d had a minute to collect yourself.

But no.

Second floor.

And Joe’s door was already open, the flat all quiet. Bin bags filled with what seemed to be just plastic wrapping were placed to the side and all boxes seemed to have made their way into their new respective rooms.

And, then, there was Joe. Stood in his kitchen. On his own. Busy with– something. You couldn’t see what he was doing, since he had his back turned.

He’d obviously heard you come in, but he didn’t turn around. Even after you cleared your throat, he delayed greeting you and made you feel like a fucking idiot.

“Surprise,” you said in a small voice, far more shaky than you wanted it to be. “Got you a house warming gift, and,” you put the plant down and reached for your tote. “And, also, this. This is yours, too.”

Little crispy wave.

You put it down and gestured a nervous hand Joe didn’t even see. It felt stupid and awkward.

It took another moment before Joe turned around.

He didn’t even look at the big plant. Or the little one. Just looked right at you and kept his face all serious.

“Can we talk?”

No.

“Sure.”

And then you just looked at each other a moment. Shared unsaid things with looks, the way you always did, but you remained frustratingly closed off as Joe tried to pry you open.

He copied the way you were standing then.

Crossed his arms over his stomach and then pulled his shoulders up to his ears and kept them there as he made big eyes at you.

Was he making fun?

You shrugged as a response. Nodded a little and pretended to be nonchalant about it. Yea you were closed off. Had Joe forgotten he hadn’t told you he was moving out? That everything about the current situation you found yourselves in was unwanted and uncomfortable because of him?

And, okay, sure. Yea. You had your hand in this way of being with each other too. But you were the way you were inside of your flat, never out.

So you remained distant.

Kept your arms crossed and stayed right where you were, even though what you craved most right in this moment was the exact opposite. But you couldn’t just step closer and hug Joe right now. Couldn’t just be hugged by Joe right now.

“I don’t–... what am I to you?” Joe asked, genuinely curious.

The sun, you thought. The light when everything else was dark. Softness when everything else had sharp edges. The bit of comfort amongst all the excruciating grief. The fix.

Joe was the fix to every single problem you’d ever had since you’d moved into your flat with him all that time ago.

You said none of those things, of course.

Couldn’t.

So you just blinked rapidly, and hoped you wouldn’t actually cry. It didn’t feel like Joe was in a mood to be very comforting right now, so you really tried your hardest to keep a straight face.

“Tell me. What are we?”

You very nearly said flatmate. But your throat grew thick, and you shook your head. Unable to answer. Flatmate was the wrong answer, anyway.

“No?”

More head shaking. Couldn’t say shit. Joe was no longer your flatmate.

“Well, what... what do you want me to do?” Joe sounded kind, but defeated. You were making this unnecessarily difficult, and Joe didn’t have the answers.

So, you tried your hand at one. At an answer.

“To, um...” you had to stop, clear your throat before you continued, “To water that plant at least once a week.”

You deflected just like you’d done earlier that day. When Joe’d laughed and had hugged you and you hadn’t hugged him back because you weren’t alone in your flat and you never hugged outside of your flat, and fuck off, you were such a stupid bitch, you should’ve just hugged him back then.

“Keep it out of direct sunlight–” your voice wobbled as Joe cut you off.

“No, stop it. Don’t, you’re– baby, please.”

Baby.

That shot you right in the chest. Made you drop your head as your face scrunched up and tears fell right to the floor.

Baby.

“What do I do? What do you want?”

Concern flitted across his face, and if Joe thought that this was going to help you get your words out, he was dead wrong. The want to just leave once more was there. You felt it in your legs. In your feet. In the way the corners of your mouth got pulled down by emotion and exhaustion and– you weren’t made for this shit. You wanted out.

But Joe was quick.

Before you could even bring a hand up to your face to hide your pout, Joe was there. Curled arms around your back and tightly squeezed you against his chest so you got to hide your pout in there. Rested his head atop yours and softly shushed you.

You weren’t even really crying, but Joe’s embrace was welcome anyway.

It always was.

“I know you see it. You see it right? Feel it?”

You nodded. You did see it. Did feel it. But that shit was terrifying, and so, no thanks. You could just be blind and void of feelings forever and everything would be fine.

It wasn’t. Wouldn’t be. Obviously.

And Joe was just shoving your face into the fact that it wasn’t and would never be. Needed you to admit to it. Or at least acknowledge it. Something.

“So then talk to me. What do I do? What do you want?”

Your face scrunched up in a mixture of both hurt and anger. You wanted a lot of things. You wanted to crawl inside Joe’s clothes and tell him to shut the fuck up and simultaneously wanted to slowly push him down the stairs the way you’d pushed that plant to its demise earlier that day.

He was an idiot that was trying his best to fix something he’d caused.

He wasn the fix this time.

He was the cause of the hurt.

The second you realised that, you opened your mouth to speak, yet all that came out was a sob.

A pathetic small little sob that shook you by the shoulders more than it made an actual sound.

It made Joe squeeze you tighter as he shushed you more, but the shushing just fueled the anger.

Did he want you to talk to him or not?!

“You’ve never been– you’re not meant to be the cause, you– you’re the cause now.”

You got the words out and felt how the anger was fleeting.

“I know, baby. I know.”

Baby.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t want to be the reason you– you know, hence the... you need to know that I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t have gone about it like that, I just...”

You loved being able to feel Joe’s voice as he spoke, but the words gave you anxiety.

You never talked, and this was a lot.

You were so fucking tired.

“I’m sorry, I should–...”

Should leave? Get out? Stop this awkward chat because you were crying and it wasn’t slowly ebbing away but was very persistently setting up camp right behind your eyes where you knew it was going to stay put and hurt your throat and it took effort the whole time to not burst into louder sobs and–

“What do you want?”

Joe didn’t let go. Didn’t let that stupid question go either. You still hadn’t answered it yet, and Joe desperately wanted you to.

You had to say it. Had to use your voice, no matter how hoarse and barely-there it was.

Where you hated how small and stupid and weak you sounded, this was the type of stuff Joe fucking lived for.

Did he hate that he knew exactly why you were emotional right now? That he was responsible for the state of you right now?

Yes absolutely.

Guilt ate away at him from the inside out, but look, he was fixing it, and you were outside of the flat, and you’d come back after you’d left in a hurry earlier, and he had already been trying to accept the idea that maybe he wouldn’t see you for a while, you know?

Yet here you were.

All wrapped up in his arms.

All safe.

He couldn’t exactly protect you from himself, but he knew that what was done was necessary and important. He’d just done it wrong.

He’d kiss it better though.

Joe pressed soft kisses into your hair and then whispered, “Hmm? What is it you want?”

And you only really had one answer.

“To sleep.” you murmured, and you weren’t lying. Joe was holding you and he was warm and he smelt nice and you really wanted to go to sleep. “I’m tired.”

It wasn’t what he wanted to hear, but, all right. You’d answered his question.

“Mhmm. Go to sleep then. Get some–”

Joe stopped when you shook your head no and stuttered through breathing that grew more erratic as you tried to stiffle your sobbing.

“I can’t, it’s...”

God, it was so stupid.

Saying this shit out loud was so fucking awkward and lame and everything sounded daft and wrong, and not at all like the actual thoughts and feelings you felt inside, and Joe wouldn’t understand what you actually meant.

You couldn’t fucking sleep without Joe there.

Stiffling sobs only built them up until larger ones slipped out.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Joe shushed, pressed his lips into your hair, squeezed you tighter and rocked a little from side to side.

You felt like a fucking child.

It wasn’t okay.

But Joe shushed you, and swayed you, and if you closed your eyes it was kind of like you were both at home where this was totally fine and okay and just how you were.

Joe was making light of something heavy because he was so good at making light of all things heavy.

You had been what you were for so long that now the prospect of no longer being that felt so foreign to you, it only made you duck into Joe’s grasp even more.

Joe wanted to ask the same question again.

Wanted to whisper it into your hair. What do you want, and, what am I to you exactly, because you were no longer flatmates now, and, what did you tell your friend, how did you explain to her what you were together, what words did you use?

He could tell you what he wanted you to say, but that wouldn’t count. It didn’t work like that.

What did it work like, though?

Forcing you to fucking speak?

Making you cry so he could swoop right in and kiss it better like a manipulative twat?

Outside of the flat you shared it only became more clear to Joe that this wasn’t normal, and that a new normal was desperately needed. One where you lived in your own spaces and had a little distance and would then meet up every once in a while and have dates in the outside world like normal people.

Necessary and important.

You stood in Joe’s kitchen for a while.

Joe held you until you stopped shaking and your breathing evened out. He knew for sure you’d stopped crying when he felt one of your hands search for the hem of his T-shirt to sneak under and touch the bare skin of his back.

Had you been at home, this is where he would’ve walked you over to sit down on the sofa.

But there was no sofa to go sit on.

And sure, Joe’s bed had been put together, but it wasn’t made, and there were so many boxes to go through still. Shit to unpack. He had mates coming ‘round later that were going to help with the flatpacks and, did he want to just find his covers and lay down with you for the rest of the day? Yes. Absolutely. But he couldn’t.

Joe let go of you and reached for your sneaking hand. Pulled it from under the fabric and broke his own heart when he watched your face, tear-stained and blotchy, as you came to terms with there being no familiar next steps.

Not this time.

It was enough to make your breath hitch in your throat once more, but you were quick to calm yourself down. Joe got to see from up close how you closed your eyes and took slow deep breaths through your nose.

And then, surprising both him and yourself, you answered Joe’s earlier question.

What do you want?

“I want you to sell this place and come back.”

A bold joke. Not not true, but definitely silly. You knew that was never going to happen, and you opened your eyes only to see Joe trying his hardest to fight a smile off of his face.

“I’m not going to sell this place and come back.” Joe said in his gentlest voice, playing with the hand he was still holding onto. He held it by your index finger and your pinky and just shook it about a bit.

“Imagine if I did,” Joe carefully tried a joke in return, and he thanked the fucking stars when you smiled.

“Tell you what will be going back with you, though.”

Joe let go of your hand and picked up the small asplenium. His crispy wave that he placed in your bedroom that he liked so much he decided to get his own one, for his own flat, so you’d have a matching set, which you then went and broke.

“No, it’s... they’re buddies.”

You pointed at the big kentia palm with a little pout and Joe was about to fucking die at how cute you were being.

“Yea, all right.” Joe said, but still moved to place the small pot back in the tote you left on the side. “They can be buddies. But they’ll just... they’ll live at different flats.”

Joe took your hand and moved the straps of the bag up your arm. Pushed them onto your shoulder with soft care and made sure they laid flat.

“But they’ll miss each other.” you tried, obviously no longer talking about the plants.

Joe smiled.

“They won’t need to. They can still see each other all the time. They can text. Call. Have dinner– have pizza together. Sleep over. Stay the night. They wont have to miss each other.”

And that was that.

You were told to go get some rest. Joe would call you later.

And sure.

You could do that.

Didn’t like it.

But you could do that.

Kind of had no other choice, anyway.

With your little plant in your bag and the promise of seeing each other later, you left his flat, and felt... sort of numb. Still exhausted and somewhat empty, but, you got to keep the plant, so that was one thing.

You still didn’t want to look at all the empty in your flat, so you beelined it straight into your bedroom when you came home. Placed Joe’s plant back in the window and tried to get some rest.

And it really should’ve been so easy.

You were tired. Had had two consecutive nights of barely any sleep and the emotional rollercoaster you’d just experienced left your brain absolutely functionless.

Just, defective. Error 404.

And you’d nearly fallen asleep standing up in Joe’s kitchen forty-five minutes ago as he’d held you, but somehow... it just didn’t work on your own. In your own bed.

But you tried.

You really fucking tried.

You tossed and turned for ages until tears of frustration slipped into your pillow.

Fuck Joe.

Fuck him and his ways of making you feel so cherished. You weren’t feeling very cherished right now, how fucking foul of him. To be around at your disposal for ages, letting things naturally progress, and to then just vanish? Leave you without the ability to sleep in your own bed? Could only get some actual shut-eye in his room?

And, well. A drowning man will clutch at a fucking straw, won’t he?

Desperate times called for desperate measures.

In a wave of fury you slung the covers back and hauled yourself up and out of bed.

If Joe wasn’t going to fucking fix this, you were.

You heard a key slide into your front door just after dragging your heavy mattress over to what used to be Joe’s bedroom and you froze in a panic.

Joe still had his key.

Of course he did.

Shit.

You were stood in the doorway of your bedroom, pillows under your arms and a corner of your duvet in your hand.

The door opened and just like you’d expected, Joe stepped into view, looking all soft with fluffy hair and big eyes and soft skind and– and actually... yea, this was perfect.

Just what you needed, actually.

Joe saw you before he closed the door behind him.

Mess of a girl. Hair everywhere. Bags under her eyes. Clothes twisted around her body. Holding as much of her bedding as she could hold with just two arms.

You slowly blinked at him.

“Hey... what are you...”

Joe was holding a pizza box.

Brought dinner.

It was a bit late for dinner, but he hadn’t been able to stop looking at the texts you’d sent that he never responded to.

“What’s going on?”

You dropped what you were holding and stepped forward. Joe thought you were going for a hug, maybe, but instead, you reached for the pizza box. Took it from him and the put it down onto the floor right next to him.

Didn’t need that.

Just needed Joe.

“Are you all right? Hey. Look at me.”

Without saying anything you then took hold of Joe’s arm and pulled him along. Into his old bedroom. Pushed at his shoulders and made him sit down onto the mattress before you turned and went to get all the bedding you’d dropped.

You didn’t care he had his coat on still. Had his shoes on still.

It took a second for Joe to fully understand what was happening.

What was going on right now.

Why you seemed so fucking out of it and why you didn’t answer any of his questions or his confused looks.

Joe watched as you walked back into the room and stepped onto your mattress, duvet dragging on the floor behind you. He held an arm out, said, “C’mere,” and you didn’t need to be told fucking twice.

Dropped all you were holding once again, but this time, it turned your mattress on the floor into somewhat of an actual bed. Not a made one; it was a whole heap of soft on one side, and then just Joe on the other.

But he said come here, and you only had so much brain capacity left, you know?

You let yourself fall onto your knees and crawled until you found Joe’s lap. You shifted and turned and wiggled yourself onto him and then Joe let himself fall back, legs splayed out on the floor, but enough of him on the mattress for you to curl up on properly.

You laid chest to chest. Soft stomach to soft stomach. Heart to heart. Your head on his shoulder, your nose nudging into the squishy flesh under his chin, and your eyelashes tickled into the scruff on his jaw.

“Yea? Is this better?” Joe whispered and patted a searching hand around until he found the duvet. He pulled it across until you were both covered with it and you hummed on the exhale of a contented sigh.

This was it.

This was what your body had been craving. Was exactly what you needed.

“You comfy, baby?”

Baby.

“Mhmm,”

Joe shifted his hips, and your crotches were also definitely right on top of each other, but it went ignored. Not important right now.

Sleep was important right now.

Warmth, and comfort, and Joe’s velvety soothing voice were important right now.

His heartbeat, and his smell, and his stroking fingers that found the soft warm skin of your back to leave goosebumps on as he trailed fingertips all the way and all the way back down were important right now.

“That’s it, just relax.”

You couldn’t even properly hum anymore, your throat just made a little noise, and when Joe felt you sink into him even deeper, his chest hurt with unexpressed affection.

You were falling asleep.

The light in the hallway was still on, his bedroom door wide open, shoes and coat still on, but you were falling asleep on top of him and God, if that didn’t make him question every single choice he’d made over the past few months.

He dipped his chin a little and planted a little kiss on wherever it landed. Side of your nose, Joe thought.

You accepted it and nudged him back into place and Joe had to squeeze his eyes shut at how fucking adorable that was.

He was going to tell you in the morning.

Promised himself he would.

He wanted exactly this, the way you were inside the flat, but, have that elsewhere.

Not just here.

Have that outside.

In his new flat.

In front of other people.

“Hey,” Joe whispered, but he got no response. The only noise that filled the room was your shared breathing, and, good, Joe thought. Sleep.

He was going to say the words anyway.

“It won’t always be like this.”

You heard them.

And Joe was right.

But you were immediately aware of how fucking cruel that sounded. Because, obviously, it wasn’t always going to be like this. Joe wasn’t always going to be showing up at your front door with a box of pizza and a bunch of time on his hands. He wasn’t going to be around for ever. Let himself be pushed onto a mattress so you could sleep on top of him. Life would eventually run away with him.

You’d only been flatmates once, and the probability that any of what that meant remained was astronomically small.

Joe’d had flatmates before he no longer spoke to. So did you.

Of course, you knew it wouldn’t always be like this.

But, it also wouldn’t always be like this.

There would be other guys, other men, that would try to provide you with the same idea of comfort and safety and it wouldn’t be the same, but it’d be just as nice. Just different.

There’d likely be new flatmates, different people to share living space with, new people to share pizza with, and it wouldn’t be like this.

Not as nice.

Not as effortless and fucking easy as it was with Joe.

Where everything meant nothing and something at the same time.

It wouldn’t be like this.

“I know.”

You surprised Joe with your barely there whisper, and it startled him enough for you to feel it in his body. To cover it up, he quickly wrapped tight arms around you in response.

He’d tell you in the morning.

He’d tell you he wanted to hold hands as you walked from your flat to his and back.

He’d tell you he wanted to be able to curl up on the sofa together the way you always did in front of his friends. In front of yours.

He’d tell you that the safe space of your flat could be extended and, as long as you and Joe were together, it didn’t matter where you were; he could be the safe space.

Moving out was the first step to the expanding of the comfort zone.

Tomorrow, it was time for the second step.

Joe vowed that this promise wouldn’t vanish with the sunrise, the way that promises made late at night always were so wont to do.

Swore that it would be the first this he’d do when he’d wake.

I’ll start on Monday.

I’ll wake up early, do it in the morning.

Thing’s will be different when the sun rises.

They never were.

Not really.

But he’d tell you. And he’d see if you were willing to listen. the end

---

The Taglisted

@ali-in-w0nderland, @alwayslindie, @babybluebex, @bylermaxmayfield, @capricornrisingsstuff, @chaoticgood-munson, @choke-me-eddie, @demonsanddemogorgons, @did-it-work, @dirtyeddietini, @djoseph-quinn, @dolcevit4, @eddies-puppet, @emma77645, @emotionaldreamer, @everythinghasafacee, @figmentofquinn, @ghost-proofbaby, @ghostinthebackofyourhead, @hanahkatexo, @harringtonfan4, @hazelenys, @jewellethief, @joesquinns, @keikoraven, @kennedy-brooke, @lovelyblueness, @manda-panda-monium, @mandyjo8719, @mexicanfolklore, @miserybeans, @munson-mjstan, @nadixq, @nglharry, @notverywise, @pepperstories, @phyllosilicate-s, @royale1803, @sherrylyn628, @sidthedollface2, @songforeddiemunson, @sweetberry47, @take-everything-you-can, @thebellenouvelle, @tlclick73, @werepartnersnow, @winterwakesthewolf, @witchwolflea, @yelyahcardella, @yunirgo

taglist currently full, sorry

[ccsainzleclerc5516]

This Is Where You Stand With Me (part 2)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x reader

Warnings: none

Part 1 here

Y/N's POV

"Hola madre!" I say jokingly as my mother answered the phone.

"Too much influence from Sophie's boyfriend or what?" She chuckles.

"Yeah, something like that." I laugh adjusting myself on the couch. "How are you? What's new?" I ask.

"Nothing much, I'm just going back home from work. What's up with you?"

"I'm enjoying my day off from work." I say biting my lip not sure how's she going to react to my new "job" which I haven't told her about yet. But I'm certain she's not going to be thrilled about it.

"What do you mean y/n? What work?" As soon as she says "Y/N" I know there's no joking anymore.

"Well," I take a deep breath before I continue. "First of all, don't freak out, it's only my temporary job, you know while I'm here in Monaco with Sophie. And second of all, I started working for Ferrari practically. I'm managing their social media."

"Explain it a bit better, please. What does that mean?" She asks confused.

"Basically, I'm spending a lot of time with their drivers. I'm filming them for social media, like when they're getting ready for the race, asking them some questions, filming behind the scenes like what happens before the race, filming them training and stuff like that you know. And I edit those videos and then post them." I try to explain to her as simply as possible. but my mom, like most others, is not on the internet, she is not interested in the world of social media and probably still does not understand why anyone would be interested in any of this.

"So who are you filming then? Sophie's boyfriend and?"

"Carlos and Charles." As I say his name my mind wanders briefly to Charles and the grand prix from last weekend. I wonder how he is, and if he talked to Ava. and what happened between them afterwards. I also wonder if he has already thrown somewhere the bracelet I gave him. As I've already said, you just never know with him.

"Y/n?" My mom's voice snaps me out of my thoughts. "Are you even listening to me?"

"Sorry my thoughts wandered for a moment. What did you ask?"

"I asked if you are satisfied with that job? Are you treated well? What are those boys like?" Like any mother, she worriedly asks a million questions and I, like any other daughter, of course, will not tell her everything in detail.

I have always been close to my mother, but I never liked to share every detail of my life with her, even though she wanted to know it. But I just wasn't comfortable with her knowing all my private things. I believe that you can be close to your mother, without her being involved in all your decisions, attitudes and thoughts. We talk more or less about everything, but I have set some boundaries for myself about what I want to share with her and I think that's exactly why we have a relatively good and healthy relationship.

"Yeah, I mean it's not something I'll do forever, it's just a temporary type of thing, so while I'm here I might as well earn some money." I say. "And everybody's nice to me, of course, I already told you that Carlos is a wonderful person and boyfriend to Sophie, and Charles..He's not so bad either."

"You don't sound so convincing with the other one." She says referring to Charles.

"Don't worry really, both of them are very nice, it's just that I don't know Charles very well yet and I haven't spent much time with him so I can't say much about him." I say honestly.

While talking to her on the phone, I get up and head to the kitchen to make myself some coffee. While walking to the kitchen, I pass by the mirror and almost get scared when I see what I look like. Shaggy hair in a bun, without a hint of makeup, braless in an extra-large t-shirt with a print of Los Pollos Hermanos that also serves as my nightgown and house slippers on my feet. I guess I'm not one of those ex girlfriends that has a glow up after a breakup, but oh well.

"Well, as long as you're happy and safe, I'm fine with it." My mom says. "And besides, I think it's good for you that you left Manchester for a bit. Stay as long as you want."

"Really?" I am a bit taken aback and surprised by her words. "How come you think so?" I ask while waiting for coffee to be poured from the machine into the cup.

"I-I.." Just as she was about to say something the doorbell rings. Sophie went to lunch with Carlos, I doubt they forgot their keys.

"Mom, there's someone at the door, I'll have to call you a little later, okay?"

"Okay, we'll talk later, bye." She says and I hung up the phone.

I leave my phone on the kitchen counter and just as I'm about to go into the hallway to open the door, I accidentally pull the cup with my hand and spill hot coffee on my right thigh.

"Ouchh!" I almost scream in pain while the hot coffee continues to pour down my leg. "Fuck!!" My eyes get watery from the pain and stinging. Cursing my clumsiness I grab a cloth and wipe my thigh which is burning more and more and the doorbell keeps ringing. I go and open the front door when none other than Charles is standing leaning against the door frame.

"Charles, what are you doing here?" I ask with a sniff. I don't open the door all the way, but just peek out with my head. The last thing I needed is him here while I'm crying over my coffee burn and looking like I got mowed by a tornado.

"Y/n, are you alright? Why are you crying?" He asks, his expression immediately turned serious as he tries to enter.

"I just spilled hot coffee on myself. Please don't come in.." I really don't want him to see me like this.

"Let me help you." He says ignoring me and coming in anyway closing the door behind him.

"No, Charles..I-I'll be fine." I say pulling my t-shirt down with one hand and still holding the cloth with the other one.

"Let me see." He bends down and removes my hand with which I'm holding the cloth. "You got burned well." He says.

"Yeah, I can feel it. It hurts pretty bad."

"Come here." He waves his hand for me to follow him into the bathroom. It seems like he has already been in this apartment before. They probably had some gathering at Sophie's, so he knows where everything is.

"Sit there." He says pointing to the tub as he takes a small towel from the shelf under the sink and soaks it in cold water. I briefly feel a sense of relief as he kneels down in front of me and places a wet towel over my burn.

"You know, I really appreciate your help, but I feel terribly uncomfortable-"

"Yeah, I already saw that you don't have a bra on." He cuts me off and my cheeks instantly get as red as the burn on my thigh.

"You don't have to point it out like that.." I can't help but chuckle a little at his nonchalant response.

"You really do have to stop embarrassing yourself in front of me." He laughs.

"Why did you come here in the first place?" I ask shaking my head.

"I'm here to pick up Carlos. We agreed to go to the gym together, and he said he would be at Sophie's." He says taking the towel off my thigh and soaking it again. "So here I am. Where are the two of them anyway?"

"They went out for lunch. I think they should be back any minute now since they've been gone for a while." As he comes back with the cold towel I notice that he's wearing the red bracelet I gave him last weekend. He puts the towel over my thigh again and gently presses it.

"And what are you doing alone in the apartment, except destroying it?" I really like this funny side of Charles. For I moment I wished he could be like this all the time.

"Certainly not waiting for you." I playfully answer back.

"Yeah, sure you aren't." He says confidently and I roll my eyes at him. "I'm going to clean up that coffee you spilled on the floor." You can see the kitchen from the bathroom, so he definitely made sure I knew that he saw the mess I made.

While Charles is cleaning up in the kitchen, I quickly go to my room and put on shorts and a bra under my t shirt. Since he's already seen me at my worst, I decide not to fix my hair but to leave it messy like this. It's already too late now to look presentable anyway.

"Have you put on a bra yet?" He asks shamelessly as I enter the kitchen.

"Has anyone ever told you that you can be very inappropriate?" I honestly ask him.

"Quite rude thing to say to someone who just helped you."

"Thank you. Charles. For your generous help." I say slightly sarcastically through gritted teeth. "Do you want me to check when they're coming back?"

"Why? Can't wait to get rid of me?"

"No." I roll my eyes. "I'm just asking if you're in a hurry."

"I'm not. I'll wait for him. I hope they'll be back soon." He says taking a seat on the high chair at the kitchen island.

"Do you want something to drink while you wait?"

"A glass of water will do."

I reach for a glass from the top kitchen unit and in the process I scratch the injured thigh on the handle of the lower element. I wince in pain and curse under my breath.

"Be careful, where is your towel?" Charles asks me getting up from the chair. Before I can say I left it on the tub, he's already back from the bathroom with it. "Sit there." He almost orders me and I do it obediently while he soaks the towel again in the kitchen sink. He moves my hand from my thigh and puts the wet towel over it.

I don't know why, but I decide not to tell him that I can do it myself. And he doesn't say it either but proceeds to hold his hand a little longer over the cold compress looking down at it and gently pressing on it. I lift up my head to look up at him and for a second we lock our eyes together without saying a word.

"I-I.." In a moment of nervousness I wanted to say something just to break the silence, but luckily I hear the front door open. Charles quickly moves his hand away and goes to the opposite side of the kitchen island clearing his throat.

"Hello..guys..?" Sophie says as Carlos and her enter the kitchen looking very confused at the scene before them.

part 3

[yellow-berrys]

he's like that | sirius black x fem!reader

summary: Sirius Black is colder than ice, and you are not. where you slowly melt down his cool physiognomy and find your way into his heart. all good things come slowly, and surely. fluff.

warnings: references to an abusive household, disowning, alcohol, food.

navigation | masterlist 

Sirius Black was not the friendliest person you had ever met. In fact, his general disposition was somewhere middling carelessness and ice, a combination many people found irresistible. Sirius did have emotions, though. You had seen him laughing with Marlene, one of your best friends. When you had bounded up to her to talk with them, he vanished. 

Oh, he was an enigma, that one. One time, he was in the library, laughing with Remus. You had waved to Remus and he had stopped laughing. You frowned and Remus rolled his eyes, walking up to you.

“He’s like that. I’m sorry.”

You had waved him away, “It’s okay, Remus.”

And that time in Charms left you bitter about him. 

Flitwick had ordered you to partner up with Sirius, and you had. He hadn’t spoken a word to you, never. 

“Now, class,” Flitwick had noticed your very one-sided conversations, “Remember that no matter what, you must all get along. I don’t understand, we’re all from the same house here. Well, except me. But not all of us can be intellectually gifted. Now swivel and tap!”

Sirius still didn’t spare you a glance. Shrugging, you remembered Remus’ words.

You were great at Charms and socialising anyway, you didn’t need some no-good, high and mighty aristocrat to excel. You caught the eye of Lily, “Wanna get out of here?”

“Sure.”

“Professor,” you raised your hand in the air, “May Lily and I be excused for prefect duties?”

Flitwick was very kind, “But first, please show me the Protego charm.”

You both casted it flawlessly and he nodded, “Have a nice day.”

“You too!”

Sirius just rolled his eyes. 

“I’m sorry about Sirius, he’s like that.”

“Not your fault, Lils, I don’t mind.”

“It’s never personal.”

“I don’t mind.”

“Early start on Transfiguration?”

“Sounds good.”

“He is just like that, you know.”

“I know,” you said as you sat into your Transfiguration seat, taking out some parchment and beginning to write. People filed in soon enough. 

Sweeping a glance of your whereabouts, you caught the eye of Sirius Black seated close to you, who was currently grinning at the mess of Lily’s hair he had just made casting a spell to straighten it. Immediately his grin was wiped off, replaced by an indifferent stare, but your eyes kept moving. They found the deep brown of Marlene, who just smirked at you in an attempt to look cool as a cucumber for Dorcas.

The class was usually interesting– McGonagall always had the most rigid and demanding lesson plans, but she filed in with a murderous gaze today. 

“Jeez, she looks like she’s on a warpath,” James whispered to Sirius. 

“Yes Mister Potter,” McGonagall drawled, “In fact I just found a sixth year frolicking in the corridors, they had the nerve to talk back to me! Nice to see you Miss Smith, how’s the knee?”

“Well, thanks Professor,” Gertrude Smith adjusted her cast underneath the table. 

“Right, page 679 of Transfiguration Advanced, I want you to pair– would you stop causing that ruckus, Mister Malfoy! And Miss Brathburt, please readjust your tie! Where was I at, yes, I will put you into pairs seeing as you, Miss Holt, cannot stop chatting. We can talk about Potions later, yes I can hear you Mister Crabbe. Your goal is to turn a piece of the other person’s hair curly and turn it back. Make sure to flick, not swish, contrary to Charms, Mister Black, we don’t want to cause a static mess. I dread to see what your Charms work is like.”

As she spoke, she flicked her wand in the direction of Lily and her hair went impossibly tidy. 

“Mister Potter and Miss Mckinnon. Mister Malfoy and Miss Meadowes. Mister Pettigrew and Miss Brathburt. Miss Holt and Mister Lupin. Miss Smith and Mister Gerard. Mister Black and Miss L/n. Miss Evans and Mister Diggory. Mister Samson and Miss Perdentio. Miss James and Mister Gideon Weasley. Mister Fabian Weasley and Miss Rembrandt. And Miss Kane and Mister Rembrandt. Chop chop now, let’s get a move on. I don’t want to see pink hair or any frizz or trust you will be staying in next period.” 

You grimaced. You turned to Lily, and asked her only half jokingly, “Wanna swap?”

McGonagall shot you an amused look, “No swaps, Miss L/n. We must all learn to get along.”

“Funny,” you snarked to Lily, “I remember Flitwick saying that too.”

Huffing, you point your wand at Sirius, who was taking his sweet sweet time talking to Peter. You muttered the spell under your breath and Sirius felt his hair coil up. Then you turned it back.

You turned to the professor, a small smile playing on your lips and she looked approvingly at you. “Page 256 for extension work, class.”

Sirius was apathetic, and continued his conversation. 

You had already completed the work on page 256, so you chose to take out a piece of parchment and continue your Potions homework, glancing at Marlene occasionally to see her gazing fondly at Dorcas. 

“Mister Black,” McGonagall warned, “Mister Pettigrew.”

“Minnie, you know my hair’s already perfect.”

“This is not about the charm,” she drawled back, “It’s about the practice, discipline…”

“And skill,” Sirius finished. 

“Well, show me then.”

Sirius waved his wand casually and your hair turned impossibly curly, more curly than it had ever been. Then he waved his wand again and it was normal. You were grinning at Marlene, mouthing encouragement as she glared back. 

McGonagall frowned. He shrugged and returned to his conversation. 

The bell rang and she strode out, stopping at the threshold, “Class dismissed. Homework is three feet of parchment,” groans rung from all around the classroom, “on the use of Transfiguration within the cosmetics industry and its impact,” more groans, “It will count for your final grade, and it is due next lesson.”

“But the next lesson is in two days, Professor!” someone called. 

She gave them a scathing look, “And whose problem is that? See you all in two days.”

Lily was furious after class. She stormed into Sirius’ dormitory, a whirlwind of ginger and red.

“Sirius Black,” she started calmly, “You are acting like the biggest grinch since Christmas,” her top lip curled, “I don’t want to say this but, you’re mean, Sirius.”

Sirius startled. He sighed. “Am I really?”

“She thinks you’re mean. I would say that’s a pretty good indicator.”

Sirius knew exactly who Lily was talking about. 

“I’m sorry.”

“Sorry isn’t going to cut it. Sirius, you can’t keep on doing this,” she replied softly, “You’ve gotta let people into your life.”

“I can’t, Lily.”

“You can. And you will. I hate to do this to you, but you have to, Sirius. People are inevitable.”

“I’m scared.”

“I know you are, love, but you won’t be any less scared if you ignore everyone for the rest of your life. And I know it’s hard, but you’re strong, Sirius.”

“I don’t want to turn into them.”

“You’ll never, Sirius. You’ll never be them. Just, don’t be mean.”

“Where should I start?”

“Be yourself, but be nice, Sirius. You’re a great guy.”

Sirius started trying harder. When you bumped into Remus and him at the library, he didn’t glance past you, but nodded at you, like men did, he said to Remus. He started looking passively gentle, less cold. There were a few changes, but they became bigger. 

He was headed to Potions after smiling at Flitwick in the courtyard. Flitwick, with his usual assuming nature, which came with being very very advanced intellectually, had seen right through him. 

You had your arms linked with Dorcas, going the same way. 

“So much homework,” she sighed and you nodded, catching sight of Marlene in your peripheral vision.

“Marls! Over here!”

You offered your free hand to her and she snorted. “I don’t do physical contact, remember?”

Dorcas’ head peeked out on the other side. “Really?” she asked softly.

Marlene went red and you smirked to yourself. She stuttered, “I guess I could make an exception.”

Dorcas hummed. You wracked your brains, trying to figure out how to leave them alone. You spotted Lily and James walking, swaying in a romantic embrace. I’m gonna break it up, loverboy and girl. 

“Lily, where are the Muggle Studies notes?” you clashed Dorcas’ and Marlene’s hands together haphazardly, running to her. 

You had never seen Marlene so flustered. Dorcas just looked surprised, doe eyes looking up at Marlene in confusion. It made Marlene shudder, but she regained her composure and linked their hands together. 

“Awwwhh!” you heard Sirius, walking with his group of Marauders bar James, “You guys are so cute!” he teased Marlene, making kissy faces at her. Dorcas blinked innocently. 

Marlene unleashed her most gnarly vocabulary at Sirius, glaring at him. 

“He’s a little confused,” she smiled at Dorcas, “He means that we are both, individually, cute.”

Dorcas nodded, “Makes sense.” 

You were busy chatting to James and Lily, “This older lady came up to me, and I was looking for mothballs for my wardrobe, right?”

“Huh?” James frowned at the same time Lily said, “You could’ve just asked me, I have heaps,” she turned to her confused boyfriend, “They’re the little jasmine balls you were juggling with the other day, remember?”

Realisation washed over James, “Ohhhhh.”

“Yeah, okay, continue.”

Sirius was stone-cold on the outside. 

“So, Pads, you got an eye on any ladies?” Peter asked. 

He laughed, “Don’t think so, Wormtail.”

“Any gentlemen?”

“Nope.”

“Shame. Well, Mary and I went to the ice rink the other day.”

“How was it?”

“I’m not really good on land, who was I kidding to go on frozen water?”

Sirius guffawed.

“I was waddling like a fricking penguin whilst Mary looked like the snow queen.”

You kept a firm eye on Marlene and Dorcas. It was a magnificent contrast, Dorcas so quiet and tidy and sweet and Marlene so fiery and hot-headed and rude. Dorcas made Marlene more mellow and more open to love, and Marlene helped Dorcas to be heard more often. You smiled to yourself. What a pair. 

The cohort swarmed into Slughorn’s potions class, who was smiling that same old pretentious grin. 

“Please,” he held out a top hat upended, with little slips of paper, “It’s random tuesday!”

The whole class were used to his antics by now and put up with him begrudgingly. You reached in, and pulled out a slip of paper. 

It read, “34E” so you sat in the seat. James Potter was behind you, and he tried moving a spot to his right but he was glued into the seat. 

“I know he’s beyond cooky, but this is madness,” he whispered. 

You laughed, “I think it’s funny.”

Marlene walked in and you crossed your fingers she would sit next to you, but she sighed and sat next to James. 

“Seat buddy!” James put his hand up for a high five that was ignored. 

You giggled, and saw a hint of a smile on Marlene’s face. She herself began to smirk slowly as you caught sight of Sirius, nonchalant and handsome.

You had a general disdain for his aloofness, though you did secretly hope he would treat you like he did his friends.

“Hi,” you greeted him and he gave you a nod, taking out his quill and parchment. He swore under his breath when he realised he had forgotten his textbook. You glanced at him in confusion, half concern and apparently he’d been looking at you too. Inwardly, he melted. He loved nice people. But as he had come to learn, some nice people weren’t nice at all. Remember what Lily said, he thought. His eyes remained a cool, distant grey. 

“Textbooks to page 420,” Slughorn boomed, “Ha! Get it?”

You laughed, he was more childish than any of you, flipping open your textbook. Surprisingly, Sirius enjoyed the sound. It was certainly different to James’ big loud laughter, Remus’ quiet chuckles or Peter’s hysteric giggles, but it was a good change. 

Beginning to copy down the notes, you looked to the side to see Dorcas with her head in the clouds, as it usually was. Dorcas was the dreamer of the year. You finished writing and look around. Sirius was glancing at your textbook casually and you made a startled noise. 

“Here,” you whispered, moving the book more to his side than it stayed in yours. He was unmoved, nodding again. Maybe you were worth letting into his life.

“Dorcas,” Slughorn called, “Tell me what the main component of the Healing Draught is.”

Dorcas looked at him glassily, “Pardon?”

Slughorn repeated the question, tapping his fingers on the table in an impatient rhythm. 

Dorcas looked around, relieved as you mouthed “Wrathspurt,” scribbling it discreetly on your hand and showing it to her. 

“Wrathspurt, sir.”

Slughorn looked sceptical. “Very well.”

Sirius admired you a little more after that. He was close with Dorcas, who was best friends with Regulus. 

Slughorn dictated what you were to do next, which was to make a simple Healing Draught. You popped up quickly, retrieving ingredients, hauling a cauldron and juggling a knife, which you ordered Sirius to carry for you. He did so compliantly. 

He was impressed. You were complete competence mixed with modesty and a little charm, good humour. You made jokes which he found very funny but only ever smiled slightly at. He wanted you around more. 

Once the healing draught was made, you gave it a sniff and stared at it satisfiedly. 

“We did it, partner!” You held out a high five but then remembered that like Marlene, he didn’t do physical contact either, retracting it awkwardly and giving him an awkward smile to match. 

It’s the first time you’d seen him smile wide. It was the prettiest smile you’d ever really seen, his teeth flashing dashingly and his eyes lighting up. His aristocratically poised face turned into something boyish and warm. 

“Okay stop smiling now, it’s getting weird,” you laughed and he shook his head. 

You bottled up the potion and handed it to Slughorn, who approved. 

“Best of the lot,” he murmured and you bounded back to Sirius. 

“Sirius, he said it was the best of the lot!”

He smiled again. 

It was a few hours later, with him and James lying on their beds. 

“Hey Prongs?” he asked James, who was flipping through a Quidditch playbook, swinging his legs, like a Muggle girl in a rom-com. 

“Mm?”

“Can I invite someone to our Friday night funnights?”

James peered at him, surprised, “Of course, Padfoot! Who is it?”

Sirius told him and James raised his eyebrows.

“I thought she might be a good friend.”

“Okay, whoever you like, Pads.”

“Will Remus and Peter mind?”

“She’s in Remus’ book club and Peter, well, as long as Mary’s there, Peter doesn’t notice a thing.”

“Cool. Cool. I’m excited, Prongs, I think she might want to be friends.”

“I’m proud of you, Pads.”

Friends were good for you, Sirius came to learn. James was there for his brotherhood and support, Remus for his knowledge and his wisdom, Pete for a sense of innocence and boyhood. They were his closest friends but he had Lily, a kind, furious, motherly addition to his list of friends. Marlene for his ability to relate to whatever situation she had going on at home and how they both hated love, and Dorcas for her ditsy humour, and dreams. Dorcas inspired Sirius. There was also Amos Diggory, he was the golden boy and on the rare occasions he and Sirius met, they got along like a house on fire. Maybe you, too.

And here that opportunity sat opposite him, head leaning on Mary’s shoulder as you giggled. You had complimented his choice of music and the questionable room decor that consisted of two broomsticks and a suspicious stick. It was Sirius’ night, James had insisted, toasting his glass of orange juice to new friends and enemies. 

Truth or dare was being played, though by now it had turned into Truth or Truth, a bottle of Veritaserum sourced by Lily half empty. Red cups of orange and apple juice were sitting all around, Firewhiskey discarded. It had been because you opted for orange juice, and everyone else had joined you, not wanting to keep you responsible for all of them when they were past their limits drinking booze. You were sticky with joy and warmth, laughing and crying.

“Prongs, what’s your hot take on Lily?” Remus asked. James took a swig of his orange juice, dosed with Veritaserum. 

“She’s secretly a world-class ballerina.”

Sirius snorted, “Evans? No way.”

“Thanks, idiot. I would be offended but I remember that you have less than two brain cells and pity you.”

Sirius pouted. 

“Y/n, who’s the prettiest person in the room?” James asked. 

You sipped your orange juice, “Marlene.”

“Awh, love you my little hermit,” Marlene smiled at you and you smiled back. 

“I didn’t need orange juice for that, Marls.”

“Okay, quit it.”

Sirius began to see why Marlene hung around you so much. You made Marlene happier, more rounded. She was grinning into her cup of apple juice. 

“So, Y/n, you gonna hang out with us more often?”

“One question only, Potter, but I guess. I already spend lots of time with Lily and Marls and Dorcas. If it’s okay with you.”

“It’s great.”

“Yay! New friend!”

“What about me?” Peter blinked at her and you smiled, “You’re my friend too, Peter.”

“Do I get a ‘Yay’?”

“Yay! New friend!”

Laughing. Sirius looked weirdly meek, weirdly emotional. You noticed, and he was surprised. 

“You too, Sirius.”

He nodded, grateful. Inside, he was elated. His walls were coming down slowly. 

The night began to wear away after the clock hit 11 and Lily had to go, so James had to go. Then Remus went down to pack away the common room. Peter and Mary sneaked off to her Ravenclaw dormitory. Dorcas fell asleep on Marlene’s shoulder, leaving her stunned. 

“That means she feels comfortable around you,” you whispered and Marlene broke into a wide smile. 

Sirius was sitting, and he was quiet. 

“You alright, friend?” you asked him. 

“The orange juice is warm,” he made a face at you and you laughed.

“It’s better than hot cola.”

“Cola?” he asked. 

“What? You don’t know what cola is?”

“He lived a restricted life,” Marlene chimed in. 

“Oh no, no, Merlin, no,” you replied and Sirius thought for a second that you were rejecting his whole existence. His heart dropped, “That simply won’t do.”

You left and re-emerged with two cans of something red. They were cool against Sirius’ skin and he smiled at you. 

“What do I do with these?”

It was opened, and let out a strange hiss. You passed it to him, and he took a sip. 

“Oh.”

You warmed one up by the fire and passed it to him. 

“Ew.”

“Here, give me a sip.”

You poured it into a cup, took a sip and grimaced. “Gross. That’s really gross.”

Marlene laughed, “Me next.”

You were about to pour her some, but she just grabbed yours and chugged, shrugging, “It doesn’t taste like alcohol.”

“Marls, it’s Coca Cola.”

“What? You mean rum and coke.”

“I keep a family friendly household. I don’t drink.”

“Prude,” Marlene retorted. 

“Dependent on alcoholic substances.”

“She isn’t wrong, Maroon.”

“Maroon,” you said, thoughtful, “That’s nice. Mar is kept and it’s her favourite colour. Maroon. Maroon. Maroon,” you tested. Dorcas stirred, eyes bleary as she blinked up at Marlene. 

“Someone kept saying the names of random colours in the dream I was having,” she mumbled and Marlene shhed her, “It’s okay baby,” you looked at Sirius and faked gagging which made him chuckle. It was a deep and pleasant noise. 

Marlene looked annoyedly at you and you giggled, “Think I’ll stick with Marls.”

Dorcas drifted off again. 

It was a few days later and you were sitting in the library, legs crossed over each other as you lounged, reading a book. Dorcas sat opposite you, sketching a picture. 

“So, Sirius, huh?” she asked, tone far away and feather light. 

“We’re friends,” you said happily.

“Really? He seems to have taken a liking to you.”

“We’re friends,” you repeated. 

“He’s different.”

“We all are.”

“When you met him, what did you see?”

“He’s detached to everyone outside of his bubble. Cold. But when you do see him start to open up, he’s very warm. I wonder what he’s seen.”

“Interesting. You feel the temperatures. I see colours. He’s a purple to me, deep purple.”

“What does that mean?”

“He’s royalty. He’s a mix of blue, for his calm and cool, and red for his emotions and pain. A dash of yellow, because he’s soft when you get to him.”

“What am I?’

“You’re so nice you can be whatever you want to be.”

You laughed. Dorcas flipped her sketchbook around and there was a picture of you, sitting peacefully. 

“Wow. Wow.”

Suddenly the wind, as if heaven sent, gushed through the window in an urgent rush. It blew the pages of Dorcas’ sketchbook, which were mostly filled with one particular face. Marlene. 

Dorcas blushed and you smiled to yourself. Again, the weather changed. Heavy droplets of rain began to fall through the open window and you and Dorcas squealed as she shut it. You both giggled and laughed as you ran back to the dormitories through the corridors. Thunder crashed as Dorcas began to look a little scared. Then a strike of lightning hit not far away, and she shrieked. She was scared of thunder. You felt out of your depth here, but were relieved when Marlene came thudding down the corridors with Sirius.

“Hey!” you called, “Marls! Over here!”

Marlene took care of the situation. Sirius was standing, observing, quiet. 

Marlene turned and gave you a very specific look, which made you start walking back to the common room. Sirius followed. 

“Is she okay?”

“Marlene’s got her. She does like Marls, you know. And guess what I saw in the library?”

“Mm?” His eyes peeked over to you. 

“A whole sketchbook. Filled with Marls’ face.”

“I wonder why,” Sirius smiled. 

“Marls is very pretty, Sirius.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Anyway, they’re gonna be at least two hours, I’m going to head to the Prefects’ common room.”

“Hey,” he stopped you, “Marlene usually watches the game with us on Saturday afternoons, which is where we were headed. Do you want to come?”

“As her replacement?” you shook your head, amused. 

“Well- I- no, you’re our friend. And I heard you went for the Cannons. They’re playing tonight.” 

“I’ll come.”

A pleased look came onto his face. It was warm and interesting. 

You followed him to a small little nook where James and Lily were huddled around a wizard’s television, bright colours flashing. 

“Pollarck!!!!!” you squealed as you sat down on a beanbag, admiring the Cannons’ Seeker. 

“Pollarck?” James looked bemused.

“I know, he flies under the radar a lot and is such a humble sport, but he’s my favourite ever made.”

“Um?” Sirius looked at you, confused.

Lily translated, “He’s got a boyish quiet charm that she admires.”

You nodded, “He gets the job done, no fuss, no bravado.”

Sirius smiled, “I’m a fan of GK myself.”

“He’s funny too.”

“Butterbeer- never mind. Apple juice?” James offered and you accepted. 

“Thanks.”

“We always keep it around now,” James smiled warmly at you.

“You’re nicer than Lily lets on, Jimmy.”

“She’s just in denial.”

You learned that an afternoon of watching quidditch whilst taking tiny very noble sips of coca cola was the way Sirius enjoys spending his Saturday. 

“Pass the coke,” James said, and Sirius passed the red bottle. You choked a little on your apple juice as Lily and you shared glances. 

“Sweet,” Lily began, “That phrase isn’t what you think it is.”

After a quick explanation, you started laughing at James’ bewildered face.

“What’s-”

“Nevermind.”

Sirius was looking just as confused.

Eventually, the game did end, with your favourite player collecting the Snitch very quietly and hurrying into the changerooms just as soon as he did, the rest of the team trampling in after him to pour electrolyte drinks all over him. You winced.

“The crudeness.”

“Marlene plays,” Sirius smiled at you.

“The crudeness.”

“She’s been scouted for the Holyhead Harpies.”

“I know. The crudeness.”

“Sirius and I have been scouted for the Cannons,” James said. Lily was smiling. 

“Really?” you clapped your hands, “That’s wonderful!”

“They don’t even need to sit NEWTS,” Lily grumbled and you raised your eyebrows.

Sirius was quick to explain, “Pollarck and Jeffreys are retiring next year.”

“Noooooooo,” you cried, “Pollarck!!!” 

“He’s well beyond his peak,” James grinned, “He told me.”

“And after our careers, a commentating or coaching job is practically guaranteed,” Sirius joined in. He didn’t sound like he was bragging at all. “Want me to get Pollarck’s autograph?” he asked softly. 

“Oh, please!” you grinned at him, “Pretty please!”

“I’ll get everyone else’s too for you.”

You squealed, “Thank you, thank you, thank you!!!” Sirius smiled. Being nice was nice. 

And that’s what he told Minerva McGonagall, lying back in her sturdy armchair in the living room of her quarters. 

“That Lily Evans does have a way about her, doesn’t she?”

“Prongs did fall in love with her, I’d say she’s a great lady.”

“What about you and Y/n?”

“C’mon, Minnie, I just made a friend and you want me to start falling in love. Impossible.” Sirius did not get it. Neither did you, really. He thought there was nothing and wouldn’t ever be anything between you and him. Right now, he just really wanted to be friends. He wasn’t looking for more. 

“I know, but you both work.”

He shrugged, “I work with everyone, if I try hard enough.”

“That is true. How’s the Cannons?”

“Excellent, Minnie, I think I can get you a broomstick that once belonged to Heather Proud.”

“Really? Oh my Merlin, that is exciting,” she lilted.

“Oh yes, and it only comes off my fantastic charm.”

She rolled her eyes, sipping her tea, “I did receive a letter from your parents the other day.”

Sirius’ face dimmed. He turned tense.

“They paid out your tuition here and left you the trust fund from your, I quote, ‘greatest grandfather who enclosed that all grandchildren must have access to the fund, bound legally and within familial bonds.’”

Sirius blinked confusedly.

“Basically, you’re financially steady, which is guaranteed by Perseus Black,” Minerva spoke softly. 

“Why do you seem so uptight though, Minnie? Isn’t this good news?”

“Sirius,” she choked up, handing him the letter. His eyes skimmed the words. 

“Oh Merlin,” he leaned back into his chair, “They’re disowning me!” He chuckled, before burying his head in his hands, “They’re disowning me.”

Minerva put her arms around him, “Oh son.”

“Why am I still sad about it?” he sobbed. 

“Son, no matter who they are, they’re your family. That’s not going to change. You’re bonded to them. It’s normal. It’s completely normal.”

There was one thing that was not completely normal though, Sirius thought, much happier than he had been a week ago. It was Sybil Trelawney. She was strange, odd, elusive. Her big eyes bore into Sirius’ as she examined him. 

He gulped, widening his eyes at James. Something was about to happen. 

“Sirius, my dear,” she stared off into the distance, “Is there someone new in your life?”

He shrugged, “Depends. What do you call ‘new’, Professor?”

“A young lady. Lovely smile. Ooh, she looks rather like that girl who dropped out of my classes. I understand. She told me she had bigger priorities, and with that lovely smile I could not be mad. We all tend to go our own ways…” Trelawney drifted off. 

She recollected herself. “I see, paths will collide and never separate. Interesting, interesting.”

All Sirius saw was that the tea leaves had drowned underneath his tea. He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. Maybe he should’ve dropped this class too. 

“Ooh, professor, I think I see a heart! Oh, now it’s a gigantic 65 headed monster that has red hair. Merlin it looks like Lily,” James giggled from opposite Sirius. 

“Lovely, Potter,” she sighed, “I do not get paid enough.”

Sirius smiled at her awkwardly. 

“Well, Sirius, there are open ends in your life currently. But I foresee– I foresee a feminine force.”

She moved on to another pair. 

Sirius facepalmed and James laughed. “Bro, I don’t know why I signed up for this class,” Sirius groaned. 

“Eh, don’t complain, you barely try and you’re first.”

“I made up all of my homework!”

“You know Trelawney likes imagination!”

“Surely there should be a limit to how much freedom of speech someone has! Feminine force, my foot. I have you and Lily, that’s enough feminine force to last me a decade.”

They both laughed. 

“Maybe she was talking about, about your new friend,” James wiggled his eyebrows suggestively and Sirius laughed. 

“No way she would.”

“Paths converge, never to diverge again,” James mocked. 

“I’m done,” Sirius sat back in his chair, eyes flickering around the room.

“Well, Sirius,” Trelawney observed, “You may be dismissed.”

Sirius “Yippee!”d and James muttered something that sounded like, “Handsome old teacher’s pet.”

He strode out of the room and into the corridor, immediately blasted with the sound of quiet wailing. It was a first year boy, looking so very distressed in his too-big cloak and clutching his wand. Sirius felt very sad, so decided to approach the kid. 

You were clicking through the halls, from the library to your next class. You heard his voice, it ricocheted through the walls, and stopped, sneaking your head around the corner. Sirius was bent down, talking hushedly to a young boy. You could piece together their conversation. 

“Little guy, what happened?” Sirius asked. 

A small voice sniffled, “I got lost. And- and my term hasn’t started well. Mrs McGonagall glared at me today, my potion blew up in my face and Mrs Trelawney said I might fall ill. All my friends ditched me to go play Quidditch and when I was tying my shoelace, none of them waited for me. So I’m here now.”

“Oh, I am so sorry. But let me tell you, Mrs McGonagall has this thing- have you heard of it? It’s called a resting,” here he swore and the small kid laughed, “face. Don’t worry about Potions, it hasn’t mangled you up at all. I don’t know what you looked like before but you’re very handsome,” he said, tender, “As for Trelawney, why today she said that I would have a feminine force in my life. You don’t take her for real, my dude. Your friends? They’re not nice, little dude, you shouldn’t put up with them. You deserve someone who will wait for you whilst you tie your shoelace. I can show you to where you want to go, which would solve your last problem. I can be your friend too.”

You felt something swell in your heart. It was earnest and deliberate, warm and you wouldn’t ever live the same way ever again. Oh no, you thought. 

This is how you would justify it- this impending crush on Sirius Black. He was so sweet and very beautiful, with those gorgeous eyes. You couldn’t help yourself. And it would be kept aside, you’d leave it alone. You wouldn’t harass him, no, you would continue on building your friendship with him. You wouldn’t act on your feelings. You turned on your heel, nearly crashing into Professor Trelawney.

The last time you had seen her was her crying over your departure from the Divination class. It had been a lachrymose affair. She looked jumbled, all over the place. Her eyes widened, larger than you thought they could ever get. 

“Ah! It is you!”

“Yeah, afternoon! I’ve got to rush, I have Arithmancy, professor, bye!”

“The very Arithmancy you left my class for!” she yelled.

“I regret it!” You smiled back. You didn’t. 

“You don’t, dear, good luck with your NEWTs.”

-

Your NEWTs did come and go, and after them you and your friends went out to celebrate. A Bacchanalian affair, and even you had decided to take a tiny sip of Butterbeer, recoiling in disgust and viciously trying to drown the bittersweet taste with your orange juice. 

The mood was joyful. Basically everyone had been offered a job after graduation, despite their NEWT outcomes. There were a lot of people crowding in the tiny bar, most being seventh years. Sirius was sitting with James at a counter, cautiously drinking his orange juice. Like always, everyone was staring at him. It wasn’t his dress- he had just put on a simple crewneck sweater with the little triangle under the neckline and some sweatpants. It was his whole physiognomy, you thought. Every day you had spent with him meant he became more and more stunning. He had the loveliest face, sculpted true to Aphrodite. Where did I come from? you smiled to yourself. 

And he was observing you, through his hair. He had a cool enough disposition to offset the amount of staring he was doing. Like him, you weren’t dressed up at all, but you were still pretty. Sirius had forgotten exactly how beautiful you could be whilst he was busy being friends with you. 

Pretty? he thought, Am I out of my mind? 

James tapped him on the shoulder, “You okay, Pads?”

Sirius blinked, hard. “Yeah.” 

“Right, well I’m going to go talk to McGonagall. You’ll be okay?”

“Excellent.”

Sirius played with the handle of his cup. How does Prongs do this love thing?

He felt the seat next to him shift and turned. It was a girl, upon a closer glance at her, it wasn’t you. Why does that even matter? You dolt.

“Hey baby,” she shuffled close to Sirius. Her arm came to hook around his tricep, “You know, you’re really hot.”

He was physically pained by the interaction, prying her arm away. If she felt rejected, she didn’t show it. 

“Thank you,” he said stiffly. He glanced at his fingers, placing them under the table and shifting one of his rings to his ring finger. You caught sight of the strange sight before you. Sirius looked uncomfortable. 

“A drink for the hot man,” the girl declared to the bartender, “And then you can come back to mine.”

He grimaced, “I’m sorry, but-”

“No buts, handsome. I know how to have a good time.”

She went to touch his face but he caught her hand. 

“Stop.” 

“Will I? You’re far too manly of a man to really make me.” 

“Stop,” he repeated.

She trailed her hand down his chest and he shifted back.

You were quickly shuffling through the crowd and he felt relief as you approached them. His eyes flickered to yours. They very obviously flashed in discomfort. 

“Hey!” you rushed over to him, hugging him very lightly. He whispered a thank you, “I’ve been looking for you everywhere, gosh. And who is this?” 

The girl supplied her name.

“Sorry, but we have to go, don’t we?” you tilted your head at Sirius. He knew this was all a ploy, but he melted, nodding, dipping his head down to whisper another thank you in your ear. You laughed and shook your head. Outside, he enveloped you in a hug. It was lovely and mellow. 

“I’m sorry,” he said finally. “Why?”

“I’m supposed to be strong. I’m a man.”

“No, you aren’t supposed to be strong all the time, Sirius. No one is. Men are manly even when they cry and it doesn’t make them any less if they are girly or like pink or any of that. She was forcing herself onto you, and it isn’t fair that if it were a girl, people would be all over it.”

“Thank you.”

“It’s warranted. Does this happen all the time?”

He nodded. 

“Gosh that is terrible, Sirius!”

“You’re right. I need a bodyguard. You up for the spot?”

“Of bodyguard?”

“Of course.”

“Not cut out for it, I’m ‘fraid,” you grinned. You were already friendzoned, you were sure of it, you didn’t want to be bodyguard-zoned too. 

“Shame.” He didn’t know why he felt disappointed. 

–

Sirius was struck with the burning revelation the day after. With no NEWTs to worry about anymore, you were always with him, some way or another. He liked you. More than he should, maybe. He thought you were gorgeous and so, so, good to him. Good for him, too. 

“Minnie, I think you were right.”

“Mm?” McGonagall barely looked up from her newspaper. 

“I do like her.”

The woman let out a triumphant ‘ha!’

“I like the way I feel with her.” 

“What are you going to do about it, then?”

“I don’t know.”

“I don’t think she knows, Sirius.”

“I know. Do you think she cares, though?”

“Oh, definitely.”

You peeked your head around the open door of McGonagall’s office. Sirius could recognise you from anywhere. He slunk down in his chair but McGonagall gave him a nod. From the angle you were at, you couldn’t see him.

“Hi Professor!”

McGonagall smiled at you, “Well, good afternoon!”

“I was just here to ask if you could switch Lily and I’s Prefect Duty for tomorrow. I know it’s a short notice, and I’m sorry for that.”

McGonagall swivelled to the calendar on her wall, flicking her wand. 

“Your shift?”

“8am with Connors.”

“Her’s?”

“8pm with Reginald.”

“Why the switch?” McGonagall’s blue eyes pierced through you. 

“There’s a dance tonight.”

“Aren’t you going to be attending?”

“Oh, it’s a couples event only.”

“Aren’t you- Don’t you have a plus one?”

“Unless you can find me one,” you joked, “But no, it starts at 7 and Lily has to be there. You know how James gets.”

“I do,” she said curtly, “He’s terribly pouty most of the time.”

You nodded, “Exactly. And mine is nice and early! And I don’t have anything on in the evening. You do know, Professor, Dorcas and Marlene got together so that wipes out half of my dormitory. Alice is with Frank, Mary with Peter. Oh gosh, I must sound so miserable. Anyway, enough about me, are you going?”

“I’m supervising,” McGonagall laughed. 

“Exciting! Right, so we can switch shifts, right?”

“Of course.”

“Thank you so much! Have a great day!”

“You too, sweetie.”

Sirius waited for your footsteps to recede to huff, “How come you call her sweetie?”

“That is beside the point. Young man, she doesn’t have a date for tomorrow’s dance. Do you?”

“No. I was just going to flirt my way in.”

McGonagall rolled her eyes, “Now you don’t need to. Go.”

Sirius rose, unsteady, making his way out already. He stopped at the door, turning around and flashing his million dollar smile, “Thanks, Minnie.”

Then he sauntered out. 

He found you in the common room, laughing in a corner as the girls showed you their dresses from above the stairs. 

“Oh my gosh Mary that’s so stunning! I love the detailing. Oh let me go up there, you are so hot, gosh!”

He heard vaguely a voice, a dreamy one, “So, you’re really not going?”

“Yep.”

“You know Diggory well, he’s hosting. I’m sure you could get in.”

“And be the only single around? I’d be third wheeling everywhere. Cas, don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine. Let’s see your dress.” 

Sirius assumed that Dorcas stepped out, and you squealed.  

“You are so pretty, Marlene will be stumped when she sees you. Oh my golly let me take photos.”

And Sirius was left smiling at you, as you rushed to get a camera. He remembered he needed to make a move. 

“Actually, that won’t be necessary,” he stepped in, “Do you want to go with me to the dance?” he asked, gentle. 

You whipped your head around. 

“I noticed you didn’t have anyone to go with, and all your friends are going.” 

You beamed, he was so sweet, sacrificing his own time for you. 

“You are very kind, Sirius, but you should be asking someone you actually do want to go with instead of putting up with me just so I don’t feel left out,” you laughed. 

“Actually, it’s killing two birds with one stone. I get to ask someone I actually do want to go with and you don’t feel left out.”

“You want to come with me?”

“Yep.”

“As friends?” An opening. Sirius took it. 

“Nope.”

You looked at him, unreadable and quiet. 

“As more,” he said. 

“Okay then.” 

That was it. Sirius smiled, so brightly at you, so warm and lovely that you blushed and turned your head away. He climbed up the stairs. 

–

Oh he had never seen anyone more beautiful. He offered his arm to you and you took it happily. 

“We never talked about what we were.”

“Sirius, do we need to?” Your lips were ghosting his, so close. 

“You’re right. Can we go slow?” 

You tippy-toed, pressing your lips to his. He's like that, you thought.