Trying to get over your feelings for Sirius, you decide to bring a date to Professor Slughorn's Christmas party this year. But Sirius seems oddly angry about it… friends to lovers, jealous!sirius ♥
"You're bringing him? As a date?"
To be honest, Sirius doesn't know why he's so irritated by this. Every year he gets invited, and every year he doesn't go to Slughorn's Christmas party because, frankly, it sounds boring as hell—a bunch of stuffed shirts bragging about themselves while stuffing their faces with party food—but now…now all of a sudden, he's feeling downright offended that you'd bring a date and not him.
It's stupid. But that doesn't change the fact that he's furious about it.
You look at him uncertainly, a little frown pulling your eyebrows together. Sirius kind of wants to smooth it out with his thumb, but that's probably not a good idea.
"Um...yeah?" you say, and your voice tilts up at the end like it's a question, and Sirius doesn't know if you're asking him or yourself, but he does not like it. "I mean, Slughorn said we could bring a plus-one, so... I'm bringing Ollie."
"Ollie," he repeats, derision dripping from the word like the name itself is rotten. Then, because he's bitter and a bit of an asshole, he adds, in the most disparaging tone he can muster, "Seriously? Ollie? The guy who once nearly exploded a classroom because he couldn't transfigure a knife and fork properly?"
Sirius didn't think your frown could get any deeper, but apparently it can, and now he feels kind of bad for putting it there.
But then you scowl and cross your arms, and your lovely blue dress tugs at your lovely hips, which draws his eyes to your thighs and forces him to look away and think about Quidditch and essays on different varieties of unicorn blood and exploding potions.
"He wasn't going to explode anything," you snap. "The cauldron had a hairline crack. All he did was—you know what, I gotta go!"
You brush past him, and Sirius smells that delicious, honeyed fragrance you always wear, and he just…he just…
His hand snaps out and grabs your arm.
You stop, glancing back at him, and Sirius would normally never manhandle you like this, but now that he's doing it, he doesn't want to let go. You look so angry, though; your chest heaving with your quick breaths, your skin warm under his fingers, soft and plush.
But you've obviously had enough of whatever this is, because you raise your eyebrows and say flatly, "Let me go."
It feels like his hand doesn't want to obey him. "Sorry," he mutters, and it's sincere, but he doesn't release you. "I'm sorry. Just...what's so great about Ollie?"
"I like him."
"No you don't."
"What?"
Sirius blinks, trying to figure out what's coming out of his mouth. He just...he doesn't like this. The mere idea of you going out with Ollie makes his skin crawl. Not because he likes you or anything, no. You're pretty, yeah. And funny, and smart, and when he first met you, being your friend was the last thing on his mind, sure, but then he got to know you, and—fine. Maybe he does like you a little bit more than he probably should.
But you're way too good for him. You're certainly way too good for Ollie.
"Ollie sucks," Sirius says. It's not an eloquent statement, but it's a true one. "He's boring. He's an asshole. You're..."
His words trail off as he stares at you. His eyes fall to your lips, lipstick-red and soft-looking and parted in surprise, and they're just right there, and maybe he could just…just once…
"I'm what?"
He kisses you. He can't help himself.
Sirius has kissed a lot of girls, but this...this is different.
One hand is still holding your arm, but the other comes up to touch your cheek, trace your jaw, skim down the side of your neck, feeling the way your pulse is pounding beneath your skin and under his fingertips as his mouth moves over yours. Your lips are soft, the little noise you make in the back of your throat even softer, and he wants to hear it again.
And again. And again.
Sirius breaks the kiss first.
You stare at him. Pupils blown wide. Lips red and glistening. "You kissed me."
Sirius brushes his thumb over your bottom lip.
"I did."
"You...did?" Now you're sounding breathless. Like you can't quite catch your breath.
"I did." Sirius moves in closer, crowding you against the wall yet not quite touching you. "You didn't stop me."
For a moment, your gaze drops to his lips, and Sirius feels a surge of triumph. "What—what was that for?"
His fingers tangle in your hair, tilting your head back. You smell like flowers. Like honey. Like something he wants to devour.
"Don't go to the party with Ollie."
It was, apparently, not the right thing to say.
You duck under his arm, and Sirius is so surprised, he doesn't manage to stop you from escaping.
"Don't kiss me just because you want to sabotage my date," you say, and boy, you sound angry. "Especially don't kiss me and then not tell me why."
"I wanted to kiss you."
"That's your excuse?"
"Is it not a good one?"
Sirius is feeling slightly out of his depth here. He thought the kiss would be pretty self-explanatory. But apparently not. This hallway, with its tapestries and old portraits and suits of armor and half-dressed witches, is beginning to feel stifling.
He tries a different tactic. "I think about kissing you a lot."
"Stop."
"It's true."
If looks could kill, Sirius would be ashes on the ground right now.
"The first time I thought about it was after Potions," he says, pressing his advantage. You're listening, at least. And you haven't turned to leave yet. That has to mean something. "When you spilled that solution all over yourself and started laughing about it. You have the best laugh."
"Seriously—"
He steps closer. "And your mouth...fuck, it drives me crazy."
"Don't—"
He backs you up against the wall again. Now, he's touching you, one hand on your waist, feeling the way your body curves so nicely beneath his palm, the other splayed on the wall next to your head.
"Take Ollie to the party," he says. "See if I care. But you're going to spend the whole time thinking about this."
He leans in close, then pauses, mouth inches from yours, your breath mingling together. He feels you swallow, watches the way your pupils dilate.
Then, before he can change his mind, he dips his head and kisses you again.
Harder this time.
Less tentative.
He wants to remember this kiss.
"Was that a good excuse?" he whispers when he pulls away.
Your mouth works soundlessly for a moment, eyes glazed, cheeks flushed, chest heaving. Sirius wants to hear you say something, but the words aren't coming, so he tilts your chin up with his thumb and leans in.
"Are you thinking about it now?"
Your lips part, soft and silken, and you exhale a small puff of breath. "I hate you."
"You don't hate me," he says, his mouth still almost touching yours. You taste like honeyed tea. Like a cozy summer afternoon spent lounging on the grass. He could live in this feeling forever. He could die in it. "You're thinking about me. You're thinking about this. My hand on your waist."
He squeezes, digging his fingers into the flesh of your hip.
"My lips on your neck."
He kisses the skin under your ear, then drags his mouth down the side of your neck until he reaches the curve where your shoulder begins.
You make a soft sound; a moan, a sigh. Sirius can't really tell. But, fuck, does he want to hear it again.
He pulls away and waits for you to look at him, to really look at him. Your eyes are so lovely. And your face...he wants to memorize it.
"Don't take Ollie to the party." Sirius slides his hand down your arm until his fingers lace with yours. "Take me."
The thing that gets me about this is that Sirius is such a mess the entire way through, and you can feel every second of it. He doesn't know why he's jealous, he can't stop himself from grabbing your arm, and then he kisses you and genuinely seems to think that will just... resolve everything. The absolute audacity. And yet somehow it works?? He's so irritating in the most endearing way possible.
The sensory details are doing so much heavy lifting here. The honeyed fragrance you always wear, the way your pulse is pounding under his fingers, the bit where he thinks about Quidditch and unicorn blood to avoid looking at your thighs. It builds this picture of someone absolutely overwhelmed by you while trying very hard to pretend he isn't, and it's so good.
But the thing that really got me was the Potions confession. "You spilled that solution all over yourself and started laughing about it. You have the best laugh." That is such a specific, small, real detail for a feeling that big, and it landed perfectly. That's not a dramatic declaration; that's someone telling the truth for maybe the first time about something they've been carrying for a while.
And you??? Absolutely right to walk away. "Don't kiss me just because you want to sabotage my date" is a very reasonable thing to say to a man who kissed you and then immediately said "don't go to the party with Ollie." He deserved that. The fact that he still hasn't quite figured out what he's doing when the fic ends makes it even better. "Well...it certainly feels like a good idea." Yes, Sirius. We know.
Like a month ago I messaged a craft group about accessibility for wheelchairs and the answer I got was “there’s a lot of stairs but we have cute boys who can carry you”.
And it’s…not good. As a wheelchair bound person I largely depend on people when I want to go out and do *anything* so I’m used to it, I laugh it off, make an annoyed post about it and off I go. But I wanna just say a thing real quick.
Even if I wasn’t gay, wasn’t a survivor scared of men, getting help as a disabled person is just…Not a pleasant thing to us! Imagine for a sec how you’d feel being carried up a flight of stairs. You’re a grown person. You’re being touched in an awkward way. You’d rather do it yourself. You’re So Uncomfortable. It’s not where I look for the beginning of a romantic relationship.
So like…could abled people stop doing this thing where they think helping us in a condescending and infantilizing way is cute? Cause I’m real tired. Just get me a ramp or lift and I’m cool. I don’t need a dating service when I’m just trying to go about my day
can someone write fluff for kurt kunkle? sometimes i just want a cute story about my sweet, pathetic little loser but his tags are filled with smut LIKE LOOK AT THIS FACE? HE’S BABY
Hey if you’re schizophrenic/psychotic I just want you to know that you’re a wonderful person and that you deserve so much better than the demonization, marginalization and stigmatization you face in this society.
Please consider reblogging this/other positivity posts for schizophrenic/psychotic people every once in a while. If you have more than 100 followers, odds are that a couple of them experiences psychosis and that they rarely see positivity posts for people with their symptoms.
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