Do you think people who are virgin should write smut? I feel like most of them don’t even know what they’re writing and just write what they think sex is
the implication this ask suggests that people who write about murders, cannibalism, politics, magic, royalty au, sci-fi, wars, supernatural, time travel, medieval era, werewolves, vampires, mermaids or goblins must be murderers, cannibals, presidents, wizards, royalties, astronauts, ghost hunters, soldiers, time travelers, knights, werewolves, vampires, mermaids or goblins in real life is so funny to me
Hello everyone ! Today, we’re answering a request for my 6k event made by @wolfmoonmusic : “First of all.... CAROLE CONGRATULATIONS!!!! THIS IS HUGE!! I am so happy for you!!!Second of all.... Super cute idea for the celebration. Here's my request.
Sirius Black + Modern AU + Kissing in the Rain.
Like they have an argument on the way back from a party (they aren't together yet) where Sirius flirts with everyone (because I mean it's SIrius) and reader gets up and due to the argument she asks him to stop the car and she gets out and the rest is up to you!
Thank you and congratulations once again!!”
Thank you so much for your request, this is indeed an adorable idea! I hope you like what I wrote for your request! I’ve changed it a bit, I hope you don’t mind, but I got carried away with my own setting involving his bike, and not a car, so…
Hope you all like this! Tell me what you think!
****
Pairing: Sirius Black x reader
Warning: angst, and then lots of fluff. Honestly too much cuteness… even for me…
Summary: You get jealous on a night out with your friends, because Sirius is flirting with some random girl at the bar. Your anger is about to cause a chain reaction that will bring unsuspected consequences… for the better!
Word Count: 3312
Sirius Black’s Masterlist – Main Masterlist
Sirius has a headache.
He has a headache in this buzzing pub, a numb hand after holding onto his cold drink for too long and a broken heart because of his stupid crush on you.
Crush. Were it not so painful to think of you, Sirius would laugh at himself for believing in such an understatement.
Because the truth was that he was head-over-heels for you. Smitten with. Absolutely, irrevocably in love with you.
Had been for the past two years, as a matter of fact. Since that last year of school, when you had punched an asshole in the face, hence breaking two of his teeth, who had been insulting one of your friends. That was enough to turn Sirius on, big time, but the crush had turned into actual love a month later, when you spent an entire night listening to his twisted familial story. God, he still remembers every detail of that night to this day. The way you leaned closer to him, how you had wrapped your arms around his frame. All done in silence, without a word, just a presence he desperately needed. He reckons that it was the first time in a long, very long time when he didn’t feel utterly alone…
He drinks now the rest of his beer in one large gulp, because all of this is ridiculous. He’s painfully aware that a) you do not see anything but a friend in him, and b) that he will never be good enough for you.
So, might as well drown his sorrow in alcohol, at least for tonight. Besides, the woman before him is pretty, she’s not boring, she has a nice laugh and she seems kind enough.
Will it help him to forget you if he spends the night with her? No, must definitely not. But it will numb the pain for a while. It will make it easier for a few hours, and after loving you for two years, he’s grown accustomed to asking for no more than a temporary salvation.
Still, while he talks with the pretty girl in front of him, leaning against the bar, his eyes keep on drifting towards your frame. He knows perfectly well where you are, he always does. A superpower of his, or an unbreakable spell of yours, hard to decide if it is meant as a blessing or a curse…
You remained with Remus and Marlene for most of the night, but you’ve found your way to the dancefloor now, or rather the small space right before the stage, it is too narrow to be called a dancefloor. Still, you’re dancing now, and Sirius tries hard not to glance over at you, not to look at the way you’re moving your hips in rhythm with the drums, the way your hands fly upwards as if reaching for the ceiling, the way you throw your head back, the way he longs to kiss every inch of the throat you’re making particularly visible now in your movements…
Instead, he’s staring at this woman before him, and he has your name on the tip of his tongue, and it’s the thought of your presence near him that makes him blush and shift uncomfortably on his stool.
“So… huh… I’m going to be honest with you, Sirius,” the woman is leaning closer now, flirt written all over her graceful features, and Sirius can’t deny that he likes the sweetness of her perfume. “I’m really not looking for something serious, but I like you, and I think we could have some fun together, don’t you think so?”
He plays it cool, looks down for a second, summons his most seductive crooked smile, the one he knows drives everyone crazy. It’s easy to do it. He doesn’t know her… now that he thinks about it, he realizes he’s forgotten her name. He doesn’t care. He’ll spend the night with her, stay for breakfast or at least till she’s awake, so as not to be a douche, and then he’ll walk out of her apartment and out of her life.
It's easy. There are no consequences, no requirements, no strings attached. Your perfect opposite…
You. Sirius can feel a stare burning a hole in his head, and when he slightly turns to see who’s looking at him so intensely, he gets caught in your eyes. Even from across the room, he’s trapped in them, unable to look away, as always, whenever he looks at you. He just gravitates towards you, he can’t help it…
But when your eyes meet, you avert your gaze to the ground, fists clenched and jaw set, and Sirius can’t refrain a small frown. What got you so worked up? The thought of some scumbag being disrespectful towards you makes him blood instantly boil.
His frown deepens when he sees you making a bee-line towards the exit.
Something’s wrong… someone’s hurt you…
Sirius remembers there’s a woman before him only when she asks him what he’s doing. Indeed, he’s stood up from his stool and is grabbing some money in the back pocket of his jeans.
“I have to admit I wasn’t expecting you to be this up for it,” she jokes, but her smile falters when Sirius turns to her with an apologetic smile on his lips.
“No, I… I’m sorry, I really like you too. I really do. But… not tonight. I… I just saw a friend heading out, and she seemed upset, so…”
“She…”
The stranger nods, and Sirius doesn’t try to argue. There’s no need for any argument. She’s right, anyway…
Sirius pays for his drinks and hers, he can at least do that. Before she can argue though, he’s striding towards the door.
It’s October, and the nights are cold. And it’s raining tonight, heavily so, a curtain of freezing raindrops blurring his view of the street. While his feet slip upon skeleton leaves, he tightens his hold on his black leather jacket, pushing back his long hair while he tries to spot you in the large street…
There you are, a few feet away, looking for a cab.
He hurries to you, calling your name, but you turn away from him as he does so, and he frowns at the sight.
“Hey! Y/N! You’re alright?”
You nod, but keep your back to him.
“What are you doing? Everybody’s still inside. It’s not even eleven yet. Are you sick?”
“No, I just… I want to go home.”
“Oh… okay. I’ll get you home…”
“No, Sirius…”
“I have an extra helmet. The pink one you like.”
He bits his tongue before letting slip that he always carries your favourite helmet around, just in case, just for you… thank God he doesn’t say that out loud.
You look up at him, frame and face and hair drenched with the heavy rain, and you’re surprised when Sirius takes off his jacket and places it over you, holding it up above your head to protect you.
He’s wet all over too, with dark locks of hair now clinging to his neck and cheeks, his black t-shirt revealing more of his biceps and the ghosts of abs because of the rain. He’s shivering, and he doesn’t even notice it. He only sees that you’re cold, and that you’ll catch your death standing in this unforgiving rain.
He frowns hard when you angrily push him away though, his jacket falling between the two of you, still held in his idle hands but now acting like a barrier between your bodies instead of a protection.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, taken aback by the rage burning in your eyes.
Wrath… there’s no other word to describe the flash that passes through your gaze, and he doesn’t understand why you aim such a feeling at him. He’s barely spoken to you tonight, how could he have done something wrong?
“Nothing,” you answer in a better tone.
“Did I do something?”
Anger fades, it declines just as it mingles now with another emotion, one that he wishes he could forever banish from your face: pain.
“No, nothing,” you answer, and this time it isn’t a lie.
“Then, what’s wrong? Why are you angry at me?”
“I’m not…”
“Of course, you are. Come on, what’s wrong? You can tell me, I’ll fix it.”
But as you shake your head now, there are tears shining in your eyes, catching the light of the white streetlamps.
Your teeth chatter, and Sirius moves closer again, protecting you once more with his jacket. And it doesn’t really help, but it’s still sweet, and you look even more on the verge of crying now…
“What’s wrong?”
But you don’t say anything; instead you merely nod in the vague direction of his motorcycle, a few metres down the street.
“Please, take me home.”
He clenches his jaw, bits his tongue so he won’t insist. A curt nod is all he can summon, and he walks with you to his bike.
He hands you the pink helmet you adore, the one with the skull and the ‘pink is punk af’ logo on the side. But you don’t put it on. As he shrugs his jacket back on, he stares at you with a frown while you stare at the silly logo.
“Would you have given it to her?”
He catches your eyes as you look up, and he doesn’t understand why there are now tears mingling with rain on your cheeks.
“What?”
“To that girl, in the pub. Would you have taken her home like this too? Would you have given her my helmet?”
His frown only deepens.
“Why are you asking this?”
But you shake your head, hand him back his helmet.
His helmet. It was never yours in the first place, you need to remind yourself that…
“I’ll call for a cab.”
“I can take you home…”
“I don’t want you to.”
And it hurts to say it. It hurts even more to look at Sirius’s expression change, from confusion to pain.
“Stop that,” he complains. “Stop being mean. I haven’t done anything wrong, I’ve barely talked to you tonight, for goodness’ sake!”
“No, you’re right, you were too busy trying to get laid.”
There is such bitterness in your voice, Sirius doesn’t get where it comes from.
“And? What business is this of yours, anyway? You’re not my mother…”
“She’s pretty, I’ll give you that.”
“Why are you judging me, all of a sudden? I can sleep with whoever I fucking want to!”
“Oh, I know that, thank you! You’ve been doing a lot of that lately…”
“And whose fault is that?”
The answer slips before he can bite it back, and you’re a little taken aback by it. But Sirius drives your attention away. Your voices are still low, but both your tones cut like sharp stones, almost like knives, and every word strikes right where it hurts…
“Look, I don’t know what’s gotten into you tonight, but you’re being ridiculous right now.”
“Me? Ridiculous?”
“Yes! It’s raining, I’m freezing my arse here, so just take the fucking helmet and let me take you home safe and sound, alright?”
“You should go back to miss pretty hair…”
“Stop acting like you’re jealous.”
“Well I…”
But you fall silent, clearly biting back your words, and again, he doesn’t know what to make of it.
“I’m not jealous,” you finally let out.
And it hurts to hear you say it. It’s stupid, it’s selfish, this longing Sirius has in his chest for you to feel like that, for you to be jealous, for you to care…
It’s your turn to be taken aback by his tone when he answers in a quiet voice, all traces of anger gone, only something fragile left in his words.
“I know you’re not. I know…”
He heaves a sigh, running a hand through his wet hair.
“Look, I don’t want us to fight. I just want to make sure you get home safely. So, let me take you home, alright?”
“How many drinks did you have tonight?”
“Only a beer. I can drive.”
You’re about to yield, when the door of the pub opens… on the stranger Sirius has been hitting on the whole night.
“Oh, you really do have a motorcycle!” she exclaims, a little drunk, staying in the doorframe to avoid the rain.
She looks pretty like this, framed with golden light, cheeks flushed with alcohol, long hair cascading on her shoulders…
Sirius barely has time to register what’s happening, you’re already walking away.
“Y/N!”
“Siri! I wanted to give you my number!”
He’s started to follow you, but he turns to the stranger before hurrying after you again.
“Look, you’re nice, but I don’t think it’s gonna work out between us. Sorry about tonight.”
He doesn’t wait for her answer, for her protest. He’s running after you now. How come you can be so damn fast on these slippery wet leaves…
“Y/N! Wait!”
“Leave me alone…”
“You were about to finally let me give you a ride…”
“Yes, and then I was reminded that you have other obligations tonight.”
“I don’t have any, I don’t want to spend the night with her.”
You turn on your heels at that, and Sirius almost bumps into you as you stop dead.
“Why not? Have fun!”
“Why are you being mean again?”
And it’s true, you are. Your tone is aggressive, unnecessarily so.
But it just hurts. It hurts to see him with other women when you’ve been longing for him for years…
“Because I’m mad at you!”
“Why? I only offered you a ride! I’m still freezing to death under this bloody rain for you!”
“I’ve never asked you to do that!”
“You don’t have to!”
“Why not? Why do you always help me, why are you always here, always kind, always ready to take care of me, but the next second you’re throwing yourself into someone else’s arms?!”
Tears are back to stain your cheeks, and Sirius suddenly grows very still. His entire body tenses up, his cheeks grow paler.
You can’t be meaning this…
“What?”
You realize he’s still holding this bloody, stupid helmet…
“You were going to give her my helmet.”
And it sounds so stupid, but it isn’t, really. You’re surprised when Sirius raises up his free hand to cup your cheek, guiding your eyes up to face him.
He blinks a few times, trying to read through you.
You can’t be meaning this…
“What do you mean?”
He takes a step closer. And his fingers are cold on your cheek, it’s raining too hard for him not to be unbearably cold, but it doesn’t matter. His breath draws white patterns in the air between you as he struggles to slow down his heartbeat.
“Are you jealous?”
The question is simple, the answer should be easy.
But you know he doesn’t feel the same, and he knows you don’t see him this way. And you reckon that he could have better, and he thinks he doesn’t deserve you…
“No.”
But your voice is weak, and everything screams ‘liar’ in your demeanour.
“You’re jealous.”
This time, it isn’t a question, it’s a statement. A realization, rather.
Sirius can barely breathe. Because he is jealous whenever a guy flirts with you. And that’s because he’s in love with you.
There, he said it, at long last, it’s out in the open. He’s fucking in love with you, and that’s why he wants to punch any guy who kisses you, why it feels like his heart is being ripped out of his chest whenever you have a boyfriend and he sees you happy with someone else, why he…
“It doesn’t matter,” you chirp, your voice barely there at all by now.
“Why are you jealous?”
“I’m not.”
“You… you said we were just friends. You keep on saying that. Every time anyone says that we’re more, you keep on saying we’re just friends.”
But you frown up at him. He guesses that’s because you’ve noticed how breathless he is now.
“Because we are friends.”
“Yes, but… I thought you… you friendzoned me.”
“What?”
“You. You friendzoned me. You’ve never let me think that you could feel anything for me. Romantically speaking, I mean.”
He runs his hand through his hair again, trying to push the drenched locks away. It’s raining even harder, the sound is deafening. He barely feels the rain colliding with his cheeks at all…
“Why would I have? You… you were clearly never interested.”
“I’m interested.”
“What?”
“I’ve been interested for two years.”
“WHAT?!”
“Why do you think I keep this ridiculous helmet with me all the damn time?”
He almost stops himself when he opens his mouth to speak again. Because he’s a mess, and you could have better. So much better. Someone who’s not as fucked in the head as he is.
But you’re looking up at him with the same kind of hope that he feels whenever he thinks of you, and even if it can’t last, he wants to believe in this dream of his, even if it must fade in a minute…
“I like you. A lot.”
“You… you like me?”
“Yes.”
“Why do you keep on sleeping around, then?”
“Because I thought I didn’t stand a chance, and I can’t get over you. Also… I’m a mess. A hot mess, but still a mess.”
He tries to give you a crooked smile, but it lacks the confidence he usually wears. He’s too fragile for now, at that moment. And this smoothness he has mastered over the years is altogether gone. Instead, he’s shaking out of both coldness and nerves.
“Are you mad at me?” he asks, and his fear is genuine as it shines in his stormy eyes.
He waits for your answer, and it doesn’t come. Each second his heart is beating faster and faster, to the point where he wonders how it doesn’t simply explode. You open your mouth once, close it again.
And he’s cursing himself for his stupidity, for his vanity, for even imagining for a second that someone as wonderful as you could fall in love with a mess like him, for wasting it all, for fucking up the best friendship he has ever had…
Until the cold of the rain is replaced by the coolness of your palms on both of his cheeks. Until all the air is knocked out of his lungs when you press your soft lips against his. Until all he can do is kiss you back, rain now falling on his closed eyelids, getting caught in his lashes. The pink helmet slips from his hands, allowing him to wrap his arms around your frame, to pull you closer, so damn close, there is no space left between your bodies, only the layers of your wet clothes.
When you break away, you are both out of breath, and the rain is still falling just as hard, and none of you notice.
“I like you, too,” your admittance is a whisper, it makes Sirius grin anyway, brighter than you’ve ever seen.
He truly looks like the star he was named after now, beaming at you, holding your face with both hands.
He dives in for another kiss, and then another, and another, and it’s only when he feels your teeth chattering under his fingers between two kisses that he finally breaks your embrace.
He bends down to pick the helmet, hands it to you again.
“Please, put this damn thing on. I’m taking you home.”
“Will you stay?”
He can read in your eyes that you don’t mean tonight. You mean tomorrow morning. You mean the day after that. You mean forever.
He’s the one to put the helmet on your head, a tender smile on his lips, one that you’ve never seen before.
what's so clever about Clara Bow is that when she references her own name at the end, she's not talking about the present but the future, quoting the inevitable way people are going to one day talk about her, imagining it will only be in regards to the woma(e)n who surpass her. because there will be someone who surpasses her, eventually. that's the cycle of fame, isn't it? we're simultaneously captivated by the alluring trick of the past while looking for the next big thing. we compare current stars to the lights that shined before them, "you look like taylor swift." but we're also constantly waiting for someone new and greater to take the crown and captivate us anew, "you've got edge she never did." And half the song is about acknowledging that being revered is hell on earth for the people who are in it, because you're always trapped between what came before and what will come after. you're only safe insofar as you remain shiny. But the real beauty of the song is that it never succumbs to this dichotomy, but embraces it. It's Taylor acknowledging she wouldn't be who she is were it not for the women who came before her, who shared the same dreams, and recognizing her place in the chain of the women who will come after. The future's bright, dazzling.
I know I'm late to post this now, but honestly, being a harry potter fan was a great time of my life, I bonded with friends over it, I wrote and read amazing fanfiction, I dreamed and dreamed of a school like Hogwarts, I grew up as the movies came out one by one, collected books, merch, had a Hogwarts emblem hung on my bedroom wall for so long, spoke proudly about being a Hufflepuff, oh god so many things...
Only for Joanne to open up her fucking mouth and ruin everything. I just can't physically enjoy anything HP related without thinking about the atrocities that woman says and stands for.
Fuck JK Rowling. Fuck her fans. Fuck anyone who stands beside her. Fuck TERFs. Fuck the transphobic pieces of shit who support her.
every time i start to feel cringe for being too deep in the hyperfixation i remember the intense depression i have waded through and have to remind myself that enjoyment is fleeting (so grab it with both hands), and life is for loving (so hold that love close), and if anyone thinks i’m cringe they must not be having a very good time (and i hope they can find a good time soon).
