#Plum Magazine

[lindsayarchive]

Lindsay Lohan at the Raleigh Hotel Miami Beach, behind the scenes of the July/August 2011 cover shoot for Plum Miami Magazine.

[gooberscollage]

Collage…onge…ople …

Edit: Omg whoops forgot to thank @oceantoyz and @plusie !

[thepopculturearchivist]

LIFE, December 1, 1927

[voguesplum]

Mia Goth, Dazed 2015

-

[happy-pix-jpn]

【お知らせ】 「月刊奈良3月号」 梅と桜特集で写真を掲載頂きました♫ 今年は梅の開花が早く １枚今年撮ったのがある🤭 🦌ちゃんはピンぼけではなくブレです😄

他、宇多上皇の交野への鷹狩り(野行幸)で 菅原道真がかの有名な 「このたびは幣もとりあえず手向山〜」 と詠んだ行き当たりばったりの旅、 大和内の道中の様子を興味深く読みました😊

[avomagazine]

Every week, we bring you a treasure trove of captivating music videos from lesser-known, new and intriguing Japanese artists who deserve your support! Join us on this extraordinary musical journey as we shed light on the artists who often go unnoticed but leave an unforgettable impact. We also maintain a YouTube Music playlist!

This week we highlighted music videos from: 🍙 Ar syura 🍙 食堂ガール (Shokudo Girl) 🍙 AMИESIA (XELESIAH) 🍙 In My Vanitasss 🍙 In sea hole 🍙 Spinning Plums 🍙 OZIGIRI

Enjoy the music!

[thewisemankey]

Here's a nice little acquisition I got recently, stickers of a pair of slime girls named Cherry and Plum from the game "Slime Girl Smoothies" by Shady Corner Games!

Of course, this here is how they look in slime form. If I were to show how they normally appear in-game, odds are the Tumblr-bots would flag it. I do have commissions of these two from the game's main artist Pixelboy Magazine, (who also made these stickers!) but I'd probably need permission from them first before even attempting to share them.

For now, take my word on that Slime Girl Smoothies is a good spicy time for those who want to see a VERY unique way of serving drinks while taking the role of their manager. All parties interested, check out the game on Steam! Just remember it's NSFW so make sure it's a private party...

[persistentplums]

The situation around The Bear and Sydcarmy is just diet scully/mulder which is so funny to me. I made a tweet going “welcome back xfiles” at the peak of the meltdown fan battle bc it’s like everyone forgot the original intense coworkers scully and mulder. The bear is like the xfiles intense relationship son, it’s probably not gonna be canon but we’re gonna see the most insane moments between two people that can’t be explained platonically and yk what! That cracks me up a bit

[bodybybane]

Kelsey Plum Gave Her Olympic Gold Medal to Her Mom: 'She’d Keep It a Lot Safer Than I Would' (Exclusive) https://people.com/kelsey-plum-gave-her-olympic-gold-medal-to-her-mom-exclusive-8710485

[hairmetal666]

Eddie owns a record store, gets to talk about music everyday. Life is good. Great, actually.

He's consolidating the Christian rock section on a quiet Wednesday morning when it happens. A man with swoopy dark hair, tight dark blue jeans, and a plum Member's Only jacket walks in, and doesn't take his Ray Bans off even once he's solidly inside.

Eddie is awestruck. This dude is gorgeous. Heart stopping. He watches him browse in quiet astonishment, unable to say anything until he blurts, "Can I help you find something?"

The man smiles--Eddie's heart stops--and he says, "Nah, just browsing. Your sign caught my eye."

And he's still not quite with the program, the rich honey of the man's voice taking him totally by surprise. "Ah, oh, it did?" He manages after a few long beats. "Painted it myself."

"No shit? It's great."

"Thanks, man. I also think it's some of my finest work."

The guy laughs. "How can I know unless I see some of your other pieces?"

Eddie's face heats, but he's never been known for having good impulse control. "Maybe you'll get lucky."

Spots of pink bloom on the man's cheeks and the tips of his ears. "And here I was, thinking I was getting special treatment."

Eddie cocks his head, smiles big. "Well, the day's still young." It's so risky and stupid; no way this guy is queer, but he grins at Eddie, laughs a little too.

"That right? Well, tell me your latest recommendations."

"For you?" Eddie eyes him up and down. "Wham!"

The guy's laugh is warm and rich and Eddie wants to drown in it. "Big of you to say for a someone who's only listened to Enter Sandman for the last four months."

Eddie cackles, points a be-ringed finger. "It's a good song! A great record."

"Hey, I've got no problem with Metallica. I just don't think you should be casting aspersions on Wham!."

"Casting aspersions, do you have a word of the day calendar or some shit?"

"No! It's toilet paper."

Their snickers grow until they're both hysterical, needing to lean against a display to stay upright.

It's like he's living in a dream, hitting it off with a beautiful man who just happened to stumble into his store. They catch their breath and Eddie uses the time to grab a record off a nearby shelf.

"Here," he says. "Try this."

"Joni Mitchell?"

"Don't tell me, Wham! fan, that you're too cool for Joni."

"Nah, she's my best friend's favorite. How much do I owe you?"

"On the house," Eddie shrugs.

"Shit, that's generous. Thanks, man. Now, about your art--" He glances at the shiny watch on his wrist. "Fuck, is it really 3:15? Goddamnit, I gotta get going."

And Eddie wants to call him back, doesn't want this dream encounter to end, but he's dashing to the door--

And just like that, the man is gone, the only evidence it ever happened the lingering chime of the bell over the door.

The bell clatters again, and his head wrenches up hard enough it hurts his neck.

"Was that Steve Harrington?" the customer shrieks.

"No," he scoffs. Except. Except. The hair and the clothes and sunglasses and the face and his lips--

"No!?" He feels the way his eyes have gone wide with panic. He didn't just flirt with Steve Harrington. Of course not. Not ever. He would've recognized--

He runs to the racks of magazines in front of the register, grabbing the latest issue of People. The cover features a glossy, polished photo of the man who just left the store. The one who had the highest grossing movie of the summer alongside his co-star, Julia Roberts. The one who, according to the article within, is in Chicago right now shooting a new movie. The one who Eddie flirted with. The one who flirted back.

He groans and covers his face with his hands. At least he'll never see Steve Harrington again.

---

Harrington comes back.

The second time, he's wearing a jewel blue polo and fitted slacks, Ray Bans nowhere to be seen.

"Got anymore recommendations?" Steve asks.

"What?" Eddie's still trying to accept that Harrington came back.

"I finished Joni. It was good. Recommend something else for me."

Fully with the program, he reaches to the rack behind him, handing the vinyl to Steve without ever taking his eyes off him.

"Seriously?" Steve deadpans.

"Tell me you don't deserve it after last time."

Steve studies the cover of Metallica, a complicated look on his face. "Fine, but you have to listen to the album George Michael released last year."

He mimics getting shot in the heart. "After my magnanimous first suggestion, you dare to punish me with Freedom?"

"Think of it more as an opportunity."

"To regret every decision I've ever made?"

"To expand your musical horizons."

Eddie rolls his eyes. "Fiiiine. It's a deal."

Steve beams. "Good! Ring me up."

And Eddie, he'd comp it again, but Steve gives him this look that tells him not to try it.

As they pass the magazine racks, Eddie points at one featuring Steve on the cover. "That thing you wore to the Vanity Fair party last month was hideous."

Steve snorts, then laughs. "Thanks. My stylist decided to go for something--"

"--terrible?--"

"Avant garde."

"Oh, is that what they're calling it these days?"

Steve pays, throws Eddie one last smile, "next time?"

Eddie nods, already certain this time is the last one.

---

He keeps coming back.

Eddie tries not to read into it.

Steve is straight, famously has a girlfriend. former horror movie child star turned cinema wunderkind, Nancy Wheeler. They're always on the covers of the tabloids, in ever more improbable stories about affairs and secret babies and french countryside weddings.

But he keeps coming back. And eventually, they grab dinner. And that dinner becomes lunches, movies, clubs, concerts. Eddie's in paparazzi photos, and there's no speculation about their relationship. Steve has a girlfriend.

But sometimes. Sometimes Steve will rest his hand on Eddie's nape, his lower back, let it linger. He'll trace a finger down the tattoos on Eddie's forearms or the patches of his battle vest. He'll lean too close when they talk, unafraid to press their bodies together. And he catches Steve's eyes on his mouth more than once, his pupils wide.

Over the next few weeks, Steve's gaze on Eddie's mouth gets hotter, his looks longer, and it's killing him. All he wants to do, all he ever wants to do, is close the distance between them, appease the gnawing beast of desire in his chest.

But Steve has a girlfriend.

They don't talk about her, not even when he knows all about Steve's best friend, Robin, and the gang of kids who adopted him, or Joyce and Hopper, his surrogate parents. Never Nancy.

He tries not to read into it.

---

They're supposed to meet for dinner. Steve scored reservations at a trendy new restaurant, but Eddie's late. Astronomically, horrifically late. It's pouring rain, it takes fifteen minutes to get a cab, traffic is a nightmare.

Out of patience and time, he decides to run the last few blocks to the restaurant. By the time he reaches the building, he's soaked to the bone, spluttering harsh breaths through mouthfuls of rain.

Steve is walking in the opposite direction, hands stuffed into the pockets of his coat.

"Steve?" He calls.

He turns and this is the first time Eddie's seen him angry. "You're late," Steve's eyes rake over him, and his face softens in an instant. He takes Eddie's wrist, leads him into an alley where the buildings are close enough to block some of the rain.

"What happened?"

"Traffic."

Steve's gaze go all soft and gentle, and Eddie's knees buckle a little. "You look like a drowned rat."

"Yeah, well." Eddie scoffs. "We can't all be beautiful movie stars."

"You're more beautiful than I could ever be, even soaking wet."

He shakes his head, ignoring the cascade of butterflies; Steve shouldn't say things like that. His vigorous movement sends wet strands of hair slapping him in the face.

Steve reaches out, softly brushes it back.

Eddie stops breathing.

Steve closes the distance between them.

What a thing, to be kissed by Steve Harrington. What a terrible, glorious thing.

He breaks it fast, face red, can't catch his breath. "Nancy," is all he can say.

"Nancy?"

"You have a girlfriend."

Steve's face scrunches. "She's not my girlfriend."

Eddie's mouth drops. "Yes, she is." They went to the Oscars together.

"Eddie." Steve takes a few steps back. "Eddie. I'm gay."

He laughs, an ugly honking thing. "C'mon. What could she possibly get out of that?"

Steve's eyes widen, eyebrows reaching his hairline, mouth pursed in a bitchy line. It takes Eddie a minute but, "Ohhhhh. So, it's all--?"

"It was the best way."

"But you're--?"

"I thought you clocked me immediately! Wham!???"

"That was because of the jacket!"

"Have you ever met a straight man who dresses like I do and likes George Michael??"

"That describes five dudes I see a day!"

"And you thought they were straight??"

Eddie stares into the middle distance, replaying some of those interactions, and--"Huh. Okay. I get hit on at work waaay more than I realized."

"For fuck's sake, Eddie!" He's shaking his head, but Eddie sees the way the corners of his mouth shake with suppressed laughter.

"I'm sorry! You have a very public straight relationship!"

Steve giggles, pulls Eddie close. "Is this okay?"

"So okay."

"You do like me back?"

"Are you kidding! Thought I was going insane, how much I want you."

"And now?"

"Come back to my place?"

"Thought you'd never ask."

And Eddie, he's seen Steve playing at love dozens of times, but this--right here, in a soggy, smelly alley where they're both soaking wet--it's more perfect than any movie.

[weeaboo-kei]

A lengthy article about lolita fashion has popped up in a French magazine called Tempura in their 19th issue, which is focused on Tokyo! Can't read French? No worries! A friend has translated it to English, and you can read her translation here: https://plum-janaya-22.tiiny.site/

photos are from @jennkitty - thank you for posting about this magazine!

[fuckyeahgoodomens]

Link 1, Link 2 :)

Digital Good Omens 2 Sountrack is coming out in 4 days! 🥳 CD version in October! :) ❤ Coming soon on vinyl…

Out to Stream/Download from 25th August. Out on CD 13th October. Coming soon on vinyl…

David Arnold’s ‘end of the world’ complex and multi-genre soundtrack.

From the Award-winning composer of Sherlock and Casino Royale comes a follow up to the hugely successful, Emmy nominated Good Omens soundtrack.

Good Omens series 2 premiered on Prime Video on 28th July. The series follows the odd couple, angel Aziraphale (Michael Sheen) and demon Crowley (David Tennant) in their quest to sabotage the end of the World. The six-episode sequel to the popular adaptation of the novel by Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett, concerns the Archangel Gabriel (Jon Hamm) arriving without his memories to Aziraphale’s bookshop. Aziraphale and Crowley attempt to find out what happened to Gabriel, whilst hiding him from Heaven and Hell, both eager to find him.

The Soundtrack

David Arnold’s soundtrack to Good Omens was first released in 2019 to favourable reviews, with BBC Music Magazine calling it “a rollicking trip to hell and back”. Blueprint Magazine described it as “a great listen” and Sci Fi Bulletin commented on “plenty of memorable themes” to conclude that “This is another work of art from Arnold”. At times nostalgic and eerie but always varied, beautiful and full of excitement, the Good Omens 2 soundtrack showcases Arnold’s every skill from his composer arsenal. Featured here are orchestral arrangements with sprinkling of Sugar Plum Fairy pizzicato and percussion, jaunty strings and mighty choral sweeps from Crouch End Festival Chorus. Added to the mix are rock guitar riffs, and psychedelic 70s sounds and all together they create a haunting otherworldly feel, complementing the fantasy and the quirky humour of the show. The spirited Waltz of the opening theme is also present in the second series and it wonderfully sets the scene for fantastical mayhem. In series 2, this robust, evocative, and funny music entity, becomes yet again another character in the story. Award-winning composer David Arnold is well known for his blockbuster scores, including Stargate, The Chronicles of Narnia: the Voyage of the Dawn Treader, Hot Fuzz, Paul, Independence Day, 2 Fast 2 Furious and Casino Royale as well as for his TV work such as Sherlock and Dracula. Also available: The original soundtrack to the first series of Good Omens >

Tracklist

– Disc 1 – Chapter 1: The Arrival 1. Before the Beginning 2. Good Omens 2 Opening Title 3. Into Soho 4. Something Terrible 5. To The Bookshop 6. Maggie and Nina 7. He’s Smoking 8. Tiny Miracle 9. Heavenly Alarm Bells Chapter 2: The Clue 10. Avaunt! 11. The Song is the Clue 12. It’s What God Wants 13. A Mighty Wind 14. Whales 15. Gabriel Returns 16. His New Children 17. Am I Awful Now? 18. Fallen Angel Chapter 3: I Know Where I’m Going 19. Police Arrive 20. Scotland 21. We’re Going to Hell 22. People Get a Choice 23. My Car is Not Yellow 24. Beelzebub in Hell 25. The Book 26. The Fly 27. Mr. Dalrymple 28. We Need to Cut 29. I’m Going to Save Her 30. Crowley Goes Large 31. Not Kind 32. Beelzebub Isn’t Happy – Disc 2 – Chapter 4: The Hitchhiker 33. Hell-O 34. Nazi Zombies 35. March of the Nazi Zombies 36. Crowley Pep Talk 37. The Magic Shop 38. Catch The Bullet 39. Zombies in the Dressing Room Chapter 5: The Ball 40. I’ll Let You Have It 41. We’re Storming a Book Shop 42. Monsieur Azirophale 43. The Candelabra 44. Here Comes Hell 45. Gabriel Gives Himself Up 46. Shax 47. The Circle Chapter 6: Every Day 48. Bin Through the Window 49. Gabriel Leaving Heaven 50. The Halo 51. Gabriel Revealed 52. Gabriel’s Love Story 53. Leaving The Bookshop 54. Gabriel and Beelzebub 55. Crowley and Muriel 56. I Forgive You 57. Don’t Bother 58. The Biggest Decision 59. The End?

[zorosdimples]

cw: mentions of breeding and some silliness. sweet choso!

choso’s vocabulary is ever-evolving. it’s a unique task, helping a grown man learn to articulate himself. (in spite of the half-cursed blood that thrums through his veins, you insist—always—that he’s a man, first and foremost.)

slang proves to be a never-ending area of education for your boyfriend; he often comes to you, phone in hand, plum eyes all but pleading.

it’s a sunny saturday morning and you’re lounging on the couch with him when he nudges your arm and thrusts his phone towards you. “can you tell me what this means?”

your gazes flits down to the screen. there’s a photo of jennifer lawrence in a sultry pose—likely an editorial for a magazine. “what’s this?”

“yuuji retweeted this photo. he likes her,” choso states matter-of-factly.

he peers over your shoulder and scrolls down to the replies, clicking on the one he doesn’t understand. it simply reads: she breedable af.

you brows shoot up and you swallow a giggle. “oh,” you say, attempting gloss over your initial surprise. “i see.”

“af means ‘as fuck,’ i remember that,” he offers before looking to you.

“that’s right. um, you know what breeding is, yeah?” you swallow, unsure of your own trepidation. perhaps it has to do with choso’s earnestness—his desire to learn, to embrace his humanity, to better relate to you.

he nods. “mating.”

“yep. so, if someone refers to jennifer lawrence as breedable, it means that they… want to breed her.”

“they want to procreate with her,” he asserts.

“uh—basically, yeah.”

your boyfriend seems content with your answer and presses a cool kiss to your cheek. “thank you.”

a few weeks later, you’re getting ready to go out on a date with choso. you’re dressed in a rich aubergine—the same color as his irises. when he knocks on the bathroom door and asks if you’re ready, you open it up with a smile; his eyes go wide.

“like what you see?” you tease, taking his wide palms and pressing them to your waist.

he swallows before nodding a little frantically, firmly holding you like a lifeline. “you’re beautiful,” he murmurs, smearing his lips against the crown of your head. “very breedable,” he adds before you pull him in for a heated kiss.

maybe it’s silly, but you can’t help but hope that his compliment foreshadows the evening ahead.

[thehungergamesrenaissance]

I am so sorry for the person I will become in March. PEOPLE magazine released an excerpt from chapter one of Sunrise on the Reaping. Read below

-

“Happy birthday, Haymitch!” 

The upside of being born on reaping day is that you can sleep late on your birthday. It’s pretty much downhill from there. A day off school hardly compensates for the terror of the name drawing. Even if you survive that, nobody feels like having cake after watching two kids being hauled off to the Capitol for slaughter. I roll over and pull the sheet over my head. 

“Happy birthday!” My 10-year-old brother, Sid, gives my shoulder a shake. “You said be your rooster. You said you wanted to get to the woods at daylight.” 

It’s true. I’m hoping to finish my work before the ceremony so I can devote the afternoon to the two things I love best — wasting time and being with my girl, Lenore Dove. My ma makes indulging in either of these a challenge, since she regularly announces that no job is too hard or dirty or tricky for me, and even the poorest people can scrape up a few pennies to dump their misery on somebody else. But given the dual occasions of the day, I think she’ll allow for a bit of freedom as long as my work is done. It’s the Gamemakers who might ruin my plans. 

“Haymitch!” wails Sid. “The sun’s coming up!” 

“All right, all right. I’m up, too.” I roll straight off the mattress onto the floor and pull on a pair of shorts made from a government-issued flour sack. The words "courtesy of the Capitol" end up stamped across my butt. My ma wastes nothing. Widowed young when my pa died in a coal mine fire, she’s raised Sid and me by taking in laundry and making every bit of anything count. The hardwood ashes in the fire pit are saved for lye soap. Eggshells get ground up to fertilize the garden. Someday these shorts will be torn into strips and woven into a rug. 

I finish dressing and toss Sid back in his bed, where he burrows right down in the patchwork quilt. In the kitchen, I grab a piece of corn bread, an upgrade for my birthday instead of the gritty, dark stuff made from the Capitol flour. Out back, my ma’s already stirring a steaming kettle of clothes with a stick, her muscles straining as she flips a pair of miner’s overalls. She’s only 35, but life’s sorrows have already cut lines into her face, like they do. 

Ma catches sight of me in the doorway and wipes her brow. “Happy 16th. Sauce on the stove.” 

“Thanks, Ma.” I find a saucepan of stewed plums and scoop some on my bread before I head out. I found these in the woods the other day, but it’s a nice surprise to have them all hot and sugared. “Need you to fill the cistern today,” Ma says as I pass. 

We’ve got cold running water, only it comes out in a thin stream that would take an age to fill a bucket. There’s a special barrel of pure rainwater she charges extra for because the clothes come out softer, but she uses our well water for most of the laundry. What with pumping and hauling, filling the cistern’s a two-hour job even with Sid’s help. 

“Can’t it wait until tomorrow?” I ask. 

“I’m running low and I’ve got a mountain of wash to do,” she answers. 

"This afternoon, then,” I say, trying to hide my frustration. If the reaping’s done by one, and assuming we’re not part of this year’s sacrifice, I can finish the water by three and still see Lenore Dove.

A blanket of mist wraps protectively around the worn, gray houses of the Seam. It would be soothing if it wasn’t for the scattered cries of children being chased in their dreams. In the last few weeks, as the Fiftieth Hunger Games has drawn closer, these sounds have become more frequent, much like the anxious thoughts I work hard to keep at bay. The second Quarter Quell. Twice as many kids. No point in worrying, I tell myself, there’s nothing you can do about it. Like two Hunger Games in one. No way to control the outcome of the reaping or what follows it. So don’t feed the nightmares. Don’t let yourself panic. Don’t give the Capitol that. They’ve taken enough already.

[voguesplum]

Christy Turlington, 2000

-

[robynlilyblack]

Something magical

(kinda playboy!) Sirius Black x fem! muggle! reader

Summary: Sometimes you have to take a leap of faith...and sometimes that means running off with a pretty stranger

Warnings/tags: mentions of alcohol and drinking, first kiss, meet cute, strangers to something more, kinda loser! reader (but not really)

A/n: 1.4k words, little random one today ♡

Navigation | Sirius Black Masterlist

You nurse your drink, sitting alone while your coworkers are up dancing. They had insisted you come along, though you suspected it was more out of politeness than of genuine sentiment considering the empty booth before you. It's been a while since they’d come back to the table now, and you wondered if now was the best chance to sneak away, avoiding the awkward and insincere goodbyes.

Unfortunately that plan was short lived as some of the girls come back from the bathroom, giggling as they drop off their bags, slurring a little as they ask you to watch them as it's their song. Your head falls back a little in your seat, your happy mask falls revealing a defeated one, and you sigh a little as you take another sip of your drink

I’m such a loser

“Why so glum, sugar plum?” 

You sigh a little more as your eyes flick up, searching for the lucky guy or girl until...

“Up here darlin” he finally grabs your attention and your eyes snap to his, widening as they tentatively double check he definitely means you of all people, which he seems to get a kick out of, his smirk widening

“Did you really just say ‘why so glum, sugar plum’” you question with a slight giggle, eyes meeting his stunning grey ones as you sit up straighter

“Got your attention didn't I?” he defends with a wink and you shy away, looking back at your drink “Can I join you?” 

“Huh?” your head shoots back towards him “Really?” you reply more surprised than you mean to, causing your cheeks to heat, more so as it seems to make the man before you waver as well

Throughout the interaction so far he had been wearing an easy smile some would even consider a little cocky, but at the sound of your genuine surprise, it softens into something else, something you're not even he knows

“Would that be alright?” he asks carefully

“Oh…yeah of course” you gesture, moving a little deeper into the booth but then realise he might not have meant directly beside you “You meant here, right?” you point, to which he nods with a chuckle, more so as you shuffle a little more allowing him room to sit down

“So…” he starts, hand gently swirling his drink and drawing your eyes to the rings that beautifully litter his fingers “...what's got a pretty girl like yourself sitting all alone?” 

You let out a breathy laugh at the flattery “I’m not much of a dancer” you point towards your colleagues who look like their having the time of their lives

As his eyes follow your direction, taking in the scene, you take him in as well. It didn’t seem like this was his kind of scene either, he looked too much like a rocker to be in a place where the majority of men wore in suits and ties. If you were honest he looked too pretty to be anywhere but the cover of a magazine. And on top of all of that, there was just this air around him, like he was from another world altogether

“Your friends?” he wonders, leaning a little closer, thighs dangerously close to your own as the wisps of his curls threaten to tickle your cheek

“No, coworkers” you clarify with a slow shake of your head, meeting his side eye for a second before he looks back at them, nodding with a smile "I regret coming with them"

“I can see why...terrible dancers" he tries to cheer you up, taking a small swig of his drink “So why did you come out with them instead of…” he trails off, recoiling a little

“...actual friends?” you prompt and he nods with lips pressed together, looking thankful he hasn't offended you “The truth might make me seem like an even a glummer plum” you reply cringing, unable to stop the little sniff of a laugh that escapes at the end 

He grins at that and you can’t help but notice his free arm shifting to lay on the top edge of the booth “Try me” he gives you his full attention, something that makes you relax and feel safe...though your cheeks still feel like they’re on fire

"I figured being here was better than being home alone” you admit, looking down, not wishing to see his reaction and feel further embarrassment "My real friends worry I don't get out enough, that I'm alone too much"

After a second of silence you chance a peek up to find his soft smile hasn’t left "I get that...my friends are the same, though I have the opposite problem" he plays with his glass, a small scoff of a laugh coming through his nose "I don't have the best habit of going home alone" he makes his own confession before his head tilts “Why haven’t you left let?” he wonders, no malice or judgement in his voice "Besides my excellent company" he adds, lighting up at your giggle

“I want to...I just didn’t want to leave those alone” you nod across the table towards the small pile of bags

“Oh" his smile grows "If that's the only thing tying ya down” he places his glass down properly, standing up and grabbing one of the stray coats, throwing it gently over the bags before looking back at you, arm stretched out “Wanna get out here pretty girl?”

You smile back at him about to take his hand without a second thought when you stop yourself, glancing at your coworkers for a moment, then back at the man. You could be responsible, wait for them to get their bags and go home while also avoiding the potential heartbreak from the seasoned and flirtatious stranger before you, or…you be adventurous for once, take the leap of faith and maybe have a night you’ll remember for the rest of your life

“So?” he eyes you playfully, his smile positively beaming as you nod and accept his hand, letting him lead you out of the bar and into the snowy streets, unaware of your coworkers gobsmacked stares

“Where are we going?” you wonder with a laugh, coming to a stop as you wait for the crossing to flick to green, hearing cars hum as they whisk past 

He looks over at you with a toothy grin, turning to face you “Where do you want to go?” he leans down and flicks his nose upwards against yours, causing your heart to swoon and love at first sight suddenly seems like a very real threat “Got anything specific you want to do?” he raises his eyebrows 

“A few” you reveal “One more than the others” you grow brave, eyes locked onto his before they flick quickly down

“What’s stopping you?” he’s whispering now, the hot breath making you to feel lightheaded as he licks his lips

You giggle a little, licking your own before whispering back a soft “I’ve never kissed a stranger before” 

“I kiss too many strangers” he confesses, cheeks tinting but weirdly you don’t feel jealous, something about the way he’s treating you seems just as foreign to him

“If I tell you my name I'm not a stranger anymore” you reply, breathless with how his lips ghost yours "It's Y/n"

“Pretty name for a pretty girl” he states before connecting your lips

It’s softer than you’d thought it would be, sweeter, yet more thrilling than if it was solely fueled by passion. Never would you have thought the playboy boy in denim would kiss like a gentleman, that his hand would cup your cheek, thumb flicking over it like it was the most precious thing in the world 

“Wow” you breathe out, your chests heaving in time together as you pull away, opening your eyes to find his lips are plump, stained slightly around the edges from the remnants of your lipstick and your heart fills with new found pride at your handiwork

“Wow indeed” he lets out a breathy laugh, forehead kissing yours for a second before pulling back  “How does it feel to kiss a stranger?”

“Magical” you reply, looking down at your shoes as your unable to stop the silliest happy from smile taking over your face, but as you glance down at the floor you miss the twinkle in his eyes at your choice of words “How does it feel to kiss a girl called y/n?” you counter when you look back 

“Magical” he repeats your words but his are softer, like it’s the first time he’s truly meant them “I’m Sirius” he finally introduces himself

“Sirius” you confirm and he smiles, nodding “A pretty name for a pretty boy”

Thank you for reading ♡