#we all would play with her if we were working late

[fairykukla]

Ok, here's a thought I've been thinking lately.

I'm 50 years old. I've watched, in real time, as Autism diagnosis and public perception has shifted over the years.

So for my Internet kids and grandkids, here's the deal:

Austism used to be a word that was whispered. It was like a death sentence. People with autism were shuffled away into care facilities or, like, still stuck in attics or something. If you knew someone with an autistic person in their life, the socially correct response was pity. "You poor thing, your child is autistic. What a burden. I'm so sorry."

Gradually, awareness started to happen. We got Rainman and Bill For Short. We also started to see diagnosis for hyperactivity, or ADHD, but those were kids (and mostly boys) who were disruptive, and were given heavy medications to calm them down.

But these were still situations where pity is given to the caregivers, and the people with autism or ADD were still stuck with "Be traumatized/medicated into masking disruptive behavior" or "Shuffled away into special schools/cate facilities."

Then we started to see more awareness. People in the spectrum started to speak up and speak out. There was still lots of stigma, but now it was more like, "Oh, your kid has Autism, but it's not AUTISM-autism, it's just Asperger's? Well thank God. You poor thing."

These stigmas are still in play. People still react with pity for caregivers and scorn for people on the spectrum.

Despite better and better understanding of autism, despite more and better language to discuss it, despite all the awareness being raised, that stigma is still around, baked into our culture.

This is part of the cognitive dissonance around "Hey, fellow adult friend? Do you think that I could be ... Autistic?" And they look worried, or cringe when you say, "Yeah, I could see that."

That person is fearful. They're shocked. They may be wrestling with The Horrors about it. For many of us who have worked out on our own that we are neurodivergent, whether through formal diagnosis or having the "Ah-Ha!" Moment with a self diagnostic tool, it can seem weird that someone is freaking out when they're faced with a similar situation.

Listen. I was a Weird Kid(tm). I was having SEVERE issues in school despite my high IQ and having two teachers as parents. In 1981 or so, the answer was that I had an "unspecified childhood neurosis" and a general anxiety disorder, that would later get the moniker "School Anxiety." I was not given meds, but I was given 5 years of talk therapy with a child psychiatrist.

As an adult, after a few years of thinking that I fit the profile for ADHD, my mom gave me all my paperwork from my childhood. (Immunizations, school records, and the like.) In that paperwork I found my evaluations from the early 80s. I had criteria I didn't even know about, and let me tell you; I'm in the AUDHD spectrum somewhere. My youngest cousin got her diagnosis early, but she was born when I was 33.

And then my father got his. My brother came to me in horrified shock. "Kukla, did you know that our father has autism?!?"

And I laughed. "Uh, yeah. Didn't you figure out that half the rules in our house growing up were to manage his sensory issues? Isn't it his dream to go disappear into the woods somewhere? Weren't you the one who calls it "Socializing with Papa" when you do tasks in the same space without talking to each other for a few hours? BRO HES A MATH TEACHER WHO BOUGHT A HOUSE NEXT TO A TRAIN TRACK AND COLLECTS MAPS."

But. I was the one who had five years of really excellent therapy to come to terms with being a weird kid. To take power from my weirdness, to use it as both sword and shield. To defeat the rejection sensitivity dysphoria, or at least mitigate its effects. (Now I just come across as an arrogant know it all. And I'm comfortable with that.) I live on the island of misfit toys, and they made me their goddess. Most of the people who are close to me are not neurotypical, and I don't just mean "the spectrum."

My brother is probably neurotypical... Apart from the dyslexia. He Plays The Sports. He does Bro things. His inner circle of friends and found family are "mundanes." He doesn't talk to autistic people everyday, or *thinks* that he doesn't talk to autistic people every day. So, for him, he found out that our father got diagnosed with Autism and freaked the fuck out.

So I say unto my fellow Tumblr gremlins, goblins, racoons, and misfit toys: be gentle with the newbies. If you see someone struggling about it just be nice to them.

They're expecting pity. Or scorn.

Don't give it to them.

Dance around and naruto-run and invite them to play, too. Teach them how to find their happy stim.

It is hard. But we can also be joyful. And we should.

[gracie-eilish]

11 and 💛, maybe a little angst and then fluffy comfort? 🥺

“let me love on you”

prompt list

"billie i know how hard you're working, but please baby. its three in the morning and you need sleep." you pleaded.

billie had been cooped up in her home studio all day. recording, writing, re-recording, re-writing. however it was late and while you loved hearing her sing, hearing her sing while you tried to sleep, knowing she should be sleeping even more than you, was agitating.

"just give me ten more minutes." she didn't even look up from the monitor, just waving a hand in your direction. you huffed wanting to just go over and unplug the damn thing, but deleting all her progress didn't sound like the solution to this argument.

"no billie, you're coming with me now. it's late and you're gonna fry your vocal cords. please just come get some sleep. you can come back tomorrow-" billie cut you off, spinning around to face you.

"do you understand how important this next record has to be for me? y/n, I didn't win a single grammy for what I thought was my best body of work so far in my life. and you even said yourself, that when taylor swift- taylor freaking swift - didn't win anything for red, she went home and wrote 1989 which then became the most decorated pop album of all time. so please just let me make my better record."

you mentally cursed yourself for your taylor themed encouragement you gave her last month. you thought it would be a nice motivator to keep working hard, now it was just biting you in the ass... and sleep schedule. you took a deep breath walking across the room to her, squatting in front of her chair.

"yes, i did tell you that. and I think i also told you about her song all you had to do was stay. did i tell you about that one?" you thought quickly, hoping to get your stubborn girlfriend away from her studio.

"yes you did, that was so cool! she literally dreamt the lyrics to the chorus. like fully dreamt it and then woke up to write it."

you gave her a knowing look, softly rubbing the tops of her thighs while she caught your drift.

"what does that have to do- OH. oh. you're good baby." she realized.

"yes i know i am, thank you very much. now why don't you clean up down here so we can go to sleep so you can dream your next song lyrics, yeah?" you teased standing up and holding out your hands for her to take. she looked up at you like a toddler deciding if they wanted to keep playing with their toys or play with their bath toys compromising for bath time.

"c'mon baby, you're exhausted and need some rest. let me love on you."

"fineeeee. you win miss swiftie." she grumbled turning away to save her progress and shut off her equipment.

"i always do!"

"yeah, yeah. whatever." she scoffed before turning to grab your waist for a second. "i'm sorry for being so stubborn. you were just trying to take care of me and i appreciate that. you know how stressed i am about this album already and i need reminders every now and then to stop and rest so thank you for doing that for me," billie said with puppy eyes, but genuinely was sorry.

"oh my love," you pulled her in fully for a hug, cradling the back of her head. "i will always take care of you, even when you're being stubborn. i love you too much to not make you rest every now and then. but i swear to god if you start voice memo-ing songs in the middle of the night like taylor does, your's sleeping on the couch." you teased making billie giggle.

you pulled back to look at her face properly, cupping her cheeks. "i love you sweet girl. so much." you leaned in closing the space between you two with a cavity-inducing kiss.

"i love you more mama," she whispered into the kiss, only breaking apart when you both started smiling too much.

[misanahrs]

all this just to be with you — minatozaki sana

now playing: alive - bakar.

synopsis - sana is running late to practice and crashes into the back of your car. as soon as she steps out and sees you—an effortlessly gorgeous doctor—she forgets all about the accident and immediately tries to flirt her way into your heart.

pairing - minatozaki sana x fem reader.

step one: crash landing on your car.

it was just supposed to be another normal, busy morning.

you were driving to work, sipping the last of your coffee as you hummed along to the radio, already mentally preparing yourself for the long shift ahead at the hospital. everything was perfectly fine—until it wasn’t.

out of nowhere, a loud thud jolted your entire car forward. your coffee cup went flying, landing unceremoniously on your lap, and you slammed the brakes with a sharp inhale.

your heart pounded as you registered what had just happened. someone had crashed into you.

sighing, you put your car in park, unbuckled your seatbelt, and stepped out. the moment you turned around, ready to assess the damage, you came face-to-face with a woman stepping out of the offending car—a woman who, to your annoyance, was ridiculously pretty.

she was looking at you with wide, guilty eyes, her hands nervously gripping the straps of her designer handbag.

“oh my god, i’m so sorry!” she blurted out, bowing slightly. “i was running late and—okay, i wasn’t paying attention, but in my defence, the traffic light was so slow, and i got distracted because—well, you know, life!”

you crossed your arms, raising an eyebrow at her. “so, you rear-ended me because you were in a rush?”

“yes,” she admitted, nodding quickly. then, after a brief pause, she tilted her head and gave you an almost too-sweet smile. “but, in my defence, i think meeting you might be the best thing to happen to me today.”

you blinked. “excuse me?”

“you’re… stunning.” she continued, looking you up and down like she’d just discovered a rare work of art.

you were momentarily stunned into silence. did this woman just crash into your car and then immediately start flirting with you?

she took your silence as an opportunity to step closer, eyes sparkling. “since i ruined your morning, maybe i can make it up to you? coffee? lunch? dinner? a weekend getaway?” she clasped her hands together dramatically. “please, let me be your compensation.”

you let out a sharp laugh despite yourself, shaking your head. “right. first things first, we need to exchange insurance details, not flirt.”

“why not both?” she quipped, grinning.

“because i don’t date reckless drivers,” you shot back, though the corners of your lips twitched upwards slightly.

touché.

she gasped, placing a hand over her heart. “ouch. but i’m normally a great driver, i swear! today was just an off day. and i promise i’d be very careful with your heart if you gave me a chance.”

you sighed, running a hand through your hair before pulling out your phone. “name?”

“sana,” she answered immediately. “minatozaki sana. but you can just call me yours.”

you groaned. “please just give me your actual details before i report you for flirting-related offences.”

“i think the real crime is how breathtaking you are,” she shot back without missing a beat.

you stared at her. she stared back, completely unashamed.

this was going to be a long morning.

⸻

step two: sana does not give up.

a few days passed, and you thought that would be the end of your interaction with sana. but then, out of nowhere, you got a text.

unknown number: hi breathtaking, hope you’re having a lovely day. just wondering, have you forgiven me for the minor car-related inconvenience yet?

you blinked at your phone. minor car-related inconvenience? she really had a way with words.

you sighed and typed back.

you: sana, how did you even get my number?

sana: for a surgeon, you have a very bad memory. you wrote it down when we exchanged details, remember? :)

you: that was for insurance purposes

sana: exactly. my heart was insured the moment i met you.

you: sana.

you could practically hear her giggling through the screen.

sana: okay okay, i’ll behave… unless you want me to continue?

you: goodbye, sana.

sana: goodbye for now ;)

you sighed, shaking your head. she was relentless.

but, annoyingly, you found yourself smiling just a little.

⸻

step three: sana is everywhere.

as if crashing into your car and flirting via text weren’t enough, sana somehow started appearing in your life everywhere.

you ran into her at the café near your hospital.

“fancy seeing you here,” she said with a bright grin. “or is this fate?”

“it’s just a café, sana,” you deadpanned, stirring your coffee.

“yes, but you’re here, which makes it special.”

you ran into her at the supermarket.

“buying groceries? how domestic of us,” she teased, peering into your basket. “should i pick up some wine for our imaginary date later?”

“should i pick up a restraining order?” you countered.

“harsh,” she pouted. “but i like my women feisty.”

and, somehow, you even ran into her at the florist.

“let me guess,” you said dryly, watching her browse the roses. “you’re here to buy flowers for yourself because no one else will deal with you?”

“wrong,” she smirked, plucking a bouquet of soft pink peonies from the shelf. “i’m here to buy these for you.”

you blinked as she handed them to you with an almost shy smile.

“i know i joke around a lot,” she said, rubbing the back of her neck, “but i really do think you’re special. and i’d love to take you out properly—no car crashes involved this time.”

for once, she wasn’t being over-the-top. she was just looking at you with a slight pink hue to her cheeks, soft and sincere.

and, against all logic, your heart skipped a beat.

you sighed, shaking your head. “fine. one date. but if you crash into anything else before then, i’m cancelling.”

she gasped dramatically. “i swear on my love for you, i will drive like an angel.”

“we’ll see,” you muttered, rolling your eyes—but you couldn’t stop the small smile forming on your lips.

⸻

step four: sana wins your heart.

one date turned into two. two turned into three. before you knew it, you were falling—hard and fast.

sana was everything you didn’t expect. she was playful and flirty, yes, but she was also incredibly sweet. she memorised how you liked your coffee, texted you to make sure you were eating properly during your shifts, and sent you videos of cute animals whenever you were feeling stressed. sana felt like good news. being with sana felt like good news.

one evening, after a long day at the hospital, you came home to find her waiting outside your apartment, holding a takeaway bag.

“i figured you’d be too tired to cook,” she said, smiling a shy smile softly. “so i brought your favourite.”

you stared at her, warmth spreading through your chest.

“what’s wrong?” she asked, tilting her head.

instead of answering, you stepped forward and kissed her.

she let out a small, surprised noise before melting into you, her arms wrapping around your waist, pulling you impossible closer. when you finally pulled away, she blinked at you, dazed.

“does this mean i’m officially your girlfriend now?” she asked, eyes shining.

you huffed a small laugh. “yeah, sana. i think it does.”

her face lit up, and she pulled you into a tight hug.

“worth every traffic violation,” she whispered and you could just hear that sly grin in her voice.

you groaned. “please don’t remind me.”

she just giggled, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek.

and just like that, the girl who had crashed into your car had somehow crashed straight into your heart and made herself at home.

⸻

step five: unbearable.

you were utterly exhausted by the time you stepped through the door of your shared flat, your body aching from the long hours spent in surgery. being a surgical oncologist was rewarding, very rewarding, but some days felt heavier than others, and today was one of them. you barely had the energy to take off your coat when you felt a familiar warmth wrap around you from behind, sana’s arms slipping around your waist as she pressed a soft kiss against your shoulder.

“you’re home,” she murmured softly, swaying you both slightly as if trying to melt away the weight of your day. her voice was gentle, filled with the kind of love that made your chest ache in the best way. you sighed, leaning into her touch, letting yourself be held. she didn’t rush you to talk, didn’t ask for details you weren’t ready to share—she simply knew.

after a few moments, she took your hand and led you to the sofa, guiding you to sit while she disappeared into the kitchen. when she returned, she held a steaming cup of tea in one hand. “here, baby,” she said with a soft smile. her fingers traced gentle circles on your back, grounding you, her presence enough to ease the lingering tension in your muscles.

“thank you,” you whispered, voice heavy with exhaustion but filled with affection. you turned your head slightly, pressing a slow kiss to her jaw, feeling the way she shivered slightly under your touch. she smiled, resting her forehead against yours. “always,” she promised, her hand finding yours, fingers intertwining. in that quiet moment, wrapped up in her warmth, the weight from your long day didn’t feel so unbearable anymore.

sana shifted slightly, pulling a blanket over the both of you, her fingers never once leaving yours. the tv hummed softly in the background, some lighthearted drama playing, but neither of you were really paying attention. she rubbed soothing circles against your knuckles, occasionally lifting your hand to press soft kisses against your fingers. “you work too hard,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

you sighed, closing your eyes for a moment. “i know… but i have to.”

she didn’t argue, because she understood. she knew how much your job meant to you, how deeply you cared for your patients, how every loss weighed on you even when you tried to hide it. but she also knew you, and she could tell when you needed someone to look after you for once. shifting closer, she nestled against you, her heartbeat steady and comforting against your side. your careers were on opposite ends of the spectrum—a kpop idol and a surgical oncologist—yet you both had your days and your careers meant the world to both of you.

“at least let me take care of you when you get home,” she said, her lips brushing against your temple. “you don’t have to carry everything alone. and you will never have to when i’m right here with you, my love.”

you exhaled slowly, allowing yourself to melt into her embrace. with sana, love was effortless—a quiet presence, a hand reaching for yours, a warmth that never wavered. you squeezed her fingers, letting the weight of the day fade into the softness of her touch. “i love you,” you whispered, and the way she smiled against your skin, the way she held you just a little tighter, made you certain that no matter how hard the days got, coming home to her would always be enough.

no matter how much bad news you may hear in the entirety of your career, it could not even begin to compare to the feeling of good news you get whilst being with sana.

though the weight of the day still clung to you, exhaustion pressing into your skin like an ache that wouldn’t fade, in sana’s arms, it was easier to forget—easier to let go. there was something about the way she held you, the way she felt like good news after a long day of nothing but bad. like the sun after weeks of grey skies, like a familiar melody you didn’t realise you’d forgotten. she didn’t have to say much; her presence was enough to soften the edges of your exhaustion.

she traced gentle patterns along your arm, her touch light, deliberate. sana had always been like this, always making sure you knew you were loved, that you were appreciated. she never asked for much in return, never demanded more than you could give. even now, as she kissed your temple and pulled you impossibly closer, she gave without expectation, without hesitation—like she wanted to be the one thing in your life that wasn’t complicated. she just wanted to be good news.

the room was quiet, the low hum of the tv playing some forgotten drama in the background, but all you could focus on was her. how she fit against you so perfectly, how she smelled faintly of vanilla and something uniquely sana, how she never made you feel like you had to be anything other than tired and human in her presence. there was no pressure to fill the silence with words, no expectation to be anything but yourself. she understood without you having to explain.

“you always know what i need,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. she smiled, pressing a lingering kiss to your cheek before tucking herself against you, her warmth seeping into your skin. “of course i do,” she whispered back, her voice full of certainty, full of love. because with sana, it had never been complicated. she didn’t just want to be in your life—she wanted to be the best part of it, she wanted to be the good news.

[swanlakebaby]

obsessed ex-gf pt. 2 | pjm

→ summary: after getting caught watching jimin through this windows, you feel weary going back to stalking him. when you finally muster up the courage to go back, you see something you never would’ve imagined seeing. so, you decide to get your revenge instead. if you couldn’t have him, no one could. → pairing: bts!jimin x obsessivefem!reader → tags: smut, risky, masturbation, obsessed gf, stalker, jimin, bts jimin, love making, sex → word count: n/a, but def over 1.2k! → a/n: i originally planned to make this a one-off story but people asked for a part two and i felt inspired to continue so here it is. enjoy! :) masterlist

you stare down at the message, a hard lump of anxiety forming at the bottom of your throat. had he really seen me? you thought to yourself. i need to play this off somehow.. you spend the next seven minutes typing and deleting excuses and lies, trying to come up with something even slightly believable.

what do you mean? is all you’re able to send after eventually giving up.

don’t play dumb with me, i can spot your car from a mile away. just don’t come back.

you swallow hard and begin to rapidly text out a rushed lie. as you hit send, the message fails to deliver. he had blocked you just like that. you knew it was a bad sign. that he fully believed you were the one watching him and he no longer wanted to deal with you at any capacity. you began to feel hot flashes of fear, wondering if he was going to report you for creepily sitting outside of his apartment building with binoculars.

for the next few days, you stay weary of jimin’s neighborhood. you felt addicted to the euphoric feeling that came with watching him through his windows, but the risk currently felt too high. it was only a week later that you finally felt confident enough to return.

after work, your co-workers gathered around the break room. “i heard that new tex-mex spot a few minutes away was pretty good, and they also serve margaritas!” one of them said, checking the google maps from their phone. the group sat on that suggestion for a while, occasionally throwing out other places too. you moved around the group and began packing your things off of your desk. “you’re not going?” one of the others said, furrowing their eyebrows and glancing at you as if you not going would suddenly ruin the night or something. you shake your head with a fake-sorry expression on your face. “i’m sorry- i can’t join you guys tonight, as fun as it sounds.” you say, zipping up your laptop case. because i have to go watch my ex possibly jerk off in his apartment again. you think to yourself, looking around for a moment to make sure you didn’t actually say that out loud.

“i’ve got family coming over. we’re supposed to have a whole family dinner thing so..” you trail off, looking at all of their faces to see if they believed you. they eventually nodded understandingly and wished you a great family dinner as you rushed out of the door and to your car. today, you didn’t actually plan to watch jimin. it was during your lunch break that you ultimately decided you’d go back today, meaning you didn’t have time to stuff any toys under your car seat before work today. your hands would have to suffice.

when you get in the car you pull out your phone.

can i borrow your car? mine has been having issues lately. just need to run a quick errand. ty!

you stare at the screen as the typing bubbles dance up and down.

sure darling

you sigh out a heavy breath of relief and drive to your moms house. you park beside her car and pull down on the cars compartment handle and grab your binoculars before putting them in your purse and getting out of the car. before you can approach the door, your mom is already on the porch with her car keys in hand. “hi baby.” she says lovingly, pulling you in for a hug. “hi mom.” you say, reaching forward for the keys. she pulls her hand back with a smirk. “in a rush, aren’t we? what’s wrong with your car by the way?” your mom looks over your shoulder towards you car. “just general problems, but i’m too paranoid to drive far distances.” you lie, not breaking eye contact with your mom. “ah. maybe your father can take a look at it? HON-”

“mom! it’s okay.” you say, cutting her off before she can call for your dad. “it’s fine. i probably just need an oil change or something. i’ve already scheduled a maintenance appointment for tomorrow. okay?” you wanted to leave already, to be parked discreetly around his apartment building, fingering away at yourself. your mom smiles softly, dropping the keys in your hand. “i’m worried about you.” she says with a lower tone. you furrow your eyebrows at her, gripping the keys tighter. “what do you mean?”

“i mean- since jimin broke up with you. you don’t come over that much anymore, sometimes i think you’re dead until i see you on TV.” she says with a concerned laugh. you take a deep breath and pull your mom into a tight hug. “i’m fine. i promise. i just want to go run my errand real quick. when i come back, ill possibly stay for dinner.” you say reassuringly as you give your mom a soft kiss on the cheek.

when you finally escape the grasp of your mom, you think over the plan. leaving your car with your mom was beneficial for multiple reasons. if for whatever reason jimin was to allegedly see you, he’d most likely doubt himself. you’re in a completely different car now. plus, your car was at your moms place. it definitely looked like you were over for a family dinner. you kept a mental note to yourself to schedule that car appointment.

you parked in a different spot than usual, but still in close proximity to be able to see through his apartment. you reach into your purse and grab the binoculars. you see jimin, clearly setting up for something. the rooms atmosphere felt different. the lighting was warm and inviting, candles on the counters and coffee table. you pan over to his room, rose petals on the bed. you grit your teeth angrily. jimin suddenly looks up ahead of him, a soft smile spreading across the face as he slowly stands up and approaches the woman coming out of the bathroom.

he wraps his arms around her, stuffing his face into her neck. what the fuck? you feel livid, but you can’t pull back. not yet. he spins her around, checking her out. the cherry red lingerie set she had on complimented her olive toned complexion, her chocolate brown curls falling down her shoulders and back effortlessly. you immediately decided to yourself that you didn’t like her. you kept watching regardless. after he spun her around, she grinned and wrapped her arms around him lovingly. the energy quickly shifted however as he grabbed onto her wrist and began slowly making his way into the bedroom, tugging her along behind him. she began crawling onto the bed, laying flat on her back.

he gently closed the door and walked over to her before climbing on top of her. an entire makeout session between the two broke out. you didn’t move, watching as they began slowly stripping away their clothes. he made out with her the same way he made out with you. intense, hot, like he’d starve to death if he didn’t get enough of your taste.

in what seemed like seconds, he was already inside of her. he began fucking her in a missionary position, making your blood boil. you hated the fact that you were witnessing this. of all fucking days. you scoff. you also hated the fact that the desire to masturbate still lingered inside of you. you slid your hand down your work pants, teasing your clit as you watched your ex make love to a woman you had never seen before. you felt angry and began taking out this anger on yourself, knowing that going up there and confronting him just wasn’t an option.

you fingered yourself roughly, the wetness of your insides quickly coating your fingers. jimin stopped and lifted her up, carrying her through the living room and to the kitchen. he placed her onto one of the counters facing away from you. his bare back was facing you now. the only thing you could see was her legs poking out from the sides of him. you still couldn’t believe what you were witnessing. a part of you got off to it, and another part of you felt angry.

he slammed himself against her. this went on for a few more minutes and you felt yourself about to cum. when you finally did, your body entered a relaxed state. the desire to cum was no longer there and anger took full control of your body now. you keep your binoculars on them, fuming at how he dared to make love to another person. someone that wasn’t you. without moving the binoculars, you reach your free hand into your bag and grab your phone.

you scroll to your camera and level your phone up with the binoculars, zooming in and snapping dozens of photos of the pair in various positions. you saw jimin stand and stiffen up, jerking himself above her and trying to induce an orgasm.

you quickly throw the binoculars onto the floor and start the car, backing up and speeding off out of the neighborhood.

[forbebeandjam]

FRIENDS | Bada Lee x Fem Reader | 21+

Summary: you and your best friend start spending a lot of time at the library studying.

Word count: 1.0k

Warning: smut, eating out, cheating (which I do not condone… I know… ironic)

MNDI | READERS DISCRETION IS ADVISED

A/N: ahh~ sorry for being so absent here. I am trying my best to write but I think I’ve been too tough on myself lately. So I’ll try to go easy on myself and not pressure myself to rushed work. After all, I do write better when I take my time. LOVE YOU ALL🩵 Keep supporting our tall girlfriend 😉

•🥀•

Bada and you were inseparable after the day you met in dance class. It was your first day in college, and you wanted to try new things. You dropped the class after a week because you felt like you had two left feet and were a bit jealous of Bada.

The way she moved her body was just so hypnotizing, and you felt ashamed to dance next to her, but you didn’t regret making a fool of yourself. After all, you made the best of friends.

After that week of dancing together, she was like she was always meant to be with you. That’s what she felt, but there was a little problem. And the problem had a name.

Minhyuk…

He was your boyfriend since high school days. You two were the power couple of the entire school and some crazy girl envied you. Some guys envied him but it’s not like they could do anything about it. You two seemed to only have eyes for each other.

That was until you got to college. The same college. His eyes would shift from you to random girls but… he’d apologize and it was all good as new.

He even promised he loved you more than anything and spent all his time with you. You and Bada of course. You didn’t go anywhere without her.

Although Minhyuk was still doing the same things behind your back.

“When can we have a date just to ourselves?” He would ask.

“Oh, come on babe. You know she doesn’t have any friends or a boyfriend. Just give her a break. We’re all she has,” and he would understand. Bada was a good person after all. She took care of you and that’s all he cared about.

And soon you three became The Killer 3. Three good-looking, and very hot faces walking together always drew attention.

That was until you and Bada found yourself buried in “books”. Your boyfriend would call but you were too busy studying with Bada that you didn’t have time to meet him.

“I’m headed to the library. I’m bringing you a snack and coffee” he would say.

“Oh. No need. Bada brought enough for the both of us. Thanks,” you replied.

How did this all begin??

(Three weeks prior)

“You have a really good body to be a dancer! Come on!!” Bada said as she pulled your hand to sand up.

“You know I can’t dance!! Why do you insist?” You asked as she played the music.

“Well because I love to spend time with you…” she placed her cold hands on your waist making you shiver.

“…and because I love the way your body moves. Your body is so… perfect,” she said. The hem of her fingers tickled your soft skin.

“Bada, that tickles,” you said as you grabbed her arm. Somehow your feet got tangled with her and you two ended up on the floor with you on top of her.

Your heart was beating fast at the proximity of her face to yours and then you started to realize how beautiful she was. Not that you didn’t notice before. But now, you would see the barely noticeable wrinkles from her nose scrunches, and smiles. The way her plump lips curved into a smile.

Her lips. Her lips looked so tasty and you wanted to taste them… and as you felt her hands once again grip your hips in place you didn’t hold back the feeling.

You kissed Bada and she kissed you back. You were slightly surprised by her actions. She was kissing you so passionately, it made you wonder how long she’s been feeling like this towards you.

“Bada, ah~ Bada, Minhyuk… We shouldn’t” you said as she started to kiss your neck. You then felt her wet tongue on your neck making you moan as you felt your core get wet.

“Then tell me to stop. If you want me to stop, I will,” she said as she pulled down the strap of your tank top and gently pressed against your sensitive nipple. You moaned once again at the feeling.

“So? Say it,” she said again. You were unable to open your mouth too afraid another whine or moan would escape. So you simply shook your head. You didn’t want her to stop.

“Got it,” she said as she pulled down your tank top completely and unclasped your bra. Her mouth immediately took one of your boobs in as she licked and sucked your nipple.

You pursed your lips as she flipped you so that she was now on top. She began to move down on you, swiftly removing the pants and panties from your body.

“Come on, love. I want to hear those pretty sounds from you,” she said as she kissed your inner thighs.

With one sudden move, you yelped out her name. Her tongue was now sucking and licking in your clit. Her face buried between your thoughts as you gripped her hair.

You could no longer control your moans and screams. Repeated calls for her name were heard in the room as she kept working her tongue between your legs until it was too much to handle.

You came and the ecstatic feeling as she kissed your tummy all the way up to your chest and neck. She placed soft kisses on your face. You have never felt anything like that, not even with your boyfriend.

“Gosh, Bada. That was amazing,” you said as she pecked your lips and helped you dress yourself.

“I’m glad you enjoyed it, love. Now if you don’t mind, let’s go study some more at my place, hm?” She asked.

You knew exactly what she meant and you nodded as you took her hand nothing was ever the same after that. You would spend your free time “studying” in Bada’s house.

You didn’t do it every day. You just lived the way she cared for you. The way she would make you smile and feed you even when you didn’t want to. She cheered you up and always wanted to be with you.

And that’s what you cherished the most.

Thank you for reading 🩵

[twisted-dork]

Peter Parker’s Perspective: Joker’s Big Mistake

Peter sighed as he dangled from the ropes tied around his wrists, feet barely touching the ground. His Spider-Sense had been buzzing the entire time, but it wasn’t like he could do much about it. The moment he’d stepped out of the library while Aunt May was finishing up her work at the library, some creepy clown goons had grabbed him off the street.

And because he had Parker Luck, of course it was The Joker who’d taken him.

He stared at the clown in front of him, barely listening as the guy rambled about how much fun they were going to have. There were playing cards scattered around, knives on the table, and a group of henchmen standing awkwardly in the corner—probably because they knew this was a very bad idea.

Peter, on the other hand, wasn’t scared.

He was annoyed.

Because, honestly?

Joker had no idea what was coming.

Peter sighed dramatically. “Look, I’m gonna be real with you, Mr. Joker sir, you should let me go. Like, right now.”

Joker cackled, stepping closer. “Oh, really? And why would I do that, kiddo?”

Peter tilted his head. “Because my aunt’s coming.”

Joker blinked. “Your aunt?” He threw his head back in laughter, slapping his knee. “That’s adorable! What, she gonna bake me cookies?”

One of the goons near the door shifted uncomfortably. Peter didn’t miss it. See? At least one of these guys has survival instincts.

Peter sighed again, shaking his head. “Look, man. I tried to warn you. You don’t mess with Aunt May.”

Joker leaned in close, grinning wide. “Oh, but I love a good family reunion. Maybe I should keep you around, huh? Make her beg for her precious little boy back?”

A loud CRASH echoed through the warehouse.

Peter smiled.

“Ohhh, buddy,” he muttered, almost feeling bad for him. “It’s too late now.”

The door to the warehouse slammed open, nearly flying off its hinges. A metal baseball bat clattered to the floor, and standing in the doorway—breathing heavily, eyes burning with rage—was Aunt May.

But not just any Aunt May.

This was Angry Mom Mode Aunt May. The one who made Tony Stark apologize for keeping Peter out late. The one who, despite being de-aged, still had all the unfiltered rage of a mother bear protecting her cub.

Joker took a step back. “And who the hell are y—”

CRACK.

The baseball bat slammed into his ribs, sending him crumpling to the ground with a wheezing laugh.

The goons—who had been watching this all unfold—went completely still.

Peter just shook his head, watching as May grabbed Joker by the collar and decked him across the face.

He sighed again. “I told you.”

Joker groaned, trying to crawl away. May kicked him in the stomach, sending him rolling over.

One of the goons cleared his throat. “Uh… do we… do we help or…?”

The others immediately shook their heads.

“Hell no.”

“Dude, she’s not even hesitating.”

“She’s using a bat on the Joker, bro. Do you want to die?”

Meanwhile, May grabbed the bat again and swung, knocking Joker flat on his back. She was fuming. “YOU THINK YOU CAN JUST TAKE MY NEPHEW?!” CRACK. “YOU THINK I WON’T FIND YOU?!” CRACK. “I HAVE BEEN THROUGH TOO MUCH BULLSHIT TO DEAL WITH THIS RIGHT NOW, YOU PSYCHOTIC CLOWN!” CRACK.

Peter just sat there, still tied to the chair, waiting for her to finish.

Finally, May dropped the bat, took a deep breath, and turned to him. “Sweetheart, you okay?”

“Yeah,” Peter said, nodding toward Joker, who was groaning in pain. “I did try to warn him.”

May huffed, stepping over Joker’s unconscious body. “I know you did, honey.” She untied him and picked him up, settling him on her hip like he was a toddler. That’s when she saw the rope burn on his wrist.

Joker whimpered.

Before they left, May turned back and kicked him right between the legs.

Peter winced. “Oof. That one was for the rope burns, wasn’t it?”

May didn’t answer—just adjusted her grip on Peter and walked out like she hadn’t just traumatized half of Gotham’s criminal underworld.

Peter rested his head on her shoulder. “Can we get ice cream on the way home?”

May sighed. “Yeah, sweetheart. We’ll get ice cream.”

And with that, they left the warehouse, leaving behind a battered Joker and a room full of traumatized goons who would never mess with a mom on a mission again.

[hyrtwynwrites]

Okay, I have a story about this

I was in a physics class maybe... six years ago, now? And we're giving little presentations every couple of classes about little science things we find particularly interesting, because my professor was a really cool dude and damn passionate too (he also literally looked like Einstein, I kid you not)

One day, a classmate goes up and starts talking about the relatively recent spat of phones exploding, and he shows a couple of pictures of what you see above: Batteries bloating as the chemicals inside them grow increasingly unstable. As the guy is talking, a strange look begins to spread over the professor's face, and suddenly he just steps out of the room

A minute later, he comes back in with a box, I mean a full to the brim box, and says "these have been sitting back there for months, we didn't know what to do with them."

It is full of batteries that are all stretched and bloated. We had the world's largest phone bomb just sitting in our storage room and no one knew until that day lmao

is that good

[sysig]

A hero is only as good as his weapons, so make ‘em count (Patreon)

[gilfrespecter]

Listening to coinstar by the growlers and thinking about mel so hard I get nauseous

Ridiculous stream of conscious in the tags apologies but not really

[sluttyten]

I still have 5 hours left in my shift 😭😭😭

[misanahrs]

crawling back to you. — myoui mina.

now playing: do i wanna know? - arctic monkeys.

synopsis - a friends with benefits arrangement with mina was supposed to be simple. but nothing really is simple in life, is it?

pairing - myoui mina x fem reader.

it started as something simple, something casual.

you never expected feelings to get involved. you were both busy with your lives, with mina’s schedule as a member of twice and your own commitments for your own group. a no-strings-attached arrangement seemed like the perfect solution—something to scratch an itch without the complications of a relationship.

and it worked.

it worked for a while.

mina was always so graceful, even in the midst of the late-night rendezvous. she was the kind of woman who commanded attention with her presence, her soft voice and quiet beauty pulling you in every time. when the two of you first started this, it felt natural, like something that was meant to be.

but as the days passed, it became harder to ignore the growing ache in your chest. the moments you shared were not just physical anymore. you found yourself thinking about her more than you should, wondering what it would be like to wake up next to her every morning, to be the one she looked at with more than just lustful, longing eyes.

it was stupid. you knew better than this. but with mina, things were never simple.

⸻

one evening, you both found yourselves alone again. her fingers brushed against yours as she reached for her coat, and for a split second, you swore you saw something more than just affection in her eyes.

“i should get going,” she said softly, her voice lingering in the silence between you.

you nodded, but there was a heaviness settling in your chest. you hadn’t expected it to feel like this—like a knot tightening with every passing moment.

“yeah, i guess so,” you muttered, your heart racing as you avoided her gaze.

mina stopped at the door, turning to face you. “you okay?”

the question caught you off guard. you looked up at her, trying to muster a smile, but you knew it wouldn’t be convincing.

“yeah,” you lied, voice shaky.

“are you sure?” she asked, concern lining her features as her brows furrowed.

you nodded again, but the lie tasted bitter.

⸻

the following days were clouded with doubt. you couldn’t stop thinking about that night—about the way mina had looked at you. was it just your imagination, or was she feeling the same thing you were?

but when you tried to talk to her about it, everything fell apart.

“mina, we need to talk,” you said one afternoon, meeting her after a rehearsal.

“about what?” she asked, her voice light, as if she hadn’t already guessed.

“about us. about what’s going on between us.”

her eyes softened, and she looked down for a moment, clearly considering your words. “i thought we’re fine. aren’t we?”

you swallowed hard. “i don’t think i can do this anymore. i think i’ve caught feelings for you.”

the words felt like they were suffocating you. mina’s face fell, and for a second, you saw something flicker in her eyes—a mix of regret, confusion, and something else.

“oh,” she whispered, stepping back slightly. “i… didn’t realise.”

your heart broke at the distance between you. “didn’t realise? mina, you’ve known this whole time. you’ve always known, haven’t you?”

if you didn’t know her the way you did, you wouldn’t have been able to tell, but her expression faltered, though she quickly masked it. you spent your days reminiscing on how her face felt all over you, how her face curves and dips, yet this face infront of you felt foreign. “i didn’t want to make things complicated. i thought this… this arrangement was enough.”

“but it’s not,” you muttered, feeling the weight of the truth sink into the depth of your bones. “i want more than this, mina.”

she looked at you, her gaze steady but distant, clouded with conflict. “i can’t give you more.”

those words were like a slap in the face. your chest tightened, your breath catching as you tried to hold it together.

“why?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper.

mina hesitated, biting her lip as she gathered her thoughts. “because i’m not ready. and i don’t want to hurt you. i don’t have the time for a relationship, getting in one with me would only damage you more.”

it wasn’t what you wanted to hear. you wanted her to say something that would make everything feel okay again. but the truth hung in the air like an unspoken promise—something that could never be.

“i never meant for it to go this far,” she said softly, her voice tinged with sadness. “but i can’t change what’s happened, and i can’t give you what you want.”

you nodded, a tear slipping down your cheek despite your best efforts to hold it in.

she reached out to cup your face in her left hand, but you stepped back and mina’s stomach tightened, the distance between you growing even wider.

“i’m sorry,” she whispered. “i never wanted to hurt you.”

you could barely bring yourself to speak. “i know.”

with that, she turned and walked away, leaving you standing there, your heart aching as the door closed softly behind her.

⸻

you never saw her the same way again. the arrangement, the late-night kisses, the stolen moments—they all felt like a distant memory, something that could never be reclaimed. mina was still in your life, still in the background, but the intimacy you once shared was gone, replaced by an awkward silence whenever you crossed paths at events, music shows, award shows.

it was the price you paid for catching feelings—falling for someone who could never truly be yours.

and though you had tried to move on, it always stung a little when you thought of her. because no matter how many times you told yourself you’d be okay, you never truly could be. because the friendship you had with mina was never the same, but you couldn’t help but hold onto the pieces, even if they didn’t fit anymore.

⸻

[many months later]

the music was loud, the drinks flowing, and the laughter of the party filled the air. you weren’t supposed to be thinking about her, but the moment you saw mina across the room, it was impossible not to.

she was standing with someone—her girlfriend, you assumed. you had heard through mutual friends that she had started dating someone, and you’d prepared yourself for this moment, convinced yourself it wouldn’t hurt.

but it did.

what made it worse was that you weren’t alone either. your own girlfriend was by your side, holding your hand, whispering something in your ear that you didn’t quite process because your eyes were locked onto mina’s.

she saw you. she saw you with someone else. she saw how giselle’s gaze would drop down to your soft, glossed lips every time you would smile, or talk, or laugh, or anything. she saw how giselle would snake her arm around your waist and pull you down into her lap, giggling with you as your heads accidentally collide. she saw how giselle had you in ways she didn’t.

and she only had herself to blame.

for the briefest moment, something crossed her expression—something dangerously close to envy.

as the night went on, you felt her gaze on you, lingering every time you laughed a little too hard or leaned a little too close to the orange haired girl at your side.

and then, before you knew it, you found yourself alone in the bathroom, pressing against the locked door just as mina’s lips crashed onto yours again.

it was desperate, messy, and entirely wrong, but neither of you pulled away. her hands gripped your waist, pulling you flush against her as your fingers tangled in her hair, the taste of alcohol strong yet still not quite strong enough to overpower the sense of regret lingering between the two of you.

“this is a bad idea,” you whispered against her lips, but you didn’t stop. you couldn’t stop. not when this is something that somehow keeps you up at night yet appears in your dreams as you sleep in the embrace of your girlfriend.

mina only hummed, her breath warm against your skin. “i know.”

your hands were shaking as you held onto her, the weight of everything you had lost crashing down on you all at once. it wasn’t supposed to be like this. you weren’t supposed to still want her.

but you did.

and from the way mina was clinging to you, acrylics digging into your skin, it was clear that she did too.

but nothing had changed.

you both had someone waiting for you outside this door—people who didn’t deserve this. and yet, you couldn’t bring yourself to move.

when you finally pulled away, your heart was hammering in your chest. mina looked at you with something unreadable in her eyes, her fingers still resting against your skin.

“we should go,” you murmured, voice barely steady.

mina nodded, stepping back.

but as you walked out of the bathroom, your lips still tingling from her kiss, you knew one thing for certain.

this wasn’t love. this was a mistake.

but the thirst deep in you could only by quenched by the taste of mina. so was it really a mistake if you’d go crawling back to her every single time?

[arolesbianism]

If I had the freedom of not knowing there is going to be future new lore stuff added to oni I would do unspeakable things to so many of these guys. Or Id just make them normal guys who just sorta exist. Either or.

[urmum-lovesme]

Dad!Rafe and baby Cameron's first laugh...

The big couch in the living room of Tannyhill had become their favourite spot for family time. Their baby girl was stretched out on the soft cushions, kicking her legs happily, her tiny fists waving in the air. Y/n lay on one side of her, propped up on her elbow, her head resting in her hand as she gently wiggled the baby’s foot around in the air playfully, capturing her daughter's attention. Rafe was on the other side, lying on his side with his head resting on his palm, watching his two girls with an easy grin. The late afternoon sun streamed through the windows, casting golden streaks across the room, and the sound of soft baby coos filled the air.

“She’s been kicking like crazy today,” Y/n murmured, her fingers gently brushing over the baby’s tummy. 

“I think she’s practising for her first marathon.”

“What do you mean? She’s gonna be a soccer player like her daddy.”

Rafe chuckled, reaching out to gently poke the baby’s round cheek. Y/n rolled her eyes, but her smile betrayed her amusement. 

“A soccer player? Have you even played since high school?”

“My girl’s got natural talent.”

Rafe rolled his eyes at Y/n playfully before he shot back confidently. The baby let out a tiny, high-pitched squeal, earning both their attention, “She’s clearly disagreeing with you,” Y/n teased, brushing her fingers over the baby’s hand.

Rafe looked down at his daughter with a mock frown as he spoke out, “Oh, yeah?” 

She stared up at him with wide, curious eyes, her little lips forming a tiny ‘o’ as she took in his every move. “Patience, babe. She’s warming up,” Rafe replied, undeterred. He gently lifted their baby’s shirt to expose her soft, round tummy, he leaned forward and rubbed his nose gently against the baby’s belly and blew a loud raspberry. The sound echoed through the room, and while the baby squirmed in surprise, her face remained stubbornly neutral. Y/n giggled, giving him a playful nudge. 

“Guess she’s not impressed by your moves, Rafe.”

“Oh, come on,” Rafe said, feigning offence as he straightened up. “She was totally holding it in, weren't you babygirl? She’s just making daddy work for it.”

“Let me try,” Y/n said, wiggling her fingers toward the baby’s ribs. She leaned in close, her voice soft and sweet as she cooed, “Are you going to laugh for mommy, huh? Are you? Let me see that smile!” She tickled her side gently, but the baby only blinked up at her, lips forming a tiny pout.

Rafe laughed out, “Tough crowd.”

“I don’t know where she gets it from,” Y/n said sarcastically, pretending to glare at him, though the smile on her lips gave her away.

“Alright, tag team it is” 

Rafe declared, leaning in again. The two of them spent the next few minutes trying every trick they could think of- more raspberries, silly faces, exaggerated voices. Every time they thought they were close, the baby would let out a little squeal or a happy coo but stopped short of a full-on laugh. Finally, Rafe flopped back against the couch with an exaggerated groan. 

“She’s making us look bad, babe. We can’t even get our own kid to laugh.”

“She’s just making sure we’re entertained, that’s all, isn't it sweet girl?” 

Y/n hummed softly, leaning down closer to their daughter, her face just inches from the baby’s. She cooed, pressing a tender kiss to the baby’s soft cheek. The baby blinked up at her, a tiny smile tugging at her lips but still no laugh. Y/n smiled at the little almost-grin and pulled back a bit too quickly, not realising Rafe had leaned forward at the same time. The back of her head bumped directly into his face with a light but sudden thud.

“Ah—!” Rafe grunted, leaning back as he rubbed the bridge of his nose with his hand. “Babe, what the—?”

“Oh my god!” Y/n whipped around hand coming up to cover her mouth, wide-eyed. “I’m so sorry! Are you okay?”

Rafe waved her off, though his nose scrunched slightly. The baby, who had been watching them intently, suddenly let out the sweetest, tiniest string of giggles. Both of them froze and looked down at her in surprise.

“No way,” Rafe said, his hand dropping from his nose as a grin spread across his face.

“That’s what it takes, seriously?”

Y/n blinked, a smile tugging at her lips as the baby let out another bubbly little laugh. “I can’t believe it,” she whispered, her voice soft with wonder. 

“Her first laugh…”

“And it’s at my expense,” Rafe added, though he didn’t look the least bit annoyed. Instead, he leaned back down, his nose almost brushing the baby’s. 

“You think that’s funny, huh, little lady?”

The baby cooed in response, her tiny laugh bubbling up again, and Y/n joined in, covering her mouth with her hand as she tried to stop her own giggles. He grinned, leaning down to kiss the baby’s forehead. 

“You’re lucky you’re cute.”

The baby cooed in response, letting out another delighted laugh, and Y/n shook her head fondly, a hum passing her lips again. Rafe smirked, pulling Y/n closer with his free arm.

 “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up both of you.”

Y/n rested her head on his shoulder, her eyes fixed on their baby. "You know, if her laugh already makes me this happy, we’re in trouble when she starts talking."

Rafe chuckled, his hand lightly brushing Y/n’s arm as he said, "When she calls me ‘dada’ first, I’ll try not to rub it in too much, alright?"

Y/n smirked, tilting her head up at him. “Oh, she’s definitely saying ‘mama’ first. I’ll make sure of it.”

Their daughter’s bubbly giggle filled the room again, almost as if she understood their playful exchange. Rafe’s gaze drifted playfully to the girl next to him as he leaned in towards Y/n, his lips meeting hers in a sweet, lingering kiss. His hand gently cradled her jaw, thumb brushing tenderly across her cheek. When they pulled back, his lips curved into a teasing smirk, his voice dropping to a low murmur, 

“We’ll see about that, mama…”

They make me want to cry 😭

[xo100]

Hi! Could I ask Lando with pregnant reader. Like maybe her getting dizzy bc of all the paparazzis and fans surrounding. Maybe angsty. Dunno if you'll like the idea, but I honestly love ur work soo much

Our little miracle - LN4

*:･ﾟ Summary/request: request by anon as you can read above this!

*:･ﾟ Word count: 1244

*:･ﾟ A/N: first of all I want to say sorry for not being so active lately! I’ve been busy with school and work, I didn’t had any time to write! Second I want to say thank you so much anon! I hope you like this story too! If not let me known!

masterlist / community / request

౨ৎ

The late morning sunlight filtered through the curtains, warming the bedroom and casting soft golden streaks on the walls. The gentle hum of the city outside was barely audible over the rhythmic sound of Lando’s breathing beside you. His arm was slung lazily over your waist, his warmth seeping into your skin like a comforting blanket.

You blinked sleepily, turning your head to look at him. His face was still soft with sleep, his hair a wild mess of curls that begged to be smoothed down. He looked so peaceful like this, so completely at ease, and it made your heart ache in the best way.

“Caught you staring,” he mumbled, his voice raspy as his lips curled into a sleepy grin.

“I wasn’t staring,” you lied, your cheeks heating up.

“Sure,” he teased, his eyes still closed. “You’ve been staring at me every morning for the past five years. It’s okay, I’m used to it.”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile gave you away. “Good morning, Lando.”

“Morning,” he said, finally opening his eyes. They were warm and bright, like pools of melted chocolate, and they crinkled at the corners as he smiled at you. “Guess what day it is?”

You blinked, still half-asleep. “Uh… Saturday?”

“Baby shopping day,” he announced, his grin widening.

You couldn’t help but laugh at his enthusiasm. “You’re more excited about this than I am.”

“Of course I am!” he said, propping himself up on one elbow. “We’re picking out stuff for our baby. This is a big deal.”

It was a big deal. After months of trying—months of hope and heartbreak—you were finally here. Fourteen weeks pregnant, your little miracle growing inside you. It still didn’t feel real sometimes, like you were dreaming and could wake up at any moment.

“I still can’t believe this is happening,” you said softly, your hand resting on your small but growing bump.

“It’s happening,” Lando said, covering your hand with his. His eyes softened as he looked at you, his thumb brushing gently over your knuckles. “And I can’t wait to spoil both of you today.”

---

The car ride into the city was filled with laughter and teasing. Lando, as usual, couldn’t resist cracking jokes, trying to lighten the nerves you hadn’t even realized you were feeling.

“Okay, but hear me out,” he said, glancing at you with a mischievous grin. “What if we name the baby after a car? Like… Ferrari Norris. Or McLaren Norris. That’s got a nice ring to it, right?”

You rolled your eyes, laughing. “Absolutely not. Our child is not going to be named after a car brand.”

“Fine,” he said, pretending to pout. “But if they grow up to be a racer, I’m taking full credit for the inspiration.”

The boutique Lando had chosen was tucked away in a quieter part of the city, its window displays filled with pastel-colored baby clothes and wooden toys. The moment you stepped inside, you were greeted by the soft scent of lavender and the faint sound of a lullaby playing over the speakers.

Lando’s eyes lit up as he took in the rows of tiny clothes and baby accessories. “This is it,” he said, grabbing your hand. “This is where we find all the cool stuff.”

You spent the next hour wandering the store, debating over cribs and strollers, laughing as Lando tried to convince you that the baby absolutely needed a mini Formula 1 onesie.

“Come on,” he said, holding it up with a grin. “How cute would they look in this?”

“They’d look adorable,” you admitted, “but they’ll probably outgrow it in a month.”

“Worth it,” he said, tossing it into the shopping basket.

You couldn’t help but smile at his enthusiasm. Seeing him like this—so excited, so ready to dive headfirst into parenthood—made your heart swell with love.

---

By the time you left the store, the sun had climbed higher in the sky, and the streets were bustling with activity. Lando carried the shopping bags in one hand, his other arm wrapped protectively around your shoulders.

You didn’t notice the paparazzi at first.

It started with a few flashes, the sudden brightness making you blink. Then came the voices—shouting questions and calling Lando’s name.

“Lando! Over here!” “How’s the season going?” “Is it true you’re expecting?”

The crowd seemed to grow out of nowhere, fans and photographers swarming around you. The noise was overwhelming, a cacophony of voices and camera clicks that made your head spin.

“Lando,” you said softly, gripping his arm.

He turned to you immediately, his eyes scanning your face. “Hey, are you okay?”

You tried to nod, but the dizziness was already setting in. The flashes, the shouting, the crush of bodies—it was too much.

“I don’t feel…” Your voice trailed off as your vision blurred.

Lando didn’t hesitate. Dropping the shopping bags, he wrapped his arm around your waist, holding you steady. “Alright, that’s enough!” he snapped, his voice sharp and commanding. “Back off! She’s pregnant. Give her some space!”

The crowd faltered, the realization rippling through them. But Lando didn’t wait for them to comply. He guided you away from the chaos, his body shielding yours as he led you down a quieter side street.

“Breathe, love,” he said softly, stopping to face you. His hands cupped your cheeks, his thumbs brushing away the tears that had started to fall. “In and out. I’ve got you.”

You nodded, focusing on his voice, his touch. The dizziness slowly faded, replaced by the steady rhythm of his heartbeat under your palm.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, guilt creeping in. “I ruined our day.”

“Don’t you dare apologize,” Lando said, his tone gentle but firm. “You and the baby come first. Always.”

You managed a weak smile. “Even over baby sneakers?”

“Even over baby sneakers,” he said, grinning. “But just barely.”

---

Back at home, the chaos of the day felt like a distant memory. Lando had insisted on ordering takeout, claiming that you deserved to be spoiled after the ordeal.

As you sat on the couch, surrounded by the shopping bags you’d managed to bring home, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of peace. Lando was in the kitchen, humming softly as he poured you a glass of water.

“Here you go,” he said, handing it to you before sitting down beside you. His hand immediately found its way to your stomach, resting there gently.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice soft.

“I’m okay,” you said, covering his hand with yours. “Thanks to you.”

He smiled, leaning in to press a kiss to your temple. “I can’t wait to meet them,” he said quietly, his voice filled with wonder.

“Me too,” you whispered, leaning into him.

For a while, the two of you sat in comfortable silence, the only sounds the faint hum of the city outside and the occasional rustle of the shopping bags.

“You know,” Lando said after a moment, “I meant what I said earlier. You and the baby come first. Always.”

You turned to look at him, your heart swelling with love. “I know,” you said. “And I love you for it.”

“I love you too,” he said, his eyes shining with emotion. “More than anything.”

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the room in a warm, golden glow, you realized that no matter what challenges lay ahead, you and Lando would face them together.

And that was all that mattered.

౨ৎ

*:･ﾟ Notes; thank you for reading, love’s! Hope you all enjoyed it! If there is something wrong or need to be edited, let me know!

*:･ﾟtags; @gridprincess-04 , @justaf1girl

[santaasi]

obviously blind

pairing: james potter x bsf!fem!reader

summary: for years, james potter thought he was chasing love. sirius black knew better — he’d been holding it all along.

warnings: fluff fluff fluff, friends to lovers, idiots in love, james calls reader love, no use of y/n, english isn’t my first language

word count: 11.3k

a/n: it was probably the longest idea to write and edit. i rewrote every moment a bunch of times trying to bring it all to perfection. therefore, this time I hope more than ever that you will like it and you will support me with a like, comment or reblog. have a nice time reading this work! love u <3

ᯓ★ now playing…

slaves – footprints

You left your mark on me like footprints in the snow

Would you promise me you'll never let me go

November 15, 1971 My dear best friend, Hogwarts is brilliant! You should see the castle; it’s massive, with these moving staircases that sometimes take you to places you didn’t even mean to go! I tried to get to Charms class last week and ended up in the Trophy Room instead. Sirius says it’s part of the fun, and I’m starting to agree. Speaking of fun, I made a new friend! His name’s Sirius Black, and he’s a bit of a troublemaker like me. Don’t tell Mum, but we might’ve let some Filibuster’s Fireworks off in the Great Hall during lunch. The teachers were furious, but the look on their faces was worth it. How’s Beauxbatons? Is it true your castle is magical in a totally different way? Sirius said something about unicorns roaming the grounds. Is that real? Write me everything—I want to know what it’s like over there. Hope you’re having as much fun as I am.  Forever yours, Jamie

SIRIUS BLACK WAS UTTERLY SPENT. Not the charming, rakish kind of spent he might brag about after a late night of mischief, but truly, completely, soul-drainingly done. The journey to the Potter family cottage, which should have been a brisk jaunt, had turned into a Herculean trial. Blame the snowstorm that had swept through magical London like some vengeful Norse curse, burying everything in its path under heaps of frosty misery.

It started with a delayed train — no, not delayed, imprisoned. Sirius and James were already aboard when the announcement came, trapping them in a stuffy carriage surrounded by loudly complaining wizards and at least one crying baby. And because the universe clearly found Sirius’ misery entertaining, the train came to a jolting halt halfway to their destination, snow packing the tracks so thickly that it took hours of magical clearing before they moved again.

When they finally arrived at the station, they discovered that Mr. Potter, their much-needed savior with a warm car and a better attitude than either of them, had been delayed at work. Thus, Sirius and James were left to trudge through the snow-laden countryside, dragging their trunks behind them, with James’ endless chatter about Lily Evans ringing in Sirius’ ears like a persistent curse.

“Her smile, Padfoot,” James had sighed dreamily at least seventeen times, his glasses fogging up as if even thinking about Lily caused them to malfunction. “And the way she tucks her hair behind her ear when she’s concentrating—”

By the sixteenth sigh, Sirius had been sorely tempted to shove a fistful of snow into James’ face. By the seventeenth, he was mentally composing a list of Unforgivable Curses and ranking them by efficiency. Yet, even as he grumbled under his breath, Sirius couldn’t bring himself to abandon the trek. The Potters were the closest thing he had to a family, and spending Christmas anywhere else — no matter how dire the journey — was unthinkable.

When they finally reached the Potter home, Sirius didn’t so much step inside as collapse into it. He shoved the front door open with the dramatic flair of a man escaping death itself and sprawled across the polished wooden floor like a martyr for his own cause. His trunk fell beside him with a satisfying thud.

“Home at last,” he groaned, voice muffled against the rug. “Tell me, Prongs, do they serve last rites before cinnamon rolls, or do we skip straight to the feast?”

The cottage, of course, was as warm and welcoming as Sirius remembered. Strings of fairy lights twinkled across the beams, casting a cozy glow of red, gold, and green. A holly wreath hung crookedly on the wall — lil’James’ handiwork, no doubt — and the scent of pine mingled with the tantalizing aroma of cinnamon, butter, and something sweet. Sirius’ stomach growled audibly.

“Oi, shut it, you ungrateful mutt,” James shot back with a grin, though Sirius could see his friend’s eyes darting toward the kitchen. “You’re embarrassing us in front of the wreath.”

James hadn’t even set his trunk down before a figure appeared in the doorway.

At first, Sirius barely registered her presence. He was too busy muttering about the injustice of underage magic restrictions. But then — oh, then — she stepped fully into view.

A girl.

Not just any girl, but you.

You moved with a kind of quiet confidence that Sirius instantly clocked, your steps unhurried, your presence undeniable. The golden glow of the fairy lights danced across your hair, giving it a shimmer that seemed almost unreal. You were wrapped in a deep blue jumper — Sirius realized this after a moment’s brain lag — and your cheeks were rosy, likely from the heat of the kitchen.

You carried a tray of steaming cinnamon rolls, the scent of melted sugar and spice trailing after you like some kind of domestic enchantment. Sirius’ mouth went dry, and for the first time in years, he was at a loss for words.

“Well,” he managed after a beat, hauling himself upright and trying for a semblance of decorum. “Now I see why you were so keen to come home, Prongs. You’ve got cinnamon-roll-bearing angels dropping out of the sky.”

You laughed, soft and melodic, the sound so unguarded it seemed to wrap the room in warmth. Sirius couldn’t help but notice the way your lips curled into a smile that was equal parts inviting and mysterious.

“Hello to you too, Sirius,” you said, your voice carrying a familiarity that made his ears perk up.

Sirius blinked. Wait. Of course. This wasn’t some celestial being summoned to his rescue; this was James’ childhood best friend. The one James had vaguely mentioned — just a handful of times over the years, always in passing and with a strange softness that Sirius hadn’t thought to question before.

And yet, here you were. In the flesh. Standing in the middle of the Potters’ living room with a tray of baked goods and a smile that Sirius suspected had the power to stop traffic.

“Well, well, Jamie-boy,” Sirius drawled, nudging James with his elbow and watching his friend with amused curiosity. “You never told me the famous cinnamon-roll angel was also — what’s the word? Ah, yes — real.”

You raised an eyebrow at Sirius’ antics, though your smile didn’t falter. Instead, you glanced toward James, who looked like he’d been hit with a Confundus Charm.

Sirius smirked. “James, mate, you alright? You’ve gone all... slack-jawed.”

But James wasn’t paying him any attention. His hazel eyes were locked on you, wide and brimming with something Sirius couldn’t quite place. He watched as James' gaze traced over the streak of flour smudged on your cheek, the stray strands of hair escaping from your ponytail, and the red apron dusted with flour and cinnamon.

Sirius almost snorted aloud. This was the James Potter who couldn’t shut up about Lily Evans — the boy who spent half his waking hours plotting ways to win her over. And yet, here he was, staring at you like you’d just descended from the heavens.

“Jamie,” you said softly, setting the tray down on the nearby table.

It was just one word, but the way you said it — warm, tender, and utterly unguarded — sent a jolt through Sirius.

Before he could process what was happening, James crossed the room in a few long strides and swept you into his arms. You squealed in surprise, and the sound was pure delight, echoing off the walls.

Sirius blinked, startled. The way James held you — hands firm on your waist, his head dipping into the crook of your neck — wasn’t friendly, not by a long shot. Sirius had known James since he was eleven years old, had seen him charm and flirt with half of Hogwarts, but he had never seen this.

“Missed me, Jamie?” you teased, your fingers slipping into his unruly hair with the kind of ease that spoke of years of familiarity.

“Always,” James murmured, so quietly Sirius barely caught it.

“Bloody hell,” Sirius muttered under his breath.

He glanced around the room, half-expecting someone to explain this baffling scene, but it was just him, James, and you, wrapped up in some intimate little bubble that made Sirius feel like an intruder.

James murmured something into your shoulder — too soft for Sirius to catch — and you laughed, your voice light and unrestrained. The sound pulled James’ head up, and Sirius couldn’t miss the way his eyes traced your face with a kind of devotion Sirius had only read about in sappy romance novels.

It was then that the memories began to click into place. The scattered mentions over the years, the odd tone James always took when he talked about you. “She’s not like anyone else, Padfoot. She just gets it.” Or that one summer when James had come back to Hogwarts looking utterly miserable and wouldn’t explain why. Sirius had teased him about it for weeks, thinking it was Lily-related. But now, seeing the way James looked at you...

“Wait a minute,” Sirius blurted, his grin widening as realization dawned. “You’re the one. The one he’s always sneaking off to write letters to, the one he’s all secretive about.”

James shot him a glare, his cheeks burning bright red.

“Padfoot—”

“—the one who sent him that hideous scarf last Christmas!” Sirius continued, thoroughly enjoying himself now. “I knew there had to be someone. Prongs doesn’t just get that moony-eyed look over just anyone.”

You laughed again, covering your face with your hands, while James muttered something about strangling Sirius later.

Before Sirius could needle him further, the kitchen door creaked open, and Euphemia Potter swept into the room. She was radiant as always, her cheeks rosy from the cold, her dark hair streaked with silver. Her eyes lit up the moment she saw James.

“There’s my boy!” she exclaimed, pulling him into a tight hug before he could even attempt to protest.

“Hi, Mum,” James mumbled, his voice muffled against her shoulder.

Euphemia pulled back, cupping his face in her hands as though memorizing every detail. “It’s been too long, Jamie. Too long. You’re far too skinny — have you been eating properly at school? And what have you done with your hair?”

James groaned, though his smile was fond.

Then her eyes fell on Sirius, and the warmth in her expression grew tenfold.

“Sirius, my dear,” she said, moving toward him with open arms. “I’m so glad you’re home, too.”

Sirius froze for a moment, caught off guard. He wasn’t used to this — the genuine affection, the way Euphemia made him feel like he belonged.

When her arms wrapped around him, the embrace firm and filled with love, Sirius felt an odd lump form in his throat. He couldn’t help but think of his own mother’s cold, perfunctory hugs, her disdainful gaze, and the way her affection always felt like a transaction.

“You’ve grown even handsomer,” Euphemia said, pulling back to study him. “Fleamont’s going to be jealous.”

Sirius managed a crooked grin, the lump in his throat still stubbornly there. “That’s the goal, Mrs. Potter. Keep him on his toes.”

Euphemia laughed, her eyes twinkling, before cupping his cheek briefly. “You’re family now, Sirius. Never forget that.”

Satisfied, Euphemia turned her attention to you. Her face softened even more, and she reached out to squeeze your hands. “Oh, there you are, dear. I was wondering where my helper had gone. The mince pies won’t bake themselves, you know”

You shot James a quick, playful glance before following Euphemia toward the door. “I’ll be back in a bit,” you said, your smile lingering. 

As Mrs. Potter ushered you toward the door to finish the pies, Sirius remained rooted to the spot. The warmth from her hug lingered, and for a fleeting moment, he thought of how lucky James was to have parents like that — and how lucky he was to have stumbled into their lives.

James watched you leave, his gaze following you until you were out of sight. Sirius couldn’t help but laugh.

“Mate,” he said, clapping James on the shoulder. “You’re a goner.”

James huffed, shoving him away, but the goofy grin on his face was impossible to hide.

And Sirius? Sirius couldn’t wait to see how this played out.

July 2, 1973 My Love, Summer’s only just started, and I can’t wait to see you. Mum’s already planning another one of her “legendary” tea parties, which means she’ll fuss over you endlessly. You’ll smile politely and charm her like always, and she’ll end up spoiling you with biscuits to take back to Beauxbatons. I’ve got so much to tell you. Sirius and I found this secret passageway that leads straight to Hogsmeade. We’ve been practicing spells to make it even harder for Filch to find us. Remus is shaking his head, but I think he secretly loves our schemes. Oh, and Lily—she’s still brilliant. She’s got the most incredible laugh. But you, my love, I bet your laugh would still outshine hers any day.

Do you still walk in those Beauxbatons gardens at sunset? I can imagine you there, glowing in the soft light. It suits you. Write me back quickly, won’t you? The days are always better when I hear from you. Forever yours, Jamie

SIRIUS BLACK HAD ALWAYS KNOWN JAMES POTTER WAS A TACTILE PERSON. James spoke fluently in the language of touch — claps on the back that lingered just a second too long, overly enthusiastic shoulder bumps that almost knocked you off your feet, and the occasional arm slung around your shoulders like he was staking a claim. But this? This was something else entirely.

It wasn’t just the way James touched you. It was the way he seemed to orbit you, like some lovesick moon drawn to its planet. Wherever you were, James was never far behind — hovering, grinning, completely and utterly besotted without even realizing it. And for someone so allegedly brilliant, he was astoundingly stupid about it.

Sirius noticed it within minutes of their arrival at the Potter cottage for the holidays. As the snow settled outside, so did James — right beside you, always beside you. If you were arranging the flowers Euphemia had insisted on, James was there offering suggestions like he’d suddenly become an expert on floral arrangements. If you were curled up in the drawing room with a book, James was sprawled across the nearest sofa, pretending to read but actually just watching you out of the corner of his eye like some hopeless romantic idiot in a badly written Muggle novel.

Sirius had been rolling his eyes so much, they were practically stuck in the back of his head.

THE SECOND MORNING WAS WHEN THINGS REALLY CLICKED. Sirius had woken up earlier than usual — a rare and uncomfortable event for him. He had no plans to do anything productive, of course, but the faint sound of footsteps in the hallway intrigued him. Padding out of his room, he peeked around the corner just in time to see James sneaking toward the kitchen.

Naturally, Sirius followed. He found James standing at the counter, sleeves rolled up like some kind of domestic god, arranging breakfast with the precision of someone preparing an offering to Merlin himself. There was a plate of toast with cream cheese and thinly sliced avocado, a bowl of berries that looked like they’d been picked by woodland elves, and a steaming cup of coffee. The smell alone was enough to make Sirius reconsider his usual disdain for mornings.

“Fancy,” Sirius said, leaning lazily against the doorframe, voice still scratchy from sleep.

James jumped slightly but recovered quickly, flashing Sirius a sheepish grin. “Morning, Pads. Coffee’s on the counter.”

Sirius eyed the tray suspiciously. “Is this for you, or is it for your favorite person in the world aka me?”

James’s ears turned pink. “It’s for her,” he admitted, almost bashfully, like he hadn’t just spent ten minutes crafting the most meticulous breakfast Sirius had ever seen.

“Of course it is,” Sirius muttered with a smirk, grabbing a mug for himself. “You realize this is bordering on embarrassing, yeah?”

James shot him a look, but before he could respond, you appeared in the doorway, still looking half-asleep. Your hair was mussed, and the oversized jumper you’d borrowed from James was slipping off one shoulder, but you somehow managed to look effortlessly radiant. Sirius rolled his eyes again.

“Morning, love,” James said, his voice soft and warm in a way Sirius had never heard before.

“Morning, Jamie,” you mumbled, your voice thick with sleep as you shuffled into the kitchen.

James practically tripped over himself to hand you the coffee. Sirius watched, amused, as James’s fingers brushed yours in the exchange, his entire face lighting up like someone had cast Lumos Maxima directly on it.

You took a long sip of the coffee, humming in contentment. “Perfect, as always,” you murmured, looking up at James with a sleepy smile that could have melted a Dementor.

And then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, you leaned up and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek.

Sirius nearly choked on his coffee. He wasn’t sure what was more painful — the nauseating sweetness of the moment or the fact that neither of you seemed to realize how completely ridiculous you were.

“Right, well, I’ll just... leave you two to it,” Sirius said, waving his mug in mock surrender as he backed out of the room. “Try not to get married while I’m gone.”

“Shut up, Sirius,” James called after him, but the way his voice wavered slightly betrayed his embarrassment.

By the time Sirius reached the living room, Euphemia and Fleamont were already seated by the fireplace, exchanging knowing glances like they’d seen this coming a mile away.

“Is he making her breakfast again?” Euphemia asked with a smile that was far too pleased for Sirius’s liking.

“Every detail,” Sirius confirmed, sinking into an armchair. “I’m starting to think he’s auditioning for Witch Weekly’s ‘Most Devoted Boyfriend’ feature.”

“Don’t tease him too much,” Euphemia said with a chuckle. “He’s just like his father was with me.”

“Merlin, it’s contagious,” Sirius groaned, dramatically throwing an arm over his face. “If I start acting like that, someone put me out of my misery.”

But even as he joked, Sirius couldn’t help but smile. Because for all his teasing, it was obvious to anyone with eyes that James was hopelessly gone for you. And judging by the way you looked at him, Sirius had a feeling the feeling was mutual — even if neither of you was bright enough to figure it out.

AND THEN THERE WERE THE SMALL, INTIMATE TOUCHES SIRIUS COULDN’T IGNORE, no matter how much he wanted to. James’s hand resting on the small of your back as he guided you through a doorway, like you might somehow lose your way without him. The way his fingers traced lazy patterns on your knee under the dinner table, as though the contact grounded him. Or how he’d tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his touch lingering just long enough to make Sirius roll his eyes and fight back a gag.

It was maddening to watch, really. Not because Sirius minded the affection — no, James deserved a bit of softness in his life, and you were undeniably good for him. It was maddening because you were both so oblivious. James was a goner, sure, but you weren’t far behind. Every time you leaned into his touch, smiled up at him like he hung the stars, or called him Jamie in that soft, teasing tone, it was like watching two wizards tiptoe around a cauldron, waiting for it to explode.

One evening, as the three of you lounged in the living room, the dynamic was on full display. The Potters had insisted on a family movie night — Euphemia’s idea, of course, because family time was important. Sirius couldn’t say no to the fire roaring in the hearth, the massive bowl of popcorn, and the ridiculous Muggle Christmas film flickering on the screen. But as the minutes passed, he started to regret not escaping upstairs.

James had situated himself squarely in the middle of the sofa, with you tucked neatly under his arm. His hand played absently with the ends of your hair, fingers twisting the strands like he didn’t even realize he was doing it. You had your legs curled beneath you, leaning into him with the kind of comfort Sirius had only ever seen in old couples who had been together for decades. James pressed a kiss to your temple, murmuring something Sirius couldn’t quite catch.

It was unbearable.

“Oi, lovebirds,” Sirius interrupted, launching a piece of popcorn at James. It hit him square in the forehead, a small but satisfying victory. “Some of us are trying to watch the movie without choking on all this sap.”

You burst into laughter, sitting up just enough to toss a handful of popcorn back at him. “You’re just jealous, Black.”

“Jealous? Me?” Sirius placed a hand over his chest, mock-offended. “Of what, exactly? Watching James Potter transform into a human puddle before my very eyes? No thanks. I’ll pass.”

James didn’t even flinch. He just grinned, looking every bit the lovesick fool he was. “You’ll get it one day, Pads,” he said with infuriating calm.

Sirius snorted, grabbing a handful of popcorn and tossing it into his mouth. “Right. Because what I’m really missing in my life is the chance to turn into that.” He gestured at the two of you with a dramatic wave of his hand.

But despite his teasing, Sirius couldn’t ignore the warmth spreading in his chest as he watched the scene unfold. James, the arrogant, Quidditch-obsessed, devil-may-care prankster he’d known all his life, was utterly, completely, hopelessly in love. And the worst — or perhaps best — part? He didn’t even seem to realize it.

BY THE END OF THESE COUPLE OF DAYS VACK AT THE POTTER COTTAGE, SIRIUS KNEW. James Potter wasn’t in love with Lily Evans — not really, not anymore and maybe not ever. He was in love with you. It wasn’t in the dramatic declarations Sirius had once teased James about making to Lily. No, this was quieter, deeper. It was in the way James’s gaze softened whenever you spoke, like he couldn’t believe you were real. In the way his hand always seemed to find yours, even when there was no need for it. And in the way his entire being lit up when you smiled at him.

And you? You weren’t much better. You laughed at his terrible jokes, poked fun at him with an ease Sirius envied, and looked at James like he was the center of the universe. It was so obvious it made Sirius want to scream.

“This isn’t normal, you know,” Sirius said later that night, cornering James in the kitchen as he made tea.

“What’s not normal?” James asked, far too casually for Sirius’s liking.

“You and her. You’re not just friends. Stop pretending you are.”

James frowned, his brow furrowing in confusion. “We are just friends. She’s my best mate, Pads. You know that.”

Sirius laughed, loud and sharp, shaking his head. “Oh, Prongsie. You’re an idiot.”

“Am not,” James shot back, but there was a flicker of doubt in his voice.

Sirius leaned back against the counter, crossing his arms. “If you’re just friends, then I’m a unicorn. Face it, Potter — you’re in love.”

James opened his mouth, probably to argue, but then you walked into the room, yawning and looking for all the world like you belonged there. James’s expression softened immediately, his gaze lingering on you like you were the only thing that mattered.

Sirius didn’t say another word. He didn’t need to.

Because James Potter was already lost, and for once, Sirius didn’t mind watching his best mate fall.

March 30, 1975

My Love, It’s been ages since your last letter, and I miss you like mad. Exams are coming up, and I’m hopeless at concentrating without your words to keep me sane. The Marauders are in full swing, though—our latest adventure involved sneaking a swamp into one of the corridors. Filch is still grumbling about it. I told you before how Lily has the most beautiful laugh, right? Well, I think she might finally be warming up to me. I’m playing it cool, but honestly, every time she looks at me, I feel like a kid with a new broomstick. And yet... you’re still the one I write to when I want to share everything. Funny, isn’t it? How’s the ballet going? I remember you mentioned your school recital. I wish I could see you dance. You’d be like a dream on stage, graceful and bright. Maybe one day. Forever yours, Jamie

SIRIUS BLACK WASN’T ONE TO BELIEVE IN LOVE — not the kind spun into poetry or whispered in secret corners of libraries. Sweet words, fleeting touches, long glances… all of it sounded like an elaborate prank. A fantasy created by people who hadn’t tasted the bitterness of the world.

How could anyone believe in love when raised in a house where affection was a weapon and the family motto might as well have been stab first, smile later? The Black family had given Sirius many things: wealth, privilege, and a last name dripping in infamy. But love? That was a foreign concept, spoken in a dialect he’d never been taught.

And yet, Sirius Black — child of darkness and rebellion — had found light. That light had a name: James Potter. From the moment James had barreled into Sirius’s life, grinning like the sun itself, everything had shifted. James had yanked him out of the shadows and dragged him into a world Sirius didn’t know existed — a world filled with warmth, laughter, and actual hugs.

It wasn’t just James, though. It was the whole bloody Potter family. Euphemia and Fleamont were like characters out of a Muggle holiday film. Euphemia, with her soft, unrelenting affection, had made it her personal mission to drown Sirius in love and sweaters. Fleamont’s laughter could fill a room, a deep, belly-shaking sound that warmed Sirius from the inside out. Together, they moved through the world as though their love was an unshakable force, a steady undercurrent in every shared look and word.

“Darling,” Fleamont would call from across the kitchen, leaning over the counter with a newspaper in hand.

“Yes, Fleamont?” Euphemia would reply, her smile soft and teasing as she stirred whatever heavenly dish she was making.

Never by name. Always darling.

Still, if love like that was rare, James bloody Potter seemed hell-bent on stumbling into it without even realizing.

James and you had been dancing around each other for years, so oblivious it was borderline painful. Sirius sometimes wondered if you two were practicing for a comedy sketch, the way you acted like best mates while exuding the kind of tension that could make a Dementor blush. If Sirius had a Galleon for every time James looked at you like you were the only person in the room, he could have bought his own Quidditch team by now. And he's only been watching you for a couple of days.

IT WAS THE FOURT DAY OF HIS CHRISTMAS STAY AT THE POTTER HOME, and the dynamic was impossible to ignore. You and James were practically inseparable, moving through the house like two planets caught in the same orbit. You helped Euphemia with the decorations while James carried boxes of ornaments up from the cellar, always hovering nearby like he was afraid you might vanish if he looked away.

“You know,” Sirius said, leaning casually against the doorway, “most people don’t need to supervise someone hanging tinsel.”

James didn’t even glance back. “She’s not most people, Pads.”

Sirius groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “For Merlin’s sake, just marry her already.”

James froze, an ornament dangling from his hand. “What are you on about? We’re just friends.”

“Sure, and I’m a Muggle,” Sirius shot back, rolling his eyes.

You, blissfully unaware of the conversation, turned from where you were perched on a stepstool. “What are you two arguing about now?”

“Nothing,” James said quickly, his cheeks tinged pink. “Sirius is just being Sirius.”

“That’s never good,” you teased, smirking at Sirius.

“Oi! I’ll have you know I’m delightful company.” Sirius crossed his arms, feigning offense. “But if you’re not careful, pretty, you’ll end up trapped in Potter’s web of undying devotion.”

You raised an eyebrow, stepping down from the stool. “Potter’s web of what now?”

James shot Sirius a warning glare, but Sirius just grinned. “Oh, nothing. Just that James here is—”

“Hungry!” James interrupted, loudly and awkwardly. “Right, Pads? Didn’t you say you were starving?”

Sirius barked a laugh, shaking his head as James practically shoved him out of the room. “Subtle as ever, Prongs.”

From Sirius’s vantage point, it was painfully obvious. James was hopelessly, stupidly in love with you. And you? You weren’t much better. The way you smiled at him, teased him, trusted him without question — it was all the evidence Sirius needed. And yet, you were both blissfully, idiotically unaware.

One evening, as Sirius sprawled on the sofa in the Potters’ living room, he couldn’t help but notice the way you and James interacted. You were sitting cross-legged on the floor, rifling through a box of Christmas decorations Euphemia had set out.

“Jamie, hand me the gold bauble,” you said, tossing him a quick glance over your shoulder.

James, who had been half-heartedly untangling a string of lights, immediately perked up. “Which one?”

You rolled your eyes, a smile tugging at your lips. “The one in your hand, genius.”

James laughed, tossing it gently toward you. It missed entirely, landing with a soft thud on the carpet.

“Good aim, Prongs,” Sirius drawled from his spot on the couch. “Truly inspiring.”

“Shut it, Padfoot,” James shot back, but his grin never faltered. He turned to you, sheepish. “Sorry, love.”

Love. Sirius didn’t miss the way the word slipped out so naturally, like James had been saying it his whole life. And he definitely didn’t miss the way your cheeks flushed as you ducked your head, pretending to focus on the decorations.

LATER THAT EVENING, SIRIUS FOUND HIMSELF LAYING ON THE SOFA IN THE LIVING ROOM AGAIN (it probably was his favorite place in the house by now), a book abandoned on his chest as he watched Euphemia and Fleamont dancing in the kitchen once, a slow, swaying movement that didn’t match the upbeat Muggle music crackling from the wireless. Euphemia had rested her head on Fleamont’s chest, his arms wrapped around her like it was the only place in the world she belonged. It wasn’t dramatic or flashy — just simple and unshakable. And it made Sirius ache in ways he didn’t understand.

And a moment later they were in the same kitchen, preparing tea and laughing softly as they worked.

“Darling, pass me the sugar, would you?” Fleamont said, his voice warm and affectionate.

Euphemia handed him the sugar bowl without looking up, her smile soft. “Here you go, darlin'.”

It was the kind of exchange that Sirius might have mocked once. But now, as he watched the way Fleamont leaned in to kiss Euphemia’s cheek, or how she swatted him away with a laugh when he tried to sneak a biscuit, he felt something unfamiliar tugging at his chest.

“They’re sickeningly sweet, aren’t they?”

Sirius turned to see you standing in the doorway, a mug of hot chocolate in your hands.

“They are,” he admitted, sitting up and motioning for you to join him. “But it’s sort of... nice. In a vomit-inducing way.”

You laughed, settling beside him. “I think it’s lovely. They’re so in tune with each other, you know? Like they’ve been dancing to the same song for decades.”

Sirius tilted his head, watching you as you spoke. “And what about you?”

“What about me?”

“Do you want that? The whole ‘dancing to the same song’ thing?”

You hesitated, your fingers tracing the rim of your mug. “I don’t know. I suppose it would be nice, but... I’m not sure it’s in the cards for me.”

Sirius frowned. “Why not?”

You shrugged, a wistful smile tugging at your lips. “Because my dance partner’s too busy tripping over his own feet to notice I’m right here.”

Sirius stared at you, his mind racing. Did you mean James? Surely you meant James. But before he could say anything, James walked in, ruffling his hair like he always did.

“Alright, what are you two plotting?”

“World domination,” Sirius replied without missing a beat. “Want in?”

James grinned, flopping onto the sofa and immediately throwing an arm around your shoulders. “Always.”

Sirius watched as you leaned into James, your head resting against his shoulder. James turned to look at you, his expression soft and unguarded.

And that’s when Sirius knew — again, because he seemed to be realizing this every ten minutes — just how much trouble you two were in.

DAYS LATER, SIRIUS WAS STANDING BY THE WINDOW OF THE POTTER COTTAGE, a steaming mug of hot chocolate warming his hands. The world outside was a vision of winter — snow blanketed the ground in pristine white, the trees bowed under its weight, and the air held a sharp, crystalline stillness. Inside, the house was alive with warmth: the crackle of the fire, the gentle hum of Euphemia’s humming, and Fleamont’s cheerful banter as he set up a chessboard by the hearth.

But Sirius wasn’t watching any of that. His attention was fixed on the two figures trudging down the snow-covered path just beyond the window.

You and James walked side by side, your mittened hands brushing against each other with the kind of unconscious familiarity that spoke volumes. The path ahead glittered in the weak afternoon sun, the frost catching the light like scattered diamonds. Clouds of breath curled into the frosty air as you laughed at something James said, the sound clear and bright, even from a distance.

Sirius couldn’t hear the words, but he didn’t need to. He saw everything in the way James turned his head toward you, his face lit with the sort of joy that was impossible to fake.

Then it happened — your foot slipped on a patch of hidden ice. Sirius’s grip on his mug tightened for half a heartbeat, but James was already there. His hand shot out, steadying you before you could fall, as if the world might crumble if he didn’t catch you in time.

“Careful there, love,” James said, his voice carrying easily through the crisp winter air.

You laughed, brushing snow from your coat as your cheeks turned pink — not just from the cold, Sirius was sure. “You’d think I’d have learned how to walk by now.”

James grinned, tugging you a little closer to his side. “Good thing you’ve got me.”

“Good thing indeed,” you replied, your eyes crinkling at the corners, your voice soft and full of affection.

And then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, James reached out to brush a stray snowflake from your hair. His fingers lingered for just a moment, his expression open and unguarded, filled with something so pure that Sirius had to look away for a second.

It wasn’t the first time Sirius had seen that look on James’s face. It was the same quiet, awestruck gaze he’d noticed a thousand times when James thought no one was watching. But seeing it now, against the backdrop of snow and laughter, it struck Sirius like a Bludger to the chest.

That’s how Fleamont looked at Euphemia, Sirius realized. He’d seen it that very morning, when Euphemia had walked into the kitchen with a sleepy smile and Fleamont had paused mid-sentence, his face lighting up as if she were the sunrise itself.

Sirius took a long sip of his hot chocolate, the sweetness of it sharp against the lump forming in his throat. He muttered to himself, a small smile tugging at his lips, “Never by name. Always love.”

“What are you smiling about, Sirius?” Euphemia’s voice broke the quiet, warm and curious. She stood in the doorway, wiping her hands on a tea towel.

He turned, raising his mug in a mock toast. “Oh, nothing, Mrs. P. Just watching James make a right fool of himself in the snow. Again.”

Euphemia chuckled, stepping closer to peer out the window. Her gaze softened as she spotted you and James, now engaged in some sort of playful shoving match, James clearly letting you win.

“Hopeless,” Sirius added, shaking his head.

“Like father, like son,” Euphemia said with a knowing smile.

Sirius huffed a laugh. “Yeah. Exactly like that.”

They stood in companionable silence for a moment, watching the scene outside. Sirius’s gaze lingered on James’s hand as it rested on your shoulder, the ease of the gesture speaking louder than words.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, Sirius allowed himself to believe. Not just in the love he saw in James’s face or the easy affection between Fleamont and Euphemia. But in the idea that maybe—just maybe—love wasn’t the cruel, twisted thing his family had tried to make him believe.

Maybe love, real love, was something entirely different.

November 27, 1976

My Jamie, Winter has settled over Beauxbatons, and the mountains are kissed with snow. I wish you could see how the frost sparkles on the trees. I think of you often, imagining the mischief you’re up to at Hogwarts. I heard you’re Quidditch Captain now — congratulations! I can already picture you soaring through the air, the wind in your hair and that unstoppable grin. You were born to lead, Jamie, and I’m so proud of you. Your mum wrote me again last week. She’s sent another scarf, this one in Gryffindor colors. She says it’ll keep me close to you. It does, in a way — I wrap it around myself when I miss you most. Do you think of me as much as I think of you? You’re my constant, my warmth on the coldest days. Soon it’ll be Christmas, and we’ll have the stars and endless nights to talk about everything. Until then, stay safe, my Jamie. Forever yours, Love

THE CHRISTMAS CHAOS AT THE POTTER HOUSE STARTED BEFORE SIRIUS EVEN HAD A CHANCE TO GRUMBLE ABOUT THE HOUR. The sun wasn’t up yet, but Fleamont Potter most certainly was, barreling into James’s room with the energy of a man half his age. Before Sirius could properly complain — or hide under the covers — he and James were unceremoniously hauled to the garage. Their mission? Assembling the absurdly large Christmas table that Euphemia insisted on every year.

Sirius swore under his breath, wrestling with the oversized wooden monstrosity. “You know,” he grumbled, glaring at James, “if your parents had just gone for a nice, normal-sized table, we wouldn’t be out here freezing our—”

“Language, Sirius!” Fleamont interrupted cheerfully, though there was a definite glint of amusement in his eyes.

Sirius rolled his eyes but complied, though only because Euphemia’s kitchen smelled like heaven, and he was determined to earn his way to a plate of whatever was roasting in the oven.

Inside, the house was a picture of festive perfection: holly strung along the bannisters, twinkling fairy lights glowing softly in the corners, and a wireless by the fireplace playing carols just loud enough to make Sirius hum along when no one was listening. Euphemia’s soft laughter echoed from the kitchen, mingling with yours as the two of you prepared a feast fit for kings — or in this case, a house full of Marauders.

And James? Well, James wasn’t himself.

Sirius noticed it almost immediately. His best mate was usually a hurricane of enthusiasm during the holidays, cracking jokes, sneaking sweets from the kitchen, and generally making a nuisance of himself. But today, James kept glancing toward the kitchen like a puppy waiting for its owner to come home.

The idiot was besotted.

Every time your laughter drifted into the room, James’s head whipped around like he was under some sort of spell. If you so much as said his name, he’d stop mid-sentence, his eyes lighting up like the Christmas tree in the corner. Sirius would’ve teased him mercilessly if it weren’t so... obvious. Painfully, ridiculously obvious.

LATER THAT AFTERNOON, WHEN JAMES AND FLEAMONT HAD VANISHED TO THE GARAGE — probably to charm something they had no business charming — Sirius found himself tasked with tidying up James’s room. He grumbled the whole time, of course. Cleaning wasn’t his style, and James’s room was a disaster zone: Quidditch magazines spilling off the desk, parchment crumpled in corners, and socks scattered in ways that defied the laws of physics.

“Honestly, Prongs,” Sirius muttered, holding up a suspiciously stiff sock with the tips of his fingers. “How are you supposed to woo Evans — or anyone, for that matter — when your room smells like the wrong end of a hippogriff?”

As he moved to clear a particularly cluttered shelf, a box caught his eye. It was tucked in the far corner, partially hidden behind an old textbook. Sirius raised an eyebrow. Anything stashed away like that was bound to be interesting. With a mischievous grin, he reached for it, only for the entire thing to tumble off the shelf, spilling its contents across the floor.

“Bloody hell,” he swore, crouching to pick up the mess. His hand froze mid-reach when he realized what had fallen out: letters. Dozens of them, bundled in ribbons of various colors.

Sirius sat back on his heels, eyeing the pile. His curiosity, as always, got the better of him. With a glance at the door to ensure James wasn’t about to barge in, he grabbed the nearest stack and plopped himself onto the bed, cross-legged and grinning like a kid about to open a box of Zonko’s best tricks.

The first letter he unfolded smelled faintly of vanilla. Your scent, Sirius realized, and his grin faltered for just a moment.

October 7, 1971 Beauxbatons is so different from Hogwarts. The professors here are so strict, James, sometimes it feels like I’m being watched all the time! I miss the feeling of freedom you must have at Hogwarts, even if you’re always getting into trouble with Sirius. Do you ever just wish you could escape the rules and run wild?

Sirius chuckled softly, his eyes scanning the elegant handwriting. “Trouble? Me? Never,” he muttered, his tone dripping with mock innocence.

But as he reread the letter, a strange tightness settled in his chest. The way you wrote about Hogwarts — it wasn’t just about the school. It was about James. Even miles away, you saw him as something larger than life, as the embodiment of freedom and adventure.

And James? The idiot probably thought you were just being polite.

February 21, 1971 Sirius sounds like a bit of a handful, but I bet he’s hilarious. I think I’d like him, even if he does cause chaos. You all sound like you’re constantly up to something, but I imagine you get into trouble a lot, don’t you? Anyway, I’d love to hear more about his pranks— I’m sure you and him must make a great team!

Sirius barked a laugh. “A handful? Pretty, you have no idea.”

Still, the words struck a chord. He could see it so clearly now: the way you’d woven yourself into James’s world with every playful question and teasing remark. You weren’t just curious about his adventures; you wanted to be a part of them, to understand the boy behind the Quidditch bravado and the wild schemes.

Then came the letters about Lily.

March 25, 1973 James, you always talk about Lily, and I think it’s sweet that you have such admiration for her. I bet she doesn’t even know how much you like her. She sounds like she’d be really hard to win over, but I’m sure you’ll figure it out. Just don’t forget to have fun along the way, yeah?

Sirius groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Merlin’s saggy pants, Prongs, how thick can you be?”

He could almost picture you writing those words, the careful balance between encouragement and self-sacrifice. Even as you pushed James toward Lily, your letters were saturated with love — pure, unguarded, and heartbreakingly unspoken.

It was infuriating. How could two people so obviously meant for each other be so oblivious?

By the time Sirius reached the later letters, the humor had drained from his face.

December 5, 1974 Your mum sent me another gift! She’s so sweet, and I can’t believe how kind she is to me. It always makes me feel so loved. You know, when I’m away from you, it’s like I’m missing something... like the best part of my day. I never want to take our friendship for granted.

The parchment crinkled slightly as Sirius’s grip tightened. That wasn’t just gratitude — it was devotion, raw and aching. The kind of love that didn’t need fireworks or grand declarations because it was already woven into every moment, every memory.

And James? Sirius shook his head, a pang of frustration mixing with pity. James had spent years chasing the idea of love, blind to the fact that he already had it.

The final letter undid him.

December 12, 1975 I was thinking about you today, and how you’ve always been there for me — whether it was listening to me complain about the Beauxbatons professors or laughing with me when I’m in a bad mood. You’re always there, and I think that’s why I trust you more than anyone else. You’ll never know how much that means to me, Jamie.

Sirius closed his eyes, letting the words sink in. You didn’t just see James; you knew him. The real James — the boy who laughed too loudly, who lived for Quidditch, who couldn’t resist a good prank. You loved James, not the idealized version he tried to be for Lily or anyone else.

Sirius exhaled sharply, folding the letter with a reverence he didn’t usually bother with. His heart ached — not for himself, but for you, for James, for the years you’d both spent dancing around the truth.

“Merlin, you’re both idiots,” he muttered, though his voice was softer now. 

Sirius ran a hand through his dark hair, ruffling it further into disarray, his mind replaying what he’d just uncovered. The letters — those bloody letters — had been the key. Now everything fell into place: James’s barely-there smiles over the past few days, the way his gaze lingered when you entered the room, the softness in his laugh when you said something clever. James Potter, his brash, unrelenting, wildfire of a best friend, was utterly transformed around you.

Balanced. Grounded. Sincere.

It was unbearably obvious now, as if someone had pulled back the curtain.

And yet, the idiot still had Lily Evans’s picture on his bedside table in his dorm.

Sirius’s gaze fell on the stack of letters once more, neatly tied with a ribbons that seemed far too delicate for James’s usual chaos. He could have left it alone, let James figure things out in his own thick-headed way — but that wasn’t Sirius Black’s style. If there was one thing he’d learned from years of pranks, broken curfews, and bending the rules until they snapped, it was this: sometimes people needed a push, even if it stung a little.

Sirius exhaled and leaned back against the headboard, the letters still in hand. "You're a fucking idiot," he muttered under his breath.

A slow smirk tugged at his lips. Oh, the look on James’s face when he confronted him — it would be priceless. Sirius wasn’t one for sentiment, but for you? For James? Maybe, just maybe, he’d make an exception.

The door creaked open, and James stumbled into the room, his steps heavy with exhaustion. Sirius watched as his best friend all but collapsed into the armchair by the bookcase, running a hand through his already-messy hair. He looked like he’d been wrestling dragons all day — or, more likely, his dad’s endless list of chores.

But there was something else, too. A tension in his jaw, a restless energy that practically vibrated off him. Sirius could see it plain as day: James hadn’t seen her all day, and it was driving him mad. She was so close — just a staircase or two away — and yet untouchable.

Sirius cleared his throat, breaking the silence. “So, Prongs, is this why you’ve been obsessing over the owl schedule for years? Didn’t peg you as the secret pen-pal type.”

James’s head snapped up, his hazel eyes narrowing in confusion. They darted to the bed, where the stack of letters lay exposed, and then to the shelf where the box had clearly been moved. He froze for a second before letting out a long, resigned sigh.

“Pads,” James said, his voice low and uneven, heavy with an edge Sirius rarely heard. “It’s not cool to read someone else’s letters.”

The room seemed to still, the words settling into the air like dust, soft but laden with weight. James’s eyes — those unmistakable hazel orbs that always held a spark of mischief — were guarded now, a flicker of something raw and unspoken behind them.

Sirius leaned forward, a grin stretching across his face like the blade of a knife, sharp and unapologetic. “Not cool,” he echoed, his voice laced with mockery, “is keeping this from me for six bloody years. Care to explain, or should I guess?”

James flinched, the tension in his shoulders visible even through the soft knit of his jumper. He moved toward the bed with the slow, deliberate steps of someone walking a tightrope, balancing the fragile threads of anger and restraint. The dim light of the room cast long shadows over his frame, making him seem taller, older — more vulnerable.

He reached for one of the letters, his hand hesitating for the briefest moment before his fingers curled around the parchment. His thumb brushed over the faded ink, tracing the loops of her handwriting like a blind man reading Braille. The edges of the letter were frayed, softened by years of touch, and as he lifted it to his face, Sirius caught the faintest smile tugging at James’s lips.

It was a small, private thing, that smile. Reverent. It wasn’t the boyish grin Sirius knew so well, the one James wielded like a weapon to charm or disarm. No, this was different — softer, as though the mere act of holding the letter in his hand brought James closer to something sacred.

Sirius felt his chest tighten. He’d seen James in every possible state — triumphant on the Quidditch pitch, livid after a prank gone wrong, devastated when the world seemed too heavy — but this? This was new. This was James Potter unguarded.

“She’s different, isn’t she?” Sirius said, his voice quieter now, almost gentle.

James didn’t look up. He sat on the edge of the bed, sorting the letters with a precision that bordered on ritual. Each movement was deliberate, his fingers careful not to smudge the ink or crease the paper. Sirius had never seen him handle anything with such care — not his broomstick, not his glasses, not even the Marauder’s Map.

“It’s not what you think,” James murmured, but the words lacked conviction, as though he knew they’d crumble under scrutiny.

Sirius scoffed, leaning back in his chair with an exasperated snort. “Not what I think? Mate, I think you’re in love with her and too much of an idiot to admit it. Am I wrong?”

James froze mid-motion, the ribbon he was tying slipping from his fingers. For a moment, he didn’t speak, didn’t move — just stared at the letters as if they might answer for him.

“She’s…” He trailed off, his voice barely audible. “She’s different, Pads. She’s… everything.”

There it was. The confession, raw and trembling in the space between them. Sirius leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his expression unusually serious.

“Yeah,” Sirius said softly. “She is. And that’s exactly why you’re a bloody idiot for pretending she’s not.”

James let out a bitter laugh, the sound low and fractured. He raked a hand through his already-messy hair, his movements frenetic, as though he were trying to shake off the weight of the moment.

“You don’t get it,” he said, his voice cracking under the strain. “It’s not that simple.”

“Like hell it isn’t,” Sirius shot back, his tone sharp but not cruel. “I’ve watched you for years, Prongs. You talk about Evans like she’s some kind of bloody trophy, but her? You look at her like she’s the air you breathe. Like without her, you’d suffocate. And you’re sitting here telling me it’s complicated?”

James’s laugh turned hollow, empty. “Lily’s… safe. She’s who I’m supposed to want. She’s not my bloody childhood best friend.”

The words hung in the air, and for a moment, Sirius said nothing. Then, he barked out a laugh, loud and biting.

“Safe?” he repeated, incredulous. “Since when have you ever played it safe, James Potter? Love’s not supposed to be safe. It’s messy, terrifying, and completely bloody worth it. Or are you seriously telling me you’d rather be ‘safe’ than happy?”

James looked up at him then, and Sirius’s breath caught. His best friend’s hazel eyes, usually so full of fire and mischief, were red-rimmed and glistening with unshed tears.

“Do you think…” James’s voice wavered, barely above a whisper. “Do you think she feels the same?”

Sirius’s grin returned, slow and wolfish. “Mate, judging by these letters? She’s just as much of an idiot in love as you are.”

For a moment, James didn’t move, didn’t even breathe. And then, like a dam breaking, he laughed — a shaky, unsteady sound that grew louder, freer, until it filled the room.

“What do I do?” James asked, his voice raw and trembling with vulnerability.

Sirius stood, crossing the room to clap a hand on James’s shoulder. “You start by telling her everything. No more hiding. No more pretending. You owe her — and yourself — more than that.”

James nodded slowly, the faintest glimmer of determination flickering in his eyes. “You’re right.”

“Of course I’m right,” Sirius said, smirking. “I’m always right.”

As James reached for the letters, carefully tucking them back into their box, Sirius watched him with a rare sense of pride. This wasn’t just James Potter, the fearless Quidditch captain, the prankster extraordinaire. This was James Potter, a boy on the cusp of something extraordinary.

And for once, Sirius Black wasn’t just causing chaos — he was helping someone find their way through it.

THE SNOW OUTSIDE FELL IN HEAVY, DELIBERATE FLAKES, BLANKETING THE WORLD IN A SOFT, UNBROKEN QUIET. Sirius stood on the second-floor landing of the Potter home, a mug of hot coffee cradled in his hands. The rich aroma mingled with the faint scent of pine and cinnamon wafting from the decorated tree below. The whole house seemed to hum with a kind of warmth that Sirius rarely allowed himself to imagine, let alone experience.

From his vantage point, he had a perfect view of the living room below. The fire in the hearth crackled gently, casting golden shadows across the walls. Mr. Potter sat on the sofa with an arm draped around Mrs. Potter, the two of them cocooned under a soft plaid blanket. A book rested on Fleamont’s lap as he read aloud, his voice low and steady. Euphemia’s head rested against his shoulder, her eyes half-closed in serene contentment. Every so often, she’d smile at something he read or reach up to adjust her husband’s glasses, her touch so light and familiar it made Sirius’s chest ache with longing — not jealousy, but something softer. A wistfulness for this kind of unshakable bond.

But his gaze didn’t linger on the Potters for long. It drifted to the corner of the room, where the Christmas tree’s twinkling lights bathed two figures in a kaleidoscope of warm colors. You and James sat on the floor amidst the chaos of torn wrapping paper and open boxes. The morning’s gifts had already been exchanged, but it seemed James had saved something special for last.

Even from here, Sirius could see the faint nervousness in his best friend’s posture. James wasn’t one to fidget, yet his hands moved restlessly, smoothing invisible creases on his trousers, brushing imaginary dust from the tree skirt. His eyes, though, were unwavering as they watched you. You were cross-legged on the fluffy white rug, your hair falling in soft waves over your shoulder as you picked idly at a ribbon. Sirius noticed how your gaze lingered on James, curious and full of quiet affection.

James leaned closer, his voice low but carrying an unmistakable lilt of mischief. “One of the owls was late,” he said, holding up a slightly weathered envelope. The parchment looked a little worse for wear, its edges crumpled as if it had been handled too often. “It dropped this off this morning… asked me to give it to the most beautiful girl in the world.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head as you reached for the envelope. “Still using that line, are you, Potter?”

“Can you blame me? It’s worked wonders so far.” His grin was cocky, but Sirius saw the faintest flicker of uncertainty in his eyes as he handed it over.

You rolled your eyes, but the way you bit your lip betrayed your own anticipation. Turning the envelope over in your hands, you ran your fingers along the black-inked scrawl of your name before carefully breaking the seal. Sirius leaned forward slightly, his coffee forgotten as he watched the scene unfold.

The moment the letter emerged, the air seemed to shift. Your eyes darted across the page, your expression softening with each word. Sirius could see the precise moment the meaning settled in — the way your lips parted in surprise, the way your shoulders tensed, then relaxed, as if letting the weight of something long unspoken sink in. James’s hand rested on your knee, his thumb moving in small, nervous circles.

“Love?” James’s voice was barely above a whisper, his usual bravado stripped away. He was watching you as though the world rested on your reaction, his fingers tightening ever so slightly around yours. “You’re awfully quiet. Should I be worried? Say something. Anything.”

You didn’t answer immediately. Your eyes stayed fixed on the page, even as a tear slipped down your cheek, catching the light like a tiny diamond. James froze, his face paling slightly.

“Hey, hey, no…” His voice cracked. “Don’t cry. If it’s rubbish, just say so and we can forget it. Burn it, even.” He laughed nervously, though it sounded forced. “I’ll… I’ll pretend it never happened.”

That’s when you looked up, meeting his gaze with eyes so full of emotion it made Sirius’s breath hitch even from across the room. You didn’t say anything. Instead, you reached out, cupping James’s face in your hands. He stilled under your touch, his wide-eyed surprise melting into something softer as you leaned in and pressed your lips to his.

It wasn’t the kind of kiss Sirius might have teased him about — not fiery or impulsive. It was quiet, deliberate, and full of a tenderness that made Sirius feel like an intruder, even though he couldn’t look away. James’s hands found your waist, pulling you closer as though you might slip away if he let go.

Sirius smiled to himself, feeling a rare swell of pride. James had always been the heart of their little group, the one who wore his feelings openly. And now, here he was, finding a kind of love that Sirius knew would anchor him forever.

A sharp click shattered the moment, and both of you turned your heads to find Sirius standing at the bottom of the stairs, a wide grin plastered across his face as he waved a freshly developed photo in the air.

“Perfect!” he announced, shaking the picture. “This one’s going in the family album. And when my godchildren ask how their parents got together, I’ll tell them Uncle Sirius orchestrated the whole thing.”

You laughed, leaning your forehead against James’s shoulder, while James groaned, though the corners of his mouth twitched upward. “You’re a menace, Pads,” he said, though his voice held no bite.

“A charming menace,” Sirius replied, retreating toward the couch where the elder Potters were watching the scene unfold with amused smiles.

“Everything alright, dear?” Euphemia asked, her eyes twinkling with affection as she glanced between you and James.

James nodded, his hand still firmly clasping yours. “Yeah, Mum. Everything’s perfect.”

Mrs. Potter’s smile widened, and she reached over to pat your hand. “Welcome to the family, my dear. Though, truth be told, you’ve always been part of it.”

“Thank you,” you said softly, your voice thick with emotion.

THE REST OF THE DAY PASSED IN A GOLDEN HAZE OF LAUGHTER AND WARMTH. Euphemia roped you into helping her in the kitchen, insisting you learn the secret to her mulled wine. Sirius watched from the doorway, sipping his coffee and grinning as you tried to follow her directions, only for James to sneak in and steal a taste from the pot, earning himself a playful swat on the arm.

By evening, the fire burned low, and the snow outside had blanketed the world in an even deeper hush. Sirius sat in his favorite armchair, a blanket draped over his legs as he watched the scene before him. You and James were curled up together on the rug, a cozy tangle of limbs as you whispered to each other, your laughter soft and unguarded. The Potters sat nearby, sharing quiet conversation, their hands intertwined.

For a moment, Sirius closed his eyes, letting the warmth of the room and the sounds of contentment wash over him. He thought of his own childhood Christmases — cold, sterile affairs devoid of joy. And then he thought of this… the home James had built, not just for himself but for everyone he cared about. It was the kind of love Sirius had always believed was out of reach. Until now.

“Merry Christmas, Prongs,” he murmured, raising his empty mug in a toast to his best friend.

James glanced up, catching his eye. “Merry Christmas, Pads,” he replied, his grin soft but unmistakably James.

James had turned to you, his hand cradling your cheek as he pressed a lingering kiss to your temple. You smiled up at him, your fingers tracing lazy patterns on his arm.

"Merry Christmas, love," James murmured, his voice low and filled with a tenderness that made Sirius’s chest tighten.

"Merry Christmas, Jamie," you replied, resting your forehead against his.

Sirius chuckled, settling back into his chair, the warmth of the moment settling deep in his bones. The world outside might be cold and uncertain, but here, in this house, surrounded by love and laughter, everything felt exactly as it should be.

He thought about how James Potter had once given him the home and warmth he never had. And now, it seemed, Sirius Black had helped his best friend find his way home, too.

FROM THE ARCHIVE OF SIRIUS BLACK:

To my future, undoubtedly brilliant, devilishly handsome, and wildly talented nephews,

Listen up, you little rascals. You don’t know me yet, but let me make one thing very clear: I’m the reason you even exist. That’s right, your ridiculously perfect Uncle Sirius is the mastermind behind it all. Without my charm, wit, and expert meddling, your parents might still be doing the whole "will-they-won't-they" nonsense.

So, when you’re out there ruling the world, remember to thank yours truly. The coolest, suavest, and most humble uncle you'll ever have — Sirius Black. You're welcome.

December 25, 1976 My Love,   It’s Christmas, and the house is quiet now, the soft hum of the tree lights the only sound. I’ve been sitting here for hours, staring at this parchment, trying to find words big enough for what I feel, but they don’t exist. Still, I need to try.   Love, I see it now—what I’ve been too blind to see all along. I’ve always thought of myself as brave, fearless even. But when it came to you, I was a coward. I didn’t want to risk losing you. You, who have been the brightest part of my life since the moment we met. You, who’ve filled every corner of my world with warmth and light, even when we were miles apart.   Every summer, when you stepped into my life again, it was like the sun breaking through a storm. You’d sit by the lake with that book you never quite finished because I was always distracting you. You’d laugh at my terrible jokes, your nose crinkling just so. And you’d hum when you thought no one was listening, always off-key but somehow more perfect than any melody I’ve ever heard.   I thought I was looking for the kind of love my parents have — their unshakable bond, the way they look at each other like the world begins and ends with them. And all this time, it was right here, under my nose. You were under my nose.   I think I was afraid, love. Afraid that if I let myself feel what’s always been there, I’d ruin us. That I’d lose the only person who’s ever truly known me, the only one who can look past the pranks, the bravado, and see me—the real me. But Sirius, being Sirius, knocked some sense into me. He said I’ve been acting like a fool, and for once, he’s right. Rereading our letters with him was like seeing my life laid out before me, and every line, every word pointed to you.   Even when you were far away, you were my everything. The letters you sent were more than ink on parchment; they were lifelines. When Hogwarts felt too big, too chaotic, you were the quiet in the storm. When I felt lost, you reminded me who I am. Do you know how many times I reread your words, just to feel close to you? I kept your letters in my trunk, hidden from the others like a secret treasure. Because that’s what you’ve always been — my treasure.   How could I have been so blind? How could I have wasted so much time thinking it was Lily I wanted when it’s always been you? I’ve spent so long chasing a dream when the real thing was right in front of me. I see it now, clearer than I’ve ever seen anything. You are my stars, my moon, my sun. You’re the laugh that makes everything brighter, the voice that feels like home.  

I love you. I love the way your handwriting gets messier when you’re excited. I love the way you argue with me over the silliest things just to see me smile. I love the way you hum when you’re nervous and how you always know exactly what to say to pull me out of my worst days. I love you.   I don’t know if you feel the same way, but I hope with everything in me that you do. And if you don’t, I’ll understand. Because having you in my life, even just as my friend, has been the greatest gift I could ever ask for. But if there’s even the smallest chance you might love me too, then I promise to spend the rest of my life proving I deserve you.   Merry Christmas, my love. You’ve been my greatest gift every day since I met you.   Forever yours,   Jamie

thankx for reading <3

god, this is my biggest work and I was so afraid to publish it, cause it seems to me that no one reads such long fics (I myself adore long fics).

and if you've finished reading this, thank u and I love you so much! I hope you enjoyed every part of it and I will be very glad if you leave a comment, because it seems to me that I have left all of myself in this work!

you can always share your opinion in comments or my inbox. btw my requests are open so… make a wish :3                                

– your santi 🪐

masterlist

[inkskinned]

i think a lot about exactly 1 thing from the roman empire: the concept of bread and circus. the idea was that if your population was fed and entertained, they wouldn't revolt. you are asking us to give up our one small life, is the thing - for under 15 dollars an hour.

what would that buy, even. i am trading weekends and late nights and my back health. i am trading slow mornings and long walks and cortisol levels. i am trading sleep and silence and peace. for ... this. for what barely-covers-rent.

life really is more expensive right now. you aren't making that up. i make almost 3 times what i did 5 years ago, and despite an incredibly equal series of bills - i am still struggling. the most expensive line item i added was to own a dog. the money is just evaporating.

we were okay with it because it's a cost-benefit analysis. i could handle the customer harassment and standing all day and the manager's constantly changing temperament - i was coming home to hope, and my life planned in a blue envelope. three hours would buy me my dog's food for a month. i can give up three hours for him, for his shiny coat and wide, happy mouth. three days could be a new mattress, if i was thrifty. if i really scrimped and saved, we could maybe afford a trip into the city.

recently i cried in the car about the price of groceries.

business majors will be mad at me, but my most inflammatory opinion is that people should never be valued at the same place as products. your staff should not be a series of numbers in an excel sheet that you can just "replace" whenever you need something at that moment. your staff should be people, end of sentence.

it feels like someone somewhere is playing a very bad video game. like my life is a toy. like someone opened an app on their phone and hired me in diner dash ultra. they don't need to pay me well or treat me alright - they can always just show me the door. there is always someone more desperate, always someone more willing.

but i go to work and know i could save for years and not afford housing. i am never going to own my own home, most likely. i have no idea how to afford her ring, much less the wedding. my dog doesn't have his own yard. everything i love is on subscription. if i lose my job, i have no "nest egg" to catch my falling.

this thin life - they want me to give up summer for it. to open my mouth and throat and swallow the horrible hours and counted keystrokes. they want me to give up mountains and any non-federal holiday. to give up snow days. to give up talking to my mom whenever i want. to give up visiting the ocean and hearing the waves.

bread and circus worked for a while, actually. it was the kind of plan that would probably now be denounced by republicans as socialist commie liberal pronoun bullshit.

but sometimes i wonder if we should point them to the part of the history book that says: it worked until it didn't.