I Understand The Actors Are Attractive In The Movie Warfare, But Yall That Is NOT The Movie To Be Thirsting

𝐃𝐑𝐔𝐍𝐊 𝐒𝐊𝐄𝐓𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐒 — benedict bridgerton x female reader . in which benedict discovers a lady asleep on his bed after retiring from the annual bridgerton ball for the night.

3200 words | a fluffy mess ! | masterlist | suggest fics ideas

The last thing that Benedict had expected to see when stumbling into his bedchambers after retiring from the ball for the night, still slightly tipsy, was a lady fast asleep on his bed. But Alas — there you were. Fast asleep, chest slowly rising and then falling again, your lips parted and the material of your ballgown draped in a rather messy manner around you.

He rubbed at his eyes harshly, as if doing so would prove that you were indeed a figment of his imagination, that he was coming down with a fever and therefore hallucinating, that a shadow had taken form on his bed and he had simply mistaken it for a girl. But no. You were actually there. On his bed.

Benedict felt his mouth fall open and shut again – bewildered but slowly coming to his senses. He finally closed the door behind him, so as to ensure nobody would see you, that your reputation wouldn’t be ruined over something which wasn’t anything. “Alright… alright.” he mumbled to himself, taking a few steps closer to the bed and kneeling onto the mattress besides you. Hoping that perhaps his weight shifting underneath would wake you up but… no. Instead you just mumbled something incoherent in your sleep, shifting onto your side as you did so. 

The annual Bridgerton ball had taken place that night, was still taking place downstairs in fact, and was still running into the early hours of the morning. But Benedict decided that he had had enough of the ton for one day, that he would get a somewhat early night. Instead one of his mother’s  guests was napping in his bedchambers. Which he had to admit was something completely new to him, in their many years of hosting balls he had never experienced this. 

“Um… Excuse me? Miss?” he half whispered, placing a light hand on the soft skin of your arm and attempting to gently shake you awake. “You really need to wake… You don’t wish to be caught alone together, hm? Especially not in my bedchamber…” 

Upon further inspection, Benedict noticed that your hair had been lazily removed from its updo, and instead fell around you, framing your face and complimenting your features perfectly. He brushed a piece away from you, tucking it behind your ear and frowning as he stared down at you. He was entirely unsure of what to do, and far too aware of how the situation would appear to anybody else - your reputation would be completely ruined if you were caught in this situation. Benedict wanted to ask his mother for help, but was frightened to leave you here alone. What if something happened to you? What if something had already happened to you? 

Benedict was unaware that just a few hours earlier, you had began to grow incredibly bored of the ball – by the mundanity of it all, the endless stream of men that your mother insisted on parading in front of you, the dances, the meaningless and far too polite conversation. You had instead decided to plant yourself in a corner nearest to the drinks table… where you had been drinking the night away ever since. 

You were unsure of how much you had actually drank, but when the entire room began to spin in a rather unpleasant way you had decided that it was probably time to stop. You had managed to stagger out of the ballroom and into a hallway – though you can hardly remember the journey upstairs and through the hallways into Benedict’s bedchamber, nor can you remember falling asleep, but you know that you certainly didn’t intend to fall into such a deep slumber. 

“Miss?” your eyes fluttered open to the sound of a concerned voice – a man. You sat yourself up quickly, too quickly. You immediately regretted it as the room began to sway again, the unfamiliar surroundings rocking back and fourth. You soon discovered the source of the voice, sat besides you on the bed with his eyebrows pulled together in concern. A Bridgerton. You weren’t entirely sure which one, but you knew that he was a Bridgerton.

“Oh dear God.” the words fell from you before you could stop them, bringing your hands upwards in an attempt to cover your face. Although you were still very drunk, you had enough sense to be embarrassed, mortified in fact, by the entire situation. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry Mr Bridgerton.” you mumbled — refusing to meet his eyes, which were burning through you with an undeniably intense curiosity. 

Benedict blinked in surprise, he had never got quite used to the entirety of the ton being aware of who he was — most of the time they cannot tell him apart from his brothers, but they are still aware that he is a Bridgerton, meanwhile he is half asleep when introduced to people by his mother, it can be quite rare that he actually remembers a name.

“Are you quite alright?”

“I’m a little bit...”

“Drunk? I know that. I can smell the alcohol on you. But are you alright? I mean you were hiding in my bedchambers, asleep on my bed. Did something happen? Other than the copious amounts of alcohol.” Underneath his concern, his curiosity, his twenty questions – was amusement. You could tell that he was repressing a smile, perhaps even in a small laugh. 

You felt your cheeks begin to warm, feeling completely and utterly  embarrassed – he could smell the alcohol on you after all. You stood from the bed as soon as you could get up, an action which ended up being a complete mistake, you began to stagger sideways almost instantly. Benedict having to stand from where he was sitting in order to prevent you from falling. He placed two firm yet gentle hands on your arms, holding you in one place. 

“It’s alright… I’m not angry, if anything I’m quite amused…” you were forced to make eye contact with him at that point, and discovered that he was practically gazing at you, smiling as if he was biting back a laugh – he became serious again rather quickly. “But are you alright? Has anybody hurt you? Or was the annual Bridgerton ball just that boring?” 

You shook your head quickly. “I’m quite alright… I didn’t mean to fall asleep, do you see? I just needed a rest.” Your excuse didn’t give you any comfort, here you were, apologising to someone who was practically a stranger for falling asleep on his bed because you… needed a rest. 

“So you’re fine. Just sleepy, I suppose.” 

“Just sleepy.” You confirmed.

“And drunk… Too much of my mother’s famous punch.”

A quiet giggle fell from your lips – he was actually quite amusing. Why couldn’t your mother have paraded him in front of you instead of the magnitudes of bores who she insisted on you at least considering? 

“Do you care to tell me your name?” Benedict questioned, his head tilting to one side as his eyes scanned across your features, not making an attempt to hide his curiosity. 

“Y/N.” You replied, raising your head in the most confident and self assured manner that you could muster. 

“Well… It’s lovely to meet you, Miss Y/N.” He removed his hands from each of your arms, instead taking your hand in his and pressing a soft kiss to the bare skin, before gently releasing you. “I’m Benedict — You don’t have to bother with the Mr Bridgerton stuff, I’m just Benedict afterall.” 

“I must be getting back… Benedict.” You smiled, hesitating at first but ultimately enjoying the way that his name sounded on your tongue. Benedict — you decided that you could get used to it. “I am sure that my mother will be worrying.” 

Benedict raised an eyebrow, sitting back on the edge of his mattress. “You can hardly stand, Miss Y/N. I’m not sure that you’re in any fit state to return to the ball just yet.” He stretched his legs out, removing his waistcoat and discarding it somewhere across the room.

“I appreciate the concern but I am perfectly fine.” you crossed your arms across your chest, feining irritation as you stared down at where he now practically laid across the bed. Unbeknown to you, your words were still slurred – very slurred. 

He was now laying back, gazing up at the ceiling. “You’ll be the talk of the town! I can picture it now… Do you think that you’ll be the main feature on Lady Whistledown? Or instead one of the more minor segments?” You stayed silent, arms staying tightly crossed. “Miss Y/N…” He held out an arm dramatically above him “drunken disaster…” 

“That is very rude! Were you not taught never to speak to a lady in such a manner?” you exclaimed, picking up what was nearest to you and throwing it across the room, where it landed on his chest – luckily, it was quite a small book, and did no damage when it came into contact with him. 

Benedict seemed utterly unfazed, laughing quietly to himself and opening the book to a random page – where he seemingly pretended to be utterly engrossed in the chapter. “Apparently not… I have four sisters so I am quite used to bickering with these so called ladies that you speak of.” He paused for a moment. “I will find something to sober you.” he stood, suddenly serious, his gaze turning to where you stood. “But only if you promise to stay here for the time being. If someone sees you leaving my bedchambers it would look most suspicious.” 

You nodded quickly, knowing that as much as you wanted to disagree,  he was most definitely right. “Just sit.” Benedict pointed to the bed, and you did so without hesitating, being very obedient. “And stay there. I won’t be gone for very long.” 

Benedict managed to leave his bedchamber without being spotted – using the servants staircase in order to avoid seeing anybody, and making his way down to the kitchen in order to fetch tea and biscuits for you. Meanwhile, you sat on the edge of Benedict’s bed, inspecting the surroundings the best you could without moving. You noticed an easel in the corner of the room and raised an eyebrow – you wouldn’t have guessed that he was a painter, but then again, you hardly knew him.

The minutes dragged on for what felt like eternity, waiting for Benedict to return to his room, and when he finally did you weren’t expecting him to return carrying a huge tray in a rather clumsily manner. He placed it down on the table besides his bed, shutting the door behind him as quick as he could. “Sorry that took me so long I…” He hesitated for a moment, seeming to carefully think his words over. “If I’m being completely honest I couldn’t work the stove to heat the water… but I got there eventually. Tea and biscuits, for you.” Benedict smiled sheepishly, before beginning to pour you a cup of tea. He handed it to you, and you gratefully took it. “You actually stayed sat there, how obedient!” 

You rolled your eyes, attempting to pay no mind to the way that particular comment made you feel – deciding to ignore it completely. “Thank you, Benedict.” Silence fell between the two of you, Benedict pouring a cup for himself before sitting besides you. “You’re an artist?”

He glanced over at the easel in the corner of the room before looking back to you, nodding as he did so. “Something like that… I like to draw, but whether I am an artist or not is most likely up for debate.” 

“Are you any good? Would you be able to capture my likeness? Can I see one of your sketchbooks?” You inquired, questions falling from you with zero difficulty. You thought that perhaps you might be speaking too much, but Benedict entertained every question that you asked him. 

He paused for a moment, eyes scanning you up and down – you couldn’t help but shiver underneath his gaze. “Hm… I’m certainly not a bad painter, though sometimes I doubt myself – I suppose we all doubt ourselves at times.” He was quiet once again, choosing his words carefully. “I’m unsure whether I’d be able to capture your beauty, but I’m always up for a challenge.” Benedict began to search through his bedside drawers, holding multiple sketchbooks in his hand. “I’m not sure if all of my sketches would be exactly… appropriate for a lady.” 

Once again, your cheeks warmed in embarrassment, and you turned your attention quickly to your tea to hide just how flustered his words made you – trying to ignore him as he began to flick through the pages of the filled books, tossing a few aside as he deemed them as being too inappropriate for your eyes. Of course you were curious, but you chose not to press on. 

You crossed your legs underneath you in the best way that you could manage whilst still wearing your ballgown, leaning forwards with interest as Benedict opened a sketchbook on the bed in front of you – pointing to the charcoal sketches. “My sisters… Daphne, Eloise, Francesca and Hyacinth.” he pointed to each picture, smiling proudly as he did so – proud more so of his actual sisters than he was of the drawings (although he knew that he had captured them well.)

“They’re beautiful, truly. You’re quite gifted.” You turned the page, smiling as you took in each sketch. 

You certainly didn’t miss how Benedict’s cheeks flushed a reddish hue with each compliment, how his lips turned up at the corners into a shy smile. He was clearly passionate about his work, cared more than he wanted to about what others thought of his art, that he valued your opinion. “Thank you… it means a lot. Truly.” 

The two of you spent as long as possible, talking, laughing, looking through Benedict’s sketchbooks, discussing books you had read recently – until you had sobered up… at least a little bit. The tea and biscuits soaking up some of the alcohol in your system, though there was nothing wrong with being a little bit merry at an event. 

“I suppose you truly should be off now.” Benedict sighed, helping you to your feet. “Most people will be leaving soon…  and you don’t want your mother to end up sending out a search party to find you.” You were certainly a lot more steady on your feet this time around, taking a few hesitant steps with the help of Benedict and feeling fine. 

You nodded, sighing quietly to yourself – you had had a much more enjoyable night, with better conversations in the short amount of time spent with Benedict than you had had at any other ball. “Thank you, for being so kind… and I’m sorry again.” 

Benedict shushed you, pressing a gentle finger to your lips – apparently feeling rather more bold than he usually would. “There’s no need to apologise – as strange as it was, I’ve had a lovely time. A better time than I would had I spent more time actually socialising.” 

“Me too.” You admitted, smiling sheepishly at him. Benedict turned from you, creeping to the door of the room and slowly opening it in order to prevent it creaking — he peered out, eyes scanning the hall to ensure that nobody was around. “It’s clear.” He reached out his hand to guide you to the door and you gladly took it, enjoying the warmth of his skin on yours as you were lead from the door. Benedict walked you to the end of the hall, pointing as he gave you directions back to the ballroom. 

You couldn’t help but feel a sadness within you as you walked the halls, taking in every tiny piece of detail: the paintings; the wallpaper; the furniture; the flooring – certain that you wouldn’t be returning. “Well… Goodbye.” You whispered shyly, offering a small wave before turning and beginning to descend the grand stairs. 

“Wait…” Benedict mumbled, turning and taking your hand in his and spinning you around to face him. You felt your eyebrows furrow together in confusion, watching as he hesitated with his words before finally blurting out the question – “Can I see you again?” 

“Of course you can… Mr Bridgerton.” You smiled, and in a feeling of unnatural and rare moment of courage you leaned up to kiss his cheek – pressing your soft lips to his skin before pulling away and watching as his face began to flush to a pretty shade of rosy pink. Unbelievable. You had managed to make Benedict Bridgerton blush. 

Before he could speak, you practically ran from the scene, gathering up your skirt in your hands to ensure that you wouldn’t trip. You knew that it was probably quite a dangerous thing to do, considering the fact that you weren’t exactly sober.

Benedict watched as you ran from him until you were completely out of sight, his lips slightly parted in surprise as he struggled to process all of the events from that night — it  all felt very much like a fever induced dream.

On returning to his bedchambers, Benedict flipped to a new page in his sketchbook and began to draw – wanting to sketch you to the best of his abilities before his memories began to fade. Despite his previous desire for an early and long night of sleep, he ended up staying awake for most of the night working on the portrait, ensuring that it would be ready before you awoke that morning. 

And when you awoke one of the first things that you discovered was a grand bouquet of roses left on the table besides your bed, made up of all sorts of different shades and sizes… alongside a note. Your lady’s maid had brought the flowers into your room whilst you had slept, creeping along the wooden floor so as not to wake you. She was secretly excited for you, having sneakily seen the note which came with the bouquet – she had unfolded it before tucking it back into place.

Hours after the flowers had arrived, you finally awoke. Still in your nightgown, half asleep and still in your nightgown, half asleep and sporting a small alcohol induced headache - you had leaned over to inspect the flowers before reaching for and unfolding the note — discovering a drawing of yourself. 

 A small gasp escaped you as you took it in. Benedict. He had made you look beautiful, so beautiful – he had captured you perfectly, all of you, seeming to even capture the soul behind your eyes. You just seemed so alive. His signature was at the bottom of the portrait, alongside the words “Sketched with love and care for Miss Y/N. – Benedict Bridgerton.” 

You ran your finger gently across the words, careful not to smudge any of it – the words repeating in your head again and again. A contented sigh falling from your lips, you fell back onto your mattress, holding the drawing close to your chest as the night’s events really sunk into you. It was hard to believe – yet the words on the page were there as proof — sketched with love and care for Miss Y/N. Benedict Bridgerton.

Things guys normally do that look terribly hot when Fred does them

It's canon, he told me himself.

Leaning on the door frame while talking to you

Running the hands through his hair subconsciously, when he's thinking or when he's sweaty after quidditch practice

Stretching, just that. When he's tired in the mornings, or even if he's trying to reach something that's really high and his shirt lifts a little

Helping younger students. no explanation needed here, it's just hot when he helps kids

Being protective, not in a possessive way but in a hold my hand I don't wanna loose you way

Rolling up his shirt sleeves, does this need an explanation too or...?

whatta man for @souliebird

Forget-Me-Nots

Benedict Bridgerton x female!Reader 

Summary: Prompt “You remembered” “Of course I did” 

Angst/Fluff 

Do you guys perfer “Y/N/pronouns” or “you” when reading reader stories? I think I like “you” better 

Keep reading

Having uncle Henry Lopez withdrawals and there is barely anything out here for him 😭. Fine I’ll guess I’ll do it myself.

Them:

Me :

RIBBON

photos by Kundo Song

*sighs* I need a Caracalla and Geta in my room

the secrets of thunderstorms

pairing: sirius black x potter!fem!reader word count: 2.6k warnings: fluff, angst, cursing, not proofread summary: when sirius knocks on your bedroom door in the middle of the night during a thunderstorm

a/n: first fic hehe i hope you all like it! it kinda went a different direction than planned and idk if i fully like it, but here it is!

----

it was the middle of the night, probably close to one o'clock in the morning, rain was pouring on your windows and rolling thunder could be heard every few minutes. maybe that's why you didn't hear the knocks at first. they were quiet... well, quiet compared to the thunder that didn't seem to be able to just stop. it was keeping you awake, and we were just about to go crazy from frustration. so, perhaps, the knocking was a blessing in disguise.

the knocks were coming from your bedroom door. specifically, the one that led to your garden patio. it was your favorite relaxing spot on sunny days, but it wasn't sunny then. it wasn't sunny and it wasn't daytime. it was storming and it was one-in-the-fucking-morning.

whoever was at your door was about to feel your wrath.

you rolled out of bed with a groan, slipping on some slippers and pulling on your robe. shuffling to the door, you pulled your robe further around your body to fight the chilled night air and pulled the door open.

the sight in front of you was a surprise. usually he went to your twin brother, james potter, when he needed something, so why was he standing at your door? he looked rather pitiful. his long, dark hair was soaked and dripping water onto his already more-than-damp clothes, which were sticking to his skin. he seemed to be out of breath, and his hand was raised in a fist, as if he was about to knock one more time.

you pull him inside without a word and rush to find a towel in your bathroom, finding a recently washed one, you throw it to him, not looking to see if he's caught it. instead, you rush to james room, effectively sneaking in as you had done a thousand times before. you steal some shorts and a shirt before shutting the door soundlessly, tiptoeing back to your bedroom.

when you arrived, you threw the clothes at sirius.

"change in the bathroom." you nodded your head in the direction of the bathroom, taking a seat on the edge of your bed.

sirius nodded, "thanks, love."

knowing he was in a distressed mood, you held back your glare at the nickname. he wasn't supposed to call you that anymore, not after everything. you closed your eyes and leaned your head back with a sigh.

you didn't acknowledge him until he took a seat in the desk chair across from you.

"why are you here, sirius?" you kept your voice even as you stared at him.

"to get away." it was a believable enough answer to someone who knew his situation.

you kept your stare on him, picking apart his expressions and body language. he looked down to avoid your eyes. looked like a ashamed puppy, who was caught doing something he wasn't supposed to.

you were so confused, honestly so fucking hurt. you refused to show him that, though. you just hoped your tone didn't betray you. "not good enough. why did you come to me, sirius? you always go to james."

he dragged a hand through his hair. fuck, you loved his hair, you missed running your fingers through it. you missed him. he looked at you with a sheepish smile. "i didn't wanna... wake him?"

never mind. you didn't miss him. you wanted him to leave.

you closed your eyes and took a deep breath, trying to keep your tears at bay. when you open them, you look around the room. looking everywhere but him.

god, he hated that.

when you answered, your voice sounded slightly desperate and hurt and vulnerable. "why are you here?" you ask just once more.

he sighed, he came here to make you like him again, he might as well give you the truth. "listen, y/n, i fucked everything up-" he tried to explain, but he couldn't concentrate when your eyes were everywhere but on him. "fuck, y/n, could you just look at me?" his tone was desperate. "please?" he refused to continue till your eyes met his, and the tears in your eyes broke his heart.

"i messed up that day, i know i did. i was with her and all the sudden she was kissing me, and i was kissing her back. fuck, i was so drunk. that's no excuse, i know, but i-" he took a deep breath to gather his thoughts and stop his rambling. "james was telling me you liked me back, so i thought, 'shit, maybe i'll go for it.' so i did. i started talking with you more, spent more time alone with you, and i just- i fell for you even harder." he wanted you to believe him so badly. he needed you to.

"i was walking to ask you out, on a real date, and you were sitting with fucking lucius malfoy. he was fucking flirting with you, and you weren't stopping him." he looked away from you for a minute before continuing, "i didn't think to ask you about it. i just- i saw red. i took the rest of moony's liquor and got shit-faced. i don't even remember the girl's name, maybe that makes it worse, i don't know. next thing i know, i see you there, and you're runnin' away crying and i didn't even run after you. i just kept on kissing the girl."

silent tears were streaming down your face at this point, and you kept your eyes on him as he finished his story.

"when i got back to the common room the next morning, i was violently hung over, and the first thing that happened was james punching me right in the left eye. had a bruise there for two weeks after," he laughed softly, "he told me that you were stuck with lucius for a school project so you had to deal with him. i knew i fucked it all up then." he met your eyes again, a desperate look in them as he came and took your hands in his. he so badly wanted to wipe your tears away. "i'm sorry. i'm so sorry. fuck, i never wanted to hurt you. i promised james i wouldn't. i need you to believe me when i tell you: i want you. i don't want anyone else but you."

you took another deep breath and wiped your tears away on the sleeve of your robe. you took in his story slowly, you understood where he was coming from, and you wanted him, too. you knew you did.

sirius looked at you with hopeful eyes. you pulled him up from his knees. "come get some sleep, okay? it's been a long night."

it wasn't quite forgiveness yet, but you weren't turning him away. he knew you'd come around, but that you wanted to sleep it over. you faced away from him in bed and tried to steady your breathing. hesitantly, sirius pressed his chest to your back and put his arm around your waist, pulling you to him.

he just wanted to hold you.

you didn't move away. instead, you relaxed at his touch and fell asleep. he placed a small kiss on your temple before falling asleep right after you.

----

you woke up to someone's fingers running through your hair. your head is on said someone's chest, and your legs are intertwined. the memories of the

it was the middle of the night, probably close to one o'clock in the morning, rain was pouring on your windows and rolling thunder could be heard every few minutes. maybe that's why you didn't hear the knocks at first. they were quiet... well, quiet compared to the thunder that didn't seem to be able to just stop. it was keeping you awake, and we were just about to go crazy from frustration. so, perhaps, the knocking was a blessing in disguise.

the knocks were coming from your bedroom door. specifically, the one that led to your garden patio. it was your favorite relaxing spot on sunny days, but it wasn't sunny then. it wasn't sunny and it wasn't daytime. it was storming and it was one-in-the-fucking-morning.

whoever was at your door was about to feel your wrath.

you rolled out of bed with a groan, slipping on some slippers and pulling on your robe. shuffling to the door, you pulled your robe further around your body to fight the chilled night air and pulled the door open.

the sight in front of you was a surprise. usually he went to your twin brother, james potter, when he needed something, so why was he standing at your door? he looked rather pitiful. his long, dark hair was soaked and dripping water onto his already more-than-damp clothes, which were sticking to his skin. he seemed to be out of breath, and his hand was raised in a fist, as if he was about to knock one more time.

you pull him inside without a word and rush to find a towel in your bathroom, finding a recently washed one, you throw it to him, not looking to see if he's caught it. instead, you rush to james room, effectively sneaking in as you had done a thousand times before. you steal some shorts and a shirt before shutting the door soundlessly, tiptoeing back to your bedroom.

when you arrived, you threw the clothes at sirius.

"change in the bathroom." you nodded your head in the direction of the bathroom, taking a seat on the edge of your bed.

sirius nodded, "thanks, love."

knowing he was in a distressed mood, you held back your glare at the nickname. he wasn't supposed to call you that anymore, not after everything. you closed your eyes and leaned your head back with a sigh.

you didn't acknowledge him until he took a seat in the desk chair across from you.

"why are you here, sirius?" you kept your voice even as you stared at him.

"to get away." it was a believable enough answer to someone who knew his situation.

you kept your stare on him, picking apart his expressions and body language. he looked down to avoid your eyes. looked like a ashamed puppy, who was caught doing something he wasn't supposed to.

you were so confused, honestly so fucking hurt. you refused to show him that, though. you just hoped your tone didn't betray you. "not good enough. why did you come to me, sirius? you always go to james."

he dragged a hand through his hair. fuck, you loved his hair, you missed running your fingers through it. you missed him. he looked at you with a sheepish smile. "i didn't wanna... wake him?"

never mind. you didn't miss him. you wanted him to leave.

you closed your eyes and took a deep breath, trying to keep your tears at bay. when you open them, you look around the room. looking everywhere but him.

god, he hated that.

when you answered, your voice sounded slightly desperate and hurt and vulnerable. "why are you here?" you ask just once more.

he sighed, he came here to make you like him again, he might as well give you the truth. "listen, y/n, i fucked everything up-" he tried to explain, but he couldn't concentrate when your eyes were everywhere but on him. "fuck, y/n, could you just look at me?" his tone was desperate. "please?" he refused to continue till your eyes met his, and the tears in your eyes broke his heart.

"i messed up that day, i know i did. i was with her and all the sudden she was kissing me, and i was kissing her back. fuck, i was so drunk. that's no excuse, i know, but i-" he took a deep breath to gather his thoughts and stop his rambling. "james was telling me you liked me back, so i thought, 'shit, maybe i'll go for it.' so i did. i started talking with you more, spent more time alone with you, and i just- i fell for you even harder." he wanted you to believe him so badly. he needed you to.

"i was walking to ask you out, on a real date, and you were sitting with fucking lucius malfoy. he was fucking flirting with you, and you weren't stopping him." he looked away from you for a minute before continuing, "i didn't think to ask you about it. i just- i saw red. i took the rest of moony's liquor and got shit-faced. i don't even remember the girl's name, maybe that makes it worse, i don't know. next thing i know, i see you there, and you're runnin' away crying and i didn't even run after you. i just kept on kissing the girl."

silent tears were streaming down your face at this point, and you kept your eyes on him as he finished his story.

"when i got back to the common room the next morning, i was violently hung over, and the first thing that happened was james punching me right in the left eye. had a bruise there for two weeks after," he laughed softly, "he told me that you were stuck with lucius for a school project so you had to deal with him. i knew i fucked it all up then." he met your eyes again, a desperate look in them as he came and took your hands in his. he so badly wanted to wipe your tears away. "i'm sorry. i'm so sorry. fuck, i never wanted to hurt you. i promised james i wouldn't. i need you to believe me when i tell you: i want you. i don't want anyone else but you."

you took another deep breath and wiped your tears away on the sleeve of your robe. you took in his story slowly, you understood where he was coming from, and you wanted him, too. you knew you did.

sirius looked at you with hopeful eyes. you pulled him up from his knees. "come get some sleep, okay? it's been a long night."

it wasn't quite forgiveness yet, but you weren't turning him away. he knew you'd come around, but that you wanted to sleep it over. you faced away from him in bed and tried to steady your breathing. hesitantly, sirius pressed his chest to your back and put his arm around your waist, pulling you to him.

he just wanted to hold you.

you didn't move away. instead, you relaxed at his touch and fell asleep. he placed a small kiss on your temple before falling asleep right after you. the memories of the previous night come back as you slowly open your eyes to you meet sirius' grey ones.

"mornin', love," he spoke in a whisper and a soft smile graced his lips.

you looked back at him and wanted to kiss that adorable little smile on his lips. but instead you apologize. "'m sorry, siri."

sirius frowned at you. "for what?"

"for not listening to you sooner," you whispered back. the moment felt intimate in a way you had been craving for a long time. "i should've at least heard you out."

"you did last night, lovely," his tone matched yours as he stroked his fingers through your hair some more. "even if you didn't, no one would've blamed you. not even me."

"is it true what you said last night?" you asked softly, tracing aimless shapes on his clothed chest. "that you want me still?"

"of course it's true," he chuckled softly. "why do you think i went through all that to get you to hear me out?"

your hand went to find his cheek, he leaned into your touch. "i still want you, too, sirius."

"really?" he had a hopeful smirk.

you grinned at him. "why do you think i let you sleep in my bed with me?" scooting closer to him, you leaned your face closer to his, lips almost touching, breaths mingling. "now, let me kiss you?"

"whenever you fucking want, love, these lips are yours."

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