waiting for storm

4

Have you heard?

RAIN is an independent short film about Ororo Munroe (the “punk” incarnation).

Many fans have been waiting for a Storm stand-alone film featuring Ororo as a complex character with her own story.
Created by and starring Maya G. @mayastormx - we finally have a superhero story told from the heart and POV of a woman of color.

Dark and emotional, but ultimately uplifting and bad-ass, RAIN is an electrifying treat not just for comic book fans but for anyone who can appreciate a powerful story of personal transformation and resurrection.

**MATURE CONTENT**

Watch it now: https://youtu.be/D_W-PBfO57o

**Stay til after the credits!**

Directed by Zane Rutledge and Jeff Stolhand
Produced by Matt Joyce
Score by Luqman Brown
Vfx by ZaneFX

French Quotes about life

These are basically some of the quotes on life that I’ve read and loved!

1. Je pense, donc je suis- I think, therfore I am. This is the French version of the Latin phrase Cogito ergo sum.

2. Le temps est un grand maître, dit-on. Le malheur est qui’il tue ses éléves- We say that time is a great teacher. Too bad it kills all its students.

3. L’enfer, c’est les autres- Hell is other people.

4. Qui vivra verra- He/she who lives, shall see. I think this the French version of Time will tell.

5. Et d’abord, ne pas nuire- First, do no harm.

6. Quand on a pas ce que l’on aime, il faut aimer ce que l’on a- When one doesn’t have what he/she loves, he/she must love what they do have.

7. La vie ce n’est pas d’attendre que les orages passent, c’est d’apprendre a danser sous la pluie- Probably the most cliched line on the list, it means- Life isn’t about waiting for the storms to pass, it’s about learning how to dance in the rain.

8. Le bonheur est parfois caché dans l’inconnu- Happiness is sometimes hidden in the unknown.

9. Vouloir, c’est pouvoir- Wishing is power. The French version of where there is a will, there is a way.

10. Savoir, penser, rêver. Tout est là- To know, to think, to dream. That is everything.


Part 2

Part 3

Quotes about love.

You’re His Ex Girlfriend and You See His New Girlfriend Wearing Your T-Shirt

Masterlist linked in bio


If there’s one thing Y/n can’t stand, it’s pity. Which is unfortunate for her, considering that’s all she’s been receiving ever since Harry had broken up with her.

Between her family, her friends, and long-known acquaintances, the pity was never ending. The looks people gave her whenever she occupied a room made her sick to her stomach. Nobody looked at her the way they used to as if their perception of her has been altered from a beautiful, humble woman to a broken heart on legs.

Talking to people didn’t help much, either, considering their irrational fear that one harsh tone could wreck what’s left of her. To those, her identity and name have seemed to be forgotten, only to be replaced by “the girl left with a broken heart, who’s heart has failed to mend.”

It’s all a myth, really—a myth that hasn’t been confirmed or denied within the past four months. Y/n provided no reassurance for anybody, nor did she show any improvement since their break up. But she did try her best. Her attempts to answer the question, “how have you been, you know, since the breakup and all?” with an “I’ve been okay” filled with lies didn’t go unnoticed, however, proved to be unsuccessful.

And the pity only got worse when Harry got a new girlfriend.

It was plastered everywhere, the rumors that Harry’s new girlfriend stayed at his hotel in Los Angeles and traveled with him back to London. They disclosed that her name was Jessica, who works as a travel blogger.

She was beautiful, too. More beautiful than she wanted her to be, as selfish as it was. She was the perfect image for him, especially at the height of his career.

Y/n’s heart hit rock bottom that day. Every unblemished part of it became a ruin, a shattered piece of what was once so full and whole.

Y/n hadn’t expected it, not this fast, at least. When Harry initiated the breakup, he told her that it wasn’t the end of their relationship. He had promised her that with the right amount of distance, all the problems they’ve had in their relationship would be fixed entirely.

She believed him, too. That with maybe some time apart, their bitterness towards each other would decease, and all that would remain would be the overwhelming needs for one another.

She should have never been so gullible. After they broke up, they never spoke to each other again. All their ties had been cut, leaving them both hanging in completely separate lives. Y/n never got over him. How could she? They were soulmates, they were each other’s everything. No matter what came at them, they always found a way back to one another.

But Harry’s fame started skyrocketing, leaving Y/n on the ground with no way to reach him anymore. She should have known he’d find someone else—someone more worthy of his time. She just didn’t want to believe it and didn’t want to believe that it had happened so soon.

“How are you feeling?” Gabby asks, reaching over the wooden table so that her fingers can rest on top of Y/n’s hand; a small gesture that Gabby has been giving Y/n nearly every day for the past four months.

Y/n wishes she found it as comfortable as it intended to be, however she can’t help feeling worse whenever Gabby did so. The gesture undoubtedly derives from the pity Gabby has had toward her ever since the breakup. Everything was because of pity.

She looks down at her cold, untouched hot chocolate as she swirls the straw along the brim, resisting to roll her eyes as it’s the only question everybody has seemed to ask her recently.

“The usual,” she shrugs, “nothing’s really changed.”

Gabby gives her a half smile before returning to her tea. The cafe is only occupied by the both of them, considering it’s 7 in the morning on a Sunday. But after everything that’s happened, Y/n’s sleep schedule has been slacking and Gabby wanted nothing more than to be there for Y/n whenever she had the chance.

“Are you sure you don’t want any food?” Gabby asks. “It’s on me if you want anything.”

Y/n shrugs again, a faint yawn falling from her mouth as she shakes her head.

“No, I’m okay. I think I’ll make some waffles when I get home. But I’ll need to stop at the grocery store before I leave. Ran out of milk and flour the other day.”

“We could stop by now if you’d like. I’m getting quite full, anyways.”

“Yeah, sure” Y/n nods, “sounds fine.”


The entrance doors chime when Y/n and Gabby enter the grocery store, barely any people filling the aisles at such hours. Neither of them speak much before they go their separate ways, grabbing all the necessary ingredients Y/n needs for when she gets home.

When she finds flour on one of the bottom shelves, Y/n bends down to grab the cheapest one she could find. In all honesty, she didn’t have a lot of money to spend since she took some time off of work for “mental health reasons,” and she wanted nothing more than to go back home and spend the rest of her day in bed.

When she stands back up from her squatting position, her body rams into somebody else’s, making everything they both were carrying fall onto the floor.

“Oh shit! I’m so sorry!” Y/n gasps, scrambling to pick up the ingredients that have fallen from the girl’s arms.

When Y/n stands back up to return her fallen items, it was as if every nightmare Y/n has ever had was standing right in front of her.

She’d recognize her face anywhere. It haunted her everywhere she went; mocking her and destroying every last bit of her wellbeing. Her face is unforgettable, having been ingrained into her head for so long now. She’s exactly how she is in her pictures, except she’s so much more beautiful in person.

It’s when Y/n’s eyes drift down to the shirt she’s wearing that takes the breath right from her lungs.

The word Lover printed inside of a red heart, the end of it hidden by the pocket right on her chest. It looked so unfamiliar on her—so unfamiliar that tears started piling in her eyes and her lips began to quiver.

That shirt was theirs. That shirt belonged to Y/n and Harry.

Lover.

It was a nickname Y/n always gave Harry. She would have normally settled for “babe” or “baby” like she did with her previous boyfriends, but “lover” came so naturally to her. It exemplified just how unique and rare their relationship was, too.

Harry had never been called that before, but there was something about it that felt so right. The first time she called him that, he blushed like no other. His cheeks and heart felt so warm, and Y/n wouldn’t let him hear the end of it. But no matter how much she joked about how much he blushed that night, it only made her call him that more.

And the more she said it, the more she realized that there was no other name to describe him.

She gave him the shirt for their first anniversary. She was insecure about it, considering it was the only gift she purchased him that year and wasn’t nearly as expensive as all the gifts Harry had given her. But after all the flowers she received had died months later, after all the chocolate he bought her had been eaten in two nights, after all the in-home spa treatments had been used by the both of them progressively throughout the months, and after all the sex they shared died down by the next morning, the only gift that remained so dearly to their hearts was that goddamn shirt.

The shirt became sentimental to their relationship and was almost used as a keepsake between the two of them. The mornings after making love, Y/n found herself slipping it on before rolling out of bed to make breakfast. Harry fell in love with her tendency to do so and always made sure she knew just how much he loved her for it.

This is my favorite look on you, he’d always say, where the shirt hung loosely from her frame and her skin scattered with the marks from his tongue.

Harry wore the shirt as a tradition, most commonly on their anniversaries or on any specific date that held such significance to their relationship. And every time Y/n saw him wearing it, she found it irresistible to kiss the heart designed right upon his chest.

My lover, she’d say, looks so perfect on you.

She never imagined anybody else in it. Even after they had broken up, she never thought the shirt would be passed down to later relationships Harry had with other women. When she moved out, he kept insisting that she should be the one to take it.


He looked down at the shirt all crinkled in his hands, the last compromise they had to make before Y/n officially moved out of their home. Her suitcases were packed neatly by the front door, the darkened sky from the storm waiting to approach making the house feel colder than it already had turned.

Y/n’s body was slumped against the doorframe, arms crossed and eyes red with inevitable tears as they were forced to face the harsh reality of what was to come.

After three years of a relationship neither of them expected to end, Harry had insisted that they take a break from each other. With his career coming to its peak and Y/n spending most of her time in the office, their relationship was going through a rough patch that lasted far too long.

“You paid for this, you know,” Harry whispered, obstructing the silence that seemed to make the air around them thicker and harder to breathe, “this is yours, always has been.”

Y/n shook her head, a few loose tears falling from her face as she did so. In all honesty, she didn’t want to be reminded of it after this. It’s held so much meaning between the two of them throughout a majority of their years being together that she couldn’t stomach the thought of looking at it in her selection of wardrobe. Not when Harry won’t be by her side, not when Harry won’t be apart of her life anymore.

She placed her hand on top of his softly, stroking the knuckles of his clenched fingers with her thumb.

“It was ours. But when it comes down to it, I bought it for you. It was a gift, you should keep it.”

Harry clenched his fingers harsher against the fabric, his quivered lips attempting a small smile as he lifted it to his chest. His thumb traced the heart above the pocket, watching as one of his tears soak into the material.

“It looks better on you anyways.” Y/n tried to laugh through the silent cries, but neither of them had the heart to make light of the situation they were facing.

Harry’s eyes narrowed down at her while a small sigh fell from his lips.

“You know I’d never wear this again, right? Not until we find our way back to each other.”

Y/n’s shaken hands wiped the tears from her cheeks, her lips pursed together to ensure her broken sobs wouldn’t surface until she was alone in her car.

“Yeah, until we find our way back.”

She stood on her toes to reach his cheek, where she tentatively placed a kiss on the flushed skin.

“You’ll always be my lover.”


But looking back at it now, she wouldn’t be standing in the middle of a grocery store, crying pathetically in front of a complete stranger if she had just taken the damn thing.

How could he do this to me?

“Babe, are these eggs alr—“

Harry’s words get caught in his throat when he sees Y/n standing in front of Jessica with tears streaming down her face and cries shaking her body.

At first, his instinct is to reach his hand out to her. But as his eyes follow her tearful gaze to Jessica’s shirt, which is far too large for her frame, but still being worn on her body, the realization hits him that it’s probably the last thing she would want.

He flutters his eyes shut as an unbearable feeling starts to rise in his stomach. This is the most unfortunate time to see Y/n again, and he can’t imagine how much hatred flowing through Y/n’s system as he stands there, cowardly silenced.

Not a word comes out of his mouth. Not even a pathetic stutter of her name, or even a lift of his lips to greet her in the most minimal of ways.

The only thought swirling through Y/n’s mind is how could you not say anything to me? After everything you did, after what I’m witnessing now, how is there not one word to say?

He watches as pain settles in her eyes as she looks at him. It’s as if she’s begging for an explanation, or even an apology he doesn’t really mean. She’s just looking for something, and knowing that she’s not getting anything is taking all the remaining life out of her.  

But he has so much to say. There are so many apologies, so many thoughts all scrambling in his head that everything becomes incoherent. He wants to tell her how sorry he is, and how hard it is to live with himself after all that he’s done to her. He wants to tell her that he never gave her that fucking shirt, that Jessica found it in one of his drawers and put it on while he was still sleeping from the night before. He wants to tell her that it isn’t what it looks like, that it isn’t what everybody thinks this is. But his throat tightens and his tongue suddenly becomes numb, completely preventing him from saying all the things he wishes to say.

“Y/n, is everything alr—”

Gabby halts when she discovers Y/n’s crying body being watched by the very two people that broke her heart. She’s breaking, so evidently breaking and neither one of them are doing anything about it.

“I w—want to go home.” Y/n’s voice cracks, face twisting as Harry still doesn’t find anything to say to her. “Let’s just go home.”

If Gabby hadn’t witnessed her best friend go through so much pain within the last four months, she would have been able to contain all the rage she’s held toward Harry. But something inside of her snaps when she sees the shirt Jessica’s wearing.

“No!” Gabby spits.

Before anybody sees it happening, Gabby slams her fists against Harry’s chest. Jessica begins to scream while Y/n jumps in an attempt to remove Gabby’s wild arms away from him.

Harry doesn’t do anything to defend himself, though, as he allows her to keep swinging her arms at him. All he can think about it how much he deserves it—how much he deserves all of what’s coming at him.

“You’re such a fucking jerk, Harry!” Gabby roars. “You ruined her! Who the fuck do you think you are?!“

“Gab, stop.” Y/n mumbles, finally able to capture her arms.

Gabby squirms as she tries to escape Y/n’s harsh hold on her, but against Y/n’s anger mixed with all her overwhelming emotions, there is no match.

Y/n starts to push Gabby toward the doors, and it takes every bit of strength left in her to not turn around to look at him one last time. 

“You’re her biggest mistake! I hope you know that!”

“But Steven, don’t you realize? We’ve been together this whole time.”

this was a good episode. i really wish there was more plot (in terms of learning more abt pink diamond and stuff), but seeing steven meet rose, even just a projection, was really sweet and touching and totally needed

reblogs are super appreciated ty <3

You Look Like You Need a Drink (M)

Originally posted by hidden--demons

Summary: After a bad week with the worst luck imaginable, you happen upon a local dive bar run by an attractive young bartender who livens up your evening.

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader

Genre: Smut

Word Count: 7,221

Warning: Bartender!Yoongi, tattooed!Yoongi, sexual harassment, sexual themes, power play, manners kink, alcohol use, profanity

A/N: I wrote this last year for my dear friend’s birthday and swore this fic would never see the light of day. I have since “remastered” it, so to speak, so I’m sharing it here. SURPRISE!

Keep reading

Request: Storm

Request: Can you write one where the reader breaks down to Bobby because she is pregnant with Dean’s baby. Thank you :)

Word Count: 1,069

<3

The rain has been coming down in buckets all night, and the wind whips at the sides of the house in such a way that every now and again, the foundations shake so severely that Bobby nearly ends up waiting out the storm in the panic room.

When he sees the flash of light outside the window followed by a rumble, he isn’t paying enough attention to think of it as anything but another facet of the storm. What he does pay attention to, however, is the frantic, loud knocking that reverberates well beyond the door.

The knocking doesn’t stop until he answers, pulling the door open to be bet with a harsh gust of wind.

“Y/N?” You’re soaked and dishevelled, and he isn’t sure which has smeared your makeup more – the rain, or the tears you’re trying and failing to hold back.

“Can- can I come in?” It’s a stupid question, but it’s the only thing your fuzzy, addled brain can come up with. Bobby doesn’t speak, but he nods, ushering you into the warmth of the house where you grew up and forcing the door closed against the wind.

“What the hell are you doing out in this?” Driving in this weather would be dangerous enough without you being in a complete state. You don’t reply, though, shivering in the hallway and wiping at your face in frustration. It scares him – you’re the closest thing he has to family: he’d raised you since you were six months old and your parents had been killed, leaving no-one to keep an eye on their demon-blood infected child. He’d taken you in, and found that he’d quickly become all too fond of you.

“Y/N, seriously. Where are Sam and Dean?” It must be something to do with them, because it elicits a sob from you, “I don’t want to play twenty questions with you.” He steps forward, resting his hands on your shoulders and pressing an affectionate kiss to your forehead, “Give yourself some time, alright? Go get a shower, get changed. Everything’s fine. Nothing is going to hurt you while you’re here. I’ll make you a hot chocolate while you’re gone, just how you like it. How does that sound?”

To his eternal relief, that manages to get a nod and a weak smile from you, and he pulls you in for a gentle hug before letting you go. He doesn’t look away from you until you’re safely up the stairs, and then sighs to himself – he’s never seen you like this. But you need him, and he’ll be damned if you’re not going to have him to go to.

***

It’s nearly half an hour before he hears you coming down the stairs, but there’s nothing wrong with that – especially when he sees how much better you’re looking. Sure, your eyes are still red-rimmed and you’re still shaking with the effort it takes not to cry, but at least your clothes are warm and dry and your lips are no longer bluish with the cold.

You shuffle into the room and take a seat, swallowing hard before looking up at Bobby. He sets the hot chocolate – piled high with cream, chocolate shavings, and marshmallows – in front of you, and then takes the seat next to yours. The storm outside still batters the windows, but the kitchen is warm, and with the pair of you bathed in warm light, it’s almost cosy.

“Talk to me.” Bobby prompts softly, reaching over and resting his hand over the top of yours. He sees the way you flinch at the gesture, and for a moment he thinks the worst, “Is it Dean? Has he hurt you?” He hadn’t been overly happy when you’d begun dating the eldest Winchester two and a half years ago, but you’d been happy, and Dean had given him a heartfelt promise that his intentions were pure – but Bobby had promised in return that the moment Dean so much as breathed the wrong way at you, he’d find himself without the means to do so again.

“Y/N, sweetheart, I need you to talk to me if you want to fix this.”

“I can’t fix it.” You speak properly for the first time since you stepped into the house, “It’s broken. Very broken.”

“Still with the ambiguous, sweetheart.”

It takes you a few moments to muster up the courage to come out with it, but eventually, you do.

“I’m pregnant.”

Silence, apart from the sounds of the storm outside, fills the room. For a long moment, he can’t find it in himself to speak – and then…

“Do not drink that.” He wraps his spare hand around the mug and slides it away from you, reminded suddenly of the copious amount of whiskey he just dropped into that, “Is it… it’s Dean’s?”

You scoff, “That’s the problem, isn’t it? Of course it is.” Sorrow and bitterness taint your tone in equal measure, and Bobby winces.

“Have you told him?” He tries, and you nod again.

“Yeah. That’s what the second problem is.” You sigh, pulling your hand away from his in order to run your hands over your face, skilfully masking a sob – but not enough. Bobby knows you inside and out, and picks up on it instantly.

“He reacted badly?”

“If saying I’d ruined everything and needed to get the hell out of his sight is reacting badly, then I’d say so, yeah.” You spit, but your voice breaks and before you know it, your head is on his shoulder and you’re sobbing openly into him, everything coming out. He holds onto you tightly, a silent promise that he’ll never let you go; that you always have him.

***

It’s nearly three hours later, by the time he’s managed to calm you down and get you asleep. You’re still asleep on the sofa when his phone rings. He answers, begrudgingly, when he realises who it is.

“Dean?”

“Bobby? Have you heard from Y/N? She’s gone and we’ve been trying to track her all night, but we haven’t found anything.” He rattles off, his voice frantic and shaking.

“Why? What happened?” Bobby asks, watching you sleeping form.

“We got in a fight. I said something stupid. God, Bobby, I’ll never forgive myself if she doesn’t…” He cuts himself off, and swallows hard, “Have you heard from her?”

He pauses, “Nope. Nothing. I’ll let you know if I do.”

“Thanks, Bobby.”

Happy holiday season! May your days be smutty and bright!



“What did I tell you.”



“Shut up.”

Remus toed his shoes off, “No, what did I tell you?”

Sirius closed his eyes, the rain sounding more like hail on the windows, the cars with not-crappy tires whizzing past them from their place on the shoulder of the road, “Shut. Up.”

Remus put his feet up on the dashboard and popped a potato chip into his mouth, shrugging, “I said it was gonna rain, that’s all. I said it was going to rain, and what did you say again?”

Sirius pinched the bridge of his nose.

Remus cocked his head to the side, “What was that?”

“I said it wasn’t going to rain, okay? Shut up.”

Remus put his hands up, smirking, “Alright, alright.”

They listened to a clap of thunder roll across the sky.

“You know, any old person would be saying ‘I told you so’ right now.”

Sirius looked at Remus with a sarcastic smile, “Well, aren’t you valiant then.”

Remus grinned back, “A bit, yes.”

Sirius groaned, slumping in his seat until his knees were crunched up against the steering wheel, “We’re going to be here for hours. Fuck.”

“We have potato chips.”

Sirius rested his cheek against his knees, his voice coming out slightly muffled, “You’re eating all the potato chips.”

Remus rolled his eyes but smiled, crinkling the bag closed and throwing it at his feet, “Oh, come here.”

Sirius pressed his face fully into his knees, “No.”

Remus laughed, reaching cross the center console to try and tug Sirius towards him, “Come here.

Sirius groaned.

“Why?” Remus laughed.

Sirius took his face out from the fabric of his sweatpants just long enough to glower at Remus, “Because you’re just too valiant.”

“Jesus Christ Pads, come here.”

Sirius allowed himself to be pulled, rather uncomfortably, into Remus’ lap, glowering the entire time.

His stare only melted a little at the feeling of Remus’ warm fingers running under his layers of jacket, sweatshirt, and t-shirt, fingers sliding over his rib cage. Remus dug his fingers in slightly, pulling Sirius closer, “I know a way to pass the time.”

Sirius tried his best to keep his front up, “Do you?”

Remus leaned forward, taking Sirius’ bottom lip gently between his teeth. He grinned, “Uhuh…” Sirius’ breathing hitched as Remus’ teeth dug into his skin a little harder for a moment, before he released it, “You might want to loose the glower though… I think you might like it.”

Sirius gaze melted at the mischievous smile on Remus’ face, “Well, what did you have in mind?”

Remus grinned, and Sirius let out a yelp as they were jolted backwards. Remus had flattened the seat out.

“God-“ Sirius laughed, hands falling on either side of Remus’ head, supporting himself, “Little warning next timph-“

Remus’ kiss was hot and hard, lips working slowly over Sirius’ as his palms slid, warm and dry on his skin, and for a moment everything but the constant patter of rain on the windows was whited out. Sirius let himself fall into it, back arching against his hands and chests pressing together. Remus spread his legs suddenly, knocking Sirius’ knees out from under him so that they fell together.

“Jesus..” Sirius panted, eyes slipping closed as Remus’ mouth dragged from his pulse point, the place they had slipped to when Sirius had fallen, along his jawline. It left a cool trail when warm lips were replaced with chilly air. Remus laughed breathlessly, hand moving between them, fingers hooking over the elastic waist of Sirius’ sweatpants for a moment before slipping his hand inside.

Sirius opened his eyes. His chest tingled with each rapid beat of his heart, all sparked by RemusRemusRemus; the look on his face as he watched each of Sirius’ reactions to the movements of his hands, his touch.

Sirius sucked in a sharp breath, letting a small sound escape, and tucked his face into Remus’ neck at a particularly perfectly aimed stroke of Remus’ thumb, “Re..”

“Hm?”

Sirius opened his mouth to speak but just ended up sucking gently on Remus’ pulse point instead. He pressed his hand to Remus’ lower stomach in place of words, just above the button of his jeans. His fingers felt too clumsy to ever get it undone— definitely not with Remus’ hand in his pants and breath on his neck— and he ended up just letting out a frustrated noise.

Remus laughed softly, “Having trouble?”

Sirius just shot him a look and roughly pushed up his thick, gray sweatshirt, still rain-speckled from their earlier run to the car. Remus’ white t-shirt came with it, and he threw the two clothing items into the drivers seat. His hands moved back to Remus’ pants but Remus captured both of Sirius’ palms in one of his.

He smirked, “First you.”

Sirius opened his mouth to protest, but was cut short with a gasp as Remus sat up suddenly, pushing Sirius’ jumper up, mouth instantly latching onto his chest. Sirius let his head loll back, his eyes slip shut, as Remus wound his arms around Sirius’ newly bared waist tightly. His lips were soft and slow against the dip in the middle space where Sirius’ ribcage met. Sirius allowed himself to revel in the touch for a moment before he started fidgeting, squirming to get out of the the sweatshirt that suddenly felt all too warm.

They laughed stupidly when Sirius got stuck for a moment, and Remus instantly tilted his chin up to capture Sirius’ lips, only they were almost smiling too much.

“Here,” Remus mumbled against his mouth. He held Sirius tightly with one arm, the other reaching forward to fiddle with the heat, “you warm enough?”

Sirius nodded, nose bumping Remus’, and guided his hand back around him, fingers tilting his chin back towards him.

“‘m warm.” He mumbled quietly, before kissing Remus like Remus had kissed him: hotly and fierce.

Remus’ response was almost instant, his body reacting like electricity to Sirius’. His hands were instantly in his hair, and then on his chest, then tugging at his pants. Sirius’ fingers finally accomplished undoing Remus’ jeans. They broke the kiss for only a moment, Sirius pushing Remus roughly backwards onto the flattened seat, Remus arching his hips off the seat so Sirius could slide the denim from his legs. Remus had an easier time removing the cotton sweatpants, groping Sirius’ bare arse while he was at it.

Sirius muffled a laugh against Remus’ neck and fell against his chest again, mouths colliding messily. He gasped as their bare skin touched, heat against heat, hips knocking together.

“Fuck-”

Sirius shuttered when Remus’ breath hit his neck as he muttered the curse. Remus’ hands dug into Sirius’ arse, pulling their bodies tighter together. Sirius spread his legs a little, knees against Remus’ hips, feet pressing against the center console and passenger door for leverage.

The moment he started rocking, the moment he saw Remus’ face, he thought he was a goner. The slide of their cocks was slightly awkward, bumping a little, but heaven. Sirius reached up to grab the shoulder of the passenger seat, needing something to hold onto, as he watched Remus’ eyes slip closed and draw his lip between his teeth.

“Jesus Pads…” The nickname sent sparks up Sirius’ spine. Remus’ hands tight on his hips sent jolts of static electricity through him. His hips jolted more sporadically now, slightly more desperate for the building friction. He mere image, the weight of their bodies moving together, was almost too much.

Sirius gripped the seat tighter when he felt Remus’ nails dig into the fragile skin of his hips. He let a small sound escape as Remus too started moving his hips, bucking up as Sirius pushed down, and nearly increasing the friction tenfold. Remus let out a soft noise at the same time he did at this revelation and was suddenly pushing himself onto his elbows, then all the way so their chests were pressed together, cocks held tight between them. Sirius let his head drop onto Remus’ shoulder, cheek to skin, breath fanning across Remus’ neck as he continued to hump his hips forward in time with their panting breaths. He felt Remus press kisses to his neck, his shoulder, anywhere he could reach without putting a single inch of distance between them.

“So fucking good, Pads…” He was breathless, arms tight around Sirius, “So good, c’mon, keep going… please..” He added the please like an after thought, like he didn’t know he was saying it out loud.

Remus’ pleas made Sirius’ breath catch in his throat, the soft murmurs of please and his name in his ear spurring him on to the point where his nails dug into Remus’ back and the tension was almost too much and not enough at the same time. He huffed into Remus’ neck and moved to pull back— only Remus got the message too quickly. Remus’ hand was between them in an instant, wrapping around both of them together and moving a little desperately.

“Re-“ Sirius’ hands went to his hair, threading his fingers through the tousled strands. He couldn’t seem to still his hips against Remus’ skin, “Remus, fuck- yes- God, yes-“

And Remus let out a choked moan and Sirius was finished, gone. He felt Remus’ forehead fall into his shoulder so that their bodies were almost completely intertwined, white heat painting their chests between them. He gasped for air and was only further surrounded by Remus, warm and musky and homehomehome.

Sirius’ breathing was shuddery as it slowed, his lungs and heart trying to match each other’s pace. He could feel Remus’ heart doing the exact same thing, fighting to matching his breaths. Sirius let all of his muscles relax into Remus’ chest, and Remus took the hint, laying them back down against the seat. Sirius let his eyes slip closed, re-opening one briefly when he felt Remus shift slightly, but it was only so he could pull both their sweatshirts of them as a sort of makeshift blanket.

“Good?” He asked quietly as he tried to cover Sirius’ quickly cooling body as best he could.

Sirius hummed contently, tracing his finger tips along Remus’ collar bone. Remus let his head rest back, pushing his fingers under the sweatshirts to rest on the warm skin of Sirius’ back.

“Pretty good idea I had then?”

Sirius hummed again.

“I mean, I know I said I wouldn’t say this but-”

Sirius didn’t open his eyes, “Don’t.”

“I told you-“

“You’re ruining a perfectly good moment.”

Remus pulled Sirius closer, pressing a kiss to his forehead, “This is still a perfectly good moment…”

Sirius didn’t have the energy to fight back and sunk back into to Remus’ chest with nothing but a light hit to his arm.

“…I just had to get it off my chest.”

Remus.”