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purinfelix · 5 months

Note

loved the recent trent fic!! you write so well 🤩 would love more trent works w any trope or theme! take this as a formal request :)

oblivious ✮⋆˙

pairing: trent alexander-arnold x reader summary: trent's attempts at making moves on the new media intern keep failing, and he has no idea why, until he enlists his teammates help warnings: none - just two idiots and miscommunication w/c: 2.7k

a/n: thank u sm for the req anon!! hope u enjoy this <33 i feel like i say this with half the stuff i write but istg i did not expect this being this long ... i just love trent sm writing for him seems so easy 😭

Trent felt like he was losing his mind, and it was all your fault.

Of course, he wouldn’t dare say that to your face, because in reality it wasn’t really your fault - he just wanted something else other than the possibility of you not liking him back to blame for why none of his moves seemed to be getting through to you.

It wasn’t your fault that you had shown up for your first day as a media intern, lanyard pass hanging from your neck, in an outfit so cute he felt as if the wind had been knocked out of him when you introduced yourself. It wasn’t your fault either that his hand had trembled when he stretched it out to shake yours. And it definitely wasn’t your fault that, on this first day alone, he had missed 7 whole passes just because his eyes seemed to keep drifting to where you were watching from the sidelines.

He couldn’t blame any of these things, nor the flurry of butterflies that rendered him speechless everytime he caught eye of you, on any fault of your own. But surely, after almost two weeks of unsuccessful attempts to garner your affection, there had to be something other than his own incompetence at play.

First, there had been the training session a couple of days after your first, where he had finally worked up the courage to ask you for your number. Wiping his clammy palms on the back of his shorts, he had tried his best to walk up to you in as casual a way as possible - the last thing he wanted to do was creep you out before you even got to know each other. You had been in the middle of packing away some of the camera equipment you were borrowing, to which he offered to help. An offer you gratefully took up with a smile so charming he had to hold back from telling you he’d do anything you asked him right there and then.

“Hey, you know, I was sort of wondering if,” he sucked in a quick breath of air to calm his nerves, and stop himself from rambling like an idiot, “if I could get your number? You know, in case you wanted to know your way around or if I have any questions about the media plans?”

He attempted to flash his signature smile in order to conceal how nervous he was, and also how horrible both his excuses for needing your number were. Somehow he had decided it would be better to frame it as a casual, business-related request, to minimise the chances of rejection. But it seemed this wouldn’t be enough.

“Oh, well I’ve already been shown around already and if you have any questions you can always contact the main media department! Here, I’ll jot down their number and email for you.” You shot him a warm smile as you bent down to pull a pen and notepad out of your back pocket, whilst Trent just stood there, frozen.

Sure he had left practice with a number but it wasn’t your number, and almost immediately he started coming up with a list of reasons why. Maybe you were trying to be nice, or thought he actually needed help. Maybe he had come on too strongly and scared you off, or perhaps you were already in a relationship. Or maybe, just maybe, you really were uninterested in him and were trying your best to let him down gently. The last was the most painful to accept, but somehow it was the one his mind kept circling back to.

Then, a couple days later, he had somehow managed to rebuild his confidence enough to decide to try to get to know you gradually, naturally, through conversation. Which was what he was attempting to do the entire time the team had been setting up for a photoshoot showing off the new kit with the help of the media crew, and of course, yourself.

But once again, it seemed like luck was not on his side, because every time he tried to talk to you he would get swept away for a makeup check or outfit change or to be asked for his opinion on the damn lighting. All of this he could really care less about, but knowing you were watching on forced a smile on his face as he tried his best to get through all these tedious formalities as quickly as possible, so that he could get to you.

Before he could though, he found himself sat in front of a camera, next to Dominik, trying his best to maintain his composure as he watched you fiddle around behind it. You were trying your best to be helpful, picking things up off the ground and rushing here and there trying not to geek out over actuall getting to witness a photoshoot in real time. It was almost too endearing for Trent to watch, evidenced by the almost goofy looking smile plastered across his face.

“Yes, exactly like that Trent!” he heard the photographer call out, followed by a blinding flash of white light as he took his picture. You looked up at this of course, scurrying over to where he was, and Trent could almost hear his heart beat rising just knowing your eyes were on him. That was all he needed for another swell of confidence to hit him.

“How do I look?” he called out, making sure to look directly at you so that his intentions couldn’t be misconstrued again. This seemed to catch you off guard though, as he watched your eyes shoot open in surprise, stuttering a little before he heard your response.

“You look really good,” you said, and Trent’s smile only grew wider. That was of course, until you continued, “I think the new kit looks great on you guys!” Of course.

From beside him he felt Dominik nudge his side, already sensing his teasing intensions. “Yeah, she said ‘you guys’ so don’t get too cocky now,” his teammate laughed, and Trent only shrugged off his mocking. Instead, he was more focused on you and how earnestly your tone had been that he couldn’t even find it in him to get frustrated with you for not taking his hints. That’s all he seemed to be able to do though, watch you, in the least creepy way possible - an awkward, slightly confused, smile on your face, clearly not understanding what his teammate had said.

And this sort of scenario would only repeat numerous times over the next two weeks - Trent trying his absolute hardest to drop the most obvious hints at your feet only for you to look at them with that adorable gaze and walk off without entertaining them. He had lost count of how many times he had offered to carry your bags or equipment to which you had only responded with something along the lines of “Thanks, but I’ve got it!”, cheery as ever. He had even brought you coffee one morning, which you had accepted gratefully - and when taking it from him the graze of your fingers across his was enough to make him flustered. However, you clearly hadn’t noticed that he had written his own number on the napkin wrapped around it, which he watched you crumple up and toss away without a second glance.

Small talk was far from his strong point but he had tried time and time again to start up conversations with you, which offered him some peek into your persona, but never enough before he was interrupted by the coach yelling at him to get back to practice or a teammate, clueless to his mission. Even so, if it weren’t for these tiny interactions with you he might’ve given up by now, but each one, drip-fed to him like a tired hamster running on a wheel, only made him more desperate to get closer to you. But he was just about to lose it.

After yet another practice session, which proved that he was getting slightly better at passing whilst under your watch, but not any better at talking to you, he had trudged his way into the lockeroom.

“It’s no use!” he sighed, slumping down on the nearest bench as if his frustration was taking a physical toll on him.

“Oh cheer up Trent,” Robertson chided as swung an arm around the right-back’s shoulder, “I’m sure some day you’ll be able to match my pace.”

“Lay off him Robbo,” Dominik laughed from the other side of the lockeroom, “it’s clearly not that. He’s been trying to get with that new media intern but they keep dodging all his passes.”

“Funny football pun,” Virgil chimed in, clearly amused by this mention of gossip.

“Oh you can’t be serious,” Robertson said, turning to Trent, “That’s what you’ve been doing? I was wondering what had gotten into you when you kept trying to talk to them and offering to hold all their stuff.”

“Look, even you lot have noticed it! So either they’re ignoring all my hints or they’re just straight up disinterested.” Trent huffed, unaware of his teammates looking on with slightly amused pity.

“I don’t think it’s either of thoes Trent,” Virgil hummed, “I mean, have you actually told them you’re interested in them? Directly, without trying to be vague or suave or anything.”

A beat of silence aside from the whirring of the cogs in Trent’s mind.

“... No.”

“Sounds to me like you just need to get them alone so that they’ll actually hear you out once you do tell them directly. Seems like you need some help from ol’ Robbo hey?” Robertson gestured to himself, smiling goofily.

“Yeah because you’re such the lady killer,” Dominik snickered, ignoring his teammate’s offended scoff before adding “Don’t worry Trent, we’ll all pitch in, it won’t just be Robbo.”

“Thanks guys,” Trent sighed, too tired to question whether he was making the right decision or not.

Although maybe it would’ve been worth rethinking his decision to let his teammates ‘help him out’ for a little longer. Because now, as he stood alone in one of the meeting rooms in the club building, he couldn’t shake the feeling that it was a bad choice. For the past five minutes he had been pacing anxiously up and down the length of the room, nothing but the hum of the ventilator and a few chairs laying askew to keep him company.

Honestly, he had had a bad feeling about this ever since Robertson had told him to wait in the meeting room after practice, without any further explanation. Ever since their talk the previous day he had been revising the words he was going to tell you, as directly and clearly as possible to make sure that he didn’t mess up what he saw as his last shot. His adrenaline was still pumping high from the training session, and he really should’ve showered before coming here because now the paranoia of smelling bad was just another addition to his endless list of concerns.

Suddenly though, he heard the creak of a door behind him. Whipping his head around he locked eyes with you as you slowly creeped out from behind it, somehow looking more lost and confused than he was.

“Hi,” he heard himself croak out, feeling all the words he had prepared hitch awkwardly in his throat.

“Hey,” you responded, voice charming as ever as you walked over to where he stood - face showing a slightly embarrassed expression at having caught him in the middle of what seemed like an awkward solo pacing session. “Robertson told me I was supposed to come to the meeting room, I’m not in trouble or anything am I?”

Trent made a mental note to tell Robbo off later solely for having made you worry, but that would soon be lost under the sweeping realisation that the two of you were alone. Albeit, in one of the least romantic places possible, but alone nonetheless.

“Oh- Well-” this realisation had only seemed to turn him into a babbling idiot. “It’s not that- You’re not in trouble, don’t worry. He probably only told you that because I wanted to talk to you.”

The sigh of relief you had been letting out was cut short as your eyes flicked back up to him, eyebrows raised in curiosity. “Oh? What about?”

He swallowed hard, this was it. With fists clenched he sucked in a quick, but deep breath, trying not to let the fact that you were standing mere steps away looking so effortlessly adorable, distract him.

“I was wondering if-” he could hear his internal voice cheering him on - C’mon mate.

“-maybe you wanted to-” Spit it out.

“- go get a coffee sometime?” Not exactly, but good enough

“A coffee?” you perked up at this, and your smile alone was enough to relieve the nerves that had been building in his chest ever since you had entered the room, “I’d love to!”

Oh thank f-

“I mean, that sounds like a great idea for team bonding! We could invite all the guys and then the media team could get some great shots out of it and-”

Relief truly is short lived.

“No- like just us. Like, as a date.”

Both of you seemed to be shocked when Trent said this. You, for obvious reasons, stood there, mouth slightly agape with your eyes widened. Trent, on the other hand, was surprised at how quickly and firmly he had said it, but considering that it was the accumulation of over two weeks of frustration, he wasn’t that surprised. Instead, he just watched you silently piece everything that he had done over these two weeks together. The smiles, the small talk, the coffee. All of these had been more than just friendly gestures, even if it had taken you this long to figure it out.

“Like, as a date,” you echoed his words quietly, in disbelief almost, and he could only nod shakily in confirmation. “I’d love to.”

Trent felt his heart swell, threatening to burst out of his chest, upon finally hearing your sweet response to the question that had been on the tip of his tongue ever since laying eyes on you. And he made this as evident as possible, letting out a loud sigh as all the nerves and stress that had been building up, finally left him, and were replaced by a much more pleasant feeling.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for you to say that,” he said through thankful laughter, “Has anyone ever told you that you’re, like, really oblivious?”

“I may have heard that once, or twice,” you admitted sheepishly, unable to hold back from sharing his laughter. Suddenly though, a buzzing from your pocket cut through the moment, causing you to whip out your phone and scan it quickly.

“Uh, damn, it’s getting late, I should go.” You were already spinning to head out the door, before you were stopped.

“Wait!” Trent made his way over to you quickly, almost desperate in his movements not to let this last chance slip away once he had finally made something of it, “Do you think I could have your number? You know, to text you the details for coffee.”

“Oh! Of course,” you laughed at your own stupidity for not realising this sooner, quickly pulling out the same notepad you had used almost two weeks ago, only this time using it to jot down your own number. As you handed it to him, your fingers lingered in his palm for a second, barely noticeable but enough to send a signal to him, one that said you felt the same, and had been for the past two weeks despite your inability to express this.

You headed for the door, waving him a goodbye before shooting him a quick, playful smile. “See you, Trent!” you called out before disappearing down the hallway.

Trent just stood there, slightly in shock, but more so in a haze of elation, an almost embarrassingly wide smile finding itself across his face. To think the tiny slip of paper he was holding was the result of over two weeks of continuous, frustratingly tedious effort, much of it failing, was sort of embarrassing. But, thinking about this only made him cherish it all the more, as he held it close to his chest, smiling to himself.

#trent alexander arnold #trent alexander arnold x you #trent alexander arnold x reader #trent alexander arnold fluff #trent alexander arnold fic #football fanfic #football fluff #fanfic #football #liverpool fc #lfc #purinfelix #jet writes ★#jet answers ✧

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annabelle--cane · 9 days

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wh. what magnussy tweet

mr newall. why did you not just say magnusy. that wouldn't have been even half as incriminating.

#tmagp #id in alt text #alexander j newall #answered #anons

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annabellelupin · 9 months

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(rwarb spoiler)

Queen Mary: well what about heirs???? you have to have kids youre a prince for fucks sake

Alex: kids? oh yeah we're totally having kids not at all a problem we'll surely make it happen

Henry: .... we are?????

Henry: wasn't at all aware of that but alrighty then

Alex: I mean in my mind we have like 3 kids, 2 dogs, and a cat so-

#ok but like #alex answered to quickly to the question about “heirs”#to have not have thought about the possibility of them having kids before #and henrys just like???????#ok cool ig didnt know before just now but anyway #rwarb #rwarb book #red white and royal blue #henry wales #firstprince #first prince #alexander claremont diaz #alex claremont diaz #henry fox mountchristen windsor #rwarb incorrect quote #incorrect quote #bea fox mountchristen windsor #rwarb henry #rwarb alex

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sivavakkiyar · 1 year

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“The Exeter Book gives no authors and no titles to the 193 poems it now contains; nor are solutions given for the Riddles…Riddle 75 consists of a single line of verse: Ic ane geseah idese sittan. Literally construed, this reads: ‘I a single saw woman sitting’; the adjective ane (one) qualifies the noun idese (woman). My first translation of this read: ‘I saw a woman sit alone’. Initial vowels alliterate in Old English verse; ane and idese agree in sound as well as grammatically; both are in the accusative case.

Some scholars have thought this one-line riddle incomplete. It had no accepted solution. A woman might sit alone for various reasons. I received a postcard which suggested that the answer might be ‘A Hen’. Another reader wrote proposing ‘The Moon’, which was attractive, though Old English se mona is masculine. I remained undecided, assuming all the while that the woman must be the subject. She might be lonely, like the women who speak the Exeter Book poems Wulf and Eadwacer and The Wife’s Lament; or like the speaker of Ezra Pound’s version translated from the Chinese, ‘The Jewel Stair’s Greivance’. I was still looking in this direction when another postcard came with what must be the correct solution: ‘A Mirror’.”

—-Michael Alexander, The First Poems In English

#Michael Alexander #exeter book #poetry #riddle #tbh I don’t find that answer so conclusively correct but he’s obviously the expert I can’t even read the original

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trcpicoz · 2 months

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i just LOVE the thought of doggy with trent

imagine him fucking you so so good in that position, it’s your fav because your eyes roll all the way back

detailed smut 18+

omg yes and he’d do it in the mirror just to see your face and he tries to fit his dick inside of you. i’ve talked about this before and i think he’s very girthy like has to work his dick in your pussy slowly to fit in all in and stretch you. he’d love to pull on your hair for support too. and omg the thought of him creampieing drives me CRAZY it would be the best feeling to have his girth pump cum inside you.

#trent alexander arnold x reader #footballer smut #luna answers🍄#luna’s dirty thoughts 💭#luna drabble🪽

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icarusbetide · 5 days

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absolutely useless discourse: comparison of washington's thank you letters to jefferson & hamilton

today in the group chat i shared the letters that washington sent both jefferson and hamilton after their respective resignations, noting that they were really similar in their message. for some reason this sparked debate on which letter felt "warmer", with a surprisingly split vote?

washington particularly paid close attention to the words he used - Sir, Dear Sir, My Dear Sir all show different degrees of affection and he could use that subtlety to convey tone. i thought this debate might be interesting to throw out to people who know washington's letter-writing habits, or general 18th century letter standards. the real answer is that both letters are basically the same and this is a stupid question but hush. we're continuing the age-old tradition of pitting jefferson and hamilton against each other.

edit: omfg my friend just messaged me with "you idiot why didn't you make a poll" and i am soo stupid. probably too late but i'll still add it.

the pro-jefferson side of the chat was noting how he sounds much more obliging and deferent to jefferson, like "i cannot suffer you to leave your station without assuring you", or "I beg you to believe that I always am Dear Sir Your Sincere friend". obviously they break later on but at this point, he must've had great respect for him.

the pro-hamilton side said that that's proof he was closer to hamilton, and felt more comfortable being straightforward: "you may assure yourself of the sincere esteem" instead of "i beg you to believe". also, they pointed out how although he says that both of them fulfilled all their duties to his expectations, he says in only hamilton's that he can render it due to opportunities that "cannot deceive me".

any thoughts?

#truly useless but someone might have an answer!#george washington #thomas jefferson #historical hamilton #amrev #amrev fandom #letters #alexander hamilton

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inejschumacher · 2 months

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re: those hamilton edits - WHERE???

I’ve compiled a list🫡

Daniel Ricciardo: the room where it happens

Lewis Hamilton:

Alexander Hamilton

Wait for it 2 3 4

The room where it happens 2

Your obedient servant 2

Guns and ships

You’ll be back

Washington on your side

Non-Stop 2

Nico Rosberg: wait for it

#answered asks #lewis hamilton #nico rosberg #daniel ricciardo #carlos sainz #charles leclerc #oscar piastri #lando norris #lance stroll #alex albon #pierre gasly #nyck de vries #formula 1 #alexander hamilton

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liverpool-enjoyer · 2 months

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fuck man i'll take the shot to the head. my life is temporary liverpool football club is forever.

#what kinda SICK FREAK comes up w this question #if your answer isnt simply get shot then youre wrong #alexis mac allister #wataru endo #dominik szoboszlai #trent alexander arnold #lfc #liverpool fc #liverpool

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kazoosandfannypacks · 8 months

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What's been your craziest fandom experience?

it's gotta be the time when I was in the lounge at college and a friend said "I'm only nineteen" and I said "but my mind is older" and the guy playing pool by himself said "these new york city streets get colder, i shoulder..." and then he and i rapped the entirety of non-stop, much to my friend's bewilderment.

#thanks for the ask anon!#kazzy answers asks #anon love #hamilton #non stop #lin manuel miranda #alexander hamilton #kazzy's diary

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tortoisebore · 5 months

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please please can we get a post of remus calling sirius baby for the first time bc im obsessed and want to know every detail about sirius’ outfit and how it went down

YES YES YES 👹👹👹👹👹👹👹👹👹

Remus was too drunk for this. Well—maybe drunk was the wrong word. His blood alcohol level was probably still somewhere in the realm of tipsy, but his brain was sluggish. Slow-moving. A disastrous combination of desire and want and pure, unadulterated filth. His limbs felt heavy and too-long as he stood slouched against the wall, gripping an empty glass hard enough to be absently worried it would shatter in his hand. Watching. Lily had described the place as a bar but it felt more like a club, all low, colorful lights and blaring music, an open space in the middle of the room and tall tables lining the walls. It was loud, Remus was just on the drunk side of tipsy, and Sirius was a fucking dream.

All things considered, Remus had done a really great job of being normal up until an hour or so ago. He hadn’t lost his shit when Sirius appeared at his door in a giant gray coat with his hair up, tied messily off his neck, fully flaunting the faint bruise Remus had left below his ear two days before. That damn glitter was on his eyes again, catching the light and working in tandem with the faint smudgy black lining his lashes to make his eyes look less gray and more glowing, molten silver. Remus had nearly fallen to his knees, had nearly said 'fuck it' and yanked Sirius inside instead of following through with the going out plan, but he’d been very regular about it—just choked out a simple little ‘you look nice,’ swallowing hard when Sirius smiled sweetly and took his hand as they traipsed down the stairs and out of the building.

Then they’d arrived at the bar, and Sirius had slipped his coat off, and Remus’ poor, piece of shit brain had immediately broken.

So now here he was, fighting for his life standing around a table in the corner, unable to wrench his eyes away from the three-inch strip of bare skin on Sirius’ stomach while he waited for drinks at the bar. He was wearing a short, black tee shirt with an open back over some see-through, lacy thing that hugged his waist, showing off the tail end of the dagger tattoo on his stomach and the beginnings of the vines on his hips before they disappeared beneath straight-legged black pants that fit so perfectly Remus could have cried. He was leaned up against the bar artfully, tapping the toe of his platform boot against the floor, chatting idly with Marlene while they waited for the bartender.

Remus thought he might be drooling.

Sirius had been flitting between the bar and the dance floor and their table in the corner all night, leaving Remus with a never-ending supply of drinks and all these evil, lingering touches, whispers near his ear disguised as kisses on his cheek that twisted his gut and made his fingers itch to touch and grab and hold. This thing between them was still new, only a couple weeks old, and Remus was really really trying to reign himself in, but god, he wanted to touch. Wanted to bite and lick and taste, felt drunk on desire more than liquor by the time Sirius came back with two more neon-colored drinks in sweaty glasses.

“Yours,” he chirped over the music, finally, finally sliding in close and depositing Remus’ drink on the sticky tabletop. Remus eyed him as he sipped at his straw, looking up at him with wide, innocent eyes. It was blatantly obvious that Sirius knew exactly what he was doing, and that it was working. Remus glanced around, watched Marlene saunter off to join Dorcas across the room, and slipped a hand around Sirius’ waist, backing himself into the wall and pulling Sirius with him.

“You look…” he started, shamelessly trailing his eyes down and then back up Sirius’ frame, shaking his head with a sigh when every word he could think of fell short of the actual ethereal being currently pressed up against him.

“I look what?” Sirius prodded, sliding his drink onto the table without looking, snaking his arms up Remus’ chest and around his shoulders, a smug, sly sort of smile tugging at his stained, cherry-red lips.

Remus was too fucking drunk for this.

He managed to get a hand to Sirius’ jaw, tipping his head back just enough to brush their lips together, reveling in the hitched breath it pulled from his throat.

“You look fucking perfect,” he muttered, letting Sirius lean in only to pull back. Remus’ vision was swirling, heart thundering in his chest when Sirius gave a quiet little whine of complaint, dragging blunt nails across the back of his neck. Remus gave in, let him press a too-short, too-soft kiss to his lips before tilting Sirius’ head to the side, mouthing down his jaw to get at that faint little bruise beneath his ear and nipping at it softly, eyes fluttering closed at the taste of his skin, speaking before he could think. “You’re killing me over here, baby.”

Fuck—his stomach dropped instantly. He’d never said that before, never used any kind of pet name for Sirius at all, and it felt foreign in his mouth, foreign to his ears, settled badly in his stomach when Sirius let out a sharp exhale and reeled back. Remus was prepared to pretend it had never happened, maybe blame it on those neon colored drinks that kept appearing in his hands—but the words died on his tongue.

Sirius’ eyes were wide, flicking back and forth fast between his own, cheeks flushed a pretty pink. Remus waited, watched Sirius look down at his lips and then back up, and barely heard him breathe, “Say it again,” over the music.

He hesitated, studied Sirius’ face carefully to make sure he wasn’t reading it all wrong, and teased, “You’re killing me over here?”

Sirius shook his head, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “The other thing.”

“What?” Remus asked, dragging a thumb down his jaw, the desire to sink through the floor disappearing into thin air as he watched Sirius’ pupils dilate, felt his fingers trip up to tug at his hair. “Baby?”

Sirius nodded, pulling him in close and speaking low. “Yeah,” he smiled, “that one.”

Remus kissed him, had to, pulled him in with two hands on the side of his neck and bit at his lower lip, tasted artificial cherry and vodka and felt his stomach drop when Sirius gave a sweet little whine, pulling back just enough to speak.

“Again,” he whispered, melting further into Remus’ chest, looking up at him with that smug little grin that made his heart stutter.

“Baby,” Remus repeated, kissing him again, fingers curling into the hair at the nape of his neck, brain working overdrive, whirring loud in his ears. “My perfect, pretty baby.”

Sirius let loose a string of colorful curses that made Remus laugh before he was pulled in again. Sirius was seemingly entirely finished with teasing—kissed him hard and bit at his lip and slid his hands heavily back down his chest. He pulled away after several long moments, a deep flush staining his cheeks, and gave Remus a look.

“Don’t drink anymore,” he ordered, a secret sort of smile playing at the corner of his mouth. Remus’ skin tingled, heat racing down his spine.

“No?” he smirked, instantly grabbing for Sirius’ hand to keep him close when he stepped back.

“No.” He reached across the table and grabbed an abandoned water on the other side—James’, most likely—sipping at it instead of the bright red drink he’d just brought over. "We should go to yours after this."

Remus was very, very on board with that.

The Outfit™️

#u ask tortoise answers #hey sharpshooter rambles #i didn't mean for this to get steamy they just did what they wanted #sirius wears alexander mcqueen on casual nights out it's just who he is #remus showed up in jeans and a white t-shirt bc that's just who he is #in the current chapter im writing he's wearing the same thing bc they're going out in ny and sirius told him to #sirius has a thing for remus in a white t-shirt #for reasons we will come to discover #he's so real

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lexqa · 3 months

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