You have bewitched me, body and soul

Oh, he knows you don't care, you've told him time and time again just having him on your special day is more than enough. He knows you're happy just sitting on the couch watching movies with his arms around your waist and your head tucked under his chin, where you fit so perfectly, but he still longs to make your birthdays memorable. Cary is observant, and never fails to pick up on the way your eyes light up when he tells you he's taking you out, or to pack up for a little getaway, with that bright twinkle in his warm, brown eyes that promises you a good time and plenty of kisses.

This day starts just like all birthdays do for you. Cary's arms still cradle you to him when you wake, his chest rising and falling in time with his slow breathing; it feels like safety and comfort. You know he always wants to make your birthdays about you, but as you wriggle up slightly to be able to look at your boyfriend, you can't help the soft smile on your face.

You're worth the world if it makes you smile like that, and he intends to devote the rest of his life to making you happy. Starting with tomorrow. Little do you know, he has a small black ring box in his coat pocket, and it's for you.

He looks like an angel, you always think. Gorgeous enough a man when he's awake, there's always this sense of giddy pride that fills your heart, alongside the love, when you realize once more that yours is the bed he chooses to fall asleep in, that you are the person he trusts so when he's asleep.

As though he can feel your gaze on him, he stirs, eyes fluttering open softly and then you're greeted by that warm, golden brown you adore so.

"Happy birthday, angel," he murmurs, arms reaching for you to pull you back into his embrace, and you let him, content to spend the first moments of your day together resting on his chest. "The way you're starin' at me though, I'd think it was my special day and not yours."

"Shush, and give me a birthday kiss," you demand, wriggling back up to face him, and Cary obliges with a grin. You kiss him once, twice more, just because you swear he gives the best kisses, and then you pull back to speak again. "So... did you listen to what I said this year?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

Oh, but you know better. That cheeky grin, the twinkle in his eyes... he didn't. He never does.

"Do you wanna know what we're doing this year?"

How could you not? Your curiosity is piqued, and you nod. Cary gently moves you off his chest, warm hands on your shoulders, and reaches over into the drawer of his nightstand. You watch him as he does, watching the way this beautiful man moves so gracefully, and you nearly miss how he produces a clean, cream colored envelope, just like the ones he uses at work every day. As he hands it to you, though, you notice your name penciled in his handwriting in the corner; does your name always look prettier when he writes it?

"Go on, angel, open it."

You do. It's thicker than what you'd expect from a simple letter, and the first thing that falls out is tickets. Plane tickets. The cogs are turning in your head as you slip out another paper, and another... A hotel booking. Couples' massage. Spa day. A map of Paris...

You're going to Paris. With your boyfriend.

He must see the disbelief on your face, laughing softly at your expression. "Happy birthday, baby. Do you like it?"

"Yes!!" It comes out a little louder than you'd intended, but neither of you care as you fling your arms around him, pressing five kisses to his face in quick succession before Cary turns his head just right to catch your lips in a proper kiss. "I love it. You know I love traveling with you. Oh my gosh, Cary, how did you do this-"

You won't find out. Cary may love you, but he's good at keeping secrets, and the way his eyes twinkle at you, you realize he won't say. What he does tell you is, "Get your suitcase, darling, we're leaving tonight."

Or sometimes, you sneak in for a few minutes, just long enough to soak up the atmosphere before you go back to ensuring nobody asks you to dance. Which they can't if you're far, far away from the dance floor. The harder part, honestly, is coming up with reasons not to go if someone asks you to the ball.

This year is no different. You manage to dodge the few invitations you receive; your potential dates suffer the case of disappointment that so often accompanies (gentle) rejection, but you know they'll get over it. And as the Yule Ball grows ever closer, you're beginning to believe you're in the clear for yet another year. Your secret is safe, just as you wanted it to be.

Until someone asks you in front of your friends.

The boy—you can't even remember his name, that's how little you've spoken to him—takes your answer as expected, and while you do feel a twinge of guilt for turning him down like that, your fear of humiliation is stronger.

"You're not going to the ball?" Is this the first time your friends realize you aren't going? See you turn down a date to the biggest event of the winter season? Judging from their reaction and the three pairs of incredulous eyes on you, it probably is.

"No," you huff, sitting back down on the floor of the common room, where you'd been sitting when what's-his-name approached you, and you lean your head against Sirius' thigh. Sirius, who only smiles and pets your head affectionately from where he's taking up half the couch.

When you don't offer any further clarification, the boys share a look, and you swear you can pinpoint the moment they decide they want to hear the reason.

"Well, why on earth not? You love Yule, and as Sirius here always says, you'd look beautiful in a gown." James skillfully dodges the pillow Sirius throws at his head. Sirius concludes James has had too much practice dodging bludgers during Quidditch.

"Would you believe me if I said I just don't feel like going?"

The reason feels weak already on your tongue, and you gather from their similarly raised eyebrows that the answer is no. Darn it.

"You don't have to go," Remus starts, "but if you don't, we'd like to know why so we know you aren't missing on the fun over a small thing we could have helped with."

Fun. The Yule Ball does sound like fun, a lovely night off among all the beautifully dressed students and faculty alike, enjoying the decorations and the music and the atmosphere...

"I can't dance," you groan into Sirius' thigh before you can help yourself. "I can't dance, and it's a ball, and I don't want to humiliate myself in the middle of the dance floor."

Because the fear of the embarrassment far outweighs your desire to take part in the festivities.

"Is that all?" You look up for just long enough to see Remus' surprised expression, mixed with something that looks half-smug, the way he does whenever he wins complicated debates. "See, I knew it'd be something solveable. Just have Sirius teach you. Then you'll know how to dance, and you can come to the ball."

"Sirius?"

"Despite what you might think, princess, I am qualified to teach ballroom dancing. Or to take you to the ball. Or both," the boy in question chimes in with a wink. The disbelief must still be plain on your face, because he adds, "All members of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black are formally trained in more styles of formal dancing than I want to count. You've heard tales of my mother, do you really think she'd be able to live with anything less?"

That is a good point. Sometimes, it's easy to forget Sirius' high-society upbringing. And honestly, what do you have to lose?

"You'd really teach me?"

"Would the condition of going to the ball as my date be pushing my luck too far?"

That one, you don't even have to think about. Who wouldn't want to go to the ball on Sirius Black's arm?

"No, Siri," you laugh, using your hand on his leg to help you sit up. "But you better teach me properly."

"Don't worry, princess," he chuckles. "You won't be disappointed."

That evening, when you receive your first dance lesson from Sirius Black, you can only conclude he isn't as good a teacher as he made himself out to be.

"Mr. Lupin, Ms. (y/l/n)! Trust me, you'll be much more capable in making potions if you have both hands free."

Remus looks up from the book he's holding open with his left hand, his right clasped in yours, and blinks innocently up at Slughorn. "But Professor, I do my best work with one hand-"

Professor Slughorn puts a hand in his coat pocket and glances between you and your boyfriend. You hide a smile by busying yourself arranging the ingredients by color, and you miss the miniscule upturn of your teacher's lips.

"Well, we'll see how your potion turns out. Mr. Black, perhaps you'd like to consider investing more attention in your potion instead of in your classmates' love life." With these remarks, he moves on to the next desk.

Sirius Black, ever the rebel, leans over and whispers conspiratorially with a smirk, "If you keep this up, you might even beat Marlene and Dorcas in being voted 'most likely to get marri-'"

He's cut off by Remus smacking him with the book in his left hand.

sometimes you also just use his hands as a heating pad

like when your own are cold

or when you're having period cramps

just grab your boyfriend's hands

he doesn't mind one bit

even if it sometimes results in... unexpected reactions

bonus though: it comes with cuddles

There's something about being snuggled up to your partner that eases the pain of periods. Maybe it's magic, maybe it's psychological... you don't know what it is, but when you're menstruating, Remus already knows he may be dragged over to hold you until you feel better.

That's how you find yourself in this position, sitting between your boyfriend's legs with his hands pressed to your belly, the warmth easing your discomfort just enough to have you sighing in content. Remus has his textbook open next to him, but turns his head every so often to press a kiss to your cheek where you rest your head against his shoulder.

"Moony, McGonagall said- woah! Lovebirds, get a room!" Sirius slaps a hand over his eyes the moment he sees how his friend's hands are up your shirt, a second too soon to notice said friend's deadpan glare.

"She's on her period, you twat. Get your head out of the gutter, Pads, what'd McGonagall say?"

"Yeah, yeah. Have fun, you two. Don't do anything I wouldn't. Or... anything Lily wouldn't." With a wink at the both of you, he's out the door again, ignoring Remus' deep sigh before he kisses you in apology.

another thing you love to do with his hands is kissing them when he least expects it

or anytime, really

just a soft kiss to his knuckles or his palm

you think its adorable how he gets flustered

no matter how many times you do it

he can never hide his grin

maybe you're a little in love with his hands

but he thinks he quite likes it

its cute to watch you tracing the scars over his hands

or to watch you playing with his fingers while you cuddle

so really

"Yeah, but I'll kiss you some more afterwards," he grinned, pressing the phone to his ear. "Cary Agos."

You couldn't hear the name or voice of whoever called him, but you assumed it was work. Curse you for loving a lawyer.

A devious plan formed in your mind, one that would definitely speed up his call. Under normal circumstances you'd leave him alone, but hey, it was his off day and you were feeling needy. He did do some work on his off days, but if he was going to be working the whole time, he might as well be at his office.

Silently crawling over to where he sat on the edge of the bed, your hands traced slow, delicate patterns over his back, his warm skin contrasting with your cold fingers. Other than flinching away from your first touch, Cary let you continue, and so you moved to the next phase of your plan.

You let your fingers move higher, fingertips trailing over his shoulder blades as you gently pressed warm, open-mouthed kisses to his neck.

Cary's breath hitched and you knew you had his attention. Now, he did try and swat you away, but you only moved out of his reach to continue kissing and caressing him; your fingers traced intricate pictures on his skin and you smiled into his neck when you felt him shudder.

Shifting slightly behind him, you repositioned yourself to be more comfortable, letting a soft whimper escape your lips right next to his ear. God, the sooner he could touch you, the better. You didn't even have a pillow to grind on, and you were aching for attention.

Another whimper, and your lips brushed over the spot on the underside of his jaw.

"I'm gonna call you back in a couple hours." He wasted no time in hanging up after that, tossing the phone aside and nestling his hips between yours again as he covered your body with his own. Despite the tension in his body, you knew he wasn't mad; his beautiful brown eyes gazed down at you with the same love as several minutes ago.

"I'm gonna get you back for that," he murmured, before his mouth found yours again in a passionate kiss.

"Can't wait," you mumbled against his lips.

And all this while, you don't stop your incessant typing, don't take your attention off of your work for longer than it takes you to say, "hi, Peter, how was class?"

Peter ignores your question.

"Babe," he sighs, saving your document with one hand and gently closing your laptop with the other, "I thought we agreed you'd take the rest of the day off?"

"Yeah," you sigh back, swiveling in your chair to face him, hands gesturing helplessly as you talk. "But then I looked at my planner, and I- there's so much more to do, Peter, and if I can't do it all I'm gonna fail this class and watch my dreams slip through my fingers. Like little dandelion seeds floating on the wind."

He's ready to make a joke, but you look so exhausted, so dejected and genuinely afraid of all your work being for naught, that he swallows those words and replaces them with something gentler.

"Hey, babe. Babe, look at me." His warm hand touches your chin, gently guiding you to meet his eyes as he kneels in front of you. "You're up in your head again. I promise you, one night off isn't gonna shatter your dreams. It'll be good for you, actually; if you keep pushing without a break, you'll only burn out and get sick, and then you'll lose more time. Take a break with me, yeah? Come relax, we'll make those little dessert things you like, we'll watch your favorite show and I'll give you lots of kisses."

Damn, that's tempting. Part of you wants nothing more than to say yes, but then the overwhelming guilt of not being productive takes over and you shake your head, blinking back tears.

"I can't, Peter. I can't lose this, this opportunity, this- I've dreamed about this for years and I can't lose my chance, not when I'm so close- Peter, I want this so bad, but what if I can't-"

You cut yourself off there. The thought of not achieving your dreams, not getting what you want so badly, what you've worked so hard for, is painful to think about, and a single tear rolls down your cheek as you take a deep breath and remind yourself to think about something else. Alarm flashes across Peter's face, but he tries his best to hide it and reaches up to gently brush your tears away with his thumb.

"Hey, angel, don't think like that. You really think you could lose it, when you've worked this hard? Babe, don't underestimate yourself. You've worked hard, you're still working hard, but you can't work yourself to death either. You need to find a balance, between work and rest. And get those thoughts of failure out of your head, okay angel? You're not gonna fail. Not your class, not your course, not at your goals. You'll succeed, I promise."

Peter sounds so earnest, so honest, so much like he truly believes you can do it, that you can't do much more than stifle a sob and nod, reaching for a hug he's all too happy to give you.

"That's my girl," he smiles, pressing a sweet kiss to your cheek. "Now, no more work tonight, okay? Come to the kitchen, and remind me how to make those dessert things you like before I mess it up and something completely different comes out of the oven."

In hindsight, you should have known it would end this way, and... maybe you wanted it to. You're dressed in the outfit he loves so much on you, smiled so innocently at him when he came to pick you up and ignored the way his breath hitched the moment he laid eyes on you. Or... well, Sirius believes you're only pretending not to notice.

He hasn't been able to keep his hands off of you all evening. A hand on your back, fingers tracing shapes on your thigh before he forces himself to let up on you slightly, hand reaching for yours, stealing a kiss every chance he gets... even as you leave, he has an arm around your waist, holding you close, smudging a kiss to your hairline paired with softly murmured words you don't catch.

And now...

Now, his lips are on yours before you've even entered your apartment; you're still blindly fumbling for your keys and have to push him away, just for a moment, else you're sure you'll be standing outside all night. He looks confused for a moment, and hurt, but then you're flinging the door open, tugging him inside with you by his belt loops, and the pieces click.

He kicks the door shut with his foot. You barely have time to register the dull slam of the wood before he's pulling you into him—or maybe you're dragging him closer by your hand on his collar—and he's groaning out a "fuck, so fuckin' pretty, darlin', my gorgeous girl-" before your mouths meet again, hot and greedy and wanting.

Sirius backs you up as he kisses you, strong hand gripping your hip. He knows the layout of your apartment well, too well for the way he bumps you against the corner of the dining table to be anything but carelessness. To his credit, he apologizes when you wince, hand moving to soothe the sore spot, but you've already forgotten about the incident, too lost in the way he's kissing you.

God, how you love his kisses. He has a way of kissing you so sweetly, moreso than you expected of a man like him, and that sweetness isn't lost even as his kisses turn deeper, hungry and impatient. Sirius kisses you like he wants you, like you're special, makes you feel like you're valuable, like you're worth it, and... and of course he does, you're all those things to him-

You're not given time to dwell on it, though, not with the way he's filling every corner of your mind. Sirius has quite the personality, too much for some, but you love him all the more for who he is. And right now, he's your breathtakingly handsome boyfriend who's leaning over you, pressing you onto your bed as he settles between your legs, and now your breath is catching in your throat.

"Merlin, look at you. My stunning girlfriend. Most attractive woman I've ever seen," he breathes when he pulls back to simultaneously catch his breath and admire you. You look like a work or art to him, a goddess, with tousled hair and kiss-swollen lips, panting and reaching for him like you miss him even though he's right there. He obliges, his weight pressing you further into the mattress as his teeth graze your pulse, his mouth kissing its way back up to yours. "Bet you did in on purpose, tryin' to test my restraint... darlin', don't you know what uou do to me when you dress up all pretty like that?"

Breathless and not about to admit you chose your outfit with him in mind, though you're certain he knows, you only shrug, and you feel his lips quirk into a smirk just under your jaw.

"Oh, gorgeous, I'm gonna show you just what it does to me."