#sirius fluff

You loved your new boyfriend. You really, truly did. What you didn’t love, however, was pretending you weren’t dating in front of all your friends—especially when all you wanted to do was jump his bones whenever you saw him.

You and Sirius had agreed to keep your relationship secret for the time being. It was still fresh—delicate, in a way—and the two of you wanted space to enjoy it before inviting the rest of the world in. You’d been childhood best friends, always each other’s escape from suffocating families and endless expectations. You’d always loved each other, but as the years went by, your feelings grew and the love deepened into more. The two of you had only just admitted your mutual feelings, and while you wouldn’t mind shouting your relationship from the rooftops, you wanted to bask in the new love a little while longer. What you, unfortunately, didn’t account for was how difficult it would be to keep acting like you were just friends when you were so much more now.

Which was why you hated this brunch. You’d woken up warm and blissful in Sirius’s arms—the absolute best way to wake up, in your humble and completely unbiased opinion—and were about to make breakfast when James rang, inviting you both out to meet him and Remus. Your good mood evaporated instantly at the thought of pretending for three hours straight. You seriously considered strangling James while you grudgingly got dressed.

“Oh, come on, angel,” Sirius drawled, amusement obvious in his tone as he witnessed your sulk. “It’s only brunch.”

“Shut it. You’re one to talk,” you shot back, remembering the last weekend when Remus had taken you all out for a drink, and Sirius had barely made it through the front door before he was all over you. “And don’t act like this isn’t torture for you too,” you added, pouting.

“Oh, my poor sweet baby,” he pouted back, cupping your face in his hands and covering you in kisses until you finally cracked a smile and laughed. “How do I make it up to you, hm?” he teased, grinning at the silly smile on your own face.

“Hmm, I don’t know, Black. Perhaps we can revisit the negotiations later tonight?” you replied, waggling your eyebrows at him suggestively.

Sirius barked out a laugh, calling you a little minx as he ushered you out the door before you ended up convincing him to stay home with you instead.

The walk wasn’t too bad—you still managed to hold his hand and walk close enough that your shoulders brushed—but as soon as the restaurant came into view, you reluctantly let go and put a careful, torturous amount of distance between you.

You and Sirius slipped into the restaurant like nothing was amiss, plastering on those familiar, easy grins you’d mastered after years of hiding mischief together. James and Remus were already seated at a booth by the window, James mid-story and Remus sipping his tea like he’d heard it all a thousand times before.

“About time you two showed up,” James quipped, waving you over. “We were starting to think you’d eloped.”

Sirius gave a low chuckle as he slid in beside Remus, leaving you across from him next to James. “What, without inviting you to be best man? Never.”

You kicked Sirius’s foot lightly under the table, hiding your smile behind the menu.

Brunch itself went smoothly—at least on the surface. James talked animatedly about Quidditch, Remus chimed in with dry commentary, and you managed to laugh at all the right moments. Sirius was his usual magnetic self, tossing in outrageous one-liners that had the table snorting into their drinks. But under the table, his knee brushed yours just enough to send sparks skittering up your spine. Every time you glanced at him, he was already looking at you, mouth curved in a secret little smirk that said he knew exactly what he was doing.

By the time the plates were cleared, you were buzzing from more than just the mimosas. James called for the bill, and you twisted in your seat to flag down the waitress, smiling politely as she approached.

It all happened in a blink.

James’s laugh cut off mid-breath, his eyes narrowing on your neck. “Oi—hold on. What’s that?”

You turned back, confused. “What’s what?”

“That,” James said, leaning in like he was Sherlock Holmes on a case, pointing far too smugly at the side of your throat. “On your neck. That’s a hickey.”

The table went silent. Your stomach dropped, and your cheeks burned. You reached up instinctively, brushing your fingers over the spot, and cursed inwardly when you felt the faint sting there.

Remus arched a brow, fighting to keep his knowing smile hidden. “Well, well.”

James’s grin only widened, sharp and gleeful. “So, who’s the mystery bloke, then? Don’t tell me you’ve been holding out on us.”

Your brain scrambled for an excuse, some half-truth that might save you, but across the table Sirius simply lounged back in his seat, every inch the picture of ease. He didn’t say a word—didn’t need to. He looked like a cat who’d got the cream, stretching lazily, watching the interrogation unfold with the kind of self-satisfaction and smug expression that made you want to throttle him.

James caught it. Of course he did. His gaze flickered from you to Sirius, narrowing suspiciously. “…Wait a minute.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” you said quickly, but the way your voice pitched up betrayed you instantly.

Sirius’s lips twitched, shoulders shaking silently like he was seconds away from laughing.

Remus sighed, setting his cup down with a small, amused shake of his head. “Merlin help you both if you thought you were being subtle.”

sirius was dressed in leather, like you—except his was a jacket, and yours was a mini skirt with a pair of black boots. his leather jacket hung open, silver chain glinting against his loose queen band tee. his hair a sexy mess of dark waves that framed those sharp cheekbones and reckless grey eyes, jeans ripped right at the thighs like they were begging to be stared at.

he was drinking you in the way he always did when you got ready, black lipstick tugging across your lips, eyes thickened with bold graphic eyeliner. it should’ve been ordinary, but on you? every move was temptation.

he could feel his jeans tightening, just watching the smudge of dark pigment, mouth watering at the idea of ruining it—dragging it across his skin, swallowing your pretty sighs, tasting you hot through the paint.

he twirled his helmet in one hand, strolling forward with a low whistle. “christ, sweetheart…look at you, lipstick darker than my soul.” his grin widened, cocky, like he just wanted to sink his teeth in you at the sight.

“gonna kill me one day.” he muttered into the back of your neck as he bent to kiss it, lips hot and indecent.

you caught a whiff of his scent—like smoke and leather, and a faint hint of motor oil—all things utterly intoxicating that made your stomach curl and your thighs tense on their own.

“you could’ve at least waited for me outside.” you tried for exasperation, puckering your lips as you fixed the shape.

sirius groaned at the sight, entirely unholy.

“and miss this?” he waved lazily at your reflection—at all of you. “not a chance, love. over my dead handsome body.”

his gloved thumb cupped your chin and the smirk never faltered—except when he felt a shift in your thighs, his breath catching.

“all leather and lipstick, bloody vision.” he drawled roughly, just as his thumb brushed slowly across your bottom lip.

you jerked back with a half-laugh, half-scowl. “oi! i just applied that!”

he laughed low and delightedly, planting a quick kiss to your cheek. “c’mon then, goth grumpy. let’s see how good you look wrapped around my bike.”

he dragged you outside by the waist, still playing at being a gentleman until you stood before his motorcycle. the parking lot was quiet, just the faint humming of the dim streetlights illuminating the evening.

“pretty, isn’t she?” sirius gave a soft tap against the tank that had been spray painted in the shape of white stars.

“she?” of course sirius had to call it that. he probably loved that piece of metal almost as much as he loved you—almost.

“oi! don’t pout. you know you’re the only one for me.” his grin was sharp, flattering, and then—like he planned it all along—pulled out a bouquet of black roses from thee compartment of his bike.

it was utterly theatrical, the way they just conjured out of thin air. “see? wouldn’t waste bloody flowers on a bike. she’s just a fling.”

a laugh slipped out of you, cheeks warming at the thoughtfulness game that he always played. sirius was always like this—mockery wrapped in sincerity, daring you to catch which part was which.

“fine,” you grumbled with a hidden smile, taking them. “as long as i’m still your favourite.”

“course you are. at least you talk back.” his mouth caught yours in the smallest peck before you could chastise him, careful not to ruin your lip artistry—yet.

he shoved the helmet onto your head like he was dressing you for war, lifting you effortlessly onto the motorcycle. “now, hold on tight and look pretty f’ me. i’ll do all the dangerous parts, yeah?”

he drawled with a wink, climbing in front. your arms looped around his waist, bouquet squashed between both your body heats. “just—be careful, alright?”

except you knew sirius never was. the engine suddenly roared alive, rattling through your bones. now you understood why sirius loved riding bikes so much.

it was unlike anything else you ever experienced; it was sound and sensation both, flooding your thighs, your stomach—and oddly enough, your cunt.

a sharp gasp escaped you before you could stop it, barely muffled by the helmet. the seat beneath you buzzed, pressing heat and vibrations into you with every tremor.

sirius caught it instantly, the way your grip tightened around his waist, always attuned to you. as soon as he heard that broken gasp, a slow grin curled wickedly, and he revved the engine harder.

“like that, gorgeous? or am i just imagining things?”

your body betrayed you, voice dying out into a whimper, warmth coiling fast in your belly. your clit pulsed with every shudder of the machine, trying to utter. “it’s very—oh—”

he froze mid-rev, whipping his head around. he could see your dazed eyes through the slit of your helmet, the shift of your hips—he knew.

“merlin—you’re really—” sirius half-laughed, half-groaned, disbelief and hunger tangled together. “you’re about to get off on my bloody bike?”

you nodded helplessly, hips grinding for more friction, like you couldn’t even afford to be ashamed from how good it felt.

sirius swore at the sight, swinging his legs around to face you. the helmet was plucked off your face, discarded somewhere on the handlebars, bouquet of flowers tossed to the pavement—him wanting nothing more than to feel your body heat and see your lips part, eyes flutter, just for him.

“look at you. falling apart already? pathetic little thing.” he mocked, voice silk and gravel, pupils blown wide like his filthiest fantasies had finally been answered.

his hands came up to clamp around your tight-clad thighs, spreading you shamelessly. “use it. use my bike like a toy. c’mon doll—make a mess of her.”

his words spurred you on, the vibration just relentless. you kept rolling your hips in sloppy movements, the leather dragging across your covered clit as your head tipped back with a ragged cry. heat was swirling low, rushing straight to your core as your thighs trembled.

sirius’ cock throbbed painfully in his jeans, strained and aching. watching you unravel without even touching him was pure torture—but the hottest fucking torture he’d ever known.

“fuck me,” he rasped, thumb grazing the wet crotch of your tights under your skirt. “you’re soaked. couldn’t wait five bloody minutes, could you?”

his mocking words were only dizzying you with more need, hole clenching around nothing. it wasn’t enough, your clit was still swollen with ache.

“need—more—” you gasped, clawing at his jacket blindly.

sirius cursed under his breath, and his hands worked immediately, tugging your tights and panties down in one savage motion—your hips barely lifting off the bike just to aid him.

he shoved you back against the vibrating seat, your cunt bare and slick against the leather, the rough surface giving off a new sensation that made your eyes roll.

“that’s it, angel.” sirius muttered with barely-contained restraint, kissing hard down the column of your throat.

“ride it. ride it for me.” his hands encouraged the movement of your hips, before he wedged two fingers between your wetness and the seat, pressing into your hole. a sharp gasp ripped out of you, and sirius groaned into your neck.

“fuck—s’bloody tight,” he curled his fingers deliciously into you, the bike’s buzz amplifying every drag of his knuckles.

he didn’t care if his wrist was beginning to ache from how squashed it was—all he could think about was pleasuring you—to get you right on the edge, the pads of his fingers hitting that sweet squelchy spot over and over again.

your mind was just pure noise, cloudy, every nerve in your body pointed to the thick pressure building in your abdomen. the coil twisted tighter as you let out a moan, walls clenching hard around his fingers. “sirius!”

his mouth was everywhere, sucking red and purple into your skin—on your jaw, your collarbone, before smearing the delicate paint off your lips with his own.

“yeah? you’re close? cum for me, pretty girl.”

his words rasped right into your mouth as you whimpered back, squeezing his fingers with your spongy walls. “make a mess f’ me—ruin the seat so i remember you every time i ride it.”

he coaxed you, the squelching of his fingers and the quiver of the engine beneath, becoming all too much.

“oh!—” the coil in your stomach snapped, pleasure ripping through you, raw and violent. you gushed hot spurts across his hand and the seat, vision blurring as your body convulsed and sirius held you down.

he murmured filth in your ear, guiding you through the aftershocks, drenched fingers still moving in quiet shushes. you couldn’t believe at how your body had just given out, writhing in open air, on a motorcycle of all places.

but the reckless nature of it somehow made the aftershocks sharper, hotter—not to mention this recklessness was something sirius always encouraged.

his fingers finally pulled out, not leaving a moment of rest as he shoved them into his mouth and moaned like a starved man, licking every drop clean. the sound, so obscene and guttural, left your cunt fluttering all over again.

“you just came all over my fucking bike.” he laughed, voice wrecked with awe, fingers popping free of his mouth. his pupils were blown wide like it was a fever dream, and you swore you could see yourself in the reflection of them. “swear you’ve killed me, sweetheart.”

you were flushed and breathless, thighs still trembling—and yet, you still managed to quirk a brow.

“was this some wet dream of yours?”

sirius shrugged, trying not to let the ends of his lips curve up. “maybe.”

you shook your head with a smiling scoff, trying to catch your breath—before your eyes dropped down instinctively to his jeans, the bulge pressing painfully against the zipper.

your body reacted before your brain could catch up, shifting on the seat. sirius followed your gaze, smirk twitching, just so desperate to have you again—his hunger undeniable whenever it came to you.

“think you could bless my bike again? gonna have to ride me til’ i forget my own name.” he raised a brow in a dare and you could only nod eagerly.

the idea of it made your pulse spike—that you’d already fallen apart so publicly for him and would do it again just to see the look on his face. you definitely weren’t getting to that dinner anytime soon.

“good girl. c’mere.” sirius immediately tore at his belt, fingers fumbling like he couldn’t get his trousers off quick enough.

when his cock sprang free—thick, flushed, twitching—you whimpered. the tip was throbbing in red anger, beads of pre-cum sliding down the shaft. he didn’t even give you time to properly move, yanking you onto his lap with a growl before his mouth crashed against yours sloppily.

the rough grind of his cock against your soaked folds had you shuddering all over again, slick already smearing him. you grabbed the base, giving him a few pumps just to see his composure break—and it did, his head dropping back with a low moan, neck straining.

“shit—see what you do to me, baby? got fuckin’ hard watching you come apart. pathetic, isn’t it?”

you grinned, breathless, faint with want. “we both are. i mean—” you gasped a laugh, “i came all over a damn bike for fuck’s sake.”

sirius gave a weak chuckle back, but it broke into a groan as you lined him up and sank down in one swift motion. his head slammed back again, shoulder blades hitting the handlebars as a guttural sound ripped from his throat.

you sobbed from the stretch, walls molding to him inch by inch, feeling so effortlessly full as your hips moved. a soft breeze of wind swept your face that brought you back to the open air. the possibility of being seen had your pulse hammering in your throat, adrenaline and arousal blending into one as your cunt squeezed him tighter in a throb.

“fuck—made for me.” sirius ground out through clenched teeth, nipping at your jaw. “look at you—bouncing on me like a desperate little bunny. filthy girl.”

“uh huh—” was all you could manage, your brain turning to mush as your hips bucked.

each bounce made the bike creak beneath you, metal rocking on its stand. sweat slid down your back as your clit grinded against him with every thrust, the vibration of the machine still humming through your soaked folds. you were already nearing, moaning louder so it echoed into the evening, hips jerking without rhythm like your body was on fire.

sirius thrust up into you as hard as he could from the seat, his fat tip slamming into your cervix with each drive—desperate to get more of those pretty sounds out of you.

“yeah? you like that?” he rasped in a feral cocky grin, jaw trembling. “louder, doll. let everyone hear how good i fuck you. go on—scream for me, bunny.”

his eyes were locked on your face like he was burning it into memory, cock plunging deeply in and out of you. your body obeyed instantaneously, like you wanted nothing more than to please him.

you sobbed out incoherently, the heat in your stomach snapping again as you spasmed around him—and sirius lost it too, cock twitching inside you as he spilled hot. his curses dissolved against your skin, desperate and husked.

you slumped into his chest with tears trickling down your cheeks, both of you trembling in ragged breaths. the engine ticked softly as it cooled, and sirius just stared at you like something holy and obscene all at once.

he pulled back to see your face properly, grin growing slow and wicked. the pads of his thumbs gently wiped your cheeks of the eyeliner residue mixed with your tears.

that’s when he kissed you deep and messy, your black lipstick that was already all over your mouth, smeared again like sirius relished in ruining you in every way possible—cunt and lips alike.

“best fucking ride of my life—and i live for bikes.”

your laugh cracked out, high but spent. “mine too. rode two things today.”

he chuckled breathlessly against your head, kissing it softly. “merlin, you’ll be the death of me.”

you gently pecked his chest in a soft silent thank you, breaths steadying. “so…no date?”

“you minx,” he murmured into your hair, and you could feel the maddening grin against it. “who needs a sodding dinner with a start like this?”

he nipped your ear, smug and soft all at once, arms cinching around you like he couldn’t stand the thought of letting go. “got my meal right here.”

“And why would I do that?” It’s hard to keep the bite out of his voice, but he doesn’t worry about hurting James’ feelings. He knows that Sirius isn’t mad at him; mad at the universe and Pots, yes. Never James, though.

“Sirius, you’re staring.”

From James’ new seat, he can just see Pots. Even from across the room, the way he is looking at you makes him uncomfortable and angry all at once. Like you are something shiny behind a glass case and he has to have you.

“I’m not jealous, James,” Sirius says, far too defensively for that to be true. “I just think that he has a weird laugh. Not like she seems very happy with him anyway.”

James glances over his shoulder at you, pushing his hair back with a rough hand. When he turns back, he wiggles his eyebrows. “Maybe you can go save her. The whole knight-in-shining armor thing. Girls love that, I’ve heard.”

“Oh yeah?” Sirius asks, half listening. He watches as Pots leans closer to tell you something. “And how’s that working out for you?”

When James doesn’t immediately respond, Sirius looks up at him in surprise. “Sorry,” he amends quickly. “Jesus, sorry. I’m a dick.”

James’ smile doesn’t waver, and he dismisses him with a hand as he stands from the chair. “It’s fine, Pads. I know you are just a grumpy bastard in love.”

Sirius groans, leaning his head back against the chair cushion. “I am not in love.”

From the corner of his eye, he can see James rolling his eyes, already turning toward the drink table. “Go talk to her, mate.” His voice is stern, like he’s giving an order. He’s gone before Sirius can say anything else, swallowed in the sea of bodies.

Sirius sighs softly, tucking the longer strands of his dark hair behind his ears. Taking a peek at you, he sees that you’re still there. You look exceptionally beautiful tonight, in his (and Pots’, but he ignores this,) opinion. You’ve done something different with your hair that eases the pain of anger in Sirius’ chest, bit by bit.

Without another doubt, he stands, making his way toward you, dodging dancing and cheering bodies. He’s about halfway there when you glance up, meeting his eyes. Jesus, he’s never met someone who makes him feel this nervous. 

“Can I steal you?” he asks once in talking distance. You’re standing before he can even finish asking, forgoing the drink you were cradling in your hands on the nearest table. Saying a quick goodbye to Pots, you come up to his side with already-flushed cheeks. Sirius pretends to not notice the daggers being shot in the back of his head as he steers you away, one hand between your shoulder blades. 

He feels more like himself with every step away from that loser. “Hello, gorgeous. Are you having fun?”

You look up at him with a smile that makes Sirius forget how to breathe. “I am now,” you say. Your voice is quieter than the music, but he hears you just fine. He guides you to an unoccupied couch, your thighs brushing against his as you sit. You’re so close that Sirius can smell your perfume and the way your lashes flutter as you look over at him.

He clears his throat, resting a forearm on the back of the couch, upper body angled toward you. “So… Glenn seemed chatty.”

You let out a giggle before saying, “He was. Mostly about himself.”

Sirius doesn’t bother stopping his eye roll. “What a tosser. Should’ve found someone else to talk to, love.”

You meet his eyes. “I wanted to, but he was with someone else.”

A coil of dread unravels somewhere within Sirius. His voice is low when he asks, “Who?”

Your smile widens, like you know something he doesn’t. “You, you idiot.”

He is stunned into silence for a moment, rare for him. Heat rushes up the side of his neck to the tips of his ears. “Me?”

You let out another soft laugh as you shift, mirroring his sitting position. “Yeah, you. I thought you were avoiding me.”

He shakes his head, collecting himself as tendrils of hair slip out of place. “Not at all. Too busy being an idiot, apparently.”

Your smile grows, as does his uncharacteristic nervousness. It’s hard not to tease him, just a little. “Aw, you’re too pretty to be an idiot.”

His laugh hits your ears, even louder than the music. Prettier too. 

criticism is welcome as long as it’s kind ✮⋆˙

Sirius Black.

The disgraced heir, blood traitor, the run-away who burned too brightly for the cold halls he was raised in.

He was wildfire in human form—untamed, untethered, always on the verge of consuming everything around him. Fire is never safe. And Sirius Black had never once tried to be.

He was shameless in the way only someone truly unrepentant could be.

Defiance lived in his bones. In every choice he made, every rule he broke with that easy grin. In the way he carved out freedom with bare hands and bleeding knuckles, daring the world to punish him for it. He would not kneel. Not for his mother. Not for their pureblood rot. Not for anyone.

He wore rebellion like a second skin.

There was no hesitation in the way he looked at people—like he had the right to. Like he wanted you to know you were being watched. Desired. Picked apart by eyes that never pretended to be subtle. Sirius never mastered the art of pretending, not when it came to impulse, not when it came to you.

Regal, in the way a blade is regal—sleek and polished, but built to cut. You were every inch the legacy they praised in whispers and expected in silence: one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, born with history in your bones and expectations curled like silk around your throat. You wore your pedigree like a cloak, but never let it chain you.

Poised, deliberate and sharp, like you’d studied how to command a room before you ever learned to walk.

Sharp eyes that missed nothing, mouth even sharper, and a presence that made people step aside without quite knowing why. Slytherin suited you like a whispered secret.

You knew the weight of your name, but you wore it on your own terms. And that, perhaps, made you more dangerous than any of them. Because you saw the system for what it was—and still moved through it boundlessly.

A truly captivating sight to behold. Never in the way that begged for attention, but in the way that demanded it. Like art in a gallery too expensive to touch. People looked, they always did, and then they looked away—because looking too long felt like trespassing.

Except Sirius never looked away.

Eyes endless in their following, stalking—almost hungry in the way they lingered.

When he looked at you, which was almost always, it felt like being scorched—burning holes into your from ever angle, as if he could set your soul alight with nothing but his gaze.

Truthfully, it used to anger you—made your lips purse into a tightline, grip onto your fork a bit harder, when you felt his eyes on you from across the Great Hall. The infamy that surrounded him was nothing positive, and each time his sights helplessly drifted to you, you couldn’t help but feel like a target had been placed on you back.

So unbareably brazen in the way he scanned over your figure, that same smirk smeared across his face, when you’d enter Charms—settling into your seat with a roll of your eyes as he quickly abandoned his one beside James, in exchange for the one beside you.

You hide to fight the urge to openly scrowl, calming yourself with a deep breath—you didn’t even spare him a glance as you flicked through the textbook and began delicately scratching into parchment with you quill. Though, unfortunately for you, Sirius didn’t miss the small reaction his meer presence had earned him, scooting slightly closer with an eagerness that almost had your eyes flickering over to him.

Perching his elbow on his empty desk, chin on his hand, he watched you for a few moments—very obviously—before he leaned in, too close for you liking. So close infact that you could smell him, leather and warm sandalwood and cinnamon, maybe. His head was ducked, trying to catch your gaze—*and failing—*then his voice, low dripping with a uncalled for casual tone.

“I’m Sirius, by the way,”

Gods, was he distracting—it had you pressing your quill unforgivingly harder into the blameless parchment. Pausing, before you accidently broke your quill, slow and reluctantly your gaze shifted over to him.

Wide smirk and wild eyes.

You blinked at him, eyes doing a once over his slouched form—unimpressed before turning back to your work, and to your shock and horror. Sirius all but melted into his seat beside you—grinning like the cat that got the cream.

What a peculiar reaction.

You didn’t know what you expected after that, you were hoping for silence. Maybe for him to get bored and slink back to Potter, tail between his legs.

But Sirius Black didn’t take silence as rejection. He took it as encouragement.

“Not much of a talker, huh?” he asked, voice warm with amusement as if this were all a game and you were the shiny new toy he’d decided to break. “That’s alright. I like a bit of mystery.”

You didn’t dignify him with a response, moving your quill purposefully, though the words you were writing made less and less sense as his presence curled around you like smoke—thick and cloying and difficult to ignore.

Most would be completely deterred by your lack of acknowledgement, but it was becoming more and more apparent that Sirius wasn’t like most. Unbeknownest to you, you were quickly becoming the object of his affection.

Sirius felt like he was drowning in something he didn’t understand.

He shouldn’t have been looking at you like that—should’ve shrugged it off, moved on, found someone else to bat their lashes and giggle at him. He could’ve. Merlin knew he had options. There was always someone willing to chase the fire.

But you didn’t chase. You endured.

And gods, he couldn’t look away.

There was something in the way you held yourself—shoulders straight, chin lifted, gaze sharp enough to draw blood—that made his pulse trip. You weren’t just beautiful. You were untouchable. Unbothered. And it drove him mad.

You were infuriating. And he was fascinated. Completely, utterly wrecked by the quiet fury behind your eyes, the way you made him feel loud and messy just by being near you. He didn’t know why. He didn’t even like Slytherins. But he watched you, like you might disappear if he blinked. Like you were something from a half-forgotten dream he’d been trying to recall his whole life.

The push and pull went on for ages.

Sirius never stopped. Not really. He pestered, prodded, flirted, lingered—always with that maddening gleam in his eye, always circling like a star caught in your orbit. He made it a point to sit near you in every class he could. Made himself a nuisance in libraries and corridors, at assignment meetings and Quidditch stands.

But you remained ever the picture of composed indifference, met him with narrowed eyes and razor-edged retorts. You had mastered the art of dismissing him without ever quite telling him to leave. And perhaps that’s what kept him hooked.

Because despite everything—your scorn, your status, your silence—Sirius liked the chase. He shouldn’t have. Especially not after he finally put the pieces together.

One of the Twenty-Eight Sacred. One of them.

The very type of pureblood he was raised to despise. To dismantle. To escape from.

But you were different. You always had been. Not cruel, not bigoted. Not brainwashed. Just…sharp. Steely. Independent in a way that made his chest ache. You hadn’t chosen your name—but you had chosen what to do with it. And Sirius had never seen anything braver than that.

And he was infatuated. Still. Helplessly.

He couldn’t say when it started. And you couldn’t say when it changed.

Somewhere between the sarcastic quips and biting glances, something shifted. It was subtle at first. A twitch at the corner of your mouth, a less scornful scrowl, a slightly delayed response. The way you didn’t move away quite as fast when he leaned too close. A pause where there had once only been dismissal.

And then, one day, it happened.

Charms class again. Seventh year. The classroom warm with late autumn sun, shadows stretching across parchment and desks. You had arrived early, as usual, and settled into your usual seat without fanfare. Sirius slid in beside you, as he always did, far too casual, far too smug.

“Good morning, your majesty,” he said with a grin, dragging the words like silk between his teeth. “Gracing us with your presence again, I see.”

Normally, you’d roll your eyes. You’d sigh or pointedly ignore him. But that morning…something in his tone was especially absurd, and something in you—maybe the soft air, maybe the way he looked at you like you hung the bloody moon—broke the routine.

Your lips twitched.

It shocked you even, you didn’t mean to. Not really. But they did. Just enough.

A small, restrained thing. Barely there. Gone in an instant.

But he saw it.

And Sirius Black lit up like the bloody sun.

His mouth parted slightly, blinking as if he couldn’t quite believe what he’d witnessed. Then—slowly, irrepressibly—a grin spread across his face, wide and utterly boyish, delight pouring from him in a way you hadn’t expected. Not cocky. Not flirtatious. Rather radiant, actually.

Proud.

“Was that—?” he whispered, hand pressed to his chest in mock-shock. “Was that a smile, princess?”

As always, you rolled your eyes, but not with the same exasperation as before. It didn’t have the same venom. In fact, there was something dangerously close to amusement in the way you turned back to your notes. Sirius leaned back in his chair, the beam on his face entirely uncontainable.

He didn’t even care that Professor Flitwick had started lecturing. Didn’t care that James shot him a confused glance from the row behind.

He’d seen it. He’d earned it. After years.

And if there was one thing Sirius Black had learned about you, it was that you didn’t give your softness freely.

From that moment—that damned smile—something shifted between you.

The icey exterior had began to melt, and you dont know when it had started, only that it did. Slowly. Reluctantly.

Sirius, for all his insufferable grins and arrogant charm, somehow started to feel less like a thorn in your side and more like a…habit. One you hadn’t meant to form. One you couldn't shake.

Letting him sit closer without side-eyes and sighs. Sometimes even answering his questions when he poked at your homework or made some snide remark about Slughorn’s newest “favourites.” You’d begun meeting his teasing with deadpan sarcasm instead of silence. And occasionally—very occasionally—you didn’t hide the way your lips curled at something he said.

You weren’t sure why it happened. Maybe it was the persistence. Maybe the way he never pretended to be anything but infatuated, even when it was inconvenient, even when it would’ve been easier for him to stop. Maybe it was because you saw something in him—beneath the bravado and leather and grins—that reminded you of yourself. A recklessness born from rebellion—hunger to be known.

And Sirius? He was too far gone to pull back.

He’d always watched you, but now he read into everything. The way you no longer flinched when he leaned in, how you didn’t swat his hand away when he nudged your quill out of your grip. How, sometimes, your eyes lingered on his profile when you thought he wasn’t looking.

So when Saturday rolled around and he hadn’t seen you all day—not at breakfast, not in the common areas, not even passing through the library—a strange itch clawed at him. He told himself it wasn’t a big deal, but he couldn’t help it, he felt deprived of nutrience, of your presence. Maybe you were just sleeping in or studying or avoiding the Gryffindor rabble.

But by evening, he cracked.

Against every instinct, against everything in his brain that told him this was probably a very bad idea, Sirius reached for the Marauder’s Map.

And there you were.

A tiny dot, alone in an empty classroom on the fourth floor. Probably studying. Probably buried in books and ink and the smell of parchment.

He couldn’t help it, he went.

…

The door creaked open with a reluctant groan, and you startled, head snapping up from your book.

You hadn’t expected anyone. Least of all him.

And there he stood—framed in the doorway with a grin too wide, too smug, like he'd just stumbled across treasure.

“Well, funny seeing you here,” Sirius said, like this was all pure coincidence and not the result of him committing several minor breaches of privacy.

You blinked at him. “Did you follow me?”

He placed a hand to his chest, faux-offended. “Follow you? Please. I’m just a curious soul drawn to light. And look—here you are, all lit up and studious.”

You rolled your eyes, but your voice held less bite than usual. “I think you just came to distract me.”

“Distract you?” He was already halfway across the room, dropping into the chair beside you with the sort of lazy ease only he could pull off. His knee bumped yours, and you didn’t move. “You think I’m distracting?”

He leaned in close, far too close. You barely had time to process the proximity—the warm scent of him, like spice and mischief, the way his voice dropped just low enough to slip down your spine—before you tilted your head toward him.

Eyes locked with his, sharp and steady, with a confidence that made his grin stretch visibly.

“That is your one goal in life?” you asked, tone silken and mocking. “Or am I mistaken?”

Sirius froze—not visibly, not in a way anyone else would notice—his pulse sounding loudly in his ears. But you were so observant, even if you hadn’t been looking at him, you would have felt it. The flicker of breath caught—the way his grin twitched, lips parting just slightly as his gaze dropped from your eyes to your mouth.

And lingered.

The tension that knotted between you was painfully palpable, the air gone suddenly too thick. He leaned in—just a fraction—and you swore the space between you crackled. His hand flexed on the table beside yours, struggling to stay in place—twitching as though if it had it’s own mind, it would already be on you. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, and for a moment, you thought—

In that split second, something like hesitation crossed his face. Regret, maybe—or fear. His smirk faltered.

He pulled back.

Barely. But enough.

And he looked at you like maybe he’d ruined something by not doing it.

You didn’t say anything.

Not because you were disappointed—though maybe you were, a little—but because you didn’t trust yourself to ask. To question if this was real or just a long game he’d been playing, entertained by the chase, by the idea of an untouchable prize. Like you were just something to be worn down, after all.

Your gaze stayed on him, unreadable. And he almost shrunk under it, second passing like hours as your eyes practically punctured his skull. Stare too cool. Too neutral.

Wordlessly, you turned back to your book, fingers brushing over the forgotten text, you couldn’t remember a single word you'd just read—mind feeling scattered—disrupted. He always had that affect on you, more than you cared to admit, inwardly scolding yourself for being so soft, so naive.

Sirius watched you for another long second—jaw tense, eyes searching—like he’d just watched all his efforts spoil right before his eyes, watched the wall go back up in realtime.

“Right,” he said softly—more to himself than anything—before leaning back in his seat with a forced exhale.

The silence stretched again. But this time, it was different. Colder, almost dismissive, begging to be unravelled—understood.

Sirius stormed into the Gryffindor common room with the energy of a brewing storm—quick, loud steps echoing in the corridors, hair wild from his fingers raking through it too many times. By the time he slammed the dormitory door behind him, he was already pacing like a madman.

Back and forth. Back and forth.

He didn’t notice the quiet creak of the door opening again behind him.

Didn’t see James and Remus freeze on the threshold, their eyes wide as they watched him stalk across the room like he might combust.

James gave a silent what the fuck look to Remus, who just raised a brow, waiting for an opening.

It didn’t come.

“Sirius,” Remus said, voice slow and cautious. “Did something happen?”

No answer. Just a ragged sigh as Sirius ran a shaking hand through his already-wrecked hair. His face was taut, jaw clenched.

He looked up like the words physically hurt. “I—I don’t know what I’m doing.”

James, ever calm when Sirius wasn’t, moved to the windowsill and perched there. “Alright, mate. Pause. Just breathe.”

Sirius obeyed, if only because he didn’t know what else to do.

“Try again,” James said.

Sirius exhaled, long and sharp. “I ruined it.”

“Ruined what?” Remus asked.

“Everything,” Sirius said, dropping onto his bed like gravity had finally caught up to him. “I could’ve kissed her. She was right there and I could’ve. And I didn’t.”

James blinked. “Why the hell not?”

Sirius scrubbed a hand down his face and then—quietly, bitterly—voice just above whisper, stained with shame, “Because she’s exactly the kind of girl my parents would want me with.”

A short silence shrouded the room, thick and overbearing before Remus stepped forward, slowly. “Wait…what?”

“She’s regal. Poised. Slytherin. Perfect! One of them—” Sirius bit out, like the words tasted like ash. “And fuck, I’ve never wanted anything less than to make my parents proud. But she—” His voice cracked, frustration bubbling up. “She’s not like them. She’s not like them at all. But they’d love her. And what does that say about me?”

James stared. “You didn’t kiss the girl you’ve been obsessed with for years because your mum might approve? Because she’s a pureblood? That’s—actually insane.”

“You don’t get it,” Sirius snapped. “I’ve spent years trying to tear their world apart. Burn every expectation. Every rule. And then she walks in, and I can’t stop looking, and it makes me sick because it feels like they’d win.”

He didn’t need to look at him to know there was a frown etched on to Remus’ face. “Sirius—”

“It’s not her fault,” Sirius said quickly, defensively. “She’s not them. She’s sharp, and brilliant, and she knows what she is, and she still doesn’t play their game. But that’s what makes it worse. Because I look at her and I want her. Not out of spite. Not to rebel. Not to destroy anything. Just—because I do. And that makes me feel like I’ve already lost.”

James sat back, arms crossed. “So you let her think you’re toying with her. Because that’s better?”

Sirius looked up sharply. “Of course not—”

“But that’s what it looks like,” James said, gentler now. “You think she doesn’t know exactly what she is? Exactly how she’s seen? She probably assumed you were interested just long enough to mock her, to make a statement. And when you didn’t kiss her—after all this time—you proved her right.”

Sirius swallowed the lump in his throat, and the guilt settling in the form of an unforgiving weight, like a stone heavy in his stomach. Remus moved closer, voice low. “Is this really about her? Or are you scared that if you like her for the right reasons, it means maybe they got something right?”

Sirius didn’t answer, eyes wide and hollow

Because fuck.

Maybe they were right.

Maybe he was a coward.

…

For two whole days, Sirius acted like nothing had happened.

He still greeted you with that infuriatingly easy grin, still dropped into the seat beside you in class like it was habit, like it hadn’t once meant something more. He cracked jokes at the same tempo, still leaned too close when he spoke—but something was off.

Forced. Brittle.

And you? You didn’t even look at him. Not once. Not when he spoke, not when he laughed a little too loudly trying to get your attention, not when he lingered beside your chair a bit longer than necessary.

You sat there, eyes focused and face composed, ice sliding beneath your skin. Where once your silence had been cutting, now it was impenetrable.

He was unraveling, and he knew it. He’d been so close—so painfully close—to something real. The memory of you in that quiet classroom haunted him: your voice smooth and laced with quiet confidence, the heat of your gaze holding his without flinching, the way your words had wrapped around his chest like a fist and squeezed.

You would have kissed him—let him in, he’d felt it.

But he’d foolishly let it slip right through his fingers—just as it entered his grasp. And now you were gone. Not physically—you still walked the same halls, shared the same spaces—but the shift was irreversible. Whatever thread had tied you to him had snapped.

So when he spotted you in the side corridor, alone and unreadable, he didn’t think. His body moved faster than his doubt. He caught up in seconds, slipping a hand gently around your sleeve, tugging you into the empty class room nearby. “Stop,” he said, breath already short. “Please. Just give me a second—”

You ripped your arm back like he’d burned you, and for a second, the flash in your eyes looked lethal.

“Don’t.”

It wasn’t loud, but it cracked between you like that of a lightning strike, harsh and cold and burning. Sirius was frozen, fingers still half-curled in the empty air. His stomach churned when it caught your gaze, full of ice and fury and a rare kind of heartbreak that didn’t scream—it seethed.

“I just—please,” dripping in his voice as he spoke again, hands open, pleading. “Let me say this. Just let me explain. I know what you’re thinking—”

“You don’t know anything,” you snapped, tone suddenly louder. Fiercer. “You don’t know what I’m thinking, Sirius. You never did. You just assumed, and I let you.” cutting him off so sharply it knocked the air out of him.

He almost flinched away from the biting cadance of your words, and yet his eyes still remained soft, swimming with a quiet desperation that made your stomach turn, that made you want to run away—hide from the weight of his affections.

“Did you even for a second think about how it feels?” you continued, voice tight and trembling with anger. “To feel like some…experiment in your rebellion. One of the sacred twenty-eight, right? How thrilling for you. How poetic.” The venom in it had him fightly every urge in his body that screamed retract.

“It’s not like that,” he said quickly, breath hitching. “I didn’t mean for it to come across that way. I wasn’t using you—”

“No?” you cut in, a hollow laugh slipping from your lips. “Because that’s exactly what it felt like. Just another way for you to stick it to your family. Another line crossed.”

He stepped forward, almost desperate now. “I promise—I wasn’t meant to be like that, just—”

But with each step closer he took, in return, you backed away, putting more distance between you; shielding yourself, as if even the idea of his explanation made your skin crawl. “I don’t care anymore, Sirius.”

That hit harder than any spell.

“I don’t need to tolerate this,” you said, quieter now—vulnerable. “Not when I already have parents breathing down my neck, pushing names and suitors and with titles lined up—expectations. They want someone who’d take me seriously.”

His expression cracked. It happened all at once—something behind his eyes just broke.

He looked lost, like he was being peeled open slowly and painfully. Hands dropping to his sides, one twitching like he still wanted to reach for you. Even though he shouldn’t—couldn’t—because you had already slipped passed him. And the last look on your face made him shiver, the controlled, polished fury—that had flashed like a flame frozen mid-burn, had vanished.

Instead your eyes swam with a dejected, gloom that he knew all too well, your usually untouchable exterior cracked under the pressure of empty promises, under the weight of hope you didn’t know you were holding.

Hope that had already gone.

The silence that stretched in your absence was brittle and cold, and Sirius just stood there—silent, stunned, and aching wishing he’d done more as the door clicked shut behind you with finality that burned.

Sirius wasn’t going to hesitate—not anymore.

He stormed through the castle like a man possessed, fury and desperation curling hot beneath his skin. His chest was tight, thoughts snarled and tangled, and before he even fully registered it, he was standing in front of Regulus’ dorm.

Twisting the handle with a vigour that made the hinges whine.

“Regulus!” he barked, pounding on the door with a flat palm. “Oi, Regulus!”

A beat. Then another. Then the wall began to shift with a groan, and there, in all his , unimpressed glory, stood his younger brother. Cloaked in his usual composed disdain, book in hand, and a brow already lifted.

“What in Merlin’s name—how the hell did you even get in here?” Regulus asked, eyeing his brother like he’d dragged in mud behind him.

“Doesn’t matter,” Sirius snapped. “I waited.” He pushed past him into his room without permission, pacing immediately, eyes wild. Regulus blinked, still holding his book open, voice dripping with disinterest.

“Charming as ever.”

“I need to know something,” Sirius said, turning back to him sharply. “Now. What’s going on with the—you know, the pureblood lot. Events. Ceremonies. Matches. L/N’s.”

Regulus’s expression didn’t change, but he slowly closed his book with a soft thud. “L/N’s?” he repeated, flatly.

“Yes,” Sirius snapped again, running a hand though his hair, with such tightness his brows raised involuntarily. “She said her parents already have suitors lined up. Lined up, Reg. What the fuck is going on?”

Regulus tilted his head. “You really don’t read the letters they send you, do you?”

Sirius scowled, rolling his eyes as if even that was even a possiblity, “Of course not,” he muttered. “I’d set them on fire to see what the delightful expectations they’ve dreamed up this week smell like.”

“Well,” Regulus said, crossing the room to set his book on his desk, “then it’s no surprise you’re completely out of the loop.”

“Loop?” Sirius echoed, exasperated. “I didn’t even know there was a loop.”

“There’s an event,” Regulus said, tone clipped. “Soon. A ceremony, more or less—each of the Sacred Twenty-Eight hosting, rotating through their estates like some grotesque little social carousel. A chance to flaunt heritage, to parade eligible heirs and daughters like prized livestock, and, of course, to sniff out the most suitable matches. To keep the lines pure.”

Sirius stared at him like he’d been slapped. “You’re joking.”

“Am I ever?” Regulus replied dryly, arms crossed now, gaze neutral.

“And she has to be there?” Sirius asked, voice low now, more to himself than anything. “They’re forcing her to—”

“They aren’t forcing anyone,” Regulus said. “They’re expecting it. Same thing, really.”

Sirius was quiet for a moment, jaw clenched, fingers twitching like he didn’t know where to put them. Then—“Are you going?” he asked.

Regulus tilted his head again, slightly.

“I was requested, Sirius. Not all of us can run away from our obligations and burn bridges on a whim.”

That earned a deep, heaving sigh. Sirius dragged a hand down his face, muttering, “I didn’t come here for a lecture, Reg. Just—just tell me when it is.”

Regulus blinked slowly, a curious note in his eyes. “Why?”

Sirius turned toward the door, not looking at him.

“Next time you write home,” he said over his shoulder, “tell them to send an extra suit.”

And with that, he was gone—black robes flaring, boots echoing down the stone corridor, fury and purpose trailing behind him like a storm.

Regulus remained in place, staring at the empty doorway for a long beat. Then, slowly, he walked back to his desk, pulled open a drawer, and retrieved a fresh piece of parchment. He uncapped his ink bottle, dipped the quill with a practiced hand, and began to write.

Once finished, he folded the parchment neatly, sealed it with deep green wax embossed with the Black family crest—and held it in the candlelight just long enough to watch the wax catch fire at the edge and curl to a close.

…

The estate was bathed in gold and candlelight—opulence hanging in the air like perfume, rich and cloying, too heavy to breathe in properly. Everything gleamed. The walls, the glasses, the laughter. It was a curated thing—pure, controlled, a dance of lineage and power dressed in silk and arrogance.

The guests were already gathering in clusters—family names floating in the air like ghosts, ancestral ties whispered behind fans, strategic glances exchanged beneath low chandeliers.

And then the room shifted. Subtly.

It wasn’t his name that announced him. It was his presence. A current, a tension, like something electric slipping beneath polished marble.

Sirius stepped through the entrance—alone.

Manovering through the room like he belonged there, which only added to the stir. No parents in sight, just him in a sharply cut black suit with silver-threaded detailing that caught the light when he moved. His hair, often untamed and wild, was tied back at the nape of his neck, loose strands framing his features. There was something about him that looked sculpted and regal—yet defiantly unbothered. Untouchable.

Undeniably Black.

And people noticed.

Murmurs rippled through the crowd like wind brushing over a pond—soft and hushed, as if the very idea of Sirius showing up was somehow offensive, even as it made them all crane their necks to get a better look. Some turned their heads quickly, unwilling to acknowledge him at all. Others simply watched—too curious, too scandalized.

He didn’t glance at a single one of them.

Eyes set like steel, Sirius beelined across the room, moving between clusters of witches and wizards dressed in robes worth more than cottages, heading straight for the two familiar figures near the drinks.

Regulus stood poised as ever in black and green dress robes, brows lifting slightly at his brother’s approach.

Narcissa stood beside him in a floor-length silver gown that shimmered with every subtle turn, hair twisted into a perfect knot of braids and twist, chin tilted at just the right angle. She saw Sirius first, and while her expression didn’t falter, her fingers stilled around her glass.

Well,” she said, voice low and dry as Sirius came to a stop before them. “I see the rumors of your arrival were not exaggerated.”

“Hello to you too, Cissy,” Sirius said, voice smooth as sin, eyes scanning the room with bored calculation. “You look like you're about to gut someone with a compliment.”

She hummed. “And you look like you’ve come to start a war.”

He smirked faintly, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Regulus, beside her, sipped his drink. “Nice of you to grace us with your presence. I trust you remembered the name of the family hosting?”

“Of course,” Sirius replied airily. “I even wore their colors—look.” He gestured lazily to the subtle detailing in his suit. “Silver for virtue. Or was it for vanity? I forget.”

“You’re impossible,” Regulus muttered, though his eyes flicked down the hall—searching. Sirius followed the glance instinctively. He hadn’t seen you yet.

But he would.

And when he did, he knew the room would fall away.

Because despite the suit, despite the defiant way he held his head high like this was all some elaborate game he didn’t care to be apart of—he wasn’t here for theatrics.

He was here for you.

But yyou didn’t notice him, not at first.

Not until the weight of his gaze sank into your skin, unmistakable—cutting through the sea of eyes that had lingered on you all night. People always stared, their glances clung to you, your family, the expectations woven into the hem of your gown. But his gaze was different.

It sought you, nothing more.

So when you finally looked up and caught it—caught him—your breath faltered. Lips parted in shock, only to snap shut again as your eyes narrowed. He looked good. Too good—untouchable in the dim glow of the chandeliers, all shadows and silk and the sharp cut of that smirk he wore so well.

The tilt of his brow was smug, a silent challenge. But you held his gaze a moment too long, just long enough for the swell of something warm to flutter between you.

But then, just like that, someone called your name.

An you turned away quickly, heart knocking against your ribs, and let the swell of polite conversation sweep you off before your reaction could be noted. But the look…it stayed with you. Beneath your ribs. In the corner of your mind.

You didn't expect to seek him out. Not really. But at some point in the evening, after doing your dutiful rounds—smiling, nodding, tolerating—you found yourself wandering towards the drinks table with the precise kind of detachment that made you feel normal again.

Like you hadn’t grown up learning how to smile through marriage negotiations. Like you didn’t know exactly which families your parents wanted you to charm.

Hands reaching for a drink when you felt it. That familiar warmth. The subtle hum of chaos wrapped in silk.

He was beside you before you could stop it. And even though you didn’t look at him, your lips twitched upward the moment he said, smooth as ever, “Funny seeing you here.”

Reaching past a crystal decanter, voice casual as you picked up a flute of something pale and effervescent. “Black.”

He grinned—not his usual roguish grin, but something smaller, almost boyish—relieved. “You’re not fleeing in the opposite direction. That’s progress.”

Taking a small sip, you tried to ignore how warm your face suddenly felt, heat curling beneath your cheeks in a way you couldn’t escape. “Wouldn’t want to cause a scene.”

His eyes didn’t leave you. You could feel it. That slow, indulgent drag of his gaze from the curve of your neck to the subtle shimmer in your gown. Like he couldn’t tear his eyes away even if he tried, gaze overflowing with want—something craven even he couldn’t name.

“If you stare any harder,” you murmured, setting your drink down with a soft clink, “I might disintegrate.”

He laughed low, leaning in just enough for you to feel the pull of him. “Just the clothes though, right?”

A startled gasp left you as you choked on your drink, coughing delicately behind your hand. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet here you are,” He picked up a glass, holding it between his fingers with idle grace. “You look bewitching, by the way.”

You always found your eyes rolling in his presence, but it was the smirk—that tugged at the corners of your lips no matter how hard you tried to push it down that betrayed you. “Thank you for the assessment, Black.”

“I can assess more if you want.”

“Sirius.” You hissed his name like a reprimand, but it lacked real venom. He heard that softness, low and creeping as it slipped through, and he wore it like a badge, hand rising in mock surrender.

Conversation blurred around you, background noise as the two of you drifted towards the edge of the room. A whisper of unspoken understanding passed between you—no need to say anything. The glittering, gold-drenched facade of the ballroom fell away with each step, until you were sliding through tall glass doors onto a balcony bathed in night.

The air was cooler out here. Cleaner. A balm against the perfume and pressure, the prying eyes and scrutiny.

Sirius leaned against the stone railing, gazing out at the dark gardens below, moonlight catching the silver thread in his suit. You didn’t mean to stare—but your eyes lingered, studying the shape of his profile, the sharp line of his jaw, displayed without the usual cloak of his dark curls—the wild softness of the strands that had escaped the hair tied at the nape of his neck.

He turned slightly, smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “What was that you said about staring earlier?”

You shrugged, scanning him more brazenly, unapologetic as you sipped your drink, “You scrub up nicely,” words so matter of fact, light.

He looked at you then, eyes that usually swam with unadultered mischief, lips that held a smirk so well—free from it all. And for a long while he didn’t say anything, just held your gaze hostage under its unfair tenderness.

No mischief, no smirk—just him, with that maddeningly fond expression that made your stomach twist. You looked away first for once, cracking under the pressure, looking down to your half-empty glass.

Voice soft. Quiet.

“I appreciate that you came—despite everything.”

When he spoke, his voice was low, just above a whisper—and it didn’t need to be any louder, because he was already so close. Word earnest, confessional—sincere in a way that made your breath catch. “I’d do it again for you.”

It made you gulp, throat dry despite the lingering chill of your drink. He was close—too close now—and yet not nearly close enough, heat radiating off of him like it was set on defending you from the harsh bite of the night’s air. Eyes were fixed on yours, unreadable but intense, like he was waiting for something, for permission or a sign or maybe just a heartbeat where you didn’t pull away.

“I really do like you,” he murmured, voice quieter now, all velvet and gravity. There was a kind of raw sincerity bleeding through his words—none of the cocky theatrics, no grin or drawl.

Just Sirius.

“I mean it.”

Your chest rose and fell, slow and unsure. The teasing edge in your voice was brittle when you managed to speak, trembling at the edges. “Really?” Your gaze flicked between his eyes, searching. “How much do you ‘like’ me?”

The question lingered in the air like a challenge—half jest, half dare.

But he didn’t laugh, didn’t smirk. He only exhaled, like the weight of every unsaid word had been pressing on his ribs, and leaned in slowly. Palm coming up to brace against the cold stone wall beside your head, the other brushing feather-light against your waist as he tilted toward you, close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath on your lips.

“This much,” he whispered.

And then there was no space between you—his lips soft and warm against yours—holding you in an embrace so delicate that you could mistake his touch for the wind.

It was gentle at first—like he was still afraid you might change your mind. Like the moment itself might collapse beneath the weight of history, your families, the thousand things neither of you had dared say. His lips still hesitant, just ghosting over yours, testing, asking.

But you didn’t pull away.

You leaned into it.

And Sirius needed no more invitation, his palms slid from the wall to cradle your jaw, tilting your face to his with such reverent care he could surely feel your heart hammering beneath your ribcage. The kiss deepened—not rushed, but aching.

Starved.

Months of lingering glances, of holding back, of almosts and maybes spilled out all at once in that kiss. Clutching the fabric of his jacket, gripping him like a lifeline, and he groaned softly into your mouth, like he’d been holding this in too long and it was finally—finally—unraveling.

Kissing like you were trying to memorise each other with your lips alone. Like it was the first time, and the last, and everything in between.

When he finally broke away, barely pulling back—lips still tempted over yours—both of you breathless, his forehead rested against yours. His hand stayed at your jaw, thumb brushing just beneath your ear as if to capture you both there, in the small moment, just a fraction of solace, of something warm and real.

“I would’ve gone mad if I hadn’t kissed you tonight,” he whispered, his breath shaky, brushing across your lips.

Your grip loosened slightly in his lapel, voice barely above a whisper. “I think you already have.”

Sirius huffed a chuckle—soft, hoarse, breathless—but he didn’t move away, smile fading slight as he stared at you, gaze dark and so full of feeling it nearly shattered you.

“I’m not playing games,” he said, voice low and rough. “Not with you. I never was.”

He wondered if you kept things from him. From your moments, your memories together, of him. 

He stared at the Polaroid Lily took of the two of you with her muggle camera. You sat on his lap, a cigarette between his lips and a fun pink drink in yours. His arm around your waist, his other hand resting on your thigh. The sparkly dress you wore that night was entrancing to look at even through the still picture. One of your arms hugged his shoulders and your smile was so wide the corners of your eyes crinkled. Your smile was so big it made your eyes almost close. His own lips rounded into a crooked smile between the cig. It was the night you first hooked up. The morning after neither of you could stop giggling. He kept the anxiety of not knowing how to move forward close to his heart.

He remembered your laugh as Lily took two pictures, one for you, one for him. It’s not like he’ll keep it, pads isn’t sentimental like that.

The truth was, you were wrong. He kept it in his desk drawer since that night. He’d look at it often when you weren’t in his arms. 

This was the smile he liked the most from you, he thought. The one right before you bust into laughter. He loved seeing it, it was like a firework, like a star shining in the night sky. He hadn’t seen that smile the entire time you had been in your relationship. He hoped it was just because of the distance between you that he hadn't seen it. But after the Ravenclaw party and the way Jacob had manhandled you. He wasn’t so sure anymore. 

Remus, Peter, and Sirius waited outside of McGonagall’s office door. It was normal for James to be in trouble. It was usually all of them together but, not in trouble for something like this. Sirius had gotten down just in time to see James’s fist colliding with the Slytherin’s face. The screaming between Marlene and your boyfriend had brought him down and James’s outburst had brought unwanted attention. As Slughorn took James away, Sirius dragged Peter and Remus down. They followed the professor and their friends all the way down to McGonagall’s office. Jacob had been sent to the hospital wing. 

Slughorn burst out of the office, no James in sight. The older man seemed upset but didn’t comment on the boys’ presence. The door rested slightly ajar. 

“Professor you have to understand, I couldn’t stand for it!” James loudly “whispered” to his head of house. James couldn’t whisper for the life of him. 

“Mr. Potter, while I understand that Mr Brown's comment made you very upset and I do not tolerate such foul name calling especially about a dear student like Miss Y/L/N-“

”It was more than name-calling Minnie!”

”Please refrain from calling me that-“ The boys outside could hear the amusement in McGonagall’s voice. It quickly faded. “violence is still not accepted, even if he called her a-“

”a whore! He called our Y/N a whore Minnie!” Sirius felt his blood drain from his body. He was going to kill him.

Remus put his hand on Sirius’s shoulder as if sensing the storm brewing inside of him.

McGonagall sighed and told James that he had a week of detention. Rather light for the offense. 

“She doesn’t know does she?” Remus asked James as he exited the office. James’s eyes went wide as he realized they had all heard, it wasn’t like he wasn’t going to tell them. He would on his own time, be a bit apprehensive of Sirius’s reaction. James shook his head no. You had no clue, at least from him.

”I knew he was a good-for-nothing bastard,” Sirius stared at the floor, his hands deep in his pockets. “I’m going to murder him”

If the boys didn't know better, they'd believe him.

-

You sat at your boyfriend's bedside. By the time you got yourself together and went down to the hospital wing he was sleeping off his bruised cheek and the apparent slight concussion from hitting the floor. You wondered if James was okay, wanting nothing more than to go after your friend. But you felt responsible for his state, even if he had called you something mean, you felt guilty. You felt like you had driven him to blind jealousy and childish name-calling.

"Y/N?" Jacob stirred awake, surprised about your presence. "thought you'd be with Black." His expression soured and his fingers gripped your hand that was placed on the bed. 

"I had half a mind to go wait with him for James" Your words were mumbled but you knew he understood you as he tightened his grip on your fingers. Marlene nor Lily had told you what he had said. Alice didn't have any shame in telling you however, he called you a whore Y/N, if I had been in the position to I would've beaten him bloody. You found yourself not caring what the boy had called you.

"I swear I didn't mean what I said honey," you frowned at the nickname "I was just so mad, I was upset, and your friend Maria-"

"Marlene?"

"Yeah that one, well she kept screaming at me and I just blew a fuse" You couldn't help but stare at him blankly. Jacob Brown was a handsome man but the temper he hid under a shy and stuttering demeanor had crossed a line, and fast. He lost whatever charm he may have possessed. He would never and has never made you feel the way Sirius Black does.

You were never really into blondes anyway.

"I think we're done Jacob," you pulled your hand away. He opened and closed his mouth like a fish, not expecting you to have the balls to rip the bandaid off. "And if I had been James, I would've broken your nose, so be thankful"

You got up without another word, he didn't dare speak either. You slowly started walking faster, out of the hospital wing, up stairs, and down hallways picking up more and more speed, until you were running. You sprinted as fast as you could, as fast as your shoes would let you. You could see the glimpses of the remaining sunlight peer through each window you passed. They flashed like a camera lens. You needed the rush of adrenaline, to remind you that you were alive, that your heart was beating. You stopped in front of the fat lady, her nose scrunched up at your disheveled appearance. 

"Rictusempra" She opened without further complaint. 

Your chest heaved up and down as you slowed down, entering the warm, cozy common room.

"How lovely of you to join us," James laughed from the couch, a small ice pack wrapped around his hand. "How's my favorite whore?" You laughed and scrunched up your nose and Lily gasped in surprise. 

"I'm doing great— newly single" your friends oo'd, "how's my amateur boxing champion?" You couldn't help but poke fun, James had a way of lighting up the atmosphere. You were grateful for it.

Lily ran her hands through his hair as she answered in his place, "he's doing better, he only has detention for a week,"

"Lils you're fussing over him too much he does not need that thing-" you laughed as you pointed at the ice pack, the redhead turned as bright as her hair as she laughed too. She knew but it never hurt to indulge James's dramatics. Most of the time.

"Minnie is a saint is all I'm saying," his words came out as more of a purr as Lily continued to pet his hair.

You struggled to ask the obvious, James looked at you like he was daring you to ask, Where's Sirius?

"He's in the astronomy tower-" Remus spoke up from his chair before anyone else could say anything, 

Peter chuckled as your cheeks reddened, "Might have to hold him back," the rest of the marauders started giggling like they were twelve "he wanted to commit bloody murder earlier"

You messed with Peter's hair, mouthing a thank you to Remus as you left.

-

"I thought we said we'd quit," Your words came out in a short breath, the stairs all the way up the tower were no joke. 

"Well hello there stranger," The words came muffled as Sirius balanced whatever was left of a cigarette between his lips. You walked to sit with him on the ledge, much like you had in February. Your thighs pressed against one another and you took a brand new box of organic cigarettes out of your pocket. "Glad to see neither one of us held up to the promise of quitting" Sirius chuckled as he took the box from your hands.

He put out the cig on the edge of the wall and took one of yours out. He placed it between your lips, his fingertips softly grazing your lips. You suddenly didn't feel the need to smoke. But you didn't say this as he took out his lighter and lit it for you. He took the cig after you inhaled. You couldn't help but stare at him, your arms crossed on the metal bar in front of you, your head on your forearms. The rings of smoke mixed and danced in front of you again.

"I have another confession to make"

"Besides the fact that you chain smoke like you're a fifty-year-old man?"

"Yes," you said and he turned to look at you, an amused flicker in his eyes. You could see the kindness in them, the care. Sirius always cared. No matter what he said or did, you knew this. All of you knew.

"Spit it out then love," his words were whispered, and he took the cigarette again. Your box was still in his right hand.

"You make me feel like I just downed a bottle of firewhiskey" He barked out a laugh at your childish confession, tilting his head back. He nodded as he passed back the cig. "and if I'm really honest, Jacob never made me feel like that, I fear," you inhaled deeply, allowing the smoke to fill you, Sirius's expression twisted at the mention of the boy. 

"I hope not," You couldn't help but wonder if Sirius's need for your attention was simply to scratch an itch. Simply the satisfaction of knowing that he had you wrapped around his finger. The satisfaction of having you in his bed. 

"What is it to you Black?"

"Don't call me that," he knocked his shoulder with yours, releasing a giggle from your lips. "If you must know— I could treat you better,"

He looked away now, shy at his admission, even when it had been said haphazardly. You shook your head, unable to process nor accept his statement. Sirius Black did not care. You knew this. He didn't care about your sentimentalism or your feelings. Sirius did not know what you liked to eat or watch or listen to. He did not care. He had never cared to ask or show interest. He didn't care that you knew he only drank pumpkin juice during dinner, or that he liked it when you braided his hair, or that his favorite muggle movie was the new animated Robing Hood and not the Godfather as he always said. You knew Sirius Black did not care that you knew all of his favorite things and he didn't know a single one of yours. And it broke your heart. That he refused to know you or to let you fully in.

"That's not fair," you retracted your legs, curling them up to your chest. Shy of the contact, self-conscious of your closeness and the way you let him in so easily. You didn't accept the cig back from him. 

"How?" he put out the cig and pulled at your hand. "He could never make you happy, he will never know you like I do baby" his words were merely a whisper between the two of you. 

"What could you possibly know about me, Black?" he hated when you called him that "You don't truly know a thing about me-"

"I know everything about you," he was barely a breath away, your warmth mixed with his and if you moved a mere centimeter your faces would touch. "I know your favorite color is pink, but you always say its red, it's not any pink either its the baby pink of the dress you wore to the Christmas dinner at the Potter's last year" You held your breath. “the one that shimmered under the lights-”

"Do you want an award for knowing my favorite color?" Sirius ignored you as he continued. 

"I know you like orchids but not as a bouquet, you like lilies best," his fingers tucked a stray piece of hair behind your ear, but his hand remained there, at the edge of your jaw and you couldn't help but stare into his big grey eyes. You could almost see the constellations in them.

"You like the pixie dust flavored bean but hate the chocolate one, I know you wanted to be an auror when you were little but now you lean more towards a teaching position here," You felt a knot form in your throat as he continued to tell you the things about yourself you thought he had no clue of. "I know you like the smell of my leather jacket and that you keep a scrapbook under your bed, you love frills and lace and they are everywhere on that journal, I know you hate cigarettes because you feel guilty but you can't help yourself when you're anxious" you were somehow closer now, his tender hand on your jaw bringing your faces together to the point you could scarcely feel his lips as he spoke.

"I know you are a sentimental person, who keeps everything and everyone deep in your heart and that you wear your heart on your sleeve, all you do is give to others, your love, and your attention and it drives me insane," your lips were touching now, and you couldn't help but flutter your eyes shut as he finally said "I just want to be yours, love"

He pressed his lips to yours fully, his other hand threaded through your hair as he held your face close to his. You had kissed Sirius a handful of times, between the bites and the pulling of clothes. You had kissed Sirius with fear that he didn't truly want you, he had kissed you like it was something forbidden. But this time was different, he kissed you like a man starved like you'd leave him again for some other prat, he kissed you like he had been waiting a million years for it. He sucked softly at your bottom lip as you allowed him to deepen the kiss. Your hands pressed against his chest, and he broke the kiss. Pressing his forehead against yours.

"Be mine," it wasn't a mere question, it felt like a plead coming from his lips. Like a man on his knees. 

"I've always been yours, Sirius Black," he laughed as you did too, at how ridiculous the two of you sounded. The two of you were meant to be. It couldn't go any other way. And everyone had known it but you. 

You were such a sure thing.

You grabbed the brand-new pack of cigarettes from Sirius's hand and launched it over the metal bar as hard as you could. It felt cathartic, to let go of it. You barely looked at it as it plummeted down into the darkness. You could only look at him.

"I reckon we oughta quit now" he flashed you one of his toothy smiles, his eyes almost squeezing shut. You couldn't help but pull him in for another kiss.

You didn't smoke a single cig after that day. You'd joke Sirius was intoxicating and harmful on his own. He always feigned hurt. Your fingers never itched for it again. You had Sirius's hand to hold on to, his lips to press against yours. You had him in your pocket instead.

Sirius Black cares, and he always has. He cares that you only have eyes for him, that you spend your every waking moment attached at the hip. Even when you're fast asleep your arms cling to him, and he'd be lying if he said he didn't cling to you as well. Sirius cares that the stupidity that comes out of his mouth makes you laugh to the point of tears in a way he knows no one else can. That warm laugh that is born in your chest and makes him feel like he is the king of the world. Sirius Black cares that your eyes widen and glaze in affection when he gifts you an item of your favorite color, it has more to do than the thought of you tangled in his bedsheets now. Sirius Black's heart clenches every time he thinks of when you helped haul things out of his window when he ran away, dodging the jinxes that his hysterical mother threw your way once she saw you. Sirius has never been the most sentimental man, but tears formed in his eyes when you presented him with matching keys, with a simple live with me. He cares that you still wink at him before you take off the ground, whether to play quidditch in the Potter's backyard or right before you take off sprinting down the street trying to race him to your shared apartment. His pockets are filled with napkins, papers, tickets, and pictures for you to paste onto your journals, he always carries a camera to capture moments for you. So every moment, every memory, and every person is yours to keep.

 He knows he never has to worry about anyone else, and he knows you feel just as cloyed and covered in the saccharine disgusting feelings as he does. 

Sirius Black knows he loves you. And he knows you love him.

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