#situationship

You silently told yourself that Sukuna was too rigid for a real relationship, he was the notorious fratboy afterall.

Nights for him started with shots, party games, a blunt, and music so loud you felt it in your throat. Nights ending in a drunken haze, ready to repeat the cycle, like he could stay in it forever.

For you it was different, your nights beginning with your meticulous shower routine, favorite perfume, your quickest comfort meal, and whatever exhausting assignment you had due at 11:59P.M.

You spent your nights checking your phone every now and again, waiting for that text, the one that gives you butterflies, heart racing just a bit faster. You secretly longed for him, for that connection.

He longed for you too, unable to display that longing in a meaningful way.

There were glimpses of it, something reminiscent of walking along a trail surrounded by trees, branches occasionally separating allowing the warmth of the sun to caress your skin.

Every once in a while you two would be domestic; as if you were playing house.

Nights where you’d shower together, sharing quiet giggles and quick kisses. Washing each other gently. Silently cooking together, as to not wake anyone up, fleeting glances and pauses to let each other taste test.

You’d eat together, complementing one another's culinary skills. He’d clean the dishes as you put them away. A routine that felt natural on nights like this.

The night would end with the two of you in bed, your head laid on his chest, Your breath matching each other's pace. The sound of an old movie you let him pick settles in the room, heavy eyes watching but not quite paying attention.

“you know what would be beautiful right now?” you say, breaking the silence as your voice slurred a bit from drowsiness. His eyes drift towards you, he knows the answer but he asks anyway “what would be beautiful right now?” “If you played in my hair.. please?”

“you’re gonna fall asleep on me” he says. “no I wont, I promise Ryo!” you say as you finally sit up to fully look at him.

He looks at you for a moment, you can’t quite read his facial expression; and then he leans in, leaving a soft peck on your lips “i’ll get the comb” he says, sitting up from the bed to search for a comb.

“yayyy you’re the sweetest!”

He comes back to bed, settling his back on his headboard, legs set straight out for you to lay your head on.

You take a pillow and lay it across his thighs, settling on your side as you lay your head on the pillow, pulling his blanket up to your neck.

A slight smirk sprawls across your face and goosebumps on your skin as he gently touches your hair, moving it from your face as he brings the comb to your scalp, gently dragging it back and separating your hair with care.

You close your eyes and soak in the feeling. Sukuna never talks when he does this, he knows you enjoy the silence. Content with the sound of the movie, the feeling of his fingertips on your scalp, and the cold drag of the comb.

He repeats the process, gently combing your hair back, dragging the comb gently against your scalp, separating the hair; taking his finger and dragging it slowly against the part he just made.

You drift to sleep, lulled by his touch.

You felt so safe.. comfortable, content on nights like this.

This was your favorite routine.

Sukuna would slowly lean forward, catching the sight of you, lashes sitting gently atop of your cheeks, lips slightly parted, as you breathed steadily, fast asleep.

Sukuna felt warm inside, a feeling unknown to him until the two of you met.

He was never the romantic type, he’s still unsure of how to show affection, still learning how to be vulnerable, to show up for you in a meaningful way, but this feels right.

His love language.

He reaches over, setting the comb on his nightstand.

He gently moves your head up so that you’re laying straight, he shifts himself, settling beside you.

His night ends with a gentle kiss to your forehead, eyes set on you, the way your lips part as you rest, the way your eyes move ever so slightly as you dream, hands holding each other as they sit under your chin.

He wanted to be fluent in his love language if it meant having endless nights like this.

───♡─────────────

Divider by- @anitalenia

The Gryffindor common room is almost empty, the fire crackling low in the hearth like it’s whispering secrets to the shadows. Most people have already disappeared to their dorms, chasing sleep before another brutal week of N.E.W.T. revision. But not you. And definitely not him.

Sirius is sprawled across the worn crimson couch like he owns it, his dark curls fanned out over your lap. His head rests heavy and warm against your thighs, one arm lazily draped across your legs as if anchoring you there. The common room’s golden light flickers over his sharp cheekbones and the faint scar near his jaw, making him look dangerously soft in a way only you ever get to see.

Your fingers card slowly through his hair, tugging gently at the knots the way he likes. A low, contented hum vibrates from his chest. His free hand traces lazy circles on the inside of your knee, slipping just beneath the hem of your skirt. The touch is absentminded, familiar, possessive.

“Keep doing that and I might fall asleep right here,” he murmurs, voice rough with exhaustion and that signature lazy drawl. “Wouldn’t be the worst thing. Waking up with you like this…”

You smile despite yourself, but there’s that familiar twist in your chest. The same one that’s been there since fifth year. Because this—his head in your lap, his fingers on your skin, the way he says things like that—is everything a boyfriend would do.

Except he isn’t.

You’re not his girlfriend. He’s not your boyfriend. You’ve never been anything with a label. Just… this. Whatever this is. A complicated, addictive, messy tangle that neither of you has the guts to name.

A log pops in the fireplace. Sirius shifts slightly, turning his face toward your stomach. His breath is warm through the fabric of your shirt.

“Long day?” you ask quietly, nails scratching lightly against his scalp.

“Fucking McGonagall breathing down my neck about Transfiguration theory. As if I don’t already know it better than half the class.” He smirks, eyes still closed. “Then Evans lectured me for ten minutes about ‘responsibility’ because I hexed that Slytherin git in the corridor. Worth it, though.”

You let out a soft laugh. Your hand drifts down to the side of his neck, thumb brushing over the pulse point there. He tilts his head just enough to press a slow, open-mouthed kiss against your thigh. The casual intimacy of it makes your stomach flip.

No one else gets this version of him. The lazy, almost vulnerable Sirius who lets you touch him like this. Who seeks you out after every bad day. Who looks at you like you’re the only steady thing in his chaotic world.

But the second someone else walks into the room, the mask slides back on.

As if summoned by your thoughts, the portrait hole swings open. Marlene McKinnon stumbles in, giggling, with Dorcas Meadowes right behind her. They both freeze when they see the two of you.

Sirius doesn’t move. His hand stays high on your thigh, fingers still tracing patterns like he couldn’t care less who sees. But you feel the tiniest shift in his body—the way his shoulders tense just slightly.

“Oi, lovebirds,” Marlene teases, grinning as she heads toward the girls’ staircase. “Get a room, yeah?”

Dorcas snorts. “Pretty sure they already have several.”

Sirius cracks one eye open, flashing that devastating, crooked grin. “Jealous, McKinnon?”

Marlene rolls her eyes and disappears up the stairs with a laugh. The portrait hole swings shut again, leaving the common room quiet once more.

You wait.

The silence stretches.

Finally, you speak, voice low. “You know… they all think we’re together.”

Sirius opens both eyes this time. He stares up at you, grey eyes unreadable in the firelight. For a second, something flickers across his face—something almost like panic—but it’s gone so fast you might’ve imagined it.

He shrugs one shoulder. “People think a lot of things.”

His hand squeezes your thigh, a silent reminder. A claim without words.

You bite the inside of your cheek. The familiar sting rises in your throat, but you swallow it down. This is how it always goes. He gives you everything except the one thing you keep waiting for.

Sirius sits up slowly, the loss of his weight in your lap leaving you colder than it should. He turns to face you fully, one knee braced on the couch between your legs. The fire paints warm shadows across his face as he leans in close.

His fingers catch your chin, tilting your face up to his.

“Don’t do that,” he says softly. There’s a warning edge beneath the gentleness.

“Do what?”

“Get that look. Like you’re thinking too much again.” His thumb brushes your lower lip. “We’re good, aren’t we? You and me. Like this.”

Like this.

The words hang between you. Heavy. Insufficient.

You meet his gaze, searching those stormy grey eyes. “Yeah,” you whisper, even though it feels like a lie. “We’re good.”

A slow, satisfied smirk curves his mouth. He closes the distance and kisses you—slow at first, almost sweet. Then deeper. Hungrier. His hand slides into your hair, gripping just tight enough to make you gasp against his lips. The kiss tastes like firewhisky from earlier and the familiar comfort of too many late nights.

When he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours. His breathing is uneven.

“Stay with me tonight,” he murmurs. “My bed. The others are all out cold by now.”

You laugh quietly, a little breathless. “You’re so demanding.”

“Only with you, darling.”

There it is again. Darling. The pet name that makes your heart ache and race at the same time.

You should ask him. Right now. What are we, Sirius? The words are on the tip of your tongue, the same ones that have been choking you for nearly two years.

But you already know what he’ll say.

Why ruin it? We don’t need labels. You know you’re the only one I want.

And you’ll accept it. Because as messy and frustrating and toxic as this is—him acting like you’re his entire world in private while refusing to claim you in public—you’re addicted to it. To him.

Just like he’s addicted to you.

Sirius kisses you again, softer this time, like he can taste the uncertainty on your lips and wants to kiss it away. His hand slips further up your thigh, possessive and warm.

“Come on,” he whispers against your mouth. “Let’s go upstairs before I decide I can’t wait and take you right here on this couch.”

You let him pull you up, fingers intertwined. As you follow him toward the boys’ staircase, his arm slides around your waist, holding you close like he’s afraid you might slip away.

For tonight, at least, he’s yours.

Even if tomorrow he’ll smirk and tell James “Nah, we’re just mates” again.

And you’ll let him.

Because that’s what you two do.

The morning light filters weakly through the heavy crimson curtains of the boys’ dormitory, casting a soft, golden haze over everything. Sirius’s four-poster bed is an absolute wreck—sheets tangled and twisted around your bodies, half the pillows tossed onto the floor, your skirt and his shirt lying in a careless heap near the edge. The air still hangs heavy with the evidence of last night: the musky scent of sweat, the faint trace of firewhisky on his breath, and that warm, woody cologne he always wears that now clings to your own skin.

You wake slowly, every muscle deliciously sore in the best possible way. Flashes of the night before keep flickering through your mind—Sirius’s hands gripping your hips as he pulled you down onto him, the low, wrecked sounds he made against your throat when you moved just right, the way he’d kissed you like he was trying to devour every moan. How he’d held you tight afterward, chest heaving, refusing to let even an inch of space come between you until sleep finally claimed you both.

His bare chest is pressed flush against your back now, warm and solid. One strong arm is slung possessively over your waist, fingers splayed wide across your stomach like he’s claiming every inch even in his sleep. His breath fans steadily against the nape of your neck, lips brushing your skin with every exhale. The faint scratch of his stubble sends tiny sparks down your spine.

You shift just a little, testing the ache between your thighs, and Sirius stirs immediately behind you. His arm tightens, pulling you back against him with a low, sleepy groan.

“Morning, darling,” he rasps, voice rough and intimate against your ear. He presses a slow, open-mouthed kiss to your bare shoulder, then drags his teeth over the same spot, making you shiver. “Mmm… still here. Good. I like waking up to you like this.”

His hand slides lower, fingertips tracing lazy circles over your hip before slipping down to squeeze your thigh. There’s a smirk in his tone even though his eyes are barely open. “Did I wear you out last night? You were making such pretty sounds for me.”

You turn in his arms to face him properly. His grey eyes are soft and dark in the dim morning light, his dark curls wildly tousled from your fingers running through them hours earlier. A few faint love bites mark his neck—marks you left on him. He looks devastatingly beautiful like this: unguarded, rumpled, and completely focused on you. In these stolen moments behind closed curtains, he’s entirely yours.

You reach up and brush your fingers through his messy hair, tugging gently at the roots the way he likes. “You’re impossible in the mornings.”

Sirius chuckles lowly, the sound vibrating through his chest. He leans in and kisses you—slow, deep, and unhurried. His hand roams down your side, squeezing your waist, then your thigh again, like he’s considering pulling you on top of him for another round. The kiss deepens, his tongue brushing yours, tasting like sleep and leftover desire. For a few perfect minutes, nothing else exists.

But reality always creeps back in.

You eventually pull away, breathless. “We should go down. Breakfast will end soon, and we’ve already been missing too many meals lately.”

He groans dramatically, burying his face in the crook of your neck and nipping at your skin. “Skip with me. I’d much rather stay here and have you instead. Slowly this time.”

The words send heat rushing through you, but you force yourself to slip out of his warm embrace. You feel his eyes on you the entire time as you move around the bed—watching intently while you tug your shirt back on, smooth down your rumpled skirt, and try to fix your hair in the small mirror by his bedside. His gaze is dark and hungry, lingering on the faint marks he left on your collarbone that you’ll have to hide later.

By the time you both sneak down the spiral staircase and push through the portrait hole into the Great Hall, the hall is already alive with noise. Sunlight streams brightly through the enchanted ceiling, showing a clear blue sky. The long Gryffindor table is packed with students chatting loudly, clinking cutlery, and passing around platters of scrambled eggs, crispy bacon, buttered toast, and jugs of pumpkin juice.

Sirius walks in first, shoulders relaxed, that signature arrogant swagger firmly in place. The second he steps into the crowded hall, the shift happens so naturally it almost hurts to watch. The soft, possessive Sirius from the dorm vanishes. The mask slides on.

“Morning!” he calls out cheerfully, dropping into his usual seat with easy confidence. He immediately reaches for the nearest platter and starts loading his plate high, acting like any other seventh-year with nothing heavier on his mind than N.E.W.T.s and Quidditch.

You slide into the seat right beside him—the spot everyone has quietly accepted as yours. Your leg brushes against his under the table, and he presses back for a brief second, warm and deliberate. A secret little I’m right here.

James looks up with a wide, knowing grin. “Late start again? You two are becoming predictable.”

Sirius shrugs casually, stealing a strip of bacon straight from your plate without even asking. “Couldn’t sleep properly. Too much on my mind these days.”

Remus glances between you both, his observant eyes narrowing just slightly. He doesn’t say anything, but you can feel him reading the room.

“Just coincidence,” Sirius adds smoothly, flashing that devastating crooked grin. He leans back in his chair and drapes one arm casually along the back of yours. Close enough to feel intimate. Loose enough to look completely platonic. “We’re just mates. Right?”

The words settle over you like cold water.

You force a small, easy smile and reach for your goblet of pumpkin juice. “Yeah,” you reply lightly, keeping your voice perfectly normal. “Just mates.”

Under the table, Sirius’s hand finds your thigh again. His fingers squeeze once, firm and warm, almost like a silent apology or a reminder. His thumb strokes slowly against your skin, hidden from everyone.

A group of sixth-year girls walks past the Gryffindor table, laughing and whispering. One of them—the tall, pretty one with long dark hair and bright eyes—slows her steps noticeably. She smiles at Sirius, twirling a strand of hair around her finger.

“Morning, Sirius,” she says sweetly, voice carrying just enough to catch his attention. “You were incredible during last weekend’s match. Really brilliant on that broom.”

Sirius turns his head and gives her the full Black treatment: lazy smile, slight tilt of the head, sparkling grey eyes full of effortless charm. “Thanks, love. Glad someone was paying attention.”

He doesn’t brush her off. Doesn’t mention you. Doesn’t do anything except return that flirtatious little grin like it’s nothing.

Your fork presses harder into your eggs. A sharp, quiet burn of jealousy twists low in your stomach. You stay silent, chewing slowly, pretending to be focused on your food. But inside, the familiar ache builds—the same one that’s been growing since fifth year. His hand is still high on your thigh under the table, possessive and secret, while he smiles at her like you’re not even there.

The Great Hall feels louder than usual this morning, filled with the clatter of plates, bursts of laughter, and the occasional owl swooping in through the high windows to deliver post. You keep your eyes mostly on your plate, pushing the eggs around while the burn in your chest refuses to fade. Sirius’s hand is still resting high on your thigh under the table, his fingers occasionally flexing against your skin like he can sense the tension radiating from you. It’s a silent claim, a hidden reminder of how he’d had you writhing beneath him just hours ago, yet it only makes the contrast sharper.

James is in the middle of some animated story about a prank he’s planning on the Slytherins, waving his fork around for emphasis. Peter laughs too loudly, and Remus just shakes his head with a small, amused smile. Sirius laughs along at the right moments, his voice carrying that easy, confident charm. His arm stays draped along the back of your chair, fingers occasionally brushing the fabric of your robe near your shoulder in what looks like a casual, friendly touch to anyone watching.

To everyone else, you two are just close friends. Really good mates who sit together, share food, and banter. Nothing more.

But you can still feel the faint ache between your legs from the way he’d fucked you last night—deep, slow, and then desperate, like he couldn’t get enough. The small marks he left on your inner thighs are hidden beneath your skirt, but they throb every time you shift in your seat.

Another wave of students passes by. The dark-haired girl from earlier circles back with her friends, this time stopping a little closer to the table. She leans slightly toward Sirius, her smile bright and hopeful.

“By the way, Sirius,” she says, voice sweet and a touch flirtatious, “a few of us are having a little gathering in the common room this Friday after the match. You should come. It’ll be fun.”

Sirius tilts his head, giving her that trademark half-smirk that makes your stomach twist. “Yeah? Might stop by. Sounds like a good time.”

He doesn’t say “we” might stop by. Doesn’t glance at you. Doesn’t do anything to suggest his nights are already very much occupied.

Your jaw tightens. You reach for another piece of toast and spread butter on it with more force than necessary, the knife scraping loudly against the plate. Under the table, Sirius’s hand squeezes your thigh harder in response—almost a warning, or maybe a silent stop. His thumb strokes soothing circles against your skin, but it only fuels the messy mix of frustration and want swirling inside you.

Because this is the game you’ve been playing for nearly two years. He’ll flirt just enough to keep his reputation as the unattainable Sirius Black, then later he’ll pull you into an empty classroom, push you against the wall, and kiss you like he’s starving. Like you’re the only thing that matters.

James nudges Sirius with his elbow. “You gonna bring anyone, Padfoot?”

Sirius shrugs, popping a piece of stolen bacon into his mouth. “Dunno. We’ll see. I’m not really tied down or anything.” He says it so casually, so lightly, like the words don’t carry weight. Like they don’t stab.

You swallow hard and take a long sip of pumpkin juice, keeping your expression neutral. The hand on your thigh stays put, warm and heavy, a complete contradiction. His fingers drift a little higher, brushing the hem of your skirt, pressing just enough to remind you exactly who you spent the night with.

Remus is watching the two of you again. His eyes flick from Sirius’s relaxed face to the way your shoulders are slightly tense. He doesn’t comment, but you catch the subtle raise of his eyebrow before he looks away.

The girl finally walks off with a little wave and a hopeful “See you around, Sirius!”

You let out a slow breath. Sirius turns back to the table fully, laughing at something James says about Quidditch strategy. His arm shifts slightly behind you, almost like he wants to pull you closer but stops himself. Instead, he leans in just enough that his shoulder brushes yours.

“Pass the marmalade, yeah?” he asks, voice low and familiar, like nothing happened.

You hand it to him without looking up. His fingers deliberately graze yours as he takes the jar, lingering for a second longer than necessary. When you finally glance at him, his grey eyes meet yours—stormy, intense, and full of that unspoken heat. For a brief moment the mask cracks. There’s possession there. Want. Maybe even a flicker of guilt.

But then he looks away, spreading marmalade on his toast like everything’s perfectly fine.

Breakfast drags on like that—easy conversation flowing around you while the tension between you and Sirius simmers underneath. His hand never leaves your thigh. He keeps stealing food from your plate. He keeps that arm draped behind your chair like it belongs there.

Yet when another girl waves at him from across the hall, he waves back with that same charming smile.

By the time people start getting up to head to classes, your chest feels tight. You stand, smoothing down your skirt, and Sirius rises with you. As the group starts walking out of the Great Hall together, he falls into step beside you, close enough that your arms brush.

In the crowded corridor, away from the direct eyes of the whole table but still in public, he leans down slightly, voice quiet near your ear.

“Library later?” he murmurs, breath warm against your skin. “Or maybe that empty classroom on the third floor. You know the one.”

The suggestion is laced with promise—the same promise that always follows these mornings. He’ll kiss you breathless. He’ll touch you like you’re his. He’ll make you forget the jealousy for a while.

You nod, not trusting your voice.

Sirius’s hand brushes the small of your back for just a second before he pulls away, slipping back into that effortless “just mates” stride as James claps him on the shoulder.

The mask is back on.

And you’re still right here, caught in the middle of it all.

The week had dragged on in that familiar haze of N.E.W.T. revision, stolen kisses in empty corridors, and the usual push-and-pull between you and Sirius. He’d mentioned the party exactly once—casually, over lunch on Wednesday—while laughing with James about how “the sixth years are finally doing something worth showing up for.” He never actually asked you to go with him. Never said “Come with me” or “Save me a dance, darling.” Just tossed the information out like it was public news.

So you decided you wouldn’t ask either.

You spent extra time getting ready that evening, standing in front of the dormitory mirror while your friends chattered around you. You chose a slightly shorter skirt than usual, one that hugged your hips, paired with a fitted black top that showed just enough collarbone to highlight the faint mark Sirius had left there earlier in the week. Your hair fell in loose waves, and you added a touch more makeup than normal. Not for him. At least, that’s what you kept telling yourself.

You don’t have to care this much, you thought, staring at your reflection. He doesn’t want labels. Fine. Then you don’t have to act like his girlfriend when he won’t even call you one.

The Gryffindor common room had been transformed. Furniture pushed to the sides, fairy lights strung across the ceiling charmed to shimmer in deep reds and golds, music pulsing from an enchanted record player. Someone had smuggled in bottles of firewhisky and butterbeer, and the room was already packed with seventh and sixth years laughing, dancing, and spilling drinks. The fire roared high in the hearth, casting flickering shadows across everyone’s faces.

You arrived with a group of friends, deliberately not looking for Sirius right away. But you felt him the second you stepped through the portrait hole—his eyes on you from across the room like a physical touch.

He was leaning against the stone wall near the fireplace, surrounded by the usual crowd: James, a few teammates, and a couple of girls hanging on his every word. His shirt was unbuttoned at the top, sleeves rolled up, hair artfully messy. The moment his grey eyes locked on you, something dark flickered across his face—appreciation, followed quickly by that possessive glint he always tried to hide in public.

But he didn’t come over. He just raised his glass in your direction with a slow, crooked smirk, like you were another pretty face at the party instead of the girl whose name he’d groaned against your neck two nights ago.

Fine.

You grabbed a cup of firewhisky, letting the burn slide down your throat as you moved deeper into the crowd. The music thrummed through your bones. You laughed louder than necessary with your friends, swaying your hips to the beat. And when a Ravenclaw boy named Elias—tall, friendly, with an easy smile—approached you, you didn’t brush him off.

“Hey,” he said, raising his voice over the music. “You look great tonight. Haven’t seen you at one of these in a while.”

You smiled up at him, letting your gaze linger. “Been busy. But I figured it was time to have some fun.”

The two of you fell into conversation easily. He was charming in a safe, uncomplicated way—complimenting your laugh, asking about your classes, standing just close enough that your arms brushed when you both moved to the music. You let yourself lean in when he said something funny, touching his forearm lightly as you laughed.

You could feel Sirius watching. The weight of his stare prickled across your skin like a warning.

A few minutes later, another boy joined— a Hufflepuff seventh year you’d shared Herbology with. Soon you were in a small group, dancing loosely, smiling, letting them pull you toward the center of the room where bodies moved freely. One of them spun you playfully under his arm. You let it happen, the firewhisky making everything feel warmer, bolder.

This is what he does all the time, you told yourself. Smiling at girls. Letting them touch his arm. Acting like he’s free.

So why should you sit on the sidelines waiting for scraps of his attention?

Across the room, Sirius had detached from his group. He was moving now, weaving through people with that predatory grace, but still not coming straight to you. Instead, he stopped near a cluster of girls, laughing at something one of them said, flashing that devastating Black smile. The same one he gave you when he was buried inside you and calling you “darling.”

Your stomach twisted, but you forced yourself to keep smiling at Elias as he handed you another drink.

That’s when Sirius finally appeared at your side.

His hand slid around your waist from behind—possessive, warm, and sudden. He pulled you back against his chest just enough to make a point, his breath brushing your ear.

“Having fun, love?” His voice was low, deceptively casual, but you heard the edge beneath it.

You turned your head slightly, meeting his stormy eyes. “Yeah. It’s a good party. You?”

His jaw ticked. His fingers pressed harder into your hip, hidden by the crowd. “Didn’t realize you were bringing friends.”

The way he said friends dripped with something ugly.

Elias glanced between the two of you, sensing the shift. “I’ll catch you later,” he said politely before slipping away.

The second he was gone, Sirius turned you to face him fully. His hands stayed on your waist, holding you close while bodies moved around you. To anyone else, it probably looked like two mates dancing. But you felt the tension vibrating off him—the same barely-contained jealousy he always denied.

“You really gonna flirt with every tosser who looks your way tonight?” he muttered, voice dark. His forehead nearly touched yours, grey eyes burning. “Thought we had an understanding.”

You tilted your chin up, heart hammering. “Understanding? We’re just mates, remember? That’s what you always say.”

His grip tightened, pulling you flush against him as the music slowed. You could feel the heat of his body, the way his chest rose and fell faster than normal. One of his hands slid lower, dangerously close to the curve of your ass, claiming you in the middle of the crowded room while still refusing to name what this was.

“You know it’s not like that,” he growled softly, lips brushing your temple. “You’re mine, and you fucking know it.”

The words sent a thrill through you, but they also stung. Because he’d never say them louder than this. Never say them where people could hear.

You danced with him then—bodies pressed close, his hands roaming with that familiar hunger—but the air between you crackled with everything unsaid. Every time you glanced away, you caught him glaring toward where Elias had disappeared. Every time a girl tried to catch his eye, his hold on you grew tighter.

This was the game.

Both of you playing it.

Both of you losing.

And the night was still young.

The music had shifted into something slower, heavier, the bass vibrating low in your chest as bodies pressed closer on the makeshift dance floor. Sirius hadn’t let you go. His hands stayed firm on your waist, fingers digging in just enough to leave faint imprints through your skirt. You danced with him like that—chests brushing, his breath warm against your temple—but the air between you was anything but soft.

Every sway of your hips felt like a challenge. Every time his grip tightened, it felt like punishment.

You could still see Elias across the room, chatting with friends but occasionally glancing your way. Sirius noticed too. His jaw was locked, grey eyes dark with barely contained irritation.

“You’re really pushing it tonight,” he muttered, lips brushing your ear as he pulled you even closer. His body was hot against yours, the scent of firewhisky and his cologne wrapping around you. “Flirting with Ravenclaws like I wasn’t even here.”

You tilted your head back to look at him, your hands resting on his chest. His heart was beating fast under your palm. “I thought we were just mates, Sirius. Isn’t that what you told James this morning? What you tell everyone?”

His eyes flashed. For a second, the mask slipped completely. The possessive, stormy Sirius you only ever saw in private was staring down at you in the middle of a crowded room.

“Don’t,” he warned, voice low and rough. One hand slid lower, resting dangerously close to the curve of your ass as he moved you both slowly to the music. To outsiders, it probably looked like heated flirting. Only you could feel the anger and want radiating off him.

A new song started, and another boy—this time a Gryffindor sixth year you barely knew—walked up with a cocky grin, clearly tipsy.

“Hey, mind if I cut in?”

The words barely left his mouth before Sirius’s arm tightened around you like a vice.

“Fuck off,” Sirius said flatly, not even bothering to look at him. His tone was ice-cold, the kind that made most people back off instantly.

The boy raised his hands and retreated with a nervous laugh. Sirius didn’t relax. If anything, he grew more tense, spinning you around so your back was pressed to his front. His arms wrapped around your waist, holding you flush against him as he swayed with you. His lips found the side of your neck, not quite kissing—just hovering, breathing you in.

“You’re mine,” he whispered harshly against your skin, so quiet only you could hear. “Stop acting like you’re not.”

Your heart stuttered. The words sent heat rushing through you, but they also made that familiar ache bloom in your chest. He could say it here, in the dark, surrounded by noise and shadows. But never in the light. Never where it mattered.

You turned in his arms again, facing him. Your bodies were pressed together, barely moving now despite the music. “Then maybe act like it,” you shot back, voice just as quiet. “Or are we still ‘just having fun’?”

Sirius’s eyes darkened dangerously. For a moment you thought he might kiss you right there in front of everyone. Instead, he grabbed your hand and started pulling you through the crowd without another word.

He led you toward the edge of the common room, weaving past laughing groups and discarded cups until he pushed open the door to one of the smaller side rooms used for storage. The second the door closed behind you, the noise of the party dulled to a distant thump.

Sirius backed you against the wall instantly, hands on either side of your head. His face was inches from yours, breathing hard.

“What the fuck was that out there?” he demanded. “Letting those idiots touch you. Laughing with them. You knew I was watching.”

You lifted your chin, refusing to shrink back even though your pulse was racing. “And what about you? Smiling at every girl who looks your way? Telling people you’re not tied down? I’m just supposed to sit there and take it?”

His hand came up to cup your jaw, thumb brushing your lower lip roughly. “You know it’s different.”

“Why?” you pressed, heart hammering. “Because you fuck me every night? Because you sneak into my bed and call me darling when no one’s looking?”

Sirius made a frustrated sound and crashed his lips against yours.

The kiss was messy, angry, and desperate. All teeth and tongue and pent-up frustration. His body pinned you harder against the wall as his hands roamed down your sides, gripping your hips, then sliding under your skirt to squeeze your thighs—the same thighs he’d had wrapped around him two nights ago.

You kissed him back just as fiercely, fingers tangling in his dark curls and tugging hard. He groaned into your mouth, pressing one thigh between your legs.

“You drive me fucking insane,” he growled against your lips, biting your bottom lip before soothing it with his tongue. “Seeing you with them… I wanted to hex both of them across the room.”

“Then maybe stop pretending we’re nothing,” you breathed, even as your hips rolled against his.

Sirius pulled back just enough to look at you. His eyes were wild, hair even messier from your hands. For a second, something vulnerable flickered across his face—fear, maybe. But it was gone too fast.

He kissed you again, slower this time but no less intense. His hand slipped higher under your skirt, fingers teasing the edge of your underwear as he pressed closer.

“Stay with me tonight,” he murmured, voice rough. “My bed. I don’t want anyone else near you.”

You laughed bitterly against his mouth, even as you arched into his touch. “Until tomorrow, when you tell everyone we’re just mates again?”

Sirius didn’t answer with words. Instead he kissed you harder, like he could silence the truth with his mouth. His fingers pushed your underwear aside, stroking you with practiced ease until your legs trembled.

The party continued raging outside the door, but in here it was just the two of you—messy, toxic, addicted, and unable to let go.

Neither of you were willing to name it.

But both of you were terrified of losing it.

A week had slipped by since the party, wrapped in a fragile, suffocating silence. Neither of you had spoken about what happened in that cramped storage room—the angry kisses, the biting words, the way his fingers had dug into your skin like he was terrified you’d slip away. You both simply pretended. It was easier that way. Safer.

You went back to stolen glances across the Great Hall, his hand creeping up your thigh under the table during meals, and nights where he’d pull you into his bed like a man drowning, fucking you with a desperate intensity that left bruises and unspoken feelings in its wake. In the daylight, though, he was still just Sirius Black—charming, untouchable, quick with a “we’re just mates” whenever anyone raised an eyebrow.

It was supposed to be a normal Tuesday afternoon.

Charms class felt endless under the soft afternoon light filtering through the tall arched windows. Golden dust motes danced lazily in the sunbeams as Professor Flitwick’s squeaky voice droned on about complex silencing charms and their applications in dueling. Your quill moved mechanically across the parchment, but the ink kept smudging from how tightly you were gripping it.

The seat beside you was empty.

Sirius’s usual spot—the one he’d claimed since fifth year with a dramatic flop and a wink that always made your stomach flip—sat glaringly vacant. His absence felt louder than any spell. He rarely skipped without some kind of sign. A crumpled note in your bag. A whispered promise in the corridor. A smirk across the room that said meet me later, darling.

Today? Nothing.

You tried to focus on Flitwick’s demonstration, but your mind kept drifting. The castle outside the windows looked deceptively peaceful—the Black Lake shimmering darkly in the distance, the Whomping Willow swaying gently in the breeze. Everything felt too still. Too wrong.

By the time class ended, the worry had coiled tight in your chest like a living thing. You lingered as students packed up, chatting and laughing around you. James and Remus were near the door, heads bent together over some Marauder map.

“Have you seen Sirius?” you asked, trying to keep your voice casual.

James shrugged, pushing his glasses up his nose. “Not since lunch. He was in a weird mood. Probably off causing trouble somewhere. You know Padfoot.”

But you did know him. And that was exactly why the unease wouldn’t settle.

You left the classroom with your bag slung over your shoulder, the stone corridors stretching long and echoing around you. The afternoon light had started to shift, casting longer shadows across the ancient floors. Suits of armor stood silent and watchful as you passed, their empty visors seeming to follow your hurried steps. You checked all the usual places first.

The empty classroom on the third floor—the one with the creaky desks where he’d pressed you against the wall more times than you could count—was deserted. Only dust and faint chalk marks remained.

You moved on to the alcove behind the tapestry near the library. The heavy fabric smelled of old wool and history as you pushed it aside. Empty. Just a forgotten book lying open on the stone bench.

Your heart beat faster as you climbed another staircase, the marble steps cold beneath your shoes. Why did it matter so much? You weren’t together. He’d reminded you of that a thousand times. He could skip class without you. He could do whatever—whoever—he wanted.

Still, your feet kept moving. Past the Gryffindor Tower. Down toward the Quidditch pitch where the grass swayed under a greyish sky. No sign of his tall frame or messy black hair. The worry twisted sharper now, mixing with something uglier—a quiet fear you hated admitting to yourself.

What if he was pulling away? What if the fight at the party had finally cracked the fragile thing between you? What if he was done pretending in his own messy way?

You turned down a quieter corridor on the fourth floor, near the Hufflepuff common room entrance. This hallway was rarely used—dimmer, dustier, lined with faded tapestries depicting old forest scenes that seemed to shift when you weren’t looking directly at them. The air felt cooler here, carrying the faint scent of damp stone and wildflowers from somewhere below.

Your steps slowed as you approached the end of the hall.

Soft sounds drifted toward you.

A girl’s laughter—light, breathy, flirtatious. Then a lower murmur. Deep. Familiar. The kind of voice that had whispered filthy praises against your neck countless nights.

Your stomach dropped.

You told yourself it was nothing. Just students messing around. But your pulse roared in your ears as you moved closer, staying hidden behind a large, cracked suit of armor. The shadows clung to you like a second skin.

And then you saw them.

Your breath caught in your throat as you peered around the edge of the old suit of armor.

There he was.

Sirius Black, leaning against the stone wall in the shadowed alcove, looking every bit like the reckless, beautiful disaster he was. His dark curls were messy, falling into his eyes, and his Gryffindor tie was loosened, the top buttons of his shirt undone. But what made your stomach twist violently was the girl pressed up against him.

A Hufflepuff seventh year—you recognized her vaguely. Soft blonde hair, warm brown eyes, and a sweet face that was currently flushed with pleasure. She was giggling softly, one hand resting on his chest while his head was buried in the crook of her neck. His lips moved lazily against her skin, not quite kissing, more like breathing her in, teasing the sensitive spot just below her ear.

The same way he did with you.

One of his hands was braced on the wall beside her head, the other resting low on her waist, fingers playing with the hem of her yellow-trimmed robe like he had all the time in the world. The scene was intimate. Too intimate. The kind of casual closeness he usually reserved for stolen moments with you.

For a second, the world narrowed to just this—the faint sound of her breathy laugh, the low murmur of his voice saying something you couldn’t quite hear, the way her fingers curled into his shirt. The dusty afternoon light filtering through a high window painted them in soft gold and shadow, making the moment look almost romantic. Like something out of a dream.

Except it was your nightmare.

Your heart slammed against your ribs so hard it hurt. A hot, ugly wave of jealousy crashed over you, followed immediately by nausea. Your bag slipped slightly from your shoulder, but you caught it before it hit the floor. You couldn’t move. Couldn’t look away. Your feet felt rooted to the cold stone.

This is what he does when you’re not around?

Memories flashed through your mind—his hands on your waist last night, the way he’d groaned your name like a prayer, the way he’d held you afterward like you were the only thing keeping him grounded. And now here he was, skipping class, nuzzling into some Hufflepuff girl’s neck like it was nothing.

Like you were nothing.

Sirius shifted slightly, lifting his head just enough that you caught the lazy smirk on his face. He said something else—low and teasing—and the girl laughed again, tilting her head to give him better access. His lips brushed her neck once more, slower this time.

That was the breaking point.

A sharp, bitter sound escaped your throat before you could stop it—half a scoff, half a broken breath. Not loud, but enough.

Sirius’s head snapped up instantly. His grey eyes locked onto yours across the dimly lit corridor, widening for a split second in genuine surprise. The easy, flirtatious expression on his face shattered completely.

For one long, agonizing heartbeat, neither of you moved.

The Hufflepuff girl turned her head, confused, following his gaze. When she saw you standing there, her cheeks went bright red and she stepped back quickly, smoothing down her robes.

“Oh—I didn’t… we were just—” she stammered, clearly embarrassed.

But you weren’t looking at her.

You were staring at him.

Sirius straightened up, running a hand through his messy hair. The mask was already trying to slide back into place, but you could see the flicker of guilt, the flash of panic in those stormy eyes. He opened his mouth, then closed it again.

The silence stretched between you, heavy and suffocating. The distant sounds of students moving through other corridors felt miles away. All you could hear was the roaring in your ears and the rapid thud of your own heart.

You felt sick. Exposed. Stupid for even caring this much when he’d spent years telling you there was nothing to care about.

Finally, you found your voice. It came out quieter than you wanted, but edged with something sharp and trembling.

“…Really, Sirius?”

Your voice came out quieter than you expected, but it sliced through the dusty corridor like a hex. The words hung there, raw and trembling with everything you’d been swallowing for years.

The Hufflepuff girl looked mortified. Her eyes darted between you and Sirius, clearly sensing she’d walked into something much bigger than a casual flirtation. She muttered a quick, awkward “I should go…” and hurried past you, her yellow-trimmed robes swishing as she disappeared around the corner. Her footsteps faded quickly, leaving only the heavy silence and the faint scent of her perfume lingering in the air.

Sirius straightened up slowly, his back still pressed against the cold stone wall. His grey eyes—usually stormy, now blazing like thunderclouds ready to split open—locked onto yours. His shirt was rumpled, tie hanging loose like a noose, dark curls wild from the girl’s fingers. The faint scent of her perfume still clung to him, sweet and cloying, mixing with his familiar woody cologne in a way that made your stomach churn.

You stood tall, shoulders squared, the dim afternoon light slicing through a high arched window and painting harsh golden lines across the ancient stone floor between you.

“This is what you do the second I’m not around?” Your voice came out low, steady, and razor-sharp.

He pushed off the wall, jaw clenched so tight you could see the muscle ticking. “Don’t start. You don’t own me. We’ve never been exclusive—”

“Exclusive?” You let out a bitter, cutting laugh that echoed off the faded tapestries. “You’ve had your mouth between my legs more times than I can count. You growl that I’m yours when you’re inside me. You threaten to hex any guy who looks at me too long. But the second you get bored, you’re nuzzling some Hufflepuff’s neck like a fucking dog in heat?”

Sirius’s eyes flashed dangerously. He stalked toward you, tall and predatory, the shadows clinging to his broad shoulders. “You’re being ridiculous. It was nothing. She came onto me. I wasn’t even going to do anything.”

“Nothing?” Your voice rose, cracking with pure fury. The dusty air felt thicker, harder to breathe. “Your face was buried in her neck, Sirius. I saw your hand on her waist. The same hands that were on me last night.”

He reached for you suddenly, fingers wrapping tight around your upper arm, yanking you closer. His breath was hot against your face, eyes wild with frustration and something darker.

“We are not together!” he snarled, voice low and venomous. “I told you that from the fucking beginning. I don’t do labels. I don’t do cages. If you can’t handle that, then maybe you should’ve stopped spreading your legs for me years ago.”

The words hit like a slap.

You ripped your arm free, chest heaving. “And maybe you should’ve stopped crawling into my bed every night like a pathetic, scared little boy who wants a girlfriend but is too much of a coward to call her one.”

Sirius’s face twisted in anger. He moved fast—grabbing your waist with both hands and crashing his mouth against yours in a bruising, furious kiss. It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t loving. It was desperate, teeth clashing, tongue demanding, like he could force you back into submission the way he always had before.

For half a second, the familiar heat tried to pull you under.

Then you shoved him back hard, both hands on his chest.

“No.” Your voice was steel. “I’m done.”

He stumbled back a step, breathing ragged, lips swollen and eyes blazing with disbelief and rage. “You’re not fucking done. Don’t you dare walk away from me.”

“I’m done, Sirius.” You stared him dead in the eyes, unflinching. “I’m done being your dirty little secret. I’m done pretending that the way you fuck me at night makes up for the way you humiliate me during the day. I’m done waiting for you to grow up and claim what you clearly don’t want enough to fight for.”

The corridor felt alive with tension—dust swirling in the slanted beams of light, the old tapestries seeming to hold their breath, the stone walls closing in like they were witnessing something ugly and inevitable.

Sirius looked wrecked. His chest rose and fell rapidly, fists clenched at his sides. “You think you’re so much better than me? You’ve been playing this game just as long as I have. Jealous. Needy. Acting like you don’t care until someone else touches you. You’re just as fucked up as I am.”

“Maybe,” you said coldly, lifting your chin. “But at least I’m finally choosing myself. I deserve more than being your emotional whore whenever you feel like it.”

He lunged forward again, trying to pull you into another kiss, fingers digging into your hips almost painfully. “Stop saying that shit. You know I want you. You know it.”

You turned your face away sharply, refusing his lips.

“I said I’m done.”

The finality in your voice seemed to hit him harder than any spell. Sirius froze, hands still gripping you, eyes searching your face like he was waiting for you to crack.

But you didn’t.

You pried his hands off your waist, stepped back, and held his gaze one last time—cold, exhausted, and completely finished.

“You can keep playing your little games with every girl in this castle. I’m not playing anymore.”

Then you turned and walked away down the long, shadowed corridor. Your footsteps echoed like gunshots. Behind you, you heard the sharp crack of his fist slamming into the stone wall, followed by a furious, broken curse.

You didn’t look back.

Not even once.