PAIRING ꒰ Sirius Black x Fem!Slytherin, Pureblood Reader ꒱
[ 𑣲⋆] – Marauders era, reader is a Slytherin, ever since slughorn made reader and sirius partners in potions during their third year, sirius had made it his goal to always harass reader in classes because they both ended up always getting the same classes, and you’re basically his favorite slytherin at this point. One day, Sirius had a miraculous idea when Remus was reading a book and it had a topic about bodyswap. Who else would volunteer willingly to do such experiment other than you?(James but that’s another story). You were quite hesitant but curiosity won over you.
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PAIRING ꒰ Sirius Black x Fem!Slytherin, Pureblood Reader ꒱
[ 𑣲⋆] – Marauders era, reader is a Slytherin, ever since slughorn made reader and sirius partners in potions during their third year, sirius had made it his goal to always harass reader in classes because they both ended up always getting the same classes, and you’re basically his favorite slytherin at this point. One day, Sirius had a miraculous idea when Remus was reading a book and it had a topic about bodyswap. Who else would volunteer willingly to do such experiment other than you?(James but that’s another story). You were quite hesitant but curiosity won over you.
content & warnings ꒰ No Archive Warnings Apply :: Incompetent Body Swappers :: Remus is highly observant :: slowburn? :: suspicious slytherins :: no kissing while body-swapped :: fluff and humor :: reader is dryly sarcastic and intelligent :: OOC :: usage of (Name) instead of y/n :: 13k words ꒱
AUTHOR’S NOTE ꒰ English isn’t my first language! So expect bad grammar. I made a lot of these up with the help of my friend and my very fantasizing brain. I made most of these up actually. ꒱
“Black.”
“Merlin’s beard… It actually worked!” Sirius barked with laughter. With your voice. You didn’t even know your own vocal cords could make a sound like that.
You stared at yourself in the classroom mirror. Was that even you, or was it Sirius? You were already having an identity crisis, and you’d only been swapped for a minute. You looked down at your hands, then back up at the glass. You were currently inhabiting a tall, young man with messy black hair and stormy grey eyes.
Slowly, you reached up to touch your new cheekbone. This was highly surreal.
Then, reality hit. Wait. What is Sirius going to do with my body?
“Sirius! Don’t go out there yet. We have to talk about this,” you warned, catching him by the sleeve of your own Slytherin robes.
Sirius stopped in his tracks, looking down at your hand on his—well, your—arm.
“What are you planning to do with my body?” you demanded, keeping a tight grip so he couldn't bolt.
Sirius, wearing your face, simply shrugged. “I dunno. Troll around a bit?”
You sighed, pinching the bridge of your—or rather, his—nose. “Let’s just switch back before our friends find us.”
Sirius let out a dramatic groan. “Alright, alright. Guess I’ll just have to swap with someone else next time.”
You gave him a dry, sarcastic smile. “As long as it’s not me, I couldn’t care less.”
Pulling out your wands, you both raised them and began to recite the reversal incantation.
Nothing happened.
You stared back at the mirror. You were still looking at the handsome, exasperated face of Sirius Black. You glanced over at your actual body; Sirius was looking down at his hands, equally bewildered.
“Did the incantation not work?” you muttered.
Sirius looked down, his eyes landing on the wand in your hand. “Hold on. Is that my wand?”
You looked down. The wood was entirely wrong. “Ah. Right.”
“Maybe we should use our own wands?” he suggested, gesturing between the two of you.
You let out a soft hum of agreement and quickly swapped the wands back to their rightful owners. Taking a deep breath, you raised your own wand, pointed it at Sirius, and repeated the counter-spell.
Still, absolutely nothing happened.
A beat of heavy silence hung in the air. Then, Sirius let out a panicked, undignified shriek. He stared at his hands—your hands—in pure terror.
“No, no, no! I'm stuck!” he cried.
You, on the other hand, sank onto the stone floor in sheer frustration. Your body was currently being occupied by the most chaotic, annoying boy in Hogwarts.
Sirius began to pace the length of the classroom, biting his thumb as if the pain would wake him up. “What do we do now?! We need to get this sorted, fast!”
“I know that!” you grumbled, leaning your head against the cold wall.
How on earth had you let him drag you into this?
[ 𑣲⋆]
An hour earlier...
“Hey! Psst!”
Sirius’s finger poked aggressively into your shoulder while Professor Slughorn was in the middle of explaining the properties of a new potion.
You rolled your eyes, turning your head just enough to glare at him. “What now, Black?”
“I’ve got a brilliant experiment to test,” Sirius whispered, a dangerous spark of mischief in his grey eyes.
You raised an eyebrow. “Okay. And? What exactly does that have to do with me?”
Sirius let out a quiet chuckle. “You’re going to help me test it.”
“Absolutely not,” you replied instantly.
“Why not?”
“Because your 'experiments' always end in a trip to the hospital wing or a month of detention.”
“Oh, come on! This one is actually brilliant,” Sirius pleaded, clasping his hands together in a mock prayer.
“Can’t you get Potter or Lupin to do it with you?” you questioned, turning back to your notes.
Sirius rolled his eyes. “If I could, do you think I'd be begging a Slytherin?”
“Fair point. So why can’t you?”
Sirius sighed, running a hand through his dark hair. “James is too busy trying to corner Lily Evans to ask her to Hogsmeade, Remus has his nose buried so deep in a book he won’t even look at me, and Peter… well, I don’t think he could pull it off. You’re honestly the best person for the job.”
“Still a no.”
“Aren’t you even a little bit curious about what it is?”
You paused, your quill hovering over your parchment. You hated your own curiosity. It was your absolute worst trait.
“Fine,” you muttered. “Tell me.”
Sirius’s face lit up. “Body swapping.”
You grimaced, looking at him like he had lost his mind. “Body swapping? Are you mental, Black?”
“It’ll be quick! I swear I won’t do anything weird.”
“How can I trust you? You’ve said that exact phrase to half the school right before setting off a dungbomb.”
“Touché,” Sirius grinned. “But seriously. Aren't you dying to know if the magic works?”
He had you there. You were curious.
Before you could argue, Slughorn’s voice boomed from the front of the classroom. “Mr. Black! Ms. (Last Name)! As much as I am delighted to see inter-house cooperation, I must ask you to save the social hour for later. Perhaps you two would care to answer my next questions?”
The classroom went dead quiet. Dozens of eyes turned to lock onto the two of you at the back of the room.
You swallowed hard and nodded.
“Excellent!” Slughorn beamed. “Now, Ms. (Last Name), can you tell the class what the Draught of Living Death is?”
You cleared your throat, relying on your memory. “The Draught of Living Death is an incredibly powerful, advanced sleeping potion. It induces a profound, death-like slumber, putting the drinker into an indefinite sleep. Because of its strength, it is highly dangerous if brewed incorrectly or misused.”
“Spot on! Ten points to Slytherin,” Slughorn smiled, turning his gaze. “And Mr. Black? Can you tell us the key ingredients, and the cure?”
Sirius didn't even blink. He leaned back in his chair, radiating effortless confidence. “The Draught of Living Death requires Powdered Root of Asphodel, an Infusion of Wormwood, Sloth Brain, and the juice of a Sopophorous Bean. And if you’re unfortunate enough to drink it, you can be revived using the Wiggenweld Potion.”
“Remarkable! Ten points to Gryffindor as well.” Satisfied, Slughorn turned back to the blackboard, and the attention of the class drifted away.
Sirius immediately leaned back over to you, his grin wider than before. “So? Are you in?”
You had hesitated. The magic was complex, risky, and highly unauthorized. But your Slytherin ambition and raw curiosity won out.
“Fine,” you whispered.
[ 𑣲⋆]
And that was how you had ended up on the floor of an abandoned classroom, staring at your own face.
“I should have never agreed to this,” you snapped, standing up and brushing off Sirius’s trousers. “You have absolutely no idea what you’re doing!”
“Hey, the spell worked! We just… need to figure out the exit strategy,” Sirius muttered, looking down at his—your—chest. He paused, a sudden, horrifying thought crossing his expression. “Wait. How do girls pee?”
“Excuse me?”
You stared at him, your stomach doing a backflip of pure disgust.
“You heard me,” he said, entirely shameless. “How do you ladies manage it? What do I do?”
“Why on earth are you asking me that right now?!”
“Because what if I have to go? I need to be prepared!”
“Then hold it!” You felt a sudden surge of panic. Under no circumstances could you let him wander into the girls' lavatory in your body. “Actually, no. Just… don’t go. At all.”
You grabbed him by the shoulders of your own robes. “Black, can you use your brain for once? We have to switch back. Now.”
“Alright then, if you think I’m not using my brain, then what should we do?” Sirius challenged mockingly, resting his chin in his hand with an exaggerated, pouty frown.
“I—” You paused, your mind racing, but finding absolutely nothing. “I don’t know.”
“Figures.”
You glared at him. It was an incredibly trippy experience, watching your own eyes roll back at you with a lazy, arrogant amusement you had never once portrayed in your life.
“Don’t look at me like that using my own face, Black,” you hissed, crossing his arms over his chest.
Before Sirius could retort, the giant clock bell in the courtyard began to toll, the heavy gong vibrating right through the stone floor beneath your feet.
The color instantly drained from your—well, his—face.
“Oh, Merlin,” you whispered, staring up toward the window. “It’s two o’clock. We have Transfiguration.”
Sirius’s smug expression vanished, replaced by a sudden, rigid terror. “With McGonagall? Together?”
“No, worse,” you said, the panic finally clawing its way up your throat. “Slytherins have double Potions with Slughorn. Gryffindors have McGonagall. Which means you have to go pretend to be a quiet, perfect Slytherin in the dungeons, and I have to go sit next to Potter and pretend I know how to turn a teacup into a gerbil in front of the most observant witch in Hogwarts.”
Sirius stared at you, his—your—mouth hanging slightly open. “Okay. Okay, don't panic. We just need a crash course. Fast.”
The panic in the dusty classroom was practically palpable, thick enough to choke on. The grand clock in the courtyard had finished its two o'clock toll, leaving a heavy, ringing silence in its wake.
“A crash course,” you repeated, your voice—no, Sirius’s deep voice—sounding incredibly foreign in your ears. You gripped his robes, your mind racing. “We have exactly three minutes before the hallways clear and McGonagall starts locking her classroom doors. Start talking, Black. How do I act like you?”
Sirius, currently wearing your face and your green-trimmed Slytherin uniform, took a step back. He crossed your arms over his chest, a slow, ridiculously smug grin spreading across your lips. It was highly unsettling to see your own features look so effortlessly mischievous.
“Well, first of all, you’re slouching,” Sirius said, pointing a finger at you. “I don’t slouch. I lean. There’s a difference. It’s all about looking like you own the room, even when you’re about to get detention. You’ve got to walk like you’ve got a secret, and that secret is that you’re better than everyone else.”
“I am a Slytherin, Black. I already know how to look superior,” you snapped, adjusting the red-and-gold Gryffindor tie that felt like a choke collar around your neck. “What else?”
“Right. James,” Sirius said, his expression turning slightly more serious. “James is going to throw his arm around your shoulders. He does it every five minutes. Do not flinch, do not curse him, and whatever you do, do not call him ‘Mr. Potter’ or whatever formal nonsense you use in the dungeons. Just call him James. Or, if he’s being particularly annoying, just call him Prongs.”
You blinked. Prongs? What kind of ridiculous pureblood nonsense nickname was that? You didn’t have time to ask.
“And Remus?” you pushed, running a hand through Sirius’s dark, unruly curls—which, you had to admit, were incredibly soft.
“Remus is the smart one. He’ll be reading,” Sirius explained, gesturing vaguely with his hands. “If he asks to see your Transfiguration essay, tell him you lost it. If he calls you Padfoot, just roll your eyes and ignore him. He’ll think you’re just in a mood. Oh, and Peter will probably ask to copy your notes. Just tell him to ask Remus.”
Padfoot. Another absurd word. You filed it away in your mind, praying you wouldn't have to use it.
“Alright, my turn,” you said, stepping closer to him, towering over your own body. It was a bizarre sensation, being the taller one for once. You gripped Sirius by the shoulders—your shoulders—and forced him to stand up straight. “Listen to me carefully. You cannot bounce. Slytherins do not bounce when they walk. Keep your chin up, your shoulders back, and look incredibly bored. If anyone from my house tries to speak to you, just give them a short, cold nod and keep walking.”
Sirius looked up at you through your own eyelashes, a teasing glint in his eyes. “A cold nod. Like this?” He attempted a stiff, robotic jerk of his head.
“No, absolutely not. You look like a broken grandfather clock,” you groaned, rubbing your temples. “And don’t smile! I do not smile at people in the corridors. Especially not the Gryffindors. If you see James or Remus, you have to ignore them. If they try to wave at you, look right through them.”
Sirius’s eyes softened slightly, a softer, surprisingly gentle expression appearing on your face. “You know,” he murmured, his voice—your voice—dropping to a quiet, intimate register. “I’ve spent the last three years sitting next to you in Potions, watching you ignore me. I think I’ve got your ‘bored, mysterious Slytherin’ act down to an art form.”
Your breath hitched. You stared at him, caught off guard by the sudden intensity in his eyes. Ever since Slughorn had paired you together in your third year, Sirius had made it his personal mission to pester you, tease you, and steal your ingredients just to get a reaction out of you. You had always assumed you were just an easy target—a stubborn Slytherin who refused to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. But hearing him admit he’d been studying you so closely sent a strange, fluttering warmth through your chest.
Before you could dwell on it, the distant sound of heavy wooden doors opening echoed from the corridor outside. Class was letting out. The hallways were about to be flooded with students.
“Time’s up,” you whispered, your heart hammering against Sirius’s broad ribs.
“Right,” Sirius said, taking a deep breath. He smoothed down the front of your Slytherin robes, his posture shifting. In an instant, the lazy, hyperactive Gryffindor energy vanished. His shoulders set, his chin tilted upward, and his eyes cooled into a perfect, detached glaze.
It was terrifyingly accurate. He looked exactly like you.
“How do I look?” he asked, his voice dripping with smooth, effortless Slytherin disdain.
“Horrifyingly perfect,” you admitted. “Don’t make me regret this, Black.”
“Never,” he whispered, giving you one last, fleeting wink with your own eyes before turning and slipping out the classroom door, blending seamlessly into the sea of students rushing down the hall.
You stood alone for a fraction of a second, taking a deep breath of your own. Act cool. You are Sirius Black. You own the school.
With a mental prayer to Merlin, you pushed open the door and stepped out into the chaotic, bustling corridor.
Immediately, the sensory overload of being Sirius Black hit you. He was tall, which meant you could see over the heads of most of the younger years, but it also meant you were a walking target. Within three steps, a younger Gryffindor girl waved at you, squeaking a shy, “Hi, Sirius!”
You panicked, offering a stiff, awkward wave back. Shoot. Was that too friendly?
Before you could analyze it, a heavy arm suddenly draped itself over your shoulders, nearly knocking you off balance. You gasped, turning your head to find James Potter grinning widely at you, his messy black hair sticking up in every direction.
“There you are, Padfoot!” James yelled over the din of the hallway, completely oblivious to your rigid posture. “Where did you run off to after Potions? Remus said you went to the library, but I knew that was a lie. You wouldn’t go to the library unless someone threatened to dye your hair green.”
Your mind went completely blank. Padfoot. He had called you Padfoot.
“Ah… right,” you squeaked, your voice cracking slightly before you forced it down into Sirius’s usual lazy register. “Just… had to take care of something. In the bathroom.”
James paused, squinting at you through his round glasses. He leaned in closer, his hazel eyes scanning your face. “Are you alright? You look a bit… pale. And why are you standing so straight? Did McGonagall finally curse your spine?”
From behind James, Remus Lupin appeared, clutching a thick leather-bound book to his chest. His pale, scarred face wore an expression of mild amusement, but his sharp amber eyes were fixed on you with a quiet, observant intensity.
“He’s probably just dreading the Transfiguration quiz, James,” Remus said softly, turning a page of his book without looking up. “Though, usually, Sirius’s coping mechanism is to complain loudly, not stand there like a Buckingham Palace guard.”
You felt a sweat break out on the back of your neck. These boys knew Sirius inside and out. If you didn’t do something characteristic—and do it fast—they were going to figure out something was wrong before you even made it to the classroom.
Desperate, you thought back to Sirius’s advice. You’ve got to walk like you own the room.
You forced your shoulders to drop, adopting what you hoped was a lazy, arrogant slouch. You reached up and ran a hand through your curls, letting out a heavy, dramatic sigh.
“I’m fine, mate,” you drawled, trying to channel Sirius’s signature drama. “Just exhausted. Slughorn’s lecture was incredibly dry today. Honestly, I think my brain has turned to mush.”
James let out a loud laugh, slapping your back. “Now that sounds like you. Come on, we’d better get to class before McGonagall locks us out. I want to see if I can transfix my teacup to look like Lily’s face.”
“That is highly creepy, James,” Remus muttered, finally closing his book with a soft thud.
As the three of you began to walk toward the Transfiguration classroom, you glanced over the banister of the grand staircase, looking down toward the entrance of the dungeons.
Down below, walking gracefully through the crowd of green-and-silver robes, was your own body. Sirius was walking perfectly, his chin tilted up, exuding a cold, untouchable aura. But just as he reached the dungeon stairs, he caught your eye from across the moving staircases.
Using your face, Sirius slowly raised two fingers to his temple, throwing you a cheeky, mocking salute, before disappearing into the shadows of the dungeons.
You swallowed hard, turning back to James and Remus.
Merlin help me, you thought, I am going to kill him when this is over.
The heavy oak doors of the Transfiguration classroom shut behind you, sealing you into a room filled with chatter, desks, and the intimidating presence of Professor McGonagall.
You slid into the seat next to James, your heart doing double-time inside Sirius’s chest. On your other side, Remus took his seat, immediately setting down his inkwell and quill with a quiet precision that made you incredibly nervous.
“Right then,” McGonagall's sharp voice cut through the room, instantly silencing the class. “Today we are progressing to animative transfiguration. You will find a teacup on each of your desks. By the end of the double period, I expect to see those teacups breathing, whiskered, and scurrying. Teacups to gerbils. Wands at the ready.”
You stared at the floral teacup in front of you. Normally, you excelled at Transfiguration. But you excelled at it using your wand, your hands, and your muscle memory.
“Watch this, Padfoot,” James whispered, leaning over your shared desk. He gave his wand a flashy, aggressive twist. “Vertecalis!”
His teacup sprouted a pair of fuzzy brown ears and a tiny, twitching tail, though the body remained entirely ceramic and printed with pink roses. James grinned, clearly pleased with himself. “Your turn. Let’s see if you can actually do it on the first try today. Ten Galleons says yours ends up with a handle for a nose again.”
You swallowed hard. You gripped Sirius’s wand. As a Slytherin, you had been trained in precise, elegant wand movements—sharp angles and minimal effort. You raised the wand, cleared your throat, and performed a perfect, fluid, and highly disciplined wrist flick.
“Vertecalis.”
With a soft poof of purple smoke, your teacup transformed completely into a perfect, sleek, brown gerbil. It squeaked, blinking its tiny black eyes, and began to groom its whiskers on the wooden desk.
Silence fell over your desk.
James stared at the gerbil. Then he stared at you. Slowly, his brow furrowed, and a little flicker of suspicion crossed his face.
“Since when do you do the wrist flick like that?” James asked, squinting through his glasses. “And since when do you get it perfect on the first go without shouting the incantation like a battle cry?”
“I... practiced over the weekend,” you lied smoothly, trying to copy Sirius’s lazy, dismissive shrug. “Decided to show you up for once.”
James’s suspicion melted into a competitive grin. “Oh, is that how it is? Practicing in secret? You absolute traitor. I see how it is.” He immediately turned back to his half-ceramic beast, muttering, “Well, mine’s going to have a better coat of fur, just you watch...”
You let out a silent breath of relief. James was too easily distracted by his own ego to dig any deeper.
Remus, however, was a completely different story.
From the desk beside yours, Remus hadn’t even picked up his wand yet. He was leaning back, his amber eyes narrowed slightly as he watched you.
“Sirius,” Remus said, his voice quiet, almost casual.
“Yeah?” you turned, trying to look bored.
“Where’s your leather jacket?”
Your hand instinctively flew to the collar of the red-and-gold Gryffindor robes you were wearing. Crap. Sirius never wore his school robes properly. He almost always wore his muggle leather jacket over his uniform, or at the very least had his robes draped haphazardly over one shoulder. You had put the uniform on perfectly, buttoned up to the collar, because your Slytherin brain couldn't stand looking messy.
“Oh. Uh. It’s in the dorms,” you stammered, trying to cool your tone. “Thought I’d... follow the dress code today. Keep McGonagall off my back.”
Remus’s eyebrows rose. It was a look of pure, unadulterated skepticism. “You. Following the dress code. To keep McGonagall off your back.”
“Yes?”
“The same McGonagall who gave you three detentions last week for wearing a muggle band t-shirt to breakfast?” Remus asked, his voice dripping with suspicion.
“I’m trying to be a reformed man, Remus,” you grumbled, pulling on Sirius’s curls again—a nervous habit you were quickly developing.
Remus didn't answer. He just kept staring at you, his analytical mind clearly putting pieces of a puzzle together.
To make matters worse, you had to take notes. When McGonagall began writing the theoretical breakdown of the transfiguration on the blackboard, you dipped Sirius’s quill in ink and began to write. Because you were panicking, you forgot to mimic Sirius’s chaotic, giant, messy scrawl. Instead, your hand naturally flowed into your usual, elegant, cursive handwriting—neatly spaced, perfectly aligned.
Suddenly, a shadow fell over your parchment.
You looked up. Remus was leaning over the gap between your desks, his eyes locked onto your notebook. His gaze slowly traveled from the neat, flawless cursive up to your face.
“Your handwriting is beautiful today, Sirius,” Remus murmured, his voice laced with a dangerous amount of suspicion. “It almost looks like... calligraphy.”
“I’m... trying a new style,” you squeaked, quickly closing the notebook.
“Right,” Remus said slowly, leaning back into his seat. He didn't say another word, but the look he gave you said everything.
He knew. Or, at the very least, he knew you were absolutely not Sirius Black.
You swallowed the lump in your throat and stared straight ahead at the blackboard, silently screaming at Sirius in your mind. If you blow my cover in the dungeons while I’m being interrogated by a werewolf, Black, I will personally throw you into the Black Lake.
While you were busy surviving a soft interrogation by Remus Lupin, Sirius was having the time of his life.
Slughorn’s double Potions had been a breeze. All Sirius had to do was sit at your desk, pretend to take notes, and occasionally sneer at a Gryffindor who looked his way. He’d actually found it incredibly liberating to just glare at people and have them instantly back off. So this is the power of a Slytherin, he’d thought, highly amused.
But now, class was over, and Sirius had a much bigger mission. He was heading down to the dungeons.
For three years, he’d heard rumors about the Slytherin common room. Gryffindors always painted it as a dark, damp, vampire-esque dungeon filled with skulls and dark magic. Sirius, being Sirius, was dying to see if they kept a giant squid in a glass wall or if the sofas were actually made of dragon leather.
He descended the cold stone steps, your black robes swishing elegantly around his—or rather, your—ankles. He had to admit, your posture was excellent. Walking straight made him feel remarkably imposing.
He stopped in front of the damp stone wall that hid the entrance.
Wait.
Sirius froze. The password.
"Uh," Sirius muttered under his breath, staring at the blank stone. He racked your brain—or his brain—trying to remember if you had ever mentioned it. You hadn't. Desperate, he tried the first pureblood, dramatic thing that came to mind.
"Salazar?" he whispered.
Nothing.
"Basilisk? Pure-blood? Slughorn is a coward?"
The wall remained stubbornly shut. Sirius was just about to kick it in frustration when a cold, drawling voice spoke up from behind him.
"Are you having a stroke, or did you simply forget how to speak?"
Sirius’s heart did a strange, sudden flip. Seeing his little brother from this perspective was bizarre. Usually, when they crossed paths in the corridors, Regulus looked at him with a mix of anger, disappointment, and hurt. But right now, looking at Sirius (who was in your body), Regulus’s grey eyes were completely neutral—just mildly annoyed by a classmate blocking the door.
"Well?" Regulus asked, eyebrow arched.
"I—" Sirius caught himself, quickly dropping his voice to mimic your tone. He cleared his throat. "I was just... thinking. Lost my train of thought."
Regulus rolled his eyes, a familiar, aristocratic gesture that made Sirius want to laugh. "Veridian," Regulus muttered to the wall.
The stone bricks slid aside, revealing the low-panelled, green-lit warmth of the Slytherin common room.
Sirius’s eyes widened as he stepped inside. It wasn't a damp cave at all. It was incredibly grand. Heavy, dark wood bookcases lined the walls, stuffed with ancient-looking volumes. Luxurious, deep-green leather armchairs were gathered around a massive hearth where a crackling green fire burned, casting long, dramatic shadows. Through the thick, reinforced glass windows, the dark, murky waters of the Black Lake rippled, with the occasional silhouette of a grindylow drifting past.
"Brilliant," Sirius breathed out, entirely forgetting to act like you.
Regulus paused, turning back to look at him. "Brilliant? You've lived here for five and a half years. Are you high on firewhisky?"
"Just... appreciating the architecture, Black," Sirius recovered quickly, giving Regulus a cool, lazy nod.
Regulus stared at him for a second longer, his silver eyes narrowing just a fraction. There was a brief, tense moment where Sirius wondered if his own brother’s sharp instincts would see right through the magic. But Regulus just let out a quiet, dismissive huff and walked over to a corner table where two other boys were sitting.
Sirius’s eyes followed him. He recognized them instantly: Barty Crouch Jr. and Evan Rosier.
Barty was currently balancing his wand on his nose, looking incredibly bored, while Evan was lazily flipping through a Herbology textbook.
"There you are," Barty called out as Sirius approached, his eyes lighting up with a chaotic spark. "We thought Slughorn kept you behind to clean cauldrons again. What took you so long? And why were you standing outside the wall like a gargoyle?"
"Forgot the password," Sirius said, sliding into an empty armchair next to them. He leaned back, crossing his legs and resting his ankle over his knee—a very casual, Gryffindor way of sitting.
Evan looked up from his book, his eyes dropping to Sirius’s legs, then up to his face. "Since when do you sit like that?"
Sirius blinked, realizing his mistake. He quickly uncrossed his legs, sitting up a bit straighter. "Cramp. Leg cramp."
"Right," Evan said slowly, not looking entirely convinced. "Anyway, did you get the notes from Slughorn? I slept through the entire lecture on the Draught of Living Death."
"Oh, yeah. I've got them," Sirius said smoothly, reaching into your bag. He pulled out your parchment and handed it over.
Barty leaned over Evan’s shoulder to look at the parchment, only to let out a loud, dramatic groan. "What is this?"
"My notes?" Sirius offered, brow furrowing.
"This isn't your writing," Barty said, pointing a finger at the parchment. "Your handwriting is always neat and tiny. This looks like a Hippogriff ran over the page with ink on its talons. It's massive. And half of these words are misspelled."
Sirius stared at the parchment in horror. He had taken the notes. In his handwriting. Which meant your beautiful, perfect Slytherin notebook now looked like a giant, messy scribble.
"I... was writing fast," Sirius lied, his voice dropping an octave as he tried to sound defensive. "Slughorn was talking quickly."
"He speaks at the pace of a dying snail," Regulus noted quietly from across the table, not looking up from his homework.
Evan squinted at the parchment, then looked up at Sirius, his eyes analyzing your face. "Are you feeling alright? You've been acting weird since you walked in. You look... louder. If that makes sense."
"I am perfectly fine," Sirius insisted, his jaw tightening. He was starting to realize that surviving in the Slytherin house wasn't about being mean—it was about being incredibly quiet and consistent. And he was failing miserably at both.
Barty grinned, a mischievous, dangerous look crossing his face as he leaned forward. "Wait a minute. You didn't actually do that ridiculous body-swap experiment with Black, did you? I saw him whispering to you in class."
Sirius’s heart stopped. He stared at Barty, his mind racing for a lie, praying his face wouldn't betray the sheer panic he was feeling.
The walk to the Transfiguration classroom had been three minutes of absolute, sweat-inducing torture, but sitting down inside McGonagall’s class was infinitely worse.
You were sat at a long wooden desk with James on your left and Remus on your right. Peter was sitting just behind you, occasionally leaning forward to snort at whatever James was doing.
Having successfully dodged Remus’s sharp questions about your handwriting and lack of a leather jacket, you desperately tried to focus on the task at hand. You needed to blend in. You needed to act like Sirius Black—or at least, a slightly quiet version of him.
“Alright, Padfoot,” James whispered, leaning over the desk and pointing his wand at his half-transfigured, rose-printed teacup. “Double or nothing. I bet you five Galleons you can’t make your gerbil do a backflip.”
“We’re supposed to be taking notes on the theory of organic molecular shifting, James,” Remus murmured from your other side, his quill scratching steadily against his parchment.
“Oh, live a little, Moony,” James grinned, nudging your elbow with his own. “Come on, Pads. Show him how it’s done. You’ve been quiet today. Usually, you’d have turned your teacup into a dungbomb by now to get us out of the double period.”
You forced a lazy, reckless grin onto Sirius’s handsome face, though your insides were twisting into knots. “I’m just saving my energy, Potter,” you drawled.
James froze.
The scratching of Remus’s quill abruptly stopped.
Even Peter, who had been lazily balancing an inkwell on his knee behind you, went completely still.
You stared at them, your heart stopping. What did I say?
James’s hazel eyes narrowed behind his round glasses. “Potter?” he repeated, his voice dropping. “Since when do you call me Potter unless you’re incredibly pissed off at me? Or unless…” James gasped, a sudden look of mock horror crossing his face. “Pads, did you get sorted into Slytherin in your sleep? Who are you and what have you done with my best mate?”
“I—I was joking,” you stammered, frantically trying to recover. You let out a forced, bark-like laugh that sounded incredibly hollow. “Just a bit of banter, mate. You know. Keeping you on your toes.”
James stared at you for a second longer before his easygoing nature won out. He snorted, shaking his head. “You’re weird today. Seriously. If I didn't know any better, I'd say you actually did some studying over the weekend and it broke your brain.”
You let out a weak chuckle, pretending to focus back on your perfectly formed gerbil.
But you could feel Remus’s eyes on you.
The sandy-haired boy hadn't resumed writing. He was leaning back in his chair, his arms crossed over his chest, studying you with an incredibly sharp, analytical gaze.
“Peter,” Remus said quietly, not breaking eye contact with you.
“Yeah, Moony?” Peter piped up from behind.
“What did Sirius eat for breakfast this morning?”
“Uh…” Peter blinked, thinking hard. “Four pieces of toast, half of James’s bacon, and he spilled pumpkin juice all over his transfiguration essay. Why?”
Remus didn't answer Peter. Instead, he leaned closer to you, lowering his voice so James, who was currently trying to make his half-gerbil-half-cup fetch a crumpled piece of parchment, wouldn't hear.
“You didn’t spill pumpkin juice on your essay, Sirius,” Remus whispered, his amber eyes locking onto yours. “Because when I asked you for it earlier, you told me you lost it. And you haven't touched your pumpkin juice in three days because you claimed the house-elves were trying to poison you with it.”
You felt a drop of cold sweat slide down your temple. You gripped the edge of the desk, your knuckles turning white. “I… forgot,” you muttered, trying to sound dismissive. “My memory’s shot today, Remus.”
“And your posture is perfect,” Remus continued, his voice dangerously calm, almost fascinated. “And you’re holding your quill with a thumb-and-two-finger grip. Sirius holds his like a caveman clutching a club. Furthermore, you haven't looked at the door once to see if Evans is walking by, and you haven't tried to kick James’s chair even once.”
You swallowed hard. You were trapped. This boy wasn't just smart—he was terrifyingly observant.
“Who are you?” Remus asked softly, a small, knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “And what did you do with Sirius?”
The sheer, suffocating weight of Remus Lupin’s gaze was enough to make you want to vanish on the spot. You were frozen, your hand gripping Sirius’s wand so tightly the wood dug into your palm. You opened your mouth to stammer out another desperate lie, but before a single sound could escape your throat, the classroom door was suddenly thrown open.
In walked your own body.
Sirius—looking pristine, poised, and utterly out of place in your Slytherin robes—strode into the Transfiguration classroom with a look of frantic, barely concealed panic written across your features. He didn’t even glance at McGonagall. He marched straight toward the Gryffindor table, grabbed you by the forearm of his leather-jacket-clad arm, and hauled you out of your seat.
“Excuse us, Professor,” Sirius said, using your smooth, melodic voice to address a thoroughly baffled McGonagall. “An urgent prefect matter. Student council. Slytherin business. We must go.”
“Ms. (Last Name), Mr. Black, what is the meaning of—” McGonagall began, her glasses slipping down her nose, but Sirius was already dragging you backward out of the classroom.
James blinked in utter confusion, his half-gerbil-teacup screeching as it fell off the desk. Remus, however, didn’t look confused at all. He simply watched the two of you bolt, a slow, knowing, and deeply amused smile spreading across his face. He knew exactly what was happening now.
Sirius didn’t stop running until he had dragged you up a flight of moving stairs, down a deserted, tapestry-lined corridor, and shoved you into a dusty, unused broom closet, slamming the heavy oak door shut behind you.
The space was incredibly cramped. Surrounded by broken cauldrons and smelling heavily of lemon-scented floor wax, the two of you were pressed nearly chest-to-chest. Because of the height difference, you—in Sirius's tall, broad body—were looming over your own physical form.
“Are you completely insane?!” you hissed, your deep, rumbling voice vibrating in the small space. “You just dragged me out of McGonagall’s class! Remus already knows, Black! He practically dissected me! He knew I wasn’t you the second I wrote a sentence in legible cursive!”
“Oh, you think you had it rough?” Sirius gasped, his hands—your delicate, soft hands—grabbing the lapels of his leather jacket. He looked up at you with your own eyes, which were wide and frantic. “Barty Crouch Jr. is a absolute menace! I walked into the Slytherin common room and within five minutes he asked if I was high on bubotuber pus because I forgot the password! And then I handed him your notes—”
“My notes?” you whispered, a horrible dread pooling in your stomach. “What did you do to my notes?”
“I wrote them,” Sirius squeaked defensively, using your voice. “But apparently your friends think you write like a muggle typewriter, because Barty took one look at my handwriting and asked if a Hippogriff had run over the parchment. He literally asked if we did a body-swap spell! I had to fake a massive coughing fit and run out of the dungeons before they pinned me down and forced me to drink Veritaserum!”
You closed your eyes, leaning your head back against the wooden wall of the closet. “We are doomed. We are going to be expelled. Or worse, my housemates are going to think I’ve lost my mind and lock me in St. Mungo’s.”
“Hey,” Sirius murmured.
You opened your eyes.
Because of the tight space, Sirius was looking up at you, his—your—face only inches from yours. It was the strangest, most intoxicating sensation. For three years, Sirius had been a loud, disruptive, beautiful nuisance in your life. He was the boy who threw crushed lacewing flies at your cauldron, who wrote sarcastic commentary on the margins of your essays, and who constantly sought your attention with a relentless, annoying charm. You had always kept your walls up, playing the cold, untouchable Slytherin.
But looking at your own face right now, carrying an expression of soft, genuine vulnerability that you never let yourself show to the world, something shifted.
Sirius slowly reached up, his large, calloused fingers—which were currently your hands—gently brushing a stray lock of dark hair away from your forehead. His touch was incredibly tender, a stark contrast to his usual chaotic energy.
“I’m sorry,” Sirius whispered softly. His voice—your voice—sounded quiet, almost reverent in the dark closet. “I didn’t mean to ruin your life. Or your notes. I just… I wanted to do something fun. With you. You’re always so serious, (Name). I wanted to see you laugh. Really laugh.”
Your breath hitched. Hearing your own name slip from his lips, spoken with such quiet sincerity, made your heart do a violent, erratic flutter against Sirius’s ribs.
“You’re an idiot, Sirius Black,” you whispered back, the anger completely draining from your voice, replaced by a soft, breathless warmth.
“Yeah,” Sirius murmured, a slow, gentle smile curving your lips. He didn’t look away from your eyes. “But I’m your idiot for the next few hours. We’re stuck like this until we can find a library book that actually has the correct counter-curse.”
You looked down at your own hands resting on his chest, then back up to his eyes. The tension between you was palpable, thick and heavy with a quiet, underlying spark that neither of you had ever dared to acknowledge during your noisy bickering in Potions class. It was a slow-burning realization, melting the cold barrier you had kept between Gryffindor and Slytherin for years.
“We have to go to the Restricted Section tonight,” you said, your voice low and steady. “After hours.”
Sirius’s eyes lit up with that familiar, wicked spark of mischief, but this time, it felt deeply personal. Shared just between the two of you.
“It’s a date, (Name),” he whispered, his thumb lightly brushing against your cheekbone. “Just don’t get me caught. I’d hate to serve detention in your body.”
The heavy wooden door of the broom closet didn’t just open; it flew inward with a dramatic creak, letting in a bright, unforgiving shaft of corridor light.
You and Sirius scrambled backward, knocking into a row of rusty brass cauldrons that clattered loudly against the stone floor.
Standing in the doorway, blocking the exit, was James. He had his arms crossed, his glasses pushed up his nose, and a triumphant smirk plastered across his face. Directly behind him stood Remus, leaning against the doorframe with a deeply amused, "I-told-you-so" expression, while Peter peeked over James’s shoulder, eyes wide with pure curiosity.
“Well, well, well,” James drawled, looking between you (in Sirius’s body) and Sirius (in your body). “I knew you two were acting like absolute nutters, but I didn't think you’d resorted to hiding in broom closets together. What’s going on, Pads? Finally deciding to confess your undying love to our favorite Slytherin?”
“It’s not that, Potter,” you snapped, the habit of using his last name slipping out before you could stop it.
James’s eyebrows shot up. “Potter? Again? Alright, that is officially creepier than the posture.”
“He’s not Sirius, James,” Remus said quietly, stepping into the cramped closet and shutting the door behind them so they wouldn't be seen by passing students. His amber eyes locked onto you. “And she isn't (Name). They’ve swapped. Haven’t you?”
Sirius let out a massive, dramatic sigh using your voice. “Brilliant, Moony. Outstanding deduction. Yes, we swapped. The spell got stuck, our wands are confused, and now I’m wearing a skirt and (Name) is currently occupying my incredibly handsome physique. Are you happy now?”
Peter gasped, pointing a finger at Sirius. “No way! You actually did it?”
James stared at you, his mouth slightly open, before he slowly started to grin. It was a massive, chaotic, highly delighted smile. “Oh, this is the greatest day of my life. Sirius, you look incredibly fetching in green. It really brings out your eyes.”
“Shut up, Prongs,” Sirius hissed, crossing your arms defensively. “We need help. The counter-curse we tried didn't work, probably because we used the wrong wands first and disrupted the magical feedback. We need to get into the Restricted Section tonight to find the advanced reversal texts. But if we get caught wandering the corridors after hours in each other’s bodies, McGonagall will have us expelled before sunrise.”
James’s grin turned into a conspiratorial smirk. He glanced at Remus, who gave a slow, reluctant nod of approval, and then turned his gaze back to you.
“We have a way to get you in there,” James said, his voice dropping to a theatrical whisper. “Without anyone seeing you. But it’s highly classified.”
“What is it?” you asked, your brow furrowing in Sirius’s face.
James reached into his bag and pulled out a bundle of silvery, fluid-like fabric that seemed to gleam and catch the light of the dim closet. It looked almost like water woven into thread.
Your eyes widened. As a Slytherin, you knew exactly what that was, even if you had never seen one in person. “Is that… an Invisibility Cloak?”
“Not just any cloak,” James whispered proudly, holding it up. “But before we let you borrow it, we have a condition. Especially for you, Slytherin.”
You braced yourself, preparing for some ridiculous Gryffindor prank or a demand for house points. “What is it?”
James’s face grew suddenly, hilariously serious. He pointed a finger right at your—Sirius’s—chest.
“You have to solemnly swear, right here and now, that you will never breathe a single word about this cloak to anyone. Not to your Slytherin mates, not to your family, not even to a portrait on the wall. If anyone finds out we have this, we’re finished. Swear it, (Name).”
You looked from the shimmering silver cloak to James’s intense hazel eyes, then over to Remus, who was watching you with a quiet, trusting expression. Finally, you looked at Sirius, who was nodding encouragingly in your body.
You took a deep breath, raising your hand. “I solemnly swear. I won't tell a soul. You have my word.”
“Excellent,” James beamed, instantly dropping the intense act and tossing the heavy, silky fabric into your large hands. “Now, here’s the plan. You two meet us in the Gryffindor common room at midnight. We'll smuggle you out from there.”
“Wait,” you said, looking down at the cloak. “How am I supposed to get into the Gryffindor common room if I don’t know the password?”
Sirius let out a soft chuckle from your body, stepping closer to you in the cramped space. He reached out, his hand—your hand—gently resting over yours as you held the cloak.
“Don’t worry,” Sirius murmured, his voice incredibly soft as he looked up into his own grey eyes. “I’ll tell you the password. Just don’t get comfortable in my bed, alright?”
A slow, tingling warmth spread through your chest at his touch, the proximity making your heart do that familiar, dangerous flutter again. Under the watchful, highly amused eyes of the Marauders, the slow-burning spark between you and Hogwarts’ most notorious troublemaker was officially ignited.
The grandfather clock in the empty hallway chimed a single, deep note, marking half-past eleven. Down in the dungeons, the cold drafts seemed to whisper of secrets, but you weren't there to hear them. You were currently standing just around the corner from the Fat Lady’s portrait on the seventh floor, sweating through a heavy Gryffindor sweater that belonged to Sirius Black.
Inhabiting his tall, athletic frame was still a bizarre exercise in physical calibration. Your strides were too long; your shoulders kept catching on the narrow stone archways; and every time you caught a glimpse of your reflection in a suit of armor, the sight of stormy grey eyes and sharp, aristocratic features staring back made your stomach do a nervous flip.
Adjusting the strap of Sirius’s leather bag over your shoulder, you approached the portrait. The Fat Lady was snozing softly, a half-empty goblet of wine painted near her elbow.
You cleared your throat, trying to pitch your voice to Sirius’s usual lazy, effortless register. "Mimbulus mimbletonia."
The Fat Lady opened one drowsy eye, let out a soft huff, and swung forward. The portrait hole gasped open, revealing the warm, roaring glow of the Gryffindor common room.
Stepping inside felt like crossing into enemy territory. Unlike the cool, subterranean elegance of the Slytherin dungeons, the Gryffindor tower was a riot of scarlet and gold. Plush, overstuffed armchairs sat clustered around a massive fireplace that crackled with dry birchwood, casting cozy, amber shadows across the tapestry-lined walls. It smelled of woodsmoke, cinnamon, and damp wool.
"Pads! Over here!"
You turned your head. Tucked into a corner table near the window, James, Remus, and Peter were waiting. But it wasn't the three boys who made your breath catch.
Sitting in the middle of them, wearing your dark green Slytherin jumper, was Sirius.
He was leaning his elbow on the table, resting his chin in your hand, looking utterly bored—yet the moment you walked in, his—your—eyes lit up with a brilliant, eager spark. It was incredibly disorienting to see your own face look so utterly thrilled to see you.
"You made it," Sirius said, his voice—your voice—dropping to a conspiratorial whisper as you approached. He stood up, and for a brief second, you forgot the height difference. You found yourself looking down at your own face, taking in the subtle, soft curve of your own lips and the way the firelight caught the familiar details of your hair.
"Barely," you muttered, sliding into the shadow of the corner. "Your portrait hole guardian almost didn't let me in. I think my accent was too polite."
James snorted, tapping his wand against a blank piece of parchment on the table. "I told you, Pads—err, (Name). You've got to slur the vowels a bit more. Sirius sounds like he's permanently half-asleep unless he's shouting."
"Hey! I do not," Sirius protested, crossing your arms. He looked at you, his eyes softening as he took in the sight of you wearing his oversized, comfortable Gryffindor clothes. "Though... I have to admit, you look ridiculously good in red, (Name). It almost makes up for the fact that you're currently ruining my reputation by standing up so straight."
"We don't have time for a fashion critique, Sirius," you whispered, a sudden, hot flush creeping up your neck. The casual intimacy of his gaze, even through the bizarre filter of your swapped bodies, was doing dangerous things to your heart rate. "Do you have the cloak?"
"Right here," Remus said quietly. He slid a hand into his school bag and pulled out the fluid, shimmering fabric of the Invisibility Cloak, keeping it low beneath the edge of the table. "The patrol routes tonight are heavy. Filch is down on the third floor with Mrs. Norris, and Professor McGonagall was spotted heading toward the trophy room about ten minutes ago. If you're going to the Restricted Section, you need to go now."
"Underneath the cloak, both of you," James instructed, his expression turning uncharacteristically serious as he looked at you. "Remember what you promised, (Name). Not a word to anyone."
"I haven't forgotten, Potter." you murmured.
"Good. Now get going before we get caught just standing here."
You took the silky, water-like fabric from Remus. Stepping closer to Sirius, you opened the cloak wide. Because you were currently much taller, you had to drape it over both of your shoulders, pulling him flush against your side to ensure the magical fabric covered every inch of your mismatched bodies.
The moment the cloak settled over you, the Gryffindor common room vanished from view, replaced by the shimmering, semi-transparent veil of the cloak's interior.
But the sudden closeness was overwhelming.
With the cloak draped tightly over the two of you, Sirius was pressed firmly against your side. You could feel the soft, steady rise and fall of his chest—well, your chest—against your ribs. Your arm was wrapped around his shoulder to keep the fabric from slipping, and his hand had instinctively found a grip on the fabric of your Gryffindor sweater, holding onto you for balance in the dim space.
"Comfortable?" you whispered, your deep, rumbling voice sounding incredibly close to his ear.
Sirius looked up at you. In the cramped, private darkness beneath the cloak, his eyes—your eyes—shone with a mixture of mischief and something much softer, much more intense.
"Incredibly." Sirius murmured, a slow, breathtaking smile spreading across your face. "Though I have to say, (Name)... holding onto myself is a very weird experience. But I think I like holding onto you much better."
Your heart did a violent, erratic leap against Sirius’s ribs. Before you could lose your nerve, you tightened your grip on his shoulder, guiding him toward the portrait hole.
"Come on, Black." you whispered, trying to ignore the sudden warmth blooming in your chest. "Let's go find that book."
The quiet of the library at midnight was absolute, save for the occasional, eerie creak of the old wooden floorboards and the distant, rhythmic ticking of a grandfather clock.
Underneath the silky, weightless cover of the Invisibility Cloak, you and Sirius moved as one. It required a delicate, synchronized dance. Because you were currently taller, your arm stayed securely draped around his shoulders, holding the shimmering fabric down over your ankles. Sirius’s hand remained anchored to the hem of your Gryffindor sweater, his fingers occasionally brushing against your side with a warmth that made it incredibly hard to focus on the dark corridors.
You slipped past the towering, shadow-drenched bookcases of the main library, navigating by the faint, silvery moonlight filtering through the high arched windows.
When you reached the heavy iron gate of the Restricted Section, you paused.
“It’s locked.” you whispered, your deep baritone voice barely a breath against the crown of his—your—head.
“Please,” Sirius whispered back, a smug, quiet chuckle vibrating in your chest. “Who do you think you’re locked in here with? Hand me my wand.”
You reached into your pocket, withdrew his wand, and slid it into his hand beneath the cloak. With a practiced, silent flick of your wrist, Sirius tapped the iron lock.
“Alohomora.” he murmured.
The lock clicked open with a soft, metallic scrape that sounded like a gunshot in the dead silence. You both froze, waiting. When no footsteps echoed, you pushed the gate open just enough to slip through, pulling the cloak tight behind you.
The Restricted Section felt entirely different from the rest of the library. The air was heavier, thick with the scent of ancient leather, dust, and a faint, electric hum of dark magic. Many of the books here were chained to the shelves; some whispered softly as you passed, while others had faces bound in leather that seemed to track your movements.
“Look for The Multi-Faceted Soul or Multiversal Alignments,” you whispered, scanning the dark spines. “They’ll be on the upper shelves.”
“On it.” Sirius murmured.
Because you were currently in his taller body, you had to act as the reacher. You guided him down a narrow aisle, your chest pressed lightly against his back as you scanned the top shelves. The proximity was dizzying; every breath you took in was filled with the scent of the library, but also the distinct, clean scent of Sirius’s leather jacket and cedarwood.
“There,” Sirius whispered, pointing your hand toward a thick, midnight-blue tome bound in silver thread. “The Art of Metamorphic Bindings. That has to be it.”
You stretched your arm up, carefully sliding the heavy book off the shelf.
“Got it.” you breathed, stepping back into the shadows of a deep alcove.
You sank down onto a dusty velvet window seat tucked between two towering bookcases. Sirius sat right beside you, pulling the cloak down so it hung loosely over your shoulders, freeing your hands. You placed the heavy book on your lap, and Sirius immediately leaned in close, his shoulder pressing firmly against yours as you cracked the cover open.
The pages glowed with a faint, magical luminescence, casting a soft, blue light over your faces.
“Let’s see.” you muttered, flipping through the delicate parchment. “Amalgamation… Animagus transfiguration… Ah. Here. Corporate Transference.”
Sirius leaned closer, his eyes—your eyes—scanning the elegant runes. “Look at the counter-spell. ‘Animus Reverti.’ But look at the footnote, (Name).”
Your eyes dropped to the bottom of the page.
FOOTNOTE: Should the initial reversal fail due to mismatched magical conduits (using the wrong wands), the souls will reject a secondary attempt until the celestial cycle aligns at dawn. A premature attempt may result in permanent fusion.
“Dawn,” you whispered, the word sinking in. “We have to wait until dawn.”
“Well,” Sirius said softly. “At least we don’t have to worry about permanent fusion. I love you, (Name), but I don’t think I want to share a stomach with you.”
You let out a soft, genuine laugh—which, coming from Sirius’s chest, sounded deep and incredibly rich. “You’re ridiculous, Black.”
“I’m serious,” he teased, then caught himself. “Well, technically, you are currently Serious. I’m just… me. In a very pretty package.”
You looked over at him.
The soft, blue light of the book illuminated your own face, but the expression on it was entirely Sirius. His eyes were incredibly bright, fixed on you with an intensity that made the dusty alcove feel miles away from the rest of Hogwarts. The playful, arrogant boy who had spent three years throwing potion ingredients at your head was gone, replaced by someone quiet, attentive, and incredibly close.
“You think I’m pretty?” you asked softly, the words slipping out before your Slytherin filters could stop them.
Sirius didn't blink. A slow, genuinely tender smile touched your lips. He reached out, his large, ring-adorned hand—which was actually your hand—gently cupping your jaw. His thumb brushed over your cheekbone, the touch sending a sharp, electric shiver straight down your spine.
“I’ve always thought you were beautiful, (Name),” Sirius murmured, his voice dropping to a low, breathless register. “Even when you were glaring at me from across the dungeon. Especially when you were glaring at me, actually.”
Your breath hitched. You looked down at his mouth, then back up to his eyes. The space between you seemed to vanish entirely. Sitting in the Restricted Section, wrapped in a stolen invisibility cloak, the boundaries of Slytherin and Gryffindor completely dissolved.
“Sirius…” you whispered, your heart hammering so loudly against his ribs you were sure he could hear it.
“We have a few hours until dawn,” Sirius whispered, his face moving just a fraction of an inch closer, his thumb resting right at the corner of your lip. “I think we can find a way to pass the time.”
As the space between you collapsed and the air in the narrow alcove grew impossibly warm, the sheer absurdity of the situation caught up to you. You stared at your own face, merely inches away, with Sirius’s soul looking out of your eyes.
Gently but firmly, you reached up with Sirius’s large, calloused hand and caught his—or rather, your—wrist. The contrast was striking; your hand, currently so much larger, easily wrapped around your own delicate wrist.
You pushed him back just an inch, a slow, grounded smile tugging at the corners of Sirius’s lips on your face.
“Sirius,” you whispered, your deep, borrowed voice holding a thread of quiet amusement. “Stop.”
Sirius blinked, his—your—head tilting slightly in confusion, though he didn’t pull his hand away from your jaw entirely. “Stop? But the atmosphere is perfect. The lighting is dramatic, the cloak is cozy, and I’m being incredibly charming.”
“You are being highly chaotic, as usual,” you corrected softly, your grip on his wrist relaxing into a gentle, lingering hold. “And as flattering as it is to hear you say all of those things… I am not having our first kiss while we are wearing each other’s faces. I am absolutely not kissing myself, and I am not letting you kiss yourself either.”
Sirius froze, the realization sinking in. He looked at his hand cupping your cheek, then down at his own body, and finally back up to your stormy grey eyes. A sudden, quiet laugh escaped your throat, the sound light and musical.
“Merlin,” Sirius muttered, shaking his head as a faint blush crept across your cheeks. “You’re right. That would be incredibly trippy. Brilliant, but highly disturbing.”
“Be patient, Black,” you murmured, your thumb gently brushing against the inside of his wrist, right over his racing pulse. “Once we are back in our own bodies… then we can have our moment. Not a second before.”
The promise in your words hung in the quiet space between you, heavy and thick with an anticipation that made the wait feel entirely worth it. It wasn't a rejection; it was a raincheck, one that made the slow-burning tension between you simmer even hotter.
Sirius’s eyes softened, a look of genuine, yielding warmth settling over your features. He slowly let his hand drop from your face, though his fingers lingered against your collarbone for a fraction of a second before he pulled back.
“A deal, then,” Sirius agreed softly, leaning his head back against the stone wall of the alcove, though he didn’t move away from your side. “But you’re going to have to keep me entertained until dawn. It’s at least four hours away, and I am notoriously bad at sitting still.”
“I’m sure we can manage,” you said, adjusting the silver weight of the Invisibility Cloak over your shoulders, pulling him back into the warm, protective shadow of the magical fabric.
[ 𑣲⋆]
With the ancient book resting open on your knees, its faint blue light casting long shadows across the dusty floorboards, the two of you settled in to wait. Sirius leaned his shoulder heavily against yours, his hand sliding down to find yours under the cover of the cloak, his fingers tracing the foreign lines of his own palm in your grip.
And there, hidden away from the rest of Hogwarts in the quietest corner of the castle, the countdown to dawn began.
The first pale, golden rays of dawn finally pierced through the high arched windows of the library, cutting through the dusty gloom of the Restricted Section and painting the stone floor in warm light.
The book on your lap seemed to lose its faint, magical hum as the sun rose, the ink on the pages turning back into ordinary black script.
You looked over at Sirius—who was still wearing your face—and let out a quiet sigh of relief. The wait was finally over.
"It’s time," you said, your deep, borrowed baritone voice cracking slightly with anticipation.
Sirius stood up, stretching your limbs with a dramatic yawn. "Thank Merlin. I love you, (Name), but your posture is exhausting. My back feels like a wooden board."
"That’s called having a spine, Black," you countered dryly, standing up to face him.
You both drew your wands—your correct wands this time. You pointed yours at his chest, and he pointed his at yours. The air between you grew charged, the residual magic of the swap prickling against your skin like static.
"On three," you murmured. "One... two... three."
"Animus Reverti."
The incantation left your lips in perfect unison.
For a terrifying second, the world spun violently. A rush of silver, liquid light erupted from the wands, wrapping around the two of you like a whirlpool. Your vision blurred, your head throbbed, and you felt a strange, gravity-defying pull in the center of your chest—as if you were being dragged through a keyhole.
And then, with a sharp, breathless gasp, your feet slammed back down onto the cold stone floor.
You stumbled, blinking rapidly as the room stopped spinning.
You looked down. The oversized Gryffindor sweater was gone, replaced by your fitted, green-trimmed Slytherin robes. Your hands were smaller, your fingers delicate and unadorned by silver rings. You reached up, touching your face. Your nose. Your cheeks.
You looked up.
Standing a few feet away, towering over you once again, was Sirius Black. He was running a large, ring-clad hand through his messy, dark curls, a breathless, utterly genuine laugh escaping his chest. His actual voice—deep, slightly husky, and full of life—echoed softly in the quiet alcove.
"Oh, sweet Salazar," Sirius breathed, looking down at his leather jacket and his own boots. "I'm back. I have my shoulders. I have my voice. I can finally slouch again!"
To prove his point, he immediately slumped into a lazy, effortless lean against the nearby bookcase, looking at you with those striking, stormy grey eyes.
"See?" you smiled, your own quiet, reserved voice returning to you. "I told you to be patient."
"Yeah, well," Sirius murmured, his lazy demeanor shifting in an instant. The playful arrogance in his eyes softened into something intensely focused, locking onto you. "I've been patient for six hours, (Name). I think my quota for the year is entirely used up."
Before you could offer a witty retort, Sirius took two long strides, closing the distance between you. He didn't hesitate this time.
His hand slid gently around the side of your neck, his thumb resting against your jawline, tilting your head up. His touch was warm, sending a familiar, electric shiver straight down your spine—but this time, it was your skin against his hand. There was no magic filter, no trippy reflection. It was just him. And it was just you.
"Now," Sirius whispered, his breath warm against your lips, his eyes dropping to your mouth before rising back to meet yours. "Where were we?"
"You were about to kiss me," you murmured softly, your hands instinctively reaching up to grip the lapels of his leather jacket. "Without making it weird."
"Right. Let’s do that."
Sirius leaned down and closed the remaining distance, his lips meeting yours in a soft, lingering kiss.
It was everything you had spent three years pretending you didn't want. The kiss started slow, sweet, and incredibly tender, but as your fingers tangled into the soft hair at the nape of his neck, the slow-burning tension of the entire night—and the last three years of bickering in Potions—finally erupted. Sirius pulled you flush against his chest, his other hand finding your waist, deepening the kiss with a fierce, possessive warmth that made your knees go entirely weak.
When he finally pulled back, just an inch, he kept his forehead rested against yours. Both of you were breathing softly, the golden morning light bathing the dusty Restricted Section in a warm, quiet glow.
Sirius let out a quiet, breathless chuckle, a brilliant, brilliant grin spreading across his face.
"Definitely worth the wait," he whispered, his thumb wiping a trace of your shared breath from your lower lip. "Though, if you ever want to swap bodies again... I still want to know how you girls manage the—"
You cut him off by pulling him down by his collar for another kiss, effectively silencing him, and decided that surviving the rest of the term with Sirius Black might not be so bad after all.
The portrait of the Fat Lady swung shut with a soft, heavy thud, sealing the quiet warmth of the Gryffindor common room behind Sirius. The embers in the fireplace had decayed into a low, pulsing orange glow, casting long, skeletal shadows across the empty armchairs.
Sirius stood in the center of the room for a moment, the weight of the silver Invisibility Cloak draped over his arm like water. His chest felt unusually light, his mind still spinning with the memory of the dusty library alcove, the smell of old parchment, and the lingering, electric taste of your lips. He let out a breath he didn't realize he’d been holding, a slow, ridiculously dazed smile spreading across his face as he ran a hand through his own dark, unruly curls. It was his hand. Those were his curls.
With a quiet snort at his own sentimentality, he turned and bounded up the spiral stone stairs to the boys' dormitory, taking them two at a time—relishing the familiar, long-legged stride that was finally his again.
He pushed the dormitory door open as quietly as possible, but the old iron hinges gave a faint, traitorous creak.
Instantly, a figure sat bolt upright in the four-poster bed nearest the window.
James didn’t have his glasses on; his hair was a wild, bird-nest disaster, and he was squinting aggressively into the darkness. He fumbled blindly at his nightstand, knocking over an empty goblet before finding his spectacles and shoving them onto his face.
"Pads?" James whispered, his voice thick with sleep but laced with immediate, sharp alertness.
"Yeah, mate. It's me," Sirius quieted, tossing the folded Invisibility Cloak onto the foot of James’s bed. He began unbuckling his leather jacket, letting out a satisfied grunt as he threw it over his trunk.
James didn't move. He slid his legs over the edge of his mattress, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, staring at Sirius with a deep, unwavering intensity. He squinted through his round lenses, analyzing the way Sirius moved, the way he shook his hair out, the way he slouched.
From the bed adjacent to James, a soft rustle of sheets signaled that Remus was awake too. Remus didn’t sit up, but his amber eyes gleamed in the darkness, watching the interaction with quiet, highly amused interest.
"Alright, hold on," James said, pointing a finger at Sirius’s chest. "Don't move."
Sirius paused, one boot half-off, raising an eyebrow. "What?"
"I need proof," James demanded, his voice dropping to a serious, conspiratorial whisper. "We got burned in Transfiguration today. I’m not letting a Slytherin sleep in our dorm. Are you the actual, genuine, certified Sirius Black?"
Sirius let out a loud, dramatic groan, tossing his boot to the floor with a loud clack. "Oh, come off it, Prongs. Yes, it’s me."
"That is exactly what a cunning, body-swapping Slytherin pretending to be Sirius Black would say," James countered, crossing his arms and tilting his head. "Remus, back me up here. Ask him something."
Remus let out a low, tired chuckle from beneath his blankets, his voice raspy. "Sirius. What did you do with the copy of Advanced Potion-Making we stole from the library last term?"
Sirius rolled his eyes, shoving his other boot off. "I used the blank pages in the back to draft a letter to a random dude, and then I accidentally dropped the rest of it into the Black Lake while trying to see if the giant squid would eat it. It didn't. It spat it back out."
Remus smiled, settling deeper into his pillows. "It's him, James."
"Not good enough," James declared, though the corner of his mouth was twitching. He stood up, marching over to Sirius and grabbing him by the shoulders, shaking him slightly. "Look me in the eye, Pads. If you're really you... what is the password to the secret map?"
"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good." Sirius drawled, swatting James’s hands off his shoulders with a lazy, familiar grin. "And if I were still (Name), I’d have probably cursed you into next week for touching me. Now let me sleep. My body is exhausted, and apparently, your bed is much less comfortable than the ones in the dungeons."
James stared at him for one more second before a massive, relieved grin broke across his face. He let out a quiet laugh, shoving Sirius’s shoulder playfully. "Merlin, you're back. Thank god. Your posture today was giving me a mid-life crisis. I felt like I was sharing a desk with a prefect."
"Shut up," Sirius muttered, though there was no real heat in it. He walked over to his own bed, collapsing face-first onto the red-and-gold duvet, letting out a long, contented sigh as his face sank into the pillow.
"So..." James lingered by the edge of Sirius’s bed, his voice instantly turning into a teasing, sing-song whisper. "Did you find the book? Did you swap back in the library?"
"Obviously," Sirius murmured into his pillow, his voice muffled. "Hence the lack of green robes."
"And?" James nudged Sirius’s leg through the duvet. "Did you get your moment? Or did you chicken out because you were too busy admiring your own face in her body?"
Sirius rolled over onto his back, his arm draping over his eyes to block out the faint light. He didn't answer right away, but the slow, private smile that curved his lips spoke volumes. The memory of you—back in your own skin, looking up at him with those beautiful, stubborn eyes right before he kissed you—flashed behind his eyelids.
"I didn't chicken out, Prongs," Sirius said softly, his voice carrying a rare, quiet warmth that made James’s teasing grin soften into something genuinely happy for his friend.
"Good," James smiled, turning back toward his own bed. "Because if I had to listen to you pine over a Slytherin for a fourth year in a row, I was going to throw myself off the Astronomy Tower."
"I do not pine," Sirius protested weakly, though he didn't put up much of a fight. He pulled his blankets up to his chin, his chest warm, his mind already drifting to tomorrow morning's breakfast—and the look he’d get to share with you across the Great Hall, completely in your own bodies, with a secret that belonged entirely to the two of you. 
[ 𑣲⋆]
The Great Hall at breakfast was always a sensory assault of clattering silver, floating candles flickering low in the morning light, and the deafening roar of hundreds of students swapping gossip. But for you, sitting at the Slytherin table, the atmosphere felt exceptionally tense.
You had barely managed to butter your toast before you felt the collective, heavy weight of three distinct stares drilling into the side of your face.
To your left, Barty Crouch Jr. was lazily spinning his wand between his fingers, his dark eyes glittering with a chaotic, sharp curiosity. Across from you, Evan Rosier sat with his chin propped in his hand, systematically tearing a piece of soda bread to shreds while keeping his gaze locked entirely on you. Beside him, Regulus Black sat with perfect, quiet posture, sipping his black tea with a chillingly neutral expression that you knew was far more dangerous than Barty’s overt smirks.
"So," Barty began, his voice dropping to a low, dramatic drawl that barely carried over the noise of the hall. "Are we going to talk about yesterday, or are we going to pretend you didn’t have a sudden, miraculous recovery from whatever brain-rot possessed you during Potions?"
You kept your expression entirely cool, taking a calm sip of your pumpkin juice. "I don't know what you're talking about, Barty."
"Oh, please," Evan scoffed, leaning forward over the table. "You forgot the password to the common room. You sat like a Gryffindor who had never seen a chair before. And then there’s the matter of your notes." He reached into his robes, pulled out a folded piece of parchment, and tossed it onto the table between you. "Explain this."
You unfolded the parchment. Written in giant, chaotic, looping scrawl that looked like it had been penned by a blind troll during an earthquake was a single paragraph about the Draught of Living Death. It was undeniably Sirius’s handwriting.
"I had a hand cramp," you said smoothly, sliding the parchment back to Evan without blinking. "And Slughorn was speaking quickly."
"Slughorn speaks at the pace of a weeping willow," Regulus noted quietly, setting his teacup down with a soft clink. He leaned in, his silver eyes—so hauntingly similar to the ones you had inhabited just hours prior—narrowing as they searched your face. "And you bolted out of the dungeons as if the castle were collapsing. My brother was acting equally bizarre. He was standing like a statue, speaking with actual vocabulary, and then you dragged him out of McGonagall’s class in front of everyone."
"Black was being his usual obnoxious self," you replied, keeping your voice even, channeling every ounce of your pureblood training to keep your heart from hammering against your ribs. "He made a ridiculous wager in Potions, it went too far, and I had to correct him. Privately."
Barty leaned in, a wicked, knowing grin spreading across his face. "Are you sure you two didn't actually pull off that little stunt he was whispering about? The body-swap? Because if you let Sirius Black run around in your body for a single afternoon, (Name), I am going to have to inspect our common room for hidden dungbombs."
"Do not be ridiculous," you hissed, fixing Barty with a glare cold enough to freeze water. "I would never allow Black anywhere near my magic, let alone my body. It was a stupid joke. Nothing more."
Regulus studied you for a fraction of a second longer before letting out a soft, dismissive sigh. "Just make sure his nonsense doesn't bring unwanted attention to our house, (Name). We have enough to deal with without my brother's circus acts."
With the interrogation temporarily deflected, you finally let your shoulders drop a fraction of an inch. You picked up your goblet of pumpkin juice, took another sip, and allowed your gaze to drift across the vast, bustling space of the Great Hall.
Your eyes traveled past the Ravenclaw table, straight to the sea of scarlet and gold.
And there, sitting at the center of the Gryffindor table, was Sirius.
The moment your eyes found him, you realized he was already looking at you. He was slouched in his seat, his leather jacket draped haphazardly over his shoulders, looking effortlessly, irritatingly handsome. Next to him, James, Remus, and Peter were all staring at you too, their breakfast entirely forgotten.
When Sirius caught your eye, a slow, incredibly soft smile touched his lips—a stark contrast to the loud, boisterous grins he usually threw around the hall. It was a private, shared look, carrying the heavy, sweet memory of the dusty library alcove and the quiet promise of dawn.
Suddenly, James leaned over, nudging Sirius hard in the ribs with his elbow. James whispered something rapidly into Sirius’s ear, his hazel eyes darting toward you with a massive, teasing grin. Remus let out a quiet, suffering chuckle, shook his head, and hid his face behind his copy of the Daily Prophet, while Peter snickered into his goblet.
Whatever James said made Sirius burst into a sudden, breathless laugh.
But as he laughed, a faint, unmistakable pink flush crept up his neck, dusting his high cheekbones. He threw a half-hearted, embarrassed shove at James’s shoulder, trying to look annoyed, but his eyes immediately darted back across the hall to lock onto yours. He gave you a helpless, slightly sheepish shrug, his grey eyes shining with an unmistakable, slow-burning affection that made your own stomach do a violent, delicious flip.
Across the table, Barty cleared his throat loudly, snapping you out of your trance.
"If you stare at the Gryffindor table any harder, (Name)," Barty muttered, a highly suspicious smirk playing on his lips, "people are going to start thinking you actually like him."
You quickly tore your eyes away, smoothing down your green-and-silver tie as a quiet warmth bloomed in your chest. "Don't be absurd, Barty. Eat your toast."
Pairing: Sirius Black x fem!pure blood! reader
Summary: After Sirius runs away from home, your arranged engagement is broken... but that doesn't mean the disinherited Black has stopped harbouring feelings for you. Feelings that you desperately try to ignore.
My babbling: My first time trying writing for Sirius! Hope you will like it! 😊🖤🖤
Sirius Black's Masterlist ~•♤♤♤•~ Main Masterlist
"So your brother is still alive? After he didn't show up at my birthday ball, I thought you became an only child, Reggie. I swear he always pesters me at these boring parties." You mock, noticing Sirius and his gang of idiots making their way to the Gryffindor table.
A week before you were to return to Hogwarts, your parents threw a party for your birthday. They invited all the important pureblood buffoons with their families and got drunk. Like every year.
But this time, you missed the eldest Black – your very reluctant fiancé, who always bravely stayed by your side when he was dragged to such gatherings, annoying you and enraging you with his mere existence the best he could.
He usually clung to your side like a burr to a dog's tail. You had literally a few minutes of peace before his curly dark hair came into view. He was always making silly, funny-in-his-face comments about the people gathered there. And maybe sometimes his presence was… a pleasant distraction from the usual stiffness that permeated these parties, but most of the time, Black gave you a headache. (And your facial muscles ached from suppressing a smirk at his scathing comments.)
You always dreamed of getting rid of him.
So you couldn't help, but wonder why when he was actually gone, you weren't as happy as you thought you would be.
You spent this particular party in the incredibly boring company of Nott, Malfoy, and Narcissa, longing only to throw away your bothersome high heels and light a cigarette. Or at least smell it. A stench you associated with only one person…
"He threw himself out of the house." Regulus mumbles, digging into his plate.
You raise an eyebrow at him as you can’t manage a comment to this surprising news. But Lucius beats you to it before you can form any sensible response.
"What?! Your parents finally disinherit him, and you don't even say a word about being the new heir to the Black family? We should drink this on the train to Hogwarts!"
Out of the corner of your eye you see Narcissa shake her head at her fiancé's behavior while the rest of the Slytherins laugh.
Your gaze involuntarily falls on the eldest Black.
Sirius is chatting with his Marauders, laughing at some joke they've made. But something seems off. His smile doesn't reach his ears, his eyes don't sparkle with that usual mischievous glint, and he looks more like… a beaten dog than a free wolf.
You shiver as you meet his gaze and look away from him as he waves at you, giving you one of his cheeky smirks.
Disinherited or not, he will always find time to get under your skin.
"Maybe it's temporary? He can't cut himself off from you that easily. He's a Black, after all." You mumble, continuing your breakfast.
"My mother burned his portrait off our family tree. You know, that old tapestry. So I guess this is certain." Your eyes widen in surprise, your gaze flickering to Sirius for a moment, then back to his brother.
Sirius Black rebelled and disowned his family, they disowned him. Blood purity. All that crap. He threw it all to hell. He was free.
"Who cares about this flea man anyway? He deserved it, I'm sorry we had to put up with him all these years. We should celebrate tonight! Especially you, Y/N! We got rid of that blood traitor! Severus! Come here! You won't believe what happened!" Bellatrix shouts at the black-haired man who just walked into the room.
You watch him as he approaches you, and especially as a certain angry red-haired Gryffindor enters the Great Hall a moment after him. Lily. She probably still hasn't forgiven him for that mudblood thing.
As rumors of Sirius' disinheritance spread around the Slytherin table, you focus your gaze on his brother. You know perfectly well that his relationship with the Gryffindor was... strained, but all you had to do was look into his eyes to see how Sirius' departure affected him.
Black's brothers might hate each other from time to time, but the truth was, in the moments that mattered, they were there for each other. They'd never admit it, but you'd seen them have each other's backs more than once.
Regulus must have had a shitty vacation after Sirius left. Especially considering the fact that their mother's anger and disappointment were usually focused on the eldest Black. After Sirius left, Regulus probably became the whipping boy.
You shift your gaze back to Sirius, watching Potter whisper something to him. Black laughs, (another, not very sincere and absurdly disgustingly contagious laugh you were used to), shaking his head. You can see him hiding a smirk behind his mug as he… blushes?
It's only when the two Marauders catch your eye and raise their eyebrows at you that you awkwardly look away and pretend to attentively listen to Lucius's plans for tonight's party in the common room.
There are rumors and excited whispers all around you, but all you can think about is how bloody lucky Sirius is. He's free. He has his idiotic friends and doesn't have to worry about the fact that at any moment his parents might demand that he join the Death Eaters or marry a pureblood idiot just to fulfill his parents' sick ideology.
You unconsciously clench the cup in your hand to the point that the glass gives way under your fingers, while you unknowingly use your magic and strength on an innocent cup.
"Fuck." You curse, wiping your hand on your black and green Slytherin uniform.
"What's wrong with you, Y/L/N?" Lucius asks you, but you brush him off and stand up from the table. You leave the great hall before any of them can catch up to you and head towards the dungeons.
You hated Sirius Black even more.
For how bloody easy his life was. For being able to do what you dreamed of, what you were afraid of, what you couldn't do.
You had no other friends or acquaintances, no one who would take you into your home if you decided to run away. You would be condemned in Slytherin, pushed to the margins of society, and most likely killed by your former friends the moment the war between wizards broke out.
The worst part was that the only person who could understand your pain, the one you were supposed to marry, the one who was supposed to be your refuge in some way, decided to run away and leave you.
You shudder thinking about what pureblood maniac your parents will force you to marry instead of Sirius. And for the first time since you two got into this arranged engagement, you realise that marrying the famous Marauder wouldn't actually be the worst thing that could have happened to you.
You snort, surreptitiously sipping the champagne you'd stolen from Lucius. You've been keeping pretty much to the sidelines of the party, hiding in the best hiding spots Malfoy Manor has to offer after Bellatrix pushed you into the arms of her future fiancé so she could get away from him.
After a rather awkward and quick dance with Lestrange, you grabbed the glass of alcohol Malfoy had abandoned and ducked near the balcony doorway, occasionally hiding behind the curtain covering the door when someone passed you.
Suddenly, movement on the balcony catches your eye. You glance through the windows and see your hapless fiancé smoking a cigarette outside, gazing out at the estate gardens. On some strange impulse, you decide to join him.
Sirius Black leans against the stone railing, completely oblivious to your gentle opening of the door. You allow yourself a moment to gaze at him, the way the moonlight caresses his wavy black hair, the way the cigarette smoke hangs limply over him, creating a strange dome of peace around him. And Sirius Orion Black was anything but peace.
“Does your mother know you smoke?” You ask mockingly, stepping closer to him.
Only when he hears your voice does he turn to meet your gaze with his grey eyes. He looks you up and down, lingering a little longer on the neckline of your dress. He snorts derisively at the glaring silver of your dress and the silver snake necklace and bracelets entwined around your neck and wrists.
"Does yours know you drink, Slytherin Princess?" He replies with equal sneer, turning his gaze away from you to focus again on the gardens before you.
You roll your eyes and lean your hips against the railing, staring intently into his face.
It's been a while since you last saw each other—or rather, since he played the last prank on you and your Slytherin friends at Hogwarts. Since then... he's somehow lost his sparkle and his cheekiness. You've only seen him without his usual Marauder persona at parties like this and only when his parents put the pressure on him to be the exemplary Black heir they wanted him to be – something you've become a silent observer of more and more with each passing year.
"Ouch. No honey or love of my life? Or others disgusting 'cute' nicknames? Are we getting some kind of divorce I don't know about? Or maybe you are breaking off our engagement? How am I going to survive this… the great Sirius Orion Black finally leaving me alone."
"For someone who wants so desperately to be free of me, it's somehow strange that you came here for my company."
"I came here because it's the perfect place for drinking, smoking, or sex. Not necessarily in that order, and not necessarily with that company." Your comment makes him burst out laughing.
He takes a drag on his cigarette and puffs on the smoke before turning his head to look at you. His gaze is... strangely sad. And serious. Something you never expected from him.
"Okay... what the hell is wrong with you? No comment about how you would be the perfect fuck buddy if I wanted to try? Are you getting old and out of practice tormenting me or something?" You ask as he continues to smoke quietly, staring at you.
He throws his cigarette to the ground and crushes it under his boot. Suddenly, he leans toward you, invading your personal space outrageously. You freeze at his sudden movement, unable to do anything as he lifts his hand and gently tucks your hair behind your ear so he can cup your cheek. His thumb caresses your skin, his fingers briefly playing with your snake-shaped earring as his eyes scan every inch of your face.
"I'm gonna miss this so much, my poisonous darling." He mumbles and presses his lips to your forehead.
You shudder at the strange sensation of his soft lips against your skin, and not because it's an unwanted, repulsive touch. No. You shudder because it feels surprisingly right. You shudder because his lips, his hand on your cheeks, and his chest against yours make you feel, for the first time in your life, like you're exactly where you're supposed to be.
“So fucking awful.” He continues, sighing softly as he buries his nose in your hair and pulls you closer after wrapping his other hand around your waist.
“I… what the fuck are you talking about, Black?” You ask in shock, still clutching your glass in your hand and briefly considering smashing it against his skull.
He chuckles, making you shiver with him, his warmth seeping through you, his scent clinging to you—something you should find awful, beneath your dignity, but damn, how many times have you imagined the two of you like this in your most secret, most terrifyingly wild dreams?
How many times have you dreamed of throwing everything that separated you away and just... just letting that annoying asshole, who somehow always managed to make you laugh even in your darkest hour, be as close to you as none has ever been?
"Nothing… did I tell you that you look terrifyingly beautiful today, the bane of my existence?" He asks with a smirk as he pulls away from you, but you can't shake the feeling that he's hiding something depressing behind the deep grey of his eyes, which don't have that mischievous twinkle in them that he always had when he was flirting with you.
"Black..." You mumble and reach for his arm, but he pulls away before you can touch him. You freeze as he flinches and shakes his head.
"It's nothing… I think I'm getting a little sentimental. Maybe I had too much champagne today… you know how quickly it hits after a solid crucio…"
A lump rises in your throat as he admits that his parents did something... something only a few old, pure-blood families practised when raising their heirs. A wave of sympathy surges through you, and for a moment you just want to hug him and hold him close. A stupid, strange feeling. You've definitely had too much champagne.
"Sirius?" You whisper his name for the first time in decades. He laughs bitterly, shaking his head.
"Don't give me that, Y/N. I don't want your sympathy, as rare as it is. I… Sorry, honey… I'm not in the mood for our usual chat."
He turns to leave, to get as far away from you as possible, but on some strange impulse you grab his wrist and don't let him. He freezes. Practically the whole world around you freezes with him.
All your senses shut down as you stare at the back of his head, not quite knowing what to say or do, just some instinctive gut feeling that you can't just let him go now. You can only feel his strong, racing pulse beneath your fingertips as you watch him slowly turning to face you.
You don't say anything. You can't seem to. Your head is buzzing, either from the few glasses of champagne you've had or from his proximity; you can't quite tell. You only know that you're somehow... more yourself. Less guarded.
And whatever Sirius reads in your sincere gaze, untroubled by your usual shield, urges him to close the distance between you in a few steps, cupping your cheeks as he presses his lips against yours.
You gasp, eyes widening as his lips move desperately against yours, his fingers digging into your skin. Your hand loosens its grip on the glass, dropping it to the floor, causing it to shatter as Sirius pushes you against the railings behind you, pinning you against them with his body.
You moan into the kiss, watching him for a moment, his closed eyes, the crease between his brows as he buries himself in you, clinging to you with every fiber of his being and soul, and you can just stand there and take him in, too overwhelmed by all the sudden, years-old feelings that this damn Marauder stirs up with one damn kiss.
A kiss that feels like one of those stupid romance novels. A kiss you hate. A kiss that disgustingly shows how desperately you need more as you chase his lips with yours—too late for Sirius to realize you're kissing him back, too late to show how pathetically you crave him.
He pulls away before you can grab his collar and pull him closer. You're practically frozen under the wild gaze of his grey eyes as he, with his hands still cupping your cheeks, stares at you for another moment, as if stealing another moment.
"As sweetly addictive as I've always imagined." He mutters before pulling away from you, leaving you completely shocked and frozen on that damn Malfoy balcony that you'll probably be dreaming about for days on end.
You don't chase him. You're too proud to do so. So when he turns in the doorway and looks at you briefly before stepping inside, you feel it, as if it were some kind of sick farewell on his part. Little do you know, the next day he runs away from home to the Potters, leaving everything behind. Including you.
Month later you're sitting in the library with Severus, who's bravely trying to explain his latest Potions lesson to you, when suddenly someone you never thought you'd see again joins you.
"Evans?"
"Lily..."
The redhead ignores the hopeful look from her former friend and just stares at you.
"We need to talk." She says seriously, waiting for your answer. You frown at her and give Sev a fleeting glance as you focus on the Gryffindor girl.
"Do we have anything to talk about? I thought ever since you and Sev had your fight, we agreed to avoid each other like the plague. Which is stupid, by the way. You've known each other since you were kids."
She doesn't even flinch when you recall the moment the boy angrily called her a Mudblood. Like a true Gryffindor, she endures your judgemental gaze and nonchalantly adjusts the hem of her school uniform.
"This has nothing to do with me or us. I'm here because my true friend is in need."
"Let me guess, the Marauders?" Severus asks mockingly, and Lilly gives him a look of contempt and rage that makes him cringe.
"Whatever. Come on, Evans. Before you two argue over nothing again." You wave your hand at the Slytherin boy, too curious about what was so important to the redhead that she dared approach the two of you after her dramatic breakup with Sev and you, for that matter. You weren't exactly close, but since she was Severus's friend, he was yours too. For a while.
"It wasn't about nothing…"
"Are you coming or not? I don't have all day for teenage dramas." You sigh and gather your things.
You give Sev a knowing look, silently promising to try and put in a good word for him with the redhead as you both leave the library to talk about whatever it is she feels she needs to discuss with you.
You literally take five steps out of the library when she starts.
"Sirius is acting strangely." She begins, making you pause for a moment, raising a questioning eyebrow at her.
"Sirius is the very definition of weird, I see no reason to worry." You brush her off, mocking your ex-fiancé.
"This isn't…" She sighs in exasperation, and you see her internally calming herself down so she doesn't explode. "He found out about… your changes to that shitty planned marriage your families practice."
"So what? He doesn't like the idea of me as Mrs Nott?" You scoff, continuing down the halls, noticing she's leading you to the castle exit. "Why the hell does he care about that anyway? And more importantly, why the fuck should I care about him and his feelings about my new possible engagement?"
"Ugh… Remus advised me against it, and maybe he was right." She grumbles mostly to herself before catching up to you and starting over. "Fine. Maybe you don't care. But that's not all. He got a letter from his mother. They disinherited him. Left him with nothing."
"I… that was to be expected when he ran away. But I don't understand why you're telling me this?"
"He… he's changed. Since then. I think even you could take your head out of your ass and see it. We… we don't know what to do. He's withdrawn into himself and… even Regulus couldn't talk some sense into him."
"Still, why would I…"
"Damn it! How long were you engaged to him? Years? And how long was he following you around Hogwarts with those lovesick puppy eyes of his? I know something about that. James did the same to me, and I know that even if you tried really hard, you couldn't feel nothing at all. You have to care at least a little! Even if this engagement was arranged by your psychopathic parents!" The redhead bursts out, interrupting you furiously.
You pause for a moment as you draw the attention of the other students around you. You shoot them all a menacing look, effectively making them go on with their lives, and you turn your attention to a Gryffindor girl.
"Oh, Evans, Evans. You have no idea how messed up we purebloods can be." You mutter and shift your gaze from her to the lake you're walking by. "Let's do this… you talk to Severus and I'll talk to Black. What do you think?"
"I have nothing to talk to him about."
"So I don't give a shit about Sirius." You reply with a shrug as you continue your stroll.
Evans stops in shock and shakes her head. She catches up with you after a while, and you both continue walking, earning curious glances from the students passing by.
"Are you all Slytherins really like this? Self-interested, rotten to the core? Can't you help out of pure decency or concern?"
"Sirius is a big boy, Evans. He'll suffer and get over it. It's what he's always done. He's freed himself from that damn place, so I predict he'll be entertaining you with his annoying him in a week or two. He will lick his wounds like the dog he is and continue to attack anything with breasts and a vagina."
"I hope you know what you're saying." The girl sighs, walking away from you angrily.
You involuntarily glance at the Gryffindor Tower and sigh to yourself. You hoped so too.
"Y/N Y/L/N! The sun of my life, the air in my lungs, my bloodthirsty fiancée and future wife!" Sirius greets you in Potions as usual, making the Gryffindors laugh and the Slytherins snort involuntarily.
"Black." You say coldly and reluctantly take your seat next to him – something you hate Slughorn for. Only that old bastard could believe that seating better and worse students together would magically equalise the entire class.
"Such a cold welcome? I don't even get a kiss? Or two? Or even a hug? Not even a stab in the back?"
"I can arrange that last one." You mumble, taking out your notebooks and notes, which he immediately takes and places next to his. You roll your eyes as he reaches for your bag and takes it off your lap to place it next to his as well.
"Black, when's the wedding?!" An amused Nott asks, causing the rest of the class to burst out laughing.
"A year after graduating! Don't feel invited!" He replies, making you groan in annoyance and sink into your chair, resigned, reliving the same circus all over again. "Oh, honey, is something wrong? You don't want to wait that long? We can sneak out of Hogwarts today and finalize everything with just one word from you."
"Not even in your dreams."
"Oh my little, Slytherin, cold heart… in my dreams we are…"
"I don't want to know!" You shout, pushing his hand off your shoulder and straightening the tie he had started to untie.
"You don't have to. Which doesn't change the fact that my dreams will one day be our reality." You roll your eyes at him, biting the inside of your cheek in frustration.
"If I choke you to death in one of them, then yes, definitely." You snap at him, only realizing after a moment how misplaced the insult was.
Black wraps one arm around you, pulling you closer to him, his nose brushing against your temple as he mumbles his response in your ear.
"It's true that there's a bit of choking in them, but that's not necessarily…"
"Black!"
"You shouts too, only more and in a way that is not at all close to…" You grab your notebook and move to hit him over the head, but he ducks at the last second, causing you to lose your balance and fall chest-first into his lap. "I always knew you'd fall for me eventually, darling."
You get up with the murderous urge to kill someone, but luckily for Black, Slughorn walks in. But unfortunately for you, that didn't mean, however, that the professor's entrance interrupted your torment.
As was his usual routine, Black interrupted you at every stop, either scribbling crooked hearts and flowers on your notes, playing with your hair and braiding it, or taking the ladle, knife, and other things from your hands to help you mix potions—something you'd let him do until one day he blew up the contents of your cauldron.
Most of the time he just irritated you, but you couldn't deny even to yourself that sometimes he managed to pull a small, genuine smile from your face.
And you should have known then how dangerous his running away… or his presence too close to you would be.
You were wrong. Absolutely bloody wrong. You realised this when, a week after your conversation with Evans, you still hadn't been the victim of any of Sirius' pranks. Nor had any other Slytherin. Not even Severus. Not even Flinch. That was already causing a lot of concern.
You don't know why, but you feel… the absence of Black.
No one greets you at the entrance to the Great Hall with a shitty, "Good morning honey, you look absolutely stunning, how about we test out how stunning we can be together tonight?"
No one throws notes at you in History of Magic, keeping you awake and preventing you from dozing off in the classes you hate.
No one mentions how the Sorting Hat made a mistake by putting you in the enemy house, so they can't meet you in the common room every day or break into your dorm and bed.
It was boring. Bloody boring. And Sirius Black was starting to look like walking death.
"Why are you staring at him like that?" Lucius asks you, noticing your gaze land on the elder Black for the tenth time during dinner.
You shrug, ignoring the questioning, surprised looks from Regulus and Andromeda.
"He's been strangely quiet lately. I'm just waiting for him to pull another stupid prank."
"I like it. They finally rubbed his nose in the door. Maybe he realized what a shitty future awaits him without his wealth, name, influence, and contacts."
"Not to mention the Dark Lord will probably target him first. And his Mudblood friends and blood traitors. After all, he blatantly rejected his Black heritage and the expectations of our community. But I expected this from him. He screamed and cried like a baby when Aunt Walburga used the Cruciatus on him. It was obvious from the start that he was a coward. The Sorting Hat really didn't have anywhere else to put him. I give him a month before we hear about Sirius Black's sudden, unexpected death," Bellatrix adds, casually sipping her juice.
Regulus grabbed your hand as you suddenly reached for the knife. He gives you a reassuring, reproving look, but all you see is red at the laughter that echoes around the Slytherin table.
You let out a shaky breath and release your grip on the silverware, relieved that only Reg saw your little outburst. He raises a questioning eyebrow at you, and you just shrug.
"Don't tell me that you…" Regulus begins, but freezes under your cold gaze. "Oh Salazar." He gasps in shock, realizing the reason for your strange behavior. He leans towards you and whispers in your ear. "Just don't let them see. We'll talk about this later."
You nod reluctantly. You pick at your dinner, humming in agreement as Narcissa changes the subject to a lighter note and comments on our team's preparations for the next match against Hufflepuff.
Regulus puts his arm over yours and laughs at some scathing comment Lucius made as you feel someone's gaze burning into you. You look up and see Sirius' grey irises staring at you, or rather, at his younger brother's arm around you.
For a moment, you see it in his eyes. Longing, desire – as if he wanted to be in his brother's place. You freeze as you see something inside him snap. He suddenly stands from the table and, ignoring the questioning glances and calls from his friends, leaves the Great Hall.
The Marauders' gaze shifts to you—as if you were always the cause of Sirius's sudden outbursts. You raise an eyebrow at them, seeing Potter shake his head and say something to Evans before he gets up and runs after his friend.
"And that's exactly why we should… Y/N? Where are you going?" Regulus asks as you pull out of his embrace.
"I forgot my homework from the library. I'll meet you in the common room." You assure him and run to the exit, hoping you'll be able to catch the Marauders or Evans in time.
You feel a little pathetic as you chase the Gryffindors back to their tower, but your damn pride was the last thing that you cared about at that moment. You were just... worried about Black. Damn it. You were worried about Sirius.
You want to smack yourself on the head at your stupid discovery, at the fact that he somehow found a place in your guarded heart, but you don't have enough time to wonder how stupid your actions are because you see the Marauders walking through their portrait.
"Wait!" You grab Evans's arm at the last second, causing the other two Marauders and her to stop in their tracks.
"Y/L/N? What do you want?" Lily asks you, trying to shake her hand from your grip, but you don't give in that easily.
"I... I need to talk with that idiot."
"I doubt that's a good idea…" Peter begins, but one look from you silences the not-so-brave Gryffindor.
"Great, but I don't give a damn what you think." You mumble and push your way past them.
You've been to their tower a few times—mostly for socialising when they didn't keep track of who exactly comes to their parties, so you navigate pretty easily. The problem starts at the doors to the boys' various dorms.
"First on the left," Lupin suggests, standing behind you. You flinch, but nod reluctantly.
"I know… I… I'm making a plan of attack. That's why I'm not going in." You mumble, making him snort.
"You should. If James is there with him, and he definitely is, he won't let you get away that easily."
"I don't care…"
"About anything but him. We know. Great that you realised it too."
"I don't… it's not…" You sigh, running a hand through your hair, frustrated by how frantic your heart was and how unsure of your actions you now felt.
"Sometimes… sometimes difficult things are only difficult at the beginning."
"What is this? Some kind of Gryffindor therapy?" You can't help but snort, turning your gaze to the door you were about to enter through.
"A way to tame the nasty Slytherins who despise everything until they realize they do have feelings and care about someone."
Remus gives you a gentle jab, and only because you have a more important mission on your mind than arguing with him (Lupin seems to be the only one who's even remotely considering helping you), you decide not to respond to his jab with your usual venomous comment.
"A low blow. But I wouldn't say it wasn't deserved." You mumble and nod at him before taking a calming breath and knocking on the door.
You don't wait for them to open. You don't want to give them a chance to reject you, so you walk right through them as if they were your rooms.
"Moony, I don't think Padfoot needs…" Potter pauses, turning his head to face you. You don't meet his surprised, furious gaze with your own. Instead, you stare at Black, sitting on the bed, who straightens slightly upon seeing you in his dormitory. "You don't live here." Potter says coldly, making you focus on him for a moment.
"How perceptive. Then you should probably notice that I'm not here for you."
"It's okay, Prongs. Leave us alone. This isn't the first time I've dealt with a spoiled Slytherin." Sirius interrupts him before the bespectacled man can respond to my taunt.
I watch Potter as he slams the door behind him, making his displeasure with Black's decision quite clear. Unnecessary melodrama.
"Why do you honor me with your presence by entering the lion's mouth?" Sirius snorts derisively, quickly returning to your usual dynamic.
You stare at him, taking in the changes that have taken place in him since your last meeting. You realise just now that this is the first time you've spoken alone since he… well… attacked you on the Mlafoy balcony. The day before his great escape.
"Did the cat got your tongue?" He asks, getting out of bed and taking a step towards you.
You hold your breath just looking at his pale face, the dark circles under his eyes, and his disheveled hair, somehow unable to remember what you had to tell him that was so important that you decided to storm all the way here. Or rather, you were very aware of it, but not brave enough to carry out what you had planned on the spur of the moment.
"I… you're not yourself lately." You start safely, to which he just snorts mockingly, shaking his head in disbelief.
"Some would say I've been very much myself lately. But I don't see why you should care, honey. Especially since my parents disowned me, which means you practically have nothing to do with me."
"It's… it's none of your business."
"Is it now? So it's none of your business what's happening to me. Go ahead. Go to your Nott. I'm sure a perfect pureblood heir like him would be your Slytherin dream come true! What are you still doing here?!"
"You think I know?! You think I know why the hell I ran after you instead of staying with my own people and agreeing with them when they tell me what a filthy blood traitor you are?! You think I know why the hell I wait every fucking day for you to come up with some stupid comment or joke?! I don't know! I have no idea, but I know that watching you do this to yourself… is worse than any crucio they could throw at me." You blurt out, irritated by his mockery.
For the first time, you're not in control of what you're saying; you don't have a prepared speech or anything. You're just blurting out everything that's been pent up inside you ever since that annoying Gryffindor started making his way into your heart.
And you're terrified.
"Y/N?" Sirius mutters, entirely shocked by your confession, and hesitantly reaches for you.
You pull away before his fingertips can even graze your arm, shaking your head at the relieved, lovesick fool look he gives you. As if by magic, you could be with him from now on. As if Death Eaters weren't waiting for you outside Hogwart's walls, as if your family didn't expect you to side with Voldemort. As if you weren't doomed to failure from the very beginning.
"Don't... don't look at me like that..."
"Are you... do you..." He asks, looking to you for confirmation, gripping your arms in a tight grip as he forces you to look into his eyes and answer the unspoken question that would forever change whatever was happening between you.
"No. No. I could not..." You shake your head in denial, causing his expression to momentarily change to one of pain and disappointment. And you think it would be better for everyone. You couldn't be together anyway. Not after he ran away.
"Then why you are here?" He asks, tightening his grip on you. His fingers dig into your skin, surely giving you small bruises in their shape later, but right now, all that matters is trying to answer that question.
"I..." You start out unable to come up with a sensible lie on the spot.
Because what were you supposed to tell him? That you can't stand to watch him struggle? That you can no longer listen to them calling him a blood traitor and a Mudbloods' friend? That you can't believe that what's been between you for years was real on his end as well as on yours?
Luckily, you don't have to say anything. Sirius, seeing your doubt, your attempt to find a way out of this situation, and the panic in your eyes, simply leans towards you and gently brushes his lips against yours. He gives you time to push him away, to deny everything you felt for him, but you're so tired of denying your feelings and fighting with yourself that all you can do is wrap your arms around his neck and pull him closer.
He moans into your mouth, his tongue grazing your lower lip. You let him in, connecting your tongue with his.
He groans into your mouth, his tongue grazing your lower lip. You hesitantly connect your tongue with his, thereby condemning yourself to any damnation of kisses you might have with anyone else, because you know perfectly well you won't find another set of lips as fitting against your own as Sirius's.
You sigh shakily as his hands travel to your waist, pressing you against his chest even closer, close enough for you to feel his heart pounding in his chest. He is enclosing you in the tight embrace of his arms as if you were about to vanish, vanish into thin air, and once again become the elusive nightmare he'd dreamed was truly his since your ill-fated arranged engagement.
You pull apart, your lungs burning for air. But even then, he doesn't let go. He wraps his arms around you, pressing the palms of his hands against your back and burying his nose in your hair, just above your ear and against your temple, making you feel every shaky breath he takes.
"Stay." He murmurs, his lips brushing your earlobe.
You shiver, feeling him so close and yet so far away. You feel like he'll never be close enough for every fibre of your being to stop screaming with the need to be even closer.
"But..." You start, but he silences you, taking the opportunity to kiss you so tenderly, caressing your lips that you feel like you might actually melt.
"Bloody Merlin, Y/N... for once... just stay here with me. It doesn't have to mean anything."
"But that will mean everything, won't it?" You raise a doubtful eyebrow at him, and he sighs heavily, pressing his lips to your forehead.
For a moment, you think he's giving in, realising the same harsh truth you are and finally accepting the losing game that loving you is. But he wouldn't be the Sirius Black you know if he just gave up without a fight.
"If only you had been sorted into Slytherin…" He sighs, nuzzling your nose with his. Somehow, it seems so absurdly sweet gesture for the both of you that you start to giggle.
"Or you to Gryffindor."
Your attention makes him move his hand and pinch your waist, eliciting another laugh from you. Your heart skips a beat when you see him smile genuinely at you for the first time in months, the smile you've missed so much and know so well.
"I'm not a very brave person, you know. I would be a terrible Gryffindor." You comment, and he plants a quick, almost teasing kiss on your cheek before resting his chin on the top of your head, sighing heavily.
"It doesn't matter… I can be brave enough for both of us. Just stay. Don't leave me." He mumbles, tightening his grip on you.
You sigh, allowing yourself to rest your head on his shoulder. You listen to his breathing and his steady, strong heartbeat, and for a moment you feel like that's all that matters. That no Slytherin, Gryffindor, Death Eater, or member of the Order of the Phoenix can take that away from you.
You allow yourself to be naive enough to believe that this will be enough. At least, until you both remain in each other's arms, afraid to let go and leave the other alone.
However, you can't shake the feeling that one day you will remember this day from the place where he left you.
Pairing: Sirius Black x fem!Death Eater! reader
Summary: The black dog haunted you for most of your life. In your dreams and nightmares, he was your bad omen. After the Death Eaters capture Sirius Black and his great escape, you find an injured black dog in your room…
My babbling: So I used a quote from Taylor Swift's Labyrinth. And maybe I got a little carried away writing it. A little very... hope you will enjoy it!
Sirius Black's Masterlist ~•♤♤♤•~ Main Masterlist
"You'll never guess who Bella caught." Those are the first words Lucius says as he enters the living room you and Regulus are occupying.
An unpleasant shiver runs down your spine to Lucius's excitement. You've been hearing cries of pain coming from the "war room" for a good hour, and if it weren't for the fact that Malfoy Manor had well-soundproofed dungeons, you'd probably still be hearing the sobs of pain from another captured member of the Order of the Phoenix.
A fairly common way to start the day for a near-member of the Death Eaters… probably not one you could ever get used to, despite Narcissa's assurances.
"Dumbledore?" Regulus scoffs, flipping through the latest Daily Prophet.
"Not yet. Your brother, actually." Malfoy replies nonchalantly, making you freeze mid-reach for your cup of tea.
You gently lift your gaze to Regulus, who is trying his best to maintain his mask of indifference and casually munching on another page of the newspaper.
"Good. That traitorous dog and his friends have been hiding for too long." He comments, his tone perfectly controlled, making it as cold as ever when he spoke to other Death Eaters. "I hope those filthy blood traitors who hid him and took him in will be next."
You clear your throat, nodding as you take a sip of your tea. The warmth of the mug burns your hands, but you decide it's a good distraction from imagining the bloody and battered body of the man you knew from your Hogwarts days.
An image of Sirius—the Gryffindor boy, the Marauder, the one you had the dubious pleasure of pairing up with in your potion classes—involuntarily flashes through your mind. Bile rises in your throat at the thought of what Bellatrix must have done to him.
"This is a great day. Soon the entire order should be in our dungeons. After all, they won't abandon him." Malfoy continues, watching Regulus closely, as if waiting for the moment when his composure would break and Lucius could report him to the Dark Lord.
Such were the Death Eaters. They walked over dead bodies for their own safety and profit.
"I should go home. My mother will be happy to know that she will live to see the end of the days of that blood traitor who has stained our name." Regulus announces, rising from his seat, not waiting for what the platinum blonde will say next.
You feel your muscles relax as he looks up at you and gives you a small nod in a silent command: 'Stay.' You didn't even realise how tense you were, watching his reaction.
You were proud of the younger Slytherin for not giving in to Malfoy's wiles, but at the same time, you were tempted to use some of the forbidden curses Bella had taught you on Lucius... the same curses she probably used on her cousin a few seconds ago.
"Sooner or later, he'll break free. Blacks are like that. They can't be trusted. Remember that, Y/N."
"Should I remind you that your wife is a Black, Lucy?" You mock him by using a nickname he hates.
"She's a Malfoy now. Narcissa would never…"
"So would Regulus." You interrupt him coldly before he can finish and stand up, throwing the book you were reading on the coffee table with a thud. "Remember who our enemy is. The Order is just waiting for us to break our ranks, for us to cower so hard that they can seize the opportunity to pick us off one by one and send us to Azkaban. Do you have a point to make? Stop looking for traitors among those who proudly follow the Dark Lord."
You shiver as loud clapping sounds behind you at your sudden outburst. Before you know it, Bellatrix's arm is wrapped around you, leaving a few droplets of blood on your bare arms.
"This is the spirit we need, right, my lord?" She asks, looking back.
You follow her gaze and freeze when you see the Dark Lord himself standing in the doorway, watching you intently. You hold his blue gaze, trembling only slightly as he carefully examines you from top to bottom with his serpentine eyes, as if trying to assess the truth behind your words of loyalty.
"My lord." You nod and curtsy, quickly correcting your mistake of staring at the man before you for so long.
He waves his hand and takes a step towards you. Right now you almost feel glad for Bellatrix's proximity, as she is somehow shielding you from HIM.
"Indeed, Bella. This is exactly what we need…" He hisses, staring at you for a moment longer before his eyes drift to Lucius. "Call the inner circle. I want to interrogate Black as quickly as possible. Tomorrow morning."
Everyone nods. Only when he leaves, his black cloak billowing behind him, do you release the breath you've been holding. Bellatrix chuckles at your behavior and pats you on the back.
"You'll get used to his presence. You have to. He liked you. I could see it in his eyes. Keep listening to me, Y/N, and I promise you'll go far. Very far. After all, I only take under my wing truly ambitious individuals with potential." Bellatrix looks at you promisingly and pats your back. She nods to Lucius, leaving you alone in the parlour.
Your heart quickens and your breathing becomes more uneven as you realise the meaning of her words.
No... you cannot become his favourite Death Eater.
You were supposed to stay away, to survive. Just like Regulus did. But you fear that his brother's interrogation will be the final nail in his coffin, proof that he isn't devoted to the Death Eaters... certainly not in the way the Dark Lord would have wished.
And you know perfectly well that when Sirius drags Regulus to his grave… you will have no choice but to follow them.
You were stupid. Absolutely stupid and naive. But with your friend on guard duty at the dungeons... you just couldn't pass up the opportunity.
You had to repay Regulus somehow for all the times he'd had your back. And this... this seemed like the most meaningful thing you could do. Not necessarily for him. But for someone he cared about.
You step inside the large cell. Mask on your face, wand in hand. You light your way as you walk forward, ignoring the cringing stares of prisoners you can't help anyway, prisoners who are probably either dead or dying. And then you see him.
Chained to the wall, still struggling. Stubbornness worthy of a true Gryffindor.
You sigh to yourself, begging Salazar for patience with this idiot and the strength not to cry over him—because the sight of him in chains, with the wounds inflicted by the Death Eaters, didn't bother you as much as you thought it would.
"You're only hurting yourself, Black." You mutter and kneel down next to him, setting the tray down so he can't kick it.
"Do we know each other? Why don't you show me your face, coward? Is that you, Malfoy? Snape? Maybe my dear brother?" He scoffs as you place your wand on his wrists and heal him. "Oh. Woman. How sweet. Is this my last wish? One last moment of ecstasy with a pureblood maniac?" He asks, recognising from the look of your hands that he's not dealing with a man.
You try your hardest not to growl at him, but Sirius... had a knack for getting under your snake-like, scaly skin.
"Do you always talk so damn much, Black?" You snap at him, not even realizing you're addressing him with a sentence you've already directed at him countless times.
Damn. Maybe he won't recognize you.
"I…" He has your name on the tip of his tongue, but he shakes his head and laugh bitterly. "No. I won't ask. You won't answer me anyway. Maybe she's not here. Maybe she's not with you freaks. But if it's you… if you're her, then I don't want to know either. I'd rather she was dead than one of you."
"Are you losing your mind already?" You mock him, handing him a glass of water.
As he drinks greedily after a moment's hesitation—after all, his need for thirst outweighed his distrust of you—you notice the cuts on his face. You couldn't heal them even if you wanted to. For any wounds on him to disappear after the fight with the Death Eaters who captured him would be... too suspicious.
"Oh, honey… you wouldn't last a day in the place they raised me in. It will take so much more than that to break me."
"We'll see tomorrow when the Dark Lord speaks with you."
He shivers slightly at this new revelation but doesn't comment on it. Instead, his grey eyes focus on the only part of you not covered by your mask: your eyes. You hope he doesn't remember what they looked like. He can't, can he? After all, you weren't THAT close at Hogwarts.
"Why are you doing this?" He mumbles softly, sending a shiver down your spine. Your hands tremble slightly as you feed him leftovers from dinner.
"I'm paying my debts. There are people who still care about you. Besides... Merlin knows how long you'll be here. You need food and drink to be strong to endure whatever you are planned to be put through by HIM." You said it, both thinking that he might not survive long... and that he'd be here too long.
No one ever escaped the Dark Lord's captivity. And you doubted Sirius would make it. You guess... you guess this was supposed to be your farewell. So maybe you weren't here for Regulus at all? Maybe you came because... because you wanted to see that damned charming Marauder one last time?
"Don't give up so easily, Black," you mutter, pressing your lips to his cheek—fast enough so he doesn't have a chance to turn his head and bite you, yet slow enough to… to savor just a little bit of the feeling of his skin under your mouth.
And you run.
You run away before a tear falls from under your mask, before you decide to run away with him and not from him.
Like the Slytherin coward that you are.
And to be completely honest... you are not running away from him for the first time.
You sigh as Sirius Black takes the seat next to you, as usual, with the greatest swagger a drama king and school playboy can muster.
Slughorn wasn't as irritating as all the students described him, but he had a knack for making other people's lives a living hell without even realising it. Including yours.
For example, by giving you Sirius Black as your partner for the rest of your final year at Hogwarts in Potions. It couldn't have been a better end to these classes than mating with the most famous of Marauders.
You glare at the bane of your existence and wrinkle your nose as he pulls a cigarette from his pocket. Again...
"You'll kill yourself with this one day, Black." You mutter defeatedly and take out the necessary textbooks and notes from your bag.
It was a regular part of every class. He would either arrive a moment early with an unfinished cigarette and puff it in your face, or he would deliberately pull one out and light it up, not even to inhale the nicotine, but to make your life miserable right at the start of class.
Asshole. Sometimes you weren't surprised that Regulus didn't want to have any contact with him.
"Better to die from cigarettes than from Death Eaters, Y/L/N." He snaps back at your teasing.
You just nod and pretend not to be bothered by the smoke from his cigarette, which he quickly stubs out when Slughron enters.
The only thing you appreciated about the elder Black was that he didn't ask unnecessary questions. You usually worked in silent, reluctant acceptance of the other's presence, anticipating what the other would need before they could even ask. A harmonious pair at first glance. Something Slughorn loved to comment on.
"If all Slytherins and Gryffindors communicated like Miss Y/L/N and Mr. Black, there wouldn't be such a huge war between these two houses."
Of course not. Because the houses wouldn't speak to each other and would ignore the other's existence.
However, that day, while you were brewing Amortentia, your synchronised cooperation was disrupted.
He was also more talkative today, more irritating, and you had to shush him a few times because you forgot exactly how many teaspoons of powdered substance you had put into the cauldron, which made it take you twice as long to make that damn potion than usual.
You were reaching for a knife to chop one of the potion's ingredients when Sirius decided to move the burner under the cauldron.
"Shit, Black!" You hiss at him angrily and put your burned fingers in your mouth. “Watch where the hell you—” Your silent, furious scolding is cut off when you see the boy’s gaze linger on the bandage on your left forearm, which he could see now that the sleeve of your robe had rolled up a little too much.
Before you can react, he reaches for your hand and tugs at the bandage. Only when he sees the cut on your forearm—a souvenir from a broomstick accident on the pitch—does he sigh with relief, relaxing next to you.
You shift your confused gaze from his hand to his face, and you freeze, staring into his eyes as you realise WHAT he was expecting to see. Sign of the Death Eaters.
The mere thought sends a cold shiver through you.
"I…" He begins, and for the first time you see Sirius Orion Black, the pride of Gryffindor, speechless. He clears his throat and releases your hand, making you slam it against his lap, not expecting him to release you so suddenly. "I just…"
"Did I disappoint your expectations? How sad. Can't you still imagine me as some nasty pure-blood Slytherin? I've shattered your worldview, where all of us want…"
"No." He cuts your outburst off harshly before you can finish. A little too harshly, because it draws the attention of the students at the table closest to yours.
He grabs the first plant he comes across and throws it into the pot in front of you, ignoring the stares of everyone, including yours. You sigh and continue your work.
"I'm glad you don't have that. I… never do that." He mutters suddenly, barely audible.
You blink a few times, staring at him in shock. The tips of his ears turn red as he mixes the potion without meeting your eyes.
"Unfortunately… not all of us have the privilege and the ability to choose… not all of us have a place to escape to." You reply just as quietly and start clearing the table.
Sirius' burning gaze barely leaves you as the room begins to fill with the unpleasant smell of cigarette smoke and fiery whiskey.
"There is always a choice." He speaks stubbornly and tries to grab your hand, but you pull away.
"Do you always talk so damn much, Black? I much more preferred the silent treatment." You sanp as you pour some potion into a vial and go to Slughorn to give it to him for grading so you can finish the lesson.
You don't even go back for your Potions textbook. You just storm out, bag slung over your shoulder and dark thoughts swirling through your head.
You often return to that memory. Especially the way Sirius' eyes followed you until you disappeared behind the classroom door.
And sometimes... in the middle of the night, after a particularly unpleasant mission... you wonder how your life would have turned out if you'd let Black talk to you a little longer... if you hadn't fled the choking smell of cigarettes, gasoline, and firewhiskey.
But you guess running away was in your blood.
Fortunately, you never find out if Regulus has the strength to watch his brother being tortured by the Dark Lord because Sirius escaped.
Sirius Black escaped from the dungeons of the Dark Lord.
If that wasn't proof enough that he was a true Marauder, you didn't know what was.
Death Eaters searched for him all morning, but no one, not even the Dark Lord, managed to locate him. After administering Veritaserum to Regulus—Lord Voldemort couldn't have a traitor in his ranks, after all, and Sirius' escape made Regulus, as his brother, the prime suspect for aiding him—and assuring him that the young Black had nothing to do with it, everyone was sent back to their quarters at Malfoy Manor.
You sigh heavily, taking off your coat and mask and placing them on your desk. You turn to collapse on your bed and try to forget about this terrible day, but you freeze when you see a large, black dog sprawled across your sheets.
The dog, hearing the commotion you were making, perked up his ears and slowly lifted his muzzle to you. His dark eyes stared straight into yours, and for a moment, you felt the world around you stop.
You assessed him, unable to shake the feeling that you saw something... oddly familiar in him. As if he weren't some random large dog that could lunge for your throat at any moment, but something... something undeniably familiar you should not be afraid of.
However, your Death Eater and survival instincts take over.
You instinctively grab the wand strapped to your hips, only to have the black dog growl at you. It wasn't a strong growl. More like a whimper of desperate defense.
You frown and take a step toward your bed, carefully examining the dog before you. You wince when you see blood stains on your sheets and shudder when you realise that his black fur is darker and matted in some spots. This observation allowed you to conclude that you had an injured, large black dog in your bed.
Great. Absolutely normal Wednesday as a Death Eater.
You try to take a step closer, but the dog starts growling again, baring its fangs at you. You sigh and gently lower your wand, which the dog seems to calm down at. For a moment, you stare at it, speechless and motionless, carefully analysing what the hell is happening.
The dog stirs, trying to stand on its two front paws and get up, but it whimpers in pain and collapses onto your bed, exhausted. The sight sends any remaining common sense flying out the window.
"Shhh… calm down buddy… let's patch you up okay?" You speak calmly, hoping that if he can't understand you, he can at least tell from your tone and posture that you mean him no harm.
You sit down gently on the edge of the bed and offer him your hand to sniff. He sniffs painfully and sticks out his tongue—an unusually dry tongue for a dog—and licks you, whining softly. Your heart breaks completely. With your other hand, you gently pat his head and stroke him hesitantly, waiting for any sudden movement on his part that would alert you.
"Okay… cool… we're friends now, right? You won't bite my arm off if I try to help you, right? Good dog. Good boy… or girl." The snort he lets out allows you to assume it's him after all. "Okay… good boy… I'll use my wand to patch you up, okay? What do you say, buddy?" You mumble to yourself and him as you slowly move the wand along him, trying to determine exactly how many wounds this dog has.
You were perfectly aware that the Malfoys… weren't known for caring about anything but themselves. They didn't treat their house elves well, in fact, they took out their anger and frustration on them masterfully, but to beat a dog? To that extent?
You will castrate Lucius at the earliest opportunity.
The dog beneath you trembles slightly—a laugh you're unaware of, just as you were unaware of the fact that you've been speaking your thoughts aloud, while being as shaken as the dog you were treating... or rather, a certain fugitive...
When you're sure the dog won't bleed to death on your bed after bandaging and treating its more serious wounds, you allow yourself to clean the sheets. You cast a spell and place your wand on the nightstand.
The dog fell asleep halfway through your ministrations, resting his large muzzle on your thighs. You had no choice but to gently entwine your hand into the beast's fur and find a more comfortable position. You drift off to sleep, thinking of the mocking remarks Bellatrix would have made if she'd found you in this situation.
You only liked Divination because you could drink a cup of tea in peace and practically get the highest grade for nothing. That's why you didn't put much effort into the class, and when the professor said you could sleep, so that through your dreams, after some special mixture of herbs and spells, you could discover a bit of your past, you were thrilled. Well… almost.
"Black, damn it, stop snoring, you idiot!" You hiss at him and kick him in the ribs. The boy next to you (the bane of your existence, who had decided to start harassing you more than just in Potions and was practically next to you in every class now) groans, not even trying to be discreet.
"Ouch! You also kick your boyfriends like that when they…"
"Mr. Black! Please do not disturb the other students. Dreamreading requires silence and sleep! No talking! Minus 5 points for Gryffindor." The Gryffindors groan silently at this punishment.
"But it's her…"
"Minus another 5!"
"You got what you deserved, Black." You mumble, pulling the blanket tighter around you and trying to fall asleep without Black snoring in your ear like an owl scratching at a window.
"I feel sorry for any poor soul who ends up sleeping next to you."
"When I end up in bed with someone, it's not usually to sleep. But you might not know that it usually doesn't end with 15 minutes and snoring, since that's all you know."
"And this old hag can't hear it anymore? That's unfair." He grumbles when the professor doesn't pick up on your quiet, whispered conversation with him.
You can't help but giggle quietly, covering your smile with a scrap of the blanket, and Sirius smiles involuntarily. His heart beats a beat faster, but this strange new reaction in his body is ignored as…
"Mr. Black! Mrs. Y/L/N! Minus 10 points to Gryffindor and minus 5 to Slytherin!
"For what this time?!" Sirius asks, offended.
"For disturbing others in class. No more chit-chat. You have to sleep! I mean, fall asleep… I mean… oh, you know very well what you can and can't do!"
Your cheeks ache from the way you smile so broadly, and you're glad you're lying with your back to the professor. Sirius, seeing this, covers the lower half of his face with the blanket and lies down again, this time facing you.
You close your eyes and try to fall asleep, but before you can completely drift off, you feel a warm hand reach for yours beneath the blankets. Without opening your eyes, you let your fingers intertwine with theirs. You fall asleep, stroking one of Sirius's rings with the tip of your index finger.
You don't even know when you fall asleep. But when you do, you dream.
You dream of war.
Of Voldemort gaining strength, of you fighting against and with the people you now go to school with. Spells fly around you; you hear screams, shouts, and cries. Blood, lots of blood, and green and red spells hitting everyone but you. And when it's your turn, just as the green Avada flies toward you, the black dog lunges at you. The dog bares its white fangs and is about to lunge at you when...
You wake with a scream, jumping up from your bed as if scalded, ripping your hand from Sirius's. You place it over your frantically beating heart and try to calm yourself by taking several deep breaths, sweat dripping from your forehead, sticking your hair to your skin, which is hot and cold at the same time.
"End of lesson! Everyone leave!" The professor announces, looking at you with concern and interest. "You too, Mr Black and Mr Snape." You don't even notice who stayed up the longest for you before the professor throws everyone out.
All you can do is drink tea from the mug the professor gave you while you were recovering. As you finish your tea, you instinctively look at the tea leaves.
You shiver as they form the shape of a dog from your dream.
The dog stayed with you for a few days. You smuggled him scraps from the kitchen and tended to his wounds until he was fully healed.
He was still wary of you for the first few days, but when he saw how gently you treated him, he seemed to decide to declare you his human. He jumped on you when you returned, licked your face, and growled when he found blood, bruises, and scratches on you from his skirmishes with the Order members. It was nice to have him. You felt… more human… more normal.
It was… strange having him around. Especially when you were returning from a mission like today.
You limped on one leg, alive but bruised. The Order had become bolder in its movements lately—no doubt after you captured one of its mainstays like Black. Or so you thought. Before Potter grabbed you by the lapels of your robes and viciously growled at you to hand over his brother before he unleashed hell on earth.
He escaped with the rest. He didn't know it was you; the masks allowed all of you to maintain the anonymity you needed to survive. But if Sirius Black hadn't returned to them… where could he have been?
You shiver as the dog sits on the bed next to you and licks your face, breaking you out of your thoughts.
"Ugh! I told you not to do that, buddy!" You growl at him and gently push him away. You scorn the smile that involuntarily formed on your lips and pet the dog behind the ears. "I had a long day. I'm not in the mood for licking today." You mumble at which he barks and tilts his head at you as if scolding you.
Before you can say anything to him, you hear quick footsteps and that is your only warning before the door to your room opens.
"I know you just got back, but we have… what the fuck is this?" Bellatrix asks in shock, raising an eyebrow at the dog on your bed. Your heart skips a beat, but you keep a neutral expression, petting the beast on your bed. "I thought you were afraid of dogs?" Your Death Eater mentor comments, stepping deeper into the room and eyeing the black dog warily.
"Weren't you the one who said it was pathetic and childish? I found this mutt on the street. I thought it would be good to get over my fear." You reply, not flinching at her reminder of your… little fear.
Flashes of memories from one of your Divination lessons come back to you. The new teacher Dumbledore hired—you don't even remember her name—was declared mad by the Slytherins on the very first day. But you'll remember one of her predictions forever. The dregs of a black dog, arranged in your cup, foretelling your doom…
"That beast is bigger than any dog I've ever seen. Maybe you can train him to fight those scum from the order." Bellatrix comments and approaches the dog. He growls, baring his fangs as her hand comes close to his fur. The witch pulls away and lets out an animalistic hiss of her own. "Or you could always wring his neck."
"Or watch him fight you. Honestly, I'm not sure which of you would win in a fight of teeth and claws." You comment, getting out of bed and standing in front of her, blocking her view of the dog and interrupting their staring contest as they growled at each other. "What do you want?"
"We're moving to headquarters next week. Gather your things. And do something about that mutt. I doubt the Dark Lord would want that… thing wandering his halls."
The dog on your bed barks furiously at the witch in front of you. You roll your eyes and pat his side reassuringly.
"Don't worry, it's just a... temporary condition. I'll deal with it when the time is right."
"If you need help breaking his neck, you know where to find me." Bella comments with a wicked smirk and gives the animal a hateful look before slamming your door shut and leaving.
You sigh, rolling your eyes at her again. As if you would ever actually consider harming any animal.
The black dog barks at you and rests his front paws on your shoulders. He gives you one long lick on the face, effectively breaking you from your dark thoughts.
"Don't worry, mate. I'm not that cruel. I'd rather break her neck than yours. I'll find you a good home." The dog barks at you and growls a little, using your hand as a chew toy—clearly disagreeing with your proposal. "You'll be better off than with a Death Eater." You comment, amused, with a sad smile as you realise what will happen after you move into headquarters.
You'll get a mark. The whole Death Eater package.
A cold shiver runs through you as you remember what Regulus' initiation was like…
You only realize you're crying when the dog whines and licks the tears from your face. You give him a pained smile and nuzzle your nose into his black fur, holding him tighter.
You fall asleep into a dreamless sleep. You've never felt so blissful.
A week later, your situation is… surprising, to say the least.
After dropping off your black dog at the door of one of your old friends from Hogwarts who wasn't on either side of the war, you thought you'd have a straightforward path to earning the Death Eater mark. You were wrong. Very wrong.
You were struggling in your bonds in one of the Order of the Phoenix headquarters. You'd gotten caught. Like some stupid rookie. Now you could either switch sides and hope they wouldn't hand you over to Azkaban after all, or you could hope they'd lose, which you didn't really want. You preferred to pay with your freedom rather than the lives of thousands.
You had no illusions that any of the Death Eaters would come to your aid. Except maybe Regulus. But you doubted anyone would.
One mission. One stupid mission. It was supposed to be quick and simple. You wonder how they even found out about it. They must have had a spy in their ranks. A very well-hidden spy who had access to all information and plans the Dark Lord made—even the most secret ones.
You shiver with cold. You close your eyes and sigh quietly, resting your forehead on your knees. And then you feel something cold and sticky on your ankle. You shudder and look up, meeting a large black dog. Impossible. You've given him away…
The dog approaches you, tail wagging slightly. He places his paws on your thighs and licks your cheek. You snort, trying to pull your face away from him, but he seems tireless in his attempts to clean the dried blood from you. At least those in the order treated their prisoners before locking them up.
"Yes, yes, I'm glad to see you too, but stop licking me. Looks like the tables have turned, huh?" The dog barks—not fiercely, but in that friendly, goofy way of his. You smile as he climbs off you and plays with the ropes on your wrists.
He bites your ropes, freeing you. For a moment, you instinctively feel the urge to fight or flee, but you quickly give up. A needless waste of strength and energy. They would have caught you anyway. And even if they hadn't, the Death Eaters would have caught you, peered into your mind, and seen you helping Sirius, and by then you'd surely be dead.
You sigh and massage your free wrists, staring at the dog and wondering how the hell he got here.
A riddle for another time. Right now you needed sleep.
"Hey buddy… you're awfully warm." You mumble and burrow your face into the animal's fur, clinging to it as if it were a blanket. "Shall we lie here for a while? It'll be warmer for both of us." You mumble, and the dog whines softly, as if in agreement, as he settles down next to you, blocking the cold air.
You sigh and allow yourself to fall asleep… at least for a while.
"Padfoot? What are you doing here?" You reluctantly wake up after a few hours of sleep, with Lupin and Potter hovering over you.
The dog next to you yawns, whining as he sees the two men looming over you. He stands in front of you and barks at them when they try to get close to you, but allows himself to be petted by Lupin when he reaches behind his ear.
"Your dog?" You ask the Marauders as Potter cleverly avoids the dog and approaches you.
Padfoot, as it turns out, immediately runs up to him and jumps on him, knocking them both to the floor. He barks and wags his tail like crazy, then returns to your side and tucks his head between your arm and leg to rest his muzzle on your thigh, keeping a watchful eye on the men before you as you are still sitting on the floor.
"You could say so. Yes... he's a... very wolfish dog, if you know what I mean. He definitely prefers the company of women. Traitor." Potter mumbles, getting up from the floor and rubbing his sacrum.
The dog barks happily as you reach out to pet him, slightly confusing the Marauders when they see you're not tied up anymore.
"Get up. You are being drawn into the ranks of the order. Welcome to the light side of the force." Potter says jokingly and throws your wand at you.
Padfoot catches it easily and tosses it into your lap, staring at you expectantly, as if waiting for some reward. You wince, touching the tip of your wand to a spot not covered in drool from the black dog, and mutter a cleaning charm.
"Wait, what? Are you crazy? Is this some kind of joke?" You ask after a moment, when it actually dawns on you what they're doing. Pads stands up and nudges your shoulder with his head, as if encouraging you to get up.
"Let's say that... there are people who still care about you and who have stood up for you." You scowl suspiciously, remembering that you used the exact same excuse when helping Sirius in the Malfoy dungeons that time. You hesitantly rise from the ground and observe the two Marauders.
"Black?"
"Yes. He told us you helped him escape. Well done. I owe you my adopted brother's life." The black dog barks and runs up to James. It nudges his knee with its nose and runs out of the cell where you were held, pretending to be offended. "And Padfoot's… I guess."
You nod, laughing in disbelief. You're on the side of the Order? Regulus will gut you when he finds you.
"Come on, Y/L/N. It's not that hard. Don't you Slytherins and former Death Eaters have a single fond memory? Is your life that boring and sad?" The longer Black serves as your mentor in the world of the righteous, honest men and women of the Order of the Phoenix, the more you think about escaping.
It's possible Regulus would have given you shelter at Grimmauld Place, but with your luck, the elder Black would have found you there too. The damned thing was good at finding you.
He used Padfoot for it. The moment the dog found you in your hiding place, Sirius would have jumped around the corner, literally a second after the Marauder's pet vanished. The little traitor was lucky he was adorable. Otherwise, you would have long since stopped giving him treats and petting him in his favourite spots.
"No, but I can show you some curses if you're that interested, Black."
"Not in front of the baby, please!" Evans-Potter shouts from the kitchen as you and Sirius sit in the Potters' living room. You roll your eyes and glance out of the corner of your eye at the newborn in the crib.
"Come on, little snake. One fond memory. Maybe from our Potions classes?"
"I thought a Patronus was evoked by a happy memory, not a waking nightmare." Sirius snorts in offense, and a small laugh comes from Harry's crib. A smirk spreads across your face. Ha. At least the kid was on your side.
"I can always give you a memory worth remembering upstairs in my bedroom if it helps you, honey."
"Uncle Pads is worse with Auntie Y/N than I was with your mom, did you know that Harry?" Potter's voice booms from behind you, making you jump slightly in surprise – much to Sirius' amusement.
All these weeks with them, and the Marauders always managed to sneak up on you. You begin to understand why Dumbledore recruited them all into the Order as his spies.
"Not his aunt."
"Excuse me, I'm doing just fine with our former Death Eater. Right, sweetheart?" Sirius and you respond at the same time to James' taunt as he enters the living room to play with his kid.
You shake your head, making Potter laugh and getting punched in the side by Black, but you're laughing too hard at him to care about the small tingle of pain from where he gently punched you.
"Technically she wasn't a Death Eater." Remus comments, entering the living room with the Daily Prophet in hand. "And if you understand the banter you often engaged in at Hogwarts and now as flirting, then you could say that you are actually worse at it than James."
Remus tosses the newspaper into your lap, and you quickly scan the list of recently captured Death Eaters. You breathe a sigh of relief when you don't see Regulus name.
"Everyone's against me. Do you even remember that you're my friends and not hers? Where's the devotion? Where's the loyalty? Where's the honour?" Sirius mutters under his breath, clutching his heart dramatically. He frowns when he sees you completely ignore him. He brushes aside the pitying look James gives him and leans in to be in your view. "Hello. We're in the middle of class. Leave those newspapers and focus on being a member of the Order, not a Death Eater, or I'll put you under detention. Besides, who are you checking up on? Are you worried about Snivellus' fate?"
"Your brother, actually. And it's Severus, not Snivellus. We're not at Hogwarts anymore, Black, so maybe you'd stop this pointless tormenting of his."
"Whatever. One more time, Y/N. A fond memory. You go, sweetie."
"I think Lupin would be a better teacher. At least he wouldn't be constantly inciting murder instincts in me. That certainly prevents me from summoning a Patronus, doesn't it, Remus?"
The man shakes his head with a laugh and holds up his hands. "I wouldn't dare steal his role," he says, nodding at Sirius. You snort at their brotherly pact and, ignoring Black's protests, sit down next to Remus with wand in hand.
"Come on, Moony. You're my only hope." You say, enjoying the way you're teasing Sirius with just a feeble request for help from his friend. Potter laughs and walks around the room with Harry in his hands, watching the three of you with a smirk on his face.
Using Lupin's Marauder nickname works to your advantage. You see him decide to defer to you and somehow respect the strange bond of camaraderie that's beginning to form between you. He sits up straighter and turns to focus his gaze completely on you.
"Okay. Let's try. Close your eyes. Take a few deep breaths. Try to clear your mind."
"From everything except me, honey." Sirius adds, then gasps in shock as you blindly hit him with a pillow.
He rolls onto his back, causing Potter to burst into loud laughter. In the background, you hear them struggling, James shouting something about holding a child in his arms and being untouchable, but you somehow tune out the thought, just as Remus advised.
Your mind goes through any pleasant memories and somehow, involuntarily, you stop at one particular thing.
"You're avoiding me." You shiver slightly as you hear his voice beside you, sitting alone by the lakeside.
You continue to lie on the grass and soak up the sun, completely ignoring him and hoping he would just go away if you did not give him any attention. Only when he stands over you, blocking the sun's rays from reaching your face with his head, do you open your eyes. And for a moment, you freeze as you see the sun form a halo around his head, reminiscent of an angel.
But Sirius Black was anything but a saintly angel sent to redeem you. Although – considering how he acted lately – he probably considered it a point of honour to make you a good member of the Order.
"Is this avoiding you when we don't have a common group of friends and opportunities to hang out?" You ask, rolling over to a spot out of his shadow.
"Well, now we have it. A common group, I mean. You're one of us."
"I'm the devil in disguise." You mutter, smiling evilly, and close your eyes again.
"I think you're more of a demon…" Black snorts and lands on the grass next to you, playing with a blade of grass.
You don't react to his taunt. You lie there, hearing the distant laughter of the Potters and their child. Their safe home has become one of your favorite places. Not because of the humans.
"You didn't answer my question…"
"Technically you never asked a question, so…"
"Have you Slytherins been taught to give sarcastic replies since your first year at Hogwarts?" He groans and rolls onto his side to get a better view of you as you snort, amused by his comment. You bite your lip to keep from laughing and shake your head, tucking your arm under the back of your neck.
"It's just an innate trait. Without it, you won't qualify to be one of us."
A strange silence follows your words – Sirius Black thinks. At first, you found it absurdly funny—that when he was thinking hard about something, he would fall silent and frown in that thoughtful way, focusing his gaze into the distance or unabashedly on the object of his contemplation. At first. Now, it began to terrify you as you mentally recorded small details about him.
"Do you ever think about… you now... going back to them?"
Here it is. The question of the year. The question you've been asking yourself for days now. You told yourself you had no choice, that joining the Order was the only option, because Voldemort (no longer the Dark Lord) would kill you the moment you returned from their captivity and he learnt everything he needed from you.
But you knew perfectly well you could have apparated away from them and escaped whenever you wanted. They gave you your wand back, they gave you shelter, everything you never allowed yourself to even dream of. Everything you thought you didn't need or deserve.
"Is this some kind of fidelity test of yours? It's pretty weak, to be honest…"
"Oh, sorry, should I ask you to kill someone on our behalf first, or should I just go straight to marking you?"
"I'm afraid you wouldn't use ink at all for this marking." You answer before you can even stop yourself. Damn it. You weren't supposed to flirt with him.
You glance quickly at Sirius and sigh as you see the mischievous glint in his eyes. Damn it. You gave the Marauder permission to show off and tease you (as if Sirius ever needed permission).
"Very likely… You must admit, however, that this would be… a much more pleasant form of marking. For both of us."
"Do you do that to every member of the order?"
"Just former Death Eaters I was stuck with for a year on potions."
You smile involuntarily, turning your head to look at him, ready to throw another sarcastic remark at him, but it catches in your throat when you get a chance to properly examine him.
Strands of his hair fall unruly across his forehead, tangled with the long grass behind you, as if he were rolling in it. His eyes sparkle with both sunlight and a glint of joy, and his absurdly wide, genuine smile, untainted by any of the playfulness or teasing that was his trademark, makes the corners of your mouth involuntarily curl up, shyly mirroring the same smile he gives you.
"You know… you weren't the worst Slytherin after all." His fingers gently brush the back of your hand.
Uh-oh, I'm fallin' in love
No... no... damn it, no. You couldn't afford that. You clear your throat, but just as you're about to pull your hand away from his to stop the burning sensation where your skin touches, he intertwines his fingers with yours.
"Actually… I think I can safely say you were my favorite Slytherin."
Oh no, I'm fallin' in love again
"Are you under Imperius?" You ask in a whisper, swallowing hard.
You don't even know why you're mumbling conspiratorially. As if you're afraid to break whatever sanctity this moment holds between you. No. It wasn't a moment at all. You were just teasing each other, as usual.
Your thoughts are interrupted by Sirius's loud, barking laughter, and any remnants of your sanity are shattered as he reaches up to gently pluck some grass lint from your hair. His hand gently moves from your hair, caresses your cheek, and rests it gently on your neck, his fingertips brushing against your jawline.
"I wish," he murmurs, his grey eyes moving from your irises to your lips. Oh, dear Salazar. You can't even admit to yourself how much you wanted craved the same thing he did.
He moves closer to you, his nose brushing against yours, and a shiver runs down your spine as you feel his shaky breath so close to your lips.
“Sirius! Y/N! Dinner!” Evans-Potter shouts, interrupting whatever you were about to do. You stand up first, brushing off the dirt (and the feeling of Black’s hands on you) and practically running back inside the house. You turn to look at him only once. One time too many.
Oh, I'm fallin' in love
"Oh fuck, Y/N! You did it!" Sirius shouts excitedly, snapping you out of your little memory.
You swallow the embarrassment in your throat, realising how pathetic your situation truly is, as your patronus, the black dog that has been your frequent companion lately, starts running around the living room.
You loved Sirius Black. You really loved Sirius Fucking Black.
Your patronus 'licks' your hands and disappears, leaving you alone with the mess it made. As usual.
"Padfoot! Magic! Padfoot, magic!" You frown as Harry cries out, reaching for Sirius and demanding another show.
Black stares at his godson with fear in his eyes, his face immediately turned pale as a sheet and he froze like a marble statue. He glances at you... and then it clicks in your brain.
Padfoot only appeared when Sirius wasn't there. ALWAYS.
Son of a bitch.
"I know what it looks like… but you can't kill me because… because I'm your soulmate and we have the same patronuses!!" He makes up an idea on the spot and claps his hands, giving you that shitty, smug grin of his.
"Oh, you're about to be my very DEAD soulmate soon." You growl furiously and are about to cast a spell at him (or hex him; you were not exactly sure which one of those) when he lunges forward and snatches the wand from your hands. With his teeth. Like a dog.
"Black! What the hell are you—" You gasp as he cups both of your cheeks in his hands and leans closer to you, giving you a second or two to pull away from him, which you pathetically refuse to take advantage of, before he presses his lips against yours.
The next second you're sliding off the couch and landing on his lap, holding onto his shoulders tightly as you make sure you don't lose your balance and accidentally tear your lips away from his.
The Marauders get the hint and leave the two of you alone. You can then enjoy the feeling of Sirius's hands on you, the gentle way he caresses your scalp with his fingers, and the way his mouth simply takes complete control of you.
"Perhaps in your newly found grace after joining us… you'll consider not killing me?" He asks breathlessly as you pull away. You giggle involuntarily, feeling his fingers gently run over the skin of your waist.
"You're lucky you're a cute dog."
“Really lucky, I agree.” He mumbles and cups your cheek in his hand, diving forward and making you lean back against the couch with him on top of you.
Maybe the black dog wasn't a bad omen to you after all...
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Pairing: Sirius Black x fem!Ravenclaw! reader; mentioned: Sirius x Marlene, Regulus x reader, Lily x James
Summary: Marlene was in love with Sirius. Sirius was in love with you. You were with Regulus, but you'd had a crush on Sirius since first year at Hogwart. Everything went wrong one night.
My babbling: Okay, so this is my first oneshot after a long break. I hope you like it!
Sirius Black's Masterlist~•♤♤♤•~ Main Masterlist
"Why do you want Felix Felicis anyway?" James asks as they rummage through Slughorn's supplies.
The bespectacled man blows the dust off the tiny bottles and holds one under Remus' nose. Moony shakes his head, searching his assigned corner of Slughorn's stash.
"Let's just say I'm going to need a lot of luck soon. And I can't wait six months for Moony to do this potion, because I'll lose my only chance at... doing something." Sirius mutters, searching carefully through the vials and phials for the potion he needed.
"Padfoot… what the hell are you planning?" James asks, stopping his search and raising a suspicious eyebrow at his friend.
"Guys, faster. Slughorn will be back from the dinner any minute." Peter urges them, nervously peering out into the hallway from behind James' invisibility cloak.
"I… I'm going to hit on Y/N with this." Sirius admits under Prongs' persistent gaze, rubbing his neck in embarrassment.
"What? Like Y/N? Like Y/N from Ravenclaw? Like Y/N your brother's girlfriend? Like pureblood Y/N who is soon to be your brother's fiancée through an arranged marriage planned by your psychopathic parents? THAT Y/N?" James asks in complete shock, wide-eyed at his best friend.
"Do you know any other Y/Ns he hasn't shut up about lately?" Moony comments unfazed and hands Sirius the potion he has been so dramatically begging for over a month.
"Thanks, Moony. Yes, that Y/N." Sirius says, hiding the potion in his Gryffindor uniform and leaving Slughorn's storage room as if nothing had happened.
James blinks a few times and places the tray of glass vials on the ground with a clatter. Remus sighs as he picks vials up and puts them back, making sure to leave the storage unit intact, and follows lazily after his friends.
"But Padfoot... that's not how it's done, you... you can't steal your brother's girlfriend! However shitty he is!" James shouts in shock, catching up to Sirius. The black-haired boy sighs, listening to James' scolding, cursing in his thoughts Evans for moralising his Prongs. "This is going to be the drama of the year. What am I saying? DECADE. This is going to be the drama of the decade! She'll curse you, or your brother will, or they both will hex you. Did you even sit down and think about what you are about to do?!"
"No, but Marlene opened my eyes."
"What the hell? And what does Marlene have to do with this?" James asks, surprised, finally catching up with Sirius and standing in front of him, demanding an explanation.
Sirius sighs and shoves his hands in his pockets. He looks around the corridor, and after making sure only Remus, James, and Peter are around him, he takes out a pack of cigarettes and lights one.
"A week ago, Marlene told me she had feelings for me."
"Great. Awesome. Marlene's single, pretty, a Gryffindor like us, and Lily's friends with her... oh shit. Lily's friends with her... please tell me you didn't go and break Marlene's heart." James groans, realising what a row his girlfriend will throw at him if Sirius actually rejected Marlene's feelings.
"Uh… you know, Prongs…" Sirius mutters, taking a deep drag on his cigarette. Remus snorts and pats him on the back, leaning against the wall next to him.
"You are such an idiot... Okay, but that still doesn't make sense. So, please explain to me how exactly you ended up looking for Liquid Luck to win your brother's girlfriend. Oh and Peter take off that cloak, we know damn well Filch only comes patrolling these parts after midnight."
"But it's already after midnight..." Peter mutters from beneath the invisibility cloak.
"Really? Fuck. Okay. Let's go back to our dorm. And you are going to tell us everything there, Pads. Every single detail."
"There's nothing to say." Sirius finishes his cigarette and throws it out the half-open window. "It's just that Marlene made me realise that... that sometimes it's actually better to know right away if you have a chance, rather than stay in this... state I was in when my idiot brother brought her home for Christmas. I... I'm crazy about her, Prongs. And if the only way, besides actually being with her, to forget her is to break what's left of my fucked-up heart, then I guess it's worth a try."
"This is going to be messy, Sirius." James warns him, not supporting his idea one bit.
"I've always liked mess." Sirius shrugs and joins James and Peter under the cloak, leaving only Remus – their prefect and representative part of the Marauders – to walk beside them and supposedly patrol the corridors. "Besides, if she says no, it will only be more motivation for me to run away from my family and never see them again. Because I won't survive becoming her brother-in-law."
"But why do you need Liquid Luck if you want to know her true feelings for you?"
"It's for me… for courage… I figured it would be better than if I devour firewhiskey and drunkenly went to confess my feelings to her." Sirius replies shyly and awkwardly rubs his hand against the back of his neck.
"Wait, was Marlene drunk when she said she loved you?"
"You'd know if you didn't make out with Lily at every break and party, Prongs." Sirius snorts and runs amusedly to their common room to escape the angry James.
"You little…" The bespectacled man rips off his invisibility cloak and follows Sirius.
Remus sighs and grabs the cloak from the floor, hiding underneath it with Peter, giggling as James got caught by Filch.
You were sitting in the Gryffindor common room, revising for your Potions exam with Evans. Although the redhead wasn't a pureblood, she turned out to be quite decent when it came to being Slughorn's class partner.
You and her sat with your books for quite a while, completely oblivious to the Marauders tactically leading several people out of the common room, helping Sirius with his grand plan to confess his feelings to you.
It was only when the clock struck midnight that you and Lily decided to call it a day. Or rather, her very new boyfriend decided it.
"Oh come on, Lils. I'm sure you know everything already. Come to my dorm for a minute," he mumbles against her hair, embracing her from behind.
The redhead snorts, trying to shrug off the boy's arms, but when she glances at her watch, she decides it's not a bad idea after all.
“Okay. But only because I want cuddles.” She replies and gathers her things. “Thank you for today, Y/N. I hope tomorrow goes well.” She nods at you and is pulled away by James.
You sigh, a little envious of her closeness and honesty with her boyfriend, and begin to gather your things, reflecting on your relationship with Regulus.
Reggie and you were... an odd couple. You'd known each other since childhood and been friends for a very long time, and your relationship... you could say it grew out of the need to find a decent pureblood partner. You weren't a real boyfriend and girlfriend, or at least it didn't feel the way it should.
"Hi, Y/N. Do you have a moment?" Sirius asks, entering the common room.
You eye your boyfriend's brother and nod uncertainly, still gathering your things, not quite sure what he could be wanting from you.
Your relationship with Sirius was… fine. That might have been a good word if you didn't actually have a certain crush on him. Sirius was… definitely the kind of guy you don't date or flirt with unless you want a one-night stand.
He wasn't interested in relationships, didn't give a damn what his parents thought, and certainly didn't adhere to your families' pureblood ideology. He was a rebel, and his appearance made that clear.
Black leather jacket, eyeliner, black nails, and a plethora of piercings on his ears (and apparently in other places his clothes hid, if the stories were to be believed). And the latest addition: tattoos. As if he couldn't be any more appealing, every teenage girl's dream come true. Literally, the rebellious boy straight out of every romantic comedy.
And you truly would have been much better off if you had never met the real Sirius, if that slight infatuation with his appearance had ended there, and if you had never seen the true face of the former Black heir behind that mask of his. Because the truth was, Sirius was much more than he let other people see. He was loyal to death, too brave for his own good, wise in the fields of study that interested him, and caring for those he truly considered close to him.
So yes. You fell foolishly for him. The brother of your potential fiancé and husband. Disinherited, without wealth or name, but with a heart so big it compensated for all his flaws.
"Um... yeah, sure. Sorry, I was still thinking about that damn potion exam." You mumble and giggle, trying to hide your embarrassment after staring at him stupidly for a long moment. "How can I help you?"
"I… wanted to talk to you… can I?" He nods at the pillow on the floor next to you.
"Sirius, you don't have to ask my permission for literally everything."
“Um, yeah, sure.” He laughs nervously. You frown, watching him as he rubs his hand against his neck. “So… potions. How are you feeling about tomorrow?”
"Nervous, to be honest. I hope Slughorn doesn't give anything as difficult as last month's test."
"Please, you'll smash it. You always do. Only Snivellus sometimes gets better grades than you, but that's because he has no life, no friends, and keeps his slimy nose buried in books."
"Are you aware that I'm a Ravenclaw and that's literally the definition of us?"
"You're a fun Ravenclaw, an honorary friend of Gryffindor, and that changes everything."
You laugh, shaking your head at him in disbelief. Sirius just shrugs, giving you one of his smirks. You try very hard not to blush and avert your gaze to the fire burning in the fireplace.
“So…” He clears his throat and shifts in his seat as if he can't sit still – which is very possible, considering Sirius is the embodiment of chaos and unbridled energy. “How are things going with my little brother?”
"Oh no, don't tell me you're going to give me one of those break his heart and I'll hunt you and your entire family down to the last generation talks?"
"No, I... no. I'm not close enough to Reggie to do that." He laughs bitterly, trying to lighten the mood, but you can see in his eyes that he's far from amused. Mainly because his eyes, usually lit with mischief, are... strangely semi-present. "I... does he treat you well?"
"Oh… so you want to play the role of MY brother and intimidate him?"
"No! Merlin, this isn't how it was supposed to be… I… I just… I wonder if he's giving you what you deserve?"
"And... what exactly do you mean by that?" You ask, confused, firstly because this is probably the first time in your life you've seen Sirius Black nervous, and secondly because you're not entirely sure where this strange midnight conversation is heading.
"I... you know... does he respect you? Support you? Help you? Is he able to be there for you in both the bad times and the good ones? Does he realise how bloody lucky he is to have you? Like... does he know that you're literally the smartest witch of our age, and I'm not saying that because you're a Ravenclaw and you're a good student. You... you always know what to do, what to say to lift someone's spirits, and you help everyone around you, pulling them out of the worst shit without expecting anything in return. I... I want to know if he appreciates what he has. Because if he doesn't..."
"If he doesn't?" You whisper, your voice trembling with the emotion he just poured out.
Sirius takes one calming breath and gently takes your hands in his. With the pad of his thumb, he traces patterns across the skin of your palm. You swallow nervously, your gaze momentarily dropping to your joined hands, and suddenly you feel so nervous, like you're about to pour your heart out at him. As if this was a moment that would change your life forever… or maybe it was?
"Because if he doesn't… then I believe... I know that I could treat you better."
"I… that's a bold assumption."
"I am a Gryffindor. We live on bold assumptions and foolish, overly bold confessions and declarations."
He's trying to joke, and under normal circumstances you would have snorted at the joke, but right now... your brain is too busy processing the fact that he might actually see you as more than just a friend, his brother's girlfriend. As if... he might actually want you.
So you sit there in silence, broken only by the crackling of the fire. The heat radiating from the fire makes you blush even more under Sirius' gaze.
"The fact that you're not trying to hex me or to throw me out of this tower yet gives me hope, so if you're planning on gently rejecting me… just do it. You don't need to soften that blow."
"No, I..." You shake your head and swallow nervously, laughing. "I don't really know what to say."
"I... I know you weren't ready to... hear this, but... Y/N... I really care about you. And this isn't some game or prank, I... I truly, irrevocably, undeniably, maybe even madly... like you. More than I should, considering the circumstances, but... how could I not, when you're... yourself."
"I... I very... I... I feel that too. I like you, I really do..." You say with a breaking voice, unconsciously tightening your grip on his hands.
"But?" He asks, noticing that the tone of your voice - that slight tremor that usually didn't mean anything good - and the pained, guilty expression in your eyes didn't exactly portend good news.
"But… Sirius… your brother… I… he doesn't deserve… I… don't look at me like that."
"How?"
"Like I was your whole world. Or like you wanted to kiss me."
"Both true." He mumbles and untangles his hand from your grip. Your heart breaks at the thought of him pulling away from you, but Sirius does exactly the opposite.
He moves closer to you, so you're both kneeling opposite each other, and he gently cups your cheek in his hand. You let out a soft, shaky sigh as he smooths the pad of his thumb over your skin, gazing into your eyes with such intensity that for a moment you forget why being near him isn't such a good idea.
And then, the moment you want to reprimand him or make any reasonable, decent decision to increase the distance between you, he leans down and presses a kiss to your forehead. Just like that. As if it were completely natural between you and good Merlin above, the feeling of his kiss pressed against your forehead, right where all your dark thoughts about how bad what he's doing right now are swirling, doesn't feel as awful and forbidden as it should.
If his proximity, nor the touch of his plump, house-red lips, hadn't already sent your head spinning, his next words completely blew your mind out the windows of Gryffindor Tower.
"Just tell me to stop. To leave. Godric knows how hard this will be, but one word from you... one word from you, and I won't even mention how you make me feel ever again." You hold your breath as he presses another kiss, this time to your left temple. He brushes his nose against your skin and whispers in your ear: "I will not mention how much I long to kiss your lips whenever you correct my spells. I will not mention how I sit in this common room at night, staring into the fire and wishing I could tell you everything I feel for you, everything I would do for you, and how completely you have taken possession of my very being, my mere existence, beginning with my thoughts and ending with my body, my soul – the remnants of what was left of my fucked-up heart and mind. But if... if even the smallest part of you feels that overwhelming sense of belonging, that magnetic pull as if your soul were calling out to mine, singing a song that had haunted me my whole life... then please, please, don't make me go. Because Merlin is my witness, for the first time in my life, I feel like I'm exactly where I belong."
His confession steals your breath. You're unable to form any logical response, your brain completely drowned out by the pleas of your fluttering heart to lean in and cross the chasm between you, the unspoken boundary once and for all, breaking other people's hearts in the process. But how could something that felt so good be so wrong?
"I… I am promised to your brother."
"Yet you should be mine. We both know it." He responds to your weak protest and tilts your head back gently, connecting your lips with his.
You moan as you feel him kiss you tenderly, his hands, slightly roughened from playing Quidditch and working on the motorcycle, pulling you towards him, making you land on his lap, straddling him as he tries to press you as close to him as possible - as if he could secure his claim over you by merging the two of you into one being.
You lose yourself completely in him. In the way he gently strokes your back, pressing you even closer to him. You tangle your hands in his black curls and moan softly into his mouth, allowing him to deepen the kiss.
You only break apart when you're gasping for air, and only for a brief moment, just to look into each other's eyes and listen to your quickened breaths and heartbeats, just to reassure yourself that this is real, that this isn't some fantasy of yours or a figment of your imagination or the deepest desires of your heart, but a beautiful, wondrous, dangerous reality where your feelings are mutual. So you lean in and brush your lips against his, teasing him like he has been doing all this time you've known him. He responds with a deep, hungry moan of your name before capturing your lips in a hard, intense kiss, once again cutting you off from the outside world.
Your heart is pounding, there's a strange buzzing in your ears, you feel like your body and soul are in two completely different places, and you don't know where it would all have gone if the sudden crash of books falling to the floor hadn't torn the two of you apart.
"Oh." Marlene McKinnon mumbles in shock, staring at you and Sirius with wide eyes. You climb off his lap as if scalded. Sirius clears his throat awkwardly and runs a hand through his hair—which, a second earlier, you were tugging at to angle his head better. "I... I see I'm interrupting you... although this is really weird. I didn't know that from now on, a brother's girlfriend automatically becomes the other's property. Since when do you follow the "it all stay in the family" rule, Sirius?"
"Marlene is… not what she looks like. I mean…"
"Of course! Because you didn't turn me down because you have a crush on your brother's girlfriend!" Marlene laughs mockingly, turning her furious gaze from Sirius to you. "It was to be expected from him, he's a known whore of this castle, but I thought you had any principles or morals. But I guess all of you purebloods are just as fucked up and pitiable as the other. One brother wasn't enough for you? You had to throw yourself at Sirius too?"
"I... I believe I should go." You mumble, gathering your books in a hurry, not even checking if you had everything, just wanting to get out of there as fast as you can.
"Y/N, wait..."
You ignore Sirius' call after you and brush past Marlene in the aisle. You practically run to Ravenclaw Tower, replaying the entire conversation and the disastrous kiss in your head. No. Not disastrous. The best of your life. And that was really your biggest problem.
You fell in love with your boyfriend's brother. And Marlene was right, you were a terrible bitch. A whore. A homewrecker, though you weren't sure that was the right word for it, considering the Blacks were already messed up from the start, but that kiss a few minutes ago completely destroyed any chance of Sirius and Regulus ever reconciling and being brothers again.
Summary: the progression of your relationship with Peter Parker aka Spiderman :))
CW: unedited, sibling behaviour, vigilantism, comic peter intended (Amazing Spiderman run) but you can imagine any you'd like (i smushed the academic thing in here from Tom Holland's spider-man i loved the premise)
You and Peter first met through academic competitions between Gotham Academy and Midtown.
Debate club, decathlons, science competitions, the whole academic weapon lineup.
The first thing Peter noticed about you was how terrifyingly smart you were.
The first thing you noticed about Peter was that he apologised to inanimate objects.
“Did you just say sorry to the chair.”
“I hit it kinda hard.”
You became friends stupidly fast.
Mostly because you were two insanely intelligent people who genuinely enjoyed learning.
Study sessions with Peter became your favourite thing without you realising.
You’d spend HOURS together at libraries, cafés, Wayne Enterprises labs, or sprawled across his bedroom floor.
Peter gets SO excited studying with you.
Like this man is giggling because you understand his chemistry references.
“WAIT, you know what molecular orbital hybridisation is?”
“Peter, I’m literally top of my chemistry class.”
“…I think I’m in love with you.”
“What?”
“What?”
The both of you are very “parallel play” coded too.
Sometimes you’re not even talking.
Peter’s building something at your desk while you annotate essays beside him.
Comfortable silence.
The kind that feels domestic before you’re even dating.
Peter tries SO hard to hide being Spider-Man from you.
Keyword: tries.
Meanwhile you’re literally Nightingale.
The amount of suspicious things this man does is INSANE.
Peter disappears randomly CONSTANTLY.
“Peter where are you going.”
“Bathroom.”
“You brought your backpack.”
“…Emergency bathroom?”
He also has the worst excuses imaginable.
“Why are you bleeding.”
“Lab accident.”
“Peter you’re holding web fluid.”
“…Science accident”
"Whatever let me help you at least"
You start putting pieces together frighteningly quickly.
The reflexes.
The bruises.
Spider-Man suddenly appearing in Gotham more often (he knows he shouldn't swing to your house but he didn't think anyone would catch him what a flop)
Peter catching things before they fall without looking.
One time he literally catches YOU mid-fall without thinking.
Then spends ten minutes panicking because he reacted too fast.
Meanwhile Peter is ALSO catching onto you being Nightingale or some sort of superhero.
You move too quietly.
Know too much about vigilante activity.
Randomly vanish during emergencies.
Have combat reflexes no civilian should possess.
The mutual identity denial is genuinely hilarious
But you do both tell each other you're heroes , and it was actually a good thing because not only are your joint patrols are very fun, you two bond over hero life, and you can cover for each other in times of crisis.
So in a way, revealing your identities got you two closer.
May LOVES you.
Like immediately.
Peter mentions you ONCE and suddenly May’s asking questions.
The first time you visit their apartment, May basically adopts you instantly.
You help cook dinner and suddenly she’s emotionally attached forever.
“You never help me chop vegetables.”
“Because you almost cut your finger off last time, Peter.”
“THAT HAPPENED ONCE.”
Peter watches in horror as his aunt likes you more than him
“So when is Y/N coming over again?”
“May.”
“She’s lovely.”
“May.”
“Do you like her? Because I think she's a dear”
“MAY.”
May absolutely starts referring to you like family before you’re even dating.
“Tell Y/N I said hello!”
“May we're literally just friends.”
“Mhm.”
Your family notices SOMETHING is happening.
They just don’t realise it’s Peter.
Nothing really changes after you start dating.
Duke is the first sibling to physically SEE you together.
Midtown’s debate team comes to Gotham and Duke spots you and Peter sitting together between rounds sharing fries and laughing over something on his phone.
Peter looks at you a lot.
Duke notices IMMEDIATELY. “…Oh, somebody got game.”
He doesn’t say anything though because honestly?
He thinks it’s funny.
Duke also notices Peter leaves things in your car.
Hoodie.
Water bottle.
Stark Industries pen.
A physics textbook with his name written inside.
“Why does your car look like a Midtown locker room?”
“Mind your business Duke”
Tim catches you and Spider-Man together during patrol one night.
Perched on a rooftop.
Sharing takeout.
Spider-Man’s mask rolled halfway up and you give him a kiss.
Tim just slowly backs away. “…I saw nothing.”
Tim ABSOLUTELY knows.
But he refuses to snitch because the blackmail potential is too valuable.
He had a hunch when you did a smash or pass round and you went smash for spider-man
Damian notices Peter before anyone else notices your behaviour.
Specifically because Peter keeps showing up at the manor, without anyone driving him.
Usually when Bruce, Dick, and Jason aren’t there.
Coincidentally when YOU are home.
Damian is deeply suspicious.
Peter is TERRIFIED of Damian.
Like genuinely terrified.
“Why does your little brother stare at me like that.”
"Wait which one?"
"Damian."
“Oh that’s just his face.”
“I think he wants me dead.”
"That’s actually improvement.”
Damian eventually finds out completely by accident.
Peter swings into your room through the window one night, full Spiderman gear, expecting you.
Only to be met with Damian, who is sitting on your bed reading.
Silence.
Absolute horrible silence.
“…You're not Y/N.”
“…No.”
Peter immediately tries leaving through the window again.
Damian throws a batarang into the wall beside his head.
“SIT.”
Damian threatens him for approximately twenty minutes straight.
Full assassin interrogation style.
"What intentions do you have with my sister?"
Meanwhile Peter is sweating through the Spider-Man suit.
Then you walk in.
Pause.
See Peter.
See Damian.
Immediate realisation.
"…Damian let him go.”
“Sister, your insect has breached manor security.”
“Damian don’t call him that."
You bribe and threaten Damian into secrecy.
"I'll buy you a months worth of those vegeterian portobello mushroom burgers you like if you don't snitch."
"My silence cannot be bribed"
“If you tell anyone I will replace all your swords with foam replicas.”
“…You wouldn’t.”
“Test me.”
Damian keeps the secret entirely because he loves you AND because those burgers are buss.
Also because Peter awkwardly trying to impress the family is hilarious to him.
The MOST unexpected person to find out is Jason.
Because he walks into the library at like 2am looking for a book—
And finds you and Peter making out against the shelves.
Peter nearly dies on impact.
Jason just blinks once. “…Finally.”
You stare at him horrified.
“You’re not mad?”
“Mad? Bruce has been so close to arranging billionaire blind dates for you, it's a miracle you found someone”
Peter looks deeply alarmed.
Jason pats Peter’s shoulder.
“Congrats on the boyfriend thing. Bruce’ll stop stressing now.”
Then he ALSO keeps the secret.
Mostly because he thinks your panic is funny.
Alfred knew from the beginning.
Obviously.
It’s Alfred.
You are not outsmarting that man.
Dinah knew almost immediately too.
Mostly because you started talking about Peter constantly.
Then pretending you weren’t.
“So… Peter.”
“What about him.”
“You are dating right?.”
“Don't tell my dad please.”
"My lips are sealed honey"
You've decided to let the rest of your family just find out normally, you were not going to tell them any time soon, especially your dad.
He already gives you side eyes when you mention Spider-man
He hates it when someone comes into his city and he's lowkey growing sus of you
but alas, he'll wait for you to come to him, or to find out in some random ass way who knows.
Peter is very content in your relationship
and besides, all the crimefighting is worth it because he gets to do it with you <3
a/n: should i do part 2 guys or like an actual fic, also apologies for how shit this was sorry guys
˖ ࣪૮₍ 𝓥.𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐀𝐈𝐍 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔 𓂃 ⭒ is always fucking hero!kuna's pretty daughter :: hero/villain au :: age gap ( 40s/20s ) :: size difference :: overtim :: sukuna's daughter!reader
“fuck, what's he gonna do when he finds out his sweet princess is actually my little slut?”
you chewed a moan into your thumbnail and hugged tighter around your pillow. stuffing your face into the plush to muffle your whorish whines. what, did you think it could save you?
not from gojo satoru, that's for sure.
not from his hard chest shoved against your back. not from the way he squished your ass with mean smacks of his hips. certainly not from the cruel thumb latched on your clit. or his filthy, deep voice rumbling in your ear.
being the daughter of the city's hero was hard.
but fucking your dad's greatest villain and keeping it under wraps was oh, so much harder.
hard like the thwack! he laid on your jiggling thigh.
hard like the feverish bucks of his cock stretching out your poor, spluttering pussy.
“suuuchhh a messy girl. for me? were you thinking of me, all here alone while daddy's out saving the city?”
satoru snickered, dipping his thumb into your slick and landing one more flick to your clit before wrapping long fingers around your jaw. he wrenched your drooling, blushing face from the pillow and stuffed the digit into your messy mouth.
his weight dropped heavy onto you. smushing your tummy into the mattress and adding a sinful pressure to the bulge his cock thrummed within you. thrusts accentuating into an erratic rhythm that sent the headboard clattering against the wall.
you could only mewl around his thumb. slobbering saliva all over his palm as a strong arm hooked round your waist and shoved you into a slutty arch. so that your pretty body was forced to meet his feral thrusts tenderising your ass and slapping heavy balls onto your puffy, sloppy cunt.
right and wrong melted into a thick cream splattering your thighs. justice and malice blurred before your dewy eyes.
morals? what were morals when a villain had you caged and fucked into his pretty little whore?
“please— p-pleaaasseee, ah, I wanna— wanna cum!”
“again?”
his laugh huffed into your ear as he pressed his thumb down on your tongue. leaving your drool webbing all over the pillow as he abruptly slammed! all the way in. to grind on that tender spot and lather it in his frothing cum.
“awww you wanna cum again for me, sweetheart? haven't you creamed my cock enough?”
cruel. but what else should you expect from a man like him? a man your father's warned you about endlessly.
dragging his thumb from your lips, his arm manuevered to hook around your throat instead. choking out your pitiful sounds against his bicep and further trapping you in his blur of thrusts. harder, faster, until he was fucking your eyes into a slutty cross and your pussy into a bubbling mess.
“mngh— t-toru— saattoorruuu,” your nails clawed into his forearm littered with scars. cunt squeezing that throbbing underside vein on his cock just right.
he chewed on your ear with a grunt. “fuck baby, milking me so good.” another wet smack stung your ass as he hunched over your spent body.
“listen to that pretty pussy.”
shlap! he angled just right to smack his balls into your throbby clit. “she's suuuchh a bad girl huh? always so needy for this cock. knows it's too old and big for her but she doesn't care— ain't that right baby?”
yanking himself out amidst your creaming bubbles and stringy sin, he lands a sharp, full-palmed spank to your gaping slit. once, twice, enough to make you whimper and try to hump his callouses.
“please!” you whined as he shoved his hand around your jaw again and wrested your head back until your teary eyes met his. “please— need more, please toru? plea— hngh!”
you're putty in his hands. flipped onto your back within seconds so your plush thighs squished to your chest and your puffy pussy takes him all over again. filthy and squelching and squeezing round his girth as he fucks back to the hilt.
with feral grinds and heavy grunts, he jerked your face back to his. leaning over you through his the frantic haze of pounding your poor little self into the mattress. leaving behind stains you'll have to rush to clean before your dad gets back.
“look at you,” he grit. “fake lil' good girl begging for dick after I've already stuffed her full.”
“I-I — can't, toru—!”
he was barely leaving you empty. stuffing you to the base and fucking your spasming sweetspot until you soaked him all over again. and even then, those sopping, lewd slaps permeated the musky air.
“fuck— course you can baby,” satoru squished your face wet with tears into his strong fingers. cradling you in a tenderness one couldn't fathom from a villain like him. looked at you with icy blue eyes that held a gentleness, a love deep down, just for you. only for you.
his pretty little secret. his perfect slut.
“you can gimme one more. right? one more before daddy gets home, yeah?”
how could you deny him? with your knees dangling over his muscled shoulders. your hand scrambling for his tousled white hair still stained in blood. and your cunt sucking him in and weeping for him to stay. like she knew he'd leave her empty for the next few weeks all over again.
“I—” heat flooded your lungs. clouded your eyes. you clamped around him and scrambled for him. gripping, clawing, holding. anything to keep him close for just a little longer.
“I love you— I l-love— angh, I love you satoru, love you s'much, so so much!”
and fuck, his heart ached whenever you said it.
“ssshh baby,” he cradled you close. fucked you through the blinding orgasm as you sobbed and shattered in his hands. hands that only knew cruelty. “I know, I know sweet girl. fuck, such a good girl f'me.”
[ ⋆.𑣿 ̊ ] – Grazed by an aphrodisiac-coated shuriken, Hokage Kakashi Hatake seeks help from his lovely assistant!
˗ˏˋ pairing ˎˊ˗ ꒰ Kakashi Hatake x F!Reader ꒱
˗ˏˋ content & warnings ˎˊ˗ ꒰ MDNI 18+ :: office sex :: reader in her late 20s ::Kakashi in his late 30s :: he’s hot and miserable :: blowjobs :: he's a whimpering mess :: age gap :: breeding kink :: cowgirl :: minx reader :: 3.1k words ꒱
The night has fallen over the Hidden Leaf Village, the pleasant chirping of the crickets creeping through the open windows. The moon lurked as if shyly, stretching its cold arms towards the Hokage's desk, piled with paper. Reports, tasks, documents, and letters from the Land of Lightning, Water, and Earth were gathered neatly in the middle of the wide wooden desk.
A soft melody slipped past your lips, filling the dimly lit office as you slowly got ready to go home. Looking through the window, your brows furrowed.
The Hokage still wasn't here, although the moon was high and the crickets chirping in a rhythmic choir, slowly, gently, falling into deep slumber too. A few little houses hugging beneath the towering trees were still dimly lit by the soft candles smooching the lone windows, yet most of the villagers had long since fallen asleep.
Only you, the Hokage's assistant, were still awake, lurking through the open window of the chief's office. With a deep sigh and an even deeper wrinkle on your forehead, you watched the documents pile up all day as the Hokage seemed to be elbows-deep in whatever mission he decided to take.
Although he truly didn't need to, for other ninjas were simply at his snap.
But Kakashi Hatake, although an old man – although he hated how you used his maturity to remind him that some things needed to be taken care of with utmost responsibility – enjoyed anything but fulfilling his Hokage's duties.
And so the reports piled up, while he slipped out of his office early in the morning, only to return late at night, after the crickets had chirped their last melody.
This night was no different, as he suddenly rolled into his office, half-undressed in his daily ninja armour, wearing nothing but a tight, sleeveless shirt, its long collar covering his lips.
He didn't simply walk, but rather stumbled – with deep breaths escaping his tightened throat and hands shivering, as if a sickness had struck his mind.
"Kakashi?" Your head tilted as you still stood by the window.
A gentle wind swirled your hair, carrying the sweet scent of your skin towards his burning face. His eyes, one crimson, kissed, the other obsidian, looked up with an almost miserable frown, before a groan slipped past his lips.
It seemed he wasn't happy to see you in his office at such an hour, but what could you do? Being the Hokage's assistant felt almost as if you were the village's chief yourself!
Only a moment had passed before your eyes slipped lower. Towards his legs, thighs, with one of them leaking barely visible, vermilion liquid. A metallic smell of his blood was suddenly more palpable than ever, and so a low gasp fell from your lips.
You quickly drew closer, catching his massive body before it could hit the floor with a weak groan.
"Kakashi, what the hell happened?"
But it seemed that your touch burned more than the wound itself, as he gently pushed you away with a, "P-please, don't come any closer."
Droplets of sweat beaded on his forehead, dripping leisurely as he hung his head. Arms barely holding on, trembling as he walked towards a soft chair in the corner of his office and sat with a low groan.
Or rather a moan, as your eyes involuntarily fell towards his bulging trousers, noticing a painfully hard swell.
"Kakashi, what happened?" You pose, putting a hand on your hip. "Where have you been?"
He grabbed the armrest and leaned back, letting the black collar finally expose his panting, fallen lips.
"Nothing, d-don't worry," he murmured, yet his voice was low and honey-dripping, as if on the verge of losing his mind. "Please, go back home."
But you didn't move. Didn't even breathe, watching the massive man writhing in the cushioned armchair, sweat rolling down his temple, eyes lidded by the fire bubbling in his loins.
Nothing.
He was a man who always kept the problems to himself.
Not solely the problems, but desires too. Erotica-kind-of-guy, who read some filthy romances during his office hours yet kept blushing whenever you swirled a lock of hair around your finger.
Built from muscle upon muscle, with a handsome jaw and sharp eyes, a nasty, salacious scar slashing across his crimson one.
Always an utmost kind gentleman, who somehow kept himself away from women. Everyone thought so because Hokage had never been seen with a female ninja, nor even with a simple villager. He hid behind the office walls instead or went on lone missions.
Yet you knew Kakashi Hatake wasn't the apathetic, almost impotent man some people took him for. Because you felt his deep eyes following your figure as you came and went from his office. Staying a bit longer on your naked thighs whenever you wore a skirt, and on the way, throwing knives hugged them tightly, until the muscles bulged under the leather straps.
You knew he liked the sweet scent of your perfumes, deep and almost nauseating in their warmth, yet always wrapping around him like the petals' gentlest kisses. He followed the movement of your soft lips, eyes mingling beneath the sunlight spilling into his office, hair always looking so soft and shiny, like the satin scarf he wished to wrap around his neck.
And so after working with you for a while, Kakashi decided that the safest option to not get himself embarrassed with the way his cock always leaked whenever you entered his office in the morning – would be to quickly disappear. To go out in the morning and slip back late at night, while Hokage's office was left with nothing but the faint traces of your sweetness.
He thought he was clever, sly. That you didn't know how mellow you made him feel.
That's why he thought that you would simply nod and leave him be. With cock painfully straining his briefs and mind slowly slipping into pleasurable dizziness.
Instead, to his utter dissatisfaction, you observed him carefully, squinting, your gaze moving between his shallow wound and the flushed, blooming face that dripped with arousal.
"What did they spike you with?" You sighed, crossing arms over your chest. "Hm? What is it? A poison?"
His head shook, a few wisps of snowy hair sticking to his wet forehead. Almond-shaped eyes, much more lidded than usual, as his gaze wandered over your body.
Skirt hugging your hips sweetly and a tight sleeveless shirt, quite similar to his, clinging like a second skin. He didn't need much to imagine you were already naked. With body-hugging clothes in dresses so tight, he could clearly see every deeper rise of your soft belly.
You came closer, slowly, snapping in front of his eyes. "Hello? I can't help you if you won't tell me what's going on."
Your smell was painfully pleasant, so he quickly, with a single move, pulled the collar back over his nose.
"Please j-just go, I–mhmm," another groan escaped his throat as you came even closer.
This time, you stood right between his spread thighs as he tried every way possible to apply a bit of pressure around his hips. You leaned closer, putting your arms on the chair's handles and lowering yourself to meet his eye level.
"What happened? Tell me, because there's no way I'm leaving our Hokage in such a state."
Such miserable, innocent, pure, giving you every chance to push his sweet buttons and tease his wrecked mind.
Kakashi furrowed as the warmth radiating from your body slowly slipped beneath his tight collar. His throat bobbed as his finger slowly pulled the material down, allowing a quiet "Aphrodisiac" to fill the serene office.
With a few candles still dimly flickering on his desk, and the moon's shy kisses bathing your blooming face in a virgin glow.
Something wicked danced behind your eyes. A mischievousness of sorts, as you hummed and slowly, leisurely, sank to your knees.
"What are you doing?" Kakashi gasped, following the lovely pout that twisted your lips. "Wait–" His fingers tried to grab your hands as they slipped towards his hips, yet you gently smacked them.
"What do you mean? I'm only helping our dear Hokage, of course," your devilish voice mingled with the faint melody of the crickets. "As I do believe, our Hokage is wise enough to know how to get rid of…" With a single move, you pulled his trousers down to the middle of his beefy thighs. "This problem. Right?"
The moment his briefs slipped off his hips, the fat, leaking head smacked into your cheek with a wet smudge. Pearly droplets spattered his abdomen, and only then did you notice that–
"Did you just cum?"
His throat bobbed and brows furrowed as a sudden wave of arousal smooched your spine.
"T-twice."
You giggled, biting down on lower lip. Fingers clenched on his meaty thighs, digging into the milky skin. "Why?"
Your warm breath hit his cock, veins bulging and curling around the fat shaft. You leaned closer, plush lips kissing its softly and spilling another needy groan from his lips.
"Tell me," you demanded, spreading his thighs wider. "Why did you cum twice, Kakashi?"
A moany fuck hit your warm cheeks when you licked off the pearly cum still dripping from his swollen head.
"You know why." His long fingers gripped the armrests, head falling back to reveal pale neck. "Baby, fuck, c-can you suck on it?"
A demon must have taken over his mind. A wicked spirit of some sort, as Kakashi, in his mature, gentlemanly age, would never, ever say such filth to his young assistant.
Not that young, too, yet almost ten years youthful, with the loveliest cheeks already smiling foxily and a wet tongue licking his trembling shaft from balls up to the feverish head. The spit mixing with the last droplets of semen, trickling down his cock like a crystal thread.
"No, I don't think so," you chuckled, nuzzling your lips against his head without taking it into your warm mouth. "Tell me why. Did my sole presence turn our Hokage on that much?"
He nodded without giving it much thought, although it was the truth. Your presence did, in fact, make him pathetically cum right into his slacks.
"Mmm," a sweet hum bounced off his cock, as you placed in its top a gentle kiss. Before taking a deep, nasty sniff, and letting his mind spin into madness. "Did your younger assistant turn you on that much?"
"Stop," he groaned, feeling the last threads of his patience slowly tearing. "J-just, fuck, let's pretend it's a one-time t-thing."
You knew it was a lie.
And he also knew – from the moment you slipped him past your lips, and he immediately cummed right onto your tongue. The sole warmth of your mouth and those wicked, foxy eyes looking up at him with a squint were enough to send another ripping pleasure down his spine.
Big hands instantly falling onto your head, forearms bulging from restraint he desperately tried to cling to, yet still pushing you down his cock. Till the full, fat length slipped into your mouth, pulsing head hitting the back of your throat.
A crying choke tried to escape your throat, but instead your fingers dug into his beefy thighs, leaving nasty, crimson scratches.
He didn't give you a second to get used to his full length, instead moving your head up and down his cock. With swollen lips and tears dancing in the corners of your eyes, you gagged on his musty, delicious fatness while he fucked your throat without a drop of usual gentleness.
Legs spreading wider, crimson eyes mingling in pleasure at your full cheeks and trembling hands, as you took him fully without a fight. Instead, clenching your own thighs and rubbing them together, just to feel your drenched panties brush the swollen clit.
"Such a good fucking throat," Kakashi muttered, another wave of pleasure bubbling in his loins. "I swear, fuck, I swear it's only a one-off. Only once, baby. For all those days you've been teasing me like a little slut."
You wished to laugh, to chuckle, to tease him back. Yet your eyes rolled back, and heavy breaths escaped through your nose as he dragged his length relentlessly through your throat. You felt its mass on your tongue – each vein pulsing beneath your breath, the sizzling head smooching the back of your throat.
His thumbs brushed away tears dripping down your cheeks. "Shh, baby, don't cry. You're doing such a good job, f-fuck–"
He groaned as your pace quickened. A bit sloppier, with the filthy squelching and your gagging filling the quiet space of his office. Candles cast a gentle glow on your teary cheeks; the moon kissed his milky hair, sticking to sweating forehead.
He was ready to cum any second, spill his semen right onto your throat and watch your cheeks burst from it in a lovely pout.
But instead, you suddenly pulled away.
"Wha-" He didn't finish, when you pressed lips to his, in a messy, vile kiss.
First load of his cum still sweetly coating your tongue, as you pushed to his mouth. Letting a few creamy droplets layer his palate as he moaned right into your grinning lips.
"How could you cum in my throat, dear Hokage? You chuckled, lifting your soaked panties to the side, and giving him a clear view of your juices dripping down his swollen cock. "Such a waste of resources, don't you think?"
Kakashi could only nod – madly, unconsciously, savouring the warmth radiating from your wet pussy.
"Why won't you fill my womb instead?" Another wicked giggle, smooched his blooming cheeks, as you pressed your entrance to his leaking head. Hands on his muscular arms, to let yourself slowly, painfully lower onto his fat cock. "Allow me to give you an heir. Spill into your assistant's fertile womb and make me a mommy."
Kakashi felt unbearable, a pinching desire smouldering across every part of his body. In his eyes, your figure, hanging over his massive, trembling body, seemed like a tempting demon of sorts. A succubus, and if he squinted enough, with the aphrodisiac still filling his body with a lustful mist, a shadow dancing behind your head looked almost like two lovely horns.
His head slipped inside, the rest of the cock following in, sending a wave of maddening pleasure over his spine. Strong hands gripped your hips, trying to lift you up a little, as if his mind still tried to resonate with the urge to nuzzle himself deep within your warmth.
"Baby, f-fuck, we can't–"
Usually, you wouldn't have a chance against his brutal strength, yet this time you easily pushed through his grip. Lowering yourself with a sweet moan, head falling back.
"Mhmm, Kakashi, you fill me so good," you sighed, feeling his fat cock tremble deep within the clutches of your cunt. "I can't believe you didn't fuck me sooner."
He couldn't listen to you. He couldn't stand the way your pussy clenched around his spilling cock, sugary scent wrapped around his mind, sweetening the salty cum that still coated his tongue.
He filled you so well, with a slightly curved head brushing your sweet spot just right, as you started rolling your hips up and down.
With hands gripping his arms and face leaning towards his fallen mouth, to lick a little beauty spot right beneath his lower lip. Kiss it wetly, to draw another deep groan past his throat.
"Don't fight it, Kakashi," you pledged, biting down on his lower lip. "Just let me take care of you," your hands grabbed his, sliding them up and down your velvety skin.
Your pussy sent a few pulses down his shaft as you clenched on him with a muffled moan. Lips connecting with his again, wetly, messily, pressing your chest to his.
He finally gave in.
Strong arms curling around your waist, pulling you closer to his heated body. Hips bucking up to meet every mean roll of your hips, the tip of his cock finally hitting your womb in dripping squelching.
Your juices dripping down his slacks, eyes rolling back as he pounded you at a merciless pace. Almost painful whenever his cock slid through the tight walls of your pussy, tearing another moan from your throat.
His crimson eye followed the lustful expressions pouting on your face, each more maddening than the last, forcing a scowl between his milky eyebrows.
"K-Kakashi–mmmm–you're filling me so good," you snapped, wrapping your hands around his neck. Your hips bounced with a nasty squelch, as the pleasure already bubbled in your lower belly.
"Maybe I should get hurt more often," he groaned, one arm slipping down between your bodies, to roll your clit through the flimsy material of your panties. "If that's how–ngh–you're planning to treat me."
His rough fingers pressed the swollen button, feeling the foul juices drip from the soaked fabric.
You nodded, letting a sweet moan hit his rosy cheeks. "Y-yeah, ahhh, I'll let you fill my pussy every single day."
It felt impossible to fight the desire that bubbled in Hokage's loins for all those months. So Kakashi could do nothing but press his hips to yours, until his balls smooched the swell of your ass and head nuzzled against the puffy womb.
With the last shudder and your moan splashing past your lips – he came. Flooded your pussy with sticky stripes of burning cum, cramming it right inside your weeping womb. His whimpers mixed with your cries, as he pulled you closer and connected your lips in a last kiss. Full of passion, desire, lined with months looking over your shoulders with the burning need to fuck out all the craving that bubbled within you for this whole time.
Your heavy pantings filled the warm office.
"So–" But you didn't finish when he suddenly stood up.
With you pussy still clenching around his hard, aphrodisiac-spiked cock and cum dripping down the wooden floors.
All the documents piling up on his desk fell to the floor in a crying mess, and a gasp caught in your throat when he laid you down on its big surface.
"I spent all day–" He shushed you with a kiss, licking your lips and brushing warm cheek with his thumb.
"Sorry, baby. Let me use your pretty pussy for a bit longer, hm?" He muttered, pressing your thighs against your chest. "Just a bit, fuck, let me breed you again, yeah? It's your Hokage's order."
And how could you call yourself a good assistant if you didn't fulfil it with utmost pleasure!
༄ Tags: pre-relationship, avoidant-attachment style, friends to lovers, explicit sexual content (18+), sex pollen trope, dubcon because of that, multiple sex positions, oral sex (both receiving), squirt, aftercare.
༄ Pairing: Kakashi x Reader
Summary: Techniques that emit pollen to knock enemies unconscious are not so rare. Still, it was uncommon—almost unheard of—to come face to face with another type of it during an ANBU mission assigned to both of you. Sexy no Jutsu was less damaging in this case; it didn’t force a bond that shouldn’t have existed in the first place. Or should it have?
༄ A/N: It didn’t passed much time since Kakashi invaded my mind again *—* I was inspired by @teachlover for this trope since she also wrote for Yamato! Today's lesson: Plants.🌺
≈ 9.6k words
🍃
“How long until we get there?!"
You exhaled irritably. Your face twisted into a frown as you tilted your head, shoving aside a massive leaf because the man in front of you couldn’t be bothered to hold it back. What was it called again? Giant Knotweed? You vaguely remembered because the name sounded strange enough to stick.
You retain odd things for some reason. Though insufficient, maybe it would’ve helped to know more about plants, considering you were surrounded by a savage forest.
This megaherb or whatever it is grows along forest edges, where you are right now — this forest, more specifically. You were already deep in the mountains surrounding Konoha. Well, near Konoha. The Forest of Death. Sounds creepy, right? It isn’t. After all, the Chunin Exams took place here. How scared could a child possibly get?
Alright, a highly dangerous circular forest ringed by a metallic fence that is known to be inhabited by massive predatory creatures doesn’t exactly inspire confidence. Thinking about it more carefully, Konoha’s leadership might be slightly masochistic.
Kakashi glanced over his shoulder, his tone neutral.
“Already complaining?"
You rolled your eyes. Asshole.
It was colder than it should have been for autumn. The perfect season for the short, delicate purple perennials that bloom around this time. There were dozens of them, but none seemed dangerous. Neither you nor Kakashi noticed the creamy-yellow pollen bursting from them, leaving a heavily scented trail behind the path you had just walked.
Soon enough, you felt as if something had widened your blood vessels, improving blood flow. The rush came out of nowhere, and it had nothing to do with chakra. Maybe your body was adjusting to the forest’s conditions?
Your nose scrunched, your steps feeling heavier.
“Something’s wrong.”
“Hm? Based on what exactly?”
“On my intuition.” You could hear his skeptical thoughts. “I swear. It’s... Forget it. Can you just trust me?”
“Of course. What’s the purpose without trust between shinobi?”
“Fuck you…” Your words faded as something else caught your attention.
The yōkai tree that looked like an ordinary tree made you step closer to it, hands on your knees as you leaned toward it.
“Wow, this actually looks cool.”
Kakashi grabbed your arm sharply at the same moment the plant moved slowly toward you, slowly as if it were hiding its urgency.
You glared at him as he dragged you along behind him. Kakashi looked completely unfazed as he spoke, his hand leaving your skin.
“If you want to be drained of blood, I’ll let you go.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Vampiric tree. It’s said to bleed like a living creature. They usually grow on former battlefields.”
You raised an eyebrow as you followed him, murmuring to yourself.
“And why are they here?”
Kakashi shrugged. He looked around the vast wilderness. The unnatural layers of canopy blocked out most of the sunlight, casting the forest floor into a permanent, gloomy shadow.
The undergrowth was incredibly dense, making navigation difficult and concealing potential threats. He spoke while trying to choose the most reliable path.
“That’s why your intuition tells you something’s wrong?”
You shook your head. His teasing tone irritated you enough to maintain your annoyed expression.
You looked ahead before him, analyzing the path he had chosen as both of you lowered your heads beneath the massive plants, until you spotted one you recognized from its characteristics. A Keyaki? A deciduous tree native to Japan, with a vase-shaped crown and intensely serrated leaves. In a forest like this, you weren’t sure it was much different from barbed wire if it made impact with little skin.
“Kakashi.”
He slowed his pace until you moved in front of him, cutting away the serrated leaves with the kunai that was rested next to your knees, before they could brush against his body. When you turned to glance up at him, Kakashi’s eyes lingered across your face.
“Move away. It has thorns. Don’t touch it.”
He held your gaze for a second, and it left you dizzy, momentarily unaware of where you were until you turned around and continued walking ahead of him. Kakashi murmured something in response, but you ignored it.
“Mhm. Thank you.”
At least he isn’t Mr. Perfect, you thought.
Still, your focus wasn’t here—not on him, not even on yourself. It felt as though it had drifted somewhere else entirely. Something was happening, but what? Was this how you felt as a child during those exams? No, this was completely different. This was unexplored territory.
You glanced up, jumping onto a tree as you followed Kakashi, barely looking back at whatever little creature had just let out a growl, hidden closer to both of you. You didn’t want to know.
You weren’t far from the other side. Shouldn’t the destination be closer?
In fact, the problem was that you were only in the middle of the forest.
🍃
Being an ANBU member was not as validating as it seemed, despite being handpicked by the village head, chosen for your individual capabilities and specialized kills. There were apparently no true ranks within the ANBU either, only divisions. Kakashi's and yours was Team Ro. Well, before that, the two of you had a brief stint in Root—the worse one. You suspected that's why you were assigned to this mission specifically. Having served in both worlds, the mission didn't seem too dangerous, nor too easy.
The decision to remain in ANBU was because it was an elite tactical squad operating under the direct command of the Hokage. Not because you liked the Hokage or anything. You couldn't stand him. Still, after Orochimaru's infiltration during the Chunin Exams, no one wanted to let all of it go to waste without reinforcing the village's safety. That's why both of you needed to find one of his hideouts, to gather more intel. Once inside this massive forest spanning a 10-kilometer radius, Orochimaru had shed his disguise, blended into the dense, perilous wilderness, and infiltrated the kids' exam. One of them was now literally cursed because of it.
Another reason you remained on this team was because Kakashi was its captain. Annoying as it sounded to admit out loud, he was a good ninja with far more experience in the shinobi world. Respectable, right? Yet, Kakashi managed to get under your skin in more ways than one. First, every time he spoke, he manages to always irritated you somehow. And the other... you weren't particularly proud of. To admit something like this? You will probably need a very hard drug to do it so.
Coming back, you knew you should head northwest of Konoha. That was where other comrades had found traces suggesting one of Orochimaru's hideouts might be located, roughly 300 to 500 kilometers away, approximately a two-to-three-day journey on foot for a standard shinobi, somewhere near his possible base in the Land of Grass.
As you tried to gather your thoughts, mapping the route and sensing your geographical position, you could feel your mind blurring, barely finishing a sentence, let alone formulating a plan. What the hell is happening? Should you take break? Since when do you need a break? For what? Walking 1 day and a half? Impossible. It was more concering when the shadow that just appeared before you was noticed only as it passed by, not beforehand as it should have been. You watched the next movements as though time had slowed, seeing a hand place an explosive tag on a tree. Kakashi had disappeared long ago, and you…only now, you reacted.
You exhaled, trying to regain some semblance of control, hands pressed against the ground, one knee striking the earth. Your reflexes still responded, tilting your head instantly once—a shuriken flew past. Twice—the second shuriken followed as you vanished from the spot again. How many they are?
From his concealed position, Kakashi analyzed the situation, counting five shadows so far. They wore dark robes, their faces hidden beneath hoods that obscured nearly everything. Five? Wasn't the Sound Five team eliminated during the Chunin Exams? Or were they Orochimaru's clones, meant to throw you into confusion? More importantly, where were you? He hadn't sensed your chakra nearby the way he had expected after the surprise attack.
Kakashi was certain they were getting closer to the source, that they were on the right trail. Otherwise, this ambush wouldn't exist. He quickly glanced toward the sudden noise, tracking the movements around him until he saw the scene unfolding before him—or rather, beneath him, since he was perched in a tree.
Two shadows farther back. One shadow closer, on the adjacent branch, moving toward you horizontally. Two more on another parallel branch.
The shock Kakashi felt came when, unexpectedly, one of the figures in the rear hurled a sickle, splintering the hardwood so violently that the branch cracked nearly in half. The chain attached to it wrapped around the branch above you, enough to throw you off balance. One of the shadows bend enough for your leg to be touched by a kunai, but you retreat. He watched as your hands—almost as if they were trembling, because otherwise he couldn't explain it—moved far too slowly for a shinobi toward the twin chakra-infused sickles secured in the straps across your back. By the time your hands reached behind your head and your fingers curled around them, it was already too late. His Sharingan did not lie.
The shadows nearly collided. One second they were attacking you, the next you had vanished completely, one of the figures forcing the already unstable branch until it plunged into the void below.
Kakashi looked down at you, noticing your dilated pupils, probably from the adrenaline. He couldn't say anything yet. No. They needed to leave. He didn't know if he could take all of them down without knowing what they were capable of, and with you in this condition, the risk was far too great. Kakashi couldn't ignore the unexplicable fear he felt when you saw you there. Not even know, when he glance at you once in a while as your face was hidden in his chest for a reason he doesn't understand.
🍃
It’s bad. It’s really bad.
Kakashi jumped over the furthest three he found, loosening his grip around you when one of your legs hit the massive branch. You pressed one hand against the wood, bending your body slightly as you tried to catch your breath.
“How is it possible you didn’t deflect that?”
You could only manage a small scowl, too disturbed for anything else. Your ears started ringing like the whole forest was infected with a whistle genjutsu, carrying disturbing high-frequency notes meant to disorient the enemy’s senses. Or just a really bad bird song.
“Shut up—“
You hissed at the sudden uneasy feeling in your body, scrunching your eyebrows as you bent down, hair falling toward the distant ground that promised a completely unwelcome fall from this height. Just a fleeting movement and Kakashi’s hand found your arm again, stabilizing you in a second. Something was wrong. With you.
“What’s happening?”
At the lack of an answer, only the sound of your heavy breathing, Kakashi guided your arm over his shoulder as his own came behind your body, supporting your back as he took you down with him, jumping on the ground. He placed you down as gently as he could, but he felt the way you had gripped his clothes until now, your form now resting against the enormous tree.
“Are you hurt?” He looked over the small cut from the kunai, staining your training pants with blood. “Here?”
It’s really just a scratch. The tension in your shoulder muscles was more painful from the hit you had taken. But Kakashi had already ripped the fabric of your pants, his hand moving swiftly to locate the medical kit in his pack until his fingers found it.
Your eyes widened when his mask was lowered to his chin, his teeth tearing through the bandage and pulling off a long strip—enough to wrap around the wound one, two, tree more times — after he poured disinfectant over it. His fingers were warm as they brushed against your bare leg. He inspected the injury while you gasped at his touch, and he glanced at you, assuming it was because of the—pain?
“Kakashi, stop—It’s not—”
Kakashi pressed the back of his palm against your forehead, feeling the elevated heat of your skin.
He had never seen you like this. Kakashi had witnessed your wounded expression only once before, during an ANBU mission at the very beginning, and it had been nothing like this.
“What is it? Was their weapon poisoned?”
No, for fuck’s sake! You had felt this sensation simmering inside you even before the ambush, but your tongue refused to cooperate long enough to form coherent words. Your only focus was to breathe and breathe—
“No!”
“But what?”
“Hell, it’s so fucking embarrassing.”
He was so close that it made your heart pound wildly.
“What? What is it embarrassing? You need to tell me."
You moved away as much as possible, which was hardly at all. Your head resting against the tree trunk, your hands disturbing the earth beneath you from where you sat.
"I’m fucking… I’m fucking aroused, Kakashi! Okay? God, I wanna die. From all the goddamn things—to be here with…no, fuck!”
Kakashi’s hands stopped in an instant; his whole body froze as you continued rambling. You swipe the sweat over your face, leaning more on the three behind you, your body twitching against the ground.
“It’s like I took 3 bottles of aphrodisiac. It’s similar! I tried before, okay? I’m sure it is—“
You hissed as your thighs suffocated the heat between your legs, where the problem is. His shocked expression makes you feel he is taken aback, mostly disgusted by the way your mind is fragile. Unaware that Kakashi was indeed taken aback because it was the last thing he expected to hear from your mouth.
This is not good. He shouldn’t be here. No, you shouldn’t be here in the middle of the forest. Kakashi glanced around; the Copy Ninja seemed like he was going to pieces. Never thought about you like this. He never speaks with you about things like this. Yes, he heard you talk vaguely over a glass or two of sake about some hook-up with some jōnin from other villages with different rank names he doesn't remember now. Rating the experience, complaining, or praising based on their skills or—but it wasn’t his business. Not his place to talk about his own personal experiences and indulge in a conversation.
Still, he is also a liar.
He was younger that time, struggling with hormones a person could have, feeling guilty enough to have such a depraved thought about his comrade, no matter the gender. But he shut down that door inside his head pretty fast, not indulging in any filthy fantasies, repriming his urges in general, especially towards you.
His attention comes back to you, aware again and aware of your lack of air.
“We might not be the closest, but I trust you, okay?” What— “I trust you enough to not die here so pathetically from this fucking jutsu—or what the hell is this! I need to—Fuck!”
His eyes widen when you start putting your shirt over your head while his own turn so quickly in shame.
“[Name]—“ He looked around, feeling so stuck his own heart was leaping so hard.
“I really need to do something—please, leave me alone for a second. I don't—"
"No," Kakashi wet his lips. You shouldn’t be alone here. “You shouldn’t be alone. It’s dangerous and—“
“Kakashi, I need to touch myself like right now. Can’t you understand?”
His own breath was enough when his own mind betrayed him.
“Do you want me to help you with that?"
Am I hearing things?
“W-What? Why…why should I let you? It's clear you feel disgusted, and I’ll never force—"
“I’m not. I’m not disgusted.” He’s not at all. You don’t know what you’re talking about. That’s not the problem. “We need to resolve this fast, to get out away from this.” But you’re not conscious of consenting to such things, and he feels so damn guilty. “I’ll stay here. I’m not going to look—“
“Are you insane? I could ever—Oh! Fucking hell—I will, fuck—“
Kakashi's eyes lingered on the way your own hands try to give some sort of comfort by letting faint touches fall on your body. He catches himself, glancing back at you.
"Can you help me do a barrier ninjutsu?"
You tried to understand the meaning behind his inquiry, but all you could feel was fear. You swallowed harshly when Kakashi's hands grabbed yours, trying to ground you more in the present as his dark grey eyes messed with your mind.
"What…what are you saying?"
"Focus on me, please. We need to limit access here. Now."
More specifically, the seal will manipulate a specific point of space. The realization freaked you out even more.
"To trap me in a void here? With you? No—"
Kakashi let out a deep breath.
"[Name], trust me. Please."
The invisible sphere that seals away any opening has the possibility of being destroyed; however, doing so would require a tremendous amount of effort.
Kakashi moved your elbows into the position of starting basic hand seals as a first step.
"You remembered, right? What I showed you?"
You eventually nodded, listening to him. As both of you complete the hand signs, you struggle to channel a steady stream of chakra to your hands and touch the group. Kakashi put his hand over yours, transferring his chakra outwards, weaving an invisible barrier mesh across the perimeter of the area. He made a final hand sign, a mental command to seal the deal. The problem is, your chakra is already destabilized, and it will clear very quickly, so that remains for Kakashi to use almost all this chakra to maintain both of you here, as he was more plausible to remain conscious to concentrate.
“F-Fucking hell.” You start unzipping your pants, hands trembling in need.
“[Name],” Kakashi moistened his lips, catching only a glimpse of your panties. “Breathe. I’ll turn around.”
You struggled to let out a laugh, not a hint of amusement in it. Your hand comes right between your thighs, struggling against the tight little space, not patient enough to undress yourself completely.
You hissed at the first touch with your pulsating clit, not even teasing with light touches, circling around but pressing to feel more, your arousal already soaking a big spot on your underwear. Hell, they are not even your best panties. You spread your folds before trying to focus on a satisfactory rhythm, but it was so torturous—your blood burning and pumping in your veins, feeling jittery all over your body. Your foot pressing into the ground harshly, seeing your own legs with a diplopic vision.
Your half-lidded eyes were open, seeing Kakashi’s back as you glance down at the pumping veins on his arms, hands — placed on the ground, hidden under that fucking attractive black blouse he usually wears in missions, tightening against his toned body.
He tried to literally ground himself, almost like he could’ve let him gather a high concentration of his lightning chakra, breaking the ground under him. The squelching sounds of your pussy drive Kakashi mad, feeling like an intruder, like he shouldn’t be here. His eyes closed as he heard your moans, blaming the universe for not even having the possibility to use Kamui since his chakra is needed here.
You cursed under your breath, letting your hand from between your legs fall to the side, mirroring the other one as you breathed out agonizingly.
“Turn around.”
He flinched, his head shifting imperceptibly.
“Please, Kakashi. H-Help me.”
Kakashi took his time, looking in front of him before slowly, torturously turning around. Your eyes eat him alive, forcing him to look at you and see how dishevelled you are right now, with your top long gone and your breasts straining to slip off that bra, luring one to bite the skin above, to suck it, to worship it. He sizes you up, but how couldn’t he? When do you look so devilishly beautiful?
“Will you f-fucking help me?”
Your hand comes around your breast, squeezing it for any form of relief as he follows the motion before he drags himself closer to you.
“[Name], there’s no going back from…this.” He let you take his hand to come touch your breast, placing your own on top of his. “I only want you to feel good.”
He swallowed hard at your taunting tone. “Yeah?” He palmed your breast slowly, his mouth parted as he watched how you let out sweet notes of pleasure. “Then make me feel good, Kakashi.” You lifted as much as you could to be closer to him, looking up at him as your eyes fell on his lips and then on his cautious eyes. “Kiss me.”
Fuck. He couldn’t even speak or even try to stop you when his brain was intoxicating enough to lower his head at the same time you move, feeling your soft, dry lips against his for the first time.
Kakashi’s knees dragged against the ground as he draw closer, inclining his body to tower over you. One hand squeezed your breast, the other coming behind your head, deepening the kiss. Your teeth grazed his lower lip before tugging it, and it only made him more aroused, gripping your hair slightly just for you to moan against his swollen lips. He gave you a short glance before kissing you again, feeling your shuttering breath, his tongue slip inside your mouth.
Kakashi kissed you gently, carefully, but it wasn’t gentleness you wanted, not now, not after all this time, and as you knotted your fists in his shirt, you pull him harder against you. He groaned against your mouth, not interrupting for even a second.
Slowly, cautiously, he draws a path over your shivering body, letting his fingers brush against your bra straps, letting them fall over your shoulder. Going further between your breasts, down to your belly, squeezing, caressing the heat of your skin on your waist as your hands come over his shoulders, giving him no chance to breathe.
You whined, biting your own lips as you started panting, no longer capable of kissing back because his hand came to touch your thighs, between them, hovering, and then shortly above your waistline. It was too little space for his liking, but he still felt hesitant to continue.
“Should I take them off?”
You nodded exasperatedly, your hands coming on both sides of your body, leaning over the three as you saw him taking your pants off, gentle in his movements while he looked up at you. When you part your legs, he felt ashamed for looking shortly after at how soaked you are, at how erotic you look right now, giving him your trust for him to take care of you in such a vulnerable state.
He comes to his previous position, a hand cupping your jaw, and he starts kissing you again when you desperately, insistently search for him. Kakashi was devastated by how you moaned every time he touched you, felt you, or tasted you.
On the other hand, you felt terribly lightheaded, feeling a tingling sensation down your spine while your body was so exhaustingly needy for any relief you’re not sure what could help you, and the way Kakashi kissed you didn’t help either. He didn’t kiss you like it was the first time. He kissed you like he’s been waiting for a long time for this exact moment. And you know that was impossible, but how can you explain the way he watched you right now? Like everything you say, directly or not, it’s a mental note for him to take care of. Or how his mouth parted, sighing sharply when his fingers came slipping past your waistline, coming to feel the radiant heat against them. The first touches of his fingertips make your hips twitch.
“F-Fuck…”
“Feels good?”
His moves were fast and quick, knowing there’s no way to torture you by the way you are soaked. You hummed in agreement, eyebrows scrunching, eyes shut off to focus on his touch. You breath out, barely conscious of your words when you looked down at how his hand between your legs, fingers moving in circles around your clit.
“I can’t believe you’re touching me when I’m like this. Why it happened this way—“
Your own moan cut you off, eyes opening wide.
‘Why did it happen this way?’ You’re intoxicated. You don’t know what you’re talking about.
Kakashi put a hand over your hips to immobilise you, knowing you are already closer to orgasm.
“God, you’re damn annoying. You never looked at me before—”
You wanted him to look?
He swallowed down the aggravating feeling in his chest, closing the distance as his face was inches apart, lips brushing.
“Shh.”
“You don’t believe me—you think I’m a fucking liar—”
He cupped your cheeks to stop you.
“I believe you.” He doesn’t. He can’t. “Focus on me, [Name].” Your breath catches, opening your mouth in an ‘O.’. “Mhm. Like this. Let go.” His fingers dragged your orgasm over your clit until your muffled screams against his chest, his head lowering down toward your neck.
Your heavy breath against his sensitive spot, your tight grip against his arm muscle, the scent of your arousal glistening now visible on his finger as he just slowly start slipping in and out of your pussy, testing your entrance—everything drives Kakashi madder.
“Mhmm—” you whimpered, feeling him stretching your insides so fast by how soaked you were that he needed to add another one. “Please...” You gasped when he hit that tight, sweet spot, making you involuntary spasm in his embrace, lifting your head until he glanced down to see your fucked-up, but very beautiful gaze.
Kakashi swallowed, his own breathing betrayed him, telling you directly how affected he is. “Put your hands like this.” His arm comes behind you, taking you closer until your own weak ones come over his shoulders, his head promoted next to your neck, nipping the skin there between your lovely sounds that you gave him.
“Fuck, Kakashi—” you moaned as his rhythm turned faster, the end of his palm giving you friction against your clit at every flapping sound made by his deeper, ruthless fingering. “It feels…I can’t—I can’t explain!”
He licked his lips, breathing out. “Tell me.” He turned his head to whisper against your ear. “Tell me how it feels.”
“I never…Oh, f—” Your eyes roll into your head, feeling a tension in your bones starting to build. His arm gripped yours tighter, his fingers didn’t stop pumping inside. “I feel...like a—p-pressure down there!”
“Mmm. You do?”
He straightened himself, letting you fall back gradually onto the tree, knees rising slightly as legs parted for him more. His thumb came to add another stimulation over your clit, and his rhythm faltered for a moment when he glanced at you and then at your belly. Kakashi knows what you mean. Yet, it seems you don’t.
“Kakashi, w-what—”
He puts his other hand over your belly, near your waistline, adding a pressure you didn’t know you needed. Or you don’t. You didn’t know what you were feeling, a mix of fear and need for something you didn’t experience; the overwhelming sensations made your head numb, wanting release again as soon as possible. Your name falls from his lips, trying to open your half-lidded eyes to be here with him.
“I’ll make you feel good like I promised.”
When he crunched down, enough for you to understand what he would do, only giving you a quick look, your hands were too late to stop him, instead gripping his hair when Kakashi started eating you out. One of your palms comes to rest over one of his, pressing on your belly. “Fuck, fuck, fuck—”
Kakashi pulled back to pant for air, avoiding your gaze to don’t let it stuck with him forever. He grunted and his tongue flicked faster, his forearms flexing as he held your trembling thights down. He licked your pussy with broad, slow strokes first before beginning to devour you once he felt yout clit swlling against his tongue.
With his vigorous, repetitive thrust, his tongue lapping and sucking over your clit, and the added pressure you already felt before all this, your thighs come in an instant around his head, trapping him here as you scream. It felt surreal, like you were high on drugs, and not on the ones you were already on while a colorless, fluid come all over his mouth. You didn’t realize at first, seeing stars behind your eyelids, now shut completely. Only the way he was cleaning you up, lapping all the juices of your squirt and orgasm, made you conscious again, tugging his hair with the faint trail of power you had.
Your hand fell from his hair, your fingers brushing over his face, his cheek, as you were completely perplexed by Kakashi, his mouth, his chin—all soaked.
But his eyes, God, his eyes were so fucking entrancing, like the only person in this world that he could desire right now is you. Did you just…? No…you never did. But it was the best, intense orgasm you had. Your senses were so clouded, still so clouded, that you felt if he wasn’t here with you from beginning, you wouldn’t know what to do.
His mouth parted when one of your fingers grazed his lips, and you felt your pussy clenching when he swirled his tongue around it, taking your hand to sit still as he sucked now on two of your fingers.
He is so fucking good.
Your eyes glanced slowly, seeing how tight his combat pants were in the middle.
Kakashi sensed the way you feel, like a subtle hint a cat might attack him by the manacing, predatory gaze in her, either because she likes him or because she doesn’t. And right now, it’s definitely not the second option.
A jolt of electricity runs down your spine, like your chakra that kept both of you hidden (long gone before your first orgasm) was now only supplied by him when hou over him, knees resting on both sides to sit on his lap. His hands come quickly to rest on your waist.
“[Name]—” You cupped both of his cheeks, your mouth finding his, shutting him off, barely letting him breathe between your kisses. “How…d-do you feel?” He hissed when you grind right against his leaking tip, propping his shorts. The fact is, Kakashi felt himself ashamed for indulging so much previously in how beautiful you reacted to him that now he has a bad conscience.
“Better.”
“Then we should—”
“Now I want to make you feel good.”
Your tongue slips inside his mouth again, making his terrible life more struggling by how your naked body grinds on him and your other hand comes under his skin to touch everywhere you can. You stopped the kiss, letting others, wet and hot, fall down his neck.
“You don’t need to. I only want you to feel capable enough to…”
Kakashi’s words fall off his mouth when you start lowering yourself more and more until you play with his pants, your body bending, ass rising in the air. Hell, thank God you are protected, only seen by him. But the thought it’s not not for too long make him more alerted. Kakashi doesn’t have infinite chakra, and he would really need to preserve it. What if the ambush happens again after you both want to leave and—
“But I want to. Can I?” He glanced down at you, seeing more clearly your intoxicated gaze and your rushed, desperate movements, like that cursed pollen didn’t even get completely absorbed into your body but to be eliminated. His hips buckled when your fingertips move around his bare waistline, giving him a soft peck here. “Can I, Kakashi?”
He’s completely done. You’ll definitely hate him, won’t you? Still, he tried again to stop you.
“I’d…rather make you feel good.”
His hand came on your shoulder when you nuzzled your face here, feeling the urge to escape the prison of your seductive spells.
“I want to feel you inside my mouth, please. I need it.” Kakashi’s eyes widen, more aroused by the way you speak and look at him, playing with the edge of his trousers.
He didn’t realize he nodded.
Kakashi didn’t even hear the rustle of the leaves swirling in the wind, his knees scraping the ground, or his pants’ zipper being dragged down—only an agitating, ringing sound in his ears, his grey eyes totally bewitched by you.
Kakashi groaned at the same time you moaned when you licked the wet spot with his precum imprinted over the shorts, taking his dick in your hand. He’s still surprised he didn’t cum yet after he ate you previously. Kakashi will definitely not forget that image of you getting off his face, letting him swallow every drop. He was too focused on making you release the toxins from your blood, too focused to make you scream. And now? He feels pathetic in your hands. All control vanished from him as he let you free him of his shorts; the faint coldness of the air barely touched his dick before you warmed it up already, swirling your tongue over his tip.
“Ah…”
His deep voice was all you could hear and want to hear, and his taste was all you wanted to eat right now, to taste him on your lips as you kiss his dick from the bottom to the top until you couldn’t wait to take him in your mouth.
You hummed inch by inch, letting it still inside your throat to make him weak a little before slipping away. You stroke him as you watch him unravel.
“God, I wish you were like this instead of me.” Kakashi closed his eyes, breathing heavily. You whisper before coming to take him in your mouth again. “To see you more like this.”
He throbbed in your mouth as you sucked him on and on without stopping, making his hand come to rest on your head and sending vibrations down his veins when you moan— saliva slipped down your chin from the sloppy deepthroat you start to give him. He tugged your hair at the feeling, only spurring you to choke on him again. Making you more lightheaded than you already were.
When Kakashi glances down to make eye contact with you, you come to your senses for a moment by the look he gives you, realizing your position.
“Y-Yes? Would you like me to lose composure like that for you?”
Is he teasing me? He is as aroused as me? No. It might be from my intoxication. It sure is. Damn, you want him so fucking bad. All of him.
You glanced away, focusing on making him cum, but Kakashi didn’t have any intent to do so, trying only to offer you what you wanted with his body, not like he wasn’t feeling extremely pleased by the fact you were just kneeling between his legs with his dick in your mouth. He is despicable, isn’t he?
As he tried to provide you more pleasure, touching your breast, your back, your face—his whole body stuck him in place, incapable of doing more when you didn’t relent, sucking the life out of him until he filled your mouth deep enough to make your throat bulge and your wall tightness to grip his tip enough that he was sure he would cum now if he didn’t stop.
“[Name], please—stop. I’ll—”
He tugged your hair a little, not to hurt, but to try to signal he might cum; his other hand came to cup your face, but Kakashi was completely finished when you glanced up at him one more time before his cum spilled inside your throat, your mouth working to swallow all he gave you.
Kakashi’s face was so intimate you felt your chest pumping violently, and not because of the sex. You’re not sure who was more desperate to lap the other’s cum by the way you clean him off, licking his balls and kissing his dick one more time before you came to kiss him, coming over him.
Kakashi hugs your form, glitching a little when you sit over him by how overwhelmed he is by the way you behave. He can handle you. Of course he can. But you lost precious time to make him cum when he was the one supposed to take care of you. You don’t realize any of this right now, and his guilt only accentuates every time he has a second to breathe.
Not that you let him.
You take his hands to come over your ass, letting him squeeze it, your breast touching his lean chest as you eat each other out. You stopped only to breath against his lips.
“Strip your clothes off.”
His amused glint was here by how demanding you sounded, yet Kakashi was also…afraid. Still afraid. You are both naked. In the middle of the forest. His chakra is at his limit. And the next step will literally dig his grave further. But how could he tell you? He let his shirt fall over, and by the way you looked at him, Kakashi’s breath rested in his throat for a second by your words.
“You’re so beautiful.”
Did you really mean all you told him until now? Since when do you feel about him like this? Or will you react the same with other men in this condition? He feels agitated just by the thought of some asshole having the chance to see you so open.
His bad luck comes from the fact his mask couldn’t save him both times today. You thought you imagined it when you saw his face flustered. But he didn’t when he saw yours. Kakashi comes to hug you again, squeezing your ass before lifting you more over his lower abdomen as his head comes next to yours.
“You’re more beautiful, believe me.” He didn’t realize he only riled you by the way his fingers caressed your back. “Very beautiful and alluring.” Or by the way his hoarse voice whispered praises in your ear.
Kakashi only hoped you’d come to your senses until he heard your voice.
“Kakashi… Please, I need you to…”
He brushed his lips over yours, pleading with his eyes for you to not say it.
“To what?”
You kissed him slowly, sensually, nipping his bottom lip between your teeth. You lowered yourself on him, feeling his dick twitch at the movement.
“To feel me.”
He looked in another direction, trying to blink away the desire you light inside of him.
“Are you sure? Do you want to...”
Your hands come over him, your forehead rests against him as you try to make him look at you.
“Don’t make me humiliate myself more, Kakashi. Fuck me, please—”
His eyes widen at your words, feeling the urge to wipe them off with his lips pressing against yours.
“[Name], you’ll hate me if—”
“I’m the one taking advantage!”
He swallowed, shaking his head, yet his grip tightened on your thighs as you moved slowly.
“You’re not in your rigjt mind—“
No. This is worse. He looked at your desperate, lustful yet hurt expression and felt a pang in his chest. You lowered your head over his shoulder as you mumbled.
“S-So you don’t want to…”
His hand comes to take your face in his hands, pecking your lips.
“I do.” He let his lips leave his love marks against your skin, showing his care. “I’ll do it.”
Not even a condom in his useless backpack could be found. Not like he would ever think to bring one in a mission with you. That thought was completely nonexistent before.
Your legs trembled as you felt his hand come under your body, taking his dick as he started sliding his tip between your folds. He circled at your entrance, his eyes only glancing up at you or at your lips. He whispered, not sure where to look first to gather his answer.
“Can I?”
“Yes. Do what you want. Inside me, please—“
His dick started entering you, and Kakashi’s lungs had no air left at the feeling, still he focus was on all your faces.
“F-Fuck.”
You’re so wet, yet his girth makes you struggle from this position. He grasps you tight, whispering encouraging, sweet nonsense in your ears.
“I’m here. I’m here.”
You whined, breathing hard as you clamped down his dick, feeling your legs tremble little by little. Kakashi felt at the brink of death when he felt your tight walls giving a warmth he was not sure he could resist. Or resist against it.
“Please, relax. It’s going to hurt if you don’t—”
You head rested against his, both foreheads covered with little drops of sweat.
“I don’t care.” You take him all in in that moment, making your head fall back and him groaning at the addictive feeling. “Take me.” How could he not respond to that?
He raised his hips, hitting exactly where you want him to. “Oh God—“ Your legs burn so sweet as you ride his dick. “Y-Yes, yes—Like that.” His dick feels so good inside you. You tremble in need, filling his ear with your cries. And Kakashi was not better.
“I need more. Baby, p-please.”
Baby? His heart can’t take too much of this. Kakashi’s arm rested high on your back, now his hand come around your neck.
“Don’t move.” He lowered you on the ground, slipping slowly in the process. He looked over your face, assessing how aware you are.
“Kakashi, I swear to God—“
There’s no point of stopping now.
“Spread your legs for me. Can you do that?”
You almost bite your lip, your cheeks flushed instantly as your closed legs now start spreading for Kakashi. He is sure he shouldn’t be allowed to deserve this. Your arms over your chest were quickly set aside by him before one rested on his elbows.
“I’m sure you’ll hate me.”
“I can’t hate you—“
He stopped you with his dick coming back inside you, not yet used to the incredible feeling. Kakashi can see you better now, and he’s not sure if it’s a bad thing or not. For his blood pressure sure is. He starts feeding you more, thrusting inside as he watches you cry for him. You want to feel him forever. You’re sure. And it’s not because of the toxins. You already felt you sweat at least half of it out.
Kakashi’s gaze followed how you bite your lip, by how deep he is inside you, tears threaten to fall on your cheeks, and they do when he moves faster, his body so close you almost seem fused together. You felt his warm breath against your face, your lashes fluttering when you felt his lips on your cheeks, kissing the tears away.
“Here?”
“Mhm!”
His hand comes to find a way between your bodies, letting your skin breathe only for a singular purpose. You nod frantically when he starts grazing your swollen clit, helping you reach closer to your orgasm.
And truly you didn’t need long. Soon enough, air left your lungs at every harsh, deep thrust until he started going faster, nodding frantically at him.
“I’m going to cum again— Kakashi, please!”
He claimed your lips. “Do it. You can do it.” He whispered against them. “I need you too, sweetheart.”
“Oh God—Mhmmm! You feel so good. So fucking good. Do I feel good for you?”
“Y-Yes.” Like heaven. “So good.”
You’re so damn talkative. Who would’ve thought? You want to literally rewind his brain forever?
You came all over his dick, crying against his chest, your orgasm only triggering him way too close to resist the temptation. And when your legs trap him and he realizes that’s really a dangerous zone he will force himself out if necessary. He gripped one of them to lower it down, and you begged against his lips so sweetly.
“Baby, no. I’m on the—“
You could be. That’s not a problem. That’s a thing he should speak when you’re in your right mind. If this were ever to happen again. Kakashi hopes it will. It will crush him if not. He realized he doesn’t want anyone else. In any way.
He begged you back, his eyes compelling you as his dick was punishing (pleasuring) your insides. You’re not sure.
“Please, listen to me.”
He places both of your hands above your head with his on top of it, shutting you off with his lips and his harsh, deep pounding. Your eyes roll in the back of your head, your legs completely falling from your waist. He thrusts one more time, pressing his lips against yours before he slips off your pussy at the same time his mouth leaves yours. Kakashi didn’t let your eyes fall off him as he stroked himself between your legs until you could feel some of his warm release between your thighs. He groaned so much at his cum didn’t stop spurring that you’re sure you never heard something so attractive.
You didn’t have time to have a small, tiny intrusive thought as reality finally start setting in when he came back, pestering your face with soft kisses as he took you from the ground, your body placed vertically on his lap.
“You’re feeling okay?” His lower, deeper voice, like a cradle song. “Tell me, [Name].” Kakashi left a kiss on your forehead.
“Mhm, mhm.”
He turned his body to search for a vest, his backpack with his sleeping bag, or anything to hide both of your bodies in. You murmured, exhausted.
“Do you like me, Kakashi?”
He paused his wandering hands over the ground, completely taken aback.
You’ll probably not remember his answer. That’s his hope. But he didn’t look at you when he said it.
“I do.”
You murmured against his chest one more time before your body slowly let you fall asleep in less than a minute.
“Your heart beats so fast.”
He sighed, tugging you against him so you wouldn’t get cold, or…for other reasons too. Kakashi mumbled, resting his head on yours.
“You should hear yours.”
A flicker of chakra was all he felt inside of him, sensing the barrier exposing your presence at the same time the pieces of clothing were thrown on both of you, vanishing instantly.
🍃
In a simple, hidden cave that served as a subterranean room used to rest, stash scrolls, or hide from tracking ninjas, you stayed unconscious until now.
You flinched as you woke up, aware of how stiff your body felt. A blush spread across your cheek as you felt your bare body, warmed under Kakashi’s blanket—which he’d probably use for his missions. You struggled so much to get dressed that it felt like it took an hour, using whatever clothes were still wearable—that is, pants and a top. Your underwear was hanging on a wire, stuck deep into the rock so it wouldn’t fall. Thoughtful of him? Yes. Embarrassing for you? Yes.
What did you do?
A sigh escaped your mouth as you managed to come outside the hideout, making Kakashi glance briefly from where he was patrolling until now while you slowly came to sit next to the small fire, close enough to where you had rested. You avoided his eyes, and he knew it.
“How do you feel?”
You put your elbows on your knees, raising yourself slightly into a more comfortable position. For the first time, you looked at him, forcing a smile that was still genuine.
“Surprisingly, I feel much better than I did before the mission. You took care of me,” you added, your voice lowered a tone. “...Thank you.”
Kakashi hummed, not mentioning the fact that helping someone shouldn’t be praised for having common sense. You moved a stick through the ashes that spelled the end of the fire, as if you wanted to fill the silence around you with anything that could make it bearable. His way-too-early question surprised you, making you stiffen.
“Did you mean what you said?”
You groaned while both your palms tried to hide your face, too red to blame on the fire.
“Can we not speak about it? It was humiliating.”
He answered shortly, much like your response.
“Did I make you feel bad?”
“No.”
“Good.”
He shared a faint smile with you. Then, you bit your lip in distress, wondering if you should risk it. After all, you could play dumb, minimizing all of your big, so fucking obvious, confessions. You were drugged, right?
But you were not a liar.
“...Yes. I meant it.”
You glanced in another direction, your chin resting on your hand. Your eyes wandered mindlessly despite your spiraling thoughts and the heart that threatened to escape your constricted ribs.
“Quite surprising.”
You looked at him, confused. Kakashi slipped his hand into your backpack, and you only now noticed he had been handling it. He threw you a bottle of water, and you caught it smoothly, taking a much-needed sip to relieve your dehydrated mouth. A flashback of you screaming his name flooded your mind, but you swallowed down the intrusive image with another gulp.
“How so?”
His tone was amused, dissipating the tension in the icy air the night provided.
“You were not exactly the friendliest person before. I usually catch it quickly when someone is interested.”
You placed your hands on either side of your body, leaning back as you snorted, a mirthful glint in your eyes.
“I’m sorry that the perceptive Kakashi Hatake himself didn’t uncover my feelings. You’re not so easy to read either, by the way.”
He breathed out a laugh, not retorting for once.
Kakashi wasn’t the only one curious about what had happened, about what you had both said. You started carefully.
“How were you not affected by the pollen?”
He took part of his mask between his fingers, tapping it back against his face.
“I made some changes to it. It’s now enchanted with a material that blocks toxins in the air.”
“That’s cheating.”
“Don’t tell anyone.”
The corner of your mouth twitched, suppressing a smile. Yet how could he have been so affected? Did you remember it wrong? The way he touched you, tasted you, and fucked you? More like... made love to you? Spoke so intimately, so sweetly to you?
You caught yourself speaking, and this time Kakashi was visibly tense. His eyes suddenly became very interested in the ground beneath him.
“Did you also mean what you said?”
His answer came after a minute.
“...In a way.”
Oh.
He glanced at you then, seeing how you had switched places from how you had been before your question—you weren’t here with him anymore. And shinobi were skilled enough to anticipate when a threat lay ahead. A fight, maybe.
For him, the discussion had already been difficult enough. He wasn’t prepared for more than this. Although, when you spoke again, he felt caged between his own walls. What used to be a familiar feeling had now slowly transformed into something he wasn’t as comfortable with as before.
“So it was only sexual?”
Kakashi realized by the trembling tone in your voice that you had understood him in the worst way possible.
“No, [Name].” His eyes widened, distressed, as he saw half your face, a tear tracing your cheek. “Don’t...”
You turned away, and he had the urge to rise to his feet. He did. It was too late to step back. You only saw his shadow approaching. He crouched down, and slowly, hesitantly, his hand settled over yours, and you fought the urge not to pull away.
“That’s not what... I meant.”
You wiped the tears away with the back of your hand.
“Yeah, sure. Whatever you say.”
Kakashi sighed, and it only made you feel worse, like a parent trying to make a child understand something simple. Not knowing how conflicted Kakashi was, how he needed to detach himself from his own discomfort to speak openly about things he didn’t understand yet.
“It’s... I didn’t consider this before. It was surprising for me.”
“Okay.”
He sat down beside you now, taking your hand in his and playing with your fingers, turning the little ring you used to twirl whenever anxiety got the best of you, now using it himself to distract from the intrusive thoughts that surfaced whenever it came to his own vulnerability.
Being honest was all he had to offer for now. At least, that’s what he thought.
“I wasn’t unaffected like you think. Not only in the way of having you like this.”
You furrowed your brows, tilting your head but still not looking at him.
“So you meant the other parts or not?”
You both spoke so vaguely that if anyone else listened, they wouldn’t understand a thing.
“...Yes.”
You scoffed, letting out a harsh breath.
“I don’t know what to believe.”
He didn’t know either.
“I understand,” Kakashi admitted eventually. “I never... tried before.”
“What? A relationship?”
You looked back, your eyes meeting for a second. Fuck, wrong move. Your gaze lingered on his expression, one you hadn’t seen before. He nodded, and you found yourself turning until you faced him fully, both of you sitting on the ground.
“I can’t say I’m much different. You know what arseholes I’ve met before. But... you’re not that kind of arsehole.”
His warm chuckle made your heart leap. Only now did you realize how close he was, close enough to hear his slow breathing and to crave his warmth again without being so hot and bothered.
“God, if you say this to anyone else, I swear—”
He shook his head, cutting you off.
“Don’t worry. I’ll never do something like that.”
You whispered, searching for him without realizing it. For that part of him you needed now.
“I get the feeling you wouldn’t.”
When he met your eyes, Kakashi regretted it, forced to weigh your words. How could you see him for what he was? It unsettled him. He needed to do something. Good or bad, he didn’t know.
“I don’t want to raise your hopes for nothing.”
You studied his face. His words sounded like a rejection, but his tone and expression didn’t match them. You tried something else.
“Okay. I get it. You’re allergic to feelings.”
He chuckled.
“I guess I am. But...”
You tilted your head instantly.
“But?”
“I’m not sure. I felt something once and never found it again until... you.”
You gulped.
“What does that mean, Kakashi? Do you want me to be your...”
No. That wasn’t the appropriate question. He should be the one. Kakashi interrupts you.
“Do you want to be my... cure?”
“Yes.”
Your heart has a mind of its own, otherwise you couldn’t explain how or when you leaned closer to Kakashi, softly pecking his lips. He was just as startled as you.
Only for a moment. Kakashi glanced shortly at your lips, then at your eyes one more time before he leaned in back, his lips meeting yours, licking his way into your mouth. The tip of your tongue brushed against his. Just the wet press of his mouth and the quick faltering of his breath make your fingers tighten at his neck, a dizzy drop is present in your stomach every time he comes back for more. A shuddering breath escaped him. When his eyes opened, his innocent gaze was almost gone, swallowed entirely by his pupils. His voice was hoarse, finally feeling at peace for showing without guilt how much he feels for you.
“Kakashi, we really shouldn’t—”
“One more time.”
Kakashi pressed his lips against yours, unwilling to wait another second. His tongue writhed deeper, tangling around yours, tasting greedily more and more of you. When he pulled away, both of you looked wrecked by it—cheeks flushed, lips swollen, eyes glistening.
You licked your lips, not daring to see things yet, breaking the spell. When your mouth twitches, failing to stop a smile forming, Kakashi finds his heart violently pumping inside of him, taking your hands in his, glancing away. But you’re sure now of what you see and feel, and his subtle smile didn’t go unnoticed.
At least the tension in his body finally left after the two of you coming to a discussion.
Aware now of your surroundings, you glanced around the darkness spreading around the forest. The small fire is long gone; probably need to make another one until tomorrow. You looked back at Kakashi. You slept until now; he really needs a break from taking care of you all day.
“Come on, let’s switch. I’ll stay awake until morning.”
His answer is coming shortly.
“No, don’t worry.”
Your threatening tone wasn’t missed. “Kakashi.” He didn’t respond, not until he saw the concern between your eyebrows, the unspoken pleading words all over your face. And of course, now he can openly see the lovely glint inside of them. For him. Only for him.
“Then, we stay together.”
You nodded reluctantly. But not long after, as your fingers carefully play with his soft, silver hair as his head rested on your lap, Kakashi fell asleep. One of the few times in his life, he felt safe enough to be vulnerable, to trust someone.
Repeating the same pattern doesn’t sound so appealing anymore when your presence does synaptic rejuvenation for him. He didn’t understand the reasons for the mechanism behind why it felt so undeniably right for you to be that person, and it’s definitely not an option to turn to his grey, oppressive walls or the suffocating solitude after you forcefully demolished them to claim even a little space. To let his heart breathe more, accepting a love he is not sure yet how it will handle, but at least he will not dismiss it. For the first time in his life.
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SYNOPSIS: You're a famous faceless webcomic artist online. After an argument in some unnamed comment section when you were younger, you gained yourself a hater who loves to annoy you over every little thing you do. Neither of you seem to be able to agree on anything, and every day you realize that he does this intentionally to be a shithead. You didn't know that this mysterious hater was closer than you might think.
can you write one where f!MC is being pursued by an annoying guy she doesn’t like who won’t take no for an answer. it annoys sebastian just as much as it annoys her, so next time it happens he pretends to be her boyfriend and suggests they start fake dating for good measure. eventually they make it for real.
thank you! i love the fake relationship trope sooo much and i’ve yet to see anyone write one with sebastian.
of course, lovely anon!! i haven't seen any fake relationship fic either so i'm happy to contribute a lil something! tbh i sincerely thought this would be a short ficlet but it ended up being just over 2.5k fluffy words of dummies in love 🤩
Title: rumor has it
Pairing: Sebastian Sallow x f!MC
Summary: Eric Northcott is relentlessly pursuing you, so Sebastian offers to act as your heroic boyfriend to get him off your back.
"Northcott," Sebastian greets him, leaning against your potions station and resting a hand possessively on the small of your back. "Is there something my girlfriend can help you with?"
"Your girlfriend?" Eric asks skeptically. "That's new."
"I suppose it is," Sebastian agrees, nonplussed. "Been a long time coming, though."
Across the room, Ominis laughs under his breath.
Sebastian Sallow is an excellent young wizard. Clever, well-read, focused – by all accounts, he should be a brilliant strategist.
But sometimes he comes up with the worst ideas you’ve ever heard.
“You musn’t be serious, Sebastian,” you laugh, closing your potions textbook to appreciate the actual madness of what he’d just suggested.
“Why not?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.
You roll your eyes as you tell him, “You can’t just pretend to be my boyfriend.”
Earlier that afternoon, the two of you had met up with Ominis in the Undercroft to study after staging a quick exit from the library. While Sebastian was hunting down a book on ancient runes, Eric Northcott had cornered you in the stacks and tried for the second time to convince you to have a Butterbeer with him at the Three Broomsticks instead of “hiding that gorgeous face behind those dusty books like you always do.”
When Sebastian had returned, you were shoving the Gryffindor boy away from you with a tense look on your face, and if he hadn’t just finished a stint of evening detentions for slipping a Puffskein into Duncan Hobhouse’s schoolbag, he would have hexed the amorous git himself.
Since then, he’d been suggesting ways to make him pay, with each idea more fantastical than the last.
“Sure I can, and we can even make a real show of it,” he says with a charming grin. “If you want to get Northcott off your back for good, let’s allow him to think your handsome, roguish boyfriend is the type who would challenge him to a duel if he tries anything untoward.”
“That is a terrible plan,” you deadpan.
“It’s actually not a bad idea,” Ominis chimes in.
You glare at him, because Ominis never thinks that Sebastian’s ideas are any good – even the ones that aren’t completely bonkers.
“What are you playing at, Gaunt?” you accuse him.
“I’m merely suggesting that Northcott may actually accept your contempt for him if it’s for a reason that allows him to save face,” he explains with a secretive smile. “Simply telling him that you’re not interested hasn’t seemed to work thus far, so why not be creative?”
“Creative?” you snort. “Wouldn’t ‘creative’ be blasting him myself the next time he lays a hand on me?”
“As if you need any worse of a reputation,” Ominis drawls, and he has a point.
“Come on, let’s really mess with him,” Sebastian pleads. “You know he deserves to be taken down a peg or two.”
You’re not surprised that Sebastian is able to get you on board so quickly. Truthfully, you think you’d follow him on his harebrained schemes just about anywhere.
“Fine,” you cautiously agree. “But just to scare him off, alright?”
You swear you can see the gears in Sebastian’s head start to turn immediately.
He kicks off his brilliant plan the next day during your N.E.W.T.-level potions class. You’re supposed to be brewing an antidote to Veritaserum, and while the draught itself isn’t necessarily difficult, some of the ingredients are a little tricky to prepare.
You’re focused on trying to carefully slit open some Sopophorous beans when you felt a presence behind you, and then Eric Northcott is draping his arm across your shoulders.
“Need a hand with those?” he offers, trying to sound congenial.
“I’m fine, Eric,” you insist.
“I’m really quite good at potions, you know,” he reminds you, grabbing one of the paring knives off the table and haphazardly slicing one of the beans you’d laid out. “I’d be happy to give you some hands-on lessons if you’d like, one-on-one of course.”
“Sebastian,” Ominis hisses from across the room, having picked up on the conversation while the other boy poured over his notes on wormwood. “Now might be a good time to offer some gentlemanly assistance.”
His eyes narrow when he spots Northcott leaning over your cauldron, clearly trying to sneak a look down your top.
“Don’t let my antidote burn,” Sebastian mumbles as he storms across the room, as if Ominis would ever spare a thought for Sebastian’s cauldron when the show is about to begin.
You bite the inside of your cheek as you watch him notice your predicament, silently pleading him with your eyes to do something to get you out of it.
“Northcott,” Sebastian greets him, leaning against your potions station and resting a hand possessively on the small of your back. “Is there something my girlfriend can help you with?”
“Your girlfriend?” Eric asks skeptically. “That’s new.”
“I suppose it is,” Sebastian agrees, nonplussed. “Been a long time coming, though.”
Across the room, Ominous laughs under his breath.
“Really?” Eric asks dubiously, briefly glancing at your expression. “I was under the impression that the two of you were just ‘best friends.’”
“Well, shouldn’t a good relationship start out as a friendship?” you counter, though you don’t sound entirely convincing.
“Right,” he says slowly.
“Mate, you know how tough she is,” Sebastian says with a charming grin. “Took me ages to convince her to give me a chance, she strung me right along for months.”
You jump slightly when Sebastian slides his hand across your back to your waist, tugging you closer to his side – and out from under Eric’s arm.
“But she finally took pity on me,” he says with a lovelorn sigh, and you narrow your eyes at his dramatics.
“Oh, Sebastian,” you reply, laughing nervously. “You’re hopeless.”
“Hopelessly in love with you,” he says, quickly leaning in to kiss the corner of your mouth.
Before you can react, Professor Sharp wanders by and instructs you all to stop your dallying and focus on your draughts. Eric spares one more skeptical look at the two of you before returning to his cauldron.
Sebastian’s hand on your waist lingers for a moment even after he’s gone, but then he lets it fall.
“Sorry about that,” he says under his breath. “Had to sell it, you’re really a bad liar, you know.”
You think Sebastian doesn’t know the half of it.
(Sebastian’s just glad you avoided his gaze long enough to miss his deep red blush.)
—
As it turns out, the kiss wasn’t enough to convince Northcott that you were properly off the market.
The rumor mill quickly focuses on you and Sebastian – specifically whether or not it’s true that your platonic friendship has become something more.
“I don’t really believe it,” Nerida claims whenever the subject comes up. “Sebastian has always seemed like the bachelor type.”
“He could have had a girlfriend all this time and never has,” Violet agrees, trying to hide her bitterness. “I don’t think he really wants to be in a relationship.”
“Are you joking?” Imelda scoffs. “Sallow’s been a lovesick puppy over that girl for years, I’m just glad she finally came around.”
“She is very protective of him,” Grace speculates. “I remember when Samantha Dale asked him out last fall, I thought she was going to Depulso the poor girl clear across the courtyard!”
You do your best to ignore it, but Ominis stubbornly insists on telling you everything he’s heard.
“I would have thought that the two of you would be better at pulling off a ruse as simple as this,” he says, disappointment dripping from his words. “How hard can it be to pretend to like Sebastian? I don’t have to see him to know that the whole school thinks he’s handsome.”
“You don’t understand,” you sigh, walking alongside him on the way to arithmancy. “It’s… I don’t have to pretend, if you know what I mean.”
“Come now,” he says quietly. “I’m blind, not dim.”
“Then you do understand!” you whine. “How am I supposed to just let him pretend to be my boyfriend to ward off Eric and not go mad from knowing that it’s all a lie?”
“I suppose me telling you to be honest with him about how you feel would go in one ear and right out the other,” Ominis suggests, smirking to himself when you curse at him under your breath.
“Buck up, then,” he says simply. “I’m sure this whole thing will blow up in some spectacular way sooner than later – it is Sebastian, after all.”
—
As per usual, Ominis is correct.
Not even a full day goes by before Sebastian corners you outside the Hufflepuff common room and asks to walk you to dinner, taking your hand in his as soon as he notices some fifth-years studiously watching the two of you as you make your way to the Great Hall.
“I missed you this afternoon,” he tells you as he walks you upstairs, putting on a good show. “How come you didn’t want to study with Ominis and me after class?”
“I just needed to lie down for a little while,” you tell him, not wanting to admit to avoiding the way he’s been so unbearably charming lately.
“Feeling alright?” he asks concernedly.
“Yes,” you tell him. “Just… I don’t know. Out of sorts, I guess.”
“Anything I can do to help?” he asks.
You get distracted by the feeling of him stroking his thumb along your wristbone reassuringly.
“Um… n-no, I don’t think so,” you stutter.
“Surely there’s something I can do to help,” he says, and you wonder if you’re imagining the way his eyes look a little darker than usual, as if his pupils have entirely taken over.
“Like what?” you breathe.
Then he gets that look on his face that he always gets when he’s about to do something stupid.
“Come with me,” he says, tugging you over to a spot along the wall in the reception hall, next to one of those empty cabinets you’d looted for Nellie Oggspire back in your fifth year.
“Sebastian, w-what–” you stammer.
He presses you against the wall, one hand pressed to your waist and the other flat against the stone behind you, boxing you in. He glances around again and clearly spots whatever it was he was looking for, grinning mischievously before he leans in and traces his nose across your cheek.
“Don’t hex me for this,” he murmurs against your lips, and then he’s kissing you.
You melt against the cool stone wall, tipping your head back so Sebastian can tilt his head against yours and completely overtake your senses with his demanding kisses. Without consciously deciding to, you wrap your arms around his shoulders to hold him close to you, desperate to ensure he stays right where he is.
He kisses you well, you think. You know he’s always been a huge flirt, and that he has taken some girls in your year on dates to Hogsmeade over the years, but you’ve desperately avoided any post-date conversations with him because you did not want to know what he and those girls had gotten up to afterward.
Now you know, you think bitterly, but just as quickly you realize you don’t actually care. He’s skilled at this – nipping at your bottom lip to get you to open up for him, sliding his hand between your robes and your dress shirt so he can feel the curve of your waist, nudging a knee between your thighs to pin you even further to the wall.
“Bastian,” you murmur, tangling your fingers in his hair.
He groans against your mouth like he can’t help himself, and you whine a touch too loudly when he grinds his hips against yours.
Then you hear Eric’s voice call out, “Sallow!”
Sebastian looks like sin when he pulls away from you, and not just because his hair is a little mussed from your helpless tugging and his lips are red and swollen.
It’s because he’s smirking, and you quickly realize he’d planned this entire thing.
He’d pulled you to a spot where the Gryffindors on their way to dinner could easily see you being ravished, and it’s not just Eric he’s caught up in it – it’s Leander and Cressida too, some of the worst gossips in the entire castle.
…You are absolutely going to hex him for this, you think.
“Northcott,” Sebastian drawls as he turns around. “Can I help you?”
Eric looks furious, but at least he doesn’t look skeptical anymore.
“You might want to consider someplace a bit more private,” he offers, seething. “I am a prefect, after all. Could send you to detention for being so lewd in public.”
“Fair point,” Sebastian says easily. “In fact, maybe you ought to send us both. Hardly anywhere’s as private as the dungeons.”
You quickly smack Sebastian in the chest with the back of your hand, wordlessly begging him to stop before you actually do have to report to detention.
Mercifully, Eric simply throws a few choice words at Sebastian and stomps off to the Great Hall, Leander and Cressida on his heels to undoubtedly tell the entire school what just happened.
“You’re evil,” you hiss, still catching your breath. “You arranged all that just to embarrass Eric? To embarrass me like that?”
He frowns, confused. “No I didn’t, and I would never embarrass you.”
“You did!” you whine, shoving at his shoulders so he’ll step back. “They’re going to tell everyone and it’s going to make me sound like – like some pathetic girl who’s so desperate to avoid Eric’s attention that she’ll let her best friend feel her up in a busy hallway.”
“That’s not what they’ll think,” Sebastian argues. “And if anyone’s pathetic, love, it’s me.”
You scoff and wrap your arms around yourself, ashamed at how badly you wish you were still wrapped up in his arms instead despite everything you’re saying.
“You think I’m lying?” he asks derisively. “I’m a fool for you, and I would never hurt you. I kissed you like that because I wanted to, and if it happened to embarrass Northcott in the process, that’s even better.”
“Y-you wanted to?” you ask softly.
“I’ve wanted to for so long,” he finally admits.
His hands twitch at his sides like he wants to reach out for you, but he forces himself to behave.
“It’s the reason I came up with this stupid plan in the first place,” he sighs. “So that if anyone at this damn school gets to have the pleasure of walking you to class, or taking you to the Three Broomsticks or – or even kissing you senseless somewhere everyone could see, it would be me.”
You don’t have any words. But even if you did, there’s nothing you’d want to say to him that you couldn’t communicate by tugging him in by his collar and kissing him like you can’t think straight without his touch, so you do just that.
When you both break away to breathe, Sebastian quickly asks, “Are you actually hungry?”
“Not anymore,” you admit, your gaze still on his lips.
Sebastian barely manages to utter the words “Undercroft” and “hurry” in between kisses, but while he determinedly works a claiming bruise into the side of your neck, you whine, “Your common room’s closer.”
—
Once Ominis overhears Cressida waxing poetic about Sebastian Sallow practically mounting his new girlfriend in the hallway by the Grand Staircase, he doesn’t wonder why the two of you never show up for dinner.
— headcanons: the daily life as five hargreeves’ zombie fiancée + a bonus prequel scene at the end.
PART 1
tags: fem!zombie!reader, fluff to make up for the lack of it in the initial post, and angst at the end because i like witnessing five suffer
tw: mentions of suicide in the prequel section
notes: happy pride month to five hargreeves, one of my favorite bisexuals (and to my fellow black bisexual readers!!!! i love y’all!!)
five solving puzzles in the morning paper with you—word crosses, riddles, all that jazz. they make for good practice when he’s too tired to come up with actual lesson plans.
five sitting outside on the porch with you in the morning, sipping on his coffee while his free hand rests on your thigh. you sit in silence, listening to the birds and watching the squirrels run around.
in fact, i can only see him letting you outside whenever he wants to enjoy the morning weather
there are too many risks that come with letting you out in public
five cooking breakfast or dinner while you mindlessly watch the flashing colors coming from the tv
luther having one-sided conversations with you about his time in space whenever five’s at work
i’m envisioning this being the gateway to you developing an interest in space when your brain gets readjusted, so you’ll eventually nerd out with him
i also see this as luther having a friend he can talk about the same stuff as he did with sloane
:(
luther being your physical therapist since he can relate to needing the care after having to adjust to his chimp body
five sharing penut-butter and marshmallow sandwiches with you
five REFUSING to get you to try his coffee because he can barely keep track of you when you’re not under the influence of caffeine
you and five napping together after a long day at work
like, five’s head is leaned back against the headboard and you’re laying your head on his lap while he rubs your arm until he falls asleep
#needthatrealbad
whenever luther’s watching you and five’s running errands, he FREQUENTLY calls
like, once every hour
the man is paranoid, but he wants to sound like he doesn’t care
“just making sure you’re not torturing my wife with that smooth brain of yours” - five to luther
“knowing how insufferable you are, a part of me was expecting her to run away. i was just making sure you didn’t lose her” - also five to luther
he just wants you to be okay, and he can’t find it in himself to trust his siblings after all the shit they went through
five leaving the dining table for a few seconds and coming back to your food splattered all over the walls
luther calling diego for help whenever he’s unable to get you under control, and they end up destroying the house
diego eventually calling lila so she can help fix things since she’s the most responsible of the trio (the bar is low)
diego and lila spending most of the time arguing
five coming back, finding out anyway, and lashing out (at them, not you)
i’m imagining a scenario where five waits until you’re asleep to drink his anxiety away, but you end up waking up and getting out of bed, so you either pass out at the dining table together or he stumbles back into bed with you following behind
and no, he doesn’t let you drink
five will make sure to give you a forehead kiss before leaving for work EVERY morning. he never forgets.
viktor makes sure to ask about your progress whenever he calls five since he can’t physically be there to help
i don’t care about five saying he never liked vanya in the comic; five and viktor will always have a healthy sibling relationship on MY blog
five occasionally rants about dolores whenever you both can’t bring yourselves to sleep. i say occasionally because he’d rather talk about the memories he spent with you rather than the ones made in the apocalypse (plus, talking about his first lost love kinda adds salt to the wound, but he hates himself, so he brings her up anyway). It’s relieving to get all that emotional baggage out without being judged
in a way, you’re somewhat like dolores now
i’m a firm believer of five being a little spoon, okay; and maybe that’s just my desire to care for him coming out
BUT
before your death, he’d mostly be a little spoon. hold that man like he’s your own newborn baby because he needs that kind of love. he probably wouldn’t verbally ask for it, but more so “subtly” force his way into your arms
after your death, you can’t entirely grasp the concept of spooning, so he doesn’t have a choice other than to be the big spoon. HOWEVER, after enough shuffling throughout the night, his head is landing right on your chest and those arms are keeping a death grip around your waist, and he’s staying that way until morning
i don’t make the rules, i just tell it how it is
lila teaching five how to do certain hairstyles on you, depending on whether or not you had favorites
i’m saying lila instead of a youtube tutorial due to my recent rant about the lack of modern technology in season four, like i really just can’t wrap my head around it
moving on before i get irritated again
Five sighed heavily, raising his arm up to signal for the bartender in front of him. “Keep ‘em comin’, dear.”
He was on his eighth drink—or was it his tenth? It didn’t really matter since both numbers left him with the same hazy outcome. His eyes glistened with tears that he couldn’t bring himself to shed, and for every grab of his glass, his hand shook with anxiety. He was like a bridge seconds away from collapsing from pressure. The funny thing about it was that he’d been through hell and back for his entire life, yet this was what truly did it. Losing you felt like his heart had been ripped out and torn apart right in front of him, only for him to be left with the small pieces to put back together right at his feet.
The more he thought about it, the more his stomach churned with discomfort. He should probably get up and go home, take a hot shower and finally eat something, but that place had no room for him at the moment. Everywhere he went, there was some sort of reminder of you. The photos of you hanging on the walls and standing on his nightstand, your scent on the sheets, that one cozy blanket that you always used whenever you wanted to nap on the couch. It was horrible. Seeing all of your belongings while knowing that you’d never come back felt unreal.
Five sniffled before reaching his hand out to take ahold of the drink the bartender slid over to him. He took a small sip before setting it back down and dipping his head.
“You look a little young to be out here, don’t you think, boy?”
His head then slowly raised and turned to the source of the sound. A larger man dressed in black leather with salt-and-pepper hair slicked back into a ponytail stared back. His beard was long and gray, his voice was gruff, and his overall aura came off as daunting due to his size. From the patch on the back of his vest, it was safe to assume that he was apart of some sort of biker gang, or maybe he simply enjoyed dressing up to look like some sort of punk. Although, Five was far too drunk to care about whether or not the stranger was searching for a bar fight or if he was showing legitimate concern.
It was smart to stay on guard, especially when it came to someone like Five, but tonight simply wasn’t his night. He was already struggling to decide if he should take a bullet to the head instead or go further with his disastrous life.
“What’s it to you?” He croaked out ruggedly, eyes struggling to stay open. They remained hidden by his unruly bangs. “I’ve got my reasons to be here; you’ve got yours.”
As if they were at some sort of comedy club, the nearby associates of the man broke into quiet, mocking snickers. They found amusement in the idea of someone who looked so young and harmless refraining from getting weak knees after meeting someone who was twice their size. Five rolled his eyes.
“If you must know,” he began with a more modest demeanor, “I lost someone. Someone very important to me. I’m just… trying to get a bit of liquid courage before I have to go back home.”
“Sorry for your loss,” the man uttered before taking a long sip from his glass. His friends had seemed to calm down after hearing his explanation, their smiles switching into one of pity. He hated the attention. “Meet new people. It’ll take your mind off the hurt.”
Meeting new people seemed like social suicide. Even after meeting his lover, Five was still not used to the complexities that came with living a normal life. He wasn’t interested in talking to people, he was interested in getting a paycheck and lounging with his wife for the rest of his time on Earth.
“You’re too young and good-looking to be wasting away at a bar,” the older man added. “You need to get out and do something productive.”
Five squinted his eyes at him suspiciously, seemingly offended. “You comin’ onto me?” The man stared back, copying the same confused expression. Before he could speak, the drunkard cut him off.
“Look, I’m flattered, but you’re not my type, one; and two, I’m currently grieving my late wife, so if you could please—”
“That wasn’t where I was goin’ with that.” The man shook his head and let out a disappointed sigh. “Look, all I’m saying is that in order to move on, you need to push yourself to do something new.”
“Nope,” he could’ve laughed at how ridiculous the suggestion seemed to him, but he shook his head instead. “Not happening. It’s not as simple as you think it might be.”
“I mean, I had it all: a beautiful fiancée, a woman who understood and loved me despite how difficult I am, someone to keep my side of the bed warm when I work late and listen to my incessant complaining,” Five scoffed before chugging his drink. The now-empty glass struck the countertop loudly. “And I lost it all to some moron with a drinking problem.”
He wasn’t drunk enough to not hear the irony in his criticism, but he didn’t care much to call himself out.
“Can you imagine having the ability to turn back time, but lacking the skill needed to go as far back as you’d like to?” he asked the biker sitting beside him. “All of that power, all of that effort… for nothing, essentially.”
He laughed, but there was no joy behind it. An awkward tenseness wavered around the bar, causing a small selection of people to slowly stand from their stools and retreat elsewhere. “There’s honestly nothing left for me to do.”
“I know how you feel. I lost my wife a couple years back.”
“How’d you get over it?” Five asked, finally choosing to make eye contact with the mystery man.
“I took the grief one step at a time. I adapted.”
“Well, I’m tired of working my ass off just to constantly be disappointed.” He was a lost cause—everyone listening in on their conversation knew it. The only person who could help Five was himself, and he couldn’t work with that. “I might just throw in the towel and blow my brains out.”
“When?”
Stone cold, unexpected, simple.
When.
Five went dead silent, and the same went for his brain. He had no idea how to respond to the question—should he say tonight? Would tonight truly be the last he’d spend alive, or was that merely a mix of his impulsivity and the alcohol talking for him? What would you think of him if you heard him admit to something so brash and devastating? Five’s train of thought was thrown off with a single snap of the finger, and now the guilt was seeping into his heart and making him reconsider his behavior. Rather than cooking up a genuine, well-thought-out answer, he stayed quiet and avoided making eye contact with the outsiders of his personal bubble.
As a result of Five’s wandering eyes, his gaze locked onto the closest landline. It was unoccupied and calling his name. Sluggishly, Five held onto the rim of the counter and slid out of his seat, ignoring the concerned looks and murmurs coming from the bikers. His legs moved on their own, stumbling over to the phone while his head throbbed as if he were in the middle of the crowd at a thrash metal concert. Drinkers in his path moved to the side and made way for him in order to avoid collision.
His fingers brushed over the numbers engraved in the number pad. Eventually, he managed to dial the number of one of his dearest siblings.
“Hello,” the sound of a man’s joyous melodic voice erupted through the plastic, “Klaus Hargreeves speaking.”
“Klaus,” he cut himself off with a gag and turned his head to the side, nearing the point of vomiting. Once he recovered, he brought his attention back to the phone call. “Klaus, I need your help.”
The slurring, his siblings were used to hearing the slurring. From the other line, his brother’s expression hardened with worry. “Five? Are you- are you drunk?”
“What difference does it make if I’m drunk? Just listen to me,” he whisper-yelled, “I need you to meet me at the morgue.”
“The morgue?”
“Yes, that’s what I said.”
“And what could you possibly need to do over there?” His siblings knew of your passing, and they wanted to be there for Five—most of them, at least—but like he always did, he pushed them away. No amount of late-night calls from Viktor would get rid of the hole in his heart; the pain he felt in his chest with every reminder. They only made reality harder to swallow.
Klaus was surprised to be the one Five finally chose to call for help, but suggesting that they meet at the morgue? That raised a lot of red flags in his head.
“I’ll tell you when we get there; just stop wasting my time and go.”
“You’re not gonna do anything crazy,” Klaus questioned hesitantly, “right?”
“You’re gonna show up regardless, Klaus, so does it really matter?”
“Okay, yeah,” he nodded, “That’s fair. But you’re drunk as a skunk, and I’m supposed to be the responsible one.”
“I’m a grown man,” Five lectured, “I can do whatever the hell I want. I don’t need you to babysit me, I just need you to help me.”
“Five, I don’t think—”
“Please.”
The line went quiet after Five’s begging passed through to the other. He never begged for anything, ever. He was the type to get what he wanted whenever he wanted it by any means necessary. Five played by his own rules alone, and he didn’t care for the people who tried to stop him. So, to hear him be so vulnerable and desperate… he had a good tug on his heartstrings.
Klaus released a reluctant sigh. “Fine, fine. I’ll be there.”
“Thank you,” he replied with a softer tone. “And please, don’t make me regret going to you for help.”
His brother scoffed at the idea. “What’s the worst that could happen? It’s not like you’d ask me to communicate with your dead fiancée or anything, right? It’s too soon for that.”
synopsis: at hogwarts, a sixth-year student is relentlessly tormented by sirius black, who hides his true feelings behind cruel pranks. sirius secretly sketches the one person he can't bring himself to love properly.
pairings: sirius black x self-insert (mild james potter x lily evans)
tags: slowburn, marauders era, enemies to lovers, bullying, angst with happy ending, insecurity and self image, reader-insert (gender-neutral as possible)
warnings: swearing, bullying, personal thoughts (may be uncomfortable)
word count: 5,767
AO3 link
l1vingdeth's masterlist
It all began with a hexed quill that year. You’d been furiously scribbling notes in Professor McGonagall’s class, fully aware of the mountain of homework she was due to assign that night. It was already enough, let alone the masses of homework given from the other professors. Ever since your sixth year at Hogwarts had begun, you’d been quite booked, to say the least. Each direction you leapt had yet another task asked of you. It felt never-ending, and it was only the first week of September. You’d failed to realise just how demanding this school year was going to be – and you were determined to not let him ruin it.
That was until your quill jerked from your hand and began writing on its own. The few attempts you made to snatch it back were thrown off by the quill itself– it’d move at the very last nanosecond, missing your grasp by a hair. Your cheeks burned. It kept drawing, indifferent to your endeavours. You gave up after a few tries– they only fuelled the thing to draw faster.
You stared blankly down at the parchment as it finished up its drawing and fell to the desk with a soft thud. It was of a crude caricature– you, sat at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall, mouth wide– oh, and of course, completed with exaggerated cheekfuls of food and crossed eyes. Your eyes stung with tears, threatening to spill onto the wooden desk. Lily Evans, your best friend, took notice of the drawing before anybody else did. There was a slight frown playing at her lips as she took the scroll and ripped off the bottom portion, crumpling it up and shoving it into the pocket of her bookbag. A snort had come from two rows behind, and Lily craned her neck backwards, shooting the boy a nasty look.
“Ignore it,” she whispered as she turned back to you. “He’s just childish. Please don’t let it bother you.”
Your voice caught in your throat, forbidding you from forming words. Your lip quivered, and you blinked the tears away. Glancing backwards was unnecessary to know just who the culprit was. Sirius Black. He always sat a few rows behind you; over the years you’d come to the conclusion that it was for moments like this. He seemed to enjoy tormenting you. He wasn’t exactly your “arch nemesis”– it wasn’t outwardly established– but you were almost certain that he hated your guts. Well, why else would he torment you for all these years?
Behind you, James Potter looked across the aisle and gave Sirius a mildly disapproving look, though mostly performative, before shaking his head and going back to his textbook. He’d known what Sirius was up to– he’d told James about it ten minutes before class had started. James warned him that it probably wasn’t the best idea, but Sirius didn’t listen. He never listened. Not many people took his antics seriously anyway. He was a known prankster and mischief-maker. Why bother worrying about someone who was just that predictable? But… Sirius Black: charming, extremely clever, and loved by most in spite of himself.
But… you always wondered why it always seemed to be you on the receiving end of his mischievous behaviour. Of course, naturally, he was a prick to just about anyone he could be one to– but his most commonly occurring victim was you. Whether it was slipping magical ink into your shampoo to make your hair turn some wild colour– how on Earth he’d managed that one was completely beyond you– parchment that folded itself into a foul poem, hexed quills, tipping off Peeves to throw mysterious goo on you right before class, your school uniform magically going missing for the weekend and then turning up on Monday torn to shreds– which had caused you to have to wear muggle clothes for a day– successfully having ten points taken from Gryffindor. It was relentless. Once, he even managed to turn your entire potion kit into absolute useless rubbish, earning you a zero for that day. Another time, he’d switched out all of your textbooks for ones in Gobbledegook.
You weren’t even sure how he managed to pull off such pranks without ever being expelled. The most he was given was a week’s worth of detention– if anything. Somehow– somehow– he was able to keep it under the rug most of the time. Or… maybe, just maybe, they couldn’t be arsed with Sirius’ behaviour anymore. And by the grace of God, Sirius Black was simultaneously untouchable and unbearable. You tried to ignore it– to ignore him. You tried to tell yourself that it didn’t matter. Sirius was just an arrogant, spoilt, spiteful prick. He was a trouble-making prat who got on by his charming demeanour and good looks. Unfortunately though, you knew deep down that it wasn’t the truth. Not the whole truth, at least.
Sometimes you’d catch him watching you. Not in the loud and flirty way like he would with the popular ones. He didn’t undress you with his eyes, lusting over you like you were merely a piece of meat. No, no, no. It was quiet, like he was learning a new spell– observant, it was. It was as if he was trying to penetrate your mind, trying to pick through your thoughts. There was something odd about you; something different. The thing that seemed to make you so different was what he couldn’t place a finger on. You stood out from your friends, just enough to be noticed if you peered for long enough. You would never know that, though, because each and every time you managed to catch him, he’d glance away indifferently– and far too quickly to read the expression on his face.
Once class had finished, you scrambled to pack your things. You skipped lunch that day. Sirius had been the first one to notice your absence.
Later that evening, Sirius sat underneath an oak tree on the shore of the Black Lake with his sketchbook open on his knee. The summer was quickly coming to an end– it was obvious by the chill of the breeze. Sirius found the breeze to be comforting. It was a pleasurable feeling, a stark contrast to the stuffiness of his dormitory. The pages of his sketchbook fluttered in the gusts of wind, and he steadied them with ink-stained fingers from today’s lesson. The pages entailed a number of little sketches and personal messages. He skimmed through them leisurely. Charcoal smudged onto his palms, effectively making his hands look like they’d dealt with some fierce curse.
There was one thing about Sirius Black that not many people knew: he quite enjoyed solitude. Though he certainly enjoyed being the centre of attention, he also found solace in the spaces that were far from prying eyes. Being underneath that tree gave him a sense of security that no human could ever give him. It was like a warm embrace in the depths of his soul. He couldn’t really explain the feeling. So he didn’t. He just existed there for those brief moments. In the presence of others, and in daylight, Sirius Black was untouchable– sharp-witted, reckless, confident, handsome, and dazzling in the way that made figures of authority sigh and look away. Vulnerability wasn’t something that suited Sirius. When dusk swept over the castle, when he was able to withdraw from the life around him, he allowed himself to want. Wanting was dangerous. He knew that. So he forced himself to turn his desires into doodles instead.
He hadn’t meant to draw today– well, not really. He simply told himself that he was going to get some air. Of course, he never left the castle without his sketchbook. Naturally, he found himself falling into the folds of the warm pages. The events of the day replayed in his mind like a film. Whenever you were in frame, he couldn’t help but frown. Perhaps he’d gone a bit far, he thought as he replayed Professor McGonagall’s class. He studied the way your shoulders slumped down as you realised what was on your parchment. The way your arms jerked as you tried to grab your quill. He’d found it funny then, but now, as he really analysed your reaction… he wasn’t too sure anymore. And of course there was Lily’s reaction. Your best friend. But, he had to admit to himself, it was an excellent spell. He’d definitely be using that one again. Definitely not on you though. He glanced back to the castle for a moment. You were only a few kilometres away, tucked inside the walls of the castle. Sirius picked up the charcoal stick and began making shapes. Nothing in particular.
Nothing in particular.
But, in due time, you were illustrated onto the page of his sketchbook. You were looking downward, brows furrowed and lips parted ever so slightly. You were thinking about something. Probably concentrating. There was a coloured cube in your hand, one that Sirius only knew because of you. It was a Rubik's Cube. The soft curve of your cheek resembled a reflection of the light in the background. He leaned back and sighed, shutting his textbook with more force than he intended.
He hated that– how easily you could spill out of him– like he had no strength to hold you in. And there he was, pushing you away. Being a massive dick to you. He couldn’t stop himself. If he were paid for sabotaging himself, he’d be the richest person on Earth. He found it to be the easiest thing in the world when it came to others– Merlin, he was so cocky you’d think he had one lodged up his arse. But you– God, you… You made Sirius feel something he’d never felt before– perhaps it was anxiety. Or dread. Or hope. Whatever it was, he knew he couldn’t deal with it. So he didn’t. He wrapped it in cruelty and foul sarcasm, hoping that you wouldn’t look close enough to see the sheer panic underneath. Sirius continued to sit there for what seemed like hours, simply mulling in his thoughts.
James made it look as simple as breathing. He loudly stumbled his way into loving Lily. Sure, he’d had his own complications– Lily thought he was a right prat up until a few months ago. What caused her to change her feelings so suddenly? He thought as he rolled a piece of charcoal between his fingers. James hadn’t done a full 180° in his behaviour– at least not that Sirius could see. As he racked his memories, the one event that wouldn’t stop replaying in his mind was the day that Snivellus and his greasy, large-nosed self had called Lily a Mudblood. But, the more he thought about it, the less sense it seemed to be making. How on Earth did Snivellus calling Lily a Mudblood lead to Lily realising her feelings for James? It didn’t make sense. Well… it made a bit of sense… James wasn’t a prick to Lily like Sirius was to you. He didn’t thrive on seeing her with a foul glare smeared across her face. He didn’t hex her quills in the middle of class, hoping that maybe– just maybe– she’d look back at him, even if her lip was curled in disdain. He was persistent, but not in the way that Sirius was persistent in making your days at Hogwarts a preview of Hell.
James relentlessly pined for Lily since the first day he saw her flaming auburn hair and chubby smile. It never worked, of course– but… he never let up. Even when Lily told him time after time to piss off, he didn’t stop. Eventually, and to James’ surprise, his efforts worked. They had begun dating over the summer. Day after day, Sirius was subjected to listening to James babble his head off about Lily. And no less than twice a week was Sirius subjected to being dragged down to the muggle village near James’ home so he could phone Lily. Their love was messy, yes, but it was certainly real. Tangible. Sirius envied it. Jealousy tore through his veins, corroding him from the inside out.
It wasn’t Lily he envied. Merlin, was that the last thing he envied. Lily was a lovely and beautiful girl, but she wasn’t the one that Sirius surveilled. She wasn’t the one he would admire from afar as she bit her lip in frustration, muttering obscenities underneath her breath in the library. No, no, no. It wasn’t that.
It was James’ courage he envied– his ability to love something without tearing it to shreds. It was the way he never seemed to hesitate when he truly wanted something. James didn’t feel the need to hide his emotions. He didn’t bury them, so he didn’t have to hope that someone would get too close and see what was really beneath. James simply leapt. He always took the chance, even when he knew he would fail. Fuck, even when he was inevitably bound to fail, he soared. Failing wouldn’t dare stop James from trying. That’s what Sirius envied. James was so unlike him, he began to wonder how they were even friends.
Sirius never leapt. He never soared. He couldn’t. His wings were broken, somehow. Instead, he lingered. He hid. He withdrew. He buried deep what he knew he couldn’t afford to lose. You happened to be one of those things. He couldn’t afford to lose you, even if you were just an acquaintance. He’s thought about telling you before; in the late nights when he couldn’t sleep, his mind wandered. Oftentimes it wandered to you. God, it was so easy. Thinking about you was like breathing to him. It came naturally. He didn’t even have to think about it. It was autonomous. There were nights when he would imagine the conversation, and it often ended with you laughing in his face. He would pull you off into a private corner of the castle, the warm beams of sun shining down onto the two of you.
“I need to talk to you.” His statement comes out as a question. He fidgets with the ring on his pointer finger.
“About what?” You ask, crossing your legs. You can sense Sirius is nervous.
He lifts his head up, not making eye contact. He stays quiet for a moment as he chews on the skin of his lip. “Uh, well,” he begins, glancing around the corridor. “I just wanted to say that I think you’re really pretty. I know that I’m a massive prick to you and all– but, er- I think you’re pretty, and I’ve thought about us a lot– and I think I have feelings for you… Er– you don’t– have to say anything. I just wanted to tell you,”
You blink. That’s the last thing you’re expecting to hear from Sirius Black. If he means to say that he, Sirius Orion Black, has feelings for you, the one he’s tormented since his very first day at Hogwarts, then he must be ill. He must have some kind of brain malfunction. A smirk plays at your lips, and before you can stop yourself, you’re laughing. Just the mere idea of Sirius Black having feelings for you was enough to make you cry tears of laughter.
He cringed as the thought floated across his mind for a moment. No. It was certainly better to tease and harass you. He was much better off goading you into rolling your eyes or huffing out of exasperation. He was better off if you muttered some clever insult underneath your breath out of retaliation. If you wanted to tear him to shreds, that was fine. If you wanted to curse his hair off so he was forced to live the rest of his life being hairless, that was fine. He’d survive it. He was quite confident he’d survive it. But… if you ever dared to look him in the eye and say, “I don’t love you” – he was sure that would ruin him. He would no longer be whole.
So, instead, he teased you. Pranked you. Tormented you. And when that didn’t suffice enough for his liking, he took to drawing you inside of the warm safety and quiet solitude of the castle, when the moonlight poured through the stone windows and lit up the room just enough. You were safest in ink.
The next few weeks had passed by leisurely. It was growing closer and closer to November. Sirius would be turning seventeen, arguably the most important age for a witch or wizard. It meant that he would be of age. He would be able to freely use magic and apparate. He wasn’t entirely sure how he felt about it. It was a tradition to be gifted a family heirloom for your coming-of-age birthday. Sirius no longer had a family. He had been disowned over the summer. The Potters took him in, no questions asked, yet that didn’t stop him from feeling like he had no one. Sure, James was his best mate in the entire world. But just the mere thought of having been disowned—?
Sirius wasn’t exactly looking forward to the celebration that was planned. It was normal to have a large party thrown on your birthday in the common room. He’d had a “surprise” party thrown on his birthday every year. Of course, they never really were a complete surprise. He’d inevitably find out one way or another, usually by overhearing gossiping groups of girls, giggling and whispering as he walked by. Besides the booze, his favourite aspect of the parties was that he was the centre of attention– and for once, not in a negative light.
… He wasn’t entirely sure about it that year. What was all that attention to him if it wasn’t yours? You didn’t usually come to parties– let alone his– though if you did, you never stayed for longer than an hour. He wasn’t entirely sure he could handle it that year. He hated to imagine how he would feel if he scanned around the room and didn’t see you shoved into a corner with a glass of booze in your hand. He hated to imagine what he would do if he did see you. He was sure he’d venture over to you and do something quite regrettable– God, he’d probably ruin the moment with his loud mouth before his actions even got a chance to.
You were coming back from dinner still smelling slightly of burnt ink. It was Sirius’ most recent prank on you. It was delightfully infuriating how precisely he had planned for it. He’d managed to nick your inkpots from your bookbag, presumably in the library the previous evening. You spotted him with a painfully conniving grin plastered across his face, sitting only a few tables away from you with nothing but his wand and a single book lying on the table. It was late– and especially dark inside the castle. It wasn’t until half an hour later that you spotted Sirius leaving the library with an extra jolt in his step. Nothing out of the ordinary.
Nothing out of the ordinary. Right…? Extremely wrong. He’d apparently bewitched your inkpots to explode with pink glitter every few times you dipped your quill inside of them. It was only mildly infuriating, as the bursts were small and silent– sporadic, too. It wasn’t nearly enough to disrupt class. Besides, you weren’t going to let him have the satisfaction of knowing that he had gotten to you. By the end of the day, you looked like a unicorn had barfed all over you. Nearly all of your fellow schoolmates had chuckled at you at least once as you passed by in the corridor on your way back to the common room.
Marlene couldn’t help but let out a chuckle as you strolled past her. You threw yourself onto a couch a few metres away from her. She happened to be the most similar to Sirius in the sense of interests, and regardless, she usually took your side in situations like that. You knew she couldn’t really stand how Sirius behaved– most of the time, anyway. Had it really been that funny?
“Shut it, Marlene,” you muttered, although there wasn’t any real bite to your statement. You pulled out a thick book on defensive magical theory and slammed it onto your lap.
Across the room, Sirius began twiddling his wand between his fingers. James and Peter were spread onto another couch, absorbed into their own things. Remus was stuffed into the corner between the three of them, writing madly on a piece of parchment. Sirius glanced over to you casually with a faint glint in his eye and a smirk, the kind that expressed the fact that he knew. He knew he’d gotten to you. Again.
He always did. You knew it. And it infuriated you.
“Groovy look,” he called out lazily. “What, you lose a bet? Or are you finally admitting to your inner diva?”
“That’s funny coming from somebody who lays his eyeliner on thicker than he is,” you snapped back, your gaze unyielding to the bulky book in your lap.
Your friends snorted. James looked up from his game of Exploding Snap with a grin on his face. Even Remus looked up with a faint smirk tugging at his lips. Sirius paused, his face frozen with an unreadable emotion. He liked that– the way you snapped back without a second thought. Stubbornness was often obstructive. Yours wasn’t. It made his skin crawl in all of the ways he liked. He studied the way your jaw clenched as you sat there, the way your shoulders curled slightly inwards, and the way your eyes were seemingly stuck to the page with a permanent sticking charm, mirroring the way the glitter seemed to be stuck to you with a permanent sticking charm. He knew he went too far. There was a thick red line he’d drawn in his brain. He frequently liked testing his limits, pushing a toe over the line every now and then.
“Ouch! That one hurt, Bogie Face,” he teased, his voice growing quieter.
That was it. That did it for you. It felt as though someone had suddenly blasted the heat with the way it rose in your neck. Glancing at him, you slammed your book shut, jumping to your feet with haste. Marlene flinched at the sound, not having heard Sirius’ remark. He knew how much you despised that bloody nickname. He’d dubbed you as such over an incident that happened well over three years prior. It was merely a way for him to get even further under your skin, yet that didn’t stop the blow it dealt whenever you suffered with having to hear the name.
“Piss off, Black,” you snapped, marching for the girls’ dormitories.
You couldn’t see the way his grin spread, nor the way his eyes followed you up the entire staircase. He shouldn’t have said that. But he couldn’t think of any other effective ways to grab your attention. Merlin only knew he wasn’t capable of having a regular conversation with you alone. In his mind, it was either tormenting you or dealing with the fact that he couldn’t speak to you. Surely he’d never admit it aloud, but Sirius would rather fall ill than never see your face again. God, he would never admit that aloud. Perhaps that was why he found himself drawing you more times than not.
Drawing you became like flying a broom; it was second nature to him. Staring at you when he knew you weren’t paying attention became his favourite hobby. God, that sounded creepy. Perverted, almost. He felt like an imbecile, but it was the only true way he could be close to you. He replayed your exit over and over again, shoving his wand into the pocket of his robes.
Suddenly, James cleared his throat. He didn’t speak until Sirius looked at him. “Don’t you think it was a bit far, Sirius?”
Sirius paused again, sucking his bottom lip and shutting his hand into a fist, bouncing it against the arm of the chair. He thought about answering but then obliged, as it was painfully obvious. He had gone too far, and he knew it. He shrugged, glancing over at the stairs once more.
“Come on,” James lowered his voice, pushing his glasses up.
Sirius finally spoke after what felt like ages. “No. It was funny,” he muttered, not meeting James’ eyes. “You’re just saying that ‘cos they're Lily’s mate,” he added quietly.
“Wow. Right then, mate,” James scoffed, returning to his game of Exploding Snap.
Sirius’ attention moved to Lily and Mary as they climbed the stairs two steps at a time. They had been too quick for Sirius to catch their expressions, but he was sure it had to do with you. He felt a sudden twinge of guilt creeping up on him. His body tensed up, and he moved to sit straight, fists still tightly shut. Remus finally looked up again, eyeing Sirius from the corner. Remus had never seen him in such a strained state. It was more than strange. Sirius was typically cooler than a cucumber, never shedding a worry over anything. At least that was what Remus saw, and he was particularly observant. Remus decided it wasn’t best to say anything in the common room, so he shoved his quill back into his inkpot and began working on his charms essay once again. The other Gryffindor students continued about their evening as if Sirius had done nothing at all.
Meanwhile, you slid down against the wall, tears streaming down your cheeks. They pierced your skin, dazzling in the golden sunlight that was pouring through the windows. Your glitter-stained skin shone throughout the room. It was humiliating to watch the small speckles of light dancing around the room. The more your body shook, the faster they danced. It seemed as though they were taunting you.
There was a soft yet persistent knock at the door. You tried to ignore it, but in a few moments the door was being pushed open. You saw the gleaming red hair of Lily Evans and the dark brown hair of Mary MacDonald glowing in the evening sun as they walked into the room. Silently, they sat on either side of you. You cried. You shook. You broke down like a cardboard box. You felt like a child, crying over a tosser like Sirius. Lily stared down at you, rubbing off some of the glitter while Mary held your hand softly.
“Why does he hate me so much?” Your question was sudden– Mary and Lily shared a glance of uncertainty.
Lily’s green eyes flickered from yours to Mary’s. She sat there frozen. Genuine pity was smeared across her soft features. Another emotion lay passively in her eyes– helplessness, perhaps.
Mary turned her head to you. “I don’t think he hates you, love,” she said softly. “He’s a bloody idiot, that’s for sure. But, I don’t see how anyone could hate you,” her voice swayed slightly, but you knew she wasn’t lying.“
That’s not an excuse, though,” you whined, and Lily placed her hand on yours. "He's a bully."
“No, it’s not an excuse,” Lily whispered, glancing at Mary.
“It’s not right what he does. He’s a little arsehole,” Mary said.
There was a silence after she spoke. The common room was pretty noisy for the time. Students bustling about, yelling and being rambunctious. The wind blew gently against the castle’s walls. You felt much better in the presence of your friends.
Lily spoke after a beat. “Like Mary said, I’m just not convinced that hatred is the reason behind this. Can’t be… Yeah, Sirius is an arse, but he’s got no reason to hate you, does he?”
Her question lingered for a moment until Mary spoke up. “Honestly, he seems a bit scared of you.”
You snapped your head towards her. “Me? You think I scare Sirius Black?”
Both of them nodded. “You’re the only person who snaps back at him. Everyone else just sort of deals with his shite… You, not so much. You’re stubborn enough that he can’t see you’ve gotten to him, but you’re confident enough to tell him to cut the shite. I think he finds that terrifying,” Mary said firmly.
You shook your head. “I don’t snap back at him that much.”
Lily nodded. “You told him to ‘piss off’ ten minutes ago, didn’t you? I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone else dare to tell Sirius to piss off.”
You finally grinned. “Yeah… He’d curse their arses off, literally.”
The three of you chuckled. Your laughter resonated throughout the room. You wiped the final tear off of your cheek.
“There’s more to Sirius than he lets on,” Lily added abruptly. “James told me a wee bit about him, you know.” You briefly met her eyes.
“Like what?” Lily reached up, grabbing a strand of your hair and twirling it around her fingers.
“I don’t think that I should be the one to tell you everything. Sirius has a pretty rough home life. It’s not an excuse at all, but I feel sorry for the lad.”
You looked over at Mary for a hint, but her shrug told you that she hadn’t a clue either. “What are you saying, Lils?”
“I’m saying that you should talk to James about this. He can tell you everything you need to know about Sirius Black. After he told me, I can kind of understand why Sirius behaves the way he does.” She looked to you and then to Mary. “I wouldn’t say that he hates you.”
You nodded. “Okay.”
You went quiet for a moment, racking the thoughts swirling in your head. If Sirius really did have a rough life at home, then why was he so compelled to act like such a prat? You knew you shouldn’t compare experiences, but you had a pretty rough life at home too. Of course, Sirius wasn’t raised by two muggles. It was indeed different, but how was it different enough to cause such a difference in your behaviours? You wouldn’t dare bully someone if you didn’t like them. You would simply ignore them, like any sensible person. So if Sirius really did hate you, then why didn’t he just leave you alone? Why didn’t he just tell you to piss off and leave it at that? Why did he make it a personal goal to make your life a living hell?
You paused. Something pieced together in your mind.
“Well, this might sound a little – far-fetched – but, you know how boys will sort of bully you when they fancy you?”
As soon as the words fell from your lips, you gasped. You knew just how stupid it sounded. “No, just forget that I said that. Sirius Black, fancying me. That’s deranged, is wha—”
Mary cut you off. “I don’t think it’s deranged. Sirius is an absolute prick. Wouldn’t put it past him to bully a girl he fancies.”
Lily looked over to Mary. “You know what, Mary? I wouldn’t put it past him either. Yer onto something.”
“Err– I hate to burst that bubble, but I don’t think he does. There’s no way. Have you seen the people he’s gone off and snogged before? They’re all…” You trailed off, waving a hand in the air.
“They’re all what, exactly?” Mary demanded, crossing her arms.
You shrugged. “Y'know,” you muttered, smoothing out a wrinkle on your skirt.
“No, actually. I don’t know.” She glared down at you angrily, like she knew what you were going to say.
You rolled your eyes, sighing deeply. You hated saying it aloud. Somehow, it made it seem much more like reality and less like a twisted image burnt into your brain. “They’re all thin, Mary! Look at me!” You cried, shoving a finger into your stomach.
You were never thin, and God did you wish you were. No matter how many flights of stairs you walked up daily, and no matter how little you ate, you found it hard to lose your stubborn fat. It was almost always the first thing that came to someone’s mind when they were looking to insult you. The memory of the drawing Sirius had bewitched your quill to sketch had come flooding back into your mind like a broken levee. You felt the tears stinging your eyes once again, and that’s when Lily grabbed your arm, effectively bringing your attention back to life.
Lily’s grip on your arm was tight, but not painful. “Excuse me, but in case yer forgetting, I’m not thin either. And you remind me constantly of how amazing you think I am. So, stand up please.”
She suddenly stood you up onto your feet, along with Mary’s extra hand, and spun you over to the record player near your four-poster. You couldn’t help the feeble yet quite real grin that was spreading across your face. Lily let go of your hand and quickly popped on one of your favourite vinyls: Led Zeppelin IV. As the loud rock music began vibrating the room, she took your hand again. The three of you began dancing along to the grooves of Rock and Roll.
It's been a long time since I rock and rolled
It's been a long time since I did the stroll
Ooh, let me get it back, let me get it back
Let me get it back, baby, where I come from
It's been a long time, been a long time
Been a long lonely, lonely, lonely, lonely, lonely time
Yes, it has
It's been a long time since the Book of Love
I can't count the tears of a life with no love
Carry me back, carry me back
Carry me back, baby, where I come from
Whoa, whoa, oh
It's been a long time, been a long time
Been a long lonely, lonely, lonely, lonely, lonely time
Oh, seems so long since we walked in the moonlight
Making vows that just can't work right
Oh yeah, open your arms, opens your arms
Open your arms, baby, let my love come running in
Yeah!
It's been a long time, been a long time
Been a long lonely, lonely, lonely, lonely, lonely time
Yeah, yeah
Yeah, yeah
Ooh yeah, ooh yeah
Ooh yeah, ooh yeah
It's been a long time, been a long time
Been a long lonely, lonely, lonely, lonely, lonely time
A/N: AHHHHH chapter one DONE! idk how i got this done so fast (im procrastinating on all the work i have for school.) i hope you guys like it :) chapter two coming (hopefully) soon.,, p.s. above is a playlist i made of general music the characters listen to :p
A/N: since there's not really a whole lot of canon stuff for the marauders, i'll be using mskingbean89's all the young dudes as (somewhat) of a guideline for how these characters are- just some minor tweaks. as much as i love wolfstar, this fic obviously does not include that. but remus is still queer, his whole childhood backstory stuff happens, sirius is into muggle music, etc. if you have NOT read all the young dudes before, i highly recommend it.
Bullshit repeats itself / Is that how the saying goes? / Been here a thousand times / Selective memory though
You say we're drifting apart / I said "yeah I fucking know" / Big deal we've been here before and we'll be here tomorrow
Overview: A headass couple: people acting in a "slightly delusional, somewhat cheesy bubble," oblivious to how cringy or ridiculous they appear to others.
For some reason, you'd thought yourself to be the untouchable exception to the rule that all relationships eventually hit a rough patch. Peter and you were perfect, best friends first, and then dating. There wasn't a better match than the two of you. Except, of course, until there was. Your perfect image is shattered as you realize he's hiding more from you than you'll ever know. After a rough breakup, only one person seems able to cheer you up. A certain webbed viglinate. But, wait... why does his voice sound so familiar?
a/n: There will be the occasional ridiculous name/reference; if you catch them, they're all real (including Jumbo’s Clowns)
wc: 10.0K
They say that the best foundation for a relationship is built on friendship. And you used to believe that. When you first met Peter, it was like coming together with a missing piece of yourself. Even before the romance, the dates, the sex. When it was nothing more than something wonderfully platonic, you thought everyone was right.
But you were delusional. Your head had been too far up your ass to realize the truth of your relationship. You weren’t soulmates. You weren’t any more special than anyone else dating their best friend.
You would think, though, that being friends with someone for years would build enough respect for them not to blatantly mistreat you. To not lie to your face when they hide where they are at night. Sure, maybe other couples who didn’t know each other lied. But not you and Peter.
That’s what you thought, at least. Shows what you know.
Two Months Earlier
“Hi,” Peter rushes into your apartment, breathless and flustered as always. You get a firm kiss to the cheek before he disappears into your bedroom.
Laughing slightly, you peer around the corner and try to get a glimpse of him. “Everything okay, Petey?”
You get a slight hum of acknowledgment before he goes back to what sounds like rustling through papers. Shaking your head, you bring the popcorn bowl over to the couch and wait for him to reemerge.
It doesn’t take longer than a few minutes until he’s strolling back toward you, a slightly cocky pep to his step. You narrow your eyes at him but fail miserably at holding back a grin. “Whatcha up to, Parker?”
“Who, me?” He shrugs, playing dumb as he jumps over the back of the couch, landing on the cushion beside you. You spot something folded in his hand before he tries to hide it.
With little warning, you lunge forward, reaching for his hand. “Hey!” He jumps back, unable to hold in his laughter. “That’s cheating, you know?”
You don’t acknowledge him, grunting in frustration as he holds his hand further and further away from you. “Alright, well, what happened to no secrets?” You push, slightly embarrassed at how breathless you sound.
“Oh, wow,” his hand comes up, cupping your jaw as he pulls your face closer to his. “That’s playing dirty,” he whispers. You can’t subdue your smile, inching closer until your noses are brushing.
“You like it when I play dirty.” Peter’s eyes widen, a visible flush on his face as your lips just barely brush together. The whisper of a kiss. He was so focused on that, he failed to notice you ripping the paper from his hands.
He groans as you lean back on the couch with a triumphant grin. “You’re too easy, Parker,” you tease.
He props his chin on your knee, “Only for you.”
“Oh God, you are so cheesy.” He opens his mouth, a stupid grin on his face. You pinch his lips together and laugh, “Don’t say it again. For the sake of our relationship, please.”
You release him and he presses a quick kiss to your hand before leaning back. “Well,” he nods toward the paper in your hand. “Don’t you want to see what you’ve won?”
Excitement bubbles inside you as you unfold the small piece of paper. The print’s slightly smudged from your wrestling match, but when you bring it closer, you can’t help the sharp gasp that escapes you.
“Peter!” He’s smiling widely, posture relaxed and completely smug as you gush. “I can’t believe you managed to get tickets.”
“One of the guys in my lab knows someone at the museum. He owed me a favor,” he shrugs it off like it’s not a big deal. Like he didn’t just get you into one of the most exclusive exhibitions in Queens.
He lets out a slight grunt when you toss yourself at him, arms wrapping like a vice around the back of his neck. You can feel the exhale of a laugh as he buries his head in the crook of your shoulder, arms quick to wrap around your waist.
“Thank you,” you whisper, pulling back slightly to get a proper look at him. He keeps his grip firm, reluctant to let you get much further.
“You know I’d do anything for you,” he tells you and he has all the conviction of a man who really believes it.
“That’s a big promise,” you smile. “Sure you can keep it?”
“‘Course I can.” When you lean in to kiss him this time, you make sure it's real. Not the whisper of a touch, but something deeper as he pulls you into his lap completely. You don’t think you’ll ever get over how wonderful it is to be loved by Peter Parker.
“Christ,” you blow into your gloved hands and hope some of the warmth bounces back to your face. You knew it was going to be cold today, but you hadn’t thought it would be a problem. Peter had said he was going to meet you outside the museum, but it’s already been fifteen minutes and you’re losing feeling in your nose.
He does have a mind going 100MPH most days. Usually, you like to give him a leeway on timing. But it’s absolutely freezing today and snowflakes have just started falling. If you were with your boyfriend, this would be like a scene out of a romcom.
Instead, it’s about to be a nature documentary on wild stood-up girlfriends freezing in Queens tundra.
Pulling out your phone again, you bite the thumb of your glove and tug it off. You’ve sent Peter about twenty messages, none of which have even so much as gotten a ‘read.’ You try calling him this time, tucking the phone between your shoulder and ear as you hurriedly tug your glove back on.
“Hey, this is Peter, you know what to do.”
You roll your eyes at his voicemail. “It’s your girlfriend, Pete. But, I swear, if you make me wait any longer in this damn snow, I’m going to be your ex.”
“Good thing you don’t have to wait.” With a squeak, you whip around to find Peter standing behind you. You slap his shoulder and he bounces back with a laugh. The tip of his nose has been nipped red by the cold and his cheeks aren’t much better.
“You’re lucky I like you,” you snap.
“Extremely,” he agrees, not an ounce of sarcasm in his voice. It softens you slightly. When you can feel your fingers again, you’ll consider forgiving him. He throws his arm over your shoulder, struggling slightly with the scarf triple-wrapped around you.
Glancing down to hang up the call, you see a little news notification pop up.
Spider-Man & Molten Man Spotted in Times Square
“What’re you looking at?”
You shake your head, tucking your phone away. “Nothing.”
You send him a smile that he returns eagerly. He passes the staff your tickets and opens the door for you as you step into the museum. You’d like for the first thing you appreciate to be the gorgeous mural on the wall in front of you. But you are far more interested in the blast of heat coming from the vents above.
“Oh, thank God,” you grumble, blocking the door as you greedily soak up all the warmth you can.
“Come on, bug,” Peter laughs, tugging you along so the line of people can get by. “We’ll get you an overpriced coffee at the cafe.”
“You’re paying,” you tell him sternly. “I still can’t feel my nose.”
“Deal.” Peter doesn’t hesitate, just leans down and presses a quick kiss to the tip of your nose. It’s the type of thing you used to see others do in public and gag.
You’d think about how you would never be one of those touchy-feely couples. Peter makes it feel so natural, though. As if you’ve been together all your life and this is just another one of your daily routines.
The giddy smile on your face is wide and can’t even be hidden behind your scarf as you lean into him. He chuckles as he pulls you closer, taking you toward the cafe. “What do you want to see first?”
“I read online that they’ve got a bunch of Monets by the south entrance, we’ll go there and then circle back to the front.”
“You’ve had this planned since you saw the tickets, haven’t you?”
You laugh and shake your head. “Since I read about the exhibit. Remind me to thank you again when we get home.”
Peter glances down, brows raised with a cheeky look on his face. You snort and push his face away. “What? I didn’t say anything.”
“Your face did,” you tease. Peter laughs, pressing a kiss to the top of your head as you get in line for a coffee. You don’t even feel like you need it anymore. You’ve been warmed inside-out just by Peter’s presence.
God, when did I become such a cliche?
9:50
where the hell are you
they keep talking about distillation columns and thermo-something
you know I don’t understand nerd
Checking the time on your phone for the nth time, you feel your leg begin to bounce. Something uncomfortable has tied itself around your stomach, squeezing until you can’t stand one more sip of your beer.
Peter’s labmates celebrate around you. They keep jostling each other’s shoulders, talking in technobabble. You have never felt as stupid as you did when Marcy asked you what your thoughts were on a plug flow reactor. Whatever the hell that is.
You’d just said, “Oh, yeah, they’re great.” She’d smiled and slowly backed away, eagerly jumping into the next conversation.
It’s not that they’re not nice people, but this clearly isn’t where you’re meant to be. Not without Peter, at least. You’d promised to come thinking, oh, you know, that your damn boyfriend would be here.
10:30
Peter
Please
I feel so stupid
Nausea is thick in your throat as you hunch over the bar. Peter’s friends have all moved to a table, but you didn’t feel like following. It’s not like they were talking to you anyway. They didn’t know how and you didn’t either.
“This is so stupid,” you mutter, dragging your hand down your face. You push away your empty beer and find yourself drawn to the TV, looking for any sort of distraction.
It’s the news and, of course, Spider-Man’s swinging around the city again. His suit is bright against the night sky, and there’s an odd shape on his head that’s catching the snow. Leaning forward slightly, you snort when you see he’s wearing a red beanie.
“Of course, New York gets the weirdo for a hero,” you mutter. You grimace as you watch Spider-Man get punched down by a man who looks like he’s made himself a megazord. Pulling back the sleeve of your blouse, you sigh at the time.
There’s a tight pinch in your chest as you slide off the barstool.
11:02
I’m going home
You debate saying anything else but decide not to. Tugging on your winter attire, you stop by the others’ table and bid them all goodnight. They’re nice enough to say bye, but you’re pretty sure they thought you had already left.
The wind pushes against the bar’s door as you make your way outside. Snowflakes are quick to whip at your cheeks, landing in your lashes and melting into your scarf. You pull the scarf tighter and trudge forward.
The cold isn’t bothering you any more than your absentee boyfriend is. You’ve always been gracious with Peter about being late. It’s a chronic sickness for him at this point and you’ve been around it the majority of your life.
But it feels different now that you’re dating. Waiting outside an arcade or a restaurant for a friend isn’t a big deal. But when you’re sitting on your own at a table in a crowded restaurant, that’s absolute humiliation.
He’s been dropping the ball a lot more lately and that hurts. But he hasn’t given you any other reason to worry about the state of your relationship. So, despite the sting, you’ve resolved to just swallow down the embarrassment and keep on going.
You hear a small thud behind you and your hand instinctively goes to your purse. Swallowing thickly, you keep walking, hoping it’s nothing more than your paranoia. Then you hear the crunch of snow behind you, the clear footsteps matching your pace. Your hand wraps around the mace Pete bought you and you whip around on them.
To your absolute horror, Peter’s standing behind you. He throws his hands up and lets out a nervous laugh. “Okay, an hour late is really bad, but please don’t mace me.”
You tilt your head and give him a flat look. “Two hours, actually.”
His face screws up and you cross your arms. “Sweetheart, I am so sorry.”
You shake your head and turn back around. “Forget it, Pete. Just go celebrate with your friends.”
Peter jogs to catch up with you and darts in front of you, a frown on his face. “Wait, no, come on. Why don’t you head in with me?”
You let out what can only be described as a guffaw and push past him. “And suffer through more questions about plug flow-whatever’s? Pass.”
“Plug flow reactors?”
You glare at him over your shoulder and he fails horribly at hiding the amused look on his face. “Trying to speak nerd with them was humiliating, Peter.” His face softens at that and he reaches forward to pull you closer.
Out of pure stubbornness, you should resist. But standing outside in the cold is making you desperate for Peter’s insane body heat. “Come inside, just for a little while,” he brushes a hair off your cheek and smiles softly. “I swear, I’ll teach you all our science jargon.”
You roll your eyes, but he knows he’s won when you sink into him. “You’re way too persuasive,” you snap. Peter does his best to lace your mittened hands together as he turns you back toward the bar.
“Yeah, but you love me.”
“Unfortunately,” you glare at him, but your smile gives you away.
For once in your relationship, you’re the one running late. Something you know Peter is about to take far too much joy in. He’s already sent about fifteen texts. The majority of them bemoan being all alone and then asking if this is how you always feel. Those were followed by an influx of apologies.
You’re not thinking about the texts, though, as you jog down the street. You spot Peter waiting outside the diner, leaning against the wall. He’s got his phone in his hands, fingers moving rapidly across the screen.
Sure enough, you can hear your phone ding with yet another passive-aggressive text. “Would you quit it?” You demand, completely out of breath, as you stop in front of him.
He tosses his head back dramatically and groans. “God, finally. I thought you were just going to leave me out here to freeze.”
“Would serve you right,” your brows furrow. “When’d you get this?” You flick the edge of the red beanie shoved over his hair.
Peter shrugs and readjusts it. “I dunno, I’ve had it forever.” You frown, biting your lip as you think. You swear to god you know it from somewhere, but you must’ve just seen Peter in it before and forgot.
He holds the door of the diner open for you and lets out a relieved breath as you both step into the warmth. You would feel bad for him if he hadn’t done this to you five times within two weeks.
“How come you wanted to…” The go to this place so bad trails off into a laugh. You should have known when he kept badgering you about coming here.
Plastered floor to ceiling are comic book characters, clips from the stories, and various forms of memorabilia. You’re absolutely surrounded by a hundred different fandoms, and you’re honestly surprised Peter hasn’t had a heart attack yet.
“I really should have seen this coming.”
Peter laughs and leads you over to an empty table. A busty woman with a purple leotard stares you down from where she’s painted on the wall. You give Peter a flat look and he flushes.
“I mean… the name is Strips.”
“Oh, seriously, Parker. Why would my mind immediately go to comics? I was worried you were taking me to a strip club or something.”
Peter wrinkled his nose and frowned. “That’s way too on the nose. I’d take you somewhere classy like Jumbo’s Clown Room.”
Your lips part and you just shake your head. “I don’t want to know if that’s a real place. And if it is, I don’t want to know how you found out about it.”
“Blame Flash,” he mutters as a waitress comes over with a coffee pot.
You smile and thank her as she walks away. “Oh, I don’t think I’ve gotten a chance to tell you about this, yet.” Peter perks with interest and a wide smile blooms on your face. “You know how I was trying forever to be Professor Beeter’s TA. The position never opened but,” you trail off slightly as the people behind you start getting loud.
“Oh my god, he is wrecking this place!” Frowning, you glance over your shoulder and take a look at what they’re watching. Someone’s phone is propped in the middle of the table and you see yet another ridiculous villain punching through the Chrysler building.
Rolling your eyes, you settle back in your seat. “What was I saying?”
“Um,” Peter’s leg bounces under the table and his gaze shoots toward the door. “I’m not sure.”
You frown, watching him warily as he grows more antsy. “Oh, it’s about Professor Beeter. He offered me a-”
“Sweetheart,” he interrupts you and jumps to his feet. “I’m so sorry, but I just remembered I promised I would help May today.” He presses a kiss to the top of your head.
“What? Peter! You wanted to come here!” He’s already running out the door. You watch, astounded, as he races past the window like hell’s nipping at his heels. You sink back into your seat with a stunned expression and your heart aching.
Clearing your throat, you look up to find your waitress giving you a pitying look. She offers you a sympathetic smile that only makes you sick to your stomach. Grabbing your bag and coat, you jump out of the booth, rushing outside.
What the hell is going on with him? You think, glaring down the street where Peter had gone. Pinching the bridge of your nose, you swallow down a lump in your throat and decide to just head back home.
After his abrupt exit, you haven’t heard from Peter all day. You’ve sent him a few texts, checking in on him and asking about May, but you only got one answer before he went AWOL.
You:
Everything good with May?
Petey:
Yeah
Her pilot was out had to make sure she had heat
After that, you’ve gotten nothing from him. Also, as far as you’re aware, May doesn’t use gas for heat. Peter hooked her up with better appliances forever ago.
It’s as you’re dialing May’s number that you have to try and convince yourself you haven’t gone total psycho girlfriend. It’s perfectly normal to want to check on your boyfriend. Especially after how he was acting today. The line only rings a few times before she picks up.
“Hello?”
“Hey, May.”
She says your name and you practically hear the smile in your voice. “Hey, sweetie. How are you?”
“Fine,” you answer quickly. “I just wanted to be see how Pete’s doing?”
She’s silent for a moment too long. She clears her throat and you frown at the pitch of her voice. “Oh, yeah, Pete’s fine. I’d let him talk to you, but he’s busy right now.”
You hum, fingers twisting your hoodie (Peter’s hoodie) strings as your stomach ties itself into a knot. “Right. Uh, what’d he say he was helping you with, again?”
“Cleaning out the gutters. Apparently, it can be a fire hazard or something, I’m not sure.”
Your body goes cold while something venomous rushes up your throat. “Okay,” you can barely hear your own voice. “I’ll let you go, then.” You hang up before she can respond, phone slipping from your hand and clattering to the ground.
“Oh, my god,” you let out a panicked whisper, smoothing your hands over your hair as you try to think of a reasonable explanation. But there are no anniversaries, no birthdays, nothing special coming up that he might be lying about for a surprise.
You’re honestly more shocked that May would lie to you. Growing up, she’d always seemed like the type of woman to protect a girl from sleaze-bag boyfriends.
So maybe that means Pete isn’t doing anything bad. Maybe she’s covering for him for a good reason.
So, why can't you think of one damn reason May would lie to you?
You don’t want to start spiraling for no reason. People lie, not just boyfriends, and not always for insidious reasons. Plucking your phone off the floor, you call Gwen. She’s usually good at pulling you out of your head when you start getting bad.
The phone rings a few times before she finally answers. “Hey, what’s up?”
You frown and cross your arms across your stomach, trying to keep the nausea down. “Why do you sound so out of breath?”
“What?” She clears her throat but that only makes her sound worse. “No, I’m not. Did you need something?”
“Uh,” slightly taken aback by her tone, you struggle to find the right words.
“Gwen!” Your heart beats ruthlessly against your ribs as your entire body stills.
“Is that Peter?” You know it is. You could pick his voice out of a crowd if you were blindfolded.
Gwen lets out a tense hum. “Yeah, it is. Uh, he was helping me with some chem stuff. So, I gotta go. Call me later, yeah?”
She’s hanging up before you can say anything else. Your hands are trembling as you set your phone on the table. Squeezing your throat to try and keep the lump back, you shake your head.
There’s a reasonable explanation for everything. Right?
The nausea’s still coiled tight around you by the time Peter gets to your apartment. Your eyes are staring blankly at the wall, the only light coming from your window. You’re not sure how long you’ve been lying there. Trying and failing to sleep as you consider all the reasons Peter might have lied to you.
Why he would be with Gwen instead of you.
You hear him padding through the hall and shut your eyes, tugging the blanket slightly over your head.
“Bug?” He calls softly. He’s quiet as he approaches the bed. He brushes a hair off your cheek and leans down to press a kiss to your temple. “You awake?”
Part of you wants to tell the truth. She wants to spring up and start laying into him, demanding to know why he lied. And the other half, she’s a coward. So, you stay curled into a ball, eyes closed, and pretending like you’re not falling apart.
Peter lets out a low groan as he settles in your bed behind you. It takes everything in you not to jerk away when he wraps his arm around your stomach, pulling you into his chest. The last thing you want right now is to have him touching you. But saying that requires being awake.
And that’s more painful than a sleepless night.
Peter wakes up slowly, his body aching after last night. He’s not sure who decided a “living robot” was a good idea. But his ribs are paying the price.
Stretching, he ignores the twinge of pain along his side. His arm gropes blindly along the sheets, searching for you, for your warmth. When his fingers brush against the wall, he reluctantly opens his eyes.
He frowns when he realizes you’re not in bed beside him. Turning toward the rest of the apartment, he doesn’t hear you. You’re not in the shower or humming in the kitchen.
With something cold settling inside him, he gets out of bed. “Sweetheart?” He calls out, hoping to hear you answer. It’s Saturday, and while it’s never been something you’ve both spoken aloud, traditionally, you spend all day in bed together. Just crashing from stressful weeks and overloaded uni schedules.
“Bug?” He tries again, wandering through your apartment. He already knows, deep down, that you’re not in here. But he doesn’t want to accept it. He’s barely had any time for you this week and he was really looking forward to just being lazy with you all day.
In the kitchen, pinned to your fridge, he finds a pink note with his name on it.
Prof. Beeter asked me to come in. Someone messed up last week’s research log
Should be home for lunch <3
The only thing stopping him from spiraling is the little heart at the bottom of the note. He knows it’s silly, but he’s slightly worried that you’re mad at him. He can’t explain where the feelings are coming from, but it's gnawing along the back of his mind.
Peter glances at the clock and groans. It’s only 9, and lunch to you is usually 2 O’Clock. He’s not sure if he’s patient enough to last that long. Peter glances at the note again and leaves it on the counter to go get dressed.
He had Professor Beeter last semester and they got along pretty well. He’s sure the older man wouldn’t mind Peter bugging you for a little while.
Still heavy with the feeling that he’s done something wrong, Peter brought along your favorite sweet treat from the cafe on campus. Hopefully, that will soothe his worries and give you a boost for the day. He knows you look forward to Saturdays just as much as he does.
Peter’s heading toward the lecture hall when his brain finally catches up with the rest of your note. What research were you talking about? You hadn’t told him you were a part of any projects.
He’s always yapping to you about his labs. He figured you would do the same. Maybe it’s new, he thinks.
Pushing open the door, he spots you immediately. You’re at a desk, papers and books piling all around you. There are three other people with you, each of whom he has a vague recollection of.
“I mean, I don’t even know how we’re supposed to salvage this.” Your voice sounds strained, completely pulled taut. Peter frowns, wishing he could just take your problems and shoulder them for you.
“It’ll be okay,” one of the girls assures you.
You finally lift your head from your hands. “Twelve pages with zero references, we’re going to be at this all damn day.” Peter draws back slightly, suddenly wondering if this is such a good idea.
He knows how testy you can get about school. Especially major projects. Sometimes just leaving you alone seems to work better than smothering. But, then, before he can back out, one of the girls, he thinks her name’s Mila, catches sight of him.
“Peter?” She calls out. Your eyes instantly snap to him. If he thought you were angry at him before, he does not feel any better now. Your gaze is sharp, lips in a flat line, and there’s absolutely nothing on your face except perpetual irritation.
“What’re you doing here?” You snap and your voice is way sharper than he was expecting. Holding his hands up slightly, he approaches slowly. He doesn’t want to treat his girlfriend like a stray dog, but you look ready to go for someone’s jugular.
“I thought you might want something to eat. Figured you didn’t have any time before you left to get something.”
Mila and the other girl both aw over him and it gives him the briefest amount of hope. But then you’re shoving out of your chair and storming toward him. Peter swallows roughly as you approach. He almost wishes he were fighting that living-fire guy right now.
You snatch his sleeve in your hand and drag him back toward the door. “Peter, why are you here?” You demand, voice lowered so the others can't hear.
He frowns and shrugs helplessly. “It’s Saturday, we always spend Saturday together.”
You cross your arms, a sharp, derisive look on your face. Okay, definitely mad. “Oh, so you can remember dates now? What’s next? Are you going to show up on time for once?”
“Hey,” he objects, hoping to lighten the mood. “I was on time yesterday.”
Your eyes narrow and something on your face goes blank. He can’t place it exactly, but it’s like there’s a wall where he can usually read you so well. “Yeah, doesn’t count if you ditch me ten minutes later, babe.”
The venom in your voice makes him take a step back. He looks down, knowing you’re right. But he doesn’t want you any more mad than you are, instead of addressing it, he nods toward your desk.
“What’s going on here?”
“We’re working on the dementia research project with Professor Beeter.”
Peter wants to light up, to hug you, and congratulate you for finally getting an in with the professor you’ve been trying to work with since last year. But you deliver him the news so flatly he feels like you’d only get more mad.
“You didn’t tell me about that,” he says instead. Which is very clearly the wrong answer, by the way you back off with a sharp scoff.
“I’m not sure when I would have, Peter. I got placed two weeks ago and I haven’t seen you for more than an hour since then. Besides, when I tried to tell you yesterday, you fucking bolted to May’s.” You pause, and your lips curl up into something cruel. “Or was it Gwen’s place? Sorry, I can’t remember which lie you bullshited your way through.”
Peter feels his heart drop to his feet. It’s like a film goes over his eyes as his mind scrambles for any explanation that isn’t ‘I was busy beating up a robot with a weird, creepy human brain in it.’ Because he’s pretty sure that would be grounds enough for you to dump him right now.
You really don’t give him a chance, either way. You snatch the bag from his hand and the smile drops from your face. “Thanks for the visit. You can go now.” You turn back toward your teammates without another look at him. “Hungry?” You call out to Mila.
She gives a hesitant nod and you toss Peter’s pastry at her. “Dig in.” Even when you sit down, you don’t look up from your books. Not even a twitch as he opens the door.
Peter walks out, still slightly numb from the whole… argument? Did that even count as an argument? Or was that just you finally calling him out?
You’ve let him get away with a lot and maybe he took advantage of that, but he’s worried you might have the wrong idea. He doesn’t know why you would bring up Gwen, but the tone of your voice was so accusatory that he feels sick to his stomach.
Yes, he was at her house last night. But that’s because he needed to be stitched up. She’s known about Spider-Man since high school. It was either bleed out or have her use her beginner's sewing kit.
Peter lets out a shaky breath and runs his hands through his hair restlessly. You’ve both gotten into worse fights before. It’s not like you were a perfect couple. Surely, you could find a way to get over this. He just needs a half-decent excuse for his lying.
Peter perks up as he hears you step into the apartment. He glances at the clock and grimaces. You’re going to be pissed that you had to stay there until 6, fixing someone else’s screwup. When you round the corner and see him, he hears you let out one of the most exhausted noises he’s ever heard from you.
“Peter,” he finally turns to meet your eye. “Why are you here?”
His chest clenches as he forces a smile. “I figured you would be hungry.”
You pinch the bridge of your nose. “Are you ever at your own place?”
Ouch. “I just wanted to make you dinner. I’ll be out of your hair as soon as it’s done, bug.”
You shrug off your jacket and take a seat at the kitchen island. Peter takes your silence as agreement and goes back to stirring the pasta. When you speak again, his ears practically touch his shoulders. This dreadful feeling in his stomach has just been mounting all day. He feels ready to vibrate out of his own skin.
“Peter, where were you last night? I want the truth.”
Peter’s hand clenches around the spoon and he keeps his back to you. “Went over to May’s to help around the house and then I saw Gwen.”
You let out a loud scoff and your hands slap against the counter. “Did you all get your stories straight? Am I hearing the right lie, now?”
Peter drops the spoon and turns to face you. He expects anger, maybe sadness. But you’re not giving him anything. You’re just… cold and Peter hates it. He’s seen you use that look before. It’s always been directed at people you don’t care about. You don’t hate them, you don’t love them, you just… don’t care. He doesn’t want to be someone you don’t care about. He can’t be.
“Look me in the eye,” you command. “Tell me the truth.”
Peter takes in a steadying breath, doing his best not to make it obvious. “Sweetheart, I swear, I went to help May with the heat and the gutters. Gwen called and she needed my help on her chemistry project. I’m sorry that I got home late-”
“I can’t,” you clear your throat and the way your voice cracks makes his heart ache. “I can’t believe that you’re just going to stand there and lie to me.”
He shakes his head and takes a desperate step forward. “No, bug, I’m-”
You hold your hand up and his jaw snaps shut. “You’ve talked Peter, now it’s my turn. I have put up with a lot from you. If anyone treated me the way you do, you know what you would tell me?”
He opens his mouth and you shoot him a look that makes him shrink into himself. “Do not answer that, I am still talking. You would tell me to cut them out. If someone doesn’t respect my time, my dates, if they lie straight to my fucking face, then that’s not someone who deserves to be in my life. You are never on time, if you even show up at all.”
He wants to object, he really does, but he knows you’re right. Still, you must sense his apprehension. “Scroll through our texts from the past two months. It’s just a block of me asking where you are and telling you how stupid I feel. Then you show up, make everything better, and I just let you get away with it. Because I have known and loved you for so long, I let you disrespect me. I can handle missing dates, I can handle not being on time, always being at my place and never letting me over at yours. But I can’t do this, I can’t just swallow down you lying straight to my face. Getting your aunt and my best friend involved in this is sick, Pete. What do you expect me to think when Gwen’s lying about why you’re at her place?”
“No, sweetheart,” he finally speaks, rushing toward you, voice breaking on something desperate. He reaches for you, but you jerk back and he swears something cracks open inside him. “I would never.”
“Yeah,” you whisper. “Why would I ever believe you?”
Peter flounders. He tries to think of anything. Anything that isn’t a lie and isn’t the truth about who he is. But his mind is blank. The panic flooding through him is overriding anything that might get you back, might get you in his arms again.
You suck your teeth and give him a jerky nod. “Why do I feel like I’m losing you?” He whispers, afraid that if he speaks any louder, he might actually cry.
“I think this has been happening for a long time, Peter. It’s just your first time realizing it.”
No, no, he can’t handle that. He can’t handle knowing that this awful, barbed feeling ripping through him is how he’s made you feel for so long. But he can’t just spill his guts and tell you everything.
Right after Gwen had discovered him, it was like the bad guys had a missile lock on her. She kept getting thrown into danger, nearly dying, because of him. He can’t be the reason you get hurt. He can’t live with that.
But he’s hurting you either way and for once, he can’t think of a way to make this all smooth over.
You take in a sharp breath and turn away from him. You walk to the stove, turning off the burner as the food begins to smoke. “I think you should go, Peter.”
“Bug,” but he doesn’t have anything to say and you still won’t look at him. He just wants you to look at him. He feels as if you did, if you saw how sorry he was, something here might be fixed.
“I’m going to take a shower. When I’m done, I expect you to be gone.” You toss the pot in the sink and head down the hall, not another word spared for him. And Peter…
He just spirals. Every mistake, every time he showed up late, just pummels into him as he realizes this is all his fault.
You turned off your phone yesterday. The missed calls and texts from Peter were bordering on obnoxious and you couldn’t take it anymore. Even Gwen kept trying to call you. Kept texting you that it’s not what you think.
But did they ever offer any other explanation?
No, they fucking didn’t.
So, not only did you lose your boyfriend, the man you’ve been in love with as long as you’ve known him. You also lost your best friend.
Best. Week. Ever.
Sick of being sad in your bed, you decide to go be sad outside. Maybe just grab a pint of ice cream from the bodega and lock yourself inside your apartment for the rest of your life. That sounds like a decent plan.
Leaving your phone, you grab your keys and some cash. It’s still cold outside, though the snow has calmed down a little bit. It soaks through your tennis shoes, now, seeps along the hem of your sweatpants. No part of you can be bothered to care about that as you trudge toward the shop.
It’s unusually quiet as you walk inside. Usually it’s a lot busier this time of night. Maybe the universe decided to give you a break.
Digging through the freezer section, you frown when you don’t see your favorite flavor. You turn toward the shop owner, Al, who has gotten used to you coming down here the past few days. “You guys don’t have any more Turtlesaurus Rex?”
Al’s silent and you frown, finally turning to fully face him. A man in a black jacket lingers by the counter, hands stuffed deep in his pockets. Al gives you a tense smile, and your brows furrow as dread picks at you.
“All out. Maurie down the street might have some.” There’s something about how wide his eyes are that’s making you think you probably should have brought your phone. Especially because you definitely just saw the handle of a gun in that man’s jacket and you really need to call the cops. (Even though they probably won’t do anything.)
“Yeah, I’ll go check over there.”
“Have a good night.”
You try not to sound stiff as you return the sentiment. But you’ve barely made it to the door when you hear the distinct sound of a hammer being pulled back.
“You think I’m stupid?” What a wonderful time this would be for a freak in red and blue spandex to show up.
You turn slowly and shake your head, absolutely zero idea how to defuse this.
“I think the lady’s just being polite. Personally, I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone encapsulate the term ‘mouth-breather’ so well.”
Your eyes widen, and you whip around to see Spider-Man standing at the entrance of the bodega. What the fuck is your life?
“Hey, jackass,” you hiss, and his head whips toward you. “Who’s he pointing the gun at?”
Spider-Man shrugs, “What gun?” You barely have a second to blink before a thick white string is twhip-ing past you and jerking the gun out of the man’s hands.
“Smartass,” you mutter under your breath.
“I think you mean, ‘thank you, Spider-Man for saving my life,’” you shoot him a flat look and walk out of the bodega. Maybe it’s time to just accept that you’re not meant to be in the outside world. You’re better off cocooned in your bed.
There are no robbers there. No cheating boyfriends and conniving best friends.
About a minute later, you hear rapid footsteps approaching. “I don’t have a purse, phone, or wallet.”
“Wow, great mugger-deterrent. I totally don’t want to rob you now.”
You plant your feet in the snow and hear Spider-Man let out a sharp breath as he skids around you. “I thought you were the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man. Not the quippy, neighborhood pervert who follows girls around at night.”
Spider-Man lets out a noise that can only be described as a guffaw. “I’m making sure you get home safely. Since clearly you don’t care. I mean, who walks around this late at night without mace at least?”
“Me,” you tell him flatly.
“Pretty girls shouldn’t be walking around here on their own.”
Your lips curl and you gag as you continue toward your apartment. “Okay, first of all, totally not helping with your creep angle.” He groans and you almost laugh at the defeated sound. “Also, I’m fresh off a break-up, so keep the compliments to yourself.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Spider-Man quickly jumps in front of you and you frown as he blocks your way. “Breakup,” his voice is pitched so high, you swear it almost sounds familiar. “You broke up with someone?”
“Uh… yeah.”
“R-really?” He tries to lean against a lamppost, slips, and then straightens awkwardly like he meant to do that. “Because you know sometimes people think that it’s just a break and not a breakup, you know? Big difference. Are you sure this isn’t just a break?”
He’s talking so rapidly you can barely understand him. It doesn’t help that he’s got that mask on, so you can’t try to catch the words on his lips to decipher them. You think you might have gotten half of that word-vomit.
“Well, I’m the one who did it. I feel like I should know.”
“Does he?” He holds up his hands, quick to correct himself. “Or she? Spider-Man doesn’t judge.”
“Oh, good to know, he’s a pervert, but at least he’s an ally.” You push past him. “Look, if he doesn’t know, then he’s a lot stupider than I gave him credit for.”
You hear a low, “Ouch,” behind you and figure you might be being a tad harsh about Peter. But what the hell would Spider-Man care?
“You know,” Spider-Man continues after you.
Jesus, he’s like a damn dog.
“I’ve always believed that everyone deserves a second chance.”
You glare over at him and swear you see the eyes of his mask turn down. You’ve never seen a mask emote before; it’s incredibly bizarre. “Do they deserve a second chance after sleeping with your best friend?”
Spider-Man shrugs, throwing his hands in the air. “Do you have evidence that it happened, though?”
“Dude,” you snap. “What do you care? And what other evidence would I need besides the fact that he wouldn’t tell me the truth? If there was nothing to hide, why would he continue to hide shit?”
You hear his inhale of breath and shake your head, holding your hands up. “No, you know what, no. Alright? I didn’t get my Turtlesaurus Rex and I am not going to listen to some weirdo in a unitard give me relationship advice.”
“Unitard?” He scoffs. “I’m not a weirdo.”
“Oh, yeah?” You call over your shoulder. “Then stop following me home!” It takes a few minutes to believe he’s actually gone and you can finally breathe again. What weird ass fever dream was your life turning into?
You sit on the ledge of your roof’s building, a blanket wrapped around your shoulders. You’re scrolling through all the texts Peter’s sent you in the last three hours. There are at least fifty of them. But it’s the one at the end that really catches your eye.
Is this really it? Are we done? Bug-
You stop reading at the nickname and put your phone down. Reluctantly, Spider-Man’s words from the other night pop into your head. Some people think it's a break, not a breakup.
How could Peter not have gotten the message by now?
“Fancy meeting you here.”
You let out a screech and jolt forward. Arms winding wildly as you try to regain your balance. The city tilts below you until something’s latched onto the back of your shirt and you’re suddenly being pulled into a firm chest.
“Why would you sit on the edge?” Again, his voice gets an impressively shrill pitch.
Shoving away from him, you whip around and slap his shoulder. “Why would you scare someone sitting on the edge?”
You can hear his sharp intake of breath before his argument fizzles out. “That’s what I thought Spider-Boy-”
“Man.”
“Whatever.” You walk back to the edge and rewrap yourself in your blanket. With a pointed glare over your shoulder, you hop right back on your perch. Spider-Man lets out a world-weary sigh before he jumps up beside you.
“You know,” he drawls. “Most people say thank you when a superhero saves you.”
“Oh,” you laugh. “Is that what you are, now? A superhero?”
“Dude. What is your problem?” His voice goes so flat, all humor sucked out of it, that, for some weird reason, it’s the first thing he’s said to get a real laugh out of you. He seems just as confused as you are if the way he tosses his hands up means anything.
“I cannot figure you out.”
You shake your head and brush a stray curl from your eyes. “It’s not you, Bugboy-”
“Rude.”
“It’s life,” you spread your palms out, gesturing to the sprawling city across from you. “Just broke up with the love of my life. Lost my bestie. The research project I’ve been trying to join for a year is falling apart at the seams. Oh, and I almost got shot yesterday.”
You point your face to the sky and let out a dramatic sigh. “God hates me.”
There’s a light nudge on your arm and you look over to see that Spider-Man’s moved closer to you. “God doesn’t hate you.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah. Because I didn’t let you get shot. I’d say that’s pretty damn lucky.” You snort and from the mask, you think he’s… pleased? It’s really hard to tell.
“I guess that’s fair.”
Spider-Man lets out a satisfied hum as he turns to the city. “You gotta stop being so hard on yourself, bug.”
Your entire body goes still. Your eyes widen as they stare down at your lap, adrenaline rushing through your blood as you turn toward Spider-Man. “What’d you say?” You ask, voice so low you’re surprised he even registers it.
He shrugs, “I said to stop being so hard on yourself.”
“No, you called me something. What’d you call me?”
“Bug,” Spider-Man drawls and you swear you’re going crazy because that voice is painfully familiar. “You called me Bugboy, I thought it would be fair.”
It’s too hard to distinguish whether this swooping feeling in your stomach is relief or disappointment. And you hate yourself for not knowing which one you want it to be.
“Right,” you scoff and rub your eyes. “I’m going crazy, now.”
Spider-Man lets out a long sigh as he watches you. “You kind of seem like you’re having a mental breakdown. Maybe, I don’t know, get off the edge of the very tall building.”
“Oh, don’t tell me Bugboy’s got a crush.”
Your lips curl at his scoff. “You’re impossible.”
Feeling only slightly guilty for the hell you’ve given him, you slip off the edge and get your feet planted firmly on the ground. “Better?”
He surveys you suspiciously before nodding. You pick your phone up off the ledge and, for some reason, are compelled to open up the texts with Peter. You should have guessed how nosey Spider-Man was going to be about it.
“That the ex?”
You shoot him a flat look as he kicks his legs over the ledge. “Yeah. That’s the ex.”
“So, what are you going to tell him?” He motions toward the last text. “Break or breakup?” Your mind snags on how Peter called you bug and Spider-Man’s weird slip-up before you force yourself to dispel the thoughts.
“Breakup. I guess I should have made it more clear.” Your fingers hover over the keyboard before you shoot Spider-Man a look. His back has gone weirdly tense and you frown. “Hey, you’re a guy. How’s the nicest way to tell him it’s done.”
“Don’t.” His voice is clipped, almost angry. “He’ll get the hint. Trust me.”
Your brows furrow as you eye him warily. “Are you okay?”
“Gotta go. Superhero business, you know?” You shrug, but he doesn’t seem to care. He’s already leaping off the ledge, thwip-ing his way to the building across from yours.
“Weirdo,” you scoff.
You figured that after Spider-Man’s abrupt departure on the roof, that would be the end of it. But, no, it’s only gotten worse for you. He’s everywhere now. He’s somehow more consistent than your ex ever was.
Walking home from late research sections, look who wants to be a walking buddy.
Heading to the bodega for a midnight snack, somehow, Spider-Man had the same idea.
Your life is now a Sunday comic strip in the paper. It’s like there’s some sadistic artist out there exploiting your misery for humor. It’s not just him, either. It’s the month. In all your drama with Peter, you’d failed to keep up with the dates.
Now, freshly single for the first time in a couple of years, you sit alone preparing yourself for the next week. Valentine’s Day is Saturday, which means suffering through pink streamers all over campus and girls walking around with gift baskets lovingly curated by their boyfriends.
“I don’t like how often I find you on this ledge.”
You spare a glance over your shoulder and smile. “I don’t like that you still haven’t learned not to scare me.”
“Touche,” Spider-Man breathes out, taking quick strides toward you. “You seem tense. Feel like sharing? I’m a great listener.”
“Nothing big, just Valentine’s Day. I’ve had a boyfriend for so long I forgot how bitter and annoying it is for single people.”
“Tell me about it,” he sighs.
“Really? The Spider-Man is single?”
“I appreciate the surprise in your voice, no matter how forced it is.” You let out a wry chuckle and you swear you can hear a smile in his laugh.
“Probably a good thing, though. I can’t imagine any girlfriend would be happy with the amount of time you spend on this ledge with me.”
“No,” he agrees, “probably not.” The next noise he lets out is soft, tired in the kind of way that resonates with you. For the most part, your interactions are shallow. There’s banter, stupid quips, and then he’s off. You don’t usually hear something so real from him.
“Freshly single?” You ask. His head whips toward you and you shrug. “I recognize the misery of your sigh. It resonates within my withered heart.”
Spider-Man swats your shoulder lightly and you grin. “Yeah, it’s fresh. I still don’t think I’ve accepted it.”
You prop your chin in your hand and smile at him. “What level of not accepted are we talking here? Stalking? Or just crying over Instagram posts?”
Spider-Man goes quiet and you pull back. He recognizes the suspicion on your face and waves his hands. “No, no, no, this doesn’t count as stalking. Not really. I mean, it’s consensual?”
He sounds more unsure of himself at the end than you did. “Let's just not talk about that,” you offer. “I don’t think I want to know what your idea of consensual stalking is.” Spider-Man snorts and you shake your head.
A billboard across from you catches your eye. It’s Gwen’s favorite band, an announcement that they’ll be coming through soon. There’s a sharp ache in your chest when you remember you can’t just text her about stuff like that anymore.
“Gwen would love that,” you say, almost without thinking.
But what’s worse is when the man beside you doesn’t think either. “Oh, yeah, she would.”
Consensual
Stalking
Oh. My. God.
Your entire body stiffens as you turn to Spider-Man/maybe your ex-boyfriend. He doesn’t seem to realize his slip-up and that just makes you freeze up. You don’t know what to do. You can’t just blindly accuse him of being Peter. If you start hinting at secret identities, he might stop talking to you.
Loathe as you are to admit it, you’ve begun to enjoy his company. The main reason being he reminded you of how it was with Peter before you guys started dating.
Oh, Jesus, you’re gonna throw up off the ledge of your building. When the pavement below seems to swim up to you, it’s time to slip off the ledge. Slowly, fighting off the vertigo of your discovery, you drop back to safety.
Spider-Man watches you, head tilted in question. “Um, I have to go.” You search for an excuse, but none comes. “Yeah, I have to go.”
“Oh,” he seems taken aback, but doesn’t comment. “Alright. I’ll see you later?”
You let out a noise between a hum and a squeal as you rush back into your apartment building. Your mind is racing while you scramble through the door of your apartment. Like a detective, you flit through different memories, red string connecting each one as you start to line up Peter’s disappearances with Spider-Man's greatest hits.
Every missed date, every time he showed up late, it was all right there. But you never thought to connect it because… Well, why would you? Peter is Peter. He’s not a superhero. He definitely doesn’t have webs. Please, don’t let him have webs.
Scrambling for your phone, you dial the first number you can think of. It’s barely ringing before it’s getting picked up. “Gwen,” your voice is incredibly shaky as you try to calm yourself down. “I’m going to ask you something and if you don’t tell me the truth, we’re never talking again.”
Spider-Man/Peter Parker/ex-boyfriend-
No, no, too many titles. Peter has not been around in the past week. Not as his alter ego, and not at his lectures. Unfortunately, a lot of your schedule seems to intersect and the majority of your day is spent hiding in a hoodie and trying not to make eye contact.
But there hasn’t been any of that at all this week.
Maybe Gwen told him you know. He’s probably losing his mind right now.
But, no, she swore she wouldn’t and you know she’s not going to risk hurting your friendship again. Though you did profusely apologize for ever thinking that she could do that to you. And then she berated you about thinking she would ever be attracted to Peter.
Which… Ouch.
It’s Saturday, which used to mean days spent with him. Instead, it now means watching people get all mushy on Valentine’s Day. That used to be you, disgustingly in love, kissing way more than you should in public.
Now, you watch it all on the subway with that same old glare you used to have before Peter. You’re thinking about him a lot more than you want to. Especially given that he’s supposed to be an ex.
After your long speech on respect and boundaries and honesty, you should be completely over him. But it sort of makes sense now. Especially after Gwen told you what happened to her when she found out about him.
Peter wanted to protect you. You can understand that. But it doesn’t just erase all of the pain you felt while you were in the dark. You let out a low groan, ignoring the people around you as you walk home. You just keep going in circles over and over again.
The streets around you begin to thin out the closer to home you get. You’re still so deep in thought, you don’t notice the man dangling in front of you until your forehead is smacking into his.
“Ow,” you hiss, pressing your palm to the bruise that’s probably already forming. Backing up, Spider-Man, Peter, is dangling from the small overpass, upside down, as he waits for you.
“Dude,” you drawl. “How long have you just been hanging out here?”
He shrugs, “An hour, maybe.” Only in Queens would people pass by a dangling man in spandex and not question a thing.
One of his hands is tucked behind his back, and the other is holding onto his webbing. “Here,” he says. “I’ve got something for you.”
He untucks his free hand and passes you a bright pink, smothered in glitter, Valentine's Day card. You can hear his proud smile as he asks, “Be my Valentine?”
Narrowing your eyes at him, you shake your head with a low laugh. This is the dork you fell in love with. The boy you swore you would follow anywhere. It’s not his fault he’s such an idiot, not really.
Something soothes the ever permanent ache in your heart as you imagine the smile he’s probably got plastered on face. God, you bet he’s so proud of himself for this silly little Valentine.
A deep longing echoes through you and you reach up, going for the edge of his mask, when he reels back. “What’re you-”
“Relax, Parker,” you whisper. He goes completely still and you take hold of the mask.
“Did Gwen tell you?”
“You did, dumbass. You know, you’re really bad at the whole secret identity thing when it comes to consensually stalking your ex.” He lets out a low groan as you peel down his mask, just enough for his lips to be visible.
Pulling back, you take his face in your hands and smile. “Do you want me as your Valentine, or not?”
“What do you think, bug?” With a soft laugh, you lean forward and press your lips to his. It takes a second to get the angle right, what with his chin brushing your nose and all. But you don’t need perfect, you just need him.
Pulling back, he’s got a goofy grin on his face and you smirk. “Parker?” He hums as you fix his mask. “If you ever lie to me again, I’ll cut a hole in the crotch of your unitard. Or, worse second option, I’ll tell Jonah Jameson where you live. Got it?”
He goes still and you raise a brow. “You’re not joking?” You shake your head, expression flat. “Yeah, I got it, sweetheart.”
Smiling, you press a kiss to his cheek and step back. “Be home by six,” you tell him. “And bring some takeout.” You walk around him as he swings himself back up to the top of the overpass.
“I love you!” He calls after you.
“I know you do, Bugboy!”
𝘞𝘦 𝘈𝘭𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘉𝘳𝘰𝘬𝘦 𝘜𝘱 𝘈𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘓𝘢𝘴𝘵 𝘕𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵
𝘚𝘢𝘣𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘢 𝘊𝘢𝘳𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳 ♥︎
⇄ ◁◁ I I ▷▷ ↻
⁰² ⁰⁸ ━━━━━━━━━●━ ⁰⁰ ²⁵
💿 We've been here before and we'll be here tomorrow 💿
a/n: this was meant to be angstier but, well, I started writing him in the Spider-Man “voice” and folded like a wet paper towel
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Characters: fem!reader (you), Sirius Black, Order of the Phoenix members.
Warnings: NSFW, masturbation, mild angst, unresolved sexual tension, ex(?)-fiancés, mutual pining, swearing, super sappy, no use of y/n, dual pov, Second Wizarding War.
Summary: You and Sirius were once engaged, and now you don't know how to pick up where you left off after fourteen years apart, still desperately craving one another.
Themes: Ex(?)-fiancés, Reunion, NSFW.
Part 1 of 2 chapters
WC: 5.131
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Sirius hated Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place.
And there was an irony in the fact that, as a boy, he had run away from this very house to James's, convinced he couldn't survive another single second here. Irony in realising he had fled because he couldn't bear life in that dark house, overflowing with resentment and bitterness. He had run because he'd spent his life trapped in his own home, imprisoned by his own family.
And now, he was trapped in the exact same place once more.
The Blacks were long gone, but the wretched feeling the house gave him never eased.
Of course, compared to Azkaban, there was a certain level of comfort. A soft bed, a few of his old books he'd managed to hide from Walburga, hot meals. He was also fortunate enough to no longer deal with Dementors, though Kreacher's constant muttering served as a decent substitute for psychological torture.
Not long ago, he had managed to contact Albus, offering to turn this godforsaken hole into something useful by making it the new Headquarters for the Order. Perhaps having people fighting for the right cause constantly coming and going might make him view it less like a nest of vipers and more like a home. Especially since, by Dumbledore's orders, he had to avoid going outside, avoid being seen, avoid going on missions.
Sirius didn't know what his purpose was now that he was "free". He felt utterly useless, living off the charity of others who were out there risking their lives, hunting for the one who should have been in his place all these years while he rotted in this filthy house.
Still no sign of Wormtail. He found himself remembering Dumbledore's last letter.
Merlin. Was it really too much to ask for something to do? Was he truly such an incompetent wizard in their eyes?
He was still slumped in the armchair in the drawing room when he heard someone apparating outside. He grabbed his wand and sat up straight. Sirius knew Dumbledore was the Secret-Keeper of the place, but after all these years, a little extra caution wouldn't hurt.
Moments later, he heard the click of the front door lock, the turn of the handle, and then the sharp, rhythmic clicking of a heel against the wooden floorboards.
"STAINS UPON THE NOBILITY OF OUR NAME! BLOOD TRAITORS IN MY HOUSE!"
Brilliant, he thought. Walburga had heard too and seemed wide awake now, screeching her atrocities loudly enough to be heard all the way to the Thames.
Sirius tucked his wand into the waistband of his trousers with an irritated sigh and strode toward the entrance hall. His loudmouthed mother’s shrill voice gave him splitting headaches, and he’d already asked people to enter the house quietly, otherwise she'd scream for hours on end. In truth, he'd probably prefer a Dementor’s Kiss over enduring the old hag's shrieking. As he walked, his teeth ground together, and his steps grew heavier on the floorboards. His anger toward the old portrait, however, vanished the second he saw you.
You were standing in the middle of the hall, struggling desperately with the heavy, dusty velvet curtains to cover the portrait. Your hair was slightly damp from the drizzle outside, and your dark woollen coat still hung from your shoulders, half-open, revealing the formal clothes you wore to work at the Ministry.
"Just... shut your bloody mouth... you miserable old hag..." you muttered through gritted teeth, your voice strained and muffled by physical effort as you yanked the heavy fabric, fighting to hide the slight embarrassment of waking the old witch.
"Let me help with that," Sirius said.
His voice, rough and deep, seemed to startle you. You gave a sharp flinch, letting go of the curtain for a split second. Sirius took two quick strides forward, positioning himself right behind you. He stretched his long arms over your shoulders, gripping the velvet firmly and yanking it closed over the frame in one swift movement.
Walburga’s screams were abruptly muffled, reduced to a low drone behind the heavy cloth.
Sirius hadn't stepped back yet. He was still standing right behind you, so close you could feel the heat radiating from his body. It was always strange for both of you to be in the same room, after all, a lot could change in fourteen years, even for two people who had been engaged before the disaster with the Potters and his imprisonment.
It had been such a confusing storm of emotions when the Order summoned you again. Sirius had escaped Azkaban nearly two years prior and still hadn't sought you out. Of course, there could have been a dozen reasons for that, and during the year he broke out, most people still believed he was indeed guilty of James and Lily's deaths. Somehow, you had never been able to believe it, even when Dumbledore himself advised you to move on. But then, if Sirius wasn't to blame, why had he never come back for you? Had the agonising years in Azkaban managed to erase you from his heart?
When Dumbledore’s summons finally arrived, you instinctively knew he would be there. You were only more certain when you stood before the house at Grimmauld Place.
Just thinking of the possibility of seeing him again threw you into a spiral of feelings that could hardly be put into words. The immense longing echoing in your chest was the strongest of them, but the uncertainty of his state of mind was just as powerful. There was also the desperate, aching passion that fourteen years apart hadn't been able to extinguish – but there was fear and doubt too, which time had only watered to grow.
When you finally saw Sirius Black again for the first time in all those years, standing in one of the drawing rooms of that massive house, surrounded by the other members of the Order, you couldn't run to him like you thought you would. You couldn't even cry, though you felt like you might burst with emotion at the sight of him. All you managed to do was exchange a few awkward, clumsy words, barely looking each other in the eye. You even remembered Molly's teasing the following day, whispering to you, "Given how you two used to be, I thought you'd throw yourself at him the second you saw him." Well, that was what you had thought you’d do, too. But how do you interact with a fiancé you were separated from for over a decade? You can't just pick up where you left off. What had changed? Who had he become, when even you weren't the same person anymore?
No. You didn't have the courage to do anything. Not that day, and not in the days that followed.
And Sirius? Well, it was a torture shared by both of you. Fourteen years. Fourteen years since he was ripped away from his own life, from everything you two shared, from wedding plans, and even from the warmth your body brought to his soul. Sirius knew you must carry a deep wound from his imprisonment. He imagined you must have spent all this time questioning his true intentions, believing he was a murderer – after all, even Dumbledore had given up on him. He feared you might even feel disgusted with yourself for ever having given your body and soul to such a vile man. Even though the truth had come to light, how could he dare believe things would remain the same between you? How could he believe that someone who had likely spent the last decade nurturing the thought of him as a killer could still love him? Perhaps not even he would do that.
Sirius had a cowardly dread of seeing repulsion, fear, or hatred in the eyes of the woman he loved most. From his perspective, when you walked through that door for the first time weeks ago, his heart beat so violently against his ribs it felt ready to break the bone and leap toward you. In his mind, all he wanted was to run, sweep you into his arms, and kiss you until the world vanished. But when your eyes met amid the other Order members, all you two could manage was a few stuttered, formal words, lacking even the courage to hold each other's gaze for more than two seconds. Unable to face one another, when you used to share a loud, physical relationship where personal space barely existed and passion was a delicious game between you. But how could he touch you now? What right did he have to your body or your love? He was no longer the bold, reckless twenty-two-year-old. What if you were only there out of duty? What if you didn't want what was left of him anymore?
So, the two of you remained like strangers.
Back in the hall, slowly, you turned to face him, closing the distance between your bodies even further. Your eyes met in the dimness of the corridor, lit only by the weak glow of a wall bracket.
Sirius swallowed hard, his grey eyes tracing the contours of your face. He wanted to raise his hand, touch the curve of your jaw, and pull you to him. His arms twitched with a subtle movement, his fingers flexing, but he hesitated.
You noticed his hesitation, and your chest tightened with your heavy longing. You felt just as desperately how much you wanted to hold him. You wanted to wrap your arms around his neck, cling to him tightly, and bury your head there, breathing in his scent. Would it still be as intoxicating as it was all those years ago?
"Hi, Sirius," you whispered, your voice cracking slightly at the end.
"Hi," he replied, the gravelly depth of his voice vibrating straight down your spine. He took a half-step back, creating a safe distance, and shoved his hands into his trouser pockets–a defensive tic he’d had since his Hogwarts days. "You... I haven't seen you in a while. Is the Ministry keeping you busy?"
"Yes. A lot of paperwork and import reports for the committee," you lied partially, not wanting to bore him with the bureaucracy of your day, though the truth was you were only trying to delay your return to this house. "It’s been a long day."
"I imagine so," Sirius nodded, casting his eyes to the floorboards for a second before focusing back on you. "You've come for the meeting, I suppose?"
You looked around, searching for any sign that anyone else had arrived. "Yes, has everyone else arrived?"
"Not yet. You're the first, as always. Even if you are later than usual."
You wiped your dusty hands on your coat, averting your eyes. "Force of habit. Believe me, I'm not in the least bit excited to discuss Dolores Umbridge and Fudge's delusions."
Sirius nodded, still keeping his distance, though his pupils drifted back to you for a fraction of a second.
"The drawing room is... a bit warmer. I was in there. Left a fire going in the grate. If you like... we could have a drink until the others get here."
You looked at his hands hidden in his pockets, remembering how those very hands used to be so possessive and warm against your skin. The desperate need to be near him, even under the awkward guise of two strangers who knew each other far too intimately, won over.
"I’d love that," you said softly.
You walked past the hall and made your way to the drawing room in silence. The room was bathed in shadow, illuminated only by the reddish glow of the embers in the fireplace. On the old, ornate coffee table, a bottle of Firewhisky was already half-empty next to a single, heavy tumbler. Sirius walked a bit further to the kitchen cabinet, grabbed another matching glass, and returned to pour you a generous measure, sliding the glass across the dark wood of the table before sitting on the sofa.
You took off your damp coat, draping it over one of the sofa arms, and sat down beside him, misjudging the physical proximity so that your knees almost touched over the upholstery.
You held the glass, feeling the warmth of the Firewhisky seep into your cold hands. Sirius swirled his own drink, his eyes fixed on the amber liquid, his jaw clenched as he seemed to battle his own thoughts.
Feeling awkward under the heavy silence, you looked down at your drink before downing the entire shot in a single gulp.
Sirius seemed to be amused by this.
"I remember you used to hate Firewhisky," he remarked suddenly, a bitter, nostalgic half-smile tugging at the corner of his thin lips. "You said it tasted like goblin piss."
A faint laugh escaped your lips, breaking the tension slightly.
"Yes, well. Things change in fourteen years. I suppose this sort of drink gets a bit more tolerable as we get older. Though I do still think it tastes like goblin piss."
"And you drink a lot of goblin piss, do you?"
You gave his arm a playful swat, laughing. "Oh, stop it, you know what I meant."
Sirius let out a short, breathy laugh – a sound so rare lately that it felt foreign even to his own ears. The movement crinkled the corners of his grey eyes, momentarily softening the exhausted, hardened expression that years of imprisonment had carved into his face.
"You're out of luck with this one. Mundungus brought it, Merlin knows where from," he said, leaning his head back against the sofa, though his eyes didn't leave you for a second. "The last time I had a whisky this bad was during our first winter in the Greenwich flat. Remember? None of us knew how to cast a proper warming charm, and it was, what? The coldest week of January?"
A soft, genuine laugh finally slipped from your lips. "I remember that," you murmured, feeling the warmth of the whisky start to spread through your chest, relaxing your tense shoulders. "Nothing could faze you back then, could it? I told you buying that rubbish was a waste of sickles."
"Oh, come off it, it was aged at least-"
"Sixty years? Yes, I remember you saying that," you interrupted, still laughing. "No wonder you bought it from some other Mundungus type."
Sirius laughed. "Now that I think about it, one gulp of Skele-Gro would have tasted much better."
"It did nothing but give me the worst hangover of my life, and you swore it would help warm us up."
"And it did work," he shot back, a flash of playful arrogance crossing his eyes – a perfect ghost of twenty-two-year-old Sirius. "Though I admit the whisky was just a pretext. We didn't end up needing any warming charm after what we did on the living room floor."
Your cheeks flushed hot instantly at the memory. That night, the freezing flat had been entirely forgotten beneath the heat of his skin, in the rhythm of how you used to love each other on the floor of that tiny room, taking your time. Two young, newly engaged people, driven by an uncontrollable physical hunger for one another, consuming every inch of that shared space.
"We were so reckless," you whispered, a nostalgic smile forming, only to wither as the silence threatened to return.
You poured yourself another and took a slow sip of the whisky, trying to focus on the heat of the drink to ignore the fact that Sirius's leg was only inches from yours. The warmth radiating from him seemed to pierce through the fabric of your clothes, emitting a magnetic pull that drew you in like a moth to a flame.
Sirius watched the movement of your throat as you swallowed. His eyes traced down the line of your neck, where a tiny trickle of whisky had slipped past your lips, glistening against your skin. He felt the fingers of his free hand twitch against his knee. The urge to reach out, trace that damp path, and lick it from your skin was almost unbearable.
He still remembered the texture perfectly, how you would gasp softly when he kissed that exact sensitive spot just below your ear. The muscle memory was pure torture. His hands knew precisely where to grip, where to caress. Would you still arch into him if he touched you like that? Would you still feel the same?
Merlin, he wanted to know so badly.
"You ought to dry your hair," he said, his voice dropping an octave, losing its lighter edge and turning low, intimate. "You'll catch a cold."
"I'm fine. The whisky is keeping me warm," you replied, lifting your face to look at him.
As you did, the distance between you seemed to vanish. Your eyes locked onto his mouth, onto the contours of those lips you had kissed so many times before.
Sirius noticed your gaze. He held his breath, his jaw tightening as he fought the primal urge to throw all caution to the wind, pull you onto his lap, and sink back into the familiar physical rhythm you once shared. He felt like a teenage boy all over again, wanting to feel the weight of your body pressing against his. Merlin, what was happening to him?
To mask his own desperation, he let out a dry chuckle and gestured with his glass toward your formal clothes.
Think of something else. Say something else. Anything.
"You look far more serious in that uniform," he teased, though his voice was thick with a rasp that betrayed the humour. "Quite the proper witch now."
Your mouth fell open in mock outrage. "Excuse me! I have always been a proper witch."
He scratched his bearded chin, a smirk playing on his lips. "I don't know about that. But you certainly look the part."
"And you haven't changed a bit. Still the samecorny charmer who thinks he's incredibly cool."
"Corny charmer? Since when am I a corny charmer?"
"Since when are you not?"
"Oh, come off it, we both know I'm still extremely cool. In fact, now that we're older, I feel like I'm the only cool adult whenever we meet up."
You let out a scoff, though in truth you agreed with him. "Keep dreaming."
He chuckled, shaking his head, crossing his arms as his gaze softened with nostalgia. "But seriously, an exemplary Ministry of Magic employee. Who would have thought?"
"Honestly, what is so hard to picture about that?"
Sirius laughed again. "Nothing. Don't take it the wrong way, it's just... I keep remembering how it used to be." Bad idea. Do not go there, he thought, yet he couldn't stop himself from pushing on. "I remember when you applied and got the job, right before... well, before everything happened. You came home in an outfit very much like this one. So proud."
You felt your heart skip a beat at the direction the conversation was taking. Again.
"I remember," you whispered, your voice suddenly fragile.
Sirius hesitated before continuing, and you felt his eyes trail down your skirt to your legs, hidden beneath sheer tights. "It took me exactly two minutes to scatter all your new paperwork across our kitchen floor and strip you bare on top of the table," he murmured, his grey eyes darkening, fixing back on yours with a raw, unfiltered honesty. "You were cross because I'd crumpled the parchment from your new boss..."
But I didn't complain when he made me forget my own name half an hour later.
The explicit mention of that intense intimacy, of the times when your routine was constantly interrupted by the urgent need to possess one another, made your spine shiver. The elephant in the room, which had been growing for weeks, seemed to drain the air from the place, making it so hard to breathe.
Instinctively, you shifted slightly on the sofa, seeking support, and your knee brushed directly against his.
The physical contact, however minimal and suppressed by layers of clothing, acted like a high-voltage electric shock, leaving both of you in a state of semi-paralysis, though neither of you pulled away. The simple touch of your legs seemed to burn, sending a wave of heat straight to your lower abdomen.
Why did I come here again? you asked yourself. Your reasons for coming seemed like distant memories, while the sensation of Sirius Black devouring you felt more vivid than ever, even if it had happened years and years ago. How is this even possible?
Sirius swallowed hard, his chest rising and falling visibly. The teasing was over. Of course, it was entirely his fault. He simply couldn't hold his tongue. Not when everything he said was exactly what was playing on his mind. He looked into your eyes, and the vulnerability mixed with raw lust there was almost painful to look at.
He whispered your name, his voice rougher still, his hand releasing the glass as he reached toward your face.
But the touch never came as another loud crash echoed from the entrance hall.
"FILTHY HALF-BREEDS! BLOOD TRAITORS!"
The old hag's voice echoed through the walls once more, shrill and grating as ever.
You jerked back with a start, your senses suddenly snapping back, left breathless by the pounding of your own heart. Sirius merely closed his eyes, clenching his hovering fist tightly as he let out a sharp breath. The sheer fury of having your moment ruined made him want to smash the bloody glass on the floor, shattering it completely. His jaw clenched so hard that a vein throbbed visibly at his temple before he finally let his hand drop heavily onto his thigh.
Masculine voices and heavy footsteps muffled Walburga’s screams as the curtain was pulled shut firmly by someone else outside.
"Sorry about the racket, Sirius! The door latch got caught on my overcoat," Remus Lupin's calm voice echoed from the corridor, approaching the drawing room along with Kingsley Shacklebolt's firm footsteps.
The two of you pulled apart instantly. You gripped your near-empty glass with trembling fingers, fixing your eyes on the dying embers, while Sirius leaned back against the sofa, running a hand through his hair to shake off the irritation that had fallen over him like a bucket of ice water. By the time Lupin and Kingsley crossed the threshold, the air between you had turned completely cold.
"Ah, you're here already?" Remus noted, his gaze darting quickly between you, the glass in your hand, and Sirius's excessively rigid posture.
"Yes. Wanted a break from all the paperwork," you lied, forcing a steady, professional tone that didn't match the storm raging inside you. Obviously, you wouldn't admit that you’d spent the last few days buried in work just to distract yourself, and now had nothing left to do.
"Excellent, then we can begin as soon as Moody arrives," Kingsley said, his deep baritone filling the room as he headed towards the kitchen.
After that, the meeting went on for two hours.
More Order members arrived, and the dining table in the kitchen was soon packed. You sat at the opposite end from Sirius, sharing space with Tonks and Mr Weasley. Sirius remained at the head of the table, but he didn't seem as present as he usually tried to be to make himself useful. He had adopted a familiar posture of boredom, resting his chin on his hand, grey eyes hooded, pretending to listen to the updates on Hogwarts while his focus remained entirely on you.
Whenever you were asked to speak about the import committee's movements, you could feel his gaze burning against your skin. When you gestured, Sirius fixed his eyes on your hands, when you tucked a stray hair behind your ear, his jaw clenched.
You tried your absolute best to stay focused as well, but the warmth of him that still felt imprinted on your skin made it difficult to concentrate on the tedious details of wizarding bureaucracy. You actively avoided each other. Sirius directed no comments to you, and you didn't seek his approval for any of your points. To any casual observer, you were simply old acquaintances.
When the meeting finally adjourned, you stood up to leave immediately. Molly tried to get you to stay a little longer. She couldn't hide her gaze darting between you and Sirius, and though she never said anything outright, you could tell she was still trying to rekindle whatever you two once had. But her maternal instincts and will to help weren't enough to make you stay, and you said your goodbyes to everyone. As you passed Sirius, who was leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed, you held your breath. Your eyes met for a single fraction of a second – a fleeting glimpse of hunger, frustration, and longing.
"Goodnight, Sirius," you said quietly.
"Goodnight," he replied, the rough timber of his voice sending one last shiver down your spine before you stepped through the door and apparated away.
-----------------------------
The footsteps of the last Order members to leave Grimmauld Place had long since faded, and even Kreacher had retreated to his den of rags beneath the kitchen sink.
Sirius was alone. Again.
He walked up the stairs to his old bedroom. The posters of motorbikes and girls in bikinis stuck to the walls were symbols of his teenage past, and now they felt like nothing more than pathetic relics of a boy he would never be again.
He collapsed onto the four-poster bed, tossing and turning as he tried his hardest to fall asleep. He hated his sleepless nights, they gave him far too much time to think, much more than he wanted. Tonight, there was only you whenever he closed his eyes.
Sirius could still smell your scent lingering on his own fingers. He raised his right hand in the dim light, staring at his pale, calloused palm against the weak street light filtering through the dusty window pane. That was the hand that had almost touched you earlier. "If he tried, he could still remember the texture of your skin perfectly.
A violent surge of frustration rose in his chest, making him growl in anger. He felt his entire body tense, his cock hard and aching beneath his rough trousers, reacting to the memory of seeing you earlier, of the trickle of drink slipping down your neck, and the way your body had tensed when you talked about the old days.
Fourteen years. He had spent fourteen years locked in a cell where the only thing beyond the instinct for revenge keeping him sane was the image of your face. He had survived the madness by remembering how you gasped when he kissed you, how your nails clawed at his back when he took you.
Unable to bear the agonising tightness of his trousers any longer, Sirius muttered a low curse and reached for the buttons. He undid them with slightly trembling, impatient fingers, sliding his hand beneath his underpants until his pulsing, fully erect cock was free.
The moment his hand closed around the hot length, a shaky, hissed breath escaped his clenched teeth. He shut his eyes tight, and on the dark screen of his mind, it wasn't his own hand touching him. It was yours.
He imagined your soft, cool fingers wrapping around him, the touch he craved so desperately, the one that would make him gasp and groan. Sirius began to move, sliding his calloused palm along his length in a firm rhythm. With every stroke, he recalled the look of pure, restrained lust you’d given his mouth. He could clearly picture the curve of your hips, the way your skirt rode up slightly when you shifted on the sofa.
He whispered your name to the empty room, the broken words sounding like a prayer, rasped from his dry throat.
Then he quickened the pace of his hand. He could feel the waves of pleasure that the firm, rhythmic friction sent straight to his lower abdomen. He arched his back slightly against the mattress, his chest rising and falling in rapid, noisy pants. In his desire-frenzied mind, he was pulling you onto his lap, feeling the weight of your body, hearing your soft whimpers echo against his ear, just like it used to be.
He remembered before. The rug on the living room floor. How your hips moved against his, the warm, tight wetness that welcomed him. The wet, obscene sounds. The memory was so vivid he could almost swear he felt your fingernails scratching his shoulders.
The pleasure surged like a violent tide, pooling at the tip of his length with an almost painful intensity. Sirius squeezed tighter, forcing a feverish, relentless pace. His hips lifted slightly off the bed in involuntary spasms, seeking a release that seemed long in coming after being deprived of touch for so many years.
His breathing turned into rapid gasps. He was right on the edge. He surrendered completely to the vision of you beneath him, hair messy and spread across the sheets, begging him to fuck you at last. The memory of how good you were to him. Always so good to him. His beloved. His fiancée.
"Fuck..." he muttered, his voice entirely shattered.
With a few more rapid, tight, desperate strokes, the climax hit him hard. Sirius seized on the bed, his thighs and abdominal muscles tightening violently as he came. A low, hoarse, purely animal grunt was ripped from the depths of his chest, echoing off the walls of the room as he spilled his hot cum over his fingers and stomach.
He lay motionless for long seconds, his heart hammering against his ribs, his hand still loosely gripping himself as the last spasms of pleasure subsided.
Slowly, Sirius opened his grey eyes.
The room was still dark. The bed was still cold. The smell of sex and sweat mingled with the damp mustiness of Grimmauld Place. And he was still alone. He looked at his dirty fingers, feeling an even deeper void settle inside him.
He cleaned himself up with a lazy charm, buttoned his trousers back up, and turned onto his side to face the peeling wall. The act would satisfy him for a short while, but it wouldn't be enough. He knew the hunger would return even worse the next time he saw you. And worse the time after that, and the time after that. Until he became a complete slave to his own passion and succumbed entirely, confronting you, perhaps even begging you to end his agony in the most pathetic way imaginable. He knew, in the depths of his soul, that he wouldn't be able to keep his distance for much longer.
English isn’t my first language, so I apologize for any typos or weird phrasing.
First time writing NSFW and I have absolutely no idea how it reads, but I hope it’s okay! I’ve been wanting to write this story for a while now, and it really needed this level of sexual tension, it wouldn’t have worked any other way so I had to push myself out of my comfort zone a bit. 💦 (Even though I didn't manage to make it as smutty as I originally imagined... but part two is on the way, and that's where I’ll really have to step up my game! 💀)
bf!polymarauders x f!reader
warnings: mentions of pregnancy, reader is a pregnant teen
with prior help from pomfrey, you now know which one of your boyfriends is the biological dad of your baby. it turns out remus isn’t great in some serious situations after all.
pt1 pt2 pt3
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remus awoke with a squint, head feeling heavy, and the sound of distant murmurs filling his ears that he could only just make it out. when had he got to his bed? and who was in the room? he couldn’t remember anything after pomfrey’s words.
“so it’s definitely remus then? he’s the one?” james asked, or atleast remus thought it was james — he couldn’t tell.
“bloody hell, moony’s only gone and done it then. so the tosser passed out after pomfrey told you?” — definitely sirius.
“is he awake yet?” james asked, peeking around the door from the bathroom. “oh! you are! hi, you okay?” james asked, smiling ever so delicately.
“mhm.. just, head hurts.” remus gestured toward his forehead with his hands whilst sitting up in his bed. then you and sirius came out from the bathroom and sat on the end of the bed. leaving james stood awkwardly in the middle of the room.
“sooo..” sirius started, before pursing his lips. he looked around at the three of you, waiting for the right moment to say anything.
james sighed from behind him. “just say what you’re thinking, sirus.”
sirius nodded, keeping his lips pursed for a minute. when he opened his mouth to talk, you cut him off, “i want you all to know i’m not about this,” you mumbled.
“why would you be mad?” james asked, brows furrowed.
“because.. i’m pregnant in school? i don’t know.”
the three of them nodded, and remus reached to grab your hand. “i’m not mad that it’s me, either, y’know. just shocked, s’all.”
sirius snorted. “yeah, just a bit.” to which remus rolled his eyes.
“how we gonna sort this out then?” james asked, finally coming over and also taking a seat on remus’ bed.
“sort what out?” sirius questioned.
“us.. the baby, you, him, her, me.. lessons? ..are we gonna live together? and what about—“
“okay, okay. everyone calm down,” you said, sharing a gentle look with all three of your boyfriends. “i’m gonna talk to the girls tonight. and i’m thinking about going to mcgonagall tomorrow.”
“mcgonagall?! are you bloody mad?” sirius asked, face feigning shock.
“i know she’ll help. and.. it’s not like she doesn’t know that this.. is a thing.” you offered, nodding your head at the four of you.
“she’s right, pads,” james said. he rubbed his forehead and pushed his glasses up his nose. “mcgonagall could be really helpful. like.. we could maybe get a bigger dorm, and she could get some time off school while she needs it, but still living here so that we can help out.. and.. whatever else we need.”
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after a very long conversation, you decided to return to your own dorm to tell the girls the final news, and update lily on remus — and your plans to tell mcgonagall in the morning.
the second you opened the door, mary pulled you over to your bed, where marlene was waiting. “lily has told us that you have something to tell us,”
“lils, i told you that you could just tell them that—“
“no, it’s yours to tell!” she chimed in from her bed, shutting her book. “i wouldn’t want to steal your spotlight. s’not fair.”
“okay, uhm.. thank you, then.” you cleared your throat awkwardly, looking between mary and marlene.
“so basically..” you took a deep breath, “i’m pregnant and remus is the dad,” you said quickly. then all the questions fired at once:
“huh?” marlene asked, tilting her head.
“did you just say pregnant?” from mary
then lily, “and wait, remus?! seriously, i thought it’d be sirius!”
“no, remus makes sense!” mary said. she smiled sweetly. “i’m so incredibly happy for you, love. wait, you are happy right?”
“yes. i’m thrilled.” you answered without hesitation.
“good.. we’re all here for you, throughout this awesome journey.”
lily skipped over to your bed and crushed you all with a jump, “group hug!”
“lily, NO!” marlene squealed.
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a/n: i am so incredibly sorry with how long this has took me to post. i have been SOO inactive cause i was reading tcoptp again. hopefully like 2 other parts coming this week???
