idk if ur requests are open but could i request a sirius x reader who fight(playfully) ALL THE TIME, and its to the point that people think they dont even like each other but its actually the opposite
btw i love all ur ficss
Thank you for requesting lovely!
cw: domestic squabbling
a/n: Please do not misconstrue my participation in the marauders fandom as support of JKR. If you’re new here and want to participate in the fandom, I encourage you to do so without participating in anything that would provide financial gain to her or her transphobic agendas
Sirius Black x fem!reader ♡ 801 words
Sirius’ eyes are flinty, boring into you. “Tell the truth.”
“I am,” you say evenly. “I. Don’t. Care.”
He scoffs and crosses his arms. “You’re such a fucking liar.”
“Can you not curse at me in public?”
“Maybe once you stop being so stubborn.”
You glare at him. Between you, a dessert menu sits on the table. You’re both keeping away from it like it’d be a concession to touch.
“What about you?” You try to turn the argument around on your boyfriend. “I know you don’t want the apple crumble, because of your thing with warm fruit—”
“Warm fruit?” Lily asks. You’d nearly forgotten she was there. Only Sirius can wind you up so badly you forget to be conscious of the four other people at the table with you.
“He won’t eat any fruit that’s been warmed,” you explain to Lily. You side-eye Sirius and add, with disdain, “It’s a sickness.”
James and Regulus both nod to confirm this assessment.
Sirius spreads his hands in a show of benevolence. “If you want the apple crumble so badly, let’s get it.”
“No,” you insist, “the point is to get something we both like.”
You jolt a little as, under the table, Sirius hooks an ankle behind yours and tugs playfully. “Stubborn,” he teases.
“You’re stubborn.”
“What a creative deflection.”
You feel your features harden. “Fine. Whatever, let’s forget about dessert.”
Sirius makes a bewildered choking sound, like the mere suggestion is heresy. “Don’t bullshit me,” he says. “I know you want dessert. You were eyeing that menu all of dinner.”
“Well, now I don’t.”
“You absolute—”
“Why don’t you each get your own dessert?” interrupts Lily, clearly desperate for peace. You feel guilty at distressing her; you and Sirius’ bickering isn’t so severe as to warrant that. But you can’t think of a nice way to tell her that she doesn’t need to get involved.
Sirius, perhaps thinking the same thing, sighs laboriously. “We can’t,” he tells her.
“Why not?”
“Because, she won’t eat all of hers—”
“They’re big portions,” you defend yourself.
“—and then we’ll end up taking it home, where it will sit in the fridge, and she’ll say I can have it, even though she really wants it herself—”
“No, you could have it, but he always forgets about it—”
“—and then eventually it goes bad, which is somehow my fault.”
A twinge of genuine irritation goes through you as you remember your moldy chocolate cake from two weeks ago. “It’s your fault because you say you’ll eat it and then you don’t.”
“Sort of like you when you order it in the first place,” Sirius hums. And you know he’s only winding you up for fun, but you must have a dangerous look on your face, because your boyfriend’s demeanor shifts. He reaches for your hand on the table, threading your fingers together. “Lovely, just tell me what you want to have. We’re frightening Mary.”
“Oh no, don’t stop on my account,” says Mary, looking thoroughly entertained in her seat next to Lily, who’s faring considerably less well.
“I would be happy with any of them,” you emphasize.
Sirius rolls his eyes so hard it looks like it hurts. “Alright, sure, but you want something chocolate, don’t you?”
You frown. Because Sirius is trying to corner you into making the decision, and not at all because he knows you too well. “I wouldn’t mind it, I guess.”
“Right, so if I said I was between the brownie sundae and the lava cake, would you be able to choose between those?”
You study Sirius’ face, trying to pick out the secret preference you know he’s hiding from you. His eyes glint and his mouth is tamped into seriousness, but those clues only lead to what you already know: he’s having a grand time goading you.
“I’d want the lava cake,” you relent.
You’re rewarded by a smacking kiss on your cheek, distracting enough that no one else notices when Sirius’ hand slips beneath the table to squeeze your leg. “Attagirl. Knew you could do it.”
You roll your eyes. “Don’t fucking condescend to me.”
“Remind me, who was it that had qualms with cursing at each other in public?”
You roll your eyes harder. Regulus catches your gaze partway through its trajectory. “Blink twice if you need out of this relationship,” he offers seriously.
Sirius makes an indignant squawking sound, using an arm around your waist to pull you halfway into his chair as though to keep you from getting away. You smile at Regulus apologetically, your face beginning to burn in the aftermath of your squabble.
“Don’t worry about it, love,” James tells him. “This is foreplay for them.”
Regulus makes a noise of surprised revulsion. Sirius kisses your cheek again when it burns too hot.
Summary: Sirius Black has always been a dog—but the thing about dogs? They're loyal to only one person: Their owner
A/N: um this whole fic is just me calling sirius a dog so be prepared for that
credits to @cursed-carmine for the divider
The locker room buzzed with low voices and nervous energy. Players paced, adjusted gloves, tightened goggles, cracked knuckles. The scent of polish, sweat, and adrenaline filled the air. Green and silver glinted off every surface, and somewhere above, the distant roar of the crowd was beginning to rise.
You stood in front of your team, arms crossed over your chest, chin held high, calm as ever.
And when you spoke, the room snapped to attention.
"Alright. Listen up."
Voices cut off immediately. All eyes turned to you.
“You hit hard. You fly clean. No stunts unless I call them. You’ve worked your asses off for weeks—rain, snow, bruises, broken brooms—and today, it pays off.”
You paced slowly, gaze locking with your Beaters, your Chasers, your Keeper. One by one. Like loading a weapon.
“We’re going to show them—without a single inch of doubt—who’s taking the Quidditch Cup home this year.”
You let that hang, the tension curling in your teammates’ shoulders like springs wound tight.
Then your voice dropped, sharp and cutting:
"We're going to send those bleeding badgers crying back to their mummies."
That broke the tension. Laughter and jeers rippled through the room, players bumping shoulders, fists meeting palms with dull thuds of anticipation.
You smirked.
Held out your hand.
“Let’s turn those badgers black and blue.”
One by one, gloves slammed down over yours.
“Slytherin!”
You were carried into the infirmary without protest by Mulciber, allowing him to gently lower you onto the bed. Without saying much else, you interlaced your fingers neatly over your lap, settling in as you waited for Madam Pomfrey to arrive.
She seemed preoccupied with the other beds, where four more occupants were already receiving care.
“Nasty fall, (L/N)?” Potter’s voice broke through the quiet, a teasing edge to it, “Would hate for you to miss out on Quidditch for the rest of the season.”
You smirked, “You’d love that, wouldn’t you, Potter? But sadly, no—just caught a nasty Bludger to the side when I grabbed the Snitch. So, I guess you Lions have no choice but to lose to us eventually.”
Your eyes flicked past him to the bed beside where Remus Lupin lay, looking far worse off than the rest of the Marauders—pale and sweaty, with Madam Pomfrey fussing over him. Without realizing, your lips pouted, curiosity flickering as you wondered what had gone wrong to land all four of them in the hospital wing.
Before you could study his wounds more closely, your line of sight was blocked by another presence.
Black.
Compared to the others, he looked almost unharmed, hands on his hips as he stared down at you with a cocky smirk.
“You haven’t given me an ounce of your attention, princess,” He said, voice dripping with amusement, “Only bantering with my best mate and mooning at Moony. Should I be offended?”
“Wasn’t aware I owed you my attention, Black.”
His grin widened. Typical.
It wasn’t the first time your sharp tongue had reeled him in like this, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. Sirius Black didn’t know how to leave well enough alone—and you had no intention of making it easy for him.
Merlin, he lived for it.
Before he could come up with something clever in return, Madam Pomfrey appeared at your side with a soft cluck of her tongue and a no-nonsense look in her eyes.
“Caught a Bludger, did you?” She muttered, her tone clipped as she summoned a vial and some bandages from a nearby shelf, “You lot play like it’s war.”
“I think anyone can admire the dedication to the game, Madam Pomfrey.” You replied mildly.
“Not when it might break your ribs, Miss (L/N).” She snapped.
Then, more gently, “Lift your shirt. Let’s see the damage.”
You didn’t hesitate—casually unbuttoning the lower half of your Quidditch jersey and lifting your shirt just enough to reveal the mottled bruise blooming along your side. It was ugly—deep and dark with angry purple edges, already beginning to swell.
His eyes darted instinctively toward the injury, then immediately away—head turning sharply to the side, jaw tight. His entire body went rigid, as if even the suggestion of your bare skin had turned his brain to static.
You smirked, voice syrup-sweet, “What’s the matter, Black? Shy?”
“I’m many things,” He muttered, ears tinged faintly red, “but I am trying to be respectful. For once.”
Your eyes flicked to him just once. He was still looking away—but his jaw was tight, his shoulders tense, and you could feel the heat of his focus even if it wasn’t on your bare skin anymore.
When Pomfrey finally stepped back, she wiped her hands briskly on her apron and nodded, “You’ll bruise badly, but the swelling will ease by morning. Try not to exacerbate it for the time being."
"Understood. Thank you." You replied, voice even.
You slid off the edge of the bed with fluid grace, smoothing your jersey back into place with a flick of your fingers.
You nodded once toward her retreating form in quiet thanks, then turned to go.
You were hardly surprised when Sirius followed you out.
After weeks of this little push and pull—this dangerous game you’d both been playing—you weren’t even remotely surprised that he’d finally snapped the leash you’d had so delicately wrapped around his neck.
So now, here you were. Back pressed to the cold, rough stone of a quiet Hogwarts corridor, Sirius’s arms caging you in like he was the predator in this scenario.
But the truth was clear.
You were the one in control.
You didn’t flinch. Didn’t gasp. You just blinked at him—slow, deliberate, almost lazy. And though your expression was frustratingly unreadable, there was something ghosting over your lips that drove him mad. A smirk that wasn’t a smirk. A glimmer of smugness that you refused to make obvious. It was maddening. Intoxicating.
Had it been anyone else he’d backed into a wall like this, they’d have giggled, blushed, reached up to tangle their fingers in his hair with wide eyes and parted lips.
But not you.
Your hands were tucked neatly behind your back like you were entertaining a child’s tantrum, waiting for him to exhaust himself. Always poised. Always untouchable. Always in control.
And God, it was driving him insane.
What he wouldn’t give to be caught in the eye of your storm—while the world bent and broke around you, you’d remain untouched, divine. He wanted to be yours. Completely. Worshipfully. Pathetically.
“What do you say we stop pussyfooting around and go on a date, (L/N)?” He asked, his voice low and rough with the effort it took to sound casual.
At that, you smiled—finally, a real smile, sly and slow like honey sliding down a knife.
“Sorry, Black,” You said, tone sweet as poison, “I don’t think I’d be interested.”
His brow twitched. “That’s not what you’ve been signalling these past few weeks.” He muttered, leaning in—just enough to try and catch your lips with his. Only to feel your finger press firmly to his mouth, stopping him dead.
He stared at you, lips brushing your fingertip, pupils blown. His breath caught, chest rising sharply. His eyes dropped to your mouth again and he clenched his jaw tight enough to ache—because if he didn’t, he might actually whine. Might beg.
“Why not?” He asked, voice hoarse and low, barely more than a whisper now.
You tilted your head, your smile that of a cat watching a bird flutter too close to the ground.
“I’m a very jealous woman, Sirius,” You said, voice light, playful—deadly, “And I have a reputation to uphold. Can’t have you embarrassing me with all your… side chicks.”
He swallowed hard. The words hit like a slap and a caress. His brain fogged. The rush of blood thundered in his ears, and the air between you crackled.
You pouted suddenly, lips pursed in a way that made his knees threaten to buckle. And then—casually, cruelly—you reached up and gave his cheek a light pat.
“Sorry, puppy.”
And with that, you slipped out from under his arm like water through fingers, walking away without looking back.
Sirius stood frozen, throat dry, staring as your hips swayed down the corridor.
Utterly wrecked.
Something changed after that night in the corridor.
Well—he did.
Not immediately, of course. First, he sulked. Dramatically. Unproductively. For a good day and a half.
He spent most of it brooding in the Gryffindor common room, staring into the fireplace like it had personally betrayed him, ignoring three different girls who tried to sidle up beside him and ask what was wrong. (The fourth didn’t bother asking—just sat herself on his lap. That earned her a single-word dismissal and a truly withering look.)
But after that?
He changed.
The flirting stopped. The lingering touches in alcoves, the smug little smirks in the corridors, the midnight broom closet rendezvous—all gone. He stopped accepting folded notes spritzed with cheap perfume and sealed with lipstick kisses. Stopped tossing winks like knuts. Stopped acting like every hallway was a catwalk and every girl in Hogwarts his audience.
The last girl he even entertained—a sweet, overeager Hufflepuff fifth-year who tried to earn his attention by helping him with Transfiguration homework—had burst into tears when someone joked that she must have “turned him gay.”
He just wasn’t interested anymore.
Because for once in his life, Sirius Black didn’t want meaningless sex.
He wanted you.
And the castle knew it.
Even though you hadn’t spared him so much as a glance since that night in the corridor. Even though you walked past him in the Great Hall like he was furniture.
Everyone still knew.
Which meant, of course, all eyes had turned to you.
Wondering when you’d notice.
Wondering when you’d give in.
Or whether, as Sirius feared most of all…
You never would.
You loved partying.
Loved the bass so loud it rattled your ribs, the way lights flickered like spells mid-duel, the sway of bodies pressed close on the dance floor. You loved shaking ass with your friends, loved the wild screams and clinks of raised glasses. Loved the moments where you stepped back, drink in hand, watching it all unfold—cataloguing the gossip in real time. Who was kissing who. Who shouldn't be. Who’d be crying in the bathroom by midnight.
But there was a distinct difference when the party was thrown in your honor.
The moment you stepped into the Slytherin common room, the room erupted. Cheers ricocheted off the walls, your little black dress catching the green and silver lights just right, and your open jersey—your surname stitched in bold—billowed like a cape.
You’d never been prouder of that name.
Not until Remus’s voice boomed over the speakers earlier that day, full of awe:
“(L/N) has made the miraculous catch of the Snitch—Slytherin wins!”
The memory played over and over in your head as your teammates lifted you onto their shoulders, parading you through the room like the queen you were. You laughed, kissed the golden Snitch in your hand, and smudged your lipstick across it with zero shame.
The party moved on around you, wild and electric, and you eventually found yourself perched on a velvet ottoman, nursing a drink and watching the chaos unfold with your usual sharpened gaze—until the Marauders appeared.
“Good game, (L/N),” James grinned, raising his cup, “That was some mighty flying. Looking forward to beating you in the finals.”
You scoffed, but smiled, “Thanks, Potter. Though I can’t see you being this cordial when Slytherin mops the floor with you.”
Then your gaze slid to Sirius, who hadn’t spoken yet.
“I’m surprised this is the first time you’ve come over tonight, Black,” You purred, circling your finger around the rim of your glass lazily.
He grinned, wolfish and easy, “Didn’t want to be just another forgettable face in a crowd of nobodies.”
You chuckled, “Sure you didn’t just forget about me? Busy fending off your admirers, I’m sure.”
He leaned in slightly, voice dropping to that gravelly register that drove you mad, “Sweetheart, everyone here knows there’s only one person I have eyes for.”
You were about to volley something back—something sharp and slick and just flirtatious enough to make him twitch—when the atmosphere cracked with a loud crash and an even louder voice.
“IT WAS A FLOP!”
Across the room, Ravenclaw’s captain, Muccullen—clearly drunk and still stinging from his loss today—was making an embarrassing scene.
“I would’ve caught that damn Snitch if the snakes didn’t play dirty!” He barked, sloshing firewhisky onto the carpet.
You barely blinked. Just raised a brow, unimpressed, letting his tantrum unfold like a child kicking their legs in a supermarket.
“(L/N) thinks she’s all that,” He continued, voice rising, “but that stupid bitch just got lucky!”
Now that made your brow twitch.
You weren’t planning to dignify it with a response. But then Sirius was suddenly in front of you, jaw tight, a quiet fury radiating off him like a pulse.
“Watch your mouth.”
Muccullen blinked slowly, swaying. “If it isn’t her mangy mutt,” He slurred, sneering, “You’re just as pathetic, Black. Chasing after her like a dog when she doesn’t even want you. Face it—the only reason she gets anywhere in life or on that bloody broom is ’cause that slag keeps guys like you wrapped around her finger.”
That much was true. Sirius was so tightly wrapped around your finger you could flick it and he’d bark.
Which is why Muccullen shouldn’t have been surprised when Sirius grabbed him by the collar.
You stepped forward then, calm and unbothered, resting a single hand on Sirius’s arm.
“Down, boy.”
His grip loosened—just barely. But it was enough.
You turned your gaze on Muccullen, voice cool and dangerous.
“You really know how to ruin a party, don’t you, Muccullen?” You said smoothly, “I won today because I was faster. Simple as that. You don’t want to get pummeled by Bludgers while chasing the Snitch? That’s a conversation to have with your Beaters. Go sober up. Losing on the Quidditch pitch is one thing. This? This is just pathetic.”
Sirius shoved him back as he let go, and Muccullen stumbled off with the grace of a wounded troll.
You exhaled, turning to Sirius.
And yeah… he looked hot.
Leather jacket clinging to broad shoulders. Hair a bit mussed. Breathing heavy like he wanted someone to give him an excuse to finish the fight. All for you.
He looked good defending your honor. Too good.
You sipped your drink with finality, “Well. On that note, I’m gonna turn in for the night.”
Sirius visibly deflated, like a puppy who’d been told no to a treat.
“Yeah, my roommates are gonna be partying all night,” You added, giving a theatrical sigh, “Figured I might enjoy the empty dorm for once.”
You nodded to Remus and James—who were both looking equally exhausted and wildly entertained—and started walking toward the staircase.
But you didn’t make it far before glancing over your shoulder.
Sure enough, Sirius was already staring.
You smirked. Winked.
And then you lifted your hand, curled a single finger.
Come.
His face lit up. Like Christmas and fireworks and every wish he’d never said out loud just came true.
Behind him, James cackled. Remus shook his head, amused.
“Go on, lover boy!” James shouted, slapping him on the back.
And Sirius? He sprinted.
By the time he caught up, you were outside your dorm, and his arms were already curling around your waist as you let out a soft giggle.
He buried his face in your neck, breath hot, lips brushing your skin.
“You better take me out on a date tomorrow.” You murmured.
He smiled against your throat, “Anywhere. Anytime. Just say the word.”
Bonus:
If anyone had ever been afraid of the Marauders—afraid of Sirius Black, the uncollared dog of Gryffindor House, heir to the House of Black, all sharp teeth and dangerous smirks—all they had to do was witness how he behaved with his girlfriend.
The only girl who’d ever managed to train him.
It was almost comical, the way Sirius’s entire face lit up the second he spotted you in the Gryffindor common room. His smirk melted into a wide, boyish grin, wild grey eyes softening like morning light breaking through fog.
“Baby!” He practically shouted, immediately abandoning James mid-sentence and sprinting across the room like a man possessed.
Without hesitation, he dropped to his knees before your armchair, wrapping his arms around your waist and burying his head in your lap like it was the safest place in the world.
You giggled—an uncharacteristic sound, at least to everyone else. But for Sirius, it was as familiar as his own heartbeat. You ran your fingers through his thick dark hair, nails scratching gently along his scalp, and Sirius all but purred, sighing into the space between your thighs like the tension had been holding him hostage all day.
“What are you doing here?” He mumbled, voice muffled against your legs.
“Class ended early,” You replied smoothly, a smile tugging at your lips, “and I wanted to see my favourite boy.”
Sirius groaned dramatically, turning his head to press soft, reverent kisses to the inside of your wrist, right against your fluttering pulse. Like he was grounding himself with the feel of your blood beneath his lips.
Across from you, James flopped onto the couch with a snort, “Merlin, (L/N), you’ve got him trained better than a show dog.”
You didn’t even look up from Sirius as you smiled, sharp and slow.
“Oh, she knows.” Remus added from his spot by the fireplace, flipping a page in his book with a smirk.
Sirius hummed, clinging tighter to your waist like he couldn’t stand to be even a millimeter away.
You leaned back in the armchair, letting him sprawl across your lap like a pampered prince, fingers carding through his hair as if you had all the time in the world.
“You’re clingy today.” You murmured, not unkindly.
“Missed you.” Sirius said simply, lifting his head just enough to look at you—like you hung the bloody moon.
You raised an eyebrow, tapping your nails against his jaw, “Did something happen?”
He pulled one of your hands to his mouth again, pressing a kiss to each knuckle like it was sacred ritual, “Nah. Just tired of pretending not to be obsessed with you.”
“Well, you’re doing a shit job of hiding it.” James snarked.
“I know.” He replied, unapologetic.
To be added to a taglist, please send me an ask! (I might respond to you in comments but I can’t guarantee that I won’t accidentally miss it)
summary: in which you overhear sirius calling you his girl. thus, a lovesick and kiss-drunk sirius makes it his mission to say it again, and again, until you finally believe it.
warnings: fluff, excessive affection, pet names, public displays of affection, mild teasing, soft!sirius who’s so in love, overwhelming sweetness, lovesick behavior, lots of kissing, tooth rotting fluff
word count: 3.1k
masterlist
The thing about dating Sirius Black is that it never quite feels real.
Not in the way people describe disbelief, like you’re waiting for the other shoe to drop, but in that strange, dreamy sense of stumbling into a story someone else might’ve written—some fairytale stitched with mischief and the kind of heat that lingers in the spaces between words.
It has been a few months now.
Enough time for your friends to stop blinking in surprise every time they catch you smiling at him, enough time for the rumors to die down and the whispers in the halls to quiet to a low murmur—though they never go away entirely when it comes to Sirius.
He is, after all, Sirius Black: loud-mouthed and sharp-eyed, honey-voiced and maddeningly beautiful.
And yet, somehow, he chose you. Or maybe you chose each other, slowly, stupidly,and sweetly.
You know what people must think. That you temper him. That he ignites you. That your silences fill in the blanks he never bothers to pause for. That he, for all his recklessness, somehow found something steady in you.
Which is why you’re heading to meet him now outside of class. Sirius had promised to spend the entire day with you today, as he was lately busy with studying.
You’re almost there when you hear his voice.
It’s not unusual—he talks loudly, as though the air is something that belongs to him, like even his words are allergic to restraint. But it’s the way he says something now that makes your steps falter.
You’re still around the corner, concealed by the stone archway. You hadn’t meant to eavesdrop.
“Sirius!” James Potter’s voice cuts through the corridor, warm and familiar, and it’s easy to picture his wide grin as he strides up to him.
“Come on, padfoot. We’ve got a pitch slot and I need someone to test my latest throw. You still owe me from last week when you ditched.”
Sirius laughs, the sound low and raspy in the way you’ve come to know too well. “Didn’t ditch,” he says.
“Oh, piss off,” James retorts. “You coming or not?”
There’s a pause. You imagine Sirius running a hand through his hair the way he always does when he’s pretending to think, when in reality he’s already made up his mind and just wants to seem dramatic.
“Can’t,” Sirius says finally, not sounding even the slightest bit apologetic. “I’ve got a packed schedule today.”
James scoffs, exaggerated. “What, you’ve started revising now? What exactly are you busy with?”
“No,” Sirius replies, too casual, too breezy. And then, with no warning at all, he adds, “I’m spending the day with my girl.”
It hits you like a whispered spell.
Not “my girlfriend,” not your name, not even some half-serious nickname. Just that. My girl.
You’re suddenly aware of everything—of the way your heart is thudding against your ribs like it’s trying to escape your chest, of the heat crawling up the back of your neck, of the way your fingers have curled slightly into your sleeves like you’re trying to make yourself smaller.
You’ve never been someone who takes up space easily, and right now, the sound of those two words fills every corner of your body, makes you feel almost... lit up.
It’s not the fact that he said it. You know you're his girl. He’s told you in the way he tucks his fingers into the loops of your jeans just to pull you closer in the quiet corners of the library.
In the way he lights up when he sees you walk into the common room, mid-sentence with Remus, stopping only to grin like you’ve rewired the gravity in the room.
In the way he sits behind you during study sessions just to braid strands of your hair and mutter things like “beautiful,” and “gorgeous.”
But still—my girl.
You’re fairly certain you and James both made the same face at the same time. That vaguely unhinged, utterly stunned, slack-jawed expression that usually precedes a dramatic spill or a burst of inappropriate laughter in the Great Hall.
Somewhere in your brain, a single electrical wire sparked, and then everything short-circuited.
You could practically see James’s eyebrows lifting halfway to the ceiling, and it’s almost hilarious, almost.
Because you would have laughed—if you weren’t frozen, rooted to your spot like some enchanted statue.
Then came Sirius’s voice again, casual and clear, carrying from inside the classroom, smug in the way only Sirius Black can be when he knows exactly where he’s headed.
“Anyway, I’ve gotta go,” he says, and you can hear the smirk in his voice, “She’s probably already out there waiting for me.”
James groans dramatically. “Tell your girl I’m filing for abandonment.”
“See you later, prongs,” Sirius calls back, followed by the scraping sound of a chair and the creak of hinges swinging open.
Panic sparks in your chest.
You leap back from the wall like you’ve just been caught with your ear pressed to the keyhole—because, well, you have, essentially—and immediately fumble with your bag, turning slightly so it looks like you’ve just arrived.
And then there he is.
Leaning against the doorframe like it’s something he was born to do. Hair half-tucked behind his ears, tie loose, expression bright and unreasonably happy for someone who got an earful from Slughorn not two days ago.
His eyes find you instantly, like he was already reaching for the sight of you before he even walked out.
“Hi, baby,” he says, voice soft and amused and utterly at home in the syllables.
“Hi!,” you reply, a little too fast.
His brow lifts slightly. “Hi.”
Your heart trips. “Hi.”
He stares at you for a beat, then lets out the kind of laugh that sounds like it comes from his chest. The kind of laugh that should probably be bottled and sold as some form of antidote in your humble opinion.
“You look a little too happy for a Monday, baby,” he says, stepping closer, his hands shoved in his pockets and his head tilted as he studies you. “What’s happening?”
You shrug with deliberate nonchalance, fighting the smile that tugs at your lips. “Can’t I be happy?”
He grins like you’ve just said something precious. “Of course you can,” he says, reaching out to squish your cheeks between his hands so your words are suddenly a little garbled.
“Just wanna know what’s got you extra happy today.”
You mumble something unintelligible, eyes darting away, and he narrows his own suspiciously.
“Hmm?”
You free your face from his fingers and try not to giggle. “It’s nothing.”
“Nuh-uh,” he says, tilting his head with mock offense. “You don’t get to smile like that and then say ‘nothing.’ Come on, tell me.”
You hesitate, toeing the stone floor with your shoe. “I, um. I heard you.”
Sirius blinks. “You heard me?”
“In class,” you clarify, shifting your weight to the other foot and feeling heat crawl up your neck. “When you were talking to James.”
He tilts his head again. “You get happy when I talk to James? That’s new,” he murmurs, brushing his knuckles softly across your cheek—his touch featherlight.
His eyes, usually sharp with mischief, are softened now, warm and brimming with a quiet kind of awe.
You swat at his chest lightly. “No, Sirius.”
He laughs again, utterly delighted. “Okay, okay, sorry. What did I say?”
You bite your lip and look away. “Never mind. Forget it.”
“Absolutely not,” he says, eyes glinting with curiosity. “Now I need to know.”
You shake your head stubbornly, lips pursed, trying not to smile, but Sirius isn’t fooled.
He takes a slow step closer, tall enough that his shadow stretches over you, the scent of him curling into your breath. The air between you tightens.
“Wait,” he says suddenly, voice pitched low with amusement, grin sharpening like he’s just solved a riddle he’s been working on since breakfast, “Was it when I called you my girl?”
Your face gives you away in an instant.
Your eyes widen, the way they always do when you’re caught off guard, as if your thoughts have leapt too fast for your expression to catch up. Heat blooms high in your cheeks, blooming pink and soft across your skin like sunrise, betraying every effort to stay composed.
“Oh my god,” he says, actually laughing now, hands braced on his hips as if the revelation physically knocked the wind out of him. “That’s what got you all smiley?”
You narrow your eyes, cheeks blazing. “Stop laughing!”
He tries, he really does, but the laughter keeps bubbling out of him, shameless and golden.
You huff and turn on your heel, nose in the air like you’ve just declared a personal war against him.
But you don’t get far.
Before you can take a single step away, he moves—quick and fluid, one long stride and he’s behind you.
His fingers find your waist with ease, curling firmly around your sides, and in one seamless motion, he pulls you back—hard enough to make you stumble slightly—until you're flush against his chest.
He holds you close. So close it feels like you’re standing inside the space between seconds.
“Hey, hey, c’mere,” he murmurs, voice lower now, softer, brushing against your skin like silk. His arms slip around you fully, drawing you in again, and this time, you don’t resist.
“Why so shy, baby?” he whispers, tilting his head, eyes sparkling with mischief and tenderness all tangled together.
You pout instinctively, your fingers resting lightly against his chest. “Nothing.”
His brows lift. “No, no. No hiding. What is it?” He leans down, brushing his nose against yours. “You are my girl though, right?”
You glare up at him, but your heart is not cooperating.
“You just... never called me that before,” you say, quiet, soft enough that it barely survives the space between you.
Sirius exhales, and pulls you even closer, resting his chin lightly on top of your head.
“Well,” he says into your hair, “You should start getting used to it.”
You don’t even get a moment to tease him back before he’s wrapping his arms around you again, tugging you flush against his chest like holding you is as instinctive as breathing.
He rocks you gently side to side, his chin hooked over your shoulder, and you can feel the quiet grin tugging at the corners of his mouth as he speaks.
“You’re so cute, y’know that?” he murmurs, voice low and warm, like he’s sharing a secret meant only for your ears.
He says it again, and again. Each repetition comes between a kiss to your cheek, his lips brushing against your skin with unbearable fondness, his long hair tickling across your jaw like satin.
“My girl,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss just below your cheekbone.
Another kiss, this time closer to the corner of your mouth. “My pretty girl.”
You giggle, trying and failing to turn your face away as warmth floods your cheeks. “Sirius, your hair’s tickling me—”
He just smiles into your skin, clearly unbothered. Another kiss, this one slower, more lingering, pressed just beneath your ear. “My favorite person.”
You squirm in his arms, laughing harder now, your hands curled into his shirt as you try to wriggle away, but he only holds you tighter.
“My most favourite girl.”
Each word hums against your skin like a spell.
And you, useless and smitten thing that you are, melt for him completely.
A quiet giggle escapes you, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as you bury your face in his chest to hide the way your cheeks are burning.
You try to squirm away, overwhelmed and giddy, but his grip tightens gently and he tilts your chin up with two fingers, catching your gaze with a look so full of open affection it robs the breath from your lungs.
He holds your face like it’s something precious, like he’s afraid to let it go. His thumb brushes just beneath your cheekbone, featherlight and impossibly gentle, and then he says—quietly, sincerely—
“Can I get a kiss?”
The way he looks at you in that moment, like you’re his whole damn universe, is almost too much.
His long black hair falls into his eyes, the ends brushing his cheekbones, his mouth barely parted.
His eyes are shining, glassy with something deeper than a smile, and he’s smiling anyway, soft and crooked like the words he wants to say are too big to fit in his throat.
There’s a trembling silence where you don’t know how to speak.
Because this is the part no one sees.
This is Sirius Black in love. Not loud, not cocky, not showy or flirtatious. But bare, unshielded, and tender to the point of devastation.
And somehow, it still surprises you—how much he feels.
Because he plays it smooth, always, with his smirks and his swagger and his stupidly charming quips.
But deep down, Sirius is just as flustered to be around you as you are around him. Maybe even more.
He still hasn’t gotten used to saying your name out loud without his heart stammering. Still can’t look at you some days without wondering if you’re a dream made flesh. Still marvels at the fact that when you walk into a room, you’re walking toward him.
He calls you his girl like it’s nothing. But to him, it means everything.
Because you’re not just his girl. You’re his world.
You lean up slowly, your hands resting against his chest like he might vanish if you touch him too fast. Then you press your lips to his, soft and sweet.
He smiles against your mouth before pulling back slightly, his eyes still closed, like he’s trying to savor the moment just a little longer. A beat passes. Then—
“Can I get another one?” he whispers, one eyebrow lifting, that same mischievous edge bleeding back into his voice.
You blink at him. “You’re so—”
But you don’t get to finish.
Because he kisses you again—harder this time. His hand cups the back of your neck, his other arm firm around your waist, pulling you in like he’s afraid the world might steal you away if he lets go.
And when he kisses you like that—like you’re his first and last prayer—there’s no doubt left.
Sirius Black is utterly, hopelessly, and beautifully in love with you.
And even if you don’t quite realize it yet — he’s been yours all along.
His lips are still brushing against yours when he pulls back the slightest inch, gaze hazy and wonderstruck, as though he’s only just now realizing that you’re real.
His thumb is tracing absent shapes at your waist, his breath slow and uneven like he’s trying to memorize the curve of your mouth by air alone.
His eyes, dark and warm and barely blinking, drink you in like he’s never seen anything so beautiful. Like he doesn’t want to miss a single second of whatever this is.
And then, of course, he leans in again for a third kiss.
You stop him with a hand on his chest and a breathless little laugh. “Sirius,” you whisper, dragging out the syllables. “You can’t keep kissing me, we have a whole day ahead of us, and we’re still in the bloody hallway.”
He leans his forehead against yours with a groan, dramatic and wounded, as if you’ve just denied him water in a desert.
“But I thought you were my girl,” he says, pout in full effect, lips parted and brow creased with the exaggerated tragedy of it all.
“My girl doesn’t let me kiss her as much as I want? This is unfair.”
You burst out laughing, fully this time, and the sound of it sends a visible shiver through him.
He never gets tired of hearing it, probably never will.
“Come on, Black,” you tease, grabbing his hand and turning on your heel to pull him down the corridor behind you, your fingers threading easily through his.
“I need someone to help me carry the books I ordered.”
At that, Sirius lights up like someone’s handed him a trophy. “Books?” he says, perking up.
“You ordered books and didn’t tell me? That’s a violation of trust. But don’t worry, love—I’ll carry them, all of them. You won’t lift a single bloody finger.”
You glance back at him with a smirk. “Wow, look at you,” you tease, eyebrows raised.
“All manly now, huh? Sirius Black, the knight in shining armor, savior of poor girls with heavy textbooks.”
“I am manly,” he insists, puffing his chest out like an idiot and giving your joined hands a little swing. “And chivalrous and noble and handsome and criminally underappreciated and—“
You snort. “Okay, I get it!”
But just as you’re rounding the next corridor, Sirius glances down and suddenly stops short, yanking you to a halt beside him.
“Wait—you’re carrying your bag?”
You blink, confused. “Um... yes?”
He gasps so dramatically you’re worried for a moment he might start clutching his chest.
“What a horrible boyfriend I am,” he cries.
“Carrying nothing. Letting my girl do the heavy lifting like some kind of untrained baboon.”
You laugh again, shaking your head as he makes a scene of freeing your bag from your shoulder.
“Give me that. No, seriously, give it. I was raised better than this. Even my horrible, bloody mother would’ve scolded me for letting you carry your own things.” – He takes the bag from you with exaggerated care, slinging it over his shoulder – “Granted, she’d probably scold me just for being in public with you, but the point stands.”
You giggle again, unable to stop smiling, as he then reaches for your hand once more, the two of you falling into step like you were made to.
Your hands swing gently between you, fingers warm and safe in his.
And from that moment on, he never stopped.
Sirius Black referred to you as his girl in every corner of the castle, whether you were there to hear it or not.
He’d say it proudly, like the words alone lit something inside him.
And when you weren’t around, you’d better believe he was still talking, still rambling, and surely still flustered.
Cheeks tinted a soft, unmistakable pink, he'd go on and on to anyone who’d listen—usually James—about how smart you were, how good you smelled, how pretty you looked with your nose buried in a book or your hair tied back or when you laughed with your whole body like you did when he tickled your sides.
James, for his part, teased him relentlessly. But Sirius didn’t mind. Not even a little.
You were his girl after all, and he wanted the whole world to know it.
hi welcome to my first kinktober! as a busy student, these will probably be around 1-2k words!
i won’t have a post out everyday of october, but i picked 13 prompts because of friday the 13th! (NOTE: all these prompts are consensual and do not have darker themes like incest, abuse, pedophilia, etc)
the ☆ symbol = raven’s favourites!
1. voyeurism/degradation/biting - vampire!regulus black ☆
2. threesome/multiple orgasms - james potter & regulus black ☆
3. bondage/restraints - remus lupin
4. somnophilia/thigh fucking - james potter
5. oral sex/gagging - cowboy!remus lupin ☆
6. medical play/innocence kink - doctor!remus lupin
7. very messy sex - sirius black ☆
8. praise kink/grinding - knight!james potter
9. vibrator play/edge control - sirius black
10. lingerie/squirting/come licking - sirius black
james x reader x sirius smut where sirius has a little crush on reader and james notices
james giving sirius permission to fuck you*. ⋆2.3k words
cw: smut. fem!reader. cursing. 98% porn 2% plot. degradation. use of "slut" several times I'M NOT SORRY. mean!possessive!james. kinda sub!sirius. oral (male!receiving). spit. pussy slapping. oral+fingering (fem!receiving). homoerotic tension (sirius licks you off james' fingers🫦). piv. unprotected sex. squirting. pulling out so no creampie:( sorry babes. its's literally 2am so not proofread!
a/n: yeah... i got a little wild with this one🙃 please enjoy and remember english isn't my first language!
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you knew from the moment you started dating james potter that being his girlfriend came with certain… stipulations. these include getting on well with his friends—especially sirius, who you’d found to be very fond of, help him in any way you can with his pranks, and of course, be there for him during his needy moments, even if that includes skipping a few classes together.
“oh fuck, just like that angel, juuust like that.” james grunts, hands holding your hair in a ponytail as you bob your head up and down. your lips are red and swollen, eyes puffy with tears that fall down your face every time the tip of his cock hits the back of your throat, cutting off your air supply. your cheeks and jaw hurt, saliva on your chin mixing with the remnants of james’ cum from where he finished like ten minutes ago.
he throws his head back when you circle the mushroom tip of his cock, flushed and already leaking precum when your tongue follows the path of a vein on the side of his shaft, one of your hands on his balls as the other squeezes his thigh for support.
the sounds leaving his mouth are utterly and straight up pornographic—high-pitched, half-broken moans that do nothing but worsen the damp mess between your legs.
“fucking hell, love—want my dick that bad?” he groans, his cock in your mouth preventing you from answering. you look up, your watery gaze meeting his to watch the look on his face. he’s frowning, half-lidded eyes switching between your own and your tits, covered only by a lacy bra.
you try to take all of him in one thrust, holding your breath to make it easier, and james grins when you only choke yourself in the process, forcing you to take him off your mouth.
your throat burns, your cunt aches, and the bastard only seems to rejoice in it.
“didn’t know you were a desperate slut.” he takes his cock in his hand, pumping it a few times before rubbing it against your face, collecting the juices on your face with the head.
“suck.” he commands, offering you his cock again. he slaps the tip against your wet lips, and grunts when you stick out your tongue, tasting the musk and saltiness of his dick.
“mm-hmm, fuck, get on the bed before i come on your mouth again,” he gulps, pulling you away by the hair harshly. “your turn, angel.”
he gives your cheek a playful pat before laying you down onto his bed, completely naked from the waist down. he grabs you by the thighs, your heart accelerating when his mouth leaves wet, loud kisses on your skin, starting from the knees and going higher, until his face is right in front of your weeping cunt.
his gaze meets yours, eyes staring directly into your soul as a glob of saliva drips straight into your clit, and you hiss when his tongue flattens on the sensitive bundle of nerves—the moist and slightly rough texture sending a shiver down your spine.
“ah! james,” you whine, your eyes closing from pleasure while he licks and slurps the juices out of your pussy, wet sounds filling the room as you feel your arousal coating your inner thighs and your boyfriend’s face.
he eats you with such desperation, little meowls and whines leaving your mouth, that no long after you start feeling that coil in your belly, the slow, burning ache that grows higher and bigger until you’re about to snap any minute.
“shit, james, i’m gonna- i—” you can barely form the words in your head, and you’re just on the brink of coming when a loud, choked sound echoes in the room.
well, that was not james, and it definitely wasn’t you.
you open your eyes, exalted, only to find the famous sirius black—and your boyfriend’s best mate—bluntly staring at you, or rather staring at your pussy.
you push james away by the shoulders, closing your legs to try to protect some of your dignity, because there’s no way sirius black just saw you half naked.
james gets instantly annoyed with whoever is at the fucking door, because who dares to interrupt his special time with his girl? he turns around ready to tell them to fuck off, caring little about the state of him—messy hair, flushed face, and your fucking wetness covering half of his face.
but oh, he finds exactly the person he wanted to see.
james has known about sirius’ little crush with you for some time now. it’s been pretty obvious, if you ask him—especially this lovey-dovey look in his face that appears every time you walk into a room. james recognizes it as the same look he’s given you for the past months, ever since the first time he saw you.
because he saw you first.
still, there’s a part of him, buried deep inside, that finds this affair quite amusing, making him wonder what would happen if he let sirius give you a taste, to know how it feels to be buried between your thighs, how your pussy squeezes his cock when you’re about to come, gripping him like you don’t want to let him go.
sirius look like a deer caught in the headlights, eyes wide-open as he processes the sight in front of him.
“shit! sorry, prongs. didn’t want to- uh, to interrupt,” he clears his throat, looking at you for a moment before focusing on the wall behind you. “moony wanted me to grab a potions book he forgot but- uh, it’s fine, i’ll go. sorry again.”
he turns around and starts stalking toward the door, and you’re more than happy to watch him go and forget all about it, when james suddenly talks.
“oi, pads,” he calls him, one of his hands stroking your calves softly, fingertips brushing your soft skin, giving you goosebumps.
sirius stops, reluctantly shifting in his spot to meet your boyfriend’s eyes, only to find him grinning, the total opposite of what he expected after watching him eat out his girlfriend.
“you wanna fuck her?”
your head snaps so fast you might as well hurt yourself accidentally, because there’s no way he just said that, right?
“what?” sirius asks, perplexed, then proceeds to laugh like it’s all a big joke. “c’mon, prongs. it was an accident, you know i’d never do anything like that.”
james snorts, fucking snorts like he doesn’t buy that pathetic excuse from his best friend.
“hard to believe that,” he grins, his hand slowly returning where they previously where holding your thighs, this time going all the way up to where your wet cunt is still pulsing, your heartbeat on your clit as he spreads your arousal all over your slit, coating his middle and ring fingers with it.
sirius audibly gulps, unable to do anything else than watch james fucking you with two fingers for what he considers now the longest five minutes of his life. it’s as if for a moment you’ve forgotten he’s still there, standing awkwardly in the middle of the room—soft whines leaving your throat while you hold his gaze, moaning james’ name over and over again.
you’re not sure what’s gotten into you, you’re a woman possessed as you let your boyfriend finger you with his friend in the room. james has always been a possessive bastard, and you never thought he’d be willing to share, or whatever this is, with anyone, even one of his closest mates.
sirius’ gaze burns hot on your skin as he drinks the vision of you, half-naked, sprawled all over the bed like some greek goddess, he might as well get right there on his knees and worship you.
james’ movements stop, and with that your sweet sounds are muffled by a huff, clearly annoyed that your orgasm has been interrupted for the second time today.
both of you watch james get up, leaving you behind on the bed. he walk until he’s beside a stunned sirius, and lifts a hand, the same hand he just buried in your cunt—his fingers still glistening with the wetness.
“want a taste?” he asks, a smirk on his face.
your heart skips a beat. the room gets silent.
you watch them, expectant, and james looks like this was his plan all along.
after what feels like ages, but surely it must have been mere seconds, sirius nods, and staring directly into your boyfriend’s eyes, he takes both fingers in his mouth. you barely contain a moan, he does not. and james looks utterly pleased at the sight, too.
sirius groans, the sound muffled slightly by your boyfriend’s fingers, now slick with saliva instead of your fluids. he lets go of his fingers with a pop, and when you realize, james is taking him by the collar of his shirt, dragging him until he’s standing between your open legs.
“it’s okay, pads,” he chuckles. “we’re all adults here, if you want to fuck my girlfriend, you can. i know she’d very much enjoy it, the little slut.”
your face feels hot from embarrassment, but you don’t correct him. even if you never wanted to admit it, you find sirius really attractive—but fucking hell, who wouldn’t?
you notice he’s taking too much time, his body frozen on the spot while flat out looking into your pussy, you can almost see the engines on his head move, trying to decide what the fuck to do.
your legs start closing again, suddenly self-conscious of the situation, but james stops you, both hands holding your thighs, spreading you wider for his best friend.
“c’mon, padfoot. don’t you see how wet she is? she’s fucking dripping. she wants a cock in her so bad, i know she won’t mind, right, slut?”
he releases one of your legs, his hand harshly smacking your cunt—one, two, three times. you yelp with each slap, the sharp sting of pain only worsening the ache in your core.
finally, you see sirius lose his internal fight, he gulps, looking at james once more before unbuckling his belt, taking his cock in his hand.
you have to hold back a moan again. his cock is the perfect definition of pretty—not too thick, but long enough to make it hurt if he’s not careful at first. his skin is a pale shade of pink, with the flushed, mushroom-like tip leaking precum from the slit.
james takes a step back, sitting next to you. meanwhile, sirius grabs you by the thighs where your boyfriend’s hands were holding you minutes ago.
he’s agitated, both of you are. he lines himself up with your entrance, but instead of thrusting forward, he looks at you, searching for approval.
you nod, unable to wait any longer, and he inserts himself in one movement, heavy cock invading your insides, forcing your walls to stretch and take all of him.
you moan in unison when he’s all the way in, and you manage to forget james for a second, who’s sitting by your side, watching the full scene unravel.
then sirius starts moving, rocking your own body with his movements—in and out, in and out. your juices coat his entire length, making it slick and slippery, easier to impale you.
you feel james’ hot breath against your ear, slightly biting the lobe before speaking.
“enjoying this?” he asks, one hand reaching out to circle your clit. “enjoy fucking another man in front of me? i guess you truly are a slut. but guess what? you are my little slut.” he whispers the last part, the slap, slap, slap of sirius’ body hitting yours echoing in the room, muffling every other noise. his thrusts are harsh and frantic, that with the way james’ fingers rub and pinch your clit and the fact that you’ve already been close to coming twice makes it impossible for you to last any longer.
the coil in your tummy appears faster than before, your whole body tingling, walls spasming and clenching around sirius’ hard cock. in a matter of seconds, you find yourself in the verge of tears, and with a few more strokes of the dick and fingers wrecking you, you finally come.
it’s explosive, violent—your entire being is on fire as you have your release, juices gushing out of your spent pussy, splashing against sirius’ stomach and dripping down onto the bed. your vision turns white, and soon you’re moaning not from your orgasm but from overstimulation, your friend never stopping his assault to your hole.
“bloody hell, angel,” james grunts, clearly satisfied by the little show you just put on. “if this is how i get you to do this more often, pads can fuck you any time he wants.”
maybe he means it as a joke, maybe he doesn’t. either way, his words seem to affect sirius, judging by the way his hips start to falter, his pumps becoming more erratic. your pussy walls are gripping him like a vice, and he knows he’s about to come too, to fill you up with his release—he wants to see it, see the way your cunt looks, sensitive hole gushing out his cum after he stuffs you with it. he can almost feel it, he’s so close and—
“don’t you dare come inside her, pads.” james warns out of nowhere, his relaxed tone nowhere to be found. “you may be fucking her, but she’s my girl. only i get to fill her with my cum.”
he takes both of you by surprise, and somehow sirius manages to pull out in the last second, his slick cock barely getting out your cunt before twitching, his hips jerking forward. he comes all over your stomach, groaning and painting your skin a pretty white, translucent colour—some droplets even getting to your pussy, sliding down your soaking slit.
no one talks for a few minutes, too busy recovering your breaths, and it’s james who, finally, breaks the silence.
poly!wolfstar x fem!reader who remus will be forced to marry... eventually ✿ 1.6k words
summary: remus' father dies, leaving him to become Lord Lupin. his mother insists he marry, but there's a problem: remus lupin already has a lover.
cw: no reader in this part, bridgerton-inspired au, established!wolfstar, period-typical homophobia mentioned, sirius being dramatic
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one two three four five six seven
The golden-amber liquid swirls gently inside the cup as Remus shifts his wrist absent-mindedly. When he brings it up to his lips, it burns as it touches his skin and he can feel it trail all the way down his esophagus and into his stomach. He takes another sip, hissing as the burning intensifies. His eyes are distant, two fingers rubbing at his jaw. His gaze finally finds the street below, puddles reflecting moonlight, interrupted by fat raindrops.
It’s rained every day since his father died.
It’s not long before he can hear the signature jingle of keys at the door to the apartment, an all-too-familiar grunt as the door is pushed open. Remus leans his head back against the wooden frame of the chair, and he hears the moment Sirius sees his things. Everything goes silent for a second, and then there’s quick footsteps dashing until he’s standing in front of Remus.
“Well?” Sirius’ eyes are already red-rimmed and full of fury, his fingers clenching into fists at his side. Remus knows his lover is quick to anger, and he himself would be no exception to this, especially when Sirius likely feels he was practically abandoned. “Where the hell have you been, then?”
Remus sits up, taking another drink of his whiskey. He’s trying to form the words, trying to string them together and force them from his throat and out his mouth but he can’t get it quite right. He hisses against his teeth. “Sirius…”
“If you were going to throw me aside like some whore, you should at least have the decency to admit it before you run off!” Sirius crosses his arms in front of him, tongue poking the inside of his cheek as he shakes his head. Remus can’t help but think Sirius is at his most beautiful like this, though he’ll never admit that.
The glass makes a small thunk as Remus sets it aside, letting out a huff of breath as he stands. Sirius stares directly into his eyes, waiting for an answer, for anything. His anger, red-hot and inflamed, is only covering up for his worry, his insecurities. They grow every moment Remus doesn’t speak, every moment he keeps looking at Sirius with that look on his face.
Remus steps in front of him, lowering his face until their foreheads press together. Remus closes his eyes, but Sirius doesn’t, watching the way Remus’ face seems to crumble for a moment, his hands finding Sirius’ arms.
“My father… is dead.” The words feel impossible to speak, if not only for the other ones he knows they will lead to. Sirius tries to pull away but Remus’ grip on his arms tightens, keeping him in place. “It was quite a shock.”
“Remus, I-” Sirius swallows thickly, his own hands finding Remus’ back, pressing him closer. He feels guilty for assuming Remus had tossed him aside, that the absence had been personal. He’s always been a selfish git, but now he’s truly feeling it. “I’m so sorry.”
Remus shakes his head, or at least as much as he can with his forehead pressed to Sirius’. The tips of their noses brush and something in his heart breaks. “No, I should’ve written to you. I wanted to write to you, only… I didn’t have an opportunity.”
Sirius’ lashes brush against Remus’ when he blinks, slow and fluttering. “Why not?” He asks softly, though he knows Remus will continue speaking anyway.
“My mother. God bless her, she’s mourning him more than I am.” Remus swallows again and then clears his throat, pulling Sirius closer. “She was constantly hovering, she did not let me have even a moment of peace. I could hardly bathe without her knocking and asking if I am alright.”
Something about that makes Sirius smile, the corners of his lips tilting up, but it vanishes when Remus looks up to meet his gaze again, and that look is still there. The one that tugs low in his gut, and not in the good way that normally happens when he sees Remus. “What is it?”
“There is something I must tell you.”
Remus’ words hang in the air, thick and heavy like a cold mist. It raises goosebumps on Sirius’ skin in the same way, and his heart sinks lower than he thought possible. Maybe to Hell. Maybe lower. This time he doesn’t prompt Remus, he just stares, awaiting the death blow.
“I… I am Lord Lupin now.” Remus’ voice sways on his new title, the idea of it straining his throat and he doesn’t know how long it will take before saying that sounds normal to him. He runs a hand through his sandy lock before speaking again. “And… because of that, it has become a new focus of my mother that I find a wife.”
Sirius feels like time stops. His brain refuses to process the words Remus is saying, the syllables just running on loop over and over like a scratched record. He doesn’t take in another breath, he feels like his heart doesn’t beat again for several seconds.
“A wife?” It feels like he’s floating outside himself, his voice echoed and disembodied. Remus looks like he feels the same. That, or like he might be sick. It’s several seconds before Sirius speaks again, but it almost comes out as a laugh. “You?”
Something in Remus’ jaw sets but Sirius doesn’t back down, raising his brows just a bit.
“My mother is insistent.” He says, but the look doesn’t leave Sirius’ face, though his color has started to come back. If anything, Sirius doubles down, his head tilting the way it always does when he’s being particularly snarky. “I like ladies,” Remus insists, “Just because I’m in love with you doesn’t mean-”
“What are you trying to say?” Sirius cuts him off, his words punctuated by a smirk and the cock of his hip.
“I am trying to tell you that-”
“You’re replacing me with some dull, horrid woman from the Ton?” Sirius scoffs, then gasps dramatically, “If you marry my cousin, I will cut off your bollocks.” The look of disgust that takes over Remus’ face is enough to have Sirius’ teasing morph into a chuckle.
Remus takes a breath and straightens his shoulders. “I am not going to replace you.” He reaches out for Sirius’ hand, interlacing their fingers together and giving it just the slightest of squeezes. “I do not want to take a wife, it will simply be to make my mother happy.”
“And to produce an heir,” Sirius’ fingers trace slowly down the skin of Remus’ neck, feeling the twitches and movements of his muscles underneath his skin. “Do not forget, I was to be a Lord once too. I know the expectations.”
“Perhaps, in several years, once I am done with my studies-”
“Moony, please,” Sirius scoffs again and his hands fall away from Remus’ neck, his arms crossing over his chest, “Be realistic. Do you think your mother is going to allow you to continue your studies here while your wife remains in Mayfair? She wants an heir.” Remus opens his mouth to speak but Sirius shakes his head and raises a hand, stopping him, “As soon as you finish saying your vows, your mother is going to be speaking of grandchildren. I’m surprised she hasn’t already brought it up, truly.”
Remus’ silence is all the response Sirius needs. His shoulders drop, and his hands reach for his lover again, sliding over familiar ridges and settling softly against his back. “Remus, my love, my moon… What are you asking me?”
“I… I’m asking you what you want?”
Sirius purses his lips. He runs a hand through his hair and brushes his nose against Remus’ jaw. He sighs. He tangles his fingers in Remus’ shirt.
“I want you.” Sirius whispers, tongue darting out of his mouth and wetting his lips. He pulls back to look up into the taller man’s eyes, “Always. Like always.”
“And you’re… alright with that?”
“With being your mistress?”
Remus can’t help but guffaw at this, but he guesses Sirius has a point. “Yes.”
“Well, is it truly that different from what we are doing now?”
The question makes Remus ponder. He has a secret apartment in the city, paid for through Sirius and purposely located far from any main streets. The two of them are sneaking around, have been sneaking around since the beginning of ‘them’. No one in good society would approve of the two of them galavanting around together. At least not together as they truly are.
“I guess not.” Is what Remus finally decides on. Something softens in his stomach and it’s like he can take a breath for the first time in the last several weeks.
“I just have one request.” Sirius says, face turning serious and his grip on Remus’ shirt tightening, silky fabric clutched between his knuckles.
“Anything.” Remus says it, and he means it, though he knows it’s not entirely true. There are things Sirius could ask of him that he could not deliver, but he would try his damned best.
“I want to approve of the woman you pick.”
The words hang in the air for a moment, and Remus finds himself nodding, tugging Sirius closer and lowering his lips to his lover’s.
i’m a sucker for anything with sirius being all soft and in love if you fancy writing something like that!! luv u
im a sucker for soft sirius too!! love ya <3
sirius black x reader ✩ 642 words cw: slight allusions to sex
Sirius can hardly believe his luck. There's dust drifting lazily through the room, illuminated by the sunlight coming in through his bedroom window. You're curled beside him, head sinking into the pillow with eyes closed looking moments away from sleep. He sits propped against the headboard, absentmindedly running his fingers through your hair.
The window is open to let in fresh air and cool both of your sweat slicked skin, Sirius listens to the noise on the street – car doors slamming, people laughing, all a steady thrum – with half an ear, his attention drifting back to you.
There isn't a happier man in London.
“Stop.” you mumble, voice thick with sleep.
You don't open your eyes as you raise a hand in what's meant to be an attempt to swat him away. Instead, your palm lands over his hand, trapping it against your head.
Sirius lets out a surprised laugh, bright and boyish. He leans over you, unable to deny himself a better look. Your eyelashes brush your cheek. Your hair mess (thanks largely to him) and you’ve tugged a t-shirt on that sits twisted on your torso. You're lovely.
“What?”
“Playing with m’hair.” you grumble, words slurring together. “I’m gonna fall asleep.”
“You can go to sleep.”
“Can’t. We’re going to the pub, remember?”
Sirius rolls his eyes and, despite your hand still resting over his, resumes the slow stokes through your hair. He can’t believe you care about the pub later while you have each other like this. Stupid pub with stupid friends. He could be here soaking in you.
When he doesn't answer, you open one eye to get a look at him and find yourself not all that surprised to find him looking down at you. His dark hair falls messily but as per usual Sirus looks flawless. Perfect. Beautiful.
“No one will care if we don’t show up.” he says, though even he doesn’t sound convinced.
He slides further down the bed until he’s lying beside you properly, wrapping an arm around your waist and nudging his forehead against yours.
“Yes they will!” you exclaim, pushing away from him but not getting far, “I didn’t hear the end of it last time and–”
Sirius cuts you off with a kiss. His lips are warm, slow, lingering. By the time he pulls away from your lips, he’s already pressing soft kisses across your cheek. They trail across your jaw and down the side of your neck.
Every now and then he nips lightly with his teeth before soothing the spot with another kiss, trying to distract you. It pulls a content sigh from your lips.
When he pulls away, it’s with a smug smile like his convincing couldn't possibly fail. See? It says. Problem solved.
“We have to go.”
Sirius’ face falls and he leans forward to bury his head in the curve of your neck while letting out a dramatic groan. You raise a hand to thread through his hair now, settling at the base of his neck.
He’s mumbling against your skin, incomprehensible words that have the tone of complaint. It makes you smile.
“Fine.” He sighs, lifting his head just enough to look at you again. “What do you wanna eat before we go?”
“Beans on toast?” you ask to tease because you know it’ll make his lovely nose scrunch in disgust. He spent most of his life too posh for it and he still seems it now. Sure enough his face pulls.
“You’re horrible, y’know that?” he says, sitting up just enough to make a show of leaving. He doesn't get far as you slip your arms around his middle, keeping him where he is.
“You love me.”
“I do,” he admits with an exaggerated sigh. “You’re lucky I do.”
“Oh?”
“Mhm.” He nudges his nose against yours, unable to stop smiling. “You minx.”
summary: after a bump on the head, you wake with your head on the shoulder of a beautiful stranger (who isn't really a stranger)
cw: hospital setting, concussion, memory loss, mention of vomit
Sirius Black x fem!reader ♡ 1.1k words
You wish the drone of all these people would quiet down so you could sleep better. You’re so tired, and conditions are perfect for it otherwise, your body heavy and a warm pillow of ideal firmness beneath your head. There’s a gentle brush of something against your forehead every now and then which feels inherently comforting. It does it again now.
“That’s nice,” you murmur.
A low chuckle. “Happy you think so.”
You tilt your head towards the voice, startled to see a rather breathtaking man looking back at you. He’s close enough for you to count the long, dark lashes fringing his grey eyes and to catch the little tick his mouth does, as though he’s pleased to be looked at by you. Your warm, ideally firm pillow seems to be his shoulder.
You sit up. Flashes appear behind your eyes; you blink to dispel them. “Sorry,” you say.
“Hey, it’s alright,” the man says. He’s frowning, suddenly, brows sewn together in apparent concern. Every movement of his face only serves to make him lovelier; it’s dizzying. “What’s the matter?”
“I didn’t mean to fall asleep on you.”
The brow situation worsens. “Don’t be sorry for that, lovely. I hardly mind. Come on, why don’t you come back?” He folds a hand around the side of your head very carefully, as though wary of hurting you, to guide you down again. “The nurse said it’ll be good for you to rest while we wait.”
You don’t argue, because he seems to know things. You trust him. Maybe it’s foolish, but who wouldn’t trust someone treating them so kindly, who presses his lips to your forehead as you settle and covers your ear with a hand when the wail of a passing siren cuts through the room and you wince.
“I know,” the angel-man murmurs, sounding woefully compassionate to your plight. “We shouldn’t have to be here much longer. Are you feeling okay?”
You hum unsteadily.
“Do you think you might be sick again?” You’re unsure. “You should tell me if you might be. I’ll have to get a bag.”
“Have I been sick?” you ask, looking up at him.
Something flickers over his expression at your question. He rubs his thumb over the space behind your ear soothingly. “You have,” he answers, “but that was before we came, so it was a bit different. I don’t think they’ll let me follow you into the toilets here.”
You feel your eyes widen. “You were there?”
The man grins. It’s worse than anything he’s done so far, so dazzling you feel you have to close your eyes. You’re seeing stars again.
“I’m not so terribly squeamish as to leave my loveliest girl all alone when she needs me,” he says. “I’m not that awful.”
“I don’t think you’re awful,” you tell him.
“No.” He makes a humorous-looking pouty face at you, still stroking behind your ear. “No, you wouldn't. That’s why you’re my loveliest girl, you’re too good to me.”
“What does that mean?”
“What does what mean, gorgeous?”
You shy a bit at the misnomer. Surely people this beautiful shouldn’t just be dolling out compliments like that. “Your girl.”
His thumb doesn’t stop petting you, but it slows. He looks at you for a handful of moments. It’s rather a lot; you shift in your uncomfortable, plasticy chair, but don’t think once of lifting your head from his shoulder.
“Do you know who I am?” he asks eventually.
You worry your lip between your teeth. “Am I supposed to?”
“No.” He folds his hand over your head again, kissing your temple. “That’s okay. You’ve had a bump on the head, and it’s made you forget some things, but it won’t be forever. My name’s Sirius.” He says this all very patiently. You get the sense he’s done it more than once. “We’ve been seeing each other for a while now.”
At this, you do lift your head. Sirius lets you, though he watches like he doesn’t intend to let you go far. “You and I have?” you ask.
The corner of his mouth ticks. “That’s right.”
“How long is a while?”
“You say two years.” He tilts his head from side to side, like really it’s up for debate. “I say two years and a few weeks, because I thought our first date was to the Ramones show but you thought we were hanging out as friends.”
You gawp at him. Your mouth has actually dropped open. “Are you my boyfriend?”
“Some have said that,” Sirius says, smiling. “I prefer exclusive live-in soulmate.”
You don’t know how you know, but you sense he’s half joking about the last part. Not the first, though.
“Really?” you ask.
Sirius quirks a brow. “Is it so difficult to believe?”
“You’re just—you’re so pretty.”
“Really?” His smile returns to knock the air from you. This one’s wide enough to make his lashes kiss at the corners. “You think so?”
“Of course. You’re beautiful.” You shake your head, surprised when it hurts and then startled anew when Sirius cups your face to still you. You trace the length of his arm with your eyes, admiring the patchwork of tattoos that goes all the way up to disappear under the sleeve of his t-shirt.
“Be careful with yourself,” Sirius murmurs.
Your eyes flit back up to his face. “You have to know.”
“Have to know what?”
“That you’re beautiful.”
Sirius looks absolutely delighted by you. “Well, it’s always nice to hear it,” he says. “Especially from someone so lovely as yourself.”
You feel your features pinch with genuine dismay. “I don’t tell you?”
“You say you don’t want to give me a bigger head than I already have. Something about throwing the earth out of its orbit or something.” He strokes your cheek while he talks, as though this sort of disparagement could inspire only fondness, but at your obvious distress Sirius softens. “I’m joking. You tell me, you just don’t usually look so surprised when you do. Come here, sweetheart.”
He coaxes you under his arm, helping you snuggle up against his side where he can kiss your head as often as he pleases. It’s like Sirius knows exactly what you need; with your head against his chest, now the thing you hear most is the steady beat of his heart. His body works like a grounding point for you, calming your nerves and hushing your thoughts. The sweep of his thumb over your shoulder sends pleasant little shivers all down your arm.
“You don’t have to be so shy, my love,” he murmurs into your hair. “It’s only me.”
If you weren’t shy before, you are now. You hide your face in his chest. “Please don’t call me that.”
Sirius chuckles. “No?” he asks, his voice slow and syrupy sweet with a heart-pittering quality that rings familiar. “You usually like it when I call you nice things.”
“It’s too nice.”
He hums amusedly. “Sorry,” he says, in a tone not sorry at all, “I think you might just have to get used to that, lovely.”
