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ceralmillkandstars · 1 year

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a beautiful ring pt 2 (namor x siren!reader)

excerpt: 500 year old god and a young, enchanting mermaid who acts like an absolute gremlin- she refuses to act any different in front of the man who could slice her in half. and he’s absolutely enamored by it.

welcome to part two :) thank yew for all of the support i’ve gotten from you guys so far. def slowly but surely buildin up here. part three is in da works as we speak, praying for some smoochy time cuz smut is my fav thing to write.

here we goooooo

You were raised to love the sea, but your home was the surface.

And by the gods did you need a shower.

Your back was sore, your hair stiff from the sea salt, and the slowly dying adrenaline rush was leaving your eyes droopy and body hunched over. Flying back to Chicago in the dead of night after returning from East Hampton’s beach killed you, your victory of stealing from a god seems meaningless when there is no more energy left to boost your own ego.

You found yourself surprised when you made it to your condo's doorsteps in downtown Chicago safely, in awe that you were just that good. Winding the prize out of your pocket, you gingerly look it over before laying it on your vanity desk, giving yourself a once over in the mirror after you beelined towards your room.

The east coast truly brought out the freckles under your eyes. You glowed, blowing yourself a kiss before trudging into the bathroom. Inhaling the crushed eucalyptus leaves affixed by twine atop of your shower head, you turn the knob as hot as you can stand, beginning to strip from the salty slip dress and undergarments.

A melody begins to hum from your lips, effortlessly wrapping yourself in a protective transfixion as you step into the shower. A groan mixing in with the angelic sound emits from you while the steaming water droplets pelt your back. You lean your head back, running your now goldless, godless fingers through your hair, gingerly tending to your scalp with lavender shampoo and tea tree oil.

You don’t quite know what you are, but you are too unique, too important, to not nourish.

Twirling your conditioner-soaked hair into a clip, you lather yourself with similarly smelling soap that reminds you of the tide pool you once bathed in as a girl, singing hymns that reminded you of the ocean floor you visited today. Twisting and swaying your hips to the song, you let the water turn ice cold once you cleaned yourself sparkling, your hair soft and relaxed, ready to be brushed and braided for the night. The frozen pellets encourage your fears, your inhibitions, the fear that you might have not been forgotten, swirl down the drain, the song coming to an end as you turn the dial off.

Lavender lotion, face oil, floral spaghetti strap and matching undies, french braids with rosemary elixir being soaked by your scalp- the perfect night.

Pizza would make it better, though.

You plop yourself on the bed, back on the mattress, legs raised and pointed towards the air as you dig for your phone to dial whichever place had stuffed crust and pineapple.

You are not alone, the moon murmurs to you, allowing a black sludge of dread to pool within you. Your body jerks up, and you cross your arms over your chest. Eyebrows furrowing and lips jutted, you scan your room.

My kitchen, my kitchen.

Who is in my kitchen?

If another absolutely rancid, stupid boy who couldn’t take the hint and throw away your condo key (you’d never admit that was your fault), you were drowning them. Even if you had to hull their unconscious bodies to Chicago’s murky waters to do so. Even if that’s never happened before.

That’s never happened before.

With a paling face, you slide off the bed and storm into the kitchen. Sometimes, you prayed that the moon would foretell you important information before such an event occurred.

“Listen, Chad, or Jason, or Elijah, who-fucking-ever, if someone ghosts you and doesn’t call you back that doesn’t give you authority to come into their home even if you have a key. I’m going to count to ten before I lay you flat on that countertop and remove your most important ligaments from your body because I am just so fucking tired- oh..”

Your fears did not travel too far down the drain while you showered. Your protection hum was not enough. In fact, the unease of being out of control slithered back up and wrapped itself like a serpent around your neck in a chokehold, for the moon did not whisper to you soon enough that he had followed you back home.

Your protection song was not enough. Usually, something so simple would cause an intruder to burst into a billion water droplets. Usually, you would have just come into the kitchen to discover a puddle and smile to yourself knowing that an idiot got what was coming to them. You did not need the moon to warn you of robbers, of shallow one night stands who can’t get enough of your hypnotic stares, of anyone coming into your home without permission.

And yet, this god stands in your kitchen, seemingly perplexed by your adornment of antique plates and cups poorly stacked in the open cabinets, not one of them the same. His fingers trace along adjacent jars, reading to himself each herb and spice labeled and put away on the wood shelf. You mirror his annoyed expression as his eyes wander near the sink, finding a ripped open, half eaten, chocolate bar.

“I wasn’t expecting company,” you murmur, taking soft steps towards the barrier of your kitchen. You find your fingers smoothing down the base of your floral tank top, giving an angsty stare towards the pair of matching panties acting as a second skin.

Well, at least it didn’t look like you were lying.

He did not change, his gold armor tightly affixed to his shoulders, spear tightly bound in his hands. The large, gold-plated necklace and larger than life pearls, other finely varnished necklaces stack upon one another and his curly, damp, yet neatly toppled hair with those earrings had your cheeks heating.

Very rarely does one of your stature, your nature, become seduced themselves.

Or so the moon tells you.

“Do those earrings hurt from wearing them all day, or does swimming in the water help with the weight distribution?” You blurt, cheeks red, back straight.

The god simply turns, giving you a slow once over. Quiet rage, curiosity swims in his eyes, a deadly demeanor flowing from him to you, you to him.

Exposing pajamas and random questions being unanswered won’t stop you from making his atoms implode with a whisper, for disrespect is a sour taste on your tongue.

Could you even kill him? Leave a scratch on his cheek?

Internally, you scoff. You won’t kill a god. You might steal from one, but it would be purely selfish of you to kill this man. The moon has whispered secrets of an underground world since you were a child wishing to sleep sooner, and it would be against your very nature to slaughter the man who leads a dream world.

So you continue on, filling in the bloodless silence as he turns to your dining table, “I like how you wear your oceanic garb on the surface. I think it’s neat.”

Is he going to take the ring back? Kill you? I mean, if you were him, you’d kill you if caught. Maybe you should go get it.

“I will not conform myself to the surface when I step foot onto this land.” The silky, calculated, deliberate cool tone reverberates around your home, the tranquil atmosphere melding into an eerie fog.

You pucker your lips, nodding.

The moon must be humored by your calmness before the very man whose spear could impale you before you could send another twinkle. Or horrified. Her daughter lackadaisical, wearing floral panties and a small, matching top in front of the serpent god.

He stares at you for a second longer, his eyes melting any confidence, any tranquility left in your body. A small girl with a knack for pretty things quivers before the god.

“I have heard rumors of the ones who are creatures of the sea. The creatures that can return to the surface world if they wish, full-bodied at their will. The creatures who can manipulate, who could conquer the world at their whim-”

“The moon does not wish me to conquer,” you bite, chin upturning. You turn, beginning to move towards your room. If you’re going to be interrogated, it better be with pizza.

A gasp pelts from you as his spear shoots out in front of you in a swift, presiding motion. The sharp metal kisses your cheek, the flesh of it nearly missing being sheered off.

Whiplash consumes you as you turn towards the god, face shot.

You guess it’s not the right time for pizza.

“The moon?” He quizzes, eyes narrowing, utterly fixated upon you. He observes as your chest heaves, your wide eyes staring down his spear, watching as you fight between looking at his face and that skillfully crafted weapon. There hasn’t been this powerful of a man so close to you before.

You gulp, nodding, wishing you could straighten your back, turn up your chin, more,“Yes, the moon.”

The spear slaps back to his side, and he moves away from you, continuing to contemplate your home. Your living room, your dining table, the half eaten dark chocolate bar sitting on the counter from the other night. Flowery, ethereal, a little messy. You strived to bring as much essence with you to the surface world as you could, finding incandescence in each piece you brought back to your condo. Stolen or not is long forgotten by now, all you know is that this is your home.

A god is looking around your home. Cheeks heated, you pray to the Mother to take the embarrassment and hope he is even the slightest bit impressed.

He strides towards the velvet couch, and you cringe as he sits. It’s unearthly to witness a sea god attempting to relax into your couch. It seems he feels the same way, unable to sit in an indestructible way, so he settles for resting his elbows on his knees, gazing up at you.

“Do you have velvet couches at home?”

It is not a request when he states, “tell me about your moon.’

“It is not my moon,” you begin, tiptoeing towards the adjacent couch. You grab a small throw pillow, shielding your peaking, freckled stomach as you sit down. Any wrong moves, any innuendos you’d fight him in your apartment would mean slaughter. The moon warns you of this as you cross your legs and force yourself to face the god. “She is simply the moon. She holds the energy to the waters, and water is within us all- no matter the level. I serve her and her me.”

His gaze gives away he is not satisfied with this information, and you shrug your shoulders. There is little information you wish to give away tonight, your growling stomach and fluttering eyes urging you to find a way to end this conversation and get this man on his way.

“What more is there to know?” What a teasing answer, and his brows rise in the slightest. You’re both struggling to keep your composure, this god used to his world bending to his will and your sleepy, angry hunger fueling whatever delinquency was about to arise.

“How do you serve her?” You nearly groan at that demanding tone, it’s what- midnight? There’s no food, emphasis on no food, in your stomach and you wish to curl under your freshly washed winter duvet to borrow away until the upcoming afternoon instead of being questioned right now.

“I am tired,” you feebly admit, voice soft like silk and edged glass. A fine balance for a soon-to-be tantruming moon child. You prayed to her to not let him see you act a fool after stealing his ring.

A fine price to pay for not being powerful enough. “Can we continue this conversation another time? You know where I live. I just want some pizza- what? Pizza is good.”

You nearly scoff at his grimacing complexion. Slowly deteriorating, your once gentle, feline gaze began to melt into a matching stare as he replied.

“The surface world food is vile.”

“Have you ever had stuffed crust pizza?” Gods, arguing was going to get you nowhere. What can you do to get this god to leave?

He is not leaving, child.

“How do you serve the moon?” He repeats, straightening his back.

He just won’t quit. You ponder how it turns out for someone to push his button; a fire ignites in your stomach at the thought.

“I’m in my undies right now, I’m hungry, I am exhausted, and I don’t even know who you are. Come back in the morning once I’ve eaten my vile food,” you spit, “and I’ll think about telling you all my cute little secrets.”

Incredulously, his mouth gapes open in the slightest before standing up, bolting to tower over you faster than you can recalibrate yourself. Before your gaze can linger on his thighs for more than a moment's notice, you find a tight grip on your jaw, cheeks squishing and your lips pursed in the slightest. Dread consumes you, and you feel the moon shake her head.

“You dare,” he begins, staring down at you as if you were less than the scum under his feet, “speak to me like this as if you did not steal what does not belong to you in the first place- siren.” You return the fever, glaring back at him, clenching the chair’s cushioning and pushing yourself to meet his face with yours.

“It was pretty,” you seethe, “and I am not a siren.”

He tuts, clenching your jaw harder between his thumb and forefinger, twisting your neck as though you were the ring you plucked from him in the ocean, “Little surface girls taking things that do not belong to them, claiming they belong to the moon.”

Mother forgive me, you silently beg, the rage allowing one last particle of energy to surface. You let yourself blow out a soft sigh that you hope, you pray, feels like peppering kisses all over his face and neck.

Peppering kisses turn into boiling beads of sweat pilling along his temples in mere seconds, your silent will urging his blood to cook beneath you. Boiling blood and a dark, unearthed lust surfacing in the form of a longing gaze and heated skin. His grip molding soft, lips parting.

“Return tomorrow, and I will answer your questions,” whatever sultry notes left in your voice bellow in his stomach, your eyes hooded, skin glowing as you summon the moonlight to cast against your goose bumped skin.

Bend to me by the order of the moon, bend to me and go home.

He longingly looks over your moon-kissed cheeks between his hand, down to your collar bones, the dip of your chest begging to pour out of your small tank top, tracing your navel with his eyes and they linger on the embroidered panties, your throw pillow long gone on the floor once you sat up fully to fight for yourself- for your pizza- tonight.

But because the way he was returning your devilish look, you might not be hungry for just pizza.

Bend to my will, sweet king. Let me continue my night, you may question me in the morning.

And then he has the audacity to reel back and laugh, letting you jerk away at the expense of your own mortification.

Heaven forbid, it didn’t work.

Dark red embellishes your cheeks, your nose, your neck and chest. Blotchy.

Your cooler hands find your cheeks, urging them to quiet, and you curl back into your chair. Looking down at your newly polished toes and back up towards him with pure fury, you couldn’t feel more humiliated.

The moon did not let you win.

There is no victory, no satisfaction when you are angry, she murmurs, synchronizing the gods movements as he lifts your chin again. It is gentle, testing. You are met with a curious, cautious, nevertheless impenetrable stare. His eyes travel between your cheeks, watering eyes, your pink, pouty lips.

“I will return in the morning, when the sun rises.” He promises with a nod, “hopefully you will be as enchanting as you are described in the books with a full stomach and long nights rest.” There is a soft laugh, the god not yet letting go of your face, observing the pink splotches of shame along your neck. “I did not think the definition of moon children would be so literal.”

You could not manipulate this man, and he is calling you a child.

You are too angry, too tired, too defeated to rebuttal that you are the goddess, the justice, the love and power of the moon.

He did not ask for his ring back when he let go of your face, gathered his spear, and took flight from your open balcony window, giving you another short, determined once over.

A loud groan escapes you as the transparent, pink-hued curtains sway with the wind.

You want to chuck that ring out of that very window, you decide.

Before you went to bed, you ate a whole box of stuffed crust pizza.

He kept his promise.

After failing to have a good night’s rest, tossing and turning, waking with cold sweats and dreams of cascading down a rabbit hole, you understand why your sleep was disrupted in the early morning.

There he sat, across from your bed in another lounge chair seemingly miniature while he shuffles about. He twirls one of your small shell in his hand, and it seems as though he took a good chunk of time out of his night to look through nearly all of your trinkets.

You sigh and roll over in your bed away from the man in the chair, pulling the duvet over your head. A groan reverberates through the sheets when you shove your face into the surface of the mattress.

This is not how you imagined your morning after East Hampton. You allow yourself to daydream for a moment, pretending you wake in the sun alone, stretch, cum with one of your previous vibrators, and make an omelet with the mushrooms you got from the market just the other day. Cheese and mushrooms and eggs, maybe a coffee, maybe a chai.

With a final groan to ground you, you flip the covers and force yourself to sit up. Your braids are tightly wound, the natural lighting from the window causing your hair to glow and your freckles to surface and sparkle. From your tank top, a large tshirt covers you, fabric folding over your stomach and thighs, barely covering your underwear.

Should you say hi? Should you act like he’s not there and get on with your morning routine?

You decide the latter, swinging your legs to hang off the of the bed and scoot for your feet to touch the floor. Your arms raise, and you stretch, looking towards the sky as you silently thank the moon for allowing you to see another beautiful morning, letting the gratitude bathe you.

He simply stares.

You let him as you wander into the bathroom to wash your face and brush your teeth.

There is no way you’ll be less than presentable in front of a god, you whisper to the moon as your examine your small closet. Your eyebrows furrow- you cannot remember a time you contemplated looking presentable for someone else.

You can hear the moon giggle as you contemplate wearing one of your prettiest dresses that you specifically use for full moon nights. Or the new moon? What kind of energy are you bringing into this conversation?

Energy, your lips quirk. May he be enamored, for it is not about the dress but jewelry that adorns you.

You place yourself in lacy garments, a shimmer of silver and a soft green, puffy-sleeved, translucent blouse and lightly washed, high-waisted jeans. Matching, lacy socks and a silver necklace with a curled shell.

Glamoured rings slide themselves onto your fingers, and you inspect the finery wrapped around your flesh with a grin. Silver and gold bands with crystals wired around them and dipped into moon water and rose oil bound to convey any man to serve you. Hopefully a god, too.

Gold glitter smears across your eyelid, your cheekbones and a tap on your nose. Clear mascara and brow gel brushes its way on as you glow at yourself in the mirror.

Wetting your hair and re-curling your golden ringlets with a serum, you place two pearly clips to push aside the front pieces of your hair on each side, framing your face in the most pleasing way.

Terrifyingly beautiful.

I am dreamy, I am translucent, I am a child of the moon.

With a deep breath and another prayer to the moon, you’re gliding out of the bathroom.

May the moon bless this day.

“I’m hungry,” you state as your feet patter towards him sitting in the chair, his body did not move an inch, now holding one of your hair clips. You stand in front of him, nearly at eye-level. Perplexed, angry, annoyed, curious, lustful- all the emotions you could sniff out as he gave you a slow, deliberate look over.

“Would you like to join me for breakfast?” You breathe, refraining from twirling your fingers together. Asking, not taking, was not a talent of yours. It makes you blush, makes you sweat.

“Tell me how you serve your moon while you eat.”

You find yourself agreeing with the slightest of smiles.

@angeli-fucking-cat <3

#namor x reader #namor x you #namor fanfiction #tenoch huerta namor #namor smut #namor imagine #mcu imagine #mcu fandom #marvel universe #marvel headcanons #marvel writing #marvel fanfiction #my wreck this journal #writing #i hope so so much u enjoy #again.. dunno where to go from here! lemme know how you feel #if u got ideas plz send them my way

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siriusblackmakesmesoft · 3 years

Text

Soft

Sirius Black X Ravenclaw!Reader

Warnings: Very fluffy, use of she/her pronouns, a few physical descriptions of height and hair, reader being a childhood friend of Sirius and Regulus, use of the nickname bunny, sad Sirius :(

Word Count: 2592

enjoy :)

Sirius was having a bad day.

Usually he was able to move through them with little friction, a little extra quidditch practice, a little harsher joke at Peter's expense. Nothing too bad, just getting it out in little ways all day long, and by the end of the day he felt better. But today started bad. He had a nightmare, and if you asked him he would say that it was less of a nightmare and more of a flashback. He woke up sweaty and sticky and crying. Gasping for air, hands waving frantically towards his sheets and his heart trying to find proof of it being over. The sun wasn't up yet, and even though his brain told him to wake someone up, he just took a cold shower. Put on his favorite sweater and went to the gryffindor common room. The red chair next to the fireplace was calling his name.

On top of not sleeping well, he got a letter dropped in his tea this morning. He knew from the nameless front of the envelope that it was from his mother. The green ink inside only furthered his bad mood. Remus' look of sympathy was met with a tight lipped semblance of a smile, and when James pat him on the back he felt the urge to hurl. Pity is really the last thing Sirius wanted, ever, but right now he couldn't stand it. Mumbling some excuse to leave, he went to the black lake. Alone and quiet, that's what he needed.

Of course, with his luck, it didn't last long. His mood hadn't improved in the half hour he was alone, and he was sure being by himself much longer wouldn't have helped either, but the presence of another person irked him. Looking up and seeing his brother lessened the annoyance, he was positive James venting about Lily would make everything worse.

"I see mummy dearest wrote to you as well?"

The scoff Sirius let out truly was unintentional. He had been trying to reconnect with Regulus, and while it wasn't his idea, he really was trying. Having someone who knew, lived the very same thing that made his day start so awfully, was refreshing. He didn't have to act like it wasn't so bad, especially on days where he needed someone to say that it was.

"Only called me a disgrace 4 times this time around, didn't even mention how I was a traitor."

This time it was Regulus responding, a soft hum of acknowledgement, and a deep sigh.

"I win then, she only said I was a disgrace once."

It got Sirius to chuckle, a deep chuckle that was laced with sadness. The silence that followed was comforting, no expectation for conversation was something Sirius rarely experienced, and he was glad it was happening with Regulus. Laying back so he was flat against the ground, Sirius heaved a large sigh, dramatically flopping his arm over his face. Regulus stretched, tapped his brother's knee three times, and stood up to leave.

"You should visit (Y/N) soon, she wasn't at breakfast."

Sirius' thoughts were flooded with the girl, instantly raising his bad mood. He ignored the part of him that got annoyed when Regulus spoke of her, as if they were close. While she had always been in the lives of the Black boys, she held a tighter grip on Sirius. And he knew, everyone knew. He relished in it.

Regulus started walking away in the middle of his thoughts, and over his shoulder yelled, "If you see her, tell her I say hello!"

The rest of Sirius' day went quite similarly to his morning. He failed a herbology quiz, got a detention in potions, made James upset when he spoke up about his obsession with Lily ("If she said never in a million years, prongs, that usually means she wants you to leave her alone!") and while he felt bad when James face dropped and Peter shook his head, Remus saved him by putting his hand on Sirius' shoulder and said quietly, "It's okay, he knows how your days been."

By the time dinner had come about, Sirius was ready to be eaten by the squid in the black lake. He stopped the facade of his typical self just after his talk with Regulus, and while he knew he should eat, he just pushed his food around his plate. He tried listening to Peter's story, and the summary of the most recently finished book Remus was telling, but his eyes were blank, and so was his head.

He left dinner without a word, going to walk through the halls until he felt good enough to sleep. His feet led him to the Ravenclaw tower door, getting nervous as he approached the eagle knocker. He let his breath out when the riddle was easy enough to solve (to be fair, (Y/N) had once said the eagle adjusted what riddle was used based on the immediate judging of the intelligence of the student, and while Sirius didn't think he was stupid, he appreciated a simple ego boost in the form of an easily solvable riddle.) and he walked in, dragging his feet to the stairs.

The Ravenclaw tower was structured differently than the Gryffindor, but the stairs to the girls dorm were the same. After muttering the simple charm to make sure the stairs didn't slide him straight back down, he walked down the hall to the head girls room, hoping she was there.

When his knock was met with silence he walked in anyways. Thinking maybe even her bed would help him in this moment. And while as desperate as it sounded, he knew she wouldn't mind. Opening the door he was met with the blissful sound of the shower, the light under the door and the light humming coming from the ensuite being the best thing his senses have experienced all day. Sirius walked slowly to the bathroom door, stopping to look at himself in the mirror on her dresser. He looked as tired as he felt, the remnants of a bad day hanging so obviously off of him. A crooked tie, messier than usual hair, dark circles under his eyes. He looked like the physical representation of a bad day.

When he got to the door of the bathroom he paused. This wasn't an unfamiliar routine, yet in this very moment he was anxious. Doubt flooded him. Scared of a rejection that wasn't going to approach him. Opening the door was relieving. Like a thousand pounds were suddenly lifted off his shoulders. Lavender and vanilla took over his senses, the warmth of the steam, the sounds of light music and water hitting tile. He was sure this is what heaven felt like.

"Sirius? Is that you?" He felt even lighter when she said his name. That soft tone, the one she only used for him. The same one she used every single time she spoke to him. It never failed to give him butterflies, even on the worst days. Somehow just her existing made his world a little brighter.

"Yes, 's me, bun." He couldn't find the energy to say much else, and the good part about her was that he didn't have to. The silence he left was welcomed, one she would gladly fill up with the melodies of Beatles songs he showed her.

"Reg said you were having a rough day, that I should expect you after a while." Her tone was questioning, leaving him the space to tell her as much as he needed. She always did that, let him take control in conversations about such things. He admired it truly, wanting to keep her in his pocket forever.

"Hasn't been the best day, no." Sirius took a seat on the counter, next to a few lit candles, and began fiddling with his fingers. Taking deep breaths, inhaling her scent that was stuck to the air all around him.

"D'you want to talk about it? 'Ve only got my hair left." He didn't want to talk about it, not really. He hummed as an answer, and she started singing as if she hadn't ever asked. The room lit up with the scent of her shampoo, a smell Sirius knew quite well. It was lavender, matched her conditioner, and lingered on the pillows he slept on in her bedroom. It was the kind of warm smell that encompassed you in a bubble of safety, and the feeling of home. Sirius began to think about all the times she ever made him feel like that. All the times she ever made him feel safe, content in being who he was. Because she loved who he was. And her own comfortability with that, with him, was enough to make him secure in it himself.

"'M gonna make you close your eyes now, no peeking." She giggled lightly under her breath as she turned the water off, moving the curtain to make sure his eyes were closed. He didn't say anything, and he really didn't peek. With his eyes closed his other senses got stronger. The smell of her shampoo mixing with that of her vanilla lotion, the sound of her brush running through her hair, the ever so quiet hum of the last song that had played. He felt his entire body calm down, being completely soothed by her entirety. All he could sense, all he could smell and hear, was her. And it grounded him.

"You can open your eyes now, Siri, 'm decent." He almost didn't want to. He suddenly felt very sleepy, wanting nothing more than to bury himself in her arms and sleep as long as she let him. Once he did open his eyes, his heart fluttered. She was wearing an old sweater of his, knit by an older Gryffindor and given to him as a Christmas gift the last year he stayed here for the holidays. It was shades of green, woven together to make a chunky knit sweater that fell just past her hips. She was wearing his old pajama pants too, ones from an impromptu sleepover at his childhood home. He wasn't shocked they fit her, considering she hadn't grown since third year, but he was shocked to see she kept them.

She blew out the candles next to him, smoke billowing up and out of the jar they were in. She put lotion on her face and her hands, grabbing his hands and putting the excess on them. She grabbed his chin very lightly with her thumb and forefinger, moving his head around, as if to inspect him, and for a small moment Sirius was afraid of what she would find.

"You haven't been sleeping well. Haven't been eating either." She said it so surely. As if she could see it written on his forehead in black ink. Sirius shook his head softly, not wanting the warmth from her fingers to leave his skin. She smiled nicely up at him, moving her hand to brush his hair out of his face. He reached up to hold her wrist, trapping her hand against his cheek, and she smiled softer. She had to stand on the very tips of her toes to kiss his head, and it made him huff, and almost laugh, and she smiled victoriously.

She pulled him into her room gently. Pushing him softly to sit on her bed while she walked to get him some pajamas. She pulled out a shirt he gave her and some pants he left in her room that Remus had given him for his birthday. He turned to change, facing the bathroom door just as he had when he came here not long ago. Swiftly changed into pajamas he laid down with a content sigh. Being head girl surely had its perks, and one of them was a king sized bed in a dorm with no roommates.

"D'you want some tea, lovey? Could make it with the honey like you like." How she made him blush with such simple words always baffled him. She remembered everything, she always has. Sirius shook his head, and instead opted for holding his arms up and making grabbing motions with his hands towards her. Her giggle made him smile, it made him notice he was in a much better mood, too. She walked over to the other side of the bed, laying right next to him, and pulled his shoulders to make him lay on her stomach. His arms instantly wound around her waist, shoving his face as deep as he could into her body, holding her as close as he possibly could. Her fingers found themselves weaving into his hair, running through the locks like they were strands of silk. The quiet that encased the room was a lovely type of silence. The kind that Sirius wishes he had more often. No matter how loud and obnoxious he got, times like these were where he felt most himself.

After a while of silence, (Y/N) started humming a song again. As sleepy as it made Sirius, he couldn't let himself sleep.

"I love you, bunny." It was mumbled into her shirt, a half-asleep induced speech mess. She hummed at him, running her hands through his hair while she waited for the perfect moment to say it back. It wasn't a long time before she responded, but while she was waiting he moved his head so his chin rested on her stomach, and he looked at her. It was a tired stare, half closed eyes and a dopey sleep smile etched into his features.

"D'ya hear me bun? Said I love you." She giggled at this, his insistence, and leaned down to kiss his hairline.

"Love you too, Siri. More than anythin' in the whole universe." Her voice was just as sleepy as his, and it made Sirius think that the moment meant that much more to him. That even in their vulnerable, tired states, they felt confident in loving each other. A satisfied hum left his throat, and as he was about to nuzzle back into her shirt, she pulled his hair to make him look at her again.

"'Ya gonna kiss me g'night, handsome? Or should I go get Regulus." A half-chuckle half-groan left his mouth, knowing it's a joke, yet not wanting it be said.

"Should know better than t'say that, bun. Gonna kiss you till y'can't breathe." She giggles as he shimmies up to her face, and she giggles even harder as he kisses all over her cheeks. She knows he feels better, can see that she got her Sirius back to normal, and it makes her feel accomplished. And it makes her think about how she'd do it every single day for eternity if he asked.

"Gimme one proper kiss so I can sleep, you big doof." He laughs into her cheek, placing one last kiss on each one, and finally landing on her lips. It was a long kiss, pressing the final bits of his bad mood into her. A few extra short pecks and one long dramatic smack of his lips later and he is back on her stomach, under the quilt she has charmed to stay warm, with her hands in his hair. Sometime in the night, after they've fallen asleep, his hands wind up under her shirt, searching for the warmth subconsciously. And sometime in the night, Sirius has dreams of her wearing his shirt in their bedroom, and he wakes up in a good mood.

#sirius black fluff #sirius black imagine #sirius black one shot #sirius black x reader #sirius black #regulus black

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