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Enraptured (Sirius x Reader)

Warnings: Alcoholism, Underage Drinking, Unprotected sex, Loss of virginity, Panic Attack, A lot of feels and angst.

Sirius Black hates pureblood parties just as much as purebloods hate muggleborns, but then he meets a pretty girl with a brutally honest tongue and decides that maybe they are slightly more tolerable with her around.

There is a very big chance that Sirius Black is either going to be drunk or naked and underneath some hot muggle girl by the end of the night.

Preferably both, but beggars can't be choosers. Sirius seems to understand this more than anyone because he'd rather be sucking a hippogriff's giant dick than standing in this stuck-up, strictly-pureblood dinner party. And if that doesn't make him the biggest beggar in existence, then he doesn't know what else would.

He takes another swig of fire whiskey in his flask as he stares at himself in the bathroom mirror. He's a miserable mess of a boy, with alcohol poisoning the cushion of his veins and more smoke clouding his lungs that he could care to admit. And it's probably really fucking dumb, but it's a reliable and rather simple solution that he has created to survive the stagnant, thirteenth-circle-of-hell that he currently resides in. It's the only solution that actually works, and it calls to him from the bottom of a fire whiskey bottle like an old lover.

With a final drag from the flask, Sirius tucks it away for safe keeping and balances on practised grace, mentally bracing himself for what lurks outside the doors. He takes in a sharp breath, exhales through his nose. Fiddles with his bow tie and pushes open the door.

The sound of light chatter fills the air and it all rushes toward him in one big hit. It's suffocating, like all the air in the world has evaporated, and his bow tie suddenly feels like a collar, choking him into submission. His fingers fiddle with the fabric, pulling and tugging so he can force oxygen into his lungs, and he's receiving strange looks but he doesn't care. He needs air, he needs to breathe, breathe, breathe –

"You're having a panic attack," a voice says from behind him, and Sirius spins around, slightly startled. A young witch is standing behind him, observing, studying in a way that unnerves him.

"Is that what they call it?" he rasps, his chest heaving like his heart is trying to tear its way out.

"Yes, yes they do," she says, calmly, simply, like it's the most obvious thing in the world (it probably is) and while his brain tries to grasp for words, the girl steps toward him and slides her arm under his. She leads him outside, pushing open the French doors and stepping out into the manicured lawns and lush gardens.

And suddenly, he remembers how to breathe again.

The night air is fresh and crisp, and it breathes life into his gasping lungs. His heart falters for a split moment as he gulps down mouthfuls of air, the tight grip of anxiety slackening around his ribs. Well, at least his head doesn't feel like it took an acid trip on a merry-go-round.

"Does that feel better?" she asks and Sirius nods, speechless as his mind scrambles for words, "Good. I'm (Y/N) by the way."

"Sirius," Sirius gives her a weary smile as (Y/N) steps closer and unties his bow tie, tugging it off with ease. Her presence is dangerously close, and he can smell the perfume she had probably smeared onto her skin earlier that evening. Sweetpea and cherry blossom with gentle notes of citrus. The fragrance shoots up his nose and wafts around his brain.

"I know who you are," She says, matter-of-factly, before she steps away, and her absence leaves an odd, prickly greyness that burns through his clothes.

"Thanks," he mumbles when he finally finds his voice, "For helping me."

(Y/N) flashes a smile at him, and it does something to his body, something strange, and he curses himself for folding so easily.