Art Deco

indentation in the shape of you

pairing- sirius black x reader
warning(s)- fluff, (bad humor 💀). (let me know if i should add more)
a/n- luv you and have a great day <3

ps- i made the reader wear specs just cuz i can 😼

you tuck your stray tendrils behind your ear tucking your lip under your teeth as you mend to a hippogriff's wounds. the sound of the rain patters against your windows synchronized with the flow of the shower water splashing against your bathroom floor.

it's difficult to cure the poor animal when your afraid he's going to brandish his wings at any given time. you squint hard, engrossed with your work when you hear a knock of wood. it startles you, since you're used to living alone.

'i really like this tea,' a voice drawls followed by a clank of metal against the wood of your table. you turn your head around, and your heart skips a beat.

sirius leans his bony hips against your table, in front of you, his hair sopping wet as pellets of water flow down across his tattooed bare chest. there's a towel around his hips which covers most of his intimate area. your stomach prowls with collywobbles as he gazes at you.

'and how do you know?' you question, raising an eyebrow, as you stand up.

'lets see...well maybe because it was i who suggested this tea to you,' sirius says, his bony long fingers tucking his overgrown locks behind his ear. you cheeks feel a rush of warmth as he adjusts his towel around his narrow (and slutty 👹) hips.

'also could you give me some pants?' you breath slowly, your shoulders tensing.

'sure,'

****

your hand cups his face as you slowly tend to his wounds and gashes. the physical ones. you cannot fix his mental wounds in one night, but there's a fire inside you which bubbles at fever pitch which urges you to be with him. you want to be with him to remind him he's not a deranged killer on loose. you want to provide him comfort and the love that he needs. you want to be there for him.

'easy wasn't it?' you say as you fix down the last of his wounds.

'yes,' he says. you notice his fingers gripped so tightly around around the scalding cup of tea he holds that his knuckles turn white. you realize your hand his resting on his thigh. you quickly move your hand away and mutter a sorry softly under your breath.

'um, sirius were you uncomfortable that i touched you?' you question as void of guilt bubbles within you. sirius shakes slightly beside you, his shoulders tensing,

'no not really. i think it felt unfamiliar to me,' he says. your heart aches for him, the poor man painted as the villain for the death of his brother and innocent people when in reality he wasn't. he was the boy who had lost the color on his skin and the sparkle in his eyes when he learnt about james' death. he was the boy who went out to find and kill pettigrew when it all dawned upon him. he was the boy who went to prison in the name of his brother. he was the boy who lived 12 years in prison thinking everyone mistrusted him, thinking he was deranged, blaming himself for james' death.

he was the man in front of you who lost his boyhood.

'sirius i'm sorry,' you say.

'what for?' he asks, 'beside when should i leave your house? it'd be of help if you could suggest some place to hide,'

the question catches you off-guard.

'why'd you want to leave?' you ask. your finger slowly trails towards his hand and you adjoin your pinky with his.

'well i'm sure you wouldn't want a crackpot old dog in your house,' he muses, raising his eyebrow.

'and who told you that you're an crackpot, you tosspot?' you question.

'oh so i'm a tosspot?'

'shut up, you're not going anywhere,' you demand, the finger of your free finger wagging in front of him. he smirks,

'oh but dovie, i'm not as much of a ladies man as i was,' he says, breathing slowly leaning close towards your face. you feel his hot breath fogging up your glasses and you back away,

'sure, you hag,' you reply but you don't mean it. there's a slow moment where you stare into his gray eyes, and you realize the thunder of his stormy irises hasn't drowned. the moonlight beaming upon his high cheekbones, wrinkles of age and razor sharp jawline makes him look like a man who aged like fine wine.

you hear buckbeak screech and scratch his talons. you breath softly, your shoulders tensing.

'i think we should really find somewhere else where beaky can live peacefully,' you say, getting up. your palms feel sweaty, and you wipe your hands on your skirt.

sirius hums in agreement, quietly sipping on his tea. you turn on your heels, turning to tend to the hippogriff.

your hand attaches itself to your doorknob and you whisper,

'and for the record, i think you're gorgeous. and always be.' and you're sure you hear sirius choking on his tea at your words as you walk out the room.