Art Deco

cardigan;

pairing- therapist!sirius black x reader
warning(s)- none i can think of. let me know i should add any.
 a/n- i'm mentally deranged.

'you came,' you whisper, as you slowly open the door to your apartment. your eyes are clumped together with tears and old mascara. he smiles, his stormy eyes healing the storm which bubbles furiously within you.

'you called.' he says, tucking sweaty strands of your hair behind your ear. you offer him a shaky smile as he enters your house. something about the scent of his smoke and your incense sticks calms you. you tuck your lower lip under your teeth as his arms engulf your shaking body against his. you melt underneath the warmth of his touch, the softness of the sweater.

'it's okay, sweetbug.' he murmurs, his finger tantalizing the mess of your hair.

you feel hot tears pool in your eyes, as you tuck your lower lip underneath your teeth. his touch calms you, soothes you. but a voice screeches inside your head. he does this for money. he does this for your money. you want to push him away at the thought, but you can't. he feels comforting. he feels like a hot cup of cocoa on a christmas eve. he feels like the scent of incense that hangs around in your house. he feels like the shadows you'd chase at the grocery line as a kid. he feels like home.

'sweetness, it's okay to cry,' he whispers, as he holds you closer. there's a beat of silence before you break down again. your eyes spill tears of anger, shame, guilt and sorrow and you're clutching the wool of his cardigan. you shake violently with your heart drenching sobs and it kills you, but this feels better. better than the moment when his ink bleeds on paper while he listens to you. better than the moments when he talks to you about your issues. you want him to hold you close, but then again it's a professional setting.

'i shouldn't have called you,' you sob.

'it's okay love,' he soothes, placing a soft chaste kiss on your forehead. 'can you take some deep breathes for me darling?' he questions as you slowly try to calm yourself. your chest heaves against his, your throat scratchy but you take a few deep breathes. you hide your face against his chest,

'i'm sorry, sirius.' you say. you can hear his heartbeat against your eardrums, and it calms you.

'it's okay love,' he whispers, his nose hidden in your hair. he inhales the scent of your shampoo. his chest rumbles.

he feels like the comfort of your old cardigan.