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Tattoo >> Sirius Black X Reader

Title: Tattoo

Paring: Sirius Black X Reader

Warnings: snuggles, fluff, rain, tattoos, humour

Spoilers: excuse me, the only spoilers here is that nobody is dead (!!!) so it's all good trust me

Requested By: poepiepoe

Author's Note: Requests are closed. Even though I have not taken enough to make the capacity of this book, I am at university and cannot constantly write. This is from my 'bank of requests', if you will (I've actually written this in my free time, which is very little). 

Anyways, enjoy the fic!

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To you, the most magical thing in the world is when the sky breaks itself in two, and douses all below with the grace of rain. Yes, you are a witch yourself, and had a great deal to do with bringing down the likes of the You-Know-Who and had a very extensive education at Hogwarts learning magic. But rain. It's so simple, it's so inviting, it's so cosy. Especially since after a long day training new wizards and witches at the Ministry of Magic, when the dishes are all done, and Sirius has the fireplace warming your home. Especially since you have nothing at all left to do, except love your husband.

"You're off in your head again," He comments, looking down to you.

You're lying on your bed together in the house you bought in the Irish countryside. It's an old Muggle cottage made with brick and a thatched roof, and yes, it's no Grimmauld Place, for sure, but it's your home that you both bought, and you both live out your days post-war together in.

You blink, looking up to your lover. "Sorry, love," you murmur, rubbing your eyes, "It's the rain."

He smiles, a soft thing that makes you think of the days when you used to sneak kisses at Hogwarts behind Professor McGonagall's office. "You've always loved the rain, _________." He kisses your skin by where your hairline meets your ear, and murmurs, "You're in the right place for it."

You giggled. "Sure am, Padfoot."

Oh, you loved him. At sixteen, you thought it would never end; just you, Sirius, and the rest of your lives. But merely days before you went away after Hogwarts to study in the Ugandan wizarding school, Sirius had broken your relationship off. It left you devastated.

You had then came back from your studies a day after the incident that left James and Lily Potter's child an orphan, and life was never as it was again; Peter was dead, Sirius was in Azkaban, and you did all you could to not feel guilty for being absent in such a time. You could never truly forgive Albus Dumbledore, though, for not considering you for the care of little Harry, over the Dursley's.

But that was in the past.

"You know, love..." you mumble, turning over to face your husband, "while you have such lovely tattoos, you've never told me what they mean to you." His pyjama shirt is unbuttoned, and taking advantage of his fashionable ways, you slip your hand under it, and trace your fingertips over where an Anglo-Saxon rune is inked. "Unless they're deeply personal, and something not even your wife should know about," you wink, implying they mean something very un-innocent.

"Me, with rude tattoos? _________!" He cries out dramatically, laughing. You feel his stomach move as he does so, and he swats your hand away. Lord you know Sirius is ticklish – that was something you discovered as kids.

You rub your nose. "Well, if you did have rude tattoos, it wouldn't be too unlike you." You pause, and add, "I read in a Muggle magazine once that some people get tattoos in another language thinking they mean one thing, but it really means something insulting or irrelevant." You bring up. "Apparently, one Muggle got 'chicken soup' tattooed to them in China."