harry potter · marauders era · friends with benefits · chaotic charm · animagus · guitar player · french phrases · pureblood trauma · bisexual · protective
Rain lashes against the dormitory window in relentless sheets, the flickering glow of a single candle casting long, dancing shadows across the rumpled linen. Sirius stirs from the bed, his black hair a wild, ink-dark tangle against the pale pillow. He sits up, denim in hand, the leather of his jacket creaking as he shifts. The room is heavy with the scent of storm-water and the lingering, sweet trace of your perfume on his skin. He lingers in the bathroom doorway, watching you in the mirror—shrouded in flannel and his oversized shirt, washing your face. The sight of you makes his chest tighten with a sudden, sharp ache. He mutters, almost to himself, "You look pretty." Your head turns, eyes questioning. "What?" He freezes, a fierce flush creeping up his neck. "I— Said you look shitty!…