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corrodedcoffins-blog · 16 days ago

Text

oh. my god

walk him like a dog (s.o.b.)

Pairing: Sirius Orion Black x Reader

Word Count: 3.1k

Summary: Sirius Black has always been a dog—but the thing about dogs? They're loyal to only one person: Their owner

A/N: um this whole fic is just me calling sirius a dog so be prepared for that

credits to @cursed-carmine for the divider

The locker room buzzed with low voices and nervous energy. Players paced, adjusted gloves, tightened goggles, cracked knuckles. The scent of polish, sweat, and adrenaline filled the air. Green and silver glinted off every surface, and somewhere above, the distant roar of the crowd was beginning to rise.

You stood in front of your team, arms crossed over your chest, chin held high, calm as ever.

And when you spoke, the room snapped to attention.

"Alright. Listen up."

Voices cut off immediately. All eyes turned to you.

“You hit hard. You fly clean. No stunts unless I call them. You’ve worked your asses off for weeks—rain, snow, bruises, broken brooms—and today, it pays off.”

You paced slowly, gaze locking with your Beaters, your Chasers, your Keeper. One by one. Like loading a weapon.

“We’re going to show them—without a single inch of doubt—who’s taking the Quidditch Cup home this year.”

You let that hang, the tension curling in your teammates’ shoulders like springs wound tight.

Then your voice dropped, sharp and cutting:

"We're going to send those bleeding badgers crying back to their mummies."

That broke the tension. Laughter and jeers rippled through the room, players bumping shoulders, fists meeting palms with dull thuds of anticipation.

You smirked.

Held out your hand.

“Let’s turn those badgers black and blue.”

One by one, gloves slammed down over yours.

“Slytherin!”

You were carried into the infirmary without protest by Mulciber, allowing him to gently lower you onto the bed. Without saying much else, you interlaced your fingers neatly over your lap, settling in as you waited for Madam Pomfrey to arrive.

She seemed preoccupied with the other beds, where four more occupants were already receiving care.

“Nasty fall, (L/N)?” Potter’s voice broke through the quiet, a teasing edge to it, “Would hate for you to miss out on Quidditch for the rest of the season.”

You smirked, “You’d love that, wouldn’t you, Potter? But sadly, no—just caught a nasty Bludger to the side when I grabbed the Snitch. So, I guess you Lions have no choice but to lose to us eventually.”

Your eyes flicked past him to the bed beside where Remus Lupin lay, looking far worse off than the rest of the Marauders—pale and sweaty, with Madam Pomfrey fussing over him. Without realizing, your lips pouted, curiosity flickering as you wondered what had gone wrong to land all four of them in the hospital wing.

Before you could study his wounds more closely, your line of sight was blocked by another presence.

Black.

Compared to the others, he looked almost unharmed, hands on his hips as he stared down at you with a cocky smirk.

“You haven’t given me an ounce of your attention, princess,” He said, voice dripping with amusement, “Only bantering with my best mate and mooning at Moony. Should I be offended?”

“Wasn’t aware I owed you my attention, Black.”

His grin widened. Typical.

It wasn’t the first time your sharp tongue had reeled him in like this, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. Sirius Black didn’t know how to leave well enough alone—and you had no intention of making it easy for him.

Merlin, he lived for it.

Before he could come up with something clever in return, Madam Pomfrey appeared at your side with a soft cluck of her tongue and a no-nonsense look in her eyes.

“Caught a Bludger, did you?” She muttered, her tone clipped as she summoned a vial and some bandages from a nearby shelf, “You lot play like it’s war.”

“I think anyone can admire the dedication to the game, Madam Pomfrey.” You replied mildly.

“Not when it might break your ribs, Miss (L/N).” She snapped.

Then, more gently, “Lift your shirt. Let’s see the damage.”

You didn’t hesitate—casually unbuttoning the lower half of your Quidditch jersey and lifting your shirt just enough to reveal the mottled bruise blooming along your side. It was ugly—deep and dark with angry purple edges, already beginning to swell.

His eyes darted instinctively toward the injury, then immediately away—head turning sharply to the side, jaw tight. His entire body went rigid, as if even the suggestion of your bare skin had turned his brain to static.

You smirked, voice syrup-sweet, “What’s the matter, Black? Shy?”

“I’m many things,” He muttered, ears tinged faintly red, “but I am trying to be respectful. For once.”

Your eyes flicked to him just once. He was still looking away—but his jaw was tight, his shoulders tense, and you could feel the heat of his focus even if it wasn’t on your bare skin anymore.

When Pomfrey finally stepped back, she wiped her hands briskly on her apron and nodded, “You’ll bruise badly, but the swelling will ease by morning. Try not to exacerbate it for the time being."

"Understood. Thank you." You replied, voice even.

You slid off the edge of the bed with fluid grace, smoothing your jersey back into place with a flick of your fingers.

You nodded once toward her retreating form in quiet thanks, then turned to go.

You were hardly surprised when Sirius followed you out.

After weeks of this little push and pull—this dangerous game you’d both been playing—you weren’t even remotely surprised that he’d finally snapped the leash you’d had so delicately wrapped around his neck.

So now, here you were. Back pressed to the cold, rough stone of a quiet Hogwarts corridor, Sirius’s arms caging you in like he was the predator in this scenario.

But the truth was clear.

You were the one in control.

You didn’t flinch. Didn’t gasp. You just blinked at him—slow, deliberate, almost lazy. And though your expression was frustratingly unreadable, there was something ghosting over your lips that drove him mad. A smirk that wasn’t a smirk. A glimmer of smugness that you refused to make obvious. It was maddening. Intoxicating.

Had it been anyone else he’d backed into a wall like this, they’d have giggled, blushed, reached up to tangle their fingers in his hair with wide eyes and parted lips.

But not you.

Your hands were tucked neatly behind your back like you were entertaining a child’s tantrum, waiting for him to exhaust himself. Always poised. Always untouchable. Always in control.

And God, it was driving him insane.

What he wouldn’t give to be caught in the eye of your storm—while the world bent and broke around you, you’d remain untouched, divine. He wanted to be yours. Completely. Worshipfully. Pathetically.

“What do you say we stop pussyfooting around and go on a date, (L/N)?” He asked, his voice low and rough with the effort it took to sound casual.

At that, you smiled—finally, a real smile, sly and slow like honey sliding down a knife.

“Sorry, Black,” You said, tone sweet as poison, “I don’t think I’d be interested.”

His brow twitched. “That’s not what you’ve been signalling these past few weeks.” He muttered, leaning in—just enough to try and catch your lips with his. Only to feel your finger press firmly to his mouth, stopping him dead.

He stared at you, lips brushing your fingertip, pupils blown. His breath caught, chest rising sharply. His eyes dropped to your mouth again and he clenched his jaw tight enough to ache—because if he didn’t, he might actually whine. Might beg.

“Why not?” He asked, voice hoarse and low, barely more than a whisper now.

You tilted your head, your smile that of a cat watching a bird flutter too close to the ground.

“I’m a very jealous woman, Sirius,” You said, voice light, playful—deadly, “And I have a reputation to uphold. Can’t have you embarrassing me with all your… side chicks.”

He swallowed hard. The words hit like a slap and a caress. His brain fogged. The rush of blood thundered in his ears, and the air between you crackled.

You pouted suddenly, lips pursed in a way that made his knees threaten to buckle. And then—casually, cruelly—you reached up and gave his cheek a light pat.

“Sorry, puppy.”

And with that, you slipped out from under his arm like water through fingers, walking away without looking back.

Sirius stood frozen, throat dry, staring as your hips swayed down the corridor.

Utterly wrecked.

Something changed after that night in the corridor.

Well—he did.

Not immediately, of course. First, he sulked. Dramatically. Unproductively. For a good day and a half.

He spent most of it brooding in the Gryffindor common room, staring into the fireplace like it had personally betrayed him, ignoring three different girls who tried to sidle up beside him and ask what was wrong. (The fourth didn’t bother asking—just sat herself on his lap. That earned her a single-word dismissal and a truly withering look.)

But after that?

He changed.

The flirting stopped. The lingering touches in alcoves, the smug little smirks in the corridors, the midnight broom closet rendezvous—all gone. He stopped accepting folded notes spritzed with cheap perfume and sealed with lipstick kisses. Stopped tossing winks like knuts. Stopped acting like every hallway was a catwalk and every girl in Hogwarts his audience.

The last girl he even entertained—a sweet, overeager Hufflepuff fifth-year who tried to earn his attention by helping him with Transfiguration homework—had burst into tears when someone joked that she must have “turned him gay.”

He just wasn’t interested anymore.

Because for once in his life, Sirius Black didn’t want meaningless sex.

He wanted you.

And the castle knew it.

Even though you hadn’t spared him so much as a glance since that night in the corridor. Even though you walked past him in the Great Hall like he was furniture.

Everyone still knew.

Which meant, of course, all eyes had turned to you.

Wondering when you’d notice.

Wondering when you’d give in.

Or whether, as Sirius feared most of all…

You never would.

You loved partying.

Loved the bass so loud it rattled your ribs, the way lights flickered like spells mid-duel, the sway of bodies pressed close on the dance floor. You loved shaking ass with your friends, loved the wild screams and clinks of raised glasses. Loved the moments where you stepped back, drink in hand, watching it all unfold—cataloguing the gossip in real time. Who was kissing who. Who shouldn't be. Who’d be crying in the bathroom by midnight.

But there was a distinct difference when the party was thrown in your honor.

The moment you stepped into the Slytherin common room, the room erupted. Cheers ricocheted off the walls, your little black dress catching the green and silver lights just right, and your open jersey—your surname stitched in bold—billowed like a cape.

You’d never been prouder of that name.

Not until Remus’s voice boomed over the speakers earlier that day, full of awe:

“(L/N) has made the miraculous catch of the Snitch—Slytherin wins!”

The memory played over and over in your head as your teammates lifted you onto their shoulders, parading you through the room like the queen you were. You laughed, kissed the golden Snitch in your hand, and smudged your lipstick across it with zero shame.

The party moved on around you, wild and electric, and you eventually found yourself perched on a velvet ottoman, nursing a drink and watching the chaos unfold with your usual sharpened gaze—until the Marauders appeared.

“Good game, (L/N),” James grinned, raising his cup, “That was some mighty flying. Looking forward to beating you in the finals.”

You scoffed, but smiled, “Thanks, Potter. Though I can’t see you being this cordial when Slytherin mops the floor with you.”

Then your gaze slid to Sirius, who hadn’t spoken yet.

“I’m surprised this is the first time you’ve come over tonight, Black,” You purred, circling your finger around the rim of your glass lazily.

He grinned, wolfish and easy, “Didn’t want to be just another forgettable face in a crowd of nobodies.”

You chuckled, “Sure you didn’t just forget about me? Busy fending off your admirers, I’m sure.”

He leaned in slightly, voice dropping to that gravelly register that drove you mad, “Sweetheart, everyone here knows there’s only one person I have eyes for.”

You were about to volley something back—something sharp and slick and just flirtatious enough to make him twitch—when the atmosphere cracked with a loud crash and an even louder voice.

“IT WAS A FLOP!”

Across the room, Ravenclaw’s captain, Muccullen—clearly drunk and still stinging from his loss today—was making an embarrassing scene.

“I would’ve caught that damn Snitch if the snakes didn’t play dirty!” He barked, sloshing firewhisky onto the carpet.

You barely blinked. Just raised a brow, unimpressed, letting his tantrum unfold like a child kicking their legs in a supermarket.

“(L/N) thinks she’s all that,” He continued, voice rising, “but that stupid bitch just got lucky!”

Now that made your brow twitch.

You weren’t planning to dignify it with a response. But then Sirius was suddenly in front of you, jaw tight, a quiet fury radiating off him like a pulse.

“Watch your mouth.”

Muccullen blinked slowly, swaying. “If it isn’t her mangy mutt,” He slurred, sneering, “You’re just as pathetic, Black. Chasing after her like a dog when she doesn’t even want you. Face it—the only reason she gets anywhere in life or on that bloody broom is ’cause that slag keeps guys like you wrapped around her finger.”

That much was true. Sirius was so tightly wrapped around your finger you could flick it and he’d bark.

Which is why Muccullen shouldn’t have been surprised when Sirius grabbed him by the collar.

You stepped forward then, calm and unbothered, resting a single hand on Sirius’s arm.

“Down, boy.”

His grip loosened—just barely. But it was enough.

You turned your gaze on Muccullen, voice cool and dangerous.

“You really know how to ruin a party, don’t you, Muccullen?” You said smoothly, “I won today because I was faster. Simple as that. You don’t want to get pummeled by Bludgers while chasing the Snitch? That’s a conversation to have with your Beaters. Go sober up. Losing on the Quidditch pitch is one thing. This? This is just pathetic.”

Sirius shoved him back as he let go, and Muccullen stumbled off with the grace of a wounded troll.

You exhaled, turning to Sirius.

And yeah… he looked hot.

Leather jacket clinging to broad shoulders. Hair a bit mussed. Breathing heavy like he wanted someone to give him an excuse to finish the fight. All for you.

He looked good defending your honor. Too good.

You sipped your drink with finality, “Well. On that note, I’m gonna turn in for the night.”

Sirius visibly deflated, like a puppy who’d been told no to a treat.

“Yeah, my roommates are gonna be partying all night,” You added, giving a theatrical sigh, “Figured I might enjoy the empty dorm for once.”

You nodded to Remus and James—who were both looking equally exhausted and wildly entertained—and started walking toward the staircase.

But you didn’t make it far before glancing over your shoulder.

Sure enough, Sirius was already staring.

You smirked. Winked. And then you lifted your hand, curled a single finger.

Come.

His face lit up. Like Christmas and fireworks and every wish he’d never said out loud just came true.

Behind him, James cackled. Remus shook his head, amused.

“Go on, lover boy!” James shouted, slapping him on the back.

And Sirius? He sprinted.

By the time he caught up, you were outside your dorm, and his arms were already curling around your waist as you let out a soft giggle.

He buried his face in your neck, breath hot, lips brushing your skin.

“You better take me out on a date tomorrow.” You murmured.

He smiled against your throat, “Anywhere. Anytime. Just say the word.”

Bonus:

If anyone had ever been afraid of the Marauders—afraid of Sirius Black, the uncollared dog of Gryffindor House, heir to the House of Black, all sharp teeth and dangerous smirks—all they had to do was witness how he behaved with his girlfriend.

The only girl who’d ever managed to train him.

It was almost comical, the way Sirius’s entire face lit up the second he spotted you in the Gryffindor common room. His smirk melted into a wide, boyish grin, wild grey eyes softening like morning light breaking through fog.

“Baby!” He practically shouted, immediately abandoning James mid-sentence and sprinting across the room like a man possessed.

Without hesitation, he dropped to his knees before your armchair, wrapping his arms around your waist and burying his head in your lap like it was the safest place in the world.

You giggled—an uncharacteristic sound, at least to everyone else. But for Sirius, it was as familiar as his own heartbeat. You ran your fingers through his thick dark hair, nails scratching gently along his scalp, and Sirius all but purred, sighing into the space between your thighs like the tension had been holding him hostage all day.

“What are you doing here?” He mumbled, voice muffled against your legs.

“Class ended early,” You replied smoothly, a smile tugging at your lips, “and I wanted to see my favourite boy.”

Sirius groaned dramatically, turning his head to press soft, reverent kisses to the inside of your wrist, right against your fluttering pulse. Like he was grounding himself with the feel of your blood beneath his lips.

Across from you, James flopped onto the couch with a snort, “Merlin, (L/N), you’ve got him trained better than a show dog.”

You didn’t even look up from Sirius as you smiled, sharp and slow.

“Oh, she knows.” Remus added from his spot by the fireplace, flipping a page in his book with a smirk.

Sirius hummed, clinging tighter to your waist like he couldn’t stand to be even a millimeter away.

You leaned back in the armchair, letting him sprawl across your lap like a pampered prince, fingers carding through his hair as if you had all the time in the world.

“You’re clingy today.” You murmured, not unkindly.

“Missed you.” Sirius said simply, lifting his head just enough to look at you—like you hung the bloody moon.

You raised an eyebrow, tapping your nails against his jaw, “Did something happen?”

He pulled one of your hands to his mouth again, pressing a kiss to each knuckle like it was sacred ritual, “Nah. Just tired of pretending not to be obsessed with you.”

“Well, you’re doing a shit job of hiding it.” James snarked.

“I know.” He replied, unapologetic.

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