#andromeda&&.under the table

[nereidprinc3ss]

andromeda | (dybmn? bonus)

a bonus vignette from spencer's POV. we find out how he really feels about reader. takes place the day before the argument at the bar.

note: this is not part six! takes place between parts four and five.

series masterlist

18+ warnings/tags: fem!reader, semi-graphic descriptions of sexual fantasies, some angst, you're not actually present, mention of alcohol, very vague discussions of murdery stuff bc he's supposed to be working, sassy spencer makes an appearance a/n: for all my angels who said they wanted a snippet of spencer's POV! i'm sorry if i'm overdoing it with this story or clogging the spencer tags, i'm just having a lot of fun! i hope you enjoy or that this may be clears some things up for you, pls lmk your thoughts:) ily!!!

Spencer is incessantly drumming the particle board table underneath his fingers.

The polymer veneer is one of his least favorite textures—he hates the grain of it and if he were to accidentally scratch the table with his nails he knows it would make the hair on the back of his neck stand up. 

But of all the things he’s worried about, that ranks very low on the list. 

He’s got a lot of mental tabs open all the time—and the tabs, he can deal with. It’s when he starts trying to operate with multiple windows that he begins to struggle. His brain, while it is a very fine tuned sort of computer, only has one monitor. Unfortunately, no human (except for the ones who’ve had their brain hemispheres surgically split) is immune to the inevitable pitfalls of multitasking. By dividing his mental energy between you and his job, he’s really fucking up his job. But he also thinks he really fucked up with you on that phone call the other night and for being as logical as he is he can’t seem to make that feel unimportant—even though he’s disgusted with himself for it because there are literally people dying. 

Someone knocks on the open conference room door—he looks up, skimming his lips over his fist. 

“What’s up?” he says too quickly upon seeing Emily’s mildly concerned face peering in on him. 

Her mouth bridges into a sort of nonchalant frown and her brows kick up. 

“Just… checking in. Haven’t heard from you all morning.”

“Yeah, the, uh—the geo-profile. I’m still… I’m still working it out.”

It’s not like he’s ever been phenomenal with his syntax in a social sense, but Spencer is certainly aware he’s doing even worse than usual right now. 

“Okay. Uh… is there anything in particular stumping you, or…?”

“Nope. Just not enough information. But I’m—I’m going to keep trying.”

“Alright. Got your phone handy?”

It’s an odd question—of course he has his phone handy. He’s been doing this job longer than Emily has. How else would he communicate with the rest of the team? He bristles. 

“Yeah. Why wouldn’t I?”

Emily shakes her head. She’s always been particularly good at reading his moods.

“You’re not under attack, Reid. I was just asking.”

Just as he’s about to say, why would you assume I’m not prepared for my job, he manages to swerve away and stifle the words with his fist. Instead he looks back down at his copy of the map and nods. In reality, he truly isn’t prepared for his job today. The reason he has his phone so close, fully charged and at top volume is because he’s worried he’ll miss a call from you. 

Emily says something else, and he hums in response, and then she’s gone. 

He shouldn’t be reading into your reticence this much. It’s not like you just sit by the phone all day, eagerly awaiting a call or text from him (like he does you). You have a life. You’re busy. And even if you are intentionally dodging his texts, he can’t entirely fault you for it. Spencer knows he’s clingy. He knows he’s overbearing. It’s part of why he panicked the other night and told you the whole humiliating story about Elle. Because he can’t ever just be cool and he felt the need to explain himself. 

But the problem was, and is, that he doesn’t know how much longer he can go without saying those three words that fucked him over all those years ago.

So he’d danced around them. Applied them to someone else to try and avoid outright professing his all-consuming love for you over the phone. However you feel, Spencer has to assume he feels more. Spencer always has to assume he feels more because he usually does and it’s gotten him into trouble before. And now he’s pretty sure he was exactly right, as often is the case, because you didn’t tell him he was mistaken and you’d clammed up and you haven’t talked to him since and he’s not supposed to be reading into it this much. 

Three victims killed and dumped within a 6 mile radius of the first victim plus one victim killed and dumped 23.8 miles away. That doesn’t make any fucking sense. Fuck this guy. 

Spencer decides the problem is that he needs more caffeine. 

Or possibly, if he were a different kind of man—copious amounts of alcohol. 

So he stows his phone in a pocket and asks the first person he sees where the coffee machine is. 

“Looks like you found it earlier,” the woman says, glancing pointedly down at his mostly empty mug. A playful smirk tugs at pinkish-brownish lips. She’s pretty, he realizes distantly. But he registers it the same way he’d take note of the model of a car, or the species of a bird, or the kind of shoes someone is wearing. It doesn’t actually interest him. It’s just part of processing his environment. “I can show you to it?”

He doesn’t have the heart or energy to explain that someone else brought him his cup earlier and he’s not flirting with her. 

“If you could just point me in the right direction…?”

She laughs, short and dry, before she’s pointing down a hall. 

“Kitchenette down there and to the left.”

“Thanks,” he mutters, already walking away without sparing her a second glance. 

She’s the kind of woman he would have paid a lot more attention to before you came along. Not that he’d ever sleep with someone on the job (not since he was 25, anyway), but if he’d met her under any other circumstances he probably would have cared more about the way her pupils dilated and her eyes had widened slightly and she’d adjusted her posture and all the other small things people do when they’re attracted to someone else. 30 year old Spencer might have slept with her. 27 year old Spencer definitely would have slept with her. Current Spencer obsessively pines for a woman who is already his girlfriend and whom he has yet to sleep with at all far too much to think about other women like that. 

But god, does he think about you like that. 

His feet carry him down the dim, carpeted hallway but really it took barely a nudge and he’s thinking about you like that. At work. As he’s pouring himself coffee. 

Spencer is confident in the fact that if anyone were to look at him right now, they’d never guess he’s running clips of you in his mind like a dirty supercut. Because he’s just pouring coffee. That’s one good thing about having all those tabs open all the time. He can toggle between them quickly. He has enough going on in the background that people look at him and all they can tell is that he’s thinking hard about lots of things. Some of them just happen to be the way you look when you’re naked on his bed, skin shining and glazed eyes sleepy, parted lips higher in color than usual and catching your breath. Some of them happen to be your hair brushing his stomach before he gathers it back for you. Some of them happen to be the way your thighs feel on either side of his face, or how you stretch around his fingers, or how you might feel when you stretch around his—

He hisses as hot coffee overflows from the mug and burns his hand. 

Maybe he’s not as calm and collected as he thought. 

But on top of all the other things he’s dealing with, having been so close to actually sleeping with you the other night is really fucking with his head. Even if he tells himself he wouldn't have done it, he knows himself better than that. He's too familiar with the effect you have on his judgement.

“Found it okay?” 

Spencer looks down, surprised to see the woman from earlier sitting at her desk and watching him as he quickly passes by on his way back to the conference room. Her legs are crossed. She’s wearing a pencil skirt and a flouncy sort of blouse which seems impractical for working in an FBI field office. Maybe she notices his eye catching on her figure and misguidedly swivels her chair to give him a better look. But all he’s noticing is that it doesn’t look like yours. Now he’s picturing the curve of your hip dripping in silk after that first night at Rossi’s. How your waist and your stomach feel when he slides his hands over you. This woman—she might as well not even be here for all he’s actually seeing her. 

“Yeah. Thanks again.”

Then he’s gone. Very briefly he acknowledges that he should feel sorry for so obviously brushing her off, but he doesn’t care even close to enough. He sets the coffee down on the table and rounds to the board where one of several maps is taped. On autopilot he draws lines between dump sites because one of the background tabs had deduced, while he was busy watching you like porn, that the distance between dump sites form the beginnings of the constellation Orion with some mathematical precision that’s too exacting to be coincidental. Orion’s Belt plus the most recent victim. Betelgeuse. 

There are ten formally named stars that make up Orion. He marks all of them, but circles the transposed coordinates of Bellatrix, Saiph, Rigel and Meissa as the next most likely dump sites. Most probably it will be Orion’s head. They’re all in wooded areas. He calls Garcia. Garcia will call Emily, wherever she is. If the unsub sticks to pattern, which they always do, they have until midnight. It’s trite, really. Predictable, like people always are. Far too quickly he drinks half the cup of scalding coffee and retraces his steps through the office to find the bathroom. 

It’s empty. The fluorescent lights hum. Spencer washes his hands with cold water and presses still wet fingers to his eyes. You’re waiting for him behind the black of his lids.

At first you would whine, and he would kiss you and you’d moan into his mouth and say his name when he opened you up as far as you would go. The air would be thick and warm with sex and vanilla perfume. Afterwards he’d take care of you and buy new sheets for his bed in your favorite color even if they didn’t match the walls and there would be nothing you’d want for that he couldn’t give to you ever again. 

But. 

That’s all contingent. 

No matter how often he fantasizes about it, no matter in how much detail, and regardless of how often those details change wildly, one thing always stays the same. 

The shape of your lips, swollen from kissing, bending around five or six vowels and only two consonants (it seems odd that there are only two consonants in I love you), sometimes before you start, sometimes in the middle or right at the peak—but always there, always moving in slow motion—and always silent.

In real life, they’d be aloud. It’s why his fantasies aren’t good enough. It’s why he can’t stop fantasizing about it. That’s the only part that really matters to him. The rest varies. 

Not because having sex with you doesn’t matter—it matters so much he almost shatters his molars whenever he starts picturing it around other people. But because Spencer can’t have sex with you until you love him. 

And he worries that you can’t love him until you have sex with him. 

The last time he thought that about a person, it didn’t turn out well.

Maybe there is some magic number. Some amount of times you need to have sex with someone before they’ll love you back. 

If there is, he knows for a fact it’s more than 32.

And he also knows, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he cannot have loveless sex with you thirty three times while he waits to find out. 

Not again. 

But he's going to hold out as long as he possibly can until you say it because he so badly wants you to love him back. He'll let the weight of every ignored text, every reminder that you don't feel that way about him, hang from his shoulders until he collapses. And then he'll probably try to get back up.

Recycled paper towels scratch against his skin. He dries his face and hands and throws them crumpled into the trash can. 

Outside the restroom, he pulls out his phone. For safety reasons and paranoia disguised as professionalism, you’re not his lock screen. It’s a photo of the Andromeda Galaxy. Whatever distance lies between you and Spencer, it could always be greater. No matter where you are in the world, you will always be the same 2.537 million light years away from Andromeda that he is. 

It makes Orion feel much closer. You, too. 

He sends you a text—the third message in a row. 

The distance between blue bubbles feels like light years. 

I’ll be home tomorrow. I miss you. 

[aureatchi]

⋆ ✦ ˚｡⋆ THIS SUMMER NIGHT WE FIND SCATTERED DREAMS, I ONCE AGAIN RUN IN THE STARLIGHT ft. dazai, chuuya, fyodor, sigma.

— what it’s like to stargaze with them. (& more)

a/n. sadly, i have yet to see the aurora borealis and in general, seldom get to see the stars. (light pollution my no.1 enemy !!) but a girl can dream :) (& distract herself from the latest bsd chapters..)

info. fem!reader. fluff. soft everyone lol. some of them are nerds & ramble abt stars. :) + a little poetic. mentions of greek mythology. kissing. buildup to actual topic. profanities in chuuya’s & he may or may not use sskk to help. bsd manga/ability spoilers in fyodor’s.

DAZAI : so in this instance, i’d be perseus, and you’d be andromeda. — he listens to everything you have to say.

Your palm in his, the brunette’s pretty fingers wrapped around yours. He softly massaged your hand as you began telling him, your starstruck lover a story under the show of constellations. It had formed into a little routine since the first time you stargazed with him as a date.

“There was this princess,” you started. “Princess Andromeda. She was a very beautiful woma-”

“You’re more beautiful, though,” Dazai interrupted. You didn’t even get in two complete sentences without his commentary. You sat a bit awestruck while he delivered a kiss to your hand.

“Continue, bella,” big brown eyes teased you.

You hastily recovered. “…She was beautiful. And her mother—Queen Cassiopeia—who was very prideful, decided to brag to Poseidon, the Greek god of the seas, that she was prettier than his daughters.”

“I mean, that’s understandable. I brag about you all the time! Why shouldn’t the pretty girl be shown off?”

“Shut up,” you chuckled, reminiscing over the times the detective had shown you off. Whenever you decided to visit the Armed Detective Agency’s office with Dazai, Kunikida would never hear the end of it. When you two went out to eat, he would flatter your name away. “This gorgeous girl would like to order…” “May I please get a table for the angelic lady and I?”

He never failed to fluster you.

“Anyway, Poseidon got angry and decided to send a sea monster to destroy their kingdom. The only way the monster could be pacified was if it could devour Andromeda.”

“A damsel in distress,” Dazai nodded and then dramatically pretended like he was the helpless princess on the ocean. He completely pulled over the blanket the two of you were sharing, using it as a cape—“Someone save me! I’m going to be eaten by a sea monster!”

“‘Samu! I’m cold!”

“Ah, sorry. Perhaps you are the princess, and you need saving from this icy night!” He rewrapped the blanket over your shoulder.

“Stop interrupting me; I’m trying to tell you something!” It was nowhere near icy, but your lover proved his dramaticism even further when a tuft of brown hair grazed your shoulder. He had rested his head on you.

“Oka-ay—sorry, continue!”

“Meanwhile, Perseus—I told you last time, the man who killed Medusa—found Andromeda while flying over with his horse, Pegasus. He immediately fell in love with her, so he slayed the sea monster and rescued her from the rock she was chained to.”

“What a hero,” Dazai said. “So they lived happily ever after?”

“Not yet. Perseus asked Andromeda’s father for permission to marry her but discovered she was already set to marry someone else. And the man she was engaged to got angry that Perseus wanted to marry her.”

“Of course,” he sighed, which puzzled you a bit, but you’d return to his comment later. “I’m rooting for Perseus, though.”

“Well, good for you because the two fought, and Perseus won by showing the other guy Medusa’s head.”

Dazai chuckled. “Nice move! He turned his enemy into his trophy. Imagine if we did that to all our enemies!”

“I think then we’d have a whole army of statues,” you laughed. “But now, he and Andromeda married, and they were able to live happily ever after.

“The gods placed them in the sky so their story would be remembered eternally.” Finished with your recount, you gazed up at the stars.

“The North Star,” you pointed, and when you saw the brunette’s bronze eyes squint, trying to see what you were talking about, you moved closer until you were halfway on his lap.

You took his palm in yours and guided it to a single star.

“That one. All the characters’ constellations I mentioned in the story revolve around that star. Perseus with his sword, Andromeda flying on Pegasus...”

“Huh? That’s the North Star? Isn’t it supposed to be the brightest in the sky or something?” It didn’t stand out from the rest as much as he thought.

You giggled. “That’s a myth, ‘samu. It’s funny you didn’t know that.”

He shrugged. “I never really had time to appreciate and learn about something so peaceful like nature until now.” He turned to you.

“Until you.”

You weren’t sure how, but it was almost as if the moonlight had carved out his pretty face. Ethereal, you had called the moon, and it reflected in your lover’s features. His eyes took in the charm of the millions of lights in the night and synthesized the feeling to bring it back to you.

“If I were one of the gods, I would’ve created a whole galaxy reflecting your soul.”

In the midst of terror and chaos, the detective’s eyes revolved around humans and their violence rather than around the sun and the planets. Eyes and soul—how else could he focus on anything else when that’s all life showed him?

“Because I see the constellations in you—Andromeda, Pegasus, Carina, Orion…” it had been a few months, and throughout you had shown and told him all the stories behind the stars in the sky.

“And now I can stop to smell the flowers, love. I can watch the Ursa Minor, even if I still find it hard to sleep.” You were the bridge to his bronze gaze and iron marrow—you showed him that you were human, but that a heart could really exist without violence or malice.

I see a reason why the nebulas are placed as they are, even if stories are just stories. I see a reason I’m here. With you.

He sealed the thought with a kiss to your lips, under the celestial moon and the heavens’ watch.

You always wondered why Dazai paid such close attention whenever you started rambling—initially, you didn’t think he’d care that much about tales of space. But you understood him a bit better now, his complex heart. You held onto him a bit tighter to him as you kissed him back.

…

“Oh yeah. What did you mean when you said ‘of course,’ when I started talking about Perseus having to fight over another guy for Andromeda?”

And Dazai was his lighthearted self once again.

“We’re definitely Andromeda and Perseus in another universe,” Dazai winked. “You’ve always deserved to be treated like a princess! I would totally save you from a sea monster. And I’d be an equestrian if I could too—even better, a flying one!”

“Sure…”

“C’mon, bella, you see me at those horse-racing events all the time! Anyway, most important of all, I had to fight for you. Such a tough world when every other man is also at your feet.” He crossed his arms. “Having Medusa’s head would’ve made things so much easier! I really would’ve had a whole army of stone statues if I did.”

“No, you really didn’t need it at all,” you replied, laughing at Dazai, who was now pouting.

“Osamu the demigod: slayer of monsters or not, I only have eyes for you.” You kissed him on the cheek.

“Unlike Andromeda, I wouldn’t let two men fight over me and marry the one who wins.

“I would just choose you right away.”

CHUUYA : babydoll, you’re worth more than all those stars combined. — he only gives you the best.

“Ah, that’s unfortunate. Thank you for informing me, though,” you said before hanging up the phone.

You didn’t sue them on the line, albeit irritated. Tonight, you were supposed to have a date with Chuuya at one of the fancy restaurants he somehow discovered more of in the city when you thought you finally visited them all, but your reservations were cancelled last minute.

“Hey, princess,” the handsome ginger said when you phoned him next. You could sense a smile through his words on the other end.

“What’s up?”

“Weird-ass restaurant cancelled our plans,” you said. “Not even a refund.”

Chuuya quickly picked up on the disappointment in your voice, and he knew it wasn’t because he didn’t get his money back. Money was nothing—he was a Port Mafia executive. Stacks of bills piled into his hands every day, and he quietly flexed on it through his collection of wine in the cellar, his clothes, and gifts to you.

What he wasn’t wealthy in was time. It had been almost a month since Chuuya had any free time—the boss had been overworking him amidst never-ending Yokohama mayhem. His large penthouse actually proved to be a disadvantage when you were the only one staying in it. It was too empty; it was too quiet for a home, there was an awkward gap in the bed you slept in.

“It’s okay, baby,” came Chuuya’s voice reassuringly. “Don’t worry ‘bout some shitty-ass restaurant.

“Meet me home at the rooftop at the time we originally planned.”

“…Alright,” you replied, unsure of what he was going to do, but you were grateful anyway that you’d get to spend time with him.

“And get ready too, like we originally planned,” he added, and this time, you could imagine the smugness in his smile. “See ya soon.”

…

The bell chimed as the elevator approached the top of Chuuya’s apartment, signaling that you reached the rooftop.

“Chuu?” you called out as the doors opened. He was nowhere to be found—instead a pathway of candles and a trail of rose petals leading to the other side.

Your heels clicked on the ground as you slowly followed the course. It was dark towards the back of the rooftop, but the front overlooked the entire city of Yokohama.

Another quiet flex.

“Hey, beautiful.” You noticed him before the lively city behind him, before the romantic scene he had set up—the path of petals expanded into scattering around the table Chuuya was sitting at. He was dressed up too—looking as attractive as ever.

“The Nakahara Restaurant,” you hummed, taking a seat in front of him. “Not bad.”

Chuuya smirked. “Not bad? We get Michelin stars, baby. Trust me.”

You giggled. “I don’t know about that, Chuu. You’ll have to prove it to me.” It was like you had turned the tables on him. Usually, he only deemed a restaurant good if you were pleased with the food.

“Alright.” Now, you were going to rate his. You could tell he was going to enjoy this.

“You hungry?”

You nodded.

With a snap of Chuuya’s fingers, you immediately heard footsteps scurrying toward the two of you.

Two young men, one with raven hair until silver tips and the other with an entirely silver head—you realized they were waiters from who knows where—approached you with a dish.

“Appetizers by Executive Nakahara,” the first one said.

“Wait—did you cook everything too?”

“Duuh, you take this for a fraud or something?” Chuuya failed to hide the pride on his face.

…

The appetizer, entrée, and dessert proved delicious, and you were forced to eat your previous words.

He was talented in just about everything.

Chuuya kicked the two ‘waiters’ out of his house after dessert was served, leaving the two of you finally alone. The candlelight amid the dark sky enveloped your figures in an intimate glow.

“I would’ve been fine with even just takeout,” you laughed after taking a sip out of your wine glass.

He smiled. “As if. It’s a special night, doll, we finally have time to see each other again.”

“Exactly! Seeing you is what matters most,” you said.

“Anyway, thank you, Chuu. I appreciate this so much. And I guess you’re right—you earn a Michelin Star from me.”

Chuuya looked towards the city below you and back. “Didn’t doubt it one bit. But that’s not the only stars we’re getting tonight.”

You looked puzzled. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t get shocked.”

Your lover snapped again—you picked up a slight difference in it this time compared to the previous times he signaled—and suddenly, Yokohama went dark.

You didn’t know how, but the city’s electricity had completely cut off at the mafia executive’s command.

“Chuu—?”

“You’re not looking the right way.”

You had been staring at the pitch-black buildings below in fazed awe, but it seemed to have switched places with the skies as now, small scattered lights began to fade in when you looked up, your eyes adjusting to the dark.

“Chuu!” You stood up in excitement. “We can see stars! In Yokohama!”

The ginger chuckled before pulling out a folded comforter from under the table. “Here, it’s better this way. Now this is what the wine was really for.”

…

Chuuya had fixed the comforter on the rooftop and pulled out a few pillows so that you were able to lie down and watch above more comfortably.

“I did this a lot when I stayed in Paris for a bit,” he said, explaining how he got the idea. “But the lights stayed on 24/7 there, too, so I had to use a telescope.”

You looked at him thoughtfully. “We could’ve done that too. You really startled everyone just for this.”

As if on cue, you suddenly heard someone shout in the distance, going “Hey! Who the hell turned off all the lights?!” You and Chuuya both snorted.

“Just for you,” he corrected. “I think this is better anyway. They can handle one night without power. And I made sure the hospitals and other important establishments stayed untouched.”

It was crazy how much power the man had. “Not entirely evil then,” you said.

“Yeah, plus I was also really aiming at that restaurant that tried ruining our plans,” Chuuya smirked.

You looked back at the stars and then Chuuya again, who hadn’t taken his cerulean eyes off your face.

You lay together to gaze at the stars. But instead of those, he was looking at you.

You couldn’t stop the flurry of coyness you got. He looked absolutely stunning under the heavens—it was almost unfair. It would be if you weren’t the one who got to see him in such a state. He looked mesmerized—mesmerized with you?

“Hey, you’re going to miss it if you keep staring at me,” you said.

“I’m seeing you and those galaxies for the first time in a while,” Chuuya replied. “I think I’d rather watch you.”

He kissed you while you were still smiling, causing him to grin, too. You felt light and safe around him and the blankets, and he felt the same. All aggression and stress ceased from his head, healed by you and the moonlight.

“Y’can name stars after people too, right?” he asked when you pulled back. “I swear, I’m going to make the next scientist who discovers one name it after you. It’d be way better than those random shitty names they give nowadays.”

FYODOR : i have the cosmos mapped out, likewise your soul. — you alone, he adores.

There was not a word said as you got into the passenger seat of the car that Fyodor was driving. He had left a note earlier that day—Zolotse, you’re coming with me on a mission tonight. Prepare what you need and bring the sleeping bags, and you had done so with little hesitation.

The sun had already gone down, but you were used to this. Initially, you had thought his job the opposite of himself—the demon was called to bizarre places sporadically and had to adapt to their settings in a short amount of time. You only realized after being with him for a while that he planned these things beforehand, and he planned them long ago.

The job was made for him—his little game of fate and chess.

He drove for around four hours straight. In that time, you had put on your favorite music, and talked with him about the usual—your latest philosophical obsession, anything interesting about his latest endeavors—you hadn’t realized you had gotten so far away from civilization.

Fyodor must’ve become nocturnal from all the time he’d spent in the dark, because it was pitch-black in all directions when he finally parked the car and you stepped out.

And only then you finally asked him. “Fedya, where are we?”

He didn’t respond, instead going to the back of the car and opening the trunk, handing you your sleeping bag and a flashlight.

You flipped the switch on, trying to scan the surroundings for any hint of where this journey took you.

“Darling, you’re quite naïve,” Fyodor said as you looked down at rocks and twigs below your shoes. “I’m concerned about how easily you agreed to let someone drive you hours out into the wilderness.”

“I’d do it only for you,” you replied, giggling. “I trust you.” Alas, he had answered your question, though you still didn’t know what he was here for.

“Follow me. We have a bit of hiking to do.”

…

A secret hideout? Meeting spot? Something valuable hidden here? Your mind came up with countless reasons why your lover’s current mission took place on a mountain and how he could even navigate without a map. The entire thing was strange—you hadn’t even seen him take any valuables of some kind besides a tent and his own sleeping bag.

The walk-up was a bit tedious. Thankfully, you wore the right shoes and had eaten well beforehand, but you still didn’t expect you would be partaking in exercise so late at night. It was also hard to see, the flashlights scarcely making a difference.

You came across a very steep hill; it was almost like you had to climb rather than hike up.

“Apologies for the inconvenience,” you heard Fyodor from above as he went first to ensure each step was safe. “It’ll be worth it later.”

“Ah-” You hardly had time to ponder his statement when you misstepped on a loose twig, causing you to slip. However, a hand reached to tightly grab you before you slid down.

“Careful, milaya.”

Fyodor kept your hand clasped in his throughout the rest of the trek. You finally reached a large clearing by the edge of a cliff—devoid of trees and hard bedrock.

“We’re here.”

He began setting up the tent while you looked around. There was nothing at all out of the ordinary—nothing suspicious for the demon to use. Were you really here just to camp?

“The goal: your eyes to adjust.”

Fyodor had finished and had been looking at you for some time—smiling, at the way your brows furrowed and how you were still lost with this entire night.

“What-?” you asked as he walked over to take your sleeping bag. You followed him as he set it right next to his.

“Sit next to me, lyubov,” he said, guiding you down. “I’ll tell you the secret to getting directions up here.”

He tilted his head up, and for the first time, you noticed an entire galaxy before you.

…

Drenched under the vastness of the dark skies and lights of the stars, Fyodor began to speak.

“We’ve used star navigation for thousands of years,” he said. “Fifty-eight stars and thirty-eight constellations that we’re able to use, but you only need to locate the Ursa Major to find north and Orion to find west.”

You nodded. Perhaps this is what he had come here to do—find directions to something that no GPS or technology recorded. He had probably taken you along just because he thought you’d admire the view and how you did. Fyodor was right—the walk-up was worth this view.

It was like you were in a trance. You had seen stars, but nothing like this before. The entire Milky Way galaxy was visible to your eyes, countless little suns that seemed barely out of your grasp, even though they were millions of miles away.

“Fedya, how many of them do you recognize by name?”

“By now, I have them all memorized because I’ve found it helpful. If an apocalypse surged the earth, they would still be there. If the world ended, they would still be there. The cosmos remain untouched by us—they watch humanity dance from afar. The nomads knew this the best—when we traveled, we relied on nothing but nature.”

You wondered how many body transfers it took for him to retain them all. There were so many little lights in the sky, it seemed near impossible to be able to gather even half in a mind’s jar. You guessed tens of years at the least, and even with that time, you knew only he could do it.

“You commend them too, don’t you?” you spoke, taking a risk in guessing his views.

“Elaborate for me.” You made eye contact with him, and amethyst eyes fawned over by the night almost enticed you even more than the entire view of the universe afore you.

“You appreciate them, and everything else that lays on the earth after the sun sets because they hold no flaw. They aren’t blemished by the foolishness of people.

“You can be at peace with them because they are perfect, unlike us.”

“You’re right. The perfect mankind would be as pure as the sun and the stars—untainted by something as unnatural as abilities. That’s how I see it, but why group yourself in such faults?”

“Hm?” was the only sound you were able to get out, when he grazed his fingers along your face, cupping your cheek.

“Printsessa, you are perfect.” He spoke smoothly, rich accent making his words sound like a lullaby.

“Your soul dances with the kosmos. Something so divine—you are the harmony of something as beautiful as what we see tonight.

“You are the only one who matches the heavens; my love, you surpass the heavens.”

He captured your lips in a kiss, and you only registered then that it was you two alone. It felt like you two were the only ones in the world with the witnesses to your love being the ends of the horizons, and that the universe who put on a show in the sky instead turned to watch you.

…

“Fedya…what was the mission?” you asked softly as you cuddled with him, your hands reaching for his silky hair as you lay on his chest.

You felt his smile. “You’re still so naïve, darling; you didn’t have to think so much. The mission was to bring you here. It’s been a while since we’ve gone out, has it not?”

SIGMA : i’ve never seen it before! (the aurora borealis) — he learns what love is through you.

“Sigma, baby, let’s go!”

The man had a slightly puzzled face as he let you eagerly lead him outside, past your home’s backyard—into the hills beyond. Other than the Sky Casino, it was your favorite spot, especially when you wanted some peace away from the rest of humanity and its industry.

Your lover was utterly confused why you made sure he did not fall asleep this evening. He always went to bed far earlier than you and rose while you were still lost in dream—perhaps snoring—but tonight you insisted.

And Sigma followed, even though he was at the verge of passing out from exhaustion—managing a casino was hard. He let you take his hand and direct him, even without a clue of where you were going.

Maybe that was what love was—blindly following another.

“I have a surprise.” You slightly turned your head back to look at him, and he swore he would remember this scene forever. His hand still clasped around yours, the warm glow of the back porch’s bistro lights cast upon your face, and your sweet smile—though it was dark outside, he felt that your smile lit up his world more than all the stars combined in the night sky.

The cosmos were a new thing for him. You had introduced watching the stars to him, in this special place beyond your backyard.

Immediately after his first time learning what the Big Dipper was, and that the little lights in the sky were actually much farther than they seemed, he called for a viewing deck to be created for the Sky Casino.

That way, even on nights away from you and home, he could still gaze at the same stars, and for you as well if you wanted to visit.

“Are we stargazing?” Sigma asked as you ran up one of the hills with him. He held a chuckle to himself. You didn’t bother to change out of your pajamas. You were so cute.

“It’s a little different this time,” you giggled, setting down a blanket for the two of you to sit. Before, you would bring foldable chairs, but you realized that they made it a bit difficult for you to cling onto Sigma when you wanted to cuddle with him.

“We should start to see it in just a few minutes,” you said, looking up.

“Okay…”

The stars were there as usual. Sigma had never thought that something as pretty as your heart could exist in something physical, but that was how he saw those small lights in the sky.

If only you knew that whenever you decided to talk about how beautiful the skies were at night, he wanted to say they were literally just a reflection of you.

As soon as the clock on your watch hit the next hour, you immediately grabbed Sigma’s arm in enthusiasm.

Now he was really starting to wonder what got you so jumpy.

“Hey! Do you see it?!”

Sigma caught himself so distracted by you that he was watching your face instead of where your eyes were looking at.

He blushed when you looked at him, but thankfully you remained oblivious to his embarrassment.

“The green light! Do you see it?”

Sigma looked up, and he saw what looked like sliver of green contrast the dusky sky.

“That’s natural,” you began to explain. “It works through the earth’s magnetic field colliding with the atmosphere.

“Watch how it dances.”

A show started to unfold before the two of you. Sigma watched as the small touch of light became even brighter, transforming into a ribbon. He watched as the ribbon began to travel across the sky, overtaking the darkness. He watched in awe as it was joined by another green stream, traversing the horizons together.

“Wow,” you both said in awe.

“It’s called the aurora borealis,” you spoke.

“You can see it regularly if you travel way up north, but it’s a rare event here.

“I wanted to experience it with you.”

Sigma turned to look back at you, butterflies in his tummy and a surge of warmth overflowing his heart when he met your face—cheeks glowing from the reflection of the chasma and your eyes full of adoration.

“With me?” Sigma asked.

“Of course,” you replied, pulling him up. “Look Sigma—a new color joined.”

He glanced up, seeing that a new hue had appeared, aligning itself with the green. A pinkish light had mixed itself in, creating a swirl of paints on the sky’s pallete.

It really seemed like the lights were dancing. And Sigma thought to himself—like me and her.

You seemed to have the same idea because you had taken his hands in yours and started to whirl him around. It was messy—a bit chaotic, but he let himself be dragged along for a bit until he got dizzy, because maybe love was blindly following someone.

Eventually, Sigma started laughing, and couldn’t be thrown around any longer. “Calm down, love!” He took control of the dance, guiding your steps so that it turned into a more organized waltz.

He became captivated when he twirled you around—even though you were in your pajamas, you couldn’t look any less beautiful. He had danced with you in ballrooms, in gardens, but this unrehearsed night was the most enchanting of all.

…

You two danced until your feet started to hurt and Sigma’s exhaustion finally got the best of him. Now, you lay together, watching the rest of the night’s act play out.

“Whenever I look at the nebulas, I only think of you now, you know,” you confessed. “Because even if you’re up there, and I’m down on earth, we’re still looking at the same stars together.”

“I think the same,” Sigma replied. “It’s like we’re always connected in some way.”

You nodded with a smile, but you realized Sigma wasn’t finished yet.

“Actually, it’s more than that. I can only think of you when I see those things because all beauty leads back to you. I see your kindness in the sun and your energy in these colorful lights. I see your perseverance in the moon and most importantly, how many hearts you’ve made shine in the stars.

“And whatever ends up the brightest at night is mine, because you’ve warmed my heart the most.”

Your own heart was beating fast, by how your lover had spoken so tenderly to you and by the way he had rolled over towards you so that he was so close now—his lips just shy of yours.

“Sigma,” you whispered, and then you pulled him into a kiss.

It was then he finally understood: love wasn’t about blindly following another, he followed you because you were a blessing of trust, carrying the stars of devotion on your hands.

i heard if you rb, u’ll be able to watch the stars w/ ur fav tn !! reblogs are cherished; they are what support me the most. <3

this fic wouldn’t have ever seen the light, weren’t for @cheriiyaya (hi); thank u bby for encouraging me start to finish. <3 a lil prompt inspo for dazai & fyodor from her. ^_^

p.s. did i imply a past!love triangle in dazai’s scenario? yes. was i referring to the fyozai ‘til death we do art love triangle? maybe..! actually, for some rzn, i included many things here that foreshadow other fics coming soon. stay tuned :)

© AUREATCHI 2024. no reposts or translations. do not steal. support banner by cafekitsune.

[deswhomst]

Fashion Police | @black-brothers-microfic | @black-sisters-microfic | Narcissa and Regulus centric | Minor Jegulus and Nobleflower | Word Count: 1162

For the purpose of this, just assume that all pureblood families are on good terms and attend events together.

“On your right,” Narcissa whispered. “That shade of gold should have a cell in Azkaban just for it.”

Regulus titled his head a little, nothing too sudden or obvious. “Fucking hell,” he mumbled. “If she stands directly under a chandelier, I’ll have a stroke.”

Narcissa huffed. “Merlin forbid.”

The two of them were sitting at their designated table, having had socialized more than they cared for already. Bellatrix, Andromeda, and Sirius were still out and about somewhere but it was much more fun to judge people for their fashion skills—or lack thereof—than it would be to search for the other three.

“Eww,” Regulus scrunched up his face in blatant disgust as his eyes landed on his uncle. “What the fuck is your father wearing?”

“Oh, that,” Narcissa let out a resigned sigh, looking thoroughly annoyed. “I requested him serveral times not to wear that monstrosity but he evidently did not listen.”

“What is he trying to do, blend in with the furniture?” Regulus raised an eyebrow. “He looks like a velvet armchair.”

“Oi, don’t insult velvet armchairs like this!” Narcissa hit the back of his head. “Disgraceful, Reggie.”

He grinned back at her. “Apologies.”

Narcissa shook her head, eyes accessing the scene once more. It took her all of two seconds to locate their next target.

“Nott looks like a panicked ostrich,” she commented. “Look at that hat.”

Regulus looked.

He wished he hadn’t.

“Right?” Narcissa nodded sympathetically at the horrified expression on his face. “Maybe he was hoping that if he couldn’t see us, we wouldn’t be able to see his poor taste.”

Despite himself, Regulus laughed softly.

“Oh! Did you see Mrs. Parkinson?” he asked her, suddenly remembering that criminal offense. “Cissy … it was bad.”

“The mustard yellow?” Narcissa closed her eyes in dread, as if praying for patience.

He nodded. “It was satin, too.”

“The wrinkles, Regulus!” she exclaimed. “The wrinkles.”

“I know,” he patted her shoulder sympathetically. “I thought we had rules and standards as a society.”

“Not anymore, little cousin,” she sighed. “What do these people do with all this money? Can they not afford a stylist?”

“The least they can do is a bonfire,” he added. “Burn it all, I say!”

Narcissa laughed. “We should start our own bonfire and throw all of them in it!”

“The people, too?”

“Well, I’m not taking off someone’s clothes for them, so yes.”

“Sounds reasonable. Done.”

“We would be doing society a favor, really,” Narcissa said.

“Of course,” agreed Regulus. “And my eyes, too. They hurt from seeing so much ugly.”

“You and me both, Reggie.”

For a moment, they fell into a comfortable silence. Regulus was drinking whatever had been poured out for him as Narcissa sat observing their surroundings.

“Potter looks good,” she commented.

“Yes,” Regulus agreed instinctively, eyes widening once he realized what he had said. “I mean—compared to the others here, he seems … normal looking.”

Narcissa hummed, clearly fighting off a smile. “Interesting.”

“Nothing is interesting,” Regulus complained. “It’s a low bar, Narcissa. The color of his shirt is still unbearable.”

“Mhm. Is it?”

“Yes,” he pressed on firmly. “It’s such a—stupid red! What is he trying to prove with it? And his glasses are so stupid, too. Why is the frame dark brown and not simply black? Or even red since that’s what he keeps wearing. And his hair.” He breathed out in frustration. “Don’t even get me started on his hair! Why can’t it calm down? It’s just as obnoxious as he is.”

Narcissa looked like she had a hard time controlling her laughter.

“Shut up,” he mumbled petulantly.

“Why are you blushing?” she teased. “Trying to match the color of his shirt?”

Regulus sent her the meanest of glares. “I hate you.”

“Aww,” Narcissa mocked. “But we were having so much fun.”

He scowled, pushing her hand away as she ruffled his hair.

“Oh, no,” Narcissa swore under her breath all of a sudden. “Fuck.”

Regulus followed her line of sight to locate James Potter and Alice Fortescue walking over in their direction.

“Oh, Merlin,” Regulus turned to his cousin. “Quick! What do we do?”

“I don’t know!” she replied, equally dramatic. “You do something!”

“Okay, okay …” he looked at their approaching figures, then back at Narcissa. “It’s a fair fight. Two versus two. And we’re Blacks so we can take them.”

“Regulus, she’s an auror,” she stressed.

“So?” he asked. “You think you’re less than an auror? Do you? Huh? Huh?”

“N-No? No! Of course, not.”

“Good. Keep that attitude,” Regulus nodded, satisfied. “This will be fine.”

Narcissa relaxed, too. “Yeah …”

Regulus looked back at her and smirked. “Interesting.”

“Shut the fuck up, Regulus.”

James and Alice finally made it to the table, both wearing matching smiles. James was, of course, in his stupid red shirt that Regulus mentioned earlier and Alice was in a rather beautiful black dress that went down to her knees. Regulus has always been a believer that a person can’t go wrong with black clothes (unless they make it obnoxious somehow).

“Hi, Alice,” Regulus greeted. “You look good. Doesn’t she, Narcissa?”

She kicked him underneath the table. “Of course.”

“Hi, Regulus,” Alice grinned. “And thank you, both.”

James was frowning. Regulus wished he would stop.

“We were talking about throwing people into a bonfire,” Regulus told Alice. “For wearing bad clothes. You’re safe.”

“Er—thank you?”

“What about me?” James asked. “Am I safe? And you didn’t even greet me.”

“Hello, Potter,” Narcissa waved a dismissive hand. “And yeah, you’re—“

“No!” Regulus cut across her. “Your shirt is horrible and I hate it. Go and change into a prettier color, then you’ll be safe.”

Alice snickered quietly, slipping into the empty chair next to Narcissa while James remained rooted to the spot, gaping at Regulus.

“This is pretty!” he protested. “You said you liked this color—“

“Not on you.”

“Oh, stop,” Narcissa swatted him on the arm. “Potter, stop moaning and sit down.”

“You have a problem with people moaning, do you?” Alice asked, titling her head to the side.

“Not people,” Narcissa shrugged. “Just men.”

“I’m not a man,” Alice said.

Narcissa tried very hard not to let her smile show and it was working for the most part. “Thank Merlin.”

Regulus could gag. Is this how lesbians flirt? He rolled his eyes and turned to James, who was still looking utterly betrayed.

“Oh, stop sulking,” Regulus tugged gently at his sleeve. “You can keep your hideous shirt, James, I seem to be having a moment of bad taste myself and am suddenly fond of your shirt.”

Yeah, no, Regulus should not be judging anyone for how they flirt.

James grinned so widely that it was all worth it.

Across the table, Narcissa and Alice were looking at the pair of them with small smirks.

“Cute,” Narcissa whispered to Alice, though they all heard it.

“Adorable,” Alice whispered back.

Regulus stared resolutely into his drink but an involuntary smile crept across his face.

[noisynaia]

𝑨 𝑯𝒐𝒍𝒊𝒅𝒂𝒚 𝑹𝒆𝒔𝒄𝒖𝒆

pairing: Marcus Pike x f!reader 

word count: 3.0k 

note: Fluff. Drinking. Colleagues to lovers. Mutual pining. Written for the lovely @pedrostories Secret Santa event ♥︎ My gift is for @always-andromeda , I hope you like it! It was so lovely to get to write for this blog again, and so exciting to share my first fic in a year and my first ever Marcus story! Thank you so much for the prompts, I tried to mix them both together, but it ended up dividing a bit from that first plan and turn into something else ♥︎

(This is the first fic I've written in a year and english isn't my native language, so I apoligies for any possible mistakes ♥︎)

The air hangs thick with the scent of pine needles and something suspiciously like cheap eggnog. The office is decked out in holiday cheer. Tinsel glints off the overly-enthusiastic Christmas decorations strung across the office, a jarring contrast to the usually austere environment. Twinkling lights are adorning the walls, and a massive tree stands proudly in the corner, its ornaments shimmering softly under the warm glow. Laughter fills the air as colleagues mingle, while festive music is playing in the background. It is the annual holiday party at the precinct, and the atmosphere is filled with a sense of camaraderie and celebration. 

You are standing near the refreshment table, a glass of spiced wine in your hand, watching the cheerful chaos unfold before you. Your gaze drifts across the room, landing on Marcus, who is in the midst of animatedly chatting with a group of detectives, his smile infectious, and his laughter like music to your ears. You have harbored a crush on him since the day he started at the precinct, and tonight, with him looking so dashing under the twinkling lights, that crush feels more potent than ever. 

Just as you’re lost in your daydream of Marcus’s charming smile, the sound of a familiar voice cuts through the festive din. It’s Harold, the department’s oldest and most verbose agent, and he’s making a beeline for you. “Ah, there you are! I’ve been meaning to talk to you about the new policies coming in next year,” he begins, his voice booming over the festive music. His passion for regulations is palpable, and his eyes light up as he launches into a detailed explanation of compliance protocols, the words spilling out like a torrent as you nod politely.

You try to interject, to steer the conversation towards lighter topics, but Harold is in full flow, oblivious to your subtle attempts at diversion. He recounts every last detail, his hands animatedly gesturing, as you mentally calculate the number of holiday cookies you could have consumed instead of standing here. You definitely need another drink to endure this conversation. Preferably something stronger.

As Harold continues his monologue, you glance over at Marcus again, still engrossed in his chat with the detectives, the laughter radiating from their group like a beacon. A small pang of envy hits you; how easy it seems for him to connect with others, while you’re trapped in this policy discussion. But just then his head turns and your eyes lock across the room.   

Time seems to slow as you feel the warmth of his gaze wash over you, momentarily breaking through the haze of Harold’s relentless chatter. Marcus’s smile broadens, a genuine connection sparking between you like the twinkling lights around the room. He raises his glass in a playful toast, and for a heartbeat, it feels as if the chaotic buzz of the party fades away, leaving only the two of you in that shared moment. 

You lift your own glass in response, the spiced wine glinting in the soft light as you return his toast. The world around you blurs as you focus solely on Marcus, your heart racing with excitement and a hint of nervousness. His gaze is warm and inviting, making you feel as though you’re the only one in the room. 

You smile back at him, but not as broad as his. He seems to notice, raising a brow in a silent question. Just then, Harold’s voice breaks through the enchantment, his monologue picking up speed as he transitions to the next policy. You catch snippets about “streamlining processes” and “regulatory compliance,” but your thoughts are elsewhere. You can’t help but steal another glance at Marcus, who is still looking your way, seemingly unbothered by the raucous laughter surrounding him. 

You let out a little sigh, which Harold doesn’t seem to even register, as you try to focus enough on the conversation to hum along at the right times and ad and “oh, really,” at the appropriate time. But you can’t help but look over in the direction of Marcus again. You heal how your heart softly flutters in your chest as you watch him make his way through the crowd in your direction. 

“Hey there!” Marcus calls out, his voice cutting through the festive noise with a warmth that sends a thrill through you. He stops just in front of you, his gaze shifting from you to Harold and then back to you. a gentle smile lingering on his face.

“Hey,” you say back, your voice a mix of surprise and excitement, momentarily forgetting all about Harold’s policy monologue. You’re suddenly aware of how the spiced wine feels warm in your hand, and how the alcohol is warming you up from the inside. 

“Am I interrupting something?” Marcus asks, his tone light and polite as he glances at Harold, who immediately seems to deflate under the charming weight of Marcus’s presence.

“Oh, not at all!” Harold replies. “Just discussing the new compliance protocols for next year. Absolutely riveting stuff, I assure you.” 

“Oh, I can imagine. You must tell me about them after the holidays,” Marcus says, his smile is easy, and the way he leans casually against the table makes your heart skip a beat as he turns to you again. “I’ve been meaning to talk with you all night. I need to ask you about something for the report on the Sollery case.”

You can’t help but smile. There is no Sollery case, but you’re not about to correct him. Instead you play along, immensely grateful for Marcus’ graceful way of saving you from Harold’s relentless monologue. “Of course,” you reply, your heart racing as you revel in the attention. The warmth of the spiced wine seems to spread throughout your body, mingling with the butterflies flitting around in your stomach.

You say a polite goodbye to Harold before he can dive back into another detailed explanation of compliance, the relief washing over you as you follow Marcus to a quieter corner in the other end of the room. The festive music swells around you, but it feels like a distant hum compared to the electricity crackling between you and Marcus.

“So, what do you need to know about the ‘Sollery case’?” you ask, a teasing lilt to your voice, eager to maintain the playful banter. 

He chuckles softly, his brown eyes shining as he looks at you, a slight flush is dusting his cheeks, from the alcohol you assume. He looks adorable. 

“You looked like you needed a rescue,” he replies, his voice low and conspiratorial, “and I just couldn’t let you endure another second of Harold’s riveting lecture on compliance protocols. I mean, I love the guy, but sometimes it feels like listening to paint dry.”

You let out a genuine laugh, the sound buoyed by the atmosphere around you. “You have no idea how grateful I am. I was convinced I’d have to start counting the decorations on the tree just to stay awake.”

Marcus grins, a hint of mischief dancing in his eyes. “Well, I’m glad I could save you. I can’t let our brightest agent fall asleep at the Christmas party. That would be a tragedy.” 

He nudges you playfully with his elbow, and you feel your heart race at the light touch.

“And uhm, speaking of saving,” he continues, his expression turning slightly more serious but still warm, the flush on his cheeks  darkening just the slightest. “I was wondering if you’d like to come over to my place after this? I have a bottle of whiskey that I think we could both use after the year we’ve had.”

Your breath catches for a moment, the invitation hanging in the air between you like the lighted ornaments strung above your heads. “Whiskey?” you ask, feigning nonchalance while your heart races with excitement. “What kind?”

“Only the best,” he replies, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. “I promise it’s not eggnog.”

You laugh, feeling the tension ease slightly. There’s something about the way he looks at you, something that makes you feel seen in a way that you haven’t before. “Well, I do like whiskey,” you say, your voice teasing. 

“Great,” he says, his smile broadening, and you can’t help but feel a swell of happiness at his invitation. This is more than just a drink; it feels like a chance to finally connect with him outside of work, away from the watchful eyes of colleagues.

You take a sip of your spiced wine, trying to calm the excitement bubbling within you. You stay at the party for a bit, chatting and laughing with your colleagues together with Marcus, the warmth of his presence enveloping you like a cozy blanket. After about an hour Marcus leans in a little. “Ready to get out of here?” 

You nod eagerly, a smile spreading across your face at the thought of leaving the crowded FBI office behind. “Absolutely,” you reply, your voice light with anticipation. The idea of spending time alone with Marcus makes your heart flutter, and you feel a rush of excitement as you both make your way towards the exit.

The cold december air hits you as you step outside, a stark contrast to the warmth of the office, but it’s refreshing. Marcus walks beside you, his presence comforting as you both navigate the snow-dusted sidewalk. The streetlights shimmer against the night sky. You make light conversation as you walk towards the metro station. 

The city is alive with holiday lights, casting a warm glow over the streets. You can’t help but steal glances at Marcus as you walk next to him, the way he moves with a casual confidence, his laughter still echoing in your ears. The anticipation of what the night holds has your heart racing, a mix of nerves and excitement simmering just beneath the surface.

As you approach the metro station, the atmosphere shifts slightly. The previous bustle of the office party has now faded  completely into the background of your mind, and the intimate setting with just you and Marcus now feels charged with a new energy. You both descend the steps to the platform, the sound of your footsteps echoing off the concrete walls.

“So,” Marcus begins, his tone light, “how are you spending your holiday season this year?”

You chuckle, leaning against the cool metal railing. “Alone,” you admit with a playful shrug, trying to keep the mood light. “Just me, some takeout, and a few too many holiday movies. It’s gonna be casual.”

Marcus raises an eyebrow, a hint of disbelief mixed with amusement playing on his lips. “Alone? What about family or friends?”

“I mean, I have family, but they’re several states away, and I’d rather not deal with the holiday chaos,” you reply, a hint of defensiveness slipping into your tone. “Plus, my couch and a good movie sound pretty appealing right now.”

“Fair enough,” he says, his expression softening. “I’m spending Christmas alone too this year—just me and a stack of books I’ve been meaning to tackle.” He chuckles, a genuine warmth in his eyes. “I guess we’re both in the same boat, huh?”

“You’re not going back to Texas over the break?”

“Nah, I decided to stay here this year. I love my family, and it would be nice to see them, but a lot happened back home before I transferred. Kind of left there heartbroken and I’m not sure I’m ready to go back just yet, even though I’m mostly over it,” he replies, glancing at you with a slightly embarrassed smile.

You nod in understanding, the weight of his words resonating with you. You open your mouth, you want to say something, even though you’re not even sure about what to say, but then the train arrives with a rush of wind and a clatter of metal on metal. You both step back, momentarily distracted by its arrival. As it slows to a halt, the doors slide open.

Marcus gestures for you to enter first, and you can’t help but notice the way he stands just a little closer than necessary, the warmth of his body radiating towards you. You step into the metro car and find a place to settle in, the metallic seats cool against your skin. Marcus sits beside you, his shoulder brushing against yours, sending a thrill of excitement through you.

As the train starts moving, the rhythmic clattering of the tracks fills the silence, and you glance sideways at Marcus. He’s looking out the window, the lights reflecting in his eyes, and for a moment, you just take him in. There’s something undeniably comforting about being with him, an ease that feels almost electric.

“Is it your first time spending Christmas alone?” you ask, breaking the comfortable silence, your voice soft. “It’s my first time, my first time spending the whole holiday alone…  I’m starting to worry it might be a bit lonely.”

He turns his gaze back to you, his expression thoughtful. “Yeah, it is my first time, but it’s just a few days, right? I think it might be good though, to have some time to regroup. Plus,” he adds with a smirk, “I can’t wait to binge-watch whatever I want, I haven’t had time to watch a show in ages.”

You laugh, the sound bubbling up easily. “True! That’s a definite perk.”

“And, you know, if I’m lucky, I might even get to finish that book series I’ve been meaning to read,” he says, an excited, almost boyish, glint in his eyes.

“What series?” you ask, genuinely curious.

“It’s a fantasy series,” he replies, his enthusiasm infectious. “It’s about dragons and magic and all that good stuff. I know it sounds really nerdy, but it’s amazing!”

You can’t help but let out a little chuckle, hiding your mouth behind your glove covered hand. He really doesn’t have any idea about how adorable he is, and it warms your heart. “Of course, you’re a fantasy nerd,” you giggle, shaking your head gently.  

 Marcus feigns offense, his eyes widening in mock indignation. “I’ll have you know that fantasy is a very legitimate genre! It’s all about world-building, character development, and epic battles. Plus, who wouldn’t want to ride a dragon?” He leans in closer, a playful glint in his eyes, and you can’t help but lean in too, drawn by his enthusiasm.

“Okay, okay, you make a compelling argument,” you concede, laughter still dancing in your voice.

“Seriously, you should give it a try. I think you will like it actually.”

“I might just take you up on that,” you say, your heart racing with the idea of sharing something with him. “Maybe I’ll start it over the holidays,” you reply, smiling at him. “I could use some good escapism.”

He smiLes at you, but you don’t get to talk more about it. The train begins to slow as it approaches your stop, and Marcus shifts slightly, his arm brushing against yours again. You feel a warmth spreading through you, a sense of closeness that makes your heart flutter.

As the doors slide open, you both step out into the crisp night air. The walk to his place is short but filled with light-hearted banter and laughter.

Finally, you reach his townhouse. Unlocking the door, Marcus leads you inside, turning on the light of the hallway as he closes the door behind you. He takes your coat hanging it on the coat hanger while you take off your boots before showing you to the living room. The cozy setting, filled with soft light and comfy looking furniture, feels welcoming and familiar.

Marcus moves to the kitchen, and you take a moment to look around. The walls are lined with shelves filled with books, and a few framed pictures catch your eye—some of him with friends, others of family, and one of him as a kid with a goofy grin on his face.

“Make yourself at home,” he calls out from the other room, you can hear the clink of glasses.

You settle onto the plush couch, feeling a wave of contentment wash over you as you sink into the cushions. The warmth of the room envelops you, and you can’t help but smile softly as you take it all in. 

Moments later, he reappears with two glasses in hand, a bottle of whiskey perched under his arm. “I hope you like it neat,” he says, pouring a generous amount into each glass and handing one to you. “Cheers to a surprisingly delightful holiday evening.”

You clink your glass against his, the sound ringing with a sense of promise. “Cheers,” you echo, taking a sip. The rich, smooth flavor warms you from the inside out, and you savor the moment. “Thank you for having me, and thank you for saving me from Harold earlier.” 

Marcus chuckles, the sound warm and genuine. “Anytime. I’d take a night with you over compliance protocols any day,” he replies, leaning back against the couch, his glass resting comfortably in his hand.

“Ditto,” you smile in response. You watch him, the way his eyes light up when he talks, how he seems to genuinely enjoy your company. The atmosphere is relaxed, filled with the soft hum of distant holiday music coming from his speakers. The tension you felt earlier at the party has melted away, replaced by a sense of ease that envelops you both.

“You know…” Marcus’ expression changes as he leans forward to put his glass down on the coffee table. “I was thinking… Since you are spending the holiday alone, and I’m spending it alone, and you said you were scared that it might get lonely…” He takes a deep breath before continuing and you feel your heart fluttering in your chest as you realize where this is going. “Maybe... we could make it a little less lonely together?” His voice is soft yet hopeful, and you can see the sincerity in his brown eyes.

Your heart skips a beat at the suggestion. “That sounds nice.”

“It does?” 

“Yeah, it really does,” you respond, your voice steady despite the fluttering excitement beneath the surface. “I’d love to spend the holiday with you. It sounds… perfect, actually.”

A smile spreads across Marcus’s face, a mix of relief and joy that makes your heart swell. “Yeah, really perfect...”

Unbeknownst to the two of you, this would be the first of many, many holidays spent together.

[lilithofpenandbook]

You know what, I'm not interested in whatever trauma and abuse Sirius Black got from going against his family.

I'm interested in what trauma he is responsible for in the others.

You can't just act out in a family like that and be the only one in trouble. What about his brother? His cousins? How much did his actions hurt them?

I can imagine Bellatrix in her teens, charged with keeping her sisters and cousins under control, as the eldest daughter that's her job. Sirius, refusing to co-operate. Sirius, in his mind being the hero, rebelling and pushing and misbehaving to spite this family. He gets punished for it, of course, he's embarrassed the family, after all. But Bellatrix is also punished even more. Because she was responsible for him, she should have stopped him, what use is she?

Or he messes around in Hogwarts. Gets letters sent home about his behaviour. And yes, he receives Howlers about his behaviour. But what he doesn't realise, as he wallows in his wounds, is that across the hall at the Slytherin table, Regulus is also suffering from a Howler because he should have sorted his brother out, he should have stopped him, been a good influence. No praise for being the top of his class, nope, just reproaches for not preventing his brother from messing around.

And then after Sirius ran away?

They couldn't punish Sirius for that.

His parents aren't going to blame themselves for it.

No, it's Regulus's fault for not stopping him or telling them. It's Bellatrix's fault. It's Andromeda's fault. It's Narcissa's fault.

Sirius believed himself to be good and noble, rebelling against his family's evil ways. He's convinced they hate him because of him being on the side of good. But they don't care what side he's on. All they care about is the fact that they were punished repeatedly for what he did. And that's why they hate him. What good is his "noble" heart, if it got them in trouble? When he saw Bellatrix after she'd been punished and scoffed and said she deserved it for being a stuck up blood purist? When he saw Regulus with red eyes after his achievements were pushed aside to focus on Sirius's bad behaviour and all Sirius said was that Regulus was a coward and a baby?

Just something I think about

[beybaldes]

*･゜ﾟ･* okay so more then one person (thank you anons and reblogs and comments <333) asked for it so… (also super special shout-out to my love @alwritey-aphrodite who’s talented mind is always full of the most perfect Sejanus thoughts and is always willing to talk them through with me <33)*･゜ﾟ･* mention of smut but non written

sejanus plinth as your oblivious boyfriend

- okay so first things first, the obliviousness very much comes across as innocence to most to people

- it definitely doesn’t help that he blushes every time you look at him or touch him or talk to him either

- wether reaching for your hand, kissing you, holding you, it doesn’t matter Sejanus’s cheeks are deep red and hot to the touch

- it’s ridiculously sweet and so Sejanus

- that’s something you notice really quickly into your relationship; that everything he does is just so… him

- one of those being the way he squeezes your hands to let you know he loves you because sometimes he struggles to get the words out (because he just gets speechless around you)

- or the way he will drag you into his lap at every given convenience because he loves it more then anything

“wait, there’s no more chairs, let me grab one.” You pressed a chaste kiss to Sejanus’s lips, missing the way his cheeks flushed as you turned to find an empty seat to bring to the table. “Be one second.”

“No need, sweetheart.” Sejanus wrapped his hand around your wrist, pulling you into his lap with a soft thud. His arm almost immediately wrapped around your waist and squeezed, while the other moved from your wrist to your hand, playing with your fingers. He turns his head slightly to face yours, noses brushing at the suddenly closer proximity between the two of you - taking advantage of the position he finds himself in, Sejanus captures your lips with his in a soft, loving kiss. When he finally pulls away leaving your breathless, he looks a little disheveled, and you think you fall in love with him a little more. “Sorry Coryo, you were saying?”

- another of those being how he kisses you like there’s no tomorrow every damn time, like it’s the last time he’ll ever do it and he has to get all of his emotions out and into you

- fucks you like that too

- after your first kiss in the hallway of the academy however, it does take him a while to build up the confidence for him to kiss you without you initiating it (just like he had to with holding your hand)

- and when he finally initiates a kiss for the first time, it’s in his bedroom while Ma and Mr Plinth are downstairs

legs tangled together, your head against his chest, uniforms wrinkling as you cuddled further into each-other and Sejanus’s fingers ran through your hair. “And that one is andromeda.”He pointed at the glow in the dark stars that he and his ma had stuck to his bedroom ceiling when he first moved to the capital. “And beside her is Perseus. Two lovers immortalised in the stars forever.”

“How did they become lovers?” You asked, turning to look up at sejanus, your cheek pressing against his chest.

“They believe that on his way home from slaying Medusa, Perseus found Andromeda chained to a rock as she was supposed to be sacrificed to a sea god. But instead, he killed the sea monster, saved andromeda and married her.” Sejanus smiles and it’s the most beautiful thing you’ve seen; something soft and all-consumed with the love he feels for you. “I think they are my favourite constellations.”

You leaned into the crook of his neck, pressing a kiss under his jaw, and then returning to your place against his chest, ear against his beating heart. “And why’s that Sej?”

He looked down at you, a soft smile pulling on his lips. “They remind me of us.” Before you could ask how they did, he continued with an explanation, his hand moving to cradle your face. “Feel like you found me… saved me. You saw the boy from the districts when no one else did, saved me from losing that part of me to the claws of the Capitol, and one day - if I’m lucky - maybe you’ll marry me too.”

When he finishes speaking the two to you are looking at each other, lips a hairs length apart and just begging to share a kiss. As you’re about to ask, Sejanus leans forward and puts his lips on yours - the first time he’s ever kissed you, rather then you kissing him - and it ignited a hunger in the pit of your stomach. Leaning into the kiss, you wrapped the arm that had previously been across his stomach around his neck, pulling yourself further up his body and into his touch. Sejanus aided in your mission, lifting you over him so that you now sat in his lap, lips never leaving the touch of the other the entire time. You have no doubt that the kids would’ve escalated further if it hadn’t been for the shout of his Ma calling the two of you for dinner.

when you finally pull away from each-other it’s with heaving chests, tousled hair, swollen lips and red cheeks. “you’re quite the charmer, sejanus, did you know?”

a laugh bubbled from Sejanus’s chest, his head tilting back and hitting the headboard gently as she admired you. “if the way you kissed me has anything to say on the matter, then, yes, yes I do.”

- dinner, this time at least, was still warm when you made it to the table to meet his parents for the first time as his partner

- however the first time you’d ever come over to the plinths house was just as his friend, but Ma had known from the moment she saw you, the two of you would end up together

- so had Strabo, not that he’d ever admit he cared enough to know

- you had been 9 years old and walked in their front door hand in hand with their son; who they’d so far assumed had made no real friends in the Capitol

- you had a wide and bright smile with two missing front teeth, and you didn’t even say hello, dragging Sejanus upstairs before he could even say anything to his own parents

- only when you’d finally got upstairs did you pause, turning to Sejanus with a laugh

“Which one is your room?”

- and when Ma called the two of you down for dinner, she finally heard you speak for the first time

“I loved those cookies you made Ma, did you learn how to make them in district 2?”

- that sentence alone had made her certain the two of you would be perfect for each other: not only had Sejanus shared his treats with you, but he’d been comfortable enough to talk about his life in district two with you

- sure, everyone knew the plinths were from two, but that was because of gossips and the arrival of new people to the capital(which never happened) but you were the first person he’d willingly told, and she knew that meant something

- Ma is literally your biggest supporter, always routing for the two of you to be together and happy

- ALWAYS calling you sweetheart, like nonstop 24/7, all day, everyday, everywhere

“sweetheart, you’ve got… here, lemme.” “um, actually, sweetheart…” “come ‘ere, sweetheart, let me get a closer look at that gorgeous face of yours.” “fuuuck, sweetheart, just like that, don’t stop, keep going.” “gimme a kiss, sweetheart.”

- however, when he’s not calling you sweetheart, Sejanus is loser bf incarnate

- like SUCH a loser but very much in an Andrew Garfield as Peter Parker kind of way

- you will be giving him every sign in the book, practically throwing yourself at him and he’ll just be like ‘what are we?’

- this doesn’t ever go away in the entire course of your relationship

- you’re very glad that you were so upfront about explaining your feelings for him initially because otherwise you know you wouldn’t have got together

- the first time you try and initiate anything more then kissing he had zero idea what was going on

‘sweetheart, what are you- ? I- ahhh- fuck- keep going.’

- literally never initiates anything for the first time because he lives in this constant state of ‘what if they don’t really like me :((((‘

- he’ll still be like that if you’re 80 and old and grey and married

- like there are 10 million things you love about him and he doesn’t understand a single one for some strange reason???? And is always doubting himself?????

it’s nearly midnight and Sejanus still can’t sleep. he’s tried, he really, really has - he’s tossed and turned, cracked open the window, counted sheep and tried drinking warm milk like his ma used to make, but nothing was working. the cool air of a mid summers night breezes through the bedroom as he turns on his side to face you, beautiful you. You who’s hair spreads out against the in a hall around your head, who is sleeping peacefully yet still turns into the warmth of Sejanus’s touch when he wraps an arm around you. He doesn’t know what he’s ever done or will do to justify the universe letting him be yours. He hopes in the darkest hour of the summers night he’ll never have to find out.

“You should take a picture.” You murmured, breaking the warmed silence of the room. “It’ll last longer.” a smile curled on your lips even as you kept your eyes closed, turning your head deeper into the soft pillow in hopes sleep would find you again. when it didn’t, Sejanus’s eyes still on you keeping you awake, you pulled yourself closer to him, eyes finally opening. “What’s wrong baby… can’t sleep?”

“Why are you with me?” Sejanus asked bluntly, face lacking the warmth it usually held. “Like, seriously, why? I don’t-“

you cut him off with a firm poke to his shoulder. “Don’t even go there.” A hand came up to caress his cheek, running along the smile lines that had only deepened with age. Sejanus leaned into your touch, eyes closing as he preened into the love that exuded from your palm alone. “I can’t name a single thing I don’t absolutely, completely, utterly and truly love about you.”

Your hand moved to run through his curls, still as dark as when you’d met him, but now with streaks of grey running through it. He looked so handsome growing old, especially at your side. “I love how kind and selfless you are, and how you stand up for what you think is right regardless of what others think. I love how you know who you are and how you know everyone you loves coffee order just in case. I love how your brows pinch when you’re confused or worried and how your smile lights up every room you walk in to. God, Sejanus, I’d marry you again, and again, and again, if I could.”

Sejanus pressed a gentle kiss to your lips, a slightly softer one immediately pressed to the skin just under your eyelid as soon as your lips left yours. “Thank you.” He whispered, as if saying it could make you take it all back. “I love you.”

- he’s so freaking in love with you

an : thanks for the love on the first part!! Hope you enjoyed mwah <33

tags : @marjorieisreading @celestialstar111 <33

[readychilledwine]

Kissed by Fire pt 2

Summary - Amelia Archeron, the oldest of the made sisters, sacrificed more than her sisters would ever understand, and more than she would ever allow them to know. Now, they want her to sacrifice her one chance at happiness, too.

Warnings - talks of sex work, beron, implied abuse, Lucien getting to be the smartest, person in a room.

Series Masterlist Eris Masterlist Master Masterlist

Eris sat at a silent family breakfast. Per tradition, no one spoke. No one had spoken at breakfast since Lucien's exile.

Beron no longer allowed casual conversation between his sons. No discussion of how their days were laid out, of who was covering which territory for the day, of how they slept.

Beron no longer allowed brotherhood. At least, not in front of him.

The note casually passed under the table started at their mother. He soft elegant script gracing the page. It had gone to the now youngest Hermes, his red hair was shaved on the right side with an intricate pattern and then curled on the top. He showed no reaction on his face before waiting for the next opportunity of Beron Speaking down to a servant over the quality of something she had no control over to pass it to Ares. The smug idiot also controlled his face as he continued eating and scratched his facial stubble that he had allowed to grow for much too long. He then waited for Beron to look away, passing the note to the second oldest whom Eris immediately shot a look. Apollo had always been the diplomatic one, the scholar interested in music and arts much more than any throne. He played his part well, but the male was easy to read. He kept his face cold and indifferent, waiting for the chance to pass the note To Eris.

Eris was the riskiest pass. He was constantly sitting at his father's right hand. A testament to his efforts and the cruelty he'd inflicted for the sake of his mother, his brothers, himself.

Lunch and tea at noon? Your father is going to the Winter Borders Today.

It wasn't even a question in Eris's mind. His mother could ask him to carve his own heart out and he would say yes.

Walking alongside Beron was something Eris longed to end. He always felt an almost slime growing on him when he had to. He listened carefully as Beron's spymaster, an undereducated ruddy looking male who hardly could gather anything worth knowing, handed him a folder.

“Rumor has it the King of Hybern got a hold of the 3 older Archeron sisters and threw them in the Cauldron,” he paused as Beron did. A look of disbelief flashes in his father's eyes as he opens the Report. “All three of them emerged fae.”

“And where did this rumor come from?”

The male looked at Beron, a small smirk forming, “Ianthe. She's currently in Spring with the curse breaker. Tamlin and the boy witnessed the whole thing.” The simple mention of Lucien had Eris looking up. “One of the sisters is evidently his mate.”

Chill set over Eris at that thought. It settled when he looked at his father's face. In place of the normally stone cold mask was a smile, not one of joy or happiness. One that promised if he ever got his hands on that poor girl, she would suffer, just so Lucien did. Just so his mother did. “Find out if this is accurate and let Eris know as soon as possible. Then find out which sister.” Beron slapped the report on Eris's chest. “Ensure your mother does not learn of this until it is convenient for me.”

Eris went to the tearoom his mother and brothers sat in, stress lining his every muscle like a heavy coat as he did. “I have news,” he watched as they all sighed heavily. “Lucien has a mate,” he threw the papers down. “I am guessing these three are why Azriel came to me a few weeks ago.”

Andromeda held the papers tight, reading each line over and over. “This changes things,” her voice was soft, breaking slightly at what this could mean. “You four need to be ready.”

Hermes leaned back, nodding as he did.

Ares took the reports next, Studying them hard. “You said the shadowsinger made you a deal right? Can you use it to force Rhysand into a bargain?”

Apollo sighed heavily, having dealt with Rhysand the most in the 50 years they were all trapped together. “Rhysand isn't going to bargain for his assistance unless his family is at risk. That's his sole motivation in his world. Not his court. Not himself. His family.”

“We need more,” Eris concluded. “Helion might not be enough. Tamlin is an unstable support. Kal is unknown. Thesan is going to hand his support on a platter just because he hates Beron. Rhysand-”

“Has no hound in the race,” his mother finished with a distant look over her shoulder towards the window. Towards the sunlight she could never fully bathe herself in. “Find one.”

Amelia hated Rhysand. She leaned across a table from him, blinking at him like he was an absolute idiot. “If I could access it, I could learn to control it, Rhysand.”

The High Lord sighed. “And when you open a gate to Mother knows where, Welcoming Mother knows what into my court and home, what then Amelia?”

It had taken Amren the better part of three weeks. Three long weeks Amelia had spent on constant faebane.

She hardly ate anymore, not that she really was before.

All glow and color had left her skin, leaving her pale and lifeless.

Her eyes constantly held dark circles from dreamless sleep.

Rhysand saw the parallel. He was not foolish or blind. It ate at him, nagging loudly in the back of his mind and pounding over and over again whenever he'd shut his eyes.

He kept lying to himself, pretending it was for Amelia's own good.

There had not been a worldwalker since Amren first appeared. And even those thousands of years ago, the walkers were rumors. Ghosts in the wind passed down by busy body gossips who believe they possibly saw a gate open and close.

“And what will you do if I just refuse to take it?”

Rhys looked up at Amelia, a sympathetic glaze to his eyes as he began to hold her mind and force her to drink the tainted wine. “It wouldn't matter,” his voice was flat. “I am sorry Amelia, but until we find out more, this is what I have to do to keep you safe.”

“Safe,” she whispered the word back like it was poisoned. “You all promised us that word before and failed,” she stood ignoring the look of pain that flashed on his face, on Cassian's, on Azriel's. “Hopefully you fail this time too.” She left the room, slamming the door so hard the frames shook.

Amelia walked down the hall, shutting her door Behind her and curled into her blanket, smiling at the familiar scent that screamed Autumn.

Amelia pulled out the map of Pryithian She had ripped out of a book. Studying it hard one more time.

She'd make it out of this damned court.

Even if she had to burn it to the ground to do so.

Lucien read the note over and over again. It had come to him through the hearth. It smelled of roasted chestnuts and a crackling fire.

He wished he could bask in it. He wished he could bottle up the scent and bathe in it, take comfort in it during nights when his dreams plagued him.

The sense of security the scent brought him was almost mocking as he read his mother's handwriting over and over.

“Beron knows. He knows about your mate. Hide her. Run away with her.”

Lucien sat on his bed, sending a silent prayer to the Cauldron. He had planned on running with Feyre anyways. He had been trying to find a way out for them for a week now, but the damn twins went everywhere with them.

Lucien hid the note as his door opened without a knock, “What do you want, Ianthe?”

“There's something in the forest. Tamlin told me to take you to look at it.”

Several days had passed since Amelia and Rhys fought. They had only spoken in passing, the female holding her head high and refusing to apologize. The high lord returned the sentiment. He had started having to have Azriel or Cassian watch her drink the tea, or else she would dump it according to the twins.

She had lost weight. Way too much weight. Her and Elain were walking skeletons. Rhys entered Amelia's room, heart falling at the sight of each bone visible in her back. “Feyre has escaped Spring. Lucien is coming with her.”

Amelia nodded. “Elain's mate. How does your dear Shadowsinger feel about that?”

Her bored tone had Rhys immediately irritated. “Do you not care that your youngest sister is currently on the run?”

She raised a brow, crossing her arms over the sweater that was now much too large for her. “I trust Feyre's abilities to get herself out of anything she walks into. I've had no choice but to do that for years,” she moved towards the window. “You do not know everything, Rhysand, you do not know the extent of my care nor the sacrifice I made.”

He sat in the chair he always took, “Because you refuse to tell me, Amelia. You refuse to tell me what oh so wonderful sacrifice you made while your younger sisters were cold and starving.”

Her mind flashed to that cabin, chopping wood for hours straight, stacking it nicely. To prepare them breakfast and leaving it to warm over a fire. Just for her to leave the house without eating and head to the pleasure house.

She'd leave before they woke, and return long after they slept.

Each night she'd hide money in Feyre's bags. Enough to get them food for the next week, if her younger Sister didn't decide to treat herself to unnecessary paints and brushes, then tuck the rest into another bag.

A bag she hoped to eventually gain enough gold stashed inside of to buy them a home.

One that wasn't one windstorm from falling apart.

“How long did you work there,” his voice broke. “How little were you paid to lay there.”

Amelia's father had lost and gambled away their wealth when Amelia was 15. “The second father was hunted down, so I went there. I was 15. I worked there long after that raging fluff ball decided we were his charity case. That's how Jurian found me. He bought me for the night using enough money that they'd turn a blind eye to whatever he wanted to do to me. The house took 90% of my Earnings. 20% would go towards paying off my debt to them so I could be free. They pocketed the rest. I'd take home a measly 10%.”

She could see the disgust washing over him. “How much was an hour with you?”

She shrugged, "Depended on what he wanted to do. I had a male pay 30 gold to beat me once. I had a male pay 50 to do things I never want to speak about again.”

Rhys nodded. “Why don't they know?”

“Because High Lord, nothing says hold on to your hopes like finding out your sister fucks for coin.”

She watched Rhysand get a distant look in his eyes, “I have to go. She's here.” Amelia nodded. “I will give her your love, even if you won't ask me to.”

She paused, looking at him in shock. He moved to her, kissing her temple softly. “No one will ever touch you without your consent again. I promise. Just give me time for the rest. We are still searching.”

Something soft was in his eyes. Something akin to care. To love.

It made Amelia feel bile set in her stomach followed by guilt.

Despite her anger and insults, he was trying.

And maybe, she should try too.

Lucien sat on the couch across from the oldest Archeron sister. He was trying to process her outfit. “Where did you get that sweater?” His brother's sweater, Lucien didn't say the words after a look from Azriel and Cassian told him not to.

“Az brought it to me,” Lucien hummed at her response.

They were studying each other. Trying to figure out each other's ticks like it was their passion project in court training. “Why do you smell like faebane?”

She countered immediately, “Why do YOU smell like faebane?”

“Poisoned by the same whore of a priestess who sold you out,” Lucien leaned back, raising and nodding for her explanation.

“Being forced to take it because that whore of a priestess had me thrown into an oversized Cauldron and it did something to me.”

“Enough,” Azriel said softly. “This conversation is done.”

“What do you mean?” Lucien pushed despite the warning.

“I can see strings,” Amelia said softly. “They're all different. Different colors, smells, materials. Some sparkle like what they're connected to is active and alive. Some are duller like light can't fully reach the end I can see.”

Lucien felt his face dropping, unable to school a reaction due to his exhaustion. “And these strings, when you touch them, can you hear anything? See anything?”

She nodded. “Between teas when they come back, I can reach them. One was dark, cold, when I touched it I heard a woman's voice. It sounded like someone was singing a dark song as she spoke in a language I didn't understand. Another time there was a string that almost seemed to glow. I could hear laughter, strange music, another language I didn't know.”

The three males shared a look. This was more information than they had gotten from her in a month, "Amelia, the night you followed me, did you pull one of the strings?”

She looked to Azriel, blue eyes sad. “In my sleep, yes. It smelled like fire and apples,” Lucien's stomach fell. “I was drawn to whoever you were speaking with. Like their voice was enough to keep me warm. Like they'd be enough to keep me safe.”

Azriel felt his face pale when she turned away and stood to leave the room.

“I think I already know the answer, but who were you with?”

Cassian sighed, sitting down. “He went to Eris. To get that sweater and a blanket in hopes he would enchant them. Amelia can't hold warmth since the Cauldron.”

“Has she met him?” They shook their heads. “I'd keep her away from him.” Azriel knew what Lucien was suggesting and voiced soft agreement. “Beron can't get his hands on a Realm Walker. It'd be too dangerous for every court and world she got him to.”

Lucien sipped the tea he had staring at the fire. "You should also check resources from Vallahan instead of here. The last recorded Realm Walker was born and trained there. Helion would be able to get his hands on some of their notes."

General Taglist:

@hnyclover @glitterypirateduck @slytherinindisguise @mischiefmanager @bloodicka @starsinyourseyes

Kissed by Fire Taglist:

@justdreamstars @coralseacourt @kemillyfreitas @impossibelle @starsinyourseyes @the-sweet-psycho @believinghurts

[novamirmirsblog]

Amorntenia

Genre: fluff, hurt/comfort?

Request: no

Summary: a potion that allowed you to smell your crush - what could go wrong?

Notes: tba

Smarts had never been Narcissa’s problem. If anything, perhaps her intelligence had hindered her. Intellectually she understood attraction, understood why boys like Lucius found her pretty and how girls like Andromeda found boys like Tonks handsome. She could appreciate a good jawline or well tended hair as well as the next person and she had no shortage of suitors who loved to take her out into Hogsmeade. Her issue arose with the topic of supposed ‘soulmates’. So, when Slughorn told the class they would be making Amortenia potions, Narcissa rolled her eyes.

You, a half-blood witch, as Narcissa loved to remind you, were reluctant for a very different reason. Being placed in Slytherin meant Narcissa had the joy of constantly arguing with you. In your third year, the rivalry got so bad that it seemed that the two of you had spent more time in the infirmary than you had in your dorm. You had a sneaking suspicion you knew what your potion would smell like. You were in your fifth and final year at Hogwarts and somewhere between the pranks gone wrong and the infirmary visits, you had unfortunately developed a slight crush on Narcissa.

What started as annoyance at how her hair was so bouncy turned into awe, the annoyingly smug look she got on her face slowly turned cute and her swirling blue eyes - well they were always stunning.

To Narcissa’s surprise she smelt something. She inhaled deeper, letting the scent curl into her nose and down her throat. She could almost taste the combination of honeysuckle and warm oak. It wasn’t an unfamiliar smell but Narcissa refused to acknowledge who it belonged to. Unfortunately, her overactive mind refused to forget. Where before she had managed to block the thoughts of those around her, one particular person’s thoughts practically screamed at her.

Narcissa’s legilimency had been a closely guarded secret. She struggled in her first year at Hogwarts, not accustomed to being around so many unfiltered thoughts, but she soon learnt how to drown them out. Mostly she just heard snippets of deeper desires. A few words here and there that, if pressed, would have developed into full thoughts. She liked to think of the thoughts people had like a garden; at the surface you had the flowers and grass - the conscious thoughts, then you had the roots - the subconscious thoughts that led to the conscious ones, and then there were the bees. The bees were the base desires; food, water, sleep, sex, and Narcissa always did her best to block those out.

Across the table, you shift uncomfortably under Narcissa’s gaze. It seems as though she has zoned out but the intensity of her gaze suggests otherwise. “Shit does she know… why is she staring… oh no she’s planning on getting revenge for the time I…”

Narcissa inhales sharply, building more barriers up between her mind and yours but doesn’t manage to look away from you.

“If you’ve got something to say Black, say it.” You let out, concern making your tone snappier than maybe it should have been.

Narcissa’s face morphs in front of you, her almost dazed look altering into her usual cold indifference. “What does yours smell of?”

“What does yours smell of?” You bite back

“Narcissa raised an eyebrow “I asked first, half-blood”

You let out a scoff “Vanilla.”

“How bland.” Narcissa responds as her chest does something funny. An unbidden thought that she doesn’t smell like vanilla crossed her mind but it was banished as quickly as it had come.

You lean back in your chair, studying her “I answered your question - now you tell me what yours smells like.” a smirk plays at your lips as you wait for Narcissa’s answer.

A rush of heat floods Narcissa’s face and she immediately freezes. She can’t tell you the truth.. This is not how a Black behaves - she does not like an irritating half-blood’s smirk. Still, the weight of your thoughts pressed against her hastily thrown up walls.

Why does she care so much about what my potion smells of? Should I have lied about what mine smelt like?

Narcissa stiffens “Stop thinking so loudly”

“Excuse me?”

Oops. She hadn’t meant to have said that.

For a long while neither of you spoke. Then, slowly, you lean towards Narcissa over the table, watching as her eyes dart between yours and her lip begins to work between her teeth - the only tell she is full of anticipation.

“Can you hear my thoughts?”

Narcissa lifts her chin defiantly “That’s none of your concern half-blood”

Your smirk widens “Oh but Cissy it is.” A flash of concern covers your face “Wait does this mean you can hear… everything?” Oh shit can she tell I lied? Does she know I - Shut UP ohmygosh think of anything else DO NOT THINK OF NARCIS- cats dogs horses fish goa-

“Oh would you look at that, it's the end of the lesson.” Narcissa hurried out of the class before she could hear any more.

~~~~~

Narcissa storms out of the library, her heart pounding far too quickly for her liking. A few days had passed since Slughorn’s lesson and, much to Narcissa’s annoyance, her thoughts had been solely on you. The corridor was dimly lit, betraying the amount of time Narcissa had spent pouring over books. She was sure the potion had gone wrong. Yes. That was the only reasonable explanation as to why her mind was constantly on you.

Narcissa had been doing a brilliant job at avoiding you. It was quite the feat really, considering you shared a dorm. Unfortunately, it seemed like her luck was about to run out. You had spotted Narcissa leaving the library and after days of not seeing her, decided to do something reckless.

Black!

Narcissa span around, coming face to face with you. “What?” she bit out.

“I knew you could hear me.”

Narcissa looked at you as you leaned lazily against one of the stone columns, arms folded. You looked far too smug for someone who should have been groveling for shouting in her head.

“You’re imagining things.”

“Am I?” You scoff as you take a slow step closer “If that’s the case then why haven’t I seen you for days? Why haven't you tried hexing me?”

She should hex you

She should silence you with a glare before returning to the Slytherin common room where she rightfully rules.

Rather, she does something foolish.

She reaches into your mind deliberately.

It’s intrusive, dangerous and entirely uncharacteristic of her but she needs to know. She needs to know if there is the chance that you could feel the same way.

Your base desires hit her like a sledgehammer

Cissa…hungry…neck…potion…wet…pretty…bite

Narcissa’s breath hitches.

“Well?” You ask, stepping even closer to her.

Narcissa forces herself to snap out of it, straightening her spine and trying to ignore the fluttery feeling she has. “Stay. Out. Of. My. Head.”

Your smirk falters slightly “What did you hear?”

“This was a mistake. You need to stay away from me half-blood”

~~~~~

In the weeks that follow, Narcissa does everything in her power to avoid you. She has swapped rooms with another girl, pretends not to notice when you enter a class and refuses to acknowledge the way her pulse quickens when she catches your gaze across the Great Hall. Most importantly, she refuses to be alone with you.

And yet, despite her best efforts, she can’t seem to escape you. Your thoughts still slip into her mind unbidden, when she least expects it. Faint echoes of irritation when she ignores you, flickers of hurt when she walks past you as if you're nothing.

Worst of all, she feels the ache of distance too.

The frustrating, infuriating pull of something unresolved.

What did you lie about?

How can you gaze at her like that and not have smelt her in your potion.

It all comes to a head late one evening in the Slytherin common room.

The common room is quiet, the fire crackling lazily in the hearth as a few students sit curled up in the emerald-green armchairs placed by the fireplace. Narcissa is sitting at one of the far tables, tucked away in a corner, going over a letter her aunt had sent her.

She doesn't have to look up to know you’re watching her. She had felt your presence the moment you had entered the room.

Your thoughts are filled with irritation fueled by hurt why does she keep ignoring me

Narcissa doesn’t react.

Then-

Fine. If she won’t speak to me then I’ll speak to her.

Narcissa barely has a moment to prepare before you’re dropping in the seat opposite her. You don’t say anything at first, just watching her as she refuses to look up from her letter.

Narcissa’s gaze lifts slowly “Do you mind?”

“Yes actually. I do.”

Narcissa exhales sharply “You’re being ridiculous.”

“Am I?” You tilt your head “Because from where I’m sitting, it looks like you are. Why have you been avoiding me?”

“I haven't been avoiding you. Perhaps you're just so odious that I can't stand to be around you.”

Narcissa was triumphant for a second before seeing the look on your face.

Thank god I didn’t tell her the potion smelt of her

Narcissa was stunned.

Her breath caught in her throat.

If you had had a crush on her before, there was no way you still would have one now. Not after how she had treated you these past few weeks. Her mind is a storm - anger, frustration, sadness. She hates the way her heart aches every time she pushes you away. Narcissa was so wrapped up in her own thoughts she hadn’t noticed the abrupt absence of your own.

She looked up and realised you were gone.

Why did this feel like the biggest mistake of her life?

~~~~~

It takes two more days before everything goes to shit.

It happens late at night, Narcissa had needed something mindless to distract her from the dull ache left in her chest. She’s walking through an empty hallway when she hears footsteps ahead of her.

Her heart stutters - she knows who it is.

“Wait-” She calls out “Don’t walk away again?” It wasn't supposed to come out a question but perhaps her uncertainty is what makes you pause.

You should keep going. Or say something cruel, cut her down like she has you, but you don’t. You’re just so tired.

Tired of pretending.

Tired of running.

Tired of not having Narcissa opposite you anymore.

Narcissa watches you, something raw and unguarded in her eyes. “Tell me the truth.”

“About what?” You swallow, curling your fingers at your sides.

“What did your potion smell of?”

“Narcissa, I can’t”

Narcissa’s jaw clenches. “Why not?”

“Please don’t make me”

Narcissa pauses, the broken tone of your voice cuts through her and she realises she’s going to have to be very brave. Braver than even a block-headed Gryffindor.

“My potion smelt of you, you know.”

There.

It’s out.

The truth is free. Narcissa feels exposed as she watches your expression soften slightly.

“Mine too.” A soft smile lights up your face “Uh- I mean mine smelt of you- not that it smelt of me” You stumbled over your words, your face heating up the longer you rambled.

“You’re such an idiot” she mutters.

You blink “Excuse me?”

Before you can get too offended, Narcissa reaches over and kisses you.

It’s not soft or delicate or anything innocent.

It’s a collision.

It’s what happens when an immovable object meets an unstoppable force.

It’s years of tension and defiance and longing.

For a second Narcissa freezes because your lips being on hers is real and terrifying and intoxicating, and she doesn’t know how to think. Maybe she misread the situation.

But then-

Then you grab her collar and pull her closer and for the first time she lets herself melt.

~~~~~

For weeks you and Narcissa steal moments in shadows.

A brush of fingers in a dim corridor, a lingering glance across the Great Hall, a whispered conversation in an empty classroom. When the risk is low, kisses - hidden behind bookshelves, behind statues, behind the very walls that had once confined her.

One evening, you pull Narcissa into a dark alcove, your eyes glinting with mischief “You know Cissa, I think you actually like sneaking around with me.”

Narcissa rolls her eyes “Don’t flatter yourself Half-blood”

Where before half-blood had left you feeling cold, you soon learnt that it was Narcissa’s way of defying her parents.

You smirk. “You’re literally hiding in the shadows to be with me.”

Narcissa arches a brow. “You’re the one who pulled me in here.”

You grin wildly. “You didn’t resist.”

She refuses to dignify that with a response. Instead, Narcissa grips your collar and pulls you down into a searing kiss, effectively shutting you up.

You hum against her lips. “I think I’m in love with you.”

Narcissa freezes.

you tense slightly, realising what you just let slip, but you don’t look away. You hadn’t meant to let that out but you were glad you had. Besides, it was only a matter of time before Narcissa found out. She had an unhelpful habit of using her skills to read your mind.

For a long moment, Narcissa just stares at you, heart pounding.

Then, finally, she exhales and whispers, “I think I am too.”

You blink, then grin - the kind of grin that makes her stomach flip. “Well, well. Narcissa Black. In love with me.”

Narcissa smacks your arm, but she’s smiling.

For the first time in her life, happiness isn’t something distant.

It’s here, in the stolen moments, in the quiet confessions, in the warmth of the one person who sees her—not as a Black, not as an expectation, but as herself.

[suzukiblu]

WIP excerpt for CactusCat; “from Andromeda to your eye". (( chrono || non-chrono ))

“You realize the hand-holding does not make this look any less like date night, right, Kid?” Serling Roquette asks, raising an eyebrow at Superboy as she snags a tablet covered in vintage-looking psychedelic stickers off the desk next to the clone and rolls to her feet. Even in the OSHA-disapproved platform heels, she’s short–shorter than both of them, and also much shorter than the clone realized, given how everything about her personality takes up space. Which–Superboy’s personality is like that too, obviously. Superboy takes up more space than anyone the clone can imagine. 

The clone can’t even imagine what having a personality like that would be like, but the idea makes her skin crawl. 

“Alright, I’mma need a blood sample or ten, dollface, and also maybe some bone marrow, though actually come to think about it I am not all that optimistic about gettin’ either of those off you, all things and presumable non-vulnerabilities considered,” Serling Roquette says, planting her hands–and the tablet–on her hips while looking the clone over and frowning skeptically to herself. “Hm. Well, how ‘bout we start with a cheek swab and some hair and a quick spin in the prelim scanners?” 

“Superboy can use tactile telekinesis, if you can guide the actual needle,” the clone says. “That should be strong enough to breach my skin. And bone, as needed.” 

“Ergh, babe,” Superboy says, making a face. “Okay well horrifying to know, thanks, but I guess also good to know right now. Doc?” 

“Yeah, lemme get my setup all set up, youngblood,” Serling Roquette says, then tucks her tablet under her arm and starts digging out said needles, along with multiple collection vials and a handful of sample kits and an oversized box of band-aids. Half of it is in eyewateringly fluorescent colors; all of it came out of scattered plastic tubs and boxes with more of those vintage-looking psychedelic stickers plastered all over them. 

The clone . . . really cannot imagine that the Agenda would’ve expected Serling Roquette’s lab to be anything like it apparently is. 

Serling Roquette dumps out the band-aids and collection vials on a convenient table and pulls on a pair of electric purple latex gloves with a sharp grin. The band-aids, the clone notes, are all various shades of neon and have leopard print on them. 

She really cannot imagine that the Agenda would’ve expected Serling Roquette’s lab to be anything like this, no.

[susiekern]

17. the one with the tour

warnings: swearing

word count: 945

masterlist

It was the days like this one, or should I say evenings, that you appreciated the most. When the world seems to slow down, giving you the space and air to breathe. To cherish the things you love the most.

On evenings like this, you’d get cozy in the living room with Nobara, both under a blanket, with warm tea and snacks on the coffee table and a dumb rom-com on the TV. Or maybe you’d spend it in Yuji and Megumi’s apartment, where the destined chef for the night would cook something for the group, as the rest sit patiently at the kitchen island with drinks and chat about things so irrelevant that normally it’d skip your minds. Some days, you and Megumi would escape from everyone and hide in either one of your rooms, playing games, cuddling, or just lying down with quiet music playing in the background. Sometimes he’d play the guitar and sing for you, watching as you relaxed on the bed with a book or just looked at him with pure adoration in your eyes.

It’s one of those evenings when you grab a blanket, something to drink, and climb up to the rooftop to stargaze. The weather is perfect, the cloudless night granting you a perfect view of constellations. You lay on the fluffy blanket, wrapped in Megumi’s hoodie, his warm body next to you, your fingers intertwined. Both of you have one earbud in, changing who’s choosing another song.

Your eyes are mostly stuck on the dark sky above you, tracing the constellations your grandfather taught you about all those years ago when you went camping.

“There’s the Andromeda. Oh, and big and small dogs, they’re chasing the hare that’s right there. They were named for Orion’s hounds.” You tell Megumi, pointing to the shapes with your finger. As you turn your head his way, you notice how his gaze is stuck on your side profile. “Sorry, I bet it’s boring.”

“Not at all. I just didn’t know you knew so much about the stars.” He squeezes your hand and gives you a smile.

“When I was little, my grandfather would take me, Yuji, and Ryo camping in the summer every year. We’d lit a campfire and stargazed for hours. He was passionate about Greek mythology and would tell us about the myths that the constellations were named after.” Your eyes are back on the sky. “It was my favorite day of the year.”

“I can’t imagine Yuji camping. He’d be gone day after day without the wifi.” Megumi jokes, putting his free arm behind his head.

“Yeah, he was the worst one. Ryo would prank him with insects every time.” Laughing, you nod and turn sideways to look at him.

With all the hustle coming with planning a tour, a setlist, and recording a few new songs, Megumi was so busy lately that you started to appreciate moments like this even more. You’d still see each other almost daily, but usually, he’d fall asleep on you or just listen to you talk about your day. So in moments like this one, when you could spend a few hours without anyone else, either Yuji, Nobara, or his band, you loved watching his relaxed face, admiring how calm he gets around you. It also calmed you in a way and pushed the thoughts about the tour to the back of your mind. Why would you worry about it now when he’s right next to you, his thumb is caressing your hand, and he hums the song that’s currently playing in your ears? It could wait another day or two.

“Do you have the favorite one?” He suddenly asks, ripping you out of your thoughts. You nod and look back up, searching for a moment.

“Ursa Minor, a little bear.” You point it out. “It was called after a nymph that nursed Zeus in the form of a bear when he was an infant.”

Megumi focuses on the stars for a moment, trying to memorize the shape.

“I’ll look for it.” He whispers, bringing your attention back to him. Your brows are furrowed when you turn his way, catching his gaze. “When we’re apart. It’ll remind me of you every night.”

You swear your heart stops for a second before it clenches almost painfully. Right, you can try to ignore it, but soon, he’ll be gone for probably three months, traveling the world. You won’t be able to just cross the hallway for a cuddle; you won’t feel his warmth and won’t steal a kiss when out with friends for three months. You’ll only hear his voice when you manage to fit in a call; you’ll only see his smile on the video call. Three months. Seems like an eternity after seeing each other almost daily for so long.

“Will it be toxic if I just chain you down in my room and won’t let you leave?” Your joke comes out weak, given how your voice is shaking and there are tears in your eyes, threatening to fall at any second now. You rest your head on Megumi’s chest, and his arms wrap around you instantly, pulling you closer.

“I wouldn’t be mad, honestly.” He says quietly and gives you a kiss on the forehead, his hands caressing your back. You stay like this until the cold has you escape the rooftop, but even then, you end up in Megumi’s room, bodies as close as possible, like you’re both trying to memorize how it feels. How it feels to have each other close, how it feels to be together, stealing the feeling and saving it in your minds for later.

tag list (lmk if you wanna be added!): @nytylie @fresa-luna @syrooo @zaranobiyuyu @jvpit3rr @pandabiene5115 @good-mourning0 @pearlydays @irwinchester @pxppetmxster @ivydoesit23 @zayuriluvs @applepi25 @s777athv @estella-novella @wgafa @pookalicious-hq @lovely-maryj @briezy04764 @evergumi

[peaceinpanem]

drarry - fake dating - muggle au

“Repeat what I just said back to me,” Draco instructed.

"Narcissa is your mother. I need to be polite, but not overly so because she can detect insincerity. Lucius is your father and is to be ignored at all costs. Ted is your uncle and a sworn enemy of your father, so they won't interact much, meaning he'll probably sit next to me at the table. Andromeda, the cool aunt, is sharp and may catch on to our act. Dora, the cousin, is laid-back and won't mention anything if they notice something is off. And then, of course, there's the forbidden aunt, Bellatrix. No mentions whatsoever. By the way, why bring up someone we're not allowed to talk about? I wouldn't have mentioned someone I didn't even know existed," Harry recited, kicking his feet up onto the immaculately clean dashboard of Draco’s obscenely expensive car.

Draco swatted at Harry's legs, admonishing, "That's dangerous, Potter. Ever heard of airbags?" as he navigated the sleek car through the winding, frosty country roads.

Rolling his eyes, Harry had a quip ready, but Draco continued his lecture before he could respond, "I told you about Bellatrix because forewarned is forearmed, Potter. It's better you know exactly what not to say instead of asking some insipid question like 'Do you have any other siblings?'" Draco explained, glancing briefly at Harry before returning to the road.

Harry leaned back in his seat, a smirk playing on his lips. "Harry."

Draco shot him a sidelong glance. "What?"

"Harry. You need to call me Harry, not Potter. I am your boyfriend, after all."

“Must I?”

Harry chuckled, “Well if you want this charade to be even the slightest bit convincing, you’ll have to make an effort. Wouldn’t want your family thinking we’re not madly in love, now would we?”

“Madly in love? Let’s not get carried away. Tolerably in a relationship is already pushing it,” Draco’s glare was piercing.

Harry grinned at the sharpness in Draco's words, the rigid posture he maintained, hands perfectly placed at 10 and 2 on the wheel. Pretending to be in love with the arrogant bloke would be a breeze, Harry thought; his real challenge was acting like he wasn't most days.

"So, does that mean open-mouthed kissing is off the table in front of your parents?" Harry asked, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

"I can't believe I agreed to this," Draco muttered, taking a sharp left turn.

Harry instinctively grabbed the handle, suppressing a grin. "Agreed? Malfoy, you practically begged me in the locker rooms to do this."

"Begged? I did no such thing. It was merely a mutually beneficial arrangement."

Harry raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence. "Mutually beneficial? So, what's the benefit for me, exactly?"

Draco scoffed. "The pleasure of my exquisite company, obviously."

Harry laughed, shaking his head. “You are insufferable, you know that?”

Draco ignored his insult, opting instead to reach for the dial to turn the music up a bit louder. 'It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas' filled the car with a sweet, smooth voice and tinkling bells. Harry turned to rest his head against the cool glass of the car window, taking a moment to enjoy the views.

The road was narrow, and every visible surface was coated in fresh white snow. Tree branches bent under the weight, and small bits of flurry fell from the sky. In the distance, cottages with windows aglow and smoke puffing from their chimneys added to the picturesque scene.

It was a pleasant surprise, spending time with Malfoy like this. Three years into playing on their university football team together, this was the first time they had spent any time alone, just the two of them, not surrounded by their teammates, coaches, and friends.

“How did your parents take it when you told them?” Harry asked.

“Told them what?”

“That you’re gay.” Harry chuckled, “I always wonder how my parents would have reacted, you know? Like if they were still here.”

“Potter, are you dense? This is me telling them.”

[stardusttheaters]

He didn't know where he was. He didn't know how he was. He wasn't even sure he was there. One minute he was rearranging this nest of items, the next he was standing...somewhere. Where was there? Bl00dst4in glanced down at his current three-foot glory, cursing himself for not replacing his clothing sooner; not that he'd known this was going to happen, but still. He turned in circles, his gaze flicking up and around. He couldn't process the light, the colours, the sounds... He was just...there. There, and about to break down.

The sound of music blaring through the speakers of the galaxy themed theater made the floor vibrate slightly. There was no one there -- not at the numerous tables and chairs anyways -- but there was one figure that was hanging above the stage in large, thick, aerial silks.

A slender, silver and black animatronic with black petal rays with starlights that twinkled under the light show. She was singing while switching her legs and arms around the silks to adjust her position and hang upside down.

That was when she spotted the stranger. As Andromeda paused, so did the music and lights --a feature she is able to access in her internal HUD. She didn't move from her position but decided to call out. Hopefully, this stranger wasn't hostile. She'd be safe up here if that were the case

........Hello, Shining Star. Where did you come from, I wonder?

[anxiousthoughts365]

If you’re still taking prompts, could I please request drarry raising teddy? I think being around kids would be a new and maybe challenging experience for Draco ☺️

Of course :) here you go ...

~ 🐍Drarry⚡ & Raising Teddy ~

No warnings apply

'Dray?' Harry paused in the hallway of the flat that he shared with his boyfriend and gaped at the scene before him. The usually pristine passageway was littered with shoes and coats that appeared to have been pulled out of the under-the-stairs cupboard, and the first thought that crossed Harry's mind was that something truly terrible must have happened.

The feeling deepened as he moved further into the flat, when he glanced into the kitchen to find every cupboard open, its contents strewn across the floor. There were multiple cups and plates scattered across the table, and amongst the mess, he could just make out what appeared to be a slice of toast, spread side down, on the floor beside one of the chairs.

'Dray? Baby, where are you?' He could hear the panic in his own voice as he continued through the flat, picking up speed as he went. He didn't remember doing it, but at some point he'd drawn his wand, and his palm was sweating against the wood when he glanced into their bedroom and found a similar state of disarray. Sheets and cushions were strewn about the place, along with books and magazines and both of their brooms.

The reason for his panic was that Draco would never tolerate this mess. Harry had known, even before he'd realised that he loved the man, that the Healer was very neat, very particular. Everything had its place, and everything stayed in its place. That's how Draco's flat had been when they'd first started dating, and though he had eased up on the rules somewhat when they moved in together, the man's need for order was still evident in their shared home.

So to see the place in such a state, it was unsurprising that Harry could only think the worst. He was sure that Draco must have been hurt, or that someone must have entered their home. All the Auror's mind would allow him to see were visions of the remaining at-large Death Eaters tearing apart the flat in a violent search, and he almost staggered when a mental image of Draco, on his knees, hands bound behind his back, beautiful face beaten and bloodied, flashed unbidden into his mind.

'No, no no no, please no,' he whispered, shaking his head hard as he made his way to the final room that he had left to check - the living room. His vision was so clouded with fear that it took him a few moments to process what he was actually seeing.

There, on the sofa, was his boyfriend, looking peaceful and calm, his face serene and his eyes closed. Harry could see no blood, but when he looked closer, there did appear to be something that looked very much like jam streaked across the Healer's cheek. Harry watched for a long heartbeat until he saw the man's chest rise and fall, and he quickly determined that Draco was asleep. Only then did his eyes move to take in the rest of the scene, and everything unwound inside him in an instant as his gaze landed on another, much smaller figure, curled up against Draco's side.

He'd forgotten that Draco was having Teddy today. Harry had been trying to encourage the Healer to spend more time with his cousin, outside of the two days a week that the toddler was under Harry's care. Draco had been very unsure of himself when he'd first started accompanying Harry on his visits with Teddy, but as he'd grown more confident, he'd gotten more involved in the boy's play, in meeting his needs. And Harry and Andromeda had agreed that Draco spending more time with the lad would be good for both of them.

As the panic in him eased, he started to put the pieces together. At this age, Teddy was forever pulling everything out of everywhere, trying to make a game out of anything he could find. And the kitchen looked like it did because it was impossible to fill the boy - he was constantly asking for snacks, even when he'd just finished a meal. Harry realised that the pair must have tired themselves out so thoroughly (Teddy running around, and Draco running after him) that they simply wouldn't have heard him calling.

But his heart swelled in his chest to see them this way, with Teddy leaning into Draco for comfort, and one of Draco's arms slung loosely around the boy, holding him close. He was sure that he would get a very dramatic account of how Draco's first solo babysitting adventure had gone when they woke, but for now, he was happy to leave them to their rest. He stayed just long enough to tuck a blanket over the two Black descendants before making a swift, silent exit, pulling the door softly closed behind him.

[xanthippe74]

On Tumblr:

Masterlist of Microfics (ranging from 50 to 1.5K words based on prompts from drarrymicrofic)

Birthday gift ficlet for phdmama

Cheek to Cheek

How are Drarry enduring the pandemic?

On AO3:

🎧 indicates podfic available

Last Goodbye It's Leaving Day, and Harry Potter has to say goodbye to more than just Hogwarts.

This Heart Shut Wide It’s New Year’s Eve and Draco refuses to talk to anyone at this wretched party in the Eighth-Year common room. He’s going to ignore Harry Potter and not think about snogging him in the staircase earlier. And he’s definitely not going to let himself fuck up both their lives by continuing the reckless game they’re playing. As usual, nothing goes according to Draco’s plan.

The Comfiest Armchair In which Harry and Draco won't stop fighting over the best armchair in the Eighth-Year common room, Hermione takes matters into her own hands, and Harry sees a (ahem) side of Draco that he's never seen before.

In the Midnight Blue On a Christmas Eve broom ride over Hogwarts, Harry shows Draco that he’s braver than he thinks.

Momento mei 🎧 It seemed like a blessing at first.

Spooked in Salem 🎧 When his holiday with Draco in Salem, Massachusetts, doesn’t go to plan, Harry takes a walk to figure things out. A story about saving someone you love from the ghosts that don’t go bump in the night.

Under the Table A string of nearly-insufferable dinner parties has made Draco acquainted with Harry Potter’s completely insufferable, social-climbing boyfriend. But tonight it seems like Potter’s finally had enough, and Draco’s more than happy to watch it all play out from across the table.

A Hiss To Build a Dream On Harry fancies a certain Slytherin. Draco has a snake that’s refusing to eat. When Draco asks him to use his Parseltongue skills to help, Harry sees the opportunity he’s been waiting for. There’s just one small problem: Harry can’t bring himself to tell Draco that he isn’t a Parselmouth anymore.

A Hippogriff for Christmas 🎧 Draco is desperately trying to fulfill four-year-old Scorpius’ dearest wish for Christmas: a visit with a real Hippogriff. Harry is desperately trying to be left alone, safely tucked away from the attention of the wizarding world as Hogwarts’ Keeper of the Keys and Grounds. It might take more than a father’s persistence to convince Harry to help make Scorpius’ Christmas dream come true.

Lockdown Lurgy When a dangerous virus comes to Britain, the Ministry orders a mandatory lockdown to control its spread. If Harry wants to spend the next two weeks with Teddy, he’s going to have to share Andromeda’s guest room with none other than Draco Malfoy, England’s Number One Prat. Andromeda’s collection of romance novels might save Harry from boredom, but nothing can make living with Malfoy bearable… until Harry has the inexplicable impulse to kiss him.

Statues Crumble (with art by @fictional) Between one war and the next, Draco has lost his parents, his home, and his menial Ministry job. All he has left is the secret (and anonymous) work he does to help Harry Potter overthrow another government—oh, and that statue he stole from the Ministry Atrium.

A Dreadful Invasion (of the Feline Persuasion) Most of the time, it’s easy for Harry to forget that Draco Malfoy is his next-door neighbour—until the night Malfoy seemingly goes round the twist in his back garden. Of course Harry has to investigate.

Vortex The idea of perfectly-matched soulmates feels more like a curse than a blessing to Draco. Who would want a soulmate who was a schoolyard bully, a Death Eater, and a convicted felon? Certainly not Harry Potter. And Draco is determined to take this secret to the grave.

Follow the Water Harry Potter’s life is fine. Maybe a little dull and predictable, but he shouldn’t complain about that, right? When he unexpectedly finds himself at Luna’s house one afternoon, Harry gets invited to join the secret wonderland that she’s creating with a surprising group of friends. Maybe a summer outdoors is just what a former hero needs to bring some zest back into his life.

Crimson Neon 🎧 Winter, 1999. Harry thought going to New York would help him get his head on straight, but all he has to show for it are sore feet and a fridge full of takeaway containers. And now he’s homesick on top of everything else. It doesn’t help that his mysterious neighbour in 2C keeps cooking dishes that remind Harry of home and all the people he lost or left behind.

On Your Shore Clearing out a remote house full of cursed collectibles in the Outer Hebrides? Not a problem for an experienced curse breaker like Harry Potter. Spending a week with the straight, happily-married man that he’s starting to have feelings for? And sharing a bed with him at night? Surely Harry can handle that, too. But both the house and Draco Malfoy have secrets to uncover, and Harry might be in deeper water than he thought.

The Last of What the World Left You If the wizarding world won’t give Draco a second chance, he has a plan to survive: live in his Animagus form, a carrion crow, in the Forbidden Forest. Not only does Harry Potter come along and ruin it, he’s radiating a strange aura of power. With nowhere to go and a Life-Debt to his mother that Potter insists on repaying, Draco puts himself into the hands of the reclusive Boy Who Lived. Will the bleak corner of Yorkshire where Potter makes his home be another dead end or an unexpected refuge?

Riptide (sequel to Vortex) Fate brought them together. Now the real work begins, as Harry and Draco try to merge their starkly different lives without being torn away from everything they hold dear.

Safe As Houses After five years abroad, Harry’s thrilled to be home and working at the most prestigious ward-building firm in Britain. But everything gets turned upside down when he's assigned to work for Draco Malfoy—who somehow grew up to be just the sort of sexy bastard Harry goes for. As if that isn’t enough, Malfoy seems strangely on edge, his wards are a mess, and Harry keeps feeling like he’s being watched in the garden. It’s going to take all of Harry’s ward-crafting skills—and self-restraint—to help Malfoy feel safe in his own home again.

I Won't Let You Fall Apart Harry has spent the year after the war staying out of the public eye, dodging political battles, and standing firm against pressure from his friends. But he has a secret plan to get away from it all. He just needs to testify at one more Death Eater trial: Draco Malfoy’s. Little does Harry know what his act of compassion will cost him—and Malfoy.

Skybound No matter how much Harry Potter wanted to believe he’d left danger behind when the war ended, it found him again anyway. All he had to do was step out his own front door on a Tuesday morning. A Drarry re-imagining of Howl’s Moving Castle.

[dragon-susceptible]

Different Path Taken Ch?? P1

listen. I lost track and I'm too lazy to go check. They're not numbered in my document, I barely even have titles on them and my titles are shit like "last chapter" "new shit" "Idek man" and "the advice one".

Have some Andromeda POV.

Andromeda had no intention of eating anything these people served to her.  She’d learned her lesson from Lujanne’s illusory grubs - she hadn’t eaten any before the mage told her the truth but the near-miss was still strong in her mind.  She pointedly pushed the plate of pancakes away and shared her berries with Runaan, who sat beside her.  Skor and Callisto had declined to even show up for the group meal today, though she thought she caught a feeling of them watching from the trees. 

“How do you get them so light?” Ellis asked the dark mage excitedly.

“The secret is separating the eggs and beating the whites into a stiff meringue.” The mage said proudly, and Andromeda almost felt bad for distrusting her, before she added, behind a playful hand, “And just a hint of dark magic.”

Much to Andromeda’s personal joy, both princes just swallowed abruptly and pushed their plates away.  Rayla put her fork down and scowled at the mage.  Andromeda’s own lip curled but she kept her feelings to herself.  They’d allowed Corvus to join them - but this was a dark mage.  Who used her powers so casually as to make pancakes.  

Runaan cleared his throat and spoke without bothering to look up at the girl. “It’s rude not to tell people about unusual ingredients.  Other than Archmage Lujanne, the  Moonshadow among you are vegetarians.  And now you’ve fed my daughter meat.”

The mag scoffed a laugh. “Oh there’s no meat in it!  Other than the eggs, are you strict about the eggs?  Those are a normal ingredient to pancakes though-”

“Dark magic.”

“Dark magic isn’t meat,” She protested.

“But ye had to kill somethin’ to use it.” Rayla said, pushing her plate away with a wrinkle of her nose. 

“Butterflies,” The mage said as if exasperated. “It was just a couple of butterflies!”

“Oh, you mean the lunar moths that also have a social and religious significance for us?” Ram said, tone bored though his maroon eyes were flinty when Andromeda glanced at him. “Congratulations, you’ve dug your hole even deeper.  I would suggest you just stop talking about this.” 

She cleared her throat with a sour sort of look but turned to the princes with a bright smile.  Andromeda narrowed her eyes and looked to see if Runaan had noticed how quickly the girl was changing tactics.  He was looking down at their shared bowl of fruit but his ears were turned towards the mage, and she saw the furrow of his brow that supported her suspicions. 

“Soo, now that we know you’re not kidnapped, you guys should come back home!” The mage said. “With the egg of course.”

An abrupt silence overtook them and Andromeda didn’t bother to be subtle about how she whipped around to glare at the girl.  Runaan looked up as well, and Ram gripped hard at the dagger he’d been loosely fiddling with over the stone table.  Rayla narrowed her eyes and gripped her cup so hard it shook. 

The soldier, Andromeda noticed, was the only one of the siblings to react to their tension.  He stiffened in his seat and his eyes darted between them, but he didn’t move - she guessed he was correctly concluding he couldn’t actually fight them all.  Corvus was frowning too. 

“Actually, there is no egg,” Callum said, seeming to notice their tension but trying to head it off.  Andromeda appreciated the thought but she wasn’t sure she approved of the method, as Ezran hopped off the bench and went to fetch the dragonlet. 

“What?” The mage cried, shooting to her feet. “What happened to the egg?”

“Sit down,” Ram was the one who snapped it, to Andromeda’s surprise, and Runaan raised an eyebrow at the young man, who shrugged very slightly under the look. “And keep your voice and hands to yourself if you don’t feel like losing them.” he winced after saying it. “Ah, my apologies, Skor, if you heard that.”

The mage scowled at him openly. 

Callum made a peaceful gesture at both of them and Andromeda’s mouth tightened, hating the fact that a child was trying to play peacemaker between adults.  Or at least, a teenager and an adult. “Hey, everybody just calm down.  Claudia, you’ll understand in a second.”

The squeaking noise from the baby dragon made Andromeda’s whole body just ache suddenly with the need to make sure the baby was safe and happy.  She forced herself to stay in place, knowing full well that Azymondias was as happy as could be coiled around young Prince Ezran, but her rationalizations couldn’t stop her body’s reaction.  At least it was this, now, and she wasn’t being quite as plagued by the breeding season’s other desires.

Runaan stayed silent but he brushed his hand briefly over her shoulder, and she realized he must have noticed her reaction.  She took comfort in his steadiness. 

The mage gasped. “Awwww!” She bounced up from her seat again. “It’s a baby dwagon!  Hey, you!” She cooed as she approached him.

Rayla was the closest to boy and dragon, but Andromeda wasn’t far behind, and Ram and Runaan flanked them.  Rayla bodily blocked the older girl and scowled down at her. “Whoa, what happened to ‘it’s not an egg, it’s a powerful weapon’?” She demanded.

“A weapon?” Andromeda sputtered, having missed that part of the story.  It must have happened when the children were initially escaping, before they’d found Runaan with the egg. 

“Still true,” The mage said, pointedly, standing up straight. “Someday it could bring death and destruction raining down on all of us.” Leaning over where she could see the dragonlet again she cooed, “But right now it’s so little!”

Every alarm bell Andromeda had went off at how dismissive the girl was being and she slapped her hand away before it could pass her hip. “Don’t touch.” She said just as pointedly. 

“Well get a good look, because we’re goin’ back to Xadia to return him to his mother,” Rayla said firmly. 

“The elves are right,” Callum agreed from the table. “We can’t go home yet.  The mission is too important.” He got up to join them, and thankfully didn’t say anything about the slap.

The mage looked back at her brother, who just looked confused more than anything, and Andromeda narrowed her eyes.  She couldn’t see the girl’s expression but she could see her fist clenching before she turned back to Callum with that sweet smile back on her face. “What about the kingdom?  Everyone’s really worried about you.”

“Who exactly is everyone?” Corvus asked with a frown.

Callum cut the conversation off before the girl could answer. “Actually . . . speaking of everyone back home.” He fiddled with his fingers for a second and sighed. “You guys were in Katolis that night.  Do you . . .” He glanced at Ezran, and Andromeda followed his gaze to see the younger boy nod. “What happened?  To the king?  The elves were with us.  We know they didn’t . . . they didn’t do it.  But he’s gone.  Who else could have gone after him like that?  Who could have gotten past you, Soren?”

The soldier grimaced unpleasantly and pushed his plate away. “No one got past me.” He bit the words out like they hurt. “Someone came in from the balcony.  I had archers posted outside, but two of them were dead.  But still, it’s a stone tower, we had eyes everywhere, no human could have gotten in that way.  Nobody went in or out the door on the inside of the tower without my eyes on them, except my dad.”

Andromeda looked over at Ram, seeing the same awful confirmation in his face as she was feeling.  So it was almost certainly a betrayal from Lord Viren that had killed the king - and his own son either didn’t know or had suddenly become a much better liar than he had been the day before. 

“Soren found him at dawn.” Claudia said in a hushed voice. 

“The relief archers for the guards on the wall found them.” Soren’s tone was a bit brittle, and Andromeda almost felt bad for him, but she was still too suspicious to let her guard down. “So I went in to warn the king there was a breach in the defenses, and . . . it was already too late.”

Ezran tugged on Andromeda’s skirt and she looked down in surprise, and he lifted Zym up toward her.  She took the baby dragon and blinked at him, tilting her head in a silent question.  His little gray eyes were tearing up and he shook his head and just walked past her to go to Soren, climbing up on the bench beside him and giving the soldier a hug that seemed to startle the young man, who just raised his arms awkwardly at first.

“You did everything you could.” Ezran said quietly. “Thanks for . . . trying.”

Soren visibly bit his lip and closed his eyes, but he hugged Ezran back. “Yeah.  I’m . . . I’m really sorry, Ezran.” He raised his eyes to Callum with his brows furrowed in shame. “I’m sorry, Callum.”

Ezran sat back to look at him and Andromeda could tell just from the soldier’s face how piercing his shocking perceptive face was.  The boy patted the soldier’s arm. “I know.”

Hm.  So the soldier was back in Ezran’s good graces - but he still didn’t trust the mage enough to let her touch Zym.  They would have to keep that in mind - so far, the boy’s intuition had yet to be wrong.

“Without the king’s true killer found, the children are safer away from Katolis.” Runaan said firmly. 

“Plus, if we take Zym back to his mom, maybe we can stop the war,” Ezran said, a bit brighter as he looked to the future again.

“Zym’s the baby dragon, it’s short for Azymondias.” Callum added helpfully.

Claudia raised her eyebrows at Andromeda and Runaan. “And you guys were just . . . cool with that plan?  As assassins?” She asked skeptically.

“A lasting peace would benefit everyone.” Runaan said flatly. “While we are . . . somewhat skeptical, this gesture coming from the princes of Katolis would be the most powerful step towards that peace in centuries.  So yes.  We are supporting this plan.”

“And it was all thanks to Rayla,” Ezran said, smiling at the girl.  Rayla’s glower at the other two humans softened when she noticed and she smiled back at him. “And how she decided to listen to us instead of killing us!  And then she convinced the other elves to listen to us too.”

“She was literally threatening you with swords.” Claudia said flatly.

“And you threatened us with smoke wolves!” Rayla snapped back.

“Children.” Runaan cut them both off, tone a bit sharper than he’d usually use, and Andromeda almost snickered at the tiredness under his voice. “Enough.  Our plan of action is decided - all three princes will be returning to Xadia with us.  There is no debate to be had.  Your time would be better spent hunting your king’s true killer, to ensure the boys’ safety when our mission is complete and they are ready to return.”

Oh, that was clever.  Andromeda hadn’t even considered just redirecting the pair.  She’d been struggling with helplessness, unsure what to do about them depending on their behavior, which seemed wildly different yet intertwined.  That was actually an excellent idea, though.

That was why he had survived this long.

“We don’t have to go right away, though,” Callum said quickly. “We were already planning on taking another day to rest up.  You guys should too!  And then we’ll figure out your next steps from there.  But, uh, yeah, they’re, they’re right, we’re not going home yet.”

The mage deflated a bit. “All right.  We’ll talk about it more later.” She promised firmly to Callum, and Andromeda narrowed her eyes.  She’d not yet had a chance to tell Runaan about Ezran’s worries.

As soon as the mage and soldier walked away after breakfast, she handed Zym back to the boy but put a hand on his shoulder to keep him close.  Callum had wandered off as well and Ram was tailing him. “Runaan,” She stopped him too before he and Rayla could leave. “Ezran came to speak last night with some concerns about the mage . . .”

[coyotelip]

— ☆ family bounding (bella's version) ; pathetic rodolphus microfic ;

I put all the blame on @keepmycandleburning because of that terrible brainrot on rodolphus being bella's puppy (but honestly, me and all our server loves it, right?)

☆ bellatrix/rodolphus, narcissa&andromeda

☆ it's a CRACK thing, really, I had some fun !

☆ 335 words

"What a lovely puppy," Bella says to Rodolphus, who is standing on all fours. Her lips are stretched out as if to kiss him and she makes these strange noises to get his attention. "Come, bring me this," she says, and abruptly throws a small thing aside - the wizard's magnificent oak wand disappears deep into a planting of red roses.

Narcissa watches from her seat on the terrace, taking a sip of black tea with milk. She has always liked these rose beds - Bella spared no effort in tending her luxurious backyard garden. So Narcissa has always enjoyed her time here, a kind of peaceful place of comfort, where she can always find a good cup of tea and the lingering scent of the best roses in England, grown under the best spells.

But sometimes Rodolphus' naked ass is added to the picture. Like this time.

Without getting to his feet, because a man knows better than to break the rules set by his wife (and master), Rodolpheus walks straight to the roses, not even flinching when the sharp thorns touch his skin. It seems that Narcissa even sees some of them pierce his skin, allowing droplets of blood to cover his body.

However, this does not stop him from playing - stubbornly, the man goes deeper, looking for his wand.

"To be honest," says Andromeda, who is sitting next to her sister. "This isn't the kind of family gathering and bonding I expected from her invitation," she takes a sip of her tea, pure black with no milk or sugar, and keeps her gaze on the plants, where Rodolphus' bare ass is visible from the bushes.

"I don't know why you're surprised." Narcissa just shrugs, watching the scene.

Meanwhile, Rodolpheus finally makes it out of the bushes, holding his wand in his teeth.

"Well done," Bellatrix says with satisfaction and jumps up and down as if with joy. "Now bring it to me, sweetie."

Narcissa sighs and takes a cookie from the saucer on the table.