#and i'll write a microfic

[thatmexisaurusrex]

You know what? Sure. Send me asks of some of your goofiest BuckTommy prompts and I'll make lil microfics. I feel like writing ridiculous Tommy takes off his mask and reveals himself to be a spy bee all along microfics.

[oh-phoenixx]

"Fire" - Jegulus microfic @into-the-jeggyverse - 209 words

-

Regulus was not one for PDA. He could express his love for a person perfectly fine in private. He didn’t understand why some couples felt the need to shove their tongues down each other’s throats in front of people. And in his mind, that was all PDA was; groping each other, making out, and making everyone else around you uncomfortable.

When Regulus started dating James, though, he felt this strange urge to touch him every time he saw him. Not in a sexual way, just…touch him. Brush the hair from his forehead, trace the moles on his face, play with his hands. There was something so warm about him, drawing Regulus closer.

James and Regulus were sitting by the fire in the Gryffindor common room with some of James’s friends. And really, it wasn’t Regulus’s choice to touch him. James was so perfect, flames dancing in his eyes, fire casting his face in an orange glow, hair falling in all the right places. It wasn’t Regulus’s choice.

All Regulus did was lean his head on James’s shoulder, reach a hand up to play with James’s hair. James beamed down at him, though he didn’t mention it.

Regulus didn’t hate showing affection in public, really. Not when it was James.

[paceprompting]

A Morning Coffee Kind of Question

steddie | rated: t | cw: no archive warnings apply | tags: pre-season four, getting together, strangers to lovers, fluff with dash of angst

Part One

The bed was too comfortable.

Which was kind of fucked up if he were to look too closely at it. But even all the blankets he could muster and that Wayne could spare were only so much against a mattress with two broken springs and a near-permanent indent from a previous owner and himself.

The mattress he was currently on wasn’t anything like his. He hardly sunk into it, and (as far as he could tell) he was only under one blanket and still warm. This time of year, he’d need at least a comforter and two thinner blankets to ward off the cold in the trailer.

So, while not surprised to find he actually wasn’t in his own bed, there was enough surprise in the fact of whose bed he was in to have him sitting straight up, scowling at the room around him.

All in all, the bedroom was relatively plain. The walls a kind of color you kept so that the house would sell well without repainting, wooden furniture with little to nothing on them except the odd magazine or a trophy. Even the walls were devoid of posters of bikini girls or hotrod cars, no collection of random polaroids stuck up with some care to remember a memory.

Steve’s bedroom hardly felt like more than a set piece.

As though it had been designed before he ever arrived and he wasn’t allowed—or didn’t care—to make it his own.

The only item that had any personality wasn’t even his. It was Eddie’s.

The jacket that Steve had given him as a present was hung off the back of the desk chair, an obvious peculiarity of black amongst the blues and reds of the room. Eddie remembered shucking it off his shoulders and letting it drop to the floor last night.

While they’d kissed.

Made out, really.

He touched his lips as though he could call back the feeling of Steve’s mouth on his own. The confident way he directed them, the scrape of his stubbled against Eddie’s cheek, his throat. The party had gone on for a while without them downstairs, Eddie wasn’t sure when it had ended.

He’d pretty much stopped paying attention to the noise once Steve laid him back on the bed.

Which explained how he’d gotten there, at least.

Still being fully dressed explained the other question.

A soft creak pulled Eddie’s attention toward the door, and he rose up onto his knees in case he needed to book it out the door. He wasn’t exactly going to get the benefit of the doubt if somebody found “The Freak” hanging out in Steve Harrington’s bedroom.

He could at least breathe again when it was just Steve who entered, although he didn’t sit back on the bed.

He was sure he looked an absolute disaster, having just woken up—curls a wild rat’s nest on his head and clothes disheveled from the chaotic way he usually slept.

Steve held a plain green mug in each hand, looking down at them to avoid spillover as he walked carefully across the carpet. He glanced at Eddie, this soft half-smile on his face before he looked back down until he reached the bed.

Setting one mug on the bedside table, he offered the other to Eddie.

Eddie eased back down on the mattress, and reached out with both hands for the mug. It warmed his fingers immediately, the dark liquid inside wobbling as Eddie shifted position. A roasted, bitter smell wafted up to his nose.

“I didn’t know how you liked it. But, um,” Steve reached into the pocket of his sweatpants, pulling out a handful of items he deposited on the bed by Eddie’s knee. A few sugar packets and disposable plastic creamer cups. He patted his thighs and said, “Just in case.”

Eddie lowered the mug to sit in the space between his knees, holding it steady with one hand and using the other to grab all that Steve had offered.

“Good instincts,” he said, shaking first the sugar packets before dumping them into the coffee. As he worked through the creamer cups, he looked at Steve from under his bangs. “The only thing I don’t like in black.”

Eddie took sugar and cream for the same reason he only smoked menthols. He couldn’t stand the bitterness.

Steve let out a breath, shoulders dropping a tension that Eddie had mistaken at first as worry about spilling the drinks. Then, he reached for the other mug and took a seat beside Eddie on his bed.

He drank his coffee while Eddie prepped his own, taking it straight-up apparently with no problem. He didn’t know if it was all part of some special jock diet or if Steve enjoyed battery acid black, but…Eddie supposed choosing to make out with a metalhead probably meant Steve was bound to make other questionable choices.

Eddie sighed as he took his first sip, the warmth of the coffee soothing the morning raspiness of his throat.

Whatever his problems, Steve could make a good cup of coffee.

They sat in the quiet morning, drinking their coffee. Eddie risked a look at Steve; noticed that he had changed at some point in the night into his sweatpants and a Hawkins swim team shirt Eddie wouldn’t have been caught dead in.

Steve finished his first, but sat with it while Eddie continued. Empty, Eddie held his mug awkwardly, unsure of where to put it.

Clearly what he was waiting for, Steve took the mug from Eddie’s hands and reached forward to place both his and Eddie’s on the bedside table. He had to lean over Eddie to do it, which Eddie huffed a breath up toward the ceiling at when he leaned back on his hands.

Steve eased back, but paused before going too far. His nose grazed Eddie’s, hazel brown eyes half-lidded and rooting Eddie to the spot. He tilted his chin up toward Steve, mouth parting.

Maybe the night before had been a dream. He’d drunk too much—even though he didn’t remember drinking anything at all—and rudely passed out in Steve’s bed and somehow the guy was nice enough to leave Eddie until morning.

If it was true, Steve would brush him off. And Eddie would leave.

If it wasn’t…

Steve closed the last distance between them and Eddie could taste the bitter coffee on his tongue as their lips met. They sunk together, Eddie falling back on his elbows and Steve cradling the side of his jaw with one hand.

His thumb rubbed the start of Eddie’s stubble on his cheek. Eddie sighed into it, pressing up for more. For Steve’s tongue slipping past his lips and the low rumble of a groan deep in his chest.

They had to part for breath after a moment, and Steve asked, “Can I take you home?”

Kissing again, a delay neither of them seemed to mind, Eddie let his mind wander. With the last vestiges of Steve’s cologne and the solid weight of his body, Eddie could really only think of him.

I could give you a ride, Steve had said, that first time.

Being a chauffeur was apparently a love language for this guy.

Unlike that night at the gas station, Eddie did have other options. And he didn’t want to think about the pull at the bottom of his stomach the came at the thought.

“I’ve got the van back,” he said, letting his head fall back from Steve’s mouth. It was pink and slightly swollen, and maybe Eddie’s was too. “Thank you, though.”

Steve nodded, his thumb still stroking Eddie’s cheek.

“Can I see you again?”

He’d said as much the night before. Steve wanted Eddie. For some reason.

Eddie clenched his hands in the comforter underneath him. He’d never been quite this unsure about rejecting something. He knew he shouldn’t do this, with Steve. It could only lead to broken hearts. Possibly broken bones.

But all Steve had done already…just to get Eddie’s attention. To hint at what he wanted.

“I don’t know,” he said.

Steve’s gaze on him faltered, eyes flickering downward with his disappointment. They closed too late for Eddie not to have seen it, and Eddie rushed to fix it, to explain himself.

A cute guy gives him a normal amount of attention, and he loses his damn mind. What the hell had happened to him?

“I haven’t done this before. The whole…sticking around in the morning and having breakfast thing.” Steve seemed to ponder that for a second, a hesitant question in the rise of one of his brows. Eddie swallowed hard. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

A warm smile grew across Steve’s face and Eddie soaked it in, closing his eyes as Steve pressed his nose to Eddie’s cheek. “I think you’re doing okay.”

“Steve, please.”

He couldn’t stop the twinge of panic in his voice. He was getting too caught up and he didn’t know how he could wrangle it back and shove it down.

Steve froze. Caught his breath, warm on Eddie’s skin, and then pulled away.

Eddie opened his mouth to apologize for ruining the fucking mood with his hangups. For revealing the mess of a person Steve had tried to falling into bed with, and was probably now entirely regretting.

“It’s okay,” Steve said before Eddie could. “I’m not upset.”

Eddie wasn’t sure he could believe him, but either way Steve slowly extracted himself from Eddie’s personal space and stood from the bed. He tried to hide it by facing away, but Eddie noticed the shift of his arm as Steve adjusted the evidence of their activities in his sweats.

Eddie knew he was the same in his jeans, if they did manage to hide it better. He sat up onto his hands and asked to Steve’s back, “Can I give you an answer later?”

He sounded like a damn customer support line. But Steve finding it in himself to pull away had made Eddie near-frantic to grab onto him and keep him from leaving. He needed to figure all this out.

But he couldn’t do that in the middle of Steve’s bedroom.

Steve turned, his face in profile toward Eddie.

“You’ll call?” he asked, biting his bottom lip.

Eddie let out a breath.

“I’ll call.”

Tag List: @estrellami-1 @here4thetrama @tillystealeaves @th30ra3k3n @fairytalesreality @rabidhungryrat

[ecstarry]

'The Stores'

James starts working at the video store for the summer and meets Regulus, the guy working at the record store next door.

James had been working on the video store for a week. His manager Remus was nice enough, he kept to himself and spent the entire shift reading. He would probably be better fitted to work on a book store but James didn’t mind the silence. 

The only time Remus would stop reading was to profoundly sigh whenever the volume at the record store next door got too loud. On his first day, James could’ve sworn Remus was going to waltz to the establishment and turn down the music himself. But he just mumbled under his breath and continued reading. 

Seven days in a row this happened until Remus had enough.

“James?” Remus asked.

“Yeah?�� 

“You seem like someone people like. You’re sweet, attractive, quite charming.” There was a dissonance between Remus’ monotone voice and what he was saying.

James did not know where this was going. Was this the start of a very inappropriate workplace relationship with his manager? Maybe that’s what his summer needed?

“Sure?” James replied before his pause revealed his thoughts. 

“I do not fit that description. Meaning people don’t respond … well to my requests. I’m going to need you to pay our neighbors a visit and ask them to turn their music down.” Remus said firmly. 

“Ohhh.” 

“What do you mean ‘Oh’? What did you think I was going to say?” 

“I actually had no idea where this was going.” James lied, quickly discarding the thoughts that had briefly crossed his mind. 

Remus simply raised a brow, signaling both that the conversation was over and that he expected James to do as asked.

James nodded and went to the record store. 

He understood why Remus was annoyed, but truthfully James had enjoyed listening to the music they played. He spent the entire week waiting for his paycheck to spend it on some records.

“Hey,” he said as he entered the store. Not loud enough apparently, since the guy organizing the vinyls did not even lift his head. 

James walked towards him and repeated his greeting slightly louder, startling the worker. He barely got to look at him before the guy walked towards the speaker to adjust the volume before coming back to where James was standing. 

“Hi.” 

For a split second James forgot why he was even there. The hottest man he had ever seen was standing in front of him, talking to him. And he had the prettiest eyes and fu- Right. He was talking to him because James had direct orders from his manager to say something. 

“Hey.”

The guy laughed at his sudden shyness. But right then there, James knew he had just found his favorite song of the summer. That laugh.

“I work at the video store.” Was all he could manage to say. 

“I know, James.” 

Hearing his name sent an immediate shiver down his spine. Had he blacked out and introduced himself at some point? Before he could spiral for any longer, the worker spoke again. 

“You are wearing your name tag," he pointed at it. "I’m Regulus, not a psychic.”

“Oh, yeah that makes sense.” A nervous laughter poured out of him. He felt his cheeks flush.

“Are you okay?” 

“Yeah, I was just wondering if-” He couldn't finish his thought.

Today had to be James’ lucky day. A breeze drifted through the door, lifting Regulus’ shirt just enough to reveal his briefs and a hint of a happy trail.

“James?” Regulus asked, blushing as he caught James staring.

He tried to gather his thoughts but all he could do was replay the last thirty seconds in his mind.

“Umm, actually it doesn’t matter.... You should stop by the video store some day though.” James leaned into one of the shelves and almost fell, getting another laugh out of Regulus. He thought he might spend every single day trying to hear it again.

“Are you going to be there?”

James nodded enthusiastically. 

“I’ll see you around then James.” Regulus said. A faint curve forming at the edge of his lips.

James came back to the video store practically skipping. 

“I'm guessing it all went smoothly?” Remus asked, taking James out of his own thoughts. 

“Yeah it went great. Actually if you ever need me to talk to them again it’s no problem.” James assured with a grin.

Remus looked at him confused but didn't probe further.

James went back to his place and thought about Regulus.

This was going to be a great fucking summer. 

[bradleysass]

Flower - @black-brothers-microfic - wc: 496 - Starchaser

James twirled a tulip between his fingers, leaning his elbows on the kitchen counter as he stared at Regulus, who was seated at the table, reading. The scene was peaceful, domestic, but James had an itch to fill the silence.

“You’re like a rose,” James declared, tone reverent. “Elegant, breathtaking, but also covered in thorns.”

Regulus turned a page without looking up. “Unoriginal.”

James pouted. “Fine. A lily, then. Timeless, poised—”

“I am not a lily.”

“A magnolia?”

“No.”

“A daffodil?”

Regulus finally deigned to glance at him over the rim of his book. “James, I’m not a flower.”

James huffed and crossed the room, dropping onto the chair beside him. “You say that, but if you were, you’d be one of those flowers that only bloom at night. Mysterious, a little dramatic—”

Regulus gave him a flat look. “Flowers don’t have the capacity for drama.”

“You’d find a way,” James said proudly. “Maybe a moonflower?”

Regulus sighed, snapping his book shut. “James.”

“Or maybe a black tulip. Rare, regal, and temperamental.”

Regulus stared at him for a moment, then slowly, purposefully, reached for his coffee and took a sip, unimpressed. “Are you finished?”

James grinned. “Not even close.” He cupped Regulus’ face, thumb brushing his cheek. “You’re like an orchid. Beautiful, expensive, difficult—”

“Get away from me.” Regulus tried to shake him off, but James only laughed, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

“You love me.”

Regulus exhaled heavily, but the corner of his mouth twitched. “Unfortunately.”

James beamed. “That’s it! A forget-me-not! You pretend you’re cold and aloof, but deep down, you never want me to forget how much you secretly adore me.”

Regulus groaned, standing up and walking away. “I’m leaving.”

James trailed after him, still determined. “A snowdrop? They bloom in winter, just like you thrive in your cold, sarcastic little world.”

Regulus stopped just short of the hallway, turning slightly to glare at him. “I do not thrive in the cold.”

“You wear cashmere like it’s a second skin and drink tea hotter than the sun,” James countered. “You thrive.”

Regulus narrowed his eyes. “James, if you don’t drop this ridiculous flower comparison, I will make you regret it.”

James smirked, pressing his luck. “You’re like a Venus flytrap.”

Regulus blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Beautiful, but deadly. Looks delicate, but really, you lure in your prey and destroy them.”

Regulus sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You’re intolerable.”

James threw his arms around him from behind, chin resting on Regulus’ shoulder. “You love me,” he said again, grinning.

Regulus tilted his head, lips barely brushing James’ cheek. “I’m reconsidering.”

James gasped dramatically. “Betrayal!”

Regulus finally pushed him off, walking into the bedroom. James lingered in the doorway, watching as Regulus flopped onto the bed, picking up another book as if James’ nonsense hadn’t just infiltrated his day.

“Fine,” James said, leaning against the frame. “I’ll let it go. For now.”

Regulus didn’t look up. “How generous.”

James smirked. “Forget-me-not it is.”

[static-radio-ao3]

jarty microfic // words: 478

had this saved as "jarty sports?" which pretty much sums it up

It’s a little heady. A little thick. The smell of sweat clings to his nostrils, fills his lungs. James tries not to seem to eager to breathe it in, but he is. Adrenaline still hums in his veins, the comedown from a win always a little slower.

The bus jostles him where he’s slouched low on the bench, hood pulled over his head and arms crossed over his chest. He’s trying to sleep, or at least convince others that he’s asleep. But that never stopped Barty.

“Psst,” Barty hisses. When James doesn’t respond, he flicks the top of his head.

“Sleeping,” James mumbles.

“Lying,” Barty replies. James cracks open a single eye. Blames the way his pupil dilates on the sudden influx of light.

Barty is leaning over the back of the seat, his too-sharp chin digging into the bright blue vinyl. His hair is damp with sweat and tousled and James clenches his hands into fists to avoid clenching them in Barty’s hair instead. He wants to pull.

Wants to force Barty’s head up so he bares his neck, a perfect place for James’ teeth to sink in.

“Need anything?” James manages. His voice is low, a growl waiting to crawl out of his mouth.

Barty smiles that awful smile at him. One corner of his mouth lifting higher than the other, a flash of teeth and that stupid smiley piercing and James wants to lick. “Whatever you’ll give me.”

“You know the answer to that.” Because there’s nothing James would ever willingly give Barty. Barty, who shows up to practise dressed up in the night before. Barty, whose water bottle is probably filled with vodka at any given moment. Barty, who despite all this still seems to be the best player on the team.

Never mind the fact that James shows up early. That James does the work. That James actually cares.

“Sure do. I also know you’re lying again.” Barty raises his index and pointer fingers in a mock-salute. “That’s strike two, Potter. Don’t make me give you a red card.”

Barty, who gets a red card during nearly every game he plays. Barty, who once got James a red card by being so fucking stupid that James hit this own teammate.

It’s still a sore spot.

“I’m not lying,” James sighs. He lets his head roll against the window, the pane buzzing a little under his head, and trains his eyes on the road. Anything to look away from the drop of sweat rolling down Barty’s temple.

“Maybe not to me,” Barty shrugs. “But you sure are lying to someone.”

When James doesn’t reply, Barty just sighs. Drops back down into his seat. Disappears from James’ line of sight.

James tells himself the feeling in his gut is relief. Because he hates Barty and he doesn’t want a single thing from him.

Strike three.

[dracognition]

for @drarrymicrofic; royalty

"Is this a joke?" asked Harry.

"I'm afraid not." Hermione was so stone-faced an onlooker would assume she was delivering a death sentence: which, as far as Harry was concerned, it might as well be.

Malfoy preened. "Everyone knows the Malfoy line has illustrious members," he boasted, mouth curved into a sharp white smile. "But we all assumed the King Arthur thing was just a rumour." He paused. "Not that I'm surprised, mind you."

"Yeah," said Harry. "Now everything about you makes sense. Royal inbreeding must be worse than regular pureblood inbreeding."

Malfoy made a rude gesture. Harry made one back. Hermione said, "Look, there are... he needs a bodyguard, and you're the best in the department."

Harry glanced at Malfoy, who'd mastered the art of looking down haughtily before anyone knew anything about royal lineage and was employing it now. He scowled, bowed mockingly, and lifted his head to meet Malfoy's eyes. "My lord," he said, which was meant to come out sarcastic but ended up sort of—rough, or low, and suddenly Malfoy's haughty gaze looked a bit nervous.

"My knight," he replied, an eyebrow arched, but his voice was soft and off-kilter, and Harry realised this job was about to be much worse or much better than he'd thought.

[starchaser-has-my-heart]

Some rosekiller microfic because I couldn't stop thinking about them.

I love you (I'm sorry) - @rosekillermicrofic - wc: 765

(If you want to skip the angst, just stop before it reads 1981)

If you see any English mistakes, no, you don't.

Warnings: mcd, Canon Compliant, mention of blood (and killing and torturing, but it's a really minor mention). Let me know if I missed something.

Year 1976 (sixth year)

"Hey, Rosie," Barty said lazily. He and Evan were lying in bed in a tangle of limbs and sheets, his eyes half-close and his hands cupping the side of Evan's face as if afraid to let go, afraid Evan would vanish into thin air if he did.

Evan wouldn't let that happen — even if Death himself had to rip him from Barty’s arms, he wouldn’t let go. Never.

“Mmm?” he mumbled, looking at Barty with love in his eyes — the look that had painted his face every time he saw Barty since third year.

"I love you."

It was the first time Barty had said it — the words that made Evan feel like he was dreaming. The feeling that filled your stomach with butterflies and made your toes curl in giddiness.

Evan was about to answer, but it seemed Barty wasn’t done.

“I love you so much, Evan. Do you know that? I know you know that. I want to marry you — not now, of course, after we finish Hogwarts. Will you marry me when we finish Hogwarts? I hope so, because if not, I’ll kill your whole family and curse your descendants. I know you don’t really love your family, and I’d never kill Pandora — she’s my favorite of our grop, except you, of course, Amore mio. So I guess I’ll just settle for cursing your descendants. Even then, I'll still want to marry you and bear your children. I will—”

“I’ll marry you when we finish Hogwarts,” Evan interrupted him with a grin. “I promise.”

A huge smile, mirroring Evan’s own, spread across Barty’s face.

“I do think the whole bearing-my-children thing might be a bit problematic,” Evan mused. “You need a woman for that. At least, I think you do. I’ll ask Pandora — I’m sure she knows.”

“I’ll bear your children. I don’t care. I’ll find a way.”

Evan kissed him lightly on the lips. “Let’s get married first. Then we’ll worry about children,” Evan said.

A few minutes of peace and quiet passed before Barty spoke again.

“Hey, Rosie?”

“Yeah?”

“Next trip to Hogsmeade, I’m buying you a proper engagement ring.”

***

Year 1981

When the flash of green light was hurled at Evan, there was nothing Barty could do except watch as his fiancé’s body was thrown back several meters by the blast.

They were supposed to get married in two weeks.

It all felt like it was happening in slow motion.

As if the world had just stopped before his eyes and forced him to watch as his lover’s body was struck by the curse — frozen in place.

When Evan’s body hit the ground, Barty snapped out of the strange trance he had sunk into and reacted instantly. He ran to Evan, pushing aside anyone in his path.

As he knelt beside the body, it felt like hours had passed since the curse was fired — though in reality, it had only been seconds.

“No, no, no, no. Rosie, hey, Rosie, wake up. Amore mio, please wake up. For me. Wake up,” Barty said in panic, cradling the face of the lifeless body on the ground.

“EVAN!!!” Barty screamed in panic. “WAKE UP!!!”

"Please”

Tears streamed down his face like rain, and he could feel a wet liquid soaking into his shirt — blood, probably. He didn’t care.

“Bee,” came a faint whisper from Evan’s lips. “I love you." He took a shaky breath, "I’m sorry.”

His eyes closed. His breathing grew shallower and shallower until it no longer existed.

The world stopped.

Barty couldn’t move.

The tears didn’t fall. The emotions didn’t come.

No pain, no anger, no grief.

The world had frozen — and Barty froze with it.

And then everything returned to normal. Evan still lay lifeless in Barty’s arms. The battle still raged around them. And all the emotions Barty had always kept himself from feeling burst out all at once.

He cried and he cried and he cried.

Looking back, he thinks — that was the moment the madness truly began.

The moment his body was no longer his own, but belonged to a dark illness that had always been buried deep within him — and once the one thing that had kept that darkness at bay was gone, Barty let go.

He killed. He tortured. He did things he was supposed to regret.

But he simply…

didn’t.

All he felt was emptiness.

And it would always be emptiness — from the moment Evan died until the end of his own life.

Emptiness.

.

.

.

.

Sorry...?

It's based on this post I saw on Pinterest, where it said, "When a 2 characters have a plan to get married when they grow up and one of them just dies" or something like that

Translation (Italian): Amore mio - my love

[mourningliliesmorningglories]

for @drarrymicrofic's prompt: wound

Draco hates it, the way Harry had wound him up so tightly, only to undo him again and again with a single feather-light touch.

A hug hello, a press on the shoulder goodbye, a wink mid-laugh.

Draco yearns for Harry in a way he'd never admit. He's many things, but a homewrecker is not one of them.

He continues to sit across the dining table, Potter in front of him and Ginevra at his side, and pretends that the way the bone of Harry's ankle digs into his tibialis doesn't make him feel more alive than he has been in years.

[astudyintheburningofhearts]

For unofficial Microfic May – the 2nd of May, Black.

306 Words.

Harry's days seemed to blur together.

He moved mindlessly from one to the next, and yet it felt as if he were standing the still while the rest of the world around him continued to speed past, illuminating happiness compared to his dreary black.

He hadn't told Ron and Hermione, couldn't find the words. They'd mentioned it, sent worried glances his way, had had hushed conversations about it behind his back when they thought he couldn't hear. He still didn't know how to tell them. Couldn't find the words to.

His relief came in the form of one childhood rival on the second of May.

Draco Malfoy took one look at him and convinced Robards to let him out of work early due to his dreadful health.

And then he dragged Harry out to lunch. It was insane, really. 11 year old Harry would gape in horror if he saw his older self wining and dining with Draco Malfoy of all people.

Harry thought it had ended with that, when they awkwardly said their farewells. But Draco showed up at his desk the next morning, a brown paper bag with scones in one hand and a coffee in the other.

He showed up the following evening, tempted Harry to dinner, and in the black, in the dark, Harry saw the littlest bloom. A single lily.

He kept showing up. Another bloom. A narcissus this time around. And another and another.

Draco kept showing up, day after day, turning Harry's mundane into a masterpiece.

Harry told him so when he went down on one knee mere months later, ring shaking in his sweaty palms.

Draco pulled him up and kissed him softly, promising him that he'd keep Harry from getting lost in the ordinary, from getting lost in the black for as long as he'd have him.

[oh-phoenixx]

i'm sorry why is it easier to find information and headcanons about gilderat than nobleflower? a ship that has been around for at least a few years now? why do we give so much thought to the boys and their ships even if they're crack ships and completely ignore the female characters? sigh.

[raiynnah]

Fairytale

@wolfstarmicrofic - word count: 358

Sirius pulls his red hood over his eyes, fingers straining at the grip he has on his basket. When his mother had sent him out into the forest on the full moon, he knew he couldn’t refuse her. He also knew that it could potentially end in his death. Sirius knows why he’s being punished so harshly of course, sneaking into the ball had been an incredibly impulsive decision. It wasn’t even really his sneaking around that had her fuming, but the way he danced with the prince all night, giggling at his jokes and draping himself over the prince’s chest—taking the attention away from Regulus, the chosen target for the prince’s affections. No matter that Regulus had his own thing going on with the shoemaker’s son.

Sirius’ eyes dart around watchfully, making sure not to stray off the path as he rushes to his grandmother Irma’s house, when suddenly his eyes latch on to a canine figure peering at him through the dense bushes. He freezes when it approaches him, shaking off the leaves as it pads slowly forward. The wolf is huge, each clawed paw sinking into the soft dirt of the forest floor, with glowing gold eyes; the same gold of the prince’s crown, Sirius thinks with a pang. From its monstrous mouth are two curved fangs, thorn-sharp and ivory white.

“Um, okay then,” Sirius whispers to himself, sounding half-choked even to himself. The beast wanders to his side and then, startlingly, sits at his feet, looking up at him with puppy-dog eyes. “Well,” he tells it, “if you’re not going to attack me then I suppose you can accompany me to my grandmother’s house.” Strangely, it seems to nod.

They continue the journey, side-by-side, the wolf growling in warning at any threats that watch from the shadows, which Sirius really appreciates. He wasn’t looking forward to dying. “You’re just a cute, protective puppy, aren’t you?” he says, patting its monstrously large head. When they arrive it’s almost morning, the moon descending under the horizon once more.

His grandmother is quite shocked to see him, not only alive, but with a prince by his side.

[starboy-sirius]

may 1 | animagus | @jegulus-microfic | 1.1k words

Prongs roams the Forbidden Forest, his flank heaving from the long run he just completed. He’s walking slowly now, allowing the breeze of the night to waft around him and past his snout, all the different scents of the night intriguing the animal within him.

He’s alone tonight, the moon shining down upon him as a waning gibbous, and as he looks up at it he can’t help but think of Moony. Remus is resting tonight, he and Sirius curled up in the common room together sharing a smoke, and the thought causes his tail to wiggle. It’s much like Padfoot gets around them. 

Remus and Sirius finally got their shit together a month ago and James couldn’t be happier, because it means that he doesn’t have to deal with their mutual pining. James being the kind of man desperate to help his friends with any inconvenience, ended up getting both ends of their quiet yearning.

Of course he was very happy to be a shoulder for the both of them, but he can’t say that he’s not relieved now that it’s over. A whining Sirius can be very hard to deal with, mainly because he clings to James and refuses to do anything else.

So James is out here alone because his best friends are happily lounging together on the sofa in the common room, sharing cigarettes and kisses as Remus no doubt reads Muggle literature to Sirius, who sits with his back to Remus’ chest. And he’s happy for him, of course he is, but there’s also a part of him that feels incredibly and indescribably lonely. 

The sharp crack of a twig broken under someone’s foot is what snaps him back to Prongs and the current situation. He sniffs the air, trying to pick up a scent and is pleasantly surprised by what he finds. He slides into a trot, wandering through the trees and bushes until he gets closer to the edge of the forest perimeter. He’s coming up to the glen of pretty flowers that bloom no matter the season. When James is out here on a full moon his priority is making sure that Moony doesn’t get too close to the edge of the forest, knowing that Remus doesn’t like to chance anything. It means that he doesn’t get the time to appreciate the pretty places that the Forbidden Forest has to offer, which is totally okay because James knows that the main reason in his own little furry ability is to help Remus with his. 

In the middle of the crop of flowers, surrounded by tall, imposing trees, is Regulus Black. 

He’s standing in what appears to be silky pyjama bottoms with his Slytherin jumper thrown over the top. It’s a mild Spring evening, so James isn’t particularly worried about him being cold. Merlin knows that Regulus wouldn’t like it if James were to badger him about wearing a coat. 

James is fairly content to stand at the edge of the trees and watch the pretty boy pluck the colourful flowers from the ground, collecting them in a bunch in his other hand. He watches the way his long fingers reach out, flexing as they decide which flower to pick, and then as they clasp the stem and pull. He watches the way his dark curls fall over his face and block the view of his steely eyes, the ones that flash at James whenever he dares to flirt with him. When he’s out of Sirius’ range, James gets rather shameless with his flirting and delights in the way that Regulus explodes like a bomb, firing insult after biting insult at him. 

He stalks forward, trying to observe from a different angle and is stopped in his tracks by Regulus’ head snapping upwards. James is rewarded by the view of his grey eyes and lets out a puff of breath that he’s sure would be a fond, dreamy sigh if he wasn’t in his animagus form. 

Regulus stares at him like he’s seeing one of the seven wonders of the world, eyes twinkling like the galaxy resides there, and it spurs Prongs forward. Regulus doesn’t move an inch as he stalks towards him until they’re metres apart, and Regulus takes a cautious step backwards. Prongs whistles in disapproval and Regulus freezes, his eyes never leaving the large stag in front of him. 

“Good, uh, deer?” Regulus mumbles, looking embarrassed. 

Prongs makes a noise closely resembling discontent. Regulus raises an eyebrow. “Not a deer?”

Waving his head back and forth, Prongs tries to show off his majestic antlers so that Regulus can identify him properly. He seems to understand, clever as he is. “Ah, not a deer, then. A stag, perhaps?”

Prongs hops around him, strutting as he does so and Regulus lets out a happy, quiet laugh, watching him all the while. James thinks it’s the best thing he’s ever heard. “Very impressive, indeed.”

Trotting back over to Regulus, Prongs stops much closer than before and brings his muzzle down to the top of Regulus’ head, burying it in his curls and huffing contentedly. Regulus stays very still as he does so but allows him to sniff and nuzzle him. Very carefully, he brings up a delicate hand and begins to stroke at his neck. 

“Oh,” Regulus makes a surprised sound. “You’re softer than I thought you’d be.”

Prongs releases a pleased hum and steps closer to Regulus to encourage more petting. Regulus laughs that sweet, quiet laugh once more and continues to massage Prongs’ neck. “You know, you remind me of someone I know. He’s a bit needy like this, too. Always following me around and bothering me.”

Prongs makes a disgruntled noise. The thought of him actually bothering Regulus with his presence makes him feel worse than he did when he originally came out here to clear his head. Regulus seems to read into his sudden mood change and says, “Don’t worry, secretly I quite like it. But that’s our secret.”

He lets out a happy little bellow and hops a few times, careful not to tread on Regulus’ feet. The two of them continue to stand in the glen for a little while longer, Regulus talking to him in hushed tones as he explains why he’s picking flowers. Prongs makes affirming noises here and there, wanting to let Regulus know that he’s listening. Regulus stares at him when he does this, pausing in the middle of his speech to stare openly at him like he’s trying to read him. 

James thinks he might be on to him, but then that’s ridiculous. Who in their right mind would think oh, that stag is paying undivided attention to me, must be James. No one, that’s who. 

When the night starts to get a bit too cold, Prongs is nudging at Regulus’ side and the boy relents. “Okay, okay, I’m going. See you here tomorrow night?”

James wouldn’t miss it for the world. 

[ecstarry]

last line x new year new snippet!

“I want to.” James pressed a kiss to Regulus’ right cheek. “Let me.” Another kiss landed on his left cheek. “I just want to spend it with you,” he insisted, sealing his words with a kiss on Regulus’ lips.

James never got tired of this—kissing Regulus, running his hands through his curls, feeling the way he melted under his touch. Even the quiet moans Regulus made during the gentlest of kisses were something James adored.

this took me an emberrasing amount of time to get to i'm so sorry i have nothing to show but this cute snippet of iva's original xmas fic that i did not finish (the one i posted still was very cute i promise) but here it is <3

thank you for the lovely tag @velanavis , @ultravioletbrit , @residentrookie , @lavenderhaze , @sunfl0w3rmoon , @kalegreeneyes , @sixlane

this took me too long omfg this is most definitely an open tag babes !!

[lady-stardust-sang]

Cate's brother

James threw this Halloween party and he invited fourty of his best friends

Sirius and Remus showed up, he got 'em a drink said, "How was your weekend?"

That's when her first heard his name and saying it tastes like earl grey, lavender and midwinter.

Sirius had family stay from his hometown, "James did you meet my brother?"

And then James said "No I didn't!"

And then he started coming over. 

And James heart went love him he’s the one and we shall wed 

And then James’ head said Are you gonna work, you gonna hurt, you gonna last forever? Are we gonna make, it gonna break it, when it now or never? If it’s gonna hurt will it be worth it and will I recover? Are you gonna feel the way I feel, are you for real Sirius’ brother?

He has these eyes so gray, he’s five foot six and a little younger than James. 

They go on cinemark dates with Sirius and Remus, true love in 3D,

He’s fun and weird and ridiculously smart, likes cheap cigarettes and can down a vodka like no other,

James grabbed his hand in the dark and he pulled him to the car and the speakers played ABBA, and they pulled up to James’ front door, and then they opened the door, and when they started making out they tripped and fell in a bed. 

And then James’ head said Are you gonna work, you gonna hurt, you gonna last forever? Are we gonna make it, gonna break it, when it’s now or never? If it’s gonna hurt will it be worth it and will I recover, “Are you gonna feel the way I feel? Are you for real Sirius’ brother?

Will we ever get together? We’d be perfect for each other! Will we ever get together?”

And Sirius’ Brother said, “I won’t let you down or lead you on, no I’m not like the others.”

James said “How can I know your for sure it’s only been a winter?” 

He said “Get a flight to my hometown and you can meet Barty and Evan.”

That’s when James became his only man and now he dates Sirius’s brother!

[bradleysass]

Just Passing Through - wc: 592 - Jegulus,Rosekiller w/ past Sunkiller

Barty first sees James again on a train platform in Prague, right before the summer heat becomes unbearable. It’s been years—seven, maybe eight—and Barty is older now, sharper around the edges. Evan is beside him, too preoccupied with a disposable film camera and the flaring architecture to notice the way Barty's spine straightens. He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t need to. James doesn’t look over.

But Barty knows. Barty feels it. James knows he’s there.

Later, on the Charles Bridge, Barty watches James from a distance. James is smiling—always has been, always will be, like some cosmic punishment—and there's someone next to him. Regulus. Slim, elegant, more real than the ghost Barty used to picture when he couldn’t sleep. Regulus wears James' coat even though the air’s too warm for it, and Barty can’t decide if it makes his stomach churn with resentment or regret.

He walks away before James can turn his head.

The second time, it’s a grocery store on a rainy Tuesday, half a world away from Prague. They’re both standing in front of the same row of overpriced red wine. James reaches for the bottle Barty’s already holding.

Fingertips brush. Neither pulls away.

It’s slow. Reverent. Torturous.

Barty lets James take the bottle. James doesn’t look back. His cart has flowers in it—white ones, delicate—and a frozen quiche Barty knows he’ll burn because James never remembers the oven timer.

The store lights are cold and too bright, and Barty stands still for too long.

In late autumn, Barty sees James again in a gallery opening Evan dragged him to. Regulus is featured—portraits in grayscale, cold and honest. James stands at his side in a navy suit, mouth tight with pride, but his eyes scan the crowd like he’s looking for something. Or someone.

They meet eyes for the briefest second. James doesn’t smile.

Neither does Barty.

Winter comes with a funeral. Not theirs. A mutual acquaintance, distant and tired of living. The chapel smells of wood polish and loss. James sits on the other side of the room, and when Barty catches a glimpse of his profile—shoulders tense, head bowed—he aches.

Not for the dead.

For everything they never were.

There’s always something. A coffee shop in the early morning. A layover in Amsterdam. A wedding where Barty is seated across from James at a table for twelve.

They don’t speak.

They don’t need to.

Because there are glances. A lingering pause when their hands brush while passing a bread basket. The way James always, always looks away first like it hurts too much to stay. Barty never stops looking. He can’t. He never could.

Evan kisses Barty like he’s trying to make him forget. Regulus touches James like he’s anchoring him to the present. It works, sometimes. There are good days. There is laughter and comfort and shared toothbrushes and messy Sunday mornings.

But sometimes, Barty watches James in his memories and wonders if that love is something that just lives in him now. Something permanent. Dormant, but waiting. Like a muscle that aches when it rains.

They pass each other again in spring, on a boardwalk by the sea. James is laughing at something Regulus said, his sandals kicked off and his curls wind-tangled. Evan is holding Barty’s hand, guiding him toward an ice cream stand, talking about flavors, about nothing.

James and Barty brush shoulders as they pass.

No words.

But their hands twitch.

Their chests tighten.

And for a moment—just one—they both look back.