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to-the-stars8 · 6 months

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Twin Flames

Asra x MC Summary: The final argument that results in Asra leaving, and you all alone.

“There is a ship leaving in an hour,” Asra said, eyes panicked and pleading. “Come with me, it is all I'll ever ask of you again. For me.”

At one point, Asra could have asked you for the world, and you would have given it to him. Now, as you looked at him, you decided not. There had been too many lonely nights thinking over the same broken promise, and you would not fall deeper into his pit of distant love.

Yet, you knew that, if you came to it, there would be no worry. Asra would take care of you, and the two of you could lay under a tree in a foreign land in each other's arms. You felt dread at the thought. It was a tragedy that all the hope in the beginning had come down to disappointment and frustration. It exhausted you, wearing your mind thin. As it did his. You could see it, the way the weight of your distance and separate desires carried him down.

Sucking in a breath and averting your eyes, you listened to the silence of the city. It once bloomed with excitement, and it had been so loud that it made you feel alive. Then, the plague had swept through so fast, killing it. It made you want to stay despite your love’s cries to run. Whether you desired to save the constant excitement so you would feel a little less alone, or the good nature you liked to think you had, you did not wish to know.

“Leave if you must,” You said. “But do not ask this of me.”

Asra’s eyes were filled with tears, but he refused to acknowledge them. He shook his head. “Please, you have to—For me. You forget that you promised to always be with me.”

Anger tore through you. He dared to say that when he left you alone so often. Scoffing, you stepped away from him as you were afraid of what your rage would make you do. You began to cry, and a thousand curses passed through your mind. You wanted to hate Asra, to be able to cast him aside, but he had loved you so well and deeply despite the shortcomings.

“You—” You sucked in a breath. “You cannot expect me to uphold a promise you never kept.”

“I have asked for your forgiveness a thousand times, and will do so a thousand more if you wish.” Asra looked ready to beg on his hands and knees. “You must come. People here are dying like flies, and will die before I let you suffer the same!”

“Then I hope we burn on the same pile of bodies so we will never part again,” The words did not feel like yours. They were heavier, darker.

You regarded one another silently before Asra could no longer hold himself up. He collapsed onto the couch, head in hand. You did not move toward him.

“Please,” Asra whispered. “For me.”

“You are selfish,” You said.

Asra looked like a kicked dog, but your sorrow and anger would not allow any pity. No, you almost felt justified to hurt him, as nasty as it felt to admit. Either way, he did not deny your words. “You are not the only person in this city. I can help people here—I have the means to.”

Asra stood again, rushing to you with arms out and palms up, confused. “And what then, hm? If you find the cure do you think Lucio would let you be regarded as the hero?”

“No! How can you not understand?” You faced him now, eye to eye. “These are our friends! People that have been part of our lives for years—”

“Damn them all! None of them matter if they are not you,” He cried, grabbing at you desperately.

“You would say that of Muriel? ” You yelled.

Asra scoffed before turning his back on you. On his shoulders Faust curled tight around him, unused to her master’s anger and yours. “You know I did not mean that. I have offered for Muriel to come with us, but he is safe outside the walls of the city.”

You did not wish to say he was right, so you quieted. Wiping your eyes, you let your anger finally resolve and reach for him. When your hand met his shoulder, Asra jerked away, eyes turning to narrow onto you.

“Asra,” You said. “I am going to stay. Leave, it will give me comfort to know that you are safe. My heart will always be with you. Please know that.”

His face was like stone. Unchanged from the hate that was plastered on his face from the moment he turned to you.

“I wish I had never met you,” Asra gritted out before rushing out the shop door.

Your love for Asra gnawed painfully at your stomach. It yearned to call out for him. Beg for his forgiveness. Forgive me, you wanted to say. Forgive me for the choices I want to make, and do not hate me for it.

You didn’t know how long you stood there staring at the door. Though, by the time your senses had returned the night had turned into day by then, an orange hue coming into the shop through the stained glass window.

Still, you did not move as the sun's rays poured into your corner of the world. Compared to before, it seemed so small. Almost suffocatingly so. And, now the shop was quieter than you thought possible.

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dearharriet · 2 months

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So It Goes; Sirius B. 🐇

summary: being sirius black’s illusionist might not require being cut in half, but he finds other ways to challenge you.

word count: ~2K

warnings: pg-13 sexual content, fem!r, illusionist!r, magician!sirius, possessive!sirius, original character (for the plot), blindfold (non-sexual), groping, foreplay

note: i named the oc in this after leon kennedy because i had just watched that video of ethel cain talking abt him so it was the freshest name in my mind. also psa i am not a swiftie i just listen to her music :0

The audience is the third member of every scene. That’s any performer’s rule of thumb. What the watcher feels, where they’ve been, who they are—all of it precedes any preparation you do for a performance, no matter how important it feels.

You like to attribute the feeling to destruction. The crowd takes hard work and taints it with their emotions, taunting you. It’s unbearable.

When you shared that notion with Sirius—loitering backstage before a show—he snickered about it for days on end.

Sirius, in true chaotic fashion, loves the unpredictability of an audience. He’s always been partial to voyeurs—in and out of professional settings—and he likes to be surprised.

What’s worse is that he likes to surprise you.

“Ladies and Gents,” Sirius projects out into the darkness. The double-tiered theater is one of the bigger venues you’ve performed at, seating just shy of three hundred people.

Sirius is perfectly at ease, strolling leisurely across the stage in a tuxedo, the silver image of a charming magician.

“For our next feat, my illusionist and I will need a volunteer.”

Your head snaps toward Sirius—stage smile falling ever so slightly. He’s already looking your way, smug and colored with mischief. He’s improvising.

Reinstating your smile to its full magnitude, you turn it back to the dark theater, watching hands shoot up from every seat. In your peripheral, Sirius retreats upstage, signaling for you to make your selection.

You play up a show of indecisiveness, tapping a manicured nail to your chin. “Hmm. Well, we need someone strong. We wouldn’t want to send anybody to the hospital tonight.”

A few hands drop then, slimming your options down a bit. Good. Eyeing the rows of people, you suddenly find an opportunity to get Sirius back.

“I think I like our friend here in the front,” you drawl, batting your lashes and pointing delicately. “In the suit.”

The man in question raises his brows, looking to his left and right. He’s young and decently handsome, nothing like Sirius, but just good-looking enough to poke the bear. His hand hadn’t been raised, but if Sirius won’t play by the rules then neither will you.

You hum sensually, beckoning him up with a curled finger, which he follows. You’ve been told you have a presence like a viper onstage, like you’re constantly poised for a fatal strike, and you consider that this might motivate people to obey you.

As the well-dressed man steps gingerly off of the top step, you meet him with a hand around his tie, coaxing him further under the intense lights; Sirius does this often when he calls pretty girls onstage, maneuvering them around by the smalls of their backs just to piss you off. Some nights the crowd laughs at their flushed cheeks, other nights they swoon. The group tonight is dead silent, pinned under a mountain of anticipation.

You envy them, considering you know no more about what will happen next than they do. They get to be silent, but for you, the show must go on.

Arriving center stage, you meet Sirius with an unhappy sidelong glance. Your victim sways awkwardly where you’ve parked him.

“Don’t worry, handsome.” You pat his lapel. “Sirius will tell you what we need from you.”

The man laughs nervously, provoking a scatter of teasing giggles from the audience.

You and Sirius trade sides then, circling behind the man like hungry wolves. As he passes you, Sirius slips a silky belt of fabric into your hand, a challenging eyebrow raised.

“Right, sir. What’s your name?”

“Er, Leon,” says the volunteer, his voice shy.

“Leon, everybody!” Sirius booms, throwing his and Leon’s arms open for applause. The crowd whistles their approval. Leon’s face blooms red like the flower in Sirius’ coat pocket, and worse when you step into his space with the blindfold.

“Alright, alright.” Sirius settles the crowd. “My darling assistant has something for you, Leon.”

Quirking a brow, you take your supposed queue, lifting the cloth to his eye level.

“Don’t be scared,” you murmur, just loud enough so that only the three of you on stage can hear. Leon releases a tense breath, holding your gaze.

Watching from beside you, Sirius’ lips pull into a petty smirk.

“Darling, don’t tease him. Let him put the blindfold on you.”

He says it like it’s obvious, as if there’s a clear protocol for the trick that he’s pulling from thin air. The audience is easily fooled by his cool confidence, but your cheeks still flush in embarrassment under your stage makeup.

Leon deflates—counting his blessings, you’re sure. Being unexpectedly blinded in a dark room full of people isn’t exactly calming. Reluctantly, you pile the dark fabric into his palm and turn around, accepting your twisted fate.

“Make sure it’s nice and tight, Leo,” Sirius orders as your eyes are covered. “We can’t have her cheating.”

You huff at that. There’s an entire choreographed illusion being discarded purely for Sirius’ amusement—if anyone’s cheating, it’s him.

Once the blindfold is securely fastened over your eyes, Sirius sets out to assemble the rest of the trick, which includes leading Leon upstage.

“We’ll leave our illusionist up here for a moment,” announces Sirius before he goes. “She’s pretty enough to keep you all entertained.”

Something about his words lights a match in your belly, made all the worse by your impaired vision. Without a means of looking back at the snickering audience, you’re little more than a statue to be gaped at.

Luckily, Sirius is a jealous man, so he doesn’t leave you squirming under their watchful eyes for long. As he takes your waist in a theatrical lead, he whispers silkily into your ear.

“You really know how to pick ‘em, eh?” A shiver creeps down your spine, and you almost trip in your heels. Sirius’ hot breath oozes over you, the hair on the back of your neck picking up. “Let’s hope your aim is as good without your eyes.”

As you ponder whatever that might mean, Sirius disappears, and then returns moments later. Whatever he brings back has the crowd gasping, scandalized or awestruck. It’s all you can do to hope it’s not a live animal.

“Folks,” he begins, and by the sound of it he’s center stage again, keeping the show rolling. “Our next act needs no introduction.”

Sirius comes to you, pressing something cool and heavy into your hands. It only takes you a few seconds to identify it as a bow, and you can’t tamp down your resulting outburst.

“Are you mental?” you hiss at Sirius as he folds an arrow into your free hand. He laughs, mocking your panic. Big hands grip your waist, manhandling you into a proper position, and you're nearly beyond performing, ready to shout at the delighted audience that this is really very scary and they should go home immediately.

Sirius leans in, pressing his chest close to your back, his upstage hand kneading secretly at your hip.

“Leon, are you ready over there?”

Far away, you hear Leon choke nervously. “Er, as I’ll ever be.”

The crowd chitters.

“Don’t tell me you’re scared?” The smile is audible in Sirius’ voice. He’s getting a kick out of this.

“Of taking an arrow to the head? Yeah.”

Sirius grips your waist tight, feeling over the fabric of your costume bodice, but his voice is opposingly saccharine.

“My girl’s got great aim. She’d never hit you anywhere fatal.”

As the crowd guffaws at Sirius’ dark humor, you bite your lip, figuring there’s no more preamble to delay the inevitable. You notch the arrow into the bowstring and draw.

Barely breathing, you don’t realize that Sirius has left your side until his words register from somewhere else, between you and Leon. You try to listen to what he’s saying, but it’s near impossible to hear over the blood pulsing in your ears.

An arrow-in-the-apple trick isn’t beyond your and Sirius’ skill level, but it is a skill. One that you only know how to do with Sirius, and you’re frantically trying to correct your posture to the height difference Leon has.

“Can I get a countdown from the audience?”

The audience counts ten aching seconds in unison, dread pooling in your gut as they inch closer to one.

By the time they reach the final number you’re shaking, but you loose the arrow without a second thought. It whizzes by your clothed eyes, and a second later thumps into something hollow.

You can hardly breathe, hardly think, putting all your energy into keeping a grip on the hefty bow in your hands.

In the theater, an eruption of cheers commences, and you untie the blindfold as artfully as you can with shaking fingers. The stage lights hit your eyes harshly, leaving the audience a cacophonous void, but you’re more invested in the fate of Leon.

Squinting at the other side of the stage, you don’t find Leon at all, but Sirius standing perfectly still under an arrow-pierced apple. It barely cleared his head.

As your eyes adjust, you find Leon safe and sound in his front row seat, smiling guiltily up at you.

“I could have killed him.”

The dressing room vanity digs into your ass as Sirius presses you up against it, licking down your neck.

“So?” he replies flippantly, fingering the top of your stockings.

“So?” you repeat, incredulous.

“Yeah, so what? Who cares?”

You grind your teeth to halt your immediate response. He’s baiting you, tricking you into some kind of admission that could feed his jealous instincts.

“I’m not super fond of becoming Mistress Manslaughter,” you joke dryly.

Sirius scoffs into your throat, sucking harshly at a spot below your ear.

“Yeah, right. Like I’d let you do that trick with anyone but me.” He palms your tits to punctuate his statement.

You moan, holding each end of his undone bow tie like a lifeline. His sleek black hair smells ever so slightly of apple, citrusy and sweet.

“Why bring him up at all, then?” you ask. “Why bother?”

Sirius lifts his head, panting.

“Cause, babe. I love a twist ending.” He winks garishly, prompting an eye roll from you. You prepare to return his attitude, but Sirius interrupts you. “I’m through talking about—” a slovenly kiss to your jaw,“—what’s-his-face.”

“Leon.”

Sirius bumps you up onto the vanity surface, pushing his hands up your skirt. His mouth and neck are covered in your red lipstick, his eyes dilated.

“How about you stop saying his name, and start saying mine?”

Lifting an eyebrow, you gently push at Sirius’ shoulders. His breath catches—so subtly you almost miss it, but nevertheless—as he kneels willingly before you.

“How about you give me a reason, and I’ll think about it,” you retort.

Achingly slow, Sirius starts to peel the fabric of your underwear off of your hips. You rest back onto the mirror, slotting a hand into his tousled hair. His mouth bites teasingly at your stockings where his fingers just were, but you know they’ll stay on. He likes them too much to remove them.

As your underwear hits the floor, Sirius slides you to the edge of the table, pinning you under his heated gaze.

“I think I can give you more than one.”

thank you for reading! 🏹

masterlist

#sirius black #marauders #marauders era #marauders fandom #marauders fanfiction #sirius black x female reader #sirius black x y/n #sirius black x you #sirius black imagine #sirius black x reader #sirius black fic #sirius black fanfiction #sirius orion black #magician!sirius #so it goes #songfic #sirius black songfic

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