“Do you remember the first time we danced together?” Andrew whispers quietly. He’s swaying gently back and forth in Lorenzo’s arms with his husband’s head resting against his shoulder. His husband. Andrew considers those words again, wondering if it’s ever going to get old.
“How could I forget?” Lorenzo replies. Andrew can feel the smile spread across Lorenzo’s face from where the side of his mouth brushes against Andrew’s neck. “You’ve gotten a lot better at it since then.”
It feels like a lifetime ago that the two of them met at Magnus and Alec’s wedding, dancing together on a whim after a few moments of obvious flirting. It was fun, but Andrew never really expected it to lead anywhere. He certainly couldn’t have imagined following that whim would land him in a wedding of his own, all eyes on them as they share this first dance as a married couple.
“I had a good teacher,” Andrew replies. Even now he follows Lorenzo’s lead, giving himself over freely to mirroring the movements of the much more graceful man in front of him.
Andrew remembers the missteps along the way. There were fights - some petty, others serious - and a few moments where he wasn’t sure he was strong enough to follow in Alec’s footsteps and marry a warlock. But those moments pale in comparison to the bright memories of love and laughter, of discovering himself through Lorenzo’s eyes and realizing that he’s stronger and more capable than he ever gave himself credit for before.
“What are you thinking of, my love?” Lorenzo asks him.
“How happy I am to be here, with you. To have this for the rest of our lives together,” Andrew answers simply. “Sometimes it doesn’t feel real, you know? That I get to have all of this.”
“I know the feeling,” Lorenzo agrees. “I meant what I said in my vows - I know how lucky I am to have you, Andrew. Don’t think for a second that I take the weight of your love for granted.”
“Always the poet,” Andrew laughs lightly as the song ends. “Save the schmaltzy lines for the toast.”
“Oh, trust me,” Lorenzo says with a smirk, his voice just loud enough to be heard above the applause that follows the last note. “There’s plenty more sweetness where that came from. And a little more saved just for you when we’re alone later,” Lorenzo adds with a wink.
( @shadowhunterbingo square: Babysitting)
(Read on AO3)
Lorenzo should’ve known better than to ever tell Magnus Bane that he ‘owed him one’ after the last favor the High Warlock of Alicante did for him. Lorenzo’s been around for centuries, and more than that, he’s been aware of Magnus for centuries - that’s long enough to know that allowing him a carte blanche favor would backfire spectacularly.
Which is how Lorenzo finds himself babysitting on what’s supposed to be his date night with Andrew.
“It’s fine, really,” Andrew says for what is probably the seventh time since he arrived, matching the number of times Lorenzo’s apologized for ruining their night one-for-one. “I don’t mind kids.”
Lorenzo can’t quite convince himself to believe that it’s actually fine, not when they could be eating a candlelit dinner in Paris instead of cleaning up the absolute disaster Max made of the soup Lorenzo prepared for dinner. Max swears he didn’t use magic but Lorenzo can’t imagine another way he managed to get it on the vaulted ceiling.
“You’re certainly good with them,” Lorenzo observes. It’s true. Andrew’s a natural, and not just with Rafael because they’re both Shadowhunters. Andrew is good with Max, too - he’s patient and understanding in ways many Shadowhunters wouldn’t be with a young warlock child.
“You’re not half-bad yourself,” Andrew points out.
Lorenzo frowns at that. He’s grown short with the children a few times and nearly lost it with the soup disaster - which would’ve been more than a ‘nearly’ if Andrew hadn’t stepped in to diffuse the moment. He and Andrew do balance one another well when it comes to dealing with them, he has to admit.
“Well, one doesn’t live for centuries without picking up some basic tactics for dealing with children.”
It’s the wrong thing to say. Lorenzo doesn’t know why immediately, but he knows by the way Andrew’s face falls slightly, a frown replacing the amused smile which was present a moment before, that he’s said something wrong.
“What?” Lorenzo asks immediately. One thing he’s gotten better about since he started dating Andrew is prompting conversations about things that, if he didn’t acknowledge directly, Andrew would probably push aside and never actually bring up. Lorenzo’s never been one to avoid a difficult conversation and let resentments and concerns fester - he’d much rather bring it to focus before it spirals.
“Nothing,” Andrew says, deflecting despite knowing exactly what Lorenzo’s doing, as well as Lorenzo’s awareness of exactly what Andrew’s doing.
“It isn’t nothing. I said something wrong,” Lorenzo prompts.
“You didn’t,” Andrew insists. “We haven’t spoken about children before, your opinion on them isn’t wrong. I’d just always… I don’t know… hoped for kids of my own.”
“I never said I didn’t,” Lorenzo points out.
“Yeah, but ‘basic tactics for dealing with children’ isn’t really something someone who likes kids would say, is it?” Andrew counters.
He’s not wrong. Lorenzo has been a bit prickly ever since acquiring the Lightwood-Bane children to watch today, and he can see how that would come across to Andrew. And honestly, before now he hadn’t seriously considered the possibility of having children himself. It’d never been a personal need, never a priority, but with Andrew…
With Andrew, Lorenzo can’t help but realize he wants everything.
“I think I’d like children with you,” Lorenzo says finally.
Andrew’s face lights up with hopeful optimism before he has a chance to mask it. “You’re not just saying that?”
“I’m not,” Lorenzo promises emphatically. “I wouldn’t lie, not about that. I don’t want one now, but if things continue the way they are between us, I wouldn’t write it out for the future.”
Lorenzo wonders if it’s too much, speaking of a future between them involving children when they’ve only been dating for a couple of months, nevermind that Andrew is the one who brought it up. But Andrew brought up the concept of raising children theoretically, which is a lot different than saying ‘I would raise a child with you’.
It isn’t too much, though. That much is evident when Andrew’s smile grows wider than ever at the idea of this possible future for them.
“I won’t write it out, then,” Andrew replies. He looks like he might say more except at that exact moment there’s the sound of a small explosion, followed by a series of crashes from the room where Max and Rafe are meant to be napping.
“I’ll take this one,” Andrew volunteers. “You finish cleaning the ceiling and meet me in there.”
With that Andrew gives Lorenzo a quick kiss, smile still wide on his face, before ducking out of the room.
Lorenzo looks to the mess he still has to clean up and sighs, but finds himself unable to keep the smile off his own face as he sets to work, imagining the day he and Andrew will do this with a child of their own.
middle school teacher ryland grace who is intimately and closely familiar with just whipping out some felt to make a model, who has clear, easily-readable handwriting, who quickly thinks about an alternative solution when his student rock can't see. ryland grace the middle school teacher you are so dear to me
The pilot -> astronaut pipeline makes complete sense but is also funny to me. There's a secret second sky and if you get good enough at doing sky you can do space.
More Voldemort! I don’t think I’ve ever drawn so much of him
I love how Tom Riddle turned out.. like.. what a punchable face! He’s the most beautiful person ever but you freaking hate him, you know? It’s perfect!
At one point I want to draw a progression of Harry’s scar, I have a very cool idea for it
drarry drabble | potions professor draco x dada professor harry | rating t | wc 840 |
Harry had just accepted the Defense Against the Dark Arts post at Hogwarts, the coveted position that had been open for decades. It was a new beginning, leaving Auror life behind, and part of him was thrilled. The other part was a little tense about one thing.
Draco Malfoy.
He’d already learned Malfoy was teaching Potions, his coal black robes and a perpetual scowl a tribute, of sorts, to Severus. But if Harry was honest, he remembered Draco’s smirks, his teasing, and the way he had once made Harry’s pulse do things it definitely shouldn’t.
It was early morning, and Harry had been arranging his new office. Books stacked in precarious towers, parchment everywhere, and a half-empty cup of tea steaming beside him. He heard the familiar click of polished shoes on stone and froze.
“Potter,” Draco drawled, leaning in the doorway like he owned the corridor. “I assume you’re not planning on scaring the first-years before breakfast?”
Harry rolled his eyes. “Good morning, Malfoy. You’re early.”
“Never too early to check on my competition.” Draco sauntered in, hands in his pockets, eyes scanning the room as if cataloging every misplaced book and quill. “Though I must say, I didn’t expect your chambers to be so … cluttered.”
Harry bristled, then felt the corners of his mouth twitch. “Auror life leaves you messy. I’m adjusting.”
Draco raised an eyebrow, stepping closer. “Adjusting?" He hummed. "Or panicking about controlling a classroom full of children?”
“Depends on the day,” Harry said dryly, then paused as Draco leaned down, suddenly fixing the crooked tie at Harry’s neck. The movement was swift, efficient, and disturbingly intimate. Fingers brushing the skin of his neck.
“There,” Draco said, standing back, eyes flicking to Harry with a faint lift of one brow. “Now you look less like a startled Niffler.”
Harry’s chest warmed before his brain caught up. “You… you know, you could’ve just said hello,” he said, voice teasing.
Draco’s smirk faltered, just slightly. He cleared his throat. “I like my hellos accompanied by constructive criticism.”
Harry stepped closer, heart thudding. “Is that your polite way of flirting, or are you just judging my tie skills again?”
Draco’s cheeks went a barely-there shade of pink. “Flattering is not my style. But it wouldn’t surprise me if you misinterpreted my concern for your neckwear as something else.”
Harry grinned, stepping in even closer, ignoring the thrum of nerves in his stomach. “Maybe I like misinterpretations. Makes mornings more interesting.”
Draco’s sharp eyes flicked up to meet Harry’s. He swallowed. “You’re impossible, Potter.”
“And yet somehow, you still come to see me before classes,” Harry said quietly, almost daring.
Draco opened his mouth, closed it, then muttered, “I’m checking on your… preparedness.” He coughed, straightening, voice tight. “For the students.”
Harry couldn’t help the laugh that escaped him, and Draco’s lips twitched, the smirk returning, though softer this time. “Right. ‘Preparedness.’ That’s convincing.”
“You should teach that class, actually,” Harry said, leaning closer, “Because it seems like you’re pretty good at handling distractions.”
Draco froze. His pale face betrayed him, a faint flush creeping across his cheeks. He averted his gaze, muttering, “I think your office needs more order. Books in neat piles. Not that mess.”
Harry grinned, stepping in closer until their shoulders almost touched. “Or maybe it needs less of you judging it and more of you standing here.”
Draco’s breath hitched. He blinked, then, with a sort of resigned grace, returned Harry’s gaze. “You’re impossible,” he repeated, this time softer.
Harry smirked, daring. “I like it when you say that.”
Draco’s lips twitched. He reached out again, brushing a stray lock of hair from Harry’s forehead with a hand that lingered a moment too long. “Go make your students fear and respect you,” he said quietly, “and try not to get distracted by me.”
Harry laughed, feeling the heat in his chest. “No promises.”
Draco’s smirk softened into something warmer. “Potter.”
Harry caught his hand briefly. “Yes?”
Draco’s eyes flicked down, then back up, the pink in his cheeks still lingering. “Don’t let them see you like this,” he muttered, almost embarrassed, “with that ridiculous grin.”
Harry leaned in, forehead resting against Draco’s. “I’ll try. But you make it hard.”
Draco’s smirk was gone now, replaced by a look that made Harry’s heart skip. He shook his head and muttered, “You’re unbelievable.”
“I know,” Harry whispered, and this time, Draco didn’t flush, just let the words hang between them, heavy and warm.
The moment broke with a quiet knock at the door, and Harry laughed softly, brushing Draco’s hand off gently. “First-years won’t wait.”
Draco straightened, smoothing his robes, smirk returning with careful control. “Go. Be the heroic DADA professor they’ll both fear and adore. Try not to get lost in your own office.”
Harry grinned, watching him go. “Or maybe I’ll get lost with you.”
Draco paused in the doorway, almost imperceptibly, before disappearing. Harry’s chest was still racing, and for the first time in a long while, he felt exactly where he belonged.
I need tiktokers to understand that ao3 has been home for the freaks (affectionate) ever since the day it was created. the entire site was created because “dark and fucked up fics” were banned and removed from other platforms, so us freaks came together and created a site for other freaks — a site where nothing is censored, a site with no algorithm, no capitalism, no ads, and again, absolutely no censorship.
this has been our house for decades. you newbies don’t come into our house and tell us how to arrange our furniture. either be nice and respect our house, or leave and build your own house elsewhere.
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