#im lucky
It’s like yeah I wanna be told what to do and held down and punished. I want to be your fucktoy and your property. Get collared and teased. But I also wanna be your cuddle buddy that you binge watch shows with and eat some junk food then fall asleep together. And when we wake up we just stare at each other knowing that we are so adorable and I can make you breakfast.
I have this with someone and I feel really lucky. I still haven’t made her breakfast though. I should look up some vegan breakfast recipes.
This made me smile so big.
And yes, you should. <3
Did this moon without capturing the frog…
Hnnnngggg…. so close…
(Well he’s Mario. He can do master parkour all by himself.)
for the @drarrymicrofic prompt “I’m Lucky” (M, 350 words)
Being the Master of Death came with an especially peculiar side effect. Harry had become, for lack of a better term, reallyfucking lucky.
As he strolled Diagon Alley, Galleons glimmered on the sidewalk.
Over the din of the crowd on pub night, Madame Rosmerta announced him as the winner of a year’s worth of free drinks.
He lost his money pouch one night and thought the streak was broken, only to have it returned by a handsome Frenchman named Jean-Luc who made him see stars. Three times.
A visit to Eeylops turned into a tearful reunion with Hedwig, who had been found over a year ago with a broken wing and rehabilitated. “I’m sorry for making you wait,” Harry choked out as she nipped at his finger.
Who needed Felix Felices?
–
But Harry’s luck came with consequences. His friends refused to play Quidditch with him. “It’s no fun when you find the Snitch within 10 minutes every time, Harry,” Ginny had apologised before launching herself skyward.
Creeps came out of the woodwork, asking for “a little advice” on that afternoon’s Puddlemere game.
Ron’s jealousy was worse than ever, even as Harry plied him with free broomsticks, free box seats, free dinners.
He had the Black fortunes at his fingertips, but missed Sirius with every inch of his being.
And the intuition that drove his luck, putting him in the right place at the right time every moment of every day? It kept forcing Draco Malfoy into his path. It didn’t stop Draco from sneering at him, lashing out and causing a scene, spitting Potter like an obscenity.
It didn’t stop the two of them from getting trapped at Grimmauld Place, the house holding them hostage. It didn’t stop Hermione from recognising their entrapment as ancient sentient house magic, with irreversible sexual requirements. It didn’t stop Harry from stumbling into a freshly-showered Draco in the narrow, dim hallway, clutching a small towel around his waist.
But as he blinked sleep from his eyes the next morning, greeted by soft sunlight that highlighted Draco’s freckles, Harry whispered to himself, “Lucky me.“
