Summary: you think Neil is perfect. But somethings seem to say he’s not.
Word count: 2.4k+
Warnings: whole load of SMUT
Authors note: while normal people have jobs, I here seem to have taken it upon myself to express our sexual frustration, as a community, in the form of smut.
Ps. Yes guys I really tried today. Plis tell me if it’s too much and I’ll tone it down. I’m new. Like really new at this.
Pps. Thank you and love you guys for the likes reblogs everything
Mentally scratching out another tally mark, you realize it’s been about 500 times now that you’ve looked up in hopes that he’d be looking at you too. But no. He isn’t. He seems to be doing, what can only be described as, staring quite over-interestedly at his own watch. And while that may seem really fishy, it was even possible that he had been trying to get your attention for hours now and was just looking for the time he could finally ask you to meet him again. Alone.
I was listening through Gatsby: The Musical with my mom today and about halfway through “Forevermore”, she said “This doesn’t sound like a healthy relationship” and I was just:
Well it was for yesterday, I’m late! In France, you have to try to stick a paper fish in the back of others, and when they figure out, you say « Poisson d’avril »!
Voilà, encore des batailles épiques s’offre à nous avec ce scotch qui ne colle pas!
ao3: “it goes swish swish” rating: T genre: fluff warnings: analogical, food description: Virgil goes grocery shopping with his boyfriend. (day 3 prompts: jacket/jam, @analogicalweek)
Today is grocery day.
Logan has written a list, and Virgil’s checked it twice (and stealthily added more than one unhealthy and/or sugary thing to it before Logan crossed it out in pen and said “it isn’t healthy, Virgil” and Virgil said “that’s the point”).
Virgil bounces on his toes, his hands stuffed in the pocket of his hoodie as he waits for Logan to be ready. He likes spending time with Logan however he can get it, and grocery shopping day feels like their own personal bubble. Plus, this time is special.
A note from Lucy: so while this isn’t a “IM BACK FROM THE DEAD PEOPLE LISTEN UP BECAUSE BOY DO I HAVE A LOT OF STORIES TO TELL”, it’s much more rather “a peace offering from the writing gods”. However, that’s not to say I don’t have more on the way. On currently writing for another fandom at the moment. I’ve got an outer banks fanfiction out called Transient that is love for you all to read. It’s over on my AO3 and the account is called mild_kleptomaniac. That it for now. Hopefully, I’ll have a few more updates sooner rather than later. But I can’t promise much as I’m eating to finish Transient fist. Love you all so much! Thank you for this who have paitienlt waited by my side while I wrote this and many more. This one is a special one for Liz (@codename7). Not for any particular reason other than for her constant support in me and what I love to do.
It has only just occurred to me why they say ‘inlove’. You are fully submerged and surrounded by your devotion to another. How do you do it? Are you thaumaturgical? Is this that I think it is!
—
Humans have a very silly habit of diluting feelings into words. Apparently, it makes it easier to digest. This habit of ours is so easy to slip into that we never recognise spin it ourselves.I believe it is completely ridiculous because feelings aren’t meant to be easy. It’s how we determine what is worth our time and if we want to continue living in those feelings. It’s based on a gut feeling.
—
For we are only human in each other’s eyes, I see delight in the littlest of actions and things others deem to be common; Fresh strawberries and white cream laid out on a gingham blanket. Soft silk woven into clothes you drape over arms, shoulders and chest. The natural skipping of a heart that is synchronised to my breath and my breath only. To me, that’s what I want to name bliss.
—
Home is not where I am. Home is wherever you may be. Settle your roots into the soft ground and let that earthy musk cover its blanket of green leaves and a summer breeze. You make us at home. No roof can compare to the
shelter you give us every day just by encompassing us with your arms. Let that warmth in your embrace lull us to sleep so we may never wake again unless we can down eternity in this extinct state.
—
You and I both know it cannot last forever. But we both find solace in short moments of relaxation. For now it is enough. Though I cannot pretend in false hopes and hold a fragile faith in a false god to wish it not so.
Here’s a little something for you, because you’re wonderful and your beautiful art brightens up my days. 600 words on soulmates, rated T.
“Do you believe in soulmates?” Draco asks, and Harry’s reply doesn’t come as a surprise, not really.
“Absolutely not,” Harry declares without turning. He stirs the pasta sauce and smacks his lips in satisfaction after tasting it.
Draco can see the explosion of colours in the sky from the kitchen window. His tiny kitchen feels warm and cosy, and his heart flutters like a little bird when Harry turns to smile at him. Merlin, Draco loves this man so much that sometimes it feels like his heart can’t possibly contain all the feelings he has for him.
“How come?” Draco insists, because he loves hearing about Harry’s opinion on pretty much anything.
“I believe we make our own destiny,” Harry says, grabbing a few leaves from Draco’s basil plant and chucking them into the sauce. “I don’t think magic or predestination have anything to do with love.”
It reminds Draco of that thing he read in a Muggle library, about Homo faber suae quisque fortunae. Every man is the artisan of his own destiny.
“What about prophecies?” Draco asks.
Harry snorts, grabbing a pan from the drying rack and filling it with tap water.
He looks absolutely gorgeous in Draco’s kitchen, as if he belonged in his miniature Muggle flat with all the pot plants and the colourful rugs Draco bought at Camden Market.
“I believe you make of them what you want,” Harry replies.
Draco doesn’t tell him about the prophecy that was made about him when he was born. That an old witch predicted Draco would lose everything, only to gain one thing that would be more important than all the rest. Draco knows with every fibre of his being that the prophecy meant Harry, but he doesn’t say it.
He strokes the warm fur of the cat asleep on his lap instead, and Oatmilk purrs in contentment. Draco stretches his legs under the table, and Vanilla plays with the red pompoms of his slippers, her paw touching them carefully and making Draco smile.
“So you don’t believe that people are meant to find each other?” Draco murmurs, but what he actually wants to ask is if Harry doesn’t believe they’re destined to be together.
“We choose who we want to be with,” Harry insists, turning to look him straight in the eyes. His gaze is so intense that Draco feels a flush colouring his own cheeks. “I chose you, Draco. And I choose to be with you every day of my life.”
“Hmm,” Draco mumbles, because he’s this close to saying those three little words he’s never said to anyone. They’ve never felt as real as they feel now with Harry.
He imagines a red thread connecting his little finger to Harry’s, linking them by destiny or love or whatever biggest force rules the universe.
“Draco, we’re together because we are…” Harry starts, his face turning crimson, and Draco is worried he might say something dreadful like sexually compatibleorshagging like rabbits all the time, but Harry moves closer, interlacing their fingers together and bringing Draco’s hand to his lips to kiss it tenderly. “We are…I mean, at least I am…I didn’t mean to presume - Merlin’s pants on fire, why is this so bloody hard?”
Draco stares at him, his eyes widening in understanding as Harry’s ears turn red.
“I love you,” Draco says softly. “So much.”
Harry’s smile blooms on his face, making his eyes crinkle at the corners and his eyes shine so bright.
“I love you too,” he says before leaning closer for a kiss that tastes like basil and sunsets and love.
@drarrymicrofic May 7 2021 | Prompt: Caught | an: i found this in my notes?? and i never posted it apparently but i actually do like it so here it is now
At midnight, he runs. He is halfway down the steps when he’s caught by a hand around his wrist.
“Malfoy. Don’t go yet.”
He looks up from his caught wrist to his captor, gold mask glinting in the moonlight—the mask that covers that scar, but cannot hide those brilliant green eyes.
“Sephardim are bewildered by the Ashkenazi pursuit of humrot (halakhic stringencies), because they have traditionally sought to balance the requirements of observance with the requirements of living, to achieve a form of religious expression that is balanced and proportionate, that takes into consideration the whole man – not to torture and subordinate him as a basis for religious satisfaction, but to encourage and cultivate the range of human attributes.”
