(We) Have never met

BLOWJOB SLOPPY ENOUGH?

COCK DEEP ENOUGH?

Complete fics posted on AO3 this day

1. The Strange Ritual of Parting by StarHel1o [M, 2k]

Harry Potter is in a coma, and Draco Malfoy is under house arrest. The thing in the wardrobe wears Harry’s face, speaks with Harry’s voice, and tells Draco exactly what he deserves to hear.

2. Timeless by Sophie_Aegis [M, 8k]

Sometimes, two souls are so intertwined that no matter what the world looks like, they keep finding each other. This is a story about a love so absolute that even Death can’t keep them apart.

3. a vast embrace by @angeldog5 [M, 1k]

When Draco saw Harry again, if he ever saw Harry again, there could be no hesitation. He would only have a second or two to cast.

4. Walk on a Beach by @ira-dunfort [T, 1k]

Malfoy clicked his tongue, fixing Harry with his eyes. "And you need to learn how to read a room." "Why would I need to? You're narrating everything." [...]

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Fest/Exchange

1. Running the Red Light by Anonymous [E, 8k]

Unfortunately, Draco was very used to hearing but.

“Mr Malfoy, thank you for your Healer application. Your NEWT scores are exemplary, and we thoroughly enjoyed reading your dissertation. We would love to offer you a position at St Mungo’s, but we’ve decided to move forward with a candidate whose public profile is less complicated.” “Draco, I know our parents want us to get married, and whilst I think it wouldn’t be a terrible arrangement, I just can’t do it. You’re lovely and all, but I have to think of any children we might have. It would be so difficult for them to have a Death Eater as a father.” “Darling, you know I adore it when you visit. I really do live for them… but perhaps it would be easier if you came when it was dark out? So the press didn’t see you.” “You can work in the DMLE admin department, Malfoy. The pay is as shit as the hours, but it’s probably more than you deserve.”

So used to hearing but was Draco that he lived in a constant state of flight. One foot out the door. His heart tucked away safe and sound. It was easier to keep his guard up than risk the pain of letting someone close enough to wound him properly.

You would think, with so much practice, that his walls would be impenetrable. It took Harry Potter returning to England after years abroad for Draco to learn this was simply not true.

Polite smiles as they passed each other in the corridor became small talk in the cafeteria queue. Small talk became shared jokes over lunch. Shared jokes became Harry waiting by Draco’s desk at the end of the day, asking if he wanted to get a drink. One drink became two, became Harry’s hand on the small of Draco’s back, became trysts in the supply cupboard, nights at each other’s homes, weekends away, until somehow—impossibly—all of it became whispered promises between the sheets that Draco didn’t believe.

But gods, did he want to.

He wanted to believe so badly that, despite half his heart constantly bracing for the inevitability of but, the other half lived in hope of a full stop.

It came on a Wednesday evening. Harry and Draco stood side by side at the hob, both tired from work, both still in their shirtsleeves, cooking dinner together like they did most nights.

“You’re going to burn the garlic,” Draco said, reaching past Harry to turn down the heat. “Add the stock now.”

Harry did as he was told. “That enough?”

“Perfect. Add the rice and let it simmer for fifteen.” Draco glanced at the oven. “I think the chicken is almost done, you know—”

“I love you.”

So sudden it was that Draco froze. He braced himself, waiting for the but.

I love you, but this is difficult. I love you, but people will talk. I love you, but I don’t know if I can.

Only, it never came. Instead, Harry took his hand, threaded their fingers together, and stood so close that they were chest-to-chest, and Draco began to wonder.  

“I love you,” Harry said, softer this time. “That’s all.”

Draco swallowed. His heart was no longer tucked away safe and sound. It was right there in his throat, beating itself half to death because it was true.

He lands and as soon as his phone reconnects to the network, a voice note from Shane comes through.

“Hey baby, I’ve been watching your flights and I know you missed your connection. There isn’t another flight to Ottawa today, but I booked you a flight to Montreal. It leaves in 90 minutes, so you should have lots of time to make it. I’m going to hop in the car and I’ll pick you up at the Montreal airport. I grabbed us a hotel room so we don’t have to drive back tonight. We’ll be tired, and also I need you inside me like… right fucking now. I’m gonna put a plug in before I hit the road so I’m all ready for you when you land.

Anyway, I sent the flight details to your email so you have everything. I love you so much, baby. I’ll see you soon.” (It’s important to note that this entire message is delivered in a matter of fact, business tone.)

Ilya experiences the Shane-specific range of emotions that his husband is oh-so-good at eliciting in him: gratitude, overwhelming affection, feeling safe and loved, and insane horniness, all before he even gets his bags and gets off the plane.

He subtly adjusts himself and texts Shane as soon as he’s in the terminal.

“Thank you for taking care of the flight. You know how much I respect you, right?”

Shane replies:

“Of course I do, baby. Why?”

Ilya:

“Because when I get you into that hotel room tonight, it’s going to seem like I don’t.”

Shane just sends back a picture of himself, back to the mirror, the merest hint of something silver between his cheeks.

Ilya:

“And they call me a fucking menace. See you soon. I love you.”

Shane:

Connor Storrie | YSL Spring/Summer 2027 | 06/23/26

https://solidarityinpride2026.funraise.org/fundraiser/pridewithhudson

Why am I just seeing this! https://x.com/babyloonlet/status/1977541202934186194