Microfics - Tumblr Posts

@drarrymicrofic’s prompt: love letters

drarry microfic

when draco found out it wouldn’t be long until harry would no longer wake by his side, in his arms, legs a tangled mess, under their covers anymore, draco could’ve sworn he wished the world ended right then. though, his grief wasn’t a lone man’s pie. in fact, the rest of the wizarding world sorrowfully cried too. money for harry’s chemotherapy was being swept off ruthlessly on one end, while draco’s nightmares of the potential death of his love came along on the other. it all seemed like a sick joke. just as their first anniversary as a married couple came around the corner, harry’s oesophageal cancer popped up like a twisted surprise. draco wouldn’t have guessed, though, if harry hadn’t complained of chronic chest pain or difficulty in swallowing—he just thought it was some kind of act in preparation for their first anniversary. like some kind of ongoing skit with a huge curveball to shock draco on the huge day with. though, he would’ve liked it if was kept that way. because as the days went by, the realization that harry just might not make it alive seemed to creep its way noisily–like a broken record–straight into draco’s head. it was quite the matter for him, of course. he never would’ve imagined things to fire back at the very last moment. heck, he didn’t imagine harry of all people to suffer oesophageal cancer. and it was as though harry wasn’t the only one with the short end on the stick, because draco’s mind seemed to slander him in the mud on the other end too. he started seeing visions, as though he was delusional and couldn’t differentiate between reality and what was in his mind. so, whenever draco walked around their now-empty apartment, he would vision a flicker of harry, trapped in their bed, yelling for help, crying and pounding on the sheets, but whenever draco ran to him to aid, harry would sink and disappear into the bed, leaving draco surrounded in his sorrow. draco did tell his mind healer about all of these visions though, and she did suggest draco try to pen his thoughts down. having lost her own child to the ruthless, hunting monster that is cancer, she confessed that writing her feelings down did help for her to visualize them to work on. and draco thought this was a pretty damn genius idea, except he had a little twist to it. instead of making the letter all about himself and what he called his “oh so poor little miseries”, he decided on writing love letters to harry instead. this way, he would give harry as well as himself something to look forward to every day, compared to usual days where he would stride into harry’s ward with his eyes and nose as though dipped in red paint, tear strains a never-ending pour. and so he did. draco poured all his love he would’ve given harry into the form of letters. he figured that writing was indeed his forte, as he elegantly scorched the paper with his undying love for harry. and it did pay off, because at the end, the flashing smile harry gave him after he was done with the day’s letter made draco’s heart soar, as though he fell in love all over again. soon enough, about three anniversaries later, harry managed to beat his oesophageal hell of a cancer and even came home with two boxes filled with four years worth of daily love letters from his husband. as heavy as it was, though, how could he complain? life and love were truly a mystery, and he was only blessed to have explored all strange corners of them with draco all along.

my heart goes out to anyone with cancer. you are so strong and i believe that you have the fight to beat it. you are so fucking amazing and i literally love you🤎🤎🤎🤎

I wanna start writing microfics but like... I'm scared of my writing being perceived.. any tips?

no x reader PLEASE

hookup - rosekiller microfic - word count: 333 - NSFW, not explicit but suggestive

Barty pressed the highest button on the elevator, shaking at the fact that he'd be so vulnerable to express something like this to a tinder hookup, but he couldn't help himself. He rocked back and forth on the balls of his ankles.

Waiting. Anticipating.

When he heard the elevator ding, he was brought out of his thoughts. He felt his own breath hitch, and he watched the door open. Just about to walk out, a tall figure approached the door.

Evan Rosier, the man who's bed he'd been in the past 4 nights in a row.

"Well hello there darling," he says, Barty's mouth running dry at the name, "I was just about to come get you. Should we go to my flat?"

Barty almost forgets he has words, looking into the eyes of the latter, towering over him just a bit. He was only a few inches taller than Barty, but his confidence made it seem like much more than that.

"Bee?"

"Oh! Uhm, yeah! Absolutely! You uhh.. lead the way."

Evan smiles this.. not quite sinister smile that makes Barty weak in the knees. He doesn't know how he's even walking at this point.

Before Barty knows it, he's in Evan's flat, being pinned to the door that had been slammed behind him.

"So.." Barty shivers.

"So."

"I needed to talk to you about something."

"Oh?"

"Something thats very important..to me."

"Alright now, get on with it."

"I know you've been seeing other blokes, and i know thats what we agreed was okay, but i just.."

Barty fiddled with his fingers for a moment, pondering what he should say.

"Come on, Bee," Evan breathes, placing a hand on his waist and moving his face ever closer to Barty's, "Tell me."

Barty dizzily stares at Evans lips, the words now forced out of him, yet his words stay soft and whispered.

"I want you all to myself. I need you all to myself."

"Is that so?"

"..Yes. All the time."

(creds to @my-castles-crumbling for the microfic layout)

(also @dracure im ur biggest fan pls notice me 🥲)

sword - rosekiller microfic - word count: 426 - NSFW, not explicit but suggestive - (part one?)

Evan had just walked out of his flat, heading to his office which was just a few blocks away. He usually kept his head low, rushing past everybody as to not draw attention to himself, but today something was different.

He came across a strange pierced man on the sidewalk—almost tripping over him—who seemed to be buffing and cleaning a sword. Living downtown on a sketchy street, Evan should've found this normal to an extent, but he was so intruiged.

"Sorry, am I in your way?"

"No, not at all. It's just..what the fuck do you have a sword for?"

"I uhm, do sword swallowing. I've been needing to make a few pounds recently, so I've been going around the city doing shit like that."

"Huh. Interesting. Mind if I watch?"

"No, not at all."

Evan nodded and stepped back to watch him do his magic. Many people had gathered now, of course wondering what the hell is going on. Barty simply smiled and want on with his act.

For a reason likely to be pure insanity, he gave the crowd anticipation by running his teeth and even his tongue across the bronze blade. Evan's breath hitched, noticing every movement of his mouth. The man seemed to notice this, so he took it into accunt to make his tricks even more lewd.

As time went on, a few people began shouting at him to get on with it, and to actually start sword swallowing.

He cleared his throat a few times, opened his mouth wide, and the sword slid right in without any further preparation. Evans mouth, too, was agape at the sight. One of the most attractive men on earth had a three-foot-long sword lodged down his throat.

Fuck.

After the show was over, Evan had finally built up enough courage to go back over to the sword swallower.

"Evan Rosier." He said, nodding to the latter, suggesting a response.

"Barty Crouch Jr."

Barty held out a hand, expecting a hand shake, but what he got in return was a tough lock on his wrist. "How would you feel about coming back to my flat with me? I wanna see what things other than a sword I can put down your throat."

"Oh my! What a forward young man you are.." Barty intrigued sarcastically, "but I suppose I could, considering your complexion.."

Evan laughed and dragged him along, down the street toward the steps of the loft.

He didn't care if he lost time. He couldn't go to work this turned on anyway.

When the Sun met the Moon

Dialogue prompt. 1- " Did I enter an alternate universe or did you actually just smile at me?" || Fluff ||

Beautiful as the sky is, that day, it was extraordinarily beautiful with soft colour of purple and pink while the sun decided to bid its goodbye and corner away until a day new day arrives. 

But that day, it was more beautiful because of the crescent of the moon and the sun meeting from the opposite ends of the world, one rising while the other drowning but only for a little time, they were both present at the same time.  

It's funny how we resonate with the love between the sun and the moon when sun and the moon can't even be present in the sky at the time but only in exceptional moments like these, but, in reality the one we love, we always want to be near them. If we truly resonated with the love of the sun and moon, the results would be catastrophic.

And yet, here was another lover, an actual true sun.

"Harry, I'm giving you five seconds, If you don't get out of the bed, I'll throw you out of the window," Ron threatened.

Harry groaned "I don't want to go outside."

"Stop being a bitch about everything. It's a fine day outside, everyone's out by the lake, just get out of your fucking bed."

"But I don't want to," Harry buried his face under his blankets only for it to be pulled up by Ron.

"Really?"

"You can't just escape life." Ron sighed.

Harry sat down straight, taking the blankets away from Ron "I don’t escape life,"

"But you do. You do it everyday." Ron replied.

Harry looked at Ron standing at the opposite end of his bed with a hopeful gaze which is honestly annoying to Harry.

Harry stood up groaning, mumbling something to himself about how he couldn’t believe he was doing this while Ron did his victory dance for which he practically had to throw pillows at him to make him stop dancing.

Minutes later Ron had convinced Harry to come to the Black lake with him where most of the Eighth years student's were gathered, mostly the ones who enjoyed being outdoors before curfew.

"Why are we here again ?" Harry asked pushing his hands into his jeans pocket.

"Well if you had not tried to escape life, you'd actually know that we do a bonfir every Friday night with some music. It's sort of a part of making peace and getting along."

Harry hummed "Who all gather?"

"Just us bunch, a couple of Hufflepuffs, Ravenclaws and few Slytherins- you know all of them so don't worry." Ron answered.

The leaves crunched beneath his feet as they walked furthermore towards where the light was glowing and even if Harry felt like running back away to stay in his bed all night and probably just sleep away the entire weekend, Ron won't let him.

"Hello, everyone- We have a new friend-"

"If this isn't the famous Harry Potter-"

"Blaise"Ron scolds.

Harry rolled his eyes in secrecy. This is why he never liked leaving his room anymore. It was tiring fitting into the title of the "famous Harry Potter"

"Can I go already?" Harry mumbled to Ron.

Ron looked at Harry by his side and he felt pity but he knew Harry needed the exposure, he had been sulking away in the regrets of the war for far too long.

"It'll be good- I promise. Just do this one night and if you don't like it, I will never force you." Ron said.

Harry huffed next to him and then followed towards the inner circle where the logs were set on the ground for people to sit on and almost everyone sitting with a partner, friend or a significant other.

Ron quite surprisingly had taken his seat next to Blaise, who was tuning his guitar (oddly) and though it seemed weird, Harry knew Ron was telling Blaise off on something.

Harry settled down awkwardly alone on one of the logs and allowed the warmth of the fire surge through him. He instantly felt his body getting warmer and his mood uplifting. 

Until, Draco Malfoy walked into the circle and looked for a place to sit and obviously, the only seat available was next to Harry.

"Can I?" Draco asked pointing to the empty seat besides Harry.

Harry shrugged "It's not like you can sit anywhere else"

Draco nodded then settled down next to Harry and crossed his legs soon.

They both were past their phase of stupid rivalries and were set on the path of acknowledging the other but they still didn't see eye to eye on many things but they were working on it which helped them to give another one a chance but there were several moments where they would simply remain ignorant or silent in others presence and right now was among one of those moments. They were sitting adjacent to one another for a very long time now, for the sun to fully set and night to take over but they hadn't spoken even a single word, however, had heard a couple of songs Blaise played.

While everyone chattered in their small circle or with their partners but they remained silent yet Draco could sense the tension, so could Harry but only he chose to break the ice "First night?"

Harry nodded "yeah- You?"

"Second. I don't like being in crowds,"

"Me either." Harry replied .

Draco nodded next to him in acknowledgement then as his eyes followed up to Ron and Blaise being cozier than usual he decided to ask another question.

"How many of all of these people do you think are dating?"

"Take a wild guess."

Harry rubbed his hands together then followed the sight of every set of couple on the log of woods "Hannah is definitely dating Matheo."

Draco frowned, "Fair enough."

"So is Celeste and Mache,"

"Really?"

"Look at their legs."

Draco hummed agreeing.

"What about Theo there ?" Draco asked.

"He's definitely hitting on her but the guy on the next log is also planning to hit on her." Harry replied.

Draco was impressed "quite an insight you have,"

"Tell me, you think Luna and Neville are together?" Harry asked turning faintly to Draco.

"They could've been if Neville wasn't cuddling his plant right now"

Harry chuckled beside him making Draco turn to see his short laugh.

"You think Ron and Blaise are together ?" Draco asked.

Harry shook his head, “Ron wouldn’t hide it from me if they were together.”

“And you’re really sure about that? What if he’s keeping his dating life private from you?” Draco asked curiously. 

Harry shook his head then pointed at them discreetly “I know Ron’s dating language, that’s his flirting language,” 

“So you’re a hundred percent sure?” Draco asked turning his head completely towards Harry. 

“Definitely.” Harry replied. 

Draco nodded. 

“If you’re so sure about who’s dating and who’s not, judge me,” Draco smirked. 

Harry raised his eyebrows in the acceptance of a challenge, “Okay,” 

“I think-you are ready to kill the person sitting next to you.” 

Draco shook his head, “Come on, be honest.” 

Harry huffed out a breath and leaned forward so he could look at Draco who had leaned forward to be closer to fire. 

“I think, you’re just waiting for the right person to come along.” 

Draco hid his smile,”Really?” 

Harry hummed in agreement. 

“And where do you think I can find the right person?” 

Harry thought for a moment, his mind looping around in spins of every time he felt his traitorous heart beating faster for Draco but had never been able to say it out loud, but only in his dreams. He let out a shuddered breath and in his head ran words of encouragement, ‘this is your moment’.

“Next to you maybe,” 

Draco stared at the fire, his eyes reflecting the orange and yellow of the fire and his face looking softer than a petal in the light of the flame. He noticed the way his lips quirked up a bit until he was full fledged smiling at Harry, unable to control the blood that rushed to his face making him pink but he didn’t speak anything and so Harry decided he would. 

“Did I enter an alternate universe or did you actually just smile at me?” 

Draco groaned, still smiling and nudged Harry out of the log of wood. 

“You had to ruin the moment, didn’t you?” Draco shook his head. 

Laughing Harry took his seat back ignoring the little attention he had managed to grasp. 

“I can’t help it- Its a default in me.” 

Draco tried controlling his laughter but he couldn’t after a while and broke out in laughter that remained soft yet purely contagious and it made Harry laugh himself, once again. Hearing Draco laugh was the best thing he did all week, hell even entire month or maybe the best thing he did in years and it made his heart swell with what he felt for Draco. It made him think of all the sounds in the world, the most beautiful of them all but this, his laugh, it was more beautiful than anything he had ever heard. 

And in the presence of each other, they forgot that everyone else existed and that was because perhaps it was easier to escape everyone while they were each other. It was a moment within a moment and they could live infinite of them.

Like said, the sky was extraordinarily beautiful that day and it was because the Sun had met the moon.

I'll be finishing off the remaining dialogue prompts with/without requests. Feel free to drop a request or not from the list..xx

MASTERLIST

300 followers appreciation dialogue prompt request open

@jegulus-microfic | july 11 - essential | wc 519

“I think I’m a bad person.” James looks at his hands, fingers knitted together, untangling, pinching the skin of his palms, tangling together again. Red spots, white knuckles.

The silence stretches on for too long. He doesn’t dare look up when he tries again. The silence should be answer enough anyway. “Do you think I’m a bad person?”

“James...”

“Do you?”

Regulus sighs, a small disturbance of the windless night. James wishes he could feel it. The air is too still, holding him too tight. Motionless.

“You do...” James answers for Regulus. Of course he does. If James thinks it, Regulus must too.

“You should talk to the others again.”

“I don’t know how.” It hurts. It also doesn’t feel like anything. Just a hole in his chest, quietness like the darkness around him. “I don’t know how to be a person right now. I don’t know how to be around them.” He’s failing them all. He’s supposed to be there with them, supposed to be a good friend, but he’s not even being a good person right now. Barely a person at all.

“They won’t mind, you know they won’t. They don’t expect you to always be the perfect friend, sometimes it’s enough to just be there. It’s what you tell Sirius all the time.”

“It’s different for me. It doesn’t count when it’s me.”

A quiet laugh from Regulus. “Still so self absorbed that you think the same rules don’t apply to you?”

It’s for James to be silent. He doesn’t want to think about it.

When Regulus breaks the silence again all traces of his humour are gone. “You need to get out of this, James. You need to talk to someone.”

“I’m talking to you.”

“I don’t count.”

James flinches. “Don’t say that.”

“James.” His voice is gentle. “You know I don’t count.”

James shakes his head vehemently. He doesn’t want to hear it. Doesn’t believe it. Refuses to believe it. It’s the one essential thing he’s ignored for ... he doesn’t think about it.

“Ignoring it won’t change it.”

“I don’t care.”

Silence.

“I don’t care,” James repeats desperately.

More silence, until finally, “I do think you’re a bad person.” It’s a whisper. The quiet movement of words through the air. This time James thinks he can feel it, a coldness caressing his bare skin, biting on his bones. “You’re hurting them.”

“I’m trying not to, I’m trying.”

“That’s how you’re hurting them.” James thinks he can hear Regulus move away from him. He still refuses to look up. “You need to talk to them.”

“Regulus...”

“You need to talk to someone who’s not me.”

“Don’t do this to me, please.” He tries not to look up, tries to keep his eyes on his hands where he doesn’t have to see the way Regulus looks right now.

“James,” Regulus says, and this time James knows he can feel it. It moves the night, strong enough it tears the air out of his lungs. A finality. “You need to stop talking to yourself.”

When he looks up the wind slowly pushes a cloud over the stars.

burnt, part 2

part 1 here: LINK

They don’t have a first date.

Here is the thing about dating while raising children: it doesn’t work. Or maybe it does and it’s just James, particularly unlucky, because it’s like clockwork: they set a date, they choose a restaurant, James gets ready and then something happens.

No-show babysitter. Broken washing machine flooding the kitchen. Harry waking up screaming, with a fever.

By the end of two weeks, he’s cancelled on Regulus three times.

He’s more than surprised to get another shot. They’ve been texting, Regulus wonderfully sharp and wonderfully patient. Every day, he drives his now-silent not-ice-cream van down James’ road, and they wave at each other through the kitchen window. James watches him and vows to never get in a car with Regulus behind the wheel, because the way he drives? Atrocious. He regularly stalls, misses his turn off the road, and treats traffic rules as nothing more than suggestions. For James road safety is very important, but somehow even this is endearing instead of rightfully horrifying.

It’s a Thursday evening and James is ready for their date on Friday. Everything is sorted out: the dinner reservation is made, the flowers are waiting in a vase (sunflowers and baby’s breath), his good thin sweater (curse the English weather) is dried and ironed and ready. His mum is taking Harry for the night. Nothing is going to go wrong.

At six thirty, it starts to rain. It’s been raining for a few weeks, so he’s not surprised, but then the sky gets dark and ominous looking, and it really starts coming down. Within half an hour he can barely see outside. Harry, mercifully, sleeps through the thunder, uncaring of the inclement weather. At six thirty, James makes himself a cup of tea, looks out of the window, and promptly chokes.

Against some of the strongest wind James can remember seeing, the flimsy little ice cream van stalls. Sputters. Doesn’t start again. James puts down his tea, puts on his shoes, grabs the baby monitor, and rushes outside.

It’s a pitiful sight. The wipers are trying their best but no matter, the window remains completely obscured by water. The side of the van is open. Regulus sits inside, frantic looking and completely soaked, trying his best to start the engine.

James, already feeling the water seeping though his socks, knocks on the window. It’s rolled down. Big eyes, big pout.

“If you ask me for a flake I’ll ruin your life.”

James laughs out loud. “You can’t drive in this.”

“Sure I can. It’s just rain.”

As if in response, a massive, forked lightning splits the sky in half, rumble of thunder following within a split second.

“Bit of a storm,” Regulus adds. The right side of his hair is plastered to his face, the curls stretched and sagging. A raindrop makes its way down his nose. He sneezes and its all so pitiful James just wants to bring him tea and wrap him in a blanket.

“Come on, love,” he says, patient despite having gotten completely drenched, “come inside. I’ll park this up for you, alright?”

For a second Regulus looks like he’ll argue – against coming inside or James driving his van, or maybe against both. Then, another strike of lightning and he scoots over on the chair, opens the door for James to climb in.

It’s less than five minutes, the whole interaction, until they’re tracking water across the floor of James’ living room and kitchen. Harry hadn’t stirred, unaware that the person his daddy has been excitingly talking about for days is now in their home.

James gets them each a towel and sticks on the kettle for tea. Regulus thanks him and runs it over his head, making his curls stick up in all directions. James has a startling realisation that there is a drug dealer in his house and that he let him in willingly – demanded it even.

It’s not the reason he starts laughing.

He starts laughing because, apparently, that is how drug dealers look. Beautiful and tiny and scowling at their wet t shirts, with rings on every finger and eyes like those.

Regulus looks at him a bit wounded, and that’s fair enough actually, because he stands in James’ kitchen for the very first time, looking a little worse for wear, and James just laughs.

“It’s not…” James starts, trying to explain himself, but a bout of giggles stops him again, “you’re very beautiful, and you’re in my kitchen.”

The blush that spreads across Regulus’ face goes al the way down his neck (pretty pretty pretty), and James notices just how soggy his clothes are. “I’ll bring you something dry to wear, alright? Just make yourself comfortable.”

He comes back, himself changed and with a soft T-shirt and comfortable joggers for Regulus (and if the thoughts that led him there were too close to: I want to see him in my clothes, then that’s his own business and nobody else’s.)

“I didn’t know how you take your tea,” Regulus tells him as he takes the clothes, “but I made you one anyway. The way I have it. Because that’s the correct way.”

There’s something so wonderful about how Regulus speaks, all blunt edges to cover a softness.

“Black with lots of sugar?”

Sceptical wariness. “How did you know?”

“You look like you’d have a sweet tooth,” James laughs in response and isn’t it lovely, to stand in a kitchen, with the smell of tea in the air, and a person who inspires laughter?

But Regulus is apparently full of mischief, too. “Are you sweet?” he asks, innocent as anything, big eyes looking up from under his wet curls, and James chokes on his laughter and on thin air.

“Where can I change?” he adds like he’s not just rearranged all the atoms in James’ body to point north.

“Bathroom,” he manages, “first door up the stairs.”

When he comes back his curls are in a frizzy disarray, and James’ shirt dwarfs him. He pulls on the hem, looking unsure. It’s the first time James sees him looking unsure and goddamn it, this works on him just as well.

Could spend his whole life exploring different expressions show up on Regulus’ face, James could. Maybe even causing them. (Definitely causing them.)

“Harry?” Regulus asks.

“Asleep.”

“How long for?”

“Should be a couple hours still.”

“Good,” he strides across the kitchen, crowds James against the counter.

Regulus’ nose is cold the first time they kiss. It makes it even better somehow, this one point against the hot silk of his mouth. James thinks that without it – it grounds him – without it, his mind wouldn’t be able to stay anchored. As it is, he’s floating.

Regulus hums, pulls away. It’s a tragedy. “You are sweet,” he says and then his lips are on the corner of James’ mouth and on his jaw and on the space where his neck meets it.