#Draco Pov

[autumnweeen]

WIP Wednesday Dramione

I’m here once again trying to convince you to read this fic. It deserves so much more attention than it has gotten! Not only because of the amount of work that ellieauthor has put into formatting all the chats and creating all the amazing conversations between the Slytherins and the Gryffindors, but also, THE WRITING!!! The writing is simply spectacular ♥️

[elliotsblunt]

brother’s best mate | draco malfoy

pairings - draco malfoy/reader’s | brother’s best friend!au |

sypnosis : when your older brother's best friend finds out about your date with Diggory—he decides to give you a piece of his mind.

word count : 3.4k

warnings: smut, established siblings, weed, choking, pet names, minor girl fight, size kink, not proofread so sorry

authors note: the reader is 18 in high school and graduates in less than a few months!! no minors are sexual in this one-shot. draco is 19 and only one year older than the reader. this was fun to write but lowk got lazy at the end. hope you all enjoy its very smutty.

© elliotsblunt 2022. do not repost, modify, or translate.

You walked alongside your class mate, Ginny Weasley—a fourth year just like you. A Gryffindor with fiery bright red hair and the personality of a lion, freckled marks littering her nose. She had been your newfound best friend, usually sticking within your own house which had been Slytherin up until recently.

Some drama that had occurred in third year, so you began to seek friendships from other houses as well. You never really cared, but your older brother insisted you hang out with your true kind. Whatever that meant.

Ginny paused as they strolled past the Great Hall. “Say, _ _—Oh!”

You felt someone run into you from behind, a brute force slamming into you full force. Your knees wobbled and collapsed as your palms shielded your face, stinging as they slapped the concrete floor. Blinking with wide eyes, your eyes snapped up to meet a pair of narrowed blue eyes.

“Parkinson,” Ginny called from behind you, storming past you. Your arm shot to reach for her wrist as you held her back. “Chill Gin, it’s cool.”

The dark haired girl smirked, crossing her thin arms over her chest, where her tits practically spilled out. You almost gagged at the sight as Pansy chuckled,

“Sorry, _ _. Didn’t see ya.”

“Bullshit!”

“She’s not even worth it. Come on,” You rolled your eyes, thankful Ginny had your back in the back of your mind. Pansy’s smirk faded as you spun around, reaching out and shoving you from behind. You fell forward once again, Ginny calling out your name as she kneeled beside you. Both of you send the laughing girl a glare.

“What is your problem?” You hissed, standing up on your feet. “I haven’t—“

“He broke up with me. Neville broke up with me—for you. You fucking cunt. And now, I’m going to beat you and that Gryffindor’s ass.”

Your brows knit together. Neville? But you hadn’t spoken to him in months, ever since last year. When he had broken up with you for Pansy Parkinson.

A smirk crept onto your lips, still on the ground. Her cheeks reddened at your next words, “Huh. Isn’t that ironic.”

“You bitch,” she gritted her teeth before slapping you across the face. Your eyes widened as you smiled in shock, not believing that this whore was fighting you over a man. When you had found out that Neville, who you dated for a solid two months, decided to cheat on you with Pansy Parkinson. The new, shiny exchange student from Beauxbaton Academy. She spoke French and was the only girl to show off cleavage.

She had been the talk of most of the boys in each house for months.

Apparently, the French liked to get down and under. Real quick. Half the boys went through her by the time summer rolled around. You remember your older brother mentioning her, saying if his best friend hadn’t fucked her before he graduated then he most definitely would have “tapped”. All he had earned from you was an eye roll.

“You crazy slag!” Ginny shouted, but before she could step in—a deep voice interrupted.

As you stood from the ground, picking up your book that you had dropped, you froze before quickly facing the voice. A warmness flourished in your chest as a familiar smirk was given to Pansy, by a blonde Slytherin that had graduated last year. Your brother, Alex , stood beside him, “Parkinson. Please don’t tell me your shoving my baby sis because of one of your personal wankers.“

Draco chuckled to himself, his head shaking before shoving his hands into his pockets. His hair had been combed to the side, a single strand falling over those piercing eyes of his. A black long sleeve tightened around his muscular back, a pair of black slacks to matched. You could almost smell his cologne from here.

“Can it, Waters,” she snapped at your brother, shifting her scowl into a smile when your sights landed on Draco.

“Draco—I didn’t know you were back. I would have looked for you.”

“Exactly why I didn’t,” he replied quietly, rubbing the back of his neck before clearing his throat.

Parkinson blushed a deep red, looking away from Draco. Ginny threw her a brow. “Didn’t you and Longbottom just break up?”

“Longbottom, Pans? The kid looks like a human piranha—bless his soul,” Alex chuckled, but you shook your head.

“No, he looks better. He got surgery.”

“No wa—!”

“Both of you shut up!” Pansy spat at both your brother and you, causing you all to just look at her with expecting looks. After her eyes swept back and forth across all of yours, she groaned before spinning around and stomping away. Alex tilted his head at her, “What’s with her?”

“Neville broke up with her for _ _,” Ginny replied, an knowing smile on her face as she nudged you. “But she happens to fancy someone else.”

“I would be mad to if a bloke that looked like that broke up—“

“Who?”

Your eyes found Draco’s. He was looking at you, with something new flickering in his eyes. His jaw was clenched as a soft smile played on his lips for you. Ginny nor Alex responded, waiting for you to respond.

“Urm, just some kid I met at a party.”

You were talking about Cedric Diggory. He was the golden boy of Hufflepuff, with those dreamy eyes and charming smile. Your heart soared whenever he passed you in the halls, sending you his specialty wink. You had to bite your lip to hold back a smile for the rest of the day, almost drawing blood. And last night, you had both texted non-stop.

Tonight you were supposed to meet him in Hogsmeade. Spring Break was coming up, which is why your brother had came in the first place. You always spent Spring Break with your brother—and Draco just always happened to be with him. They were inseparable. Ever since first year.

“You go out with him yet?” Draco asked another question, narrowing his eyes. His head tilted as he studied you.

“No.”

“But she’s meant to tonight,” Ginny added, throwing an arm around you. You threw her a stare but she wasn’t paying attention to you, sending heart eyes to Draco. She always a massive crush on him, and you were sure he knew. Especially when he sent her a boyish smile right now. “Thank you, Weasel. Though, you don’t look much like a weasel anymore.”

She tucked her hair behind her ear as Alex rolled his eyes. “Gross, bro. Don’t flirt with my baby sis’s friends, ight?”

Draco chuckled as you groaned, “Ginnyishelpingmepackokbye,” you rushed out before grabbing your giggling friend.

You stood outside your favorite restaurant in Hogsmeade—The Flying Dutchman. They had the best burgers in town, and you’re the one who actually proposed to come here when Cedric asked you out. Your brother, Draco, and you always came here for dinner when you rented out your hotel room. Like every Spring break. A faint smile wore on your lips at the memory as the spring breeze pressed warm kisses onto your flesh.

But as more time passed by, that smile began to fade. Cedric had been more than thirty minutes late.

Ginny texted her that about after an hour, you should call it quits. And so you kept checking your phone, tapping your glossy heel against the concrete of the sidewalk. Your heart banged on your rib cage as blood rushed to your ears. Everything was slightly muffled as embarrassment overcame you.

And when it hit nine o’clock, you began to walk to your hotel.

Anger coursed through your veins. How dare he asked you out then ghost you completely?

You pulled out your phone and sent him a few messages cursing him out before shoving it back into your purse. With glossy eyes, after about ten minutes, you had reached the hotel room you were to be having alone. Your brother and Draco would be sharing the next one over. Approaching the entrance, where green glass pillars cascaded over a tall, lavish building—you hummed as the cool air conditioning welcomed you.

“Welcome,” a faux customer service voice rung in your ear. Your eyes landed on the front desk attendant, a young man. “Do you have a reservation?”

“Yes. Under Waters.“

“The single queen bed with a walk in-closet?”

You blushed, “Yes.”

“Perfect. Will that be cash or credit.”

“It’s on file. I come like, every year,” you explained, and he nodded firmly before clicking his mouse a few times. He was short and chubby—hair receding slowly from the sides. You didn’t know that was possible. “Have you found it?”

“Yes. It went through and….perfect. You’re all set,” he bent over, opening a drawer and a pair of keys jingled in your ears. He pooped back up whilst kicking the drawer back closed—handing you your card and the wifi password. “This here is your room card for room number 67 as well as our wifi and password.”

“Thanks,” you sent him a smile before making your way inside. As always, the halls were the same. A green carpet with beige walls, random paintings everywhere. It smelled of old paper inside your room, a bed with red covers and white pillows rested on the large bed. A walk-in closet, as promised, was lodged in the corner next to the bathroom.

You decided to shower, still in a sour mood about being stood up. Taking off your makeup with a cleanser, you stripped off your clothes and hopped into the shower. Craving to feel the warm water soothe your tense muscles, you moaned as it happened moments later. Digging your vanilla shampoo into your roots, you used your net to scrub off the dirt and dead skin from your body.

After finding everything off, you wrapped a towel around your figure and opened the door to your bathroom. A scream tore from your throat at the sight of someone sitting on the corner of your bed.

“_ _. I’m high as fuck,” Draco ran a hand through his hair, a red hue glowing from his eyes. His eyelids hung low as he smiled lazily—flickering his gaze over to you. “Alex is passed out. He took too many edibles.”

You scoffed, “And I assume you were the more responsible one and maintained a decent amount of sobriety?”

“Big words, _ _. Big words for a little girl,” Draco taunted, your eyes rounding at his words. He had never seemed this laid back with you, always being the more poised and dignified out of him and your brother. Hair always slicked to the side, clothes looking tidy and clean cut. But his hair had been messy due to him running his fingers through the strands, and his black button up he had changed into had been unbuttoned halfway.

His gold chain glistened against his pale skin, your thighs clenching at the thought of it hanging in your face while he—

“How was the date?” He questioned, his eyes darkening. You gulped.

“He didn’t show.”

“What?” He rose his voice, standing up from his seat. You flinched at the intensity of his tone as his eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

“Why do you care so much?”

“Dammit, _ _,” he balled his fist, storming over to you. Your back hit the wall, clutching your towel to your body, as his palmed slammed against the wall and staid there. His scent of peppermint and marijuana, which led you to believe he had smoked instead of taking the edibles with your brother. His eyes swirled with a hidden emotion as breath fanned your lips. “Why can’t you just answer a simple question?” He scoffed,

“You never do what you’re told.”

“And you’re too high,” you mumbled, placing your hands on his chest to push him back. But he caught them, “Draco.”

“_ _,” He whispered, “I can’t watch you get heartbroken over these little fucking boys anymore.”

Your throat went dry. Had Draco liked you?

That didn’t make any sense. He had been the most popular boy at school. Him and your brothers were the two most crushed on guys at school, Draco running through a number of girls throughout his years. He always paid attention to you, never leaving you out. “What? You think it’s a coincidence that every dude you have a date with bails on you?”

Your eyes widen, “You’re the reason Cedric—?”

“Back when I was in Hogwarts,” he continued, his boyish smirk returning to his lips. “Looks like you don’t need my help in that department after all.”

He had been your brother’s best friend, and if you didn’t know any better, his high self just confessed to scaring off other guys to date you. Out of all the girls he could have had, tonight, it appeared he wanted you. And one thing about Draco Malfoy—

He always gets what he wants.

Your teeth sunk into your bottom lip as his piercing eyes bored into yours. His thumb reached out, shocking you, as it took place of your teeth. An animalistic look flashed in his eyes, “Relax, kid. It was a joke.”

“Don’t call me kid.”

Draco released a chuckle, taking a step back before shaking his head. He ran a large hand the lift his pale hair again, “Fuck. You’re Alex’s little sis,” he sighed, letting out sarcastic chuckles. “I’m turned on by my best friends sister.”

His words caught you by surprise. Your lips fell open in shock, eyes bulged and skin flushed. He tugged at his strands once more before muttering fuck it, turning around and walking straight towards you. You flinched say Draco grabbed your arm, pulling you into his chest before slamming his lips against yours.

They were smooth and plump, sucking on your own as his hand flew to your cheek. At first you hadn’t kissed back, in shock, but when his thumb began to rub the flesh of your face—you melted. Your lips fought against his as you completely surrendered to him.

His fingers found your hair, lightly tugging on the strands. A soft moan left your lips, causing him to hum, “You like when I pull your hair, little one?”

The nickname caused a shiver to run down your spine. A pool of wetness shot down your core, a pleasurable sensation overcoming you as he continued to kiss you. His scent overcame you as he spun the two of you around, laying you on the bed before crawling above you. His lips didn’t part from yours.

Pulling away, you panted as he observed you from above. Your hair had probably been a mess and completely damp. The towel wrapped around you had been the only thing separating you from the Slytherin above. His eyes were clouded with the drug, “You’re fuckin’ breathtakin.”

You blushed. You didn’t think you would ever hear him say that. Considering how much of a fan girl you used to be for him back in primary.

He dived down to close the gap between you two. “I wanna fuck you. Show you how it feels to cum around a grown dick like mine,” Draco breathlessly panted against her lips. His fingers dove to her towel, tossing to to the floor before looking down. His hair tickled her nose,

“Looks like every inch of you is perfect, _ _. Can’t wait to have you fall apart on my tongue.”

“Next time. I—want it now,” you breathed, craving to get fucked by Draco. Your arms wrapped around his neck as he grabbed one of your tits, popping it into his mouth before swirling his tongue around the bud. His eyes crossed at the taste, “Fuck, that feels so good.”

“YehBaby?” His voice was muddled by your mounds. You giggled as he founded the other one before doing the same. Your hips began to arch and he smirked,

“My horny little one,” he teased, sitting up straight. You chewed on your lower lip, clenching your thighs as his eyes staid on yours. Unzipping his slacks, he tossed them to the side along with his trousers before hooking his arms around your thighs. You shrieked as he yanked you to the edge, grabbing his cock, “You sure you can take it? A big dick like mine?”

You grabbed his bicep, which bulged under your hand. His arm had been twice the size of yours. Rubbing his swollen pink head against your clit, peering down at you. Your eyes widened up at him, all innocent like, pinching your nipples. His lips reached to kiss your feet before resting them both on his shoulders, “You sure about this, _ _? Because once I start, I can’t stop.”

“Please,” you pleaded, reaching for him. He chuckled before bending down, letting you wrap your arms around his neck. His thick cock began to slid into you, making you squeak his name, “Draco! Oh my—urgh.”

His red rimmed eyes looked down at you. As he inched deeper, the more your mouth dropped. He pecked your lips before moving more fluidly, more and more spikes of pleasure adding to your tummy. You weren’t a virgin—every guy you’ve been with always made you do all the work. So the fact that Draco had expertly began stroking his hard cock into your gushing pussy, you noticed more moans escaping you.

The blonde grunted, working half his cock inside. And then he pushed it all the way in, making both of you cry out in unison.

And then he chuckled darkly at your blissed out expression, a wicked smile curling onto his lips as he angled himself. His hips rammed into yours, holding your knees against him, as your tits jiggled before his eyes.

Cries and pleads babbled from your mouth.

“Yes! Please!”

“Draco—it feels too good.”

“My Merlin—I can’t—“

“Yeah?” He cooed, brutally snapping his hips against you. His thick head pushed into your walls, his abdomen rubbing against your puffy nub. With a tender voice, his hand flew to your throat, as he continued, “Just like that, little one? Move my hips like this?”

He gave her two harsh strokes, giving her a bruising kiss. Draco’s hair fell over his eyes as sweat glistened over his abs. Ring clad fingers snaked to your pussy, his thumb pressing circles into your clit. It began to pulse, meaning you were going to cum, making Draco raise his brows.

“It’s so warm, _ _. You gonna come on this dick?”

“Yes,” you whimpered, “Yes yes yes YES YES—“

Draco chuckled, kissing your lips to silence you. You came on his dick, being completely lost in the trance of your orgasm. It felt like a million glasses had broken in your ear, earth shattering before you as euphoria paused time. Never in your life had you came that hard.

And then he pulled out, sitting against the headrest on the bed. You sent him a look, still calming down from your high, as he tapped his thigh, “Come take a ride on this dick for me, baby.”

Without time to waste, you crawled over. He smiled at you evily as he guided you, “Sit with your back-good girl,” he instructed, making you face your back to his chest. He lifted your feet and stood them on his thighs, “I’m going to play with your pussy. Throw your arm around my neck and take this dick, that’s all you have to do. Okay little one? Can you handle that?”

To answer his question, you instantly grabbed his cock before sliding down. You cried out, “Ah!”

“That’s it. Juuuuuuust like that,” he shushed, rubbing three fingers on your swollen pussy. You jerked in his hold as he nipped at your ear, “I got you, baby. I got you.”

And with that he began rapidly thrusting up into your clenching pussy. You screamed out as his fingers fastened their pace, your back arching against his chest. Your arm shook as it clung to his neck, his lips attached to your nipple. The crude licking sounds edged you closer to your high.

His hand covered your entire stomach, “So tiny, baby. You like when I fuck this little pussy?”

Your tummy began to contract. Draco licked his fingers, tasting your juices, before rubbing them against your creaming pussy once again. Your brows rose in pleasure as a scream came from you, “I’m gonna—ah—“

“Come on,” he urged, “Come on come on come on—there it is! Just like that, _ _. Allll over my fucking dick.”

Your body twitched as you came on top of Draco. And when he felt your tight pussy gush around him, he grabbed you by your waist, prolonging your orgasm by animalistically rutting up into you. “Fuck, I’m gonna, fuck fuck fuck—“

“What the fuck?” Alex’s voice screamed in the air.

[sitp-recs]

halloo!! Do you have any 8th/7th year fics in Draco's Perspective?

Hi there, anon! Sure do, here are some of my favourites. Happy readings :)

All Tied Up by MyNameIsThunder (M, 6k)

Blaise is determined to find out why the entrance to the Slytherin common room is acting up all of a sudden. Draco is determined to keep it a secret.

A Pain of Our Choosing by @lqtraintracks (E, 6k)

It’s 8th year and everyone’s still a bit messed up. Harry and Draco fall into being messed up together.

Aletheia by @lazywonderlvnd (E, 8k)

Draco finds out Daphne's been shagging Potter and it turns out it's really not that difficult to get a piece of her hair.

Slow Hands by eleventy7 (T, 10k)

Blood, shadows, and paper hearts. The Shadow hunts students, but Draco Malfoy most of all.

warmest part of the winter (orphaned, T, 11k)

It’s not even a balcony, it’s just a window with a bit of a ledge, and Draco’s read Shakespeare anyway, he knows how this one ends.

Said and Unsaid (or, The Value of Knowing When to Stop Talking) by bryoneybrynn (T, 15k)

When the Interrogator asked if he had anything to say on his own behalf, Draco shook his head, his lips pressed tight in a thin line. There was nothing to say that wouldn’t sound like an excuse.

Scenes of Surrender by Rasborealis (E, 16k)

Draco just wants to keep his head down and finish his last year at Hogwarts. He's not supposed to let his mask slip, and Harry isn't supposed to care.

On Our Way by dynamic (E, 30k)

Draco is trying to spend the summer keeping his head down, but a repair project and a certain snowy owl have other plans for him.

Eager for the Sky by @oknowkiss (M, 35k)

It was announced, just as the Triwizard Tournament had been, at the start of term feast. A year-long, international Quidditch varsity match — the inaugural Wizarding Academy Cup.

Draco Malfoy, It's Your Lucky Day by Faith Wood (E, 37k)

Even though he's unarmed, injured, lost in the Forbidden Forest, and facing a possible murder charge, Draco Malfoy gets lucky.

The Romantic Prawn Who Loved Christmas by @bixgirl1 (E, 39k)

When Draco, forced into sharing a room with Potter for the year, finds out that Potter has a sleepwalking problem, he expects the odd conversations and the weird games of chess. What comes as a complete shock are Potter's other activities...And why he seems so intent on having Draco join him.

Far From The Tree by aideomai (E, 112k)

The arrival of Harry Potter’s children—snapped back in time, the children themselves guessed, twenty or so years—was the most interesting thing to happen at Hogwarts for years.

[jomiddlemarch]

I loved and guessed at you, you construed me

It was not that he was waiting for her as much as that he was most often in the faculty sitting room at this hour and so was she and the staff knew to leave out a full tea service and also a magically chilled bottle of very dry amontillado, the color of her eyes. And then to tell anyone else that the room was occupied and that they were not to be disturbed.

It wasn’t that he was waiting for her, but he did look up when she came into the room, letting the ancient, rare and precious book he held slip out of his hand, an instinctive, wandless spell keeping it from clattering onto the floor.

“You cut your hair,” Draco said. 

Any pretense to eloquence, savoir-faire, or intellectual rigor associated with achieving his Potions Mastery and Mwandamizi kemia had been decimated by the four words, uttered in a tone of complete shock, which given his Pureblood upbringing meant flat, with a hint of scorn. He had spent the past twelve years working to convince Hermione he wasn’t that man anymore, the one who would have meant the scorn, the fault-finding appraisal, cold and superior and not terribly clever underneath it all.

(The one he’d felt doomed to become before the chandelier fell in his family’s ballroom. Before she’d testified to keep him out of Azkaban. Before she’d returned his formal letter of apology with a brief addendum You were a child, Draco an absolution he didn’t deserve.)

Blaise always said he was his own worst enemy. Theo always nodded and offered a glass of single malt Scotch. Neville always shrugged and tried to reassure Draco, meandering through some nonsense about how they’d all had to grow up too soon, let down by the adults, forced to experience trauma that they’d been lucky to survive and a plate of buttered toast would soon set him to rights.

Luna changed the subject and talked about some possibly fictional chimerical creature to take his mind off his shortcomings. It never worked but he appreciated her effort and consistency.

“I suppose that’s better than ‘Bloody hell.’ And “Holy fucking Christ.’ Harry reverts to Muggle obscenity when he’s really surprised,” Hermione replied. “You only told me what I already know, as I didn’t accidentally fall into a Mongolian silver scissor-bush.”

“Is that a thing?” Draco asked. 

He had to keep talking but there was a lot to take in, the startlingly gorgeous line of her bare neck, the angle of her jaw, how her eyes looked enormous, luminous. How her chestnut hair was swept across her brow and came to a delicate little point on the nape of her neck, all these hidden aspects suddenly marvels revealed. Suddenly, astonishingly breath-taking and erotic and also heart-breaking, because he’d wanted so to run his fingers through her loose hair, to stand behind her and draw a brush through her curls. Watching her eyes get drowsy in the dressing-table’s looking-glass, resting a hand on her bare shoulder and feeling the tickling silk of her hair. He’d wanted to cast the spell that ended the charm securing her chignon, to pull out the jeweled pins she used to keep her braids in the coronet around her head. 

“No. It sounds like something Luna would mention though,” Hermione shrugged. It was as if he’d never seen the gesture before.

“It’s a lot to take in,” he said.

“It’s actually not. It’s both literally and figuratively not,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Snape being a double-agent in love with Harry’s mum was a lot to take in. Any Sunday lunch at Molly Weasley’s table is a lot to take in. War and Peace in the original Russian without a translation charm is a lot to take in. I took off a few inches—”

“A few inches?”

“Fine, I got the first professional, Muggle, haircut of my adult life because I was fed up with my hair and charms and Sleekeezy and glamours, so many glamours, and you would think I have announced I am Grindelwald’s secret lovechild,” she said in a tone of complete exasperation, pursing her lips in a matching moué he felt an impossible urge to kiss very thoroughly and until she was gasping his name. 

He was fairly certain that action would not be requited, not now, and potentially not ever.

But definitely not now.

She was now almost glaring at him, waiting for a response.

If this was ever to become something beyond hopeless pining, if he were ever to be allowed to call her sweetheart and coax her back to bed, he couldn’t get the next part wrong.

“Are you happy with it?” he said. It was a gamble, saying anything would have been a gamble, but there was a chance he’d gotten it right.

He’d surprised her, that he could tell instantly, though her face changed very subtly. It meant no one else who’d seen her had asked and considered she might be. No one else had thought about why she’d done it, only what they thought of it. Evidently, both Weasley and Potter had indicated a negative response, Weasley likely driven by his own unrealized Pureblood upbringing, where all witches wanted the long hair associated with power and Potter never wanted her to be anything other than she’d been in their youth, when her unruly hair was her most obvious signifier.

“Yes, I think I am,” she said. 

“That’s good. That’s what matters,” he said. He was supposed to reference the book he’d been reading or follow-up on their most recent conversation about geopolitics or whether Chopin was a Squib or at the very least offer her something to drink, the tea first and then, when she demurred, the sherry. But all of those would require him to look away from her and he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

Not quite yet.

“I ought to have done it a long time ago,” she said. She spoke without her usual forthright confidence, but also without any of the regret the statement might have implied. She sounded hesitant, as if she wanted something from him she felt she shouldn’t. Or shouldn’t ask for.

It was tempting to make some sort of declaration, offer reassurance or an argument. But he’d gotten this far by asking her a question.

“Why do you say that?”

“I don’t know. It would have been a way to move on. Grow up. Make my life easier, decide it for myself,” she said. She was watching him very closely as she spoke. She liked that he’d asked, though she wasn’t smiling. “It wouldn’t have been grief or some kind of, I don’t know, unhinged trauma response.”

It would very much have been a response to the colossal trauma she’d experienced if she’d hacked it all off after being tortured, and it wouldn’t have been unhinged when one considered the myriad extremely risky alternatives she might have chosen, but Draco wasn’t about to ruin everything. Even as his own worst enemy, he could keep from doing that.

“It could have been just something you do when you’re in your twenties, trying something out. Like, going to the Maldives or studying Norn. Learning earth magic from tribal elders in Namib.”

“Only you would saying learning earth magic in Namib is something you do in your twenties,” Draco said wryly. “Most people just go to the pub and fret a lot.”

“You didn’t,” she said.

“I think it’s well established I’m not most people,” he said.

“No. You’re not. You’re the only person who didn’t tell me cutting my hair was a terrible mistake,” she said. “As if it could even remotely compare to the other terrible mistakes I’ve made.”

“It’s not a terrible mistake,” he said. “And you’re the person I know best whose made the fewest terrible mistakes in her life and we can sit here drinking sherry talking about it because of it.”

“My parents wouldn’t agree,” she said.

“Neither would mine. I wonder how people grow up when they don’t have to discover their parents were deeply, entirely wrong about something absolutely crucial to survival,” Draco said.

“We could ask Blaise Zabini,” Hermione said after very clearly Thinking About It, a little crease appearing between her eyebrows.

“Too risky,” Draco replied. “It’s only the husbands people talk about but people have a way of disappearing when they ask questions about his mother.”

“No one would comment on her haircut,” Hermione said wistfully. “What a bloody icon.”

Draco laughed, startled.

“You’re enchanting,” he blurted out. Stupid, gauche, impulsive—he could go on (and on) about how ill-considered it had been.

“Well, I am a witch,” she said. She did not seem put off. In fact, she smiled at him, a little shyly.  “Goes with the territory—”

“You enchant me. Bewitch me,” he said, throwing caution to the winds. “You don’t want anyone to comment on how you look, so I shouldn’t but you’re exquisite—”

He broke off, fearing he’d broken it all. She was still in the room and he still had all his bits and bobs, when he knew she was a dab hand at wandless curses. It was rather late to decide discretion was the better part of valor, but better late than never.

“I didn’t do it for you,” she said.

“No,” he replied.

“I didn’t do it only for you,” she clarified. “But I was curious to see how you’d react.”

“Did you have a hypothesis? You usually do,” he said.

“Yes. You’ve exceeded it slightly,” she said. There was a gleam in those sherry-brown eyes and when she tilted her head to the side, he understood the vampire’s insatiable lust. 

“I can do better than slightly,” he said, half-dazed with the realization that she was requiting far more than he’d ever imagined. And that she’d imagined his response to seeing her bare neck, had wanted his admiration. He got up from his chair and crossed the room to her, standing close enough to take her in his arms. “I can do a wide margin. Prodigious. Overwhelmingly—”

“I like prodigious,” she said and he leaned in and kissed her parted lips softly, then deeply, one hand at her waist, the other cupping her cheek. The urge to possess her was tremendous, held in check only by an immense and constant tenderness, the moon that could pull the devouring tide back from the shore.

“Can I see overwhelmingly?” she whispered. “For comparison—”

“Of course,” he answered and moved to kiss her neck. He tasted the pulse of her carotid, sucking gently where he wanted to nip her. He moved back up to the hollow behind her ear, grazing her lobe with his tongue, then murmured,

“You cut your hair. I love it.”

[imsiriuslyreading]

I've got soul (but i'm not a soldier). Chapter 3

Afterwards, when Sirius thought about the war, and the loss, and the love and the grief of it all, he thought about magic too.  Because that’s the thing, it all intertwines.  But when you come out of the haze, out of the darkness, you realise it doesn’t really matter if it gets a little muddled along the way. What matters is that with each loss comes a gain. With each person who dies, they leave a little piece of themselves with you.  Whether it’s a physical thing, like how Harry got his dad’s hair. Or his mother’s eyes. How Marlene had left Sirius all of her muggle records. How Lily left Remus all of her books.  Or something that goes a little deeper. The shared memories you made, you get their view of the whole thing, too, as well as yours. The picture becomes a whole, instead of a half.  The songs they loved mean a bit more when you hear them, the phrases they repeated and the silly jokes they told.  The mischief they managed.  The way they loved. That doesn’t leave, it just makes its way to you, so you can love twice as hard, because now you’re loving for them as well as for you.   When the ones we love die, they never really leave us. 

for the love of god do not let me write another chapter. its DONE. FINISHED. Draco, Reg and Sirius have all had their say, maybe now they'll leave me in peace!!!!!!!!!!!!

anyway, if you liked chapter 1 and 2, or if you wanna give them all a go, i hope you like how i ended this <3

read here

[citrusses]

right, so, I just found your blog through one of your rec lists (the burn it all down one) and ended up reading nearly every fic on the list in one sitting because of how good they are. and so i trust your taste haha but i also have no idea if you've already answered an ask like this. anyways.

do you have any recs for (drarry) fics that are draco angst centric, like draco whump or draco h/c but happy ending. preferably from his pov?

bonus points if you have any the following elements but not necessary: 1) him being soft for harry/kind to harry etc 2) harry takes care of him 3)him just being sooooo besotted with harry like cannot stop thinking about that boy.

Hi love! I am honored to be trusted by you! I see that we both adore Draco but also like seeing him suffer? 😊 Please enjoy some of my favorite Draco + angst (Drangst?) - and I hope you like long fics! This got out of hand so there's more beneath the cut.

Draco POV + Angst

Turning Leaves by @kbrick (E, 112,654)

Draco and Harry have a one-night stand that ends in disaster after Harry tells Draco he's unable to move beyond their poisonous past. So when Draco finds an unusual Time-Turner in the Department of Mysteries, he seizes the opportunity to start fresh with Harry. Only instead of fixing things, he keeps making them worse.

Another Mask Behind You by @letteredlettered (E, 116,557)

Draco is a high-end prostitute who hides his identity. Harry unknowingly hires him. And then there is porn, questions about identity, domestic bliss, more porn, and truth as seen through a web of lies.

Dwelling on Dreams by @the-sinking-ship (E, 135,588)

Draco thought he could avoid Potter for the duration of his brief return to England. He’d stick to his schedule and be back home in Paris, where he belonged, in a few short months. No trouble at all. He had plenty to occupy him, what with the opening of the London branch of his successful apothecary, his innovative research, drinks with Pansy, a backlog of unread potions periodicals.

Nor All That Glisters by @sweet-s0rr0w (E, 110,625)

Lonely and frustrated on house arrest, with no prospects for the future, Draco begins brewing Felix Felicis in an attempt to improve his lot. Just in the short term, of course. He isn’t a total idiot.

The (Third) Worst Year by @the-francakes (E, 20,041)

Draco Malfoy has one year to fall in True Love with Harry Potter or be turned into a Dragon. And he knows that is never gunna happen. This is going to be the worst year of his life.

Draco Angst + Dual POV

I Do Not Love You by Writ_and_romance (M, 228,290)

In 2013, a carefully-designed Obliviation leaves Harry reconfiguring his life and identity without any memories of true love; an act that's essentially erased Draco Malfoy from his mind despite a wedding band and shared home.

Two to Lie and One to Listen by @fluxweeed (E, 84,562)

It’s weird when Hermione announces that she and Ron have broken up. It’s weirder when this is followed by the revelation that she’s already moved on—and the new object of her affections is Draco Malfoy. Things only get worse from there.

Close Behind by @oflights (M, 134,215)

To rescue Draco from the Underworld, Harry has to look forward. Unfortunately, Draco has to look back.

Angsty Draco POV + Soft for Harry/Harry Takes Cares of Draco

Way Down We Go by @xiaq (T, 109,767)

The war was over. Or at least that’s what the papers said. They’d been saying it, for months, as if people needed reminding. Maybe they did.

Once More With Feeling by InnerLilith (E, 28,647)

Draco is dosed with a consummation-compelling potion, with Harry Potter as his intended. It’s a cruel irony, because he’s wanted Potter for years. But not like this.

The Unknown Door by @amywaterwings (E, 60,970)

There is something wrong with the Bellcrest. The heart of the place beats rotten. Everyone says so. Where Draco is a magical property manager, Harry is a recluse, and they’re definitely not hiding from their problems in the run-down flats of the Bellcrest. Not at all. Not one bit.

The Ordeal of Being Known by @lou-isfake (M, 146,637)

When Auror Potter is anonymously cursed with silence by being forced to hide his own voice inside his mind, there's unfortunately only one person in the country with the qualifications to fix it: Certified and Licensed Healer Legilimens, Draco Malfoy, specialist in Mind Curses and Afflictions. It's obviously a terrible idea, a disaster waiting to happen, but Draco's never been able to back down from a challenge... especially from Potter.

Waiting By An Open Door by @femmequixotic & @noeeon (E, 29,506)

Draco starts following Potterwatch secretly during the War. He wishes Potter would come save him too. But that sort of thing only happens in fairy tales, and Malfoys don't get fairy tale endings, do they?

Unspecified Draco Angst

Grounds for Divorce by Tepre (E, 122,217)

Malfoy finds a coin. Harry finds a letter. A story about histories, a story about families. A story about a lemon tree somewhere in Upper Egypt.

Anything by Gallaplacidia, top-tier Drangst.

[snowingseptember]

Chained - (Draco's POV from Manacled)

When Draco Malfoy realized he'd been betrayed by the only person capable of breaking down his armour, he fled to the only place he could sought some sort of consolation. Or solitute.

Narcisa Malfoy wept as she watched her only son tear himself apart. He screamed and destroyed the room, pulled at his white-blonde hair and punched the white walls. Blood dripped from his knuckes and on his wand, porpusely left on the floor.

Draco Malfoy didn't weep. He thought being forced to watch his mother being tortured in a cage in the heart of his family manor had destroyed all his body's capacity of producing any tears left. But after his voice gave out and his throat hurt, blood was drying on his forehead after he smashed his own face on a table, he realized there were crystal droplets rolling down his cheeks.

He felt as if there was not enough air, just too much fire in his chest rapidly burning him from the inside out. He was blind with rage, betray, something pouding inside threatening to break him into a million sharp glass pieces.

Love. It tore at him with every breath, burned his soul, his being, his mind and his heart. The heart he thought lost when he was still a boy.

He pressed his hands on the portrait, on his knees. Narcisa did the same, an ancient and deep despair in her eyes. She could not hold his son. She could not stop him from breaking.

[bluebugsy]

My big story is very hard to push through with the saddest POV so I wrote Christmas Drarry FLUFF for fun

[draconivm]

“Guilt will eat you alive, Granger,” he muttered, expelling a heavy breath as he took the damn seat. “Due to how we’ve now both borne witness to each other’s mutilations, consider this a method of... trauma bonding.” The very thought disenthralled his stoic expression like shit under his nose. “I never want to see a fucking rune ever again.”

For a moment, Draco sat watching her as she began disseminating the piles. He’d wanted to make mention that she was a witch who could easily perform a detection spell, but he enjoyed the way she deftly fingered the spines with her rapid-fire movements. Hell-bent on the discovery. The riotous spill of her mane was outstanding, falling over her narrow shoulders and down her back, his mind now able to recall the texture.

He wanted to wrap his fist in it and pull.

Fate may have coaxed fortune into their hands, the dragon-hide sister to its sibling held tangible in her hands, this time whole and delectably detailing the next moiety of mori mementos. He eyed it suspiciously, no more thrilled for the cure than he was for the chase. It was done; the thing he’d obsessed over for months was secured, having performed acts of martyrdom, but Draco wasn’t the least bit fanatical in further delving into the details. Not when something else was intercepting his tendency to torment himself with things he had to rake over coals to redeem. What was once more?

His fingers shot out with seeker-speed to encapsulate her wrist, the book ultimately hitting the ground spine-first. There, laid forgotten, as he used the leverage on her limb to pull her to him. Despite the evening’s abuse, she was pliable in his hands, emboldened by his decision in what he wanted to do to her first. His fingers weaved through the back of her curly hair and tugged; the mild pressure forced her to look at him while he grabbed her hip and anchored her down into his lap.

“Are you thinking about me now?” Draco murmured, his eyes dropping to her lips, clearly waging erotema in the space before he kissed her with his unbridled audacity. It would never be a simple, subtle game of warfare when they’d trained in the very same maneuvers. The hand at her hip moved to catch her throat, sliding four fingers against the column as his thumb hooked right under her jaw. His mouth was wanting and catching cacoethes; tongue scraping, teeth pulling, the slower he willed himself to go, the faster his heart started to beat. The limerence of letting.

Draco pulled away from her lips and assaulted her pulse, licking and biting the skin like he’d been deprived of it all his life. In some ways, he had been. The son of a Sacred Twenty-eight, sitting in the chair of Salazar Slytherin with a muggle-born on his lap. He wanted to do things to Hermione Granger that would have them all rolling in their crypts, perverting their purity, both pleasurable and painful for the ones still able to feel it.

Muscles no longer condemned to the cruciatus residuals, Draco was able to hoist her from the chair and move them to the desk in the center of the room. Books, papers, it was all violently discarded with his wandless, wordless spellwork, leaving the founder’s lectern entirely bare for him to perch her there. He kissed her again as he stood between her legs, panting as he pulled away, deft fingers lingering at the hem of her shirt. Tugging at her clothing like a flimsy line of defense he was ready to magick off with the meager reserve he was hoarding.

“I want you,” he muttered between her lips, his kisses searing, strewn down her neck as he ruined her skin with his teeth and tongue. “Can I have you?”

[liaredrose]

IN THESE WALLS

A Dramione FF on AO3

After the war, Draco Malfoy is given the choice to spend his days in Azkaban or get back to Hogwarts to get his NEWTs and complete his education. But something is broken in him, parts of himself lost in the war. And while he loses himself, he perhaps finds something else.

Excerpt from Chapter 1:

“Hermione Granger.”

Her name was raspy on his tongue, vowels and consonants scratching his thirsty throat.

It hurt.

He liked it.

READ THE REST HERE

[malfoyesque]

Chapter 4 posted today

..."You think that just because you’re gorgeous you can strut around talking to everyone like they’re cockroaches under your heel, and–” He’d stopped listening. The hairs on the back of his neck were standing on end. He reached for Granger, spun her around, placed his hand over her mouth, and pulled her up into the shadows. “We’re not alone,” he hissed. He felt her go tense in his arms. She reached down between their bodies to her hip, brushing her hand over his thigh as she reached for her wand. She clearly wasn’t used to where it was holstered, so her fumbling hand went significantly higher on his thigh than she intended. “I’m flattered, Granger, but maybe not right this second.” She tensed again, and he had to stop himself from laughing. Gods, he was already feeling so much better. She tugged his hand down away from her mouth, grasped her wand, and looked into the darkness. “What is it?” she hissed. “A forest troll,” he whispered. “Dead and disillusioned. Under the lamppost.” Granger’s eyes widened as she saw the general shimmering outline of the enormous mass. “How did you see that?” “Experience,” he said back. They stayed perfectly still, both scanning for movement. A thought crossed his mind, and his mouth curled into a smirk. “You think I’m gorgeous?” She opened her mouth to object, but he leaned down close to her. “Shhh-hh-hh-hh. It’s alright. Let the gorgeous man hold you.”

Read now on Ao3 or Start from the beginning

TMWYW is now also on Wattpad!

Starting from today I'll have a weekly posting schedule on Sundays AEDT. This means I might post late Saturday night where you are :) If you'd like to be added to a tag list instead of subscribing to the fic, please let me know!

[elliotsblunt]

M A S T E R L I S T | smut = * clean = ^ |

➤ Fics

— Brother’s Best Friend * | when your older brother's best friend finds out about your date with Diggory—he decides to give you a piece of his mind. 9/10/23

— War Captive * | you were a captive in the war, captured by one of the most vicious death eaters. his wife goes on a trip, unable to comfort him as he fails another mission. when he gets drunk..and pays a visit to your room…things take a drastic turn. 9/12/23

➤ BLURBS

— Office Sex * | 9/9/23

[mercury-merkai]

Made a lil Pinterest where I have stored some of the EPUB covers I have created or saved from others <3 I do not own any of the artwork

[jomiddlemarch]

The shapes a bright container can contain!

IV. “This is a carriage house?” Hermione asked after first standing silent for a good two minutes, a length of time that seemed far longer when a witch was known to hurl herself into a squid-infested loch in early winter.

“You speak as if you have an extensive experience of real estate,” Draco retorted. 

“It’s quite a bit more house than I’d imagined,” she said. To exceed Hermione Granger’s imagination was a feat and Draco decided he’d follow the Muggle adage and begin as he meant to go on.

“Did you expect it to still contain carriages? Or horses? Tack?” Draco said. “Did you want a pony? That could be arranged, though I think an Arabian or an Abraxan hybrid—"

“No. Of course not,” she said. “But this is quite lovely. So thoughtfully appointed.”

“Thank you,” he said.

“Your wife had exquisite taste,” Hermione said.

“Yes, she did,” Draco replied. “You can see it in the main house. This was my project.”

“Oh, I see. I didn’t mean to imply,” she broke off. Somehow, this was what flustered her, this bit of gauche maladroitness, though she was staying in the home of a former Death Eater, a man who still bore the brand of a genocidal maniac on his forearm. She didn’t blush however; her eyes only widened and she seemed to lose what color she had. Draco decided he’d look after her well enough blushing became an option again.

“It’s all right. Why don’t I give you a tour of the place, get you settled,” he said. He wanted to offer her his arm, to feel her hand on him and keep her steady, but he suspected she would actually be as offended as she’d imagined he might just have been. He walked closer to her than would ordinarily be considered polite and kept the pace slow.

“This is the sitting room,” he said, gesturing around them. Two large chesterfields upholstered in dark green velvet sat on either side of a coffee-table strewn with periodicals and some art books, a bowl hewn from the base of a cypress at the center, filled with green apples. Squashy silk pillows in an array of jewel tones were tucked at either end of the sofas, a cashmere throw draped in a corner. A pair of club chairs bracketed the large fireplace, and an ancient Persian rug was underfoot. Long windows were surrounded by bookshelves, the bookshelves full of neatly arranged books that appeared much-handled. 

“It’s lovely. Looks very comfortable,” Hermione said. He beckoned her to follow him as he walked across the space and miraculously, she followed, her wand-hand empty.

“This is the kitchen. The table seats six, though it’s easy enough to enlarge it if you wanted to have more people over. You should have as many people over as you like,” Draco said. The table was a generously sized oval made of beautifully patinaed mahogany and he thought she would have preferred something sturdy and practical, a scrubbed oak. She’d want to set it with mismatched plates, a potluck with dishes randomly assembled or better yet, Indian takeaway with plenty of samosas.

“Is there a Transfiguration spell that preserves the wood better?” Hermione asked. 

“There’s a leaf. Though any standard Transfiguration you’d cast would be fine. It’s not a priceless antique,” Draco said.

“It looks like a Sheraton,” Hermione remarked. “I suppose that’s not priceless to you. It’s just Muggle.”

“It’s a fake. A fake Sheraton,” Draco said, shrugging, trying not to feel flustered and failing. “I like the look of Georgian furniture, but I didn’t want anything that would feel like a museum piece. I had enough of that, growing up. Except that that furniture was also cursed half the time.”

“Half, huh?”

“Closer to three-quarters in the North Wing. Dreadful place and you can’t even burn it to the ground,” he said. 

“A pity. I guess. This is the kitchen proper?” she said, moving past him into the room with its soapstone worktops, slate floors, sage green painted cupboards fitted as neatly as a ship’s galley, though there was plenty of space. A marble slab for pastry, a great hulking Aga prepared to cook a roast and warm the whole house, and tucked behind—

“That’s a butler’s pantry,” Draco said, as she poked her head around to peer in the narrow space.

“You thought this place needed a butler’s pantry? Is there a butler?” she asked, then paused, a look of bemused horror on her face. “Good Lord, is there a butler?”

“There’s no butler and no House-elves either, before you get yourself worked into a tizzy,” Draco said. He’d have liked to have Tizzy herself serving, earning the ample wage they’d negotiated, but he’d known that no matter how comprehensive the benefits, Hermione would be distressed to be waited upon by a creature in a toweling jumpsuit, unable to convince herself she wasn’t taking advantage. “I thought butler’s pantry sounded better than glorified closet. I will now pause to allow you to make some comment along the lines of me being a posh git.”

“You’ve made that unnecessary now,” Hermione said, horror passed, smiling again.

“There’s a butler’s pantry because I needed a defined space I could configure for electricity to work. Neville said you have very strong opinions about the Panis tosti charm—”

“It’s shite,” she interrupted. “Utter bollocks. It’s a travesty to call what it does toast and everyone knows it and won’t admit it. Molly Weasley has five different toasting forks because the charm is such shite—”

“As I said, Very Strong Opinions, duly noted. Also, he said you have slightly less Strong Opinions on toasting forks, I believe they hearken too much to the Edwardian period for your taste, and so I had to make sure there was some part of the house where you could make a proper piece of toast in a toaster,” Draco explained. He opened the little hatch that concealed the toaster. “There’s also a charging station for any devices that need it.”

“Oh my goodness,” she said.

“You probably won’t short it all out if you cast a spell, but I’d try to keep it to a minimum and no wandless. When you channel magic through your hands directly, it warps the wards I put up,” he said.

“You did a lot of work,” she said. “Went to a lot of trouble.”

“What part of looking after properly was obscure to a witch of your erudition and exactitude?” Draco said. She’d think he was teasing and he was but he also meant it, especially the praise, which he’d been told to expect her to shrug off.

She shrugged.

“You didn’t have to,” she said.

“I only did what I thought I must. What I thought you would do, without a second thought, if you were the one taking care of someone,” Draco said. 

“I’ve never gotten Harry a toaster,” she said. 

“But he doesn’t ever seem to miss all the Mugglish equipment he grew up with. He was happy to leave it all behind,” Draco said. 

“He does love everything Wizarding,” Hermione said. “Even Celestina Warbeck.”

Draco could not help his grimace then, but Hermione gave him a look of the purest camaraderie and appreciation, suggesting his expression had not put her off in the slightest.

“I shan’t say a word. About his taste in music at least,” he said. “There’s a water closet just at the back, before the conservatory. We might explore there a bit or would you rather see the sleeping quarters upstairs?”

He spent a considerable amount of time mulling over how he’d mention where she would sleep to minimize any awkwardness, knowing he didn’t want to utter the word bed but that she’d immediately pick up on any verbal contortions to avoid it.

“Did you have Neville to see to the conservatory?” she asked, prescient. Longbottom had spent a week and the entire budget Draco had given him, but the results were lovely and marvelously fragrant.

“Yes,” Draco answered.

“Then I’ll have an idea of what it’s like already and I’ll enjoy finding out how I’m wrong later,” she said. “Take me upstairs.”

[cyprus-green]

I loathe you, Granger

...

I loathe you, as we kiss in hidden coves and inlets of stone.

I follow you into potions. And, Merlin. I'm disarmed by the apple sweetness of your hair, my amortentia lingering on your skin.

I hate you.

I know you're nothing but filth and dirt. Yet you live without shame, knowing very well how repulsive you should be.

How dare you live so free and leave me chained to your impurities.

I try to make it hurt--whisper lies wrapped in insult, hoping you will share in my contempt. I beg you partake in this burden. I beg you to hurt me back.

When we kiss I pull at your hair and press you against these ancient walls. I spit in your mouth to see your shock and I fuck your face to hear your gagging sobs. Yet you fall to your knees and swallow my shame. Every drop of shame.

I've kissed you and consumed you. I've tasted the ghost of my seed on your tounge and wondered what you do when I walk away. Do you wash out your mouth or do you let the taste of me linger? Are you appalled when you rise from your knees-- when do you begin to feel regret? When does the reality of our perverse connection set in?

I lay awake at night and think about things that I cannot bear to ask. How can something so destructive feel so much like redemption? Why do you taste so much like salvation? I've prayed and prayed to all the gods, to break the ties between us.

But you stay.

And while my traitorous hands betray my mind's resolve, you ruin me again. I become a desperate man.

You arrogant, stubborn, reckless Witch. Why must you persist and pester? Why hold on when I tell you to go? Why must you stand there, brown eyes full of woeful devastation, your jaw set in baffling resolve?

It's not until I tear the ribbon from your hair and trip you in the hall, that I see your courage splinter. That is when you stay away. You hide from me. And I hardly survive the distance. I wallow in my dejection and barely endure a week of respite.

Until one day my shoulder brushes yours and I find your figure among the throng. I see you cling to him. Your smile looks so different in the light. Watch you press your lithe body against him and laugh at his asinine remark. I hate it all, because what you freely give to him shall never belong to me.

So I follow you and pull you back into shadows. But now you try to leave. You fight back when I push against you. Slap me sensless and scratch my arms. My desperation turns delirious, until I tear apart.

I plead for your mercy and the warmth of your touch. I watch you look up at me and all I can see is your disgust. So I fall to my knees before you and offer all I have. The only thing a shameful whore has to give. I offer supplication.

And to my depraved delight your small hands guide me between your legs. You use my mouth, taking all you need, grinding your core against my face. You pull at my hair. You humiliate me in the most delicious way. You try to drown me in your anger and I float away on the sound of your cries. I swallow every drop.

You leave me while I'm still on my knees--but I believe you'll return again. I must.

Sometimes the darkness can be so terrifying, when you're alone.

Granger, I dream of kissing you in the light.

You ruin me. Give me the worst of you knowing it's the best I'll ever have. I hate that you inspire impossible dreams. My hope runs dry.

I loathe that you know the taste of my tears. That you keep safe the blackberry hue of my bruises. The ones that bloom colorful bouquets, smelling oh so much of patricide.

I despise your kindness--your gentle, unguarded gaze.

I loathe what I've done to you. Hate that I taught you shame. That I seared those words into you with same mouth that now leaves you breathless.

And I feel your incredulity. I cannot bear for you to leave me but I hate you for staying. I am lost to reason.

I loathe you.

And you despise me.

You hate that I won't fuck you--take your sweet cunt in all the ways you beg. I refuse to take your virginity and you cry. You presume it's all disgust and superiority.

Granger, don't you see the truth? How can you not know.

I cannot bloody your knickers and take what isn't mine. Not from you. Not because I don't want you, but because it would only bring us pain. I don't want your sweetest gift to be another reason for your tears. I couldn't bear to watch you cry in regret. I couldn't bear to see you walk away. I could never watch you belong to another--not after being inside you. Not after I've filled you up with all of me.

I love you Granger--and I hate it.

I know you'll never love me back.

I loathe you for being the one thing in the entire world I want, that I cannot have. I am a coward and continue to cling to this perverse romance. Too afraid to let you go. Too selfish to walk away.

Sometimes I think I might be a monster.

Sometimes it feels like you're the only reason I'm still alive.

I loath you. Endlessly.

I love you. So terribly much.

[academicdisasterfic]

halfgoodhalfbadhalfboy

for @drarrymicrofic prompt 'rumours' by kings of convenience. also inspired by this picture. title taken from the bo burnham song.

i like things that aren't whole. i like things that aren't finished and also things that have disintegrated. i like things that never quite did the job they were designed for. i like huge castles with no inhabitants and i like bridges that can't be walked on. i like sad people who don't want to be happy and i like angry people who don't want to be calm. i like clouds caught between mountains and the sky, and i like mists that refuse to leave after early morning. i like it when an ocean wave hits a cliff and is immediately rebuffed. i like no-through roads. i like mazes without a centre. i like dark things that aren't evil. i like light things that can hurt you.

i like halves and quarters and non-divisible parts, and i like boys who have to scrap the good parts of themselves together and cling tightly to them, and i like fighting while fucking, and i like lashing out just to be held, and i like being the only thing you're selfish for, and - yes, harry, i like you.