#minimose

[m0srael]

If Harry and Draco went on The Dog House 🐾🦴

It would be Draco who insists that they adopt a dog in need of rehoming instead of purchasing one from a breeder.

He’d have learned about non-magical domestic animals during his court-mandated (and then self-motivated) Muggle studies and come across the idea of puppy mills. He’d never admit that the pictures had made him cry (they had), but he’d vocally swear off all pets immediately.

And the whole ‘purebred’ thing would be a little too close to ‘pure blood’ for Draco’s comfort, anyways.

Until Harry takes him to the Burrow for the first time after they start dating and he meets Cheese, George’s scruffy little Terrier cross, a rescue. Draco would be a paragon of proper manners and earnest repentance, and after he yes please’d and thank you’d and complimented his way through dinner, he would sequester himself in a quiet corner of the sitting room with Cheese on his lap and a small smile on his face.

And then Harry would go on assignment to The Netherlands, or somewhere, and Draco would be so afraid to be alone in big, empty Grimmauld Place that he’d spend the whole month at Pansy’s.

(To be fair, they’d still get the occasional threat against his life in the post, and even though Draco would laugh them off in the light of day, he couldn’t help but jump at every creak and groan of the old house after sundown.)

So when Harry gets back, he’d sit Draco down and suggest that maybe it’s time they look into getting a dog of their own. Maybe a German Shepherd, or a Mastiff, or a Doberman. Something big and mean looking that would help Draco feel safe. Here, look, he’d already gotten the phone numbers for a few breeders—

No! Draco would insist. There are too many dogs out there who are unwanted and in desperate need of a loving home, because maybe they’re a little too nervous, or in need of medical care, or have three legs or one eye or are deaf or blind. Or maybe they used to be aggressive but it’s not their fault that their humans didn’t know how to communicate with them, and maybe they were just trying to survive and they didn’t mean to bite anyone! No, he would not cry again.

So, the shelter it would be.

When the shelter employees ask them what sort of dog they’re looking for, Draco would blink back at them because he’d have just come for a dog, any dog, and how could he even answer that? But Harry would cut in and say that they’d prefer a large dog, not too old, the breed doesn’t matter. There’s no problem if the dog has medical needs, but they’d prefer one who could at least pretend to guard the house when it was empty.

And then Draco would cut in and emphasize that what they really need is a dog who likes to curl up on the end of the couch while he and Harry watch movies on the telly and play fetch and make dog-friends at the park, and sleep in the bed with—

Okay, not in the bed, Harry would say.

Theoretically in the bed. A bed. Someone’s bed. Draco would say with a roll of his eyes and a look at the shelter people like this git, eh?

The shelter employees would go away to look at all the available dogs, leaving Harry and Draco alone to bicker about whether or not the dog they hadn’t adopted yet, hadn’t even met yet, would be allowed in the kitchen.

(of course they would be, who are you, my Father?? Draco would say, which would make Harry scoff and frown, and then stare off into the distance).

And the shelter employees would come back and say that they’d found a dog that ticked all their boxes, and Draco would yelp. Actually squeal.

So they would walk hand-in-hand down the path to the little meeting pavilion, still bickering about table scraps, doggie sweaters, and names. Draco would refuse to call their new dog something banal like Spot, or Buddy, or Fido. Harry would rather die than have to call out something poncey and embarrassing like Princess, or Caligula, or Bernard.

But it would be Harry who looked up from the ground, his eyes shining, one hand full of treats and the other engaged in a spirited game of tug of war, and say this is the one.

And Draco would laugh and start to say something sarcastic and biting, I told you so, when Harry put on his most indulgent baby voice and informed the dog that he would be sleeping on his side of the bed. But then the dog would trip and flop over toward Draco, all wiggling tail and wagging tongue, and it suddenly wouldn’t matter who told who what, because yes, this is the one.

Weeks later, when the camera crew came round to Grimmauld to check how things were going, Harry and Draco would arrange themselves on the couch for the interview. Harry would sprawl out, relaxed and casual, while Draco would perch on the edge of the cushion, his hands clasped over his crossed knees. Did you bring her home with you? How has it been? the interviewer would ask. Would you like to see? Draco would respond.

Lu! Lulu! Lumos! Draco would call, and the dog would come tumbling into the room and leap up onto their laps, her whole body vibrating with the force of her joy. She was called Nancy, he’d say, but she wasn’t really a Nancy, was she? She’s our little light.

And Harry would pull the scruffy little dust bunny of a mutt into his arms and say she’s the love of our lives.

And Draco would cry. Right there, on national television for anyone to see.

If you don’t know already, The Dog House is a UK/Aus reality show (maybe others?) where people adopt rescue dogs. We’ve just got it streaming on my side of the pond, and I have been … inhaling it, if you need a good, cleansing cry this is the show for you 😩😩.

[zimisnotdefective]

MEET THE MUSE !

LEGAL NAME: ZIM

NICKNAME[S]: SPACE-BOY, ALIEN SCUM (all given by DIB)

DATE OF BIRTH: ███████

AGE: 20 IRKEN YEARS, 200 EARTH YEARS

GENDER: MALE

SPECIES: IRKEN

PLACE OF BIRTH: IRK, A SMEETERY

CURRENT LIVING CONDITIONS: EARTH

SPOKEN LANGUAGES: IRKEN DOOM, WITH BUILT-IN PAK TRANSLATOR (only knows English for Earth languages)

EDUCATION: THE ACADEMY, INVADER TRAINING 

OCCUPATION: EXILED FOOD SERVICE DRONE INVADER

CRIMINAL RECORD:  PLANET-WIDE BLACKOUTS, MULTIPLE TALLEST DEATHS, HOST-PLANETARY DESTRUCTION, BANISHMENT ESCAPEE x2, DEFECTIVE PAK

DRINK | SMOKE | DRUGS

LIKE[S]: DESTRUCTION, SNACKS, PRAISE, SUCCESS, WARMTH, PHYSICAL COMFORT

DISLIKE[S]: DIB, FILTH, EARTH, FAILURE, NOISE

FEAR[S]: FAILURE, ISOLATION, EARTH WATER, DELETION, DISSECTION 

PERSONALITY TRAITS: LOUD, EGOTISTICAL, STUBBORN, DESTRUCTIVE, QUICK TO ANGER, LOYAL TO A FAULT, DESPERATE FOR ATTENTION, ANXIOUS, DISTRUSTING, SELF-LOATHING

{ P H Y S I C A L   I N F O R M A T I O N }

HAIR COLOR: NONE (BLACK WIG DISGUISE)

EYE COLOR: MAGENTA (LAVENDER DISGUISE CONTACTS)

HEIGHT: 3′0″

WEIGHT:  ███████

TATTOOS: NONE

{ F A M I L Y   I N F O R M A T I O N }

SIBLING[S]:   ███████  

PARENT[S]:   ███████

CHILDREN:   NONE

PET[S] MINIONS: GIR, MINIMOSE

{ R E L A T I O N S H I P   I N F O R M A T I O N }

SEXUAL PREFERENCE: PANSEXUAL

RELATIONSHIP STATUS: SINGLE (IN MAIN BLOG VERSE)

tagged by: @irksomeirken tagging:  @almosthumanophelia , @destroyer-immortalizer , @rip-teh-hyooman , @thedoomsquad , @stardustcloaked , ANYONE ELSE THAT WANTS TO STEAL!

[safitheartist]

THIS IS ADORABLE HE THOUGHT THEY MEANT GIR OR MINIMOSE!!!

[keiserkosti]

The Lego Technic Porsche RSR (42096) is a really cool kit, made in honour of the Danish race car driver Christina Nielsen, who has the RSR as her «office». It’s a very nice kit over all, but i would have liked to see less gaps between parts here and there, as well as bigger wheels and rims. The best part, in my eyes, is the rear of the car, which displays the quite elaborate construction, minimosing aerodynamic drag. I’ve put on stickers from @fwartstckr to give it more colour and life, something i think they’ve achieved very well with their decal sheet. #legolove #legotechnic #lego42096 (ved Andenes, Nordland, Norway) https://www.instagram.com/p/Bz-goqhlaX4/?igshid=cakuhjbd8djf

[freemiumworldblog]

Minimosity v1.3 – Magazine, Reviews and News WP Theme

Minimosity v1.3 – Magazine, Reviews and News WP Theme

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[aevideo-net-blog]

ThemeForest - Minimosity v1.3 - Magazine Reviews and News WP Theme - 3047906

DEMO

Minimosity is a stylish WordPress Theme designed for Blogs, Magazines and News Editorial with a built-in review system. It has responsive abilities and supports double resolution retina images. Its options panel is simple but powerful and fully integrated with the look of WordPress Admin. Furthermore, Minimosity comes with tons of other features you’re gonna love! Not enough? Request any feature you think will make Minimosity a better product and I’ll do my best to implement it! 

[m0srael]

[1.6 K | T] Summary: Kojiro helps Kaoru choose the right outfit before a big, important photoshoot.

A soft, little matchablossom drabble for @isamijoo on the most important occasion of her birthday. Featuring: supportivehusband!Kojiro, genderfluid!Kaoru, and a whole lot of fluffy love and care.

[m0srael]

A Very Abbreviated List of the Ludicrous Places That I, Draco Lucius Malfoy-Potter, Have Found You, Harry “Bloody Saviour” Malfoy-Potter, Asleep:

1. The couch in the eighth year common room.

Oh, for Merlin’s sake, Draco, that’s not even weird! Couches are meant to be slept on! Everyone fell asleep on that couch!

It’s called a common room for a reason, Harry. It’s rude, first of all, and second—it’s gross! Do you know how many people have shagged on that couch? I can name at least ten right now!

2. My bed in the eighth year dorm.

My nightmares—

And don’t blame this one on your nightmares—

Fine. You got me, I admit it. I had a giant, embarrassing crush on you.

I knew it.

3. The floor of my mother’s drawing room.

In my defense, your mum’s way too liberal with the mulled wine at the holidays, and that hearth rug is unnaturally comfortable.

You’re not a crup, Harry. I’ll allow the couch before the floor. Honestly.

4. On my stoop.

Our stoop, thanks, and you locked me out! What else was I supposed to do?! Though, that welcome mat is almost more comfortable than your mum’s hearth rug, maybe I should…

Don’t you dare. I had to teach you a lesson about what happens to naughty boys who don’t listen.

I can think of a few other lessons I might need teaching.

Harry!

5. In Scorpius’s crib.

That was one time, and neither of us had slept for more than two hours at a time for weeks! I just thought maybe he’d stop crying. I was right, by the way.

You couldn’t have been comfortable. I don’t even know how you got yourself in there, you massive oaf.

I have some news that may come as a shock, Draco. I’m a wizard.

I will lock you out again, Merlin help me…

6. In the front row at Elphias Doge’s funeral.

Oh, come on, even you were stifling a yawn every five minutes! I don’t care if the man was a war hero, he was older than dirt and just as dull! We were the only guests there under 100!

It was horribly gauche, Harry, and they ran that photo in The Prophet for weeks! Shame on you, you atrocious man. Stop laughing.

7. The honeymoon suite at the Ritz Paris.

What? I never—

Portkey leaves first thing in the morning.

…What?

You’ve been working so hard, we deserve a break. Molly’s going to watch Scorp.

But, Harry—

No buts. I’ve already confirmed it with your boss. We’ve got a whole week to drink wine and eat bread and do this, mmmf—

—hmff, wait, no, Harry. We can’t stay in the honeymoon suite, we’ve been married for seven years!

Oh okay, I’ll owl them right now and ask for a downgrade.

Now that I think about it…

Mmhm. C’mere. I’m feeling sleepy…

some fluffy words for @drarrymicrofic’s prompt “Sleepy”

[m0srael]

The Pleasure of a Fleeting Year, pt. 2

January 7th, 2017

Draco had forgotten how green Potter’s eyes are.

They’re even brighter without the familiar shade of disdain shrouding them, though the image of the man in his mind has understandably faded with time and distance.

Potter had looked at him like…well, like he was just another parent seeing their child off after the winter hols. And he was, except…

…Potter always had a way of making him feel small, of dragging him full-tilt into the past.

“Malfoy,” Potter’s gentle voice echoes.

The clock chimes, startling Draco out of his reverie. The house feels so much emptier without Scorpius in it.

100 words for Good For You by Darlingside, specifically these lyrics: Oh, I was happiness and I was sorrow. Thank you again @softlystarstruck and @nv-md 💙 I'm writing a continuous story in microfics for all of the 2022 @drarrymicrofic prompts, and this is the second installment.

Start Here 🌟 Next Part Here

[m0srael]

Drunk Texts

For the @drarrymicrofic prompt: Love Letter

One balmy night in June, Harry’s lying in bed wide awake--unable to sleep again--when his mobile lights up on the nightstand. The only people who ever contact him on his mobile are Teddy (“All the cool wizards have them these days, Harry, please get one so I can send you memes!”) and Hermione, and neither of them would be texting this late.

Friday, June 6 2008, 1:27 AM

+445195555555: I’ve been hopelessly in love with you since we were sixteen, won’t shut my bloody mouth about you actually, can I take you on a date? I’m still very rich, all things considered, and know all the best restaurants in Wizarding Britain.

+445195555555: Maybe just a shag, then?

Harry: bloody hell, who is this??

Harry: This number is unlisted, I don’t know how you got it but I’m blocking it now. Kindly, fuck off.

+445195555555: WAIT

+445195555555: What do you mean, who is this? I thought muggle mobiles know who you’re talking to already.

Harry: Not if a strange person is texting in the middle of the bloody night from a number I’ve never seen before!

+445195555555: If you don’t want to date me or shag me just say so, Potter. No need to play hard to get and toss around insults

+445195555555: Unless that’s a thing for you, cheeky ;) ;)

Harry: Last chance, tell me who this is or I’m blocking your number.

+445195555555: Draco

+445195555555: Obviously ;)

Harry: Draco...Malfoy?

Harry: You expect me to believe Draco Malfoy is confessing his love and hitting me up for a shag at 1am. On a *muggle* mobile.

+445195555555: Believe it scarhead, now answer the question do you or do you not want to shag me

Harry: Look, you’ve obviously read one too many Prophet articles…

Harry: Somehow found my number...did you confund someone I know??

Harry: And thought that...pretending to be Draco Malfoy, of all people, would entice me to meet up with a total stranger?

+445195555555: Ooh, the logic of it all, Potter ;)

Harry: Stop doing that

+445195555555: what ;) ;)

Harry: The emojis. Malfoy would never use emojis.

+445195555555: You don’t know what I would or wouldn’t do anymore Potter. Would you like to learn? ;)

Harry: Fuck

Harry: Even if I believed you, I’ve never given Draco Malfoy my number. My *muggle* mobile number.

Harry: I’ve never given him my number because Draco Malfoy would never use a *muggle* mobile.

Harry:...among other reasons

+445195555555: Always so preoccupied with blood purity, Potter, haven’t you learned anything?

+445195555555: And there you go again, assuming that you know what I would and would not do

+445195555555: It really would be much more efficient if you just let me demonstrate

Harry: oh my god

Harry: I can’t believe I’m still messaging you

Harry: ffs, you have one chance to convince me that you’re really Malfoy otherwise I’m blocking you immediately

+445195555555: You are a tetchy one, hm?

+445195555555: Fine. You cornered me in a bathroom in 6th bc you were *obsessed* with me and tried to murder me using sectumsempra (which you claimed not to know the effect of, pft) but only because I tried to Crucio you and I would have died if Snape hadn’t found us and cleaned up your mess (again)

+445195555555: They definitely didn’t print THAT in the Prophet. Unfortunately.

Harry: Bloody hell um...okay…

Harry: Look, about that, Malfoy…

Harry: Wait, unfortunately…??

+445195555555: So you see, Potter, it is in fact I, Draco Lucius Malfoy, confessing my love and “hitting you up for a shag at 1am” as you so elegantly put it.

+445195555555: ;)

Harry: Okay. Malfoy, then. Jesus.

Harry: How exactly did you get my number?

Harry: For that matter, when did you get a mobile?

Draco Sodding Malfoy: I got it from Pansy, who got it from Ginny, you recalcitrant twat

Draco Sodding Malfoy: See, I can do the sexy insults thing, too :*

Draco Sodding Malfoy: And if you must know, Potter, I purchased a mobile years ago to stay in contact with my cousin, Teddy. Teddy Lupin. I think you’re acquainted? The little brat refuses to owl, apparently it’s “sooo medieval”.

Harry: Oh. That...actually makes sense. He said the same thing to me.

Harry: Hang on, Teddy isn’t a brat. I thought you two got on rather well…?

Draco Sodding Malfoy: Whatever, the point is I’m mad for you and I never told you because, well, there was the whole war thing and then the whole trial thing, and since then I’ve become a bit of a self-righteous coward. Also, I fancy myself something of a martyr. I think the constant pouting makes my mouth look more kissable, don’t you?

Draco Sodding Malfoy: We could do the dinner thing if we must, or you can just come round mine I can meet you there right now

Harry: Oh. You’re drunk.

Harry: Never pegged you as the type to get sloshed and text your ex-childhood-nemesis for a hookup

Draco Sodding Malfoy: not with that attitude you haven’t

Harry: Hah

Draco Sodding Malfoy: Not drnk

Draco Sodding Malfoy: Honestly, Potter

Draco Sodding Malfoy: Harry

Harry: weird

Draco Sodding Malfoy: I’ve seen the way you watch me when you think I’m not looking. You look at me like some lovesick teenager. Why deny what *literally everyone* can plainly see?

Harry: I do not look at you like a...lovesick teenager, Malfoy.

Draco Sodding Malfoy: Draco ;)

Harry: I do not watch you, DRACO.

Draco Sodding Malfoy: I only notice because I’m watching you too, Harry. All the time. I’ve been watching you for as long as I can remember.

Draco Sodding Malfoy: You’ve practically been the center of my universe since I was eleven years old, for Merlin’s sake. I think about you all the time. I miss you all the time, even when we’re in the same room.

Draco Sodding Malfoy: I mean I LITERALLY do not shut up about you I wasn’t exaggerating about that. It drives Pansy and Blaise, who have the patience and constitutions of actual saints and who are very, very good friends, absolutely mental and they’d like nothing more than to hex my mouth shut permanently.

Harry: um

Draco Sodding Malfoy: Admit it.

Draco Sodding Malfoy: You’ve wondered what it’d be like.

Draco Sodding Malfoy: Imagined it.

Draco Sodding Malfoy: Us

Harry: Malfoy…

Draco Sodding Malfoy: Draco

Harry: Draco…

Draco Sodding Malfoy: Yes, Harry? ;)

Harry: I...could do dinner.

Draco Sodding Malfoy: You could “do” dinner? That’s all, after everything I’ve just said, you can “do” dinner??

Harry: For the love of Merlin

Harry: Fine. You’re right, Draco. I...have wondered

Harry: About us, I mean

Harry: Ahh and actually Draco sometimes when I look at you I just want…

Friday, June 6 2008, 2:15 AM

Draco Sodding Malfoy: what

Draco Sodding Malfoy: you want what

Friday, June 6 2008, 2:48 AM

Draco Sodding Malfoy: harry

Friday, June 6 2008, 3:09 AM

Draco Sodding Malfoy: harry, bloody hell

Saturday, June 7 2008, 6:45 AM

Harry: Draco, I’m so sorry

Saturday, June 7 2008, 8:18 AM

Harry: My mobile died and I didn’t have my charger

Saturday, June 7 2008, 9:23 AM

Harry: Draco

Saturday, June 7 2008, 11:47 AM

Draco Sodding Malfoy: Potter, why on earth are you contacting me so early on a Saturday?

Draco Sodding Malfoy: Scratch that, why are you contacting me at all? Where did you get my number?

Harry: Oh, so you were drunk

Draco Sodding Malfoy: How is my present or past level of intoxication any of your concern?

Draco Sodding Malfoy: Oh.

Draco Sodding Malfoy: No.

Harry: Draco, what’s wrong? What happened?

Harry: Draco…?

Harry: I’m sorry, if I said something…

Harry: Look, YOU’RE the one drunk messaging ME at all hours of the night looking for a shag!

Saturday, June 7 2008, 7:08 PM

Draco Sodding Malfoy: Dear Harry,

Draco Sodding Malfoy: I hereby formally apologize for my previous messages. They are inappropriate and entirely out of line, do forgive me. Although it appears that Blaise Zabini and Pansy Parkinson absconded with my mobile yesterday evening to, “have a bit of fun”, I take full responsibility for what has transpired. Do not report me, or something. I do hope you were not too offended. I will henceforth refrain from contacting you by this, or any other, means. I assure you that my traitorous, juvenile, back-stabbing, inconsiderate, so-called friends have been soundly reprimanded. You may expect their formal apologies via owl, posthaste.

Draco Sodding Malfoy: Apologetically, Draco L. Malfoy

Harry: Wow, uh, ok. I’ve never gotten a formal apology over text before. Did it take you...8 hours to write that?

Harry: And for the record, I knew something was up. We may not be best mates or anything but I know you wouldn’t use emojis like that.

Draco Sodding Malfoy: Oh, bugger off, Potter you had no idea it wasn’t me. You were ready to spill your innermost desires to a stranger on your mobile! Stupid Gryffindor.

Draco Sodding Malfoy: Ah.

Draco Sodding Malfoy: I mean, goodbye! So sorry, again, for the inconvenience! We will never speak again from this moment on!

Harry: Draco, wait

Draco ;): Merlin, what, Potter?

Harry: Harry

Draco ;): No.

Harry: Fine. Look, if you accept full responsibility, does that mean your offer still stands?

Draco ;): What offer?

Draco ;): No. It doesn’t, whatever it is.

Harry: Your offer to take me on a date.

Harry: ;)

Draco ;): Bloody...Potter, that wasn’t MY offer!

Harry: Perhaps not, but I’ve seen the way you watch me when you think I’m not looking...Draco.

Draco ;): Who is this? I’m blocking this number. I’m going to ask Pansy how to block a number.

Harry: Draco, I’m serious.

Saturday, June 7 2008, 9:14 PM

Harry: Draco, I can tell that you didn’t block my number.

Saturday, June 7 2008, 11:47 PM

Harry: Fine.

Harry: Draco, could I take you out for dinner some time? I know someone who knows all the best restaurants in Wizarding Britain.

Draco ;): …..

Harry: ?

Draco ;): If you must

Harry: If I must?

Draco ;): It's true that I'm still rich, all things considered, but you’re paying

Draco ;): ;)

[m0srael]

“You know, Muggles have this superstition about holding their breath when they walk by a cemetery,” Harry says as they turn the corner by the little graveyard. “Keeps out the evil spirits.”

He gulps in air, his cheeks and chest puffing out comically, and slides his chill-bitten fingers through Draco’s.

Draco glares at him from the corner of his eye, clearly trying not to show his amusement, “How ‘bout I hold yours for you?”

Harry’s breath whooshes out of him on a cough and a laugh as the slender, icy fingers of Draco’s other hand wrap loosely around his throat.

100 words for the @drarrymicrofic prompt: graveyard. Based on a lil superstition I grew up around.

[m0srael]

The Pleasure of a Fleeting Year, Pt. 3

January 11th, 2017: Draco

… to run, we’re making Papier-mâché eagles for the match tomorrow!

Love, Scorpius

Draco re-reads the letter—his son’s happiness drips off the page. He tucks it into the box with the others and tries to recall if he ever sent a letter home from school with love instead of respect.

January 11th, 2017: Harry

From the Greek eu (well) and pherein (to bear). To bear it well. From the Greek euphoros (borne well/born well). Innately good. Euphoria: wellness in the sick body produced by drugs. Harry tilts the vial up, coaxing the last pearlescent drop onto his tongue. He does not feel euphoric.

50 words and also another 50 words for Euphoria--I thought we needed a little from them both today, and I make the rules so 😤. Thanks, @softlystarstruck 😭!! I’m writing a continuous story in microfics for all of the 2022 @drarrymicrofic prompts, and this is the third installment.

Start here 🌟Previous part here 🌟 Next part here

[m0srael]

The 10th Rule of Fight Club: Don’t Maim My Boyfriend

The air—humid and sour, saturated with alcohol and sweat—ripples with the crack of knuckles on bare skin. The crowd goes wild as a body hits the floor. Galleons flash in the low light of the warehouse as they pass from hand to hand.

Harry strains to see past the barricade of naked shoulders, into the center of the tightly-packed ring. The floor is already sticky-shiny with blood.

Draco is up next.

One-two-one; Draco lands three quick jabs.

Oof; Draco clutches his ribs.

Step, dodge, swing; Draco connects with the underside of his opponent’s chin.

Harry’s seeker reflexes clock a flash of gold. Before he can open his mouth, Draco’s opponent buries heavy, brass knuckles in the tender skin under Draco’s eye.

Harry watches as Draco’s face splits open; doesn’t even register the spray of blood that paints his own cheek.

He grunts and reaches toward his neighbor.

“Hold my Butterbeer.”

Written for the August '21 Drarry Discord Drabble Challenge. Thanks, @tontonguetonks for the beta!!

On Ao3

[m0srael]

Tempted

307 words for the @drarrymicrofic prompt “From Eden”. T.

Babe, there's something tragic about you, Something so magic about you. // Babe, there's something lonesome about you, Something so wholesome about you.

“Yes, my family lost everything. You see, I was basically raised in a—oh, what’s the word—yes, a cult”

The stocky, dark-haired Muggle man who has been buying Draco drinks all night looks about ready to join any cult Draco is a part of.

Harry scoffs to himself, eyes narrowed over the rim of his whiskey. This isn’t the first time he’s watched Draco’s little “tragic and lonesome” act.

“Mmhm. It’s just...” Draco trails off, tracing a lazy path down the man’s chest with one, long finger. “I worry that no one really...understands me. No one will want me, I’m...” Draco steps close to the man, using the pretense of the loud music to lean in, his lips close to the man’s ear, “broken, damaged...bad.”

Harry doesn’t think he’s ever seen someone want something more than this small, sweaty man wants to get his hands on Draco’s lovely, slender hips.

It makes Harry’s heart pound.

The man tilts his head up to respond, and Draco takes the opening to slide one hand around the man’s neck, pulling him even closer.

“You do?” Harry hears Draco purr over the extendable ear. “You want me?” His lips are hovering dangerously close to the man’s, now.

Harry can see the flush rising in the man’s cheeks from where he sits at the far end of the bar, despite the low lights and the smoky air.

Draco closes the small gap between his mouth and the man’s, fingers tangling indulgently in the man’s short hair and pulling. His eyes are locked onto Harry’s.

This is Harry’s favorite part of the act.

Harry knows that he’s just as caught in Draco’s web as the man is. He’s been tempted by the same fruit, dangled in front of him but just far enough away to keep him stumbling forward, hands grasping.

In all his years in the Wizarding World, Harry has known no stronger spell than the slant of Draco’s private smile, no more powerful alchemy than Draco’s penetrating gaze. That is the purest magic.

The difference between Harry and this unfortunate stranger is that later, when it is his turn and he is on his knees in worship, his devotion will be returned, whole and pure.

[m0srael]

Grace Note

[1.8k | E] thank you, lovely @softlystarstruck for the super quick beta!

Read on Ao3

Harry had gotten the idea from Slughorn.

Whenever he saw a particularly comfortable looking sofa, a beautifully carved credenza, or even a uniquely shaped kitchen utensil he remembered the old man, swaddled in his garish green-and-blue striped dressing gown, crouched in the sitting room of that abandoned Muggle house. He can still picture the way the gentle nudge of Dumbledore’s wand against the armchair cushion had seemingly plucked an invisible thread, snapping the tension of Slughorn’s transfiguration. He can visualize, with full clarity, how Slughorn’s body had jerked and expanded, limbs unfolding from awkward angles, some parts deflating and others growing rotund and anatomical.

He had likely never used that particular skill set in the ways Harry fantasized about using it, though.

The thing is, Draco is beautiful. Breathtakingly so. Not ‘silver screen, perfectly symmetrical features, toothpaste ad’ kind of beautiful, though.

He’s beautiful like a rose only slightly past its prime is beautiful—petals as soft as a lamb’s ear and just beginning to wrinkle, scent so sweet it’s cloying, the edges of its leaves beginning to go rot-black with desiccation.

He’s beautiful like an open wound—a tender, twinging place where life and death, normally restrained deep inside, are so viscerally present right at the surface. He’s beautiful like deep red blood against ashen skin. Like the knowledge that your flesh already possesses everything it needs to knit that laceration back together and keep your life and death inside of you for just a little longer.

He’s beautiful like a piece of antique furniture. Every part of him hangs together as though the joints were hand fitted, but warped minutely by time and humidity; his long limbs so smooth and shapely as though they were turned on a lathe, coaxed carefully from a rough block of marble by a master craftsman. He’s all rich, dark wood sticky with its own sap, and delicate, hand-tatted lace.

His slightly crooked left canine, the way the bridge of his nose jogs off to the left a bit, the way the planes of his face meet in unfriendly angles that could cut glass when he’s angry and melt entirely away when he smiles. When he comes.

His gangly limbs that he holds close to his body, as though he might lose control of them otherwise, his wiry body covered in neither fat nor muscle that fits so neatly against Harry’s chest, his back, his side.

These are the things that make Draco beautiful. These are the things that make Harry want to keep him close—to mount him on the wall like a rich tapestry or tuck him into the arm of the chaise like a decorative throw pillow.

Harry was surprised that it didn’t take much convincing. Though, maybe he shouldn’t have been. Draco has always yearned to be kept, to be worn like an expensive accessory. He preens under doting attention and withers in its absence. It’s part of what makes them work so well. Harry wants nothing more than to keep him and tell him he’s pretty.

They started small, and always in the bedroom—at least at first. Draco—the stronger of the two in transfiguration magic—waved his wand and let his body twist into the shape of a pillow, or a throw blanket, or a bath robe. Harry pulled him close, slid Draco over his naked body, tucked his feet, his fingers, his cock into soft folds and just felt. There was something indescribably intimate about wrapping Draco around his shoulders, or nestling his tired head into his goose down stuffing, or cinching his terry cloth belt tight around his waist.

Every time, after they’d finished, Harry nudged Draco with his own wand and the familiar twinge and snap popped Draco’s seams until he was back, flesh and blood, in Harry’s arms. That was secretly Harry’s favorite part.

Eventually, and again to Harry’s undeserved surprise, Draco asked for more. He wanted to be seen, to be appreciated. Occasionally, when Teddy and Andromeda dropped by for Saturday tea, or when Ron and Hermione came for dinner, Draco changed first.

Sometimes he transfigured into an intricately carved side table, or a velvet armchair tucked up by the fireplace. Other times, when he was feeling particularly vain, he twisted and turned into a small, gold statuette or a ceramic vase that Harry dutifully placed on the coffee table where everyone could see him.

His favorite form, though, was a little, ornately carved footstool. The soft cushion was upholstered in rich blues and golds, and the tassels that hung from the corners shimmered in the afternoon sun. Harry made Draco’s excuses for his absence to their visitors as he flexed and curled his bare toes into the luxuriously soft fabric.

Draco wanted more though. “I want to be useful, I want to feel used. Needed,” he told Harry one night.

It took them some time to decide exactly what Draco should transfigure into. Kitchen things were out—Harry may not be hesitant to manhandle Draco when he’s transfigured, but he doesn’t want to hurt him or make him dirty. Something in the bedroom, like a mattress or set of sheets, would be ideal for Harry, but for Draco, a large part of this thing is being appreciated by others.

And then Draco had landed on the perfect compromise.

*

When Harry steps through the front door, the familiar warmth and smell of home bleeds the tension out of his tired muscles.

The comfortable quiet is broken by a heavy sigh as Harry drops his briefcase to the floor with a thunk. He slips carefully out of his loafers, tucking them under the little bench by the door, and hangs his jacket on the coat rack. He prefers to take his time coming home, letting the well-worn routine ease his nerves and begin to unwind the tension behind his eyes. The best part is yet to come, and the delayed satisfaction makes it all the sweeter.

Harry first goes to the bedroom where he slips out of his robes, taking care with every silver button and clasp, folding the fabric carefully even though they’re bound for the laundry bin. He toes off his socks and hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his briefs, sliding them slowly over his hips and down his thighs until they pool around his ankles.

Another sigh, happy this time, and Harry’s face breaks into a pleased grin.

He was half hard the minute he stepped through the door and now he aches, cock leaking, as he walks back down the front stairs and into the sitting room.

The low, wooden stool is waiting for him by the fire crackling lowly in the hearth. The wood is supple and warm under his bare arse and he presses his hips and thighs apart, savoring the sensation.

As they agreed, Draco is waiting for him, propped up on a stand just beside the stool. Harry wraps one hand around the neck of the cello and pulls it in between his legs.

He trails gentle fingertips over the warm wood of the cello’s resonant body and feels Draco’s magic there, electric and eager, responding to every touch. The silent welcome urges Harry’s hips forward, the tip of his cock sliding against the polished wood, and he gasps.

“Hello, love,” he murmurs, his lips pressed against the strings and his tongue darting out to capture the bitter, metallic tang.

Harry pulls the cello further back into the curl of his body and let’s it rest securely against his shoulder. He slides reverent fingers down the fingerboard and presses the pad of his thumb firmly against the bridge. A soft sound, almost too quiet to hear, floats from Draco’s quivering strings.

The first draw of the bow makes heat pool in Harry’s belly. The air fills with a deep, mournful note and the musky-sweet smell of rosin, and Harry’s breath catches in his throat. He pauses to rub his cheek against the pegs and moans as he slides two fingers around the rim of one of Draco’s F holes. His cock jumps when he’s rewarded with a soft, keening note.

He knows Draco wants him to play on, not to lose himself too much in the feel of the instrument. Draco wants to be used, to be sounded. He is made for beauty, made to create more beautiful things, and Harry would rather die than squander that.

So he plays, fingers dancing across the strings and applying pressure in the exact right places. He’s no musician, but he’s learned a few simplified versions of Draco’s favorite adagios and symphonies, and he trips clumsily through the melodies.

It doesn’t matter though, because he can feel how much Draco loves this. Every note holds for just a little longer than normal and floats on a gentle vibrato that Harry is sure he can feel across his heated skin. He never has to tune the instrument because the tones are always true, only bending upwards when Harry places his lips to the firm wood of Draco’s body and sucks.

His fingers stutter over the strings as his orgasm builds, slowly at first, and then all at once. He holds on as long as possible, drawing out a few final notes with a shaky hand.

When he comes he pulls Draco tight against his sweat-slick chest, his hips thrust forward and his cock presses flush into the dip in the cello’s back. His thighs clench around the cello’s narrow waist, and his toes curl, lifting his heels off the floor. He keeps his pinky firmly on the thin A string to draw out the high-pitched, whining note shivering off of it. He pants open mouthed against the cello’s neck until his head starts to clear and the air is quiet once again.

Draco’s wand is lying right where he said it would be, behind the left leg of the little stool. Harry picks it up and trails it lightly down the side of the cello. Draco begins to unfold into himself with a shudder, sliding down Harry’s body to the floor. He wraps his arms around Harry’s calf and rests his flushed face on the inside of Harry’s thigh, pressing absent little kisses into the damp skin there.

Harry cradles Draco’s face in his palms. His silver eyes are glassy and distant, and Harry’s chest aches at the sigh of him, so vulnerable and willing. Yes, this is his favorite part, when he can pull Draco close and tell him all the ways he’s been so useful, so precious, so good, and—

“So beautiful,” he murmurs into the shell of Draco’s ear.

[m0srael]

A veeery loose interp. for my first ever ✨genuine✨ @drarrymicrofic. 50 words exactly for the prompt: Guess I’m Jaded, in which Draco is very much not jaded.

“Draco, he’s threatening to carve something out of wood. By himself! He said, and I quote, Draco doesn’t want another sparkly, empty gesture.”

“Mark my words, Pans, I will absolutely refuse the bloody Savior of the Wizarding World if he tries to propose to me with a sodding napkin ring.”