Disheveled

My son still doesn't know how to accept congratulations.

2023 Happy birthday Chosen one!!

Harry “business” Potter EDIT: added some changes

um!! i challenged myself to write smth abt nonsexual intimacy in 500 words n here it is 😔✌️(u can also find it in my oneshot collection on ao3)

His fingertips pass delicate over the ridges of Draco’s teeth; only in this way can he feel the subtle irregularities, the misshapen bumps and valleys in all that unyielding enamel. He wonders if this is what it would feel like if he reached inside Draco’s body and touched his bones.

He presses down on Draco’s tongue, slimy and wet and firm over muscle: unlike his teeth, it yields easily. Coated with spit, he drags them over a slightly swollen lip, smears it across his chin and down his neck and watches it glisten against skin as white as a winter moon.

“You’re skin,” says Harry. He dips his wet fingers into the hollow of Draco’s clavicle. He trails them down his arm, over a slightly rough elbow where the skin is dry and flaking. He touches the skin under Draco’s shirt, stretched across his hip bones; over his abdomen, where the skin is decorated with old scars and adds texture. “Miles of it.”

“What else?” Draco asks. 

“Teeth,” says Harry. He touches them again, the canines which are a little too long, the molars with their subtle bumps and valleys. He counts them. “You’re thirty-two teeth.”

Do you like them? Draco’s eyes ask. 

“I love them,” says Harry. He does. He slides his finger along Draco’s pink gums, across his lips. He touches his nose and says, “You’re a pointy nose.”

“You’re a wide nose,” Draco says. “What else am I?”

“Hair.” He touches Draco’s hair. It’s whiter than his skin and just long enough to reach his ears and curl over the cartilage. “You’re silver hair. Like a unicorn tail.”

“My wand has unicorn tail hair.”

“I know,” says Harry. Draco smiles sleepily. “Suits you.”

“Tell me more.”

“You’re feet,” Harry tells him. He bends Draco’s leg and lifts his foot, and he kisses the arch. He hasn’t examined many feet, but he thinks Draco’s must be the softest. Then he kisses the sharp ankle bone. “And skinny ankles.”

This time Draco laughs. “You are too.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Draco says. “And knobby knees.”

“Knobby knees,” Harry echoes, grinning. “You’re clean fingernails.”

“You’re bitten fingernails,” says Draco. He skims his lips over Harry’s fingers, and then his palm. “And rough hands and dark skin.”

“You’re light skin,” says Harry. He lifts Draco’s arm, kisses the steadily fading mark that is as much a part of his body as his clean fingernails and pointy nose. “And inside you’re blood and guts and atoms.”

Draco smiles, pleased, as if Harry has just recited back to him a secret they share. As if he’s the only one who knows what’s inside Draco’s body, because he’s the only one who’s been allowed to look. 

“And you,” says Draco. Harry frowns. 

“Me?”

“You’re inside of me,” he says. “With the blood and guts and atoms.”

Harry almost smiles, because it almost sounds corny: then he realises it’s not corny at all, and he stares at Draco a long time.

“You’re inside me too,” he says finally. 

The drarry microfic server is aflame with babooshkart’s latest kitchen art. Also, the Harry and his tattoos within the kitchen.

We humbly request a microfic that includes breakfast in bed, a sausage pun, and maybe Draco falling out of bed trying to keep eyes on Harry’s magnificent backside.

We humbly thank thee, House of Fake.

I’m fkn crying y’all are too funny 😂 💕 sorry this isn’t really micro, but I had to try to do it justice. Check that mouthwatering Mrs. Fake art 😍

“I asked for sausage.”

“We’re out of sausage,” Harry said, grinning at his petulant, pouting lover, who was barely visible under his mountain of pillows. Harry saw a narrowed grey eye and a tuft of blond hair. He set the tray down on the middle of the bed. “You get bacon.”

“Why are you wearing an apron?” Draco asked, his voice still rough from sleep.

“To protect the sausage,” Harry replied, smirking. Draco groaned in exasperation, throwing two fluffy pillows at him. Harry batted them away, snickering.

“That was horrible,” Draco grumbled. Harry could hear the poorly-hidden smile in it; he felt it mirrored on his own face. “And you didn’t even bring tea, you utter brute.”

“My tray is only so big,” Harry chuckled, then turned away to retrieve the tea from the luxurious kitchen on the other side of their bright, spacious loft. He smiled to himself. Ours.

He didn’t make it past the table before he was startled by a heavy thump and a loud, indignant squawk. Harry whirled around in alarm, only to see a tangle of pale, gangly limbs in a pile of duvet, puddled on the floor next to their bed. Draco groaned from somewhere within the lump of linens.

“This is your fault,” Draco said, the sound muffled by cloth and down feathers.

Harry tried very hard not to laugh. “You falling out of bed is my fault, Draco?” His voice shook, his lips pressed together to hold it in.

“Harry,” Draco whinged. Some movement among the heap of white, then Draco’s face popped out from the top, his cheeks flushed bright red. He looked like the cherry on top of a mound of cream. Harry bit down on his own fist, but the laughter was bubbling up out of his throat, irrepressible.

Draco pouted again. “I don’t want tea, and I don’t want bacon, you bloody idiot. I want breakfast.”

Harry’s hand held the apron over his stomach, his muscles aching from suppressing his laughter. “Draco, you’ll eat what I made you—”

Draco growled in frustration and stood, clumsily extracting himself from his cloud-like prison. Harry’s eyes widened as he strode purposefully over to the kitchen, nude and irresistible, his eyes heated and annoyed and fixed on Harry alone.

“I’ll eat what I want, Potter,” he purred, biting down on Harry’s lower lip, turning Harry’s giggle into a gasp. He turned Harry around and bent him shamelessly over the table.

“Oh,” Harry said, “oh,” as Draco’s lips met the base of his spine, then lower. “Alright, then, you’re in charge of breakf—fuck.”

Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire (2005)

Directed by Mike Newell

Cinematography by Roger Pratt

lucid dreaming...

Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban (2004)

Dark! Draco in a Beauxbatons uniform

You can download the illustration on Patreon, see the creation process in TikTok, links in the bio 💫

Animalitos bebés

6 KERMIT WALLPAPERS

Post #25📗

Jueves 23 de mayo💚

Like/reblog si usas!🍏

@gabriela-papers