Ron Groaned And Buried His Face In His Arms. Across The Crowded Common Room, His Best Friend Had Just

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day 1 of funguary! wanna do as many of these as i can

What was the first property/media you read fanfiction online for?  🌈

Sometimes a flower is just a flower, and the best thing it can do for us is die.

before I desided to draw smth with naruto I was drawing a little series with drarry and porn hands, there’re my fav pics from it, maybe I’ll finish it lateeeer

hello! 3 or 16 for writer asks? 🙌

Hi fw00sh!! 💕

3. What is that one scene that you’ve always wanted to write but can’t be arsed to write all of the set-up and context it would need? (consider this permission to write it and/or share it anyway) OHOHO HELL YES THANK YOU FOR THIS GREEN LIGHT cw violence and like, mild dubcon? nsfw ish. wc ~900

Draco slammed his locker shut, revealing Potter in the doorway of the locker room, looking like death warmed over.

Looking, as he usually did, fucking furious.

“Again?” Draco sighed.

Harry’s boots echoed in the empty room as he marched toward Draco, who grit his teeth in frustration.

“Oh, for fuck’s—” Draco was cut off by Harry’s fist and an explosion of pain in his jaw, then the back of his skull as his head hit the locker, because of fucking course.

But this wasn’t new. And Draco was tired. He’d had the same shitty day as Harry. They’d both been on that bollocksed-up raid. They’d both seen horrible, painful things.

Harry followed it up with a punch to Draco’s gut, knocking the wind out of him, and a familiar grunt of “Come on, you fucking—”

Draco whirled on him with an elbow to the face, a satisfying, sickening crack, and blood poured from Harry’s nose. Harry was used to that, though, and barely reacted before grabbing Draco’s shirt and slamming him back into the lockers. He pulled his fist back, and Draco said, “Stop.”

Harry’s expression flickered—guilt, fear, desperation—Draco had never before tried to stop this. In fact, Draco had usually landed twice as many hits by now.

It was the only time he was ever allowed to touch Harry. Of course he had never tried to stop it.

Because in a few minutes, Draco would give the final blow and pin him down—against the floor, the wall, a door frame, a desk, it didn’t matter. He’d have Harry’s wrists in his hands and Harry’s wide green eyes staring up at him, and Harry’s conspicuously hard cock against his hip, and Harry’s face would get even redder as he spluttered and tried to wriggle away.

And he could have. But he never did.

Instead, he’d fight with himself until he felt Draco inevitably getting hard, too; until Draco’s whole body was pressed up against him, holding him down; until Draco slotted his thigh between Harry’s legs, and Harry gave in with a shiver, frotting against him with a quiet little moan, breathing hard against Draco’s neck. Until they both came in their pants, and Harry made that sweet, broken sound that Draco was already addicted to, and Draco had to let go of him and run, unable to face Harry’s disgust in the aftermath.

It wasn’t disgust. He knew that, now.

Harry didn’t stop. His fist hit Draco’s cheekbone, but the whiplash was worse. Draco ducked under his arm, using his shoulder to ram him into the opposite wall of lockers. Harry’s back hit the metal with a loud bang and a heavy oof, and he pounded his fist against Draco’s back, trying to knee him in the gut, but Draco was faster, as always, and had his wrists pinned to the cold metal in the blink of a swollen eye: “Harry, stop.”

Harry froze, then grit his teeth and started squirming again, trying to buck Draco off. “No.” He wasn’t even hard, this time.

Because it wasn’t about the sex. It had never been about the sex. It wasn’t even about the fighting, and it had taken Draco way too long to figure it out: that while this was the only way Draco was allowed to touch Harry, this was the only way Harry knew how to ask for it.

Harry’s eyes grew brighter, shinier, and he growled as he bucked and squirmed and pushed against Draco’s hold, desperation renewed under Draco’s piercing, knowing gaze.

“Harry.” Draco quickly gathered Harry’s arms to his chest—a calculated risk, Harry could easily push him away like this, but Harry grabbed onto Draco’s shirt, instead. He still squirmed, shaking his head frantically. “Harry.” Draco wrapped his arms around him, pressing him into the lockers, locking him in a tight, confining embrace. Harry’s body shook against his, his fists clenched in the fabric of Draco’s shirt, his breaths harsh through bloodstained teeth.

“Sweetheart,” Draco breathed. “It’s alright.”

Harry tensed; Draco could hear his teeth grinding as he held his breath. Harry let out a small gasp, and another, and Draco held him even tighter as Harry finally, finally let himself cry, breaking apart in the safe, containing circle of Draco’s arms.

Draco ran his hands over Harry's sides, his arms, his shoulders, burying his fingers in those wild curls and pressing Harry's face into his neck, kissing the side of his head and whispering in his ear—I've got you, sweetheart, I'm here—and relished in the freedom of finally letting himself break, too, as all of his love and care poured out of him, surrounding them both.

"I couldn't—" Harry hiccuped, "—save them—"

"You can't save everyone, Harry," Draco interrupted. "I couldn't save them, either."

Harry clung tighter, sobbed harder, soaking Draco's shirt with blood and tears. He didn't let go, didn't pull away, not even once his sobs had subsided, his breaths slow and even against Draco's neck.

"Let me take you home," Draco said, combing his fingers through Harry's hair. "With me." Harry reluctantly pulled back to look at him. "Please?"

Harry looked awful, with blood on his face and exhausted, red-rimmed eyes, but he eventually nodded, and Draco immediately started planning which healing charms he would use, which bath potions, which dinners he could prepare on short notice.

And all the new, gentle ways he could touch him.

Change of tactics

Split lips, rough kisses.

Bruised knuckles, tight grips.

Against the door, against the wall, against each other.

“Better?” Harry asked.

Draco bit down hard. “Define better.”

Harry’s fists clenched, even as he dragged Draco closer. This was new—different, but the same, in some ways—and habits were hard to shake.

“This.”

Inspired by @drarrymicrofic’s prompt ‘better than fighting’

Remembering the War: It doesn't get easier as the years go by. But at least they have each other.

Created for the Drarry Discord Server's Drawble Challenge, March 2020. Thanks go to this month's hosts, @potter-art and @ana-iliad.

Prompt: 'Remember when...'.

Art restriction: Earth tones/browns.

The Dateless

“Lost your friends Potter?”

“They’ve ditched me.” Harry replied morosely, wondering what had possessed him to plonk down next to Draco Malfoy of all people. He blamed his traitorous friends for ignoring him. “Sickeningly loved up the lot of them.”

Draco screwed up his nose in disgust at that, an action which combined with the alcohol induced pink flush across his cheeks Harry absently noted was kind of cute. Wait, what? Harry glared down at his champagne glass. How many of these had he had?

“No date then?” Harry asked, when it became apparent that Draco wasn’t going to initiate any further conversation.

Draco smirked slowly and raised his left arm just enough that the sleeve of his sky blue dress robe slipped back to reveal the reddened edge of his dark mark. 

“With this glowing endorsement branded into my skin you’d think suitors would be throwing themselves at me wouldn’t you?”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Alright you arse, I get it — let’s talk about something else.”

“Oh? What makes you think I’m going to waste any more of my evening talking to you?” 

Draco’s tone was cutting but Harry didn’t miss the way his gaze dropped, could almost feel the caress of his appraisal across his body. Already this ministry ball was seeming a lot less dull.

“Why not? We’re both here tonight, together.” Harry drained his glass and stood. The room was too hot, too loud and he’d spotted a secluded balcony earlier which looked perfect for what he had in mind. He extended his hand to help Draco from his chair. “What have you got to lose?”

@drarrymicrofic prompt: Waste It On Me by Steve Aoki ft. BTS