Au Where In Dh The Gang Takes Draco Captive

Hi! I love your blog! Could you write a fic for drarry about falling asleep and/or waking up together?

Hello :3 ah thank you! Yes of course!

~🐍Drarry⚡️ & falling asleep and/or waking up together ~

No warnings apply

Draco had always been a morning person. He enjoyed the peace and stillness that an early morning could bring when spent alone, with just coffee and one's own thoughts for company. It was a habit that his mother had instilled in him from an early age, and he rarely ever remained in bed past 7am.

This morning was an exception.

It was half past 8, and Draco hadn't yet risen. But today, he was very content to be lounging about, wasting the precious morning hours. Today, he had absolutely no desire to leave his bed, or the sight that was before him. Because beside him in the bed, splayed out across Draco's expensive, emerald-green, silk bedsheets and half under his beloved down-stuffed duvet, was Harry Potter. And Draco found that he had absolutely no desire to be anywhere else. Because truly, what else could he be doing that would beat his current occupation of gazing at the sleeping Boy Who Lived?

Draco was still getting used to the idea that they were in a relationship, never mind that the man he'd been obsessed with since early childhood was now frequently sharing his bed for him to wake up beside. But as he took in Harry's appearance, the light flush colouring his cheeks, his already unruly black hair ruffled impossibly, the side of his handsome face smushed against the pillow that he'd burrowed into some time during the night, Draco felt something tighten in his chest.

But as he made to roll away, to swing his legs over the side of the bed and creep out of the bedroom, a strong arm shot out and wrapped around his waist. The arm pulled him across the mattress as though he weighed nothing, and suddenly he was pressed against Harry's warm, toned form. The Auror scrubbed his face against Draco's chest and let out a contented little sigh, and the sound made the knot in the pit of his stomach ease a little.

It wasn't an unpleasant feeling, necessarily, but it still made Draco freeze. He knew that feeling. Or at least, he'd heard enough people talk about that feeling that he was pretty sure that he knew what it meant. And all at once, Draco was overwhelmed and nervous and unsure, and he decided that perhaps it was time for him to get up, after all.

It unravelled entirely when Harry mumbled sleepily against his skin, 'Love you, Draco.'

maybe this time picking at Textures on my skin will lead to being silky smooth

day 4: pathetic

drarry microfic, 333 words

The weight of the curse is heaviest in moments when Draco catches Harry looking; his gaze a loaded, lonely thing across the High Table.

It should remind Draco of a time when they, too, were only children in this very same room—but years have softened the edges of Harry's glare, turned the devoted heat of his hatred into another, a sweeter form of passion altogether.

It's just Draco's luck that Harry is too scared to word what Draco can't—no Malfoy of his proclivity has been able to properly court, or even voice whom they desire. Not until they've produced an heir.

Threads of fate and duty woven together, always, always for the likes of him, cruel where they mark bleeding lines around his heart, as if he doesn't have enough.

Still, Draco's eyes must not lie. Nor does the returned fondness of his touch when their fingertips brush and linger over a cup of sugar. But Harry's gaze just keeps shifting between his porridge and Draco, one corner of his smile sad, and Draco wonders how he doesn't notice when he's studied his every move for years.

It's pathetic—really.

Luckily, there are things even Draco's ancestors hadn't thought of.

Because it's been years since Draco has known; it's this, him, and if Harry hadn't approached him for help, taken that potion, Draco would have rather chosen to die with the curse, with lonely nights and an empty house, for all he cared—if it wasn't with him.

The curse made it so that he couldn't have any of it—but when Harry rises from the table with his hand on his swollen stomach like he does each morning now, a tiny sprout of hope springs inside Draco, too, as if he were the one carrying their child. That in three more months—he might just get it all.

Threads are easy to weave into new shapes, after all, once something as simple as a sprinkle of chance joins your side.

even though nobody gaf here are my potter-malfoy family headcanons… partially inspired by scorpius in the fic ‘a big black sky’ bc he’s literally the babyest baby to ever baby

reblogs would be sooo cool maybe.. aha ha..

A few skateboards on the drarry <3

my silly little actor au

love drawing hc women with disproportionately and impractically huge weapons

Please call this recession the Trump Slump.

We need to put Trump's name on this.