#drarry fic

[vaeshark]

Pinning.

[the-bogginses-are-gay]

when the slowburn is slowburning and you reach the "oh. oh" moment:

[nsasquith]

For @drarrymicrofic prompt: “Peak” wc 611 / 18+

“That’s right,” Potter whispers. “You’re doing so well. So good.”

Draco is close. Right on the edge. The precipice. He wants to make it last. He doesn’t want to fall over just yet, because he knows—he knows—this is their first and only time.

He want's to enjoy this, especially after craving it for so many years.

The sound of skin on skin is sharp, obscene. Sweat slicks Draco’s face, his shoulders, his chest. Every muscle in his body is tight with the effort of holding on.

“You—fuck—you close, Malfoy?” Potter asks.

Draco can’t answer. He only tightens his grip, fingers digging into Potter’s hips, and even that is too much.

Potter leans forward, one hand braced on Draco’s chest, the other gripping the headboard. He doesn’t stop moving. Doesn’t stop moving his tight, perfect heat over Draco. Over and over, until the world narrows to the sound of his breath.

“Oh you are, aren’t you?” Potter groans. “Your cock—God—it was made for this. Could do this forever.”

Draco wishes that were true. He isn’t naïve. Potter was bored. They both were. Five weeks into a seven-week posting in the middle of Siberia, babysitting a rare Norwegian Ridgeback egg for the Russian Dragon Reserve—anyone would crack.

Especially when Firewhisky is involved.

Potter’s groan drops into something rougher as his hand slides up, fingers settling at Draco’s throat. Gentle.

Draco arches back instinctively, giving him more. Offering.

Take me.

Have me.

Keep me.

For a moment, he thinks he’s gone blind—then realises his eyes have rolled back, his vision blown white. 

Potter’s grip tightens.

It’s too much.

“Fuck—fuck—fuck,” Draco pants, the sound breaking apart.

Then—helplessly—“Harry.”

Potter stills.

Draco realises what he’s said too late. He forces his eyes open, bracing himself for the look of horror on Potter’s face.

It never comes.

Instead, Potter is staring at him like he’s witnessing something holy—like Draco has split himself open and shown him something sacred. Awe. Reverence. Holy.

Then Potter moves again. Slower now. Deliberate. Less frantic. Intentional.

“Say it again,” Potter says quietly.

He rolls his hips, just enough, and Draco lets out a sound he doesn’t recognise as his own.

“Merlin—”

“Not quite,” Potter murmurs, grinning, smug and soft all at once.

“I’m—” Draco swallows. “I’m close.”

“Say my name,” Potter says, voice low. “And I’ll let you come.”

Draco doesn’t fight it anymore.

He can't.

“Harry.”

It breaks over him all at once—sharp, blinding, fire, the absolute peak of it—and Harry follows a heartbeat later, gasping Draco’s name like it’s the only thing anchoring him to the earth.

After, they collapse together in a tangle of limbs and breath. The mattress dips, the bed creaks.

For a long moment, there’s only the sound of breathing. Then Harry laughs softly, stunned.

“We’re doing that again,” he says. Certain. “And when we get back—properly back—we’re going on a date.”

Draco turns his head, exhausted and wrecked.

"We are?"

Harry nods. Confident.

"I thought..."

"What?" Harry asks.

Draco shrugs, still breathless—trying to play it cool. Because he's not sure if he heard it right. "You want to go on a date?"

Harry smirks, his gaze half lidded.

"Why?" Draco asks.

"Why? Why... why do you think I agreed to spend seven weeks out in the middle of nowhere with only you for company, Draco?"

Draco blinks. "Merlin..."

Harry grins into the pillow. “Wrong again, it's Harry," he says, wrapping his arm around Draco's body.

Draco smiles, shifting into the nook of Harry.

This is it, the highest point... and it is only up from here.

[sunk1ra]

blink @drarrymicrofic [477 words]

Harry has shit eyesight. Now, this has been a fact of life since Harry was a kid. He couldn’t see jackshit, and he’d been living with that up until the war ended and Hermione convinced him to get magical eyesight correction done.

And holy fucking shit was the world so much clearer than he had ever imagined. Turns out the glasses he’d been using for the past seventeen years of his life were not the most accurate (shocker), and he was seeing things in a whole new light. 

Neville had way greener eyes than he’d remembered, and had Hermione always had that many curls? And since when had Ron had that many fucking freckles? 

But the main issue was Malfoy. Harry first sees him in the ministry atrium (while Harry is in Auror training and Malfoy is making his Healer rounds), and he nearly has a heart attack. Because fuck. Fucking fuck fuck.

Since when were Malfoy’s eyes that grey? They were as light as silver, but dark enough that you could mistake them for being as deep as the ocean. And his stupid fucking hair. It shone like anything, and Harry could swear it was damn near glowing. It was hard to ignore, especially now that Malfoy had grown it out to his shoulders. And Malfoy’s face was not nearly as pointy as Harry’d remembered it. It was… pretty? Attractive? He was starting to see why half their year had fancied Malfoy. 

And his physique- he looked nothing like he did when they were 16. There was almost an elegance to his lean but toned body, the form-fitted Healer robes hugging all the right places. Like he was some fucking model. Holy fucking shit, this is not happening. Harry does not find Malfoy hot like he’s some kind of schoolyard girl.

“Morning,” Malfoy mutters, walking past him while he gapes at him like a fish. Has Malfoy always been this gorgeous? No, there was simply no way. It must be an illegal spell. Or perhaps it was an imposter. Or maybe Draco Malfoy had decided to become a Veela. Yes. Yes, that would explain why Harry felt like he was losing his mind.

“Malfoy!” Harry calls out before Malfoy turns into the next hallway. Malfoy pauses, looking back at him, confusedly, as if he thought Harry was calling someone else.

“Yes?”

“You, er, look nice.”

Malfoy stares at Harry like he’s just announced that he’s going to elope with McGonagall. For a moment, Harry thinks Malfoy is going to yell at him, throw something at him, or slap him, and Harry almost runs away. But he does not, deciding that that would not be very Aurorly of him.

Malfoy blinks. “Thanks,” He mumbles, walking away. Harry is very grateful that his eyesight is good enough to see the faint flush rise in Malfoy’s cheekbones and neck. 

ao3 collection

[coppercatbird]

You hate irony

@drarrymicrofic | prompt: tremble | wc: 250

“I always get it wrong,” Harry mumbled, sounding confused. Worried. “I think I’ve got it wrong.”

Draco’s heart was hammering in his throat as his fingers tried to remember the movements, as he hummed the healing charm as best he could. “You didn’t do anything wrong. You did everything perfect. You’re always so bloody perfect, so shut up and stay alive.”

“I don’t know. Is it right this time?” He was fading. Draco bit his lip as he paused the charm. The blood flowed. He cursed.

“Stay with me. Stay with me, help’s on the way,” Draco whispered. He started humming again. 

Harry’s shaking fingers met his. He was almost as pale as Draco.

“It’s ironic, right? You always tell me it’s a coincidence. But … this is ironic. I think.”

Draco gasped out a strange sound, something between gag, laugh, and sob. “Yes, this is ironic.”

“Because I’m going to die saving you from the curse I almost killed you with.”

“Almost die. Almost, you hear me? You won’t—”

“‘Snot a coincidence,” Harry mumbled. “It’s ironic.”

Draco heard a crack and felt a swarm of healers surround them. He pulled Harry’s face close.

“You want irony?” Draco asked, feeling hands pulling him away. “Irony would be you saving my life the day I was planning to tell you how I felt, and then dying before I got the chance.”

“You hate irony,” Harry slurred as the sleeping charm hit.

“And I love you,” Draco whispered, finally letting the tears fall.

Shall I do another 250 for resolution to heal my own heart?

Part 2 is here

[upon-poppyhills]

"Harry halts, drawing back from Draco's face. Slow and deliberate, he slides down Draco's body, hands trailing over Draco's waistcoat, past his hips to his thighs. Kneeling, Harry traces the outline of the bulge in Draco's breeches with a single finger. Draco's breath quickens as Harry’s other hand curls around the back of his thigh.

“And what about this today?”

Excerpt of a scene from Chapter 2 of The Devoted Gentleman by Fluffy_Underneath. (It's so brilliant! Please check it out!)

Art by the amazing @substellaris ❤️

*

My dearest @fluffyunderneath, it was the hardest struggle choosing which scene from your gorgeous fic to have commissioned, but I went with this one - Harry on his knees worshipping and adoring Draco's body and his finery because not only is it the most romantic scene I've ever read and literally left me breathless, I believe it also captures their relationship so perfectly.

Thank you for sharing your talent so generously and for being my best sheep in the world ❤️ 🐑 I was saving this for Christmas but obviously I'm not known for my impulse control so Happy 23rd of December for all those who celebrate! 😂✨️🫴

Read on Ao3

[dearestfluer]

@drarrymicrofic - eavesdrop - rating t - wc 695

Ron stared at his pint, pretending very hard to focus on the amber liquid and not eavesdrop on Draco and Harry's conversation at the other end of the bar.

"You're in my space, Potter," Draco said, but there was no heat in it. His hand rested on Harry's bicep, fingers curled around the muscle there.

"Am I?" Harry asked, leaning closer. He'd grown broader after Hogwarts, taller too, filled out properly with Auror training. Right now he was using all that extra height to crowd into Malfoy's space. "Didn't notice."

"You're a big, fat liar."

"Prove it."

Ron took a long drink. The Leaky Cauldron was busy tonight, full of witches and wizards unwinding after work. No one else seemed bothered by the fact that Harry Potter, Head Auror, had apparently lost his mind.

"I don't need to prove anything to you," Draco said. His thumb traced a small circle on Harry's arm.

"You like touching me now."

"I'm simply admiring the results of your training regimen. Professional interest."

"Professional interest."

"I work with runes, Potter. I appreciate well-constructed things."

Harry laughed, and Ron wanted to hex him. This was the same bloke who'd taken down three dark wizards last week with perfect strategy and timing. The same bloke who could coordinate an entire team of Aurors through complex raids without breaking a sweat.

Put him near Malfoy and he turned into a lovesick fool.

"How's the Ministry contract going?" Harry asked.

"Tedious. Your department keeps requesting modifications."

"Maybe I'm requesting them."

"Are you?"

"Maybe I just like having excuses to see you."

Ron gripped his glass harder. Hermione had warned him before she'd left for the night. She'd actually warned him that Harry and Malfoy would probably end up like this, but he hadn't listened.

"That's pathetic, Potter."

"You're still here."

"The drinks are good."

"The drinks are terrible. You told me that fifteen minutes ago."

Draco's lips twitched. "Did I?"

"You did. Right before you put your hand on my arm and haven't moved it since."

"I hate you," Draco said.

"No, you don't."

"I really, really do."

"Say it again. More convincingly this time."

Ron looked over despite himself. Harry had shifted even closer, his hand now resting on the bar beside Draco's, their fingers almost touching. Draco had tipped his head back to maintain eye contact, his hair catching the firelight. He looked like he wanted to be exactly where he was.

They both did.

"This is stupid," Draco murmured.

"No, you're stupid."

"Brilliant comeback. Did that take you all day to come up with?"

Harry grinned, absolutely besotted, and Ron wanted to leave. He should leave. He should have left ten minutes ago.

"I should go," Draco said, but he didn't move. "Early meeting tomorrow."

"Skip it."

"Some of us have professional obligations, Potter."

"Your contract isn't due for another week. I know because I'm the one who approved the timeline."

"Abuse of power."

"Definitely."

Blaise appeared at Ron's elbow, signaling Tom for a drink. He glanced toward Harry and Draco, then snorted.

"Finally," Blaise said. "Merlin, I thought they'd never get their act together."

Ron turned to stare at him. "You think this is good?"

"Weasley, I've been listening to Draco talk about Potter since first year. This is mercy." Blaise accepted his firewhisky from Tom. "And you can't tell me Potter was any better."

Ron slumped on his stool. "He wasn't."

"There you go then. It's time these two actually did something about it instead of making the rest of us suffer."

"I'm suffering right now."

"You're eavesdropping. That's your fault."

"They're doing this out in the open. I can't not hear them."

Blaise raised his glass toward Harry and Draco. "To them finally getting together. May they take it somewhere private soon so we can all have some peace."

Ron clinked his glass against Blaise's because what else could he do? His best friend was absolutely gone on Draco Malfoy, standing there with his hand creeping closer to Draco's on the bar, smiling like nothing else in the world mattered.

And Malfoy, the git, looked exactly the same way.

Ron was never going to recover from this.

[panevanbuckley]

i love how we've all agreed that draco holds an endless grudge against harry all because harry refused his offer of friendship in first year. we've all agreed that draco really is that petty bitch