#hp lemon

[upthehillnsfw]

Commission for anonymous🤭

Click for full version / Alternative

[narrators-journal]

For the Lovecraft ask can we add breeding kink and squirting and maybe size kink and belly bulge

Also maybe reader is his wife and she’s turned on by him

I just kinda went wild with your prompt ngl. Lovecraft is still reader’s husband, and she’s still turned on by him! But I wrote this less as a bsd-exclusive kinktober-style fic, and leaned into the monsterfucking aspect to just GO HAM on the tentacles and monster angle. So yes, this is Lovecraft x reader, but it’s also kinda able to be read as a general monster smut. Which, was fun to write! Sorry if I went a bit light on some things, or it’s not quite to your liking on the details, this is sort of my toe back in the water after kinktober.

Thankfully it’s not as bad as last year, but ya still gotta give yourself some leniency after a challenge, y’know?

CW: teratophilia, sacrificing, tentacles, possible oviposition? U can kinda ignore that tbh, but it’s there. Breeding kink is lightly impied, size difference is also implied, squirting

It was an ancient, possibly outdated tradition, to sacrifice women to a god in exchange for a good harvest. Yet, ever since you could remember, each spring had been marked by the offering of a fertile woman to the god of the sea your town relied on. Normally, said woman was on the younger side, around eighteen to twenty for the best fertility chances, but your grandmother had always warned you that standards were likely to change. So, as you bathed and mentally prepared for whatever happened to the sacrificial brides of your god, you weren’t surprised at your position.

You weren’t a virgin, nor were you eighteen, or even twenty, in fact, you’d gotten married before you had been chosen to be this year’s sacrifice. Yet, there you were. Your hands being tied behind your back by your husband before you were walked down to the beach, nude, to await your new ‘husband’.

Like any other sacrifice to your town’s god, you had been tied to the edge of the dock. Your hands bound behind you, your foot tied firmly to one of the sturdy supports. So, all you could really do was sit on the rough wood of the water-warped platform and listen to the waves lazily lapping at the sand beneath the dark, star-speckled night sky.

However, it wasn’t more than two hours max before you first spotted an odd, slow movement in the water. Too slow for it to be some sort of person, but too big to be a fish. It’s okay, You told yourself as you watched the form approach and sink into the glittering soup before you, Brides don’t always turn up dead. It’ll probably be okay, no matter what happens.

With that, you took a deep breath to calm the knot of anxiety that formed in your chest. Yet,when you felt the cold, watery slime of a tentacle’s smooth skin against your own, you still jumped and attempted to scramble away. Yet, there was little you could do beyond scoot as far from the edge of the dock as your tether allowed. Not that your nerves did much to dissuade more green tentacles from rising out of the water to snake around your ankles and wrists, or around your waist to trap you in place. To hold you hostage while more tentacles emerged from the cool sea water to explore your nude body. It was disgusting.

Yet, at the same time, it was thrilling.

Ever since you were little, you had heard tales and rumors about all of the many things that might happen to the ‘brides’ your town offered to the sea god in exchange for the plentiful fish, including the exact situation you now sat in. But, in those past years until your own eighteenth birthday had passed, some part of you had always feared the possibility of becoming the sea god’s bride.

However, when you’d passed eighteen and gotten married, that fear had gone dormant. But, it hadn’t left completely. After all, how could a woman ever put to rest the anxiety of being one bad flu season away from being chosen to risk being torn to shreds or split in half?

Only to find, that the slow slide of tentacles, and the gentle kisses of their suction cups against your nipples or the tender skin of your inner thigh didn’t disgust or scare you as much as you had expected. Instead, they excited you.

Even when a rather meaty tentacle slipped between your legs to prod at your dampening cunt, the pressure of it against your folds sent lightning through your blood, and the stretch of it pushing into you was enough to wipe away the fears and earn a lewd noise. And while yes, you weren’t a virgin, as hardships had left sacrificial options too slim to offer an eighteen-year-old woman and ensure something like that, there was simply something far more exciting than your human husband could achieve.

Yet, that didn’t keep the tentacle from settling deep within you, creating a bit of a bulge in your belly while your muscles twitched and stretched to accommodate the growing girth of the appendage within you. Nor, did it stop the tentacle when it began to move.

In. Out. In. Out. The tentacle’s movements within you were slow. Curious, almost. The odd, slick appendage somehow able to brush against and find each of your sweet spots as it pushed deeper into you to explore every inch of your gummy walls. And, while the monster you had been sacrificed to didn’t seem interested in your pleasure, the tentacle’s slow, thorough thrusts and flexes still managed to draw lewd moans out into the warm night’s air. Oh god, why does this feel so good? You managed to think while your back arched off of the rough wood of the dock you laid on into the inquisitive caress and attention of the tentacles that still squeezed and toyed with your breasts. Feeding the fire in your veins that you tried to ignore, even as the more primal, needy part of you begged, More. More! I feel too good. I need more! In a shameful plea for that pleasure to continue to be indulged.

And, as if the god had read those deep, lust-addled thoughts, the tentacles that snaked around your breasts and toyed with your nipples squeezed your mounds and the thicker tendril that stretched your cunt so deliciously flexed against that special spot within you. Pulling another, louder cry of desire from your throat with the force of the lightning it sent hurdling through you. Yet, even as your blood screamed with need, and the chill of the water-cooled tentacles that held your wrists and legs down were the only things keeping your small body from combusting, your new husband kept going. “Hah! W-wait! Hold on!”You begged into the spring night’s air, able to feel the tell-tale tightening of your muscles with each brush of that thick tendril against your g-spot. “I-I’m gonna- ngh!- going to c-cum! I’m gonna cum!” You screamed, no longer scared of your fellow townsfolk hearing your blissful calls over the waves when your euphoria crashed down upon you with such force that your juices squirted out slightly.

Though, your pleasure didn’t end with the deviant pleasure. You merely got a brief break from the friction, as the tentacle that sat buried in you stilled to let you stare up into the colorful night sky and catch your breath. And, for a second, you thought your monster husband had somehow sensed that you had orgasmed and was going to stop or at least pause their movements. However, the tentacle only paused for a moment, before you felt the already thick girth of the tendril move more within you.

Not to continue fucking into your twitching entrance, though, but to push something into you. The...egg? Capable of being felt as it slid down the length of the tentacle to settle into your womb. Followed quickly by more and more masses being pumped into your belly to the point that your belly began to look bloated. Not that you minded, though. You simply laid on the dock, listening to the waves lap against the supports beneath you while the tentacles kept hold of your limbs until your monstrous husband was satisfied with how plump your belly had gotten. Only then, did those strong tendrils finally release you to lay on the dock beneath the stars. Exhausted, slimy, and bred.

[apicelladonna]

"Lemon sherbet, headmaster?" "Don't mind if I do, professor!"

Happy death anniversary Albus Dumbledore!

[badsmellyboy]

Pairings: fred weasley x reader

Warnings: nsfw

Masterlist

Summary: (headcanon) dating fred weasley

A/N: I love fred sm, that's it

☆

Okay, he gets jealous super easily

He doesnt show it in front of people in fear of getting called out

But you know him well enough to know when hes jealous

Fred can never take anything seriously

It's why hes rarely ever in serious relationships

You bring out something in him that he doesnt want to lose

It scares him a bit

Hes scared of people knowing how genuinely he loves you

Hes known for being a natural flirt

Its second nature to him, he doesnt even mean to

But he unintentionally flirts with everyone hes around

He doesnt admit hes doing it even if you're upset, you'll have to accept him how he is

That's a big part of your relationship, accepting

You had to do a lot of accepting to love fred, but it's okay with you because you already loved him for who he was

He is SUPER handsy

Even in public he doesnt care

He prefers recieving (iykyk)

Blowies are an everyday thing w him

Broom cupboards are a go to

His emotions trump reason

Is a violent person in nature

Threats (to anyone except you) are expected

Him after he lost a quidditch match

Bro.

I am obsessed w this man

[gellertalbus]

[theonceandfuturequeenoftarts]

Author's note: This lemon-drenched snippet is not for minors nor the good of taste. It's cursed. This is your first warning. The second is the "Read more" cut. After that, you are on your own and any bad decisions are your own <3 Check the tags for more info. Enjoy~

It’s just his luck.

He’d been separated from Ron, Hermione, and Dobby just as the house elf’s magic transported them away from Malfoy Manor, leaving Harry there. Alone. Surrounded by Death Eaters. Well, Bellatrix and three less-than-enthusiastic Malfoys, but the odds still weren’t in Harry’s favour.

So he’d used Malfoy’s wand to blow up a wall with a well-placed bombarda and ran the fuck away in the ensuing chaos. His ears are still ringing from Bellatrix’s demented screeching. 

And he has yet to be found – his scar feels like hot oil is being poured into it with how irate Voldemort is with the incompetence of his followers because of this fact. The issue is that Harry couldn’t give anyone directions to find him, either. Malfoy Manor may as well be a labyrinth with all the twisting, circuitous paths and hallways and nooks (and even some crannies). He is thoroughly lost.

He’s made his way to a three-storey attached greenhouse, filled with plants large and small. Most are magical, but some he recognises from his many, many hours weeding and tending to Aunt Petunia’s garden. He’s not sure who would be more disgusted to have shared tastes – his aunt or Narcissa Malfoy. 

With the far wall being entirely glass, Harry is almost certain he can get outside from here. There has to be a door. And… well, if there isn’t, he’s not going to be shy about breaking some windows, if that’s what needs to be done.

He finds a patch of glass panels that have no plants nearby and thinks he’s on to something. Carefully checking for hinges or handles or any other sign that he could open them, Harry’s attention is fully on the glass.

This proves to be a mistake.

He has the barest hint of what’s to come when he feels a curiously fleshy press against his ankle, and then he’s being dragged on his stomach away from the greenhouse wall and into a dark, leafy mass that blots out the scant moonlight.

And he recognises the shape of these leaves. After their adventure at the end of first year, he’d made sure to remember this plant in case he ever ran into it again. This Devil’s Snare is a bit more proactive than the others he’s seen, though. They’re typically opportunistic and wait for victims to come to them – he doesn’t remember them pursuing prey.

He very slowly and gently extracts his stolen wand from his sleeve and casts lumos. But instead of shrinking away from the light – like the bloody thing should – the plant somehow produces an ear-splitting shriek and seizes his wrist with a vine, squeezing until he drops his wand and using another vine to bat it away, spinning into an unseen corner.

And now he’s pissed the plant off. Unarmed and still in the grip of a vine, Harry feels the adrenaline kick in. He slows his breathing and tries to stay calm, as struggling will only make things worse, but it is difficult. He wants to get as far away from this weird Devil’s Snare as quickly as he can – he feels the hair on the back of his neck standing up – but he’s not sure how to manage that.

He feels a rough, vegetal limb slip under his shirt, making him panic and twitch, and that seems to be the sign the plant was waiting for. The vine around his wrist pulls taut, drawing his arm out and pinning it in place as more vines wind around his legs and drag them straight, while others twist around his torso, trapping his left arm to his side. He feels very much like a favoured toy being fought over, tugged in all directions and unable to escape or even move.

The vine under his shirt begins prodding at his belly, making him squirm and causing the vines to squeeze tighter until he shouts in pain, at which they loosen slightly. Then, he feels more and more tentative touches along his legs, his chest, his hair, and his face – everywhere they can reach. 

They poke around his mouth, and he keeps it firmly shut until the vines around his ankles clench tightly enough to force another pained cry out of him. An inquisitive tendril sneaks inside his open mouth. He bites through it immediately, spitting the end out with savage glee. With another high-pitched noise, the plant wraps a vine around his throat, squeezing tighter and tighter until he’s certain he will pass out, black edging his vision and lungs on fire with lack of air.

When it lets up, he coughs and hacks until his body remembers how to breathe, and he pants in as much air as he can. Several thin vines take advantage of this, slipping into his mouth to trace his teeth and tongue, press against his cheeks and palate. He switches to breathing through his nose and threatens to bite the vines again, but there are enough that he can’t close his mouth tightly enough to shear through them.

He’s lost track of what’s happening to the rest of him, but the other vines have been busy in his inattention. And damn the Dursleys and their hand-me-downs from Dudley, and damn Harry for not buying better-fitting clothes, because there’s plenty of room for those vines to wriggle under his jumper and trousers. He squawks through a mouthful of vines when a couple caress a little too closely to his delicate bits for comfort. Thankfully they continue past that part of him, though the sensation of them rubbing against his bare thighs isn’t much better.

“Well, well, Harry Potter,” a familiar voice says from somewhere. “We’re finally together again and you’d rather entertain the flora.” 

Harry has never been happier to see– er, hear Voldemort. He’d rather take his chances with the bigoted megalomaniac than the amorous plant weaving tighter around him.

Except Voldemort doesn’t do anything – doesn’t even say anything else. When a vine sneaks down the back of Harry’s trousers and starts prodding at a place it really shouldn’t be prodding, Harry’s had enough.

He fights his way up far enough to glare at Voldemort, silently demanding why he’s not killing him or cutting him out of this lusty Devil’s Snare to monologue at him before killing him. The bastard plant takes exception to this, attempting to pull him back down and pressing more insistently against his arse. Harry grunts in alarm, squirming away as much as he can when the vine simply follows him to push harder into him. He squeaks, and if his face looks more pleading than he’d like, he’s willing to cut himself some slack.

Maintaining eye contact, Voldemort conjures a wingback chair and sits down in it a few feet away, facing Harry.

“Don’t let me interrupt,” he drawls, leaning back and getting comfortable. “I’m in no hurry.”

Harry groans in distress as the plant's many limbs continue to move against and in him.

(Part two, where the Harrymort happens)

[greeneyeofenvy]

page 2 od Cassie angst

Hanging these right by my door, so my parents can walk in and see fucking mitski and angst on my wall.

[dewitty1]

Fic Recs Wrap Up - January 2023 (ノﾟ∀ﾟ)ノ⌒･*:.｡. .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･*☆

Home Truths by fantalf, skeptique Art by @fantalfart , written by @skeptiquewrites

In the off-season Harry decided to fix up Grimmauld Place and found that Draco Malfoy was the only person who could help him. A demanding career and unrelenting press scrutiny were enough to deal with before Harry added a house with a mind of its own, family history, and a tense, flirty, complicated relationship with his childhood nemesis to the mix. On professional Quidditch, magical houses, hard choices, Life Debts, and inconvenient truths. Rec Post

The Laws of Gravity by lettersbyelise @lettersbyelise

When he runs into Draco Malfoy picking pockets at a charity gala, Harry Potter is forced to face the desires he’s avoided for years — at the risk of shattering the public image he’s so carefully curated since the war. Rec Post

To Vanish Into Something Better by Mosrael @mosrael

Harry Potter thought he could outrun the burden of infamy by isolating himself in the Muggle world. Draco Malfoy hasn’t been seen or heard from since his trial. Will a top-secret Ministry project, a beautiful garden, and a little heat carry them both home? Rec Post

Twist of Fate by Oakstone730

Draco asks Harry to help him beat the Imperius curse during 4th year. The lessons turn into more than either expected. A story of redemption and forgiveness. Rec Post

Buds, Blooms, and Beards by corvuscrowned @corvuscrowned

Harry and Ginny have built an easy, happy life for themselves after the war. They run a thriving plant shop together, they have a great relationship, and they’re definitely not gay.

But when they slowly begin realize that isn’t the case, Harry realizes that navigating his newly-discovered sexuality isn’t easy - and he needs to get experience.

Luckily, Draco Malfoy is more than happy to help. Rec Post

The Re-education of Draco Malfoy by Veritas03

In the aftermath of the war, it has been noted that many of the young witches and wizards who attended school during the second rise of Voldemort have received sub-standard educations. As a result, Hogwarts opens an adult education program in the summer to bring these students up to par in the workforce. Draco Malfoy, desperate to pass the NEWT for DADA, is among them. But his hopes are dashed when, on the first day of class, Draco discovers – to his horror – the new DADA professor has never even taught before – and is a student himself, still trying to pass Potions. And anyway – just how is Draco supposed to stay focused in class when Professor Potter is so totally hot? Rec Post

The Compact byt astolat @astolat

Hermione frowned. “The real question is why the magic of Britain would be failing now, in fact.” “That is not the real question!” Ron said loudly; he’d woken up fully by now, and Harry had too; it was starting to sink in that they’d found the problem. “The real question is, how do we fix it?” Rec Post

Wild by orphan_account (formerly known as Seefin)

“No,” Harry said, by way of greeting. Malfoy’s blonde head rose slowly, carelessly. “Get out.”

“I feel as though we’ve already established this, Potter,” Malfoy responded. “And I feel that what we established was that you telling me to get out of places really doesn’t make me more likely to vacate them.” Rec Post

Way Down We Go by xiaq @xiaq

The war was over.

Or at least that’s what the papers said.

They’d been saying it, for months, as if people needed reminding.

Maybe they did.

***

In which Harry and Draco both run away from their pasts and conveniently choose to hide in the same tiny American town.

It's super. Rec Post

Here are a few more fics I've read recently that y'all might like to check out as well! (ﾉ^ヮ^)ﾉ*:・ﾟ✧

Staring Into Open Flame by kairennart (Personaje), lumosatnight Fic by @lumosatnight Art by @kairennart

“Gads, Potter. Get your grubby hands off me.” “Tell me. Where were you Thursday night?” Harry slammed Malfoy into the bathroom wall, his wand aimed at Malfoy’s throat. “Really now, darling. If you wanted to get me alone, all you had to do was ask,” Malfoy rasped. “I’m going to ask you one more time, Malfoy. Where were you?” Malfoy’s thin lips curled into a smirk. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” Or, Harry tries to catch an arsonist, and Malfoy smells like smoke.

A Perfect Fit by nothing_left_sacred

Harry has had to live his life with the curse of being overly well-endowed.

Draco has had to live his life with the curse of being hard to please.

--- A Cinderella story, of sorts.

I Won't Let You Fall Apart by xanthippe74 @xanthippe74

Harry has spent the year after the war staying out of the public eye, dodging political battles, and standing firm against pressure from his friends. But he has a secret plan to get away from it all. He just needs to testify at one more Death Eater trial: Draco Malfoy’s.

Little does Harry know what his act of compassion will cost him—and Malfoy.

A Case of You by epitomereally @epitomereally

Draco was doing just fine working as an Unspeakable in Paris, hanging out with his living and ghostly pals, inventing new spells, and definitely not thinking about Potter. Then, Lucius just had to break out of prison and turn his world upside down.

Now, Draco has to return to England, where he is forced to confront how family ties bind us—and one infuriatingly fit Harry Potter.

Kept in Cages by ihopeyoubothstaysafefromharm, sweet_s0rr0w, Author @sweet-s0rr0w, Artist @ihopeyoubothstaysafefromharm

Deep in the heart of the Ministry lies the Beast Division: a hidden room where ancient beasts roam, and winged creatures soar, and grumpy giant ferrets eat all your biscuits unless you keep them well hidden. Draco Malfoy would know – he’s been working there for five years now, after all.

Meanwhile, on Level One, ex-Golden Boy Harry Potter is stuck in another interminable policy meeting, completely unaware of the mysterious comings and goings just three floors below. But when a giant snake emergency requires the assistance of a Parselmouth, Harry finds himself thrust, unprepared, into Draco’s weird and wonderful world – and naturally, he can’t keep away…

( •ॢ◡-ॢ)-♡ I hope you enjoy these fics as much as I have! Happy reading, y’all! xoxo Carey  (◍•ᴗ•◍)♡ ✧*💜💙💚💛❤💗💕💖

[hptruefan-cheekytorah]

Draco: *smirking* I'm like a fine wine, Potter.

Harry: More like a stubborn stain I can't get rid of.

[revinluver]

𖦹 LEZLIE

thiz iz what happenz when i get really fucking bored in humanitiez 😦

(i hate lezlie zo fucking much.)

///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

★ 3/5/24

Pinterezt - bi0l0gyissuperc00L

Tiktok - revinluver

[risetherivermoon]

Jewish Remus that i drew for my friend @mo0n-water 🤭🤭

he holds a special place in my heart…havent drawn remus as much i would like to cuz i cam never decide on a design for him but im in love with him here 🫶🫶

[calico-strawberry]

Also the only dlc characters I've fought more than once in Strive in my 2nd floor purgatory being a beginner is Dizzy and Elphet and boy. They sure fucking feel like dlc characters.

[thepandalion]

not to be annoying or anything but it's been 9 years since the release of indie game undertale

[ala-baguette]

So I get it into my head to include a recipe for a Lemon Drizzle cake at the end of one of my upcoming fics (it’s relevant, I swear).

But then I think, ‘well, I can’t just pick a random recipe off the internet, I need to try it first and make sure it tastes okay!’

So then I make a Lemon Drizzle, and as it’s baking, I think, ‘well, if I’m going through the bother of making the thing, I might as well take some photos of it to include as a fun visual aid!’

Then, as I’m planning the photos, I think, ‘wouldn’t it be cute if I hand-wrote the recipe with a few quirky spells mixed in rather than just typing it out?’

Then, as I am hand-writing the recipe I almost let the cake burn. But I catch it in time! …mostly…

Then, I take my photos and finally get to eat a piece of the cake, and…

It was okay.

Why did I do all this again? Oh yeah!

Join me next week for the next Left Behind installment and a slice of Lemon Drizzle with Justin-Finch-Fletchley and Michael Corner!

[fearandhungies]

huohuo starts shaking like a chihuahua when shes in battle and she looks EXACTLY like this one fuckin gif one of my friends uses all the time

why are these literally the exact same image. stick and all

[dewitty1]

you look so fine

michi_thekiller 

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Harry/Draco, Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter Characters: Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter, Narcissa Malfoy Additional Tags: Veela!Draco, Veela, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Mild Gore, Sexual Content, Dark Comedy, Horror, Crack!Horror, Explicit Sexual Content

Summary:

In which Draco is a Veela and Harry is his mate. .

"When Draco Malfoy turned 16 years old, he thought he’d make a night of it. He went to a club, met a bloke, and then promptly took himself next door pay-by-the-hour hotel, determined to get the most bang for the Galleon, in a manner of speaking.

Not even one full Galleon into it, Draco Malfoy lost his virginity.

It all went just how he’d always imagined it, and it was, all in all, a bloody good time.

Waking up the next morning, however, next to a bloody ribcage and a man’s intestines strewn all over the bed like thick wet streamers - that was a bloody bad time.”

Excerpt:

“Don’t touch me,” Draco warns him. “We both know how this ends, and bloodily is an understatement.” It ends, of course, with him waking up next to the devoured remains; bones and bloody bits, a green eyeball like a grape, broken glasses and some messy black hair stuck in his teeth, and thinking, ‘I can’t believe I ate the whole thing!’

“Shhh,” Potter shushes him. He ghosts a hand over his skin, hovering, just an inch above his clothes. It hovers over his arm and Draco can feel the warmth radiating from it, can feel the goosebumps forming and his skin prickle with the feeling.

“I’m sorry,” Potter whispers hoarsely, “but I need this.”

He can feel his breath, warm and moist, on his own lips. “Just one moment. Just let me have this,” he pants. And his mouth is so close. So achingly close that Draco can feel and taste and kiss his breath but not those saintly lips. Not his mouth. That wonderful private needy dirty part of him.

“Let me have this.” And Draco nods. Draco would have agreed to anything at this point, would have killed a man, would have chased the moon, would have torn off all his clothes and danced naked in the centre of Hogsmeade - anything.

And Potter, still not touching with his body, not touching with his hand - saving, murdering, forgiving, damning hand - slowly notches their mouths together. Chaste, gentle, and perfect.

When they say a kiss is stolen they must mean this. A kiss taken from him, lips stolen from him because they are no longer his the moment their mouths meet. A kiss ripped from him, everything he wants and nothing he wants, too much and not nearly enough. His breath, snatched completely out of his lungs in that one meeting, where his whole body is left empty, hollow, wanting.

And he’s never so much loved the thief.

A kiss like this is surely an accident. Draco can’t blame Potter, for the way their mouths fit so perfectly together, for the softness of it, the strange tenderness of it when his whole body hums with the need to tear a human being apart. To disassemble it and explore its insides. The way Potter kisses him, it’s the way that they kiss in romance novels and in fairytales, the way people kiss against sunset-drenched backdrops and under velvety moonlight; soft and gentle and almost achingly innocent. It makes a strange feeling well up in his chest. A choking, sick feeling; a sharp pain and he can’t breathe. As if his lungs suddenly shrivelled up, as if they’d forgotten what they were meant to do.

It has to be pity. Draco pities him. Potter was supposed to be one of the good ones, after all. He was never meant to want this, any of this, and at the heart of it, he really didn’t want him, as he said. How could he?

Draco supposes that he really can’t help it, and he can’t help that Potter can’t help it, and he’s not sure who he’s supposed to blame, here, but someone should be here to take responsibility for this mess. “I’m sorry,” Potter murmurs against his mouth, hands balled into a fists at his side, clenching. Draco can feel the heat roll off of his body in intoxicating waves. “All these days and I haven’t found anything. I’ve been completely distracted from my mission and I’ve nothing to show for it. I need to find that bastard and it’s just like before, with them, that was my fault and now I’m doing the same thing to you. You’re just getting sicker and sicker, it’s killing you, and I’m the one to blame. It’s all because...because...”

He stops himself abruptly, cutting off the stream of madman babble, and pulls himself back with a visible jerk. The breeze that wafts in the empty space between them is so sharp and so bitter it might as well have been the Arctic wind.

“Tonight,” Potter says, much more clearly now, clarity in his voice and clarity in his mind; voice filled with that familiar, stupid Potter resolve. “Tonight, at sunset, I’ll let you go, and you can Apparate to the nearest town and...do...whatever it is that you need to do.”

“I’ll come back,” Draco says, quietly.

Potter laughs then, a sound so sardonic and bitter it was far more Malfoy-ian than Potteresque. “Shut up, Malfoy. I’ve three-quarters of a mind to just keep you here and damn the consequences.”

“You’ve only three-quarters of a mind,” Draco points out.

“Exactly,” says Potter, wryly. “So shut up, Malfoy.”

And then he kisses him again, that soft way with just their mouths touching, painfully not enough, body angled carefully away, so close that he can smell him, can feel that heat of him, can hear the pounding of his heart, and yet not close enough to touch - so horrible and frustrating that a few scant inches between them might as well be an endless chasm. Fingers drift, ever so lightly, carefully down the bare skin of one arm and Draco shivers and wants to scream, pushes closer for more contact, arches desperately for it, but all he can get is the touch of lips, soft and wet and almost-shy, moving gently against his own.

Draco actually finds it quite easy to shut up for quite some time.

꒰˘̩̩̩⌣˘̩̩̩๑꒱♡