
You can find my writing on ao3 at ravena_wrote or on this blog by searching #ravenawrote :)
127 posts
For The @drarrymicrofic Prompt: Good For You By Darlingside
For the @drarrymicrofic prompt: Good for You by Darlingside
Draco stands at the summit of the mountain and looks out across the bright rolling hills. He can feel the heaviness of Harry missing him. It’s always there, in the slight pressure just above his sternum, the tight squeeze of his ribs.
Sometimes he feels content, almost happy, here in America and then it hits him all over again. Something about his happiness makes sadness’s edge even sharper.
He turns and starts to climb down towards the grass below. The rocky path under his feet is steep and perilous, demands his focus. He’s grateful for it. It keeps him from thinking about Harry’s face when he’d left him, green eyes blown wide and desperate, begging him to stay.
Draco breathes in deeply, lets the frigid mountain air burn across his lungs. Four more months he reminds himself, just 121 more days to rebuild, repair, return better.
He wipes his sleeve hurriedly across his face and it comes away wet.
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More Posts from Ravena-wrote
“Jesus christ, why can’t you just move on already?” Harry spits at him, shoving his chest hard.
Draco stumbles on the cobblestones. He knows Harry only uses muggle swears when he’s fully lost grip of his emotions, when he’s wound so tight he can’t help but let go. Draco wracks his brain for a retort. He’s about to respond that Harry had been watching him too, or that Harry’s the one who followed him out of the pub, but suddenly Harry’s lips are on his and his mind goes blank.
They don’t kiss so much as collapse into each other. Harry tastes like cheap cocktails and smells like home. Draco lets himself melt into his body like wax against a hot flame. Harry pushes his chest hard a second time. Draco stumbles back into the stone wall behind them. He gasps for air for a second before Harry’s lips are on him again. They kiss rough, hard. Harry bites Draco’s lip until he tastes metal. Draco grabs his belt loops pulling his hips tight against him. He shoves his hands up under Harry’s soft t-shirt and drags his nails down his back. He hopes he leaves marks.
One of my fav excerpts from my new fic How to Say Goodbye
Azkaban Escape
Drarry Microfic, Rating: G, Words: 220
“You’re sleeping with Malfoy,” Hermione says, looking at Harry pointedly over the breakfast table.
“What?” Harry’s frozen in his seat, toast halfway to his mouth. His face is pale, guilty. He knows he’s always been a bad liar, so this is about to be the performance of his lifetime. He loves Hermione, loves her to death, and obviously he’s fine with her knowing all of his secrets. All of his secrets except this one of course.
“You. Have been sleeping. With Malfoy,” Hermione says slowly glaring at him.
“I don’t understand,” Harry carefully sets his toast down on the plate in front of him. “Malfoy’s in Azkaban.”
“Well,” Hermione draws out the word like she’s waiting for him to interrupt. “He was in Azkaban.”
Watching his face carefully, she passes him yesterday's newspaper. The cover reads: Death Eater on the Loose: Draco Malfoy Escapes Azkaban in the Dead of Night.
“Oh,” says Harry gazing at the paper. He widens his eyes and tries to look surprised, or enraged, or whatever he would have looked like if this had happened when he was a school-kid. “That’s too bad I guess.”
“You’re sooo believable,” Hermione scoffs at him. She moves the paper slightly and gestures to one of the security camera photos at the bottom of the page. “Care to explain yourself?”
I watch the sun on your hair in front of me as we scale the hill. Dry dirt rubs up between our bare feet as we pick our way up switchbacks. I only stop to rest when you say so, clear voice flowing through the heavy air like spring water. My lungs feel caked in with grass pollen. Humid wind stings at my throat. I wonder if I’m getting heatstroke as I contemplate cradling your cheek in my hands and asking you to repeat the words you just spoke. I imagine you would feel like guzzling straight from a glacial lake. Leave me gasping like when you stick your head out of a car window in a rainstorm. I trip on a rock and it sends me reeling, ruptures my reverie.
As I watch your back crest the peak in front of me a peach tree rises out of the earth beside you like a sunrise. Golden fruit glow between crooked branches just barely holding on to the summers end. The fruit bursting with sweetness feel soft like a bruise. When my hand brushes against one it splits and sends saccharine stickiness down my forearm. Something about the texture reminds me of blood. When I touch my lips to it I wouldn’t be surprised to taste iron.
He knows he should turn away. Get as far away from Potter as he can. He tries to lift his feet. To convince his body to move. He finds he can’t rip his eyes away from the way Harry’s body undulates against Ginny’s.
Ginny’s hair falls down her back like a waterfall and, as she leans further into his chest his tanned hands come up and tangle through it. Draco knows those hands too well. He knows how they feel on the nape of a neck or sliding through soft blonde locks and it’s not fair. It's not fair, and he should be in Ginny’s place. Those should be his hands on Harry's shoulder pressing him gently into the wall behind them.
He watches as they kiss, as Harry moves his hands down to Ginny’s waist, as Harry pulls their bodies flush together. And Draco knows how that feels too, knows how Harry’s chest will be strong and solid beneath her, knows that his body temperature runs hot so his body against hers will feel like a forest fire, and Draco still can’t look away.
One of my fav excerpts from my new fic How to Say Goodbye
I love this microfic so much! It speaks about so much in so few words. Reading it really inspired me 💜💚
salt
a mini-gift for @gryffindorhearts for a small victory; GH said "must include salt" cw alcohol/veela magic
Malfoy tastes like salt and lemon, like tequila on my teeth and the music’s pulse in my feet. “Dance with me,” I beg, my hips in his hands.
His skin is Veela-silver in the neon buzz as he pushes me away. “It’s the Allure,” he claims.
But if it were only that, I wouldn’t want him in daylight too.