Im Like 2 Mins Away From An Emtional Breakdown So Give Me The Shortest , Most Angsty Fics Of Drarry You

im like 2 mins away from an emtional breakdown so give me the shortest , most angsty fics of drarry you have :)

Are you sure you wanna be reading angst if you're 2 minutes away from an emotional breakdown, love?

1. Come Back by @mileanne-potter-malfoy self promotion is a wicked thing. Warning- Major Character Death.

2. I'm not in love with you anymore by @drarrywords

3. Photograph again by @mileanne-potter-malfoy

4. Ocean by @slytherinnbitch

5. Infusion on fanfiction.net by winterstorm

6. All too well collab angst by @sorry-i-ship-drarry and @drarrywords ( this is very long )

7. Finally with you by @stargazing-enby

8. Fic rec list by @sleepydrarry

Someone be the "you" to my "me" 🥺🥺

The book of You & I

"I can't be the Achilles to your Patroculs, the Apollo to your Haycinthus or the Oliver to your Elio but I can be the Harry to your Draco."

Draco turns to the other page of the book, the faint sound heard in the silence of the room and when he reads the sonnet, the one that was annotated by a post-it tab, a soft hint of sadness returns back to him because it reminds him of all the rose tinted dreams, of the beautiful shade of emerald green eyes, the curls that fall over it and when he reads that sonnet over and over, it's all that runs through his head and with that sonnet, he falls more in love with him.

Can you fall in love through a sonnet?

Harry had once said that when you read a sonnet and it reminds you of them, you're in love because it is the language of love in and of itself: “Doubt thou the stars are fire; Doubt that the sun doth move; Doubt truth to be a liar; But never doubt I love."

"Would it have hurt you to return a call, you fucker?" A voice says in a light-hearted tone with a trace of fondness in that insult that sent a soft warmth through him, "you said you wanted pasta for dinner and since you didn't call me back and I swear, I called you seventeen times because I didn't want you to throw a tantrum, I bought macaroni, penne, ziti and ravioli — which one do you want?"

Draco closes his book, raises his head towards him with a hint of a smile and he swears that he can hear his own heartbeat, "What?"

"I swear, did you hear a word I said?"

"I heard you, but you didn't have to do that, I'm not that specific about pasta preferences but since you bought all of that — baked ziti, no mushrooms, more cheese and a side of salad with it."

It elicits a soft laugh out of Harry and that was the most beautiful sound he has heard, "Oh, not that specific about pasta preferences, huh?"

He tilts towards the armrest of his sofa, his head on his arm while he fonds over Harry and he shouldn't do that, he shouldn't fond over him in the soft kitchen light, "I- no, not that specific, more of an emphasis on that word."

Harry muses through the kitchen cabinets, with a soft hum of a tune that has been in his head for over a month now, “Draco, I swear, you’re such a princess, why are we friends?”

Draco had said that the tune was the worst and he didn't want to hear it and he might've threatened to cast a silencio on Harry but threats didn't work on him, "Quit with that tune."

"Would you much rather I sing it, instead?"

It's not that the tune wasn't beautiful but it was that he has to hear his softly tuneful hum and he builds small scenarios in his head, scenarios where Harry hums that same tune to him when they dance in the kitchen together, "Don't you dare."

"I would dare, don't trouble me."

Draco decides not to trouble him because it will be worse if he hears the lyrics because he would want it to be for him, "Do you want me in the kitchen?"

"No, no, no you'll burn the kitchen."

It was hurtful to hear three 'no's' in a row, that was an insult at its finest, "Now that is presumptuous of you, what if I don't burn the kitchen?"

"You would, remember when you decided you wanted to bake treacle tarts and by the time I was back home, you—"

"Quit with that story, that was a decade ago."

"No, that was ten days ago."

Draco casts his eyes towards the book on the table, his voice soft when he says, "I wanted to bake for you because you said you had a shit day at work when we were on a call, the burnt kitchen was out of nowhere and it's because our oven is shit."

"No, you can't bake, our oven is excellent."

"You're on the oven's side now?"

Harry sends him a light smile and there is a softness to it, a rare one, "Draco, there is no side and I love you, I love you for the treacle tarts, for that movie night and I love you because you were there — now can you not be a baby?"

It shouldn't hurt him, it shouldn't hurt to hear the words from him — I love you — but those three words said so much and when he heard them, all he thought of was what he couldn't have.

He can't have love in all the ways he wants.

He can read all the books, read all the romances but he won't have the Achilles to his Patroclus, or the Apollo to his Haycinthus and he won't have the Oliver to his Elio. Because he can read all the sonnets written in books and fall in love through it, he could fall in love with Harry but there would be no sonnet through which Harry would fall in love with him, "Harry, do I deserve love?"

"What?" Harry whispers, his voice soft but a touch hesitant and he hears a faint clink in the kitchen before he rushes into the room and towards him and crouches down in front of him, "what is it?"

Draco can hear the sound of his heart and there is a slight tremble to his hands when Harry weaves their fingers together and he wants to confess but he can't form the words, "Draco, what is it?"

The softness of his voice with that slight the rub of his thumb over the back of his hand was a reassurance and with a tremble to his own voice, he whispers, "I want the love in books, the one that all the lovers in the romance books do, but I don't have that, I don't have that because I don't deserve it but I want that, I want all of that."

Harry rests a finger under his chin and raises his head up towards him, a soft light caught in his eyes and there are no eyes more beautiful or softer than his are, "What do you want, Draco?"

"I'm not sure what I want."

Harry traces his thumb across Draco's cheekbone and he hasn't done that before but all of that is a reassurance and he wants all the reassurances from him now, "Take your time, love."

A tear slides down his cheek, "I want the Achilles to my Patroculs, the Apollo to my Haycinthus or the Oliver to my Elio but no one would want to — no one would want to be that for me and the worst of it is that — that I want you to be all that for me."

Oh, fuck.

"You want me to—" He whispers, his mouth caught open in the soft vowel sound and his eyes widen in surprise at the words while his fingers tighten over his own, "you want me to be all that for you?"

"I'm sorry," He says and his voice trembles more than it should have while his heart races at the confession and if could turn back time and not do that, he might've, "I'm sorry."

"No, no, it's that I can't be all that for you."

A knot forms in his throat at the words and it might be all that love struck there or a restrained emotion but it breaks his heart, "I'm sorry, I'm—"

"No, wait, will you hear me out first?"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

Harry reaches out and wipes a tear with a soft brush of his thumb over his cheek, "Doubt thou the stars are fire; Doubt that the sun doth move; Doubt truth to be a liar; But never doubt I love."

"You remember that?"

Harry holds that book in his hand and turns to the page where that sonnet is written, a red post-tab on the line, "Yes, I annotated that line for you by a post-it tab, didn't I?"

"It— it was for me?"

"I swear to — I don't read Shakespeare or Jane Austen or Jane Eyre or whatever but I read it because you do, because you love classic literature and because I wanted to annotate the lines that remind me of you, what more hints do you want?"

"But you said that you and I, we're friends."

"We're not only friends, we're more and you know it too."

Draco rests their interlaced fingers over his thigh and he wants to hear more on that but his mind traces back to the words Harry had said, "Sure, we are more than that because friends don't annotate poems and sonnets or sentences from romance novels for the other but you said that you can't be all that for me and I—"

"You went on with your ramble and didn't hear me out and I had to quote a sonnet so that you quit it and hear me out, you princess."

"Sure, but hear what out, Harry?"

Harry inches closer to him, breathless when their eyes are caught together and his pupils dilate while his mouth parts, "I want to love you in our own ways, I don't want to be the Achilles to your Patroclus, the Apollo to your Haycinthus, the Oliver to your Elio."

"What do you want to be?"

He rests their foreheads together and brushes his nose over his, a hint of a smile in his voice while he whispers, "I want to be the Harry to your Draco."

"I — what?"

"In this book of You and I, where I am the Harry to your Draco, I will annotate more verses for you, I'll read more of the classics you love, I will remember all your pasta preferences and I will love you."

Draco brushes a soft kiss over his cheek, "I'll be the Draco to your Harry, I'll love you, I'll remember the lyrics to your favourite songs and burn the kitchen when I bake treacle tarts for you."

"Oh, don't you dare burn the kitchen."

All past this prologue are more pages of the book, a beautiful romance with a soft epilogue and he wants that, he wants all of it — fuck all the romances he had read because this one is his favourite.

Because in this one, there is a Harry to his Draco.

.

.

.

tags (you can ignore if you like, it's for a boost)<3 @inflation-of-mind @silver-de-vonne @missdrarrydawn @sorry-i-ship-drarry @harryandginnydeservesbetter @dearly-devoted-dawdler @drarryboosterclub @textrovert-01 @phoebe-delia @nv-md @slytherinnbitch

I don't care, I wanna kiss her when Boyfriend by Dove Cameron plays

You know what, if it's a competition, you'd definitely cause YOU HAVE A HEART OF STONE. YOU CAN HATE MORE THAN ANYONE I KNOW.

And how can I answer that question when you just told me about the girl even dumber than me?!

Here's a payback question-

HOW DOES IT FEEL BEING THE MEANEST PERSON EVER?! @drarrywords

In case I wasn't clear today @drarrywords I hate you 🙄

The “new” sweater ~

I hate you 😭

*cries in dumbass*

Today we've learnt that @sorry-i-ship-drarry is the most oblivious human being you'll come across she is more oblivious than Harry Potter himself goodfuckingbye.