kpullen124
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Summary
Harry does not like Draco Malfoy, not even one bit. Never did and never will. That is, until he finds himself married to him.
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“It sort of is, you know,” Harry says, a little delirious, heavy-headed.
“What?”
“A bond. Like, you feel what I’m feeling. We’re connected.”
“It’s a disunion bond. And as though I needed a spell to—” Draco’s hands rise up under Harry’s shirt, the bedwarmed skin singing, sighing, groaning from the magic, every touch echoing with a crude second grasp. Kissing hits like Harry’s put his mouth on an outlet, sudden and sharp. Draco pulls back to marvel at it. “Fuck."
Bookmarked by kpullen124
29 Apr 2025
Bookmarker's Notes
unbelievable story--so much pain and passion
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How I create podfics! with many screenshots. Please read this and learn from my mistakes, as it may save many hours of your life.
There are many ways to skin a Kneazle. This is mine.
This is largely applicable to audiobooks too.
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It wasn’t the prospect of pain that frightened him. Zhenya was a hockey player: he was used to pain, even to violence. But this wasn’t like a fight on the ice—tempers boiling over, hot rage spilling out everywhere—cathartic, necessary, even if it got him sent down the tunnel. This was different. There was nothing here to push back against, no way to assert his own will. In a little while Crosby would come to him, and Zhenya would open the door and let him in. Crosby would feed from him, taking what he wanted from Zhenya’s body.
And then they would be bound.
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When I tell the story of Achilles, I tell it like this.