#Draco x Reader x Fred
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Betrothed Part III
Fred Weasley x Reader x Draco Malfoy
Series Synopsis: Having been raised in a pureblood family obsessed with keeping the bloodline pure you’re betrothed at birth to a boy you’ve never met. Unaware of just how strange this is, you have few qualms with it, until you meet Fred Weasley and find that love is much more complicated than you ever could’ve imagined. But what happens when everyone is all grown up, and the real world can’t be stopped?
Genre: Angst
Content Warnings:
Angst
Death
Forced Marriage
Word Count: 3,516
“Sorry for the mess.”
You muttered softly as you unlocked the door to your apartment, sighing in relief at the sight of it. Your mother had called you foolish when you’d told her that you had no intention of breaking your lease with the landlord, but evidently she hadn’t taken Draco’s odd post war demeanor into account. He would stay anywhere if it kept him from that damned family manor, and that was becoming all the more evident as time inched forward. He had grown significantly less tense the further away you had traveled from his family home, and now that it was confirmed that he could stay elsewhere, that hint of a smile that you had seen during the wedding had returned to his lips once more.
“Nonsense.”
Was Draco’s only response to your previous apology, his words soft and almost uncertain as he turned to look at you, before suddenly dropping his gaze towards the ground, his hand fiddling with the ring on his finger once more.
“Is it uncomfortable?”
You asked suddenly, trying to make up for the heavy silence that was slowly filling your apartment. You didn’t want to feel uncomfortable here, it was all that you had of yourself and your comfort now that you were married, and if that changed you weren’t sure how you could ever remain sane.
Draco’s head snapped up to meet your gaze once more, his brow cocked in confusion as he tried to make sense of the question you had just asked him.
“I beg your pardon?” He asked sincerely, causing you to gesture down to the ring on his left finger.
“The ring,” You murmured, suddenly less sure of yourself as you tried to push forward with the conversation, desperate to keep the silence from eating away at you any longer. All of these months of hearing Fred’s voice so consistently had made you dreadfully afraid of what could be waiting on the other side of the sound he was almost always providing.
“You’ve been playing with it a lot.”
You clarified gently, clearing your throat in hopes that it might make your voice sound less weak as you continued.
“I thought it could be because it’s making you uncomfortable. I’m certainly not used to mine yet.”
You touched your ring finger as you said that last part, feeling the cool emeralds housed within their silver setting against your skin, a reminder of the promise you had made today, and the agreement others had made for you prior to your birth.
Draco nodded in understanding as you clarified before he cleared his own throat, a nervous smile gracing his lips as his gaze returned down to the ring on his finger. He seemed happy to have it there, and you wondered again if he had worn one there before.
“No, it isn’t uncomfortable.”
Draco’s voice was soft as he spoke, so different from the boy you had grown up with and the man you had thought you would be marrying prior to the war. The man you had been dreading lying to for the rest of your life.
“I uh...”
He trailed off, breaking into a chuckle while bringing one of his knuckles to his mouth, something you had seen him due a great deal of times when you were younger. He always did that when he was nervous, because back when his adult teeth were growing in, Astoria had told him he looked like a rabbit when he smiled. Afterward, he had taken to biting down on his knuckles when he laughed, and as he grew older, biting on his knuckles when his nerves got the better of him. You were surprised to know this, and found yourself aware that maybe this man before you wasn’t as different as the boy you had known as a child, before the stress of being the Malfoy heir had turned him into someone new.
You were broken out of your thoughts as Draco began to speak once more, his fist slowly lowering back down to his side, before it moved to his other hand once more, fiddling with his ring even as he talked about that very action.
“This is a little bit embarrassing, so please don’t think less of me, but...”
He began, letting out a small sigh as you motioned for him to continue, your expression soft and curious.
“I started wearing a ring on this finger when I began my attendance at Hogwarts. I didn’t want to give any of the girls there the wrong idea, and thought it would be best to let them know in advance that I was taken. Plus I uh... I thought it would be good practice for the real thing someday, but mostly it just led to this habit of fiddling with it when I think.”
You found yourself nearly wide eyed at Draco’s confession, unable to force a response to your tongue as you stared at him, watching as he continued to twist his silver band on his finger repeatedly.
“I never knew...”
You began quietly, watching as Draco looked up to meet your eyes as you spoke, letting you know that your next words should be chosen carefully. He was paying attention now, and slowly but surely you were getting the feeling that he always had been, even if you hadn’t noticed.
“I never knew you cared that much about our betrothal.” You finished softly, feeling yourself begin twisting your own wedding ring to keep your hands from shaking.
This was not how you had imagined your wedding night. That being said, although you would never admit it aloud, your wedding night dreams died with Fred Weasley, and anything that came after would always pale in comparison, because the most important piece of the puzzle was gone for good.
Draco laughed softy, a cool tone to his voice that you recognized from all of his in between years, the ones that rested between his gentle childhood and his tortured present. This sounded like the Draco that you had thought you could never know, the one that angrily stalked the halls of your once shared school, looking for a reason to argue with anyone on the off chance that it might earn him some praise from one of the many deceitful and hate filled patriarchal figures in his life. It never had. Perhaps now, that was why he had returned to that gentle childhood. Why he lived in this tortured present.
“I know you didn’t. I was always too proud to admit how I felt, but Y/n...”
That coldness you had heard before disappeared the second the man in front of you said your name, a softness returning to him that you had not even realized had momentarily faded away.
Draco was watching you intently now, his eyes staring into your own from where he stood just a mere two feet away, beside the door to the apartment that you supposed the two of you now shared.
“There was not one moment growing up where I wasn’t near bursting with excitement over the fact that I could call you my wife someday. Even if I never said it, and even if you never noticed, I swear to you that what I say is true. I felt a great deal of pride over being your betrothed, even when I knew the truth.”
Your eyebrows creased at that last part, confusion creeping into your expression as what he said started to sink in.
“The truth?”
You asked, your head tilting as you waited for a response, your breath caught in your throat and unwilling to spill forth as Draco chuckled once more, that shake returning to his head, as if he were exasperated or shocked by your response.
“The truth,”
Draco muttered, raising his gaze to meet your own again, taking multiple steps forward until he was less than a foot away, his eyes flickering down to the way your calves pressed back against the couch, as if he had cornered you there during your efforts to escape. For all that you knew, maybe he had. You could no longer recollect if you’d moved in response to his steps forward. You could barely breathe at all. The air was so heavy with something you couldn’t quite put your finger on, and for some reason you felt as if you could burst into tears at any moment.
“Is that you loved that Fred Weasley more than you could ever love me.”
You felt as if you had just been punched in the gut as Draco spoke these words, your balance faltering and ultimately failing as you toppled backwards onto the couch, your gaze turning into a blank stare as he continued.
“And I can’t even blame you.” Draco spoke, laughing cruelly under his breath, seemingly oblivious to your blank stare and your freshly seated position. It was as if he was lost in his own world, his words having as much power over him as they did you.
“I have never been much more than the monster my father wanted me to be.”
These words were whispered, as if the man speaking them wasn’t sure he wanted you to hear. As if he were hoping it was a secret he was telling, rather than a truth that you had long since accepted.
Suddenly, Draco’s eyes snapped up to meet yours once again, and when he found himself met with that blank stare, he seemed to understand immediately that he had said something he shouldn’t have.
“Y/n,”
He spoke, his tone concerned and almost pained as he knelt in front of you, his hand reaching out to grasp your own before he suddenly pulled back at the last second, as if afraid he would burn you with his touch.
“Salazar, I’m sorry.”
He muttered, running his hand through his hair before continuing his familiar ministrations on his ring, his eyes searching yours for any signs of emotion or life as his eyebrows creased with concern. You had never seen him look worried over anyone before, and it was this face of near horror that brought you back, the dim light of feeling returning to your eyes once more. If you could see yourself through your new husband’s eyes, you would have found yourself wondering if that light had been brighter before, but thankfully for you, the only eyes you had to gaze into right now belonged to the man in front of you.
“Y/n please say something, I didn’t mean to upset you, I just wanted you to understand...”
Draco let out another gravelly sigh before continuing, his hand raking through his platinum locks, messing up his carefully done wedding night hair.
“I don’t have any expectations for this marriage.” Draco continued, his hands moving to seek yours once more, only for him to stop himself again, his eyes squeezing shut as if he were struggling with some deep and rolling agony within.
“I know you loved him, and I don’t want you to think that I expect you to lo-”
“I never told him.”
You whispered suddenly, cutting Draco off before he could finish his sentence. Your voice was shaky and full of fear as you spoke, and as you looked deeper into your new husbands clear blue eyes, you found that your reflection looked just as terrified as you felt.
“What?”
Draco asked, his hand finally moving to rest almost weightlessly above your own, as if he wanted to help soothe whatever fears you had but didn’t know if he had the right to do anything more than a slight hover, the heat of his skin more prevalent than the actual touch of his hand.
“I never told him that I loved him. He was never supposed to know.”
You finished, that fear never leaving your eyes nor your voice even as you tried desperately to quell the shake of your body beneath the gaze of this sometimes familiar and sometimes unknown presence that you now called your husband.
Draco looked more confused than ever, slowly withdrawing his hand from above your own as he tried to understand what meaning your words held.
“Did I do something wrong by saying it aloud?”
He asked finally, his eyebrows still creased with curiosity and something close to fear that told you how bad he felt and how scared he was to have messed up.
Clearly, some things never changed.
“Oh, no, I just uh...”
You desperately searched for an answer to his question, trying to silence the deafening noise behind your eyes as you stood, dizzy and desperate to be alone.
“I just wasn’t prepared to have someone say it.”
You finished, knowing full well how nervous you sounded and how much of a lie it was.
“I’m so sorry, Y/n.”
Draco whispered in response, as if he had been waiting his entire life to say it. This apology was different from all of the others, and there was a pain within it that made you stop before you could excuse yourself to your bedroom.
You looked down to meet that strong gaze once more only to find it full of tears, a broken man behind those usually strong and sure eyes.
“Draco, I-”
“I’m sorry for being so selfish for so long. I’m sorry for never just admitting it to myself and letting you go. I wanted so badly to be a different husband, a better husband than the one that I had grown up under, and somehow I ended up worse.”
That cold and cruel chuckle returned as Draco turned his gaze downward, seemingly unable to look you in your eyes as he continued.
“If I had known what was going to happen, I never would have held onto you. If I had allowed myself to see it sooner, I wouldn’t have remained an obstacle on the path of you finding someone who actually deserved you. I have tried for so long now to convince myself that I never held you back, but I know it’s all a lie.”
Draco sniffled softly, his tears dripping to rest on his cheeks and slowly slope down his nose as he struggled to meet your eyes once more, his sincerest words yet forming on his lips,
“Please just know that I never wanted this to happen, that I would have set you free in a second had I been strong enough to admit to myself that you loved him far more than you ever could me. I never meant to do this to you, and I swear that I will spend every second of this marriage making up for what I’ve done, and what I never had the strength to do before.”
With those words, Draco straightened out, drying his tears on his jacket as he took a deep breath to steady himself once more.
��Watching him as he desperately tried to tape the broken and guilt riddled pieces of himself back together felt wrong, so on shaky legs and with long held breaths you walked silently over to the linen closet, pulling out a comforter and a few pillows, which you dressed with carefully selected matching pillow cases, the act of choosing forcing you to consider anything but the conversation you had just had, and the voice that was raging in your mind.
“Thank you.”
Draco smiled genuinely as you handed the blanket and pillows over to him, his eyes reading your expression before you even had the chance to speak.
“I’m perfectly fine with sleeping on the couch for the time being.”
He stated calmly,
“I’m just grateful that I don’t need to stay back at the manor. I’ll gladly sleep on the sofa as long as it takes if it keeps me away from there.”
He nearly shuddered as he spoke, making you wonder once more what he must have endured there to feel so uncomfortable within its walls.
You watched as Draco settled in, making sure he had everything he needed before you ended up standing against the wall opposite the living room that he would be sleeping in, your hand poised over the light switch. You had said your good nights, pleasantries had been shared, and now the only thing left to do was turn the light off and leave. But even still, watching the blond laying there on your sofa like that, you couldn’t help but feel like you had to say something more.
“Draco I -”
You began softly, your voice shaky as tears threatened to spill over your cheeks just as they had done his not long prior.
“I know you’ll probably never believe me, but I want you to know that I don’t blame you.”
You said gently, feeling the confusing urge to comfort the man in front of you further, despite the fact that you had absolutely no idea how to do so.
“I was a coward. He was never meant to know, betrothal or not. Please don’t let this eat away at you the way I know so many other things do. You were a victim, not a villain. I have never seen you as the monster you think that you are.”
You finished quietly, not waiting for a reaction or a response to your words as you switched the light off quickly before taking long and gentle steps to your bedroom, latching the door behind you before you sunk down against it, finally allowing the tears to fall.
“I am so sorry Fred.”
You whispered weakly after a few moments of gentle sobs and painful hiccups, the agony in your words prevalent as you recalled the way that his pained voice had echoed around your mind when Draco had accidentally told him your biggest secret of all.
“You loved me?”
It had asked you, softly at first, as if in disbelief, before it increased in volume over and over and over again until you felt as if your head was about to split in two.
It had taken a painstaking amount of effort to not respond to him as he begged you to tell him that it was a lie, that choked up voice playing endlessly as he pleaded for an explanation.
“Godrich Y/n, I never made you explain what I saw before I died, and I never asked you why you never told me about this godforsaken betrothal, but I need you to tell me this isn’t true! I need you to say he’s making this up, or that this is some dream you can’t wake yourself up from! Tell me he’s lying!”
Your tears fell faster as you remembered those words, your body shaking in a nearly violent manner as you curled up on your side, wishing with everything you had that he were here to hold you together.
But he wasn’t.
You were all alone, an emptiness in your heart that you had not felt in quite some time. Since before you had heard his voice in your head for the very first time, just two days after his death.
“Please come back.” You pleaded, not caring if Draco heard you from the living room as you did.
There was a strong silence within the air, before that familiar voice appeared once more, making your tears fall faster, but your heart beat slower.
He wasn’t gone forever, at least not yet.
“I don’t know what to say.”
His voice sounded hopeless, and entirely humorless in nature. You had never heard him like this before, and it further solidified for you the fact that you weren’t just hearing things after all, something you had tried to convince yourself of for months following your best friend’s death.
It as an easier thing to accept than the idea that he was there within your mind, but not outside of it, never to be seen again. Oh how you wished that you could look into his eyes just one more time.
“Please don’t hate me.”
You whispered, more tears threatening to spill over as you awaited Fred’s response, your cheeks cold with half dried sadness.
“I could never hate you.”
His voice spoke soothingly, almost as if he were hurt that you could ever think such a thing.
There was a long silence between the two of you before finally, Fred spoke up again,
“I think that is the worst part of all of this,”
You could almost feel him sigh as you waited for him to continue speaking, your breath stuck once more within your strained lungs.
“I love you, Y/n L/n,”
His words sounded tearful as he spoke, as if his disembodied voice were crying the same way that you were.
“I was just too afraid to tell you. I was so sure that you could never love me back that I...”
Fred never finished that sentence, and for the rest of the night, you lay on the cold floor of your nearly empty bedroom, choking down tears in an effort to stop them from flowing endlessly down your face and into a puddle on the wood below.
masterlist
Ko-fi
#Draco Malfoy x reader#Draco x reader#Draco Malfoy#Draco#Harry potter x reader#Draco x reader angst#Draco x Reader x Fred#Fred Weasley x reader#Fred x reader#fred weasley#Fred weasley angst#Fred weasley x reader angst
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I'm not just a bitch, I'm a bitch with a backstory
#x reader#matt sturniolo x reader#chris sturniolo x reader#dean winchester x reader#draco malfoy x reader#harry potter x reader#leon kennedy x reader#sam winchester x reader#pedro pascal x reader#eddie munson x reader#tumblr#relatable#franco colapinto x reader#charles leclerc x reader#one direction#fred weasley x reader#spencer reid x reader#marvel#ao3#writers on tumblr
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— hp porn links ੈ♡˳ 16k celebration.
warning: 18+ only. these are twitter links that contain porn videos. these are not fics.
includes: theodore nott, mattheo riddle, draco malfoy, tom riddle, lorenzo berkshire, pansy parkinson, fred weasley, george weasley, ron weasley and harry potter.
nav . m.list . drabbles m.list
— THEODORE NOTT
brother’s bsf!theo fucking you in your room
sex with toxic!theo after a fight
dealer!theo fucking you in his car
bf!theo using you as a stress reliever
— MATTHEO RIDDLE
roommate!mattheo fucking you while everyone’s asleep
missionary with mattheo in his dorm room
bsf!mattheo helping you relax after a long day
classmate!mattheo fucking you against his desk
— DRACO MALFOY
enemy!draco fingering you in the bathroom
draco pounding into you from behind
dom!draco spanking you when you misbehave
draco sneaking into your dorm room late at night
— TOM RIDDLE
dom!tom fucking your throat
rough sex with tom after you’ve been needy all day long
bf!tom fingering you
tom waking you up in the middle of the night
— LORENZO BERKSHIRE
roommate!enzo fucking you in your room
makeup sex with bf!enzo after an argument
dom!enzo fingering you
reverse cowgirl with bsf!enzo
— PANSY PARKINSON
making out with bsf!pansy
gf!pansy eating you out
pansy fingering you in the bathroom between classes
sleepovers with bsf!pansy
— FRED WEASLEY
bsf!fred eating you out
morning sex with roommate!fred
bf!fred fucking you after you flirt with someone else
riding fred’s face after a stressful day
— GEORGE WEASLEY
bf!george breeding you full
baking with bsf!george
morning sex with roommate!george
george fucking you raw after you pull the condom off
— RON WEASLEY
jerking off sub!ron
riding classmate!ron after class
ron fucking you against the wall
sleepy sex with bf!ron
— HARRY POTTER
needy harry fucking your thighs
missionary with harry
dom!harry fingering you from behind
shower sex with bf!harry
#˚ ༘♡ ari’s 16k celebration ·˚ ₊˚ˑ༄ؘ#p links#theodore nott#theo nott#draco malfoy#mattheo riddle#tom riddle#fred weasley#ron weasley#george weasley#lorenzo berkshire#harry potter#theo nott smut#theodore nott smut#mattheo riddle smut#tom riddle smut#lorenzo berkshire smut#fred weasley smut#george weasley smut#harry potter smut#pansy parkinson smut#draco malfoy smut#ron weasley smut#theodore nott x reader#draco malfoy x reader#mattheo riddle x reader#fred weasley x reader#george weasley x reader#tom riddle x reader#lorenzo berkshire x reader
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when funkyfrogbait said “how many einsteins have spent their lives washing dishes, how many mozarts bent over stoves instead of pianos because they had the misfortune of being born a woman.”
i might mostly post smut on this account, but i write SO much more than just fanfic, and every word i write is for every woman that came before me that couldn’t write what they wanted. it’s for my mother, my grandmother and my great-grandmother as well as the women that came before.
#funkyfrogbait#rafe cameron x reader#stiles stilinski x reader#spencer reid x reader#daryl dixion x reader#bucky barnes x reader#finnick odair x reader#eric northman x reader#daemon targeryen x reader#aegon targaryen x reader#coriolanus snow x reader#aaron hotchner x reader#anthony bridgerton x reader#james potter x reader#jon snow x reader#draco malfoy x reader#loki laufeyson x reader#sam winchester x reader#dean winchester x reader#thomas shelby x reader#billy loomis x reader#billy butcher x reader#fred weasley x reader#art donaldson x reader
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Reposting a comment I made on a post and adding to it
x Reader fics need to handle writing “reader” better sometimes
As a 6ft afab person who’s built like a man and has never been super feminine and has a more unique haircut that’s shorter I hate to read about “readers” petite, small, pale body and her “long flowy straight hair”, etc.
Reader is meant to be ambiguous!! And if it’s important to the plot please mention it at the beginning!!! If it’s not important to the plot why is it being included???
Some people who are reading may be tall, fat, skinny, short, or even somewhere in between. The readers could have a hijab, 4c hair, locks, braids, long hair, short hair, wavy, no hair and even more.
Stop making all readers so sweet and innocent, I want a reader who’s petty and sassy sometimes. I’ve noticed also that so many readers are either too baby to do anything or over powered.
Personally I also hate reading about obviously toxic men and relationships that the reader goes back to because they are “so in love”, like no please let me deck that sucker and leave them in the dust and be happier.
Also, if you label your post with the tag “___ x reader” or titled with “___ x reader” and then make descriptions and then ADD A NAME!!! It’s not an x reader fic and I heavily want to block you.
Edit:
Hey hello! I just wanted to add that I heavily respect and love fic writers! So many have a talent that I will never reach or have and I appreciate your content being put out at all! I made this post as a 5 am ramble and was half delirious lol
People can write as they please and I’ll ignore it if I’m not interested or I’ll make slight internal edits to fit me if I am
#x reader#astarion x tav#matt murdock x reader#loki x reader#bucky barns x reader#sanji x reader#peter parker x reader#zoro x reader#miguel o’hara x reader#steve harrington x reader#eddie munson x reader#harry potter x reader#draco malfoy x reader#jason todd x reader#sam winchester x reader#dean winchester x reader#fred weasly x reader#george wealsey x reader#billy hargove x reader#billy loomis x reader#stu macher x reader#könig x reader#ghost x reader#rage#gender fluid#steven grant x reader#jake lockely x reader#marc spector x reader#daichi x reader#bokuto x reader
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nsfw headcanons and kinks of harry potter characters
ft. harry, ron, cedric, fred, george, draco, blaise, theodore, tom, hermione, pansy
a/n: well there is obviously a lot of SMUT, also it's a female reader
༺☆༻
⤷ Harry - lingerie
harry for sure loves when you wear some nice pair of lingerie, he finds it so hot when the nice lace hugs your body so perfectly. every time when he's out, he looks for some new pair of lingerie that he would buy you. oh yeah he buys you every single pair but one time, you surprised him on his b-day with red pair of lingerie (like gryffindor theme lingerie) and he was hard within seconds.
"oh- oh my fucking god, you look amazing sweetheart. do a spin for me please- slowly, i wanna see how pretty you look in this" harry hummed while he sat on his bed with you slowly turning in front of him. he could feel his hard dick pressing against his pants, pre-cum already making his boxers dirty. he brushed his hand over his erection before he hummed again. "come closer baby, i wanna touch you..."
⤷ Ron - body worship
ron was very unexperienced at the start, you were basically his first everything, first girlfriend, first kiss, first lover. so when was the first time you two had sex, he was just so mesmerized by your whole body that he had to watch himself for not cumming into his pants just from the sight of your naked body. you are gorgeous in his eyes, more than that! from that time it kinda sticked with him, every time you two have sex now, he has to worship you before anything, he wants you to know how beautiful you are on his eyes...
you could feel ron's hands tracing soft patterns over your sides while his eyes were glued to your boobs. "bloody hell, baby you are so beautiful.. " he mumbled while he moved his big palms over your boobs, squeezing them lightly. "i can't belive how lucky i'm to have you, now let me make you feel good." he added before he took off your panties and kissed his way down to your pretty cunt.
⤷ Cedric - praise kink
cedric is overall very vocal when you two have sex, he either growls, hums, groans, breaths heavily or he's mumbling praises to you. he really cannot help himself when he sees you all spread under him; your legs wrapped around him, your hands scratching his back while he holds your hips and is thrusting into you, mercilessly. he always makes sure that you can hear him properly so he usually leans closer to you, brushing his lips over your ear in soft kisses, whispering praise right into your ear.
"you're doing so good princess, taking all of me like this..." he whispers into your ear, his hips are crushing against yours, his dick hitting every right spot while you're a moaning mess under him. "you feel so good, i can't get enough of you, my sweet girl.." he groans again into your ear while his tempo isn't slowing down.
⤷ Fred - public sex
fred is thrilled with the idea of getting caught, it's the adrenaline and the possessivness from him screaming, i mean he wants people to know that you're his, that you chose him and that only HE makes you feel this good. so you two usually have sex somewhere around hogwarts. empty classroom, broom closet, empty gryffindor common room, bathroom, you name it.
"shh baby, be quiet you don't want anybody to catch us, do you?" he smirks while he has you seated on a desk in empty potion class. both of you are skipping class so it's pretty quiet outside on the hallways, anyone who will walk past can hear you. he doesn't care how loud you are because he doesn't care if you two get caught, he just wants to tease you. even tho you try to be quiet, you can't help yourself and moan again. "naughty girl yeah, let everybody know how good i make you feel..."
⤷ George - orgasm denial
george loves the face you make when he pushes you to the edge but just seconds before you're about to cum, he slows down his moves or stops completely, kissing your skin instead. he also loves teasing you but the way you get all pouty and squeeze around him when he denies you your orgasm is just something he can never get tired of. but eventually he'll let you cum and it's always the best orgasm ever.
he was thrusting into you in the perfect rhythm when you felt the familiar knot forming inside your belly, but just when the knot was about to release, he stopped. instead he immediately pressed his lips against your chest, kissing you around your boobs. "i know baby, i know... i'll give you what you want but god- when you squeeze around me like this, i can't help myself."
⤷ Draco - daddy kink
draco has big daddy issues so many of you could say that he'd hate being called daddy but he actually loves it. it makes him feel good, powerful and in control which he never was while being back home so... when you started calling him like this, he didn't let you stop. he sees you as his blessing and he wants to protect you with everything he has, like a good daddy should protect his precious baby.
"you're such a good girl for daddy, princess..." draco huffed while he was buried deep inside you. his hands were pressing your knees to your chest which made you ass go little up, letting him hit the perfect spot inside you. "yes, tell me who's your daddy? mhmf-..." he continues while you're mumbling under him. he loves when those sweet words leave your pretty mouth, it almost always makes him cum in seconds.
⤷ Blaise - bondage
blaise loves seeing how your flesh presses under the bondage, making your thighs and boobs look even more soft and squishy than they already are. he either bondages your whole body or only ankles and wrists so you can't move, but he loves both equaly. he always takes his time when he's wrapping the rope around your body but he also always makes sure that everything he does is comfortable to you, it could be dangerous for you and he doesn't wanna hurt you.
"you feelin' good, babe?" he speaks while his long fingers are brushing over your inner thighs, his eyes basically glued to the plush of them. he could feel his hard dick twitching in his boxers, leaving a small wet mark over the fabric so he quickly strokes himself before he continues. "you look so pretty like this, all just for me... take a deep breath, babe, just like this..."
⤷ Theodore - deep throat
there is nothing more theo loves more than when you are on your knees, your glassy looking up at him with tears falling down your cheeks while he hears how you are gagging on his dick. he doesn't care if you have good or bad gagging reflex, you can take it for him. if it's very serious and you just have to take a quick pause, he'll let you rest for like 30s before pushing you down on his dick again, this time little deeper than before. and when you let him cum into your mouth, you got yourself "bonus" orgasm.
"ngh- fuck baby-... your tongue feels so good around me, mhmm..." he hums while his head falls down between his shoulder blades with his fingers being tangled in your hair, pushing your head lower on his dick. his groans and moans are non-stopping while he can feel himself getting closer and closer. when he looks down at you and sees your pretty, bambi eyes already staring at him, he can feel himself cum. "oh dio-... now swallow for me, amore."
⤷ Tom - choking
choking makes feel tom in control, in control of your life while he brings you the best pleasure of your life. he can feel your pulse point under his thumb while you make this incredibly fuckable face, it drives him wild and incredibly horny. he can feel your heartbeat while he also makes you feel so good, it makes him feel powerful and he's hungry for power, any kind of power. but he'd never let you pass out, that's a big no for him.
he thrusted inside and out of you, mercilessly, while he had his hand firmly wrapped around you neck, perfectly feeling how was your heart beating through your pulse point. "oh are you about to cum? yeah, cum for me, my love..." he growled when his grip got tighter, making your eyes close in pleasure. you were still moaning under him which made him go little faster. with all of this, he came as well.
⤷ Hermione - thigh riding
hermione loves when she can multitask, it's somehow comforting to her. so one time when you found her in the library, learning for some up coming test, writing into her books; you sat on her thigh, wanting to distract her, she was hooked. she loved the feeling of you on her thigh, pleasuring yourself while she could write some notes into her textbook. from that time, she loved it and she often pulls you onto her lap with her thigh in perfect position for your pussy.
she wrote the last words into her book before her hands grabbed your hips, making you move faster, making your pussy spread over her thigh. "mhm you feel good like this? yes, you do? oh i know... come on, little faster." she mumbled into your ear, kissing you all the way down to your neck while her nails dug into your soft hips making you moan.
⤷ Pansy - face-sitting
pansy is literally obsessed with your pussy and all the noises you make when her tongue is buried deep inside you. she loves to explore all your folds because every time her tongue presses against a new spot, you squeeze your thighs around her head which makes her rub her thighs against each other. her eyes are glued on you the whole time while she presses her nose against your clit.
"mhmh come on-..." she quickly mumbles before she pushes your hips more onto her mouth while her tongue pushes deep inside you. her hands helped your hips slowly move back and forth while her tongue was licking each of your folds, swallowing each of your juice that she got on her tongue. your moans filled her ears and she could see you were getting closer which made her tongue work even faster.
#sivyera's masterlist#sivyera masterlist#sivyera#x reader#sivyera update#sivyera's writing#x fem!reader#x fem reader#harry potter#harry potter x reader#harry potter x reader smut#ron weasley#ron weasley x reader#ron weasley x reader smut#harry potter smut#ron weasley smut#cedric diggory#cedric diggory x reader#cedric diggory x reader smut#cedric diggory smut#fred weasley#fred weasley x reader#fred weasley x reader smut#fred weasley smut#george weasley#george weasley x reader#george weasley x reader smut#george weasley smut#draco malfoy x reader#draco malfoy x reader smut
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Do you ever read a really questionable fanfiction or a spicy love story and think "what the fuck did I just read"
#miguel ohara angst#miguel o hara x reader#miguel o'hara x reader#gally x reader#cedric diggory x reader#draco malfoy x reader#george weasley x reader#fred weasly x reader#weasley twins x reader#severus snape x reader#lucius malfoy x reader#harry potter x reader#remus lupin x reader#sirius black x reader#slytherin boys x reader#slytherin x reader#luke castellan x reader#aris x reader#minho tmr x reader#newt x reader#milkman x reader#francis mosses x reader#pavitr prabhakar x reader#hobie x reader#fantiction#like wtf#wtf did i just read#the fuck#harry potter#percy jackon and the olympians
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When you run out of fics to read
#jacob black x reader#seth clearwater x reader#edward cullen x reader#dean winchester x reader#sam winchester x reader#draco malfoy x reader#george weasley x reader#fred weasley x reader#hermione granger x reader#damon salvatore x reader#stefan salvatore x reader#jax teller x reader#opie winston x reader#steve harrington x reader#eddie munson x reader#kylo ren x reader#ghost x reader#konig x reader#ben hanscom x reader#joel miller x reader
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Reader: breaks up with any of my fictional crushes
Me: u dumb bitch😡 how could you do this to me???
#how tf is this even possible????#whyyyyyyyyy#reader is a backstabber#eddie munson x reader#ethan landry x reader#theodore nott x reader#mattheo riddle x reader#rafe cameron x reader#bucky barnes x reader#lorenzo berkshire x reader#draco malfoy x reader#pansy parkinson x reader#hermione granger x reader#fred weasley x reader#george weasley x reader#tom riddle x reader#billy loomis x reader#luke castellan x reader
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Hermione: why are threesomes only for sex
Hermione: why can’t I join in on a couples argument if I want to
#draco malfoy#fred weasley#george weasley#gryffindor#harry potter#hogwarts#hufflepuff#incorrect quotes#ravenclaw#ron weasly x reader#harry potter x reader#draco imagine#draco x reader#draco x hermione#dramione#fred weasly x reader#slytherin#incorrect harry potter quotes
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all's fair in love and war (2)
oliver wood x female!reader
wc: 7.87k
warnings: enemies to lovers, still so damn much pining, set in poa, timeline is a bit wonky, limited use of y/n, archie being my fav oc, cheese fest
an: literally fell asleep on my laptop last night editing this, i was so exhausted from school so i’m sorry it’s late !!! but i had the most fun in the world writing this and i hope everyone enjoys :)) don't forget to comment and repost your favourite writers
summary: Oliver is still impossibly miserable, maybe more uncooperative than before, except now when you look at him: you can't think of much else beyond how sweet his lips tasted.
part one
You can’t sleep.
You're not sure you'll find sleep ever again.
“I knew it, I knew it—“ Cherry had bounced the whole way to your dormitory, howling into your ear. “I knew it!”
The image of Oliver’s fluttering eyes swum around your brain as you blinked into the darkness of the poster bed. The taste of his tongue and his words still right against your lips.
It was a riddle of a calibre that you can’t seem to detangle. More than anything, you try to remember how strong has he tasted of Firewhisky - was he so drunk to really dismiss it to nothing at all?
You lingered on it all weekend.
Cherry didn’t help at all — he’s been in love with you forever, that’s literally so obvious — and Enzo even less so once he’d been filled in: Oliver doesn’t seem a bloke who let’s alcohol make his decisions for him, something about Scottish genetics I think.
The interaction plagued you: digging a wide hole in the base of your stomach. You mourned the thought that you may never have the opportunity to kiss those soft lips again, more than anything: preparing yourself for the feud between yourselves to worsen.
There’s barely enough time to make sense of your situation before you’re racing down over the grassy hills of the grounds, bag swinging violently over your shoulder and extraordinarily late for your Herbology lesson in the greenhouse.
Your morning alarm had rung right into one ear and out the other, a product of the tossing and turning you’d been doing for the last two nights.
When you swing the greenhouse door open, panting and face flush from the beating sun, the whole room turns to you. Sprout pauses where her hands are flailing in explanation.
“Sorry I’m late professor,” you wheeze, readjusting your strap over your shoulder.
Cherry is smirking at you from her bench, sidled up with Jane Emmet.
It hadn’t escaped you that you’d be sharing the lesson with the Gryffindors, but you’d precious little time to worry about it in the five minutes you had to pull a robe over your head and stick a toothbrush into your mouth.
Your eyes are purposeful in not looking over the room. Scared to catch the wrong eyes.
“Not a problem peach, we’re just repotting some Fire-Seed Bushes.” She brings a stubby hand to her chin, “uhm … well, Mr Kumar there in the corner doesn’t have a partner. Go join him by his pots.”
Archie has a lopsided smile on his face when you approach, a thick black curl drooping over his left eye.
“Hey.” He nudges gently.
You set your bag down and grab a pair of gloves, chuckling. “Hey Archie.”
The soil is warm when you stick your fingers into the dirt, shifting it gently enough not to mess over the edge of the bucket. There’s a Fire-Seed Bush sitting tentatively at the end of the bench, spitting sparks and emitting smoke.
“So …” Archie speaks first, the back of his hand bumping yours between the black soil. “How was your weekend?”
It’s a veiled question, a poorly veiled one at that. The question draws a laugh from the base of your stomach.
You shrug, adamant on missing the point. “It was alright, I guess. How about yours?”
He shrugs right back. “Wasn’t the greatest. Penelope Clearwater rejected me for Percy Weasley.”
You don't mean to, you really don't, but it draws another bout of laughter out of you - you clap your hand over your mouth. “I’m sorry—“
“No, I get it. Percy bloody Weasley?” His brow is creased, dirt-stained hands rising messily from the soil to swipe at a fallen piece of hair in his face. “Dead sure that bloke's own mother can't say he’s handsome. I’m better looking than him, surely?”
There’s the hanging insinuation that it was rhetorical, but you reply anyways: “you’re definitely more handsome than Percy Weasley, Archie.”
His head cocks down at you, stained paws finding his waist and pressing black fingerprints into the red jumper. “You really think so?”
“Without a doubt.”
Archie smiles, bumping your side against his. You think he might be blushing. “You’re very charming. I understand what Oliver sees in you.”
You jolt involuntarily, spilling some black soil over the edge of the pot.
Swiping at the mess lazily, you play the comment off with another crumbly chuckle: hoping it convinces him more than it does yourself. “Oliver sees in me what a bull sees in a red cape.”
Archie’s reaching timidly for the Fire-Seed Bush, lifting it off the counter and holding the dangerous botanical at arm’s length. “Not true. The boy’s half in love with you.”
This conversation is getting awfully uncomfortable awfully quickly. It picks at your curiosity nonetheless.
“He said that?”
He’s quick to shake off the question, eyes still trained on setting the roots of the bush into the gap in the soil. “Oliver doesn’t have to say anything. He spends practically every fucking mealtime mooning over at your table, and he talks about you way more than necessary—“
“That’s just because I work on his nerves. Oliver doesn’t love me, he barely tolerates me.”
The boy turns on you, confusion set in his brow. “Why is this news? Last I saw you, your tongue was halfway into his stomach.”
Zachariah Smith and his Gryffindor partner look up at that. Your face goes hot all over - Archie doesn’t seem to notice.
“We were drunk.” You say softly, eyes stuck on a loose leaf crackling against the wooden counter.
There’s a special kind of fear that's crawling into your heart where you stand. The fear of putting too much faith into the words of Archie Kumar.
That it’s an elaborate ruse. A set-up, canons of confetti and a banner screaming “you’ve been fooled!” if you were to indulge his words. The danger of allowing your mind to drift too far off into the possibilities of a world wherein Oliver Wood doesn’t hate you - at least not as much as he lets on.
Archie looks at you out the side of his eye, you can feel it, but says nothing. He hands you a miniature yellow-handled spade.
Instead you fill the space. "I heard Isla Flynn has a crush on you."
He perks: "really?"
Across the room, Oliver is bumping elbows with Poppy Davis.
"Ow!"
A loose spark has evidently landed on her exposed arm. The sparks that Oliver was supposed to be watching for, the ones that he is intent on ignoring with the constant glancing back over his shoulder to where you and his best mate are in the corner of the room fucking giggling at each other like toddlers with a box of matches.
“Oliver — can you just focus for five seconds!” Poppy isn’t impressed.
Oliver isn’t either, with the situation as a whole. The pads of his fingers are blistered from the repotting of the bush and Poppy’s careless bumps and his general indifference to the task at hand.
It eats at his brain. What are you guys talking about? Is it about him?
You laugh again and it’s loud enough that it draws his shoulders all the way taut. There’s another snap of a spark and Oliver feels where it lands at his wrist, but he doesn’t react.
“Just pass me the bloody spade.” He grumbles.
-
The lesson passes more slowly than Oliver could swim shoulder-deep through molasses.
It feels like years later when he tosses his gloves into the box with the rest, when the class shuffles to return tools and begin slinging half-open bags over their shoulders.
Oliver doesn’t think he’s ever packed up faster - Poppy is still scowling at him, he doesn’t care - before he’s knocking through yellow and red tied students to find Archie’s head of curly black hair.
“Hey!” He catches him by the wrist, tugging on it like a dog with a bone. Archie jumps, eyes winding down to find his friend. “What did she say?”
You’re far ahead, Oliver can make out the back of your head: hips bumping with Cherry’s up the hill towards the castle.
Archie grins. “She said Isla Flynn has a crush on me.”
Oliver groans, “Not about that, you prat. About— wait, really?”
"Yeah!" He hikes his bag higher on his shoulder. "Can you believe it? She's got that hot Irish accent and everything."
Oliver nods, "Yeah ... yeah. Good on you, mate."
He's trying desperately not to steal this moment from his best friend, but he's fucking itching to know what else you and Archie had been giggling about.
"Did she ... say anything else?" He presses, more gently than his character usually allows. "Like about me?"
Archie shrugs without looking down. "I asked her, but she seemed tense about the whole thing."
"Tense?"
"Yeah, she said something about a bull and a cape, and went like all quiet when I told her you like her--"
At that, Oliver's stomach leaps up into his throat. He grabs his best friend by the arm, jolting him to a short stop. Some Hufflepuff bumps into their halted figures, grumbling before shuffling around them.
"You told her what?" His eyes flare erratically.
Archie shrugs, an innocuously confused look painting his features. "Well I said Oliver's half in love with you, or something like that and she looked all confused about it--"
Oliver's grip on his friend's wrist tightened to a degree that a ring was sure to form on his dark skin. "You fucking pinhead! You told her I liked her?"
Pulling his arm violently from his grip, Archie has the nerve to look affronted. "You don't?"
The morning sun shining over Oliver's head feels like it's growing hotter by the second, there's a dribble of sweat running down his spine.
"That's -- that's not the point. Even if I do, which I'm not saying is the case, she doesn't need to know that."
"Were you two obliviated in your sleep last night?" Archie's eyebrows are pressed down against his eyes, slouching down to meet his friend's face. "I caught you two making out like the world was ending less than three days ago! Surely she has to figure that you feeling something for her, she's not stupid."
Oliver struggles between his thoughts, worse around his words. "That was ... we'd been drinking. For all I know, she only kissed me back cause she was trollied off Dragon-Barrell--"
"She said that, too."
Eyeing him, Oliver's hands find his hips. "Said what, exactly?"
"That you were drunk, I mentioned the kiss and she said we were drunk."
A sensation he can only identify as closest to guilt seeps up into Oliver's chest from his stomach. "She thinks I kissed her just cause I was drunk?"
Archie's hand finds Oliver's shoulder. "You should probably talk to her, mate."
He sighs, eyes drifting over the silhouette of the castle in the distance. He shakes his head like it'll rattle the plaguing thoughts loose. "We're gonna be late for Transfig."
-
"I mean, Archie is his best friend." Cherry is trying to rationalise the whole story. "I don't see why he'd lie about it?"
You shake your head, knocking shoulders with a Ravenclaw girl trying to pass through the corridor. "I'm not entertaining it, Cherry."
"Come on," she sighs, practically skipping to keep up with the furious pace you've set. "Would it be so terrible if he likes you?"
"Yes." You don't look at her.
The redhead's eye-roll is practically audible, "Let me rephrase, would it be so terrible if he likes you back?"
You meet her eyes for the first time since you'd entered the corridor.
She sighs, "we're gonna see him in Muggle Studies in five minutes. I think you should say something."
"Forget I said anything, Cherry." Heat flares at your neck again, prompted by the embarrassment of even imagining how such a conversation might go.
The rest of the walk is quiet, but you feel Cherry's gaze warming the side of your face.
Burbage's classroom is over-populated with Gryffindors by the time you drop your bag against the marbled floor beside your desk. In the corner of your eye, your brain has already fixated on Oliver's silhouette leaned against the edge of his own desk. You flush hot all over again, as if your thoughts were transcribing into subtitles and floating above your head for the whole class to read.
The click of Burbage's heels prompt the lingering students to find their seats, "Please take out your copies of Muggle Wars: Cause and Effect. We left off on page eighty-seven--"
You suddenly regret snapping at Cherry. Wishing for the comfort of her presence, your eyes glazing over where she's perched in the first row of desks closest to the chalkboard.
Unusually, the class trickles on without disruption. There's a few glances over at your direction, like everyone is waiting for another outburst from the grade's most volatile duo. They're sure to be let down, you're adamant to not even breathe in the direction of Wood.
Burbage comments on it, too, nearly ten minutes from the bell.
"It's suspiciously quiet in your corner today, captains." she looks down through her fingerprint-smudged frames, brushing over you and then Wood three seats away. "Something the matter?"
You shrug, refusing to acknowledge the boy. He seems to be doing the same: completely unfairly, the thought that he wouldn't look at you made the hair on your arms stand straight. "We can start up if you'd like, professor?"
Her face contorts into that irritated look that you'd grown accustomed to when Professor Burbage addresses you. "You're flirting dangerously with another session of detention, miss."
"She's just answering your question, professor."
Nobody in the class seemed more surprised than Burbage, although that in itself was a feat. The two Gryffindor boys in the row ahead of you swivel all the way around in their seats to look at Oliver, who'd just spoken.
You fight the twitching urge to look at him.
"Detention for two, it seems. I'll be seeing you both Friday afternoon."
A calm air settles again over the class, as if order had been restored. You and Wood had lost the interest of the room and students shift back to the board where WHAT IS A PRIME MINISTER? is sprawled across it in chicken-scratch handwriting.
Sighing, your eyes find the clock against the wall. Eight minutes left.
You pick at the end of your quill irritably: electing to dip it into the ink at the edge of the desk and entertain yourself quietly by drawing a miniature snowman at the corner of your page, trying not to think about another Friday afternoon in too close of a proximity to Oliver Wood. There's a soft whir, barely audible if you weren't so focused on outlining pebble eyes, and a tiny paper-airplane whizzes quietly from under your desk: landing squarely on the nose-less head of your snowman.
Fear prickles at you. You don't look up for the source, lest a suspicious sideways glance earns you another weekend with the party-animal Charity Burbage.
Instead, you carefully undo the intricately folded wings of the plane. It's barely big enough to fit into your palm once open, the top of the little note marked in black ink.
It was the same handwriting that marked the sign-out sheet for equipment in the Quidditch storage rooms down at the pitch.
'Thanks for that one, smart-mouth.'
Your eyes flicker up to Burbage, who's back is turned, before you dip your quill into the ink and scribble out a response. In your peripheral, Oliver is leaned back in his stool: biceps folded over each other. There's an unexplainably airy-fairy, fuzzy feeling warming your rib cavity.
'Believe this one was your fault, dickhead.'
You quietly refold the creased edges, before tapping it lightly with the end of your wand: then watch how it takes off the airstrip of your page and zips quietly under the cover of desks to land back in front of the sender.
There's a long pause - enough for Burbage to draw out a whole flow diagram of something called "parliament" - before the edge of the paper wing grazes at your calf again. It lands quietly again.
'Maybe.
We good?'
There's a gentleness to the sentence. Like you can hear it from Oliver's mouth, like he's avoiding your gaze when he whispers it.
You hunch over the note again.
Oliver's knuckles are turning white, twisting his wand in his hands under the table. He shouldn't have said anything. He's regretting the whole fucking idea of the stupid paper-plane now.
He's trying not to watch you write, not to notice how long you stared at his writing before you picked up your own quill. He does anyways.
When the airplane flutters down into his palm, Burbage is already excusing the class. Stools are scraping against cold tile, the clutter of textbooks being crammed back into bags.
'Never :)'
His eyes run over the word once, twice, three times over. A smile is tugging at the edge of his lip, he forces it taut - but his eyes are still shining unusually brightly when Archie knocks his shoulder to his.
"What you looking so damn happy about?"
Oliver tucks the note into the pocket of his robes. "Don’t know what yer talking about."
-
"But professor, why can't Hufflepuff take Saturday?"
"Well, Hufflepuff already gave up our practice days for Gryff--!"
Hooch sighed so deeply she almost melted back into her armchair. "The decision is made, Oliver. The pitch is being cleaned out on Wednesday, your team can take Saturday for any extra training."
He could practically hear the smile creeping onto your face, the smug crossed-arm look he'll no doubt find when he turns to you.
Irritation bubbles up in his throat, a familiar companion in your presence, and just as he prophesied: you are grinning.
In the weeks that followed that day in Burbage's class, it seemed that both parties decided that the topic of their shared kiss outside the Ravenclaw common room was best left undiscussed.
The arrangement is working. At least Oliver thinks so.
You still bait him and he still snaps, rising to your taunts. He still finds himself in detention more Fridays than he spends free, and his body ripples with anger when you roll your eyes at him.
But it was in moments, like this now, where your little self-satisfied grin doesn't quite vex him to the degree it once did. It's now harder to find a retort, to snap at you with a sharp-edged comment. Not when amusement crinkles at the corners of your eyes where your black lashes kiss so prettily.
Hooch swivels in her chair to find a document between one of her cluttered drawers, you take the opportunity to stick the tip of your tongue out childishly at him.
Oliver draws a tight breath, he hopes his face is still taut in annoyance, because his heart has slipped like a stone down into his stomach. That's the other issue, the tiny little obstacle in these recent weeks: he can't stop looking at your mouth. It's distracting, disarming - paralysing at the best of times.
He strips his gaze away, before he can be outed by anyone in the room. "Whatever." He mumbles.
You seem disappointed in his lack of a real response, but it passes quickly - like a shadow - over your face.
"Thanks professor." You grab up your roster from her desk and turn to the door, practically skipping out into the corridor.
He huffs.
Somehow, you and Archie have become fast friends. Mornings around Fire-Seed Bushes and Venomous Tentaculas in the heat of Greenhouse Three seems to do wonders for a friendship.
It prickles at Oliver's nerves when you pass in the corridors, when you perk up with a high "hey Arch!" and he grins down from his towering height right back at you: "hey Y/n!"
You don't look at Oliver. He's notably sour the rest of the walk.
Alright, maybe the whole arrangement wasn't really working. You were a distraction to him before, no doubt, but somehow your powers of beguilement had tripled. Especially since you seem to be behaving perfectly normal: like you hadn't given Oliver the best snog of his life outside the Ravenclaw common room that night.
Maybe it was just alcohol, maybe he is the only one plagued by the knowledge of the other's taste.
The castle has turned impossibly colder, the bitter bite of winter stinging at the loose cuffs of his robes on walkthroughs of the corridors. He can't imagine how cold the air above the pitch is going to be on Sunday when Hufflepuff faces off Slytherin for a spot in the finals.
It's all Hooch has been going on about for the last two weeks.
Oliver's had to shift around at least four practices - Roger almost twice as much, he's a pushover - to allow for you and Marcus to have more time on the pitch. His complaints fell on deaf ears, Hooch dismissed him with a wave of her bony hand and a "your time is coming, Wood."
You prance into dinner late most evenings, hair in every direction and face flush with sweat: sticking it out like a bumblebee in those awful yellow quidditch robes.
Oliver only notices because, annoyingly, he's found that he is frequenting the bench at the Gryffindor table that faces over to the Hufflepuff's. His eyes drift over the yellow-tied heads to where you clump up with Enzo and Cherry, watches you talk around mouthfuls of toast lazily, giggle behind your napkin: head rolling back to showcase that smooth neck, how it runs down to the soft slopes of your shoulders: disappearing down into your button-up.
Archie has noticed, he's sure, but hasn't done more but allude to it with teasing glances or suggestive comments.
"The Hufflepuffs up to something particularly interesting over there, Ollie?"
The speed with which Oliver's eyes snap to his peas is almost comical. He shrugs and mumbles like a child. "Don't know."
-
On Sunday morning, you don't go to breakfast.
There's an uncomfortable gurgling in your midriff, like a snake is slithering between your organs and you're sure even just the smell of eggs on toast would bring up your dinner.
Instead you find yourself at the pitch a whole hour before the game is set to start. Marcus is running laps around the grass, something he's done since you've known him.
He offers a curt wave, face set like cold stone.
It reminds you of Oliver a little bit, the distraction in his eyes.
Oliver is never all the way there, wherever he is, you think. His eyes mist over like he's halfway between this world and another. You know it's Quidditch: he dreams it, eats it, sleeps it.
But lately he's foggier than usual.
You think it's your imagination, brush off the idea as you have all the millions of others you'd had in the preceding weeks about the surly brute that was Oliver Wood. He plagues you.
Just the vibrato of his unimpressed huff when you get your way, when you quip something purposely annoying at him. It's addictive, the feel of his sugar-brown eyes glaring a hole through you.
Lately, his reactions have been closer to underwhelming. Allowing for only a moment of eye contact: gone are the quick-witted retorts, the Scottish-laced "princess" usually attached. The thought makes you wince in embarrassment, knowing that you've been pressing him harder lately: like a seven-year old jabbing at a claw machine, outwardly desperate for that brown plushy on the top of the pile.
Maybe he's over it. So deathly mortified of your shared kiss that he doesn't want to know you anymore, much less take the effort to hate you. Your chest pinches tightly.
You dress into your match robes slowly, taking your time with the loops of your shoelaces and the buttons down the sweater you're wearing underneath everything. Oliver Wood should be at the bottom of your list of priorities, normally, but now more than ever.
The team filters into the change-room, exhibiting varying degrees of nervousness. Cedric is practically green, but Herbert looks like he's about to go down a water-slide he's waited over an hour in line for. Beyond the swinging doors, you can hear the crowd shuffling loudly into their seats.
Before your wits are completely about you, Hooch is rapping on those same doors. "Onto the pitch, Hufflepuffs!"
You muster up your best excuse for a captain's speech for what might be the last match you ever play as one. The team seem satisfied, you figure it's easy to find solace before a game when you know it's not your last. As the only seventh year, comfort doesn't come so easily to you.
The crowd is deafening when yellow robes take to the sky: Marcus looks over, offering another nod, not unlike the one he'd given you earlier. You can tell he's feeling the dread of finality too.
There's a whistle blow and the quaffle flies past your face with a speed that nearly evacuates your nose from your face. Lee is announcing in the distance and the rumble of adrenaline forces your fingers over the handle. It tilts and you dip, disappearing into the sky of players.
-
The winter air at Hogwarts was biting enough roaming the corridors, but thirty metres off the ground is something wholly unnatural. Your face was burning crisp from the icy wind, the feeling in your cheeks and nose lost to the Scottish cold.
Foggy white clouds puff out with each heavy breath. Cedric zooms past and Jane loops around his moving figure to knock a stray bludger in the opposite direction.
Your eyes flash between them and the fast approaching Malcolm, he tosses the quaffle at you with a grunt and you catch it at the tips of slippery, ice-frozen fingertips.
Shooting forward again, you duck under Marcus who is hurtling through the sky at you: gone is the look of friendly fondness from his eyes, replaced with a hunger for the leather-bound ball in your grasp.
Just missing the grasp of his meaty hand, the ball passes onto Heidi.
"Another ten points to Hufflepuff," Lee's voice echoes as if from heaven. "That brings the score to ninety for Hufflepuff and eighty for Slytherin!"
It's been nearly ninety-five minutes of sitting on your broom growing colder, and you're not alone.
Around you, the team is descending into frost-induced exhaustion: Jane's nose is as bright red as a Christmas ornament and Cedric has been peeping over the top of his thick woollen-scarf for at least the last half - barely enough to catch a glance of the whizzing canary and emerald robes, much less of a tiny golden snitch.
You sigh out another white breath, letting your eyes drift over the stands. It's saturated with moving heads of faces you can't make out and yellow and green swaying banners. Your gaze lingers on the top left, in the corner facing the castle. It's where Cherry and Enzo park themselves during every match, where you know they're screaming in support, clenching their teeth at every quaffle handover. You can feel them, even when their faces blur into the crowd.
Unintentionally, you think about how Oliver's mixed in there too. Somewhere between your peers. If you had been granted another moment, if the quaffle wasn't mid-air between two Slytherins just under your nose and you'd not taken the opportunity to snatch it from them, you would have meandered into the trap of hoping that deep down in his chest - even if it was core of the earth deep - he was rooting for you, too. That he seethed at a missed goal or clenched a tight fist at his side in celebration when a Hufflepuff makes a beautiful play.
Meanwhile in the stands, Oliver has decided that the desire to play his allegiances in secret has since disappeared from his heart.
He'd played it light in the first few minutes. Mumbling under his breath at a fumbled pass or a slimy move from the Slytherins, but by the forty-fifth minute he'd found himself on his feet.
"Diggory!" His hands waved in front of him, "it was right there you fucking git--"
A Hufflepuff third year a row ahead looked at him askew, but he paid her no mind.
Archie had taken the hint early. As soon as Oliver was out of his seat, so was he. Despite being Oliver Wood's best friend, Archie had somewhat limited knowledge of the game himself and eyed Oliver's reactions to find the appropriate moments to whoop and cheer. Oliver didn't say anything, but he appreciated it more than he could verbalise.
His eyes tracked you more than anything, when you were flying between players or just floating in place: eyes like a hawk, watching over the game. His heart swelled and his pride fell to the wayside.
Just short of the two hour mark, there was a rise in the crowd.
"The seekers have caught sight of the snitch!"
Oliver's stomach rose into his throat.
"They're diving for it, Malfoy and Diggory head to head-- and Slytherin grabs the snitch, winning by 140 points!"
It sank back into place, like a stone to the bottom of the river. He watched how you froze, how you twisted over your shoulder to find Diggory's figure lingering at the bottom of the field. You shoulders sagged, hanging in the air as the others dropped to the ground.
"Slytherin have made it into the finals against Gryffindor for the quidditch cup, back here at the pitch next month!"
After a long moment, the last in the sky, you followed them down.
The raucous cheers from the Slytherins were hard to drown out, he wasn't even sure Archie heard him toss a "i'll find you at the castle" before he found himself pushing through the masses of people.
He fought against the wave moving to find the stairs, eager to return to the warmth of their dormitories, but Oliver was markedly more motivated than the majority. He stomped on some toes and nearly tossed a first year off the stands to race down the stairs.
Only once his feet had found the mushy grass of the pitch, did he pause to consider that he wasn't entirely sure what he was going to say. What was the rush for? To comfort you, tease you for your loss?
The latter option was definitely what he could do, what he could say. What was expected of him, if he was being honest. Recently, however, he's found it harder and harder to come up with remarks to hurt your feelings. Found that he quite prefers that little smile that tucks into the corner of your mouth when he says something unexpectedly fond. How your eyes practically gleam.
There's shoving from all sides of him -- get out the way, bloody hell -- and the teams pass ahead of him. Leading the march, despite it being nothing more than a slow trudge, is your figure: squashed between those of who he recognises to be Cherry Stretton and Enzo Musa's.
Their arms wrapped over your shoulders, talking animatedly into your ear on each side. Enzo tips his head to meet yours, a small touch of comfort.
Oliver sighs. He has nothing to say and no comfort to offer, wondering for a moment what he could possibly bare to hear in his own final moments as captain. He thinks that anything from your mouth would work.
So he waits, parks himself beside the stairs and waits for Archie: watching the six-legged figure disappear up over the hill.
-
You're not at dinner.
He knows because he's been watching the door for the better half of an hour. Archie pushes his plate at him, "Eat something there, Ollie."
Begrudgingly, Oliver brings his drumstick up to his mouth. "She's not eaten a thing since breakfast, it's almost eight."
Archie passes a sympathetic look over him. "Her friends are here, I'm sure she'll be by soon. There's no use you joining her on a hunger-strike."
He's right. Cherry and Enzo and some others that frequent your circle are talking around the table, around the spot that you usually fill. But dinner goes on and students leak steadily out towards bed without your return.
Eventually Oliver huffs, like an irritated bulldog, and grabs for the nearest napkin: unfolding it out in front of him.
"What are you doing?" Archie asks thickly, spitting bits of rice at him.
Oliver reaches for two chicken skewers, placing them neatly on the white square: alongside a dinner roll and a pumpkin pasty.
He wraps them over, double wraps it with another napkin too.
"What does it look like, Arch."
Placing it carefully into the deep pocket of his robe, Oliver goes to stand - lacking the patience it takes for Archie to answer, or for his inevitable teasing. "I'll find you back in our room."
He's halfway out the hall when Archie's voice calls out to him, "You don't even know where she is!"
Oliver shakes his head, brandishing a dismissive hand over his shoulder. "I know where she is." He mumbles for only himself to hear.
-
You’d watched close to twenty-one quidditch matches from the stands at the pitch on Hogwarts grounds: played in almost half of them.
The seat is still slightly too small, just uncomfortable enough to make a person shuffle. Beyond the rim over the other end of the pitch you can see the orange sun dipping behind the horizon, drawing to darkness over your moment alone.
By now you're sure the party in the common room has long since found momentum. The one you'd been promised by the team, "it's your last game, cap, we need to celebrate!". You're sure someone somewhere is looking for you, bracing a plastic cup of Firewhisky with your name on it, but you can't find it within yourself to face it all just yet.
The silence of the evening is enough, you only wish you'd been fast enough to retrieve your broomstick that's somewhere off with Enzo. Just for one last lap.
The serenity of your loneliness doesn't persevere, however. You can hear shuffling up the steps, you're tempted to look but the sunset is slipping so quickly out of your hands that it's not worth the time wasted.
It's only when the footfalls draw closer, stopping when a body slumps into the seat beside you. The seats are so cramped that his knee brushes yours, the figure long since identified from the corner of your eye.
"Come to gloat?" You ask, eyes never leaving the sky.
He shrugs. "Not today."
You nod. His smell drifts on the breeze under your nose, like peppermint and soap and Oliver.
There's a long silence. Your robes crease against the fist sitting in your lap, you've yet to change out of your quidditch uniform, you know it will be the last time.
"You missed dinner."
"Does it matter?"
Despite your avoidant gaze, Oliver's is warming the side of your face. The evening air cools the same spot.
There's a shuffling that finally draws your eyes. Oliver is still in his robes too, and his hand emerges from a deep pocket with a folded napkin square. "Figured you'd be hungry."
He places it onto your lap with a gentleness you're coming to find more of in him. Something frighteningly warm erupts in your chest and your hands come up to it, pulling apart the napkin to find picky bits inside.
You're fighting between smiling and starting to cry. You do neither.
"You carried this in your pocket the whole way from the hall?"
His eyes flicker between the food and your face before he shrugs. "Yeah."
By now, you were fighting a losing battle and the smile pulled up at the ends of your mouth so tightly that your cheeks started to hurt. "Gross."
You pick up a chicken skewer regardless, biting into it and facing the sky again. You offer him the other one and he looks for a moment like he's going to argue but takes it quietly in the end.
The chicken is tender and only after you'd swallowed the first bit did you realise how hungry you'd actually been. You finish it without a word, going to tear the pasty in half and offering a piece to your companion.
You're picking at the roll now, tearing tiny bits off and feeding it piece by piece to yourself like a bird. "Last game."
He nods. "I know."
"What could someone say to you after your last game, Wood?" You pick at him, eyes flittering between him and the now nearly black sky. "You know, to make you feel better?"
Oliver shakes his head, leaning back and rolling his shoulders: as if the thought itself unsettled him.
"Nothing, probably. I'd probably just walk into the Black Lake and drown myself."
You think he's joking, but with Oliver Wood that was hardly a sure thing.
"You wouldn't."
"What's there left to live for?" He says it with an airy chuckle.
Shrugging, your head falls against your shoulder. "You'd have to figure it out, because I'd go marching in right after you. Carry you out if I had to."
Oliver stills, eyes wide and blinking at you. Your chest goes tight, the ghost of a smile pressing at your face.
"Bridal style and everything ..." You add quietly, stifling your chuckle.
He seems to come back to himself, nodding. "We should get back. Been a long day."
The napkin crumples in your hand, shoved down into the depths of your own pocket. You walk ahead, the pathway to the steps is only narrow enough for one person at a time, and he trails behind.
By the time you've hit the steps, Oliver moving down beside you, you're brewing around an apology. A way to thin the air, to ease where your chest is tight: swirling around well done, now you've made things awkward you git. It's halfway up to your tongue when skin brushes against the back of your hand.
Warm fingers explore your knuckles to find your cool ones, slipping to knot between them.
You work not to look down, because Oliver's skittish like that. From the corner of your eye, you can see he's concentrating his gaze ahead.
His hand tightens against yours, palm callous from years wrapped around the wooden handle of his broomstick. It's a little sweaty and sticky but you're smiling so hard you're about to be sick.
You dare to look at him, Oliver's smiling too.
-
Oliver hasn't been sleeping.
His last few days of seventh year are slipping like water through his calloused hands and he can feel it. Every hour that passes, shadowy and fleeting.
Classes feel shorter than before, the terrible jokes Archie bombards him with over dinner sound funnier than he ever remembers them being and the glimpses he catches of you in the corridor never feel long enough. The ceiling of his poster bed flashes with moments of the day that's passed, feeling like a dream you'll be jolted out of as soon as it gets good.
Even over all his hours of broody contemplation, none of it makes the final whistle any easier to swallow. It hits him like he's been smacked with a bludger in the chest.
"Gryffindor has won the quidditch cup, two-hundred and thirty points to twenty!"
He can hear the crowd's roar, the whoops of the twins floating somewhere below him. Harry's standing on the grass of the pitch holding up his tiny golden trophy. The pitch is red all over: Oliver won.
He won.
Every moment building up over the last seven years culminated into the final blow of the whistle. The wind is whipping at the hair over his forehead: Oliver thinks this might be the happiest moment of his life, but he's not entirely sure.
He never realised that it would all be so fucking soaked in sadness.
It's over. He's leaving the castle empty handed. His engraving will live on the Quidditch Cup in a dusty cupboard for years to come, yes, and he might have a frame up in his future apartment somewhere, reminiscing on the old days. That's all.
He's struck with the devastating fear that in a few short years, nobody will remember him. More than anything, he can't believe he hadn't come to this overwhelming conclusion before right now. Before Angelina is yelling to him, waving a frantic hand and sporting the biggest grin in all of Scotland, before he was seconds from taking the prize he's held in his mind for so many years into his very hands.
Will you forget him?
It nearly knocks him off his broom. He finds that it scares him the most, more than the thought of the dust-caked trophy or the lonely corner at the back of his cupboard where his Hogwarts robes will no doubt live until eternity.
He won't forget you, he thinks. He knows.
You're just so damn annoying. And beautiful, fucking whip-clever and hilarious sometimes--
The handle of his broom is tilting down to the earth now, the crowd zooming into a blur on either side of him. He hits a shaky landing, broomstick abandoned on the grass behind him as he's pulled into the arms of his team and well-wishers.
A golden trophy passes over the heads of the twins and it's shoved into his sweating hands. It's cool to the touch and so much heavier than he thought it ever could be, but he can't seem to keep his mind on the situation long enough to realise any of that. His mind is racing around the castle wondering where you might be and what's the fastest way to get there.
His eyes are racing over the heads of the roving crowd. "Wood, Wood! Speech!"
Shadowing over everyone is Archie's tall figure standing at the back, grinning down at him. The team watches expectantly.
This is it. The moment for the speech he's been practicing in his bathroom mirror since he was seven.
"I--" he looks down at the cup for the first time, his face reflecting up at him in glimmering gold. He finds he can't remember any of the words. "I need to go find someone."
There's a buzz of confusion, but Oliver doesn't linger: shoving the Quidditch Cup into Harry's arms.
"That's the shortest speech Wood has ever given." He hears Angelina quip, but he can't be arsed to turn. He's already flying, moving through the crowd at such a pace he might just have been on his broom.
The sea of students had long since started moving up to the castle, particularly the non-gryffindors: trying to beat the stampede of scarlet that is no doubt to come. Oliver's legs carry him over the smooth green hill up towards Hogwarts, head craning over students to find your side profile somewhere in the mass.
He catches few oy, watch it!'s and congrats, Wood!'s but he doesn't turn, doesn't stop running. Students bespeckle the grass like ants lining up for crumbs, and he's all the way up into the stone corridor leading to the Great Hall when he spots Cherry's velvet red curls over the crowd, and sure enough, he finds you're knocking her shoulder with your own.
It only takes one shout of your name and you turn to peek curiously back, by which time he's taken both your shoulders into his hands and steered you to the wall of the corridor.
"Wood! What are you do--"
His hands squeeze around the plush at your upper arms. "Oliver. My name is Oliver."
Your eyes are wide in surprise, the window behind you showcases the gardens and the pitch in the distance. Sunlight forms a halo over the crown of your head.
With a head tilted in confusion, you nod slowly. "Alright ... what are you doing, Oliver?"
He can feel the eyes of Cherry and Enzo burning a hole through the side of his head, but doesn't bother with it. You're blinking up at him, gentle and benign in your features. He wonders when it became like this, when you'd lost the tight brow and the frown every time you looked at him.
"I won the Quidditch Cup." He says blankly.
You nod, a small smile tucked into the corner of your lip. "I saw. Congratulations."
Oliver only nods back at you. "I wanted to tell you. I wanted to come shove it in your face."
He's shuffling closer to your figure, and he's more than pleased to discover that you aren't cowering from it.
"Of course you did, because you're a prat." But you're smiling so hard now that it's impossible to take your jab to heart. "Is that all, Oliver?"
A warm sensation is spilling into his rib cavity and his fingertips are buzzing with electricity when they come to find either side of your face.
"No." His forehead is nearly touching yours and your hands have wrapped around his wrists. "I came to ask you out on a date. A sappy, disgustingly romantic date where I bring you flowers and pay for your hot chocolate. You'd hate it."
"That truly sounds horrible." Your smile is so wide he can barely see the whites of your eyes and it pumps more adrenaline through Oliver than any argument you'd ever shared over the last seven years.
"So, is that a yes?"
You're bouncing on your toes a little bit, bumping your nose against Oliver's clumsily. The babble of passing students and gawking onlookers has practically fallen mute to him.
"Depends, are you going to kiss me goodnight after?" You whisper it, like it's a secret between just you and him.
He nods slowly, "pretty desperate to kiss you right now, if I'm being honest princess--"
You don't wait for him to finish, thank Merlin you don't wait for him to finish, and push up onto your toes: crashing against his mouth. You're kiss is as dizzying as he remembers, but softer this time. You kiss like you know he's not running away, hands pressing softly over his neck.
It's nothing like your kiss outside the Ravenclaw common room: where that one was desperate and hot and angry, this time it's born from longing and tenderness and acceptance.
It leaves him just as fucking breathless as the first time.
Somewhere behind him, he hears wolf-whistling (he's sure it's Cherry) and when you pull your lips off his, your face is flush with embarrassment.
"I will go on a date with you, Oliver."
He takes your hand into his, curling his fingers between your own. You lean up to peck him softly and bat your eyelashes at him, grinning innocuously when you whisper: "If you treat me like you did with Delilah, I'm throwing your broomstick into the fireplace."
-
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#oliver wood x reader#oliver wood fanfiction#oliver wood x you#oliver wood#harry potter fanfiction#harry potter#harry potter x reader#draco malfoy x reader#ron weasley x reader#fred weasly x reader#george weasley x reader#oliver wood imagine#hermione granger#ron weasley#hufflepuff#slytherin#gryffindor#ravenclaw#fic recommendation#quidditch
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a moment of silence for all the fics that were masterpieces but you'll never find them again
#like there's so many luke castellan ones that i think about constantly#like does anyone know of this one fic i read where reader was a daughter of Zeus and Luke started some band for Camp Halfblood#luke castellan x reader#leo valdez x reader#george karim x reader#percy jackson#anthony lockwood#five hargreaves x reader#george weasly x reader#fred weasly x reader#ron weasly x reader#george wealsey imagine#minho x reader#reader insert#reader x character#grover underwood x reader#percy jackson x reader#harry potter x reader#travis stoll x reader#draco malfoy x reader#jess mariano x reader#luke castellan fanfic#charlie bushnell x reader#newt x reader#x reader
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me acting like I just didn't read the most filthy nasty hot smut fic of my life
#draco malfoy x reader#derek morgan x reader#joel miller x reader#spencer reid x reader#dean winchester x reader#harry potter x reader#fred weasley x reader#george weasly x reader#josh hutcherson#eddie munson x reader#steve harrington#matt sturniolo x reader#chris sturniolo x reader#harry styles x reader#benedict bridgerton x reader#anthony bridgerton x reader#the originals#marvel#chris evans#fanfic#harry potter#wattpad#ao3 fanfic#sam golbach#aaron hotchner#jonas brothers#sam winchester#pedro pascal#x reader#relatable
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HP — NSFW + SFW DAYDREAMS
a collection of all the nsfw + sfw thoughts people have shared with me. reblogs, comments and asks are always appreciated!
for more thoughts, click ‘more’ behind a character’s name…
…still want more?! check out AU DRABBLES MASTERLIST
*drabbles are organised from newest to oldest
main m.list . all my hp content
— THEODORE NOTT ( more. )
NSFW
sex with theo after not seeing each other for a while
theo fucking you in ron’s bed
theo with a piss kink 3
repeating ‘thank you’ when theo’s fucking you
threesome with ron and theo 2
theo with a piss kink 2
double penetration with mattheo and theo
threesome with ron and theo
threesome with pansy and theo
theo being a munch
threesome with mattheo and theo
theo with a piss kink
theo overstimulating you
warm afternoon cuddle with theo
drunk hookup with ex-boyfriend!theo
theo being rough and gentle at the same time
theo comforting you after a bad test
theo eating you out
cockwarming theo in the common room
theo proving others wrong by making you scream
SFW
theo making you addicted to nicotine by kissing him
theo and pregnant reader
theo calls you a slut and apologises
— DRACO MALFOY ( more. )
NSFW
distracting draco during a study session
anal sex with draco
sub!draco being embarrassed of his moans
pervy roommate!draco
draco teaching you how to ride him
toxic and possessive draco
SFW
stay-at-home dad!draco
— DRAGONOTT ( more. )
NSFW
another rough theo and soft draco
rough theo and soft draco
— FRED WEASLEY ( more. )
NSFW
thigh riding with fred
fred fingering you in the common room
enemies to lovers with fred
fred being a perv
fred getting jealous
fred fucking you in the burrow
soft sex with fred
SFW
fred getting touchy after a quidditch match/practice
fred and his slytherin girl
stargazing with fred
fred trying different accents
— GEORGE WEASLEY ( more. )
NSFW
dom!george walking in on you humping your pillow
george being obsessed with your boobs
george fucking you with fred sleeping in the same room
george getting off to eating you out
george pounding into you when you’re on top
SFW
praising george after a quidditch match/practice
— HARRY POTTER ( more. )
NSFW
mean dom!harry
harry being whiny and moany in bed
harry loving his s/o sitting on his face
car sex with harry
— MATTHEO RIDDLE ( more. )
NSFW
threesome with enzo and mattheo
knifeplay with mattheo
double penetration with mattheo and theo
mattheo getting distracted during movie night
overstimulation with mattheo
sucking off sub!mattheo
mattheo being a munch
threesome with mattheo and theo
cockwarming mattheo while doing his makeup
SFW
licking up mattheo’s blood after a fight
cleaning up bloody mattheo after a fight
— RON WEASLEY ( more. )
NSFW
threesome with ron and theo 2
threesome with ron and theo
sub!ron fingering you for the first time
sub!ron cumming in his pants
— LORENZO BERKSHIRE ( more. )
NSFW
threesome with mattheo and enzo
tying lorenzo up during sex
SFW
fuck buddy!lorenzo falling for you
bsf!lorenzo comforting you after a break up
lorenzo having control over you
— TOM RIDDLE ( more. )
NSFW
tom being obsessed with your ass
tom eating you out
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#❥ ari’s works#harry potter smut#draco malfoy#theo nott#theodore nott#fred weasley#george weasley#draco malfoy smut#theo nott smut#theodore nott smut#fred weasley smut#george weasley smut#harry james potter#harry potter x reader#lorenzo berkshire smut#ron weasley smut#mattheo riddle x reader#mattheo riddle smut#theodore nott x reader#draco malfoy x reader#fred weasly x reader#george weasley x reader#theo nott x reader#tom riddle smut#tom riddle x reader#tom riddle#harry potter#theodore nott fluff#dragonott#draconott
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୨୧ — The Harry Potter boys and their Love Languages ( ˆ͈̑꒳ˆ͈̑ )੭ ; 𖦹 + ♡
ꕤ — Characters ; Harry J Potter. Ron Weasley. Fred Weasley. George Weasley. Neville Longbottom. Draco Malfoy. Cedric Diggory.
ꕤ — Discretion ; none!! just fluff and love.
ꕤ — A/n ; eee i’m so sorry for disappearing for a bit ☹️. but i appreciate alll the support u guys have been showing me on all my works!! ily guys!! so here’s a fun lil treat :3 thank u endlessly 🫶🏻
; masterlist.
୨୧ — Harry J. Potter & Acts Of Service.
Harry isn’t good with words—not the ones that matter, anyway. He stumbles, stammers, gets stuck trying to say how he feels. But when it comes to showing you, there’s no hesitation. His love is found in the way he waits outside the library to walk you back to the common room, how he memorizes your favorite tea and makes sure there’s always enough sugar. It’s the way he notices when you’re too tired to finish an essay and stays up scribbling notes for you even though he’s just as exhausted.
He’s the boy who gives pieces of himself quietly, always watching, always finding the small gaps in your day where he can slip in and help without you asking. Because that’s what he needs—to feel like he’s protecting you, even from the smallest inconveniences.
Harry doesn’t say I love you in grand speeches. He says it in the way he fixes your broken quill without telling you, how he gives you the better seat at dinner, how he’d gladly carry your burdens if you let him. To him, love is action—every unspoken I’ll take care of this wrapped in the quiet hope that you’ll understand.
୨୧ — Ron Weasley & Quality Time.
Ron doesn’t need extravagant displays of affection; he just wants you. To be near you, to sit next to you, to share the little pieces of his world that make him who he is. He thrives in your presence, whether it’s laughing over a ridiculous chess match, walking the long way to class just to keep the conversation going, or sitting quietly by the fire while the hours slip by unnoticed.
Time with you is how Ron shows he cares. It’s in the way he always makes room for you—on the couch, in his day, in his life. He’ll wait for you after lessons, save you a seat at every meal, and offer you the last Chocolate Frog without hesitation. He’s happiest when you’re there, no matter what you’re doing, because your company makes everything better.
For Ron, love is in the small, stolen moments. It’s in the way he notices the things you like, the way he teases you just enough to see you smile. He doesn’t need to say it out loud—not when every minute he spends with you is his way of saying, You matter to me.
୨୧ — Fred Weasley & Physical Touch.
Fred speaks in touches—quick, fleeting, and full of mischief. A hand on your shoulder as he sneaks up behind you, a playful nudge of his elbow to make you laugh, the way his arm always ends up slung around your shoulders like it belongs there. He’s tactile in a way that feels effortless, like he can’t help himself when it comes to you.
But then there are the other touches, the ones that mean more than he ever says out loud. His hand brushing yours under the table, his fingers ghosting over your back when you’re standing close, the way he pulls you into a hug that lasts just a second longer than it should. He’s all warmth, all ease, all Fred.
With him, touch is a language of its own. It’s how he shows he’s paying attention, how he steadies you when the world feels too loud, how he reminds you that he’s there—always, without fail. He’ll twirl a strand of your hair around his finger while you’re trying to focus, just to see you roll your eyes, but his thumb will stroke gently over your knuckles when you’re quiet, reminding you that he sees more than you think.
Fred’s love is in the way he’s never far, his presence a constant, reassuring hum. Every touch, whether playful or tender, says what he won’t always put into words: I’m here. I’ve got you. You’re mine.
୨୧ — George Weasley & Acts Of Service.
George loves quietly, but he loves deeply. His affection isn’t loud or flashy—it’s in the little things, the unnoticed gestures that leave no room for doubt. He’ll stay up late helping you finish that essay, even though he’s got his own work waiting for him. He’ll charm the Gryffindor common room fire to burn just a little brighter when you’re cold, or tuck a sweet you love into your bag without a word.
With George, it’s all about thoughtfulness. He pays attention—really pays attention—to the things that make you happy. He knows your favorite snack, your favorite quill, the way you like your tea. He notices when you’ve had a rough day before you even say a word, and his first instinct is to fix it. A joke, a small gift, a ridiculous gesture—it’s all his way of saying, I’m here for you.
But his acts of service aren’t just practical—they’re personal. He’s always finding ways to make your life brighter, softer, more manageable. If you’re overwhelmed, he’ll take something off your plate without you asking. If you’re sad, he’ll make you laugh, even if it means making a fool of himself. And when you ask why he does it, he’ll shrug, his ears pink, and say, “Because I can.”
George’s love is subtle but unwavering. It’s in every thoughtful detail, every small action, every quiet I’ll take care of it that he hopes you’ll notice but never expects you to. It’s the kind of love that doesn’t demand attention—it just is.
୨୧ — Neville Longbottom & Words Of Affirmation.
Neville’s love is soft, steady, and full of reassurance. He’s the boy who sees the best in you, even when you can’t see it yourself. His words are careful, heartfelt, and impossibly earnest—he’ll tell you how brilliant you are after every small success, remind you how brave you are when you’re doubting yourself, and whisper how beautiful you look when you catch him staring.
But Neville’s words aren’t just sweet; they’re intentional. He notices the things you’re insecure about—the things you try to hide—and makes it his mission to remind you of your worth. When you’re frustrated or overwhelmed, he’s the one who tells you, It’s okay. You’ve got this. You’re stronger than you think. He believes in you wholeheartedly, and he’ll never let you forget it.
His love is in the way he writes you little notes when he’s too shy to say things out loud, the way he always manages to find the perfect compliment at the perfect moment. Neville’s words aren’t about flattery—they’re about truth. He means every single one.
With Neville, you never have to wonder how he feels. His words wrap around you like a warm hug, a constant reminder that you’re loved, cherished, and seen. To him, every You’re amazing is another way of saying, I’m so lucky to have you.
୨୧ — Draco Malfoy & Gift Giving.
Draco shows his love in the way he gives—not just things, but pieces of himself. His gifts are thoughtful, deliberate, and so carefully chosen that you can’t help but feel how much he pays attention. A rare book he tracked down because you mentioned it once, your favorite sweets neatly wrapped and waiting for you after a hard day, or an heirloom quill with a note that simply says, It reminded me of you.
It’s never about the price, though he pretends it is. He’ll roll his eyes and call it no big deal, but the way he watches your reaction gives him away every time. Because it isn’t just a gift—it’s his way of saying, I see you. I notice what makes you happy. I care.
But it’s not all material. Draco gives his time, his attention, his loyalty. He’s there when you need him, even if he doesn’t know what to say. He shows up with a coffee you didn’t ask for or slips a note into your bag that reads, Don’t forget how brilliant you are. It’s in the way he lends you his scarf when you’re cold or makes sure your favorite seat by the fire is saved.
Draco’s love is in the details, the way he always finds the perfect thing to remind you how much you mean to him. He doesn’t say I love you easily, but his gifts? They say it for him. Quietly, fiercely, and completely.
୨୧ — Cedric Diggory & Physical Touch.
Cedric’s love is quiet, steady, and impossibly warm, and it shows in the way he touches you. It’s never demanding, always gentle—a hand at the small of your back as you walk through the halls, his fingers brushing yours under the table, or the way his arm wraps around your shoulders without hesitation when you’re cold. With Cedric, touch isn’t just comfort; it’s a promise: I’m here, I’ve got you.
He’s affectionate in ways that feel effortless. He’ll press a kiss to your temple when no one’s looking, or pull you into a hug so tight it feels like he’s shielding you from the world. When you’re upset, his thumb traces slow circles over the back of your hand, grounding you. And when words fail, it’s his touch that reassures you—light, familiar, unshakable.
But it’s the little moments that matter most. The way he reaches for you instinctively, his fingers intertwining with yours like they belong there. The way his forehead leans against yours in quiet moments, his breath mingling with yours in a silent exchange of you’re everything to me. Cedric doesn’t just touch you; he anchors you.
To him, love is closeness. It’s the warmth of his body against yours, the feel of his hand in yours, and the way he’s always, always pulling you closer—because with you, he’s home.
﹙@ 𝗹𝘂𝗺𝗼𝘀𝗼𝘂 ﹚
#☆.— 𝗻𝗲𝘄 𝗼𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘀𝗵𝗲𝗹𝗳#harry potter#harry potter fluff#harry potter x reader#harry james potter x reader#harry potter x you#harry james potter x you#harry potter fandom#harry potter fanfiction#fred weasley x reader#george weasley x reader#ron weasley x reader#neville longbottom x reader#draco malfoy x reader#cedric x reader#.𝗵𝗱𝗰𝗮𝗻𝗼𝗻𝘀 🐻
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new beginnings
Pairing: theodore nott x reader
Summary: after theo very unexpectantly breaks up with you, you try your best to pick yourself back up and move on. theo, on the other hand, seems to be having a harder time of that.
Word Count: 2.2k+
Masterlist
part two :)
✰ ✰ ✰
“(Y/N), you’ve got to get out of bed at some point.” Hermione said. She was sitting on the side of your bed while you laid fully wrapped under the covers. Hermione gently tugged the blanket down from your chin, but you whined a little in protest.
“‘Mione, I seriously can’t do this yet.”
Theo, your boyfriend of over a year had broken up with you only a few short days ago. You’d been in bed ever since, heartbroken over what could have been.
“(Y/N), I know you’re upset, but you have to get up. I can’t let you live the rest of your life in bed! Don’t you know how badly your bum would hurt from laying all of your life?” Hermione joked.
A small smile grew on your lips. “Yeah, that would be pretty tragic. I have too nice of a butt to let that happen.”
Hermione laughed. “There she is! I’ve missed your little jokes. Ron and Harry have become quite boring without you around. I think they’re worried about you.”
You groaned. “Nooo. I hate when people worry about me. It’s just so awkward when I have to be like ‘I’m fine’, ‘no really, I’m fine’.”
Hermione shrugged. “Well, are you?”
You sighed, pulling the covers down from your chin. You looked up at her, a forlorn look on your face. “Definitely not, but I suppose you’re right. I don’t want to be stuck in here for the rest of my life. I just, I just don’t think I can handle seeing him right now.”
Hermione looked at you sadly. “I know. I hate seeing you so upset like this. God, what I would do to put a hex on that boy. He’s quite deserving of it, I would say. Maybe a rat’s tail, or a snake tongue.”
You giggled and sat up in bed. “Or how about we make him bald, or worse, blonde.”
Hermione laughed at that. “Oh, Godric, then we’d have another Draco running around. I don’t think I could handle that.”
“Me either,” you laughed. Slowly, your smile dropped. “I just hate him. Well, no, I don’t hate him. And I hate that! I hate that even after breaking my heart I still love him and long for him.”
Hermione sighed, “I’m sorry, (Y/N/N), I wish I could say something or do something to make this better, I just really don’t know what.”
You shrugged, “yeah, it is what it is. It’s not your fault he’s an ass.”
She chuckled. “So, what do you say? You wanna try to get down to the great hall before dinner starts? I’m sure the guys would like to see you again.”
You thought it over for a minute. You really had missed your friends. Other than Hermione, you’d ostracized yourself from everyone just to avoid Theo.
But were you really ready to see him again? You didn’t think you would ever be ready to see him again.
“You know what,” you stated, “I am gonna go to dinner tonight. And I’m gonna ignore him and see my friends who I’ve missed and ignore the hell out of him because he’s an ass and why should I be the one who has to stay in bed all day?”
“Woohoo!” Hermione cheered. “You’re amazing, let’s get you showered and dressed. I hate to say it, but if you’re gonna get back into the world, you need to wash your hair.”
You chuckled as you picked up a piece of hair to inspect it. “Yeah, okay. Shower first, look really pretty, eat dinner, come back. Piece of cake.”
You pushed the covers off of you as Hermione stood from the bed.
She said, “I’m gonna grab your clothes, so just get in the shower. We shouldn’t be too late to dinner that way.”
You nodded and headed to the bathroom. You were gonna go in there, socialize with your friends, reassure them you were fine, and everything would go back to normal. You hoped.
✰ ✰ ✰
“(Y/N)!” Ginny shouted as you and Hermione made it to the Gryffindor table. She stood up from her seat and pulled you right into a hug.
Releasing the breath you didn’t know you were holding, you smiled and held her even tighter in the hug. Ginny was an amazing friend to you. She had tried her best to see you, but you didn’t let anyone in. Only Hermione since she shared the room with you.
Pulling away, Ginny dragged you to sit down next to her. Hermione followed suit and sat on the other side of you. “Oh, we’ve missed you so much, (Y/N/N). We’ve all been so worried about you, haven’t we?”
Harry and Ron sat across from you. They both nodded their heads, agreeing with Ginny.
“Yeah, what an ass,” Ron scoffed. “Honestly, someone needs to knock that bloke down from his high horse. He doesn’t know what he’s missing, (Y/N/N).”
“Yeah,” Harry replied as he pushed some mashed potatoes in his mouth. “Theodore is a walking red flag. I for one am not sorry for him. He lost a good girl and he’s gonna regret what he’s done.”
You smiled at them. “Yeah, I am pretty awesome. Thanks guys.”
They chuckled and continued eating. Merlin knows those two could eat an entire quidditch field full of food.
“Ahem,” a throat cleared from behind you.
Turning around, you saw Enzo standing there sheepishly.
“Uh,” he stuttered, “hey, (Y/N).”
“Oh,” you said. “Uh, hi Enzo. Do you need something?” You couldn’t hide the crack in your voice. Damn it.
Enzo was probably your favorite of Theo's friends. He was always the one you had most in common with, and therefore connected with pretty easily. You’d never hung out one on one, so you couldn’t really say he was your friend.
“I-no I don’t need something, per say. I just wanted to talk to you. Alone, if, uh, that’s alright.”
You looked back at your friends, unsure if you should talk with him or not. They all seemed to be the same amount of weary as you were, but you were intrigued.
“I don’t really want to talk to Theo, if that’s what this is.”
Enzo shook his head. “No! Ahem, no. I wanted to talk to you. To, uh, apologize kind of? I don’t know. It’s fine if you don’t wanna talk to me, this was silly, I’m sorry-“
“It’s fine, Enzo,” you cut off his rambling. “I’ll speak with you.” You looked back at your friends as you stood up from the table. “I’ll be right back.”
They nodded their heads as you let Enzo lead you away from the table and out the door.
Once you two stood out in the hallway, Enzo kind of just shuffled his feet around, almost as if he was shying away from talking to you.
“Am I supposed to say something first?” You questioned, crossing your arms over your chest.
“No, sorry,” he said as he rubbed the back of his neck. “I just feel a little awkward. I know what happened between you and Theo, but I guess I just hoped that didn’t mean we couldn’t be friends anymore.”
Your eyes softened a little at his confession. Enzo’s cheeks blushed a little as you stared at him.
You sighed. You and Enzo really had been good friends, and you weren’t exactly keen on losing his friendship.
“I mean,” he continued, “you’re the only one who doesn’t make fun of my poetry, you’re the one I go to when I want to talk about books or get recommendations from, and I just would hate to lose our friendship just because I’m friends with Theo as well.”
Your heart melted. “Enzo, of course I still want to be friends with you. I will admit, I was a little nervous you wouldn’t want to talk to me anymore after Theo broke up with me. I really enjoy being your friend.”
Enzo smiled in relief. “Oh good. I thought this would be more awkward and a little bit more sad than how it’s actually going.”
You giggled. “Thank god. I don’t know what I would have done if I just had a real breakup as well as a friendship breakup.”
Enzo smiled awkwardly. “Yeah, I am really sorry about that. I don’t know why he would ever break up with you in the first place. You’re so kind, and I thought you brought the best out in him.”
You forced an awkward smile. You really did not want to be talking about Theo right now, especially not about how you made him a better person.
Before you could reply, a voice yelled out from behind you.
“Oi!”
Turning around, you could see Theo storming up towards you and Enzo.
“What the fuck, mate?” Theo huffed as he got in between you and Enzo.
“Woah!” You shouted, backing up as Theo got up into Enzo’s face. “Theo, what are you doing?”
He ignored you and kept talking to Enzo. “Are you hitting on my girlfriend? Right after all the shit we just went through?”
“What?” Enzo squeaked. “I’m not hitting on her, I was just talking to her.”
You were pissed. Your fists balled up at your sides as you stomped up to Theo. You grabbed onto his shoulder and yanked him away from Enzo. Theo didn’t see it coming, so he stumbled and fell back a couple of steps.
“Get the hell away from him,” you growled. “And what the fuck is wrong with you, Theodore?”
You got between Theo and Enzo, pushing your finger into your ex-boyfriend’s chest accusingly.
“First,” you said, “you break up with me, break my heart, and then you have the fucking nerve to come up here all righteous and accuse Enzo of whatever the fuck you said, all while calling me your girlfriend when you’re the asshole who broke up with me!”
You glared at Theo, watching as his anger turned soft. “I am not your girlfriend anymore, Theodore Nott. You’re the one who made that happen, so you have no fucking right to come up in my conversations acting like I owe you anything.”
“(Y/N),” he softly said. “I… I’m sorry. You’re right, I shouldn’t have come out here all crazy. I just, I hate seeing you with anyone else, even if it’s one of my friends.”
He turned to talk to Enzo, “I’m sorry, mate. Will you give us a few minutes?”
Enzo nodded his head and gave you an awkward smile before heading back into the dining hall.
You huffed, settling down a little as you stared at Theo.
He looked tired. His eyes had circles underneath them, and his cheeks didn’t have their usual flush to them. He was as gorgeous as ever, but he looked drained.
“You don’t look so good,” you pointed out, trying to sound nonchalant.
Theo frowned and softly said, “neither do you.”
Your lips pulled tight in a frown. Theo didn’t need to know how much he had affected you with the breakup.
You sighed, “what are you doing, Theo?”
He shrugged and put his hands in his pockets awkwardly. “I, uh, I’m not really sure. I just didn’t like seeing you with Enzo.”
“Why? You broke up with me.”
Theo huffed, “I don’t know. I just don’t like seeing you with anyone else. It still feels like I’m supposed to be there. Like I’m supposed to be the one with you. I miss you.”
You shook your head as hurt started to creep back into your heart. “Don’t say things like that to me, Theo. Not after what you did. I loved you, and you broke up with me out of nowhere for no good reason, either.”
“I’m sorry,” he tried to reach for you, but you shrugged off his hand. “I don’t know why I did what I did. I just know that I regret it like crazy. I want to be with you, (Y/N). I’ve always wanted to be with you, I was stupid to let you go. Can you forgive me?”
Your lips pulled tight. “Theo, I can’t just get back with you like this.” You said. “I don’t trust you anymore. You broke my heart, and broke my trust. You gave me no reason for the breakup, so who’s to say it won’t happen right after we get back together?”
He shook his head. “Dolcezza, no. I won’t do that to you, not again. What can I do to prove this to you?”
You shrugged. “I don’t know. I can’t get back with you. Not like this, and not so soon. You really hurt me, Theo.”
“Well, what if we try being friends at least?” He suggested.
“You wanna be my friend?”
“No,” he said immediately. “But I’ll settle for being your friend for as long as it takes to win you back.”
Your heart warmed at what he had said. Maybe you could try being friends with him. He did really hurt you, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t miss him.
“Okay,” you decided, “I’ll give you a chance to be my friend. Don’t hurt me again, Theodore, or I’ll get Ginny on you.”
He chuckled. “Don’t worry, darling, I’m gonna do whatever it takes to get my baby back. I can promise you that.”
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