#Draco Malfoy x Y/n | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

writingsbychlo · 1 year ago

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BUY ME PRESENTS | draco malfoy

summary; draco loves you, and you love him. he just needs a little push to make things official. OR, draco malfoy fighting for his life when he realises just how much everyone wants his girl.

word count; 8928

notes; this is based on christmas eve, but I'm posted a couple days later! this fic puts us half way through our slytherin boy holidays! I'm not sure how the one I expected to be the shortest became the longest one so far. like, seriously, I know I keep saying this but wtf? why can't I write a short fic?

Dinner had already been served by the time you made it to the Grand Hall, the smells of roasted meats and seasoned potatoes filling the air, your mouth watering as you navigated between the throngs of people. Your seat had been saved, of course. A spot on the bench between Draco and Daphne, and as you neared, your friends noticed, smiles rising and waves in your direction.

Sinking into your seat, you pressed a kiss to the cheek of the blond boy beside you, his face tipping up to receive it and lips twisting into a smile, attention moving to you as you sat.

“Good day?”

“Better now that it’s over.” You smiled, a chuckle falling from him, and his hand came to rest upon your thigh, squeezing comfortingly while you helped yourself to a plate of whatever food was left. “What are we talking about, what did I miss?”

“Not much. Just Theo telling us all about Christmas in Italy.” Mattheo rolled his eyes, as though you all hadn't heard this exact same speech since that very first Christmas you’d become friends. Most of the group seemed to have simply tuned it out, laughing and nodding at the correct times as they whispered their own conversations.

A swipe of a thumb over your thigh as you finished filling your plate with food, and you shifted your attention to Draco. “So, what are your Christmas plans, Dray?”

Shuffling a little bit closer now that your plate was full, his arm moved to lay across your shoulders instead, letting you snuggle up into his side. “Oh, you know, the usual.”

He smiled, and your world seemed to get a little bit brighter, his lips brushing your hairline as he left a barely-present kiss there.

“Typical Malfoy-family Christmas. I get to do the tour with my parents, visiting every other rich-arsehole couple they know. Christmas Eve party. The pleasure of my father’s annual ‘you’re growing up now, son, it’s time to get serious about the world’ over the dinner table on Christmas Day. Open some presents I don’t want, on a schedule I don’t like.” He sighed, clearly used to it by now, but it didn’t make it sound any less awful.

“Well,” You smile, nudging him playfully with your elbow. “Maybe we could write to one another, or even get a little visit in?”

The hope in your voice was evident, and Pansy gave you an encouraging smile across the table. You’d been meaning to ask Draco this question for weeks now, and your last chance had been fast approaching. Since the summer, you and Draco had been hooking up. It was no secret among your friends, or even the students; your affections for one another were hardly contained, but it wasn't official.

You wanted the labels, the security, and the safety of knowing that he was yours and you were his, and nobody else could come between you. You wanted to be introduced to his parents, be his date at events, to have him be proud to call you his girl. But Draco had been hesitant, avoiding every conversation that might inch into the ‘so, what are we?’ territory, keeping a safe distance from any kind of real commitment.

It wasn’t enough for you anymore, not by a long shot, but trying to talk to Draco about it only ended up with him shutting it down, or skilfully diverting the conversation and you were growing tired of his games.

Draco only made a vague noise, neither an agreement nor disagreement, and looked away from you as he picked up his drink to take a sip. “I don’t know… maybe. I can get pretty busy over the holidays, I’d hate to let you down.”

Another skill of his, making it seem like cancelling or delaying or not doing something at all was your idea. He was clearly hoping you’d brush it off, and tell him not to worry about it, but instead, you kept quiet. Not giving him the satisfaction of any easy win, this time.

Pansy caught your eye across the table, shaking her head disapprovingly, and shooting a glare at an oblivious Draco. She had been your confidant these last few months, every update and development in your situationship, she’d been informed of. Every decision, she’d been a part of. She was practically as invested as you were, at this point, and she certainly did not approve of his nonchalant behaviour either.

“Speaking of parties,” Mattheo cut Theo off, clearly having had enough of the annual rehashing of ‘that one Christmas when Theo was eight’ for today, and changing the subject, “Who’s got their dates sorted for the Malfoy Christmas Eve Ball, and who’s daring to go solo and have Narcissa set them up like a matchmaker all night long?”

Chuckles rang out among the group, and Pansy smiled, leaning into Blaise’s side with a love-struck grin. “I think we’re safe this year.”

“I’m going solo, but, I did tell Aunty Cissa that I have my eye on a girl in one of my classes, and I’m seeing how it plays out. So, she’s not setting me up anytime soon, since she believes I’m already onto someone.” Enzo smirked, and Blaise congratulated him for his clever tactics.

You smirked through your mouthful of food, listening to Mattheo explain his complex excuse, to Reggie mournfully spill the story of how he’s already been set up by his parents witha ‘potential bride to meet’, and how he hopes she doesn’t show up. You laugh with the others as Tom simply raises an eyebrow, knowing that even Narcissa doesn’t attempt to set him up anymore, lest he scare away any more of her friends’ daughters. Theo, ever the player he is, is looking forward to dancing with every single lady he can find, and taking his pick at the end of the night.

“I suppose nobody needs to ask Draco who his date will be.” Mattheo grins, wiggling his brows at the pair of you as you smile, leaning a little further into the man at your side.

“Hey, who knows?” He chortles, and your eyes narrow a little, “I’ve had plenty of offers. I haven’t made up my mind yet.”

“Oooh.” Enzo’s eyes went wide, the other boys joining in, and Pansy fixed him with a glare. Daphne leaned around you with her jaw dropped at his statement, and you sat up from his embrace, lips pressed flat and a brow raised.

The boys snickered, ‘he’s in shit’ and ‘someone’s in the doghouse’, but he lived for the spotlight, a drama queen at heart, and he smirked down at you.

“Oh, c’mon. Don’t look at me like that, babe.” The playful nickname was one he only ever used when joking around. When he was sincere, he was much more romantic; darling, sweetheart, beautiful. “What am I supposed to say? ‘Hi mum, hello father, meet the girl I’m skipping class to shag! Thanks for paying my tuition!’, I don’t think so.”

The boys all laughed, Daphne scoffed in sync with her sister behind you, and Pansy looked like she’d lunge across the table at any moment, if it wasn’t for her chastising Blaise for laughing, instead. ‘You and Draco can share that couch you’ll both be sleeping on tonight’, she’d said. ‘See how funny you think it is then’.

The words stung as he spoke them, dismantling your relationship down to the bare minimum; to sex and physical connection and nothing else. Like the nights spent talking until the sun came up were nothing, the times you’d held him while he cried, or washed him in the bath when he was so exhausted he could barely keep his eyes open. Like he didn’t rub your stomach for hours every month when you got cramps, or had a stash of your favourite snacks in his bedside table for whenever you came over.

You knew that Draco Malfoy lived you, just as much as you loved him. It was evident in everything he did, every kiss and every word. But, he needed a little push.

“I suppose you’re right,” You sigh lightly, giggling along with the laughing boys around the table. “I’m not so sure Lucius wouldn't burst a blood vessel then and there.”

“Exactly.” Draco hummed, and you glanced back to Pansy. She was shocked, only for a second, before taking in the subtle signs of mischief on your face. Her own smirk stretched out in return, and her gaze flickered once to Draco, before back to you.

A new game was afoot, and Draco wasn’t going to stand a chance.

Slipping your coat from your shoulders, the annual Malfoy Christmas Eve Ball was well underway. Your parents had disappeared into the crowds before you’d even stepped out of the carriage, uncaring of where you were as long as you weren’t causing trouble. They were here to mingle with the other importants, and you were just here to learn the ropes of proper socialising.

The garment was taken from you, your small bag clutched in hand as a ticket was given to you for it, and you brushed down the front of your dress delicately. Pearls moved under your touch, beading along the bodice flat and perfected, and you felt your confidence rise as you looked at yourself once more in the reflection of a dark window. Adjusting the small lace gloves on each hand, you took a step towards the dining room.

Elegant music was playing from a live band up on a stage, the room was decorated this year to look like a winter escape. Pale and frosty, like a palace of ice, twinkling lights and glittering decor, crisp white tablecloths and ice sculptures. A layer of goosebumps travelled along your skin at the sight of it all, despite the warming charms that took place for the guests.

Scanning the room, you quickly found your table. The designated kids table, despite you all being legal adults and far beyond such status. You’d all be the babies of the ball until the new generation emerged, no doubt. Moving through the bodies and crowds of people politely, Theo was the first to glance up and spot you, his mouth falling open, and a rush of confidence took over as he raised two fingers to his lips and whistled.

The sound caught the attention of the others’ chatter fading to quiet as they all turned to look for the object of his cat-calling, Enzo’s eyes widened, Pansy cheered loudly, and even Mattheo looked momentarily speechless. You’d had the same reaction when you’d seen yourself in the dress too, your stylist had truly outdone herself for this one.

You looked flawless, and you looked expensive, and utterly elegant. Doing a little spin as you approached, a smile broke free on your lips as you stopped before the chair with your name card before it.

“Merlin, babe,” Pansy started, drawing your attention straight her her, “You’ve got every eye on you tonight. If I was single, I’d be all over you.”

She winked when you laughed, and Blaise rolled his eyes but smiled, leaning in to kiss her cheek affectionately.

“Pretty necklace,” She commented, and your fingers rose to the pretty string of pearls and diamonds that you had.

“It was a gift,” You simply hummed, tugging at your gloves. Glancing at the others, you gave each a polite smile, eyes lingering on Draco as he stared. In any other style, this dress would be scandalous for an event like this. A low neckline, spaghetti straps, no sleeves. Tight and fitted to every curve of your body, and yet the classic designs and vintage nature elevated it to the kind of class Audrey Hepburn would be proud of.

He looked just as good, a dark suit, a fresh white shirt, a champagne-coloured tie that made the colour of his eyes and his hair stand out and your mouth dried out a little. Silver rings adorned his fingers, the Malfoy signet standing out, clenched so tightly around his whiskey glass that his knuckles were almost white.

You’d worn soft, golden makeup effects today, a dusting of glitter along your cheekbones and eyelids, a shade of pink on your cheeks and lips that you knew was his weakness.

“Someone really wanted your attention with that, huh?” Your best friend teased, and your eyes snapped away from Draco, back to her.

“I suppose so,” You muse, hand coming up to touch one of the beads on your ear, “Since they also got me this lovely pair of matching earrings.”

Pansy made a dramatic show of admiring them, and Blaise gave a funny look, glancing at the jewellery, and then back at Draco, who was frowning. Before you could reach for your chair after placing your clutch down, Enzo was shooting to his feet from beside you, tugging out the chair for you.

Draco scoffed as you gave him a thank you, settling into your seat, and he glared at the man beside you. Enzo didn’t flinch, however, smirking at Draco as he spoke;

“What? It’s called being a gentleman, cousin.”

Crossing your leg delicately, you’d hardly even removed your gloves, before a tray was coming down by your side, and a young waiter with a dazzling smile was looking right at you.

“Champagne, ma’am?” Not a planned pawn in your game, but a welcome addition, you smiled sweetly in return.

“Oh, I’d love some. Thank you.” Taking the single glass by the stem, you lifted it from the tray and the man’s smile stretched wider as you sipped the bubbly, holding his eye.

“Of course, miss. If you need anything, anything at all, I’ll be at the bar, happy to serve.” His flirting was heavy enough that normally you’d want to roll your eyes, but tonight, you suppressed that urge, playing into it as you bat your lashes.

“I’ll be sure to keep that in mind. Thank you.”

He took the dismissal, staring appreciatively as he walked away, another look over his shoulder to you as you watched him go.

“Stop eye-fucking the help.” Draco snapped, and your focus moved to him slowly, just to find his icy glare on you. He didn’t scare you, though, all that mean bravado, but you knew what was underneath.

“I was doing no such thing.” You tut, placing down your drink. “Don’t be jealous, Dray. You look even better in that suit. If you want compliments, just ask. No need to be mean.”

He seemed rather placated by this, his ego settling down, even if the others did laugh at him.

The conversation seemed to continue around you as you settled in, avoiding Draco’s heated stare and sipping at your champagne. The rush of warming alcohol through your veins settled every dancing nerve, and gave you the calm confidence to do what you had planned. Sitting forwards, just enough, you angled your body so that Draco might have the perfect view over your cleavage as you feigned interest in the chatter around you.

He took the bait, his gaze falling right where you wanted it, the gems of your necklace dangling just over the swell of your breasts, and he licked his lower lip, pulling it between his teeth.

Raising your hands and catching the swinging gem, you toyed with it carefully, letting it run over your fingers. Time melted away as Draco’s gaze flicked between your nimble touch, your lips, and your chest, shuffling in his seat every so often, and gulping at the bubbly in his glass.

He was on his third refill by the time food started to be taken around, and you took pity on him momentarily, sitting back in your chair and angling away from him, ready to receive your first course.

As the starters came around, you turned to thank your waiter, surprised to see it was the same man from the bar who had brought you your champagne. You’d given him little thought since he’d walked away, and you’d never spotted him again, but perhaps that was exactly why he was delivering your food now, as he beamed at you and set down the plate.

Men did love a little attention, after all.

Reaching for the bottle of champagne cooling in the centre of the table, the waiter never looked away from you as he refilled your glass without being asked. Draco finally seemed to notice as he finished adjusting his napkin, gaze narrowing on the man serving you. “You’ve got to be kidding me…” He muttered.

You pretended to take no notice, smiling at the man and waving your fingers flirtily as he walked away.

“I’m going to get another drink at the bar,” He announced, leaving without his glass and without asking if anyone else wanted one. You knew where he was truly going, if the lock of his jaw and the stamp in his step were any indication. You doubted you’d be seeing that waiter again.

As you poked at your food, Pansy excused herself too, only a few bites into her meal before she disappeared with a wicked grin and no explanation to anyone. Enzo just chuckled beside you, glancing around the room like he was watching all the cogs of a machine in motion, before turning his gaze on you. “You do look lovely tonight, do you know that?”

“Of course I do. I spent days on end trying on dress after dress to find this.” You sighed, admiring the gorgeous piece of art on your body as you set your cutlery down.

“And is it serving the purpose you need it to?” He teased, voice knowing, and you nodded. Flicking your gaze over the patrons and guests in the room, you searched for Draco, finding him talking politely to one of his mother’s friends at the bar.

“It is, I think.”

“Let’s hope it stays that way.” He whispered, your focus still on the man who truly held your heart, who was making his polite excuse and walking way, back towards you all. His gaze locked on yours, only for a second, before Pansy was calling your name and drawing your focus elsewhere.

When you looked up to her, she was grinning, a man by her side. “This is Elliot, he’s been wanting to meet you for some time. I promised him I’d introduce you both tonight.”

You offered the best smile you could as his cheeks reddened, and Pansy merely patted him on the shoulder, slinking away as you offered your hand to him. “Lovely to meet you, Elliot.”

“You too. As embarrassing as that introduction was, it’s true. I have wanted to meet you for some time.” He had a kind smile and pretty eyes, and he seemed far too nice to be dragged into your game tonight, but he seemed almost like a willing participant, and you weren’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth. As Draco took his seat, Elliot continued, “Pansy has told me so much about you. You know, if you’re free one day before you go back to that fancy boarding school of yours, I’d love to take you out.”

“Yeah? What have you got in mind?” You smile, twisting a little more to face him, and your encouragement only brightens his expression as Draco’s darkens in your peripheral.

“A night in London, perhaps. We could get dinner, and see the opera?”

“She doesn’t like the opera.” Draco sneered, openly staring at Elliot with enough contempt to scare away lesser men. Elliot tugged at his collar, glancing at Draco, and then back to you as you tried to hide your shock at his behaviour.

“The theatre, then?”

Draco looked ready to snap again, and before he could, you nodded, sparing your unwilling partner. “That sounds wonderful, I’ll see what my schedule says. I’ll get in touch with you through Pansy if I can find the time, is that okay?”

“Perfect.” He smiled, sneaking another wary glance at Draco who was not backing down from glaring at him unflinchingly, but Elliot shook it off, bravely. “It was a pleasure to meet you, truly.”

“And you, Elliot.”

Soon after he left, the plates were being cleared. You tried not to smirk as a different waiter, and one who very pointedly did not so much as even catch your gaze, cleared your dishes away at record speed.

You knew that Draco had something, everything, to do with that. He was jealous by nature, a spoilt single child who did not like to share his favourite toys, and that is exactly what you were betting on tonight.

You stood, taking a lap around the room with Pansy to settle your food before the next course, and to get another drink. She took the opportunity to fill you in on how her first Christmas event with Blaise’s family had gone, and when you returned, you made sure to surreptitiously place yourself behind Draco’s chair.

You placed a hand on his shoulder, a friendly gesture, squeezing and rubbing enough that your thumb swept over his collar and across his neck. His pulse jumped under your touch, and he tipped his head closer, into your touch.

As he did so, your heart leapt in your chest. To others, it might look like a friendly gesture but to you, it meant so much more. You were tempted to cave then and there, to live with this being enough, to settle, but you couldn't. You didn’t want this to be it, you wanted to follow this by leaning down to kiss him, to have him smile against your lips in public the way he did when you were alone.

To arrive at these events together, arms linked, and to stumble out tiredly together too. To sit by him, his hand on your thigh, to rest your head on his shoulder, to kiss him on the dance floor. The thought was enough to push you through.

He twisted his head, to kiss your hand like he often did when you did this. Carefully, you slipped your hand away just in time, knuckles brushing across the nape of his neck as you stepped away, and back to your seat.

His sights moved to you, but like a saving grace, the servers began to appear with more dishes, and dinner soon distracted you all. A delicious serving of salmon and potatoes, and the hall fell quiet enough for you to hear the beautiful music playing when chatter fell low.

Low conversation, drinks refilled, and that perfect mood set across the room, as people took to the tables and quieted down. Your favourite part of the night, usually. Good food, your friends, and a chance to catch up without the usual weight of it all sitting on you. Regulus was talking, telling the rare story that had him caught up in a long conversation where he usually just observed quietly, but your attention was fixed on your lover.

Until, Theo spoke up.

“Oh, merda,” He muttered across Reggie’s’ story, his gaze cutting to you alarmingly quickly. “I forgot to tell you.”

“Tell me what?” Your heart skipped a beat, a flash of panic.

“My cousin flew in last minute for the party, and he wants to speak to you.” Theo’s words soothed your panic, and you offered him a flat look for the dramatic way he’d put it. Taking a sip from your glass, you raised a brow.

“When?”

“Now.” He confirmed, sights lifting to sit just behind you, and before you could even turn, a chair was being pulled up beside your own from another table. Turning your head to the owner, a smile burst across your face at the man sitting before you.

“Dario!” Your arms were around his neck before you could stop yourself, and he was chuckling as he bundled you into an equally enthusiastic hug. He chuckled lightly, pulling back only far enough to press a friendly kiss to your cheek, and you cupped his face as you parted from him. “You’re growing a beard!”

“My mother hates it.” He chuckled, rubbing a hand over it. As you twisted a little more towards him, he reached down, practically manhandling you as he reached for the edge of your seat by your legs, tugging it sideways to face him. You squealed as the chair jolted, screeching on the floor, tugging you closer as he leaned in. “Sei incantevole.”

“Are you charming me in Italian?” You smirk, a boyish smile on his face as he lounged back in his seat. “What are you doing here, anyway? Theo said none of you were flying in this year! I thought you couldn't make it.”

“I couldn't,” He sighed, shrugging, “But, then I heard that you would be here, without a date, and I knew I just had to make it. So, here I am, la mia bella donna. You think a short flight from Italy would stop me rushing over here to you?”

Your giggle was against your control. Even if he was more like family than a romantic interest, the way his accent twisted around coyly spoken words, was enough to bring a blush to even the most unreceptive woman’s face. “Cut it out, you flirt.”

“You’ll save me a dance later, right?”

“We’ll see.” He rose his brow, and you lifted your glass, taking a sip of bubbly to hide your smile, leaving him hanging. “Depends on how much more of your cheesy flirting I can endure.”

“You mean my wonderful Italian charm?” He teased, pinching one of your cheeks, and deepening the flush he had already created. “Don’t think I don’t see the way I make you blush.

You could only scoff, mouth dry as you tried to think of a retort, and you didn’t miss Theo muttering in Italian behind you, curse words you’d picked up on tumbling from his mouth.

“Perhaps this can convince you,” Dario reaches for his inner pocket, producing a small, slim box. An excited squeak breaks from you as he hands it over, your fingers brushing the elegant leather, an Italian name embossed across the front. “Open it later, alright?”

You could only nod, admiring it happily, before slipping the box safely inside of your clutch. He took your hand, kissing your knuckles as he stood. A final wink as he offered you hid charming goodbyes, and a farewell to the rest of the table, before returning his borrowed chair to where he had taken it from.

You watched as your friend left, disappearing into the crowd, no doubt to mingle and socialise as he had always been so good at, before you swung back around in your chair.

“He taught you everything you know, huh, Nott?”

Theo only shrugged, a cheeky grin on his face. “What can I say, tesoro? We Nott men just have charm. We’ll woo your panties right off.” He winked, the cockiness not lasting long as Draco swung at him, a fist landing roughly on his arm as the Malfoy heir scowled, glaring at his best friend.

“Cut it out.” He growled the words through gritted teeth, and your hand shot up, rubbing at your lip to hide your grin as Draco made no effort to hide his own emotions. Theo only laughed, rubbing at the patch on his arm he’d taken the hit.

Dessert was served, a beautiful display of ice cream and winter berries that almost looked too good to eat. The key word being almost. You hadn't been able to resist, however, and the first small groan you’d let out as the sugar hit your tongue had Draco’s gaze snapping straight to you. I did not leave, once, after.

Instead, he watched, through a dark gaze, every curl of your lips around the spoon, every swipe of your tongue to catch the juice of burst berries. If you’d put on a little extra show, just for him, nobody else had to know.

It was like he was staring right into your soul, so intense, even after the meal was long since finished. Finally, you indulged him once again, turning to look at him and raising a brow. “Yes, Draco?”

“You look beautiful tonight, I am simply admiring.” He let his gaze move across you slowly, making his admiration apparent, and his gaze lingered a fraction of a second longer on your neck. He stared at you with open adoration, the kind of look that told you exactly how he felt, even if he was fighting it, but he was close to breaking. He was close to losing this game he didn’t know he was playing. Then, his gaze flickered over your shoulder, sweet observation morphing. His brows drew together, his open hand slamming down on the table hard enough to make the glass rattle. “Oh, fucking hell…”

Mattheo erupted with sudden laughter, loud and brash, and there was a tap on your shoulder before you could even ask him what had him in such hysterics. A young man you did not know, perhaps a few years younger than you, and glanced around the table to see which of your friends had put this one together. Each seemed to have caught on in their own time, and had a hand in adding to the fun, to watch Draco suffer more, but none of them were laying any claim to this one.

“I’ve been watching you all evening, and you are beautiful.” He smiled, stuttering over his words slightly, and Draco made no shy show of his disdain, rolling his eyes and making a disapproving sound. “I was wondering if you might grant me the pleasure of a dance?”

“She would dance with you,” Enzo interrupted, before you could speak at all, leaning forward toward the edge of your chair from his own, and you could have kissed him in gratitude for saving you. “But, she promised me her first dance. Isn’t that right, love? And I think now is the perfect time. Let’s go.”

Offering you his hand, you took it, letting him sweep you away without a second’s delay, navigating you both to the dance floor and twirling you expertly into his arms. One hand clasped your own, the other sitting at a respectable place on your waist, your own on his shoulder, and he fell into the well-rehearsed steps of a classical ballroom dance he’d been doing since he could walk.

You let out a shaky sigh, relief flooding your veins as you looked back to your seat, noticing that the boy had taken Enzo’s rejection well and disappeared, not hanging around and waiting for your return.

“You’re killing him slowly, like a predator playing with its prey,” Enzo smirked, neither of you needing to clarify who you were talking about, as he brought up his cousin.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Really?” He chuckled, spinning you out before pulling you back in, sharp actions that made you dizzy with their accuracy, and you grinned as he brought you tumbling right back into his arms, perfectly. If he’d been trying to win you over, his dancing alone would’ve had you swooning. “You just show up to a fancy event like this, dripping in diamonds and pearls and looking like a million bucks, supposedly single. You mean to tell me you didn’t know that all these rich London boys wouldn't descend on you like vultures?”

“Not my fault I’m single and hot, Enz.”

He just laughed, dipping you a little. “We do struggle, don’t we.” You wove between people, a happy silence falling between you both once again as he guided you over the floor, back and forth, “Are you, though? Single, I mean.”

“That is up to your cousin.”

“Touché.”

You continued to move, until your feet were sore from all the twirling, clinging to Enzo in fits of giggles as he spun and twirled and dipped you more, hands on your waist as he lifted you through the air, making a show of his dancing.

He may have seemed altruistic in his gestures, sweeping in to save you and Draco from your dance with the boy, but he was using you too. Enzo was taking every opportunity to show off his moves to every lady around the room watching, a flirty smile on his face between conversations and he glanced around, and you wouldn't be surprised if he received more offers than Theo or Dario by the end of the night.

As the third song came to an end, and the music fell for just a second, you panted slightly, arm around his neck now, looking up at him with flushed cheeks and a bright smile. “Can we take a break?”

“Tired, already? You only gave me three so far.” He smirked at the way your jaw dropped, your face going hot and you knew your cheeks were red. You untangled yourself from his body, barely making it a step away from his laughter before he wrapped an arm around your waist, tugging you into his side. “Oh, c’mon. I thought the aim was to flirt and make him mad?”

“He’s not even here to listen!”

“I’m practising,” Enzo murmured, steering you towards the bar, and leaning on the wood as he flagged down the bartender. You were quickly served, by a woman who fawned over Enzo as she passed by, and you had to snap your fingers in front of his face to snap his gaze away from her retreating form. “So, how long are you going to make him—”

A tap on Enzo’s shoulder cut him off, and he turned to look, straightening up instantly from his slumped position. As soon as he moved so you could see, your relaxation melted away too, as you found yourself face to face with Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy.

“Lorenzo, I’ve hardly had a chance to talk to you all evening. I want to ask you about your schoolwork.” The impressively formal and deep voice of Lucius Malfoy settled over your skin like fresh snow, cold but smooth, and you shuddered.

Narcissa only chuckled lightly at her husband’s words, her eyes on you. “You’ve been busy, though. Who is your lovely lady?”

“Uncle Lucius, Aunt Cissa. This is my friend, (Y/n).”

It wasn’t exactly the circumstances you’d wanted to meet them under, but you smiled nonetheless, nerves running wild as you offered your hand to them both, shaking politely just as your parents had taught you.

“Ah, (Y/n). Yes. I make a point of knowing all of Draco’s school friends, but I’m in business with your father, aren’t I?” Something like a small kernel of sweetness was buried in that statement, his interest in his son’s life, even if he tried to hide it behind formalities, but it wasn’t your place to comment.

“Yes, sir. That is correct.”

“They’re very proud of your schoolwork. They were telling me about your latest project. You synthesised a new potion to grow murkweed faster, is that true?”

You were surprised he knew so much, your small project submitted for Herbology was the last thing you’d expected Lucius Malfoy to know of, or take an interest in, and your mouth felt like sandpaper as you tried to form words. “Yes. Yes, sir. That’s right.”

“Interesting.” That calculating gaze scanned over you, analysing you from head to toe, like he could see right through you with a single glance. “That is impressive, for someone of your age. I’d be open to learning more. Are you considering making a future out of your alchemy talents? I have connections that I could contact for you.”

You were speechless, your stomach going wild with butterflies born of both excitement and anxiety. He smirked, a look that would set you on edge if you weren’t sure deep down that this was in your interests, not against them.

“Perhaps we can discuss it more soon, when we next see you. With Enzo?”

Enzo’s arm around your waist shifted, a reassuring weight that you were sure had been your only grounding presence for this surreal conversation. He patted your hip encouragingly. “Oh, no, we aren’t…”

Motioning between you both, Lucius’ brows furrowed, and Narcissa tried to hide her sigh.

“Sorry to disappoint you, Aunt Cissa. (Y/n) isn’t mine, though it is wonderful that you approve.” Before either could question him, or expand on their confusion, Enzo gave your waist a final rub, before removing his touch from you entirely, and stepping towards his family. “Shall we go and discuss schoolwork then, Uncle? You have questions, and I have answers. I hope the ones you want.”

“It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss (Y/l/n).” Lucius politely offered you his hand again, shaking it firmly, and that was about as friendly a dismissal as you’d ever get from him, you’d heard. This was only supported by the surprised look on Narcissa’s face, and the beam Enz gave you as he guided his uncle away.

“I hope to see you again soon, (Y/n). You look wonderful this evening, thank you for coming.” Narcissa murmured, before following her husband and nephew, glancing back at you only once over her shoulder. She knew. The woman was far more cunning than she let on, the true embodiment of a sneaky Slytherin, observing quietly and taking everything in. Her eyes glinted. She knew you knew she knew, too.

Your heart was pounding, cheeks warm as you lifted your fingers to them cautiously. The disappointed waitress placed down two drinks before you, Enzo long gone without his, but you smiled at her with appreciation, fingers shaking a little as you lifted the glass to your lips to take a sip.

You’d spoken to Draco’s parents.

They’d liked you. Lucius had offered to put you onto the career path, and Narcissa had complimented your dress. A soft laugh of disbelief slipped free, your eyes sliding closed for just a second as you revelled in the moment.

It hasn’t been what you’d set out for tonight, but it was far more than what you’d hoped for. Opening your eyes again, to head back to the table and find Draco, you were met by the sight of a stranger leaning before you on the bar, grinning down at you in amusement. “Hello.”

“Hi.” You gave a terse smile, and a single nod. “If you’ll excuse me—”

“I didn’t even get to ask you to dance yet. Saw you out on the floor with the Berkshire boy, earlier, and I thought—”

“I’m dancing with her next, mate. Piss off.”

Draco rarely sounded that mad, a chill went down your spine as you felt an arm slide around your waist, tugging you back into his chest. “Dray…”

The stranger only scoffed, glaring at Draco as he wandered away, and your hand reached for his forearm on your body. He snatched it away too soon, however, tugging on your hip to turn you around. His jaw was clenched tight, eyes more frozen than the coldest glacier. “Dance with me.”

Not a request, and he didn’t wait for an answer, before plucking your drink from your hand and slamming it down onto the bar, guiding you back to the swaying bodies. Standing before you, you offered him your hand, your hand sitting lightly on his shoulder. He didn’t take the respectable route, instead, his arm wrapped tight around your waist, sweeping you close to his body, and beginning to move you both in simple steps.

It was several minutes before he relaxed, your arm sliding further around his neck in a more intimate hold, bringing the two of you much closer, swaying slowly. The tension in his body gave way with every step, and with a resigned sigh, he finally spoke, “You met my parents.”

“I did. They were lovely. Very curious about Enzo and I’s relationship.”

His hand clenched on your waist, and you tipped your head at him as his piercing gaze drilled into you. One more move…

“Oh, don’t be so mad, Dray. We’re only shagging, after all. You’ll find a new girl if I get swept away by someone else.”

His eyes narrowed, jaw clenching, and a fire burned in those silver eyes now, melting the ice away with rage. Checkmate.

“You win, alright? I’m not playing this stupid game any longer.” He took a deep breath, and another, fingers twitching on your back as jealousy bubbled under the surface. “For fucks sake, how many pieces of jewellery from other guys are you wearing? Who bought you those earrings, that necklace? I should be the only one buying you gifts. I should be the one spoiling you. You want the Malfoy family ring? I’ll go yank it off my mother’s engagement ring from her finger right now, just take all this off.”

He studied you for a second, confusion growing at the smirk that grew on your lips. Victory was yours, and you leaned in, pressing a delicate kiss to his cheek. Letting the hand from his neck smooth down his chest, his gaze stayed locked on the jewels around your neck, glaring angrily. “No.”

“No?”

“No. It’s pretty. I’m going to keep wearing it all, let it remind you what you have. Next time you piss me off, forget a date, or use the last of my shampoo, I’m going to put it all back on so you can remember how many guys would jump at the chance.” His nostrils flared, but he stayed silent, wisely knowing when to keep his mouth shut. “I don’t want your family ring, Malfoy. Not yet. I just want a proper title, and the respect that comes with it. I’m not your booty call, or your side piece. You don’t want to play games anymore? Then don’t.”

“You already won.” He whispers, his head dropping down to let his forehead rest on your own. “You know how much you mean to me.”

“Yes, I do. But I want the whole world to know it, too, Dray.”

He didn’t respond verbally. Instead, he twisted his head, enough to press his mouth to your own, silencing any more arguments between you both as he kissed you. His lips claimed yours, a tender and loving kiss, showing everyone just how much you meant to him. There was no mistaking the emotions within it, not as his arms wrapped around your body, holding you to him as the pretence of dancing was given up, your hand on the back of his head, fingers in his hair, meeting every push and pull.

When he pulled away, your smile took over, bashful now under his openly adoring gaze, and he stole several more pecks from your lips. A happy sound escaped you as he tugged you in, tucking his face into your neck, and swaying you both to the music.

“Have I told you how beautiful you look tonight?”

“You have, but I’d be open to hearing it again.” Your hand smoothed over his hair, and he chuckled against your skin, leaving a kiss on the crook of your neck before raising to meet your eye.

“You are breathtaking, darling. I’m in awe. This colour is my favourite, you know.”

“Why do you think I wore it?”

His fingers trailed down your spine, eyes sparkling even more at that revelation. “How about we get out of here? We’ll make our goodbyes to my parents, and head out.”

“Our goodbyes?” You repeated as he took your hand, lacing your fingers together.

“Yes. From their son and his girlfriend. I think you deserve a proper introduction, after all.”

Tugging you across the floor, he gave you no time to prepare, and certainly, none to disagree, as you smoothed your hair and attempted to control the blush he’d brought to your cheeks. Through the crowds he wove, until he was pulling to a stop just shy of his parents, and Enzo looked as though he could have cried with relief when Lucius’ intense focus was taken away from him. The boy quickly slipped away as both of Draco’s parents turned to face you.

“Miss (Y/l/n), when we said we hoped to see you again soon, I didn’t realise you’d take it quite this literally.” He murmured, voice as low and calm as always, and your lips parted, a different kind of heat flooding your features.

“Oh, behave now, Lucius,” Narcissa grinned, her gaze dropping to your clasped hands, before she reached up to her son’s face, pinching his cheek with a smile. “Draco, darling, I’ve hardly seen you all evening.”

“Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you Mother, but we’ll be leaving early.” She only gave him a knowing look, ignoring Lucius’ displeased huff, as if she wasn’t surprised at all.

“‘We’?”

“My girlfriend and I.” He said, proud and strong, before tugging you forward a little more to stand in front of him. His hand left your own, circling your waist instead, and she offered him a smile at the news.

“I see.” She smiled, patting her son’s cheek affectionately, before turning that knowing gaze on you. “Now Lorenzo’s evasiveness whenever I asked him about you makes sense.”

“You asked about me?” Your words were a rushed squeak, which only seemed to amuse Narcissa more.

“Of course, dear. I wanted to know more about you. I’d ask you to sit and chat with me for a spell, but I believe my son might combust if I did.”

“Mother!” He gasped, and Lucius only tutted.

“Draco.” His father growled softly, shaking his head, and the red on his son’s cheeks only grew.

“You both may go, for now. But I hope you’ll visit me soon, and we might talk?”

“You mean… just us?” Your words tapered off to a near whisper, and Lucius smirked to himself as Draco rolled his eyes.

“Yes, dear. We’ll have tea.”

You could only nod, bidding your final farewells to them both in a state of awe, before Draco was hurrying you along. Tight hands gripping your waist, lips on your neck as he loved you through the crowds, swiping up your bag and giving you barely a moment to say goodbye to your friends before sweeping you away again. It was only due to the snow falling outside, you were sure, that he allowed you to stop long enough to get your coats.

Helping you, he lifted the garment onto you from behind, kissing your cheek as he reached around your body to fasten it. His elegant coat was already on, and leather gloves were on his hands as he offered you one. Lacing your fingers through his own, he smiled, tugging you out into the freezing night, and ushering you around the side of the Manor, away from the stream of cars lined up for guests as they left.

“Where are we going, Dray?”

“To one of the gardens near the path.” He never turned back, leading you carefully around patches of ice and slippery snow as you moved, the light from the house fading. It was almost pitch black, before he mumbled a small spell, and the garden lights glowed to light, glittering on the fresh blanket of ice.

Sitting on the grass was an old-fashioned sleigh, enchanted to keep dry, even in the snow, and two reindeer sat happily in the snow snuffling at the grass and scattered food.

The landscape stretched out far before you both, trees and grass and walls all covered in snow like something from a Christmas card, and the sigh that left your lips clouded in the air before your face.

“Oh, Draco…” Taking a few steps closer, snow-tipped over the tops of your heels as you stepped off the pathway onto the grass, chilling your feet for only a second, before Draco was following. Scooping you up into his arms, you kicked the ice from your feet with a giggle, your arms looping around his neck. “What’s all this?”

“This is your Christmas present. I didn’t realise that was the kind of ice you wanted instead.” He muttered, eyes flicking down to your neck, as he carried you carefully through the snow and towards the ornate sleigh. As you leaned in to kiss his cheek, he smiled shyly, avoiding your gaze as he became embarrassed, “I wanted to do something romantic for you. We can take the sleigh back to the town, get a cab, and take the jet anywhere you want to go. Pansy already packed a bag for you.”

He placed you down on the edge of the sleigh, letting you shuffle across onto the warmed leather. With another kiss to your lips, he scoffed at your smile.

“Merry Christmas, my wicked little girlfriend.”

“I can’t believe you arranged all this.” You were practically bouncing in your seat, watching as Draco nervously tugged on the reins, prompting the lazy animals to stand back up, before settling into the sleigh himself. Like they knew just what to do, they took off in a slow trot, tugging the pair of you along through the snow.

“Maybe if you’d have waited, instead of making me fight for my life tonight, you’d have been surprised.”

His arm was splayed along the back of the seat, and you snuggled in a little closer to him. Curling his arm around you, he pressed a kiss to your forehead, shaking his head and burying his nose in your hair. “If I didn’t make you fight for me, Dray, you’d probably have introduced me to your mother as your study partner. I gave you a little push, that’s all.”

“Is that so?” He muttered, guiding your face up so he could peck your lips. “Who do you think helped me arrange all of this for my ‘lovely lady friend’, hm? I’ve been writing to my mother about having an interest in someone for months now. You underestimate me.”

“You never gave me any other indication!”

“Oh, please. You walk me like a damn dog, you knew how I felt.” His mouth closed over your own, stealing a kiss, and you couldn't help but smile into it. “I think tonight just proves it.”

The sleigh trotted on as Draco kissed you in the back, beyond thought and reason, your hands tucked into his coat for warmth as he kept you cuddled in close to his side.

Minutes melted away, the two of you lost in your own world as you jostled and trotted through the fields, back toward the town. Whatever he had planned, it had been in motion for days, and the thought only made you fall a little more in love with him. Perhaps you had underestimated him, but none of it mattered now, not when he was kissing you like you were his only way to breathe, and you had him in your arms, properly, at last.

“So, Pansy knew about your little plan?”

“Yes. I told her days ago.”

“Hm…” You loved her, and it was perhaps her knowledge of Draco’s actions that made this all the funnier. “So, she knew about your plan, and mine. And still, she made sure to introduce guys to me all night. She played us both just for her own amusement.”

As you thought of her, your fingers lifted to your neck, sitting on the delicate jewellery there, and Draco huffed. Looping his finger underneath it, he tugged lightly. “Can you take this off now, please?”

“Why would I do that?” His pout deepened, glaring at the offending item, and you gave in with an airy laugh. “Pansy, Daph and Tori picked it out personally.”

“What?” His head snapped up, pout gone as his jaw dropped, and he was not laughing like you were. “You let me believe another guy decked you out in diamonds all night! What about the matching earrings?”

“Blaise.”

“The bracelet?”

“Theo and the Notts.”

At that mention, his eyes narrowed again, searching for your clutch and finding it resting in your lap. “But Theo’s cousin Mario gave you a separate gift.”

“Dario.” You corrected, and he mimicked it childishly, scoffing afterwards. “Well, that part was real. He truly was flirting, and I have no idea what it is, I haven’t opened it yet.”

“Give it to me.” He reached for your bag, a second too slow as you swiped it away from him with a gasp. He didn’t give up, still trying to snatch it as he leaned over you, pressing you back into the seat through fits of laughter, the two of you fighting over the bag until it was pressed to your chest, your eyes wide as you stared up at him, shaking your head. “Give it to me! I’m chucking it, hand it over!”

“No, it’s mine!” He slumped back into his seat, panting for breath and smoothing his hair back down. He was pointedly staring away in the opposite direction, and when you leaned in closer with a chuckle, he leaned away. Grabbing his shoulder, you planted yourself firmly in his lap, kissing the underside of his jaw. “I’m keeping it, but your present is better, I just know it. Whatever it is, could never beat this.”

“Promise?”

“I promise, Dray.”

He gave in, wrapping his arms around your waist, tugging you in closer to his body and pressing a happy kiss to your cheek. “Fine, but I’m buying you a new necklace when we get off the damn plane. I don’t care who bought that one.”

#draco malfoy #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy x you #draco malfoy/reader #draco malfoy/you #harry potter #slytherin boys #tom felton #draco malfoy x y/n

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kryptonitejelly · 8 months ago

Text

draco malfoy x reader (female)

the one where Blaise notices the Malfoy signet ring on your finger.

send draco requests.

The air smells like a combination of Draco and yourself, but mostly Draco - notes of citrus overlaid with the scent of tea and smoky wood. His sheets are cool against the surface of your skin, a sensation which lends a sharp contrast to the warmth of his bare chest against your cheek. You can feel one of his hands tracing patterns onto the skin of your back, as he other hand fiddles absently with your fingers which you have splayed out across his chest, a lazy post-coital haze surrounding you both.

“Who knew the Draco Malfoy would be one for cuddling,” you say teasingly your fingers tugging lightly on the long slender digits which are still tangled with yours. This isn’t the first time you’ve been here, your naked form flush against Draco’s in the same bed in which he had you legs hooked over his shoulder, his name a litany on your lips just mere moments ago.

“I’m not,” he scoffs with a roll of his eyes, as he manages to squeeze your fingers in his, a subtle battle for dominance among you both.

“Alright then,” you say both suddenly and with a calculated carelessness as you push your hands, fingers still tangled in his against his chest as you make a move to sit up. The covers slip easily down your skin with no clothes to act as friction. It exposes you, your nipples hardening upon contact with the cool air. You’e barely managed to get up when you feel the arm wrapped around you shift, fingers pressing more firmly into your hip to pull you back down.

“Where do you think you’re going,” Draco questions. He keeps his tone indifferent but the arm which has tightened around your body tells a different story.

“I’m sure Theo likes to cuddle,” you express matter of factly, keeping your expression innocent and it earns you an icy gaze from the blonde, cool grey boring in you. Draco observes you for almost a full minute before speaking.

“I’m sure he does not,” is what he finally says as a retort, his tone more disgruntled this time.

You open your mouth to disagree only to feel your back pressed flat into the mattress, Draco’s body now covering yours, his movements swift. You see the glint in his eyes as he lowers his head towards yours.

“Draco,” you breathe his name out. He doesn’t respond but presses his lips to yours. His hands find yours, fingers tangling together, pinning your hands above your head. You kiss him back, teeth nipping his lip lightly which earns your a low growl from the back of his throat. You can feel Draco hardening, his length pressed against your stomach. Your almost miss it with the competing sensations overtaking your body - lips, hands, skin, but your brain manages to register the feeling of Draco slipping cool metal from the signet ring on his last finger onto your index.

“Well, well, well - look who decided to join us,” Blaise calls out too cheerily, taking in the sight of you and Draco walking into the small sitting room in what had come to be Draco’s side of the Malfoy manor.

“It is surprising that I’m joining you in the sitting room of the Malfoy manor,” comes Draco’s reply which earns a good natured chortle from Theo and an eye roll from Pansy.

“Well, you can’t blame us for thinking that you two would be,” Blaise pauses for dramatic effect, “…otherwise occupied.” His unsaid words clear.

As with the rest, you and Draco had been childhood friends. However, years of tension that neither of you had acted upon had only cumulated more recently, and with Pansy’s blessing, into this, whatever it was. You both hadn’t yet spoken about it, the touching, sleepovers, sex, and there had been no outward proclamations to the world at large that either of you was anything other than single, and yet - it was no secret among anyone who knew either of you that you were both very unavailable.

“You mean book club?” You managed to keep a straight face as you question Blaise too innocently. It earns you a smirk from Draco and an amused chuckle from Pansy, your joke clear as you stop by the table facing the floor to ceiling windows which they are sitting by.

You reach across the table for a handful of blueberries from a bowl beside Theo’s elbow when you feel Blaise grab your wrist lightly, his fingers curling around, as he holds your wrist up in triumph, brandishing it around. You place your free hand flat down on the surface of the table, stabilising yourself as you lean forward into Blaise’s pull.

“I didn’t know book club members were all given the Malfoy signet ring,” he grins wildly at the discovery. The group’s gaze flickers to Draco’s hand, noticing the lack of the ring, usually a mainstay, on his the last finger of his left hand.

“If I join book club could I get one too?” Theo quips cheekily as you feel your cheeks start to heat both at your current plight as well as with recollection of what had been a subtle act of possessive on Draco’s part earlier.

“Zabini,” Draco says, tone still even as he reaches over, his hand curling around your forearm, tugging you out of Blaise’s grip, while ignoring Theo, “if she’s wearing the Malfoy signet ring don’t you think you should think twice before manhandling her?”

“Is she yours Draco,” Pansy adds to the chaos, an equally wide smirk on her face as Blaise lets your wrist slip out from his hold with ease while throwing you a wink.

“If you thought otherwise then you lot must be more dim than I thought ,” is all Draco says as he sits down. He lets you drop onto the chair beside him before reaching over to pull the piece of furniture and you closer to his side, the drag of it on the floor audible.

It earns him a whoop from Blaise, two hands thrown up in the air from Theo as he yells “finally”, and a laugh from Pansy who blows a kiss at you.

Draco slides his arm across the back of the chair, before looking at you brows lifted slightly, but his question is clear, you’ve never spoke about this and Draco wants to know - are you okay with this?

“I am,” you say as you lean forward to press your lips briefly against his. It only causes a louder ruckus at the table.

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agreeeeeeeeeee · 2 months ago

Note

PLEASEEEE MORE POSSESSIVE JELOUS DRACO🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️YOUR BAD SANTA FIC WAS LITERALLY EVEYTHING. POSSESSIVE MEN GOT ME WEAK

thank you for the request!! hope this is satisfactory 🫶🏻

Flutterby Baby | D.M.

feat. Draco Malfoy x fem!reader

SUMMARY: Draco finds out another student sabotaged your Herbology project.

CW: MDNI 18+, smut, draco’s pov, established relationship, possessive!draco, bullying, hurt/comfort, men suck, sort of rough fingering & piv, affectionate degradation if you squint (he refers to her as a plant), blood/fighting

masterlist

Draco watched as you pushed your pasta around your plate, staring absently at the whirls of sauce on the porcelain. You’d been quiet the entire meal, only speaking when directly spoken to by your group of friends, and even then, it was half-hearted, brief answers.

Both were unusual for his talkative, carb-loving girl.

He placed a light hand on your thigh, leaning closer to you. The warmth of your skin, the sweetness of your perfume, beckoned him even closer, but he ignored his impulses. “Everything alright, darling?” He asked, low enough that your friends couldn’t hear.

“Yes, just not very hungry,” you said in your pretty little voice, placing your hand over his and pecking his cheek.

He didn’t buy it. “I can track down some takeaway and we can eat in my dorm, if you’d like,” he offered, wondering if the commotion in the Great Hall was a bit too much for you.

You shook your head, another stunning development. You never turned down takeaway. “I’m fine, baby. Thank you, though.”

“Well, if you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask. I’ll make one of these sod’s fetch it for you,” he teased, hoping to get a smile out of you. He didn’t.

Draco sighed, pressing a kiss to your temple before turning back to the conversation he was in the middle of with Theo and Pansy. He continued to watch you in his periphery as you started to play with his fingers, twirling his signet ring around and around. As much as he enjoyed the mindless contact, the delicate brush of your skin, he knew this was a nervous habit of yours.

He had half-a-thought to excuse you both, but he knew that would only draw more attention to your melancholy state, which would likely make you feel even worse. He could pick your brain later. Right now, he needed to make sure you were fed.

Casually, he picked up his fork, twirling a bit of his own pasta around the tines. Without breaking away from his conversation, he held the fork up to you, hoping you’d take a bite without really thinking about it. It was a small ritual the two of you developed during lengthy family dinners, something you often did automatically if he offered food to you. He felt you shift forward, your mouth wrap around the small bite, and you ate it.

He squeezed your thigh, a flare of affection making his heart pound. Good girl, he thought, but refrained from saying aloud.

The rest of dinner continued like that, Draco keeping your friends talking and distracted while he fed you small bites of his own dinner, your fingers twined with his in your lap. When he held up a bite and you gave small shake of your head, he knew it was because you were actually full, and he set his fork down, satisfied. For now.

That night in the common room, you were curled up in your chair by the fire, a book open in your lap while everyone pretended to study around you. He watched your eyes, your hands curled around the cover, and you were motionless. No pages turned, no lines devoured.

His worry deepened. Blaise seemed to notice as well, and gave him a curious look, dark brow raised. And of course, Theo caught the exchange, but turned back to his work, pretending he didn’t.

A prickle of suspicion climbed Draco’s neck. Typically, Theo was the first one to make a fuss over someone being in a sour mood due to his inability to tolerate negative emotions, but this time, he stayed silent.

Very odd, indeed.

But he could worry about Theo later. Draco lifted himself from the couch and walked over to you, dropping onto the floor in front of your chair. He tilted his head back, resting it against your shins. You reached down, dragging your fingers through his hair while you continued “reading” your book. He let his eyes flutter closed at the sensation, and tried to think of a way to draw you out of your head.

Lips pressed against his forehead, your perfume wafting over him, and he hummed in appreciation, reaching up to cradle your face. You leaned your cheek into his palm, and he titled his head back a little further to connect your lips in a soft kiss.

Your lips moved against his, brief and tender, and some of his tension unwound. It didn’t seem that you were upset with him, which was a relief. But, he wasn’t any closer to figuring out what exactly was troubling you.

“I’m going to go to bed,” you murmured in his ear, and he blinked in surprise, checking his watch.

It wasn’t even nine o’clock.

“So early, love? Are you feeling alright?” He turned to face you, rising to his knees. The group noticed, but he was too concerned to care. He placed the back of his hand on your forehead, your cheek, your neck, but you waved him away.

“I’m fine, D. Just tired,” you said, averting your eyes from his and rising from your chair.

“Baby—”

You leaned down and kissed him again, cutting off his protest. “I love you, I’ll see you in the morning,” you said, pecking his cheek one more time before walking towards the girls dormitory and ascending the stairs.

Draco slumped back to the ground, scrubbing a hand over his face.

“What did you do to her?” Pansy accused after a moment of tense silence.

“Nothing,” he snapped, though it was mostly toothless.

“She was acting strangely at dinner too,” Blaise noted. “She didn’t even have dessert.”

“Yeah, and she loves those chocolate things—what are they called?” Theo chimed in.

“Cauldron cakes,” Draco answered, glaring at them, irked that they were paying that close of attention to you. That was his job.

“Are you going to follow her?” Blaise asked, glancing at the stairs.

“No, he should give her some space,” Pansy said, giving him a pointed look.

“I’m perfectly capable of managing my girlfriend’s needs. Thank you,” he bit, and they fell quiet. He would leave you be, for now, but if you were still in a funk tomorrow evening, he’d be forced to intervene.

You were decidedly still unlike yourself come the following morning, and when he saw you during your shared Potion’s class. He continued to monitor the situation, trying to be patient like you often asked him to be, but that went out the window when you returned from your Herbology class with Theo in tears.

As soon as Draco saw your red and puffy eyes, he was on his feet. You ran straight into his chest, burying your wet face in his robes and digging your chilled hands into his back, trembling as your tears returned in earnest.

“Darling, what’s happened? What’s going on?” He cooed, wrapping his arms around your shaking torso, petting your hair in an attempt to soothe you. You didn’t respond, just held him tighter as you cried.

Theo tried to slip around the two of you, but Draco pinned him with a glare.

“What happened?” Draco hissed at him.

“Her Flutterby bush is dying,” Theo whispered, and you started to cry harder.

Shit. You’d slaved half the semester over this Flutterby bush in Herbology, it was your pride and joy, and you often stayed after hours with Professor Sprout to tend to it and the rest of the greenhouse. You had the greenest thumb Draco had ever encountered, and that plant was your baby. There was no way it would just suddenly die.

Draco raised a brow, and Theo made a ‘tell you later’ face. He nodded his head to dismiss his friend and turned his attention back to you, his poor, sensitive girl.

“Baby, it’s going to be alright. I’m sure you’ll figure out what’s going on—”

You shook you head. “It doesn’t make sense,” you sniffled, your voice muffled by his shirt. “It was perfectly fine. There’s no bugs or blights, I don’t understand.” You lifted your face, cheeks streaked with tears and lashes spikey, your eyes rimmed with red. The state of you made his heart ache.

“It’ll be alright,” he whispered, wiping your cheeks with his thumbs and pressing a kiss to your nose. “If anyone can save it, you can. You’re brilliant, love.” He used his sleeve to wipe your eyes and your nose before bundling you into his side. “Come on, relax for a bit with Pansy. That’ll help you think a little more clearly, yeah?”

You nodded, letting him deposit you on the couch beside your friend, who immediately abandoned what she was doing to fuss over you.

He kissed the top of your head, satisfied that you were well looked after for the time being. “I love you, I’ll be right back, okay?” He murmured, and you nodded again.

Theo was waiting for him in the hall. “Okay, so don’t get mad,” he said, holding his hands up.

Draco’s anger instantly flared. “Don’t give me a reason to get mad then.”

“She told me not to tell you because she knew you’d get all—” Theo gestured vaguely at Draco. “All…this.”

“Out with it, Nott,” he growled, fully prepared to punch his best friends nose through the back of his skull. What could you possibly want to keep from him?

“We think someone poisoned her plant,” Theo said, grimacing.

Draco froze, rage flaring so suddenly it darkened his vision. “What?” he snarled.

“We can’t say for sure yet,” Theo said hurriedly, trying to get ahead of the oncoming storm. “But there’s this one guy—”

“Who?”

“Reinhardt? Renfield? Something like that, I don’t know, he’s a Gryffindor. But he—Draco, where are you going?”

Draco was already halfway down the hall, formulating a plan in his mind about how to find this guy, and how to make him wish he’d never been born.

Theo grabbed his shoulder. “Listen, I have a better idea than storming the Gryffindor common room,” he said, and Draco paused.

“Go on.”

Draco loitered outside the Greenhouse, hidden by some trees, a stupid plastic ear in his hand. Theo had the other tucked into his robes, and Draco could hear Sprout beginning her lecture through their connection.

Draco sighed. This was ridiculous, he should just waltz in there and figure out exactly who this—

“Hey, y/n,” he heard someone mutter, an unfamiliar male voice, and he immediately held up the ear to listen. “Flutterby’s not lookin’ so good. Maybe I could help clear away some of the dead stuff?”

Draco's ears started ringing so loudly, he almost missed your response.

“I'm killing it just fine on my own, Renley, I don't need any assistance from you.”

He heard Theo snicker in the background, and Draco smiled. Atta girl.

“My mandrakes are thriving, thank you,” Renley replied, his voice tight with indignation. “It's a real shame about yours, though. Probably would have gotten you top marks.”

You didn't respond, and Draco gripped a tree branch to stop himself from charging through the glass to get this audacious fucker.

“Fuck off, Renford,” Theo warned, the feed clouded by his robes rustling.

“It's Renley,” the prick corrected, his voice a little louder, and Draco could practically hear Theo roll his eyes. “So, what do you say, sweetheart?” Sweetheart? Oh, this fucker was a dead man walking. “I'm willing to stay after and help you out. I'm good with poisons—”

“Poison’s?” You asked, a snarky lilt to your voice, and Draco loosed a relieved exhale despite the implication. For the first time in days, you sounded like yourself. “Who said anything about poison?”

“Oh, I—uh—”

“Reindeer, how did you know her plant was poisoned?” Theo prodded, his smirk audible.

“I don't! It's obv—it’s probably not p-poison!” Renley stammered.

“What's this about poison?” Sprout interrupted at the same moment Blaise, Crabbe, and Goyle emerged from the treeline.

“Check fucking mate,” Draco mouthed, grinning.

“Professor Sprout, I do believe Renley here just confessed to poisoning y/n’s beloved Flutterby bush,” Theo said.

“Is this true, dearie?” Sprout asked you.

“Yes ma’am, it explains the strange phenomena we noted, as well as the sudden nature of the ailment. Renley’s been taunting me for days, and finally his mouth got ahead of his brain,” you said, poised as a Queen, and Draco was so proud of you it hurt.

Sprout gasped. “Mr. Renley! To Dumbledore's office this instant!”

“Crabbe, Goyle, grab him,” Draco ordered, stuffing the ear into his robes.

The two of them lumbered over the door, staying out of sight until the culprit stepped out into the sunlight, and Goyle grabbed Renley by the shoulders and started to drag him back around the Greenhouse.

“Hey! What the fuck—” his words pinched to a strangled whine when he saw Draco and Blaise waiting a few feet away, arms folded over their chests, completely hidden from the rest of campus.

Goyle shoved him to the ground at Draco's feet, and the coward was already sniveling.

Draco crouched down, nose to nose with the fucker that made his girl miserable, and smiled. “Was it worth it, Renley?” Draco asked, his voice low.

“Look, Malfoy. I didn't mean to—”

Draco didn't give him a chance to finish his paltry excuse and cocked his fist back, slamming his knuckles square in the side of his jaw. The bone crunched under his fist, sending Renley flying sideways in a spray of spit and blood, and Draco rose, clenching and unclenching his aching hand.

Normally, he'd step back and let the others get their hands dirty, but you were his girl. And if anyone was going to defend your honor, it would be him.

“No, no please!” Renley begged when Goyle hauled him back up. Draco punched him again, dead on the nose, then the temple, then the sternum. Goyle let Renley fall, groveling and weeping as blood ran down his face, his eyes already half-swollen shut.

Draco grabbed him by the hair, lifting his head up so he could whisper in his ear. “You're lucky it wasn't poison,” he snarled, and dropped Renley’s head into the dirt. “Leave him on the front steps of the castle,” he said to Crabbe and Goyle, who immediately pulled the boy up and started dragging him back towards the castle.

Blaise chuckled. “That was fucking brutal, mate.”

Draco looked down at his bruised and bloody knuckles, the pain bright and deliciously satisfying, his signet ring splattered with red. “Like I said, he's lucky I didn't decide to poison him.”

The chatter of students filled the air, and he looked up to see the Greenhouse emptying. Theo headed straight for them, glancing at Draco's knuckles and the blood in the grass before breaking out in a wild grin.

“Sorry I missed it,” Theo laughed.

“Where is she?” Draco asked.

“Staying behind to administer the antidote. Sprout is leaving her to ensure Renley is dealt with accordingly.”

“Well, she certainly won't be disappointed,” Blaise snickered.

“So she’s alone?” Draco asked, raising an eyebrow. He was hoping to clean himself up before seeing you, but wasn't sure he could resist the temptation. Not with his blood still running hot and your smart little voice echoing in his mind.

“Yep.” Theo smirked. “See ya’ back in the common room.” He and Blaise turned and started heading back to the castle, leaving Draco alone.

He rounded the greenhouse, knocking with his sore knuckles so he didn't startle you.

“Draco? What are you—saints, your hands!” You cried, rushing over to open the door for him. You grabbed for his hands, face pinched with worry.

“I'm fine, love,” he cooed, letting you fuss. The air in the greenhouse was thick and warm, coaxing him in like a embrace. It smelled fresh and lush, sweet soil and green leaves, like you.

Merlin, he couldn't think straight with you looking at him like that.

“Who did—” you paused, eyes narrowing. “Renley?”

He smirked. “Maybe.”

“Draco!” You huffed, dropping his hands. “I had it under control!”

“I know you did! You were amazing! I just...accelerated the consequences.”

You glared at him, but he could see you softening by the second.

“Baby, I'm fine. And he'll be fine in like, four to five business days.”

“Draco!” You shouted, but you were smiling. He fucking loved what you called his name in that exasperated but undeniably affectionate voice. “You don't have to get involved all the time. I'm perfectly capable of fighting my own battles, and Professor Sprout was working with me to solve it and—”

Draco reached out, pinching your cheeks with one hand, pursing your pouting lips and dragging you closer to him. “I'd do it again in a heartbeat. No one fucks with you so long as I'm breathing, is that clear?”

You nodded, eyes round and sweet like honey.

He released your face, sliding his hand into the hair at the nape of your neck and craning your head upwards. “Can I kiss you now? Or would you like to keep telling me off?”

You leaned forward, pressing your lips to his in a playful, smiley kiss. “Anything for my hero.”

“Anything?” Draco purred, walking you back into the long work table. You gasped, arching against his chest, and he caught the sound with another kiss, slipping his tongue past your lips to taste you.

Your tongue tangled with his, so eager as you pulled his tie to bring him closer. He guided your tongue into his mouth, sucking lightly before releasing you to bite your lip, toying with your mouth like he owned it.

And he could feel how much you loved it, your hips pressing against his as your hands wandered his chest, unable to pick a resting place.

He smiles, moving his hands to grip your hips. In a quick movement, he spun you around. Your hands slapped onto the table to catch yourself, your perfect ass pressing back against his rapidly hardening cock.

“Draco,” you whined, trying to look over your shoulder at him.

He tsked, sliding up your skirt, admiring the way his ruined knuckles looked against the soft flesh. “Do you want me to be gentle with you, darling?” He already knew what your answer would be, especially after a few stressful days, but he felt inclined to double check.

You shook your head side to side, pressing your ass back into his hands. “No.”

He smiled, squeezing the ample flesh, then delivered a swift slap that made you gasp. “That's my girl. You want me to scare away all those bad thoughts? Turn your brain off for a bit?” He slid his right hand between your legs, gliding two fingers over the damp spot on your panties.

You nodded, nails scratching along the wood when he applied a little pressure, moving his hand in a slow circle.

“Words, love,” he said, pausing his movement.

“Yes, baby. Please,” you whined, and his cock gave a painful lurch against his thigh.

“Colloportus,” he murmured, flicking his wand to lock the Greenhouse door. “Don't move,” he ordered, then walked over to the sink, washing the blood from his hands and muttering a quiet episkey to fix most of the damage on his skin. Some cuts remained, and his hands were still sore and slightly bruised, but it wasn't nearly as bad.

Satisfied, he turned his attention back to you, where you remained perfectly still, nibbling at your lower lip. In quick movement, he pulled down your panties, letting the fall around your ankles, and kicked your feet further apart, forcing you to lay your chest against the table.

“There we go,” he purred, bringing his hand back between your legs.

You were already soaked, hot and slick as his middle finger swiped through your sex. He started massaging your clit, quick, light circles that had you moaning breathlessly.

“Better, darling? Nothing to worry about besides being my good girl.” He moved away from your clit and eased his middle finger inside of you, his signet ring kissing your entrance before he curled his finger up. Your walls fluttered around him, sucking back against his finger when he pulled it out, only to graciously stretch for him when he added a second.

“Fuck, D,” you moaned, rocking your hips against his hand. “You said you wouldn't be gentle “

He smirked, enraptured with the way your pretty little cunt yielded for his battered hand. “Just so pretty,” he hummed, leaning down to whisper in your ear, pressing you harder against the table. “Can't help but worship you a little.”

You opened your mouth to reply, but he slammed his fingers inside of you, drilling into your channel with sloppy, punishing strokes. You cried out, feet sliding around on the floor, but he had you pinned and at his mercy.

“This better, brat?” He growled, nipping at your ear when you keened for him, unable to formulate a response. “Oh, how that fucker wishes he could see you now,” he drawled, straightening while his fingers fucked into you. “What'd he call you? Sweetheart?” He chuckled. “Sweet doesn't begin to cover it.”

“How did you—”

He slipped his fingers out to work your clit, the bud swelling under his touch as your orgasm built, and your words twisted into a moan. He tried to stay focused, keep you on the edge until he was sheathed inside of you, but couldn't bring himself to stop just yet.

“Are you sweet, baby?” He asked, swatting your ass cheek, enjoying the way your flesh rippled.

“Only for you,” you gasped, starting to tremble as that knot wound tighter and tighter.

“That's right,” he praised, undoing his trousers and taking his cock in his hand. He was insanely hard, the head a deep pink, pearly precum beading from the slit. He pumped himself twice to relieve some of the ache, then notched himself at your entrance, not pausing his assault on your clit for a moment. “All fucking mine,” he growled at the same moment he thrust inside of you, burying himself to the hilt.

You cried out, muscles contracting hard around him, and he groaned low in his throat. You were so fucking tight, gooey and supple when you weren't squeezing the life out of him. He drew back a few inches before snapping his hips forward, gripping your ass cheek in his free hand to keep you spread for him as he pounded into you.

He felt your orgasm hit the second before you did, your cunt clamping down on him a heartbeat before you screamed, your whole body locking up before going completely limp. He didn't let up, no matter how much you shook, how much you begged. Your tears left damp spots on the wood, your knees trying to buckle inwards, but he planted his feet on the inside of yours, forcing you to stay upright.

“Good fucking girl,” he rasped, snaking a hand up your spine to grip your hair and pull your head back. “Doing so well for me, sweet thing.” He was panting, the heat of the greenhouse coupled with the exterior making sweat collect around his hairline and drip down his spine. His knuckles burned from the salt, hands ached from being used long past when they should have been bandaged, but he didn't give a single fuck.

“Draco, shit—fuck me so good.” You reached back for him, nails dragging along his forearm, and he felt himself teeter on the edge of release, his balls drawing up tight as liquid heat spread through his pelvis.

“Give me one more, baby. I know you can. Then I'll water my favorite plant.”

Your pussy clenched at his words, a wanton moan falling from your lips, and he smiled. You were such a little freak, his little freak, and he loved you all the more it.

“You like being my pretty little houseplant? All mine to take care of?” Fuck, he was close, rambling in an attempt to distract himself and spend just a little longer in the delicious heat of your body.

“Yes, yes—fuck!” You were coming again, your whole body convusling as it ripped through you, and he was done for. He came with a yell, hips stuttering against your ass as he pumped rope after rope of release into your spasming cunt.

“Bloody hell, baby,” he moaned, bracing his hands on the table as he came down, his hips involuntarily rocking into your greedy warmth. You, poor thing, were left drooling and trembling, completely boneless, held up entirely by the table and his hips. He leaned forward, pressing kisses into your hair. “Did so good, love. So fucking perfect,” he murmured, throat tight with affection.

“Squishin’ me,” you giggled, squirming beneath him, and he straightened, nearly toppling over himself at the weak feeling in his knees.

“Sorry, darling,” he chuckled, and you groaned, pushing yourself up on trembling arms. He moved his feet, letting you close your legs, and he hissed through his teeth at the new tightness around his softening cock, stealing a final thrust before slipping out of you.

“Mm, how did you know he called me sweetheart?” You asked, peeking over your shoulder at him while he grabbed his wand to clean you both up.

“I have my methods,” he replied, righting your clothes and helping you stand up, relishing in the lingering tremble in your limbs.

“Were you spying on me, Draco Malfoy?” You teased, tugging him down by the tie so you were face to face.

He smirked. “Perhaps.”

“What a horrible invasion of privacy,” you snickered, giving him a playful peck.

“You want to punish me for it?” He nipped at your lower lip and you grinned, pushing lightly on his chest.

“Enough you, I have to administer the antidote before my plant gets any sicker.”

“Good thing I already cured mine,” he teased, and you swatted him before slipping out of his arms.

“You're insufferable.”

“And you're adorable.”

You grabbed some items from the shelves and a watering can, then paused, turning to look at him, a deadly serious look on your face. “Can we get takeaway after this?”

He snorted, his heart doing a giddy little flip. “Of course we can.”

#draco malfoy #draco malfoy fanfic #draco malfoy fic #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy x y/n #draco malfoy x you #harry potter fanfic #draco malfoy smut #draco malfoy fanfiction #draco malfoy one shot #draco x reader #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter smut #slytherin boys fanfiction #slytherin boys #draco malfoy imagine

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nottsangel · 2 months ago

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TWELVE. double penetration — poly!dragonott

warnings — smut 18+. dom!theo, dom!draco and sub!reader. polyamorous relationship. threesome. double penetration (vaginal sex + anal sex). hair pulling. degradation.

kinkmas mlist. more.

“tsk. you reckon she even deserves it?” draco sneers from beneath you, his tone dripping with condescension and indifference, as if you aren’t even there. his grey eyes stare coldly into yours while the head of his cock nudges against your dripping, aching pussy.

“nah mate, ‘course she doesn’t.” theo drawls from behind you, his leaking cock teasing your other tight hole, his hands gripping your cheeks to spread you open. he lets out a guttural, predatory groan at the sight of you completely at their mercy, causing his self-control to shatter.

“but we do.” with that, theo suddenly pushes into you, drawing a sharp hiss from your lips at the harsh stretch of his thick cock, filling you up inch by inch from behind. draco doesn’t waste a moment, following suit as his erection sinks into your soaked cunt, both of them now stretching you out from both holes, leaving you completely full.

“‘s too much!” you helplessly cry out, your head spinning from the overwhelming sensation as both boys begin moving inside of you. their cocks deliciously rub against each other as they’re only separated by the thin wall of your flesh, heightening their pleasure. theo’s hand aggressively grips a fistful of your hair, yanking you back until your head rests on his broad shoulder.

“aww, it’s too much for you? should’ve thought about that before you started acting like a needy brat all day, begging for our attention.” theo mockingly whispers into your ear, his hot breath ghosting over your bare skin sending shivers down your spine as both of them increase their pace, making you see stars. your poor body goes limp from being used by both your boys, entirely at their mercy.

“you should be thankful you’re getting any attention at all. so bloody ungrateful.” draco scoffs, his tone sharp and snobby, an expression of disapproval written all over his flushed, focused face. you part your lips to speak, but no words are able to come out when theo suddenly shoves his fingers into your mouth with aggression, silencing your whines with ease.

“we decide if it’s too much or not. you’re just gonna take it until we say you’ve had enough. and i don’t want to hear a single fuckin’ complaint.”

“you feel that, theo? squeezing so tightly around us— she loves it when we treat her like the pathetic little slut she is.”

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

reminder: reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated and keep me motivated. ty! ♡

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iris-qt · 1 month ago

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physical affection

& how the slytherin boys show it

I. MATTHEO RIDDLE

Mattheo Riddle showed love the way he did everything: loud, unapologetic, and impossible to ignore.

“Pumpkin Pookie Pie!” His booming voice rang through the corridor as you buried your face in your hands. He’d been calling you that for weeks, his new favorite way to get under your skin.

Before you could respond, his arm slung around your shoulders, pulling you into his side. “What’s wrong? Too shy to admit you love it?” he teased, his grin wicked.

“Too mortified to acknowledge your existence,” you shot back, trying to wriggle free.

He only held on tighter. “Oh no, you’re stuck with me now,” he said, steering you down the hall as if this was the most natural thing in the world.

Later that day, you found him perched on the edge of your study table in the library, nudging your quill off balance with his finger.

“Mattheo,” you hissed, grabbing it before it rolled onto the floor. “Some of us are trying to pass.”

“Pass? You’ll ace it,” he said confidently, leaning closer until his face was inches from yours. “I mean, you’ve got me, don’t you?”

“You’re a distraction.”

“And yet,” he quipped, flicking your nose, “you’re smiling.”

You were. Begrudgingly.

Then there were the bear hugs. Merlin, the bear hugs. Mattheo had an uncanny talent for sensing when you were stressed, usually followed by him swooping in and pulling you into a hug that could rival a skull-crushing bludger.

One evening, as you stared blankly at your parchment, trying and failing to organize your thoughts, he came up behind you. Without warning, his arms wrapped around your waist, lifting you clean off your chair.

“Mattheo!” you yelped, flailing.

“Shh,” he said, spinning you around. “This is a medical intervention. You were looking far too tense.”

By the time he set you back down, your frustration had melted into laughter, your cheeks warm as you leaned back into his arms for a moment longer than you’d care to admit.

But there were other moments, too. Quieter ones, where his teasing gave way to something softer.

The common room was nearly empty when he found you curled up on the couch, a book in your lap but your eyes distant. Wordlessly, he sank down beside you, close enough that your knees touched.

You expected a quip or a joke, but instead, his hand reached out, finding yours where it rested on the page. His fingers laced through yours, his thumb brushing slow, lazy circles over your knuckles.

The playful grin he always wore was gone, replaced by something calmer. “You’re too brilliant to stress like this,” he murmured, his voice low.

For once, you didn’t argue. His hand in yours felt grounding, his words a quiet reassurance..

II. THEODORE NOTT

Theodore Nott didn’t need grand gestures to show he cared. He was subtle, deliberate, and always knew exactly what you needed without a single word.

Like now, as you struggled to balance a precarious stack of books in the library. “Need a hand?” he asked casually, appearing out of nowhere.

“I’ve got it,” you huffed, shifting the stack.

“You mean, you’re about to drop it,” he corrected, plucking the books from your arms with ease.

“Show off,” you muttered, but the corners of your mouth twitched.

He gave you a small, amused smile as he set the books down on your table. Then, without a word, he reached forward to brush a stray strand of hair out of your face, tucking it gently behind your ear.

“Better,” he murmured before sitting down across from you. It was so casual, so effortless, but your heart still skipped a beat.

Later, in the Great Hall, it was his hand on your lower back guiding you through the bustling crowd of students. It wasn’t pushy or overbearing, it was just enough to let you know he was there, steady and constant.

“Theo, I’m not made of glass” you teased as you sat down, and he leaned against the table beside you.

“No, but you’re terrible at dodging elbows,” he quipped, nodding toward the chaos of the lunch line.

He was right, of course. He always was.

And then there were the little things he did that were so infuriatingly him.

Like the time he stole your quill mid-essay. “Theo!” you snapped, glaring at him.

“You’ve been using it wrong,” he said nonchalantly, twirling it between his fingers like a wand duelist showing off.

“How can you use a quill wrong?”

“You can. You’ve been gripping it like you’re stabbing someone. Here.” He handed it back, his fingers brushing yours for just a second longer than necessary. “Relax your grip, or you’ll snap the nib.”

“You’re insufferable,” you muttered, though you couldn’t help noticing how much smoother your writing felt afterward.

And then, on a rainy afternoon when you were both sprawled in the common room, you’d been flipping through a book while Theo quietly worked on an Arithmancy chart. Without looking up, he reached out and nudged a mug of tea toward you.

“You’re looking a little pathetic,” he said, his tone completely deadpan.

“Thanks, Theo,” you said dryly, but you took the tea anyway, smiling softly as you sipped it.

It wasn’t until you glanced over later that you noticed his gaze lingering on you, a rare warmth in his usually calm expression.

“What?” you asked, raising a brow.

He shrugged, the corners of his mouth twitching upward. “Nothing.”

But as his hand reached out to brush against yours once again, you realized that with Theo, even the smallest touch felt like the loudest declaration.

III. LORENZO BERKSHIRE

Lorenzo Berkshire loved quietly and warmly, his affection woven into the small, steady ways he touched you.

Like the way he always grabbed your hand without thinking, his fingers threading through yours as naturally as breathing. It didn’t matter where you were: in the middle of a crowded corridor, walking to Hogsmeade, or, as it happened today, dodging Peeves’ latest chaotic masterpiece of enchanted water balloons.

“Quick!” Lorenzo yanked you behind a suit of armor, his hand gripping yours firmly as water splashed past.

“You could’ve warned me sooner!” you hissed, clutching your soaked sleeve.

“I did warn you,” he said innocently, his grin betraying no remorse. He squeezed your hand before letting go to wring out his own robe. “Besides, you’re lucky I’m here. Imagine if Peeves got you while you were alone.”

“Yeah, I’d never survive without you,” you deadpanned, earning a soft chuckle.

Then there were his hugs: warm, steady, and impossible to resist.

One afternoon, you’d been pacing in the common room, ranting about something ridiculous Professor Snape had said in Potions. Lorenzo was sitting on the couch, watching you with a quiet amusement, until you threw your hands in the air in frustration.

“Am I wrong, though?” you demanded.

Instead of answering, he stood, stepped forward, and pulled you into a hug. It was so sudden, you froze.

“Lorenzo, what are you---”

“Shh,” he murmured, his arms snug around you. “You’re spiraling. Just… stop pacing and let me hold you for a second.”

For a moment, you considered pushing him away, purely out of principle. But his embrace was so warm, so comforting, that you found yourself leaning into it instead.

“You’re impossible,” you muttered against his shoulder.

“And you’re adorable when you’re annoyed,” he said, his voice muffled but teasing.

Then there were the casual touches that seemed second nature to him, like the way he always rested a hand on your shoulder when he leaned down to read over your notes.

“Did you mean to write ‘infusion’ here?” he asked once, pointing to your parchment.

“Yes, Enzo,” you said, your tone mockingly patient. “That’s exactly what I meant to write.”

“Good. Just checking.” He gave your shoulder a quick squeeze before walking off, as if correcting your work was the most normal thing in the world.

But perhaps the most Lorenzo thing he did was during Quidditch practice. You’d shown up to watch, cheering loudly enough to embarrass him in front of the whole team.

After practice, he jogged over, damp and out of breath, and pulled you into a sweaty, enthusiastic hug.

“Lorenzo!” you shrieked, trying to push him off.

“Just sharing the victory,” he said with a grin, tightening his grip.

“Victory? You missed three goals!”

“Details,” he said, leaning back just enough to grin at you. “Besides, I know you secretly love this.”

And as much as you complained, he wasn’t entirely wrong. Because with Lorenzo, every touch, whether it was a hand in yours, a shoulder squeeze, or a hug that left you blushing, felt like home.

IV. DRACO MALFOY

Draco Malfoy had a way of turning even the simplest gestures of affection into acts of grandeur.

“Y/N,” he drawled, stepping into the courtyard where you were waiting. “Your scarf is a disaster.”

You looked down, confused. “It’s just a scarf, Draco.”

“It’s an offense to fashion,” he corrected, already closing the distance between you. Before you could stop him, his gloved hands were carefully unwinding the scarf from your neck.

“Draco, it’s cold!”

“Shh.” He ignored your protest, methodically rewrapping it, each fold placed with the utmost precision. “If you insist on walking around like this, the least I can do is ensure you don’t embarrass me.”

Once he finished, he stepped back, inspecting his work like a proud artist. “There. Better.”

“You’re ridiculous,” you muttered, though you had to admit the scarf did feel warmer.

Later, during a stroll to Hogsmeade, he offered his arm with a flourish.

“Draco, we’re not at a ball,” you said, raising an eyebrow.

“And yet,” he said, his tone prim, “you look like you might trip over the cobblestones at any moment. I’m merely preventing a tragedy.”

You rolled your eyes but slipped your arm through his anyway. He gave a satisfied smirk, his fingers resting lightly over yours.

Then there were the smaller gestures, the ones you weren’t entirely sure were affectionate or just Draco being Draco.

Like the time he spotted a speck of dust on your robe during dinner.

“Hold still,” he said sharply, brushing it off with the utmost seriousness.

“Draco, it’s barely visible---”

“Barely visible isn’t invisible,” he cut in, flicking the imaginary lint away with a look of triumph. “You’re welcome.”

Sometimes, his gestures were less about precision and more about necessity. During a Quidditch match, the wind had ripped your hair tie loose, leaving your hair whipping into your face. Draco, seated beside you, sighed audibly before pulling out a spare ribbon from his pocket.

“You carry ribbons?” you asked, bewildered.

“Of course not,” he said, already tying it into place with practiced ease. “Mother always says to be prepared for emergencies. Apparently, this qualifies.”

“Does it?”

“Obviously,” he said, brushing a stray strand out of your face. “Imagine how ridiculous you looked before I fixed it.”

You stared at him, torn between laughing and being annoyed. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And you’re lucky I am,” he replied smugly, his touch lingering just a second longer than necessary.

Whether it was adjusting your scarf or offering his arm, Draco's gestures always came with a quiet, meaningful undertone: he cared more than he’d ever admit.

V. BLAISE ZABINI

Blaise Zabini’s affection was effortless, delivered with the same smooth confidence he carried everywhere he went.

Take, for example, the way his hand always found your thigh when you sat next to him. It didn’t matter if it was in the library, the common room, or even during a particularly dull History of Magic lecture. His hand would settle there, light and casual, like it belonged.

“Are you even paying attention?” you whispered once, glancing at him while Professor Binns droned on about goblin rebellions.

“Not really,” he said, smirking as his fingers tapped absentmindedly against your leg. “But you are, and that’s far more interesting.”

His casual touches extended to the little things, too. Like the time you’d been sitting together at breakfast, distractedly spreading jam on your toast while skimming your notes. Blaise had leaned over, taken the knife from your hand, and spread the jam evenly in one smooth motion.

“You were going to ruin it,” he said simply, setting the toast back on your plate.

“It’s toast, Blaise,” you said, rolling your eyes.

“Precisely. There’s no excuse for sloppy toast,” he replied, his lips quirking into a half smile as he rested his elbow on the table and leaned closer.

He was equally casual about his protectiveness. When you walked into the common room one night, balancing a stack of books, Blaise, who was lounging on the couch, arched a brow.

“Drop one of those, and I’ll laugh,” he said lazily, though he was already standing.

“You’re so helpful,” you said sarcastically.

But before you could move, he reached out, took the books from your arms, and placed them on the nearest table. His hand brushed your back as he passed, light and deliberate. “There. Now you don’t have to make a spectacle of yourself.”

Even in the rare moments when you were annoyed with him, his touch had a way of disarming you.

Once, after an argument about which Quidditch team was better, you’d crossed your arms and turned away from him. Blaise, unbothered, leaned back against the couch and stretched his arm along the backrest until his fingers lazily grazed your shoulder.

“You’re mad,” he observed, his voice amused.

“No, I’m---” You stopped mid-sentence as he lightly trailed his fingers down your arm. It wasn’t much, just enough to make you shiver and forget whatever comeback you’d been forming.

“Hmm?” he prompted, his smirk growing.

“Nothing,” you muttered, glancing away, which only made him chuckle softly.

VI. REGULUS BLACK

Regulus Black wasn’t one for grand gestures. His affection was quiet, almost imperceptible to anyone who wasn’t paying attention. But you always noticed.

It was in the way his fingers would brush against yours as you walked side by side through the castle corridors, his hand lingering just long enough to send a silent, unspoken message.

“Regulus,” you teased once, glancing down at where his hand hovered near yours. “You can hold my hand, you know. I won’t bite.”

He huffed softly, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “I wasn’t going to.”

“Sure you weren’t,” you replied, your voice laced with amusement. But before you could say anything else, his fingers laced with yours, quick, almost shy, but steady.

In the common room, when you were bent over a pile of parchments, furiously scribbling down notes, he would sometimes come up behind you, his hand resting lightly on your shoulder.

“You’ve been at this for hours,” he said one evening, his voice low and steady.

“I’m fine,” you murmured, not looking up.

He didn’t argue. Instead, his thumb brushed against the fabric of your robes, a small, grounding gesture. “Just don’t forget to breathe,” he said softly before slipping away, leaving behind the faint warmth of his touch.

And then there were the moments that caught you off guard, like when you’d been lost in thought by the Black Lake, the chilly wind tugging at your cloak. Regulus appeared beside you silently, slipping his scarf from around his neck and draping it over your shoulders without a word.

“You’ll freeze,” you protested, clutching the soft wool.

“I’ll survive,” he replied, his tone so matter-of-fact it made you smile. He didn’t move to take the scarf back, though he did stand close enough that his arm brushed yours.

And then one evening in the library, you were both pouring over ancient texts for a Potions essay, the quiet hum of the room interrupted only by the scratch of quills. Without looking up, he reached over and adjusted the candle near your book, tilting it so the light fell more evenly across the pages.

“Thanks,” you said softly, glancing at him.

He shrugged, not meeting your gaze, but the faintest hint of a smile played on his lips.

VII. TOM RIDDLE

Tom Riddle’s affection was as precise and calculated as everything else he did.

You were pacing the length of the common room, muttering under your breath as you reviewed your notes for the tenth time that evening. Tom, seated in his usual armchair, watched you with a mixture of amusement and exasperation.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice calm but firm, “you’re going to wear a hole in the carpet.”

“I can’t help it,” you replied, not stopping. “I need to make sure I’ve got everything memorized.”

Before you could pass him again, he stood, closing the distance between you in two measured strides. Gently but decisively, he cupped your face in his hands, forcing you to meet his gaze.

“Stop,” he commanded, his tone low but unyielding. His thumbs brushed over your cheekbones, a gesture that was oddly soothing despite the intensity of his stare. “You’re better than this frantic display. Calm your mind.”

For a moment, all you could do was blink up at him, the warmth of his hands grounding you in a way that words never could.

“Better?” he asked, his dark eyes searching yours.

“Better,” you admitted, your voice softer now.

He stepped back, letting his hands fall to his sides, though he lingered close enough that the heat of his presence remained.

There were other moments like this, too, where his touch was both a command and a reassurance.

Like the time he found you struggling to reach a book in the library. Without a word, he appeared behind you, effortlessly plucking the book from the shelf and handing it to you. When you opened your mouth to thank him, he tilted your chin up with a single finger, his expression unreadable.

“You shouldn’t have to struggle,” he said simply, his voice barely above a whisper.

Or the time you were arguing with him over something trivial (probably his refusal to let anyone but himself tutor you).

“You’re insufferable,” you’d snapped, crossing your arms.

“And you’re too intelligent to waste time bickering with me,” he replied smoothly. Before you could fire back, he placed his hands on your shoulders, his grip firm but not unkind. “Now, sit down and let me help you. You’ll thank me later.”

Despite the commanding edge to his touch, there was something deeply reassuring about it. A promise, unspoken but felt in every deliberate move.

Because with Tom, every gesture carried the same message: You’re mine, and I’ll make sure you never forget it.

A/N: SURPRISEEE just temporarily back bc i missed writing and I missed you guys

Taglist (for those who asked to be tagged in everything) = @smut-anarchy, @marikajhaha, @nottinmyheart, @hzdhrtss, @babene-e

love u guys

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multi-fandom-imagine · 26 days ago

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You were a....HUFFLEPUFF?! || Draco Malfoy ||

A/n: I am weak for dad fics

It was supposed to be a quiet afternoon.

You were sitting in the drawing room, comfortably reading, while Scorpius had been happily entertaining himself by digging through an old box of photos Draco had left on the coffee table.

All had been peaceful—

Until Scorpius gasped so loudly, you nearly dropped your book as your hand moved to your growing belly.

“MUMMY!”

You blinked, looking up to see your son clutching a very old photograph, his silver eyes huge with excitement.

You smiled. “What is it, love?”

Scorpius practically bounced as he shoved the picture at you.

It was a Hogwarts-era photo—a younger you, your Hufflepuff scarf wrapped around your neck, smiling and waving at the camera. Draco stood beside you, arms crossed, pretending not to smile (but absolutely failing).

“Mummy,” Scorpius breathed, pointing an excited little finger at the yellow and black scarf. “Were you in—” His voice dropped to a dramatic whisper, “Hufflepuff?!”

You laughed, brushing a strand of blonde hair from his face. “Yes, sweetheart,” you said warmly. “I was a Hufflepuff.”

Scorpius GASPED.

Like, actual hand-over-heart, staggered-back gasp.

Draco, just entering the room, raised an eyebrow. “What now?”

Scorpius whipped around, pointing accusingly at his father.

“Papa, DID YOU KNOW ABOUT THIS?!”

Draco sighed, setting down his tea. “Yes, Scorpius. I’ve known for years.”

Scorpius ignored him, turning back to face you with renewed determination. “MUMMY.”

You, amused beyond belief, tilted your head. “Yes, love?”

Scorpius took a deep breath—as if about to declare something of world-changing importance—then shouted,

“I WANNA BE A HUFFLEPUFF TOO!”

Draco choked on air.

You beamed. “Oh? You do?”

Scorpius nodded so aggressively his blond curls bounced. “YES! I wanna be just like Mummy! Hufflepuff is the best!”

Draco, rubbing his temples, muttered, “Oh, Merlin help me.”

Scorpius whipped back around, pointing dramatically. “PAPA, YOU WERE IN SLYTHERIN, RIGHT?”

Draco eyed him warily. “Yes…”

Scorpius squinted at him suspiciously. “And you married MUMMY?”

Draco crossed his arms. “Obviously.”

Scorpius gasped again, spinning back to face you. “DOES THAT MEAN I CAN MARRY A SLYTHERIN TOO?!”

You laughed, ruffling his hair. “You can marry whoever you want, sweetheart.”

Scorpius giggled, looking far too pleased. “Okay! But first, I’m gonna be a Hufflepuff!”

Draco groaned, collapsing into the nearest chair. “Lucius is going to pass out when he hears this.”

Scorpius grinned, climbing into your lap. “That’s okay! Mummy can fix him!”

You, you were laughing too much to correct him, as you pressed a kiss to his forehead. “I think you’d make a wonderful Hufflepuff, sweetheart.”

Scorpius snuggled into you, sighing happily, and Draco....

Draco suffered in silence.

Because his son, the heir to the great Malfoy name, was now a proud future Hufflepuff.

And worst of all?

Draco couldn’t even be mad about it.

#drabbles #drabble #draco x hufflepuff!reader #draco malfoy #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy x you #draco malfoy x y/n #hp x y/n #hp x you #hp x reader #harry potter x you #harry potter x reader #harry potter #HP #JKR his a hoe

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lordprettyflackotara · 5 months ago

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comfortable || draco malfoy

Slender fingers dug into your hips, Draco’s cold rings digging harshly into your skin. His grip was tight, ensuring you’d stay in place as he rammed into you from behind. You were hardly managing to prop yourself up, each thrust fucking you further and further into the mattress below. Your hands had scrunched up, holding onto the emerald silk sheets in an attempt to brace yourself. But all of your efforts were useless, your cunt eagerly pulling Draco back in with every thrust. “Enjoying the view Potter?” He asked, his icy eyes glaring at the brunette. You had forgotten your boyfriend, the infamous Harry Potter, was there to begin with. His hands and feet were binded together from one of Draco’s secret spells, his cock visibly aching against the fabric of his jeans.

It was Harry’s idea to have someone else ruin you while he watched. He did put the ball in your court, allowing you to pick who that someone would be. His eyes nearly popped out of his head when you chose Draco. The Slytherin was not one to shy away from knocking Harry down a peg or two, even if it meant fucking a shy girl he barely knew. “Your girl here isn’t so shy at all, she’s moaning on my cock like the whore she was meant to be,” Draco grunted. He couldn’t even remember what house you were in. All he could think about was breaking you and then sending the broken pieces back to Harry. Ruining you for the boy who got everything he wanted sounded like pure serotonin to the blonde. The urge to spite him made him snap his hips into yours harder than ever, your eyes fluttered shut as he abused your cunt. With his spare hand he grabbed a handful of your hair, yanking you towards him. Your back arched as you whimpered, your eyes finally opening. “Go on love, tell Potter how good my cock feels,” Draco hissed. His breath was hot against your ear, his filthy words only making your walls squeeze him tighter. “Feels sooo good,” You slurred, meeting your boyfriend’s gaze.

“Don’t ever get too comfortable with her Harry, I can promise you after we’re done she’s only going to be thinking about me,” Draco barked. Your body convulsed under him, squirting onto your thighs and the mattress. Your face was beet red with embarrassment, Draco’s large hand reaching around you and grabbing your face. “See that? That’s what a girl squirting looks like Potter, bet you’ve never seen that before,” Draco smirked cockily. He rammed into you a few more times, before you felt his warm seed flood your cunt. He murmured cursed as he came, your thighs trembling. “Get on your back baby, legs open,” He purred to you. In a dazed state you obliged, the cum dripping out of your cunt on full display for Harry to see. Draco got off of the bed, roughly grabbing a handful of Harry’s hair and dragging him over to you. You watched him attempt to crawl, his attempting failing as Draco dragged him against the coarse carpet. He sat in between your thighs, heat dashing across your cheeks as Harry’s eyes widened.

“Make yourself comfortable Potter, something tells me this won’t be the last time you clean up after me.”

#harry potter x y/n #harry potter x you #harry potter x reader #harry potter #harry potter x draco malfoy #draco malfoy x female reader #draco malfoy x slytherin!reader #draco malfoy x you #draco malfoy x y/n #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy x hermione granger #draco malfoy smut #draco lucius malfoy #draco malfoy #slytherin boys #slytherin

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incorrectquotesharrypotterv · 2 years ago

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Y/n, whispering: you know I love you, right?

Draco: why are we whispering?

Y/n: so Harry thinks we're conspiring against him

Draco: oooh

Harry: what are they talking about?

Snape, having heard everything: murder

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lqveharrington · 2 months ago

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Loathing | D.M.

summary: you and draco have loathed one another since first year, but you know something happened over the summer before your sixth year. he had changed.

pairing: rival!draco malfoy x potter!reader

includes: fluff, angst, bleeding, both of them being oblivious, both of them taking care of each other

a/n: unadulterated loathing (guess who watched wicked last week?)

The moment you met Draco Malfoy – well, the moment he insulted one of your friends and then wanted to be friends with your brother – you knew you would loathe him for the rest of your life. From every glare from across the room to house rivalries, you loathed him for all you had. Especially when he ruined your Yule Ball experience by knocking the eggnog on you and refusing to explain why, only glaring instead.

But something changed in your sixth year. He changed.

Usually, the second you got on the train to Hogwarts, he would find you and start with the insults, but this year was different. Hell, when you were trying to find Harry on the train when you got to Hogwarts, Draco walked past you without even sparing a glance. He wasn’t even in his Slytherin robes, he was just in a black suit.

Then when the quidditch season started, you learned that he had quit his position as seeker and chance as quidditch captain. You were surprised he lost almost all interest in the sport itself when he used to brag on and on about how good he was at the game. Everything he used to egg you on about was close to nothing, and it worried you just a little.

You knew something was different – he was different – and wanted to know what happened, but you knew your friends couldn’t care less about the Slytherin Prince.

“Hermoine, please tell me you noticed something wrong with Malfoy.” You murmur and enter the potions room, eyes instantly meeting the gray and blue eyes you were speaking of. He quickly averted his gaze and stared down at his potions book instead, making you frown. “He hasn’t been throwing enough insults at us this year.”

“Is that not a good thing?” She creases her brows and takes her seat beside you, pulling her potions book out of her bag. Hermione looks at you with slight unease, not really understanding why you were asking in the first place. “Besides, why should you care? Don’t you hate him?”

You don’t respond, only spinning your ring and bringing your attention back to the Slytherin Prince himself, your teeth kissing your lips in your own turmoil. He looked so tired and… Helpless. You wanted to understand what he was going through despite everything he had put you through. He was still a student at Hogwarts. It may seem out of the ordinary from your usual loathing, but if something serious was going on, you hoped to Godric that he would be okay.

For the rest of class, Slughorn assigned the most ridiculous sounding potion to create. It was supposedly the most powerful love potion in existence and when Slughorn said it could help anyone identify their true love, you doubted it. It was only when Harry properly made the potion did you test the theory out. It seemed like Lavender was having a day with the potion and kept batting her eyes at Ron, making you and Hermoine roll your eyes in annoyance.

When Slughorn called the rest of the class in pairs to come over to smell the potion and describe what they smelled, you still believed people made up with what they smelled. You thought they were just believing they smelled the person they liked. From Hermione smelling freshly-mown grass and new parchment to Harry smelling some kind of sweets, it seemed quite fake.

And you could have gotten away with not having to smell the potion when you unashamedly yawned the second Slughorn turned to look over.

“Miss Potter, since you and Mr. Malfoy seem to have found this task boring, why don’t you both come up and tell me what you smell.” Slughorn beckoned you up toward Harry’s cauldron.

Pursing your lips, you do your best not to roll your eyes as you made your way over to the cauldron, only to be overwhelmed with Draco’s cologne when smelling the potion. You glance at him from the corner of your eyes, noticing he was just as confused as you.

“Maybe tone down the cologne, Malfoy.” You mutter to him and try to find a scent that wasn’t just his stupid cologne.

He rolled his eyes at you and leaned his head down, practically hissing into your ear. “Me? Your fucking shampoo is blocking all my senses right now.”

“Like you can smell that right now.” You turn your own head and glare at him, the tension growing larger and larger.

As if you were in a staring contest of who could hate the other more, you forgot about the class and only the loathing you felt for the blonde in front of you. However, the class soon began to felt the tension, uncomfortable with how you two were behaving. Whispers began to fill the air, but you two continued to bicker.

“Maybe use less product, Potter.” Draco suggested and flicked a piece of your hair off your shoulder, ignoring the way his cheeks flamed at how close the two of you were at the moment.

You crossed your arms and squinted, hating how he had to bend just to be at eye level to you. “Says the one practically bathes in Dior Sauvage—”

“Mr. Malfoy and Miss Potter, please, go back to your seats. We have gathered all the information we need.” Slughorn spoke with an amused smile.

For the rest of the week, it seemed like the entire student body was pointing to you and whispering. Even if you were just switching classes or sitting in the Gryffindor common room with Hermione, eyes averted to you before they eventually turned away when they caught your eyes.

You didn't understand what was going on. It felt like everyone you knew began to have a knew found hatred toward you and it bugged you. Even Harry gave you questioning looks from time to time. You don't remember doing anything cruel and vile.

Eventually, you did give up guessing why everyone was giving you dirty looks. You ignored all their staring and only acknowledged the people you knew didn't mean any harm toward you. It soon became a habit for you to leave the trio alone for a good hour or two, spending time to practice spells in the room of requirements; Mainly casting your Patronus and watching it have the time of its life.

Well, until one day the room began to change on its own.

“Hello? Room of requirements?" You stood abruptly and looked around at the changing room, your Patronus dissipating in thin air.

The room began to shift in size, becoming quite large in size with piles and piles of junk. As you tripped over the old trinkets decorating the room — trying to find the exit to the ever expanding room — you cut yourself on the sudden arrival of a rusted sword.

Holding your cut hand close to you body, you glared at the room like it was your least favorite thing in the entire world. "This is not what I asked—“

“Fuck.”

You heard the voice whisper before you jumped back in surprise when the person banged on something wooden. So someone who needed the room more came. That's why. As you tried to make your way out a give the person privacy, you tripped back into another pile of junk, making you wince.

“Shit.” You mutter and do your best to remove yourself from the pile, pursing your lips when you heard footsteps approach you.

Before you could even try to hide, the said person appeared right in front of you with their wand pointed at your face. You followed the wand up until you met their eyes, making you inwardly groan at your luck.

“What are you doing?” You spoke at the same time, both of you rolling your eyes at the same time.

Hastily, you stood up from your spot on the dirtied floor and dusted your clothes off, mentally cursing yourself for being ever so clumsy.

“I asked you first, Potter.” Draco tucked his wand away, glancing down at your bleeding hand. He frowned and moved around you.

You stepped away from him, still nursing your hand. Unsure of what he was going to do, you simply answered the question truthfully.

“I was using the room to practice my spells, but it changed because apparently your needs were far more important than mine.” You watched him dig through dusted cabinets and drawers, looking for something. “Now answer mine.”

“I don’t have to.” He muttered and pulled out some type of cleanser and a kit, making you recoil at the sight. You hated the doctors and it seemed like Draco was ready to operate on your hand.

“You know? I think I should go before—" You start before he raised a brow at you, looking down at your injured hand and then back up to your eyes. "What?"

“You could get in trouble, you know?” He gestured to your hand before guiding you to sit on a bed that seemed too clean to be one of the old trinkets lying around before. "You need to clean your hand before it gets infected. Everything in here is old and dusted."

"Then I will clean my hand on my own, thank you very much." You yank the cleanser from his hands and pop the cap open. You stared at your wound before looking at the bottle, already regretting your choice.

"What?" He looked over your face, noticing the hesitation in your facial expression. "Do you need me to do it?"

"Yes, please." You whisper quickly, shutting your eyes tightly when you felt him lightly dab your cut with the cleanser. You bit your lip when it stung, nodding when he told you it would be over in a second.

“I'm done." Draco murmured and threw the cloth in the trash, watching you slowly open your eyes and look at your now bandaged hand. He nodded at you before standing, finding his way back over to a wooden cabinet.

You looked around the place, noticing the fresh bedsheets and glass of water that surely hasn't been sitting there for Godric knows how long. Tucking your injured hand in your free one, you wandered the small sleeping area before stopping at all the books piled next to it.

"Malfoy, what are you doing in here?" You take a book from the top of the pile and read its title. The Fundamentals of Vanishing Cabinets. You raised your brows in curiosity, looking over at him to find him already staring. "Well?"

“Like I said, I don't have to answer you.” He murmured and stepped toward you, taking the book from your hands.

You stared at him and frowned. His image was even worse up close. You could see the bags underneath his eyes and the gel from his hair completely gone from how many times he ran his fingers through his hair. When he glanced down at you, you were once again millimeters from each other before you both pulled away in confusion and guilt, like your skin was on fire.

“Are you getting enough sleep?" You ask as he walks toward the cabinet again, but this time, you followed him over. "I don't see you eat enough during dinner either."

“You watch me, Potter?” He spoke in amusement, lips turning down to hide the smirk that wanted to present itself to you.

“What? No!" You splutter out and look away, face flamed in warmth. "Only in hatred.”

"Whatever you say." He murmured and began tinkering with the cabinet, placing a green apple on the top shelf. "Stalker." He whispered, earning an annoyed glare from you.

“Just answer the question. Why did the room change to this mess?” You look at the bed you assumed his stayed in and then change your gaze toward the cabinet he seemed so intent on working on. “And why are you spending all your time on this old cabinet?“

He opened his mouth to speak when he winced and clutched his left forearm, making you panic ever so slightly. Draco moved to sit on the bed, pursing his lips and trying to think of anything but the pain being emitted on his arm.

You frown and take his arm in your hands, pulling his sleeve up only to silently gasp in surprise. Draco pulled his arm away and tugged the sleeve down, glaring at you.

“You’re a death eater.” You look at him with wide eyes, stepping back in shock. You looked between his arm, his frantic eyes, and then the cabinet. Your head was reeling at all the information you learned. "You got the dark mark—"

“You can’t tell anyone.” Draco whispered, almost pleading you to not tell a soul. If you told Harry, then everything would go to shit. But when he saw your face clear of all shock and shift to remorse, he knew you wouldn't go against his wishes despite him being a real threat to you and your brother.

“Why? Why did…” You move closer and clutch his arm, pulling his sleeve up again and wanting to trace the design. When he stopped you, you looked up and knew it would hurt. You nodded and thumbed the skin below it, eyes looking over the ink. “You didn’t have a choice, did you?”

Draco nodded and shut his eyes when you continued to thumb the empty space, opening them when you stopped. He knew that the gears were turning in your head when you stared at him like he was you next project — which he knew you would never call him that despite the loathing you had for him.

After seconds of silence, you open your mouth and speak softly, thumb moving over the space once more. “Can't you tell Dumbledore at all? Maybe he could do something to protect you—“

“That’s not how it works.” Draco stopped your movements and tugged his sleeve down. He caught you hesitating to look over the mark again, tilting his head to the side when you took a seat beside him. "Why are you still here?"

"What do you mean?" You murmur and trace the bandage over your hand before looking up at him, meeting his blue-gray eyes. "I can leave if you want me to. But I want to know if you'll be okay if I leave first."

You kept eye contact with him for a little longer before looking away, eyes finding interest in a silver crown in the corner. You weren't sure why you cared so much about him. It was like a switch flipped on in your mind. In all your years at Hogwarts, his taunting was a constant in your life. So when that went away, you knew something was wrong and you wanted to make sure he was okay, even if your brother hated him. It was an instinct you suddenly gained.

"Why?" He stared at the mirror across from him, catching your eyes through the reflection once more. "Is it because you want more material to tease me about?"

"Godric, no." You huff and run your fingers through your hair. "I'm not a monster, Malfoy." You let a small smile slip through when he raised his brow at you. "I'm not a monster!"

"Not saying you are, Potter." He finally smiled at you. But even through the smile, you could see how exhausted he was. With whatever he was doing for the Dark Lord, you just hoped he would be fine in the end. "If I tell you I'll be okay, will you leave me be so I can finish my task?"

You turn your head to look at him properly, looking in between his eyes. You sighed and broke eye contact, "Yes." You look back up and find him millimeters away again, making you squint. "If you don't come to potions tomorrow with any kind of retort, I will be in here waiting for you, understand?"

He rolled his eyes and nodded, "Whatever gets you out of here, Potter."

Nodding, you stand and dust off your clothes once more. Talking with Draco civically was quite a feat, but you knew it was for the better or worse. But just before you could leave the room, you heard his voice ring out to you once more, you first name falling from his lips instead of your last.

"Don't use that strong of a shampoo anymore, yeah?"

You send him a half smile, "Only if you don't apply your entire bottle of cologne."

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dixonsfawn · 2 months ago

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𖥔 𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐎 𝐌𝐀𝐋𝐅𝐎𝐘 𝐏 𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐒 𖥔

⊹ draco watching the way he fills you up

⊹ relieving some of his tension after a long day of being a meanie

⊹ fucking before class so he can think about you all day

⊹ you were being a brat and draco has to shut you up somehow

⊹ when you can’t even have a shower without him needing you

⊹ your date with draco ends with you on all fours

⊹ you spoke back to draco and now it’s time for your punishment

⊹ dom!draco loves choking you as he fucks your tight pussy

⊹ he can’t keep his hands off of you

⊹ draco making you work hard for that malfoy heir

⊹ he finally gets you home after you teasing him all night

⊹ sneaking into draco’s dorm in the middle of the night

⊹ best friend!draco taking your virginity

⊹ waking him up in the middle of the night because you’re needy

⊹ an absolute must whenever you’re watching movies

#── 𝓿𝓮𝓮 𝓭𝓪𝔂𝓭𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓶𝓼 𓈒 ˙ ⊹ ｡ ୨ৎ #— 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐟𝐨𝐲 ᡣ𐭩 #── 𝓹 𝓵𝓲𝓷𝓴𝓼 . . .ᐟ #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy x you #draco malfoy x y/n #draco malfoy x female reader #draco malfoy x fem!reader #draco malfoy fanfiction #draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy headcanon #draco malfoy #draco malfoy fanfic #draco malfoy fic #── 𝓷𝓸𝓽 𝓼𝓯𝔀 . . .ᐟ

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sundrop-writes · 2 months ago

Text

Downhill

Draco Malfoy x Fem!Reader

I’ve never spent a moment loving anyone but you.

And maybe that’s just something people say - but I hope it’s the truth.

Summary:

Draco knows his place in the world. He is a Malfoy, he is Pureblood. He is supposed to marry, carry on the Pureblood line. He is supposed to do everything that his parents would - including killing, if it's what his Dark Lord wishes.

Draco Malfoy is not supposed to hesitate. He is not supposed to feel fear. He is not supposed to have room in his heart for fondness, or even love. Not even when it comes to his bartered and bought fellow Pureblood fiancee.

Love is nothing but a weakness. And Malfoys are not weak.

Draco Malfoy x Fem!Reader. Arranged Marriage/Hesitant Lovers. Emotional Angst and Smut. Set during Half-Blood Prince.

Word Count: 20,100

Harry Potter Masterlist | AO3 Link

This is meant to be a standalone oneshot, but it was written as a prequel to the fic My Bleeding Heart. Because the other fic is chronologically second, you won't be missing anything if you read this one first, but if you have read it before, then this one ties in nicely and informs more of the emotions between the characters.

Full list of warnings and author's notes below the cut.

Warnings: this fic is equal parts smut and emotional angst; this fic does technically take place around Christmas (with the Slug Club Christmas Party being the biggest signal of that), but Christmas is not a huge overarching theme or presence in the fic if you don't celebrate or don't like Christmas; the reader uses she/her pronouns and has a vagina; implications of the reader being fat/plus-sized (which happens with a lot of my fics); it is mentioned that the reader is wearing a dress and high heels to the party; the reader is a Slytherin; the reader is a Pureblood (and for the sake of the fic, I made up a random 'important' Pureblood family that she is from, but because she wasn't raised by them, she goes by a difference surname that can just be your literal actual surname); the reader is an orphan and never actually knew her Pureblood parents; this fic DOES use Y/N; the reader is called 'brilliant' and comes off as very intelligent and skilled with magic (skilled enough to get into the Slug Club); Draco and the reader are in an arranged marriage for the sake of carrying on the Pureblood lineage, and it is discussed that the reader was 'bought' for Draco (a very large dowry was paid) (during the course of the fic, they are only engaged and not yet married); most of this is written from Draco's perspective and features self loathing, emotionally stunted Draco; jealous!Draco - Draco hears that the reader was talking to Harry and gets upset; mentions of the reader being left to the Malfoys by a neglectful godmother; I know there is debate about whether it's canon or not, but in this fic Draco's parents are abusive toward him - his father much more so and his mother is more of a neglectful bystander, and there is a lot of themes in this fic about Draco's trauma surrounding that and how he starts taking his first steps to break free from his abusers (this fic implies that Draco has been physically and emotionally abused by his father, as well as being severely emotionally neglected by both his parents); the reader character in this fic is also abused by the Malfoys when living with them - including an incident where she is hit by Lucius Malfoy and has her hand smashed into broken glass; an incident is described where Lucius casts a spell that chokes Draco (briefly) with the intention of physically punishing him, and the reader stops the spell; Lucius calls the reader 'slut' and 'whore' as insults; mentions of house elves and elf 'slavery' (feels like a warning I'm putting in here specifically for Hermione but I know people get upset about this stuff now lmao); descriptions of dead animals - a bird is killed while being transported through the not yet working Vanishing Cabinet; mentions of canon deaths (Cedric Diggory); mentions of 'Death Eater culture' - discrimination, violence against muggleborns, blood purity, etc.; discussion of Draco's mission to kill Dumbledore (and his mission to help the Death Eaters break into Hogwarts) and the stress that it causes him.

In his internal narration, Draco calls the reader 'naive' and 'innocent', but this is not a statement about the reader's level of sexual or romantic experience (the reader character is NOT A VIRGIN in this), this is a statement about the reader's level of experience with violence and death (and how Draco feels a need to protect her from being corrupted by the dark forces in his life); Draco grabs the reader's arm (in a slightly painful way, while arguing) - but they don't have a major physical confrontation and it does not escalate (their relationship has slightly toxic vibes, but they are forced to depend on each other); mention of Draco being 'thin'/losing weight due to not eating properly (due to the stress of a life or death mission hanging over his head); for the actual smut section - Draco has a kink for the reader wearing stockings/tights (don't ask me where I got this idea from, it just feels like it would fit Draco really well); the tone of the whole thing is very sweet, affectionate, passionate love-making; Draco calls the reader 'darling' and 'love'; oral - reader receiving; Draco fingers the reader while eating her out; a lot of passionate kissing and body worshipping (towards the reader); multiple orgasms/overstimulation (reader receiving); squirting (not played up as a major kink, but it does happen); Draco is anti-breeding kink (I know this is a new one, but try to stick with me) - Draco knows that the only reason for their engagement is to carry on the family blood like (to breed) and he is against that (because it means carrying out his parents' wishes and putting the reader in danger) so he refuses to fuck her because he doesn't want to get her pregnant, because he thinks that it will be cursing her with an attachment to him and he still wants to give her a chance to bail, so he specifically avoids PIV sex for this reason; the ending of the fic has some slightly dubious consent - because Draco starts thinking about the fate of the arranged marriage and feels self loathing but continues with the encounter anyway (he is romantically and sexually attracted to the reader, and there is no force, and the reader is enthusiastic about her consent the whole time, but Draco starts to withdraw his consent and is slightly unsure - it's adult and realistic and complicated); Draco masturbates while sitting on top of the reader to avoid having sex with the reader (in a way, this could be considered 'forced orgasm' because Draco is having a lot of complicated emotions and literally forces himself to orgasm to end the sexual situation); Draco cums on the reader's thighs; Draco cries after sex because of all his complicated emotions; Draco and the reader do talk about their feelings and (mostly) work things out; the ending skews toward light-hearted/sappy.

A/N: This fic is titled after the song Downhill by Lincoln - and I actually had a really hard time choosing which lyrics to go at the top, because I genuinely believe that all the lyrics from the song are so, so fitting here. So I do highly encourage you to go and listen to the song while you read this!! I actually started writing this fic many months ago when the idea came to me, and I got stalled on it, and then I randomly got inspired to finish it around mid-October, but I wanted to wait to post it until it was closer to Christmas because it is so rare for me to have a seasonally accurate fic on my hands so I actually wanted to post it during the seasonally accurate time lmao. I had a lot of fun writing this and exploring the relationship between these two characters, and I do want to write more for them in the future - especially because I am obsessed with the arranged marriage concept. (I feel like I need to write more fics with different characters that use arranged marriage as a trope because writing this just showed me how much fun it is.) Anyway, for now, I hope you enjoy this, and please let me know what you think of it in the comments.

...

Moving from the bustling atmosphere of the Slug Club Christmas Party into the cold, empty corridor was certainly a drastic shift.

It felt like stepping through a curtain that drained all happiness from you, even if that happiness was only temporary, feigned, and fueled by the jovial holiday atmosphere rather than coming from anywhere true inside of you. It was a show you had put on for the sake of the social occasion. As an automatic response, you felt the fake smile fall from your face as the last murmurs of the guests and the last echoes of Christmas music disappeared faintly behind you. You were then fully flipped from the warm, welcoming environment of the party to the cold shell that was Hogwarts in the dead of winter as the cool air coming off the stone kissed against your skin.

You couldn’t resist the need to hug yourself in order to cover up your bare arms, sharp gooseflesh already forming there. Such an occasion insisted upon something showy rather than practical, and with the December weather, you were finding it chilly.

As you walked a few steps down from the entrance to the party, you found that a certain cloud of darkness began to consume you - even with the Christmas trees glistening brightly at either end, reminding you of the supposedly cheerful season.

You walked toward Draco, where he was waiting for you, just as Snape had promised when he had come up behind you like a looming storm cloud and pulled you away so suddenly, so rudely from the rousing conversation you were having with Harry and Slughorn. But you had to turn your mind off from any showmanship that you had been forced to put into those conversations, and turn your mind onto something else now - someone else.

Draco had his hands stuffed into the pockets of his expensive suit, a stiff posture that could be seen even through the matching, all black attire. He was pacing along the mouth of the hallway rather frantically, threatening to wear holes in the soles of his custom leather shoes, muttering under his breath to himself.

So far, this was the worst you had ever seen him. And that worried you greatly.

“What’s wrong?” You asked, the question naturally on your tongue.

The sound of your voice in the otherwise empty corridor pulled Draco’s eyes up from the floor, snapping his attention toward you in a way that stopped his pacing in an instant, causing his posture to stiffen up tall as he turned toward you. It was an ingrained instinct - facing someone, giving them your attention when they spoke. Well trained unconscious physical etiquette whipped into a boy who was often very rude and careless with his words.

For a moment, his fist tightened in his pocket, and you knew that he was clutching on his wand instinctively, his eyes flickering around, looking for an intruder - so perhaps, not entirely ingrained etiquette. Perhaps quite a lot of unconscious physical panic living within those muscles as well. Fight or flight instincts that never got a chance to turn off.

When his eyes fell on you, recognition flooded his features, and his stiffness relaxed - even if only slightly.

“Draco, what is it? Why did you pull me out of the party?” You prodded further, your curiosity growing into annoyance when he took too long to answer you.

“Trust me, I wouldn’t have called you out here if it wasn’t important.” Draco sighed, shifting from one foot to the other, not looking at you.

“Well isn’t what I’m doing supposed to be important too?” You snapped back.

Truthfully, you didn’t care about your ‘mission’. You knew that there would be consequences for you if you failed - but at this point, you weren’t all too afraid of being killed.

When Draco’s parents had discovered that Slughorn was once again teaching at Hogwarts, they had sent you a letter asking to join his ‘Club’, telling you to get close to him. They knew that because of your brilliance, he would already be interested in you joining - and he certainly was. But you had turned him down multiple times because you found it to be an annoyance, and you didn’t want to have to worry about attending ‘club’ meetings on top of everything else going on in your chaotic life.

Snape was the one who had explained to you why they wanted you to take him up on his nagging offer. The Dark Lord, who used to be known as Tom Riddle, was also once a part of that Club. And they needed to know how much Slughorn remembered about him, and if he was spilling any of the Dark Lord’s secrets to Harry Potter. They needed to know if Slughorn was revealing anything that might make The Dark Lord vulnerable towards Potter.

Truthfully, you had been grateful towards Snape, and towards Draco for pulling you out of that social hell of fake laughter and performity and into the cool relief of the corridor. You had been dreading the thought of going to the party since Slughorn had first informed everyone about it, and you were grateful to escape it. Even if it gave a chance for the general darkness that Draco carried with him to begin biting at your sensitive heart. And even if it left Harry alone with Slughorn and his endless yammering in your wake. (You pitied him slightly, but you knew that he would be fine on his own.)

You were mostly irritated with Draco because you hadn’t seen him in days. You felt that he had been strategically avoiding you. Somehow, even in the Slytherin common room or even when you looked for him in his own dorm, he never seemed to be there. And now, he was interrupting you during a crucial moment, daring to show his face when you had spent the better of the last week alone.

You had invited him to attend the party with you. You thought that you would look like a fool, showing up without a date. And you had. Especially when nearly everyone at Hogwarts had your engagement as hot gossip on their lips just a few months prior.

“Yes, but-” Draco began to explain himself, but you cut him off, your bubbling annoyance overtaking you in the moment.

“I was talking to Slughorn when you so rudely interrupted me.” You said, emphasising the words in a way that made Draco childishly roll his eyes. “He was just about to invite me and Harry to look at some of shitty old mementos from previous class years when you had Snape pull me away-”

“Harry?” Draco repeated the name back, mouth gaped as his face twisted in disgust, getting far too caught up on the way you referred to his once rival - now someone who was very background to the rest of his problems. “What? Now you’re getting all cozied up with Potter, are you?”

At the end of the day, Draco knew that you didn’t owe him anything.

Essentially, his parents had bought you for him - just like they would have a new racing broom or a fancy set of robes. Since then, you had been nothing but kind to him. Well, aside from your mouthy attitude - which Draco actually found to be refreshing a lot of the time. And he wasn’t even sure how much of it was genuine kindness and how much of it was putting on a show for his parents in order to demonstrate to them that you were a good purchase - that you weren’t something to be disposed of.

You had held his hand, been cozy and complimented him. He had been surprised the first time you kissed him - surprised by how genuine it felt, and how much he felt himself getting sucked into the emotions of it. But he knew that it was all just for show.

Because at the end of the day, he knew that no amount of money could force him to own your heart. If you fell in love with someone like Potter, then he could do nothing to stop it. And frankly, he wouldn’t blame you. The heroics, and the genuine kindness, the niceties, the softness - Potter could offer you everything that he couldn’t.

And in all honesty - something that Draco would only admit to himself deep within the confines of his own, quiet, quaking soul - that thought utterly terrified him.

“Seriously, Draco?” You barked back, absolutely insulted at the insinuation. At the idea that you had been having fun at the party with Harry when it had been a pretty miserable time for you. “What kind of person do you think I am? I wasn’t there to flirt. Especially not with Harry Potter.”

“Yeah, that’s an awfully convenient story, love.” Draco scoffed, his voice brimming with disgust.

When you made no further moves to defend yourself - when you didn’t beg for his affection or further insist that what you and Draco had was truly genuine and worth fighting for, it only filled Draco’s mind with more doubt. It only further inflated the idea that indeed, you liked Potter as a romantic partner. And you liked him better.

“Fine then.” Draco sneered, turning on his heel and marching away, his shoes clacking loudly against the floor as he walked, creating an eerie echo in the empty hallway.

You hated that your stomach curled with dread at the sight of his quickly retreating back. It had been a long, lonely week without him, and you hated to think of how much longer he would isolate himself if you didn’t take the chance to snag him now.

“Draco, wait!” You rushed to stop him.

He was the only person that you truly knew at Hogwarts.

Yes, he had introduced you to his friends. Pansy Parkinson was nice enough, and she always tried to make girly small talk with you, which you usually returned. Often, her problems about which outfits to wear and how to do her makeup seemed insignificant compared to the literal life and death that Draco faced. But you could always go to her for a conversation that was distracting, a good mental escape.

Blaise Zabini was more of the strong, silent type. Sometimes the two of you discussed books you had read (when you weren’t feeling too stressed out to read). You usually ended conversations with him early due to colliding opinions on such books. Naturally, he sided with the rich oppressors and you found yourself rooting for the underdogs in every single story.

Somehow, out of everyone you found yourself surrounded with, Draco was someone you considered a friend. It was difficult not to after the summer the two of you had spent together.

When your godmother had told you that some ‘old friends of your parents’ were interested in meeting you, you had been surprised. She had always been good to you - she had been friendly, always given you the basics and more in terms of what you needed. She was a very work-minded woman when it came to her job dealing with cursed objects, so she travelled often and left you to be watched over by the Muggle neighbours. Those were experiences that you treasured and often found to be fun.

You had always grown up with the underlying knowledge that your godmother was not your ‘real’ mother. She always had you call her by her first name - never ‘Mama’, or ‘Mom’. Occasionally, you were mocked in school (because she had enrolled you in Muggle school for a basic education) because you were ‘adopted’. One day, this had led you to asking your godmother where it was that you had come from.

She told you that your parents were from England, and they died fighting in a war against a terrible dark wizard. They had named her as the person who would take care of you in the event of their death, and though your godmother barely had any traces of an accent left, she told you that she once went to school with your parents at a place called Hogwarts in England.

Your whole life, all you had known was Muggle New York City. When you turned ten years old, you knew Salem’s Academy for Fine Young Witches, which sometimes had social events (like Quidditch matches and weekend outings) with a brother school, Magorium’s Institute for Upcoming Magical Men. You had dated boys before, but you had never experienced anything too serious. You were a social butterfly well into your magical education who rode the subway during your summers and spent your time going to concerts, enjoying the Muggle library, watching television, going to the movie theatre.

Even though you never knew your parents and you mourned the dreams of a life you could have had - your life was simple, and you liked it that way.

Until your godmother took you on a trip to England, promising that it would be a pilgrimage to know more about your heritage, and nothing more. And then - over one dinner, she sold you out to the Malfoys for a dowry of two thousand Galleons.

Apparently it was enough for her to retire so that she could write a book, as she had always dreamed of. And she was more than happy to be rid of the responsibility of a child that she did not birth. Something that you had heard her whisper to Narcissa when she thought you had not been listening. Up until that point, the only thing binding her to you had been a magical contract that she had signed with your parents before you were even born, naming her your carer in the event of their untimely death.

The moment she signed a new contract - bidding you to the Malfoys as Draco’s future wife - she was completely free of her responsibility. The new contract that she signed dictated that the Malfoys would have to be responsible for you now.

So - what you had thought would be a nice visit to explore more about the two dead people that you had never known quickly turned into a permanent relocation with only a small suitcase full of personal belongings, and little clue what the future held for you. Suddenly, you were in a brand new country, living with people you had never met before, betrothed to someone who seemed to hate you.

And the more the Malfoys talked about The War and told stories of your deceased parents, the more you realised - your parents had died fighting alongside the terrible dark wizard, and not against him. But still, Narcissa and Lucius spoke about your parents as though they were heroes. Valiant heroes who had died at the hands of Aurors, protecting Voldemort’s cause.

At first, it felt instinctive to hate Draco Malfoy.

You wanted so badly to hate him.

He was your betrothed, and though he was very handsome, he had been bitterly rude to you. It seemed that the forcefully polite kiss on the hand that he had given you upon first meeting - something that had given you butterflies in your stomach - had been nothing more than a front, a show he put on for his parents. Because he quickly soured towards you after that.

He made it very clear that he was not a fan of the arranged marriage either. Even when his parents continually tried to pitch the idea to him and fluff it up for him - as much as they acted like you were a present being given to him on a silver platter (something that only made you feel more isolated and empty).

There was a distinct point that made you come around to Draco Malfoy.

The night when you had found out that it wasn’t just a visit, that the idea of the marriage wasn’t just being ‘floated by’ your godmother, but in fact, it was set in stone and you were being left at Malfoy Manor while she silently escaped in the middle of the night with her bag full of gold without even saying goodbye to you. You had sat on the edge of the guest bed they had you in and simply sobbed. You had never felt more alone in your life, never more abandoned, and all you could do was cry your eyes out.

Draco’s room was across the hall from yours, so naturally, he heard this. It had been a purposeful move from his parents, putting the two of you in close quarters in the hopes that you would talk and interact more, wanting the two of you to at least like each other before getting married. After a few hours of being forced to listen to your chest-racking sobs, you heard a knock. You had been expecting it to be Draco, telling you to shut up so that he could sleep, but instead, a tiny voice asked permission to enter.

It was one of the house elves - one you later learned was called Pippy, and when you gave her permission to come in, she shuffled along with a large tray in her hands and placed it on the nightstand. A teapot and an empty teacup. She poured you the cup of tea, and after she handed it to you, she patted you on the knee and said:

“Mister Draco says peppermint tea is good for the bad days,”

You took the cup in two shaking hands, thanking her meekly, enjoying it as a small comfort. When you watched the tiny elf shuffling back toward your door, you caught a glimpse of a bright blue eye peeking in through the crack, clearly trying not to be caught looking in.

Even if he would never admit it then, he was growing soft toward you.

And he had spent the next three months, the entirety of the summer, fighting with that softness as it grew within himself. He constantly battled between pushing you away with feigned annoyance and coldness and wrapping you in warmth, a wordless care.

He would spend some of the nights in your bed cuddling you while you cried, staying completely silent as to dare not let any fond words slip out. He would defend you against his parents when you didn’t participate in their properly deemed etiquette (such as when you treated the house elves ‘too nicely’ or when you spoke about Muggle technology a bit too much). And yet, he never brought himself to say more than a few genuinely nice words to you.

He was holding you at arm’s length. He was trying to be some snide, petulant boy toward you in the hopes that you wouldn’t like him. But truly, he was the only real kindness, the only real friend you had in this lonely new world.

Draco stopped in his tracks at the sound of you calling out his name. As much as he would never admit it, he was a puppet to your call.

He heaved out a sigh and turned back around, so utterly drawn to you. He hated to see your eyes coated in glass - fear and sadness, the ache that you had disappointed him bubbling to the surface as he stared you down with a sour face, his hands still in his pockets, his entire body still stiff.

Even though a sad face didn’t suit you, you were still beautiful. So damn beautiful. He hated that he had been so stupid as to miss accompanying you to the party. But he likely would have just been a grey cloud hanging around you, preventing anyone from talking to you and socialising with you. He would have been a roadblock to your mission.

You were wearing a dress made of a fabric that looked like liquid silver melted down and poured over your body, so sparkling and flowy that you looked like a star that belonged in the night sky alongside the beauty of the moon. It wrapped around your body gracefully, with a tie to emphasise your waist and a low neckline that showed off your cleavage. He was only human - he couldn’t lie in how it appealed to him. Sitting in the middle of your cleavage was a necklace - it was an ornate ruby beetle, the sigil of your Pureblood family. You were the last remaining member of the Scaraflos house.

The necklace had been handed down to you from your mother - literally the only thing you had from your parents. You had worn it for years without ever truly knowing what it meant. You had told Draco that when Narcissa showed you pictures of his parents and your parents from their school days and pointed out how your mother was wearing the necklace in those pictures, it was the only time you had ever felt truly connected to your Pureblood heritage. And you had no clue if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

Anytime in years previous, Draco would have jumped to say that it was a good thing. Now, though - he wasn’t entirely sure.

You were shivering slightly due to the fact that it had such short sleeves, but you were wearing black stockings on your legs (something else that Draco found irritably sexy, even though it covered more of your skin) and you had on a pair of simple, but elegant silver heels.

Silently, unable to stand the sight of goosenips forming on your skin, he took off his blazer and took the few steps back toward you to wrap it around your shoulders. With his thinner build, it wouldn’t fit you well - but at least, it would shield you from some of the cold air in the castle. As he draped it around you, his eyes caught a glimpse of your hand as you reached up to hold the edge of the coat on your shoulder, clutching onto the fabric so that it wouldn’t fall.

Draco couldn’t help it when his eyes fixated terribly on it - that damn engagement ring.

It was something his parents had purchased without him ever knowing, and they had him present it to you as a form of ceremony. As if either of you had any choice in the matter. As if it was supposed to be romantic. As if you could have said no. Later on, behind closed doors, you told him that you would wear it proudly and he scoffed. He thought that the moment the two of you got to Hogwarts, when there were no more prying eyes on the two of you (because Snape certainly didn’t care) - that you would take it off and resign it to some jewellery box, or perhaps even throw it away.

But you kept wearing it.

When you thought Draco wasn’t looking, he sometimes found you twisting it between two fingers, looking down at it with an odd kind of fondness - or perhaps, even love. Always a deep, dizzying array of complex thoughts floating through your mind.

He had no clue that you wore it because you thought of Draco as your family now. He was the only person you had in the world who hadn’t done you some kind of injustice. And you wore it to show loyalty to him. You wore it because it meant that you weren’t alone. You were an abandoned orphan, sold and bartered like livestock - but as long as you wore that ring, you belonged to someone. Someone who, despite his best efforts to appear cold and uncaring, did take care of you.

“Draco, why did you come here?” You asked again, much gentler this time, lowering your attack for now.

You stared at him expectantly as you clutched his blazer around your shoulders, trying to steal the last bits of his warmth out of the fabric before it faded away completely.

He sighed, hating to admit that he needed help. He was stubbornly, bitterly independent, just as his parents had taught him to be. It was one of his biggest flaws.

“I’m having issues with the Vanishing Cabinet.” He told you quietly, hesitant to admit it. Hesitant to admit failure.

“Show me.” You told him, and he nodded.

He led you to the blank wall on the fifth floor that somehow caused a door to appear. The first time you had seen it, it had astounded you. Even in a world of magic, some things still managed to surprise you.

He had originally brought you there at the beginning of the school year when he had explained to you that he had been tasked to fix up The Vanishing Cabinet. He had called it The Room of Hidden Things. He had explained to you that any time someone wanted to get rid of a dangerous object, for that object to never be found again, they disposed of it within this room. Sometimes it was also a dumping ground for common junk, he had theorised, and he heavily believed that items that were hidden within other places within the walls of Hogwarts - a book tucked away in a random cupboard, a potion bottle hidden under someone’s mattress - somehow, those items ended up here if they were hidden with the same intention of disposal. They were all pulled here by the room’s strong magic.

You found it to be hauntingly beautiful, like many other places within Hogwarts were. You couldn’t help but to enjoy the sense of mystery as you walked through the isles of piled up furniture, seeing all the strange items that you could barely put names to - things like dragon skulls, murky old potions rotting away in dusty bottles. Even a few trolls that had been killed and stuff (taxidermy style) that had startled you upon your first visit to the room because when you had first looked at them, you thought they were alive and waiting to attack.

Draco brought you to the back of the large room, and you saw that he had already pulled the tarp off the overwhelming tall, ornate Vanishing Cabinet, so the dusty cloth was sitting in the pile at the cabinet’s feet. Without a word, Draco walked up to the cabinet, moving in stiff mechanical motions as he pulled open the doors. You took a few steps closer to get a better look, realising that he was trying to show you whatever was inside - that must be where the primary problem was located.

You couldn’t hold in the gasp that broke out of your throat when you saw a dead bird sitting in the bottom of the cabinet.

A bright yellow canary laying against the dark wood, belly up and completely still with its soft feathers rustled, a few of them missing. You had seen very few dead animals in your lifetime. Aside from the occasional New York City pigeon, laying on the sidewalk in a similar fashion after running itself into one of the hyper reflective windows of the tall buildings. You couldn’t even stand to look at those for too long. You still felt the same deep heartache while looking at it that you had for the poor pigeons.

“Oh - oh my.” You gaped quietly.

Draco was entirely surprised when you shouldered him out of the way, letting his ill-fitting borrowed jacket drop off your shoulders onto the dusty ground without care as you crouched down in front of him. You then scooped up the small bird in your hands, cradling it gently as though it were entirely precious.

He thought that seeing the state of things, you might start suggesting spells, telling him ways that he could fix the obvious problem. But no - you were soft-hearted. The true problem hadn’t even occurred to you yet, because you were so caught up on the sight of a dead bird. You were emotional, struck by the shock of an innocent animal having its life prematurely ended.

Draco envied you quietly for a moment as you sat on your knees in front of the cabinet, looming in his shadow as you held the bird in your hands. He realised that in order for you to be so startled over this, so heartbroken - it must be one of the first times you had been brushed with death. Draco envied that naivety.

He wished he could rewind to the version of himself from a few years ago. A version that thought not being able to join the Quidditch team because of an age restriction was the worst tragedy in the world. A version that thought he got everything he wanted because he was genuinely deserving of it. Someone who couldn’t see that he was simply a spoiled brat.

He wished he could go back to a version that hadn’t seen Muggleborns slain in his family’s dining room, begging for mercy where there would be none.

When he had first seen that bird sitting dead in the cabinet, a frighteningly still, dead body draped in yellow - for a moment, he had been reminded of Cedric Diggory. Someone so undeserving, lifeless before their time. Used up and gone.

But now, seeing the way you cradled it, fussing over something already dead and unable to benefit from your care - Draco was distinctly reminded of himself, withering and undeserving in your arms.

“Draco, do - do you think we should bury it?” You asked, the gentle croak of tears in your voice as you considered a pointless funeral for the small dead thing.

You suddenly rose up to your feet then, walking around Draco to look for something among the junk in the room, something to wrap the poor bird in - some kind of cloth, or perhaps a small box to place it in.

This caused something inside of him to snap. The way your sweet demeanour ground against his nerves - his worry, his anxiety about everything mounting suddenly as you fussed over a tiny thing that truly didn’t matter.

Eventually, your good intentions would get you killed. That gentle touch, that willingness to help - it would get you on the wrong end of a Killing Curse one day. (Especially if he didn’t protect you.)

“It’s not about the bloody bird, woman!” He growled out, entirely frustrated with your delicate ignorance, your lack of seeing the true point.

Draco turned to you, and grabbed your arm so viciously that your palms jerked apart and the small, lifeless body dropped onto the floor without a single bit of grace. The bird dropped against the cold stone so carelessly, as though it were an object that had not once had any life in it at all. You let out another gasp at this, and looked from the dull tuft of yellow feathers at your feet up to Draco’s face.

“Draco!” You cried out sharply, protesting against his careless nature toward the innocent creature.

His fingers were gripping your forearm fiercely, blooming small bits of pain - but you didn’t care. You felt a clench in your gut, distinct guilt overwhelming you. You told yourself that his anger was misplaced. You had to guess so. You didn’t have words, especially not while he stared you down so coldly. All you could do was stand tall, and stare right back, even while tears formed in your eyes.

He tightly clenched his jaw.

You were surprised when he spoke again.

“How can you be so daft?” He said, almost choking on the words.

That was when you knew for certain that all his bubbling anger was truly misplaced. He had called you brilliant before, and often made ‘jokes’ about how much you outsmarted him. It was one of the only things he had said about you that wasn’t sarcastic or backhanded in some effort to deter you. He didn’t think that you were stupid, not one bit.

“Look, you know if I don’t get this thing working-” Draco couldn’t even finish his sentence before his throat closed around the words, threatening harsh sobs that he was desperate to contain.

Instead, he turned abruptly, letting go of your arm - now completely uncaring of the misplaced conflict. You felt a wave crash into your chest as you realised it. He was right - how could you have been so stupid?

Of course, he had no care for a small animal.

It was about what that animal represented. His failure. Death looming over his head.

The bird had obviously died in the cabinet, which meant that a living thing had yet to survive the transition from Borgin & Burkes into Hogwarts. If Draco couldn’t fix that problem - if there was some sort of problem when the Death Eaters tried to use the cabinet to get into Hogwarts and one of them died, then Draco would be on the line for it.

They would kill him if he couldn’t get this right.

Draco moved slowly, putting a hand on each of the cabinet’s doors and closing them. The harsh squeak of the old hinges resonating through the otherwise silent room spoke volumes.

Then, for a few long, painstaking moments - neither of you said a thing.

Your chest ached. You wished that you could find something comforting to tell him. For some reason, you knew that simply telling him ‘it’s going to be okay’ wasn’t going to cut it. You muddled in the silence and you hated it.

He stood with his back still turned to you, with his arms outstretched, leaning on the tall, imposing wooden object. It felt like a shadow of death looming over the two of you. His shoulders held nothing but pure tension, even as he used the object for support. Soon, he took on a very unnatural, un-Malfoy slouch as he allowed his head to so tiredly droop down between his spread arms.

After a few moments of that terrible silence, with you staring at his back, tossing your mind for something helpful to say as you chewed at your own lip - Draco took in a shuddering breath. Though you knew he was trying to hide it: he began quietly sobbing.

You couldn’t help yourself then.

It was something you knew that he pretended to hate, but you did it anyway. He could pretend to be annoyed with you if he wanted, but you both likely needed it right now. You stepped forward, over the dead bird, your shoes quietly clacking against the stone - and you settled yourself right up against his back, tucking your body tightly against him in a hug. You nuzzled your face into the tense muscles of his shoulders, and as you wrapped your arms around his waist from behind and squeezed him tightly, you felt some of the tension melt away as he unconsciously relaxed into your touch.

You did worry about how much thinner he felt in your arms than the last time you had done this - obviously, he hadn’t been eating properly. But you didn’t bother to bring it up, not wanting to start another argument.

Draco felt a grateful warmth spread over him. Still, he refused to touch you back. He couldn’t. At least not yet.

He kept his hands on the wood of the cabinet, almost like a bold surrender, silently remarking that he would give into your touch, to your softness, but he wouldn’t return it. He couldn’t. He let out another shuddering sob - a sound he couldn’t contain now with the feeling of your warmth at his back. It was something he hated himself for.

You hushed him gently. And then, miraculously, you found words.

“We could leave.” You said quietly, turning your head so that your cheek sat parallel with his flesh, muttering the words against the fine silk of his button up shirt. “We could just… run away together. We don’t have to stay here, Draco. We could get to a fireplace and Floo out of here, or-”

“We can’t.” Draco easily cut you off, stamping out the idea, his voice just as quiet, throttled by tears. “You know that we can’t.”

You wanted to argue the point more. Obviously, he didn’t hate the idea. He just thought it was illogical. Likely, he thought it was too dangerous. But what was the alternative - possibly being killed anyway? Being tortured and then killed if he failed his mission?

“If we leave, they’ll kill my parents because I couldn’t complete my mission.” Draco sniffled quietly. “At the very least, they’ll haul me in and have my head for being a traitor.”

Draco straightened his stance then, taking his arms off the cabinet. You thought that he might remove your arms from his waist, finally rejecting your touch. But instead, he began tracing fingers from his right hand along the forearm of his left sleeve, almost scratching at it like it was a terrible itch.

You had been there on the night when he had gotten the Mark.

You had been brought into the room and forced to listen to his screams of pain before you even truly knew what was happening. When you had tried to comfort him about it, he had pushed you off so roughly that you had almost smacked your head into one of the walls - but you couldn’t bring yourself to be angry with him. You that he was taking that fear and pain out on you in that terribly misplaced way.

Later that night, when he had been crying - sobbing harshly and running the freshly scorched skin under cool water - he let you run him a bath with soothing soaps. The two of you discussed Shakespeare’s plays (which you were surprised that he had read) while you washed his hair for him.

“Now that I have the Mark, I can’t run anywhere.” Draco muttered quietly. “I can’t go anywhere that I won’t be found.”

That part had never truly occurred to you before.

You knew that the Dark Lord used the Dark Mark as a way for his followers to show their loyalty. The magic behind it also made it a way for him to summon them or even for them to summon him. Hearing his words, you guessed that Draco having it meant that he could be ‘summoned’ at any time as a part of the loyalty he had so unwillingly pledged.

Even if he betrayed the Dark Lord morally, mentally, emotionally, and tried to do so physically by running away, as long as his arm was attached, he would still be in service to that horrible man until he and his followers decided otherwise. Especially because you couldn’t imagine Draco wanting to part with his arm anytime soon.

“We’ll figure something out.” You told him, having little faith in those words yourself. You knew it was a truth that you had to speak into existence - otherwise, you were doomed.

You laid a gentle kiss on his shoulder through the fabric of his shirt, spreading more warmth through him. He clenched his fists at his sides, highly resisting the urge to reach for your hands, but silently hoping that you wouldn’t pull away.

Draco resented your sense of hope. A lot of the time, he couldn’t help but to think that it was stupid - just your naivety poking through in a different way. Though, truthfully, in a lot of ways, he knew that your hope was the bravest thing about you. And these days, that hope was the only thing keeping him afloat in the chaotic sea that his life had become.

Draco, unlike you, was a coward.

He could come up with all the excuses he wanted not to run away, but truthfully - he was terrified. And every single day, his fear put you more and more at risk.

…

Draco thought back to a night at Malfoy Manor, when you had been having dinner with him and his parents. A night when, for the first time in his life, that streak of cowardice had somehow been broken.

“Can you believe it? It’s completely ridiculous. A proposal to convert the entire Ministry from intern-departmental memos to this - this telephone nonsense!”

Lucius ranted on as he cut into his food, taking out his aggression on the piece of meat in front of him as he recounted something that had happened a few months previous that still brought him particular frustration whenever he remembered it.

“That Arthur Weasley is a stupid old bat, downright mindless, but even I can’t imagine where he gets theses ideas from-”

“Telephones can actually be quite useful.” You piped up, interrupting his father’s ranting with a quiet, but polite comment.

Without a word, all three others at the table stared at you as you continued to mindlessly poke at your dinner. Lucius glared daggers at you, his expression full of bitter venom, while Draco and Narcissa gave you the same distinct expression of shock - deer in headlights, mirrored over both their faces. Over the years, they had learned to simply be quiet and ‘listen’ to the rantings of their patriarch, especially if it was about the goings on at the Ministry, Arthur Weasley, or any number of other subjects that he knew he was right about.

While at his own dinner table, Lucius Malfoy was not to be interrupted - much less corrected.

You had just broken the golden rule twice over. You had interrupted him in the middle of speaking, and you had contradicted what he was saying.

Draco’s gut clenched as he realised that he should have warned you beforehand to avoid such a faux pas. He should have told you that the dinner table was a place for quietly eating and answering direct questions in as few words as possible - not an open forum.

Before he could apologise on your behalf, you opened your mouth again - doubling down on this accidental, horrible mistake.

“Do you just find it confusing because you don’t know how they work?” You posed, reaching out to grab your glass for a sip of water, looking right at Lucius as you posed the question. “I know that a lot of Wizards who were born in the magical world can find Muggle technology strange and confusing, but-”

Before you could finish speaking, Lucius reached off to the side and grabbed his cane, and brought down onto the centre of the table with an intense silent fury. He smashed your hand down into the glass that you had been holding, shattering it to pieces underneath your palm. Draco and Narcissa flinched at the sound and Narcissa backed her chair away slightly - but neither of them dared to speak, neither of them moved to confront him. In fact, Narcissa was very intentionally looking away, her eyes now glued to the floor.

Draco could see blood pooling against the emerald green table runner, could see your flesh quivering in pain underneath the silver snake’s maw - but you stayed completely still, your eyes coldly locked on Lucius’ glare as he hovered out of his seat. Even with tears of pain dotting your eyes, your throat trembling as you held back cries - you kept a stiff jaw and refused to back down from the confrontation.

It was braver than Draco had ever been, and he silently admired you for it.

“If you think that stupid, filthy Muggles are so brilliant, then you can die like one.” Lucius ground out slowly, pure rage on his breath. “While you are living in my house, you will learn your place. You filthy, blood-traitorous slut.”

Draco held his breath. He knew that if you backed down, if you shied away and admitted your wrong doing with silence or even an apology, then his father would let you go easily and then this would all be over.

But of course - you weren’t going to back down easily. Not you.

“And what place is that?” You remarked, pure snark in your tone.

Draco’s throat clenched up. His father wouldn’t like that.

Lucius lifted the snake’s bite off your hand, only for a second, and then - after placing down the cane, he sharply backhanded you. Draco knew that he wore thick, heavy rings on his hand and he worried for you - especially when you swayed on your seat for a moment before falling to the floor. The heft of the hit was enough to dizzy you, make you unstable and send you to the ground.

“Your place is to be silent until I call upon you.” Lucius announced, seeming very satisfied with himself.

Narcissa refused to look in your direction, and Lucius moved to sit back in his chair. For once, going against everything he had been taught since childhood, Draco rushed to get out of his. He knew that it would have been expected for him to ignore you. For you to be isolated in your pain. But he couldn’t help himself.

Draco rushed to your side, collapsing onto his hands and knees before you - instinctively, he sheltered you in his arms, trying to get you upright again.

“Y/N?” He croaked out quietly, only now realising how close he was to tears.

“I’m fine, Draco.” You quickly lied. “I’m fine.”

“Draco.”

Lucius’ tone was entirely dead, almost calm, and somehow menacing in the same breath. Draco looked over your head, your slouched, defeated posture making you too small in his arms as he held you against his chest, and he caught his father’s eye as the man glared at him with pure violence dancing in his cold eyes. Any other time, Draco would have folded to that silent threat so easily. But with you there - with the feeling of you quivering against him, clearly holding in sobs - it truly injected boldness into him in those moments.

You were such a fragile thing. For once in his life - something he needed to protect. Something only he could protect.

“Draco, sit down.” His father ordered, clearly annoyed when Draco took too long to move away from you. “You haven’t been dismissed from my table yet.”

Draco laid a gentle kiss on your forehead, and somehow, entirely against his own will, untangled you from his arms. When he stood, everyone in the room thought for certain that it was to comply with this order. But instead, he moved toward his father’s chair with sharp footsteps, putting on his best faux confidence and standing tall as he spat out his next words.

“I swear to Merlin, if you ever put a hand on my fiance again, I will end you.”

Naturally, Lucius didn’t find this threat to be the slightest bit intimidating.

His father let out a dark chuckle, clearly amused by seeing Draco posture as a man when he knew that his son was nothing more than a spoiled, cowardly child.

“Let’s not forget who bought you the little whore.” Lucius laughed. “There’s no need to get sentimental, Draco. You should be paying attention. Learn how to train up your wife now, before she becomes a disobedient brat. You should never let anyone talk to your father like that, remember, loyalty comes-”

Draco took out his wand then, much to his father’s surprise. With it poised in Lucius’ direction, he received a sharp glare.

“I understand loyalty perfectly well. Father.” Draco said, his voice short.

“Incarcerous.” Lucius hissed sharply - then, as if out of nowhere, a thin black rope appeared and whipped around the middle of Draco’s neck. In an instant, it began tightening, choking him.

Immediately, Draco dropped his wand and fell backwards, landing beside where you were still kneeling on the floor - you panicked as you watched him choking and gasping for breath.

“Lucius!” Narcissa cried out, begging for the end of the conflict.

The man ignored her.

“You will learn to respect me in my own house, so help me, if I have to-”

“Finite.” You held your good hand above Draco’s gasping face and muttered the counter curse, releasing him from the rope, performing an impressive feat of wandless magic to get him free.

Lucius glared at you once again, locking you and Draco in a harsh stare as you helped him sit up while he struggled to catch his breath.

Before any further words could be said, Lucius pushed out his chair and stomped out of the room like a child having a tantrum, obviously upset that his intimidation and abuse had not gotten him the result he wanted. Narcissa said nothing, only giving you the saddest eyes as you helped Draco off the floor. The two of you left to go clean the glass out of your palm, spending the rest of the night locked in Draco’s room, licking your wounds in the relative comfort of each other’s silence.

…

That had been the first time Draco had ever properly stood up to his father.

Draco still wondered if that was a good thing or not.

Before he could venture any further into that very dangerous can of worms, you pulled Draco back to the present when you stepped back from the hug. Draco resisted the urge to pull you back, to steal more of your warmth.

You noticed something out of the corner of your eye that caught your attention.

A mattress laid out on the floor.

It could have just been one of those random pieces of stray ‘junk’ furniture, but something about it caught your attention. For one, the fact that it hadn’t been in that position the last time you had been in this room. And two - there were a few random, stray blankets placed on top of it in what was very clearly an improvised sleeping area. As though someone had gone through the random objects in the room in order to compose a makeshift bed.

With Draco’s bookbag sitting beside the mattress, open - you quickly clued into the truth. It was absolutely no trouble to figure out why you hadn’t seen much of him over the past week. He had been sleeping here.

It was a revelation that shocked you.

Especially considering that this looked quite shabby in comparison to the comfort of the Slytherin dorms. And you knew that at home, he was used to being spoiled with a thick, three foot tall mattress on a four poster bed and goose feather down pillows. So - why would he choose to camp out here? Why would he want to be closer to The Vanishing Cabinet - something that was actively giving him stress?

“You’ve been sleeping here.” You said, disappointment ripe in your voice as you walked over to the mattress as toed at one of the blankets with your shoe. “Why?”

“Why does it matter?” Draco huffed, picking up his jacket that you had dropped onto the floor and tossing it into the middle of the mattress. “Can you help me with The Cabinet or not?”

“I can help.” You answered simply. “But I want to talk about this first.” You said, motioning toward the area where he had slept.

Draco let out a sharp breath and turned around, rubbing his hands across his face in sharp frustration.

For a moment, you thought that he was simply going to leave again, forcing you to chase him, trying to outrun the conversation. It had been a favourite tactic of his when the two of you had been living at his parents’ sprawling estate, a place that he knew much better than you did. The second that things got a bit too personal, he would slip into some random hallway or sneak off around a private corner, and it was like he had Disapparated - with how quickly he had moved, disappearing into the bowels of the house so that he could escape talking to you.

You wouldn’t let him escape this time.

You stepped up to him and put your hands on either side of his face, and he closed his eyes at the gentle touch.

“Draco, please don’t hide from me.” You told him quietly. “You don’t have to be alone in all this. I know… I know I’m just some stupid girl that your parents bought for you, but I want to be a good wife for you. I want to be the person that you can come to with your problems.”

Draco didn’t think of you as just some ‘stupid girl’.

He didn’t think of you as a gift, as a purchased object that he could throw away like he had with every other toy that he had carelessly broken in his life.

Honestly - you were the first real friend he ever had. You were the first person who was truly honest with him, calling him out on his bullshit, barring any consequences of his reputation or anything that his parents might do to you. You didn’t flock to him for popularity or status. You were forced to be near him, but you didn’t always act polite toward him by force. When your sweetness came to him, it was in waves. And it came along with sour notes and rudeness and harsh honesty that he needed.

That kind of honesty was something that he had never experienced from anyone else in his life.

And all of it was so incredibly genuine.

You were someone who should have hated him, but you always smiled at him; someone who said his name with nothing but pleasantness in your tone, where others said it with venom or coldness. You were one of the first people he felt like he could open up to, and that was dangerous.

Of course he was hiding from you. He needed to hide from you.

He was a coward. And lately, the thing he feared most, even above losing his own life - was losing you. You were probably the only good thing he had ever possessed that was actually irreplaceable. If he lost you, he knew that he would never recover. He would actually willingly fling himself off the Astronomy Tower if he was somehow responsible for getting you hurt.

That was what kept him at a distance. Hoping that he could actually grow cold toward you. Hoping that he could learn to genuinely hate you if he escaped from your sweetness.

He also hoped that you would grow to hate him so that you could simply detach and go off on your own. You didn’t have The Mark, you could still run. At least before making your marriage vows, you could. But no - you were too good. You were too kind hearted to truly abandon him.

And every time Draco saw you, he only became more nauseated with the realisation that he was becoming more and more fond of you. He would always look for your face in the crowd at the Great Hall, he would always wait for that smile to come across your lips when you locked eyes with him.

And he couldn’t handle it. He couldn’t handle you. He couldn’t handle being the one responsible for the destruction of your life.

So he spent more nights, longer nights in the Room of Requirement, slaving over The Vanishing Cabinet, writing down increasingly stupid plans for how he could kill Dumbledore without actually waltzing up and just murdering the man. He had to complete his mission if he was going to keep you safe.

“Draco, please-”

He couldn’t take it anymore. He couldn’t listen to the sweet sadness in your voice curl around his name like a canary’s song, another sweet little bird ready to die by his hands. He couldn’t stand you talking to him like you actually cherished him - like he was actually something worth having.

He reached up and gently cupped the side of your face, tucking his arm inside of yours to do so where you still held onto his cheek, the two of you becoming so entangled, just as he had feared.

Then - he pulled you into a kiss.

It was an addition to only about a half dozen kisses that the two of you had shared before this. And in an instant, this was the most desperate - emotions that he desperately wanted dampened off and hidden wringing through his lips and into yours. Entirely against his will, another hot tear escaped, and he let out a small gasp when you were quick to thumb it away.

You wanted to cheer at the feeling of his lips against yours. You knew that before this, he was actively pulling away from you, putting himself in isolation, marching in his suffering alone because he thought that he had to. Or simply because he was used to it, from what you had seen of his home life.

You knew what a horrible curse loneliness was, and you never wanted him to suffer through it. Especially not on top of everything else he was already going through. If he had to suffer through everything that his parents had put onto him, then at the very least, he didn’t have to suffer alone.

Having his lips pressed so tightly to yours - it felt like progress. Feeling the whimper that echoed out from his throat as he held your face so delicately, like you were a perfect, soft doll - like you were something so precious - it felt like you had broken down a wall that he had been trying so hard for so many months to keep up as a barrier against you.

This felt like saving him.

It felt like doing what little you could within your limited power to create light in the darkness he was trudging through. Or at the very least, it felt like you could assure him that he wasn’t stuck in that darkness alone.

After a few moments, Draco pulled away from the kiss. When he reached up to pull one of your hands away from his face, you worried that he might just shove you away and walk away altogether, finally coming to his senses against the affection. You worried that he would suddenly become cold toward you as he had done many other times, in an effort to turn you off.

Instead - he surprised you. He did one of the most endearing, heart-melting things that he possibly could have done.

He clasped your wrist gently between his cool fingers, thumbing along your pulse in a way that made you hold back a moan, and then he raised the heel of your palm up to his lips. With his eyes gently closed, refusing to look at you, he kissed along the fading scars that had been left there when his father had smashed your hand into a wine glass over dinner.

The marks were something you didn’t pay much mind to these days, especially not with the ornament of your engagement ring as a much more pleasant distraction on that hand. But feeling Draco’s pillowy, light kisses grazing across your skin in the best, deepest apology he ever could have offered you - it made your stomach clench with overwhelming emotion as tears formed in your eyes.

“Draco-” You choked on his name this time, and he moved your hand to sit on his shoulder as he turned his attention toward your face.

Glassy, tear-kissed eyes faced your own, and you knew that there were no words for it.

The universe had brought the two of you together in the strangest way and drowned the two of you in the most unpleasant circumstances. But you couldn’t help thinking that this is exactly where you were meant to be.

“Hush now, darling.” He told you, his voice whisper-quiet, not daring to get much louder lest he risk breaking those tears in his throat.

Darling. It was the first time he had ever called you that. He had thrown out the occasional snide ‘honey’ or ‘wifey’ in front of his parents or even behind closed doors, very rudely playing on the fact that he was supposed to treat you like a girlfriend, like his beloved. He thought it was amusing to taunt you with the sarcasm that he never actually would hold any true affection for you.

This was the first pet name he had given you out of genuine affection.

He pulled you back in for another kiss, and the moment his lips touched yours, Draco could feel himself losing it. The softness of your pillowy mouth against his, the way your fingers curled into his shirt, holding onto him like you truly needed him as an anchor. The little moan you let out - making him desperate to chase more of those sounds from you.

All of it was slowly driving him insane, leading him further astray from his goal of detaching from you.

He should have tossed you out into the hallway. He should have yelled at you, called you horrible names. He should have pulled out every single rude, bratty thing in his repertoire to make you absolutely hate him. Instead - he found himself getting lost in you more by the second. He found himself letting your softness roll over him in waves, turning him weak.

Draco held the back of your head with one hand, pinning you into the kiss, holding you against his mouth like a dehydrated man would so desperately hold onto a decanter of water. You let out another sweet moan, louder this time, and he didn’t hesitate to shove his tongue past your lips, dizzy and needing to drink right from the source, wanting to devour you whole. He needed to see if he could taste the light that radiated out of you. He needed to see if he could find that fatal thing inside of you that made you have a fondness toward him.

This was nothing like snogging random Slytherin girls out of boredom.

In that moment, Draco felt important. He felt needed. He felt like he served some grander purpose of good in the universe because you held onto him tighter, because you pulled him closer, because you kissed him back with ferocity and sucked on his tongue. Because you wanted him. He felt that if your attention shifted from him for even a moment, he would wither away and cease to exist because he only mattered under the warmth of your gaze.

Draco felt like he was tempting fate when he moved his hands down your shoulders, down your back, daring to touch more of you - daring to ask for more. That he was playing with fire, letting his well-ingrained greed get the better of him once again. But he couldn’t help himself.

He cradled his flat-handed touch across you with the intention to feel you in a way that he never had before. Yes, he had held you before - hugged you, pulled you close to him when he was stuck for words and wanting to comfort you, especially seeing as comforting words had never been a skill taught to him. But other than a few grazing touches against your hands or your cheeks, he had never dared to invite himself to the rest of your body.

Before this, he had never touched you with lust on his mind.

He had never truly thought of you as his property, something he could possess and own and take. He thought for certain, at any moment, you would push him away for being so brazen - and he would simply have to add this rejection to his pile of heartbreaks and move on.

Instead, he felt something inside of him ease with relief when you sighed with delight - one of the most beautiful sounds he had ever heard. And then, in a moment so perfect, you leaned into his touches. You kept one hand tightly gripping the fabric of his shirt and the other reached up and wound into his neatly slicked hair, instantly messing up the tresses and making them wild at the back.

But he couldn’t care, not for a moment - especially not when you let out another sweet moan into his mouth and leaned your whole body into him, pressing against him so that he felt every inch of your gorgeous curves through the thin fabric of your dress.

Draco had felt you pressed this close against his body before, but it had never been like this.

Before it had been like a delicate bird being held in a cage - like some sweet, innocent thing he was trying to protect.

But now, it was like a man truly feeling a woman. It was a potential husband truly seeing his future wife for the first time, and his body responded in the only way he could. He let out a shuddering moan and he felt his cock hardening up. Of course, he didn’t want you to feel it. He didn’t want this to happen. He shouldn’t let this happen.

He was supposed to be distancing himself from you, not letting you dizzy him like he was some stupid lovesick fool. He was supposed to be severing these ties, not burrowing himself further inside of you. (And just that thought sparked a certain imagery in his mind that made his cock twitch and swell to full mast. Brilliant. Just bloody brilliant. He was a fool.)

Draco pulled back from the kiss and you let out a disappointed sound - like the creek of an old door, tired and waning.

Draco forced his hands back to his sides, despite how fantastic the warmth of your flesh felt under his touch.

When he tried to step back from you, you refused to let him go. The grip you had in his hair caused a small twinge of pain across his scalp, and he was forced to open his eyes. The look on your face - kiss bruised lips, eyes still closed, a quiver across your chin, filled to the brim with disappointment, likely knowing what was going through his mind - it made him weak. It gave him pause.

He was too damn weak.

“Y/N-” He said your name in a whisper - about to tell you that the two of you shouldn’t be doing this, but you cut him off.

“Draco, please.” You whimpered quietly. “Please, don’t push me away right now.”

He reached up and gently gripped your forearm. He should have used the touch to untangle you from him, but he found that he didn’t have the strength to. Whether it was a mental strength or a physical one, he wasn’t even sure.

“I need this.” You whispered, your voice hoarse and strained, and for the first time that he had ever heard - desperate. “I think you do too. Please.”

He was a horrible, selfish man - but he told himself that a good husband would never deny you of your needs.

Draco swept you into another kiss, wrapping one of his arms around your back, firm and protective as he always had been, determined to serve your needs with more ferocity than ever. While you moaned into his mouth, he guided you backwards until your ankles hit the edge of that mattress. The one he had been sleeping on to flee from this big, horrible thing that had been building between the two of you that had now crashed down upon his head with inevitability.

Even dizzy from the feeling of his lips on yours, you instantly understood the wordless signal. He laid you down on it as gently as he could, taking the gravity in slow pauses rather than simply letting you fall backwards, and as he fixed some of the blankets under your head like a makeshift pillow, you felt like a queen, being treated with the highest affection and handled with the most gentle hands that her beloved could muster.

Part of you yearned for a rougher touch, to see Draco let loose on you - but you knew that this was what he needed. He needed to treasure something. He needed to know that he could have something good that wouldn’t end up dead or broken because of him.

Draco paused above you for a moment, holding himself there with a hand beside your head - he felt a pure, stabbing pain in his gut when he looked down at you and all he could see reflected back up at him was pure, shining, sickening love. Your eyes practically glowed with it in the dimly lit room. He didn’t want to admit it then, but he knew he was so utterly fucked.

He felt a curse curling up inside him - the urge to mirror that back to you but the inability to proclaim it. Feeling like he was some filthy dead thing that would never truly mean anything to you while wanting so badly to be the solid earth beneath your feet that you needed to function, he wanted to be your everything. His voice became strangled in his throat and instead of making that impossible proclamation, his body moved frantically as he began kissing down your neck.

It was a worship - it was a proclamation in silence. It was all he could muster, but he hoped that it would please you nonetheless.

Please.

He whispered wordlessly against your skin, tonguing along the planes of your neck as you moaned for him so beautifully.

Please, notice me. Find me worthy.

After lavishing gentle attention across your neck and your clavicle, coating you in salvia that cooled across your skin and made you shiver, he reached your bust line and easily buried himself there. He nestled along the skin so tenderly that you found your heart wanting to burst out of your chest to reach his lips, your hands coming up to cradle the back of his head in what you hoped was an equally tender gesture while he laid the sweetest, simple open-mouthed kisses in your cleavage.

This was a Draco that you had never seen before. This was not the surly-mouthed, harsh, bitter man you had come to know. And if you had fallen for glimpses of his sweetness before, then you were quickly being catapulted off the edge into full on adoration. Into something deeper and much more dangerous.

“Draco, please.” You moaned out, pushing your chest further into his touch, somehow already breathless and beating hard between your thighs for him.

Of course, he thought. More.

She deserves more.

Draco moved the hand that was supporting himself to push into the mattress beside your waist, holding his weight there now. And then, he used his other hand to reach into the front of your dress. He felt lucky when you sighed with delight rather than revoking his permission to touch you, even though his fingers were cold and icy upon your breast as he moved the fabric of your dress and the cup of your bra off to the side.

This left the deep V of the wrap sitting at your ribs, presenting one of your breasts to the open air, an absolutely beautiful sight as your nipple pebbled up with the coolness of the room. He didn’t leave the flesh cold for long before he cupped your breast with tender fingers and fed your nipple into his hot mouth, eagerly sucking - as though he could communicate better every tangled bit of emotion he felt for you with the intricate swirls of his tongue.

“Draco!”

You moaned and arched up into his mouth, encouraging him further to explore the beauty of your breast with his tongue.

You surprised him slightly when you moved underneath him, parting your legs and moving to bracket your knees around his narrow hips. He couldn’t help but to moan against your breast when he felt the overwhelming heat of your core settle against his cock. Even through his trousers, with your dress pooling up around your waist, it was like feeling the morning sun kissing your face after opening the curtains. It was a wave of warmth that threatened to overtake him.

Draco couldn’t hold back the instinctive movement, and he ground his hips downward, seeking more of that addictive heat, needing more of it on his hard, aching cock. He felt as though he had found liquid euphoria when you let out a crackling moan in response, the sound shaking everything inside of him that made him actually feel good for once.

The feeling was enhanced when you threaded your fingers into his hair harder, your fingernails scraping across his scalp as your body echoed a natural response to him - you clamped your thighs down on his hips, trapping him there, and you began to grind yourself into the hardness of his cock, clearly needed more for yourself.

He knew that he shouldn’t be allowed to have this - he shouldn’t be allowed to taint something as perfect as you. But he let himself continue to selfishly take, and take, and take more. He was a greedy brat, as he always had been, and he couldn’t bear to change his ways now.

“Oh fuck, Draco.” You moaned out so sweetly.

Draco pulled back, and began kissing along the side of your breast.

“Shh, darling. I’ve got you. I’ve got you.” He said quietly, swallowing sharply, desperately trying to chug in more air.

He had no clue when he had become so light-headed, but if you were the thing making him so dizzy, so distant from reality - then you were his fondest drug, and he was never going to let you go again.

Draco descended then - he had the utmost urge to please you, to hear more of his name on your lips.

A near feral groan escaped him when he finally caught a glimpse between your thighs.

With that silver skirt pooled around your waist, he could see properly now - those black stockings that he already thought were too sinful now took on a whole new meaning in his realm of fantasies. You weren’t wearing any panties beneath the semi-transparent garment - the thick seam of the stockings was stuck to your wet cunt, dipping into your pussy right where he wanted to be; your wetness leaking right through the nylon and causing it to stick to your cunt, making it shiny and utterly perfect in the dimly lit space.

Draco groaned from deep in his chest, his voice edging on whiny, even to his own ears. But he couldn’t bring himself to care about how pathetic he must have sounded. You were just too perfect. He was drawn in by the siren call of your perfect cunt, one hand with a thumb drawing circles on your hips and the other gently skimming fingers up the back of your clothed thigh as he scooted himself further down the mattress.

He couldn’t resist the urge, when he leaned down, he latched his mouth onto your cunt through the wet, shiny fabric, unable to resist the pure need to taste your essence without taking off the stockings first.

“Draco! Oh-!”

You let out a needy moan, which only spurred Draco to suck harder, even tonguing sharply against your clit through the fabric. It created a sharp itch, a raging need - it was not enough contact, tedious and harsh and something that made a vicious, rolling ache inside of your cunt. You needed more.

“Please, more!”

Again - he would have been cruel to deny you. And though, up until this point, he had been a reluctant and unwilling paramour, he was nothing but a slave to you and your desires in those moments.

Acting purely upon instinct, he raised his head slightly to give himself room to work and then brought fingers to the nylon fabric, trying to tear it apart. His head was filled with nothing but animal need now, bloated and high on the affection that he had been denying himself for months he had been unwillingly engaged to you. Months of denying that you were exactly what he needed, his other half - the other half of a lonely broken person clinging on that he had been so desperately trying to shake off.

Draco let out a growl of frustration - his nails were blunt and dull and he slipped hopelessly against the wet fabric. Before it could truly be formed as a thought inside his mind, he leaned down and pressed his teeth into the stockings against your mound, right above your clit in a way that made you whimper from the contact. Then - he bit harshly into the fabric, tearing a small hole into it that he could then rip wider with his frantic hands.

It made you gasp, being exposed to the cold air within seconds - feeling your hot, pulsing cunt quake as the cool air licked at every single bit of your wetness. It was a shocking turn-on, feeling the seam of your tights being so easily demolished, leaving you as nothing but a wanton, exposed gash from the bit of your pubic hair sticking out to the way the new edge of the fabric rubbed against your arsehole.

Now, instead of being a gentle thing he had to protect or some stranger that he was trying to distance himself from - you were nothing but a hole for him to fuck. And you absolutely loved it.

“Draco, please-” You gasped out again, feeling his fingers tickling against your thigh, feeling his breath still huffing out in harsh pants over your now bare pussy, waiting for him to do something more.

You were struck by lighting when he latched onto your cunt, moaning just as loudly as you did when he was finally able to taste you, able to feel you completely unfiltered for the first time.

You arched up wildly and your thighs quaked against his cheeks - he made little effort to hold you down, too busy selfishly enjoying your pussy now. He took in a deep breath against you, inhaling a greedy whiff of your scent so close to his nose while he gulped down a filthy slurp of your warm, wet pussy, moaning loudly from the back of his throat the whole time. You were so hot under his tongue - you were a heartbeat, a new breath, something so alive that he certainly shouldn’t have been allowed to drink from.

But you were now his to freely feast upon, as if he wasn’t already spoiled enough by the world, tainted by the mangled silver spoon he had been gnawing on since his birth.

“Draco, fuck! So good!”

You wailed out, letting out sounds that Draco had never before heard, sounds he never thought you were capable of. Back at The Manor, even when you cried, you clearly tried to be conservative, stay quiet, not to be a bother. It was only now that Draco realised he had never truly witnessed you losing control of yourself. Even when you had faced down his father’s fury, you somehow stood tall and composed, an impeccable monument to emotional control.

It was only now that he realised how truly badly he wanted to see you lose that control.

He never thought of you as property, of course - but if you were so stubbornly intent on owning his heart, his emotions, his vulnerability - then he would get to own yours as well. He would get to own your weakness. He would get to own the single moments in life when you truly lost your composure.

Draco set about devouring your cunt, keeping this mission in mind. He wrapped one arm around you from underneath your ass, holding you tightly to his face while he used the other hand to prop himself up slightly, pushing closer, easily getting lost in the beautiful heat of your pussy. He moaned against you as he drank you in, lavishing his tongue up and down your folds, intently focusing on the perfect little bead of your clit while it bounced and thrummed over his tongue.

Your body sang for more of his attention, shaking like a signal for him as you were wracked with more uncontrollable moans. He heard more distant groans in his muffled ears and hardly attributed them to himself, getting too lost in you, enjoying your taste too much. He was far too intent on burying himself in the first warmth he had felt in years, now determined to shut out the cold and make a new home for himself between these perfect thighs. Especially if it meant making you moan like this more, hearing more of his cursed name on your precious lips.

“Draco, Draco, oh, fuck! Draco, please!”

At this point, you weren’t even entirely sure what you were begging for - for him to bring you to orgasm, for him to stop because it was so overwhelming, or for something else entirely. His name just felt so right on your lips. Somehow, he seemed to understand better, seemed to know something that even you didn’t.

He rumbled out a hum of acknowledgement against your cunt, and then, snuck his free hand up between your thighs. He teased two fingers against your fluttering entrance, slippery and off-target for a moment with his shaking hand - making you moan out brokenly as you felt the touches not quite where you needed them most.

“I’ve - I’ve got you, love,”

He said, pulling away for a moment to gulp down breaths - feeling spiteful of the air, spiteful of the minimal space between the two of you; spiteful of the fact that he felt like he was drowning and somehow forcing himself further into you wasn’t the solution.

“I’ve got you.”

You curled your fingers into his hair again and tugged him close, pulling him back to your pussy, and he decided that he would never breathe again if that’s what you so desired. He swept a flat tongue across your pussy, eagerly gulping down more of your wetness while he gently pushed those two slender fingers forward, finally inside of you for the first time.

Your heat was even more evident now, even more apt to drive him insane. Your pussy surrounding him turned his cold flesh warm within seconds, causing him to drive forward without even thinking, eagerly chasing more of that warmth against his touch. Part of his mind was thankful when you let out a beautiful moan in response and wiggled your hips closer to him, rather than feeling pain at the harsh, sudden, jabbing intrusion, and the other part of him selfishly didn’t care.

You had offered this up to him, you had begged him not to turn away - and now, you would have to face the consequences of inviting a cold, dead beast into your den to feast. He was lonely, he hungered - he would consume everything good inside of you and leave you with nothing. And it would be your own damn fault.

Draco moaned against your cunt again, feeling that hunger now more evidently than ever, and you squeaked and choked on the air as he began fingering you harshly. He was desperate to feel more warmth, to explore more of that velvet softness inside of you that he so badly wanted wrapped around his cock (nearly forgotten, throbbing, leaking into his pants and making a mess). But he somehow couldn’t think too much about his forgotten cock when your next words overtook his mind.

“Close-” You breathed out, and then sucked in more air. “So close - gonna cum!”

You were going to cum.

You were going to become unravelled on his tongue.

Draco moaned against you fervently, now wildly eager for this to happen. He suckled against your clit and harshly rubbed his tongue over that tortured little bead even more furiously. He continued to fuck you with his fingers while your thighs clamped around his head, further shutting out the world, allowing him to have a few precious moments where all those deadly responsibilities simply didn’t exist. In those moments - it was just you and him. It was just his own carnal greed, a man fucking his wife. Just the small precious world he had balanced on his bitter tongue.

“Draco!” You choked out his name as your orgasm overtook your body.

You arched up again, your body practically whipping to his whims, being played like an instrument that only he knew the songs to. With your fingers entwined harshly in his hair, holding him to a place he would never want to part from while he mauled your pussy - it was perfect.

He moaned against you and nearly choked on the juices that he eagerly drank down, pumping his fingers into you with sharp jabbing motions, any effort toward technique completely gone. His mind was nothing but a pathetic soup of desperation, an animal clawing toward your warmth, determined to suck the life out of you and have it for his own.

Your cries of pleasure turned into sobs as you were crested over the hill into overstimulation, and when Draco pulled away for a breath, you thought perhaps he might finally let up. That he might pull his fingers out of you and the two of you would simply take a quiet moment to breathe.

But while your thighs continued to shake and you sucked in harsh breaths, his shoulders became tight with something utterly vicious, and he continued to stare down your pussy with rapt attention, some beast inside of him screaming out for more. More of the life you could give him, more warmth, more of everything he would ever demand from you that you had been so foolish in offering up. More of everything that you would never supply enough of to meet the bounds of his already dead soul.

“Draco-” You gasped. “Too much, too-”

“Please,”

Draco begged in return for the first time that night, peering up the length of your body to look into your eyes with the most utterly pathetic glassy eyes you had ever seen. The moment he met your gaze, it became too much for the both of you - like a stab through the gut, a connection that had always been there being tugged in the most painful way. He quickly dropped his head, squeezing his eyes shut to further avoid this, pressing his forehead into your thigh as he continued to sharply spear his fingers into your pussy. This created sloppier, wetter sounds with each passing movement.

“Please, please, please, please, please-”

He pleaded so sweetly, yet so abrasively at the same time. Begging in a chant, in a way he never had for anything else in his life.

And just like everything else in his life - he wasn’t denied of this.

You strangled out another sound, and then you were seizing up again, squeezing his fingers tightly as you were slammed into another orgasm all too soon. You gulped for air like a mermaid on dry land, tears leaking out of the corners of your eyes due to how overwhelming it all was, feeling as though the entire world was squeezed tight around you in those moments.

Draco held a sob tight in his chest as the unknown ‘more’ he had been looking for flooded over his palm - more of your wetness, more of your warmth. A wonderful flood of more that soaked across your thighs and made a small puddle on the mattress beneath you. He greedily dove down to lap it up, making your thighs clench around his head as he tongued your ultra sensitive entrance and even began using his fingers to drive more of it out of you and into his waiting mouth.

After a few moments of this, you tangled shaking fingers into his hair and did your best to force him upward. Though your body was practically jelly now, almost as if you had been jinxed, and completely devoid of any strength. He did soon get the hint, and he laid a gentle kiss on your inner thigh as he slid his fingers out of you, making an oddly loud ‘squelching’ sound in the room.

He trailed a few more kisses across your pelvis, revisited your breast, and went up your neck with his now very wet mouth before you pulled his mouth against your own. You couldn’t help but to moan quietly in satisfaction at the taste of your pussy on his tongue.

Draco thought this might be the end of it. His own cock was even more nagging now - rubbing against the warm, inviting plushness of your thigh through his pants. It was even more annoying now that he intimately knew the warmth and wetness of your cunt. That he could so perfectly imagine what it would be like to slide his cock inside of you and feel that perfect, hot wetness surrounding him.

But part of him, something in the back of his mind was screaming: bad idea. Something persistent and loud was telling him that he didn’t deserve to fuck you. That this should be a worship, only about you - he’d had his selfish moment, it was over now.

An alarming clarity was rocketing back into his head as he continued to kiss you.

It was an alarm that blared ever louder when you reached for his belt.

He snapped away from your lips and looked down, frozen with hesitant shock now as you slipped the belt out of the buckle and reached for the zipper on his pants. When you felt him tense up, and saw the grimace forming across his features, you paused with your fingers grazing lightly over the zipper’s teeth.

“It’s your turn now, right?”

You breathed lightly against his cheek, your voice so sweet, so perfect. You were too damn perfect. You snuck your hand down to grope his cock through the fabric of his pants in a way that made him shudder. Oddly enough, that selfish streak didn’t creep back in.

“Come on, Draco. I want this too. I want your cock inside me so damn badly-”

This was about you. Your needs. Your wants.

Draco tried his best to push aside any hesitation, trying to push the world back out again. He wished he could just crawl back between your thighs and live there. But you wanted something different now. Something that meant a lot more. Something that might have bigger consequences than simply spilling a beautiful mess on his jacket that was crumpled beneath your perfect arse.

He sat up on his knees, shucking away your hands and replacing them with his own, getting the zipper down by himself. Finally, he got his cock out, the hard smoothness now resting against his fingers that were still slick with you. He pumped his cock a few times, almost numb to the pleasure of it - he was supposed to be enjoying this, right? Why the hell couldn’t he?

Because his damn mind had turned back on.

You looked up at him with wide eyes, anticipating, your skin glistening with a slight sheen from his earlier efforts, your lips kiss-swollen. And somehow, a terrible flurry of thoughts attacked his mind like the snow storm raging outside the stone walls of the castle. Horrible things all able to get in now that he didn’t have the fatal projection of your thighs around his ears, keeping the world out.

As you looked up at him, more angelic than ever with your kiss-bitten lips, your silver sparkle dress askew, revealing your smooth skin and your goddess-like body - Draco, with his hard cock in hand, was persistently reminded of one stupid thing. The reason that the two of you had been forced together in the first place.

The only reason any pureblood marriage is arranged: to carry on the pureblood line. To breed - to make more pureblood babies.

Draco found himself curling in disgust at the idea that this was what he was about to do. He was about to give into their whims, about to curse you even further with the evil of his name by fucking a little Malfoy into your belly.

Somehow, out of all the evil he had so carelessly committed himself to - this was something he just couldn’t bring himself to do. Not when he would be doing it to you.

“Draco-”

You breathed out his name again, concerned by the clear warring on his face. You were about to tell him that it was okay if he didn’t want to continue - and you became deeply confused by what he did next.

He gripped his cock tightly and began rocking his arm back and forth, quickly picking up an urgent, break-neck pace as he jerked his cock - his face twisting with an expression of near pain as he circled a tight fist over his cock, urgently, again and again.

“Draco-?” You tried to question him, but he let out a groan in response.

“Look at me.” He choked out.

Zapped by the electricity in the air, the sharp demanding in his words, your eyes flew right to his. You found yourself almost possessed by the emotions lingering there - lust, regret, hatred.

You had a distinct feeling that it wasn’t directed at you.

“It’s okay.” You breathed out, reaching out to put a gentle hand on his clothed thigh. “It’s okay, Draco.”

These simple words - this tiny pacification that Draco had never before received - he broke. Your gentleness tore through his body like a dragon tearing into a fresh kill. It wounded him in a way that insults never could.

He let out a strangled cry, and unexpectedly, his orgasm punched through his gut - tears flooded his eyes as weak spurts of cum flowed out of his cock, making a mess of his fist as he slowed his touch. His release dripped down to ruin his pants, and weakly splashed against the bareness of your inner thighs were the hole in your tights gaped open, smearing onto the nylon in some spots.

When Draco was sure that he had wrung the last bits of weak pleasure from his cock, he fell on top of you. It was something entirely against his will, as he was now all too weakened by your soothing words, your soft touch, your welcoming eyes that seemed far too forgiving toward him. With his face tucked against your breast, tired and unable to hold it back any longer - he began to sob.

It was a dam broken from months, possibly years - a mask that he had been putting on long before you had ever known him.

It was an inherent shock to your system, going from that lustful tingle to feeling nothing but shock and pity for him. But you did the only thing you could do - you cradled the back of his head, holding him close, petting a hand down his heaving back in an attempt to comfort him while he wailed so harshly. You knew that it was what he needed. And it was what he had done for you all too many times since meeting you.

“Hey, it’s okay.”

You assured him, not entirely sure that he heard your gentle voice over the sound of his own sobs - your throat too sore from your own previous wrecked moaning to try and speak up any louder.

“It’s okay. Shh. Just let it out. I’m here with you. It’s okay, Draco.”

It went on like that for what felt like hours. Your previously sex heated skin became cold in the room once again, distinctly reminding you of every single spot that was ripped open and exposed by your already weather inappropriate outfit. But instead of getting up to attend to this, you simply laid there, soothing him, trying to comfort him as his chest-racking sobs lulled down into calmer cries and then died off into sniffles.

You thought he might say something - thank you, apologise.

You were even further surprised when his sounds switched again, and a low chuckle came from his throat. A small sound that quickly hitched into an epic, near maniacal laughter, puffing against your breast as he tried his hardest to heave himself up on weak arms, tearing out of your comforting touch.

He looked utterly broken - his previously near hair a complete mess, falling across his sweat streaked forehead, his teeth bared, laughing so tiredly with tears streaking down from his now red, puffy eyes.

“Merlin - I’m so fucking pathetic, aren’t I?” He choked out.

“You’re not.” You argued, your voice dull and hoarse but still firm in your conviction.

You wanted him to know that it was okay to cry. That under his circumstances, anybody would have snapped a lot sooner than he had.

He didn’t reply, but instead moved to get off you entirely. He stumbled on his feet for a moment as he stood up and began straightening out his clothes, finding his wand and muttering some cleaning spells to deal with the mess he had left on his pants.

You sat up then, your back now quite sore from the poor quality of the abandoned old mattress. And from having Draco stiff on top of you for so long, and you began doing the same to yourself. He watched quietly as you righted your clothes and did a few simple (talented, wandless) cleaning spells of your own, and then finally, he spoke.

“You should leave.”

He said quietly, moving to turn away from you completely as he tucked his shirt back into his pants. He was likely going to slip into the confusing maze of furniture that he knew better than you did in order to lose you - to avoid further conversation.

“No.”

You baulked out defiantly, making an effort to heave your stiff body up to standing level in order to look him in the eye.

“You can’t keep doing that!” You shouted at his back, growing frustrated once again. “You can’t keep running away from a conversation every time it gets a little too serious for you!”

“What do you expect that I do, then?” Draco asked, his voice strained with fatigue and heaviness, his throat worn out from the tears, his eyes still red and exhausted when he whipped around to face you.

“Stay.” You offered weakly.

You knew that in one simple word, you were asking too much of him. You were putting such a grand task onto him that he could barely surmount to.

His chin quivered as he bit his lip, swallowing down the weakness of the confession:

I can’t.

He wanted to be good enough for you.

But he wasn’t. He just wasn’t.

He wasn’t some perfect harbor you could cling to in a storm. He was a heavy iron anchor sinking you to your drowning death.

Feeling all of his bitterness swelling in the air, something truly defiant came up inside of you. A deep urge to defy everything he thought he was, everything his parents had painted into him that made him run from you the moment you treated him like a person.

You would not have a marriage where your husband held you at arm’s length. Even if you had to strangle him, smother him with your good intentions in order to get him close.

“Draco, please, I lov-”

“No.” Draco choked out, cutting you off, dreading hearing those words. “Don’t.”

It wasn’t true.

You were tied to him by force.

You were someone bought into his life through gold and cruelty, someone forced to be by his side.

If you loved him, it was as a prisoner loves their cell.

He wouldn’t let you waste those words on him.

You let out a harsh sigh and shook your head, wanting to scream. But you knew that he was far too used to screaming - used to harshness, frustration. He wasn’t prepared for the thing you needed to give him most. You swallowed thickly around the lump in your throat, and whispered your next words as a cursed promise into the chilled air:

“I love you, Draco.”

He sucked in a rattling breath, and it only took him a moment to find the strength to fight back.

“You don’t mean that.”

He said, shaking his head forcefully at you, once again resisting the urge to turn around and slink off. He wanted to slither away and hide from you like the serpent that he was - cold blooded, alone, a creature of the shadows who previously never needed your warmth.

“Shut up!”

You barked back, surprising him with the passion, the fury that lit up your face as you rambled into your next declaration.

“Draco Lucius Malfoy - you may think that you know everything, but I can assure you, you do not.”

He wanted to argue, even opened his mouth to do so, but you rolled right over his breath, speaking in such a powerful way that demanded he quiet down and simply listen.

“Your family may have bought me to marry you like some kind of broodmare, you may be rich and respected, you may be some fancy highborn pureblood - you can tell me what to wear, when to speak, where to go, but you certainly cannot tell me about my own thoughts and intentions. You cannot tell me what I feel.”

You spoke sharply and firmly, your words tearing right through him, causing goosebumps to light up all over his skin.

“You cannot tell me what I do and don’t mean. And I mean this: I love you.”

The radical truth behind your words shook Draco to his core.

Since he had known you, it had always been the truth. When you cried, it had always been with your own honesty. When you smiled at him, it had never been as some kind of act. When you called him an asshole during your private conversations - it was nothing but your own honest feelings coming to words.

He could never control or dictate your feelings, and it was one of the things that he liked best about you.

So why did he so badly want to control this?

Perhaps because… when you said this, it sealed your fate to his in the worst of ways.

It meant that even if you had a chance to escape this life… you wouldn’t take it.

It was so much easier when you didn’t like him at all.

Love was such a foolish, difficult thing to sever.

You saw the pain and hesitation written all over his face, and you stepped toward him, putting a gentle hand on his cheek. Oh-so-gently you sealed your lips against his in a sweet kiss that evoked nothing but more tears from him.

“I love you.”

You whispered against his mouth, now much more certain in your declaration.

“I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you,”

Your throat clenched with your own tears, clearly waiting for him to say it back.

His fingers shook as he brought a gentle touch to your cheek, wiping away a tear that had fallen. Sullenly, all he could offer you in return was:

“Are you sure? Are you sure that you can love someone like me?”

You were entirely certain in your answer.

“Yes.”

Draco itched with the urge to run away again - but instead, he leaned back in and kissed you.

That night, the two of you fell asleep together. You were huddled into each other for warmth, cuddling on the thin old mattress that he had been sleeping on for the past week in order to escape you. It was the easiest that sleep had come to him since the days during the summer where you had crawled into his bed, looking to be just a bit less alone.

…

Ironically, Draco woke up alone.

Sunshine was flooding the room - he wasn’t entirely sure how a room that technically didn’t exist within Hogwarts could have windows, but he didn’t care to think too much about it. Especially because it made him feel slightly less disoriented to have the bright morning sun flooding the room. Though the sunshine warmed up the room slightly, he still felt a bitter coldness in not having you beside him.

Perhaps you had finally realised what a stupid mistake you had made the night before. Perhaps you had taken your own advice - taken up on your own plan and gotten to a fireplace to abandon Hogwarts altogether. With any luck, you were far away and would never be seen again. Not by him or anybody else associated with the Dark Lord.

Draco felt a pinch of disappointment when he heard footsteps - calm, certain, someone walking a path among the furniture to be somewhere. Not someone wandering with curiosity because they had just discovered the room. It had to be you.

He sucked in a harsh breath and let out a groan as his tired body stretched, his muscles protesting the shabby sleeping arrangements as he forced himself to sit up. Surely enough, as he blinked through the sharpness of the morning light, you rounded the corner.

You were dressed much differently than the night before. Your previously neat hair was now a half-picked apart and messy style, your make-up mostly smeared off or intentionally wiped off in a haste. You were wearing a thick woollen jumper and a pair of comfortable looking loose pants, along with your favourite slippers - a pair of very fuzzy boots that he had laughed at you for wearing before, called them dead Puffskeins attached to your feet.

You looked tired, but comfortable as you came to sit on the mattress at Draco’s hip.

Somehow, with the golden light dancing on your skin, you looked more beautiful than ever. Perhaps it was a testament to the nature of your beauty, how sought after you would be if you weren’t already betrothed. Or perhaps it was that petulant withering thing inside of him that was starting to wane in the name of your death sentence of love.

(Draco didn’t want to think about the fact that you likely were sought after, despite the fact that you were engaged and it was widely known. He just didn’t have his head in the Hogwarts gossip enough these days to notice if anybody was talking about fancying you or trying to ‘steal you away’ from him. He didn’t want to think about the prats he would have hexed to hell and back if he ever heard them daring to want you.)

You took something out of the pocket of your jumper - a napkin, and unravelled it in your lap. Draco saw that you had come back with a couple of pumpkin tarts, likely from the breakfast table. It was only when you brought it up to your lips to take a sip that he also noticed you had also been carrying a large mug of steaming tea.

You offered him the mug silently over your shoulder, and he couldn’t deny how appealing it was. Though he wanted to scoff at the softness, the domesticity of sharing something off your lips, he welcomed the heat and the familiarity. He couldn’t reject it in the wintery coldness of the room.

Of course - English Breakfast Tea with just a bit of sugar. No milk. You had started drinking your tea the way he liked it. Probably because it was the way he always made it for you when you were silent and stony in your pain and he had no other choice but to be just as silent in his caring toward you. He always made tea for you this way because you never told him how you liked yours. Every cup of tea you drank at The Manor had been like this.

It was an odd, comforting habit that you had picked up from him.

“I fixed it.” You said quietly, nodding toward The Cabinet as you broke off a piece of one of your tarts and chewed it.

You offered him a piece and he swapped it for the tea mug. He chewed the small piece of tart slowly while his eyes studied the tall, dark, imposing Cabinet, wondering what you had done to it. His gaze migrated over to something new in the landscape of junk - a bird cage sitting on top of a small wooden table.

Within it, there was a live, seemingly content, purring white dove. In front of the cage, you had perched up a piece of paper. Even from a few feet away, Draco recognised the curls of the handwriting as belonging to his mother.

‘Well done.’

He wanted to ask in detail about what you had done to The Cabinet in order to fix it. But he knew that would be beating a dead horse. It was another problem off his plate, and he should be relieved.

He wouldn’t burden you with any of his other problems.

“I miss coffee.” You remarked, looking down into the mug with a sodden kind of resentment. “British people are all about tea, tea, tea… you can’t get good coffee anywhere here.”

Distantly, Draco was reminded that you had been cursed with more than a marriage to him when your godmother dropped you off with the Malfoys and left you without warning. Your entire life, everything you had known, everything you had grown up with - it had all been ripped away from you. He wasn’t sure what he would do if he had to be pulled away from his parents, plopped into the middle of Muggle America and forced to live there.

He knew it wasn’t just coffee - you likely missed so much more.

“Should we release it?” You asked, taking another sip of the tea.

You held out another piece of the tart to him, and reluctantly, perhaps not even knowing how hungry he was, how much the anxiety and worry had blocked him from feeling it - he took it.

“What?” He muttered out, unsure what you meant.

“The dove.” You clarified.

Yes. Of course. You still had pity for the small creatures. It had been meant as nothing more than a test subject for his family’s greater plans, nothing but a pawn to them. But you still saw it as a precious life.

“No, it-”

‘It’ll die out there in the cold.’

Draco cut himself off, knowing that such harsh words would have hurt you. Any time before this, he would not have cared about how his words hurt you - he would have simply told you the truth. But for some reason, now - it felt wrong to be so bluntly cruel.

“Too cold.” He muttered, accepting the tea from you again.

You stared him down during this passing of the mug, and he was fully able to see that pain glinting in your eyes. Clearly, you knew that ‘disposing’ of the bird might be the only humane thing to do. Draco scrambled for something more. Something to make you happy. Damn it.

“Bring it to the giant.” He remarked, swallowing down a mouthful of the hot tea. “He’ll care for it now, and he can release it in the spring.”

The smile that graced your lips was small, and fleeting - but it made him feel as though he had accomplished something worthwhile for the first time in a long time.

“Do you think he will? It won’t be too much trouble?” You replied, hopeful.

“He has to. It’s his job.” Draco bit back firmly, his voice swelling full of his usual entitlement.

Before - when you had been helping him clean up after he had gotten The Mark, you had discovered one of the fading scars he still had from the feathered beast’s claws slashing across his arm. When you had asked him about it, you had clearly been expecting some story of his father’s abuse, or a tale of something else attributing to Draco’s twisted internal torment.

But Draco’s father was always smart enough never to leave marks.

When he told you what had happened - how he had rushed upon such a gentle creature, reeking of entitlement and landed on his stupid idiot brat arse - it was the first time in years that he had truly reflected on what had happened. It was the first time he had come to realize that he had gotten the beast killed. Even back then, he was unsure why his father had caused such a fuss over the accident. Someone who called Draco useless and disposable behind closed doors and publicly claimed that a single mark on his arm was a world-ending tragedy.

At the time, it was just another thing about reputation that Draco had yet to understand.

“And - he likes those things. He likes his little creatures.” He added on quietly.

(And, his big awful ones - Draco resisted the urge to amend.)

Draco couldn’t take your bird there himself. Hagrid owed him no favors, that much he knew. But the man - or, half-man - certainly wouldn’t turn you down. Nobody would say no to your sweet voice and kind eyes when you asked them for something.

You nodded, content with this answer. You took another sip of the tea before you put the cup down on the floor beside the mattress, and shoved a large piece of the tart into your mouth before you put that aside too.

“For now, I have to bury this one.”

You said, your words slightly muffled as you chewed, getting up to grab a small wooden box. In a moment, Draco realised that it must have been the dead canary that you had fussed over the night before.

Now, you were telling him that you intended to bury it, rather than asking him.

“I’ll do it.” He said, standing up to come beside you, holding out his hand so that you might offer him the box.

You looked him up and down with suspicion, like he was trying to trick you. Although, as much as your relationship had been filled with bickering and discontent, he had never been dishonest with you. This just seemed strangely out of character for him. Before you could fully question it, he provided an explanation.

“You’ve been awake all night fixing my problems,” He said, motioning toward The Cabinet. “So let me help you with yours.”

He could see that you had barely slept. It was written all over you.

“Let me do this for you.” He insisted, holding his hand out once again. “And you go to the dorms and get some proper rest.”

You nodded, finally surrendering the box.

“Come find me when you’re done, alright?” You said, not entirely posing it as a question. “Don’t disappear on me again.”

Draco nodded, and you sealed this deal with a kiss.

…

He intended to walk you back to the Slytherin commons before he went outside, perhaps he would even get himself a thicker jacket from his dorm. Your path took the two of you past the Great Hall.

Draco felt a pang on one of his last nerves when a very familiar voice called out your name.

“Y/N! Hey, wait up!”

Potter. Of course.

You turned to meet Harry as he ran down the corridor toward you, and Draco slinked back to lean against one of the nearby walls - waiting for you. He hated that he felt the need to stick by you, to watch over you. But something nagging in him wouldn’t be satisfied until he knew that you were tucked into bed, resting.

Potter jogged to meet you, wearing full Quidditch gear, carrying his broom - clearly set for an early morning practice. This caused an odd pang of mourning within Draco, yearning for a time when he used to be competitive, for when he used to actually care about the outcomes of school Quidditch games. Back when his life was so simple.

“Morning, Harry.” You greeted him quietly, dully, obviously still tired.

“Hey, good morning.” Harry said, nodding at you with a smile - a look way too fond for Draco’s liking. “You left the party so suddenly last night, and Slughorn was asking after you. Nobody knew where you went, and I was just wondering - are you alright? Did something happen?”

Harry eyed Draco sharply, a sideways glance, just for a moment. Clearly, he was suspicious of Malfoy and his presence around you. Clearly believing that he was the problem in your life.

Draco resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Of course. Saint Potter. Checking up on you.

Part of Draco itched with jealousy, knowing just how utterly desirable you were, and another part of him said that it was a good thing. That you should have somewhere safe to fall when you inevitably realised a life with him was a short, unlivable one. When you wanted out, when you wanted to run.

Hopefully, sometime soon.

“I’m fine.” You easily lied, forcing a smile. “It’s just - um,” You struggled to think of a convenient lie for a moment, knowing that you couldn’t tell Harry the truth. “My pet canary died very suddenly. And Draco came to get me to tell me about it. And I’m sorry, I must look terrible - I’ve been up all night crying about it,”

Draco wanted to commend you for the brilliance of your lie. Something sensitive enough that Potter wouldn’t question it - something that easily explained the small box in Draco’s hands and explained away your tired appearance. And it more than explained why you had left the party so suddenly and not cared to return.

“Oh.” Harry said, clearly unsure how to respond. His eyes flickered from you to Draco, taking in both of your messy appearances, clearly wanting to question it as something more, but having absolutely no grounds to do so. “I’m so sorry to hear that.”

“Thank you.” You replied quietly. “Draco actually offered to bury him for me. So, he was just going to do that.”

“Let’s get you to bed, first, love.” Draco said, pointedly steering you away from the conversation - banishing Potter off with this final thought.

He put a hand on your shoulder and steered you down the hall, away from Harry, and you began slowly walking away, believing that he was right behind you. But Harry stayed firm in his footing, and soon, Draco became captured in his fierce gaze, challenged in an all too familiar way that he was far too tired to truly engage with. In a kind of well practiced routine, he lingered back for a few moments.

“Malfoy,” Potter said sharply. “If you do anything to hurt her, I will end you.”

It was his usual hero routine. Intimidate, swell with confidence, over-inflate to seem bigger than the bad guy. It would have worked, if Draco hadn’t already been so terribly small.

“Promise?” Draco croaked out quietly, tears dancing in his eyes.

He could think of no better end than one of vengeance in the wake of your pain. He could only hope that if he did ever hurt you, he would be met with a clean, swift end. One where you would then get to run into the arms of a man much better than him.

Potter gaped with confusion, and Draco turned, walking in quick steps to catch up with you.

…

You and Draco stayed at Hogwarts that Christmas.

On Christmas morning, you did not expect to receive anything. Pansy gifted you a set of new quills in pink with a set of pink glittering inks and a fluttering giggle about being able to write ‘proper’ love letters to Draco. Blaise gifted you a history of all the Pureblood families in Europe - for ‘proper’ education. One that you had never been ‘privileged’ to have before.

There was another package, delivered by a gorgeous white snowy owl - a book. A basic guide to Quidditch with a handwritten note that said it was from Harry, remarking that you should come to his next game and ‘check it out’, in order to see if you truly liked the sport or not.

At the party, you had told him that you probably didn’t like Qudditch because you didn’t understand it very well, hoping to get out of a long conversation that he and Cormac were rambling on - which only led to him trying to explain the rules to you in a toddler-like fashion. You couldn’t tell him the truth, that when you had been at Salem, the Quidditch games between the two sibling schools usually led to a lot of loud parties and drunken hook-ups that made you mourn for the simplicity of your old life now.

Draco resisted the urge to throw the book into the fire.

(You gladly would have let him.)

There was a final package. One wrapped in gorgeous emerald paper - with your name on it, written in Draco’s handwriting. Oddly, not signed from him. When you opened it, you found a bag of very expensive looking coffee beans, a grinder, and a French press. Draco would forever deny that his joy was directly tied to the look of awe on your face as you discovered the gifts, and the tiny moan of pleasure you made when you sipped your first cup of freshly made coffee.

He didn’t love you back.

He couldn’t.

No.

...

A/N: This is meant to be a standalone oneshot, but if you liked this, then feel free to go read the chronological sequel My Bleeding Heart. I do have more ideas to add more to this by writing more oneshots in this universe between these two characters, but this is all for now. If you are going to comment, please comment about the content that has already been written instead of asking for more. Happy reading, and Merry Christmas!

#sundrop writes #draco malfoy #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy x you #draco malfoy x y/n #draco malfoy x female reader #draco malfoy fanfiction #draco malfoy smut #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter fandom #slytherin boys

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btsbabe7 · 2 months ago

Text

Keep Me (In the Shadows)

Word Count: 5.4k

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x female reader

Warnings!: 18+, unprotected, impregnation

Synopsis: The walls of Hogwarts contain many secrets of their own, but on a late night, you and Draco Malfoy find yourselves uncovering one of your very own.

“Is it true,” Draco begins, voice ragged and rough around the edges, “that everything in this blasted castle resets at midnight?”

You watch the way the hem of his ebony robe propels on a soft wind over the dusty cobblestone tiles of the corridor. He remains a few strides ahead as he always does, walking quickly, yet aimlessly. He’d once told you it’d been his way of deflecting attention. If his eyes remained straight ahead, naturally he’d be unaware that you’re following his every move or anyone else for that matter.

So, you trail him inconspicuously, keeping your eyes glued to the empty corridor walls, the back of his robe, and his platinum hair with no real destination in your mind either. Your only goal is not getting caught alone with him this late in the night when students are forbidden to be outside of their dorms. If one were to stop you two, say a professor, you’d both lie and say you were returning to your respective areas. Draco’s speed walking would be believable enough.

“I’m sure there may be some logic behind that, but ultimately, I doubt it…”

“And you and Potter? Did that relationship reset at midnight? Better yet, what’s the logic behind that?”

Draco practically spits the words out in spite and you come to a sudden halt as they echo throughout the corridor. His words are far too large for a space so empty, for a space where perked, attentive ears may overhear or eavesdrop. In a corridor where lurking eyes may pry around corners in search of the next day’s gossip, you have to be careful. It’d happened before, not to you and Draco, but other students, and their secret escapades had been aired out to all who dared to listen over the next morning’s pumpkin juice. Yet, Draco cares more about this than the idea of being caught and the risk of detention. You can sense it in the way his shoulders and back stiffen with his walk.

Tossing your left arm over your right, you give the upper portion a soft squeeze while inhaling deeply through your nose. Dust tickles your nostrils and the faint smell of leftovers fill the air. You take in the toastiness of roasted chicken, the garlicky herbs that had been marinated into bite-sized potatoes, the sweet cinnamon sugar coating that had been dusted over pumpkin pasties and handcrafted pies, and the savory aroma of buttered rolls as they all congregate in a single whiff. With a sharp exhale through your mouth, you spew your thoughts.

“And who told you that? Your loyal gang of servants over this morning’s breakfast? Crabbe and Goyle? Zabini perhaps? Is that why you avoided me in Potions today?”

Draco stops mid-step and glances down at the obsidian leather crafting the wholecut Oxford shoes laced at his feet. His inhale is just as sharp as your exhale had been and he spins on the heel so quickly that the violent whip of his robe is enough to take your breath away, even several steps away. His eyes laser in on you and the space between your bodies suddenly feels smaller. Tighter. Suffocating.

His strides are few, long and confident, and you know he’ll land in front of you before you have a chance to finalize your true opening argument. With the click, clack, clicking of his expensive shoes bringing him closer, you whimper.

“It doesn’t matter who told me. I want to know if it’s true. What they’re saying about you and Potter getting back together, dating again, and when you were planning to tell me. All these nights we’ve been sneaking about the castle together and you didn’t bother mentioning it,” he hisses the words in a rush and sneers at the thought of you with the oh so perfect chosen one while he’s left on the sidelines. “You didn’t tell me you were considering it, considering him again. You didn’t mention it on the observation deck of the Astronomy Tower, not in stacks of the Restricted Section, not in your dorm nor mine, and certainly not here, in this blasted corridor. Why not mention it a week ago when y—“

“Don’t finish that sentence, Draco,” you snarl.

His brows pinch at the challenge, but your eyes go wide in alert from the words you know were close to escaping his lips. Lewd and shameful they would have been had they reached the atmosphere. You glance up and down the seemingly void corridor with those same wild, worried eyes. You know how things can be twisted to snare even the brightest and most innocent of witches, but the words that clung to his tongue wouldn’t need to be twisted in order to ruin you both. Your quick search is fruitless and you let out a shaky sigh while rolling your shoulders back.

“I was going to tell you, Draco, that I was considering it… considering him, again.”

“When?” He demands. “Or were you going to wait until my tongue was halfway down your throat? Again.”

“Before, of course! Merlin… What kind of girl do you take me for, Draco?”

“You and I know exactly what kind of girl you are,” Draco retorts and studies you smugly.

His lips seal in a tight line and fire and ice blaze in the depths of his eyes before he spins once more and storms off in a blinding rage. You watch as he strides off prematurely, before hearing you out. He mutters something about how he knew things were too good to be true as he continues down the endless hall. You watch the way his hand clasps the nape of his neck under his long blonde hair and he keeps it there for a good while.

Once you gather your own thoughts, you hurry your strides in an attempt to mirror him, but you struggle to keep up with his head start and longer strides. The perks of being tall, you remind yourself. When you do catch up, he’s almost at the very end of the corridor, a dead end anyways, but you snatch him to a halt by the hood of his robe.

Draco falters and lets out a guttural groan when the sound of a ripping seam cuts through the silent air in response.

“You’ll pay for this, Y/ln!”

You feel prepared now. You’re ready to make your argument, to stand your ground, to explain yourself. You know that you have the right words sorted out and that with Draco cornered, he’ll have to listen.

Until he turns to face you.

His pink lips are pulled into a grimacing tight-lipped frown and an indented line appears down the center of his forehead where his thick brown brows are drawn together. His eyes shift over your features erratically before settling on yours, sharp like a double edged dagger ready to pierce. Two furious, impenetrable walls of frozen silver. Your body frosts over and you shrink where you stand. You struggle to meet his gaze and chew on the inside of your cheek as your mind goes blank.

You can’t think.

You can hardly breathe.

And when Draco opens his mouth, you wonder how you’re still alive when your heartbeat is racing so rapidly that your chest could easily explode.

“Tell me, Y/n,” he seethes.

A violent flame dances behind the walls of ice in his irises as his gaze flickers over the features of your face in frustration. Your lips are reddened and cracked from nibbling at them in nervousness and your nose appears swollen and puffed as if you’re attempting to hold back tears. Draco would usually swallow his pride seeing you in such a state, but he needs answers, so he settles on the wildness behind your dark eyes before continuing.

“Tell me,” he repeats. “When he fucks you, do you think of me?”

Your eyes dart towards his and your cheeks grow unbearably hot. You choke on the words as if you’re the one who dared spout them out. You’ve never experienced Draco this livid. You’d never heard his words become this vulgar, at least not with you, and that makes you all the more nervous. You’d convinced yourself that these nightly escapades meant nothing to him, that you were nothing more than a girl he could use or discard at his own will. He’s Draco Malfoy for heaven’s sake, and he could have any girl he pleased, that had come with the territory of having power and money at your disposal. You’d thought tonight would be the last night when you’d received his owl and that he’d be alright with that fact.

Clearly you’ve never been more wrong in your entire life.

You watch his tongue glide across the smooth plains of his natural pink lips and the fire blazing quietly in the torches overhead reflect a glistening orange on the thin coat of saliva left behind. You fixate on his features, from those shimmering lips up to the bridge of his nose. Your eyes roam up to the very roots of his platinum blonde hair before retracing your gaze and focusing on his eyes once more. They’ve softened a bit, not from the fire in the torches, but from the fire now kindling between you two.

He lets out a scoff as if he’s annoyed by you, as if you’ve been the pain in his arse all along. Before your brain can register the noise that escapes the base of his throat for a second time, he delves into you.

His lips are the first part of his body that comes into contact with yours. They’re warm against yours and so pillowy soft that you can’t bear pulling away. Instead, you bring your arms up to his collarbones and allow your index finger and thumb to mold into the curved base of his long neck. His artery pulses wildly underneath your grasp and your heart warms at the rhythmic expansion. You love the feeling, the palpitating of thick blood quickening through his body, underneath his skin, all livened by your touch.

Draco takes the final step to close your bodies together more comfortably and brings his arms around your waist to mold you into the perfect contours of his slender body.

“I can’t stop,” he mutters against your mouth and drops his lips into the crook of your neck. “I don’t want to stop, Y/n.”

He knows this will ruin you. It does every single time. With his lips against your neck and his words growing more desperate, lower and needier with each breath. You know exactly what he’s playing at. And yet, you allow your head to tilt back for more. More. More. And more. You’ll always need more of this, more of him. You rake a hand through the hairs lying against the nape of his neck. They’re course, yet silky in your gentle grasp and you close your eyes to the ceiling with a sweet smile as it drives him deeper into your flesh.

“Draco,” you purr.

He doesn’t bother responding with words. He only deepens the way he’s been working his lips against your flesh before allowing his burning tongue to trace a long column up the full length.

With this, you know exactly what is going to happen tonight and you take no desire in stopping it, not for Harry’s sake nor anyone else’s. In this very moment, it’s just you, Draco, and your desperate need for each other.

Need is a fickle thing and the need had begun long ago, long before your months of sneaking around to be together. It started when you were with Harry and Draco’s icy eyes would meet yours from across the room. Potions, the Great Hall, Herbology. Hell, even during their Quidditch practices. Somehow his eyes had always found yours in every room, and perhaps, some part buried deep inside of you liked it.

Every single glance had you feeling things Harry never made you feel during your three years of dating. It’s made you feel warm and dizzy as if you were going mad. Yet, nothing truly begun when you’d ended things with Harry. It’d been just before Christmas break. Harry planned to return home for its duration, so you had the comfort of knowing he’d be able to mend himself surrounded by those he loved, family and friends, while you stayed behind.

All your friends had called you mad when they discovered your frequent whereabouts—studying with Draco in the courtyards, his frequent smirks gifted across the dining tables during breakfast or dinner, his need to suddenly partner with you in Potions right after the break. You never truly expected them to understand the hungriness of your yearning for each other, that need for constant contact. Something in Draco’s presence had brought you back to a primal state of being, of craving and desire. Something feral melded in the deepest parts of your core and engraved itself in your very bones when his eyes met yours, but you couldn’t tell your friends that. So, instead of going behind Harry’s back, this is the alternative. This is freedom.

Draco takes a single step back and relishes the way you shiver when he releases a cool breath against the wet trail he’d left behind. He watches you slowly unravel from the ribbon of your high while shuffling out of his robe. Your eyes remain glassy and wide, glazed with lust as you work off his tie and snake it around your own neck before moving in to unbutton his shirt. The shiny black buttons are slick against your fingers as you round them out of each hole. One by one they expose a pinch more of his creamy white skin, so smooth and pale and familiar, and your mouth froths at the sight.

Draco manages to remove his belt from the buckle and unbutton his pressed trousers as you work at the buttons. By the time you’ve finished unhooking the last, his pants pool around his ankles with a soft thud. He backs you against an opening and hoists you up on the ledge of one of the many oversized lattice windows lining the corridor wall. Silver moonlight plays in the sharp grayish hues of his irises and you watch it as he focuses on you. He kneels to work your black stockings off and your stomach knots. He’s become quite the expert in doing this, managing to get the black fabric off and having your skirt and panties out of sight within seconds.

Draco smirks, a cocky smile that reflects his satisfaction after they plop onto the floor with a quiet thud. He drapes your legs over his forearms, hooking his arms underneath your knees, and stares into the void between your bodies. Your brows furrow as you study him. You swear you can sense worry creeping over his features. Perhaps the thought of you going behind Harry’s back has him rattled, or perhaps the idea of getting caught, even though you two never have before.

He relaxes his shoulders and lets out a sigh that would’ve gone unnoticed had you not been watching him. But the worry slips away just as quickly as it’d come, and in a few blinks of your eyes, the only evidence remaining is the gentle twinkle in his eyes when they finds yours again.

Murals of silvery grey fall upon you as the pressure between your thighs rings sharp. You need this just as much as he does. There are no games and the foreplay remains the small tiff you two just had as the aching pleasure of him slipping against you engulfs all your senses. You gasp in relief, eyes lowering at the feeling of his stiff sex gathering your sticky arousal. He teases your bottom lip with his tongue and grazes his chill breath over your warmth.

Draco watches you squirm uncomfortably on the stone ledge. He has to admit that this wasn’t the best place for sex and he hates the idea of your bare ass plastered on the dusty, frigid sandstone bricks, but he couldn’t help himself. He couldn’t wait until one of you found a more respectful place to relieve yourselves. He couldn’t be bothered either when he’d led you to the stacks of the Restricted Section for the first time months ago during Christmas break, nor when he’d taken you in his dorm knowing his friend’s would be asleep in the same room. The list goes on, and yet, he needs you just the same now. He would’ve taken you in the Great Hall if he had to, would have risked everything to have lain you out like his own personal spread to devour whole. That’s how crazy you drive him, that’s how mad you make him feel, and he can’t wait another second. Not even when the idea of betraying Potter in such a way lurks heavily in the back of his mind, even after the whispers, the rumors of you two being back together. It’s the ultimate betrayal, but he cannot stop himself. He has no control over this.

Your mouth parts to let out a moan. As it does, Draco places his palm firmly over it, covering those beautiful lips and muting the sound before slithering between your decadent folds. His teeth sink into his bottom lip to rein in his own pleasure. You feel like a tight hug and he almost loses himself in the feeling. So warm, so comforting, so cruelly wet. Aside from the last fact, he’s sure this is what heaven feels like, what home should feel like, and he knows he can’t let this go. He can’t let this feeling of belonging be stripped away if he finally gets a say in it.

Your head rolls back with the first snap of his hips and you mewl softly. It’s only been two days and you’d magically forgotten how delicious and blissful the first taste of his cock is. You’d forgotten the pleasure in feeling his heat and hardness running deep along your walls and pulling your orgasm closer with each motion. He thrusts in again and your back arches. You watch your breaths fog against the exposed glass panes, weaving their own intricate patterns between ebony lattice, and it takes you back to the first time Draco had claimed your innocence.

On Christmas morning, after breakfast, you’d sent your owl from your dorm window with a letter that contained only two lines:

Restricted Section tonight.

Don’t be late, Malfoy.

Since that magical night in the stacks, you’ve never loved anything more. Every week for a month, you’d sought him out. It’d been pathetic, but you were unable to liberate yourself from the yearning of taking him again. Your need wouldn’t subside, even after you’d taken him. He’d turned you into this feral, insane being, and you found yourself chasing that body to body connection and the slow build up of your pleasure around his length endlessly.

Draco’s pants fill your ears with the sweetest melody as he plows into you, leaving no more room for nostalgia. With each violent rut of his hips, neither of you have the time to recover from the ecstasy prickling in your veins. The heat pooling in your core keeps your mind centered and your gaze focused on him.

“Draco...”

You watch him through heavy, lidded eyes, and your teeth sink into your bottom lip in a teasing grin as you watch his hips burst forward. The rhythmic sound of your skin colliding and his low howling heightens your senses. Suddenly, you’re keenly aware of the little ache unraveling like a ribbon in the pit of your belly, but also the bareness of his chest begging to be touched.

You glide your fingertips up the plain of his stomach, taking in the darkened hairs forming around the edges of his navel. You follow the faint trail up to his lanky chest, taking in the slight bit of muscle around his pecks before continuing up and over his shoulders. You curl yourself around him and trace circles over the bone when he falters closer. Beads of sweat form over the span on his forehead and you watch the way it collects like glistening raindrops against his scalp before trickling down streaks of his swaying platinum hair. You fight every instinct in order to spare him of the sensation of your fingers running throughout his hair and massaging into his scalp. He’d shutter in pleasure if you were to so, and right now, he doesn’t deserve the satisfaction.

Draco’s fingernails burrow into the flesh of your hips and you howl at the feeling, abandoning all prior thoughts. He thrusts forward. Harder. Deeper… Once. Twice. A third time for good measure. Then, again and again while a series of moans pour from your parted mouth.

“Tell me you won’t miss how good I make you feel?” He murmurs. “Isn’t that why you’re here tonight? Because poor little Potter cannot be bothered with pleasing his own woman? He should be treating you like the chosen one. Doesn’t he know you are?”

You bite into your lip again, but this time it’s to keep your mouth shut. You know there’s no use in telling him the truth, that Harry hadn’t as much as lain a finger on you in this way. Not once in all the three years you’d been together. Though, you know he’s wanted to. Draco is the only one that’s ever had you this way, completely defiled you, talked you down, brought you to your lowest and highest all at once.

Your eyes roll again as Draco steadies out his rhythm to catch his breath.

Surely the portraits will spread word in the morning of how they heard students moaning and followed the sound after seeing you and Draco disappear down an unlined corridor moments before. You’ll have to talk to Harry and admit it. That’s one thing you’re certain of. If you don’t, they’ll call you scandalous and Draco would get it worse. Dumbledore may even have to expel you faster than Professor Snape can chastise Malfoy for his lewd, unacceptable actions, in which his father, Lucius, will truly not want to hear about.

“Shit…” he hisses. His eyes snap shut and his lips tremor with his ragged pants. His nose crinkles and the movement of his hips grow erratic once again. With his grip tightening on your flesh, he lets out a low groan. “I’ve almost forgotten how good you feel. I might blow my load inside of you… teach you a lesson.”

“You will not,” you protest, straight faced and using all your strength to not react to the pleasure radiating throughout your body. “Draco, we can’t.”

“Or what? You’ll curse me?”

“Don’t tempt me.”

Draco sneers and leans down until his face is hovering above yours. He allows your ankles to rest against his shoulders, knees parallel to the ceiling. He watches the way you fight every instinct of pleasure, how you keep your eyes on his instead of allowing them to sink back, how you hold his triceps when you want nothing more than to have your hands grasping your aching breasts or to have them wrapped tightly around the base of his throat. He chuckles at the fact that you wish to moan, but your duty to privacy holds steady, keeps you quiet and whimpering instead of letting loose. And he watches in amusement as you slowly unravel with every swift and sharp stroke of his hips. As he does, he begins to realize just how much he actually cares about you.

“Tell him you’re mine,” Draco demands. “Tell me and tonight you’ll tell him so I can spend all day showing you how well I treat my personal possessions.”

“Oh yeah?” You tease. “Is that right, Draco?”

“You’ll find out soon enough.”

You let out a sharp giggle and rope him in closer by the back of his neck, so close that you can take in every breath exhaling from his lungs and pull them into your own. You watch the way the iciness in his eyes melts away and glaze over with something more warm and comforting. And your core ripples at the possibility of something more than lust looming between the both of you.

“Don’t tell me you’re this close already,” he complains, truly embarrassed for you by the look of annoyance in his eyes.

“Mmm… I think I am,” you whimper and grasp the lapels of his crinkled button up to yank him a breath closer. “Fill me up, Draco…”

He scoffs.

He is truly embarrassed for you, but you wish he could see himself panting, slicked with sweat, eyes soft, and looking so sexy whilst buried between your thighs. He’s the portrait of pathetic and you know you should make him beg.

“Beg,” you croak and yank him down until his lips are just above yours.

Your throat stings, sore and scratchy from attempting to leave it shut as Draco plowed through your slick folds one thrust at a time.

“You’re insane,” he chuckles and glimpses down at your reddened lips.

“Only for you,” you whisper and swallow a moan as you caress the sharpness of his cheeks. “Make me yours, Draco.”

His lips tug into a sharp smile and he presses his lips against yours hard and hungrily. He’s tired of your games. Perhaps he realized that much sooner than tonight and the thought of losing you had become too unbearable for him.

“Fuck,” he huffs into the sticky air between the both of you before reclaiming your lips.

“Love your cock being buried inside of me, Draco.”

You finally moan against him. After all, you aren’t evil enough to keep edging yourself when you’re both this close. He pulls his mouth away, panting heavily as he plants his palms on either side of you and stiffens.

“Are you finished?”

You nod, knowing exactly what he means. It only confirms that he’s serious now, serious in showing you exactly how he takes care of what’s his.

He glances down at his hardened length, only the tip remains hidden inside of your depths, and the rest gleams in your sticky, sweet arousal. He wants to taste you, but more than anything, he wants to bury his load deep inside of you. He wants it so deep that it doesn’t dare to trickle out. He doesn’t care about the consequences this close to graduation; he only cares about you filled to the brim with a piece of him, no matter what it is.

He thrusts inside and watches the way you swallow him greedily. Then, repeats the action again and again in a rapid rock of his hips. He senses your falling apart—legs trembling against his body, eyes softening to a roll, your arousal warming to slick wetness, scorching hot with each plunge. He takes pride in his string of thrusts, delivering them in a steady rhythm. Though, he wishes to tear you apart, your freed moans keep him from doing so. They guide him and keep him steady like music in his ears.

He grasps your chin and pulls your lazy gaze back to him.

“Keep your eyes right here, darling,” he demands sternly. “I want to see the way they roll when you release.”

With clenched teeth, you attempt to snatch your chin back, but he keeps his grip firm and your maneuver hardly wavers as he picks up speed with a groan and chuckle.

“You thought I’d let you dominate me?” He teases, his chuckle cutting through your moans. “I almost had you convinced. But don’t forget, my love, I’m always in control. No one tells me what to do.”

You whimper as he presses a thumb into your mouth to pacify you before ripping through your depths. His thrusts grow quicker with each second and you have no time to recoup from the pleasure prickling through your veins and pulsating in every corner of your being like liquid fire. Just as your eyes begin to roll, Draco snatches your jaw, showing just how much in control he truly is.

“I wish Potter could see how well you take me,” he pants cockily. “Just imagine if he knew the way I fit inside of you. So perfectly, if I do say so myself. You should see the way your cunt grips around my cock. You should see how wet you are for me. I dare you.”

You hum against his thumb and the vibration ricochets through you in a deep wave as you dare to glimpse between your thighs. You catch sight of his cock, a pulsing red with a vein so thick that it looks as though it hurts, and your arousal coating the surface in a glistening sweetness. Draco watches with you and your head spins.

“It’s been two days since I’ve felt you tightening around me. I can’t wait to feel it again.”

You keep your lips clasped tightly around his thumb. Your mind can hardly think of a quip, let alone find any words to overpower him. You don’t want to. You focus on the way his cock feels slipping in and out of your depths at different lengths, growing unsteady with each sway of his hips. You focus on his silver eyes staring into yours and his mocking grin as you finally come to terms with the fact that you are his. You’ve always been his. He’s just known it much longer than you have.

A bead of sweat drips from the tip of his swapping bangs and plops against your bare stomach. Draco chuckles and slicks his damp hair back with one hand while using his thumb on the other to massage the moisture into your skin. He presses in with a bit more pressure in attempt to feel himself plunging in and out of you. He keeps his thumb pressed firmly against you and steadies himself until he feels the motion underneath it. In and out. In and out, bulging at the center of your tightening core.

“Perhaps one day you’ll write about how well you take me,” he purrs. “And we’ll fill our library with books on our lovemaking.”

“I’m sure such books already exist,” you gasp, recalling all the steamy muggle romances you’d read over the summer.

“Then you’ll read one to me one of these days. Share your findings?”

“I’d rather show you,” you whisper.

He smiles, almost faltering before regaining his composure and finding your hips again.

“Draco?”

“Mhm?”

“Tell me I’m your favorite,” you mutter and buck up against him.

He stops suddenly and his nails dig deep into your pillowy flesh. You feel his cock twitch deep inside of you and you smirk when his eyes land on yours again.

“Being sneaky are we?” He muses and rams into you.

His palm finds your mouth again just before a bloodcurdling moan slips out.

He does it again with a teasing smile.

Then again.

And again.

And again until you’re whimpering and trembling around him. You reach for his forearm, but he denies it and presses into you harder.

Your eyes roll and you grasp the ledge underneath yourself, but it’s too hard. You go for his wrist, the same one allowing his hand to keep you almost silenced. You shiver around him and your thighs go limp against his thrusts. It’s not long after that his pants turn into a sharp hiss and a new heat overwhelms you.

Draco falters on top of you and stares straight into your eyes as he fills you up to the brim with his warm seed. You search his eyes for any form of deceit, but you find none. There never has been, not when it came to you and him.

His hand slowly retreats and you let out a loud inhale, taking in the dusty air of the corridor before slinging your arms around his neck and rushing your lips against his. He tastes of tart apples, salty sweat, and the sticky strawberry taste of your lipgloss. You never knew you needed to taste such a combination, but if it came from him, you’d take it. You’d take it all.

“Y/n,” he mumbles.

“Yes, Draco?”

His eyes focus on yours as if the stars he’d once seen dancing around your face are slowly subsiding, and the cloudiness of lust and desire fade.

“You truly are my favorite,” he breathes and runs a hand through your curls before peppering your lips with kisses. “And I plan to keep it that way.”

And somewhere deep in your gut, you have a feeling this won’t be the last time you hear those words, especially since you’d forgotten to confirm that it had only been a rumor going around the school, mere whispers. Someone had lied about you dating Harry again, but you don’t mind when the result of it brought Draco crawling back to you.

Please be sure to check out my other latest fanfics:

⚡︎ Lost Love (m.) - Lucien Vanserra x Rhysand x reader

⚡︎ Rain Does Not Fall on One Roof Alone (m.) - Ominis Gaunt x Sebastian Sallow x reader

⚡︎ Perfect Storm (m.) - Ominis Gaunt x reader

⚡︎ Untitled (m.) - Sebastian Sallow x Ominis Gaunt x reader

⚡︎ Coffee (Love You a Latte) - Sebastian Sallow x reader

⚡︎ Golden - Sebastian Sallow x reader

⚡︎ For You Always (m.) - Severus Snape x reader

~ Navi: masterlist (all fandoms)

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction, but please don’t copy! Written purely for fun :) Please only repost to other socials w/my permission and credit! Reblogging w/credit is fine. Thank you! ♡

December 2024

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agreeeeeeeeeee · 3 months ago

Text

Bad Santa | D.M.

“Santa can’t be bad.” He grabbed you by the throat...“Sweet girls, however, always have a naughty side.”

feat. Draco Malfoy x fem!reader

SUMMARY: Your boyfriend Draco has thrown the Christmas party of the year, and wears a Santa hat to make you smile. But jealousy quickly throws a wrench into your festive evening.

CW: MDNI 18+, smut with a sprinkle of plot, he hates everyone but her, protective, arrogant, and possessive!draco, slightly toxic behavior, pda, dirty talk, sort of insecure reader?? (she just wants to be perfect for him even though he thinks she’s perfect 1000% of the time), Blaise is kind of a dick in this one sorry

You were running late to Draco’s Christmas party, but your red glitter eyeliner was not cooperating, and you were ready to start screaming.

You just wanted to look perfect for him, even though he loved nothing more than seeing you fresh out of the shower, bundled up in his pajamas. But this was one of the last parties he would throw at Hogwarts, and he’d worked so hard on every meticulous detail.

You refused to be the weak link.

There was a soft knock on your door, and your heart fell out of rhythm, thinking it was Draco.

“Come in!” You called, and Theo opened the door, a flute of wine in hand.

He let out a low whistle, freezing in place, forgetting that he definitely was not supposed to be checking you out.

You rolled your eyes, returning to your eyeliner in the mirror. “Eyes up, Nott. Would be a shame to see that pretty face without teeth.”

He shook himself and strode in, setting the drink on the table beside you. It was fizzy and a pale gold, with sugared cranberries floating at the top. “Yeah, yeah. Malfoy sent me to check on you, make sure you didn’t fall out the window or something. And he said to bring you that.” Theo gestured to the drink.

You smiled, taking a sip of the effervescent giggle water. “I’m perfectly fine. Tell Draco I’ll be down soon.” You set the glass down and picked up your liner brush, finishing the last line. You leaned back to make sure they were even and fucking finally, they were.

“You got it, Mrs. Clause,” he bowed and made a swift exit.

Mrs. Clause? You shrugged it off. Theo was always spouting random shit, anyways. You fluffed your hair and stood, straightening your black slip dress. An inch shorter, and it would be considered lingerie, but you wanted Draco to be unable to keep his hands off of you, and this dress would surely do the trick.

You slipped your hands into a pair of black, satin elbow gloves, and stepped into your black platform heels. For the final touch, a swipe of oxblood red lipstick, and you were ready.

The music was loud enough to feel through the floor as you made your way down the stairs, drink in hand, the party in full swing. The room was completely covered in green and white christmas lights, with dozens of trees decorated in Slytherin colors and tinsel snakes scattered throughout the room. Fake snow fell gently from the ceiling, covering everything in a sheen of silver glitter, though it wasn’t cold when it kissed your skin, collecting in your hair and eyelashes.

It was a wonderland, and your heart swelled with pride that your man made it happen.

You turned your attention back to the stairs so you didn't fall face first, and noticed Theo was waiting for you at the bottom.

”Really?” You teased, taking his arm when he offered it to you.

“Are you really surprised?” He muttered in your ear as he lead you through the crowd. “It’s a fucking circus in here.”

Despite your teasing, you were glad for his company once you got into the thick of the party. It seemed your housemates were pulling out all the stops for this one, already teetering into rager territory and it wasn’t even 10 o’clock.

“He’s going to crash out when he sees you,” Theo chuckled, puffing up his chest when some Ravenclaw boy drifted a little too close to you.

“That’s the idea.”

“Crash out indeed.” Draco suddenly appeared in front of you, stepping from the crowd like he’d apparated there, and you nearly tripped over your heels.

He was dressed in all black, like you’d discussed, his suit decorated with black lace and silver trim. But what really threw you was the velvet black Santa hat on his head, the fur trim and bauble like a silver wolfs coat. He looked…sinful.

“Draco!” You exclaimed, flush with excitement. “How did you—”

“Followed the broken necks,” he replied, his gaze roaming from the top of your head to the very tip of your toes with a predator’s gleam. “That’s all, Nott,” he said, an edge of command to his voice, and Theo dissolved into the crowd.

He extended a hand to you and you placed your fingers in his palm, butterflies rioting in your stomach despite having been with Draco for close to a year now. He pulled your bodies together, one arm wrapping around your waist, the other bringing your gloved knuckles to his lips for a chaste kiss.

“I’m speechless, baby,” he murmured, releasing your hand to catch your chin. He tilted your head up towards him, turning you just slightly to watch the shimmer around your eyes dance.

You reached up to flick the bauble on the end of his hat, grinning. “You don’t look so bad yourself.”

“Let me see you,” he purred. He took your hand again and stepped back, spinning you in a slow circle as the snow fell around you. It was like there was no one else in the room, just you and Draco in a winter wonderland. “That’s simply unfair, darling,” he said, pulling you back into him. “Am I meant to fight off every student in attendance?”

“You’re so dramatic,” you snickered, pecking his cheek, and he chuckled.

“C’mon, let’s get you by the fire. It is winter, you know—”

You swatted his arm, letting him lead you through the crowd. Though, Draco had a considerably easier time with it that Theo did, the party-goers shifting apart like the Red Sea. In a few moments, you found your and Draco’s friends sitting in a circle of couches and chairs by the roaring fireplace. The largest arm chair, closest to the fire, was unoccupied, and you noticed two drinks sitting untouched on the table beside it.

A fire whiskey that was certainly Draco’s, and another frosty flute of giggle water with cranberries, presumably for you.

Your friends all greeted you with warm smiles and a wolf whistle from Pansy, and you broke free from Draco to catch up with her and a few of your girls.

“You have no idea, he was so bitchy when you didn’t show up at 9:30 on the dot,” Pansy whispered, giggling.

“Not at you, of course. He’s just never happy when you aren’t around,” another one of your friends muttered.

You glanced over at Draco, who was sitting in his seat, an ankle propped up on the opposite knee, fire whiskey in hand. He was watching you over the rim despite poor Blaise trying to talk to him, and you could feel his gaze like a caress over your exposed back.

“It was my damn eyeliner,” you chuckled, batting your eyes to show them, and they squealed. “Couldn’t get it straight.”

“That’s amazing! Where did you get it—”

“It makes you look like a crazy vixen or something. Slayed.”

“It’s flawless, well worth being thirty minutes late—”

“Thank you, thank you,” you flushed.

“Let’s go dance!” Pansy said, grabbing you by the wrist, and you turned to check with Draco. Not that you needed permission, just to let him know what you were doing.

“Go dance, baby. I’ll be right here, watching very closely,” he called with a smirk, waving you off.

You swallowed the rest of your drink as the girls dragged you out to the edge of the dance floor, where it wasn’t quite as crowded, and the boys could keep an eye on all of you in case anyone got any ideas. You let yourself get lost in the music and the movement, Draco’s watchful the eye the only thing rooting you to the present. Even from across the room, he made you feel secure as gold in Gringott’s, which was why you felt comfortable wearing a dress so revealing, or going to a wild party in the first place.

But, after an hour or so, you started to feel that longing tug in your lower belly, missing his voice, his touch. You grabbed Pansy, shouting in her ear over the roar of the music. “Excuse me, I have to sit on Santa’s lap and tell him what I want for Christmas!”

“Ask for a million dollars!” She shouted back, breathless.

You turned and sauntered across the room to Draco, eyes locked on him, taking care to sway your hips in time to the music.

He set his foot down, patting his thigh with his free hand, a smirk lifting his handsome face. You stepped between his thighs and eased onto his lap, his arm immediately wrapping around your back to grip your thigh, the fat dimpling beneath the pressure as he hauled you closer.

“Hi, Santa baby,” you flirted, lifting your legs to rest them across his other thigh, your heels dangling towards the ground.

“I’d ask if you’ve been a good girl, but I think I know the answer to that,” he hummed, pressing his lips beneath your jaw and kissing downwards at a leisurely place.

“Does that mean ‘no’?” You giggled, letting the heat of his affection flow through you, warming your blood until a buzzy desire bloomed between your legs.

“Good girls don’t dance like that in an attempted murder against their boyfriend,” he chuckled, nipping at your ear before sitting up.

“Attempted murder” You gasped, pressing a hand to your chest. “I would never.”

He passed you your drink, watching your lips as you took a long sip of the fizzy beverage. “I like that lipstick,” he said, softening his voice. “Is it new?”

You nodded. “Santa bought it for me at Hogsmeade.”

Draco laughed, the vibration in his chest making your thighs clench as your arousal continued to build. “Did Santa buy you that dress too?”

“Of course.” You leaned in closer, your lips brushing his ear. “And what’s underneath it.”

His grip tightened on your thigh, and you felt something hard nudge against your hip. “I suppose Santa should let you take his wallet into town more often,” he muttered, a little raspier than before.

“At his own peril,” you warned, smiling.

“Whatever it takes to keep you right here, Mrs. Clause.” His hand slid to the nape of your neck, the tips of his fingers chilled from holding the whiskey glass, and he pulled you in. Your lips connected in heated kiss, tasting cinnamon and drunken cherries. His tongue brushed along the seam of your lips in a request for entry. You parted just slightly for him, a tease, before biting lightly at the tip of his tongue. He grinned, retaliating by biting your lower lip, hard enough to send a delicious flare of pain straight to your most sensitive parts, and you nearly cried out. He soothed the bite with his tongue, and kissed you softly before pulling away.

You knew that lipstick was worth the price tag; barely a ghost of smear colored his lips. He just looked thoroughly kissed, exactly how you wanted him to.

“Why does this party just feel like extremely elaborate foreplay?” Blaise droned, rolling his eyes at the two of you.

“Everything is foreplay to them,” Pansy laughed, flopping down onto the couch between Crabbe and Goyle.

“Jealous, Zabini?” Draco asked, leaning back a little further into the chair, his legs spreading wider so gravity shifted more of your weight into his body. He was so warm and solid, the feel and presence of him making your head go a little fuzzy. Or perhaps it was the giggle water taking effect.

“Sorry, Blaise,” you said, nudging his shoulder with the toe of your heel. “We’ll try to keep the pda under control.”

“I didn’t agree to that,” Draco argued, grabbing your ankle and tucking your foot back against his calf. “Let ‘em suffer.”

“Draco, don’t be cruel,” you scolded, though everyone knew you didn’t mean it.

“Cruel? Cruel would be denying everyone the sight of you. He should be thanking me,” Draco countered, his hand caressing up and down your shin, the other kneading the fat of your haunch.

“Ah, yes. Thank you for allowing me to watch you all but fuck your girl in front of the entire student body,” Blaise snapped, and you felt Draco’s energy immediately shift into dangerous territory.

“Just say you’re jealous and shut the fuck up, Blaise. You’re being a dick,” Goyle shot back, with a grunt in agreement from Crabbe.

“Baby,” you murmured, quiet enough that only Draco could hear you. “Ignore him. He’s just trying to get a rise out of you and ruin our fun.” You rubbed your gloved hand over his chest, feeling his heart pounding through his expensive shirt. He was glaring at Blaise, anger slithering through the blue of his eyes, promising pain.

“No, I want him to say what he means,” Draco said, his tone deceptively light, and you inwardly groaned. “Go on, mate. Tell us the truth.”

Theo made a ‘don’t’ sign with his hand, but Blaise was glaring right back at Draco, apparently foolish enough, or drunk enough, to take the bait.

“I wouldn’t parade my girl around like that, is all. Wouldn’t want another bloke seeing what’s mine.”

Draco was up in a flash, leaving you in a heap on his chair. Blaise jumped up too, but Theo got between them before they collided.

“She can do whatever she damn well pleases. And I’m not going to let some microdicked cunt make her think twice about it,” Draco growled, and your heart gave an ill-timed flutter, your pussy tingling anew. You knew Draco shouldn’t be so protective, and it’s gotten him in trouble on more than one occasion, but you couldn’t help it. You loved seeing Draco’s dark side come out on your behalf.

“Fuck you, Malfoy,” Blaise replied, shoving into Theo to try and reach Draco. Theo shoved Blaise backwards and Draco managed to get around him, grabbing Blaise up by the collar. You got to your feet, fear pumping through you, but Theo blocked you before you could intervene.

“Now, I’m going to give you the opportunity to apologize to her on your own, or I will force it out of you,” Draco said, his voice menacingly low. When Blaise tried in vain to free himself, Draco shook him hard, nearly hitting his head against the stone fireplace. “Now, Zabini.”

Blaise’s eyes met yours, wide with fear, but deeply angry. “I’m sorry, y/n,” he hissed through his teeth, venomous as a hex.

Draco pushed him hard, throwing him onto the ground. He loomed over the prone boy, raising his wand.

“Draco!” You shouted, managing to get around Theo is his shock. You got between Draco and Blaise, throwing your arms around your boyfriends neck and pressing yourself to his front. “He’s not worth getting expelled,” you hissed in his ear, his eyes feral and jaw set. “Please, please don’t do this.”

You felt him soften, just a fraction.

“Merlin, I’m sorry, okay!” Blaise shouted, holding up his hands in surrender. “I’m sorry, y/n.” Sincerity softened the Blaise’s voice, and Draco finally lowered his wand.

You applied some pressure to Draco’s front, trying to get him to move, and he took a step back, an unspoken acquiescence. You grabbed his hand and dragged him through the sea of onlookers and up to his dorm, his hand a vice on yours.

As soon as the door closed behind you, Draco lunged, crushing you against the wall in a fervid, desperate kiss. You could feel the tension in his muscles, the race of his heart, and knew that he needed an outlet for his temper.

“No one talks to you like that,” he growled against your neck, biting at your skin while he wrapped your legs around his waist. “I don’t care if it’s my friends, my father, or bloody Minister of fucking Magic.”

“Yes, Draco!” You cried out when he ground his hardening cock against your clothed cunt, your eyes rolling back at the friction.

“You’re mine,” he said, his lips releasing from your skin with a pop. “Mine to spoil, mine to dote on, mine to touch, kiss, fuck.”

“Fuck, yes. All yours.” You pulled off your gloves and dug your fingers into his platinum hair, knocking off the Santa hat in pursuit of another scalding kiss. He obliged you, tangling his tongue with yours and loosing a low groan. He peeled you off of the wall, not breaking the kiss, and tossed you onto a bed.

Not his bed, you realized almost immediately.

“Draco—”

“Just want to leave a little gift for Blaise,” he said, kissing down your chest while his hands pushed up your skirt, revealing the g-string you bought just for him. It was black and trimmed in diamonds, nothing but mesh covering your puffy, drooling lips. “Look at you,” he cooed, softening further. He lowered himself to rest fully between your legs and grazed his thumb over the mesh, feeling the wetness soaking through. “You bought these for me?”

You nodded, chewing your lower lip and resisting the urge to press yourself into his hand.

“How very considerate of you, darling,” he praised, hooking the fabric with his middle finger and tugging it aside. He pressed a kiss to your clit before swiping a languid lick through your slit, finally relaxing back into his usual, calm demeanor. He always settled like this when it was just the two of you, your body laid out all for him, like it appeased some ravenous beast inside of his chest.

Between your legs was where he made his confession, where he bared his soul and sought forgiveness for his trespasses.

“M’sorry for being such a brute,” he murmured against you, sucking lightly at your clit.

“I love when you stand up for me,” you said, your words tangled with a soft moan as he continued to lap at you, so soft it makes your chest ache.

You felt him smile against you before sitting back on his heels, your slick glossing his lips and chin. “That why you’re dripping for me? Did it turn you on when I got angry?” It was a rhetorical question. He knew it turned you on when he was set off, as it had resulted in many a shagging in broom closets and empty classrooms. “Or was it the Santa hat?” he teased, getting up and grabbing it off of the floor.

“Draco, come back,” you whined, reaching for him while he put the hat back on his head. He was toying with you now, seeing how worked up he could get you before either of you snapped.

If there was one thing you knew for certain about Draco Malfoy, it’s that he loved the chase. Perhaps it was the Slytherin in him, the desire to scheme and plot, to coax out their prey before they strike.

He grabbed your ankle and tugged you the edge of the bed, your hips flush against his. “I’m here,” he soothed, running his hands over your thighs and spreading your legs a little further for him. “Baby, that makeup…” his eyes danced over your face. “Lose my train of thought when you look at me like that.”

You sat up, inching your hips closer to his, feeling his hardness pressing against you. “You like it?” You asked, batting your lashes while you push his jacket off of his shoulders, the blazer landing with an umph onto the floor.

“I do.” He reached up to ghost his fingers over your face, brushing your fake lashes with the gentlest touch, tracing over your nose, your eyebrows, your lined cupid’s bow. “You’re beyond beautiful, darling.”

You leaned forward and pressed a kiss underneath his jaw, sucking lightly at his pulse, and he heaved a contented sigh, his hand sliding into your hair. With deft fingers, you started to undo the buttons of his shirt, kissing down his pale chest as you went.

“How do you always manage to disarm me?” He asked, scratching gently at your scalp, watching you through heavy lidded eyes. “I was so angry, then you just—you just chased it away with your sweet little self.”

You preened under his gentle touch, loving that only you got to see this side of him, that there was a Draco you didn’t have to share with the rest of the world.

“I like myself better when I’m with you,” he murmured, tightening his grip on your hair to force you head up. “Like I’m not all bad.”

Your heart cracked, affection making it swell a few sizes too large. “Draco, you are not bad,” you shushed, wrapping your arms around his neck and pecking his lips. “You’re wonderful, and I love you. All of you.”

He smiled, catching your lips in a deeper kiss. “I love you too, sweet girl.”

“Even if you’ve been a bad Santa,” you tease, flicking the bauble at the end of his hat.

“Santa can’t be bad.” He grabbed you by the throat and shoved you back down, looming over you with a cheeky smirk on his face. “Sweet girls, however, always have a naughty side.”

“Not me!” you giggled.

“Back talk, hm?” He slid his hand down to the top of your dress and pulled it down, freeing your bare breasts. He laved a tongue over one of your nipples, making your eyes roll back when he sucked it between his teeth, biting gently.

Your hips bucked up involuntarily, a cry falling from your lips when your clit ground against his length.

“Where'd my sweet girl go? All I see now is a needy slut.” He lightly slapped your tit he'd just been nursing, making you jump and keen, a deep pulse of arousal making your pussy drip. “You know what sluts get for Christmas?” He asked, undoing the buttons of his trousers. You felt his cock spring out, scalding hot and solid.

You shook your head, already half dumb from his hot and cold teasing, zeroed in on the feeling of his cock nudging against your drooling entrance.

“Fucked,” he growled, and slammed himself to the hilt, splitting you down the middle.

You cried out, arching off the mattress when he withdrew and slammed back in, rebuilding you only to shatter you once more. Your pussy made the most obscene sounds, sloppy as it gripped him. He loosed an unintelligible stream of curses, fucking into you with all the fervor he had when you initially fled the party.

“Fuck, Draco,” you cried, muffling yourself on Blaise's now tousled quilt.

“That's a good girl, cry all you like. I want him to know exactly how hard I fucked you on his bed.” He leaned over you, grabbing one of Blaise's pillows and tucking it under your lower back, elevating your hips so he could hit a new, more intense angle.

“Mmph, so deep,” you whined, stars dancing being your eyes, the coil in your stomach winding tighter with every graze of his cockhead against that ruthless, spongy place inside of you.

“Gonna make a mess of this perfect pussy. Shit, love—so fucking tight f’me,” he groaned, throwing one of your ankles over his shoulder and biting at your calf. “So fucking pretty taking my cock,” he mumbled between kisses along your shin, holding your ankle in a bruising grip to keep you exactly where he wanted you.

You were getting so close, swallowing scream after scream as he pounded you.

“Gonna come for me, sweet girl? Can feel you squeezing harder, soaking my cock.” He released his grip on your hip to smear his fingers over your clit, rubbing back and forth at brutal pace, letting you hear just how wet you were. “C’mon, baby. You're so close—oh fuck.”

You came with a scream, biting down on the quilt in a feeble attempt to quiet yourself as your orgasm tore through you, forcing a gush of moisture from your pussy.

“Merlin, baby. That's perfect, you're doing so good for me, sweetheart,” he praised, sounding a little starstruck, and more than a little excited.

It was like he replaced your blood with fire whiskey, burning, bright, dizzying. You were soaring, awash with bliss as he fucked you through it, moving slower to savor the way you fluttered around him.

You blinked your eyes open, bleary and a cockdrunk.

“There she is,” he cooed, setting your leg down and leaning forward to kiss your cheeks, your nose, your lips. “You alright?”

You nodded, stretching your arms overhead like a tired kitten.

“Not done yet, lovey. C’mere.” He slipped out of you, ignoring your whine of protest and tugged you to the edge of the bed. He tossed Blaise's pillow, now soaked with your release, onto the floor. “On your knees, darling.”

You happily obliged, lowering yourself to the ground and grabbing at his cock before he had a chance to sit. He chuckled, letting you lap at his messy shaft, loving the taste of you smeared on his skin. Marking him as yours.

“All yours, baby. Don't fret.” He stroked your chhek, staring down at you with a lovesick smile. “Look at me.”

You flicked your eyes upwards as you start working your mouth down his cock, taking him about halfway before retreating. He was flushed and breathing hard, his black button down open to reveal his muscular chest, littered with love bites you left behind. The Santa hat was still on his head, slightly askew from the thorough fucking, and his blue eyes were blazing.

He groaned, hand tightening on the sheets. “Baby, your eyes. Got me in a chokehold,” he rasped, hips rocking forward in time with your head.

Evidently, the eyeliner was very much worth it.

You wrapped your hand around the base and increased your pace, close to gagging yourself on his length, your eyes fixed firmly on his reactions.

His head lolled back on his shoulders, throat bobbing as he moaned, mouth falling open. “Fuck, m’already close.”

A trill of pride washed through you and you pushed even further, his head nudging the back of your throat and making your eyes water.

“Shit, thats it, angel. Just like that. Open that pretty throat for me.” He fisted your hair and stalled your movements, his cock buried in your mouth and cutting off your air. “Fuck!” He cried, pulling your head back and grasping his cock, pumping himself against your tongue as the first rope of release splattered against it.

You stuck your tongue out, letting him fill your mouth with his spend while he moaned and cursed, his whole body bowing around you with the force of it.

He milked himself dry, heaving a loud exhale followed by a sly smile, and gripped your chin, tilting your head up for him. “My sweet girl,” he cooed, swiping up a dribble of cum from your chin and feeding it between your lips. “Swallow.”

You did, swallowing down every bit of cum before opening your mouth for him, sticking out your now clean tongue.

He grinned, scooping you up into his arms and raining kisses over your face and neck. “So fucking perfect. How did I get so lucky?”

You giggled, dizzy with delight, and wrapped your arms around him, nuzzling into his shoulder.

"You wanna go back to the party?" He asked, and you scoffed, earning a relieved smile. He tucked an arm under your knees and hefted you into the air, carrying you across the room to his bed. He laid you down and rummaged through his trunk, finding a pair of pajamas you liked, before walking back over to you.

You loosed a big yawn, eyelids heavy, and he chuckled.

“Fucked out, hm?” He teased, pulling the dress over your head and tossing it aside before replacing it with one of his Quidditch t-shirts.

You answered with another yawn, flopping back onto his fancy, silk pillows.

He shimmied a pair of boxers up your legs before tucking you into his quilt, the smell of his expensive body wash wrapping around you as you settled.

He clicked his tongue. “Face towards me, sweetheart.” You turned your head, eyes closed, and felt a cool cloth wipe across your cheek, your eyes, your forehead. Diligently, he removed your makeup inch by inch, careful to not pull or tug. He even let your lashes soak off, counting to thirty under his breath before removing them, instead of just tugging them off. When he was finished, he leaned down to kiss your forehead. “Your makeup was lovely, but you are so beautiful as you are “

You hummed in appreciation, eyes still closed, and puckered your lips for a kiss, which he happily provided.

Then he stood and you could hear him moving around the room, picking up your trail of items and righting the room.

“You aren't really gonna leave that on Blaise's bed?” You mumbled, peaking at him over the covers.

“Oh, I certainly am,” he replied, fluffing it up and setting it back where he found it. “Maybe he'll keep his mouth shut next time.”

You rolled your eyes, snuggling back down into the pillows. You wanted no part of their twisted drama.

A few moments later, you felt the covers lift and the bed dip, and Draco’s warm body wrapped around you, shirtless and in sweatpants. He nuzzled into your neck, taking a deep breath.

“You never told me what you wanted for a Christmas?” He murmured, pressing a kiss to the curve of your shoulder.

Your brain was sluggish, trying to piece together what you wanted. But you could only think of one thing.

“Dark chocolate frog,” you mumbled, and he burst out laughing.

“Then you'll have an army of dark chocolate frogs, my love.”

Thank you sm for reading!

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