#Hufflepuff!OC

[incorrectquotesharrypotterv]

Theo: I cut my finger

Y/n: I can kiss it, so it'll get better

Theo: That works?

Y/n: Yeah, my mum used to do it when I was little

*later*

Theo: I need you to punch me in the mouth

Draco: Fucking finally

[cherry-issecret]

It’s me, cat.

[iniquitousyearning]

SLYTHERINSLUT0’S RIDDLEMAS

dec 10th. tom riddle — oral sex, experienced!tom.

RIDDLEMAS MASTERLIST. I 2024

summary: your ex couldn’t make you orgasm, so you were certain you were broken. tom shows you just how wrong you are.

warnings: 18+, SMUTTT MDNI, tom riddle can eat me aliv—sorry who tf said that?, tom riddle is such a realist; he sees a problem and he finds a solution, tom is a munch, praise kink, oral f!receiving, experienced tom, hufflepuff!reader.

Months pass, and your project remains the only thing Tom ever prioritizes when it's you asking.

Progress is slow—slow because you're usually far too busy talking to actually focus—yet, he always stays. He listens, even when the things you say should bore him, even when they mean nothing at all. He sits there—giving you hardly the barest scraps of himself in return as you fill the space between you with everything that crosses your mind.

Things he'd never waste a second hearing from anyone else.

And tonight, to no-one's surprise, you're doing it again—rambling on about nothing and everything all at once. You've got this way of talking—weaving tangents into something almost poetic, and usually, he lets it fade into the background as he works. You're saying something about the differences between the seasons, or maybe it's just some other kind of sentimental nonsense—at this point, he's not entirely sure.

It's easy to tune out. He tells himself he's not really listening.

Until—

"Actually, I guess I should clarify that—it's all hypothetical. I don't date," he doesn't know what you said before this, but he's certainly intrigued by it now. "And really, it has nothing to do with like, self esteem or anything, I'm just broken. Best to save someone the trouble."

That stops him cold. It's not so much the declaration that you don't date—he could have guessed that himself—but more so the way you've just called yourself broken.

It's not a word he's ever heard you use before.

"What do you mean, broken?" He asks, the question coming out far more blunt than he probably intended.

It just seems so out of character for you—you've always been an optimist, far too annoyingly positive to speak of anything this way. He blinks when you freeze, and blinks again when a moment of self consciousness seems to pass over your face—and he notes how that's a first for you, too.

"Broken...as in, uh, not normal," your eyes flit down to your lap, tracing the wood beneath where you're seated on the floor in his dorm. "My ex made that very clear in his assessment of me."

The mention of an ex is something he'd been anticipating—you're in your twenties, after all—but it's the idea that your ex is the source of you calling yourself broken, that he can't quite swallow.

"You're 'broken' because of one ex?" He says, and he can't stop how derisive and skeptical his voice sounds. He doesn't care to try. "I'm not following."

"I'm what you'd call, damaged goods, I think," you murmur, and there's an almost self-deprecating smirk on your face. He can't help but think how he's never seen that look on you, either. "I've got a slew of unhealthy baggage that comes along with me. You know, childhood traumas, abandonment issues, daddy issues—"

He snorts at that—daddy issues—and your head snaps up, smirk deepening despite yourself.

"Don't snort at my daddy issues," you huff, and there's a familiar annoyance in your voice that puts him at ease. "They're valid and real."

"I'm not denying their validity," he counters, his own smirk beginning to surface. "But daddy issues? Come on. You're not some tired cliché ripped out of a teenage romance novel. I refuse to accept your declaration of brokenness until you give me factual reasoning."

You laugh at that—alive and genuine—and for a moment, he's reminded of why he even tolerates you in his space at all.

"Fine," you cross your arms over your chest. "What do you want to know then?"

He makes a low, contemplative sound at that—because there's a million questions that come to mind with the words damaged goods—and after a moment, he settles on the one that falls out first.

"What is it, precisely, that makes you broken?"

You sigh, a bit theatrically—he knows you're just putting on a show and he wants to laugh at you for it—but he reigns that in, for now, while you figure out how you're going to respond to that.

The truth is, you don't know how to tell him the real reason you're broken—the part that has nothing to do with the laundry list of emotional baggage you could rattle off with ease. It's something...different.

Something more physical.

"I don't know, okay?" You're getting defensive. You're not sure why but you are. "Just—forget I said anything. We have this assignment to—"

"You dodging the question tells me it's more than just psychological," he cuts you off, leaning back into the couch. The way he's looking at you makes it clear—there's no way he's letting this go. "You getting defensive tells me you're embarrassed by it."

You sigh again, leaning back on your palms to mirror his body language, though it doesn't feel half as natural on you as it does on him.

"And you, being an insufferable arse, is telling me I never should have mentioned it in the first place."

His smirk at that makes you want to glare at him.

"Stop dodging," he says. "You brought it up. You don't get to take it back."

It's a challenge—the gleam in his eyes is practically screaming so. You're not sure why the sight of it makes something low in your stomach clench, and you're even less sure of why you want to tell him something like this—something you haven't told anyone else—not friends, certainly not family.

Whatever the reasoning, you can feel yourself relent.

"Maybe," you pause, the look on his face makes you second guess yourself. "...maybe I don't want to tell you because I'm afraid you'll look at me differently." You glance down at your lap, fingers twitching against the yellow pleats of your skirt before finally meeting his eyes again. "And I kind of like the way you look at me now."

Something like curiosity passes over his expression at that—but it's quickly hidden by the type of skepticism that tells you he still doesn't believe you're being serious.

"You're overthinking it," he replies, unmoving. "Whatever it is you think you're going to tell me, I'm not going to look at you differently. You're still you—no filter, unabashedly verbal—"

"Too verbal. Too positive, too loud," you finish his sentence for him—because you know that's how he thinks of you. "Too annoyingly optimistic. Far too hufflepuff for your cold snake skin. I know."

"Exactly," he says, tongue running over his bottom lip in attempt to quell his smirk. "So I reiterate. There's nothing you could tell me that would change that."

"Fine," you relent, giving in begrudgingly because you know there's no other option. "But don't say I didn't warn you."

He just lifts a hand at that, as if to say; whatever you think it is, I can handle it. The action makes you suck a breath into your lungs, trapping it there.

"You're right," you say after a long exhale. "I have a slew of psychological bullshit that would take the span of a year for me to fully go over in one sitting—but, I'm fine with it. That's...that's not the thing that made me call myself broken."

He says nothing, just makes a motion with his eyes for you to keep going.

"It's, uhm...physical." You whisper, and your brain is moving too much and too fast and you're not even completely sure how to say it without sounding insane. "And...I don't know, I just...I can't orgasm. No matter what. I just can't—it's frustrating and embarrassing and it's the reason my ex ended things."

There's a silence that follows, and he knows if it were anyone else, they'd probably find a way to comfort you. Reassure you. Tom, however, isn't anyone else—

"You're joking," he says, and his tone is incredulous again.

A self-depreciating laugh leaves your lips involuntarily, the sound of it making you almost want to cringe.

"Would it be less embarrassing if I was?"

He's still just watching you, dissecting your words as if waiting for you to crack a smile and confess this was all some stupid joke—and the vulnerability of it aches like a stab to the gut.

"This is the reason you think you're broken?" Is what he goes with when he finally realizes you're being serious. "Because you haven’t orgasmed?"

The bluntness of it makes you flush, makes you wish you could sink into the floor. "I know it's not normal, okay—"

"It's not an abnormality, either," he asserts, with casualty. "You might just have a disconnect."

You blink, caught off guard—not just by his choice of words, but by how matter-of-fact he sounds, like this isn't the mortifying confession it feels like.

"A disconnect?"

"A disconnect," he repeats, looking you over, something clinical slipping into his eyes. "Between mind and body. And considering how loud your thoughts are—"

"Hey—" you snap, suddenly feeling a bit indignant, but he just continues on.

"—it's not surprising that you can't get out of your own head."

You open your mouth to argue, to tell him he's not a therapist, so what the hell does he know? But the certainty in his expression makes you pause. He doesn't look patronizing or condescending, just...assured. Like he knows exactly what he's talking about.

You hesitate, lips parting, a protest forming on your tongue. Before you can say anything, though, he raises a hand to stop you.

"Come here," he says, standing up from the couch.

You blink, trying to decipher what the hell he's implying—because if anything, the last thing that's going to make you less paranoid about intimacy is proximity.

"What?"

He just looks at you, making a motion with two fingers, beckoning you to stand.

"Don't ask questions. Just come here."

It's an order, and it makes your spine tingle in a way that's definitely not comfortable—but you get up from the floor, and move closer to him anyway, closing the distance between you with only a few steps until you're close enough to him that you can practically feel the heat that seems to come off him in waves.

It's weird—he's suddenly too much all at once—you're so much more aware of him being in front of you than you think you've ever been before and it does not help that he's just looking at you—as if studying you—blinking only once as he raises those same two fingers to your neck, resting them against the pulse point at your throat.

Your entire body tenses. His touch is far more gentle than you ever imagined it being, something disarming that makes your pulse beat faster against his fingers as a result—and because this is Tom, with all his smug and certainty—he gives you a look that tells you he can feel it before he slides his fingers up to rest on your forehead.

You scowl at the motion, but he clicks his tongue, the sound as condescending as it is amused.

"I told you, you're an overthinker." He murmurs, eyes dipping to your lips. "Too much noise."

You want to refute that—mostly because you're not overthinking, you can't be—he's just so unequivocally overwhelming—

"I'm not—"

You start, but he moves his fingers from your forehead and places them against your lips—

"Quiet." He scolds, and that makes something low in your stomach clench. "Your body knows what to do. You're just letting your thoughts get in the way."

You long to protest again, just for the sake of defiance—but then his fingers are against your collarbone, and that motion in your stomach becomes a bit more of a squirm—

"Your body is trying to tell you something," he whispers, watching each little hitch in your breath. "But you're too busy talking over it to hear what it's saying."

You realize—with a sort of horror that's laced with something a little more uncomfortable—that he's right. Your body is trying to say something. It's communicating through the unsteady force of your breaths, through the clench of your fists against your skirt—

Of course, he notices. He's noticing far too much.

"Relax," he murmurs, and now he's trailing those same two fingers in an unhurried path down your shoulder. You suddenly regret every decision that led to you wearing a T-shirt. "I'm not going to bite you."

Something about the way he says it makes you wish he wasn't quite so convincing—the familiar banter you long for gone with the sharp exhale that comes out of your mouth as his fingers encircle your wrist—

"Your pulse is racing," he says casually, far too casually for how much effort it's taking you not to scream. "Does that seem broken to you?"

Gods—you want to respond—you really, really do— but your thoughts flatline when you realize his touch has shifted. He's no longer just holding your wrist; he's guiding your hands to rest against his chest, and—

"There you go," he whispers, and the tone of it tells you he knows exactly what it is he's doing to you. "See? Your body's doing exactly what it's meant to do. You—" his fingers trail up your arms, and his voice gets lower. "—are not broken."

You swallow hard, acutely aware of your hands on his chest and the way your palms are clammy against the fabric of his shirt. He's shifting you now, deliberately crowding you, and it's only when you feel the edge of the couch press against the back of your calves that you realize—perhaps a second too late—exactly what it is he's doing.

You stumble back onto the leather, and he follows—crushing his lips to yours.

You gasp, startled, because despite everything you truly hadn't seen this coming. The kiss is messy, clumsy, and his hand finds the nape of your neck, tugging at your hair with just enough force to make it sting. And inevitably, when you gasp again, he takes it as an invitation to work his tongue into your mouth, other hand slipping under your shirt—trailing up your stomach.

You're trembling now, and he makes a low sound at the realization. Your brain is racing to catch up, and the irony of this isn't lost on you—he'd just claimed you weren't broken, but he might as well be destroying you himself.

He parts from your lips only to trail his own across your jaw—

"You're shaking," he murmurs with a smirk against your throat—as if he's taking immense pleasure in the fact—you hate how smug it makes him sound. "Do you want me to stop?"

You want to tell him he's being a bastard, but then his lips press to that spot on your neck—the one that makes your breath hitch and your pulse stutter—and you find yourself whimpering at the sensation.

"No," you breathe, and you'd be embarrassed by the pleading tone in your voice if you weren't so lost in the moment. "Don't stop."

He makes another low, satisfied noise at that.

"Good," he whispers. "No thinking. Just feel."

You swallow—throat dry. It's unfair how easily he's dismantling you with nothing but his mouth and hands. Unfair how he's leaving you breathless and unraveling while somehow making you feel seen in a way you can't explain, even with your eyes shut.

"Tom," you find yourself whimpering, and you aren't even sure what you're asking for—you just know you want more as his lips trail lower—as his fingers work to tug down your skirt. "Gods."

"Shh. Feel me," he murmurs, almost possessively, his lips brushing lower, grazing over your stomach, then your pelvis. "Let your body do the talking."

You've got your hands tangled in his hair before you even know what you're doing, and you hate the fact that you're pretty sure you'd melt into a puddle if he weren't holding you together.

"I feel you," you whimper as he kisses lower. "You're all I feel."

He makes another low sound at that, and you just know it's the response of ‘yeah, that’s right’—but then he's between your legs, panties shifted out of the way, and the first sweep of his tongue against your clit makes all coherent thought shift to static.

"Oh! God," you gasp, the word barely escaping before dissolving into a whimper when he does something with his tongue that makes your vision blur. "Tom—oh, fuck."

He just makes that smug, satisfied noise against you again before his tongue swirls over your clit and you find yourself almost cursing whatever deity made him so good at this, because it's not fair how quickly he reduced you to a whimpering, shaking mess beneath him and—

"Don't stop," you find yourself babbling, digging your nails into his scalp and knowing you look like a goddamn wreck as he makes a meal out of you—tongue lapping up your slick and swirling your clit before sealing his lips around it and forcing your back off the leather beneath it. "Please, don't stop, please—"

It's all you can manage to say. Your thighs are shaking now, and you're sure he's got you dripping all over his face with how soaked you are. He knows you're falling apart and he just keeps going— your brain ceasing function in favour of just focusing on how fucking close you are—how close you are to something you've never felt before in your life—and you're not even sure what you're begging for anymore but it's incoherent and loud��

"I need—" you whimper, your hands tightening in his hair, pulling just enough to make him groan against you. You don't know what you're asking for, but you know he has it. "I need—I need—“

"Let go," he murmurs against you, the roughness in it vibrating up into your belly. "I dare you."

There's still a little bit of you functioning on autopilot, just enough to tell you that when he murmurs those words—vibrations rattling up your cunt and into your chest—you're completely done for.

It’s merely a few seconds later that your high reaches its peak and he just keeps lapping as you shake apart beneath him with an intensity you've never felt before in your life—orgasm shredding you apart at the seams. Your thighs clamp around his face, your eyes squeezed shut, ears ringing so loud you barely register his low, muttered praises: "good girl," "so good," "there you go."

You’re fairly positive your legs will never be able to support you again when you finally come back down, feeling entirely like jelly as he pulls back, tongue flicking over his lips to clean off whatever's left of you.

And without thinking, you grab him and pull him up, crashing your lips against his in a messy, desperate kiss. He tastes like you, like him, like something you can't quite describe—and it makes everything feel intense and unbearably real all at once.

He gives you a moment, as if letting you recover, just languidly kissing you back—and you have to be honest with yourself and admit that this kind of makes you want to scream.

"A disconnect," he smirks against your mouth, the tone still smug. You manage a weak smack to his shoulder, though it does nothing to wipe the satisfaction off his face. "Still sure you're broken?"

You hate that he's right. Hate that he's managed to pull a reaction from you that you didn't think was possible. But as you sit there, shaky and spent, you know you can't deny the truth: no, you're not broken.

"Not broken." You whisper back. "You will be though, if you don't stop smirking at me like that."

[riddlesrizzler]

𝙢𝙖𝙩𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙤 𝙧𝙞𝙙𝙙𝙡𝙚 𝙭 𝙝𝙪𝙛𝙛𝙡𝙚𝙥𝙪𝙛𝙛! 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧

headcanons of mattheo with hufflepuff! reader

warnings: lots of fluff! mentions of not liking hufflepuffs. smoking mentioned. smut. but like super gentle and fluffy first time. mattheo being a simp.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

⟡ ݁₊ . grumpy x sunshine vibe

𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘦𝘦𝘵

⟡ ݁₊ . mattheo riddle didn’t like people, scratch that, he doesn’t like people period. for the longest time he wouldn’t really make an effort with anyone unless they were in his inner circle of slytherin friends. he didn’t see a point to communicate with other houses. especially hufflepuffs.

⟡ ݁₊ .he saw the yellow house as weak. something about their friendly attitude and the stupid smiles on their faces made him want to punch something and he often did.

⟡ ݁₊ . but when he got in trouble for enchanting the mandrakes to storm the gryffindor tower at three in the morning, he was forced to help you take care of the magical creatures.

⟡ ݁₊ .he didn’t know you, convinced himself that he was going to have a bad time. that nothing could be worse then spending the next two weeks with a hufflepuff of all people as he trudged his way down to hagrid’s hut.

⟡ ݁₊ .but he seemed to feel his heart squeeze, like a snake had wrapped around it and started to compress the organ into two when he heard your laughter.

⟡ ݁₊ . he cautiously made his way towards the hut only to see you cuddling a niffler. the sight of the tiny creature in your arms, a smile painted on your lips as you looked down at the niffler with such warmth made something in his brain snap.

⟡ ݁₊ . “oh no”

⟡ ݁₊ .literally mattheo had never met anyone like you. you were soft, sweet, a ball of sunshine wrapped into a beautiful package. he could often find himself asking the gods how on earth this angel had fallen from the heavens? and more importantly why wasn’t she scared of me?

⟡ ݁₊ .mattheo was aware of his reputation of practically scaring the piss out of anyone if they looked at him for too long, but with you. oh with you, the sweet hufflepuff you were, you didn’t bat an eye at his last name or the bruises on his knuckles.

⟡ ݁₊ .but you seemed to be this way with everyone. he had observed you in class, in the great hall, with your friends. his brown eyes followed every step that you took. watching as you turned to lend a hand to those who needed it, going out of your way to make someone smile, even to people who had casted you rude glances.

⟡ ݁₊ .of course, it took some time for him to fully warm up to you. in some odd, backwards way, he was intimidated by you. but once he finally let down some of the walls he had managed to keep up, he found the dark corners of his soul starting to glow.

⟡ ݁₊ .mattheo asked you out by staying up all night to bake cookies, just like the ones that you would make for him. only, he wasn’t very good at baking.

⟡ ݁₊ .even with the help of theo, who had read the wrong ingredients. enzo, who kept eating the ingredients. draco, who kept getting confused by muggle baking. and blaise, who was rubbing is temples the entire time. the cookies still looked less than appetizing.

⟡ ݁₊ .he expected you to throw them away, saying how gross they looked and that you never date someone like him. but when he saw the way that your eyes lit up at the gesture, your arms pulling him into a hug. he felt like he had finally had done something right.

𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘱

⟡ ݁₊ .when you both officially started dating. he was extremely cautious. almost scared that he was going to shatter you with one wrong move. he was used to destroying things with his fingers. but he didn’t want to do that to you. in fact he felt the opposite, he wanted to protect you from the cruel and harsh world that he knew.

⟡ ݁₊ .let’s face it, matty boy is going to be a little over protective and jealous at first, actually probably for forever, but he keeps it hidden. you’re the good thing in his life, his angel, his sunshine. if anything ever happened to your pure soul, mattheo would rip the world apart.

⟡ ݁₊ .he would be really sweet about it though. always concerned for your safety. he almost had a heart attack when you were petting a dragon during care of magical creatures. but watching you in your element seemed to ease his nerves, for the most part.

⟡ ݁₊ . “darling? can you take a step back from the dragon? oh for merlin’s sake- please?”

⟡ ݁₊ .he would have a total soft spot for you too. his signature glare seemed to turn on as he grazed through the hallways, but once he spotted you. all of the tension melted from his muscles.

⟡ ݁₊ .i also believe that he wouldn’t smoke around you either. whether it was because you hated the smell or the fact that you hated to see him poison his body, he tried to cut back for you. it was so hard to say no to you when you had those big puppy dog eyes and that pouty lip as you whined about his health.

⟡ ݁₊ .and don’t get me started on all of the homemade gifts he has from you displayed in his room. sweet homemade cards littered his walls. the knitted scarf that you had made for him for his birthday, sat slung across his chair. the little plush snake that you had crocheted sat in the middle of his bed, after you insisted that it would get lonely if he put it anywhere else.

⟡ ݁₊ .mattheo riddle was a total sap for you. he found himself liking the color yellow because it reminded him of you. he kept a picture of you in his wallet at all times. the lucky scrunchie you gave him before a big quidditch match was always on his wrist. mattheo was completely in love with you.

⟡ ݁₊ . “i fucking love you, sunshine”

𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘹

⟡ ݁₊ .when mattheo found out that you were a virgin. oh merlin. he was consumed with the most intense amount of anxiety as he didn’t want to hurt you, he didn’t want it to be bad either.

⟡ ݁₊ .before you, mattheo was strict with his hookups. only used to relieve pent up frustrations. he couldn’t do that for you. never with you.

⟡ ݁₊ .you had to reassure him multiple times when you were ready to give yourself to him. only for him to ask you a million times if you were absolutely sure about it.

⟡ ݁₊ .when the time finally did come, and you were sprawled onto his bed. your hair fluttered around you and onto his pillow, you wearing a white lacy set that made you seem like an earth angel. the way you bit your lip and looked up at him through your lashes, could have supplied him with images for the rest of his life.

⟡ ݁₊ . “oh how lucky to be in the presence of a goddess”

⟡ ݁₊ .his touches were careful. he wanted to make sure you felt good. so he took his time sucking on your neck. finding the sensitive spots that made you moan louder.

⟡ ݁₊ .his hands were shaky when he took off his own clothes. barely even registering the cool air as his eyes were glued onto you taking off your bra. mattheo bit his own lip in order to make sure he wasn’t drooling.

⟡ ݁₊ .his rough and calloused hands running over your supple flesh before dipping his head down to kiss all over your skin. relishing in the glory when you arched up into his touch.

⟡ ݁₊ . when the time had finally come where both of you were completely bare. he was gentle. whispering sweet nothings into your ear as he guided himself into you. he swears that he almost loses it when he feels you trying to adjust to him.

⟡ ݁₊ . “fuck baby, you’re so tight. gonna make you feel so good”

⟡ ݁₊ .he waited for your signal. when you nodded your head is only when he began to slowly move his hips. groaning when you’re nails dug into his shoulders.

⟡ ݁₊ .your whimpers started to turn into moans, and you kept encouraging mattheo to give you more. to make you feel more. and mattheo was more than happy to oblige as his head was buried into the crook of your neck.

⟡ ݁₊ .when he felt your thighs start to shake, your moans becoming louder, he knew you were close. he lifted his head to look at you. and my gods, mattheo swears he has never seen anything more beautiful then when you’re flushed, biting your lip, your eyes squeezed shut. it nearly draws him to the edge.

⟡ ݁₊ .but of course, mattheo is a gentleman with you. so he makes sure you finish before he finally thrusts forward, slumping over slightly as the two of you try to catch your breath.

⟡ ݁₊ .he makes sure to pull you into his arms. despite the fact that both of you are slightly sweaty, he wants to tell you how amazing you did and how prefect you are.

⟡ ݁₊ . “angel, you did absolutely perfect. are you okay? how are your legs?”

⟡ ݁₊ . you, a sweet hufflepuff, that mattheo had assumed he would’ve hated. had turned the great son of voldemort into mush. you were his great weakness, a light in the cold and dark world that he had once lived in. you were his everything.

⟡ ݁₊ . “you are my only sunshine”

[noelles-legacy]

Attention all Hogwarts Legacy MCs!

I am starting an MC Sleepover! Everyone is welcome!

To participate just Reblog with an image, drawing, or even a sleepover story with your MC to THIS post

Sharing and “nominating” others is definitely encouraged! I would like as many peeps at this sleep over as possible!💜💙

I look forward to seeing everyone’s MCs in there pjs! 🌙✨

Edit: you do not need to be tagged to participate! Plz do not feel left out if you haven't been tagged, you are still welcome to come!!!

[winterssecrett]

MORNINGS BY HIS SIDE | DRACO LUCIUS MALFOY

ღ Draco Malfoy was a dream, and being able to sleep with him was a dream come true.

Or at least that's how Y/n saw it.

The curtains of the boy's room were open and a few rays of sun started to kiss the pale and soft skin of the Slytherin prince. In Y/n’s mind, he looked gorgeous, with his hair made a mess on top of the pillow, and his lips slightly open showing his calm breathing. God, she couldn't ask for anything else in life.

Sometimes she wondered how she had gotten so lucky.

Moving her eyes from her boyfriend's frame she turned around to look at the clock, it was 06:50 in the morning and they had classes at 08:00, the boy's alarms were gonna start sounding in a few minutes and she knew she was gonna get teased for being once again in Draco's bed.

But how could she not be there? If the boy begged her to stay every night cause he was used to not sleep alone.

Blaise's alarm started to sound annoying everyone in the room, Draco mumbled something in his sleep before hiding his face in his girlfriend's neck, he didn't feel like waking up, and no one was gonna change his mind.

“turn that shit off Blaise or I swear to god I will shove the clock in your mouth and make sure it comes out of your ass”

Mattheo wasn't the nicest person in the mornings, or ever, but they were all used to it by now. Theo moved his head to the other side of the room and let out a huff.

“non riesci nemmeno a dormire, lo so, per l'amor del cielo” (you can't even sleep now for fucks sake)

The noise stopped and Blaise locked himself in the bathroom, Draco started moving again, and Y/n left soft caresses on his back.

“Always bothering us” He murmured sleepily making her laugh

“We have class in an hour” she reminded him softly “We have to get ready”

The blonde shook his head in -no- “I have DADA on my first period, Snape can go suck my father's dick”

“Draco!” Y/n scolded, hearing Mattheo cracking up from his bed

“Sorry love” he quickly said, leaving a kiss on her lips “Why don't we stay here, just you and me, we can sleep a little bit longer and then have Dobby bring us breakfast to bed”

His proposal, his voice, his caresses on her waist, everything was making her say yes. How could she not? It was Draco Malfoy.

“Okay, fine,” Y/n told him watching a smile a pear on his face “But this is the last time”

The blonde nodded rolling his eyes, he started leaving kisses on her cheeks and then along her jaw and exposed neck.

“Fuck, I could never get tired of this”

She let out a laugh “I know, Dray, I know”

Blaise finally came out of the bathroom and Theo was quick to get up with his towel in hand ready to have a shower. Mattheo on the other hand walked to the window and pulled out a cigarette.

“Want some, Y/l/n?”

Draco didn't even let her answer.

“It's not even eight in the morning, Riddle, leave my girl alone”

She just smiled “Go back to sleep, babe, it's still way too early for you”

[ashdashcrash]

winter at hogsmeade ☃️✨

[spotted-mooncalf]

Garreth: *stirring cauldron* MallowSweet

Mc: MallowSweet *hands to him*

Garreth: Horklumps

Mc: Horklumps *hands to him*

Garreth: Hand

Mc: Like…my hand…? *holds out hand* why do you need this?

Garreth: *intertwines their fingers* Moral support incase this blows up.

[monyokami]

Beatrice and Clora (My Mc/ Oc with @choccy-milky 's Mc)🐉

I hope you like the drawing, it's the first time I draw someone else's character. Thank you very much for your permission

[moonstruckmoony]

Sneaking friends into the Room of Requirement 👀 Guess what each of them are saying/thinking?

[incorrectquotesharrypotterv]

Draco: I hear you like bad boys.

Y/n: Yeah, I suppose so.

Draco: (to Blaise) Tell her.

Blaise: He's literally the worst.

[cherry-issecret]

TW: Angst, death

For the first time, I present to you an angsty comic.

I guess I needed to elaborate on this scene for my mental well being

[syaolaurant]

Because I'm falling into that artblock abyss again and don't have anything new to upload for a whole week so ... Here are some of my full background watercolor/goauche paintings hehe ~~

I've just noticed I used warm colors a lot in my paintings. I think it's because of the school setting 😅

Which one is your favorite?

[riddlesrizzler]

𝘾𝙧𝙖𝙛𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙤𝙨

summary: You magically turn brooding Slytherins into artists.

characters: hufflepuff reader! bf! mattheo riddle. theo nott. blaise zabini. enzo berkshire. draco malfoy.

warnings: none, just friendship :)

word count: 783

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

You were practically glowing with excitement as you set up the craft supplies in the Slytherin common room. The table was covered in paints, brushes, clay, yarn, and even some glitter (which you had smuggled in despite Draco’s inevitable complaints).

Mattheo sat beside you, lazily watching as you hummed happily to yourself, arranging everything just right. The other Slytherin boys- Theo, Draco, Blaise, and Enzo- stood nearby, looking anywhere but at the art supplies like they might catch a disease if they got too close.

“So…” Draco finally broke the silence, arms crossed. “We’re really doing this?”

You beamed at him, clasping your hands together. “Yes! It’s going to be so much fun! You all need to relax, and crafts are the perfect way to do that."

Draco opened his mouth, undoubtedly to protest, but before he could get a word out, Mattheo shot him a warning glance. A sharp, don't make me regret inviting you kind of look.

The unspoken rule among the Slytherin boys was simple: don't upset Mattheo's Hufflepuff."

You were sweet, kind, and the picture of innocence- an actual ray of sunshine that had somehow managed to melt Mattheo Riddle's ice-cold exterior. And while they all secretly adored you in their own way, none of them wanted to be on the receiving end of Matteo's wrath if they upset you.

So, even though this craft night went against everything in their brooding, dark- coded souls, they sucked it up.

Theo sighed dramatically before flopping into a chair. "Fine, but if I get paint on my robes, I'm blaming you."

You giggled. "I'll protect your robes, I promise."

Blaise eyed the pile of supplies with a resigned expression. "Alright, what's the easiest thing to make?"

"Oh! You could make friendship bracelets!" you suggest eagerly, pushing string and colorful beads towards him.

Blaise picked up a bead of black and green, rolling it between his fingers before glancing at Mattheo. "Are we seriously making friendship bracelets?"

Mattheo just smirked. "You heard her."

Draco groaned but took a seat, dramatically grabbing some clay like it was his own personal burden to bear. "Fine. But I refuse to use glitter."

You pouted. "But glitter makes everything more magical, though."

Your expression made Mattheo send another deathly glare at Draco once again. Draco rolled his eyes before picking up the glitter in disgust.

Enzo, who had been the most silent of the group, sighed and grabbed a paintbrush. "I'll paint something, I guess."

Your face lit up. "Yes! That's the spirit!"

The boys reluctantly started working on their projects, each of them doing their best to looked annoyed while also making sure they didn't actually look like they were having any fun. You happily bounce between them, complimenting their work with the same enthusiasm as if they had just performed ancient magic.

Draco, despite himself, was sculpting a surprisingly detailed miniature of the Slytherin crest. "This is actually impressive, Draco!" you praised.

He sniffed, feigning nonchalance. "Obviously. I have excellent taste."

Theo was begrudgingly knotting a friendship bracelet, his brow furrowed in concentration. "Why is this so complicated?"

"You're doing amazing, Theo," you add sweetly, patting his shoulder encouragingly.

Blaise, who had fully given in at this point, was surprisingly skilled at bracelet- making. He lifted his half finished one and examined it. "This isn't half bad."

Mattheo watched it all with an amused smirk, resting his chin on his hand. You had somehow managed to get a bunch of stubborn, brooding Slytherins to participate in a wholesome craft night- all without them even realizing they were enjoying themselves.

By the end of the night, everyone had something to show for their work. Even Enzo, who had been the most reluctant, had finished a small painting of a stormy sky.

"See?" you said, smiling as you surveyed their crafts. "Didn't this turn out great?"

The boy all muttered their various versions of I guess it wasn't terrible, but none of them could deny the warmth in their chests when you looked at them like they had just made the best art in the world.

Mattheo, as always, just pulled you into his side, pressing a kiss to you temple. "You really have them wrapped around your little finger, don't you?"

You giggled, leaning into him. "I just wanted everyone to have fun!"

Draco rolled his eyes but didn't argue, Theo was still tying off his bracelet with intense focus, and Blaise simply shook his heads with a small smirk.

Because as much as they hated to admit it, no one could ever say no to you.

[sloanesallow]

they sure do like to study in the library 👀

[speedysart]

Kisses

At first, a fleeting brush with his fingers over her skin, the nervous beating of their hearts til their lips meet in a soft kiss. They didnt dared to move an inch, afraid to ruin the moment. Scared to hurt the other.

But that moment grew over the years. They had to be near, feel the warmth and love of the embrace and passionate kiss. Knowing that their future was right in their arms, forever.