#wyatt and his soap brows continue to be goals

[coffeehound91]

This is for me and maybe ten other people—but hopefully it can provide good vibes for our game tonight. Thank you @adelphenium for the beautiful artwork and for being soooooo incredibly kind!

[gryffvndors]

in the cal-zone [draco malfoy]

request: “45, 55, 119, 179 and 318 for Draco? Of course, you don't have to use all of them, but I think it would be awesome if you did any combination of them, because I feel like they work well together. I also wanted to let you know I loved your Draco fic- you're an amazing writer and you've got yourself a new follower! <3″ - @quills-and-quaffles

word count: ~1700

a/n: guess who’s back, back again - it me back w more draco malfoy, the slytherin asshole who i love and hate at the same time! thank u requester for ur lovely compliments!!! thank u for following a lame teen like yours truly (,: also sorry i only did 2 of them yeet i just felt like they went together really well! an additional sorry for changing “i love u, u arsehole” to “i luv u, u arsehole” even tho i’m not rlly sorry. (: i hate myself for this title even tho i laughed like a hyena when i came up with it now enjoy this - i’m hungry for calzones *ben wyatt look into camera*

55: “have i entered an alternate universe or did you really just crack a smile for me?”

119: “i love you, you asshole.” 

“Mr. Thomas,” you smile, lacing your fingers across the counter. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

It’s a slow day. You love slow days. Fewer people are hurt, you don’t have to deal with heartbroken families and friends, you have idle time to read, sometimes you are able to take a long lunch and go out with your boyfriend. Then again, you also have a slew of people who have a sixth sense, really, about when these slow days occur, and then make it their life’s goal to ruin them for you. For example, the elderly man in bright yellow standing before you, glasses askew, mouth twisted into a scornful frown, wand in the front pocket of his dress robes.

Why is he wearing dress robes?

“Yes, hello, girl,” he frowns, squinting at your name badge. Noticing how his beady eyes narrow in disapproval, you glance down and straighten it. “What does that say again? My eyesight is sore.”

Plastering a (probably strained) smile on your face, you repeat your name for possibly the hundredth time in the year you’ve been working at St. Mungos as a Healer’s secretary. If your calculations are correct, that’s roughly twice a week that he enters and forgets your name. You mean, you’re no good with names, either, but come on. “...Right,” he says a few seconds later. “I’ve seen your face before, I think.”

“I have assisted you every single week this past year, Mr. Thomas,” you remind him cheerfully. “What can I do for you?”

Mr. Thomas eyes you, scoffing, and shakes his head. “I need my potion. Why else would I be here?”

‘Here we go,’ you think as you take a deep breath and prepare yourself for the oncoming verbal onslaught you’re about to receive. “Mr. Thomas,” you begin hesitantly, “as I have said before, and have said every visit you pay us-” you register his deepening frown and try to lighten your sarcasm a bit, “we do not give out potion prescriptions. We may issue them, but you will either have to go to an apothecary to fill them, or brew them yourself. I might suggest Diagon Alley’s apothecary, as I am friendly with the Potions Master who works there. If you are closer to Hogsmeade, then I recommend that apothecary as well. There are also apothecaries littered throughout Muggle Great Britain if you know where to look.”

His scowl deepens. For a fleeting second, you think the ends of his mouth might go under his chin. “I do not want to go to Scotland or London or go looking for half-arsed apothecaries in between Muggle shops. I came here for a reason. I need my potion, you stupid girl, how do you have a job here? How are you not fired or terminated for being completely rubbish at what you do for a living? How-”

“Mr. Thomas,” a crisp, cool voice behind him utters. Your heart flips at the sound of it. Mr. Thomas’ expression turns to one of apprehension, and as he steps aside for the man behind him, you crane your neck to look at his face. Your boyfriend stands before you, clad in clean, ironed clothes that, knowing him, most likely cost a fortune. His platinum hair is groomed, but not slicked back - he doesn’t do that anymore, but rather lets it hang in front of his face and runs his hands through it to keep it at bay, like he does when he meets your gaze with his pretty slate eyes. For a millisecond, his sneer twitches into something of a smile, but then changes back once his eyes land on the man you were corresponding with. 

Ah, you forgot that Draco is his boss. A shock of pride shoots through you, making you straighten your posture and stand up taller. “I advise you,” Draco continues icily, “to not speak to my girlfriend in such a manner. Apparate to Diagon Alley, fill your prescription, and return either to work, or your residence. I do remember you Flooing in sick this morning, or am I mistaken?”

Mr. Thomas averts his gaze, huffing softly. “You are not mistaken, Mr. Malfoy. I apologize to you and your partner. Have a nice day.”

“And to you as well, Mr. Thomas, do feel better and I will see you in my office at nine am sharp tomorrow morning. That will be all.” The sneer is a smirk now, which means Draco will be insufferable for the rest of the day. ‘Wonderful,’ you think, your internal voice dripping with sarcasm. You and Draco watch Mr. Thomas storm off, turning the corner to the Apparition point just beyond your line of sight. Once he is out of earshot, you chuckle, leaning forward to rest your chin in your hands.

“Mr. Malfoy,” you muse, a smile playing at your lips, “you are such an arse. You use your powers for evil things.”

“Evil?” Draco raises a blond brow. “My powers? Number one, since when was saving your arse evil? And number two, what powers do I manifest? Do tell,” he mirrors you until your noses are touching and you can see the flecks of light and dark blue in his otherwise grey eyes.

“Well,” you whisper, “maybe not evil. Maybe… trickery. Pranks. Jokes.”

“Standing up for my girlfriend is a prank? A joke?” You continue with ease, “And your powers of intimidation, of course. Draco Malfoy, Intimidating Boyfriend Supreme. You really are a catch, aren’t you? And you’re all mine.”

Draco snorts. He lets a hand run through your hair, tugging it loose from the bun you’ve fashioned it in with a quill. Once it’s down, he pulls you closer by it and kisses you from across the counter. You inch forwards and wrap your arms around his neck, melting into his body and, well, the cold St. Mungos linoleum countertop, but that’s only a small price to pay when you get this much-

“Mr. Malfoy, I appreciate how happy you make my secretary. Really, I do,” wryly comments your boss, Melody, the head Healer in your branch of St. Mungos. You two fly apart, blushing like teenagers caught in the broom closet. “But I would appreciate it more if you save the snogging until after her shift is over or, at the very least, her lunch break begins.”

You sheepishly scratch the back of your neck and bite your lip. “Sorry, Mel…”

Melody balances three vials of what looks like Dreamless Sleep in one hand with the other holding her wand to levitate two chests behind her. She chuckles, rolling her eyes. “It’s fine. There isn’t anybody in here. Besides, I know my word alone cannot keep you two apart.”

Draco clears his throat. “I wanted to inquire-”

“Yes, fine. Go get it out of your system with a long lunch,” Melody waves you two away with her elbow, shaking the vials in the process. One nearly slips, but she gets it at the last moment before you can whip your wand out to catch it in midair. “But if I catch you two at it again this week, Draco will be banned from daytime visits. Banned! I mean it!” She pushes the door open to the actual St. Mungos with her arse and slides through it, letting it swing closed behind her.

You turn to Draco, laughing. “She doesn’t mean it.”

Draco murmurs, “Does she ever?” as he reaches over the side to grab your purse. He slings it over his shoulder and leads you out from behind the desk. You wave a hello to your co-worker, Haley, as she takes your place, chatting with another Healer, Ivan. Ivan and Haley bid you goodbye, only Haley having the politeness to nod to your boyfriend as well as you. Ivan only glances passively at him. You sigh, lacing your fingers with Draco on the way to the Apparition point. Before you can enter for a Side-by-Side, you take him by surprise and wrap your arms around his frame, burying your head in his chest. He hugs you back immediately. You breathe in for a moment, inhaling something that can only be described as “Draco”. It’s clean, pristine, like soap, mixed with his expensive cologne and the sun.

(He likes gardening. Gardening. You think back to your Hogwarts years and imagine angsty, teenage Draco gardening. You can’t, but something about this Draco seems incomplete without his gardening. It’s amazing.)

You mumble into his shirt, “You’re extraordinary.”

“Mmm,” he hums. “I really am.”

You pull away to give him a light slap on the chest. His face breaks out into a huge smile. Your heart warms at the sight of it, a rare, but awe-striking image nonetheless. “Am I in a different universe, or did you really just crack a smile for me?”

“You’re definitely in a different universe, because I do not smile in this one,” he replies, still beaming.

You roll your eyes, biting your lip to restrain yourself from grinning. “I love you, you arsehole. Now,” you say, linking arms with him, “where to for lunch?”

“I was thinking I should take you to that Italian restaurant you wanted to go to the other night,” Draco suggests. “The… Muggle one.”

You blink, surprised. He says the word ‘Muggle’ not like it leaves an unpleasant taste in his mouth, but like something somebody would say when they’re trying to find a replacement for a swear word. Cautiously, warily. You freeze, looking up at him. “...What? Do you not want to go there? We could get something else-”

You snort at how quick he is to retract it. “No, no, I’d love to go there. I’m… proud of you, is all.”

At that, Draco starts chewing on the inside of his cheek. “I’m trying. For you.”

You stand on your toes so you can reach your boyfriend’s face. You press a kiss against his warm, soft lips. It leaves a comforting, familiar feeling in your body, your fingers tingling as you reach up to press them against the sides of his face. When you break away, Draco plants his hands on your waist and leans back down for one more kiss.

“That’s all I could ever ask,” you whisper against his mouth, smiling. After pecking it once more, you hook elbows again, pulling apart for good. “Well, Draco, what kind of thing are you looking to try? Calzones? Pasta? I heard from Tessa their baked ziti is to die for.”

“What is a… calzone?”

A smirk tugs at the corners of your mouth. “You’re in for a treat, Wizard Boy. Come on, I’m starving.”