Thinking About BUCKY BARNES Playing With You From Behind.. 18+ Fem!reader, Mdni. 345 Words

Nothing beats forbidden love🤭

draco malfoy x reader where the reader is in hufflepuf and they are in a secret relationship that suddenly gets discovered by someone

The cold stone walls of Hogwarts always felt warmer when you were with Draco, especially in this forgotten alcove nestled deep in the castle’s labyrinth of corridors. It was your secret hideaway, shielded by shadows, cloaked in silence. No one ever ventured this far, and it was perfect for moments like this—where time stood still, and the outside world ceased to exist.

Draco leaned against the wall, his Slytherin tie loosened, his stormy grey eyes locked on yours. The tension between you was palpable, not the dangerous kind but something far sweeter, something laced with longing. You stepped closer, drawn to him as you always were, your Hufflepuff robe brushing against his.

“Do you think we’ll ever be able to tell anyone?” you asked softly, voice barely above a whisper, afraid to break the fragile spell of your hidden world. Your heart raced as you waited for his response, hoping for a different answer this time.

Draco’s expression darkened, the softness in his eyes hardening like ice. He shook his head sharply. “No. It’s impossible,” he said, his voice clipped, his tone final. “Do you have any idea what people would say? What they’d think? What my father would do?”

The mention of his father sent a shiver down your spine. You knew Lucius Malfoy’s reputation, and you had no illusions about how he would react to Draco being involved with a Hufflepuff. But it wasn’t just his family. You could hear the unspoken names in his voice—the Slytherins, the pure-blood elites, everyone who lived by the old ways, who would never accept something as simple as love if it crossed House boundaries.

“But what if we—” you began, but Draco cut you off.

“No, listen to me,” he said firmly, stepping closer and gripping your arms gently but with enough force to make sure you understood. “My father would disown me. The Slytherins would turn their backs on me. Even the Hufflepuffs would start talking about you behind your back, saying Merlin knows what. You don’t know what they’re like, the things they’d say. I won’t let you be a part of that.”

His words hung heavy between you, sinking into your chest like lead. There was a lump in your throat, and you swallowed hard, trying to push it down. You understood his fears, but it didn’t make the ache in your heart any less. You wanted to tell him that it didn’t matter, that you didn’t care what anyone thought, but you knew him well enough to see that no amount of persuasion would change his mind. Not when he was this adamant.

You sighed, casting your eyes down to the stone floor, but Draco was having none of it. His hand tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze again. And for a moment, you could see it—the vulnerability in him, the conflict. He didn’t want to keep this secret forever, but he felt he had no choice.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, softer now, his thumb brushing your cheek. His voice, though still guarded, held a note of tenderness that he rarely let slip. “But it’s better this way. For both of us.”

You didn’t reply. You didn’t need to. Instead, you leaned into him, letting the tension melt away as his arms wrapped around you. The kiss that followed was gentle at first, a slow reassurance that in this hidden corner of the world, at least, you were free. His lips were warm, contrasting with the cold, rough stone at your back, and you melted into him, all your worries dissolving as his hands threaded into your hair.

Time lost its meaning when you were like this. The castle, the students, the looming threat of being caught—it all slipped away. There was only the taste of Draco’s lips, the intoxicating heat of his body pressed against yours, and the steady rhythm of your hearts beating in sync. His touch was more urgent now, his hands exploring, grasping, as though he could never be close enough, as if he wanted to memorize every inch of you in case this was your last stolen moment together.

But then, the world came crashing back.

“Malfoy!”

The voice was sharp, cold, and unmistakable. You froze, the kiss breaking abruptly as Draco jerked back, eyes wide in panic. You followed his gaze and felt your stomach drop. Standing in the entrance of the alcove, his dark robes billowing like a shadow of doom, was none other than Professor Snape.

His expression was a mixture of shock and outrage, though his usually impassive face betrayed only the slightest twitch of surprise. His black eyes flicked between you and Draco, narrowing dangerously. The air felt thick, suffocating, as if the walls were closing in on you both.

Draco stepped forward slightly, putting himself between you and Snape as if to shield you, though you weren’t sure if it was more out of instinct or desperation. “Professor,” Draco began, his voice tight, trying to regain some semblance of control, “it’s not what it looks like.”

But it was exactly what it looked like, and Snape wasn’t fooled for a second. His gaze turned steely as his lips curled into a sneer. “Really, Malfoy?” he drawled, his voice dripping with disdain. “Do enlighten me, then. What exactly am I looking at?”

You couldn’t move. You couldn’t breathe. The world seemed to have shrunk down to this one moment, with no escape in sight. What would Snape do? Tell the other professors? Inform your Head of House? Or worse—would he go straight to Lucius Malfoy?

The thought made you sick with dread.

Draco shifted uncomfortably, his cool façade cracking as he struggled for an explanation. But there was none. There was no easy way out of this.

Snape’s eyes bore into yours now, and you felt the weight of his disappointment, the judgment in his silence. You’d seen him angry before, with other students, but this—this was different. He wasn’t just angry. He was livid.

“I suggest,” Snape finally said, his voice low and deadly, “that you both return to your common rooms. Now. Before I decide to inform the Headmaster of your… inappropriate activities.”

Your heart was pounding in your ears as you nodded, too stunned to speak. Draco grabbed your hand for a fleeting second, squeezing it as if to say he was sorry—sorry for everything—before letting go. His mask was back in place, and without another word, he turned on his heel and strode out of the alcove, his back rigid, his expression unreadable.

You followed in silence, your heart heavy with the weight of your secret love, now more fragile than ever.

Requests are open. Send as many as you like at once.

smash - draco malfoy

summary: draco malfoy? smash. except you say those words a little too loud. wc: 0.9k+

Immersed in the magazine in front of you, you only caught bits and pieces of the conversation Harry, Hermione and Ron were having around you, the great hall otherwise mostly empty. It wasn’t everyday the three of you had free periods together, but when you did, the conversations were always entertaining.

Especially when Harry started complaining.

You halted your focus on the magazine at the sound of Harry’s sassy and oddly loud voice. It was as though he wanted himself to be heard. Hermione scoffed from in front of the boy and you pulled the corner of your page up slowly, pretending to still be immersed in your reading.

“At this point, Malfoy is just following in his fa-” “Malfoy?” You asked, humming apprehensively, “Smash.”

From the slytherin table, sat right behind you, Draco’s head snapped backwards, his mouth parting in surprise before he forced his features into a confident smirk. Theo, Pansy, Mattheo and Blaise held matching looks at the bombshell you dropped so shamelessly.

A silence overtook your three friends at your comment, jaws slack and faces frozen in shock. “What!?” Harry spluttered. You flicked over to the next page, shrugging your shoulders as you scoffed carelessly. “Yeah, you can complain about him all you want, but that is one attractive man.”

“If you felt so strongly about the matter, you should’ve spoken sooner.”

Your head shot up and you slammed your magazine shut at the familiar voice, your eyes widening in panic. Ron, who sat facing you, grimaced at you softly. Clearing your throat, you spun around on the bench, kicking your legs over its side. Leaning your elbows back on the table cooly, you replied “Why would I have spoken sooner if you weren’t around to hear it?”

Draco grinned and you cocked your head to the side, holding eye contact, challenging him to keep your gaze. It was silent as you stared at each other, apart from Theo’s loud exhale and Mattheo’s chuckle before he turned his attention back to his cup of tea. Finally, Draco gulped thickly, eyes momentarily flickering to look back at his friends.

Humming apprehensively, you stood up, tucking your magazine under your arm and slinging your bag over your shoulder. “Makes sense you’re not a gryffindor,” You started, eyes trained on Draco as he stiffened up. You leaned closer to him, bringing your voice down to a whisper. “Find me when you’re brave enough to do something about it, Malfoy.”

And with a toss of your hair over your shoulder, you strutted out of the great hall, grinning as you heard a clatter of things behind you. Draco rushed to catch up to you, tripping over his feet as he followed you all the way from the great hall to the girls’ bathroom you dragged him into, pushing him against the wall and pressing your lips to his.

Draco groaned, immediately flipping your positions around so he had you cornered between his body and the stone wall, and he separated himself from you momentarily to ask you “What was that you said earlier?” before moving his kisses down your neck and instantly sucking on your skin to leave bruising hickeys that Harry will most definitely question.

“What? Find me when you’re-”

“No, before that.”

“Um, smash?” Draco chuckled against your skin, trailing his kisses back up your neck and towards your lips. “Would you let me take you on a date before that?” You felt your cheeks go hot at the embarrassing whimper that escaped your lips at his question, but nodded your head nonetheless.

Draco pushed himself off you with a satisfied smile, smoothing his uniform down as he stated “Good. Now, I believe you have a lesson.” You gasped deep in your throat at the realisation that he was correct, hearing the halls outside fill with chatter as students were released from their classrooms.

“Sunday. Hogsmeade.” He told you, pushing the door to the bathroom open and walking past the group of girls who were coming into the room, giving him judgemental looks as he passed them. But then they turned to you, and they were immediately gasping at the revelation of you and Draco being together. You giggled nervously, slipping out of the bathroom when they turned to look at each other, the gossip already beginning to spread.

Meanwhile, in the great hall:

Harry’s jaw dropped lower than he believed possible as he watched Draco stumble to reach you. He shook his head “We cannot let that happen.” Hermione scoffed, “Oh yes we can, and we will. I want all the details when they’re done.”

At the sounds of disgust both Harry and Ron expelled from their mouths, Hermione sighed disappointedly. “Right. I forgot you’re not girls.”

“Hey, Granger!” Hermione turned to the voice that had called out her name and she stared back nervously at Pansy Parkinson, who had a surprisingly welcoming smile on her face. “You can come discuss it with us, if you’d like. I’m a girl, and you’d think they are too based on how much they love the drama.” Hermione laughed whole-heartedly as Pansy nodded her head towards the boys around her with a joking roll of her eyes.

“Will that work if we’re getting different sides of the same story?” Hermione questioned, crossing her arms over his chest in mock rivalry. Pansy hummed, standing up and gathering her belongings. “I get his side of the story, you get hers, then we exchange?” Hermione grinned.

“Perfect. But I think she’ll want to join.”

Pansy winked. “Even better, I want all the filthy details.”

taglist: @ravisinghs-wife, @starry-remus, @pain-in-the-ashe, @hiireadstuff, @treefairy-28, @superlegend216, @kitkatkl, @juliet-017, @boromoony, @fl0weryannie, @tiaajosephin, @dream-alittlebiggerdarling, @dearlizzies

I am warm and full and cozy and thinking about Bucky who has gotten a few pounds on his stomach, not bc he has to bulk for a mission or anything but bc he's save and get three square meals and a snack every day. Lots of love and a pie on Sunday. The dream honestly

Answering this on a Monday but I feel very cozy about it!

Just Right

Pairing: Chubby!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Bucky learns to love food again, and his body.

Word Count: Over 750

Warnings: Mentions of HYDRA, recovery, body positivity, reference to oral sex, bit of humor, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?).

A/N: I may need to do more of this, and much appreciated for the inspiration @v-wie-was. ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Bucky who was now able to have breakfast, lunch, and dinner with snacks in between each meal and dessert after dinner, which took some getting used to.

Bucky who didn’t get to overindulge in foods he enjoyed while he was under HYDRA’s control. He was given enough to maintain his strength and nothing more and he never decided on what they provided. 

Bucky who, when he thought about it, didn’t get to enjoy food since before he went off to war. He ate to sustain and survive and nothing more.

Bucky who had to learn all over again what he liked and disliked once he was free. Being able to choose was overwhelming and he almost broke down the first time he bought plums simply because he wanted them.

Bucky who with his heightened senses learned to appreciate certain smells and tastes and learned which places to avoid so it didn’t feel like sensory overload. He also learned which flavors he could never get enough of and which ones he could only handle in small doses.

Bucky who had to figure out how much he could eat to feel full and not stop because of his old programming. He also told himself not to feel guilty if he had a few more bites because it was more than allowed.

Bucky who met you at the store one day when you both reached for the same plum. That day changed his life. 

Bucky who, like a gentleman, let you have the plum and couldn't stop staring at you since you were so beautiful. 

Bucky who couldn't think of a witty reply when you boldly offered him your phone number in return, so he gave you an awkward smile that you found endearing.

Bucky who was happy you took a chance since you were easy to talk to. You also taught him that food emojis could be… taken a certain way, which he learned when he sent an eggplant and peach together.

Bucky who couldn’t find it in himself to feel embarrassed because he was talking about food, and he wanted you.

Bucky who enjoyed cooking with you and smiled wistfully when he thought about his family. How his mom always put so much love into her cooking. 

Bucky who made a mess of his shirt one day because he was trying to eat something messy and read at the same time. And you groaned because you had just finished laundry earlier.

Bucky who grew to appreciate messes like that because they felt normal.

Bucky who noticed almost immediately when his clothes began to fit differently, eventually to the point where they were too snug.

Bucky who felt slightly worried when he told you his clothes were too tight and had to go shopping. He wanted to be attractive to you.

Bucky who felt his heart swell when you not only told him he looked good no matter what but offered to go shopping with him. 

Bucky who felt handsome trying on new clothes since they fit properly and just right. The confidence grew when he saw your pupils dilate more and more with each outfit he tried on.

Bucky who also heard your heart race faster and smelled your arousal.

Bucky who didn’t get to make it home before you dropped to your knees to worship him. You made sure to place extra kisses on his stomach on your way down.

Bucky who hardly let people touch him, but welcomed your touch and let you paint him like a canvas with your love and desire. 

Bucky who had a huge smile on his face after the mind-blowing orgasm you gave him along with a promise of pie for dessert. He wanted you for dessert, too.

Bucky who associated certain foods with you because, like you, they brought him joy, comfort, and were downright delicious. 

 Bucky who stood in the kitchen while he waited for dinner to cool off and looked down at his stomach with a smile, reminding himself that any extra pound was just more of him to love and you’d love him no matter what. 

Bucky who thought about how comfortable he was in his skin because he was healthy and able to make his own choices. 

Bucky who gazed at you from across the room and couldn’t believe this was his life, that he found peace, happiness, and love. 

Bucky who was crazy about you and couldn't imagine a meal without you. Or his life.

And Bucky who finally felt safe and free. 

Okay, lovelies, what do we think his favorite dessert is? Besides you. Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

A/N: Well hello there my lovelies! I'm pretty new to this whole writing stuff (I've always been more of a passive reader) and am really just trying to have fun with it so I hope I can make you guys happy with my creations🤭 I have no set schedule for when I'll write something but I'll do my best to create some fun stuff for you to read when I get some inspiration. I don't take writing requests because I'm really just using this platform to have fun with what I feel like writing. BUT I am always open to hearing your thoughts about my existing pieces!

Remember, you are responsible for your own media consumption so read the warnings and make smart decisions😌

Please DO NOT copy or repost my work! But of course, feel free to reblog and comment to your heart's content😘

Have fun yall😏

MASTERLIST

Loki Laufeyson

His reaction to your nipple piercings (Drabble) (18+ MDNI!)

Logan Howlett

NSFW Alphabet (18+ MDNI!)

SFW Alphabet

Bucky Barnes

Jasper Hale

Severus Snape

Draco Malfoy

Headcannons (coming soon…)

Whispers After Midnight; Draco x F!Reader

When you, a half-blood Slytherin stumbles upon Draco Malfoy crying in the Astronomy Tower, an unexpected bond forms in the shadows. What starts as quiet comfort turns into a secret romance full of longing glances, late-night kisses, and Draco’s desperate need to hold onto the only softness in his life.

Draco Malfoy wasn’t someone you paid much attention to. Not because you disliked him- quite the opposite. You respected him. You even admired him sometimes, in that strange, quiet way people do when they watch someone from across a room for years without ever really speaking.

You were both in Slytherin. You sat a few rows apart in Potions. Sometimes, your eyes would meet during a heated discussion in Defense Against the Dark Arts - both of you clever enough not to speak unless you were certain you’d win the argument. You had your own circle, your own life. And he had his.

But you weren’t strangers. Not exactly.

In the common room, there were nights when he’d walk past where you were sitting, and your knees would brush. He’d glance down and murmur a quiet, “Excuse me,” but the tone was never cold, it was polite. Surprising. Sometimes in the dining hall, when you were seated opposite each other at breakfast, you’d catch his gaze for half a second as he stirred his tea with precise fingers. He never glared. Never sneered.

Draco Malfoy looked at you like he knew you were more than they said you were; more than a half-blood.

You assumed that was the end of it. Fleeting glances, mutual respect, nothing more.

Until the night you found him crying.

~~~

Astronomy had always been a difficult class for you, not because you didn’t care, but because you did. The calculations were horrendous and the required memory work was brutal. So, the first week back, when everyone else was still basking in the excitements of the new term, you climbed the stairs to the Astronomy Tower alone. Your robes clung to your arms from the late summer heat, and you clutched your notes and a telescope under one arm, determined to start your star charts early.

The door creaked softly when you pushed it open.

You froze.

Draco Malfoy was sitting there, hunched against the wall beneath a wide arch of open sky. His arms were wrapped around his knees, head bowed low, platinum blond hair falling into his face. The glow from the stars caught the wetness on his cheeks before he wiped it away in a sharp, frustrated motion.

He hadn’t seen you yet.

You should’ve left. You should’ve turned around and given him privacy. But something about the way he looked; not like the Malfoy you’d seen in the corridors, or at Slughorn’s parties, or even across from you in the Slytherin common room. He looked like a boy. A boy falling apart.

Your foot scraped softly against the stone.

He looked up instantly, eyes wide and glassy. For a beat, you stared at each other. His shoulders stiffened.

“S-sorry, I should leave." he said sharply, wiping at his face again. Was he actually...apologizing?

"Are you-"

"I'm fine," He cut you off.

He wasn’t fine. His voice was raw, low, his usual drawl clipped at the edges. He started to stand, but you put your hand on his arm.

“No,” you said quietly. “Stay.”

Draco stared at you like you’d just spoken in Parseltongue.

You walked over slowly and sat beside him, not too close- just enough that your shoulders weren’t touching, but your presence was there, real and unthreatening.

“I was just coming to study,” you murmured, opening your notes. “But I don’t mind sharing.”

He said nothing. His breathing was still uneven. You didn’t look at him. You just turned your telescope toward the stars and pointed upward.

“That’s Altair,” you said after a minute. “And over there, Vega.”

He didn't respond, but he was following your finger.

You kept going. Slowly. Calmly. Like naming the stars might soothe something in both of you. “That one, Deneb, it’s part of the Summer Triangle. Really bright, but kind of overlooked in favor of the others.”

You heard him exhale, shakily. Then: “You’re good at this.”

You turned to find him watching you, his expression unreadable.

You offered a small smile. “I have to be. Professor Sinistra nearly made me cry last year.”

A tiny breath of laughter escaped him. You looked away, heart skipping slightly.

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It was strange. Soft. He wasn’t crying anymore, but his eyes were still rimmed red. You could tell he was holding back, but whatever grief had clawed its way out of him earlier had subsided to something quieter. Manageable.

Minutes passed. You felt the night settle around you both like a blanket. The chill, the rustle of wind, the quiet, rhythmic sound of his breathing. Then, after nearly half an hour, you felt it.

The tiniest brush of his fingers against yours on the stone floor.

He didn’t take your hand. He didn’t look at you.

But he didn’t move away either.

~~~

After that, it was quiet moments that built into something real.

He started waiting for you after class, never directly, never obviously, but he’d linger outside the door, head tilted as if you just happened to walk out at the same time. In the common room, he’d always manage to find his way to your side. He’d bring you tea the way you liked it, two sugars, milk, and pass it off like it wasn’t a big deal.

At breakfast, his foot would nudge yours under the table. You’d nudge back. In Charms, he’d share his notes without asking. In the library, he’d sit beside you and pretend to read, but half the time you’d feel his eyes flick up to watch you instead.

One night, everyone had stayed up too late; Pansy was retelling some outrageous gossip, Blaise was pretending not to care, Theo was half-asleep by the fire. You and Draco were side by side, tucked into the corner of the couch. You weren’t even sure when the others slipped away, but when you woke up hours later, the common room was empty and the fire was embers.

You blinked groggily and shifted, trying to sit up so Draco could lie down more comfortably. But the moment you moved, his arm tightened around you.

"Don’t go," he murmured, voice still thick with sleep.

“I was just-” you began.

His eyes opened, slow and bleary. But then they dropped to your lips.

He stared for a beat too long.

And then, softly, hesitantly, he leaned in and kissed you.

It was warm. Slow. Like he’d been thinking about it for a long time and finally let himself do it.

You kissed him back.

After that night, he started finding excuses to kiss you more.

In the Astronomy Tower. In the empty parts of the library. Even in his room, when he started sneaking you in after everyone was asleep. He’d cast a silencing spell around his bed- because the truth was, you two weren’t hooking up, but you were definitely… loud kissers. And he liked to talk. Especially when his lips were on yours.

You’d curl up under the blankets, tangled together. Some nights, he’d rest his head in your lap and whisper about his father, his mother, how exhausting it was to pretend all the time. You’d run your fingers through his hair and tell him the names of stars until he fell asleep holding you.

Sometimes, he’d slip you notes during the day, scribbled in his neat handwriting:

“Meet me. Tonight. Our place.”

“Couldn’t stop thinking about you today. I think I’m going mad.”

And you’d go to him.

He’d draw the curtains of his four-poster bed shut. Cast a silencing charm. Pull you into his arms and hold you like he’d fall apart without you. He kissed you like he needed you, like you were the only thing keeping him sane.

Your bodies tangled. You’d fall asleep holding him, and he’d wake you with kisses- your cheek, your neck, your lips- before grinning as you slipped back into your room wearing one of his shirts. He never hid how much he loved seeing you in his clothes.

It was everything you never knew you wanted.

Until it wasn’t enough.

~~~

Four months in, you started to notice.

Cedric and Cho. Ron and Hermione. Harry and Ginny. Fred and Angelina.

They were public. Not gross, not performative; just proud. They held hands in hallways. Shared smiles in class. Kissed each other goodbye at the edge of the Great Hall.

And you?

You sat across from Draco. Your knees touched under the table. You smiled across the room. But in public, he didn’t reach for you. He didn’t call you his. He didn’t show you off. You didn't even know what you two were.

You weren’t stupid. You knew why. The name. The pressure. The fear. But still- a part of you began to ache.

You began to wonder if maybe you were just a secret. Something he only wanted in the dark.

George Weasley had always been a bit of a lone wolf when it came to love. Not because he wasn’t charming- Merlin, he could flirt a girl into a coma if he wanted to- but because he preferred to make sure everyone else was smiling first. He liked sitting back and watching Fred thrive in his endless escapades, liked teasing Ron about his awkwardness with Hermione, and liked seeing people happy together, even if he wasn’t part of a pair himself.

You always teased him about that.

“You know half the Gryffindor girls would say yes if you so much as looked their way, right?”

He’d roll his eyes, grin crookedly, and mutter something about “too much effort” or “can’t ruin the mystery.” But deep down, he didn’t mind being on his own, not when he had good friends, good laughs, and a best friend like you who knew all the ways to make him crack up in the middle of class.

George was easy to be around. That’s why when you asked him to help with your little plan to get Draco’s attention, he didn’t hesitate. Not even for a second. He wasn’t stupid, he knew exactly what you were doing and why. He saw the way you looked at Draco when you thought no one noticed. And he saw the way Draco looked at you like he wanted to bottle you up and keep you on a shelf where no one else could reach you.

“I don’t want to hurt him,” you said, fingers twisting in your lap.

George leaned back with a lazy grin. “Oh, darling. You’re not gonna hurt him. You’re just going to make him realize.”

So he helped.

He walked you to class. Held your books. Sat beside you at lunch and whispered in your ear- half the time, something idiotic that made you burst into laughter.

“Ron looks like a damp troll today,” George muttered once as Draco watched from across the room. You choked on your juice and elbowed George hard.

But it worked.

You stopped going to the tower.

And that was what finally broke Draco.

~~~

You went back one night, guilt settling in your stomach for leaving him alone for a few days.

You weren’t expecting him to be there, especially after your absence. But he was, standing by the ledge, arms crossed, face hard. His eyes found yours instantly.

“Decided to remember I existed?” he asked, his voice tight.

You just sighed. "Drac-"

“Don’t,” he snapped. “Don’t act like I’m being ridiculous. You disappeared. You didn’t come to the tower. You didn’t answer my owls. You sat with him at lunch.”

He stepped forward.

“You’re mine,” he said, his voice cracking. “Do you understand that? Mine. Not George’s. Not anyone’s. Mine, mine, mine.”

His hands were suddenly on your waist, pulling you in with a desperation that made your knees weak.

“I can’t breathe when you ignore me,” he whispered, voice breaking. “Please, pretty girl, I can’t- don’t do that to me again. Don’t leave me. I love you. I love you. Just say you’re still mine. Please. Say it.”

You kissed him. Hard.

He kissed you back like he was drowning and you were air, as his hands wandered over your body, desperate to touch you, hold you, feel you. He needed to close any gap between you two, have you all over him.

“I’m yours,” you breathed against his lips. “I’ve always been yours. I love you."

~~~

That night, he brought you to his room. Cast the silencing charm like always. But it was different.

He kissed you gently- slowly unbuttoning your clothes, whispering how beautiful you were, how much he adored you. How he couldn’t stand to keep hiding.

“I’m going to show them,” he said, voice hoarse. “All of them. I want them to know. I want them to see.”

And when your clothes were discarded outside the bed, he grinned.

“Let them wonder.”

It wasn’t just kissing anymore.

It was love. Soft, aching, real love.

And the next morning, when you walked into the Great Hall holding his hand, you didn’t flinch at the looks. You sat beside him proudly, his arm around your shoulders.

You caught George’s eye across the room.

He winked at you, then turned to smile at the girl beside him- Katie Bell- who was already laughing at something he’d said.

And just like that, it was no longer a secret.

It was yours. Out in the open. Unafraid.

You were his. And he was yours.

Magical😏

I Kissed A Girl

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~1k (including lyrics)

Warnings: high sexual tension

Summary: You go to the club and unwind from a stressful week, not knowing you’re going to try something you end up liking more than your boyfriend.

Square Filled: a round a firsts for @womenofmarvelbingo (previously @blackwidowbingo)

Author’s Note: this is based on the song I Kissed A Girl By Katy Perry

x

This was never the way I planned Not my intention I got so brave, drink in hand Lost my discretion It's not what I'm used to Just wanna try you on I'm curious for you Caught my attention

You grab your fourth drink from the tray and enjoy the burn as you toss the shot back. It’s the end of the week, and what better way to unwind than to be out with your girls at the club? It’s not even work that has you stressed, it’s your boyfriend. He’s treating you more like his mom rather than his girlfriend. It’s exhausting and takes a real toll on your body.

“So, what’s the latest Theodore drama?” your best friend, Harper, asks.

“Well, I was supposed to hang with him tonight, but he decided to blow me off for his ‘boys’. I don’t know, I haven’t seen him in a month. We text, but it’s bland. It’s like all the effort with him has disappeared.”

“Dump his ass!” Violet, your other friend, yells over the loud music.

“Seriously, he’s such a loser,” Luna agrees.

“Maybe I should. There’s no spark anymore. He’s a good boyfriend if you don’t count the way he doesn’t put me first.”

“That’s not a good boyfriend,” Harper says. She grabs another drink from the fifth round and hands one to you. “Here, have a shot. You need to loosen up more.”

‘You’re just trying to get me drunk,” you laugh but take the drink anyway.

“That’s true.”

“Well, I need to go to the bathroom. Be right back!”

You down the shot before pushign your way through the crowd. You’re already buzzed, so it seems like there are more people in the crowd than there actually are. On your way back, you notice a woman dancing by herself in the middle of the dance floor. Men try to get her to dance with them, but she ignores them and continues to feel herself up. She looks so beautiful, you can’t pass her and not dance with her.

“Care for a partner?” you ask.

“Sure,” she grins.

“You here by yourself?”

“Well, not anymore,” she flirts.

You’ve never flirted with a woman before. You’ve only ever had boyfriends. This is something completely new to you, and you’re not upset about it. You step out of your comfort zone and start to dance with her to the beat of the music.

Her lips are cherry red, and you find yourself thinking what it would be like to kiss them.

No, I don't even know your name It doesn't matter You're my experimental game Just human nature It's not what good girls do Not how they should behave My head gets so confused Hard to obey

You don’t know her name, and you honestly don’t want to know it. You just want to be in the moment and enjoy the feelings she’s pulling out of you. Like how it feels really good to dance with her, to have her attention on you. You pull her closer to you so you can speak closer to her ear.

“Can I buy you another drink?”

“Sure,” she smiles.

“Don’t go anywhere.”

You make your way back to the bar where your friend sare at. They have a direct line of sight to you on the dance floor, and they’re no less than shocked.

“What are you doing?” Luna asks.

“I honestly have no idea. I have no clue what her name is, and if I’m being completely honest, I kind of want to kiss her.”

“Go for it,” Harper encourages. “Fuck Theodore. He’s not here.”

“You know what? Hell yeah. I’m going to go for it.”

You grab two drinks once they’re ready and head back over to the stranger. Natasha came here to unwind from a grueling work week. She never expected to meet someone, much less meet a woman. She’s always used her body to seduce men for intel and other things she’s needed. She’s never once envisioned herself with a woman until you showed up.

“Here you go,” you say when you reach her.

“Thank you.”

Natasha downs the drink in one go, but some of the liquid drips out of her mouth. You watch the drop of alcohol slide down her jaw, down her neck, and disappear into her cleavage. Fuck. You shouldn’t be thinking such dirty thoughts about anyone, especially since you have a boyfriend. 

Still, that’s not enough to stop you.

Us girls, we are so magical Soft skin, red lips, so kissable Hard to resist, so touchable Too good to deny it Ain't no big deal, it's innocent

The beat of the music rushes through your veins, and you pull Natasha closer to you. She grabs your hips and moves them along yours in tune with the beat. Your eyes are hooded, with your gaze on her lush red lips. So kissable. She’s hard to resist, so you wrap your arms around her neck and press yourself closer to her.

Her eyes meet yours, and you can see the want, the need, inside of them. It looks like she wants this as much as you do, so you throw all fucks out the window and go for it.

I kissed a girl and I liked it The taste of her cherry chapstick I kissed a girl just to try it I hope my boyfriend don't mind it It felt so wrong, it felt so right Don't mean I'm in love tonight I kissed a girl and I liked it I liked it

You lean in and press your lips to hers delicately just in case you got this whole thing wrong. However, she doesn’t pull away from you. She deepens the kiss when she tilts her head to the right, and she swipes her tongue over your lower lip. The second your tongue touches her, it’s like a spark goes off.

The spark you’re missing with Theodore. Maybe it’s not him. Maybe it’s because he’s a him and not a her. Fuck Theodore. You’re giving this night to yourself. Falling in love isn’t on the cards for tonight, but you’re going to go home later and know what it’s like to kiss a woman, this woman.

Natasha pulls away from you and whispers something in your ear, but you’re too drunk to understand what she’s saying. You watch her walk toward the bathroom, and you grin at the taste of her cherry chapstick.

Fuck, you kind of liked it.

x

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I love reading this series🥹 Gets me all warm and fuzzy on the inside!

Happy Birthday

professor logan howlett x professor fem!reader - established relationship (y'all married), cute, fluff, teasing, no y/n used, no reader description, your an english professor, logan is a history professor - imagine days of future past logan with the white streaks in his hair

It's Logan's birthday and you surprise him with a gift. (This is pre-marriage).

read on ao3 or continue reading here: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty...

Logan hated celebrating his birthday. After nearly two centuries of being alive, the day had lost any real meaning—just another mark on a calendar that didn’t matter. It wasn’t like he had much to show for all those years, anyway, and he’d long since grown tired of people making a fuss about it. But the mansion had a way of making sure no one went unnoticed, and every year, without fail, someone would pull him into an impromptu celebration he hadn’t asked for.

So, when he woke up that morning and found the mansion unusually quiet, he figured maybe they’d finally given up. No "Happy Birthday" shouts from Bobby in the hall, no balloons taped to his door, no cupcakes left on the kitchen counter by Ororo. He shrugged it off, feeling a little relieved, even if there was an odd, hollow feeling in his chest.

By the time he finished teaching his second class, Logan’s mood had settled into its usual gruffness. He was just starting to clear off the chalkboard, the faint squeak of the eraser filling the room when he heard the familiar click of heels approaching from down the hallway. He glanced toward the slightly ajar door just as you appeared in the doorway, leaning against the frame with a small, secretive smile.

"Hey," you said, a little breathless as if you’d hurried there. "I was gonna stop by sooner, but…" You gave a half-shrug, your eyes sparkling with a bit of mischief. "My class got chaotic, and then I had to—well, doesn’t matter."

Logan’s brow furrowed as he took in the sight of you, your arms tucked behind your back in a way that seemed almost... suspicious. "Why are you standin’ like that?" he asked, his tone gruff but tinged with curiosity.

You chuckled, stepping further into the classroom and finally bringing your hands forward. Resting in your palms was a small, neatly wrapped gift—a simple package, the paper a deep blue, tied with a piece of twine. "I know you hate your birthday," you began, your voice warm but a little hesitant, as if you weren’t quite sure how he would react. "But I thought… well, I thought you might like this. And before you say anything, yes, you have to open it. Complaints can wait."

Logan stared at the gift like it was some foreign object, his expression caught somewhere between surprise and discomfort. He didn’t reach for it right away, his eyes flicking up to meet yours as if trying to gauge whether or not this was some kind of joke. "You didn’t have to do that," he muttered, the words gruff and almost defensive. He wasn’t used to anyone making a special effort for him.

"Obviously," you replied, rolling your eyes playfully as you took a step closer, extending the gift toward him. "But I wanted to."

There was a beat of silence where Logan just stood there, staring down at the little package as if it held some kind of secret he wasn’t sure he wanted to uncover. Finally, with a reluctant sigh, he reached out and took it from your hands. The paper crinkled softly as his fingers brushed over it, and for a moment, he just held it there, like he didn’t know what to do with it.

"Well?" you prompted, crossing your arms and raising an eyebrow. "Aren’t you going to open it?"

He gave you a look, half-exasperated, but there was a flicker of softness in his eyes that hadn’t been there a moment ago. "You’re not gonna let this go, are ya?" he grumbled, though there was no real bite to his words.

"Not a chance," you shot back, a smile tugging at your lips.

With a huff, Logan started unwrapping the gift, peeling back the paper with a mixture of impatience and curiosity. Inside was a small leather-bound journal, its edges slightly worn, like it was made to be carried on long journeys and tucked into coat pockets. The leather was a deep, rich brown, and the pages inside were lined, perfect for jotting down thoughts, sketches, or whatever might cross his mind.

He stared at it for a long moment, his thumb running over the cover as if testing the texture. "A journal?" he asked, his voice uncertain.

"Well, I figured you might need somewhere to put all those thoughts you keep to yourself," you said lightly, though your voice held a touch of sincerity. "Or sketches, or… I don’t know, angry rants about how annoying the kids are." You shrugged, your smile softening. "Thought it might come in handy."

Logan was silent, his gaze still fixed on the journal. His jaw clenched slightly, and for a second, you thought maybe he was going to brush it off with one of his usual gruff remarks. But then he looked at you, and there was a flicker of something in his eyes that caught you off guard—something unguarded, almost vulnerable.

"Why'd you…" he started, then shook his head, like he wasn’t sure how to ask the question. "No one’s ever really bothered to get me somethin’ like this," he admitted, his voice low and rough.

You took a step closer, your expression softening as you searched his eyes. "Well, I did," you said simply. "Because everyone deserves to feel special on their birthday, Logan. Even if you don’t think so."

He swallowed, the words throwing him off balance. He glanced down at the journal again, turning it over in his hands as though trying to understand what it meant. "I don’t know what to say," he muttered, the gruffness back in his tone as he tried to cover up the unfamiliar emotion creeping into his voice. "I ain’t exactly good at this… 'thank you' stuff."

You just smiled, a warmth spreading through you as you reached out and touched his arm, the contact grounding and reassuring. "You don’t have to say anything, Logan," you replied softly. "Just… try using it, okay?"

He nodded, his gaze finally lifting to meet yours again, and for a heartbeat, the world outside the classroom seemed to fade away. There was a change in the air, something unspoken passing between you—an understanding of the beginnings of something neither of you had quite figured out yet.

Logan cleared his throat, glancing away with a small, awkward shrug. "You’re somethin' else, you know that?" he muttered, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth despite himself.

"Good to know," you said with a playful glint in your eye. "Now, are you gonna keep standing there looking confused, or are you actually going to say 'thank you' like a normal person?"

He huffed a laugh, shaking his head as if to shake off the unfamiliar feeling of being cared for. "Thank you," he grumbled, though there was an unmistakable warmth in his voice. "Don’t know why you went to the trouble, but… I appreciate it."

You grinned, giving his arm a gentle squeeze. "See? That wasn’t so hard."

As you turned to leave the classroom, you glanced back over your shoulder, catching sight of Logan still standing there, his gaze fixed on the journal in his hands. His rough exterior seemed to soften, the hard lines of his face easing as he traced his thumb along the leather cover. There was a kind of quiet reverence in the way he held it, like he was trying to understand the weight of the gesture, what it meant to be remembered in this way.

You didn’t think much of it at the time—just a thoughtful gift, a small moment shared. But later you’d find out that the journal would become something he held onto, just like the lucky pen you had given him. It would stay tucked away in a drawer beside his bed, the pages slowly filling with musings and sketches, the cover worn from use and care.

It would become one of those little things that said more than words ever could—a quiet reminder that he was seen, and more than that, that he was cared for.

Please kindly give us some Peter S/Reader shower action?

Steamy||Peter Sutherland x fem!reader

Word count —1177

Warnings — shower smut unprotected sex p in v

A/n — finally got motivated to finish this 😭😭

The bathroom was already fogged up, steam curling against the mirror as the hot water cascaded down in a steady rhythm. The hum of the shower filled the space, mingling with the soft rustle of clothes being discarded one by one.

Peter stood beneath the stream, his hands running through his wet hair, droplets sliding down the ridges of his toned chest. His muscles tensed slightly as he turned to face you, his eyes darkened with something deeper than just desire.

“Come here,” he murmured, voice husky from want.

You stepped in, the heat of the water instantly enveloping you, but it was nothing compared to the way Peter’s hands found your waist, pulling you flush against him. His skin was slick, hot under your fingertips as you traced the lines of his chest, feeling his heartbeat quicken beneath your palm.

His lips found yours without hesitation—slow at first, teasing, his breath warm against your mouth before his tongue brushed against yours, deepening the kiss. The water streamed between you, but it did nothing to cool the heat building between your bodies.

Peter’s hands roamed, one gripping the back of your neck to keep you close, the other sliding down to your hip, fingers pressing possessively into your skin. When he pulled away just enough to catch his breath, his forehead rested against yours, water dripping from his lashes as he whispered, “You have no idea what you do to me.”

His mouth traced along your jaw, down the column of your throat, kissing, nipping, tasting. Your hands explored him in return, nails skimming along his back, feeling the tension in his muscles as he held himself together—barely.

The shower was relentless, heat wrapping around you both as he pressed you against the cool tile, lips never leaving your skin. There was nothing hurried about the way Peter touched you—it was deliberate, intense, a slow burn that made your knees weak.

He lifted your chin, forcing your gaze to meet his, his thumb tracing along your lower lip. “I need you,” he admitted, voice rough, eyes dark with hunger.

You barely had time to respond before his mouth was on yours again, stealing your breath, claiming every inch of you like you were the only thing that mattered in this moment.

Your back pressed against the shower wall, the porcelain cool against your back, the only point of contrast to the scalding heat of the water as Peter's body pressed up against yours, trapping you in a cage of muscle and desire, his large frame crowding you in.

His lips left yours, and began a slow, wet path down the column of your neck, stopping briefly to suck at the sensitive skin of your pulse point, nipping lightly. His hands remained planted on your hips, his grip almost bruising in intensity.

“So damn beautiful,” he murmured against your skin, his breath hot against you as his teeth continued their journey, grazing along the slope of your shoulder, leaving a trail of small red marks in their wake.

You arched against him, a gasp escaping you as he found a particularly sensitive spot just above your collarbone, his tongue laving over it before biting down lightly once more. His teeth scraped the area, his lips seeking yours again as he kissed you hard, tongue invading your mouth in a possessive kiss.

His hands left your hips, fingers trailing up your body, along your side, leaving goosebumps in their wake before settling under your thighs. He hoisted you up in one fluid movement, your legs immediately wrapping around his waist, the new position pulling you even closer as he ground his hips into yours.

You could feel his arousal, pressing against your core. It was an almost maddening tease, the need for more growing with each touch and kiss. His hands gripped your thighs, keeping you balanced against him, the hot slide of his body against yours driving you both wild with want.

Your breath caught in your throat as Peter pressed closer, the thick heat of his arousal rubbing against your slick folds, your body already trembling with anticipation. The way he looked at you—like he was starving, like nothing else existed but your skin against his—made your heart hammer in your chest.

“Peter…” you breathed, barely able to form the word as your fingers dug into his shoulders.

He growled low in his throat, grinding his hips harder against you. “Tell me what you want, baby,” he murmured, lips brushing your ear. “I need to hear you say it.”

“I want you,” you gasped. “Now. Please.”

That was all it took. In one smooth thrust, he pushed into you, filling you completely. The sudden stretch stole your breath, your back arching as your nails clawed down his back. Peter groaned, forehead dropping to your shoulder as he held still for a beat, giving you a moment to adjust.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he rasped, voice thick with restraint as your walls clenched around him. “So perfect. Made for me.”

Your legs tightened around his waist, urging him on. He began to move, slow at first—long, deep strokes that had you gasping against his mouth, each thrust sending jolts of pleasure through your trembling frame. The slick heat of the water, the sound of skin against skin, the breathy moans echoing off the tile—it all blurred into one dizzying, delicious haze.

Peter’s pace quickened, each roll of his hips hitting deeper, harder, your moans growing louder with every thrust. His mouth claimed yours again, desperate and wet, teeth scraping your lip before dragging down your neck to suck another mark into your skin.

“Can’t get enough of you,” he panted against your throat. “I could stay buried inside you forever.”

Your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling just enough to draw a groan from deep in his chest. He responded by angling his hips just right, hitting that perfect spot inside you that made your entire body jolt.

“Oh my—Peter!”

“Right there?” he smirked, voice rough with satisfaction. “Yeah, I know.”

You were close, the pressure building fast, your body trembling from head to toe. He felt it too—his grip on you tightened, his movements becoming more erratic as he chased his own release, eyes locked on yours.

“Come for me,” he growled, thrusts deep and relentless. “Let me feel you.”

Your body obeyed, crashing over the edge with a sharp cry, your climax tearing through you like fire. You clenched around him, dragging him over with you, and he cursed as he came, hips snapping once, twice more before stilling, buried deep inside you.

For a moment, the only sounds were your heavy breaths and the rush of water around you.

Peter leaned his forehead against yours again, smiling breathlessly. “Shit,” he laughed softly, brushing wet hair from your face. “We might need another shower after that.”

You laughed too, still wrapped around him. “Only if you promise to get me just as dirty again.”

His smirk turned wicked. “Oh, baby. That was just round one.”

OLD HABITS

slytherin boys x gn!teacher reader (platonic)

↳ 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡 : 2k

𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦 : you graduated three years ago, but the slytherin boys still talk about you like a myth. now you’re back… as their professor.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

you were a legend.

not in the grand, historical sense. not the type to be etched into portraits or remembered in dusty school records. no, yours was a different kind of legend. one passed around in whispers in the common room. in smoke trails drifting out from the edge of the astronomy tower. in escape routes down secret staircases no one else dared to use.

so when word spread through the great hall that you were back : alive, employed, and walking the halls as the new magical beasts professor, it caused the kind of silence that could only mean something big was coming.

theo was the first to break it.

“you’re joking.”

“nope,” said blaise, who had overheard one of the hufflepuff girls talking about how hot the new professor was. “apparently they walked in with a hippogriff and didn’t flinch when it tried to snap.”

mattheo leaned forward. “didn’t they teach us how to charm open the back entrance to the owlery?”

“no, that was fourth year,” muttered draco. “third year was the time they found that wine cellar under greenhouse three.”

“that was good wine,” said lorenzo, almost reverently. “and they shared it. with us.”

pansy raised a brow, amused. “I thought they’d disappeared into some forest job in eastern europe.”

“they did,” theo said. “came back with a scar and a lot more patience.”

“and now they’re teaching,” mattheo added, mostly to himself.

draco just smirked and folded his arms. “they better not act all serious and authoritative towards us.”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

you walked into your first class five minutes early, boots muddy, sleeves rolled up, a little bit of wind in your hair. the creatures for today’s lesson : bowtruckles, nothing dramatic, were already perched on your arm like old friends.

and very familiar faces were waiting for you.

some taller. some sharper around the edges. but still the same underneath.

you took them in : mattheo lounging at the back with that practiced look of boredom, theo twirling his quill lazily, draco sitting like he ran the school, blaise leaning back in his chair with that half-smile, and pansy pretending she wasn’t waiting for you to acknowledge her first.

your mouth twitched. “well. Look what the castle dragged in.”

mattheo’s eyes lit up instantly. “I knew it.”

you raised a brow, setting the bowtruckles gently on the desk. “did you miss me, riddle?”

he shrugged with zero shame. “you’re basically the reason we survived until fourth year.”

“I was more of a cautionary tale than anything.”

“you were our hero,” theo said bluntly.

“I taught you how to siphon firewhiskey out of Slughorn’s reserves once.”

“yup. that’s what i call a heroic act.”

you rolled your eyes, but your smile gave you away. “right, sit up. eyes front. you’re not fourteen anymore.”

draco lifted a brow. “youu’re not that much older than us.”

“three years is a lifetime when you’re a teenage boy,” you said dryly.

they laughed, and for a second it felt like no time had passed at all.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

the class was easy. you always had a knack for creatures and a talent for explaining things without sounding like a textbook. the bowtruckles behaved. the students (your old group especially) hung on your every word like they were waiting for you to pull a trick from your sleeve.

you didn’t. not yet at least.

but after class, when the rest of the students filtered out and the sky began to soften into gold, mattheo lingered.

he leaned against the side of your desk, arms folded, posture lazy but eyes bright.

“so,” he said. “you’re a professor now.”

“apparently.”

“didn’t see that coming. honestly? I figured you’d get arrested for breaking into the ministry. or disappear into a dragon preserve and send us mysterious postcards.”

“I almost did.”

mattheo laughed, low and real. you hadn’t realized how much you’d missed that sound.

you gave him a look, then jerked your head toward the door. “still use the second-floor corridor to sneak out after curfew?”

“of course,” he said. “your map still works.”

you blinked. “you still have my map?”

he looked smug. “theo kept it. said it was the closest thing we had to a holy text.

you shook your head, but warmth spread through your chest like firewhiskey. you hadn’t come back expecting much. maybe respect, maybe curiosity. but not this. this instant, easy pull back into the space you'd carved out years ago.

you were still part of them. in a way.

mattheo kicked at the floor with the toe of his boot, then said, more quietly, “it’s kind of weird, seeing you here. like… full circle or something.”

you nodded. “feels weird. but not bad.”

he glanced up at you again, and for just a second, he looked younger. not the too-cool seventh year with a devil-may-care grin, but the fourteen-year-old you once caught crying on the roof after a letter from home. the one you handed a cigarette to without asking questions, just sat next to until the shaking stopped.

and he remembered that. you could tell.

“I’m glad you’re back,” he said, softer now.

you just reached into your pocket, pulled out a lighter. the same beat-up one they all used to sneak from your satchel, and held it up between two fingers. mattheo’s face split into a grin. “you brought it.”

“old habits.”

he chuckled and took it, turning it over once in his hands before slipping it into his coat.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

that night, you found yourself walking the familiar path to the astronomy tower. out of curiosity, maybe. or memory.

and you weren't surprised to find them there : your slytherin crew, sprawled out under the stars like they used to be. someone had brought snacks. someone else had smuggled up firewhiskey. theo had dragged a blanket out, and Pansy had already claimed half of it.

“well,” blaise said, lifting his drink, “look who still knows the way.” mattheo just smiled and patted the space beside him.

you sat, and it was like nothing had changed, except everything had. you were older now. a professor. a mentor. anauthority figure.

but to them, you’d always be more than that.

you were the one who taught them how to live a little. to bend the rules without breaking. to find their own way. and now you were back. maybe that’s what real influence was : leaving a mark so deep, even time couldn’t wash it out.

as the night stretched on and the stars spun lazily above the castle, someone passed you a flask. you didn’t ask where it came from. just took a sip, and passed it back, and let the quiet laughter of your old shadows fill the air.

“I should be giving all of you detention, you know that ?”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

a/n : first gender neutral reader fic, hope i did okay !!!

LOOOOVEEEE!!

Tell Me You Hate Me

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Reader

Draco Malfoy is insufferable.

That’s the first thing you think when he smirks at you across the Great Hall, all sharp cheekbones and sharper eyes, like he knows you’re already seething. His tie is half-loosened. His prefect badge is slightly crooked. And he’s still sitting like he owns the castle.

The second thing you think is that he’s beautiful.

But you hate that thought. You stuff it down the same way you stuff every stupid flutter in your chest when he talks just a little too close. When his voice goes lower just to piss you off. When his fingers brush yours “accidentally” in dueling class and he smirks like he knows exactly what he's doing.

You’re a Ravenclaw, top of your year in Dueling Tactics.

Unfortunately, so is he.

And unfortunately, Professor Flitwick decided it would be “character building” to pair sworn enemies for the semester’s strategy project.

“Try not to cry when I beat you, sweetheart,” Draco had said the day you got partnered. “I only cry when I look at your hairline,” you’d shot back sweetly.

It’s been like that ever since—words like daggers, barbed in silver and blue. And yet, you meet after class. You train. You strategize. You fight. And neither of you ever leaves first.

You pretend not to notice the way he watches you between spells. He pretends not to notice when your wand stutters every time he gets too close.

But you both notice.

The first time he touches you, it's accidental.

Kind of.

You’re in the empty Defense classroom, late again, practicing parry spells until your arms ache. He lunges too close, your wand flicks sideways, and your back hits the edge of the table hard.

He moves to steady you—one hand catching your wrist, the other sliding low on your waist.

Your breath stutters.

His does too.

His hand lingers for half a second too long, his grey eyes darker than usual. And when he lets go, his smirk is half-hearted.

“Don’t tell me I knocked the wind out of you,” he murmurs.

“You wish,” you say, but it doesn’t come out steady.

He doesn’t say anything after that. Just turns, jaw tight, and casts again.

The second time he touches you, it’s deliberate.

It’s a week later. Same classroom. Same tension.

You’re sparring again, and you’re winning this time—your hexes are fast and mean, and Draco’s shirt is untucked, his hair a mess, and he looks absolutely feral. Something in you loves it. Something in you wants to ruin him further.

You back him into a corner with a well-aimed spell, wand tip against his chest. He’s panting.

“Gotcha.”

He grins.

“Do you?”

Then he steps into your space, slow and smug, wand hand raised but not attacking. His other hand slides around your waist again, this time firm, his mouth tilting just by your ear.

“You always breathe faster when I do this,” he says.

You hate him. You really, really do.

Except you don’t flinch. You let him touch you. Let him lean close enough that your noses brush, your wand trembling between you.

“Kiss me or curse me, Malfoy,” you whisper. “Cowardice doesn’t suit you.”

And he doesn’t. He looks at your lips, looks like he’s going to—but then he pulls back.

He always pulls back.

You hate that more than anything.

It all unravels when you start spending more time with Harry.

You’re both Heads. It’s practical—meetings, prefect patrols, patrol reports. But Draco starts showing up at places he has no reason to be. He scowls when Harry laughs with you in the courtyard. He scoffs loudly when you sit next to him at breakfast.

And when Harry places a casual hand on your shoulder after a long prefect meeting? Draco is silent.

Too silent.

Later that evening, he corners you behind the Charms classroom.

You barely open your mouth before he’s there, eyes stormy and voice low.

“You’re getting awfully cozy with Potter.”

Your eyes narrow. “You following me now, Malfoy?”

He doesn’t take the bait.

“You think he sees you?” he says, quiet and bitter. “You think he gets you?”

“Oh, and you do?”

He steps forward, chest almost against yours. “I think I know exactly what you want.”

Your breath catches—but your pride doesn’t.

“I want someone who doesn’t run away the second things get real,” you snap.

He flinches. You don’t miss it.

“You’re jealous,” you whisper, stunned.

He laughs, sharp. “Please. We’re not dating.”

“Exactly,” you fire back. “So why do you care?”

He doesn’t answer.

But his jaw clenches.

His eyes drop to your mouth.

You realize then: it’s not that he doesn’t want you.

It’s that he does, and he’s terrified.

It comes to a head in the Astronomy Tower.

You find him there after midnight, arms folded, hair mussed by the wind, and for once—no one else around.

He doesn’t hear you approach.

“Stalking me now?” he says without turning.

“You think everyone’s obsessed with you.”

He chuckles. It's empty.

“Maybe I want you to be.”

You blink. “You’re drunk.”

He turns then, eyes bloodshot, lips chapped. His wand’s beside him, untouched.

“No. Just tired. Of pretending like this isn’t…” he swallows. “Real.”

Silence stretches like a held breath.

He steps forward. Closer than ever. His voice dips, low and broken.

“Tell me you hate me.”

You laugh. Quiet, bitter.

“You already know I do.”

“Then why do you keep looking at me like that?” “Like what?” “Like I’m the only one who understands.”

You don’t answer.

He reaches out slowly, hand brushing your jaw. This time, it’s not cocky. This time, he touches you like you’re fragile. Like he’s scared you’ll disappear.

“Because I do,” he whispers. “Understand. You hate me. I hate me, too.”

That’s when you kiss him.

You grab his collar, drag him down, and kiss him like you’ve been meaning to every night since this stupid project began.

And when he kisses you back—desperate, fierce, trembling—it’s not smooth or practiced. It’s raw. Honest.

You pull back eventually, gasping. Your fingers tangled in his shirt, your heartbeat a riot.

He presses his forehead to yours, lashes fluttering shut.

“Tell me again,” he murmurs. “Tell me you hate me.”

You smile. Just barely.

“I hate how much I want you.”

And that? That’s enough to break him.

He kisses you again. Harder. Hands hungry. Like you’re the only good thing left in the world. Like if he lets go, he’ll fall apart completely.

Maybe he already has.

But so have you.

And neither of you runs this time.