SUMMARY — Y/N Gorgon and Draco Malfoy have a long history of mutual hatred. You see, the two of them have been pulling pranks on each other since their 1st year at Hogwarts, to the dismay of their close friends and supervisors. However, after a prank left Y/N completely out of her mind, she decides that she’ll pull her cruelest prank yet on Draco by pretending to be his secret admirer.
PAIRING — Draco Malfoy x reader
GENRE — series, enemies to lovers, rival, comedy (?)
WORD COUNT — 1631 words.
AUTHOR’S NOTE — I tried a new format of writing, I kinda want to try narrating like a movie ? idk if you caught that. tell me what you think, I’d really love that. Let me know if you want to be on the taglist!
summary: you and draco are inseparable friends, but deeper feelings come to light when you're asked on a date with someone who is determined to take advantage of you.
words: 7.3k
warnings: reader is put under the influence unknowingly; unwanted advances and affection (nothing more than kissing).
You were snuggled into the edge of the largest couch in the Slytherin common room closest to the fireplace as it crackled. The warmth was welcome against the damp cold that lingered in the dungeons this time of year. You were covered in a quilted blanket reading against the soft light, but you found your attention wavering between the book in your lap and the boy next to you on the couch.
Draco Malfoy had been your closest friend for several years now. First year you had fallen into a fast and easy friendship, clicking right from the very start. You were like two halves of a whole, complimentary in ways other people didn’t quite understand. You could finish each other’s sentences, anticipate each other’s feelings, make each other laugh, even at the most nonsensical things that befuddled your other friends. You had a casual intimacy, your head resting on his shoulder, or wearing his jumpers when you were cold, him always adamant about having the seat next to you whether in class, in the Great Hall, or tonight in your respective spots on the couch.
In many ways your relationship intimidated those around you, who simply assumed that you were dating, though in reality you had never crossed that line. You didn’t even see Draco that way, truthfully… at first. But the more time that passed, and the older you had gotten, you found yourself more and more attracted to him. You were distracted, suddenly, by the way his grey eyes glinted like the cloudy night sky, the way his muscular frame filled out his suit jacket, the way he smelled, like leather and expensive cologne, and the warmth that radiated from him whenever you were pressed close together like you were right now.
You’d lost count of the number of times you had nearly let slip how you felt, only to bite your tongue at the last minute, too afraid of rejection and of ruining the relationship you already had. But that didn’t stop you from daydreaming about twining your fingers into his or feeling his lips pressed softly against your own. You ran your fingers absentmindedly over your lips now, lost in that same thought as you stared at him when your daydream burst like a bubble as Pansy Parkinson sauntered into the common room, leaned over the couch and flung her arms around Draco.
“Pans” he acknowledged, his eyes never leaving his book as she pressed kisses to his cheek. The whole scene turned your stomach, disappointment, hurt and jealousy roiling in equal measures.
Their relationship was a new development over the last few weeks. He had never said anything to you about her, then all of a sudden she was following him around, hanging off of him, kissing him. You squeezed your eyes shut to keep them from welling up. You had been completely blindsided by their relationship and the pain in your heart felt like a fresh wound every day. What made her worth pursuing, but not you? What made her so much more attractive to him? Your mind raced with your own insecurities as you closed your book and stood to leave, unwilling and unable to sit and watch the two of them.
“You’re leaving?” Draco asked, surprised at your abrupt movements, at the lack of warmth he felt as you left his side.
“I’m going to get something to eat, good luck at practice” you said, forcing a smile on your face as you exited the common room as quickly as possible before your tears overflowed.
Draco’s eyes followed you the entire way out of the room. He was disappointed that you never wanted to hang out anymore. He missed you, but he couldn’t figure out how to tell you. Even when you were next to him, it felt like a chasm had opened up that he wasn’t able to cross. He was trying to work it out in his head as Pansy chattered in his ear… It couldn’t be Pansy, could it? He knew you weren’t her biggest fan, but did she really bother you that much? And if so, why hadn’t you said anything? It wasn’t like things were serious with Pansy. Truthfully, he didn’t even know why he had agreed to be with her in the first place. His head swirled as he stood up, pulling away from her.
“I’ve got to get to practice” he said dismissively amidst her whines of protest as he stormed out of the room.
You had absolutely no appetite, but you made your way to the Great Hall anyway, knowing most everyone would be eating dinner and hopeful your friends could help you take your mind off of things. You were nearly there when you heard someone shout your name. You turned to see Cormac McLaggen of all people waving and jogging over to you. You were in the same year and had a few classes together, but the rivalry between your houses and between him and Draco was no secret as competing captains of their quidditch teams.
“Cormac” you said cooly as he approached you.
“Y/N, you’re looking beautiful as ever” he cooed, ever the flirt. You rolled your eyes in response.
“What can I do for you?” you asked, eager to move this conversation along.
“You can go out with me tomorrow night” he said, point blank.
You couldn’t suppress the laughter that came out of your mouth. “And why would I ever do that?” you replied mockingly.
His cheeks blushed and he managed to look bashful for a moment, which caught you off guard.
“Because I fancy you. Have for a while, but I always thought you and Malfoy….” he trailed off. “Now that he’s with Pansy, I thought I’d have a shot. I know we don’t know each other that well, but I’d like to get to know you, if you’d give me a chance?”
You truly could not believe the words coming out of his mouth. You had always written him off as a flirt, well aware of the trail of girls he left in his wake, but he sounded so genuine, so sincere, and just the mention of Pansy’s name had your stomach churning again and your heart beating in your chest. If Draco didn’t see you that way, then why cling to something that was never going to happen? Not to mention a small part of you reveled at the idea of Draco hearing that you were going on a date with Cormac. You knew he’d be furious.
“Fine” you agreed.
“Yeah?” Cormac said, the surprise and joy written clear across his face.
“Sure” you shrugged, a smirk on your face.
Draco was deep in his own head, trying to work out how to make things right with you, while simultaneously trying to focus on his plan for practice as he suited up in the locker room. They’d agreed to share the pitch with the Gryffindors for the evening, both teams eager to get in as much practice as possible before the Quidditch Cup and he gritted his teeth as he listed to the annoying chatter of the opposing team nearby, namely McLaggen, with his obnoxious drawl, going on about whatever girl he had managed to sack that week. Draco was just about to tune him out when he heard something that made his breath catch in his lungs.
“That’s right boys, I’m taking Y/L/N out tomorrow night. Now accepting bets on how long it will take to get her in bed. Ten galleons says we leave after one drink!” Their side of the room howled with laughter and eager cheers and jaunts.
Draco’s side of the room began to spin.
You were going out with McLaggen? Since when? And of all people, why him? Suddenly his uniform felt too tight around his neck, like he couldn’t breathe. He tugged at his collar and found that his hands were shaking. He was furious. Furious at the way McLaggen was talking about you, like you were any other girl. His mind raced with mental images of you two snuggled in a booth at the Three Broomsticks, walking hand in hand down the corridors, you wearing a jersey with his name on it and he felt a wave of nausea wash over him. No, he definitely didn’t want you going out with McLaggen. But, the more he thought about it, he realized he didn’t want you going out with anyone…
You were right that spending time with friends at dinner had been a welcome distraction and you felt calmer as you trailed your way back to the common room. You were about to go to your room to study a bit before bed when the door flung open behind you and Draco marched in, his eyes scanning the room wildly before landing on you. You had never seen him this angry before, and certainly never at you as he grasped your arm firmly and pulled you into the corridor, away from the prying eyes and whispers of your fellow housemates.
“Ouch – Draco – that hurts! Let go of me! What’s the matter with you?” you demanded as you tried unsuccessfully to wiggle out of his strong grasp.
“Is this some kind of joke to you?” he asked. “Because it’s not funny in the slightest.”
“What are you talking about?” you asked, genuinely confused.
“McLaggen” he said, breathing heavily, “you and McLaggen.”
Oh, you realized. News travels fast.
You pulled out of his grasp and straightened up, meeting his burning gaze with your own.
“Not sure what difference it makes to you who I choose to go on a date with” you said smartly.
Draco let out an aggravated sigh and ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. Of course it made a difference to him. It made a massive difference to him, he realized, but he couldn’t coherently say what he wanted to say through the white-hot anger he felt pulsing through his blood, through the mental images of you with McLaggen that had plagued him all night.
“McLaggen, really?” was the only response he was able to muster.
“Oh, piss off, Draco!” you said. He didn’t have the right to be angry. He didn’t have a say in the matter. He was the one with a girlfriend to begin with.
Realizing what a mess he was making of the situation, Draco tried desperately to backpedal, to see if he could change your mind, to buy himself some time to figure all of this out.
“Look, he’s not a good guy. I heard him talking about you in the locker room, the things he was saying–”
You held up a hand in response, silencing him. “Just stop, Draco. You don’t get to do this” you said as you brushed passed him, back into the common room, leaving him alone in the corridor as he cradled his head in his hands.
You eyed yourself in the mirror the next evening, taking in your stylish sweater, short skirt, tights and heeled boots. It felt nice to be wanted, to be seen by someone, even if it wasn’t the person you wanted it to be. You felt a familiar ache in your chest as you thought briefly of Draco and how deeply you wished you were getting ready for a date with him instead. But you quickly dismissed the thought as you remembered every painful moment you’d watched him and Pansy; instead, you grabbed your coat and headed to the common room.
You tried to make your way quickly to the door when you realized Draco and nearly all of your friends were there. You could feel Draco’s eyes on you like a hex, could feel the weight of his stare, distinct from everyone else’s and you hazarded a glance his way against your better judgement. His arms were crossed and he had an angry scowl on his face. You met his eyes and amidst the palpable anger, for just a moment, you thought you could see a sparkle, a glint that said stay here, with me, please don’t do this. It nearly pulled you back in, but you turned away quickly, unwilling to acknowledge how those eyes, how this boy made you feel.
Your date went as predictably as you could have imagined. Revenge had felt sweet as you thought back to Draco’s reaction to your date, but now you were certainly paying the price. Gone was the bashful, blushing Cormac that had asked you out and in front of you was the self-flattering egotistical boy you had heard so much about. He bragged about himself relentlessly and he laid it on thick, inching closer to you every minute as you wiggled further and further away.
Your first butterbeer went down without any effort, proving to be a sweet distraction and a clear obstacle in front of your lips, which Cormac continually eyed.
“Another?” he asked eagerly, as you set down your empty glass.
“Sure” you said, smiling, looking forward to a moment of peace as he walked back to the bar, though he returned all too quickly.
“Here you are, beautiful” he said cheesily as he took a big gulp of his own.
You reached for the mug, happy to drown in the sweet liquid, but the first sip you took tasted awful: bitter and metallic, like the batch had gone bad.
“Gosh – I think something’s wrong with this” you said as you set the drink down, wincing.
“No, no I asked for another shot in it. It’s just stronger than you’re used to” Cormac said, winking as he pushed the drink back towards you.
Well, thank Merlin for that I suppose you thought as you choked down another sip and he renewed his efforts of bragging and flirting. Before long you felt a fog settle over your mind like a thick blanket. You felt yourself zoning in and out on his words, your thoughts wandering aimlessly.
“Gotta take a piss” he said abruptly, bringing you back to reality as he stood up. You looked down at your near-full drink and tried to think of a way to end this miserable date. You saw a large potted plant beside you, and took the opportunity to dump your drink there, hoping that Cormac would think you’d finished it and take the hint that it was time to leave.
Sure enough, he registered your empty glass immediately. “Whoa! I’ve got to catch up!” he said, as he chugged the last of his.
“I think I’d like to head back, if that’s alright with you?” you asked.
“Of course!” he said eagerly, rushing to help you out of the booth and wrap an arm around you possessively. You tried to create some distance between you but upon standing you realized the foggy feeling in your brain had wound its way to each of your limbs, making you sway slightly, so you relented and leaned into his strong frame.
You walked in silence for a while, your feet crunching on the frost on the ground. It was dark now and the street was illuminated only by the ambient light from the storefronts. Suddenly, Cormac surprised you by pulling you close to him in a small alleyway. He began kissing your neck, his lips working their way to the spot beneath your ear. “So beautiful” he murmured against your skin. “Never thought I’d see the day Malfoy’s girl took up an interest in me, but you are a slithery little minx aren’t you?”
His words, his lips, his everything felt so wrong and you struggled, scraping against his chest, trying to push his weight off of you fruitlessly; each of your limbs felt heavy and clumsy, uncoordinated.
“Sstop, Cormac” you managed weakly.
“What’s that?” he muttered, his hot breath making you feel feverish, flu-like.
“Sstop!” you said more forcefullyas you moved to push him off of you.
“What’s gotten into you?” he asked angrily, pulling back.
“M’going backt’castle” you slurred, stumbling slightly as you made for the main road.
“No! Come back!” he said, reaching for you and grasping the back of your jacket strongly, nearly knocking you to the ground. “You can’t come out, dressed like that, then spend all night making eyes at me just to shut me down.”
“Leggo of me!” you said, your voice rising. You wiggled out of your jacket, leaving him empty handed as you forged forward into the cold. A few people walked by, muttering and eyeing Cormac suspiciously, keeping him grounded in place.
The walk back to the castle felt like it took years, like one of those dreams where you’re running but no matter how fast you move your legs you don’t make any progress. It was undeniably cold as thick snowflakes began to fall from the sky and gather at your feet. You could feel the cold on the outside of your body, but your insides were hot, like you could feel the blood running through your veins slowly, weighing down your movements, your thoughts. You could have cried when you finally reached the castle doors nearest the astronomy tower. You were shivering violently, you were uncomfortable and you were desperately confused.
If anyone would have asked, Draco would have said he was reading. He’d even brought a book with him as an alibi, though it remained unopened in his lap as he sat in the window in the astronomy tower, hoping to catch a glimpse of you and McLaggen headed back from your date.
He didn’t know why he was so determined to put himself through the punishment of seeing you with him, perhaps because he knew had to see it with his own eyes to believe it, to believe you were truly happy with him, truly enjoying yourself. He thought about how beautiful you had looked tonight, your short skirt, your rosy cheeks, and he felt his heart squeeze as he ran his hands through his hair in frustration for the thousandth time, permanently mussing his normally slicked back locks. He let his head fall back against the cold stone wall when he saw erratic movement out of the corner of his eye and leaned forward in the window to get a better glimpse. Even between the thick, heavy snowfall and the dim light he could tell it was you, could see the color of your hair and your outfit and when he realized you were alone he was on his feet and moving before he knew what he was going to say. He dashed through the door and into the gathering snow.
“Y/N!” he called as he approached you.
You were hunched over hugging your arms to your body and he realized, suddenly, that you weren’t wearing your jacket. Merlin he was going to kill McLaggen.
“What’s wrong, where’s your jacket?” he asked, frantically, pulling off his own suit jacket to wrap around your shoulders.
You looked up at him and blinked slowly, searching his face like you were trying to figure out who he was, like you’d never seen him before.
“Y/N?” he asked again, as his heart began to quicken its pace with concern. “Are you okay?”
You looked confused at his question and as you stared at him, he took the opportunity to examine you properly. Your pupils were dilated wide and he could tell you were breathing heavily and shivering at the same time. He pressed a hand to your forehead and could feel you burning up despite the freezing temperature.
“Come on, let’s get you inside, alright?” he placed an arm around you gently and you melted into his embrace as he guided you up the stairs and into an empty classroom.
“What’s gone on, then? You’re all sorts of out of it. Where’s McLaggen?” he asked.
You shook your head in reply but didn’t offer more than that as your eyes fell to the floor.
“What were you drinking?” he tried.
“Butterbeers” you whispered.
This is helpless, he thought, yet he couldn’t ignore the feeling deep in chest that something wasn't right. He knew you better than anyone, better sometimes than he knew himself, and it wasn’t like you to go out and get drunk with a lad you hardly knew, and it wasn’t like you to wander around aimlessly without a jacket in the middle of winter, something was definitely wrong.
“Tasted funny” you murmured quietly, pulling Draco out of his thoughts.
“What?” he said, wanting to make sure he’d heard you right.
“Tasted bad, so I didn’t drink all of it.”
Draco’s heartbeat thudded harder. He had read about a potion that was circulating around bars in London, intended to disorient and take advantage of people. This couldn’t possibly be it… McLaggen wouldn’t…. would he? Draco tried frantically to remember what he’d read as you swayed precariously on your feet and he caught you just in time, pulling you into his chest, too worried about you to enjoy the sensation of you pressed against him. He remembered the potion had a distinct taste, which made it difficult to mask. Sour? Tart? Bitter? Licorice, that was it. It tasted like black licorice.
“What did it taste like?” he prompted. “Your butterbeer, did it taste like something?” he asked, praying he was wrong.
“So gross” you murmured into his chest before you turned your head to face him as he looked down at you.
“Please, darling, try to think, did it remind you of something? A food? A candy maybe?” he tried.
“Yeah” you said quietly, thoughtfully. “Bertie Botts – what’s the ones we always pick out? The black ones?”
Fuck he thought.
“Licorice” he said sullenly.
“Licorice” you agreed.
His mind raced. He was going to kill him. He was going to bloody murder McLaggen with his bare hands. He was in utter disbelief that he would do something like this, to you, the most important person in Draco's life. As he thought about it, he pulled you further into his arms and you let out a contented sigh.
He needed to focus on getting you better. While it didn’t have long term harmful effects, he knew this potion was wreaking havoc on your body. From what he remembered the effects came in two stages, the first being disorientation, sluggishness and confusion and the second being a complete loss of inhibitions, making the drinker say and do whatever was on their mind, whatever their heart desired. It was no secret that Draco was good at potions, and he was hopeful he might be able to spare you the rest of the symptoms if they hadn’t set in yet.
“C’mon then” he said, urging you towards the door. You could barely stand on your own, nearly sinking to the floor again. Without wasting a moment, Draco scooped you into his arms, bridal style, one arm around your back, the other under your legs, your head resting in the crook of his neck as he carried you back to the common room.
He moved quickly, his mind working in overdrive thinking of the ingredients he needed for the remedy. You stirred in his arms, winding your own around his neck and pulling yourself closer into him. Your proximity sent a small shiver down his spine and he unconsciously gripped you tighter.
You murmured something against his neck, your breath tingling his skin.
“Hm?” he asked, struggling to understand you.
“Smell so good, you always smell so good, Draco” you said.
He smiled to himself and let out a small laugh, blushing. “Thank you” he whispered quietly.
You giggled back and he was glad to see that you were still conscious and coherent.
You wound your fingers into the hair at the base of his neck and nuzzled into the tender spot just below his ear. He all but dropped you when he felt your warm lips against his skin, pressing kisses to his neck. He was grateful you were near the dungeons, nearly to his room, unsure how much longer he could be steady on his feet.
He tried to wiggle away, his mind and his body fighting each other in their reactions. He knew this was wrong, knew you had no idea what you were doing, but your lips were absolutely sinful against his skin, warm and wet and he couldn’t deny that the sensation stirred a reaction in every inch of his body, especially as you worked your way across his jaw, towards his lips.
He fumbled with the doorknob to his room and quickly ushered you both inside, kicking the door closed behind him as he set you down on your feet. Though he’d let go of your legs, you clung to his neck and pressed your body into his, your face inches from his. He swallowed deeply as he looked at you – you were very much coherent now, your cheeks a rosy red and your eyes, though still dilated, shimmered at him. You bit your bottom lip seductively as your eyes trailed to his lips and you leaned forward.
For half a second, he considered it. You were right there in front of him, the subject of his every waking thought for the last two days, and frankly for the last three years if he was honest, and you wanted him, that much was clear. He imagined sinking his lips to yours, feeling their wet warmth pressed against him, the velvet taste of your tongue.
He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head, using every ounce of strength he had left to pull away from you. You let out a small groan that should not have affected him the way it did as he grasped your hips firmly and walked you to the bed.
“You don’t want to kiss me?” you asked, the pout on your face nearly bringing him to his knees.
“Not like this, not tonight” he managed, his voice husky as he kept his eyes averted from yours. “Sit” he said, gesturing to the bed.
You relented and he made his way over to a small cabinet in his room, pulling out the ingredients he needed to right this unbelievable situation.
“It’s because of Pansy, isn’t it?” you said behind him.
He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face, trying to find the words to say in response.
“I think she’s terrible, Draco. I hate seeing the two of you together.”
He hazarded a glance in your direction, shocked at the truth of your words. You were laying back on his bed, eyes tracing the ceiling as you spoke. This was a conversation that needed to happen, he had loads he needed to say to you, but not like this. He remained silent as he sped up his efforts, mixing the ingredients in front of him; he was grateful that you remained silent for a while.
He had nearly finished when he heard shuffling behind him. He turned to see that you had pulled off your boots and you were pulling your sweater over your head.
Merlin you were going to be the death of him.
“Whoa whoa” he said, running to your side and trying to get you to stop just as your sweater hit the floor, leaving you in a dark lace bralette that left absolutely nothing to the imagination. He peeled his eyes away, searching for a shirt, a towel, a hoodie, anything he could to cover you, finding one of his hoodies on a nearby chair just as you grabbed his wrist, pulling yourself into his arms again.
“Should be me and you, Draco” you muttered against his lips. You ran your hands up his chest and then ran one palm slowly downward, across his ribs, his stomach, his belt until his hand shot out and grasped yours firmly. His heart was beating so hard in his chest, he was having trouble breathing. He swallowed deeply before taking your face firmly in his hands, as much to get your attention as to keep himself from kissing you.
“Please listen to me. I’m begging you. You are absolutely beautiful, Y/N, breathtaking. And I would truly love nothing more than to have my way with you right now. Really. You have… no idea” he said, letting out a frustrated sigh.
“But you’re not okay, you drank something you shouldn’t have and you have to focus on getting better, alright? Then we can talk about… all of this.”
You looked confused and more than a little disappointed, a pout set against your lips again, but your eyes traced his face, met his own and it was like a deeper part of you understood that he was trying to protect you.
“Okay” you sighed, relenting as you took the hoodie and pulled it over your head.
“Drink this” he said, offering the remedy he had made.
You eyed him warily but took the cup he offered you, sniffing it before taking a sip.
“Tastes good” you said, smiling at him, and he felt the first sense of relief since he’d found you that night as you finished the rest eagerly.
His eyes could have been deceiving him, but he swore he could see your pupils return to normal size as you blinked slowly.
“M’tired” you murmured. “Can I sleep?” you asked, glancing at his bed.
“Of course” he said, without hesitation as he helped you crawl under the sheets. You were out in a matter of minutes and he sunk into the couch next to his bed, exhausted, as he looked at you, trying to comprehend what the hell had just happened.
It had to have been the potion. But the potion didn’t make people say or do things they didn’t mean… it removed their inhibitions, allowed them to relax and pursue the deepest desires of their hearts, things they wouldn’t say or do otherwise. Was that it then? You were really attracted to him all this time? He thought about how long he had agonized over telling you how he felt, how he didn’t want to ruin your friendship and never felt any inclination that you saw him that way. It had driven him mad and was ultimately the reason he had agreed to start dating Pansy, hoping to distract himself from something he never thought possible.
He sighed, leaning his head back against the couch and running his hands over his face.
There was no way he was going to be able to sleep tonight, between wanting to make sure you were okay and reliving over and over and over again the way you looked at him, the desire in your eyes, the pout on your lips and your hot breath against his neck. He pulled off his shirt and pulled on a pair of sweatpants as he settled into the couch, thinking what a perfect vision you were in his bed, your hair splayed out on the pillow, wearing his sweatshirt, your chest gently rising and falling.
Your first thought was that you felt like you were on a cloud. You were immensely comfortable and you burrowed further into the sheets that were soft and silky and warm. You sighed deeply, breathing in a familiar scent that made you smile. You rested a moment longer before your brain slowly came to life; these sheets weren’t your sheets, and that smell was… Draco?
Your eyes fluttered open slowly as you tried to take in your surroundings. You were in a large four poster bed in a sea of emerald sheets; Draco’s room you thought. You looked down at your outfit, an oversized Slytherin sweatshirt you knew well; Draco’s sweatshirt. You looked to the other side of the bed and found it empty and you were surprised at how disappointed that made you feel. You stirred and turned to see Draco’s sleeping figure splayed over the small couch in his room, his frame much too large for it, making you smile. You let your eyes wander over his sleeping form, shirtless with a pair of sweatpants slung low on his hips. You looked around the room to see various articles of both of your clothing strewn on the floor. Oh god you thought. Did we…? You frantically tried to remember the night before and felt a sharp ache behind your eyes.
“Ahh” you said in pain as you sat up and rubbed your eyes, seeking relief.
The noise stirred Draco out of his sleep. It took him a moment to register the scene in front of him, you, in his bed, wearing his sweatshirt, him on the couch, and it all came back to him. You were hunched over and rubbing your eyes, your face squeezed in pain and he pulled himself quickly to his feet, making his way over to you and sitting on the bed next to you.
“Are you alright?” he asked, placing a hand gingerly on the side of your head.
You dropped your hands at the feeling of his. You had always been close, but this felt like a new level of intimacy as you met his eyes and saw them clouded with concern for you. His hand moved to cup your face, his thumb tracing your cheek tenderly.
“I’m f-fine” you managed, your skin warming under his touch as you desperately tried to piece together what had happened between the Draco that had scowled at you on the way to your date and the Draco in front of you. It was like a massive black hole existed where your memories should be.
He registered the look of confusion on your face.
“Do you remember... last night?” he asked, pulling his hand back. You wanted so desperately to remember, to understand what had him looking at you like that, his closeness and affection.
You closed your eyes, forcing yourself to try but were only met with the same sharp ache behind your eyes.
“I’m sorry, I can’t… I don’t…” you trailed off and it was silent for a moment. “Draco, did we…?” you let the question linger unfinished as you met his gaze.
His eyes widened, panicked. “No! No. I promise you. Nothing of the sort” he said, trying to reassure you. He smiled at you and you registered an uncanny pink in his cheeks as bobbed his head from side to side “…Despite your very best and most persistent efforts to the contrary.”
Now it was your turn to blush as you covered your mouth with your hands.
“WHAT?” you asked, astonished, humiliated. “Draco, I am so sorry, I—” you paused. What was there to be sorry for? The truth had clearly come out and the way he was smiling at you made you think he wasn’t unhappy to hear it. He wasn’t angry, he wasn’t confused, he wasn’t demanding an explanation. In fact, he was looking at you in a way you had only dreamed of, his eyes full of tenderness as they traced your hair, your face.
“You have absolutely nothing to apologize for you” he said quickly, his signature smile on his face.
“Okay…” you said, trying to feel out this new situation. “Are you going to tell me what happened? And why I don’t remember anything?”
His smile faded and he looked away from you. You could see his Adam’s apple bob as he took a deep breath, silent for a while.
“Draco… you’re freaking me out” you said, your voice wavering as panic rose in your chest. “W-why don’t I remember anything?”
The pain and fear in your voice squeezed his heart. “Hey, it’s alright, you’re okay, come here” he said, pulling you into his chest. You curled into him, letting your heart beat against his, like it was the most natural thing in the world, your body seeming to remember something you couldn’t as it instantly relaxed.
“I don’t want to upset you, but you need to know the truth” he murmured against your hair. You pulled back to look at him, but he didn’t let you fully out of his grasp, his arms remaining circled around you as he took a deep breath.
“McLaggen – Cormac. You went out with him. From what I can gather you were at the Three Broomsticks and had a few drinks, a few butterbeers, but he put something in them. I’d read about it, it’s a potion that’s meant to…” he grimaced. “It’s meant to take advantage of someone, to make them confused and then drop their inhibitions. It’s said to taste awful, like—”
“Licorice” you said, a memory bubbling to the surface at the tart taste on your tongue, the greedy look in Cormac’s eyes as he encroached on your personal space. Your stomach roiled at the recollection and you scrunched your face in pain, the memories coming fast like flashes of a movie in your mind: you dumping your drink in the plant, Cormac pulling you into the alleyway, his lips, the weight of his body on you. You were breathing heavily and didn’t realize that you were crying until you felt warm wetness on your cheeks.
“No, no, no” Draco muttered as he pulled you back into his arms. “M’sorry. I’m so sorry. Please tell me he didn’t hurt you, didn’t take advantage of you, please. I’ll kill him. I’ll fucking kill him.”
He let you cry as the weight of what could have been washed over you, rubbing circles into your back, murmuring calmly against your hair. “You’re safe now, it’s okay. I swear on my life I will never let anything like that happen to you, ever again.”
Soon your cries turned to ragged breaths. “It’s not your fault, Draco. You couldn’t have known, neither of us could.”
“I should have known, I told you I heard the way he was talking about you, like it was such a sure thing you were going to hook up with him.” You could feel Draco physically tense as he talked about it, every muscle taut. “I let my anger cloud my judgement. I was furious at the way he was talking about you, furious that you’d agreed to go out with him.”
You pulled back to look at him, wiping the remaining tears from your cheeks. “Yeah, I gathered as much when you berated me” you said, shooting him a glare.
“I-I shouldn’t have done that. I mean, I meant it, but not in the way it came out. I wasn’t mad at you for going out with McLaggen. I was mad at you for going out with… anyone… anyone that wasn’t me…” he said, letting the truth linger in the air.
“W-what?” you said, your heart beating wildly in your chest.
He smiled shyly and rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ve fancied you for… a long time, but I didn’t want to ruin what we already had. You’re so important to me and I realized I would take having you in my life as a friend over not having you in my life at all should my feelings not be reciprocated.”
“But you’re literally dating Pansy!?” you replied, overwhelmed, exasperated.
“Was” he said.
“What?” you replied.
“Was dating Pansy. The minute I realized what a fuck up I’d been, I broke up with her. Yesterday, actually, just before you left for your date.”
You pouted at that and the familiar look of frustration on your face made him smile as he relived the same look on your face from the night before.
“Well, I obviously didn’t know that” you said, blushing deeply.
“Obviously” he agreed.
Your eyes fell to your lap and he reached over to tangle his fingers in yours reassuringly. You took them hesitantly at first, then eagerly, the warmth from his palm sending warmth to the rest of your body as well as you smiled, blushing.
You looked up to find Draco already staring at you, his eyes sizzling with warmth as they met yours before flitting, nearly imperceptibly to your lips and suddenly you were awash with another flood of memories from the night before.
You and Draco, just centimeters apart, him breathing heavily as he glanced at your lips.
The feeling of his taut chest underneath your fingers, your palm running over his abs.
His hands firm but tender on your cheeks. His words…“You are absolutely beautiful, Y/N, breathtaking. And I would truly love nothing more than to have my way with you right now. Really. You have… no idea.”
Curling into his bed, surrounded by his scent, and warm lips against your temple as he pulled the sheets around you.
“I-I remember” you said quietly.
His eyebrows quirked up accompanying a surprised look on his face.
“And?” he said, treading carefully, not wanting to get his hopes up that last night was more than just a side effect of a potion.
“And...” you started, blushing deeply and tucking a loose strand of your hair behind your ear, squeezing his hand as you met his eyes, shrugging bashfully, “I meant it, Draco, all of it. Not the way I imagined telling you, but gosh I’ve fancied you too, for a long time.”
He reached out with his free hand and pressed it to your forehead.
“What are you doing?” you giggled.
“Need to make sure you’re not still talking jibberish. You’re feeling okay? You mean it?” he said, moving his hand to various parts of your temple.
You reached up to pull his hand off of you. “I mean it, Draco” you said, smiling as he looked at you and laughed before the familiar look of desire crossed over his face again.
“Then please, for the love of Slytherin, can I kiss you?” he asked, his voice barely louder than a whisper; his boldness and sincerity setting your body alight.
You nodded, smiling widely.
He leaned forward, closing the distance between you as his hand moved to cup your face locking you into him. Your body moved automatically, gravitating to him as his lips hovered over yours, ghosting them, tickling them with the barest touch of his own, savoring the anticipation of the satisfaction to come, the way you had wound your arms around his neck, the way you were breathing erratically against him, reveling in your desire before relenting. He kissed you sweetly, softly but deeply, with a passion that electrified every inch of your body. He pushed you backwards gently, laying you in the feathery softness of his bed as he rested his body comfortably atop you, tracing your bottom lip with his tongue, as you opened up to him immediately. Your kisses were like a dance you both already knew the steps to, effortless, beautiful, natural, your bodies so in tune to each other as your tongues tangled and he grasped you firmly against him.
He pulled away to look at you, breathing heavily and you couldn’t help the whine that escaped your lips at the lack of contact. Never wanting to disappoint you again, he pressed his lips to yours and you wound your hands into his hair, trying to pull him impossibly closer. You could feel him smiling against you as he pulled back again.
“Wait, wait” he said, pressing a kiss to your pout.
“What is it Draco?” you asked, breathless and impatient, his name on your kiss-swollen lips stealing his heart.
“Be mine?” he asked.
“It’s taken you long enough to realize it, but I’ve always been yours, Draco” you replied.
He hung his head in regret before meeting your eyes. “Trust me when I tell you--” he said, pressing a quick, warm kiss to your lips.
“I’m going to spend--” a deeper kiss.
“Every day” deeper still.
“Making it up to you” he said, sinking into you in earnest.
Hiii, I really liked Cookies and I was wondering if you could write something similar. I thought about enemies to lovers where Dracos friends slip potion into his drink and he starts to be all over her and she's really annoyed. But when the effect of the potion fates he doesn't stop behave like this because he is actually in love with her. And she realizes she is too. IDK, this is hard to explain.
Thank you so much for your request. This might have turned out as one of my favourite writings by now. I hope this is the way you wanted it.
The most powerful feeling
Warnings: implied mentions of suicide
“Damn it (Y/l/n), are you in every class I´m taking this year?”
“Of course, Malfoy. I couldn’t stand one without you.”
“Well, I can´t stand a class with you.”
“I don’t think this is my problem, is it?”
“You were really born to annoy me, weren’t you?”
“No, but I rather took your classes as well to do so, than take those that might help me with my future plans.”
“Is there space for anything but ruin my life?”
“Oh yeah, you´re probably right. All my life is dedicated to you.”
You rolled your eyes. Malfoy just wanted to reply, when Professor Slughorn entered the classroom. The elder man greeted you cheerfully, while his students took their seats. You sat down next to Hermione, who was already listening to the Professor attentively.
After a short introduction, Professor Slughorn asked you to get closer to a table in front of him. On the table, he had placed some cauldrons.
“For the beginning, I have brought you some different potions. Who can tell me, which?”
Hermione´s hand shot up immediately.
“Very well, Miss…” Professor Slughorn stopped and looked at her questionably.
“Granger, Sir.”, Hermione smiled.
You could see a flash of recognition on his face.
“Ahh, of course, Miss Granger. Mr Potter has already told me about you.”
You could see Hermione´s cheeks heat up in joy before she stepped forward and started to identify the different potions.
“I wonder how you even got in here.”, you heard a familiar voice sneering behind you. “I don’t remember you having any talent for this class.”
“And I don’t remember the last time you were able to shut up.”
You sighted. But Malfoy was right. If Professor Snape would still be the teacher, you wouldn’t have been allowed to participate in the class, since he had some higher standards than the new Professor.
You brought your attention back to Hermione.
“This is Amortentia. It´s the most powerful love potion in the world.”
You could hear some gasps, but you were only slightly impressed. What was a love potion even good for? Why would you want to be with a person who you knew wouldn’t want to be with you if you hadn’t drugged them?
“Listen closely, (Y/l/n), this might be the only chance to ever get someone to love you.”, Malfoy continued teasing.
“Do you have a question, Mr. Malfoy?”, Professor Slughorn asked.
You could see Malfoy´s ears turning slightly pink, as the Professor called him out. You couldn’t help but grin in satisfaction.
“I am sorry Professor.”, Malfoy said with an innocent smile. “But I was just wondering why you said this potion is so powerful. Aren´t many more dangerous things in this room?”
Unlike you, Malfoy had seemed to be able to listen to the explanations of the Professor, while humiliating you once more. You sighted. This boy somehow always got his act together. Blaise Zabini and Pansy Parkinson snickered in approval at Malfoy´s words. Professor Slughorn also smiled and nodded.
“My dear boy, I assume you have never truly been in love, have you?”
Malfoy didn’t answer and just shrugged his shoulders, looking at his feet.
“Because if you had been,”, the Professor continued, “You would know that love is the most powerful feeling in the world. It can make you feel as if you are the luckiest person alive, or the most unfortunate one. It can make time stop or make it go faster. It can make you feel alive, but it can also kill you.”
Slughorn stared into the void with a dreamy expression on his face.
“If one is able to truly love, it is the greatest gift in the world. You will be the happiest you have ever been. But it´s also the things we love the most that can hurt us the most.”
Then, the Professor snapped back to reality and looked at Malfoy, who stared at him unimpressed.
“One day, you might understand, dear boy.”
Then he continued his lesson.
“Such a shame you´re not capable of such feelings”, you whispered at Malfoy with a fake pity on your face. “Well, maybe except for yourself.”
Malfoy just stared at you with a blank face and didn’t answer.
“See, you can´t even say something against it.”, you smiled sweetly.
Then you turned to Professor Slughorn again and listen to him explaining the effect of Felix Felicis.
When you returned to your seats, you saw Malfoy and his friends, whispering on the other side of the room, shooting you some glances.
“You could think he has something better to do, don’t you?”, you whispered to Hermione, while gathering up the ingredients for the potion you had to brew. But Hermione just rolled her eyes.
“I could also think you would have something better to do, (Y/n).”
“What, it´s not my fault, he is so obsessed with me. I´m just defending myself.”
But that wasn’t exactly true. Sure, it had been Malfoy who had started this hostility in the first year, by calling Hermione a mudblood. You had to hex him for this, of course, earning yourself a month of detention. After that incident it hadn’t been about his aversion to muggle-borns or that he was jealous of Harry all the time. You and the blond Slytherin by now had your personal enmity. You hated everything about him. The way he treated not only the people he didn’t like but also his friends, his pride, especially regarding his family, the way his silvery eyes were sparkling whenever he knew he had hurt someone and the way he was for some reason the only one who was able to keep up with your sarcastic remarks, you rarely ever made in front of others, knowing it might scare them off. But not Malfoy. Sometimes you even caught yourself enjoying your bickering, but as soon as you did, you reminded yourself, that the tall Slytherin boy with the arrogant smirk always playing around his full lips was nothing but your enemy. Everyone knew that, even though your friends sometimes made some comments about the unusual amount of time and effort you put into this hostility. Just like they did now.
“You know, sometimes you behave like an old married couple.”, Ron said from the other side of the table, weighing the sloth's brain.
“Sometimes I think I might have to get jealous (Y/n), I always thought Malfoy´s my enemy.”, Harry added with a smirk.
You just rolled your eyes.
“You really have to decide. Are we a couple or enemies?”
“Those things might go hand in hand, you know?”, Hermione now joined the conversation.
“I thought at least you would be on my side Mione.”, you whined. “I´m not interested in Malfoy. Not at all! He´s a spoiled git and there is nothing attractive about him at all.”
You put down the infusion of wormwood a little harder than intended, making the liquid nearly slop.
“Well, you have to admit he´s kinda hot.”, Hermione said and watched with a smug grin how Ron choked on the air, not able to calm down again until Harry patted his back.
You refused to answer. You had to admit that Malfoy wasn’t bad looking with his grey eyes and the small crinkles around his eyes whenever he -what happened rarely- laughed. But that changed nothing at all. To confirm your thoughts, you looked over to the table of the Slytherins, where the friends were still whispering. Little did you know, they had a pretty similar conversation going on.
“By Merlin´s beard, Pansy. I don’t like her. She´s a Gryffindor. She´s a friend of Potter. She is a filthy blood traitor with an average talent for sarcasm. That’s all.”
“Well, she is really pretty too, don’t you think?”
“If you like her that much then go date her yourself, Parkinson.”, Draco growled, before perusing his potion again.
Pansy watched her friend with narrowed eyes, before turning around to Blaise, who watched the scene with an amused grin. He was already used to it and found those conversations rather entertaining. But when Pansy approached him with a mischievous grin on her face, he knew this time something would be different.
“Blaise,”, Pansy said, her voice sounding as sweet as honey as she whispered: “I don’t think we can let him talk to me like this, do you? I think we might have to teach him a lesson. And (Y/l/n) too. It´s so annoying to watch them, not being able to solve their own problems.”
Blaise raised an eyebrow.
“How?”
Pansy´s grin only grew wider.
“I might have an idea.”
It was nearly the end of the lesson -Harry had been the only one who had brewed an acceptable potion- when Pansy Parkinson raised her hand.
“Excuse me Professor, I don’t feel very well.”, she said in a shaky voice.
You watched Professor Slughorn walking up to the girl who had by now sunken down on her chair. When the Professor got to their table, Blaise Zabini backed off immediately, making space for him. Slughorn felt the pulse of Pansy Parkinson. Then he nodded knowingly.
“No worries. You probably just inhaled too much of the vapours.”
With a quick flick of his wand, he conjured a cup and filled it with some water.
“Drink that. And if it won´t get better, feel free to leave the class.”
The Slytherin nodded and smiled thankfully.
“Thank you, Professor. I think it´s already getting better.”
Slughorn returned her smile before he turned around and committed himself to the other students again.
Neither you nor anyone else saw the questioning glance, Pansy threw at Blaise. And neither you nor anyone else saw the triumphant grin on Blaise´s face when he waved with the small vial in his hand.
You cursed under your breath as you rushed through the corridors. You had overslept, not that this was unusual, and was late for breakfast now. Just as you rushed around the corner, someone bumped into you.
“By Salazar, I´m awake for not even half an hour and you are already ruining my day!”
You frowned. Out of all the people you had to run into Malfoy. This day started absolutely amazing.
“Could say the same.”, you mumbled.
You wanted to pass him, not in the mood for a dispute that early in the morning, but Malfoy had different plans. He grabbed you by the wrist, making you stop.
“Let go of me Malfoy!”, you barked.
“I will. But first, you are going to apologise.”
You stared at him in disbelieve.
“Me? Apologizing? To you?”
“Well, you are not as stupid as you look (Y/l/n).”, he snickered.
“You bumped into me.”, you said, feeling your face redden.
Malfoy laughed.
“I´m not the one running around like I´m crazy.”
“Neither do I.”
“Then why you bumped into me?”
“I didn’t…” You stopped and took a deep breath. Then you smiled up at the boy in front of you. “You know what? You´re right. I´m actually sorry.”
Malfoy looked at you, confused why you gave in that easy. But as soon as his grip loosened around your wrist you freed yourself and walked away. Before you disappeared behind the next corner, you turned around once more, adding: “Sorry for everyone who has to deal with you!”
When you saw Malfoy at breakfast, he shot you a deadly glance, probably still mad you had had the last word. You saw him sitting down with his friends. Pansy Parkinson and Blaise Zabini offered their friend a cup of pumpkin juice with a friendly smile. After he had emptied it, they burst into laughter, glancing over at you. As your gaze met theirs, you quickly looked away again, wondering why you had even looked there in the first place. Besides, you were late for class already. Luckily one, you didn’t share with the Slytherins.
When you got up and left the Great Hall, you resisted looking back to the table with Malfoy and his friends. But if you had done it, you might had seen the confused look in Malfoy´s eyes, when he watched you leave and Parkinson and Zabini high-fifing in a not-so-subtle way.
After your class, you walked into the courtyard, together with Hermione. Just as you talked about your DADA class with Snape, you ran into someone the second time this day. And for the second time, it was Malfoy.
“Godric, are you following me around?”, you frowned as you looked at the blond boy.
But instead of a counter-attack, he just stared at you, mesmerized. You returned his gaze, confused.
“Are you… okay?”, you asked carefully, when he didn’t react.
“You are so beautiful. You know that (Y/n)?”
You froze.
“What?”
“You are the most beautiful person I have ever seen in my entire life.”
You glanced at Hermione, who looked just as confused as you.
“Is that some kind of sick joke of yours?”, you asked, eying the boy in front of you distrustfully. But Malfoy just shook his head.
“That is nothing to joke about.”
“Aha?”
“I really mean it. You are so pretty. And I don’t mean your outer appearance. Even though it´s beautiful as well. I mean whenever I look into your eyes…” He looked at you dreamingly, like he would actually get lost in the way you looked at him.
“What´s wrong with my eyes Malfoy?”, you asked impatiently.
“Nothing, nothing is wrong with your eyes (Y/n). In fact, there is nothing wrong with you at all. You are just flawless.”
When he continued staring at you, a new thought crossed your mind.
“Wait, did you hurt your head?”
Malfoy looked at you irritated.
“What´s with my head?” But then a haze laid upon his gaze once more. “You are always so attentive. Do you worry about me?” His face lit up at that thought. “Is it because you like me? Because I like you (Y/n), I really do. And by that, I mean…”
“I mean did something happen to you? Did you trip? Maybe fell and hit your head?”
Draco shook his head.
“I didn’t fall. Well, I didn’t fall except for you. By the way, did it hurt when you fell from heaven?”
That was it. Hermione burst into laughter, while you just rolled your eyes.
“Okay, Malfoy, whatever is going on, get yourself together again. Can´t take you seriously like this.”
You turned around, together with Hermione, who by now whipped some tears from her cheeks, still giggling. But you didn’t get far.
“(Y/n), wait!”
You kept going.
“(Y/n), please!”
“What is it Malfoy?”
“Why are you leaving already?”
“Why shouldn’t I?”
“I thought we could spend some time together. You know,”, he glared at Hermione, “just the two of us.”
You couldn’t help but laugh.
“If it had ever been just the two of us one had always tried to murder the other one.”
Draco´s eyes widened.
“I could never do this to you (Y/n). I love you.”
You stared at him in disbelieve.
“Okay, now you are actually kidding me.”
Draco shook his head eagerly.
“I don’t. I mean it. I love you (Y/n).”
You could feel a strange aching in the area of your stomach. If this boy was playing games with you -which he obviously did- this wasn’t funny anymore. To play with the feelings of someone else in this way was just disgusting.
When you didn’t answer, Draco looked at you with puppy eyes.
“Please (Y/n), what can I do to make you believe me?”
You shrugged your shoulders.
“Just leave me alone for the rest of the day.”
You couldn’t deal with his behaviour right now. If he teased you, you knew exactly what to do, but when he behaved like this, complementing you and declaring his love, you had no idea what you were supposed to do.
“But I can´t. We are made for each other. Every second without you is one wasted!”
The sound of his voice nearly made your heart break. But that was the exact reason why you needed to leave. You couldn’t deal with whatever this was.
“C´mon Hermione, let´s just leave.”
Your friend obeyed and you left the poor boy standing there on his own, utterly confused about what had just happened. Did he do something wrong?
That´s what he also asked his friends who had watched the whole scene.
“I don’t know man. Girls, I guess.”, Blaise said, as he patted Draco´s back.
“Maybe you should get her some flowers. Every girl loves flowers.”, Pansy suggested, biting her lip to hold back laughter.
Draco nodded eagerly. Flowers. That was a great idea. Then you would finally understand that the two of you were made for each other.
“(Y/n), there is someone outside of the common room for you.”, a fourth-year Gryffindor snickered, while her friend next to her nearly burst into laughter.
You raised your eyebrows. All your friends were here and even if they weren’t, they would have just come in. And you didn’t remember planning to meet one of the students from the other houses today.
“Who is it?”
“Why don´t you go and take a look yourself?”, the girl giggled, before she disappeared with her friends in their dorm.
Your friends looked at you questionably.
“Any ideas who this is?”, Harry asked who was sitting in the wing chair towards you.
You shrugged your shoulders.
“I guess there´s only one way to find out.”
You got up from your chair and went to the entrance.
When the portrait opened, you saw red.
Literally.
In front of you stood a huge bouquet of red roses. The strange thing was, that the bouquet seemed to have some legs, one of them bouncing nervously.
“What in the name of…”, you mumbled.
Then you saw a light blond shock of hair appearing behind the flowers, as well as some silvery eyes, glancing at you full of expectation.
“No!” You shook your head. “No, no, no. No!”
“(Y/n), what is it? Who…” Hermione´s voice broke at the view of the boy in front of you.
Quickly you backed up again and wanted to slam the door behind you, but Malfoy was faster. Quickly, he got a foot in the door.
“(Y/n), please, just listen to me.”, he pleaded.
“I don’t know what you could tell me that I would be interested in, Malfoy.”, you said in a cold voice.
“But I bought you flowers.”
“Probably poisoned.”
“No, they aren’t. I swear by the name of my mother.”
Well, that meant something. But you still had no intention, to believe him. You wanted to leave, but Ron stopped you. Harry and he had stood a meter behind you, obviously enjoying the scene.
“Let the man say what he got to say.”, Ron grinned.
You sighted and turned around to Malfoy again, arms crossed.
“You got ten seconds.”
“I love you (Y/n).”, bubbled out of the boy immediately. “I truly do. I adore you with every fibre of my body. And I am truly sorry for everything I have ever done to hurt you. And I want to make it up to you. Please just give me a chance. I swear I will…”
“Time´s up Malfoy.”, you interrupted him.
The boy stopped and looked at you hopefully. You stared at him with a blank face, hoping nothing in your eyes would give away the confusion that blustered inside of you when you heard his voice sounding so vulnerable.
“So what do you say? Will you give me a chance?”
“I don’t know what game you play Malfoy.” The tone of your voice was calm, even though you could sense the shakiness threatening to burst out with every word you spoke. “But to play with the emotions of other people like this is just disgusting. I don’t know what you´re up to and I don’t want to know. But let me make one thing clear. I don’t love you. I never did and I never will. You make me sick. That´s the only feeling you can cause in me. And now for the love of Godric just leave, before I´ll hex you so bad that you´ll never leave the hospital wing again. And take your silly flowers with you.”
With every word you spoke your heart tightened more when you saw the look in his eyes. Every fibre of your body screamed at you that he was genuine and that you might had just broken him. But your trust in him was irreparably damaged. And that´s why you turned around and left Malfoy alone, with his flowers in his hand and tears in his eyes, wondering how he deserved the pain his love had caused.
Pansy and Blaise had been standing behind the next corner, listening to every word you had said. Even though everything had started out as a joke, now they felt sorry for their friend. When Draco walked past them, Pansy grabbed him by his arm, causing him to stop.
“Draco, what are you up to?”, she asked him, trying to make her voice sound friendly and clueless.
When Draco turned around, she was surprised to see tears swimming in his eyes. They had been friends for such a long time, still, she couldn’t remember one time he cried in front of her.
“This doesn’t make any sense anymore Pansy.”, he said.
His voice sounded so hopeless, sending shivers down the spines of his friends.
“What are you talking about?”
“She doesn’t love me. She told me. And she never will.”
“But you won´t give up that easy, will you?”
Draco shrugged his shoulders.
“Doesn’t matter anymore. If she doesn’t want me, I don’t want myself anymore either. She told me to leave and so I will. I will never bother her again. Just tell her I loved her. I truly did.”
Draco continued his way.
Pansy and Blaise looked at each other, now truly concerned about their friend.
“Draco, where are you going?”, Blaise yelled.
“To the astronomy tower.”
“And what do you want there?”
“If I can´t spend the rest of my life with her it´s useless anyway. Then I don’t want to live anymore at all.”
He wanted to leave, but Blaise, was quick to walk up to his friend, wrapping an arm around his shoulder.
“Mate, you´re definitely exaggerating.”, he said, trying to give his voice a chatty tone, not showing off how much the words of his best friend frightened him.
But Draco just shook his head.
“I want a life with her or not at all.”, he said, trying to free himself of the tight grip of his friend.
“Maybe we could try to talk to her once more.”
“I tried. But she told me to leave. I´m nothing but a burden for her. And I don’t want to bother her anymore. Now let me go before I hex you.”
But Blaise refused to do so and Draco grabbed his wand.
“We gave you a love potion Draco.”, Pansy suddenly blurted out.
Draco froze. Then, slowly, he turned around, looking at her in disbelief.
“You did what?”
“We sneaked some of the Amortentia of Slughorn´s first lesson into your drink this morning. It was meant to be fun. We didn’t think it would be that… that bad.”
Draco shook his head.
“But I love her.”
“No you don’t. It´s just the potion making you think that.”
Draco thought about her words for a few moments. Then he straightened up again. His gaze was stubborn.
“And if you did, I don’t care. It only made me realize how I am really feeling for her. Nothing in this world could fake the feelings I have. I know I am truly in love with (Y/n). I belong to her. We are made for each other. But sadly,”, his voice lowered again, “she doesn’t think the same.”
“If you are so convinced by that, you won´t mind getting the antidote, will you?”, Pansy asked. “After that, you can do… whatever you think is right then.”
Draco furrowed his eyebrows. But then he shrugged his shoulders.
“Doesn’t matter now anyway, does it?”
Pansy nodded.
“That’s what I thought. Now, you will go to Professor Slughorn together with Blaise and I will follow soon. Okay.”
Draco gave his friend a short nod. Blaise patted his back.
“C´mon mate. You´ll feel better soon.”
And then their ways parted, Blaise and Draco walking to Professor Slughorn´s office, Pansy to the Gryffindor common room.
In the meantime, you let yourself fall back into your wing chair, burring your face in your hands. You weren’t exactly mad at Malfoy, more at yourself, for letting you feel so confused by his actions. And the fact that Harry and Ron couldn’t stop laughing about it, didn’t make it better.
“His face was just hilarious.”, Harry snickered.
“Bloody hell, I wish I had a camera.”, Ron laughed.
“Can you shut it for a moment?”, you hissed, not having the nerve for their jokes right now.
Ron raised his hands in defence.
“It´s just Malfoy (Y/n). Probably he is laughing his ass off right now. Don’t give him the satisfaction of making you feel like this.”
“Feel like what?”
“Guilty.”
You brushed it off. But Ron was right. You could still remember the hurt you had seen in Malfoy´s eyes when you had told him you didn’t love him. Your head was screaming at you that he was fooling you once more. But your heart told you otherwise.
“What do you think, Mione?”, you asked your best and smartest friend.
Hermione hadn’t said anything yet, just staring at you, lost in her thoughts.
“That was unusual.”, she said after long hesitation.
“Don’t you say.”
“No, I mean, I don’t think he was trying to make fun of you. I think he was honest.”
“You don’t actually think Malfoy´s in love with (Y/n)?”, Harry asked, furrowing his brows.
Hermione shook her head.
“Probably not. At least that´s not what caused this behaviour. But maybe he thinks he is.”
You stared at Hermione when suddenly Professor Slughorn's words echoed in your head again. “Powerful infatuations can be induced by the skilful potioneer.” So what if someone…
“You mean, someone smuggled love potion into his foot?”, you asked in disbelieve, feeling your heart drop at this thought.
Hermione shrugged her shoulders.
“Love potion, a powerful curse. Something like this.” She turned to Ron. “Your brothers are selling some love potions, don’t they?”
Ron shrugged his shoulders, now looking not so happy anymore.
“I think so. But mostly just create a small rapture. And it vanishes after a few hours.”
You just prayed this was also the case here. If Hermione was actually right and someone had actually poisoned Malfoy. But let alone the thought he actually had a thing for you, even if it was due to a potion and even if it was Malfoy, and you had treated him like this, made your stomach ache. No one deserved such a rude put-down. Not even him.
“I should probably go and find out.”, you sighted.
Hermione nodded in agreement.
“Do you want me to join you?”
But you shook your head.
“I think I´ll be fine. And if he wasn’t poisoned or hexed,”, you added with a fierce expression on your face, “he should better start running now before I´ll get him.”
But just as you got up, one of the other Gryffindors approached you.
“(Y/n), there´s someone waiting for you outside the common room.”
You nodded thankfully. You didn’t know whether you hoped it was Malfoy or not.
But it wasn’t Malfoy. It was Pansy Parkinson. And the look on her face made you suspect nothing good.
“What is it?”, you asked straight away, not in the mood for Smalltalk.
You could see her shifting uncomfortably from one foot to the other before she said: I might messed up something.”
And on your way to Slughorn´s office, she told you everything. How she had been so tired of your constant bickering and how she thought it might be fun to mess the two of you up a little bit. How she had faked her non-well-being in class to give Blaise the chance to steal some of the Amortentia. And how they sneaked it into Malfoy´s drink this morning, not thinking it would get out of control to a point where he didn’t want to live anymore without you.
You were obviously angry at Pansy and Blaise for doing something that stupid, but also mad at yourself for not noticing the situation. But mostly you were concerned about Malfoy, hoping he got to Slughorn unharmed and hoping the Professor would be able to help him.
When you reached the office, Slughorn was already waiting for you.
“Very well, Miss (Y/l/n) and Miss Parkinson.”, Slughorn greeted you. “Mr Malfoy and Mr Zabini are already waiting for you.”
In a lower voice, he added: “Please be gentle with Mr Malfoy, Miss (Y/l/n). He is currently very unstable.”
You just nodded and Professor Slughorn let you enter the room.
Malfoy was sitting on a chair in a corner, slumped down. Blaise Zabini was standing next to him, clearly uncomfortable with the situation.
When Malfoy raised his head and saw you, his face lit up for a second, before he sank back down again.
“I´m sorry (Y/n). I didn’t know you would be here. I didn’t mean to bother you again. I´ll just leave.”
He wanted to get up, but you quickly stepped in.
“It´s alright Mal… Draco.”, you said, forcing yourself to smile. “You don’t have to leave.”
But this didn’t seem to comfort him.
“You don’t have to be so nice to me. I know you are a gentle person, but you don’t have to lie to me. I don’t deserve your compassion.”
But he had it. You felt terribly sorry for the boy in front of you, looking so broken because of you. No. This wasn’t because of you. This was because of Parkinson and Zabini.
“I didn’t lie Draco. I mean it. I want you to stay. Pansy had told me what happened. I´m not mad at you. I want to help you.”
Slowly, Malfoy looked up to you. You could see a small spark of hope glimmering in his eyes again.
“But you hate me.”
“I don’t hate you. I just don’t like you very much. I mean I didn’t.”, you were quick to say when his face fell once more. “I didn’t like the things you did to me and my friends. But I think we might deserve a second chance, don’t we?”
Draco nodded eagerly.
“Anything you want (Y/n). I promise I´ll try my best to make it better this time.”
Even though you knew it was just the potion speaking and not him, you couldn’t help the warmth that flushed over you at his words.
“I think it might be a good first step to let Professor Slughorn help you with this… situation, don’t you think?”
Draco was quick to agree. You smiled smugly, but when you turned around to the Professor and saw his face, you immediately knew something was wrong.
“I´m afraid it won´t be that simple.”, he said. “Normally the antidote of a love potion is a hate potion. But due to the fact that all those Weasley love potions had been smuggled into the school, I´m out of those.”
You sighted.
“And how long will it take until you brew some new?”
“This takes some time. I have already started to brew some a few days ago, but it won´t be finished until next week.”
You looked at him in disbelief.
“Next week?”, you echoed, leaning to the wall next to you.
“Oh but no need to worry. The effect of the potion won't last that long. It will start to vanish very soon. Until the antidote is ready, Mr Malfoy will be himself again without any help. Right now, his obsession with you is very strong and controls everything he is doing, but it will start to fade within a few hours. Then he will still think he is in love with you but will be able to control his behaviour again.”
You sighted. Only a few more hours. You could do this. Just separate yourself from him and wait.
“He shouldn’t be left alone until, well at least tomorrow. And since it is the fault of the two of you he is like this”, he said, now addressing Parkinson and Zabini, “I assume you will take care of him in this time. I will think about what I will do with you after this. Stealing such a dangerous potion after I just warned you. I am very disappointed in you!”
The two students looked quite rueful, mumbling an excuse.
“Now off you go. And take care of your friend. If something feels strange, just get back to me.”
Blaise nudged Draco, so he would get up since he didn’t listen to the words of the Professor, busy with admiring you standing here, in the same room, looking so effortlessly beautiful and forgiving him for everything he had done in the last few hours. Oh boy, he loved you even more for this.
Before you left, you addressed Professor Slughorn once more.
“Professor, how long will it take maximally until he is normal again?”, you asked.
Professor Slughorn looked at you pitiful.
“It depends on the attraction of the target of desire and the relationship between the two of you. I think he will be mostly fine again tomorrow. The latest the day after. If any feelings are left then, you can tell me after our lesson. Then I will check him once more.”
You nodded and smiled thankfully.
“Thank you, Professor.”
Draco and his friends were already waiting for you outside. Everyone looked at you, quite overstrained with the situation. You cleared your throat.
“Well, I think I´ll leave now. If something is wrong, you know where to find me.”
But just as you were about to turn around, Draco spoke up again.
“(Y/n), wait.”
You took a deep breath and stopped.
“What is it Draco?”
“You said you wanted to give me a second chance, didn’t you?”
You cursed yourself for saying that earlier.
“I think so?”
“Well, maybe we could spend some time together then. To get to know each other, you know?”
Draco threw you a shy smile, making your heart beating faster.
“I´m not sure if this is a good idea…”
“But I do. I know I actually love you (Y/n). I don’t care what the others say. It´s not that stupid potion. I just know it. Please give me a chance. I´m begging you.”
You sighted. But maybe it was better to stay with him for some time. Just as long as he had calmed down again and wouldn’t do something stupid. Well, as long as you wouldn’t say something stupid.
“I still have some homework to do. We can meet in the library in half an hour if you want to.”
Draco nodded eagerly.
“I would love to. This is going to be great!”
You highly doubted this but smiled anyway. After you said goodbye to the three friends, you went back to the common room, to grab your books.
Half an hour later, you were at the library. You had quickly told your friends what had happened, earning some laughter from Harry and Ron, and some disapproval from Hermione about Pansy´s and Blaise´s behaviour. You had made them promise that they wouldn’t follow you, since you suspected this “date” would be awkward enough without your best friends laughing behind your back. Hermione had promised you, she would take care of the boys while you were gone.
Now you saw Draco already waiting for you, some books in his hand, waving at you in excitement.
“Hey (Y/n)!”, he yelled, making some students turn around, confused by his friendly tone and the bright smile on his face since everyone knew how much you hated each other.
But you just ignored them and returned his smile.
“Hey Draco. Ready?”
“For you? Any time?”
He smiled stupidly, making you laugh.
“Let´s go then.”
Studying wasn’t that easy when you had someone watching you the entire time. Because that´s what Draco did. Instead of doing his homework, he had placed his arms on a book on the table and laid his head upon them, looking at you in admiration. The only thing he had been helpful with was your potion essay since Draco was actually way better in this class than you. But then he fell back into his state of staring at you.
At some point you gave up, trying to learn anything, while you felt his grey eyes lingering on you and started a conversation with him. When Draco started to relax it was -apart from many cheesy compliments- actually quite fun to talk to him.
And when the library closed and it was time for dinner, you found yourself being a little bit sad that the time with him was over already. But you thrusted this thought aside. Tomorrow, Draco would hate you again and everything would be back to normal. It was better if you wouldn’t start to enjoy the time with him at all than missing it in the future.
When you said goodbye, Draco smiled at you sweetly.
“You aren’t that bad you know? For a Gryffindor I mean.”
You couldn’t help but laugh genuinely. This was the first mean comment he had made since the whole thing started. And Godric, you had missed it.
“I like you way better like that, you know that Malfoy?”, you smiled.
His cheeks flushed.
“If I would have known that I wouldn’t have bought you flowers.”, he mumbled.
He raised his hand to brush a loose strand of hair behind your ear, before leaning in for a kiss, but you quickly took a step back, leaving him embarrassed.
“Love potion, you remember?”, you said, trying to keep your face from heating up.
Draco nodded. Then a cocky grin appeared on his face.
“Wait, does that mean you would have kissed me if it wasn’t for the potion?”
Now your face definitely reddened.
“Keep on dreaming Malfoy.”, you grumbled.
“Oh I will (Y/l/n)”, he laughed.
“Well, see you tomorrow I guess.”
“Yeah, see you.”, he smiled. “And (Y/n)?”
“Yeah?”
“I´ll still love you then, no matter if the potion will still be working or not.”
You threw him a small smile.
“We´ll see about that.”
“What do you think? Does he still think he´s in love with you?”, Ron asked for the hundredth time this morning, making the knot in your stomach only tighten.
“I don’t know Ronald.”, you hissed.
You had slept badly that night, Draco´s last words still echoing inside your head. You didn’t even know why you were thinking so much about it. By now, the effect of the potion had most likely disappeared and you would go back to normal. Or at least you would try to.
“But you will find out soon.”, Hermione said, when she saw Draco standing in front of the Great Hall, looking around as if he was looking for something. Or someone.
“I think I´ll…”
You made an ungainly gesture into his direction. Your friends grinned.
“Have fun with your boyfriend.”, Harry grinned.
You just rolled your eyes, ignoring his comment, before you left your friends and headed towards Draco.
When he saw you walking to him, Draco´s face lit up. You could see it from a few meters away, even though he tried to hide it.
“Hey.”, you said, smiling carefully, slightly scared of his reaction.
“Hey.”, he smiled back, his cheeks flushing.
“So… how are you?”, you asked.
“You mean if I am still in love with you?”
You nodded.
“I´m afraid I am. Seems like this stupid potion is still working.”, he mumbled.
You raised your eyebrows in surprise.
“So you think it´s the potion now as well?”
Draco just shrugged his shoulders.
“I mean it has to be, doesn’t it? We never got along and the fact that I suddenly feel like this for you…”
He didn’t dare to look into your eyes and looked at his shoes instead. You didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed at his reaction. A part of you was glad he had finally realized his feelings for you weren’t real, but there was a small voice in the back of your head telling you that you wouldn’t have minded if all of this had happened for another reason. But you brushed it off.
“Well, at least you sound more like yourself again.”, you tried to cheer him up.
Draco scoffed.
“Not like a love drunk idiot anymore?”
You couldn’t help but laugh.
“Something like this.”
Draco looked at you with an unknown intensity in his eyes.
“Your laugh is still beautiful, you know that? I´m wondering how I could ever not see this.”
You couldn’t help but bush.
“Seems like the effect hasn’t totally vanished yet.”
“Maybe I don’t want it to.”
“Why so you could follow me around like a puppy, not capable of controlling your emotions?”
“No, so I can be around you without you telling me how much you hate me.”
You swallowed hard.
“I don’t hate you Draco. I never did. We just never got along that well.”
“Well, I wish we would have. Then it may not have taken a potion to make me realize how I feel for you.”
“Maybe we should talk about it when you´re not under the influence of said potion anymore.”
“Why? Because you´re scared that I might do something stupid if you tell me now how you really feel? That you don’t like me the way I like you?”
And for the first time in your life, you didn’t know what to say to Draco Malfoy.
For the rest of the day, it felt like Draco had some strong mood swings, his real personality fought against the effect of the potion. At one moment he made some cocky remarks, making you think he was normal again, but in the next moment, he looked as if he wanted to kiss you right away, assuring you, that his feelings for you would never change.
But five minutes later, they did.
“Honestly, this is worse than any roller coaster.”, you sighted, when you finally gathered around the fireplace in the Gryffindor common room with your friends in the evening.
“I think it´s kinda adorable.”, Ginny said, with a small grin on her lips. “I think you two would actually make a great couple. Maybe we should mix both of some potion into your cereals every morning.”
Harry laughed at her comment.
“I think maybe we don´t even have to.”, Hermione responded, smiling as well.
You raised an eyebrow.
“What are you trying to say, Mione?”
“I´m just saying that the effect of the potion has by now nearly vanished, but Malfoy is still all over you. And you didn’t consume any potion at all and you´re still nice to him.”
“I can´t risk him doing something stupid just because I have been mean to him, can I?”, you scoffed.
Hermione shrugged her shoulders.
“By now I don’t think he would anymore. At least not because of the potion. When you talked to him after dinner, you two looked perfectly normal.”
Even though you hated to admit it, Hermione was right. If you wouldn’t know how Draco was before he had consumed the potion, you would by now just think he was truly into you. He was still nervous around you, making you some compliments, but just as many sharp comments. You felt comfortable around this version of Draco Malfoy. The one who was nice to you, but still able to keep up with your sense of humour. You wouldn’t have been able to stand him as this foolish hopeless romantic boy he had been yesterday, but the version of him that smiled proudly when he realised his sarcastic comment had made you laugh, made your heart somehow beat faster.
“Don’t tell me you started liking him (Y/n).”, Harry said teasingly.
But soon he realized, that his comment might have not been that wrong.
“I don’t like him. Not at all. It´s just… It´s all so confusing.”, you tried to explain. “But Professor Slughorn had told me that the effect will be gone completely by tomorrow.”
“And if it doesn’t?”, Hermione asked.
“Then he told me to reach out for him once more.”
“No, you got me wrong (Y/n). What if this isn’t about the potion anymore?”
“Don’t be foolish Mione. Of course, this is about the potion!”, you snapped.
But the thought of Draco actually liking you in the long run as well, made your heartbeat fasten.
The next time you saw Draco was shortly before potion class started. He was already sitting at his place, fiddling at some of his belongings.
You took a deep breath, trying to prevent your hands from shaking, before walking up to him.
“Draco?”
The boy in front of you froze. Slowly, he looked up at you.
“How is it?”, you asked.
But Draco just looked into your eyes, completely mesmerized.
“Draco?”
“Mhh?”
“How do you feel?”
Draco shrugged his shoulders.
“Don’t know.”
“How can you not know?”, you asked confused.
“Damn it, I´m not sure (Y/n)!”, he snapped back, clearly tensed.
But then he sighted and leant back in his chair.
“I… When I woke up this morning I thought it would be better but when I just saw you… It´s probably not normal that I still think you´re the most perfect human being, is it?”
You could feel a single butterfly in your stomach area, carefully spreading his wings, flapping one or two times.
“Probably not.”, you mumbled. “We should ask Professor Slughorn about it after the lesson.”
“We better do. I don’t want those stupid feelings affecting me any longer.”, he grumbled.
After the lesson, you waited until most of the students had already left the classroom. Then you went to Professor Slughorn, Draco following you, secretly admiring your light walk.
“Professor?”
“Ahh, Miss (Y/l/n). Mr Malfoy, how are we feeling today?”
Draco just shrugged his shoulders, refusing to answer.
“I´m afraid the repercussion of the potion is still visible.”, you explained to the Professor.
Slughorn nodded.
“Well, well, dear boy. Tell me what you´re feeling. What is different than before?”
Draco hesitated for a moment, before he answered.
“I… I´m not sure. It´s not that bad anymore, but I still have… feelings.” He pronounced the word like a sickness. “(Y/n) and I were never exactly close but now… I can´t stop thinking about her. I mean I know it´s just because of the potion, but I feel this strong urge to be with her all the time.”
Draco´s voice was low as if he was embarrassed by what he had just said. You could feel the little butterfly in your stomach now fluttering around, exploring more and more of the room inside your torso.
“Do you still think you love her?”, Professor Slughorn asked.
Draco slowly nodded.
“Very well, let´s see.”
Professor Slughorn raised his wand, mumbling some incomprehensible words, but nothing happened.
After one or two minutes, he stopped, nodding knowingly, while a small smile spread across his face.
“My dear boy, I´m afraid I won´t be able to help you with that.”
“What? Why? You are the potions master. You are a teacher. You are supposed to help me.” Draco´s voice sounded harsh, yet also desperate.
“This has nothing to do with the potion anymore.”, Professor Slughorn explained. “Its effect vanished hours ago. There are no unusual traces of magic to find on you.”
“That is impossible. I can still feel it. Do it again!”, Draco demanded.
You could hear the panic in his voice. You, on the other hand, were just standing still, your thoughts were racing. A second butterfly joined the first one. Slughorn put his wand back into his pocket and smiled at Draco patiently.
“There is nothing to do anymore Mr Malfoy. If you say you love our lovely Miss (Y/l/n) here, then I have to tell you those feelings are coming from nothing else but yourself. You simply fell in love.”
The Professor chuckled as he saw the shock clearly written on your faces.
“I think my job here is done. I might as well leave you alone.”
“Thank you, Professor.”, you mumbled, when Slughorn left the room, unable to tear your gaze apart from the boy in front of you, whose eyes were still fixed on the point the potion master had been standing.
For a few minutes, neither of you said a word. Then, Draco cleared his throat.
“That has to mean nothing. Probably only some aftermath. Just like you said.”
You nodded.
“Just like I said.”
Slowly, Draco turned around and locked your gaze with his. You could see the insecurity shimmering in his eyes.
“I still hate you, just like I did before. I was just tricked into loving you.”
“You hate me just as much as I hate you.”, you agreed.
Draco stepped closer until the tips of his feet nearly touched yours and you could feel his hot breath on your face.
“I´m just confused. Because you had been so nice to me lately.”
“So am I.”
You looked into each other’s eyes, completely hypnotized. Draco raised his hand and gently brushed over your lips with his thumb.
“There is no way I actually want to kiss you.”
“There is no way I would let you.”, you whispered under your breath.
His lips brushed against yours.
“We will never be anything but enemies.”
“Obviously.”
And then he pressed his soft lips on yours, cupping your cheeks with his big hands, while you returned the kiss, wrapping your arms around his neck. An entire army of butterflies was now set free in your body, flapping in excitement, making your whole body tingle.
You didn’t know how long you were standing there, embracing each other, but when you finally pulled away again, your lips were swollen and your breath heavy.
“You have no idea how long I wanted to do this.”, Draco mumbled against your lips.
“Since your friends sneaked some love potion into your drink?”, you suggested, making Draco chuckle.
“Maybe. But maybe even longer.”
You hummed in agreement, brushing with your fingers through his soft hair.
“I think I might actually love you.”, Draco whispered, still caressing your face with his hands.
“What about nothing but enemies?”, you teased.
“Oh, we still are (Y/l/n). But that doesn’t mean I can´t be madly in love with you, can it?”
You furrowed your brows, acting as if you had to think about it for a second.
“I don’t know Malfoy, can it?”
“I could also send you a bouquet of roses once more if you need proof…”
“Don’t you dare.”, you laughed. “You´ll need another way to convince me, I guess.”
As a response, Draco pulled you close once more, his kiss this time even softer than the last one.
“Convinced.”, you smiled, when you pulled away again.
“Maybe Slughorn was right.”, Draco said. “Maybe love is the most powerful feeling in the world.”
DESCRIPTION ⌙ in which draco malfoy becomes entirely bewitched with a girl who's never paid too much mind to him. he’s purely her’s, and yet, she has no idea. [warning for fluff and talk of food]
PAIRING ⌙ draco x fem!reader
WORD COUNT ⌙ 3.8k
hi all, i think this is one of my favorite things i've ever written. please enjoy it! gonna link a few songs that remind me of the vibes of this story.
i. ii. iii.
request here
*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧
you turn to the next page of your book, eager to meet the main character’s triumph. the scene is tense and utterly raw, causing you to forget your own setting.
you're no longer in hogwarts, instead, you’re fully consumed in the new world you’re reading of. you’ve long forgotten the faint music you put on and your rowdy friends having a faux duel on the grass around you. the two mates continue to circle to the tree you’re reading against— but they can’t knock your focus.
just as the climax of the story hits, the words on the page begin to contort and fumble until they’re gone, leaving blank pages. you flip through your book, confused.
“told you i knew the spell.” a brash and girlish voice speaks from your side.
you look up to find pansy parkinson, draco malfoy, and an awestruck vincent crabbe.
your friends stop in their tracks at the sight of the slytherin bullies. you however, glare up at the girl.
“can you put my book back to normal, please?” you ask, ears turning hot from anger.
pansy gives you a scowl before speaking, “what do you think draco? should we fix the little hufflepuff’s book?”
the blond doesn’t immediately say anything, just looks at you with eyes full of something you're unable to place before huffing, “merlin, pansy, fix her book. we’re not first years.”
the girl seems annoyed but complies and the words return to your book. you look to the blond boy, standing like a omnipotent god.
“thank you,” you say to him.
he gives you another once over before nodding curtly and walking to the direction of the road to hogsmeade, his friends following.
“that was— weird.” your friend, abbie says.
“beyond weird— since when has malfoy had a soul?” your other friend, laura laughs.
you roll your eyes at the two of them, “great help the both of you are. if malfoy hadn’t been feeling merciful today, i would have had to hex parkinson into the next year.”
laura giggles as abbie playfully shoves you, “piss off.”
the three of you resume your previous notions easily. you find yourself entranced in the words of your story, world around you becoming obsolete yet again.
days later, you’re in the library, on a mission. you're walking circles trying to find a book that can live up to the expectations the previous one has given you. you’ve inspected the right half of the library, and you’re beginning to think that maybe nothing will look appealing enough for you.
as you enter the next section, you’re greeted with draco malfoy and blaise zabini hunched by the window and speaking to each other in a hushed manner.
the pair look to you quickly and you freeze, somewhat terrified that malfoy may not be as merciful as he was previously.
“oh, sorry.” you say, rearing to turn in the other direction.
“l/n, right?” draco’s voice makes you halt. “you’re fine. blaise and i were just discussing—literature.”
you watch as zabini stifles a laugh.
“oh.” you pause, “have either of you read anything good recently?” you truly were eager to find something, anything. even if that meant asking malfoy.
"all yours draco." zabini gives the blonde boy a smirk before patting his shoulder and walking off.
draco glares at his friends’ retreating figure before speaking, “of course. i wouldn’t read something i didn’t find interesting.”
you nod, half-listening, and grab a book from behind him titled, 'the garden curse'
the spine of the book is dark and deep forest green with gold lettering carefully etched into it. it's thick with pages, perfect for getting absorbed within.
“have you read this?” you ask draco, genuinely curious.
he peers down, “i don’t read fairytales. they're unrealistic.”
you scoff, “why? what on earth is wrong with a good fairytale? and how can you say they're unrealistic when,” you gesture to the window outside. “we live in a world muggles can only dream of.”
“first, i highly doubt muggles could ever dream of a world this complex. and second, i find them boring. simply boring.” he grins.
“boring? draco, how?” you exhaust, eyebrows furrowed.
"they're all the same. the hero gets their lover, beats or outwits an enemy, and learns some valuable lesson that's really only meant for the reader. simply put, they're boring and unfeasible." he shrugs.
"that is not all they are— but even still, isn't it nice?" you ask, leaning into him slightly to place the book back onto the shelf.
"nice..." he trails off, watching you depart back from him, "yes— i'm sure it's nice to read something so simple, but i urge you to read the stories of those whose endings aren't happy or perfect. much more realistic."
you huff, "i'm not going to deny that those sorts of stories are more realistic and good in their own regard, but, fairytales can take you completely out of this world and into a new one."
"escapism?" the boy quirks a brow.
you roll your eyes, "all books could qualify as escapism— at least fairytales are interesting."
"okay, if you're so stuck in the mud about this, i'll read one. what's your favorite fairytale l/n?" he questions you, eyes burning with an intense sense of sincerity. he truly wants to know.
"well i dunno, i'd just be upset if you come to hate my favorite fairytale.."
"oh come on, show some guts! you just told me i'm missing out. i swear i won't come down too hard on it." he smirks.
you're pleasantly surprised by his promise and his care. you never would have thought draco malfoy could hold a tame conversation. maybe you judged him too soon?
"fine." you say. you swiftly remove your bag from your shoulder and begin rummaging through it, finding the creme hardcover you always keep on you. with a small and worried sigh, you hand the book to draco.
he looks it over, curious, "the princess bride?"
you hum, "i re-read it every year. i absolutely adore that book."
you watch the grey eyed boy scan the first page. his ring clad fingers are gentle against the pages, putting you at ease knowing that he'll take care of your prized possession.
"there's a bunch of markings in it, sorry." you bite your lip, suddenly too aware of the countless annotations.
"i could i add some as well? so you can see i actually read the book." he replies.
you nod, "be my guest."
he slips the book into his bag, "i'll find you after dinner and tell you my first thoughts. we could go to the astronomy tower?"'
a small smile tugs on your face, "the astronomy tower sounds nice, i'll see you then."
malfoy bids you farewell and you watch him saunter out of the library, his walk confident. you find yourself replaying the scene in your head, thinking giddily of the interest you spiked in him.
you truly hope he finds your favorite book enjoyable— you've never had anyone care enough to read it for you, and the idea of it has you gleaming.
working yourself out of your trance, you turn to the book you had been eying earlier. without much thought, you grab it and walk to check it out.
"you brought back the last one late. don't let it happen again." madam pince snides, wicked eyes glaring down at you.
if you ever wrote a story of your life, you'd make that woman the villain. the sheer amount of times she's withheld books from you for preposterous reasons is countless, and you're sure she's actually an evil being.
"i won't." you say, taking the book from the counter, ignoring the woman's gaze.
she huffs as a response and you walk quickly out of the library, ready to slip away from the world you're in now and into a new one.
├——— ✧ ———┤
between laura's music and abbie's complaints about her charms essay— you've not made it very far into your book.
"what's the wand movement for a fire making spell?" abbie asks, hands in her hair.
"verbal or nonverbal?" laura asks, turning her music down slightly.
"nonverbal." abbie says, biting her lip.
"flick and pull." you answer, closing your book.
the girl sighs and throws her head onto her desk, "i'm going to fail. i can't remember any of this."
placing your book down, you walk over to your friend, "well you're mixing up verbal and nonverbal— i have notes on each. do you think that would help?"
she nods, head rising to look at you.
shuffling through your bag you find the notes and hand them to her, "each group is separated— no more confusion."
"you're a lifesaver, y/n." she smiles.
"well miss lifesaver, my life is about to end if we don't get food soon— i skipped lunch to help dean thomas with his herbology homework." laura says, pointing to the clock, showing the both of you that it was mere minutes until dinner.
"were you helping him with herbology or helping him with getting his tongue down your throat?" abbie teases, sitting back in her chair.
"very funny— seriously, i need food. your essay can wait."
you chuckle, "it has been hours abbie, let's get food. might even aid in your cognitive function."
the dark haired girl below you rolls her eyes before rising from her chair, "well hurry up, i want to get this thing finished before bed."
the walk to the dining hall is filled with the three of you arguing over any and everything. your small friend group finds joy in teasing and disagreements— you're sure that at this point some might think you all secretly hate each other with the way you act.
in all honesty though, the three of you have grown past just dorm mates or even friends— you're sisters.
"you eat the same thing everyday." laura says, pointing at your plate.
"we have the same foods everyday." you reply, tearing into your chicken.
abbie steals a spoonful of mashed potatoes from laura's plate, grin on her face, "well, you hog the mash."
laura feigns a shocked sigh, "you thief!"
you roll your eyes and eat your food, thankful for the hot meal. the weather has drastically began to cool, causing you to swap your morning iced coffee for a hot tea— hogwarts' winters are simply brutal.
you get your fill of dinner and are halfway into a slice of pumpkin bread when you feel a sharp poke on your side. turning angrily, you meet abbie's wide eyes.
"y/n, i don't want to frighten you— but malfoy is looking this way, and with a smile on his face." abbie whispers.
you smile and turn to look at him, standing by the doors, "he's reading a book i suggested. i'm going to hang with him for a while— see you guys later."
your friend gape as you leave and greet malfoy with a smile.
"evening malfoy." you say, walking through the dining hall doors.
"evening, y/l/n. are you ready?" he replies, book in hand.
you nod and follow along beside the boy, ardent to hear his thoughts.
"well?" you ask, head nodding in the direction of the book.
draco shrugs, "humperdinck makes me want to vomit— but westley makes up for it enough. i like him."
"and buttercup?"
draco smiles, "despite her unfortunate name— she's a lovely character."
you grasp the railing, working up the steep astronomy tower steps. draco's ahead of you, long legs making the journey easier for him.
when you finally meet the top, draco hold a hand out to help you up, you oblige him.
"i'm not going to say i like fairytales yet. the book is okay— but i do like it so far." he says, taking a seat by the opening in the tower. you nestle beside him.
"i think you're downplaying just how much you enjoy it" you grin at the boy, eyes teasing. "by the end of this book, you'll finally be able to admit the truth."
draco furrows his brows, "the truth?"
you tilt your head, "that you like fairytales."
"oh— yes, maybe. depends on how good your book ends up being."
you stifle a laugh, "it will. i swear it."
"i'm not as confident," draco says, smirk tugging at his lips. "but i'm going to read here if you want to stick around."
you nod and grab your own book out of your bag, "i'll join you."
the two of you slip into the words on the pages in front of you. you enjoy your story, really, but your eyes seem to be more interested in the boy beside you.
you sneak small glances at him, admiring the way his eyes scan the page, stopping only to mark something of note. his plump and pink lips part ever so slightly at certain scenes, before he'll take his bottom lip between his teeth.
looking back down to your book, you wonder how you could have ever ignored someone so beautiful. the way he cares enough to do this with you is enough to tell you that draco malfoy is someone worth knowing.
"you have nice handwriting." he says, snapping you out of your trance.
you turn to him, "you're just being nice."
his grey eyes hold sincerity within them, "no, i'm serious. your handwriting is quite unique— i love it."
you smile, thanking him silently, before turning back to your book.
├——— ✧ ———┤
"the stars have aligned!" abbie yelps, shaking you from your slumber.
confused you furrow your brows, "what are you talking about?"
last night was the third time you and draco had met to discuss the book, and the two of you stayed up quite late. you enjoyed his company— admittedly more than you care to divulge. he had let you spark conversation about whatever was on your mind, and his listened with unwavering intent. he made you feel special.
your friend shoves a paper in your face, "i passed my charms essay! with your help of course, those notes really helped!"
you give her a small smile, "i'm glad, but how'd you get your score? it's saturday."
the black haired girl purses her lips, "i might have cried to professor flintwick at breakfast this morning— so i got it early."
you hear laura speak, "she had a full on tantrum more like it. i was so embarrassed to even be near her."
abbie turns her attention from you, staring daggers at the strawberry blonde, "well, you're dripping water everywhere."
laura shrugs, wet hair dripping around her, "there was only one towel left— you should have done laundry yesterday."
your friends continue to bicker, causing you to stifle a groan into your pillow. all you wanted was to sleep— but those two were making it extremely difficult.
accepting the fact that you're not going to get to sleep in any longer, you quickly get ready for the day, and head to the greenhouses.
professor sprout said you were always more than welcome to pay a visit— and you could use a good stroll looking at magical flowers.
the glass room is empty as you make your way inside, but you don't mind. with a happy sigh, you start caring for all the plants and taking notes of any issues for sprout.
you're inspecting the leaves of an umbrella flower when you hear a throat clear behind you. turning, you find draco, eyes tired but face holding that aristocratic expression he's so known for.
that giddy feeling comes back to you full force— and then it hits you.
you've grown quite fond of him. so fond you might even say that you harbor a crush on him. the thought alone has your stomach in knots— never in a million years would you have expected to have a crush on malfoy.
but as you look at him, clad in a slytherin jumper and black pants, you realize that you've always thought the boy handsome. it's only now, after sharing fleeting and tender moments with him, that you've been able to acknowledge the crush.
it's so easy love someone when you truly know them, and not the perception you have of them.
"hi malfoy, what brings you here?" you ask, placing your notes down.
he smiles at you, "finished your book— missed breakfast for it, but i finished."
his words send you into a small shock. of course you knew he'd eventually finish the book— but that means no more meetings. no more excuses to see him. your crush on him destined to stay unknown and unrequited.
your eyes widen, and you walk over to him, "what did you think? did the ending suffice? what about—"
the blond cuts you off with a chuckle, "i wrote down all my thoughts in the book. read it and find me in the astronomy tower after dinner."
"okay fine— but can you answer one question?" you ask, taking the book from him.
he quirks his head to you, eyebrows furrowed, "what question would that be?"
"would you ever read another fairytale?" you voice is soft and truly wondering.
"i— i suppose. though, i still find them unrealistic, but maybe you can change my mind after you read what i wrote." he replies, eyes staring into yours.
you give him a half smile, "how could i change your mind after i read what you wrote?"
he bites his lip, "you'll see. i'll meet you in the astronomy tower at ten."
and with that, he's walking out of the greenhouse, leaving you beyond confused as you stare down at the book.
minutes later, you're back in your dorm, eager to know what his annotated thoughts were. your dorm mates are nowhere to be seen, allowing for you to crack the book open.
all over the pages, next to your own writing— is draco's. crisp and perfect font.
you let your eyes scan over his words.
'i can't believe i'm reading this book for you— i hate fairytales. i already told you that, but i figure you should know again.'
'i think westley is an idiot for leaving. his perfect woman is right there— completely in love with him. i told you fairytales are unrealistic. i would never give up such love.'
'what a twist! he was alive the entire time— maybe he'll show that prince humperdinck the sharp end of his sword. i hate that man.'
his notes make you smile, but as you continue on, his writings morph from being about the book, to being about you.
'you're wearing a new jumper today. nearly choked on my pumpkin juice when you walked into the dining hall today. i truly hope you wear it to meet me tonight.'
'i'm up at three reading this damned book, just because it reminds me of you.'
'i know i said i hate fairytales— and that's still true, but you've fallen asleep on my shoulder and i think this may be the closest to a happy ending i'll ever know.'
you spend hours reading through his notes, eyes wide and heart fluttering. he spent so much time writing this for you. by the time you get to the last few pages, dinner is almost over.
you let yourself look back down at the book, at the very end, taking up three entire pages, sits a full on letter. it's addressed to you.
'y/n,
i assume that by now you understand i find you absolutely wonderful. although this book is the reason we began to talk, i've watched you from afar for a long time. i know you like to eat a slice of pumpkin bread after your dinner, that your potions book is always filled with bookmarks, that you walk in the middle when with your friends, and that your eyes sparkle like stars when you're deep into a book.
i know i've told you that fairytales aren't for me, and that's because i've accepted the fact that my fairytale can't come true. you've been the brightest part of my existence for a very long time. i suppose it started back in fourth year, i caught a glimpse of you reading by the lake. you started reading there everyday, and i became bewitched with you. entirely bewitched.
you looked so perfect— and i was confused as to why i'd never seen you before. i swallowed my pride and asked blaise for your name. y/n y/l/n, he said. i liked the way it tasted on my tongue. your name only added to the fire you had unknowingly lit inside of me.
i've spent years admiring you from afar, and the thought of this admiration leading to shared love is my ultimate fairytale. i don't expect you tell me you feel the same, that's unrealistic— just like the books you read. still, i can't help myself from hoping that maybe you'll surprise me and make me believe in fairytales, just as much as you do.
for your eyes only,
draco malfoy'
tears fall for your eyes as you take in his words, beyond what you ever could have expected. you clutch the book tight to your chest as you look at the clock, mere minutes until ten. the creme covered novel now takes on a new meaning of prized possession.
you dry your eyes before you're making your way out of the hufflepuff common room, rushing to the astronomy tower.
as you meet the end of the stairs, you catch a glimpse of the blond hair you've grown so fond of, sending butterflies to your stomach.
book still firmly in your grasp, you find your eyes looking straight into his cloudy grey ones.
"you said i could change your mind?" your voice is small.
draco sighs, carding his fingers through his hair, "a stupid notion, i assume?"
you shake your head, walking closer, "no, not at all. i told you that i love fairytales. but i never told you i've always wanted my own. i used to dream about multiple ways i could obtain one— and the entire time, you were there— waiting to deliver my personal fairytale."
you see his cheeks flush a tad, "i wouldn't say i'm good enough to be classified with the hero's in your stories, but i will say this, y/n, i think the world of you. i would read all the fairytales in the world just to see you smile."
"you said something about the thought of us together being unrealistic, but i'd like to argue that the only unrealistic thing is your belief that i could read that letter and not be entirely consumed with love for you. you, draco malfoy, make any fairytale romance seem minuscule." you're speaking with such conviction, trying your hardest to make him understand.
"you mean that?" he asks.
you grab hold of his hands, tugging him closer to you, "i most definitely mean that, malfoy."
he gives you a small smile, "i'm in awe of you."
you chuckle a little, inching your face closer to his. your eyes are questioning— hopeful. the boy leans closer to you, and that's enough for you. your lips capture his, kissing him with the same passion and conviction you spoke to him with.
his lips feel like heaven— maybe better, for you're sure heaven could never touch you as deeply as this kiss is.
he smells of vanilla and vetiver, and the scent envelops you. you're sure there's nothing as addictive as this man.
draco pulls away, hands resting gingerly on your shoulders, "i didn't think i could have been anymore enamored by you, and how wrong i was. i could be content, kissing you as the entire world disappeared around us," he lifts a hand to stoke your face, lifting your chin up to him, "you, my darling, are bewitching in all aspects."
you're truly certain now in your belief of fairytales. how could you not be, when your life has suddenly turned into one?
Hi. Is it possible for you to write a Draco x female reader fic in which Draco is the reader's best friend and he gets into a fist fight with another guy because he tries to get the reader to sleep with him? Only if you're comfortable. Thanks.
Hi lovely! 💕Thank you for requesting :) I’ve added a few extra details here and there. I hope you like it. X
My girl (Draco Malfoy x Reader)
Word count: 2500
Warnings: a few mentions of avada and blood, Marcus Flint being a complete creep, overprotective draco soft Draco, fist fight? Yep. I think that covers it. Lmk if this needs any more warnings.
A/n: i’ve been going through a really big writing slump. This really helped me get through it because I honestly enjoy writing fluffy/angsty Draco. 🥲
~~~
“The essay is to be done in pairs.” Said Professor Binns, making you suppress a sigh of utter frustration. Every other professor had already piled you up with homework and readings from prescribed textbooks. And now, professor Binns was only adding to the misery.
“I will however, allow you all to pick your partners for this essay.” The professor added and you already knew who you wanted to work on the essay with. It was a no brainer.
You looked up from your textbook and turned your head to find him across the classroom. To your delight, he was already looking at you with an all knowing smirk on his face.
He was your partner by default for everything.
Essays, Potions class, all of the school dances and sometimes even detention—most of which would be his fault anyway.
“How on earth are you two just friends?” Was something people asked the two of you on the daily.
Most of the time, you’d brush it off because there was no particular answer to this.Draco Malfoy was your best friend, your confidante, your partner in crime.
Surely there was nothing more to this relationship right?
“I say, we ditch this pathetic excuse for a school and make a run for it.” Draco scoffed, walking up to you.
“Always the over dramatic one, Draco.” You rolled your eyes at him as you started to collect your books and shove them carelessly into your bookbag. “And where is it that we are running to?”
“Anywhere but here.”
“Fine then, let's go.” You said, walking out the door and he quickly followed. “We can work on our escape plan while we work on this essay in my room.”
“Whatever.”
~~~
The next two hours were spent working fruitlessly on the essay. You were busy skimming through passages trying to find something relevant to the topic at hand while Draco was busy watching you skim through those passages.
He couldn’t tell why he was so engrossed in watching you, and the way your forehead crinkled and your eyes moved in deep concentration along with the words.
He’d always thought you had the prettiest face he’d ever seen but was he always this attracted to you?
Everyone was right. How on earth were you two just friends?
Draco went back to his own book and tried to pretend like his newly discovered attraction didn't bother him. But oh, it was killing him.
Everytime he looked up from his book and his grey eyes made contact with your lips, he wanted to grab you by the waist and kiss you.
Draco let out an inaudible sigh and pretended like Professor Binns was in the room too. That was the only way he could focus.
And as the hours continued to fly by, his mind continued to spiral out of control.
The hot flush he always felt in his stomach, the bile he felt in his throat whenever he saw you laughing or talking to another guy was suddenly making sense to him.
Some days, you’d tell him how funny Fred and George were or how kind Cedric was and he’d feel this impulsive need to walk up to them and Avada their arses into oblivion.
Merlin’s beard! it was all making sense to him.
“That's enough for today.” Draco said in a hurry as he slammed his book shut. He rubbed his palms against his face and tugged on his silver and green tie in an attempt to loosen it.
“You alright?” You asked, looking up at him.
“Yeah, it's just a bit hot in here.” He sighed before collapsing on your bed and pressing his face flat against the pillow. He did that quite often.
The first time you’d seen him do that was when you stayed over at the Malfoy Manor during the summer holidays after your fourth year at Hogwarts. That was the same night, you’d woken up in cold sweat in the guest bedroom after a terrifying nightmare. Draco had been kind enough to let you share his bed and lend you one of his shirts that night. You kept the shirt.
“Move over.” You yawned as you closed your book and tossed it underneath your bed. Draco gave a lazy hum and made space for you next to him and you happily settled down on the bed.
He nonchalantly put his arms around your waist as if it was the most natural thing to do and pulled you towards him until your back was pressed firmly against his chest. He did that quite often too.
There was always something peculiar about the moments you two shared. You just couldn’t quite put your finger on what it was.
Especially when your head was slowly getting fuzzy from the crisp and aromatic scent of his cologne.
Was that sandalwood? Also, mint?
Did Draco always smell this good?
You caught a glimpse of his lips and licked your own wondering what it would feel like to kiss him. You’d heard Pansy Parkinson talk about what a fantastic kisser he was back when they were briefly dating and it took every ounce of self restraint you had to control yourself from hexing her off the face of the earth.
“Y/n?” His voice interrupted your forbidden fantasies.
“Hmm?”
He lifted his tired head slightly from the pillow and you could see a wonky little smile on his ridiculously perfect face. “You’re my girl you know that?”
He ALWAYS called you his girl.
Albeit in a platonic way, it felt good to be his. His anything. It just didn’t matter.
“I do Draco.” You sighed, feeling content as you shifted your body closer to his. “I do.”
Sleep came easily when he was around.
With him you could let go of all your fears, your ghosts, the things that kept you up in the middle of the night. Everything.
He never told you this but he felt the same way, if not even more.
With you, it was as if he was in a place that was free of all sin.
Draco knew he wasn’t the nicest person at Hogwarts. He knew that you were fully aware of this.
Still, you never went away.
You looked at him with your crystal clear eyes full of hope and it made him want to redeem himself so bad.
He’d go out and about Hogwarts handing out apologies like handing out sweets if you’d asked.
~~~
Slytherin was playing against Gryffindor the very next day and the match felt like a losing battle for Draco.
For one, keeping himself steady on his broom was nearly impossible due to the wind and looking for the snitch was just as difficult due to the pouring rain.
Second, he’d heard Marcus Flint talk about you in the changing room before the match in a way that made his stomach churn.
“Five galleons if I can get y/l/n to sleep with me after the match.” Flint cackled, earning a round of wolf whistles from everyone in the slytherin team. Everyone except Blaise Zabini and Draco, who was clenching his hand into a tight fist.
“What do you think, Malfoy?” Flint taunted even more when he noticed that Draco was visibly bothered. “Good plan?”
Draco took an angry step forward.
“Say that again Flint, I dare you.”
“Oh come on Malfoy. You’ve already had your fun.” Flint shrugged his shoulders.
In that particular moment, Draco felt like a scorpion striving to kill. He wasn’t going to hesitate using every hex he could think of if that cretin uttered one more word about you.
Flint was lucky Blaise was around to pull Draco back before a full fledged fight broke out.
With a long frustrated groan, Draco brought his focus back to the ongoing match.
And even though he knew he ought to be keeping his eyes fixed on the pesky little snitch, he couldn’t help but sneak in quick little glimpses of you cheering him on at the stands.
Just get through this Draco.
Just get the match over with.
He soared up towards the sky and closed his eyes for a second and inhaled deeply. The scent of rain, wet grass and broom polish was prominent in the air.
When his eyes opened, he caught sight of the snitch and instantly dove towards the ground to catch it before Harry.
When it came to catching the snitch, the need to beat the boy who lived was always there. But today, something else drove Draco.
It was the need to protect you from whatever Flint was planning to do.
He’d never flown so fast in his entire life. With his hand reaching forward, Draco grabbed a hold of the snitch and crashed straight into the ground.
“Draco Malfoy has caught the snitch earning 150 points. Slytherin wins the match.”
A huge crowd of cheering and screaming Slytherins started to form around him. Some gave him a pat on the back before congratulating him.
Draco quickly propped himself off the ground and pushed through the sea of green and silver scarves and robes.
“Congratulations Draco.” Pansy Parkinson gushed, grabbing a hold of his arm. “I was thinking we could celebrate.”
“Thanks,” Draco muttered absently, still trying to make his way out.
“Wait, Draco.” Pansy continued, following him. “I said, I was thinking we could celebrate somewhere private,”
“I heard you the first time, Pansy.” He muttered. “Now, if you'll excuse me.”
He picked up his pace and started to sprint away from the quidditch pitch.
You always waited for him outside the changing room after each match to celebrate or mourn depending on the outcome.
Normally, he’d have been excited with the thought of you waiting but today, he prayed that you had decided to go back to your dorm.
~~~
You paced back and forth outside the changing room waiting for Draco to arrive.
The rain had started to fizzle away at this point, and soft filtered light from the clouds made the ground look glossy and fresh.
Even though in the beginning, it looked like Gryffindor was going to win the match by a landslide, the last minute turn of events changed everything.
The way Draco steered his broom and dove straight to the ground in one sharp movement was nothing short of extraordinary.
Soon you heard footsteps approaching your way and your heart did slow cartwheels with each footstep you heard.
You just couldn’t wait to throw your arms around him and congratulate him on his spectacular victory.
“Hello there y/n.”
Your smile quickly faded when you realised it wasn’t Draco.
“Uh, hello Marcus.” You said as politely as you could. “Congratulations on winning the game today.”
“Why thank you y/n.” He gave you a coy smile. “What are you doing here?”
“Just waiting for Draco. Have you seen him at all?”
Marcus took a long look at you, his eyes scanning you from head to toe in a way that made you feel queasy.
“Oh, I saw him leave with Parkinson right after the match.” He finally said and your face fell.
Pansy?
But Draco said he wasn’t interested in her. Why would he lie to you?
“Oh.” You barely managed to say. “Alright then, I guess I better head back to my dorm.”
“Y/n. Wait.” Marcus called out, reaching for your hand and grabbing by the wrist. “We’re Celebrating in the Slytherin common room tonight. Want to go with me?”
“Thanks for asking but I’ll have to decline your offer Marcus.” You said as you tried to extricate his hand from yours. “I uh—have some homework to catch up on anyway.”
“Oh, Come on Y/n.” He persuaded you with his grip still tight on your wrist. “It’ll be fun.”
“I’m alright. Thanks.” You declined his invite once again with a firmer tone.
“It’s just a party y/n. Don’t be a priss!”
“She said she doesn’t want to go with you, Flint.” You heard Draco’s voice coming from behind you. “So why don’t you just sod off before I—”
“Before you what?” Marcus challenged as he let go of your hand and took a step towards Draco. “Tell me Malfoy what are you going to—”
Draco’s right hook made an impact with Flint’s face before he could even finish his sentence.
Marcus cried out in agony and covered his nose with his hand as drops of crimson started to ooze out.
He then walked straight at Draco and threw a punch at his face, causing his lips to split.
~~~
Draco ran his thumb along his bottom lip and inspected the blood as white hot rage started to consume him.
“Let’s get out of here Draco.” You said as you grabbed him by the arm. “He’s not worth it.”
Draco took one long look at you and he knew.
He knew he was in love with you.
He knew it by the ache in his heart when he saw the worried look on your face.
And what an absolutely inconvenient time it was for his sudden realisation!
Heaving a huge sigh, Draco lovingly tucked a strand of hair behind your ear before stepping in front of you.
“Walk away Flint.”
Upon hearing this, Flint broke into a maniacal looking smirk through the blood now smeared on his lips as he looked at Draco. “Come now Draco, surely we can share.”
“What did you say!?” Draco shouted as his vision got blurry with rage.
“I said we can—”
Draco grabbed Marcus by his quidditch robe and flung him to the ground before dropping down on his knees to throw multiple angry punches to his face.
“If you ever talk about y/n that way again, I will kill you.”
Draco then grabbed him by the collar and pulled him up. Marcus now looked pale and frightened at Draco’s anger.
“If I see you hovering around my girl, I will personally make sure you regret it. Understood?!”
Marcus landed face first to the ground when Draco let go.
It took him a few seconds to stand up straight and as soon as he was able to balance himself on two legs, Marcus scuttled away.
“Are you okay y/n?” Draco asked, cupping your cheeks into the palms of his hand. His anger, now replaced with concern.
“I am now.” You said softly before leaning in towards him.
It took him a few seconds to acknowledge and register what was happening before he tilted his head to meet you halfway.
It was the kind of kiss people could only dream about.
After being each other’s “date” to many school dances, after all those stolen glances, maybe a few missed chances, the long overdue kiss was finally happening.
After you backed away, your eyes fluttered open and he noticed that you complexion was suddenly peachy and your eyes slightly glassy.
“This feels good doesn’t it?” You murmured before pressing another soft kiss onto his lips. “This feels right.”
Draco only hummed in agreement before lifting you off the ground and kissing you deeply—the way he’d always wanted to during your years of friendship.
Like the time you walked into his room in the middle of the night with tears flooding your eyes due to a nightmare , or when you had burned the toast you’d promised him the very next morning.
He’d pictured kissing you after every quidditch match and during every slow song you’d ever danced to.
He’d been in love with you through all the essays, through every potions class, detention, summer holidays and Hogsmeade trips.
how silly he was that he never saw this coming.
Or Maybe he did.
All he knew was that he was never going to be the same.
“You’re my girl you know that?” He whispered as he gently put you down.
“I do Draco.” You smiled. “I do.”
FIN.
~~~~~~~
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Fandom: Criminal Minds
Pairings: Aaron Hotchner/Female Reader
Word Count: 4,221
Tags: 18+, NSFW, Dad bod Hotch, Physical domination, Manhandling, Slapping, Choking, Mild breath play, Sir kink, Oral sex, Rough sex, Unprotected sex, Biting, Begging, Dirty Talk
Summary: You always knew being the kind of girl who runs her mouth would get you in trouble eventually; you just had no idea how incredible being in trouble could feel. *Inspired by @unicornprancing.
Link to A03 or read below!
It’s always the quiet ones: it’s a cliché because it’s true, something you’ve never really given much thought to because you are not a quiet one. You talk a lot, laugh a lot, aren’t afraid to speak your mind—it can get you in trouble at work, when local law enforcement is being stubborn and you give them a piece of your mind, or when Hotch gives an order that makes no sense, like stay behind me.
Has he met you? You aren’t the stay behind me type, not by a long shot, so when he says that or something like that, it always leads to you running your big mouth and starting an argument.
You are surprised as hell when one of those arguments follows you back to the office and, in an apparent effort to get you to stop talking, Hotch presses your back against his closed door with his body and puts his hands on either side of your head, leaning in to kiss you rough and deep.
Kissing Hotch is not a thought you've ever entertained. It’s not that you don’t find him attractive—he’s pretty much everything you dream about in a man, tall and strong and commanding, with dark hair and big hands and a withering stare. It’s more that you are so different, that you are loud and lively where he is quiet and clearly repressed; the idea of the two of you together just doesn’t make sense, until it really, really does.
You fist your hands in his shirt, arch up to press your hips against his, and he puts his hands on your body and shoves you back against the door; there’s something hanging on the wall to your right, and its frame rattles with the force of it. You moan into the kiss, and he pulls back, panting, to look into your eyes.
“Was just trying to shut you up for a change,” he says, low, and you lick your lips, look over his face. He’s still angry, and his hands are hard on your hips, holding you down when you try to press up again. Your heart is pounding, your breathing harsh.
“It was working.” His eyes sweep over your lips, your heaving chest, and you suddenly want so many things, starting with his mouth on yours immediately. “Maybe try again.”
He tilts his head, looking like he can’t decide whether he wants to kiss you or purposefully deny you what you’re asking for, but ultimately he gives in, leans in, takes your face in one of his big hands and kisses you hard.
You twist your fingers tighter in his shirt, slip him your tongue, and struggle against his hand so he’ll let you make contact, so you can feel the raging hard-on he has to be sporting. He takes his hand off your hip, and you think you’ve won, but he slides a thigh between your legs instead, pins you against the door that way, and grabs your wrists; he pulls your hands away from his shirt despite your tightening grip, holds your arms over your head, and deepens the kiss, makes it wetter and messier.
All your life, you have wanted this: someone bigger and stronger who could handle you at your mouthiest, who could calm the fire that’s always raging inside you and wind you up at the same time. Men have always been intimidated because you’re in the FBI, or because you were a cop, and for those reasons you’re also physically more capable than they expect; plenty of guys enjoy having a girlfriend who can rough them up a little, but not the guys you want. The guys you want see your strength, your fortitude, and they go running.
Hotch knows all of this about you, and he’s not running.
Far from running, he is crowding you up against the door, his body and his hands and his unrelenting mouth bringing you such pleasure you’re tempted to try to rub off against his leg. You grind against it, more to see what he will do than to actually try to achieve anything, and he shifts so both of your wrists are in one hand, brings the other to your jaw to hold it still. When he stops kissing you, you whimper at the loss.
“No.” So deep it’s almost a growl, his command is one you can feel in your bones, and you swallow hard. Your eyes are fixed on his, and you grind up against him again; his hand flexes on your jaw, presses into the bone, and while that feels really good, there’s something you want even more. You cover his hand with yours—his grip loosens, either because he knows you’re trying to ask for more or because he thinks you’ve had too much—and slide it to your cheek.
You let him go, look up at him, breathless, and he pulls back and slaps your face: not too hard, or too soft, just enough to sting and soak your panties. You gasp, lick your lips, dazed, and he switches hands, hold your wrists together with one and slaps the opposite cheek with the other. He takes your jaw in his hand again, tilts your face up like he’s daring you to act up.
You contemplate it, quickly weigh the pros and cons—acting up is looking better by the minute—but someone comes up and knocks on the door, right behind your head.
Hotch drops your hands, steps back, and you squeeze your eyes shut for a moment, try to snap out of the trance you’ve found yourself in. He turns around, presses his hand against the front of his pants, clears his throat and says, “come in.”
It’s JJ, and she gives the both of you a concerned once over when she enters; she was in the SUV with you on the way back from the airport, had a front row seat to the argument that started it all. You can’t imagine how you look—flushed, breathless, a little confused?—but Hotch somehow manages to look unaffected, like he’s really just been up here bickering with you all this time. You envy his composure.
“I was just getting ready to leave, wanted to make sure you guys didn’t need anything.” He crosses his arms, shakes his head, and looks over at you; you shake your head too, hope that your inability to do much more than stand there can be attributed to the fight she clearly thinks the two of you were having. “Okay then. Have a nice weekend,” she says, flashing a soft smile, and she leaves, closes the door behind her. Hotch blows out a deep breath and runs a hand through his hair.
“Look,” he says, and your heart sinks so fast. You really thought for a second that things might be different with him. That you finally found what you’d been looking for.
“No, I get it,” you manage to say, and your voice is rough, but you look him dead in the eye because that’s who you are. “You didn’t mean for it to go that far. We can pretend it didn’t happen.”
You’re surprised again when he frowns, shakes his head.
“No. Well, yes, but no. I didn’t mean to take it that far, I’ve never—I’ve never done that.” He wets his lips and takes a step closer to you, and already your body knows how to react to his proximity. It’s like a switch was flipped, and now it can’t be unflipped. “But I don’t want to pretend it didn’t happen. Not if you don’t.”
You breathe heavily, let silence blanket the room for one heartbeat, two. Twenty.
“I don’t. I really don’t.” He takes another step closer, brings a hand to your cheek, but this time his touch is gentle.
“Then we won’t.”
His mouth, when it finds yours, is not gentle. It is bruising, probing, his tongue seeking yours, and you wrap your arms around his back, his shoulders, encourage it, until one of your hands drops to his belt and he grabs it, forces it down at your side.
“Not here,” he says through gritted teeth—probably because, while he’s saying no, the unmistakable bulge in his pants is actually begging yes. You move the hand he’s not holding, brush it through his hair, and he blinks slow. “Do you want to come home with me tonight?”
You’re pretty sure you’ve never wanted anything more in your goddamn life.
The ride to Hotch’s place is slightly awkward. You are both mostly silent, in that stage of the hookup where you’re both reliving how you got here, wondering what will happen, if this is the right thing, if it’s worth it.
From everything you’ve seen so far, it’s really fucking worth it.
His apartment is very nice, clean, kind of bare in that modern bachelor way. Yours isn’t much better, because you are always at work, always looking at photos of missing women instead of your family and friends. You run a hand along the sofa—large, black, suede—and comment on it just to say something, and he puts his hands gently on either side of your throat, kisses you, and looms over you so you are forced to settle back onto it.
You lay back, one foot on the floor and the other leg stretched along the length of the cushions, and he pushes his way between your knees, drapes himself over top of you, kisses some more. You run your hands over him because he lets you, truly feeling his body for the first time, and the thickness, solidness, softness has you moaning against his lips for more.
He leans up, takes one hand off your throat, and moves the other to the front of it, his fingers digging into the sides of your neck. The image of him on top of you like this, your literal life, safety, comfort in his hands… it’s intoxicating, and you nod just slightly, to let him know that if he wants, this is something he can have. Something he can take.
He bends down to brush his lips over yours, then over your throat, your ear. “Just a little,” he murmurs, squeezing tight. “I’d prefer to discuss it more—unless you wanted to stop and do that now.” There is a smirk in his voice when he says it, because he knows already that stopping is the furthest thing from your mind. You’ll take just a little, for now.
He leans up again, flexes that hand on your throat in a way that makes your eyelids flutter. With his free hand, he loosens the knot of his tie, pulls it off, starts slipping his buttons free.
Undressing himself on top of you, making eye contact, restricting your air supply—never before have you been willing to give a man free rein of your body, but there’s a first time for everything, and he’s quickly earning himself a key to your kingdom. Your body thrums at the idea of being at his complete mercy, tied up maybe, legs spread, edged with his mouth and hands until all you can do is whine his name and beg to come.
Your face heats, and you whimper, and he loosens his grip, brushes his thumb over your mouth.
“Good girl. Are you alright?” You lick your lips, swiping your tongue over the pad of his finger, and nod.
“Yes, sir.”
You would never be insubordinate—okay, you absolutely would be, have been, were earlier today—but authority is not really your friend, so you aren’t the type of person to throw sir around like it’s second nature. Your use of the title here is deliberate—call it a hunch—and when his eyes darken, it’s clear it’s worth swallowing your pride over.
He takes his hand off of you, makes quicker work of his shirt with both hands available to him. You look down at his crotch, and he pauses to bring his hands to yours, moves them to his belt, giving you permission to open it. The clink of the buckle feels obscene in his quiet apartment, and you untuck his shirt so he can pull it off, left only in a tight undershirt that emphasizes every curve of muscle, the bit of softness across his midsection. He’s perfect, and you run your hands over him, moan, make sure that he knows it.
He pulls your t-shirt off, unhooks your bra and kisses your throat, your chest, cups your breasts in his hands and teases your nipples with a pointed tongue. You let your head fall back, because it feels so good and you want to feel his tongue lower, wonder how he’d react to the taste of the slickness that’s been pooling in your panties since he slammed you up against that door.
“Fuck. Please.” He looks up at you from where he’s mouthing at your breasts, pulls off with a wet sound and rubs his hand up your chest to curl around your neck.
“You have to tell me what you want, sweetheart. I’m not a mind reader.” You whimper, and he presses his thumb into your mouth, lets you suck on it a moment before easing it out. “Always running your mouth, always disobeying me. Always have to have the last word. Where’s that mouthy girl now?” You stare up at him, say nothing, and he slaps your cheek, pushes two fingers into your mouth when it falls open in a moan.
He’s back to undressing one handed, stands while his fingers thrust over your tongue and pushes his pants down, his underwear. You moan when his cock springs up, big and full, and you bob your head a little so maybe he’ll get that you want to give him a sickeningly sloppy blow job.
“No, you don’t get this yet,” he says, pulling his fingers out of your mouth and spreading the wetness over the dark head of his dick. “You don’t get anything until I give it to you. Is that understood?”
“Yes, sir,” you promise with a nod, and he pulls his undershirt off and works your pants open, drags them down your legs. He exhales deeply when presented with your panties—you’re certain they’re obscenely, visibly wet, and it’s confirmed when pulls them off and you can feel how messy you are, your sticky arousal coating your pussy, ass, and thighs.
He pushes your legs up, leans in, and swipes his tongue over you, from your opening to your clit, then over your inner thighs, and you moan, buck against him. Moving his hands to just behind your knees, he holds you tightly, lays his arms over the length of your pushed up thighs, presses down so you can’t move. You whimper at the restriction, and he presses harder, dives down to lick and kiss your pussy, to tug at your lips gently with his teeth.
“All this because of a little roughness?” he asks with a delicious jab of his tongue inside your aching hole. “Soaking your panties because I slapped your pretty face?” You pant, nod, and he rubs his tongue hard against your clit, gets you so close you can hear the change in your own voice as you moan, and then pulls back. “You’ve been needing someone to put you in your place for a while, haven’t you? Someone who can take hold of that smart mouth and render you silent. Do I have it right, baby?”
He has it exactly right and he knows it, only asks to hear you say the two words he probably never imagined he’d get out of you.
“Yes, sir.” It’s strained and weak, and he lays one forearm across your thighs, holds you down, and batters your clit with his tongue, rubs his huge hand over your hot, sensitive pussy until you come whining and trying desperately to move against him even though you can’t. “Oh my god, Hotch, fuck.”
He kisses you as soon as you sag against the sofa, groaning against your mouth, running his hands over your hips, and you are still trying to catch your breath when he gets his arms around you, scoops you up and carries you to his bedroom. From there, he tosses you roughly onto the bed, your body bouncing from the force, and then turns you over and wastes no time thrusting inside you, laying on top of you, his full weight all but guaranteeing you’ll come fast and hard.
“Does that feel good?” he grunts in your ear, pounding against your ass, and you whimper, claw at the sheets. He covers your hands with his, laces your fingers so you can't move them, pushes your hair off of the back of your neck with his nose. “Good girl, just lay there and take my cock. You aren’t the type to put up a fight, are you?”
That shouldn’t turn you on like it does, but you live to fight, and now that you have this incredible, sexy, strong man on top of you, dominating you the way you’ve only dreamed, it just comes naturally.
You try to buck back against his thighs but can’t because he’s so heavy, his thrusts so deep and rough. You try to get your arms free, whine when he holds your hands tighter, when he presses his biceps down against the backs of your arms so they can’t move at all. You thrash your head, moaning, loud, nearly primal sounds of pleasure, and he puts his mouth against the back of your neck, bites down hard like you’re an animal he’s forcing to submit.
“Settle, settle; just let me fuck you, let me come inside. You’re no match for me, sweetheart.” Your eyes roll back in your head as he speaks it into your ear, as he rocks his thighs against your ass, as you can feel the muscles of his stomach flex against your lower back. He uses your body, truly, every inch of it covered and compressed by the weight of him, forcing your breasts and clit to rub against the comforter; any one thing he’s doing would be enough, but all of it combined is almost too much, and you whimper, desperate, needy. “Too weak to do anything but let yourself be fucked, aren’t you? Whether or not we come is up to me.”
“Mmh, yes sir,” you breathe, and he leans in to bite the back of your neck again, possessive and rough. It sends a wave of arousal through your whole body, makes your pussy throb and ache. “Oh, god. Please, please make me come. Please use me to come.” Your voice is high, eager, so unlike you’ve ever heard it before that it somehow only adds to your pleasure.
“Using you, baby,” he groans in your ear, thrusting faster, harder, the fleshy smack of your thighs as he fucks and the wetness of your cunt as you take him in filthy and amazing. “I’ll make you come, I’ll come in you, if you promise to be a good girl for me. Are you a good girl?”
God, he’s really going to make you say this. Being a sweet, subservient girl is not in your nature, but it could be, for him. You’d be anything he wants you to be.
“Yes, sir,” you murmur, and he lifts one hand off of yours and puts it on the side of your head, pressing your cheek against the bed while he fucks you.
“Louder.”
“Yes, sir.” Your voice is louder, but less convincing, and he trails his lips over the curve of your ear, sinks his teeth into your exposed throat.
“Louder.” He punctuates it with a hard, almost brutal snap of his hips, and you can feel your orgasm so close, try not to become so focused on the feeling that you miss out on all the rest.
“Yes, sir, I’m a good girl. Please, please.” He picks up the pace, crushing you against the bed, beneath his weight, and you are sweaty, breathless, out of control—perfect.
“Yes you are, and you’re going to come for me.” Soft lips brush over the stinging bites he left on your neck, and he swipes his tongue over them, soothes them. “Who are you going to come for?”
“You, sir,” you gasp, body tensing, pussy clenching, and he groans.
“Who are you going to come for? I need a name, baby.” You whimper, moan, wish you could kiss him, taste him, and when you come it is violent, lengthy, gripping your whole body and dragging it somewhere you’ve never been.
“Aaron—oh, god, I’m coming for you, Aaron. Please, please.” Your eyes water as he fucks you through it, pumping deep until he spills inside you, panting that’s right, easy, just like that in your ear until he’s spent.
He settles on top of you, and the layer of sweat between you should feel disgusting, but it just makes you feel closer to him, like a good girl, like you earned the reminder of how hard you both worked, how hard you came.
He is all sweet kisses and gentle hands, asking if you are alright, praising your performance, your body; it feels so good, his velvet voice wrapping around you, his heavy body pressing down on yours.
You shower after that, so you can sleep; notorious insomniac that you are, he chuckles in your ear when you start to drift off in his arms almost instantly after he gets you both situated in bed.
You wake to gentle hands sweeping over your body. You are bruised where he held you down, sore all over in the very best way; you hum at his touch, turn to face him so you can collect soft, sleepy kisses. You drape your arm over his stomach, bury your face in his chest, and he rubs his hand over the back of your neck where you are bitten and raw and claimed. It turns you on—the feel, the memory, the implication—and he lays you back against the bed, puts a pillow under your ass, then settles between your legs and kisses your mouth.
“Going to make you feel really good, baby. Just do as I say, be a good girl, and I promise I’ll make you come.” You nod, tired but horny and ready to do as he says, and he leans up over you, wraps his hands around your shoulders, hooks his chin against your neck. His weight is pressing down on you again, but this time it’s different, sweeter and more intimate. You smile softly, wet your lips.
He slides inside you, maneuvers your legs up over his thighs, and rocks upward, his pelvis lined up in such a way that it rubs right over your clit. You moan, wrap your arms around his back, roll your hips while he grinds against you, pumping shallowly inside but, more importantly, stimulating your clit with each stroke.
“Aaron,” you sigh, holding him tightly while he moves against you, and you throw your head back, gasp and groan while his heavy body glides over yours, while he breathes roughly in your ear.
“Yes, baby. Feels good? Want your sweet pussy to feel good, after I was rough last night.”
“Yes, sir, feels good.” It leaves your mouth as a groan as he humps against you right over your clit, as he tilts his head to kiss you softly below your ear.
“Not sir right now, just Aaron.” You hum, clutch him tighter, move against him, feel the tip of his cock come so close to slipping out just to have it pushed carefully back inside.
“Feels really good. I’m close.” He grinds a little faster, body rolling harder against yours, and you shudder, dig your nails in, and climax, easy and slow and delicious. He praises you even though, again, you didn’t do much, then leans up on his forearms and pushes in fully, thrusts quick and deep. “Mmm, yeah. Want your come.” You pull him close for a kiss, grip his shoulders hard while he fucks you fast, desperate.
You kiss his arms when he comes, panting and gorgeous over you, and when he collapses onto you you wrap your arms and legs around him, hold him tightly, and hum.
“What are you thinking about, baby?” he asks, knows that sound, and you press your lips to his shoulder.
“Just thinking how nice this is. How I like that last night isn’t all you want from me.” He makes eye contact, smooths your hair back, brushes a kiss against your mouth.
“I want anything—everything. I think we could be really good together, despite our differences… if that’s something you want.” You nod, smile softly, and he reciprocates, leans in for more easy kisses. “One thing, though: when I tell you to stay behind me, stay behind me.” Your smile melts into a scowl.
“You wouldn’t tell Derek to stay behind you!”
“Why are you comparing yourself to Derek? Why are you comparing at all, I told you—”
“I know what you told me, and it’s bullshit, so forgive me if I—”
“I don’t forgive you, actually, and if you keep talking back to me—”
“What are you going to do?”
He demonstrates. It’s extremely effective.
You still don’t stay behind him when he tells you to.
Summary: Watching Spencer interrogating a suspect flares something inside of you.
Warnings: NSFW. Swearing, yelling, some mentions of usual Criminal Minds lingo and terms, degradation and name calling (I.e, whore, etc), exhibitionism, mentions of public play (doesn't actually happen tho), whatever mirror kink is called lol. Lemme know if I missed anything.
A/N: I haven't proofread this, it's like 12:30 am and i need to sleep but I'll do it tomorrow after school.
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Spencer and Aaron Hotchner talked carefully behind the interrogation room, their word quiet enough for only you three to hear.
"Spencer, are you sure you can do this? You're gonna have to assert authority from the instant you walk in there," Agent Hotchner said with concern setting deep in his eyes. "Once we lose the authority over him, he will not be easy to break."
Spencer nodded his head, his gaze examining the suspect through the glass as if mentally making a profile; and knowing him, he probably was. "Yeah, I'm ready."
Hotch nodded back, "Gain control of the conversation and show that you're the dominant one."
You'd been working on this case for too long, gathering any kind of leads you can but yet almost a week later and being nowhere near to catching the unsub. You were all tired for sure but worked hard nonetheless.
Spencer quickly kissed your forehead, still not too comfortable with the idea of PDA, and walked back into the interrogation room, a certain stride of confidence in his walk, and his demeanor noticeably changing.
And you had to admit, it was kinda hot.
Spencer and you have been dating for a long time now and it’s been great, there’s a few rules here and there that really help the relationship work better.
For example; in order to stay professional while on the field, you had a strict no sex rule when you’re away on a case.
The only downside was times like these when after controlling your sexual urges for a week, and no assurance of going back home any sooner, you’d find yourself getting horny rather easily than usual.
Now you didn’t know whether Spencer had caught on. The only thing you knew was with the sight in front of you through the glass, the next few hours were going to be some of the longest ones.
Spencer stood facing the glass so that his face was the only object in front of you in the midst of the minimalistic dull background of the interview room; not that you were complaining of your view. The suspect’s back faced towards you but you didn’t really care for it.
Spencer’s face was molded tight with seriousness, and you knew this is the last thing you should be thinking about right now in the given circumstances but his expressions vaguely reminded you of when he dominated you, specifically in the bedroom. Not that you restricted your playful activities to the bedroom either.
He knit his eyebrows together, examining the suspect before leaning closer with his palms attached to either sides of the cold table between the two.
“He’s doing good; instead of verbally communicating right away, he’s letting his eyes talk,” Hotch said from next to you, you forgetting about his presence until his voice did the job for him.
“Yeah, restricting verbal communication to important matters as if saying- showing that he is in control of the steering wheel and he will steer it to serious talk,” You nod your head, glancing at his usual blank face. He doesn’t look back.
Instead his face lights up with a smile. For just a second, but you know how valuable it really is.
He’s about to speak, eyes still latched on Spencer’s actions before a uniformed man knocks before barging in. Face fogged with concern.
After hushed voices, you come to know about another body being found, the M.O. strikingly similar to your unsubs and Hotch leaves you to observe the interrogation in case Spencer needs anything.
Hotch closes the door behind him but your attention wavers from it with the loud noise of metal screeching and a yell that makes you jerk in place.
Your head shoots towards the glass, your boyfriend’s fists digging into the table as he continues yelling, “Tell me the truth.”
The suspect’s head flies back as Spencer grabs his shirt and pulls him closer, “I wasn’t even there!” He chokes out, the collars of his top closing in on his neck from the way Reid’s holding him.
You gasp at the sight in front of you, your thighs involuntarily closing together. You try to remind yourself that you’re in a professional environment but, god, the way he’s looking down at the guy- similar to the way he looks at you when you’re submitting to him.
He’s basically levitating, his hips barely touching the chair anymore as the furniture thuds around between them, Reid continues with his accusations.
Pushing aside the feeling of immobility, you throw open the door to the interrogation and about to pull him out of there until—
“Okay! Okay!” The suspects breathes out from over the screaming, hands up in surrender, “I did it...”
You’re overjoyed, at least you want to be, but you just couldn’t stop your mind from wandering. Reid let’s go of the guy, fury still settling down inside of him as he calls the guard outside to take him away.
You sigh in relief when he comes back to find you, “One down,” He smiles, referring to the terrorist group you’d been aiming to catch, “at least the others will be more feasible if we can get him to talk,” He says, words simply floating in and out of your ears, your eyes fixated at him rolling his sleeves back neatly.
He’s sweaty. The air conditioning isn’t exactly that great, but you knows it’s mostly the result of his manhandling. Regardless, he looks good, shirt slightly sticking to his chest.
He takes notice of the heat before he takes notice of your staring –probably because he’s still calming down– “He’s tough, like we profiled, but we’ll make him blurt it out,” His fingers push open the first few buttons to cool down.
You nod absentmindedly, your sight flitting to his now open chest, gleaming with sweat. That’s when he realizing he’s talking to himself, and mostly, that your attention is way too far away from what he’s saying.
“Princess,” The shift in his voice is back, one that always brings his attention back to him, like the sound of treats to a puppy. He smirks, knowing he has you now. “Care to tell me what’s distracting you?”
You chew on your lower lip, not knowing how to answer his question without sounding like the scene from a few minutes ago hasn’t aroused you.
He clicks his tongue, closing the distance between you and holds your face by the jaw. “What? Did me manhandling that guy turn my pretty girl on, hm?” His words are laced with pity that you know is fake.
You nod your head in slow moments. His hand connects to your cheek in a rough slap in response. He pauses for a moment, glancing at the glass and then back at you. “Words.”
All you can do is gasp before the grip on your jaw tightens, urging you to speak, “Yes! Please–” You squeak.
He smirks again, pushing you against the table, “I’ve barely touched you, and you’re already begging for me. Tell me. What are you begging for?”
Words toss around in your head in search of a coherent sentence, you managing to (squeak) “Fuck me.”
He laughs at your response, hands traveling down to your waist, “Are you that desperate, that you’re willing for me to fuck you in a goddamn interrogation room, with so many people- even our colleagues, right outside that door, huh?”
You groan, his fingers sliding underneath your tshirt to graze at the skin below, nodding, “Yes, please, I need you...”
His trimmed nails barely breach your hips, as if wanting to tease them. Grabbing the hem of your shirt, he pulls it off you in a swift moment and smashes lips against yours right as the piece of clothing goes over your head.
One of your hands grips the table and the other wanders off to his upper torso, touching him with the same rhythm your lips danced against his.
Your fingers find the buttons of his shirt, working immediately to get it off of him as quickly as you can, they stammer when he bites your lip, you clutching a side of his shirt as you whimper into his mouth.
Just as your nimble fingers push his shirt off of his shoulders, his longer, thicker digits unbutton your jeans and pull them off of you.
His lips pull away from you, his grip on your hips tightening to lift you onto the table. His hot breath lingers on your neck and your whimpers echo along the empty room. Pleas emitting from your mouth.
"What do you want, Princess?" He asks between placing kisses along your neck, fingers ghosting your thighs, getting nearer, and nearer to your center.
You don't have to answer. He slides your panties aside, eyes abandoning everything to see what he uncovered. He smirks, "So wet."
You almost close your legs with frustration, but his grip digs deep into your thighs, prying you further open, and reaching to toy with your bare core.
Your moans grow louder and louder as his fingers drive in and out of you at a rate that seems unbearable, so loud that you have to bite onto his collarbones so you don’t scream and risk getting caught.
The thrill runs prominent in the two of you, the excitement making you even more aroused. He notices it too, clicking his tongue. "You're dripping all over the table, and so loud," His moments don't falter as he continues fingerfucking you, regardless, "Such a desperate whore, getting fucked by my fingers while our colleagues are right outside, bet you like it too.”
You do. And you want more.
You place a hickey on his chest, running your hands down his torso- you can feel his heart sttamer away in his chest just as fast your is, and you can see his diaphram jump in place with his breathing hitching when your hands unbuckle his belt- the leather is cold against your touch when you slide it off the loops of his trousers.
As much as you dont want to, you push his hands away from you so you can get to work, quickly taking his trousers of. If his bulge wasn't prominent before, without the extra layer of his pants it looks much...bigger.
You pull him out of his boxers, his length standing tall in front of you and he groans with the (removal) of restriction, louder when your hand wraps around him.
Spencer gawks his head up, you look at him thinking he’s looking at you but his eyes go through you and on the glass behind you. You can see the cogs churning in his head at the same rate as the smirk that curls up on his face.
Pure evil is painted on his face, “Want me to fuck you?” You know the question is rhetorical, but yet you nod and affirm his query.
“Yes please,” You plead, hands reaching for his erection again but he whacks them away.
“So you’re ready to get fucked in front of that mirror? Where anyone can walk in that room behind it and see you being the good little slut you are for me?” You nod your head vigorously. “Desperate fucking whore.”
He brings u down from the table, removing your bra and underwear for good, “If you want that,” He turns you around, pushing between your shoulder blades to bend you over and fix your position so your hips align in front of his. “We better give them a show, yeah baby? Show them what a desperate slut I have?”
You plead and beg and whimper, looking at him through the reflection of the one way mirror, the excitement of the idea of someone watching from the other side, though unlikely, sends tingles all over your body.
You watch him place kisses over your back from the mirror, pulls your hair to tilt your head up and leave more kisses over your neck.
“Look at yourself while I fuck you.” You don’t have to reply, his tip pokes in.
He fucks you with just the tip for a few strokes, pushing and pulling back just the head. You both sigh from it.
He pauses. His hand comes ahead to cover your mouth and you scream into it from how hard his slams into you. Completely sheathed inside.
“Now now, you don’t actually wanna get caught do you? Or are you that pathetic?” He starts moving, setting a high pace.
His hips rock harder against yours, the sound of your skin slapping sounds comforting to you. You push your head down, taking in the way your body edging into overstimulation feels.
“I thought I told you to look at yourself,” You look up to obey him just in time to watch his palm swing, and feel your ass sting a second later.
He loops his arm between yours to lift your upper torso up from the table, the cool of the metal leaving your chest.
Your eyes are left no choice but to fall on your reflection in the mirror in front of you, how your body was sheen with sweat, how it writhed every time the man behind you thrusts.
Spencer's frame stands tall behind you, watching your every move in your reflection. Veins pop out on the arm he grips yours from, his neck a similar case when he throws his head back, pleasure draped over his face.
He looks like a God, even in the dimly lit room, he looks like a God with how his eyes are dark with lust, curly hair that you want nothing but to tangle your fingers in for hours long.
Entranced by the visual of Spencer's cock disappearing between your legs, you nearly missed the smirk quirking on his lips, "You like watching yourself getting fucked, don't you?"
You dig your now free palms into the surface of the table you were holding yourself up by, swimming in waves of pleasure, yelping when Spencer smacks an impatient slap on your ass to usher the answer out of you. "I love it!" You cry out.
Spencer laughs, basking in the control he has over you; as if he knows the knot in your tummy is tightening by the second. "Pathetic," He degrades you. Pure filth written on his smirking face.
"Spencer, please!" You whimper, lowering yourself back down on the table, your legs shake as if begging for mercy.
He knows. He can feel you clenching around him, gripping him like a vixen. Yet, he drags it out of you like a ring master's whip on his animal, "Please what bunny?"
"Wanna- fuck! Wanna cum so bad," Tears stream down your cheeks as physical stain to mark your dirty deeds into a memory, in addition to the marks his grip on your waist and the spanks on your ass he leaves.
"Aw, can you repeat that baby? Got distracted by how pretty you look crying for cock."
You whine like a puppy asking for treats, pouting up at Spencer from the mirror because you know he's looking. "Daddy please, I wanna cum," You mewl in your best voice, determined to convince him.
He stares at you like you're the only thing there– and in that moment, you really were– "Go ahead, puppy, cum all over my cock."
He quickens his pace, driving in and out of you, his balls slapping your clit over and over and over again.
You shriek, completely surrendered under him. The knot in your stomach bursting right as his approval fills your ears, and that's all you can think about as you fall over the edge.
It's like water on electricity, your body buzzing in it, sparking through you again and again, energizing every time Spencer continues his thrusts- never faltering. Your vision goes white as you release all over him, the only thing keeping you aware of your presence on earth being the hold Spencer has on your body.
Grunts follow your shouts of ecstasy, Spencer sloppily pushing deep into you, his reflection like Achilles in bliss. His lips sigh your name, like a mantra, like the password to the gateway of heaven. "Oh fuck!" He exclaims finally, relishing in his high, painting your walls with his cum.
You both stay there for a moment to surf out your highs, existing in each other's embrace. A minute passes when your boyfriend pulls you up to your full height, content painted on his tiresome face.
His much relaxed arms wrap around you, lips peppering light kisses over your neck. A smile bright on his face when he turns around to him. "You okay?" He whispers, looking into your eyes like he's searching for the answer in your pupils.
You nod, taking one of his hands from your waist and kissing the back of it, "I'm great. That was great, you're great," You laugh, your mind still at a daze.
He presses a kiss on your forehead, a chuckle leaving his own lips. "Good," He smiles, pressing more kisses on your face.
You put your clothes back on, cleaning up after yourselves, the giddy feeling of getting away with something fills you as you give Spencer a mischievous look, turning the knob of the closed door to swing it open.
You find Morgan who was apparently passing by, he spots you too and rolls his eyes. He knows. You giggle, hiding your face in your husband who is himself blushing.
A/N: plis teach me how to add a read more break on mobile😭😭😭
Summary: The reader joins Aaron for Jack’s soccer game, posing as his girlfriend to keep the soccer moms off his back.
Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x (fem!)reader!
Warning: FULLY SFW. PURE FLUFF.
Includes: Fluff, emotions, sweet, touch starved Aaron, Aaron Hotchner needs a hug, sweet boy Aaron, sweet boy Jack, annoying soccer moms, soccer
Word Count: 3k
A/N: This is posted on my ao3 (ssahotchswife)! Hi everyone!! This was a super duper fun one to write, and I hope you all enjoy it! I love love love soccer coach Aaron hehe also before you ask, yes I hate this title pfft, I couldn’t think of anything else. <3 AO3 LINK
Typically, on the jet ride home from a case, Aaron spent his time writing up supplemental reports, finishing case reports, or starting on consultations for cases the team wouldn’t be traveling to. For the last four weeks, however, Aaron’s time in the skies had been devoted to devising game plans and team rosters and setting up snack schedules for Jack’s soccer team.
Aaron had been more than surprised when the organization had approached him about coaching for Jack’s team after the previous coach had quit. He honestly had no free time anyway, but the thought of getting to spend that little extra time watching his son do something he loved and getting to participate in it with him made the decision for him – he simply couldn’t turn the position down. So, he spent hours poring over strategy and formations and plays trying to make this little team of six-year-olds as best as he could. They still didn’t keep score at this age – it would be a little frightening to see the scores – but at least Aaron’s own competitive heart would know they were winning. Because he kept score in his head.
I love you (and I don't want to) (Spencer Reid/Reader)
Requested: Yes
Summary: After three years in love with Spencer, (Y/N) decides it’s time to move on. He will never love her anyway, right?
Category: Angst/Fluffy ending
Word count: 4,2K
Warnings: Cursing, but you love me anyway 💜
Masterlist
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It had been three years of her life. Three whole years she had been in love with Spencer Reid. But (Y/N) couldn’t deal with those feelings anymore. She didn’t want to continue torturing herself, waiting for him. Why? ‘cos for him, (Y/N) was just his friend, his very best friend. But nothing more. And she wanted more. She wanted everything with him, and after three years, she knew she wasn’t going to get it.
(Y/N) had hinted to Spencer in every possible way that she was in love with him, but he hadn’t acted on it. She actually felt pathetic. (Y/N) thought she couldn’t be any more obvious about her feelings. The only thing she hadn’t done was kissing Reid. And she wasn’t going to because it was clear all she was going to get was rejection.
That’s why, after three years postponing her own life, waiting around to see if Spencer might actually see her as a woman and not as a friend, she was done. She had to move on from him, even if it was the hardest thing she had ever done.
But working with Spencer didn’t make it easier. There he was, every morning, smiling at her from his desk. Asking her how she had spent the night, what she had done. Even inviting her over to his apartment for a movie night. Which with Spencer actually meant watching movies and nothing else. Nothing. Not even holding hands.
In three years, the most physical (Y/N) had even been with Spencer had been the day she got shot in a leg, and he hugged her when she rejoined the team after her leave.
One hug in three years. That was it. Spencer was way more physical with Morgan, or with anyone else, as a matter of fact. That’s why it was time to let him go. (Y/N) knew she wasn’t going to find another man like him, though maybe that was the idea.
She loved him so much it hurt, and she needed to get rid of that pain.
(Y/N) knew she could get a man’s attention if she wanted to. That’s why it was so frustrating not being able to get Spencer’s. Decided to get him out of his mind, (Y/N) dragged Emily and García for a “Lady’s night.” And by the end of the evening, she had given her number to three different guys. Neither of them was Spencer Reid, but at least (Y/N) felt her ego boost from getting their attention.
summary: “this is a bit angsty but spencer x reader getting into a fight and he says something that really hurts her (bc we all saw him fight with jj the man could ruin someone) happy ending though?” 5146 words
a/n: you are so right.. snappy spencer is terrifying
masterlist
“What the hell is wrong with you?!”
It’s a bark, loud and snappy that runs from the front of the conference room right to where you stand at the entrance.
You’ve barely stepped in the room, only just been cleared by the medics, and you’re entirely unprepared for this.
You expected to be told off by Hotch. Not by Spencer.
You didn’t know Spencer was capable of raising his voice. Or speaking to anyone in such a… mean way.
“What are you talking about?” You ask. You slowly move your bag off your shoulder, wincing when the movement hurts.
Spencer storms over, and suddenly everyone’s eyes are on you.
“I said, what the hell is wrong with you?! Do you not realise how stupid that was? You could’ve gotten killed, could’ve gotten someone else killed, and then you tell a reporter AND a local officer to piss off?!”
You open your mouth to respond, try to placate him, but he’s not finished and he lets you know.
“I’m not done!” He snaps. Derek stands up at his tone. “You represent the entire FBI when we’re out here on a case, you know that?! So when you insult the PD or-or try to do the job yourself, like you don’t have a team with the best minds in the whole country on your side, it makes us look pathetic and like we can’t do our jobs! Is that what you think, Y/N? You think we can’t do our jobs?!”
Derek steps forward, “Whoa, Reid-“
“No, Derek. Let her answer.” He’s breathing heavily, chest moving up and down as his heart thumps in his chest, “Let’s let the newbie Y/N tarnish the fragile reputation we spent years building because she can’t handle waiting five goddamn minutes for someone to come as backup. She can’t wait because she knows she’ll have to share the credit, and she’s not used to sharing-“
“That’s not true!”
It feels like the wrong time for you to interrupt, but the accusation that you can’t work in a team is ridiculous, and you won’t stand for it.
In fact, you won’t stand for anything he’s saying. He’s wrong.
“Spencer, I don’t know-“
“You don’t know what I’m talking about? You don’t know what my problem is? What do you know, Y/N? Anything? Anything at all? Cause from where I’m standing, you’ve brought nothing to the team except stress.”
summary: “Hi! Do you take requests?? If you do, can I please request a Spencer x Reader (Including the BAU), where they are dating and the reader is a year or so younger than spencer, but just as smart and very loved by the team, and one day she has to save the team from an unsub and gets really hurt and after everyone is safe they are all really worried about her?? Idk if that made sense at all. Love you work!” 2898 words
a/n: do i know anything about bombs or surgery or post-op procedures? No. did i still have a lot of fun writing this? Yes . i hope you like it! this specific request has been sent to multiple fic writers which i didn’t know until i’d already written and posted BUT the good thing is every writer is different so every request will be approached differently
masterlist
“No.”
“Hotch-“
“I said, no.”
“My girlfriend is stuck in there with a psychopath, Hotch! I can’t leave her in there!”
“I know, Reid. But I need you out here, alive, rather in there, dead.”
Spencer glares, “She could be dead in there for all we know.”
Emily winces from behind Spencer. Hotch stands, hands on hips, trying to think logically despite the situation, “We can’t afford to think like that.”
“He has a bomb! He-he-“
“Reid.” Hotch says, tone authoritive to show he’s playing unit chief and not old friend Hotch, “I need your head in this. We need to profile him to figure out the best way to negotiate – we can’t do that if you keep threatening to act irrationally.”
Spencer scoffs. Derek steps forward and pulls Spencer aside to talk him down from the metaphorical ledge he’s standing on. He’s one second away from running right into that abandoned building that everyone had just evacuated, bar you, and straight into the arms of the man who now has you hostage with a bomb ready to be detonated whenever he pleases.
Hotch already tried calling and negotiating. The man scoffed, voice gruff, and rumbled, “Either I get what I want, or both me and the pretty agent are getting blown to bits.”
In hindsight, they should’ve been more prepared.
Storming the abandoned warehouse, the team expected to find the remnants of a crime scene – they profiled the warehouse was the base of operations for the unsub, a place for him to store all his supplies, and because it had made the news that the FBI were on the case, they assumed he would’ve started running the second he felt them closing in.
He didn’t. He’s ready to go down with his ship, and you’re the unfortunate one that found him. And his homemade bomb.
Derek found the bomb-making equipment. He shouted in his comm for everyone to evacuate, and Spencer realised the second he stepped outside that you were not there. And you hadn’t responded to any calls after stepping into the building.
All it took was one call from the too proud unsub for them to realise your life is in the balance and for Reid to stop thinking rationally.
Spencer should’ve gone with you. He knows you can handle yourself, you’ve saved his ass enough times, but if he’d just.. followed you instead of JJ. Maybe you’d both be in there, or, even better, out here. Alive. Safe. No hostage situation in sight.
Band-Aids Don’t Fix Bullet Holes, But Your Kisses Do
summary: in a standoff with an unsub, reader makes a choice: her life or spencer’s.
pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader
category: angst/fluff at the end
warnings/includes: canon typical case violence, based off of episode “haunted” so spoilers, guns/gun violence, hospitals, kissing, mentions of hotch’s stabbing
word count: 3437
author’s note: i wrote this one a while ago and thought i’d share it. if anyone wants to be tagged, i’m going to figure it out and i’ll add you to a tag list!!
Band-Aids Don’t Fix Bullet Holes, But Your Kisses Do
The two agents that sat on swivel chairs facing each other fake arguing about an episode of Dr. Who. Spencer had his legs straight out, resting on Y/N’s lap comfortably. She leaned forward and placed her chin on her hand as she explained to Spencer her thoughts on the episode.
“Spencer, you cannot tell me that you don’t think David Tennant is hot! I watched the episode with you and I can tell you are-“
“I’m not going to argue against that, Y/N. David Tennant is,” Spencer started as he fiddled with the lollipop that Garcia handed him when he and Y/N walked into the bullpen.
A/N: And here we have it, another oneshot that reveals my desire for men twice my age. Sigh.
You told yourself it was a quirk—like Reid with his obsession with Dr. Who or Penelope with her love of steamy romance novels. You just loved a good high-stakes raid; sure, if it could be avoided you weren’t bothered, but if it was necessary—well, the rush of adrenaline during the preparation, the intense focus that settled over you when you climbed out of the SUV, you were a sucker for it all.
When you first joined the BAU it was the quickest way for you to prove yourself to your new teammates, impressing even Derek Morgan when you wrangled a man twice your size to the ground and had him in cuffs before your colleagues could assist. Once you had established trust with the team, you were able to fill your role more effectively as the expert on tracking and capturing suspects. Drawing up unique plans for each case once the person was identified and then working with your boss, Aaron Hotchner, to ensure they were organized and followed.
You had been in this role for just over two years now and the BAU was basically your family; Spencer was your best friend—you spent most of your social time outside of work with him, usually at his place or the bookstore nearby. You did girls’ nights with JJ, Emily and Penelope, some of which got so wonderfully out of hand that Spencer would pick you up, then tease you endlessly for the next few days as you suffered through a hangover. You liked training with Derek because he pushed you, made sure you worked your ass off whether it was for recertification or just a workout, and he had a calm way of talking about life, often giving you wise advice like whether you should invest in a condo as a rental unit (you did and it worked out amazingly), or if you should give in to JJ’s desire to set you up with a cop friend of Will’s.
That advice you...had not taken. He told you to go for it, that saying yes to a date one time didn’t mean you were obligated to do more than that even if the date went well. The problem was—and you’d never admit this to Derek—that you were already sort of head over heels for someone. The idea of going on a date when you just knew you’d be spending the entire time imagining, wishing it were, a different person across the table from you just didn’t feel right or fair.
So you’d told JJ no thank you. That had been over a year ago and you were in no different of a place in your life, still pining for a man you couldn’t have and whining about it over Ben and Jerry’s during movie nights at Spencer’s, the only person who knew your secret. He was such a good friend that he never stopped you from the inevitable venting that happened every month, usually after a case that had you working closely with the man in question for a few days too long. After being holed up together in a conference room planning and theorizing and then always, always pairing together in the field. You made it up to Spencer by making sure he was never interrupted while in the middle of a ramble unless he got too far off-topic.
Being in love with Aaron Hotchner was no way to live, yet you simply couldn’t help yourself. You didn’t care about the age gap, nor did you mind that he had a child; you adored Jack. But you knew that those would be barriers for Hotch, and you’d seen the last two women he’d dated. They were nearer to his age, soft and sweet and nothing like you at all. It didn’t matter that his relationships didn’t last long, you still gleaned enough information from their brief existence to understand that he wasn’t looking to date another agent, let alone his own, younger, subordinate.
When you had first started with the team, you had wondered if Hotch disliked you. You often found yourself going to Rossi; the warm veteran Profiler always had his door open for you and made sure your onboarding and first few months with the team were smooth and comfortable. It wasn’t that Hotch was rude or cold, it was more like he was wary of you—he would only make brief eye contact, take measured steps away if you happened to be standing near him, and a few times he’d seen the empty seat next to you on the jet and ended up spinning on the spot to take the lone seat at the rear of the cabin, then stand awkwardly if he needed to address the team at any point during the flight.
You tried not to read into it too much but made the mistake of mentioning it to Spencer one movie night. He’d nodded vigorously as you’d spoken and then agreed, saying he’d noticed the odd behaviour as well.
Things were like that until a case in Texas where you saved Hotch’s life.
You remembered that in the moment what you were doing didn’t feel very heroic or grand. It felt terrifying; you had breached a small cabin together on the back of a property where the rest of the team was turning over the main house after having arrested the main suspect. Hotch had gone in ahead of you, standard formation, and at first, it seemed routine and easy.
It was the ease that made the hairs on the back of your neck raise as a chill ran down your spine.
You credited spending so much time with Derek the weeks before learning about his expertise in explosives for how you were able to recognize something was off. You had halted in your tracks and told Hotch to stop and he’d glanced at you uncertainly, stilling nonetheless, and watched you as you stared around the sparse, open room. The spike in adrenaline running through you tipped you over the edge, engaged your fight or flight instincts. You think the only reason Hotch didn’t move or speak was due to the expression on your face, that he realized you were sensing something he wasn’t, and you were grateful for just how good of a profiler, a boss, that he was.
It had clicked as you heard the slow squeak of the cabin’s rickety door falling closed behind you—it had been easy to open, the hinges oiled, so why was it closing slowly and making noise? It was then that you had jumped backward, stopping the door and at the same time you had gripped the back of Hotch’s vest and tugged hard, screaming for him to retreat and he had listened, hurrying to follow you. He’d watched as you grabbed a log off the stack of firewood set just outside the cabin door, taking care to leave it propped opened and unmoving.
You had called for Morgan through the comms while rushing away from the cabin with Hotch. He was regarding you with an expression you never did understand. It was thanks to your quick thinking that you and Hotch weren’t blown to bits. The Bomb Squad had verified the door had been rigged to set off an explosion once it closed behind you.
After that day, that case, Hotch treated you differently. He was warmer, seemed to be more comfortable sitting nearer to you and holding conversations that went beyond the workplace. And in the field, you knew you’d earned his trust and he was arguably the most difficult person to win over; for good reason as he was the Unit Chief.
That trust in you had grown over these past two years working together. It had lead to a friendly relationship that went beyond the workplace, which did nothing to help with your feelings. It was usually a group setting; a party at Rossi’s or a birthday celebration at a nice restaurant. But Hotch would still spend a lot of time talking with you, always made a point of wishing you goodnight warmly when he inevitably ended up leaving first to get home to Jack. Sometimes you swore there was something else he wanted to say to you in those brief moments when he would give you a light hug, but he never did. You convinced yourself it was just your imagination.
And speaking of his son, you had met Jack more than a few times—in fact, Jack often texted you when he had a homework question that he knew his dad would pull his hair out trying to assist with (seriously, Hotch was no good with English or drama, it made you laugh), or once even to tell you he’d been broken up with (that had been a fun one to read to Hotch, who’d expressed that a fifth grader shouldn’t even have a girlfriend and you’d had to break to Hotch that kids grew up too fast for their own good). You were also the third emergency contact for Jack at his school and with any camps or sports he played, but that was because you had the lightest schedule of everyone else on the BAU team, being a homebody. That was all.
Hotch trusted you, with his life, with his sons' life—which was why you were so confused at this very moment.
The world was sideways because he had tackled you.
The unsub you had both been chasing had sprung out from behind a dumpster with a firearm neither of you was aware he’d carried pointed directly at your chest, screaming for you to halt. You were one of the quickest shots on the team, though, and considering his aim was right at your bullet-proof vest, you didn’t even flinch when you’d aimed and pulled the trigger.
Only, Hotch had jumped in front of you at the last possible moment. For one horrifying second, you thought you might shoot him but just managed to jerk the gun higher, the shot going over his outstretched arm; instead of blasting into the suspect's arm as you had intended, it pierced through his skull.
He hit the ground before you did.
Though you weren’t far behind, and fuck you were confused. One moment things were going what you would label ‘standard’ for this type of run or die suspect. Hotch had stopped next to you, joining you in telling the man to lower his weapon-and then all of the sudden he was grabbing you, twisting his body in front of yours. It was the impact to his vest that made you realize the suspect had gotten off a shot as well.
You slammed to the ground with Hotch’s full weight over you, heard him grunt in pain when your head cracked off the concrete because his hand was wrapped protectively around your head—the cracking sound was his hand, rather than your skull. Before you could do more than gasp in surprise, his weight sagged onto you and all the air left your lungs as Hotch crushed you unexpectedly.
You looked down in panic to see Hotch slumped, limp against you, his head on the front of your vest and eyes closed, the pain from the impact of the bullet on his vest having knocked him out cold. You whimpered as you struggled fruitlessly to move him, your mind reeling over what had just happened.
Hotch was a field pro, always calm and calculated and precise. He never fumbled, and yet here he had just taken a very big risk to block a shot aimed at you. You didn’t have the strength to lift him and one of your arms was trapped between your bodies, so you pulled in as much air as you could and reached for his face with your free hand, dropping your gun next to you.
“HOTCH! Jesus—fucking, Hotch wake up!” You screamed, patting his cheek desperately, relief beginning to build as you saw his eyes moving under the lids before they snapped open and you moaned aloud, “Oh god, Hotch are you okay?”
He groaned in pain before lifting his head and meeting your worried gaze with wide eyes, “S-shit, Happy, are you alright?” He gasped, surprising you further by using the nickname you’d been dubbed with by the team because you were always smiling, always quick to laugh. He never called you that in the field. The hand he had under your head curled into your hair as he gazed at you in panic mirroring your own.
You gawked up at him, his face just inches from your own, “Hotch, what the fuck—I’m fine, you just, just,” There was a hysterical note in your voice, “You jumped in front of me! What the hell were you thinking?”
You saw it in his eyes at that moment, his body tensing at your exclamation but his face revealing the surprise, the shock at his actions. Like he hadn’t been thinking at all, but rather reacting. A mixture of emotions crossed his face before he schooled his features to neutral, but you were too worked up to understand any of them. You saw enough, you read what he wasn’t saying out loud—that he’d reacted on instinct, without thought.
He grunted as he adjusted his body and you hoped he hadn’t broken a rib, before he lifted his weight off of you carefully so that he was on all fours above you, the hand cradling your head pulling gently to help you sit up. You were sucking big breaths into your now weightless lungs and came to rest on your elbows, glaring up at him. Hotch barked into his radio to call for the team, his eyes on you with a burning intensity that made your stomach turn over.
Once Morgan confirmed they were coming to your location, Hotch released his hold on your head and surveyed you as if seeking out injuries. “He—I thought he had aimed higher,” He supplied rather lamely, not meeting your eyes. You narrowed yours at him, your adrenaline still pumping, and out of nowhere, it hit you that he had been protecting you, that he was currently acting completely out of character because he was afraid.
Afraid you were going to put it all together.
It was all casual touches, mild flirtatious banter-coffees on your desk in the mornings working at Quantico or passed from his warm hand to yours in the mornings in the hotel lobby’s when on a case. And then every moment together over the last year began to replay in your mind in quick succession. Something about your expression must have given away how you were connecting the dots because he was watching you now like he was witnessing a car accident.
Just last month, you recalled, he had lost his temper on a bartender that had, not knowing you were FBI agents undercover, tried to cop a feel as you passed him in a hallway that led to the main dance floor of the club. Hotch had thrown him into the wall and growled at him not to touch you, before turning to you as the bartender scrambled away and gently touching your arm, his eyes softening as he asked if you were alright.
And back during early spring last year, when you were walking with a search party together on a missing woman case in Denver and tripped over a root in the dense brush. You had gasped and Hotch had caught you so quickly you remembered thinking he must have already been watching you, his hand grasping the back of your jacket and hauling you back up before you could hit the ground. He had brushed some locks of hair that had fallen forward over your shoulder before looking away quickly and setting off to continue searching.
And the most recent memory, just last month at Rossi’s annual Christmas party. You had been sitting with Spencer at the kitchen island, listening to your genius best friend as he rambled off facts about why Christmas trees became a thing when you saw from over his shoulder as Hotch slipped quietly out the doors to the patio area, alone. Something inside you had driven you to excuse yourself, jerking your head toward the windows you could see Hotch through, and Spencer had smirked knowingly before you walked away.
You slipped outside into the cool night and Hotch hadn’t seemed to even notice, his arms resting on the balcony railing as he gazed out into the dark, deep in thought. When you leaned your back against the railing to stand next to him, he’d started slightly before shooting you a little smirk you’d grown to adore. It was something he did only with you and every time it sent butterflies through your stomach.
“Hi, Happy,” He had looked away as he’d spoken, back out at the night sky.
You had smiled up at him, “You may need to dip into more of Garcia’s very alcoholic egg nog if you’re feeling short of Christmas spirit,” He had chuckled at that, a sound that shot heat through you and ensured you didn’t feel the chill in the air, “I only had one glass and I feel it.”
You’d been kidding, though it had been pretty strong. But the way Hotch had glanced back down at you, that brief flash of concern as he searched your face, it had surprised you. “Are you feeling alright?”
“That’s what I was going to ask you, actually.”
Hotch blinked a few times, then sighed, “I am,” His eyes were so warm, you remember thinking. “I just have trouble turning off my brain sometimes.” He’d admitted a little shyly, looking away again.
You’d reacted on instinct, your hand sliding across the railing to lay over his own comfortingly. You looked towards the windows, seeing your friends inside all laughing and cheerful, and ignored how Hotch had stiffened in surprise next to you—he could pull his hand away if he wanted to.
“You want me to help sneak you out?”
His hand turned over beneath yours, twisting to capture it in a soft hold, and you had tilted your head to peer up at him, those warm eyes gazing at you with a sudden intensity you couldn’t understand. “No, I don’t want to leave yet.”
Struggling to quell the sudden nerves within, you’d looked away before replying, “I can’t always quiet mine down either. And I have considerably less trauma in my life compared to you,” You tacked on the joke, relieved when he’d laughed fully, his deep baritone cutting through the air in a rush of joy that made your heart thud hard against your rib cage.
“You have, uh,” He broke off, still laughing, and his hand squeezed yours again, “A real way with words, honey.”
Honey. You had liked that.
At what point in the last year had you fully convinced yourself he could never feel anything toward you like you did for him? Because as you laid there on the concrete it seemed almost glaringly obvious how wrong you were. You had thought all of those moments, most little and some a bit more were just signs of a close friendship, respect for one another as both Agents and individuals. It made you work better together, you’d thought, until right now.
Before you could say anything or even think of what the hell to say to him, voices and heavy footfalls filled the alley. Hotch was looking to your team and had lifted himself completely away from you.
Spencer was the first to grab you and pull you to your feet, his features twisted in concern.
“You okay, Happy?” He asked, smoothing back your hair as his eyes roved over your body to assess the damage-or, lack thereof.
You nodded, giving him a tight smile, “I’m fine Spence. Had to take him out though, he had a gun.” You jerked your chin in the direction of the dead suspect—Emily and Derek were already standing over the man, while Rossi was helping Aaron to his feet, leading him toward the street to the paramedics for assessment.
Spencer hugged you, a rare thing for him to do, “We heard the shots, thought you—I’m so relieved you’re alright,” You smiled up at him reassuringly when he pulled back, “Let’s go see the medics.”
“Oh, no need,” You grumbled, giving him a look the silenced any argument he might have otherwise made. With a careful shrug, Spencer led you from the alley with a hand at your back. He made you sit on a nearby bench within the blocked-off area for the investigation.
“So,” Spencer began, taking a seat next to you and fixing those kind eyes on you, “What happened? You’re angry.”
He knew you too well, you thought, shrugging and glancing away so that he couldn’t read you. Your eyes landed on the ambulance; Hotch was being given a once over and you found him glaring hard at the ground as he sat silently for the paramedic. Rossi was sitting next to him with a knowing expression on his face.
The anger and confusion you were feeling intensified as you replayed everything that had just occurred. Your boss had just broken basic protocol to jump in front of a fucking bullet for you, shoved you hard to ensure he caught the hit and then went so far as to protect your head when you hit the ground.
You could have shot the suspect in the shoulder, but Hotch prioritized you the moment he saw the man's gun.
You’d always had such high regard for Aaron Hotchner, even before you developed feelings for the older man. He was a storm, a man who could as easily and swiftly shift from calm and cool to harsh and powerful depending on what the situation warranted in the field and it had always impressed you. Today, he had quite literally taken your breath away but at the cost of his safety and the suspect's capture.
You were stunned.
Spencer was silent next to you, no doubt understanding from where you were looking that you weren’t going to elaborate. He knew you preferred to speak about personal matters outside of work, and being the amazing friend that he was he didn’t pressure you. A comforting arm did land around your shoulders, which you leaned into gratefully.
You weren’t sure how long you were glaring over at Hotch, but eventually, the paramedic moved away and he glanced up, his eyes finding yours. For a brief moment, he merely stared at you, though his gaze tightened after a beat as if he were annoyed.
That did it.
Without a word to Spence, you abruptly shot off the bench and stormed across the sidewalk and onto the partially cordoned-off road. A flash of understanding crossed his face and he glanced over to Rossi, speaking something quietly to him. Rossi nodded before stepping away, leaving you alone with Hotch by the time you were standing right in front of him where he sat at the back of the ambulance.
He was so much taller than you that standing before him you were only given a slight advantage now, but you allowed the fact that you were looking down your nose at him to encourage you. “Seriously, what the hell were you thinking, Hotch?” You hissed, crossing your arms.
His expression still dark, Hotch met your gaze without faltering, “I reacted out of instinct, Agent—something that we’ve all done before. I prioritized your safety over that of the suspects.”
“You mean over your own safety, Hotch!” You stepped closer, your arms squeezing your torso so that you didn’t reach out and shake him, “We both know his shot wasn’t high. It would have hit my vest. It’s happened before, I can handle it.”
Hotch sighed, running a hand through his hair in a rare display of agitation, though his stern voice didn’t waver as he replied. “I know that you can handle it, Agent. Nonetheless, what’s done is done and I won’t apologize for—”
He broke off when you leaned down so that your face was directly in front of his, your voice coming out choked as your fury reached its peak. “Don’t call me agent, Aaron, not when we both know you aren’t being honest about what that was about.” You didn’t even care that he was your boss at that moment, just like he hadn’t been thinking of you just as one of his agents back in the alley.
You spun away then, your eyes pricking with tears you desperately blinked back. When you looked around, you saw Spencer standing by one of the SUV’s and you made your way over to him. When he saw you coming, his expression fell at the pinched look on your face and he surprised you by pulling you in for another hug when you reached him.
If you had looked back at Hotch, you would have seen the pained expression flicker across his face as he watched you go to Spencer for the comfort he wished so badly he could have given you. You would have seen the way his hands clenched, his jaw ticking as he held himself back from following you, a mixed look of longing and jealousy burning in his dark eyes.
It was a late departure from the airport that night, the team arriving at the jet well past midnight with heavy eyes, all unusually quiet. The fact that it was also a long flight made you want to cry—you could never sleep on the jet. You weren’t sure why exactly, it was as though you were cursed, you were incapable of falling asleep when on any kind of airplane. And you weren’t afraid to fly, quite the contrary you enjoyed it, even found the cabin of the BAU jet to be one of your favourite places. Regardless, as everyone else settled in with headphones or earplugs, reclining their seats, or in Spencer’s case stretching out on the couch to fall asleep, you sat alone at the back of the plane with your legs curled up on the seat, gazing out the window.
You had your headphones on, though they weren’t connected to your phone. You had gone through the motions when you first sat down, but then gazed at the Spotify app on your phone and went blank, unable to decide if you wanted to listen to music or a podcast, your brain too tired and distracted. You pocketed your phone without selecting anything, then rested your head on your hand against the wall and stared out the window.
You hadn’t even looked at Hotch since walking away from him earlier, though you think you felt his gaze on you at times as you’d wrapped up on the scene and later when you’d climbed out of the SUV to clear the security at the airport. You had determinedly avoided him as best you could, fearing what you’d see on his face if you did look. Anger, disappointment, or worse—nothing at all.
It was maybe an hour later, the cabin dark and silent, that you shifted in your seat and realized you needed to pee. You stood slowly, pulling off your headphones and dropping them onto the seat, and then slipped through to the bathroom. When you were standing at the sink washing your hands, you felt a fresh wave of exhaustion roll through you and closed your eyes, resting them as you dried your hands. You kept them closed as you took a moment to breathe and then opened the door.
When you stepped out into the small galley area that was the rear of the plane, divided by only a curtain from the cabin area, you walked directly into something solid and your eyes flew open in surprise. Hotch’s large hands grabbed your arms to steady you when you bounced off of his chest, releasing you just as quickly once he’d ensured you weren’t going to fall.
“Wha—” Your mouth snapped shut at the expression on his face; it was torn, as though he weren’t certain he should be standing so close to you, yet unable to move away. Your eyes flicked down, noting how dishevelled he looked at that moment—his tie gone, shirt partially unbuttoned, hair messy enough that you knew he was running his hands through it.
For a long minute, he didn’t speak, he just stared at you, yet the air around you felt suddenly thick with tension you couldn’t help but shift nervously, your lower lip drawing between your teeth.
Hotch’s eyes were on your lips before he glanced away from you entirely, his eyes closing as if he were attempting to draw strength or patience. Words failed you because you had no idea what he wanted, what he was doing back here. You thought he had been asleep like the others in the seat across from Rossi, that he had been happy to let you ignore him.
He took a deep breath, “We should talk.” He murmured, eyes on you again and you nodded, nervous under his intense gaze. “I need to apologize to you. What I did today...I realized in after that it was the first time in a while where we’ve been in such a close call like that, where one well-placed shot would—well,” He paused, his pinched brow and dark eyes saying what he couldn’t so much in words, “It’s not an excuse, for my behaviour. But I—I feel, protective, of you. It’s not professional, or fair, or a reflection of any distrust in your capabilities.”
Stunned as you were at his honesty, at how much he was sharing, you couldn’t help but frown, “Hotch, you scared the hell out of me,” You whispered, needing him to understand how worried you had been, “Do you think you’re the only one who doesn’t want to see someone they care about get hurt? Not to mention if there had been any witnesses, then you’d be getting in a lot of trouble for breaking protocol like that!” Unable to raise your voice, you punctuated your words by prodding his shoulder and shooting him your best glare.
He looked away, his eyes landing somewhere over your head as he seemed to consider your words. When he started to nod, his eyes fell back to meet yours and you finally saw a glimpse past that stern exterior, a brief window to his vulnerability and fear and...there was something there you didn’t understand, but it made your legs a little weaker.
“I shouldn’t—fuck,” Hotch crowded you then, quietly pushing you back into the bathroom and shutting the door behind him as he stood against you in the small, dimly lit space. Your breath caught in surprise when his hands suddenly came up to cup your cheeks gingerly, and you could see the colour rise from his neck as he struggled with himself, “I thought I could get past this. I—It’s inappropriate. It’s unfair to you, but I can’t seem to fight it anymore. Fight how I feel about—”
You felt all the air in your lungs evaporate as you realized what he was saying. With a burst of confidence you reached your hands up to take hold of Hotch by the front of his suit jacket, your voice a steady whisper as you breathed out, “I don’t want you to fight it anymore, Aaron,” He stiffened, pulling in a sharp breath as you sighed softly, “Please don’t fight it.”
And then you tilted your head, pushed up to your tiptoes, and captured his soft lips against yours in a passionate kiss.
You kept it light and brief, pulling back only slightly to meet his gaze after a minute. At first, he merely stood frozen before you, processing what had just happened. You were both keenly aware of the lines you’d both just crossed, at what was at stake, and you didn’t mind waiting for him. His eyebrows had risen high on his forehead as he gazed at you in wonder, and you had to resist the urge as you looked into his warm ochre eyes to tell him that he was beautiful.
When Hotch finally spoke, his voice shook more than you’d ever heard before, “Please know—you don’t have to pretend, I...this is so inappropriate of me and I promise you don’t have to even say—”
“Hotch,” You interjected, tugging him a little closer, “I feel the same, I really do.”
You turned your head to try and kiss along his jaw, only one of Hotch’s hands shot up and stopped you, gripping your chin, then pushing into your hair. You watched him take a steadying breath, your heart threatening to burst from your chest, and then he was everywhere—his lips on yours, his broad, muscular body pressing you into the sink counter, his other hand now trailing softly up your neck. It was almost frantic, and you matched his energy swiftly, each of you putting what you couldn’t say in words right now into the kiss.
Reaching up between your bodies, you slid your hands over his wide shoulders before pushing them into his short hair and pressing him harder against you, your tongues now dancing together as you each deepened the kiss. You were desperate for more, the heat in your belly settling low and you felt wetness pool between your thighs as Aaron Hotchner kissed the living hell out of you in the bathroom of the BAU jet.
You each pulled back at the same time, your bodies still tightly wound together, and gazed into each other’s eyes as you panted. You broke the silence first, giving a little laugh, “We sure picked the worst possible location to do this.”
Hotch chuckled, the smile that spread over his face so beautiful you felt your heart stutter in your chest. He brought the thumb of the hand on your chin to brush over your lips, “I’ve been wanting to do that for quite some time, honey,” His voice was low, the timbre of it sending heat through your veins, “I’m sorry I didn’t do it in a better location, though.” He added, laughing again.
“Don’t apologize, Hotch,” You murmured, smiling up at him, “This was perfect, I just...wish we could talk more somewhere comfortable.”
He nodded in understanding, then pressed a chaste kiss to your forehead, “We should go and get some sleep, and when we land I’ll take you for coffee anywhere you want to go and we can figure this out.”
You leaned back and gave him a sheepish smile, “Hotch I...I’ve never been able to sleep on airplanes. I might be dead on my feet by the time we land,” You admitted somewhat regretfully, “And if I’m honest, I’m a little too worked up right now to even try.” Hotch’s grip on you tightened slightly at your words, his eyes now searching your face with a mixture of curiosity and desire; the latter of which you were sure he recognized in your expression.
You saw him drink in the way you were now biting your lip, the not-so-subtle clenching of your thighs and the heat flaming your cheeks. “Hey now,” He murmured, his voice so husky you nearly whimpered, “Oh, I know just what you need, sweet little thing.”
You have to admit, you almost crumbled right on the spot at his words, the heat of them shooting straight to your throbbing core and you blinked up at him in surprise. Before you could say anything, Hotch pressed his lips to yours again, his tongue sliding over them hungrily. You immediately opened your mouth, allowing him to lick into you and moaning quietly at the sudden storm of intensity that was Hotch.
His hands dropped and gripped at your waist, thumbs sliding along the band of the leggings that you had changed into back at the station. You shuddered at the slight skin-to-skin and unconsciously rolled your hips. “Shit—Hotch!” You couldn’t help but mutter, the reality of Hotch touching you so much more arousing than you could have ever imagined.
He pulled back from you by only a whisper, “Is this okay? Do you want me to stop?” His warm eyes searched your face for any signs of discomfort.
“God, no!” You whimpered, and Hotch smirked at you in a way that made your insides turn to jelly before he was sliding his dominant hand below the waist of your leggings and seeking out where you needed him most.
He ghosted his fingers over the front of your panties, and you trembled in anticipation. His eyes were on your face, and you couldn’t look away from him even as he dipped below the cotton fabric and found the dripping mess that you were, though your face flushed in embarrassment.
Hotch grunted, “Is that all for me, pretty girl? Fuck,” He’d been teasing along your folds but now pressed up and expertly found your clit with his thumb at the same moment he sunk one finger inside of you. The low, desperate moan that ripped from your chest made him growl and he brought his free hand up to grip your jaw and kiss you firmly before pulling back to give you a mock-stern look, “Quiet. Stay nice and quiet for me and I’ll give you what you need, okay?”
You nodded eagerly, biting your lip, and his expression smoothed out before he started moving his fingers again. His thumb worked little circles over your clit, but it was his thick fingers that were making it hard to keep quiet. He pushed a second inside of you now, pumping them in and out and curling them in just the right way, so expertly that you were seeing spots in your vision before long.
“Oh, oh god, Hotch,” You whispered, slamming your hands against his chest and gripping at the fabric of his suit jacket, “S-so fucking good...”
“I know, pretty girl, you just need someone to take care of you,” He was still watching your face as he fucked you with his perfect fingers. You’d never been so turned on in your life, both never wanting him to stop and wishing you were somewhere more private. His voice wavered slightly when he spoke next, “I can’t believe this is happening, I never thought—”
“What?” You interjected softly, beaming at Hotch, “Was I really that good at hiding how I felt?”
His fingers were moving slowly now, dragging you along the edge as he surveyed you with surprise, “I thought...yes, you were very good.” He didn’t elaborate, and though you think he meant to say something more, you were too distracted by his touch to clarify his meaning. You would ask him about it during that coffee. You trembled and his eyes refocused, the pupils blowing back out, “Does this feel nice, pretty girl? You like being a good girl for me?”
Shit, he was fucking hot. His words were erotic and perfect and you had no idea you had such a praise kink but here you were, getting even wetter for him every time he spoke. You nodded, sucking in a sharp breath when he suddenly picked up the pace, thrusting his fingers in and curling them exquisitely. “Fuck, I’m so close already—”
Hotch pressed his body closer to yours, making a sound in his throat of approval, but when his hips had ground against you involuntarily, you felt the hard length of him at your waist and that was what did it for you. Knowing he was enjoying this as much as you were, that he was so turned on by you coming apart at his fingers, it sent you over the edge. You felt yourself clamp down around his fingers, your hands pushing at his chest as your eyes fluttered closed and you had to bite your lip hard to prevent yourself from crying out.
He didn’t make it easy for you, though; Hotch grunted when he realized you were coming, his voice in your ear low and wrecked, “That’s it, such a good girl for m-me. So fucking sexy,” His movements slowed but didn’t stop completely, drawing out your bliss unexpectedly and making you whine quietly. “Fuck—feel how hard I am for you. Do you feel what you do to me?”
His commanding voice was almost enough to shoot you right over the edge again. You barely managed to access enough of your brainpower to drop one hand to his pants, palming over his thick erection before gasping at not only how hard he was, but how long—Hotch was packing. Holy shit.
You leaned forward desperately, wrapping your hand behind his neck and drawing him down to kiss you again. It was messy and delicious; he tasted masculine, warm, like a fucking summer evening, and you could have stayed wrapped around him forever.
When he finally pulled back, you were both flushed and panting, the pink on Hotch’s cheeks beautiful enough to make you stare. He smiled nervously and relaxed his posture before slowly sliding his hand from within you. You watched as he raised his fingers, soaked in your essence, and gazed at them for a moment before looking you straight in the eye as he brought them to his mouth.
Your jaw dropped as he smirked at you like he just knew you’d never had a lover or partner do something so bold. You couldn’t tear your eyes away as he sucked his fingers clean, closing his eyes as if appreciating the taste. Your taste.
“Holy shit, Hotch,” You murmured when he lowered his hand. He chuckled, reaching behind you for a paper towel and wiping his hands dry before cupping your face gently.
“Do you feel okay? Was that alright?”
There was that concern again; it was never gone for long, and you were starting to feel like an idiot for not realizing how often, just how much Aaron Hotchner cared for you. You felt your pussy throb again from the expression on his face and you knew you couldn’t stand another minute without him inside of you. “More,” You reached forward, grabbing at his belt, “I need you, Aaron. I need you inside me, please.”
You started to unbuckle him, only his hands pushed yours away. You looked up, afraid you’d gone too far, only to find Hotch wide-eyed and...and feral. He looked fucking wrecked, like what you had just said was the single hottest thing he’d ever heard, and his hands only expertly worked at undoing his belt and working his fly down.
“Are-are you sure?” He gasped out, pausing as he moved to push his pants down. You answered him by shoving your leggings and panties down, kicking them away from your feet and nodding eagerly as you looked up at him.
You’d never been in such a passionate situation, where every touch and movement felt meaningful and right, and you had to work hard to keep yourself quiet. When Hotch pushed his pants down and stood up straight, his hard cock sprung up and you slapped your hand over your mouth to hold in your gasp. Fuck, was he even going to fit? You could feel the slick running down your thighs now, grateful he’d already made you cum once—nonetheless, it would be no easy feat to take all of that.
Hotch reached up over your head, grabbing a towel from the shelf and throwing it on the counter behind you before he stooped and lifted you gently, settling you on the edge. He stepped right up to you, your bodies pressed together, his thick, long erection hot on your thigh. He then looked at you closely, “This is about more than sex for me. I have feelings for you, pretty girl, this isn’t a one-time thing.”
You think he needed you to understand this as much as he needed to be sure you felt the same. “I’m yours, Aaron,” You whispered back, gazing at him softly even as your body raged with a fire he had lit, “All yours, forever.”
His eyes softened, and he kissed you again before pulling back and gripping your hips with his strong hands. You reached one hand down to grasp his length, leaning back into the mirror, and put your other hand over your mouth again. You gave him two pumps, and Hotch hissed, his eyes on your bodies below as he let you line him up and then he was slowly thrusting forward.
The stretch was immediate, you had certainly never been with someone bigger, your eyes wide as you looked down at him splitting you open. He took his time, easing back every time he sunk another inch in to ensure you experienced no pain, the expression on his face focused. It took a few minutes before he was fully inside of you, and he just let you clench around him at first, his eyes falling shut in pleasure.
The full, stretched feeling was everything, your eyes rolled in your head as you bite back your moans.
“Fuck, pretty girl, you are so tight,” He whispered, adjusting his grip on you so that one hand splayed across your lower back, pressing your body into his. “Going to make this quick, okay? So we don’t get caught.”
The way he said it suggested he intended to take his time with you again soon, the implication driving you to clamp down on him in excitement, and Hotch groaned low. He hugged you close, dropping his head into the crook of your neck, and started to fuck you, hard. He set a pace that instantly had you biting into your own hand to ensure you didn’t scream, his cock hitting you in all the right places. You felt a rumbling in your neck and realized he was using you to muffle his sounds, unable to keep himself fully quiet.
“F-fuck,” You whimpered as you pulled your hand away to grab at his hips, the feel of his muscles flexing as he pounded into you turning you on even more. You pressed your face into his shoulder as you began to see bright lights behind your eyelids. “Going t-to cum again, oh shit—”
He turned his face slightly and breathed into your ear, hot and sinful, “Cum for me, little girl, cum for daddy.”
Oh.
Oh god, you’d never hurled so fucking fast over the edge in your life. Your orgasm swept over you like the wave of a tsunami; Hotch must have realized what his words had done because he frantically slammed one hand over your mouth as you arched away from him and came. Your head tilted back and mouth opened against the skin of his palm in a cry you tried to contain, the only sounds escaping pathetic little mewl’s. Hotch was panting, his thrusts becoming sloppy as he neared his peak, “Shit, I’m g-going to cum!”
You felt him begin to pull out, and even in the haze of your orgasm managed to wrap your legs around him and pull him so that he was deep inside of you. “IUD,” You murmured, desperately trying to open your eyes and watch his face. “Cum inside me, daddy, please.”
Hotch gave one last, strong thrust, his eyes wild as he started to cum, filling you deeply, “Fuck!” He hissed your name, biting his lip and then dropping both hands to your hips to pull you even closer against him, his eyes on where he was pumping you full of cum, yours watching his face.
The sight of Aaron coming undone for you so completely was captivating. You’d never known something could be so perfect and you soaked up every expression that crossed his handsome face like it was oxygen you needed to live by. When he stilled, the only sound was that of each of your heavy breathing. You relaxed your legs and slumped into the counter, exhausted, and he leaned over you to capture your mouth against his.
This kiss was slower, dizzying, delicious—you were blissed-out and nearly ready to pass out from it all, the intense emotions and explosive second orgasm exhausting everything you had left. “Aaron, Jesus Christ,” You giggled lightly, running your fingers over his cheeks as he smiled down at you. You could feel him beginning to soften within you, but he didn’t pull out right away and you found you liked the sensation, enjoyed keeping him warm within you as you each caught your breath in the cramped space of the bathroom.
Hotch pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, his eyes gazing at you so lovingly you could have cried, and then brushed a hand across your face, pushing back some hair, “How are you? Was that too much?”
Your heart constricted again as he concerned over you, “That was amazing, Aaron. Might need you to help me down in a minute, though,” You admitted, giving him a sleepy smile, “Are you always going to worry over me so much?” You added, and he gave you a rueful smile.
“Yes pretty girl, I probably will.”
“Hmm, I think I could get used to you being so protective,” You replied, grinning and stroking your thumb over his cheek, “Just no more jumping in front of bullets, maybe?”
Hotch laughed warmly, slowly pulling away from your body and reaching for paper towels to help clean you up. “I’m making no promises there,” He paused, looking you in the eye and you stilled at the intensity there, “I love you too much.”
His confession brought tears of happiness to your tired eyes, and you let a few slip out as you sat up carefully, “I love you too, Aaron.”
You realized then that nothing in life had ever felt so thrilling and right as admitting you loved Aaron Hotchner.
You smiled warmly as he pulled you against him in a strong embrace, then let him take care of you before leading you to the seat next to him in the main cabin. Tucked into Hotch's side with your head on his chest, you slept for the first time in your life on an airplane. Surrounded by all the people you loved most while being held by the man of your dreams.
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Surprise! This is a repost of the first story I ever posted on here. I initially deleted it becasue I went back and read a lot of my old material and didn’t like it. However, it has come to my attention that this one in particular was deeply loved and missed (something I’m very lucky to have). This is most likely the only one I’ll repost, but I hope you enjoy it.Thank you all for being so sweet and awesome! All my love xx
~ “The soul is healed by being with children.” – Fyodor Dostoyevsky ~
“Thankfully, their children survived the attack,” says Penelope. “By the way,” she says, pausing the presentation,“the kids look…the kids look like Y/N and Spencer.”
“What do you mean?” Spencer turns to their pictures in his paper file as he asks the question. “Oh,” he says, dumbfounded.
Penelope didn’t really need to say it. The victims, Charles and Aaron Hadeock, a gay couple from Illinois, had two adopted kids, who, thankfully, had been spared in the violent attack on their fathers. The two children were biological siblings, a four year old boy named Liam and a three year old girl named Marie, and looked like they could be yours and Spencer’s offspring. Like… exactly like yours and Spencer’s offspring.
“This can’t be real,” says Morgan as the photos get presented on the big screen. If the murders of their fathers weren’t so gruesome, this would almost be funny.
“It’s like that funny face app,” Garcia says. Liam, smiling at the camera for his school photo, had your eyes and even your nose shape, Marie also shared your nose, plus your jawline and smile. Both had Spencer’s wild honeyed curls and Marie’s eyes looked like a copy of his. It was strange and unsettlingly lovely to see, decided Spencer, who couldn’t get it together enough to look at you. The thought of a life with you crossed his mind more often than he’d like to admit and having that future unsettlingly presented before him was weirdly revealing. He also knew that being the sweetest human on the planet (by his measure, anyway) had its disadvantages and that the added bonus of the kids looking like your own would break your heart. You’d confided in him before, an honor he was moved by, to say the least, about how much you wanted kids. This was going to be a hard case.
Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader
Summary: Spencer doesn’t like to be touched. But what happens, when he gets comfortable around you?
Warnings: fluff, Spencer being cute, getting shot but nothing too explicit and oh, and a bucket full of angst
Word Count: 4,4k
A/N: hello friends. I have a part two of this in my drafts if you like! I hope you enjoy. gif not mine.
You had heard a lot about the BAU team before joining them.
About the cases, the trust, the bond. It had always been something that had fascinated you. You had experienced some things with your previous team as well, but the BAU was in a whole different league.
Before you had been moved there, you had already familiarized yourself with the teammates. You didn’t want to come unprepared to a team that knew each other inside and out. Also, you were a person who put your foot in your mouth quickly.
You were most impressed by Doctor Spencer Reid. You had heard the most about him. He was a genius, with an IQ of 187 and he could read 20,000 words a minute. Not to mention his eidetic memory. You had even read his doctoral dissertations. While you didn’t understand everything, they were incredibly interesting and gave you a little insight into the mind of the spectacular Doctor Spencer Reid.
When you first met, you concentrated on not reaching out to him. You merely raised your hand to greet him, which he returned with a smile, and although he tried to hide it, you knew that this small gesture meant a lot to him.
While the other team members put their hand on his shoulder or ruffled his hair, you were almost tensely careful not to touch him. If he should want to, he would make the first move.
It happened some time later, as you stood side by side in the office kitchen. While Spencer poured himself a coffee, you poured hot water into your teacup. You asked him for the sugar that was next to him, and instead of sliding it over to you as you had been doing, he held the dispenser out to you. You reached for it and when your fingers brushed his, it went through you like an electric shock. You suddenly felt warm and your heart beat faster, but Spencer didn’t seem to notice. He smiled at you before walking back to his seat. You looked after him.
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