Are the words that that blurt out of husband's mouth when he feels your hips start to hump the side of his thigh.
Izuku's emerald green hair was in a mess of fluffy tangled curls scattered against the large pillows.
"Please..please." you whine with that soft morning voice of yours. Smiling sweetly, a subtle dampness reaches Izuku's shorts.
"Dont do it kid. Its too early and you'll be at it for hours, then be like a zombie during the day," warns the 5th One For All vestige. They all already know there's stopping Izuku when it comes to you though.
"I'm so disappointed in her. I thought I would like having another girl but now I constantly have to hear her moaning." Says the 7th.
"Please stop making so much noise in my head. It's early." Izuku whines to them and that shuts them all up.
A collective sigh is heard throughout the young man's mind when he silently pulls down his shorts just enough to pull out his hardening cock.
"Thank you baby!" You coo into his ear, nails scratching his chest and you plant a kiss on his cheek, because "no kisses before brushing your teeth!' According to you.
Pulling out his heavy cock, precum spurting and drooling down the tip and sides. Izuku has a THICK cock. It's not much longer than average but his width makes up for it.
You then try to ride him but your legs give out in less than 5 minutes. Izuku hates being blueballed so he's forced to get up from his comfortable position and help fuck his pillow princess until she's milked his poor cock dry.
"You're so sweet, Izu'.." you coo into his ear, running your hands through his hair. meanwhile, izuku is fucked out, hands twitching along with his cum staining the sheets and some on your thigh and silk nightgown.
"I told him not to do it."
"I really wish that they would stop fucking like rabbits and be considerate about us." Says the 2nd
❀.ೃ࿔*
At the store
"Babyyyy.." You whine to the poor love-sick husband. "Yes?" He instantly responds. If Izuku had a tail, it would be wagging right now.
"I saw this nice little lace emerald dress but it's super expensive and i dont want to waste mon-" He shoves his card into your hands, "if i can get a kiss, yeah?"
You squeal, giving him a big smooch onto his cheek and drag him into the changing room.
You take a nice and slightly lewd photo of yourself in the dress.
❀.ೃ࿔*
In the classroom
"Izuuuu' you're so deep.."
You whine as he reapplies the pressure on your neck. You squirm and claw at his back the pressure was so nice but so much. With him hitting your womb so deep and snug and also choking you out, you swore you were gonna squirt on him.
"Your pussy keeps squeezing me..you like that? You like choking, right?" He pants
Darkening circular marks litter Izuku's neck and shoulders, they were indented from the shape of your teeth.
"Good fucking girl, so fucking tight. You came into my classroom, asking to be bred by me like the little slut you are."
"Your grip is too tight, 9th. She'll pass out from lack of oxygen. " Says the first
That makes Izuku's hips stutter for a couple of seconds. Yoichi rarely ever talks to him when you're around. So he figures it must be important. Yoichi mostly because you two fuck like rabbits and he does not wish to see that.
Sure enough, he looks down, the look on your face was starting to turn painful. He eases his grip and starts to pull out his phone to film this and tease you later.
"Hurry it up. Remember you need to finish quick. A student might walk in." Says the 4th
"Want me to put a baby in you? Thats why you came to my room. Yeah?"
Izuku starts to suck on your tit as a hand reaches down to rub your clit, the other digs into your hip.
"Please..wanna baby izu.."
He whimpers into your ear when you come harshly on his cock and squirt onto his suit.
The emerald eyed man locks eyes with you and gives you a deep kiss as he fills you to the brim.
Yelled Mr. Aizawa from the hall hours later that day, Izuku was just about to head home but hearing his name called, he turned around.
The glass windows reflected the setting sun. It was golden hour outside, making izuku's eyes look like a soft spring green. The cherry blossom trees had swung into full bloom.
Aizawa doesnt stop next to the young freckled man.
But once closer, "next time you and my daughter try for a baby, dont make it be next to my classroom."
His eyes glow red from his quirk as he glares before squinting and walking away.
► It’s nearing the end of their sixth year at Hogwarts, and Pansy Parkinson is determined to change her best friend’s fate. When she not-so-accidentally overhears a shocking revelation regarding one Harry Potter, she devises a cunning plan to convince Draco to defect. Unfortunately, where Potter is concerned, nothing ever really goes to plan…
2. How Fate Intended by hoboheartache [T, 252k]
► The tattered memory of Tom Riddle sat on the porch of number 4 Privet Drive, pressing desperately into the horcrux housed in Harry Potter’s forehead. or In which Harry Potter is unceremoniously thrust back in time and forced to deal with Voldemort whining inside his head, at least Death had the decency to apologize.
3. Tenebrous by @reimcai [E, 203k]
► Draco’s life has been quiet and dull ever since the end of the war. Now at the age of 23 and working for a company that treats him like shit, Draco is forced to do a job that makes him come face to face with a crush that he hasn’t seen in years and is famously known for having killed Voldemort, Harry Potter. […]
4. By the Grace by @letteredlettered [T, 139k]
► Harry is an Auror instructor. Malfoy wants to be an Auror.
5. Night Magic by Kbrick [E, 118k]
► Eighth Year isn’t what Draco or Harry expected. Harry’s horribly lonely in the aftermath of his breakup with Ginny, Draco’s stuck in a clandestine friends-with-benefits situation with a closeted Blaise, and neither one of them can ever get any bloody sleep. But when our favorite boys bond over their insomnia-related woes, things start looking up.
6. Redemption of the Bully by Tepantar [E, 101k]
► Draco hired a dom to punish him for being a bully to Harry Potter back in Hogwarts. He required said dom to wear the glamour of Potter. Said dom, of course, did not.
—
※ Fics from the ongoing H/D Cluefest 2021 are listed elsewhere.
✔ other months OR each day of MARCH
Toshinori Yagi is obsessed with you…you have no idea
warnings/content: fem!reader, just general awkwardness between Toshinori and reader, a little something for @twentytomidnight go check out her stuff, it’s always sooo good!
don’t forget to like and reblog! <3
How many people could say they have one of the top heroes pining after them? Well not you, but that’s just because you have absolutely no idea it’s happening. You’re actually the only person to not see it from a mile away.
Toshinori Yagi never even considered himself especially subtle about his feelings, even in his true form it’s hard to hide the blushes and sweat on his gaunt face. Add to that how even more noticeable every expression is when he’s in his hero persona and the fact his coworkers and students are also heroes trained to be observant of things? Let’s just say everyone at UA was wondering when he’d finally confess to the new hire. After all, even if he’s a little older, he’s still a really sweet, nice guy, you’d have to be crazy to not want to go out with him!
Of course you’re not crazy, just ridiculously oblivious.
Right now, he felt like a bit of a creep, peeking through the break room door at you eating your lunch. He wasn’t trying to be creepy though, goodness no! He just couldn’t stop his heart from beating fast and palms sweating as he watched you smile at something on your phone. The former number one hero looked more like a shy schoolboy than the great All Might right now, but he couldn’t help it! You’re far too cute to him, he didn’t even stop staring when Hizashi Yamada passed by, whistling the wedding march obnoxiously loud. Gosh…he was totally a goner for you.
“Um hello Miss (y/n)…a-are those potato chips?” He says once he finally musters his courage and approaches you, nervously wringing his hands.
“Oh yeah! Want one?” You smile back at him, clueless to how he stumbled awkwardly over every word.
His fingers tremble a little as he reaches for the chip you held out for him, cheeks growing more rosy when your fingers brushed. Oh no, you’d definitely notice how much he was shaking right? Nope, you just smiled before eating a chip of your own, leaving Toshinori to chew slowly on the potato chip.
“That was good…thank you,” he says with a soft smile, like you gave him something much more meaningful than a piece of junk food. Well, this was it, he had to say something else. After taking a deep breath, he added “Um, I was wondering…if m-maybe you’d like to eat together..?”
“Of course you can sit with me! What are friends for?” You say back with a grin, blissfully pulling out a chair for him.
Well, that didn’t go exactly how he planned. Regardless, Toshinori sat down, mentally kicking himself for not being more direct. He fidgets a bit, watching you tilt your head curiously at him. Wait, maybe you’re catching on!
“Hey where’s your food?” You ask, glancing between him and the table in confusion.
Oh no. His face grows even warmer, ears turning red as he opens and closes his mouth a few times. How could he seriously forget his lunch bag? Well, obviously he was distracted, thinking about how cute you are, how much he wants to just squeeze you in a hug and kiss all over your face and…no no focus!
“Um I-I just…I’m still deciding what to eat! You know, sometimes I get so busy I forget to pack lunch!” He bluffs, rubbing the back of his head nervously, messy hair ruffling even further.
Standing abruptly, he moves to one of the vending machines near your table, clumsily pressing the buttons. He really should eat more than just some trail mix, but he doesn’t want to give himself more chances to mess up. You’re watching him, smiling a little to soothe whatever is causing him anxiety.
“I get that, but make sure to eat something good! We can’t have the kids seeing the mighty All Might distracted by hunger!” You tease lightly, giving him a wink that would look goofy to anyone else.
Toshinori nearly crushes the trail mix package in his hand when he sees that wink. It’s like you’re trying to give him a heart attack. Your laugh too, it makes him feel like a million butterflies are fluttering against his ribs. He just wants to hear you laugh like that for the rest of his life, and he plans to make that a reality.
“Miss (y/n)…” he says suddenly, voice no longer shaking, as if he was facing down a city level threat.
You turn in your chair, pausing mid-scroll online. The bewilderment grows when he suddenly kneels by your chair, your eyebrows shooting up as you stare in shock. He looks so serious, it almost makes you wonder if he’s upset with you, until he looks up with wide eyes.
“Miss (y/n), will you please accompany me to dinner tonight? I’d love nothing more than to take you wherever your heart desires, and if this makes you uncomfortable, I’ll back off immediately. I just need your answer desperately…please?” He speaks softly, hands clasped around one of your own, and you swear his eyes are shimmering and wet as he looks up at you.
It takes you a moment to process, but Toshinori looking like a kicked puppy makes you remember you need to speak.
“I’d love to…” you answer quietly, still a little stunned that he was asking you for a date.
His shoulders sag with relief, a soft smile crossing his lips as he gives your hand one last squeeze before letting go.
“Thank you…I promise to make it a special night.” He says sweetly, jumping to his feet.
He has so much to do now, reservations, buying flowers, ironing his best suit…it’s almost overwhelming. On his way out of the break room though, he feels a flicker of doubt, wondering if you’re sure. When he peeks back, he spies the little grin on your face, the way you’re covering your face a little and barely restraining a noise of glee. Smiling, he heads out, feeling plenty reassured.
This was obvious, he thought, considering how he threatened away any boy who dared to show interest in you all your childhood. But what he wasn’t prepared for was you barely being able to take the length of even his pinky exploring inside you. This was the furthest you both had ever gone; the most you’d done before this were heated makeout sessions and lovebites. So, when he finally got to see his darling pips quivering beneath him, legs spread wide and your cunt displayed to him in all its glory, he of course went straight for the prize.
He feverishly made out with it, acting like he’d missed her all his life. Just as you started to question who his true lover actually was, he exploratively poked a finger at your entrance. But the moment he tried to push it in a little, an unexpected jolt of pain shot through your entire body.
“Ah, Caleb! It hurts–” Almost like he snapped out of a daze, he looked up at you with wide eyes. “Wai– I'm sorry, did I go too far–” Just as a myriad of apologies were about to spill from his lips, you slowly reassured him. “No! It's okay, you didn't do anything wrong.” A blanket of warmth slowly creeping up your cheeks, you continued, “It's just.. I've never actually fingered myself. It hurts to put anything up there.”
You always figured it was your lack of experience, or even a lack of arousal when you played with yourself, so you had stuck to the outside, resorting to playing with your clit whenever you needed to de-stress. Until now, that is.
You saw a flash of confusion on Caleb's face before it settled into a smug smile. “Aw, pips doesn't know how to play with herself.” Inwardly, though, he sneered. All he could think about was how he could teach you how to feel good in a way you had never felt before, to have parts of you that nobody, not even you, had explored. He truly, truly got his pips all to himself. So, he made this his personal mission.
After a week or so of consistent “training,” as he called it—pulling you aside anywhere and everywhere to get a taste of you, entirely impatient in his endeavor to make you ready for him, you had finally worked up to taking two of his fingers with only a slight ache.
“I'm so proud of you, baby,” he would reassure you, again and again, cooing in your ear as he encouraged you to take yet another inch for him.
But one of those days, tired from all the work he was making you put in (though really, you just sat there and took him), you whined, “Caleb– don't you think two fingers are enough? They're so big.” Caleb looked down at you, his two middle fingers shoved deep up your pussy, juices and foam dripping off his knuckles, a mix of your arousal and his own saliva. He huffed mockingly, tilting his head slightly. “Oh, baby, trust me, they're not nearly big enough.”
Caleb, in no way, was a small man. Every part of him constantly enveloped you, and his fingers were no exception. They were huge compared to yours; if you had trouble taking your own, there was a reason it took so many sessions just to be able to take his. A part of you felt inexplicably aroused at the threat of him giving you more, but the bigger part of you was terrified. There is no way. “But Caleb, please–”
Before you could complain any further, Caleb shushed you with a hard kiss, pulling away from you entirely and releasing his fingers from your warmth with a wet squelch. You moaned at the sudden emptiness, almost clawing at him to come back. But he ignored you, busy licking your nectar off his fingers before his other hand went down to his waistband, tugging at his boxers and pulling them down entirely.
Your eyes went wide. Suddenly, all you could focus on was the sheer length of his cock, now released from his pants. You could always tell he was big,judging from the faint outline through his sweatpants whenever you had a hug too long or a touch too heated, but this? This was insanity! There is no way you could take all of him.
At that, big crocodile tears slipped down your cheeks. Caleb leaned back down to your face and comforted you, an evil smile playing on the corner of his lips. “Shh, it's okay, pips. But you agree we need to train you more, yeah?”
You didn't think it was possible. You were sprawled on your back, knees bent and thighs pinned open, with Caleb holding you down with both his hands and his evol as his thick, heavy cock was fed into you inch by inch. He knew that if he made any attempt to release you, you would make a dash for it.
So all you could do for now, as your pussy sputtered and clenched around the invasion, was lay there, more hazy than ever. With tears slipping down the sides of your cheeks, you couldn't do anything but absentmindedly whine and beg him. You didn't even know if you were begging him to stop, or begging him to shove everything deep inside you just so you could feel all of him at once.
You left deep indents in his back, nails scratching and teeth biting until you drew blood. “Ah Caleb– no more please. Ish too much !” words slurring yet Caleb did not relent, continuing his intrusion while caressing your face. “No, honey, you’re doing so well for me. You wanna make gege proud of you, no?” Your nose flared at that, your pupils completely taking over your eyes. He knew that if there was anything you wanted in this world, it was to make him proud. He knew that all through your childhood, you would do absolutely anything just to hear his standard, “I’m so proud of you, pips,” followed by him ruffling your hair and smiling down at you with pure adoration. Back then, it meant foraging flowers, helping him build things, or finishing your homework. He had always had you wrapped around his finger, and now, around his cock.
Yes yes yes yes yes yes. Feverishly now, you nodded, pushing through the pain and taking all of gege's cock, looking up at him with sudden determination. “Ca-leb–” you stuttered, the words tumbling out, “just do it! Push it all in. I need to feel all of you now, pleasepleaseplease.” Caleb bit his lip, feeling himself get even harder just watching you beg, whine, and struggle over his dick. Whatever mei-mei wants, she gets, right?
So he pushed your knees all the way back into the mattress, holding your entire body hostage as he drilled himself all the way in. “FUCK!” you screamed, tears flowing out even faster now as you arched off the bed in a mix of resistance and pleasure. Caleb’s forehead fell against yours. He whispered a ragged, “I’m so proud of you, pips,” before pulling you into a deep kiss. You moaned. That was exactly what you needed to hear. Suddenly, you ignored all the ache down there as your mind was entirely consumed by him. You could feel yourself turning into a mindless sex toy, existing only to please him,
“Caleb, please,” you whimpered, unconsciously rutting up against him. Caleb, still completely smug, challenged you. “Please what, honey? I’m gonna need you to use your words.” You couldn’t help but sob at that. Any obstacle keeping Caleb from shoving his cock into you again and again felt like the world ending. “I know you can do it, honey. Come on,” he murmured, holding your jaw and shaking your fucked-out face.“PLEASE FUCK ME, CALEB!” you finally gave in, fully desperate. Chuckling, Caleb took his place. Groving his hands into the fat of your thighs, he started a brutal pace inside you. The sheer length of him repeatedly hammered into spots you never even knew existed. For fuck's sake, you could feel him all the way in your womb.
“Goddammit, pips, you’re so fucking tight,” he whimpered, sounding like it took all his willpower not to give you his load right then and there. But between the two of you, you were the weaker link. A few more thrusts of him pushing against your A-spot, you felt a foreign sensation take over your entire body. This didn’t feel like a normal orgasm, oh, no, no. This felt way different. A pressure was building up deep in your lower belly. Before you could stop yourself, or even warn Caleb about the strange new sensation, you erupted. With a loud moan, your pussy clenched tighter than ever and squirted everywhere, making a slick mess right where you were connected.
“You’re so fucking hot, pips,” he said through clenched teeth. His eyes were blown wide, looking at all the juices you’d squirted onto him, and this was his breaking point, too. With one final, deep push that felt like it penetrated all the way through your cervix, Caleb pumped his cum into you. He slowed down his thrusts but didn't entirely stop yet; he wanted to keep forcing every bit of his load inside, not letting a single drop go to waste. He went almost feral when he saw some of it leaking back out of your hole, pulling out in a fluid motion and frantically scooping everything back in with his fingers.
Your abused hole was quivering and your body shaking, you didn't have the energy to move a muscle, so you let Caleb take care of everything from there. He noticed you had bled a little on the sheets, expectedly, he thought, but this made him feel a pang of guilt regardless. You had whiplash with the sudden switch caleb had, now looking at you with all the gentleness and patience in the world, contrary to the aggressive fucking he just gave you. You liked this though, you loved this.
♡ Bunny's Note: Thank you so much for reading, hunbuns! This piece was actually inspired by a little bit of personal experience with my ex ;) There is plenty more coming for this smut series every other day. Drop a comment or send an ask if you want to be added to the taglist so you don't miss any of the upcoming days! ₍ ᐢ.ˬ.ᐢ₎
"You're small," Giyu murmured, his voice dropping an octave. He stepped closer, forcing you to tilt your head back until your neck ached. "I forget how easily I could break you if I wasn't careful."
"You aren't going to break me," you challenged, though your voice lacked conviction.
He let out a sharp, hot huff of air that was almost a laugh. His hand slid from your wrist to your throat, not squeezing, but merely resting there, his palm covering your entire neck. The heat of him was stifling. He leaned down, his nose brushing against yours, his breath smelling of cool mint and skin.
"Sometimes," he whispered, his lips a hair’s breadth from yours, "I want to see how much of me you can actually take. I want to see you try to hold it all."
Before you could respond, he scooped you up. He didn't use both arms, he simply hooked one massive forearm under your thighs and hauled you against his chest as if you weighed nothing more than a bundle of silk. Your feet dangled, useless, as he carried you toward the futon. The power in his stride was effortless. He dropped you onto the bedding, the impact soft but the sight of him standing over you, unfastening his belt, was anything but gentle.
He stripped with a focused intensity, his eyes never leaving yours. As his clothes fell away, the sheer reality of his physique was laid bare. He was built like a siege engine, heavy thighs, a narrow waist that flared into a ribcage like a suit of armor, and a cock that looked far too large for your body to ever accommodate. It hung heavy and dark against his thigh, already stirring, the head weeping a bead of clear pre-cum that glistened in the candlelight.
"Giyu," you breathed, your eyes wide as you took in the sight of him.
"Stay still," he said.
He knelt between your legs, his knees forcing your thighs wide. The sheer width of his shoulders blocked out the rest of the room. He looked like a god made of marble and moonlight. He reached down, grabbing your ankles and shoving them up toward your shoulders, folding you in half. The position made you feel exposed, tiny, and utterly at his mercy.
He didn't use any lubricant other than his own spit and your natural slickness, which was already beginning to coat your folds as you stared at him. He rubbed the broad, blunt head of his member against your opening, the friction sending a jolt of electricity through your spine. You were so small compared to him that the mere pressure of him resting there felt like he was already inside.
"You're so tight," Giyu groaned, his voice cracking. "Look at you. You’re shaking."
"Because you're... you're too big," you gasped, your fingers digging into the futon.
"I'll fit,"
He pushed. Slowly. The sensation was one of being split from the inside out. Your walls screamed as they were forced to stretch around his girth. He was so thick that your entrance felt like it was going to tear, the skin pulled taut and white. You let out a high-pitched whimper, your head tossing back as the fullness reached your center.
"Breathe," Giyu commanded, his own face contorted in a mask of strained pleasure.
He stopped when he was only halfway in, his breath coming in ragged hitches. He looked down at the junction of your bodies, mesmerized by the way your pale skin was stretched to its absolute limit, the dark hair of his groin brushing against your clitoris. He looked like he was trying to bury himself inside a vessel that wasn't meant for him.
"Too much," you sobbed, the pleasure and pain warring for dominance. "Giyu, please, it's too much."
"Not yet," he grunted.
He surged forward, burying the rest of his length in one brutal, deep thrust. Your breath left you in a sharp, strangled cry as his cock slammed against your cervix. The impact was jarring, a deep, blunt ache that resonated in your womb. He held himself there for a moment, letting you adjust, his chest heaving against your breasts. You felt every vein, every ridge of his shaft pulsing inside you, a stubborn, hot invasion of mass.
Then, he began to move.
"Look at me," he gasped, his hands coming up to pin your wrists above your head. His grip was like iron manacles. "Watch what I'm doing to you."
You looked down, blurred by tears of overstimulation. You could see the way your stomach rippled with the force of his thrusts, the way his massive cock disappeared entirely into you, only to pull out nearly to the tip, leaving your entrance gaping and red before he slammed back home. He was bottoming out with every stroke, his heavy balls slapping against your perineum.
"You're taking all of it," he whispered, his eyes blown wide with a dark, primal pride. "Every inch. Look how small you are under me. I could crush you."
The intensity of his words, combined with the sheer physical pressure of him, pushed you over the edge. Your internal muscles began to spasm, clamping down on him with desperate, rhythmic pulses. The friction of your orgasm caused him to lose his rhythm, his own control shattering. He let out a low, guttural roar, his body tensing into a cord of iron.
He thrust three more times, each one deeper and more violent than the last, before he buried himself to the hilt and stayed there. You felt the hot, thick jet of his cum hitting your cervix, a series of pulses that felt like they were filling you to the brim. He groaned into the crook of your neck, his weight collapsing onto you, pinning you into the soft cotton of the futon.
He pulled out with a wet, sucking sound. Air rushed into your sensitive, aching core, and a mixture of his seed and your own fluids leaked out onto the sheets. You felt hollow, stretched, and incredibly sensitive.
Giyu shifted, but he didn't pull away. Instead, he propped himself up on one elbow and looked down at you. His expression was softer now, but his eyes were still dark. He reached down, his large hand sliding between your legs. Your thighs were trembling, coated in a sheen of sweat and sex.
"You're a mess," he murmured.
He slid two fingers into you. After the massive girth of his cock, his fingers felt small, yet they were thick and calloused, scraping against your sensitized walls. He began to move them in a slow, circular motion, hooking them toward your G-spot.
"Ah... Giyu, stop," you moaned, your hips arching involuntarily. "I'm too sensitive."
"I want to feel how much I opened you up," he said, his voice devoid of his usual stoicism.
He added a third finger, his knuckles brushing against your clitoris. He watched with clinical fascination as your entrance tried to close around him, the reddened tissue twitching.
"You're still so tight," he noted, his thumb pressing down on your clit, pinning it against your pubic bone. "Even after that. You were made for this."
"I was... I was made to be stretched by you?" you gasped, your head lolling to the side.
"Yes," he said simply.
He sped up his fingers, the friction building a new, sharper kind of tension. He wasn't being gentle, he was being insistent. He wanted another reaction from you. He wanted to see your body buckle under his touch again. He used his other hand to squeeze one of your breasts, his thumb and forefinger rolling your nipple into a hard, sensitive peak.
"Giyu... please... I can't..."
"You can," he countered.
He began to pump his fingers in and out, mimicking the motion of his cock. The squelching sound intensified as he mixed the fluids inside you into a frothy, white lather. You could feel the air being pushed out of your orifice with every stroke, a series of small, wet puffs. The sensation was overwhelming, the contrast between his rough, large hands and your tender, over-worked core driving you toward another peak.
Your breath came in short, sharp hitches. You grabbed his forearm, your small fingers unable to even meet on the other side of his thick muscle. He felt like a mountain, unmoving and eternal.
"That's it," he whispered, his lips brushing your ear. "Come for me again. Show me how much pleasure I can give you."
With a final, frantic series of thrusts from his fingers and a heavy grind of his thumb against your clitoris, you shattered. Your body convulsed, your back arching off the futon as you cried out his name. He watched the whole thing, his fingers staying deep inside you until the last of your tremors subsided.
When he finally withdrew his hand, it was dripping with your combined juices. He didn't wipe it away. Instead, he looked at his hand, then back at your flushed, exhausted face.
married poly bkdk x reader with kids but the kids accidentally get sent back in time to before their parents were together? yeah
you weren't expecting anything out of the ordinary when you got back to the dorm after your last workout, but the bakusquad all facing the far corner of the living room, faces ranging from concern to unrestrained glee, makes you rethink that immediately.
"i'm sorry," kiri was saying softly, crouched down on one knee. "we don't know who your moms are. neither bakugou nor midoriya are dating anyone-"
you're walking closer when you hear a small voice sounding incredibly exasperated say, "we /told/ you: we have two /dads/, not moms. we have the same mom-"
"wonder woman," a second small voice adds.
"right, dad calls her wonder woman and papa calls her sweetheart and we call her mom!"
as you get closer, sero sees you. as he waves you over, denki spots you too. he grabs your arm, wide grin on his face.
"dude," he starts, "look-"
but denki is interrupted by three things happening at once:
first, you finally see who is speaking: in the corner, standing tall and fierce, is an approximately six-year-old girl, who's wild green hair and freckles look strikingly like midoriya's. behind her is a timid younger boy, who could easily have been bakugou's clone if it weren't for his eyes.
second, the kids spot you. the little boy sees you first, eyes going wide and hand going up to tug his sister's shirt. she immediately glances at him, then looks to follow the finger he points in your direction. the tension leaks out of her stance and she looks even more like midoriya now that tears are welling up in her eyes. "mom," she chokes out before wiping her eyes with one hand and grabbing the little boy's hand, the two of them racing into your knees and clutching your legs.
third, the movement of the kids, which nearly knocks over kiri and mina, who had also been seated on the floor near kiri, alerts the rest of the bakusquad of your presence. now everyone's eyes land on you.
⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ you and katsuki find out what happens when you push izuku too far⋆｡˚✴︎⋆ 1.2k wc
٠࣪⭑ cw: 18+, established poly relationship, dom!brat tamer!izuku, switch!brat!katsuki, sub!fem!brat!reader, brat taming, edging, orgasm denial, humiliation, ruined orgasm, orgasm control, vibrator use, dacryphilia, degradation (kinda idk just to be safe), light breath play, teasing, spitting, spit swallowing, immobility, discipline/punishments, this is straight up smut
٠࣪⭑ author's note: this started as an ask and then i accidentally went in a totally random direction with it so it gets to be its own post! not rlly proofread and lowkey not edited, please let me know if i forgot any tags!
“keep her legs open, kacchan.”
you’re having a difficult time remembering how exactly you got yourself into this position.... of course, part of it you know; rage baiting izuku is way too easy, and it's so fun to watch him simmering below the surface just knowing that you're gonna get it all back later. today though, you severely miscalculated his mood, and now you're paying for it.
“what the hell does it look like i’m doing?” katsuki’s long, soft fingers are cupping the fat of your thighs, keeping your legs parted no matter how much you try to squeeze them closed. your head is pressed into his chest, eyes fluttering as you strain to look at his face.
in front of you, izuku has both of your wrists locked in his own firm grip. he’s keeping one of your hands in place, forcing you to hold the buzzing vibrator against your clit as you pant and moan. he flits his eyes up to katsuki’s face, cocks his brow as he says, “it looks to me like you’re talking back.”
you can feel the pulsating of katsuki's heavy cock, pressed against the plush of your ass – it makes you squirm and fight the strong arms that restrain you. you turn your head, batting your eyes at the blonde as your chest heaves. a silent question is held in your longing gaze: help me?
he snorts. "what are you lookin' at me for?" when he lowers his lips to your ear, his voice is barely above a whisper. "you're just diggin' yourself deeper, sweetheart." you heave a sigh and reluctantly look back at the man in front of you.
izuku clicks his teeth, sets his mouth in a disappointed line; his usual gentle and permissive nature is nowhere to be found. you screw your eyes shut in frustration, still unwilling to accept defeat. in response, he meanly presses your wrist down, harder. you gasp as the overstimulation makes your toes curl, makes a fresh bead of sweat roll down the back of your neck. "so you listen to kacchan?"
"i-i listen to you both...!" you squeak, trailing off into another pitchy moan when izuku switches a setting on the toy, changing from pulsing to consistent vibrations.
katsuki chuckles behind you, muttering "please," under his breath in amusement.
izuku just rolls his eyes. "add lying to the list," he says, green eyes narrowed at your flushed face. when you start to protest, he sighs and turns the intensity of the vibrations up by one, making you squeal and writhe, of course to no avail. "you've really been pushing my buttons all day." it's too bad for you, he's not in a very nice mood right now. when your legs start to shake, he asks "what are we at?"
right, you were supposed to be keeping track... you're trembling all over, the churning in your gut indicating another orgasm is building. you swallow hard, intending to reply, but a shuddering gasp comes out instead.
izuku sighs, forcing your fingers open and dropping the vibrator into his waiting palm, murmuring about simple questions and simple rules. it's cruel, he's stolen the sensation too soon and ruined the pleasure that should have come. he always knows exactly when you're getting close, his timing alarmingly accurate; he knows your body and it's reactions like the back of his own hand.
you sob and whine, and one of katsuki's thumbs traces the skin of your inner thigh. he placatingly kisses a trail down your temple, unable to stop himself from licking his lips when they make contact with your wet cheek. he hums at the salty taste, kissing you again, your jaw this time; it's a small show of solidarity, acknowledging his role in earning you your punishment. he's always the one who spurs you on, goading you into doubling down on your bratty behavior, and today it blew up in both your faces.
at least he's feeling sweet on you right now; usually when izuku is teaching you a lesson, katsuki is the devil on his shoulder, but today he's in the hot seat right alongside you. however, izuku has different gripes with you both, and so his treatment is different too.
katsuki's breath feels so nice against your skin, and you grind back into him as best you can; he groans into you, pressing his forehead into the junction between your neck and shoulder as he shoves his hips forward against your ass, desperately seeking any relief. his cock is dripping pre all over you, sliding down your flesh and making his thighs all sticky. he's so big behind you, heat emanating off his skin in waves; it's overwhelming, the caramel scent of his sweat curling in your nose.
"i see we're both feeling bratty today," izuku tuts, turning off the vibrator and tossing it to the side with a sigh. "i think some of us are forgetting the rules."
he lifts on to his knees so he's towering over you both and slaps at katsuki's hands, indicating he should let go of your legs. you whimper when he does and your legs reflexively snap together, puffy sex sensitive to any sudden movements.
izuku places heavy hands on your shoulders and slowly pushes you back, down, you into katsuki and he the pillows behind him. "spread," he orders, and katsuki helps you hike your knees up and back, exposing your creamy pussy to izuku's hawkish stare. he bears down on you, moving one of his hands to katsuki's shoulder to brace himself, as he uses the other to line his cock up at your entrance, nudging his angry red tip against your clit just to tease you.
he's heavy against the heat of your sex, your slick soaking him all over, but he doesn't slip inside you yet – his movements are slow, deliberate. he teases at your slit and you gush, staring up at him with wide, dewy eyes as he leans close to your face, his curls tickling your skin and sending shivers arcing down your spine. his breath is wet in your ear when he reminds you,
"you cum when i say so."
izuku shifts the hand on katsuki's shoulder to brace against the hollow of his throat; you can feel the blonde's heart racing at your back. izuku leans over your head to give the man behind you a wet, sloppy kiss, the sound washing over you blissfully. you clench around nothing, the emptiness in your achy cunt bordering on painful. craning your neck to get a better look, you watch izuku place a loving peck against kacchan's lips before he taps them with his thumb, tugging the bottom one down slightly. taking the hint, katsuki lets his mouth fall open, and izuku lovingly spits – gifting the blonde graciously, affording him a small smile when he swallows the glob down obediently.
vermillion eyes are locked on green as izuku pulls back, letting his smile settle into a smug expression.
"and you, kacchan–"
he gives katsuki's throat a gentle squeeze as he finally, finally, finally eases his cock into your gaping hole, bottoming out in one swift maneuver; it leaves both of you gasping and keening.
izuku has his two little brats right where he wants them, bullied into submission and begging him for whatever he's willing to throw their way.
"you don't cum at all."
٠࣪⭑ a/n: yay! bkdk porn yay!
as always, reblogs and comments are always appreciated!
taglist :3 @shotorizawa @hachikinss @lonelyfooryouonly
(to join you must be over 18, age in bio and following me!
in which — the daughter of severus snape, the infamous hogwarts professor and head of slytherin house, has come to hogwarts. when unexpectedly sorted into gryffindor house, she finds herself forming an unlikely friendship with harry potter, ron weasley, and hermione granger—yet a watchful slytherin boy can’t help falling for her, much to the amusement of his friends..
contains — snape’s daughter!reader, gryffindor!reader, a whipped draco malfoy and five teasing friends (mattheo riddle, theodore nott, blaise zabini, enzo berkshire, and pansy parkinson), golden trio, a brief quidditch game, appearances from neville longbottom, the weasley twins, hagrid, and more
word count — 4.7k
Everyone knew who you were before you had even arrived at Hogwarts. Daughter of Severus Snape, Head of Slytherin House and Potions Master of the School, teachers and students alike were anxiously anticipating your arrival.
Rumours flew about regarding your character almost immediately leading up to your first year. “I heard that she once hexed a Muggle boy a few years ago because he accidentally broke her toy broomstick. It was a huge ordeal — the Ministry even had to get involved,” said a boy in your year on the first train-ride to the castle, shooting weary looks towards you from his crowded compartment of eager listeners.
It was nothing less of a shock, however, when you finally arrived. Completely the opposite of your father, every student you introduced yourself to was shocked to learn that you shared the same surname as the Professor whose horror-stories of experiences with other students had spread like wildfire through generations of parents and siblings before you.
So, when the Sorting Hat took a solid few minutes debating on which House to sort you into, the Great Hall was engulfed in astonished silence when the bared mouth of the wrecked fabric shrieked out, “GRYFFINDOR!”
Now, years later, you had established a reputation at Hogwarts as one of the most benign sudents. Even those who detested your father were friendly with you — many of them even attempting to convince you to lessen your father’s harsh demeanour.
“You know I can’t do that, Neville. He’s really not as rude as everyone acts, he’s just.. strong-willed,” you defended, as you walked alongside Neville Longbottom through the school grounds towards your first class of the day, Herbology with Professor Sprout.
“Maybe to you..” Neville whispered under his breath, as the two of you neared the greenhouses through the calm wind.
Everyone knew that Snape had an obvious bias in favouritism towards the Slytherin students of his House, which extended to his daughter, even if you were a Gryffindor.
As you entered the greenhouse, the sight of Harry, Ron, and Hermione waving towards the two of you caught your attention. You received a few nods of acknowledgment from many of the Slytherins, who you shared the class period with.
“We’re supposed to be — OUCH — getting Bubotuber pus from these,” Ron said as the two of you joined their table, undiluted pus shooting towards his arm as he gestured towards a box full of slug-like plants, Hermione reaching for his arm to cast a quick remedy spell.
“Wow, Weasley, even the infestations don’t like you,” Draco Malfoy’s voice roared from the table behind the five of you, his friends laughing obnoxiously at his comment.
You turned to face him, spotting six familar Slytherin students; Pansy Parkinson and Blaise Zabini laughed stupidly at his side, Enzo Berkshire was coddling over one of the plants, and Mattheo Riddle and Theodore Nott were trying to stab towards the middle of one of the plants with their wands.
“Shut up, Malfoy,” you said, rolling your eyes.
He stared at you for a moment, before smirking. “I’m sure your father wouldn’t be pleased to hear how you speak to your fellow classmates,” Draco teased.
“And I’m sure he won’t be too pleased once I tell him that you threw a pair of pliers towards us,” you said, eyeing one of the instruments that lay on the wooden table next to him.
“He didn’t — OUCH,” Enzo shrieked, as Blaise had swatted him over the head. “You idiot, she’s going to tell him that he did,” Blaise said.
“We can vouch for him, you know,” Pansy said, crossing her arms in front of her.
You mirrored her stance, looking at her with a look of disgust. “Oh, really? Who’s he going to believe? You five,” you gestured towards them, your gaze lingering on Theo as he wiped pus from his hair where the plant had exploded from his prodding, “or his daughter?”
Draco scoffed. “Whatever,” he said, turning back towards his own table.
“Blimey, never thought I’d see the day where Snape’s existence worked in someone’s favour,” Ron said, earning him a glare from you.
“Merlin, I feel like they’re all staring at me,” you said, as you peered over Harry’s shoulder towards the Slytherin table. At your words, Harry, Ron, and Hermione turned towards the long table in the Great Hall, and, sure enough, the dull eyes of six Slytherins glared directly at you.
“Malfoy’s just being a git, ignore him,” Harry said, as Ron stuffed his face with ham and cheese sandwiches to his other side.
“Easy for you to say! They’re not looking directly at you,” you pleaded, picking up your goblet of pumpkin juice with shaky hands to conceal yourself against their stares.
“For once,” Ron said. As you watched him reach for a roasted chicken across the table, your attention was diverted to a brown owl soaring towards your table. Hermione quickly reached for Harry’s goblet, moving it out of the way as the owl landed in front of you, a small folded piece of parchment held limply in its beak.
You took the parchment from the small owl, before reaching across towards Ron’s plate, handing it the crust of his sandwich against his protests. The owl hooted gratefully, before taking off again towards the owlery.
“What is it?” Hermione asked, eyeing the small roll of parchment you held. You unfolded it, an unfamiliar scratch of messy writing meeting your eyes.
The end justifies the means. Don’t dwell on the
conclusion, love — Draco
You looked up, facing the Slytherin table. Draco looked smug, his friends smirking at his side. Harry snatched the note from your grasp, reading it.
“What’s he playing at?” Ron spoke, reading the message over Harry’s shoulder.
“Don’t know,” you said, glaring at Draco, as you watched Theodore Nott whisper something in his ear.
Potions was always your favourite class of the day, as it was one of the only times where you would get to visit your father during school hours. The Gryffindors, however, always hated having to attend the same Potions class with you, as Snape would always replace his harshness for you by being extra hard on them — offering you and the Slytherins a free-pass from his torment.
“Did I not say to add three drops of leech juice until the liquid brewed to an acid green shade?” Snape asked Neville, who shuddered under his gaze. “Why, then, has Longbottom’s,” he gestured towards Neville’s cauldron, “turned to a putrid shade of orange?” Snape asked.
Wearily, Hermione raised her hand up, which Snape ignored. “I think we should test out Longbottom’s potion on his fat toad,” Snape suggested, as the Slytherin’s laughed at the horrified look on Neville’s face. “If it works as it should, which I highly doubt, as failure seems to follow Longbottom everywhere he goes, then this toad should shrink down to the size of Longbottom’s intelligence,” Snape said, earning choruses of laughter from the Slytherins. “If not, then Longbottom might benefit from saying his farewells to the amphibian.”
“Professor, please-,” Hermione began. “Did I pick on you to answer, Ms Granger?” Snape snapped coldly, his gaze shifting from Neville to Hermione now.
“Ten points will be-,” he began, before his eyes landed on you, who looked at him wide-eyed. “Five points from Gryffindor for meddling into matters outside of your own,” Snape said harshly to Hermione, turning back towards his desk.
. . .
“Do you see what we mean? He only lessened his punishment of the Gryffindors because you’re in our House!” Ron said exasperatedly as the four of you departed from the dungeons. Neville walked next to you, still shaking slightly as he held Trevor clutched against his chest.
“He’s goal-oriented,” you defended sharply, your books held tightly against your own chest.
“And I think he had a point,” Draco Malfoy said from behind your group. “Granger, you really should think about keeping your mouth quiet once in a while.”
Ron looked as if he were about to pull his wand out of his robes, but Hermione placed a hand on his arm to stop him.
“What’s the matter, Weasley? Afraid Snape’s going to pick on you like he did Longbottom?” Theo asked, as Mattheo reached for Trevor.
“Stop,” you said, reaching for Trevor yourself. Mattheo and Theo laughed, as Pansy, Enzo, and Blaise made their way over from where they’d left the Potions classroom. At the sound of your words, Draco looked over at you.
“Mattheo, stop it,” he said.
Shocked, everyone turned towards him. “But, this toad’s as useless as Longbottom’s-,” Mattheo began. “I said stop,” Draco said. Mattheo’s shock allowed you to seize Trevor from his grasp, handing him back to Neville, whose mouth was agape.
“And what is all this commotion?” Snape had made his way out of the dungeons, joining the group of Slytherins and Gryffindors who stood down the corridor. He turned towards you for an explanation.
Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Neville stared at you, waiting for you to rat on Draco and his friends. Yet, as you caught Draco’s eye, his friends standing a small distance behind him, something overcame you.
“N-nothing. Neville’s toad was just.. reacting to the potion a little late,” you said, as you stared up at your father. He glared at you, giving you a look that inexplictly said he didn’t believe your defence.
“Get to class, all of you,” he said, his eyes lingering on you for a moment, before turning swiftly back to the dungeons.
“What was that?” Harry demanded angrily once Snape was out of ear-shot. Your eyes locked with Draco’s again, before you continued down the corridor, passing the bewildered faces of his friends.
“She’s gone mad,” Ron spoke softly to Harry and Hermione over dinner; you were currently in your father’s office, helping him restock his potions ingredients. “We were this close to finally watching Malfoy snuff it,” he said, as he helped himself to a plateful of stew.
“Talking about little Ms Snape, are we?” Fred Weasley said, as he and George joined the Gryffindor table. “Quite a change of heart she’s had recently, don’t you think?” he added on, as he sat on Ron’s side.
“Whatcha mean?” Ron asked through a mouthful of steak and kidney pie. “Oh, come on, Ron, we knew you were thick, but not this thick,” George said.
“She’s normally really nice — unsettlingly so, actually, considering her relatives,” Fred said. “But recently,” George said, as he loaded his plate with mashed potatoes and gravy. “She’s been acting more and more like the wretched version of Snape. Been lashing out at the Slytherins, who normally treat her fairly well — you know how they are, prioritizing family trees and all that,” he mocked.
“A lot of the Slytherins even think that she should’ve been sorted into their house,” Fred said, as he withdrew a couple of pieces of Nosebleed Nougats from a packet that was in the pockets of his robes.
“That’s absurd!” Hermione shrieked. “She’s nothing like Snape!”
“The apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree, though, does it?” Fred said.
“Where’s your little girl friend, Potter?” called a voice from behind them. Draco Malfoy was shouting across the hall now, drawing attention from all four tables. “She’s finally decided where her loyalties lie?” he said, as the Slytherins stared at Harry, waiting for a reaction.
“Ignore them,” George said, as Ron placed a hand on Harry’s shoulder to turn him away from the Slytherin’s stares.
Hermione quickly shoveled heaps of shepherd’s pie into her mouth, causing Fred to place a hand on her wrist. “Calm down, it’s all yours, mate,” he said at her sudden rush.
“I have to get to the library,” she said, as she quickly downed the remnants of her pumpkin juice.
“For what?” Ron asked. Ignoring him, Hermione placed her knife and fork down neatly on top of her plate, before rising from the table, making her way quickly out of the hall.
If Harry, Ron, Fred and George hadn’t been so preoccupied by Hermione’s sudden departure, or the fact that Neville had mistakenly eaten one of the twin’s Nosebleed Nougats during dessert, they would have noticed the six seats at the Slytherin table that now stood vacated.
“Knight takes the King!” Ron exclaimed, as his Knight piece came barrelling towards Harry’s fallen King. The common room was empty except for the two of them, who were playing one last round of wizard’s chess before bed.
The sound of the portrait hole swinging open caught their attention, as they spotted Hermione hurrying through.
“Guys!” she said, spotting them. “You’ll never — believe — what I just heard,” she breathed out, as she clamped a hand over a stitch in her ribs.
“Well, get on with it,” Ron said, as he packed away the chess board from where he knelt next to the table near the fireplace.
She caught her breath for a moment, before hurriedly saying, “Malfoyandhisfriendsweretalkinginthelibrary.”
“Sorry?” Harry asked.
“Malfoy — and his friends — were talking in the library,” she said slower.
“Wow, that’s strictly against school rules, isn’t it?” Ron said.
“That’s not what I meant. They were talking about her, Malfoy wants to ask her out,” Hermione said, as she told them the details of how she had overheard Blaise Zabini and Pansy Parkinson teasing Draco over falling for a Gryffindor, Enzo Berkshire congratulating him on ‘coming to his senses,’ and Theodore Nott and Mattheo Riddle shooting him outrageously unrealistic ideas on how to ask you out.
“Malfoy fancies a Gryffindor? Snape’s daughter, too? Blimey, he’s asking for trouble,” Ron said.
“What do you mean?” Hermione asked.
“Come off it, Hermione. Snape would never allow anyone to date his daughter, not even Malfoy. Remember what he did to that one Hufflepuff whose hand accidentally brushed against hers when they both tried to grab the same textbook?” Ron said, as the three of them recalled when Snape had hexed a Hufflepuff boy’s cauldron to blow up in his face, singeing the top of his hair.
“Besides, she’d never date a Slytherin,” Harry said firmly.
“Who wouldn’t date a Slytherin?” you asked. Harry, Ron, and Hermione turned towards the portrait hole where you’d just entered. “Sorry I’m late, my father had to skin a few Boomslang snakes because he’d ran out of their skin-sheds,” you said, waiting for a response.
“Uhm, Crabbe fancies Hermione!” Ron shrieked out. Hermione glared at him, outraged.
“Urgh, really?” you asked, disgusted.
“Yeah, he’s been boasting about it to the Slytherins,” Hermione said, clearing her throat, “but I would never date a Slytherin,” she clarified, shooting Ron a furtive look of appall.
“They’re not all that bad,” you defended quietly, a gleam of a smile on your face, as you made your way up to the dormitories.
The three stared after you, shocked.
“Bloody hell, she would date a Slytherin,” Ron said, horrified.
“She can’t be this naive, can she?” Pansy asked the surrounding Slytherins the next day. The five of them watched as you stroked the long, glittering white fur of a unicorn Hagrid had brought along for your Care of Magical Creatures lesson.
“You think she’s naive? Draco’s been staring at her for the past two minutes,” Theo said, looking over at the boy, his silver eyes unblinking as they stared at you affectionately fawning over the unicorn.
“I don’t think he’s even blinked once,” Mattheo teased.
“Draco!” Pansy grinned, snapping her fingers in front of his line-of-sight.
He drew his eyes away from you as you stared up at the unicorn with the most endearing look he’d ever seen on your face, the shine of brightness illuminating from the magical creature’s fur casting a soft glow over your skin. “Yeah?” he asked.
“Did you hear anything that we said?” Enzo asked.
“Yeah, sounds great,” he said, his attention drawn back to you. Theo and Blaise chuckled, never having seen their friend so dumbstruck before.
“Come on, mate, just ask her out,” Theo encouraged.
“Yeah, the worst she could say is no,” Enzo added.
“Unless she decides to hex you, that is,” Mattheo chimed in.
Draco sighed heartily. “You know I can’t ask her. She’s Snape’s daughter. He’ll poison me or something.”
“So? At least you’ll die a happy lad,” Mattheo said, earning him a disapproving glare from Draco.
“Just go for it,” Theo said, pushing Draco towards where you stood.
Stumbling, he fell face-first on the patch of dirt in front of him, wincing as he pulled himself up.
“Malfoy, get away from ‘ere!” Hagrid yelled, but it was too late; the unicorn, which was accustomed to females rather than males, sensed Draco, and roughly kicked its front legs out at him, causing him to fall back on to the dirt.
“No!” Hagrid warned the creature, hurtling forwards and seizing Draco by his arms away from it.
“It’s okay! It’s okay..,” he heard you say softly.
You had neared the unicorn once more during its outburst, even as the rest of the students had hurried a safe distance away. You stroked the unicorn’s coat of fur gently from where you stood at its side, calming it down.
The class watched in astonishment as the unicorn obeyed your soft lulling, nuzzling further into your delicate touch.
As the class ended, Draco watched as you made your way back to the castle with Harry, Ron, and Hermione, the sounds of Ron saying, “That was brilliant!” and Hermione sharing the reasoning behind a unicorn’s historical discomfort around males that she’d read in Fantastic Beats and Where to Find Them following after you.
“To be completely honest with you, mate, if you don’t ask her out soon, I will,” Enzo said.
Soon enough, Draco realized that everyone was thinking along the same lines as Enzo. The story of how you’d tamed a unicorn during Hagrid’s class spread throughout the school the following day, with many people even expressing their shock. “I’m sorry, a Snape did that? Aren’t they the kind of lot that would, I don’t know, skin the unicorn alive instead?” they heard a Ravenclaw say during their Charms lesson.
Even the Hufflepuffs, who had a premeditated disdain for your father, were suddenly gawking at you the next few days.
“Just tell her the truth,” Pansy encouraged Draco, as she sat on the floor in front of one of the sofa’s of the common room.
“Yeah, tell her how you’re absolutely whipped for her,” Mattheo teased, dodging out of the way as Draco had launched a pillow at his head from where he sat on the sofa.
“Guys, be serious,” Enzo said on Draco’s behalf.
“We are!” Theo defended, as he cast a floating pink heart bubble into the air from the tip of his wand.
Draco reached forward, his slim finger popping the burst of pink. He rubbed a hand through his silver-blond hair, sighing loudly as he leaned back into the couch cushions.
“Just start off small, mate. Girls are weirdly enamoured by simple gestures,” Blaise suggested, clapping an encouraging hand on Draco’s shoulder.
Draco stared with his mouth agape after you, fighting the urge to strike Mattheo across the back of his thick head as he laughed behind him.
“We didn’t mean like that!” Theo said through his own hysterics, as Pansy, Blaise, and Enzo struggled to contain their own laughter.
Having taken Theo’s advice to heart, Draco had decided that the most effective way to, indirectly, ask for your attention was by planting a Boggart that he had nicked from the Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor’s desk inside an empty classroom. As he had recruited Crabbe to help with his plan, his beaty foot had knocked you off your feet in the hallway, sending your books to the floor. Draco, who lurked behind the statute of an old wizard, swiped his wand lazily over one of your fallen books, sending it into the empty classroom. As you blushed furiously, you had made your way into the classroom, letting out a horrified shriek that echoed through the hallways.
Draco smirked to himself, making his way out from behind the statue towards the classroom, intent on ‘saving’ you. What he hadn’t expected was for Harry, Ron, and Hermione to come barreling through the hallway at the sound of your distress, Harry’s voice echoing through the halls as he protectively yelled out, “RIDDIKULUS!”
As he watched the four of you make your way out from the classroom, Harry’s arm wrapped around your shoulder, his face distorted with a bitter look of dejection.
Pansy cleared her throat. “May I suggest something?”
It appeared as if Harry, Ron, and Hermione had taken it upon themselves to always have at least one of them at your side at all times following your encounter with the Boggart. Draco stared bitterly at where you, Ron, and Hermione stood in the stands of the Quidditch pitch, sporting scarlet memorabilia alongside the rest of the Gryffindors.
He rubbed furiously at the handle of his broomstick, cleaning at a spot that had no signs of smudge. As Marcus Flint stared intently at the Gryffindor Captain, Draco glared menancingly at Harry. The sound of Madam Hooch’s whistle brought him back to earth, and the Quaffle was released, feet kicking off the muddy ground, broomsticks rising into the air.
“Rough start for Potter over there,” Lee Jordan commentated loudly throughout the pitch. It had taken Harry a few seconds to fly upwards into the air, as Mattheo had roughly bumped into his shoulder — a few valuable seconds that Draco had used to surmount his broomstick over the height of the pitch on the Slytherin side.
“Chaser Angelina Johnson’s in possession of the Quaffle — OOH, fantastic save by one of the Weasley twins, I think that was Fred? Or George — kind of difficult to tell from here..” Jordan said, as a Bludger had come barreling towards where Angelina Johnson flew from where Theo had aimed it.
Theo looked over at Draco, shooting him a curt nod. Blaise, who had just swerved away from one of the Gryffindor players in attempts of confusing him, and Mattheo, made their way over, following Theo’s lead.
Draco hitched the handle of his broomstick roughly forwards, aiming towards the stands filled in shades of scarlet and gold.
Many people shirked, dodging out of the way through frightened gasps. Hagrid swore loudly, stumbling backwards, stepping on the feet and colliding harshly with a group of small first-years.
“Blimey!” Ron Weasley shrieked, as he reached for Ginny’s hand, pulling her downwards to duck out of the way, Hermione doing the same to you.
“Oi! What was that?!” Seamus Finnigan roared, as yells of outrage flew from the mouths of the Gryffindor crowd.
Draco caught your gaze as you looked up at him with wide eyes from where you were crouched next to Hermione. He shot a sly wink your way, before indiscreetly reaching into the pocket of his emerald Quidditch robes, pulling out an enchanted piece of parchment. He dropped it from where he hovered, your hand quickly wrapping around the wrinkled sheaf before it could hit the floor.
He hurriedly turned back towards the match, catching sight of Blaise, Theo, and Mattheo crowded around Harry’s broomstick, blocking him from searching for the Golden Snitch.
You looked down at the sheaf of parchment, carefully unfolding it with trembling fingers outside of Hermione’s sight.
A drawing danced around the paper, the ink blotches from where the quill had met its surface moving around. It appeared to be a terribly drawn sketch of Draco flying on his broomstick as he neared a poorly drawn girl, hearts moving around her head. Before you could even wonder what the drawing was supposed to mean, it had vanished from your grasp in a heap of burned parchment.
You dropped the small burned remnants of the sheaf onto the ground of the stands, before looking for Draco once more.
It seemed that everyone else had also been preoccupied by Draco’s arrival, many people continuing to angrily blurt out, “He’s a bloody cheat!” Everyone’s attention was drawn back to the boy, however, at Lee Jordan’s shout of, “Malfoy’s leering dangerously close to the stands once more, he’s spotted the Snitch!”
Harry extracted himself from the huddle of Slytherin’s around him, barrelling after Draco to the calls of encouragement from the Gryffindors. Then …
“Malfoy’s caught the Snitch — SLYTHERIN WINS.”
Everyone around you groaned, Seamus Finnigan angrily throwing his red winter cap onto the floor as he swore. “THAT’S RUBBISH!” Fred and George Weasley yelled from the pitch, as many of the Gryffindors called for a re-match.
“They can’ just block him like ‘at!” Hagrid roared, as Harry and the rest of the Gryffindor’s sombrely made their way down to the grounds. “Come on,” Ron said, as you, Hermione, and Ginny made your way towards him.
As you barrelled through outraged Gryffindor’s, many of them yelling so furiously that their cheeks matched the shades of scarlet they wore, you were abruptly yanked by your arm by someone on the pitch.
“Pansy?” you asked, looking back at Ron, Hermione, and Ginny as they neared Harry, who looked as if he were to snap his broomstick in half.
“Come with me!” she giggled, pulling you by your arm towards the pitch.
She pulled you towards the Slytherin team, all of whom wore looks of triumph on their faces. Draco, however, was watching you and Pansy with a stern look on his face.
She pulled you towards him, stifled giggles continuing to fall from her lips. “Draco here has something he wants to tell you,” she said, before making her way over to Mattheo, Theo, and Blaise behind where the two of you stood.
You watched her as she left, before looking up at Draco, your eyes narrowed in confusion.
“Uhm,” he cleared his throat, “well, more so show you, actually,” he clarified. He pulled his wand out of his Quidditch robes, waving it with the tip aimed at the sky above the pitch.
Red sparks emitted from the tip, soaring high into the air. Many people gasped and pointed above, students proding their friends to draw their attention to the sight.
You looked up, squinting against the bright sparks that now spelled a message in the sky.
Don’t dwell on the conclusion, love
You looked at Draco with wide eyes, a blush beginning to creep across your cheeks. “I-I don’t understand..” you stuttered out, looking at him as his face shone with a red glow from the spell.
“It was kind of Pansy’s idea,” he said, as he looked down at the pitch to hide his own flushed skin. You looked over his shoulder at the girl, who giggled behind her hand. Enzo had also made his way onto the pitch, craning his neck to look at the sky with a look of astonishment on his face. Blaise stared at Draco as if he were already a dead-man walking. To the side of him, Mattheo and Theo were talking in hushed whispers, exchanging Galleons through a firm handshake.
“Look, I wasn’t really sure how to ask you at first, but, do you want to, maybe, go out together at the next Hogsmeade visit?” he asked. You looked up at him, conflicted, yet also shocked at how uncertain Draco seemed at this moment; the same boy who had just confidently won the Quidditch match for his House. You smiled softly at him, nodding your speechless approval.
You looked towards the Slytherin side of the pitch, spotting a familiar silhouette of long black robes and greasy black hair. Snape was sitting in a raised seat of the stands alongside some of the other Professors; Dumbledore acted as if he noticed nothing unusual, whereas Flitwick admired Draco’s spell work. Snape stared down at you with a thin line of lips, his body language stern.
You gasped, stepping a few steps back from Draco. “Draco, my father..” you said. It was no secret that Snape was overly protective of his daughter, and considering Draco as one of his favourite students wouldn’t lessen this burden.
“Don’t worry about that, love,” he said, “that’s a problem for later.” Yet, by the way his face started to become more and more red outside from just the fading sparks of the message, you knew that he was just as worried as you were.
notes ⋆. 𐙚 ₊˚ yeah so i had noo idea how to end this, but thank you for the request, anon !! hot take — if harry had been born a girl, snape would have been murdering people left and right on lily’s behalf
𝓗𝐎𝐆𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐒 𝓛𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒 — @oopsiedaisydeer @drcamin
if interested in joining the harry potter taglist, click here ♡
in which — being taken in by a group of unruly slytherins proves to be an interesting journey — especially when they’re set on protecting you . .
contains — slytherin!reader, younger fem!reader (a year below), six overprotective slytherins (draco malfoy, mattheo riddle, theodore nott, blaise zabini, enzo berkshire, and pansy parkinson), detention with umbridge, an azkaban escape scare, a disastrous date, crying, appearances from golden trio, weasley twins, and more . .
word count — 4.1k
“Oh, bloody hell!” you shrieked, almost leaping backwards off the wooden bench you were seated on at the Slytherin table. Murky orange liquid dripped down the white buttoned-up front of your uniform shirt, your previously full goblet of pumpkin juice now rolling on the equally stained tablecloth.
Mattheo Riddle, who sat to your right side, quickly grasped onto your forearm to keep you from falling backwards off the bench, as Blaise Zabini mumbled under his breath, dabbing a napkin on his pants where the pumpkin juice had spilled on him as well.
“Sorry,” you said, your cheeks flushing in embarrassment — it seemed as if everyone in the Great Hall had decided to halt their conversations right when you’d done something embarrassing.
“Merlin, what are we going to do with you?” Pansy Parkinson, who sat across from you, sighed out. Nevertheless, she reached across the table to hand you a few napkins, earning a disbelieving look from Blaise.
“What? You can clean after yourself,” Pansy spoke, as she picked up your goblet.
“After myself?” Blaise asked, bregrudgingly reaching for his own wad of napkins from the middle of the table. “I didn’t even spill the damned juice!”
“Cut it out,” Theodore Nott, who sat between Pansy and Draco Malfoy, interjected upon seeing the look on your face — it looked as if tears were brimming your eyes, but with one blink, they were gone.
Wordlessly, Draco pushed his own full goblet of pumpkin juice towards you, before returning to his plate of sausages and eggs. Theo reached across the table towards Enzo Berkshire, yanking from his grasp a napkin before he could hand it to Blaise, the latter looking as if he were about to hex him.
Theo folded the napkin over, leaning over in his seat to carefully run the soft tissue over strands of your hair where the juice had splashed onto it. You blushed, mumbling a small, “Thanks.”
“Let me see,” Mattheo spoke through a mouthful of toast, as he looked you up and down. “It’s not that bad,” he said, noting the shade of dark orange your shirt was becoming.
Pansy shifted slightly in her seat, pulling her wand out of the pocket of her robes. “Mattheo, you’re a terrible liar,” she said, as she pointed her wand towards your stained shirt, returning it to its former white appearance.
Mattheo placed a hand over his heart in mock offence. “Panse, I may be a liar, but I’m definitely not terrible at it,” he defended. “You believed me when I told you about Snape’s essay requirement being twelve inches of parchment long.”
“Wait, is it not?” Enzo dropped his fork onto his plate, a look of disbelief crossing his face. “Merlin, I stayed up until half past two to get that done — I had to blabber on about moonstone properties for a solid four inches to meet that requirement,” he spoke, eyes wide. Blaise placed a hand on his shoulder, as Mattheo sniggered over his goblet.
You looked down at your shirt, Pansy casting a quick hot-air charm over the material to dry it off.
As the Great Hall began to clear out — Blaise hastily shovelling down his last spoonfuls of oatmeal, Luna Lovegood skipping past your table with what looked an awful lot like radishes hanging from her ears, Hermione Granger talking animatedly to Ron Weasley and Harry Potter about “House-Elf Rights” as the two boys looked completely uninterested — you waved goodbye to the group of Slytherins. With the six of them being a year above you, you were off to your own classes belonging to a different timetable.
“Wait,” Theo jogged up to your side in the Entrance Hall, pulling his arms through his black and emerald green house robes to remove the long fabric from himself. He quickly placed it over your shoulders, helping you pull your arms through.
“My shirt’s fine now, Theo,” you defended, as the sleeves of his much too-large robes covered the entirety of your wrists.
“Can’t be too careful, bella — just try not to dirty that one, too,” he teased, as he jogged towards the rest of the group down the hallway.
“Merlin, she’s going to wake with her neck paining in twelve different places,” someone spoke quietly.
“Not all of us have the body of a grandpa, Enzo,” someone else replied.
“Would you guys keep it down? You’ll wake her,” another voice angrily whispered out.
You groaned softly, before turning over slightly — suddenly realizing that you were lying on the leather sofa of the Common Room. You creaked an eye open slightly, embarrassment flooding through you; you realized dejectedly that what you swore to simply be an act of “shutting your eyes” after dinner had turned into a full-fledged nap on the sofa.
“Way to go, Mattheo, you woke her up,” Draco said, earning a slightly guilty look from the boy.
You ran a hand over your eyes, moving a few strands of hair away from your face. “What time is it?” you asked groggily, your eyes almost shutting once more.
“Half past one,” Theo answered, unsure if you’d even heard him; your head had already began to loll back into the sofa as you yawned.
Suddenly, the feeling of a pair of strong arms lifting you from the sofa caused you to startle slightly. “Theo, what are you doing?” you asked, as your arms instinctively latched around his neck for balance.
“Taking you to your dorm, we can’t have the Bloody Barron sneaking up on you down here,” he said, as he began to walk with you in his arms towards the dormitory steps.
“You can’t. Boys can’t enter the girls dormitories — it’s in Hogwarts: A History,” you stated matter-of-factly, earning a collective laugh from the five others who followed behind you two; even in your sleepy state, you still recalled information the average student couldn’t be bothered with while conscious.
“No worries. We’ll all have a sleepover in our dorms, then. Pansy will come, too,” he spoke softly, as Pansy moved up the dormitories steps to walk beside the two of you, moving a strand of hair away from your forehead.
You just nodded, reaching a hand towards the hem of Theo’s shirt, lowering your head towards his chest.
Detention with Umbridge was the least amiable way you could imagine spending your Saturday morning. Even worse, your scheduled detention conflicted with the last Slytherin versus Gryffindor Quidditch match of the season, making you unable to attend the game.
“No worries, bella,” Theo had reassured you. “We’ll make it a quick game against those hotheads.”
“Man, I can’t wait to see that smug look wiped off Potter’s face,” Draco smirked.
“Potter’s face? Just wait until word gets out to Wood over at Puddlemere that Gryffindor will have lost their first year without him,” Mattheo chimed in.
“That one-year winning streak was better than they could’ve bargained for, mind,” Blaise added.
“You know,” Mattheo turned towards you, “there’s this loony in your year who always turns up to Gryffindor matches with this,” he gestured wildly over his head, “outrageously large lion-head. The bloody thing even roars,” he laughed obnoxiously.
Sitting in the sickeningly pink and lacey office of Professor Umbridge, the only roaring you could hear was from the Quidditch pitch on the other side of her windows, which were conveniently draped over with white-laced curtains.
“The longer you take to finish your lines, the more they’ll begin to.. etch themselves,” Umbridge said in a sickeningly sweet voice from behind her desk, her eye catching on the parchment and quill she had provided you that sat unassuming on your desk.
You looked at her confusedly, before picking up the bare quill, testing the sharpness of its tip against the parchment that sat in front of you. You drew one small horizontal line over the parchment, waiting.
You gasped, a searing pain flooding through your dominant hand. The line that you had drawn began to creep into the skin on the back of your hand in red ink — except, you realized, it was your blood.
“Yes?” Umbridge asked, looking over at you with a satisfied gleam in her buggy eyes.
You stiffened in your chair, forcing a grimace. “Nothing, Professor.”
. . .
“What did I tell you? 180 to 30!” Mattheo yelled through the hallways, broomstick clutched in his hand. “It was over before Potter even realized that the Snitch was right behind him,” Theo laughed, as they made their way down the hall leading to the dungeon stairway.
“Where’s Pansy, anyway?” Draco asked.
“Ah, she said something about borrowing notes from Enzo in the library after the game,” Theo said.
Blaise chuckled. “By ‘borrowing,’ you mean stealing.”
“Hey,” Mattheo called down the hallway excitedly, spotting you emerging from a classroom. You had just finished with your detention, blood gushing from the torn skin of your hand, tears brimming your eyes as you tried not to think of the pain that felt like a knife being dragged across your skin, repeatedly, to bore a message.
“B-bathroom,” you called back shakily, hurriedly turning away to make your way as quickly yet casually as you could towards the girls bathrooms — once you got there, you would lock the doors, clean your bloodied hand, and hope to Merlin that Moaning Myrtle wouldn’t parade out to the entire school that there had been a “Sobbing Slytherin” in her toilets.
“Wait,” Draco hurried after you before you could leave. He reached for your arm, causing you to wince.
The four boys looked at each other. “What’s wrong with your hand?” Theo asked, as Draco kept a firm but gentle hold on your wrist as you tried to brush him off of you.
“N-Nothing,” you stuttered, the tears you held back now threatening to spill over in large pours, contradicting your reassurance.
“Did someone hurt you?” Mattheo asked, failing to conceal the anger that was beginning to lace his tone.
Draco pulled your closed fist towards him, pulling the sleeve of your robes up. The words that were pierced into your skin caused the five boys to stare in shock.
“It was my f-fault,” you cried, pulling your hand away to wipe the tears that fell. “Umbridge got mad at me for f-falling asleep in her c-class,” you said, the words “I will not exhaust others” visible on your skin.
“Wait, Umbridge did this?” Blaise asked. “Blimey, I’d heard that her detentions were cruel, but not outright barbaric.”
“Bella, why?” Theo asked.
“Because I was t-tired,” you defended.
“No, not that,” he said. “You should’ve left right away and told one of us,” he clarified.
You laughed bitterly. “Yeah, so she could assign me more lines? B-besides,” you hiccoughed, “you were in the middle of a match, and the Inquisitorial Squad-,” you fought back a sob that was beginning to crawl up your throat.
“Forget about that stupid squad,” Draco said. “My father knows Umbridge through the Ministry — I can convince him to get her to lessen her punishments on ‘family acquaintances.’”
“As if that’ll work,” you wiped at your eyes with the sleeves of your robes.
Carefully, Mattheo reached for your hand, pulling it away from your face. Instead, he reached out with the pad of his thumb, brushing away the stray tears that began to fall from the tips of your eyelashes.
“Blimey, are we sure this is the same guy who just knocked one of the Weasley twins out with a Bludger two minutes ago?” Blaise whispered as he watched Mattheo’s tenderness towards you, causing Draco to hit him over his back with the end of his broomstick.
“So, what’s this I hear about a certain Slytherin meeting up with Anthony Goldstein in Madam Puddifoot’s this afternoon?” Pansy asked you as she walked beside you through the village of Hogsmeade. You giggled, pulling your emerald-and-silver scarf higher over your face to hide the blush creeping over your cheeks.
“I must not have heard that correctly,” Draco piped. “You,” he looked down at you confusedly, “and Anthony Goldstein?”
You just shrugged, continuing past the Three Broomsticks; ahead were Fred and George Weasley with Lee Jordan, bagfuls of Zonko’s products in their hands. As you walked past Hermione Granger leaving Scrivenshaft’s Quill Shop, Ron Weasley and Harry Potter waiting for her outside before heading for the Hog’s Head, while Colin Creevey flashed a camera towards the latter, the five boys trailing ahead of you and Pansy stopped.
“That’s him,” you sighed out exasperatedly. “Why is this so shocking to all of you?” you asked.
“Anthony Goldstein?” Theo repeated, as you shot him a glare. “No, no chance,” he said firmly.
“What’s wrong with him?” you asked, slightly offended on his behalf.
“Well, for starters, he’s a Ravenclaw,” Blaise chimed in, his own prejudice with Ravenclaw House — ever since a girl in his year had stood him up over Halloween — presenting itself.
“And, he’s a year above you,” Theo added.
“So are all of you,” you interjected.
“That’s not the point,” Enzo added, crossing his arms.
You sighed, reaching for Pansy’s arm. “Merlin, you guys are so dramatic.”
. . .
As your gaze travelled over the interior layout of Madam Puddifoot’s Tea Shop, you were eerily reminded of Umbridge’s office; the small shop was visibly overcrowded by lace-covered tables and assortments of pink ribbons floating overhead. From the small table nearest the window where you sat, you could see the small frame of Madam Puddifoot, a sugar-coated apron tied around her stomach, her hair hung in an intricate black bun, apologizing animatedly to a sixth year girl whose lap she had accidentally spilled a cup of tea over.
Every time the bell atop the shop’s front door rang, you would peek over the heads of the couples around you, looking for Anthony Goldstein. Half an hour past the initial time the two of you had decided to meet — and two cups of tea later — he had yet to turn up.
You sighed, fishing out a few Galleons from your pockets, as you accepted the fact that you had been stood up. You were honestly starting to understand Blaise’s resentment towards Ravenclaw students.
The sight of the numerous Hogwarts couples around you was starting to tick you off; Cho Chang had angry tears flowing down her cheeks as she argued with Harry Potter, who looked more dumbfounded than usual, while Roger Davis and his girlfriend had yet to extract themselves from each other since the moment you’d walked in.
As the bell announced yet another customer, you were surprised to see Pansy, Mattheo, Theo, Draco, Blaise, and Enzo making their way towards your table.
Roger Davies grunted as Enzo bumped into his chair.
“Maybe if you would look up for two seconds you could have avoided that, mate,” Mattheo defended. Roger cast him a crude hand gesture, before reattaching his lips to the open-mouth of his girlfriend, Draco jokingly gagging as he passed them.
“What are you guys doing here?” you asked, as they began to pull seat cushions and empty chairs from other tables towards your own.
“Came to check on your date, of course,” Theo spoke, as Mattheo knocked a startled Susan Bones off her chair, who hurried out of the shop through tears.
“Where is Goldstein, anyway? Got cold feet?” Mattheo teased, as he occupied the now-empty chair.
You bit your lip, refusing to answer. Blaise stared at your silent state for a moment, before speaking. “You were too good for him, anyway.”
Pansy stayed resolutely silent, while Enzo nodded his agreement.
“Not to be negative or anything,” Draco began.
“You, negative?” Enzo scoffed. “Never.”
Draco ignored him. “Could we go, maybe, anywhere but here? The pink is starting to give me a headache,” he scratched at the back of his neck awkwardly.
Enzo already began to stand up from his own seat. “For once, I agree. The smell of lavender is really starting to mess with me,” he spoke, before accidentally sneezing over a powdered donut on a nearby table, sugar coating his hair. Mattheo laughed obnoxiously, causing Roger Davies and his girlfriend to pull apart to look towards him.
“Let’s go,” you decided, pulling yourself together, placing a handful of Galleons on the table before leading the way out of the shop.
As Theo watched you leave, he whistled. “Pansy,” he said.
The black-haired girl turned towards him. “Thanks for not telling her what we’d done.”
She grinned bitterly. “Oh, please. The only reason I didn’t rat on you guys for sneaking Goldstein one of those foul Skiving Snackboxes was because he refused to let me borrow his Potions notes — I was stuck copying off of Enzo of all people,” she said. “Did you know he writes his G’s like C’s, and his C’s like O’s? It took me an hour to copy down five lines.”
Theo laughed, throwing an arm across her shoulder as they exited the shop. “I wonder if Madam Pomfrey will ever figure out why everyone suddenly has a horrible retching-problem.”
“Everyone up! Let’s go!” the voice of the female Slytherin Prefect yelled as she entered your dorm, casting the lights on with a simple spell as she went. Awoken from your slumber, you could suddenly hear the raucous out in the Common Room, footsteps barrelling down the steps hurriedly from the dormitories.
“Blimey, what’s she on about?” asked the girl whose bed was closest to yours, as she rubbed sleep from her eyes. Slowly, the rest of the girls in your dorm began to push back the drapes of their beds, quickly pulling robes over their pyjamas and shuffling into slippers.
“Not sure,” you said, following them as you hurried into your robes and out of the dormitory.
As you reached the Common Room, it was unadulterated chaos — everyone was dressed in their pyjamas, some students even in tears, while others fought to push their way out of the dungeons completely.
“Everyone make their way to the Great Hall quickly, Dumbledore’s orders!” the Prefect boy called out, as a first year boy was trampled in the hurry to leave the dungeons.
“What’s going on?” you asked Daphne Greengrass, a girl who was in the year above you. “Mass breakout from Azkaban — apparently a wizard convinced of using the Imperious curse on Ministry officials during the first wizarding war was spotted in Hogsmeade. Well, according to the Bloody Barron, that is,” she explained quickly, before hurrying off to find her younger sister.
. . .
The Great Hall was by no means any tamer than the Common Room had been. Portraits calling out from the Entrance Hall for information on all the fuss could be heard; the Fat Lady’s loud voice was echoing all the way from Gryffindor Tower. Many students were frightfully looking for their friends and siblings; Padma Patil was yelling out for her sister; Fred, George, and Ron Weasley kept an eye on Ginny.
“Have you seen Pansy Parkinson anywhere?” you asked the same girl who you had made your way down from the dormitories alongside; chances were in your favour that if you found Pansy, the boys would be with her.
“I haven’t, sorry,” she said, craning her head towards the windows of the Great Hall for any sign of disturbance.
You walked around, frequently leaning on the tips of your toes to peer over the heads of the hundreds of students — hoping to catch sight of Pansy’s familiar black hair, or Draco’s silver hair.
“Pansy!” you called out, your voice shaking slightly. You might as well have whispered for all the effect you’d had; the Great Hall was far too noisy to carry your own voice.
As you turned back to your dorm mate, she had gone — leaving you without anyone in your House that you felt comfortable enough around.
The sensation of the castle walls trembling caused yells of fright to echo around the Great Hall, a few tears tricking down your cheeks.
. . .
“Where is she?” Mattheo asked, as he shamelessly pushed a second year out of his way into the Hall.
“Do you think she might have been in the bathrooms?” Enzo asked anxiously, narrowly avoiding being swept through by Nearly Headless Nick as he passed.
“She can’t be, I already checked the one nearest the dungeons,” Pansy said.
Blaise and Theo, being the two tallest of the group, continued to look over the heads of the hundreds of students in the Hall, hoping to spot you.
“Do you guys think Accio could work on a person?” Enzo asked stupidly, earning him a smack on the back of the head from Mattheo.
Theo swore out in his mother tongue, suddenly stumbling, causing five pairs of concerned eyes to shoot towards him. “What? Have you spotted her?” Draco asked.
“No, just this limp Squib,” Theo complained, as Filch the Caretaker pushed past him through the long wooden doors.
“Students, out of bed! Students! Out! Of! Bed!” Filch exclaimed in disbelief, brandishing a lantern held high above his head, Mrs Norris at his heels.
Dumbledore, from where he stood at the front of the Hall, discussing with the other teachers and Head Boy and Girl, replied calmly, “Yes, Filch, I am indeed aware.”
The Great Hall was suddenly engulfed by a booming crack of thunder, momentarily drowning the Hall in darkness. Many of the younger students screamed; Ron Weasley swore loudly; Dennis Creevey startled at Mrs Norris’ tail dragging over his feet.
“There!” Pansy was the first to notice you in the middle of the Hall as you faced the windows, standing completely alone.
“Move,” Mattheo barked out at a group of Ravenclaws, pushing his way towards you, Pansy, Draco, Theo, Blaise, and Enzo at his heels.
As you tore your eyes away from the windows, you spotted the six of them nearing you, and sighed out in relief. You wiped hurriedly at your cheeks, hoping none of them would notice the wet and reddened hue tinging them.
Theo did. Wordlessly, he pulled you into his arms, placing his chin on top of your head — relishing in the fact that you were safe.
“Blimey, for a minute there, we were convinced you might’ve been the convicted witch on-the-loose,” Enzo said, relieved now that your whereabouts were no longer uncertain.
Everyone stared at him; Blaise opened his mouth a few times, yet failed to find any words capable of expressing his continued shock at Enzo’s thought-process.
“Absolutely no one else thought that,” Mattheo spoke on behalf of the others, as Draco silently judged Enzo, wondering if he himself had been Imperiused.
You couldn’t help it — you giggled, and you couldn’t stop. The six others looked at where you stood, head buried in Theo’s pyjamas, a wide smile on your face as tears fell down your cheeks; whether from their reactions, your exhaustion at the late hour, or your subsided fear, you couldn’t tell.
“Blimey, what are we going to do with you?” Theo asked, ruffling your bed-head of hair, as the others began to join in your chorus of laughter; Enzo was by far the loudest, acting as if he had drank too much Butterbeer on an empty stomach; Pansy fought to stifle her giggles, as Mattheo cackled at the shocked expressions the seven of you had accidentally attracted from students throughout the Hall.
Soon enough, the mad sounds of Enzo’s and Mattheo’s laughter caused Luna Lovegood to start laughing loudly from the other side of the Great Hall, many Ravenclaw students conspicuously shifting away from where she stood.
“Looks like someone’s trying to scam us of our business,” Fred Weasley spoke out from where many of the older Gryffindor students were huddled.
“Cracking jokes at the most inappropriate of times is sort of our specialty,” George Weasley added.
Many of the Gryffindors around the twins started laughing, and, soon enough, the laughter carried around to hundreds of students who had looked pensive moments earlier. Many students, however, looked startled; a few Ravenclaws and Slytherins who you were unfamiliar with shot odd looks in your direction.
Even Professor McGonagall cracked a smile from where the teachers stood at the front of the Hall. Umbridge looked outraged, staring down her pig-nose at the laughing fit that had just unfolded, as Dumbledore smiled from beneath his long white beard and underneath his large purple sleeping cap.
“Better?” Theo asked you, wiping a few stray tears away from your cheeks as he looked down at you.
You just nodded, leaning back into his pyjama-clad chest.
notes ⋆. 𐙚 ₊˚ idk why everyone’s laughing but i hope it made at least one person laugh, too. whoopsie daisyyy sorry for going MIA from writing for a little bit — my creative writing teacher deprived me of any and all motivation ♡
in which — the notorious slytherin group of hogwarts—consisting of draco malfoy, blaise zabini, mattheo riddle, theodore nott, enzo berkshire, and pansy parkinson—take it upon themselves to recruit a new member into their elite group. when their eyes catch on you, an introverted slytherin who wants nothing to do with their antics, they’ll stop at nothing to entice you..
contains — five lovestruck boys, pansy as a girls girl (kind of), introverted!reader, slytherin!reader, a frog attack, hexing, slight profanity and flirting, some italian terms of endearment, a phrase of latin, brief cameo from fred & george and peeves
word count — 2.6k
“Would-you-shove-OFF?” Pansy rasped out through shoves at the five boys surrounding her, their laughter ringing throughout the empty common room at her dramatics.
“Come on, Panse, we’re just teasing,” Theo defended, as Mattheo put his hands up in mock surrender. The sound of Enzo and Blaise struggling to contain their laughs only infuriated the girl more, as Draco scoffed at them through a grin.
“It’s not teasing, it’s plain rude,” she huffed out. The boys had spent the past half-hour engaging in a competitive match of Exploding Snap in the common room, while Pansy had furiously worked on her Potions homework in a neighbouring room of the dimly-lit dungeon. When the sound of an aggressive knock caught her attention, she was greeted with five boys crowding over her, a card thrown directly on top of her finished parchment—exploding and lighting her work on fire.
“You got half of the answers wrong, anyways,” Draco tutted from where he held the crisped parchment up. Pansy snatched it from his grasp.
“You guys are impossible,” she groaned, a frown larger than the one she usually wore crowding over her face.
“Calm down, we’re usually pretty tolerable,” Mattheo said, throwing an arm over the girl’s shoulder. She pushed it off, earning a chorus of mockery from the other boys.
“I can’t—we need another girl friend,” Pansy stated.
“Not a problem,” Theo said, earning him a slap over the head from Enzo. He winced, reaching for the back of his head, rubbing the area that Enzo’s palm had collided with. “She meant all of us, and not a girlfriend,” he said.
It was at that moment that the door to the dungeon creaked open, six heads turning towards the perched stone wall at the sound. In walked a girl in their year, her head down as she held an open book in her hands, oblivious to the group’s stares as she made her way towards the dormitories.
“Her,” Pansy said, her eyes locked on the girl’s figure as she left. She smirked, making her way towards the dormitories, five boys at her heels.
She stopped in front of the door, causing the boys to stop in their tracks. “What are you doing?” she asked indignantly, as she pulled the heavy wooden door open, stepping through. “This is the girl’s dormitories,” she slammed the door shut, leaving the bewildered faces of the boys behind.
The group was quick to realize that recruiting you wouldn’t be as simple as they had anticipated. You had somehow ignored Pansy’s incessant attempts at persuading you the night before, much to her dismay. Now, with six pairs of eyes suddenly searching for you in every place—the entrance hall, the classrooms, the corridors, even every time the common room door swung open—they soon noted that your values contradicted with those of a traditional Slytherin in many ways.
“Bloody hell,” Enzo mumbled halfway through a mouthful of toast, his eyes landing on you down the table. Confused, the others turned to face you. The sight made Mattheo choke on his pumpkin juice, Blaise patting him on the back through his heaves.
You had made your way over to the Gryffindor table, handing Neville Longbottom his Remembrall, which had rolled across the room to under your house table. The boy was obviously startled by the sight of your green robes in front of him, but took the ball from your hand gratefully, a shaky “T-thanks,” leaving his lips. You shot him a small smile, before making your way back to the end of your table—murmurs of astonishment echoing throughout from the Gryffindor table. “She’s in my Herbology class—she once helped me with my Mandrake when the blessed thing bit me,” they overheard a nearby Hufflepuff telling the huddled group around her.
“Great, now everyone thinks we’ve gone soft,” Theo dramatized, as they watched you take your seat back at the Slytherin table, helping a First Year to place an enchantment on their knife and fork to cut their sausages for them.
Almost as quick as they were to realize your compassion, they were reminded why you had been sorted into Slytherin. “Five points will be taken from Slytherin,” Snape said lowly, much to the delightment of the Gryffindors in the class. “She had it coming,” you mumbled curtly, your wand still clenched tightly in your hand, as another Slytherin student escorted a sobbing Millicent Bulstrode to Madam Pomfrey’s.
Your momentary outburst was hurried, yet they had caught it. Your Potions partner, Millicent Bulstrode, had launched her haughty self against you in an attempt of stirring her own potion first, knocking you off your feet. “You bitch,” you shrieked, before green sparks illuminated from the tip of your wand. Suddenly, Bulstrode let out a loud shout as her potion exploded in her face, boils quickly forming over her thick skin.
The attention of the entire class had been caught from her scream, yet the six students of your own house had already been staring at you, watching the moment unfold. Their jaws stayed dropped—Draco sniggering alongside Blaise, Mattheo’s eyes dilating heavily, Theo looking as if he were to court you right then and there. Pansy looked over at them, rolling her eyes. “You guys are so thick,” she said, as she turned her attention back to her potion, Enzo accidentally adding one too many drops of Sopophorous Bean juice from his own distraction.
“I don’t know about this, guys,” Enzo said solemnly.
“Stop worrying,” Mattheo said, clasping a hand on the worried boy’s backside. “Once we ask her, she’ll almost certainly be enamoured.”
The group stared at the enchanted box of chocolate frogs they’d purchased at Hogsmeade on the weekend. After Mattheo casted a simple enchantment on the purple box, the chocolate delicacy inside roared to life—transfiguring into a real frog, brandishing a note in its mouth.
“Get that-that thing away from me,” Blaise muttered, disgusted.
“Oh, come on. It’s cute,” Mattheo cooed, picking up the slimy creature from where it sat perched in the chocolate box.
Suddenly, the amphibian fell from Mattheo’s grip like a bar of soap, falling to the floor of the Entrance Hall.
A yell echoed throughout the halls.
The group stood there, watching as the frog scurried through the halls, leaping onto the hem of a Second Year Gryffindor’s robes, teeth digging into the flesh of her calve where her robe ended.
“Reparifage!” you shouted from where you’d emerged at the sound of the chaos, wand pointed at the frog dangling from the girl’s robe. The frog fell limp, plummeting to the floor and shattering into thousands of brown pieces—it had turned back into chocolate.
You saw the crumpled note laying beneath the crumbs.
“Oh, no,” Enzo said, quickly turning away to avoid facing your reaction.
You bent down, picking up the paper from its corner, dusting off the chocolate crumbs.
Flectere si nequeo superos, Acheronta movebo
You recognized the Latin Slytherin motto that the whole house had familiarized themselves with—“If I cannot bend the heavens above, I will move Hell.”
You looked up to face across the hall, spotting the group of Slytherins looking incredibly guilty, staring right back at you as smugly as they possibly could given the circumstances.
You scoffed, rolling your eyes, before crumpling the note in your hand—throwing it back onto the floor as you escorted the trembling Gryffindor student to the hospital wing.
“Well, that could’ve gone worse,” Mattheo spoke too early, as another one of the frog’s from the pack of chocolates launched itself at Enzo, latching onto his nose.
You walked through the corridors sluggishly, the feeling of eyes boring into your from every which way overwhelming—whether it was due to the news of your outburst in Potions earlier that had spread throughout the school like wildfire, or the fact that it seemed like six faces seemed to be following you at all times.
With your books clutched tightly against your chest, you made your way towards your next class, before colliding with someone’s chest, books toppling to the ground.
“Oh, sorry, didn’t see you there, bella,” a familiar voice called out. You looked up from where you had crouched to retrieve your textbooks, spotting the familiar boy. “Theo,” you sighed in acknowledgement, as he lended you a hand up. “So, you do know me?” he said, flattered. “Of course I do. We’re in the same house, remember?” you asked flatly, before turning away from the boy, who now stood perplexed at your words. “Wait, wait,” he jogged to catch up, his long legs taking him a lot quicker than yours.
“Then, wouldn’t you want some more friends from our house? We’re kind of the most popular of the Slytherins,” he persuaded.
“Not for good reason,” you said, continuing down the corridor speedily.
Theo stared after you, watching as your robes swished behind you as you left once more.
“Did you speak to her?” Mattheo asked eagerly the following morning. As Theo recalled his brief interaction with you to the rest, they had convinced Pansy to attempt to talk to you, too—before you could pretend to be dead asleep, as you had the first night, Pansy recalled bitterly.
The boys huddled around Pansy as she departed from the girl’s dormitories. “She said she ‘isn’t interested in our lot,’” she recited, finger quoting as she spoke.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Mattheo asked.
“She probably saw you fall off your broomstick into the stands the other day,” Draco reminded, the others sniggering.
“Where is she?” Enzo cut off Mattheo before he could retaliate, craning his neck in hopes of a girl opening the dormitory doors just wide enough.
“Already left, said something about needing to read over a Latin book in the library,” Pancy said.
“So, she’s smart, beautiful, and a Slytherin?” Theo wondered aloud.
“Yeah, and she’s not your future first wife,” Pansy remarked.
Incredulously mouthing “first?”, Theo was cut off by Draco. “Brilliant,” he said.
“What?” Mattheo asked.
“Theo, you know Italian, and that’s basically the same thing,” Draco said.
“It’s not-,” he began.
“Oh, who cares? Let’s just go,” Pansy said, already making her way out of the common room to head towards the library.
The five boys stared after her, her determined demeanour unmissable. “Are we sure we want another girl in our group?” Mattheo asked after her.
Every section of the library felt as if a world of eyes lingered on you for far too long. Every corner you turned, every shelf you tiptoed to reach, every window you passed, felt as if your presence was being surveyed.
You had realized why that was when you spotted none other than Mattheo Riddle sitting at one of the wooden desks of the lot, his eyes not-so inconspicuously boring into you over a book he held in front of his face. It was far too easy to recognize his curled hair, you thought bitterly.
Quickly turning away from his line-of-sight, you passed by a student who towered over you, standing in the middle of a row of books, holding one open in his hands, spine cracked down the middle. You did a double-take, noticing Theodore Nott. You quickly clutched the books you held closer to your frame, speeding away once more.
“Why the rush, darling?” a voice called from behind you. You turned, spotting a boy with familiar blonde hair, Pansy Parkinson at his side.
“Shove off, Malfoy,” you said, pushing your way through the wooden doors of the library, leaving before any other words had to be exchanged with the group.
“Well, that one has quite the attitude,” Blaise said, making his way around the corner with Enzo.
“I know,” Theo, Mattheo, and Draco said simultaneously, a shared look of infatuation mirrored in their eyes.
Winter rolled around faster than anyone could’ve expected, the school grounds limned in snow and ice glands.
“Wow, mate, she got you good,” Blaise admitted as he stared at the sight of purple forming on Enzo’s nose. He clutched the tip of his nose, red crimson dripping down onto the white snow from the hex you’d casted at him.
“In my defence, I didn’t think you’d actually do it,” Mattheo said, hunching over to catch his breath through his hysterics at what had happened.
You had been walking through the school grounds, the hood of your robe covering the top of your head to ward against the falling snow overheard. As you walked, the group watched you from their comfort under the cement roof of the castle. “Five galleons if you offer your scarf to her,” Mattheo told Enzo, throwing a few Sickles into the air with a cupped palm. “I don’t know..” he said. “Come on, don’t be a wuss,” Mattheo said, him and Blaise pushing him towards the grounds.
Enzo stumbled, before reluctantly taking his scarf off from around his neck, walking hurriedly behind you to catch up. The sound of Draco sniggering echoed behind him, but his eyes stayed locked on you. As he neared you, directly behind you now, he raised his arms over your head, attempting to place the scarf on your neck. You, who hadn’t seen him from the hood you wore, shrieked, pulling the soft material off of you, immediately drawing your wand and blasting him in the middle of his face—his nose taking the brunt of the impact.
“Oh, shove OFF,” Enzo shivered out, as Mattheo had reached for a fistful of snow, rubbing it against the boy’s bleeding nose to clean off his face.
Mattheo, Draco, Blaise, and Pansy joined in a chorus of laughter. Theo smirked, before striding determinedly across the snowy lawn—following your snow-pathed footsteps.
The four sped to catch up with him, incredulous. “Now what?” Pansy asked. The six of them attracted many lingering stares from other students they passed as they entered the warm castle—the group notorious for mischief, and, judging by their determined strides, they looked to be up to no good.
The six weaved through groups that crowded the corridors—receiving a mischievously encouraging tune from Peeves, and a holler of “Snobby Slytherins on the loose!” from Fred and George Weasley.
They watched as you made your way down towards the dungeons, catching up to you on the steps. Theo threw his arm around you. “You alright there, signorina?” he asked, as Mattheo extended an arm around your other shoulder. “Quite the ordeal you’ve been putting us through, love,” he said. “Very reluctant, yet oddly.. entertaining,” Malfoy admitted from behind the two boys. Pansy ran in front of you, walking backwards as the two boys walked you towards the dungeons—Blaise and Enzo standing to either side of them.
You hunched your shoulders, finally caving. “What do you want?” you asked.
Pansy—ever the self-proclaimed spokesperson of the group, took offence. “We can be quite interesting, you know. We’re not all that bad,” she said.
“You yourself should know how misconstrued these presumptions about our house students are,” Theo chimed in. “I’ve heard the rumour about me hexing four Third-Years in McGonagall’s class. They got it all wrong, through—it was only two, and I didn’t hex them, I turned them into badgers—ever-fitting for their ludicrous house,” he clarified.
“Come on, you’re gonna have to get used to us—we’ve already been bugging you for weeks on-end,” Draco said. “
“You can be our amica—our heiress, if you will”, Theo said, removing his arm from around your shoulder—Mattheo doing the same, bowing in front of you to offer his hand.
“Heiress?” you scoffed. “You guys are ridiculous,” you said, fighting back a grin.
Yet, as they followed you into the common room—Mattheo guiding you through the entrance with his extended hand, the feeling of someone holding onto the small of your back, and Pancy talking your ear off about how you had to join them on their next Hogsmeade visit—you knew they’d won you over.
notes ⋆. 𐙚 ₊˚ guys help me i’m like eighty percent sure there’s already a fanfic with an ending similar to this one — if you know which one, please let me know so i can give credits to the author and make sure that all’s good !!
Something about how he eats you. Tenderly, violently, ardently.
In most things in life, he seemed to enjoy the fine line between pleasure and pain. The same was true here. When he went down on you, there was always a certain roughness to it—squeezing, sometimes a sharp slap, the hard press of his hands around your hips holding you exactly where he wanted you.
But most of all, he loved to bite.
At first, he would only graze his teeth over your clit. You could feel the full line of them dragging lightly across it as he slowly turned his head. There was a particularly sharp one, a canine, that would make you twitch.
All the while, his eyes would remain fixed on you, not a care about you dripping on his chin, a knowing look on his face. He knew exactly what it did to you.
The sensation was overwhelming—sharp and electric, just enough to leave you trembling from the intensity of it. He loved to focus on that little part of you, that part that could cause you to fall apart. To come undone.
Then he would bite—lightly at first. A sudden interruption in the pleasure.
You could feel the smile against you when he did it.
Your hips would jerk instinctively, trying to pull away. His hands tighten immediately, gripping your hips and pressing you harder into the bed.
“Stop that,” you’d gasp.
You felt the low vibration of his laugh against you.
He would intertwine one of his hands with yours to settle you. He continued anyway, each bite a little firmer than the last, testing your reaction, watching the way your body tensed beneath his hands. He loved the feeling of it pulsating. The little bundle of nerves against his enamel. His fingers would drift possessively along your lower stomach, almost in admiration.
Until you whimpered in pain and your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging sharply as you tried to pull him away.
“Don’t you dare,” he'd spit.
He would pull back, licking his lips, a slow smear of saliva left glistening between your thighs.
His gaze would drop to where he had been, studying his work—your clit swollen and sensitive from the attention.
He never rushed when he was down there. He liked to take his time, prodding and testing, experimenting with slow curiosity.
Almost like someone idly turning a small object over in their hands.
And every time he tried something new, his eyes would flick back up to your face, watching carefully for your reaction.
It usually went like that: he would bite a little too hard, and you would tell him that it was too much.
Then he would soften again, grazing his teeth lightly over it as if to make up for it, his tongue moving in a slow, apologetic swirl. "M'sorry"
When he decided he wanted you to come, he would change his rhythm. His tongue would move in faster, deliberate sweeps, alternating between your clit and lower, working you steadily closer to the edge. Pleasure again, building and building.
"Like that? Yeah?" Playing into the good boyfriend he was supposed to be.
And then, right when he felt you were about to come—and he always seemed to know. He never had to ask. Your breath would catch, your legs beginning to tremble from how long he had taken with you, your hands tightening in the sheets beneath you.
Right when you were on the brink. When he was only one move away from sending you over.
He would bite.
One final bite against your clit, sharp enough to tip you over the edge. Then he would quickly suck on it, as if trying to please you again, as if trying to quickly cover up what he'd done.
And you would come like that—pleasure tangled with pain.
He seemed to enjoy it, conditioning you slowly to crave the bite as much as the pleasure itself.
He would watch you as you tried to catch your breath, your body still trembling as you struggled to steady yourself, clinging to the last threads of awareness.
A small, satisfied smile would spread across his face as his gaze dropped between your thighs, openly admiring his work.
Almost proudly.
Then he would lean down again, giving a few slow, lingering licks—enough to ground you, to draw you back from the haze while he lazily lapped up the wetness you’d left behind. "Again?"
He really knew how to eat you out the way you deserved.
Draco cared about appearances. Naturally, that extended to the person he called his.
He made a habit of looking you over whenever you arrived. Straightening your collar. Smoothing your hair behind your ear. Tugging your skirt a little lower if it had ridden up while you walked.
Maintenance on his most precious possession.
In his mind, it was simply responsibility. You were his. He didn't want you to attract unwanted attention.
Unfortunately for him, you were careless.
The absent-mindedness of someone who didn’t spend much time worrying about how they looked.
Sometimes you forgot to wear anything under your skirt except underwear. Sometimes you had runs in your stockings. Sometimes you forgot a bra.
Today had been one of those careless days.
You’d run into Theo in the library while he was gathering a small disaster of books from the floor.
“Oh—Theo, let me help you.”
You’d dropped to your knees without thinking and started picking them up, stacking them neatly in your arms before handing them back to him. It was just about the last one when everything happened at once.
Theo stood up with his stack of books.
You looked up and reached out to give him the final one.
Neither of you noticed right away.
When you’d bent down, the fabric of your shirt had shifted—and your breast, that tender swell of flesh Draco considered his personal pacifier, had slipped free from the neckline.
Theo’s expression changed instantly. Shock flickered across his face.
You followed his gaze downward and felt your stomach drop.
Panic hit you all at once.
You quickly pulled your shirt back into place, fumbling with the buttons as heat rushed up your neck.
You stood up to face him. The silence between you was unbearable.
The first thing out of your mouth was rushed and desperate.
“Please don’t tell Draco.”
Your voice dropped to a nervous whisper.
“He’ll kill me.”
Theo just stared at you for a moment, clearly trying not to laugh.
“It’s fine,” he said lightly. “I wouldn’t worry.”
He'd left it at that.
But you did worry. Theo was Draco’s closest friend. They told each other everything.
You knew you were doomed when a paper bird landed neatly on your bed that night.
My dorm. Now.
Your heart sank.
You hurriedly grabbed the nearest bra you could find and pulled it on before heading out.
You had assumed Draco would be alone.
But when you pushed open the door to his dormitory, you stopped short.
Theo was there too.
He sat cross-legged on the carpet across from Draco, loosely hugging his knees. A bottle rested between them.
Theo looked up first, a sly smile curling across his face.
Your stomach twisted. I’m screwed.
“Come here, sweets,” Draco said, patting his lap.
You hesitated in the doorway.
“Draco—”
“Come.”
The quiet command left little room for argument.
You crossed the room slowly and sat down on his lap. His hands slid around your thighs, steady and warm.
You tried to let the familiarity comfort you. To wrap yourself with his frame and scent that you always felt protected you.
Tonight it only made your nerves worse.
Theo watched the two of you with open interest. Draco pressed his lips lightly against your neck as he spoke. It was a habit of his.
“Theo was just telling me about what you did in the library today.”
The room felt impossibly quiet. All you could hear was your heartbeat. The warmth of his breath against your nape made you shiver.
You shot Theo a glare.
“You swore.”
“I didn’t,” he said with an easy smirk, lifting the bottle and taking a lazy sip. “And you know where my loyalties lie, dollface.”
You shifted restlessly on Draco’s lap, suddenly feeling trapped.
Draco’s hands tightened slightly at your waist, lifting you just enough to settle you properly against him again.
“It's okay,” he murmured.
Then he took the bottle from Theo and tilted it toward you.
“Drink.” He felt uncharacteristically quiet, like he was biting his tongue.
“We have classes early tomorrow.”
“Come on. We can’t be the only ones drinking.” Theo chuckled softly, his laugh had such a raspy quality.
You stayed silent, hoping the moment might pass. But, it didn't.
Draco took a swig. Then, he gently tilted your chin toward him.
Before you could protest, his mouth met yours—warm, firm—and he pressed the wine into your mouth with a slow tender kiss. It tasted so sweet coming from him.
When he pulled back, his grey eyes studied your face.
“You worry too much,” Draco murmured.
“See?” Theo said lazily.
Your heart had settled a little, Draco didn’t seem nearly as angry as you had feared. Maybe you were off the hook.
You’d been sitting on his lap for a while now, the warmth of him steady against your back as the three of you talked. The bottle passed lazily between you. What had started as cautious sips slowly turned into more than you meant to drink.
You were always a lightweight.
The wine made everything softer around the edges.
At some point your lips had loosened into easier smiles. Draco had pulled your hair free from its braid, combing through it gently. A faint warmth spread through your limbs, and you found yourself leaning back into him more comfortably than before.
The room swayed just slightly when you moved.
Draco tilted your chin again, offering you another kiss with wine.
You accepted it easily, expecting the same brief press of lips.
But this time it lingered.
His purple-stained mouth stayed against yours, slow and deliberate. You felt his tongue slip into the kiss before you had time to react.
The taste of wine lingered between you.
When you finally pulled back, a little breathless, you frowned slightly.
“Draco, you’ve had too much.” Your voice came out softer than you intended.
Instead of answering, his hand tightened at your waist, anchoring you against him. His lips brushed along your jaw, then drifted down to the side of your neck.
“Theo's—” Your protest faded into a quiet exhale as he ran his tongue up the curve of your shoulder.
Across from you, Theo watched.
He hadn’t moved from his spot on the floor, leaning back on his hands now. His dark eyes followed the two of you with amusement.
The awareness of it made heat creep up your neck.
You dropped your gaze quickly, staring down at your lap instead.
You didn’t want him to see the expressions crossing your face. Not the way your breath caught. Not the way your fingers tightened on Draco’s sleeve.
Behind you, Draco seemed entirely unconcerned with the audience.
“Draco, please,” you murmured, your cheeks warming.
“Hm?”
His voice was absentminded, distracted.
You felt his fingers slip to the buttons of your shirt while his lips brushed against the edge of your ear. He nipped lightly, knowing exactly how sensitive that spot was. You arched instinctively against him.
Between the warmth of the wine and the haze settling over your thoughts, you barely noticed what his hand was doing. One button, then another—his fingers working with effortless familiarity.
By the time you realized, your shirt had fallen open.
“Oh,” Theo’s voice cut in, amused. “Actually wearing a bra this time."
You blinked slowly, his voice seemed so hazy, so far away.
“It was an accident,” you murmured, more to yourself.
You knew you were a lost cause the moment you felt Draco grow firm beneath you—his familiar hardness pressing up through the fabric.
You could feel it clearly where you sat, the shape of him nudging against the sensitive spot of your clit. A soft, helpless mewl slipped from your throat as your body reacted before your mind could catch up.
You rocked instinctively, it always made you so weak.
Grinding against the bulge in his trousers, the rough drag of his zipper through the fabric sent sparks through you. The friction alone felt like it could push you over the edge. You were so drunk, so wrapped up in the sensation, that you’d completely forgotten Theo was even there.
Your head fell back against Draco’s shoulder, breath hitching as you mewled, “Oh, Draco…”
“You've such a good girl" Theo drawled quietly, that you couldn't hear him through the haze. Couldn't see he'd been palming the plump cock under his pants.
Draco's hands guided your hips, rocking you slowly back and forth, grinding you harder on top of him. He knew exactly how this could undo you, how easily the motion could push you right to the edge. You could hear your slick.
Your legs parted wide when Draco shifted beneath you, his thighs spreading yours further. Heat rushed to your face when you felt his hand slide up your skirt, lifting the fabric.
A moment later, your underwear was tugged aside. You were so sensitive, you shivered when air hit your cunt.
“What do you think, Theo?” Draco asked softly.
“Fuck… it’s so wet and puffy.” Theo leaned closer, brushing his fingers against your folds, voice low with astonishment.
“No, please…” you protested weakly, cheeks burning, grabbing at Draco's hand spreading you apart.
Draco’s breath brushed your ear as he held you steady. “Why don't you let him see, my coquine,” he coaxed. “Since you don't seem particularly concerned about modesty."
Draco’s hands began to tug your underwear down.
"Have a taste, Theo. She's so eager to please you."
Theo stepped closer, dropping to his knees between your legs. His eyes flicked up to yours, a crooked smile tugging at his mouth.
“Gods, I'll ruin you,” he murmured, voice low with amusement. You’d never been attracted to Theo, but seeing him like this—face flushed under you, he’d reminded you of Draco.
He pressed his tongue flat onto your cunt, glancing up through his long lashes to watch your reaction. Your breath caught, and you reached down to push away his head.
But then his tongue slipped inside you. His pert nose perfectly angled to bump against your clit. He’d always thought his nose could be the most perfect toy.
He kept fucking you with his tongue.
"Fuck," You breathed.
Behind you, Draco had already moved on to the next distraction. His fingers slipped behind your back, deftly unclasping your bra and easing it away. The moment the fabric loosened, his hand came down sharply against your right breast.
“Ow!”
“That,” Draco said coolly, “is for your insolence.”
Theo stuffed his thick fingers inside your cunt, pushing them deep inside you as his tongue focussed on your bud. He felt your walls compress impossibly around his fingers.
"You're really fucking tight." Swirl.
"I can barely put two in." Suck.
"How are you going to take me, baby?" Bite.
You whimpered softly, a sting of embarrassment. You’d always been on the smaller side. When you first started sleeping with Draco, he’d had to take his time with you—slowly easing you open, adding more fingers one by one until your body learned to take him.
He didn’t slow down—didn’t even seem to consider stopping. He wanted you to come.
"Just like that. Let go for me."
And you did.
"Oh—!" You whined as your back arched against Draco, your body tightening before the pleasure finally broke over you. You came with a soft cry, your fingers gripping Draco's as Theo held you there, determined to see you through every second of it.
"I always love that little noise she makes when she comes."
Only when the tension faded did he pull back slightly. He dragged his tongue in one slow, broad stripe, tasting what he’d drawn from you before finally lifting his head.
You rested your head against Draco’s chest, your body heavy with the lingering warmth of it all.
“We’re not done, my dear.”
His fingers lifted your chin slightly before he tapped your cheek with a light slap, brushing the damp strands of hair that clung to your skin away from your face. As if keeping you from passing out.
Theo pushed himself to his feet, unzipping his pants.
Everything felt hazy, like you were drifting through a dream. Nothing quite made sense anymore. Your thoughts were slow, all you could really feel was pleasure.
It felt like you'd just blinked, and suddenly you were lying on the bed, your head near the footboard. The boys had taken their clothes off.
You were faced with Theo's cock, unsheathed from his pants.
It was thick and flushed pink, veins tracing along the length of it. So hard it almost looked fragile in its tension, as if the slightest flick might snap it. Theo nudged the tip against your lips, smearing the bead of pre-cum slowly across them.
“Be rough with her, Theo. She ought to learn."
You knew the rumors. Theodore Nott wasn’t known for restraint. Of the boys, he'd had a tendency to be rougher, to leave lasting bruises and bites. He had a darker appetite, wanted sex to hurt.
You lolled your head to the side to look at Draco with a tinge of fear in your eyes. You were so used to Draco's—longer, slightly skinnier. The kind that deliciously bullied that spot. The one you'd sometimes see bulging through your belly. Your cunt quivered and pulsed at the thought of stretching around Theo.
Theo laughed softly, "You'll be good for me, won't you? Open up, pretty."
You tilted your head back and wrapped your hands around him. The weight and heat of him alone confirmed every rumour you’d heard. He felt heavy in your grip—daunting, he’d been made to overwhelm. You traced your tongue over the soft head in slow, testing strokes, letting the taste linger as you explored him.
In front of you, Draco had been sliding himself against your swollen lips, dragging his length through the slick warmth there. His thumb had gone pale from how firmly he pressed it against you as he rolled his hips forward. The wet sounds your body made and the heat of the friction drew a sharp hiss from him.
“You’re so slippery,” he muttered, breath uneven. “I can’t even get inside you. You love having us both at once, don’t you?”
Before you could react, he shifted you, lifting your ankle and settling it over his shoulder so he could angle you exactly the way he wanted. The movement was practiced, deliberate.
He drove into you in one deep, sudden thrust. No matter how many times you’d taken him, the length still managed to steal the breath from your lungs. He gave your clit an instinctive press with his thumb, as though he hadn’t meant to be quite so punishing.
The sound that escaped you was muffled as it vibrated around Theo, and he let out a quiet, pleased hum at the sensation. Taking the opportunity, he eased a few inches deeper, guiding you with a gentle hand as your lips stretched around him.
His fingers brushed along the line of your throat in quiet appreciation, feeling the subtle movement there. "Fuck, your mouth is squeezing me."
He began thrusting into your mouth with growing urgency, the pace turning almost feverish. You lifted your hands to his thighs, pushing lightly in an attempt to slow him, your eyes beginning to water from the intensity.
Theo barely seemed to notice, lost in the sensation, using your mouth with careless indulgence.
“Perfect little toy,” he murmured.
They moved together, settling into a rapid, punishing rhythm. The bedframe shuddered beneath you, creaking loudly with every movement.
They seemed lost in their own haze—breaths turning heavy, low groans slipping past their lips.
“Fuck… fuck… fuck."
It was too much in the best possible way—the kind of intensity that melted thought and turned every nerve into a live wire, leaving you suspended in a haze of bright, consuming pleasure.
You could almost picture it as some decadent Renaissance scene—two divinities, one nymph, tangled in appetite and excess. A bacchanal in miniature, where restraint had quietly disappeared.
All because of something so small—an accidental slip, a glance that lasted a beat too long.
You felt Draco thrusting steadily inside you, again and again. A pale, creamy ring had formed at the base where your bodies met, slick and warm. Every deep stroke hit that sensitive place that made your body seize around him.
You wished you could see his face. You always loved watching him when he fucked you—seeing the way he looked when he took you apart.
Above you, Theo was using your mouth freely, his thrusts pushing the head of his cock against the back of your throat. But it still wasn’t quite enough for him.
There was restraint in the way he held back. He didn’t want to finish like this.
Your hand slipped down between your legs, pressing at your clit in desperation, eager to push yourself over the edge.
Draco swatted your hand away.
“She’s enjoying herself too much,” Theo panted teasingly.
“Hold her still.”
Draco shifted back onto the bed as Theo stepped forward and caught your arms. You didn’t quite understand what they were planning until they began moving you.
Before you knew it, you had been guided between them.
Your cunt throbbed at the feeling of both of their tips brushing against you. Seeing them side by side made your thoughts blur into a dizzy haze. You knew you shouldn’t be this eager—but the sight alone made you wetter.
Theo’s hand slid between your thighs from behind, spreading your slick slowly. His body pressed firm against your back, one arm circling your waist.
You leaned forward, bracing yourself above Draco, your arms caging him beneath you.
“So wet,” Theo murmured behind you. “Good girl. You’re ready to take both.”
“Mmm…” you moaned softly.
Draco watched you with quiet indulgence. You knew it would be a strain, but the emptiness inside you felt unbearable—you just needed something there. You wanted to please them, to give them the reaction they were looking for.
Your cheeks flushed at yourself. Only minutes ago you’d been hesitant.
Draco lined himself up first. You arched into him instinctively as he slid inside you.
“Mmm… Draco. Love you.” You whispered.
You bit your lip as you looked down at him.
You weren’t sure why you said it then. Maybe it was your quiet way of reminding him—you still belonged to him. Even while you took another man's cock.
I’m filthy, but I’m all yours.
Draco answered by pulling you down into a deep kiss.
Behind you, Theo slid a finger inside you, testing how much room he had. He hissed quietly at the tightness.
“I’ll try to take it slow, doll.”
You felt the head of him press carefully at your entrance before beginning to ease inside. You groaned into Draco’s mouth.
The stretch was blinding—sharp and intense, that same mixture of pain and pleasure you remembered from the first time you’d ever been taken. Your body trembled as you felt yourself trying desperately to accommodate him.
“Just a little deeper, love,” Theo whispered, the pet name added gently to soothe you.
You pressed your forehead against Draco’s, panting as he pulled your waist closer. When he looked up at you, he saw the strain in your expression—and groaned softly at the new tightness surrounding him.
They both stilled for a moment once Theo was fully seated inside you, bodies pressed close as they caught their breath. You could feel the heat of them, the subtle pulse of their bodies where they were joined with yours. That living warmth made you shiver—you had always loved that feeling.
The pause was brief, just long enough for you to adjust. But it was clear neither of them could last much longer. Soon they began to move.
Theo was rougher than Draco, his thrusts sharper, pushing you forward each time so your body rocked above Draco. The movement quickly became overwhelming.
“Oh gods—it’s too much—!” you gasped.
Your thoughts scattered under the sensation. The pressure of them moving inside you in different rhythms, the deep stretch, the sound of skin against skin—it was unlike anything you had ever felt before. Each motion felt impossibly deep, sending waves of sensation through you.
Your hands found Draco’s instinctively, fingers threading together as if you needed something solid to hold onto.
“Look at you,” Draco murmured. “Taking us so well.”
You glanced down and noticed the faint rise of your stomach as they moved, the subtle shift beneath your skin with every thrust. Draco’s hand came to rest there, his touch almost gentle as he traced the curve.
Draco looked up at you, and your face told him everything. You were teetering on the edge of it all, barely holding yourself together. Your soft moans had faded into ragged breathing, your body trembling with the strain of it.
His hand slid down between your legs, thumb finding your clit in a steady, soothing motion, trying to ground you. My poor baby… let me help you, the gesture seemed to say, a quiet attempt to steady you.
But neither of them slowed.
Their rhythm grew messier, urgency creeping into every movement as they pushed closer to the edge. They were losing their careful coordination now, chasing the same overwhelming high. Theo leaned into you from behind, his hands around your hips bruising, his teeth grazing your neck before biting down.
“Oh—it’s too good,” he groaned against your skin. “You’re too good.”
You felt Draco come first. His body tensed beneath you, the subtle pulsing inside you giving him away before he even groaned. He spilled inside you, then softened and slowly pulled out, breath heavy.
The added thick creaminess only seemed to push Theo closer to the edge. Draco’s cum made it feel so divine, he always came so much you could feel it running down your thighs. Theo drew you upright against him, arms wrapping around yours to keep you steady as he thrusted upwards.
His pounding grew desperate, the slickness between your bodies making every movement easier, louder. Schlick, schlick, schlick.
It was all so filthy—your boyfriend's best friend shamelessly fucking his seed into you.
“Look at me,” Draco panted from below you.
His thumb found your clit again, rubbing carefully, helping you chase the last edge of your pleasure.
Behind you, Theo kept moving, his voice strained against your ear. “I’m gonna come,” he whispered, almost helplessly.
Your vision blurred, the room tilting as sensation overwhelmed you. Through the haze, you could just make out Draco’s lips forming the words again.
Just look at me. As if he needed you to remember that this had all begun with him, even while his best friend moved inside you. I’m the one making you come.
The release hit you all at once—bright and overwhelming, the kind of pleasure that left your body trembling as if you'd had some part of you die.
You slumped forward into Draco, your body trembling with the lingering aftershocks. Behind you, Theo pressed soft kisses along the curve of your back.
“Savour it, pretty,” he murmured. “Most perfect girl.”
He glanced down between you as he slowly pulled out. The cum pooled between your bodies.
With a quiet, almost absent motion, Theo pressed some of it back into you, as if claiming his own place inside.
That was the last sensation you'd felt before you passed out. You knew then this would not be the last time.
EARLIER
“Draco, you’ve really got to control your girl,” Theo said lightly, dropping into the seat across from him in the Great Hall.
Draco barely looked up from his plate. “What are you on about?”
Theo tilted his head, the faintest smirk pulling at his mouth. “She just showed me her tits in the library.”
Draco’s fork paused mid-air.
“I’m telling you,” Theo continued lazily, leaning back in his chair, “if it hadn’t been me, she probably wouldn’t have made it out of that library so easily.” His tone carried a sort of concern. “You really ought to keep her on a tighter leash.”
Draco finally looked up at him. “She thinks she can have the both of us?”
Theo’s smile widened slightly as he finished the thought for him.
“Greedy girls like her need to be taught a lesson.”
in which — playing as keeper for the slytherin quidditch team is never easy. yet, when someone places a hex on your broomstick mid-match—almost injuring you—your teammates take matters into their own hands..
contains — five protective boys (mattheo riddle, theodore nott, draco malfoy, blaise zabini, enzo berkshire), a vengeful friend (pansy parkinson), mentions of heights & falling, hexing, a physical altercation & bleeding, appearances from mcgonagall, hagrid, madam hooch, and cho chang
word count — 1.8k
A collective gasp rang through the stands, the audience full of shades of emerald green and navy blue watching in shock. Lee Jordan swore loudly into the enchanted megaphone he held as he commentated the match — the sight so jarring that not even McGonagall reprimanded him over his choice of words.
“What the-,” Mattheo Riddle, who was flying closest to you, hovered his broomstick beside yours.
You, however, couldn’t respond, as you were too busy trying not to fall thirty feet down from your broomstick. You bent downwards, holding onto the handle for dear life.
The Quidditch match had been going smoothly — Slytherin was in the lead against Ravenclaw by 20 points to 0, and the weather conditions were ideal for one of the last match’s of the season.
As Keeper, you maneuvered your broom in front of the three goalposts on your team’s side when suddenly, the broomstick had started moving out-of-control.
Your weight was held precariously on the broomstick which rattled beneath you — twisting and turning in every direction possible. The sight of your green robes swooshing this way and that caused the stands of heads to turn in every direction, trying to locate your resisting broomstick that held you, almost dangling.
Even the Ravenclaw team remained on their own broomsticks, transfixed at the sight — not even bothering with the fact that the goalposts were now deserted of protection against the Quaffle, which now floated around aimlessly.
Theodore Nott made his way over to your other side, before you abruptly turned in the other direction. “Careful, bella,” he said, narrowly avoiding being hit by the tail of twigs from the end of your broomstick.
“Make — it — STOP,” you rasped out, struggling to hold on — the broomstick moving even impossibly faster as it continued to rotate.
“Theo, go tell Flint to call time-out!” Mattheo yelled over the increasingly loud gasps coming from the crowd, as he tried to reach for the handle of your broom to hold it still.
Theo nodded, quickly tilting the hilt of his own broomstick towards the Slytherin captain.
Draco Malfoy, who was too preoccupied by your struggle rather than the golden snitch he was supposed to catch, made his way over.
“Are you alright?” he asked, concern — and mild entertainment — laced in his words.
“Oh — yeah — FANTASTIC!” you roared sarcastically, as your broomstick began to rise upwards and descend a few feet rapidly.
The sound of Madam Hooch’s whistle rang throughout the pitch, as Theo made his way back over to the small huddle of team players that had formed around you. Behind him was Blaise Zabini — Adrian Pucey and Marcus Flint behind him a distance away, watching in astonishment.
“How do we make it stop?” Theo asked, as Mattheo was almost knocked off his own broom — the handle of yours colliding with the front of his, sending him spinning.
“Guys!” a voice called from the stands. As you spun, you caught the brief sight of your two other friends who weren’t on the Quidditch team — Pansy Parkinson and Enzo Berkshire.
“Get her off it!” Pansy shrieked out, covering her eyes with the palms of her hands as she thought you were about to plummet to the grounds.
Mattheo and Theo exchanged a silent look with one another, before tilting their brooms downwards. They hovered below where you flew — waiting to catch you if you fell.
“Try a spell or something!” Enzo said, as he began to pull out his own wand, Draco and Blaise following suit.
“Immobulus!” Draco called out. The green sparks that illuminated from the tip of his wand twinkled around the wooden broomstick; he had missed you, as you were moving too fast.
“It’s not working,” he said, growing concerned the more pale your face became with each passing minute of vertigo.
“What is that?” Pansy pointed towards a cloaked figure that stood at the bottom of the pitch, beneath the stands. The figure was staring fixedly at your broomstick, their mouth forming around unheard words.
“Ugh, I’ll be back. Don’t let her fall!” Pansy ordered, before hurriedly making her way through the stands of immobile Slytherins, who stood transfixed at the sight.
Half of your weight was dangling off the broomstick, as you struggled to maintain your balance on the spinning death trap.
The whole stadium was simultaneously drowned in deafening silence and roars of raucous. Many people gasped, others letting out a sob. Hagrid had even covered his eyes from where he stood near the Ravenclaw students.
Your stomach dropped, as you felt yourself free fall. You shut your eyes tightly, bracing for the impact of the hard grounds.
Then, a collective cheer echoed throughout the stands — louder even than when the Quidditch Cup was awarded. You blinked your eyes open, realizing that you hadn’t landed on the muddy ground, yet rather, in someone’s arms.
“I’ve got you,” Mattheo said, as he pulled you onto his own broomstick — Theo holding onto the handle from beside you to ensure that it could support both of your weights.
A sick crunching sound was heard. You looked down, seeing your broomstick, or, what remained of it, as it toppled to the ground.
You stared with your mouth agape, still shaking as you reached to hold onto Mattheo. “You could say I caught you, huh?” he said jokingly, sending a sly wink over his shoulder at you, before heading towards the grounds.
A gleam of gold shining near where your broomstick had landed caught your eye, causing you to gasp.
“Malfoy, the snitch!” you yelled over Mattheo’s shoulder.
You had caught his attention, as well as the attention of Cho Chang, the Ravenclaw Seeker, and the rest of the stands. Malfoy lurched forward, Chang barrelling towards the snitch from the opposite side of the pitch.
Both teams held their breaths, watching as the two dived towards the remnants of your broomstick. Malfoy fell towards the muddy terrain, rolling for a few meters.
You gasped. You saw a green gloved-hand reach into the air, brandishing a fluttering snitch that fought against his closed fist.
“Malfoy’s caught the snitch. Slytherin wins!” Lee Jordan roared, his own prejudice against the Slytherin team dispersed from the horrors of the match.
The stadium erupted in applause and cheers, as the rest of the team hurdled towards Malfoy on the grounds — your arms still clenched tightly around Mattheo’s mid-section.
“That was brilliant!” Blaise roared, as Theo clapped a hand on Malfoy’s back, earning a wince from him. Enzo made his way over from the stands, followed by the rest of the Slytherin spectators.
“That was-,” he began, before a horrid scream came from behind the stands.
“YOU!” a female voice roared.
Pansy Parkinson came striding onto the field, pulling a sobbing Ravenclaw by the sleeve of her robe behind her.
“This one,” she began, as the girl reluctantly tried to break away from Pansy’s grasp. “Was hexing your broom.”
The girl sobbed, covering her streaming eyes with the sleeves of her robes. “I was t-told t-to. Another boy said h-he would h-hex me if I d-didn’t,” she sobbed.
“Who?” Theo asked angrily, a shared look of fury mirrored on Mattheo’s, Blaise’s, and Draco’s faces from where they’d made their way over to the forming group.
Wordlessly, the sobbing girl pointed to a boy on the Ravenclaw team. Countless heads turned in his direction. You recognized the boy as being in the same year as you — you had even spoken to him on your first train ride to Hogwarts, the two of you anxious about which House you’d be sorted into.
He was already staring at the lot of you, feigning innocent concern. Before you could stop him, Mattheo had stride towards him, pushing him sharply across the shoulders — the boy toppling backwards to the grass of the pitch.
“Don’t-,” you tried to grab Theo’s arm, but he pulled away, following after Mattheo, wand clenched in his hand.
The boy unsteadily tried to push himself back up from the grass, brandishing his wand from the pocket of his Quidditch robes. He was quickly shot back down by Theo’s loud shout of “Expelliarmus!” as he caught the boy’s wand, dropping it to the ground and stomping on it with the heel of his shoe.
A Ravenclaw first-year from the growing crowd on the pitch gasped, covering his eyes with his much too large robes. Many of the Slytherins cheered, encouragements of “Yeah, hex his arse!” spewing about.
Mattheo leaned towards the boy as he laid on the grass, pulling him forwards by the hem of his Quidditch uniform, punching him across the nose harshly.
“WHAT IS GOING ON HERE?” roared an authoritative voice, hurtling towards the crowd that had grown around the three fighting boys. Professor McGonagall had made her way over, Madam Hooch at her side.
“Depulso!” McGonagall roared. The three boys separated from one another — Theo and Mattheo on one side of the group, the Ravenclaw boy, who clutched his bleeding nose, on the other.
“He’s a filthy cheater,” Pansy chimed in.
“That’s enough, Parkinson!” McGonagall said, fury laced in her voice, her top-hat almost falling over her eyes as she shook on the spot with outrage.
“You,” she spoke, pulling the Ravenclaw boy up by his arm, “Go to Madam Pomfrey’s — and 50 points will be taken from Ravenclaw.” The boy quickly hurried away, his head downcast, a trail of blood following him as he left to the sound of whispers.
“And you two,” she spoke, addressing Mattheo and Theo. “25 points each will be taken from Slytherin.”
“Worth it,” Theo whispered, loud enough that only the seven of you could hear. Mattheo silently fist-bumped him.
“And detention,” she continued. She shook her head exasperatedly, before turning her way back towards the empty grounds, mumbles of “honestly,” and “completely unacceptable,” falling from her lips. Madam Hooch followed shortly after her.
“You all right, bella?” Theo asked you, placing an arm around your shoulders.
“I’m fine,” you assured. “My broom isn’t, though,” you pointed towards the remnants of the wooden broom that lay a few feet away.
“You know, that Ravenclaw boy had a pretty nice one..” Mattheo smirked, a glint in his eyes.
“You can’t steal his broom,” Enzo warned.
“Without us,” Draco finished, him, Blaise, and Pansy joining the rest of you.
“That’s not what I meant-,” he started.
“Come on, with any luck, we can hex him before he even makes it to Madam Pomfrey’s,” Pansy said excitedly, breaking into a run across the field towards the castle.
The five of you stared after her.
“Come on!” she looked over her shoulder and signalled for you guys to follow, breaking into a sprint.
Draco smirked, before running after her, his own broomstick clutched in his hand. Mattheo followed with a laugh, Theo reaching for your hand before the two of you sprinted after. Blaise shrugged, before running.
Hey cutie. Pleaseeee more jealous/possessive draco with a sweet and innocent reader. Like he's your guard dog, walking behind you with his friends while you walk and wonder why no one even dares to stare at you. But when he's gone, people get their confidence back but it it so short lived once he finds out.
thanks so much for you request babe! appreciate your patience 🌹
teeth | draco malfoy
feat. auror!Draco Malfoy x reader
summary: 6k (whoops). you work in the department of records at the ministry of magic, and have made an unlikely friend in the wizarding world's most brutal auror.
cw: MDNI 18+, fluffy with some smut, afab!reader uses she/her pronouns, possessive!draco, scary dog privileges, shy!reader, mean coworkers, threats of violence, “use your words”, dom-sub dynamics, finger blasting as an act of dominance
an: can't tell if I love or hate this, but if i don't post it now, it'll rot in my drafts for all eternity, so eat up !!
| masterlist
It started with a chocolate croissant. You had reached for it in the break room at the same moment he did, the brush of his fingers like cool water. In the moment, you'd recoiled, heat scorching your cheeks, fear knotting in your sternum. Stammered out some halfwit apology.
Sorry, I didn't—please, you take it, Auror M-Malfoy.
Those glacial eyes fixed on your face for a second, the kind of blue found only in the coldest places, and for a moment, you thought he was actually going to reprimand you over a bit of pastry. But instead, he'd smiled and cut the croissant in half.
The following week, you'd found a paper bag and a latte waiting on your desk in the department of records. There was no note, no name anywhere, but nestled between flaxen parchment paper was a chocolate croissant dusted generously with powdered sugar. The only clue as to who left it for you was an angular ‘D’ scrawled onto the side of the coffee cup by the barista who made it.
You'd hardly believed it was real until you felt the sugar dissolve on your tongue. It was a kindness you hadn't experienced since you started at the Ministry over a year ago. It could be a dreadfully bureaucratic, unfeeling place. That sugar high had stuck with you the entire day, lightening your steps.
Another one appeared later in the week, again, anonymous, besides that tell-tale ‘D’.
There were lots of D’s at the Ministry, you told yourself. You had at least three coworkers named Daniel just in the Department of Records. But you knew none of them would have the taste to select such fine pastry, or the deduction skills to know how you liked your coffee based on a few fleeting observations in the break room.
On Friday of that week, you'd arrived early, hoping to knock out some filing before record requests started piling up for the day. The Department had been blissfully empty, and you'd gotten to work with a tune sung just under your breath.
“Ah, you're here early,” a brusk, masculine voice rolled through the quiet like an afternoon storm.
You were a bit embarrassed to admit it, but you knew exactly who that voice belonged to.
Nearly dropping the files in your hands, you whirled around. Your suspicions, and perhaps wildest imagination, were confirmed. Draco Malfoy, the most brutal, efficient Auror the Ministry had seen in decades, stood beside your desk, holding a pastry bag in one hand, a latte in the other. And he looked almost…sheepish, standing there in his heavy black uniform, platinum hair smoothed to perfection.
“Uh—I—yes, the, um, lots of filing,” you stammered, tongue-tied. In that moment, you swore no one had ever looked that good before in the history of forever. And you would know—it was your job to know everything.
The corner of his mouth lifted, and impossibly, he became even more devastating. “You'll need your energy, then,” he said, setting the treats onto your desk.
You had the inane impulse to ask him why. Why was he suddenly paying you any attention? What did he want from you?
But before you could untangle your words, he was turning on his heel and striding away, cloak billowing in his wake.
—
The breakfast deliveries continued, but more often Draco began delivering them in person, or, if he arrived before you, he'd leave a small note beside the bag, written on one of the little notepads you keep on your desk.
Thank you for finding that record yesterday.
They were out of cinnamon, thought you might like mocha instead.
Don't work too hard today.
Going away for a week. Keep an eye out for Potter.
You weren't sure what he meant by that. Harry Potter, obviously, his childhood enemy turned coworker after they both became Aurors, but why would you need to keep an eye out for him?
Then, the following morning, you found Harry looking a bit lost in the department, hovering by your desk. He had a pastry bag in one hand and a latte in the other.
“Can I help you, Mr. Potter?” You asked, approaching cautiously.
His eyes lit up. “There you are! I thought this was your desk, but wasn't sure—” he held out the bag and coffee cup to you. “Delivery from one Draco Malfoy.”
For a moment, you were too stunned to speak. You'd always been a bit shy, preferring books and records to socializing, but tried your best to be friendly and gracious at work. Now, you couldn't even manage a ‘thank you’ as you took the treats from him.
Harry didn't seem to mind. “Malfoy will be back next week, but he insisted I bring you this while he was gone.”
“Do you—um—” you struggled to find the words, suddenly feeling exposed, soft underbelly on display. “Do you know why he's—”
“Because you're kind and genuine,” Harry said with a sympathetic smile. “Draco’s not so mysterious as he looks,” he joked, smile turning conspiratorial. Then, smile faltering, added, “Don't tell him I said that.”
You found yourself giggling at the insanity of this new reality you'd found yourself in. “I won't,” you reassured him.
—
The following Thursday, you stayed late to catch up on the filing that had piled up throughout the week. All of your coworkers seemed to have decided you were the best at it, so you should handle it all moving forward, on top of fulfilling all the requests that came your way. Which was nearly double what the rest of them received.
It was fine, you didn't really mind. You liked being helpful, being needed. But two hours in, and your back was beginning to ache, your energy depleted from continuous magic usage.
“They said you were still here, but I was half-hoping they were wrong,” a low voice broke through the quiet.
You stumbled out from between the stacks, hardly believing your ears. But sure enough, there was Draco Malfoy perched on the edge of your desk, flipping through one of the records stacked high on its surface. He looked different, under eyes bruise-dark, his blond hair finger-tousled and uniform ruffled. There was a slash across his cheek, the skin an angry pink, going lilac at the edges.
Your stomach did a backflip over your lungs, forcing your heart into your throat. “Here I am,” you said meekly. “When did you get back?”
“This evening,” he said absently, a line forming between his brows as he read. He clapped the file shut and slid off the desk. “Krepski pulled this,” he said, dropping it onto your neighbor's desk.
You nodded, not sure what to say.
“Do you usually put everyone else's records away?” Draco asked, his voice softer than the look in his eyes.
“Well, uh, I wouldn't say usually, but—”
“How many of these are yours?” He turned back to your desk, rifling through the stack.
You grimaced. None of them were yours. You always put them away as soon as they were returned to you to avoid, well, this.
Apparently, the look on your face was answer enough. Something sharp glinted in his eyes, but he blinked it away, rolled out the stiffness that had accumulated in his shoulders.
“Let me help you,” he said, meeting your gaze.
“You just got back, I couldn't—”
“Please?”
You stared at him. Somewhere, a part of you knew this wasn't a word Draco Malfoy used often, if ever. You found that you couldn't deny him such a simple request.
And, if you were being entirely honest, the thought of actually spending some time with him cracked your heart like a glow stick.
“Alright.”
The two of you worked together, hardly speaking at first, to start sorting the files. But it wasn't an uncomfortable quiet like you'd come to expect from your other coworkers. This quiet was soft in the way that freshly fallen snow can be, a gentle muffling of the outside world. You found a steady rhythm, communicating without words. He seemed to know what file you were reaching for before you reached for it, just like you knew where he was about to step before he moved.
You'd never seen the Auror look so calm, his muscles loose, his stride languid. Even his voice, when he did use it, had softened to the coo of a dove, sending a tremor down your spine with every passing word.
But mainly, you were just happy to have given him a quiet space to land. From the snippets of information he gave you as the evening wore on, his trip hadn't been an easy one. Chasing dark wizards along the Scottish coastline didn't exactly sound like a holiday.
He'd asked about you more than anything: where you grew up, your Hogwarts house, your favorite music. You answered timidly, unsure about what to do with his interest. Usually, when people asked you those sorts of questions, it was so they could answer the questions themselves, but Draco wasn't like that. You'd even made him laugh a few times, the sound as pleasant a surprise as an afternoon sun shower.
He seemed genuinely intent on getting to know you, and spoke very little of himself. Though you couldn't exactly blame him for that, knowing what you did know about him.
When the last record had been filed, he leaned against the bookcase beside you, having to crane his neck to peer down at your face.
Saints, he was tall.
“So, have you eaten yet tonight?” He asked, adjusting the wrists of his uniform, fiddling with the ring on his middle finger. A signet etched with a coiled serpent.
Your stomach answered for you, growling audibly at the mere mention of food.
He tsked, shaking his head at you. Lips curling in opposite directions, displeased and relieved in equal measure. “I was going to stop at that pizza place on the corner on my way back to my flat. Would you like to join me?”
“S-sure, pizza sounds great,” you said, wondering if you'd somehow fallen asleep while sorting files and this was some insane, marvelous dream.
His smile widened. “C’mon, then. My treat.”
—
After that evening, you and Draco had built an unlikely partnership. You weren't sure you were friends, mainly because you didn't see one another outside of work beyond getting pizza, but he was always there to lend a helping hand. The breakfast deliveries became more frequent, and he started bringing you a cup of tea every afternoon. And, in exchange, you'd let him loiter at your desk whenever he needed a little escape, or to have his overactive mind numbed by the repetitive scribble stamp swoosh of your work.
Even with this new familiarity, your heart still did a little flip whenever he smiled at you, or appeared around the bend of a hallway you weren't expecting him to. But you never imagined he'd feel that way about you. He was Draco Malfoy. He could literally have anyone in the world he wanted.
Whatever the two of you were, you were just happy to have a companion. He made you feel less alone in this marble-crusted corporate hellscape.
And, you realized just a few weeks into this new dynamic, that having a notoriously vicious Auror in your life came with its own set of perks.
The second Junior Auror Lewis walked into the Department of Records, you knew there was going to be a problem. He was red-faced and sputtering, waving the records you had dispensed to him the previous morning like a war flag.
Anxiety prickled along your neck, palms going clammy against your wooden stamper. You set it down, folding your hands into your lap as the flustered man approached.
You gave him your most winning smile. “Can I help you, Auror Lewis?”
He slammed the files onto your desk with a reverberating whack, and you startled to your feet, chair screeching backwards. “What the fuck is this?” He snarled, jabbing a finger into the paper. “These aren't the records I requested.”
Heat built under your skin, heart hammering against your ribs. You could feel every eye in the Department on you, judging you. “I—uh—” you made a show of shuffling through the papers, despite knowing that these records were exactly what he had asked for. Evidently, he just wasn't skilled enough to actually use them.
Part of you wanted to say that, to humiliate him like he was humiliating you right now, but the words stuck in your throat. Choked you.
“Uh—what?” He mocked. “You work in the Department of Records and you can't fucking read?”
“Sir—I, if you could just—”
“This is a very important case, and I will not have some paper jockey fuck it up for me!”
Oh no, oh no. Your nose began to itch, moisture pooling along your lower lashes. Don't cry, don't cry.
“And here we go with the waterworks. How about you just do your fucking job instead of sniveling like a—”
“Like a what?” A low growl came from behind you.
Shit, you'd almost forgotten the Draco had been meandering through the stacks, taking a break between meetings.
Lewis paled. “Oh, uh—I—”
Draco moved to stand in front of you, his body warm and solid, traces of his evergreen cologne still lingering on his collar.
It made your head swim.
“Sir, she potentially compromised the mission with false inf—”
“Say another word about her, or her work, and I will be forced to use every weapon in my arsenal as punishment.” His wand whipped outward, verdant green magic spilling from the dark wood. His lips were pulled back in a snarl.
You sucked in a breath, and the Junior Auror staggered back a step.
“Draco, don't—” You weren't sure what came over you, but you placed a hand on his bicep, turning to look into his face. His eyes were blazing, molten glass, as he stared down the length of his wand. He was rigid beneath your touch, coiled like a snake able to strike. “Draco, please,” you tried again.
His eyes finally flicked to yours, and the harsh line of his mouth softened a fraction as he took in your fearful expression. The entire Department held its breath.
“What would you have me do?” He murmured finally, though his wand never wavered.
Your fingers inched down his arm, feeling the supple fabric of his uniform, the ropes of muscle concealed underneath, the slight tremor as you reached his forearm, then his wrist, until you finally brushed the leather glove covering his hand, pressing down gently until his shoulder loosened, and he lowered his wand. Never once did his eyes stray from your face.
“An apology is enough,” you whispered. “Please, Draco.”
He absorbed your words, jaw feathering with tension, until he gave you one stiff nod before turning his attention back to the quivering Junior Auror.
“You will apologize to her, and if I ever hear about you treating her, or any other coworker, this way again, I will see to it that you spend the rest of your simpering life in the bowels of Azkaban. Do I make myself clear?”
“I'm s-sorry,” Lewis sniffled. “I didn't—I’m sorry. Please—”
“I accept your apology,” you replied. “And in the future, if you're having trouble deciphering the information in the records, all you have to do is ask, and I’d be glad to assist you,” you added, flashing a smile.
Our coworkers chittered at that, and Lewis flushed a deep crimson, bowed his head, and fled. You never spoke like that, but having Draco at your side made you feel a little braver.
Draco glanced down at you, the warmth in his eyes almost tangible as it caressed your cheek. A giddy thrill ran through you.
“Clever girl,” he purred. “If anyone speaks to you like that again, come find me. Okay?”
You nodded, feeling like your lungs had turned into hot air balloons. “Okay.” You didn't even think about disagreeing.
“Good,” he smiled then, and it wasn't until he pulled away that you realized your hand was still resting on his. “I'm going to have a word with his supervisor, maybe the Minister, and you are going to take a half-day.”
He said the last part loudly enough that your boss, who was hovering in the wings, could overhear him.
“But I have so much—”
“Krepski will handle the rest of your work, won’t he?” Draco glanced over his shoulder at your desk neighbor, whose eyes widened to an almost comical degree.
“Yes, sir! Happy to!” Krepski blurted, jumping up to take the stack of files off your desk and over to his.
Draco turned back to you, a smirk tugging at the edge of his mouth, brows raised expectantly.
“Why are you doing this?” You asked, voice lowering to barely a whisper. “I don't deserve—”
His expression sharpened. “What you don't deserve is to be overworked and underappreciated by the mindless goons that work here,” he said, voice low but not harsh. Restrained. Then, softer, “Someone has to look after you.”
No one’s ever looked after you before. Not like this. You'd always been independent, high-functioning. Never asked for anything, never needed anyone. If something needed to be taken care of, you were the one who took care of it. No questions asked.
If you were honest, you kind of liked this change of pace, even if it was a bit difficult to accept. And it didn't hurt that the person wanting to look after you was someone you genuinely liked, not to mention drop-dead gorgeous.
“Thank you, Draco,” you said, meeting his eyes.
“My pleasure. Now, go get some rest,” he ordered. “And all of that work better be finished by the time she clocks in tomorrow.” He directed this at Krepski, spinning his wand as if to punctuate his point.
“Of course!” Krepski squeaked.
Draco nodded in approval, flashed you a wink over his shoulder, and took his leave.
—
Word spread quickly about the altercation in the Department of Records, and suddenly everyone was wishing you a good morning or nodding in respectful greeting when you passed them in the hall. Your coworkers fielded work before it could even think about crossing your desk, and the line at the coffee station in the break room magically vanished whenever you stepped inside.
It was weird, and imposter syndrome still dogged at your heels, but you had to admit, it was a nice change. You finally felt like you could breathe again. And, despite yourself, your attraction to him had progressed into full-blown chest palpitations whenever he entered the room.
Sometimes, when he left an extra-sweet note or looked at you for a half-second too long, you thought maybe he could feel the same way about you.
But two weeks later, a gloomy, winter Friday, you hadn't seen Draco at all. No breakfast delivery, no afternoon tea, no five-minute break. Not even a glimpse in the hallway.
Your anxiety had mounted throughout the day, the knots tightening with each hour that passed until you could hardly breathe.
Was he mad at you? Avoiding you? Had you done something to upset him?
The thoughts were an endless loop, a train gone way off the tracks, and finally, when the bell struck 6 pm, and everyone was heading home, you decided to take matters into your own hands.
You were a bit ashamed to admit that you hadn't ever sought him out in his own office. He almost always came to you, except for when you strategically positioned yourself in the break room because you knew he'd be passing by. But even that was passive, an indirect maneuver born out of your own cowardice.
Now, standing outside his office door with a chocolate croissant, a black coffee, and your fist raised to knock, those insecurities came screaming back to you.
What if he doesn't want to see you? What if you're interrupting something? What if he's sick of you and now you look desperate because you can't take a hint?
What if, a quieter voice whispered, he needs you right now?
He'd done so much for you over the last few weeks; the least you could do was show him that you'd be there for him, too.
Knock knock. “Draco?” You called. “It's me.”
You couldn't hear anything through the door, weren't even entirely certain he was actually in here, when the knob unlocked with a soft click, and the door eased open.
Draco’s office was spacious, with large bookshelves and expensive-looking furniture. You could smell the leather polish and mahogany beneath the verdant top notes of the high-end cologne he wore. Emerald curtains were drawn over what had to be enormous windows, leaving the room dark except for the fireplace and fire-lit scones along the walls.
Draco was sitting at his desk, the surface strewn with papers and empty mugs of tea. He'd discarded the bulk of his uniform, leaving him in just a black long-sleeve shirt and pants. His hair was unruly, sticking up at odd angles from running his hands through it, and exhaustion hung from his shoulders like a shadow.
“What time is it?” He asked, though you weren't sure if he was directly asking you, and he spun in his chair to peer at the clock over his head.
“After 6,” you supplied, and he turned back to you, looking a little dazed.
“Fuck, really? I didn't realize—” his eye caught the coffee and paper bag in your hands, and his eyebrows lifted in surprise. “And what do you have there?”
You shrugged, heat climbing up your neck as you fought to suppress a smile. “Thought you might need a little something sweet.”
His mouth pulled into a borderline indecent smirk. “That so?” He asked, tilting his head slightly.
Your stomach swooped. “B-but I don't want to bother you if you're busy…” You back-peddled, fidgeting in place under the burn of his gaze.
“I am busy,” he agreed, watching you intently.
“Oh, I-I’m sorry—”
“Darling,” he cut you off. The new pet name was said gently, but it still felt like a tug at your collar. You straightened subconsciously. “If you wanted to see me, then all you had to do was ask.”
Your cheeks burned, lungs snagging against your ribs and hitching awkwardly. “I didn't—I don't—”
“Don't what?” He rose from his chair, moving around the desk to approach you. “Don't want to see me?” He asked, a faux frown on his face. Teasing you. Testing you.
“No, I—y-yes, of course I do, but—”
“But what?”
“But I know you're busy and…” you trailed off, throat closing as he loomed over you.
“And…?” He was so close you could feel the warmth of his skin, could smell the Earl Grey and lavender brew he was drinking, the ink he was using.
“I wasn't sure if you wanted to see me,” you admitted, looking down to avoid his gaze.
“Love—” his thumb and index finger caught your chin, tilting your head back up. “I always want to see you.”
Your heart thudded wildly against your sternum, mouth going dry at his confession.
“But you seem to have trouble asking for what you want.”
Indignation rose in you, an unfamiliar, acidic feeling. “No, I don't,” you argued. How could he always see straight through you?
He chuckled and took the coffee and pastry bag from you, taking a swig as he turned away and retreated to his desk chair.
“I came up here to check on you,” you continued. Even to your own ear, you sounded defensive.
“And I'm fine,” he said, reclining in his chair, casual as anything, but you could see the stiffness in his shoulders, the grip he had on the coffee cup. “Thank you very much for the coffee.”
Was he dismissing you? Your head spun at his sudden change in demeanor. The distance between you seemed enormous, cold creeping in where his warmth was moments before.
“Was there something else you wanted?” He asked, leaning forward to brace his elbows on the desk.
More, you thought, but didn’t say. You wanted more of that closeness, more of him, but the thought of asking for it stitched your mouth shut. You debated turning on your heel and opting out of whatever mind games he was playing with you, but the echo of his closeness kept you in place.
You met his eyes, and something in your expression must have given away your consternation.
Draco sighed. “You're stubborn, you know that?” He asked, but there was no real bite to it. “How about I tell you what I want?”
Your throat closed, palms growing sweaty. You forced yourself to look at him, to take in the smolder of his eyes.
“I’ve had a really long fucking day, and I'm feeling a bit reckless. I locked myself in here because I didn't want to push you.” He took a breath, mandibles flexing as he arranged his next words. “But what I want, darling, more than anything right now is to see what you’re hiding under that sweet little smile. I want to know what you really want—what keeps you awake at night, what makes your heart race—.”
“But why?” You whispered. You didn’t even want to acknowledge those parts of yourself. Why would he?
“Because that's what trust is.” His words stole whatever scant breath you had left.
“I do trust you,” you said, and meant it. You trusted him more than anyone else in your life. So why were you still hiding from him? Still holding back?
“You need to trust yourself,” he corrected gently. “To trust what your mind and body are telling you that you want and need.”
Clarity hit you square between the eyes.
This entire time, he'd been showing you all the ways you weren't showing up for yourself. All of the wants and needs you were failing to articulate. To claim. Starting with the damn croissant, and all the way to this moment, where you wanted him so desperately, it burned like lava through your bloodstream.
Hadn't he shown you that he was more than happy to deliver whatever you wanted? Whether it was pastries, tea, or an apology from someone who wronged you.
All you had to do was ask.
“Kiss me,” you blurted, spitting out the words before you could talk yourself out of it.
No sooner had the words left your mouth than he was on his feet, crossing the room towards you in three long strides. A hand slid into your hair, the other melting into the curve of your spine, and he kissed you so hard the floor fell out from beneath you.
He left no room for argument, no space for doubt. He was merciless in his claiming of you, lips making way for tongue and teeth, devouring you like a fervor you'd never experienced. But it wasn't reckless or messy. No, every press, every nip, every lick was deliberate. An intricate dance that he led with precision. Like he’d been planning this kiss in his head for a lifetime. You could do nothing but be swept up in the movements and luxuriate in the force that was Draco Malfoy.
He shifted forward, backing you against the bookshelf on the far wall. You gasped when your back hit the wood, and he grinned, tilting his head to drag his lips down your neck. Grinding the frenetic pace to a languid crawl.
His shoulders rose as he breathed you in, the hot muscle of his tongue laving across your hammering pulse. Your knees threatened to buckle as arousal surged through you, electric and exhilarating. If he kept this up, you feared you would melt between the floorboards.
“You're shaking,” he murmured, kissing his way back up to your face.
“S-sorry,” you breathed, struggling to remember a word that wasn't his name.
He shushed you with a peck on the lips. “I'm just making sure you're alright,” he said, his voice like velvet. His lips grazed your temple, heart-achingly tender. A dizzying contrast from the rip current he'd created just moments ago. “That you still want this.”
You nodded, fingers tightening into the folds of his shirt to draw him closer.
“Ah, ah—” he pulled back to look you in the eye. “Use your words.”
Your eyes gave you away, flicking down to where his fingers rested on your hip.
He smirked, lifting his hand. Flexing his fingers in the dim candlelight. “You want my fingers, darling?” He asked, caressing your cheek with the backs of them.
“Yes, please,” you whispered, blinking up at him, cheeks burning.
“Say it.” His hand fell to his side.
“I—” you took a steadying breath. “I want your f-fingers.”
His smirk turned lethally sharp, flashing an ivory canine. “You want my fingers where?”
“Draco,” you whined, dropping your face into his shoulder, and he tutted. You could feel his smile as he pressed a kiss to your hair. So affectionate, even when he was being firm with you.
Then, you felt the belt of your trousers pop open. Those dexterous fingers sliding along the elastic waistband of your panties. You clung to his shoulders, breath coming in short pants, and sent a silent thank you to your past self for wearing a cute pair that day.
“Here, baby?” He asked, fingers dipping lower, finding the pool of slick he'd coaxed from you.
You nodded, tilting the bowl of your pelvis into his palm. “Please.”
Fuck, you sounded so pathetic, but he made a low sound of approval in the back of his throat.
“Good girl,” he praised right as his middle finger stroked against your clit.
You gasped, that simple touch like a bolt of lightning up your spine. You could feel how wet you were, leaking into his palm as he traced slow circles over your bud, gauging what pressure you preferred, what speed. He took his time, spreading you open, teasing out every little sound, every twitch, he could get from your pyretic body.
You were like putty in his hands, completely boneless against him, pleasure saturating your mind, burning through your veins like fire whiskey.
“Draco,” you mewled, hips rolling against his hand, hungry for more.
“And suddenly she's demanding,” he teased, nipping at your shoulder. But he indulged you, finally easing one finger inside your heat, quickly followed by a second. You were more than ready for it, your pussy practically begging to be filled. Fluttering, clenching, coaxing him deeper. “So fucking tight, love. You're absolutely perfect, aren't you?”
You couldn't think, couldn't speak. His fingers had found your brain's off button in record speed, curling against your front wall with that unwavering, merciless intention he did everything with.
And he was going to make you cum embarrassingly quick because of it.
“Wait—I—” you grabbed at his wrist, head spinning as the plummet stretched out before you, and he froze in place.
“Too much?” He asked, leaning back to look at you, his free hand smoothing the hair from your face. He looked almost as wrecked as you felt, cheeks flushed and eyes glossy, hair a disheveled mess from your grabbing hands. So beautiful you could hardly believe he was flesh and blood, and not some horny fever dream. But he was real, muscle and bone and lips and teeth, and you wanted to eat him whole.
Fuck it.
Your hips started to rock against his fingers, that momentary panic twisting into urgency. “S’too good,” you slurred, pleasure-drunk.
He grinned, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “Yeah?” He curled his fingers again, hitting that traitorous, magnificent spot inside of you, and you keened. “I can feel how close you are, soaking me to the wrist.” He pressed you harder into the wall, the wood digging into your back, but you didn't care so long as he kept driving his fingers into you just like that. The sound of your sopping pussy made your cheeks burn, lewd and loud, but it only seemed to draw your orgasm closer. “Show me, love. Show me how pretty you are when you let go—”
“Fuck, D—I’m gonna—want to—”
“Go on, love. Take whatever you want. It's all yours—good fucking girl, just like that—”
Your release crashed over you, white hot, and you buried your scream into his shoulder as he worked you through it, muttering praise in your ear while you bucked and twitched. Stars danced behind your eyes, under your skin as you came down, and you felt yourself smiling.
His motions slowed to languid strokes before he withdrew entirely. Brought his fingers to his mouth, stealing a taste before easing them between your own lips. You parted willingly, the taste of your release heady and sweet on your tongue as you sucked those magical digits clean.
“See what happens when you ask for what you want?” He murmured against the shell of your ear. “You did so well, love.”
You nodded, not having the energy to do much else. But his praise rang against your bones like church bells, and delight reverberated through you.
He withdrew his fingers and righted your clothes, then settled you into his desk chair, the most comfortable one in the room. The croissant you brought for him somehow ended up in your hand, and he was urging you to take a bite. Made you wash it down with a freshly cracked water bottle from his mini fridge.
“You look so beautiful right now,” he said, watching you chew from his perch at the edge of his desk.
The temptation to hide itched under your skin, but you resisted, smiling shyly at him instead. “Thank you, Draco. For all of this, everything.”
“It's an honor and my absolute pleasure,” he grinned, leaning down to kiss your forehead and steal a bite of the croissant. “How about we go get you some real food?”
“Is that pizza place still open?” You asked, and he looked ready to keel over with surprise and delight. You'd actually asked for something!
“If you want pizza, baby, a closed sign isn't going to stop me from getting you pizza. Hell, I'll apparate us to Italy right now—”
“You're ridiculous,” you giggled, rolling your eyes at him.
“And you're mine,” he said, sliding off the desk and offering you a hand. “So, get used to it.”
You slipped your fingers into his, letting him pull you onto still shaky legs. “I don't remember agreeing to that,” you teased, pecking his cheek so he knew you didn't mean it.
“Already spoiled, hm?” His grip on your hand tightened, his body shifting to press you against the desk. “One night with me and you've turned into a brat.” The word was hot at your neck, and a shiver rolled through you, fresh arousal dripping into your ruined underwear. Stirring something wild in you that you hadn't felt before.
“Maybe,” you flirted, leaning forward to nibble at the hard angle of his jaw, hand skimming down the front of his chest until your fingers hooked on his belt. Taking what you wanted, taking what was yours.
And from the rigid pulse against your hip, he was more than eager to give it all to you.
“Good—” his grip moved to your wrist, pinning it to the desk with a force that set your blood on fire, “—because I'm just getting started.”
in which — with the yule ball nearing at hogwarts, many boys plan on testing their luck at asking your hand—yet to no avail. when your friends overhear a fellow slytherin boy plan on asking you, who has a history for leading girls on, they set off to sabotage his chances..
contains — six overprotective friends (draco malfoy, mattheo riddle, theodore nott, blaise zabini, enzo berkshire, pansy parkinson), slytherin!reader, a brief quidditch game, appearances from an invisible harry potter, marcus flint, fred weasley, ron weasley, hagrid, and more
word count — 3.9k
“Did you see the way she blocked that Quaffle? It was brilliant,” the voice of Adrian Pucey, Chaser of the Slytherin Quidditch team, echoched through the changing rooms.
“She’s brilliant,” Marcus Flint, Chaser and team captain, said.
Theodore Nott, who had been running a towel through his freshly-washed hair following an intense Quidditch practice, rolled his eyes at the conversation. His ears perked up, however, when he suddenly heard your name brought up.
“Planning on asking her later tonight?” Pucey asked, the sound of his voice becoming muffled as he pulled a fresh shirt over his head.
“Yeah. Just hoping no one’s beat me to it,” Flint said, as he packed his emerald green Quidditch robes away.
“I don’t know, a lot of people have been planning on it. I overheard a group at the Hufflepuff table during breakfast saying that Cedric Diggory was going to ask her,” Pucey said.
“Well, he’s just gonna have to settle for someone else, then, won’t he?” Flint said, clapping a hand on Pucey’s shoulder, before the two made their way out of the changing rooms.
Theo scoffed. “Did you hear what they just said?” he turned towards Mattheo Riddle and Draco Malfoy, who were also on the Slytherin team.
“No, what’d he say?” Mattheo asked, as he was too busy trying to polish the handle of his broomstick.
Draco rolled his eyes at him, before relaying the hushed conversation.
“Flint is planning on asking her? No, no way. He’s a proper git,” Mattheo said.
“Exactly,” Theo said, biting the skin of his lip.
“Why don’t we just stop him?” Mattheo asked, pulling on his uniform robes as he spoke.
“And how exactly do you plan on doing that?” Draco asked.
Mattheo simply smirked.
Fighting to catch their breath, the three boys made their way inside Professor Flitwick’s Charms class — not without having had the stairs change directions on them, much to the delightment of the portraits on the wall.
As they walked through the large wooden door, they spotted you, sitting alone at a table, pulling your wand out of the pocket of your robes.
They sighed in momentary relief, before spotting him. Marcus Flint had entered just moments prior to them, and was making his way over to the vacated seat next to you, a smug look on his face.
Without even a moment’s hesitation, Theo stride over to your desk from the opposite side of the room. With the books he held in his arms, he pushed them harshly against Flint, who toppled backwards a few steps. Theo seized the opportunity, pulling out the chair next to yours, placing his books down harshly on the desk connected to yours.
“Salve, bella,” he greeted innocently, sitting down before Flint could even collect himself. “Hey,” you greeted back, looking over at him with a small smile.
Theo looked to the other side of him, shrugging at Marcus with an even smugger look on his face. Marcus scoffed, begrudgingly placing his own books on the desk behind yours.
Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil, who had watched the whole ordeal from the desks beside yours, giggled, as Mattheo and Draco made their way to the desks on the other side of where the two you sat.
They each shot Flint a glowering look, before sitting down.
“Pansy,” Theo whispered.
“Pansy,” Draco whispered, as the girl hadn’t responded.
“Pansyyy,” Mattheo drew out.
Pansy Parkinson slammed her quill down on top of her copy of Advanced Potion-Making, before turning towards the group of boys around her.
“Can I help you?” she asked, a little too loudly — many heads in the crowded library turned towards her.
“Not us,” Theo said, before informing the girl on the current predicament that was to ‘scar’ a member of their group.
“What’s so bad about Flint? She told me just the other day that he had caught a rogue Bludger before it hit her head,” Pansy said.
“Yeah, that he had caused,” Blaise Zabini, who was also on the Quidditch team, clarified. “If he hadn’t darted across the pitch towards the goalposts trying to impress her, that Bludger wouldn’t have even gone near her pretty face.”
“And, you didn’t hear this from me,” Mattheo said, his voice hushed, “but someone might have caught Marcus Flint snogging a Ravenclaw at the Three Broomsticks at the last Hogsmeade visit.”
“If by ‘someone’ you mean the same guy who bind his legs together so he fell face-first in the snow?” Enzo Berkshire teased.
“Oh, please. He was begging for it — what, with how red his lips were,” Mattheo defended.
“Just days before that,” Theo added on, “he had planned on putting a love potion in a fourth-year Slytherin’s pumpkin juice at breakfast.”
“So basically, the guy’s a git,” Draco concluded, his arms crossed as he leant back against a bookcase.
Pansy picked up her quill, lifting the end of it up to her lips as she thought. “Okay, let’s just set her up with someone else, then,” she said, pulling the feathery quill away from her lips to place back in her ink bottle.
Theo tutted. “That’s almost worse. We can’t have her running about with a Hufflepuff of all people at the Yule Ball.”
“Okay, so why don’t one of you go with her?” Pansy asked.
The five boys blinked, before looking at each other.
Enzo opened his mouth, almost protesting, before his lips met once more. Blaise rubbed a hand over his jaw tensely.
“Merlin, you guys are helpless,” Pansy said exasperatedly, shutting the cover of her textbook closed.
“It’s not that big of a deal,” you argued, as Theo reached down towards the hem of your coat, rubbing coarse snow off the material.
“Please, you would’ve fallen face-first in the snow if Mattheo hadn’t caught you,” Draco said from where he stood next to you. As the seven of you had begun making your way towards Hogsmeade, your boot had caught on something you couldn’t see — causing you to lose your balance. Mattheo, who had been walking in front of you, quickly spun around at the sound of your astonished shriek, grabbing hold of your forearms before you could fall to the ground — your long coat having dragged against the snow.
“It’s not my fault! I swear, it felt as if I’d tripped over someone’s foot — I even heard someone whisper an apology to me!” you defended.
“None of us heard anything,” Pansy said, as you could’ve sworn you heard Blaise whisper something along the lines of “She’s mental” in Theo’s ear.
“It’s fine, really,” you said, as Theo placed a quick Hot-Air Charm on your coat to dry it off.
As you entered the village of Hogsmeade, the small shops of the vicinity were limned with snow, many of the students and villagers bundled up from head-to-toe to ward against the bitter weather. “Where should we head to first?” Enzo asked, his head turning towards the line of shops.
“Pansy and I have to find shoes for the Yule Ball,” you said, as you looped your arm through hers.
The five boys looked at each other.
“So,” Mattheo cleared his throat. “About that, do you know who you’re going with yet?” he asked, feigning nonchalant interest.
The boys’ breaths hitched simultaneously. “No, not yet,” you said. They sighed in relief, Theo even smirking at your words.
“I mean, I think Seamus Finnigan was planning on asking me on the way to McGonagall’s class,” you added solemnly. “But I think he got cold-feet.”
Blaise held back a snigger, earning him a glare of warning from Draco. Seamus had been planning on asking you — he’d even boasted about it to all the Gryffindors — but, as Mattheo had heard him discussing it with Dean Thomas in passing, he’d quickly brushed shoulders with the boy, causing his books and rolls of parchment to topple to the floor. Mattheo waved his wand inconspicuously on top of one of the fallen parchments.
“Hey, watch where you’re going, man,” Seamus roared, leaning down to pick up his fallen materials. As he stood up, arms full of books and loose rolls of parchment, Dean gasped. “Seamus, your face,” he pointed at the boy’s forehead. The words “BACK OFF” were spelt in angry purple pimples across the skin of his forehead. Mattheo caught Seamus’ eye, smirking, before turning down the corridor.
“Every boy is just dying to ask you, don’t worry about it,” Pansy giggled, pulling you towards Gladrags Wizardwear, away from the boys. You shot them a quick shrug, waving in parting.
Mattheo sighed, a smirk on his face. “I’m surprised. I had thought Seamus was sure to try again,” he said.
“He’s a Gryffindor, their whole house values are a hoax,” Blaise said, watching as a group of weary third-years ran in the opposite direction of the Shrieking Shack.
The door to Honeydukes jingled open, stepping out of it two familiar Slytherin students.
Marcus Flint and Adrian Pucey talked animatedly to one another, their hands filled with bags of sweets.
“Do you think she’ll like these?” Flint asked.
“Definitely. She’s always eating those sherbet lemons before Quidditch practice,” Pucey said matter-of-factly.
The two boys made their way through the crowd of students in Hogsmeade, oblivious to the five glaring boys who stood a distance away.
As Flint adjusted the green-and-silver scarf that rested around his neck, Mattheo pulled out his wand.
Enzo quickly reached towards him, lowering his arm that held the wand. “What are you doing?” he shrieked.
“They’re obviously talking about her,” Mattheo said quickly.
“They haven’t said anything bad,” Enzo defended.
As Enzo’s hand wrapped around the length of Mattheo’s wand to aim it downwards, a non-verbal incantation accidentally spewed out from the tip, green sparks illuminating at the two boys who now stood outside the Three Broomsticks.
“What-,” Marcus Flint called out, as a snowball had suddenly come barreling towards him, colliding with the back of his head.
As he turned, more came pelting towards him from an unknown source behind the group of watchful Slytherin boys, striking his coat and the middle of his face.
Adrian Pucey turned, coming face-to-face with another snowball, now aimed towards him. He quickly darted out of the way to avoid it, bumping into Flint — the two of them toppling backwards into a pile of packed snow.
As they regained themselves, they sat upwards, more snowballs continuing to shoot towards them.
“Come on!” Pucey roared, darting back towards the castle.
Several people had come out of the shops at the sound of the raucous, pointing and laughing at the scene before them. Draco was leaning against Blaise to stay upright through his own hysterics.
Flint shot a furtive look around, before running after him.
“Wow, thanks mate,” Mattheo chortled. “That went better than I could’ve hoped,” he patted Enzo on the shoulder approvingly.
“OH, that had to have hurt,” the voice of Lee Jordan roared throughout the pitch, following a Bludger that had struck Fred Weasley near his crotch.
“Gryffindor’s in possession of the Quaffle — OOH, but an amazing save from the Slytherin Keeper. She’s quite beautiful as well, many boys would surely agree-,” he began.
“JORDAN!” McGonagall roared at him.
“Only saying the truth, Professor,” he defended.
Theo, who was sat on his own broomstick high above the pitch, scoffed at the boy’s words. He agreed with them, of course, but he would never admit to sharing the same opinion as a Gryffindor.
Mattheo flew up next to him, the two of them watching you as you guarded the goalposts for their team’s side.
“Slytherin’s Captain now has possession of the Quaffle, he’s speeding,” Jordan roared.
They watched as Marcus Flint flew past you with the Quaffle held in his hands, shooting you a sly wink before barreling through the Gryffindor players.
They caught sight of you as you blushed — whether out of genuine infatuation, or embarrassment at the lewd gesture, they weren’t sure.
“Slytherin scores!” Lee Jordan yelled, as the scores were updated for the match; 30 - 10 to Slytherin.
Marcus Flint wore a smug look on his face, fist-bumping Adrian Pucey as he passed him.
Draco Malfoy made his way over to where Theo and Mattheo hovered, craning his neck around in search of the fluttering Golden Snitch. As he spotted Flint’s ludicrous display of pride, he rolled his eyes. “I honestly wouldn’t mind if we didn’t win, just so I never have to see that stupid look on his face,” he scoffed out.
Mattheo rolled his eyes, as Flint aggressively banged his broomstick against Alicia Spinnet, one of the Gryffindor Chasers, causing her to fly straight into the high seats of the stands.
“You know what..” Marcus said, before flying forwards. He seized hold of a rogue Bluder before it could fly forwards, directing its path towards Marcus Flint’s broomstick.
As the large ball collided with the handle of Flint’s broom, he fell forwards off the base of it — falling through one of the hoops on the Gryffindor side, his broomstick falling after him.
The crowd winced, many of the Gryffindors even cheering after what he’d done to one of their Chasers.
Everyone craned their heads towards the grounds, watching as Flint lifted himself up groggily.
Mattheo actually laughed. “Flint, you’re supposed to send the Quaffle through the hoops,” he joked, before flying to the opposite side of the pitch, Theo chuckling behind him.
He caught sight of you — you looked down at the boy with your mouth agape, shaken by his fall, and the fact that it appeared as if Flint was hoisting a broken arm now.
Mattheo stared at your expression of shock for a moment. “He was begging for it,” he clarified, facing towards you. You turned your head to him, speechless.
“Potter’s caught the Snitch! Gryffindor wins!” Lee Jordan yelled, the stands exploding with yells of triumph.
The sounds of your team members’ groaning could be heard against the roaring crowd, but you didn’t pay them any mind. You scoffed at Mattheo, before flying towards the grounds.
“She’s still not talking to you?” Pansy asked over dinner. The section of the Slytherin table that was usually occupied by the seven of you was now partially-empty — with you being in the hospital wing, checking in on Flint.
“No,” Mattheo said through a mouthful of shepherd’s pie. “I’ve already told her it was an accident.”
“Uh.. no it wasn’t. We all saw what happened,” Enzo said confusedly.
Mattheo glared at him. “Well, I didn’t intend for him to fall,” he defended. “And besides, with our Captain injured, the next Quidditch match will have to be postponed.”
“Well, forget about all of that for now,” Blaise said, trying to ease the tension. “The ball’s tomorrow.”
“Yeah, I heard tomorrow night’s supposed to be spectacular,” Enzo chimed in.
The golden platters in front of them vanished of dinner, dessert appearing in their place. “I’ve heard that Dumbledore hired the Weird Sisters again for the whole evening,” Pansy said.
Theo helped himself to a treacle tart. “Wait, Panse — who are you going to the ball with?” he suddenly asked.
Pansy blushed furiously. She reached for her goblet of pumpkin juice, bringing it up to her lips to hide her reddening cheeks. She swallowed harshly against the cup, her eyes meeting Draco’s over the top.
“There’s no chance,” Theo said, catching on.
Draco smirked. “Well, you lot were all too preoccupied to even consider asking Pansy over here,” he said. “And, by the looks of it, I’m the only of us who has a date for tomorrow.”
The four boys looked between the two of them in shock.
Blaise leaned forwards, looking up-and-down the table. He whistled softly to catch the attention of a girl in their year on the other end. Daphne Greengrass’ head of long blonde-hair whipped towards the sound.
“Daphne, want to go to the ball with me?” he causally asked. The girl looked over at her younger sister who sat to her other side, who nodded frantically at her. “Yeah, alright,” she said smiling, before turning towards her friends, who all squealed.
“You’re not the only one,” he said smugly, reaching for a cream custard from the middle of the table.
Theo, Mattheo, and Enzo sat there, eating frustratedly. Enzo looked rather pale at the news that, by the looks of it, he would be attending the ball without a date. Theo and Mattheo, however, glared at one another.
Feeble phrases of “I love your dress!” and “You look stunning!” were exchanged throughout the Entrance Hall. The five boys, dressed in black and white dress robes, made their way up the stairs of the dungeons towards the sounds — Pansy, dressed in a pale pink dress that complimented her look, with her arm looped through Draco’s.
Pansy had already relayed the news that you would be attending the ball, but without Flint, who was still cooped up in the hospital wing. Even without his injury, he hadn’t mustered up the nerve to ask you in the end.
As they made their way into the Great Hall, which was decked with false snow over the enchanted ceiling, and an abundance of small circular tables crowded around a large empty dance space, they quickly found a table large enough to situate the lot of them.
As rounds of students dressed to the nines continued to file into the Hall, all of their heads stayed craned towards the entrance, anticipating your arrival.
When the staff made their way towards the large table at the front of the room, Dumbledore leading the end of the rear, they still stared, waiting for you.
Yet, with a flick of his wand, the doors were shut, the lights were dimmed, and the music began — you hadn’t arrived.
As the dance floor quickly crowded with students — sounds of winces from toes being stepped on, whistles of appreciation as Fred Weasley and Angelina Johnson partook in an odd sort of waltz, cheers as the Weird Sisters performed the night away — you were nowhere to be seen.
“I thought you said she was coming,” Mattheo called across the table accusatorially to Pansy.
“That’s what she told me!” she defended, as Draco made his way back to the table with two glasses of punch in his hands. Soon enough, she placed her finished cup down, reached for his hand, and the two of them were now part of the large group of students on the dance floor.
Theo, Mattheo, and Enzo sat at the now empty table dejectedly, watching as Blaise and Daphne engaged in a rather fond display of affection.
“Hey,” a girl called out. All three of their heads quickly looked up, expecting to spot you, but it was a Ravenclaw student a year below them, who was speaking to Enzo.
“Want to dance?” she asked. He blinked in surprise, before gratefully accepting the offer, jumping to his feet and stumbling slightly over the table cloth near his feet.
“Great, just great,” Theo said, as Enzo now joined the excited crowd of students — small Professor Flitwick was even crowd-surfing, as Professors McGonagall and Snape watched in mild-amusement; it even looked as if Snape was fighting back a smirk.
Then, they spotted you. You were stood behind the doors of the Entrance Hall, watching the crowd on the dance floor.
Their eyes widened, taking in your appearance — you were wearing a black dress, and your hair was cascading neatly down your shoulders and back.
With one long look at the crowd, you turned away, out-of-sight.
Mattheo and Theo looked at each other, before leaving their seats, mumbles of “Excuse us,” and “Oh, just move! Would you?” falling from their lips as they followed after you.
As they left the loud atmospheric Great Hall, they spotted you sitting alone on the steps of the Entrance Hall, leaning against your legs as you held them tightly to your frame, carefully with the dress you wore.
A group of girls sat behind you, comforting a sobbing girl as she rubbed furiously at her red-rimmed eyes, mascara staining her cheeks.
“Bella, what’s the matter?” Theo asked as softly as he could. He sat down next to you on the steps, Mattheo sitting down on your other side.
You sniffled slightly. As their eyes adjusted to the contrasting dim glow of the Entrance Hall against the dimly-lit Great Hall, they noticed how you had even done your makeup pulchritudinously for the occasion.
“I don’t have a date,” you whispered, slightly embarrassed.
Mattheo shifted as he sat on the stone step. “Don’t worry, we don’t either,” he said.
You wiped quickly at your cheeks, before turning towards him at his words. “Really?” you asked, slightly shocked.
“Yeah, well, we were sort of at odds with each other over who’d get to ask you,” Mattheo said, reaching forwards and snatching a bottle of Butterbeer from a younger student, who was too frightened to object. He unscrewed the cap, throwing his head back as he took a long swig.
“Though, I don’t think we really realized it until Marcus Flint tried to do what we couldn’t,” Theo admitted.
“Wait, so that’s why you basically tried to kill him?” you asked Mattheo.
“Uh, not killed, but.. yeah. I thought it was pretty obvious, to be fair,” he said, taking another swig of the Butterbeer.
“Well, what’s done is done,” Theo said, shifting the conversation awkwardly from what they’d guiltily admitted to doing. “There’s no point in moping about it out here, when the dance is in there,” he said, pointing into the Great Hall, where Hagrid was now spotted towering over the crowd of students as he found himself in the middle of the dance circle.
“Come on,” he stood up, reaching his hand towards you. Mattheo placed his half-finished bottle of Butterbeer on the steps, before extending his hand out to you as well.
You smiled softly, reaching for both of their hands as they pulled you up, towards the Great Hall.
As you entered, you heard a loud shout of your name over the blaring music, before Pansy came striding towards you, Draco behind her. “You look beautiful,” you both said at the same time, causing the two of you to giggle.
“Come, you’ve almost missed it — Professor McGonagall is dancing with Ron Weasley!” she exclaimed, grabbing your arm and pulling you towards the loud ensemble of students.
Draco, Mattheo, and Theo followed after, and it was not long before Blaise and Enzo found the four of you.
As Theo offered you his hand for a dance, you took it — the two of you slow-dancing alongside Pansy and Draco, as her head rested against his shoulder. Even Enzo and Mattheo had decided to, jokingly, dance together — much to the entertainment of everyone around them, many people not even attempting to suppress their giggles at the sight of them.
As Mattheo later bowed to you for a dance, the two of you jumped in the mass of the crowd, everyone singing along to a familiar tune the Sisters crowed out.
With Pansy gossiping in your ear about who you ‘wouldn’t believe’ Moaning Myrtle had corralled into saving her a dance, Mattheo’s head lolling onto Blaise’s shoulder at the table after having drank too much Butterbeer, Enzo wincing as he rubbed at his back after having fallen when Mattheo refused to catch him in a jig, and Draco and Theo shamelessly laughing at students who failed miserably to dance with their partners — you were glad that the ball had finally dropped.
notes ⋆. 𐙚 ₊˚ thank you for the request, anon, i hope you liked it !! i just finished re-reading the gof and couldn’t resist writing for the yule ball 😭
Hey there! May I ask for the Kamaboko gang (the main 4) with their s/o who is also a demon hunter and unable to feel pain, you know like they don't even notice minor or major injuries/wounds/burns on their body because they can't feel pain :)
Of course you can! ＼(★^∀^★)／ Thank you so much for requesting this, i had fun writing this scenario for the Kamaboko gang plus it was really interesting to learn about the condition which means you can’t feel pain (which is called CIPA if your interested!) which i tried to include as much info as i could in! I hope that i’ve done your request justice and that you enjoy!! ^^
The Kamaboko Gang with an S/O that can’t feel pain
Tanjiro kamado:
It took him a lot longer than he would have liked to click on about your condition/disorder. Tanjiro had noticed the scars (who couldn’t when they were so boldly etched into your skin?) and the scent of blood that always seemed to follow you, but he only realised that the smell of blood was your own at the same time he found out about your condition.
When he manged to click on, tanjiro felt an immense sense of guilt for not knowing or trying to find out sooner·
Goes out of his way to try and find out about your condition but becomes quite disheartened when there isn’t really anything to help you with it (he’d gone to Tamayo and then to shinobu to learn about it and to see if there was anything he could do to help) but he keeps an extra eye on you just in case·
Quickly noticed that while you don’t feel pain you do feel it when he squeeze’s your hands or kisses you – the light pressure of him is something you can feel so a lot of affection takes place·
A constant state of mild panic when you just throw yourself into battle – and sometimes even out of it and going about your daily life’s although you were quite careful with yourself…..sometimes·
Mother Hen x 10·
Tanjiro now always carries a medical kit with him for when you injury yourself·
Has to use his sense of smell to see whether or not your injury is serious or not·
Now always carries some sort of food around because you don’t feel pain that also extends towards hunger pains, so you have once or twice before collapsed from hunger because you hadn’t been eating – there wasn’t any particular reason for not eating, you’d just forgotten about it since eating can sometimes just feel a little unnecessary??·
It doesn’t help that your so unbothered about your injuries either, like the pain’s never been there to begin with but you just act so nonchalantly about them – “Oh…. it seems I’m bleeding again; Where’s it coming from? Oh wait, my side! Looks like I got cut by that demon afterall! I really do need to be more careful….” Que a panicked Tanjiro already with his medical kit out·
But he loves you with all his heart and he wouldn’t change anything
Nezuko kamado:
Fiercely protective. Much like she is with tanjiro you get the same type of treatment.
She could tell straight away that something just wasn’t right. You’d continue to fight no matter how bad your injury, making said injury worse and then not even flinching when getting it sorted out – you hadn’t even noticed when stepping bare footed in broken glass, simply waving off the horrified gasps and apologies once it had been mentioned before walking away to get it sorted out
Your body was far more scarred than any other demon slayer (except for sanemi); burns, bruises and scars just permanently discoloured your skin and that upsets Nezuko
Mother hen x20
Now carries around medicine with her in the medicine box that tanjiro carries her in – Tanjiro doesn’t really question it; he’s just as worried about you as nezuko and feels abit better knowing that nezuko’s watching out for you, after all he doesn’t want his sisters partner to prematurely die
When its night-time and you both can actually spend some time together; nezuko will gently trace the shape of your scars because even though you can’t feel pain, you can feel the light pressure her nails leave behind – the same goes for her lips! Kissing and hugging is perfectly fine
Nezuko will stay up until the crack of dawn watching you as you sleep to make sure you change positions because due to your lack of pain feeling you can’t tell when a position is becoming uncomfortable for your body which wears down your bones + joints – meaning your bones can become more fragile/brittle so will break a lot more easier during battle
As soon as your out in battle she’s out next to you, fighting to the best of her abilities to keep you and tanjiro from harm
Glad to have you in her life. You’re so important to her that she’d gladly die for you if it meant you were safe
Zenitsu Agatsuma:
Didn’t know that you couldn’t feel pain for ages
Felt absolute awe and admiration for you when you guys first met because of how well you held yourself in battle plus the number of scars on you clearly meant that you’d been through a lot and lived through it – also the fact that you never broke into a sweat while fighting left him absolutely speechless
Your determination in battle even though you were injured badly made him feel braver but over time made zenitsu concerned for you – You ended up injured far too often, whenever your bones clicked you’d never make a noise of contentment or even when your stomach growled you’d never pay attention to it etc. Even when the others mentioned it, you’d just smile serenely and thank them for the reminder; other than zenitsu, tanjiro also started to become concerned for you
Zenitsu only really started fearing for you once a wound of yours had accidently become infected and you hadn’t even noticed. It was only until Tanjiro had mentioned about a new sickly undertone to your scent no more than a day later that you’d actually bothered to check if you were injured – spoiler, you were injured. Badly. You had to be taken to the butterfly estate where you were luckily fixed and told off by shinobu for not taking care of yourself because you usually were very careful
After that incident zenitsu keeps more of an eye on you – and a lot more things start to make sense about you
He almost in a sense becomes more brave/confident, pushing himself more in battle to protect you – which helps push you both into a relationship after he chucks himself into a battle that leaves him injured
Anxious mother hen x15
Isn’t as worried about himself as he used to be, now all that worry is reserved for you – it’s like he’s trying to make up for not bothering to know sooner about your condition so you do have to remind him that you do love him and even though you can’t feel pain you can feel his kisses and when he holds your hands
A new presence in his life that he must protect, worry and look after, but he loves it - you do the same to him and it still makes him blush – Zenitsu’s thankful for having you in his life, you’re a refreshing breathe of air that just keeps him on his toes
Inosuke Hashibira:
Noticed your presence and strength before anything else – Your presence actually caused the hairs on the nape of his neck to stand up and he didn’t like that, at all because he couldn’t place his finger on why - even after your first meeting he’d request for fights
You were just so polite + kind and yet you had the strength and resilience of a boar – which just served to piss him off even more because you always showed that off in battles with demons and yet didn’t when fighting with him – no matter how strong he hit or swung his swords you never flinched
Thought your scars were cool and something that you should show off with more pride since you gained them in battle. Really didn’t think much about how you gained the scars; he was slightly worried about how ‘clumsy’ you seemed though, sometimes forgetting to eat or even pushing yourself in fights too much
It wasn’t until you broke + fractured your dominant hand and still continue to fight that his pride left him and an unspoken panic took its place, which quickly turned to anger at the fact you were still fighting while being so broken – it was one of the only time’s the group have seen Inosuke lose his shit over someone else’s health…..
Actually starts to pay even more close attention to you, the things that he thought were just you being a classic clumsy human was actually something that was quite hazardous to your health
Doesn’t show it but he does feel guilty for not paying close attention to you and your condition
Starts to notice that your body temperature is a lot higher than a normal humans, once he asks out of curiosity and is really surprised to find out that you can’t sweat….”Hm? why I have a high tempe-Ahhhhhhh yeah I can’t sweat Inosuke, it comes with the whole not being able to feel pain thing” – Que both worried and impressed looks from literally everyone in the group because there’s always the chance that you overheat and then collapse
Pretending not to care as much as he actually does, worried boar man x10
Goes out of his way to forage food for you to eat because he knows that you sometimes forget – mostly fruits or just anything that has a lot of sugar to keep your energy up
Learns basic medical knowledge to help you for when you injury yourself – even though you do know how to patch yourself up, but it makes inosuke happy (just make sure to praise him for his help)
"Please", you mewl, grinding on his clothed crotch, your panties wet with arousal.
"You can't, baby" he hisses through gritted teeth, resolve thinning when you grind over his hardness. "Fuck" he instinctively pushes his hip forward to meet your thrust, "You can't take me"
You groan, the room heating up and constricting around you two. Mind swirling with thoughts of his big length inside you, stuffing you full.
"I can, i promise. Please..." Your teary eyes and begging really did it for him as he snaps, manhandling you below him as his broad form hovers over yours, blocking any light.
Within a minute your clothes are off, his big hands can't seem to get enough of you. Roaming over your waist, thighs, breasts, anything that he can maul.
Spreading your thighs apart with his legs, he groans at the sight of your dripping pussy, clenching around nothing, "so fucking needy" he lazily gives it a slap, making you yelp.
A smirk tugs at his face, eyebrow arched at your messed up form. "Don't complain later. You asked for it" his voice laced with hunger and a predatory intent, big hand stroking himself while he aligns himself with your dripping pussy, the most beautiful sight he has ever seen. And he's going to ruin it so well.
"Nhgg.. plea- ah!" Your plea gets cut off as he grants your wish, pushing in barely an inch inside your tight walls. "Fucking hell.." his eyebrow furrow in concentration, eyes laser focused on the the little hole gaping around his big cock. Much too big for you, he thinks.
His teeth bite into his lower lip as he pushes harder, your back arching at the stinging stretch. "Can take.. it" you stutter, already trembling. Hips arching to take him more.
"As you fucking wish" he growls, an animalistic sound leaving his mouth as his big hands hold you in place below him, pushing into your tight warmth, stuffing you to your limit. Your writhing body unable to move much against his strong grip, his hips pushing forward until you're full of him.
"That what you wanted?" his forehead sweaty at the effort it took to push into your tight hole, pupils blown wide. "So fucking tight for me.. all fucking mine"
His large hand over your tummy feeling himself inside you. "'ts so.. big.." you mewl, hands digging into his forearm.
He chuckles breathlessly, "told ya.. but you wouldn't listen." His thumb runs over your clit, his pace slow and deep, knowing you need time to adjust to his size.
"More", you cry out, looking at him with teary and needy eyes, your tight walls clenching around him oh so deliciously. A man can only hold himself back for so long..
He huffs out an amused grin, "don't cry too much", he doesn't wait for your answer before he starts thrusting into you at a faster pace. Pulling himself out almost fully before slamming back inside.
"Oh..ngh, so good-" your broken screams sound like music to his ears.
"Don't stop" you cry out, nails digging into his arms, feeling yourself splitting apart on his length. The line between pain and pleasure blurring together, mind mush. Only him. Him. All over you.
You cry out when he rubs against a particular angle, throwing your head back.
"Right there?" His smirk is devilish, making it a point to continue to assault that soft spot inside your now stretched and full pussy.
"Wait- ahh! Wait" your cries fall on deaf ears, eyes rolling back at the overwhelming pleasure. Your body trembling and writhing under his much larger one.
"Hm? What was that? You want more? Of course, angel" he pretends to mishear you, pushing into you at a brutal pace, continuing to hit that spot that has you seeing stars.
"No, i.. meant- ah!"
"I got you" he whispers into your ear, cooing praises about how well you're taking him, how you were made just for him while he ruins your little pussy.
When you cum, it's nothing like you've ever experienced before. Vision turning white, almost on the verge of passing out. Clenching so hard around him, bringing him to his release.
You feel his warm release coating your insides, both of you groaning and trembling at the feel.
You stay like that for a moment. Fucked out, bodies tangled with each other, too tired to move a muscle
Once he moves to lay beside you, he makes sure he's still inside you. Spooning you against his big and warm body. "Let's stay like this" he grunts tiredly. "Just makin' sure you get used to my size."
