˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

mimi, 20

[mimidotcom]

Guys should I write a CaseOh fic

[eoallen]

"We can make a hot video."

[shhwsper]

broppy month started prepare to be sick of me

[mssorceressupreme]

Hate and Love | F.W

———

Pairing: Fred Weasley x reader

Summary: in the mission of transporting Harry safely to the Burrow, you and Fred get thrown off-track as his broom breaks, resulting in an overnight detour at a hotel.

Warnings/content: minors DNI 18+, halfblood!reader, One Bed Trope, enemies to lovers, boner!alert, oral!freceiving, p in v, grumpy x sunshine (if u squint), raw penetration (wrap it plz), cumming inside, orgasm denial, fluffy ending, fighting death eaters, dom!fred, sub!reader

Wordcount: 5.8k

———

You stood near the wall, arms crossed, in the house of number four Privet Drive, the place where it all began for one of your closest friends, Harry Potter. The group of you were gathered in the empty living room, discussing the highly dangerous plan of transporting Harry safely to the Burrow.

Beside you stood the twins, listening intently as Mad-Eye Moody instructed orders.

Seven of them had just taken polyjuice potion, resulting in seven 'Harry's', all in accordance with Moody's plan.

“Right then, we’ll be pairing off. Each ‘Potter’ will have a protector and to make it simpler for you, I'll choose the pairs.” His mismatched eyes scanned the group, assigning pairs, and an aggravating pit settled in your stomach once Moody called out your name, “Y/N, you're with Fred.”

Your head snapped toward Fred, who groaned audibly.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” He muttered, but George nudged him softly, urging him to be tolerable while they changed out of their regular clothes.

“Yeah yeah, happy to be paired up with you too.” you rolled your eyes, the sarcasm in your tone apparent.

Fred and you had never gotten along. Since your days at Hogwarts, the two of you had been like oil and water—always at odds. He thought you were too uptight, too rule-abiding, while you found him utterly insufferable, reckless, and far too smug for his own good.

But for Harry, you’d endure today. He'd done a great deal to help you throughout your years at Hogwarts, so it was only fair of you to return the favour.

“Head for the Burrows, we’ll rendezvous there!” Moody finished. The room stirred with movement as everyone prepared for what was to come.

Outside, the night air was cool as you mounted Fred’s broom behind him. The scent of his cologne, something warm and woodsy, hit your nose, and you hated that you thought it smelled decent, inhaling a bit more. You hesitated for a moment before wrapping your arms around his waist, well, 'Harry's' waist.

Fred stiffened slightly at your touch, “Don’t get too comfortable back there.”

“Oh, believe me, I won’t.”

Before you could snap back another remark, he kicked off into the sky, soaring above London, splitting up from the others.

Everything was eerily silent for a few moments. The flight seemed too smooth for your liking. You kept an alert eye, constantly scanning your surroundings.

You caught a shadow in the corner of your eye, and you whipped your head around, squinting your eyes at the figure in the dark.

"What the..." You muttered.

"Fred go faster...." You ordered, losing sight of the shadowy figure.

"Why don't you come fly the broom then." He retorted, clearly annoyed.

"Fred! I"m serious!" You yelled, gripping his waist tighter, as he exhaled before picking up the pace.

"In case you forgot, I need to be able to breathe to fly this thing properly." He grunted as you practically squeezed every breath out of him.

"Right, sorry," You loosened your grip ever so slightly, "...it's just, I swear I saw something."

You turned around again, catching a glimpse of a shadowy figure. The shadow was no longer a mystery figure but a person, or, three people rather.

Death Eaters.

"Oh shit! Fred! They're here!" You took your wand out and began fighting with them.

Spells shot through the night, streaks of green and blue illuminating the sky like a twisted fireworks display. The death eaters had appeared out of nowhere, zooming in, attacking viciously as they trailed behind you on their brooms.

“They’re following us!” you shouted over the wind, turning back around to gauge Fred.

“Oh, really? Thought we were just out for a lovely evening flight,” he shot back sarcastically, dodging a hex just in time.

You rolled your eyes but focused on firing spells behind you, hitting one death eater square in the chest and sending him spiralling downward.

"Stupefy!" You shouted, casting the second death eater off his broom. Two down, one to go.

Just as you felt a moment of victory, another spell whizzed past, striking the broom.

The wood splintered with a sickening crack. "Uhh, Fred?" You called out, glancing at the broom.

“Hold on—” Fred barely got the words out before the broom snapped completely, and the two of you plummeted toward the Thames River.

You hit the water hard, the impact knocking the wind out of you. You kicked frantically, breaking the surface and gasping for air. The coolness of the water had your body in shock, shivering as you forced yourself to stay afloat.

Fred emerged a second later, coughing.

Glancing above, you saw the third death eater laughing maliciously as he flew off, leaving you and Fred. He must've figured it wasn't the real Harry, given that you called him 'Fred'.

“Great! Look what you’ve done!” you accused, treading water furiously.

“What I’ve done?! That was you—you were supposed to be fighting them off!” he retorted, his wet hair plastered to his forehead. He had transformed back into his original self, the fiery redhead Fred you knew.

You groaned, swimming toward the embankment where a set of stone stairs led to dry land. Your fingers were frozen as you pulled yourself up, collapsing onto the pavement. Fred followed, shaking out his drenched hair like a dog.

“Brilliant. Just brilliant,” you muttered, clutching one-half of the broken broom while he had the other. “Now how are we supposed to get to the others?”

Fred sighed, pushing his hair back. “Let’s just go somewhere dry first.”

You nodded begrudgingly, too cold and exhausted to argue.

When you emerged from the river, it was given that pedestrians would stare at the two of you strangely. Swimming in the Thames River wasn't exactly the most normal thing to do, let alone at this hour.

Though, in this particular instance, more of them were starring at you, rather than Fred.

Fred cleared his throat, eyes darting down to your chest then back up before averting his eyes immediately.

You furrowed your brows, glancing down, only to remember that you were wearing a white shirt along with the worst possible undergarment to pair with it, a black bra.

You felt your cheeks heat up, as you covered your chest, "Let's just go..."

Fred shook his head, taking off the grey jacket he wore and putting it over you, "Here."

Though still wet, it offered the coverage you much needed and you were entirely grateful. "Thanks." You muttered softly, as you two began walking.

"Figured you wouldn't want to walk around flashing the whole of London."

The two of you walked in silence as you tried to figure out a way to get to the others. “We can apparate—” he started.

“Absolutely not. There are muggles everywhere,” you snapped, nodding to the late-night pedestrians strolling along the streets.

Fred scoffed, shooting you an eye-roll. “Alright, Professor McGonagall.”

You ignored him, scanning the area. A small, dingy-looking hotel caught your eye. Without another word, you trudged toward it, Fred trailing behind. The receptionist, a bored-looking woman in her mid 40s, barely glanced up as you approached the desk.

The hotel looked cheap enough for an overnight stay. All you needed to do was clear your mind and get a good night's rest before figuring things out in the morning; yes, that sounded ideal to you right this moment.

“Two rooms, please,” you said firmly.

She tapped at the keyboard, chewing on some gum as she did so. “We’re fully booked.”

Your heart sank. “What about one room? With two beds?”

"Sorry, we're full." She continued typing, then clicking on the mouse as she looked around the screen, "It's peak season honey, we're always maxed out."

"Please you've got to have at least one room, with two beds, anything?" You pleaded, desperate for whatever you could acquire.

"We'll take whatever we can get, you've got to have something." Fred added, backing you up as he stood closer to you.

She checked again, then looked at you, eyes lighting up. “Ah, it seems that we do have one left with two beds, but the heating is broken, that's why we didn't offer it to customers. Actually, I was supposed to call the maintenance guy, but he's my ex, you see, so it's a bit of a rough story. I always thought he loved me, you know, how could someone not, I mean look at me? I'm gorgeous. He was supposed to come by today but we—”

"We'll take it!" Fred interjected swiftly, clearly exhausted. "Thank you."

Relief flooded you as you he paid with muggle money. You were surprised he even had some on hand, but after all, he was a businessman.

"Interesting, all this muggle stuff eh?" Fred mused, as you both entered the lift, his eyes darting around as he observed his surroundings.

"I suppose so, yeah. I guess I was lucky enough to be born a half-blood, you get the best of both worlds." You shrugged, as though hotels and 'muggle elevators' were the most natural thing in the world.

"Alright then, you lead the way, Ms expert." He mocked, gesturing for you to lead the way once the doors opened.

You scoff softly, marching down the hallway before finding your room number. Fred reaches seconds after you, looping his arm around your body to swipe the keycard.

He placed an arm on the door to open it, letting you in first before closing it after he entered.

But the moment you entered the room, your jaw dropped.

One bed.

“What? She said there were two beds.” You blinked, looking around the room in confusion.

“She must’ve meant the couch,” Fred said, nodding toward the small, lumpy-looking couch a few inches beside the bed, by the window.

You swallowed, “Right, well, who's sleeping where?” Honestly, at this point, you didn't even mind taking the couch, as long as you could get some rest.

Fred's eyes darted from the bed to the couch, exhaling exasperatedly before finally looking at you, "I'll take the couch."

"I didn't know Fred Weasley had manners?" You gasped, faking your amusement.

He shot you a glare, grabbing a towel as he did so, "Could you be any more aggravating?"

You tried to think of a witty comeback, something, anything to get a reaction out of him. But alas, you were lost for words. He did have a point though.

Come to think about it, you realised that you might've only been behaving this way because you were not used to him being so much of a...gentleman. This was foreign to you.

"I'll have the first shower." He shifts past you, nudging your shoulder, which sends heat through your bodies temporarily.

“Be my guest.”

You hear the lock shut, and seconds later, the water starts running.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, you took in your surroundings. This was no five-star hotel, but it was presentable and decent enough for an overnight stay. The walls are dark grey, with ambient lighting all around the room. Navy blue sheets grace the double bed, with a soft brown leather footer in contrast. There is a tea tray and a kettle, on top of the dark brown desk that sat in the corner of the room.

Minutes later, the door clicks and unlocks.

Fred steps out, a white towel hanging around his waist. His hair is wet, and his body glistening with water droplets. Your eyes couldn't help but drift down, his body was incredible defined, a stark contrast to your school days when he was merely a boy, now, he was a man.

Oh, he definitely works out. You noticed his arms, much larger and buffer than they used to be.

"All yours." He jerked his chin to the bathroom.

You gulped, brushing past him before hurriedly entering the bathroom and locking the door.

Wow, since when did Fred Weasley get so, attractive?

The hot water was a blessing, washing away the cold. You stood under the steamy shower for a couple of minutes, taking in as much warmth as you could.

With no new clothes to change into, you wrapped yourself in the plush hotel bathrobe, sighing in frustration. It appears there was only a kids sized one left, and you had no choice but to wear it. Whatever, it’ll do the job for tonight.

You hung your wet clothes on one of the bathroom racks, and you saw that Fred did the same, you placed your clothes beside his.

You were humming to yourself when you stepped out, relieved to be in some dry clothes, dancing a little as you strolled to the bed.

When he heard you walking, Fred glanced up, something flickering in his expression, though you're not quite sure what.

“That bathrobe is way too small for you." He remarks, laying with his legs out on the couch, two arms behind his head as he rests.

"What was I supposed to do, wear my wet clothes to sleep?" You respond as you hop into bed, tugging the covers and snuggling in.

"It could be an enlightening experience." He hummed, as he shut his eyes, adjusting himself on the couch.

"You try it then." You counter, scoffing at his idiocy.

The curtains are drawn, and the lights are dim. Silence fills the room as you both unwind for the evening. Before you shut the lights from the switch beside your bed, you call out, "I'm going to off the lights now, need anything before I turn them off?"

"Yeah actually..." He perks his head up, turning to face you.

"What?" You ask, listening keenly.

"For you to be quiet." A small smile played on his lips as he laid back down.

You rolled your eyes, before hitting the lights.

"Good night." He cooed.

You lay there, tossing and turning, but you couldn't seem to fall asleep for the life of you. It didn't help that the room was so cold, due to the heater being unfixed.

Minutes passed in silence before you turned your head slightly. Fred was stretched out on the tiny couch, his long legs dangling uncomfortably over the armrest.

It was evident that he was way too tall to fit on all that, he did not look the slightest bit comfortable.

“See something you like?” Fred smirked, feeling your stare though his eyes were shut.

“What? No! I was just—”

“Just what? Admiring this handsome face?”

"Honestly Fred, how conceited are you?" You sat up now, shooting daggers at him. As much as you hated to admit it, he was, in fact, handsome. Annoyingly so.

Truth be told, had he not been so irritating, you might've actually considered dating him.

You loved the Weasleys, Ginny was like a sister to you, Ron, your close friend, George, always on the lookout for you. He even took you down to Hogsmeade for a meal and bought you treats when you cried over one of the Slytherin boys rejecting you back in your fourth year.

But Fred, oh Fred, you could never see eye to eye with him. You only ever tolerated him because his family was so warm and welcoming.

A tiny part of you felt guilty that he was forced onto the couch, despite being the one that paid for the room.

You wanted to offer the place beside you to him, seeing that the bed was larger than anticipated once you were actually tucked in.

"Well you are staring, something you need?" He countered, his eyes are still shut, arms still behind his head.

"Well, I was thinking...." You hesitated, "well, you could sleep on the bed. It's actually more spacious than I thought."

His brows shot up, and he opened his eyes, turning to face you. “In the bed? With you?”

“Don’t make it weird, Fred,” you huffed. “The couch looks uncomfortable.”

"Are you, being nice to me?" He teased, the urge to take back your offer growing stronger.

"Don't make me change my mind, Weasley."

After a beat, he groaned. “Fine. But don’t hog the covers.”

"Please I sleep like a log, it's not like I'm going to cuddle you or anything."

"Cuddle me eh?" He mused.

"Not bloody likely, besides you're too annoying to be my type." You retort.

Fred stood up, walking to the other side of the bed. He slid in beside you, and the bed suddenly felt too small. You kept your back to him, but quickly got up and put one of the spare pillows between you.

"See this line? Don't cross it and you're good." You commanded, and he chuckled lightly,

"Alright alright." He raised in hands.

You turned away from him, back to him as you attempted to fall asleep. You hadn't realised how far you were from him, you were practically tipping over the edge of the bed.

You scooted inside a little, bumping into the pillow wall you put.

After what seemed like hours of tossing and turning, you sighed in defeat. The room was cold, and the blankets were not much help.

You couldn't help but wonder if you were the only one awake. You extended your arm behind you, trying to find the pillow 'wall' you had put up. But with all the tossing and turning from the two of you, the pillow must've slipped out of place and down the lower half of the bed somewhere.

As you extended your arm behind you, you accidentally came into contact with Fred's back, and he shifted slightly before turning to face you instead.

It's dark, almost pitch black, but with the small glimmer of light, you can see that his eyes are shut. Curious you called out, "Fred?" you whispered. "Are you awake?"

"I am now, no thanks to you." He fluttered his eyes open, facing you.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to, I just wanted to see if—"

"Don't be." He sighed, "Couldn't sleep a wink either. This room is bloody cold."

"The blankets aren't doing anything." You exhaled, agreeing, before an idea popped into you head.

"This might sound silly, but, if we revert back to old fashioned methods, we could, um—actually it's stupid, nevermind." You began, but quickly dismissed it.

"Go on, I'd like to hear what genius solution you've come up with."

"It's dumb, I don't think you'll like it."

"Try me." He replied.

You hesitated again before suggesting, “We could—uh—use body heat.”

He stared at you momentarily, it looked as though he thought about it, considering it before responding, “Absolutely not.”

"Okay, whatever, I just thought it was a feasible option. These robes aren't exactly pyjama material either." You say, trying to tighten your robes, with the hopes of warming up your body.

You both fell into silence again your back facing him once more, before Fred spoke up, "Come here."

"What?" You turned around.

"I suppose, we could try the body heat thing."

"Oh so now you want to try my idea?" You raise your brow, scoffing as you shift over slowly, and he extended his arm, pulling you in.

"Don't get any ideas, I just need to sleep and call it a day." You firmly spoke, pressing your back to him, as he faced you. You felt his heat, no doubt, it was working, and you were starting to warm up. In all the places apparently, your cheeks, and an area of yours down there. Your heart pounded as his hand rested against your back, his breath tickling your ear.

"Let's do shoulder-to-shoulder." You suggested, trying to hide your flustered-ness.

He didn't argue, respecting your decision. The two of you lay there, facing the ceiling as your shoulders touched. Though not as warm as before, it was still warmer at least.

You turned your head, Fred's face illuminated by the dim light coming through from the curtains, his jawline ever so chiselled. Merlin, he was undoubtedly a handsome chap. You shut your eyes, trying, yet again to enter a slumber.

As you laid there, eyes shut, Fred opened his, gauging you. He smiled softly as he took in your features, rolling his eyes fondly as he saw you breathing slowly.

You swore you were about to cast some sort of sleeping spell, because you still could not fall asleep for the life of you. You keep moving, accidentally brushing against Fred's body countless times but you couldn't help it, you needed to find a comfortable position.

You move your arm around the blanket, trying to find a comfortable position for yourself until you accidentally graze something, unexpected.

You freeze.

Did you actually just graze that?

Was he....?

You slowly turned to face him, your body merely an inch away from his. You see him shut his eyes, heavily breathing, his Adam's apple bopping up and down from swallowing hard.

"Would you quit moving so much?" He whispered, trying to contain himself.

"I....Fred, I didn't mean to." You pause. "You're still awake?"

"10 points to Y/H (your house), captain obvious."

You furrow your brows, turning on the bedside lamp which offered the tiniest bit of ambient light in the dark room.

Your gaze flickered down, and well, you saw, a little friend poking up from the sheets beneath him.

"Is that, because of m—" You swallowed not daring to finish the sentence, looking at his hard on. "I'm sorry shouldn't have moved so much."

"Alright, it's okay, it's not a big deal, so what it's normal right. I didn't mean to accidentally keep grazing or grinding on you, I was merely trying to find a comfortable position. Listen, I'm not weirded out or anything, you can go sort it out. Who am I to judge? This time tomorrow we'll all be at the burrow and I'll be sharing a room with Ginny and 'Mione, so it's fine, we can—" You began ranting out of nervousness, but Fred had enough, opening his eyes to sit up with you,

"Merlin, Y/N. Ranting like you're so innocent, moving around like that? On me?" He leans in closer, growling, "I bet you'd really want to know what got me provoked in the first place, yeah?"

You gulped, inspecting his features as he leaned in closer to you, now an inch apart, "You aggravate me, pushing my damn buttons all the bloody time. Maybe if you weren't such a whiny brat complaining about everything, I would've fucked you an hour ago till you were silenced.” He ranted before continuing,

“You want to know what got me so hard? You waltzing around in those darn bathrobes that are far too small, exposing every inch of your body, your cleavage is practically begging to be seen. I can't keep my fucking eyes off you. Ever since Hogwarts, it was always you, grating on my last nerves. I thought I hated you so, until I realised that there was a fine line between hate and attraction."

"Fred..." your eyelids flutter; how did his voice get so low and sensual? You could feel yourself throbbing, growing wetter by the minute, and you found yourself growing more needy for him.

"Bloody hell Y/N, you've got me wrapped around the irritating finger of yours."

"Just shut up and kiss me Fred." You breathlessly whisper, not realising that you'd been holding your breath the entire time.

After waiting for what seemed like forever, he wasted no time pouncing on you. His hand is behind your neck and he pushes you down onto the bed, hovering on top of you.

Fred's lips meet yours furiously, desperately, never in your life has someone kissed you this passionately before. You open your mouth, and he slides his tongue in, a desirous clash of tongues. He savours every inch of your mouth and it makes you wonder how long he's been wanting to do this for.

"May I?" He asks for permission as he tugs at the belt of your bathrobe.

You nod, too breathless to speak as you gaze up at him. Fred undoes your robes, leaving you clothe-less on the bed. He does the same, kneeling between your legs which are spread open and on either side of his waist. You subconsciously give him doe-eyes as he does so, merlin, he looked so deliciously attractive.

"So fucking beautiful, all this hidden from me all these years?" He leans down and gently kisses your neck while gripping your waist, sucking on a sensitive spot which earns a moan from you.

"Going to leave hickey's on you so everyone knows you're mine gorgeous."

"Who said I was yours?" Every so daring you retort, though you lacked conviction.

He chuckled lowly before sucking on another sensitive spot, leaving a reddish mark on you, "Fred..." you moan again. His kisses grow more wet and fervent as he plants kisses trailing down your body. His hands move from your waist to your breasts, massaging them gently as he continues further down your body.

You're barely able to control the obscene moans slipping from your mouth, any attempts at suppressing them growing more difficult by the second. You didn't even care that people around you might hear.

"You're soaking wet, and yet you say you're not mine." Fred cooed, his eyes glued to your heat, coated with glistening wetness.

You revel in the fact that he can barely take his eyes off you, you glance at him, eyes half-lidded, clouded with lust. Once he catches sight of your lustful eyes, desperate for him, he can't tear his gaze away from you. He slowly leans down, sensually licking your coated slick.

Your sensitive cunt throbs even harder upon the contact from his tongue, "Fred please..." You whine, throwing your head back onto the pillow.

He traces the shape of your vulva, pressing kitten licks on your needy clit, causing your legs to clamp around his head. He doesn't break eye-contact, as he continues to work his mouth around your core.

He continues sucking your clit, his tongue working his way on your swollen pearl.

You tangle your hands in his head, tugging lightly. Your body can't help but arch into his face due to the overwhelming pleasure, as he continues indulging in your cunt. "Merlin Fred!" You cry out as he suckles on a particularly sensitive spot.

"You taste so damn good love, so sweet unlike that bitter mouth, hm?"

"I'm yours Fred....all yours..." You whimper, succumbing to his words.

"Say that again." His voice low, commanding, you could feel the heat from his mouth near your throbbing cunt.

"I'm yours, Fred." You moan, as he continues straight into your core.

The feeling is heavenly, both hands tangled in his red locks as he gives you the most pleasant head you've ever felt in your life. Once he stops assaulting your clit, he lifts his head and faces you, his eyes smiling up at you, as though you are the most beautiful person he's ever seen.

Oh, you're so close, tilting over the edge of something mind-blowing. He leans down and gives your clit a few more kitten licks, planting soft kisses before pulling away, just as you were about to cum.

"Don't stop," you whimper, "I was so close...."

"Fred?" You plead, again, but he sits up and crawls to you, now hovering over you his hands on either side of your head. "Please let me cum...."

"You will, darling." He cooes, leaning down to your ear, "Around my cock."

You felt yourself throbbing yet again, upon his words. What the hell was he doing to you, causing you to feel this weak beneath him? This powerless? Your sharp, witty tongue, nowhere in sight.

"Please Fred, I need you." You whine, begging him for more.

"What ever happened to, 'I despise you'?" He hovered over you and you sat up, meeting his lips. Giving him a passionate, hungry kiss before pulling away,

"There is a fine line between hate and love, and I think today I've learnt that you've been sitting in the wrong category all along."

He smiled, brushing a hand on your cheek as he gazed down at you lovingly, "Took me so long to realise that you're the only person I've ever felt something with."

"Took us bloody ages." You roll your eyes fondly, before giggling as he pecked your forehead gently.

You gazed up at him with doe-eyes, and him down at you, to your lips then back up, his mouth parted slightly as he took in how breathtaking you looked beneath him. Shit, you were always beautiful to him, he'd only now realised.

"Need you inside me Fred." You plead softly, desperately, which only fuelled his desire for you even more.

"Anything for you, love."

You never thought you'd admit it, but he has a fucking incredible dick. You assumed he'd be packing because he was 6"3, but the sight of it made you drool. Bloody hell, he had every right to be so smug.

His slit was already leaking with precum, his eyes lock onto yours as he lowers himself. Your legs are still on each side of his waist, he grabs his dick and teases it along your wet entrance, sliding it a few times to coat it with your slickness.

You involuntarily buck your hips, desperate for penetration as you whimper. He slowly lowers himself down, and finally into you.

At first, you hiss at the pain upon being stretched out by his hugeness, you could feel him stretching your walls, registering that fact that he was fully inside you now.

"Fuck...." he moans, letting out a groan, "So tight for me hm?"

"Freddie...." You moan as he begins moving, rocking his hips slowly. You get used to the size of him, filling you to the brim, every slight bit of movement causing your walls to tense around his dick, rubbing within you sensually.

"I know baby, I know." He responds softly, continuing at this pace.

With every rock, his breathing increases, your soft pleas and his eager pants filling the room as he speeds up, going faster and harder.

Your moans start to get louder, getting more deafening by the minute. Fred leans down to plant kisses on your neck, and pecking your lips occasionally, you moan into him as he drives himself further into your core.

"You're doing so well baby." He coos into your ear, murmuring praises as he continues to thrust into you.

Fred doesn't stop pounding into you, you move your hands to his back, your nails practically digging into his skin from the pleasure.

Skin slapping against skin, you feel every jolt of his body into you. He's fucking you so gently but hard at the same time, treating you as though you were the most fragile thing on the planet.

"Baby..." You whimper, eyes fluttering shut, as he continues thrusting into you deeply, you are overwhelmed with so much pressure that you might cry, but it just felt so damn pleasurable.

"I'm getting close Fred." You pant, breathing heavily, as he picks up his pace.

"Look at me." He demands, and you open your eyes, gazing into his hazel ones. For once, they aren't filled with irritation, or the usual annoyance you were used to seeing, they were more gentle, admiring you, it was a look of love.

"Fred, I'm so close!" You cry out, feeling an orgasm coming closer, "I'm gonna—" you can barely finish your sentence, the pressure. on your g-spot and the intense penetration becoming too much for you to handle, along with the gaze of hazel eyes burning into you.

You let out an obscene moan as your walls clench around him, you jerk harshly, causing him to let out a guttural moan. It's a pleasurable ache, your entire body pulses beneath him.

"Gonna come inside you baby, that okay?" He asks, and you nod, to breathless to speak.

Seconds later, he comes undone, squirting his juices inside you. The world slows down as you enter your state of euphoria; you're entangled in pure bliss as you come down from your high. Your body is still electrified from the feeling before.

It takes a while for you to fully settle down. You slowly flutter your eyes open to find yourself engulfed in Fred's buff arms, your breathing in sync. The two of you lean against the wooden bed-frame, and you lean your head on his shoulder, while he cradles you.

You glance down at your body and notice that it's covered in marks, which looked bloody hot. Merlin, you really were Fred's now huh?

"So much for body heat." You chuckled softly, as he stroked your back gently.

He laughs, and you feel the vibrations of his chest, "The best kind of heat if you ask me." He says which earned an eyeroll from you.

Fred plants a soft kiss on your head, "Y'know I'm not one for apologies, but I was a bit of a jerk to you back in Hogwarts, and I want to apologise."

"It was a two-way thing, Freddie, suppose I should apologise for being one too. Merlin, you did grate on every last one of my nerves though." You tease.

"Always a pleasure." He grinned down at you, engulfed in his arms as you looked up at him, sharing a moment of sweet silence as you put the past behind you.

A ray of moonlight shone through the tiny gap in the curtain. You turned your head, glancing out the window as you pondered about the others back at the burrow.

"What're we going to tell the others when we find them tomorrow?" You giggled, taking in the state you were both in.

"I have a feeling they won't be surprised." Fred confessed.

"What do you mean?"

"Everyone in my family thinks we have a thing for each other, especially Ginny. Won't stop talking about us that sister of mine."

"Since when?!" You were amused, the two of you were the epitome of the word hate back in Hogwarts and to hear a statement like this shocked you.

"Since school apparently." He laughed, shaking his head, "I thought it was silly too, but look where we are now."

"Just wait one day, you'll eventually get married." He mocked Ginny's tone, mirroring her facial expressions too, and you couldn't help but laugh.

"Please, you and me?" You raised a brow, teasing him, though biting back a fond smile.

"Neverrrr." He scrunched up his nose, holding you closer as you both now laid down in bed, safely in each other's grasp.

Finally comfortable, you found yourself drifting off into a much-needed slumber. The same could be said for Fred, it was safe to say the body-heat idea turned out better than anticipated.

And with this newfound love, perhaps the broomstick breaking was a blessing in disguise.

[binchidavinci]

Fred Weasley can’t keep his hands off you 😋😋

Hands to Myself

(Needy!Fred Weasley x reader)

‘Fred is cheeky, both in humour and in love.’

You can never quite get used to the way Fred Weasley refuses to let you breathe without touching you.

It starts small, always. A brush of knuckles against yours in the corridor, the way he hooks his pinky through yours when you’re walking side-by-side. He never announces it; he just needs the contact the way other people need air.

— ✦ — — • — • — — ༺♡༻ —

In the Gryffindor common room late at night, the fire has settled into a low, sleepy glow. You’re curled on the sofa with a book in your lap, legs tucked beneath you. Fred appears like he always does (no footsteps, no warning), just suddenly there. He drops down behind you, long legs stretching out on either side, and pulls you gently back against his chest. His arms fold around your waist, chin resting on your shoulder.

“Hi,” he whispers, lips grazing the shell of your ear.
“Hi yourself,” you answer, smiling despite yourself.
He hums, content, and nuzzles into the curve of your neck like he’s been waiting all day to fit himself there. His hands don’t wander far (one splays warm and steady over your stomach, the other laces fingers with yours), but the way he holds you is so unmistakably hungry that heat pools low in your belly anyway. He’s not trying to start anything. He just needs to feel you against him, needs the reassurance that you’re real and his and right here.

You feel his exhale tremble slightly.
“Missed you,” he says, so quietly you almost miss it.
“You saw me at dinner.”
“Three hours is too long.”

— ✦ — — • — • — — ༺♡༻ —

In the back room of Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes on a busy Saturday — they’re only open on weekends while they’re still at Hogwarts — you’re supposed to be counting inventory. Fred finds you between shelves stacked with bright boxes and simply steps in close, backing you gently against the wall. There’s no one to see; George is out front charming customers. Still, Fred keeps it soft (he cups your face with both hands and kisses you slow and deep, like he’s memorizing the shape of your mouth). When he pulls back, his thumbs stroke along your cheekbones, eyes searching yours.

“Tell me you’re staying tonight,” he murmurs, hoping you’d sneak into the Gryffindor boys’ dorm.

“I’m staying tonight.”

His forehead drops to yours. “Good. Because I’m not sure I’d survive sleeping in the girls’ dorm again.”

— ✦ — — • — • — — ༺♡༻ —

At the Burrow during the summer, you slip down to the kitchen for water and find him already there, leaning against the counter in nothing but plaid pajama bottoms, hair a riot of red. The moment he spots you in his old Quidditch jersey, his whole face softens. He opens his arms without a word. You go to him, barefoot across the cold floor, and he folds you in tight, arms locked around your back, nose buried in your hair.

“You’re freezing,” he tuts, rubbing slow circles between your shoulder blades.

“You’re warm,” you whisper back.

He makes a low, happy sound and lifts you just enough to set you on the counter so he can stand between your knees. His palms slide up your thighs, stopping respectfully at the hem of the jersey, but his eyes are dark and wanting. He leans in, kisses you soft and lazy, again and again, until you’re both breathing harder than the gentleness should allow.

“I’m trying so hard to be good,” he confesses against your lips.

“I know,” you breathe. “I hate when you’re good.”

He groans quietly and rests his forehead against yours, hands gripping your hips like letting go might actually pain him.

— ✦ — — • — • — — ༺♡༻ —

On the Hogwarts Express in a quiet compartment on the way down for Christmas, Fred tugs you onto his lap the moment the door slides shut after George, who head out to buy some sweets.

The train rocks gently; outside, Scottish hills blur past in the rain. Fred wraps his arms around your middle and pulls you back against his chest, lips brushing the nape of your neck every few minutes like he can’t help himself.

You try to read. He lets you get maybe half a page before his fingers start tracing idle patterns on your thigh (slow, reverent circles that climb a fraction higher each time). When you close the book with a sigh, he smiles against your skin.

“Sorry,” he says, not sounding sorry at all. “You’re too close. It’s unfair.”

“You pulled me here.”

“Exactly. My own fault.” His voice drops. “Just… need you on me— always.”

Later, when the sky outside turns lavender with dusk and you fall asleep by the window, he turns you sideways in his lap so you’re curled into him fully. He tucks your head beneath his chin, arms locked tight, heartbeat steady under your ear. Every so often he presses a kiss to your hair, your temple, the corner of your mouth (small, worshipful things that somehow feel more intimate than anything else he does with his mouth).

“I’m never going to get enough of you,” he says quietly, like it’s a secret he’s been carrying for years.

You don’t stir, sleeping on his chest like a baby. He smiles down at you.

— ✦ — — • — • — — ༺♡༻ — 
The hall is packed and loud, owls swooping overhead, plates clinking. You’re squeezed onto the Gryffindor bench between Hermione and Ron, trying to butter a slice of toast. Fred slides in late, hair still damp from the shower, and instead of taking the empty spot across from you like a normal person, he wedges himself half-behind you, half next to you, long legs trapping you between him awkwardly.

“Morning, all,” he says grabbing a piece of toast and shoving it into his mouth.

“Fred, there’s literally no room—”

“Plenty of room,” he answers cheerfully, chewing His hand stays low on your back, fingers splayed wide and warm through your robes, thumb tracing idle circles that no one else can see but that make your breath hitch all the same.

Lee Jordan, ever the smart mouth, raises an eyebrow from two seats down

“Do you two need a moment?”

“Nah,” Fred answers lobbing a crust at his head. “Just refueling.”

He keeps you tucked between his legs the entire meal, stealing bites of your leftovers between conversations, his hand never once leaving your back, as if letting go might make you vanish.

— ✦ — — • — • — — ༺♡༻ —

The Burrow living room, Christmas Eve: the entire Weasley family is crammed in. Bill, Charlie and Percy on the floor by the tree, George and Ginny arguing over Exploding Snap rules, Arthur trying to teach Ron about a new Muggle tool, and Molly fussing in the kitchen. It’s loud, cramped, but familiar.

You’re perched on the arm of the biggest sofa next to Ron, because every actual seat is taken— even the floor. Fred spots you from across the room, grins like he’s just won something, and makes a beeline. Without a word he carelessly wiggles a space between your arm of the sofa and Ron (who grumbled but shifted up), reaches up, and tugs you sideways into his lap.

“Fred!” you cry, trying to keep your voice low “There’s no space—!”

“There’s always space for you, tiny,” he scoffs, settling you sideways across his thighs and wrapping both arms snugly around your middle. “I’m like a portable chair!” His hands link over your stomach, palms warm even through your jumper. He rests his chin on your shoulder (his favorite spot) and jiggles you gently with his laughter whenever someone tells a joke.

George lobs a chocolate frog at Fred’s head. “Oi, share the girlfriend, some of us want to talk to her.”

Fred catches the frog one-handed without loosening his grip on you at all. “No chance,” he says, tearing the wrapper open with his teeth. “What if she mixes us up?”

Molly pokes her head in from the kitchen. “Fred Gideon Weasley, let the poor girl breathe!”

He only tightens his arms a fraction, pressing a kiss to the side of your shoulder that’s hidden from everyone else. “Can’t, Mum,” he calls back, perfectly cheerful. “She might leg it if I do.”

You stay in his lap for the rest of the evening, his hands never wandering anywhere they shouldn’t, just holding you close like you’re the only quiet place in his loud, bright world.

[veryluckyclovers]

backrooms date night

[binchidavinci]

Fred Weasley can’t keep his hands off you 😋😋

Hands to Myself

(Needy!Fred Weasley x reader)

‘Fred is cheeky, both in humour and in love.’

You can never quite get used to the way Fred Weasley refuses to let you breathe without touching you.

It starts small, always. A brush of knuckles against yours in the corridor, the way he hooks his pinky through yours when you’re walking side-by-side. He never announces it; he just needs the contact the way other people need air.

— ✦ — — • — • — — ༺♡༻ —

In the Gryffindor common room late at night, the fire has settled into a low, sleepy glow. You’re curled on the sofa with a book in your lap, legs tucked beneath you. Fred appears like he always does (no footsteps, no warning), just suddenly there. He drops down behind you, long legs stretching out on either side, and pulls you gently back against his chest. His arms fold around your waist, chin resting on your shoulder.

“Hi,” he whispers, lips grazing the shell of your ear.
“Hi yourself,” you answer, smiling despite yourself.
He hums, content, and nuzzles into the curve of your neck like he’s been waiting all day to fit himself there. His hands don’t wander far (one splays warm and steady over your stomach, the other laces fingers with yours), but the way he holds you is so unmistakably hungry that heat pools low in your belly anyway. He’s not trying to start anything. He just needs to feel you against him, needs the reassurance that you’re real and his and right here.

You feel his exhale tremble slightly.
“Missed you,” he says, so quietly you almost miss it.
“You saw me at dinner.”
“Three hours is too long.”

— ✦ — — • — • — — ༺♡༻ —

In the back room of Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes on a busy Saturday — they’re only open on weekends while they’re still at Hogwarts — you’re supposed to be counting inventory. Fred finds you between shelves stacked with bright boxes and simply steps in close, backing you gently against the wall. There’s no one to see; George is out front charming customers. Still, Fred keeps it soft (he cups your face with both hands and kisses you slow and deep, like he’s memorizing the shape of your mouth). When he pulls back, his thumbs stroke along your cheekbones, eyes searching yours.

“Tell me you’re staying tonight,” he murmurs, hoping you’d sneak into the Gryffindor boys’ dorm.

“I’m staying tonight.”

His forehead drops to yours. “Good. Because I’m not sure I’d survive sleeping in the girls’ dorm again.”

— ✦ — — • — • — — ༺♡༻ —

At the Burrow during the summer, you slip down to the kitchen for water and find him already there, leaning against the counter in nothing but plaid pajama bottoms, hair a riot of red. The moment he spots you in his old Quidditch jersey, his whole face softens. He opens his arms without a word. You go to him, barefoot across the cold floor, and he folds you in tight, arms locked around your back, nose buried in your hair.

“You’re freezing,” he tuts, rubbing slow circles between your shoulder blades.

“You’re warm,” you whisper back.

He makes a low, happy sound and lifts you just enough to set you on the counter so he can stand between your knees. His palms slide up your thighs, stopping respectfully at the hem of the jersey, but his eyes are dark and wanting. He leans in, kisses you soft and lazy, again and again, until you’re both breathing harder than the gentleness should allow.

“I’m trying so hard to be good,” he confesses against your lips.

“I know,” you breathe. “I hate when you’re good.”

He groans quietly and rests his forehead against yours, hands gripping your hips like letting go might actually pain him.

— ✦ — — • — • — — ༺♡༻ —

On the Hogwarts Express in a quiet compartment on the way down for Christmas, Fred tugs you onto his lap the moment the door slides shut after George, who head out to buy some sweets.

The train rocks gently; outside, Scottish hills blur past in the rain. Fred wraps his arms around your middle and pulls you back against his chest, lips brushing the nape of your neck every few minutes like he can’t help himself.

You try to read. He lets you get maybe half a page before his fingers start tracing idle patterns on your thigh (slow, reverent circles that climb a fraction higher each time). When you close the book with a sigh, he smiles against your skin.

“Sorry,” he says, not sounding sorry at all. “You’re too close. It’s unfair.”

“You pulled me here.”

“Exactly. My own fault.” His voice drops. “Just… need you on me— always.”

Later, when the sky outside turns lavender with dusk and you fall asleep by the window, he turns you sideways in his lap so you’re curled into him fully. He tucks your head beneath his chin, arms locked tight, heartbeat steady under your ear. Every so often he presses a kiss to your hair, your temple, the corner of your mouth (small, worshipful things that somehow feel more intimate than anything else he does with his mouth).

“I’m never going to get enough of you,” he says quietly, like it’s a secret he’s been carrying for years.

You don’t stir, sleeping on his chest like a baby. He smiles down at you.

— ✦ — — • — • — — ༺♡༻ — 
The hall is packed and loud, owls swooping overhead, plates clinking. You’re squeezed onto the Gryffindor bench between Hermione and Ron, trying to butter a slice of toast. Fred slides in late, hair still damp from the shower, and instead of taking the empty spot across from you like a normal person, he wedges himself half-behind you, half next to you, long legs trapping you between him awkwardly.

“Morning, all,” he says grabbing a piece of toast and shoving it into his mouth.

“Fred, there’s literally no room—”

“Plenty of room,” he answers cheerfully, chewing His hand stays low on your back, fingers splayed wide and warm through your robes, thumb tracing idle circles that no one else can see but that make your breath hitch all the same.

Lee Jordan, ever the smart mouth, raises an eyebrow from two seats down

“Do you two need a moment?”

“Nah,” Fred answers lobbing a crust at his head. “Just refueling.”

He keeps you tucked between his legs the entire meal, stealing bites of your leftovers between conversations, his hand never once leaving your back, as if letting go might make you vanish.

— ✦ — — • — • — — ༺♡༻ —

The Burrow living room, Christmas Eve: the entire Weasley family is crammed in. Bill, Charlie and Percy on the floor by the tree, George and Ginny arguing over Exploding Snap rules, Arthur trying to teach Ron about a new Muggle tool, and Molly fussing in the kitchen. It’s loud, cramped, but familiar.

You’re perched on the arm of the biggest sofa next to Ron, because every actual seat is taken— even the floor. Fred spots you from across the room, grins like he’s just won something, and makes a beeline. Without a word he carelessly wiggles a space between your arm of the sofa and Ron (who grumbled but shifted up), reaches up, and tugs you sideways into his lap.

“Fred!” you cry, trying to keep your voice low “There’s no space—!”

“There’s always space for you, tiny,” he scoffs, settling you sideways across his thighs and wrapping both arms snugly around your middle. “I’m like a portable chair!” His hands link over your stomach, palms warm even through your jumper. He rests his chin on your shoulder (his favorite spot) and jiggles you gently with his laughter whenever someone tells a joke.

George lobs a chocolate frog at Fred’s head. “Oi, share the girlfriend, some of us want to talk to her.”

Fred catches the frog one-handed without loosening his grip on you at all. “No chance,” he says, tearing the wrapper open with his teeth. “What if she mixes us up?”

Molly pokes her head in from the kitchen. “Fred Gideon Weasley, let the poor girl breathe!”

He only tightens his arms a fraction, pressing a kiss to the side of your shoulder that’s hidden from everyone else. “Can’t, Mum,” he calls back, perfectly cheerful. “She might leg it if I do.”

You stay in his lap for the rest of the evening, his hands never wandering anywhere they shouldn’t, just holding you close like you’re the only quiet place in his loud, bright world.

[satorus-princess]

“isn’t it crazy that we were once strangers and now we’re cuddling in bed, with each other’s rings on our fingers?”

you exhale, heavy, tired. “go to sleep, satoru,” you mumble, burying your face into his chest. and he automatically moves his hand to thread his fingers through your hair.

“like, we had our own lives, had no idea who we’d end up with or where we’d end up,” he continues, awe laced into his voice. “and one day, bam! every second of my day was suddenly consumed by you or thoughts of you. or dreams about you.”

satoru’s mind is way too busy for 2 a.m.

“if you don’t let me sleep, you won’t live to see another day.”

“ohhh, so that was your plan all along, huh? seduce me, make me fall in love, then kill me in my sleep?” he says, theatrically woeful and pained. “after all i’ve done for you. am i still just a stranger to you?”

you can’t help but snort, a quiet sound muffled by his chest. “why would i wait four years to kill you? i probably could’ve done it after one year. you were already whipped.”

“probably after one month, baby. you’ve always had me whipped, let’s be honest,” he says, completely proud and unabashed. he gently massages your scalp with his fingertips before drifting them back down through your hair. it’s a mindless action, soothing for both you and him. “but you’d never kill me.”

“mm, i don’t know. depends on how much the job is. i could be a multimillionaire.”

he gasps, his hand moving down to tickle your side. “you traitor. besides, you’re already a millionaire, silly. you have me. everything i own is yours.”

you squirm, letting out a giggle when he tickles you and he does it again just to hear that sweet sound. and also just to be a little bit of a menace. you try to wiggle away but he uses his other arm to keep you tethered to him.

“okay, okay, i’m sorry,” you laugh breathlessly, trying to swat his hand away. “just stop tickling me.”

“you’re so lucky you’re cute,” he huffs, leaning down to nip at your nose playfully. he’s pouting a little, staring down at you as you catch your breath, and his expression softens. it’s one of his favourite views - your faint smile, the sparkle in your eyes, your flushed cheeks.

he groans, defeated, forehead falling to press against yours.

he could never stay upset, or even faux-upset, around you.

“what?” you ask softly, curious about his sudden groan. you feel his hand at your side squeeze. not teasing. more like he's holding himself back from something.

“i’m so in love with you, it’s insane,” he murmurs, almost sounding pained, like his heart physically hurts. “i'd let you kill me, y'know. let you torture me, drag it out, whatever the hell you want.”

you giggle, your nose brushing against his. his smile ghosts your lips.

“you’re insane.”

“incredibly, for you.”

you hum, thoughtful, closing your eyes. feeling his breath on your face, warm, alive.

“it is pretty crazy. that we were once strangers and now you'd let me kill you for money.”

he breathes out a chuckle, lips brushing yours but never fully kissing. he's soaking up your touch, your closeness. satoru never seems to understand personal space. not that you'd ever mind.

“anything to make you happy, princess.” he begins to draw circles on your side with his thumb. small, light circles.

and you reach up, placing your palm on his chest, feeling the beat of his heart under your touch and the way it begins to quicken.

“this makes me happy. knowing it’s beating for me.”

he pauses, breath catching in his throat and fingers halting in their circles for a brief moment before he brushes it off casually, “… you love me sooo much.”

if your eyes were open, you’d roll them. you know that he's deflecting. that he's masking the vulnerability with humour. and that he knows you know. no one knows him better than you do, after all.

“says you, mr i’d let you kill me,” you tease, though your index finger traces an ‘i love you’ on his chest, right above his heart.

he grins, dimples adorning his cheeks. he draws hearts on your side over and over again. engraving his love into you, wishing to carve himself into your soul.

“and i stand by those words.”

“well, if you keep me up too late, your wish will be granted.”

"well, then... i was also thinking about how crazy it is that male seahorses can get pregnant. like, sign me up heh."

taglist: @sweethearticism @sugurusladyknightt @cupidstrace @man1cslut @chewiebee @besidesjustmyamour @kirsteinsring @hails-trom @theevilarcher @aquariusscollection @snooptoru @snailsolidarity @julesss110 @maximasx @luvsukei @sunbumglow @satorusdollie @chuiisi @kalihrts @satorvs @synd1caate @angelabassettsbiceps @deadandhorny @dreamcastgirl99 @satorubunni @veilofsixeyes @sovaintilla @ostara-27 @fricks @paintedperidot @sukiiiiie

[veryluckyclovers]

[spencersmopbucket]

Soul Ache | Draco Malfoy

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Reader Summary: You simply can't stay an ex when you're the only one Draco has every truly loved. Plus.. You just don't look as good with a Gryffindor. Themes & Warnings: jealous!Draco, possessive!Draco, yearning, fluff, oh my god so much tension, swearing, SMUT (EATING, fingering, messy stuff, p in v), angst KIND OF with resolution.

It was a dream at first.

So many had been trying to get a chance at Draco for years. He was everything a girl could want. Handsome, rich, respected, talented. But he never looked at the ones that fell at his feet. Oddly, for someone who life came so easily to, he was looking for a challenge. S conquest. Something to achieve and be proud of.

You were it, of course. Your feistiness, your drive, your refusal to flop before a man and beg him to be the one that puts a ring on your finger. You respected yourself, which was one of the key differences between you and the other girls and what made you so appealing to Draco. One would think, looking at Draco Malfoy, that he wouldn't want someone capable of standing up for themself, someone who was stubborn.. But falling for you was so quick. It was effortless.

It was just getting you to fall back that was the hard part.

After months of distanced courting, you finally allowed Draco to hold your hand in the hallways, to scare off whoever bothered you, and to drape his scarves and cloaks over your shoulders when you were stared at a little too hard. You ran your hands through his icy blonde hair in the shimmering moonlight at the Astronomy Tower, lips urgently crashing against his in an attempt to understand how in love you were.

Draco was so much deeper than what others saw. He was capable of love, love so deep that you almost drowned.

You were the one thing Draco Malfoy had ever fought for. But he didn't know how to keep you.

It wasn't cheating, not really. Not in the physical sense. But there were letters, there were promises made to people who could help his family, whispered arrangements you stumbled upon because Draco didn't bother to lock his desk one day.

A favor here, a compromise there, all of it threaded through with flirtation. Not love -- he was firm on that. It was never love. But you didn’t care about the technicalities.

You cared that while you were fighting for him, he was negotiating with other girls like you were an inconvenience.

It ended in his dorm. You were standing by his desk with the crumpled parchment in your hand, breathing hard.

“So this is how you do it, huh?” you spat, voice shaking. “You secure your family’s precious alliances by whoring out your attention to anyone who’ll help you?”

He went pale, grey eyes sharp with something that wasn’t guilt yet, just fear of being caught.

“It isn’t like that, love. You know it isn’t. Don’t be fucking dramatic--”

“Don’t you dare tell me how to feel about this, Draco.”

He reached for you and you stepped back, the paper crumpling tighter in your fist.

“It’s strategy,” he hissed. “My father expects--”

“I don’t give a fuck about your father!”

Your voice broke on the last word. He flinched like you’d slapped him.

“You knew what they were asking me to do,” he said, quieter. Almost desperate. “You knew. And you--you were supposed to understand. I need this. For us. For my family.”

“I was supposed to understand you humiliating me? You promising things to other girls while you’re with me? No.”

Silence filled the space between you like poison.

“Then leave,” he whispered.

“I’m already gone.”

You tossed the letter at him. He didn’t even try to catch it.

You left before you could see if he broke.

The feeling of your absence hit Draco like a ton of bricks to the stomach. In every silence, in everyday's classes, in the nights at the Astronomy Tower that he spent alone when you'd normally be there next to him, keeping his cold skin warm.

He didn’t eat much. Didn’t speak unless spoken to. Even Pansy stopped trying after a while, realizing he wasn’t moody -- he was wrecked.

He cried, but only where no one could hear him. Silent, hoarse sobs with a fist pressed to his mouth to muffle the sound. His voice started to vanish -- raw and strained from nights spent whispering your name into the dark, pleading with a version of you that would never answer.

He still carried your favorite quill in his satchel. Still flinched every time he saw someone wearing a scarf like yours. Still instinctively turned his head when he heard your laugh, only to remember it wasn’t his anymore.

The worst part wasn’t losing you. It was knowing he’d done it to himself. It was knowing that he'd lost a planned future with the only girl he'd ever loved because he couldn't prioritize loyalty.

And you?

You were strong. Just like he knew you'd be. You definitely weren't joyful without him, but you never cried or complained. You sat with a straight face, entire body set in stone, refusing to acknowledge his existence.

You just stopped speaking his name.

You sat in class with your head high and your eyes blank. When the professor called on you, your voice was steady, cold. Even as your heart clenched at the thought of him across the room, trying not to look at you but always failing.

You didn’t cry. Not where anyone could see. Not even when you were alone. It felt like crying would make it real, and you refused to give him that.

You sat in the Great Hall with your friends, ignoring the way he watched you from the other end of the table, silver eyes glassy and furious. You ate meals you could barely swallow.

Your posture was perfect. Your uniform immaculate. You made yourself untouchable. A fortress he could never breach again.

You were like this, never laughing, never expressing an ounce of joy.. Until Oliver Wood sauntered up to you.

The Great Hall's attention was immediately commanded. Whispers spread. Eyes focused onto you and the approaching Gryffindor boy.

“What's the bloody idiot doing?”

“Oh, shite. He's off to speak to Y/N!”

“I pity that poor bloke.”

Draco’s fork stopped halfway to his mouth. He didn’t even blink. Just stared, silver eyes sharpening to knives.

You felt it too, the shift. The sudden heat of so many eyes on you. You kept your spine straight, fingers curling around your goblet, refusing to give them a show.

But Oliver didn’t seem to care about the audience. He grinned at you, easy and genuine.

He cracked a fucking joke.

And you burst into laughter. For the first time in months.

Not polite, tight-lipped laughter, but real, unstoppable laughter that shook your shoulders and made you cover your mouth too late to hide it.

The entire Hall went dead silent for a beat.

Draco’s fork fell from his fingers and clattered onto his plate.

He didn’t pick it up. Didn’t move. Just watched you, frozen, the look in his eyes murderous and wrecked all at once.

And for the first time since you’d left him, you didn’t care.

The following weeks were fantastic, but grueling for Draco. You went to Oliver's games, despite being talked about for “dating” a Gryffindor. You went to Hogsmeade, ignoring Draco and his friends in favor of sipping butterbeer and people watching with Oliver.

Every time Draco saw the two of you, he wound tighter and tighter. The jealousy, the anguish, the rage, it mixed together inside of him, creating a storm. Draco normally felt things strongly, but this? This was something different. He knew it was his fault. But the anger blinded him. It refused to let him rationalize. After years of you being his, he was forced to see you prance around with some stupid fucking Gryffindor jock.

Today, you stood in the hall with Oliver and his friends, giggling. The afternoon sun streamed through the castle windows, catching in your hair, making you look infuriatingly radiant to the boy sulking far down the corridor, fists in his pockets, eyes fixed on you like a curse.

But you didn’t notice Draco right now. Or if you did, you didn’t care.

Oliver’s arm was draped lazily across your shoulders, not possessive but comfortable, like you’d known each other forever. His friends were chuckling about some disastrous practice session.

Oliver turned his head to you, eyes bright with mischief.

“Come on, back me up here, Y/N,” he urged, lips curling. “I told them it wasn’t my fault the Bludger nearly took my head off. Clearly it was Bletchley’s shite aim.”

You snorted. Loudly enough that a couple of younger students turned to look.

“Mhm. Right. Because you’re so good at dodging,” you teased, nudging his side with your elbow.

He gave a wounded gasp, clutching at his chest with over-the-top dramatics.

“You wound me,” he declared. “I ask for backup and I get betrayal. Traitor.”

You just grinned wider.

“I’m not your lawyer, Wood. I only deal in facts.”

Oliver’s friends burst out laughing. One of them clapped you on the shoulder, saying, “She’s got you there, mate.”

Oliver shook his head in mock exasperation, but he was beaming at you. Really looking at you, like you were a person and not a prize.

“Fine. Fine,” he relented, squeezing your shoulders lightly. “But you’re still coming to the next match, yeah? Can’t have my lucky charm backing out now.”

Your lips twitched, warmer now, the fortress cracking just a little.

“I’ll be there,” you said softly, holding his gaze.

He grinned. The whole group cheered and jostled you both, making you laugh even harder.

And down the corridor, Draco Malfoy watched it all.

Eyes black with jealousy.

Teeth grinding.

Heart breaking in slow, unstoppable motion.

Draco stormed into the Slytherin common room, robes billowing behind him like some furious bat. He dropped his bag with a thud and didn’t sit, just prowled in front of the fire, breathing hard.

Crabbe and Goyle exchanged a wary glance. Blaise Zabini lounged in an armchair, one brow raised in silent judgment. Pansy sat cross-legged on the green velvet sofa, pretending to read.

“She was laughing,” Draco snapped, voice clipped and tight. “With him. That fucking git.”

Pansy didn’t even glance up.

“Yes, Draco, we all saw. Whole sodding corridor did.”

Draco’s eyes flashed.

“She’s doing it on purpose, Pans. Parading him around. Acting like she’s over it.”

“Maybe she is,” Blaise drawled lazily, studying his nails. “Who can blame her?”

Draco rounded on him.

“Don’t start, Zabini.”

Blaise smirked, infuriatingly calm.

“Mate, you humiliated her. You expect her to mope forever? She’s got Wood now. Big, dumb Gryffindor with a shiny Quidditch badge. She’s moved on.”

Draco’s jaw worked furiously.

“That’s not what happened, you bloody prick. Watch your mouth before I--”

Pansy snapped her book shut with a crack.

“You wrote letters to other girls. Promises, Draco. She found them. What did you think she’d do?”

Goyle grunted in agreement.

“Yeah, s’not great, mate.”

Draco’s glare could have melted glass.

“He had his arm around her today.”

The words dripped poison.

Silence fell. Even Blaise stopped smirking.

“Like she was his,” Draco spat, voice cracking despite his best efforts. “Like she belonged to him. She's mine. Always has been.”

Crabbe shifted uncomfortably.

“We could... y’know. Sort him out.”

Draco barked a humourless laugh.

“Yeah? Brilliant plan, that. Hexing Wood so she can really hate me. Genius.”

Pansy exhaled in frustration.

“So what are you going to do?”

He didn’t answer straight away. Just stared into the fire, shoulders tense, breath coming short. Then, without another word, he left again, grey eyes hardened and focused.

He knew where he'd find you. Right at the Quidditch field, under the lights, watching that idiotic git and his dumb friends practice Quidditch 24/7. You were going to talk to him. He was done being ignored, done stewing in his own misery. He didn't care if he had to drag you off the field.

The grass could have fried below his feet. Draco was fuming.

He crossed the grounds at a furious pace, cloak snapping in the night wind. The chill didn’t even touch him, he was burning from the inside out.

As the pitch came into view, he could already hear them: shouts, laughter, Wood’s barking orders like he owned the place. He spotted the glint of red and gold circling overhead, Bludgers cracking against bats.

And there you were.

Exactly where he’d known you’d be.

Perched on the stands, arms resting on your knees, chin propped in your hand. Watching them. Watching him.

You laughed at something Oliver yelled from the air. It wasn’t even a good joke. Draco could tell from here. He could feel his blood boil at the sound, your laugh, something he hadn’t heard in weeks except for that humiliating first time in the Hall.

He slowed only once, boots crunching on the grass. Took a deep breath that didn’t help at all.

Then he climbed the stands two at a time.

“Oi! Malfoy!”

A couple of Gryffindor Beaters noticed him first, scowling, voices carrying across the pitch.

Draco ignored them completely. His eyes were locked on you.

“Y/N.”

Your name came out like a snarl, low and tight, all his careful composure finally snapping.

You turned slowly, brows lifting in cool, deliberate surprise.

“What do you want, Malfoy?”

The use of his surname sliced at him worse than any hex.

He didn’t answer immediately. Just stared at you, really looked at you. The curve of your mouth still turned from that stupid laugh, your hair mussed by the wind, the Gryffindor scarf someone had given you wrapped around your neck.

His fists clenched at his sides.

“Get down.”

You blinked once.

“I’m sorry?”

His voice was colder, but it trembled.

“I said get the fuck down here. Now.”

That got the whole team’s attention. Oliver was already landing, broom braced against his shoulder, face thunderous.

“Oi, Malfoy, back off. Get your arse off my pitch.”

Draco didn’t even look at him.

“This isn’t about you, Wood. Piss off.”

He only had eyes for you.

“We’re talking. Now. I don’t give a shit if I have to drag you.”

Your friends shifted beside you, uncertain, glancing between the furious Slytherin and the Gryffindor captain who looked one word away from lunging.

But Draco didn’t move toward Oliver.

He just waited.

Jaw locked.

Chest heaving.

Grey eyes shining with rage, hurt, and something that looked terrifyingly close to begging.

“Draco..” You said, your eyes fighting the urge to soften. You glanced at Oliver, who's fists squeezed together in readiness. “This really isn't the time or place.”

His teeth gritted.

“I don't care.”

Draco’s voice was raw, stripped of all its usual arrogance.

“Five minutes,” he bit out. “That’s all I’m asking.”

You hesitated, glancing at Oliver, who was already stepping forward, his grip tightening on his broom.

“Y/N, you don’t have to--”

“It’s fine,” you said quietly, standing.

Oliver’s jaw tensed. “Like hell it is, lass.”

You shot him a look, let me handle this, and he exhaled sharply but didn’t stop you as you descended the stands.

Draco didn’t move, didn’t even breathe, until you were right in front of him.

Then he grabbed your wrist and yanked you toward the edge of the pitch, away from prying eyes.

You stumbled, hissing, “Draco--stop--”

He didn’t. Not until you were hidden behind the stands, the shadows swallowing you both. Then he whirled on you, his grip on your wrist unrelenting.

His eyes could've set off a grenade.

Cold fingers gripped at the scarf around your neck, immediately unraveling it.

“Get this ugly thing off from you. Christ. Can't even fucking talk while I'm looking at it.” He said, managing to rip the Gryffindor scarf off from you, grimacing in pure disgust. “One could seriously wonder if you were a house traitor.”

Draco’s voice was a low snarl as he tossed the scarlet-and-gold scarf aside like it was cursed.

“There,” he bit out, his fingers flexing at his sides as if resisting the urge to touch you again. “Now you look like yourself again.”

You stared at him, chest rising and falling with unsteady breaths.

“You don’t get to decide what I wear,” you snapped.

Draco stepped closer, his body caging you against the wooden beams of the stands. The scent of him, crisp apples and winter air, flooded your senses, familiar and infuriating. His grey eyes searched yours desperately, looking for a single trace of affection.

“I meant nothing to you then? The years spent with me meant nothing?” He spat.

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding painfully in your chest. The ache of his words cut deeper than you expected.

“I never said that,” you breathed, voice barely steady. “You don’t get to claim my past like that. You--”

His jaw tightened, eyes darkening with frustration and pain.

“Don’t twist my words, Y/N.”

You met his gaze, fierce despite the trembling inside.

“You meant everything. Every-fucking-thing,” you hissed, biting back tears that you'd done so well to fight for months. “But there was nothing left when you decided that family matters were more important.”

Draco flinched like you’d slapped him. His nostrils flared, breath coming in ragged, furious bursts.

“That’s not fair,” he ground out, voice cracking despite the venom. “You think I wanted any of that? You think I liked doing it?”

Your eyes flashed, hot tears finally spilling over, but you didn’t back down an inch.

“You did it anyway.”

His mouth opened, then shut, words failing him. His hands hovered at his sides, fingers curling and uncurling like he was fighting not to grab you and shake you.

“I had no choice,” he growled, voice low and shaking. “You don’t understand what it’s like, what my father,”

You cut him off with a bitter laugh that sounded half-sob.

“Don’t you dare make this about him. Don’t you dare act like you didn’t know exactly what you were doing to me.”

He pressed closer, so close you could feel the heat of his chest against yours, his eyes boring into you like he could carve the truth out of you by force.

“I was trying to keep us safe,” he hissed, voice breaking, something ragged and awful in it. “I was doing it for you.”

Your breath hitched at that, but you shook your head violently, hair whipping across your face.

“I never asked you to sacrifice us for your family’s goddamn pride. You were going behind my back, Draco. A little bit of honesty would've fixed everything!”

Silence fell between you, thick and choking.

Draco’s jaw trembled. For the first time, the fury in his eyes wavered, replaced by something hollow and wounded.

He swallowed hard, voice dropping to a raw whisper.

“I didn’t know what else to do.”

You shut your eyes, tears spilling freely now. Your voice was quiet, broken.

“Then you should’ve just loved me.”

He exhaled like he’d been stabbed.

“I did,” he hissed out, eyebrows furrowed. “I do. Every day I do. More than I love myself. More than I love the stupid fucking family matters.” His voice was like venom, angry, burning velvet.

Your breath hitched at his words, at the way they poured out of him like a confession he’d been dying to make but never dared.

His hands finally lifted, hovering uncertainly near your arms before curling into fists, like he couldn’t bear the thought of touching you if you’d only pull away.

“Then why didn’t you say it?” you whispered, voice cracking under the weight of all the months you’d held yourself together. “Why didn’t you tell me before you ruined us? Tell me what you had to do.”

His eyes were wild, shimmering with unshed tears he refused to let fall.

“Because I’m a fucking coward,” he spat, voice rough. “Because I didn’t want you to know how weak I was. How much I needed you and how I'm just a bloody puppet.”

You shook your head, wiping at your cheeks with the back of your hand, breath hiccupping with grief and fury.

“You didn’t have to be strong, Draco. I would’ve taken you exactly as you were.”

He shook his head.

“Doesn't matter. You have Wood now, yeah?” He laughed bitterly. “Brave and honest, just like a Gryffindor. Sickening.” He commented, like it was the most vile thing in the world. “I’ll beat that filthy blood-traitor within an inch of his fucking life.”

Your fingers curled into fists at your sides, nails biting into your palms.

"Don't you dare threaten him," you hissed. "Oliver's honest with me. He's different."

Draco flinched like you'd struck him, his silver eyes flashing with something wounded and feral.

"Is that what you want?" he snarled. "Some golden-hearted hero who'll never disappoint you? Who'll never have to make the hard choices?" He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a venomous whisper. "Tell me, does he know you? The way I do? Does he know how you bite your lip when you're trying not to cry? How you hum under your breath when you're brewing? How you whimper when--"

"Stop it." You shoved him back, your breath coming in sharp gasps. "You don't get to do this. You don't get to remember me like that and then -- then throw me away when it's convenient!"

Draco's face twisted. For a second, he looked like he might crumble. Then his mask slammed back into place, colder than ever. A hand came up, finger tips ghosting the sides of your throat.

“Watch your mouth. You are by far the best thing that has ever happened to me, love. I'm sick every day thinking that you don't believe it,” he whispered, his fingers squeezing a bit harder. “Please.”

Your breath caught in your throat. Not from fear, never fear, but from the weight of his words, the pressure of his fingers, the look in his eyes like he was already drowning in everything he couldn't say out loud.

“Let go,” you breathed, voice shaking, not from weakness, but from the storm surging inside you.

But he didn’t. Not right away.

Draco’s grip wasn’t cruel. It wasn’t meant to hurt. But it was desperate, like if he let go of you now, you’d disappear for good. His eyes burned into yours, silver lightning in a dark sky.

“I remember everything,” he said, softer now, his voice breaking at the edges. “Every bloody second with you. I don’t sleep. I don’t eat. I close my eyes and it’s you.”

His hand finally dropped, but his body didn’t move.

“I know I ruined it. I know. But I never stopped loving you. I never stopped. And you standing here... acting like he could ever replace what we had--”

“He didn’t replace it,” you interrupted, voice trembling, but sure. “He respected it. He respected me. Something you forgot how to do.”

Draco flinched like the words knocked the air from his lungs. His mouth opened, but no sound came out.

“You don’t get to demand closeness,” you said, the anger behind your tears rising like a tidal wave. “You lost that."

His chest was rising and falling fast now, panic threading through the rage.

“Y/N…” he whispered. “Don’t walk away. Please. Not again.”

You looked at him -- really looked at him. Pale, furious, unraveling at the seams.

You saw something you'd never seen. Vulnerability. Bare honesty. Desperation. All of the ugly emotions that he kept from you, just like his father had taught. And you broke. For once, you couldn't be strong. You couldn't be honorable. You broke. All of the feelings rushed in. The heartbreak, the love, the yearning for your home back. All of the hurt from what you lacked. And what you lacked was Draco, even if you didn't trust him.

Walking back in three large steps, you grabbed his face and brought it down to your own tear soaked one, your lips colliding in a harsh kiss.

Draco froze for half a second, shocked by the force of you -- by the taste of salt on your lips and the shaking of your breath. Then he broke with you.

His hands flew up, burying themselves in your hair, clutching like he could anchor himself there forever. He kissed you back with something that wasn’t gentle at all, wasn’t sweet. It was frantic. Bruising. A clash of teeth and tongues and desperate sobs you both tried to swallow.

Your fingers dug into his jaw, dragging him closer, needing him to feel everything you’d buried.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he choked between kisses, voice shredded. “I’m so fucking sorry. I’m so--”

“Shut up,” you whispered hoarsely, pressing your mouth back to his before you could start sobbing in earnest.

You didn’t want words anymore. Words had betrayed you both.

He staggered forward, forcing you back against the wooden beams of the stands, but this time you didn’t push him away. Your arms locked around his neck, grounding yourself in the smell of him, the feel of him. The stupid warmth you hated yourself for missing so badly.

“Don’t leave me,” he gasped against your lips, voice cracking in a way you’d never heard before.

You shuddered, tears spilling freely onto his skin.

“I hate you,” you whispered brokenly. “I hate you so much.”

But you kissed him harder.

And he let out something like a sob, clutching you tighter, forehead pressing desperately to yours between rushed, clumsy kisses.

“I know,” he breathed. “I know. But I love you. Merlin, I love you.”

He kissed you again, gentler now but no less desperate, hands trembling as they cupped your face. Like he was terrified you’d vanish if he let go.

Then, from the pitch, he heard Wood's voice. Talking casually with a friend in his too loud tone. He wasn't approaching the two of you -- he was respecting your wishes. However, it was enough to piss Draco off. Enough to remind Draco of who was trying to replace him.

His eyes narrowed into a glare again.

With one hand, he tilted your face, looking into it. He grabbed your hand with the other.

“Come with me.” He said, tugging you off the field.

You didn't argue. You knew this look. The jealousy, the inability to contain himself. You knew what would happen if you kept him too close to who was afflicting him. So, you followed. His steps were fast, legs long and body tall, dragging you behind him with a tight grip.

When you reached the dorm, you immediately hit the wall.

“Bloody waste of space should never have laid a finger on this.” He hissed, his mouth planting sloppy, wet kisses onto your neck. You exhaled, gripping his robes tightly.

“Draco--”

“Enough talk. Gonna show you how much I missed you, then I'm gonna show you everything that Gryffindor half-breed can't do for you.”

“Draco, I--” you tried again, voice cracking with emotion, but he growled low in his throat, cutting you off.

“I said enough.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you. His silver eyes were dark, swirling with that familiar storm of jealousy, anger, and raw need. But beneath it all, you saw the thing that undid you every time: fear.

Fear of losing you.

His hand squeezed yours, painfully tight but grounding, refusing to let you go.

“Look at me,” he demanded, voice low and shaking. “Look at me.”

You did. Chest heaving. Eyes wet.

He dragged his thumb across your cheekbone, smearing away the remnants of tears, before cupping your jaw and forcing your head back against the wall.

“He doesn’t know you,” he spat, his mouth brushing yours with every word. “Not like this. Not like I do.”

You shuddered, fingers curling into his robes, pulling him closer even as you hated yourself for it.

“He can’t make you sound like this,” Draco continued, voice dropping to a husky rasp, his lips trailing down your throat. “Can’t make you feel like this.”

Your breath hitched, a broken moan escaping despite your best efforts.

“Draco, please—”

“Please what, love?” he taunted, kissing you so harshly you thought your lips would bruise. His free hand skimmed your waist, gripping possessively. “Tell me. Beg me.”

Your eyes fluttered shut, teeth sinking into your lip to keep from whimpering, but he wouldn’t allow it. His fingers dug into your hip, dragging you against him so you could feel exactly what he wanted.

“Say it.”

You exhaled shakily, voice cracking under the weight of everything between you.

“I missed you,” you whispered. “Fuck, I missed you.”

That broke him.

He crashed his mouth onto yours with something between a sob and a growl, devouring you, kissing you like he wanted to consume every last memory of Oliver fucking Wood from your mouth.

His grip on you tightened, fingers digging into your hair, your waist, desperate to claim every part of you.

“Mine,” he breathed against your lips. “Always. Say it.”

You couldn’t lie. Not to him. Not to yourself.

“Yours,” you gasped. “Always yours.”

And the last piece of him that had been holding back shattered completely.

“Good. There's my girl. Haven’t really lost you, have I, love?” He chuckled cockily, reaching down to your shirt, tucked into your skirt carefully. He tore it off without a second thought, looking down at your skin.

The cool air made you whimper, squirming.

To placate you, he rubbed a hand along your side, still admiring quietly.

“Stunning. Nothing I’m sharing with Wood, that fucking reject.” He snarled.

Then, he quickly redirected you, pushing you back onto his bed demandingly. You gasped in surprise as he slid a finger under the waistband of your skirt, pulling it off in one swift motion. You were left in just your bra and underwear, the cold air biting at you, making you ache. Draco stared down at you with hot grey eyes.

“Dray.. Please.”

“Please what?”

“Want you.”

Draco smirked, wickedly and snidely, leaning down a bit.

“Me? You’re sure the Gryffindor superstar couldn’t do it better? The lad was--”

You groaned, rubbing your thighs together. They were beginning to get sticky, catching the moisture from the heat between your legs.

“No! Please.”

Without another word, he leant down the rest of the way, running a finger down the front of your soaked panties. Humming at your reaction, the arch of your back and soft moan, he looked at his finger. The dampness glistened.

With another brush, conveniently right in the most sensitive area, he pressed a gentle kiss to your clothed peak. You hissed, threading your fingers through his messy blonde hair. He grinned.

“Patience, patience. I’ll get to it.”

Finally, he pulled your sticky underwear down, and his smile widened.

“Gorgeous. Prettiest pussy in the world, love.”

He kissed it, eliciting a moan from you, the heat of his mouth and his bare skin finally touching where you wanted it. Thickening the spit over his tongue, he gave you one broad lick, your thighs fighting to close around his head and arms.

He tsked against your wet heat, letting his hands fall to pin your legs down. He licked deeper, splitting you completely, hitting every spot that mattered. You moaned, your back leaving the bed, arms coming up to grasp whatever you could reach. His ministrations were lewd, wet and sloppy, like he was taking his time to taste you.

Draco groaned against you, the vibrations making your toes curl.

"Fuck," he muttered, pulling back just enough to speak, his lips glistening with you. "Taste even better than I remember."

You whimpered, hips lifting off the bed, chasing his mouth.

He smirked, dragging his tongue up your slit slowly, teasingly, watching your face twist with frustration.

"Draco--"

"Say it again," he demanded, nipping at your inner thigh. "Say you're mine."

You gasped as his fingers replaced his tongue, two slipping inside you with ease, curling just so.

"Yours," you choked out, back arching. "Only yours--fuck--"

His free hand gripped your hip, holding you down as his fingers worked you ruthlessly, his mouth sealing over your clit again, sucking hard.

You came with a broken cry, thighs shaking around his head, fingers tearing at the sheets.

Draco didn’t let up, licking you through it, drinking down every last shudder, every gasp. Only when you were squirming from oversensitivity did he finally pull back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes dark with satisfaction.

"Good girl," he murmured, crawling up your body, pressing open-mouthed kisses to your stomach, your ribs, the swell of your breasts. "Now let's make sure you never forget who you belong to."

He stood, practiced hands shrugging his cloak off and quickly doing away with his belt buckle.

"Look at me."

Draco's voice was rough, commanding, as he loomed over you, his belt clattering to the floor, his trousers pushed low on his hips. His cock strained against the fabric of his briefs, already leaking for you.

You were dazed, still trembling from your first orgasm, but your eyes locked onto his.

He palmed himself through the fabric, watching the way your breath hitched.

"You're never to let that pathetic blood-traitor touch you again," he said coldly, finally freeing himself, stroking his length slowly. "Do you understand?"

"Yes," you gasped, thighs pressing together. "Draco--"

He didn't make you wait.

In one smooth motion, he dragged your hips to the edge of the bed and filled you, burying himself to the hilt with a satisfied groan.

You cried out, nails raking down his back, legs locking around his waist.

"Fuck-- so tight," he gritted out, hips snapping forward, setting a brutal pace. "You think Wood could fuck you like this? Could ruin you like this?"

You shook your head desperately, pleasure coiling tight again.

"No -- no -- only you--"

Draco’s lips curled into a vicious smirk, his fingers digging into your hips hard enough to bruise.

"Open your mouth," he demanded, thrusts turning punishing, each snap of his hips driving the breath from your lungs.

You responded, your brain foggy from the ruthless pace, the smell of him, the overstimulation. As soon as your lips opened wide enough, Draco spat into your mouth, grabbing your jaw to make you swallow it.

His name broke on your lips as he hit that spot inside you, the one only he knew, the one that made you see stars.

Draco groaned, his forehead dropping to yours, his breath ragged. "That’s it. This is all you needed, hm? A reminder?"

His hand slid between your bodies, fingers finding your clit, rubbing tight circles just the way you liked.

"Give it to me," he ordered, voice rough with need. "Let me feel it."

You shattered.

Your back arched off the bed, a broken whine tearing from your throat as pleasure ripped through you, wave after wave, Draco’s name a prayer on your lips.

He fucked you through it, his own release barreling toward him, his rhythm faltering.

"Fuck--fuck--" His hips stuttered, his grip on you ironclad as he spilled inside you with a groan, his entire body shuddering.

For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of your ragged breaths, the heat of his skin against yours.

Then Draco pulled back just enough to look at you, his silver eyes dark, possessive.

He dragged his thumb over your swollen lips, his voice dangerously soft.

"Next time I see Wood's hands anywhere near you?"

A pause.

A promise.

"I’ll kill him. I know the words." He warned, a finger tracing your jaw. You nodded, leaning into his touch. Draco hummed, pulling you up into his lap. “Resorting to filthy Gryffindors like you don’t know that your place is right beside me.”

You rolled your eyes, pulling yourself tighter to his body. The silence fell upon you easily - and since you’d confronted your issues, for once in the past few months, it was comfortable. His scent wrapped around you like a blanket.

He broke the silence quietly, his voice calm, kind and measured.

“I hope you know how truly sorry I am. And how long I plan to make it up to you for, love.”

You softened, your eyes glistening.

“How long?” You responded.

“Forever. Even that isn’t enough.”

A smile curled onto your lip. You leaned forward to press a soft kiss to his jaw.

“Forever then. It’s settled.” You told him softly, pulling the sheets up around you to settle against his chest. Your eyes were getting heavier by the second - and it had never felt so easy to fall asleep.

After all, you were home. Finally.

“I love you.” Draco quietly admitted. It wasn’t often that he actually said it. He was a man of actions, not words, so he never felt the need to tell you many times. But you treasured the times it did leave his lips.

“I love you too.”

He made it up to you forever. And for Draco, even that wasn’t enough, just as he’d said.

[mimidotcom]

YOOO CHILL heheh

[mimidotcom]

I have returned for Harry Potter fics…

[praenomer]

[veryluckyclovers]

bonding

[mimidotcom]

@sahlestial

[sahlestsarchive]

bonding with suguru by doing your hair care routines at the same time. he understands the gravity of wash day being an entire day and not just a few hours. oh and he’d be oh so careful helping you take your hair down. very sweet, tender, and all the other things associated with the softness of being cared for.

[seumyo]

todoroki has a staring problem.

Todoroki has a staring problem.

Well—“problem” might be the wrong word.

It’s more like an intense, unwavering habit.

Whenever he talks to someone, his eyes stay locked onto theirs with such focus that it feels like he’s trying to memorize every blink. He’d been told once, very seriously by his friends, that “eye contact means you’re listening,” and Todoroki, being Todoroki, took that as an absolute rule of human communication. So now he listened with his whole soul. With his eyes wide, steady, and completely unblinking (he still did, it’s just unnoticeable).

And somehow, you had become the person he stared at the most.

He was staring.

Well aware of it.

“So,” you said, scribbling something down in your notebook, “I think I absolutely bombed that written quiz today.”

“You scored well,” Todoroki replied calmly.

You paused, peeking up at him through your lashes. His eyes were already on you, steady as ever, the contrast of grey and blue catching the light. It still made your heart skip in the tiniest, most annoying way.

“…Did you already see our scores?” you asked.

He blinked once.

“Yes.”

“You could’ve at least let me be dramatic for a little longer.”

“I apologize.”

You laughed softly—and the sound brought a sense of ease to him as you shook your head. “You’re weird, you know that?”

Todoroki tilted his head just a little, still not finding anything wrong with what he was doing. “Is that a negative evaluation of my behavior?”

You snorted. “See? That. That right there.”

He considered that in silence, his gaze never leaving your face. The longer he stared, the more self-aware he noticed you became. You shifted slightly on the couch, the pen slowing in your fingers. It wasn’t uncomfortable exactly—more like standing in warm sunlight that you weren’t sure you deserved.

“…You’re doing it again,” you hummed.

“Doing what?” he asked.

“The staring.” You gestured between your eyes and his. “Do you ever blink when you talk to me?”

Todoroki blinked, as if on cue. Once. Slowly. Then, you resumed staring without any interruption. “I’m listening,” he says, like it’s common sense.

“I know, I know,” you said, smiling despite yourself. “I just—sometimes it feels like you’re looking straight through me. Burning through my skull.”

“That would be inefficient,” Todoroki said seriously. “I am looking at you.”

Your smile grew fonder and a little shy.

“Yeah. I noticed.”

Outside, the distant sounds of training echoed faintly through open windows, but in the room it felt like your own small world. Todoroki noted how you went back to tapping your pen, pretending to focus on your notes, though you were keenly aware of his gaze on your face, your hands, and every tiny movement you made.

And unknown to him, a mischievous thought crossed your mind.

“You know,” you initiated casually, without looking up, “if you keep staring at me like that, I might just fall for you.”

Todoroki’s eyes widened a fraction.

“…Fall?”

You finally looked up at him, cheeks fighting inner demons from holding in a smile. “It’s a figure of speech. I mean, like, romantically?”

“Oh.” He processed this quietly. “Would you be injured?”

Your pen slipped from your fingers and clattered onto the notebook.

“What?”

“You said you might fall,” he explained, brows knitting together with sincere concern. “If you are injured, I could escort you to Recovery Girl.”

For a split second, you stared at him in disbelief. Then you burst out laughing, the sound bright and unrestrained as you bent forward, clutching your stomach. “Todoroki—oh my god—I don’t mean literally fall!”

His expression softened at the sound of your laughter. It always did. The tension in his shoulders eased, and though he didn’t quite understand the joke, he understood that you were happy. That was enough, he thinks.

“You laugh often when you speak metaphorically,” he noted.

“Because you take everything so literally,” you managed between giggles. “It’s part of your charm. Even if you don’t mean it to be.”

“Charm?”

You wiped a tear from the corner of your eye with your handkerchief, still smiling at him. Your eyes met again—yours bright with amusement, his focused and earnest. “Yeah. You’re strangely charming.”

He held your gaze, heart thudding just a little faster than usual. “…I’m glad.”

Silence fell upon you two again, but the silence felt different now—softer, warmer, more comfortable. You retrieved your pen, though you didn’t return to writing. Instead, you rested your chin in your palm and studied him openly.

“You know,” you murmured, “you really do have pretty eyes.”

Todoroki stiffened almost imperceptibly. Compliments still caught him off guard, especially ones so direct, because how does the average person take them? Still getting used to this whole socializing thing.

“…They are functional.”

You smiled tenderly. “That’s not what I said.”

He looked at you a little more intensely, as if trying to analyze your words from every possible angle. This time you didn’t look away when he took the time to think. The world seemed to slow around you, the late sunlight painting soft shadows across his features—but Todoroki dared not to look away even for a second.

Your voice dropped to something quieter. “Does it ever make you nervous? Looking at people like that?”

He considered for a moment. “No,” he answered honestly. “It makes me feel…close to them. As though I am giving them my full attention. You deserve full attention.”

You nodded thoughtfully.

“You’re unfair,” you finally told him.

“I am not trying to be,” he replied.

You peeked back up at him, a small, bashful smile tugging at your lips. “I know. That’s the problem.”

He watched you carefully, as if afraid to miss even the smallest expression. Then, slowly, hesitantly, he spoke. “…When you joke about falling for me, is that also a metaphor?”

You froze.

The room felt very still.

“…Mostly? I think?”

“Mostly,” he repeated. “So there is also a part that is not metaphorical.”

You swallowed, then gave a tiny nod. “Yeah. There is.”

He didn’t look away. Not even for a second. Instead, his gaze softened in a way you hadn’t seen before—still intense, but gentle, almost vulnerable.

“I do not mind if you fall,” he said quietly. “I will make sure you do not get hurt.”

“You really don’t know when you’re being romantic, do you?”

“I am not attempting to be romantic,” he said. “I am being honest.”

“That’s even worse, you know.”

He leaned forward just a little, closing the small distance between you. His eyes searched your face with careful attention. “Does my staring bother you?”

You shook your head. “No. Not at all.” Then, more quietly, “I like it.”

“…You do?”

“Yeah,” you admitted.

“Do you want me to lessen this behavior?”

“What? No! I mean,” you sighed, “do whatever makes you happy and comfy.”

“Whatever brings me happiness,” Todoroki says, nodding along, “is simply looking at you.”

“Ok—that is absolutely corny, you cornball!”

“But you also say things like that—“

“I know, oh my gosh, and it sounds better coming from me,” you laughed. “Kidding, kidding. I need to get used to the things I start because you’re going to be the death of me, Shou.”

“...Please do not die.”

SEUMYO © 2025. PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, PLAGIARIZE, MODIFY OR TRANSLATE.

[adequately]

일레✧

[sahlestsarchive]

@mimidotcom

[mimidotcom]

Im going to eat him

[moviecritc]

touch starved!nanami kento at the beginning for your relationship (non sexual physical intimacy)

touch starved!nanami kento who flinched the first time you reached for his hand after five dates and a few attempts. he apologized too many times and asked you to do it again, making the promise that he wouldn't flinch ever again.

touch starved!nanami kento who finally let your fingers lace with his without a single tremor, but you felt the way his palm trembled for a full minute afterward, like a man learning to breathe again. he stared at your joined hands in the dim light of the train station, thumb brushing your knuckles in slow, reverent circles, as if memorizing the texture of someone else’s skin.

touch starved!nanami kento who started finding excuses to be near you in crowded spaces. the grocery store aisle too narrow, the cinema row too tight, the café booth bench that forced your thighs to press together. each time he’d tense, then exhale, then lean into the contact, like a cat pretending it hadn’t been the one to seek warmth.

touch starved!nanami kento who flinched again, softer this time, when you tucked a stray lock of hair behind his ear during a late-night study session. his apology was a whisper against your wrist. you answered by tracing the shell of his ear with your thumb until his eyes fluttered shut, shoulders dropping like a man unlearning vigilance.

touch starved!nanami kento who began timing his arrivals so you’d walk through doorways together, your arm brushing his. he never asked for more, but you noticed how he’d slow his stride, letting the moment stretch, letting the accidental graze of elbows or hips linger until it wasn’t accidental anymore.

touch starved!nanami kento who, after a mission left him bruised and hollow-eyed, stood in your doorway at 2 a.m. and didn’t speak. you opened your arms. he stepped into them like a question, forehead dropping to your shoulder, hands hovering at your waist until you guided them there. he held you so carefully, like you were the first real thing he’d touched in years.

touch starved!nanami kento who started falling asleep on your couch during movie nights, head tipping onto your shoulder mid-scene. the first time, he jolted awake, mortified. you simply threaded your fingers through his hair and tugged him back down. by the third time, he was out cold within minutes, breath warm against your collarbone, one hand fisted loosely in the hem of your shirt.

touch starved!nanami kento who learned the weight of your head on his chest was a language he’d been starving for. he’d read aloud —reports, recipes, the back of a cereal box— voice low and steady, just to feel the vibration of your hums against his ribs. when you traced idle patterns over his heart, he’d stumble over words, clear his throat, try again. never told you to stop.

touch starved!nanami kento who bought a bigger umbrella on purpose. rain became an excuse to crowd under the same small canopy, your shoulder tucked under his arm, his fingers splayed across your upper back like he was counting vertebrae. he’d apologize for the drizzle on your sleeve and use it as reason to pull you closer.

touch starved!nanami kento who, one morning, woke before you and didn’t move. you were sprawled across his chest, one of his arms pinned beneath you, gone numb hours ago. he stared at the ceiling, pulse calm for the first time in memory, and decided pins and needles were a small price for the privilege of being your mattress.

touch starved!nanami kento who, after the first time you stayed over, woke to find you had kicked off all the blankets in the night. he lay perfectly still, sheet pooled at his waist, watching the slow rise and fall of your bare back in the grey pre-dawn. when you rolled toward him, still asleep, and draped an arm across his ribs. he didn’t breathe for a full ten seconds, just felt the weight of your forearm like a brand he never wanted removed.

touch starved!nanami kento who started leaving the bathroom door cracked when he showered. not an invitation, just a quiet confession: I’m here, I’m real, I’m learning how not to hide. the first time you wandered in, toothbrush in mouth, and leaned against the counter in nothing but his discarded dress shirt, he forgot the soap in his hand. water drummed on his shoulders while you talked about breakfast plans. he answered in monosyllables, eyes fixed on the way the shirt hem brushed your thighs.

touch starved!nanami kento who discovered skin-to-skin was a dialect he’d never been taught. after a long day, you’d both strip to underwear in silence and crawl under the covers. he’d lie on his back, rigid, until you pressed your cheek between his shoulder blades. then the exhale: long, shaky and more than grateful. you’d count the knobs of his spine with your lips until his hand found yours over his sternum and pinned it there.

touch starved!nanami kento who bought thicker curtains because morning light on your bare shoulder was a religion he hadn’t earned yet. he’d trace the slope of it with one finger, cataloguing freckles like coordinates, learning the topography of someone else’s sunrise. when you stirred, he’d freeze. then resume reverent, as if movement might scare the moment away.

touch starved!nanami kento who learned the exact temperature of your shower and started joining you without asking. for the way water sluiced between your shoulder blades and he could stand behind you, forehead to your nape, hands resting on your hips like they’d always belonged there. you’d pass the shampoo; he’d wash your hair with the same precision he used tying his tie, thumbs kneading your scalp until your knees buckled and you leaned back into his chest, trusting him to hold you upright.

touch starved!nanami kento who, during a heatwave, gave up on clothes entirely. the apartment became a small country of bare skin and open windows. you’d read on the couch, legs tangled with his, his head in your lap while you carded fingers through his damp hair. he’d trace the waistband of your underwear—never lower, just the elastic. until the fabric warmed under his touch and he could pretend the line was a promise instead of a wall.

touch starved!nanami kento who flinched the first time you saw the scars. jagged lines across his ribs, a burn on his thigh. he reached for a shirt, you caught his wrist, pressed your lips to the worst of them, held there until his hand unclenched. after that, he stopped hiding. you’d fall asleep with your calf hooked over his, scar tissue against smooth skin, two histories learning to share the same bed.

touch starved!nanami kento who started a ritual: every night, lights off, he’d lie on his stomach and you’d straddle his hips and work the knots from his shoulders with oiled hands. he’d muffle sounds into the pillow, then turn his head so you could see the way his eyes fluttered shut when your thumbs dug under his shoulder blades. when you finished, you’d stretch out along his back, chest to spine, and he’d reach back to hook an arm under your knee, keeping you there until morning.

touch starved!nanami kento who, one storm-rattled night, woke to find you shivering. he pulled you flush against him. front to front, legs braided, your face tucked under his chin. and realized he was crying. not sobs, just silent tracks down his temples into your hair. you kissed the salt at his jaw and whispered nonsense until his grip loosened from desperate to devotional. he fell back asleep with your heartbeat against his sternum, counting it like rosary beads.

touch starved!nanami kento who now reaches for you in the dark without thinking, hand sliding under your shirt to rest on the warm plane of your stomach, thumb stroking the soft skin just above your navel. he no longer apologizes when you startled awake. he just waits, patient, until you melt back against him and thread your fingers through his. the flinch is gone. what remains is a man learning, inch by inch, that touch can be a homeland.

nanami kento masterlist a/n: this ended up being way more poetic as i wanted to be but ANYWAY i might do touch starved headcanons of all jjk characters