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NEVER GO NEAR A MALFOY| D.M

Summary: You were taught to never go near a Malfoy, ever. But how could you? He's very much unavoidable.

wc: 1.1k+

cw: potter!reader x draco, reader is twins w harry, au where voldy doesn't exist, jily is alive, kinda unsupportive james, reader and james fight.

A/N: I can't stop with the potter!reader x draco fics.😔

⊱ ─── ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ ─── ⊰

Your parents only ever gave you and Harry one command before your very first year at Hogwarts. Not “study hard,” not “stay out of trouble,” not even “stick together.” No. It was a singular warning, sharp and unwavering, as you stood on Platform 9¾ with your trunks at your feet and nerves buzzing under your skin.

James Potter crouched in front of you, eyebrows furrowed beneath his messy hair, and pointed at both of you as if branding the rule into your very soul.

“You do not go near a Malfoy,” he said with finality. “Ever,” Lily echoed, folding her arms across her chest.

You and Harry glanced at each other, unsure whether to laugh or panic. But neither of you asked questions. You didn’t have to. Their faces were carved from stone—resolute, nostalgic, and more than a little haunted.

So you promised.

And for the first few years, you kept that promise.

⸻

You were now heavily making out with Draco Malfoy.

hey, i was wondering if you could write a draco malfoy x reader who harry has a crush on but doesn’t realize and draco is jealous. sorry if that didn’t make any sense, just any draco x reader would be fine if not

Mine | D.M.

summary: draco is jealous about how much time you’ve been spending with harry

pairing: draco malfoy x fem!reader

includes: reader’s last name is dossett, jealously, possessiveness, suggestiveness toward the end, pansy, blaise, and theo are very curious people lol, harry’s a little annoying

a/n: i haven’t written for the og husband in soooo long

Maybe you were being a little too loud during Potions, or maybe you were busy scribbling away on your parchment, but neither of those things warranted you to be partnered up with Harry Potter for an important project in the only class you knew you could pass in your sleep.

Pride Against Pride

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x fem!reader

Summary: When a study session with your boyfriend turned turns into bickering, it quickly becomes a battle of pride, neither you nor Draco were willing to admit who’s wrong

Warnings: no use of y/n

Cw: fluff kinda

Wc: 1k

A/n: short one for now bc a new series is coming soonnnn and also yes I’m posting every day… I write at night before I sleep and just queue everything like a maniac cause I’m literally free this whole two weeks lol

It had started, like most things between you and Draco, with one of you being wrong.

The problem was that both of you were too stubborn to admit they’re wrong.

You were sitting across from each other at your usual table in the Slytherin common room, the one closest to the fire that you had silently claimed as yours. Books were open, parchment was everywhere, and at some point in the last hour the studying had quietly turned into an argument, the way it always did, the way you both privately looked forward to even though neither of you would ever say so out loud.

"That's wrong," Draco said, not even looking up from his essay.

"It's not wrong."

"It's literally wrong."

"Draco, I swear—"

"Swear all you want," he said, finally glancing up at you with that expression — the calm and unbothered cause he knew he had you — "you're still wrong."

You grabbed the textbook and flipped it open with more force than necessary, the pages fanning out before you found the right one. You slid it across the table so hard it nearly knocked over his inkpot. He caught it without even flinching, which was deeply annoying, steadying it with one hand while he read the page with the other. It took him about five seconds. Then he looked up at you with the single most irritating expression you had ever seen on a human face in your entire life.

"Fine," he said.

You blinked. "Fine what?"

"You're right."

There was a pause while you processed that. "What?"

"Don't make me say it again."

"No, no, hold on," you said, sitting up straighter, "I want to make absolutely sure I heard that correctly, because I could've sworn that you just said—"

"I will take it back."

"You literally cannot take back being wrong—"

"Watch me," he said simply, and pulled the textbook back toward him.

You grabbed it. He grabbed it back without missing a beat, and suddenly you were both holding opposite ends of it, leaning forward across the cluttered table toward each other. He raised one eyebrow, slow and deliberate, like he was daring you to do something about it. You were very aware that his face was about a foot from yours. You were not going to think about that.

"Let go," you said.

"You let go."

"I had it first."

"I need it for my essay," he said pleasantly.

"You just said I was right, so clearly you've already learned what you needed to—"

"I said you were right once," he said, "not that I'd learned anything from it."

From across the common room, Blaise looked up from his own homework for what had to be the fourth time. He looked at Pansy, who was sitting beside him on the sofa with her chin in her hand, watching the two of you with patient, hollow-eyed expression of someone who had been through this many times before and had quietly stopped expecting it to end any differently.

"Are they flirting or fighting?" a fifth year whispered from one of the armchairs.

"I genuinely cannot tell anymore," someone else whispered back.

You let go of the textbook at the exact same moment Draco did. It dropped flat on the table between you with a dull thud. He smoothed down the pages very calmly with his palm, taking his time about it, unbothered in the way that only someone who had won could afford to be unbothered. You pushed your hair back, straightened your parchment, and looked back at your own essay with the dignity of someone who had absolutely not just been in a tug of war over a Potions textbook.

The fire crackled. Someone on the sofa turned a page.

"You have ink on your face," Draco said, after a moment.

You looked up. "Where?"

He didn't answer. Instead he leaned across the table, reaching over all the clutter between you, and wiped it off your cheek with his thumb. He did things like that sometimes without making it a big deal— small, quiet things and the worst part was that it always caught you off guard no matter how many times it happened. It was kind of his way showing you, he cared.

He sat back and picked up his quill like nothing had happened.

"You could've just told me," you said.

"That was faster," he said, eyes on his essay.

"It really wasn't."

He didn't answer, which meant he knew you were right about that one and wasn't going to give you the satisfaction.

You looked back at your own parchment, trying to find your place again. The common room had settled back into its usual quiet, the fire warm at your side, the dark water of the lake pressing soft and still against the windows. Normally this was the part of the evening where the two of you actually got work done, riding the calm on the other side of whatever argument had just burned itself out. Normally.

"Your essay has a mistake in the second paragraph," Draco said.

You didn't look up. "No it doesn't."

"Third line."

"It's fine, Draco."

"It's going to cost you marks," he said.

"My essay," you said, setting your quill down and looking up at him, "is perfect."

He looked at you over the top of his parchment with an expression that was doing a lot of work. His eyes were calm and grey and faintly lit up in a way that had nothing to do with the fire. "Nothing is perfect," he said.

"I am," you said.

Something shifted in his face. It was quick, just a flicker, like a door opening and closing before you could see inside — the way he was always almost smiling around you and pretending he wasn't. He looked back down at his essay. "Read the third line," he said.

You looked at the third line of your essay. You read it once. You read it again. You read it a third time and felt a very specific, very unpleasant feeling settle somewhere low in your stomach, the feeling of someone who is about to have to be quiet about something.

"It's fine," you said.

"It's wrong."

"It's the stylish way of writing—"

"You wrote the wrong name."

You opened your mouth.

"You wrote Golpalott," he said, very calmly, "when you meant Gamp."

There was a pause. A fairly long one.

"That's," you started, "a really easy mistake to make."

"They sound nothing alike."

"They both start with G."

"So do a lot of words," he said. "That's not a defense."

"At least Golpalott sounds better than whatever that is. Come on, who names someone Gamp."

"Just fix it,"he said, fighting the urge to crack a smile.

"I will fix it," you said, with great dignity, "when I'm ready."

He put his quill down. Slowly. Then you saw his shoulders move, just slightly, and you realised that he was laughing. Quietly, with his mouth pressed together, but laughing.

"Are you laughing at me?"

"No," he said.

"You're literally laughing at me right now."

"I would never," he said, which was such an obvious lie that it looped back around to being almost impressive.

The problem, was that him laughing made something in your chest go soft and stupid regardless of what you did about it. He had the kind of laugh he kept small and close, the kind he didn't give out to just anyone, and even when it was at your expense it still felt like something you'd been handed. You had never told him that. You were never going to tell him that.

"I hate you," you said instead.

"Fix your essay," he said.

"I genuinely, deeply hate you."

"I love you too," he said, your cheeks burned red from that sudden confession.

You picked up your quill and crossed out the third line with more force than was remotely necessary, pressing hard enough that the parchment dented. Draco watched you do it in silence, wearing the calm expression of someone who had won and was being very mature about it — which meant he was being smug, but quietly, which was somehow worse.

"Thank you," he said, when you were done.

"Don't."

"Very mature."

"Draco, I will actually—"

"Shh." He reached across the table and tapped the top of your parchment twice with two fingers, light and easy. "Write."

You looked at his hand. He hadn't pulled it back. It was just resting there, near the edge of your parchment, close to yours. You looked up at him and found him already looking back at his own essay, quill moving, like he hadn't noticed. Like it was nothing. He was very good at that — making things seem like nothing while they were quietly everything.

You turned back to your essay and started writing.

The common room had gone properly quiet now, the kind of quiet that settled in late at night when most people had drifted off to bed and left only the fire and the low sound of quills on parchment. It was the kind of quiet that you had come to think of as yours, specifically — yours and Draco's — something that existed on the other side of all the noise you made together.

After a few minutes, his pinky finger hooked over yours where your hand rested on the table. He didn't look up. He didn't say anything. It was such a small thing, barely anything at all, just the side of his hand against yours, but he did it the way he did all the quiet things.

You didn't say anything either. You just wrote, and he wrote, and the fire burned low and warm beside you.

From the sofa, Pansy glanced over at the two of you. She looked at Blaise. Blaise looked back at her. Neither of them said anything for a moment.

"They're so annoying," she said finally, quiet enough that it wouldn't carry.

"I know," Blaise said.

"It's actually kind of disgusting."

"I know," he said again, and smiled at his book, and turned the page.

Keep Me (In the Shadows)

Word Count: 5.4k

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x female reader

Warnings!: 18+, unprotected, impregnation

Synopsis: The walls of Hogwarts contain many secrets of their own, but on a late night, you and Draco Malfoy find yourselves uncovering one of your very own.

“Is it true,” Draco begins, voice ragged and rough around the edges, “that everything in this blasted castle resets at midnight?”

You watch the way the hem of his ebony robe propels on a soft wind over the dusty cobblestone tiles of the corridor. He remains a few strides ahead as he always does, walking quickly, yet aimlessly. He’d once told you it’d been his way of deflecting attention. If his eyes remained straight ahead, naturally he’d be unaware that you’re following his every move or anyone else for that matter.

So, you trail him inconspicuously, keeping your eyes glued to the empty corridor walls, the back of his robe, and his platinum hair with no real destination in your mind either. Your only goal is not getting caught alone with him this late in the night when students are forbidden to be outside of their dorms. If one were to stop you two, say a professor, you’d both lie and say you were returning to your respective areas. Draco’s speed walking would be believable enough.

“I’m sure there may be some logic behind that, but ultimately, I doubt it…”

“And you and Potter? Did that relationship reset at midnight? Better yet, what’s the logic behind that?”

Draco practically spits the words out in spite and you come to a sudden halt as they echo throughout the corridor. His words are far too large for a space so empty, for a space where perked, attentive ears may overhear or eavesdrop. In a corridor where lurking eyes may pry around corners in search of the next day’s gossip, you have to be careful. It’d happened before, not to you and Draco, but other students, and their secret escapades had been aired out to all who dared to listen over the next morning’s pumpkin juice. Yet, Draco cares more about this than the idea of being caught and the risk of detention. You can sense it in the way his shoulders and back stiffen with his walk.

Tossing your left arm over your right, you give the upper portion a soft squeeze while inhaling deeply through your nose. Dust tickles your nostrils and the faint smell of leftovers fill the air. You take in the toastiness of roasted chicken, the garlicky herbs that had been marinated into bite-sized potatoes, the sweet cinnamon sugar coating that had been dusted over pumpkin pasties and handcrafted pies, and the savory aroma of buttered rolls as they all congregate in a single whiff. With a sharp exhale through your mouth, you spew your thoughts.

“And who told you that? Your loyal gang of servants over this morning’s breakfast? Crabbe and Goyle? Zabini perhaps? Is that why you avoided me in Potions today?”

Draco stops mid-step and glances down at the obsidian leather crafting the wholecut Oxford shoes laced at his feet. His inhale is just as sharp as your exhale had been and he spins on the heel so quickly that the violent whip of his robe is enough to take your breath away, even several steps away. His eyes laser in on you and the space between your bodies suddenly feels smaller. Tighter. Suffocating.

His strides are few, long and confident, and you know he’ll land in front of you before you have a chance to finalize your true opening argument. With the click, clack, clicking of his expensive shoes bringing him closer, you whimper.

“It doesn’t matter who told me. I want to know if it’s true. What they’re saying about you and Potter getting back together, dating again, and when you were planning to tell me. All these nights we’ve been sneaking about the castle together and you didn’t bother mentioning it,” he hisses the words in a rush and sneers at the thought of you with the oh so perfect chosen one while he’s left on the sidelines. “You didn’t tell me you were considering it, considering him again. You didn’t mention it on the observation deck of the Astronomy Tower, not in stacks of the Restricted Section, not in your dorm nor mine, and certainly not here, in this blasted corridor. Why not mention it a week ago when y—“

“Don’t finish that sentence, Draco,” you snarl.

His brows pinch at the challenge, but your eyes go wide in alert from the words you know were close to escaping his lips. Lewd and shameful they would have been had they reached the atmosphere. You glance up and down the seemingly void corridor with those same wild, worried eyes. You know how things can be twisted to snare even the brightest and most innocent of witches, but the words that clung to his tongue wouldn’t need to be twisted in order to ruin you both. Your quick search is fruitless and you let out a shaky sigh while rolling your shoulders back.

“I was going to tell you, Draco, that I was considering it… considering him, again.”

“When?” He demands. “Or were you going to wait until my tongue was halfway down your throat? Again.”

“Before, of course! Merlin… What kind of girl do you take me for, Draco?”

“You and I know exactly what kind of girl you are,” Draco retorts and studies you smugly.

His lips seal in a tight line and fire and ice blaze in the depths of his eyes before he spins once more and storms off in a blinding rage. You watch as he strides off prematurely, before hearing you out. He mutters something about how he knew things were too good to be true as he continues down the endless hall. You watch the way his hand clasps the nape of his neck under his long blonde hair and he keeps it there for a good while.

Once you gather your own thoughts, you hurry your strides in an attempt to mirror him, but you struggle to keep up with his head start and longer strides. The perks of being tall, you remind yourself. When you do catch up, he’s almost at the very end of the corridor, a dead end anyways, but you snatch him to a halt by the hood of his robe.

Draco falters and lets out a guttural groan when the sound of a ripping seam cuts through the silent air in response.

“You’ll pay for this, Y/ln!”

You feel prepared now. You’re ready to make your argument, to stand your ground, to explain yourself. You know that you have the right words sorted out and that with Draco cornered, he’ll have to listen.

Until he turns to face you.

His pink lips are pulled into a grimacing tight-lipped frown and an indented line appears down the center of his forehead where his thick brown brows are drawn together. His eyes shift over your features erratically before settling on yours, sharp like a double edged dagger ready to pierce. Two furious, impenetrable walls of frozen silver. Your body frosts over and you shrink where you stand. You struggle to meet his gaze and chew on the inside of your cheek as your mind goes blank.

You can’t think.

You can hardly breathe.

And when Draco opens his mouth, you wonder how you’re still alive when your heartbeat is racing so rapidly that your chest could easily explode.

“Tell me, Y/n,” he seethes.

A violent flame dances behind the walls of ice in his irises as his gaze flickers over the features of your face in frustration. Your lips are reddened and cracked from nibbling at them in nervousness and your nose appears swollen and puffed as if you’re attempting to hold back tears. Draco would usually swallow his pride seeing you in such a state, but he needs answers, so he settles on the wildness behind your dark eyes before continuing.

“Tell me,” he repeats. “When he fucks you, do you think of me?”

Your eyes dart towards his and your cheeks grow unbearably hot. You choke on the words as if you’re the one who dared spout them out. You’ve never experienced Draco this livid. You’d never heard his words become this vulgar, at least not with you, and that makes you all the more nervous. You’d convinced yourself that these nightly escapades meant nothing to him, that you were nothing more than a girl he could use or discard at his own will. He’s Draco Malfoy for heaven’s sake, and he could have any girl he pleased, that had come with the territory of having power and money at your disposal. You’d thought tonight would be the last night when you’d received his owl and that he’d be alright with that fact.

Clearly you’ve never been more wrong in your entire life.

You watch his tongue glide across the smooth plains of his natural pink lips and the fire blazing quietly in the torches overhead reflect a glistening orange on the thin coat of saliva left behind. You fixate on his features, from those shimmering lips up to the bridge of his nose. Your eyes roam up to the very roots of his platinum blonde hair before retracing your gaze and focusing on his eyes once more. They’ve softened a bit, not from the fire in the torches, but from the fire now kindling between you two.

He lets out a scoff as if he’s annoyed by you, as if you’ve been the pain in his arse all along. Before your brain can register the noise that escapes the base of his throat for a second time, he delves into you.

His lips are the first part of his body that comes into contact with yours. They’re warm against yours and so pillowy soft that you can’t bear pulling away. Instead, you bring your arms up to his collarbones and allow your index finger and thumb to mold into the curved base of his long neck. His artery pulses wildly underneath your grasp and your heart warms at the rhythmic expansion. You love the feeling, the palpitating of thick blood quickening through his body, underneath his skin, all livened by your touch.

Draco takes the final step to close your bodies together more comfortably and brings his arms around your waist to mold you into the perfect contours of his slender body.

“I can’t stop,” he mutters against your mouth and drops his lips into the crook of your neck. “I don’t want to stop, Y/n.”

He knows this will ruin you. It does every single time. With his lips against your neck and his words growing more desperate, lower and needier with each breath. You know exactly what he’s playing at. And yet, you allow your head to tilt back for more. More. More. And more. You’ll always need more of this, more of him. You rake a hand through the hairs lying against the nape of his neck. They’re course, yet silky in your gentle grasp and you close your eyes to the ceiling with a sweet smile as it drives him deeper into your flesh.

“Draco,” you purr.

He doesn’t bother responding with words. He only deepens the way he’s been working his lips against your flesh before allowing his burning tongue to trace a long column up the full length.

With this, you know exactly what is going to happen tonight and you take no desire in stopping it, not for Harry’s sake nor anyone else’s. In this very moment, it’s just you, Draco, and your desperate need for each other.

Need is a fickle thing and the need had begun long ago, long before your months of sneaking around to be together. It started when you were with Harry and Draco’s icy eyes would meet yours from across the room. Potions, the Great Hall, Herbology. Hell, even during their Quidditch practices. Somehow his eyes had always found yours in every room, and perhaps, some part buried deep inside of you liked it.

Every single glance had you feeling things Harry never made you feel during your three years of dating. It’s made you feel warm and dizzy as if you were going mad. Yet, nothing truly begun when you’d ended things with Harry. It’d been just before Christmas break. Harry planned to return home for its duration, so you had the comfort of knowing he’d be able to mend himself surrounded by those he loved, family and friends, while you stayed behind.

All your friends had called you mad when they discovered your frequent whereabouts—studying with Draco in the courtyards, his frequent smirks gifted across the dining tables during breakfast or dinner, his need to suddenly partner with you in Potions right after the break. You never truly expected them to understand the hungriness of your yearning for each other, that need for constant contact. Something in Draco’s presence had brought you back to a primal state of being, of craving and desire. Something feral melded in the deepest parts of your core and engraved itself in your very bones when his eyes met yours, but you couldn’t tell your friends that. So, instead of going behind Harry’s back, this is the alternative. This is freedom.

Draco takes a single step back and relishes the way you shiver when he releases a cool breath against the wet trail he’d left behind. He watches you slowly unravel from the ribbon of your high while shuffling out of his robe. Your eyes remain glassy and wide, glazed with lust as you work off his tie and snake it around your own neck before moving in to unbutton his shirt. The shiny black buttons are slick against your fingers as you round them out of each hole. One by one they expose a pinch more of his creamy white skin, so smooth and pale and familiar, and your mouth froths at the sight.

Draco manages to remove his belt from the buckle and unbutton his pressed trousers as you work at the buttons. By the time you’ve finished unhooking the last, his pants pool around his ankles with a soft thud. He backs you against an opening and hoists you up on the ledge of one of the many oversized lattice windows lining the corridor wall. Silver moonlight plays in the sharp grayish hues of his irises and you watch it as he focuses on you. He kneels to work your black stockings off and your stomach knots. He’s become quite the expert in doing this, managing to get the black fabric off and having your skirt and panties out of sight within seconds.

Draco smirks, a cocky smile that reflects his satisfaction after they plop onto the floor with a quiet thud. He drapes your legs over his forearms, hooking his arms underneath your knees, and stares into the void between your bodies. Your brows furrow as you study him. You swear you can sense worry creeping over his features. Perhaps the thought of you going behind Harry’s back has him rattled, or perhaps the idea of getting caught, even though you two never have before.

He relaxes his shoulders and lets out a sigh that would’ve gone unnoticed had you not been watching him. But the worry slips away just as quickly as it’d come, and in a few blinks of your eyes, the only evidence remaining is the gentle twinkle in his eyes when they finds yours again.

Murals of silvery grey fall upon you as the pressure between your thighs rings sharp. You need this just as much as he does. There are no games and the foreplay remains the small tiff you two just had as the aching pleasure of him slipping against you engulfs all your senses. You gasp in relief, eyes lowering at the feeling of his stiff sex gathering your sticky arousal. He teases your bottom lip with his tongue and grazes his chill breath over your warmth.

Draco watches you squirm uncomfortably on the stone ledge. He has to admit that this wasn’t the best place for sex and he hates the idea of your bare ass plastered on the dusty, frigid sandstone bricks, but he couldn’t help himself. He couldn’t wait until one of you found a more respectful place to relieve yourselves. He couldn’t be bothered either when he’d led you to the stacks of the Restricted Section for the first time months ago during Christmas break, nor when he’d taken you in his dorm knowing his friend’s would be asleep in the same room. The list goes on, and yet, he needs you just the same now. He would’ve taken you in the Great Hall if he had to, would have risked everything to have lain you out like his own personal spread to devour whole. That’s how crazy you drive him, that’s how mad you make him feel, and he can’t wait another second. Not even when the idea of betraying Potter in such a way lurks heavily in the back of his mind, even after the whispers, the rumors of you two being back together. It’s the ultimate betrayal, but he cannot stop himself. He has no control over this.

Your mouth parts to let out a moan. As it does, Draco places his palm firmly over it, covering those beautiful lips and muting the sound before slithering between your decadent folds. His teeth sink into his bottom lip to rein in his own pleasure. You feel like a tight hug and he almost loses himself in the feeling. So warm, so comforting, so cruelly wet. Aside from the last fact, he’s sure this is what heaven feels like, what home should feel like, and he knows he can’t let this go. He can’t let this feeling of belonging be stripped away if he finally gets a say in it.

Your head rolls back with the first snap of his hips and you mewl softly. It’s only been two days and you’d magically forgotten how delicious and blissful the first taste of his cock is. You’d forgotten the pleasure in feeling his heat and hardness running deep along your walls and pulling your orgasm closer with each motion. He thrusts in again and your back arches. You watch your breaths fog against the exposed glass panes, weaving their own intricate patterns between ebony lattice, and it takes you back to the first time Draco had claimed your innocence.

On Christmas morning, after breakfast, you’d sent your owl from your dorm window with a letter that contained only two lines:

Restricted Section tonight.

Don’t be late, Malfoy.

Since that magical night in the stacks, you’ve never loved anything more. Every week for a month, you’d sought him out. It’d been pathetic, but you were unable to liberate yourself from the yearning of taking him again. Your need wouldn’t subside, even after you’d taken him. He’d turned you into this feral, insane being, and you found yourself chasing that body to body connection and the slow build up of your pleasure around his length endlessly.

Draco’s pants fill your ears with the sweetest melody as he plows into you, leaving no more room for nostalgia. With each violent rut of his hips, neither of you have the time to recover from the ecstasy prickling in your veins. The heat pooling in your core keeps your mind centered and your gaze focused on him.

“Draco...”

You watch him through heavy, lidded eyes, and your teeth sink into your bottom lip in a teasing grin as you watch his hips burst forward. The rhythmic sound of your skin colliding and his low howling heightens your senses. Suddenly, you’re keenly aware of the little ache unraveling like a ribbon in the pit of your belly, but also the bareness of his chest begging to be touched.

You glide your fingertips up the plain of his stomach, taking in the darkened hairs forming around the edges of his navel. You follow the faint trail up to his lanky chest, taking in the slight bit of muscle around his pecks before continuing up and over his shoulders. You curl yourself around him and trace circles over the bone when he falters closer. Beads of sweat form over the span on his forehead and you watch the way it collects like glistening raindrops against his scalp before trickling down streaks of his swaying platinum hair. You fight every instinct in order to spare him of the sensation of your fingers running throughout his hair and massaging into his scalp. He’d shutter in pleasure if you were to so, and right now, he doesn’t deserve the satisfaction.

Draco’s fingernails burrow into the flesh of your hips and you howl at the feeling, abandoning all prior thoughts. He thrusts forward. Harder. Deeper… Once. Twice. A third time for good measure. Then, again and again while a series of moans pour from your parted mouth.

“Tell me you won’t miss how good I make you feel?” He murmurs. “Isn’t that why you’re here tonight? Because poor little Potter cannot be bothered with pleasing his own woman? He should be treating you like the chosen one. Doesn’t he know you are?”

You bite into your lip again, but this time it’s to keep your mouth shut. You know there’s no use in telling him the truth, that Harry hadn’t as much as lain a finger on you in this way. Not once in all the three years you’d been together. Though, you know he’s wanted to. Draco is the only one that’s ever had you this way, completely defiled you, talked you down, brought you to your lowest and highest all at once.

Your eyes roll again as Draco steadies out his rhythm to catch his breath.

Surely the portraits will spread word in the morning of how they heard students moaning and followed the sound after seeing you and Draco disappear down an unlined corridor moments before. You’ll have to talk to Harry and admit it. That’s one thing you’re certain of. If you don’t, they’ll call you scandalous and Draco would get it worse. Dumbledore may even have to expel you faster than Professor Snape can chastise Malfoy for his lewd, unacceptable actions, in which his father, Lucius, will truly not want to hear about.

“Shit…” he hisses. His eyes snap shut and his lips tremor with his ragged pants. His nose crinkles and the movement of his hips grow erratic once again. With his grip tightening on your flesh, he lets out a low groan. “I’ve almost forgotten how good you feel. I might blow my load inside of you… teach you a lesson.”

“You will not,” you protest, straight faced and using all your strength to not react to the pleasure radiating throughout your body. “Draco, we can’t.”

“Or what? You’ll curse me?”

“Don’t tempt me.”

Draco sneers and leans down until his face is hovering above yours. He allows your ankles to rest against his shoulders, knees parallel to the ceiling. He watches the way you fight every instinct of pleasure, how you keep your eyes on his instead of allowing them to sink back, how you hold his triceps when you want nothing more than to have your hands grasping your aching breasts or to have them wrapped tightly around the base of his throat. He chuckles at the fact that you wish to moan, but your duty to privacy holds steady, keeps you quiet and whimpering instead of letting loose. And he watches in amusement as you slowly unravel with every swift and sharp stroke of his hips. As he does, he begins to realize just how much he actually cares about you.

“Tell him you’re mine,” Draco demands. “Tell me and tonight you’ll tell him so I can spend all day showing you how well I treat my personal possessions.”

“Oh yeah?” You tease. “Is that right, Draco?”

“You’ll find out soon enough.”

You let out a sharp giggle and rope him in closer by the back of his neck, so close that you can take in every breath exhaling from his lungs and pull them into your own. You watch the way the iciness in his eyes melts away and glaze over with something more warm and comforting. And your core ripples at the possibility of something more than lust looming between the both of you.

“Don’t tell me you’re this close already,” he complains, truly embarrassed for you by the look of annoyance in his eyes.

“Mmm… I think I am,” you whimper and grasp the lapels of his crinkled button up to yank him a breath closer. “Fill me up, Draco…”

He scoffs.

He is truly embarrassed for you, but you wish he could see himself panting, slicked with sweat, eyes soft, and looking so sexy whilst buried between your thighs. He’s the portrait of pathetic and you know you should make him beg.

“Beg,” you croak and yank him down until his lips are just above yours.

Your throat stings, sore and scratchy from attempting to leave it shut as Draco plowed through your slick folds one thrust at a time.

“You’re insane,” he chuckles and glimpses down at your reddened lips.

“Only for you,” you whisper and swallow a moan as you caress the sharpness of his cheeks. “Make me yours, Draco.”

His lips tug into a sharp smile and he presses his lips against yours hard and hungrily. He’s tired of your games. Perhaps he realized that much sooner than tonight and the thought of losing you had become too unbearable for him.

“Fuck,” he huffs into the sticky air between the both of you before reclaiming your lips.

“Love your cock being buried inside of me, Draco.”

You finally moan against him. After all, you aren’t evil enough to keep edging yourself when you’re both this close. He pulls his mouth away, panting heavily as he plants his palms on either side of you and stiffens.

“Are you finished?”

You nod, knowing exactly what he means. It only confirms that he’s serious now, serious in showing you exactly how he takes care of what’s his.

He glances down at his hardened length, only the tip remains hidden inside of your depths, and the rest gleams in your sticky, sweet arousal. He wants to taste you, but more than anything, he wants to bury his load deep inside of you. He wants it so deep that it doesn’t dare to trickle out. He doesn’t care about the consequences this close to graduation; he only cares about you filled to the brim with a piece of him, no matter what it is.

He thrusts inside and watches the way you swallow him greedily. Then, repeats the action again and again in a rapid rock of his hips. He senses your falling apart—legs trembling against his body, eyes softening to a roll, your arousal warming to slick wetness, scorching hot with each plunge. He takes pride in his string of thrusts, delivering them in a steady rhythm. Though, he wishes to tear you apart, your freed moans keep him from doing so. They guide him and keep him steady like music in his ears.

He grasps your chin and pulls your lazy gaze back to him.

“Keep your eyes right here, darling,” he demands sternly. “I want to see the way they roll when you release.”

With clenched teeth, you attempt to snatch your chin back, but he keeps his grip firm and your maneuver hardly wavers as he picks up speed with a groan and chuckle.

“You thought I’d let you dominate me?” He teases, his chuckle cutting through your moans. “I almost had you convinced. But don’t forget, my love, I’m always in control. No one tells me what to do.”

You whimper as he presses a thumb into your mouth to pacify you before ripping through your depths. His thrusts grow quicker with each second and you have no time to recoup from the pleasure prickling through your veins and pulsating in every corner of your being like liquid fire. Just as your eyes begin to roll, Draco snatches your jaw, showing just how much in control he truly is.

“I wish Potter could see how well you take me,” he pants cockily. “Just imagine if he knew the way I fit inside of you. So perfectly, if I do say so myself. You should see the way your cunt grips around my cock. You should see how wet you are for me. I dare you.”

You hum against his thumb and the vibration ricochets through you in a deep wave as you dare to glimpse between your thighs. You catch sight of his cock, a pulsing red with a vein so thick that it looks as though it hurts, and your arousal coating the surface in a glistening sweetness. Draco watches with you and your head spins.

“It’s been two days since I’ve felt you tightening around me. I can’t wait to feel it again.”

You keep your lips clasped tightly around his thumb. Your mind can hardly think of a quip, let alone find any words to overpower him. You don’t want to. You focus on the way his cock feels slipping in and out of your depths at different lengths, growing unsteady with each sway of his hips. You focus on his silver eyes staring into yours and his mocking grin as you finally come to terms with the fact that you are his. You’ve always been his. He’s just known it much longer than you have.

A bead of sweat drips from the tip of his swapping bangs and plops against your bare stomach. Draco chuckles and slicks his damp hair back with one hand while using his thumb on the other to massage the moisture into your skin. He presses in with a bit more pressure in attempt to feel himself plunging in and out of you. He keeps his thumb pressed firmly against you and steadies himself until he feels the motion underneath it. In and out. In and out, bulging at the center of your tightening core.

“Perhaps one day you’ll write about how well you take me,” he purrs. “And we’ll fill our library with books on our lovemaking.”

“I’m sure such books already exist,” you gasp, recalling all the steamy muggle romances you’d read over the summer.

“Then you’ll read one to me one of these days. Share your findings?”

“I’d rather show you,” you whisper.

He smiles, almost faltering before regaining his composure and finding your hips again.

“Draco?”

“Mhm?”

“Tell me I’m your favorite,” you mutter and buck up against him.

He stops suddenly and his nails dig deep into your pillowy flesh. You feel his cock twitch deep inside of you and you smirk when his eyes land on yours again.

“Being sneaky are we?” He muses and rams into you.

His palm finds your mouth again just before a bloodcurdling moan slips out.

He does it again with a teasing smile.

Then again.

And again.

And again until you’re whimpering and trembling around him. You reach for his forearm, but he denies it and presses into you harder.

Your eyes roll and you grasp the ledge underneath yourself, but it’s too hard. You go for his wrist, the same one allowing his hand to keep you almost silenced. You shiver around him and your thighs go limp against his thrusts. It’s not long after that his pants turn into a sharp hiss and a new heat overwhelms you.

Draco falters on top of you and stares straight into your eyes as he fills you up to the brim with his warm seed. You search his eyes for any form of deceit, but you find none. There never has been, not when it came to you and him.

His hand slowly retreats and you let out a loud inhale, taking in the dusty air of the corridor before slinging your arms around his neck and rushing your lips against his. He tastes of tart apples, salty sweat, and the sticky strawberry taste of your lipgloss. You never knew you needed to taste such a combination, but if it came from him, you’d take it. You’d take it all.

“Y/n,” he mumbles.

“Yes, Draco?”

His eyes focus on yours as if the stars he’d once seen dancing around your face are slowly subsiding, and the cloudiness of lust and desire fade.

“You truly are my favorite,” he breathes and runs a hand through your curls before peppering your lips with kisses. “And I plan to keep it that way.”

And somewhere deep in your gut, you have a feeling this won’t be the last time you hear those words, especially since you’d forgotten to confirm that it had only been a rumor going around the school, mere whispers. Someone had lied about you dating Harry again, but you don’t mind when the result of it brought Draco crawling back to you.

Please be sure to check out my other latest fanfics:

⚡︎ Lost Love (m.) - Lucien Vanserra x Rhysand x reader

⚡︎ Rain Does Not Fall on One Roof Alone (m.) - Ominis Gaunt x Sebastian Sallow x reader

⚡︎ Perfect Storm (m.) - Ominis Gaunt x reader

⚡︎ Untitled (m.) - Sebastian Sallow x Ominis Gaunt x reader

⚡︎ Coffee (Love You a Latte) - Sebastian Sallow x reader

⚡︎ Golden - Sebastian Sallow x reader

⚡︎ For You Always (m.) - Severus Snape x reader

~ Navi: masterlist (all fandoms)

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction, but please don’t copy! Written purely for fun :) Please only repost to other socials w/my permission and credit! Reblogging w/credit is fine. Thank you! ♡

December 2024

Different (Angst, Smut, and Fluff)

Masterlist

Word count: 7k..... super long I know but it's worth it I promise:)

Warnings: There will be smut in this story, so if you are uncomfortable with this sort of graphic writing, then do not read this fic. Swearing, fingering, oral sex(female receiving), loss of virginity, praising kink, soft!dom!Draco, unprotected sex, wizarding world protection;). There will also be some angst, insecurities etc. This is by far the LONGEST FANFIC I've ever written, but I'm very very proud of it so please read and like it:)

Summary: Draco is the school fuckboy, he's screwed just about every girl in your year, except for you. You refuse to give into his games, refuse to be just another of his girls that are all over him, they all crave him and his skillful touch. What happens when you do give into him? Will you be left with a broken heart, or will he?

---

The Yule Ball (Draco Malfoy x Fem! Reader)

Masterlist

Part 2

#draco malfoy x reader #harry potter x reader #draco malfoy fanfiction #draco angst #x reader fanfiction #enemies to lovers #harry potter universe #harry potter #draco malfoy x you #draco malfoy x y/n #hp fandom #hp fanfic #x reader #slytherin boys x reader #slytherin boys #slytherin #slow burn #hogwarts legacy

My Darling

Summary: A ruined match, a harsh outburst, and a week of silence. When you confront Draco at last, everything he’s buried—hurt, pride, and the truth he’s terrified to say—comes undone in one explosive moment.

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Reader

Wc: 4,5k

Cw: hurt/comfort, angst, slightly suggestive, cursing, lowkey toxic! Draco

Enjoy!

It all began the weekend of the Slytherin–Gryffindor Quidditch match.

Draco had been determined to beat Potter that day—more determined than anyone had ever seen him. The pressure from his father, the expectations from the team, the entire House watching him…it was suffocating. And when Potter caught the Snitch right under his nose, the humiliation hit Draco like a physical blow.

He stalked off the pitch furious, breathing fire, convinced he’d at least find you waiting for him—the one person who always grounded him after disastrous matches.

But you weren’t there.

You’d meant to be. You really had. But time slipped away in the library as you struggled through a Potions essay, and by the time you realized the match had ended, Slytherin had already lost…and Draco was already gone.

He noticed. Of course he noticed. And it stung far more than he admitted.

By Monday, the tension was unmistakable. You tried to approach him after Divination, gently—the way you always did when he was wound up and bristling. You spoke softly, tried to calm him, tried to pull him back from the storm that always followed a defeat.

But pride is a vicious thing.

He snapped instead—words dripping venom, thrown like daggers because he was hurting and you were close enough to bleed. The class went silent. Your face fell. And Draco felt the first flicker of regret—quiet, poisonous, immediate.

You didn’t argue. You didn’t confront him. You simply stepped back like you’d been struck and walked away.

And then you stayed away.

The entire week.

He had pretended he didn’t care. He told himself he didn’t notice when you switched seats in Potions. That his stomach didn’t twist when you laughed with someone else in the library. That the empty space beside him in the courtyard meant nothing.

But every night, he stared at the common room door waiting for you to walk in. And every night, you didn’t.

Malfoys didn’t apologize.

Malfoys didn’t chase.

Malfoys certainly didn’t lose their minds over a girl.

Yet here he was—restless, irritated, wand tapping against his thigh because you still wouldn’t speak to him.

He missed you.

He hated missing you.

And he hated that he’d caused it.

Draco stepped into the dorm room, rolling his wand over his knuckles with a familiar nervous tic, though he’d never admit it. His leather satchel slipped from one shoulder and hit the desk with a muted thud. He dropped into his chair, long legs stretching out, one hand running through hair still mussed from flying.

Gods, Crabbe and Goyle snored like trolls, he thought, lips tightening. Blaise shot him a lazy look from the next desk.

“Enjoying the prefect life, Malfoy?” Blaise asked, voice smooth as always.

Draco gave a satisfied chuckle. “Oh, most certainly, Zabini,” he drawled. “Especially knowing Potter’s scrubbing quills for Umbridge right now.”

He flicked open his Potions text, dipped his quill, and began his essay on moonstone properties.

Blaise hummed. “Satisfying indeed.” A grin curved his mouth. “What about Potter’s face when he saw Grubbly-Plank?”

Draco snorted, smirk tugging at his lips. “Good one, Blaise.” He continued writing. “Father says the Ministry’s determined to crack down on incompetent teaching. Even if that overgrown oaf returns, he’ll be sacked.” Satisfaction bloomed across his features.

Then the door opened.

His smirk vanished instantly.

“Merlin,” he drawled without looking up, “don’t you think it’s a bit late?”

Your presence prickled under his skin—and not in the pleasant way it usually did. He hadn’t spoken to you in a week…not since the match…not since he’d snapped at you in Divination like a cornered animal.

You’d ignored him since. Aloof. Distant. Cold.

And Draco Malfoy, whose temper was sharp as a blade and pride twice as brittle, hadn’t known how to bridge the gap.

So he hadn’t.

He continued his essay, jaw tight, tapping his fingers against his thigh—pretending not to notice you.

“Out,” you said suddenly, your voice tight but steady. You gestured toward Blaise and the two sleeping lumps in the corner.

Blaise raised a brow. “Demanding tonight, aren’t we?”

“Out,” you repeated, firmer.

Draco scoffed under his breath without lifting his head. “Out? How dramatic.” He finally looked at you, pale grey eyes sharp. “Since when do you give orders in my dorm?”

But he flicked his wand anyway. “You heard her, Zabini. Move along before you start snoring like the other two idiots.”

Blaise rolled his eyes, smirking knowingly as he ushered the groggy duo out. The door clicked shut behind them.

Silence.

Draco leaned back, arms folding across his chest. “Well? Now that you’ve played commander…” His gaze swept over you, cool and biting but edged with something else. “…what does the Muggle-born queen want?”

There it was. The mask. Cold. Sharp. Cruel.

His tone was ice and fire—sharp enough to cut, hot enough to burn. But beneath it? A flicker of something softer. Almost regretful.

You crossed your arms, brows flickering with frustration and hurt bubbling up in your veins, but you refused to show it to him, "we need to talk" you said sternly.

He pushed away from his desk, chair scraping against the floor as he stood, a graceful motion that spoke of the pureblood elegance bred within. He didn't approach you, not yet, instead leaning against the stone wall opposite you, arms still folded lazily.

He cocked his head to the side, eyes narrowing as he met yours evenly. "Fine," he drawled, tone indifferent. "Talk."

"Why are you acting like this? What's gotten into you?" You asked, tone harsh and questioning, one you knew he never liked.

He pushed off the wall, crossing the room in a few strides, looming over you, his six-foot-two frame making you look smaller. "You want to know why I'm acting like this? Because everything's a bloody mess," he said.

You scoffed, undeterred. “You think you’re the only one in a mess?”

His eyes narrowed dangerously at the challenge in your tone, it was infuriating, how you managed to get under his skin like this—always questioning, always defiant. “And what would you know about messes? You—a girl who barely knew magic existed until her eleventh birthday,” he sneered, looking down at you.

He regretted it the second it left his mouth. He was being cruel, he knew it. But pride had a way of taking over sometimes.

The way your breath hitched—small, sharp, gutted him. You refused to break in front of him, not now. "You're being mean." you whispered.

He looked away first, jaw clenched tight enough to ache. “Mean?” he muttered, voice lower now—almost rough. “No. Just honest.”

He turned back slowly, grey eyes locking onto yours with that infuriating Malfoy calm. "But if you want real mean...I could've said you've been avoiding me like I've been cursed since Divination."

A beat.

Then softer—barely above a whisper. "You didn't have to follow me here just to fight."

“I didn’t want to!” your voice cracked. “Clearly you're not getting the picture here. Don’t you think there’s a reason I avoided you?”

His expression hardened as anger flared. Gods, you were just so bloody stubborn!

“Oh, I understand perfectly well you’ve been avoiding me,” he snapped, sarcasm dripping like venom. “I’m just shocked you didn’t bother being mature enough to talk to me.”

He took another step forward, nearly standing over you now. "So go on then, explain it to me. This mysterious reason of yours for avoiding me as if I have the plague."

“How can I explain anything when you’re shoving me off with your words?” you shot back, voice trembling.

He felt a pang in his chest as your words hit him—but he kept his face schooled in a perfect mask of indifference. Damn it, you were right.

He let out a frustrated huff, raking a hand through his hair. "You could've talked to me any time in the past week," he retorted. "But you chose not to. So what exactly should I have done? Chase after you like some lovesick—"

“That’s exactly what you should’ve done!” You stepped forward. “You couldn’t apologize even once?!”

He froze. Your words slammed into him like a hex. Pale fingers twitched, aching to reach you, and for the first time, the mask slipped. Just slightly. Just enough.

“Apologize?” he echoed. “For what? Snapping in class? Being cold after? Gods, do you even know what you’re asking—?”

“Yes!” you cut in. “Both! You embarrassed me. You hurt me. That’s why I avoided you!”

He stared at you, truly stared, and the anger cracked. "And what about how I feel? You didn't even come to the match that day when I needed you most. I kept looking for you—and you weren’t there,” he retorted.

“I lost track of time! Not all of us get O’s without trying. Some of us have to actually work for an extra point in Potions!”

“Oh please, you could’ve told me!” he shot back. “And now you're here expecting me to chase you. To say I'm sorry, and what would that prove? That I've gone soft? That Draco Malfoy kneels?" He turned away from you again slightly, staring at the dark stone walls like it held answers.

Then quietly—barely above a whisper, "I didn't think you'd want me to."

Your breath hitched, eyes flickering in hurt. The crack in your voice was tiny but fatal.

“…It would prove that you love me.” You swallowed. “And that you respect me as your girlfriend. But clearly that's not what I'm getting at right now.."

The words were like a stab to his heart. He bit the inside of his cheeks so hard it bled, willing his expression to stay indifferent. But a muscle in his jaw jumped, betraying him.

Love.

Girlfriend.

He'd never said those three words out loud. Barely even let himself think them half the time. But hearing you say them so openly, with that hurt in your voice—it made something in him snap. "Is that what this is about?" he scoffed, "you wanted me to say the words?"

"What do you mean..?" you asked, tone wavering.

"You wanted me to say ‘I love you’. Like some pathetic declaration." The words tasted bitter in his mouth. He swallowed, throat suddenly dry. “You wanted me to kneel. To beg. To get on my knees and plead for forgiveness, and what then? You'd take me back? Kiss and make up?"

You couldn't believe his words, “that is not what I said! All I wanted was for you to apologize, is that so hard to ask for?" you remarked, muscles twitching, the frustration and hurt twisting your gut into knots.

“But that’s what it feels like!” he hissed. "Merlin, you have no idea what you're even asking of me." he finished

It sounded even worse out loud.

“You hurt my feelings, why is it so hard for you to grasp that?!” You snapped, fists now clenched at your sides.

"Hurt your feelings?!" he echoed, mask slipping more with every word. "Are we really doing this? Acting like a couple of Hufflepuffs now, talking about feelings and apologies?"

He scoffed, running a hand through his hair, but he didn't move away as you stepped closer. If anything, he stood his ground. Because despite everything, some part of him—stupidly, foolishly—was drawn to your anger, like fire to oxygen.

"You can't demand an apology from me like it's some potion recipe." he added, adding more hurt to the already open wound.

"How could you even say that.." you said, voice lowering with a waver.

"How can I not? God, you're so infuriating!" He closed the distance between you in a few strides—so close now he could see every flicker in your eyes, read every emotion in your face. He was close enough to feel the heat off of your skin. It was infuriating...or intoxicating. He couldn't decide.

His gaze locked into yours, grey eyes burning like a storm. He couldn't back down now. Not when pride was at stake. "You act like everything I do is a personal attack against you." The words came out harsher than he meant them to. But he was frustrated—so damned frustrated. Because here you were, looking like some bloody goddess in the moonlight, and all he wanted to do was touch you. Hold you. Apologize. Beg you to forgive him.

“How can it not be personal? You fought for me—you asked me out—you made me fall for you, and now you treat me like nothing.”

The truth hit like a punch.

He felt his resolve cracking. He couldn't look away from you, you had this hold on him—always had. And now, the pain in your eyes felt like a blade to the heart.

He wanted to yell at you. Push you away. Be mean. Anything to stop this bloody feeling in his chest.

Instead he grabbed you. Hands finding your hips, pulling you close.

"Dont." you yanked his hands away, pulling from him harshly.

It hurt more than anything you’d said. The sharp rejection felt like a slap. He froze—hands hanging awkwardly in the air where you'd just pushed them away—a stark reminder of the rift between you.

He stared at you—at the fire in your eyes, the cold set of your jaw, and something in his chest twisted painfully. This wasn't how it was supposed to go.

"You..you don't want me to touch you?" He asked hoarsely, the bravado fading from his voice.

You let out a pained laugh. "Now you want to touch me? Do you have any idea how you're making me feel right now?” you added.

He took a shuddering breath at your words, letting his hands fall to his sides. Gods 'he'd been an idiot' he thought, A proud, stubborn fool who'd let his own self destructive pride nearly drive you away. Even now, it was hard not to reach out and hold you. But he made himself stay still.

"How..how am I making you feel?" he asked lowly.

You swallowed a breath you didn’t know you were holding. “Like I’m unlovable,” you whispered. “Like I’m just something you can pick up and put down when you feel like it.”

He felt something crack in his chest. Unlovable, nothing...It was all his worst fears coming to life through your voice. He swallowed a sudden lump in his throat.

"Is that really what you think?" he forced out. "That I don't care about you? That I see you as some meaningless thought?" he asked.

"Just minutes ago you seem to think that way yes.." you turned away from him, finding yourself looking through his bedroom window, hands around your body in a sense of self comfort.

The air in the room turned heavy—colder. He watched you turn, your silhouette framed against the moonlit window, arms wrapped tight around yourself, like you were trying to hold the pieces together.

And Merlin, it killed him.

For once, Draco Malfoy—the boy who never lost composure, who sneered through detentions and stood unshaken under his Father's cold gaze—felt something dangerously close to fear.

Not of punishment. Not of failure.

But of losing you.

He took one slow step forward. Then another. The space between you felt wider than a chasm now—not because of distance, but because he'd built walls with every cruel world and icy silence this past week.

"I.." his voice came out rougher than he intended, broken at the edges. "I don't see you as nothing."

A pause. The wind outside rattled the glass behind you like a warning or maybe an omen.

"You think this is easy for me?" he said quietly, "caring about someone who doesn't care about bloodlines? Someone who argues with me in front of Slytherin..stands up to me..makes my chest feel like it's on fire just by walking into a room?"

He swallowed hard, pride screaming at him to stop—but for once, he ignored it.

"You're not a mere thought," he whispered fiercely, "..and Merlin help me—I've wanted you since third year when you hexed Pansy for mocking Muggle-borns during Defense."

A faint smirk almost touched his lips at the memory—but it faded faster as it came.

"And yes..you're my bloody girlfriend. Whether we've said all those sappy words or not." His voice dropped lower, the arrogance gone now replaced by something raw and trembling beneath. "So if that means swallowing every stupid piece of Malfoy pride..if that means saying it outright.." He stepped closer until only breath separated you from behind.

"..then fine."

He let out a shuddering breath.

"Im sorry."

You turned to look at him as he said those words, He saw the glimmer in your eyes—the unshed tears that made his chest ache like a curse wound had split open under his ribs. You were still looking at him, like you could see past the mask he'd worn since first year.

And Merlin help him, he didn't want to hide anymore.

Because this wasn't about him fixing things without touch or charm.

This was about proving, without words made hollow by pride—that you mattered.

More than bloodlines.

More than Malfoy name.

More than himself.

"You're sorry..for what exactly?" you tested, voice quiet and careful, you didn't want to cave into his words just yet. You knew better than that.

His gaze snapped back towards you—eyes meeting yours dead on as the last vestiges of his mask cracked away. He took one more step towards you.

"For everything, alright?" he said. "For being a fool, for being cold. For hurting your feelings. For treating you like bloody vermin this past week." He ran a hand through his hair again that night, his next words coming out strangles.

"For being a coward." He forced himself to meet your eyes again. "Because you're not some toy, damn it. You're my girlfriend." he said sternly.

A tear fell, managing to slip down your cheek. Despite your attempts to give in and pull yourself to his arms, you held your ground. "Why did you yell at me that day during class..i know you were upset about the match..but.." your voice trailed off.

He let out a slow breath, shoulders tensing at the memory. "I was angry," he admitted, "humiliated. Potter caught the snitch again-and again-right under my nose."

A pause. The truth clawed its way up. Bitter and raw.

"But that's not your fault. You.. you tried to calm me down after Divination like you always do. With that stupid soft voice of yours." He swallowed hard, eyes dropping to the floor. "And I snapped at you because..when everything else goes wrong, you're the one thing that doesn't feel like it belongs in my world—the Malfoy world—and I hate how much I need that."

He looked up slowly.

"I wasn't mad at you.." his voice dropped to a whisper, "i was scared of needing you this much..so instead of saying that? I pushed you away."

Another tear slipped down your cheek, and this time, before you could pull back,

He reached out.

Gently—so gently—he brushed it away with his thumb.

"And now look where we are.." he finished.

"You say cruel things sometimes..things I know you don't mean..I hate it when you do that.." your facade completely broke, voice a shaky waver.

He watched as the tears fell. The sight shattered whatever was left of his composure.

"Merlin," he whispered, voice breaking, "I hate that I do that."

Slow, careful, this time, he reached out to your face. His thumb brushing away your tears like it was something fragile..precious.

"I say cruel things because they're easy," he admitted, drawl gone now—just raw honesty in its place. "Because it’s safer than saying this."

He cupped your jaw, soft and steady.

"That you matter to me. That when you walk into a room, I stop breathing for half a second just so I can watch you. That your laugh makes Blaise look at me like he wants to hex me." A weak smirk tugged at his lips—quickly fading. "But if saying those things out loud means you stop looking at me like this.." his voice wavered. "Then I'll say the words every damn day.”

“And if I have to swallow my pride and apologize every single time I'm a dickhead.."

His fingers skimmed over your cheek, tracing it like you were worth everything he ever wanted.

"Then I will."

The air hung heavy between you two—charged and buzzing like a Crucio curse. Every breath felt labored. He was close enough now that the scent of you was in his lungs. And yet he still hadn't touched you. Not the way he wanted. Not the way he'd dreamed of all bloody week.

You looked at him deeply, eyes raw and broken, but despite it all, despite the aching tug at your veins, your longing for him never wavered. "Do you love me?.." you asked, quietly.

The question hit him, knocking the breath from his lungs. He stared at you. Really stared. Your eyes, wet with tears, searching for him like they could tear open every secret he'd ever burned. He opened his mouth. Closed it.

Then-

"..Yes.."

One word. whispered, raw—like he'd torn it from his ribs.

"I do."

A beat of silence as he swallowed hard, jaw clenched against the storm inside him. He leaned closer, until your breaths mingled.

"-you're all I do care about."

His thumb brushed your cheek again, this time lingering—tracing down to your jaw, he could see the faintest ghost of hope flicker in your eyes at his words..and for once, he didn't try to crush it.

Because you—Merlin, you were everything he wasn't.

Slowly, his hand dropped from your cheek, fingers tracing a gentle line along your arm until they tangled with your hand. "If you'll still have me."

"Say it..give me a reason to stay.." you whispered, heart hammering against your chest.

The raw pain in your voice nearly dropped him to his knees, his fingers squeezing yours like a lifeline.

But if there was one thing Draco Malfoy wasn't—it was a quitter.

Taking a shuddering breath, his other hand found your waist, gently pulling you flush against him so nothing but air separated you.

"I love you," he breathed.

"Because every time i don't say it..you look at me like this." he added

"Like what..?" you asked softly, eyes fluttering up at him gently.

His thumb went to your cheek again, his thumb swiping away a stray tear. He could feel the heat of your skin under his touch—warmth and life and everything light he wasn't.

And he hated himself for wanting it as much as air.

“Like you can see everything I'm trying so damn hard not to feel." he admitted softly.

"Don't hide your feelings away from me Dray..not this time.." you said, hand coming up to rest over his shoulder.

He let out a slow, unsteady breath—like he was tearing open his ribs with his bare hands.

"You want me not to hide?" He leaned in until his forehead rested against yours, breaths mingling in the quiet dark.

"Then here it is. No lies. No Malfoy pride." he said, every word now like fire on his tongue.

"I love you, my darling..not because you're powerful or perfect." His voice dropped to a whisper. "But because you're real. You challenge me. Call me out when I'm being an arse..and still—you stay."

"And that terrifies me..because what if one day. You don't?" his fingers tightened gently around you. "So I push first..so I can pretend the fall wasn't mine."

Another beat of silence—just your breathing in the cold stone room.

"But not tonight," he whispered. "No more hiding. If staying means hearing those words.." He pressed a trembling kiss to your temple—soft, broken, honest—

"I love you. Let that be your reason."

You couldn't hold yourself back anymore, with every ounce of your heart, you cupped his face and pressed your lips against in a seer, passionate kiss.

And all the fear, all the doubt, all the bullshit he'd held back for days shattered at the touch of you. His arms wrapped around you like a lifeline, pulling you closer as he pressed his lips to yours. This wasn't a playful kiss, like all the time he'd teased or pushed you away before...No.

This was a promise.

He loved you.

He wanted you.

He lost himself in the feel of your body against his, the heat of your breath, the soft sound of your sigh as your mouths moved together—lips and tongues and teeth. Gods, a week without you had been a week too long.

He sighed against your mouth, fingers tangling in your hair as he gently backed you up against the wall.

"I love you too Dray...if that's what you wanted to hear.." you whispered as you pulled away slightly.

A low groan rumbled in his chest at the sound of his name in your voice. He leaned in again, his lips skimming down your throat, pressing kisses everywhere he could reach—like he was trying to memorize every contour of your body.

"My darling.." he murmured, voice ragged against your neck, something fierce and feral flared in his gut as he felt your hands fisting the back of his shirt. He nipped at your throat, drawing a soft gasp from your lips.

He pulled back, grey eyes searching yours for a second as your chests heaved against each other. It was like every emotion he hadn't felt for a week was crashing down on you two all at once—raw, burning, uncontrollable.

Then his mouth was on yours again and he was kissing you like there was no tomorrow. Every touch was messy, desperate, the soft sounds you made set his heart racing.

"Merlin,” he gasped, breaking away just for air. "I love you, I bloody love you."

His hands found your hips, hiking you onto the edge of his desk—papers scattering and ink staining the wood as he stepped between your legs. Your fingers tangled in his hair, nails scraping over his hair. He groaned to your lips, hands skimming down over your thighs, up to your waist.

"I missed you," he panted, lips trailing across your collarbone, to the pulse that throbbed in your throat. "So damn much."

"I missed you too.." you panted, hands never leaving his hold.

The sound of your voice made him shiver—like a thrill down the spine. He nipped at your pulse, tongue flicking over your skin.

"A week is too long, he murmured, fingers tracing the curves of your body like mapping a new spell. "I can't go that bloody long without you again."

"Then don't mess up.." you murmured breathlessly.

He pulled back to look at you, you were beautiful like this, all flustered, cheeks flushed, and lips parted and Gods, He loved you.

"Never," he swore, "I swear to bloody Merlin, I'll never push you away like that again."

"Is that a promise?" you asked, a soft smile tugging at the corner of your lips.

“I swear on my life,” he whispered fiercely, gaze meeting yours.

"Whatever it takes to never lose you again."

A/N: whew! was that as fiery as i hoped it would be? cheers to publishing my second fic, thank you for reading and i rly hoped you enjoyed! Likes, commentary, and reblogs would mean the world to me<3

#draco angst #draco fanfiction #draco fic #draco malfoy x reader #draco x y/n #draco lucius malfoy #draco malfoy #draco x reader #draco x you

Love Thy Neighbor

Draco x Reader

Part One Part Two

Summary: can your friendship with Draco survive after everything that's been done to both of you? Or are you really gone for good?

A/N: Here's the final part my loves~

(p.s. fuck ai and fuck jkr <3)

Sleeplessness plagued me that night. I tossed and turned in memories that distorted themselves. After about four in the morning I gave up and just stared at the ceiling. I was a mess. It was all a mess. It was so easy for me to pack my life up in boxes and move on but I couldn’t get over the hurdle of emotional confrontation.

Draco saved my life.

Draco married another woman.

Draco took a killing curse for me.

Draco fired my entire restaurant on a whim.

Draco offered half of his fortune to keep me safe.

Draco married another woman.

Draco saved my life at the expense of his.

And he might have been drugged the entire time.