Walls & Veils (Draco Malfoy X Reader): Vol.1

Walls & Veils (Draco Malfoy x Reader): Vol.1 

Masterlist

Summary:

Monday to-do-list:

Coffee! Coffee! Coffeee

Go through pending reports

Eat that almond biscotti everyone is talking about

Draco Malfoy.  Focus. I mean, he is kinda hot

(Where Draco and the reader work for the ministry and communicate every day via “work reports” passed back and forth and have no idea they are actually talking to each other)

Genre: Fluff, workplace romance, enemies to lovers (ish) 

Warnings: none except some light swearing and mentions of food and one mention of scotch

Words: 2900

A/n: I wrote this for the Harry Potter Writing Event. Don’t forget to keep an eye out for stories written by other amazing writers. (Feedback and reblogs are always appreciated). Please note that the POV switches constantly in this but every switch is divided by “****” for your convenience. This is my first time writing a story set in the ministry, hopefully it worked out..

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believe me when i say - actually i dont have anything to say. I'm speechllessss!! ive read every. peter. parker. fic. ever. AND THIS ONE had me GRINNING AND INTERNALLY SCREAMING. easily one of my favorites. your writing is so FOOKING POETIC AND AAAAA thank you for giving me butterflies you incredible human <3

No Words Needed

TASM!Peter Parker x Reader

Word Count: 2.7k

Summary: Peter’s love language is something of which he is very deprived. You’re his exception.

Peter Parker is incredibly touch starved.

Living without that typical parental warmth surrounding you can do that, he figures, especially after losing the uncle who so kindly took him in along the way. Of course, that’s not to downplay the generous sacrifices of his Aunt May, who he undeniably adores beyond words.

Yet, as much as Peter’s grateful for what he still has left in his life, he wishes affection could be a more constant presence.

In all honesty, he’s learned to want that sort of thing through his work as Spider-Man—most commonly because of the longing he feels when he can save someone and return them to their loved ones. He gets the opportunity to connect a family together again, to see friends embrace and cry and reach out for one another, to watch on as couples kiss each other’s cheeks and foreheads feverishly, as if they’ve just realized the fragility of existence in that very moment. He’s fortunate enough to have people he’s saved extend an arm to him in thanks, people who’ve hugged him just for the sake of needing it. He’s torn to bits in the circumstances where he can’t save everybody. But he takes the risk of personal heartache with a grain of salt, and he pushes on to prevent their frequency.

Peter Parker is touch starved, but he earns enough compensation for it by rescuing others from the same fate.

He figures that it’ll be another ten, fifteen years of waiting to get that sort of thing for himself—hell, maybe he’ll never get it. Some days, he thinks that he’ll eternally have nobody’s arms to wrap around him but his own.

But then there’s you.

You discovered that he was Spider-Man by complete accident. Peter has an awfully reckless tendency to pull off his mask whenever he thinks he’s alone, even if he’s not in the safety of his own room. On a night when he needed a moment to think, following a very lengthy and tiring few hours of chasing police radio calls all over the city, he just so happened to find himself sitting atop the roof of your apartment complex (and by just so happened, he was being completely intentional in choosing your building, although not yet realizing the weight of his decision).

It was a comforting spot to him—almost as good of a view as the Empire State Building, whilst also providing with him a dose of nostalgia that made him think of all the times you’d brought him up there after school; it was a tradition he’d passed on in the few weeks prior, given that his hero duties started taking up a considerable amount of his time. He found himself missing it.

What he also missed was you walking out onto the roof, right up until you tentatively gasped out his name into the frigid evening air. Peter nearly fell off the side of the building in shock, but you were quick to pull him back to you, very easily pulling an honest explanation out of him when he began to see the concern in your eyes.

He didn’t expect a lot of things that happened that night, but the one that stunned him to his core was the way you hugged him after everything was thrown out in the open.

It was so warm. You were so warm. Sure, he’d known you long enough where basic touch was next to normal. A bumping of shoulders, the ruffling of hair, the unintentional brushing of hands. He saw you so often, after all. Even so, something as standard as a hug was causing a flood of emotions to rise up in him, nearly drowning him in the process, yet letting him breathe so effortlessly that his chest ached. He could feel the erratic rhythm of your heartbeat against his, could map out the grooves in your fingertips as they curled into the hair at his nape. He couldn’t help the onslaught of heat that bloomed on his face at the realization that you weren’t letting go anytime soon.

That night, you stayed up there with him for hours in the cold (although you made a few trips to your room and back with a handful of hot drinks and much warmer clothing at the ready, praying that Peter wouldn’t dart from your rooftop without warning), convincing him to open up sides of him that nobody had ever seen before. You offered him a wool blanket to drape over his suit and a reassuring hand on his shoulder, and it was like a light-switch got flipped in his head.

Peter realized that he had finally found it, not a day or a decade too late, and that he never wanted to live without it again.

He became much more affectionate from then on, keeping a gentle hand on the small of your back whilst navigating the school halls, brushing stray wisps of hair away from your face, and letting you fall asleep against his shoulder on the subway. No matter how many times he’d initiated contact before, it always sent your mind into a frenzy—especially when he would lean down and murmur, “is this okay?” beside your ear whenever his proximity bordered on near-romanticism.

Of course, you wouldn’t mind if it was romantic, but Peter didn’t need to know that.

You’ve discovered that it gets even more pronounced when he’s Spider-Man, because apparently a mask enhances a person’s confidence tenfold. Seeing videos of his cheeky commentary and caring acts of heroism paled in comparison to watching him work in person. You got the opportunity to learn that firsthand when—soon after his accidental reveal to you on the rooftop—some deadbeat decided to rob the convenience store on 14th by Midtown, and you were left to hide in the back corner, ducking beside a wall of energy drinks that you were damn near prepared to start throwing at the criminal if you had to crouch down any longer. Luckily, Peter caught wind of the situation before you could resort to such irrational aggressions, and he took care of it with practiced ease.

“You alright there?” he had inquired once he discovered your “hiding” spot, reaching out a hand as if you were the only person in the place—which you most definitely weren’t. “What’s a sweetheart like you doing caught up in a situation like this, huh?”

You could only stare back at him with an unimpressed look etched on your face—although the way he murmured sweetheart echoed in your head the whole time, like a church bell going off on a Sunday morning. “I just wanted to grab some snacks before my friend came over later.”

“Yeah?” he hums, amusement ringing clear, “Tell your friend that he owes you.”

He was the friend, of course. You had agreed to meet up after his daily patrol for a traditional session of studying and watching TV, but apparently the world had slightly modified intentions before that.

“Oh, don’t worry,” you assured him, sarcasm layered into your voice. “He’s already paid me back.”

Peter then insisted on carrying you out of the store (because there was some shattered glass on the floor, he reasoned—but it was more sincerely because he’s an asshole), and as a result, you couldn’t stop thinking about the way he had held you so effortlessly for the rest of the afternoon; an arm secured snuggly around your waist, the other supporting your legs up; it was as if you’d just said your vows on the way down the chip aisle.

God, his proximity was overwhelming. How in the world could one person’s touch be so intoxicating?

Unbeknownst to you, Peter was asking himself the exact same question. He was always this close to telling you how he felt, always acknowledging the urge to confess to you as the words sat on the tip of his tongue, but nothing had ever actually come out before. He remembered the night that his identity was revealed to you, and he longed for that sort of moment again—even if just to convey the sheer amount of affection he held for you.

But the back of his mind itched with doubt, and that doubt morphed its way into a sort of selfishness that made his stomach churn. He couldn’t stand the thought of having you distance yourself from him if his feelings weren’t returned. After all, you were his best friend above everything else.

So he stuck to the warmth of you like a moth to a flame, getting just enough before the absolute blaze that was you could singe his wings. It was a game of give and take that fueled you more than he understood, and it only kept rising in stakes as the days trudged on.

Your hand on his face here, his hands on your waist there.

The smudging of whipped cream against a nose, the bringing of a fork to parted lips to steal a bite of pastry.

Breaths of a shared closeness mingling on a winter’s day, a quick peck on the cheek in parting—

“Hey,” he finally can’t stop himself from saying, sitting up straight on the cushioned stool that he’s pulled up to your family’s kitchen counter. He’s watching you intently as you scour for drinks in the fridge, your face illuminated by the fluorescent glow of the open door. Even hunched over and with your body partially engulfed by the stainless steel appliance, Peter finds himself thinking you haven’t looked more lovely a day in your life.

Maybe it’s because of the kiss he can still feel lingering on his skin—on the place just above the right hand side of his jaw, right where you’d left it before dashing off to third period that morning—but even without that, he’s almost positive you’d still look just as beautiful.

You eventually maneuver out from the door, triumphantly grasping two cans of soda in your hands with a grin before kicking your heel back to shut it. “Hey,” you mimic. “What’s up?”

You know what’s up, seeing as you almost banged your head on your desk in Physics earlier out of pure frustration. The awkward atmosphere was most definitely due to the impulse you hadn’t gained the strength to fight, and you’re sure enough that you’re about to pay for it with the way Peter shifts in his spot.

He offers a slanted grin when you slide a cola over to him, snagging it before it can topple over and get shaken up. “I was going to ask you that.”

“Were you now?”

You’re avoiding his gaze, putting all your focus into pulling the tab of your drink open with a satisfying hiss, downing a gulp of it before he can say another word. Something like hope (and a hint of bemusement) flutters in Peter’s chest.

“Do you really not want to talk about kissing me all that much? I’m hurt.”

“On the cheek, Pete. I kissed you on the cheek. But anyways, do you want to order delivery tonight?”

“You’re not answering my question.”

You finally glance up at him, shooting a pointed glare his way. “There’s not much to discuss. It was an accident, and I’m embarrassed about it. There. Now—delivery or something else?”

Peter frowns, the brightness in his pretty brown eyes dimming, and you find your heart seizing in your chest at his change in demeanor. He seems almost…disappointed. But as soon as you see it, he shakes it off just as quick.

“Why do you need to be embarrassed about something like that?” He mutters softly. “We’re best friends. I’ve seen you do more outrageous shit than something as simple as a kiss, you know.”

Simple. Your heart twinges at the term. “Doubtful.”

“How about that one time you bought a pound of gumdrops on Christmas Eve and threw up trying to finish the bag before midnight?”

“Okay, except for that.”

“I had to hold your hair up for ten minutes straight,” he persists. “I still don’t think I’ve ever seen such colorful—”

You’re smiling now. “Alright, alright, I get it! Hush, before I lose my appetite for the day, Parker.”

Peter just laughs, reaching a hand out across the kitchen countertop and placing it over your own. You let him.

“See? Nothing you could ever do would make me not want to be around you. So talk to me.”

He squeezes your fingers in reassurance, and against your better judgement, your heart palpitates. Damn him and his unrealized talent for flirting. You take a deep breath, mulling over whether to dodge his curiosity, to pin your butterflies to a corkscrew board and keep them there, or to let them fly out into the world without restraint.

“I don’t know, Peter,” you eventually sigh. “It just happened. To be honest, I didn’t really think about it before I did it.“

He’s rubbing soothing circles against your knuckles now. You’re hyper-aware of how sweaty your palms must be. “Why is that?”

“If you mean why I didn’t think about it, then…” Choose. Now or never. “I kind of just wanted to.”

Bye bye, butterflies.

A beat of silence. You don’t realize it, but Peter’s breathing has turned almost dangerously shallow.

“Oh.”

Of course, how could you possibly realize such a little thing, at least with the way the corner of his lip is quirking into the faintest of smiles?

You can’t bring yourself to comment on it aloud, but seeing how you can feel his eyes watching your own—tracing the subtlety with which you’re just barely outrunning the interlocking of his gaze with yours, like a game of cat and mouse—you’re sure he knows well enough. Peter’s never needed many words to read your body language just fine, and you with his in turn.

He’s enjoying this.

It’s a wordless communication, but timid hope radiates off that stupid little grin of his in droves. One that he knows you can see.

“I should’ve asked you if it was okay,” you manage. “I’m sorry.”

Peter’s out of his seat now, hand slipping out of yours as he makes his way in front of you. He makes up for the lack of his touch quickly, though, as a hand reaches up to tilt your chin—gently coaxing you to look him directly in the eyes for the first time since the conversation started. The sodas are growing lukewarm on the counter, all but forgotten.

“I already told you,” he says, breathy and low and so very pretty, “you don’t need to be embarrassed. It’s okay.”

You nod, feeling the hairs on your arms stand. The irony of it almost makes you laugh aloud, but the rate at which Peter is closing distance is enough to captivate you into silence. You wonder if he can hear the sound of your thoughts from this far—a difference of inches; an unknown territory that teeters on the verge of something completely relationship-altering.

A proposition.

“And what about now?” He ventures. “Do you still want to? Because I really do.”

You could sense it coming—could recall the memory of lingering touches that lasted far longer than needed, could feel the electricity that shot through you every time—and yet, it still made your heart stutter with unbridled elation.

“Yes, Peter,” you affirm, grinning. “Please do.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice, bridging the gap and pressing his mouth to yours like his life depends on it. It tastes like cola, sweet and syrupy and surreal, and you’re blown away by the gentleness with which Peter kisses you, letting the pads of his fingers trace the outline of your face with the delicacy of handling porcelain. The colors of monarch, morpho, and swallowtail wings erupt behind your eyelids like fireworks.

You have to convince yourself to take a breath of air, but Peter doesn’t stray from you for long, eliciting a fit of laughter from you when he plants a flurry of pecks to your cheeks, nose, and forehead.

“Peter!” You groan, halfheartedly pushing him by the shoulders.

“What?” He teases. “This is payback for this morning!”

You surge forward to press one last kiss to his lips, backing away from the kitchen with a bounce in your step. “Shut up and get your coat, you ass. We’re going out for dinner now.”

Peter easily catches up to you, a goofy smile stretching across his face. “Like a date?”

“Yes, like a date.”

You blink owlishly when you turn to find Peter offering his arm to you, but you happily loop your arm with his after the second of surprise passes.

“This is much better than ordering delivery.”

“I swear, Parker…”

Peter was touch starved. As in, he used to be. And if you had anything to say about it, he wouldn’t face that issue ever again.

Bruno just bopping to his own theme song is the funniest shit to me

The Deadly Sonata

Series masterlist/ (part 2)

~previous

Pairing: Regulus Black x fem!reader

Warnings: royal!au, prince!reg, arranged marriage!au, dark themes, angst, fictional violence

To join the taglist, reblog with a '🌙'

A/n- special thanks to @scandalous-chaos for editing this piece!!

Regulus tried not to look at Y/n as she sat beside him, her arms clasped tightly around her legs, her eyes dreamy and lost as they both sat in the midst of the garden.

“Are you alright?” He asked slowly, smoothing out the long folds of her cotton skirt as they fluttered in the light wind.

He would admit he was the first one to reach out. The prospect of making himself look even worse than he was already going to do made him shudder. No remorse was felt when Y/N didn't reply to his letter for weeks. Only guilt. Guilt, that he'd be the one who would stain her future.

“I'm not. You return after months, not even after promising a return, and you ask,” she turned to him with a stoic face, the facade of her emotions gradually overpowering, “you ask if I'm okay?”

“Royal charters,” he lied. “I'm sorry.”

“You’re sorry!” Y/N forced out an angry broken laugh, hastily wiping some stray tears. “It sucks, you know. It highly sucks because I want to hate you after all this, Regulus Black. I bloody want to! But I can't.”

A heavy silence reigned. How was he supposed to break it when he knew it might be the last time he could feel loved without prejudice? Won’t it all look like an illusion to her when he won't be the same as he appears now?

He sighed. He actually needed to. “You know what's so great about the color white?” He titled his head, gently fondling a colorsake rose beside him.

“That's your favorite,” Y/N rolled her eyes. “Of course you will find it great.”

“It feels so pure, doesn't it? It shows everything so truthfully.”

“And it shows stains too. Shows malice without any shame.”

“Will you tell me something if I ask you? As pure as you feel?”

“I will.”

“Was I ever enough for you?” He sensed the caress of her soft hand on his shoulder, her breaths sounding so composed, unlike his.

“No. I won't say it was enough, Reg. You were just too much.”

“It hurts, Y/N...it hurts when I realise I'll never mean that much to anyone else ever,” he chuckled, gently cupping her face. “But what's the point of trying to change myself when it just proves that I'll never be good enough?”

“I don't know what you are talking about,” Y/N replied, still smiling. “Promise me you will return. You’ll come back to see me, right?”

He gently placed a kiss on top of her head. “Not before you find me a way to get out of here undetected.”

* * *

“There's something I'm not being told,” the youngest Black muttered as he eyed Sirius, whose face showed nothing but a crooked smirk. “something about the kingdom, it's future- what's that?”

“Prince Regulus Black,” Sirius sighed and leaned on the wall, “King-to-be, or should I call you 'Majesty'?”

Regulus stayed silent. He knew better than to indulge himself in a mindless scrimmage with his brother.

“Let me guess, baby brother,” the older Black clicked his fingers, “that old hag mother of yours would have fixed a marriage for you? 'Aye, ain't I right?”

“She’s your mother too, Sirius.”

“I'll take it as a yes. So what's the twist? You love her...but she doesn't love you? How perfect!”

“Sirius, we are diverting from the main topic.” Regulus pressed as he firmly pushed Sirius to the wall, boring holes on his chilled persona. “If it concerns me, I've a right to know.”

“Even if it breaks you? Or your future?”

“You know about it, right?”

Sirius watched as Regulus' expression showed an amalgamation of hurt, betrayal and guilt. “I knew. All along these years- don't go, Reg.”

Regulus paused mid step, knowing whether to trust Sirius when he sounded solemn once in his life. “How can I trust that you are not lying after all this?”

“The last descendant of the throne , believe it or not, is going to change things; I’ve no idea what kind of things, but it’s lethal. Don’t trust Walburga, things are going to go downhill.”

* * *

“I tell you one last time,” Y/N protested hysterically, the dagger firmly held in her grip, “I don’t want to! I’ve my bloody dreams and aspirations. I’m…I’m not ready!”

The maid-in-waiting whimpered in raw fear at the sight of the dagger. Since when Hogwarts taught swinging daggers to noble princesses? Heavy clicks of heels attacked the marble floor at a distance, and if Y/N wasn’t so distracted at the prospect of the pariah news that just suddenly unnerved her, she wouldn’t have been thrown off the ground as the only weapon was snatched out of her fingers and pressed down her windpipe.

“Out!” The voice was so insanely shrill and loud. “My, my,” she heard a small sniff close to her ear, the blade of the dagger digging deeper down skin, “I must tell you, Walburga has a taste- or is it my brother’s? Huh?”

Walburga. It sounded familiar but nothing hit the correct nooks and crannies of Y/N’s brain as something hot trickled down the cut of her dress.

“Who are you?”

“I’d not have been asking that question, if I were at your place, lovey. And importantly, never when I knew who I had made my enemy. Anyway,” she loosened the grip and Y/n fell forward, “Bellatrix Lestrange. And what’s your name, the one who doesn’t know the use of a dagger?”

The feigned sweet voice was so vexing but Y/n kept a straight face. “What do you want?”

“You don’t say that when you will be marrying my brother,” the lady, with vicious black curls, whispered, “or when you don’t know that you are making me see red. Let’s dress up, shall we?”

It was difficult to decide whether it was Bellatrix Lestrange’s deadly esprit or her loyalty to the royal family as her fingers toyed with a rather harsh tug on the string of her gown; a viciously bulky black with a distinct splatter of shimmer, like stars burning through the night sky. Y/N wished it was white, as pure as the prospect of mirth that she could imagine in Regulus’ eyes.

Regulus. For a searing minute, only his serene and ageless smile came to her mind, the soft fondle of his hand, the taste of something indescribable- but everything addicting that rested on his lips as they caressed hers.

What would Regulus think when he realised that she would no longer be with him? Did he love her anyway? With Bellatrix’s unwanted cackles that rained every minute or so, she decided to drop the thought.

“If Walburga would have seen you like this,” Y/n tried not to look at Bellatrix as she licked her lips as if admiring her self made masterpiece, “I’m sure I could have been the mistress. I don’t think my brother would mind having himself a mistress, nor would you, right, lovey?”

“You haven’t done my hair. Who’s this brother of yours anyway?”

“Dumb girl.” Another chortle. Y/n heard nothing but venom in it. “I hope he doesn’t reject the very idea of you tonight. Girls with daggers don’t seem to grasp the idea of secrecy, do they?”

Alright, Y/n decided, as Bellatrix threw her dagger on the bed before walking out of the room, poker face did work on Bellatrix, afterall.

She yearned to shrink back in a corner and cry. What kind of meet required her to be isolated? What would happen today? Would the noble look at the horrendous gash on her neck that Bellatrix gifted her and run away?

She’d owe Bellatrix something if he did. Afterall, she decided to not clean it too.

The garden still smelled like roses, the harshly sweet waft making it difficult for Regulus to not lose his composure.

“I never thought you would come again. I mean…who are the lucky novices meeting Prince Regulus Black every once in a while?” If fragmentation could be heard, it was right here in Y/n’s voice. How could he make a straight face and say nothing?

“I was just wondering today…”

“Jeez, another philosophy class.”

He smiled with an unspoken melancholy. “You see the stars up there?” He pointed lethargically in heaven’s direction. “You can still see them in the sky after they have burned out. It must be lonely…having no one to miss you.”

Y/n could hear the rush of blood racing through her ears. Maybe it was the last time she could tell Regulus. Last time, before Bellatrix scavenged into her room. “I’d miss you, Reg.”

“You will. I’m sure you will. And I can assure you, you won’t like it. Ever told you that you suck at hiding things?”

She tilted her head in his direction as grey clouds scattered obnoxiously in the clear sky.

“No.”

“You have got a cut…bad one. You can’t hide it from me. Also, ah, black doesn’t suit you.”

“Thanks,” she muttered sourly, watching little raindrops descend onto the ground. “Things have been…hard, I must say. It gets harder when you can’t even make yourself, ah, cry. You know…when you don’t get to feel the release.”

Regulus grimaced at rampant ‘swoosh’ capering throughout the garden. “Your gown…Bellatrix’s choice?”

Y/n was almost going to chuckle out with a jeez, she is sick in the head, when everything clicked to her.

“You are a smart one,” the youngest Black feigned out a disturbed smile, “you don’t need explanations.”

“How…how could you?”

“That last night back at Hogwarts,” Regulus blinked as the rain washed down heavily, as if Zeus himself showed his wrath, “I kissed you and came to the conclusion that sometimes, uh, you know, forever doesn’t last for long.”

“You know I’m not ready!” Wiping tears, Y/n jabbed an accusing finger in his direction. “They say distance makes the heart grow fonder, Reg,” he silently wrapped his arms around her as she sobbed, leaning into his shoulder, “and I was, I was so scared of losing you…it just made my heart numb…”

“I’m not ready either. I won’t expect anything from you. I wish I could atone, but I don’t think the heinous thing that I made you enter even deserves acquit.”

“You made me feel I actually matter.”

“You do,” his voice was close to a whisper. “Rains aren’t common in this season, are they?”

“Not even deceit, I must say,” her voice was cold but Regulus didn’t miss the meek insinuation of ‘I wish, for once, you would love me like this- no strings attached’.

_

tagging some lovelies 🌙: @regulusblackswhorecrux, @rainelikerain, @allyly

THIS IS SO LOVELY

You are so Lovely to be Around

Summary: Draco being ridiculously in love with a Ravenclaw, and then confessing it in the end. That's it, that's the plot.

Warnings: Fluff. Simp!Draco. Ravenclaw!Reader. Idiots to lovers. Draco's a tall awkward idiot. Theodore comes between the two, so we don't like him in this fic.

a/n: first work of the year :3

Navigation.

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Ravenclaw are brilliant. Apart from Slytherin, it was perhaps the only bloody bearable house at Hogwarts. Ravenclaws. They're— astute; witty; smart. More brains in them than a skull could contain.

Draco had heard throughout the span of his life, the blemishes and fissures of all the other houses. Gryffidor's too 'dumb', Slytherin's too 'evil', Hufflepuff's too 'weak.'

Ravenclaw was flawless.

But— he'd never have known that they could be so lovely.

He'd known that they could be so faultless— perfected to the bone type of faultless to be precise.

Draco sat on the beige colored ground with Y/N beside him, her face buried in their current assignment.

It was November now. The sky was grey, and the hues muted and brown. The foliage of trees, grass, leaves were scattered over the ground— swayed away by the winds of winter as if it winter were death.

"Draco— you are a fool" She said, his attention turned away from the scenery, as he looked at her, her nose scrunched as though smelled something bitter.

"Why, Ravenclaw, do you make my heart rot?" Draco mimicked the words back sarcastically. She glared at him and shut the book down with a 'thud'.

"I give you heartache because, you are a complete idiot that forgot about the Runic Scripture essay!"

His eyes slightly widened, and hers flashed with annoyance. His eyebrows pinched and her hands rested across her chest. Her expression was amused and annoyed and slightly.... something he couldn't discern.

"I'll write it today. We still have a day, right?" She scoffed at that, picking up the remaining parchments, quills and inks.

"Well, It's going to take you all day, and I'm not helping! Good luck"

"Why are you mad though?" He bellowed in confusion, she didn't answer him as she picked up her bag and left the Black Lake.

His mouth twitched faintly at the corner as he followed close behind. "I'm not mad, just concerned. If you don't do your assignment properly, then I'll lose marks too" Her voice was calmer now, and she tucked a pencil behind her ear.

He just looked down at her. His head was above hers, and she had to tilt her head upwards in order to see his face properly.

Her eyes had changed colour as the weak winter sunlight flashed across her features.

She wasn't glowing in the sun. She was the sun. Her unrelenting radiance would be enough to blind a man.

You are so lovely to be around.

"What have I told you about staring at me like that?" Her voice was... different in a way. And he reminded himself that he hadn't had the privilege to adore her like that.

"I— sorry— I'll see you after the— essay"

Awkwardly, he turned onto his heel before she could say something. His stomach was corroded with butterflies, and he certain that his cheeks were bloomed red.

————

Draco's hand was cramping by the time he'd finished his Runes essay. His hands were smeared with ink and he cleaned up the mess across his desk and himself with a quick Scourgify.

The Runes essay was merely just for extra credit. But Draco Malfoy was a simp for Y/N. And if she wanted that extra credit, then he'd make sure she gets it.

On some ocassions, he'd be scared that whatever it was that he felt— whatever she did to him, or his mind, or his heart, would constitute as more than just a crush.

He'd shove the thought away from his mind before he'd ruin his brain by overthinking it.

————

Theodore Fucking Nott.

He was standing infront of her. A smile over his lips as he talked to her. He was probably using his shit charms on her.

Draco stayed at a distance, watching carefully and then clenching his fists as he adroitly tucked a strand of hair behind her ears. Then suddenly, his sharp green eyes fell onto Draco.

He was aware of Draco's fascination with her, which made it all better for him and all the worse for Draco.

Nott smirked at his before cupping her face. Her eyes were wide in horror as he then leaned down.

Theodore Nott was going to fucking kiss her.

Whatever possessiveness was within him came rushing to the surface and he immediately stepped out from the aclove— much to Theo's dismay.

"Y/N!" He called out, and she immediately pulled away from Theodore. Turning her head to him.

"Oh hey!" She chirped, her words a bit too rushed, but she seemed to look relieved.

"Malfoy" Said Nott in a bitter voice, his lips pressed into a painful forced smile, he did the same.

"Nott" he said, giving him a nod. His eyes were intent, the color and look in them like diamond. Hard enough to cut him.

"I did the Runes essay— I said I'd find you, after" His attention now to Y/N, he ignored Nott's lethal glare on him. In any other circumstance, he'd have ruined Theodore's dumb face, but he composed himself because of her.

"Right, great." Her eyebrows quirked, "I have to go now Theo."

Draco's arm found a home around her waist as he pulled her close, resting his head on top of hers. His molten mettalic eyes thundered mine.

"Bye then Nott" Draco smirked, walking her and himself away from him, all while discreetly pointing his middle finger at him.

————

The next morning when they were in class submitting their essay, he found Y/N staring at him— the look was similar to how he stared at himself in the mirror. So, it was— adoring.

"What have I told you about looking at me like that?" Draco taunted, she blinked and looked away from him.

"Err— sorry, I didn't—" She inhaled sharply and looked at him again, "Thanks for yesterday"

"What did I do yesterday?"

"You uh, you interuppted Theo and I. I don't like him that way, and I didn't know what to tell him yesterday. I— like someone else"

"Oh" he said, rolling his tongue on the inside of his cheek. "Well, you're welcome, I'm happy to be a cockblock"

She snorted faintly and her mouth curved into a smile that only ever existed for him. "You're an idiot, Malfoy"

"That's why I have you, Ravenclaw"

Her laughter ringed through him and for a moment he thought as though that small laugh from her, stole his heart out of his chest.

She was so lovely to be around.

————

'You have to tell her, you have to tell her' He repeated it through and through his mind.

While he was sauntering off to confess his feelings, Theodore bumped into him.

His green eyes were bitter, and Draco scoffed as he shoved him away. He almost lost her to Theo— he could lose her again.

He would tell her. He would tell her.

————

His chest felt hollow and his mouth was burning as though he'd swallowed acid.

"What did you want to say?"

His arms were hanging limp as though he didn't know what to do with himself.

"We're friends right?"

"Somewhat yes"

"So and— fuck how do you do it?"

"Do what?"

"Let me think, Y/N!"

She went silent. And then she smiled. She'd known about it for awhile. But she wanted him to come forth with it when he was ready.

"I know what you want to say?"

"You do?"

"I love you. Do you?"

His horrified but adoring eyes stared at her.

"I love me too— fuck I— I love you too"

The weak winter sunlight that creeped through his hair made the shades on him golden. He was almost too beautiful to look at.

Then, she wrapped her arms around his neck, raised her feet up— and kissed him.

He kissed her back ravenously. His hands tangled into his strands as he pulled her to himself. His tongue and teeth clashed with her.

She gasped against his mouth, and he bit down on her lips. His lips and his hands and his hold on her was possessive and obsessive.

When she finally pulled away to inhale, his mouth sucked onto her pulse-point. He craved her like oxygen.

"I love you" he spoke against her flawless skin, "I've always loved you, you're just so— you are so lovely to be around"

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(follow @bellysstudy to be notified of my works)

THAT IS SO SWEET WHAT AAHJDAKUIOUOE *cries*

My Personal Ray of Sunshine

Summary: You start the year in the arms of the love of your life, Doctor Stephen Strange (Fluff).

word count: 989 words

requested by anon

It was the first morning of the year. The cold January air blew inside the room through the window you had left ajar overnight. It was always too warm in your room, and the fact that Stephen insisted on spooning all night did not help.

You opened your eyes slightly, feeling the weight of his left arm wrapped around your waist and the comfort of the other that lied under your head. You moved carefully, trying your best to turn around to face him before he would wake up.

Your movements were delicate as you turned your feet first and then your hips making yourself as small as possible, hoping not to wake up the doctor. The huff the escaped his lips, however, let you know you had failed your mission.

“Why are you awake already?” He asked in his signature morning raspy tone. His grip on you loosened, letting you turn around swiftly to face him. He looked beautiful, with his eyes still closed and his forehead slightly wrinkled in annoyance. You did not answer his question, instead, you placed a soft kiss on his chin.

He moved his left hand from your waist to your face, still with his eyes closed, running it down your face and over your eyes in an attempt to close them. “Go back to sleep,” he whispered in an annoyed tone.

“It is already 9, c’mon!” You lied, having no access to a watch or a phone to know the actual time.

“How do you know it is already 9?” He asked skeptical.

“Because I know how the light in the room looks at 9,” you responded confidently.

“Are you not tired? Don’t you want to sleep? I had to carry you to bed yesterday night. You would not get off the table with your bottle of tequila.” He asked, desperate to convince you to go back to sleep.

“If you open your eyes, I will give you a kiss,” you smiled even though he could not see it. You were sure he could not keep the grumpy facade for much longer, he never did.

“You are insufferable,” he sighed, finally opening his eyes slightly and giving you a crooked smile.

“You are my everything, doctor. I am happy to start the year with your grumpy self.” You responded, reaching for his face with your right hand and pressing a quick kiss on his lips. “I love you, even though you would spend all day in bed doing nothing.”

“I love you more, even when you won’t let me sleep.” He closed his eyes again, but the smile on his lips let you know he did not mind your bothering him after all. The truth is that he loved it. He loved the fact that you woke up full of energy most mornings. That every morning you would be the one in a good mood, making him feel alive.

Waking up by your side made him feel alive. It made him feel like the day was full of light, full of opportunities and most importantly, full of you. His smile grew, and you could not help but excitedly move on top of him, placing your legs to the sides of his body. “There we go! No more grumpiness allowed! It is the first of the year! Whatever we do today, we will do for the rest of the year.” You spoke excitedly, lowering yourself with a big smile and kissing him again.

He took advantage of your position, wrapping his arms around your body, holding you down onto his chest. “Now sleep,” he responded, tapping your head and keeping his eyes closed as you could not help but giggle trapped in his arms.

“I am hungry,” you whispered between giggles.

“I am going to kill you,” he whispered, but he could not help but chuckle slightly and shake his head. He was about to give in. You could feel it.

“I am going to bother you until you get up with me. You always say you love my resilience. Well, now you will get to see how resilient I am.” You pushed your forehead against his chest, breathing out dramatically.

He grabbed the back of your neck delicately and laid your cheek against his chest “sleep.” You did not move, knowing that it was too late for him to sleep again now. Instead, you started humming that song that you loved and he hated, not because it was a bad song but because it would always get stuck in your head all day long.

You felt his chest shake as a genuine laugh escaped his lips. “I can never win with you,” he asserted, shaking his head again and finally opening up his eyes completely. “Let’s go make breakfast,” he tapped your side twice, letting you know you were free to go. You got up with a smile on your lips, satisfied and proud of winning once again. He stretched quickly and got up sluggishly.

Just like that, you started the first day of the year together, preparing breakfast and going over all the ridiculous things that happened the night before. He could not help but watch you as you moved around the kitchen, always a little too hectic and excited. You were pure electricity, and he could no longer imagine a day without you in it.

“You said that what you do on the first day of the year, you will do all year long, right?” He asked, moving his eyes back to the pan where a perfectly round pancake was cooking.

“Yep.” You answered nonchalantly, too focused on the strawberries you were trying to cut into perfectly symmetrical slices.

“Well, if this is how the rest of my year will look like, I am perfectly content with it.” He stood behind you, whispering the words in your ear, before pressing a kiss on your cheek. “I love you, my personal ray of sunshine.”

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