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imagining simon with a reader that's extremely awkward since it's their first serious relationship.
simon was practically yearning for your touch, ready to burst at the seams and teeter over while you hesitantly refrained. you two had been dating for at least eight months and had known each other for longer around this point, so he was well-adjusted and within his comfort zone with you; he trusts you. you’ve had flings here and there, all of which lasted more than a month if you were lucky— not your fault these assholes did a complete 180 once you officially put a title on things. for a long time, you convinced yourself that it was your fault since the only common factor in all of those relationships was you until simon was practically desperate to prove you wrong— although his poker face and lack of flowery words would ever allow him to do so.
every time simon would try to get closer to you at night? you didn’t know what to do. cheek kisses? you’d just press your lips into a tight-lipped smile, managing a small “thanks” and averted your gaze. if simon tried to hold your hand? it was almost like you’d find a way to wiggle out of it. it was almost like you weren’t used to affection— how could you of all people not be used to affection, he wondered.
he started to eventually get discouraged at one point. he wasn’t one for affection often, but you didn’t seem to want to get closer to him— why didn’t you want to get closer to him? he’d try to brush it off, but he wasn’t good with words and touch was all he had left.
it was abruptly brought up when you two were seated on the couch, his eyes mindlessly mapping out how your hair framed the side of your face, assuming it began to tickle you from the way you raised your hand and began to gently scratch the softness of your cheek. “why do you move away from me when i try to touch you?” he suddenly asked, his voice vibrating in his chest. he caught onto the way your jaw undulated at the question which only fueled his curiosity. were you aware you had been doing this to him? were you dangling your affection above his head? what a cruel game if you were, honestly. “um…” you began, a silence ensuing between you two. you didn’t know what to say— what could you say? your reasoning felt silly the more you thought about it— you didn’t want to push simon away of all people.
“i don’t know what to do or where to put my hands… and im afraid i’ll get clingy. its not that i dont like it… i do…. i just…” you mumbled, your eyes flickering between his and the tv.
…that was it?
you didn’t know where to put your hands and you thought you’d be clingy just after giving him a small hug? small kiss? he stifled a laugh which you caught onto, prompting a small pout to form on your plush lips. “why’re you laughing? i’m being serious!” you groaned, slightly frustrated at the feeling of simon not taking this seriously. simon took your frustration in stride, the roughness of his hands grazing across your cheeks as he gingerly cupped the sides of your face. “s’nothin— nothin a’ all…” he mumbled, secretly on cloud nine as he silenced you with a kiss, feeling you tense up to which he elicited a throaty chuckle. “it’s not— s’not funny!” you attempted to reprimand him which failed, seeing as how you were holding back your laugh at simon’s smile and at how ridiculous the situation was now that you thought about it.
“you’re right. i’m afraid you’ll be like a leech if you get used to me.” he mumbled against your lips. he was pleasantly surprised at the feeling of your hands returning the gesture and cupping his face, your thumbs grazing the stubble which pricked and prodded needles into the soft pads of your fingers. “shut up.” you mumbled back, pulling him down onto the couch with you as he landed on your chest. he tried to ignore the rapid beating of your heart and how it hammered in your chest, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t think it was cute.
if you weren’t used to affection, he’d have to change that.
5 times Draco used Legilimency on Hermione +1 time she used it on him
Summary: Hermione has ADHD/AuDHD and Draco finds the way her mind works compared to others so fascinating he can't stay out.
Rating: T (non-graphic torture, a couple suggestive lines) ♡ WC: ~5k
A/N: my first published Dramione! (Looks at longfics languishing in drafts) Hope you enjoy! No beta; if you see any plot holes wither in the story or from Canon compliancy no you don't. Also I realise the summary sounds a little weird but I'm simply projecting as I write this Hermione and would like to find my own Draco who will find the way my brain is wired interesting/pos and not interesting/neg.
1. Wednesday, 10 January, 1996 (5th Year)
Draco shifted in his chair, glaring up from his parchment as the loud sound of a page turning interrupted his previously quiet study session. He was mildly surprised to find that the perpetrator was none other than the studious swot herself, Hermione Granger. He’d thought she had more respect for the sanctity of a library and its quietude.
A hint of colour crawled up her cheeks as she caught his stare, but she didn’t look away.
A thought popped into Draco’s head as he held her gaze. Over the winter hols, his mother had begun teaching him Legilimency. He was still getting the hang of it, but practice made perfect, did it not? His target was already making eye contact with him, and he was suddenly overwhelmingly curious about the witch’s thoughts. Was she as boring as she came across on the outside?
Ooo, maybe he could get a sneak peek into Potter’s plans, if she let him that far into her mind. Well, it was worth a try. Despite being a ridiculously well-read witch, surely she hadn’t learned about Legilimency or Occlumency?
Moving his wand under the table, so she couldn’t see, he whispered “Legilimens,” instantly transporting to his rival’s innermost being. Stubborn swot had practically invited him in, with those gleaming amber eyes holding his and absolutely no mental resistance to his entry at all.
He smirked to himself and looked around.
Draco turned slowly in place in Granger’s mind, jaw dropped as he took in the thoughts absolutely sprinting around, too fast for him to possibly pin down and read.
Merlin’s beard, had the witch actually become an Occlumens?!
This was not what he expected, compared to his mother’s neatly organised thoughts and carefully constructed walls and paths that held her memories. How was he supposed to delve into her mind and find what he wanted if there was no way to find what he was looking for?
Granger’s mind was a veritable rabbit warren of thoughts and memories, all haphazardly rolling around in her head like stray Bertie Bott’s Beans on the Hogwarts Express.
He had to give it to her, she had excellent defences that even a more skilled Legilimens than himself would have trouble wading through.
And the volume, Salazar’s staff…he was getting a headache just from the decibels of those thoughts running amuck. He exited her mind and broke eye contact, silently letting her win the unspoken staring contest, too overwhelmed to look at her any longer. How did the witch manage to get anything done with that organisational system, nevermind be top of their classes? Sure, it was a great defence against Legilimens, but they were few and far between, surely she didn’t need them at Hogwarts (his prying experiment aside). That mental energy would be better spent retaining and organising their class information.
Draco felt a sliver of grudging respect at Granger’s beyond-magical handling of Occlumency and schoolwork. He shivered in his seat. He wouldn’t be going in her brain again if he could help it.
2. Monday, 15 January, 1996 (5th Year)
Draco glared at the bronze curls ahead of him, willing Granger to quiet her thoughts. Since he’d first jumped into her brain last week, he couldn’t stop listening in, even when he wasn’t trying.
Sweet Salazar, the witch was loud. Practically screaming her thoughts at anyone listening in.
He really couldn’t make heads or tails of her behaviour. There was absolutely no reason for her to be broadcasting her thoughts like that – only a few students would even have heard of Legilimency. Surely she wasn’t playing bait, trying to lure him and/or his godfather into admitting something?
Somehow, Granger had become more interesting to him than Potter over the last week. It was only partly due to her annoyingly distracting thoughts that kept following him around. He found himself searching out her curls like a beacon for him to watch her, instead of to locate one of the two limpets usually by her side. He was, admittedly, curious about her organisational standards after his jaunt through her head.
The more he heard her thoughts, the more he found himself able to make sense of the rapid-fire trails they’d blaze, often diverting from one topic to another quicker than he would have done.
Looking back once he was out of her mental broadcasting range, he was able to follow her logic steps, but by Merlin, the convoluted ways she arrived at her destination! Draco wasn’t sure if he was impressed by her ability to arrive at the same conclusion by very different throughways or not.
Ahead of him, Granger shifted, perhaps finally sensing his displeasure and quieting her thoughts. They slowed down, gathering in one easy-to-follow stream of consciousness as she mentally narrated the notes she was writing.
Finally.
Thankful for the reprieve, Draco bent over his own parchment, able to block out one uninterrupted thought flow better than a scattered bombardment of singular thoughts. Still, the applications she pulled out of whatever mental filing system she had –however confusing it was–
were always apt and several times provided a new angle for Draco to mull over.
He wasn’t sure how he felt about that. He relegated it to the back of his mind, where most of his thoughts about Granger went these days, never to be seen or felt again.
3. Sunday, 15 September, 1996 (6th Year)
The form of one Hermione Granger slumped over her books in the library made Draco pause on his way past her table to the shelf he wanted.
He’d missed her mental chatter over the summer as he learned Occlumency from his aunt and improved his Legilimency. However, with his new and improved mental shields firmly up since his return to Hogwarts, he hadn’t cared to attempt to breach hers again. He had better things to do with his brain than listen to her mental ramblings.
Honestly, he felt a bit bad for her after he’d eavesdropped on her when she was with the limpets one study session. She certainly possessed a surplus of patience dealing with those two, considering the filter her thoughts passed through before they made their way to the limpets’ ears.
Cautiously, he attempted to listen in on her thoughts as he made his way behind her, out of sight and out of mind (well, in one sense). Nothing.
Draco frowned. His Legilimency had only improved over the summer, and he couldn’t feel any Occlumency walls or shields. Her mind was simply…not producing thoughts. It was such a deviation from the norm that he began to grow worried that something had happened to Granger.
He sent a small stinging jinx at her leg. She jerked, slapping at her leg as thoughts began to form, to his relief (he simply tossed that feeling in the pile of galleons holding his true emotions that were stored in his very well guarded mental horde, never to be considered further).
Ouch, what was that? She glanced around, but he was safely hidden behind the shelves. Oh well. You’ve got Charms homework to crack on, Hermione. She pulled a piece of parchment forward and dipped her quill in the ink bottle, tapping the excess ink off on the side absentmindedly as she began figuring out the wording of her essay.
Two students walked by, whispering about the Quidditch tryouts the day before. Granger snickered as an image of Cormac McLaggen flying off in the wrong direction flitted through her mind like the Snitch taunting the Seekers.
Confundusing McLaggen was too easy. I’m glad Ron got the spot. She flipped through the Charms textbook. Focus, ‘Mione, Charms!
Draco left her mind, humming thoughtfully. So the little swot had sabotaged the tryouts for her incompetent boyfriend’s favour, huh. How positively Slytherin of her.
4. Monday, 30 March, 1998 (7th Year)
The shaking form of Hermione Granger on his drawing room floor kept Draco frozen in his spot, unable to look away. Her expression was screwed up in pain as she bit her lip, trying not to let a scream escape. Suddenly her eyes flew open, meeting his and pinning him in place.
His wandless Legilimency was weak at best, but with eye contact…
Legilimens.
Draco slipped into her brain easily, almost staggering as the pain of the Cruciatus curse spread to him. Granger, it will be okay. Hold on. You have to hold on, Granger. Please.
Mal-Malfoy?
Some of the pain in her eyes was replaced with confusion. He barely moved a muscle to nod reassuringly at her.
Yes, it’s me, Granger. Keep fighting. You have to, for all the others. You will survive this, I swear it. Just hold on a little longer, please, Granger.
Why are you doing this? A drop of blood trickled down her lip as she bit down harder.
I can’t stop my aunt, but I can take some of your torture. It’s nothing new. Just hold on, Granger, you’re not alone here. They’re coming for you. They’ll get you out of this.
But you hate me. You’re on his side.
Not anymore; I have to. For my mother and my sake. Just like you have to for Potter and Weasley and your sakes.
Bellatrix cast another Cruciatus, determined to make Potter’s Mudblood scream. Draco took more of the pain from Granger, determined to give her that one minuscule victory of staying quiet.
Granger squeezed her eyes shut again at the renewed assault, temporarily cutting off their connection. Draco took a large, un-Slytherin risk and lowered a little of his Occlumency defences, reaching out to Granger’s loud mental screams.
Hush, Granger, I’m still here. Can you feel me through the mental link?
I thought Legilimency needed eye contact? She gasped.
I’ve improved my Legilimency over the summer. I don’t need eye contact if your mental defences are down and you’re practically screaming in my head.
Granger’s reply was cut off as she noticed something above her, her eyes opening in another convulsion. Dobby was unscrewing the chandelier in the drawing room above the gathered crowd.
Come with us, she said, a flicker of surprise flashing after the words. Leave the Manor and him behind.
I can’t, Granger. My mother–
A vague sense of sympathetic understanding echoed through her mind underneath the spasms of pain.
Just say a nice word at my funeral, will you?
Dr–
He left her mind as Potter & Co appeared in front of the group, throwing them into chaos. At least his insane aunt was forced to stop cursing Granger and cast other spells instead.
He half-heartedly wrestled with Potter over a couple wands, hoping the Death Eaters would be too distracted to notice the way he so easily let Potter wrestle them free.
A flash of crystal as the chandelier dropped–
A flash of silver as Bellatrix threw her knife–
A flash and crack as the Order members apparated away–
And she was free. Draco closed his eyes. The Order would win the war, he was sure of it. What that meant for him, he no longer cared.
5. Monday, 5 October, 1998 (1st Day of 8th Year)
Draco, from his vantage point at the top of the stairs to the dorms, looked around the common room at the combined houses mingling peaceably. He had an excellent view.
The bronze curls and slow smile of one Hermione Granger, War Heroine, were warmly shaded by the light of the fireplace she sat beside, conversing with classmates.
She had regained some colour to her skin over the summer, he noticed, and a handful of freckles besides. Her hair was more curl and less frizz, her eyes were livelier and less shadowed, though they showed her forced maturity no matter how much they sparkled (Draco didn’t think that those would ever disappear from any who had them), her body was curvier and less malnourished than when he’d last seen her months ago at his trial.
He felt the edges of his lips curling up in a genuine smile as he sat and observed all the positive changes in her life and body.
He’d thought he was well-hidden in the shadows (certainly everyone was treating him as though he were truly wrapped in Potter’s invisibility cloak), but suddenly her eyes snapped to his and she held his gaze, leaving no doubt that she had caught him staring.
She quirked her eyebrow in silent question and invitation. He didn’t need Legilimency anymore to know how to read her, most of the time.
He’d spent all his summer house arrest fixating on any scrap of news the papers published about her, of which there were plenty. Thousands of photos of the most famous and Brightest Witch of Her Age had been clipped and carefully transferred to his scrapbook. It was a little ridiculous at this point, just how thick it was. It was hidden the Muggle way, under the floorboard under his bed, along with a thick stack of letters they had exchanged in between her busy schedule of testifying, repairing battlegrounds and casualties, and healing herself, and his busy schedule of daydreaming as he scoured the papers
He shook his head slightly, making her brow drop and turn into a hint of a frown. He frowned back at her, motioning with a jerk of his head to continue her conversation, and got to his feet.
Draco, can you hear me?
He froze on the step.
I saw that and I’m taking it as a yes. Are you alright?
Peachy, Granger. I’m going to bed. Goodnight.
…Goodnight, Draco. Sweet dreams.
He snorted. You take the sweetness for your own dreams. Ta.
He sat up with a gasp, uncomfortably sticky with sweat, his breathing fast and ragged. The nightmares had fallen off somewhat, but he supposed the first day back at Hogwarts had triggered their reemergence with full vigour.
He settled back on his bed, turning his pillow over and resting his hands beneath it, the weight of his head grounding him. Once he’d slowed his breathing, he lay staring up at the shadowed ceiling. He reached out to Granger unconsciously, needing reassurance that she wasn’t still trapped in his drawing room with his aunt, unable to even have his mental support as he was held back with magical restraints. The dreams always ended up in his drawing room.
Granger was asleep, seemingly undisturbed by night terrors.
He flinched when he saw where Granger’s dreams had ended up. Surprisingly, it wasn’t like his nightmares at all. Bellatrix wasn’t there, or his mother. Only he and Granger were there, kneeling a hairsbreadth apart, his hand on her cheek, her hand on his knee.
Feeling like he was intruding, Draco left her dream, returning fully to staring at the ceiling. Granger was safe and peaceful and that’s all that mattered. Whatever was happening in her dreams was none of his business.
+1. Tuesday, 2 May, 2000 (2nd Anniversary of the Second Wizarding War’s End)
“Draco.”
He placed his glass of firewhisky down, turning to face his visitor. “Hermione. How are you doing?”
“Never better,” he smirked, some grain of truth to his words. “You?”
Her pink lips turned up at that. “Good. I’m content with my present. It is a bit difficult with all the,” she waved at the fancy surroundings, “circumstances, but it’s nothing I can’t handle.” The room was filled with decorations and the setup for hundreds of people to celebrate the second year of Voldemort’s defeat.
“I’m pleased to hear that. You look good. The Ministry treating their Golden Girl well at her new job?”
She rolled her eyes, playfully nudging his arm. “Not you too. And yes, I’ve finally managed to get the preferential treatment left off. It only took, what, eleven months?”
“You should keep some preferential treatment, Granger,” he said solemnly. “Remind them that none of them would be here if it weren’t for you. Don’t let them take you for granted.”
She considered him, nibbling on her lower lip for a second as she bit back something. He was about to urge her to say it anyway when they were joined by Potter and Weaslette.
“Potter. Weaslette.”
“Malfoy. Hermione,” greeted the couple.
“Hello, Harry, Ginny.”
“I must admit I’m a little surprised to see you here,” said Harry, pushing his glasses up as he took a swig of his drink. Draco assumed he was talking to Hermione, given the circumstances.
Hermione made an agreeing noise. “I felt I should, even if I didn’t want to. I’ll find you later, Malfoy was just about to take me to get a drink, alright?”
The couple nodded and waved them off as Hermione’s hand slipped into his, pulling him away.
He blinked at their joined hands, then the back of her head as she steered them towards the bar.
“You didn’t want to stay and talk with your friends? I could’ve left.”
“No, you were there first. Besides, I wanted to talk to you in private, and we see each other much less frequently than I see Harry and Ginny.”
“Oh? Consider my interest piqued, Granger. What on earth could you want to talk to me about? You can always owl me and arrange a meeting some other time. I’m sure you still know my address, even if we haven’t written each other in awhile.”
She ordered a cocktail and leaned against the bar, turning to face him. “Do you know any place around here where we might have an uninterrupted chat?”
He hummed, tapping his chin in thought. “I may have an idea or two.”
Hermione’s drink retrieved and his topped up, he extended his arm to her and led them across the room, through dark hallways dimly lit by candle sconces, until he opened a door, gesturing her through.
“Welcome to the private sitting room of Lady Malfoy, where none are sure to disturb.”
“Won’t your mother–”
“My mother is busy overseeing the anniversary ball, doing her best to continue polishing our name to return it to its former shine. Besides, she is quite fond of you and will be most obliging and understanding. Unless, by ‘private chat’ you meant a quick shag, in which case I am more than happy to escort you to my private rooms,” he winked, settling in the corner of the settee mere handbreadths away from her.
She blushed and rolled her eyes. “That is not what I meant. This will be fine, thank you.”
“Alright. What is so secretive that you lured me to this dark, isolated room, Granger? Should I be in fear of my innocence being tainted?”
“It’s just us now, Malfoy, you can stop with the cavalier facade. I wanted to ask you if you would be willing to help me learn and practise Legilimency.”
Draco blinked. “You’re learning Legilimency?”
“I’ve been informed that my natural Occlumency is quite advanced already,” she smirked at him, “and I believe it would be useful to learn Legilimency. You know I can’t tell you everything about my work as an Unspeakable, but I work with Memories and Obliviators. I think Legilimency would be quite useful to know in my line of work, and…well, I can’t think of anyone I’d trust more with my mind to teach me.”
Draco swallowed. “I won’t insult you by asking if you’ve thought this through, but just for my peace of mind, Granger, you really want me in your mind again? Even after…”
She nodded firmly twice. “I asked you to help me improve my Occlumency and mental resistance, especially against you, because I thought we both needed space apart from each other. It wasn’t because I didn’t trust you or want you in my mind. You know I didn’t mind that, especially after the Incident. Now that I’m content with my Occlumency, I wish to learn Legilimency. I still trust you with my mind, Draco, we just needed some boundaries.”
He nodded, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees and run his fingers through his hair. “My mind healer told me our bond was becoming codependent and unhealthy. I’ve finally seen your points,” he sighed. “ I- you’re ready to do this again?”
“My mind healer cleared me a while ago, but I waited to be sure both of us were. But if you’re still not…maybe today wasn’t the best day to bring this up, after all. I’m sorry, I’ll leav-”
His fingers were wrapped gently around her wrist before he even knew what he was doing. “No, stay, Granger. I’m ready. I just wanted to clear some of my past reservations up first.”
Her answering smile was brilliant. “Good! When would you be free to start, then?”
“Now?”
Hermione smiled at the sight of Draco’s blonde head sticking above the back of her sofa. One arm was resting along the back, his long fingers tracing aimless designs in the blue floral pattern.
She paused, struck by an impulsive thought. Pulling out her wand, she whispered, “Legilimens,” under her breath, transporting to his mind. She fell in instantly, surprising her considering the challenge he had set her to get into his mind when he wasn’t expecting her. Surely it wasn’t this easy…but it didn’t feel like he was Occluding…
She wandered through his mind, as always astounded by his neat organising, so unlike her own mental filing system. Hers worked perfectly well for her, but she had long felt Other for her strange ways of remembering obscure topics and collecting scraps of random information. She had finally come to accept her strangeness and embrace it, even, but she still had a little pang of jealousy at seeing his easy organisation.
She strolled through the cave that was his mental fortress, surprised to not be greeted by his defending dragon. What was he planning?
She continued on her way, pausing to observe his vaults of memory-gems and emotion-coins, locked up behind steel and iron. The locks on some had become simpler, less guarded, from when they’d parted ways at the end of Eighth Year, and she wondered if she was seeing proof of his mind healer’s influence.
The vault she’d always been most curious about, at the back, was cracked open.. Taking it as an invitation, she peered in. It looked like a Gringotts vault, full of artworks and artefacts and piles of wealth heaped in the corners. Looking closer, each object held something related to her. Memories, feelings, dreams…
Feeling like an intruder, although she assumed he’d let her in for a reason, she stepped in cautiously. A memory met her full-force.
October, Sixth Year
Draco glanced across the table to hers, where she twirled a curl around her finger, deep in thought over a thick tome.
“Legilimens.”
He’d been getting the hang of wandless legilimency when he returned to Hogwarts, fresh from his aunt’s teaching. He’d practised on enough minds over the summer to know that hers was different, moreso than anyone else’s, and it intrigued him.
At first, yes, it had annoyed him, all her loud, fast thoughts, but now he found it comforting to listen in. He enjoyed trying to figure out which Express her thoughts were going to take before she did, to try and follow her leaps of intellect and even beat her to her conclusions.
And then there were her memories…the happy bustle of the Burrow (even if he was a little blinded by the sheer amount of gingers in one place), the summers out exploring with her Muggle parents, the interesting lives the Muggles lived and their strange inventions, the happy times she had with the limpets, she had so many happy memories.
They all seemed tinged with a warm sepia glow, preserved by some force Draco wasn’t sure he wanted to know. It was a far cry from his own, cold grey and black shrouded in smokey vignette. Her memories simultaneously made him wish to turn them to ash and keep them in a Fiendfyre-proof vault. He left her head with a scoff and got up, leaving the library.
Hermione blinked, overcome with his emotions and the memory. He’d confessed in their letters before Eighth Year that he’d often slipped into her head, but she hadn’t fully understood it until now. Another memory flitted forward as the previous one slid back into Draco’s neat storage.
March, Seventh Year
Draco was horrified to see her dragged into his drawing room by the Snatchers. His gaze flicked from her, to his aunt, to the Snatchers. He’d long since learned to temper his flight or fight response with freeze.
He’d stayed frozen until Bellatrix had cast the first Crucio and she’d met his eyes.
It was strange seeing her memories through Draco’s eyes, especially once he’d jumped into her head and was seeing her thoughts.
Granger, it will be okay.
She often recalled the first words he’d said to her when he entered her mind. And then she felt the phantom echoes of pain, and realised that Draco had absorbed some of the Cruciatus for her.
Jerking out of the memory with a gasp, she panted for breath, hand on her heart, reminding herself that it was only a memory.
“Draco!”
He strolled out of the shadows of the vault, hands in his pockets, eyebrow raised in silent question.
“Hermione.”
“You absorbed the Cruciatus for me?” Blast it, she could feel the sting of tears fast approaching. Now was not the time to cry. She blinked hard.
He shrugged.
“Why didn’t you tell anyone? I’m sure that would have gone even farther to prove your case for acquittal at your trial!”
“Does it matter, Granger?” He sounded annoyed. “That’s not usually how this goes.”
She paused, confused. “How does it usually go, then?”
He rolled his eyes. “I have a nightmare about the Incident, you remind me it’s not real, we kiss, et cetera,” he waved his hand summarily. “Don’t know why I expected Dream-Hermione to be any less argumentative than Real-Hermione,” he muttered under his breath.
Hermione tilted her head, contemplating. So Draco dreamed about her. She’d thought nightmares about the Incident had decreased. But apparently he also dreamed about current-her comforting him. Interesting. She hadn’t been sure if he’d still be as fond of her as he’d been in Eighth Year, after they’d had some healing and time apart from their traumatic bonding experiences. Well, it was good to know her slightly-more-than-a-crush was reciprocated.
“I’m going to ignore that, just this once. Draco, are you dreaming?”
He looked at her in puzzlement. “Obviously. I really don’t know why you had to change the dream from snogging me senseless to rehashing the Incident, though,” he frowned.
She raised her eyebrow. “Snogging you senseless, huh? That explains your absolute lack of Occlumency,” she snickered. “You were practically inviting me in. Guess your subconscious was tired of your lack of making a move and made it for you. Would you care to wake up so I can actually snog you senseless, then?”
Draco blinked, then his jaw dropped and a blush rose on his cheeks and eartips.
She turned to leave, then remembered why she’d come in the first place. “Oh, by the way, since I was able to get into your head successfully, I’ll be claiming my prize of one wish from the loser. I’m sure you’ll quite like it, don’t worry!” With a wink, she left, leaving him gaping after her.
Hermione settled on the sofa beside him, smirking softly at his adorably flustered expression as he woke up and saw her.
“Er, Hermione–”
“Sh, Draco. You like me and I like you, that’s all that matters, isn’t it?”
“Well, I suppose–”
“Good, then. Based on the sheer volume of that vault about me, I assume we have many many snogs to make up for.”
He exhaled in defeat, a smile taking over his face. “You’re right, as always.” He winked at her, leaning in quite willingly to meet her in the first of many kisses.
something something... ghost being unable to cook to save his life so he chooses to frequent at a beat up broke down poor ass canteen with cheap meals where reader prepares and delivers the dishes.. so he offers her a job as a private chef in his own house and she agrees because he pays her money like he sleeps on it.... and then he actually invites the lads over for a sunday roast made by his missus.... oh, she doesn't like it when he calls her that? well it's too bad, he already got her evicted from her previous place and fired from the bar she was working in so she can do longer shifts.. he also might have fucked her raw once or twice while she was "working", what's the difference? he already has her saved as wife in the contacts soo....
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perv ghost but he’s also a little freak stalker and the darling likes it doesn’t she
yes yes yes this is me i’m a little freak and I like big freaks like him <33
c/w: stalker!ghost, reader likes it though, somnophilia but not really bc the reader is awake, dub-con
this man will hurt people for you. and he doesn’t need to know how wet your panties get when you see him follow the bloke who bought you a drink into the bathroom only to come out 5 minutes later with bloody knuckles
he doesn’t need to know how you purposely put yourself in dangerous situations because you know your simon is there to protect you. taking walks late at night on the shitty streets of manchester, wearing nothing but a pretty little sundress
you’re completely aware that he’s standing in the dark alleyways, wearing the balaclava he swore was only for when it was cold and there are flus going around. watching and ready to pounce on any stupid no-good bastard that may try to hurt you
he thinks you leave your window open because the breeze helps you fall asleep. never crosses his mind that you do it to make it easier for him to climb through and get into bed with you. none the wiser to the fact that you’re actually awake, shamefully enjoying the way his hands come up to toy with your nipples and clit whilst you ‘sleep’
what a coincidence that you’re always wearing pretty little underwear sets in his favourite colour. doesn’t find it weird that you sleep in crotch less panties at all :)
you must have an oral fixation that runs deep into your subconscious because he must feel the way your lips hollow out around his cock when he straddles your face and slips his cock down your warm throat, not the slightest bit aware to the fact that you’re faking your slumber, one hand sneakily rubbing your clit as he looks down at your lips sucking his cock dry
a girl is never simply grocery shopping btw. she is grocery shopping and running away from the horrors. she is grocery shopping and trying to find her childhood whimsy somewhere between the aisles. she is grocery shopping and feeling an amount of grief that is insurmountable. but she is never just grocery shopping
Being a young adult is so strange. You enter a coffee shop. The 20 year old girl waiting behind you cried all night because she just came to a new city for university and she feels so alone. That 27 year old guy over there works a job he is overqualified for, he lives with his parents and wants to move out but doesn't know what to do about it. That one 24 year old dude already has a car, a house, and a job waiting for him once he graduates thanks to his dad's connections. The 26 year old barista couldn't complete his higher education because he has to work and take care of his family. The 28 year old girl sitting next to you has no friends to go out with so she is texting her mother. That couple (both 25 years old) are married and the girl is pregnant. The 29 year old writing something on her laptop has realized that she chose the wrong major so she is trying to start all over. We are not alone in this, but we are actually so alone. Do you feel me
this fic (like strings of hearts beating entwined, this life is alight because it's with you by @/yourendlessblue on ao3) was one of the first ones I read and. Ugh. I think it's like the only one that I regularly think back on. it's a sickfic but it's so much more, I think it explores the guilt and fear associated with a loved one being sick very well (also dw it has a happy ending LMAO), and i've read it like 5 times I think. Every so often I go back and read it and every time I find more and more to appreciate. I drew one of my favorite scenes between Loid and Anya though basically the whole thing is gold, I'd draw it all if I could. I highly highly recommend this to anyone who hasn't read it yet, I feel like it's a staple read (also if anyone knows if the author has a tumblr pls lmk so I can properly tag them lol)
me when I can't decide between drawing angst or silly
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baby calls reader ‘mama’ the first time and reader is immediately like oh my god i’m so sorry simon i swear i didn’t teach her that i know im just the babysitter but simon is just like ‘no it’s fine darling don’t even worry about it’ because he’s been teaching baby to call reader ‘mama’ behind her back the whole time
finds out when johnny drops the baby off like there's mama and you're already trying to stammer out a response but he's not having it. "have a good day, mrs. riley," then looks at the the baby. "be good for yer mama, alrigh'?"
OI.
SIR. SIR COME BACK I HAVE A DATE SIR. CANT TAKE THE BABY WITH ME.
now you're being dragged to a surprisingly nice restaurant by simon because "if ya wanted to go out on a date, coulda jus' say so."
you'd be angry but the wine is $300 a bottle so you guessss you'll stay and enjoy it.
yeah it ends with him covering your mouth while he fucks you into the couch. "gotta keep it quiet unless ya tryna wake our baby."
single dad simon not knowing how to be a dad. not his thing. doesn't get it. hand him a gun and he can take it apart and put it back together in his sleep. but a diaper? formula? baby food??? knows next to nothing.
so you see him, miserable old man with sunken dark eyes, hunched shoulders and a screaming baby at his doorstep with groceries in his hand and decide to help. (besides, you're also suffering with a lack of proper sleep)
he's not a good dad but he's a protective one. he's at your throat in an instant, baby in arm almost behind his back, ready to sink his teeth into your jugular. you squeak out that you're a part time babysitter. you can help. you've got the most experience with babies her age.
you keep your eyes on him, tired eyes now sharp as flint. it's scary how quickly he'd moved. footsteps barely a whisper. his breath chills your skin.
threatens you with your life if so much as a hair on her head is hurt. he must be really tired if he's willing to accept help being this defensive.
you take the chunky babe and bounce her as he opens the door to his flat. you don't dislike kids but you're not their biggest fan either. babysitting is just a means to an end. easy money that goes toward your tuition.
simon, you come to learn, doesn't care. he thinks you're the missing parent. he doesn't ask you if you can help watch over the child. simply knocks on your door and hands her to you with the diaper bag. mutters that he'll be back and with food.
he helps himself to your couch when you tell him that the baby is asleep. takes off his shoes and is snoring in seconds. simon also doesn't help the rumors going around the building. "a terrible parent, you are. how could you abandon your baby and husband? he's been struggling for months!"
simon leaves you sputtering when he tells them to stop talking about his missus like that or he'll kill them in their sleep. burp the baby, pet, or she'll keep us up all night.
at least he pays well :/
(if you go out for a friends night, which he will drop you off so stop talking about uber, he's telling you to go say goodbye to our baby who happens to be asleep in her crib and if you're wearing a short little number he's gonna watch you bend over to kiss her fat little cheek before he takes you to the bathroom to eat it from the back and is sending you to his car with trembling legs and a slap to your arse. don't look so tasty next time idk)
wake up; reader getting fucked from below by neighbour!Simon who keeps your hands pinned behind your back while he bullies the thickness of his cock inside you, just a little too deep. All too happy to let you drool on his shoulder as he drives into you again and again, watching the reflection of your ass bouncing heavy and fast over his lap on the black screen of your television. Scarred and tattooed arms sinking into your sides, anchoring you to him, implacable, insatiable. He was only supposed to pick-up a package mistakenly delivered to your front door, too heavy for you to bring it over yourself. Only supposed to have 'a cuppa, if you have it, pet.' Only supposed to take a kiss, soft, fleeting. Only supposed to 'touch it, over yer clothes, promise.' Only supposed to rub against the outside, slotting his ruddy, leaking tip between the already soaked lips of your pussy. Only supposed to pull out, come against the curve of your ass.
But Ghost can be neighbourly, he can go above and beyond. If it's for you.
pervy neighbour! simon who'd refused to indulge in his attraction to you when you'd first met, telling himself you were too young and too innocent to engage with the likes of him.
pervy neighbour! simon who avoided being in your vacinity at all costs, simply to avoid the raging hard ons he'd get when he'd see you. he'd be scurrying away to his abode to nurse his angry cock, if he did stumble upon your form.
pervy neighbour! simon who knew you left your bedroom blinds open to rile him up, so he could see your naked form fully on show after a shower. he imagined your soft, supple skin under the hot palms of his hands.
pervy neighbour! simon who secretly took pictures of you from his window to wank off to ans showed them to his army buddies at the pub, having a whole new roll ready to flaunt each week.
pervy neighbour! simon who watched you get fucked by the guys from class and fucked his fist to the sight, swearing he could please you so much better.
pervy neighbour! simon who cums all over his thighs and carpet as he watches you hump your pillow, head thrown back in desperation.
pervy neighbour! simon who steals a pair of your panties when he catches you doing your laundry in the estate laundry room.
pervy neighbour! simon who sniffs and laps at the dried juices on the flimsy fabric, pupils blown out and mind buzzing with sheer euphoria.
pervy neighbour! simon who breaks into your flat while your at work one day and installs cameras, so now he can watch and hear you at all times.
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