rayᶻ 𝗓 𐰁

She lunged forward and took matters into her own hands. Shirt now ripped open and chest bare for her to admire, she climbed atop his legs, pushing him down onto the bed. Skipping the gentle pecks, she slammed her lips down onto his, and he swallowed her moans, their kiss was messy and passionate, hair strewn over his forehead, put there by her hands that were tangled in his blonde locks. She sunk onto the floor, dragging his pants down with her. Her lips hovered over his waistband, placing featherlight kisses on his abdomen and thighs as she moved down and his boxers disappeared. Stroking him softly her eyes met his, clouded with lust and his shining in desire, he gulped as a familiar smirk crept onto his face. Her hands moved faster and her mouth wrapped around his head, tongue flicking over his sensitive tip. Draco’s breath hitched, and his abs were outlined by his tightened stomach. With her left hand Y/N moved to trace the grooves on his torso, each dip shadowed by the soft moonlight that streamed through the open window. Y/N always thought it perfect that Draco was named after the stars, with the way the moon’s glow lit his face, accentuating the slope of his jaw and the curve of his nose, you’d think he was made to be viewed in moonlight all the time. 

A groan escaped Draco, bringing her back from her daydream, her mouth had unknowingly slipped lower on his length, halfway down, she had been suckling softly, slowly drawing Draco closer to his release. He buried a hand in her hair, pulling the falling strands away from her face. She was focused on his dick, head bobbing up and down, missing the fond look that graced Draco’s face. It morphed into need and he bit his lip and she went faster, hollowing her cheeks so she could feel the veiny contours pressing against her inner cheeks. He moaned even louder, hips bucking up to meet her. As his thighs began to tremble Y/N knew he was getting close, with a final harsh suck she left his length, making the blonde boy look up in desperate confusion. 

After a second he realised Y/N’s attention, accompanied with an evil grin that only made her look more stunning. Frustration and attraction bubbled inside him, he grabbed her by the waist and threw her onto the bed, manhandling her so that her legs were spread below him. 

“You think you can tease me huh” he said, cock grazing over her folds, coating his head in her slick. He rubbed her clit softly, ensuring she would be wet enough to take him, lean body towering over hers. His head drooped down, strands of his hair tickled her collarbone as he nuzzled her boobs. She felt his lips press against her skin, sending sparks all through her body and down to her core. He sucked gently at her breasts, taking his time, sucking in a breath as he enveloped her breast, while massaging the other with his hand. He rolled her nipple between his fingertips and pinched gingerly. 

Y/N grew needy, squirming under his body, her wetness coated her thighs as she rubbed them together longingly. Draco noticed and chuckled at her impatience.

“What do you need darling?” He asked, lips ghosting over her neck. 

“Need you Dray” she said, breath fanning across his face.

“Need you inside me”

He obliged, stroking her folds once again before entering her slowly. Y/N gasped as his length sunk into her, he paused every few centimeters to let her adjust, moving each time she nodded at him. Eventually he was fully in, balls brushing her inner thighs, anytime he shifted. She whimpered, urging him to move, so he did. Hips pulling away and then plunging back into her.

Y/N let out an ungodly moan as he pounded into her, hips snapping against hers, hitting that perfect spot every time. Draco rutted against her like a madman, biceps tensed above her as he slammed into her. His eyes were trained on her face, watching every hitch in her breath, every flutter of her eyelashes to ensure he kept her pleasure going. Sinful things spilled from her mouth, Draco’s name whispered in between every one of them. He leant down placing his lips on hers in a burst of passion. It burned in the best way, lighting her up from the inside. Y/N’s legs began to shake as she got closer to her high, hands grasping onto Draco’s shoulders, she left long red streaks along his back. 

Draco too began to groan, eyes shut and his head tucked into the crook of her neck as he buried himself deeper into her, at an alarming rate. Electrifying that sweet spot over and over again, she couldn’t hold it in anymore, she screamed his name hugging him close to her, as waves of pleasure engulfed their glistening bodies. Draco’s hips faltered as his seed spilled inside her, arms failing to hold himself up as his chest met hers, as fireworks exploded between their legs.

“yes, dray, you can come with me. we’re already here,” you said breathlessly, trying to shove the door shut with your hip whilst holding most of draco’s weight in your arms.

“mhmm, you’re warm” he made a pleased little sound against your skin and dropped his forehead heavily onto your shoulder. 

now, it didn’t help that draco malfoy got extra clingy around you whenever he was drunk. and to be completely honest, you were enjoying it more than anything. there was always something about being able to hold him close and taking care of him in a way he would never fully allow when he was fully in control.

you liked how he leaned into you without hesitation and trusting you enough to let his guard drop so that you could see the vulnerable side he kept hidden from everyone else.

he always found his way back to you. every. single. time.

his cold fingers somehow managed to find their way beneath the hem of your shirt to settle at your waist, holding on as though you might vanish if he let go. wrapped around you, the blend of his expensive cologne and firewhisky made everything felt pleasantly lightheaded.

draco made no effort to hold himself up and instead, started rambling incoherently about mattheo owing him money before losing track of his own sentence. he kept on leaning shamelessly against you as you guided him down the hallway with both hands still braced at his waist. 

“y’sleepin’ with me t’night?” he slurred as you guided him into your shared bedroom and eased him down onto the bed.

“i am, dray,” you said as you brushed the blond strands away from his forehead. his cheeks were still flushed pink, and his grey eyes had gone visibly heavy with sleep, blinking slower by the second. 

he let out a quiet hum at you, shoulders loosening into the mattress. his hand lifted sluggishly and searched blindly for you until his fingers found yours and curled them in his bigger one lazily. 

“good,” he mumbled. “hate wakin’ up without you,”

your chest tightened. even in the state of half asleep and drunk, draco could still say things that made your heart start beating rapidly.

“the things you would do,” you muttered, letting go of his fingers and finally tugging off his remaining shoe, setting them aside. “drinking yourself senseless over some ridiculous bet with mattheo,”

draco cracked one eye open, “still won,” he informed as the corner of his lips raised softly. 

you shook your head, trying not to smile as you reached to unbutton his linen white shirt. your fingers worked them open one by one while draco watched through half-lidded eyes, not wanting to miss the way the moonlight caught softly along the soft curve of your face.

the white shirt slid off his arms easily, leaving him shivering as the lingering cold clung to his bare pale skin. draco made no move to help and only tipped his head back further against the pillows and let you fuss over his belt and trousers before carefully taking them off.

“comfortable there?” you murmured dryly as you stood. 

“mmm,” draco hummed softly as he watched you make your way to the walk-in wardrobe. 

after a moment, you came back with a fresh set of comfortable clothes for him.

he gave you the faintest smile as he noticed you had changed into a baby pink pyjama shorts and his white t-shirt that looked way too large for you. still, draco always adored you whenever you wore his clothes—you made them look better, he said.

“c’mere,” you climbed onto the bed next to him and tugged him upright gently. he let you pull him closer until he was finally sitting properly. surprisingly enough, he complied without protest tonight. 

you guided him to lift both of his arms and pull the clean shirt down over his head.  for a moment, he disappeared beneath it, then re-emerged with pale hair even messier than before. you smoothed the shirt down his chest as he watched your hands the entire time until they settled on his lap.

“up,” you said low enough for him to hear and gave his thigh a light tap.

a crooked smile found its way onto draco’s face at your command, but he still did it anyway. draco wouldn’t admit it loud, but he found it extremely hot when you took charge like that. 

he lifted his hips just enough to make it easier for you to slide the new pants into place, and shivered faintly when your fingers brushed against the side of his shin.

“there, feel better now?” you said quietly once his pants were on properly and adjusted the waistband into place while his eyes stayed on you with a steady focus. 

“d’you know you’ve got the prettiest face ever?” he murmured, completely ignoring your question.

a soft laugh slipped out of you before you could stop it. “well, it’s a good thing you tell me that every day,”

“i do?” he asked, catching your wrist, before you could even answer and tugged you down to his side on the mattress. draco didn’t waste a second when he finally had you close. though, in truth, he hadn’t left your side just a few hours ago at the reunion party with your friends from hogwarts—not even once. 

he loved how easily your face always seemed to settle against his neck like a missing piece finding its place.

you reached to cradle his face in one hand while your other one laced with his. leaning in, you pressed a quick kiss on his lips.

“mm, you promised me that in your vows, baby,” you giggled, peppering more kisses along his jaw.

despite the alcohol, a moment of realization finally struck draco. his gaze dropped to your intertwined fingers; and that’s when he noticed the delicate diamond ring sitting proudly on your fourth finger. the very same one he had chosen with his dear mother a few years ago.

he observed the way the band encircled your finger quietly, reminding him the truth that he had chosen, again and again; that you were his wife. a promise he had made and never once let go of, and never would.

his hand stilled for a moment before his thumb began to move and fiddled with the ring, turning it ever so slightly. draco toyed with it gently. the band shifted slightly beneath his touch until his thumb caught on something carved into the inside of the ring.

Eternally Yours.

his breath hitched softly as he pulled you closer. before you could even settle, draco shifted with ease. he rolled you gently beneath him until your back was pressed against the surface of the warm sheets and hovered over you instead.

merlin, his stormy grey eyes looked even more beautiful from this sight.

draco looked at you for a moment before leaning in and pressing his lips to yours. it was slow and deep. your fingers immediately found their place around his neck, brushing against the platinum curls at his nape.

when he finally pulled back, his forehead pressed on yours and his lips brushed against your mouth.

“means i’ve been doing it right, yeah?” he whispered, kissing your forehead. “but darling, above all things, i want you to know this—even without any promise between us, i’d still look at you and let you know how beautiful you truly are. that’s simply the truth, baby,”

his hand reached up and brushed a couple strands of hair out of your face. what draco said was true. even when he was intoxicated with firewhisky, he always meant it. hell, he would’ve told the entire world how much he loved you and that you were the prettiest thing to be alive.

you smiled softly, before pulling him back in and kissed him again with more passion this time.

“thank Merlin, i married a man of his words.”

a/n: edited!

He'd always been told that caring about things, about people was supposed to be beneath him. That it's not what Malfoys do. That sort of thing belongs to the muggle born and the weak.

But what's taught is not instinct. Instinct cannot be controlled. It comes from within.

It's strange how caring for someone made him feel akin to a predator staying true to it's instincts.

He didn't even know you properly. You kept to yourself mostly and when you didn't you'd be with Potter, Granger and Weasel.

All the more reason for him to hate you. To not care.

And yet when he'd stumbled upon his own people picking on you, he'd halted. He'd felt something. It wasn't uncommon for pure bloods to pick on people like you. And yet it lit a gnarly fury in him and he'd struck one of his own.

Something his father had practically bit his ears off with rambles of “disgraceful behavior,” “betrayal to house unity,” “violence is common and beneath them” and how “Malfoy's don't get their hands dirty without a true purpose.”

But still not a single part of him regretted it.

Because you'd looked at him. Not with disgust, not with fury, not with annoyance.

With gratefulness. With admiration. And that alone was worth any scolding from his father.

You went to find him later, outside the Slytherin common room at night while he was walking around. Risky business. You hated being around his house. So the fact that you were here meant something.

You waited for him to come back from his walk and sure enough he appeared as though the shadows spat him right out to you.

He'd stopped dead in his tracks when he saw you. Confused, his guard goes straight up. He couldn't help it, it was a defense mechanism.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, interrogating. You'd have missed the soft undertone if you weren't staring in his eyes.

Eyes don't lie.

Your heart beat is unmistakably fast and, your stomach flutters. You genuinely don't know how to talk to him but you try anyway.

“I wanted to... thank you. For earlier. You didn't have to do that. I–” you paused, choosing your next words careful, not wanting to make him uncomfortable. “I know it must've gotten you in trouble with– with your–” you pause again when you see his breath hitch slightly.

Again, you would've missed it if you weren't standing so close.

“Father.” he finished it for you. “You need not concern yourself with that. It's an usual thing for me.” he says, tone sharp and defensive but not unkind.

He cleared his throat, “Besides, they were being idiots.” he offered, now more gently.

You were not an idiot. Nor were you oblivious. You knew Draco Malfoy didn't really care about bullying or morality. Not much anyway. He knew he did that because he wanted to. Because he cared. For you.

Only thing that seemed to baffle you and throw you off was the why.

Why did this pure-blood boy who cared for no one, care for you? You did not know. And it seemed, neither did he.

But that marked the beginning of something tender. Something special.

From many unprompted meetings in the library where y'all talked, or rather you talked while he listened or offered remarks and sarcasm; to secret, planned meetings and rendezvous in your respective common rooms or the room of requirement when y'all really craved that quiet, soft intimate time.

It would transform into something you both considered a safe space. To talk, to share.

The first kiss happened three weeks later, in the very room of requirement when it appeared as a small, firelit room with one bed. You’d both been hiding after curfew; the door sealed behind you and suddenly it was just the two of you, breathing the same air.

Both of you just knew what was coming. Instinct. And he'd looked... troubled. Nervous, even.

He'd spoken your name with such tenderness, warmth flooded you like summer.

“I'm not good at being gentle.” he'd admitted, letting you in on his thoughts.

You offered him a small smile, “It's okay. I can help you learn.” you soothed.

His hand found it's way to your face, thumb grazing your jaw before he pulled you in.

Your mouths met in unison and he kissed you like he was scared you'd vanish. Like you were made of glass. You discovered you didn't want him to be too gentle so you took the initiative to deepen the kiss. As best as you could.

He licked the inside of your mouth and let out a soft moan, surprising himself.

It did something to you.

Again, you were not oblivious. You knew where this was leading. And as much as it made you feel nervous, you craved it.

You craved it when his hand gently wandered over your back, fingers grazing the clasp of your bra.

You pulled away from the kiss to lean your forehead against his. Catching your breath, you whispered, “Draco.. I- I’ve never...” you confessed.

He halted his hand, and brought it back to your face to caress you, “Never?” he repeated softly.

You shook your head.

He swallowed and nodded, “Do you want to?” he asked

“Yes.” you answered instantly and he let out a low chuckle at your eagerness. Your cheeks warmed at the realisation.

His mouth found yours again before either of you spoke. The kiss was deeper now, hungrier, but still careful. And you grew bolder by the second as you tugged on his tie. He let you pull it free and then unbutton his shirt.

You pulled away from the kiss once again; this time to stare at his pale, smooth beautiful skin. Your fingertips followed a trail down from his chest, to his abs, to his stomach. You halted right above his belt buckle. Eyes immediately finding his in hesitance, and what you saw sent a shiver down your spine.

Draco was already looking at you like he was starving. Leaning back on both of his hands, fingers digging into the soft mattress as if he had to physically restrain himself from grabbing you and touching you.

“Do it.” he whispered.

But, instead of unbuckling him you retreat your hand to your own shirt. His breath hitches in anticipation. Biting your lip, not breaking eye contact once as you move down the buttons of your blouse until you bare your breasts to him. Soft, clad in a black cotton bra.

“Fuck– beautiful.” he whispers.

You leave the shirt still on for him to take off and he reaches forward to slip it off your shoulders with trembling fingers.

“Lie back.”

You did. Your warm spine hit the cool sheets with a soft thud. He kissed down your throat to your chest in slow open mouthed presses that made you dizzy.

When he finally reached your bra, he looked up at you and asked. “May I?”

You took a deep, fortifying breath before nodding and arching your back enough so he could reach behind and unclasp. The bra loosened and he slipped it off with a gasp.

“You– you don't need to ask. Do whatever you want to me.” you say and you can't see it, nor can you feel it but you just know Instinctually that he twitches in his pants when, “Fuck.” he groans.

“Don't say it like that.” he warns, although it's not much of a warning. More like pleading. “You don't know what it does to me.” he says.

“What does it do to you, Draco?” you quip, breathless.

And he grabs your hips gently and finally presses himself into you to show you. Clothed core to clothed core.

But you can feel him. Hard, wanting and pleading against you. You gasp, harsh, surprised. “Ohmygod.” you whisper, fingers digging into his half- bare, half-clothed shoulder.

His mouth curves into a smirk which is vanished as quickly as it comes on when you experimentally grind your hips into his to feel more of him and he groans. Faltering, and dropping down to his elbows, placed at each side of your head, forehead falling to yours.

You moan into his neck with how good the brush of his cock felt against you.

“Draco, please.” you finally beg, no longer able to hold back.

He knows exactly what you're asking for, however, It's your first time and he wants it to be perfect for you. He always was a sucker for perfectionism.

He nods at you before moving down, between your legs. One arm going under your thigh to hold it while his free hand reached under your skirt to take off your panties.

The cool air hit your wet core and did the engulfing warmth of Draco's mouth all at once.

It was a surprise to you. One that left you breathless and arching and writhing against his mouth. He mouthed at your slick folds before settling on your clit to suck. Blinding your senses until you were a solid mess of whines and whimpers and cries.

He wanted to make sure you were prepped and ready to take him.

It didn't take long for him to make you orgasm for the first time with how turned on you already were. He'd reached up to touch and tease your nipples with a free hand all while he sucked and lapped at your slick folds, humming in content.

Him touching your nipples, sucking on your clit and the vibrations against you all felt like sensory deprivation and it threw you off the edge instantly.

You clenched your thighs around his head and with a loud cry of his name, you came. Arching off the bed, helplessly, uncontrollably. You could sob with how good it felt. And you couldn't help the grind of your hips, riding out that sweet, delicious, Malfoy induced bliss.

And with the way Draco's fingers dug into your thighs– hard enough to leave bruises later on, it was so obvious that Draco Malfoy enjoyed eating you out. And that was an understatement.

He kept going even after you came and that was a whole different kind of pleasure. You had to literally sob out and beg him to stop or else you were sure you'd squirt all over.

With trembling hands you reached for him to come up and he did with a self satisfied grin on his face, he held onto you. Your arms wrapped around his neck like you needed him. And you did.

Once again, you begged. “Draco, please. I need you. I'm– I'm ready.” that was your sweet, sweet way of asking him to fuck you.

And in all honesty he was sure he couldn't wait any longer either. His cock was hard and fighting against his trousers to be freed.

“Free me, my love. I want you to do it.” he asks, still breathless from earlier.

You wasted no time and fumble to unbuckle him and he could almost chuckle at how endearing he found your need if he wasn't in the same desperate, pathetic state of mind.

The cool air hit his cock as it was finally free and you gazed at it in wonder. You bit your lip in want and anticipation before staring back at him in a, ‘how the hell is that gonna fit in me’ way and in a ‘i need you right now’ way.

He pressed himself, bare, against you. Hard, hot, dragging the length of him against your slick folds.

He let out the filthiest, sweetest groan at the contact along with you.

“Tell me again. Tell me you want this.” he pleaded.

“I want this.” you whispered, “I want you– I want you– I want y–” he shushed your babble by slowly easing into you. Just the tip to start.

Your fingernails dug into his shoulders, etching crescents into his skin. “Please, more.” you begged for more than you knew you could handle.

He complied to your pleads and slowly pushed in. “Breathe with me, my love.” he said as he saw your breath hitch.

He waited. He kissed you across the face, on the base of your neck, atop your breasts and cooed at you gently when you whined at the painful, beautiful stretch.

He waited, until your breathing matched his. Until you gave him the green light to finally push another inch in, slowly, watchfully.

When he was fully seated in, he stayed buried, waiting once more to let you adjust fully. It was not easy on him either. Your warm, wet tightness was making it especially hard on him to hold back. He was literally trembling against you.

Once the sharpness faded, you, ever the curious little dove, rocked experimentally to see how both of you would feel and react to that.

You, for one buried your head into his neck, needy, squirming against his skin.

He, let out a broken sound before finally giving into shallow, careful little thrusts. Like instinct, your legs wrapped around his slender waist, urging him to go deeper, faster.

He was more than happy to oblige, he did not go faster but he did go deeper with a particular sinful roll of his hips. His pelvis grazed against your clit during the motion and had you crying out. You were especially sensitive there.

You were also trying to be quiet but he was having none of that as he reached between your thighs to circle your most sensitive area.

“Don't you dare silence yourself. Let me hear you. Let me look at you.” he breathed the words into the air, low, commanding.

And you obeyed. Your back arched off the bed and your hips rolled deeper into his as you no longer could contain your cries.

His thrusts now fastened, as did the movement of his hand. Wanting to pull you over the edge one last time before he himself did.

“Let go for me, love. Want to feel you, one more time.” he breathed in desperation, his voice not seemingly like his own at this point.

He was unmistakably, yours, in this very moment.

You shattered finally when he rubbed your clit just right and hit that sweet spot within you. Clenching hard around him, offering little rolls of your hips, kissing down his pale chest, fingers running through the mop of his white hair.

And he finally followed with a wrecked, riveting groan. His hips did not stutter– they snapped harder, faster. Like they're aimed to destroy you and fill you with love all at once.

He buried himself to a halt inside of you, the tip of his cock kissing your cervix as he finally spilled inside you. “Gods. You'll be the death of me.” he cried, face buried in your neck. Arms snug around your waist, holding you onto him.

You squirmed and whined like you wanted to be in his skin and he cooed at you in between his aftershocks.

“I'm still here, love.” he whispers. “I'm still here.”

“I'm not good at being gentle.” he'd told you and perhaps it was true. But he knew how to follow his instincts. And his primary instinct was to be gentle towards you.

The first time you met Draco Malfoy, he was holding a toy broomstick like it was the crown jewel of the wizarding world.

You were six, and he was nearly seven. Your parents had just arrived at Malfoy Manor for yet another social visit — more of a performance, really. Every week, it seemed, they found some excuse to come grovel before Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy. You were merely the accessory child, dressed in your finest; hair brushed so tightly back your scalp ached, robes stiff with starch, and a smile trained like a charm that never quite reached your eyes.

“Go on, darling,” your mother whispered with a sharp nudge. “Play with Draco.”

You obeyed, because obedience was your safest weapon in a world ruled by image and influence. But you didn’t want to play. Not with him.

Draco was everything you weren’t allowed to be; loud, bossy, and adored for it. He had this smug grin on his face as he zipped around the wide, manicured lawn, casting shadows against the ivory walls of the estate. You stood still in the grass, shoes polished and heavy, arms folded tightly across your chest.

“You don’t fly?” he asked, hovering near you with a practiced ease. There wasn’t judgment in his voice, just curiosity, the kind that felt more like a poke in the ribs than an invitation.

“I’m not allowed,” you answered simply.

That seemed to throw him. “Why?”

Because flying’s a reward. And rewards are for perfect little puppets who never raise their voices or speak out of turn.

“My parents don’t want me to get hurt.”

Draco tilted his head, blond hair catching the sun like spun silver. “Mine said it builds character.” He landed beside you, broom in hand. “Want to try mine?”

You glanced over to the terrace where your mother and Narcissa sipped tea. Your mother gave you a tight, warning smile — like she was begging you to be impressive, just this once.

So you nodded, stepping forward like a girl walking a plank.

Draco grinned like he’d won something. “Here,” he said, holding it out with both hands. “Just don’t crash it. Father hates scuffs.”

It was the first of many times Draco would offer you something shiny and be baffled when you didn’t seem grateful.

That was the thing about being raised near the Malfoys. You weren’t one of them… but you orbited them, expected to glow in their reflected light. You were the well-mannered daughter of the family desperate to be accepted, constantly praised for being quiet and polite, but never quite enough.

And Draco? He was the sun.

People turned to watch him wherever he went. You watched too, of course, but not in awe. Not even in admiration.

In resentment.

It wasn’t that Draco was cruel to you. In fact, he was oddly attentive. When your mothers met up for tea, he’d find his way to you. When your fathers discussed Ministry gossip and bloodline purity, he’d tug you away to explore the estate. When the grownups praised his accomplishments, he’d glance sideways — at you, as if waiting for your reaction.

You never gave him one.

He didn’t understand it; why the girl who was always there never seemed impressed.

You didn’t understand either; why he cared so much.

One summer afternoon, you were perched in the Malfoy library with a book twice your size, legs dangling off the edge of a velvet chair. Draco entered noisily, holding a box of Sugar Quills like a trophy.

“Want one?” he offered, shaking the box in your direction.

“No,” you said without looking up.

He blinked. “They’re the good ones. The kind Mother gets from France.”

“I said no.”

He hovered by your chair like a confused puppy, then sat cross-legged on the carpet beside you. “You’re always reading.”

You finally lowered the book. “And you’re always interrupting.”

That earned you a scowl, but only for a second. Then he tilted his head. “You’re mean sometimes.”

You shrugged. “You’re spoiled all the time.”

The room went quiet, the way it only did when two pureblood children were honest without permission.

Draco didn’t retaliate, which surprised you. He just studied you with narrowed eyes and murmured, “You don’t like me very much, do you?”

You didn’t answer. Not directly. You turned back to your book and said softly, “You don’t have to be liked to be noticed.”

And Draco Malfoy noticed you. More than you wanted. More than you admitted.

——⭑⋆⋆⋆⭑——

You had never been more relieved to leave a place than you were when the Hogwarts Express pulled out of Platform Nine and Three-Quarters.

The Manor, the expectations, the dull tea visits with Narcissa, the tight-lipped smiles from your mother as she reminded you for the hundredth time to speak eloquently, smile when spoken to, and don’t slouch, all of it faded as the train took off toward something bigger.

And maybe, just maybe, you could be someone other than her, the girl who existed in Draco Malfoy’s shadow.

But of course, he found you within ten minutes of boarding.

“There you are,” he said, stepping into your compartment like he owned it. “I thought you'd be in with the others.”

You didn’t bother to ask who "the others" were. Probably Blaise, maybe Nott, maybe that idiot Crabbe already elbow-deep in sweets. All of them orbiting Draco like bees to honey.

“I’m fine here,” you replied, eyes fixed out the window, forehead gently pressed to the cool glass.

Draco stood in the doorway longer than necessary before sliding the door shut behind him and sitting across from you.

You glanced at him briefly. His robes were perfectly fitted, his silver-trimmed trunks polished and pristine. Of course they were.

“Excited?” he asked.

You shrugged. “It’s school.”

“It’s Hogwarts,” he corrected. “It’s not just school. It’s where our names matter. Where things start.”

You turned back to the window. “Some of us would rather just learn something.”

Draco scoffed. “You sound like Granger. You haven’t even met her yet, and I can already tell you’d get along.”

You didn’t know who Granger was, but you filed away the insult.

Draco stayed in your compartment until lunch. He talked almost the entire time—about the castle, about Quidditch, about his father’s connections. You answered when necessary but never offered anything personal. It wasn’t just that he talked too much, it was that he always seemed to be performing. Like even here, before the term started, he was trying to impress you.

You weren’t sure why he bothered. He already had the rest of the world.

——⭑⋆⋆⋆⭑——

You sat next to him at the Slytherin table during the Sorting. Of course you were both Sorted there; pureblood pedigree all but ensured it.

When the Sorting Hat had dropped over your head, it only took seconds.

Slytherin, it had hissed in your ear. Oh yes. Clever. Observant. Not fond of playing second fiddle, are you? Yes… you know what you want, even if you won’t admit it yet.

You opened your eyes to see Draco watching you, almost smugly, like your placement was some kind of victory.

As if you belonged to him now.

You sat beside him only because it was the easiest option. But still, you noticed how his shoulder bumped yours slightly as he leaned to talk to Blaise. You noticed how he turned his attention back to you between bites, trying to get your opinion on every little thing, the food, the ceiling charm, the Gryffindors.

“You think Potter’s going to be in our year?” he asked, eyes sharp.

You blinked. “Potter?”

Draco nodded. “Harry Potter. He’s supposed to be starting this year too. My father says—”

“Your father says a lot of things,” you murmured into your goblet.

His brow furrowed, but he didn’t argue. He just watched you with that same unreadable look, like he was trying to figure out where the wall between you was hiding.

——⭑⋆⋆⋆⭑——

Classes began. And so did the whispers.

You weren’t best in class, but you were never far behind. You noticed how Draco’s eyes followed you during Potions when you corrected a misstep in the instructions. You noticed how his lips curled downward when you answered questions before he could.

He was clever — sharper than he let most people see — but he hated losing. Especially to you.

And yet, he still waited for you outside History of Magic. Still left a spot beside him in the common room. Still pretended not to glance over when you laughed at something Blaise said instead.

One evening, late September, you found yourself alone in the common room reading by the fire. Everyone else had gone to bed. Except for Draco, who emerged from the stairwell and froze at the sight of you.

“I thought you’d be asleep,” he said, rubbing at one eye.

“I thought you’d be with Crabbe and Goyle snoring up the dormitory.”

He ignored your jab and sat across from you.

The firelight softened the angles of his face. For once, he wasn’t talking. Just… watching you.

“You don’t like me much,” he said finally.

The silence broke like glass.

You looked up slowly. “You’ve said that before.”

“Because it’s still true.”

You closed your book. “Why does it bother you so much?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just leaned forward, elbows on his knees, brows pulled together.

“Because,” he said softly, “you’re the only person who doesn’t pretend around me.”

You stared at him, unsure what you were supposed to say. And maybe he didn’t expect you to say anything at all.

He stood up, glanced toward the dormitory, then back at you. “Goodnight.”

When he disappeared up the stairs, you realized your heart was beating just a bit faster than it had before.

You hated that.

——⭑⋆⋆⋆⭑——

By third year, you’d mastered the art of ignoring Draco Malfoy.

He had grown taller. His voice deeper, smoother, his presence sharper, like a dagger disguised in silk. But he was still Draco, still arrogant, still entitled, still obsessed with being the loudest in the room.

And still, somehow, obsessed with you.

He wouldn’t admit it, of course, not openly. That would mean admitting you got under his skin, and Draco Malfoy didn’t do vulnerability. Instead, it came out in snide remarks when you spoke to other boys, in his voice rising slightly when he noticed you laughing with someone else, in the way he always ended up sitting near you in shared classes, like proximity might win what effort hadn’t.

You’d never said the words out loud, not even to yourself, but part of you knew. He liked you.

And you hated that it made your chest feel warm.

——⭑⋆⋆⋆⭑——

It started again in Care of Magical Creatures.

Hagrid had just introduced you all to hippogriffs, and your group of Slytherins stood at a distance, watching the creature paw at the earth with dangerous grace. You stood with Pansy, arms crossed, only half-listening.

“Malfoy, why don’t you step up first?” Hagrid asked.

Draco smirked, brushing invisible dust off his robes. “Sure. Looks easy enough.”

You rolled your eyes. “You should bow first, you idiot.”

He turned his head, eyes narrowing. “Thanks, professor.”

You gave him a lazy smile. “Just don’t get mauled. I’d hate to lose the entertainment.”

Pansy snorted beside you. Draco’s expression twitched, but he bowed, eyes flicking back to you as the hippogriff assessed him.

When it bowed in return and allowed him to approach, you saw the triumphant glance he threw your way before he climbed on. Like everything he did had to be for your benefit.

Later, when you stepped forward and the hippogriff bowed to you even quicker than it had to him, Draco made a sound under his breath.

“You’re just jealous,” you said without turning.

“Of a magical chicken? Hardly.”

“Jealous of me,” you said, walking away.

You didn’t see his jaw clench, but you felt it like a ripple in the air.

Draco found ways to linger near you after that.

In Potions, he chose the station behind yours. In Defense, he always had something to say when you answered a question; never rude, but always a challenge. At meals, he slid into the seat across from you if there was an opening, even if he had to ignore Pansy’s scowl to do it.

“Do you ever get tired of hovering?” you asked once, biting into a slice of apple.

Draco didn’t look up from buttering his toast. “Do you ever get tired of pretending you don’t like the attention?”

You froze, the apple slice halfway to your mouth. His tone was casual, but his eyes flicked to you with the same fire they always held when he was trying to get a reaction.

And maybe — just for a second — you gave him one.

You stood and left without a word, heart pounding.

——⭑⋆⋆⋆⭑——

The library became your refuge after that.

It always had been, in truth, but now it was more than that. The long shelves and quiet corners gave you space to think, to breathe, to not feel like Draco was always watching you. You took comfort in the weight of books, the smell of parchment, the soothing scratch of a quill.

One evening, well into October, you were buried in a stack of books for your Charms essay when a shadow fell across the table.

You didn’t have to look up.

“You’ve got to be joking,” you muttered. “This is sacred space, Malfoy.”

“I need this book,” he said, fingers grazing the spine of the one beside you.

You slid it across the table. “Take it. Leave.”

He didn’t move.

When you finally looked up, he was already staring at you.

“What?” you snapped.

Draco tilted his head, pale hair falling into his eyes. “Why do you hate me so much?”

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

“I’m being serious,” he said, voice quieter now, more steady. “I’ve known you since we were toddlers. You’ve never liked me. Even when I tried—”

“You always tried,” you interrupted, voice low and sharp. “You tried to show off. You tried to win. You tried to be better. You tried to steal every room, every breath, like you were owed it. You don’t get it, do you? I was always the backup. The extra. Your parents liked me because mine worshipped yours. But I wasn’t you. I was just… near you.”

Draco looked stunned. For once, he had no retort.

You weren’t sure where the words came from, only that they’d been living inside you for too long.

The silence stretched.

Finally, he said, “I never saw you as an extra.”

Your throat tightened.

“I know you don’t believe me,” he added. “But I always thought you were better than me. Smarter. Stronger. You just didn’t want to be seen.”

You stared at him, pulse hammering.

He took the book. Didn’t say thank you. Didn’t gloat.

Just left.

And you hated that, hours later, when the library was empty and your candle burned low, you kept replaying his voice in your head.

I never saw you as an extra.

——⭑⋆⋆⋆⭑——

You’d told yourself it didn’t matter.

The Yule Ball was just a dance—one night, one event, nothing special. You weren’t a romantic, not really. You didn’t dream of floating gowns or candlelit waltzes or being asked with roses and trembling hands.

But you had dreamed of going with him.

Draco Malfoy, of all people.

It disgusted you.

It thrilled you.

And it tore you in two.

Because he hadn’t asked. And neither had you.

It was early December when you realized you were waiting.

Waiting for him to say something, anything. A question muttered under his breath, an offhand comment, a sarcastic invitation that masked sincerity underneath.

But nothing came.

He still watched you. In classes, in hallways, across the Great Hall. He still found excuses to sit near you, to pair up when possible, to meet your gaze for a second too long.

But the words didn’t come. And so, with a stomach full of something that felt like bitterness, you said yes to someone else.

He was nice. Quiet. A Ravenclaw in your Charms elective. You barely remembered his name—Theo, or maybe Tim—but he had kind eyes and asked with a kind voice. You’d said yes just to prove that you could.

You told yourself Draco wouldn’t care.

You were wrong.

When you told Pansy, loud enough for him to hear, you caught the flicker of emotion in his expression. The way his jaw shifted. The pause before he spoke.

“Oh,” he said coolly, as if your words bored him. “Didn’t realize your standards had dropped so low.”

You blinked. “Didn’t realize you had the authority to set them.”

He sneered. “Don’t be dramatic. It’s just a dance.”

You turned. “Exactly. And yet here you are..making it one.”

Later that day, you heard through the whisper vine that Draco had asked someone too. Astoria Greengrass.

You didn’t care.

You didn’t.

The night of the Yule Ball, the castle glittered.

Fairy lights shimmered across the ceilings, frost curled on the stone archways like a spell. The air smelled of pine and magic and anticipation. Your dress robes were midnight blue, elegant and quiet, chosen not to stand out but to suit you.

You looked in the mirror and wondered, briefly, if he would notice.

You hoped he wouldn’t.

You hoped he would.

Theo, definitely Theo, was polite and charming, guiding you through introductions and conversations with practiced ease. He complimented your dress, asked if you wanted punch, and didn’t seem to mind when your eyes kept drifting toward the Slytherin table.

Draco had arrived minutes after you. He wore black and silver, hair perfectly slicked back, posture as sharp as ever. Astoria clung to his arm like a vine on a crumbling wall, talking constantly. He didn’t seem to hear a word.

Because his eyes were on you.

From across the room, over shoulders and chandeliers and a hundred drifting snowflake charms, he watched you.

He looked—

Furious.

Longing.

Trapped.

The dancing began. You moved stiffly at first, uncertain on your feet, distracted. Theo led well, but your heart wasn’t in it. Your eyes flicked to Draco again and again.

He wasn’t dancing. Just standing at the edge of the floor, lips tight, arms folded, watching Astoria talk to someone else.

He should’ve asked you.

He should’ve asked you.

After the second dance, you stepped away.

You needed air, or silence, or just not to be seen.

Theo offered to follow, but you waved him off kindly. “Just a moment. I’ll be right back.”

But you didn’t come back. You walked through the arched exit, past the flurries floating in the corridor, out into the rose garden, where the snow dusted everything in white.

You exhaled, breath clouding the air.

And then you heard the door open behind you.

You didn’t turn.

“Running off on your date?” Draco’s voice was unmistakable—low, tense, almost breathless.

You braced yourself. “Better than being ignored by yours.” A beat of silence.

“He wouldn’t shut up about how pretty you looked.”

You turned slowly. Draco stood a few feet away, hair mussed from the cold, hands buried in his pockets.

“He’s not wrong,” he added, quieter.

You swallowed. “You left Astoria.”

“She’ll live.”

You watched him. “What do you want, Draco?”

His jaw worked like he was chewing on something dangerous.

“I wanted to ask you.”

You blinked. “Ask me what?”

“The damn dance.”

The snow kept falling between you, soft and slow and heavy.

“Why didn’t you?” you asked.

He took a step forward. “Because I thought you’d say no.”

“I thought you didn’t want to.”

He scoffed, voice thick. “Are you kidding? I’ve wanted to dance with you since second year. I just— I didn’t know how to—”

He broke off.

You stared at him, heart pounding, every wall you’d built slowly cracking in the frostbitten air.

“You’re an idiot,” you whispered.

“I know.”

Another step.

“You’re arrogant.”

“I know.”

“You’re late.”

And still, another step. Close now.

“I know,” he said again, voice softer. “But I’m here.”

You didn’t speak. You just looked at him—Draco Malfoy, who somehow still knew how to make your chest ache just by standing too close.

His hand rose slowly, hovering beside your waist. “May I?”

You let him.

You danced under the moonlight in silence. No music. Just the sound of your breaths, the crunch of snow, the aching realization that this, this, was what you’d both wanted all along.

And finally, as he rested his forehead against yours and whispered your name like an apology, you forgave him for not asking sooner.

Because he’d found you anyway.

——⭑⋆⋆⋆⭑——

The war hadn’t begun yet.

Not officially. Not in the way textbooks would one day define it. But it was there — in the hushed voices outside classrooms, in the extra patrolling prefects, in the glances exchanged between professors when they thought no one was looking.

It was in the ink that spilled from Rita Skeeter’s quill, in the cold grip of Dolores Umbridge’s fake-smiling tyranny, and in the way Draco stopped meeting your eyes in the corridors.

Not at first. At first, he was bold.

After the Yule Ball, something between you had cracked wide open. You were never officially anything — no labels, no hand-holding in the halls, no declarations. Just moments.

Moments like his fingers brushing yours beneath a shared textbook. His voice low in your ear in Potions. The way he lingered after Prefect meetings, walking slowly beside you with his hands in his pockets and his eyes somewhere distant unless you spoke.

It was real. You both knew it.

But reality had a way of twisting when the world around you started to fracture.

Umbridge arrived in a haze of pink lace and venom. Her rules grew daily. Her smile shrank. Fear crept into the castle the way frost crept into windowpanes.

You became more cautious.

Draco became more distant.

He still looked for you. You caught him across classrooms, his gaze sharp and searching. But he stopped speaking to you as often in public. Stopped choosing to sit near you. When your friends asked, you shrugged and said he was busy, that it didn’t matter.

But it did.

You missed him in the most subtle ways — the ways you couldn’t admit out loud. The pauses between his jokes, the quiet nods only you understood, the way he always noticed when you were having a bad day.

And maybe… he missed you too.

It wasn’t until a particularly cold night in January that the silence broke.

You’d snuck out after curfew — not for trouble, just for air. The Astronomy Tower was your refuge, your breath visible in the chill, your hands wrapped around the stone railing like you could hold the castle still.

“I thought I’d find you here.”

You turned. Slowly. Like a dream you didn’t trust.

Draco stood in the archway, robes half-fastened, cheeks flushed from the wind.

You didn’t speak. Just watched as he crossed the space between you and stood beside you, eyes on the stars.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” you said quietly.

“I haven’t,” he replied, though he didn’t sound convincing.

You glanced at him, your heart a little too loud in your ears. “Then why do you only talk to me in empty corridors?”

“Because it’s safer.”

“For who?” you asked. “Me? Or you?”

Silence.

Draco leaned his arms against the railing, his hands clenched. “Things are… changing.”

“I know.”

“No, you don’t,” he snapped, then caught himself. He sighed. “You don’t know what my parents are saying. What they’re expecting.”

You swallowed. “So you’d rather pretend nothing’s happening?”

“No,” he said, voice strained. “I just don’t want to drag you into it.”

You hesitated. “You think I’d let you protect me by pretending I don’t exist?”

His eyes met yours, and for the first time in weeks, you saw the boy who had found you in the snow. The boy who danced with you under moonlight and didn’t let go.

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” he said quietly. “Even when I try.”

Your throat tightened. “Then stop trying.”

There was a beat — a long, painful pause where the cold wind blew and neither of you blinked.

And then he reached for you.

It wasn’t graceful. It wasn’t practiced. Just fingers grazing yours, gently, like he was asking permission.

You gave it.

You didn’t kiss, not yet. But he rested his forehead against yours like he had before, and the world felt a little quieter for a moment. Like maybe, despite everything, you had time.

“Promise me something?” he asked, voice barely audible.

You nodded.

“When everything falls apart… don’t hate me.”

You didn’t answer.

Because you couldn’t promise that. Not yet.

But you didn’t let go.

——⭑⋆⋆⋆⭑——

You knew he was lying before he even opened his mouth.

Draco had grown quieter this year. Not the same sulky silence from before—but something colder, heavier. His smiles were rare. His eyes, darker. He walked the castle like it might collapse under him at any moment.

You didn’t ask at first.

You weren’t stupid. You saw the signs: his shaking hands, the late-night absences, the way he flinched when someone said his name too loudly. Something had shifted. Something you weren’t supposed to know.

But you knew him.

And you knew he was breaking.

——⭑⋆⋆⋆⭑——

It began with shadows.

At first, you only saw him in pieces. A glimpse of white-blond hair disappearing around corners. A flash of his robes slipping through the seventh-floor corridor. The soft creak of a door shutting somewhere you weren’t meant to be.

The Room of Requirement.

You found him there by accident, or maybe fate. Or maybe you were both tired of pretending you didn’t exist to each other.

You pushed open the door and stepped inside.

The room was dark, cold, and empty—save for him. He stood near a covered cabinet, back turned, shoulders tight. When you said his name, he didn’t move.

But his voice cracked.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

You stepped closer. “Neither should you.”

“I mean it,” he said, finally turning. “You don’t want to know what I’m doing.”

“I already know what you’re doing,” you whispered. “You just haven’t said it out loud.”

His mouth opened. Closed. Then, finally, he sank down onto a bench, head in his hands.

“I don’t have a choice.”

“You always have a choice, Draco.”

He looked up sharply. “Not with them. Not with him.”

The silence stretched between you like a wound. You stepped toward him, your voice barely above a breath.

“What did he promise you?”

Draco didn’t answer. He didn’t need to.

You already knew.

Immortality. Power. Safety for his family. A name that wouldn't burn when the war finally came to the doorstep.

You sat beside him slowly, your knees brushing.

“Is that worth becoming someone you can’t look at in the mirror?”

His head dropped, hair falling over his eyes. “I don’t know who I am anymore.”

You reached for his hand. It was shaking.

“I do,” you whispered.

He didn’t kiss you then. Not yet.

But his fingers tightened around yours like he might drown without you.

The weeks blurred after that.

You met in secret—late nights in the Room of Requirement, the Astronomy Tower, the far edges of the library where no one else wandered anymore. He never told you the full truth, but you heard it in the things he didn’t say.

Every time you touched him, it felt like holding fire.

You didn’t care.

You kissed him for the first time two weeks before the end.

It wasn’t sweet. It wasn’t slow.

It was angry and desperate—his hands in your hair, your fingers gripping his collar, the two of you breaking open like dammed water. You pulled away breathless, trembling, afraid of what it meant.

He didn’t let you go.

And you didn’t want him to.

——⭑⋆⋆⋆⭑——

The night everything changed, the castle was too quiet.

The air felt charged, like a storm rolling in, low and full of warning.

You found him outside the Room of Requirement. Alone. His face pale. Eyes wide. There was blood on his cuff.

Your breath caught. “Draco.”

He didn’t look at you. Just stared at the wall like he couldn’t remember how to move.

“They’re here.”

You stepped back. “Who?”

He turned to you, and the world fell out from under your feet.

“The Death Eaters. I let them in.”

Your stomach dropped. “No.”

“I had to,” he said, voice hollow. “He would’ve killed my mother…my father…they said—”

“Draco, stop—” You shook your head. “You don’t have to do this—whatever this is, we can still—”

“There’s no time,” he said, stepping forward, taking your face in his hands. “I don’t know what happens next. But you can’t be here. If they find you with me— if they think you’re on my side—”

“I am on your side,” you choked.

“No,” he said, voice breaking. “You’re better than this. Better than me.”

You slapped your hands over his, holding them in place.

“I’m not leaving you.”

He stared at you; panicked, furious, heartbroken.

Then he kissed you again. Like it was the last time. Like he wanted to carve the memory into you in case you never saw him again.

Footsteps echoed down the corridor.

He tore away from you, breathing hard.

“Go,” he whispered. “Please.”

You didn’t want to. You wanted to scream. To drag him away. To beg him not to become what he feared.

But you turned.

You ran.

And behind you, Draco Malfoy disappeared into the dark.

——⭑⋆⋆⋆⭑——

They said Hogwarts was still a school.

That was a lie.

The Great Hall was quiet now, meals eaten in silence under watchful eyes. Carrows prowled the corridors like wolves, punishing dissent, preaching obedience. Students disappeared, sometimes for hours. Sometimes for days.

You were one of the “lucky” ones, pureblood, clever, compliant on the surface. You learned to walk with your head down, to speak carefully, to hold your tongue when screams echoed from behind sealed doors.

But you were never safe.

Not really.

Especially not from yourself — or from the memory of the boy you had once kissed beneath a sky full of snow.

Draco was a ghost in these halls now.

You rarely saw him during the day. When you did, he was flanked by Crabbe and Goyle, silent and sharp, his eyes rimmed with sleepless shadows. He spoke less. Smirked less. Looked tired — the kind of tired that settled in your bones and never left.

The first time your eyes met across a corridor that year, it felt like a knife and a lifeline all at once.

You didn’t speak.

You just looked.

And then passed each other like strangers with matching scars.

They made you practice the Cruciatus Curse in Defense Against the Dark Arts.

Carrow sneered as you hesitated. “You’re not trying hard enough.”

You looked at the shaking student across from you; a third year. Barely twelve. His wand was trembling.

“I can’t,” you said quietly.

“You can,” Carrow snapped, voice like rot. “And you will.”

A voice cut through the silence.

“She won’t.”

The whole class turned.

Draco stood in the doorway, arms crossed, eyes like steel. “She’s not your puppet.”

Carrows smile twisted. “Ah. So the Malfoy boy’s found his spine.”

Draco didn’t flinch. “She’s better than this.”

You didn’t know what you were more shocked by — his words, or the fact that he said them out loud.

Carrow gave you both detention.

You didn’t care.

It was nearly midnight when he found you outside the Astronomy Tower again.

You didn’t look at him right away. Just stared at the sky, wondering if the stars would still exist after this war.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly.

You turned, finally. “For what?”

“For everything,” he whispered. “For not asking you sooner. For not fighting harder. For not running when I should have. For letting this place become what it is.”

You stepped closer, fingers aching to touch him. “I don’t need apologies, Draco. I need you.”

He swallowed hard. “You shouldn’t want me.”

“But I do,” you said, voice cracking. “I always have.”

There was silence.

Then he kissed you like it was the only thing keeping him alive.

This time, it wasn’t angry. It wasn’t desperate. It was real.

He cupped your face like you might shatter. You held him like he already had.

And when he pulled away, breathing fast, you saw the tears he hadn’t let fall all year.

“I don’t know how this ends,” he said. “I don’t know if I make it out. If we do.”

You brushed your thumb over his jaw. “Then we hold on until we can’t.”

——⭑⋆⋆⋆⭑——

The final weeks were chaos.

Whispers of rebellion. Dumbledore’s Army returning from the shadows. Students sneaking supplies through broken walls and secret passages. Hope clung to the air like smoke, thin, dangerous, but still there.

You and Draco didn’t talk during the day. Didn’t meet eyes in front of others. But at night, he’d find you. Just for a moment. Just long enough to remind himself he hadn’t lost everything.

On the night the battle began, you met in the dungeon corridor—silent, hearts thudding in sync.

“I don’t want to leave you here,” you whispered.

He shook his head. “You have to go. Fight with them.”

“I want to fight with you.”

“You can’t,” he said, voice breaking. “You don’t understand. I’ve done things. I’ve stood beside monsters. They’ll never trust me.”

“I do.”

He kissed your forehead. “That’s what terrifies me.”

A voice called from the hall. You turned, the war already roaring to life beyond the walls.

You looked back at him—your Draco, your fire, your undoing.

“I’ll find you when it’s over,” you promised.

His eyes held everything he couldn’t say.

Suna Rintarou, who loves calling you "pretty girl" or "pretty doll" with a smirk on his face, framing those foxy green eyes that make your knees weak.

Suna Rintarou, who loves it when you sit on his lap; hands on your waist, lowering them to your hips and thighs as his lips fondle yours in a kiss, a kiss that makes you swear you're dreaming until he goes for your neck, biting gently on it.

Suna Rintarou, who loves watching you touching yourself, specially when you think he hasn't come home yet.

Suna Rintarou, who bites his own lips as he starts touching himself too, doing his best to not get caught before entering the room to help you out. He just can't help but wanting to enjoy the view for a few seconds more, feeling his chest heavier with every breath.

Suna Rintarou, who gets off with pictures of you whenever he's alone, but who ends up frustrated because it's nothing compared to what he feels with you.

Suna Rintarou, who would die to film a video of you two during sex, but who always respects your boundaries if you don't want to.

Suna Rintarou, who loves it when you're riding him as much as he loves when you're chest against the mattress, pulling your hips towards him with every thrust.

Suna Rintarou, who loves hearing you moan, but who also loves watching you suck on his fingers with teary eyes.

Suna Rintarou, who's got a thing for choking you as he slams his hips against you; licking his lips, eyes half dazed, and his free hand travelling across your whole body.

Suna Rintarou, who's insanely good at eating you out, doing it not only for your pleasure but for his too, letting you feel the vibrations of his muffled moans against your skin.

Suna Rintarou, who always ends up teasing your entrance with a pair of fingers, mouth on your clit until your legs are trembling around his head.

Suna Rintarou, who touches you in front of a mirror, forcing you to watch how much of a mess you are from even before he fucks you right. He pretty much loves mirror sex.

Suna Rintarou, who makes you ride him and work for yourself as he sits back and enjoys the view with lustful eyes, but who ends up brutally fucking you as he blames you for tempting him so bad with your little whines and pants.

Suna Rintarou, who loves having car sex after a night out together, listening to a playlist you both share until the windows fog up.

Suna Rintarou, who loves it when you tease him. He is addicted to the sensation of desire and tension growing deeper within you and him, making him feel the physical urge to touch you and tease you back.

Suna Rintarou, who places countless kisses all over you in an attempt to show how obsessed he is with everything about you. Kisses and marks are always a must for him. Always.

Suna Rintarou, who wants you to sit on his face. Not hovering. No. Sit. He grips your thighs to make you fully sit, only letting go to touch the rest of your body when you start rocking your hips as you drown in pleasure.

Suna Rintarou, who loves it when you give him head. Even better if he's able to see how you touch yourself in desperation to feel some more stimulation besides his teasing words in between moans and groans.

Suna Rintarou, who fucks you dumb after your long stressful days. "You can't feel stressed if you can't even hold a thought" he says as he excuses himself, adding that he's taking care of you, though he would do it any time you let him.

Suna Rintarou, who never thought he would actually enjoy cock-warming until you tried it once. He refused to let your lips unkissed for longer than a minute, hands wandering all over you as he kept trying to pull you impossibly closer the whole time.

Suna Rintarou, who loves watching you fall apart just by using his hands. He's got all your weak spots memorized, touching you just the right way, fingering you as he presses on your clit with his thumb. Everything just to make you cum like that again and again, lips going from your chest to your lips, even leaving sweet kisses on your forehead too from time to time.

Suna Rintarou, who helps you clean yourself every single time after you both end up exhausted, kissing you softly and leaving loving traces all over you once again before hugging you tight.

Memorabilia Passage.

“Oh big if true,” you scoff. “Not when they have those stupid fucking zippers.”

The zipper of all things isn’t what Rintarou expected you to bring up during your argument—or whatever this was. He snorts. “What the hell is wrong with pocket zippers? You hate the safety of your belongings?”

He shifts so he’s perpendicular to you, just so he can make a show of using his right hand (left still holding yours) to zip his pocket up and down, the noise loud with no near traffic or people.

You move to swat and stop him, but he only starts to shuffle out of your reach—the two of you forming a deformed circle in the light layer of snow beneath you. It’s an inefficient fight considering you’re still holding hands, and every quick dodge instinctively gets Rin to tighten his grip, only pulling you back into range.

“Rintarou—”

“Yes, beloved?”

And then he has that grin—that stupidly attractive grin on his face he has when he’s teasing you and winning—and you can’t bring yourself to hate the fact that you have a matching one.

You laugh when he almost trips and curses. “Oh my god, Rin, it’s ’cause i hate the feeling of the zipper against my wrist, you annoying shit.”

“Sounds like a skill issue?” He taunts.

Both of you have stopped moving at this point, though the winding path of footprints in the snow is evidence enough something happened here. Rin's an arms width away when you squint and huff. “I’ll kill you. Not now, but one day, Suna Rin.”

Only then does he stop deflecting your attempts, and you notice the sound of Rin's zipper no longer fills your ears. You move back to where you were so you can rest your head against him, and he shifts closer so you don’t strain your neck.

The fog of his breath floats away in the chilly air as he lets out a sigh. “Okay.”

You don’t bother to look at him. “Okay to killing you?”

“No, you couldn’t kill me with 6 months to prepare—wouldn’t kill me even if it meant winning the lottery.”

Whatever comeback you can say is a lie since he’s right, and only manifests in a weak bump to his arm.

“I meant my pocket. I just wanted to see how hard you’d try. I don’t like the zippers either.”

That alone is enough makes you snap your head. “Rintarou.”

He smiles at you, feigning innocence, then laughs softly. Before you gain the energy to shove him, he’s already putting his hand into your much more comfortable pocket.

You fail to get the smile out of your voice, “I hate you.”