↳He was the cliché bad boy. He was the guy you couldn’t stand. He was the handsome, hot kid who made girls go weak in the knees. He was a brat. You had never liked him one bit, but you had also never gotten involved with anything concerning him. Until one day, when you were in the wrong place, at the wrong time.
MEMBER: jeon jungkook x reader (ft. kim taehyung)
GENRE: smut, romance, fluff
WORDS: 10 243
WARNINGS: mature & sexual content, profanity, dirty talk & other filth
Anon requests: Could you PLEASE do a second part for beanies and negotiations?! I loved
Another part for beanies and negotiations!
observes Jughead and (Y/N)’s relationship, and realizes it’s not just his
beanie that Jughead lets (Y/N) wear
Word count: 1,033
A/N: ah you guys
I’m so happy you’re enjoying my writing! I wasn’t planning on writing a second
part for this piece, but since it was requested I wrote it for you guys. I was also gonna queue this and have it published later, but I’m so excited for you guys to read this! Enjoy!
Although he and Jughead had recently hit a rough patch in
their relationship, Archie Andrews considered himself one of Jughead’s closest
friends. He also liked to believe that
he knew his friend pretty well. So when
he saw (Y/N) roaming the halls wearing Jughead’s beanie, he was ecstatic. He rushed through the school to find his
friend. In the lounge, Jughead stood
with his arms crossed and raven hair exposed.
“Dude!” Archie exclaimed as he sauntered over to
“What are you talking about?” Jughead questioned, eyes narrowed.
“(Y/N), of course!” Archie answered. “You asked her out, right?” Jughead shifted and uncrossed his arms.
“No,” he scoffed, but his voice wavered a bit. “Why would you think that?”
“Because she’s wearing your beanie,” Archie stated like it
was obvious. “The last time you took
that thing off is when you proposed to her when we were six.”
“We were six,” Jughead emphasized, slightly leaning forward.
“But you like her,” Archie said. Jughead opened his mouth to reply, but no
smart remarks came out. Instead, he
closed his mouth and looked away from Archie, sighing. “Ask her out, man.” Pursing his lips, Jughead shook his head and
walked away. Archie sighed and turned
around, spotting Veronica and Betty waving at him.
“Archie!” Veronica called, beckoning him over. He moved to the couch they were sitting at
and stood in front of the two girls.
“You’ve seen (Y/N) wearing Jughead’s hat, too, right?” she
asked. Archie nodded.
“I don’t get it though,” he said. “He never takes that thing off. I asked Jughead if he asked her out, but he
said no. I figured she’d be wearing it
because of that, since last time she wore Jughead’s beanie-”
“He proposed to her,” Betty finished, and Archie
nodded. All three of them simultaneously
“God he looked so smitten
yesterday,” Veronica groaned. Archie
sent her a questioning look. “Betty and
I were at Pop’s yesterday, and we saw Jughead and (Y/N) there. She had stolen his beanie and he was trying
to get it back, but he was enjoying it.
I swear he could barely contain his smile.”
“Yeah,” Betty smiled in agreement. “They’re both
Archie, Betty, and Veronica thought that the beanie incident
was a one-time thing. However, they were
proven wrong when they spotted (Y/N) sitting in Pop’s wearing Jughead’s jacket
a week later.
“Hey, (Y/N),” Veronica greeted, sitting down next to
her. “Where’s Jughead?”
“Working at the drive-in tonight,” (Y/N) answered,
smiling. Betty and Archie slid into the
booth seat across from them.
“Is that Jughead’s jacket?” Archie bluntly asked. (Y/N) looked down at what she was wearing.
“Oh crap!” she exclaimed.
“I forgot to give this back to him!”
“I’m sure he wouldn’t mind you holding onto it for a bit,”
she laughed, causing (Y/N) to smile and nod.
“Why’d he give it to you in the first place?” Betty
inquired. (Y/N) bit her lip.
“We were walking home from school, and I had forgotten my
jacket at home. I was shivering, and Jug
insisted that I took his,” she explained.
Archie affectionately rolled his eyes, smirking.
“Smitten,” he mumbled under his breath.
The next incident was two weeks later at a football game. (Y/N) had promised her friends that she would
come to the game to support them, and she managed to drag Jughead along with her. Archie smirked when he saw them sitting
together in the stands, knowing that it probably wasn’t too hard for (Y/N) to
convince Jughead to come.
After the game, (Y/N) and Jughead got off the bleachers and
walked over to the field where Archie, Betty, and Veronica were standing.
“You guys were all great tonight!” (Y/N) complimented,
beaming at her friends. They all smiled
in gratitude, when suddenly Archie furrowed his eyebrows.
“Is that-” he paused for a moment, contemplating how to
phrase his question. “Is that a new
flannel?” Betty and Veronica shot him
confused looks, whereas Jughead and (Y/N)’s fidgeted as their cheeks grew red.
“What?” Betty and Veronica exclaimed at the same time. Archie suppressed a smirk.
“It was raining before,” (Y/N) stated, and Archie noticed
Jughead refusing to make eye contact with him, “and we got drenched because
neither of us had an umbrella. Jughead
had a dry flannel and let me wear it.”
She shrugged at the end of her explanation, playing with the sleeves of
Jughead’s flannel. Archie was tempted to
ask (Y/N) why she didn’t just change into some of her own clothes, but he
decided not to for her and Jughead’s sakes.
Betty and Veronica shared a knowing glance. Finally, Archie managed to catch Jughead’s
eye. He smirked and Jughead rolled his
eyes, but the small smile on his face didn’t go unnoticed by Archie.
Archie would have completely missed the last incident if it
wasn’t for Veronica. Some weeks later
they were sitting at lunch with (Y/N), waiting for Betty and Jughead to arrive
at their table.
“(Y/N), that sweater is really big on you,” Veronica noted,
critiquing her outfit. “Please tell me
you didn’t just buy that.” (Y/N) smiled
“No,” she responded, “I’ve had it lying in my room for a
while. Figured I should put it to use.” Veronica scrunched up her nose.
“You shouldn’t have.
Not to be rude, girl, but green is not your color.”
“Oh well,” (Y/N) laughed.
“I’ll remember that next ti-”
“That’s Jughead’s, isn’t it?” Archie interrupted. (Y/N) bit her lip and pulled the sweater
sleeves over her hands.
“Maybe,” she mumbled, looking down into her lap. Archie and Veronica smirked.
“You know what, (Y/N)?” Veronica said. “Never mind what I just said. That does
suit you.” (Y/N)’s cheeks grew bright
“Oh god, guys,” she moaned, but they could hear the smile in
her face. Jughead and Betty soon walked
over to the table and joined the group. During
their lunch, Archie would occasionally glance over at Jughead and (Y/N). He frequently saw one staring at the
other. Smiling at his friends, Archie
couldn’t fathom how neither of them realize how smitten they were with each
[All of this happened because I wanted to write something about Stiles not being able to sleep without his pillow. Spoiler alert: his pillow is Derek.]
Derek tries not to look too hurt when Stiles says he’s going back to Washington, but when the Sheriff claps his back and Scott offers him a friendly hug, he knows he failed. But after everything, after the other night - it just doesn’t feel fair.
“It was a nice road trip, wasn’t it?” Stiles had said after they’ve won, after everything was done, their friends were alive and fine and Derek finally got his loft back. “I mean, we had some fun, right?”
Derek smiled without looking away from the flowers the Sheriff got him as a housewarming gift. “Yeah.” He answered, finally turning around. “It was nice to spend time with you.” It was more than nice and he cursed himself for not being able to say it, still, after everything, after the nights spent driving and talking and fucking in deserted roads.
“Yeah.” Stiles agreed easily. He was the one who started it after all, always showing up to save Derek - despite Derek saving him back plenty of times - always being there, trusting him, smiling and laughing like Derek makes him happy. “What will you do now that you’re a free man again?”
Derek shrugged. “I always wanted to start a farm, maybe raise some sheep?” When Stiles blinked at him, surprised, Derek let out a snort.
“Fuck you, I almost believed it!” Stiles said, punching his shoulder.
“You’re ridiculous.” Derek shook his head, still smiling.
“You’re ridiculous.” Stiles stressed, his hand still on Derek’s shoulder, touching, teasing. “I’m -“ Derek didn’t let him finish then, turning around and just pressing their lips together.
He didn’t want to listen then - and in hindsight maybe he should’ve - but without the haste, the guilt of having a nice time whilst their friends could be dying, Derek couldn’t wait, he just wanted to worship Stiles’ body, just wanted to kiss all the places he couldn’t reach before when they were squeezed in the backseat of Stiles’ car.
And so he did, he made Stiles moan his name the entire night and he moaned Stiles’ own just as louder. Just to have his heart crushed the morning after.
“I’m gonna miss you.” Stiles says, his Jeep packed and ready to go. To leave everything behind.
It’s unfair, Derek knows. Stiles didn’t make promises and neither did he, but he can’t help how he feels. He understands Stiles doesn’t want to be in Beacon Hills anymore and that’s his choice, but Derek made his own and he’s tired of running away.
He’s never felt closer to his family than when he’s here, he’s already lost enough and he doesn’t want to lose his home. But somehow, as Stiles drives away, he feels like he just did.
I miss you, Derek thinks every day, staring at the black screen of his phone and wondering if he should actually write those words and send them to Stiles. He decides against it and despite the fact he was joking before, on the third day after Stiles left, Derek buys a farm.
He tells Lydia first during lunch at her favorite restaurant - she was adamant they had to become best friends and Derek enjoys her company so he lets it happen easily - and she tells him he’s not allowed to wear plaid around her. Then he tells Scott and two days later, he shows up at Derek’s front door with all kinds of seeds - “We need pumpkins for Halloween, Derek. Make it happen!”.
It’s something to do with his hands, something to work on. Create life, instead of ending them, build things, instead of destroying. He feels good, better and healing. Cora says he’s calmer now and Derek smiles, despite knowing she won’t be able to see him, and tells her he is.
Some days Stiles texts him, others he doesn’t. Derek reads the ones he has every night before going to bed, but he never answers them.
Plot: Good girls always had a bad side to them, and some people just brought that out – whether it be a shitty dorm mate or her boyfriend.
Pairing:Jeon Jungkook x Reader
Genre: Smut, slight angst(?), highschool au!
Warnings: Being blessed by the Jungcock, cheating, oral (giving), praising, implied masturbation
Notes: I hope this smut will make up how slow I’m becoming. I can’t help it because exams. And I can’t believe It hit 140+ followers???? What the heck???? How?? Thank you so much. I feel so great about that. 2,042 Words
You were probably one of the most angelic people in your year. You were always kind, got good grades, did your homework – it was a shame you were stuck with a bitch as a roommate. Kim Jenna was always out partying, high-key manipulative, and just got around a lot.
It was a surprise people actually liked her more than you.
Maybe it was because she was prettier, You pondered sometimes. Maybe it was because she actually talked to everyone, and didn’t just sit alone during lunch. Insecurity was probably the bane of your existence when you were around Jenna, especially since she teased you.
“So you got home okay?” Jin asked as you locked your front door. “Yes, i’m good. I’ll see you tomorrow.” “Okay see you Y/N!” “See you Jinnie, I love you.” Your eyes widened as you realized your mistake. The other line went deadly quiet. Before you had a chance to press the end button, he finally spoke up. “What kind of love?..” He asked softly. Of course you were going to deny, deny, deny. “The I would do anything for you kind of love.” But that didn’t happen. “I love you too Y/N…so much.”
As Yoongi was telling you about this girl he’d met. You, once again, had to put on a brave face and pretend to be happy for him. “So I’m thinking of asking her out this weekend when I have a little bit of time.” You looked up at him with hurt in your eyes. Talking about this girl was one thing but asking her out? “You’re asking her out?” “Yeah? What’s the problem?” “You can’t fucking do that to me Min Yoongi!” It just slipped out of your mouth. Like word vomit. He looked into your eyes with an unreadable look on his face. “What does that mean.” He demanded. You shrugged and tried your hardest to keep your cool. “You know you can’t do that to me cause we hardly spend anytime together an-” Yoongi interrupted with a swift, loving kiss to your lips. Shocking you greatly. He pulled away. Just inches away from your face. “I know what you meant.”
Once you found out that Hoseok injured his ankle during a performance, you rushed to the dorms. Once Jimin opened the door for you, you pushed past him to get to Hoseok’s room. He was laid on his bed with his ankle wrapped up. A pair of crutches laid against the wall beside his bed. “Hoseokie..” you said before rushing to his side. He gave you a relaxed smile and shook his head. “I’m fine Y/N, you don’t have to worry about me. Just a little twist is all.” You shook your head as you examined his ankle. “Either way i’m going to take care of you, alright? I have some sick days from work so i’m gonna use them this week.” “Why would you waste your sick days on me?” You looked at him like he was crazy. “It’s not a waste for the man I love, Hoseok.” Your eyes went wide as you realized what you said. “What?…” Hoseok sat up a little. His eyes fixated on you. “What did you say?” You shook your head and stared at the floor. “Y/N what did you say?” He gripped your chin to meet his face. “I’m the man you love?” He asked. His nose was right against yours now. “Say it again. I’ve been waiting SO long for you to say those words to me.”
“No way! Y/M you didn’t!” Namjoon said excitedly as he finished upwrapping the gift you got him. It was a book he’d been dying for, but couldn’t find it anywhere. You tracked down someone who had one of the original copies and paid a substantial amount for it. “Where did you find it?! I’ve been looking for so long, oh my God!” Namjoon went in for a hug but without thinking, and overcome with happiness due to his excitement, you went in for a kiss. Your lips met for a split second before you pulled away and gasped. “Oh fuck i’m…” you covered your mouth in embarrassment as your cheeks grew pink. “I’m really sorry..” You were about to walk away when Namjoon surprised you by grabbing your and sitting down quickly. You straddling his lap. “Do you know how long i’ve been waiting to taste those lips of yours?” He asked for pressing his lips against yours once more.
You and Jimin always had a touchy, playful relationship. And for you, it escalated into a strong love that could never die. As you watched while Jimin played with the fingers on your hand, you spoke to a friend of yours on the phone. “No i’m busy right now but I can come by tomorrow. Yeah, i’m just with my boyfriend.” You said without thinking. You’d always secretly referred to Jimin as your boyfriend when people who didn’t know about him asked. You stopped speaking completely and looked up slowly to meet Jimin’s eyes. His eyes were wide opened, looking directly at yours while his mouth was slightly agape. “I…I’ll call you later.” You said quickly before hanging up on your friend. “Jimin, I-” “FINALLY!” He shouted while pumping his fists in the air. “My girlfriend!! Yes!!”
You and Taehyung were out for your weekly best friend dinner. You both loved picking off each other’s plates and being annoying so sitting by eachother was a must. You both were talking and eating when a nice older woman stopped by your table. “Excuse me. I just had to tell you what a lovely couple you two make. I bet it’ll last a long time.” She smiled. Before remembering that this was in fact real life and not your dreams, you spoke up. “Thanks so much, we’re really in love.” Your eyes widened when you realized that this was in fact reality. “I’m very glad.” She said before walking away. You couldn’t even turn to look at Taehyung. You then felt a pair of lips pressed against your cheek. “A long, long, time.” He whispered. You turned to look at him and blush before turning back around and leaning against him. Bringing up a piece of meat to your boyfriend’s lips.
Realizing that it was way too late and raining way too hard for you to drive home, you decided to spend the night with Jungkook. The man you’ve been in love with for years now. You climbed into bed beside him and turned to bid him goodnight. “Night, I love you.” You said before turning back around and laying on your side. ‘Oh fuck’ you thought as it hit you what you just said. OUT LOUD. “Really?” Jungkook asked. You decided that pretending to fall asleep was the way to go so you did just that. “Y/N?” You stayed completely quiet, hoping he’d forget and just go to sleep. Before you knew it, you felt a strong arm wrap around your waist and pull you in close. “I love you too,” Jungkook whispered into your hair.
As Namjoon closed the door behind him, he stood by the entrance, snickering to himself. “Her? Liking me? Wahh” he said silently to himself. He wasn’t sure what it was he was feeling now, but he couldn’t stop smiling. “As if I’d like her?” he said again to himself.
“Hyung what are you doing by yourself there?” Jungkook asked curiously.
“Huh? Oh nothing” Namjoon said, flustered.
(One week later)
“Hey guys, Y/N isn’t coming today! Looks like it’s just us tonight” Jin said, filling his voice through the dorm.
“Awh, whyyy” Taehyung asked, coming out of the living room.
“She said she’s sick” Jin said with a frown.
“Let’s go there then! We can bring her food” Taehyung said, excitedly.
“Yah, if she’s sick she should just rest. She can’t be taking care of you guys too” Jin scolded.
Taehyung walked back to the living room with his head held down. He was looking forward to watching the movie you two had discussed a few weeks ago, but it looks like it would have to wait another week.
Namjoon meanwhile, listened to everything silently from the dining table. “That’s weird, she never falls sick…” he said to himself.
“What’s that? Couldn’t hear you” Hoseok said, sitting across from him,
“We both tried to grab at the last copy of that desired book at the same time and had a tug of war.” (from this post)
Sterek ficlet, T, ~1.6k words. Basically, I was going to just do a tiny little drabble as a warm-up for working on one of my WIPs, and then I was having too much fun with it to stop.
(Btw, if you couldn’t tell, I totally made up the book series in question. Any resemblance to any actual book is completely coincidental.)
It’s definitely some kind of torture that on the day the seventh and final Path of Wolves novel comes out, Stiles still has to go to school like it’s not the most important day of the year or anything.
And okay, so it’s not like anyone else in Beacon Hills has even heard of these books except Scott, and then only because Stiles can’t shut up about them, but still. Stiles spends the entire day practically vibrating out of his skin with the anticipation. He’s pretty sure he hasn’t taken in a word any of his teachers has said today. The only reason he doesn’t try to make a break for it during lunch is that he can’t afford another detention on his record, and even so, he’s still sorely, sorely tempted to risk it. In the end, he has to get Lydia to hide his car keys from him.
(He was going to ask Scott to do it, but Scott would have caved as soon as Stiles started begging, and Stiles is definitely not above begging, so Lydia it is.)
The instant the final bell rings, though, Stiles is out of there, flying across the parking lot and gunning the Jeep. The bookstore probably only ordered a few copies, and if Stiles isn’t holding one of them by the time he leaves, somebody’s about to get murdered.
Not that he actually expects any competition, but it’s better not to let these things go to chance. He already messed up once by procrastinating on pre-ordering until they were sold out; he didn’t think it was possible for a Path of Wolves novel to be sold out. He was wrong, and now he’s paying for it by having to physically go to the bookstore to get it.
Either Stiles vastly overestimated how many copies the store was going to order, or else he vastly underestimated how many people in Beacon Hills read these books, because when he skids to a stop in front of the New Releases shelf, there’s only one copy left. One beautiful, perfect hardcover copy.
Lucky for him, one copy is enough.
Except that when he grabs ahold of it, someone else does, too.
For a long second, Stiles can’t even believe what he’s seeing. Another hand, on his book. Another hand that’s not letting go, even though Stiles has already clearly and unambiguously grabbed it by the spine and isn’t letting go, either.
Stiles turns his head incredulously to get a look at this usurper, and it’s Derek Hale. As in, made-of-muscles, leather-wearing lacrosse captain Derek Hale.
Until this moment, Stiles wasn’t even sure Derek could read, and now he’s trying to steal Stiles’ obscure eight-hundred-page fantasy novel. What.
Summary: You were just a pre-school teacher, a simple dream that came true as you always adored children. But what you didn’t know, was how one child and her very special father would change you dream forever.
“Oh come on Y/N! You haven’t been out with us in forever, people are forgetting how you even look!” Your friend whined into the phone as you let out a long sigh, setting your book down unwillingly as you’d been reading it for the last hour.
It had been weeks since your friend, Hani had been begging you to go to the club with her, with you finding a reason to not almost every week.
“But–” you started, an excuse at the tip of your tongue as you had no intention of leaving this book. But she interrupted immediately.
“Nope! Don’t you even start! I’m picking you up in 30 minutes and you’re coming, even if I have to drag you out in your pajamas. So look pretty and get ready to get hooked up babe!”
Before you could protest, Hani ended the call, making you slump against the sofa, a long groan slipping past your lips.
Pairings:Harry x reader in the beginning, Draco x reader in the end
Word count: 2281
Requested: Hey, can you write a Harry Potter x Reader where they have been dating for a while but the reader caught Harry cheating on her with Cho and they have a huge fight. After that, she keeps crying and Draco tries to cheer her up and they kiss. Pleaseeeee <3 by @partyiinthedungeons
A/N: I hope you like it and sorry for posting it so late. I did my best to finish it today because of my full schedule. Sorry for the mistakes because i am sure there are and let me now what you think ♥
Being Harry Potter’s girlfriend had it
advantages and disadvantages. The good part was the loyal friends you got by
your side and the bad…well the bad are the slytherins always trying to offend
you somehow. Well, they were mostly hostage toward Harry not me but the fact I
was ready to kill everybody who had said something bad about him was enough for
a way the others to mockery him.
But besides the bad attitude we got in fifth
year, I was more than happy to be with him. Half of the school thought he was a
liar, a boy wanting an attention and I were just a chick using him to become
famous and so on. However, Harry never paid so much attention to those words
but I did. I tried not to but it was hurting to hear such lies. Harry was so
nice to stay hours after curfew to calm me down, to say he loved me and that’s
all that mattered. He even said that if I wanted we would break up so he could
see my smile again. I, of course, punched him slightly always exclaiming that
he was much more important than some stupid students.
We were going to Hogsmeade on dates, drinking
butterbeers, shopping at Zonko’s, we basically tried everything there for such
a short period. I did my best to stay focused when helping him with his
homework but usually ended making out on the sofa in the common room. That led
to an angry Hermione who didn’t skip an opportunity to remind us we were
falling behind with it. But let’s come to the present where the interesting
Today was just an ordinary Saturday. We had
finally finished another rough week. Early in the morning I woke up and after dressing
up, I headed towards the library. There was an hour till breakfast so I decided
to spend it while searching information for Snape’s essay.
“Hey (Y/N)! Why are you awake so early?”,
Hermione’s voice ranged through the empty library.
“I just want to get something done. I don’t
want to fall and spending time with Harry isn’t helping me.”, smiling I sat
down next to her.
“You managed to find the truth! Only for that I
will lend you my notes, but don’t tell the boys.”, we both laughed and after promising
I would not each one of us continued her work.
“If we don’t hurry we will miss the breakfast.
Come on.”, I packed my things and with my friend we exited the room going straight
to the Great Hall.
There weren’t a lot of people but our boys were
already on the Gryffindor table. Harry was reading something while Ron was
eating…a lot, as usual. A smirked appeared on my face as I went to my boyfriend
as quiet as I could. He was facing me with his back so I used this opportunity to
cover his eyes, well specifically his glasses. The boy jumped due to being
surprised. His hands left the newspaper and touched mine trying to identify the
person messing with him.
“(Y/n)!”, my boyfriend exclaimed seconds later
and turned around to face me. There was a smile on his face which caused me to
smile, too. I sat down next to him placing a kiss on his cheek.
“Don’t tell me you are still reading those
lies.”, I took the newspaper from his hands but Hermione did the same to me,
making the research instead of us.
“Well, you were late, so we had to take it.”
“You two are disgusting.”, Ron noted as he continued
“You will be too when you find a girl, oh my
pardon, if you find a girl.”, Hermione retorted as she closed the paper and put
it in her back.
We all laughed while Ron gave Granger a dead
“What are we doing tonight?”, although it
seemed as an ordinary question, it wasn’t. Since some weeks, we were training spells
in out secret group, or so called D.A.
“We have a studying session at 8 pm. as always
(Y/n), how can you forget about it?”
“Oh, sorry Harry but when I see you I forget
everything.”, we usually played this game of being so in love only to make no suspicions
but we did enjoyed it, it always amused us.
After we finished our lunch we went to the
lake. The weather was fantastic and neither one of us wanted to spend the whole
day locked in the castle. We sat down next to a tree trying to stay in its
shadow and began doing our homework. I can’t say we desired to do it but there
was a trip to Hogsmeade tomorrow and I didn’t want to miss it because of stupid
two meters long essays. Harry and Ron were complaining instead of working,
Hermione used her energy to quarrel with Ron while I and Harry laughed at their
‘family problems’. The time was passing by and soon dinner came. After we were
done, we agreed to go to the Required room separated so Umbridge won’t be able
to catch us.
“What are you going to teach me today, Mr.
Potter?”, I teased my boyfriend as we were heading towards our wanted
“Someone is eager for knowledge? You should
spend less time with Hermione.”
“Oh, shut up!”, I punched him slightly and
laughed, “You are just jealous that I’m coping with school, while you might be
“That huts. That’s it! You made me cry, what kind
of a girlfriend are you?”
“Come here and let me kiss you, you’ll feel
better.”, leaning closer we shared a kiss that would had definitely turned out
in a heated one if it wasn’t somebody’s cough to make us separate.
“Hey there lovebirds! You can continue that
later, we have a work now.”, Fred Weasley smirked and entered the Required
room. We followed his actions.
This time Harry showed us some others spells. I
was with Neville who surprisingly was doing much better than me. I was doing
well to be honest, practicing with Ginny, Ron, Harry, but maybe like 30 minutes
later I didn’t fail to notice something. Cho Chang, a ravenclaw girl Harry used
to like in his fourth year, was now watching my boyfriend carefully, trying to
get his attention. That made me mad and that’s why I got hit my Neville’s spell
that paralyzed me for a moment.
“I hit her, I did it!”, Neville screamed at top
of his lungs happily, “Sorry (Y/n).” He then came closer and helped me stand.
“No problems. I am happy you did it, Neville.”,
he was so happy that I couldn’t tell him I wasn’t paying enough attention to
block the spell.
No matter what I did afterwards was, to put it
mildly, horrible. I tried to practice but my eyes were glancing and Cho and
Harry. I knew he was helping her but I didn’t like she was doing poor just for
his attention. Harry was observing everybody and when he saw my actions he came
closer and gave Neville time for a rest.
“What’s going on? Are you okay?”, I could read
the care in his eyes and it made me feel a little better. Besides everything
Harry was with me, not with her.
“I’m fine now.”
“If you wanted to train with me you could have
Till the end of the lesson I was actually
getting more and more capable of using the new spells. Deep inside me I felt
pleasure to show Cho I was better that her. When the ‘class’ was over we were
heading out by three. I wanted to stay and help Harry to clean but he refused,
telling I’d better go and rest. I listened to him and left the room with
Hermione and a tall Hufflepuff boy. We were already on the stairs when I realized
I had forgotten my barrette.
“Wait for me, I’ll be back in a minute.”, after
notifying Hermione I ran upstairs.
The door was slightly open. Cursing the stupid
people who left it that way I entered the room but stopped where I was. My eyes
widen when I saw Harry and Cho kissing in front of me. She had put one of her
hands on his face, while Harry had placed his hands on her both sides. My eyes
were filled with tears by now.
“How could you?”, was the only thing my mouth
let out. I felt a strange feeling in my throat, not letting me to breathe or
talk anymore. Harry and Cho jumped away from each other, both looking at me as
a deer looking at the headlights coming towards her.
I exited the room and ran in some direction not
caring where I was going. Suddenly I felt somebody grabbing my hand and
spinning me around. It was Harry with his messy hair and sad face.
“Stop.”, he said softly.
“Let me go, please. Let me go!”, I managed to
find my voice again and screamed at him.
“It’s not what it seems.”
“Oh, really? Because it seems you still love
Cho and was messing with me the whole time!”, he didn’t know what to say, he
did try but nothing came out, “Have you ever loved me, Harry? Have you?”
“Of course I have, I still do.”
“Do not lie to me! Do not!”, licking his lips,
the boy was about to talk but I interrupted him, “I cannot believe you used me
“I-I didn’t, I-”
“Are you sure because stuttering like this now shows
me I am right.”, I bit my lips trying to prevent the others tears to roll down
my face, “Look at me, look at my eyes and say you did not use me to forget Cho
or to fucking make her jealous! Look at me for god’s sake and say it!”
But the boy was still looking at his feet
“I loved you, Harry. Everything I have ever
said was true. I showed you my feelings, I gave you my heart…and for what? To
be your little toy!? To be the girl you would go to if Cho didn’t like you
back?! To be the second option?! Fuck you Harry!”, I screamed at his face, spun
around on my heels and attempted to get away from him.
“No, (Y/n), wait!”
“Don’t you dare touch me again or call me,
Potter. Don’t you dare!”, this time my voice was low, almost calmly but I felt
how he trembled from it. I didn’t mean to threaten him but his presence was no
longer wanted around me.
After minutes of walking I ended in the
Astronomy tower. I sat down and let myself cry out all the pain inside me. How
could he do this to me? I believed him when everybody thought he was a liar, I was
beside him every time he was bullied…and what did I get? A knife in the back!
As I was sobbing a voice spoke beside me.
“I see there are troubles in heaven, huh?”
“What do you want Draco? I am not in the mood
for your stupid jokes”, but as soon as I turned to face him, his expression changed.
With some steps he came next to me and kneeled down.
“Hey, hey. I’m sorry, I didn’t think it was
that serious.”, he spoke with a soft and caring voice, something I’d never
thought I would hear from him.
“Don’t act as you care.”
“I do care if you haven’t noticed, darling.”
Looking at him, especially at his eyes, some
moments ran through my mind. He had always been good to me, never saying bad
about me, helping me in Potions, not gloating when I fail… For the first time I
felt I could tell him what happened, what I was feeling and he would care about
it. All those small details were showing something deeper and complicated to be
“I-Ha-Harry cheated on m-me.”, saying those
words out made me sob again. Draco wrapped his hand around me, getting me
closer for a hug.
“Hey, look at me.”, with his forefinger he
lifted my chin up so now I was facing him, “He doesn’t deserve your tears.” He remover
some of them, “He doesn’t deserve your love. You have to stand up, smile and
show him what he has missed. Show him you are happier without him. You are the
one who deserves better – somebody who would do anything for you, and by
anything I really mean anything. You are so kind, funny, just amazing. I cannot
explain it but each time I see you, my mood changes. I become more gleeful just
because of hearing your voice, laugh or seeing the spark of joy in your eyes.
You deserve somebody that can make you feel the same way you make me feel… ”
Without thinking I leaned closer and connected
our lips. The kiss was salty due to my tears but was enough to make me feel
butterflies in my stomach. I didn’t feel it only with my body; I felt it with my
soul. It warmed me up, made me feel loved. That kiss wasn’t like the kisses I’d
shared with Harry. It was kind of passionate but showing things that could
hardly be explained even from the hand of a skillful poet. It was something not
to read about but to feel it.
“I’ve never thought you could be showing such
“Love makes miracles with everybody, darling.”,
he smiled and leaned for another kiss.
didn’t know my face was caved in, but I knew it wasn’t good.
knew it wasn’t good from the sound my cheek had made when it hit the dasher
above the boards. I knew it wasn’t good because the referee had blown his
whistle so quickly. I knew it wasn’t good because our trainer, John Wharton,
had jumped over the boards right away to check on me.
saw the blood on the ice, but I didn’t know the right side of my face was caved
only thought was, O.K., this is a bad one. How many stitches?
was Game 6 of the ’96 Western Conference finals against the Colorado Avalanche.
We had to win the game in their barn to keep the series alive. The whole series
was a bloodbath. To say “there was no love lost” between us would be an
understatement. I rarely ever use the word “hate,” but I’ll use it here. We
hated them. They hated us. That’s just the way it was.
before, I had collected the puck along the boards and made a pass, and I was
drifting backwards right by our bench. The next thing I knew, I got hit from
behind. I felt my face hit the top of the boards. Everything went black for a
second. I was on all fours, trying to get up, but I couldn’t.
looked up at our trainer and he was blurry, but I could see this look of horror
on his face. I’ll never forget that look. He put a towel over my head to hide
my injuries. The last thing I remember is him and Keith Primeau helping me to
my feet and escorting me off the ice to the dressing room.
I blacked out.
next thing I remember is waking up in the dressing room, and looking up at our
trainers and our doctor, and finally feeling the pain.
I blacked out again.
next time I came to, I sat up and the pain was gone. I didn’t know it, but I
was on some serious painkillers. So I started trying to put on my shoulder pads
so I could get back on the ice.
team doc said, “Kris, what the hell are you doing?”
said, “What period is it? Am I stitched up?”
said, “Uh … Kris, you better take a look at this.”
he walked me over to the mirror.
right side of my face was caved in.
told me the damage: Broken orbital bone. Broken cheekbone. Broken nose. Broken
was not the worst news.
asked, “What’s the score?”
I asked, “Who hit me?”
March, 26, 1997.
Say the date to anybody in Detroit or Colorado and they’ll know exactly what you mean.
March, 26, 1997.
Exactly 301 days after I broke my face.
It’s hard to believe that it was 20 years ago this month. But if I just tell you the story of that brawl, it won’t do it justice. A 21-year-old reading this right now was just a baby when it happened. If they’ve only seen the YouTube videos, they probably think we were all a bunch of animals. But the reason things got so out of hand on March 26, 1997, is because of everything that happened before and after that brawl.
See, we have to go back.
Everybody involved in that fight had a story. For me, you have to go back to Career Day when I was in sixth grade in West Hill, Ontario. The teacher went around the room and asked every kid what they wanted to be when they grew up.
Doctor. Lawyer. Teacher. Veterinarian.
Everybody smiled and nodded.
When it was my turn to go, I said, “I’m going to play in the NHL.”
I was a small kid, so there was some laughter in the room. After school was over, I was sitting outside on the portable step, and I’ll never forget this as long as I live: This kid (who shall remain nameless), came up to me and said, “Ha! You’ll never play in the NHL.”
Just the way he said it, with such certainty, always stuck with me. I used it as motivation. I’d picture his face, and just the way he said it, and I’d think, Oh yeah? I’ll show you.
My mentality was that I was going to do whatever it took to make it to the NHL, and for the first few years of my career, it was a real struggle. I spent four years in the Winnipeg Jets’ system, mostly toiling away in the minors before they traded me to the Red Wings in ’93, just as Scotty Bowman was taking over as head coach.
So one night I’m playing for the Adirondack Red Wings in the AHL, and I score a hat trick. I come out of the locker room after the game, and there’s Scotty with a few Red Wings scouts. I had no idea they were in the building.
I’m thinking, Finally, they saw the hat trick. Now they know what I can do. Now I’ll get my chance.
The first thing Scotty says to me is, “Do you know how many face-offs you won tonight?”
Face-offs were just starting to be kept as an official stat, especially in the AHL.
So I said, “No, sir, I’m not really sure.”
Scotty said, “You won 19 of 21. Can you do that in the National Hockey League?”
Six weeks later, I got called up to the Detroit Red Wings. The implication was pretty clear. If I wanted to be one of Scotty’s guys, I had to grind. I was 5′ 10″, 180 pounds and I was joining a team with unbelievable skill guys — Sergei Fedorov, Steve Yzerman, Slava Kozlov, Keith Primeau, Vladimir Konstantinov, Paul Coffey, and a young Nick Lidström. So my mindset was that I was going to be the biggest pain in the ass you ever played against. I definitely knew my place. But I didn’t know my exact value until we played the Sharks in the ’94 playoffs. After we beat them in Game 3, I was getting interviewed by a reporter from a San Jose newspaper. After he finished up, he turned to me and said, “Hey, not bad for a kid who was traded for a dollar, huh?”
And he started to walk away.
I said, “Excuse me … what did you just say?”
He said, “Yeah, a dollar. Winnipeg traded you for a buck. Now you’re playing in the Stanley Cup playoffs. Pretty good … Wait, you don’t know the story?”
I turned and looked at our public relations guy, totally confused.
He said, “Uh, yeah, Kris. It’s true.”
I’m like, “What? I was traded for future considerations.”
He says, “Yeah, well, you know, when Scotty called you up from the AHL, they still hadn’t worked out the considerations, officially. So Bryan Murray called Mike Smith and … well … you were traded for cash considerations.”
Whenever somebody tells me I was traded for a bag of pucks, I have to politely correct them — because a bag of pucks would’ve been a lot more expensive. But I loved it, because the whole story just added to my underdog mentality.
We ended up losing that first-round series to the Sharks in seven games, which was bitterly disappointing. Then in ’95, we felt like we were so close to the promised land, but we got swept by the Devils in the Stanley Cup finals. That’s when the questions started.
A lot of people don’t remember this now, but at the time, we were getting a tremendous amount of heat for not being tough enough to win a Cup. The media was questioning the leadership of guys like Yzerman and Fedorov, if you can believe that. They were questioning the way our whole team was built. The implication was that we were skilled but soft.
So we came out in ’95–96 with a gigantic collective chip on our shoulders. The first two months of the season, we were on fire. With our speed and skill, we overwhelmed teams. Then, on December 2, 1995, we went into the old Montreal Forum to play Patrick Roy and the Canadiens. That night, something happened that changed hockey forever.
We came out hot. Roy let in four goals, then five, then six….
For whatever reason, they wouldn’t pull him.
Seven. Eight. They still wouldn’t pull him.
We were all kind of looking at each other on the bench like, What’s the deal here?
At one point, the crowd did a mock cheer when Roy made a save. It was ridiculous, because he was such an incredible goalie.
Finally, after nine goals, Roy had had enough and just pulled himself. Later on, it came out in the press that when Roy got back to the bench, he turned to the president of the Canadiens and said, “This is my last game in Montreal.”
Roy was traded to the Avalanche a few days later. That was the moment when the whole rivalry between us and Colorado got its spark. He never forgot what we did to him at the Forum. From that moment on, he took it to another level when he played us.
It felt like destiny that we would have to go through Colorado in the playoffs that season. And, wouldn’t you know it, who was waiting for us in the ’96 Western Conference finals? Roy and the Avalanche.
This is the part of the story where things get a little crazy.
Most people think that the feud started when I broke my face in Game 6. But it started way before that. From the first drop of the puck of Game 1, guys were taking runs, slashing, grabbing, sucker punching, you name it. There’s no point in even going over every incident. We did stuff. They did stuff. If you played in the NHL playoffs back then, you were not coming out unscatched. I’m not glorifying it, but that was the way it was.
Early in Game 3, Slava Kozlov rammed Adam Foote’s head into the glass and cut him pretty good. Later on in the period, Claude Lemieux snuck up behind Slava and sucker punched him in the back of the head to get revenge.
Our bench went crazy. And then the whole game went crazy. And then the whole series went crazy. Everything turned into a battle. We were battling over loose sticks from the benches.
Game 3 was the moment when the rivalry rose to another level entirely. We wanted to win that series so, so bad. Colorado was not a team full of goons. That’s the thing. They were an unbelievable team that had everything you could want — pure skill with Sakic and Forsberg, grit and experience with Lemieux, Kamensky and Ricci. And, of course, they also had Roy.
They had everything we had. They were a tremendous team, and we didn’t like them one bit.
So when I looked in the mirror after I got hit from behind in Game 6, and I saw my broken face, I was kind of numb.
But when the trainers told me that Colorado had won, and that the series was over….
I was beside myself. I was so disappointed.
The doctors advised me to stay in Colorado to have surgery right away, but I wanted to be on the plane with the guys. I wanted to be back in Detroit. So I draped a towel over my head and walked out of the building, and I got on the plane and waited for the guys.
My teammates didn’t actually know how bad my injuries were until they got on the plane and saw me. So they had gone through the whole handshake line not knowing my face was caved in. That’s the backstory for Dino Ciccarelli’s famous quote about Lemieux: “I can’t believe I shook this guy’s friggin’ hand after the game. That pisses me right off.”
I still remember sitting at the front of that plane with the doctors, and all my teammates getting on and tapping me on the shoulder and telling me it was going to be alright.
When we got back to Detroit, I was in the hospital for four days. I couldn’t eat solid food for six weeks because my jaw had to be wired shut. Having your jaw wired shut sucks, but it sucked even more in 1996 because they didn’t have all the protein shakes and fancy smoothies in every store like they have today. For the most part, I was drinking Ensure. Sometimes I got lucky and they’d let me have a chocolate milk shake.
I wish this story could have Smell-O-Vision, because if you could only smell a vanilla Ensure right now, you’d know how miserable I really was. But the worst pain, by far, was knowing that the Avalanche were dominating the Panthers in the Stanley Cup finals.
I couldn’t stand to watch. It’s still the only Stanley Cup finals that I’ve never seen a single second of.
As I was sitting in that hospital bed, I promised myself two things:
I wasn’t going to let the hit affect me mentally.
It wasn’t to change the way I played.
You have to understand what hockey means to me. It was always my joy in life. I was a small guy to start with, and I made it to the NHL by playing a certain way. If I took my foot off the gas even just a little bit … if I was even just a little bit timid because of that hit, I wouldn’t be effective. I’d be letting my teammates down. I’d be letting the city down. The people of Detroit were in my corner every single day of my recovery. I mean, the response from fans was so overwhelming that I had to get two hospital rooms: One for me, and one to store all the flowers, cards, and stuffed animals that people sent to me. There was so much that I couldn’t take it all home. I donated all the stuffed animals to the pediatric ward.
Detroit is such a blue-collar town, and they love their Red Wings so much.
We had to get back to the Western Conference finals. We had to beat Colorado. We had to win a Stanley Cup.
I would close my eyes and picture the weight room and think, Soon.
As I was leaving the hospital, my doctor gave me a pair of pliers.
“Keep these on you at all times,” he said. “Whenever you leave the house. Whenever you go to bed.”
I couldn’t speak. I just shook my head, confused.
“If you get sick and have to throw up, you’re going to have to cut the wires to keep from choking.”
So I went home with my pliers and my cases of Ensure. It was a long road. I ended up losing almost 20 pounds over the six weeks that my jaw was wired shut.
I’ll never forget the day they came off. My first meal was at Andiamo on the riverfront in Detroit. I ordered the angel-hair pasta. But I still had to have these restrictive bands on my teeth, so I sat there eating it noodle by noodle for like an hour. My friends were on dessert by the time I made it to the 10th noodle, but it was the best feeling ever.
That was the end of June. I had two months to gain 20 pounds back before camp. Whenever I needed motivation to drink an Ensure, I’d just think of The Joe on opening night, and the feeling of walking down the dark tunnel and taking that first step onto the ice.
To be 100% honest, I rarely thought of getting revenge on Lemieux. It wasn’t about that. Unfortunately, Detroit did not feel the same way. It was like the entire city took the hit personally. When the season started, and I was back in the lineup, all anybody wanted to talk about was our first game against Colorado. But, as fate would have it, Lemieux wasn’t in the lineup for our first two games. The third game in Colorado got very heated — you could feel the tension — but the referees were on top of it. Nothing major happened. But you could feel the hatred building and building….
Right up until March 26, 1997.
When it all exploded at The Joe.
I pulled into the parking lot of the arena that night and a TV cameraman followed me from my car to our dressing room. Camera guys never followed me. They’d always follow Yzerman or Fedorov. That’s when I knew: O.K. Here we go.
You could feel it in the dressing room before the game. You could feel it during warmups. They were 3–0 against us that season. They were No. 1 in the division. This was our last game against them going into the playoffs. It was a huge moment.
But the game was relatively tame for most of the first period. Until….
Igor Larionov and Peter Forsberg, two of the most skilled guys in the league, got into a wrestling match by our bench. At first it was nothing — just a small scuffle. The refs came over to break it up. The building was quiet.
And then you just heard this incredible roar out of nowhere.
I look to center ice, and there’s Mac.
Darren McCarty, the guy who visited me in the hospital every day. Mac is reigning punches down on Claude Lemieux right in front of our bench. Lemieux’s helmet pops off, and he goes down on all fours, trying to turtle to protect himself.
And then another huge roar — louder than the first one.
Patrick Roy leaves his net. Mike Vernon leaves his net.
They’re skating toward one another from across the rink, like a Wild West movie.
But then, out of nowhere, Brendan Shanahan intercepts Roy and they both go flying.
Next thing I know, Mac is dragging Lemieux over to our bench, as if to say, I told you I’d get him, boys.
Then Vernon and Roy finally make it to one another, and they start brawling at center ice. Not just tying up, but throwing haymakers.
In the middle of all this pandemonium, Marc Crawford, the Avs coach, is yelling at me, “You started all this, Draper!”
And then Scotty Bowman starts yelling at Crawford, “Don’t talk to my players! Don’t you ever talk to my players!”
When the refs finally got ahold of everybody, there were helmets and sticks and gloves and jerseys and blood all over the ice.
What can you say? You just say the date, and everybody knows.
March 26, 1997.
Exactly 301 days after I had my face caved in, my teammates stood up for me. We settled it. But this is what a lot of people don’t remember: For the players on the ice, that night wasn’t just about the fight. That night was about proving that we could beat Colorado on the scoreboard.
After the refs cleaned up the ice, there was still a game to be played. We were down 5–3 in the third. If we lost, and Colorado swept the season series, then the fight would have meant nothing. But we started chipping away at their lead, and we tied it up at 5–5 to send it to overtime. In OT, who do you think came out and buried the game-winning goal?
We couldn’t have scripted it any better.
The brawl was one thing. But us winning that night changed everything. It gave us the belief that we could beat them in the playoffs. We knew we’d see them again in the Western Conference finals. We just knew.
When they dropped the puck in that series, the tone had already been set. The vibe was different. As soon as Lemieux turtled at The Joe, everything changed.
We beat them in six games, and I got what I really wanted — what I had burned for since I was in the hospital. I got the handshake line. I got to look every one of them dead in the eyes, and I got to shake their hands knowing that I was going to the Stanley Cup finals, and they weren’t.
In the finals, the Flyers were heavily favored to beat us. They were “too big, too strong, too fast.”
First shift. Game 1. Philly comes out with the LEGION OF DOOM. Lindros. LeClair. Renberg.
Everyone expects that.
But nobody expected who Scotty sends out.
The Grind Line.
Me, Joe Kocur and Kirk Maltby.
What a feeling. Almost exactly a year to the day that I was laying in a hospital bed with my jaw wired shut. Now I’m starting Game 1 of the Stanley Cup finals.
We came out flying. After finally beating Colorado, we were not going to be denied. We took Game 1 on our way to a sweep.
That first time you touch Lord Stanley, after so many years of burning for it, your life flashes before your eyes. Your whole journey plays like a quick film in your mind. I wanted that Cup so bad, for so many reasons. But mostly I wanted to prove to myself that one hit wasn’t going to define my career, or change the love I had for the game.
We won again in ’98, 2002, and 2008.
Now, we’re known as champions. But on March 25, 1997, we were called “soft.” Our leadership was questioned. Some people wanted to blow up the team.
Do we still win the Stanley Cup without that brawl? Maybe. But I know that it certainly didn’t hurt.
Over the years, Lemieux and I never spoke about what happened. He never apologized, and I didn’t need him to. They won Cups. We won Cups. Even if I didn’t like him very much, I actually respected how clutch he was as a player.
Then, a couple of years ago, I was at the 2014 NHL draft as a member of the Red Wings’ front office. My whole family was there with me — my wife and three kids. When the draft was over, we were waiting outside for a taxi to take us to the airport, when my wife’s face suddenly went pale. She was looking right through me.
She said, “Lemieux’s walking towards us.”
I wasn’t going to turn around. I didn’t think I had anything to say to him.
Sure enough, I feel a hand on my shoulder. I turn around and it’s Claude.
He says, “Oh, is this your family?”
My son, Kienan, has watched every single YouTube video in existance of the Wings-Avalanche rivalry. He knows the whole story. So he was looking up at Claude with these big eyes, like, Oh, my God. Here he is, in real life.
Claude bent down and shook his hand, and my son just kind of looked at him in awe. Claude politely introduced himself to my whole family, and shook everybody’s hand.
And that was it. We went our separate ways.
I’m glad we had that moment. For everything that we went through during that rivalry, the beauty of our game is that at the end of the day, as (much older) men, we are still able to shake hands.
Now that it’s the final year for The Joe, people have been talking about their favorite memories of the place. We won two Stanley Cups in that building, and yet every time I meet a Wings fan, you know what they want to talk about?
March 26, 1997.
Those gongshow days are gone now, and it’s probably for the betterment of the game. But ask anybody from Detroit, and they can tell you exactly where they were when that brawl went down. Long after that arena is torn down, people will still remember that night.
It defined a rivalry, and it defined my career for a lot of fans.
But for me, when people ask about my favorite memories of The Joe, I always give a boring answer. And I do it because it’s the truth: It’s the Stanley Cups. The sacrifice it takes to lift one Stanley Cup is almost beyond words.
I went on to win four of them with teammates who I consider brothers. They can never take that away from us.
So, to a certain sixth grader in West Hill, Ontario, from a very long time ago, I’ll say it again: Oh yeah?
There was something about this whole narrative, that wasn’t adding up for me. I was having a hard time putting my finger on it, then Camila released that description about her album, and it started making more sense.
They want us to believe, this whole narrative took place in 2016, but when you remember back and realize, the 2016 narrative was just a revamped version of the 2015 narrative, it all begins to fall into place.
Everyone latched on to that July 4 2016 Brazil snap, of her alone, writing in a hotel bathroom, while the girls were out celebrating together, as the time she began writing “I have questions”. That’s exactly what Management hoped you’d do. If one paid attention though, you would see that the more important snap happened back in October 2016. She snapped a photo of her writing in a bathroom, with the caption ”destroyed”. First, July - October does not equal 6 months, no matter how crappy your math is. Second, the 7/27 tour was coming to an end, and with that caption, I actually think, that is when she finished writing “I have questions”.
The only tour date they had in early 2016, was Dubai. So, unless she started writing it in a Dubai potty, the rest of early 2016 was spent promoting WFH. She stated she started writing that song, “a little over a year ago” while on tour. I think her “a little over a year ago” means the last few months of 2015, September-November. That she eventually had to face her problems, and she finally went back to the lyrics she started from the year before, and finished the song, then wrote a sad song every day until she got sick of writing sad shit. That song seems to be a catalyst for her, and I’m thinking it probably “destroyed” her to finally finish it.
Camila was asked recently, in an interview, when her anxiety showed itself and started becoming a real problem for her. Her answer was, 2015. Everything started in 2015. Her anxiety, the fucking narrative, the division, EVERYTHING!!
❛❛we’re next-door neighbors and have hated each other since middle school but now we’re going to the same university how can we avoid the other person like the plague so there isn’t a crime scene— what do you mean you promised my mom you would keep an eye on me???? you fucking planned this❜❜ AU
COUNT → 21.489
GENRE → smut | angst
PAIRING → jungkook | reader
WARNINGS → dom and sub tones | threesome | oral sex | explicit language | penetration | public sex | grinding | graphic dirty talk | slight female masturbation | overstimulation
As the back of Jungkook’s head rested against the driver seat’s
headrest, catching his breath, your glare hardened.
Once again, he’d fucked you and not cared whether you came or
not. In fact, for the duration of his penis being in your vagina, he’d barely
even touched you. And sadly, it hadn’t even occurred
to you he’d used you once again until it was too late. Your clit didn’t matter to him apparently; your pleasure didn’t matter to him either.
All that mattered was his dick. That’s all that ever
After that weekend at the
camping grounds where you actually came for once, you were expecting something
better than whatever the fuck he called this performance. Your horny brain had
quickly forgotten that it’d been your own fingers that got yourself off—not him—and those nights you spent in his tent were no
exception. Why were you so surprised? This was Jungkook you were talking about—he would never fucking care about you or any part of you.
“We have to help him, Ron.” Hermione told her boyfriend. “You
know how he is, if you don’t push him, he will never make the first move.”
“And what do you suggest we do, Hermione? It’s not like we
can make her so something… We don’t even know if she likes him back!” He
“Well, I think there is a way.” She smiled. “Come with me to
“Bloody library.” Ron said under his breath.
“Did you say something?”
“No, nothing at all.”
When Harry entered the 8th year common room Ron
and Hermione were going around giving cupcakes to who was there.
“Hello, Harry, do you want a cupcake?” Hermione asked when
she saw him.
He grabbed the cupcake she was giving him and ate it while
she explained that she had made them herself, not wanting the house elves to
have any more work.
“Go give this one to Cho.” She said suddenly and gave him a
cupcake that was just slightly different from the one he had just ate.
“Ok…” He looked at her suspiciously.
Hermione smiled at her friend and watched as he went in Cho’s
direction to give her the cupcake. What Hermione wasn’t expecting, however, was
Malfoy entering the common room in that moment and Harry walking towards him
and giving him the bloody spiked cupcake with a nod and a tense “Malfoy”.
Draco looked at Potter weirdly, not knowing what to make out
of the situation. Why, in the name of Merlin, was bloody Harry Potter giving
him a cupcake like they were some sort of Hufflepuff friends?
“Why are you giving me a cupcake, Potter?” He asked.
“It was Hermione’s idea.” He shrugged. “She’s giving cupcakes
Then, the boy smiled and walked away living Draco looking at
the cupcake in his hand stunned.
After looking around the room and seeing everyone enjoying
their cupcakes – even Blaise and Pansy, - Draco took a careful bite and
promised himself he would never admit aloud just how good the cupcake actually
Only Ron saw the look of terror on Hermione’s face as Malfoy
ate the cupcake.
“What do you mean, Hermione?” Draco heard someone hissing
when he left his dorm room in the middle of the night to go the bathroom
“I mean exactly what I said, Ron.”
“So, Harry gave Malfoy the cupcake he was supposed to give to
Draco peeked around the corner at the scene in the common
room and saw Granger nodding her head, sitting on the sofa and looking guilty.
“So, what will happen now?” Weasley asked.
“I guess we just have to get ready for a week full of Malfoy…
He will want to be with Harry all the time. You know it, Ron, George was the one
sending you the potion, he explained everything that would happen once someone
had it and, just like he said, the only way it won’t change the person’s
behaviour is if they already have feelings for the person who gave it to them. This
is Malfoy and Harry we are talking about.”
Draco looked at the two of them in disbelief. If he
understood correctly, Granger and Weasley had spiked a cupcake with some kind
of love potion George Weasley sold at the store, they gave the cupcake to
Potter so he could give it to Cho Chang, but Potter gave the cupcake to Draco
and he had eaten it, meaning that he would apparently be in love with Potter
for a week.
However, he didn’t feel any different and he knew why: the
potion didn’t affect the behaviour of those who already had feelings for the
one who gave it to them, or so Granger had said. Draco knew he couldn’t just
act like he normally did towards Potter, or else Weasley and Granger would find
out the truth about his feelings.
Seeing only one way out, Draco decided that during the week
the potion would have effect he would show his love for Harry Potter and then
blame it on the potion and make the two Gryffindor idiots who spiked the bloody
cupcake pay for it.
When Harry sat at the Gryffindor table the next morning for
breakfast he was met with guilty expressions on Ron and Hermione’s faces.
“Good morning.” He greeted while sitting down next to Ron.
“Morning.” Hermione answered even though she didn’t look him
in the eyes.
“Ok, what did you do?” Harry asked looking at his two best
Hermione and Ron shared look and Hermione sighed, looking
like she was ready to spill whatever they had done, but before she could Malfoy
sat down next to her, in front of Harry, and she looked down at her food.
“Malfoy.” Harry nodded.
Harry looked at him weirdly, not knowing why the other boy
decided to sit with them instead of the Slyhterins. It wasn’t unusual that the
houses mixed during meals, however, it was unusual for Malfoy to sit with the
They ate breakfast in a tense silence and, when they
finished, Malfoy got up and said “See you later, Potter” before he exited the
For three days, Malfoy had sat with them for meals. He tried
to make conversation and Harry was surprised to see that he actually enjoyed
the boy’s company. Malfoy was different from the people Harry usually hang out
with; the Slytherin was sarcastic, - sometimes even making mean comments – and
his humour was different from what Harry was used to, but, in a way, it was
kind of refreshing.
Now, they were both in the library studying for potions;
seeing Harry struggling with the lessons, Draco had offered to help and they
had already been there for an hour.
“I think it’s enough for today, Potter.”
Harry yawned and nodded, closing his books and putting them
in his bag. Draco smiled seeing the sleepy boy that he found adorable.
“Come on, Potter, I don’t think you want to fall asleep in
the middle of the library.”
Shaking his head, Draco grabbed Harry’s hand and pulled him
out of the library in the direction of the common room, their fingers
intertwining in the way and neither of them doing anything to pull them apart.
When they got to the common room, they said goodnight to those who were still
awake and stopped at the Harry’s bedroom’s door.
“Good night, Harry” Draco smiled and kissed the boy’s
forehead, before going to his room and leaving him behind.
The next day, Harry didn’t pay attention in his classes; he
was too busy daydreaming about a certain boy. It surprised Harry when, the
night before, Malfoy had kissed his forehead; why had he done that? Harry
couldn’t tell and, somehow, he didn’t care, as long as the other boy did it
At supper, Malfoy sat next to Harry at the Gryffindor table, closer
than he had sat the days before, making Harry blush and smile down at his food
when he felt their thighs brush. Hermione and Ron had the same guilty
expressions they had been wearing for some days now.
“Are you guys ok?” Malfoy asked.
Ron looked at Hermione, nodded his head slightly and she
sighed looking up at Harry and Malfoy.
“We have something to tell you both.” She said.
“Ok, tell us.” Malfoy put his fork down.
“Not here” Ron shook his head. “Not in the Great Hall where
there are so many people.”
When they finished eating, Ron and Hermione got up and told
Harry and Malfoy they would meet them in the common room, so they could talk.
“What do you think they want to tell us?” Harry asked the
“I think I have an idea, but let’s go and see.”
Draco got up and Harry mirrored his actions and they exited
the Great Hall together.
“Harry…” Draco called when they were just about to enter the
“I want you to remember that I do what I do because I want
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“You’ll see. Just don’t forget what I said, ok?”
Harry smiled at the boy in front of him and leaned up to kiss
his cheek; Malfoy blushed and Harry thought that the redness in his pale cheeks
suited him and decided that he would do anything just to see the other boy
flushed again. Malfoy smiled down at him and grabbed his hand, intertwining
their fingers and pulling him to the common room, where Ron and Hermione were
waiting for them in front of one of the fireplaces.
The only other people in the common room were sitting at the
table playing chess and Draco knew that the couple in front of the fireplace
had decided to talk there because it would be almost empty, as most of the 8th
years were still having supper.
Harry and Draco sat next to them and the sight of them
sitting so close with their hands clasped and fingers intertwined seemed to
make Hermione look like she was about to cry.
“We did something” Ron finally said. “Just don’t get too mad,
Harry looked at them feeling slightly scared about what they
could have possibly done.
“Ok” he answered. “I’ll try not to get mad.”
“We really didn’t mean for this to happen, Harry,” Hermione
rushed. “We just wanted to help you with Cho.”
Harry felt Draco’s hand twitch in his own and gripped it
tighter, not really realising what he was doing.
“What do you mean?” He asked his best friends.
“Oh, Harry, we know you like her!”
“But… where did you get that idea from?”
“You told us that you liked someone, but you wouldn’t say who…
She was the only person we could think of.”
“I don’t like Cho.” Harry scoffed. “But that’s not the point.
What did you do?”
“Remember when I gave out cupcakes on Sunday?”
“Well, there was a reason behind it.” She continued quietly.
“Just spit it out already!” Draco exclaimed.
“We spiked one of the cupcakes with one of George’s love
“I gave a cupcake to you and told you to give it to Cho,
“But I never gave the cupcake to Cho” Harry shook his head.
“I gave it to…”
“Malfoy” Ron finished looking at the boy next to Harry.
Draco heard Harry take a deep breath next to him and he could
feel the other boy’s rage and betrayal.
“What was the potion supposed to do?”
“For a week, the person who drank it would act in love with
the person that gave it to them, unless they already have feelings for each
other, then they would act the same.”
There was a thick silence in the air and Draco felt like
hexing the two people sitting in front of him when he felt Harry’s hand go limp
and stop squeezing his own.
“So, what you are trying to tell me is that, for the past
days, Dr-Malfoy has been nice to me because of some potion?”
Ron and Hermione didn’t answer, but they didn’t need to;
Harry already knew it and, somehow, it really hurt to know that Malfoy had done
everything because of a potion. Draco felt his heart drop when Harry got up without
a word and left to his room, not looking back.
“Don’t you have anything to say?” Hermione looked at Draco.
“I already knew.”
“I heard you talking about it on Sunday night.”
“You did? Then why didn’t you try and fight the potion?”
“Why would I fight something that didn’t even work in the
Hermione and Ron fell silent and Draco just sighed and got
“I know you are Gryffindors and all, but not even I thought
you could be this stupid!”
The Gryffindors watched as he went to his room and when he
was out of sight Ron looked at Hermione with a scared expression.
“Did he mean what I think he meant?”
Harry ignored the other three the following days. His best
friends tried talking to him and apologize, but he wouldn’t let them.
Seeing that the boy preferred being left alone, Draco didn’t
try talking to him and decided that the best he could do was wait until the
week of the potion ended so Harry would believe him.
So, on Monday after supper, Draco grabbed Harry’s hand and
pulled him to his room, determined to talk to him and to make him see the
truth, because some days showing Harry his love wasn’t enough for him.
“What do you want, Malfoy?”
“Why do you call me Malfoy again?”
“Isn’t that your name?”
“No! My name is Draco, that’s what you should call me, just
like you did this past week.”
“You were under a potion’s influence.”
“No, I wasn’t.”
“The potion doesn’t work when the person already has feelings
for the one who gave the potion to them.” Draco walked closer to Harry and felt
really accomplished when Harry blushed.
“What do you mean?”
Draco rolled his eyes playfully.
“I know you are a Gryffindor, but you’re not so dense, Harry,
you know exactly what I mean.” He leaned down and kissed the boy’s lips
lightly. “I did what I did because I wanted to, not because of some stupid
And then he kissed him harder and Harry rested his hand on
the blond’s chest gasping in surprise when he felt the rapid pace the heart
beneath his hand was beating in. Draco took advantage of the gasp to slip his
tongue in the other boy’s mouth and both of them saw little colourful sparks
behind their eyelids.
“Draco” Harry whispered when they parted to breathe.
Draco just smiled and pushed Harry to lay on the bed slipping
in next to him and putting his arms around him protectively.
“I hope you know that I will have to get revenge somehow” he
said. “They don’t have the right to poison me, even if it didn’t work!”
“I’ll help you” Harry smiled at the Slytherin.
They cuddled closer to each other and let sleep overtake
Summary: You two are from different houses (i used ravenclaw here, but any other will do) and dont particularly like each other or get along at all. things get steamy one drunk night when all word filters are out of the picture. Warnings: biting kink (and smut, duh). Enjoy ;)
The unbearably long day was slowly nearing to an end with only one class left. Naturally, it was one with the Slytherins. It was agonizing. You couldn’t avoid exchanging a few offensive swear words every time you ran into any of them in the halls. The worst was with Malfoy, the vain boy, proud of his heritage to an extent. It wasn’t until the fourth year that we had actually spoken a word to each other. Before that, it was only brisk eye contacts, his orbs sparkling with disgust. Then, one day I decided to let my mouth outrun my brain as I sad to him: “You don’t have to act like an arsehole if you don’t really want to, you know? Nobody is going to think less of you if you skip voicing your rather unnecessary opinion once in a while.” It was on a Wednesday like this one, the Charms class we had together had just ended. Draco had made a snarky remark on one of my housemate’s ‘ridiculous performance in the simplest charms’. The whole room was dead silent as i finished my sentence. He directed me a glare filled with wrath and said something that would’ve got me detention for a week hadn’t my friends held me back. “Why don’t YOU do everyone a favor and take your ugly presence elsewhere? I would suggest the sewers, where you’d fit in nicely,” that disgusting smirk of victory dancing on his too pale face.
"Stiff wiseacre.“ Draco’s voice rang through my ears as he pushed me away to enter the classroom first. My response rolled off my tongue immediately. “Bleached arsehole.” He turned around, staring at me intensely and would have surely directed me a couple more swear words before Flitwick entered the room and asked us to take our seats. “Why don’t you two just snog already,” my friend whispered as we sat down. “Excuse me?” My eyebrows furrowed and the corners of my mouth turned downwards in distress. “Oh please, Y/N. The sex tension between you two is flaming.” “I fucking hate him.” “You might as well hold a giant banner saying ‘sex tension’ the second you two as much as look at each other.” “You’re gonna make me vomit, will you, for the love of God, just stop?” And she did, snickering to herself when the professor started talking.
Later that week, I sat in the Great Hall eating dinner. Much to my dismay, I couldn’t help but let my mind slip into thoughts about Draco. Ever since Jean had drawn my attention to the apparent sexual tension going on, I wouldn’t stop thinking about it. In class my eyes would linger a bit too long on his neck, tracing his smooth skin before I shake my head, snapping out of my bubble. My cheeks would heat up and my palms would get sweaty if he caught me gazing at his lips. “I hate him, what the hell is going on,” I murmured to myself, my words getting lost into the noise of the room. As I lifted my stare I saw Draco strutting to the Slytherin table. My insides twitched when he ran his hand through his sleek hair and connected our gazes. I quickly looked away, a little less discreetly than I wanted to. “I’m finished. You going,”I asked Jean standing up from my chair. “Yeah, I’m coming.”
Before I was ready, another Wednesday rolled around. I caught myself anxiously excited to be able to stare at the young Malfoy from the back of the room. I was standing in front of the classroom with my friends as his voice rang through my ears: “Geek fest, is it?” I felt intense heat rise in me, travelling all the way to my face. I turned to him, opening my mouth to direct him a couple of insults, but my words got stuck in my throat and all I managed to do is cough. The smirk he had playing on his lips disappeared for a second, expressing his confusion, but returned soon enough. Draco walked backwards to the classroom, his eyes piercing through me. All I could do was stare at him and his perfect blue orbs as well. “What the hell was that?” I turned to my friends, every single one of them giving me confused looks.
“Are you going to that party,” Jean asked me about a week later. We were sitting in the Ravenclaw common room, my nose buried in a Potions book. “What party,” I replied without so much as lifting my gaze. “The one that seventh-year girl invited us to. Remember?” “Yeah, I’m not going.”
“Seriously? Why not?” She sounded irritated.
“I don’t know. This whole house unity people are trying to achieve sounds too good to be true. Plus, what if somebody catches us?”
“Oh come on, you are being paranoid, Y/N. You’re going. There will be alcohol.” She ended the last sentence in a sing-song voice.
“Even worse. I don’t want to go, Jean. Will the Slytherins be there?”
“I don’t know. Why?”
The way my cheeks started burning every time there was even an insinuation Draco was going to come up in a conversation started to annoy me. “I’m just trying to avoid unnecessary contact with them.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Is this about Malfoy?”
“What? What about him.” My words were shaky and too rushed.
“Oh Merlin, it is! When did this start? This is so exciting. It’s like in the books! Worst enemies fall for each-”
“Stop,” I yelled standing up, “you’re making this up, just like you made up the ‘sexual tension’.” I air quoted the last words.
“That is easily the biggest lie I’ve ever heard. You are totally whipped.”
“Shut up. Are you hearing yourself?! This is Malfoy we’re talking about!”
“Okay, so prove it. Come to the party.”
“Bet your ass I’m going to.”
The hall echoed as my shoes hit the stone floor. I reached the Room of Requirement and joined the group of fellow Ravenclaws standing in front of it, elicting a couple of whistles from my friends. “Wow, Y/N. Who’s this all for?” “Hmm, I don’t know,” I said in a playful voice,”certainly not for you Theo.” I avoided Jean’s gaze as people laughed at my remark.
We entered the party, the Room of Requirement now spacious,decorated and already crowded. Sofas and chairs were scattered all over. “Welcome guys,” a seventh-year Griffindor yelled over the music,”make yourselves at home!” I grabbed myself a glass of Firewhiskey and searched the room as I took a swig. My heart jumped when I saw Malfoy standing against a wall with a drink in his hand. My eyes then fell on a girl he was talking to. She was beautiful and obviously very interested in him. “Stop,” I mumbled into my chin, trying to get rid of the undeniable feeling of jealousy growing inside. “Hey, Y/N! We’re starting a game of spin the bottle. Wanna join?” “No thanks. Maybe later.” “I’m sure your Slytherin prince will be playing,” Jean whispered, making sure nobody else heard. “And I’m sure I do not care,” I said through gritted teeth,”see you later Jean. Have fun.” “Okay. Right back at you.” She winked at me. I hated how right she was, how much I wished he would ditch that Slytherin girl and got his ass over here and pinned me to the cold wall. How much I wanted his hands everywhere… ‘Oh God, please stop,’ I thought rubbing my temple. ‘You don’t have a chance anyway.’
My gaze was fixed on him. No matter how hard I tried, my stares, my thoughts, everything kept going back to him, as I went to get another drink, as I talked to other people, as I tried to dance. Finally, Theo came up to me, offering me a cigarette. “One of the Muggle-borns smuggled some for us.” I gladly took one. Lighting it quickly with his lighter. It was a guilty pleasure. My eyes shot in Malfoy’s direction once again. Theo turned. “Who are you eyeing tonight?” “No one,” I said quickly.
I leaned against a wall, blowing smoke through my lips slowly. I didn’t even try to break my habit of glancing at the alluring blond boy across the room, only this time finding his stare on me. I quickly shifted, trying to look everywhere except in his direction, taking another drag. “Here, take the whole pack. We have more over there. Now, if you’ll excuse me, some fine birds are waiting to be caged by this beauty.” “Mhmm,” I barely listened to him, snatching the cigarettes from his hand.
I couldn’t shake the magnetic need to eye Draco. I took an upset smoke when I saw him pushing himself of the wall and leaning to the girl’s ear to whisper something, touching her shoulder in the process. Then everything felt frozen,slow and cold when Draco’s darkened blue orbs pierced through me, his tall figure making his way over. My fingertips tingled, adrenaline shooting through my body. He took his time, walking slowly and arrogantly and I almost forgot how to stand and what to do with my hands. After what felt like an eternity, Malfoy lessened the distance and leaned next to me against the wall. We didn’t say anything as I took a drag and blew it out tediously slowly.
“You know,” he started, looking straight ahead,”people say it’s rude to stare.” My heart raced out of my chest, I cleared my throat soundlessly in a poor attempt to keep my composure. “Really?” He finally turned his head to me, but I stood still, desperately trying to look cool smoking my cigarette. “Yeah. But sometimes,” Draco leaned forward, letting his breath skim over my skin,”it can be quite flattering.” For a few seconds I allowed myself to be frozen, a breath stuck in my throat, before I snapped out of it. “That’s really great for you, Malfoy.” He chuckled, sending shivers down my spine. “That’s the first time I ever heard you say my name.” I could practically feel the stupid grin on his face. I rolled my eyes, taking another drag.
He leaned in even more, his lips now dangerously close to my ear. “Are we going pretend I didn’t just catch you staring at me 20 times in the past 5 minutes?” His voice came out as a whisper. With sudden courage exploding in me, I looked him in the eyes, an orgasmic feeling buzzing in my head. ‘He totally wants this too.’
“So what are you going to do about it, Malfoy?” “I love the way you say that.” Draco’s hand touched my hip, then slid to rest on the small of my back. I took in a loud shaky breath, dropping what little was left of my cigarette to the floor. “I don’t know,” he came back to answering my question,”I might ask you to join me outside so we can talk about this.” I peered into his eyes again, quickly dropping my gaze to his lips. “Talk?” My voice was slow and hoarse and I could swear I saw a flash of satisfaction explode in his blue orbs.
Draco’s cold hand found my wrist and he pulled me towards the door. There wasn’t a speck of me that tried or wanted to protest. We were out of the room in a matter of seconds and, before I was ready, his hands were on my hips, pinning me hard to the wall. I let out a quiet squeal, closing my eyes. Draco leaned in, me expecting him to kiss me, but instead started tracing my jawline with his scorching lips. He reached my neck and kissed it with pressure, earning an ‘oh God’ from me. I could feel him smile into my skin before he continued. It was so slow and bursting with lust. My everything was burning and I tangled my hands into Draco’s hair and tugged, adding a small hip roll over him. The Slytherin released a loud moan into my neck, finally pulling back to connect our lips.
The kiss was filled with need and passion and I surprised myself when I broke it to ask:”Is your dorm empty?” His eyes searched my face for a second, before adding a smirk. “We’ll find out.”
The trip to the Slytherin dorms was brisk, with a few short kisses shared along the way. He made me block my ears as he said the password and we were up the stairs is seconds. Draco smiled when we discovered the dorm was, in fact, empty. He pulled out his wand and murmured a couple of spells. “What are you doing?” “I’m locking the door,” he said too harshly,”I thought you Ravenclaws were supposed to be smart.” “Shut up,” I replied, holding back a smile. “I also cast a silencing spell for you.”
A jolt of heat shot through me, going straight to my pussy. His hands slid from my back to my ass as he pushed me towards his bed, my shirt and tie lost in the process. My knees hit the edge of the bed and I grabbed his own tie pulling him into a wet, hot kiss. I fell onto the bed, followed with Draco landing on top of me, a bulge very apparent in his pants. I used this opportunity to grind up on him, enticing another throaty moan, him following my actions and rolling his hips creating friction. My hands worked on his tie and shirt before discarding them and tracing his chest and abs, finding their way to his belt. I went a little lower, stroking him over the fabric.
“Oh God, what you do to me,” he whispered after a loud shaky breath, making me shudder. I was gone in the moment. I wanted to let go and simply let Draco take care of me. “Bite me.” My voice was barely audible, whispered into his warm lips. He froze his actions. “Excuse me?” I bit his lip slowly and tenderly. Draco’s eyes were fixed on mine as he got the memo. He smiled slightly and compiled, starting first on my own lips, then transitioning to my neck. I barely noticed when the Slytherin’s hand started sneaking down my side, finding its way to the button of my pants. It slid over my underwear with ease, applying little pressure. I exhaled harshly and screamed his last name. My back arched as Draco applied more pressure, rubbing up and down.
His bites became more intense and sloppier and I swear I almost came two minutes into our make out. My fingers tangled into his hair and pulled a little, earning a small moan from the blond. I didn’t stop crying out his name, the last cry followed by:”Oh my God, I’m close.”
Draco slowed down his actions and pulled back to look at me. “Enjoying yourself?” His long fingers rubbed my clit painfully slow and I let out a stressed moan. “What was that?” His voice was smug and sweet. “Malfoy, please.” He was incredibly amused as he observed the way I melted under the slightest touch of his.
“Please what?” I cried out in annoyance. “Hmm?” He hummed right into my ear. “Please go down on me.” “As you wish.”
I wasn’t prepared when Draco pulled my pants down abruptly and planted small kisses on the inside of my thigh, before pulling down my underwear as well and I certainly wasn’t prepared when he lifted me up with ease and flipped me. He placed me to sit on his face. Draco took his time actually getting to the task, kissing and licking everywhere but where I needed him. He finally licked up my slit and I cried out his name. His skilled tongue worked me like a drug as I quickly became a moaning mess trapped under his control.
“Fuck, Malfoy. Fuckfuckfuck.” One of his cold, eager hands held my hip as the other slowly slithered in my folds. I lost all power and began shaking, feeling my orgasm creeping up.
Draco stopped and slid under me. “What are you doing,” I asked turning my head to look at him. The blond took of his pants, leaving him only in his boxers. I felt his hands skim over my skin and then rest on my stomach as he hugged me from behind. “Tell me how much you want me right now.” “Overmuch.” He shot shivers down my spine when he chuckled. “Only after you tell me how good I make you feel.” I groaned and leaned my head back on his shoulder. Draco’s hands unhurriedly slid down to my core, rubbing grievously slow circles on my clit.
“So?” “I have never been turned on like this in my life.” “And?” “And you drive me crazy.” He surprised me by kissing my cheek before sliding his boxers down and started slowly pushing into me. The both of us cried out. “Faster,” I said eagerly and he pushed into me the rest of the way vigorously. “Oh my God, Draco!” He sped up his actions, pumping me as I followed grinding my hips.
I struggled with my breath and screamed and moaned, slipping in quite a few curse words. “Thank Merlin for that silencing spell, huh,” he whispered to me and I felt I was close.
Draco’s fingers started working on my clit again and I couldn’t take it anymore. “Fuck, I’m coming,” I cried as I leaned back into him. After a couple of pumps Draco came as well, biting into my shoulder.
We fell onto his bed exhausted and I slid under the covers, laying on my back. “Wow. Who would’ve thought..,” Draco said. He was laying on his side, propped up on his elbow. I turned my head to him. “What?” “I really didn’t think you’d be so good at this,” he said in his usual Malfoy manner, sounding kinda vain. “Oh yeah? I didn’t think it was that special,” I teased. “Oh please. I destroyed you,” he chuckled.
I opened my sore eyes, blinking a few times to get used to the harsh light in the room. I shot up as I remembered last night’s events and realized that it’s already morning. “Shitshitshit.” I got up, still completely naked and started putting on my clothes. “Mmm I could get used to seeing this in the morning,” I heard Draco’s voice behind me. “Shut the hell up, Malfoy! We’re going to be late for class!” He groaned and rubbed his face.
I made sure I picked up all my things and stormed out the door. Halfway down the stairs I stopped and ran back upstairs. I found Draco already putting on his shirt. “Hey arsehole,” I said,”see you later.” He smiled and before he got to say anything, I was already running down the stairs again.
I stormed into the dark Potions classroom and mumbled an apology. When I sat down next to Jean and looked up, I could see everybody glancing at me. “Y/N,” Jean whisper-shouted. “What?”
As always, this miniseries is dedicated to @stylesunchained. Thank you so much for reading the first two parts! I hope part three is just as enjoyable for you all.
Let me know what you think! Happy reading.
Although Harry had been disappointed to not receive your personal phone number, he still called “Megan” the next day to set up an appointment to see you. The earliest you can see him for a consulting appointment is in two weeks, and when Megan breaks the news to him, he nearly chokes on his morning tea.
There wasn’t a logical way to see you sooner. There wasn’t a way to spin it in order for him to pop into your shop, especially considering he still had to sign the final papers to make the house his. How could he explain to you that he hadn’t quite sealed the deal yet, so you’d be decorating a completely hypothetical space? He’d already felt like an idiot in front of you, getting caught snooping around your bookshelves, and he wasn’t too keen on feeling like that around you anytime soon.
So, he waits.
He busies himself with packing up the items he knew he wouldn’t need: small, decorative sculptures, a majority of his books, the picture frames that littered nearly every spare surface of his home, his summer clothing that he knew would be completely unnecessary for at least five more months. Once he gets news that the final papers are ready to sign and the house is his, he cleans every nook and cranny of his current house, figuring it might as well be good to spruce it up for the new owners. He meets old friends for lunch, he takes his mother out for dinner, and he begs his sister to come over for a movie night.
And, of course, he reads. He reads the book you spoke so highly of, immersing himself within the worlds of each character, wondering which one you connected with most. Did you cry at the same parts he did? Did you have the same pit in your stomach that he experienced whenever the subject matter turned particularly dark? He needed to know what happened next, reading late into the night, promising himself he would go to bed after he finished the page he was on, but knowing he wouldn’t stop until he could no longer open his eyes.
The two weeks pass, but they feel more like a month and a half than they do a fortnight.
When the day of the meeting comes around, he peeks into the storefront, smiling at your name on the door. He meanders around your shop after checking in with Megan. She nods when he states his presence - a meek little thing with big brown eyes and a nervous giggle - and notifies you that “Mr. Styles is here,” via the bulky black telephone on her desk. He can feel the girl’s eyes on him as he walks around, recognizing some of the pieces from your website.
“Hi!” your voice echoes from behind him, your heels clicking against the concrete floor.
Harry turns around, fully expecting a normal salutation to escape his lips, but instead, his voice catches in his throat. You’re wholly professional, the version of yourself he saw in the magazine shoots. Cropped black pants with pointed-toe heels, a blazer rolled up to your elbows.
You look like you run the place - which, of course you do.
“How are you?” you ask before kissing his cheek and bringing him in for a hug.
That’s a bit better, he thinks to himself, remembering how previously, you’d greeted Nick more lovingly than you had Harry.
“Good, good,” he takes a step back from you, hoping your perfume had transferred onto him so he could smell you on him later - so he could pretend that reality wasn’t against him and that your scent was stuck to him for reasons other than a professional greeting. “Yourself?”
“Excited!” you clap your hands together. “Before we go back, let’s walk around a bit so you can get a sense of where I’m coming from, design-wise.”
He nods, pretending not to have already extensively researched “where you’re coming from,” and follows you until you stop in front of the mock room setups, pointing out some of your favorite pieces.
“Marble is really in,” you explain, tapping a stone coffee table. “But I try not to overdo it. If you like the look of marble - if you like this exact table, even - this would be the only marble piece I’d choose for whatever room.”
Taking his chin between his thumb and forefinger, Harry nods, inspecting the table and picturing it in his new living room. He likes it. Come to think of it, he liked everything. And it wasn’t just to appease you - there was no reason to like a chair just because you liked it - but he could envision nearly every piece in his new home.
“Just got these lamps in,” you turn one on. “I’m obsessed with them. Might snag them for myself,” you smile, clicking the remaining lamp on.
“How often does that ‘appen?” Harry smirks, raising an eyebrow.
“More often than it should,” you laugh. “I’m on this kick of deep greens, navy blue, and gold. Realize it’s not everyone’s cuppa tea, but if you see anything you like, there will almost always be different colors available,” you fluff a throw pillow, adjusting its position next to another.
Harry nods, imagining what his new place would look like decorated with a darker color scheme. He’d never been one for bold rooms - white was his go-to, with him being more concerned about how comfortable the furniture was instead of the color of the walls. You’d done Nick’s living room in bold, dark colors, and Harry loved it. It was his home, he’d told Harry. It wasn’t just a place he stayed and passed the time until he found somewhere else to live. It somehow felt right, even in the summertime, which Harry had initially worried about after seeing it for the first time. The home had Nick Grimshaw written all over it, and Harry was envious of how easily his best friend’s personality was packaged within every room.
He’d wanted that for himself, and you would be the one to give that to him.
He relishes in watching you work the room. You’re completely in your element, answering a couple of questions from Megan when the girl timidly approaches, letting her know that she was free to take lunch just as soon as your meeting with Harry wrapped up. You thank a middle-aged man for his order when he stops in to retrieve a rug, running to hold the door open for him as he heaves the rolled-up carpet over his shoulder. You make a joke with him as he leaves, winking at him with a smile and a wave of your hand.
Were you always this beautiful, or had Harry neglected to see how effortless your charm was?
No, that couldn’t have been the case. He’d noticed right from the second he laid eyes on you that you were something special; something different.
You lead him to the back of the expansive store, asking him questions about his current living space, wondering what pieces of furniture he wanted to keep and which he wanted to ditch.
“Oh my gosh!” you stop abruptly in the doorway to your office, clutching Harry’s shoulder as your eyes widen. “I didn’t even ask you if you wanted anything to drink! Water, coffee, tea?” you shuffle to the mini-fridge in the corner of the room, opening it and then closing it again. “I’m sorry. So sorry. I jump the gun sometimes. Get excited over the idea of a new space to transform and all that,” you laugh, rolling your eyes at yourself.
“Water would be great, thanks,” Harry smiles. He tries not to touch a hand to where you’d touched his shoulder, but he was worried you’d burned a hole through his shirt, what with how hot the area felt to him now.
He notices the familiar smell when he walks into your office, nodding his head when he sees that you’ve got yet another Diptyque candle burning on top of a filing cabinet - he can tell it’s pomegranate without even reading the label. He inspects the decor, loving the juxtaposition of clean lines set against rustic elements which make the room feel comforting and clean.
You pull out a chair with brightly colored fabric across the cushions, offering it to Harry before placing a bottle of water in front of him and walking to the opposite side of your desk.
“Okay,” you wake your computer up, scooting your chair closer to the screen. “I normally take clients through my portfolio so they can see the spaces I’ve completed, before and after I’ve gotten my hands on them.” You adjust the large monitor so Harry can view the screen as well. “Does that sound alright?”
“Of course,” he rubs his hands on his knees. “Whatever you normally do.”
You click on a file, asking Harry if he could see the screen properly. You show him your bigger projects - cafes and restaurants, along with office buildings - as well as clients who had hired you to renovate their houses. You mention how you tend to be inspired by patterns and colors, along with custom fabric you use to reupholster vintage, antique furniture.
“Do you reupholster them yourself?” he asks.
“The smaller pieces, yeah,” you nod, taking a sip from the cup of tea in front of you. “Like that chair you’re sitting on. I usually spend my free time refurbishing the pieces I find. I’ve done chairs, side tables, desks - all that,” you go on, clicking open a picture of one of your completed pieces. “Stopped doing the big stuff when my schedule got busier. Now, I work with a father-and-son team and they do the couches and loveseats,” you click again, a picture of you and two men sitting on a couch in what seems to be a workshop. “There we are,” you chuckle, quickly moving on to the next picture.
Harry knows that he can’t ask you to go back - what would you think of him if he’d insisted upon you showing him the picture again, just so he could see the way your legs crossed one over the other at the knee; how you smiled so easily, your eyes bright and your arms wrapped around the shoulders of both men. You were happy - genuinely happy - and it was a look you wore well.
“So which pieces from your current place do you want to keep?” you ask, meeting Harry’s eyes when he looks up from his lap. “If any…”
“Thinkin’ maybe,” he pulls at his bottom lip. “I’d wanna start fresh? To keep consistent?”
“Perfect,” you nod, minimizing your portfolio and bringing up a calendar. “Okay then,” you begin, moving the monitor back to its original position. “I’ll need to see your new place before I do any work-ups for you. Is there a time this week I can come and see the space?”
Harry’s heart jumps at the thought, even though your intent is purely professional.
You’d said the words, though.
You wanted to come over to his house. To his place. To his home.
“All I ‘ave is time,” he smiles. “So whatever works for you.”
Two days later, Harry finds himself waiting for you at his new property, the wintery London rain keeping him indoors as he paces back and forth in front of the large window overlooking the drive. It was just like London to rain on such a day - a day that should’ve been filled with bright sun to match the occasion - but he was used to the drizzle, no matter how much he didn’t agree with it.
His phone rings, the vibration in his back pocket causing him to jump. An unknown number flashes on the screen, and when he picks up, he’s surprised to hear your voice on the other line.
“So sorry, Harry!” your plea causes him to smile. You sound different on the phone - your voice is less smooth, but he lets the sound of it was over him, regardless. “I promise I haven’t stood you up! My shoot on the other end of town ran long, but I swear ‘m on my way! The GPS says ten minutes.”
“Don’t worry about it,” he chuckles. “I’ll be here. Drive safe, alright?”
You say you will and apologize again before hanging up. He grins as he looks out the window, biting his lower lip and furthering the dimples in his cheeks.
You’ve got his number saved in your phone.
He’s got your number now.
Whether it was your business phone or your personal phone didn’t matter. He had a direct line to you, and you to him. Knowing that he’d most likely never use it for reasons other than strictly professional, he felt nearly giddy as he saved your number, creating a new contact for you.
When you arrive, he’s surprised to see that it’s in a van with your logo on the side. Why - based on everything he knows about you thus far - is that the thing to make him hard? And why does his stomach flip so dramatically when he sees you step out of the driver’s seat, dressed in a worn-in flannel and jeans with paint splatters on them? You shuffle quickly over to the passenger’s side, shielding your eyes from the rain. When you emerge into sight again, you’ve got your arms full of materials like folders, tape measures, and a ruler. You laugh as you run up to the front door, shielding your papers beneath your plaid shirt.
How was Harry supposed to make it through the afternoon without a full-on stiffy with you looking like that?
“Hi,” he smiles when he opens the door, the security system beeping throughout the empty house.
“Hi!” you jump into the foyer, trying to catch your breath. “I’m so sorry - I hate being late!”
“Not a problem,” Harry assures you, noticing the pencil tucked behind your ear.
“And I’m sorry for looking suck a mess,” you peel your boots off with one hand, clutching your supplies close to your chest with the other. “Just set up a shoot and didn’t want to be even later in the name of looking presentable.”
Harry looks down at his hoodie and torn jeans, his hair flopping down onto his forehead, “Look more presentable than I do,” he chuckles.
You scoff, placing your boots neatly together, just as Harry did at your flat. He smiles at the unnecessary gesture, appreciative that you didn’t even bother ask whether or not he’d prefer you take your shoes off. Not that he’d have a problem either way - you could traipse mud and leaves all over his new home and he’d thank you for it.
“‘ve got the measurements and whatnot,” he explains as the two of you walk into the kitchen. “The original contractor has the blueprints and sent them over so we’d ‘ave ‘em.”
“Great,” you nod, inspecting the cabinetry from afar. “Think today’ll just be me scoping out the rooms, taking some measurements just to double-check,” you run your hands through your hair after setting down your armful of materials onto the counter. “Not that I don’t trust the contractor’s numbers. I’ve got my own system, though. Years of doing this makes me a creature of habit,” you smirk, flipping open a folder labeled STYLES, H. in bold letters. His heart jumps, thinking that you could’ve been the one to write it. “Wanna help me measure?”
“Of course,” he nods - maybe a bit too eagerly - as you reach for your tape measure and clip it onto the back pocket of your jeans.
The two of you walk through the empty house in your socked feet, Harry remaining quiet until you say something. You inspect each room, writing down how many windows are in each, commenting on where some crown molding will need to be replaced, recommending that the carpet be taken up and replaced with real hardwood to give it a more modern feel.
“Which colors are we thinking so far?” you inquire, unclipping the tape measure. Pulling out the free edge, you hand it to Harry, your fingertips touching his while you cock your head to the other side of the room with a smile. He’s frozen for a moment, willing you to reach out and grace your hand over his once more, but he’s snapped out of it by you walking away from him. He follows your lead, walking to the opposite wall from the one you’re standing against, holding the bulky measure down against the floorboard.
“Like the thought of a dark blue for this room,” he looks around, squatting on one knee when he reaches the wall. “Cozy livin’ room ‘n all that.”
“Good, good,” you grin. “Don’t want you to be swayed by my own likes and dislikes, but I promise you it’ll look good.” You make a quick chart with the ruler you’ve brought on the inside flap of the manila folder, muttering something about always needing to have straight lines, no matter if it was written in on an official document or the inside of a folder. It makes Harry smile, the admission of your quirk. “And if not, we can always change it. Paint is easy to change.”
“Don’t think’ll want t’ change it,” Harry assures, walking slowly backwards with the free end of the tape between his fingertips, crouching down once you’ve met him to measure the width of the room. “Whatever you’ve shown me so far, I’ve loved.”
You peek up through the hair that’s fallen down into your eyes as you scribble more numbers onto the folder, smiling at him in a way he forces himself to remember. His heart pounds in his chest - so much so that he hopes you can’t hear it - and he finds it difficult to swallow the lump that’s housed in his throat.
You work easily together as walk through each room, speaking vaguely about the initial ideas both of you had for the house. You don’t try to sell Harry on one idea or another - you offer a suggestion and if he doesn’t like it, you offer another until he’s comfortable. He feels relaxed, especially once you assure him that nothing is set in stone and that your feelings won’t be hurt if he doesn’t like something you suggest. This is his home, you remind him. It’s all up to him.
“What was the shoot about?” Harry asks as you measure the windows in what will eventually be his bedroom.
“Uneven decorating. Odd numbers look better,” you explain, sniffling slightly. “Always want to have one, three, or five of something, unless it’s like a side table or lamps. But anything on a wall - like framed art or pictures - and table decorations like figurines or candles look best when there’s an odd number of them.”
“You allowed to tell me which publication?” he smirks slyly, leaning up against the wall.
You twist your mouth, trying to conceal a smile. You think on it for a second, tucking your pencil back behind your ear. “Promise not to tell?” you reach out with your pinky, a pseudo-stern look on your face.
“Promise,” Harry links his pinky with yours, trying to conceal his smile by keeping his lips pressed tightly together. How could he say no to a pinky-promise imposed by a gorgeous woman? There were laws against it, he thinks.
“I’m serious!” you scoff, dropping your hand to your side. “I’ll know it was you if you say anything. If you even mention it to anyone - especially Nicholas Grimshaw - I’ll never speak to you again.”
He clears his throat, rubbing his nose twice. He closes his eyes, forcing himself to wear the same stern look you’re sporting. When he opens his eyes, you’re still staring at him intently.
“Swear,” he nods.
“And then you’ve gone and broken a pinky promise, too. Which in my books…” you raise your eyebrows and shake your head with a twitch of your pointer finger in front of you. “It’s HGTV Magazine. From the US.”
“That’s like a major TV channel there, innit?”
“Yeah,” you nod slowly, your eyes widening at the thought. “Now they’ve got magazines. And paint. And furniture. And decor. ‘ve got the market cornered over there. Huge, huge company. Like…massive.”
“And you’ve never been featured in the States, ‘ave you?”
“No,” you nearly whisper.
“That’s a big fuckin’ deal, then!”
“Guess so,” you chuckle, running your hands through your hair. “Thanks for that.”
“Absolutely,” Harry laughs, knocking your shoulder with his knuckles. “Congratulations. It really is a huge deal.”
He knew you were successful, but hearing about how you set up the studio to look like a living room today and would be going back tomorrow in order to get your portrait taken in the room makes him realize just how successful you are. A four-page spread, including an interview on how you’d taken London by storm and your influences would be seen within the American market soon. Their words, not yours, you assured Harry.
As the two of you walk through the rooms on the second floor, he asks how you started within the industry. You explain to him that you went to school to be a financial advisor and specialized in small business accounts. You were a pencil-pusher, you told Harry, and you were stuck in an office all day long. You’d spend your weekends refurbishing antique furniture, finding that you’d had a knack for it. It made you happy - so happy that it was the only thing that got you through the monotony of your work week. Although you loved your clients and always enjoyed the pride that came with their wins, you weren’t especially happy in your job. Something had to change.
After agreeing that all of the light fixtures upstairs would have to be replaced, you went on to talk about how even though you saw how much stress your clients were under running their own businesses, you couldn’t shake the feeling of wanting to begin your own business.
“Put my life savings into my first shop,” you flick off the hallway bathroom’s light. “I was eating Ramen nearly every night. Went without electricity in my apartment for a week because I didn’t ‘ave enough money to pay for lights at the store and lights at home,” you laugh. “Feels like such a long time ago…”
You started out selling furniture and other decor items. It was tough, but little by little, you made progress. Eventually, one of your regular customers asked if you were interested in working with her as an interior design consultant for her company. It helped get your name out, and soon you were redesigning spaces for people you could’ve never imagined.
Harry admires how smart and brave you are - he can understand how scary it is to go it alone without knowing the results. He was going through it right now. He was in a more privileged position, sure, but he was still unsure of what the future held, and he could appreciate how much courage it took to start over. It made him look at you in a different light - a light that allowed him to see the struggle you’d gone through, working you way from nothing to one of the best in your field. He’d envied the confidence that you sported when it came to your work and wondered if he, himself, would ever feel that.
Once you’re finished taking down all of the information you need, you follow Harry back downstairs.
“Still raining,” you frown, gathering all of your materials. “Does wonders for the hair.” You pretend to flip it over your shoulders. The natural state of it brought out by the weather makes Harry want you all the more.
“Ye’ look great.”
You tut, rolling your eyes a bit, but thank him nonetheless. “So, ‘ve got to take off,” you state, your body language pulling you back to the foyer. “But I really am so excited to get started on the mockups,” you hop a little. “It’s a beautiful space and we can start from scratch, which is when I have most of my fun.”
“‘m excited too,” Harry smiles.
“‘ll have Megan call you when I’m done with the renderings,” you slip your boots back on. “Should take no longer than a week. So count on next Thursday?”
“Yeah,” he nods. “And congratulations again on the magazine - really is a big deal.”
You tilt your head to the side, all of your features softening. “Thank you, Harry,” you smile coyly. You squeeze him a bit as you hug goodbye, the materials in your arms pressed between the two of you creating a barrier that Harry would rather be without. “I had fun today.”
“I did, too.”
He watches you run to your work van, leaping over a particularly large puddle. He laughs to himself as you struggle with your keys before unlocking the driver’s door, diving into the vehicle with a sigh that he can’t see. He watches as you push your mussed-up hair back, noticing him standing in the front window. You wave with a knowing smile before turning on the engine and backing out of the drive.
It’s that smile - that sly smirk - that pushes Harry over the edge that night.
He didn’t want to touch himself, but he’d been rock hard ever since he saw how beautiful your ass looked in your paint-splattered work jeans as you ran to the car. He didn’t want to defile you in his mind as he stroked himself in the shower, water running down his shoulders and back as he faced away from the spray. He didn’t want to moan your name as his balls tightened, the images of you naked and begging for him littering his mind to the point of no return.
But, he did.
He had to.
Nobody would know - it would be his secret - but if he didn’t jack off to the thought of you, he was sure he’d lose his damn mind.
He pictures you sporting the same upturn of your lips from earlier as you ride him, your flannel from that day still on, yet unbuttoned to reveal your breasts as you grind down against him. You know what you do to him, and your smile tells all. He imagines how beautiful you’d sound as he gripped your hips, slowing your movements to nearly a stop while he pushes up into you, groaning at the gasp you give him in return.
He’d never wanted to be inside someone as much as he wanted to be inside you. He wants to feel your breath against his ear, his name across your lips, your fingertips gripping his shoulders. He wants to know what you taste like - sweet, probably, like the candles you burn. He wants to know how warm you are; how wet he can make you by just the touch of his lips to yours. He wants to hear your moan - feel it vibrate down his cock while he’s in your mouth, that gorgeous pout of yours wrapped around the head of him.
He wants it all, but he can’t have it, so his hand will have to do.
A part of him feels guilty when he cums on the shower wall, his splotchy vision and ringing ears indicating that he gave in too quickly. But, fuck. What was a man supposed to do? You’d smelled so good; your stories never bored him; you were becoming a global success and you’d accepted to work with him.
And your ass? In those jeans?
He was done before he ever began, as far as that was concerned.
He walks out of the shower on shaky legs, a white bath towel wrapped loosely around his waist. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, he takes his head in his hands and grunts.
“Fuck’r you on, Styles?” he asks himself.
He leans back onto the covers, his feet dangling off the edge of his bed that he’ll soon replace with another one, based upon your recommendation. He falls asleep that way - sleeps deeply, too, his hair wet and his towel coming undone after he shifts slightly in his slumber. It’s a deep sleep, one that doesn’t produce a memory of a dream, and Harry is thankful for that.
He doesn’t think he could take another night of dreaming of you.
Not if he wasn’t able to turn those dreams into a reality so that his mind could stop wandering day in and day out…