Introducing ... The Big Six

Weasley can save anything, He never leaves a single ring, That’s why Griffindors all sing, Weasley is our king! 

In other, more important news:

Pay attention to Nigeria💚🤍💚

Christmas was coming.

One morning in mid-December, Hogwarts woke to find itself covered in several feet of snow. The lake froze solid and the Weasley twins were punished for bewitching several snowballs so that they followed Quirrell around, bouncing off the back of his turban.

breathe — draco malfoy

pairing: draco malfoy x female!reader

prompt: her death leaves behind a void in draco’s chest nothing can ever fill.

t/w: death and mentions of anxiety

requests are open. please refrain from plagiarizing my work!

Five months.

He’s gone five months without her. And he’s determined to keep going—he has to. He has to. 

But goddamn does it bloody well hurt.

—

In the middle of a quiet cemetery stands a boy in a black suit and a cluster of white roses clasped in his hands, eyes staring but unseeing as he stands over one of the countless tombstones with his heart in his throat and what feels like a gaping hole inside his chest.

“I miss you.”

Snow falls from the sky. Bits of it sink deep into the fabric of his suit, fall into his hair, some onto his face. But Draco doesn’t feel it, the bite of the cold. His knuckles may have turned a pinkish red from the frost and his blond hair may have turned stiff from the flakes of snow stuck in it, but he doesn’t feel cold.

He’s been cold for five months now. He can’t feel it anymore.

“It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

It has, says the voice inside his head that keeps him company when he feels the loneliest—when the pain becomes too much to bear—the voice that he knows isn’t real and hates that it isn’t. The one that sounds painfully like her.

“Yeah,” Draco continues, bottom lip trembling, and it’s not because of the snow. “I’m doing okay.” He lies. Keeps lying. “I think I’m getting better.”

He’s not. He can’t get better, not when he sees traces of her everywhere, even when she isn’t really there.

He sees a wooden desk and remembers her with her head bowed over a sheet of parchment, tongue poking out of her lips in concentration as she chides him—"Not now, Draco, I’m studying“—he pulls out an old chessboard from the crevices of his closet and remembers her grinning in triumph over winning a particularly intense chess game even though he lost on purpose—he walks past a park and remembers lying on the grass in the Hogwarts courtyard with his head in her lap and her fingers raking through his hair as she told him Muggle stories of love and tears and laughter and everything in between. Stories with happy endings; so unlike Draco’s and hers.

He squeezes his eyes shut; tears fall and trickle down his cheek onto the ground, joining the bundle of snow at his feet. 

"Life hasn’t really been the same since—”

A sob tears its way up his throat and out of his lips before he can even think about suppressing it. 

“—since you left.”

With his other hand—the hand that’s not grasping onto the bouquet of roses like it’s a lifeline—he wipes his tears away aggressively, almost angrily.

“I’ve started talking to myself a lot lately even though I know you’re not going to respond because I’ve been so used to you being here to listen and now you’re not.”

Another sob. Pathetic, says a voice inside Draco’s head. Not her voice. Never hers. She would never make him feel bad for feeling things—no, she’d crouch down next to him on the floor, wrap her arms around him and say “Everything’s going to be okay, love. I’m right here with you. Right here” and he’d look up at her and start crying even harder, because in a world where his parents expected too much from him and he was never good enough, he had her.

Or, well. He used to.

Draco clenches his fists, nails digging crescents into his skin as his breathing gets uneven and the air suddenly feels too tight. He tries to ground himself by inhaling through his nose and exhaling through his mouth and repeating the process—

“That’s it, love. Keep breathing. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere." 

Draco took another shaky breath, trying to focus on her face even though her features were blurred and he didn’t quite know where to look through the tears obscuring his vision.

Panic attacks. He hated them. Hated the hand that felt like it had reached straight into his chest and started squeezing. Hated the tears that slipped out of his eyes almost automatically.

"It’s okay, Draco. Breathe with me.”

He inhaled deeply, closing his eyes, shoulders trembling from the effort. “You’re doing such a good job, Draco,” she said gently. Draco let out a long, shuddering breath. “You’re doing so well. Now breathe. Breathe with me. In through the nose, out through the mouth—that’s it, love, keep going. In through the—the—” her voice broke. Draco couldn’t see it—and maybe it was better that way—but she’d started crying at some point.

“In through the nose,” she continued, swallowing back a sob. “Out through the mouth. I love you, Draco. You’re gonna be okay.”

“I know you’d probably get mad at me for this if you were here, but sometimes.. well.. sometimes I find myself wishing I was dead.”

And even though there’s no one around that’s listening and Draco is the only living, breathing soul among the countless graves, he feels exposed. Bare. Like he’s laid his biggest vulnerability out for the rest of the world to see. 

“I wake up everyday,” he says slowly, a crease in between his brows, "I stare up at the ceiling for a little bit. And then I get up, eat, sleep. Get up, eat, sleep. Over and over and over again.“

A pause. "It all just seems so.. pointless,” he bows his head, staring at his shoes as though he's ashamed. And he is. He’s ashamed that he’s like this—because he knows that if she were here (which she isn’t, says that annoying little voice at the back of his head) she’d smack him upside the head and say

“Don’t be ridiculous, Draco,” she rolled her eyes, glancing up for a brief moment before transferring her gaze back to the textbook in her hands. 

Draco fell quiet again, staring into the embers of the fireplace. Maybe it hadn’t been the best idea to ask her to drop everything and run away with him on a whim.

A few seconds passed in silence. She looked up at him again out of concern to find that he hadn’t moved at all. A twinge of sadness plucked at her chest and she sighed, closing the book with a soft snap as she set it down on the floor. 

Draco lost himself in his thoughts sometimes. It wasn’t a common occurrence, but she'd seen it enough times to know how bad it could get inside his head. It was a side of himself that he only felt comfortable enough showing to her and her only—a side that he'd kept well hidden under the facade of arrogance he always had put up.

It was when he would start thinking about—well—everything. How he never seemed to match up to his parent’s expectations no matter how hard he tried. He'd think about his obligations as the heir of one of the oldest pureblooded wizarding families. He’d think about his future and wonder if he deserved one with her with that dirty mark on his wrist.

Usually it would take quite a while to snap him out of his reverie, but tonight Draco seemed more lost in his thoughts than ever before. When she got up from the carpet to sit down next to him on the couch, his eyes were still hazy and unfocused. “Draco,” she murmured, sitting with her feet tucked underneath her as she turned to face him. “Draco?”

Her hands reached out for Draco’s, fingers slipping into the spaces between his own of their own accord. At this, he blinked, his gaze clearing, and looked at her. 

“Love,” he breathed quietly.

She pursed her lips in a small smile, squeezing his hand in hers. “I’m here,” she told him, basking in the silence of the Slytherin common room, only interrupted by the sound of her and Draco’s breathing and the crackling sounds from the fireplace. She shifted on the couch to make herself more comfortable, leaning the side of her head on Draco’s shoulder and ignoring the ache of sadness in her chest that would always come when Draco felt down.

“Galleon for your thoughts?” she whispered.

Draco unlaced her hand from his to slowly trace the lines on her palm with his index finger. “It’d take much more than a galleon, love,” he whispered back, and there was a ghost of a small smile on his lips, but it was blanketed by the worry etched deep into his face. 

The corners of her mouth tugged up into a sad smile. There was nothing in the world that she wanted more than to rid Draco of all the worries plaguing his head. He’d grown up surrounded by so much despair and for years he had no one but himself to carry his burden with, but now here she was. And even though she’d already done everything she could to help him—and she continued to do so every single day—it never felt like it was enough. 

“You know you can always tell me everything, yeah?” she said quietly, looking up at him from the corner of her eyes. 

Draco, with his gaze fixed on their hands, nodded. "Yeah.“

"I mean it. Always.”

He smiled, and it was a real one this time. “I know.”

The snow has stopped falling. Draco tastes tears, hot and salty, on his tongue. 

“I’m going to keep going, though,” he tells her. Hangs onto the tiny sliver of hope he has that she is out there somewhere, listening. “I’m going to.. I’m going to keep getting up and eating and sleeping until it doesn’t feel so tiring anymore. Okay?”

Silence. “Does that sound good, love?”

Like shouting into a canyon and waiting for an echo that would never come. 

“I know that’s what you’d want,” he says quietly, gritting his teeth. “For me to keep living. Not to give up. So that’s what I’m going to do.”

“Don’t give up.”

Draco snorted out a laugh. “Shouldn’t you be telling yourself that?”

He was sitting with her at their usual table in the library; the one right by the window near the restricted section. She had a Potions quiz tomorrow—Draco being the “smartass” he was (or so she called him), didn’t need to study, but she did. Him being her boyfriend, he'd offered to tutor her, unaware that it was easier said than done. She just couldn’t, for the life of her, get the terms right. 

She scoffed. “I don't need to tell myself that. I won’t give up no matter what—you, on the other hand..”

Draco scrunched his nose. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’m just saying you have a tendency to stop trying and call it a day.”

“That is a lie.”

“Is not.”

“Well, I suppose it depends on the task—if it’s tutoring you, then anyone’s bound to give up..”

“Hey!” she reached over the table to smack him on the shoulder. He swiftly dodged, laughing. She rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress the smile on her face as she sat back down. “Maybe I should be getting a different tutor.”

“Or maybe you should just be studying harder.”

“Or maybe you should actually be trying to teach me—”

“I am!”

“—without giving up halfway!" 

Draco huffed. "Okay. Fine. Let’s try this again. What’s another word for wolfsbane?”

“Um,” a pause. “No idea. Okay. I’m sorry." 

He let out an overly dramatic sound of complaint. 

"Don’t give up, Draco,” she reminded him, fighting back a laugh. “Don’t give up.”

Draco crouches down next to the grey tombstone already decorated with all sorts of flowers from friends and family and places his own set of white roses right next to her name. With hands that won’t stop trembling, he pulls out a tiny box from his pocket.

“I was supposed to give this to you after the war,” he says quietly, presses his palm to the snow under which he knows she’s resting, looking as breathtaking as she always has with her eyes closed.

“I wish I could’ve given it to you when I had the chance, but..”

“Don’t do this to me, love.”

Draco couldn’t think straight. He gathered her into his arms and cradled her the way he had done countless times before, except this time she wasn’t smiling up at him with a familiar sparkle in her warm eyes—no, she was limp and cold and her eyes were open but unseeing. 

“No no you can't—you can’t do this to me—” Draco was gasping for breath that wasn’t there. Choking on his tears, he shook his head repeatedly, rocking back and forth on the ground, "Look at me, love, you promised you wouldn’t leave—"

In the middle of a destroyed hallway, with the battle of Hogwarts in full fledge all around him, a boy in bloodied robes and an entire ocean caught between his lashes knelt on the ground, cradling the only person who had ever mattered to him in his arms as she did exactly what he was begging her not to do—

“You can’t leave me like this, love. Don’t leave me like this, please please—”

—and died.

Left him. Just like that.

In the middle of the empty cemetery, a boy in a black suit kneels next to a tombstone, hands shaking as they gingerly set down a small, golden ring on the grave marker. Pulling out his wand, he whispers a spell and enchants the beautiful golden band to stay there for as long as the world exists.

Draco closes his eyes, inhales through his nose, exhales through his mouth.

And then he leaves. 

Just like that.

Inexperienced (Peter Parker x reader)

Word count: 3k

Requested by anon: Teaching inexperienced Peter how to kiss and it escalates quickly.

Note: At first I didn’t know how to write this but I really like the way it turned out, I hope this is what you wanted! Also I hoped this to be short but whenever I write things get out of control so sorry lol. Anyway enjoy!

Masterlist 

Peter had a plan.

Ever since he knew about the science trip, Peter made a plan to confess his feelings for you. And it was perfect really, if things went the way he planned them, except they didn’t.

Of course the first step failed when he had ended up sitting next to Mr. Harrington on the flight after Ned had claimed he had a perfume allergy. And of course you ended up sitting next to your ex, Brad Davis.

The Brad Davis. The once scrawny eleven year old boy, now ripped sixteen year old guy had dated you for around a year and half during the blip, since you both were part of the un dusted ones. And Peter wasn’t the kind to feel intimidated by enemies, in fact he always ran in the direction of danger, but damn he felt embarrassingly intimidated by the six feet tall guy, thinking himself wouldn’t be good enough for you.

Pushing those thoughts away, Peter still wanted to follow his plan and bought you a glass necklace of your favorite flower, which he was planning to give you on top of the Eiffel Tower when he confessed his feelings for you and then hopefully have his first kiss with you.

Keep reading

The Placebo Effect p.1

pairing: draco x femslytherin!reader

warnings: probably gonna be some “mild” language (ok, coming back, i say fuck twice, so if you’re not down, now’s the time to nope out of here)

a/n: my first real writing post! please let me know if you have any feedback/constructive criticism. my requests are open, so pleaseeee send in stuff ;) also i’m not british so i deeply apologize if i don’t have enough british slang/if i misuse it…please tell me if i do!

summary: slytherin reader isn’t a big fan of draco and they argue allll the time. slughorn reshuffles potion partners the day they’re required to brew amortentia and… a little something happens. takes place in 6th year. 

word count: 1,936

pla•ce•bo ef•fect (noun) ~ a beneficial effect produced by a placebo drug or treatment, which cannot be attributed to the properties of the placebo itself, and must therefore be due to the patient’s belief in that treatment.

Y/N was growing increasingly irritated with her house: the dimly lit common room that always smelled faintly like shoe polish, the dorm rooms which always chilled her to the bone, the dark green that clashed with her favorite color (pastel blue, if you were wondering), the disgusting amount of blood purity prejudice, and of course, Draco Malfoy. 

He had been tolerable enough in the beginning, focusing all his chaotic energy on Potter and the rest of the Golden Trio, but ever since 6th year had started, he’d pulled back and instead moped around like a very pale golden retriever who had just been told he wasn’t ever going to play fetch again. Well, a very pale, very rude, and very rich golden retriever. As a result, Y/N had to see much more of his ridiculously pale (but admittedly very delicately structured) face.She hadn’t known peace since.

“Watch where you’re going.” 

The cold and haughty voice ripped Y/N out of her thoughts as she accidentally bumped into a silk-clad shoulder. She looked up to see none other than Malfoy scowling down at her, his silver eyes narrowed and his jaw set. 

“My apologies. Didn’t your mother ever tell you it was rude to block the doorway?” Y/N’s voice was sugary sweet, dripping with sarcasm.

“Yes. She also told me how improper it is to get into the pants of a muggle. I’m guessing yours didn’t buy into that lesson?” A perfectly plucked blond eyebrow raised.

Y/N felt her face grew hot. How did he know her mother married a muggle? Her mouth opened and closed as the overwhelming feeling of being lost for words overtook her.

Stay calm, stay calm. Don’t let him see that he rattled you. 

Y/N set her face into a smirk that rivaled his. 

“No, actually.” She readied herself to go in for the kill. “Instead, she taught me the importance of rejecting an ideology that would eventually lead to me fucking my cousin.”

With that, Y/N made her exit, slipping past Malfoy and flouncing off to the Dining Hall. Sometimes it felt good to beat that prick at his own game.

“Alright, students,” Professor Slughorn began. He clapped his hands to get everyone’s attention and cleared his throat in a way only old men could. “Today, we’re going to be brewing the most powerful love potion in existence. Can anyone tell me what this potion is?”

Pansy Parkinson’s hand shot up. Y/N rolled her eyes. When Granger wasn’t here to remind everyone how smart she was, Parkinson was always available to pick up the slack. 

“Yes, Miss Parkinson.” 

“Amortentia. Its aroma is different to every individual, depending on what scents you find most attractive, even if you aren’t aware of it. Consuming it will make one obsessive with infatuation.”

“Thank you, Miss Parkinson.” Professor Slughorn cleared his throat once again. Y/N felt a smile form on her face. She had a special place in her heart for the professor. He was so pure and reminded her of her grandfather…even though he was a muggle. 

“I’ll assign each of you to new partners.” Slughorn’s words immediately made Y/N reconsider her previous thoughts that portrayed him kindly. She turned and sent Daphne Greengrass, her (ex) potions partner, a disappointed frown and waited to hear her name. All of the other Slytherins were intolerable or at least a little prejudiced.

This is too much for a Monday morning she thought, placing her hand on her forehead in a dramatic gesture. 

“Greengrass you’re with Zabini. Nott, you’re with Parkinson. Y/L/N, you’re with Malfoy.”

The names afterwards morphed into a slush of noise that Y/N couldn’t even be bothered to comprehend. Daphne reached over and gave her shoulder a sympathetic squeeze as Y/N sat, frozen with disappointment and surprise. 

This couldn’t be happening. She had done so well in his class. Why was Slughorn punishing her now? He couldn’t have missed how much of a piece of work Malfoy was, and Y/N was one of Slughorn’s favorite students. How could he betray her like this?

“Does everyone know who they will be working with today?” Slughorn’s voice pulled Y/N out of her pity party. 

“Yes, Professor Slughorn.” The depressed chorus of voices in the room offered Y/N some solace that, yes, she wasn’t the only one displeased with the new seating arrangements. 

“Good. Find your partner and begin. Your time starts now.”

Everyone sprung up in a mad dash to find their fellow worker and get started. Potions class was much harder now that they were 6th years, and each student needed all the time they were offered. 

“Fancy this.” For the second time that day, Y/N was given the treat of being surprised by Malfoy’s voice right next to her. 

“You chop, I stir.” Her words were matter-of-fact and straight to the point. She’d be damned if someone as rude as him messed up her shot at getting the highest mark. 

Surprisingly enough, Malfoy nodded, flipping open the potions book to the designated page and gathering ingredients while Y/N prepared the cauldron. 

Y/N almost started feeling bad for him as she stirred. The bags under his eyes were large enough to be designer and his eyes, once a bright and sparkling silver, were dull and unenthused. Perhaps she had judged him too quickly.

“Uh…Malfoy,” she began awkwardly, losing confidence once he met her eyes with a convicting stare, “I’m sorry about this morning. For calling you…er…a cousin fucker, and stuff.”

His eyebrows raised again. She wondered if his eyebrows ever got tired with how much he judgmentally lifted them.

“No. You’re not.” His tone was more defeated and uninterested than vindictive, so Y/N let it slide. They continued their work. 

“Your hair.” 

The phrase jolted Y/N out of her flow and forced her to look up at her partner. 

“My what?”

“Your hair. It’s about to get into the potion.” Malfoy glanced down at the lip of the cauldron and back up to my face with one eyebrow cocked as if to say yeah, look. Y/N obliged and saw a single strand of her hair barely about to touch the edge of the cauldron. 

Keep reading

“Or perhaps in Slytherin, you’ll make your real friends…”

Black in yellow appreciation

I'm going to make more of these because why the fuck not

no offense but angst leading to smut will always top everything else. argue with the wall because i ain’t hearing it ok, the yearning? the heartache that leads to hurried kisses or passionate slow ones? the face grab? the holding them as close as they can during? shut up!

tainted memories

Ron Weasley x Reader

Warnings: kinda sad, sorry

Word Count 1,618

As you packed your trunk for the upcoming school year, there was only one thing on your mind: seeing him again. 

Two weeks before the end of the term, Ron had decided that the two of you didn’t need to be together. To say you were distraught was an understatement. You were blindsided. You thought he loved you. He said he did that morning in fact, but by lunch that love had apparently evaporated. 

You knew that, in the morning, there was a likely chance of you running into him. There was no way you could face him. You cried all summer about it. 

The previous summer had been full of long letters to one another, detailing the rest of your lives together. You felt stupid that you believed all of it. You had since burned the letters in the back garden, but the pain was still there. You went to sleep that night dreading the morning. 

As soon as you stepped onto the platform, your stomach could tell that something wasn’t right. Last year was oh so very different. 

Keep reading