musaa34

[musaa34]

you write like old parchment and ancient libraries. like blurred paintings that tell you everything and nothing at all. like a time once lost pulling you back.

and i think that’s really beautiful and i had to share

Hello I’m so so sorry for responding to you this late. I have a problem with my notifications so I apologise.

Thank you so much for this lovely message. I’m really touched because I find it difficult to write since English isn’t my first language and I need a lot of help to formulate my sentences and expressions. Thank you so much for reading and sharing. A lot is coming soon.

Wish you all the best my love,

H♡︎.

[musaa34]

✩“𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭’𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞 ?“✩

Draco Malfoy x book reader

The train had barely left the station, and Y/N had already ditched her friends to hunt for coffee like her life depended on it. The hallway was bustling, students settling into their compartments, and she, still in her skirt and oversized cardigan, barefoot in her slippers, marched with purpose and a sleepy pout.

She passed by a half-open compartment—and paused. Inside, sitting alone, was him. Draco Malfoy. Of course she knew who he was. Everyone did. Though she was surprised by the sight of him alone. He was always with his friends so that made her stop for a moment.

Hair like he was in a shampoo commercial, that annoyingly elegant posture, and a reputation for being exactly the kind of cold she secretly found fascinating. But right now? He was reading.

A real book. Paper. Ink.

That was it—curiosity won. Without thinking (she never does), she slid the door open like it’s her compartment and not his.

“Hi” she smiled politely. He blinked, looked up, visibly confused. Did hogwarts include the attendance service this year ? No way, Dumbledore would sooner pour galleons into castor oil for his beard than spend a knut on this school..

“…Hello?” He said, opening his eyes like a creature got into the compartment.

The ‘why-are-you-here’ practically echoed off the walls. She didn’t even flinch. Just plopped herself down beside him as if they were lifelong train buddies.

Comfortable.

“I’ve read that,” she said, gesturing at his book. “What did you think when the guy tried to—”His hand was suddenly over her mouth. “Shut. The. Fuck. Up,” he said, deadly calm. “Respectfully, please.”

She blinked, her eyes wide…then giggled. Like he was the most adorable little grump she’d ever seen and not like she almost got killed politely.

“Oh my god—I’m sorry! I was gonna spoil it, wasn’t I?” She smiled. “Yes.” He dropped his hand and sighed like he aged ten years. “Tragically.”

She tucked her legs under her, sipping her coffee as if nothing happened. “It’s so good though, right? The pacing in the middle’s a bit slow, but the ending ?-“she caught herself. “I’m not saying anything. Promise.”

He side-eyed her like she was an unpredictable storm cloud made of caffeine and spoilers.

And yet… he shut his book.

Set it down.

That’s when the real chaos began.

She talked.

And talked.

And talked.

About book covers, café aesthetics, the tragedy of fictional men, how she cries over characters but not real people, and whether Hogwarts needed a better espresso machine. Draco just stared for a while a bit stunned also slightly offended.

But maybe..maybe..a little entertained.

“So… who’s your favorite author ?” she asked brightly, chin in her hand. He shrugged nonchalantly. “I don’t have one. I read what looks interesting. I’m not obsessed with books or anything.” He said by, clearly aiming at her.

She nodded like he hadn’t just committed a crime. “Fair enough. Do you like the one you’re reading, though?”. He smirked, eyes narrowed. “I was enjoying it… until I was ambushed and nearly spoiled in my own train compartment.”

“Fair” she grinned, completely unbothered.

He blinked again.

“…Do I know you?”

She sipped her coffee, smiling innocently. “Nope.”

He stared.

She winked

And for the first time in a while, Draco Malfoy didn’t mind being interrupted. Not if it meant something could make his day interesting like this. Draco blinked, still mildly disoriented by the fact that someone had willingly walked into his quiet space, chattered non-stop, spoiled his book and was now treating him like an old friend she had coffee with every Tuesday.

She was halfway through rambling about another book she loved when he finally interrupted, voice low, a bit cautious:

“…What’s your name ?”

But she was on another planet, a totally different one..“Oh, but before that ! You have to read this one I just finished last week. You’ll adore it. Like—it’s heartbreaking in a good way. You’ll hate me for making you love it. I’ll lend it to you if you want.”

He blinked. “Adore it?”

“I swear,” she insisted, eyes wide with excitement. “Even if you’re not a book guy..which, ew, by the way—you’re going to fall in love with this one. Promise.”

He had never been this aggressively recommended something before. He wasn’t even into books like that..but… she was. And instead of stopping her, he leaned into his palm, eyes trained on her animated face. Her hands moved when she spoke. She had a spark in her eye.

She didn’t just like stories..no..she lived in them.

He didn’t get her name. But suddenly, he really wanted it. Just then, the door slid open with a chaotic clatter. Blaise, Regulus, Theo and Lorenzo strutted in like the train was their runway.

Y/N stood up in a soft little rush. “Oh-sorry!”

In her attempt to step aside, she accidentally stepped on Blaise’s foot.

“OW—” Blaise yelped dramatically, hopping like he’d been hexed. “My foot, woman ! I need that to walk !” He scowled and his expression dropped when he saw her face. Wow

She gasped “Oh my god-I’m so sorry !”

Her cheeks flushed. Not bright red but soft pink, like morning light. Draco sat back, amused now. Regulus raised a brow, Theo just… stared and Lorenzo blinked, clearly trying to figure out if they’d just walked into the middle of a moment.

Y/N smiled politely, the charm still glowing off her without trying. “Have a nice…lecture—I mean, journey !”

She gave them one last smile before slipping out like the scene had never happened, leaving behind the scent of coffee, vanilla, and too many unanswered questions.

The compartment went quiet.

Blaise turned, narrowing his eyes at Draco.

“…Why was that pretty girl sitting here like you two were discussing your wedding playlist?”. Draco just exhaled through his nose, biting his bottom lip, gaze still on the door.

“…I don’t know.”

But he wanted to.

What’s her name ?

[musaa34]

★ “𝐁𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬..𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 ?“★

(𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐃)

Draco Malfoy x Childhood bsf reader

You and Draco had been best friends since childhood.

Different houses. Different personalities.

He was calm, sarcastic, cold, you were fire, always full of words and laughs.

Still… your bond? Unbreakable.

Everyone knew that.

He could be with Blaise, Theo, Mattheo — and there you were, walking beside them, sipping a Butterbeer like one of the boys like you were part of them, part of his world..cause you kinda were..Draco would act annoyed, but you were the only girl (except Pansy) he actually could handle.

You’d tease him.

He’d call you clingy.

You’d call him grumpy..yet somehow, you’d always end up grinning at each other.

It had always been like that.

Every year, you forced him to do the photo booth with you. The little cabin with flashing lights.

He rolled his eyes every time.

Every. Damn. Time..and every damn time, you kissed his cheek in one of the photos.

He always complained, but every year… it started to feel different.

This time, your lip gloss was shiny and pink. You were excited, playing with your hair, getting the photo tokens.

Draco watched you.

He always watched you. His heart was acting weird again. You pulled him into the cabin.the same spot..same stupid stool..for years.

“Smile” you whispered smiling looking at the camera.

He didn’t..so you poked his side and laughed..he finally did.

The flash went off.

Then another.

Then… silence.

You were leaning against him like always.

His arm around your waist, lazy and calm..yet now he felt almost guilty for what he was feeling..he didn’t control it..he just couldn’t ignore this thing in his lower stomach when you touched him or talked to him.

“When I get married, you better not be walking in my house 24/7” he said rolling his eyes. You grinned. “Oh, because we aren’t gonna get married together?”

He looked at you.

Really looked at you..longly..not the way friends do..not even best friends..

Lip gloss. Eyes shining. Your whole face glowing.

And he was… lost..fucking lost..these last times he was feeling weird around you..why were you so difficult and so easy at the same time to feel ?

Flash.

Another photo.

Every time you touched him, it felt like sparks under his skin. Like he got fireworks in his stomach exploding.

His stomach flipped when he looked at you.

“Y/n…”

You turned to him looking at him with your pretty eyes..batting your lashes waiting for him to talk or complain..but no. He wasn’t complaining, he was staring.

He stared at you..grey eyes on yours pink lips..

So serious.

“…We’re best friends… right?” His voice was down..like he was sharing with you his biggest secret..but you did know that one..so what ?

You blinked. Total silence.

Flash

You didn’t smile this time, no.

“Why this question, Dray?” you whispered.

His eyes fell to your lips, he couldn’t stop. “I think I don’t want to be anymore,” he said. Voice low. Barely there. Your heart stopped..what the hell ?

Flash.

“I wanna be able to do that…” he murmured looking at your lips like they were the most interesting thing tonight.

And then—“3..2..1-“ echoed the machine.

It was enough for his lips to find yours, his lips on yours are soft..gentle..almost scared of crossing your boundaries…like he didn’t just cross the biggest line.

The light clicked and he pulled back fast, panic in his eyes.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck..

It was done..

He looks up at you..literally panicking “I ruined it. Everything. I—”. You reached up and held his cheeks, you smiled gently..then you kissed him again.

Softer

Sweeter

Click.

Maybe it always meant to be you.

Maybe it was always you..

[musaa34]

★ 𐙚 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 𐙚 ★

♡︎ “𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭’𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞..?“

♡︎ “𝐁𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬..𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 ?“

♡︎ 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐂𝐫𝐢𝐦𝐞

♡︎ 𝐌𝐲 𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐞..

♡︎ “𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐭’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐫𝐮𝐝𝐞, 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭’𝐬 𝐬𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐭..“

♡︎ “𝐓𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮“

♡︎ “𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐑𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞..“

♡︎ 𝐒𝐡𝐲, 𝐌𝐚𝐥𝐟𝐨𝐲 ?

[musaa34]

Just got done binge reading your fics they are amazing 🤩 

Thank you so much babe <33 that means a lot actually

[musaa34]

★✩𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐦𝐞✩★

Draco Malfoy x reader

The room was crowded.

No- it was buzzing.

Laughter cracked like champagne corks in the air. The sound of jazz oozed from a velvet-clad stage where a woman in pearls sang with her whole soul. Dresses twirled. Shoes clicked. Waiters weaved through silver trays and clinking glasses. Smoke curled through the air like perfume.

And every corner of the Imperium Palace’s grand ballroom smelled like danger masked in glitter.

This wasn’t just a party.

It was a playground, for them?

It was a target.

Draco sat at the main table, posture relaxed, gaze sharp.

Dark suit. Open collar. A diamond pin glinting like quiet arrogance.

To everyone else, he was Aaron Westwood—heir to a tech empire, clever with investments, and new to European elite.

To the team?

He was still Draco Malfoy. Slytherin snake. Pureblood predator. And Y/n’s lover in crime—and in sin.

He sipped his champagne like it bored him. His voice was cool, measured, as he chatted with Alaric De Sauveterre, the billionaire target of the night.

They laughed, clinked glasses.

Fake smiles all around.

And then she arrived.

Y/n glided through the crowd like she owned it.

The dress was barely silver, more like liquid moonlight stitched onto her curves. It sparkled with every turn of her hips. Cut low in the front, scandalous in the back. Her makeup was flawless—dark eyes, red lips, and an expression that screamed you don’t deserve me, but I’ll let you think you do.

Blaise’s voice crackled in their ear mics.

“Showtime. She’s entering orbit.”

“Copy,” Theo murmured near the bar.

Regulus leaned against the pillar, holding a tray of poker chips. “Our star has arrived.”

Draco didn’t turn his head.

Didn’t look at her.

Didn’t need to.

He felt her the moment she entered the room.

She approached the table like a ghost made of seduction.

Alaric’s head turned instantly, his ego already catching fire. Y/n slipped behind him, laughing like a flirtatious breeze, and let her fingers brush over his shoulder.

“Oh? I didn’t know the table came with a view,” she teased sweetly, glancing at Draco without ever really looking at him.

Draco’s jaw flexed. His expression didn’t change.

Alaric chuckled, patting his knee. “You should stay right here, darling.”

She didn’t sit.

She circled.

A slow catwalk of distraction—hips swaying, her hand grazing the back of Alaric’s chair, his arm, his chest. She leaned forward, close enough to show just enough cleavage to shut down his neurons.

She poured him another drink with slow, practiced grace. “You boys always talking business?” she whispered, brushing her lips just above his ear.

He didn’t even notice when her fingers slipped into the front pocket of his suit—chest level, just where he’d tucked away the room key.

And as she tugged it out, she whispered something sultry : “You look like someone who’d enjoy room service.”

His laugh was greedy.

Her wink? Deadly.

Draco didn’t blink.

Didn’t move.

Even though he wanted to pull her into his lap and ruin the entire operation.

Instead, he raised his glass to Alaric.

“To power,” he said smoothly. “May we all hold onto it, until someone smarter takes it.”

A faint smile curved his lips.

Subtle.

Sharp.

Lethal.

Alaric laughed, not realizing the insult. He offered his hand.

They shook, game on.

In his ear, Theo’s voice murmured:

“Draco. Time to move. You’re going up with her.”

Draco stood. Smoothed his jacket. Shot Alaric a winning smile.

“Excuse me, I have a private matter to… attend to.”

Y/n waited by the grand staircase, all hips and secrets. She handed him the key without looking, her fingers brushing his palm.

They didn’t speak, they didn’t need to.

The suite on the top floor was silent.

Gold. Velvet, luxury bleeding out of the walls.

The vault was tucked behind a mirror, just like Regulus predicted. Draco opened it with a click, revealing bundles of cash and blackmail materials stacked like treasure.

Y/n pulled out the duffel bag.

He began packing it in.

Silent. Efficient. Electric.

They worked like one.

When it was done, they stood in the glow of the chandelier, money at their feet, chaos below them.

Draco looked at her.

Really looked.

Her lips were flushed, eyes wild. The adrenaline sparkled on her skin. The dress was falling slightly off her shoulder.

“Was that necessary?” he asked lowly, stepping close.

She tilted her head. “The whisper or the cleavage?”

His hand slid to her waist.

Her smirk grew.

“You were jealous,” she murmured, breath tickling his jaw.

He didn’t answer.

He kissed her.

Not a peck.

Not a rush.

A kiss.

Long. Possessive. Deep.

The kind of kiss that felt like silk and steel colliding in the dark.

When they finally pulled away, her lipstick was smudged, and he looked like sin incarnate.

“Let’s go, partner,” she whispered.

He grabbed the bag.

They disappeared down the back stairs.

By the time Alaric checked his room?

Empty.

Looted.

Only thing left?

A playing card on the bed.

Queen of Hearts.

Lipstick mark in the corner.

And on the bottom? A single word scribbled in red:

“Thanks.”

[musaa34]

“𝐌𝐲 𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐞..“

Draco Malfoy x reader

You didn’t like him, no—you didn’t.

But you didn’t hate him either.

Truth is… you just never really spoke to him. Never truly had the chance to know him well enough to form any sort of fair opinion.

Though, if you’re honest—your eyes had always found him.

You liked to think it was just because you’re observant.

You reassured yourself with that.

And maybe it was true.

Maybe not.

But he wasn’t easy to miss.

Those eyes—icy blue, almost grey—cutting and cold.

Hair so pale it looked like spun silver, always perfectly styled, not a strand out of place.

His jaw, sharp enough to carve stone. His whole frame—tall, lean, quiet power threaded in the lines of his body.

You’d only seen it once. His body.

Only once.

But once was enough.

Enough to stay etched in the back of your mind.

Enough to make your fingers itch for your pencil.

And that’s how it started—

Sketching the curve of his neck, the subtle strength of his arms, the chiseled shadows of his torso.

His mouth.

His eyes.

That quiet intensity.

Your sketches of him were…beautiful.

You knew they were.

It was the first time you understood what muses did to artists.

How they didn’t choose the obsession—it simply… happened.

And god—he was your muse.

Shouldn’t it be the opposite?

You’re the girl, he’s the boy—

No.

Forget the cliché. You’re not here for roles, you’re here for truth.

He didn’t even know your name.

Or worse—he did.

And in his mind, it was filed under “stuck-up daddy’s girl.”

Thanks to a stupid argument in third year when you threatened to bring your father into it. You still cringe when you think about it..What would he think if he knew you were sketching him?

Drawing him like he was art?

He’d probably laugh. Mock. Roll his perfect eyes.

Even your friends say you’re down bad.

And maybe you are.

But the truth is simple—

You only draw what you find beautiful.

And somehow, everything about him is.

You even considered painting him.

A full piece, in oils. Maybe watercolors.

Maybe something darker, more abstract.

You weren’t sure yet.

You sat cross-legged, tracing one more careful line on the page of your sketchbook, your AirPods in, your head tilted just slightly.

The library was quiet. Almost sacred.

Until you noticed the time.

Break was over.

Others used it to nap or scroll or gossip.

You had spent it sketching… him.

You slid the sketchbook into your bag and stood, brushing down your uniform skirt with a soft sigh.

Time to return to reality.

To the routine.

You joined your friends a few minutes later, the sketchbook still warm between your fingers.

As soon as they spotted you, their grins widened—knowing. Teasing.

“Oh, you were totally drawing him, weren’t you?” Pansy said first, nudging your arm.

Daphne giggled behind her hand. “Just admit it already, love.”

You rolled your eyes, cheeks flushed. “Shut up,” you muttered with a small smirk, sliding beside them on the grass in the courtyard.

You didn’t deny it. You never did.

He was a living sculpture. How could you not?

You crossed your legs, placing your sketchbook carefully on your lap.

The girls continued to chat—something about who Regulus was dating now, or which Ravenclaw was flirting with Theo in Arithmancy—

But your pencil? It moved on its own.

As they talked, you drew.

Lines.

Angles.

Eyes.

A shoulder.

The subtle dip of his collarbone.

You were capturing him again. Unconsciously. Like your fingers had memorized him.

Pansy glanced over, whistled low.

“Merlin, if he knew…”

Astoria gasped. “He’d combust.”

“Or fall in love with her,” Daphne sang softly.

You ignored them with a small shake of your head, though your lips twitched.

You weren’t even sure why you kept drawing him.

You just… did.

The sky, which had been all calm and soft-blue just minutes ago, suddenly turned.

Clouds rolled in, thick and grey, rumbling like distant drums.

A breeze swept the courtyard, rustling your hair. Then another—stronger.

And before anyone could process it—

Rain.

Not soft, pretty rain. No.

A downpour.

An almost angry one.

Gasps echoed as students squealed and scrambled, lifting their books or arms over their heads. Your sketchbook stayed on your lap, forgotten for a second as you watched people run, professors yell, and the sky open up like it had secrets to spill.

You quickly grabbed it, shoving it into your bag with your pencils, then ripped out a random book to cover your head.

You and your friends ran inside, hair flying, skirts twisting in the wind, laughing and groaning as Snape’s voice cut through the chaos like a whip.

“This is not an excuse to skip your afternoon classes!”

“Is it ever?” Pansy hissed under her breath.

You stifled a giggle and nudged her as you slipped into the hallway.

Your laughter still echoed through the castle, none of you noticing the storm swallowing the courtyard behind you. None of you noticing that in the chaos, your bag had loosened.

And somewhere between the wind and the wet cobblestones—

Your sketchbook had fallen, Out in the storm, Draco Malfoy was having the worst day of his fucking week.

His hair was soaked, sticking to his forehead like melted platinum.

His shirt clung to his skin, his trousers were wet to the knees, and his shoes made an irritating squish with every step.

Furious.

First, some stupid third year had spilled their juice all over his uniform at lunch. Then he had to go back to the dorms to change. Now? The storm.

Perfect.

Fucking perfect.

Muttering curses under his breath, he stormed across the courtyard, storm heavier with every step.

Until—

Something caught his eye on the ground.

A book.

Sodden. Torn a little at the corner. The leather darkened by the rain.

He frowned. Bent down.

A sketchbook?

He picked it up and flipped it open—

And froze.

A sketch.

Then another.

Then another.

It was him.

His own face stared back at him.

His profile, drawn so sharply it almost cut through the page. His hands. His mouth. His posture.

Soft shadows tracing the lines of his arms.

It wasn’t fan art.

It wasn’t silly or giggly or obsessed, It was stunning.

Raw. Detailed. Private.

He looked like art.

He flipped more pages. His throat tightened.

No one had ever… done this. Not like that.

McGonagall’s voice suddenly rang out from behind, sharp and scolding, “Mr. Malfoy—inside. Now.”

He blinked, slammed the book shut, and straightened. He started to walk toward the doors, eyes still scanning the edges of the sketchbook, searching.

And then—

The signature.

Right there, at the corner of the inside cover.

“Y/n Y/L/n.”

He stopped.

Let the name settle on his tongue silently.

You.

You.

The quiet one.

The one he didn’t really know. The one he barely saw.

He remembered a fight from third year—something about your father. He’d rolled his eyes and dismissed you completely since.

But now…

You had been watching him all this time.

And drawing him like he was something worth seeing. His fingers curled tighter around the wet leather cover.

You had no idea what you’d just done

[musaa34]

“𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐭’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐫𝐮𝐝𝐞, 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭’𝐬 𝐬𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐭..“

Draco Malfoy x Sweet reader

Draco defending sweet reader to accusations

It was a quiet evening after dinner. Y/N was curled up in her common room, a soft white tank top hugging her frame, little cotton shorts, cosy socks warming her feet. Her braid slipped over her shoulder as she flipped through the pages of a thick book on her lap, chatting with her friends, her cat purring in the crook of her arm.

That’s when a prefect walked in. His expression was unreadable, bored, pissed at his life.

“Y/N,” he said. “You need to come with me. The Slytherin prefect’s been looking for you.”

Her brows knit, gentle confusion softening her features. “Me? Oh, alright.” She gave her friends a soft smile, cradled her cat a little tighter, and stood up.

No fear. Just that warm, quiet kindness she carried like second skin.

But when she stepped into the Slytherin common room, it felt like she’d entered the wrong world. The room was full, students draped over couches, a group of boys hunched around a game, girls with cigarettes in manicured fingers. The air was thick with laughter, smoke, and a tension that snapped the moment she stepped in.

Silence.

Y/N stood at the edge, out of place, her cat still in her arms, braid over her shoulder, looking as soft and ethereal as moonlight.

The Slytherin prefect was waiting.

He stepped forward, arms crossed, and without so much as a greeting, spoke loud and clear, “You were seen leaving an unused classroom today—moments before it reeked of smoke.”

She blinked. “Oh-..I was just looking for a place to read, I didn’t notice anything wrong…”

“You didn’t smell anything?” he interrupted, lips twisting. “Funny. Because others did. But you? You just floated out like nothing happened.”

“I’m sorry, truly, but I don’t smoke,” she answered gently. “I never have.”

“Sure,” he said dryly. “Little miss innocent. You were in there alone, weren’t you? After curfew, in a room that smelled like fire, and now you show up here holding your cat like you’re some storybook character.”

A soft gasp came from somewhere behind her. She didn’t flinch.

“I promise, I haven’t done anything wrong,” she said, voice still sweet. Still unshaken. “I didn’t know there’d been anything suspicious.”

“You just happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time,” he drawled. “Bit of a pattern with girls like you. All sugar and tea and perfectly sweet smiles.”

That’s when the temperature dropped.

Draco’s voice cut through the room like a blade.

“She already said she didn’t smoke.”

The prefect turned, startled. “I was just—”

“Pushing” Draco said, calm as ice. He stepped forward from the shadows, all sleek black and unreadable fury. “Poking at her. Trying to sound smart.”

“She was in the room—”

“And she told you why,” Draco replied coldly. “You heard it. The whole room heard it. So either you’re calling her a liar, or you’re just being a prick for fun.”

The prefect hesitated.

Draco tilted his head.

“You’re not her prefect. You’re not even her house. So why are you so interested, exactly?”

Y/N stood frozen, eyes wide, arms curled protectively around her cat.

“This is about maintaining order—” the boy began again.

“Then stick to your own common room and your own students,” Draco snapped. “You want to go on with this? I’ll let the Headmaster know we’ve got prefects from other houses running disciplinary fantasies. I’m sure he’ll love that., don’t you think ?”

The boy’s mouth snapped shut.

“Leave,” Draco said, his tone making it clear this was not a suggestion.

The prefect muttered something under his breath and turned. The room slowly returned to motion.

Y/N turned to Draco, a quiet thank you on her lips.

He didn’t look at her. Not really. Just a flick of those silver-grey eyes before he turned toward the door.

“Come on. I’ll walk you back.”

She followed beside him, hugging her cat to her chest.

“I didn’t think it would be that serious,” she said softly as they walked through the quiet corridors

“You shouldn’t go when someone from another house comes calling,” Draco replied simply. “Not without confirmation. From now on, don’t go unless it’s your own prefect.”

Her brows furrowed. “I didn’t want to be rude…”

“That’s not rude” he said. “That’s smart.”

They stopped at her common room entrance.

She gave him a gentle smile. “Still… thank you. You didn’t have to.”

He met her gaze, finally—just for a second. “I know.”

Then he turned and walked away without another word.

And the next time someone from another house came looking for her?

Y/N didn’t even glance up from her book.

“I’m sorry,” she said softly, “but I won’t go anywhere unless it’s a member of my house.”

Draco heard about it the next day.

And for the first time in a while, he smirked.

Not because she listened.

But because she was learning to be careful.

And that? That mattered to him more than he’d admit.

[musaa34]

Heyy just read "thought of you" and its so on brand for Draco to subtly show his love by spoiling. I really enjoyed your writing. i tried finding a masterlist to read more of your Draco works but couldn't find it, lemme know if you have one^^

Hello babe, thank you so much it’s means a lot to me <3. I’m a new “writer” here on tumblr, so I didn’t post a lot yet but I have a lot of drafts and even a fanfic coming soon. More are coming.

Take care, babe ♡︎

[musaa34]

“𝐓𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮..“

Draco Malfoy x reader

The infamous Slytherin boys walk in perfect stride—Draco Malfoy, Blaise Zabini, Theodore Nott, Regulus Black, and Lorenzo Berkshire. The town practically shifts as they pass, girls whispering behind mittens, eyes drawn to their sharp uniforms and easy swagger. They’re laughing about something—Theo’s latest stupid dare, probably—when Draco suddenly slows down in front of a boutique.

A Dior boutique.

Gold-lettered and decadent, with frosted windows and delicate displays. Blushes in satin cases, velvet lip oils, and perfumes glitter like magic under the lights.

Draco steps inside.

And that’s when they all lose it.

“Are you serious, Malfoy?” Blaise chokes, stopping dead outside the door. “You’re buying her blush now?”

“Oh, he’s gone,” Theo adds with a grin. “Fully domesticated. He’s practically a duckling.”

“Love-sick duckling,” Regulus says smugly, hands in his pockets, watching Draco disappear through the glass like he just joined another realm.

Lorenzo just whistles. “Better get her a ring while you’re in there, mate.”

Draco doesn’t even look back. He just raises one hand, middle finger up, gracefully, of course, and walks deeper inside.

⸻

The boutique is warm, smelling of rosewater and soft powder, a hush of luxury and candlelight. He moves with calm confidence between the displays, every detail of the place reflected in his platinum cufflinks and tailored coat.

A woman in burgundy heels approaches, clearly the shopkeeper, instantly recognizing the Malfoy surname from his tailored coat and, well, his entire aura.

“Can I help you, Mr. Malfoy?”

He nods once, polite but cool. “Yes. I’m looking for… the best.”

She blinks. “Of what category, exactly?”

His grey eyes don’t waver. “Everything.”

A pause.

“For someone.”

The woman smiles knowingly.

He trails his fingers over the shelves, brushing velvet compacts and blush-pink brushes. “I want something that’s… subtle. Elegant. Not tacky. No glitter. She hates that.” His voice is soft now, almost thoughtful. “She’s particular, and she should be. She’s—”

He stops himself, jaw tightening slightly. He waves his hand as if dismissing the swell of emotion.

“Just show me the best. New trends. High-end formulas. No rubbish.”

The shopkeeper brings out limited editions. Parisian brands. A Japanese skin balm that’s been sold out for months. A creamy gloss in a nude-rose that “melts with body heat.” She even suggests a custom-engraved compact, and Draco—of course—orders it on the spot.

Then the perfumes.

He tries them all. Lifts each glass bottle delicately, spritzing once, letting it settle. His expression unreadable. Until—

“This one,” he says, after a moment.

It’s warm. Feminine. A whisper of cherry, musk, and the faintest trace of something red.

He doesn’t smile, but something flickers in his eyes.

“Wrap it.”

⸻

By the time he steps out, the bag is glossy and tied with a black satin bow. The boys are still waiting, because they would never not wait for Draco. He raises a brow at them like nothing happened.

“Did you get her a tiara too?” Regulus asks smugly, shoving his hands deeper into his coat.

Blaise eyes the sleek black bag. “You’re so far gone it’s actually scary.”

Draco just hums, lips curling lazily. “Jealousy isn’t a good look on you.”

They all laugh again, bumping shoulders and throwing snow at each other as they head back up to the castle. Draco walks quietly, hands deep in his pockets, thumb brushing the edge of the ribbon inside.

⸻

That night, she finds it waiting for her.

She’s just come back from dinner, her dorm softly lit, when she sees it on her bed. The glossy black bag. The satin bow.

Her name—engraved in cursive gold on a perfume bottle inside.

There’s no note.

But later, there’s a soft knock at the door, and then a very nonchalant, very expensive Slytherin prince leaning against her frame, hands in his pockets like he didn’t spend an hour testing luxury skincare for her.

He glances at the bag on her bed. “Just a little thing.”

She arches a brow. “A little thing?”

He shrugs, not quite looking at her. “Was in Hogsmeade. Thought of you.”

Of course he did.

And when she steps forward—eyes gleaming, perfume already on her skin, soft and magnetic—he just smirks, brushing a strand of her hair behind her ear, voice low and casual.

“Don’t get used to it.”

[musaa34]

Fr

I should be married to Draco Malfoy and having afternoon tea with Narcissa Malfoy instead of .... this

[musaa34]

“ 𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐑𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞..“

Draco Malfoy x nerdy reader

A crush on him for four years, he finally takes notice of you

You were seated at the far end of the library behind the main desk, a notebook open beside you, fingers wrapped around a pen, hair tucked behind one ear as you read. It wasn’t your job to be here, really. But the library woman trusted you. You practically lived here, her favorite little unofficial assistant.

So when she had to step out for a bit, she simply waved a hand and said,

“You know the drill. Don’t let them burn the place down.”

You smiled, gave her a little salute, and went back to your book.

Your peace was short-lived.

Because he walked in.

You didn’t hear him at first. You felt him.

Like the room shifted. The way the sunlight fell changed. Your heart did that annoying little thing—skipped and then sped up like it was trying to keep up with reality.

Draco Malfoy.

His friends had always known—Theo, Blaise, Regulus, and Lorenzo. They knew you watched him when you thought no one noticed. They saw the way your eyes trailed after him in the courtyard, the way you laughed at something else but always glanced back toward him.

They knew.

And your friends?

They were worse.

“Why don’t you just talk to him?”

“Tell him he smells like sin and silk.”

“Trip in front of him or something dramatic.”

You rolled your eyes. Always cool. Always in control.

You weren’t like the others. You didn’t need Draco Malfoy’s attention.

You simply…wanted it.

But he never looked back. Not once.

Until today.

You were scribbling something in your planner when his voice drifted into your space—quiet, low, a little rough like velvet pulled tight.

“Do you know if the librarian’s around?”

You froze mid-sentence.

You blinked once.

Then slowly looked up.

And oh.

He was prettier than usual. It was genuinely unfair.

His platinum hair was styled perfectly, not too neat, just the right amount of effortless. He wore a dark grey shirt under a black sleeveless cardigan, paired with black trousers. His sleeves pushed up to his elbows, hands in his pockets like he had all the time in the world.

And the cologne?

Paradise. Musky, clean. You wanted to bottle the air.

You swallowed, heart fluttering far too loud in your chest.

“…No,” you answered softly. “She lent me the library while she stepped out. Do you need something?”

He nodded, nonchalantly, voice still low.

“I ordered three books.”

You nodded, trying to keep it together. “Okay, give me a second.”

You stood, smoothing down your knit brown top-snug and soft, paired with matching flared pants. You looked calm, collected, your usual softness wrapped in confidence. But your heart was doing pirouettes inside your chest.

You walked around the desk and moved to the computer. Typing in his last name, you scanned the list with quick eyes.

You felt him behind you. Not too close. But close enough that his scent lingered near your skin. Your fingers paused, then you clicked the request file.

“They’ve arrived,” you said, glancing back at him briefly. “Come, I’ll show you where they are.”

He followed you silently between the aisles, his steps lazy behind yours. Your fingers trailed along the spines of the books before finding the right section. You crouched down, sliding one book off the shelf. Then another.

That’s when he spoke :

“Since when do students work in the library?”

You glanced at him from your crouched position, a little smirk playing on your lips.

“I don’t,” you replied casually. “She just lets me take over sometimes.”

You stood back up, brushing a strand of hair from your face, handing him the first book. And then the second.

You stopped on the third.

You recognized the title.

Your brows lifted.

You turned it over in your hands.

“This one,” you said softly, “is romance.”

His ears flushed.

You saw it.

A little bloom of pink just beneath that flawless pale skin.

He narrowed his eyes slightly, taking the book from you.

“It’s not for me.”

You held back a laugh.

“Of course,” you said, lips curving into a knowing smile. “You strike me as more of a murder mystery type.”

His lips twitched. He was trying to suppress a smirk. Still playing it cool.

“It’s for my mother,” he added dryly. “She’s into all that… kissing stuff.”

You smiled wider, biting your bottom lip gently. “Right.”

You watched him shift slightly, his fingers lingering on the book’s cover. And then, for a moment, his eyes met yours. Really met yours.

No teasing. No jokes.

Just him looking at you like he hadn’t before.

“Thanks,” he said. Quietly. “For helping.”

Your voice was barely above a whisper. “You’re welcome.”

He paused. Like he wanted to say something else. Like maybe he knew. Knew that you weren’t just anyone in here. Knew that you had been watching him all year.

He glanced down, thumb brushing the spine of the romance book, then back up.

“You read this one?”

You tilted your head. “Three times.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Is it that good?”

You nodded, soft smile returning. “You’d like it. You just have to admit you’d like it.”

His smirk returned, this time genuine. “Noted.”

You stood there for another second, unsure how the air got so thick, how the library suddenly felt warmer.

And then he stepped back, gave you the softest nod, and turned to walk away.

You didn’t even realize you were holding your breath until he reached the doors. He paused, hand on the frame.

Then—without looking back—he said:

“By the way… I’ve looked at you before.”

And he left.

Just like that.

[musaa34]

Draco Malfoy x Sweet reader

Draco stuttering to sweet reader

____________________________________________

The fire crackled in the hearth, golden light flickering over green velvet and dark stone. Outside, the sky was cloudy, casting soft shadows through the arched windows. The Slytherin boys had taken over their usual spot on the plush leather couches. Theo had his feet kicked up on the table, twirling a sugar quill lazily between his fingers, while Blaise lounged with a book open—though he hadn’t turned a page in the last ten minutes. Regulus and Lorenzo were arguing about something Quidditch-related, while Draco sat in the middle of them all, perfectly composed as always, flipping through his annotated potions notebook.

He looked like he always did: calm, cold, untouchable. People at Hogwarts didn’t really talk to Draco Malfoy. They asked for his opinion like it was permission. If they dared speak to him at all.

That’s why it caught everyone off guard when Y/n Y/l/n walked up to him.

Graceful, soft-spoken, her long raven hair falling perfectly down her back, and eyes like dusk—warm, dark, mysterious. The kind of girl who had no business standing in front of him, blinking up at him with genuine sweetness.

“Draco?” she said, her voice like sugar dipped in silk.

He blinked up at her slowly, more confused than anything. She never talked to him. Sure, they had a reputation—the silent rivalry, the looks, the tension—but this? This wasn’t part of it. She wasn’t taunting him. She wasn’t mocking him. She looked genuinely… polite?

“Yeah?” he said, instantly hating how that came out like a question.

She smiled softly and stood with her hands behind her back, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve. “I just wanted to ask you something.”

Theo and Blaise stopped talking. Regulus paused mid-gesture. Lorenzo raised an eyebrow and smirked like he knew something was about to go down.

Draco raised a brow, trying not to look too intrigued. “Okay?”

“I was just wondering…” Y/n leaned forward slightly, her voice low but gentle, “what’s your technique?”

“…My what?”

Y/n tilted her head and gave him this little smile like he should’ve known what she meant. “Your technique. You always get top marks in Potions. Even Slughorn praises you in front of everyone. And I just… I struggle sometimes. So I figured…” she trailed off, her eyes flicking to his open notebook, then back to him, “you must have a technique, right?”

Draco stared at her.

Was she seriously complimenting him?

Was she standing this close?

Was her perfume always this nice?

Why the hell couldn’t he feel his legs.

“I—uh—well,” he started, the words coming out tangled, “I—I guess I… just—just plan it out before class, you know? Sort of break it down ahead of time.”

He swore under his breath. Did he just stutter?

From the corner of his eye, he could feel Blaise choking on laughter and Theo biting the inside of his cheek.

“That makes sense,” Y/n nodded sweetly, her lips curving into a little thoughtful smile. “I could never get that part right. Everything in my head feels fast when I’m there, like I’m rushing.”

Draco stared at her again. His ears were burning. Literally burning. He was glad his hair covered them, but the boys probably knew.

She blinked again and added, “I didn’t mean to bother you.”

“You didn’t,” he blurted, far too quickly. “It’s not a bother. Actually, I—uh—I have a book. A reference one, really detailed. It helped me last year. You could borrow it.”

Her eyes lit up like he’d just offered her a castle.

“Really?” she asked.

Draco nodded like an idiot. “Yeah. I mean—I’ll get it for you. I’ll bring it tomorrow. Or—I can owl it. Or—whatever.”

She smiled, and it was one of those smiles—the soft, grateful kind. “Thank you, Draco.”

That was it. He was dead.

She said his name like she meant it. Not like an enemy. Not like a rival. Just Draco. And suddenly, he didn’t know where to look or what to do with his hands or how to breathe like a normal person.

“You’re welcome,” he managed.

She gave him a last sweet smile before gliding away, her raven hair swaying with her steps.

Silence.

Then—

“Oh. My. God.” Theo gasped, hand on his chest like he’d witnessed a holy miracle.

“You STUTTERED,” Blaise cackled, absolutely howling. “You’ve never stuttered in your life, mate.”

“Red ears,” Regulus added smugly, pointing. “Fully flushed. Like a tomato.”

Lorenzo was already mimicking Draco’s voice, stammering, “I-I-I guess I—uh—I plan—b-break it down—bloody hell.”

Draco dragged a hand down his face. “Shut up.”

“You were blushing,” Theo said with wide eyes. “You. Malfoy. Blushing. What is this? Fourth year?”

Draco tried to glare at them but it didn’t land. His brain was still replaying Thank you, Draco on loop.

“I hate all of you,” he muttered.

Blaise snorted. “Yeah, yeah. Say it again when you’re writing her name in your notes with little hearts around it.”

Draco picked up a pillow and threw it at him.

But he didn’t deny it.

Because the truth was: for the first time in his life, someone spoke to him without fear or sarcasm. She didn’t try to impress or intimidate. She just asked.

And Draco Malfoy—pureblood, perfectionist, master of keeping it cool—was completely, utterly, hopelessly flustered..

————————————————————————