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nocturnerium · 3 months ago

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𝔙𝔢𝔩𝔳𝔢𝔱 𝔙𝔢𝔫𝔬𝔪

Part II / Part I here

Narcissa Black Malfoy x Reader

‿̩͙⊱༒︎༻♱༺༒︎⊰‿̩͙

summary : At a gathering of the magical elite, a former Dark Arts professor finds themselves reluctantly entangled with Narcissa Malfoy—a woman as composed as she is disarming. What begins as a battle of glances and sarcasm unfolds into a dangerous game of wit, tension, and unexpected connection. Beneath the dark green velvet , something darker stirs.

tags: affair, smut, secret hook up, goth scenarios, nsfw, mention of smoking and drinking, bickering, love-hate, eventual smut

notes: Narcissa Malfoy have always been one of my favorite characters from Harry Potter sequels, so here’s my first work dedicated to her. Hope you enjoy🦇🖤

Make sure to follow me on AO3 (arquive of our own) @nocturnerium for more content +

Open for requests!

‿̩͙⊱༒︎༻♱༺༒︎⊰‿̩͙

Narcissa took a step toward you, her breath cold against your jaw, the thin trail of smoke from her lips curling around your cheek like silk. “And I assure you,” she said, voice low and precise, “I’ve ended far more accomplished individuals with a glance than the sort you think yourself to be.”

You met her stare, inhaling slow, the cigarette hanging between your fingers as you tilted your head, just enough for her perfume to fully wrap around you—something floral, rare, expensive.

“I don’t doubt that,” you murmured. “But you’re still standing here.”

Her lips parted, not in shock, but in something deeper. Her gaze flicked to your mouth, then back up, sharp and challenging. “Maybe I just enjoy watching someone like you dig your own grave.”

You let the silence stretch. “Then help me finish.”

Narcissa closed the space between you. One hand, gloved in soft leather, pressed firmly against your chest—whether to steady herself or push you back, you weren’t sure. Her cigarette was still in her other hand, dangerously close to your coat as she leaned in, her lips brushing against the shell of your ear.

“You speak as if you think you’re in control,” she whispered. “But you haven’t noticed you’re already playing my game.”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to. The tension snapped like a curse breaking, and her lips found yours without hesitation—possessive, firm, tasting faintly of wine and ash. The kiss wasn’t gentle. It was sharp, urgent, teeth grazing, heat rising between your bodies like fire caught in velvet.

Your back hit the cold stone wall of the balcony as she pressed into you, her hand sliding down from your chest to your waist, slow and unapologetic. You groaned against her mouth, grip tightening around her waist, guiding her closer until there was no space left between you.

“You’re so infuriating,” she muttered against your lips, fingers already slipping past the buttons of your coat. Her tone was breathless, wanting. “So damn smug.”

“And yet…” you whispered, nipping at her bottom lip

Her hand slipped beneath your shirt, cool fingers dragging along the heat of your stomach, her breath catching at the contrast. The growl she let out was quiet, restrained—but her movements weren’t. Her hips rolled against yours as she pressed you harder into the stone, the thick material of her velvet coat brushing against your trousers.

You pulled her flush against you, lips traveling down her jaw to the hollow of her throat, biting just enough to feel the thrum of her pulse against your teeth.

“Narcissa” you breathed, almost reverent. Her name seemed to shatter the last of her composure. She pulled back just enough to look at you, cheeks flushed, eyes darker now. “If you’re going to say my name like that,” she hissed, one hand now wrapped tightly in your collar, “you’d better be ready to take responsibility.”

“I’m not afraid of you.”

“You should be.”

But you kissed her again anyway—deeper this time, slow and consuming. The air was sharp with smoke and winter and want. Somewhere far below, the music from the ballroom played on, soft and distant. But up here, pressed against the cold marble with the woman’s body burning against yours, there was nothing else. Just two forces too stubborn to step back.

And neither of you planned to stop.

Her fingers made quick work of your coat now, dragging it off your shoulders with a practiced kind of impatience. The fabric slid down your arms and dropped to the stone balcony floor without ceremony. You didn’t stop her. You let her strip you of it, watching her eyes flicker with something hungry, something dark, as they roamed your frame.

“You look better out of uniform,” she murmured, her hand skating up your ribcage beneath your shirt, nails lightly raking your skin. “All that brooding and restraint. I knew it was hiding something.”

You caught her wrist and spun her around in one smooth motion, pinning her lightly against the cold railing. A sharp gasp escaped her lips—but it wasn’t fear. It was delight. She arched her back slightly into you, as if inviting more.

“You like pretending you’re in control,” you whispered against the shell of her ear, your voice low and thick, “but I think you came out here because you wanted to be proven wrong.” Narcissa laughed under her breath, a soft, dangerous sound.

“Is that what you think? That this is your conquest?” Her hips rolled back into yours, deliberate and devastating. “Darling… I’m letting you play.”

You growled at that, hand sliding up her thigh beneath the heavy velvet. You felt silk garters against her skin and your breath caught—she was wearing nothing beneath them. Your hand gripped her waist tightly. “You wore this to the Ministry ceremony?”

“I wore it for something worth my time,” she answered, arching slightly to meet your touch. “Seems like I might have found them.”

Your fingers slipped between her legs, brushing over heat and wet already gathered there. Her breath hitched, her proud composure cracking for just a second—just enough to feel like victory.

“Don’t act surprised,” she whispered, tilting her head back against your shoulder. “You’ve had me this worked up since the moment you opened your mouth.”

You dragged your lips along the side of her throat, tongue tracing her pulse as your fingers slid deeper into her—slow, taunting. Her body reacted instantly, her thighs tensing around your hand.

“Not so untouchable now, are we?” you muttered against her skin, biting lightly at the soft spot just beneath her ear.

“Touch me properly,” she hissed. “Or I’ll hex you where you stand.” You chuckled darkly, slipping another finger inside as your thumb found the rhythm that made her exhale a quiet, broken sound. “So polite, Mrs. Malfoy.”

Narcissa’s hand came up, reaching behind her to fist the front of your shirt, dragging you harder against her. She was panting now, hips meeting your rhythm, her head tipped back onto your shoulder.

You pressed your mouth to hers again, swallowing her moans, letting the heat of her and the night and the thrill of it all fog your thoughts. The air was sharp, cool against your skin, but every inch of her was fire—desperate, precise, like she’d waited for this, planned it.

The velvet of her coat bunched in your fist and you could feel her body trembling, legs shaking as you pushed her closer and closer to the edge. Her voice was nearly gone when she finally said it—hoarse, urgent, a whisper against your lips: “You’re a curse”

You pushed her over the edge, holding her tight, her body clenching around your fingers, her cry muffled by your mouth. She trembled against you, every part of her undone. You held her like that until the last of it left her in slow, staggered breaths.

You pulled your hand away slowly, dragging your fingers across your lips with a lazy smirk. She was still trembling slightly, her breath catching in her throat as she adjusted the velvet coat over her hips with practiced elegance. Her hair had fallen out of its perfect arrangement, strands curling wildly in the night air.

Narcissa stood still for a moment, eyes closed, lips parted, letting the cool breeze kiss the sweat at her collarbone. You leaned back against the railing, lighting a new cigarette with quiet satisfaction, the silence between you charged but no longer tense. After a few long moments, she straightened.

Without a word, she reached into her coat pocket, produced a small silver mirror, and fixed her lipstick with frightening precision. Her composure returned piece by piece—hair smoothed, collar adjusted, mouth unreadable.

Then she turned to you, calm once more, though her voice still carried the husk of something raw. “Let’s not keep them waiting too long.”

You offered your arm, almost mocking. She looked at it, then at you, and took it with the barest ghost of a smirk.

Together, you stepped back into the corridor. The warmth and clamor of the salon drifted toward you, and the music resumed its place in the air. Just another Ministry evening. Just another two well-dressed guests returning from a brief moment away. As if nothing at all had happened.

You gently took her arm, leaning in close until your lips brushed the shell of her ear “We shall meet again sometime, Miss Black.”

It was a deliberate choice—not Malfoy, but Black—as if, with that one word, you’d claimed something that had once been hers… and now belonged to you.

She didn’t flinch. Didn’t pull away.

Her eyes met yours, cool and steady “Indeed” she replied.

And just like that, she turned, reentering the salon with the same regal poise—leaving behind only the scent of smoke, velvet, and something that clung to your skin like a spell.

—

the end.

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