#gryffindor

[taridas]

Never tickle a sleeping dragon. Unless you want to battle them. Then it is only fair to do it.

(If you like it, pls reblog. I have only 1 follower and i think it's a bot hahahha)

[toorumlk]

gryffindor class of ‘98!

[yasministration]

mobility exercises - oliver wood

summary: oliver wood doesn't expect to walk onto the quidditch pitch to find the slytherin team finishing up their post workout stretches. nor does he expect to be flirted with by their captain wc: 1.3k+ cw: a little suggestive

“Okay, stretch all the way up, touch the sky - if you’re not feeling it in your muscles, you’re not trying hard enough… Now keeping your legs straight, bend down and touch the floor. Stretch those hamstrings. If it hurts too much, you can open your legs a little so you can lay your hands flat on the ground.”

When Oliver Wood booked the pitch after the Slytherin quidditch team, the last thing he expected to guide his team towards was a team post-practice stretching session, led by non other than the captain of the team herself. The captain who was weirdly flexible. Now, he and his team were staring with amused expressions and slacked jaws, unsure what to do.

“And now spread your legs a little,” A few members of your team cackled, but you promptly ignored them, “And fold your arms and just swing your torso from side to side. Let those shoulders relax.”

“That’s how they all stay so mobile then.” Commented Fred from next to Oliver, grinning. Oliver gulped, admiring as you instructed your team to sit down, stretching your legs as far to the side as possible and leaning forward to place your elbows on the ground in front of you, smiling as you watched your male teammates attempt to replicate your movements. “Do not bend your knees! Come on Draco, you’re thirteen! You should be more flexible than the rest of us.”

“Watch out Cap, Wood’s taking note of your stretching routine as we speak.” Your head snapped back toward the entrance of the quidditch pitch, eyebrows pinching together when you caught sight of the gryffindor team standing near the entrance. “What time is it?” You asked, pushing yourself up to your feet and sighing when Oliver took a few steps towards you. “It’s already 6.” You straightened up, bringing a hand up to rub over your face as you turned to face the Gryffindor captain. Clearing your throat, you avoided the eyes of the other gryffindor players, focusing on your classmate instead. “Would you mind if we just finished stretching while you guys warmed up? We’ll be like, seven minutes. Max.”

Oliver chuckled, his eyes fluttering behind you. “Yeah, sure. We don’t mind the free entertainment.” You followed his gaze, eyes hardening as you yelled “Knees, Draco!”

“It hurts!”

“Then don’t open your legs so wide!”

You turned back to face Oliver, grinning. “Thanks, Wood. We’ll be out by the time you guys begin tactics. Okay, butterfly!” Marcus immediately followed your order, folding his knees and pressing his feet together, fluttering his legs. The rest of your teammates mimicked the movement, groaning at the stretch in their limbs. You joined them on the grass, pushing your knees down as far as they could go.

A few meters away from you and your team, the Weasley twins both turned to face Oliver with matching expressions in their face. He glanced at them, face flushing as he mumbled “What?” “Since when do you let anyone on the pitch when you’ve booked it?” Pressed George, raising an eyebrow. “She asked nicely.” The twins hummed, entirely unconvinced, and Katie clapped a hand onto his shoulder. “If I remember correctly, you threatened to hex Davies last week, and he was being terribly kind too.”

“Start running laps around the pitch.”

They hadn’t gotten five minutes into their warmup when your team stood unanimously, grabbing your brooms and making your way to the changing rooms. You waved a hand at Oliver, and he smiled at you, huffing as he ran past you. You giggled quietly, pushing the door to the slytherin girls’ changing rooms. Luckily for you, being the only girl in the team had its perks, and you could take as long as you wanted to shower and get changed after practice, not having to worry about holding up the showers for everyone.

You took your time showering, lathering soap on your body and shampoo through your hair. The changing room was kept clean, the floors dry and cubicles empty after you put your things away. You did your hair routine before packing all your belongings in your heavy duffel bag, making sure not to forget your broom, lying abandoned on a bench.

When you finally left the changing room, you were surprised to see the entire Gryffindor team on the ground, chugging eagerly from their water bottles. You searched for Oliver in the small crowd, chewing on your bottom lip when you spotted him, jersey clinging onto his sweaty muscles, back flexing as he ran a hand through his hair. “Are you planning on stealing our tactics by ogling at Wood all day?” Your head snapped towards the sound of the teasing voice, eyes widening at the sight of the Weasley twins, who looked like they’d won the lottery. “You never know, I might be a legilimens.”

A call of your name had you spinning around, waving a hand up awkwardly at the sight of Oliver trotting towards you. “What are you still doing here? Your entire team left ages ago.”

“Making the most of the empty changing rooms. The showers here are so ridiculously spacious compared to our dorms, so I like to spoil myself a little.”

“It took you forty five minutes to shower?”

“Well, you know, I had to do my hair and stuff.”

“Sore muscles slowed you down, eh?”

You scoffed, playfully rolling your eyes. “Not sure if you saw, but I have some amazing stretches that make my muscles immune to soreness.”

“Does stretching actually do that?” Chimed in Harry, fully aware that he was interrupting some sort of chemistry happening between you and Oliver. Oliver broke eye contact with you to briefly glare at the younger boy, who smiled boyishly at him.

“Yeah. I’d offer to give you guys a little workshop, but, you know. I have to make sure slytherin has the most agile players at hogwarts.”

“Don’t worry. As long as Gryffindor has the fittest ones.” Fred winked at you, and you laughed. Oliver’s jaw clenched, and he cleared his throat. “You want Gryffindor to have the fittest players then get in your brooms. Break’s over.” Oliver’s strict tone made you swallow thickly, and you watched at his teammates begrudgingly complied. You were happy to see that Oliver stayed in front of you, watching you watch his team. “I’ll let you steal some of our tactics if you let me steal some of your mobility exercises.”

“Don’t worry about my tactics, Wood. But I can show you some mobility exercises any time. Just come find me.”

Oliver spluttered, face going red. You grinned eyes twinkling with mischief. You stepped forward, placing a hand on his shoulder and leaning your lips close to his ear. “And, I’m not so sure about gryffindor having the fittest players in general, but their captain is definitely the fittest player I’ve seen.” You pulled away just in time to see Olivers’s flustered face, mouth gaping in surprise.

Laughing quietly, you stepped away from him, spinning on your heels and announcing loudly “You know where to find me for those stretches, Wood!”

From the air, his teammates cheered loudly. Oliver squinted his eyes at you, glaring playfully when you glanced at him from over your shoulder. You knew this would distract his teammates for long enough to stray them off their practice schedule. To make up for it though, he tried getting his teammates to do stretches after practice.

Oliver stared at them, wincing as his muscles pulled uncomfortably. Neither he nor anyone else knew what they were doing.

“Go shower, maybe I really should ask about those stretches.” Oliver said the last bit of his sentence mostly to himself, but it brought the most reaction from his friends. Angelina winked as she passed him, echoing your past words “Yeah, you know where to find her, Wood.”

taglist:  @ravisinghs-wife, @starry-remus, @pain-in-the-ashe, @hiireadstuff, @treefairy-28, @superlegend216, @kitkatkl, @juliet-017, @fl0weryannie, @tiaajosephin, @dream-alittlebiggerdarling, @dearlizzies, @matcha-kitty13, @thenasoneshots, @slytherin-princess-x, @bxuzi, @rory-cakes, @dlljdhsh, @girlontheblock, @5sospenguinqueen, @bluebvrriee, @aouoo, @spider–girl, @fandomhoe101, @user010380, @simp-for-fiction, @selenewowww, @paytonluvxx, @sharkers00, @joonbread, @rhettsluvr, @gr1mesgirl, @iluvhrj

[holysmokesblog]

Don't fall in love with my brothers, please

Ron Weasley x reader

Summary: His only request: don't fall for his brothers. But love, sometimes, is the most disobedient of all.

wc: 1.7k

Masterlist

Ron paced back and forth in the Burrow's dining room. The cramped, furniture-filled space made his task difficult, but he'd found a small, clear path, perfect for working off his nervous energy.

"If you keep going like this, you'll leave a hole in the floor," Molly scolded him, but he paid her no mind.

Ginny casually walked down the stairs, drawn by the tantalizing smell of dinner. But as she tried to approach the kitchen, Ron bumped into her, nearly knocking her off her feet.

"What's wrong with you, idiot?!" she complained angrily, hoping to start an argument, but she was also ignored as her brother continued pacing, muttering something incomprehensible.

"Ginny, love, just ignore him," suggested her mother. "He's nervous about tonight."

"What's going on tonight?" A pleasant smell suddenly reached her nose. "Ron, have you put on perfume?"

"Today we'll meet our dear Ronnie's girlfriend," George chimed in, crossing the room quickly, pushing past his other brother in the process, who glared at him.

"What are you saying? She's not my girlfriend. She's my friend!" Ron corrected him, stopping his pacing around the kitchen.

"Yes, that friend you always write about in your diary," Fred added, coming down the stairs and quoting, "Dear Diary: The other day she laughed at one of my jokes. I think I could live happily ever after just seeing her smile and..."

Completely red-faced, Ron threw a nearby wooden ladle at him, hitting him right on the head. Not far behind, Fred grabbed a nearby plastic cup, ready to throw it.

"Enough! Enough!" Molly demanded, stopping cooking, but everyone froze when they heard someone knocking on the door. "Behave yourselves," his mother instructed in a low, threatening voice before heading for the door. She shook her apron, smoothed her hair, and with her best smile, headed for the entrance.

You stood there, smiling and completely unaware of the war you'd interrupted with your arrival. The twins exchanged knowing glances as their brother stood transfixed, staring in your direction.

For his part, Ron thought you'd never looked so beautiful. A dress he'd never seen before and some makeup had completely disarmed him. His heart was pounding so hard he was afraid you could hear it even from so far away.

"Oh, dear," Mrs. Weasley greeted. "Come in, come in, make yourself at home."

"Good evening," you said as you entered.

"So you're Ron's famous friend." Fred flitted across the dining room to where you were standing, which annoyed Ron. "My brother can't stop talking about you, even more than the Chudley Cannons, which is quite an achievement. I'm Fred, by the way."

"Pleased to meet you," you replied in an amused tone, just as George caught up with you.

"Hey, friend of Ron's? That's a lovely smile you have, Ron doesn't do you justice in his diary." You looked at him blankly. Your panicked friend also crossed the room in a flash to drag you with him to the already set table. You smiled at Ginny on the way, who waved vaguely.

You took a seat at the table and tried to talk to Ron, when a new Weasley strode down the stairs.

"What's all the commotion?" Percy asked, not raising his voice too much but maintaining his usual critical tone.

"Percy, you're just in time to meet Ron's girlfriend," George joked.

"She's my friend," Ron repeated, his tone somewhere between pleading and exasperated.

Percy raised an eyebrow at you with his usual superior air before approaching your seat.

"A pleasure," he extended his hand. "Percy Weasley, Assistant to the Minister of Magic."

"Junior Assistant," Ginny clarified with a smile, earning a reproachful look from her brother.

"Nice to meet you," you replied with a friendly smile as you shook his hand.

"Are you interested in the world of politics?" he asked out of the blue.

"Uh... well, I'm not really familiar with it, to be honest..."

"Doesn't matter," he replied with a slight smirk. "Nor does Ron. But it doesn't stop him from loudly voicing his opinion at every meal."

"Percy!" Ron complained, while the twins laughed.

At that moment, the door opened again, revealing Arthur Weasley, carrying an old toolbox, his hair disheveled, and a few oil stains on his clothes and cheeks.

"The car's already fixed," he announced. "She gave me a good fight... What did I miss?"

"Nothing, Dad. Ron's friend is over for dinner," Ginny informed him.

Arthur's eyes fell on you for the first time.

"Oh, yes, Ron's friend! Welcome, dear!" He shook your hands warmly. "Ron's been asking for you to come to dinner all week; he was very excited," he commented casually.

"Thank you so much for having me. I was really looking forward to meeting you too."

"Lovely," Fred commented, looking directly at his brother, who could no longer hide the scarlet color in his cheeks.

Dinner was served calmly, and everyone took their places at the table. Mrs. Weasley's food was more delicious than you'd imagined, and you let her know, earning a smile from her.

"I'm so glad you came," Molly said delightedly. "It's always nice to have new faces at this table."

"I think you should come more often," George said in a cheerful tone, earning another glance from his brother, whose jaw was clenched. Ginny smiled at you from across the table, noting with some delight how her brothers surrounded you with questions and jokes.

"You're in the same year as Ron, aren't you?" Percy asked with genuine interest, gently placing his fork on his plate. "And are you already preparing for your O.W.L.s? They're crucial for your future. I remember getting an A in most of them. It was exhausting, but clearly worth it."

"Of course," you said honestly. "I'm not sure which path to take yet, so I'll try to take every subject. Professor McGonagall says I have a good chance."

"Hmm," Percy nodded, almost approving solemnly. "A prudent strategy. Although I must warn you, specializing early can make all the difference. I, for example, knew since fourth year that I wanted to get into the Ministry. So I focused my efforts on Charms, Transfiguration, and Muggle Studies, of course."

"Muggle Studies?" you asked in surprise.

"Of course. You can't understand how to influence them without knowing them first," he said, as if it were a grand revelation.

"Well, I don't think it's necessary. My parents aren't wizards," you shrugged.

Arthur, who was preoccupied with a gear and spring, looked up with interest.

"Oh, I had no idea your parents were Muggles... Do you know how electrical outlets work?"

"Dad, please don't," Ron pleaded.

"But it is fascinating!" Arthur replied, offended. "Electricity is a marvel. Those little holes in the wall do everything."

Dinner continued as normal, the Weasleys welcoming you with laughter and family anecdotes that made Ron blush even more (if that was possible). After several failed attempts to intervene, he gave up and remained mostly silent.

At dessert time, which you had brought from home, the twins announced they wanted to officially adopt you as a new member of the family, prompting another irritated grimace from Ron. Amid all the delightful bustle, your best friend seemed increasingly absorbed in his plate, barely taking a bite.

It was after clearing the table that he discreetly approached and asked you to step outside. You followed him outside, where the fresh air instantly gave you goosebumps. Without a word, Ron took off his coat and offered it to you. You smiled at him before accepting, but he just nodded for you to follow him.

You walked silently beside him for a few feet until you reached an old wooden fence where you leaned against it.

"What's wrong? You're so quiet... Did I do something wrong?" you asked, tilting your head.

Ron shook his head gently, smiling sadly.

"You couldn't do it wrong even if you wanted to," he said softly. "You're practically perfect."

"So?" You frowned, confused.

"It's just..." He paused for a long, awkward moment. "You're smart, funny, kind... And Fred and George have that idiotic sense of humor that girls love... And even Percy could seem smart if you got him on a good day."

"So what?"

He didn't answer, just avoided your gaze. You stood up from the fence so you could be facing him.

"Ron," you insisted gently. "Please, tell me what's wrong."

"Please don't fall in love with my brothers."

Your eyes widened in surprise, not knowing how to respond to his plea. You clutched the coat he'd lent you, which still held his scent. Unable to hold it back for a second longer, you leaned forward and gently placed a kiss on his lips.

Ron froze for a few seconds, staring at you blankly. You didn't dare smile, afraid of ruining your friendship. But when he finally reacted, he placed a hand on your cheek to pull you closer again.

Their lips met awkwardly, but then settled naturally. Your hands tangled in his hair, and somewhat shyly, he placed his hands on your waist, melting into that kiss you had both longed for. When you broke apart, his cheeks were still flushed, and you couldn't contain your smile.

"It was definitely a good idea to invite you to dinner," he confirmed, stealing a short kiss from you.

A murmur caught both of your attention. The kitchen window, misted by the faint heat inside, suddenly revealed several pairs of eyes peeking out brazenly. At once, the curtain moved sharply, but not quickly enough.

"Fred! I told you not to lean on me!"

"Stop pushing, Percy! I can't see either!"

"Shut up! They're going to hear us!"

"George, don't wipe your nose on my hair!"

Ron let out a sigh of frustration, half-resignation, while you couldn't contain your laughter, wrapping your arms around him in a warm hug. On the other side of the glass, a sharp thud followed by an "I told you he was going to fall!" confirmed that, indeed, Percy had ended up on the floor.

And although Ron protested under his breath, muttering about moving out on his own and never inviting you back, he hugged you tighter and let you rest your head on his shoulder as the two of you gazed out at the starry night sky above the Burrow.

[newbieschaos]

Prize

Description: After winning a quidditch match against Gryffindor. Theo and Mattheo want to claim a prize for their hard work. Which just so happens to be their bold Gryffindor.

Pairing: Theodore Nott x Gryffindor! Reader x Matheo Riddle

Warnings: Smut! 18+, P in V, Threesome, Female reader, degradation, praise, cursing, and female reader.

Authors Note: This is my first time writing something of this nature so please let me know if I miss any warnings or what I can improve upon. Thank you so much for reading! Enjoy!

You sighed getting ready for what will likely be a lot of gloating. You looked at yourself in the mirror. For someone who had just lost you certainly didn’t look like it. Your confidence grows the longer you admire yourself. “Are you seriously going?” You turn towards Ginny raising an eyebrow. “Of course. We may not have won and this may be a Slytherin party. However, as you know I am friends with a lot of them. Pansy is one of my closest friends.” Ginny sighs out of concern. She knew how these parties could get however normally her brothers would be there to assist if anything happened to either of them. However, they wouldn’t be at this one.

You smiled at her “I mean I thought you’d be willing to go. A good time to get to know Pansy rather than questioning me every chance you get.” She sends you a scowl making you laugh. “You’re one to talk I only look at one Slytherin while you look at two.” You roll your eyes before making your way to the door. “At least I talk to them.” You quickly leave the door as you see her chuck a pillow at you. Avoiding the hit. It was true that you often found yourself admiring two of your friends. However, you knew it was unlikely either of them saw you that way. Maybe.

You make your way towards the Slytherin common room before reaching the entrance and saying the password. As you walk in you look around for your friend. Struggling to find her past the grinding bodies and already drunk figures. Finally, you see Pansy standing next to the rest of the group. You look next to her and can’t help but look at the two and notice just how good they look tonight. However, before you could lose yourself in admiring the two you notice Pansy waving you over. You work your way through the crowd before finally reaching her.

“There’s our loser for tonight. I told you we’d obliterate you!” You roll your eyes yet hug her once you approach. Before you greet her in a more defeated tone “Yes the loser has arrived.” She grabs you and leans in “You look hot.” You smile confidently “I know.” You both laugh a little before you hear movement from behind her. “How does it feel to see your team be destroyed so badly?” You flick Lorenzo on the back of his head causing him to flinch. “How did that feel?” You feel Pansy start to snort at the action. Before you feel a presence behind you. You turn slightly only to see Theo as he wraps his arm around your waist. “You look beautiful, Tesoro.” You watch as his eyes look up and down your figure.

You slightly turn away to avoid him seeing your reaction. Only to see Mattheo approaching from your other side. “Yeah, beautiful where’ve you been hiding this from us?” You watch his eyes staring at you with so much of something you can’t read. You feel your hand get grabbed before you’re dragged away. “Nope, this is my best friend. You are not taking her before we get a dance in.” You smile before following Pansy to the dance floor.

After a while, you haven’t drunk too much only enough to give you a light buzz. Unlike Pansy who seems completely gone as she dances alongside you. You follow the beat of the music and her movement. And as your eyes wander they make eye contact with two boys in the corner. Both are looking directly at you. You don’t know what encouraged you to do it but you wanted to see how they’d react. You begin to make your movements clearer and less shy. Knowing people were enjoying what you were doing. You knew how you looked in your tight dress. How that could make them feel and you knew where their minds could go. After a while, you thought perhaps they had looked away or gotten bored with your show. Until you felt an arm go around your waist. You turn only to see Theo behind you.

“Come on Tesoro.” His voice is low and you feel something rub up against your back as he speaks. You look over at Pansy seeing that she was in safe hands talking with Lorenzo about who knows what. Before turning and following him as he held your hand. He brings you up into the boys’ dormitory where you see Mattheo smoking. Before he turns to quickly put it out knowing you don’t like the smell. He walks up to you and grabs your chin. “We want you and we know you want us too.” You look at him shocked and slightly confused before wrapping your head around his words. “Just say the word and we won’t do anything you don’t want us to do. Got it? You nod before Theo grabs your chin to look at him. “Say it, Tesoro.” You look at him with wide eyes. “Yes, I got it.”

“Good because tonight you’re our prize, Beautiful.” Before you can wrap your head around what he said Mattheo’s kissing you. Something you never thought would happen was happening. Not just with one of them but with both. You feel Theo approach you from behind and can’t help but breathe out a sigh as he begins to kiss your neck. You moan as he bites and sucks on it which will surely leave marks.

Mattheo pulls away only to pull off his shirt as he begins to kiss you again. While you start to feel Theo pull down your zipper. They both pull away to help you out of your dress before looking at you. They were mesmerized by the person in front of them. Before finally working their way towards you. Theo begins to kiss you while he starts to play with your tits. You moan into his mouth as he pinches them. You notice Mattheo lean down to your lower half before pulling off your panties only to groan at what’s in front of him. You feel two of his fingers begin to rub your clit. “All this for just us beautiful? How sweet.” You feel Theo pull away curious about what Mattheo had said before sighing as he saw just how wet you were. “Fuck.” He returns to kissing you significantly harder after that. Then focused on leaving marks on your chest. You feel two fingers begin to enter you causing you to moan out.

“Does that feel good? Is the Gryffindor all desperate for us now? How would the others feel if they knew you were doing this huh? If they knew just how much of a slut you are? Letting us play with you after losing. You wanted this didn’t you?” You can’t help but get turned on by Mattheo’s words. As he began to suck on your clit. Making you closer to finishing. “Cmon say it you wanted this.” You can’t help but give in to it lost in your pleasure. “Fuck yes, I wanted this. I wanted it so bad. Shit.” Theo looks up at you from where he’s leaving marks. “You’re doing so good Tesoro keep going.”

As you get closer and closer to finishing you grab Theo’s hair to ground yourself. “Fuck.” You feel your legs shake as you finish on Mattheo’s face before beginning to slow your breathing. They both begin to kiss you all over “You okay to keep going?” You eagerly nod “Yes just fuck me already.” Theo shakes his head at you “Manners Principessa.” You sigh at their stubbornness. “Please fuck me both of you. I need it.”

They seem satisfied as Mattheo turns you around so you’re in a crawl position. As he gets behind you he takes off his pants. “Let me know when you’re ready for me to move.” You feel his cock rub against you before he begins to enter. You moan out as Theo holds you up as you take it. After a few minutes, he’s fully in and you give the go-ahead that it is no longer uncomfortable. Almost as if he was holding himself back that he begins to pound into you. You turn to see Theo pulling out his cock encouraging you to suck it. You immediately get to work. Watching his face relax as he begins to feel pleasure. “Fuck keep taking it Beautiful like the slut you are. Shit. I’ve wanted to do this for a long time.” You moan at Mattheo’s words. As Theo grabs your face the vibrations make his pleasure double.

“Doing so good Amore. Keep going.” You bob your head back and forth flattening your tongue to rub on the bottom of his cock. And teasing the tip with it. He moans at your movement. As you watch him get closer to finishing. Not that anyone could judge as you felt yourself get closer to finishing for the second time. And you could tell by Mattheo’s movements he was too. “Shit” you feel your mouth get filled up with cum as Theo finishes pulling away once he’s done. Only to watch as you swallow it and open your mouth to show him. “You’re perfect Tesoro.”

Now that you’re mouth isn’t full your moans are heard as Theo encourages you and tells you how good you’re doing. “Fuck Theo I’m gonna-.” That’s all you get out before grabbing onto him as you finish for the second time. Mattheo's groans as you tighten around him. “You’re so tight beautiful. Shit.” You feel yourself get filled with Mattheo’s cum causing you to moan at the sensation. After a few minutes, you feel him pull out. Suddenly feeling empty.

The room is quiet as you all seem to catch your breath. They help you lie down before cleaning you up and getting you water. Theo lies next to you as Mattheo cleans up. Leaving pecks on your face telling you how you’re amazing and how well you did. Mattheo joins your other side before sighing into you. You weren’t sure what this was. All that you knew was that this definitely wouldn’t be the only time.

[artkd21]

Almost 1 month of blockage (I'm still there)

I love drawing them in the world of Harry Potter (Izuku Gryffindor I love you)

They understand origami 👀

[freyalooove]

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─

Crush!Fred

early 20s

Crush!Fred! He’s so cocky… until you flirt back. Fred flirts constantly. Always has. He calls you “sweetheart” and “trouble” and grins when you blush. But the first time you throw it back — leaning close and whispering, “You’re not nearly as smooth as you think, Weasley” — he stares. Eyes drop to your lips. Smirk falters. You walk away. And he’s a wreck for the rest of the day.

Crush!Fred! You’re already basically dating — just without the title. You go to the pub together. He pays. He brings you breakfast when you’re hungover. You sit on his lap at gatherings like it’s normal. You fall asleep on his shoulder. He plays with your fingers under the table. Everyone around you has stopped pretending. Ron says, “So when are you telling her?" Fred shrugs. But his ears turn red.

Crush!Fred! He gets dangerously handsy when he’s drunk. Arms around your waist. Whispering in your ear. Hands on your thighs. At first you thought it was just Fred being Fred. But then he leans in too close, breath hot on your jaw, and murmurs, “If I kissed you right now, you wouldn’t stop me.” You don’t. But someone interrupts. And when you lock eyes across the room after that? It’s game over.

Crush!Fred! There’s an almost moment at the joke shop. You’re helping him stock shelves. He’s behind you. You drop something. He bends down to pick it up. You turn. Face-to-face. Inches apart. He stares at your lips like he’s seconds from ruining everything. And just when you think he’s about to do it— George walks in. Fred jumps back like he’s been electrocuted. You both pretend it didn’t happen. But it definitely happened.

Crush!Fred! He flirts with other people to make you jealous — and it works. You glare. He notices. And suddenly he’s wrapping an arm around your shoulders, grinning, “What’s with the face, darling? Thought we weren’t the jealous type.” You snap back, “Thought you weren’t the desperate type.” That shuts him up. Ten minutes later, he pulls you into the hallway. You make out like you’ve been starving.

Crush!Fred! He has a thing for how flustered you get. Especially when he calls you things like “good girl” or “mine” as a joke. Except it doesn’t feel like a joke when he whispers it in your ear. Or when he presses you up against the wall after hours at the shop, hands gripping your hips, lips hovering near your neck. “Say the word,” he says. “Just once." You almost do.

Crush!Fred! He’s not subtle about staring. Ever. He watches your mouth when you talk. Your legs when you cross them. Your neck when you tilt your head. Sometimes he doesn’t even notice he’s doing it until George smacks his arm. “You’ve got it bad, mate.” Fred just sighs. “You don’t even know.”

Crush!Fred! The first time happens after a fight. A real one. Something stupid. You’re yelling. He’s yelling. Then he grabs your face and kisses you like he’s drowning. You yank him into your bedroom. It’s messy. Heated. Hands under clothes. His mouth between your thighs. Afterward, he holds you like he can’t believe you’re real. Says, “I was so scared you’d never want me back.” You whisper, “I’ve always wanted you.”

Crush!Fred! He’s dangerously good in bed. And he knows it. Once he finally has you, he takes his time. Lots of teasing. Dirty talking. Holding your hips down while he makes you beg. But he’s soft, too — kisses your stomach, whispers “So pretty like this” into your skin. When you whimper, he grins against your neck. “Told you we’d be good together.”

Crush!Fred! You finally call him your boyfriend without even realizing it. It slips out at a party. “Oh, my boyfriend made this drink.” Fred freezes. Then smirks. “Say that again.” You try to backpedal. He grabs your waist, kisses you in front of everyone, and murmurs, “If I wasn’t yours before, I bloody well am now.”

[serj-graham]

Years later

1. Will: I miss my dad already... We only saw each other in the evenings, and he went to work while I was still asleep. We rarely spent much time together, but now... now I won't see him for almost a year!... What about you, Hanni?...

2. Hannibal: I'm an orphan.

3. Will: Then let's stick together.

[mssorceressupreme]

Wanna Be Yours | F.W

———

Pairing: Fred Weasley x reader

Summary: helping a younger student resulted in you and the first-year walking into a prank not meant for you, and as you do so, you catch Fred's attention. the next day he tries to apologise with another prank and it backfires, but this only resulted in him falling even harder for you, he just knew wanted to be yours.

Warnings/tags: hufflepuff!reader (well it suits anyone really :D), love at first sight, he fell first and HARD, fred needs you so bad, pranks gone wrong, teasing, fluffy and cute, fred's a simp a/n: inspired by "Wanna be Yours by Arctic Monkeys"

———

The courtyard was alive with the soft hum of spring—branches swaying in the breeze, birds chirping from the castle walls, and a few students milling about on the cobblestones. Fred crouched behind a large stone pillar, his mischievous grin matching the one plastered across his twin’s face.

Huddled in a corner, the four of them—Fred, George, Lee and Oliver, were planning a revenge prank on Marcus Flint and Draco Malfoy for their obnoxious antics during the Quidditch match earlier.

“Are you sure about this?” Oliver Wood asked, trying to sound stern but failing as he bit back a chuckle.

Malfoy had spent most of the game taunting Harry, and Flint’s borderline dirty play had cost Gryffindor two near-goals. That didn’t sit well with Fred and George, so what better way to get back at them than with a prank.

“Hundred percent.” Fred said, smirking as he held up a pouch of Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder. “Alright, we rig this near the tree. As soon as they walk by, poof! Total chaos. Then, George, you release the Dungbombs—”

“Already got ‘em primed,” George said, patting his pocket with a devilish grin.

“Don't forget the slime and feathers!” Lee added, holding up a jar of fluorescent green goop in one hand, and a bag of feathers in the other.

Oliver, who had reluctantly joined but couldn’t resist some payback, frowned. “Let’s make sure they’re the only ones who get caught in this mess though, yeah?”

“Relax Wood,” Fred said, waving a hand dismissively. “It’s a foolproof plan. Nothing can go wrong.”

“Trust us,” George said, “We’ve calculated everything.”

“Right,” Lee affirmed, “It's simple charm, a bit of instant darkness powder, and—bam! Feathers, slime, and a nice little puff of stink powder for good measure.”

George cackled, clapping his twin on the back. “Beautiful. They’ll be too busy cleaning slime and plucking feathers off their robes to bother us for weeks.”

“That's what they deserve for acting like twits during the match.” Lee chimed in. "S'pose they do deserve it." Oliver chuckled, his reluctance turning into enthusiasm.

The trap was simple but effective: a hidden tripwire enchanted to release darkness powder, then a rain of slime and feathers from above, followed by the dungbombs. All they had to do now was wait for their targets. "Now, they're supposed to walk pass here any moment..." Fred told the others, as the four of them watched eagerly.

Fred’s eyes glinted as he nodded toward the enchanted tripwire stretched across the cobblestones, ready to unleash chaos on Flint and Malfoy the moment they stepped on it.

Everything was perfect. Until it wasn't.

From behind a stone archway, you appeared with a small Ravenclaw first-year in tow.

It wasn’t Malfoy or Flint who walked into the courtyard first.

It was you.

You were laughing softly, your eyes crinkling with warmth as you guided a nervous-looking first-year Ravenclaw girl who clutched her books tightly to their chest. The poor kid had taken a wrong turn, and you volunteered to show her the way to the library.

In your arms, you helped carry some of her load, making it easier for the first-year.

“Don’t worry,” you were saying, your voice kind and steady. “The library isn’t far. Just through the next hall and up the staircase."

Fred’s eyes locked onto you, and for a moment, the world seemed to slow down. He didn’t hear anything else. It was like the world had narrowed to just you—the way your hair caught the sunlight, the easy grace in your step, and the way your smile seemed to light up the entire courtyard.

How had he not noticed you before?

“Is Fred broken?” George whispered to Lee.

“Looks like it. Never seen him go this quiet before,” Lee replied, smirking.

Oliver elbowed Fred, snapping him out of his trance. “Mate, you’re staring.”

“Shut up,” Fred muttered, his eyes never leaving you.

"Who is she?..." He continued, holding true to Oliver's statement.

“Who?” Lee asked, following his gaze. He snorted when he saw you. “Her? Oh no. Don’t tell me you’ve gone soft, Fred.”

Fred didn’t respond. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from you but he was quickly snapped out of his trance as you approached the tree.

Oh shit. "Not the tree, don't walk past the tree..." He muttered to himself, hoping you would somehow magically hear him.

It was no use. Disaster struck.

You were met with instant darkness, coughing slightly as the powder released a thick fog around you and the first year.

Before you could grasp the full situation, a torrent of green slime and feathers rained down from above, coating you and the first-year from head to toe. The Dungbombs exploded seconds later, filling the courtyard with an awful stench.

The first-year yelped, clutching her books as the slime dripped down her robes. You froze for a moment, stunned, before shaking your head with a soft laugh.

Fred winced, guilt twisting in his chest.

“Oops,” George muttered, though he didn’t sound all that sorry.

Lee burst out laughing, "Merlin, did we just traumatise a first year?!"

“Poor kid,” Oliver said, though his lips twitched with suppressed laughter.

Fred, however, barely heard them. He was too busy watching you. Instead of panicking or getting angry, you crouched down immediately, brushing feathers off the first-year’s face.

“Hey, it’s okay,” you said gently, your voice soothing. “It’s just a bit of slime and feathers. Another tip, beware of silly pranks, it's all part and parcel of the Hogwarts culture." You comfort the kid, trying to lighten the situation by laughing softly, "Let’s get you cleaned up, yeah?”

The first-year nodded, her lower lip trembling, and you smiled, guiding her toward a nearby fountain.

Fred couldn’t stop staring. He didn't know who you were, but he did know this, he wanted to be yours.

You were covered in slime and feathers, an absolute mess, yet you still looked radiant.

There was something about the way you put the first-year first, your patience and kindness shining through, that made his heart thud in the best way.

You helped her cleaned as much as you could off her robes, murmuring reassurances the entire time before chanting, "Scourgify!", instantly her robes were as good as new.

Only after she was cleaned up did you finally turn your attention to yourself. With the help of the cleaning spell, the feathers were out of your hair and the slime off your sleeves in no time.

“Merlin! Fred, you’ve got it bad,” Lee said, smirking.

“Oh, leave him,” George teased. “He’s clearly in love.” Fred’s ears turned pink, but he didn’t care. For once, he was speechless.

“How come I’ve never noticed her before?” The red head murmured, more to himself than anyone else. He was certain he would’ve remembered someone like you. “Maybe because you’re too busy pranking people,” Oliver said dryly. "Who is she?" Fred asked, ignoring Oliver's remark. "Seen her around a couple of times, especially in the library, she's in Ron's year." Oliver hummed, watching as you conversed with the first-year.

“That explains it,” George quipped. “She’s too smart to bother with Fred’s idiocy.”

Fred scowled, but his gaze remained fixed on you. There was something magnetic about the way you carried yourself, and he felt like everyone had disappeared, you were the only one in sight, to him.

He knew he had to make this right. He needed an excuse to approach you. Right! An apology. And of course, he had to impress you.

The Ravenclaw girl finally gave a small laugh as you finished off explaining the pranking culture at Hogwarts. “Thank you, I-..I think I know my way to the library from here now.” she said softly before hurrying off. ___

The next day, Fred had a plan. A proper one.

Breakfast in the Great Hall hummed with the usual morning chaos: the clink of cutlery, the murmur of conversation, and the occasional bursts of laughter from each houses' table.

Fred stood at the entrance, trying to look nonchalant but failing miserably. In his hands, he clutched a bouquet of enchanted flowers—slime-free this time—that were charmed to sing a cheerful apology tune when presented.

He wiped his palm against his robes for what felt like the hundredth time. “This is foolproof,” Fred muttered under his breath.

“You say that every time,” George pointed out, his tone dripping with amusement. He nudged Lee, who was barely containing his laughter. “What do you reckon? Will he get through two words before tripping over himself?”

“Five Galleons says he’ll combust,” Lee said, grinning.

“Will you two shut it?” Fred snapped, though the tips of his ears turned red. “This is serious.”

“Serious,” George repeated, mocking Fred’s tone. “You’re holding a singing bouquet, mate. Nothing about this screams ‘serious.’”

“Just watch,” Fred said, his voice low but determined.

That’s when you walked in, and Fred’s stomach flipped.

You were laughing as you entered, your head tilted toward one of your friends. That laugh—light, carefree, and far too distracting—was etched into Fred’s memory, playing on a loop since the previous day.

The sunlight streaming through the tall windows hit you at just the right angle, illuminating your smile. You were radiant.

Fred’s heart thumped in his chest as he stepped forward, the bouquet held out like a peace offering. “Hey!” he called, catching your attention.

You turned to him, eyes widening slightly in surprise. “Yes?” you said, the corners of your mouth quirking up into a curious smile. What did he want from you?

Fred grinned, his confidence teetering on the edge of unraveling. “Listen, about yesterday—”

But before he could finish, the bouquet let out a sudden pop. A puff of pink smoke erupted, followed by an earsplittingly off-key version of “I’m Sorry About The Slime” that echoed through the Great Hall.

Fred barely had time to react before the bouquet detonated in a second burst, showering him in glitter and knocking him flat on his back.

The Hall erupted into laughter.

Fred groaned, staring at the enchanted ceiling, which now looked even farther away than usual. He could hear George’s loud, obnoxious cackling somewhere to his left.

“Five Galleons,” Lee said smugly.

Fred grimaced, but before he could even begin to think about recovering, a familiar voice broke through the laughter.

“Guess I’m not the only casualty this time.”

Fred turned his head, blinking in disbelief. You had flopped down beside him, lying flat on your back on the floor as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Glitter sparkled in your hair, and your grin was wide and unapologetic.

“What are you doing?” Fred asked, his voice caught somewhere between bewilderment and awe.

“Making sure you’re not the only one who looks ridiculous,” you replied, shrugging as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. “It’s only fair.”

Fred let out a breathless laugh, his embarrassment momentarily forgotten. “You’re mental.” But he loved it.

“Takes one to know one,” you shot back, glancing at him with a teasing smile.

From across the Hall, George shouted, “Right on, Romeooo!!” His voice was exaggerated and dramatic, and Fred could practically feel the heat rising in his face.

“Oi shut it, George!” Fred yelled, though his tone lacked bite.

You laughed again, and Fred swore his heart might actually burst. “You’ve got quite the fan club,” you said, gesturing toward the group of students, particularly, Fred's 'boys', who were now openly watching the scene unfold and chortling.

“They’re a bunch of idiots,” Fred muttered, though his lips twitched into a reluctant smile.

You tilted your head, studying him for a moment. “You know,” you said thoughtfully, “for someone who’s usually so good at pranks, this was a spectacular disaster.”

Fred groaned, running a hand through his now glitter-covered hair. “Tell me about it.”

“But,” you added, your voice softening, “I appreciate the effort and the apology.”

Fred looked at you, his heart stuttering. “You do?”

“Yeah.” You leaned closer, lowering your voice conspiratorially. “And between you and me, I think you pull off the glitter look better than anyone else here.”

Fred laughed, the sound loud and genuine, and for a moment, the rest of the hall faded away. “I reckon you pull it off better than I do.”

“Why thank you, it's actually my dream to be covered in glitter. Shining as bright as a quidditch trophy is the goal." You joked, but Fred smiled warmly.

You do shine bright, he thought.

As you stood up, you reached out a hand to help him up. Fred took it without hesitation, warmth spreading through him at the simple gesture.

“Come on, glitter boy,” you said, your tone teasing but fond. “Let’s get you sitting somewhere before you injure yourself again.”

Fred let you lead him to a bench at the side of the hall, his hand still tingling from where yours had been.

As you both sat down, he turned to face you, his usual confidence returning in a slow, steady wave, “I’m Fred, by the way."

You laughed, tucking a strand of glitter-dusted hair behind your ear. “I know. You and George are kind of hard to miss.”

Fred’s grin widened, his chest fluttering at the sound of your laugh. “Yeah? Well, you’re kind of hard to forget...uh?" As if on cue, you told him your name. "Y/N." You smiled. "Y/N..." He repeated back, how fitting, a pretty name for a pretty girl.

Your eyes softened, and for a moment, you studied Fred's features. He did the same, glancing at your lips occasionally.

You'd always seen him from afar, to you he was just a prankster, a jokester, busy with his schemes, you'd never thought you'd actually come face to face with him.

But now that you did, you saw him in a different light, almost.

“If this is how you usually apologise,” you said, your voice light again, “I’m scared to see what happens when you’re not sorry.”

Fred chuckled, shaking his head. “Stick around, and I’ll show you.”

You leaned back slightly, your smile lingering. “I just might.”

And in that moment, Fred knew—he didn’t just want to impress you. He wanted you, all of you, your wit, your laughter, your sparkling eyes.

He just wanted to be yours.

[incorrectquotesharrypotterv]

Theo: I cut my finger

Y/n: I can kiss it, so it'll get better

Theo: That works?

Y/n: Yeah, my mum used to do it when I was little

*later*

Theo: I need you to punch me in the mouth

Draco: Fucking finally

[iniquitousyearning]

SLYTHERINSLUT0’S RIDDLEMAS

dec 23rd. tom riddle — wet dreams, house rivals.

RIDDLEMAS MASTERLIST. I 2024

summary: tom’s been infiltrating your dreams, and you decide it’s time to call him out on it.

warnings: 18+, SMUT MDNIIII, coercion!!!!, dark!tom, mind manipulation, religious undertones, gryffindor!reader, enemies if you squint, fingering, squirting, begging, dream sex, tom riddle is his own warning, so much praise, dirty talk, verbal sparring.

You've never been a heavy sleeper. Even as a child, the smallest sound—a creak in the floorboards, a shift in the walls—would jolt you awake. For years, you chalked it up to some ingrained survival instinct, some form of trauma response to whatever part of your childhood still haunts you. You got used to it.

But lately, it isn't sound that’s been waking you. It isn't movement or foundation shifts, either. It's the dreams.

Dreams—strange, lucid, intense dreams of him. Always him. Dreams that make you feel like you're drowning, like you're flying, like you've found a new level of intoxication that you'd never imagined possible—and each time the dreams wake you up, the sheets (and whatever bottoms you may have been wearing) are always soaked, and your thighs are always shaking.

It's maddening.

They feel too real to be anything but a violation, his presence bleeding into your subconscious regardless of how much you try to fight it. You know it means something is wrong. You'd tried to rationalize yourself into going back to sleep, telling yourself it's just hormones or some form of stress, but you're too smart to believe your own excuses.

You know it's more than that.

He's haunting you in your sleep—in the most unexpected way. The dreams are always lucid enough that you can feel it—you can feel him—his mouth on yours, his hands on your hips, his dick bullying your fucking cervix and his magic on your clit—leaving behind nothing but hunger. Hunger that's so intense it makes you want him in a way it almost scares you.

You tell yourself you hate him, you've always hated him—but denial only lasts for so many days, as you realize you can't look at him or talk to him without the dreams forcing their way to the forefront of your mind, making you remember the feelings and the sensations and how much, despite hating him, you want them to be real.

You wanted to believe it would pass. That this was nothing but a phase, a trick of your overactive mind. But deep down, you knew the truth. Tom Riddle has wormed his way into your head, into your dreams—out of spite—and he's not letting go.

So after a hell of a week of this—with damn near zero hours of sleep—you decide to seek him out. To put an end to this madness. Once and for all.

It takes every ounce of courage and Gryffindor-like reckless bravery you can scrape together just to go through with it, but somehow you do. Somehow, you make it across the castle, make it to his door. You're in your pyjamas, for Merlin's sake. It's 1 a.m., and the slick still coating your thighs from what had to have been your tenth lucid orgasm in a matter of a week is a humiliating reminder of why you're even here at all.

And when the door opens, you have the strange feeling that he's been expecting you, even as he makes a great show of acting surprised to see you, looking you up and down with a lazy, smug glance that makes your pulse quicken so viscerally you lose the last shred of sanity you were pathetically clinging to—

"What the fuck—" you prowl forward without hesitation, forcing him a step back into the room. "—are you doing to me?"

Even if you're not imagining some form of surprise in that smug little smirk, he does his best not to let it show.

"Me?" He says, all pretend innocence, flicking his hand out to shut the door behind you with some spell you don't care to name. "You'll have to be more specific."

You glare at him, refusing to acknowledge how unfairly attractive he looks in just sweatpants and an oversized shirt—because of course, even casual looks like this are a weapon in his arsenal.

"Cut the bullshit, Riddle," you snap, and you're not sure if it's your lack of sleep or some form of desperation-fuelled bravery, but you're suddenly invading his personal space, poking an accusing finger into his shoulder. "You're fucking haunting me—"

He blinks. "I’m haunting you. And how am I doing that?”

There's a part of you that knows it's a trap—that this is probably exactly what the smug bastard in front of you has been wanting, but your brain is so deprived of sleep and your body is so starved of respite that you decide 'fuck it'—you want answers, and you're going to get them.

"You're in my dreams," you say, bluntly, forcing an exhale alongside it. "You've been in them every night for a week straight. I haven't slept a bloody minute."

That's when it happens—the tiniest flash of amusement in his eyes, so brief you might've missed it if you weren't ready to tear his fucking throat out.

"You're accusing me of giving you dreams?" He asks, in a tone that makes you want to grab him by the front of his shirt and make him cut the bullshit, and you can't tell how much of your own expression is irritation and how much is lust. "You think I've somehow managed to invade your mind?"

"Don't be condescending," you spit, trying to focus on the spot between his eyebrows that makes the heat in your core roar the least, "and don't act like you're incapable. As much as I can't bloody stand you, we both know damn well your mind magic is strong enough to do this to me—"

"Mind magic," he echoes with an amused snort, "you think I'm doing some kind of mind magic to invade your dreams, is that it?"

He's so damn good at this, you think—infuriatingly good. The way he's playing it off like the idea is absurd, completely laughable—

"Fucking precisely.” You can't hide the heat from your voice. You don't care to try. "These aren't just dreams. They're—they're strong. I feel you. Your hands, your tongue, your—"

Dick. You can't even bring yourself to say it.

And the bastard just smirks, like he's reading your mind anyway. Like he knows. That glimmer in his eyes—arrogant, insufferable—only confirms it.

"Hm," he says with something bored, running a hand through his hair. "Your subconscious—"

"It's not a bloody subconscious thing," you cut him off, uninterested in whatever bullshit he was about to feed you. "It's you. You're invading my dreams—I feel you—my body fucking feels you—"

He laughs at that. Like some sick, sadistic freak. He actually laughs—

"Listen to yourself." He says, with a mocking tone that makes you want to shove him. "Are you that desperate to hate me that you're pinning your dreams on me?"

"Hate doesn't even begin to cover it," you spit, stepping closer, your frustration boiling over. He shifts slightly, his back brushing the wall. "You've got a hell of an ego, but even you have to know this isn't something I'd want. I wouldn't put you in my dreams willingly if you paid me to do it—"

He hums, smirk never faltering, if anything it fucking grows at the tirade.

"You've been dreaming of me for a week," he points out, coolly, as if this is the most casual conversation in the world. "And now, here you are—standing in my dorm in the middle of the night, dressed like this." He takes a step toward you, now. "Do you know what that's called, sweetheart?"

Your lungs hitch at the pet name. Your mind is at war with your cunt and it's losing—

"Delirium?" You choke out, noticing another flash of something in his eyes as the gap between you closes. "Insomnia? Sleep deprivation?"

He gives you a mocking arch of the eyebrow.

"No," he says, in a tone that makes you seethe. "It's called obsession."

"Oh. The irony," you can't help but hiss at him, heart pounding because he's in your space and you're in his and this shouldn't be getting to you the way it is. "It's rich, coming from you, that you'd put that on me when—when you've been mindfucking me every goddamn night—"

"Mindfucking you?" He repeats, almost lazily, as his gaze drops, sweeping over you—your pyjamas, the clear lack of bra, the flush creeping up your neck. "Is that what you think I've been doing? You think—"

The way he doesn't even deny it—doesn't argue the accusation—makes your blood boil in a way you can't control.

"It's the only explanation. You've been—you've been—" you cut him off but your sentence falters because his gaze is moving so deliberately, dragging over you like he's cataloging your weaknesses, and the anger curdles into something raw and desperate. "God, Tom, I just need it to stop. I'm so fucking tense and tired. I'm so wound I can't even focus—I'm wet all the time—"

His eyes snap up to meet yours at that, and he gives you a look you can't even begin to interpret. You bite your tongue, realizing the words that left your mouth just a moment too late to pull them back, and you know you've lost the upper hand in this, somehow. You feel the ground slipping from under you and you hate the way your body shivers as he takes another slow, deliberate, step forward.

"Is that what you are?” He wets his lips. "You've come all the way here, in the dead of night, in your pyjamas, half out of your mind with exhaustion because you're wet. Isn't that right?"

You know better than to answer, though you feel yourself walking straight into the trap he's set.

"Piss off," you snap, but the bravado in your voice is paper-thin as he takes another step forward. He's so close now that his scent overwhelms you—leather and spice, something sharp and smoky that makes your head spin. You recognize it, of course you do; it's the same as in your dreams, and the familiarity makes your knees feel unsteady. "You're—"

"Don't act so offended," he leans closer, his voice a low murmur, quiet, almost silky as it wraps around you, and suddenly you barely remember what you were so pissed off about. "You can't even deny it. I made you cum tonight, didn't I? In your dreams."

Your teeth grit. "You know you did—"

He takes one more step and now you're backed right up against his desk—and gods, Tom's tall, so much taller than you—and it feels like he's looming over you, caging you in.

"Mhm." There's a flash of triumph in his eyes as you lose your words. He leans down, breath grazing your ear just as he brings two fingers to your temple, pressing the pads against it. "Let's watch, shall we?"

Watc—oh no.

A cold sense of dread washes over you as you catch on to what he's insinuating, merely a second too late—

"Tom—"

He whispers something, something that pulls you under, and the next thing you know—in a flash of consciousness you didn't even consider possible—you're staring at yourself inside a dream you remember all too well. A dream sequence where you're moaning and trembling beneath him, your head thrown back, eyes rolling in unabashed pleasure as he drives into you, hips snapping with thrust after thrust after thrust—

And it's one thing to have felt it in the safety of your dreams, in the dead of night when you woke slick and desperate, clenching around nothing. But this—this is visceral. You can't look away because it's projecting inside your mind: the flush blooming across your chest, the arch of your back, the way your lips part with every desperate breath. You hear the obscene sounds spilling from your mouth, mingling with his low, guttural grunts—and worst of all, you can feel it.

You can feel every ounce of pleasure he's giving you, as if he's giving it to you now.

"Mm," you hear him hum from infront of you—it's too much—you're lost in the memory, the dream, and it's a strange, voyeuristic, intimate experience to watch yourself and him like that. "You're worse off than I thought."

You’re gripping the wood of his desk so hard your fingertips are numb, heart flying out of the room as his hand slowly slides from your temple down to your jaw, holding you in place—

"Stop it." You manage to hiss at him, trying to force some semblance of control back into yourself—the last thing you need is to start melting against this bastard. "Tom—"

"You feel that?" He murmurs, breath brushing your neck, and you can't even focus on anything but the sensations he's forcing through your memory—seeing him above you, feeling him inside you. "You do, don't you? This is exactly what you've been feeling all week, isn't it?"

You want to snap at him, cuss him out, but oh god—

"Damn you," you hiss, even as his hands slide down to your hips—and it almost feels as if he's touching you twice, as if there are two sets of hands on your body. "Fuck, Tom—"

"Mm, you look good from this angle," he murmurs, and you fucking keen as you watch, in your mind, his hands slide over your stomach, pushing up your shirt and exposing your tits, groping as he fucks you. You keen as you feel it. "You love this, don't you? You want this."

"I—" you gasp, trying to convince him, or yourself, or goddamn anyone. Still fighting some invisible battle between resistance and submission because you hate that he's right. "I—god, what are you doing to me—"

"What am I doing to you?" He whispers, and you're not sure if the question is rhetorical, or if he's giving you permission to ask it. "I'm not doing anything that you aren't letting me do."

Your knees feel like they're about to buckle, and it's taking all your strength just to stay standing because the pleasure playing out in your mind is pouring into your veins and you can't even fathom how it's possible but you can't do anything to fight it—

"Oh, god—" you moan, unbridled, your physical body slumping back onto the desk as you feel the slick between your thighs, growing with every goddamn thrust. "Oh my god—"

He takes the opportunity of you slumped back against the desk and instantly leans down, bringing his lips to your ear—

"Not even god could keep your legs underneath you." His hand creeps up your thigh. "You're helpless."

"Helpless," you repeat, with a shaky gasp, and you hate how much the word turns you on. This is the first time you've ever been called helpless, and you're not even sure that you care. He's got you in his clutches, he's winning, and it's so infuriating and so goddamn perfect. “Tom—please, please touch me. I need to—fuck—"

You feel his lips brush the skin of your neck in a way that has you trembling with want, but—fucking hell, that's not what you need—you need his hands on you, you need him to just—

"What do you need?" He cooes, and there's a sly tone to his voice that makes you want to throw yourself at him all over again. "You need to cum?"

You moan, low and needy, writhing against the desk because this fucker—he knows exactly what he's doing. He’s got the upper hand here and you want it back. You want—

"Yes," you manage to gasp out. "I need you to—I fucking need you—inside me—"

As soon as that leaves your mouth, the dream fades from your vision and he's urging you to lay back. There's a soft thud as he places a hand on the desk next to your head, and he leans down, bringing his lips back to your ear, and you can't remember a time when you've ever wanted anyone else this bad.

"I'm touched," he murmurs, fingers slipping to the waist band of your pyjama pants, "that you want me that bad."

"I hate you," you manage to gasp out, but that's a lie, and you think he knows it. His fingers on your skin as he pulls your pants down make you ache for him, and you're struggling to not make another sound that will give him ammunition. "Why do you have to—"

"Why do I have to what?" He asks, and you know he's just trying to get a reaction out of you. "Tease you? Make you helpless?"

Your pants get hardly half way down your thighs before he decides it's enough and slides a finger through your soaked slit, and you can't hold back the moan that tears itself from your throat.

"Fuck, you're soaked.” He hisses through his teeth. “You've been sitting in your dorm for days, hm? Dreaming of me touching you, wishing you could touch yourself without thinking of me—do you want to cum, sweetheart?"

"Yes," you gasp out, and you're not above begging at this point. "Yes, god, please—I want to fucking cum—"

"There we go," he cooes, and he's enjoying this more than you'd like to acknowledge. "You know how long I've been waiting to hear you say that?"

"I'd say at least a week," you throw back, in a vain attempt to keep a shred of your dignity, but that's hard when he's circling his fingers around your clit and your body is jerking against the desk beneath you. God you really are helpless. "Because that's how long you've been plaguing my head, giving me wet dreams like some goddamn incubus—"

He chuckles at that, and you hate him a little less when he slips two fingers inside you, "You think I'm a demon?"

"You certainly act like one," you choke out, because he's crooking his fingers and your mind is going fuzzy and he's not going to let you get the upper hand back, even for a second. "Fuck—oh, yes, yes, yes."

"You've got me all wrong," he says, with a smile that would be boyish if it wasn't so sinister. "Demons come to punish you. I'm here helping you get that relief you've been needing so badly."

"Just want t-to help me," you moan as his long fingers work you open, thumb brushing your clit, "out of the kindness of your heart—"

"Out of the kindness of my heart,” he repeats, with a mocking tone, and it's the way he murmurs those words that's making your thighs clench around him until he grabs the fabric of your pjs bunched around them and pushes your legs up to your chest, working his fingers impossibly deeper. "Out of the goodness of my soul—it's what I do, darling, I'm known for my benevolence—"

"You're a good man," you know he can tell you're being sarcastic, but his fingers are filling you so fucking full you're nowhere near ready to start a fight again when you're this close to losing your goddamn mind on his desk. "You're such a good man, Tom—“

"Mhm," his breath tickles your ear. "What else am I?"

"So good with your fingers," you're moaning, and he's going to get a bigger ego than he already has. You're too far gone to care. "God, you're so good, I'm going to—"

"Yes, you are," he answers, and it takes you a second to realize that he's not correcting your words anymore. He's simply telling you that you are, in fact, about to fall apart for him. "Give it to me. You've earned it."

You almost want to snap back at him, you almost try to, but you're so far gone the words don't form on your tongue and you're not sure you'd be able to fight the fire pooling in your stomach.

"Oh, fuck—“

He doesn't even let you finish that, he just dips his hips down, bringing his hand that's not buried in your slick up to cover your mouth, muffling those strangled screams before they spill out and echo down the hall—

"That's it," he murmurs, his voice a low hum against your skin. "Be a good girl. Let it all out for me."

And it's that; that stupid combination of cooing warmth and the phrase 'be a good girl' that sends you over the edge, and you're muffling your gasps and moans and screams against his palm because gods, what would happen if someone heard you? What would happen if people realized what Tom Riddle was doing to you—your house rival, your sworn enemy—

"There we go," you're falling apart and he's watching you as if he owns you, as if this is where you belong—writhing beneath him, release squirting out around his fingers. "Ride it out for me. Such a good girl, you needed this so bad, I can tell you were aching for this."

You're struggling to say anything back, the only thing that comes out is a strangled moan of his name, and you've always known how bad he was, heard from other girls how good he could be with his hands, but this—you've never had this, never been this before.

"Such a fucking mess," he's murmuring, his voice low and rough and so goddamn beautiful. “How'd that feel? Hm?"

"So—so good," it feels like the words are being forced out of your throat, and you're struggling to think with enough clarity to form anything that's not an embarrassing moan of how much you needed this. "Needed it, need more, I—"

"More?" He murmurs as he slips his fingers free, and he's bringing his other hand up to your jaw, forcing you to look at him as he brings his soaked fingers to your lips. "Greedy girl."

You're not thinking about the implication of him calling you that, you're not thinking about how you should fight back, you're not thinking about how much you hate him—you’re just thinking about the sinful taste of you on his fingers, when they press against your tongue. Without a second of hesitation you suck them clean, tasting yourself, and it's obscene. You're obscene. But you don't care, it just makes that ache in you grow worse—you need more, you need him.

Dear god, what happened to you.

“So good," he murmurs, the praise dripping like honey from his tongue. You hum and he exhales. "I'll find you tomorrow."

"You'll find me tomorrow?" You repeat, as he withdraws his fingers from your mouth, and you're struggling for air, your chest heaving beneath your rumpled shirt. "What are you going to do, come into my room?"

"I'll come into much more than your room," he says, with a laugh that dances with promises of sin. "Now go. Before someone finds you here."

You push yourself up on trembling arms, pulling your pants up your thighs, your heart hammering in your chest because—god, that was incredible, you want more of it, and you can hardly even believe it happened. With a breath, you force yourself to move.

You look back at him as you get to the door. Your legs are shaking and you're not going to hold it against yourself for needing the wall to support you as his eyes rake over you, the corners of those lips curled up his signature smirk, and you want to hit him so goddamn bad—but then he speaks, like he read your mind, and it snaps you out of it—

"No dreams tonight." He says. "Scouts honour."

"You're no boy scout," you throw back, and your voice is a little breathier than you'd like. "And this changes nothing."

He smiles, slow and languid and knowing. "Of course."

You want to roll your eyes at the condescension dripping off his tongue, but you're worried that if you stay here any longer the only words on your tongue will be 'do it again'.

"You just owe me." You say as you crack the door open.

"I owe you," he agrees, and you think that his smile is just a little too genuine—like he would give you anything you wanted, just for another taste of that. “I'm keeping score, darling. Sleep well."

You hate him for calling you that, you hate his stupid smile, you hate the way he knows he's got you.

What he doesn’t know, is that you’re going to make him pay.

"Good night," you mutter, and then you open the door and slip out into the hallway.

[lyr-caelum]

Lily and Sirius 🌸✨

The pretty duo of Gryffindor tower 🫠

[melstinybrain]

james: regulus, do you want to get coffee sometime, maybe?

regulus: uh- ye- yeah!?

james: great! um- after school?

regulus: yeah, after is- wait. you do mean that in a gay way, right?

james: yes, in a gay way.

regulus: full homo?

james: a full homosexual coffee date.

[yasministration]

show me how - marlene mckinnon

summary: marlene hates all the hyper feminine stuff you love to do. but she does it anyway, and you know exactly why. wc: 1.8k cw: smut, fingering, oral

It wasn’t natural to you, seeing Marlene all dolled up like this. But you suppose you couldn’t complain about the consequences of your own actions. After all, she did look pretty cute with sparkly eyeshadow over her eyelids in exchange for her her usual smudged eyeliner, and light blue polish over her nails. You’d forced her out of her sweatpants and oversized t-shirts and into a matching little pyjama set, which matched with yours.

Marlene didn’t complain once. In fact, she pretended to enjoy the girly rituals you so often took part in, which was easy since she loved your company so much. She knew this was what she signed up for when you invited her over for a sleepover, with your parents gone on a trip for the next three days. She had already baked cookies with you, and they now lay on a pretty plate on your bedside table whilst you finished painting your nails. She watched you lather your coconut scented lotion all over your body, her eyes nearly bulging out of her head as you did the mundane task. But then, you’d tossed the lotion bottle at her, and she was forced to tear her eyes away from you to mimic your movements.

Marlene loved doing this with you, even if she wasn’t in her element. She could imagine you straddled over her hips as you did her makeup when you got bored. Except, in her dreams, you’d be her girlfriend, not her best friend. You glanced up at Marlene, smiling to yourself when she wiggled her toes, immersed by the way the sparkles in the polish shone when the light hit it from a different angle.

“Do you want to pick a movie to watch? Or should we just gossip?” Marlene shrugged, placing an unsuspecting hand on your knee, brushing over a small bruise on your skin. “Whatever you want.” You hummed, closing the bottle of nail polish with flexed fingers, trying not to smudge your freshly painted nails. “Or do you want to choose what to order for dinner?” Marlene’s head snapped up at the suggestion, and you grinned as she pulled your bedside drawer open, pulling out several takeout menus.

“Do you have a preference?” She asked, sorting through the sheets of shiny paper. You shook your head, swinging your legs over her lap as you absentmindedly blew on your nails to accelerate the drying process. “Pizza?” She finally asked, reaching her hand out for you to pass her the landline telephone on your bedside table.

“Can you dial them for me?” You hummed, taking the menu from Marlene, gaze switching between the telephone and the menu to call the restaurant. There was a moment of silence as the phone wrung, before Marlene was smiling, and politely saying “Hi, could I please get a large margarita pizza please? Yes, and a side of potato wedges too please.”

You giggled, and Marlene’s hand caressed one of your legs, the skin of your shin still soft and moisturised from the lotion. She hung up after reciting your address, stretching out to return the phone to its original position. But as she did, her hand brushed against your leg, smudging some nail polish onto your leg.

Marlene’s eyes widened and she grimaced. You sighed at her disappointedly, tilting your head to the side. “What did I say?” “I’m sorry.” Marlene licked her thumb and rubbed it on your skin, trying to remove the smudge of blue, but you shrieked, pulling your leg away from the girl. “Eww, Marlene! I don’t want your spit all over me.” Marlene's gaze dropped to where you had pulled your leg to your chest, and her pupils dilated as your loose shorts allowed her a view of your pink panties underneath.

She took her hand off you, wiping the excess of her saliva on her pyjama shorts. Showing you her dry hands, she wrapped them around your calf, tugging your leg back across her lap. You hummed, pulling her hand towards you to examine the damage to her nails. “I can fix this, it’s just one nail.” You twisted towards your bedside table, searching for the shade you had used on Marlene, but she shook her head, hand wrapping around your wrist as she insisted “No, it’s fine. Seriously, baby.”

If you felt flustered at Marlene’s use of the pet name, you didn’t show it. Instead, you shrugged, settling back on the headboard with a small smirk on your lips. “You really don’t like this, do you?” Marlene’s mouth gaped open, and she stared blankly at you, unresponsive. “You know, all this super feminine stuff — it’s okay if you don’t!” Marlene shrugged, glancing down at your legs and shaking her head.

“And yet, you still do it. Why?”

Marlene lifted her head up, keeping eye contact with you. She didn’t know what to say. You folded your legs up, taking them off Marlene’s thighs and planting your feet on the mattress in front of you. Marlene’s face flushed a dark pink colour. You were onto her.

“It’s because of me, isn’t it.” You said, a statement rather than a question, lifting your eyebrows up.

“Well, yeah.”

“You have a fat crush on me.”

Marlene gasped at your words, as though you had revealed some drastic secret of your own rather than hers. “You do, don’t you, Marlene?” You crossed your arms over your chest, pushing your tits up. The blonde girl’s eyes dipped to look at the swell of your breasts. She nodded wordlessly, a guilty expression on her face.

“Do you want to show me just how much you like me?” Marlene swallowed thickly, watching as your arms fell by your sides, thumbs slipping underneath the elastic band of your sleep shorts. You pulled them down your legs — nothing Marlene hadn’t seen before. But you tossed them across your bedroom, staring at Marlene with a silent question on your lips. When she squirmed, moving to kneel in front of you, you grinned, slowly dragging your panties down your legs and spreading them wide.

Marlene’s jaw dropped, and a shaky breath escaped her lips. She spent a long moment like that, kneeling between your legs, staring at your pussy with wide eyes. Then, her hands came down to your thighs, curling underneath them as she positioned herself on her stomach in front of you, licking her lips nervously.

“Marls, you don-” But your words were cut off by a quiet gasp as Marlene leaned down to press a kiss onto your skin, her tongue jutting out to taste you. She was breathing heavily, not even having done anything yet. But with one last glance at you, Marlene ducked her head down, moaning against you as she plunged her tongue straight into you, teasing your entrance before licking upwards.

Your hips bucked upwards, but Marlene slung an arm over them, easing them back down to meet the mattress. Her other hand trailed down from your thigh, parting your lips so she could run her tongue between them, making abstract shapes on your clit. She was messy, saliva coating you while she drenched her face with your wetness. She closed her lips around your clit, sucking harshly and glancing up at you to watch as your face contorted with pleasure, throwing your head back as your spine arched. So much for not wanting her spit all over you.

“Oh, Marlene.” You gasped, a hand lacing in her blonde locks. She took her mouth off you, fingers replacing her by putting agonising pressure on your clit. You felt your legs twitch, watching her lips tug up into a cocky smile. “’M I showing you how much I like you well enough?”

Nodding desperately, you wrapped a hand around her wrist, trying to push it downwards. “Fingers, please.”

“You already have my fingers, sweetheart.”

“No. Inside, Marlene.”

She chuckled, climbing up to straddle one of your thighs, her hand sliding lower between your legs. She coated her fingers in your juices, slowly sliding them inside you as she began pressing kisses to your neck. “This what you want?” She murmured, bringing a hand up to brush the hair away from your face as your mouth opened in pleasure, shutting your eyes tightly. You hummed, gasping when her fingers began quickly pumping inside you. Marlene grinned, ducking her head down to press a short kiss to your lips, watching your reaction as she tilted the palm of her hand upwards, keeping it pressed against your sensitive clit.

Your mouth fell open to release a high-pitched moan, and Marlene released a satisfied breath. “That’s a good girl.” Your pussy clenched at the praise, and Marlene raised her eyebrows in surprise. No wonder you liked the name, she thought, looking around.

Marlene felt your legs squeeze tight around her wrist, so she tilted her head, lips closing around your neck to press teasing kisses on your skin. Then, with no warning, her teeth sunk into your neck, and you immediately cried, pussy fluttering as you orgasmed, hot pleasure overtaking your body. Marlene licked over the spot on your neck to soothe it, slowing down the pace of her fingers to help bring you down from your high.

Gasping, a hand shot out to grip Marlene’s wrist, silently begging her to halt her movements as they began overstimulating you. She did, gently easing out her fingers out of you. You panted on the bed, and Marlene pressed a kiss to your parted lips before lifting herself off you. She kept her eyes on you as she pulled her top off, the soft silk feeling alien on her skin. Leaning down, she grabbed her oversized t-shirt off the floor and pulled it back on before joining you on the bed again.

“You okay?”

“Yeah… I guess that’s what I get for asking you to show me how much you like me.”

Marlene laughed, kissing your forehead. “I don’t think I even managed to show you just how much.”

“Leave the rest for another time, yeah?” Marlene nodded, trying to hide the way her face lit up at the prospect of there even being another time. Then, just as she was about to get a towel to clean you up, the doorbell rang. “Pizza!” Marlene cried, immediately ditching you to answer the door. When she returned, you were already dressed, a fond smile on your face, and had the plate of cookies resting on your lap.

“So…” You started, still chewing on a cookie. You held a finger up, only continuing once you finally swallowed. “When can I show you how much I like you?” Marlene’s jaw dropped, the boxes of food forgotten in her hands.

You had never seen someone take off their clothes so quickly.

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[karlrincon]

Rest in peace to an absolute treasure, Dame Maggie Smith.

They’ve been reunited 🤍