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marauder-misprint · 2 months ago

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hello and good day! can I request sirius black x house of prince member!reader whose like severus' only tolerable cousin (so platonic severus and reader kinda relationship and they're chill) but the marauders don't know that and sirius has a fat crush on the reader (reader isn't in slytherin if that's okay) and flirts w them but reader thinks "Oh sirius is probs flirting w me to piss of severus" and cheerfully rejects him till like severus confronts the marauders that sirius stops being a coward and all and to leave his cousin alone and the marauders goes "????" and severus goes "hold on you don't know" and sirius kinda spirals bc the person he's down bad is severus' cousin... uh new tactics to win them over... severus being the biggest hater lmfao, if you can't write this pls don't force yourself 🫶! ty and have a good day!

Hi! Thank you for this request! ❤︎ I put reader in Hufflepuff - I think it fits :) I hope I did this request justice, especially the Snape/Reader dynamic.

Hope you enjoy ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎

Snape's cousin

Sirius Black x Prince!reader

5k words

cw: fluff, pining Sirius

Until last year, there were two non-Slytherins that Severus willingly talked to and was friendly with. One was Lily Evans but they were no longer on speaking terms. The other, the one who remains, is you. A lot of students wonder why you occasionally hang out and seek him out in the Great Hall. Frankly, he’s one of the few Slytherins you talk to – you don’t mind Pandora and Dorcas. But what a majority of your classmates don’t know is that you and Severus are cousins. Your close friends know, as do his, and you’re sure a few of Lily’s friends know too.

The first time you saw him label a book ‘Property of the Half-blood Prince,’ you snatched it and held it away from him as he tried to get it back.

“Come on, give it back. It’s mine,” he had said.

You pointed at what he had written. “According to this, it’s more mine than yours. You’re Snape.”

Severus rolled his eyes and you handed him the book back with a triumphant smile on your face. When you teased him, it was friendly, short-lived and harm-free. Severus tolerated it. It was better than anything the Marauders did to him. Plus, you were family and family he didn’t despise at that so he kept you around. You offered him a change of pace from his Slytherin friends. Severus needed it more than he would admit.

You, on the other hand, are not hurting for friends. People like you. To a point, you’d say they gravitate toward you. One of those who seems to gravitate toward you more than he should is Sirius.

“Oi! Prince!” his voice calls across the Transfiguration courtyard.

You’re walking with Meredith and Abby to your next class. You have a few minutes to spare so you pause and turn to see Sirius jogging up to you.

“Yeah?”

“So, I know you’re a Prince, but if you were mine, I’d treat you like a queen,” he says once he’s next to you.

Cue eye roll.

“I appreciate that, Sirius, but no thank you,” you say sweetly.

Then you continue walking with your friends, the girls sharing a knowing look. This wasn’t the first time Sirius has flirted with you and you doubt it’ll be the last. Relentless. That’s how you’d describe him. Relentless on trying to get to Severus, trying to mess with him. Severus would probably have a conniption if you went on a date with Sirius, not that it is any of his business who you go around with, but the Marauders are not nice to Severus. You chuckle to yourself at the Gryffindor’s sad attempts to piss off Severus. Sirius had yet to flirt with you directly in front of Severus and you weren’t about to bring it up to him. So his attempts were futile.

“I still can’t believe you brush him off every time,” Abby sighs as you climb the stairs toward the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom.

“We both know he’s not genuinely flirting with me,” you say. “And even if he was, he’s been too cruel to Sev.”

“Right, like he hasn’t earned some of what they dish out,” Meredith says dryly.

It isn’t a secret that Meredith and Abby aren’t the biggest fans of Severus. Abby’s muggleborn so when Severus called Lily a mudblood last year, she fully swore off trying to be kind to him for your sake. And Meredith stood by her. You keep telling yourself that he’s family and you know more about his homelife and bringing up than anyone else. Although, you sometimes wonder if you give him more leeway than he deserves. Every time, you shake the thought from your head.

“What’d you think of the assigned reading?” you ask, entering the classroom and desperate to change the conversation away from your cousin. “Dementors?”

“Glad they are far, far away at Azkaban,” Meredith says with a shiver.

“Personally, I hope I never have to meet one,” you add.

“I think it’s going to be a long unit,” Abby says.

You and Meredith give her a confused look.

“Discussing creatures that suck happiness out of the air and eat souls? Not very cheery.”

You chuckle. “Yeah, but we should cover the Patronus charm soon. That’ll be fun.”

“Professor Fischer didn’t let them try it in class last year. Just the theory and ‘you can try it on your own time,’” Meredith says, mocking your professor’s voice.

“We’ll try it together then, yeah?”

“Yes!” Abby eagerly agrees.

You make eye contact with Severus from across the classroom. He nods and looks away. That’s the most you get from him lately unless you’re asking him for Potions help. The volume in the classroom skyrockets as the Marauders and other Gryffindors enter the room. Sirius winks at you as he passes you. You don’t react, just taking out your notes and textbook for the class. The Gryffindors were always the last into the classroom, so if they were here, that means Professor Fischer will be starting class momentarily.

“You saw that, right?” Abby whispers to you and you know she’s talking about Sirius.

“Yes. It doesn’t mean anything.”

She raises her eyebrows as if to say ‘yeah, sure.’ Despite you repeatedly telling them that Sirius was using you to get Severus, they still think that Sirius is actually flirting with you, that he has feelings for you. You sigh heavily as the professor starts his lesson on dementors.

After class, you walk out with the girls and head to your next classes, not lingering in the room. The Marauders are a bit more slow. Sirius watches you leave the room before even moving to gather his things; this also means that Severus is out of the classroom when Sirius speaks.

“Another day, another rejection,” he sighs.

“I thought that’s what you like about her?” Peter asks, slightly leaning against his desk as the boys wait for Sirius to be ready to go.

He stands up and throws his bag over his shoulder. “Part of it. I mean, she’s gorgeous, sweet, kind, smart, funny, pretty, stubborn. Smells nice. Lovely smile.”

“Ah, we get it. You could go on forever,” James says, clamping a hand down on his shoulder. “Just like me and Evans. We’ll get there eventually.”

Peter snorts. “Yes, of course.”

“Oi! What do you mean?” Sirius snaps, turning around.

“He’s saying that when a girl says no, she means it,” Remus says with a smirk.

“Or…” James starts, “they just need time to come around. Get to know us a bit more.”

Remus and Peter make eye contact and roll their eyes.

---

A few days later, you’re working on a Potions assignment with Severus in the library. He finished the assignment a while ago, but stayed to answer your questions. You have more than you’d like.

“I really should just be able to put bezoar as the answer to these!” you sigh. “It’s a goddamn cure-all!”

“Do you have a collection of bezoars under your bed?” Severus asks, not looking up from his assignment.

“No.”

“Then you need to know other cures for poisons.”

You sigh again and flip a few pages in your textbook. You know Severus is right but it doesn’t make the assignment feel any less tedious and stupid.

Then Sirius walks up to your table. He doesn’t seem to notice Severus as his gaze is trained on you. He has a singular rose in his hand as he leans against the table with his free hand supporting him.

“Prince, would you do me the honor of accompanying me to Hogsmeade next weekend?” he asks, holding out the rose to you.

You don’t take it, but you do give him a polite smile.

“Sirius, you know the answer’s no.”

He sets the rose on the table between your parchment and your book. “Think about it? Let me know if you change your mind.”

“I won’t change my mind.”

“But you’ll think about it,” he says with a hint of hope in his usually suave voice.

You roll your eyes. He smirks and leaves the table, leaving you to turn your attention back to a now-gobsmacked Severus.

“You know the answer’s no? What the bloody hell was that?” he hisses, leaning forward.

“Don’t get worked up. Getting a reaction out of you is the only reason he’s been asking me out,” you say calmly.

“How often has he asked you out?”

You shrug. “I don’t know. Probably every few days? But, really, don’t give him what he wants. He’ll get bored eventually and move on to something else.”

Severus makes a noise that sounds like a growl before dropping the subject. To you, Sirius’ flirting wasn’t all that horrible. It was mild, really. And even if it was just to get at Severus, it still feels nice to be flirted with from time to time.

You forget about Sirius’ invite to Hogsmeade until Tuesday. He had left you alone all weekend, which you hadn’t expected. You’re sitting in the Charms classroom next to Meredith as you wait for Professor Flitwick to start the lesson. Sirius enters with the rest of the Marauders, but the other three boys go straight to their seats. Sirius strolls up to your desk with an easy smile on his face.

“So, love, did you reconsider my offer for this weekend?” he asks.

“Nothing’s changed, Black,” you say, not even bothering to look at him.

His smile shifts into a smirk as he leans down to say, “Well, there’s still time. It’s only Tuesday.”

You raise your eyebrows in mild annoyance. He doesn’t seem to notice, but Meredith did, using her hand to block her smile. Sirius turns to find his seat next to Remus. Remus, already knowing your answer without having to hear it, has an amused look on his face. Sirius getting turned down when girls are usually putty in his hands is a much-needed change of pace in Remus’ opinion. Ever since Sirius set his eyes on you, he hasn’t paid as much attention to any other girl. Not like he used to.

Somehow Sirius doesn’t realize that he’s now done something he’s never done before: flirted with you twice in front of Severus. In the library, you’d been at the same table as him and able to tell him to let it go, that it wasn’t worth getting worked up over. This time you are a few desks away from. Close enough for Severus to hear what Sirius said to you, but far enough that you don’t notice his knuckles turning white from gripping the desk. He manages to keep it together the lesson and the next. Then, he makes it his mission to find Sirius.

The Marauders are lounging near the Black Lake when Severus spots them. Normally, he tries to avoid him so he has to gather some courage to even walk up to them. He keeps telling himself that he’s doing this for you, even if you say it’s no big deal.

“Black,” Severus says firmly with some edge to his voice once he reaches the boys.

“Snivellus! What a surprise!” James exclaims, sitting up slightly with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“What d’you want?” Sirius asks, sounding bored. He knows they don’t have any prank for him planned at the moment, nor have they pranked him within the past two weeks.

“I need you to stay away from my cousin,” Severus practically snarls. “It’s fucking cowardly to try to torment me through her. Your problem is with me, not her. Leave her out of it.”

The boys exchange confused looks, none of them saying anything. Remus clears his throat.

“Erm, who is your cousin?” he asks.

Severus crosses his arms, casting an annoyed look at Remus. “You know who my cousin is.”

“No? ‘Fraid we don’t follow everyone’s bloodline,” James says.

“Y/N.”

Sirius chokes on his spit before gasping, “Prince?”

“You really didn’t know?” Severus asks slowly, his eyes flitting between the Marauders.

Remus is trying to hold in his laughter because this revelation just made your denials even better. Sirius stares at Severus with an unreadable expression – there are so many thoughts swirling in his brain that he can’t settle on a single emotion.

“Just… leave her alone,” Severus says.

With that, he heads back to the castle. He doesn’t quite believe that Sirius didn’t know. How could he not know? His friends know. Your friends know. Surely Lily told her friends as well, which would sadly include Remus and by extension, Sirius.

“At least Evans isn’t related to anyone foul,” Peter deadpans once Severus is a good distance away.

“She’s… No. There’s no way she’s related to him. She’s so… and he’s just… Ugh,” Sirius says, most of his thoughts fizzling before he can articulate them.

“What would Snively get out telling us that?” Remus asks.

“Maybe he’s trying to keep her to himself or something!”

“Right, because being attracted to his cousin is something he wants to admit to?”

“Shut up.”

Remus barks a laugh. Peter and James echo it, the ridiculousness of the situation hitting them. Sirius has been pining for Severus' cousin without knowing it. He doesn’t understand how that’s possible. How are you related to him?

Sirius gets up and walks away from his friends. They call after him but he doesn’t turn back. He needs to clear his head, sort through his thoughts to make sense of it all. He ends up inside the castle, aimlessly wandering the corridors without any rhyme or reason. Then he runs into you. Literally. His body crashes into yours as you turn the same corner.

“Shit, sorry,” he says, holding out a hand to help you up after standing up himself. “I’m… sorry.”

He hurries away from you. He doesn’t look back. Sirius’ one goal now is to get far away from you until he figures out how to process your relation to Severus. You watch Sirius practically run away from you with a baffled expression on your face. This boy had flirted with you shamelessly and with no one around, he’s sprinting away from you like you have the plague. It’s peculiar, but reinforces that he only flirts with you to get at Severus.

Sirius ends up in the Astronomy Tower, leaning against the railing. How could he like you this much without knowing you are related to Snape? How had he not figured it out? You aren’t that similar; you tolerate him better than any other non-Slytherin. Except maybe it’s not tolerating if you’re family. Sirius shakes his head. You don’t have to like your family, he knows that. But you talk to Snape. You study with him. He acknowledges you in the corridors and the library.

Being related to Snape doesn’t change who you are. You are still the wonderful girl that he adores. You are still gorgeous. You still crack jokes with your friends. You still know what you’re doing in class. You’re the same girl.

It takes Sirius longer than he’d like to admit that he can get over it. He doesn’t accept it while he’s standing in the Astronomy Tower. It takes him seeing you in class a few times and hearing your voice carry across the room for him to realize that he really likes you. Nothing is going to change that. Sirius sees you in a whole new light and somehow you’re impossibly better. He sees you talking with Severus after Potions and he’s not turned away by it. The urge to approach you and pull you close to him is as strong as ever.

Sirius needs to figure out how to tell you that he’s actually interested in you for you, not for the entertainment of pissing off Snape. Although, he does have to admit, pissing off Snape would be a huge plus. He stands down for a little bit. His previous methods of flirting and asking you out didn’t work. He’d need to try something new. Something that wasn’t as Sirius. Maybe that’d get through to you.

“Moony, got any ideas?” Sirius asks as he reclines on his bed, throwing a ball into the air and catching again.

“Working on a charm to have that snake statue on the third floor squirt gobstone juice on Slytherins…”

“No, with Y/N. How do I get her to get that I really fancy her?”

Remus sends a lazy glance toward Sirius. “Isn’t that a question for Prongs?”

“Our methods haven’t been working. We think too much alike. You, you think differently.”

“Yeah, I don’t think with my dick.”

“Hey!”

Remus laughs. “It’s the truth, Padfoot. Use that brain, put in some effort, make it personal.”

“Personal…” Sirius murmurs to himself. That is something he can work with. It wasn’t like he hadn’t put effort into asking you out – some of his methods were extravagant in the past.

Sirius needs to brainstorm more. He knows he needs something specifically you. Something that will catch your eye and show that he really knows you and cares about you. A simple bouquet of flowers wouldn’t do. A serenade, a poem or a grand gesture are all no’s. Sirius needs it to be perfect so that you’ll say yes and give him an actual chance to prove himself.

You feel like Sirius has started watching you more. He doesn’t ask you out or flirt anymore. He still says hi when he passes you in the corridor and sometimes he asks how you’re doing, but nothing more than short pleasantries. You don’t mind it. Your friends are intrigued by his change of behavior. Meredith thinks Sirius has moved onto someone else, but you can’t figure out who. Abby doesn’t have any idea either.

“If he’s chasing someone else, why is he watching us?” Abby asks when you’re studying in the library.

“Hoping for homework answers?” Meredith offers. She knows it’s a longshot, but still worth suggesting.

“No. He’s too smart for that. And he has friends who could give him the answers,” you say.

The three of you all look his way at the same time. He looks away as soon as he meets your eyes, turning his head to pretend like he is deeply involved in his friends’ conversation. Meredith and Abby giggle at that. You tilt your head. Curious.

Another week or so passes and the treatment from Sirius remains the same. Polite but with a distance. You’re not sure how you feel about it. It’s nice at first, but now it feels strange. Did he finally succeed at pissing off Severus and now you were just another Hufflepuff? Abby and Meredith are still trying to figure out who Sirius has moved on to.

You’re sitting alone in the library. You have your Potions homework out in front of you. Severus had originally told you he’d help you but bailed last minute. So you’re alone and despising Slughorn more and more with each passing minute. You hear footsteps approach you, but you don’t look up. The person pulls out the chair across from you and sits down.

“Y/N,” Sirius says calmly with a small smile.

Now you have to look up. After keeping his polite distance, he’s sitting with you, and looking at you with a soft expression.

“Sirius,” you say back to him.

He reaches into a bag and pulls out a neatly wrapped package that looks to be about the size of your Potions’ textbook. He slides it across the table. You look from the package to Sirius and back.

“It’s for you. You can open it,” he says.

“What is it?”

“It’s a gift. You open it to find out.”

“Why?”

“Why?” he repeats back to you.

“Why did you get me a gift?”

He sighs and pushes the gift even closer to you.

“I’ll tell you when you open it.”

“With your reputation, opening this could be dangerous…” you say while thumbing the wrapping.

Sirius watches you intently as you slowly peel back the brown wrapping. A grin slowly spreads across his face as he sees your face light up. He had given you a framed painting of a Chinese Fireball – your favorite dragon. It’s a beautiful painting with intricate details. You trace your fingers over the glass of the frame.

“Every time I asked you out, I wasn’t thinking about… Severus.” Sirius tries not sound disgusted when he says Snape’s name. He clears his throat. “I, erm, I fancy you. I really do. I’d love to treat you to butterbeers or walk around the greenhouses with you or, hell, I’ll sit here and help you study for-” He leans forward to see what subject you are working on. “-Potions. Not sure how much help I’ll be, but Transfiguration, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Charms… But I know you don’t really need help with those subjects. I just want you to give me a chance. Please.”

You can’t bring yourself to look away from the painting.

“Um, Y/N? Did you hear me?”

You look up slowly. There’s a glassy look to your eyes that Sirius wasn’t expecting. He needs you to say something so he knows if he sorely messed up or did something right. Reading emotions is easier when tears aren’t involved.

“How did you know?” you whisper; you fear if you spoke any louder, your voice would shake and the tears would fall.

“That you like Chinese Fireballs? That’s easy. I’ve seen the way your face lights up when dragons come up and you’re the most passionate about them.”

You open your mouth, close it and open it again. “And it was never about Severus?”

“Never.”

“Then yes. You can plan a date and I’ll go with you.”

“Thank you. Thank you!” Sirius stands up, turns to leave but stops. “Saturday sound good?”

“Yes, Sirius. I’ll meet you in the bell tower.”

“Brilliant.”

---

You don’t tell Meredith nor Abby about your upcoming date with Sirius until Saturday morning. You knew that they would freak out and cause a scene. But when they see you getting ready, you can’t hide it anymore.

“Who are you getting all prettied up for, darling?” Meredith asks.

“I have a date. It’s no big deal.”

Abby perks up. “A date? With who? And why haven’t we heard of this before now?”

“Erm, it’s with Sirius…”

“Sirius? As in Sirius Black?” Abby asks.

You nod. You straighten your shirt and turn around.

“Yes. Do I look okay?”

“You’re actually going on a date with Sirius? After all this time? What changed?” Meredith asks, leaning forward from where she sits.

“I don’t know how to explain it. Something just shifted.”

You take one last look in the mirror before leaving your dorm. You go straight to the bell tower and you only have to wait a short time for Sirius to show up. You want to laugh at how excited he looks. Even with his wide smile, he still maintains an exceptionally suave look.

“You look absolutely lovely, Prince. Shall we start the best date of your life?” he asks, taking your hand in his and bringing it up to his lips kiss it.

“Best date of my life? Let’s see what you got.”

Still holding your hand, Sirius leads you out of the castle and off school grounds. You want to ask where he’s taking you, but you don’t. Something tells you that even if you had asked, Sirius wouldn’t have told you. This date is his. You know you have to trust him.

Eventually, you come to a clearing that overlooks a larger field. Down in the field are sheep, cows and puffskeins. Like when he had given you the dragon painting, your face lights up. All the animals look so peaceful and content as they exist in their individual herds. Sirius stands next to you, watching your reaction carefully.

“I figured we could eat lunch here and then if you wanted, go a little farther-” You look at Sirius with eyebrows raised. “There’s a hippogriff nest not too far from here. There’s usually a few flying around nearby if they aren’t in the actual nest. I thought you might like to see it.”

Your eyes widen, taking your expression from incredulous to wonder.

“There’s a hippogriff nest near here?”

“Magical creatures all around Hogwarts if you know where to look.”

You look back to the field below. It’s a truly serene sight. Sirius, however, can’t take his eyes off you and the way you’re looking across the field. He can tell that you don’t get out of the castle much to explore; you’re a Hogwarts and Hogsmeade girl. You’ve probably never stepped foot into the Forbidden Forest.

You don’t notice when Sirius disappears from your side until you hear the ttsss of a bottle opening. You spin around to see Sirius finish setting up a picnic with all of the fixings. He holds up a butterbeer for you to take. You make yourself comfortable on the blanket Sirius had spread on the ground and let Sirius make you a plate. Usually, you’d say you could make your own plate, but he is already putting all of your favorites on the plate. You didn’t consider that Sirius would know all of your favorite foods and desserts already.

“How am I doing so far?” he asks as he hands you the plate.

“No one’s ever taken me to see puffskeins or offered to show me a hippogriff nest. I mean, maybe if I asked Kettleburn, but…” You give Sirius a small smile. “This is nice. And the food looks amazing!”

He returns your smile with a brilliant grin, like he just won a massive trophy.

“You just have to ask the house elves nicely.” He takes a small sip of his butterbeer. “So how has your week been? Did you get that Potions assignment figured out?”

You did. You give Sirius a brief recap of your week, which was fairly uneventful. He listens intently, asking questions and responding politely in the correct places. When you ask him about his week, he delves into a detailed story about a prank he pulled with the boys that made a corridor unusable until Filch manages to clean it up.

When you finish eating, Sirius is quick to clean up the picnic. You offer to help but he turns you down. Then he takes your hand again and leads you down the path before veering off to the side. You gasp when you see it. The hippogriff nest. There’s a baby hippogriff resting with its mother and in the sky, a few more hippogriffs are circling.

“Merlin… this is… amazing…” you say breathlessly.

“Yeah,” he says in a voice just as soft as yours. “Better if we stay back. You know, they spook easily.”

“Yeah, I know. They’re just so magnificent.”

“Just like you.”

You blush, giving Sirius a shy look. He’s already looking at you like you’re the most precious thing on the planet. You’re certain that no one has ever looked at you like that before and it only makes your blush deepen. You stand in silence, staring at Sirius for a few moments, and then you look back at the hippogriffs. Your heart feels like it’s beating out of your chest, trying to escape. As you watch the hippogriffs for a while longer, Sirius can’t take his eyes off of you. He could watch you like his forever, he thinks.

Eventually, the two of you head back to the castle, Sirius’ hand intertwined with yours. He walks with you as far as the kitchens.

“I had fun, Sirius,” you say.

“I’m glad. I did too.” He pauses as he admires your face. “Maybe we can do it again sometime. Or something similar. Or completely different.”

“Another date. I… I think that’d be nice.”

Sirius brings your hand up to his face and kisses it again before gently letting it go and disappearing back up the stairs. You head into Hufflepuff Common Room. Meredith and Abby spot you immediately and run up to you, demanding details of the date. You obliged them with a giddy smile that you can’t wipe off, even if you tried. But you don’t want to. The date was sweet. Sirius was sweet.

It doesn’t take long for word to spread through the castle that you went on a date with Sirius. He has that effect. It also wasn’t like people didn’t see you leave and return to the castle holding hands with him, nor had people been ignorant to his flirting with you. Some people claimed that they called it; others were surprised that you finally said yes since you seemed so dead set on saying no each time.

Then there is Severus. He finds you in the library later in the week, after refusing to meet your eyes in classes. He’s fuming when he approaches the table you’re working at.

“Why the hell would you go on a date with him?” Severus snarls, placing his hands firmly on the table.

“Would you believe me if I said he asked nicely?” you reply, not looking up from your work. Severus had ignored you all week and this is how he says hello?

“Black is a horrible person. You know this. He has made my life a living hell!”

You sigh. “I don’t think he’s as bad as you think.”

“Y/N…”

“Don’t act like you’ve never done anything bad, Sev.”

“Nothing compared to what he’s done!”

“Do you remember Lily?” you ask, finally looking up at Severus and he recoils slightly at the expression on your face. “We used to be a trio. And now she barely talks to me because I remind her too much of you. You are not as innocent as you pretend to be.”

“Do not bring her up!”

“I’m just saying, Severus. He was a complete gentleman and I think he genuinely likes me. Merlin forbid I actually give him a chance.”

“He’s using you to get at me.”

“He says he isn’t.”

“And you believe him?”

“Yes! And whether you like it or not, I’ve agreed to go on another date with him. You can deal with it.”

Severus gives a humph before storming out of the library. You watch him go with a slightly frown, but you don’t go after him. He’s your cousin. He doesn’t get to decide who you date. Not when Sirius just took you on the perfect date.

tags: @navs-bhat, @bruxa0007

#marauders #marauders fic #marauder-misprint #sirius black #sirius black x reader #sirius black x you #sirius black fluff #request #hufflepuff!reader #Prince!reader

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jijournal · 25 days ago

Text

THE GREENHOUSE EFFECT | D.M

Summary: When you're paired with Draco Malfoy for Herbology, you expected eye-rolls and dead plants. But, you don’t expect that the most sudden pairings bloom the brightest.

wc: 1.7k+

cw: Hufflepuff!reader x draco. FLUFF! FLUFF! FLUFF!, a very pouty reader who loves and names her plants.

A/N: Alright you got me. I made up some of the plants mentioned cause I got lazy going through all the canon plants in hp. I LOVE LOVE LOVE HUFFLEPUFF!READERS! 💞

⊱ ─── ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ ─── ⊰

You’d witnessed many botanical tragedies during your years in Hogwarts’ greenhouses—Mandrakes shrieking their way into fainting fits, Puffapods misfiring into clouds of spores, even a Dungbomb incident involving a Fanged Geranium with a grudge and poor aim—but nothing, not even that, prepared you for the quiet devastation that was Draco Malfoy trying to care for magical plants.

“This one’s supposed to be droopy, right?” Draco asked one chilly morning, holding up a miserable-looking Flitterbloom, his face in lost confusion. The plant sagged from his gloved fingers like a limp dishcloth, the edges tinged with black rot, its once vibrant fronds now hanging as though in mourning.

Professor Sprout audibly gasped, pressing a hand to her chest. “No, Mr. Malfoy, it most certainly is not supposed to look like that! That poor dear is drowning in water it didn’t ask for!”

You bit down on your smile, valiantly trying not to laugh. You really did try. But the look on Draco’s face—offended, a little baffled, and thoroughly disgusted—was too much. Your shoulders shook with suppressed giggles, and Professor Sprout caught your eye with a hopeful glint.

“Y/N,” she said, a little too sweetly, “would you mind pairing up with Mr. Malfoy for the rest of the term? He could use someone with your… patience.”

You blinked, unsure whether you were being punished or knighted. “You want me to help him?”

“I don’t need help,” Draco snapped, standing straighter.

“You do,” you and Sprout said at the same time, your voices perfectly overlapped. Your eyes met. She looked vindicated. Draco looked betrayed.

And that was how you became Draco Malfoy’s unofficial plant handler.

⸻

You wore flowers like armor. Always. In your hair—violets carefully tucked into your braid, a daisy behind your ear, sprigs of baby's breath pinned like secrets. Your jumpers often had tiny embroidered petals curling down the sleeves or buttons shaped like blooming buds. When people asked, you just smiled like the flowers had chosen you that morning and not the other way around. Flowers were a part of you, just like freckles were a part of others.

“Is there a reason you always dress like a sentient meadow?” Draco asked once, squinting as you buttoned up a coat stitched with little yellow marigolds that seemed to flutter when you moved.

“It’s for luck,” you said serenely, smoothing a daffodil-shaped pin at your collar. “And it makes the plants feel at home.”

He stared like you’d just offered him a slice of moonlight for breakfast. “You think the plants care what you’re wearing?”

You tilted your head, genuinely perplexed. “You don’t?”

The first incident came swiftly. You’d barely begun working together when he attempted to nudge a Puffapod into blooming. One gentle poke was all it needed—delicate, respectful. Draco prodded it like it owed him an explanation, and it exploded in a soft-pink mushroom cloud of pollen.

You stood in stunned silence, covered in fuzz, bits of petal clinging to your braid like confetti. You tried not to pout. You really did. But you ended up cross-legged on the floor, mournfully collecting the petals and whispering soft apologies.

“She just needed patience,” you murmured, fingers brushing the frayed bloom. “A bit of kindness.”

Draco sneezed and looked utterly unconvinced. “It was a plant. Not a therapy client.”

“She had a name,” you said sharply, shooting him a glare. “Lulu.”

He gave you a flat look. “You named the Puffapod?”

You met his gaze with unflinching sincerity. “I would've told you her name if you didn't blow up her sister Lala earlier this year.

He sighed. "yeah... because plants have siblings."

The next week, he crushed a Bubotuber in a moment of casual irritation. One second he was ranting about someone stealing his socks, the next he squeezed the bulb like it had personally offended him. It responded by erupting in a burst of thick, greenish goo. Draco’s shriek of horror echoed off the greenhouse walls.

“You strangled her,” you said disappointed, trying not to frown as you dabbed away goo with a Moondew sprig.

“I barely touched it!”

“You manhandled her like she owed you money.”

“It attacked me!”

“She was terrified.”

He stumbled back, covered in yellow-green sludge. “Of what? My refined bone structure?”

You crouched next to the limp plant, wand raised, murmuring a soft charm. “Of being misunderstood. She’s very shy.”

Draco groaned. “Merlin help me. Not again.”

“She has a name,” you said firmly. “Matilda.”

“Of course she does.”

With a flick of your wand and a quiet word, Matilda shivered back to life, wiggling slightly in your palm. You leaned in and whispered something that made her glow faintly. She’d forgiven him. Barely.

“She’s a menace,” he muttered.

“She’s sensitive,” you corrected, stroking her stem.

Draco stared at you like he was trying to decide if this was some elaborate Hufflepuff prank. You smiled serenely and tucked a fallen blossom behind your ear.

By the fourth week, Draco had managed to offend a Flutterfern, enrage a Shrivelfig, and traumatize a Fanged Geranium into permanent wilt. The final straw came when he took pruning shears to a Venomous Tentacula like he was avenging a personal vendetta. It lashed out in protest, its tendrils flailing before curling in on themselves, whimpering.

You didn’t speak to him for the next twenty minutes.

Instead, you crouched beside the wounded plant, gently gathering its injured tendrils in your hands. You rocked slightly, whispering something ancient and low—more lullaby than incantation. Slowly, the Tentacula calmed. Its color returned in hesitant pulses. One vine curled around your wrist, tentative and grateful.

“You’ve got to be doing this on purpose,” Draco muttered from the other side of the greenhouse. “No one’s that bad at plants unless they’re cursed. Or a Gryffindor.”

You glanced up, your voice dry. “You think I’d hex my own greenhouse just to make you look bad?”

“Yes,” he said without hesitation. “With great pleasure.”

You dusted soil from your cheek with a dramatic flourish. “I’m petty, Malfoy. Not suicidal.”

He eyed you, then your boots. “You’ve got roses on your socks.”

“They’re embroidered,” you replied, lifting your foot slightly to show him. “Climbing roses. Very resilient. A bit clingy.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Like you?”

You grinned. “Like you.”

His ears turned pink.

The sixth time was different. He didn’t kill the plant. He merely terrified it.

A small Mandrake sat trembling on its roots while Draco hovered uncertainly nearby, brow furrowed, tongue between his teeth in sheer concentration, wondering how the hell did you manage to stop a mandrake from crying. You watched from a few feet away, arms crossed, trying not to interfere.

“If you’re going to loom like that,” Draco muttered, glancing sideways, “you might as well do it yourself.”

“I’m observing,” you said proudly. “You’re improving. That Mandrake hasn’t flinched in at least two minutes.”

“It keeps looking at me.”

“you mean, He. Well, duh he has eyes. Of course he's looking at you.”

“Judgmentally.”

“That’s a compliment,” you said. “He doesn’t usually acknowledge people he dislikes.”

Draco scowled, but the Mandrake remained intact. Which, for him, was practically a miracle. When he wasn’t looking, you snuck the plant a leaf treat. It quivered happily.

Later that afternoon, while you adjusted the angle of a sunlamp for your Asphodel, you sensed Draco stepping beside you. He didn’t say anything at first, just hovered—an odd, uncertain weight in the air. Then his voice came, softer than usual.

“You missed a spot.”

You turned, confused, just as he reached out. His thumb brushed a smudge of soil from your cheek, lingering a second too long. You froze.

The world narrowed. You forgot the cold, the damp, the faint buzzing of Pixie-flies overhead. For one suspended breath, it was just you, him, and the inch of air between your faces.

He cleared his throat abruptly and pulled his hand back. “You had… dirt. On your face.”

“Oh.” You touched the spot instinctively. “Thanks.”

He turned away, cheeks faintly pink. You didn’t say anything. Your heart was too loud.

⸻

All term, you’d been tending to a single Moonlily in the corner of Greenhouse Three. Once silver-bright, it had withered into something curled and gray, like it had forgotten what light felt like. Every class, you brought it a fresh blossom, whispered to it like an old friend. “I’m still here,” you told it. “Come back when you’re ready.”

Draco never asked about it. But he noticed. You caught him glancing at it when he thought you weren’t looking. Watching the way you cared.

And then came the last day of term.

Most students had left for the holidays. Snow pressed against the greenhouse windows, and frost dusted the vines in glittering white. You were alone, brushing a light dusting of ice from the soil, when you heard the sound of footsteps.

Draco.

He looked a little windblown, hair tousled, scarf half-untied. In one gloved hand, he held something fragile. Small. Pale.

A pot with a single marigold.

Its stem was crooked. Its petals trembled. But it was alive.

“I, uh… Professor Sprout helped,” he said quickly, almost defensive. “A bit. Mostly she just stopped me from killing it.”

You stared, lips parting. He shifted, awkward.

“It’s not perfect,” he said.

You reached out and took it gently, your fingers brushing his. The flower quivered in your palm like it knew who had grown it.

“It’s exquisite.” you whispered.

His shoulders sagged, some tightness easing in his jaw. “I... It reminded me of you. It's bright and... pretty. Very, pretty.”

You stepped closer.

“Thank you,” you murmured, voice thick with something you didn’t dare name. “I love it.”

And then, without thinking, you kissed him.

It was soft, tentative—dirt-smudged noses, cold fingers brushing warm cheeks, and the quiet, sweet hush of something just beginning. He tasted of peppermint tea and the kind of wonder that comes only after you’ve stopped pretending not to care.

Behind you, something stirred.

You turned as the Moonlily—the one you’d nurtured all term—gave a shiver, then slowly unfurled. Its silver petals caught the moonlight and glowed like a promise, blooming with the kind of gentle pride only magic, patience, and love can grow.

Draco stared, wide-eyed. “Was that... because of us?”

You clutched the flower he'd given you to your chest, heart fluttering. “She’s been waiting. I think... she felt it.”

He looked at you, the usual edge in his voice softened into awe. “You’re completely mad.”

You grinned, breathless. “You still think the plants don’t notice?”

And then, for the first time all term, Draco Malfoy laughed—really laughed. It spilled into the greenhouse like sunlight after rain, warm and unexpected.

“Fine,” he said, shaking his head. “Maybe they do.”

You reached up and tucked the crooked little flower he’d grown into your braid, letting it nestle behind your ear like it had always belonged there.

“Then they’ve clearly been paying more attention than you have.”

⊱ ─── ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ ─── ⊰

masterlist!

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desideriumwriter · 1 year ago

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Could you write something about Hufflepuff reader studying late in the library and she realizes she has to get back to her common room before curfew. As she’s walking back Fred finds her, walks her back to her common room while flirting and talking about random things. Just something sweet and cute. Thanks love 💗💗💗

this is suchhhhh an adorable idea!! a fun one to write too! tysm for the request!! <3

wc: 1.4k

f.w. masterlist | navi

The sun was still in the sky when you entered the library to study peacefully. Various classes had slapped you with an array of tests planned this week and you felt like a bundle of nerves.

So, you chose somewhere you knew there’d be no disturbances or noise to pull your attention from your books.

The sun had completely set now, the sky outside was black. You were probably one of the only people left in the library.

It was just you, several textbooks, notes sprawled across the desk you were sitting at, and the sound of the clock ticking.

You let out a heavy breath and flipped the page of your Potions textbook. Before beginning to read over the next section, you took a look at the clock on the wall.

9:47 PM.

You had less than fifteen minutes before curfew. Maybe you could finish this next page, maybe you could start heading back to your common room.

The walk back wasn’t terribly far, but you should probably start going now if you wanted to get there before the curfew bell rang.

Rubbing your eyes and gathering your things, you quietly began on your path back to your common room.

Turning the corner down one corridor, you ended up a bit behind a tall, ginger-haired, Gryffindor boy.

It didn’t take long for him to realize you were there, he looked behind him, looked back, then did a double take.

“Merlin, you scared me. I didn’t even notice you were behind me.” He halted.

“I know you.” You stopped and narrowed your eyes at the freckled boy.

“Me?” He pointed at himself, you nodded. “Is that a good thing?” He took a few tiny slow steps towards you.

“You're the one who set off all those fireworks off on the train home last year.” You stated, Fred winced.

Maybe it wasn’t a good thing. Most kids found that end of the year prank funny, until the express was stopped for nearly an hour.

“I’m one half of it.” Fred said, tilting his head to the side. “I’ve got a brother. We er…set them off together.” He explained when he noticed your puzzled staring.

He watched nervously as your face lit up in realization.

“The twins!” You pointed, “You both tried to put your names in the Goblet the other week!”

“Oh no, you heard about that too?” He let out a nervous laugh, hoping you wouldn't see the blush seeping across his cheeks.

Fred didn’t understand why he felt so flustered, he thought the incident was hilarious himself. But you were a stranger, a pretty stranger too.

“I witnessed it.” You tried to bite back any more laughter. “You had quite a mighty beard there.”

“Reckon it was better than Dumbledore's?” He brushed his fingers through his long hair.

“I’ll say you’ll be able to pull it off when you're a hundred years old.” You shrugged. “I’m assuming you’re Fred?” You guessed as you two began to walk side by side.

“I’m George.” He lied, no matter how many times he’s done it, he’s never got tired of pretending to be his twin just to mess with people. You nodded embarrassedly and looked at the ground, a twinge of guilt suddenly hit him.

“I’m kidding. I’m not George. I don’t know why I said that.” He stammered and shook his head, “You were right the first time. I am Fred.” You glanced back at him and gave him the sweetest smile. He felt like he could melt right into the floor.

“Well then, Fred, where are you coming back from?” You lifted your chin at him in a playful manner.

“Detention with Filch.” He sighed, you grimaced.

“Uck. Did they punish you because you tried to outsmart the age line?”

“Oh no, no. Being stuck in those stiff hospital beds felt like a punishment itself.” He scoffed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Anyways, I got caught trying to steal ingredients from Madam Pomfreys cabinets.”

“Oh?” You let out a breathy chuckle.

And what about you? Where are you coming back from

“Just the library, I have a test in Potions tomorrow. I decided I should just try and cram in whatever knowledge I could.” You cringed at the way you began to ramble. While pushing open one of the kitchen doors it was impossible to miss Freds large frame moving in front of you to hold it open for you.

“Shouldn’t you be getting back to the Gryffindor tower?” You said half-jokingly as you walked into the kitchen.

“I wanted to steal a pastry from here before I went there. Shouldn’t you be getting back to yours?” He poked.

“I am, I’ve been on my way back to the basement this entire time.” You crossed your arms playfully. His smile dropped and his brows knit together.

“Basement? Your dorm is in the basement?” Fred’s face scrunched up. You just let out a small mhm and nodded, pointing to the entrance hidden behind a stack of barrels at the end of the room.

He had to tilt his head a bit to the side to see the round door hiding behind the pile of wooden barrels.

“Seems a bit crummy to put a common room down there.” Fred said flatly, yet still looking displeased at the fact your dorms would be where the dungeons also are.

“I think it’s the coziest place in the entire castle.” You shrugged; Fred let out a small noise of disagreement.

“Eh, the Gryffindor tower is the coziest. We can put Hufflepuff as a not-very-close second, yeah?” He grinned at you.

“I say you’re wrong on that.” You hummed as you tried to bite back your smile, you failed.

“Yeah? You can come see for yourself! I’ll let you have a visit and see how wrong you are!” He teased, nudging at you with a playful sparkle in his eyes. You could feel your face heat up at how his voice sounded so much flirtier than a second ago. You just prayed he wouldn’t see it. To prevent him from seeing you in your blushing state, you swiftly stepped up to the barrels.

“Er, you should probably stand back a bit.” You pointed, Freds brows knit together in confusion as he looked at the ground and back up at you.

“It…sprays you if you get the code wrong, and there's already been a few times where I’ve messed up the pattern.” You explained, Fred only nodded and took a few steps back.

You tapped the barrels in the correct rhythm and stepped back once the door began to open slowly.

From the glimpse Fred got of the Hufflepuff common room, maybe you were right. The uncountable number of plants and warm glow of the room made it look like one of the most comforting places he’s ever seen.

“It was really nice talking to you.” You told Fred as you stepped inside. “Goodnight.”

"You said you had a test in potions tomorrow, right?" Fred pipped; you stopped the door from closing with your hand.

"Yeah, we have to make a certain one by memory."

“Perfect, I've got just the thing…” He said as he dug into one of his robe pockets. “If you're not sure you made yours correctly, try and sprinkle some of this in. It’ll help.” He pulled out an extremely small sack, filled with sparkly purple powder and dropped it into your hand.

“It won’t make my cauldron explode?” You teased, knowing of him and his twins' history of blowing up the school toilets.

“No, I wouldn’t do that to you. I promise.” Even with that little smile on his face, you could tell he was actually being truthful.

“Awesome, thanks.” You grinned again, looking down and beginning to move away from the door.

Fred called out your name one more time, blocking the door from closing with his foot.

“I’ll probably be back here tomorrow night, if you’d like to chat some more?” His voice had gotten so quiet, there was a hopeful glint in his eyes.

“Yeah, I’d like that. I’d really like that.” There you went again, with that sickeningly sweet smile. “‘Night, Fred.”

“‘Night.” Fred left the kitchen with a stomach full of fluttering butterflies and a grin on his face. He didn’t even bother to steal any pastries on the way out, he was too busy being excited for tomorrow night.

tell me what you thought!

#fred weasley #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley fic #fred weasley x fem!reader #fred weasley fanfic #fred weasley fluff #fred weasley blurb #fred weasley drabble #blurb #drabble #asks #requests #hufflepuff!reader #fred weasley x hufflepuff!reader #fem!reader

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riddlesrizzler · 3 months ago

Text

mattheo riddle x hufflepuff! reader

headcanons of mattheo with hufflepuff! reader warnings: lots of fluff! mentions of not liking hufflepuffs. smoking mentioned. smut. but like super gentle and fluffy first time. mattheo being a simp.

grumpy x sunshine vibe

𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘺𝘰𝘶 ��𝘦𝘦𝘵

mattheo riddle didn’t like people, scratch that, he doesn’t like people period. for the longest time he wouldn’t really make an effort with anyone unless they were in his inner circle of slytherin friends. he didn’t see a point to communicate with other houses. especially hufflepuffs.

he saw the yellow house as weak. something about their friendly attitude and the stupid smiles on their faces made him want to punch something and he often did.

but when he got in trouble for enchanting the mandrakes to storm the gryffindor tower at three in the morning, he was forced to help you take care of the magical creatures.

he didn’t know you, convinced himself that he was going to have a bad time. that nothing could be worse then spending the next two weeks with a hufflepuff of all people as he trudged his way down to hagrid’s hut.

but he seemed to feel his heart squeeze, like a snake had wrapped around it and started to compress the organ into two when he heard your laughter.

he cautiously made his way towards the hut only to see you cuddling a niffler. the sight of the tiny creature in your arms, a smile painted on your lips as you looked down at the niffler with such warmth made something in his brain snap.

“oh no”

literally mattheo had never met anyone like you. you were soft, sweet, a ball of sunshine wrapped into a beautiful package. he could often find himself asking the gods how on earth this angel had fallen from the heavens? and more importantly why wasn’t she scared of me?

mattheo was aware of his reputation of practically scaring the piss out of anyone if they looked at him for too long, but with you. oh with you, the sweet hufflepuff you were, you didn’t bat an eye at his last name or the bruises on his knuckles.

but you seemed to be this way with everyone. he had observed you in class, in the great hall, with your friends. his brown eyes followed every step that you took. watching as you turned to lend a hand to those who needed it, going out of your way to make someone smile, even to people who had casted you rude glances.

of course, it took some time for him to fully warm up to you. in some odd, backwards way, he was intimidated by you. but once he finally let down some of the walls he had managed to keep up, he found the dark corners of his soul starting to glow.

mattheo asked you out by staying up all night to bake cookies, just like the ones that you would make for him. only, he wasn’t very good at baking.

even with the help of theo, who had read the wrong ingredients. enzo, who kept eating the ingredients. draco, who kept getting confused by muggle baking. and blaise, who was rubbing is temples the entire time. the cookies still looked less than appetizing.

he expected you to throw them away, saying how gross they looked and that you never date someone like him. but when he saw the way that your eyes lit up at the gesture, your arms pulling him into a hug. he felt like he had finally had done something right.

𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘱

when you both officially started dating. he was extremely cautious. almost scared that he was going to shatter you with one wrong move. he was used to destroying things with his fingers. but he didn’t want to do that to you. in fact he felt the opposite, he wanted to protect you from the cruel and harsh world that he knew.

let’s face it, matty boy is going to be a little over protective and jealous at first, actually probably for forever, but he keeps it hidden. you’re the good thing in his life, his angel, his sunshine. if anything ever happened to your pure soul, mattheo would rip the world apart.

he would be really sweet about it though. always concerned for your safety. he almost had a heart attack when you were petting a dragon during care of magical creatures. but watching you in your element seemed to ease his nerves, for the most part.

“darling? can you take a step back from the dragon? oh for merlin’s sake- please?”

he would have a total soft spot for you too. his signature glare seemed to turn on as he grazed through the hallways, but once he spotted you. all of the tension melted from his muscles.

i also believe that he wouldn’t smoke around you either. whether it was because you hated the smell or the fact that you hated to see him poison his body, he tried to cut back for you. it was so hard to say no to you when you had those big puppy dog eyes and that pouty lip as you whined about his health.

and don’t get me started on all of the homemade gifts he has from you displayed in his room. sweet homemade cards littered his walls. the knitted scarf that you had made for him for his birthday, sat slung across his chair. the little plush snake that you had crocheted sat in the middle of his bed, after you insisted that it would get lonely if he put it anywhere else.

mattheo riddle was a total sap for you. he found himself liking the color yellow because it reminded him of you. he kept a picture of you in his wallet at all times. the lucky scrunchie you gave him before a big quidditch match was always on his wrist. mattheo was completely in love with you.

“i fucking love you, sunshine”

𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘹

when mattheo found out that you were a virgin. oh merlin. he was consumed with the most intense amount of anxiety as he didn’t want to hurt you, he didn’t want it to be bad either.

before you, mattheo was strict with his hookups. only used to relieve pent up frustrations. he couldn’t do that for you. never with you.

you had to reassure him multiple times when you were ready to give yourself to him. only for him to ask you a million times if you were absolutely sure about it.

when the time finally did come, and you were sprawled onto his bed. your hair fluttered around you and onto his pillow, you wearing a white lacy set that made you seem like an earth angel. the way you bit your lip and looked up at him through your lashes, could have supplied him with images for the rest of his life.

“oh how lucky to be in the presence of a goddess”

his touches were careful. he wanted to make sure you felt good. so he took his time sucking on your neck. finding the sensitive spots that made you moan louder.

his hands were shaky when he took off his own clothes. barely even registering the cool air as his eyes were glued onto you taking off your bra. mattheo bit his own lip in order to make sure he wasn’t drooling.

his rough and calloused hands running over your supple flesh before dipping his head down to kiss all over your skin. relishing in the glory when you arched up into his touch.

when the time had finally come where both of you were completely bare. he was gentle. whispering sweet nothings into your ear as he guided himself into you. he swears that he almost loses it when he feels you trying to adjust to him.

“fuck baby, you’re so tight. gonna make you feel so good”

he waited for your signal. when you nodded your head is only when he began to slowly move his hips. groaning when you’re nails dug into his shoulders.

your whimpers started to turn into moans, and you kept encouraging mattheo to give you more. to make you feel more. and mattheo was more than happy to oblige as his head was buried into the crook of your neck.

when he felt your thighs start to shake, your moans becoming louder, he knew you were close. he lifted his head to look at you. and my gods, mattheo swears he has never seen anything more beautiful then when you’re flushed, biting your lip, your eyes squeezed shut. it nearly draws him to the edge.

but of course, mattheo is a gentleman with you. so he makes sure you finish before he finally thrusts forward, slumping over slightly as the two of you try to catch your breath.

he makes sure to pull you into his arms. despite the fact that both of you are slightly sweaty, he wants to tell you how amazing you did and how prefect you are.

“angel, you did absolutely perfect. are you okay? how are your legs?”

you, a sweet hufflepuff, that mattheo had assumed he would’ve hated. had turned the great son of voldemort into mush. you were his great weakness, a light in the cold and dark world that he had once lived in. you were his everything.

“you are my only sunshine”

#mattheoxreader #mattheo x y/n #mattheo riddle x you #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle #my works #mattheo imagine #mattheo x you #mattheo oc #mattheo x oc #mattheo fluff #hufflepuff #hufflepuff!reader #slytherin boys #slytherin #slytherin aesthetic #harry potter #hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry

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fayedintoyou · 4 months ago

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can you make a pt 2 to lady may like your friends or someone else catches you and cedric kissing in the hallway and you have to get to your next class or to dinner or smth like that

strawberry wine

A/N: naturally this is the request to bring me out of writing hibernation. yes because i love my baby cedric. this serves as a second part to this, but it can also be read standalone!

Pairing: Cedric Diggory x Fem!Grumpy!Hufflepuff!Reader

Summary: No thing defines a man like love that makes him soft. 1.2k words

Warnings: fluff, established relationship, sunshine x grumpy, banter, two dumb idiots in lolololoove

You knew why someone like Cedric had been invited to this dinner, but as he drags you up to the sixth floor you can't help but wonder why someone like you might be. Especially with your fingers so tenderly laced together. Just right the way his pulse presses to yours.

What's a slug club anyway. Some gathering of generations of greatness. It makes sense that a name like Cedric Diggory would make the list: star Hufflepuff Seeker, Triwizard runner-up, not to mention a charmer even without a wand. But you'd been devising reasons why Slughorn might believe you'd go on to become some famous—or, perhaps infamous—witch.

"Quit fretting, you'll tire yourself out before the tea's served," Cedric coos, cresting the top of the stairs and tugging you close behind. He whips around suddenly with a dashing bright smile on his gentle face.

"I know," you grumble, "just can't help but... wonder? It sounds silly, but what if Slughorn made a mistake—"

"You're right, it does sound silly, so I'll spare you the embarrassment of continuing." He turns you round, whisking you into a nook along the hall on the way to the office where the dinner is to be held.

You gaze at him in the dim winter light, fighting a shiver when his fingers brush an eyelash from your cheek.

"If we run, we'll make it back to the dormitories before anyone notices," you whisper. You're all butterflies at the suggestion, knowing he'll be disappointed. He's only ever wanted what was best for you. And since you accepted his romantic pursuits, you've become his full-time responsibility.

"Or we can walk into that room, enjoy quiet conversation, and then leave having earned social connections and a few more people who know I'm yours entirely."

You roll your eyes, but your smile betrays you.

"You're so," you groan, grabbing his waist and snarling, "good! Can't you misbehave or act miserably or even speak poorly of someone just once?"

Just then, his eyes catch the light. A fleeting flicker, really. A rogue candle flame in the playful glint of his gaze, but you catch it, and he leans closer, caging you against the wall.

"Depends on your idea of misbehaving," he whispers.

"I've a sneaky feeling you have your own ideas, Diggory."

His heart flutters at the temptation in your voice, in your warmth, in your hands curled into his waist. Like the first time he ever kissed you, he leans close again, a hitch in his breath when his lips finally meet yours in a spark. From there, it's all muscle memory and the tandem beat of your hearts. He stops his hands from slipping any lower down your pretty dress. The same one he zipped up the curve of your back not an hour ago.

What he'd give to misbehave like that. Here. In the face of responsibility and important arrangements. To misbehave for your sake, just because you begged. Asked, really, but he'd drop everything just the same if it was only a vague suggestion. If he could somehow read your mind, he'd bend to your every whim and you'd never have to utter a word.

In losing track of himself, he sighs. Right into the softness of your mouth because he knows you know how he likes your fingers twisted in his soft, chestnut hair. You do just that and grin when he grows noisy like you knew he would.

"Hello?" A curious, soprano voice calls from the stairwell.

"Shit," you hiss. You pull away when his resilience won't let him, the butt of your skull meeting the hard stone with a thud. "Ow."

"Are you hurt?" he whispers, ushering you further into the cranny and cradling your head in his palm. Your fingers hold his wrist and you chuckle at the sheen of his wet mouth in the firelight. He presses his sure palm to your lips to muffle the raucous sound. "Merlin's Beard, you've gone loopy. I'll heal you with a kiss!"

"Is someone there?" The voice whines again.

His lips only serve to make you cackle harder into the darkness, it's no help that he's grinning now, too. If that voice belongs to a ghoul or a vengeful spirit, they'll have to answer to your wrath before they're allowed to pass. Though, as of now, your wrath is characterized by a fit of giggles and sighs at the mercy of his mouth.

Footsteps clack down the hall, nearing your compromising position in the dark. The sound rings in your ears until you're forced to press him deeper into the nook, leaving yourself exposed to the soft light save for your arm, which he is lovingly latched to.

"Oh!" The girl warbles, taking a step back when she finally sees you. "It's you."

You recognize her as Ginny Weasley, you'd opposed her many times on the pitch. She looks fairly put together. Lovely, you suppose, not scowling or drenched in sweat the way most Quidditch games end. You're not so sure you have the same effect, dizzy and flustered as you are. Cedric's fingers squeeze yours from his place in the shadows.

"Yes, It's me!" you chirp, "Here I am!" It's like some spirit has possessed you. Some spirit under heavy influence of recreational drugs and endless confections maybe.

"Right," she says, nodding awkwardly and peering into the darkness behind you which traces his fingers over your knuckles and bows to kiss each one. You ought to smack the darkness upside the head for his thorough display of misbehavior. "We should probably go inside, or we'll be late."

"Oh, Merlin—must've lost track of time. I'll catch you inside, I just have something I need to..." you sigh, wiggling your hand out of his featherlight grip and perching it on your hip "I'll just be a minute."

"Alright. I'll let them know you're just...?"

"Getting fresh air!"

"Getting fresh air. Right," Ginny says, backing away towards the office door with a tight-lipped smile. Once the door bangs shut again, you draw Cedric into the light with a scowl to rival hellfire.

It makes his tummy turn with excitement. Makes him feel boyish and fresh and giddy. He can't decide whether he'd like to ravish you or let you ravish him. Either way, he's lucky like shiny pennies or rain on your wedding day. Which reminds him, but that's a story for another day. His soul is solidly and irrevocably tethered to yours whether you accept a metal band on your finger or not. Another day.

"Diggory!" you shout, and he catches your hand as it flies toward his shoulder. He's smiling, laughing at your expense. You think you ought to punish his awfully handsome face with some sort of kiss. An eye for an eye, as they say.

"Getting fresh air? Is that really the first thing that came to your mind?" he says through his laughter, drawing you in by the hips, “I think I should tell you now that the nearest window is at the complete opposite end of the hall!"

"If only I hadn't been distracted—"

But you're bested again by his large, warm hands spread across your lower back. And his smile tempting you. He could get anything he ever wanted with that kind of smile, drawn up at the corners and dimpling his rosy cheeks. Curse him and the tiny flakes of gold flowing through his bloodline.

"You were saying?"

"Nothing! We're late," you mutter, face hot and fingers tight as he's dragged across the way to the door. And as the heavy hinges squeal open, he thinks he'd like to misbehave for you more often so long as you'd string him along forever.

masterlist

#cedric diggory #cedric diggory x female reader #cedric diggory x fem!reader #cedric diggory fluff #cedric diggory x reader #cedric diggory fanfiction #cedric diggory fanfic #fluff #fanfic #hp universe #x reader #x female reader #x fem!reader #fanfiction #x hufflepuff!reader #hufflepuff!reader

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sheeple · 10 months ago

Text

Heirs of Hogwarts Masterlist

Genre(s): Nuisance to Lovers / Fake dating / Fluff / No Voldy au Fandom(s): Harry Potter Pairing(s): Mattheo Riddle x Hufflepuff!Reader Summary: After finding out your (now ex)boyfriend cheated on you with the girl he told you not to worry about, you decide to get into a fake relationship with the kid of another founder of Hogwarts. What could go wrong? Warning(s): Matt beats up a bitch / some foul language / smut in the last part🤷🏻‍♀️ [Masterlist]

part 1 The plan gets formed

part 2 The plan gets executed

part 3 The plan works a bit too well

part 4 The plan... what plan?

Taglist is CLOSED

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highreevess · 3 years ago

Note

Omg I loved what u wrote about rafe but I'm currently in love with tom riddle again. Can you write a smut (or fluff whatever u like) about a popular!Hufflepuff reader (or whatever house u like) with tom trying to seduce her?

Of course! I'm going to write smut because, with Tom Riddle, fluff is pretty much nonexistent, but I will make the smut a bit softer than I usually would. Though Tom Riddle would never be sweet during honest sex, he would be if he was trying to seduce someone.

My Tutor

Warnings: Underage sex (Tom and reader are seventeen), seduction, manipulation, sub!reader unprotected sex.

Summary: Reader is at risk of failing her potions class, and she has to ace her next test in order to pass the class. She thinks that getting a perfect score on her next test is impossible, but when a certain dark-haired Slytherin offers his aid, she finds hope. What she doesn't know is that Tom Riddle is not helping her because he wants her to pass the class. He is helping her because he has been looking for an opportunity to seduce her for months. And when he finds it, he takes it.

Word count: 3,871

Sighing, I set down my graded essay and cross my arms over my chest.

"What's wrong, Y/N?" my classmate, Abraxas, asks.

"I failed," I sigh. I was studying for this potions essay for two weeks. I spent every night and day researching everything there is to know about potions, and yet I still failed.

"It's just one essay. You'll make it up," Abraxas says, dismissing my feelings about failing the paper as something unimportant.

"It's not just one essay," I tell him. "I'm barely passing potions. If I don't ace my next test, I'm going to fail the class." Though my grades are literally perfect in every other class, in this one, they are downright awful.

"I could always tutor you," a sudden voice says. Turning my head to the left, I see Tom Riddle standing above me, his hands clasped behind his back. Eyebrows furrowing, I ask, "Why would you offer?" Though I am quite liked throughout the school by most of the students and staff, there are still some people that do not like me. Tom Riddle is one of those people.

"You said you were at high risk of failing. If I tutor you, you will pass," he answers simply, as if I am stupid for asking my question.

For a moment, I think about denying his offer because I know how calculating and manipulative Tom Riddle can be when it suits him, but if I don't take him up on his offer, I am going to fail. Tom Riddle is top of the class, meaning there is no one better. If I want to pass, I need him.

"When can you tutor me?" I ask.

"Tonight," he answers, and my eyes widen. "Are you sure?" I ask. I hadn't expected him to offer to tutor me so soon.

"The test is in one week. If you wish to pass, we should start as soon as possible," he tells me.

I glance back at Abraxas, who just shrugs his shoulders and silently encourages me to take Tom Riddle up on his offer.

Swallowing, I look back at Tom Riddle. "Okay. Where?"

"The room of requirement after hours. Eleven to be precise," he answers before turning around and walking away. He heads toward the back of the library before disappearing behind a tall bookshelf.

I turn back to Abraxas and admit, "I don't know how I feel about being alone with him after hours."

"He's not going to hurt you," Abraxas assures, but even he knows that isn't something he can promise. Though I have never personally seen Tom Riddle cause harm to someone, I hear the rumors murmured throughout the school. I hear the rumors of him terrifying first-years and casting the imperius curse on sixth-years. I hear the rumors of him casting the cruciatus curse on those who have failed the tasks he has given them.

He has never been caught, but he has turned seventeen. That means the trace is no longer on him. The only way to prove that he used one of the unforgivable curses is to have a witness, and there are never witnesses.

"If his intentions were honest, he wouldn't want to meet alone after hours," I mumble, looking down at my potions essay.

"He can't kill you in the school, Y/N. You're worrying for nothing," Abraxas says, dismissing my thoughts.

"Am I?" I retort, meeting the fair-haired wizard's gaze.

He ignores my concerns yet again because he knows they are valid. Instead of arguing with me, he just says, "Do you have a choice?"

At his words, my gaze travels down to my potions essay, which is marked in dozens of places in bright red ink.

Swallowing, I answer, "No."

*****************************************************

Making my way down the large hallways of the school, I quickly head toward the room of requirement. It is just before eleven at night, but professors and other staff are often awake at this time. It's risky for me to leave my common room after hours.

But as Abraxas reminded me earlier today in the library, I do not have a choice.

When I come across a small corridor with a spiral staircase made of stone, I take it, heading upward until I get to the seventh floor of the large castle.

Once I step off of the staircase, I make my way to the corridor on the floor on the left. Once there, I make my way forward until I come across a wall made of stone with nothing on it.

I stand in front of the wall for a few moments, and eventually, a wooden door appears in front of me. I swallow and intake a deep breath before walking forward and opening the door.

I make my way into the room of requirement and see Tom Riddle standing just a few feet away from me, his hands clasped promptly behind his back. To the right of him is a rectangular table with two chairs on opposite sides. To the left of him is a large fireplace made of gray stone. Within the stone fireplace are a few green logs, crackling because of the green fire burning them.

"You came," he announces, his eyes narrowed as if he did not expect me to.

"I didn't really have a choice," I admit.

"We all have a choice."

His words cause my mouth to gape slightly because I don't know what to say to that.

Clearing my throat, I ask, "Shall we start?"

He nods and glances at the table he stands next to.

Taking the hint, I walk over to the table and pull out the chair on my side before taking a seat in it. He, however, does not do the same. Instead, he continues standing next to me, not even a foot away. "I have reviewed your most recent essay. You struggle most with the fundamental elements of each ingredient within a potion. You struggle with explaining how these ingredients make a certain potion when mixed together."

He takes a step closer to me, and I find myself swallowing at the action. He stands only two inches away from me—close enough for me to smell his cologne, close enough for me to feel his shadows.

"We shall work on that first," he says, and I give a curt nod.

His hand reaches out, and he grabs a piece of parchment with neat notes written on it in the finest of cursive—no doubt written by Tom himself. He wouldn't settle for notes written by anyone other than himself.

"I'm going to ask a series of questions. You are going to answer them," he says, leaving little room for argument.

"What is Aconite used for?" he asks.

"It's used in the Wolfsbane Potion and Wideye Potion," I answer.

"That's not what I asked."

"Yes, it was," I argue.

"I asked what it is used for, not what it is used in," he tells me, and I roll my eyes.

"What's the difference?"

"This is what I mean," he tells me, "you're misunderstanding the questions asked on tests and misunderstanding the prompts on essays. You know the material. You are just misunderstanding what is asked of you."

"Then, how do I fix that?" I ask.

"First, I want you to try to answer these questions," he says, grabbing a piece of parchment from the stack of papers on the table I'm sitting at. He brings it in front of me and says, "Read the questions and answer them. Really read them. Now that you know what your problem is, you may be able to fix it without my help. Give it a try."

Though I don't think I will be able to do what he thinks I can, I nod my head and turn my attention to the paper in front of me. On it is a series of hand-written questions written in the darkest of ink.

I look for a quill on the table, but when I don't find one, I turn to Tom. I see him holding a quill and an inkpot. He hands the quill to me and sets the golden pot of ink down on the table, a few inches away from my paper.

I mumble words of thanks before dipping the quill he gave me into the ink pot and casting my gaze on the paper in front of me once more.

I begin to read over the questions and prompts on the paper, double and triple-checking the questions before bringing the end of the quill to the paper and writing down an answer. I then check the questions again and my answers again before moving on to the next one.

Tom, though silent and uninterrupting, stands right next to me, distracting me even though he does not mean to. He watches me as I answer the questions he has written down, his blue eyes narrowed in observance.

After about ten minutes of answering the questions on Tom Riddle's "quiz," I feel Tom Riddle shift. He moves so that he stands behind me instead of next to me before leaning over.

Turning his head so that his mouth is close to my ear, he whispers, "Reread number seven." The coolness of his breath against my skin causes goosebumps to break out all over my body, but I try my best to ignore them. I give him a curt nod before redirecting my gaze to the seventh question on the parchment. I reread it and see that I misread the question when I answered it a minute ago.

I dip my quill back into the inkpot before crossing out my written answer and writing a new one. Once I do, I set my quill down and wait for Tom Riddle to either tell me to try again or tell me that I got it right.

"Very good," he whispers into my ear, his deep voice causing my body to wrack with a small shiver.

He seems to notice this because he tilts his head and says, "Am I making you nervous?"

I swallow and shake my head, scared that my voice will betray me if I choose to give him a verbal answer.

I see Tom Riddle's eyes narrow out of the corner of my eye.

Tom Riddle moves his hand toward the table and gently grabs my hand, his index and middle fingers gently pressing into the underside of my wrist. "Then why is your heart racing?" he asks, and my eyes widen when I realize he has hold of my wrist to check my pulse.

He leans closer, and his eyes drop down to my chest, which is only covered by a thin, yellow top. "Why are you breathing so heavily?"

Swallowing, I try my best to scoot away from him, but with one of his hands gripping the back of my chair, it's impossible.

"There's no need to move away, Y/N," he says, letting go of my wrist. His now unoccupied hand goes to my hair. He tucks a lock of it behind my ear, and a small breath escapes my lips.

Leaning in, he whispers lowly into my ear, "There's no need to ignore what you want."

My body wracks with yet another shiver, and I mentally curse myself for it.

"Tom, we should be studying—"

"Is that really how you want to spend your time with me?" he asks, cutting me off. "Do you really want to spend your time with me learning potion formulas instead of allowing me to give you the pleasure you seek?"

A small gasp escapes my lips at his words, and the corner of his lips kicks up. Holding my gaze, he moves his hand. He moves it downward until it hovers just above my breasts. He lets it hover there for a moment before grabbing the top button of my yellow top and undoing it.

When I make no move to stop him or push him away, he undoes the second button, then the third, and the fourth.

Only when he gets to the last button of my top do I realize what he is doing. I quickly shove myself away from him and stand up from my chair. "We can't," I tell him, intaking deep breaths because I wasn't breathing at all a moment ago.

"Why not?" he asks, tilting his head.

Swallowing, I shake my head again and avoid answering his question. My cheeks are inflamed with heat, and I'm afraid that if I answer him, I will either give him an answer that he knows is a lie or an answer that is the truth, which is the very last thing I want.

Tom Riddle takes a step forward. "Are you afraid I'm going to hurt you?" Though I would love to say yes, I can't because I know that it would be a lie.

And he would know it too.

So, I shake my head.

"Then what are you afraid of?" he asks, taking another step forward. He stands only half a foot away from me now, and it makes me take a step backward.

"I'm not afraid," I assure. "I'm simply not interested."

His head tilts, and he takes another step forward. And then another. He keeps moving closer to me until he backs me up against the stone wall behind me. Once he has, he brings his hand up to my face and thumbs my bottom lip. "Give me a real answer, and I'll leave you alone."

After a few moments of silence, his gaze drops from my eyes to my lips. He begins to stroke my bottom lip with his thumb, his eyes fixed on the movement.

Suddenly, he parts my mouth and sticks his thumb inside. My lips close around his finger on instinct, and he notices this with a smirk. "You can lie to yourself all you want," he tells me, tucking another lock of hair behind my ear with his free hand, "but you can't lie to me."

He removes his thumb from my mouth before surging forward, pressing his lips to mine. My eyes widen at the action, but all it takes is the sweep of his tongue against my lips for me to lean into the kiss. My eyes flutter closed, and I return the kiss.

Tom's large hands go to my top, and he undoes the very last button before pulling the top off of me, leaving me in only a black corset. Breaking the kiss, he grabs my shoulders and turns me around. He gently pushes my front against the cold wall in front of me before grabbing the laces of my corset. He quickly unties the corset while leaving kisses on my shoulders and neck.

Once he peels the corset from my body, he turns me around so that I am facing him.

My torso and breasts are hit by the coldness of the air, and a small gasp escapes my lips. I quickly cover my breasts with my hands, but he pulls my hands away and says, "Don't you dare."

"Tom—"

My words are cut off when he grabs my arm and spins both of us around. He then grabs my waist in his large hands and lifts me up. He sets me down on a cold, hard surface, and I don't realize that I am on top of a table until I look down and see the wood.

When I look back at Tom Riddle, I do not find him standing in front of me anymore.

I find him on his knees.

"Has someone given you an orgasm before?" he asks, and my mouth parts in a gasp.

"I'll take that as a no," he says, grabbing my thighs with his cold hands. He gently spreads them before saying, "Lift your hips for me, little witch."

I obey on instinct, and he grabs the end of my Hufflepuff uniform skirt before pulling it down until it reaches my ankles. He then pulls it off and tosses it somewhere in the room.

Though the frigid air around me makes me try to close my thighs, Tom Riddle makes it impossible. He keeps my thighs open with his powerful hands.

"Have you ever been with someone before?" he asks, and I swallow before nodding in answer. "One," I whisper.

"And he didn't make you cum?" he asks, and I swallow before shaking my head.

"Pity," he says, teasing my clothed pussy with his index finger. "A beautiful witch such as yourself shouldn't be left unsatisfied." My cheeks heat at his words, and he notices this with a widening of his smirk.

"Tell me, have you ever touched yourself?" he asks, and I nod.

"And did you cum?" he asks. I hesitate for a moment before shaking my head.

Narrowing his eyes, he asks, "Have you ever had an orgasm?"

My cheeks heat yet again, but this time it isn't because of lust; it's because of embarrassment.

"There's nothing to be ashamed about, Y/N," he tells me, moving my panties to the side so that my pussy is exposed to him. He trails his index finger up my slit until it brushes over my clit, and my hips involuntarily buck against him.

Leaning in, he blows on my exposed clit, and a breath of air passes my lips. "Tom," I beg, but I don't know what for.

"Do you want me to touch you?" he asks, and I nod. Though I know that I shouldn't be doing this with him, the need to have him touch me overpowers all the warning bells going off in my mind.

"I need words, Y/N."

"Touch me please," I beg, and he obliges immediately. He presses his index finger against my clit and begins rubbing tight circles into it. "You have all of these stressful things weighing on you and no way to relax," he says, teasing my entrance with his middle finger. "Such a pity," he tells me, sliding his middle finger inside of me.

"Tom," I breathe, bucking my hips against him. "More." I don't want to rush him or boss him around, but I need more. I need him to make me cum.

"Such a greedy little thing," he chides, removing his finger from me. My eyes widen at the loss, and I open my mouth to tell him to touch me again, but he shushes me by speaking first. "I'll give you what you want, Y/N. Don't worry."

I watch him as he undoes his belt and tosses it to the floor beneath him. The metal of his buckle hits the stone floor with a loud noise that causes me to flinch slightly.

He seems to notice my flinch because he says, "Don't be afraid. I won't hurt you." Leaning forward, he presses another kiss on my lips, which I return in less than a millisecond.

My hands go to his slacks, which I quickly unzip. He steps out of them before pushing me down onto the table so that I am lying on it. "Hold on to me," he tells me, and my eyebrows furrow in confusion. Seeing my confusion, he says, "Trust me. You'll want to hold on."

Though I do not understand why he is telling me to hold on to him, I obey and grab onto his large arms.

That's when I feel it.

Something hard touches my core, and I look up at Tom's face when I realize that it is his cock. "Tom—"

"Trust me, little witch," he breathes, pushing the head of his cock into me. I gasp when I feel how thick it is, and my nails involuntarily dig into the flesh of his large arms.

"Shh," he says, bringing his hand up to my face. He strokes my cheek with his thumb as he gently continues to push inside of me. "It will feel good in a moment. Just hold on."

Though the sheer size of him pains me, his words cause me to nod my head and close my eyes tightly as I wait for the pain to subside.

Slowly and gently, he works his way inside of me, stroking my cheek and whispering words of encouragement as he does. Once he finally bottoms out, he whispers, "Are you okay?"

Though I am still in some pain, I nod my head, and he begins to slowly move.

I keep my hands on his biceps so I can hold onto him, and he seems to notice because he moves one of his arms so he can reach between my legs. He moves his fingers until he finds my clit, and once he does, he begins to rub tight circles into it.

The feeling of him rubbing tight circles into my clit causes me to relax around him, and I find myself allowing my eyes to flutter closed, in pleasure this time; not pain.

Wiggling my hips, I try to get him to rub my clit faster, but he doesn't. He rubs slow, tight circles into me, and it makes me whine in frustration.

I see him tilt his head, a wicked smirk forming on his pale face. "Tell me what you want," he says, continuing to circle my clit and fuck me at an agonizingly slow pace.

"Faster," I breathe, hoping he will understand what I mean.

He does.

He circles my clit faster and begins to gently pick up the pace of his thrusts.

Though I have touched myself before and have been touched by others, it has never felt like this. His touches are so skilled, and it makes me whine in pleasure.

I feel something coiling low in my stomach, and my eyes widen. "Tom," I say, my voice shaky. "Tom, I feel something weird—"

"Shh," he says. "Don't fight it. Just let go."

"Tom—"

"Trust me," he says as he continues rubbing my clit and thrusting into me.

The feeling in my lower stomach intensifies as he continues fucking me, and eventually, I am hit with an overwhelming feeling of pleasure. My eyes flutter closed, and my mouth parts in a quiet moan as pleasure takes me. "Oh, God," I whimper.

Tom Riddle's thrusts begin to quicken, and my eyes open when I feel it. I look up at Tom Riddle and see him with his bottom lip caught between his teeth.

He begins to fuck me at a hard, fast pace, and though I am very sensitive because of the orgasm I just had, I don't object to his roughness. Instead, I watch as a rapture of pleasure overtakes his features.

I feel him pull out of me, and a second later, I feel something squirt onto my stomach.

When his eyes open, he looks down at me. "You're never going to be satisfied by someone else again."

He gets off of me before helping me off of the table. He then grabs my skirt and allows me to step into it. He pulls it up before grabbing the rest of my clothes and helping me dress. Once I'm fully dressed, he puts his clothes on as well.

"You need more tutoring. Meet me here again tomorrow night."

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multi-fandom-imagine · 5 months ago

Text

𝐍𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞 𝐋𝐨𝐧𝐠bottom & 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐈𝐧𝐜𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐄𝐧𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐕𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬

A/n: would be happy to post a whole smut fic of anyone wants it

Neville Longbottom was a gentlemen.

He was raised to be respectful, patient and Considerate - especially when it came to you, the woman he adored with every fiber of his being.

Which is why is he fully expected your first time with him to be soft and delicate filled with sweet whispers and slow kisses.

He had not, under any circumstances expected it to involve sentient, enchanted vines pinning him to a bed.

Yet, here you two were....and Neville Longbottom was not prepared for this.

It Started Innocently Enough…

You two had been spending the evening together in the greenhouse, where you where tending to some magical flora, completely in your element.

Neville, utterly smitten, had spent the last hour watching you work, your hair falling over your shoulders, the light from the enchanted lanterns giving you an almost ethereal glow.

And when you had finally turned to him, smiling, brushing a bit of dirt off you cheek—

He kissed you.

Soft...Sweet....At first.

Until you wrapped your arms around his neck, pressed your body against his, and suddenly—

The dynamic shifted.

Because you kissed back differently.

Not shy. Not hesitant. But knowing.

Deliberate.

And when Neville’s back bumped against the wooden post of the greenhouse, and you took that moment to flip the positions—

Neville had the sudden, horrifying realization that you were in control.

Which was confirmed when you murmured, in that soft, deceptively sweet voice—

“Let me take care of you, Nev.”

Neville, blinking rapidly, tried to say something intelligent.

All that came out was:

“Oh—oh.”

The Vines. Oh, Merlin, the Vines.

Neville had been so focused on you—your lips, your hands, the way you looked at him like he was the only thing in the world—that he hadn’t even noticed the vines creeping along the greenhouse floor.

Not until they suddenly curled around his wrists, pinning them to the wooden post behind him.

Neville’s brain short-circuited.

“Y/n—?”

You tilted your head, smiling innocently. “Mmm?”

Neville tugged against the enchanted vines, realizing very quickly that they weren’t going anywhere.

“You—you tied me up?”

You, trailed your fingers down his chest, completely unbothered, hummed. “They’re just a little enchanted. You’ll be fine.”

Neville, mouth opening and closing like a fish, stared at you.

Y/n, soft, sweet Y/n—

Had tied him up.

With sentient plants.

Neville, voice slightly higher-pitched than usual, muttered, “Y/n, if you don’t let me go, I swear—”

You leant in, brushing your lips against his jaw.

Neville forgot how to breathe.

“Hmm?” You whispered, barely touching him, teasing.

And that was the moment Neville realized he was doomed.

Later, as Neville lay there, completely wrecked, staring at the ceiling, he slowly turned his head to look at you.

Who, of course, was curled against his chest, looking perfectly content.

Neville blinked.

“Y/m?”

“Mmm?”

A pause.

“…How long have you known you could do that?”

You smirked against his skin.

“Oh, I’ve always known.”

Neville groaned, dragging a hand over his face.

“Oh, Merlin help me.”

Tracing a small pattern to his chest you glanced up at him. "Did you like it."

Voice, still rough, mind still in a fog he slowly nodded his head. "I did."

"Good."

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carpentvrs · 11 months ago

Text

DREAMY EYES

pairing :: james potter x fem!reader (implied girly!reader)

warnings :: mentions of getting laid (no smut), fluff!! please mind that english isn’t my first language. 1.5k words

james was truly smitten. he couldn’t not ogle at you at any given moment, heart eyes following you around every single room or corridor, sighs of pure admiration leaving his lungs whenever you would talk to him at breakfast or lunch while his head rested on his hand, dreamy eyes trying to catch yours.

but who was to blame him? you were just so pretty, your hair swaying lightly as you rushed to class, your hand accidentally brushing his as you stepped past him.

„why the rush, darling?“ he asked, keeping up with your pace as well as he could, still tired from last night which had lasted longer than it should’ve; peter, remus, sirius and him too busy sneaking around the castle and setting up shenanigans to sleep. at least there wasn’t ever a single day of boredom with them in the castle.

butterflies erupted in your stomach at the nickname, but you tried to suppress it the best you could. he managed to fluster you with his little pet names everytime without exception, and every yet so small sliver of hope you would get from them, you’d kill off. you’d go mad, otherwise.

„i’m hurrying to class james,“ you smiled at him, „and i think you should be too.“, grabbing his arm to pull him with you. you couldn’t see the way he blushed at your action, and he was glad. it was embarrassing how in love with you he was, considering the amount of attention other boys were giving you.

he could understand, obviously. it was already hard to not fall for your looks, but the fact your bubbly and inviting personality was just as perfect? how could anybody not fall for that? he was sure the sole reason remus and sirius saw you as only a friend was because they knew how enamored with you he was.

but you didn’t know. „he’s just a very sweet and nice person“ was what you said to lily when she asked you about it. you liked him, no question. but you saw the way he would flirt with other girls at parties and in hogsmead, occasionally winking at them even though lily and you were walking just next to him. so to you, he was just a friend, even though you would easily smother him in kisses if he ever just bought you flowers or opened doors for only you like the other stupid guys always did, not only as a friendly gesture but as something more.

you realized he wouldn’t, so there was no point in waiting for him. instead, while he was busy chatting with different girls at parties, you were seated in a quiet corner, talking to your girlfriends and having a drink or two yourself, dancing with guys here and there if they asked you nicely and sometimes, if they were being very polite, you’d give them a tiny kiss on the cheek and a little wave before getting another butterbeer and walking back to your friends once again.

that was probably what made you so irresistible, the fact you would never go as far as even giving a little peck on the lips while other girls were ready to go back to the dorm with said guys. you weren’t one to judge, neither the girls nor the boys, they could do whatever they want, it wasn’t your business. and if they wanted to get laid and got the chance, why not do it? just not with you.

however, they thought you were playing hard to get on purpose, and who wouldn’t be up for a challenge when it’s about a girl like you?

but even when every guys’ head turned to look at you whenever you entered the room, you didn’t care. you didn’t even notice, you were just living in the moment, deeply into the meaningful - or sometimes meaningless - banter with your friends, not a single care in the world.

well, for some reason one nerve of yours always got very terribly struck whenever you would lift your head only to see james‘ hand steadied on some other gryffindor‘s back. „whatever“ was what you always thought, head turning back to whoever was talking right now.

and it didn’t take long for james to leave your mind, at least until you were laid down on your bed at three in the morning where james would haunt your mind in ways you wouldn’t dare to say out loud.

„you got a date for the party today yet?“ he asked, trying to sound as nonchalant as he possibly could. „i prefer to go with my friends, as you already know.“

„well, we are friends, no?“

„class starts in a few, we can talk later.“ you said to him, avoiding his eyes as you made your way over to lily who was already sitting at your usual place in the charm‘s classroom, her hands immediately going to fix the little ribbon in your hair when you sat down to her right. she must’ve seen that you were in a rush just a few seconds ago, and the confused look on your face didn’t go unnoticed either. „what’s up with you, you look-“

„james just asked me on a ‚date‘, i think“ you stated, but it came out rather like a question while you knitted your eyebrows in a puzzled manner.

„well, i told you before he has a thing for you“

„but i don’t believe it“

„why not? it’s basically written on his face that he’s head over heels for you“

you were just about to reply, a look of disapproval already plastered on your face, but got interrupted by the professor. after the lesson the topic was already forgotten, lily and you talking about what you were going to wear tonight rather than the, to you very ridiculous, james situation.

it wasn’t until the party, which you attended hand in hand with lily, that james and you began to talk again. you were just about to get yourself another firewhiskey shot when he appeared right next to you at the small bar counter.

„how come you always reject when you get asked out?“

the question caught you off guard. he wasn’t the first to ask you that question, but you’ve never felt so called out after someone interrogated like that. your eyes widened slightly and you nervously bit your lip. what were you supposed to answer? „i realized i don’t have a chance with you so i gave up on relationships completely“?

„i just don’t want to date someone i don’t like like that, i guess.”

it wasn’t a lie, after all. you could just simply wait until the feelings faded, and then maybe you would be open for something new. until then, you would just have to keep on pretending like your feelings towards him did not exist.

„i suppose you don’t like me, then?“

„what?“

„you rejected me too today, didn’t you?“

you were startled by his questions, and suddenly it felt like it was just you two in this actually very crowded common room, the air around you feeling tighter and more stifling than usual.

„do you like me, james? like, like-like me? because everybody’s been telling me but i feel like i’m going crazy because i like-like you but you keep flirting with other girls and you wink and wave at them and you put your arms around them and i hate that but i don’t want things between us to be weird because i don’t want to lose you as a friend eith-“ you stumbled over your words in hurry, every nerve of yours spinning and pulling and you could feel your own face heat up.

“you like me?”

“i- uh- i asked first!” your heard was racing and you hoped to merlin that he felt the same way and you didn’t just make a fool out of yourself, confessing to a guy who doesn’t even see you like that.

he didn’t exactly answer the question, but he showed you.

his eyes were full of appreciation as he leaned down to you, gently caressing your face as he pressed his lips against yours. and finally, you felt at peace with your own feelings. your lips continued to move in sync until you heard a few claps behind you which broke you apart. when you turned around, you found sirius winking at you and lily eyeing you with a proud look on her face.

it was only when you faced james again that you saw the way he actually looked at you all this time, with his head resting on his hand, dreamy eyes trying to catch yours.

“of course i like-like you, how could i not?”

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moonstruckme · 2 years ago

Note

James Potter x Reader where reader is in a different house (Hufflepuff if you don’t mind) and she ends up on the receiving end of one of their pranks which makes her angry so she avoids James and the other marauders, forcing him to grovel/beg for forgiveness? Thank you so much xoxo

Hi, thanks for your request! This got a bit long haha, but I enjoyed writing it and hope you enjoy reading :)

cw: mentions of blood

James Potter x Hufflepuff!reader ♡ 1.8k words

Though no one tells him it’s happening, Remus sees the prank coming from a mile away.

Primarily, this is because James and Sirius appear to be playing an entirely ordinary game of frisbee. Just tossing it back and forth, no hexes or nifflers or anything. A simple pastime between two boys on a lovely warm afternoon.

Secondly, they haven’t asked Remus to join them. While they know from experience he’s content to read his book in the grass, they always make a point to ask just to be sure Remus doesn’t feel excluded. The fact that they haven’t suggests that they’re well aware that whatever they’re up to, Remus will want no part in it.

Lastly and most importantly, James Potter has the worst poker face Remus has ever known.

When the curly-haired boy slyly drops the frisbee they’ve been using into his bag, trading it for another, he can hardly keep the giddiness from his face. Which is probably why, when he tosses it well away from his companion and towards a crowd of gathered students, Sirius is the one who has to say, with theatrical volume and distress, “Merlin, can somebody grab that?”

Remus watches warily as several students turn to track the progress of the disk as it sails overhead, and after a moment one breaks away, chasing after it. Remus feels a pang of sympathy for you, your yellow and black scarf flying behind you as you run, needing no further evidence than the eager look in James’ eyes to know that you’ve fallen for a trap.

You jump up to grab it out of the air, beaming in triumph for a moment before a yelp escapes you. You fling your catch to the ground, cradling your hand as the fanged frisbee twitches and snarls at your feet.

“Shit,” he hears Sirius breathe, and the excitement is gone from his and James’ expressions as they jog over to you, Remus standing to follow them.

You pick your head up as they approach, eyes wet but fierce.

“What the hell?” you snarl, and Remus realizes with a stab of concern that there’s a small puddle of blood forming in your palm. “You’ve begun targeting your stupid pranks at anyone who’s dumb enough to help you now? How’s that funny?”

Remus looks at his friends in bewilderment, aggrieved on your behalf but unable to believe they’d do something so cruel. The fanged frisbee—a cheap trick, which really should be banned in Remus’ opinion—twitches closer to your ankle, and Sirius flicks his wand at it, its teeth retracting as it goes silent and motionless.

“We…I charmed it so its teeth would be dull and harmless.” James scrubs a hand through his hair, at a loss. “It was only supposed to scare you, not hurt you.”

You shake your head at him disbelievingly and bite your lip, face reddening as the pain sets in. James steps closer to you, blocking you from view of the small crowd of gawking students, none of whom, Remus notes with some bitterness, have come to help you or see if you’re okay.

“I’m really sorry,” James says softly. “Let me help.” But when he reaches for your hand, you step back, holding it close to your chest.

“Just leave me out of your fun in the future, yeah?” you hiss, stalking inside.

James looks pained as he watches you go, and though Remus doesn’t begrudge you your justified anger, he feels for his good-natured friend. It had been an honest mistake, though the cost turned out to be far higher than either of his friends had expected. But knowing James, he’ll find some way to make it right.

“Sorry, mate. They can’t all be winners.” Sirius claps him on the back, and Remus knows his light tone is more to make James feel better than it is true carelessness. Sirius is loyal that way; he’d probably lock you in a broom closet rather than have you upset James again.

“It wasn’t meant to hurt anyone,” James says quietly.

Sirius’ smile is unfaltering, though Remus spies the worry in his eyes. “She’ll get over it. C’mon, there’s still time to go into Hogsmeade if we hurry.”

And though Remus hopes you’ll feel better soon, he knows it will take James a long time to get over it himself.

James shuffles from foot to foot, feeling silly and anxious as he waits for someone to leave the Hufflepuff dorms so he can go inside. He’s fairly sure you’re supposed to have potions together, but you hadn’t shown up to class, and though James had kept an eye out all day in the hallways, he’d never spotted you. He’d thought he’d caught a glimpse of you in the great hall during lunch, but you’d darted out of sight before he could be sure, and then there’d been no sign of you at dinner. Luckily, it had only taken a quick consultation of the map he shared with his friends to find out that you’d holed up in the Hufflepuff common room, so here he was, draped in his invisibility cloak and fidgeting like a nervous date at your front door.

The door creaks open, and James slips in before it can shut, the exiting Hufflepuff shivering slightly at the breeze he makes whisking by them. It’s not difficult to spot you where you’re sitting painting your nails, lips pursed just slightly in concentration. The common room is mostly empty as other students enjoy the nice weather outside, and James is grateful for the privacy as he takes off the cloak and goes to sit beside your feet where they’re stretched out on the couch.

You look up at the intrusion and startle to find James, pulling your feet closer to you reflexively. He hopes it’s an instinct to make room for him and not to protect yourself from him, though given recent events he could hardly blame you for the latter.

“What’re you—how did you get in here?” you ask, eyes darting between James and the door in bafflement.

Never mind that. “You weren’t at dinner,” James says, holding out his small stolen dish of chicken curry, “so I thought you might be hungry. Sorry, it’s barely warm now.”

You take it from him suspiciously, careful of your wet nails, and James feels a stab of guilt at the sight of your bandaged hand.

“I’m really sorry about yesterday,” he goes on, throat burning with shame. “I know I’ve already said it, but it was supposed to be harmless. I wasn’t careful enough.”

You don’t look at him, not rejecting his apology but not quite accepting it either. “Pomphrey fixed it good as new anyways, so we can just say it never happened.”

James appreciates the attempt to ease his conscience, but your kindness only makes him feel that much more villainous. This would be so simple if you were one of those pureblood gits, or even just a bit ruder, but you’re you, and that’s so much worse.

“Can I see it?” he asks softly, and you hesitate only a moment before scooting a bit closer and extending your hand to him, palm up.

James unwraps the bandage with care, keeping one eye on your face to ensure he’s not hurting you, and so he notices the faint blush that colors your cheeks as he cradles your hand in his. The last layer of your dressing falls away, revealing three tiny white scars. Though they’re healed over, he hisses in sympathy, drawing your hand further towards him protectively but forgetting you’re attached to it.

Your inhale is soft as you lean forward awkwardly, and James huffs a laugh at his enduring idiocy. “Sorry, love,” he says, letting you lean back. He doesn’t let go of your hand, though. “Were they deep?”

You give a one-shouldered shrug, as though it’s nothing to you. James worries you’re putting on a performance of exaggerated blasé for his benefit. “They bled a lot, but a charm sealed them up quickly enough.”

James nods, remembering with sickening clarity the blood that had pooled in your palm and dripped from between your fingers.

“I’m glad,” James says, and it doesn’t feel like enough. Nothing feels like enough. But he can’t stop himself, even if it’s all inadequate. “I’m really sorry.”

You sigh, and James knows enough about you to guess that being upset is exhausting you. It isn’t in your nature; you’re someone who always has a kind word for everyone, who he’s seen lend your quill to a student that forgot theirs and offer them an understanding smile when they broke it, who would rather spend all day avoiding James than let him feel the wrath of your grudge.

Your very warranted grudge, by the way.

It’s terrible luck that someone as sweet as you was on the receiving end of his mistake. But, as you’d pointed out, that was how the prank was designed, wasn’t it? Though James and Sirius hadn’t thought that part through at the time, the victim was always going to be whoever stepped forward to help. Normally it might not matter, but they’d gotten so caught up in the excitement of trying out their new toy that James had somehow gotten the spell wrong. And as a result, you’d been forced to pay a price for your kindness and his incompetence.

“It’s okay,” you say.

“It’s not,” James insists. “And I can’t fix it, but let me do something else. I can do your potions’ homework for the rest of the year, I can give you my dessert every night, I can…I can sneak into Hogsmeade and bring you whatever you want, anytime you ask, I can…what?”

You’re smiling at him, and it’s familiarly lovely but, James can’t help but think, entirely undeserved.

“I don’t need any favors from you, James,” you say, and he realizes it’s the first time you’ve said his name. It’s not a long name, but somehow your voice gives it a cadence he quite likes. “Just be more careful, okay? I ended up fine, but next time someone might not.”

“There won’t be a next time,” he promises swiftly, and means it. “But sweetheart—” if he notices how you soften at the endearment, he doesn’t mention it “—you’ve gotta let me make it up to you somehow.”

You sigh again, though it’s lighter this time, seemingly both exasperated and amused by his persistence. After a moment spent within your own head, you ask, “Could you help me study for the potions exam next week?”

“Yes!” James grins eagerly. “Of course. That’s a start. How’s tomorrow after class? I’ll bring study snacks as well, and we can make it a regular thing, if you like.”

He’d like to make it a regular thing, debt or not.

You smile. “Tomorrow is perfect. And can I call in another favor right now?”

If James weren’t sitting, he’d buckle at the knees in relief. “Yes. I’m at your service.”

“Can you tell me how you got into the Hufflepuff common room?”

“That,” he says smoothly, “is just one in my arsenal of skills now at your disposal.”

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moontopuff · 7 months ago

Text

Summary: twins hear some nasty rumours about you, and don't like people talk like that about their favourite Hufflepuff.

Other: hurt/angst? I mean, group of students are gossiping about your relationship with twins in a nasty way... its mostly about twins reactions and their wave of protectiveness towards you.

The corridors of Hogwarts bustled with the usual energy, as Fred and George Weasley strolled through the hall, joking about their next prank. Their conversation slowly faded as they neared a group of Hufflepuff girls chattering animatedly just ahead.

They weren’t ones to eavesdrop, not random students, because their topics were usually just too boring. Still, when your name slipped into the conversation, both twins fell silent, instinctively tuning in. It wasn’t like they could help it when it was you they were talking about.

"…Right! And Ernie asked me to the ball yesterday, so I’m going too!" a blonde girl said excitedly, her voice carrying through the hall.

"Good for you, girlie!" her friend, a brunette, chimed in, clapping her on the shoulder. But then her tone shifted, quieter now. "And on the topic… Do you know if anybody asked (Y/N) to the ball yet?"

Fred and George slowed their pace, glancing at each other with smirks. Did somebody ask their favorite Hufflepuff yet? You didn't tell them anything, and if they will know thanks to gossip... Well, they will use it to tease you, for sure. That's why they stopped their walk, pretending to be interested in something else, while listening to conversation.

"I talked with that girl who is close to her, and I know that nope! And isn’t it kinda sad that nobody’s asked her to the ball yet?" another girl snickered.

"Yeah," the blonde one agreed, her voice softer but tinged with clear jealousy. "Especially since she’s always seen with the Weasley twins and Lee Jordan. I figured she’d be the first to have a date. She's close with them, after all."

"Exactly," the brunette chimed in, her eyes wide with faux innocence. "I mean, if she’s so close to the twins, how come neither of them wants to take her? I heard some Ravenclaw's talking that it's probably she’s… you know… giving it up to both of them, but they still don't want her, and thus she still can’t even get a proper date."

Weasley twins blinked in unison, too surprised to do more than that. That's... not what they were expecting to hear.

Fred woke up first and felt a wave of disgust wash over him, his hands balling into fists. George’s jaw clenched beside him, the tension building between them as they forced themselves to stay silent and listen.

"Yeah, like, that’s just pathetic," the blonde said, her voice turning mocking. "She’s hanging around them all the time, probably hooking up with both of them, and yet here she is, still dateless. That’s… well, kind of sad, don’t you think?"

A chorus of giggles followed, the sound hitting Fred and George like a slap in the face. The idea that anyone could think that they are spending time with you only for your body... That you were only their plaything, while that couldn't be more far from the truth. The fact that people believed it was happening and were laughing at you for it—made their blood boil.

"She’s probably desperate," one of the girls added, her tone casual but venomous, and that was the last thing twins' heard as the girls started walking away and their giggles finally faded into the distance. With that, the twins also resumed walking, not a world exchange between them, just cold silence. Neither of them spoke for a few moments, their minds racing with anger and guilt. You were their friend—someone they cared about deeply, and hearing people spread lies and cruel rumors about you left a bitter taste in their mouths.

"You think she’s heard any of this?" George asked quietly, his voice tinged with concern.

Fred’s frown deepened. "If she has, she hasn’t said a word. But Merlin, if she knew what they were saying…"

They both knew how kind and loyal you were—always trying to avoid conflict, always looking out for others. You weren’t the type to confront people, not unless it was absolutely necessary. You’d rather keep your head down, maybe even shrug off the rumors with a weak smile, even if they were cutting you deep inside. The thought of you, bashful and kind as always, hearing something like this made Fred’s stomach twist in knots.

"She doesn’t deserve this," George muttered, shaking his head.

Fred’s eyes narrowed, a flicker of determination sparking behind them. "We’ve got to do something. She shouldn’t have to deal with this rubbish."

George smirked slightly, though there was no humor in it. "Something big. Make sure everyone knows the truth without making her feel embarrassed about it."

Fred nodded, already hatching a plan in his mind. "Subtle enough that she won’t notice what we’re up to. But obvious enough that no one will ever believe those lies again."

They continued down the hall, their thoughts already racing ahead to what needed to be done. This wasn’t just about protecting you from gossip—this was about reminding everyone that you were worth far more than the cruel words of a few petty girls. That you were more than your body. You were loyal, hardworking, and kind, and anyone who thought less of you clearly didn’t know you at all.

"By the time we’re done," Fred said, a glint of mischief finally returning to his eyes, "she’ll have half of Hogwarts wishing they were her date to the ball."

George grinned, feeling the tension between them ease as they began to plot. "And we’ll make sure everyone knows she’s not someone to mess with."

Silently, they decided that you now, along with Ginny, are under his protection: who will do wrong to you, will do wrong to them, and thus, punishment will be given. They knew you could handle yourself, but why let you do that, when they could do it themselves, and spare you dealing with rubbish people? The twins walked off with renewed purpose, ready to set their plans in motion.

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bryan-writes · 8 months ago

Text

Green smoke and golden smiles— barty crouch jr x reader

Summary: you find yourself at a Gryffindor party, celebrating with Lily and the marauders on a win against Slytherin. Barty decides to crash it, prank the Gryffindors and steal you away to get to know you.

Hufflepuff reader, fluff, Barty calls reader darling and my lady, super cute!

Credit to @strangergraphics-archive for the lovely dividers :)

The Gryffindor common room was alive in a way that only followed a narrow victory against Slytherin. Laughter and voices bounced off the stone walls, and red and gold streamers, charmed to burst into mini-fireworks, spiraled across the ceiling in dizzying loops. Near the bar, which boasted an impressive line-up of Butterbeer, Firewhiskey, and an alarming amount of snacks, Lily Evans was chatting animatedly with you, the token Hufflepuff in the crowd. Your easygoing friendship with Lily had opened doors you’d never anticipated, including one straight into the rowdy, reckless world of the Gryffindors.

You couldn’t help but smile as you glanced around, feeling a familiar, comfortable warmth. James was being his usual self, arm slung around Lily’s shoulders as he tried and failed to impress her with exaggerated retellings of his quidditch heroics. Sirius was close by, grinning and tossing popcorn into Peter’s mouth like it was some kind of game, while Remus sat on the sofa next to you, watching them with a faintly amused smile, occasionally chuckling at your comments and sipping a warm mug of Butterbeer. You were surrounded by friends, wrapped in warmth and cheer, and yet there was something gnawing at the edge of your mind— a sense that tonight wasn’t going to stay peaceful for long.

In the back of your head, you could practically hear the gears of fate turning. After all, a win this close against Slytherin? They wouldn’t let a game this hard fought go without consequence.

And that’s when it happened. The Gryffindor portrait door burst open, the fat lady yelling obscenities as Barty Crouch Jr. strolled in, looking like he had every right to be there. With his classic lopsided grin, he paused at the threshold, one brow arched as he scanned the room with a gaze sharp enough to unsettle even the most stalwart lion. Trailing behind him were a small group of his Slytherin friends, each wearing expressions that ranged from smug to wary as they took in the Gryffindor revelry.

A hush fell over the crowd for a heartbeat. Then, true to Gryffindor form, James leaned toward Sirius with a snort, whispering just loud enough for you to hear, “Since when does Crouch drop by without hexing someone first?”

Sirius grinned, nudging him back. “Just give it a minute.”

Barty, meanwhile, held up his hands, that smirk never leaving his face. “Evening, Gryffindors!” He announced, voice effortlessly cutting through the chatter. “Thought I’d drop by to congratulate you lot on your narrow— and I mean narrow— victory today.”

A few students raised their Butterbeers, chuckling, though Lily rolled her eyes, muttering, “Oh, this should be good…”

He walked right up to her, bowing with an exaggerated flourish. “Lily Evans! Captain of this unruly pride of lions.” His grin widened and his eyes flitted around the group. “A spectacular game, truly. It’s Gryffindors like you who make these matches worth every bit of trouble”

“Oh, I’m sure that’s not all you’re here for,” Lily said, unimpressed but unable to hide her faint smile. Barty’s charm had an annoying way of creeping up on even the most suspicious of people.

You were trying not to laugh when he caught sight of you, and his expression shifted from playful to intrigued, his eyes narrowing just a bit as they took you in. Then, in one smooth motion, he turned from Lily and closed the space between you with a look of casual interest, leaning in just close enough to spark a thrill of excitement in your stomach.

“And who might you be, tucked away here among all these lions?” He asked, eyes gleaming.

“Y/N,” you replied, fighting to keep your tone neutral. “I’m here with Lily.”

”Y/N,” he repeated slowly, as if savoring it. “The one and only Hufflepuff in a den of Gryffindors. Fascinating. Tell me, darling, how does one of your gentle disposition find themselves here, surrounded by all this… ferocity?”

”Just lucky, I suppose,” you quipped, surprised at how easily the words came.

He let out a low chuckle, glancing at the marauders with an amused smirk before looking back at you. “You’re certainly braver than I’d have guessed,” he murmured, a spark of something playful in his eyes. “Though, I’d advise staying close. If I know Gryffindors, there’s bound to be some… retaliation.”

You raised a brow, feigning innocence. “Retaliation? For what?”

He leaned in, voice dropping to a whisper that sent a chill down your spine. “Oh, nothing too sinister. Just a little fog to set the mood.”

Before you could question him further, a loud pop echoed through the common room, and in an instant the space was filled with thick, swirling green mist, tinted in unmistakeable colors. There were shrieks and laughter as green fireworks began going off, Gryffindors stumbling blindly, coughing and waving their hands in front of their faces. Even the maraduers were caught off guard, fumbling around in the chaos, yelling and laughing as they tried to locate each other.

In the confusion, you felt a hand slip around yours, warm and steady. You didn’t need to see his face to know it was Barty. With a grin you couldn’t see but could practically feel, he pulled you through the haze and out into the hallway, leaving the chaos behind you.

Once outside, he turned to you, grinning as he gave a mock bow. “My lady, saved from the treacherous fog by none other than yours truly.”

You laughed, catching your breath, swatting at the green powder bound to stain your sweater. “Saved? You started that!”

”Perhaps,” he said, looking infuriatingly pleased with himself, “But you can’t deny I got you out in one piece, can you?”

”I suppose I can’t,” you admitted, unable to stop smiling. “Though, I have to admit, that was… well-executed.”

”I’m a man of many talents, what can I say?” He shrugged, as if leading a stealth operation into the Gryffindor common room was just another day for him. Then, his tone softened, though the mischievous light never left his eyes. “But tell me, Y/N… what are you doing here?”

You crossed your arms, pretending to scrutinize him. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to chat me up, Crouch.”

”Trying?” He raised an eyebrow, placing a hand over his heart. “You wound me. Here I thought I was doing a splendid job.”

You laughed, feeling a blush creep up at his confidence. “Maybe you are, just a little.”

”Only a little?” He asked, feigning disappointment. But he was smiling, that lopsided grin that could probably melt ice if it tried. “Well, that’s a start.”

He took a step closer, eyes flickering over you with a hint of genuine curiosity. “It’s not every day I meet someone who can handle a little chaos with such grace. Most would’ve hexed me by now.”

”Maybe I have a soft spot for chaos,” you teased, feeling bolder than usual.

“Oh, dangerous,” he murmured, eyes lighting up. “And here I thought Hufflepuff were all sweetness and sunshine.”

”Well, maybe we are,” you replied, unable to hold back a smile. “But we’re also more than people think.”

At that, he let out a laugh, warm and rich. “I’ll have to remember that.” Then, offering his arm with a wink, he leaned closer. “So, what do you say, darling? Feel like risking another adventure tonight?”

You glanced back toward the common room, where the Gryffindors were slowly recovering from the smoke bomb. The thought of slipping away into a night of spontaneity with Barty felt like a much better way to spend the rest of your evening.

Grinning, you looped your arm through his. “Alright, Crouch. Show me what you’ve got.”

With that, he led you down the hallway, the two of you walking in step as the night stretched out before you, filled with possibility, laughter, and just the right amount of trouble.

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jijournal · 2 months ago

Text

I SEE YOU | H.P

Summary: As a Muggle-born Hufflepuff, you were taught to always be kind—even when it hurt. Years of people-pleasing left you exhausted and invisible, until Harry Potter reminded you that your worth isn't tied to how much you give. Now, you're learning that kindness includes being kind to yourself too.

Word Count: 2.1k+

Warnings: Angst but a happy and comforting ending. Muggle-born!hufflepuff!reader x Harry Potter

A/N: Let's just say that I'm a people pleaser as well. Hope everyone loves this! 🫰

⊱ ─── ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ ─── ⊰

"Yes, I understand—he shouldn't have done that to you." "WHAT?! Aww, come here. You don’t deserve that." "Oh! Here, let me help you!"

Those were the kinds of words that always left your mouth. They slipped out so naturally, it was like breathing. Because as a Hufflepuff, everyone just expected you to be nice.

The nicest person, really—because that’s what your house is known for.

When you first walked through the towering doors of Hogwarts, wide-eyed and unsure, all the other kids your age were whispering about which house they might end up in.

Gryffindors were brave. Slytherins, cunning. Ravenclaws, smart. And Hufflepuffs? They were nice.

Nice. Kind. Generous. Gentle. Compassionate. Loving. Sympathetic. Every kind-hearted word you could think of, wrapped up in a yellow and black scarf.

As a Muggle-born with no real knowledge of the wizarding world, you followed the rules like they were gospel. So when the Sorting Hat placed you in Hufflepuff, you didn’t question it—you just assumed this was your role now.

Be nice. Always.

Even to the ones who didn’t deserve it. Even to the ones who made fun of you. Because your eleven-year-old self truly believed that’s what being a Hufflepuff meant.

You slipped into the role easily after a while. Too easily. You became the dependable one. The fixer. The one everyone turned to when they needed a kind word or someone to sit with.

You learned how to soothe others, even when you didn’t know how to soothe yourself.

You gave everyone your sympathy.

Everyone but you.

In short—you became a people pleaser. A pathological one.

You didn’t love it at first. But it grew on you, like a second skin. One you forgot how to take off.

It started your very first week at Hogwarts.

You and Susan Bones had only just become roommates. She was usually chatty, warm, always smiling—until that one evening when she returned to your dorm with red-rimmed eyes and trembling hands.

“Susan... What’s wrong?” you asked gently, startled by the change in her.

She didn’t answer right away. Just sat on the edge of her bed, staring at the crumpled letter in her hands.

Finally, in the smallest whisper: “It’s my mum. She sent a letter… My dad’s in St. Mungo’s right now.”

You blinked in surprise, your heart aching at the tremble in Susan's voice. You had only known her a few days, but the pain in her eyes struck something deep in you—like a string inside you had been plucked.

Without thinking, you moved across the room and wrapped your arms around her, gentle but firm.

“Oh, Susan… I’m so sorry,” you murmured, letting her cry quietly into your shoulder. “That must be so scary. Do you want to talk about it? Or… or maybe just sit here for a bit?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know what to do… What if he—what if he doesn't make it?”

You pulled away just enough to meet her eyes, brushing away a tear from her cheek with your sleeve. “Hey, listen to me. You’re not alone in this, okay? I’m right here. And I’ll stay right here as long as you need.”

Her bottom lip wobbled, and more tears spilled down her face. “You don’t have to—”

“I want to,” you cut in gently but firmly, your voice soft but steady. “You're my friend. And when my friends are hurting, I don’t just walk away.”

That night, you stayed up late with her, even after the lights went out. You whispered small jokes to make her smile, told her stories from your Muggle school days just to distract her for a while. You offered every piece of kindness you could find in yourself, until she fell asleep curled up in bed, breathing more evenly.

And that was the beginning.

From then on, it became second nature. A classmate tripped and fell? You were the first to rush over. Someone looked lost during a lesson? You offered your notes before they could even ask. A younger student cried in the hallway? You’d sit beside them until they could smile again.

Everyone saw you as the Hufflepuff stereotype—so sweet, so caring, so good.

But no one ever asked if you were okay.

No one ever noticed when you cried quietly into your pillow at night, wishing someone would see past the smile.

But that was okay… wasn’t it?

That’s just what Hufflepuffs were supposed to do.

Or at least, that’s what you believed.

It happened during your fourth year.

You were walking back to the common room late one evening when you spotted a first-year Slytherin huddled against the wall of an empty corridor, shoulders shaking with quiet sobs. You paused, the sight tugging at something deep inside you—the same ache that always stirred when someone was in pain.

Without hesitation, you approached him. Carefully, you lowered yourself into a crouch so you could meet his eyes, your voice soft with concern.

"Are you... okay?" you whispered gently, hoping to comfort him.

But instead of opening up, he looked at you with pure annoyance—like your presence was somehow making things worse. His expression twisted into a sneer.

"Does it look like I'm okay?" he snapped.

You flinched at his tone, caught off guard. “Oh! Well, no! No… of course not,” you stammered, unsure how to respond.

He rolled his red, tear-streaked eyes and scoffed. “What a dumb Mudblood, as expected.”

You gasped, stunned by his words. “Excuse you? That wasn’t a nice thing to say, young man.”

“Whatever, Mudblood. Stop trying to be perfect all the time. Get a life!” he shouted, then turned his back on you and stormed off, leaving you frozen in place.

You stood in the middle of the empty corridor for a long while after the boy had disappeared around the corner. His words echoed in your ears, sharp and cold like the breeze that sometimes blew through the castle's drafty halls.

“What a dumb Mudblood.” “Stop trying to be perfect all the time.” “Get a life.”

You swallowed hard. Your throat ached like you’d just been hexed, but there were no spells—just words. Words that cut deeper than any jinx ever could.

You wanted to scream. You wanted to cry. But instead, you just… stood there. Frozen. Because deep down, he had said the one thing you were too afraid to admit to yourself:

You were trying too hard.

You always had.

Trying to be nice. Trying to be good. Trying to be the Hufflepuff everyone expected. You convinced yourself it was the right thing to do, that being selfless and kind would make you worthy. That if you gave enough, if you were helpful enough, maybe people would like you. Maybe they’d keep you around.

Because what if… what if you stopped? What if you said no? What if you stopped offering your heart on a platter to everyone who walked past?

Would they still care?

Would anyone?

It was your fifth year when you joined Dumbledore’s Army.

Of course you did. The second Hermione mentioned it, your hand shot up. You were always the first to volunteer. Not because you were particularly brave or daring—but because it felt like your duty. Your unspoken job. Be the helper. Be the healer. Be the one people could rely on.

So when practice started, and people needed someone to test spells on—Disarming Charms, Stunning Spells, even minor hexes—you always stepped forward.

“I’ll do it.” “I’m fine!” “No really, it didn’t hurt!” "Try again—harder this time!"

Your voice became a script. Your smile, a mask. Your bruises—well hidden. You were covered in little aches and sore spots by the time the snow started falling outside.

But no one noticed. Because you were always okay. Always smiling. Always kind.

Until Harry did.

One evening during practice, when you got flung back by a particularly strong Stunning Spell from Ginny, you hit the ground hard. People laughed nervously, “Blimey, sorry! You alright?”

You sat up quickly, rubbing your shoulder with a tight smile. “I’m fine. Really—just a bit off balance.”

Everyone chuckled and moved on.

Except Harry.

He didn’t laugh.

Instead, he walked over quietly while the others paired off again. He knelt beside you as you tried to stand, gently placing a hand on your arm to steady you.

“You don’t have to keep doing this, you know,” he said, eyes searching your face. “You don’t have to let yourself get hurt just to be helpful.”

You blinked at him, startled. “I—I’m okay. Really. I don’t mind—”

“But I do,” he interrupted softly, but firmly. “I see how often you volunteer. I see the way you flinch sometimes when you think no one’s watching.”

Your throat tightened.

“I see you,” he said. “And I just… I think someone should remind you that your happiness matters too. That it's okay to put yourself first.”

You looked at him, eyes stinging suddenly.

Harry offered a crooked smile. “You’re allowed to take up space. You’re allowed to rest. You don’t have to earn love by setting yourself on fire to keep everyone else warm.”

You didn’t know what to say. For the first time in years, someone saw past the smile.

Saw you.

Really saw you.

And in that moment, something inside you cracked open—not broken, but healing. Slowly. Like sunlight through fog.

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak. But Harry just gave your hand a gentle squeeze.

And for once, you let yourself be comforted. Not because you had to… But because you needed to be.

You didn’t talk much the rest of that meeting. But Harry stayed close.

When practice ended and everyone began to pack up, you felt a strange pull in your chest—not quite sadness, not quite relief. Just… something new. Something that said maybe, just maybe, you were allowed to feel something other than helpful.

That night, back in your dormitory, you didn’t offer to help someone with their Potions essay. You didn’t give your last Chocolate Frog to a roommate who “needed a bit of cheering up.”

Instead, you lay in bed and thought about Harry’s words. Replayed them over and over again like a spell you were trying to master.

“You don’t have to earn love by setting yourself on fire to keep everyone else warm.”

You hadn’t realized how tired you were until then.

The next DA meeting, something changed.

When Hermione asked for volunteers to practice Stunning Spells again, your hand didn’t go up.

You braced yourself for the awkward silence, the disappointed looks, the "What’s-wrong-with-you?" stares.

But no one noticed. Not really. They just moved on.

And you sat down beside Harry, your arms wrapped around your knees, your heart pounding in your chest. Not from fear—but from freedom.

“You okay?” he asked quietly, nudging your shoulder.

You gave him a soft smile—real, this time. “Getting there.”

He smiled back. “That’s all anyone can ask.”

Over the next few weeks, you started changing in small, quiet ways.

You still offered to help—but only when you wanted to.

You started saying no when your heart wasn't in it.

You cried once, in the bathroom, when someone made a snide remark about Hufflepuffs being “just there to cheer the others on” but this time, you didn’t spiral into a need to prove them wrong.

You just let yourself feel, and that was enough.

You still wore the badge of kindness, but now it wasn’t armor—it was a choice.

And Harry? He stayed.

Sometimes you studied together in the common room. Sometimes you walked to DA meetings side by side, not saying much, just… existing together. Like he was quietly telling you: You matter. Even when you're not fixing things.

There was one evening near the end of the year, after a DA session, when he caught you lingering behind again, cleaning up parchment and putting away cushions.

“You don’t have to clean up every time, you know,” he said, teasing gently.

You grinned. “Old habits die hard.”

Then, more seriously: “But I’m learning. It’s… hard. I still feel like if I’m not helping someone, then maybe I’m not enough. Maybe I’m not worth liking.”

Harry looked at you with something soft in his eyes. Something kind.

“You’re not liked because you help. You’re liked because you’re you.”

You blinked. Your throat tightened again, but this time you didn’t push it down.

Instead, you let it rise.

“Thank you,” you whispered.

He nodded. “Anytime.”

And that’s where things started to shift. Not instantly. Not dramatically. But slowly.

You were still kind. Still a Hufflepuff. Still you.

But now, you were learning to be kind to yourself too.

⊱ ─── ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ ─── ⊰

masterlist!

#jiraen writes 🍃#harry potter #hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry #harry potter fluff #harry potter angst #light angst #harry potter heavy angst #angst #harry potter x reader #harry potter x you #hufflepuff!reader #muggle born!reader

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