Draco Malfoy X Reader

Draco Malfoy x Reader

❝He fits his fingers to her hips, and it feels like fourth year all over again. With frost clinging to her hair and petals falling from her lips and a kiss - sweet, sweet, sweet - pressing against the corner of his mouth because she’d missed his cheek, but he doesn’t believe that was an accident, no.

❝Not entirely. ❞

hey there! I absolutely adore your writing, you’re so amazing! You use so many descriptive words in your writing, and I was wondering if u had any suggestions to how I could get better with crafting metaphors and expanding my own vocabulary? Thank you 💛

oh, my! you are so sweet. it means a lot to me that you enjoy my writing so much you would send in this ask. 

the biggest thing that has helped me grow as a writer is reading. classic literature and poetry especially. my favorite authors are f. scott fitzgerald and jane austen. fitzgerald, in particular, uses the loveliest of words and metaphors in his stories. he paints the most vivid images in the reader’s mind. one cannot help but get lost within the pages of his words. i felt so mystified by the glitz and glamour of the great gatsby that i immediately purchased the rest of his works after reading it.

 i try not to read other writer’s works (here on tumblr) because it makes me question my own work. i then find myself comparing my writings to theirs, which is not healthy at all. as a writer, it can be difficult to not be critical of your own words, stories, and ideas. that’s one of the reasons i’ve gone so long without posting anything (that and several other personal reasons:)

i also recommend using a thesaurus. they come in handy when you simply cannot find the right words. i use mine, as well as thesaurus.com, on a daily basis. whenever i stumble upon a word i’ve never heard before, or am unsure of its meaning, i write it down and look it up.

i hope i was able to help you in some way. writing is an art and it takes time to find your voice. i look back on past stories i have written and am happy to see the progress i have made. however, there are parts i read that make me cringe, haha! i wish you the best of luck as you delve into the world of writing and sharing the stories that dwell inside your head. 

Just wanted to tell you that I loved Saccharine Sunshine and you are amazing at writing

you are the absolute sweetest for dropping this message into my inbox. it makes me so happy to hear you enjoyed that particular story. thank you so, so much for reading, darling! 

Holidays at Hogwarts ↠ Hufflepuff

You may belong in Hufflepuff

Where they are just and loyal

Those patient Hufflepuffs are true and unafraid of toil

Hii, I wanted to let you know that I binge read nearly all of your master list and oh my God let me tell you... I freaking fell in love with your writing style 😍 I fish I could write like that too, the words are just so.. Perfectly chosen and it's all becoming one so smoothly there's not an element that isn't fitting there. It kinda reminds me of reading a poems and I love those so lemme tell ya - you have a one big talent and I'm thankful you decided to share it with us ❤

oh, wow! darling, you made my entire day! seriously, thank you so, so much for this. it means the world to me to hear you enjoy something i love to do. you really are too kind ❤

Hi hello can I know about your dream date to the art museum?

We’re swimming in a Van Gogh daydream, in colors and acrylics and tear-stained canvases. All is still as we stroll through each room, hand in hand, in awe of the art as the art admires us.

The cuff of his navy blazer tickles the roadmap of my veins. A threadbare camera strap hangs languidly from his neck. I’m wearing my favorite burgundy combat boots, the ones with scuffed soles and frayed laces. He’s wearing a pair of battered Brogues, cognac and patent leather and a little worn around the toes. His footsteps reverberate off the walls, across my ribcage, through my veins.

After we’ve seen all there is to see indoors, we sit in the gardens and sketch the sculptures lining the walls. He uses the charcoal stub he always carries around in his pocket to capture the perpetual smile of an elegant stone statue. The day is sunny, sweet, and slow. Gritty saccharine and sticky honey melting down the slope of my shoulder blades. It’s not quite summer, but the season is near. The air is warm, but not quite parched. His lips are chapped, but taste like sugar.

We leave the museum, and he takes me to the park across the street. I packed a small picnic in my bag - cherries, strawberries, saltine crackers, cheese, a baguette from the baker’s, a bottle of San Pellegrino and a tin can full of the chocolate chip cookies I baked the other day for two minutes too long.

We’re living in a Monet reverie, in pastels and brushstrokes and blushing waterlilies.

And everything - his hands, his lips, his lazy grin - is bliss.