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chleem · 9 hours ago

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Flashing Lights #6

Series; actor Drew x actress reader

Summary: Drew gets involved in the worst scandal of his career. One way to solve it? Proving to the whole world that he’s the sweetest lover to exist. Who better to help than the one person he can’t stand? You, an A class actress with an alcohol addiction. So, will Drew clear up his reputation, or leave with a bigger mess to clean up?

Genre: fake dating, enemies to lovers(?, slow burn, angst, smut,

Warning: mentions of alcohol, swearing, mentions of k!lling oneself, mentions of rape & sa, mentions of drug usage, smoking & vaping,

⋆.˚ please dont copy my work, if inspired please tag me

⋆.˚ this is entirely fictional, if uncomfortable then don't read

♡⸝⸝ chapter5 | index | chapter7 soon!

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Mid-May 2024

It’s just you and Drew now.

Laura left after getting the two of you settled in this hotel room, explaining how your stylists would be here in less than an hour, Vogue coming over to film a getting-ready vlog.

You anxiously stand by the window, looking down to the city. It was beautiful; but your anxiety didn’t let you appreciate it. You wanted a smoke. A drink too.

The no-smoking sign on the table catches your eye, and you look at the ceiling. Smoking detectors were on it. Fuck. So, you reach for the alternative.

You pick the room cell up, typing the number to the lobby.

But Drew hangs it up, then grabs the cell from you. You look at him, pissed. “What? That was important,” you lie, but it was partially true, you needed alcohol to settle yourself.

“Really?,” he says, putting the cell back. He glares down at you, as if you stole his money or something. “I’m not letting you.”

You let his words hang in the air, sharp and defiant.

Instead, you reach for the room cell again.

Drew harshly grabs your wrist, which you immediately shake yourself out of. “Hey. What’s your fucking problem?” You ask impatiently.

“That’s what I should be asking,” he replies. After a few seconds, he talks again. “Why would you go out with him?”

Oh. So he’s asking about what happened last week.

It was nothing. You met Theo at the grand prix, who was surprisingly friendly. The two of you weren’t alone on the yacht; there was a small party before it. Theo and you just stayed longer, and the media made it seem like it was like that the whole night.

Of course, you were too drunk to remember the details of what happened when it was just the two of you, but from the pictures; yeah, it was really bad. Your PR team gave you a hard scolding for that, and even fines for breaking one of the terms on the contract.

You cross your arms, holding your head high. You didn’t do anything wrong; Drew’s intimidating stare won’t break you; nothing will. “I didn’t go out with him.”

“Does he know that?” His voice unable to hid the mockery behind them.

“Of course.” Lie. Maybe a lie.

“Y/n.”

“What? I can’t answer for him. But I know it wasn’t a date.”

“Right, two people of the opposite sex alone, on a yacht-“

“Not a date-“

“With wine, table candles, food-“

“Not a fucking date-“

“Touching each other? Smiling like he’s the funniest shit ever-“

“Fucking shut up, Drew,” you say, slightly louder than him. What he’s going on about, is just stupid. You already got scolded by the PR team, you didn’t need another person telling you you fucked up.

Drew does shut up, but only for a few seconds. “Fine, then what really happened, y/n? Tell me, tell me and I’ll believe it.”

You look at him.

“Why should I fucking tell you?”

The anger in your voice isn't just directed at him; it's a mix of frustration and confusion, the feeling that you shouldn't owe anyone an explanation, least of all him.

Drew’s eyebrows furrow even harder, his tongue poking against his cheek. You go on; ignoring how you’re filling up his anger meter. “All you need to fucking know is that it wasn’t a date. Fuck, why are you even talking to me about this? It’s not part of the contract, it’s not part of-“

“Contract?” He interrupts, looking at you in confusion and disbelief, as if your point of view was absolutely shit. “What does this have to do with-“

“That’s the whole reason you’re here-“

“What the fuck does the contract have to do-“

“Every fucking thing, Drew. The contract has everything to do with you being here. You don’t even care-“

“I do care,” he answers quickly, but you scoff. “Otherwise, I wouldn’t be talking to you-“

“Really? You do care? What do you care about?”

“You,” he exclaims, his features softening.

Bullshit. “Your fucking reputation, you mean?”

He shakes his head, a smile on his lips. You furrow your eyebrows, feeling pissed that he’s laughing. “What-“

“You’re unbelievable, y/n,” he starts, and suddenly, his aura feels cold, different from earlier when it was just pure anger. “Why can’t you just explain the situation to me? Huh?”

“I don’t want to,” you tell him, lowering your voice. No. You won’t- can’t tell him.

“Okay, because I might not care?” He asks, ignoring what you want to add on. “If I really didn’t, why would I ask?”

Drew’s blue eyes make you want to yield everything to him. There’s a bit of comfort in his eyes, behind all the anger, “because…because you’re just another co-star I meet. You don’t really care.”

You continue to stare into his eyes, challenging him to disagree.

“But I do.”

He says it so faintly, that it felt like the words were your hallucinations. But he did say it. Well, too bad you weren’t one to be swayed easily by words. “Stop lying, Drew. It just makes you look stupid.”

You brush past him and reach for the room cell. You needed like, five bottles of wine to move past this. To even survive the film festival later.

But Drew stops you yet again. “Let go of me,” you threaten, shrugging his hands off your wrist.

He doesn’t budge, even after saying it a second time.

“Why can’t you can’t understand basic shit?” You snap, finally shaking him off and putting the cellphone back.

If you knew your next insult towards him would end badly for you, you wouldn’t have said it. “You’re so insufferable to be around, you know that?”

Drew stares at you, furrowed eyebrows back in place.

What was he thinking of now? Thinking about a better insult? Thinking about all your flaws? It’s evident that he wants to say something mean about you.

“What? What were you going to say?” You ask, getting impatient. “Say it. I’m sure whatever you’re thinking, they have it worse for me.”

His lips form a small frown, but his eyes stay mean, staring down at you.

Okay. Now this was annoying. Suddenly, he doesn’t feel like talking?

“Do you need help forming it?” You tease, stepping closer to him. His eyes flicker fast to your lips, before back into your eyes. “Let me give you a few ideas. Druggie, coke-head, slut, oh, wait, BBC said something about me once. It was-“

“I don’t think of you that way.”

“Your face says otherwise.”

“You think of yourself that way.”

“What?” You scoff yet again.

“You could be so much better, y/n. But instead, you let yourself rot,” Woah, what is he talking about? “Always getting drunk, smoking your lungs out, and putting on this- this sloppy attitude. You give up on yourself when other people haven’t. Why- why the fuck would you do that? Y/n, why are you treating yourself this way?”

His words throw you off track. It’s the first time someone has said this type of stuff to you.

You swallow hard, your throat running dry. For the first time in a while, you feel exposed. His words hit you like a punch to the gut, unexpected and hard. You freeze, unsure of how to react, how to process what he’s saying.

“Why do you make yourself so insufferable?”

You want to hate him for making you feel this way, for making you feel like you're doing something wrong by existing this way. But you can’t. He’s right, isn’t he?

Even with the constant buzz stinging your mind, you still refuse to show weakness. You refuse to show that his words have impact on you. “No; you make me insufferable in your eyes. You hate me, you hate how I bring more trouble to you-“

“I don’t hate you-“

“You hate how you’re stuck in this situation with me, but you know that only I can help you out-“

“Maybe, but I realized-“

“You stick around and then act like you care-“

“How many times do I have to tell you I do care about you-“

“You’re just like the rest, Drew!” You yell over him. He shuts up, looking at you with furrowed brows. “The fame, the money, the people I can bring you, that’s what you care! You’re just waiting for your payoff. ”

The contract again. That fucking contract mentioned again.

You see his Adam’s apple move, his features softening.

The doorbell rings, probably the stylists. You look away from Drew, hugging yourself tight, to keep yourself together.

He brushes past you, going to open the door.

The crew starts filing in, talking and setting up like nothing’s wrong. The noise feels like a wall around you, a barrier between what just happened and the performance you have to put on.

You glance around. Drew’s gone.

He must've left.

——

You tried your best to make Drew’s words leave your mind.

You drank a bottle and smoked half a vape in a the last few hours while getting ready, and still, his words left a scar on you. You couldn’t believe yourself either, affected by Drew’s fake concern for you.

“Give it to me, y/n, we’re arriving.”

Laura’s talking about the vape in your hand. You take on last breath, before handing it over to her. “This dress is uncomfortable,” you comment while puffing out the smoke. This dress was very tight.

“You look beautiful,” Laura says, and a part of you wonders if she actually means it. “Now, the cast is already moving along the carpet, you’re the last one.”

“Where’s Drew?” You couldn’t help but ask, knowing that you only attended the Cannes’ film festival to be seen with him.

“Right… there,” she points out the window. You see Drew, in a black suit that matches your dress, signing and happily taking photos with fans. He looked… fine.

“Ready?” Laura asks, once the car stops.

It was your first time at the Cannes film festival. You’ve always declined because of your ‘schedule’, but really, it was because of your anxiety. The flashing lights, the disrespectful questions, and audience that have high expectations. These reasons are mainly why you’ve always declined award shows, festivals, or any kind of event that required you to interact with people. “Yeah,” you force out.

Laura opens the door, and steps out first. You take her hand when getting out, and while adjusting your dress, multiple cameras flash. The industry never changed, has it?

Once you’re done adjusting your dress, you smile at the cameras, waving at them nicely. The lights are blinding, but you’ve trained yourself to not flinch to them.

You walk down the red carpet, until you reach where Drew was. Of course he noticed you, all the photographers were shouting, hoping that you would stare at their cameras.

He says bye to fans, before walking over to you.

He doesn’t say anything to you, and you don’t either.

Drew simply takes your hand and puts it on his inner forearm. You purposely grip tight, hoping to cause physical pain to him.

The two of walk side by side until you reach the middle, stopping for photos to be taken.

Drew wraps his arm around your waist, standing closely to you. You pretend something is wrong with his collar, smiling while adjusting it. You meet his eyes, and you just smile even more; acting. He smiles at you too; acting.

Acting. Act. Act. Act.

He whispers in your ear, making sure to get close enough so photographers don’t catch his lips. “You smell like grapes.” Oh. His breath hits your neck, and you feel your goosebumps rise.

He moves away, looking at you lovingly; acting.

You pat his chest and smile at him lovingly; acting.

The photographers’ camera’s flash doesn’t stop, not even for a brief moment. All eager to capture every movement of this couple. Little did they know, while the both of you posed lovingly next to each other, hours ago a catastrophic fight happened.

After a few more seconds which felt like minutes, one of the staff informs you to move up the stairs, where your other cast members were waiting for you.

As you make your way toward the stairs, Drew’s hand hovers close to your lower waist, almost like a protective gesture. The warmth of his palm against your skin is an odd comfort, and for a moment, you forget everything else—the argument, the tension, the walls you’ve built up between you.

When you turn your back to the cameras, the weight of the moment hits you. The flashing lights and fake smiles are just a blur now. You face him, your words soft but certain. “You’re right.”

He blinks, taken aback, and lifts his hand, waiting for you to take it. “What?”

You meet his eyes, swallowing down the mess of emotions swirling inside. For a brief second, you think about pulling away, about keeping the distance. But instead, you take his hand, letting it slip into his.

You raise the hem of your dress slightly, your steps becoming more deliberate as you climb the stairs. “You’re right,” you repeat, your voice steady, almost as if saying it out loud makes it real. “About everything.”

"Y/n, why are you treating yourself this way?"

“But, the industry shaped me to be this way. I don’t know any other way,” you confess, looking at the stairs while saying this.

The two of you reach where your co-stars were, and you let go of his hand.

The director of this movie, which is about the working class in the 1800s, makes space for you in the middle, urging you to stand next to him.

It was the director’s first work, so he was very eager to have his main leads stand next to him. Not only that, but because of your performance in this film, today, it was nominated for numerous categories.

You do, and smile at the camera with the director’s arm around you.

“I thought you wouldn’t come,” the male lead, whispers to you, a smile on for the photos. “You never come.”

“This one’s special,” you reply, referring to Drew.

He must’ve thought you were talking about the movie, “good thing I persuaded you to take the role.”

The flashing continues, but the staff informs that it was time to head inside. You turn around expecting Drew to wait at the top for you, but he wasn’t.

You hide your disappointment, seeing your co-star offer his hand. “I believe we’re sitting together?”

“Yes,” you smile, taking his hand.

The two of you walked up the stairs with the rest of the crew, and into the main venue.

——

The standing ovation lasted around ten minutes. Yet, felt like eternity.

The sound of clapping fills the room, surrounding you, and for once, it’s not just noise. It’s recognition. It’s validation.

It felt…extraordinary. Like something out of a dream. You couldn’t believe how many you’ve missed out on. You want to soak it all in, to savor the moment, but a part of you can’t help but wish you weren’t alone in it.

Your co-stars would stare or blow kisses at their loved ones, whispering thank you to them. But you? No one. Not even your ‘boyfriend’, who was gone from the start of the night.

Even when going up to receive awards, you wished you had someone special to dedicate your speeches or awards to. Or someone you could lock eyes with in the crowd.

You had no one.

Drew was still gone, and you soon realized, he was gone the entire night.

——

You push through the door, finally getting it open after multiple tries.

You immediately fall to the ground, your legs and arms giving up. You laugh, still a bit drunk even after sleeping in the car.

“Where were you?”

Your blurry eyes squint at the source, and you see Drew. He’s sitting on the couch, half naked and hair still wet. “I should be asking you that,” you smile, the alcohol in your veins making it hard to control your features. “I missed you.”

It wasn’t you talking; obviously the alcohol talking. Drew knew that, because he walks over and stands in front of you. “Where’ve you been?”

You look down at his toes. They’re funny. “Hey, your toes are-“

“Where the fuck did you go?” He asks more firmly this time.

You look up at him. His jaw is tight, brows furrowed in something between concern and irritation. But all you can feel is the burn in your chest, the strange weight of his question. “Why do you care?”

It comes out cold, defensive, but his eyes soften, just a little, as if he’s already heard the answer, as if he knows the real reason why he does care.

He bends down to grab your arm. He helps you up, placing your arm over his shoulder. You’re too tired to protest; letting him place you on the couch. He walks away, but he comes back with a bottle of water, a trash can, and some pills.

“Hey, drink some water,” he says, his hand going behind your neck, as he helps you sit up.

His hand is always so warm. Why?

His thumb rubs the back of your neck while you drink the water, surprisingly, you find it comforting. You finish half of it, before handing it back to him. “Wanna tell me where you went?” He asks you much more gentler this time.

“The afterparty,” you reply, as Drew removes his hand from the back of your neck. The warmth disappears, and you actually feel sad. “Your turn.”

“I stayed in here,” he confesses. His voice turns quieter now, almost hesitant. “I didn’t want to see you.”

Just because of that, he leaves? What a selfish dick. “I didn't want to see you either, but did you see me leave? No.”

“And I’m sorry,” Drew apologies. You look into his eyes, and see the sincerity in them that can’t be faked.

“I felt so stupid,” you continue, “The only person I knew was you.”

Drunk you could talk about whatever you wanted, and no one could stop you. “I know you hate me, but couldn’t you have stuck around? You only had to watch me, you didn’t need to do anything else.”

A tear falls down your cheek. It feels almost foreign, as if your body is betraying you, allowing a moment of vulnerability you didn’t expect, one that you didn't know you were capable of outside of a scene, outside the cameras.

You quickly wipe it away. “I would’ve never done that to you.”

And you meant it.

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes again, the only right thing to say right now.

Silence lingers in the air, the two of you staring down at the floor.

“It was my first time experiencing a standing ovation,” you start, giving him a soft smile. He sends you one back, a faint, quick smile. “No wonder why people like going to award shows.”

“You’ve never been to one?” He couldn’t help but ask.

“During the first few years. But after that… overdose incident, I wasn’t in the right state to attend public events,” you feel your voice shake; the memories of that night coming back to you. “Not only was I afraid, but so were the executives.”

You’ve never told any in showbiz about your drug overdose incident. Why are you telling him? Maybe, there was just something about Drew that made you want to.

And sure, everyone knew, from the media, where things are often exaggerated and vilified. But, did anyone bother hearing it from you?

This incident changed your entire life. To others, it was just hot gossip.

“Have you ever had a standing ovation for you?” You change the topic, his lack of response worrying you.

“No; but it sounds amazing,” Drew says. “I’ll…I’ll look for you when I do.”

There's something in his voice, though, something that almost feels like a promise.

“Will that time even come?” You decide to tease him instead, uncomfortable with how cheesy this is going.

“Sooner than you think,” he winks at you, before glancing down at the pill. “Take one after you shower; you’ll feel better in the morning.”

“Yeah,” you murmur, before looking towards the bathroom. “I stink, don’t I?”

“Not the worst you’ve stunk,” he comments, and you roll your eyes.

“Whatever,” you get up, but way too fast, making you almost stumble. Drew holds onto your arm, steadying you.

“Need help?”

“I can manage,” you breathe out, shaking his hand off and walking over to the bedroom. You spot your suitcase, opening it and taking a shirt and underwear. You see the bed, realizing that it’s yet another one-bed situation. You peek out the bedroom door, and Drew immediately turns his face over to you. “Um, you can have the bed if you want.”

Shyly, you close the door, ending the conversation.

——

Drew slept on the couch that night, without any protests.

-------------------------------

word count: 3.5k

ִ ࣪𖤐 a/n: a lot to take in for this chapter...phew

i have a one shot idea coming up, so look forward to it! same as usual, thx for reading, and sry for the long update (ignore my mistakes). i try writing as much as i can, but schedule doesnt allow it T_T

ps, is this a safe space? um, i was kinda losing motivation for this series a couple of days ago. but, i saw the taglist, and the ending i planned for this series. so, safe to say i got to writing!

#drew starkey #drew starkey imagine #drew starkey x reader #fiction #angst #drew starkey x you #actor #actress #series #fake dating #enemies to lovers #flashing lights #chapter 6

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robinbuckleyluvr · 2 days ago

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⊹˚˖⁺ our childhood is gone - steve harrington

masterlist | requests

pairing: steve harrington x platonic fem!reader

summary: reader and steve end tied up in the secret russian base, where the reader turns to anger and finally confronts steve after he threw out their friendship just for popularity.

warnings: none

notes: i love angst long live angst

word count: 864

⸻⊱༺ 

When she first walked into her new job and saw Steve Harrington, she could not believe it. How could Steve, the most entitled and pretentious guy at Hawkins, end up with a crappy job at an ice cream parlor?

A bit hypocritical to say, seeing as though she had the same job.

They exchanged a polite ‘Hello’ that first day, but no words were spoken. There was no acknowledgement of their past, of their friendship they once cherished, ever since they were 9 years old. High school had completely turned Steve into a jerk, and she resented him for it. Him and his ‘friends’ would stare and laugh when she’d walk by, just like they did with anyone they deemed ‘uncool’.

What hurt most, was making eye contact with him.

She never once saw an apologetic look from him. Not then, not now, not ever.

Scoops was a dead-end too, as she pretended not to know him, and he did the same.

How they ended up in an underground Russian base, tied to chairs sitting back-to-back with each other, was a question neither could answer. They sat in silence, waiting and fearing whoever was due to come in the room to question them.

“So…” Steve began, attempting to light up the dreary mood.

“So what?” Y/N snapped. Not a single bone in her wanting to be kind to him.

“I just, you know… quite the situation we’re in here.”

“Cut the shit, Harrington. Don’t act like you want to make small talk with me right now.”

Steve sat quiet. They both did for a few minutes. Taking in the gravity of the situation they faced, and the uncomfortable silence that filled the room.

“You know,” Y/N laughed, sarcasm lacing her words, “You really are the same person you were back in high school. When I first saw you here… I cannot believe I really thought you’d changed. But of course, you didn’t. You’re still the same douchebag you used to be… pretending not to know me. You’re an ass.”

Steve was at a loss for words, “Oh, don’t act like you’re a saint,” He snapped, “You ignored me too. I guess you’re a douche too, then.”

“It takes one to know one. I wasn’t the one who went prancing around to the ‘cool’ kids as soon as we entered high school just because I wanted to be ‘someone’.”

“At least I was someone.”

“Harrington, I think you’ll be happy to know, making fun of people doesn’t make you ‘someone’. It just makes you an asshole.” She shot back.

“Oh, for crying out loud,” He muttered under his breath.

“You are fucking unbelievable.”

He rolled his eyes in response, “For the love of God, I’m sorry, okay?”

“You don’t even know what to be sorry for, Harrington.” She hissed, “A half-assed apology won’t get you anywhere after the hell you made me go through these past 3 years. You know, when I first started high school, I foolishly thought ‘How cool! I have my awesome, cool, friend, Steve Harrington in the grade above me! What could go wrong?’”

Steve laughed, “You did not say that–”

“Of course not, asshole, I was being sarcastic.” She sighed, “I still did not think you and your fucking ‘friends’ would make it hell to walk through those halls. Never had a single day of peace. If you weren’t making fun of the books I carried, it was the way I walked. Or the way I wore my hair. How does doing that to so many people not haunt you, Steve?”

He stared at the floor. His expression dropping with each word she spoke, hurt and sarcasm never leaving her voice.

“Do you not regret it, Harrington?”

They both reflected on the words exchanged, the minutes dragging out before they spoke again. Their minds raced and dwelled in the hurt and regret filling the air.

“I do. I never thought it was going to go that way. I never thought…” He paused, “I never wanted to hurt anyone. But I sat with them on my first day. And suddenly I was part of it, I finally… belonged somewhere. I started playing basketball with them, and before I knew it, I was in too deep. I never planned to make fun of people in the halls, but when you stand there with them, careful not to laugh too loud and… they turn to you and wait for you to make a comment, you just do. ”

“Please,” She huffed, “You’re not getting any pity from me with that fuck-ass story. You threw away years of friendship to make fun of people and shoot balls up at the ceiling? Fuck you.”

“I’m sorry.” Steve responded quietly. “You’re right. I was a coward, an asshole, and a douche. Everything you said,” He sighed, “You are correct about it all. I hurt a lot of people, and I do wish I could un-do that damage. I wish I hadn’t thrown our friendship away either.”

“You were my best friend,” She spoke, her voice breaking, “I wanted to believe in the 9 year old Steve I once met. But you made me feel invisible.”

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badger-tales · 2 days ago

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Unyielding Devotion//D.M x Reader

a/n: The way I've been waiting for a Draco request!!!!! i hope i did him justice, it's kind of a compilation on Draco being jelouse lmao. also my requests are open guys HERER IS WHAT I WRITE

request:

BADGER I CANNOT FIND ANY GOOD DRACO MALFOY X READER FANFIC!

-Ahem- sorry for yelling.

Can you please write for canon- Draco? Why is everyone making him soft ⁉️⁉️ I feel like he would be different to someone he is with but his whole personality wouldn’t change??? He would still be a lil toxic? Maybe it’s the ✨unhealed trauma ✨ speaking for me?

Anyway. Please can you do a canon-Draco imagine? It can be fluff or smut but please NO ANGST. I am sad enough and I need to escape to a beautiful fantasy land. Can you have Draco keep his personality and be a little toxic for the reader? Jealousy, possession, short fuse idk. Let’s make him jealous? Yes that sounds good.

Do what you will with this information. I am sorry I took forever to get to the point.

kthxluvyoubye

word count: 7.9k

The Slytherin common room was a living, breathing entity that evening. The emerald flames in the fireplace flickered with a lively glow, casting verdant light on the stone walls adorned with old tapestries depicting serpents and legendary Slytherin wizards of old. The air was filled with the hum of laughter, the clinking of glasses, and the smooth jazz pouring from a bewitched gramophone in the corner. It was a celebratory mood, students letting loose after a grueling week of classes, and everything seemed to pulse with an energy that was almost tangible.

Draco Malfoy stood at a distance, his silver eyes observing the scene, but his focus was entirely on you. You stood by one of the darker alcoves, a small smile playing at your lips as you chatted with Blaise. Your laughter, light and melodic, reached Draco's ears despite the noise of the crowded space, and it seemed to hang in the air like an invitation—a sound that made his chest tighten. He watched as Blaise leaned closer to you, his head dipping to whisper something that made you smile wider, and Draco's stomach twisted uncomfortably.

The feeling gnawed at him, a mix of irritation and something else—something primal. Blaise was far too close. He didn't like the way Blaise's hand lingered near your arm, or the way you leaned in to hear what he was saying. He clenched his jaw, his gaze darkening. The Slytherin common room, full of chatter and festive spirit, seemed to blur at the edges, narrowing until all he could see was you and Blaise, and that smile on your face.

He didn’t even realize he was moving until he was standing beside you. Blaise looked up at Draco with a knowing smirk, his dark eyes twinkling with amusement as Draco slipped an arm around your waist, pulling you tightly against his side. It was a possessive movement, one that made his intentions very clear—you were his, and Blaise needed to remember that.

“Having fun?” Draco's voice was smooth, deceptively calm, but you could feel the tension radiating off of him. His fingers pressed firmly into your side, his body a solid wall against your own. You looked up at him, meeting his stormy eyes, and saw the sharp edge behind his seemingly casual demeanor.

“Yeah, we were just talking about—” you began, but Draco cut you off, his gaze never leaving Blaise.

“I’m sure you were,” he said, his voice laced with an undertone that was anything but friendly. He shot Blaise a look, his gray eyes glinting with a silent warning—back off. The smirk on Blaise's face only grew wider, his eyes flicking between the two of you before he raised his hands in a mock gesture of surrender.

“Alright, alright. I know when I’m not wanted,” Blaise drawled, his lips curling into an amused smile. He winked at you before stepping away, the knowing grin still plastered on his face as he melted back into the crowd, leaving you and Draco alone.

Draco let out a soft huff, his eyes following Blaise until he disappeared from sight. His arm around your waist tightened, drawing you even closer, and you could feel the way his body was still coiled with tension. It wasn’t just jealousy—it was something deeper, a need to assert himself, to make sure everyone knew that you were his and no one else’s.

“You shouldn’t encourage him,” Draco muttered, his voice low, almost a growl. He finally looked down at you, his gaze softening just slightly as he took in your expression.

You rolled your eyes, though a small smile tugged at your lips. “Draco, you’re being ridiculous,” you said, your voice light, trying to ease the tension.

“Maybe,” he allowed, his eyes flickering over your face, as if searching for something. His grip on you didn’t loosen; if anything, it tightened, his fingers pressing into your side possessively. “But you’re mine, and I don’t like sharing.”

He pulled you even closer, his body flush against yours now, and you could feel the way his heartbeat thudded against your shoulder, a steady rhythm that betrayed the emotions swirling beneath his calm exterior. His breath was warm against your ear as he leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, his voice a soft whisper meant only for you. “And if I see him getting too close again, I won’t be so nice next time.”

The threat in his voice was unmistakable, but there was something else there too—a vulnerability, a fear of losing you that he would never admit aloud. It made your heart skip a beat, a thrill running through you that was equal parts excitement and trepidation. You could feel the tension in his body, the way his fingers dug into your waist, and a part of you couldn’t deny how it made your pulse quicken, how it made your heart race in a way that was both exhilarating and slightly terrifying.

You turned your head slightly, your nose brushing against his cheek as you looked up at him. His eyes were dark, the usual sharpness softened by something more tender, something raw and unguarded. You reached up, your fingers brushing against his jaw, feeling the tautness there, the way his muscles were still clenched in irritation.

“You don’t need to worry about Blaise,” you said softly, your voice barely audible over the noise of the common room. “I’m here with you, aren’t I?”

His eyes searched yours, and for a moment, the mask slipped. You saw the uncertainty there, the fear that lurked beneath all that arrogance and confidence. He swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing slightly, and then he nodded, the tension in his shoulders easing just a fraction.

“Yeah,” he murmured, his voice softer now, the edge gone. “You are.”

For a moment, the world around you seemed to fade away—the laughter, the clinking glasses, the crackling of the fire—all of it melted into the background as you stood there, wrapped in Draco’s arms, feeling the intensity of his gaze, the warmth of his body against yours. There was something intoxicating about it, about the way he held you like you were the most important thing in the world, like he couldn’t bear the thought of losing you.

Slowly, his lips curved into a small smile, and he leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “Just... stay close, alright?” he whispered, his voice almost tender now, the possessiveness giving way to something gentler, something more vulnerable.

You nodded, a smile tugging at your lips as you wrapped your arms around him, resting your head against his chest. “Always,” you promised, and you felt him relax, his arms wrapping around you more securely, as if he could shield you from the rest of the world.

The common room continued to buzz around you, but in that moment, it was just the two of you, wrapped up in each other, the rest of the world fading into insignificance. And as you stood there, you couldn’t help but feel that, despite his flaws, despite his jealousy, there was nowhere else you’d rather be than right there, in Draco’s arms, feeling his heart beat steadily beneath your cheek. His possessiveness might have been overwhelming to others, but to you, it was just another sign of how much he cared, and you couldn’t deny the thrill it brought you, knowing that you meant so much to him.

The stands were full, the air thick with anticipation as the game between Slytherin and Gryffindor raged on. The cheers of the crowd blended together, a deafening roar that seemed to vibrate in your very bones. The sky above was a brilliant blue, dotted with the darting figures of players on broomsticks, their robes billowing behind them as they raced for the Quaffle. You were in the stands, the Slytherin section awash with green and silver banners, your voice already hoarse from cheering for Draco and the rest of the team. The energy was palpable, a frenetic buzz that swept through the crowd like wildfire.

Amidst the excitement, you felt a tap on your shoulder. Turning, you found yourself face-to-face with a Gryffindor boy, his red and gold scarf standing out sharply against the sea of green around you. He was grinning, his eyes alight with the thrill of the game, and he leaned in slightly to make himself heard over the roar of the crowd.

“Quite a match, isn’t it?” he shouted, his voice barely carrying above the noise. You nodded, smiling politely as he continued to speak, his words blending into the cacophony of cheers and jeers around you. He seemed friendly enough, his demeanor open and easy, and soon you found yourself caught up in a light conversation, exchanging comments about the game and laughing at his jokes.

What you didn’t notice was the way Draco’s eyes narrowed dangerously from his position on the field. He had just passed the Quaffle to a teammate when he glanced over at the stands, his gaze instinctively searching for you. When he spotted you, his eyes locked onto the scene—the Gryffindor boy leaning in, you laughing at something he said, the easy smile on your face. A surge of irritation flared within him, his focus momentarily slipping from the game as he glared at the red and gold-clad intruder.

His grip on his broom tightened, his knuckles turning white as he forced himself to look away, to concentrate on the match. But the image lingered, a thorn in his side that only seemed to dig deeper with each passing moment. He pushed himself harder, diving for the snitch with a ferocity that had his teammates glancing at him in surprise. By the time the final whistle blew, signaling Slytherin’s victory, Draco was a bundle of barely-contained frustration, his jaw clenched as he landed and dismounted his broom.

The celebration in the stands was immediate, a wave of cheers and applause washing over the pitch as the Slytherin team was mobbed by their supporters. But Draco had only one thought in mind as he scanned the crowd, his eyes locking onto you almost immediately. He strode towards you, still in his Quidditch gear, his hair windswept, cheeks flushed from the exertion of the game. His eyes were stormy, a mix of triumph and something far darker as he reached you, his hand closing around your arm—gently, but firmly enough to leave no room for argument.

“Come with me,” he said, his voice low, and without waiting for a response, he began to lead you away from the throng of celebrating students. You followed, confused but not resisting, as he pulled you aside, away from prying eyes and the noise of the crowd.

“What was that?” he snapped once you were alone, his eyes flashing as he turned to face you. His chest was still heaving from the game, his hair slightly disheveled, and there was an intensity in his gaze that took you off guard.

“What was what?” you asked, genuinely confused. You could see the tension in his posture, the way his shoulders were squared, his jaw set, and you couldn’t understand what had him so worked up.

“That Gryffindor git,” Draco bit out, his eyes narrowing at the memory. “You looked like you were having a real good time with him.”

Realization dawned, and you couldn’t help the smile that tugged at your lips. “Are you jealous?” you asked, your tone teasing as you raised an eyebrow at him.

Draco scoffed, his grip on your arm tightening slightly, his eyes darkening. “I don’t get jealous,” he said, though the edge in his voice betrayed him. “I just don’t want you wasting your time on people who aren’t worth it.”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly at that, shaking your head. “Sure, Draco. Whatever you say.”

His eyes narrowed at your response, and before you could react, he pulled you closer, his hand sliding from your arm to wrap around your waist, his fingers digging in slightly. His body was still radiating heat from the match, and you could feel the tension thrumming through him, a coiled energy that hadn’t yet dissipated. He leaned down, his lips hovering just above yours, his voice a low growl that sent a shiver down your spine.

“You need to remember who you belong to,” he said, his eyes boring into yours, the intensity of his gaze making your breath catch. “I won’t tolerate anyone trying to take what’s mine, understand?”

His words were possessive, almost dangerously so, but there was something else beneath them—a vulnerability, a fear of losing you that he couldn’t hide, not entirely. His eyes searched yours, waiting for a response, daring you to argue.

You reached up, your hand resting against his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath your palm. “Draco,” you whispered, your voice soft, meant to soothe. “I’m not going anywhere. You don’t need to worry about anyone else.”

For a moment, the tension in his eyes eased, the hardness giving way to something softer, something almost tender. He exhaled slowly, his forehead coming to rest against yours as he closed his eyes, the fight leaving his body in a rush. His arms tightened around you, pulling you flush against him, and you could feel the way his body relaxed, the tension slowly ebbing away.

“Good,” he murmured, his voice barely audible. “Because I don’t think I could handle it if you did.”

You smiled, your fingers brushing against his jaw as you tilted your head up, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “I’m yours, Draco,” you whispered against his mouth, and you felt him smile in response, a small, relieved curve of his lips that made your heart swell.

The roar of the crowd was still loud in the background, the celebration continuing without you, but in that moment, it was just the two of you, wrapped up in each other, the rest of the world fading away. And as Draco held you, his lips brushing softly against yours, you knew that despite his jealousy, despite his flaws, there was nowhere else you’d rather be than right there, in his arms, feeling the fierce, unyielding love he had for you.

You were sitting in the library, focused on your Potions essay, the quill in your hand moving steadily across the parchment as you scribbled down notes. The library was quiet, a hushed atmosphere that contrasted sharply with the bustling corridors of Hogwarts. Shelves lined with dusty tomes stretched up towards the ceiling, and the faint scent of parchment and ink filled the air. You were deep in concentration, your brows furrowed as you tried to articulate your thoughts on the properties of the Draught of Living Death.

It was then that a Ravenclaw boy approached your table, his blue and bronze tie standing out against the muted tones of the library. He gave you a polite smile, his eyes warm as he gestured to the book you were working from.

“Need any help with that?” he asked, his voice soft so as not to disturb the quiet of the library. He seemed earnest, his gaze friendly as he looked at your notes.

Before you could respond, Draco appeared out of nowhere, sliding into the seat next to you with a fluid grace that spoke of familiarity. His presence was sudden, almost startling, and he fixed the Ravenclaw boy with a glare that could have frozen fire. His silver-grey eyes were cold, his expression one of thinly veiled irritation.

“She doesn’t need your help,” Draco said, his voice icy, each word dripping with disdain. The tone left no room for argument, his gaze locked onto the Ravenclaw with a hardness that made it clear he wasn’t to be challenged.

The Ravenclaw blinked, clearly taken aback by the sudden intrusion. His eyes flicked to you for a moment, as if gauging whether you needed rescuing, but when he saw the look on Draco’s face, he seemed to decide against pushing his luck. He cleared his throat, offering a tight smile before quickly making his exit, clearly not wanting to deal with an irritated Malfoy.

You sighed, watching as the Ravenclaw retreated, disappearing behind a row of shelves. You turned your gaze back to Draco, giving him a look that was equal parts exasperation and amusement. “Really?” you asked, your voice carrying a hint of incredulity.

Draco just shrugged, leaning back in his chair, his posture one of nonchalance. A smirk played on his lips, his eyes glinting with something almost playful. “What? I’m just protecting what’s mine,” he said, his tone casual, but there was an edge of seriousness beneath it, a possessiveness that was unmistakable.

“You’re impossible,” you muttered, shaking your head, though you couldn’t help the smile that tugged at your lips. There was something oddly endearing about his jealousy, the way he always seemed to be on high alert whenever someone else showed even a passing interest in you.

Draco’s smirk softened, his eyes losing some of their sharpness as he looked at you. He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper, his breath warm against your ear. “And yet, you love me anyway,” he murmured, the words laced with both confidence and a hint of vulnerability.

His gaze locked onto yours, his eyes searching your face, watching for your reaction. “You do love me, right?” he asked, his voice low, almost a growl, the possessiveness returning in full force. “Because I won’t tolerate anything else.”

There was a challenge in his gaze, as if your love was something he needed to claim again and again, as if he needed constant reassurance that you were his and his alone. His eyes bored into yours, daring you to deny it, to argue with him.

You smiled, reaching out to take his hand, your fingers lacing through his. “Of course I love you, Draco,” you said softly, your voice sincere. You could see the tension ease in his shoulders, the hardness in his eyes softening as he let out a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding.

“Good,” he whispered, his smirk returning, though it was gentler now, almost affectionate. He brought your hand up to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles, his eyes never leaving yours. “Because you’re mine, and I’m not letting anyone forget it.”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile remained, your heart swelling at the intensity in his words. “You’re ridiculous,” you said, but there was no heat in your voice, only affection.

Draco grinned, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Maybe. But you wouldn’t have me any other way.”

And as he leaned in, his lips brushing yours in a tender kiss, you knew he was right. His possessiveness, his jealousy—it was all part of who he was, and despite everything, you wouldn’t change a thing about him.

Draco’s eyes followed you as you walked into the Great Hall, the high vaulted ceiling shimmering with an enchanted sky that reflected the bright morning outside. You wore a smile on your face as you chatted with a group of Hufflepuff friends, your laughter carrying across the large room like a gentle melody. His gaze narrowed when he noticed the way one of the boys nudged you playfully, your laugh in response making something deep in Draco’s chest twist unpleasantly.

He sat at the Slytherin table, his eyes tracking your every movement. The tightness in his chest only seemed to grow as he watched, that familiar jealousy bubbling just beneath the surface, and he clenched his jaw to keep his composure. To everyone else, Draco looked perfectly poised, the same aloof and unaffected pureblood they were used to, but on the inside, he was a storm.

Finally, you made your way over, your eyes meeting his across the hall, and you sent him a warm smile, oblivious to the turmoil stirring within him. You slid onto the bench beside him, your shoulder brushing his, and Draco wasted no time. His arm went around your waist, and his other hand slipped under the table, his palm resting possessively on your thigh.

You shot him a curious look, your eyes flicking to the hand on your leg. “Everything alright?” you asked, though the amused quirk of your lips suggested that you already knew the answer.

Draco leaned closer, his expression seemingly casual to anyone watching, but his grip on your thigh tightened slightly, his fingers pressing into you as if to emphasise his words. “Do you always have to be so friendly with everyone?” he muttered, his voice low enough for only you to hear. There was a bite to his words, his jealousy evident in the way his eyes remained hard, his gaze flicking towards the Hufflepuff boy who was still laughing with his friends at their table.

You looked at him, the corner of your mouth twitching upwards. “It’s called being nice, Draco. You should try it sometime,” you said, your tone teasing.

He rolled his eyes, a sigh escaping him as if he found the very idea exasperating. His fingers on your thigh tightened fractionally, his silver eyes locking onto yours. “I’m nice to you. That’s enough,” he said, his lips curling into a smirk that held just a hint of challenge.

You chuckled, leaning in and pressing a soft kiss to his cheek, the touch gentle and affectionate. “I suppose it is,” you murmured, brushing your nose lightly against his temple before pulling back. You could see the way his posture relaxed, just a bit, his possessive hold on your thigh not quite as rigid.

Draco leaned closer, his breath warm against your ear, his voice dropping to a whisper that sent a shiver down your spine. “You’re mine, and I don’t want anyone else getting the wrong idea,” he said, the words possessive and dark, the edge in his tone making it clear just how much he meant it. His fingers tightened again, a slow squeeze that spoke volumes of his emotions—jealousy, protectiveness, and that constant need to make sure everyone knew exactly where you stood.

You turned your head, your lips brushing against the corner of his jaw as you spoke. “I think they already know,” you whispered, your voice soft, meant to soothe. There was a tenderness in your eyes as you looked at him, understanding the depth of his feelings without him needing to say another word.

Draco exhaled slowly, his gaze meeting yours, the storm in his eyes easing, giving way to something softer, something vulnerable. “They’d better,” he muttered, his voice losing some of its sharpness, though the intensity was still there, lingering beneath the surface.

You reached down, your hand resting atop his under the table, your fingers threading through his in a comforting gesture. “I’m not going anywhere, Draco,” you said, your voice steady, your gaze unwavering. “You’re stuck with me.”

A small smile tugged at his lips, his fingers relaxing beneath yours. He leaned in, pressing a kiss to your temple, his lips lingering for a moment longer than necessary. “Good,” he murmured, the word almost a sigh, as if the thought of you being his brought him the only real sense of peace he knew.

The Great Hall bustled around you, students laughing, talking, the clatter of cutlery and dishes filling the space. But in that moment, it all seemed distant, the rest of the world fading into the background as you sat there, wrapped up in Draco’s presence. You could feel the heat of his body next to yours, the steady pressure of his hand on your thigh, and you knew that, despite his possessiveness, despite his flaws, this was exactly where you wanted to be.

Draco’s eyes stayed on you, the intensity in his gaze unwavering, and he leaned down again, his lips brushing against your ear. “If they don’t get the message, I’ll make sure they do,” he said, his voice low, almost threatening, but there was a hint of insecurity there too—a fear that you might slip away, that someone else might catch your eye.

You pulled back slightly, your eyes meeting his, and you smiled, your fingers squeezing his gently. “You don’t need to do that. I’m yours, Draco. No one else’s,” you said, your voice full of affection, your gaze holding his.

For a moment, his expression softened completely, the tension easing from his body. He nodded, his forehead pressing against yours briefly. “Alright,” he whispered, the word carrying a weight of emotion, a mixture of possessiveness and love that made your heart swell.

Slowly, he pulled back, a smirk returning to his lips, though it was softer now, almost playful. “Just remember that,” he said, his tone lightening, the usual arrogance creeping back in, though you could see the genuine affection in his eyes.

You laughed, rolling your eyes at him, but there was nothing but warmth in your gaze. “I will,” you promised, leaning in to kiss him, your lips brushing against his in a soft, lingering kiss.

The Great Hall continued its bustle around you, but in that moment, it was just you and Draco, wrapped up in each other, the rest of the world fading away. And as you pulled back, Draco’s eyes following your every movement, you knew that despite everything, despite his possessiveness and the occasional bouts of jealousy, there was nowhere else you’d rather be.

You were walking down the corridor, the ancient stone walls lined with flickering torches, casting long shadows that danced across the floor. You were deep in conversation with Theo Nott, the two of you laughing softly about a joke he had just made. The atmosphere was relaxed, and you were enjoying the ease of Theo's company—he was always good for a light-hearted chat, his humour dry and his demeanour calm.

Draco caught sight of the two of you from the other end of the corridor. His eyes narrowed, a dark glint flashing in the grey depths as he watched Theo lean slightly closer to you, his lips curved in a smile that made something twist uncomfortably in Draco’s chest. He strode forward, his footsteps echoing off the stone floor, his eyes fixed solely on you. Without sparing Theo so much as a glance, Draco slipped his hand into yours, his grip firm and possessive.

“Draco,” you greeted, a hint of surprise colouring your voice as you looked up at him. “We were just—”

“Leaving,” Draco cut you off, his voice cold as he shot Theo a pointed look, his gaze hard and unyielding.

Theo just chuckled, clearly used to Draco's possessive antics. He gave you a knowing look, his eyes twinkling with amusement as he raised his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. I’ll see you later,” he said, his tone light, before turning and walking away, his laughter echoing softly down the corridor.

You turned back to Draco, raising an eyebrow, your lips pressing together in a thin line that barely concealed your amusement. “Really?” you asked, your voice laced with exasperation. “You’re going to scare off all my friends.”

Draco just smirked, his expression entirely unapologetic as he pulled you closer, his arm sliding around your waist. “Good,” he murmured, his tone smug. “Less competition.”

You huffed, shaking your head, but you couldn’t deny the way your heart raced when he pulled you against him, his body warm and solid next to yours. There was something about the way he held you, the way he seemed to need you so completely, that sent a thrill through you—a mix of frustration and undeniable affection. His lips brushed against your forehead, the contact gentle, almost tender, and you felt your irritation melt away, replaced by a warmth that spread through your chest.

“I don’t want to share you. Ever,” Draco whispered, his voice low, the words almost a growl. His eyes darkened, the silver depths stormy as they met yours, and he leaned in, his lips hovering just above yours, so close you could feel his breath against your skin.

You swallowed, your heart pounding in your chest, your fingers curling into the fabric of his robes. “Draco...” you began, but your voice trailed off, the intensity in his gaze stealing the words from your lips.

“And I mean it,” he continued, his voice barely above a whisper, the dangerous edge in his tone unmistakable. “I don’t care who it is, I won’t let anyone take you away from me.”

There was a promise in his words, a dark, unyielding determination that made your breath hitch. His eyes searched yours, looking for any sign of doubt, any hint that you might not feel the same. But all he found was the steady affection in your gaze, the way your eyes softened as you looked at him, and slowly, the tension in his shoulders eased.

You reached up, your hand cupping his cheek, your thumb brushing lightly over his skin. “No one’s going to take me away from you, Draco,” you said softly, your voice steady despite the rapid beat of your heart. “You don’t need to worry about that.”

For a moment, he didn’t say anything, his eyes searching yours, and then, finally, he nodded, his forehead resting against yours. His breath was shaky as he exhaled, the storm in his eyes slowly calming. “I just... I can’t lose you,” he murmured, his voice so soft you almost didn’t hear it.

Your heart ached at the vulnerability in his words, the fear that he tried so hard to hide. You leaned in, pressing your lips to his in a gentle kiss, your fingers tangling in his hair as you tried to convey everything you felt for him—all the love, all the reassurance. “You won’t,” you whispered against his lips. “I promise.”

Draco’s arms tightened around you, pulling you even closer, and he deepened the kiss, his lips moving against yours with a desperate sort of need, as if he was trying to pour all of his emotions into that one moment. When he finally pulled back, his eyes were softer, the harsh edge gone, replaced by something warmer, something that made your heart swell.

“Alright,” he whispered, his lips curving into a small smile. “Just... stay close, yeah?”

You smiled, nodding as you rested your head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. “Always,” you promised, your arms wrapping around him as you closed your eyes, content to stay like that, wrapped up in Draco’s embrace, the rest of the world fading away.

The corridor around you was empty now, the echoes of Theo’s laughter long gone, and it was just the two of you, standing there in the dim light of the flickering torches. And as Draco held you, his arms wrapped around you protectively, you knew that despite his flaws, despite his possessiveness, there was nowhere else you’d rather be.

Draco was lounging on the couch in the Slytherin common room, his long legs stretched out, his fingers idly flipping through the pages of a book he wasn’t really reading. The emerald flames in the fireplace cast flickering shadows across his face, the soft glow highlighting the sharp angles of his features. The common room was filled with the usual evening buzz—laughter, conversation, the crackling of the fire. Pansy Parkinson sat nearby, her voice carrying as she shared some gossip, her laughter ringing out and drawing Draco’s half-hearted attention.

But his focus shifted entirely when you walked in, your laughter joining Pansy’s, light and genuine, as you responded to something she had said. His eyes immediately locked onto you, a flicker of something dark crossing his expression. You looked so at ease, so happy, and while Draco loved seeing you smile, he couldn’t help the possessive pang that tightened in his chest when he saw you laughing with someone else.

His gaze followed you as you crossed the room, weaving your way through the groups of Slytherins scattered around, until you reached him. Without hesitation, you plopped down next to him, your shoulder brushing against his, your presence immediately grounding him. He didn’t say a word at first, just slipped his arm around your waist and pulled you into his lap, his other hand resting on your thigh as if to stake his claim.

“What’s so funny?” he asked, his voice casual, though you could hear the edge to it, the subtle note of irritation that betrayed his jealousy.

You smiled, your eyes meeting his as you reached up to run your fingers through his hair, the soft strands slipping through your fingertips. “Nothing you need to worry about,” you said lightly, your tone teasing, trying to soothe the tension you could feel radiating from him.

Draco huffed, his chin coming to rest on your shoulder, his breath warm against your neck. He was silent for a moment, his eyes closing briefly as he inhaled your scent, letting it calm the unease bubbling beneath the surface. “I don’t like you laughing with other people,” he muttered, his voice barely audible, but the words were laced with a vulnerability that made your heart ache.

You rolled your eyes, though the affectionate smile on your lips softened the gesture. “You’re ridiculous,” you murmured, tilting your head to press a gentle kiss to his temple, your lips lingering for a moment.

Draco’s lips twitched into a small smile, his eyes opening to meet yours, the storm in them easing slightly. “Maybe,” he conceded, his tone lighter, almost playful. “But I’m your ridiculous.”

His fingers trailed along your waist, a feather-light touch that sent shivers down your spine. He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear, his voice dropping to a whisper, the words meant only for you. “Just remember that, alright? You’re mine. I don’t share.”

There was an edge to his words, a possessiveness that made your heart skip a beat, and you could feel the intensity of his gaze, the way his eyes bored into yours, as if daring you to contradict him. His grip on your waist tightened, almost bruising, and he pulled you even closer, his body flush against yours.

You swallowed, your heart pounding, but there was no fear—only a thrill that coursed through you, a heady mix of affection and excitement. You knew how deeply Draco felt, how fiercely he loved, and though his possessiveness could be overwhelming, it was also a testament to how much you meant to him.

“You don’t need to worry about that,” you whispered, your lips brushing against his jaw as you spoke. “I’m not going anywhere, Draco.”

He let out a slow breath, his eyes softening as they searched yours, as if trying to gauge the sincerity in your words. Slowly, the tension in his body began to ease, his grip on your waist loosening just a fraction, enough to let you breathe, but still holding you close. He leaned in, his forehead pressing against yours, his eyes closing as he exhaled, the storm within him finally settling.

“I just... I can’t stand the thought of losing you,” he murmured, his voice so soft it was almost a sigh, the words raw and unguarded. It wasn’t often that Draco allowed himself to be vulnerable, to let you see the fear that lurked beneath his confident exterior, but in moments like this, you saw him—truly saw him.

Your heart swelled, and you cupped his cheek, your thumb brushing gently over his skin. “You won’t,” you promised, your voice steady, filled with all the love you felt for him. “I’m yours, Draco. Always.”

A small smile tugged at his lips, and he leaned in, capturing your lips in a kiss that was soft, tender, a stark contrast to the earlier possessiveness. His fingers tangled in your hair, his other arm wrapped securely around your waist, holding you close as if to prove to himself that you were really there, that you were his.

When he pulled back, his eyes were lighter, the darkness that had clouded them earlier gone, replaced by a warmth that made your heart flutter. “Alright,” he whispered, his forehead resting against yours once more. “Just... stay close, yeah?”

You smiled, nodding as you wrapped your arms around his neck, your fingers playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. “Always,” you repeated, your voice a soft promise, one that you intended to keep.

The common room continued to buzz around you, the laughter and conversation of your fellow Slytherins filling the space, but it all seemed distant, the rest of the world fading into the background. In that moment, it was just you and Draco, wrapped up in each other, the rest of the world inconsequential.

Draco’s arms tightened around you, his eyes closing as he buried his face in the crook of your neck, a content sigh escaping him. And as you sat there, cradled in his embrace, you knew that despite his flaws, despite his jealousy and possessiveness, there was nowhere else you’d rather be. You loved him—every part of him, even the parts that were rough around the edges—and you knew that he loved you just as fiercely, just as completely.

The sun was warm on your face as you sat in the courtyard, your friends around you, their laughter and light-hearted conversation filling the air. It was one of those rare, perfect afternoons—sunshine filtering through the branches of the nearby trees, a gentle breeze stirring the leaves, and the sound of distant bird song adding to the tranquillity. You stretched your legs out, feeling the warmth of the stone beneath you, content in the easy company of your friends.

But the tranquillity didn’t last long. A shadow fell over your group, and you looked up to see Draco Malfoy striding towards you, his presence unmistakable, his posture radiating his usual arrogance. His silver eyes were fixed solely on you, a determined glint in their depths, as if he had a singular purpose in mind. He ignored everyone else, his gaze unwavering as it locked onto you.

“Come on, we’re leaving,” he said, his tone making it clear that there was no room for argument. His voice carried that authoritative note that left little to be questioned, a voice that often made people obey without hesitation.

Your friends exchanged amused looks, some of them raising their eyebrows in silent laughter, clearly used to Draco’s possessiveness. You let out a sigh, rolling your eyes but standing up nonetheless. “You know, you could at least pretend to be polite,” you said, raising an eyebrow at him, your tone lightly teasing as you brushed your robes off.

Draco smirked, his hand slipping into yours with a familiarity that spoke of both habit and need. He squeezed your hand slightly as he looked down at you, his expression entirely unapologetic. “Why?” he drawled, his tone dripping with arrogance. “They already know I’m better than them.”

You rolled your eyes again, though you couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips. There was something so quintessentially Draco about his behaviour, and despite your exasperation, you found it endearing. “You’re impossible,” you muttered, shaking your head.

“And yet, you’re still here,” he shot back, his voice laced with that same arrogance, but his eyes softened as he looked at you, something vulnerable flickering in their depths. He tugged you a little closer, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand as he pulled you away from your friends.

He leaned closer, his lips brushing against your ear, his voice lowering to a whisper that only you could hear. “Because you know no one else could ever treat you the way I do. No one else is good enough for you.” There was a possessiveness to his words, an edge that made your heart skip a beat, the intensity of his emotions almost overwhelming.

His grip on your hand tightened as he led you away, and you could feel the possessiveness radiating off of him, the way his body seemed to curl protectively towards yours, as if shielding you from everyone else. It was as though, in his mind, the world was full of threats, and only he could keep you safe, only he was worthy enough to have you by his side.

You cast a glance over your shoulder, giving your friends a half-apologetic, half-amused smile as they waved, some of them rolling their eyes at Draco’s antics. They were used to it by now, the way Draco would swoop in and pull you away whenever he felt even the slightest bit threatened by someone else’s presence. It was part of who he was—possessive, demanding, but also fiercely devoted.

As you walked away from the courtyard, Draco’s grip on your hand never lessened. He held you close, his stride matching yours as if he needed to make sure you were right there beside him, where he believed you belonged. You could feel the tension in his body, the way his jaw was set, his eyes still stormy even as the courtyard faded from view.

“You really don’t need to be so dramatic, you know,” you said softly, glancing up at him, your tone gentle despite the teasing nature of your words. You could see the way his shoulders were still tense, the jealousy simmering just beneath the surface.

Draco’s gaze flicked down to meet yours, his eyes narrowing slightly. “I’m not being dramatic,” he insisted, his voice stubborn, though there was a hint of something more vulnerable underneath. He paused for a moment, his grip on your hand tightening just a fraction. “I just... I don’t

The sun shone brilliantly over the Black Lake, its rays shimmering on the surface of the water, creating a dazzling dance of light that seemed almost magical. You and Draco sat together by the edge of the lake, enjoying one of those rare moments of tranquillity that Hogwarts seldom allowed. The breeze was gentle, rustling the leaves of the nearby trees, and you could hear the faint call of birds in the distance. You leaned against Draco, his arm wrapped securely around your shoulders, and for a moment, it felt as though the rest of the world had disappeared.

It was peaceful. Just the two of you, with the warmth of the sun on your faces and the soft lapping of the water against the shore. You felt Draco’s steady breathing, his chest rising and falling in a calming rhythm that made you relax further into his embrace. His presence was comforting, a solid anchor in the midst of all the chaos that life at Hogwarts often brought.

“You know, you don’t have to get so jealous all the time,” you said, breaking the silence. Your voice was soft, meant to be gentle rather than accusatory, as you turned your head slightly to look up at him.

Draco’s jaw tensed for a moment, and he huffed, his gaze shifting to the shimmering surface of the lake. “I’m not jealous,” he replied, his tone defensive, though it lacked its usual bite. “I just don’t trust other people around you.” His eyes narrowed slightly, his expression hardening for a second before it softened again, his vulnerability showing through.

You smiled, your heart warming at his honesty. You turned in his arms, shifting so you could see his face fully, your fingers reaching up to brush a stray lock of platinum hair away from his forehead. “You’re impossible, you know that?” you said, your voice holding a teasing note, though the affection behind your words was clear.

Draco’s gaze finally met yours, and you watched as his expression softened, the tension in his features easing. The corners of his lips tugged upwards slightly, a faint smile breaking through. “Maybe,” he conceded, his voice quieter now, almost a murmur. “But you love me anyway.”

You leaned in, your eyes locking onto his, and you pressed a soft kiss to his lips. It was gentle, reassuring, a promise wrapped in a simple touch. When you pulled back, your eyes met his, and you smiled. “Yeah, I do,” you whispered, the sincerity in your voice leaving no room for doubt.

Draco’s smirk returned, a bit more pronounced this time, and he pulled you closer against him, his arm tightening around your shoulders. “Good,” he said, his voice a little rough, but there was a tenderness there too. “Because I’m not planning on letting you go.”

His fingers traced lazy patterns along your arm, the sensation sending shivers down your spine. He tightened his grip on you, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your breath hitch. “You belong to me,” he said, his voice low, a possessive edge to his words. “And I don’t care who knows it. I’ll fight anyone who thinks they can take you from me.”

His gaze bore into yours, the sincerity and desperation in his expression making your heart skip a beat. He leaned down, his forehead resting against yours, his eyes closing for a moment as he let out a slow breath. “You’re everything to me,” he continued, his voice softer now, raw with emotion, “and I won’t let anything—or anyone—come between us. Ever.”

There was an intensity in his voice, a raw honesty that made your heart swell with emotion. Draco wasn’t just possessive—he was desperate, and the way he held onto you made it clear that he would do whatever it took to keep you by his side. You could feel it in the way his fingers tightened against your arm, in the way his body seemed to curl protectively around yours, as if shielding you from any unseen threat.

You reached up, your fingers brushing against his cheek, and he leaned into your touch, his eyes fluttering open to meet yours. “I know,” you whispered, your voice steady, full of affection. “And I’m not going anywhere, Draco. You don’t need to worry about that.”

He didn’t say anything for a moment, just stared at you, his grey eyes searching your face as if trying to find any hint of doubt. When he found none, he let out a shaky breath, his lips curving into a small smile. “You promise?” he asked, his voice barely more than a whisper, the vulnerability in his words making your chest tighten.

You smiled, nodding as you pressed another kiss to his lips, lingering for a moment before pulling back. “I promise,” you said softly, your forehead resting against his. “Always.”

Draco’s arms tightened around you, pulling you even closer, and he buried his face in the crook of your neck, his breath warm against your skin. You could feel the tension slowly leaving his body, replaced by a sense of calm that seemed to wash over both of you. The sun continued to shine down, the gentle breeze rustling the leaves, and for that moment, everything felt perfect.

You closed your eyes, your fingers running through his hair as you held him, the two of you wrapped up in each other. The world around you seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you by the lake, lost in your own little bubble of peace and love. Despite everything—the jealousy, the possessiveness, the fear—you knew that Draco loved you fiercely, completely, and there was nowhere else you’d rather be than right there, in his arms, by the Black Lake, with the sun shining down and the promise of forever hanging in the air between you.

#draco malfoy #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy x you #draco malfoy x y/n #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter

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sargebarnesx · 2 days ago

Text

Someday

Pairing: AU 1940s Bucky Barnes x female reader

Rating: 18+ ONLY

Warnings: angst (with some fluff mixed in), mentions of war, mentions of gunshots, mention of death, mentions of heartbreak

Word Count: 2,076 words

Summary: Bucky Barnes has experienced many things over the last few years: love, loss, war, and heartbreak. The war is over and the woman behind his broken heart wants a second chance.

Author's Note: This idea came to me last night at 8:30 pm and I wrote over 2,000 words before bed, then spent this morning fine tuning it. This is my first attempt at angst and I’m already thinking of ideas for a happier part two 😈 hope y’all enjoy!

“Hey…you.”

There she was. Standing right in front of him on the street they had explored together many times and yet, they looked like strangers.

It took Bucky an absurd amount of effort to not call her sugar or honey or baby. To not pull her into his arms and breathe her in, breathe in that familiar and comforting lavender and vanilla scent. His arms ached as he fought the natural urge to hold her. It had been so long.

He recalled the last time he saw her, two years ago, in June of 1943. When she told him that she didn’t think they should be together anymore.

According to her tearful confession, the thought of him being deployed to Europe was too much for her to handle. She assured him that she loved him so much, but she just wasn’t strong enough to be the woman he needed while he was overseas.

Bucky thought that was complete bullshit, but he knew her mind was made up no matter how much he argued.

He spent two years fighting in the war and longing for her. 823 days worth of wondering if she was thinking about him too.

The nights were the worst. There were nights when he’d fall onto an uncomfortable cot and be woken up by the morning sun just as he’d drifted off to sleep. Some nights he took shifts with other men, dozing off on the hard ground hidden beneath thick branches, with gunshots haunting his dreams. On the good nights, he would dream of her.

He would see the diner, where the two of them would share her favorite strawberry milkshake with extra whipped cream, blurred around the edges, shining bright under the afternoon sun. He would see her walking beside him, with teases of her soft skin peeking out underneath her V-neck dress. She would look up at him and smile. He loved when she smiled, but seeing her smile in his dreams made his heart ache with need. He wanted nothing more than to make it home and see that smile again.

“Hi, Bucky.”

Her hair had grown, and the ends curled towards her heart. Her face was full of emotion, almost like she had seen a ghost, and the shock drained the color from her face. Her eyes shone in the afternoon sun, and Bucky wondered if she was going to cry. She had stopped a few good steps in front of him, and the space between them felt foreign.

Space was never a concept that made itself known in their relationship. The two of them met in 1941, smack dab in the middle of the dance floor on a sweltering summer night. Bucky gravitated towards her and her electric personality, and it wasn’t long before his body was glued to hers, his hand resting respectfully low on her waist.

He walked her home that night, purposely walking just close enough that his arm would brush against hers. She stayed right next to him, throwing him flirtatious glances every time he said something charming. Eventually, their fingers were intertwined, and she pulled him onto her porch, away from the bright street lights.

He’d heard talk of the sparks, the butterflies, everything that people claimed to feel when they were in love, but he had never felt it until that night.

He felt it now, standing in front of her on the sidewalk. He hoped she felt it too.

“Bucky, I—“ she choked on her words, seemingly unsure of how to say what she was thinking. Bucky waited, not wanting to let her out of his sight, even for a minute. He reveled in the opportunity just to look at her, to take in all the features he had only seen in his mind over the last two years. “I’ve been looking for you.”

Something about that statement made Bucky angry. Looking for him? He’d been home for a week, and she knew where he lived; she must not have been looking too hard.

“Can we talk?” Bucky asked suddenly, his eyes darting to the diner, their diner, that was just across the street. She nodded, understanding immediately where he wanted to go. The two of them walked briskly across the street, still keeping a safe distance.

She reached for the door, but Bucky reached over her shoulder and gripped the handle first, pulling it open to allow her to walk through. He noticed that she walked straight to what became known as their regular booth, the same booth they occupied on their first date.

Bucky slid in across from her, ordering two strawberry milkshakes from the waitress who had met them at the table. The waitress scribbled their order down before turning on her heel towards the kitchen.

She was staring across the table at a spot stained with black marker. Bucky wasn’t one for vandalism, but there was something romantic about permanently branding their favorite booth.

The small heart with the date “06/15/1941” still looked as new as the night he wrote it. She had been giggling, looking over her shoulder nervously to see if anyone would notice. Bucky didn’t care. The diner was hopping; every seat was filled, and Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy was playing over the jukebox. “That’s pretty permanent,” she admonished with hints of a smirk playing on her pretty mouth, “Might last forever.” Bucky smiled, leaning over the table to place a kiss on her lips, “So will we.”

The trajectory of their relationship changed when he enlisted. He bought a ring a mere three months after their first date, and it still sat tucked in his sock drawer, waiting. He had considered popping the question before he shipped out, imagining how he’d beam with pride when the men in the 107th asked if he had a girl back home, and he’d tell them about her, his future wife. Bucky had known how much the threat of war frightened her, how she felt like time was a ticking bomb, waiting to explode. He just hadn’t expected it to threaten their future together.

Her father had been drafted into World War I in 1917. He was a hard-working, sturdy young man who left behind two small boys and a wife who would soon find out she was expecting. Seven months later, their only baby girl made her way into the world, and fifteen months later, her father tragically made his way out.

Bucky remembered the way she spoke of her mother, how strong she was to do it alone, how she had kept their father’s memory alive through the years. Her two older brothers had many stories of the man that she only knew as a photo on the mantle.

Bucky knew she was terrified that history would repeat itself.

“How have you been?” He asked, breaking a silence that wasn’t necessarily awkward but heavy.

She shook her head, “Please don’t ask me that. It sounds so insignificant when you think of everything that has happened over the last couple of years.”

Bucky chuckled and took a sip of his milkshake, “Well, you can see that I’m fine.”

“Physically, sure. But not all scars are visible.”

“No scars here, honey,” he shrugged, unable to stop himself. “Maybe one on my chest from where you ripped my heart out, but that’s nothing to write home about, I suppose.”

He watched as she opened her mouth to speak but then closed it again. Bucky pushed his glass to the side and leaned forward. The can of worms was opened, the elephant was in the room, and he had two years of pent-up heartache to share.

“I know why you did it, but I told you, I was going to do everything I could to come home to you.”

She opened her mouth again, but Bucky held up a hand.

“I know that I had no control over that, but at least then I would have gotten on that boat knowing that you were still mine. I felt like you didn’t trust me,” his voice crackled, and he cleared his throat. “You hurt me when I needed you the most.”

Her eyes were closed, and tears were sparkling behind her eyelashes. Her shoulders lifted as she took a deep breath.

“Bucky, you have to believe me when I say that I thought I was doing what was best for us. I didn’t want you to worry about me when you had other things to worry about -“

“I was always going to worry about you! I was always going to think about you, I was always going to wish I was with you! Breaking things off wasn’t going to change that, it was just selfish,” Bucky interrupted, his words coming out sharper than intended. “I was going to ask you to marry me.” Tears slipped down her cheeks, and he felt a sharp pang in his chest at the sight.

“I’m a coward,” she whispered. “I let my fear get the best of me, and that wasn’t fair to you. Seeing how much my mother was affected by my father’s death…all I ever wanted was to marry you and start a family, but - war destroys families, and I let that fear dictate my choices. But they shouldn’t have just been my choices. Every time you tried to fight it, I just kept pushing back. I shouldn’t have pushed back. I should’ve let you win.”

“I stopped fighting because I respect your wishes,” Bucky admitted. “It wasn’t about winning. I just love you too much.”

“I will spend the rest of my life trying to make things right between us,” she insisted. “Even if you never want to see me again, which I’d understand.” Her voice faltered like she didn’t truly mean it.

Bucky sighed and took a moment to drink his melting milkshake. She followed suit, and another silence took over.

He had no intention of cutting her out of his life. One day she would be amused to find out that it took everything in him to not grab her by the waist and kiss her as soon as he saw her walking down the sidewalk. While he hadn’t stopped longing for their reunion while he was away, he had inadvertently built walls that she would have to break through. Or maybe chip away at it, little by little.

Things between the two of them had never been slow. Bucky knew from the moment he met her that she was the one. He knew from the moment his lips met hers on the front porch that he was a goner. She was it. His body, his mind, and his heart were drawn to her and only her. Even now, after she had destroyed him and sent him overseas with a broken heart.

Bucky was ready to give her everything he had left, but he knew it would take time.

“Notice how I haven’t spoken about my love for you in the past tense? I am still so in love with you, it drives me crazy. The memories of you got me through some of my worst times. Things between us will get better, eventually,” he said finally. She just nodded and continued to sip at her milkshake.

“I am so sorry, Bucky,” she reached across the table, hesitantly grabbing his hand. He had to stop himself from reacting outwardly because it felt like fireworks were going off inside of his chest. He slowly wrapped his fingers around hers, feeling the leftover chill from her frosty glass. They sat like that for a moment, connected in the most basic way, but connected nonetheless. She gave his hand a light squeeze. “I’m…so, so happy that you’re home. I think I always knew in my heart that you would make it home. I was just… scared.”

Bucky’s shoulders slumped a bit as the tension released, “I know. Me too.”

Things would be okay, someday.

He gently released her hand and pulled his wallet from his pocket. Bucky pulled out a few crinkled bills, tossed them on the table, and gave a silent nod of understanding to the waitress. He slid out of the booth and turned to her, his hand outstretched.

“Can I walk you home?”

#bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x female reader #1940s!bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes #1940s!bucky barnes x reader #james barnes #james buchanan barnes

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