#i had terrible fever dreams earlier about a harry potter rebellion???

[gryffvndors]

blurred edges [draco malfoy]

request: “could you maybe do prompt 295 with jealous angsty draco x reader. I adore your writing style btw x” -anon

“Please could do one where Malfoy and the reader get really close but then she sees him lock lips with Parkinson at a party... etcetc.” -anon

word count: ~1700 (i’ve given up on my limit)

a/n: mashed two more together bc they fit pretty well together! i hope this is what yall r looking for? i had fun writing this! i’ve been super sick all day and have been reading scorbus fanfics which is always fun. thanks for requesting and reading as always!

295: “wait a minute. are you jealous?”

It’s not a defined thing, you and Draco Malfoy. It’s more of a loose thing, an unshapely thing, with the edges blurred, corners rounded, creases smoothed out. There isn’t anything solid about it; the only thing that keeps this… whatever it is, thriving, is your combined fear of being alone.

It’s the harsh truth, but regardless, it’s the truth. If you weren’t so stubborn and needy, this wouldn’t even be a thing at all. On the other hand, Draco, a boy who’s never had to work for anything in his life, finds your relationship easy and manageable. You know because he’s told you before, the two of you laying in bed, him tracing lazy circles on your bare thigh. You’d twisted your body to make eye contact. He looked into your eyes with his steel gaze and, in answer to an unuttered question that hung in the air, said it so bluntly, you sat there for a second, feeling like he slapped you in the face.

(You left, then, angry tears crawling down your cheeks. You left, but obviously came back; why wouldn’t you? All you wanted, really, was attention. He gave you attention.)

You’ve learned to build your walls high and strong, impenetrable. He apologized for being so blunt. You forgave him, and then proceeded to have sex with him again. Yes, you’re definitely a good example on how to stray away from toxic relationships. Time and time again, you’ve told yourself to leave. You can handle being alone - but right after one of you ends it, the same person comes running back, lungs empty and chest twisting inside of your body. You don’t do “feelings”. Draco doesn’t, either. After the initial mishap, the two of you agreed that this simply be a “no strings attached” relationship. It was quite easy, until, of course, the other snuck up on one of you and tied a knot so small, so insignificant, it only became tighter and tighter until it was nearly impossible to undo. Then they got out the scissors and snipped it away, leaving the other broken with frayed edges and a permanent knot in their bones.

You deserve each other, really.

The press of Draco’s mouth against yours is as familiar and unsettling as ever; his hair, always soft, shines magnificently in between your fingers. His own digits play at the hem of your shirt. Your body shakes as he lets out a low, guttural sound. All that runs through your mind while his (cold) hands slide up the soft skin of your stomach is a warning bell, an alarm, that if you don’t stop now, you’ll be late for the post-Quidditch match party going on in the Slytherin common room. You’re near the entrance, anyway, tucked away in a dusty alcove in one of the main hallway branches. Draco’s lips suck where the underside of your jaw meets your neck. You swallow, pushing him away.

“We have to get to the common room,” you say, chewing on your lower lip. “They’ll want you to be there.”

Draco’s mouth twists into a frown. “I don’t feel like partying right now.”

“That doesn’t matter. They’ll still expect you to be there, you won us the Quidditch Cup.” When he doesn’t answer, you add, “There will be alcohol.”

“I… like alcohol,” he says softly. He goes down to kiss your neck again. You dodge it, sidestepping away. “Stop being like this.”

“We have to go, Draco.”

Draco huffs: “Fine. We’ll go to the stupid party.”

“Don’t throw a tantrum.”

“I’m not,” he sighs, running his hands through his hair. “I just… want to snog you.”

“I’m flattered,” you deadpan, “but I really feel like getting wasted right now. How about we snog after, say, five shots of firewhiskey? Ten? Twelve, maybe?”

As Draco leads you to the common room entrance, he rolls his eyes. “You’re looking for a hangover.”

“What can I say? I’m a masochist.”

The party is going full-swing. There’s a drinking game going on with a bunch of the older students; the younger ones have butterbeers, and it amuses you to see a couple third years stare longingly at the bottles of firewhiskey. As soon as you and Draco enter the room, there’s a few wolf whistles and a whole round of cheering. You leave Draco’s side and go straight for the alcohol. You bypass glasses entirely, picking up a bottle and taking a swig from it.

“Rough day?” Your friend sidles up beside you, smirking. Her cheeks are pink from the whiskey, you’d bet, personality loose and open.

You scoff, “You have no clue.” You take another swig.

It isn’t long before you open up yourself; you’ve always liked the burning in your stomach from intoxication, the stumbly and free feeling it gives you. You can’t find it in yourself to care when you lose a drinking game and have to chug straight from the bottle. You catch Draco watching you out of the corner of your eye, a smirk on his lips, face flushed, shaking his head. You nearly choke and have to double over, swallowing what’s in your mouth. The burning down your throat increases.

You’ve gotten to that point where you don’t really care about anything anymore. Around the common room, you chat with everyone, all smiles and charm and slurred words. When you turn the corner to grab something from your room, you see, down the hallway to the girls’ dormitory, Draco with Pansy Parkinson, his tongue in her mouth and hands up her skirt.

You falter, chest wrenching. The sight seems to down your spirits immediately. You turn on your heels and go back where you came from, knuckles nearly white from clenching the sleeves of your robes so hard.

You don’t know why you’re so broken up over this. You aren’t even together. This is no strings attached. You don’t do feelings - feelings are a nuisance. He isn’t yours, anyway. He never was yours to begin with. Just because you like to have a good shag every once in awhile, or snog at least three times a day, doesn’t mean you have all rights to him. He can kiss whoever he wants. And if he chooses Pansy, then so be it. What can you do about it? You, the girl that does not have feelings for him. You, the girl who cannot have feelings for him. You can’t do anything but watch and keep your mouth shut.

But, hey, if he can snog other people, so can you.

You grab your friend by the back of her robes and drag her over to the alcohol. “I saw Draco snogging Pansy Parkinson in the corner.”

Her face falls. “I’m so sorry-”

You hold up a hand. “Save it. I don’t care. But we’re going to take a shot together, and then I’m going to go snog Theodore Nott. Because I can.”

As you pour the shots, your friend muses, “Are you sure it’s not just because he’s Draco’s good friend?”

You hand her a glass and clink yours against it. “Nope,” you say, then down it. She laughs after you as you approach Nott, tugging on his sleeve. “Wanna make out with me?”

Nott glances around, then shrugs. You pull him over to a corner in the common room.

He isn’t that great of a kisser. It… doesn’t feel right, if you’re being quite honest. He’s too sloppy - though that may be due to his blatant intoxication - and a hell of a lot worse than Draco. You don’t really care, though; maybe Draco’s the bad one and you’re just used to it.

(Almost immediately after that thought, you know you’re wrong. Draco’s an amazing kisser.)

A few minutes into it, you’re torn apart. Nott is surprised; you are, too. You whip around. Behind you stands Draco, face set in a scowl. He mutters your name, then Nott’s. “Theo, step the fuck away.”

Needless to say, Nott scurries off, murmuring apologies under his breath. Draco hisses, “Can I talk to you?”

You shrug, toying with the hem of your robes. “Go ahead.” Draco grabs your wrist and pulls you into the dimly lit hallway to the dormitories, where he was sticking his tongue down Pansy Parkinson’s throat not five minutes ago.

“Why were you snogging Nott?”

You smirk. “Wait a minute. Are you jealous?”

Draco’s cheeks turn even darker. “Jealous? No. Just wondering why you chose Nott, of all people.”

You blink, feigning innocence. “Why did you choose Pansy Parkinson, of all people?”

Draco pauses. “You… saw that?”

“Yeah. I did,” you scowl, shoving your hands in your pockets. “Why are you getting onto me for snogging Nott when you were snogging Parkinson at the same time? That doesn’t seem very fair. And why are you even jealous in the first place? I thought this was no strings attached, no feelings-”

“Well, maybe I fucking developed feelings!”

Neither one of you speak. The sentence hangs in the air like a threat. You rock back and forth on your heels, unsure of what to say. When you finally find your voice, all you can say is, “O-oh.”

Draco looks at the ground. “Fuck. If you don’t feel the same way, I understand. But if you don’t, I… want things to stop between us. I can’t go around shoving my feelings aside, pretending like they don’t exist.” There’s a hesitation. You realize he’s waiting for you to speak.

“Oh,” you repeat. “I-”

Draco sighs, running a hand through his hair. “You know what? Nevermind. I-”

“Draco, stop-” You grab his arm and pull him back as he turns away to leave. You look into his (quite frankly, brilliant) grey eyes and clear your throat. “I… only snogged Nott because I saw you snogging Parkinson. I was… jealous,” you admit. “I do. Fancy you. I have major feelings for you, I just… never voiced them because I didn’t want the same thing to happen as it did before.”

He knows what you’re referencing to. You can tell; his frown deepens, and before you know it, he’s kissing you gently. You kiss back, still unaware of where you two lie. When he breaks away, you ask the question you’re both thinking.

“So… where do we stand?”

Draco swallows. “Where do you want to stand?”

“I’d… like to be your girlfriend, if that’s okay with you.”

He leans down to kiss you again. Against your lips, he mumbles, “That’s definitely alright with me.”