Soul Ache | Draco Malfoy
Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Reader Summary: You simply can't stay an ex when you're the only one Draco has every truly loved. Plus.. You just don't look as good with a Gryffindor. Themes & Warnings: jealous!Draco, possessive!Draco, yearning, fluff, oh my god so much tension, swearing, SMUT (EATING, fingering, messy stuff, p in v), angst KIND OF with resolution.
It was a dream at first.
So many had been trying to get a chance at Draco for years. He was everything a girl could want. Handsome, rich, respected, talented. But he never looked at the ones that fell at his feet. Oddly, for someone who life came so easily to, he was looking for a challenge. S conquest. Something to achieve and be proud of.
You were it, of course. Your feistiness, your drive, your refusal to flop before a man and beg him to be the one that puts a ring on your finger. You respected yourself, which was one of the key differences between you and the other girls and what made you so appealing to Draco. One would think, looking at Draco Malfoy, that he wouldn't want someone capable of standing up for themself, someone who was stubborn.. But falling for you was so quick. It was effortless.
It was just getting you to fall back that was the hard part.
After months of distanced courting, you finally allowed Draco to hold your hand in the hallways, to scare off whoever bothered you, and to drape his scarves and cloaks over your shoulders when you were stared at a little too hard. You ran your hands through his icy blonde hair in the shimmering moonlight at the Astronomy Tower, lips urgently crashing against his in an attempt to understand how in love you were.
Draco was so much deeper than what others saw. He was capable of love, love so deep that you almost drowned.
You were the one thing Draco Malfoy had ever fought for. But he didn't know how to keep you.
It wasn't cheating, not really. Not in the physical sense. But there were letters, there were promises made to people who could help his family, whispered arrangements you stumbled upon because Draco didn't bother to lock his desk one day.
A favor here, a compromise there, all of it threaded through with flirtation. Not love -- he was firm on that. It was never love. But you didn’t care about the technicalities.
You cared that while you were fighting for him, he was negotiating with other girls like you were an inconvenience.
It ended in his dorm. You were standing by his desk with the crumpled parchment in your hand, breathing hard.
“So this is how you do it, huh?” you spat, voice shaking. “You secure your family’s precious alliances by whoring out your attention to anyone who’ll help you?”
He went pale, grey eyes sharp with something that wasn’t guilt yet, just fear of being caught.
“It isn’t like that, love. You know it isn’t. Don’t be fucking dramatic--”
“Don’t you dare tell me how to feel about this, Draco.”
He reached for you and you stepped back, the paper crumpling tighter in your fist.
“It’s strategy,” he hissed. “My father expects--”
“I don’t give a fuck about your father!”
Your voice broke on the last word. He flinched like you’d slapped him.
“You knew what they were asking me to do,” he said, quieter. Almost desperate. “You knew. And you--you were supposed to understand. I need this. For us. For my family.”
“I was supposed to understand you humiliating me? You promising things to other girls while you’re with me? No.”
Silence filled the space between you like poison.
“Then leave,” he whispered.
“I’m already gone.”
You tossed the letter at him. He didn’t even try to catch it.
You left before you could see if he broke.
The feeling of your absence hit Draco like a ton of bricks to the stomach. In every silence, in everyday's classes, in the nights at the Astronomy Tower that he spent alone when you'd normally be there next to him, keeping his cold skin warm.
He didn’t eat much. Didn’t speak unless spoken to. Even Pansy stopped trying after a while, realizing he wasn’t moody -- he was wrecked.
He cried, but only where no one could hear him. Silent, hoarse sobs with a fist pressed to his mouth to muffle the sound. His voice started to vanish -- raw and strained from nights spent whispering your name into the dark, pleading with a version of you that would never answer.
He still carried your favorite quill in his satchel. Still flinched every time he saw someone wearing a scarf like yours. Still instinctively turned his head when he heard your laugh, only to remember it wasn’t his anymore.
The worst part wasn’t losing you. It was knowing he’d done it to himself. It was knowing that he'd lost a planned future with the only girl he'd ever loved because he couldn't prioritize loyalty.
And you?
You were strong. Just like he knew you'd be. You definitely weren't joyful without him, but you never cried or complained. You sat with a straight face, entire body set in stone, refusing to acknowledge his existence.
You just stopped speaking his name.
You sat in class with your head high and your eyes blank. When the professor called on you, your voice was steady, cold. Even as your heart clenched at the thought of him across the room, trying not to look at you but always failing.
You didn’t cry. Not where anyone could see. Not even when you were alone. It felt like crying would make it real, and you refused to give him that.
You sat in the Great Hall with your friends, ignoring the way he watched you from the other end of the table, silver eyes glassy and furious. You ate meals you could barely swallow.
Your posture was perfect. Your uniform immaculate. You made yourself untouchable. A fortress he could never breach again.
You were like this, never laughing, never expressing an ounce of joy.. Until Oliver Wood sauntered up to you.
The Great Hall's attention was immediately commanded. Whispers spread. Eyes focused onto you and the approaching Gryffindor boy.
“What's the bloody idiot doing?”
“Oh, shite. He's off to speak to Y/N!”
“I pity that poor bloke.”
Draco’s fork stopped halfway to his mouth. He didn’t even blink. Just stared, silver eyes sharpening to knives.
You felt it too, the shift. The sudden heat of so many eyes on you. You kept your spine straight, fingers curling around your goblet, refusing to give them a show.
But Oliver didn’t seem to care about the audience. He grinned at you, easy and genuine.
He cracked a fucking joke.
And you burst into laughter. For the first time in months.
Not polite, tight-lipped laughter, but real, unstoppable laughter that shook your shoulders and made you cover your mouth too late to hide it.
The entire Hall went dead silent for a beat.
Draco’s fork fell from his fingers and clattered onto his plate.
He didn’t pick it up. Didn’t move. Just watched you, frozen, the look in his eyes murderous and wrecked all at once.
And for the first time since you’d left him, you didn’t care.
The following weeks were fantastic, but grueling for Draco. You went to Oliver's games, despite being talked about for “dating” a Gryffindor. You went to Hogsmeade, ignoring Draco and his friends in favor of sipping butterbeer and people watching with Oliver.
Every time Draco saw the two of you, he wound tighter and tighter. The jealousy, the anguish, the rage, it mixed together inside of him, creating a storm. Draco normally felt things strongly, but this? This was something different. He knew it was his fault. But the anger blinded him. It refused to let him rationalize. After years of you being his, he was forced to see you prance around with some stupid fucking Gryffindor jock.
Today, you stood in the hall with Oliver and his friends, giggling. The afternoon sun streamed through the castle windows, catching in your hair, making you look infuriatingly radiant to the boy sulking far down the corridor, fists in his pockets, eyes fixed on you like a curse.
But you didn’t notice Draco right now. Or if you did, you didn’t care.
Oliver’s arm was draped lazily across your shoulders, not possessive but comfortable, like you’d known each other forever. His friends were chuckling about some disastrous practice session.
Oliver turned his head to you, eyes bright with mischief.
“Come on, back me up here, Y/N,” he urged, lips curling. “I told them it wasn’t my fault the Bludger nearly took my head off. Clearly it was Bletchley’s shite aim.”
You snorted. Loudly enough that a couple of younger students turned to look.
“Mhm. Right. Because you’re so good at dodging,” you teased, nudging his side with your elbow.
He gave a wounded gasp, clutching at his chest with over-the-top dramatics.
“You wound me,” he declared. “I ask for backup and I get betrayal. Traitor.”
You just grinned wider.
“I’m not your lawyer, Wood. I only deal in facts.”
Oliver’s friends burst out laughing. One of them clapped you on the shoulder, saying, “She’s got you there, mate.”
Oliver shook his head in mock exasperation, but he was beaming at you. Really looking at you, like you were a person and not a prize.
“Fine. Fine,” he relented, squeezing your shoulders lightly. “But you’re still coming to the next match, yeah? Can’t have my lucky charm backing out now.”
Your lips twitched, warmer now, the fortress cracking just a little.
“I’ll be there,” you said softly, holding his gaze.
He grinned. The whole group cheered and jostled you both, making you laugh even harder.
And down the corridor, Draco Malfoy watched it all.
Eyes black with jealousy.
Teeth grinding.
Heart breaking in slow, unstoppable motion.
Draco stormed into the Slytherin common room, robes billowing behind him like some furious bat. He dropped his bag with a thud and didn’t sit, just prowled in front of the fire, breathing hard.
Crabbe and Goyle exchanged a wary glance. Blaise Zabini lounged in an armchair, one brow raised in silent judgment. Pansy sat cross-legged on the green velvet sofa, pretending to read.
“She was laughing,” Draco snapped, voice clipped and tight. “With him. That fucking git.”
Pansy didn’t even glance up.
“Yes, Draco, we all saw. Whole sodding corridor did.”
Draco’s eyes flashed.
“She’s doing it on purpose, Pans. Parading him around. Acting like she’s over it.”
“Maybe she is,” Blaise drawled lazily, studying his nails. “Who can blame her?”
Draco rounded on him.
“Don’t start, Zabini.”
Blaise smirked, infuriatingly calm.
“Mate, you humiliated her. You expect her to mope forever? She’s got Wood now. Big, dumb Gryffindor with a shiny Quidditch badge. She’s moved on.”
Draco’s jaw worked furiously.
“That’s not what happened, you bloody prick. Watch your mouth before I--”
Pansy snapped her book shut with a crack.
“You wrote letters to other girls. Promises, Draco. She found them. What did you think she’d do?”
Goyle grunted in agreement.
“Yeah, s’not great, mate.”
Draco’s glare could have melted glass.
“He had his arm around her today.”
The words dripped poison.
Silence fell. Even Blaise stopped smirking.
“Like she was his,” Draco spat, voice cracking despite his best efforts. “Like she belonged to him. She's mine. Always has been.”
Crabbe shifted uncomfortably.
“We could... y’know. Sort him out.”
Draco barked a humourless laugh.
“Yeah? Brilliant plan, that. Hexing Wood so she can really hate me. Genius.”
Pansy exhaled in frustration.
“So what are you going to do?”
He didn’t answer straight away. Just stared into the fire, shoulders tense, breath coming short. Then, without another word, he left again, grey eyes hardened and focused.
He knew where he'd find you. Right at the Quidditch field, under the lights, watching that idiotic git and his dumb friends practice Quidditch 24/7. You were going to talk to him. He was done being ignored, done stewing in his own misery. He didn't care if he had to drag you off the field.
The grass could have fried below his feet. Draco was fuming.
He crossed the grounds at a furious pace, cloak snapping in the night wind. The chill didn’t even touch him, he was burning from the inside out.
As the pitch came into view, he could already hear them: shouts, laughter, Wood’s barking orders like he owned the place. He spotted the glint of red and gold circling overhead, Bludgers cracking against bats.
And there you were.
Exactly where he’d known you’d be.
Perched on the stands, arms resting on your knees, chin propped in your hand. Watching them. Watching him.
You laughed at something Oliver yelled from the air. It wasn’t even a good joke. Draco could tell from here. He could feel his blood boil at the sound, your laugh, something he hadn’t heard in weeks except for that humiliating first time in the Hall.
He slowed only once, boots crunching on the grass. Took a deep breath that didn’t help at all.
Then he climbed the stands two at a time.
“Oi! Malfoy!”
A couple of Gryffindor Beaters noticed him first, scowling, voices carrying across the pitch.
Draco ignored them completely. His eyes were locked on you.
“Y/N.”
Your name came out like a snarl, low and tight, all his careful composure finally snapping.
You turned slowly, brows lifting in cool, deliberate surprise.
“What do you want, Malfoy?”
The use of his surname sliced at him worse than any hex.
He didn’t answer immediately. Just stared at you, really looked at you. The curve of your mouth still turned from that stupid laugh, your hair mussed by the wind, the Gryffindor scarf someone had given you wrapped around your neck.
His fists clenched at his sides.
“Get down.”
You blinked once.
“I’m sorry?”
His voice was colder, but it trembled.
“I said get the fuck down here. Now.”
That got the whole team’s attention. Oliver was already landing, broom braced against his shoulder, face thunderous.
“Oi, Malfoy, back off. Get your arse off my pitch.”
Draco didn’t even look at him.
“This isn’t about you, Wood. Piss off.”
He only had eyes for you.
“We’re talking. Now. I don’t give a shit if I have to drag you.”
Your friends shifted beside you, uncertain, glancing between the furious Slytherin and the Gryffindor captain who looked one word away from lunging.
But Draco didn’t move toward Oliver.
He just waited.
Jaw locked.
Chest heaving.
Grey eyes shining with rage, hurt, and something that looked terrifyingly close to begging.
“Draco..” You said, your eyes fighting the urge to soften. You glanced at Oliver, who's fists squeezed together in readiness. “This really isn't the time or place.”
His teeth gritted.
“I don't care.”
Draco’s voice was raw, stripped of all its usual arrogance.
“Five minutes,” he bit out. “That’s all I’m asking.”
You hesitated, glancing at Oliver, who was already stepping forward, his grip tightening on his broom.
“Y/N, you don’t have to--”
“It’s fine,” you said quietly, standing.
Oliver’s jaw tensed. “Like hell it is, lass.”
You shot him a look, let me handle this, and he exhaled sharply but didn’t stop you as you descended the stands.
Draco didn’t move, didn’t even breathe, until you were right in front of him.
Then he grabbed your wrist and yanked you toward the edge of the pitch, away from prying eyes.
You stumbled, hissing, “Draco--stop--”
He didn’t. Not until you were hidden behind the stands, the shadows swallowing you both. Then he whirled on you, his grip on your wrist unrelenting.
His eyes could've set off a grenade.
Cold fingers gripped at the scarf around your neck, immediately unraveling it.
“Get this ugly thing off from you. Christ. Can't even fucking talk while I'm looking at it.” He said, managing to rip the Gryffindor scarf off from you, grimacing in pure disgust. “One could seriously wonder if you were a house traitor.”
Draco’s voice was a low snarl as he tossed the scarlet-and-gold scarf aside like it was cursed.
“There,” he bit out, his fingers flexing at his sides as if resisting the urge to touch you again. “Now you look like yourself again.”
You stared at him, chest rising and falling with unsteady breaths.
“You don’t get to decide what I wear,” you snapped.
Draco stepped closer, his body caging you against the wooden beams of the stands. The scent of him, crisp apples and winter air, flooded your senses, familiar and infuriating. His grey eyes searched yours desperately, looking for a single trace of affection.
“I meant nothing to you then? The years spent with me meant nothing?” He spat.
You swallowed hard, your heart pounding painfully in your chest. The ache of his words cut deeper than you expected.
“I never said that,” you breathed, voice barely steady. “You don’t get to claim my past like that. You--”
His jaw tightened, eyes darkening with frustration and pain.
“Don’t twist my words, Y/N.”
You met his gaze, fierce despite the trembling inside.
“You meant everything. Every-fucking-thing,” you hissed, biting back tears that you'd done so well to fight for months. “But there was nothing left when you decided that family matters were more important.”
Draco flinched like you’d slapped him. His nostrils flared, breath coming in ragged, furious bursts.
“That’s not fair,” he ground out, voice cracking despite the venom. “You think I wanted any of that? You think I liked doing it?”
Your eyes flashed, hot tears finally spilling over, but you didn’t back down an inch.
“You did it anyway.”
His mouth opened, then shut, words failing him. His hands hovered at his sides, fingers curling and uncurling like he was fighting not to grab you and shake you.
“I had no choice,” he growled, voice low and shaking. “You don’t understand what it’s like, what my father,”
You cut him off with a bitter laugh that sounded half-sob.
“Don’t you dare make this about him. Don’t you dare act like you didn’t know exactly what you were doing to me.”
He pressed closer, so close you could feel the heat of his chest against yours, his eyes boring into you like he could carve the truth out of you by force.
“I was trying to keep us safe,” he hissed, voice breaking, something ragged and awful in it. “I was doing it for you.”
Your breath hitched at that, but you shook your head violently, hair whipping across your face.
“I never asked you to sacrifice us for your family’s goddamn pride. You were going behind my back, Draco. A little bit of honesty would've fixed everything!”
Silence fell between you, thick and choking.
Draco’s jaw trembled. For the first time, the fury in his eyes wavered, replaced by something hollow and wounded.
He swallowed hard, voice dropping to a raw whisper.
“I didn’t know what else to do.”
You shut your eyes, tears spilling freely now. Your voice was quiet, broken.
“Then you should’ve just loved me.”
He exhaled like he’d been stabbed.
“I did,” he hissed out, eyebrows furrowed. “I do. Every day I do. More than I love myself. More than I love the stupid fucking family matters.” His voice was like venom, angry, burning velvet.
Your breath hitched at his words, at the way they poured out of him like a confession he’d been dying to make but never dared.
His hands finally lifted, hovering uncertainly near your arms before curling into fists, like he couldn’t bear the thought of touching you if you’d only pull away.
“Then why didn’t you say it?” you whispered, voice cracking under the weight of all the months you’d held yourself together. “Why didn’t you tell me before you ruined us? Tell me what you had to do.”
His eyes were wild, shimmering with unshed tears he refused to let fall.
“Because I’m a fucking coward,” he spat, voice rough. “Because I didn’t want you to know how weak I was. How much I needed you and how I'm just a bloody puppet.”
You shook your head, wiping at your cheeks with the back of your hand, breath hiccupping with grief and fury.
“You didn’t have to be strong, Draco. I would’ve taken you exactly as you were.”
He shook his head.
“Doesn't matter. You have Wood now, yeah?” He laughed bitterly. “Brave and honest, just like a Gryffindor. Sickening.” He commented, like it was the most vile thing in the world. “I’ll beat that filthy blood-traitor within an inch of his fucking life.”
Your fingers curled into fists at your sides, nails biting into your palms.
"Don't you dare threaten him," you hissed. "Oliver's honest with me. He's different."
Draco flinched like you'd struck him, his silver eyes flashing with something wounded and feral.
"Is that what you want?" he snarled. "Some golden-hearted hero who'll never disappoint you? Who'll never have to make the hard choices?" He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a venomous whisper. "Tell me, does he know you? The way I do? Does he know how you bite your lip when you're trying not to cry? How you hum under your breath when you're brewing? How you whimper when--"
"Stop it." You shoved him back, your breath coming in sharp gasps. "You don't get to do this. You don't get to remember me like that and then -- then throw me away when it's convenient!"
Draco's face twisted. For a second, he looked like he might crumble. Then his mask slammed back into place, colder than ever. A hand came up, finger tips ghosting the sides of your throat.
“Watch your mouth. You are by far the best thing that has ever happened to me, love. I'm sick every day thinking that you don't believe it,” he whispered, his fingers squeezing a bit harder. “Please.”
Your breath caught in your throat. Not from fear, never fear, but from the weight of his words, the pressure of his fingers, the look in his eyes like he was already drowning in everything he couldn't say out loud.
“Let go,” you breathed, voice shaking, not from weakness, but from the storm surging inside you.
But he didn’t. Not right away.
Draco’s grip wasn’t cruel. It wasn’t meant to hurt. But it was desperate, like if he let go of you now, you’d disappear for good. His eyes burned into yours, silver lightning in a dark sky.
“I remember everything,” he said, softer now, his voice breaking at the edges. “Every bloody second with you. I don’t sleep. I don’t eat. I close my eyes and it’s you.”
His hand finally dropped, but his body didn’t move.
“I know I ruined it. I know. But I never stopped loving you. I never stopped. And you standing here... acting like he could ever replace what we had--”
“He didn’t replace it,” you interrupted, voice trembling, but sure. “He respected it. He respected me. Something you forgot how to do.”
Draco flinched like the words knocked the air from his lungs. His mouth opened, but no sound came out.
“You don’t get to demand closeness,” you said, the anger behind your tears rising like a tidal wave. “You lost that."
His chest was rising and falling fast now, panic threading through the rage.
“Y/N…” he whispered. “Don’t walk away. Please. Not again.”
You looked at him -- really looked at him. Pale, furious, unraveling at the seams.
You saw something you'd never seen. Vulnerability. Bare honesty. Desperation. All of the ugly emotions that he kept from you, just like his father had taught. And you broke. For once, you couldn't be strong. You couldn't be honorable. You broke. All of the feelings rushed in. The heartbreak, the love, the yearning for your home back. All of the hurt from what you lacked. And what you lacked was Draco, even if you didn't trust him.
Walking back in three large steps, you grabbed his face and brought it down to your own tear soaked one, your lips colliding in a harsh kiss.
Draco froze for half a second, shocked by the force of you -- by the taste of salt on your lips and the shaking of your breath. Then he broke with you.
His hands flew up, burying themselves in your hair, clutching like he could anchor himself there forever. He kissed you back with something that wasn’t gentle at all, wasn’t sweet. It was frantic. Bruising. A clash of teeth and tongues and desperate sobs you both tried to swallow.
Your fingers dug into his jaw, dragging him closer, needing him to feel everything you’d buried.
“Fuck, Y/N,” he choked between kisses, voice shredded. “I’m so fucking sorry. I’m so--”
“Shut up,” you whispered hoarsely, pressing your mouth back to his before you could start sobbing in earnest.
You didn’t want words anymore. Words had betrayed you both.
He staggered forward, forcing you back against the wooden beams of the stands, but this time you didn’t push him away. Your arms locked around his neck, grounding yourself in the smell of him, the feel of him. The stupid warmth you hated yourself for missing so badly.
“Don’t leave me,” he gasped against your lips, voice cracking in a way you’d never heard before.
You shuddered, tears spilling freely onto his skin.
“I hate you,” you whispered brokenly. “I hate you so much.”
But you kissed him harder.
And he let out something like a sob, clutching you tighter, forehead pressing desperately to yours between rushed, clumsy kisses.
“I know,” he breathed. “I know. But I love you. Merlin, I love you.”
He kissed you again, gentler now but no less desperate, hands trembling as they cupped your face. Like he was terrified you’d vanish if he let go.
Then, from the pitch, he heard Wood's voice. Talking casually with a friend in his too loud tone. He wasn't approaching the two of you -- he was respecting your wishes. However, it was enough to piss Draco off. Enough to remind Draco of who was trying to replace him.
His eyes narrowed into a glare again.
With one hand, he tilted your face, looking into it. He grabbed your hand with the other.
“Come with me.” He said, tugging you off the field.
You didn't argue. You knew this look. The jealousy, the inability to contain himself. You knew what would happen if you kept him too close to who was afflicting him. So, you followed. His steps were fast, legs long and body tall, dragging you behind him with a tight grip.
When you reached the dorm, you immediately hit the wall.
“Bloody waste of space should never have laid a finger on this.” He hissed, his mouth planting sloppy, wet kisses onto your neck. You exhaled, gripping his robes tightly.
“Draco--”
“Enough talk. Gonna show you how much I missed you, then I'm gonna show you everything that Gryffindor half-breed can't do for you.”
“Draco, I--” you tried again, voice cracking with emotion, but he growled low in his throat, cutting you off.
“I said enough.”
He pulled back just enough to look at you. His silver eyes were dark, swirling with that familiar storm of jealousy, anger, and raw need. But beneath it all, you saw the thing that undid you every time: fear.
Fear of losing you.
His hand squeezed yours, painfully tight but grounding, refusing to let you go.
“Look at me,” he demanded, voice low and shaking. “Look at me.”
You did. Chest heaving. Eyes wet.
He dragged his thumb across your cheekbone, smearing away the remnants of tears, before cupping your jaw and forcing your head back against the wall.
“He doesn’t know you,” he spat, his mouth brushing yours with every word. “Not like this. Not like I do.”
You shuddered, fingers curling into his robes, pulling him closer even as you hated yourself for it.
“He can’t make you sound like this,” Draco continued, voice dropping to a husky rasp, his lips trailing down your throat. “Can’t make you feel like this.”
Your breath hitched, a broken moan escaping despite your best efforts.
“Draco, please—”
“Please what, love?” he taunted, kissing you so harshly you thought your lips would bruise. His free hand skimmed your waist, gripping possessively. “Tell me. Beg me.”
Your eyes fluttered shut, teeth sinking into your lip to keep from whimpering, but he wouldn’t allow it. His fingers dug into your hip, dragging you against him so you could feel exactly what he wanted.
“Say it.”
You exhaled shakily, voice cracking under the weight of everything between you.
“I missed you,” you whispered. “Fuck, I missed you.”
That broke him.
He crashed his mouth onto yours with something between a sob and a growl, devouring you, kissing you like he wanted to consume every last memory of Oliver fucking Wood from your mouth.
His grip on you tightened, fingers digging into your hair, your waist, desperate to claim every part of you.
“Mine,” he breathed against your lips. “Always. Say it.”
You couldn’t lie. Not to him. Not to yourself.
“Yours,” you gasped. “Always yours.”
And the last piece of him that had been holding back shattered completely.
“Good. There's my girl. Haven’t really lost you, have I, love?” He chuckled cockily, reaching down to your shirt, tucked into your skirt carefully. He tore it off without a second thought, looking down at your skin.
The cool air made you whimper, squirming.
To placate you, he rubbed a hand along your side, still admiring quietly.
“Stunning. Nothing I’m sharing with Wood, that fucking reject.” He snarled.
Then, he quickly redirected you, pushing you back onto his bed demandingly. You gasped in surprise as he slid a finger under the waistband of your skirt, pulling it off in one swift motion. You were left in just your bra and underwear, the cold air biting at you, making you ache. Draco stared down at you with hot grey eyes.
“Dray.. Please.”
“Please what?”
“Want you.”
Draco smirked, wickedly and snidely, leaning down a bit.
“Me? You’re sure the Gryffindor superstar couldn’t do it better? The lad was--”
You groaned, rubbing your thighs together. They were beginning to get sticky, catching the moisture from the heat between your legs.
“No! Please.”
Without another word, he leant down the rest of the way, running a finger down the front of your soaked panties. Humming at your reaction, the arch of your back and soft moan, he looked at his finger. The dampness glistened.
With another brush, conveniently right in the most sensitive area, he pressed a gentle kiss to your clothed peak. You hissed, threading your fingers through his messy blonde hair. He grinned.
“Patience, patience. I’ll get to it.”
Finally, he pulled your sticky underwear down, and his smile widened.
“Gorgeous. Prettiest pussy in the world, love.”
He kissed it, eliciting a moan from you, the heat of his mouth and his bare skin finally touching where you wanted it. Thickening the spit over his tongue, he gave you one broad lick, your thighs fighting to close around his head and arms.
He tsked against your wet heat, letting his hands fall to pin your legs down. He licked deeper, splitting you completely, hitting every spot that mattered. You moaned, your back leaving the bed, arms coming up to grasp whatever you could reach. His ministrations were lewd, wet and sloppy, like he was taking his time to taste you.
Draco groaned against you, the vibrations making your toes curl.
"Fuck," he muttered, pulling back just enough to speak, his lips glistening with you. "Taste even better than I remember."
You whimpered, hips lifting off the bed, chasing his mouth.
He smirked, dragging his tongue up your slit slowly, teasingly, watching your face twist with frustration.
"Draco--"
"Say it again," he demanded, nipping at your inner thigh. "Say you're mine."
You gasped as his fingers replaced his tongue, two slipping inside you with ease, curling just so.
"Yours," you choked out, back arching. "Only yours--fuck--"
His free hand gripped your hip, holding you down as his fingers worked you ruthlessly, his mouth sealing over your clit again, sucking hard.
You came with a broken cry, thighs shaking around his head, fingers tearing at the sheets.
Draco didn’t let up, licking you through it, drinking down every last shudder, every gasp. Only when you were squirming from oversensitivity did he finally pull back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes dark with satisfaction.
"Good girl," he murmured, crawling up your body, pressing open-mouthed kisses to your stomach, your ribs, the swell of your breasts. "Now let's make sure you never forget who you belong to."
He stood, practiced hands shrugging his cloak off and quickly doing away with his belt buckle.
"Look at me."
Draco's voice was rough, commanding, as he loomed over you, his belt clattering to the floor, his trousers pushed low on his hips. His cock strained against the fabric of his briefs, already leaking for you.
You were dazed, still trembling from your first orgasm, but your eyes locked onto his.
He palmed himself through the fabric, watching the way your breath hitched.
"You're never to let that pathetic blood-traitor touch you again," he said coldly, finally freeing himself, stroking his length slowly. "Do you understand?"
"Yes," you gasped, thighs pressing together. "Draco--"
He didn't make you wait.
In one smooth motion, he dragged your hips to the edge of the bed and filled you, burying himself to the hilt with a satisfied groan.
You cried out, nails raking down his back, legs locking around his waist.
"Fuck-- so tight," he gritted out, hips snapping forward, setting a brutal pace. "You think Wood could fuck you like this? Could ruin you like this?"
You shook your head desperately, pleasure coiling tight again.
"No -- no -- only you--"
Draco’s lips curled into a vicious smirk, his fingers digging into your hips hard enough to bruise.
"Open your mouth," he demanded, thrusts turning punishing, each snap of his hips driving the breath from your lungs.
You responded, your brain foggy from the ruthless pace, the smell of him, the overstimulation. As soon as your lips opened wide enough, Draco spat into your mouth, grabbing your jaw to make you swallow it.
His name broke on your lips as he hit that spot inside you, the one only he knew, the one that made you see stars.
Draco groaned, his forehead dropping to yours, his breath ragged. "That’s it. This is all you needed, hm? A reminder?"
His hand slid between your bodies, fingers finding your clit, rubbing tight circles just the way you liked.
"Give it to me," he ordered, voice rough with need. "Let me feel it."
You shattered.
Your back arched off the bed, a broken whine tearing from your throat as pleasure ripped through you, wave after wave, Draco’s name a prayer on your lips.
He fucked you through it, his own release barreling toward him, his rhythm faltering.
"Fuck--fuck--" His hips stuttered, his grip on you ironclad as he spilled inside you with a groan, his entire body shuddering.
For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of your ragged breaths, the heat of his skin against yours.
Then Draco pulled back just enough to look at you, his silver eyes dark, possessive.
He dragged his thumb over your swollen lips, his voice dangerously soft.
"Next time I see Wood's hands anywhere near you?"
A pause.
A promise.
"I’ll kill him. I know the words." He warned, a finger tracing your jaw. You nodded, leaning into his touch. Draco hummed, pulling you up into his lap. “Resorting to filthy Gryffindors like you don’t know that your place is right beside me.”
You rolled your eyes, pulling yourself tighter to his body. The silence fell upon you easily - and since you’d confronted your issues, for once in the past few months, it was comfortable. His scent wrapped around you like a blanket.
He broke the silence quietly, his voice calm, kind and measured.
“I hope you know how truly sorry I am. And how long I plan to make it up to you for, love.”
You softened, your eyes glistening.
“How long?” You responded.
“Forever. Even that isn’t enough.”
A smile curled onto your lip. You leaned forward to press a soft kiss to his jaw.
“Forever then. It’s settled.” You told him softly, pulling the sheets up around you to settle against his chest. Your eyes were getting heavier by the second - and it had never felt so easy to fall asleep.
After all, you were home. Finally.
“I love you.” Draco quietly admitted. It wasn’t often that he actually said it. He was a man of actions, not words, so he never felt the need to tell you many times. But you treasured the times it did leave his lips.
“I love you too.”
He made it up to you forever. And for Draco, even that wasn’t enough, just as he’d said.
