#i try i really do | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

heimdallsbraids · 1 year

Text

You | Ch. 1 (Heimdall x fem!reader)

Summary: You are so beautiful, so alluring, and so completely unaware of the way you plague his mind day in and day out. You are going to be his and his only, and not a single soul can stop him from making that happen. (Heimdall x fem!reader - modern!AU inspired by Netflix's You)

Rating: Mature (probs gonna change to explicit ngl)

Warnings: Profanity, obsessive behaviour, sexual content (youngsters back tf up)

Note: This is only a teaser for what COULD be continued if enough of you like it. It's my hopeful attempt at a modern-day GOW fic, but the idea of Heimdall being an obsessive little shit like Joe from You was way too tempting not to try, so without ado, please enjoy!

View on AO3

Chapter One: The Side Hustle

The black leather bra caught his attention first. Blue eyes trailed downward in a slow drag, shamelessly admiring the sight. Matching panties, strappy garter belt and thigh-high stockings accompanied by six-inch stilettos. Were you trying to torture him?

Heimdall tipped his head back as he took a long swig from his glass. The familiar burn that followed was a welcome one as he tried to focus on anything but the growing tent in his jeans. Good thing he didn’t have to worry about anyone noticing since it was dark, and he was in a private booth on the second floor of the venue.

This was the third time he’d come back to this godforsaken place in the span of a week, but he had to if he wanted to catch a glimpse of you again. You, the one currently stealing the spotlight from everyone else on that damned stage with your gorgeous body. You, the one giving the seductive eyes as you dropped to your haunches in front of a few eager patrons waving their money in the air. You, the one he couldn’t stop thinking about day in and day out.

He’d only recently discovered that you worked here thanks to a little digging on social media. Outside of the venue, you were the good girl who worked a part-time job at a café and studied graphic design at one of the most prestigious universities in Gladsheim. You were smart, popular, and, most importantly, oozed pretty innocence to anyone who didn’t know better.

But he knew better.

He knew that your adoptive father was a war veteran back in the day and struggled with emotional connection. He knew that your adoptive mother was his father’s ex-wife and a stubborn bitch when she wanted to be. He knew that you had a younger brother in high school who was currently aiming to compete in an archery tournament later this year. He also knew that they were none the wiser about your little… side hustle.

He focused once more as the crowd began to whistle and cheer loudly, his eyes skipping over everything else and landing directly on you. The song had changed to a slow, sensual track that had him leaning forward to give you his undivided attention as you circled a chair with confident steps, wiggling your pointer finger in a ‘come hither’ motion to someone in the crowd.

‘Baby, you can

Ride it, ooh, yeah

Bring it over to my place’

A jock who looked too young to be here was pushed onto the stage by a rowdy group that must have been his friends. He immediately held his arms out to his sides, fuelling himself with their jeers and obnoxious attitudes, and Heimdall rolled his eyes. This immature man-child hardly deserved the treat he was about to get.

His breath hitched as you trailed a delicate hand over the young man’s chest before pushing him onto the chair with a playful shove, trying to imagine that it was him on the receiving end. There were shouts from the guy’s friends, but he seemed to only have eyes for you now as you slowly lowered yourself onto his lap while your other hand trailed over your body.

‘You don’t know what you did, did to me

Your body lightweight speaks to me’

It was like you were one with the music, embodying every beat and every word that played. He couldn’t take his eyes off you, even as you began to gyrate your hips on that poor excuse for a man as part of an incredibly risqué dance he’d never witnessed from you before. Your client was clearly enjoying himself because he was beginning to get a little too comfortable, and Heimdall’s eyes were narrowing when hands other than your own landed on your ass, squeezing tightly before delivering a rough smack that had you jumping.

Security guards had noticed, too, and soon two of them were getting on the stage, ready to see the man out despite the angry yells from his friends. You’d moved to get up, but the jock, seeing his fate, grasped you by the back of your head and planted what was most definitely an extremely sloppy kiss on your lips. You were clearly shocked as the guards (and now other dancers) intervened, separating him from you with rough tugs and reprimands.

Heimdall watched as your skinny blonde co-worker linked arms with you and led you out back somewhere, but he only had one thing on his mind as his eyes once again zeroed in on the young man still causing a ruckus for the security guards as he was escorted out. Sighing dramatically, he threw on his leather jacket and downed the rest of his drink before making his way to the exit.

He was going to make that dropkick regret ever stepping into this place.

#fuck that was fun #like my shitty photoshopping? 😂#i try i really do #heimdall x reader #heimdall gow #gow x reader #fanfiction #female reader #fic: you

50 notes · View notes

xknivesandpensx · 1 year

Text

Between the Lines

Summary: Hermione Granger is probably the last person Draco would want to be stuck in a closet with. Hermione liking the situation no more than him. Will spending time alone push them further apart or somehow bring them closer?

Finally part three of my prequel series, the last part in fact! This takes place during the third movie. I also mention things from the book and a little from my other writing which can be found here. It ended up being way longer than I expected but thanks for taking the time to read.

Hermione entered Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop in search for extra parchment and a new quill. The school year was coming to a close and while Ron stayed behind on this particular trip to Hogsmeade, being ill-advised to accompany the other students while his leg continued to heal. Harry, on the other hand, hid amongst the others while his invisibility cloak covered his body, joining to keep her company and because both boys were still under the impression Draco intended to get back at Hermione for hitting him. All the while, she thought it pointless to worry.

It didn’t take long to reach their intended destination. They thought it best for him to wait outside given the crowd gathered within. He’d be far more prone to bang into people in a large group and she planned to take no more than a few minutes.

To her surprise, adults filled the space, making maneuvering rather difficult. Some famous author took it upon herself to sign books, much like Hermione remembered Gilderoy Lockhart doing back before second year. The excitement reminded her of a crush she had on the professor. It all seemed so trivial now. Sending him a Valentine’s Day card, blushing whenever he came in sight and going as far as treasuring anything he wrote on (even keeping his get well soon letter tucked under her pillow after the Polyjuice Potion incident).

Of course, Hermione kept his books and maybe even stashed the notes inside, nonetheless she was well over any lingering adoration. Certainly, at this point, the events of the year overtook most her thoughts, leaving little to no room for a man who once stood on a pedestal in her mind. The truth of his memory charms were, after all, enough to shoo an abundance of his admirers away.

Her thoughts shook free of him after spotting a head of blond hair in the mass of people. His voice reached her ears as well, coming off as a muffled sort of shout, demanding others to get out of his way. It appeared as if Draco came in as unprepared as she did regarding the swarm of women and men.

The store owner directed Hermione to the back supply closet for the specific quill she sought and well advised her not to close the door. Apparently, certain classmates of hers thought it funny to lock their brother inside, making it so only those on the outside could free their captive. Instantly, she knew the culprits were Fred and George having a bit of fun with Percy, severely angering the other Weasley in the process. He complained about it nonstop in the common room, giving them an earful.

A small smile creased her lips upon the memory as she stretched on her tiptoes to reach the yet to be displayed box, pausing mid reach when another got unintentionally shoved inside by a group, who sounded like overly enthusiastic fans. The door got shut amongst the rushing adults, the slam echoing loudly.

A gasp escaped in a single breath. Despite the warning, Hermione dashed forward trying to turn the knob. “Oh no,” she spoke in a whisper, more in disbelief than anything else. “I can’t believe this is happening. We’re locked in.”

“You’ve got to be kidding.” An edge of vexation roughened his tone. “Move aside.” Draco attempted the same as Hermione until he resorted to banging his fist on the wood itself.

“That’s not going to work. We’re going to have to wait until someone realizes we’re trapped.” She assumed Harry might take it upon himself to search for her, if a sufficient amount of time passed. Not that she could mention it, seeing as he wasn’t supposed to be there in the first place.

“Yeah, I’m sure the cavalry is on their way,” Draco sarcastically commented as he leaned against the wall, aware a small amount of space rested between them. No more than an arm’s length at best.

Otherwise, a single light hung above their heads. The room itself held racks stuffed with boxes, new items on one side, older on the back wall.

Silence engulfed them.

Hermione reluctantly lifted her gaze to look upon him. The two of them hadn’t been alone in quite a while. He grew a few inches in height over the summer, his frame holding an intimidating impression (more so from the way he purposely held himself).

She liked his hair much more than his sleeked back style. It hung freely, bright blond locks falling slightly past his brows. It shaped his face differently and while Hermione would never admit to admiring his looks, especially while a soft, golden glow overtook his hard-set mien, she didn’t want to tear her prolonged stare away.

Despite her reservations, an immediate desire to ask Draco if he remembered their first meeting on the train bloomed in her chest. Where she’d done the same type of scrutinizing study. Did he recall sharing his candy with her or maybe even their moment in Lockhart’s classroom when a mere second of contact caused electricity to fly between them?

She found herself every so often reminiscing the sensation of a fleeting, enamored sort of fondness for Draco Malfoy, feeling it in the pit of her stomach. It still came in waves, yet easily smothered the moment he sent a glare or rude comment in her direction.

Hermione forced herself to look elsewhere before he took notice, trying to instead, come up with a solution to their problem. It started to get warm too, which left her slightly uncomfortable.

Rather than a Hogwarts uniform, she wore a dark navy pair of shorts and a blue button up blouse. Draco took on his typical black attire. Both sleeves were pushed up to his elbows, the material light enough for the oncoming summer weather. The color heightened his pale skin tone but he seemed to prefer the dark shade.

“Will you stop pacing.” If he could even call taking a step every few seconds that. It irritated him more so than it should.

“I’m trying to think. Unlike you who’s just standing there.” Draco said nothing, only crossing his arms in return. “Oh, I’m sorry I forgot I was so beneath you, me saying anything to you is practically considered an insult. Except, of course, if you want to complain, then you don’t seem to care at all.”

Both hands fell on her hips, yet he remained silent. Huffing in aggravation, Hermione settled herself on the ground, bringing her knees close to her chest.

Ten minutes passed in agonizing muteness between them. Muffled voices passed under the door but the myriad of people’s attention may as well be miles away.

He eventually followed suit, taking a seating position across from her. They might be locked in the tiny closet for hours. Crabbe and Goyle wouldn’t think to look for him in here, the two probably too busy at Honeydukes to notice he left their side in the first place.

Draco started feeling restless after a while, so he turned to shift so his forearm rested on his raised leg while the other stretched out.

“I can think of so many people I’d rather be stuck with than you.” His comment came with a condescending sneer, mostly because the silence started to grate him.

“I’m not exactly thrilled to be here either.” Hermione rested her head on the shelf behind her. “I’d probably have more fun facing a Boggart.”

A scoff escaped him. “Getting a bad grade, how horrific. Really shocking fear for you. It’s almost as funny as Potter being terrified of Dementors.”

“And exactly how much trouble did you get in for dressing up as one and trying to scare Harry during a Quidditch match? Not your best plan. It came across rather silly.” She and Ron found themselves in the middle of a fight at the time, but that didn’t stop her from attending.

He got detention, had points taken away and endured an extensive reprimand by several professors. His parents weren’t happy receiving the letter sent home either.

“You go on about it as if he’s so innocent.” He turned his head from her, falling into complaint. “Showing off his Firebolt. Like people have nothing better to do than going around praising him, still being impressed by his stupid scar too.”

Hermione never quite understood his jealousy towards Harry. The boy who lost his parents, had to stay with an aunt, uncle and cousin who treated him dreadfully, who faced terrible things every school year. She supposed mentioning it would be futile.

She took a breath, venturing a different approach. Hoping to possibly gain some understanding. As to why try at all? Maybe she was tired of being combative or perhaps she needed a shred of proof his whole character didn’t lock itself in a singular mold. She saw glimpses already in the past, after all.

“I’m not scared of getting a bad grade specifically.” Hermione heard him sigh, but pressed on. “Sometimes a Boggart can get an exact image. Although every so often the concept can’t take solid form. For me, it’s less about a test and more being told I’m a failure. That I’m not good enough.”

Certain people saw her as someone less because her lineage. And while a compulsion to raise her hand in class existed, it wasn’t always due to knowing the correct answer, rather to keep herself in check. If she slipped from the compliment of being the “brightest witch of her age” who’d she be then?

Hermione went on a bit tentatively. “It’s the same for you, isn’t it? You’re not frightened of your father. You’re afraid of disappointing him… I might be wrong, but I think the reason goes much deeper –– ”

“Don’t act like you know anything about me,” Draco interrupted, leaning forward ever so slightly. A blaze of anger ignited in an instant. “How about you keep that Mudblood mouth of your shut about things you don’t understand.”

She dug too deeply and it stung. Maybe he did try to emulate his greatness, always searching for his father’s approval. Lucius maintained an air about him that nobody came close to. People respected him, knowing severe consequences followed if crossed.

If Lucius needed to give him a few good whacks with his cane every now and again to get results (because in spite of himself, Draco didn’t always listen), he had the right, didn’t he? Luckily, he tended to move his hands fast enough to avoid a blow. For the most part, anyway.

Tension slowly left his muscles, the heat not allowing him to keep his aggravation in place.

Not until Hermione saw his features lose their tightness did she attempt to say more. The weight of the insult remained, yet she tried to rise above it.

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of. Fear is a tricky thing for others to understand. Ron’s scared of spiders and Neville of Professor Snape.” Her voice eased to a lighter measure. “It was rather funny to see him wearing that ridiculous hat.”

Draco ducked his chin, fiddling with his ring.

He intended not to reply until the image came flooding back. Somehow it washed away his persistent insouciance. “People were snickering behind his back for weeks. If he as so much caught a hint of a chuckle, he’d take away ten points immediately.”

It fell out of line from the traditional things he found amusement in, a far cry from sending him to his knees, pounding on the ground because he couldn’t contain himself.

But he laughed regardless. Alongside Hermione Granger no less.

It surprised her. The two of them sharing a moment of levity in a dusty storeroom of which the strong and distinctive smell of fresh ink overtook. While witnessing a brief softness in his open mirth, she felt a spread of warmth in her chest and trace of heat along her face.

It was, however, short lived.

Draco caught himself and stifled his laughter, forcing his legs to push him upward and direct his energy elsewhere. What has it been? A half hour? Longer, perhaps? “This is getting ridiculous. There must be something in here that will help us get out.”

He started searching through a few boxes, tossing them aside rather recklessly in need to do something, anything to vanquish whatever sensation he sensed coursing through his veins.

“Careful, you might break something,” Hermione chastised, quickly getting to her feet.

“As if I care.” He needed to get out now. What did it matter to him if parchment and quills flew everywhere or ink bottles shattered? If only he brought his wand, then perhaps he could’ve unlocked the door right away and avoided this whole thing.

Because he certainly intended to banish the entire ordeal to the back of his mind. He just needed to get away from her first.

In his rushed movements, Draco stumbled over a box, causing him to bang into Hermione and take her down with him.

The crash sounded earsplitting and the fall? It was far from graceful. More painful given Draco’s elbow slammed on the ground. It stopped his full body weight from landing on her completely, though he felt his knee jab into her leg on the way down, which caused a sharp but quick scream upon impact.

Hermione may have lost her ability to breathe after finding herself unexpectedly pinned beneath him, but Draco seemed to be acutely aware of their tangled legs and position of his hands. One rested above her shoulder, the other more so on her arm.

Given his previous claims, any form of physical contact should repulse him or at the very least trigger a hasty drawback. Eventually his fingers loosened their grip so his palm slipped to the floor. Touching her sent prickles along his skin, which threw him off a bit.

And for the first time Draco noticed the color of her eyes, a detail he not once bothered to remember.

He never saw brown eyes glow before, but hers did, like morning sunlight shinning on the bark of a redwood tree. Probably due to the low lighting above, yet in the moment, he believed even within the castle the dancing flame of a candle could ignite the same appeal. They radiated a warmth far surpassing his own pair of blue of which she stared into.

In his mind, Draco knew he needed to move, but the ability to direct his muscles failed him miserably.

Hermione spoke, only for her words to be drowned out by squeaking hinges. The door finally opened.

“What’s going on? Get off her.” He recognized Harry’s voice as a hand gripped his shoulder and somewhat clumsily pulled him upright, the maneuver a tad difficult.

“Let go of me!” Draco remarked, pushing Harry into the wooden frame. His gaze narrowed, noting the accusative tone. Giving the compromising position and knowledge of Harry’s dislike of him (returned, of course), he expected nothing less. “What kind of guy do you take me for, Potter?”

Harry helped Hermione up, speaking matter-of-factly once he gazed upon the blond again. “From the look of things, I have several ideas now.”

While Hermione didn’t blame the reason behind his conclusion, having picked up on it as well, she quickly attempted to correct it. “We fell, nothing else happened, I swear.”

Protective tension kept its hold. Harry cared for her deeply, their friendship built itself into a relationship he held close to his heart. Much like felt he with Ron and Hagrid.

He took her word for it, letting the impression leave him. Draco might go out of his way to torment them, but he really couldn’t picture him being the type to force himself on another. His mind simply jumped to the conclusion seeing him on top of her.

“What are you even doing here?” Draco questioned, breaking whatever silent conversation the pair seemed to be having. “Sneaking into Hogsmeade? I wonder how you managed to pull it off. Maybe I should let the professors take a couple of guesses.”

Harry slowly hid the invisibility cloak behind his back, hoping it went unnoticed. “I think I’m beginning to get the urge to tell the story of how Hermione hit you in the face.”

That was about the only ammo he really had.

“Oh yeah, terribly funny. I’m sure everyone would believe you.” It surprised him how none of them mentioned it, not that he’d be fond of it spreading now. Draco advanced on Harry. “If that’s your attempt at making a threat, it’s pretty weak, if you ask me.”

Before he managed to get too close, Hermione got between them. “Stop. You’re both starting to draw attention. That’s the last thing we need.”

And sure enough, people were beginning to look in their direction.

Draco caught her eyes again, confused on how they still held an alluring call. He forced a glower full of as much loathing he could muster, prior to directing his words to Harry. “Consider yourself lucky the school year’s nearly over. What a waste of time this is.”

The warning held a hollow meaning, the words placed to provide him ample reason to walk away.

Hermione watched him disappear from the shop into the warm sunlight. She suppressed the strange want to go after him and veered her attention back to her friend. “We should clean this up before we go. I’d feel awful leaving it a mess.”

Harry took on the task to help, knowing better than to suggest otherwise and asked for more details. “How’d the two of you end up in a closet in the first place?”

Hermione rattled off a few things between putting boxes away, making sure the door stayed open, yet her mind drifted elsewhere. She witnessed a different side of Draco. Again, but slightly different than before. He looked so, for lack of a better word, dissimilar to his usual self. His laugh rang free of any mocking undertones. Almost, well, mellifluous.

She’d probably never be given a second opportunity to hear it.

She doubted Draco took in the other moment the same way she did. His lips were so near to hers, hovering about an inch or two away. Hermione glanced down at them, finding herself, at the time and all the more so in the present, wondering what it may have felt like if he brought his mouth onto hers.

But kissing Draco Malfoy? What an aimless thing to consider.

#dramione #hermione granger #draco malfoy #harry potter #the prisoner of azkaban #it's been a month since i last posted something i wrote XD #i try i really do #still a bit nervous to post #but here it is #nice comments are always appreciated #sorry for any spelling or grammar mistakes

18 notes · View notes