Minimazer
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Summary
Marriage is largely a matter of perspective. From hers, Draco Malfoy is an exceptionally good husband.
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- Words:
- 35,709
- Works:
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- Bookmarks:
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Summary
When Hermione agrees to act as Draco's date for the annual Malfoy gala, she thinks it might be the worst decision she's ever made. But sometimes in just one night, everything can change.
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Hermione can't stand Tom, but she's not immune to his good looks or charm, and she's aware that maybe she's a little too interested in his hands. She's also aware there's a danger lurking inside him, so it doesn't matter how intelligent or attractive or charming he is. He's not an option.
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Head Girl Hermione & Head Boy Tom patrol together.
EXCERPT:
“I have to ask,” he says. “What’s your fascination with my hands?”
Hermione lets out a small gasp. She’s mortified. Death would be a welcome relief from this humiliation. “I-I don’t know what you’re referring to.”
“I watch you, Granger,” he says, “so I certainly know when you’re watching me.”
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complex by buckmebarnes1917
Fandoms: Thunderbolts (Movie 2025), Marvel Cinematic Universe
31 Jul 2025
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Valentina’s eyes glitter with satisfaction, an almost predatory gleam. “You’re a lone wolf with a thousand-yard stare and a body count that rivals a small army. It’s not charming, James—it’s terrifying. The public wants heroes they can relate to, someone they can feel safe around. We need a softer angle. Someone to hold your hand. Someone the public can root for, someone who humanizes you.” Val’s gaze, which had been fixed on Bucky with surgical precision, softens ever so slightly, morphing into something resembling… consideration.
It’s a dangerous shift. Mel feels a prickle of unease at the back of her neck. Val’s 'solutions' are rarely simple, and never without a hidden cost. When she finally says, “Someone to hold your hand,” the words hang in the air like a poisoned dart, and Mel knows, with sickening certainty, exactly where that dart is aimed.
Mel feels the shift before she sees it. The silence stretches, elongating into something suffocating. The precise, quiet click of Valentina’s pen as she caps it punctuated the room like a countdown, each second ticking away toward an unknown detonation.
Then Val turns her head—slow, deliberate, a predator making its choice—and looks directly at her.