Waking up next to each other felt different this time, but Luna couldn't quite place why. They were still tangled together, still sharing the same warmth, still breathing in sync as if their bodies had never been meant to be apart. But there was something else, something subtle yet undeniable, something that settled in the air between them like the shift of the seasons, like a long-exhaled breath after holding it for too long. It was peace. Not the forced, uneasy kind of peace that came from ignoring problems, not the temporary relief of finding comfort in touch without solving anything—but real peace. Something deep, something unshakable, something terrifyingly close to acceptance.
Luna wasn't sure when it had happened, wasn't sure at what point she had stopped fighting it, stopped resisting the truth she had been trying so hard to deny. Maybe it was in the way he had broken down in front of her, stripped himself raw, laid his entire soul at her feet without hesitation, without shame. Maybe it was in the way he had said her name like a plea, like a prayer, like it was the only word that had ever mattered. Maybe it was in the way he had loved her, worshipped her, made her feel like the center of his universe, like she was something untouchable, something irreplaceable. Or maybe, just maybe, she had lost her fucking mind.
Because logically, she should still be mad at him. Logically, she should still be fighting this, still be reminding herself of all the ways he drove her insane, all the ways his possessiveness should have been a problem, all the ways he would never stop wanting to own every single piece of her. But logic didn't stand a fucking chance against the reality of Draco Malfoy.
Because he loved her. Not just in words, not just in fleeting, passionate declarations, but in every single way a person could love another. He loved her in the way he got her a fucking greenhouse in the Manor because he knew how much her plants meant to her. He loved her in the way he hired extra help at the coffee shop so she wouldn't have to work every single day, even though she had never asked for it, even though she would have refused if he had given her the chance. He loved her in the way he had completely made peace with the fact that a tiny, ridiculous cow had taken over his home, in the way he let Dandelion wander freely as if she owned the place, in the way he never once complained about the fur, the mess, the occasional headbutts. He loved her in the way he let her take up space in his life, in the way he had carved out an entire world for her inside his, in the way he had built a home around her presence without her even noticing.
Draco was an obsessive, possessive, overbearing, emotionally unhinged man who would rather set the world on fire than let her go, and Luna had finally stopped pretending that she didn't love him for it.
It didn't matter anymore. She wasn't going to waste any more energy pretending she wanted anything less than all of him. He wasn't going to change. He wasn't going to suddenly become someone who didn't want to keep her, didn't want to own her in every way a person could be owned. He was never going to stop watching her with that sharp, unwavering gaze, never going to stop touching her like she was something sacred, never going to stop treating her like she belonged to him just as much as he belonged to her. And maybe, just maybe, she didn't want him to.
So yeah, maybe she had lost her mind. But fuck it. Let it be gone. She had never cared much for sanity anyway.
***
She truly lost her mind when she wandered into the dining room that morning, still rubbing the sleep from her eyes, craving nothing more than a quiet breakfast and a strong cup of tea—only to be met with the utterly absurd sight of Draco Malfoy, heir of one of the most powerful pureblood families in Britain, sitting at the breakfast table, cradling a miniature cow in his lap like a beloved pet. Not just cradling her—no, that would have been odd enough. He was stroking her fur, pressing small, lazy kisses to her head, murmuring something to her in a voice so soft, so affectionate, that Luna momentarily considered turning around and going back to bed to make sure she wasn't still dreaming.
Dandelion, for her part, looked utterly content, her tiny hooves curled beneath her, her big, stupid, adorable eyes half-lidded as she basked in the attention.
And Draco.
Draco, who once sneered at anything less than perfection, who once treated filth like it was the enemy, who once probably hexed an entire laundry room for leaving a smudge on his cuff—was holding a farm animal against his bare chest, completely unbothered by the fact that she still smelled vaguely of outside, of earth, of something that was very much not Malfoy-approved luxury.
Luna stared, her brain momentarily short-circuiting as she tried to process what she was seeing.
"Draco," she finally said, slowly, carefully, as if speaking too quickly might shatter the strange domestic illusion in front of her.
He barely spared her a glance, still pressing little absentminded kisses to Dandelion's head. "Good morning, love."
She blinked.
Then blinked again.
Then looked down at her still-empty tea cup as if it could somehow provide her with an explanation for what in the absolute fuck she was witnessing.
"Are you…" she trailed off, gesturing vaguely to the entire scene before her. "Are you cuddling the cow?"
Draco lifted his gaze then, finally seeming to realize that this might be considered unusual behavior. He raised an eyebrow at her, as if she was the strange one for questioning it.
"She was cold," he said simply, as if that was an entirely reasonable answer.
Luna's eye twitched. "She lives outside, Draco."
"Not anymore," he said, turning back to Dandelion, rubbing beneath her chin in a way that made the little cow hum in approval. "She likes it better in the house."
"Oh, does she?" Luna crossed her arms, staring at him incredulously. "And did she tell you that?"
"In her own way," Draco murmured, still looking far too pleased with himself. "She follows me everywhere. She's practically a lap animal."
Luna opened her mouth, then closed it, then ran a hand over her face. There was no winning this argument. Absolutely none. Draco Malfoy, former pureblood prince, had officially become a man who kissed cows in the morning, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.
Somewhere, in whatever afterlife awaited them, she was sure Lucius Malfoy was losing his entire fucking mind.
Good.
Let him roll in his grave.
Let him do a fucking backflip in it.
Because the Malfoy name? That pure, pristine, aristocratic bloodline that had been meticulously curated for centuries? It was never going to be the same. Not with a Lovegood in the Manor. Not with a half-feral mini cow roaming the halls like she owned the place.
And certainly not when Luna herself had already decided that she was going to give Draco an heir. And a spare.
Maybe even a whole litter of Malfoy-Lovegoods, just to spite every single prejudiced ancestor currently shrieking in horror from the beyond.
Draco finally seemed to realize that she was staring at him, a strange sort of determination settling over her features, because he looked up again, raising an eyebrow.
"What?" he asked, rubbing small circles into Dandelion's back. "Why are you looking at me like that?"
Luna just smiled.
Nothing. Nothing at all.
Just planning your entire family's undoing, darling.
"I love you."
Luna hadn't even finished saying the words before Draco absolutely lost his mind—not in the way a normal person might, not with a reasonable amount of emotional turmoil, not with an ounce of grace or dignity, but in the way only Draco could manage.
One second, he was sitting there, stroking Dandelion with the kind of gentle reverence usually reserved for sacred artifacts, looking entirely too smug about having won whatever silent battle he had been waging to keep the miniature cow in his lap. The next, his entire expression shattered into devastation, his mouth parting as if she had just struck him across the face, his body going rigid as if she had personally delivered a death sentence.
"Are you going to leave me?" he choked, his voice already trembling on the edge of hysteria, his entire world clearly collapsing around him before she could even get another word in. "Oh fuck, my life, I knew it!"
And then—absolute chaos.
He shot to his feet, almost dropping his emotional support cow in the process—almost, because at the last second, his instincts overrode his crisis, and he managed to deposit Dandelion onto the chair like she was made of glass, as if she, too, needed to be protected from whatever heartbreak was about to befall him.
And he paced.
Oh, did he pace.
It was immediate, frantic, back and forth across the dining room with all the erratic energy of a man preparing to throw himself into an open grave, his hands in his hair, his breath ragged, his entire soul unraveling in real time. He was speaking—no, rambling—to no one in particular, his voice getting increasingly louder with every step, as if he was engaged in a Shakespearean soliloquy and not just having a completely unhinged mental breakdown over breakfast.
"I knew it," he groaned, throwing his hands in the air, spinning on his heel dramatically, his face contorted in absolute anguish. "Of course. Of course, this was too good to be true. My greatest fear, my darkest nightmare, my beloved is going to leave me, abandon me, cast me aside like yesterday's Prophet!"
Luna simply stared, watching him with the exhausted patience of a woman who had absolutely witnessed this brand of Malfoy dramatics before.
He continued, completely undeterred. "I should have known. I should have seen this coming. I should have prepared myself for this inevitable doom! But no! No, I was a fool! A fool who dared to believe that he could have happiness! That he could keep the one person in the world who makes his pathetic existence bearable!"
Luna pinched the bridge of her nose, inhaled deeply, and exhaled through her teeth.
"Oh, but I deserve this," he pressed on, grabbing dramatically at his own chest, stumbling as if overcome by grief. "I deserve every ounce of agony, every shred of heartbreak, every horrific, merciless second of this wretched—"
"Draco."
"—miserable, soul-shattering—"
"DRACO!"
He froze, mid-gesture, blinking at her with wide, frantic eyes, his hair an absolute mess from how many times he had raked his fingers through it, his breathing ragged as he waited—probably prayed—for her next words to be anything other than a rejection.
Luna folded her arms across her chest, her expression unimpressed, her patience officially wearing thin. "I literally just said I love you."
Draco opened his mouth. Closed it.
His eyes flickered between her and Dandelion, who was still sitting calmly on the chair like this was all normal, like this was her life now.
"You—" He swallowed. "You love me."
"Yes."
"So…" His voice pitched slightly higher, cracking on the edges of hysteria. "You're not leaving me?"
Luna rolled her eyes, exhaling slowly. "No, Draco, I'm not leaving you."
A long, long, long pause.
Draco Malfoy, grown man, heir to an ancient and noble house, former Death Eater, destroyer of dramatics, collapsed into the chair like a dying Victorian widow, clutching his chest like he needed smelling salts.
"Oh, thank Merlin."
Luna pressed her fingers against her temples, inhaling sharply, reminding herself that this—this absolute mess of a man—was the person she had chosen. The person she loved. The person she had, somehow, willingly tangled her life with, despite all logic, despite all reason, despite the fact that he was currently staring at her like a man who had just glimpsed the divine and was absolutely convinced that it was slipping through his fingers.
But no, that wasn't enough for him. Of course it wasn't.
Draco's eyes narrowed, his lips parting slightly, his expression filled with the kind of uncertainty that would have been infuriating if it wasn't so completely, tragically genuine. He inhaled sharply, his hands twitching as if they didn't know what to do, his voice hoarse, wrecked, trembling with disbelief as he whispered, "But you only said it once, so it must be a mirage. Must be a cosmic joke. I must have hallucinated it, a cruel trick of the universe to finally finish me off."
Luna blinked at him, completely unmoved by his dramatics, her arms still crossed, her patience wearing thinner by the second. "Nope," she said simply, her voice perfectly even, perfectly casual, as if she hadn't just saved him from an existential crisis. "I just love you."
There was a beat of silence.
And then, without warning, Draco ran out of the room.
Luna sighed. Deeply.
Because of course he did.
She stood there, unmoving, watching as he physically fled from the breakfast table, practically sprinting down the corridor like he had just been told he had five seconds left to live. There was a loud thud somewhere in the distance, followed by what sounded suspiciously like a wardrobe door slamming, followed by several muffled expletives, followed by more thudding.
She didn't move. She didn't chase him.
She was at peace with this man. She knew this man.
And so, she simply took another sip of her tea, exhaling slowly, waiting.
Because he would come back.
And oh, did he come back.
Draco Malfoy, heir to one of the most distinguished pureblood families, a man who had spent his entire life draped in wealth, in control, composed, reappeared in the dining room with all the grace of a man possessed. His hair was somewhat in place, though she could tell he had run his fingers through it too many times. His tie was slightly askew, his breathing was ragged, his entire aura vibrating with something too big, too overwhelming, something that made him look like he was hanging by a thread.
He was wearing his favorite suit.
And in his hands—clutched so tightly his knuckles had turned white—was a small, velvet box.
Luna barely had time to process it before he dropped to his knees in front of her, so fast, so desperate, so fervent, that she nearly gasped at the sheer force of it.
Draco's hands were shaking, his grip unsteady as he pried open the box to reveal a ring—something stunning, something delicate but impossibly intricate, something that looked like it had been crafted specifically for her, like it had been waiting for this exact moment.
But it wasn't just the ring.
It was the way he looked at her.
The way his eyes burned with something so intense, so achingly sincere, that it nearly stole the breath from her lungs. The way his lips parted, the way his throat bobbed as he tried to steady himself, as he tried to find the words.
And then—his voice, wrecked, hushed, filled with so much reverence that it nearly destroyed her.
"Luna Lovegood," he whispered, and her breath hitched. "You have made my miserable life heaven."
He exhaled, slow and shaky, like he was trying to stay composed, like he was fighting against the magnitude of this moment.
"I would recognize you in total darkness," he continued, his voice lower now, softer, as if the words themselves physically hurt to say. "Were you mute and I deaf, I would still know you. I would recognize you in another lifetime entirely, in different bodies, different times. And I would love you in all of them, in every existence, in every universe, in every version of myself, until the very last star in the sky burns out into oblivion."
Her heart stopped. Her throat tightened.
Draco swallowed, his hands still trembling, his eyes never leaving hers.
"Would you do me the honor of marrying me?"
Luna didn't think.
Didn't breathe. Didn't hesitate.
Because what was the point?
He was hers.
And she was his.
And fuck it, she didn't care if he was possessive. She didn't care if he was obsessed. She didn't care if this was absolute madness, because he was everything. He was hers. And she was going to be his.
Forever.
And so—she didn't speak.
Didn't say yes.
Instead, she tackled him to the ground, knocking the wind out of him as she kissed him senseless, her fingers tangling in his hair, her entire soul pouring into the way she pressed her body against his, the way she melted into him, the way she answered him without needing a single fucking word.
Draco laughed against her lips, breathless, victorious, completely wrecked.
"Was that a yes?" he murmured.
" Obviously ," she whispered back.
And that was that.
He needed no encouragement, no further confirmation, because he knew—he knew—that she was his, that she had always been his, that she would always be his, in every lifetime, in every existence, in every way that mattered. His hands were still trembling as he carefully, reverently, almost worshipfully slid the ring onto her finger, as if he were placing something sacred, something irreplaceable, something that had belonged there all along.
The ring was stunning, but that wasn't what made it perfect. It wasn't the cut of the diamond, or the delicate filigree wrapped around the band, or even the quiet, shimmering magic woven into the metal that made it glow just slightly in the moonlight. No, it was something deeper than that—something intangible, something inevitable. It was hers, crafted for her, chosen for her, and now, as it sat on her finger, gleaming like a silent promise, it was complete.
Luna lifted her hand, watching the way the stone caught the light, her lips parting slightly, her breath hitching, her chest tightening with something so overwhelming, so consuming, that she couldn't quite process it. This wasn't just a ring. It wasn't just an engagement. It was a claim, a tether, a declaration to the world that she belonged to him, that she had chosen him, that she was his and he was hers and there was nothing—nothing—that would ever change that now.
Draco was watching her, his eyes locked onto hers, his expression unreadable, his breathing uneven, his fingers still wrapped around her wrist, like he was afraid she might vanish, like he needed to feel her warmth, her pulse beneath his skin, to believe that this moment was real. He looked at her like she was the only thing in the world that mattered, like she was the only thing that had ever mattered, and Luna—Luna felt completely, utterly wrecked.
And then—he kissed her.
It wasn't just a kiss.
It wasn't just lips meeting lips, wasn't just the desperate press of bodies, wasn't just the feverish collision of desire and relief. It was more. It was everything.
It was the most romantic kiss they had ever shared, the most important kiss they had ever shared, a kiss that was soft and deep and slow and endless, a kiss that tasted like forever, like promises unspoken, like home. His lips moved against hers with something aching, something tender, something that made her breathless, made her weightless, made her feel like she was falling and flying at the same time.
His hands slid into her hair, cupping the back of her head, holding her steady, his fingers tangling in the soft strands like he never wanted to let go. Her own hands found his chest, his jaw, his shoulders, clutching at him, pulling him closer, as if she could pull him into her, as if she could fuse them together, as if she could make them one.
And Draco—Draco was completely undone.
Because this was it.
This was the moment he had been waiting for, the moment he had fought for, the moment he had dreamed of in all the sleepless nights spent staring at her empty side of the bed, the moment he had ached for in every second of their separation.
This was forever.
And he would never let her go again.
***
Their tenth wedding anniversary was something Draco had been planning for over a year, because, of course, he had. Nothing about loving Luna Lovegood had ever been simple, so it only made sense that celebrating a decade of marriage required nothing short of absolute perfection. He had spared no expense, had ensured every single detail was executed flawlessly, had done everything in his power to make sure that this night, this milestone, was nothing short of extraordinary. But as he stood in the grand sitting room of the Manor, adjusting the cuffs of his perfectly tailored suit, he realized that none of it—none of the lavish preparations, none of the extravagant surprises—would ever compare to the sight in front of him.
Scorpius and Seline stood side by side, dressed in their finest, their innocent faces glowing with anticipation. Seline, his baby girl, his little moonbeam, was wrapped in an elegant silver dress that shimmered in the candlelight, her wild golden curls adorned with tiny enchanted pearls. Scorpius, looking far too grown up for Draco's liking, was in a miniature version of his own suit, complete with a waistcoat and tie, his sharp Malfoy features softened only by the pure excitement in his bright blue eyes. Seeing them like this, looking so beautiful, so perfect, so theirs, made Draco's chest ache in a way he would never admit aloud. He had never expected this life—this happiness, this love, this ridiculous, chaotic, all-consuming devotion to his family—but now that he had it, he couldn't imagine a world without it.
Draco knelt in front of Seline, brushing a loose curl behind her ear, his voice dropping into that soft, indulgent tone he only ever used with his daughter. "Seli, baby girl, did you wrap Mommy's presents?"
Seline's little nose scrunched up in concentration, and she nodded solemnly, placing both hands on her hips, radiating the kind of confidence only a Malfoy-Lovegood hybrid could. "Yes! And I made sure to put extra ribbons, just like you told me. I think she'll adore it!"
Draco smirked, pleased but unsurprised, because of course his daughter would execute the task flawlessly. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head before standing to his full height, adjusting his tie with an air of exaggerated importance.
"But what are you giving her?" Seline asked, her bright eyes narrowing with suspicion, because she knew her father too well, knew that Draco Malfoy never did just anything.
Draco smirked, smoothing a hand over his waistcoat, his voice laced with amusement as he drawled, "Another fucking cow… and something very special."
Seline gasped, her little hands flying up to her mouth in scandalized horror. "Daddy! You're not supposed to say bad words!"
Scorpius, who had been standing nearby with his arms crossed, looking far too much like a miniature version of Draco, shook his head in disappointment. "You always tell us not to swear," he pointed out, his voice far too smug for a seven-year-old.
Draco sighed dramatically, placing a hand over his heart as if he were truly remorseful. "Yeah, yeah, no swearing when you guys are around—I know, I know." He let out an exaggerated breath before ruffling Scorpius's already perfect hair, much to his son's dismay.
"But another cow, Daddy?" Seline's brows furrowed, her hands dropping to her sides as she tilted her head, looking eerily like Luna when she was trying to make sense of his nonsense. "Mommy already has so many cows."
Draco grinned, leaning down to whisper conspiratorially, "But this one is different."
Seline gasped again, clearly delighted by the idea, and clapped her hands together excitedly. "Ohhhh, she's going to love it!"
Scorpius, however, just sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in a way that was far too dramatic for a child his age. "I swear, this family is insane."
Draco barked out a laugh, shaking his head. "Obviously—your mother married me." He straightened his sleeves and looked between his children, his heart swelling as they both giggled, as Seline tugged impatiently at his hand, as Scorpius tried to pretend he was too mature for such excitement. "Alright, troublemakers, let's go make sure your mother has the best anniversary of her life."
And as they left the room, Draco found himself smiling, knowing that, no matter how extravagant his gifts, no matter how ridiculous his surprises, the best thing he would ever give Luna was right here—their family, their life, this moment.
Draco had spent months preparing for this night, planning every detail, ensuring that their tenth anniversary would be a celebration worthy of the woman who had turned his life upside down in the most spectacular way possible. But no amount of planning, no extravagant gestures, no carefully orchestrated surprises could have prepared him for the sight of Luna stepping into the garden, bathed in the soft glow of moonlight, looking like she had been plucked straight from some ethereal dream.
His breath caught in his throat, his fingers tightening at his sides as his eyes devoured every inch of her. The dress—Merlin, the dress—was a masterpiece, flowing silver silk that shimmered like liquid starlight with every movement, clinging to her curves in a way that made his mouth go dry. It bared her shoulders, the delicate column of her throat, the curve of her collarbones, and Draco suddenly had the overwhelming urge to ruin her, to press his lips to every exposed inch of skin, to remind her that no matter how much time passed, no matter how many years they spent together, he would never, ever stop wanting her with this raw, unrelenting hunger.
"Love," he rasped, barely able to find his voice, because it was impossible to function properly when she looked at him like that, all soft smiles and mischievous eyes, the very embodiment of moonlight wrapped in a body he worshipped like it was a religion. "You look breathtaking."
Luna stepped closer, her lips curling in that infuriating, knowing way of hers, as if she could read his every thought, as if she already knew exactly what she was doing to him, as if she had planned this moment just to watch him unravel. She reached for him without hesitation, her hands smoothing over the crisp fabric of his suit, her fingers lingering on the lapels before she pulled him down into a kiss—deep, slow, devastating. He groaned softly against her lips, one hand instinctively finding the curve of her waist, pressing her against him, indulging for just a moment before she pulled away, leaving him entirely wrecked and wanting.
"Thank you, darling," she murmured, her breath warm against his lips, her fingers still clutching the front of his jacket. And then, just when he thought he couldn't take any more, she leaned in closer, pressing her lips to the shell of his ear, her voice dropping into something sinfully soft, something that sent a shiver straight down his spine. "I have something very special under it."
His entire body locked up at once.
He almost choked.
His hands flexed against her waist, his mind spiraling through every possible meaning behind her words, but before he could so much as open his mouth to demand clarification, she was already stepping back, her expression infuriatingly smug.
"Love," he started, his voice rough, his self-control hanging by a thread. "What—"
Luna simply winked. Winked. As if she hadn't just thrown him into absolute chaos. As if she hadn't just ensured that he would be thinking about this all night, that every moment of the evening would be spent wondering, waiting, aching to find out what exactly she was hiding beneath that dress.
"Be a good boy for me until the end of the evening, okay?" she whispered, tilting her head just slightly, her fingers brushing lightly over his chest before she turned on her heel and walked away, leaving him there, completely undone.
Draco stood frozen, jaw clenched, hands curled into fists, forcing himself to breathe, forcing himself to maintain some semblance of composure as she disappeared into the crowd, greeting their guests as if she hadn't just destroyed him completely.
He exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair, barely suppressing the urge to follow her, to take her right then and there in the middle of their perfectly curated anniversary celebration, propriety be damned. But no—she wanted him to wait. Wanted him to suffer. And fuck, was he willing to do it. Because if there was one thing he had learned in ten years of marriage, it was that Luna Lovegood never made empty promises.
Whatever she had planned for him tonight—whatever she was hiding beneath that infuriatingly beautiful dress—was going to be worth the wait.
Merlin help him.
***
His perfect family sat around the grand dining table, bathed in the golden glow of candlelight, the air filled with the soft clinking of silverware against porcelain, the low murmur of conversation, and the occasional giggle from Seline when Scorpius made a face at his vegetables. Draco leaned back in his chair, his glass of wine untouched in his hand, watching the scene unfold before him with an expression that was far softer than anyone outside of these walls would ever be permitted to see. It was peaceful. Warm. Everything he had ever wanted and more than he had ever deserved.
All the arguments, all the tantrums—most of which, if he was being honest with himself, had been his—every stubborn fight, every ridiculous, possessive outburst, every slammed door and whispered apology, all the times he had held her too tight or let her go when he shouldn't have, all the ways she had driven him absolutely insane and made him the happiest he had ever been, had led to this moment. Every ounce of heartache, every moment of doubt, every time he had questioned whether someone like him could ever be enough for someone like her, had brought him here, to this exact place, to this exact moment, where he was surrounded by the only thing in the world that truly mattered.
Twelve years of knowing her. Twelve years of love.
Twelve years since he had walked into her stupid little coffee shop, since she had looked at him like she had never once considered him a villain, since she had somehow seen something worth saving in him when he hadn't even seen it in himself. He still didn't fully understand it, didn't know how she had managed to slip past his walls with such ease, didn't know how she had made a home out of his heart when it had been nothing but stone and ruin before her. But she had. And now, here they were, with two perfect children who were entirely too much like them, with a home that was constantly filled with laughter and chaos and the kind of love he had never thought he would be worthy of.
Obviously, their children were perfect. How could they not be?
Scorpius sat across from him, too poised for his age, his shoulders squared like he was already preparing to carry the weight of the Malfoy name, already too aware of the expectations that came with it. But his sharp grey eyes, the same ones Draco saw in the mirror every morning, held something softer, something gentler, something that was entirely Luna. He was a balance between them, between Draco's carefully controlled elegance and Luna's effortless warmth, and every time Draco looked at him, he felt a rush of something he still didn't quite know how to name—something fierce and proud and absolutely, utterly terrifying.
Seline, on the other hand, was a force of nature. She had inherited Luna's wild curls, Draco's signature smirk, and a personality that could only be described as reckless brilliance. She was as stubborn as her mother and twice as mischievous, an absolute menace with a wand, but she had an uncanny ability to turn Draco into a complete and utter fool with just a smile. He was doomed the second she was born, had been entirely powerless to resist the way she had wrapped him around her little finger before she had even taken her first breath. She was his little moonbeam, his brightest light, his greatest weakness, and everyone in the household knew it—including her, which made her even more dangerous.
His gaze shifted to Luna, who was watching their children with that soft, knowing expression she always wore when she thought no one was looking. His wife. His wife. The love of his life. The woman who had defied every odd, every expectation, every logical explanation, and chosen him. She was still as breathtaking as the first time he had ever laid eyes on her, still as infuriating as the day she had first walked away from him, still the only person in the world who could make him completely unravel with nothing but a look.
Twelve years. A lifetime. Not nearly long enough.
He reached for her hand under the table, threading their fingers together, squeezing just once. She glanced at him, blue eyes bright, lips curving into that secret little smile that was just for him, and just like that, Draco Malfoy—former Death Eater, heir to one of the most powerful families in Wizarding Britain, a man who had spent his entire life pretending he didn't have a heart—was absolutely, irreversibly ruined.
And he wouldn't have it any other way.
***
Steam still clung to his skin as Draco stepped out of the shower, his hand dragging a towel through his damp hair, his mind already half-focused on the night ahead, on the quiet comfort of their bed, on curling up beside her and finally getting some much-needed rest. But then—he saw her.
And rest was no longer an option.
His breath caught, his body freezing mid-motion, every last coherent thought vanishing in an instant as his gaze locked onto the absolute vision standing at the foot of their bed. Luna. In lace. Baby blue. The same fucking set.
His towel slipped from his fingers, falling to the floor, forgotten, as he took her in.
She was standing there, waiting for him, her arms resting loosely at her sides, her hips tilting slightly in that effortless way that drove him absolutely insane, golden hair cascading over her shoulders, soft waves framing the delicate lace of her lingerie, a delicate contrast against the smooth expanse of her bare skin. It was the exact same set she had worn that night, the night she had shattered him, the night she had unraveled every ounce of his restraint, the night she had left him an absolute fucking wreck on their bed, gasping, pleading, worshipping.
He swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry, his heart hammering against his ribs, his entire body going taut with the sheer force of his reaction to her.
"Love…" His voice came out rough, ragged, somewhere between a plea and a prayer, barely more than a breath.
She hummed softly in response, the sound low, teasing, unbearably knowing, as she dragged her fingers slowly over her own stomach, drawing attention to the dip of her waist, to the lace that clung to her hips, to the way the delicate straps of her bra framed her collarbones in a way that made his mouth go dry.
"The same one," she murmured, and oh, he was fucking done.
Draco ran a hand over his face, trying—failing—to control the way his body reacted to her, to the sheer perfection of her standing there in that goddamn lingerie, looking at him like she already knew exactly what she was doing to him, exactly how wrecked he already was.
"Oh, fuck me," he exhaled, voice hoarse, thick with want, his hands twitching at his sides, torn between reaching for her and fisting them at his sides to maintain what little control he had left. "You are perfect."
She smirked, slow and devastating, tilting her head, eyes dark, lips curving into something almost predatory as she took a single step toward him, closing the unbearable space between them inch by inch.
"Yes," she purred, voice light, teasing, absolute sin wrapped in silk. "I'm planning to."
Draco barely had time to inhale before she was on him.
She didn't give him time to think, didn't give him a moment to prepare, didn't let him recover from the absolute devastation she had already caused just by existing in that goddamn lingerie. No, she moved like a woman with purpose, like she knew exactly what she wanted, exactly what she was doing to him, exactly how weak she had just made him.
Her hands found his chest first, fingers pressing into his damp skin, trailing down slowly, lazily, as if she wasn't in a rush, as if she wasn't already driving him out of his fucking mind. He was still dripping from the shower, muscles tense, heart slamming against his ribs, every inch of him coiled too tightly, too wound up, too fucking desperate.
"Luna," he groaned, voice a wrecked, broken thing, his hands already reaching for her, gripping her hips, thumbs brushing over the lace that barely covered her, as if he needed to prove to himself that she was real, that she was actually here, that she was doing this on purpose.
"Be a good boy for me," she whispered, lips barely brushing against his jaw, her breath warm against his skin, her voice full of something dark, something knowing, something that made his knees weak. "Just for the rest of the evening. Okay?"
Oh, she was fucking diabolical.
Draco had never been a good boy a day in his life, had never once followed orders, had never once let someone else take control. But this? This was different. This was her. And gods, she could have asked him for anything in that moment and he would have given it to her.
He groaned low in his throat, fingers tightening on her hips as he pulled her flush against him, letting her feel exactly what she was doing to him, exactly how fucking gone he was for her. "Luna," he rasped, trying—failing—to maintain any semblance of composure.
She just smirked, lifting her gaze to his, dragging her nails down his stomach in slow, torturous movements. "You're always so impatient," she murmured, tilting her head, eyes full of mischief, of something unbearably smug, as if she hadn't just completely obliterated him. "Didn't you just get out of the shower? Shouldn't you take another one? You seem a little… tense."
Draco growled, the sound deep, dangerous, full of unrestrained frustration, full of the absolute agony of having her this close and not being able to fucking ruin her the way he wanted. He needed her, needed her in a way that was raw and desperate and unbearable, needed her the way he needed air, needed her the way he had always needed her—like an obsession, like a force of nature, like a thing he could never control.
And she knew it.
She fucking knew it.
His hands flexed on her hips, his grip tightening, the muscles in his jaw twitching, his entire body shaking with restraint. He wanted to be good. He wanted to let her do this, let her have her fun, let her have control. But fuck, he was going to break. He was going to snap. He was going to lose every last ounce of patience, every last shred of restraint, and then—then, she was going to regret teasing him like this.
"You think this is funny?" His voice was low, dangerous, a warning wrapped in a growl, his breath hot against her lips as he pulled her closer, forcing her to feel the way his body responded to her, the way he was already so far gone he could barely think.
Luna blinked up at him, all wide eyes and false innocence, her lips twitching with barely concealed amusement. "I think it's hilarious," she corrected, lifting her arms to drape them over his shoulders, pressing herself against him in a way that made his vision go black with need.
He inhaled sharply through his nose, his grip on her tightening, his entire body screaming at him to do something, to fuck her into this mattress until she forgot her own name, to claim her the way he needed to, but she was in charge right now, wasn't she?
He hated it.
He loved it.
And gods, if she kept looking at him like that, he was going to lose his fucking mind.
She was going to be the death of him.
Luna, in her ridiculous baby blue lingerie, in his bedroom, standing in front of him like a goddamn temptress, was going to be the reason Draco Malfoy lost his goddamn mind. She had barely even touched him, barely done anything at all, and he was already on the verge of completely losing control.
But of course, she wasn't done.
No, she knew exactly what she was doing. She knew exactly how to push him, exactly how to torture him, exactly how to unravel him one slow, agonizing movement at a time.
Because she took a step back.
A single step, just enough to put space between them, just enough to make him ache with it, just enough to make him reach for her instinctively before she caught his hands in hers, pressing a single, featherlight kiss against his knuckles before pushing them away. Not yet.
Draco growled, a low, wrecked sound of protest, his fingers flexing, his entire body coiled tight, his self-control hanging by a fucking thread. "Luna—"
She pressed a single finger against his lips, shushing him without a word, her gaze dark and knowing and so goddamn smug as she stepped back again, just slightly, just enough to tease, just enough to remind him who was in control.
And then—
She moved.
Not rushed, not desperate, not immediately giving him what he wanted, but slow, deliberate, dragging this out because she could, because she knew he was suffering, because she was enjoying every second of it.
Her fingers ghosted over the thin straps of her lingerie first, trailing over them, adjusting them slightly, toying with the fabric in a way that made his jaw lock with restraint, his fists clenching at his sides as she dragged it out, dragging him out, making his blood fucking burn.
And then—then—she tugged, just slightly, just enough to let the strap slip halfway down her shoulder before she stopped, before she paused, before she let him sit with it, let him ache with it, let him suffer while she smirked like she was so fucking pleased with herself.
"Luna," he rasped, voice wrecked, barely human, barely anything but need. "If you—"
She shushed him again.
And Draco swore he was going to die.
Because she wasn't in a rush, wasn't in any hurry to give him what he wanted, wasn't going to let him touch her, wasn't going to let him move until she decided he could.
The second strap fell next, slipping down her arm in a slow, torturous movement, the lace barely hanging on now, the curves of her breasts teasing just enough beneath the sheer fabric to make his mouth go dry, his entire body tense, his fingers twitching at his sides, his vision going fucking dark with it.
She swayed slightly, hips shifting, movements slow and teasing as her fingers trailed lower, down her stomach, down the curve of her waist, playing with the edge of the lace at her hips, toying with it, teasing him, knowing he was watching her every fucking move, knowing she was ruining him, knowing she had him in the palm of her goddamn hand and was loving every second of it.
Draco couldn't fucking breathe.
His hands ached to touch her, his mouth ached to taste her, his entire fucking body burned with the need to grab her, to rip the rest of that godforsaken lingerie off her, to have her, to consume her the way he was always meant to.
But she wasn't done.
Because she turned around.
A slow, fluid movement, her body swaying slightly, her back now to him, her fucking back, the gorgeous curve of her spine exposed, her hair falling in loose waves, the lingerie clinging to her like it was painted onto her skin, and Draco swore he almost fucking lost it.
Her fingers trailed down her back, dipping lower, teasing the lace that barely covered the swell of her ass, dragging it down an inch at a time, as if she wasn't in a hurry, as if she didn't know what she was doing to him, as if she wasn't currently fucking killing him.
He couldn't take it.
"Luna," he growled, sharp, breathless, desperate, his voice so fucking wrecked it didn't even sound like his own. "That's enough—"
She turned to look at him over her shoulder, gaze dark, lips curling slightly, all mischief, all amusement, all fucking trouble. "Oh?" she mused, tilting her head slightly, fingers still hovering at the edge of the lace. "But I thought you were being a good boy for me."
Oh, that was it.
Draco moved.
No thought, no hesitation, no restraint, his body acting before his mind could catch up, before he could remind himself that she was in charge tonight, before he could remember that she had told him to wait.
Because fuck waiting.
One second she was teasing him, and the next—his arms were around her waist, his mouth was on her throat, his teeth sinking into her skin, his hands gripping her hips so fucking tight she would feel him there for days.
She gasped, her body jolting against his, and then she laughed, breathless, delighted, victorious. "Impatient, love?"
"Fucking done," he growled, and then—then, he lifted her, threw her onto the bed, pinned her beneath him, and ripped the rest of that fucking lingerie clean off her body.
"That," he muttered, breath hot against her lips, his hands already everywhere, his fingers digging into her thighs, his mouth claiming hers with an almost brutal desperation. "Was the cruelest fucking thing you've ever done to me."
She only smirked, breathless, her fingers threading through his hair, tugging, her legs wrapping around his waist, dragging him closer, always closer, because she loved it, loved how wrecked he was for her, loved that she could do this to him. "And yet," she murmured against his lips, "you loved every second of it."
Draco groaned, trembling with it, his body burning, aching, his restraint completely gone.
"Not as much as I'm about to love ruining you for that," he rasped, and then—then, he did.
Luna barely had a second to react before Draco had her pinned beneath him, his weight pressing her down into the mattress, his hands everywhere, his mouth claiming hers with an almost bruising desperation. There was nothing careful about the way he touched her now, nothing restrained, nothing slow or teasing or measured—no, he was done waiting, done letting her dictate the pace, done pretending he could ever let her get away with torturing him like that.
Her breath hitched as he dragged his lips from her mouth to her jaw, from her jaw to the delicate curve of her throat, biting down, marking her, claiming her, and she let out a sound that was somewhere between a gasp and a moan, her body arching into him, her fingers scraping down his back.
"Draco—" she breathed, her voice shaky, breathless, already unraveling beneath him.
He growled against her skin, his fingers tightening on her thighs, forcing them apart, spreading her open for him like he owned her. "Say it again," he demanded, his voice dark, wrecked, unhinged, his lips trailing lower, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses down the column of her neck, lower, lower, lower—until he reached her breasts, until his teeth scraped over one sensitive nipple, until his tongue soothed it immediately after. "Say my name."
She let out a sharp cry, her hands flying into his hair, her body trembling as he sucked one taut peak into his mouth, rolling his tongue over it, teasing her, torturing her just as she had tortured him moments before. "Draco," she gasped, "fuck, please—"
That was all it took.
That one, wrecked, desperate plea, and Draco lost it.
He shoved her further up the bed, parting her legs even wider, settling himself between them, his breath coming in sharp, ragged inhales as he looked at her—really looked at her—spread out beneath him, flushed and panting, already so wet for him, already dripping, already wrecked before he had even touched her properly.
"Fuck, look at you," he groaned, running his fingers through her slick folds, gathering the evidence of just how fucking ready she was, just how much she needed this, just how much she needed him. He pressed his thumb lightly against her clit, circling it once, twice, drinking in the way her body jerked, the way her thighs shook, the way her fingers twisted into the sheets like she was barely holding on. "You love this, don't you, baby? You love driving me insane, teasing me, making me fucking beg for it, but now—now you're the one begging."
Luna whimpered, bucking her hips into his touch, but he pulled his hand away just before she could get what she wanted, just before she could find relief. She glared at him, furious and desperate all at once, her lips parted, her eyes dark with frustration, and fuck—he had never seen anything more beautiful in his life.
"Draco," she warned, her voice low, threatening, needy.
He smirked. "Yes, love?"
"If you don't fuck me right now, I swear to Merlin—"
Draco didn't let her finish.
Because he was already pushing two fingers inside her, deep, filling her, curling them just right, hitting that spot that made her cry out, made her back arch, made her thighs tremble around him. "Oh, is this what you wanted, baby?" he murmured, pressing a kiss against her hip, watching her fall apart. "You wanted me to ruin you, didn't you?"
"Yes," she moaned, "yes, yes, please—"
And fuck—Draco loved her like this, loved her completely undone, loved her begging for him, loved her so fucking much he thought he might actually lose his mind from it.
So he didn't wait.
Didn't tease.
Didn't make her suffer any longer.
Because he wanted her too much, needed her too much, couldn't stand another second without being inside her.
He pulled his fingers from her, gripped his cock, lined himself up, and—
Fucking buried himself to the hilt in one deep, smooth thrust.
Luna screamed.
Draco growled, the sound low, guttural, wrecked, his head falling forward as he felt her, as he felt the way she squeezed around him, tight and hot and perfect, like she was made for him, like she had been waiting for him, like this—this, this—was where she belonged.
"Fucking hell," he groaned, his fingers digging into her hips, trying to hold himself back, trying not to pound into her like an animal, trying to savor this, savor her. "You feel so fucking good, love, so fucking perfect, I—fuck—"
Luna whimpered beneath him, her nails raking down his back, her body writhing, desperate, demanding. "Move, Draco," she gasped, "please, please, please—"
And who was he to deny her?
He pulled back, slow, agonizingly slow, until only the tip of his cock remained inside her, until she whimpered at the loss—
Then slammed back in, hard, deep, perfect.
And he didn't stop.
Didn't hold back.
Didn't slow down.
Draco wasn't gentle, but he wasn't rough either—not anymore. Now, he moved with something deeper, something that went beyond lust, beyond need, beyond hunger. Now, every thrust was deliberate, every movement precise, every inch of his body worshipping hers. His lips found her jaw, then her throat, then her lips, kissing her slowly, deeply, drowning in the taste of her, in the feel of her, in the way she clung to him like he was something she couldn't live without.
He wanted her to feel it—all of it.
The love. The devotion. The absolute, unshakable certainty that this—she—was his forever.
His hand slipped between them, fingers finding her clit, rubbing slow, teasing circles, watching the way her eyes fluttered shut, the way her breath caught, the way her lips parted on a quiet, desperate gasp. "That's it, love," he murmured, his voice thick with something almost reverent. "Let me take care of you. Let me love you."
Luna's arms tightened around his shoulders, pulling him impossibly closer, her legs locking around his waist, her nails digging into his back, as if she was afraid he might disappear, as if she needed to feel every inch of him, all of him, to believe this was real. "Draco…" she whispered, and he thought he might actually die from the sound of it.
Because it wasn't just his name—it was a confession, a prayer, a plea, a declaration of everything she had spent too long holding back.
"I love you," she whispered against his lips, softer this time, but no less certain, no less devastating, no less real. "I love you so much."
And fuck—Draco lost it.
He slowed down, his movements turning into something impossibly deep, impossibly intimate, his hands caressing every part of her, his mouth pressing soft, reverent kisses against her forehead, her cheeks, her lips. "Say it again," he begged, his voice rough, desperate, wrecked. "Say it again, Luna."
She cupped his face in her hands, held him there, her eyes locked onto his, her lips curving into the smallest, softest smile. "I love you, Draco," she whispered, "and I always will."
Draco kissed her like it was the last thing he would ever do.
And then he moved, slow, deep, purposeful, rolling his hips against hers in a way that sent shivers up her spine, in a way that made her moan softly into his mouth, in a way that was nothing short of absolute worship. "Mine," he whispered between kisses, between thrusts, between the way their bodies moved together like they had been made for this, like they had been made for each other. "You're mine, Luna."
"Yours," she breathed, arching into him, holding him tighter, needing him closer, "always yours."
And fuck, if she kept saying things like that, he wasn't going to last.
He circled her clit again, pressing just right, and she gasped, her body tensing beneath him, her back arching, her nails scraping down his back as she shattered for him, as she came with him, as she held him against her like she never wanted to let go.
Her body trembled beneath him, soft gasps spilling from her lips as the waves of pleasure overtook her, her thighs tightening around his hips as she rode it out, as she let him take her apart, as she gave in to the storm he had created inside her. His name left her lips in a breathless, broken whisper, her hands fisting into the sheets, clinging to him like he was the only thing tethering her to this world.
Draco felt her come undone around him, felt the way her body clenched, fluttered, pulled him deeper, dragging him into her bliss, dragging him into something so beyond himself that he wasn't sure he'd ever recover from it. "That's it, love," he murmured against her jaw, his voice wrecked, hushed, reverent. "That's my good girl."
She shivered at the words, her body still twitching, still pulsing, still trembling with the aftershocks, and Draco lost it completely. He groaned against her skin, burying himself deep, holding her tight, needing to be as close as physically possible as he followed her over the edge, his hands gripping her waist, his lips pressing desperate, open-mouthed kisses along the curve of her shoulder, his body tensing, unraveling, giving her everything.
He spilled into her with a shudder, his forehead pressed to hers, his breath ragged, his entire being consumed by her, by the way she felt, by the way she sounded, by the way she was his, only his, forever. And fuck, he knew, without a doubt, that there was no coming back from this. That there was nothing in the world that would ever compare to being inside her, with her, lost in her like this.
His arms tightened around her waist, holding her against his chest, their bodies still so connected, so intertwined, their breathing uneven, their skin slick with sweat, their hearts pounding in sync. Neither of them spoke at first—there were no words for this, no words for the way he had never felt something like this before, no words for the way she completely and utterly destroyed him in the best way possible.
Luna was the first to move, just slightly, just enough to brush her lips against his jaw, soft, tender, almost shy in contrast to what they had just done. "Draco…" she whispered, her voice sleepy, hazy, wrecked, so fucking perfect that he wanted to bottle it up and keep it forever. "You're still inside me."
"Of course I am," he muttered, voice low, rough, pressing another kiss to the top of her head, his arms tightening around her. "Where else would I be?"
She let out a soft, breathy laugh, her fingers tracing absentminded shapes along his bicep, her body still loose, still warm, still his. "You're impossible," she murmured, but there was no real complaint in her voice, no real fight left in her.
"You love it," he said, and she hummed in response, lazily brushing her lips over his throat, her tongue flicking out just slightly, teasing, tasting, ruining him all over again.
"Maybe," she murmured, tilting her head up to meet his gaze, her eyes still heavy-lidded, still filled with something soft, something deep, something dangerous. "But if you plan on keeping me like this all night, you should at least make it worth my while."
And fuck, he was already hard again.
"Oh, love," Draco smirked, flipping them effortlessly so that she was beneath him once more, pressing her deeper into the mattress, making sure she felt every single inch of him inside her. "You have no idea what you've just done."
And then he kissed her again, slow, deep, deliberate, because they had all night.
And forever after that.