#dramione prompt

[dracoslibrary]

"You were saying?"

[sailtomarina]

You don’t have to pretend

cw: SMUT

Frustration bubbled up from within, threatening to choke her where she lay against the softest sheets she’d ever had the indignity of touching.

Hermione hadn’t exactly planned on her afternoon turning out this way. Nothing could have prepared her for the reality of sprawling naked across Draco Malfoy’s four-poster, the wizard himself kneeling between her thighs.

It felt good at the start.

He’d worked her up in a remarkably short time, hands and mouth working separately and together like they had minds of their own that knew exactly how to push and pull Hermione into maddening want. It wasn’t long before she, too, tugged at the fabric of his shirt. When he was finally bare before her, she stared, not caring that it might make her look a fool.

It was big.

Bigger than she’d expected; bigger than she’d experienced. It hung heavy, looking almost painful in the way it bobbed free from the confines of his pants. The head flushed an almost angry pink, not too dissimilar from his cheeks in the winter cold. Prominent veins lined the thick shaft, running almost the full length from base to tip.

Without a word, he’d stepped back into her, taking her hand and gently guiding it towards him and wrapping her fingers skin to skin. Warmth seeped up her arm, prompting her to squeeze. The resulting groan brought Hermione back to her senses. Malfoy didn’t utter a single complaint when she let go of him; he simply watched as she licked the palm of her hand before grasping him once more and setting a rhythm she’d come to master with lesser rivals. 

He’d let her do as she wished, only occasionally guiding her towards his preferences with a soft nudge, a grunt of approval. She’d taken pride at the gasp pulled from him when she took him deep, nose brushing against his short hairs, throat constricting around his cock in perfect facsimile of what she hoped would follow.

When he came, it was after he’d attempted to pull away. She didn’t let him, of course. She’d gripped his hips firmly and moaned long and loud to let him know she wanted him to spill across her tongue, an invitation he did not refuse. He swore first in English, then in fluent French, a pleasant surprise.

He’d been thankful, snogging her almost immediately after without a care in the world about the taste of himself still on her tongue. His hand returned to its place between her thighs, fingers nimble in their exploration of each fold and crevice. She came with a keening cry that he inhaled, then came again when he pressed deep inside and crooked his finger just so.

Two was more than enough. Two was already more than she’d ever had at a time from a hand other than her own.

When he sank down onto his haunches and ran his nose up her inner thigh, she’d tensed up.

It wasn’t that previous partners hadn’t ever exchanged the favour. She just didn’t take particular pleasure from the act. The heat and wetness of it all was nice, but not enough. Hermione also didn’t think any of them had actually enjoyed her taste. She’d sampled herself, obviously. Tangy, slightly sweet, nothing she’d ever crave, so why should they?

Silver eyes glinted up at her, brows quirking in question. Her huff as she widened her legs seemed to amuse him, the puff of air he released cooling her slick skin a surprising effect. Then, he went to work.

She had to admit that he was good. Better than she would have imagined and nearly enough to send her over the edge. She danced along the border, release flitting out of reach whenever she drew close. Or was that him, purposefully keeping her there? He’d bring her close, then back off to pay attention elsewhere. After the third time of ebb and flow, she was frustrated enough to force him into the next phase.

She shuddered, moaned in a rising pitch, then shuddered again. Thighs clamped against his ears, and he was forced to pry them apart. She bucked strong enough to nearly unseat him.

Then he slapped her.

Not on the face, but against the meaty flesh of her inner thigh.

“What the bloody fuck, Malfoy?” She tried to sit up as she spat out the words, but the two fingers that delved into her sent her flat on her back once more in surrender.

“You don’t have to pretend with me, you know.” He sounded…angry?

A third finger stretched her wide in a delicious burn that promised more. The shudder that ran through her was real, this time.

“I-I don’t know what you mean,” she panted out, tossing her curls from left to right. He was so close to where she wanted him, the blunt tips of his fingers brushing against her from the inside.

“Don’t you?”

She could barely hear him, muffled as he was. Then he was rubbing against the inner wall while he sucked her clit, tongue tickling the tip of it in concerted focus. The cliff’s edge reached for her, yanked her off balance, shoved her without forgiveness into open air, where she fell, and fell, unseeing, unable to grab onto anything that might stop her fall. Pleasure wracked her brain, waves of it washing over her like a seizure that continued on as Malfoy worked her through it steadily and without pause. She might have gone straight from one orgasm into another with how long she lost hold of her senses.

When Hermione finally came to, panting as if she’d run a marathon, it was to the sight of a smug grin that stretched across Malfoy’s face where it rested facing her own. His lips looked swollen and shiny with her release, a stark contrast against his otherwise pale skin. She could still feel his fingers massaging soothing circles along her hip bone. 

“You,” she cleared her throat, sore for several reasons, “you didn’t have to slap me, you prat.”

“No, but I did, and you seemed to like it.” His grin widened as he rolled atop her, arms bracketing her in so she saw nothing but him. “Maybe I’ll bite you next time you try to fake it.”

She tried to ignore the thrill those words brought her. “See what happens if you do.”

He tilted his head in consideration. She sought out his lips as his face bent downward, but he brushed past to place those very same teeth against the tender skin of her neck. Hermione froze. The barest hint of pressure to her jugular, together with the blunt head of his cock at her entrance, had her as helpless now as she had been earlier. She couldn’t even begin to muffle the moan that forced its way out of her as he pushed forward agonising inch by agonising inch, spearing her in two all while he held her in place with his teeth to her throat, one hand gripping her curls while the other pushed her knee out and flat against the mattress.

He didn’t stop until he was buried fully within her, his balls nestled against her arse and hands flexing where they kept her in place. He pulled his face back just far enough to look at her once more.

“You were saying?”

Damn him, and damn his perfect cock.

The shock that took over his face was worth the sharp blossom of pain to her scalp as she darted forward to bite into his shoulder. Her free leg came up to wrap around his hips, her heel digging into the fleshy skin of his buttocks. Then, she squeezed the inner muscles that sent those aforementioned lesser wizards straight to their early demise. That meant less fun for her, but she took almost as much pleasure from the rush that control always gave her.

Only, Malfoy wasn’t like those other men. Not by a long shot.

He growled, low and threatening, almost like he was a wild beast she’d had the foolishness of goading. He yanked her head back, seemingly not even noticing that doing so had her inadvertently drawing blood as her canines scraped across his skin. Lips slammed against her own, the hand gripping her knee tightening in a way she knew would leave lasting marks. Then, he fucked her. Hard.

She gasped at the force of him, filling her again and again without restraint. If she thought he’d been deep at the start, she stood corrected now. He let go of her hair to press the knee that once wrapped around him but now flapped uselessly to the side with his invasion to the mattress as well, spreading her impossibly wide so he could delve so deep Hermione was certain there’d be permanent evidence of him within her. There’d be no getting rid of him, not now.

Who was she kidding? She wasn’t ever letting him fuck anyone else but her for the forseeable future. He was supposed to be a one-off, a distraction from her earlier irritations. Hermione hadn’t expected anything more than a satisfying shag. She was satisfied, alright. She was so much more than satisfied that this one-off and her handful of orgasms weren’t ever going to be enough.

“What’s the smile for, Granger?” He swivelled his hips in a way that she nearly went cross-eyed. She could tell he was close, the girth of him swelling even larger inside of her.

She brought both hands up to cup his face and tug him close. He obliged with a curious wrinkle on his sweaty brow.

“You’re mine now,” she breathed out into his ear, “Draco.”

A strangled cry fell from his lips as he jerked inside of her, and Hermione found herself joining him in mutual ecstasy as she let go of her own self-restraint. She imagined his release coating every part of her in a wall of white. The image of it, as well as the weight of him as he fell boneless across her, was more than she could bear without hearing it from his own mouth.

She gripped his chin to angle his hazy gaze towards her own. “Say it.”

The cloudiness left, leaving behind piercing grey behind soft lashes. “I’m yours.”

She noised her disapproval as he tried to shift his weight off to the side. “Stay.”

He settled back, his length still inside of her despite his release. She stroked one finger down the crack of his cheeks and felt a telltale twitch, information pocketed for later. Continued petting had him boneless within minutes. Hermione waited until his breath evened out to gently roll them onto their sides where he slipped out of her, his brow wrinkling in adorable discontent as he slumbered on.

Staring at him and the way he slept so peacefully, so defenceless, Hermione thought maybe, just maybe, she was already his, too.

WC 1818

Cross-posted to Tumblr and AO3 (eventually)

Twitter DramionePrompts 1/20/24 prompt “You don’t have to pretend”

It’s been a minute since I last went smutty, so here we are, back in the bedroom with our favourite duo. I started out with a somewhat dominant Draco and then let him go all compliant at the end. Whoops!

[mllemacabre]

It Looks Good on You- DHr Prompt

It was another late evening for Hermione and Draco; he at the cauldron mixing away, Hermione perched on her usual stool surrounded by open tomes about magical herbs and ingredients as she took over the research needed to ensure the brew would be stable and not cause any unnecessary interaction. They were working on improvements to the Pepper-Up potion, an idea brought to them by Blaise Zabini, who often had a nose for great ideas. If it is successful, it could do much better at offsetting the fatigue of late nights of research in the Department of Mysteries or the Archives and perhaps to better support Aurors in the field on long missions and stake-outs. For the right price. It was a corner of the market almost devoid of competition, or so Blaise had imparted when he brought the pitch to the pair; "No one has changed the Pepper-Up formula in ages. Such a travesty! Frankly, what we have pales in comparison  to a decent espresso, but you try and find a decent coffee shop this side of Magical London. There’s money to be made, my instincts never lie. You two would bear the brunt of the work and the reward. I’ll just negotiate a small percentage when the potion is successfully out to market. Another excellent collaboration for us, wouldn’t you say?”

It had been impulsive, swiping the heavy signet ring off the potions table and slipping it on her finger, but Hermione had done it anyway. Draco worked with his back to her at a cauldron on the opposite side of the room, distracted by the intricate steps involved in the latest brew he was working on. Hermione had been trying to get more comfortable with impulsiveness, with letting her hands fidget while she worked. In letting go and just doing, without any reason for it. Plans were well and good, but sometimes they kept her trapped in her head, second-guessing and locked in a cycle of analysis paralysis, as Luna had once called it, where she would overthink each tiny choice and action so much that nothing would get done and she would spend hours trapped in the same place. It has been a remnant from the war, she had said, from that survival need to make all of the plans and be in control of all outcomes, to mitigate anything and everything into the perfectly distilled plan, unable to fail. The habit had not been detrimental when the fate and safety of others depended so readily on her meticulous plans and knowledge. It had gotten so bad after the war that it hindered Hermione's ability to live in the moment. Now, she tried to act more often when the moment seized her. Especially when the outcome of any given choice was not the end of the world. So when the thought to take the ring had taken hold, seizing at the corners of her curiosity and desire, she had leapt at it without a second to stop and think of the consequences. Or, perhaps, because she knew the consequences could be in her favour. Draco was rather possessive of his things; from quills to candy, he would glare at anyone who dared think themselves entitled to touch or handle anything Draco considered his. He would scowl, his perfectly manicured eyebrows knitting together before he strode over to snatch back whatever someone was touching, before placing it pointedly back precisely where it had been taken from. There were a few minor exceptions; he would begrudgingly let Hermione sip his coffee on long afternoons, provided it wasn’t the last in the cup. He would let her steal his quidditch jersey when it got too cold while she was reading, so long as it was not a match day.  And when she decided it was much easier to slip into one of his button-down oxford rather than finding her scattered clothing around his apartment, his eyes would track her across the room intently. But the Malfoy signet ring was an absolute no-go zone. It rarely left his hand, and he certainly never allowed anyone else to handle it when he wasn’t wearing it. She wondered what he would do about it. The large silver ring dwarfed her slender finger, settling loosely at the base of it, half over the first knuckle. “The base of the proximal phalanx,” Hermione reminded herself as she ran her thumb along the smooth metal. The firelight of the lab caught on the ring and reflected, dancing as she turned it slowly until the Malfoy Family crest was facing inward to her palm. The silver is an odd change against her skin tone. She wore gold most days. The few necklaces and the ring from her grandmother that she wore frequently were all gold. It always seemed that gold was the colour that she purchased, or that was given to her, or gifted. While it worked well with her skin tone, she had to admit that, in this moment, there was something enthralling about the silver. Something is undeniably alluring about the contrast.

“It looks good on you, you know.” Draco’s voice in her ear is low and deep, and Hermione is shocked out of her contemplation. She hadn’t heard him come up behind her or even noticed him leaving his space across the room. His lips were so close to her ear, his breath warm, sending a thrill of goosebumps rising down her arms. She’s still looking at the ring on her hand as he reaches up with one hand and moves her hair away from her neck, feeling the arch of his nose ghost over the column of her neck as his other hand slips around her waist, pulling her back against him.

“I can see the appeal. But, I don’t know. I still think I like it better on you, especially when … well, you know. I suppose the scions of the most Ancient and Noble House of Malfoy are rolling in their pristine marble mausoleums, aren’t they?" Hermione’s voice is low as she turns her face slightly towards him, their lips temptingly close, but still too far away for her sudden liking. Draco’s answer laugh is low, as his lips brush over the corner of her mouth. Dangerous.

“Let them roll then, Granger. Fuck the lot of them.”

[elliebyrrdwrites]

Dramione

I've been thinking of a Malfoy that is hot for a MILF Hermione. I imagine him wanting her unlike anything she was ever expecting, especially since she isn't feeling her sexiest.

My husband does this to me. It's incredibly sexy and I think it would make for an amazing, smutty story.

This is an idea that I am putting here in case it ever comes to fruition OR maybe somebody can write this better, and then I will get to read it. Then I may be satiated.

He apologized to her in the middle of Flourish and Blotts.

Wedged in between the tight shelving of the Self-Help section, he found her reading through a book on motherhood.

Draco was stunned into momentary breathlessness.

Hermione Granger was pregnant and her body had rounded in all of the right places.

Her full, thick hair was a vibrant shade of auburn against the glowing skin of her face.

He was propelled toward her, his feet moving numbly as he stared and stared at her, resplendent in all of her beauty against the dull light of magical candle light.

He had begged for her forgiveness then and she had forgiven him.

With gentle eyes and a soft bosom, she wrapped her arms around him.

They parted ways and that night, he dreamt of her, naked inside of his bed.

But he never touched her. Not until they had both had children with others.

Not until their marriages had fallen apart, did he find the courage to feel her.

The soft, maternal skin that was like velvet against the rough pads of his fingers.

He kissed her on the mouth, on the neck and the soft spot behind her knee.

The skin of her breasts were soft and she whimpered when his tongue found her nipple. He adored the soft stomach that she complained about after giving birth twice.

He laved at her navel and begged her to let him just enjoy her body.

To worship it, to please it.

She hummed in harmony as he palmed the flesh of her ass.

He kissed his way across the stretch marks on her thighs, and just below her belly button.

Just before he kissed her between her thighs.

Made love with his mouth and his words and asked her to please tell him that she would be his.

She unraveled beneath him and promised him anything, anything that he wanted.

She begged him to stop, to keep going, to kiss her again.

He kissed her until he couldn’t breathe, sliding into her with an ease that shouldn’t have been.

Because he had once tormented her but, those days were long gone.

She was gorgeous and he had dreamed about her and her soft body.

Writhing beneath him, cooing words of praise into her ear as he fell deeper into her.

She let him, because she had secretly adored him after that day amongst all those books.

The memory of his mouth near her cheek when they hugged, when they let go of the past?

It lingered in the back of her mind, accepting him as a friend but secretly wanting him as a lover.

As something more.

Someone who would never stop telling her just how beautiful she was.

Or how much she drove him crazy with desire and the kind of love one thinks is nonexistent until they stumble upon it.

Build on it. Embrace it.

And so they did.

[draqo-pctter]

we’re on a break a dramione microfic/ words 709 tags: they were on a “break”, hermione saves draco from himself at the bar, not quite fluff, not quite angst prompt taken from dramioneprompts on twitter

-

Draco drummed his hands on the bar top as he scanned the room, looking for the least atrocious way to pass the evening. He was surrounded on all sides by redheads and blondes, all of their hair too straight or too contained to catch his attention for longer than a moment. 

“Here you are,” said the bartender as he set a glass of firewhiskey on ice down on a napkin. “That’ll be-“

Draco slid two galleons across the table to the bartender whose eyes widened in shock. 

“Keep the change.”

The bartender took the change and smiled. 

“Next round is on the house.”

That was how every night that week had gone for Draco. Finding a new pub – this one called The Three Chalices – and searching for a woman who might ease the tightness in his chest even a little bit. Even for a minute. 

“Draco.”

He didn’t have to turn around to know who had materialized beside him, her berry-toned lips pressed into a thin line. He took a sip of his drink and scanned the room again, refusing to make eye-contact. 

“Hermione.”

She was staring at him with an intensity Draco had so desperately missed. It had been six days since their fight. Six days since the last time he kissed her, or held her, or even got to consider what it would be like to sign the final papers for the London townhome they were supposed to move into. Together. As a couple. Very much in love. 

“This is what you’re doing now?” Hermione asked. Draco knew that her eyebrow was raised without looking. He couldn’t look. If he looked, he would collapse at her feet and beg forgiveness for something he hadn’t even done. “Picking up random women in bars on a Thursday night?”

“And Friday through Wednesday,” he said, taking another sip. “We’re on a break, love. I can do what I want.”

Draco could feel her thinking, choosing her next words carefully. A redhead in a tight red dress made eye-contact with him from across the bar. When he winked, she winked back. 

“If this is what you want–”

The redhead whispered something in her friend’s ear before turning back to him. Draco could see it in her eyes that he had her. All he had to do was decide that this was the night he’d finally let another set of hands touch him for the first time in three years. 

“What I want,” Draco said, finally turning to face Hermione. “Is to be falling asleep back at your flat with you beside me and Crooks at our feet. To wake up tomorrow and look at you and know that my future is something I can look forward to, and enjoy. Not,” he gestured vaguely around the bar, “This.”

Hermione’s eyes were narrowed, her cheeks flushed, and chest rising and falling rapidly. Draco could see every emotion and thought flying across her eyes like headlines in the Daily Prophet. The redhead got out of her seat and Draco watched her approach from the corner of his eye. 

She didn’t have eyes as beautiful as Hermione’s. Or shoulders as strong, or lips as soft. Draco knew her voice wouldn’t be as melodic either; most likely, it would sound like nails on a chalkboard, scratching against his brain like every bad decision he’d ever made. 

The redhead was beside them now, her hand touching his arm. Draco wanted to explode beneath the pressure of how badly he wanted Hermione to do anything. To say anything. 

“Am I interrupting something?” she asked, using that fake sing-song tone women used when they thought it made them sound seductive. 

In truth, the only thing seducing Draco was the look of disgust that had crept its way onto Hermione’s face. 

“We were just leaving,” Hermione said. She reached for Draco’s glass and finished the double shot in one swift gulp. Then, she grabbed his hand and began to tug him toward the door.

“And where are ‘we’ going?” Draco asked, his heart hammering away in his chest. 

“Back to my place,” Hermione said as they stepped out onto the street. Draco couldn’t help but smile to himself as the familiar pull of being apparated tugged at his stomach. 

-

follow me on twitter where i post other dramione ramblings & updates on my wips on archive of our own

[cyprus-green]

Hello Twt Friends 🥺

[morea-alicia]

Day 1 of 100 Days of Smutty Dramione Drabbles

WARNING !! MINORS DNI !! 18+ CONTENT !!

I'm in a bit of a writing rut because of perfectionism and I can't finish a single piece of work. 100 words are easier to perfect than 1000, so here are 100, 100-word, smutty Dramione drabbles inspired by THIS prompt list by @tumbleweed-writes

Find the masterlist HERE

Day 1: "I'm going to fuck you so hard, you're going to forget that guy's name."

Thrust.

“Mine.”

Thrust.

“Mine.”

Thrust.

“You’re fucking mine, Hermione.” He growls above her; platinum, sweat-soaked hair falling delicately over grey, overcast eyes. His calloused hand tightens possessively around her throat.

“Yours, Draco.” She struggles to croak out. From pain. From pleasure. What does it matter when she feels them simultaneously in her core?

She knows it. He knows she knows it. Gods, even her husband knows it. She is Draco's.

Apparating home each night reeking of cedar, musk, and sweat; hours late from her job at the ministry. Ronald knows too.

Thrust.

“I’m going to fuck you so hard, you forget his name.”

[arfisrar]

Dramione Month Day 9: Secret Child

Where Death Eater turned Order Spy falls in love with his Resistance appointed Healer/Contact, and they do as the Potters and Longbottoms did before them, and get busy.

"Why would anyone have a baby in the middle of a years long war?"

"Because even if the world is ending tomorrow, you don't stop loving and living today."

[wwreversetropefest2024]

Author Reveals are Here!

WW Reverse Trope Submissions:

A Good Boy by PeaceLilyWallArt (E, 11/11)

a memorable valentine's day by blue_violets (G, 1/1)

A Study of Muggle Tropes: One Bed by New_Ponyo (E, 3/5)

Across Enemy Lines, Before the War Begins by @midnightstargazer (T, 1/1)

Baby Carrot by @jelliewrites (E, 1/1)

Blood Traitor by @motherofdogs18 (E, 3/?)

Break Me In by @allofthelights11 (E, 1/1)

Bump, Set, Spike by @browneyesandhair (G, 1/1)

Cheers! once more, with indifference! by @romaniuca (T, 1/1)

Close Combat by @morgan-magic (E, 4/4)

Crash Into Me (Or, There Were No Beds!) by @Gr8t888 (E, 1/1)

Draco's Sugar Mommy by @dizzle0000 (E, 3/3)

Everyone deserves to be happy, except Pansy Parkinson by dearest_writer (T, 1/1)

Footsteps in the Night by @M1dn1ght_Star (G, 1/1)

i bloom, i grow (i glow) by @b-lovedhunter (E, 3/5) @

If History's Clear by @browneyesandhair (T, 1/1)

It Comes With Practice by @sailtomarina (E, 1/1)

Last Kiss by beanclip (M, 1/1)

Last, First by @sessediz (T, 1/1)

Many Little Deaths by Slytherindiaries (E, 1/1)

Miscellaneous Tasks by @moonriverfox (T, 1/1)

Perfect From Far Away by @themaryscribbler (E, 1/1)

private displays of affection by @mintyelbows (E, 1/1)

Red Heads & Herrings by @RatKingPoe (E, 9/9)

She Will Be Loved by Midnight_Shooting_Star (E, 3/?)

so hot you're hurting my feelings by @ktsaysthings (E, 1/1)

sweeter than being alone by @moonriverfox (E, 1/1)

The Anti-Marriage Law by @Gr8t888 (E, 1/1)

The Boy Who Cried 'Love' by @moonriverfox (T, 1/1)

The Boy Who Was Unaware by TheHeiressofDarkness (E, 1/1)

The Fate of Our Circumstances by @kaycares22 (E, 3/14)

The Space Between by @laserswordtraining (T, 3/3)

then, a memory by mintyelbows (G, 1/1)

Thinking by @my-castles-crumbling (T, 1/1)

Top or Bottom? by Trauma_Bingo_Board (E, 3/3)

UN/BOUND by @hanniesalwaysreading (E, 3/?)

What do you mean, we can't get married? by RavenclawViking (M, 1/1)

To be valued by beanclip (T, 2/2)

What's the opposite of love? by @browneyesandhair (T, 1/1)

where wolves fear to prey by @sultrynuns (E, 1/1)

Years to Come by @browneyesandhair (G, 1/1)

I'm so proud and amazed by all our hardworking participants! Thank you so much for sharing your works with us! 🔁

[dracoslibrary]

Like Nobody's Watching

[sailtomarina]

I don’t regret it

cw: smut, feels

She watched the sliver of light arcing across the bedspread and his white blond hair. The curtains didn’t completely block out the sunlight. Hermione could reach for her wand to spell them shut if she knew where it was; at some point she’d lost it the previous night amidst the frantic fumbling. It was probably somewhere on the floor along with the rest of their clothing.

Even in sleep, he was breathtaking. His face glowed with a translucence that defied the lines of stress he wore when awake. The lips that scowled more than smiled these days were parted as he breathed deeply, pale pink and inviting. She shivered as she recalled the way they’d felt against her own, how they’d glided down her torso and discovered every sensitive point of her body. Silver grey eyes had glinted upward, frequently checking in on her every reaction as he wrung pleasure out of Hermione.

They hadn’t spoken a word since the kiss that started it all. They hadn’t needed to, their bodies communicating what their tongues could not. Draco, yes, “Draco”, not “Malfoy” anymore, seemed to need her more than life itself that night, and Hermione was compelled to respond in kind. She was a volatile potion of emotions just waiting to explode given the chance, and shatter she did in the arms of a young man she’d fallen deeply, passionately, irrevocably for over the course of the past few months.

Like the barely-there kiss, her feelings started small.

No. That wasn’t correct.

Her feelings for Draco had always been large; volatile, really. She’d hated everything he represented, the way he’d treated and looked at her, the years of animosity that they shared. But, she also pitied him. That pity, as threaded through with distrust as it had been, had transformed into begrudging respect.

He’d apologised to her. It hadn’t been overly passionate nor verbose. He’d found her alone and offered his remorse. He’d even go so far as to clearly state that forgiveness was not expected; he didn’t think he deserved it. Then, he’d gone his way and Hermione was left with an inner turmoil that struggled in search of an outlet.

She’d always known he was clever, and now with nothing but his studies to focus on, Draco finally showed what too much pressure and pride had stifled: a hungry mind that took mistakes in stride and used them as stepping stones to higher knowledge. For once, Hermione had a worthy rival.

And now, she was in his bed.

He sighed, then grumbled as the shaft of light hit his eyes. He turned further towards her, hands reaching out to tug her close. She allowed herself to be tucked against his chest, naked skin to naked skin. His heart beat strong and steady beneath her splayed hand. Circe, she loved breathing him in, a combination of body soap, woodsy cologne, and his own masculine scent. Slightly salty, probably from their exertions as he brought her to orgasm not once, not twice, but three times, once with his hands, then with his mouth, and finally on his cock as he folded her nearly in half to press in almost painfully deep. She’d relished the ache then, just as she delighted in the way her muscles smarted even now. They were reminders of their time together. If this turned out to be a one-time thing, then at least she’d always have that.

She sensed the moment he woke up, his steady inhales stuttering and turning into shorter intervals. Perhaps if she kept silent, she could hold on to this moment just a little bit longer. With their legs tangled together and his arms wrapped around her, Hermione could pretend that she was his and he was hers.

She bid her breathing to remain slow and measured. Kept her body relaxed. When his hand drifted down her back to cup one buttcheek, she fought to stay still. Then he tightened his hold and pressed his hips to hers and she felt him, hot and hard and wanting.

She could keep pretending to be asleep, but she wanted him inside of her more. It was time to open her eyes.

When she did so, tilting her head upward in the process, it was to find Draco already looking down at her. Eyes half-lidded, lips parted and descending. She met him part way. Any sour breath they might have had was overpowered by the sweetness of this kiss. It was soft, lingering, his tongue lightly rubbing against her own as he rotated his length against her in an unspoken question to which she arched in acceptance.

He rolled them so hovered above her, limbs caging her in, his soft hair hanging down into his eyes, which closed as he leaned forward to press his forehead to hers.

“Do you regret it?”

The first words since yesterday, and this was what he asked?

She realised that, like her, Draco was just as uncertain about the future. They’d never clearly stated their feelings about one another; they’d just gone with the flow and she’d assumed his heart was more fortified than her own.

“I wouldn’t be here if I did,” she replied. She opened her eyes to stare up at him, willing Draco to see the truth for himself. She wanted to be here, wanted him now and for as long as time allowed.

“Good, because I’m yours now.”

Her heart hammered at the declaration. The tightening of his jaw and his intent stare underlined the statement. She felt overwhelmed, tears of relief and desire threatening to spill. She could only nod, afraid she’d burst into ugly sobs and ruin the moment. That seemed to be enough for him.

He captured her lips, fitting the broad head of his cock to her opening at the same time and slowly pressing forward. It was tight, but she was wet with want and had been almost from the moment she’d woken up. She spread her legs to make more room for him, and he took advantage, thrusting to the hilt and groaning into the kiss as he did so. She felt impossibly full, even though she knew she’d taken him even deeper before. Even if she hadn’t, she could no longer deny him anything.

He brought a hand back down to tilt her hips at just the right angle for his pelvis to grind against her clit with every unrelenting drive of his cock. Along with the slide of his swollen shaft within her throbbing walls and the way his other hand plucked at her nipples, Hermione found herself right back at the precipice of her apogee. It was agonisingly close, yet still she withheld herself from the plummet, wanting him right there alongside her.

Draco picked up on her whining pants. She clawed at his muscled back and shoulders, and still he forged onward, pulling back nearly to the tip only to press right back into her depths, his balls slapping against her arse. Hermione might have blushed at the sound if she had the presence of mind to think of anything outside of him inside of her, but that was as likely as her ever letting go of him. She was beyond embarrassment or reproach.

He sounded pained as he moaned, low and deep, and Hermione could feel the way he thickened within her just before he froze, the tendons of his neck taut as he threw his head back. As the first spurts of his spend spilled into her, she finally let go, crying out her own release that seemed to go on and on as her body milked him of every last drop.

He caught himself on his forearms before falling on top of her, but Hermione wasn’t having any of that. She wrapped her arms around his neck and yanked him down. His weight was a comfort she could never find overbearing.

“Stay?” she murmured. She swept her hands up and down the warm planes of his back, then hugged him to her, holding tight to the shoulders that carried so much. Too much.

He chuckled, the puff of air tickling the crook of her neck where he rested.

“Always.”

1367 WC

2.25.24 Twitter prompt from DramionePrompts “I don’t regret it”

Cross-posted on Tumblr and AO3 (eventually)

I originally meant to write this as straight up unapologetic smut, but then couldn’t resist a bit of backstory. Ahhhhh! Why does the story always have to sneak in there somehow?

[mllemacabre]

Leave it to me

Leaning casually against the side of the low partition between her open living space and modest kitchen, Hermione watches as Malfoy speaks to Crookshanks. Malfoy is leaning close to the orange cat and whispering conspiratorially,  oblivious to her presence. To her chagrin, the great ball of fluff paws at a length of thick jute that the impossibly tall, impeccably, and insufferably attractive man is dragging back and forth across the countertop in front of him, entirely too kitten-like for his advanced years.

It was already quite late; Hermione had been in bed reading when the floo had roared to life, signalling that someone was stepping through the network directly into her home without any forewarning or invitation. She knew her floo was only open to a select few, and not hearing anyone calling her name in panic, she had taken her time leaving her room to discover who was visiting at such a late hour. As no one was sobbing, cursing the universe, or drunkenly knocking things over, the possible list of visitors was much shorter than the total of all who had an open invitation to come and go as they pleased. It became a list of one when she heard the telltale sound of expensive shoes clicking across flagstone, then hardwood, and finally to tile as they made their way to her kitchen.

Malfoy, or Draco as he continues to insist she refers to him as in their daily dealings, had been added to her privileged personal floo access barely two weeks before this unannounced intrusion. He was adamant that it was for the simple reason that it would make consulting with her on their shared curse-breaking research much easier, as owls were notoriously slow in relaying urgent messages, such as they would need during this particular project. Despite her best efforts, Draco was not persuaded to use a muggle cell phone, as the man’s ancient wards made it impossible to guarantee the messages would reach him with any reliability. So far, this had led him to stop by almost daily with meticulous notes, rare reference texts, enough expensive coffee to drown a small village, and enough treats to have won over her aged familiar.  Work on their current project, an artefact locked behind an obscure ancient curse, had kept him over for hours on end, discussing and debating the minutiae of facts and methods, ordering in meals, and keeping late hours as they unravelled the complicated nature that kept the artefact in question beyond reach. He had thoroughly, without apology, inserted himself into her personal space as if he belonged in her orbit on the sole merit of his existence.

“Yes, that’s quite right. This is prey most noble for one such as yourself. Intelligent beast, aren’t you? A chaser to the bone.” Draco keeps his voice low, speaking to her familiar with in a voice barely above a whisper, and yet it carries well through the space; it is soft and deep, sending a not-unpleasant tingle through Hermione’s nerves as she watches him. Next to where he stands in a new stack of what appears to be ancient scrolls, possibly his reason for such a late visit. A discovery that apparently could not wait for the sun to rise. His platinum blonde hair, almost white, sweeps down across his forehead. His forearms flex almost imperceptibly as he keeps the end of the jute length just out of reach of sharp claws. His shoulders stretch the fabric of his white Oxford in ways that make her bite her lip, imagining the expanse of skin and the muscle beneath it. Hermione wonders briefly how warm his skin is. Would there be any resistance?  How would it feel to run her nails along his spine, and would she be able to differentiate the notches between them? All in all, Draco Malfoy has thoroughly ruined her without even touching her.

“That’s not a cat toy, I’ll have you know Malfoy. Honestly, it shouldn’t even be out here in the first place.”

Briefly, Malfoy glances up and away from the cat, cutting his eyes to Hermione and back to the jute cord in his hands as Crookshanks triumphantly catches its end. He does a double take so fast it looks almost painful. Hermione can see the second his jaw goes slack. She registers the slight dilation of his pupils. There is a hitch in his breath, and Hermione swears she hears his brain crashing. It is precisely the reaction she was hoping for. She watches as his eyes scan slowly down from the crown of her head downward from her hair, plaited carefully out of the way, to the slightly parted silk robe she wears, offering a calculatedly teasing view of the lace basque beneath. As she leans, she notices him pause in his appraisal again, further down, taking in the hint of her exposed thigh just above her bent knee. 

“Where should it be then, Granger?” She watches as the pink tip of his tongue darts out, wets his lips, and he reaches his other hand to the jute rope, coiling it slowly as he keeps his eyes on her, his voice low and coaxing. Hermione crooks a finger at him, beckoning, and uses her hip to push off the partition, turning around to begin her walk back down the hallway from which she had previously come. A few steps later, Hermione again hears the sound of expensive soles on tile, and then they transition onto the hardwood floor of the hallway as he begins to follow behind her.

“Right then, Granger. Leave it to me.” After all, some discoveries absolutely could not wait a moment longer.

[hp-flowers]

Another Season of Flora!

Okie dokie! According to a quick interest check, we're gonna move forward with some new prompts for spooky season! Wahoo! 🎉🌻🎃 The Autumn Mini Round runs from Oct. 1 - Oct. 31, 2024. As a refresher, this open prompt challenge is inspired by floriography, the language of flowers (and plants) and encourages creators to use text and photo prompts to make fic, art and more. General challenge info and timeline will be the same as last year, so please be sure to read the Mini Round Guidelines and the challenge FAQ thoroughly, whether you're a returning participant or you're trying the challenge for the first time. A reminder that this challenge is open to all HP ships and creative mediums (such as fic, art, podfic, bookbindings, crafts and whatever else!). Creators can also combine the newest 2024 prompts with any prompts from previous rounds. Have fun using flowers and plants from the prompts card catalogue! Prompt cards officially drop on September 27th, so stay tuned for more deets! If you have a question that isn’t covered by this post or either of the above pages, feel free to ask! Get excited!

[falkendreamsxxx]

Writing emotions when you have none.

[draqo-pctter]

you’re ticklish a dramione microfic/ words: 297 slightly nsfw, eighth year, semi-public spicy time prompt taken from dramioneprompts on twitter

-

If someone had told Draco that his eighth year would consist of stealing kisses and pleasurable gasps from Hermione Granger in broom closets and the back of the library, he would have hexed them far into the following year. If that same person had told him that he’d also accompany her into Hogsmeade, introduce her to Pansy and Blaise, and start to fall in love with her, he would have collapsed. 

But, there he was, pressing her against the wall of Honeyduke’s basement. Hermione’s body was pressed tightly against his own and her hands were wound tightly in his hair. She tasted like peppermint and sugar, and he was resisting the urge to take her then and there. 

He slid off her jacket first, breaking the kiss to rest his forehead against hers. Hermione had a knack for pulling oxygen right from his lungs and replacing it with something that made his head spin. Draco attempted to regain his composure as her jacket fell to the floor at their feet. 

Hermione's hip was exposed in the gap between the waistband of her jeans and the burgundy jumper she’d left Hogwarts in. Draco reached for her skin instinctively, his fingertips brushing along the dip in her pelvis. 

The giggle that escaped Hermione's lips had him smiling against her hair. 

“I always forget you’re ticklish,” he said into her curls. “It gets lovelier every time I remember.” 

Hermione shivered beneath his touch, goosebumps taking over the surface of her skin. He brushed his finger across her hip bone one more time, his body growing hotter as she squirmed in his grasp. 

She bit at his bottom lip in retaliation, all thoughts of how soft she was replaced by how badly he wanted her to come apart beneath his touch.

-

follow me on twitter where i post other dramione ramblings & updates on my wips on archive of our own

[kyokimidori]

Send me Prompts

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