#hermione: virgin

[dramioneasks]

Hi, i’m looking for a marriage law fic. I know that draco gave hermione an alexandrite ring with latin engraved into the band, they bought a house together where they held the wedding and that H was a virgin at the time. I think they both work for the ministry (i could be wrong it’s been a long time since i read this fic)

Sorry is this is vague, i’ve been trying to find it on my own but im lost lol

Anyone?

Edit: I thought of the 2nd fic mentioned, but didn't remember anything about a ring specifically, maybe the Anon mixed up these two fics:

m1schiefmanag3d: This might be In These Silent Days by HeyJude19?? https://archiveofourown.org/works/40944369/chapters/102609030

paradigmamesposts: the alexandrite ring is from 'In these silent days', but she's not a virgin there and they live at his apartment. in 'I carry your heart' by TheMourningMadam she's a virgin and draco buys her a house, but the wedding happens in manor, I think. both are marriage law Show Chapter | Archive of Our Own

Edit 2: I initially thought of this one tbh.

migumii: this is Knowing You by dulce.de.leche i think the author might have taken it off actually. but it includes the ring, the offensive latin on the ring, they marry at their new house, H is a virgin during their first time, and they both have positions in the ministry. one of my all time favorite fics tbh lol

[scorpiusmalfoylovesoscarwilde]

yall know that "you're on the edge of the bed, you're bout to fall off" sound that's going round tiktok rn? anyway, that's so drastoria on their wedding night fr

draco is often depicted as very sexual and experienced and dominant in fanfics, especially in dramione. but leik,,, did we read the same fucking books?? 😭 does that look like a man comfortable with being vulnerable and naked with someone??? absolutely NOT, he is blushing and stuttering and on the edge of the bed thank you very much, he does not know what to do with himself.

draco malfoy is a chronic virgin, pass it on

[pixydustworld]

The room was warm, heat sticking to her naked skin. 

The girl beside her was crying, silent wracking sobs, shoulders shaking with effort to keep the sound at bay — the hum of the conversation was too loud, the lights too bright. Hermione inhaled slowly through her nose, bitter air burning her tongue. The collar around her neck was too tight for her to turn her head and that, somehow, was the worst bit. 

What if it was someone she knew? Someone she’d grown up with? Someone she had hated, perhaps. Once, but never now. 

She wouldn’t cry, not here. Not in front of eager vultures, ready to lick the salt from her skin; she would do it later. In the ever-unfolding after. After she was sold, after she was bought, after she was broken in.

After she killed the men who made the nameless girl beside her sob for a life long past, after she killed anyone who knew about what was occurring — after she slit their throat the muggle way, reveling in the mundaneness of their death. After, after, after,

 After she was done, then she would cry.

*

When Harry died, it felt as if a part of Hermione had died, too. A phantom limb, the feeling of something missing, burrowing all the way to her bones. When his lifeless body tumbled from Hagrid’s arms, she felt it like a blow to her chest, knocking her backward, and splitting her in two. 

He’d killed Voldemort. And himself. It made sense, in its own bitter way — in the end, she wasn’t sure if there had been much of a distinction between the two of them.

Then, in the chaos of death, Hermione had run.

After that, everything had disintegrated, crumbling like grand castles of sand, slipping beneath her feet. She had been captured after two and a half years on the run, long enough to begin to believe she could survive, short enough to know she never would. They had cornered her on a cliff’s edge — the churning sea to her back, an unavoidable future to her front.

Without hesitating, she had turned to jump — to be free in death, that would be enough. To belong, unabashedly, to her own choices. 

But, she had never been lucky. Always clever and bright, but never lucky. A Death Eater had caught her in their arms before she’d slipped away into the mist of the sea, arms tightly banded across her ribcage. 

“Not yet.” They had hissed. 

*

“Do you remember your name?”

The girl tensed beside her and then relaxed at the sound of Hermione’s voice, sobs dissipating, floating away like bubbles in the soft evening air of her childhood. “Daphne.” She whispered. “Greengrass. Tori was in your year, I think.”

“Is Tori here?” It felt foreign in Hermione’s mouth, calling Astoria Greengrass of all people a childhood nickname, but it was somehow grounding, too. To be reminded of all the little things that made someone whole. To know that one day (after, after, after) Hermione would be whole, too. 

“No.” Daphne’s voice trembled. “She fought back after the first round of these —” She hesitated, searching for the right word. “Auctions, I suppose we’d call it. Said it was barbaric and cruel. Managed to kill three or four Death Eaters before they got her.”

Astoria Greengrass had always been quiet, standing in the shadows of her more vocal friends — clear memories of her smile flittered across Hermione’s thoughts. Of how her nose had crinkled when she’d laughed, how she managed to wish everyone in their year happy birthday, despite their house.

In fact, the last they had spoken had been on Hermione’s seventeenth birthday.

“We’ll make them pay.”

Daphne was silent for a long time, the noise in the room ebbing and flowing around them. “Yes.” She said finally, “We will.”

*

In the cloudy moments of clarity, Hermione watched from her cell as the world crumbled around her. Unraveling, like a massive trap; a lazy predator, intent on devouring their prey with ease. Sold to the highest bidder for the prize of her virginity. If she’d had enough energy, Hermione might have even laughed — if anyone climbed between her thighs, she would rip out their throat. 

 She still had her teeth, after all. 

An aching routine of Dreamless sleep potions and blurry thoughts, sticky and stretched out, as if her mind was taffy. 

Then one night, he came for her. 

“Do you want to live?”

Hermione blinked until his face came into view.

“I think I’m already dead.” She said, brows furrowed. “Or dreaming.”

“Hermione.” He said a bit more firmly. “Answer me.”

Hermione frowned. “I did.” She whined. 

Draco Malofy was crouched before her, fingers white around the rungs of her cell. He looked concerned. Angry, even, which meant she was definitely dreaming. “I’ve got some Wideye.” He said softly, speaking to her as if she were a cornered animal. “I’m going to give it to you through the bars, alright? Don’t bite me.”

Hermione snapped her teeth at him anyway, biting his thumb. He sighed, as if he’d known it would happen, but let her nip at his flesh until she was content she’d left behind marks. 

“Always so scared of me.” She said, taking the cork off the vial with her teeth, spitting it somewhere on the floor. “Even when we were little. Do you remember? The first day of potions? I brushed your hand and you almost cried. Said I was stealing your magic with my dirty muggle blood.”

Malfoy grimaced. “Drink the vial, please. I can apologize for all that later. But I need you awake now, we have more important things to discuss.”

“Only because you’re pretty.” Hermione told the dream version of Malfoy, fondness that didn’t belong dripping across her tone. “And bright, I think. Like looking at the sun.”

“That’s very nice.” He said. The hand that she had bitten flexed and then reached out through the bars, touching a stray curl. “Drink up, now. Alright? For me?”

After, when she was awake and he was still there, Hermione scrambled away from him, all trembling limbs and furrowed brows. 

They stared at one another, their breath the only sound echoing through the darkness — she didn’t know what to say. Thank you? Why are you here? Come closer so I can kill you?

She settled with: “I know it was you on the cliff.” Hermione hissed, spit and hatred and all the anger she’d ever felt, pouring gracefully into her words. “I’ll never forgive you for that.” 

Someone would’ve caught her in the end, she knew this. An illusion of choice, snatched from her aching hands; it was a bitter thing, knowing it had been him.

“Is this you thanking me for saving your life?” Malfoy tilted his head to the side. “You’re not very good at saying thank you.”

He didn’t deny it, didn’t scramble to invent a reason for his choices — instead he simply looked at her, eyes unwavering. Unafraid of her, it seemed. All the other guards taunted her, nasty and cruel, but they never lingered. Never crouched to her level, never spoke to her, never called to her by name.

“You think you saved my life?” She laughed, feeling a bit unhinged. Feeling like a piece of glass that he’d glued back together, sharp and uneven edges, not the same as she’d once been. Different, now destined to only draw blood. “Leave.”

“No.” Malfoy was still crouching at her level, so calm and even. Had he always been that way? Beneath all the schoolyard taunts and ill-conceived prejudice? “I asked you something, Granger. Do you want to live?” He hesitated, eyes flickering across her bruised skin, the gash in her side, the determined look in her eyes. He knew she’d bite him, and he’d come anyway.

No wonder she had been the top of their class, Draco Malfoy was an idiot. 

“Do you want to make everyone here suffer?” He asked in a low voice. “Make them die slow and painful deaths? I want that. I think you do, too.”

Hermione knew what was coming. In three days she would be dragged out by her collar, forced to kneel naked before a crowd. What she didn't know was why he was in the cellar with her, dirtying his expensive pants, talking to her. “Why do you even care?”

His facade flickered, but only for a moment. She blinked, and he was back to normal, no trace of anger across his face. “Maybe I’ve decided to no longer be a coward.”

Hermione scoffed loudly. “Not good enough.”

Malfoy’s eyes narrowed slightly, looking annoyed. Good. “I want to save you.” He said tightly. “So that you can save everyone else. It’s what you do, right? Free the downtrodden?”

“You are part of the downtrodden?”

“No.” Careless in his admission of wealth and security. “But someone  — ” He flinched, turning away. “Someone I care about is suffering because of my cowardice. I want to be better. Maybe I can. I probably won’t, but I’d like to try. I’ll buy you and set you free. We can get the other girls' wands. Kill everyone involved.” 

Hermione glared at him. Words were pretty, but often empty. Whispering to her in the darkness — that wouldn’t be enough. A lifetime of misfortune had taught Hermione to never ask for more, but here, at this moment in the cellar, in the darkness, at the beginning of the end, Hermione opened her mouth. 

 “Swear it.” She bit out. “Use an Unbreakable Vow. Swear that you’ll free all of us. That you’ll help me until the very end.”

“Alright.” Malfoy responded without hesitation. “Whatever you want.” He turned back to face her, eyes glittering in the darkness. “I’ll ask you again. Do you want to live?”

“Yes.” She was still spitting, still ready to kill him. But truthful, too. Never lucky, but always clever and bright. If he wanted to free her to soothe the ache in his unredeemable soul, she would let him. “I do.”

Malfoy grinned. Soft and slow, like the sunrise, like the beginning of something wonderful and terrible. “Good.” He said. “That, I can work with.” 

And then: “Give me your hand.”

*

A voice was talking, loud and brash, echoing through the room. Hermione felt more eyes on her body, more and more people drinking in her naked flesh — other girls were brought in, kneeling beside her. Through the corner of her eye, she saw familiar faces. Ones she knew, classmates from her year, from her house, even.

This would never work. Panic was beginning to spread across her skin, flames of worry consuming her completely. She should have fought harder on the cliff’s edge, she should have tried to escape again and again, she should have bitten more people — 

Gloved fingers brushed across her skin, tilting her chin upwards. 

Knees trembling beneath her, sore from kneeling for hours — her collar shifted under his touch, allowing her to see him.

He looked different. Not like the man from before, the one in the cell who had promised her freedom. Face lit up only by the glow of an Unbreakable Vow. In his place was the mask. A creature who wore his face for comfort; almost unrecognizable, cold and distant.

“Hello, pet.” He said. His thumb smoothed circles along her jaw, a light trace of leather on her skin. Somehow grounding her, all at once. Trembling breaths crashed through her chest, heaving and unrelenting, finally remembering how to breathe. “Don’t you look pretty.”

Hermione narrowed her eyes. His eyes were warm on her skin, hotter than the room; he pushed his thumb slowly into her mouth, the taste of his leather gloves heavy on her tongue.

“Careful, Draco.” A voice from her left said. The one from before, loud and brash. The man in charge. She’d kill him last, elongated suffering and such. “This one bites.”

Malfoy didn’t look away from her face. “Oh, I know.”

*

“I’ll have to.” He inhaled, looking away. “Use you. In front of everyone.”

Hermione thought of the inevitability of it all. A series of choices had led her here, to the cellar, talking about publicly losing her virginity to Draco Malfoy. She could dwell on the missteps for the rest of her life, the moments where she chose wrong, pushing herself off the original path.

But Hermione was pragmatic, even now. She knew, with unmistakable clarity, that she would survive this; that one day, she would return to her beloved original path. That sooner rather than later, she would fix all of this — and it would be because of him, too. Because he was willing to risk his life for her own.

 She glanced up, finding his eyes firmly on her face. He never looked below, not even glancing at her shoulders — they’d taken her clothing in preparation for the evening, and he seemed determined not to notice. 

“Better you than someone else.” She said at last.

His face was miserable, so often he seemed to carefully conceal how he was feeling — but not now. “I’m sorry.” He said. “For all of it.” 

Hermione tilted her head to the side, curls brushing her skin. Shivering in the darkness, watching her only companion, someone she had hated, perhaps. Once, but never now. “I actually think you mean that.” She said softly. “How frightening for you.”

*

The evening was unfolding slowly, yawning to life. Malfoy stood by her side, thoughtfully petting her hair as he spoke to others, fingers tangling through the curls. Despite herself, Hermione felt herself begin to sag, leaning softly against Malfoy’s leg’s. He didn't even blink, simply adjusted to support her weight.

“— You have breed them well.” A Death Eater she vaguely recognized was saying, “Keep them busy and full. I’m sure you’ll have a hard time with this one, but they all soften after a while.”

“I’ll try my best.” Was Malfoy’s flat reply.

Hermione was fighting the urge to roll her eyes when she felt Daphne stiffen beside her. From the way Malfoy was still absentmindedly holding her chin, she could see the room better, see who was standing next to her. 

Theodore Nott was staring down at Daphne, frozen in horror. Hermione had given them detention once for kissing behind a tapestry after curfew. They had run back to the dungeons, hand in hand — the sound of their giggles echoing off the walls; the sweetness of youth, love ever fading. Perhaps it wasn’t all gone.

Despite the terribleness of the current outcome of her life, the swirling dread that permanently held residence in her chest, Hermione felt a moment of relief. Daphne would be alright. She knew nothing about Theodore, about the type of man he was — but she recognized the look in his eyes, understood loyalty, felt it thrumming through her veins, even now.

He wouldn’t leave Daphne behind to the wolves. 

The hand in her hair tightened, twisting gently. “Theo.” Malfoy’s voice was soft, a memory of lifetimes ago, whispering to his friends while Hermione glared at them from across the classroom. “Find something you like?”

Theo didn’t look away from Daphne, still staring down at her face. “Yes.” He said finally, voice rough, trembling around the words. Poorly concealed rage breaking through his throat, dripping across his tone. “I think I have.”

*

“I’d rather you do it now.” Hermione said suddenly. “Here.”

“Here?” Malfoy was blinking down at her in the darkness. 

“You’re going to have to fuck me at some point.” Hermione frowned. This had been his plan, had he even considered the outcome? “And I’d rather it be here.” She had thought of how it might happen — how someone might lay her down on a soft bed, trail their hands lovingly up her sides; someone like him, even. Hermione winced at her teenage crush, blinking it away, banishing it from her mind. This was not the time for thoughts like that — this was real, this was happening. 

Sort of happening. There was still a cell between them and Malfoy was still looking at her like she’d grown two heads. 

“Here?” He said again. Sounding a bit like a broken childrens toy, determined to repeat the same word over and over and over. “Hermione — ”

She blinked away the sound of her name on his lips. “You said whatever I wanted. This is what I want.” Hermione tilted her chin up, determined to win. Like she always had been, unafraid of the road ahead: “And you’re going to give it to me. You promised.”

He nodded soundlessly, agreeing without much of a fight. How much had he changed in the years of her absence? How immune she was, Hermione thought, of the idea of new growth. She watched as he Apparated into her cell, standing before her, looking down at her with a tortured expression.

“Just think about her.” Hermione found herself saying. “The one you want to protect. That’ll make this easier.” She let out a shaky exhale, allowing herself tiny niceties. “I’ll think of someone else, too.”

A lie, but he didn't need to know that.

“You won’t bite me?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Hermione said. “I’d never promise that.”

*

The Auction was a blur of twinkling lights and laughter. A party, Hermione realized, anger pooling in her belly, spreading across her limbs until it replaced the surface of her skin. 

Celebrating the end of the war, celebrating the sale of her.

She hadn’t even bothered to worry about someone else buying her — hadn’t worried about the consequences of the Unbreakable Vow if Malfoy failed. Through glazed eyes, she watched as bodies swirled across the floor, watched as they reveled in their conquest — she watched as Malfoy bought her, voice firm, unyielding. The first sale of the night, the beginning of the entertainment.

Hermione ignored the voices that cooed celebrations, ignored the sharp fingers that tugged her towards Malfoy’s chair, depositing her at his feet. Kneeling, waiting for him to speak — the room had finally grown quiet, blissful in the aching moments before her life would begin again.

Malfoy was watching her through hooded eyes. Slowly, he tapped his lap, soft leather, no emotion. “Come here, pet.”

Hermione blinked up at him, limbs moving at her own accord. Pushing herself up, collar shifting loudly in the silence, golden decorations spiraling across her limbs, pretty and docile, all for him. 

Malfoy’s eyes betrayed the emotion beneath, glistening in the warm light. Watching in her awe, she felt. Watching her as she inhaled softly, breath catching in her throat. To survive, was to change, Hermione reminded herself. Persistent, like a weed twisting through the crack in the pavement, growing beyond expectations. 

He tugged on the chain of her collar, bringing her to straddle his lap, controlling her movement, a puppet on string. “Come closer,” he said, voice too soft for the world around them. “I bought you, didn't I?”

“Right.” Hermione hissed. “Apologies, My Lord.”

*

“Can I touch you?”

Hermione nodded. Her eyes were fixed firmly on the ceiling, unblinking. She could barely see him in the darkness, a shadowy shape of sharp limbs, moving above her. Suddenly, Hermione wished she could see Malfoy, if only to know it was him. A blistering reminder, a terrifying twist of fate, leading her towards a destination she’d always wanted. A blurry future, patchwork quilt of memories — the way he would stare at her in class when he thought she wasn’t looking, the sound of his laugh, how annoyingly clever he was, the way his fingers had felt brushing along her skin in Umbridge’s office —

 And of course, there had been the sweater incident in their sixth year.

“Go ahead,” she had told Harry, bright smiles, willing to give them without care, too young to ration her joy. “I’ll meet you in The Great Hall. Save some pudding for me!” She had known where to find it, hanging on the back of her chair, in its faithful place — but it hadn't been there. Instead, Malfoy had been standing alone in the room, her sweater pressed to his nose. The moment had been strange and soft, a bit like she was intruding. His eyes had lifted when she entered and they had both stood across from one another, quiet in cautious confusion. She had waited for him to toss it aside, to scoff at the belligerent way she had banged the classroom door open. Instead, he had continued to inhale, eyes closing briefly. “Give that back.” Hermione said after a moment, beginning to sense that her sweater was in danger of transferring ownership. “I’ve only got three good sweaters and that’s my best one.” “This is your best one?” His voice had been muffled by the fabric. “You should invest in some cashmere.” “Thanks.” Hermione had said flatly. “I’ll be sure to do just that.” Bravery was built in, wasn't it? She had squared her shoulders, reaching across the space, tugging softly at the sleeve, fingers brushing along his arm. “Come on.” Hermione had said.  “Give me a minute.” He had said. Normal malice lacking, stripped away, only the raw emotion left beneath. “Just one more minute, yeah?” The following week, everything had changed. Dumbledore had died, the war had begun, and, most importantly, before Malfoy had fled, he had stolen her sweater from her dorm.

 Then, as if summoned by her own desperate thoughts, he was hovering above her face. “I need to hear you say it.”

“Oh.” Hermione said. She swallowed the urge to tell him to get it over with, to insist he power through whatever gentleman-ly urges remained in his chest and to just fuck her already. “Sure, alright. Yes. Touch away.”

Cool hands smoothed up her sides, trailing across the surface of her skin. She shivered, involuntary and wanting. He grimaced at the movement, seeing it as something else; fear, perhaps. Trembling limbs at what was to come.

But she wasn’t afraid, never had been. Not of the dark, not of the unknown, and not of this, either.

Brave, like she had been during the war. Brave, like she had been in the classroom, tugging her sweater from his trembling hands. Brave like now, too. Refusing defeat, determined to survive, to kill and to be reborn. 

She could be brave. 

“I used to dream of you.” An admission, given freely. Floating through the air, settling across his skin, sinking beneath the surface. “Of this.” Hermione grimaced. “Well, not this, specifically. There was never a cell involved.” She let out a sigh, her breath fluttering the hair that hung before his eyes.

He had stopped moving, fingers frozen at their place on her skin, spanning her ribcage. “Yeah?” Malfoy asked. Hopeful, a light in the darkness, eyes flickering to meet her own. “I thought of you, too.”

“I know.” Hermione said simply. “You took my sweater.”

“It smelled like you.” His fingers began to move again, trailing down her flesh, tracing patterns across the tops of her thighs. “I still have it. Under a Stasis charm.”

“Does it still smell like me?” Hermione asked, watching as his fingers slipped between her thighs, tracing through her folds, circling along her clit. She squirmed under his touch, frowning when he stilled her thighs with a firm squeeze.

“Yeah.” He said, still looking at her. Memorizing her face, perhaps. Drinking in this version of her, determined to remember every emotion. “It does.”

“It’s you.” Malfoy said suddenly, her bravery contagious, spreading like a fire. “The one I want to protect. I know you don’t need me to protect you — that you don’t want me to protect you — that you’ll bite anyone who gets too close with your sharp little teeth, but.” He hesitated. “I can’t stop the want, Hermione.”

Hermione was quiet, her buzzing thoughts too loud to speak. Insisting to be heard, overflowing like a river swollen with rain; his touch was soft, sliding through the wetness of her cunt, still looking at her with aching conviction. “I want, too.” Hermione said after a long moment.

Malfoy nodded, blinking quickly. “Okay.” He said. “I — yes, alright.” He smiled, unguarded. Beautiful, unbelonging in the darkness of their world. The sight twisted Hermione’s heart in chest. Despite it all, everything, Hermione smiled, too. Fingers slipped through his hair, soft strands, twisting along her flesh.

“I’ll need to stretch you a bit.” Malfoy was saying, sliding down her body. 

“Right.” Hermione nodded, unhurried in her movements. Soft beneath him. Like they had all the time in the world. “Okay.”

His hot breath on her center was the only warning Hermione received before he was licking her, tongue twisting its way inside her cunt, thumb lazily rubbing her clit. She reached without thought, pressing his face closer to her center — he grunted his approval, tightening his hold around her tummy, the vibration of his appreciation skittering up her spine, muddling her mind. 

Then, Malfoy  closed his lips around her clit and sucked, his sloppy noises filling the room. Wetness was dripping from her, sliding across his face, her trembling thighs — heaving breaths were caught in Hermione’s throat, a babbling voice in her head splintering like glitter across her eyes, trapped inside.

He pressed her to his face, fingers digging into her flesh; each time she withered away from his tongue, his lips, even his teeth, his grip tightened, an arm pressed against the flesh of her stomach. When the pleasure became too much, Hermione twisted almost fully out of gasp but he tugged her back, biting her inner thigh.

“That is my job.” She meant to scold him, but it sounded a bit like a mix between a whimper and a moan.

“Don’t worry, baby.” Malfoy said thickly against her clit, “You can bite me later.”

Finally, finally, finally, she felt one his fingers slip across her folds, sliding through the wetness there. A mixture of the two of them, his spit dripping slowly between her thighs. “Alright.” He said, still lazily sucking at her clit. “Here’s two. You can take that, yeah?” He grinned, and she felt it against her skin. “Yeah, you can.”

Hermione nodded, blurry acceptance, willing to sink away into nothing. To take what was given, to live forever trapped in this moment of hazy pleasure. She could take it.

 Malfoy’s fingers were so much thicker than her own, entering her with a bluntness she wasn’t accustomed to, twisting her open. Fucking her slowly, with no clear intention of quickening his pace. 

“More.” She heard herself demand, voice foreign to her own ears. A version of herself she was unfamiliar with — “Give me more.”

“No please?” He laughed softly when she tugged his hair harder than before, twisting at the roots, tugging. “Okay, baby.” Malfoy said, slowly twisting a third finger in, stretching her open. 

He devoured her until she came with a wail, on an exhale, head tossed back. Hermione twisted and twisted and twisted away, but his hold was firm. “Can’t run from me now.” He bit her again, peppering her skin with bruises, with memories of him.

“I could.” Hermione managed to gasp. “I could run and you’d have to chase me again.” She smiled at the thought.

“I’m going to fuck you now.” He said thickly, mouth still wet. “Alright?”

“Yeah.” Hermione breathed. “Alright.”

Pain, but not unbearable. Nothing like torture, but like something else; a stretch of something strange and new, her body trembling around him. Desperate to become as it had once been, but that was the point of growing, wasn't it? Changing? A broken mirror, fractures stretching like spider webs across her skin, but beautiful, too. Like cracks across a frozen pond in the beginning of spring; thawing, coming back to life.

“I’ve got you.” Malfoy murmured along her ear, rocking shallow thrusts inside her. Inching inside, carving a home. She could feel him inside, warm and heavy. 

She felt when he slid all the way in, heat beginning to bloom across her skin, flushed and overwhelming, like the beginning of the summer, like standing too close to a flame; like his body above her.

“I know you do.” Hermione gasped.

*

A twist of discomfort as she sank down on him, a deep ache — less painful than before, but still enough to make her wince at the stretch. The room was blurry, faces mixing together, eyes open wide, drinking her full.

“It’s alright.” Malfoy’s voice was soft against her ear. His arms were a tight band around her chest, just like how he’d held her in Umbridge’s office, just like at the edge of the cliff. “I got you.”

He lifted her, movements unhurried, pulling her back down on himself.

Her naked skin rubbed across the roughness of his clothing, his leather gloves were wet — with her, she realized — and the chains from her collar clinked together as he rocked slowly into her.

 Thumb tracing her clit messily, wet circles. He didn't seem to care that everyone was watching, didn’t notice their wandering eyes — only focused on her. On his prize.

Pleasure built steadily inside her until she was twitching, a whimper caught in her throat. His thumb still moved agonizing circles, his cock hitting deep inside her, an explosion of 

Unthinking, she leaned forward and bit his neck, silencing the sounds, eyes closed tight.

“Go on, baby. Use me.” Malfoy whispered against her neck. His cock was still thick inside her, pleasure spiraling across her skin. She blinked back to awareness at the firm fingers on her jaw, tugging her to meet his eyes. 

He pressed a wand into her hand.

*

[annanaoana]

hmm the story seems to be very interesting you know... it seems to be different from everything I've ever read... it has content you know that is so hmm... It's new, I've never read anything like that

I will read.

[acanadianmuggle]

Oneshot - 10k - complete - rated M

Malfoy Manor has decided that the heir should be wed.

Cue a line of possible suitors taken to the Manor quite against their will, an unspeakable visitor and a quite ingenious solution to all of Draco's problems.

[tomionefinds]

hi i’m looking for fics that have perverted tom. like he tries to watch her undress or looks down her shirt. i love creepy obsessed tom. thanks

I think there are a decent amount of fics that lean this way. Peremo by Virrenia has some of this. As the fic goes on, he becomes more and more perverted and creepy. Others that have this as a more consistent theme are: Jagged by HiccupFound: Very sexual, very perverted, surprisingly low on the creepy though.

Of Riddles and War: Tom is very perverted and creepy throughout this series. Tempus Viatorum: Very perverted and creepy here as well. Although it is played for drama and stress than anything else. Hope these help! -LWCS --------- *Update: Adding follower submission:

A Morose Little Boy's Obsession by Sleepless_Eremite Eleven-year-old Tom Riddle boards the Hogwarts Express for the first time. While looking for a compartment, he meets Hermione Granger, the fifth year Gryffindor girls' prefect. Her motherly manner repels him at first, but very quickly he is won over by it. Moreover, he discovers that she has quite a lovely bottom.

[damsel-in-mistress]

THE COOLEST THING EVER

So, something AMAZING happened a month ago: the wonderful individual @afanelena decided they wanted to translate my fic F*** the Pain Away into Russian!!! And they did!!! I still can't quite believe it! It's taken me until now to post this bc I was kind of a mess, but I am still so excited about this it's hard to put into words! Check the fic out here in Russian or here in English!

[depressedlanadelrey]

they are all so me (its my birthday) <3

[hzry]

Strawberry Fields: 68.9k

There is a truth, generally accepted amongst wizarding society, that while an unmated Alpha may spend their rut with whomever their desires dictate, an unmated Omega must not …

https://archiveofourown.org/works/41634834

[ladytrist]

I’m already 21 and now I finally understand why I allowed my 16 year old self to get hurt just to get the attention of a boy. It’s because I wasn’t a terrible person, I was just 16.

[dramioneasks]

Vow - silveritas - E, WIP - When Hermione returns to Hogwarts for her Seventh Year as Head Girl to Draco Malfoy's Head Boy, she's prepared for anything. Or so she thinks. But when a portkey takes her to Malfoy Manor just days before the winter solstice, she finds her whole world flipped on its head as she's plunged into a secret marriage with the one person she'd never expected to like, let alone love.

[fan-girls-unite]

hermione smut hc

Hermione lost her virginity to Viktor Krum. "Viktor is more of a physical being."

[theirmadness]

good. because she thinks he needs to be kissed. well, and often.

It's good, actually—very good.

[mallowsweetmiri]

Truth, Dare, or Punishment ~ Fred Weasley

summary: you bitches asked for dom!Fred and you shall receive. a game of truth or dare in the common room goes south when Mclaggen dares you to kiss him

warnings: possessive dom!Fred, smut, cursing

---------------------------------------------------------

The night had been going splendid so far. Everyone was way too excited after the arrival of Beauxbatons and Durmstrong to go to sleep, and the older Gryffindors decided to get shitfaced as the perfect solution to their restlessness. After all, there was no quidditch this year to justify throwing common room parties, so you guys had to get creative. The new year brought new witches and wizards to corrupt, and so the twins finally let their baby brother Ron and his year join the fun. It been going well, granted Hermione was drunk off her ass, but Harry had been watching over her well enough. You were also past the point of drunk, and you assumed by their faces that the rest of the group were on their way there. At this point in the night, those who were still awake were circled up playing a filthy game of truth or dare. Angelina had gone to do seven minutes in heaven with George, Neville had eaten a puking pastille, and Ron had madeout with Lavender Brown in a disturbing manner. It was time to spin the bottle again to see who would ask the next question. Hermione giggle and leaned into the circle to spin the bottle. Everyone look around with nervous smiles as it spun around and around, before landing on Cormac McLaggen. You cringed. This was possibly the worst person it could've stopped on. Your body had a visceral reaction when your name left his lips.

"Y/N," he smiled drukenly, "Truth or dare?" You rolled your eyes. Oh, great.

"Truth," you said, grabbing your drink and taking a swig. You were going to need it.

"Who did you lose your virginity to?"

You choked on your drink as the rest of the group murmured at the question, Hermione's jaw dropping before a stream of shocked laughs escaped her. You felt Fred tense up beside you. Your mind raced with the memories of this summer at the Burrow.

"Just like that, Y/N. You're doing so good," Fred praised as he thrusted into you, kissing the crook of your neck while he fucked you. He'd been teaching you how kiss, as a friend of course. He had to help out his dear friend Y/N when she confessed how embarrassed she was that she had never kissed anyone. Never done anything with anyone. From there it had escalated. First, you wanted to know learn to give a blowjob, but soon enough Fred thought it'd be best if you knew what these things felt like too. After a while, you both realized you were terribly obsessed with each other, and one night you decided to let him be the one to take your virginity. He was big, and you were nervous, but he was so sweet about it. Even at the beginning when you thought it wouldn't be able to fit, he was reassuring and gentle with you. But that was at the start, and by now he was fully fucking you on your back, your pussy starting the soften around his cock as pleasure began to ripple through your body. You both came together in a heap of sweat and kisses.

"Y/N," McLaggen sung, waiting for your response.

"I'm not answering that," you coughed, still choking on your drink. The group has set up measure to tell if someone was lying, so you couldn't fake still being a virgin. You supposed the question wasn't that out of pocket, but you couldn't answer it. Nobody knew about you and Fred besides George, and you both wanted to keep it that way. Especially from your families.

"Well then, you know the rules," McLaggen tsked teasingly, "you forfeit to dare."

"What? No, I-"

"Those are the rules Y/N," Hermione cringed, unable to stop herself. McLaggen smirked.

"I dare you to kiss me."

You felt nauseous. McLaggen was disgusting, and the last person you'd ever want to kiss. Unfortunately, you'd brought this onto yourself. You should've known he would dare someone to kiss himself. What a weirdo. The circle groaned and laughed in disgust as McLaggen puckered his lips. You cringed and shifted your weight to lean across the circle. Just as you were about to shuffle over to him, Fred grabbed your wrist and pulled you back. You looked back at him and saw anything but a smile on his usually cheerful face. He spun the bottle and landed it on himself in a hasty motion, still holding onto your wrist tightly.

"McLaggen, I dare you to stop wearing your fucking Ballycastle Bats tighty whities to every single quidditch practice," Fred sneered before yanking you up with him and pulling you towards his dorm. You heard the group go crazy with laughter behind you and hoped it would cover for the fact that Fred just pulled you away from the party. Hopefully George could cover for you two, he should be done with seven minutes by now. Fred dragged you up the stairs without so much as a look in your direction. Once you reach his dorm, he threw open the door. What was happening?

"Fred-" he smashed his lips into yours and shut the door with your body. You gasped as your back hit to wooden surface, Fred pulling your skirt up while his hand gripped your thigh. He used your lifted leg as leverage to grind down into your hips as he pressed you against the door. Your pussy pulsed when you felt him against you, his hands gripping in all the right places. Wait a minute. When did he start kissing you again?

"Fred," you said quickly, pulling away from his mouth. He tried to kiss you again. "Fred, we just left the party. You just dragged me up here when I was supposed to kiss-"

"Don't even say his name," Fred growled, his breathing heavy and hot as he kept his face inches from yours.

"I'm sorry," you whispered out, unable to speak properly. You'd never seen Fred mad before.

"I'm sorry I dragged you," he softened, ducking his head down to kiss your neck, "but I wasn't going to let somebody else kiss you." With that, he began to attack your neck. His left hand came up to grip the back of your head as his tongue and teeth lapped at your sweet spot. You let out whimpered moans as he worked, his fingers gripping you just right. Rougher than usual.

"Freddie," you moaned, grinding yourself onto his leg. You needed more. This man had hooked, and you'd never been so addicted in your life. He picked you up under your legs and carried you to the bed before placing you down on your back. He stood over you, leaving you panting on the bed as he took off his shirt and undid his belt. His eyes were locked on yours. You wanted to look away but you couldn't, his gaze wouldn't let you. When he finished, he rushed towards you again, kissing you deeply as his hand flipped your skirt up. His tongued rammed itself into your mouth, stifling your moans when his fingers grazed over your clit. You blushed as his fingers masterfully moved your panties aside and dipped into your core. Fred laughed into the kiss as he felt you.

"Already so wet for me," he breathed huskily, "are you ready to take me?" His words had you aching. You nodded up at him bashfully. You wanted him so badly. You had turned into such a slut for his cock. "Good girl." He sat up and flipped you over, pulling your panties down as he took off his own pants. He didn't bother to take off your skirt as he pulled you back onto him. You let out a guttural moan as you felt his length stretching you out.

"Fuck, Freddie," you whined as he gripped your hips and began to thrust into you. He was going to leave bruises for tomorrow, but you didn't care.

"You're taking it so good, Y/N" Fred groaned, smacking your ass, "you like getting fucked by me? Huh?" He picked up his pace, pounding into you hard. Your moans were bouncing with the rhythm of his thrusts as he waited for your reply.

"Y-yes, Freddie. I love when you fuck me," you whined, feeling you pussy begin to clench around him. His dick twitched at the feeling and groaned. In one motion, he pulled out and spun you onto your back, pulling your shirt up over your tits and pinning your wrists above your head.

"God, you look so fucking pretty. Can't see your beautiful face while I'm behind you," Fred grunted as he thrust back into you. You moaned and threw you head back. You writhed underneath Fred, his hand constraining your wrists. You desperately needed to grasps something. You were reaching the edge.

"Freddie," you cried, unable to say anything except his name. Your eyes clenched shut as you felt your stomach knot up one final time.

"That's it, baby. Come for me." You could feel his eyes on you as you released yourself around his throbbing cock. As the waves of pleasure began to slow, Fred grunted and became sloppy. He released your hands and buried his face into your neck as he came, pushing himself as deep as he could inside of you. He laid there for a moment before pushing himself off you and pulling you onto his chest. You couldn't help but giggle a little as he kissed your head and rubbed your shoulder.

"You are so jealous," you teased, looking up to see Fred. He laughed with a sleepy half smiled.

"I'm not jealous," he retorted, pinching your cheek. "I'm just protecting whats mine."

[wisteria-blooms]

P A R A D I S E // P O T I O N S!

PAIRING: Bill Weasley & You  WARNINGS: smut!! so much smut!!, oral (giving, receiving), piv, sex pollen trope, loss of virginity, unprotected sex, creampies, all the makings of a bad porn plot **MINORS DNI** SUMMARY: As per Percy’s recommendation to his mother, you’re tasked to house-sit the Burrow while the family is away for the Quidditch World Cup. You’re Percy's closest friend and much like him, you are more than wary of his mischievous twin brothers, Fred and George. But what if their machinations lead you to something you’ve always dreamt of coming true? (8.0k words)

A/N: Been going through a bit of writer’s block recently, so hopefully a load of debauchery (as big as Bill's) breaks down that wall. I’ve been mad at how my sentences are coming out—they sound so redundant and boring. Also, I’m not great at editing my smut scenes because I get embarrassed reading them, so enjoy at your own risk. ;)

PARADISE POTIONS!

There was an undeniable feeling of late summer that nestled in the morning air, a pleasant marriage of warmth and wind. As you trekked up a tall, grassy hill, you breathed it all in. You were in disbelief that August had snuck up on you so suddenly. That meant only two weeks left of freedom before you were confined to a cubicle in the Ministry of Magic, wasting your life away.

‘It won’t be so bad’, you reminded yourself. After all, Percy Weasley would be there alongside you in the same department. He was your most supportive and reliable friend, contrary to popular opinion. And it’d been him that pitched the idea that you house sit the Burrow while he and his family were away at the Quidditch World Cup. Apparently, he’d told Molly that you were mature, responsible, and ‘very much like him.’ You had to tease him about the compliment he threw in about himself. 

Molly would provide you room and board for the next week. Your tasks mainly included upkeep of the garden, feeding the animals, and ensuring the home didn’t seem completely empty as the whole family vacationed. Molly simply hated to keep an empty house. 

“Good morning, Perce!” you greeted with a wave when you reached the tip of the hill.

He waved back from the main entrance. Then, he motioned for your luggage. 

“How was your journey?”

“Uneventful,” you affirmed. “Though the walk up was great exercise. I feel very much awake now.”

“It’s quite the trek,” he agreed.

“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about the orientation at the Ministry we had last week,” you gushed. “I’m so excited to start work.”

“Me too,” Percy agreed with a nod. 

“Mum would like to have you in for a spot of breakfast,” Percy said.

“I’d be delighted.” You heard excellent things about Molly Weasley’s breakfasts. 

Percy held the door open for you. The windchimes sounded from above you, signaling your entrance. You brushed past a fluttery overhead curtain. When the material unveiled itself, you came face to face with a long dining table. There were only six occupants: Ginny, Ron, the infamous Harry Potter, Hermione, Charlie, and Bill. You gave a small wave to the younger kids. They nodded wordlessly. You reckoned that in their eyes, any friend of Percy’s must be some masochist deviant. 

To the side, Arthur was chatting with who you supposed was Amos Diggory, combing through their plans. 

“Good morning, (Y/N) dear,” Molly greeted. You were glad she thought of you just as prim and proper and organized as her third-eldest son. 

You took a seat with Percy. He sat where his newspaper and coffee mug laid, right in front of Charlie. With a nervous smile, you sat to his right and…

Your eyes immediately landed on Bill. He was Percy’s eldest brother, and by far the most handsome. You were embarrassed to admit that you’d always fancied him. Not in the soul-crushing-adult-love kind of way, but in a silly schoolgirl way. He was so tall, so subtly muscly from sports. And he was a little more fun than Percy, though you’d never tell him that. 

But given that you were so young, there was no viable chance of anything happening. So, you chose to admire him from afar in the two years you overlapped schooling. You were now eighteen like Percy, but you maintained the fact Bill still saw you as a child, nothing else. It was an infatuation that would hurt no one, so you just let it be. 

“Good morning, (Y/N).”

You suppressed a smile as he acknowledged you. 

“Good morning, Bill.”

“Good morning, (Y/N),” sang Charlie. 

You smiled. “Hi, Charlie.” Charlie was quite the handful. You preferred Bill’s calmness than Charlie’s calamity. 

“I see it’s you who was tasked with watching our house,” Bill said. “I couldn’t have chosen better myself.”

“Thank you, Bill.” That compliment was going into your pocket for a rainy day. 

Bill was still ever so handsome, appearances aging like fine wine, with his soft ginger locks that framed his sharp cheekbones. His blue eyes glinted in the morning sun. You peeked at his chiselled jaw and his—dare you say—kissable lips. His t-shirt barely hid the muscles in his arms. He might’ve been tall and predisposed to being lankier compared to Charlie, but you knew he had his own ways to keep fit. 

You were so busy being entranced by Bill that you’d lost track of time and space. All you knew was that it was the best morning ever, sitting in front of him, surrounded by faint windchimes and the chirping birds outside to the window. Breakfast hadn’t even been served and you were already salivating thinking about Bill doing push-ups under the hot Egyptian sun, and that wasn’t even that deep in the gutter where most of your thoughts laid, in fact—

Suddenly, a large explosion reverberated through the house and shook the table. It jolted you and Percy. You yelped and ducked. When you regained your sense of place, you looked up. No one else besides you and Percy were fazed. 

“What was that?” you asked Percy, trying to settle your heart. 

“Fred! George!” Molly cried, walking over to the stairs with her spatula still in hand. “What have I told you about your experiments?”

“Sorry, mum,” George said, running down the stairs, a smidge of ash on his face. “That’s it for today, I promise.”

“I don’t want to hear this again, ever!” Molly shrieked. Then, she calmed down when she realised she was in front of guests. “Well, if that’s it, then help out a little bit, won’t you? We have to get going in less than an hour.”

“Sure thing,” George said with a smile. He ran over to the table and to the coffee pot. He gave it a jiggle, letting the remaining liquid slosh around. “Anyone need a top up of their coffee?”

“Mum made that pot, you can trust it,” Percy advised.

“Thank you,” you whispered back, and then looked up at George, “I wouldn’t mind a cup.”

George sauntered over and poured you a cup. “Coffee, Bill?” he asked. 

“That sounds good,” Bill responded.

“You’ll have to wait another ten minutes then,” George said with a frown. He tapped the empty glass container. “I’ve just run out. If only (Y/N) didn’t drink for two.”

“Quit it,” Percy warned his brother with a low tone. 

“I’m sorry,” you said. You were about to offer Bill your cup when Percy held out a hand to stop you. 

“Keep it,” Percy countered as she shoved the white mug back to your side. “I wouldn’t trust anything they put out. I’m glad it’s you that took the last of what mum made.”

You kept your voice quiet and giggled. “I hope Bill has an iron stomach, then.”

Percy nodded. 

While Percy could be harsh on his siblings, you were grateful for his looking out for you. To be fair, you were also skittish around Fred and George. They weren’t as easy to read as other people. A friendly smile often meant something sinister. 

“Would anyone like some liqueur in your morning beverage?” Fred asked, skipping three steps as he ran down the stairs. He reached underneath his coat as if selling contraband. “I have whatever tickles your fancy. In fact, Georgie and I have been working on something we reckon will be extremely profitable.”

Molly shot him a glare. You shook your head politely. 

“Don’t feel like you have to respond to his foolishness,” advised Percy. “He doesn’t deserve your time of day.”

“Loosen up, (Y/N),” Fred commanded. “If you hang around Percy all day and refuse any fun, you’ll both die virgins.”

You went beet red immediately. It was a shade that rivalled Percy’s in speed and depth. You prayed that Bill wasn’t paying attention to you. 

“That is ENOUGH!” bellowed Molly who whipped around so quickly that she nearly decapitated George with her wooden spoon. She’d reached her boiling point. “I won’t have you ruining our morning with your distasteful conversations, especially with all our guests presents.” She charged over to Fred and handed him a stack of plates. “Go on, make yourself useful and set the table.”

“(Y/N), darling,” Molly said, her sudden change in tone a little frightening. “I’ve cleared out Bill’s old room for you. Since he’s heading back to Egypt right after the World Cup, he’ll share Charlie’s room for the time for the last night. There are fresh sheets and towels and a change of clothes if you need. You are welcome to use the bath right next to the room.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Weasley.” Fred’s comment about your virginity went through one of Molly’s ears and out the other. Thank Merlin. 

“Coffee’s ready, dear brother,” George sang. “How do you take it?”

“Just black,” Bill responded. “Thank you, George.”

You peered at Bill through a sip of coffee. Your heart fluttered again. Summers were really the best. It was the only chance to see him again for a flicker of time, an hour or two, before he travelled halfway across the world again. In this case, in a week. As the meal went on, you stared at him so intently during breakfast that your fork speared your cheek instead of your mouth multiple times.

When breakfast concluded, you assured Molly that you’d take care of the dishes and ushered her to the door.

“I hope you have a nice time,” you said to Ron and his friends. He mumbled a thanks. You smiled at him, happy that you were making some progress with Percy’s younger brother. Your peace was ruined by Fred and George murmuring amongst themselves excitedly. You hoped it was about the World Cup and nothing else. 

Arthur was doing a routine headcount when he asked: “Where’s Bill?”

“He said he had some emergency work to finish up for the bank,” Charlie said. “Keep the portkey open for him for another hour, and he’ll be sure to make it by then.”

“If you need anything,” Percy said, placing a hand on your shoulder. “You know where to find me.”

You nodded.

After the Weasleys left, you locked the door and headed back into the house. Knowing Bill was upstairs working, you got to tidying the kitchen in the quietest manner you could. You hoped the running water and the occasional clinking of dishes wasn’t bothering him. It would be really embarrassing if he came down to complain about the noise. 

After the kitchen was cleaned, you went outside to trim the shrubs, water the plants, and feed the cows. You forced yourself not to peek at the front door to see if Bill had left. He probably had, and it hurt a bit that he’d gone without saying goodbye. 

The temperature had risen dramatically since you arrived in the morning, and by the time you were done, you were a sweaty mess. Bill had likely gone which meant you’d have the house to yourself. You caved into the idea of a long bath to wipe the mud and grime off your body. You dashed up to the main washroom Molly offered you and began running the water. 

When you were finished with your bath, you wrapped a clean towel around you and proceeded to your room. Maybe you could do some reading and take a nap before deciding on dinner, Your chest tingled when you realised it was Bill’s old room—how lucky were you?  The first thing you noticed when you entered was that Bill’s room was clean and sparse. Molly had left a window cracked open to allow for a gentle breeze, and placed your clothes on the bed. You took a couple steps forward and let your towel drop on the floor to reach for your tank top when suddenly…

Your hand met a tuft of hair. Hair that was attached to a pale, sweaty head. 

You screamed as you tumbled back, your bare bum hitting the wooden floor. Oh, where the heck was your wand when you needed it? You grabbed a pair of slippers in self-defence. 

“Who’s there?” you said in the bravest voice you could muster. “You need to get out of here, now!”

The thing in the bed just groaned weakly. You saw a pale, shaking arm stick out of the covers. Whatever it was, it was at least human, hopefully. 

Your hand grappled the top of the desk for your wand. Once you found it, you rose cautiously from the floor with the intent to peel away the covers. You’d dealt with Boggarts; you’d seen your worst nightmares in person. You treaded cautiously because the creature could rise at any moment. But it didn’t, forcing you to get closer. 

Your heart almost stopped when your hands grasped the hem of the covers. Your life flashed before your eyes. You needed to survive. You needed to live to work with Percy at the Ministry come September. You needed to live for your family. You needed to live for the off chance Bill Weasley shared the same feelings as you—oh, you were about to die, what was the point of thinking about Bill?

With your wand in an offensive position, you ripped the sheets off. 

But there was nothing.

Nothing at all.

What?

It took you a few seconds to process it, but this… thing wasn’t a creature at all. In fact, it was Bill Weasley. Well, an apparition of him of sorts. He looked extremely pale and sickly, his skin the shade of paper. His ginger hair stuck to his face, his sweat binding it like it was wet glue. There was an intense warmth radiating from his skin, and his body jostled slightly as the cold air hit him.

“Bill? You called out in complete disbelief. “Are—are you okay?”

He groaned in response. Slowly, he turned his head towards you. He looked even worse up close, or as worse as Bill Weasley could possibly look. His eyebrows were intensely furrowed, his breathing laboured, and he could barely open those pretty eyes of his—oh, not this again! Bill looked to be on death’s bed and all you were thinking about was how handsome he was. 

“I don’t know what happened,” Bill breathed out. His voice was a mere rasp. “I was feeling fine this morning. I can hardly get up now. And I can’t talk,” he coughed as if to prove a point, “above a whisper.”

“Are you running a fever?” you inquired, concern thick in your voice. 

“No, I don’t think—,” Bill mustered the strength to open his eyes. He looked startled. “(Y/N)?” he asked.

“Yes?”

“Where…”

You looked at Bill intently.

“Where are your clothes?”

“Huh?”

You looked down. Your mouth went slack. You were barer than the day you were born. 

“Shit!” you exclaimed. “I’m sorry, don’t look, don’t look, sorry, sorry!” So caught up in the heat of things, you’d haphazardly abandoned your towel in exchange for your life. You scampered back to retrieve it and tied it back on yourself. When you looked up, Bill was, fortunately, turned away, and only a sliver of his naked back was visible to you. 

“Is there anything I can help with?” you asked in a state of panic. ‘Besides giving you a show?’ On the inside, you had to laugh at the thought of a striptease benefiting Bill’s health.

Bill was looking worse for wear with every passing second, and you were just prancing around without clothes. “Your mother keeps potions in the cabinet, doesn’t she? I’ll go find an antipyretic--”

Bill swiped at his forehead with his palm. “I don’t think it’s a fever, well, to the best of my knowledge.”

“Then perhaps some water?” you offered. “Or some soup?”

“(Y/N),” Bill called. Your name rolled off like velvet from his lips. “Come here, please.”

Your eyes widened. Your heart was beating erratically and whether it was out of fear or anticipation, you didn’t know. Still, you complied and began walking over. The floor felt like pricks underneath your feet. 

“Could you please take these sheets off?” Bill asked. “I might try to cool down.”

You nodded. “S-sure.” You pinched the hem of the bedsheet with your forefinger and thumb and carefully stripped the sheet off. Every second that passed unveiled a new, delicious sight: Bill’s toned chest, the crevice between his chest and abdominal muscles, the veins running down his forearms, and the shapely twin creases that led straight down to his briefs. A chill of disappointment ran through your body when you realised he was still clothed. 

‘Stay focussed’, you pleaded with yourself. You were here to help Bill, not to take advantage of him.

“Is that better?” you asked Bill, but your eyes weren’t on his face. They were instead fixated on the centre of his body and namely, the very present bulge at the apex of his black briefs. His manhood had tented so viciously that it stretched the black fabric until it was translucent. Was that a spot of pink flesh or were you just seeing things? You gulped and tried to reign in your imagination. 

Bill breathed out as the cool air kissed his skin. “Marginally.”

“I can bring the fan inside the room,” you suggested so quickly you almost toppled off the bed. 

“Wait.” Bill’s hand grabbed your wrist before you could get anywhere. Your skin scorched. “Can you help me with one more thing?”

You were about to explode. “Sure, Bill.” 

“Could you help me remove my briefs too?”

Your jaw had, at this point, permanently detached from your face. “What?”

“Just one last thing and my temperature should regulate itself.”

Was stripping really a remedy to Bill’s ailment? Shaking your head, you decided to help him in any way possible before running back to the bathroom to splash cold water on your face to ascertain that you weren’t dreaming. This definitely had to be a dream. Today probably hadn’t even started yet. Any minute now, your alarm would ring and you would wake up so disappointed. 

“Alright.”

Slowly, you hooked your fingers underneath the elastic waistband of Bill’s briefs. His blue eyes fluttered close and his face twisted in relief. You suppressed a groan at the sight of Bill like this, pleasured by your every touch.

You’d never admit that Fred was right in his observation this morning, but it was true that you’d never seen a… penis in the flesh. But there was no turning away now as your hands worked to expose every inch of pink flesh hiding underneath Bill’s undergarments. It was deliciously lewd, the way his long cock sprang out from the confines of his boxers and nearly slapping you in the face. A tad closer, and the appendage would’ve swiped your cheek. Just inches in front you pulsed a swelling, oozing pink tip that was connected to a thick shaft that only seemed to grow slightly in girth as you stripped him. 

You had nothing but anatomical pictures and the circumference of your wrist to compare him to, but even you knew he was bigger than average. Bill had, truly, the prettiest cock to ever exist. Pale, smooth, pink, but an angrier shade coloured the head. He was thick, but even thicker near the base. Veins painted his manhood like art. You almost had to wonder how he’d feel inside you, splitting your virgin pussy open. It would kill you.

Holy shit. You had to stop thinking, because you were getting yourself wet. 

Bill raised his hips up to help you bring the last bit of his briefs down from underneath him. Your hand grazed the back of his thigh. The unintended action elicited a not-so-subtle moan from Bill. 

“I’m sorry, I—,” Bill said, pushing himself up on the bed. His neck was flushed crimson and his breathing heavy. You had plummeted into the ocean with the saltwater flooding your ears; you could barely hear. You gulped as a bead of wetness suddenly spurted out of the tip of his cock and threatened to run down the length of it. “I reckon I was cursed or hexed by someone,” he surmised. “It’s not like me to require such things of you, or anyone for that matter.”

“It’s okay,” you whispered. Your hand was turning white with the deathgrip on your towel. “But Bill, did that… help?”

The smartest thing to do was to remove yourself from this conversation and call for help, but you kept pressing the topic. You planted your palms on the mattress and looked on in awe. Bill was well-endowed beyond your wildest dreams. You couldn’t stop admiring him.

Forgetting he was naked, Bill sat up. His cock curled closer to his navel as a result. “What?”

You ripped your eyes away from the bead of precum that’d captivated your attention. “When we touched. It seemed to bring some colour to your face.”

“Come to think of it, I reckon it did, yeah,” Bill responded. He furrowed his brows, his words dying on his lips. There was only one direction this conversation was going to go and you had steered it off the overpass and down the cliff. 

You spoke up first. “Have you tried touching…”

“Myself?” Bill finished with a chuckle.

You blushed. “Yes, well,” you countered. “It’s not entirely unreasonable, and—”

“I have.”

You tilted your head. “And?”

Bill attempted to lift his hands, but they gravitated down to the bed. “Well, I’ve… tried,” he admitted sheepishly, “but it’s made it worse.” He chuckled and shook his head at the state he was in. “And now I can’t even manage to move my arm.”

“Oh.” You frowned. “But when I touched you, you felt better?”

Bill blew out some air which tickled the wet hair on his forehead. He gestured to his raging erection. “Can you… would you mind? You’re right, it might help.”

Would you mind?

Of course you wouldn’t. 

“I’ve never, erm,” you countered. A blaze of heat rushed to your cheeks. You didn’t want to admit to Bill that Fred was right when he clocked you as a virgin, though it didn’t take a deep understanding of your person to come to that conclusion. You and Percy both looked down on dalliances as prefects back in school, even busting students in the act and sending them to be reprimanded. You reckoned Bill was going to find it uncool but it was better to be truthful. “I’ve never done this with anyone.”

He chuckled. “I figured.”

You wanted to shrivel up and die. 

“But it’s absolutely fine,” Bill correctly quickly, knowing he’d offended you slightly. “You don’t need to have done it to know how to do it. I’ll guide you.”

You nodded. “Okay.”

He did his best to motion to the base of him with his hands. “Grip me firmly down here.” 

You obliged, holding him at the base with your right hand as you clutched your towel in the other. For an usually flaccid body part, Bill was very, very hard and warm. All the blood in his body was concentrated into one area, so it made sense. You were grateful when your thumb still managed to touch the tips of your fingers because, well, he was quite big and you weren’t confident he was going to fit in your hand. 

“Move up and down,” Bill instructed in between heavy pants. You nodded. When you started shifting your hand from the base to the head and back, he let out a low groan. His skin felt like velvet in your hands; he felt so good. “Yeah, just like that.” Precum dribbled from Bill and onto from the side of your fingers as you moved faster and covered more ground. Bill’s eyes alternated from open to close in erratic intervals as you began to adjust your speed and the tightness of your fingers around him. When Bill stopped talking, you reckoned you were doing a pretty damn good job. 

Bill was powerless underneath you and you relinquished the feeling. But you wanted more. 

So, you shifted from the edge of the bed towards the end of it, squeezing yourself in between his long legs. You never took your hands off him in the process so Bill was none the wiser about your mischievous movements. So, it was only when Bill heard the creaking of the bed that he looked up in surprise. By then, it was too late. You had already stopped pumping his shaft and leaned in to inhale the sweet musk instead.

“Can I?” you asked, batting your eyelashes.

Bill inhaled sharply, his cock duking out his brain for once the last shred of modesty. Oh, fuck modesty. “Only if you want to.”

In one swift motion, you leaned in and kissed the red and leaking tip. Clearly, it was you who really wanted to do this. When the soft skin of your lips met the soft skin of his head, Bill let out an audible gasp that was immediately swallowed by a throaty moan. He was not expecting you to be so brazen, so generous in your help. Little did he know you’d do anything for him at this point, his own affliction long forgotten. 

“How does that feel?” you asked.

“Amazing,” he rasped.

You licked the precum—salty, a little tingly, you noted—off his slit with the tip of your tongue. He tasted so good. Bill threw his head back. The ridges of his abs crinkled as he tried to hold himself upright with his elbows on the bed. He wanted to see you. You smacked your lips, unable to wait patiently to devour your meal. Then, in a moment of pure deviousness and sheer horniness, you enveloped Bill’s tip around your mouth.

“Shit!” 

This was the last thing Bill said before he fell back onto the bed. You took that as a sign of surrender; what you were doing felt too good for him to keep his defences up. He’d long stopped giving you instructions and let you take reign. Emboldened, you licked the slit with your tongue with Bill still nestled in your mouth. You then began to take him in further, as far as you could before he reached a natural stopping point at the back of your throat. Your mouth tensed—he was too big to fit comfortably inside. You sucked in your cheeks, hypothesising that a tighter fit would feel better for Bill. Sure, you were inexperienced, but you weren’t stupid or ignorant on the subject of what was pleasurable. 

“Yes, that’s it, (Y/N), just like that.”

You forewent your towel in favour of holding onto Bill’s thighs, placing one hand on the side of each of his legs. Still, you pressed your breasts down on the bed to hide your nipples to preserve what little was left for Bill to still see. Then again, what was the point of dignity when his dick was in your mouth?

Bill’s hands quietly crept along the bedsheets and floated towards your head. From there, his long fingers wove and nestled themselves in your hair so deeply that it wouldn’t be easy for you to untangle yourself. Clever of him. His fingernails glided across your scalp, slowly, tenderly, like a predator circling their prey before the attack. Bill then started guiding your head up and down slowly, his patience clearly wearing thin and needing to take matters into his own hands--literally. 

“Feeling okay?” he asked.

You nodded, unable to speak. Bill noted this and chuckled. You gave him a pointed look. 

“Hard to look intimidating with my cock in your mouth, love,” he said, tightening his fingers around your hair. You grumbled something unintelligible. The wetness leaking out of your core spoke volumes for you. 

Bill’s hands were fully entangled in your hair as he continued to lift you up and down. Slow at first, but he could hardly contain himself after the first minute. The way his big cock pulsed in your mouth, gods… The faster he commanded you to move, the more his visage grew streaked from the tears in your eyes. You tightened your grip on his thighs every time his cock glided across your palate and pushed itself down your throat. You did everything in your power to not gag or choke, but when he did strike particularly deep, you pulled off of him immediately. 

“I’m sorry,” Bill quickly said. “Was that too much?”

You shook your head, wiped a wet line of tears from your face, coughed, and responded, “No, I’m fine.”

You crawled back to him and engulfed him without another word.

“Ah,” Bill breathed out. “Fuck, (Y/N). You feel so good.”

You shouldn’t be enjoying being used so much, but you loved it. Loved it especially when Bill held you in place and began thrusting into your mouth instead as a means to conserve effort and increase his speed. You were growing wetter and wetter with every compliment he spoke. You imagined Bill’s big hands gripping your hips, stilling you, as he thrust repeatedly into your pussy. You wanted to be used everywhere. 

“Shit,” he growled, lazy eyes hovering on you. Deliciously lazy and so hazy. “I’m close.”

He stopped thrusting, but you hadn’t stopped bobbing your head up and down. You were so far gone in your quest to make Bill come that you’d thrown your own needs aside. 

“Hold on, (Y/N),” Bill commanded. “Don’t you want to—ah—!”

You knew he’d reached his climax when his hips ascended and stilled above the bed. A deep moan left his mouth. Bill’s cock twitched heavily with every rope of cum that shot its way into your mouth. He didn’t quit until every crevice of your mouth was sloshing with his seed; he was a never-ending faucet of cum. 

After a minute, you finally detached yourself from him, careful to keep the fruits of your labour in your mouth and not on the bed sheets that Bill’s mother had laundered so well. You swallowed all the cum in your mouth. It wasn’t as pleasant as the books and films had made it out to be—it was warm and slightly bitter, but it was Bill’s and heaven knew you’d do anything for him.

Bill threw himself back on the bed, his head meeting the pillow with a soft thud. He was still breathing heavily as he reposed. Though his hair stuck wildly to his cheeks—which were slowly regaining colour—his face expressed newfound calm. 

Bill patted the pillow beside him, on the spot in between the wall and his body. “Come here,” he rasped, his eyes still closed. 

You obliged and scooted upwards. Bill splayed his arm on the pillow to give you a makeshift headrest. You settled into the nook of his bicep. Through the corner of your eye, you stole little glances at Bill and the rise and fall of his chest. A warm, midday breeze fluttered through the open windows, the red curtains billowing out. Everything was so serene, so tranquil, so…Holy shit, what had you just done? 

Just three hours ago, you were wistfully staring at Bill at breakfast, grateful to have seen him at all this year to feed your starving crush on him. Now, you were laying naked in his bed with him after giving him what you hoped was an acceptable blowjob. It was both great and terrible that you wouldn’t see him after today. How would you explain this to anyone if you couldn’t even believe it yourself? You needed to bolt and never see Bill again. 

Bill snapped you out of your trance. “(Y/N)?” 

“Yes, Bill?”

You turned around to find yourself reflected in his crystal blue eyes. 

��Would you like to finish, too?”

“Oh, uhm!” Well, you hadn’t expected him to ask you that. “No, I’m okay.” An utter lie. Your pussy was pleading to be fucked. You sat up, preparing yourself to go. “I should finish up with my chores. You should get going before the portkey closes.” 

Bill grasped your wrist again. “I don’t want to go.” He sat up with you and looked you straight in the eye. 

He was serious. The intensity of his gaze was so overwhelming that you looked down. You sucked a quiet breath in. 

“I want to make you feel good,” he said, placing a hand on your cheek. “Let me, please.”

You choked. Was Bill Weasley begging to go down on you? The resolute look on his face definitely extinguished any fight you had left in you. A fraction of a second after you nodded, Bill turned you over and kissed you. One hand remained on your cheek while the other wrapped itself around your naked waist to pull you closer until your chest was flush against his. If you weren’t focussed on how hard his lips were pressed on yours, you would’ve been more embarrassed about how your pert nipples were pressed against his chest. Bill obviously didn’t mind, in fact, he was trying to pull you in as close as possible, closing the last sliver of space between your bodies. 

Bill tilted his head to deepen the kiss. His lips felt like hard silk—a walking contradiction— against you and now you wished to feel them everywhere: on your neck, on your breasts, on your stomach and in between your legs. You reckoned he should kiss heavily in between your legs. 

Bill was all lean muscle and long limbs. He couldn’t splay out on the bed as easily as you could. He landed on his knees, then shifted you upwards until your head was resting against the baseboard of the bed. He spread your legs with his hands—so big that they absolutely swallowed you—using his thumb as anchors. 

He looked back up at you. His eyes had darkened significantly, like a sudden storm that had broken through a clear day. Whatever drug was flowing through his veins, it was only growing more potent. “You’re so wet.” 

You made an attempt to shut your legs. You were cycling through moments of confidence and embarrassment, and his words made you want to curl up and die.

“Don’t,” Bill said. “You turn me on so much. Who knew that behind such an innocent facade was a girl begging to be fucked?”

And just like that, your legs fell open in one buttery smooth motion. 

”That’s it, such a good girl for me,” Bill praised. He leaned in and ran his tongue flat over your folds. You squirmed but his iron-clad hold on you prohibited any movement. You tried so very hard to quiet yourself as his tongue painted you in oscillating strokes. You gasped whenever he landed briefly on your clitoris. He hummed, pleased, and let the vibrations rock your body. Your breathing was dangerously unsteady as Bill pulled you closer to him and increased the intensity of his tongue. He unlatched one hand from your thigh and shifted them near your drooling entrance. Gently, he inserted a finger. Before you could jump upwards at the intrusion, he brought his tongue back to your clit to massage away any pain. “So sweet,” he hummed again. Bill kept his finger steady inside you until your squirming stopped. 

“You’re so tight,” Bill whispered. He added another finger to your already taut hole. “I can barely fit two fingers in here. How do you suppose you’ll take my cock, hm?” 

A rhetorical question. Instead of waiting for an answer, Bill began moving his fingers back and forth. You let out a small whine that you buried into the pillow. “Sh, it’s okay, just relax, darling,” Bill assured. In a matter of moments, Bill had gone from shallow little thrusts to burying his fingers to the hilt. The motion of his fingers curling inside you elicited a load moan from your lips, and your legs parted further in response. It was over when his stupid tongue found its way back to your clit; you nearly screamed. He flicked your sensitive bud over and over, building the pressure in the region. Between that, and Bill’s face buried between your legs and the wet sounds of his fingers inside you, you were just one thrust away from coming undone.

“Bill, Bill—” you tried to stop him, too scared to be thrown over the edge. But Bill showed no sign of stopping. When he sucked on your clit, you knew it was over. He had pushed you off the cliff. “Bill!” 

You clamped down on his hand, but Bill hadn’t stopped moving; he was intending to fuck you through it. Waves of pleasure, sweetly punctuated by Bill’s nimble fingers, washed over you until you had no coherent thought left. You laid there for a minute, until your heart rate had finally settled back to normal. 

“I’m getting impatient,” Bill chuckled. “Seeing you writhe around like that, coming on all over my hand, Merlin..”

You tightened your lips. “Me too.”

“What was that?” he teased, pretending not to hear. 

“I’m getting impatient.”

“For what?”

“You know what for.”

He shot you a cocky grin. “I won’t know until you tell me.”

“Fuck me, Bill,” you almost screamed. “Fuck me, please.” It was killing you. You looked down at Bill’s manhood. He looked even harder and fuller than how you found him, if that were even possible. His cock twitched to stand at full attention when you shuffled back to him. You wanted to feel him, so warm and engorged, inside you, splitting you open with how big he was. 

“You’re so needy, (Y/N),” Bill teased. He laid down. “Get on top of me, I want to see you.” 

You clambered over immediately. You splayed a leg on each side of him and propped yourself up with your knees. Wordlessly, Bill pulled you in and your body listened. He met your lips for another kiss that showed no signs of being broken. Well, not until he decided to latch onto one of your nipples instead. His lips covered the circumference of your areola and sucked gently. 

“Bill,” you whimpered, succumbing once again to his dexterous tongue. He swirled around your sensitive bud, flicking it back and forth, and sending little electric shocks down to your toes. You were getting so, so wet for him.

One of Bill’s hands trailed down to his cock and gave it a couple of strokes before he aimed it towards your core. You moaned every time he pressed against your throbbing clit before moving back to your opening and repeating the motion. You needed to come again, and Bill was intent on bringing you there. He rubbed the head back and forth, concentrating the slick to where he eventually wanted to be. He was showing great restraint; it was taking everything not to just thrust into you. 

“You already feel so good,” he praised. “So wet, so tight, love, all for me. I can’t wait to fuck this tight pussy.”

Bill piled on the words and continued to ravish your breasts as a distraction of what was to come. The head of his cock was directly aligned with your opening that was weeping at the thought of him inside you. But the largest thing you’d taken ever were Bill’s fingers; he couldn’t possibly fit without absolutely destroying you. The universe couldn’t have gifted you with a warm-up, could it? Instead, it gifted you the girth of Bill. Still, you remained in place, readying yourself as he began to enter you. 

You gasped at the first intrusion. You clenched Bill’s forearms in retaliation, your mouth parting in shock. You wanted him badly, but your anatomy wasn’t letting your desires take the front seat. 

Bill placed a hand on your back. Stiff. “You’re tense,” he noted, kissing up on your neck. “Just relax. It’ll feel good, I promise.” You nodded, trusting him. 

“Hngh—!” was all you let out when he pushed deeper. Your breathing fell out of sync as you tried to calm yourself. Maybe this was it, and all of him was already inside of it. 

“That’s just my head inside you, love,” Bill stated, as if reading your mind.  

You paled. “How are you so big?”

Bill chuckled in agreement before swallowing you in a kiss. His tongue found its way into your mouth, and you could taste the pure need radiating off him. He gave little shallow thrusts, trying to ease himself into you. Though it still burned heavily, a ring of pain, as he stretched you out, Bill’s pace was making it much more tolerable and frankly, more erotic. 

When he was halfway in, Bill’s eyes fell shut in utter bliss. His hands gripped your ass cheeks, pulling them apart, as if it would help you sink further down on him. 

“You take me so well,” he said as he continued impaling your poor little pussy. He never stopped littering you with kisses, whether it was on your lips, cheeks, neck, or breasts. He suckled your tits again when he rammed the thickest part of him inside you in one thrust. 

You stifled a cry into the crook of his neck and tightened your arms around him. “Bill!”

“Give it a minute, (Y/N),” he assured, but his voice sounded garbled, so far away. “I promise, it’s going to feel so good.”

When he felt you relax a little, Bill began to increase the length of his thrusts, breaking into your pussy a little more each time. You fell onto him, the pleasure beginning to overwrite the pain. 

Bill moaned as he sped up the slightest. “You’re so tight, (Y/N), tighter than I could’ve ever imagined.” His words only added fuel to the fire. “I can’t believe it’s me that gets to break into your pussy.”

“Then break me, Bill,” you pleaded. “Please. Harder.”

He chuckled. “You don’t have to ask twice.”

Bill looped his arms around you to hold you in place. From there, he began to drive himself into you faster, harder, just like a hole to be used for his pleasure, just like you had asked.

“Oh!” 

You could hardly keep your eyes open as he assaulted your body. He tested different depths and angles, watching your facial expressions for the perfect one. His long, deep strokes were landing on the perfect place - a place that had you seeing stars. So pleasurable but just millimetres away from being too much, too painful. There was so much of him inside you. Your legs stiffened, almost cramping, as the heat increased in pitches in your core. Your hands went wild, trying to find a place to stabilise your body. They found refuge on the top of the headboard. In one particularly hard thrust, he sheathed himself completely inside you, the widest part of him spearing you open. 

That was the precise moment you came undone, screaming. White obfuscated your vision as you lost control of your body. You convulsed on him, your pussy contracting around his cock like a vice. Bill continued to fuck you through your orgasm, bottoming out in you repeatedly,  letting you ride out the pleasure for as long as humanely possible. You fell onto him like a rag doll, limp, worn out from your second orgasm. Bill could only smile at a job well done. He withdrew himself from you and flipped you over. He nestled his manhood back between your legs. You watched with excitement as his cock, covered in your cream, sprang to his navel. You felt so hollow without him inside you, and you were about to beg for him again, but he moved quickly. He leaned towards you, placing the head of his cock to your opening once again. But instead of delving into you like you had hoped, he rubbed himself against you, occasionally pushing into you the slightest.  

Confused, you raised your hips up, trying to align yourself perfectly with his cock and push him back in. But your attempts were futile. 

“Don’t do that,” you chastised when you realised he was doing this on purpose. 

“Do what?” Bill asked innocently. 

“Tease me like this.”

He smirked. “Who said I was teasing you?” 

Just as you were about to retort, Bill drove himself into you when you were least expecting it, burying himself entirely into you. Your body shivered in pleasure, legs straightening and stiffening. You screamed when he quickened his pace, pounding into you with deep, full thrusts. His hands gripped your bouncing breasts, keeping them in place and occasionally pinching your nipples. Bill pushed himself to the hilt, then almost withdrew completely, before filling you up again as hard as he could. At certain points, he would hit a bundle of nerves that caused your toes to curl. At some point, you couldn’t tell the difference between pain and pleasure—it all felt so overwhelmingly good. 

The lewd sound of his balls hitting your skin was heaven to your ears. In this moment, you wanted nothing more than to be filled with his seed. 

“Come inside me,” you near screamed. 

Your little request was enough to break Bill out of his trance. “What?”

“Come inside me,” you repeated. 

“Are you sure?”

“Yes!” 

With no reason to ask you to clarify again, Bill obliged. He gave a couple more thrusts, so powerful it forced your body to slide up over the bedsheets and your head to almost slam into the headboard. Then, he let out a loud, choked grunt, his eyes screwing shut. You could feel his cock twitch heavily inside you as he deposited his seed, filling your pussy. He hovered over you, exhausted, draining every last bit of him inside you. Both of you shared the same laboured respiration. You reached up and pushed back the ginger hair that was strewn across his forehead.

Bill began to soften inside you, but refused to pull out just yet. If you stayed here like this any longer, there was no doubt you’d meld together into one.

With a heavy almost regretful breath, Bill reluctantly removed himself out of you. You felt his cum trickling rapidly out of you and onto the bed sheets. You sat up to look. There was so much. it was smeared all over your sex, all over your inner thighs, and all over the sheets. There was no doubt there was more deep inside you. 

You looked up at Bill. Much to your disappointment, he looked to be back to his usual, happy self. Your services were no longer required. And much to your disappointment, he was looking around for his briefs. Well, it wasn’t like you could stay in paradise forever. 

“Thank you, (Y/N),” he said. 

“Of course,” you responded.

Bill gave you a small peck on the lips which made you smile. Then, it all went downhill from there, as he returned not more than a second later for another kiss. This time, deeper, thick with more lust. The next kiss, he had you pinned you on the bed by the arms. Unexpectedly, you felt him harden against you once more. His cock was back its previous stiffness and trying to find its way back to your cunt. 

He paused. “I’m not sure what’s gotten into me,” Bill admitted sheepishly.

“You mean you’re not usually like this?” you questioned with a smile. You didn’t mind it, not one bit. 

He contemplated it. “It has been a while, but it’s highly unlikely for me to go twice, let alone three times a day.”

“Really?” You cocked your head. “Is that not—”

Before you could speak, Bill plunged himself into you once more. Your mouth went slack. It was quite an effective way to shut you up. Most of his spend was still either deep inside you or running down your inner thighs, but he was intent on pumping you full of him even more. 

You had no complaints. Instead, you succumbed to the wet sloshes of his thrusts and messy kisses once again.

…..

In a tent one long Portkey away from the Burrow, a very different conversation was taking place.

“How do you reckon our Paradise Potions did?” 

“Considering that Bill hasn’t joined us, I’d say pretty well.”

END!

[longbottomlove]

first time || n.l.

warnings: smut!

neville and y/n had been dating for about a year at that point, nothing crazy. they’d shared little kisses and hugs, maybe a tiny make out sesh a couple times. the little bit of tongue, heavy breathing kind that every guy dreamed about having with his crush.

but she wasn’t his crush. she was his girlfriend. he loved her. and she loved him. it was simple like that. they’d never tried anything further than kissing because they didn’t need to.

neville tried to be the respectful gentleman y/n deserved, but a nagging problem was starting to arise.

every time they kissed for longer than three seconds, shared a close hug(the kind that had her boobs pressed against his chest), or even if y/n cracked a dirty joke to pull a laugh out from their friends, he had a boner. it was hard to hide and hard to make it go away. neville was a virgin and had no clue what to do.

and then there were the dreams. dreams about his girlfriend. dreams where she was kissing him, touching him, speaking to him in a hushed whisper, neville we have to be quiet. neville we’re gonna be caught. neville do you want me? neville wake up.

and wake up he would. every morning. sometimes he’d wake up to a tent in his pants. other times it would be a sticky mess he had to clean before starting the day.

worst of all was the guilt. godric, the guilt. thinking all of these foul things about someone who had no part in causing it felt criminal. it made him feel gross and pervy. he knew he had to tell you.

———————-

“uh.. y/n?” he forced out. “i..uh. i have to tell you something,”

this was it. the moment she would dump him. poor little neville who had finally gotten a girlfriend was going to be dumped. his heart was racing, palms clammy and shiny with sweat.

y/n followed him into his dorm, taking a seat on the bed like he gestured her to do. she was confused. so confused. was he gonna dump her, did he cheat?

“so what was it you wanted to tell me?” y/n asked, eyes glued to her feet.

“well,” neville started. “i’ve, i’ve been having these thoughts. and they’re gross and about you. and i dunno, i just had to tell you because ikeephavingdirtydreamsaboutyouandimsorry,”

“what?”

neville looked at the girl in confusion. like she couldn’t have possibly not heard him and he didn’t wanna say it again.

“i keep having dirty dreams about you. and im sorry,” he repeated.

a sharp silence overtook the room. she hated him now. she had to. he had confessed his disgusting thoughts to her. he was done for. would she tell a Professor? Snape or McGonagall maybe? would he be expelled for repulsive behavior? or would he just be laughed at by all her friends?

a painful minute of silence rushed through the room, ended only by a sharp cry of laughter. she was laughing! neville didn’t know if that was a good or bad thing but he soon joined in and began chuckling himself.

“oh my god,” y/n started. “i can’t breathe! i cant, i cant,”

after a good four or five minutes y/n finally looked up from her laughing position and looked at her boyfriend. “that’s normal, nev,” she said.

“what?” neville squeezed out.

“to have dreams like that, it’s normal. i’d be concerned if you didn’t have those dreams,”

neville was very confused to say the least. his thoughts were gross… and here she was saying it’s okay.

“and like,” neville started, “every time we like, kiss and stuff, i get a- erm..”

“a what, love?”

neville vaguely gestured to his crotch, hoping she’d get what he meant.

“ohhhhhh. yeah… that’s normal too i think,”she said. neville was relieved to say the least.

it was nearing dinner time, and y/n had promised to sit with hermione and ginny during the meal. she pecked neville on the cheek and started towards the door. she was almost out when she heard a soft voice call out to her.

“y/n?”

“yeah, baby?”

“could you… maybe stay?”