Drabbles for my F-list
For magic_at_mungos What a Way to Go. Sirius/Remus. PG13. Word Count 372
“Smoking will kill you.”
“Everyone’s gonna die, Moony,” Sirius said matter-of-factly, wrapping his full lips around the cigarette before taking an exaggerated drag. Blowing the smoke out slowly, he pursed his lips, trying to imitate the Muggle bloke he’d seen during his recent visit to a pub in London. Bloody fuck. That bloke made it look sexy and easy to blow circles. All he got were strange puffs that looked like broken eggs. Giving Remus his best ‘I’m so sexy you know you want me’ gaze, he smirked. “I plan to go on my own terms.”
“By helping death each time you inhale those noxious fumes?” Remus asked with a disappointed shake of his head. “You’ll never live to see forty, Padfoot. With that attitude and these times, you won’t live to see twenty.”
“Everyone’s Mum, aren’t you, old boy?” Sirius asked with just enough pompous inflection to sound like his father.
“No,” Remus shook his head, studying Sirius for a moment in a way that made him almost uncomfortable, finally taking a drink of smuggled Firewhisky as he looked at the sky.
Sirius stared at him, a bit annoyed despite himself. That’s it? No? The way Remus had been looking at him, well, it hadn’t been entirely unpleasant. Licking his lips as he watched Remus tilt his head back, watched the liquor course through the cup as throat muscles shifted, he felt his body reacting.
Never one to take time and actually think things through, he impulsively stood up, tossing the remains of his cigarette to the ground and stalking his prey. His fingers pushed long hair away from his face, gray eyes pinning a startled Remus in place. “You know, drinking will kill you.”
“W-w-will it?” Remus stammered softly, his eyes on Sirius.
“That’s what they say,” Sirius said huskily, leaning forward and catching Remus’ lips with his own, his tongue sliding into his mouth to taste Firewhisky, heat, and Remus. Pressing closer, he distantly heard the sound of breaking glass before fingers were tangled in his hair, a warm body rubbing against him. When he finally pulled back, he grinned as he and Remus just stared at each other with a sudden new awareness. “What a way to go.”
For mrs_remus Maybe Just a Little. Sirius/Hermione. PG13. Word Count: 455
“You’re such a hopeless romantic.”
“I am not!”
Hermione merely arched a brow before looking pointedly around them. She was doing her best not to grin or give in to the impulse to snog him for his surprise. After all, it wouldn’t do if he realized that she, too, was a hopeless romantic.
“Don’t give me that look,” Sirius muttered, looking at the blanket so his hair would cover his reddening cheeks. Forty-three years old, over a decade spent in prison and another four years spent in limbo that he couldn’t even recall, and the blasted chit could have him blushing like some silly schoolboy with just a quirk of her lips.
“What look would that be?” she asked innocently. “The one that says ‘you brought us to Bath to have a picnic lunch on an estate that looks as if it could very well have been Darcy’s in my favorite book is such a ridiculously romantic thing to do that your reputation will never bee the same once I tell everyone how adorable you are’ look? Or the ‘you even rented a horse just because I’d mentioned in passing over a year ago, if I recall, that I found the idea of being swept up by the man I love onto a horse like they did decades ago was very romantic’ look?”
“No,” he said with a grin as he looked up. “The ‘I’m so bloody lucky to have you despite the fact that most people go to the other side of the street to avoid you and you’re a right handful to deal with most of the time’ look.”
“Contrary to your opinion about yourself, I am quite lucky. After all, how many witches or, really, women for that matter, have a lover who is intelligent, thoughtful, argumentative, and needs discipline in all the best ways? Not to mention older, rather sexy, on a good day, and a hopeless romantic.”
“On a good day?” His brow arched up to his hairline. Growling playfully, he pounced on her, pushing her gently against the blanket as he straddled her. “I happen to think, Miss Granger, that I am always sexy.”
“Did I mention modest and humble?” she asked with a hint of sarcasm, laughing when his fingers ran along her side, his hand gripping her wrists above her head as he began to tickle her.
“You also forgot lucky,” he whispered before kissing her, moving until his body was pressed against hers. His hand released her arms, fingers brushing an errant curl from her face. Nibbling her lip, he finally smiled sheepishly. “Okay, maybe I’m a little bit romantic.”
Hermione smiled as she pushed his hair away from his face. “Maybe just a little.”
For zaralya. Contains spoilers for HBP!!!! Cure for Boredom. Canon!Blaise/Hermione. PG. Word Count: 672
“Where is everybody?”
Hermione looked up from her Potions text at the question, trying to conceal her surprise. It was the first time he’d actually spoken directly to her when they’d not been surrounded by others. Staring at the dark Slytherin, she did her best to pretend that they conversed often. “Slughorn had a meeting with Dumbledore. As to the rest, well, they’re always a bit late.”
“Great,” he muttered sullenly before taking a seat across the room from her.
She sighed at the blatant hostility the quiet boy showed simply because her blood was not even partially pure. Looking back at her book, she studied the potion and tried to figure out how Harry’s had turned out better than hers.
“Do you know The Doors?”
Hermione again found herself completely stunned, unable to hide her surprise this time. “Excuse me?”
“You are Muggleborn, aren’t you?” he asked with a hint of amusement and a hint of smugness at catching her by surprise.
“Yes, I know of The Doors,” she said tightly, annoyed that he was apparently laughing at her. Glaring at his perfect cheekbones and beautiful eyes, she focused back on her Potion dilemma.
“My fifth stepfather met them, you know? He had all their, what do you call them? The round plates with music? Very troublesome, those Muggle devices, but he loved their music,” Blaise volunteered as thought he were giving the secrets of the Pharaohs instead of discussing Muggle music.
“Albums,” she said with a sigh before raising her head once again. “I would have though being familiar with Muggle music would have you banished from Slytherin. Did you need anything in particular, Zabini, or were your attempts at idle chit chat with a Muggleborn considered your civic duty for the year?”
“Well, Granger,” he drawled lazily, “I don’t wear a button that flashes my interest in Muggle music. That would be rather stupid, after all, and I’m not stupid. Far from it, in fact. As for the rest, I’m bored. You’re here. And it amuses me that you are so very uncomfortable looking at me as I speak to you. I wonder if that’s because of my general opinion regarding those of your blood or if there might be another reason so that intrigues me.”
“As if I’d never any other reason!” she exclaimed with a ‘you must be joking me’ look of dismay. “You call me Mudblood yet expect me to engage in a polite discussion of Muggle music with you just because you’re bored? Your arrogance is amazing.”
“You know, Granger. Just because the instructions are written down doesn’t mean you have to follow them exactly,” he told her with a definite smirk, brown eyes looking at the book in her lap. “Though it is rather amusing to see you glaring at Potter as he bests you, once again, you just need to learn to deviate from the path once in awhile. True, your at an disadvantage automatically because of your blood, but you‘re a stubborn bint so I‘d expect you to try new ways to improve instead of simply following some dull book.”
“I do not need advice from you regarding my classes,” she said stiffly, glaring at him and wondering why she’d ever thought he was even remotely attractive last year. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a Potion to analyze. You’ll just have to find some other way to cure your boredom.”
Blaise remained quiet as she got back to studying the book, wondering where Slughorn and the others were, wishing they’d get there because she could feel Zabini watching her, studying her as if she were some sort of difficult Arithmancy problem, and she hated that she was aware of him. Knowing she’d gotten the last word, however, made her focus a bit more easily. She didn’t see Blaise’s sullen scowl became an amused smirk or the way his fingers slowly stroked his jaw as he contemplated her for several silent moments. Thus, she was surprised when she heard the husky drawl that was becoming annoyingly familiar.
“What about The Ramones?”
For hailiebu Summer Night. Hermione/Fred/George. Adult. Word Count: 863
She should leave.
She shouldn’t be watching.
She should go back to Ginny’s room and crawl beneath sheets wet with sweat from the hot summer air and forget what she’d seen. She’d been taking a shower in the middle of the night every day, nearly, since she’d arrived at the Burrow and found the heat unbearable during sleep.
She should not be standing outside the door to the upstairs loo at three in the morning with her hand in her knickers and her eyes not straying from the crack of the unclosed door.
She was going to get caught. She’d be cast out of the Burrow, sent home with cries of ‘voyeur’ and ‘pervert’ ringing in her ears, losing her surrogate family and best friends.
She couldn’t look away, though. She couldn’t go back to her bed and lie there without remembering every detail of what she’d stumbled upon in the shower.
She couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began. Sunkissed skin, freckles, water cascading down on them as they snogged and rubbed and stroked. It was wrong. They were brothers, twins, and she certainly knew moral rules enough to know this was not at all acceptable. But, God, it was the most arousing thing she’d ever seen.
She watched Fred, as even naked she could tell them apart in that way very few could, pressed George against the wall. From where she was standing, she could see them perfectly. Their cocks, the first she’d ever seen that were not peaked at on pages of a Muggle magazine she’d discovered in her mum’s bureau, were hard, swollen, rubbing against each other in a way that caused them both to moan so wantonly and freely that she’d not been able to control her own hand.
She touched herself as George spoke. Fuck me, little brother. I want to feel your cock against mine. I want to come all over your stomach and cock then I want to lick you clean. Oh God, Fred. Right there. Push your finger into my arse. Good boy. Just like that. His words were shockingly arousing. When he said things she’d have scolded Ron or Harry for saying, her body began to heat up, sweat dripping between her shoulder blades, nipples hardening.
She bit her lip as she watched Fred’s hand stroke George’s cock, fingers wrapped around his length, moving up and down, fast and rough. George was gripped Fred’s arse, but she couldn’t see what he was doing. All too easily, she imagined him sliding a wet finger inside, could practically feel tight heat as Fred would clench around him. When George bit Fred’s shoulder, she rubbed harder, her head leaning against the door as her free hand moved beneath her nightgown, finding her bare breast and squeezing hard.
She came with Fred. A soft moan escaping her lip as her body shuddered, muscles tightening around her fingers, eyes rolling back as waves of pleasure rolled over her. Hearing George come soon after had her finger moving even as she could barely stand. Reluctantly, she pushed sweaty curls away from her face, her body relaxed as she continued to tremor from the force of her orgasm, her eyes finding them once again before she knew she’d retreat to Ginny’s room so they’d never know she watched.
She gasped when she saw them both looking at the door with smug smiles, cocks spent but twitching as they seemed to be staring right at her. When George raised his hand and shook his finger Naughty little girl, our Hermione. Sneaking and spying. Bad girls need to be punished, don’t they, Fred? and Fred’s lips curved into what could only be called a sinful smile Right you are, George. Bad girl, watching and wanking. Think she needs a nice spanking or maybe a right thorough shag…maybe both., she blushed, knowing she’d been caught.
She stared wide-eyed as Fred’s hand raised, his finger crooking as he beckoned her inside, to join them. Hermione had a million reasons floating in her mind telling her exactly why that would be a Bad Idea. Then she imagined her body between them, freckles against pale skin, red hair against brown, and she couldn’t stop imagining them touching, stroking, tasting, inside her.
She cast aside any doubts as she straightened her shoulders, displaying courage worthy of her house as she opened the door and stepped inside, shutting it quietly behind her, her eyes never leaving theirs. They were surprised, which made her smile. Taking another step, she unfastened the ribbons of her nightgown, letting it open to reveal her breasts. With another step, the material was pooled around her feet, a slight blush against her skin as someone saw her naked for the first time. When she started to remove her knickers, two wet hands stopped her, her eyes looking up to find them both standing and dripping water.
She didn’t object when they stopped her. Not here. First time shouldn’t be rough in a shower. Save that for later. Taking Fred’s hand, she followed them to their room, losing herself in sensation and touch as they made her forget all about hot summer nights.
For darkangel637 Bowling. Adrian/Hermione. PG. Word Count: 450
“I’m not wearing them.”
“Not even for me?”
“Don’t even think about it, Kitten,” he warned in a low voice. “My love for you is not something to be used to get your way.”
“Fine. You don’t have to play then,” Hermione finally said, disappointment evident in her voice. “Go get some ice cream. I’ll find you when I’m done.”
“I’m not going to let you talk me into wearing those horrid things,” Adrian said with an emphatic nod of his head, sandy hair falling across his eye, which sort of ruined his attempts at being firm.
“Adrian, I already said it’s fine,” she told him a bit sharply, rolling her eyes as he glared at the shoes in her hand. “You’re such a bloody priss at times. They‘re just shoes.”
“They’re awful,” he said with a shudder, grinning as she glared at him. “Those colors do nothing for my skin tone or hair.”
“Such an arrogant prat,” she muttered dryly.
“You know,” he drawled, “you could offer me something in exchange for wearing those horrible shoes.”
“I’m not going to bribe you to play,” she said firmly, doing a far better job at it than him.
“Don’t think of it as a bribe,” he told her. “Think of it as an incentive. After all, if I recall correctly, you required several incentives before I could even get you to consider flying with me.”
“There is a vast different between flying, which I loathe and involves my fear of heights, versus putting on these shows and bowling with me and my friends,” she pointed out logically.
“Well, I might have a fear of ugly shoes,” he pointed out smugly, moving his hand behind her so he could pull her close. “However, I do believe a kiss might very well aid me in my quest to no longer be afraid of ugly shoes that smell odd and were worn by far too many people to make me comfortable.”
“Prat,” she said somewhat fondly before giving him a brief kiss on the cheek. Her innocent smile made him resist the urge to growl and claim her for all to see. “There. A kiss.”
“Kitten, that’s not only good enough for one toe putting itself in those shoes,” he declared with a slow smile. “Would you like to go for the whole foot?”
“Why, Mister Pucey, I do believe you’re cheating,” she declared in a shocked tone.
“It’s not cheating,” he decided, ghosting his lips above hers. “It’s merely taking advantage of the situation.” Before she could reply, his lips met hers, his hand moving behind her back to pull her closer. Hmmm, maybe this bowling thing would be some fun after all.
For _angels_touch_ Spoilers for HBP. Happily Ever After. Harry/Ginny. G. Word Count: 468
She’d never been one to believe in fairy tales. With six older brothers, she’d never have any delusion that ‘someday my Prince will come’ or ‘they all lived happily ever after’. When she met him, however, she’d begun to wonder if maybe there was some truth to those rumors of things that were just meant to be. For years, she watched, waited and wanted, finally giving up when it became apparent that fairy tales were, indeed, fictional.
Now, though, she knew their truth. The real fairy tales, not those told to her by her mother when she couldn’t sleep as a child, but the ones in the Muggle book Hermione had brought to Hogwarts with her years ago. She found her prince, had him for a few fleeting moments, could still taste him on her lips, but then he was gone. Off to fight his battles, to defeat evil, to make the world a safe place. She knew, in her heart, he’d come back for her. She understood his quest, after all, and supported him without hesitation or reservation.
Every day, she kept living, learning, and waiting. She received letters from him, from Ron, from Hermione. The War continued, more people dying, but they were making progress. In the back corner of her mind, she began to build a beautiful cottage with an iron fence and a puppy, white so he wouldn’t think of Padfoot, and at least three children, because he deserved a large family. He deserved happiness and a happily ever after.
Unfortunately, the real fairy tales didn’t have happy endings. They had broken bodies lying on the sodden earth, blood covering pale skin, glasses shattered on the ground, green eyes unseeing as they stared at the cool night sky. They had hard marble statues with sharp splashes of black commemorating the life of the boy who died to save them all. They had broken hearts, souls that felt as if they would never quite be whole again, and strength that had to be found somewhere just to keep living because he had, after all, died to give everyone a happy ending. He just didn’t realize that his death meant she’d never live happily ever after.
For velvetwhip Tears. Willow/Angelus. PG. Word Count: 218
Her tears are sweet with just the faintest hint of salt.
Drusilla kisses them away, letting her tongue slowly remove the traces of fear and weakness before Daddy sees them. Her pretty dolly hasn’t learned Daddy’s rules yet so it is up to her to take care of her, to teach her. She bathes her, removing the blood and semen that has dried on skin as pale as porcelain. She washes her hair, brushing auburn locks that spill past delicate shoulders before putting it up with lovely ribbons. She cares for the cuts and bruises that Daddy leaves, knowing he is just too excited about his new pet to remember she can not heal herself, hoping he doesn’t forget one evening and do something she can not heal.
Buffy will find me. I won’t give up.
Words that are repeated in a soft mantra by her favorite dolly, a source of hope even as she slowly begins to break into many pieces. Drusilla is good at puzzles, though. She loves taking the pieces and putting them together once again just as she is with her lovely dolly. Pulling her Willow-doll closer, she looks at the stars, singing softly as rocks her to sleep, letting her have a few moments of peace before Daddy comes for her once again.
For scribbulus_kat Slight HBP Spoiler Promises. Charlie Gen. PG. Word Count: 615
When he was younger, right out of Hogwarts, Charlie had chosen an apprenticeship as far from the Burrow and his overbearing Mum as possible. He’d wanted a chance to be on his own, to simply be Charlie and not ‘one of the Weasleys’. In Romania, no one knew his family. He didn’t have to live every day being compared to his older brother. He loved Bill, more than life, but Bill was bloody perfect, and there was only so much he could take of always being second best.
Your brother is Head Boy, Charlie. Why can’t you focus more on your studies instead of that silly game? Being captain of the team won’t mean a knut once you’re taking Newts. Why can‘t you a more responsible job? Taking care of dragons? Really, Charlie, that‘s very well-meaning but you could do so much more. Look at your brothers. Bill is working for Gringotts and doing so well. And Percy is at the Ministry with such a hopeful future. Even the twins are making a name for themselves with their joke shop. And all you do is take care of those frightening animals.
He knew his mum meant well, but she didn’t understand. None of them understood. He was good at his job. No, he was great. It was something he did well, did better than nearly anyone at the reserve, and he didn’t have constant comparisons that found himself lacking. He had ‘the touch’, something not many possessed. He might not make a lot of money, might not have prestige and a title, might not have a future full of promising promotions, but he loved his job so why couldn’t his mum understand and accept that?
He risked his life every day, had burns covering a majority of his body at any give time, often collapsed into bed at the end of the day with sore shoulders and worn muscles, had a social life that consisted of talking to his dragons with an occasional flight to a nearby large Muggle town for an anonymous sexual encounter with a willing bird who wanted nothing more than a shag because most women wouldn’t understand his commitment to his job or the fact that his dragons would most likely always come first, and he didn’t care about these sacrifices because he had found the place where he belonged.
Looking at the invitation to come home for the holidays, he remembered the last time. Mum unconsciously belittling him because of his job choice, Dad trying to be supportive without knowing a bloody thing about what he really did because he’d never bothered asking, tolerating Bill’s sheepish ‘I’m sorry, mate’ smiles, and the awkwardness of Ron reliving his Quidditch feats despite those being years ago. The War was getting worse. He’d been working from sunrise to sunset, training new dragons, trying to get them ready for battle if necessary, knowing there was a chance that any day he might receive an owl from the Ministry needing him and his dragons.
He knew he should go home to see his family. He loved them all, considered them the greatest part of himself, and he’d vowed as a youngster that he’d always take care of them. The dragons needed trained. There were still a dozen who were a bit wild, that kept tossing anyone but him when they tried to ride, and even a week to go home was seven days that they’d not be closer to ready should War call. His family wouldn’t miss him, not really, and he could do far more here to save them. After all, he’d made a promise to protect them and he always kept his promises.
Still Owe Drabbles To:
schmoo999
lyones
darkwitch666
tyskn
enelya_oronar
doll_parts44
bluewhiteapo
persephone56
odyssey01
firefrorefiddle
“Smoking will kill you.”
“Everyone’s gonna die, Moony,” Sirius said matter-of-factly, wrapping his full lips around the cigarette before taking an exaggerated drag. Blowing the smoke out slowly, he pursed his lips, trying to imitate the Muggle bloke he’d seen during his recent visit to a pub in London. Bloody fuck. That bloke made it look sexy and easy to blow circles. All he got were strange puffs that looked like broken eggs. Giving Remus his best ‘I’m so sexy you know you want me’ gaze, he smirked. “I plan to go on my own terms.”
“By helping death each time you inhale those noxious fumes?” Remus asked with a disappointed shake of his head. “You’ll never live to see forty, Padfoot. With that attitude and these times, you won’t live to see twenty.”
“Everyone’s Mum, aren’t you, old boy?” Sirius asked with just enough pompous inflection to sound like his father.
“No,” Remus shook his head, studying Sirius for a moment in a way that made him almost uncomfortable, finally taking a drink of smuggled Firewhisky as he looked at the sky.
Sirius stared at him, a bit annoyed despite himself. That’s it? No? The way Remus had been looking at him, well, it hadn’t been entirely unpleasant. Licking his lips as he watched Remus tilt his head back, watched the liquor course through the cup as throat muscles shifted, he felt his body reacting.
Never one to take time and actually think things through, he impulsively stood up, tossing the remains of his cigarette to the ground and stalking his prey. His fingers pushed long hair away from his face, gray eyes pinning a startled Remus in place. “You know, drinking will kill you.”
“W-w-will it?” Remus stammered softly, his eyes on Sirius.
“That’s what they say,” Sirius said huskily, leaning forward and catching Remus’ lips with his own, his tongue sliding into his mouth to taste Firewhisky, heat, and Remus. Pressing closer, he distantly heard the sound of breaking glass before fingers were tangled in his hair, a warm body rubbing against him. When he finally pulled back, he grinned as he and Remus just stared at each other with a sudden new awareness. “What a way to go.”
For mrs_remus Maybe Just a Little. Sirius/Hermione. PG13. Word Count: 455
“You’re such a hopeless romantic.”
“I am not!”
Hermione merely arched a brow before looking pointedly around them. She was doing her best not to grin or give in to the impulse to snog him for his surprise. After all, it wouldn’t do if he realized that she, too, was a hopeless romantic.
“Don’t give me that look,” Sirius muttered, looking at the blanket so his hair would cover his reddening cheeks. Forty-three years old, over a decade spent in prison and another four years spent in limbo that he couldn’t even recall, and the blasted chit could have him blushing like some silly schoolboy with just a quirk of her lips.
“What look would that be?” she asked innocently. “The one that says ‘you brought us to Bath to have a picnic lunch on an estate that looks as if it could very well have been Darcy’s in my favorite book is such a ridiculously romantic thing to do that your reputation will never bee the same once I tell everyone how adorable you are’ look? Or the ‘you even rented a horse just because I’d mentioned in passing over a year ago, if I recall, that I found the idea of being swept up by the man I love onto a horse like they did decades ago was very romantic’ look?”
“No,” he said with a grin as he looked up. “The ‘I’m so bloody lucky to have you despite the fact that most people go to the other side of the street to avoid you and you’re a right handful to deal with most of the time’ look.”
“Contrary to your opinion about yourself, I am quite lucky. After all, how many witches or, really, women for that matter, have a lover who is intelligent, thoughtful, argumentative, and needs discipline in all the best ways? Not to mention older, rather sexy, on a good day, and a hopeless romantic.”
“On a good day?” His brow arched up to his hairline. Growling playfully, he pounced on her, pushing her gently against the blanket as he straddled her. “I happen to think, Miss Granger, that I am always sexy.”
“Did I mention modest and humble?” she asked with a hint of sarcasm, laughing when his fingers ran along her side, his hand gripping her wrists above her head as he began to tickle her.
“You also forgot lucky,” he whispered before kissing her, moving until his body was pressed against hers. His hand released her arms, fingers brushing an errant curl from her face. Nibbling her lip, he finally smiled sheepishly. “Okay, maybe I’m a little bit romantic.”
Hermione smiled as she pushed his hair away from his face. “Maybe just a little.”
For zaralya. Contains spoilers for HBP!!!! Cure for Boredom. Canon!Blaise/Hermione. PG. Word Count: 672
“Where is everybody?”
Hermione looked up from her Potions text at the question, trying to conceal her surprise. It was the first time he’d actually spoken directly to her when they’d not been surrounded by others. Staring at the dark Slytherin, she did her best to pretend that they conversed often. “Slughorn had a meeting with Dumbledore. As to the rest, well, they’re always a bit late.”
“Great,” he muttered sullenly before taking a seat across the room from her.
She sighed at the blatant hostility the quiet boy showed simply because her blood was not even partially pure. Looking back at her book, she studied the potion and tried to figure out how Harry’s had turned out better than hers.
“Do you know The Doors?”
Hermione again found herself completely stunned, unable to hide her surprise this time. “Excuse me?”
“You are Muggleborn, aren’t you?” he asked with a hint of amusement and a hint of smugness at catching her by surprise.
“Yes, I know of The Doors,” she said tightly, annoyed that he was apparently laughing at her. Glaring at his perfect cheekbones and beautiful eyes, she focused back on her Potion dilemma.
“My fifth stepfather met them, you know? He had all their, what do you call them? The round plates with music? Very troublesome, those Muggle devices, but he loved their music,” Blaise volunteered as thought he were giving the secrets of the Pharaohs instead of discussing Muggle music.
“Albums,” she said with a sigh before raising her head once again. “I would have though being familiar with Muggle music would have you banished from Slytherin. Did you need anything in particular, Zabini, or were your attempts at idle chit chat with a Muggleborn considered your civic duty for the year?”
“Well, Granger,” he drawled lazily, “I don’t wear a button that flashes my interest in Muggle music. That would be rather stupid, after all, and I’m not stupid. Far from it, in fact. As for the rest, I’m bored. You’re here. And it amuses me that you are so very uncomfortable looking at me as I speak to you. I wonder if that’s because of my general opinion regarding those of your blood or if there might be another reason so that intrigues me.”
“As if I’d never any other reason!” she exclaimed with a ‘you must be joking me’ look of dismay. “You call me Mudblood yet expect me to engage in a polite discussion of Muggle music with you just because you’re bored? Your arrogance is amazing.”
“You know, Granger. Just because the instructions are written down doesn’t mean you have to follow them exactly,” he told her with a definite smirk, brown eyes looking at the book in her lap. “Though it is rather amusing to see you glaring at Potter as he bests you, once again, you just need to learn to deviate from the path once in awhile. True, your at an disadvantage automatically because of your blood, but you‘re a stubborn bint so I‘d expect you to try new ways to improve instead of simply following some dull book.”
“I do not need advice from you regarding my classes,” she said stiffly, glaring at him and wondering why she’d ever thought he was even remotely attractive last year. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a Potion to analyze. You’ll just have to find some other way to cure your boredom.”
Blaise remained quiet as she got back to studying the book, wondering where Slughorn and the others were, wishing they’d get there because she could feel Zabini watching her, studying her as if she were some sort of difficult Arithmancy problem, and she hated that she was aware of him. Knowing she’d gotten the last word, however, made her focus a bit more easily. She didn’t see Blaise’s sullen scowl became an amused smirk or the way his fingers slowly stroked his jaw as he contemplated her for several silent moments. Thus, she was surprised when she heard the husky drawl that was becoming annoyingly familiar.
“What about The Ramones?”
For hailiebu Summer Night. Hermione/Fred/George. Adult. Word Count: 863
She should leave.
She shouldn’t be watching.
She should go back to Ginny’s room and crawl beneath sheets wet with sweat from the hot summer air and forget what she’d seen. She’d been taking a shower in the middle of the night every day, nearly, since she’d arrived at the Burrow and found the heat unbearable during sleep.
She should not be standing outside the door to the upstairs loo at three in the morning with her hand in her knickers and her eyes not straying from the crack of the unclosed door.
She was going to get caught. She’d be cast out of the Burrow, sent home with cries of ‘voyeur’ and ‘pervert’ ringing in her ears, losing her surrogate family and best friends.
She couldn’t look away, though. She couldn’t go back to her bed and lie there without remembering every detail of what she’d stumbled upon in the shower.
She couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began. Sunkissed skin, freckles, water cascading down on them as they snogged and rubbed and stroked. It was wrong. They were brothers, twins, and she certainly knew moral rules enough to know this was not at all acceptable. But, God, it was the most arousing thing she’d ever seen.
She watched Fred, as even naked she could tell them apart in that way very few could, pressed George against the wall. From where she was standing, she could see them perfectly. Their cocks, the first she’d ever seen that were not peaked at on pages of a Muggle magazine she’d discovered in her mum’s bureau, were hard, swollen, rubbing against each other in a way that caused them both to moan so wantonly and freely that she’d not been able to control her own hand.
She touched herself as George spoke. Fuck me, little brother. I want to feel your cock against mine. I want to come all over your stomach and cock then I want to lick you clean. Oh God, Fred. Right there. Push your finger into my arse. Good boy. Just like that. His words were shockingly arousing. When he said things she’d have scolded Ron or Harry for saying, her body began to heat up, sweat dripping between her shoulder blades, nipples hardening.
She bit her lip as she watched Fred’s hand stroke George’s cock, fingers wrapped around his length, moving up and down, fast and rough. George was gripped Fred’s arse, but she couldn’t see what he was doing. All too easily, she imagined him sliding a wet finger inside, could practically feel tight heat as Fred would clench around him. When George bit Fred’s shoulder, she rubbed harder, her head leaning against the door as her free hand moved beneath her nightgown, finding her bare breast and squeezing hard.
She came with Fred. A soft moan escaping her lip as her body shuddered, muscles tightening around her fingers, eyes rolling back as waves of pleasure rolled over her. Hearing George come soon after had her finger moving even as she could barely stand. Reluctantly, she pushed sweaty curls away from her face, her body relaxed as she continued to tremor from the force of her orgasm, her eyes finding them once again before she knew she’d retreat to Ginny’s room so they’d never know she watched.
She gasped when she saw them both looking at the door with smug smiles, cocks spent but twitching as they seemed to be staring right at her. When George raised his hand and shook his finger Naughty little girl, our Hermione. Sneaking and spying. Bad girls need to be punished, don’t they, Fred? and Fred’s lips curved into what could only be called a sinful smile Right you are, George. Bad girl, watching and wanking. Think she needs a nice spanking or maybe a right thorough shag…maybe both., she blushed, knowing she’d been caught.
She stared wide-eyed as Fred’s hand raised, his finger crooking as he beckoned her inside, to join them. Hermione had a million reasons floating in her mind telling her exactly why that would be a Bad Idea. Then she imagined her body between them, freckles against pale skin, red hair against brown, and she couldn’t stop imagining them touching, stroking, tasting, inside her.
She cast aside any doubts as she straightened her shoulders, displaying courage worthy of her house as she opened the door and stepped inside, shutting it quietly behind her, her eyes never leaving theirs. They were surprised, which made her smile. Taking another step, she unfastened the ribbons of her nightgown, letting it open to reveal her breasts. With another step, the material was pooled around her feet, a slight blush against her skin as someone saw her naked for the first time. When she started to remove her knickers, two wet hands stopped her, her eyes looking up to find them both standing and dripping water.
She didn’t object when they stopped her. Not here. First time shouldn’t be rough in a shower. Save that for later. Taking Fred’s hand, she followed them to their room, losing herself in sensation and touch as they made her forget all about hot summer nights.
For darkangel637 Bowling. Adrian/Hermione. PG. Word Count: 450
“I’m not wearing them.”
“Not even for me?”
“Don’t even think about it, Kitten,” he warned in a low voice. “My love for you is not something to be used to get your way.”
“Fine. You don’t have to play then,” Hermione finally said, disappointment evident in her voice. “Go get some ice cream. I’ll find you when I’m done.”
“I’m not going to let you talk me into wearing those horrid things,” Adrian said with an emphatic nod of his head, sandy hair falling across his eye, which sort of ruined his attempts at being firm.
“Adrian, I already said it’s fine,” she told him a bit sharply, rolling her eyes as he glared at the shoes in her hand. “You’re such a bloody priss at times. They‘re just shoes.”
“They’re awful,” he said with a shudder, grinning as she glared at him. “Those colors do nothing for my skin tone or hair.”
“Such an arrogant prat,” she muttered dryly.
“You know,” he drawled, “you could offer me something in exchange for wearing those horrible shoes.”
“I’m not going to bribe you to play,” she said firmly, doing a far better job at it than him.
“Don’t think of it as a bribe,” he told her. “Think of it as an incentive. After all, if I recall correctly, you required several incentives before I could even get you to consider flying with me.”
“There is a vast different between flying, which I loathe and involves my fear of heights, versus putting on these shows and bowling with me and my friends,” she pointed out logically.
“Well, I might have a fear of ugly shoes,” he pointed out smugly, moving his hand behind her so he could pull her close. “However, I do believe a kiss might very well aid me in my quest to no longer be afraid of ugly shoes that smell odd and were worn by far too many people to make me comfortable.”
“Prat,” she said somewhat fondly before giving him a brief kiss on the cheek. Her innocent smile made him resist the urge to growl and claim her for all to see. “There. A kiss.”
“Kitten, that’s not only good enough for one toe putting itself in those shoes,” he declared with a slow smile. “Would you like to go for the whole foot?”
“Why, Mister Pucey, I do believe you’re cheating,” she declared in a shocked tone.
“It’s not cheating,” he decided, ghosting his lips above hers. “It’s merely taking advantage of the situation.” Before she could reply, his lips met hers, his hand moving behind her back to pull her closer. Hmmm, maybe this bowling thing would be some fun after all.
For _angels_touch_ Spoilers for HBP. Happily Ever After. Harry/Ginny. G. Word Count: 468
She’d never been one to believe in fairy tales. With six older brothers, she’d never have any delusion that ‘someday my Prince will come’ or ‘they all lived happily ever after’. When she met him, however, she’d begun to wonder if maybe there was some truth to those rumors of things that were just meant to be. For years, she watched, waited and wanted, finally giving up when it became apparent that fairy tales were, indeed, fictional.
Now, though, she knew their truth. The real fairy tales, not those told to her by her mother when she couldn’t sleep as a child, but the ones in the Muggle book Hermione had brought to Hogwarts with her years ago. She found her prince, had him for a few fleeting moments, could still taste him on her lips, but then he was gone. Off to fight his battles, to defeat evil, to make the world a safe place. She knew, in her heart, he’d come back for her. She understood his quest, after all, and supported him without hesitation or reservation.
Every day, she kept living, learning, and waiting. She received letters from him, from Ron, from Hermione. The War continued, more people dying, but they were making progress. In the back corner of her mind, she began to build a beautiful cottage with an iron fence and a puppy, white so he wouldn’t think of Padfoot, and at least three children, because he deserved a large family. He deserved happiness and a happily ever after.
Unfortunately, the real fairy tales didn’t have happy endings. They had broken bodies lying on the sodden earth, blood covering pale skin, glasses shattered on the ground, green eyes unseeing as they stared at the cool night sky. They had hard marble statues with sharp splashes of black commemorating the life of the boy who died to save them all. They had broken hearts, souls that felt as if they would never quite be whole again, and strength that had to be found somewhere just to keep living because he had, after all, died to give everyone a happy ending. He just didn’t realize that his death meant she’d never live happily ever after.
For velvetwhip Tears. Willow/Angelus. PG. Word Count: 218
Her tears are sweet with just the faintest hint of salt.
Drusilla kisses them away, letting her tongue slowly remove the traces of fear and weakness before Daddy sees them. Her pretty dolly hasn’t learned Daddy’s rules yet so it is up to her to take care of her, to teach her. She bathes her, removing the blood and semen that has dried on skin as pale as porcelain. She washes her hair, brushing auburn locks that spill past delicate shoulders before putting it up with lovely ribbons. She cares for the cuts and bruises that Daddy leaves, knowing he is just too excited about his new pet to remember she can not heal herself, hoping he doesn’t forget one evening and do something she can not heal.
Buffy will find me. I won’t give up.
Words that are repeated in a soft mantra by her favorite dolly, a source of hope even as she slowly begins to break into many pieces. Drusilla is good at puzzles, though. She loves taking the pieces and putting them together once again just as she is with her lovely dolly. Pulling her Willow-doll closer, she looks at the stars, singing softly as rocks her to sleep, letting her have a few moments of peace before Daddy comes for her once again.
For scribbulus_kat Slight HBP Spoiler Promises. Charlie Gen. PG. Word Count: 615
When he was younger, right out of Hogwarts, Charlie had chosen an apprenticeship as far from the Burrow and his overbearing Mum as possible. He’d wanted a chance to be on his own, to simply be Charlie and not ‘one of the Weasleys’. In Romania, no one knew his family. He didn’t have to live every day being compared to his older brother. He loved Bill, more than life, but Bill was bloody perfect, and there was only so much he could take of always being second best.
Your brother is Head Boy, Charlie. Why can’t you focus more on your studies instead of that silly game? Being captain of the team won’t mean a knut once you’re taking Newts. Why can‘t you a more responsible job? Taking care of dragons? Really, Charlie, that‘s very well-meaning but you could do so much more. Look at your brothers. Bill is working for Gringotts and doing so well. And Percy is at the Ministry with such a hopeful future. Even the twins are making a name for themselves with their joke shop. And all you do is take care of those frightening animals.
He knew his mum meant well, but she didn’t understand. None of them understood. He was good at his job. No, he was great. It was something he did well, did better than nearly anyone at the reserve, and he didn’t have constant comparisons that found himself lacking. He had ‘the touch’, something not many possessed. He might not make a lot of money, might not have prestige and a title, might not have a future full of promising promotions, but he loved his job so why couldn’t his mum understand and accept that?
He risked his life every day, had burns covering a majority of his body at any give time, often collapsed into bed at the end of the day with sore shoulders and worn muscles, had a social life that consisted of talking to his dragons with an occasional flight to a nearby large Muggle town for an anonymous sexual encounter with a willing bird who wanted nothing more than a shag because most women wouldn’t understand his commitment to his job or the fact that his dragons would most likely always come first, and he didn’t care about these sacrifices because he had found the place where he belonged.
Looking at the invitation to come home for the holidays, he remembered the last time. Mum unconsciously belittling him because of his job choice, Dad trying to be supportive without knowing a bloody thing about what he really did because he’d never bothered asking, tolerating Bill’s sheepish ‘I’m sorry, mate’ smiles, and the awkwardness of Ron reliving his Quidditch feats despite those being years ago. The War was getting worse. He’d been working from sunrise to sunset, training new dragons, trying to get them ready for battle if necessary, knowing there was a chance that any day he might receive an owl from the Ministry needing him and his dragons.
He knew he should go home to see his family. He loved them all, considered them the greatest part of himself, and he’d vowed as a youngster that he’d always take care of them. The dragons needed trained. There were still a dozen who were a bit wild, that kept tossing anyone but him when they tried to ride, and even a week to go home was seven days that they’d not be closer to ready should War call. His family wouldn’t miss him, not really, and he could do far more here to save them. After all, he’d made a promise to protect them and he always kept his promises.
Still Owe Drabbles To:
schmoo999
lyones
darkwitch666
tyskn
enelya_oronar
doll_parts44
bluewhiteapo
persephone56
odyssey01
firefrorefiddle