100 Moments
folder
Harry Potter › General
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
100
Views:
10,605
Reviews:
52
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Harry Potter › General
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
100
Views:
10,605
Reviews:
52
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Respect
Title: Respect
Author: ianthe_waiting
Rating: MA
Disclaimer: The Harry Potter books and their characters are the property of JK Rowling. This is a work of fan-fiction. No infringement is intended, and no money is being made from this story. I am just borrowing the puppets, but this is my stage.
Genre: Drabble
Warnings: M/F
Summary: #13 – Respect. Was her respect worth the trouble?
Word Count: 1,088 words.
Author's Notes: Drabble: a slice of fic in less than 1500 words. Suggested by an Anon!
Prompt 13 – Respect
Neville felt a small itch of guilt in the back of his mind, but ignored it. He had not meant to slam Hermione into the wall so hard, but was pleased that she had finally shut her mouth. To further insure that she did not speak, he kissed her…occupying the mouth that had been yelling at him…
Neville knew that if his grandmother were still alive that she would certainly have something to say about how to treat a woman, and Neville would have agreed with old Augusta Longbottom. Neville did not like to hurt people. However, when it really came down to it, Neville, as an adult, did not hesitate to use force when necessary.
Hermione had been, and was still, in fact, angry. Neville thought Hermione’s anger over the fact that one of his Devil’s Snare pots in the garden hothouse nearly killing Crookshanks was a bit over blown. Neville had saved the half-Kneazle, and as far as he knew, the creature was unharmed. Neville had endured approximately one hour of Hermione’s hysterics. She had never cared before then that Neville had the plant in the hothouse, and Crookshanks had always swatted at the plant before then without being caught in the plant’s tendrils.
Finally, however, the incessant noise of Hermione’s voice listing all the logical reasons why Neville should not have the plant, his lack of reason when it came to their safety, etc, got too far out of control as Hermione began attacking his character. He realized that she was angry, he realized that she was growing angrier because he had been ignoring her, and he realized that Hermione rarely got angry, but when she did…bile came out of her mouth as if she had been storing it up for an occasion to be angry.
“You are as weak and a coward! You are as incompetent as you were when…” had been the last words out of her mouth.
Both Hermione and Neville knew her words were in no way true, but all the same, Neville reacted by showing Hermione just how ‘weak,’ how ‘incompetent,’ and how big a ‘coward’ he truly was…
He threw her against the parlour wall…and kissed her.
Neville Longbottom was no longer a tubby child, and he was not a gangling teenager. He was a man of bone and muscle, confident, strong, handsome, and wickedly dangerous with a wand. Many a Death Eater had fallen before him, and the few that had survived feared him…every bit Frank and Alice Longbottom’s son. An Auror’s son. His Gran had been proud the day she died.
Hermione tried to fight against him, pounding her small fists upon his wide chest. It would have hurt any other man, but Neville felt nothing, a large hand about her throat, the other tearing away her blouse and skirt. He pinned her to the wall with his body, his tee shirt, and jeans dusty from working in the soil, his skin sweaty from the heat of the summer day. His mousy brown hair fell into his eyes as he devoured her mouth, swallowing her screams and whines.
Soon, however, with his denim-clad knee between her legs…the threads digging into her core where he had ripped her knickers away, she ceased to fight him. Hermione was so small compared to him. His hand that held her throat, forcing her head back, slipped between their bodies. Neville had yet to pull his mouth away from hers.
Unzipping his denims, Neville pressed her tighter against the wall, sliding her back up the wallpaper to ready her for what he was about to do.
No longer fighting him, Hermione helped by wrapping her bare legs about Neville’s waist, her hands grasping his shoulders.
Neville broke the kiss, his face flushed as the tip of his organ slipped inside Hermione. Holding her hips, he stepped in closer to the wall, and with a jerk of his pelvis, he was inside. She had hissed, her amber eyes flashing, but Neville did not stop…and began thrusting into her body, causing her head to fall sharply back into the wall.
The guilt he had felt was gone, and his own anger, his own lust, filled his thoughts.
The sight of her, the front of her blouse and bra ripped, her skirt and knickers near his feet, the manner in which her eyes rolled back into her skull…and the sound of her voice, when it was not yelling at him…was what he wanted.
Neville Longbottom demand respect from everyone he laid his eyes upon, and usually he got that respect. It was only Hermione Granger who did not see him as a man to respect, or that was what Neville believed. To her, he was just a man, a man she loved from time to time…not even a boyfriend, but a friend she slept with on occasion. If they had not been flat mates, he would not have thought about her all after the War. It had been she who instigated a relationship of sorts, he had been too busy trying to attain a Master’s level in Herbology. It had been Hermione who would slip into his room at night and crawl into bed next to him…it had been Hermione who did not respect him.
From First Year…to that very moment…Neville needed her respect.
His mouth moved over her throat, her jaw, to take her mouth again. The thrusting and falling of her hips down onto his stiff cock forced Neville deep into her body. He groaned against her lips, his arms beginning to ache from holding her, his thighs and buttocks burning as the muscles stained.
His anger fuelled him, but it also pushed his senses faster, further.
“Neville!” Hermione wailed as her body convulsed against him…
Neville grinned malevolently into Hermione’s throat before his face dissolved and he was lost.
Things had to change. Neville would have to make up his mind. Was he ready to love Hermione Granger? Was demanding her respect worth his time?
As they slid to the parlour floor, Hermione laying upon his tanned and toned body, his clothing disheveled, the fly of his jeans open obscenely, his semi-erect cock leaking onto his pants, Neville wondered if his self-respect would allow him to love her…her, who was so headstrong, yet so vulnerable in his arms. The fight was gone from her, and she clung to him so desperately.
Perhaps Hermione was demanding his respect as well. The question was, to Neville, did he really want her respect after all?
Author: ianthe_waiting
Rating: MA
Disclaimer: The Harry Potter books and their characters are the property of JK Rowling. This is a work of fan-fiction. No infringement is intended, and no money is being made from this story. I am just borrowing the puppets, but this is my stage.
Genre: Drabble
Warnings: M/F
Summary: #13 – Respect. Was her respect worth the trouble?
Word Count: 1,088 words.
Author's Notes: Drabble: a slice of fic in less than 1500 words. Suggested by an Anon!
Prompt 13 – Respect
Neville felt a small itch of guilt in the back of his mind, but ignored it. He had not meant to slam Hermione into the wall so hard, but was pleased that she had finally shut her mouth. To further insure that she did not speak, he kissed her…occupying the mouth that had been yelling at him…
Neville knew that if his grandmother were still alive that she would certainly have something to say about how to treat a woman, and Neville would have agreed with old Augusta Longbottom. Neville did not like to hurt people. However, when it really came down to it, Neville, as an adult, did not hesitate to use force when necessary.
Hermione had been, and was still, in fact, angry. Neville thought Hermione’s anger over the fact that one of his Devil’s Snare pots in the garden hothouse nearly killing Crookshanks was a bit over blown. Neville had saved the half-Kneazle, and as far as he knew, the creature was unharmed. Neville had endured approximately one hour of Hermione’s hysterics. She had never cared before then that Neville had the plant in the hothouse, and Crookshanks had always swatted at the plant before then without being caught in the plant’s tendrils.
Finally, however, the incessant noise of Hermione’s voice listing all the logical reasons why Neville should not have the plant, his lack of reason when it came to their safety, etc, got too far out of control as Hermione began attacking his character. He realized that she was angry, he realized that she was growing angrier because he had been ignoring her, and he realized that Hermione rarely got angry, but when she did…bile came out of her mouth as if she had been storing it up for an occasion to be angry.
“You are as weak and a coward! You are as incompetent as you were when…” had been the last words out of her mouth.
Both Hermione and Neville knew her words were in no way true, but all the same, Neville reacted by showing Hermione just how ‘weak,’ how ‘incompetent,’ and how big a ‘coward’ he truly was…
He threw her against the parlour wall…and kissed her.
Neville Longbottom was no longer a tubby child, and he was not a gangling teenager. He was a man of bone and muscle, confident, strong, handsome, and wickedly dangerous with a wand. Many a Death Eater had fallen before him, and the few that had survived feared him…every bit Frank and Alice Longbottom’s son. An Auror’s son. His Gran had been proud the day she died.
Hermione tried to fight against him, pounding her small fists upon his wide chest. It would have hurt any other man, but Neville felt nothing, a large hand about her throat, the other tearing away her blouse and skirt. He pinned her to the wall with his body, his tee shirt, and jeans dusty from working in the soil, his skin sweaty from the heat of the summer day. His mousy brown hair fell into his eyes as he devoured her mouth, swallowing her screams and whines.
Soon, however, with his denim-clad knee between her legs…the threads digging into her core where he had ripped her knickers away, she ceased to fight him. Hermione was so small compared to him. His hand that held her throat, forcing her head back, slipped between their bodies. Neville had yet to pull his mouth away from hers.
Unzipping his denims, Neville pressed her tighter against the wall, sliding her back up the wallpaper to ready her for what he was about to do.
No longer fighting him, Hermione helped by wrapping her bare legs about Neville’s waist, her hands grasping his shoulders.
Neville broke the kiss, his face flushed as the tip of his organ slipped inside Hermione. Holding her hips, he stepped in closer to the wall, and with a jerk of his pelvis, he was inside. She had hissed, her amber eyes flashing, but Neville did not stop…and began thrusting into her body, causing her head to fall sharply back into the wall.
The guilt he had felt was gone, and his own anger, his own lust, filled his thoughts.
The sight of her, the front of her blouse and bra ripped, her skirt and knickers near his feet, the manner in which her eyes rolled back into her skull…and the sound of her voice, when it was not yelling at him…was what he wanted.
Neville Longbottom demand respect from everyone he laid his eyes upon, and usually he got that respect. It was only Hermione Granger who did not see him as a man to respect, or that was what Neville believed. To her, he was just a man, a man she loved from time to time…not even a boyfriend, but a friend she slept with on occasion. If they had not been flat mates, he would not have thought about her all after the War. It had been she who instigated a relationship of sorts, he had been too busy trying to attain a Master’s level in Herbology. It had been Hermione who would slip into his room at night and crawl into bed next to him…it had been Hermione who did not respect him.
From First Year…to that very moment…Neville needed her respect.
His mouth moved over her throat, her jaw, to take her mouth again. The thrusting and falling of her hips down onto his stiff cock forced Neville deep into her body. He groaned against her lips, his arms beginning to ache from holding her, his thighs and buttocks burning as the muscles stained.
His anger fuelled him, but it also pushed his senses faster, further.
“Neville!” Hermione wailed as her body convulsed against him…
Neville grinned malevolently into Hermione’s throat before his face dissolved and he was lost.
Things had to change. Neville would have to make up his mind. Was he ready to love Hermione Granger? Was demanding her respect worth his time?
As they slid to the parlour floor, Hermione laying upon his tanned and toned body, his clothing disheveled, the fly of his jeans open obscenely, his semi-erect cock leaking onto his pants, Neville wondered if his self-respect would allow him to love her…her, who was so headstrong, yet so vulnerable in his arms. The fight was gone from her, and she clung to him so desperately.
Perhaps Hermione was demanding his respect as well. The question was, to Neville, did he really want her respect after all?