Merlin Must Hate Me
folder
Harry Potter › Het - Male/Female
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
8
Views:
11,724
Reviews:
36
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Harry Potter › Het - Male/Female
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
8
Views:
11,724
Reviews:
36
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.
She Talks
A/N: Thank you for all the wonderful reviews, I will continue with the ideas I have!
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Chapter 1 - She Talks
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It’s been a week. One fucking bloody week and already I’m wanking every night with her in my mind. At least while she was away from me I could keep her out of my mind.
She talks. Merlin, does she talk. The first morning that she was here, I sat her down next to me in the mess hall and as soon as I went to take my tray up, she was already seated next to a group of keepers and talking animatedly with them. It annoys me to no fucking end that she can get on my nerves so much just by talking to other men and not me.
I notice as she flirts with some of the other keepers. She sees me as a brother, she doesn’t want to do anything more than talk to me. I know that none of the brash, harsh men that work here are right for her. She is too delicate of a woman, yet I know she would kill me if she heard me mutter it aloud.
She flirts with Jack, a keeper for the female Chinese Fireball that just arrived in. He got a small burn on his arm yesterday and Hermione seems to be all over him, worrying about the burn and kissing it better.
I wonder briefly if I should get burnt on purpose, just to see if she would bestow the same affection upon me, but I immediately find that thought pathetic.
I see her sitting at dinner with Mike and Brendon. She casually touches their hands unconsciously and it’s all I can do not to walk over there, pull her away and claim her as mine. She would probably screech at me and I would just be made a fool of.
I am the best keeper on this refuge. That is by far a fact. I should not be fantasising about a 22 year old bushy-haired witch who refuses to acknowledge that I exist.
And yet, every night for the past week, I have found myself on my bed, cock in hand, stroking it in a fast rhythm while picturing those fleeting caresses and soft kisses that she gives other men on the inside of my eyelids. I always come with a loud groan of her name, spilling cum all over myself, too spent to use a cleaning charm, and drifting off to sleep with her still in my thoughts.
And I always think, right before I go to sleep, what Hermione is doing in her virginal bed only fifteen feet away from me.
Chapter 1 - She Talks
0o0o0o0o0o0o0
It’s been a week. One fucking bloody week and already I’m wanking every night with her in my mind. At least while she was away from me I could keep her out of my mind.
She talks. Merlin, does she talk. The first morning that she was here, I sat her down next to me in the mess hall and as soon as I went to take my tray up, she was already seated next to a group of keepers and talking animatedly with them. It annoys me to no fucking end that she can get on my nerves so much just by talking to other men and not me.
I notice as she flirts with some of the other keepers. She sees me as a brother, she doesn’t want to do anything more than talk to me. I know that none of the brash, harsh men that work here are right for her. She is too delicate of a woman, yet I know she would kill me if she heard me mutter it aloud.
She flirts with Jack, a keeper for the female Chinese Fireball that just arrived in. He got a small burn on his arm yesterday and Hermione seems to be all over him, worrying about the burn and kissing it better.
I wonder briefly if I should get burnt on purpose, just to see if she would bestow the same affection upon me, but I immediately find that thought pathetic.
I see her sitting at dinner with Mike and Brendon. She casually touches their hands unconsciously and it’s all I can do not to walk over there, pull her away and claim her as mine. She would probably screech at me and I would just be made a fool of.
I am the best keeper on this refuge. That is by far a fact. I should not be fantasising about a 22 year old bushy-haired witch who refuses to acknowledge that I exist.
And yet, every night for the past week, I have found myself on my bed, cock in hand, stroking it in a fast rhythm while picturing those fleeting caresses and soft kisses that she gives other men on the inside of my eyelids. I always come with a loud groan of her name, spilling cum all over myself, too spent to use a cleaning charm, and drifting off to sleep with her still in my thoughts.
And I always think, right before I go to sleep, what Hermione is doing in her virginal bed only fifteen feet away from me.