100 Moments
folder
Harry Potter › General
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
100
Views:
10,623
Reviews:
52
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Harry Potter › General
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
100
Views:
10,623
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.
Sunrise
Title: Sunrise
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, PWP
Warnings: Femslash!
Summary: #31 – Sunrise. By sunrise the side-effects wane.
Word Count: 850 words.
Author's Notes: Drabble: a slice of fic in less than 1500 words. This is my first attempt at FEMSLASH! Be kind, alright? Suggested by wordsmith. This was a toughie!
Prompt 31 – Sunrise
“You are simply the strangest woman I have ever known,” she said to me, slightly exasperated.
“Thanks,” was all I could mutter.
I wanted to tell her that I was not myself, that I had been bitten by a nargle arranging mistletoe wreaths for Christmas in two weeks. I had miscalculated the effects of the bite, telling her how beautiful she was. Of course, I always thought she was rather pretty, but even I know when to keep certain things to myself.
I almost wished to send her away, claiming I was not feeling quite myself, but the tears in her eyes, her quivering lips kept me from doing perhaps the wise thing.
“I just cannot believe him! Of all the reasons why we have to postpone the wedding… A charity exhibition in Bulgaria? He knew the date; he could have told them that he had other plans… Gods, I hate Quidditch!”
I could empathize. Ginny had told me that Ron was getting ‘cold feet.’ I had never heard the expression before, and advised a hot soak in mint water and a potent Pepper-Up. Again, I got that ‘look’ from my best friend. I laughed it off.
As it was, Hermione Granger had run all the way from the Burrow in the cold, in tears, and knowing that I was home, came to the house because she was in no state to Apparate.
I offered her a drink; something that dad had set aside for occasions of great emotional distress—Firewhiskey.
When I kissed her, she tasted heavily of alcohol. I had partaken of none.
I would have to note the side effects of a nargle bite as soon as I was myself.
I pushed her down into the sofa, grasping her shoulders. I have kissed other women before, but only to see what it was like. Hermione, however, had softer lips than Ginny or Cho, and besides the taste of alcohol, I tasted a sweetness I could not identify.
She kissed me back.
I could barely contain myself, I felt drugged, or as if I had another case of wrasckspurt infestation—a very hard thing to cure. I found myself pulling off her jumper, her brassiere, and then her skirt.
She did not speak, and did not resist. It baffled me, at least, a part of me. Definitely wrackspurts, combined with the bite on my wrist.
Her skin smelled like ginger, tasted like sweeter ginger. It was an interesting array of textures, smells, and taste. Even when her fingers touched my skin, the skin of her palm rubbing against my nipples, I could not ask her to stop, did not want to ask her to stop.
The wrackspurts convinced me that this was the right thing to do. If Ronald Weasley did not know what a beautiful woman he had, it was not my fault that I would cherish her for a little while—until sunrise when I believed that aphrodisiac of the nargle bite would wane. I wanted to kiss her, I wanted to lave her dusky pink nipples, and I wanted to run my fingers over the slippery flesh in her knickers. Every sense was heightened.
I rubbed myself against her upraised thigh, one that I straddled on the couch. At some point, I suppose that I had undressed for I could feel my core spreading juices along her bare leg. It was a curiously wonderful sensation. It reminded me of the time Neville took my virginity at school, just before I was taken away by the Death Eaters. He had done what I was doing to Hermione—fucking her slick hole with three fingers.
Neville had a foul, and oddly arousing way with words.
I, however, said nothing, too busy sucking and nipping at her right nipple.
Glancing up to her face, I found her eyes closed, her mouth open to gasp. Then, noticing the dark window, I could tell I had a few hours left before sunrise. Somehow, it thrilled me. Wickedly provocative thoughts whizzed through my head, thoughts that were only due to wrackspurts, at least, I thought so.
When my thumb jabbed at the swollen bundle of nerves, in the same place where my own were, she arched against my mouth and came.
“More… More!” she cried, and I then wondered, pulling my mouth from her breasts if the wrackspurts had somehow infested her ear canals as they did mine, or was she merely drunk, or did she actually want this?
I gave her more, but she gave some as well, and when we had danced and moved on the sofa, I felt her breath against me. A foul string of words came from my mouth when her tongue touched my centre, something that was totally out of character and disturbing.
I glanced to the window again. Sunrise would come, surely.
It did not matter before long, her sweet tasting core on my face, her fingers pumping in and out of my body, my brain assaulted by wrackspurts and nargle venom running through my body.
I need to be more careful with mistletoe.
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, PWP
Warnings: Femslash!
Summary: #31 – Sunrise. By sunrise the side-effects wane.
Word Count: 850 words.
Author's Notes: Drabble: a slice of fic in less than 1500 words. This is my first attempt at FEMSLASH! Be kind, alright? Suggested by wordsmith. This was a toughie!
Prompt 31 – Sunrise
“You are simply the strangest woman I have ever known,” she said to me, slightly exasperated.
“Thanks,” was all I could mutter.
I wanted to tell her that I was not myself, that I had been bitten by a nargle arranging mistletoe wreaths for Christmas in two weeks. I had miscalculated the effects of the bite, telling her how beautiful she was. Of course, I always thought she was rather pretty, but even I know when to keep certain things to myself.
I almost wished to send her away, claiming I was not feeling quite myself, but the tears in her eyes, her quivering lips kept me from doing perhaps the wise thing.
“I just cannot believe him! Of all the reasons why we have to postpone the wedding… A charity exhibition in Bulgaria? He knew the date; he could have told them that he had other plans… Gods, I hate Quidditch!”
I could empathize. Ginny had told me that Ron was getting ‘cold feet.’ I had never heard the expression before, and advised a hot soak in mint water and a potent Pepper-Up. Again, I got that ‘look’ from my best friend. I laughed it off.
As it was, Hermione Granger had run all the way from the Burrow in the cold, in tears, and knowing that I was home, came to the house because she was in no state to Apparate.
I offered her a drink; something that dad had set aside for occasions of great emotional distress—Firewhiskey.
When I kissed her, she tasted heavily of alcohol. I had partaken of none.
I would have to note the side effects of a nargle bite as soon as I was myself.
I pushed her down into the sofa, grasping her shoulders. I have kissed other women before, but only to see what it was like. Hermione, however, had softer lips than Ginny or Cho, and besides the taste of alcohol, I tasted a sweetness I could not identify.
She kissed me back.
I could barely contain myself, I felt drugged, or as if I had another case of wrasckspurt infestation—a very hard thing to cure. I found myself pulling off her jumper, her brassiere, and then her skirt.
She did not speak, and did not resist. It baffled me, at least, a part of me. Definitely wrackspurts, combined with the bite on my wrist.
Her skin smelled like ginger, tasted like sweeter ginger. It was an interesting array of textures, smells, and taste. Even when her fingers touched my skin, the skin of her palm rubbing against my nipples, I could not ask her to stop, did not want to ask her to stop.
The wrackspurts convinced me that this was the right thing to do. If Ronald Weasley did not know what a beautiful woman he had, it was not my fault that I would cherish her for a little while—until sunrise when I believed that aphrodisiac of the nargle bite would wane. I wanted to kiss her, I wanted to lave her dusky pink nipples, and I wanted to run my fingers over the slippery flesh in her knickers. Every sense was heightened.
I rubbed myself against her upraised thigh, one that I straddled on the couch. At some point, I suppose that I had undressed for I could feel my core spreading juices along her bare leg. It was a curiously wonderful sensation. It reminded me of the time Neville took my virginity at school, just before I was taken away by the Death Eaters. He had done what I was doing to Hermione—fucking her slick hole with three fingers.
Neville had a foul, and oddly arousing way with words.
I, however, said nothing, too busy sucking and nipping at her right nipple.
Glancing up to her face, I found her eyes closed, her mouth open to gasp. Then, noticing the dark window, I could tell I had a few hours left before sunrise. Somehow, it thrilled me. Wickedly provocative thoughts whizzed through my head, thoughts that were only due to wrackspurts, at least, I thought so.
When my thumb jabbed at the swollen bundle of nerves, in the same place where my own were, she arched against my mouth and came.
“More… More!” she cried, and I then wondered, pulling my mouth from her breasts if the wrackspurts had somehow infested her ear canals as they did mine, or was she merely drunk, or did she actually want this?
I gave her more, but she gave some as well, and when we had danced and moved on the sofa, I felt her breath against me. A foul string of words came from my mouth when her tongue touched my centre, something that was totally out of character and disturbing.
I glanced to the window again. Sunrise would come, surely.
It did not matter before long, her sweet tasting core on my face, her fingers pumping in and out of my body, my brain assaulted by wrackspurts and nargle venom running through my body.
I need to be more careful with mistletoe.