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gladiolidiaries · 9 months

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Must Read Drarry fics

A compilation of the crème de la crème Drarry, all the fics that I always go back to when I want to immerse myself in the Harry Potter universe. In no particular order.

Azoth by zeitgeistic 88k

Now that Harry is back at Hogwarts with Hermione for eighth year, he realises that something’s missing from his life, and it either has to do with Ron, his boggart, Snape, or Malfoy. Furthermore, what, exactly, does it mean when one’s life is defined by the desire to simultaneously impress and annoy a portrait? Harry has no idea; he’s too busy trying not to be in love with Malfoy to care.

Right Hand Red by lq_traintracks (lumosed_quill) 73k

Harry felt Malfoy's breath on his lips as they came together over the bottle, hands firmly planted on the floor as though they each needed their familiar soil, refusing to cross into enemy territory. Except that Malfoy no longer felt like his enemy. Malfoy felt inevitable.

All Our Secrets Laid Bare by firethesound 149k

Over the six years Draco Malfoy has been an Auror, four of his partners have turned up dead. Harry Potter is assigned as his newest partner to investigate just what is going on.

Stately Homes of Wiltshire by waspabi 57k

Malfoy Manor has mould, dry rot and an infestation of unusually historical poltergeists. Harry Potter is on the case.

Mental by sara_holmes 186k

Harry has had quite enough of sharing his mind with someone else, thankyouverymuch. A miscast Legilimecy spell says otherwise.

Temptation on the Warfront by alizarincrims0n 180k

Draco Malfoy is forced into hiding with the Golden Trio and dragged into their search for horcruxes. What ensues is a journey of redemption, unexpected friendships and an unwanted, turbulent romance with Harry Potter. Warnings for swearing, sexual content, and dark themes.

Diffraction Patterns (I Don't Know How to Forget You) by yourdifferentoctober 93k

When Harry Potter, of all people, offers to help Draco erase his Dark Mark, he has no choice but to accept. He wants it gone. He wants to forget. He wants to reconstitute the past. Never mind that erasures leave real marks on bodies, real traces on the world in its becoming. This is not how he expected his eighth year to go.

Tell Me a Secret by alexmeg 86k

In which the bond is rooted in their emotions, everything goes even more wrong, and Harry is certain that he and Draco could never feel what the curse wants them to feel for each other. Until Harry does.

The Ordeal of Being Known by louisfake 146k

When Auror Potter is anonymously cursed with silence by being forced to hide his own voice inside his mind, there's unfortunately only one person in the country with the qualifications to fix it: Certified and Licensed Healer Legilimens, Draco Malfoy, specialist in Mind Curses and Afflictions. It's obviously a terrible idea, a disaster waiting to happen, but Draco's never been able to back down from a challenge... especially from Potter.

Freedom to be by Quicksilvermaid 169k

Harry Potter is the Boy Who Lived. 12 years after the war, he's become the Boy Who Lived For Everyone Else. He has the perfect wife. The perfect house. The perfect job. The perfect friends. Only nothing feels perfect. Until one day he stumbles across a club called Release and begins a journey of self-discovery that takes him to a very different place.

Grounds for Divorce by Tepre 122k

Malfoy finds a coin. Harry finds a letter. A story about histories, a story about families. A story about a lemon tree somewhere in Upper Egypt.

The Claiming of Grimmauld Place by bixgirl1 74k

When Grimmauld Place begins fighting against Harry’s ownership of it, he decides he needs help to train the historic home — but little does he expect that it’ll be Malfoy who’s most suitable for the challenge. However, as Malfoy and Harry get closer, Harry comes to understand that expectations aren’t always the best path by which to guide his heart — and in the process learns just what is needed to make a house a home.

Lumos by birdsofshore 41k

Harry never expected to spend eighth year listening to Draco Malfoy wanking.

9 ½ Days by magpie_fngrl 69k

After the events at the Manor, Harry and Draco find themselves stranded in the countryside with a broken wand and Death Eaters on their tail. This is the story of an uneasy truce, featuring faerie forests, seaside caves, Romani camps, kind old ladies, and a shared bed in an attic. Or how two boys fell in love in the midst of a bloody coup.

The Sleeping Beauty Curse by who_la_hoop 152k

When Draco Malfoy falls into a cursed sleep and can only be woken – at least, according to the Daily Prophet, that impeccable source of truth – by ‘true love’s kiss’, Harry Potter knows there’s no way on earth he’s the answer to this particular riddle. Is he . . . ?

The Nightmare Club by Elle Gray (Elle_Gray) 85k

Hermione and Ron are going back to Hogwarts to do N.E.W.T.s, Ginny isn't. Harry hasn't decided, until he has, in front of the Wizengamot and now he's responsible for Malfoy as well. A tale of enemies who learn to get along, get it wrong and get it on. Everything is purple, some things are on fire and no-one is sleeping properly. But don't worry, there's tea!

That Old Black Magic by bixgirl1 77k

Centuries ago, marriage contracts were the norm — ready-made alliances between families, expected and complied with, without complaint. But norms have a way of changing, and when a long-dormant contract flares to life, Harry has to navigate an unexpected splintering of the path he'd thought would be easy after the war... with Draco Malfoy.

Tales from the Special Branch by Femme (femmequixotic) 257k

Three months after their brief encounter, Draco has almost forgotten about Potter--or so he tells himself. Then a Dark wizard shows up on the Auror radar and all hell breaks loose. Draco will have to choose between everything he holds dear--everything he's worked so hard for--and a few stolen moments of passion with a certain green-eyed Inspector, once his sworn enemy and now something rather different entirely. He'll make the right choice, won't he? Who is he kidding? He'll ruin everything, as per usual. Bad choices and the name Malfoy go hand in hand.

Men Who Love Dragons Too Much by fencer_x 522k

‘Kill Albus Dumbledore’ is less a challenging task and more a suicide mission, so when Draco Malfoy is presented with the option to either dispatch his Headmaster or suffer an excruciating and most ignominious death of his own, along with his parents, he reaches deep into his black little Slytherin heart and manages to scrape together enough courage to go with option C instead: Spend Sixth Year secretly studying Animagecraft in the hopes he’ll turn into something sufficiently imposing even the Dark Lord himself won’t be able to keep Draco under his thumb. But just his luck, his Animagus form turns out to be a dragon, and a rather randy juvenile at that, intent on finding its mate: one Harry James Potter.

#this post will interest maybe 3 anons but it was fun making it #drarry #harry x draco #hpdm #harry potter

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luveline · 9 months

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Omg Jade, I’ve been LOVING the asf resurgence ☺️☺️ It hits my heart in all the right ways!!

I was wondering if would please write something showing more of the burrow from asf? Would love to see Molly (alongside Fred ofc!) doting on the reader. Maybe she feels poorly during a gathering? Just an idea - no pressure ofc to respond or to go in this direction. Thank you either way!!! 😊

tysm for ur request!! sorry this took me a whole month ♡ fem!reader, 1.5k

cw mental health issues/ poor eating habits

The popcorn is greasy between your fingers. You look down at a slightly burned kernel without much feeling, giving it a squeeze to listen to the styro-foamy groan as it breaks.

The crumbs fall down the front of your hoodie. The mess is enough to make you feel something other than tired, blinking to attention while you pick tiny bits from your tummy.

Fred's hand reaches over to help. "Whoops," he says, flicking them off of the sofa onto the rug.

"Don't do that," you chastise without any heat, nudging his knee with yours. "Your poor mum will have to clean it up."

"No she won't."

"Are you going to hoover before we go?" you ask.

Fred puts his hand on your thigh for an unapologetic feel. "No. She'd be offended."

It's hard to describe how something as simple and as normal as Fred's hand on your leg can make you feel. Suddenly, you aren't alone in your head, feeling all sorts of awful. There's someone with you.

Fred often laments (with sympathy) that you live in the past. He's not wrong. There are things that haunt you without pulling punches, stuff that makes you feel sick even though you can't remember how it all went anymore. It's like your body has caught hold of the way you felt at the time and is now throwing you into the deep end, no warnings.

George takes the popcorn bowl from your lap, a lazy heist from his positioning on the floor. He, Ron, and Harry play a game of exploding snap that smells like no one's winning by your shoes.

Bill and Fleur sit on bean bags by the fire, their legs interlocked, and the baby (who isn't a baby anymore, actually, a brand new toddler) waddles around the room in footie pyjamas. Every time you see Victoire, you wonder if she's an easy baby, and if you'd be a good mom. If you're even capable.

Things tend to twist from there. Capable in any capacity? You're sure there are a hundred different things that Fred wants from you that he will never be able to have. A girlfriend who doesn't shut down when she's worried. A partner who pulls their weight. You let him down pretty much every day though he doesn't say, in your uselessness. You're awful. He deserves better than someone who's clinging to the bad things that happened to her (though you don't want to cling, you can't seem to make yourself stop).

Fred's hand abandons your thigh. He sits up in his seat on the sofa to wrap his arm behind your neck instead, encouraging your head under his. With the side of his chin pressed to your temple, he doesn't say a word.

Molly appears from the garden with a handful of fresh lemon balm. "Who wants a cup of tea?" she asks.

Her eyes flicker straight for you. Fred told you once that Harry used to be her favourite child. It confused you —family is much more than blood, but still, there's so many to choose from and they're all brilliant, so why Harry?

He was the one who needed the favouritism most, Fred says. Mum has a built-in pain detector. She knows when people need love.

"We'll have a cup of tea," Fred says, rubbing your shoulder.

"Obviously," Molly says, though what's obvious about it escapes you. "Anyone else?"

There's a chorus of requests, most of which you can't keep straight. Molly's brilliant, she doesn't miss a beat. "Lovely," she says with a smile.

"I'll come help you, mum," George says, using your legs as a brace to get up.

You kick him without force in the leg. He turns to you, shooting you an adoring, saccharine smile with hands at his chest curved into a heart shape.

"He's in a mood today," Fred says.

Your sleeves bunch under his hands with every upward swipe. You sit there for a while feeling off. Something is wrong, some pit sucking you in, but nothing's happened. It's been a while since you felt this suddenly sick —you're better than you were, but you aren't better.

"It's okay," Fred says, like he can read your mind. His reassurance kisses warm over your cheek. "Do you want to go home?"

He doesn't seem upset with you. If anything, he's chipper, like he'd love to go home with you. It's a charade for your benefit to erase the guilt that comes with yanking him out of family time, and you don't fall for it.

Yet you can't make yourself smile. You aren't as good of an actor as he is. "No," you mumble, pulling away from his loving embrace to meet his eyes.

He inches closer, hand sliding down your arm.

"I love you," he says very quietly. He's at risk of being heard by three different brothers, each of which might rip him to shreds for being as whipped as he sounds.

You don't not want to say it back. Sometimes it's hard. Fred isn't telling you for a parroting, anyhow, and he doesn't care when you fail to answer.

"Let's go help make tea," he says, standing up. You don't want to move, but you'd rather not stay by yourself. You've no choice but to follow him through the living room and into the kitchen.

"Hi, dearie," Molly says. You realise she's talking to you, not Fred. "You look like you need something to eat. I'll make you something sweet, how does that sound?"

It sounds like a bad idea. "That sounds great."

She nudges George off with his tray of tea to stand in front of you. "There's a good girl," she says, squeezing your elbow. "Fred says you're not eating, but you were fine at breakfast. Feeling better?"

"Mum," Fred says, sending you an apologetic look. "Sorry, I don't mean to gossip about you–"

"No, it's okay. It's nice, it's… a privilege to be worried about," you say, though you wish he wouldn't.

Molly shakes her head, ginger kinks swishing over her shoulders. "It's not a privilege, lovely. That's just what family does, mm? You worry about Freddie, he worries about you, and I'll worry about both of you."

"You don't have to worry about us, mum."

"I know. It's a privilege, though, to be the one worrying," Molly says, offering you a gentle smile.

"Right," you say.

"So stop pretending you're okay and have a seat. Freddie, you better go and get her one of your blankets, I think."

Fred grins and exits the kitchen quickly to avoid giving you time to protest. Ever a people pleaser, you sit down at the table in one of the chairs with a tall back. Molly puts down a cup of tea in front of you, swiftly followed by a plate of biscuits, a toasted, buttered currant scone, and a blueberry muffin sliced down the middle.

That's what gets you. The muffin cut in half, paper peeled away. Molly has no reason to like you; you make Fred happy, but you know you've made him so, so sad, sometimes. You've weighed him down. You're not the best he could've had, but his family don't care. He doesn't care. He loves you enough to breeze into the kitchen with a throw blanket, wrap it around your shoulders, and nestle a kiss behind your ear.

You scramble to grab his arms rather than let him stand again. He startles at first, but he recovers, and his arms curl around your front with enthusiasm that can't be faked.

"I love you," he murmurs. Words slid together like he's tipped them out, impossible to deny. "Try not to wind yourself up, alright? It's a normal day. The only people who matter are you and me, yeah?"

"Yeah," you say through a lump.

"I'll be just in the living room if you need me," Molly says.

"Thanks, mum," Fred says, perching his chin atop your head.

He waits for her to leave and plants a kiss on the highest point of your cheek. When you smile, he tracks them all over. Kiss to your head, your ear, the soft line of your jaw.

"Do you want to talk about something? Or should we think about other things?" he asks.

It's a strange, coddling way to ask if there's something in particular that's upset you, but it's nice to be coddled. Truthfully, there's nothing concrete that hurts. A little bit of everything. The world is busy and life is hard and people aren't always kind, and you'll always be unbalanced by that. Luckily, Fred's there to hold you up, together, whatever you need.

"Do you want half of my muffin?" you ask.

"I'm eyeing up your scone, honestly."

"You can have it if you want it."

Fred hugs you tightly. "And deprive you? No way. I'll settle for the muffin if you feed it to me," he says hopefully.

You twist in your chair, holding a bit of the muffin up for him to eat.

"I love you," you say. In a horror story, a nightmare, your nearly constant thoughts, he scoffs in your face.

Fred swallows roughly. "I know. S'why you're gonna let me have half the scone, too."

It's awfully cheesy, but you'd give him much more than a scone. You'd give him anything he asked you to give.

"Greedy," you say.

"I resent that, ghost."

#fred weasley #fred weasley x reader #a special friend universe

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improvisedkatastrophe · 2 months

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Sneak peeks of the rest of Whumptober and Sicktember if anyone’s interested…

Whumptober:

#28–bloody knife, “You’ll have to go through me.”

Couple of idiots decide to try and mug Iceman on his way home one evening. He gives as good as he can but when he realizes they have knives he decides to bow out. No one told Maverick that plan.

#29–scented candle

There’s a reason Jake despises lemons and yellow things. Not one he remembers outright most of the time, but something ingrained deep within him. Unfortunately he remembers all too well when he comes home to his and Brad’s place one evening.

#30– borrowed clothing

Little snippets throughout time where Mav ends up wearing somebody else’s clothes. Usually because of some misfortune happening.

#31– “Take it easy”

Volleyball game ends up a little topsy turvy when Ice overheats. The flyboys step up to take care of the usually cool pilot and get a better understanding of one another.

Sicktember:

#27– Uncooperative patient

Ice isn’t very good at taking it easy and his latest bout of illness is proving that. Maverick can’t figure out what to do, until Baby B gets sick too. Then the answer is clear.

#28–“I should have stayed home.”

Slicemav— Ron has been fighting a migraine off and on for a day or so as he made his way back from deployment. He thinks it’s all over but then when he gets up on his first day home, a day Bradley has begged him to go to an event on, he thinks he’ll be just fine. He’s wrong.

#29— Adverse Reactions

A dagger day at the beach ends up with some of them encountering Jellies. One of the Daggers has a surprising response to the encounter and gets some much needed TLC

#30—Alt. Forehead kisses

Carole teaches Ice that forehead kisses are a great way to check for a fever, and then the many many times he uses this new skill on his husband, their son, and more.

#pete maverick mitchell #top gun #icemav #tom iceman kazansky #top gun fanfiction #maverick #hangster #top gun 1986 #whumptober #Sicktember

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i-might-be-a-simp · 10 months

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I need your opinion, do you think Ron knew that Cale was no longer the same person?

I was stalking the fandom (as usual) and I saw a comment, by who I assume to be a new reader, wondering how Ron would react finding out Cale was actually KRS, that the child he watched grow wasn't actually the man he believes and it made me think a bit.

When I read tcf the first time, one of the things I was most curious about was all the odd looks Cale got in the first few chapters, and my biggest question was, surely a very sharp and experienced assassin who knew the know-hows of blending into different crowds would have immediately noticed that "Young master" was no longer the same person.

I'm sure you caught this too when reading, but there were many moments when Ron's expression turned odd after Cale did or said something.

Ron the whole first chapter:

It starts by something he dismisses, such as Cale waking up immediately after Ron calls out to him, on the very first attempt. But as the chapter progresses, Ron gets more and more intrigued.

He notices how Cale says thanks after he receives water and when servants dress him. Along with his other odd actions, asking the date, repeating his own name, asking to go to the study, not breaking things etc.

And then finally, Ron gives him the ultimate test, the lemon tea. I think this was his way of confirming that Cale had changed. It proved to me Ron was definitely onto something.

Now this is where I need your opinion. From my interpretation of Ron's character, yes he "loved" ogCale or held at least a bit of affection for him. Let me pull up some receipts:

^(sorry for light mode)

Although Ron treated him like his grandson he did not think Cale had a soft spot for him nor that he treated him like a person and never really took much interest in him aside from his duties.

And while I was doing a deep-dive I went on the wiki and saw this.

So Ron saw ogCale, his situation and therefore pitied him, yet he thought of him as a helpless impertinent puppy, which is why he did not have much issue with following Beacrox who wished to leave with Choi Han in BOAH. But only after Cale changed is when he begin to be interested.

Now the question is, was the lemon tea experiment he did, just to test whether Cale had become aware of Ron's true identity, or was it to confirm Cale was a changed person entirely???

Personally I think it was both, and that Ron was aware from the very beginning. However this is where I am conflicted, because the idea of Ron watching that small boy become so big and smart is so satisfying to me, because the author wanted to paint this as a "cale finally stopped pretending to be a dumb oblivious trash and started to take matters into his hand" like it was all a plan cale had to hide his powers and get stronger in secret while acting unsuspecting. This is what the public believes and it sounds very cool but... hmm I wish we got a chapter focusing more on Ron's feelings.

Like I am aware he loves Cale very much and especially after getting the new arm he started to feel a sense of loyalty for Cale he didn't have before but the fact that he was one of the few people og Cale was very close with since he was very young, the fact that a whole new person was in the body is kind of not addressed in its full concept, this transition from no interest to loyalty was also a transition from og cale to krs cale so I wish we got more on it.

Thanks for reading my ramble. I love them.

#trash of the count's family #tcf #cale henituse #lcf #lout of count’s family #ron molan

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sailforvalinor · 5 months

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Tagged by @saxifrage-wreath to do this tag game—thanks for the tag!

1. Three non-romantic duos: Ten and Donna Noble (Doctor Who), Harry Potter and Ron Weasley (Harry Potter), and Christopher Rowe and Tom Bailey (The Blackthorn Key)

2. A ship that might surprise others: Harry Potter x Luna Lovegood. Objectively there’s nothing wrong with Harry and Ginny, I just don’t find it all that compelling. And wouldn’t it be cute?? Wouldn’t it???

3. Last song: Autumn Sweater by Yo La Tengo

4. Last Film: Oh dear, I think it was Wild Mountain Thyme. I had a fever and I’d never been more confused in my life.

5. Currently reading: The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes by Susanne Collins, The Blackthorn Key by Kevin Sands (reread), Sense and Sensibility (reread)

6. Currently watching: Bia, Endeavour, rewatching NuWho season 3 with my roommate, Friends, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood (albeit, very slowly), and I’m attempting to watch the X-Files. There’s also a k-drama or two that I’ve been in the middle of for a WHILE that I need to finish.

7. Currently consuming: Lemon Coke (I shouldn’t be, I’m about to go to bed)

8. Currently craving: Creativity, motivation, a back rub from my mom 😂

Gently tagging @o-lei-o-lai-o-lord @kanerallels @accidental-spice @novelmonger @rainintheevening @valiantarcher @braveheartstoryteller @faeriefully @the-tiny-dragons-tea-room

#thanks for the tag!!!

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gretavanlace · 1 year

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Poppins (part 3)

Jake Kiszka x reader

18+ only! Minors do not interact!

Warnings: language, angst, dirty talk, fingering (fem rec) umm, I think that’s about it…for now

A week later, after a beer with Josh on the porch in the dark that should’ve felt more awkward than it did, you find yourself at Karen and Kelly’s, enjoying a get together. A last laugh before Jake heads back out on whatever road he plans on wandering down next.

You’ll miss him painfully, though you’d rather die than readily admit it.

You’ve ducked away to slip into the bathroom, but instead, have landed in Jake and Josh’s childhood bedroom.

It’s a cluttered mess, but it draws you in…a curious moth to a time capsule flame. Standing silently, shoes sinking into the carpet, a thought crosses your mind…I could stay here forever. In this little room that was once their world. Forever.

Thoughts like these come far too often. They make you uneasy…it’s as if they occupy your heart equally, and that makes no sense.

A voice, quiet and inquisitive, invades your reverie “Lost, poppins?”

Jake. Of course he would find you. Josh leaves well enough alone. Jake doesn’t care for being left behind, no matter how trivial the circumstances.

He meanders through the room silently as you soak in your surroundings. Band and movie posters litter the walls, corners sagging lazily over the thumbtacks pinning them in place. Gold plated trophies bearing faceless figures kicking soccer balls scatter across shelves and dressers, an old pair of converse wait patiently in the corner, never to be worn again. They make you feel sad for some inexplicable reason.

The space smells of lemon pledge and them. They’re so alike that way…the way they smell. It makes you wonder, is that just because they’re brothers? Raised together under the same roof, slumbering beneath the same ceiling night after night, scraping their dinner plates clean of matching meals, trudging identically across the lawn each morning to catch the school bus? growing and changing together? Together, together, together…always together? Or more so because they’re twins…split from one egg, nestled, tangled up tight in the womb, until their mother labored them into the harsh light of the world?

You look right, and you’re surrounded by Josh. Left, Jake. Perhaps if you spun in circles long enough, they might merge into one…wouldn’t that solve all of your problems?

“It’s like a shrine.” You murmur, wonderstruck by the way their parents have left the room intact and untouched aside from Karen’s dusting and swapping clean linens for their counterparts to keep them fresh.

“Yeah, well, we’re the twins. The beloved gruesome twosome.” Jake is only teasing, but he’s right. “They turned Ron’s room into a gym almost right away. My mother thought she needed one one night after too many daiquiris. It’s Costco storage now.”

He’s perched on what you assume was once his bed, a prince returned to the throne of his kingdom. You switch your focus from the various objects dotting the shelves, to his flawless face, and find him watching you carefully.

“I like having you in here.” He muses softly. “Makes me feel like I’m young again.”

You fight a smile, but it comes anyway. “You’re still young, Jake.”

He leans back with his elbows digging into an ancient quilt, legs splayed wide. “Makes me feel like I’m really young though. Like I’m back in high school with a pretty girl in my room who won’t sit down because she’s nervous I might try and put my hand up her skirt.”

Leaning back against a desk you assume to be Josh’s (Jake, having never been studious from the stories you’ve heard) you attempt to adopt his casual air. “My guess is that Josh had more girls in this room than you ever did. Theater girls are crazy…or so I’ve been told.”

He laughs loudly, head tipped back to expose the perfect column of his throat. When he refocuses on your face, the look in his eyes nearly steals your breath. It’s beautiful, and predatory. “So you’ve been told, or do you know that first hand?”

“Are you asking if I was a crazy theater girl,” You feign confusion “Or if I’ve let theater girls go crazy on me?”

He hums as if amused, “I know what you’re doing.”

Running from the room seems like an excellent plan. Instead, you stay in place, gaze lingering everywhere but upon him. “And what am I doing, Jake? Because I just happened to find my way in here, you’re the one who…”

“You’re avoiding me.” He interrupts.

“Avoiding you?” You scoff, stunned by how far off it is from what you had expected him to say. “We’re in the same room, bud…I’m failing to see how…”

“You always do this,” he has risen gracefully to his feet, closing in on you step by step. “You push me away with stupid jokes, or flippant comments…and I know why. Do you?”

“Do I what?” You whisper as he nears.

“Do you know why you do that?” He’s in front of you now, so close you feel warm in his radiant heat.

A small shake of your head is your offering, cornered like a quivering rodent with a sleek, ravenous, alley cat bearing down upon it.

“It’s because you want me,” he moves nearer, hands circling your waist as though he owns your body…and perhaps he does. “Maybe not as badly as I want you, but you want me. Tell me you don’t.”

“Jake…”

His grip tightens. “Go on. Tell me.”

The silence is deafening, until he breaks it softly. “Stop. That’s all you have to say.”

“Stop.” It hushes out of you, hardly a whisper, but he releases you and steps away as if you’ve shouted.

A quiet apology is offered, but you shake your head. He wasn’t wrong, and he needn’t be sorry.

“So, who is this?” You ask, scrambling to return to innocent ground. “Her face is everywhere.”

You scan the snapshots littering the wall, waiting for his reply. It doesn’t come, so you offer an apology of your own.

“No, you’re good.” He assures, brushing off his silence for something less than it feels like it was. “Just someone who used to matter.”

“Pretty.”

“Yeah.” He grins, gaze flitting over your features. “I have a type, I suppose.”

“Did you love her?” The question comes from nowhere, and you long to take it back. What business is it of yours?

“Yes.”

“Did the road drag you away, free bird?” You joke, hiding your unease with his candor as you settle down on the bed opposite his. Josh’s bed.

“No.” He sounds offhanded, but the moment feels heavier. “My brother fucked her. He was drunk and she was somethin’ else, and I couldn’t blame him.”

“So you blamed her.” You ask, after a stretch of shocked silence.

“So I blamed her.” He confirms with a gentle nod of his head.

“I’m sorry.” It comes as a whisper. You feel badly for him, and worse for bringing her up, for causing the dull flash of pain in his eyes.

He shakes it off as quickly as it came. “I’m not. Better to see the truth of someone’s heart before they get their hands on yours.”

“That explains the girl in every port.” You ponder aloud, mostly to yourself.

The aged mattress creaks under his weight as he sinks down beside you. “A girl in every port?” His fingers begin toying tenderly with your own. “That sounds suspiciously like Josh. Did he put that idea in your pretty head?”

“Is it not the truth?” You wrap your fingers up with his, though it’s the last thing you should do.

“He tells you those things because he knows there’s something here.” He points to you, and then to himself. “He’s in love with you. Can’t say I can fault him for that.”

Though stunned, in love with you?, you march right by it like it hasn’t been said. “Doesn’t automatically make it a lie. Is it? True, I mean? Girl in every port?”

“I like sex, poppins.” He shrugs casually, like he’s just confessed his favorite flavor of ice cream. “So, I indulge as often as possible…that’s all.”

“Well,” you pull your hand away as if stung. “I’m not an indulgence, Jake.”

“Ah,” the sexiest of smiles graces his sinful mouth. “That’s where you’re wrong, babe. You’re the sweetest indulgence of all. You’d be like grapes, warmed under the sun, ready to burst on the tongue, fed by angels.”

He’s close now…so fucking close. Leaned in, stealing all the air from the room while humming poetic nonsense into your ear, breath tickling along your throat as his lips tease, barely there and feathering over your thrumming jugular.

“What if I stand up and close the door? Turn the lock and spread these gorgeous legs? Will you feed it to me?”

“Jake…” You loathe the way it moans softly out of you, but it’s too late to right that wrong.

“Oh, that was nice, poppins…” his teeth have found your earlobe, drawing forth a shiver you can’t conceal. “Say my name like that one more time for me, all soft and sweet. You sound like you’re begging.”

Now those nimble fingers of his are popping the buttons on the fly of your jeans one by one, allowing for the protest you can’t seem to muster.

“Jake, everyone’s downstairs and…”

“We’ll hear them.” He promises quietly, nuzzling at your temple as his mouth kisses the apple of your cheek sweetly. “Are you wet? Have you soaked through your little panties? Trembling for my fingers, or my mouth, or my cock?”

You're lost now. Completely…and you couldn’t give less of a shit if you actively tried. And, when his hand slips inside your panties, you forget to stifle the moan of surprised relief that gasps out of you.

“Yeah?” He teases, circling the pads of his fingers over your wet clit delicately. “Does that feel good?”

Hands in his tangled hair, you turn in close, lips resting against his mouth, breathing in his ragged breaths. “Jake, please…”

“Please what?” He coaxes, still loving on your cunt like he’s never been more devoted to anything in his life.

“I…” he chooses that exact moment to bury a finger inside you, huffing a breath of a laugh when you lurch forward, further into his arms. “Fuck…more.”

“Poppins wants more…” he sighs, slipping a second finger in to join the first.

He curls into that special little place that makes your muscles turn weak just as the sound of footsteps begin to ascend the stairs.

Moving to push him away, he tugs you in tighter, “It’s him, can’t you tell by the walk? Let him see. You’re mine. C’mon, let him see.”

“Oh my god, Jake…stop!” you shove at him again and he backs off.

Josh appears in the doorway seconds after you’ve finished yanking your shirt down to cover the buttons you haven’t had time to fasten. Jake looks casual, running his still slick fingers over his lips, but you’re flushed with shame and adrenaline.

“Mom’s looking for you.” He informs his twin with a hard edge to his tone. “Says you promised to man the grill.”

“That I did, brother…” Jake rises, taking no concern to hide his very obvious erection as he ambles out of the room. “That I did.”

Josh waits until you’re alone in the suffocating quiet.

“Interrupted again,” he tilts his head with a somber, inquisitive stare. “I seem to be making a habit of this.”

“No,” you reach out to smooth his curls, but then retreat, worried he might smell his other half all over you. “We were just…”

“Please don’t lie to me, sweetheart.” He manages a sorrowful smile. “That makes this so much worse.”

You're left with that, in a room surrounded by the relics of the boys they once were, with a heart stuffed full of the men they have become.

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wellpresseddaisy · 10 months

Text

Not quite sure what this is or if it'll go anywhere, but Ron kind of delighted me as a narrator.

Dread pooled in Ron’s gut when the Goblet of Fire lit for a fourth time.

Just like his dream last night, the one he’d laughed off while cleaning his teeth that very morning.

“Harry Potter.” The headmaster read Harry’s name off the little slip of paper belched from the Goblet.

Harry froze next to him, paling slowly as the enormity of the situation sunk in. Hermione squeaked, grabbing Harry’s hand tight.

“Harry Potter, please join the other champions.” Dumbledore sounded rather put about to have to remind him.

Harry lurched to his feet, breath coming in short bursts, and stumbled toward the front of the Hall. Ron bit his lip and thought furiously for a moment. Harry hadn’t a clue how anything in the magical world worked, of that he was certain. He’d be railroaded without someone looking out for his interests. Without considering anything further, Ron stood and strode after his friend. He knew Harry hadn’t put his name in (knew Harry would’ve involved him if he did). Knew just how much Harry wanted to avoid the whole circus of the TriWiz.

Merlin’s pants, Harry didn’t even like being called on in class and people thought he’d want to participate in something that would get him that much attention?

Harry didn’t even know his True Name, in any case. He couldn’t — he wasn’t of age and his parents couldn’t have let it slip early.

“Ron…what?” Harry squeaked as they passed by a glaring Snape.

“You aren’t going in there without someone to represent you.” Ron muttered back. “It’ll be alright, you’ll see. Just follow my lead.”

And if he just pretended he knew what to do or say, well, no one else needed to know. He rather wished he’d thought to drag Hermione along, but there were limits as to what school officials (and the Ministry people) might put up with. Certainly they wouldn’t countenance being interrogated by Hermione.

And she would interrogate them. Brilliant, she was. He just had to hope he could pull this off without Hermione. He and Harry walked into the antechamber and shut the door. Everyone already there stared at them for a moment.

“Have we been called back into the Great Hall, Weasley?” Diggory asked.

“Er, no.” Ron swallowed, elbowing Harry before he could speak. “There’s been a bit of a mix-up and Harry’s name came out of the Goblet after everyone else was chosen.”

Once, when he was tiny, Ron had dreamed of making a sensation. It wasn’t all it was cracked up to be, honestly. Couldn’t adult magicals keep their heads about anything? Shocking bad form from all of them. They were so deep in their panic and indignation that no one else noticed Dumbledore, Snape, and McGonagall entering the room or Harry scooting slightly behind Ron. Crouch, in particular, looked as if he’d sucked on a lemon. He'd probably counted on everything going smoothly while working Perce half to death. Bagman beamed generally at the group, seemingly excited by the furor, and Ron rethought his career plans. Aurors tended toward head injuries as well, didn’t they?

He used his greater height and breadth to shield his friend from the accusations. As usual, Mum was right. Sprouting up and broadening out certainly helped keep Harry from everyone else’s nonsense.

Percy goggled at the pair of them from across the room but kept shtum. Ron had never appreciated his brother more in that moment.

“Harry, did you put your name in the Goblet of Fire?” Dumbledore asked quietly from behind him.

At least someone wasn’t hurling vile accusations at a fourteen-year-old. Ron made sure to remember everyone else’s names for Hermione’s list.

“No, sir. I didn’t want any part of it.” Harry answered just as quietly.

Snape snorted at that, but Ron expected that sort of thing from him. Couldn’t see past the end of his prejudice against Potters, that one.

“Could someone have put his name in, sir?” Ron cut in. “I can vouch for Harry not putting his in himself. I expect most of Gryffindor can.”

“Tell me, Mr. Weasley, what are you doing here? I believe Mr. Potter was requested. Alone.” Crouch’s voice gained an icy edge Ron never wanted to hear again. But then, he did hate Weasleys.

Possibly also gingers in general, since mum had contributed to his sacking as head of the DMLE, but chucking dad into Azkaban without checking for curses first wasn’t his brightest move. Certainly he should have expected a daughter of House Prewett to raise hell over that one.

Dumbledore looked positively delighted by the turn of events. Ron couldn’t figure out why, other than maybe he didn’t much care for Crouch, either.

Or he liked a good scene. Given some of the things Ron heard from his parents (the Alchemy Shed Incident most recently), Dumbledore probably just liked a good show. Alchemists, on the whole, were mad as a bag of badgers.

“I’m his representative.” Ron explained, booting Harry in the ankle before he could say anything daft. He adored his best friend, but Harry had no grasp of a really good bluff. “After second year and all that business with Lockhart we made a handshake agreement that I would represent him in matters pertaining to the magical world, seeing as whoever is supposed to be his Magical Guardian has not done their job properly, his general guardians being non-magicals.”

Harry nodded in the right places and let him speak.

The headmaster winced a bit, which Ron thought strange. On the other hand, he got to see Snape go from glaring to looking as if he’d swallowed one of Dumbledore’s lemon drops whole. Strange that, he’d always thought Snape only had the one facial expression.

“Mr. Potter has obviously subverted Ministry decrees on the age of competitors and will be held to account. And you, Mr. Weasley, will have to leave.” Crouch seethed. Clearly he’d listened too much to the other school heads while Dumbledore questioned Harry.

Ron found himself agreeing with his mother’s view of Crouch as a Ministry official.

“Er, sir, according to Hogwarts, A History, my brother and Potter are not in contravention of any school or Ministry rules. In fact, this sort of arrangement is recommended.” Percy whispered frantically, only to be waved off.

“On further thought, sir, I think we’d best see if someone from the DMLE could Floo in. They’ll know what to look for with the Goblet. I’d suggest my mum, but she deals more in country matters.” Maybe it was dangerous ignoring Crouch like that, but Ron had nothing to say to that wanker.

Diggory had the temerity to snort something a bit rude about his mum. Ron drew himself up to his full height and skewered the older boy with a Look.

(He’d learnt that one from Hermione.)

“My mother, Diggory, is a certified law witch and Guardian at the Gate, which I should think you would remember considering all the help she gave your father in that matter with his pigs.”

Diggory shut up, showing at least some sense.

“Be that as it may, Mr. Weasley, I don’t know that we need to get the DMLE involved. The Ministry in general—”

“Actually, sir, I think that’s a splendid idea.” Percy broke in on Crouch, looking pale but determined “Mr. Potter may have been entered into a binding contract against his will. Given the history of the Tournament, this could be seen as an attempt on his life.” Percy somehow worked his way across the room as he spoke, ending up behind Harry. “I’m sure the Ministry wants everything done properly.”

Percy might have been pompous and a bit of a git, Ron thought, but he showed his Weasley colors there. Though Ron hoped he wouldn’t get the sack for it. Crouch looked ready to spit glass.

“Well said, both of you.” Dumbledore eased his way between them and Crouch. “While I would gladly stand in to represent Mr. Potter, I fear it could be seen as a conflict of interest. A third party is precisely what we need.”

Ron stifled a triumphant smirk and watched as Dumbledore set the fire in the room to allow Floo access. In just a few moments, a red-robed Auror walked through the flames. She seemed distinctly unimpressed by everyone. Ron liked her immediately.

#hp society/the ton #hp the season au #hp the season/the ton au #harry potter #ron weasley

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writtenbywings · 9 months

Text

Battle Scars

Pairing: Hermione Granger x Draco Malfoy

Summary: Returning to Hogwarts as a professor, Hermione bitterly encounters Draco Malfoy as the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, throwing everything into chaos.

Hatred and lust slowly begins to burn between them, though only as they recall their final, secret year at Hogwarts.

Chapter word count: 2.8k

AO3 Link: Click Here

Fanfiction Link: Click Here

Type: Lemony, lemon, lemon---ade. Smutty lemonade.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Year 7 Flashback

Excuses are what we need to get through life. Tiny little pockets of gold that free us from the tormenting thoughts that keep us up at night. I wouldn't know where I'd be without excuses, without the ability to rectify my decisions, my actions, with lying reason.

And I had lied all week, keeping my experience with Draco Malfoy in Slytherin Tower a secret, even to my two truest friends. Perhaps because it felt good to keep something just for myself, or maybe because they would look at me with a different set of eyes if they knew I had allowed him in… penetrating my protective bubble.

Draco had redeemed himself to somewhat of a degree in Harry's eyes, especially after he had fought with us, opposed to against us, when we battled Voldemort. Though Ron was unshaken. His brother had been killed. His family had been torn apart. And blood was harder to wash off of a conscience than a few bad memories.

Harry would have understood with less hatred.

Ron would have just hated, and hated… and hated some more.

Alas, Ginny could tell something was different. She noticed me flushing in the face whenever a seventh year came passed, dressed in emerald robes. Though I hadn't said much, other than that I felt a little sick and shaky, and maybe the nerves of my unfinished homework was weighing too close to home.

As Thursday came around, six days after our secret meeting, I saw Malfoy standing in the courtyard, talking to Isobel Wretching. She was a pretty girl with blonde hair and fluttery, doe-eyes. A student who would have been better suited for Hufflepuff, opposed to Slytherin. Though it was her fathers affiliation with the dark arts that caused the sorting hat to take an unexpected turn, and one that saw a brief relationship with Draco, in question.

I saw him smirk, the bruising on his face now alleviated entirely. He wore his shirt sleeves down during the day, not wanting to show off that Death Eater mark. Though Isobel was reaching over, playing with his hand.

The image I'd been keeping of him in my head burned to nothing, and I walked past with a vigor that rustled a small wind, alerting him as I went.

Really, what was I expecting? I didn't want us to be friends outside of our arrangement, though I didn't expected to be toyed with. I was Hermione Granger, not some common room slut. If his… areas… were touching other… areas… I didn't want them near mine!

I thought of myself as a virgin, if not for the few times with Ronald.

Though I doubt they could be considered as sex, as they included no passion, no romance, no touching of the explicit kind. It was just a romp on his bed after quidditch practice, and then another time at The Burrow, when I'd been wearing a little dress and we'd let the mood take us. But still, I'd never… orgasmed. He did. But I had just rocked about on the bed for the best part of ten minutes.

If I ever had experienced a climax in life – not involving the happiness I got from a new book – it would have been in private, with one of those vibrating wands from Va-Va-Broom. And I'd never expect Draco Malfoy to be able to deliver anything other than selfishness, so what was I expecting? A bit of loyalty… from the man who nearly killed Dumbledore?

My thoughts continued to hiss like a hot kettle, and continued well into even the night.

Friday morning came, and Draco didn't so much as glance my way in The Great Hall. I shamefully tried to steal a glance, one that would confirm I hadn't made up everything in my head, though as Isobel Wretching flaunted herself over his lap, feeding him a grape from the bouquet on the table, I stood and marched across the room.

I'd been played. A fool.

It was the one day I performed poorly in Potions class, and messed up an entire batch of Sickleweed Milk. A little elixir meant to cure Fizzlebumps. The cauldron exploded and one of the Ravenclaw girls had to go to the hospital wing, riddled with pimples.

I'd been given another free pass, and sent to Hagrid's for the afternoon, to help tend to a few of the magical creatures kept near his hut. I said nothing, letting him prattle on about his dealings in Scotland, and picked the feathers of a pheasant to feed to three untamed creatures. The professors were essentially letting me off every bad mistake I came to make, and for what… because I helped save the school? Or because they knew I was traumatized?

I was beginning to feel like a victim, and not the girl who could cast without a wand.

"I'm going to bed early." I told Hagrid, just as the sky began to darken. He bid me farewell, and watched as I climbed the steps to the castle, not even bothering to have dinner in the Great Hall. In my dormitory, I had a few leftover boxes of chicken pastries, quickly heating one with a spell that cooked it well, tucking into it between a soapy shower and getting my bag ready for the weekend.

I was meant to be visiting mum and dad in London, after the ministry reversed my memory spell on them. It would take a few more sessions to regain their full memory of me, though they were getting better with every visit.

Dad remembered my birthday a few weeks ago, and mum had managed to cook my favorite dinner. Small steps, though big with this kind of magic.

I paced the length of my room, searching for my dress robes, when I remembered I had left my witch's hat and cape in the common room, by the fireplace.

Lord have mercy.

I glanced at the clock and saw it was just after seven o'clock, and that most of the students would be having dessert by now. The girl's dormitory was empty, and I would have a chance to sneak and grab it, after my shower.

Still, I wanted to be careful.

I exchanged that fluffy, white towel for my pleated skirt and white button up shirt, not bothering with tights or a bralette. Though I did take a minute to slip into my knickers.

I crept downstairs, snatched up the bundle of black fabric strewn over the armchair, and ran back up within the matter of sixty seconds.

Clearly, it wasn't enough time.

As I bolted the door, wanting to change before the girls had chance to return, I saw the window ajar– the light breeze rustling the papers on Ikera's writing desk. Her owl fluttered in its cage, and made the wet ends of my hair brush icily against my breasts. I ran over and went to clasp it shut, though as I did, I saw a figure lounging on one of the beds.

It was Draco.

"What the hell are you doing in here? These are forbidden quarters to a Slytherin, let alone a boy!" I yelled, reaching for that towel to cover my chest. I was suddenly aware of how hard my nipples were.

Draco had an arm tucked casually behind his head, dressed in a white shirt similar to mine, the buttons loosely fastened. His emerald tie amiss.

"I knew you would back out of our arrangement, and I wanted to come remind you of what we agreed on." He said, playing with a smirk the way he had played with me last Friday.

"You're right." I spat. "I wasn't going to meet you, after I'd seen it was nothing but a cruel joke to you. I couldn't be bothered with your games."

At this, he sat up, bridging toward the edge of Ashley Wellings bed. Her teddy bear looking skeptical beside his hand as it tightened into the mattress.

"This isn't a game to me, Hermione."

Again, the use of my name felt like a slap, and I'd almost prefer him to use the insult. Mudblood. At least I could expect it.

"Friday night. I'm your distraction. We keep to the plan as follows."

"I don't want you to be my anything if you're going to be sleeping around. I don't know what diseases you'll be collecting."

He almost grinned, almost– if it wasn't for the seriousness he read in my glare.

"I'm not shagging Isobel Wretching. I'm not shagging anyone."

My breathing stilled, and I didn't know whether to believe him. What good would he have in lying? I would find out eventually… women always found out. Though with the way he now stood from the bed, sauntering over, narrowing the space between us, I allowed myself to believe him. If not to keep him right here, standing in front of me, but because I did, truly – honestly, really – feel distracted for the first time.

"The door is locked." I managed to say, just a whisper.

It was my way of saying I agreed, I consented.

His eyes didn't leave mine, but he nodded very slowly.

"My hair is too wet… to go to the tower." I followed on, as his eyes dragged down my tendrils of wet curls, my chest as it was still disguised beneath that towel.

"And… although me and Ron have partaken in things in the past, I really don't—"

"Drop the towel." He said, cutting me off.

I swallowed loudly, unable to move my gaze from his very serious, blue one. My fingers unlocked from their hold, and the towel fell as a bundle of white to the floor, revealing my crinkled white skirt, and the alert pinch of my pink nipples, visible now as the damp from my hair made the material transparent. He reached down and unclasped the first few buttons, my breasts – that had gotten so much more fuller in the past year – falling out, making me gasp as a wind tousled through the open window.

He had climbed the wisteria on the outskirts of the building, all to come up and here and see me. He wasn't playing any games. Not when his pride was so obviously dropped.

The Malfoy name coincided with pride.

He circled back to Ashley Wellings bed, and sat himself back on its edge, crooking a finger and beckoning me forward. A bright and immediate blush rose to my cheeks as I sauntered forward, my breasts bouncing as I did.

He held up a hand and I stopped.

No better than a dog.

An owl.

"Are you wearing anything under that skirt?"

"Yes."

"Good."

In a sudden twist of movement, he clambered his hands around my back and pulled me into his lap, causing me to gasp. I resisted the urge to squeal– I was not that girl. Though I could only swallow the saliva as it pooled in my mouth, watching as he laid himself onto the mattress, staring at me and my perky, upright breasts, in my school uniform.

With two, great hands he planted them on my rear and pushed me with such force, I slid up his body and stopped with my wet, slick underwear rubbing along his face. I jerked forward as his nose rubbed into my clit, and grabbed the bannister of the bed, lifting myself from his face with apology.

Though no, this is what he wanted.

"Sit back down." He ordered, in a voice that was as wilful as magic.

I felt obliged, if not under a spell, to do as he commanded.

With a tear, I felt his hands pull the cotton of my panties free, throwing the shredded material to a discarded corner of the room. Then, he perched me willingly onto his mouth, and with the most pained cry I'd ever released, I shivered dramatically as he began licking my folds.

The pleasure shocked me so much, I lifted up again, though Draco wasn't having any of that. He forced me back down with his hands, now holding my waist and hips like a seatbelt, making my tits thrust upwards as I bucked and grinded, unable to stand it.

"Oh my god… oh my god… Oh, god… Oh my… Oh." I whispered feverishly, biting my fingers, then grabbing the bed, then grabbing at his white wisps of hair between my thighs, then back again to my mouth to chew. I felt it deep within my stomach as tension built, his tongue slithering from my pussy hole, up my clit, and back again. Wagging like a dog's tail, flicking that bundle of nerves that hadn't been teased by anything other than my small hand, or that vibrating wand.

Though this wasn't a wand… this wasn't skin… this was wet, slithering skill. This was an ice cream in the boiling heat, a puddle on dry pavement– a forbidden lust, making it only tastier. The noise he released made me wonder if he could breathe, as I'd gotten so slick so quickly, it must now be soaking his face, his nose, his jaw. Though I didn't care– selfishly, all I could see, feel, hear and breathe was the aching, unconventional desire to cum.

I needed it so much, I began sliding my cunt against his face, grinding against his nose as if it were a bump in the road– feeling the breeze as it came from the window and ruffled the end of my skirt, exposing my rear. As if he knew, he let go of my waist entirely, and planted his hands like two dinner plates against my ass, squeezing and slapping, knowing I wouldn't leave now even if I had the capability.

I'd never leave.

I never wanted this feeling to leave.

And then, suddenly, there was pain.

Pain that cut through the pain, but somehow, only intensified it. Brought it to a new level that brought tears to my eyes, causing me to open them and stare ahead, shocked.

His thumb had made its way into that sacred little hole between my ass cheeks, degrading what I thought I knew myself to be. I wasn't as pure and white as the others had made me out to be, I wouldn't be the wife to endure one sex position in bed for the rest of my life.

I was a creature who enjoyed every morsel of humiliation when it came from the hands of my enemy. I was a mudblood. I was whatever he wanted to be, so long as he didn't stop.

I found myself backing my rear into his hand, hissing as his thumb twisted, corrupting what was left of Little Miss Granger.

The downstairs door clicked to the common room, and I could hear the girls giggling from dinner. Talking, though not quite coming up yet.

Please, I would kill them if they so much as came near this door. I needed to finish. I needed to climax. I needed to release the tension building so quickly, so fast.

"I'm close." I whimpered, which didn't change his rhythm.

I didn't want him to. His tongue was moving so perfectly already. It didn't need to accelerate or so down.

One of his hands slipped from my pert buttocks, though not the one penetrating my hole, and it pushed the skirt down from his face, revealing his blue eyes. I couldn't look at him! No, I couldn't… I couldn't come to terms with the fact it was Draco Malfoy about to get me so far, and it was Draco Malfoy with his tongue buried deep into my cunt.

I threw my head back, feeling that hand now on my breast, pulling my nipple so hard I thought it might pinch off. He devoured me like a machine, with a bit of him– other than his cock– everywhere. And he watched with the lowest, predatory growl, as I overcame the hurdle and came.

I reached forward and grabbed Ashley's teddy bear, stuffing it into my mouth and biting down hard, knowing whatever scream left my mouth would alert everyone downstairs. My stomach clenched in as I shook and trembled, tightening my asshole around his thumb, releasing my juices in hot, sweaty relief.

I couldn't remember saying his name, though the long, whiny, drawn out word 'fuck' came as a mewl, softer than any kitten. Like a doll, I collapsed senselessly to his side, quivering only slightly.

I could see his cock was rock hard within his trousers, and his face was a shiny mess.

The scent of my arousal was everywhere.

I could hardly breathe.

"Unforgivable." He said, swallowing what I could only imagine was more of me.

"Hmm?" I barely mumbled, still panting.

"The word we're using whenever we need this. No questions asked."

"Unforgivable." I said, a little drunk on ecstasy.

"Good girl."

#fanfiction #draco malfoy #dramione #hermione granger #hermione x draco #draco fanfiction #draco x hermione #dracotok #draco malfoy fanfiction #hermione fanfiction #hp fanfic #hogwarts #hp fandom

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theonceandfuturequeenoftarts · 10 days

Text

Author's note: This lemon-drenched snippet is not for minors nor the good of taste. It's cursed. This is your first warning. The second is the "Read more" cut. After that, you are on your own and any bad decisions are your own <3 Check the tags for more info. Enjoy~

It’s just his luck.

He’d been separated from Ron, Hermione, and Dobby just as the house elf’s magic transported them away from Malfoy Manor, leaving Harry there. Alone. Surrounded by Death Eaters. Well, Bellatrix and three less-than-enthusiastic Malfoys, but the odds still weren’t in Harry’s favour.

So he’d used Malfoy’s wand to blow up a wall with a well-placed bombarda and ran the fuck away in the ensuing chaos. His ears are still ringing from Bellatrix’s demented screeching.

And he has yet to be found – his scar feels like hot oil is being poured into it with how irate Voldemort is with the incompetence of his followers because of this fact. The issue is that Harry couldn’t give anyone directions to find him, either. Malfoy Manor may as well be a labyrinth with all the twisting, circuitous paths and hallways and nooks (and even some crannies). He is thoroughly lost.

He’s made his way to a three-storey attached greenhouse, filled with plants large and small. Most are magical, but some he recognises from his many, many hours weeding and tending to Aunt Petunia’s garden. He’s not sure who would be more disgusted to have shared tastes – his aunt or Narcissa Malfoy.

With the far wall being entirely glass, Harry is almost certain he can get outside from here. There has to be a door. And… well, if there isn’t, he’s not going to be shy about breaking some windows, if that’s what needs to be done.

He finds a patch of glass panels that have no plants nearby and thinks he’s on to something. Carefully checking for hinges or handles or any other sign that he could open them, Harry’s attention is fully on the glass.

This proves to be a mistake.

He has the barest hint of what’s to come when he feels a curiously fleshy press against his ankle, and then he’s being dragged on his stomach away from the greenhouse wall and into a dark, leafy mass that blots out the scant moonlight.

And he recognises the shape of these leaves. After their adventure at the end of first year, he’d made sure to remember this plant in case he ever ran into it again. This Devil’s Snare is a bit more proactive than the others he’s seen, though. They’re typically opportunistic and wait for victims to come to them – he doesn’t remember them pursuing prey.

He very slowly and gently extracts his stolen wand from his sleeve and casts lumos. But instead of shrinking away from the light – like the bloody thing should – the plant somehow produces an ear-splitting shriek and seizes his wrist with a vine, squeezing until he drops his wand and using another vine to bat it away, spinning into an unseen corner.

And now he’s pissed the plant off. Unarmed and still in the grip of a vine, Harry feels the adrenaline kick in. He slows his breathing and tries to stay calm, as struggling will only make things worse, but it is difficult. He wants to get as far away from this weird Devil’s Snare as quickly as he can – he feels the hair on the back of his neck standing up – but he’s not sure how to manage that.

He feels a rough, vegetal limb slip under his shirt, making him panic and twitch, and that seems to be the sign the plant was waiting for. The vine around his wrist pulls taut, drawing his arm out and pinning it in place as more vines wind around his legs and drag them straight, while others twist around his torso, trapping his left arm to his side. He feels very much like a favoured toy being fought over, tugged in all directions and unable to escape or even move.

The vine under his shirt begins prodding at his belly, making him squirm and causing the vines to squeeze tighter until he shouts in pain, at which they loosen slightly. Then, he feels more and more tentative touches along his legs, his chest, his hair, and his face – everywhere they can reach.

They poke around his mouth, and he keeps it firmly shut until the vines around his ankles clench tightly enough to force another pained cry out of him. An inquisitive tendril sneaks inside his open mouth. He bites through it immediately, spitting the end out with savage glee. With another high-pitched noise, the plant wraps a vine around his throat, squeezing tighter and tighter until he’s certain he will pass out, black edging his vision and lungs on fire with lack of air.

When it lets up, he coughs and hacks until his body remembers how to breathe, and he pants in as much air as he can. Several thin vines take advantage of this, slipping into his mouth to trace his teeth and tongue, press against his cheeks and palate. He switches to breathing through his nose and threatens to bite the vines again, but there are enough that he can’t close his mouth tightly enough to shear through them.

He’s lost track of what’s happening to the rest of him, but the other vines have been busy in his inattention. And damn the Dursleys and their hand-me-downs from Dudley, and damn Harry for not buying better-fitting clothes, because there’s plenty of room for those vines to wriggle under his jumper and trousers. He squawks through a mouthful of vines when a couple caress a little too closely to his delicate bits for comfort. Thankfully they continue past that part of him, though the sensation of them rubbing against his bare thighs isn’t much better.

“Well, well, Harry Potter,” a familiar voice says from somewhere. “We’re finally together again and you’d rather entertain the flora.”

Harry has never been happier to see– er, hear Voldemort. He’d rather take his chances with the bigoted megalomaniac than the amorous plant weaving tighter around him.

Except Voldemort doesn’t do anything – doesn’t even say anything else. When a vine sneaks down the back of Harry’s trousers and starts prodding at a place it really shouldn’t be prodding, Harry’s had enough.

He fights his way up far enough to glare at Voldemort, silently demanding why he’s not killing him or cutting him out of this lusty Devil’s Snare to monologue at him before killing him. The bastard plant takes exception to this, attempting to pull him back down and pressing more insistently against his arse. Harry grunts in alarm, squirming away as much as he can when the vine simply follows him to push harder into him. He squeaks, and if his face looks more pleading than he’d like, he’s willing to cut himself some slack.

Maintaining eye contact, Voldemort conjures a wingback chair and sits down in it a few feet away, facing Harry.

“Don’t let me interrupt,” he drawls, leaning back and getting comfortable. “I’m in no hurry.”

Harry groans in distress as the plant's many limbs continue to move against and in him.

(Part two, where the Harrymort happens)

#harry potter #lemon #but a very odd cursed lemon #voldemort #on my quest to make devil's-snarry a thing #you're welcome #plantacles #non con #hp smut #harrymort #kind of #it gets there eventually

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grits-galraisedinthesouth · 1 year

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From a FAKE rented cottage at the San Ysidro Ranch in Santa Barbara, CA, Harry told his good global therapist:

"Meg gives me my space."

Why wasn't the good doctor allowed to meet at their massive Montecito Olive Garden SPACE?

Byrony was allowed to conduct their interview in the so called, "guest house" (as Sparry hung family photos on the wall). Afterwards she was rewarded to step foot across the threshold of the REAL "mansion" to observe and testify to the UK of the "normal" family living behind their very own security wall.

How much "space" does a spouse need? Anderson, Bradbury, Variety and even NOoprah were denied entrance to Casa de Montecito.

With so many "lemon trees," The Meghans still PAID a HOTEL to stage:

pandemic zoom calls & interviews

BLM & pro Biden Bench speeches

40th bday juggling act

chatting with teenagers

AGT (except the meghans who have zero talent)

Spotify Spots

magazine photoshoot & interviews

The very fake mockumentary megflop soap opera filmed inside various rented hotel cottages, on rented benches

All 1 hour away from Montecito at Santa Barbara's San Ysidro Ranch for megflix.

The Meghans still expect Americans to think it's normal to request discounts at a NYC hotel while suing his grandmother's government for (FREE) tax payer funded security.🧐

How convenient for megs that everytime she moved to a new country or city, her self titled "gay husband," Mr. Markus Anderson (former Soho House Bus Boy) chose to relocate to live w/her or near her

La->NYC

NYC->Toronto

Toronto->London

London->California

In LA, Meg was known as a serial celesbian to the stars. So how did Sparry & Eugenie become bffs with Omit's former gutter guyfriend, the infamous Markus Anderson?

Does MA's influence on the young BRF begin with Misha NooNoo and her friendship with Yorkie Eugenie? It would make sense that Eugenie, was the easy workaround to Sparry. What about all the photos of the York family posing, Sarah included, with sleazy Ron Burkle🤮😖😳

Of course Sparry preferred to party at Soho House instead of working on his character flaws. No coincidence that on more than 1 occasion, Sparry was videotaped pinching or sucking the nipples of male friends & male strangers.

Over the past 12-24 months we've seen Sparry become more effeminate in his motions, walk, speech, and who can forget seeing Sparry rub the back of his male partner as they enter his alleged personal man cave.

According to Caitlyn Jenner:

"supposedly they have a place in LA"

and Harry spends his free time in San Francisco. Is it any wonder Thirsty Tyler Perry who has his own skeletons declared he doesn't want love if it isn't The Meghans kind of love.🙄

Meghan, Markus & Dorito have made all of Sparry's dreams come true.

Dear Sparry, I hope finding your freedom & freebies in CA with your new "friends" was worth the price of your soul. By the way, it's not.

Meghan must feel like she can finally see a light at the end of her failed attempt to destroy the BRF via Sparry. In the end, it was the Queen of England who accurately SUSSed out the heart of Rachel Meghan Markle: an interloper who repaid good with evil.

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jomiddlemarch · 3 months

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nothing that was without wings would escape

“I Owled Molly,” Hermione said, tossing the words over her shoulder while she fussed with the copper teakettle. It was better to have her back to him. She knew he’d never curse her from behind, no matter how incensed he was. She’d violated his explicit directive not to ask advice from Molly Weasley and she hadn’t wanted to make him address why exactly Molly was verboten, especially since Hermione was now mostly a Weasley hanger-on, the sister Harry wouldn’t do without, even if she and Ron had crumbled like an old tea-biscuit after six months of attempting a romance.

“I told you not to,” Draco replied. His voice was low and he’d tried to purge all the frustrated anger from it because it was widely agreed that babies could sense emotion and they didn’t need another reason for Scorpius to cry.

“Desperate times,” Hermione said. “You know the rest.”

“I already asked my mother. And Andromeda,” Draco said, continuing to walk in a nearly symmetric oval path around the dimly lit kitchen, a brief jog to avoid the end of the oak refectory table he used for breakfast and that once upon a time, Hermione had had the most delightfully filthy fantasies about defiling with him. That had been pre-exposure to Scorpius or rather, pre-exposure to Scorpius’s colic.

(She would have felt worse about lusting after a recently widowed man, but he’d made it clear he and Astoria had had an arranged marriage that would have lasted a lifetime except that she’d insisted she wanted a baby, knowing her ancestral bloodcurse wouldn’t allow her to survive her labor. It had seemed a very rum deal to Hermione and she’d had to balance dislike with pity. Adding in sexual attraction wasn’t the straw that broke the camel’s back. It was just a straw.)

(After his son was born, Draco told her, just once, that Scorpius was worth it. All of it. She’d starting falling in love then. It didn’t seem like she’d ever hit the ground and not because she was a witch. She’d never gotten any better at broom-work.)

(She could get away with lengthy parentheticals because Draco was still trying, unsuccessfully, to get Scorpius to pipe down and was distracted. It was a double-edged sword, his distraction, but she was a Gryffindor and had been trained how to wield an enchanted goblin-wrought claymore if the situation called for it.)

“And your aunt and mother have raised three children between them, two Metamorphagi, from whom no significant data can be drawn because Metamorphagi don’t follow standard developmental guidelines and additionally Teddy’s father was a werewolf. Narcissa made no secret of the fact she relied on House-elves and nannies,” Hermione pointed out, arranging a pair of mugs for the tea she was brewing. The caffeine was irrelevant, as it seemed they were never going to sleep again. “Andromeda baked you a lemon sponge cake and your mother suggested you leave him and spend a few weeks in Antibes, getting some color, taking the yacht out for a spin. My parents would only have recommended you put him on Muggle meds for reflux and you’ve already ruled that out.”

“The Healers said it wasn’t reflux, that’s why,” Draco said. Scorpius was crying but it wasn’t full-voice. It seemed a certain degree of jiggling could keep him from his upper register. Fortunately, Draco had never given up Quidditch, so his upper body strength and stamina were adequate to the apparently endless task. If that mean he was fit, deliciously so, so be it.

“Do you want to hear what Molly said or do you want me to spike your tea with an ungodly amount of Firewhisky?” Hermione asked. She’d learned Draco did better when given a choice. Since becoming more than his Ministry colleague and not quite sure what category beyond friend he considered her, she tried to avoid overt manipulation and stuck with the more direct, Gryffindor approach that he expected from her.

“Tell me what the mother of nations said,” Draco replied, rolling his eyes. Scorpius howled suddenly and Hermione closed her own eyes for a moment.

“You don’t have to stay,” Draco said. He’d said it so many times, from the first night Hermione had heard Scorpius let loose, which was roughly six weeks after the crying had started and a fortnight since the Healers at St. Mungo’s had diagnosed colic maxifabulorum, the later onset incurable crying that Wizarding babies could contract, trying to soften the blow by mentioning the high correlation between the diagnosis and magical power. Narcissa had crowed over the news, focusing on the exceedingly small chance Scorpius would turn out to be a Squib, but it hadn’t done much for Draco who just wanted his baby son to stop crying and preferably sleep for a four-hour stretch. Astoria’s death in childbirth had been anticipated and prepared for, but becoming a widower and a single father was very difficult, made more so by the lack of sleep. Hermione suspected Draco had only agreed to let her come over the first time because he thought he was dreaming. It had been 4 pm and they’d been in her office at the Ministry, ostensibly reviewing a brief. He’d looked like hell and she’d spoken before she thought twice about it.

Once she’d heard Scorpius at full volume, she’d known she’d made the right decision.

“I’m staying,” she said. She’d learned she didn’t need to argue with him about it, but he needed the reassurance in her voice that she would, if he kept pestering her about it. “Molly said there aren’t any spells for colic in magical infants.”

Molly had actually written that there weren’t any spells that weren’t terribly Dark, but Hermione judged it was wisest to give Draco the highlights of the letter and not stir up any of the trauma of his history as a Death-eater and her own torture by his Death-eater Vantablack-incarnated-into-a-witch aunt. She planned to leave out Molly’s offer to send along a proper cottage pie and a jam tart as she was well-aware that Hermione didn’t like spending too much time in the kitchen. The usual invitation to Sunday lunch was also destined for the metaphorical scrap heap.

“Was that all?” Draco asked. He was now into the patting-Scorpius-on-the-back portion of the walk. It hadn’t made an appreciable difference to date, but he wasn’t ready to give up on it. His hand always looked enormous on Scorpius’s back. Enormous and incredibly gentle.

“She said potions were dicey and it was best to Transfigure some earplugs for ourselves. Arthur added a post-script, said his Great-Aunt Frederuna swore by spirits rubbed onto the gums, preferably gin though rum or whisky would do in a pinch,” Hermione said. She’d poured out two mugs of tea and doctored them up to their respective requirements; Draco preferred enough sugar to make it almost a syrup but couldn’t bear Hermione’s own milky cup.

“I’m not getting my baby drunk,” Draco said as she’d known he would.

“It does seem like poor parenting,” Hermione agreed. “Not that I’d judge you for being tempted.”

“That’s not what tempts me,” Draco muttered. Hermione felt herself get very still and reminded herself that nothing…untoward was going to happen with Scorpius hollering as if he were being baby-Crucioed, despite the fact that both she and Draco were in dishabille compared to their formal work robes and suits. Draco was barefoot and though she wasn’t about to advertise it, Hermione had Flooed over without a bra under her old jumper from her father’s schooldays at the University of Glasgow. Nothing was going to happen because Scorpius was screaming bloody murder and Draco looked like he was about to keel over.

“Sit down. I’ll Transfigure a rocking chair. The walking isn’t quieting him down and you’re exhausted,” she said in a rush.

“Maybe if Astoria were here,” Draco said, breaking off.

“He’s not crying for his mother,” Hermione replied softly. “He knows he’s loved. You make him know that, you show him. It’s only colic—”

She wandlessly Transfigured a stool into a maple rocking chair with a high back and managed to add a velvet cushion from the dishtowel slung over her shoulder. Wandless Transfiguration was tricky but using a similar piece of furniture helped. Draco gave her a look as he walked over and sat down, a look that said he appreciated just how gifted she was though he wouldn’t make her uncomfortable by commenting that in the entire UK, only Minerva McGonagall could have bettered her work. He sat down and adjusted Scorpius on his shoulder, his palm cupping the back of Scorpius’s head.

“C’mere, sweetheart,” he said, just above a whisper.

“Oh,” Hermione said, startled, the mugs in her hands unsteady. Or perhaps her hands were unsteady and the mugs nearly full. It was some small miracle that the tea didn’t slop over the rims and burn her.

“I didn’t mean—” Draco said, stopped himself. Scorpius took a long breath, almost like a sigh, and then didn’t immediately shriek. Draco looked at Hermione and his grey eyes were bright and warm, amused and hopeful and tender. “That is, I didn’t but I find, rather, Hermione, that I do.”

Tagging @ficwip for Hey Sweetheart 2024!

#dramione #valentine's day #fluff #hey sweetheart #babyfic #tw: colic #tw: death in childbirth #hermione x draco #scorpius malfoy #epilogue what epilogue #family feels #romance #non-sexual intimacy #andromeda black #narcissi malfoy #post-hogwarts #molly weasley #astoria greengrass #prior astoria/draco

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bridenore · 2 years

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Harry / Draco recs : personal favourites 2015-2019

Here are 15 of my favourites drarry fics written between 2015 and 2019. Listed in alphabetical order, as always.

Away Childish Things by @letteredlettered [153k]

Harry gets de-aged. Malfoy has to help him.

Embers by @shiftylinguini [41k]

Werewolf Alphas aren’t meant to be alone, or to suppress their ruts indefinitely like Draco has been since he was bitten eight years ago. He needs company, companionship, to knot ― he needs an Omega Heat Companion. At least, that’s what the Healers say, and even Draco can admit contacting the person they’ve referred him to might be nice.

Of course it turns out to be bloody Potter.

Freedom to be by @quicksilvermaid [169k]

Harry Potter is the Boy Who Lived.

12 years after the war, he's become the Boy Who Lived For Everyone Else. He has the perfect wife. The perfect house. The perfect job. The perfect friends.

Only nothing feels perfect.

Until one day he stumbles across a club called Release and begins a journey of self-discovery that takes him to a very different place.

Grounds for Divorce by Tepre [122k]

Malfoy finds a coin. Harry finds a letter.

A story about histories, a story about families. A story about a lemon tree somewhere in Upper Egypt.

Kiss Me (Under the Light of a Thousand Stars) by @sophiefrench77 [114k]

Harry rescues Draco Malfoy from Azkaban, where he has been imprisoned for three years after the war. Draco is not as Harry remembers, as Azkaban leaves its mark on even the strongest of wizards. With no memory of who he was or how he came to be in Harry’s care, Draco needs Harry’s help if he is to have any hope of making a full recovery. But Harry has his own demons to fight and together with saving Draco, Harry must also discover a way to find himself.

Lumos by birdsofshore [41k]

Harry never expected to spend eighth year listening to Draco Malfoy wanking.

The Nightmare Club by Elle Gray [85k]

Hermione and Ron are going back to Hogwarts to do N.E.W.T.s, Ginny isn’t. Harry hasn’t decided, until he has, in front of the Wizengamot and now he’s responsible for Malfoy as well. A tale of enemies who learn to get along, get it wrong and get it on. Everything is purple, some things are on fire and no-one is sleeping properly. But don’t worry, there’s tea!

Ocean of Storms by Bounding-Heart [113k]

The war is over and Harry has returned to help rebuild Hogwarts. He longs to move forwards, but the past refuses to let him go. The castle is full of ghosts: haunting nightmares, the deaths he couldn't prevent, and the age-old rivalry that Draco Malfoy seems determined to maintain.

Of Wands and Trees by Omi_Ohmy [45k]

All Draco wants to do is be a wandmaker, but to do so he needs to understand the soul of trees. Of course, the only man who might be able to help him is the one man who is more of a mystery to him than any tree.

Right Hand Red by @lqtraintracks [73k]

Harry felt Malfoy’s breath on his lips as they came together over the bottle, hands firmly planted on the floor as though they each needed their familiar soil, refusing to cross into enemy territory.

Except that Malfoy no longer felt like his enemy.

Malfoy felt inevitable.

A Sword Laid Aside by @korlaena [128k]

When Draco’s cover is blown during a deep undercover operation and the Ministry is compromised, Ron takes Draco to the only safe place he can think of—Harry. Hiding out with Harry Potter, who has been missing from the Wizarding World for almost two decades after a shocking fall from grace, is nothing like Draco thought it would be.

Things Worth Knowing by @femmequixotic and @noeeon [164k]

After the Battle, Harry thinks he’s left Hogwarts for good, but Minerva insists that all students return for an Eighth Year if they wish to sit for NEWTs in the spring, and Harry needs those NEWTs to go into the Aurors. Draco’s just grateful not to be in Azkaban. Or the Manor. He’s hoping he can steer clear of Potter this year and grapple with his own problems. Unfortunately for him, Potter appears to be one of those problems. And that’s not even addressing the fact that Potter’s got serious issues of his own, which Draco realises as he’s forced to share an Eighth Year dormitory room and several classes with the Gryffindor Git. If only they can make it through the year without killing each other, it should be all right, shouldn’t it?

Turn From Stone by @harryromper [45k]

Something happened in the hours after the final battle, after the evacuation of the living and the dead. As the last of the survivors left the castle, and as the castle itself turned its wounded back on them all. The loss of Hogwarts has been felt by their entire community. And it’s something that needs to be put right.

Harry knows there’s nothing he can do to stop Hermione (war hero, historian, author of the reissued “Hogwarts: A History”) once she sets her mind to something. Even an extremely risky last-ditch effort to restore the ancient castle and lay its newest ghosts to rest. What he wasn’t counting on was her insistence that Draco Malfoy be part of the plan.

When You Kiss Me (What A Lovely Way To Burn) by @femmequixotic [22k]

A drag fairytale of New York in which Draco wears red lipstick and Potter can’t get enough.

Written on the Heart by who_la_hoop [113k]

Harry doesn’t mind that so many Slytherins from his year have returned to finish their NEWTs, really he doesn’t. It’s just – do they have to be so friendly? He’s not prejudiced, really he’s not. It’s just – they’ve got to be up to something, right? Unnerved by the attention he’s attracting from everyone – the Slytherins are the least of it, to be fair – and struggling with a raft of changes to Hogwarts itself, Harry wishes he could be happy that one constant remains: Draco Malfoy really fucking hates him.

When he’s hit by an illegal love-spell though, Harry finds he has more to worry about than whether or not Blaise Zabini actually wants to be his friend. For if everyone affected has been blessed – or cursed, by the look on Malfoy’s face – with a magical tattoo revealing the name of their soulmate, what does it mean that Harry’s skin remains completely bare?

I hope you enjoy these stories as much as I did!

#my recs #drarry #drarry recs

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thecoddaughter · 8 months

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I am here to be cringey and nostalgic...

Here is an entire breakdown of the QSMP as Hamilton characters (and key song that relate to plot moments) Blame my ADHD and my college's power outage that made me not have a single class today... and @thebeesforeleg's encouragement!

SONGS BELOW THE LINE <3

Songs outside of just the names list:

Schuyler Sisters - OG Theory Bros

Right Hand Man - Cellbit and Forever creating Ordo Theoritas

Meet Me Inside - Tubbo and Cucurucho

Guns and Ships - AMERICA’S FAVORITE FIGHTING FRENCHMAN… Etoiles and THE RIGHT HAND MAN… BadBoyHalo

History Has Its Eyes on You - BadBoyHalo (opening reminds me of his shared “war stories” with Cellbit)

Dear Theodosia - We all know that is Wilbur and Tallulah's song, but there is a whole second part and I feel like that belongs equally to Forever and Richas / Bad and Dapper

Non-Stop - Dapper & Pomme (as Hamilton) and Chayanne (as Burr)(Burr is this song is tired older brother who’s sick of their overachieving younger siblings)

What’d I Miss? - Wilbur the moment he comes back

Cabinet Battles - feel like the election debates or Ordem meetings

Take a Break - Bad (Hamilton), Baghera (Eliza), Pomme (Phillip), Foolish? (Angelica)

Say No to This - Foolish… (I AM JOKING! or am i?)

The Room Where It Happens - Foolish (for real this time) after being relieved from the Ordem

Schuyler Defeat - can I make a third one in a row Foolish? Cause I just picture this:

Richas: Look! Grandpa's in the paper! ‘Builder Foolish Gamers loses presidential life to young upstart Pomme’ Grandpa just lost his seat in the presidential election. Pac: Sometimes that's how it goes Richas: Daddy's gonna find out any minute Mike: I'm sure he already knows Cellbit [in the distance]: ATTA GIRL

Washington on Your Side - Foolish & Baghera singing about Jaiden

One Last Time - Baghera stepping out the Presidential Race

We Know - Tubbo, Forever, Phil to Bad about Ron Lemons… and him lying saying he’s planning on kidnapping Foolish… “Alexander, rumors only grow…”

Hurricane - Pac (the cure vibes)

The Reynolds Pamphlet - this feels like the Misclick Duo’s divorce trial

Angelica saying “I’m not here for you!” is so Jaiden saying “This is about justice.”

Burn/First Burn - Forever to Bad

“Don’t take another step in my direction.” “You can stand over there if you want. I don’t know who you are. I have so much to learn.” “And you are paranoid in every paragraph for how they will perceive you!” “And when the time comes, explain to the children the pain and embarrassment you put their mother through. When will you learn that they are your legacy, we are your legacy!”

Congratulations - Baghera (I know this had to have be what was happening in her head when she met Ron)

“I begged you to take a break, you refused to.” “You’ve redefined your legacy, congratulations” If she ends up switching sides bc Bad won’t give up Ron, “I’m not here for you… I know my brother like I know my own mind, you will never find anyone as trusting or as kind.””I love my brother more than anything in this life, I will choose his happiness over mine every time. Forever, is the best thing in our lives.”

It’s Quiet Uptown - Egg Disappearance and/or Bobby’s Death

The Election of 1800 - i feel like i shouldn’t have to say… its in the title… ELECTIONS

Your Obedient Servant - WHERE WE ARE RN… Forever and Bad are somehow exchanging letters while Forever is gone? (I’m not caught up but that’s that the clip seemed to be saying)

Forever: “Now you call me "amoral" A "dangerous disgrace"” “Answer for the accusations I lay at your feet or prepare to bleed, good man” Bad: “am not the reason no one trusts you No one knows what you believe I will not equivocate on my opinion… You would need to cite a more specific grievance. Here's an itemized list of thirty years of disagreements.”

The World Was Wide Enough - Forever’s Proposal that ended in explosions

Who Lives, Who Dies, Who Tells Our Story - The Eggs <3

#qsmp #qsmp as songs #qsmp hamilton au?#qsmpblr #I am sorry for the cringe #i woke up and this was all I could thing of #blame first burn coming on my tiktok at 7 am

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