CONGRATSSSS!!!! domestic darry, blairon, & pansmoine
Hey Nonnie!
Thanks so much for the prompts! I don’t know if this is what you meant. but I finally have 3 things for you! I hope you enjoy!
Drarry
The sensation of an all enveloping warmth pressing to his back greeted Draco as the deep pull of sleep eased slightly, drawing him back to consciousness. It tangled with his legs, snaked its way around his side, and settled in the centre of his chest as something soft tickled his neck. It could mean only one thing; his human koala bear was awake.
Even in his sleep addled state, which he was definitely not prepared to escape just yet, an embarrassingly fond smile tugged at his lips. Honestly, no matter how much he protested, there was something about the speccy git’s embrace that he couldn’t resist. Which was fortunate, because a better name for the Gryffindor would have been the Boy Who Cuddled.
A tightening around his waist as a yawn shuddered lightly through his boyfriend’s body brought Draco out of his musings. Back to the soft, somnolent room. Back to the safe, warm arms of his boyfriend. It was almost perfect.
“Mornin…” Of course, the idiot had to ruin it with talking.
“Shh! Sleeping,” was his only reply, a frown replacing his smile at the rude disturbance. Gentle shakes from the man behind him let him know Harry was laughing. Tosser.
“You’re such a grump-a-lump in the morning,” came the reply. The smile in Harry’s voice made him want to hex the prick. Fortunately for the prat, he was too comfy to be bothered. But Harry lapsed into silence again (thank Merlin!), and Draco readily reached for the welcoming arms of sleep again, absolutely ignoring his boyfriend’s gentle caresses that were there solely to apologise for disturbing his final few precious moments of sleep.
Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.
Buggering squirrel bollocks. Why did he have to get up?!
“Noooo,” Harry whined, voicing Draco’s sentiments exactly as he tightened his grip around Draco’s waist. An almost overwhelming desire to shirk all his responsibilities and roll over into the Gryffindor’s strong embrace flooded through him as the raven-haired man buried his face into Draco’s shoulder. But, the thoughts of all he had to do that day had already begun plaguing him, and within seconds Draco found himself reluctantly forcing the last dregs of sleep from his mind.
“I have to get up,” he murmured, tamping down on the urge to give a deep, bone weary sigh as he thought about the effort it would take just to stand up.
“Bad Draco!” Harry suddenly exclaimed in Draco’s ear. What was he, three?!
“Must stay in bed forever!” Merlin’s saggy balls, why did that make him smile?! Draco sighed as his koala bear became a limpet.
“You need to get up too, you idiot.”
“Not yet! It’s the arse crack of dawn, I don’t have to be up for hours! I have snuggle time. Snuggle with meee…” Ugh, if only that were possible.
But it wasn’t. Drinking in a final glorious moment of comfort in his boyfriend’s arms, Draco focused on the day ahead, before somehow successfully disentangling himself from his Chosen One. Not that the Gryffindor didn’t vehemently protest, of course. He was worse than a child trying to cling onto a favourite toy.
As he started heading towards the shower, ignoring the slight chill of the room on his skin, a petulant voice called after him.
“You’re mean.” A quick glimpse over his shoulder revealed a thoroughly disgruntled and completely adorable boyfriend glaring at him over the top of the covers, which were right upto his eyes. Gods, when did he get so soft for Gryffindor’s?
“I’ll pick up treacle tart on the way home?” He offered; honestly, the man would live off the stuff if Draco let him. Still, he wished his stomach would stop doing acrobatics at the sight of the gorgeous smile that immediately spread across his boyfriend’s face. It was most unbefitting.
“Okay!” The idiot grinned. In the next breath, the Gryffindor had shifted to the middle of the bed, wrapping the duvet around him like a cocoon.
“Mmm, my bed,” he sighed happily, face pressed into Draco’s pillow.
“It is not, you bastard!” The outraged exclamation merely made the prick’s smile widen.
“Tough, not much you can do about it!”
“Ugh! Why do I love you?” He muttered, stalking off to the bathroom for his morning ablutions.
Still, as he gave the pillock one final, lingering look, warmth curling its way through his chest at the man curled adorably in his- no, their bed, and pressed a chaste kiss to his soft skin, he couldn’t deny, he wouldn’t change it for the world.
Blairon
Dancing is key to Blaise and Ron’s relationship.
Typically, purebloods learn how to dance as part of their pre-Hogwarts education, and as Blaise’s family cared about traditions, he was educated in the main dances suitable for a young pureblood gentleman
Ron, however, wasn’t.
His family, although they enjoyed certain types of dancing, found a lot of the traditions odd and outdated, so he was just as useless as a babbling bumbling band of buffoons when it came to the dance floor
Blaise, of course expected this.
He knew how Ron had been raised, he knew what the family valued, and knew dancing wasn’t going to be up there
And he didn’t care at all
He loved the red-head for his wit, his personality, and his highly biteable, kissable arse, far more than his ability to sashay around a ballroom
But just because Ron couldn’t dance, it didn’t stop him from trying
One morning, after a wonderful night christening their new apartment, Blaise found the red-haired jerking wildly to the music in his kitchen, whilst singing (if you could call it that) along, all the while preparing breakfast for them
The Slytherin couldn’t help bursting out laughing at the awkward movements, the complete lack of grace, and co-ordination from his lover
(Despite the fact that the look of pure freedom on his freckled face was utterly adorable)
Ron, of course, flushed to his ears
“As if you can dance, Zabini!” He shot back, trying and failing to hide his embarrassment by turning the bacon
Blaise merely sidled up to him, gently kissing up his neck, purring seductively in his ear to put his man at ease, before gently reminding him that, actually, as a pureblood who was brought up with the traditions, he could dance
Without a word, he’d taken Ron’s hand, made sure their food wouldn’t burn, and then changed the music to something far more appropriate for a wizard to waltz too
Then, with perfect poise, and elegant grace, he’d swept his boyfriend around the room, spinning him, twirling him, lifting him, just as any gentleman would
Ron, the brute, had stumbled along, almost tripping over his own feet too many times to count. Without Blaise’s firm hold, he definitely would have face planted.
But as the song ended, they both stilled, miraculously upright, and for the first time, Blaise realised that dance had been different.
For once, he hadn’t just felt the steps, counted the beats, and moved as he should
He hadn’t just gone through the motions
He’d breathed the music, relished the feel of Ron in his arms, become one with the melody and his partner.
He’d enjoyed himself
And as he looked at Ron, he found a slightly dreamy look lingering in his eyes, completely swept away by the dance
That was the first time Blaise knew he was well truly screwed for the caterwauling, red-headed catastrophe of a Gryffindor
And from then on, they made a point of dancing
Never at events. Never when they were expected too
Unless they both really wanted to.
And Ron never really got that much better,
But dancing was their time. Their escape from life.
To just dwell with each other
To just feel each other
To just love each other
And if their friends come over and hear slow music on, they all know to wait for a while
Soon enough, Blaise and Ron come in, laughing, giggling, staring adorably into each other’s eyes, the air so charged with their emotion it makes the hairs on everyone’s skin stand up
And no one would have it any other way
It’s their private time, and no matter how many fights they’ve had, how long they’ve been apart, how stressful life has been
All they need to do is dance
And suddenly
They know that everything is going to be okay
Both of them falling in love that little bit more
Pansimione
Sunday afternoons were made for this.
Dwindling, weak, winter sunlight filtered through the window as Hermione turned another page of the leather tome she was reading. The lingering smell of a roast dinner caressed her nose as the sounds of Pansy humming along to the wireless floated gently to her ears. As the open fire crackled to her side, and a warm blanket covered her, keeping the sharp, chilly air at bay, peace and contentment flooded her veins. There was very little better than relaxing with a good book, a full stomach, in a cozy cottage with the woman you loved.
“Give me your feet,” Pansy materialised beside her, demanding as ever.
“What?”
“Give me your feet!” Pansy repeated, waiting for a minute with an expectant look on her face.
“No! They’re nice and warm!”
But apparently that was an unacceptable answer to the Slytherin who gave a dramatic sigh, and pulled the blanket off her feet with a flourish.
“Hey!” Hermione protested, cool air creeping up her legs as Pansy settled herself on the end of the sofa. She didn’t dare pull away though; Pansy was wicked and relentless in the pursuit of something she wanted.
“Oh hush you stupid tart,” she murmured, in a remarkably affectionate tone.
In just a few seconds Hermione’s socks had been unceremoniously yanked off, sending a light shiver over her dark skin. Pansy’s dark eyes merely focused more intently on her toes, pulling out a bottle of nail polish as she did so.
“Can you at least cast a warming cha-”
“Do learn when to shut up,” Pansy interrupted. Hermione glared at her partner.
“Whore.”
“Aw, thanks babe!” The wretch had the audacity to blow her a kiss.
Of bloody course. Resigning herself to her fate, Hermione merely rolled her eyes as she returned to her book. But moments later, as a tingling sensation began creeping up from her toes, she remembered exactly why she let the bint torture her.
With every stroke of the brush, every gentle but firm touch from Pansy’s delicate hands, light, flittering tingles skittered across Hermione’s skin, and warmth pooled in her stomach. They set her heart a-flutter, easing tension away with every gentle stroke, reducing her to putty under the SLytherin’s hands.
It was absolutely delightful.
Carefully marking her place in the book, a happy sigh escaped her, as she surrendered to the euphoric feeling. Pansy merely sniggered.
“Anyone would think I’m giving you the best goddamn shag of your life!”
A vague reprimand about the Slytherin’s crude language flew through Hermione’s mind, but Pansy’s grip changed again, sending another shiver through her, chasing away the sentiment with another wave of pleasure.
“Maybe later, this is too nice right now,” she sighed, touches and tickles sending ripples of joy through her. Pansy rolled her eyes, but leaned slightly further forward over Hermione’s nails. She didn’t even try to stop the happy hum that escaped her.
“Anyway, you love that your touch affects me like this,” she murmured after a moment of silence, eyes slipping closed to enjoy the sensation more fully. No matter how often they touched, how much they hugged, or spooned, or caught each other in simple, tender kisses, Hermione always felt sparks at her lover’s touch, and promptly melted into a pile of goo. At one point in her life admitting that would have been almost unbearable. She was glad she was past that now...
Pansy muttered something that sounded suspiciously like ‘touch starved twat’, but she didn’t have the mental capacity to point out- again!- that she wasn’t touch starved at all. It was just that when she got focused on something she just… forgot… about other things. It wasn’t her fault that she struggled to turn off her hyper-focus and couldn’t recognise when she needed to stop… Thankfully, since moving in with her, Pansy often did that for her, stopping her with a simple stroke of fingers over her neck. It was one of the many reasons she loved the woman. No matter how much of a pain she was.
As the sun moved across the sky and the fire continued to crackle, Pansy silently moved from her feet to her hands, and bliss hummed happily through Hermione’s veins.
“I love you,” she whispered, seeking out Pansy’s eyes through the woman’s silky, black bob. Pansy’s despairing sigh had giggle bubbling from Hermione’s lips.
“Love you too, you soppy cow. Now shut up and let me finish your nails.”
Yes, Sunday afternoons were definitely made for this.
Hope you enjoyed! Thanks for the asks and the congrats!
282 notes
·
View notes