A/N: Hi everybody - thanks so much for viewing my story!
-Just a quick warning, there will be swearing and sex/sexual themes in this fic, and melodramatic misunderstandings fuelled by teenage angst. Oh and FLUFF (loads of it)
-The first chapter started out as a oneshot/standalone, but after that it morphs into my own take on a muggle AU set in high school/college, so if you like that kinda thing please do give it a try!
Hope you enjoy!
Hermione Granger tucked a stray lock of her thick curls behind her ear. She was sitting by her bedroom window, eagerly looking down at the quiet street below her.
The air was a dim grey, slowly radiating the wonderful morning pinks and yellows that Hermione loved so much. The birds had only recently woke, as their morning tunes floated through the open window and caressed her ears.
Hermione hadn't gotten up so early to hear the birds though, as much as she loved the little creatures, she had more pressing matters on her mind. Matters that flooded her body with warm heat and caused tingling flickers within her belly.
She brushed her clammy palms over her dressing gown, the softness of the material easing her spiking nerves a little. Because, after all, she was only wearing a dressing gown.
Then she heard the tell-tale squeak of old bicycle tires, and there he was. The gorgeous paper boy. His platinum hair was sticking to his forehead from the effort of his morning duties, and the leanness of his muscles rippled gracefully beneath the rolled up sleeves of his shirt.
Hermione drank in all these details gleefully, her heart rate speeding up drastically, and then sure enough, like he did every morning, he looked up to her window and smiled that smile worth ten million smiles. And Hermione, like she did every morning, waved numbly, her cheeks bright red.
She watched as he leant behind him to the bag strung on his bicycle, and pulled out a rolled up newspaper. He lobbed it over her father's meticulously groomed hedge, and then turned his head back up to her.
Hermione grinned, she must look entirely foolish, but she couldn't help it. She loved mornings, because she got to see him. She only hoped he didn't dread being a paper boy, and that maybe he delighted in seeing her.
That was why Hermione had decided to put together a little plan, to see if she brought on the same reactions in him, as he did in her. So that morning, instead of dressing in ordinary clothes, she'd just thrown on her gown, making sure to tie the knot very loosely.
So before the boy had time to reclaim the pedal of his bike, Hermione bent forward to push her window all the way, inconspicuously lowering her other arm to untie the robe. She knew she was being risky, because she was unfortunate enough to have very nosy neighbours, and a greasy, pimply boy who lived in the house opposite hers, happened to enjoy watching her window with binoculars.
But it was barely six in the morning, and as far as Hermione could tell the peeping boy's curtains were drawn.
So without further hesitance, she parted the fabric, and took in the look on the paper boy's face. His normally composed features morphed into a look of shock, and then his lips upturned at the corners with a sort of mischievous grin, and Hermione knew it was all worth it just for that glorious spark of arousal that shot through her.
The crisp air caused her nipples to peak, and on a whim Hermione rose one hand to pinch and tweak at her hard nubs.
The blonde boy's eyelids dropped to hoods, and his previously smirking mouth now hung slightly open. Hermione stared at his pale lips, no doubt chilled from the cold morning, and she imagined them on her skin, kissing her breasts and lapping at her flesh.
Her own lips parted in a throaty moan, just before she realised she'd probably been a little too loud, and her parents were asleep in the bedroom next to hers.
She blushed a deep rosy colour, happy to note that the boy's cheeks looked to be a similar hue. He adjusted himself on his bike seat, looking uncomfortable, and Hermione wanted to squeal with joy when she saw the tenting in his trousers.
He lifted his hand in a sort of salute, something he did every morning right before he had to leave. It was their departing signal, and Hermione reluctantly mimicked him, her lips forming a pout as he gave her another grin before riding away.
She sighed as she watched his retreating figure, pausing occasionally to throw a newspaper into her neighbour's gardens. There seemed to be an endless amount of hours between now and tomorrow morning, and Hermione wanted nothing more than a source of time travel.
With one last gloomy look, she pulled her window shut, suppressed a shiver, and then hastily retied her dressing gown.
The next morning, Hermione left her nighty on, because she had something else in mind, something even naughtier. She made sure to shimmy out of her knickers as soon as she woke up, throwing them into her hamper with a flush.
She didn't like to think she was embarrassed, but she was, because Hermione Granger, a shy virgin who knew nothing of sex beyond the pages of her books, had an undeniable crush on the paper boy. And she didn't even know his name.
Sometimes she felt ridiculous, but most of the time she just felt horny, and ready to practically jump out of the window and into his hopefully awaiting arms.
So that morning was like any other, with her waiting at the cold glass of her window, except this time she didn't have any underwear on, and her nipples were already pebbled with anxious arousal.
She heard the screeching of his pedals, and she sat up with excitement and put her hand to the glass, ready to push it open. Only the boy on the bike wasn't her boy. He was dark haired and stocky, and threw the paper in the direction of her house with a careless gesture and bad aim, because it landed in the hedge, and not over it.
Hermione felt waves of disappointment overwhelm her, and with a slump of her shoulders, she turned away and crawled back into her bed.
The following day Hermione woke with a groggy feeling and a terrible case of bed head. She woke up at this time every day, as her alarm was always set for five thirty, so she would be up and ready each morning before her paper boy arrived.
Today she was filled with anticipation, but also dread, because what if like yesterday he didn't turn up? She had dismissed the notion of having scared him off, as his expressions had indicated that fear had been the last thing on his mind. So she told herself he might have been sick, just a simple, morning chill induced cold. She doubted it, but she wanted so much to believe it.
Which is why she pulled out a notebook from her bedside table draw, scrawled out a sentence in her loopy handwriting, and the proceeded to fold it into a pretty neat paper plane. Feeling proud of her handiwork, but nervous about the contents of her secret note, she went to wait by the window.
She saw rather than heard him as he peddled along her street, hastily launching newspapers into everybody's gardens. When he came to a stop at her front gate, clearly out of breath, Hermione couldn't push her window open fast enough, and with a trembling hand she let go of her paper plane. She watched as the steady breeze caught the little vessel and blew it into the boy's direction. He caught it with ease, and Hermione watched with a dry mouth as his long, dexterous fingers unfolded the paper.
His grey eyes scanned over it without pause, and then he beamed up at her, a sly smirk painted across his lips. Hermione's heart constricted with a thrilling pleasure, and she saluted just as he finished delivering her family's paper and did the same.
As he rode away, Hermione couldn't help the excited squeak the left her. Her parents couldn't have chosen a better night to be out of town.
It was late afternoon, bordering on five o'clock, when the door bell rang. Hermione's parents had left shortly after lunch, as they had gone to visit her mother's sister, so Hermione had spent most of the afternoon prepping her appearance.
She'd showered, soaping her entire body with her favourite body wash, paying extra attention to her neck and chest area, before washing her hair with her cinnamon scented shampoo.
She'd decided against putting on makeup, as all the previous times the boy had seen her face he hadn't been scared to death by her natural features, a sign which she considered to be a good one.
Hermione couldn't contain the uneven beats in her chest as she raced down the stairs and practically flung herself to the front door.
She opened it, and there he was. He was so much taller now that he was right in front of her, and she realised with a very hot blush that 'boy' was now the last word she would use to describe him.
"Hi." She said, perhaps a little too quickly.
"Hi." He responded, and she heard that his voice was pure velvet. Smooth and low and almost husky.
His eyes raked greedily over her appearance, and her chest swelled, deciding that she had made the right choice to go with her short, tight fitting red dress and a pair of knee high socks covered in cats.
"Cute socks." He remarked.
"Thanks, uh—"
"Draco."
"Draco, hi…" She said sheepishly. Now was not the time for her nerves to kick in. "I'm Hermione."
"Hermione… That's a lovely name."
Her stained cheeks only got darker as her eyes roamed over his body, resting on the way the collar of his shirt parted perfectly above his collarbones, and the way his dark jeans hugged his narrow hips snuggly.
"Come in." She stood back, shutting the door behind him as he moved past her. "Sorry, I don't know what came over me, making you stand out there in the cold—"
She was cut off, because strong arms had suddenly snaked around her waist and pushed her up against the entryway wall. He exhaled ruggedly, his warm breath causing goose bumps to rise on her skin. "My god, you smell just as good as I imagined, Hermione."
His voice was so low, so hungry, that she moaned. Then his lips were tracing the contour of her neck, her hair pulled to side by one of his nimble hands, as he pushed his body into her back.
Her bum was nestled securely around the bulge of his arousal, and god, she couldn't believe he was already that hard. Then again, she could feel her own wetness beginning to soak through the thin fabric of her knickers. "Draco."
She gasped as his lips locked more forcefully around the side of her neck, sucking hard and laving with his tongue, before pulling back with a nip of his teeth.
"You don't know how long I've wanted this, Hermione. You're the biggest goddamn tease." His hands travelled down her sides, running over her curves and groping the flesh on her hips. Then his fingers gripped into her and he pulled her body further back into his with a sharp thrust, and she groaned, moving her hands up on either side of her shoulders to support her weight against the wall. "I want to fuck you right this second, right here, into this wall."
He bit her shoulder to emphasise his point, and she gasped out, "H-How long? How long have you wanted to… to fuck me?" Hermione blushed at her own words. She wasn't used to hearing such vulgar terms come out of her mouth. But she didn't care. Not now. She was more aroused than she'd ever been in her whole life.
Draco's hands moved from her hips up to her breasts, squeezing and fondling them through the thin layer of her bra. "Months. Since I first saw you through your window. God, Hermione. You shouldn't leave your curtains open when you get changed. Then the next day, there you were, just sitting there. I couldn't believe my luck."
Hermione giggled, feeling ecstatic, and pushed her bottom harder into his crotch. He gave a throaty moan. "You little vixen. I'm so fucking hard for you. But I'll wait. We should wait. I want this night to last forever." Hermione felt her heart swell. "You said your parents are gone right?"
Hermione nodded, biting her lip as his fingers rubbed the top of her bra above where her hard nipples were sitting. "Y-yes. Tonight and tomorrow."
She could feel Draco's lips pull into a smile against her neck, a chuckle at her enthusiasm. "Gonna show me your room?"
Hermione turned, her back now against the wall, and stood on her toes so she could reach his lips. But he pulled back from her, his face carefully masked of any emotion besides lust, and Hermione willed the sudden burning in her eyes to die down. "O-okay…"
So instead she took his hand, calming somewhat as his palm came to rest against hers as their fingers entwined, and she lead him up the stairs, and into her bedroom.
Hermione threw her head back, biting her lip harshly to stop her yells from becoming too loud. She couldn't really care less when she could taste blood in her mouth, she was too focused on Draco's fingers, stroking over her clit with a frustratingly slow pace.
She wanted more, all of him, but he wouldn't give it to her, and he still wouldn't kiss her. It was driving her insane. They'd been lying on her bed for more than an hour now, a jumble of tangled limbs and heated gropes. Then he'd pulled down her stockings and knickers in one go, and had since then been teasing her.
He'd touch her until she was on the edge, so close to coming undone, but then he'd withdraw his hand, and give attention to her breasts instead. Not that she was complaining. But she was so wet. And so ready. "Draco…" She groaned out.
He was biting along her neck, his fingers still continuing with slow, sleek circles around her clit. "Mmm? What is it, Hermione?"
"Please…"
"Please, what?"
"P-please, let me come…"
He chuckled, low and deep. And then he was rubbing, pinching, pleasuring with such a force that it was beyond anything her own hand had been capable of doing. She writhed and squirmed, clenching her thighs together and trapping his hand there. All it took was one final touch, and she came, tremors wracking through her entire body.
She waited for her breathing to calm, and then she raised herself on one elbow, and reached down toward the front of his jeans. But his hands snuck around her wrist, stopping her, and she glared at him.
"Not yet, love." He murmured.
"Why not?"
"Because as soon as you touch me I'm going to come in my pants."
Hermione's fawny eyes widened, embarrassed but flattered. "S-sorry."
Draco raised an eyebrow at her, and brushed some of her flyaway hairs from her forehead. "Why should you apologise? It's not your fault you're so damn attractive." Hermione went completely red. No one had ever called her attractive before, especially not a male, and it caused a strange, yet welcome stirring in her chest. She must have looked dumbfounded, because his smoky eyes were suddenly full of humour. "You're welcome."
Then she giggled, and he laughed with her, and she wanted nothing more than to cuddle up to his warm body.
He looked thoughtful for a second, and then, as if he'd read her thoughts, suggested, "Shall we watch a movie?"
The two ordered pizza, picked a movie at random, and were now snuggled up on the coach beneath a woollen blanket.
"Favourite colour?" Draco asked, chewing on a slice of pizza. They hadn't been paying attention to the screen at all, too focused on learning each other, like a brand new book.
"Gold." Hermione answered, without thought.
"Technically not quite a colour, but okay. Green."
"Why green?"
Draco shrugged. "Dunno, it's soothing."
"Favourite book?"
"Clockwork Orange." He stated simply. Hermione looked at him sharply, but before she could question him he said, "You?"
"That's easy. Pride and Prejudice."
Draco laughed. "Typical girl."
"Excuse me, might I point out that your favourite isn't all that ideal either—"
"Okay, okay. Food?"
"Mum's casserole. Yours?"
"Pizza." He managed, through a giant mouthful.
Hermione giggled. "That seems accurate. Seeing as you've already ploughed through three quarters."
He gave her a wolfish expression. "Hey, a guy's gotta eat."
"Right. What would be your ideal date?"
He turned to look at her, his eyes steady, and a small twist to his lips. "This."
She smiled. "Me too. Except…"
"Except?"
"There's a kiss involved." She said uncertainly.
Then his eyes lowered, that stern mask coming back into position. Hermione's heart broke for a second, but then he spoke quietly. "You don't want that from me, Hermione."
"Want what?"
"You know… A relationship?"
She narrowed her eyes at him. "I'm fairly certain I'm old enough to make up my own mind about what I want, thanks."
Draco shook his head. "You don't get it… I'm not good for you."
Her anger dissipated, and was replaced by a brief sadness. "Draco…" She murmured, then had a better idea, and crawled on top of him to straddle his lap.
Despite his dejected mood, his hands came up to rest on her waist, and he said, "I… I don't want to hurt you. Ever."
Hermione stroked his face, placing her hands on either side of his jaw. "Draco. Look at me." He did, his grey eyes locked onto hers, and beneath his self doubt she saw that flicker of affection. "Of course that's what will happen if you don't even try. Let me decide for myself whether you're any good for me or not. Until then, stop moping and kiss me."
He was clearly surprised for a few seconds, but then he complied, and his lips were soft and oh, so sweet. They kissed and they kissed some more, and it tasted like pizza but it was so perfect, they couldn't stop. Their tongues danced together, and teeth gnashed against teeth, and Hermione knew from that moment, that she would be forever addicted to his sweetness.
TBC...
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