I'm weird. I'm on a fic writing kick. I'm not likely to stop for a while. I'm trying to come up with couplings I think would be good, but I'm not sure if I think exotically enough. Oh well.
This is not going to be dedicated to my girlfriend because that would be weird. And its official, I think I've fallen for Pansy. I love lost causes.
She's still not mine, neither Hermione nor Pansy. Anything you recognize isn't mine. The combination of words is mine though. So take that.
Love to Love You
Its not doubted that you're powerful. Everyone knows your father. They may not know your father as well as they know, say, Lucius Malfoy, but your father is powerful. And so by default so are you. Why else would you be engaged to Draco. Who else could have arranged a marriage such as that. And you're seventeen and he's seventeen and he's already branded with a Dark Mark he hides during school but eagerly shows off in the Common room.
And you show your own mark, a wedding band on your finger, just an engagement ring really, but it might as well just tether you to him. And you're recieving gifts at school because you're going to get married during break and everyone wants to make sure their gift is recieved and appreciated well before that. They want to give superior looks to everyone else. And you ignore the trinkets people send you, rings you won't wear, amulets that seem pointless. There is no protection for a soon to be Death Eater's wife. You will do your job and bring an heir and you'll be fine, really.
But some things you appreciate. You love the Pensieve. You can horde yourself away in there, put in memories no one else should see or know and you can live them when you like. And sometimes, just sometimes, you touch yourself when the mood strikes you.
And there are no memories of Draco in there, because with his silver gold hair and pale skin he never was what you wanted. Not with his fumbling touches and quick thrusts which left you empty even as he filled you. No, there are memories of times when you snuck to Hogsmeade and went to the clubs no respectable witch would go into. Clubs which had Boys dressed as the Weird Sisters dancing together, girls dressed as Wizards dancing with other witches who were much to fragile to be real. And you were one of those once, a girl who had to be carressed and held lovingly, and the witch you were dancing with did that for you.
She held you and loved you and was gentle when you wanted her to be and rough when you didn't. But she made you leave when she realized you were a student, and you didn't mind because they usually make you leave for other reasons.
But really, those memories never go far enough to bring you to rushing out of hotel rooms. They're about the moments when your placed on your pedestal and you feel worshipped and maybe, just maybe, loved.
But by far the most treasured gift you get is the time turner. It looks old and like its about to break, which it might be and you know that maybe you have one or two good spins and you try to imagine what it could be used for. And you spend nights in bed thinking about it, thinking about the perfect idea.
And it comes to you, as you're in one of those Pensieve dream memories and you're seeing yourself being loved and cherished. And you try to think of someone who would do that for you, just for a little while really, quietly and forever if you asked. And no one comes to mind. Not even Millicent Bulstrode who showed interest in you a while back but has finally gotten together with Blaise Zabini.
But you come up with the best idea and you write a note and you wait. You wait and wait, and then for a moment you realize you're not alone. And suddenly you're being kissed and its like you know precisely what to do because, well, you do. And lips press against lips harshly for a minute before remembering that you don't need to rush. You don't need to do anything more than what you need to do. And so the kisses gentle and you moan against hands that know where to touch.
And blond hair mixed with blond hair, and hands roam, down down the expanse of your stomach, because you knew this would happen and you'd taken off your clothes already. There was no need for slow undressings, because really, you already knew.
And you feel the warmth of a mouth on your nipples and you arch your back, wondering stupidly for a moment how exactly a mouth can be so skilled, and really you think, who would know you better.
Fingers are pinching like you want them to be, and they're rubbing like they should be, and slowly, slowly because its always too fast really, they're going into you. Sliding in moist wetness and warmth and you can almost feel the heat on your fingers, but you don't really because its not your fingers in you, even though it sort of is.
And you look at Pansy, who looks up at Pansy and you both smile a wicked little smile and you realize that you are sort of beautiful when you're happy, if only that happened more often. But your eyes have to clench closed because she's taken hold of the tip of your clit in her mouth and she's sucking and her tongue is flicking and you never would have thought you'd be so skilled because you hadn't done it before. No it was always other girls who did you.
But it feels so good and you can thread your fingers in her hair because she won't mind, you wouldn't. And she's moaning as your moaning and it sounds so odd, like echoes of hearing your name and your name. And its odd because it feels natural to call out your own name when finally, just finally, you're coming. She just looks up, chin glistening with your juices, and maybe hers to if you care to think about it.
You taste like yourself, which is odd to say. Kissing your own lips and tasting your own come, its almost too much, but then suddenly you're on top and you're the one whose whispering out love and promises. Which will all be true. You will be there for yourself, and you do love yourself, sometimes, when you're not too busy hating yourself.
And you do the same thing she did to you because you're not too creative, but she doesn't mind because obviously you didn't mind. And you like hearing your name moaned like that and you moan in response thinking she must like that same. And you're cuddled and holding together and you don't want to leave but you must really because she's telling you you have to, and so you agree and quickly you go to where she says and you're hiding in a broom closet in your tower, and you're giggling lightly because it ironic when you lick your fingers that you taste yourself.
And you go to your room a little while later, disappointed not to find yourself, because it would have been nice having someone who loved you. And you look in the Pensieve, wanting to quickly put this memory in there but you see it already there and you smile.
This is not going to be dedicated to my girlfriend because that would be weird. And its official, I think I've fallen for Pansy. I love lost causes.
She's still not mine, neither Hermione nor Pansy. Anything you recognize isn't mine. The combination of words is mine though. So take that.
Love to Love You
Its not doubted that you're powerful. Everyone knows your father. They may not know your father as well as they know, say, Lucius Malfoy, but your father is powerful. And so by default so are you. Why else would you be engaged to Draco. Who else could have arranged a marriage such as that. And you're seventeen and he's seventeen and he's already branded with a Dark Mark he hides during school but eagerly shows off in the Common room.
And you show your own mark, a wedding band on your finger, just an engagement ring really, but it might as well just tether you to him. And you're recieving gifts at school because you're going to get married during break and everyone wants to make sure their gift is recieved and appreciated well before that. They want to give superior looks to everyone else. And you ignore the trinkets people send you, rings you won't wear, amulets that seem pointless. There is no protection for a soon to be Death Eater's wife. You will do your job and bring an heir and you'll be fine, really.
But some things you appreciate. You love the Pensieve. You can horde yourself away in there, put in memories no one else should see or know and you can live them when you like. And sometimes, just sometimes, you touch yourself when the mood strikes you.
And there are no memories of Draco in there, because with his silver gold hair and pale skin he never was what you wanted. Not with his fumbling touches and quick thrusts which left you empty even as he filled you. No, there are memories of times when you snuck to Hogsmeade and went to the clubs no respectable witch would go into. Clubs which had Boys dressed as the Weird Sisters dancing together, girls dressed as Wizards dancing with other witches who were much to fragile to be real. And you were one of those once, a girl who had to be carressed and held lovingly, and the witch you were dancing with did that for you.
She held you and loved you and was gentle when you wanted her to be and rough when you didn't. But she made you leave when she realized you were a student, and you didn't mind because they usually make you leave for other reasons.
But really, those memories never go far enough to bring you to rushing out of hotel rooms. They're about the moments when your placed on your pedestal and you feel worshipped and maybe, just maybe, loved.
But by far the most treasured gift you get is the time turner. It looks old and like its about to break, which it might be and you know that maybe you have one or two good spins and you try to imagine what it could be used for. And you spend nights in bed thinking about it, thinking about the perfect idea.
And it comes to you, as you're in one of those Pensieve dream memories and you're seeing yourself being loved and cherished. And you try to think of someone who would do that for you, just for a little while really, quietly and forever if you asked. And no one comes to mind. Not even Millicent Bulstrode who showed interest in you a while back but has finally gotten together with Blaise Zabini.
But you come up with the best idea and you write a note and you wait. You wait and wait, and then for a moment you realize you're not alone. And suddenly you're being kissed and its like you know precisely what to do because, well, you do. And lips press against lips harshly for a minute before remembering that you don't need to rush. You don't need to do anything more than what you need to do. And so the kisses gentle and you moan against hands that know where to touch.
And blond hair mixed with blond hair, and hands roam, down down the expanse of your stomach, because you knew this would happen and you'd taken off your clothes already. There was no need for slow undressings, because really, you already knew.
And you feel the warmth of a mouth on your nipples and you arch your back, wondering stupidly for a moment how exactly a mouth can be so skilled, and really you think, who would know you better.
Fingers are pinching like you want them to be, and they're rubbing like they should be, and slowly, slowly because its always too fast really, they're going into you. Sliding in moist wetness and warmth and you can almost feel the heat on your fingers, but you don't really because its not your fingers in you, even though it sort of is.
And you look at Pansy, who looks up at Pansy and you both smile a wicked little smile and you realize that you are sort of beautiful when you're happy, if only that happened more often. But your eyes have to clench closed because she's taken hold of the tip of your clit in her mouth and she's sucking and her tongue is flicking and you never would have thought you'd be so skilled because you hadn't done it before. No it was always other girls who did you.
But it feels so good and you can thread your fingers in her hair because she won't mind, you wouldn't. And she's moaning as your moaning and it sounds so odd, like echoes of hearing your name and your name. And its odd because it feels natural to call out your own name when finally, just finally, you're coming. She just looks up, chin glistening with your juices, and maybe hers to if you care to think about it.
You taste like yourself, which is odd to say. Kissing your own lips and tasting your own come, its almost too much, but then suddenly you're on top and you're the one whose whispering out love and promises. Which will all be true. You will be there for yourself, and you do love yourself, sometimes, when you're not too busy hating yourself.
And you do the same thing she did to you because you're not too creative, but she doesn't mind because obviously you didn't mind. And you like hearing your name moaned like that and you moan in response thinking she must like that same. And you're cuddled and holding together and you don't want to leave but you must really because she's telling you you have to, and so you agree and quickly you go to where she says and you're hiding in a broom closet in your tower, and you're giggling lightly because it ironic when you lick your fingers that you taste yourself.
And you go to your room a little while later, disappointed not to find yourself, because it would have been nice having someone who loved you. And you look in the Pensieve, wanting to quickly put this memory in there but you see it already there and you smile.