A/N: *shrugs helplessly at your questioning stares*
*hopes you're all well*
*dives back behind the couch to scare up more chapters for other fics.*
xx-Kitten.
Get Me
By Kittenshift17
Chapter Four
She woke up in agony.
Hermione blinked open her eyes and squinted at the ceiling, trying to make the world less blurry and trying to recall if she'd recently endured the Cruciatus curse.
Worse, she recalled with a deep frown, she'd been fucked by a werewolf.
By Fenrir Greyback.
Twisting sharply despite the pain, Hermione's eyes narrowed when she found herself face to chest with the very werewolf who had done this to her. Her body protested viciously to the way she'd moved, and Hermione whimpered against her will, biting her lip hard as she eased herself the rest of the way over until nothing pulled or twinged or stung before she very slowly began shuffling backward from the sleeping monster.
At least, she assumed he was sleeping since he hadn't moved or reacted to her writhing. When she was almost to the edge of the bed, Hermione tried to remember where her wand was, recalling that he'd relieved her of the weapon last night before he'd had his way with her.
"I wouldn't try to stand if I was you," he cautioned her without opening his eyes and Hermione flinched so violently in fright that she toppled right off the edge of the bed and hit the ground with a pained grunt. Her very bones seemed to snarl in agony. Tears welled in her eyes and Hermione laid on her back on the floor at the side of her bed before they overflowed to run across her temples and soak into her hair.
"You alright, girly?" the monster in her bed asked idly before she heard the bedframe groan under his powerful form.
His face appeared in her line of vision, squinting against the bright morning sunlight streaming in through the window while he peered down at her curiously.
"Get out," she whispered, more tears welling.
"Can't do that," he shook his head.
"Why not?" she demanded.
One corner of his mouth pulled up.
"Go ahead and try to stand, witch," he encouraged.
Hermione frowned at him. Did he imagine he'd fucked her so hard that he had paralyzed her? Was he that sure of his skill? Determined to prove him wrong, Hermione summoned her strength of will and tried to sit up. Everything inside of her protested violently but she was Hermione Granger and she had lived through a war and survived being tortured. A few rounds of wild werewolf sex weren't going to keep her down. She managed to sit up before the groan of utter pain tore from her throat as her abused nethers made contact with the soft carpet.
"Be even worse when you try to stand," he told her without sympathy.
Hermione's cheeks grew damp as more tears rolled from her eyes.
"Why?" she whispered. "Why does it hurt like this?"
"Fucked you hard, girly," he smirked at her before he slung his legs over the edge of the bed and leaned down, reaching for her. Hermione flinched back, a whine of pain protest escaping her when doing so made her ache. Greyback ignored her reluctance and slid his hands under her arms, lifting her with terrifying ease. He was despicably powerful, Hermione realized when he manipulated her like a ragdoll, draping her over his lap and being careful to let her bum hang in the space between his spread legs to avoid putting any pressure on her tender and raw twat.
"Let me go," she whispered, though she wasn't so sure she would be able to do anything even if he did.
"You need to loo?" he asked, ignoring her demand.
"What?" she frowned.
"Do you need to use the toilet?" he asked. "Your legs won't hold you to walk there, girly, trust me."
"I wouldn't trust you if we were the last two people on earth," she hissed.
He remained unfazed, rising to his full height and cradling her against his chest like she weighed nothing. He carried her across her bedroom and down the hall to the bathroom where he moved her over and sat her gently on the loo, before stepping back. Hermione's cheeks burned at the very idea.
"You hungry?" he asked, turning away from her and stretching languidly despite his nudity. Hermione hated that her eyes traced over every sinuous inch of him so lustfully. After what he'd done to her last night, she didn't think she would ever feel desire for the wretched beast ever again but her body proved her wrong, and warmth bubbled up from low down in her belly, spreading through her like warm toffee in a hot pan.
"What?" she asked unintelligibly.
"I'll get started on breakfast," he suggested, strolling out of the room and pulling the door closed in his wake without looking back at her.
"You're not staying for breakfast," Hermione argued, though when she tried to stand and go after him to insist on that fact, her knees buckled under her, and she sat back down hard with a grunt.
Scowling after him, she went about emptying her bladder, since she was already there, and noticed that he'd clearly cleaned her up after all he'd done to her last night when the lack of blood or ejaculate staining her thighs became evident. The most vicious part of her wondered if the wretched monster had used a cloth or his tongue. Downstairs, she heard the tell-tale sounds of drawers being opened and closed, followed by the squeak of the fridge door that she'd been meaning to fix. Who the hell did he think he was, barging into her home like this, forcing himself on her, and sticking around in the morning, only to make himself right at home?
Hermione tried to rise again, gritting her teeth and clinging to the bathroom sink when her knees wobbled dangerously before she forced herself to get a grip, refusing to let this keep her down. Washing her hands, she eyed her reflection in the mirror with mounting horror. He must've doctored the bites he'd given her with something, because they were closed over and beginning to scab, but under them, blooms of black and purple littered her flesh. She had bruises in the shape of his fingers lining her hips, her thighs, and her wrists, and she had love bites and real bites littering her neck and her shoulders, and one large splotch of a love bite on her left breast. She didn't remember being given it. She also noticed when she leaned closer for a better look and her hair fell forward around her face that she smelled like him. Like him, and like sweat, and definitely like sex. She hadn't really thought cum had a smell until she breathed it in on her own body when she gingerly slipped a hand between her legs to better assess the damage he'd done to her.
She needed a shower, Hermione decided with self-disgust. A shower, and a memory charm to forget what she'd let him do.
She suspected she'd have to settle for just the shower since the noises coming from downstairs - was he singing? - suggested the monster wasn't going to let her forget what they'd done any time soon. Galloping Gargoyles, was this the magical version of feeding a stray dog? Would she end up with a vicious werewolf wandering about her house and helping himself to her home and her body whenever he pleased? She had so hoped that it had only been a nightmare, or at the very least, that he would be long gone by the time she'd woken up. While she stood under the hot spray leaning against the shower wall when her aching body trembled with the effort to remain vertical, Hermione wondered why in the hell he was still in her home.
Didn't he have better things to do? Hadn't he gotten what he wanted from her? She didn't delude herself into thinking that kinky werewolf sex meant anything more than satiation and all this agony. So, what was he still doing here?
Of course, the only way she was going to find out would be by asking him, and Hermione really didn't want to interact with the wretched beast if she didn't have to. And she didn't really have to. So what if he was helping himself to her kitchen and concocting Merlin only knew what? She didn't have to go down there. She didn't have to eat it. She could find her wand and apparate away and never return if it would mean never having to see him again.
When she'd scrubbed her body raw, trying to be rid of the scent of him on her skin, Hermione got out of the shower and reached for her towel, trembling with the exertion and dripping water across the floor. Pressing the soft fabric to her face, she noted that it smelled ready for a wash, and she sighed, not at all feeling up to chores, even the laundry.
"Need a hand?"
Hermione nearly fell backward into the bathtub, she jumped so hard in fright, and strong hands caught her forearms before she could, hauling her away from the danger of the tub and the potentially cracked skull if she landed wrong, instead drawing her into a powerful chest.
"Why are you still here?" Hermione asked without lifting her face from the depths of her towel when she realized he had pressed her to his chest, was still naked, and not planning on releasing her now that he'd righted her balance.
"Not like you can manage on your own after last night, girly," he replied and Hermione frowned into the towel.
He chose that moment to scoop his hands under the backs of her thighs, lifting her with disgusting ease and carrying her out of the bathroom and down the hall.
"I can manage just fine," she disagreed. "Put me down."
He ignored the command until he'd carried her to the bed, which he dropped her down on without much care. Hermione groaned when agony wracked her frame and her nethers protested the vicious treatment.
"I hate you," Hermione declared to her bedroom ceiling when he disappeared from her direct line of sight.
She didn't see anything wrong with simply returning to bed and waiting for this nightmare to be over.
"Sure you do, girly," he sneered from somewhere across the room.
Maybe if she ignored him, he would go away.
Much to her surprise, he did, for a little while. Her nose twitched when she'd managed to wriggle herself back under the covers, even though she had noted with some disgust that they also smelled of sweat and sex and werewolf.
"Here," he said, plopping a plate down on the middle of her stomach when she was hidden under the covers, waiting for the monster to go away.
"Leave me alone," she snarled at him without emerging.
"Eat something and I will," he bargained.
Hermione peeled back the covers to squint at him.
"Really?" she asked, noting that he'd donned jeans but wasn't wearing a shirt.
It ought to be considered criminal for so wretched a creature to look so good, she decided snidely.
"Eat it," he nodded at the plate of food he'd brought for her. "And I'll go when you're done."
"It's that easy to be rid of you?" she asked.
"I have things to do," he shrugged his shoulders.
"Don't let me keep you from them," she replied eagerly, keen to be shot of him.
He curled his top lip back from teeth that were too sharp, and Hermione narrowed her eyes on him before lowering her gaze to the plate on her lap. He'd piled it high with every form of protein she had in her kitchen, she noticed with amusement, eyeing the chicken leg, rashers of bacon, side of beef, and pork sausages with trepidation. He'd also scrambled some eggs and stacked some toast on the side of the plate to eat with it. He'd even conjured some black pudding from somewhere, though Hermione didn't dare ask where he'd gotten the blood to make it.
"I can't eat all this," she told him seriously.
"We'll see," he answered, before turning and leaving the room.
She heard the stairs creak under the weight of his heavily muscled frame and Hermione shook her head when her stomach growled. She picked up a rasher of bacon with her fingers and tore into it ravenously, finding that actually, she was starving. More than starving. She was halfway through the piled food when he returned with a tea tray and a second plate stacked even higher with food for himself. He set the tray on the end of the bed and poured a cup of tea from the pot he'd brewed and handed it to her.
Hermione took it without a word, noting the way he curled his legs into a pretzel, crossing them to sit on the end of her bed before he dug into his own food with little decorum. She thought about pointing out his lack of good manners, but given that she'd eaten half her food with her fingers before unearthing the knife and fork he'd brought up, who was she to talk?
They ate in silence, Hermione noticing that he devoured his food like the ravenous wolf he was, scarfing it down like he didn't know when he might get his next meal. When she'd eaten her fill – more than, if she was honest – Hermione sighed and handed her plate over to the hungry wolf, seeing he'd finished his food, but was waiting for her to finish hers. She wondered if he really meant to stay around long enough to ensure she was fed, and if he was really going to go away now that she was done.
"You don't want more?" he asked.
Hermione shook her head.
"I'll be sick if I eat any more," she assured him, clutching her stomach uncomfortably and wishing she'd stopped ten minutes ago.
He eyed her like he thought such a statement was mental before shrugging his massive shoulders and polishing off the remaining food wolfishly. When he was finished – much to Hermione's horror – he lifted the plate to his lips and licked it clean like a total barbarian.
"Out!" she ordered him, horrified.
He scowled at her, stacking the licked-clean plates back on the tea tray and collecting her empty teacup too.
"You'll miss me, girly," he warned her when he unfolded his massive frame and rose to his feet.
"Not even if I live to be a hundred," she disagreed.
He growled at her.
"I'll be back," he warned.
"I'll be waiting," she replied. "Armed and willing to kill."
His smile was wolfish and mean.
"We'll see, little moonlight," he murmured. "We'll just see."