Drabbles

Ginny fiddled with the silvery ribbon tied around the bouquet of deep red tulips she held, the color palette a visual representation of the union she was about to witness. 

She was standing in the high-ceiling tent set aside for the wedding party, waiting for the guests to be seated in the chairs lined neatly up the length of the Longbottom’s lawn, the venue selected as neutral territory as well as a charming backdrop, given how well the lord of the estate cared for his plants. 

Said lord—though he ignored her whenever she used the term in his direction—stepped into the tent, Pansy on his arm. 

“We’re almost ready,” he said. “Everyone set?”

Ginny raised her non-bouquet hand. “Nope. I don’t have my escort.”

“Ah.” Neville peered around the small tent, as if she’d somehow misplaced the hulking figure of Gregory Goyle behind the slender forms of Theo and Harry, the only two other objects present. He glanced at Pansy, who shrugged, then back to Ginny. 

“Okay, I’ll go look…wait–” Neville squinted at her bouquet, then took a halting step forward. “Ginny, why do you have Cupido gemmas in your bouquet?”

Ginny knit her brows. “What?” 

“That.” Neville took another step, Pansy tripping along beside him in her heels, her arm still hooked through his. He pointed at the little white buds dispersed among the green and red florals. “Those. Why do you have those?”

Neville’s reaction to her rather boring bouquet sent a prick of awareness through her; he was usually so mild mannered. “I don’t know — you made it. Theo just handed it to me.” 

At her response, Neville’s head lifted, gaze fixing on the raven-haired man where he stood a few paces away fiddling with Harry’s bowtie.

“Theo,” Neville called in a whisper-shout. Ginny rolled her lips in at his concern for decorum; the wedding guests weren’t that close. 

Theo traipsed over when Neville beckoned him with an urgent gesture. “What?”

“What’s this?” Neville pointed to Ginny’s bouquet. 

Theo looked. Blinked. Blinked again, then looked at Neville. “I don’t understand the question?”

“These.” Neville pointed carefully at the white buds. “Why is Ginny holding Cupido gemmas in a public fucking venue?”

Everyone’s brows went up at the uncharacteristic language, except Pansy’s, who’s lowered with concern. 

“You told me to get something to set her bouquet apart because she’s the maid of honor,” Theo said slowly, brows creasing. “Said to get something romantic from your greenhouse, but I don’t know what the fuck makes a flower romantic or not, so I got these because they had the word cupid in the name. What’s the problem? They look pretty, don’t they?”

Harry stepped closer, laying a hand on Theo’s shoulder and looking between the two men. “What’s going on?”

Neville scrubbed a hand down his face. “Cupido gemmas,” he said, voice forcibly moderated, “are better known as desire buds.”

Theo looked nonplussed. “Okay…?”

Ginny raised the bouquet to inspect the buds but before she could lift it more than an inch, Neville made a cut-off sound of warning, halting her. 

“Don’t! It’s fucking sex pollen!” he burst out, then ducked his head, as if his stature was at all hideable with a simple bowing of his head, or would do anything towards taking back the volume he’d achieved. 

Theo’s mouth dropped open. “Sex pollen?!” He stared at Neville like he’d never seen him before. “Why the fuck are you growing sex pollen? ” His eyes cut to Pansy. “Oh my god, you lucky witch.”

Pansy grinned smugly but Neville seemed less enthused. He raked a hand through his hair, eyes darting from Ginny’s bouquet and back up. “Don’t move it. It’s in the buds,” he said. “And they’re so sensitive. They want to burst open, because–”

“Love.” Pansy’s voice was crisp, hand tightening around his biceps. “Just tell us what to do.”

Neville’s gaze clarified under Pansy’s direction. “Right. Don’t jostle it,” he said, and Ginny immediately tried to steady the quivering bouquet, feeling like she had a pack of Exploding Snap about to go off in her hands. “Hold your breath and set it down as carefully as you can, and then we’ll–”

His words were cut off by the sudden wrenching back of the tent opening and the rapid entry of Gregory Goyle, his tall, broad figure headed straight for Ginny with the velocity of a Bludger.

“Sorry! I’m here!” Greg lurched forward, one hand straightening his collar and the other arm bending to extend his elbow to her. “Sorry, sorry, Draco just needed–”

“Stop!” Neville blurted, panicked, at the same time Pansy shrieked “Don’t, Greg!”. Theo squeaked as Harry jerked him backward in a deft tug, and Ginny took a hasty step away, sucking in a breath, but even with her quick reflexes, a collision was inevitable. Greg’s elbow narrowly missed her arm but when his hand reached out to steady himself, it knocked her further off balance. He changed directions, grappling for her with a look of extreme apology at having knocked into her, but she was headed for the earth with or without him.

As it so happened, it was with. 

She landed on her front, expelling her held breath in a harsh exhale as Greg’s chest slammed into her back. He caught himself with a hand on the ground beside her head, managing not to completely squash her, but the damage was done. Crushed beneath her chest, the buds ruptured, sending pollen spilling into the air. Her deep inhale was instinctive. 

“Get out.” Neville’s voice was uncompromising. “Go, Pansy. Theo. Harry. Out now.”

The tent flapped as they scrambled to exit. Ginny’s heart was racing, both from the exhilaration of the fall and the realization that she’d just breathed in a metric tonne of sex pollen, her face inches from the destroyed bouquet. Above her, Greg swore. 

“Sorry,” he grunted. “Are you—?”

“Ginny.” Neville’s voice was still firm, though muffled now. “Are you alright?”

Physically, she felt fine: no twisted ankle nor anything that might leave more than a bruise. She didn’t know how to answer regarding the other aspect, that being that her brain was going fuzzy with unending, highly explicit, deeply arousing images, the barrage overwhelming in…the best way. 

“Yes,” she breathed. Her nerves were fizzling, every sensitive point of her body suddenly wide awake. “I’m not hurt. But I’m…”

“I know.” Neville sounded like he was talking from underwater. She tilted her head and saw he was covering his nose and mouth with his shirt, the tails untucked from his trousers and revealing a slim strip of skin. The glimpse of his bare hip sent a burst of arousal through her, shocking for both its severity and inappropriateness. It was a hip for Godric’s sake, and Neville’s. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, “I shouldn’t have let Theo go on his own. I– fuck, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay.” And it really was.

She felt like a ball of pure energy, heated and potent. Her hips twitched up, trying to dispel some of it, and encountered the mass of Greg over her, still braced on a hand beside her head. He grunted and pushed himself off her. Now freed, she rolled onto her back, staring at the off-white ceiling of the tent. She felt like a pool of molten silver, her dress spilling over her body in a puddle that accurately represented how she felt between her legs.

Neville mumbled a Vanishing charm and she felt her bouquet disappear from beside her, the insidious buds banished from causing further chaos. 

“I’m just going to say it plainly.” Neville’s voice drew her gaze again. “You’re going to experience extreme sexual arousal. An overwhelming amount.” He held her eye for a moment longer before fixing his attention on Greg. 

“Listen. You’re going to want to fuck her, and it’s going to feel uncontrollable.” His eyes were unrelenting as he stared Greg down. “Control it.”

Greg’s chest was heaving, cheeks ruddy and hand pressed firmly over the front of his trousers where Ginny could see a bulge already well-formed. 

“I–” His voice broke, strained. His head began to turn in her direction before his jaw flexed and he looked skyward instead. “It’s already so bad,” he grit out.

Ginny had to agree. Her clit was throbbing insistently, every pound of her heart sending blood surging to her groin and breasts and out through the tips of her fingers until she could feel it pulsing everywhere. She shifted, trying to find some relief, but the movement only made her more aware of how untouched she currently was.

“I know,” Neville repeated. “I know exactly how it feels. Like you’ll die if you don’t come.” 

Greg whined through his teeth, throat bobbing on a swallow as he resisted turning to look at Ginny again. Neville clicked the fingers of his free hand, demanding Goyle’s focus. “Greg. Look at me. Do not touch her.”

“It’s okay,” Ginny breathed. Despite his best intentions, Neville was only succeeding in turning her on further, his words shifting the nature of her fantasies until it was just orgasm after orgasm running through her memories, the heat of the crest, the eye-rolling pleasure of the squeeze, the intense satisfaction of the release. 

She wanted to come. She didn’t mind that Greg did, too. In fact, the thought of him coming, of his cum, specifically, made her inner walls flutter eagerly.

“It’s okay, Neville,” she repeated. “What do we need to do to make it stop?”

Neville’s pained expression gave her all the answer she needed. His trepidation was sweet, but entirely unnecessary. She found herself more than willing to chase the lust that was beginning to consume her, furthered by the way that Greg was obviously struggling to contain his. Her hands dropped down to gather handfuls of her skirt, tugging it up her thighs. 

“You should leave,” she told Neville, “unless you want to watch him fuck me.”

Greg lost his will to avoid eye contact, head swiveling toward her with an intensity that had her breath catching in her throat. 

Neville flushed. “You’ll miss the ceremony,” he said hesitantly, eyes drifting from her thighs to the tent wall. Idly, she wondered how much of the pollen he’d inhaled. “I…what should I tell Hermione?”

Ginny licked her lips, watching the way it drew Greg’s eyes, the green a sharp contrast to the expanse of his pupils. 

“Tell her I need to fuck Goyle or we’ll die,” she told Neville, not looking away from the man in front of her. “Trust me, she’ll understand the concept.”

“Feel like you’ll die,” Neville put in automatically. “You won’t actually…that is, it’s unlikely that—”

“Unless Greg declines, it’s going to happen,” Ginny interrupted. “I’m not interested in testing theories about what might or might not, when I could be having fun instead.”

“Fun?” Greg’s voice was rich with disbelief. “Salazar, there’s nothing fun about how this feels.”

Ginny pressed a hand between her legs, the cotton of her knickers saturated, and watched both men’s eyes drop to the action. She grinned, even as her core throbbed. “This isn’t fun to you?”

Greg’s eyes darkened, the muscle of his jaw flexing so hard she watched it ripple through his cheek. “I’ve got it, Neville,” he said, not looking away from her. “You should go.”

Neville dithered, so Ginny helped stir him to motion by sitting up and slipping the thin straps of her dress over her shoulders. The bodice was structured enough to hold itself up but as she had nothing on under it, hoped Neville got the message that he was seconds away from seeing her half naked. Given that Pansy was in a matching dress — and had arrived in it, suggesting she’d had help getting it zipped up — she thought it wasn’t an unreasonable cue. 

Astutely, Neville took it, clearing his throat and stepping back. “I’ll be outside,” he said faintly. “If you need anything.”

“Contraceptive potion wouldn’t hurt,” Ginny called after him, only half kidding. 

Left alone in the tent, Greg stared at her. 

“I really want you,” he said, the words strained. “But you shouldn’t…don’t feel like you have to…to do anything.”

He was sweet. And, botanically-influenced lust or not, undeniably attractive. He was built like a Beater, broad and bulky, with dark green eyes that reminded her of lying on a shady lawn in the summertime. All things considered, she could be stuck with someone much, much worse.  

“It’s a wedding.” She tugged the bodice down, practically vibrating under the intensity of his stare as her tits were exposed. “I was sort of hoping I’d leave with a means to an orgasm.” She bit the corner of her smile to temper it, eyes sliding down his heaving chest to where he was tenting his slacks quite impressively. “Looks like you’ll exceed my expectations on…the timeline.”

Her head was going floaty, thoughts hazy as the pollen stroked along her nerve endings, making them fire with an intensity that had her palming her breasts to soothe the ache. 

He squeezed his cock in sympathy, a tight sound escaping his throat. “You’re killing me,” he groaned. “Stop touching yourself.”

“Come do it for me then,” she challenged, and pinched her nipples. The sharpness sent a rush through her, but not as much as the impact of the ground as she was pushed back flat, Greg covering her again. 

Adrenaline spiked, making her motions hasty and fumbling as she battled with her skirts, the material silky and resistant to being bunched. Greg fared better, his belt and fly loosening seemingly by magic. Retroactively, she wondered if it had been magic. Her wand was tucked in her bag inside Neville’s house, too far for even a wandless Accio, but perhaps– 

A groan of near-satisfaction stalled her thoughts, but the sight of Greg’s cock—solid, leaking, wrapped in his hand—sent her into a frenzy. She tore at the material of her dress, body heat rising with agitation and a growing sense of urgency, the pressure in her core insistent, almost painful, at the sight of him so ready for her. 

She yanked, to no avail, letting out an aggravated noise.

Greg’s hands slid up her legs, sliding under the material and shoving it over her hips, his forearms keeping it pooled over her middle. 

“Thanks.” She tried to work her knickers off. “Is it alright if I—?”

He tugged them down for her before she’d even finished asking. She hooked her legs around his hips as soon as she was able, the spike of one strappy heel catching on his trousers and pushing them further down his arse while the other leg wound fully around his back. She pulled until he was tight between her thighs, the proximity ratcheting up her desperation until she was clinging to him. She could feel the pressure of his cock along the line of her cunt, tantalizingly close. She rocked up against it mindlessly, hands grappling for his shoulders.

“Can I—?” she began. 

He angled his hips then pulled her forward with strong hands, impaling her all the way to the base of his cock in a single, strong motion, momentarily wiping her brain clear of anything but a low hum of fulfillment. 

“Stop asking,” he grunted, then exhaled hard. “Fuck.” 

His hips thrust forward, striking deep, and she made a cut-off sound of agonized pleasure at the friction. 

“Shit, I'm gonna come,” he groaned. “I'm sorry, I can’t—I can’t stop it.”

“Deep,” she panted. “Come deep.”

His pleasure was choked out, an animalistic rumble of inexpressible relief as his cock throbbed. She felt sticky with it, the excess slipping down his shaft as she rocked her hips reflexively, her cunt so sensitive that the slide of it felt like a dexterous tongue. She muffled her whimper behind her lips, grinding forward harder, seeking relief. 

“Fucking Circe,” Greg gasped. “That’s…intense.”

He rolled them, stretching out below her while she sat tall, her dress settling around her hips. In this position, he felt impossibly big inside her; she had just enough coherence to wonder if it was an biological effect of the pollen on him or just her heightened sensitivity making his presence inside her feel so multidimensional.

“You’re still so hard.” She couldn’t help herself from rising up and down on him, lengthening her strokes. “So thick. Feels so good.”

His jaw, previously lax, went tense. The pressure of his hands around her waist encouraged her faster until she was fucking herself down on him without inhibition, the entirety of her focus on the way she could feel - literally feel - herself getting tighter and tighter around him. 

He took over after a moment, hips rising from below and arms pushing her down until the combination of it all broke her. She came with a punched-out moan, cunt sucking on his cock with a fervor that had her eyes sliding shut. After a moment, it ebbed enough for her to draw in a full breath.

Reality spun and she found herself on her back again, his body pressing her hard against the ground and his hips pistoning with more force than she’d been able to achieve.

“Again,” he demanded. “Come again.”

His hands slid up to grope her breast and tweak her nipple, copying the way she’d done it earlier, before continuing down to touch over her clit, finger tapping and then dragging, sliding further to feel where he was sinking his cock into her. 

She squirmed, sensitive, the aftershocks of her first orgasm still lingering. “I don't know–” 

“I’m not asking.” His voice was uncompromising. “Come on my cock for me, witch. Need you to squeeze all the cum out.” His chin tucked down, the fingers between her legs sliding further to cup his balls. His groan was strained, almost a whine. “Gods, I feel so fucking full of cum.”  

She moaned at the visual, tilting her hips to feel him striking against the spot that was making her thoughts go hazy, emptying her head of everything except a primal need to be filled – with cock, with cum – until he had no further use for her. 

His hand retraced its journey until it rested over her pelvis, his thumb rubbing back and forth over her swollen clit and his palm putting steady pressure down against where his cock was sliding inside her. She couldn’t keep her eyes open. 

“Feel good?” he grunted, thrusts going heavy and deliberate. “D’you like that?”

Her head bobbed in a dazed nod, each breath paired with a keening whimper in the face of his unrelenting pace inside and against her.

“Come,” he demanded. He lowered down over her, trapping his hand between them and driving into her so hard she shifted with each thrust. “Come. Come. Fucking come.” 

Ginny prided herself in being moderately contrarian and exceedingly independent. But in that moment, she found herself melting into his command, her entire body seizing so tightly that he could do nothing but grunt, cock trapped inside her as she rode out the crest then plummeted into another strong orgasm. 

“Oh good girl,” he groaned, head hanging between them as he watched her twitch around him. “That’s it…that’s…fuck–” and then he let go, cock pulsing and filling her again.

Ginny caught her breath, feeling her coherence draping itself back over her in gentle swaths as he finally stilled, chest heaving. Greg drew back, hand dropping to give his cock a quick assessment before sighing with relief and sitting back on his knees, their all-consuming lust quenched.

“Fucking Longbottom,” he panted. 

“Fucking Theo,” she agreed, pushing sweaty hair off her face. 

He got to his feet, hoicking his pants and trousers back up before offering her a hand. She took it, standing on shaky legs, skirts falling neatly to the ground but tits still bare. Covering up seemed like a formality, and one she didn’t feel rushed to adhere to, choosing instead to scoop her hair into a makeshift ponytail secured by her fist, fanning her neck and feeling the sweat there cooling in the open air.

“Do you…?” 

She glanced over, finding Greg's eyes fixed firmly on her face with the dedication of a man determined not to ogle anything lower. She considered putting a little extra motion into her fanning, just to see what he’d do if her tits bounced for him, but the satisfying twinge between her legs convinced her to instead turn her back to him, letting him complete his implied offer of unzipping her dress so she could more easily tug it back into place.

His fingers were careful with the zip as he undid it and then pulled back while he waited for her to slip the straps up her arms before returning to zip it up. 

“Thanks,” she said, casting a little smile at him over her shoulder. 

His cheeks were still ruddy, though this time from exertion and perhaps a little shyness. “You’re welcome.” 

She gestured to the ground. “And thanks for…”

“Of course,” he said, cheeks darkening. 

He cleared his throat and she rolled her lips in, then couldn’t hold her laugh at the ridiculousness of their sudden leveling up in intimacy. His face relaxed into a lazy smile at her humor, eyes touching hers before drifting to the front of the tent where their respective best friends were likely sharing their first kiss as husband and wife. The reminder of where they were brought Ginny back into action mode, running her fingers quickly through her hair to confirm it was presentable before checking her dress was in order.

“Well, shall we?” she said, offering her elbow to Greg. 

He nodded, doing up his trousers and tucking in his shirt before approaching her and knocking her elbow out of the way with a playful bump with his own. She conceded by looping her hand through it, though she took the lead in moving them toward the tent flap.

The recessional music was playing, indicating they’d managed to miss the entire ceremony. Indeed, Neville and Pansy were just completing their return journey down the aisle as Ginny and Greg stepped out onto the lawn. As she caught sight of Ginny and Greg, Pansy smirked and tossed her bouquet to Ginny, who caught it reflexively. 

“Nothing special in that one, Weasley,” she teased, “though feel free to pretend there is, if that’s now your kink!”

Ginny snorted, raising the flowers in a mock-salute as Neville tutted at Pansy’s irreverence before shooting a quick check over his shoulder. Ginny waggled the raised bouquet at him, indicating all was well. Beside her, Greg hummed a little sound of agreement. 

“For what it’s worth,” he said, tone casual, “you’re welcome to pretend with me any time you like.”

She curled her hand around his biceps, squeezing at the firm muscle there. Maybe she would. 

Maybe she would.