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Emma Watson, Matthew Lewis, Thanksgiving Dinner, HP fanfic art

❧ November 28, 2019 - Holyoke, Massachusetts, USA

“Oh, God, Neville, thank you for getting the Portkey here,” she said, her head falling back onto the table just short of the gravy boat.

He gave her a little smile, lowering his zip before he pushed up her knee-length skirt and tugged her knickers aside.  “Well, it was an unexpected summons but a very, very welcome one. I’m glad you reached out.”

With that, he took a firm hold of her hips and, without preamble, pushed into her tight, hot cunt.  They both groaned and squirmed a little as this initial foray sank in, and then out, and in again, gradually spreading the liquid pooled within her over them both.  

With each thrust, the Waterford crystal flutes and glasses and the blue Wedgewood jasperware set across the table jangled and clinked.  Hermione managed to swing her legs up under his arms, hitching her ankles over his shoulders, as she seized a half-full glass of champagne and poured it down into her mouth, spilling nary a drop.  

Neville, impressed, fucked her harder.

“Mmmm… yes, well, I knew you’d be sympathetic and … ohh!  Oooh! Godric, yes, there, there, yes, faster… aaaaah!” He reached down to flick the swollen nub of her clit as he sensed her growing close, and grinned as she pulsed and squeezed around him, shuddering at his share of her pleasure.

His thrusting did not slow, and after she shivered through the aftershocks for a few minutes, she gazed up at him, her smile dazed.  “Em… thanks.”

He nodded gallantly, kissing the inside of her calf as it bounced along on his shoulder. “You’re quite welcome.”

She sighed, biting her lip and reveling in twitching her hips into his every thrust as she gathered some of her wits. “So I was saying… I knew I could talk to you about family drama, Nev, and I thought… and I hoped… oooo, little harder, yes…”  She bent her knees, planting her feet on his chest. Her stiletto pumps bit into his pecs as they tensed and released, tensed and released, and he gave a little snarl at the bite of them.

“I…” he panted, “I do have some history with that, yes, with my grandmother and great uncle. Fuck, you feel fantastic, could you… could you bear down on me a little like... oooooh, fuck, oooooh, yes, yes, that’s the stuff, fuck, Hermione, what a wicked little cunt you have, all clenching and eager, I’m gonna fill you right up again and again, would you like that?”

She bumped along, the fine white linen of her grandmother’s heirloom tablecloth bunching up under her gyrating ass. “ Fuck , yes, Neville, fuck me, yes, I want you all over me and in me and fuck , you’re a good shag.”

He grunted and lost himself in a stretch of quick, rough pounding as she dug her heels into him, right at his taut nipples.  

Finally, he eased up with a deep breath and a look of contentment at the transition to slow, deep thrusts. “So. What happened with your folks, then?”

She looked up at him with bitten lip, shaking some cornbread dressing off where it had stuck to her outflung arm.  “Well… mmmm… you know they settled here, after Australia?”

He looked up, thoughtful, pulling her knickers down at back to give her bum a good grope before letting it stick to the now-exposed wood of the table.  Holding only one hip as he continued to pump in and out of her, he absent-mindedly picked up a crescent roll and took a bite. “Mmm… yes, I think that was in the Prophet , actually, when you took the house here… mmm, fuck, Hermione, are you as delicious as your cooking?  Because I may have been hasty in agreeing to skip to this part…”

She smiled sheepishly, picking a roll up to nibble on herself. “Actually, they’re from a tin.”

He was so surprised he almost pulled her off the table. “ Fuck me, you’re kidding, right?”

She shook her head, eyes fluttering closed as she pulled her feet back down and wrapped her legs around his waist. “American Muggle - well, no maj thing.”

“Fucking ingenious, ‘s what it is,” he said, shivering with pleasure at her salacious embrace.  “But yeah, I remember. Wanted a new start, your mum and dad, yeah?”

She sighed, licking flaky, buttery crumbs off her fingers (which caused him to speed up again).  “They … didn’t altogether appreciate… mmm, coming, fuuh…”

Her fists slammed down as she arched up off the table, one sticking in a dollop of mashed potato left on an abandoned plate, the other catapulting some of the cutlery toward the far wall.

He grinned, leaning down to nip at the protruding bud of a nipple where it stood visible through her white blouse.  When she gave a breathy little cry, he loitered and bit down a little, relishing how she squirmed and pulsed tight around him, unable, like this, to drop her voice to its usual register.

“Mmm…” she gasped, her voice coming in a little soprano whisper, “they… ooo… they were angry, about the… mmmmm…”

“Memory modification you did to keep them safe during the war?” he mumbled around her, closing his teeth on the now-wet cloth around her nip on the dental fricatives and stops, letting his breath tease her.

“Yes!” she cried, her thighs tightening and pulling him closer. 

“Mmm.  Well,” he said, moving to attend to her other breast, lest it feel all forgotten and forlorn, “It had to have been traumatic, Hermione,” he said, smiling as he squeezed her breast, elevating its swollen summit right up to his waiting lips.

“Oh, I know,” Hermione said, bouncing slightly beneath him as she looked down to watch.  “I know… so… well, it’s been years, and they… got better,” she gasped at a quite sharp thrust, “were grateful,” she whimpered at the next, “but finally, ooooh, Godric, you beast , Neville, that’s grand, ooh… but… em… finally, we rowed.”  

Becoming aware of the sticky potato coating the side of her hand, she lifted it to her lips to lick, still gazing down into his eyes through dark, thick lashes.  

He snarled in desire and stood straight again, pounding her properly as he pulled her hand up to his mouth, pulling her torso up into a seated position as he did so.  “I take care of you today, witch - none of that.” He let his teeth scrape her skin, setting her mewling, as he licked her clean. His eyes flew to hers with reverence.

She smiled coyly, batting her lashes at him as she looped her clean hand around his neck. “I did make those.”

His eyes rolled up and he roared, utterly losing all control.  His hands fell to her hips, pulling her into his quick, sharp thrusts as he crescendoed, and she clung to him, weaving both her clean and her buttery, creamy hand through his hair and holding on.

“Yes, Neville, fuck, oh, Merlin, yes, yes, yes, harder , harder, yes, baby, god , yes, come for me, darling, yes, yes, yes…”

She threw back her head in a silent scream of her own climax as he bellowed, spurting great volleys of hot sticky come into her succulent honey pot. Picking her up off the table even as his voice still tore over his climax, he turned and shoved her back against the wall, rutting into her there to give her no room to slip back under his onslaught. Her shoulder blade bumped the dimmer switch, causing the light to flicker brighter and darker, off and on, as he shuddered into her again and again.

“Mmmmph,” she whined, barely recognizing her own plaintive tones, “Daddy, you’re so good to me.  Let me, will you let me?”

He chuckled, giving her ass a firm smack from underneath.  “If you don’t, I will, my little tart.”

“Yes, Daddy, thank you , Daddy!” she crooned, wandlessly summoning her wand and pointing it down between them at his weighty but softening cock. “Engorgio Phallus!”

With a little yelp of pain, he felt his erection returning and grinned, nipping at her lip. “So many ways to take you.  Which should I choose?”

Her darkened eyes flashed with her wicked grin. “All of them, Daddy, only every last one will do.”

With a cocky smirk he pulled her wand from her hand - an act as intimate as any other deed they’d done this evening - and took a step over to pull out one of the chairs from the table, casting a cushioning charm on the floor in front of it before he pried her thighs open from their grip on his hips and pulled out of her, ignoring her protests and dropping her to her knees as he sat.  “Uh uh. I want to enjoy some of this delicious feast you prepared, so you take care of me with your mouth and let me know if I’m correct in my guesses of what happened,” he directed, spreading his own thighs to the sides to give her room to work.

She looked up at him, fuming and scheming, as she settled into a kneel and bent down over his still-wet cock. “Of course,” she said, her submission wry, before she bent to pull a long lick from the stickiness of his balls all the way up the underside of the taut staff to his weeping tip.

With barely a little shudder, he grinned, using her wand again to silently summon a turkey leg. It pulled off the impressively large bird and flew into his waiting hand.  “Damn right, of course,” he breathed, watching her lovely mouth and blazing eyes as her tongue swept around his glans. Watching her made him thirsty, so he summoned an empty water goblet and charmed an open bottle of primitivo to pour out into the large cup. 

He sighed and took a bite of the turkey leg, pulling the meat away and chewing with relish as she pushed him through her lips and pulled him into her mouth. He washed the bite down with a swig of wine as her head started to bob, assisted from below by the tight, sliding grip of one hand.

“Now, then,” he sighed, scooting his hips forward a little to give her better access. “Let me guess… Mmm… they’ve finally recognized they’re angry and they can’t keep not saying anything?”

She blinked up at him, her nod blending into the bob as she sucked moved up and down.

“And this holiday… it’s meant to be, oh, I donno, like Christmas , all about family and togetherness, yeah?”

She kept bobbing, rewarding his insight with a distracting little flick of her toungue.  

He didn’t talk for a moment, hypnotized by the rhythm of her, sucking him in farther and farther until she made little gagging noises and her hand fell away.

“You are a good little girl, aren’t you?”

Her eyes, which had strained half closed, opened and met his brightly, the suggestion of a smile at the corners of her stretched lips.

He smirked down at her. “Show off, then?  Can you take all of me? I’m going to feel your throat, love, I want to touch it when it bulges for me.”

After pausing for a deep breath, Hermione stretched her neck and took him to the hilt, making little sounds of abortive attempts to swallow as she held him there, bobbing only very slightly as the muscles of her throat struggled around his girth.

He stroked himself gently through the distended skin of her neck. “How long can you hold me, then?  Show me, Hermione. Make Daddy proud.”

Determination burned in her gaze as she looked up at him, her throat clenching and trembling around him as they each tried to make the other blink first.

He leaned forward intently, something predatory in his leer. “Oh, love, you’ll not win this game.  You’re mine, now.”

Finally, she blinked, then pulled off him, gasping for breath while he smirked, his wet rod springing free as he polished off the leg and she collected herself.

Watching her massage her throat, he handed her the wine. “Such a good little slut for me, aren’t you, darling?”

Her eyes narrowed at him. “You’ve never had half so good, you randy lech, with your great, fat cock.”

He shrugged smugly.  “Can’t fault you there.  But you haven’t, either.”

Tossing the bone aside, he picked her up and threw her over the table, a tureen of green beans dotted with almonds crunching under her back.

“Mmm… sorry, do I need to stop to clean that up?” he inquired as he spread her thighs wide and sank to his knees between them.  

She shook her head breathlessly. “The haricots are cushioning me over the shards.”

He grinned and ducked down, tearing her knickers, nuisance that they were, across the gusset. “Excellent,” he breathed, and then lowered his lips to suck her swollen, throbbing clit hard into his mouth. 

She flailed and cursed immediately, knocking over the long, beeswax tapers (fortunately unlit) as she arched and writhed.  His pursed lips bent into a slight grin as he kept pulling air away from the vacuum of his mouth, intensifying her ride through aftershocks before, some time later, he pulled off her with a pop .  “Sensitive, are you?”

She smiled languidly down at him, running her finger over a long stick of butter slowly before popping it into her mouth with a greedy suck.

Good god he was hard.  Sweat broke out over his forehead as he marvelled. “You insatiable little heathen!”

And then he buried his face in her fragrant muff, plying her slit with his tongue before his fingers came up to take over and his mouth’s attentions returned to her clit.  

It was the longest hour of her life.  Hermione writhed under his unstinting affections through ten orgasms, three more scavenged flutes of champagne, and the ignominious end of a sweet potato-marshmallow casserole, which flew up and spattered the ceiling with a particularly intense climax’s burst of accidental magic.

“Shit, I wanted to try those,” Neville breathed, his exhalation tickling her hyperstimulated cunt.

She groaned and managed to flip on her stomach, fumbling for her want and vanishing her dress.

“Well, too bad, but I need you to pound me into this table again before the potion has a chance to lose potency.”

He stood, eager to quench the burning throb in her again. “Don’t have to ask me twice.”

They both moaned as he sank into her cunt and started rutting into her with a light, playful sort of pace, humming as he worked her over.  

“So,” she said, finding her powers of speech somewhat less obliterated by this still-decadent act, “They just excused themselves… mmmm… and said they thought it best they went home.”

He frowned even as he started, gradually, to increase his speed.  “A harsh day for it, after everything you did to be here, celebrating with them.”

She nodded, her eyes screwed shut as she concentrated on the wet friction, the sensation of being filled, the still-hungry exhaustion.  And, oddly enough, on the lurid little squish of the cooked beans under her breasts with each thrust. “They… mmm, they were telling me about this article they’d read in a no maj news magazine, Time , by an indigenous American, about gratitude and family and togetherness despite the day’s probl… fuck Neville, like that… em… problematic origins… It’s why… why I made pumpkin pie... ooooo… sweetened with maple… sugar!!”

She moaned as he started to fuck her in earnest, figuring if she were having so little trouble talking she could take more.

“Looking… forward… to… that…” he ground out through gritted teeth as the table started jumping up and down, edging toward the far wall.

She tried to raise her head to reply but, concerned about whiplash, decided to rest her cheek in the bread basket instead.  

He slowed a little after a while, wanting to ask her, “Darling, has anyone ever took your lovely pert ass?  Only, I’ve been watching it jiggle for a while, and I’d do murder for your permission to sink into it.”

She smiled but bit her lip, shaking her head.  She she saw him beginning to look disappointed, she managed to speak. “Haven’t… but… plugs… hoped, someday… wanted to be ready… just… Lubrico first.”

Of course she’d studied for this.  She sank again into a blissed out stupor as he continued to ram her, a grin spreading over his face as he lifted her wand to perform the charm as directed.

“Shall I be gentle?” he crooned, stroking down her back.

Fuck , no,” she replied, bracing herself.

With a little growl he pulled out of her cunt and buried himself halfway in to her ass on the first thrust, yelling out as she screamed.

“Love, are you sure?” he asked, barely moving in tiny little thrusts within her, unable to keep entirely still. 

Her voice rough, she moaned, “What are you waiting for?”

And that was all the permission he needed to tighten his grip on her hips to bruising and let his hips do as they liked.

And oh, oh, did they like.

“Fuck , Hermione, do you like me, destroying your sweet little pucker?” he groaned sometime later, now luxuriating in full thrusts in and almost entire withdrawals with each stroke.

“Mmm, Daddy, hurts so good,” she whined, wriggling under him, arms curled under her breasts as she tugged at her own nipples.

“Mmmm, darling, thank you, you’re the best, naughtiest little girl in the whole wide world, in which there’s absolutely nothing more important to Daddy than you.” His smile was transcendent as he pumped in and out of her tightness.  “Tell me how it feels,” he breathed, low and dark.

“Oh,” she shuddered, attempting to gather words, “Full, and stretched to bursting, and burning , and slow, and a little painful, though it’s gotten better. And… intimate. Like… to give you this, to let you take this, fuck, it’s almost hotter in my mind than in my body.  Never… trusted anyone else.”

He gave a satisfied little grunt.  “I’ll be your family now, love. We can thank Merlin and Morgana and whatever gods may be for each other, baby, now. I don’t care what wears off, I’m never letting go of this.  Not ever.”

She shook her head, a few tears rolling from her eyes. “Yes, darling.  Yes, don’t let me go.”

He shook at the intensity of it all, feeling his moment come.  “Love, I’m going to come in you now, alright? Hold on, may get rough a minute.”

She whined a little soft sound. “Oh, please, honey, make me scream.”

“Touch yourself,” he hissed, watching her shaking hand slide down under her before he let himself have at her.

It didn’t take long, “Fuck, Fuck, Hermione, coming, fuck fuck fuck,” he yelled.  She mewled under him, rubbing faster at her raw little nub.

And then, “HERMIONE!” he screamed, emptying himself into her.

Only a moment passed before she cried back, “Neville!”, constricting around his shaking thrusts in ecstasy.


It had to be wearing off by now, he thought, as he carried her up to her bed, laying her supine on the sheet after he pulled back the covers.  He nipped down the hall to grab the pie and vanilla ice cream, along with a scoop, a pie server, and one fork.  

As he closed the door behind him, shooing Crookshanks away (Gods but Kneazles lived forever , he thought, mostly grateful), he smiled at the thoroughly debauched body lying replete on a field of burgundy.  Gods, the sweetness of this.

“Stay still,” he said, arranging his offerings on the nightstand.  

She watched from under one raised brow as he carefully cut two slices of pie and arrange them on her chest, mostly above or between her breasts.  When he reached for the ice cream, she gave an anticipatory shiver, but didn’t move away.

She watched the lowering scoop and he, her face, as he meted out the vanilla on top of her delicious-smelling pie.

Her eyes flashed up to him as he put the carton down and took up the fork.  

“Love,” he asked as he gently cut a bite with the fork’s side, causing a little runnel of melted cream to run down and pool at the tip of her clavicle, “You told me it would loosen things up, but… what’s the potion you gave me called?”

She looked up at him - ah, there was a little guilt there. Yes, it was wearing off, or so he thought.

“Em, it’s called the Nullus Prohibito Draught.”

He blinked, guessing.  “Nothing is prohibited?”

She shrugged, “No inhibitions,” she almost whispered, watching him anxiously.

He looked down at her thoughtfully and delivered the bite of pie to her mouth, which she opened for him after a tremulous pause.  

“Did you know what would happen?”

She shook her head fervently even as she chewed and swallowed, sending additional little rivulets of melt over her breasts. He bent, smiling at her kindly, to lick them up before preparing his own bite.

She watched his tongue lave at her skin as she searched for words. “There’s… em… an unofficial tradition of ranting about family and venting, on this holiday, and I only thought… I thought… I thought we’d just talk! I… I knew I was too British to properly tell you what had happened, but I knew… I knew it would break me if I didn’t tell a friend, and I didn’t want to be alone in being able to vent, or, or, well, to embarrass you with my candor, as you’re, well, awfully British too?”

He let his eyes flutter closed as the pie melted, perfection on his tongue.  Finally, he swallowed. “I am.”

She looked up at him hopefully as he set about getting her another bite. “You’re not upset with me?”

He blinked thoughtfully as he watched her open, chew, and swallow, little drips quivering away from the scoops of ice cream on her with her every breath. “No.  No I’m not. You asked if I wanted to know, and I said I trusted you, and now… we’re here.”

She seemed to gage his face for honesty, and then, as he took another bite, his eyes not leaving hers as he savored it, finally let herself smile a little.  “I… noticed neither of us ran.”

He smirked. “I pinned you down,” he said, gesturing at their dessert. 

“Clever,” she mused, looking up at him.

“Oh, very,” he nodded as he leaned down to kiss her, thorough and deep.

When he rose again, she was flushed gorgeously despite the gooseflesh stippling her chest.  

She smiled at him. “We might never have done that.”

“Thank your parents for me,” he said with a waggle of his brow.

She scoffed, still grinning.  “The daddy/little girl shit has to go, though.”

He nodded vehemently.  “Yeah, yeah, I don’t think that would work for me if I thought about it at all, glad we agree.”

“Everything else though…?” she ventured, looking hopeful.

“Everything else,” he said thoughtfully, polishing off the pie before bending low to her chest, “we’re going to try again right now, just to see if we still like it.”

Her breath caught as his eyes burned up at her, his tongue licking her clean below.

“Yes.  Yes, perhaps a bath, then that.”

Flicking his tongue back into his mouth with a smile, he bent to kiss her once more.