This work is inspired by GingernutBiscuits’, Peripety. It is extremely NSFW and if you have not read Chapter 27, this is all straight spoilers.
I am including a fraction of Gingernut’s wonderfully long, absolutely scorching, smut scene, because it feels like the words are imbued in the art—too much a part of it to not include.
However, I did restrain myself to chopping out the snippets of text most responsible for the vivid conjuring. The parts that came before, after and in-between are all mouth-watering, but to include everything would mean reposting basically half the chapter.
The only part that isn’t accurate is that in the story the enneagram does not activate and set a fire ablaze around them, but as I read the chapter it really felt like it would. Sex magic and all that.
Song on repeat: Change by Deftones
This song is, I think, a classic universal Tomione song, but it is particularly fitting for this fic. The story follows Hermione and really rocks you gently into the spaces where her sense of reality blurs and shifts until the physics of it have become so entwined with Tom (who she does not know is Tom!) that there is no going back, she has simply been unknowingly changed even if she doesn’t want to have been.
So, without further adieu, here is the art:
And then his lips, they are on hers, a ferocious sort of kiss. A kiss that is very much him, very much her. Very much them. It is burning, deeply, like hellfire, something that will never, ever burn out. Destined to burn endlessly, evermore.
She instinctively wraps her legs around him, feeling him pressing her almost bruisingly into the tree trunk, it’s bark pressing into her spine. But she hardly minds. Hardly cares.
Not when this angle, with her pressed higher, just a few inches, is enough to change everything. To allow him to kiss her relentlessly, with fervor.
She cannot be sure for how long he kisses her like this for. Only aware of each of his caresses, his hands as they press to her hips, her waist, her thighs, his lips as they most definitely bruise her own. How heated and intense the kiss is.
It feels, she thinks, half idly, around the haze that has taken over everything, like a culmination of everything. A battle at the end of it all.
He breaks the kiss then, allowing them both a few moments of reprieve, to catch their breath.
Her forehead is pressed to his, and they are breathing into one another, deep, harsh pants. It feels so very intimate.
His eyes, as deep as the depths of the black lake, are devouring as he gazes at her, meeting hers in the small space between.
The look in them steals the breath from her lungs.
His pace, then, begins to quicken, in ferocity, in fervor, and she cries out at the feel of him impaling her, the intimate parts of them connected so deliciously, so ferociously. His hands grip her hips, holding her just how he wants her. Both of their breath quickening, growing into tiny puffs of air.
It is not a question. It is a determination; a want. Words that scorch her from the inside out.
He presses hot, open-mouthed kisses along her neck as his pace continues, a building rhythm that has her rising toward that familiar, heady peak.
“Say it, love,” his words, low, tantalizing murmurs on her throat, his hand squeezes her hip, tightly, almost painfully. A warning that he will not ask again.
“Yours,” she gasps, and he groans into the side of her neck, sending vibrations running throughout her body, setting her on fire. “I’m yours.”
End story text. Just my rambling from here:
You’d think that having that experience once, or certainly twice, would be enough to trigger a bit of self control and listen to the very wise voice saying “no one at all will be paying attention to whether or not the minuscule paint strokes composing the reflection of fire light on Hermione’s big toe-nail are subtly striated enough to effect the 1/4 millimeter vertical groves that toenails actually do very obviously (when viewed under a microscope) have,” right?
I’d pretty quickly decide that whatever inner voice it was that responded with “but I know they’re there, and now I can actually feel good about this piece because I didn’t slack off and be lazy, allowing “other people won’t notice” to be an excuse to not strive to do my best!”
And that would have been fine once, or even twice… but this now my ninth attempt to post this piece. And the corner of Tom’s eye that you cannot even see unless you are so zoomed in that all you can see are half their faces, is currently whispering to me that it needs just a tiny bit of tweaking and it won’t take long and then, after that, the piece will finally be perfect. And I am going to not listen to it and just hit post. 🤞🙏😅
andulkaphoto
turnnoffyourmind
janainaart
theartofmadeline
germansingergirl
