sparklejumpropequeen04
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All he could smell was her sweet cunt. Her sweet, Omega scent. His urgency all but forgotten, his wand arm limp, his jaw slackened, caught up in the smell of Hermione, Draco could not think; summer air in the countryside, rich with fragrance, flavour spilled over his tongue, down his throat.
Omega, she was an Omega. She had to be — Draco had gone on enough dates (forced by his mother, arranged by Pansy, set up by Blaise and Theo) with Beta witches, to know that there was no way to truly replicate an Omega’s scent. The perfumes, potions, essences, were overly sweet and chemically, artificial in a way that made him cringe, sneeze, and curse.
Draco ignored twenty years of knowledge and hard proof, allowed his blood to be infused with delirious hope.
or, Hermione has her first heat and Draco is sent by to perform a welfare check on her, after which, things spiral into filth.
Bookmarked by sparklejumpropequeen04
02 Oct 2025