#(smutty) tales from the hogwarts broom closets

[what-a-weird-rose]

Jegulily: The Things I Want to Do to You (And for You to Do to Me)

Pairing: Regulus Black / James Potter / Lily Evans

Rating: E

Prompt: Threesome

Word Count: 5.6 k

The town is quiet as the morning begins; Regulus can hear the bakers calling from the open windows as they instruct one another to complete various tasks. It's on mornings such as these that Regulus remembers why he relishes working alone- why he was overjoyed at the prospect of owning the shop himself.

He recalls the day clearly in his mind’s eye as he slips his tunic over his head and stuffs his woolen-socked feet into leather boots. Sirius had finally succeeded in escaping the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, and he’d offered Regulus the chance to flee with him to a neighboring kingdom willing to harbor two runaway lords. He recalls as he walks down the spiral stairs the face of anguish that overtook his brother’s features as Regulus denied him, though it would be for the best. Regulus was scared, of course that was a factor to his staying, but he also was prideful, perhaps even more so than Sirius. Regulus refused to allow the House that had burnt them so badly to stand strong after him- if he was to leave, he was going to burn everything down around him first.

He’d started by ensuring safety for his allies, family that had protected the brothers when their mother’s rage consumed her and their father’s drink consumed him. Then, he focused on friends that the House would pull down with; there were certain people he was willing to let burn, others he spent long nights tracking safety for.

In the end, Regulus managed to tear the House of Black down from the inside. Over the course of two years, he planted seeds of doubt in his paranoid father’s head as to the loyalty of his advisors; he used Orion’s drinking against his mother, and Walburga’s rage against his father. Regulus had proven what so many had known for so long: the only thing that could permanently destroy the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black was itself. There was nothing left within the rubble. His cousins were married off -both Bellatrix and Narcissa safe behind the walls of houses Lestrange and Malfoy, respectively, and Andromeda had found a farm boy to love somewhere far enough where the family couldn’t track her. All Regulus had left to do was find his brother, which was far easier said than done.

He had half expected Sirius to show up as the House imploded on itself, to watch the desecration of their family from the outside as he’d always wanted. But Sirius never came. For a long time, Regulus wondered if he was somewhere so far that he was unable to receive news as to the outcome of his blood- or worse, he could receive it and simply chose not to. Not until three years after the fall of House Black did Regulus hear news of the brother he’d lost. Sirius was living in the neighboring kingdom he'd once spoken about, living the noble life without the responsibility. Regulus had kicked himself, of course Sirius had stayed close!

It was a week-long journey from the old family home Regulus had taken to staying in -just because he’d desecrated his family didn’t mean he gave up all their funds- to the outskirts of the kingdom, Gryffindor. Sirius did not receive him when Regulus arrived, as he was informed by the kindly staff, the man was in the heart of the kingdom with the prince -likely causing mischief, one of the maids had said ruefully.

Regulus arrives at the bottom of the stairs and surveys the shop- nothing out of the ordinary, not that he’d expected much. For the first few years after the fall, Regulus had become almost as paranoid as his father, constantly looking over his shoulder, waiting for the other shoe to drop hard. The retaliation he’d expected never came, likely because all the House’s friends were also its greatest enemies, and seemed content to lap at the rewards which came from staying far out of Regulus’ way.

He'd had the forethought to stock the shelves last night before turning in, and he thanked himself for it. Something about the way the shop smelled as the fresh herbs and spices, pages and ink, and bubbling cauldrons, mixed in the air gave him a wonderful feeling of safety. Regulus takes pride in the way the space looks; he thinks it's only natural after he spent so long carefully renovating the inside.

He walks languidly over the door, where he flips the sign and opens the two curtains over the giant stained-glass windows. He stares for a moment at the light that refracts through the yellow and orange glass onto the floor; the sun design was created by Pandora, and it floods both the room and Regulus with warm light.

Customers come and go in waves, Regulus found early on, he’s especially busy near the holidays -particularly busy near the holidays for the old religion. People want spices and herbs for medicine, they want colorful ink and carefully creased parchment for letters and notes, and they want specially made tonics for various specific ailments. Regulus likes being needed. He likes knowing that Madam Fulk will come in every other day to get a tonic for her husband’s bad knee, and he likes knowing that she still wants Regulus to come to their Sunday dinners, even though her son came back from traveling over a month prior. He likes knowing that his life has an impact on others’.

Today isn’t much different as he sets aside a book on pediatric medicine for Missus Lhun, who can’t afford the prices of the physician’s medicine -which Regulus can make better and for significantly less. He hears the chime of the little bell Sirius had installed, and makes a vague greeting as he continues to scour his shelf for a book that he knows is there.

“Hello, excuse me,” he hears a quiet voice say. And, he’s heard that voice before- or, rather, he’s heard that tone before, desperately wanting to be heard, but being too fearful to say anything too loud.

Regulus turns around to greet this person properly before dropping The Matron’s Guide to Pediatric Care by Madam Pomfrey on the ground, his jaw following quickly after.

Lily Evans is, by far, the most beautiful woman in the kingdom of Gryffindor. Fiery red hair and piercing green eyes- she puts all other women to shame. Or so Regulus has heard.

He isn’t quite sure what to make of her at first, of course she’s beautiful, she wouldn’t have made it half as far as a woman on stage without being beautiful, he hears his drunken-father say. But there is more to her, he gathers quickly as she scowls at him as he lifts off the floor, book in hand. Evans wears a large sunhat, which is made to cover her hair, yet fails to conceal anything else about her, frankly, recognizable figure. Her clothes are clearly too nice for the area, fitting more to the high society, grand houses nearest to the castle proper; her wrists are adorned with gold bands encrusted with emeralds and peridots. Regulus can tell she isn’t meant to be here, and she obviously is aware of it too.

“You’re Black, yes?” She says suddenly, with an air of urgency. Before he has the mind to reply she says, “Regulus Black? A friend of mind said you might be able to help me out.” Regulus nods dumbly, playing with the fraying corners of the pediatrics books.

Evans stares at him for a moment, as if expecting him to read her mind, before scoffing and setting a small box on the counter.

“What is this?” Regulus asks finally after a few moments; Evans sighs, as if deeply put upon.

“My engagement ring.” She lifts the lid of the velvet box to reveal a large gold banded ring with several large gemstones encrusted into it.

“You must like green,” Regulus adds airily, trying desperately to recall if he ever advertised ring resizing, or recoloring, or anything in relation to jewelry at all.

“He left it in my post box- my post box!” She hisses, digging her nails into the wooden counter before her, “and he knows damn well I can’t return it! How exactly does one walk up to the crown prince and say, ‘hmm actually, I don’t quite feel like marrying you, here you are.’?”

Regulus stutters to a stop, suddenly filled with too much information to handle at once. “The crown prince? James Potter?” Evans nods solemnly, as if close to becoming resigned to her fate. “What exactly do you want me to do with it?”

Evans sighs before becoming incredibly stiff and turning toward the door, “for now, hide me!” She shouts, throwing herself behind the counter and crouching down near Regulus’ feet as her pretty white and pastel pink dress flared out.

As Evans looks up at him with a look of desperation, Regulus hears the sharp chime of the door again.

He feels the energy within the shop shift dangerously as his eyes meet with one James Potter.

Regulus thinks he is certainly going to die. He can feel Evans’ hand pressing on his foot as she shifts silently to sit against the counter with her dress puffed up around her. And he can feel, and see, as James Potter, crown prince, rakes his eyes over Regulus, as if analyzing some great mystery.

“You’re Sirius’ brother.” James says with finality, as though the truth of it matters less than his perception of the matter. “Told me about you, said you didn’t want to come here, we’re ‘too airheaded,’ here in Gryffindor,” James suddenly gets very close to the counter, and Regulus realizes with great clarity that he was doomed the moment he woke up.

James scoffs then, smacking his belt with a hard hand before surveying the shop, “quite the place you’ve got yourself. Gryffindor must not be too bad, huh?” He asks, and Regulus thinks for a very long second that his head is about to be forcibly removed from his neck, before James Potter, crown prince, turns back to him with a broad grin and gleaming eyes.

“What?” Regulus asks dumbly, almost as confused about this as when Sirius asked about what women felt like during sex.

James Potter, crown prince, laughs fondly, as if he’d known Regulus all their lives, and says jovially, “you felled the great House of Black, and for that,” he steps back two paces before dramatically bowing, “I am in your debt.”

Regulus thinks -which he is certain he needs to stop doing- and wonders if he’s actually about to die, because he feels really close to it.

James walks all about the shop, calling out loudly when he finds something interesting -dye for one’s hair, long needles for weaving large bundles of herbs, and the old book that Regulus keeps in the back of non-specialized tonics he can make within the day. He wanders and points things out and carries things back to the counter when he realizes that Regulus is planted at his station -Lily keeps a death grip on his ankle through the whole ordeal, he isn’t sure if its for his sake, her’s, or the both of them.

James wanders about like a small child allowed free-reign in a candy shop, except somehow worse, because James Potter, crown prince, brings forth small trinkets and books from the shelves and asks in depth questions about them.

Evans remains huddled by Regulus’ feet, a hand clamped tightly over her mouth as she listens intently to James’ pattering around the shop.

An hour later, James Potter, crown prince, leaves, exclaiming, “I’ll be back Regulus Black, mark my words!”

Evans sighs deeply as the door shuts behind him, she reaches up and Regulus has the good sense to grasp her wrists to aid her. He pulls her as gently as he can and feels his heart stutter as her face blooms red.

“I’m so sorry- I- He- damnit,” Evans stumbles over her words, like a fawn that hasn’t gotten used to its legs yet. She tries again, “I didn’t realize he’d followed me here, I’m sorry.” She makes her way back to the other side of the counter, biting her bottom lip. “You probably want an explanation, don’t you.”

Regulus nods, and watches dumbfounded as she places the velvet box back onto the counter.

“I got this in my post box last night, I suppose I could’ve thought nothing of it, except its so. . . specific, here, look,” Evans pulls the ring out of the box and allows him to peer into the inner curve where the distinct carving of Evermore could be seen in the dim glow of candlelight. “It’s a thing- sort of hard to explain that part, but I know it's him. Especially now.” She sucked in a deep breath before returning the ring to its box and continuing, “he was outside the theater when I finished my last show for the afternoon; he was asking me if I got his proposal, what I thought, the whole thing, and I just. . . I got overwhelmed, James isn’t a bad guy by any means he’s just. . .”

“A lot.” Regulus finishes for her, gathering enough courage to lay a gentle hand over-top of her's. “I think I can only imagine,” he says cheekily, feeling his face flush as she grasps his hand.

“I tried to tire him out by running about town, but that man has more stamina than brains, I fear,” they chuckle, and Regulus’ stomach swoops as her thumb swipes gently back and forth on the back of his hand. “I’d never seen your shop before today, and I thought that maybe it could provide me enough cover to ward him off for now.” Regulus shrugs noncommittally and Evans laughs heartily. “You did help a lot, Regulus. Even if you think you didn’t. You could’ve given me away and faced no consequence, but you help your tongue.” Evans pulls back and tucks the velvet box into the pouch by the waistband of her skirt, “for what it’s worth, thank you, Regulus.” She places a peck on his cheek before scampering out of the shop, looking left and right out the door before darting down the road.

Regulus is absolutely certain he’s finally dead.

Once the sun is low beneath the horizon, Regulus trudges upstairs on aching feet, thinking back on the day’s events.

His regular customers came in as scheduled, greeting him cheerfully and making polite conversation. But there was something so off- so consuming about the Evans-James Potter, crown prince, situation.

The interaction replays in his mind’s eye as he pours hot water into the porcelain tub. He ignores the slight stinging to his skin as he sinks down into the warm depth of the bath, resting his head on the lip of the tub, and recalling every detail he possibly can.

Regulus wakes the next morning more exhausted than when he’d fallen asleep. His mind was muddled with confusing narratives that contradicted and pressed against his skull, leaving him with a blinding migraine that he could do little for. As much as he was able and willing to sell medicinal tonics to others, there was something -likely deeply ingrained in him by his mother- that shot down any implication of taking medicine, especially for pain.

So, Regulus suffered. Through the long day, even as the sun began to lower along the horizon, his migraine remained, steadfast in its intrusion. He was more careful than ever, double checking ingredients, rereading written orders, and reconfirming every detail thrice before acting on anything.

He’s wiping down his cutting board when he hears the bell chime once more. Regulus doesn’t have to look up to know that it's late- too late to be coming in expecting anything grand from him, his mind supplies begrudgingly. He feels slow, like he’s wading through thick honey, trying desperately not to drown in it.

Eventually, Regulus is forced to look up at the guest as he literally feels their eyes bore into him like a blade, sharp and unwavering.

“Hello again, Evans,” he says slowly, trying to ignore the intense smell of her perfume, which wafts in his direction and seems hellbent on suffocating him.

Evans seems pleased to finally have his attention, and begins her visit by dropping the small box back on his counter, “I know it's late, but I was wondering if there is any way you can. . . I don’t know, ward him off, he’s very persistent.”

Regulus laughs despite himself and shuffles up to the counter, peering down at the box, “I’m no wizard, Evans, unfortunately I am only capable of relatively modern sciences.”

Evans sighs, but she seems hardly displeased. If anything, she seems to have done it to keep up a front.

“Tell me, Miss Evans, why exactly do you refuse him?” Regulus implores, and sets to work grinding cinnamon and dried holly.

Evans stares at him, and Regulus wonders how she became so renowned for her acting when she was so obvious in her face. Then, she clears her throat, leans over the counter slightly, and speaks: “He’s arrogant, that for starters, he thinks just because he’s the prince that he can get anything- anyone he wants. He’s crude, I’ve heard his ‘jokes’, his commentary on the castle maids.” She sniffs, and Regulus is reminded, oddly, of Bellatrix, before she went bonkers and was married off to the highest -re: most tolerable- bidder. Evans holds the same haughtiness, the same unshakable pride, the quick-wit, but, perhaps most disturbingly, they share the same glint in their eyes as they recall the sins of those that have wronged them.

Regulus shudders.

“I see,” He says eventually as the room fills with tense silence, “he certainly seemed villainous when he was in here just yesterday,” Regulus continues, and Evans narrows her eyes, as if completely aware of where he intends to go. “I do say, I suspect the crown prince must be. . .” He pauses for dramatic effect, lowering his voice and looking around the shop, “a puppy-slayer.”

Regulus expects Lily to roll her eyes and scoff, to huff and leave him to the mercy of his -ever growing- migraine. Instead, she laughs loudly as one of the cauldrons behind him gives a loud, crude-sounding, burp.

“I suspect the crown prince may have something to do with that, too.”

James Potter, crown prince, enters Regulus' shop three days after his original visit. He enters quietly, save for the chime of the bell, and shuffles to the back of the parlor to unsubtly watch as Regulus tends to the only customer in the building.

Leila Strong was not living up to her name, as it goes. She had developed a horrible cough over the spring that still had worn even into the late summer. Regulus had gone through every remedy, every medicine the physician had prescribed her -discounted until he could prove it would work- and had seen no results. His pride was almost wounded, and would be in shambles had he prescribed the too expensive medicines to her. Now, she sat in front of his counter, cane resting on the leg of the chair he’d pulled up for her, asking what to do next.

“There aren't many other options, I can always tell you to go to Madam Pomfrey, but other than that, any stronger brew would be subject to investigation by the Crown. And you know how they are.” She laughs, though it's breathy and deprived of real joy.

“I’ll see if I can’t make the trip over, but you know how it gets. . .” Regulus nods, and, even though he has never really struggled, not in the way the people in the lower town have, he’s seen it. He’s seen true desperation, he’s felt the fear that comes with knowing death is following you, waiting for you to misstep. Leila nods, grasping his hand in her own before fiddling with her cane and standing, hobbling toward the exit.

“A gentleman would’ve offered to escort the lady out.” James Potter, crown prince, states proudly, and Regulus wonders if James is about to run off to make the offer himself.

Regulus pushes the chair Leila was just in into the corner, “I tried once, she threatened to beat my skull in with her cane if I ever implied she was incapable of walking by herself again.” Regulus almost revels in the shock that registers on James’ face. James Potter, crown prince, he mentally adds.

“Oh.” James says, though it seems distant, as if he’s lost in thought, “has she not gone to see the physicians?”

Regulus snorts, and James looks thoroughly offended, “of course she has,” Regulus says, pulling two books off the shelf, “they go to the physicians, get prescribed something or other for whatever their ailment is, and bring the prescription and problem here. I figure out what exactly it is they are being given, I make it better than the physicians could dream of making it, and charge less than the physicians would ever be willing to make it.” Regulus rolls his shoulders, sitting on his stool and flipping through pages, “that’s what I do here.”

James nods slowly, as if taking small bites of the information while trying desperately to digest it all.

“You know Lily Evans, don’t you?” James Potter, crown prince, asks suddenly.

“I’ve certainly heard of her, never been to one of her shows.” Regulus lies about both things; he’s very good at lying, or so he’s been told.

“She came in here a few days ago, I think.” James says without any of his usual bravado or confidence.

“I think I’d remember if Lily Evans came into my shop.” Regulus replies haughtily, and he finds himself sniffing, not unlikely Lily had.

“I suppose you would, wouldn’t you.” James replies, though he sounds slightly more suspicious than before. “Are you certain, though?”

Regulus nods, and resents the clenching of his heart as James’ face falls.

"Er Regulus?"

“Yes?”

“Uh- nevermind, I’ll just- well, I-” James grabs his hand, placing a gentle kiss against the soft skin on the back of it, before dropping it and making a mad dash for the door.

Two days after the utterly confusing encounter with James Potter, crown prince, Regulus experienced the most odd, strange, and baffling thing he’d ever managed in all his days.

The morning started normally, mind. He’d woken without a headache for the first time in days, and felt thoroughly energized through the early morning and into the mid-afternoon. By supper, he had attended to seven separate customers who all intended to order specialized tonics, which Regulus was all too pleased to agree to.

Then, in the most bizarre fashion. The door to his shop was slammed open while he was in the midst of battle with an aloe vera leaf- viciously clawing at each other until Regulus eventually got the upper hand. Only to find both Lily Evans and James Potter, crown prince, trying to crowd into his shop at light speed, talking over one another at impossible paces.

Both were speaking to him, he gathered as he tried to -very subtly- remove his greasy, frilling pink apron -which Dorcas had gotten him- while the two seemed to battle against each other through sheer volume alone.

“Oh, and Regulus you’re just too-”

“Wonderful, and I thought I was in love with her-”

“But there is something about you, and I can’t help but think-”

“What if it was you all along?”

Back and forth, over and over, the two sparred, desperately trying to gain his attention.

Regulus’ eyes bounced back and forth between the two, never lingering longer than their portion of the conversation -if you could call this a conversation- called for.

“Hold on, hold on! What are you two on about?”

Lily spoke first, her voice loud and clear enough to subdue James Potter, crown prince, for a half-second, “I want you, Regulus, I wish to court you properly, starting tonight with supper.”

James recoiled, sending a glare that didn’t at all fit his features to her, “no, that cannot happen! Regulus, I wish to court you, starting tonight! Come to the palace, I’ll show you everything I can offer you.”

“Oh, please! Regulus, refuse him and come with me, we’ll have supper at Benjy’s.”

On and on, they continued, seemingly unaware of Regulus’ swaying back and forth.

His mind reeled as he half-heartedly listened to their bickering.

“What if-” He pauses as they silence immediately, and he is suddenly reminded of growing up in the silence of Grimmauld Manor, of whispers that were always too loud, of never being quiet enough. “What if I don’t want one of you?”

They both seem to deflate as they take in the words, and Regulus is left to backtrack to the best of his ability.

“No, no, I mean- damn- both! What if I want both of you?” James’ head snaps to stare at him as if Regulus were the most brilliant person to have ever walked to the earth; Lily’s eyes widen as she looks James up and down before turning back to Regulus.

“I’ll accept it, if only because you’re worth it.”

James laughs from deep with his stomach. He takes two long strides forward toward Regulus and lifts large hands to his cheeks, “I’ve waited so long for this; say yes?”

Regulus thinks he’s ascended, “yes.”

James presses his lips against Regulus’ softly, deepening the connection after Regulus relaxes.

“James Potter, you whore!” Lily yells indignantly, yanking the taller boy off of Regulus.

The next thing Regulus is aware of is Lily's soft, plush lips against his own and her lithe fingers threading through the short little hairs at the base of his skull. Somewhere in the background he can hear James scoff unhappily, and Regulus thinks desperately for a solution. He figures, eventually, to reach a hand out and allow James free reign of his neck and shoulders. This, of course, meant he’d have to remove his tunic, interrupting Lily’s flow and-

“Come on, let’s go upstairs,” Regulus says, ending their bickering for a moment as he leads them, Lily in front, James behind, up the spiral staircase and into his private chambers. “Now,” Regulus says, placing a finger over James’ lips to pause him, “no arguing, if you want to be here, you have to play nice, and-” his brain short circuits as he watches James lift his own tunic over his head. “Um- well, be nice, and all that-” Regulus moans loudly as James continues his ministrations on Regulus’ neck, making quick work of marking fair skin.

Lily follows suit, taking Regulus’ hands in her own and tracing the gentle curve of her breasts with his hands. She slips from her skirts and unties her corset until she is left in only her slips, of which she pulls off as easily as James had.

Lily continues to grope herself with Regulus’ hands as James makes use of Regulus’ mouth, shoving his tongue into Regulus’ mouth as though he’d die otherwise.

James kisses him like nothing else- as though there were nowhere else he’d rather be; Lily seemed to be in agreement as she breathily moaned Regulus’ name as she squeezed her breasts with his hands.

James separated from the kiss, running his hands up and down Regulus’ sides, looking at Lily and communicating with her via only eye contact. James’ hands were suddenly under his tunic running flat against Regulus’ torso.

“Yes?” Lily asks, kissing up Regulus’ hand to his forearm. Regulus nods, not trusting enough in his voice to say anything.

James yanks up his tunic, exposing Regulus’ upper body entirely to the chill of the room. His nipples harden and his skin breaks out in goosebumps.

Lily giggles as she grasps his cheeks within her hands, pulling him down slightly to kiss.

If kissing James is like a hurricane, fast and wild, kissing Lily is like a tornado, fast and wild, yes, but for very different reasons.

Her fingers find purchase in those same small hairs at the base of his skull, providing her ample leverage over the tilt of his head. She uses her newfound control to lean his head backwards, and subsequently onto James’ shoulder, to provide space on his neck for her to mark -at least where James had not already been.

James holds onto Regulus’ waist and hips, running large, calloused hands up and down Regulus’ sides, and pulling him back just enough to feel James’ hard cock pressing against his pants.

Regulus wonders for a moment if Lily is as wet as he -and he suppose James- is hard; he considers until he realizes that he is allowed to check that sort of thing.

His hand shoots out from his side and slips between Lily’s legs to find a considerable wetness. Regulus almost smirks as Lily whines before realizing that James has burrowed into the crook of his neck as he humps lazily against Regulus’ ass.

“James, up.” Regulus instructs, and he is instantly aware of how much control he has. Jame rises from the bed, where he’d been kneeling on the mattress. Regulus points towards the end of the bed, and waits for James to get situated before arranging Lily at the pillows.

Lily lays on her back, head resting comfortably against the mountain of pillows as Regulus leans down and gives a solid lick to her cunt. She gives a mixture of a giggle and moan as Regulus licks again and again, hand reaching up at some point to begin twisting and pulling and playing with her nipples.

James watches, kneeling at the end of the bed, as Regulus licks Lily’s cunt viciously. He strokes his cock slowly, observing every motion either body makes as they are absorbed by their pleasure. He worries his lip for a moment, concerned they’d forgotten him, before Regulus daintily lifts his ass off the mattress and pushes up against James’ cock. He groans, and forgets immediately about any doubt he’d had.

James uses the small vial of lube -he loathes thinking of another man using it for Regulus- to stretch Regulus’ ass. He works his middle finger in first, listening intently as Regulus moans against Lily’s clit, sending her into a frenzy of almost-orgasm. She grasps Regulus’ hair and pulls him off her while she pants.

“Not yet, not yet.” She breathes over and over, as if she were trying to convince herself. Regulus submits to her, though he does slyly continue in the form of licking and nipping at her thighs and hips.

James presses another finger into Regulus’ tight hole once he thinks the first is ready. He burns the image of Regulus biting Lily’s inner thigh to stifle the volume of his moan.

After a few minutes of scissoring and allowing spit to fall from his tongue and onto the crack of Regulus’ ass, James decides he’s ready to add a final finger in.

He pumps desperately, trying to stretch Regulus quickly and thoroughly. Once Regulus believes himself ready, he swings his free hand behind himself, as he continues to suck at Lily’s cunt, and gives a nice loud smack to his ass cheek.

James blushed a violent crimson as he stroked his cock with the lube-he-didn’t-want-to-think-about and began stuffing Regulus’ ass full with his cock.

Regulus lifts his head slightly away from Lily’s cunt as he focuses entirely on James’ cock filling him from behind. He whines as he feels Lily’s fingers on those short strands maneuvering his face toward her left breast, when she petted his cheek while he sucked her nipple.

“Pretty, pretty boy.” Lily says softly, eyes peering over Regulus’ shoulder to watch James’ cock push in and out of Regulus’ hole.

James grunts his agreement, hands finding stability resting on Regulus’ hips as he rocks them back and forth.

Regulus whines as he focuses on the sensations: Lily’s fingers running through his curls, James’ hands on his hips holding him steady, James cock balls-deep in his ass, and Lily tit in his mouth. He sucked like his light depended on it, pulling her nipple between his teeth and sucking it less-than-gently.

He feels a sharp slap to his ass before he realizes what he’d done.

“Bad, bad Regulus.” Lily admonishes, pulling him by the hair away from her breasts -which were red- and back toward her cunt, which he would hardly protest.

James tutted, hand smoothing over the skin that he’d smack, squeezing and pinching Regulus' ass.

James thrusts again and again into that wonderful, tight heat, lost in it as the world fades to leave only Regulus, Lily, and himself. He feels his balls tighten in that wonderful way they do when he’s about to cum.

“I’m- fuck- I’m cumming.” James says before pulling his cock out of Regulus and tapping aggressively on his ass check before cumming hard and fast across Regulus long, pale back.

Lily cums not long after him, toes curling as her thighs snapped shut around Regulus’ head, which he didn’t seem to mind. James watches happily as Lily curls in on herself before stretching out, moaning very loudly.

Regulus cums last, immediately after Lily as he’d taken to dry humping the mattress for some reprieve. His cock hangs heavy and low under him as he shoots cum on the bed sheets.

#(smutty) tales from the hogwarts broom closets #tales from the hogwarts broom closests #marauders #young marauders #the marauders #marauders era #dead gay wizards #mwpp #mwpp era #regulus black #james potter #lily evans #jegulily #smut

[what-a-weird-rose]

RoseKiller: The Things You Do (Make Me Crazy)

Pairing: Evan Rosier / Barty Crouch Jr.

Rating: E

Prompt: Choking

Word Count: 1.4k

There is a long mirror on the wall of his office, stretching from the ceiling to the floor; it was too big to fit anywhere else, not to mention a strange addition to the rustic look of the rest of the bar. Barty liked it, he liked looking through it during the wee hour of the night and seeing his father’s face staring back at him. Perhaps it was strange, his need to see his father in himself when he was half-way high, or drunk, or both. The crazy thing about it was, really, Barty wasn’t sure when it started, all he knows is that from the moment he can remember he reveled in seeing his father’s face on his own, doing terrible things.

Maybe that was the problem with the whole picture, Barty could never let go. His father had quietly disowned him -gave him a good chunk of cash and sent him away- and clearly had no intention of reaching out, but Barty just couldn’t. He loathed the very idea of letting the resentment die because, at the end of the day, the resentment is what kept him going most times; when the dark was too chilling and the loneliness too overbearing, the resentment of his father kept the embers stirred.

Even now, as the night dwindles into very early morning, Barty finds himself lost staring at himself -his father- in the massive mirror.

There is a knock at his office door, he says nothing.

The door opened and Barty makes no effort to look at who decided to ignore the obvious brooding energy in favor of annoying him, not like he doesn’t know already.

Of all his friends -the ones he considers friends and not stepping stones to bigger things- Evan is the one with the least patience for Barty’s moods. Often, he outright ignoring them in favor of doing whatever it was Evan dragged him into on those days.

“Good morning, hot-stuff,” Barty snorts as his swivel-chair is spun around, “brought you breakfast, sexy.”

“Disgusting,” Barty says derisively, digging his hands into the flimsy paper bag Evan holds out.

“You get stuck with Dorky and McKinnon for a day and then tell me how you’re planning to cope with the things you’ve seen.” Evan nods to himself, as if trying to convince his own brain that he’s in the right -he’s is, no one should be subjected to Dorcas and Marlene’s hot-garbage flirting.

“You mean you don’t think I’m really ‘hot-stuff’?” Barty pouts, exaggerated in the motion as he dunks fries into a half-melted milkshake. Evan shakes his head vigorously, though Barty is unsure if its in reference to his comment or his fry-milkshake crime. “Thanks for the food, babygirl.”

“Ew. Never call me that again, toad.” Evan recoils, pulling his feet up to rest on the plush of the chair he must have pulled in from the hall. “They’re so fucking nasty, hot-stuff, I don’t know how they manage it.”

Barty nods, throwing his legs out to rest precariously on Evan’s socked feet. “Who stole your shoes?”

“Nargles.”

“Of course, pesky things.”

Evan stretches out in the chair, shoving Barty’s gross mostly-decayed-but-decent-enough Sketchers’ off him. “Those things are so gross, Barty.” And he laughs, as though Evan can’t see his hot pink socks through the holes.

“But without them, I can’t see in the dark,” Barty whines petulantly, stamping his feet on the ground to demonstrate his point, waving his arms around as the soles flicker to life.

“Get a flashlight ‘fore you give me tetanus.” Barty smiles wide as he stands, lifting his arms up high. “When’re you leaving tonight?”

“Wanna take me home?”

“Better than you going with some crazy with a vendetta.”

“One time, Ev. It was one fucking time.”

Evan watches as Barty moves across the room to stare into that mirror of his. He watches as the muscles in Barty’s back shift as he scoots the thing over to access the safe; he says nothing as Barty unlocks the metal box.

“Pandora wants you to come to breakfast tomor- later this morning,” He can’t see it, but Evan can certainly feel Barty roll his eyes, “don’t blow me off, and don’t blow her off either. They’re getting worried about you.”

“Panda send you then? Wanted to make sure ickle Barty was staying out of trouble?” Evan feels the moment Barty stiffens, as if prepared for a fight.

“Either you meet them somewhere they choose, make niceties, and convince them you’re fine, or I tell them your half-homeless and living mostly out of your boss’ office.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Fucking test me, Crouch, see how close to wouldn’t I’ll get.”

Evan’s hands are warm and soft around his neck, holding tight around his airways- Barty feels high.

Evan licks the side of his face, moving one of his hands from Barty’s neck to his arm, where he pulls one hand up and toward his face. He bites and licks Barty’s inner wrist before setting the hand in his hair.

“Tell me what you want, baby.” Evan says, like last time, and every time before that.

“Take me somewhere nice, Ev.”

Evan tightens his grasp over Barty’s neck, shifting his body if only to get more leverage. He pushes backwards into the wall until there is even less no where for Barty to go- not that he’d want to.

Evan kisses his jaw, scraping his teeth along the skin as far as he can get before he runs out of space to mark on Barty’s face. His hand loosens, moving off of Barty’s neck entirely to join his other to pin Barty’s wrists against the wall. Evan’s mouth works quickly, licking stripes of sweaty skin and kissing the crevices between Barty’s jaw, neck, and shoulders.

Barty throws his head back, whining loudly as Evan licks along his collarbones.

“Fuck you, make me cum.”

“Shut up, Barty, no one wants to hear you whine.”

Evan releases his hands and spins him around speedily, before grasping at Barty’s neck once again and sending him back into that quiet submission they both seemed so fond of.

Evan takes the opportunity to bite into the back of Barty’s neck, sucking the skin into his mouth enough to definitely leave a mark. Good, he thinks as his free hand unbuckles Barty’s cheap belt.

Barty jerks his hips forward in some half-hearted attempt at getting friction against the wall; Evan gives his bare ass one good slap in retaliation.

“What have they done to you to make you so fucking impatient.”

“They don’t dally around with foreplay, that’s what.”

Evan rolls his eyes, feeling around Barty’s ass until he finds that puckering hole.

Barty whines louder than before as Evan’s index finger drags along the sensitive skin.

“Fuck me, whore.”

“Shut up, slut.” Evan grips hard on Barty’s neck, and deeply enjoys feeling the way Barty’s gasps around it, trying desperately to get something, with such little luck.

Evan reaches out toward the bag Barty brought in with him, scrambling around inside it until he finds the little bottle of cheap lube.

He squirts the clear gel on the plump of Barty’s ass before smearing it onto his fingers.

“Have you been good, pretty?” He feels as Barty desperately tries to nod, or speak, or anything, and revels in how little he manages. “That’s right, you haven’t, shame that. But I suppose, since I’m so nice, I’ll give you a treat anyways.”

He gives no other warnings before shoving three fingers into Barty’s ass, confident enough in the other’s innate ability to be stretched at all times.

Barty cries, though its choked and scratchy sounding.

Evan soothes him by nuzzling in his hair, though they both know its more patronizing than anything else.

He pumps his fingers in and out, splaying they out at random intervals before calling it a day. Evan scoops more lube off Barty’s ass before stroking his cock, setting up the angle, and shoving in all the way at once.

Barty thinks he might really cry at that.

Evan makes quick work of configuring the angles, setting the pace rough and quick, finding his now-free hand loss in Barty’s hair, tugging and petting.

Barty moans and grunts and groans, though all sound decrepit and pitiful from behind Evan’s large hand.

Evan’s pace is relentless, setting them up for a quick end regardless of anything Barty does. And as they always seem to do at the end, Barty cums first, fast and hard and all-consuming, right before Evan follows, quieter and more deliberate as he fills Barty’s hole.

“Ugh, now I have to sit in your car with cum in my ass.”

“Sucks to suck, cuntface.”

#(smutty) tales from the hogwarts broom closets #tales from the hogwarts broom closests #marauders #young marauders #the marauders #marauders era #dead gay wizards #mwpp #mwpp era #rosekiller #barty crouch jr #evan rosier #smut

[what-a-weird-rose]

SunSeeker: The Things I Want (Keep Them in the Dark)

Pairing: Regulus Black / James Potter

Rating: E

Prompt: Showers

Word Count: 3.1k

James can feel the sweat slide down his skin as he trudges back to the showers. He loves Quidditch, his life’s blood in a sense, but the feeling of heavy sweat clinging onto him as he travels from the pitch to the lockers is something he doesn’t think he will ever get used to. 

Quidditch practice was good, though, despite his internal complaining. The new seeker was finally figuring out her style; Marlene and Sirius had spent only half of practice mucking around. Despite this, though, he finds himself on edge- Gryffindor has a game in two days, his first game as Captain, and he can’t help how his nerves grate down on him.

As he walks, he listens as the Hufflepuff team starts their practice. He supposes he’s lucky not to have to lead the charge against them as a new Captain with two new players. Hufflepuff has given the Gryffindor trouble since James first joined the team, always having a solid rotation of players who could fit into any position needed. It would be impressive if it wasn’t so annoying.

He sighs, finally reaching the showers.

The Gryffindor showers’ door has golden lions prowling along a scarlet backdrop, which Remus says is an ‘unappreciated waste, where it is,’ and James can’t help agreeing. He slips in quietly, although he already knows the rest of the team is long gone. In his third year, James had picked up the habit of staying as late as he could on the pitch, lazily flying around until he was told to move his ass.

He slips his shoes off first, then his robes -which his mum got over the summer upon learning he made Captain- until he is left in his boxers, leaving his glasses in their case in his locker. And he decides to carry his towel and such into the shower stalls.

The water is hot when he steps in, not quite scalding, though close. He can feel his skin prickle as he adjusts to the hot spray of water that dowses him thoroughly. He starts with his hair, running shampoo through thick, black curls that never seem to take a break, lathering quickly with practiced hands. He lets the potion-infused conditioner sit while he runs a soapy cloth down the plains of his body. James considers for a moment how lucky he is for most of the things in his life, but particularly the satisfaction he has with his own body. He recalls the night in the third year, after Remus’ first significant growth spurt, he lay next to his friend as Remus cried about the dysphoria he felt- lanky and lean and scarred and broken. However, James didn’t quite understand that last one until much later. He had provided comfort to the best of his abilities. Still, there was something akin to guilt after trying to understand something so deeply personal, having never experienced it himself.

James shuffles and shakes his head; he’ll talk to Moony about it later. For now, he remains in the safe vulnerability of the showers, running a sky-blue cloth over the sides of his torso and the soft bumps of his chest. He wouldn’t say he has an exceptionally high sex drive, not more than the average seventeen-year-old boy. Still, something about the day seemed to make him more hot and bothered than usual. Perhaps there was something in the air, the way his broom felt between his legs, or he felt like he was being watched all through practice. Either way, he reasoned, he would need some release, preferably sooner rather than later.

With such a decision came the inevitable awkward shuffling of washing conditioner out of his hair and precariously hanging his washcloth on the rack closest to him.

Then, with the patience of a man having spent years of his life locked away, James grabs his cock in his left hand and begins pumping, setting a moderate pace, ‘business casual’ as Peter had once disgustingly referred to it. He wanks without much thought, having no fantasy or person to imagine alongside the activity. Once, a few years back, he may have thought of Lily, but no longer, he was a man of his word- and he had given his word to stop pursuing her once she had explained, in no uncertain terms, that she was very much a lesbian. He chuckles at himself, even now thinking about the confusion that must have overtaken his face, forcing Lily to explain lesbianism to him.

As he pumps, slowly gaining pace as his cock hardens, he rests his forehead on the cool subway tile that lines the stalls, resigning himself to the pleasure raging over his body.

Then, he hears someone clear their throat.

He stops suddenly, standing completely still with his back to whoever it is. Then, he goes through a list of worst-to-best candidates who stand behind him. He starts strong with McGonagall, then Dumbledore, then Filch and all the other members of staff, then Lily, with Marlene and Mary close behind, ending with Remus, Peter, and Sirius, in that order. James turns around slowly, squinting slightly.

He reckons it’s Sirius, and he lets out a sigh of relief, running his right hand through his wet hair.

“You think you could quit fondling your cock, Potter?” He was wrong; James was so very, very wrong and very, very screwed.

He didn’t know the voice well, even as it had changed and evolved through the years; he had so little interaction with its owner -especially recently- that he couldn’t have known it by heart. But he did; he knew that slight lilt that the end of sentences, the drawl of old money, and the innate smugness that Slytherins had when they caught you in an incriminating situation. And Merlin was his situation incriminating.

“Regulus?” He asks, pleading that he’s got it wrong and Sirius is messing with him.

“You sound scared, Potter.”

“You shouldn’t be in here; these are the Gryffindor showers.”

Regulus doesn’t answer for a long minute, and James wishes so desperately that he could see what Regulus is doing.

“Someone thought it would be hilarious to screw with the showerheads in the Slytherin lockers- you wouldn’t happen to know anything about that?” Despite the blurriness, James can see Regulus slowly stripping: “So now we’ve been forced to divide up until after McGonagall can reverse whatever’s been done to them.” James starts when the shower three stalls over begins spraying. Regulus wastes no time slipping in; he says nothing about James watching him.

“You’ve finished practice?”

“Hardly,” Regulus replies, and James can perfectly pinpoint the moment soap hits their skin as Regulus sighs quietly, “I shower before and after practice, the other don’t get it, but I don’t need them too.”

James feels his cock jump as his hand brushes against it; he’s still hard- no, harder than before.

“Meadowes is fine with that?” James asks, in some perverted attempt to keep the conversation going, even as he struggles with the hardness of his cock.

Regulus snorts slightly, and James looks up to see -he thinks- as Regulus looks at him, “I’m the best seeker Slytherin’s had in two hundred years- I get a lot of free passes with what I want to do.”

And James can’t help as he cock bobs with the implication. He hears it in Regulus’ voice, the way he becomes almost breathy, and James wonders if Regulus feels the thick tension the same way he does.

Suddenly, and James is uncertain about how real all this is afterward, Regulus shuts off the water in his stall, slips out, and walks naked as the day he was born -although James is unsure if Blacks emerge into the world wearing Victorian-typically fashion- and slides into James’ stall as if there is nothing strange about the whole thing.

“What?” James asks quietly, bracing his hands on the walls beside him, waiting for Regulus to smack, hex, or scream. Instead, Regulus chuckles slightly, turns around so the crack of his ass fits James’ cock, and shimmies them so Regulus is under the spray of warm water. “Why?” James can hear his voice crack.

“You were taking up all the warm water,” Regulus says simply as if this is a common occurrence, “I wanted some for myself, you see.” And James is convinced that Regulus pushes his ass further onto James’ cock.

James sucks in a deep breath, mainly of Regulus, as he internally debates what to do next. If he runs, he’ll be positioned as a coward- also, he may not have time between Regulus laughing at him and his running to get dried and dressed. If he stays, there are two possible outcomes; one, James bares through Regulus’ teasing and ass wiggling and general being naked, and two, James pushes Regulus against the wall of the shower stall and fucks him until he begs for James to stop.

Fuck.

Just as James considers sending a patronus to Sirius for immediate assistance and backup, he feels Regulus stretch and lean toward the wall. And James just about loses his mind then and there. If he looks down at just the right angle, James can see Regulus’ hole as it flutters and puckers; he can see the tip of his cock leak pre-cum, less than three centimeters separated from one another.

He stares for a long time; James stares as Regulus’ hole kisses out as if trying to entice him in with its fluttering. James watches as Regulus raises his arms so he can rest his head on them atop the flat top of the half-wall. He watches, perhaps too intensely, as Regulus shifts from side to side, left to right, eight times, slowly moving his leg further and further apart.

It is at the moment that Regulus pushes back onto James’ cock once again that James actually loses his mind.

He darts his hand out to grasp Regulus’ skull’s base, drawing out a startled sound; he then wraps his left arm around Regulus’ waist, pulling his lower half flush against James’. James grasps the hair at the base of Regulus’ skull. He pulls him far enough from the wall until James can move his hand to wrap around Regulus’ throat. Then, with all the self-control he can muster, James pulls Regulus close enough so he can whisper in the boy’s ear.

“You tell me to stop, I end this now; you tell me to go, I go until I’m done.”

And Regulus moans. Whore-like, Regulus moans and pleads and tries over and over to press his fluttering hole against James’ too-hard cock, babbling deals and pleases and praise.

James drops the arm that holds Regulus’ waist for a moment, opting to grab one of the clean, dry cloths that sits an arm’s-length away. He takes the cloth, folds it in half, fourths, then eighths; he shoves it into Regulus’ mouth with the whispered command, “if you drop it, I’ll make you pick it back up with your mouth.”

After Regulus’ pleas are silenced, leaving his moans and groans as background noise mixed with the shower spray, James wraps his arm back around Regulus’ middle. He lines his fingers up with Regulus’ pleading hole.

Regulus pulls the cloth from his mouth, and James considers spanking him, “I’m stretched already,” he says quickly, using a hand to pull one of his asscheeks as if to testify to his claim, “do whatever you want with me.” He concludes by staring into James’ eyes as he places the cloth back into his mouth as if he were born to have it there, and, maybe he was, James wasn’t one to question the universe.

James stands still for a moment, considering all his options- Regulus is stretched, or, at least, Regulus says he’s stretched; if he wanted to, James could go straight into pounding him from behind, damning whether or not Regulus was lying. But, he reasons, it’s always good to make sure, and it can’t hurt.

So, James begins by running his index finger up and down Regulus’ puckering, pink hole, ignoring staggered moans and attempts to fuck himself Regulus tries. He pulls his finger up and down three times before allowing the pool of saliva in his mouth to fall from his lips right into the crevice of Regulus’ perfectly shaped ass. It slides from the meeting point of his back and ass down to where James’ finger waits just under the hole that has taken to fluttering vigorously.

James uses his spit as second-rate lube, plugging his middle finger into Regulus’ hole.

Regulus had definitely lied about being stretched.

James can feel it in how Regulus’ walls clamp down on his finger, virgin-tight, encasing him in warm heat unlike anything. He thrusts his finger once or twice before plunging up to his knuckle, unwrapping his arm from Regulus’ waist, and landing a flat hand smack onto Regulus’ round, tight ass. He can hear, feel, and taste Regulus moan. It comes from high in his throat, animalistic in every sense; James considers smacking him again just to see what would happen.

“I don’t like being lied to, Reggie.” James says shortly, uninviting to added conversation. He follows his statement by adding his index finger into Regulus’ hole.

Regulus groans, something fierce, deeper than James thought possible for him.

James works his finger in and out of Regulus’ ass until he feels comfortable enough to separate his two fingers in a scissoring motion. Over and over and over, until there is the least resistance, James reckons he’ll get out of Regulus’ body. Then, he adds his ring finger, repeating the process until Regulus is on the verge of screaming with frustration.

“Liars don’t get opinions.” James supplies, pulling his fingers from Regulus’ asshole. He knows now that Regulus’ hole is prepped. Still, he feels deeply unsatisfying about letting Regulus get what he wants so soon.

Instead, James pulls Regulus flush against his body, running his hands up and down his sides. Regulus’ head lolls back, resting on James’ shoulder as James gently massages soft, pale skin up and down. Despite his poor vision, James can see how Regulus’ dick shudders and leaks and begs for attention- James ignores it in favor of far more exciting play-things.

Regulus’ nipples are more perky than James has admittedly ever seen on anyone. He doesn’t think it bad, not by any means; instead, he finds himself drawn to them, twisting and tugging and playing with them as Regulus shakily humps the air.

James continues to ignore Regulus’ pleas to fuck him. He decides to focus more thoroughly on Regulus’ pretty, pink nipples.

Turning them, James backs Regulus against the tiled full wall that the shower is mounted to; he then begins sucking, kissing, and nipping at Regulus’ nipples, finding great joy in how Regulus throws his head back.

In tandem with his mouth, James’ hands wander downward to locate Regulus’ throbbing cock, which sends a shiver through Regulus upon being touched. James wraps a hand around Regulus’ dick as Regulus moves quickly to reposition the cloth in his mouth.

James has never been the best at handjobs, blowjobs are good, but handjobs are something he never quite learned to master; despite this, Regulus seemed to quite enjoy James’ twisting and pulling of both his dick and nipples.

Not long after James began his attack on Regulus’ front, the boy before he began to tighten- from his arms, legs, and feet, he seemed almost to curl in on himself right before he came. Squirting hot cum onto his and James’ stomachs.

James chuckled as Regulus seemed to go boneless- this wouldn’t do, not by a long shot.

Placing a hand on Regulus’ cheek, James turned them once more to the position they had begun with. However, this time, James had a hand solidly under Regulus’ thigh, lifting his leg up.

James considers for a second, briefly thinking as he watched cooling water fall onto Regulus’ splayed and spent back. Then, James thrusts his cock in, all the way, all at once.

Then, three things happen: Regulus screams, throwing his hands out to grab the wall in front of him for balance; the cloth drops from Regulus’ mouth onto the wet tiles below -James chooses to ignore it- and, finally, James gives up all semblance of control he once had.

He begins by viciously slamming his cock into Regulus, aiming each time for his prostate -finding it each time, too. Then, as if being pounded violently from behind wasn’t enough, James reached up to grasp Regulus’ hair from the back, pulling his head to meet James’.

“Is this what you wanted, love?” James asked, licking the shell of Regulus’ ear as Regulus groaned, “you wanted to be fucked like a street whore? Wanted me to fuck you dumb?”

Regulus babbles something in reply, and for a second, James wonders if he’s gone too far, that is, before Regulus begins to please, please, please, please spiel again.

“You’re so fucking easy, Reggie, you just need some cock in you and suddenly you become putty. Is this how I should keep you all the time, riding me day in and day out?” Regulus mutters something that seems to be an affirmative.

James shifts out, “how flexible are you, baby?” and James is equally impressed and turned on as Regulus manages to lift his leg about two-thirds up the half-wall, balancing it there with the power of spite. James manages to mumble a “good boy” before having all autonomy revoked in favor of slamming back into Regulus with both hands-free.

Once he returns to pulling Regulus’ head back, he can continue licking at his ear and jaw. The other he considers moving to Regulus’ nipples or cock, but instead decides to stuff into Regulus’ mouth.

James fucks him like that until Regulus cums again from the overstimulation, then a bit more until the coil in his gut becomes so tight, he fears it might snap.

He cums fast and hard, shooting hot cum into Regulus as they both pant and recover.

James takes it upon himself to spray them off, mainly because Regulus seems so thoroughly out of it he may not be aware the shower is still on. Then, once he has rinsed their chests and stomachs of cum, James reaches around to start Regulus’ ass. It’s then that Regulus starts, slapping James’ hand away, slipping out of the stall, and stating clearly, “I want your cum in my ass while I fly.”

James just about has a heart attack as Regulus skips away to the locker room, hopefully, to dress. 

#(smutty) tales from the hogwarts broom closets #tales from the hogwarts broom closests #marauders #young marauders #the marauders #marauders era #dead gay wizards #mwpp #mwpp era #regulus black #james potter #jegulus #sunseeker #james x regulus #starchaser #smut

[what-a-weird-rose]

WolfStar: The Things I Say (Only with You)

Pairing: Remus Lupin / Sirius Black

Rating: E

Prompt: Daddy

Word Count: 3.8

Sirius can feel the tension in his hair and the day’s stress move in waves through his body, riding high after the utterly terrible day he’d experienced. From waking up late to detention in the dungeons to turning in a late, half-finished Transfiguration essay directly to McGonagall- his day had gone opposite how he’d have wished it.

Despite dreading how the universe would screw him further, Sirius soldiered into the Gryffindor common room, then into the dorm, hoping James, Peter, or Remus would cheer him up.

Much to his dismay, he was utterly alone as he entered the room.

Sirius groans loudly and without care for who might be able to hear him as he slams the door shut behind him. As if his day couldn’t get worse, he laments; they’re probably off pranking without him, the twats. Of course, it was doubtful, but Sirius often couldn’t help himself but imagine how much better off the others would be without him dragging them down. He hates it, loathes the way his mother remains with him even so far away- she sewed herself into the fabric of his scars, embedding herself innately into his worst parts that she’s there even at his best. Sirius tries, he really does, to separate himself from her in his mind, as Effie had told him time and time to do, because he is not her, except- he sounds like her when he screams manically. And he rages like her, tearing down everything in his path without care for consequences. And he loves like her, taking and taking and taking with no regard to giving back, or, even worse when he tries to give love back, it comes out twisted and mangled.

Walburga had left scars in the fiber of his soul; she’d left trauma so deep within him that he found new things to fear and hate and learned about himself almost daily.

He was lucky for James, Sirius decides as he lays flat on Peter’s bed, lucky for all of them. But James in particular- he loved Peter and Remus, but they had their reasons for being unable to take him in from Grimmauld. James had no obstacles and no reservations.

It’s on days like these that Sirius reminisces on the bad and less bad of his life; on days that good is so obviously wrong, he enjoys comparing how bad it could’ve been, despite Effie telling him it’s unhealthy.

The door opens with a creak, but Sirius finds himself too caught up in his mind to give much attention to whoever has newly entered.

“You do realize that isn’t your bed, right?” He hears Remus muse from behind him, and Sirius considers flipping over to stare at him. He doesn’t.

“It would’ve been mine if you had participated in the vote,” Sirius had long let go of his resentment at losing the first-year democratic debate 2:1. He’d wanted the bed closest to the door for flopping purposes and had called it first. Still, James and Peter had ganged up on him, claiming it for Peter under “medical reasons.” Of course, when Sirius had called Remus in for backup, Remus had replied with a curt piss-off before stuffing his bag under his bed in the far corner, slipping past the curtains, and not reemerging until the following day. “I will never forgive you for that.”

“Of course not, how could you? I was completely in the wrong and betrayed you in the worst sense of the word,” Remus snips back, without heat.

It had taken Sirius a long time to figure out Remus; primarily as Remus had actively worked against Sirius, James, and Peter’s attempt to befriend him. For the first two years of knowing him, Sirius lived on the edge, constantly afraid of the quick-tongue and cutting words Remus was prone to send to those who crossed him. It wasn’t until mid-second-year -right before he had put the full moons and Remus’ disappearances together- that Sirius had realized that Remus meant very little of the snark he gave to his dorm-mates. Subsequently, Sirius discovered that it was mainly used to cover his hurt. After that full moon in March, Sirius decided he and Remus would be best friends, stemming from their use of meanness and cruel humor to hide their shame and hurt.

“You know, Moony, I always get what I want,” Sirius says nonchalantly, but he certainly can feel in the air as Remus shifts. Sirius curses internally. It would be absolutely true if he could go back in time; he could get whatever he wanted if he could stop his fifth year-self.

The end of their fifth year was a blur for all the wrong reasons. The beginning was fine- fantastic, actually. Sirius and Remus had a budding romance, a will-they-won’t-they situation straight out of one of Mary’s romance novels. Then, Sirius had to open his big, fat mouth on that godforsaken January moon. He’d thought it would be funny, a good scare for Snape, and a hearty laugh for him and his friends. But everything went wrong -or exactly how it was meant to- and Sirius didn’t see the fatal flaw in his plan. There was no hearty laughter; instead, he was all but exiled from the dorm -he could never, and would never, blame James and Peter for siding solely and entirely with Remus- and isolated from the other Gryffindors in his year. Though they didn’t know the whole story, Mary, Lily,and Marlene needed little in the way of motivation to cut Sirius off, especially as it became clear that he’d done something terrible to Remus, which he had.

The Prank had not only managed to fuck up Sirius and Remus’ relationship to the very core, but it also had fucked Remus up to his very core. The experience had shaken him so thoroughly that he had gone non-verbal for two months following and refused to speak to Sirius until the beginning of their sixth year, relying on short notes when absolutely necessary.

Despite all the terrible his mistake had caused, Sirius was sure the worst outcome was the inherent fracture between him and Remus. Remus had forgiven him -thank Merlin for that- but he had said, point blank, that he would never forget it, even if he wanted to. And, perhaps the most heart wrenching thing was when Remus had whispered to Sirius that he would likely never be able to trust him so innately again. Hearing it- thinking about it, made Sirius want to cry.

“I love you, Moony, you know that, right?” Sirius whispers into Peter’s pillowcase, hoping Remus both can and cannot hear him.

“I know, Padfoot. I love you, too,” Sirius sighs, not unhappily. He listens as Remus shifts again, climbing into his bed, likely for a quick nap through the break period. Sirius wishes they could say it as something different than how he says it to James and Peter. Because that is what they are; they aren’t just brothers, nor are they just friends. Sirius is confident that he would never look at James, or Merlin forbid Regulus the way he looks at Remus. And he knows that no one feels the deep-seeded love and lust, need and want for someone who is only a friend.

Sirius rolls over, staring at the stickers and photos Peter has stuck to the ceiling of his bed frame.

“Moony, Moony- come look at these, Pete’s got one of his girlfriend,” Sirius calls, and ignores how childish he sounds.

“Piss off, Padfoot, I’m sleeping,” Remus replies, clearly not asleep.

“Awe, c’mon Moony-pie, don’t you want to see Peter smooch his girlfriend- Destiny? Daisy? Something like that.”

“Actually, Sirius, I shockingly don’t want to see that even slightly,” Remus grumbles, but Sirius could hear the amusement in his voice from the other end of the castle.

Sirius sits up quickly, snatching the photo of Peter and the girlfriend whose name Sirius cannot be bothered to remember, before swinging his legs over the bed and sidling up to where Remus is lying with his arm over his eyes. “Don’t you want to see Peter’s impressive charm work? He finally figured out how to keep them moving.”

Remus snorts, moving his arm and opening his eyes to stare into Sirius. He shifts slightly, opening a space so Sirius can lay next to him; Sirius moves faster than light.

Remus is deliciously warm against Sirius’ always-cold skin. Their arms lay next to each other, and Sirius can feel Remus’ warmth seep into him like fire. Sirius holds the photo up so they both can admire the mastery of Peter’s shabby charmwork.

“He’s getting better.” Remus comments, though he sounds distant.

“That he is,” Sirius replies airily, mostly because he can feel Remus staring at him from where they lay.

“Sirius,” Remus whispers and Sirius can feel the shudder that racks through every inch of his body. He hums quietly, “I want to, but if I do, I can’t turn back. If you say no, change your mind, or someone walks in-, we can’t take it back, I can’t take it back.” Remus doesn’t quite sound panicked so much as he sounds resigned, like no matter the reservations, he intends to do whatever it is anyway.

Sirius turns his head to gaze into Remus’ eyes, cloudy as ever, full of emotion that Sirius has never been able to pinpoint. “You won’t know until you try, Lupin.”

Remus raises the arm closest to Sirius, and for a brief second, Sirius fears he will be hit; instead, Remus lays his hand on Sirius’ right cheek, stroking gently.

“Tell me no right now, please. Don’t let me get the wrong idea. Please, Sirius, let me back out now.”

“I want this as much as you do.”

“That’s what I feared.”

And suddenly, Remus is atop him, straddling his waist, grasping at his cheeks, neck, and shoulders- anywhere and everywhere are Remus’ hands, traveling faster, heavier, and hotter than they should be allowed. Remus’ mouth is hot and wet on his own, clamping together. Their teeth clash, yet it’s far from the way Sirius’ teeth used to hit those of the girls he used to kiss. The way Remus positions himself seems almost purposeful. Remus’ hands land separately on Sirius’ body; one sits solidly on his left cheek, and the other sits smugly on Sirius’ stomach, holding him down.

Remus is rough in ways he’s never experienced before. Sure, some of the girls and boys he’d mess around with got bratty and wanted him to make them submit, but he’d never experienced being under someone like this. He was uneasy for about half a second before Remus ground his hips into Sirius. All his hesitation was suddenly vanishing, along with his self-control.

Sirius whined, long and loud, circling his hips in what he hoped was an enticing display of his want.

Remus chuckled, rubbing a long finger along Sirius’ cheekbone before humping once against Sirius’ fully clothed crotch.

“Please,” Sirius cried, and he wanted to feel shame for a moment, yet found he couldn’t entirely focus long enough for it.

“You beg so pretty, baby,” Remus whispers, moving down to kiss and suck and bite at Sirius’ neck, “tell me what you want, lovely, tell me all your fantasies.”

Sirius grunts, trying again to lift his hips up in some mindless attempt at direct friction against his cock.

“Clothes, please, Remus, please-” Sirius gasps as Remus leans down to press his face against Sirius’ crotch, placing soft kisses against his pants where his erection makes its presence known. “Merlin, fuck me, please Daddy, need you.”

Remus halts suddenly, and Sirius knows he’s fucked it all up again.

He’d heard his casual fucks say it before, and he’d never really thought much of it- if it gets you off, it gets you off. But for him to say it to Remus of all people?

“What did you call me?”

“’m sorry, Remus, I didn’t mean-”

Remus shifts, pressing his hard-on directly against Sirius’ crotch, slowly rubbing them together through their pants.

“What did you call me, Sirius?” Remus says again, evenly, as he presses himself into Sirius.

“Daddy,” Sirius whispers, though it comes out in more of a moan than he means.

Remus starts, roughly slapping both hands against Sirius’ thighs, “That’s the only name you ought to call me until after I’m done with you, yes?” Remus doesn’t wait for an answer, instead deciding to begin unbuttoning Sirius’ pants.

“Yes, Daddy,” Sirius replies, knowing it is obsolete.

Remus smirks, grasping Sirius’ pants and boxers and yanking them down. Sirius had hoped that there might be some resistance with his ass. Still, with how fast Remus had pulled -alongside the slight sting he felt there- he supposed resistance was relative.

Then, Sirius considers asking if he can have his shirt taken off as well before deciding the view of Remus stripping his shirt, pants, and underwear is far more critical. Remus catches him, though he says nothing, moving the hand that isn’t helping in removing his boxer to Sirius’ aching cock.

Remus’ hand works skillfully at quickly bringing Sirius to complete hardness in record time. Then, by the time Remus is entirely naked, Sirius is questioning whether or not he’s going to cum before Remus gets to do whatever he’s planning.

Sirius takes a shaky breath, suppressing the animalistic urge to hump into Remus’ hand and release. Then, he resists the urge to fuck up into Remus’ hand to see what will happen- he loses that battle almost instantly.

His hips lift twice before Remus jerks his hand away to grab Sirius’ ankles and bend him almost entirely in half. He whines again, although he feels more smug about the whole thing this time.

Remus moves his hands so one is positioned well enough to grasp Sirius’ ankles at once while the other moves down to land a vicious smack straight onto Sirius’ ass.

“Did I tell you you could fuck my hand?” Sirius shakes his head, swallowing the groan accompanying Remus’ cock aligning perfectly with Sirius’ ass crack. “Did you ask Daddy if you could fuck his hand?” Remus asks, and Sirius shakes his head again as Remus shifts the hand holding his ankle to be his arm, acting as a bar. “So, tell Daddy why you thought you were allowed to fuck his hand,” and suddenly Remus’ hand was resting on Sirius’ throat, and the world collapsed around them.

“I dunno,” Sirius replied dumbly, a mixture of truly not knowing why he did it and feeling so out of his element that his brain seemed to shut down. Remus stops.

“Sirius,” he says, but it lacks the wildness- the sexiness of Daddy Remus that Sirius was enjoying so thoroughly, “Are you alright?”

Oh.

“What?” Sirius asks, feeling suddenly very, very exposed. Why did everything stop so suddenly? Was Remus done? Did he get bored of Sirius that fast? But wait, he asked-

“Sirius, are you alright?” Remus reiterates, grabbing Sirius’ ankles and laying them back on the bed. He grabs his blanket -an old, ratty thing Sirius had once mocked before being informed Remus’ mum had made it for him- and covers Sirius up from his mid-stomach to his toes. “You looked really out of it- I’ve never seen anyone look like that. I was worried you were, well- I thought I might have triggered something, what with the throat thing.”

Oh.

Sirius lays very still for a second, his head spinning faster than ever before. None of this has ever happened before- not in a negative way, not at all, just never before. He swings Remus’ blanket off of himself, shoving it back into the corner so he won’t have to think about Hope Lupin while he fucks her son, and makes a beeline straight to Remus’ mouth.

They kiss harder than before, likely because Sirius is a hundred times hornier now than when they first started.

His skin feels like embers, and Remus pours whiskey onto growing flames as he drags Sirius’ shirt up and over his head.

“I want you so bad,” Sirius starts, and he wonders if he’s babbling before deciding he doesn’t care if Remus can understand him or not. “Daddy, please. Please, Daddy, take me. Fuck me raw, Daddy.” On and on and on as Remus lays him back down on the bed and pulls his legs back up. Sirius finds he quite likes the position, especially as Remus moves his hand to rest on Sirius’ throat.

He groans deep and gutturally and realizes he has never made a noise like that.

“Hold your legs up, baby,” Remus whispers, pulling his arm back from Sirius’ ankles, “you let them go and we’ll have problems.”

Sirius’ hands move of their own accord, grasping quickly at the flesh of his calves, holding his legs where they are despite the slight burn that resonates in his muscles.

Remus runs his free hand along the shaft of Sirius’ cock, lifting it up and off his stomach. Sirius can see the moment Remus realizes how awkward it would be to try to suck Sirius’ cock, and he really, really wants to laugh, but he swallows it down. Instead of sucking him off, Remus shimmies himself closer to Sirius’ crotch. He wraps his hand around both their weeping cocks, gripping tightly.

Sirius throws his head back, ignoring every sense that tells him to fuck into Remus’ hand again.

“Tell me how you’re feeling, baby,” Remus says, twisting his hand so one of his rings runs right under Sirius’ tip. He shudders, “how does my cock feel against yours? How does my hand feel, jerking you off?” Remus emphasizes his point by tugging slightly at Sirius’ dick, rubbing their tips together, despite knowing Sirius has many choice words about how he feels about the situation.

“So good, Daddy,” Sirius starts. However, it’s a shabby description of the wreckage Remus is leaving him in, “treat me so good, never want you to stop.” He babbles a bit after, and Sirius knows he must sound like a drunk toddler, but Remus doesn’t seem to mind.

“Tell me what else you want Daddy to do ‘so good’ to you,” Remus drops both their cocks suddenly, leaving Sirius to slap against his stomach angrily.

“Fuck me, Daddy,” Sirius moves his ass as much as he can given his position, “fuck me good and raw, split me down the middle.”

Remus grunts and Sirius counts it as a point to get Remus to lose control and take Sirius however he pleases.

Remus nods once before sticking a finger into Sirius’ mouth, shoving it a bit down his throat -Sirius is sure Remus felt something with his hand on Sirius’ throat- pulling said finger out and shoving it into Sirius’ ass at light speed.

Sirius had said he wanted to be fucked raw. Still, he supposes this isn’t too bad, especially once Remus seemingly gets bored of one finger, considers two, and then decides he doesn’t care about stretching him out, lazily using a lubrication charm.

Remus’ cock feels way better than it should have any business feeling. It pushes against Sirius’ walls, demanding attention in a way that Sirius cannot, or will not, ignore. For a moment, he considers how glad he is not to be a virgin, and also for having told Remus this some time ago- mainly for Remus not worrying about stretching.

Remus moves slowly, although Sirius is convinced he is already plowing into him. He sinks in completely eventually, bottoming out as Sirius decides that he’s dead and this is heaven.

“Still good, baby?” Remus asks, rubbing his thumb along the column of Sirius’ throat.

“So good, daddy.” Sirius supplies, lolling his head back as Remus begins slowly thrusting in and out, over and over and over and over again. Sirius listens to the smacking of Remus’ balls against his ass, to the sounds that escape his mouth, and to the sounds of Remus grunting as he ruts deep into Sirius.

There is a moment right before Remus finds Sirius’ prostate that Sirius wonders if he actually fell asleep in Peter’s bed and was now dreaming of being fucked good, deep, and slow by Remus Lupin; then Remus finds his prostate.

Sirius has screamed for several reasons throughout his life: to mock his mother, angrily at Regulus or James, and at girls who flirt with Remus -despite them not officially being together. Through all of his experiences of screaming, Sirius has never, in his entire life, screamed like that, or for such a reason as Remus’ cock pressing right into that beautiful bundle of nerves deep in his ass, before now.

As soon as Sirius finds himself back on planet Earth, he immediately finds himself spent, cum spilled all over his stomach. Additionally, Sirius finds Remus viciously and aggressively fucking into Sirius -slamming into his prostate repeatedly- as he mumbles to himself, chasing his high.

Sirius watches for a second, mesmerized, before realizing that Remus is staring directly back at him. Suddenly, Sirius is snapping into action, releasing his legs to free his hands -holding his legs back with the power of spite- and racing to grasp Remus’ face, pulling him as close as possible.

“Cum in me Daddy,” Sirius begins with, and he relishes in the way Remus shudders at the name, “fill me full of your cum, Daddy, want you dripping from me for the rest of the day.”

Sirius keeps one hand firmly in Remus’ hair, perfect for pulling him into hot kisses and pulling him away so he can hear Sirius’ pleas of desperation; the other hand Sirius uses to force Remus into putting actual pressure on his throat. It is heavenly, in a demented, deranged way -Bellatrix would be proud.

Remus finally moans, and it’s low and breathy and beautiful. It escapes out of him right before he slams into Sirius one last time- groaning for a long, long minute as his cum fills Sirius’ ass.

Despite this, Remus thrusts twice more, pushing his seed back into Sirius with vigor and muscle memory. Remus looks lost for a moment, as if so far removed from reality that he is unaware he’s still fucking into Sirius’ very exhausted hole -not that Sirius was going to do anything to stop him.

After a moment, Remus seems to finally come to his senses, pulling his cock out in one fluid motion- though he stops for a second to watch the cum leak from Sirius’ ass.

Then, Remus flops next to Sirius, taking a hand to playfully shove the other’s leg back down to the bed.

“Want to shower-”

“’Ello gent- holy shit!”

#tales from the hogwarts broom closests #(smutty) tales from the hogwarts broom closets #marauders #young marauders #the marauders #marauders era #dead gay wizards #mwpp #mwpp era #wolfstar #remus lupin #sirius black

[what-a-weird-rose]

QuillKiller: The Things We Had (Lost in It)

Pairing: Bellatrix Black / Rita Skeeter

Rating: E

Prompt: Strap-on

Word Count: 1.6k

The corridors of Hogwarts are strangely quiet, even for midnight. And Bellatrix can feel the eerie silence like spiders on her legs; it tickles her skin and prickles her neck.

If the whole thing was up to her, the meeting would be outside the Slytherin common room, where only a fool would be stupid enough to raise questions. Instead, Rita had insisted on meeting in neutral territory- as if this was some negotiation- like they were fancy politicians making some ground-breaking, earth-shattering deal. Merlin, Rita was made for her.

Bellatrix takes a right, then a left, and is met face-to-face with Rita Skeeter, who smiles widely upon seeing her. Bellatrix can feel the nerves tickling her spine.

“Password,” Rita commands, and Bellatrix feels giddy again.

“Rancid old men,” Bellatrix breathes, reaching her hands out to grasp at Rita’s own. The passwords were her idea to ensure no one would try to get in on their little arrangement; Bellatrix’s favorite was ‘spicy goat cheese.’

Rita nods quickly before responding, “to the break of dawn, we go.”

Bellatrix giggles, snatching Rita’s hands within her own, pulling her close before pressing her lips against Rita’s. “Hello again, bug.”

Rita smiles smugly, caressing Belltrix’s cheek softly, “are you ready, Trixie?” Bellatrix looks at her and raises a perfectly carved brow. Bellatrix stretches up and crawls back into her self-created cage.

“What would you like to know, Skeeter.”

“Ah, don’t be like that, Trixie,” Rita presses her lips to Bellatix’s cheek, running her hand through messy, frizzy hair. “No interview today, Trixie, I just want to be here with you for a while- no expectations.”

Bellatrix stares momentarily, openly gaping at Rita as she combs fingers through wild hair. “Are you sure?” She whispers and feels her heart swell as Rita nods.

They sit in the corridor and talk about everything and nothing; their conversation becomes epically meaningless and horribly personal. Rita tells about her father abandoning their family when she was young and having to sell everything but essentials to survive; writing was one of the few things she had completely to herself. Bellatrix whispers about her family, her father’s expectations, her mother’s drinking, Narcissa’s fear of being trapped in a marriage like their parents’; how Bellatrix knows Andromeda is waiting for an opening to run- how she knows she wants to as well, but doesn’t know how.

Rita nods along prods where appropriate and comforts when needed.

Bellatrix answers questions, accepts comfort, and preens when Rita tells her she’s doing her best.

“Tell me, Trixie, if there were no consequences for you leaving, would you?” And Bellatrix thinks for a very long minute.

“I think that if there were no consequences, I would.” She says very slowly at last.

“Where might you go?”

“The Andes. I’d live in the mountains- maybe in a cave.”

Rita chuckles lightly, grasping her hand closely before pulling it to her mouth to kiss softly.

“Would you let me visit you?” Rita asks quietly, hesitantly.

“Only if you’d like, bug.”

“Bellatrix?”

“Yeah?”

“You know this can’t last forever?”

Bellatrix stops completely, frozen in a single moment in time. She turns to face Rita entirely, staring as deep into her soul as possible.

“Why not?” Bellatrix asks petulantly.

“Because we aren’t meant to work out- not longer-term at least, and you’ll be married off the moment you graduate and-”

“No husband of mine would be stupid enough to even think of touching you, Skeeter,” Bellatrix interrupts because she exists in cyclical patterns of fighting, crying, and deluding herself.

“It isn’t your husband, Trixie- it’s- fuck, everything I can’t,” Rita pulled her hand back and tugged her loose hair back behind her ears, dragging in a deep breath. “I’m going to write for the Daily Prophet, I’m going to, its what I’ve been planning since I knew anything about anything.” Bellatrix nods, though she doubts Rita can see it. “When I’m writing for the Prophet there are going to be stories about your family Trixie- there already are stories about your family,” Rita pauses and grasps Bellatrix’s hand like a lifeline, “you’re the first friend I’ve ever made and I can’t see that friendship ruined on account of my job.”

Bellatrix breathes, feeling the pieces slip into place quietly- she yanks Rita toward her. She buries her head in the crook of her neck, smelling faint lavender perfume.

“You’re leaving me for a job you don’t have,” she whispers, half-begging-half-accepting. “You said you’d be my rock, Skeeter, rocks don’t fucking abandon you- that’s not what they do.” Bellatrix holds her hands out and waits quietly as Rita places her own against them. “Did you plan this?” She asks at last, wanting to laugh and cry.

“Not really,” Rita says hoarsely. Suddenly, Bellatrix is aware she isn’t the only one crying, “I’ve been thinking it for a while, but you’re so good, Trixie, and I kept telling myself I could stay with you longer. I can’t keep doing this, pushing this inevitability back until it’s too close- too raw.” Rita combs long fingers through thick, messy curls, pressing her lips to the crown of Bellatix’s head. “You’ll always be my first love if that means anything.”

“How could it not?”

“I’m not sure, but I hoped it might help.”

“Not really.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I am, too.”

Bellatrix sits up, wiping her nose and cheeks with the sleeve of her sweater- just the day to forget her handkerchief.

“Can I ask for one last thing, at the very least?” Rita turns to her and gives a small, questioning nod. “One last time, you and I together- that’s all I’ll ever ask you for ever again, then you can pretend to have never known me, or whatever it is you plan to do.”

Rita moves her hands quickly to grab Bellatrix’s jaw, pulling it forward and pressing their lips together.

“Yes, one last time, if only for the sake of the thing,” Rita says, dazed, as she presses her body against Bellatrix’s.

Bellatrix leans back just enough to give her hands room to begin touching. Hungrily, greedily, insatiably touching.

Rita groans her appreciation as their tongues touch and dance and separate. Bellatrix moves toward Rita’s neck, kissing just enough to send a thrill up both their spines but not enough -never enough- to leave a mark.

She swings her hands around Rita’s middle to pull her closer- pull Rita into herself.

Rita chuckles and pets Bellatrix’s mane down, mumbling nothingness.

“Are we going slow and soft today, Trixie? Didn’t think you had it in you.” Bellatrix snorts, dragging the flat of her tongue along her almost-ex-lover’s neck.

“Shut up, bug.” Bellatrix huffs, grasping at the open skin of Rita’s thighs and moving down toward where her fingers splay over pale skin. She runs her tongue over Rita’s cloth panties and watches as the girl before her trembles leaf-like. “Open your legs.” Bellatrix commands and Rita indulges her.

Rita positions herself spread open on the bench with Bellatrix kneeling on the floor between her legs; she shimmies herself up just enough to see if someone comes down the corridor.

Bellatrix can feel the anticipation rise as her lips caress the soft inner skin of Rita’s cunt- sticking her tongue in just enough to graze against her sensitive clit. Bellatrix preens as Rita digs long fingers down her scalp and pulls, forcing her head to sit completely between Rita’s legs.

Her cunt tastes heavenly, though Bellatrix can’t seem to describe it exactly. She decides between Rita’s legs that her sole reason to exist is to please this nasty Ravenclaw girl. Rita gives a sharp tug and deep groan.

“Already, bug? You’d think at this point you’d have some stamina.” Bellatrix gives one last long lick up Rita’s cunt before pushing off the bench and onto her feet. “Up you get. Quick, quick.” She chuckles to herself, watching Rita stuff her panties into her bra.

Rita stands eventually and backs herself against the wall, lifting her right leg invitingly. “Under the bench, surprised you didn’t notice it while you were down there.”

Bellatrix huffs, reaching under the bench to drag out the bag- magical cocks, such wonderful things.

She tugs up her skirt and straps the disturbingly real-looking cock onto her front, pressing softly against her pubes. Rita sniffs and lifts her leg as if silently urging the process on. Bellatrix smiles and takes the cock in hand before pressing Rita completely against the wall, lifting her slightly, and sinking her down onto the thick thing.

Rita grunts happily and fixes her hands on Bellatrix’s hair, running nails against her scalp.

Bellatrix adjusts her grip on Rita’s thighs, lifting her up just enough to allow for movement before starting.

Her hips move quickly and stutter only a few times; Rita continues moaning whore-like as she is fucked, whore-like. Bellatrix enjoys every bit of it, especially as each thrust sends a jolt of stimulation to her clit -magical cocks, wonderful things.

She thrusts wildly as she gets closer to her high, feeling every slight movement of Rita’s fingers in her hair, feeling as she grips strands.

Rita cums first, throwing her head back and exclaiming nonsense words, yanking Bellatrix by the hair into her breasts.

Bellatrix thrust twice more before the stimulation overwhelms her, and she does her best to keep Rita close in her arms.

Rita pants, “perhaps we can come to a mutually beneficial agreement?”

“I think I’d like that.”

#(smutty) tales from the hogwarts broom closets #tales from the hogwarts broom closests #marauders #young marauders #the marauders #marauders era #dead gay wizards #mwpp #mwpp era #bellatrix black #bellatrix lestrange #bellatrix x rita #rita skeeter #quillkiller #smut

[what-a-weird-rose]

NobleFlower: The Things I See (Within You)

Pairing: Alice Fortesque / Narcissa Black

Rating: E

Prompt: Praise Kink (if you squint)

Word Count: 1.3k

Narcissa drags the silver comb down long blond hair.

Her vanity sits tall and imposing in her room, casting a long shadow over everything in its wake. Despite its odd look, Narcissa had found herself rather attracted to the strangeness of the feature- perhaps a trait she’d overlooked in her youth. There was something so telling, she thought, about how children behave. Narcissa herself was a prime example of how children mimic their future nature, collecting the strangest, most clashing furniture pieces and rearranging them until they looked pretty together. She supposes she does that even now as she gazes down at the parchment beside her lotion.

If you should have, I will journey to meet you. Echo

She grins, just slightly, as she sets the comb down. Her finger runs along the curve of each letter, the drag of each line.

Narcissa feels her heart leap as she hears a tap from her window.

Once-

Twice-

Three times, she hears the slight tick against the glass. She thinks little of it as she rises from her seat to investigate.

The world beyond the thick walls of Cygnus Black’s house is dark and dreary, and Narcissa wonders how much of the world she’s missed out on from within the fortress.

“Cissa, quit spacing out on me,” Alice whispers. Narcissa gazes around in the dark momentarily before her eyes adjust enough to see the girl below.

Alice wears something distinctly Muggle, though she seems to have remembered her wand this time. She also had a large duffel bag swung over her shoulder that Narcissa was both desperately eager and anxious about.

“Help a girl up, would you?” Alice says, slightly louder than before. Narcissa has found that the more Alice gets away with sneaking into a Black Family fortress, the more she seems to make them getting caught a game. Narcissa huffs, turning around to dig under her bed.

Under her bedframe, Narcissa finds a collection of things she cannot have. She ignores all but the enchanted rope that Andromeda gave her two months prior.

The rope swings out of the window with grace ropes naturally fail to possess. The enchantments are fuzzy -likely due to it having past hands many a time- though a few are quite obvious. For example, the enchanted rope can carry any amount of weight without snapping, which is very useful when pulling a well-built Quidditch player up the side of a wall.

Alice pops her head through the window, giving one final grunt and a snort.

“It would probably help a bit if you provided even the slightest bit of support,” Alice says without heat. She does that often, saying snarky things without the meanness Narcissa is used to.

“I provided a magical rope; what more do you want?”

“The emotional support of my lover, for one,” Alice states matter-of-factly as if the answer was so obvious- so clear- that there was literally no other solution.

“Your lover?” Narcissa coaxes because who is she if not an instigator.

“My lover.” Alice reaffirms, setting the lump of rope on the floor near the now shut window. “My lover who I have travel far and wide to save.”

Narcissa sighs, “I’ve told you already, I’m not leaving- I’m not abandoning them.”

“Its not- you’re not abandoning anyone; you’d be doing what was best for yourself, and if they really loved you, they be able to accept that as it is.”

Narcissa nods, though they both seem aware that she isn’t listening.

“Anyways, I come bearing gifts.” Suddenly, the duffel bag ends up on the seat of Narcissa’s vanity- and she really should mind, but somehow, she finds that she really doesn’t. “Here.” Alice hands her a small box wrapped in the most obnoxious gift paper Narcissa has ever had the misfortune to see.

She carefully peels the wrapping back, ignoring as Alice chuckles and throws herself backward with great familiarity on a bed that is not hers. Eventually, she removes the paper, sets it on her end table to store away, and slowly pulls the lid off the box.

“Alice, no.”

Alice smiles widely even as she remains laid leisurely with her eyes closed. “Don’t worry, it wasn’t that much. Plus, I’ve been saving and- Cissa, please, take it.” She gently touches Narcissa’s arm, petting downward until their hands are intertwined.

The box contained a long silver chain with small connected charms of varying shapes, sizes, and colors; a bright golden snitch lay next to a star next to a narcissus. Alice gently tugs the bracelet out of the box and places it on Narcissa’s arm, where it sits momentarily before Narcissa nods. She shivers as the clasp seals.

“Even if its cheesy and inconvient, I want something tangable to show my love for you- and, well, what better than this? Who’s going to thing twice about it?” Narcissa nods slowly, fiddling with the small charm of a dragon.

Then, as though realizing Narcissa was lost in her own mind, Alice presses her lips against Narcissa’s palms.

“I know why you hesitate; I know why you’re afraid. I need you to know that I will always love you- even if one day you decide you hate me and want me dead.”

“I could never,” Narcissa says at last, and she can feel the tension roll off Alice’s back like water. “How could I ever hate you?”

Alice plants a soft kiss on Narcissa’s lips, and suddenly, Narcissa is reminded of why she was willing to commit such a betrayal in the first place.

Narcissa’s hands are lost in Alice’s hair in a second, tugging, pulling, and petting all at once.

Alice groans as Narcissa finds the sensitive spot at the crook of her neck. Alice uses her free hands to guide Narcissa’s hair away from her face.

“Slow,” Alice whispers into the hot room.

In her attack on Alice’s neck, Narcissa kept pace, if not becoming more aggressive.

Alice tugs Narcissa’s long hair, “I said slow, didn’t I, lovely?” Narcissa stares momentarily before mumbling something she doesn’t recognize, “Good girl.”

Narcissa whines, ducking her head to continue at Alice’s neck.

“Oh? Do you like that? Good girl?” Alice questions, rubbing her hands up and down Narcissa’s sides. “Is that what you are? A good girl?” Narcissa continues her attempts to crawl into Alice, as though it might save her from the embarrassment. “Come now; I want to see your pretty face when I tell you you’re a good girl, Cissa.”

Narcissa groans as Alice runs her hands through her long blond hair. Alice shifts them suddenly, landing herself on top of the strange tangle they’d become. Alice is methodical in her marking, leaving hickey after hickey on porcelain pale skin, dragging skin between teeth.

There is a moment as Alice pulls the silk nightgown off her that Narcissa wonders what she’d gotten herself into with this girl.

“Tell me what you want, pretty girl, tell me what you need.” Alice whispers in her ear, hand placed just barely off her left tit.

“You, please, give me?” Alice chuckles and finally takes Narcissa’s tit into her mouth, using her free hand to massage the other.

Narcissa moans, wrapping her legs around Alice’s hips.

“Now, now, pretty- don’t get ahead of yourself, I-” There is a thump outside Narcissa’s room.

They look at each other briefly before Alice grasps her wand, aims it at the door, presses her lips on Narcissa’s, and uses her left hand to rub fast, practiced circles into Narcissa’s clothed-clit.

“We’ll have to finish this properly some other time, pretty,” Alice says sagely, fiddling with her wand as her fingers set an even faster pace, “But I’m hardly going to leave you wound up.”

Alice kisses her cunt as Narcissa cums.

#(smutty) tales from the hogwarts broom closets #tales from the hogwarts broom closests #marauders #young marauders #the marauders #marauders era #dead gay wizards #mwpp #mwpp era #narcissa black #alice fortescue #nobleflower #narcissa x alice #smut

[what-a-weird-rose]

PandaLily: The Things You Are (Literal Art)

Pairing: Lily Evans / Pandora Lovegood

Rating: E

Prompt: Oral

Word Count: 2.8k

Lily pulls her hair back, tying it in a knot at the base of her skull.

Four hours is nowhere near enough time to finish a piece this massive- least of all when her subject has up and vanished off the face of the earth. She shouldn’t be surprised; she knows she needs to curb her disappointment with him. But after almost a decade of friendship, Lily would’ve assumed she would have the slightest bit of priority over Severus’ time- especially after he’d promised to help her. Call her naïve; God knows all her other friends have. Lily tries to see the good in everyone, even if it’s left her blindsided on more than one occasion, but even she knows there’s only so far she can be pushed.

She scrambles for a bit, genuinely considering whether or not she can pass with a failed final project. Then, Lily mopes and cries and spends ten precious two-hundred-forty minutes feeling sorry for herself. Finally, and with great resolution, Lily sends a quick text to Mary and Marlene to ask if they know of anyone free and willing to sit in her studio for the next three hours; they respond almost instantly.

Apparently, there was a new girl on campus that Mary and Marlene had met in the library so odd weeks ago. Supposedly, they’d been trying to plan a meeting between Lily and Pandora -as they’d called her- but the two’s schedules were always packed. However, Lily thought it was a subtle jab at herself more than anything. Mary had set the group chat up with Pandora, Marlene, Lily, and herself, then made quick introductions before kicking Marlene and leaving herself.

Pandora was. . . 

nice, for lack of a better word. Very willing to help, asking appropriate questions, then finishing the short interaction with, ‘Where would you like to meet? :)”

Lily had hesitated, though she would never in a million years admit to it. She had never seen this girl before, and, as much as she trusted Mary and Marlene, there was no guarantee that Pandora would fit the piece- and how was she supposed to tell a stranger that? But, she decided, at last, she might as well try.

Lily had rearranged her studio four times in the seven minutes it took for Pandora to read her text and show up. Instead of sitting imposingly in front of a drab-wallpapered background -as Severus had insisted- Lily had decided to put Pandora in front of the large bay window -only after stalking the girl’s Instagram. Pandora posted little of herself, if at all. There were snippets of her hands, hair, shoes, and skirts, but most of her feed was the world around her: friends, plants, food, and the raccoon that had made friends with her cat. So, as much as it distressed her, Lily forced herself to set the portrait based on the aesthetic choices of someone she’d never seen in person.

Then, the knock came.

Severus had told her on many occasions -re: every time he visited- how ridiculous the security in her building was, as though she had any say in the matter. He had also made many a ‘joke’ about how easy it would be for a ‘low-life’ -she assumed he meant Remus- to break in and hurt her -his joke rarely ended well. But in this scenario, Lily thought she might agree with him- she felt incredibly unsafe, with clammy hands, a swirling stomach, and a rock in her throat.

But feelings be damned, Lily Evans had a task- and she never left a task unfinished.

The door swung ungracefully, getting caught on its hinges halfway open. At the same time, an ear-splitting screech filled the open air as the old hinges decided halfway would just have to be well enough. Lily thought about poofing into thin air.

“The architecture of this building is quiet fascinating,” the short, blond girl before she stated severely. Lily momentarily thought this was a mistake- that this girl couldn’t be ‘sweet, lovely’ Pandora, not with the serious stare and cutting commentary. “My friend, Regulus, is studying to become an arcitect and he said-” she coughs once as Lily steps aside to let her in, “’ you can always tell when the builder was lazy based solely on the longevity of the building.’ Or something to that effect, he always gets so prissy when he talks about design.” Pandora giggles, and suddenly, it’s like a unicorn-sunshine hybrid has walked into Lily’s home, talking about the intensity of too-smart boys who try too hard for too little.

Lily is caught almost completely off-guard, especially as Pandora sits on the plushy bench before the window and stares wide-eyed in Lily’s direction. It’s almost as if the air in the room huddles around Pandora, forcing Lily her way lest to suffocate.

“You’re very pretty, though I’m not sure if I’m surprised or concerned. . .” Pandora trails, suddenly shifting to look out the glass.

“Why might you be concerned?” Lily says with as much grace as she can muster; she turns on the kettle for safety.

“I have a thing.” Pandora states with the utmost gravity. Lily raises her brow in question, and Pandora nods seriously. “Everytime I meet a pretty girl, they fall dreadfully in love with me.”

Lily wants to laugh, but there is something about the way Pandora says it that makes her think the sentiment is hardly a joke. “And that’s a bad thing?” Lily shuffles her rack of teabags toward Pandora- lavender and lemon.

“It is, yes. They fall head-over-heels for me, except I never realize until they’ve long moved on, and the worst part,” Pandora begins as Lily motions to situate herself on the ottoman. “Is that by the time they’ve gotten over me, I’ve developed a crush on them!” She wails, though it seems to be only for comedic effect. Lily tries to laugh politely and ends up snorting.

“I see, quite the issue you’ve got there.”

“It’s horrible. And I would ask my friends to tell me whenever they know because they always know, but they would just laugh!” Pandora leans back against the exposed brick wall beside the window, allowing the steady orange glow of the slow sunset to highlight her.

Lily feels every fiber of her being hone in, feels the moment the charcoal touches her fingertip, and her consciousness evaporates. But it’s nice, in a way, that her painting models have rarely been before. Pandora is thoughtful, asking questions about the project -a portrait of a ‘beautiful person’- and the medium -anything and everything- and what she needs to do -sit as still as possible. And she’s generous, playing soft classical music from her phone that doesn’t affect Lily’s flow. Suddenly, an hour has passed since Pandora arrived, and the sketch is done. Pandora thinks it is lovely, and she can leave now if she’d like since it’s getting so late. But Pandora asks if she can stay to see how it turns out, if only to make quiet conversation with a shell-of-a-person. And who would Lily be to say no?

Pandora plays with her bracelets, the beaded one, the chains, and the metal bands. She tries her hardest to stay still despite knowing that Lily doesn’t need her to stay exactly where she is anymore. Pandora keeps herself still because, from the angle she sits at, she has a perfect view of the face Lily makes as she rubs oil pastels into the canvas, the perfect view to watch the face of concentration that overtakes her as she mixes paints, searching for the right shade. Pandora wishes the easel was tilted slightly more, if only so she could see how Lily interprets her- how this woman sees another.

Pandora shivers and hopes Lily doesn’t notice. She leans forward and grasps at the handle of the magenta mug before her. The tea is long cold, but Pandora has never been particularly picky about such things. So, she takes a long sip and watches over the mug’s rim as Lily readjusts herself. Pandora licks her lips.

A decently sized wooden antique clock hangs on the far wall behind Lily. From what she can read on it -Evan swears up and down she needs glasses- it’s about 9:30 at night, and Pandora can feel the exhaustion finally begin to set in. Her heart aches as Lily makes another disgruntled sound, tears a paper towel from its roll, and drabs gingerly at the canvas.

“Is there anything I can do?” Pandora whispers into the empty. Lily pauses momentarily, almost startled, then turns and nods vaguely.

“Coffee, if you would? I’ll take it however at this point.”

Pandora rushes up and into the kitchenette, two coffees.

By 11:59 p.m., Lily feels on the verge of a mental breakdown and a hallelujah moment. She sends the photo of the decorated canvas to the professor, McGonagall, who requires digital and physical versions of students’ work. As the clock strikes midnight, Lily can feel her adrenaline, anxiety, and emotions drain out like the water in an emptying bath.

Lily turns to Pandora, who had passed out on the ottoman near the three-hour mark, and gently grabs all the mugs that littered the end table. She makes her way into the kitchenette as quietly as possible, setting mug after mug onto the counter to be washed later.

“Is it over?” Lily hears Pandora whisper.

“As of two minutes ago, I have officially finished my final project.”

Pandora shoots up, not unlike a rocket, and beelines to where Lily stands near the stainless-steel sink. Pandora’s arms are loose and gentle, yet tight and intense. She holds onto Lily like a lifeline, plunging her face into the crook of Lily’s neck.

“I knew you could do it,” Pandora whispers into Lily’s skin.

“You helped more than you could ever know.” Lily replies, whispering into the wild curls of Pandora’s hair.

“I’m glad,” Pandora says, pulling back to look at Lily in the eyes.

Lily hears the words before she registers, saying, “I’m going to do something stupid.”

“What brand of stupid?”

“The kind that someone sleep-deprived and high on adreneline uses.”

Pandora stares at her, and Lily wonders if she dare to kiss this beautiful, mysterious stranger.

Their lips connect before Lily has the chance to second-guess herself.

Pandora tasted Lily’s cheap coffee, the lavender-lemon tea Lily had bought in bulk, and the copious other snacks they had been devouring throughout the night. Pandora tastes of long nights and gentle mornings, summer rain and winter sun, and dark flats in early summer as the school year approaches. Pandora tastes of the future, near and far alike.

Pandora runs her hands down Lily’s sides, pushing the pair out of the kitchenette and into the living space. The sofa is wide enough to support the both of them as they collapse into one another in a tangled, twisted mess of limbs and love.

Lily situations herself so she can lay with her head propped by two throw pillows and the armrest; Pandora leans over her, leaving bites and kisses as a breadcrumb trail of their adventure.

The flat is all but pitch black, the only light coming from the lamp Lily had been using to paint. The room was left to the faint glow of the white light bouncing off wall after wall to reach them- it never would.

Nothing could reach the two of them now as they tangled into one another, pulling and tugging and pushing and biting, anything and everything to allow the slightest consumption of empty space. Pandora seemed hell-bent on climbing her, and Lily could hardly stop her. Instead, Lily found herself grasping at the thick woven belt tied around Pandora’s and using it to haul the other girl up and into her lap.

“More.” One of them whispers, and neither knows which.

“Yes.” They say in unison as their hands meet and their lips join again.

Eventually, Lily unties Pandora’s belt, shimmying her shorts off and onto the ground elsewhere.

“More.” Lily says, and this time, she is certain it’s her.

“Yes.” Pandora replies, yanking her top off with relish.

Lily presses a soft, beautiful kiss to the top of Pandora’s breast, cupping them in her hands, “Tell me what you want, darling.”

“You.” Pandora says, even though she knows it will be cheesy. She tucks a strand of red hair behind Lily’s ear. “Give me whatever you’re willing to give.”

“Okay,” Lily whispers into Pandora’s skin. Her tongue glides over Pandora’s breast with experience, lapping at perky nipples and moles and small acne scars. Her lips follow the same route, kissing over Pandora’s breast, sucking nipples into her mouth to pull and kiss and feel, over and over again. She licks and kisses and breathes in Pandora.

Then, as she feels Pandora shift in her lap, Lily grips her hips, pulling them down to grind against her own.

“How far do you want to go?” Lily questions, sucking at the soft spot behind Pandora’s ear.

“I want to watch you cum.”

“Fuck.”

Pandora shifted them once more so she was kneeling before the sofa. The hardwood was certainly uncomfortable, but Pandora seemed to not notice it as she lowered her head down to nip at the clothed crotch of her partner.

For perhaps the first time in her life, Lily regretted her choice of jeans as her painter’s outfit. Mostly, Pandora made disgruntled noises as she continued to nip listlessly at the offending pants. Eventually, Lily pulled them off alongside her crusty painting top and panties, if only for her own sake.

Pandora made quick work of returning to her station between Lily’s legs, licking and sucking and kissing at Lily’s thighs and cunt. She also seemed prepared for Lily to beg for more as she quickly offered her fingers to be sucked.

And perhaps it was the combination of the two -having her clit viciously stimulated and having a pretty finger in her mouth- that led to her quick orgasm, but either way, Lily was distraught.

“Sorry, sorry, I-” she started, even as Pandora continued licking and sucking, “fuck, I didn’t mean to cum.”

Despite her attempts, Pandora seemed unbothered, remaining steadfastly between Lily’s legs, lapping up cum and spit and wetness.

At some point, not long after, Lily had wrapped her hand in Pandora’s hair, using it to guide how Pandora moved.

“More,” Lily says again, and Pandora moves quickly as she uses her middle finger to push into Lily’s cunt. There was a moment of complete silence as Lily let her head fall back and felt every millimeter of Pandora’s finger push further inside.

Then, Pandora began pumping- in and out and in and out and in and out and-

With her tongue pushing right into Lily’s clit- her left-hand working overtime to not only spread Lily’s legs but also rub tight circles into her clit-

Lily felt the waves rolling into shore again- her orgasm left her legs shaking and her brain fuzzy.

“You now.” She mumbles, and Pandora smiles, gently shuffling them so she can lay spread on the couch, and- “No, no. On my face.” Lily says tightly, already laying back.

Pandora pauses before nodding and scooting up and near Lily’s head. “Are you sure?” she whispers, moving again only after Lily confirms. She swings her leg over Lily’s head and uses the armrest as leverage to hold herself up. Lily begins slowly, softly giving tentative licks to Pandora’s dripping cunt.

Pandora moans, loud and guttural, as Lily grasps her sides and pulls her down to rest more of her weight on Lily’s face. Lily groans in reply, the vibrations following up and into her tongue. Her tongue seemed to have a mind of its own as it viciously licked at Pandora’s clit.

Lily’s hands hold tightly onto Pandora’s waits even as she writhes through her orgasm, nearly spasming over the two. Lily considers continuing, much like how Pandora did, but holds herself back as Pandora shuffles and taps gently on the hands that hold her.

“Are you alright?” Lily asks immediately, suddenly very self-conscious.

“Oh, yes, I’m just not sure that I could stop myself if we kept going.” Pandora says sagely, opting to scoot closer to Lily on the defiled sofa, “I have classes. . . later this morning that I have to be at, unfortunately.”

“Which mean you have to go?” Lily unhappily murmurs, and Pandora nods, pushing herself off the seat in one huff and reaching around to tug on her clothes. Lily watches, entranced, as Pandora ties the woven belt back around her waist.

“You have my number, yeah?” Lily nods dumbly, pulling her bottom lip into her mouth, “good, be sure to use it, pretty girl.”

#(smutty) tales from the hogwarts broom closets #Tales from the Hogwarts Broom Closets #marauders #young marauders #the marauders #marauders era #dead gay wizards #mwpp #mwpp era #pandora lovegood #pandora lestrange #pandora rosier #lily evans #pandalily #pandora x lily #smut

[what-a-weird-rose]

Tales from the Hogwarts Broom Closets - Masterlist

Hi, welcome to my masterlist!

Rating System:

G - General Audiences

M - Mature Audience

E - Explicit Material

Find my other works here :

The Things I Do (Mostly to You) - Kinktober 2023 (K23)

Relationship Explorations

Remus Lupin / Sirius Black

Wolf and Dog (G)

The Things I Say (Only with You) (E / K23)

Dorcas Meadowes / Marlene McKinnon

How Marlene McKinnon Weaseled Her Way into Dorcas Meadowes' Cold, Dark Heart (M)

The Things I Do (Mostly to You) (E / K23)

The Things I Get Caught Doing (Always with You) (E / K23)

Pandora Lovegood / Lily Evans

The Things You Are (Literal Art) (E / K23)

Narcissa Black / Alice Fortesque

The Things I See (Within You) (E / K23)

Regulus Black / James Potter

The Things I Want (Keep Them in the Dark) (E / K23)

Evan Rosier / Barty Crouch Jr.

The Things You Do (Make Me Crazy) (E / K23)

Bellatrix Black / Rita Skeeter

The Things We Had (Lost in It) (E / K23)

Mary MacDonald / Marlene McKinnon

The Things I Want For Us (Distract Me, Baby) (E / K23)

Regulus Black / James Potter / Lily Evans

The Things I Want to Do to You (And for You to Do to Me) (E / K23)

Platonic Relationship Explorations

Dorcas Meadowes & Regulus Black

Melancholy (M)

Character Explorations

Ten-and-Three-Quarters (Sirius Black - G)

Forgetting (Mary MacDonald - G)

Clarity in Death (Barty Crouch Jr. - M)

#Tales from the Hogwarts Broom Closets #(smutty) tales from the hogwarts broom closets #masterlist #marauders #young marauders #the marauders #marauders era #dead gay wizards #mwpp era #mwpp #Dorlene #Pandalily #NobleFlower #SunSeeker #StarChaser #Jegulus #QuillKiller #Marylene #Rosekiller #Marylily #Wolfstar #Sunflower #jily #Maryline

[what-a-weird-rose]

Marylene: The Things I Want for Us (Distract Me, Baby)

Pairing: Mary MacDonald / Marlene McKinnon

Rating: E

Prompt: Face-sitting

Word Count: 1.2k

Mary pats her shirt down from where it had ridden up, feeling the soft cotton under her fingertips. Today had been one of those days in which everything felt more intense; every feeling, every sense, everything felt greater than it actually was.

She rolls her shoulders back, throwing her blue faux-leather purse over her shoulder and strolling out of the boutique and waving off to Emmeline. The cool breeze that passes by her makes the day seem a bit better, especially as it weaves through her hair and swirls around her like some kind of magic.

Her car, beat up as it is, takes her home safely, experiencing only one hiccup on the way as it fought bravely against a pothole. And, as she seemed destined to do at the end of every long day, Mary flopped down on her too-expensive sofa and fell asleep, hoping to stay that way for the rest of forever.

Marlene wakes her not long after she drifted off to dreamland. Mary considers scheming some wretched attack until she smells the lingering scent of something equal parts spicy and good -likely whipped up by James. Eventually, after lamenting the depravity of leaving a warm, comfy couch, Mary lifts herself and strolls begrudgingly into the kitchen, where Marlene sits at the island.

“Evening, Mac,” she says, blowing slowly on a spoonful of hot, yellow curry.

“What’d you get?” Mary asks, pulling boxes from the delivery bag to investigate. She already knows what Marlene got for herself, and she knows what Marlene got for her, but Mary supposes its more polite to ask than assume.

“The usual, love,” Marlene continues blowing on hot food, though she seems far less absorbed by it, instead, her eyes follow Mary as she scurries around the kitchen in search of utensils. “To the left.” She supplies unhelpfully.

They eat together in peaceful silence, enjoying the company each others’ company.

When they finish eating hot, good food, the two clean up, standing side-by-side in front of the too-small sink washing and drying dishes.

Then, when the dishes are cleaned and the counter is clear, the two move up the stairs of their townhouse, chatting about everything and nothing and all the little things in between.

Finally, when the chatter dies down and the city is quiet with restful sleep, Mary moves away from the close cocoon they’d made and turned to her door, wishing good dreams to her company. Marlene nods, wishing her the same.

Mary closes the door behind her and finally pulls her phone out of her pocket, where she had been avoiding it most of the day. She opens it, turns of her Do Not Disturb, and watches as her notifications are flooded by messages and emails and nonsense filler.

She clears what she doesn’t need to deal with immediately, sitting on her bed and staring down in the darkness at the screen. She replies half-heartedly to emails and eventually sets to dealing with the messages.

Some of them are easy enough, short, quick replies to acquaintances. Longer, more distant ones to family. And heartfelt, detailed letters to close friends. All in that order. And in the end, she is left with only one thread left unopened.

Sirius had dumped her not long ago- something about living his truth and wanting to set her free and blah, blah, blah. What Mary is sure actually happened is Sirius realized -horribly late- that his dear friend Remus is hot, wanted to avoid having to deal with the consequences of that, and decided to date her as a distraction. She doesn’t exactly blame him- not too much anymore, at least, but she does certainly feel bad for him, as she reads through the messages in which he pours his hearts out and- surprise, surprise- confesses to having loved Remus, and using her. Mary sighs, she really doesn’t want to deal with this right now, but if she leaves it to the morning, she’ll have stewed too long to be honest with either of them.

She responds, saying she’s fine and that she doesn’t exactly forgive him, but doesn’t hate him either. Mary tells him that she wishes him the best with Remus, and will always remember him as her first love- even if it was one-sided. She informs him that he doesn’t have to walk on eggshells with her because they are adults and she isn’t some crazy, psycho ex, and that she’s moved on.

Sirius doesn’t respond immediately; she doesn’t expect him too.

Marlene opens her door after the third knock, Mary doesn’t think too deeply into that.

Marlene is fidgeting as Mary strips off her shirt and socks, her pants and bra.

Marlene is soft against her as they stand in the middle of the room, lips locked, holding one another. Mary doesn’t think much of anything as she focuses on the feeling of Marlene’s hands against her skin- her eyes dragging down against her body.

There is something so invigorating about the experience of being fucked by her closest friend; something so deeply disruptive about the act, yet doing it anyway.

Marlene grips her thighs, pulling Mary down just enough to lock their lips again, and Marlene pours herself into it; Mary tries not to think about it.

Instead, Mary focuses on the intense lust that coils like a spring in her gut; she focuses on the way her skin prickles with goosebumps anywhere Marlene pulls her fingers; she focuses on Marlene positioning her above her face and pulling her down, down, down- close enough to lick.

Mary focuses on every little sensation given by Marlene’s tongue on her cunt- she tries so hard that she ends up focusing on focusing, rather than on Marlene. She grinds her hips down against Marlene’s fast-moving tongue, but it leaves much to be desired in terms of distractions.

She turns herself around and sits back on Marlene’s face, listening to the hoarse sounds that escape her throat as Marlene does her best work. Mary leans down, pulling Marlene’s legs up and allowing herself access to Marlene’s cunt.

She doesn’t do it much, but when she does, she tries her best.

Marlene seems to appreciate the effort as she groans and plants her feet hard into the mattress beneath them.

Mary licks and sucks and kisses and tries her best to replicate everything Marlene is doing to her own cunt until that little coiled spring in her gut becomes too tight to ignore. As the coil tightens and tightens and tightens, she sinks her hips lower, and buries her face further, and focuses more intently on Marlene’s small clit and her desire to see her friend cum.

Mary grinds her hips down sharply as the wave folds over her, crashing into her with unwelcomed intensity. She gets three good licks of Marlene’s cunt before she joins Mary on the road of orgasm.

Mary pulls herself up and off of her friend, petting down her blond hair and staring at her sweat-covered skin.

“You know I want you, right?”

“I know.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

#(smutty) tales from the hogwarts broom closets #tales from the hogwarts broom closests #marauders #young marauders #the marauders #marauders era #dead gay wizards #mwpp #mwpp era #marlene mckinnon #mary macdonald #marylene #smut

[what-a-weird-rose]

Dorlene: The Things I Get Caught Doing (Always with You)

Pairing: Dorcas Meadowes / Marlene McKinnon

Rating: E

Prompt: Caught

Word Count: 1382

Marlene pulls her school-mandated skirt up over her knees. Mornings are difficult for various reasons, least of all her hatred of the dress code. She scans the dorm again before snatching her bag off the floor and turning to book it for class.

Tick. Tick.

Marlene halts in her tracks- turning quickly to look at the small window in the dorm. A small owl sits on the sil, looking sadly in as if to guilt her into letting the pitiful thing in; she considers going on her way. Marlene considers until she spots the dark purple seal on the letter and realizes that the damned bird is as shady as its owner.

Dorcas’ family seal is of some fancy, rich-person flower that only blooms once every million years -or something like that- and she always uses thick indigo wax, like the pretentious know-it-all she is. Marlene loves how the seel rips from the paper and falls into her drawer with all the other purple flower wax seals. She revels in how the small owl plucks sad little rat ears -she loved watching Peter watch her as she bought them- to gobble at as she absorbed the letter. A letter that really failed to provide much of anything.

'Shades of red look nice on you; Every night, I feel only blue. I recall my cowardice, If only I was willing- If only I were brave, To look you in the face And tell you what you’ve made. A mess of me, A fool for you You don’t even know As you pass me in the hall. Someone'

Marlene reads each word individually, together, and not at all as she watches the letters drift apart and reemerge.

'A package will arrive for you soon; it shouldn’t interrupt any meals, but if it does, you might want to take it somewhere private before opening it. Dorcas P.S. Did you like my poem? Regulus has gotten into poetry but says I lack finesse- I just like my message to get across quickly.'

Marlene giggles, then sighs and turns to the owl that seems to be getting antsy.

“Does she want a reply?” Marlene asks, already knowing the answer.

The owl takes off through the open window, hooting smugly- she notices her treat pouch has been ransacked.

“Who’s owl are you anyway?” She yells back, kicking the pouch under her bed as she runs for Charms- ten minutes is enough to learn, yeah?

Charms comes and go, and Marlene receives a detention with Flitwick and Sirius -who did Merlin knows what to get on Flitwick’s nerves.

Marlene gets through potions with little incident, although it likely helps that she actively ignores the instruction portion of the lesson in favor of learning through trial and error. She explodes two and a half cauldrons before she is made to sit in the back.

Then, at 12 o’clock on the dot, as she gets settled in her seat on the long Gryffindor bench, a large eagle owl swoops down from the heavens with a package barely larger than her hand.

Both Sirius and James shoot up from their spots on the bench. Marlene made to shove the box into her bra before realizing they had two fat bags of -likely- sweet they were off to deliver to Remus in the hospital wing like reverse Halloween. She relaxes just barely until she turns her head to stare into the all-knowing eyes of Lily Evans -the same Lily Evans that haunts her nightmares.

Lily stares at her openly and with severe disappointment as if she knows what is in the mystery box.

“Whatcha got there Mar?” Mary asks airily, stabbing her fork in the general direction of food.

“Ah, just a little thing, y’know,” she says anxiously, scooting over slightly to make a quick escape if necessary. “Something my, uh, my mum sent over, yeah?”

Mary looks up and nods, though her eyes squint questioningly, “sure,” she says soundly, thoroughly unconvinced.

“Okay. . . bye.” Marlene makes a mad dash out of the Great Hall and toward the nearest bathroom, slipping in as subtlely as Marlene McKinnon has ever been capable of.

The little device slips out of its case and into her hand easily- falling onto the palm of Marlene’s open hand with very little fanfare. It’s small, barely bigger than her middle finger, though a bit thicker; it’s solid and curved just slightly as if mimicking a crooked finger. Also within the box is a small slip of parchment.

'Tap twice with your wand. Meet me in the room.'

Marlene does so, almost expecting the thing to transport her itself. Instead, the little device gives a short buzz and then vibrates viciously, shaking with vigor in her open hand. She grasps the box again and reads closely as the words fun, bedroom, and excitement show up, and -she really shouldn’t be surprised at this point- Dorcas has sent her a vibrator.

Holy fuck.

Marlene shakes her head, turns around, locks the door with two locking charms, and laughs maniacly- in that order.

Well, what’s the worst that could happen? Marlene thinks to herself, already coaxing the little thing to her hole.

Apparently, it is very hard to focus on classes when you have a vibrator in your cunt- who would’ve thought?

It buzzes and hits the right spot at every opportunity, leaving no chance to reprieve. Marlene got to the point of stuffing her hand into her mouth to stifle a small amount of the noise- it’s not enough to keep those in her immediate radius oblivious.

She flips off three different people before classes are out.

Eventually, though, the day finishes and Marlene wanders many stairs to the old abandoned classroom she and Dorcas used.

The place is as stuffy as usual, but something is comforting about the familiar way the air stands stagnant- as if it is stuck in time, unaffected by the changes around it.

She takes a step and feels the vibrator run directly across her clit.

Her voice feels insanely hoarse as she cums, legs trembling beneath her.

Marlene rolls her eyes, looks at the door, and decides that Dorcas should be early if she wants in on the good stuff.

The vibrator works overtime stimulating her clit while being pumped in and out of her cunt at unnatural speeds. Marlene spits down in between her legs, using the momentum to press the device just slightly more into her clit before pulling off entirely.

Her high settles angrily, leaving her literally on the edge of orgasm.

Marlene hears something faintly in the background, but as she relaxes the device back on her clit, the sound becomes irrelevant.

“Ahem.” She hears as she pulls the vibrator off her clit for the fourth time. Marlene looks over quickly to the door and watches as Dorcas walks gracefully from where she is standing to where Marlene lies spread on the old professor’s desk. “Having fun?”

“Yes.” Marlene answers truthfully, resisting the urge to continue on her little game.

“Continue, then.” Dorcas says shortly, brushing her fingernails down Marlene’s forearm. “I told you last time I get you a good orgasm, and here we are.” She lowers herself to whisper in Marlene’s ear, “You oughta cum good for me.”

Marlene shoves the vibrator against her clit, using the longer side to pump into her cunt.

Over and over and over and over, she pumps into herself as Dorcas stands beside her, whispering words of encouragement while -not so- subtly rubbing herself.

“Fuck.” Marlene says as her high almost topples over; Dorcas brushes her hair back and leans in to kiss her lips.

“Next time, cum.”

Marlene nods, feeling quite satisfied as Dorcas makes work of sucking on her neck.

The device sits nicely in her cunt and stays well enough, angled to viciously rub her clit while her hands caress Dorcas’ face.

Dorcas reaches a hand down as Marlene lifts off the desk to attack her next and lays a flat hand on the vibrator, pushing it right up and into Marlene’s overstimulated clit and-

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Her legs shake aggressively as she rides the orgasm that pulls her in and out of consciousness.

“Did you?”

“Not about me, idiot.”

“You did, didn’t you?”

“Obviously I did.”

#(smutty) tales from the hogwarts broom closets #tales from the hogwarts broom closests #marauders #young marauders #the marauders #marauders era #dead gay wizards #mwpp #mwpp era #dorcas meadowes #marlene mckinnon #dorlene #dorcas x marlene #marlene mckinnon x dorcas meadows #smut

[what-a-weird-rose]

Dorlene: The Things I Do (Mostly to You)

Pairing: Dorcas Meadows / Marlene McKinnon

Prompt: Lingerie

Rating: E

Word count: 2.1 k

Marlene McKinnon has never been a fan of quiet spaces- something about a silent library or a peaceful common room makes her skin crawl and her blood curdle. Perhaps it’s a result of some strange happening in her childhood. Still, either way, Marlene prefers loud -often obnoxious- company over silent brooders.

Perhaps, in the end, she ended up on the Quidditch pitch so late on that Saturday. Some hope she wouldn’t have to be trapped in the library with Lily and Mary studying for N.E.W.T.s so long as she had the excuse of spying on another team. It had worked once- in her fifth year before everyone stopped talking to each other, she and James had snuck out of the castle to watch the Ravenclaw team fly- and some desperate part of her hoped it’d work again. It’s not like Marlene cared much for her grades, choosing to accept whatever score she got with a shrug -very much to the distress of Lily Evans- and a comment on how her Transfiguration grades would hardly affect her chances at professional Quidditch tryouts.

The wind is nipping as it races around her, almost enticing her into the sky. There are no teams out, despite Marlene’s wishes. There is no doubt that without their seventh-years available to rally the troops, the others took advantage of the night-in -or they were mentally stable individuals, as Remus often stated. Marlene sighed- something profound and unlike her as the melancholy finally set in. There was no guarantee that she’d be accepted into one of the big teams, and if- when she wasn’t? What was she going to do then? Hope that James would be willing to support her until she found a job willing to hire some bum-

“Oi, McKinnon.”

Marlene spins, her choppy hair swirling around her in the vicious wind.

Dorcas Meadowes is, by far, the most beautiful, intelligent, and infuriating woman Marlene has ever seen. Dorcas Meadowes rarely graces the world with her presence- but she always comes to a match.

Even if her team isn’t playing, Dorcas is in the stands, breaking down every action -or inaction- the players make. She is vicious and brutal and gorgeous to boot.

Dorcas Meadowes is the type of lady who deserves to have the ground she walks on kissed. Marlene decides she is fortunate to not be squeamish.

“You know, our meetings would be way less nasty if you called me by my name,” Marlene chides, backing away from the railing and sitting on one of the dreadfully uncomfortable benches.

“I love that you assume I know your name.” Dorcas retorts, and though her tone is biting, she runs her hand ever-so-softly through Marlene’s mess of hair.

“You aren’t the type to fuck some no-name, faceless girl you meet in a pub,” Dorcas scoffs, and Marlene knows she’s won- even if Dorcas never admits it.

“You seem to know me so well, especially for a no-name, faceless girl I fucked in a pub.” Marlene coughs something fierce. Hardly one of her prouder moments; getting wasted to all hell and letting her rival-turned-fuck-buddy bend her over a dirty sink in the back of the Hog’s Head was certainly not Marlene’s grandest idea. “But I suppose its alright, yes? You’re not faceless or nameless now, Marlene, I know you very, very well.”

And really, how is one supposed to respond to arguably the hottest girl you know referencing the time she fucked you senseless as she lays you flat on a bench?

“You do, you do,” Marlene says very intelligently.

Dorcas hums, licking a long stripe up the side of Marlene’s neck. “You taste good.” She says though Marlene thinks she meant to think it.

“I do, I do,” Marlene says because her brain seems to be melting faster than is reasonable for anyone’s brain to melt.

Dorcas hovers over her, staring down at Marlene as she uses one hand to unbutton the top two buttons of her shirt. “Is that all you’re good for, Marlene? Agreeing with everything I say?”

Marlene considers disagreeing, but she finds that her head is already nodding along as her eyes lock on the skilled twisting of Dorcas’ long, brilliant fingers.

Marlene’s hands shoot up, grasping Dorcas’ wrists before she can unlatch any more buttons and-

“Oh, you didn’t think I was going to fuck you now, did you?” Dorcas tilts her head, feigning innocence as she gently pulls Marlene’s hands off her. “Silly ickle lion, don’t you know you must earn your keep?”

Marlene stares and is suddenly reminded of why her brain melting is such a bad thing.

Dorcas chuckles, though the laughter doesn’t reach her eyes; she pats Marlene’s cheek condescendingly. “Two hours, there’s an abandoned classroom on the fourth floor -left then right at the paint of the lady in the dress covered in rubber ducks, then right again at the brothers fighting over a lamp that doesn’t work- that doesn’t resist locking charms. If you’re late, don’t bother getting your hopes up.” Dorcas stands suddenly, patting down her skirt and leaving those two pesky buttons undone; she finishes, “Wear something. . . nice for me, McKinnon.” Then she vanishes under the cover of fancy Slytherin disillusionment charms.

Marlene McKinnon decides she hates quiet spaces. They are too heavy and too anxiety-inducing, leaving too much space for her mind to wander. And, somehow- someway, the classroom that Dorcas directed her to is by far the quietest place Marlene has ever been. It sits alone between two other rooms Marlene has never been in, but she knows they get used. Even after fifteen-odd minutes of snooping, Marlene remained clueless about what the room was used for.

She taps her foot anxiously on the wood paneling beneath her; weird swirls resembling ocean waves patterned the floor. Marlene decides she hates the ocean.

Dorcas arrives two hours from their last meeting on the dot; Marlene would be impressed if she wasn’t feeling too many other big feelings.

Dorcas closes the large door behind her, giving short twists and swirls of her wand to seal and silence the room. Marlene grips the desk she leaned against for support.

“You’re on-time-”

“Early.” Marlene nearly shouts before half-squeaking and repeating -quieter, “I was early.”

“You were anticipating good things,” She replies smugly, gracefully tugging her jumper over her head and setting it on a desk beside her. “You were right too,” Dorcas continues, leaning into Marlene’s space as her left hand leaned against Marlene’s safety desk and her right played with a choker around her neck. Dorcas presses her lips to Marlene’s ear and breathes, “I’m going to do good things to you.”

Marlene wonders if it’s really possible for humans to spontaneously combust.

Dorcas’ right hand finds company with Marlene’s jaw, pulling the two to almost meet-

“Say it, Marlene. Say it and I stop.”

“Please- fuck- Dorcas, fuck me.”

Marlene’s vocabulary shrinks dramatically a half second before their lips meet.

Dorcas does not kiss aggressively, nothing like the boys Marlene used to date before she realized boys were icky. Dorcas kisses with passion and heat and sex- Dorcas kisses like she knows that Marlene will never find better. And maybe that’s the sad part- that Marlene doesn’t think anyone will be better than Dorcas, but at some point, Marlene decided that she’d prefer to have Dorcas now than not at all-

“I’m doing all this work just so you to focus on something else entirely?” Shit.

Shit.

Shit.

Shit.

Dorcas stands in her infinite glory, shirtless and beautiful and wearing by far the most glorious one-piece lacy thing Marlene has ever had the pleasure of laying her eyes on. Marlene hates herself for being lost enough to have missed what must have been the most glorious reveal of the brilliant lace.

“Oh, now I’ve got your attention, don’t I?” Dorcas taunts, and for once, Marlene fails to mind, particularly when Dorcas deigns to unlatch the clasp of her skirt and reveal the entire wondrous piece. “You like? I saw it in one of the magazines Ev’s dad sent him in hopes of straightening him out. It hardly works for him, but I’ve gotten a good amount out of them.” She smirks as she spins slowly. The piece is by far the most intricate work of art Marlene has ever seen. Maroon lace covers Dorcas’ breasts, down her stomach, and over her crotch. Then, there are the bands that seem to exist solely to accentuate the curve of Dorcas’ Quidditch-toned body; around her waist, thighs, and hips, bands wrap with strange elegance around her dark skin as one lone cord works from a latch on her waist up to a band lined with lace that circles prettily around her neck.

Marlene is 100% certain that Dorcas Meadowes is trying to kill her dead.

“Very- uh, nice. Very nice.” Marlene finally manages after staring stupidly for what seemed like an eternity.

“Hm, nice? Not even pretty?” Marlene shoots up, desperately grasping at Dorcas’ general direction before pushing backward until Dorcas’ back meets the wall.

“So pretty, very pretty,” Marlene grumbles, nipping, licking, and sucking viciously at any and all skin made available by the glorious piece. “Gonna be even prettier when I leave every inch of you marked, hm? Entire fucking castle’s gonna go: ‘There goes Dorcas Meadowes, fucked senseless by Marlene McKinnon.’” Marlene grabs Dorcas’ hips, reveling in the mind-altering moan Dorcas gives as she is spun around and shoved again into the wall. “I gonna make you cum so hard you’ll forget where you are- gonna make you forget everything but me, Marlene, Marlene, Marlene, gonna fuck you so hard.”

Dorcas groans, hips shuddering as Marlene grinds her hips into Dorcas’ ass. “Where was this all along?” Dorcas asks no one in particular. Marlene drops to her knees, deciding she has far better things to do than answer silly questions.

Dorcas stands bent over an old abandoned teacher’s desk as Marlene McKinnon eats her out from behind. For a moment -when she was still against the wall with Marlene’s tongue up her cunt- she had wondered what the hell had led to this moment. She could blame it on that first time in the Hog’s Head, but that would be like treating the symptoms rather than the cause. Dorcas used to pretend it was entirely coincidence that she and Marlene would run into each other constantly. Still, she now supposes as Marlene bites at the skin of her ass, she also used to pretend to think cock was nice.

Marlene grips Dorcas’ hips from beneath her, using the frankly odd positioning to pull Dorcas’ cunt constantly closer to Marlene’s ready and waiting mouth. A mouth that seemed to exist solely for Dorcas’ use. Over and over and over again, Dorcas pulls away just slightly -if only for a bit of reprieve- only to be tugged non-to-gently back to Marlene’s insatiable tongue. Marlene laps hungrily as Dorcas finally decides to give in, pushing her hips back into Marlene’s face and allowing Marlene no choice other than to use her mouth.

There isn’t an exact moment that Dorcas is aware she is too close to the edge to stop. Instead, she finds herself blinking once and knowing full well that she’s going to cum hard and fast.

Her hand reaches out as Marlene readjusts the thong string and grabs thick blond hair, using it as leverage to pull Marlene’s face closer.

Closer.

Closer.

Close-

Fuck.

Dorcas groans long and deep as her orgasm takes her, not quite spasming- but close.

She stills, and after recollecting herself, Dorcas looks back at Marlene.

Marlene McKinnon sits pretty on her knees, pupils blown nice and wide, with her mouth, chin, and shirt covered in dampness.

“I didn’t know you were a squirter.” Marlene whispers hoarsely.

“Neither did I- never’ve cum that hard before.”

“S’that how it works?”

“The hell if I know.”

Marlene sits for a second, and Dorcas debates what next to do. The moment Marlene had shown the slightest inkling of dominance, Dorcas had submitted, if only to see what might happen, but now? She hadn’t planned this far in advance; hell, she hadn’t planned any scenario in which Marlene would suddenly want control.

“I wasn’t sure what you meant earlier,” Marlene begins slowly as if having to individually piece each word together to create a comprehensible sentence. “I wore my nice bra and my least ratty panties.”

Dorcas smiles fondly despite herself.

“Well, if your still interested I can-”

“I came right after you did.”

“How did you-?”

“I was rubbing my clit with my heel.”

“For fuck’s sake McKinnon, get over here and I’ll make you cum properly.”

#(smutty) Tales from the Hogwarts Broom Closets #Tales from the Hogwarts Broom Closets #marauders #young marauders #the marauders #marauders era #dead gay wizards #mwpp #mwpp era #marlene mckinnon #dorcas meadowes #dorlene #marlene mckinnon x dorcas meadows #dorcas x marlene #smut