Leigh!fic | Humpathon 2012
Title: Humpathon 2012
Author: Leigh, aka leigh_adams
Pairings: Bill Weasley/Fleur Delacour, Draco Malfoy/Ginny Weasley, Harry Potter/Pansy Parkinson, Julian Vaisey/Astoria Greengrass, Julian Vaisey/Reilly Chambers, Lysander Montague/Pansy Parkinson, Rodolphus Lestrange/Bellatrix Black, Ron Weasley/Pansy Parkinson, Seamus Finnigan/Pansy Parkinson, Severus Snape/Lily Evans, Scorpius Malfoy/Lily Luna Potter, Stephen Cornfoot/Cassandra Montgomery, Viktor Krum/Fleur Delacour
Rating: PG-13 through NC-17
Word Count: Between 100 and 600
Summary: Thirteen smutty drabbles for your reading pleasure.
Author's Notes: Here be my drabbles for hp_humpdrabbles' Humpathon 2012. Four weeks of smutty drabbles... yay! I'll be updating this post if I fill any more prompts as time passes. :)
Bill Weasley/Fleur Delacour (R) for kat_ducat
Draco Malfoy/Ginny Weasley (PG-13) for shy_of_reality
Harry Potter/Pansy Parkinson (NC-17) for nearlyconscious
Julian Vaisey/Astoria Greengrass (PG-13) for elle_blessing
Julian Vaisey/Reilly Chambers (R) for mugglechump
Lysander Montague/Pansy Parkinson (PG-13) for mugglechump
Rodolphus Lestrange/Bellatrix Black (R) for dallirious
Ron Weasley/Pansy Parkinson (PG-13) for marianna_merlo
Seamus Finnigan/Pansy Parkinson (PG-13) for l3petitemort
Severus Snape/Lily Evans (R) for elle_blessing
Scorpius Malfoy/Lily Luna Potter (PG-13) for elle_blessing
Stephen Cornfoot/Cassandra Montgomery (R) for mugglechump
Viktor Krum/Fleur Delacour (R) for demented_mei
Bill Weasley/Fleur Delacour (R)
Prompt: Pretty
Word Count: 530
“Pretty enough for the both of us, hmm?”
Fleur jumped in surprise at the voice behind her. Glancing up, her eyes met Bill’s in the mirror, and her nose crinkled. “Not anymore, I do not theenk. I am ‘ideous.”
Her husband quirked a brow. “Oh?” Stepping closer, he reached out and pulled her against him, his hands skimming over her bare arms. “Why do you say that, love?”
She shivered as his touch pulled gooseflesh from her skin. “Look at me,” she said. Her lips curled downwards in a pretty little pout. “I am so, so...fat.”
“What, this?” His hand slipped down to her midsection, covering the small -- barely noticeable, really -- bump that her lacy nightgown covered. “That’s not fat at all.”
“Si.” Fleur frowned at her reflection in the mirror. She was already gaining weight, and it was early still. There would be nothing but more weight gain for the next five months. By the end of it, she would be as big as a house, and Bill wouldn’t be able to look at her.
“Non.” Bill pressed his lips to her temple. “It’s not fat, ma chér, that’s our baby. There’s a distinct difference.” His teeth grazed her skin gently, lips twitching when she shivered. “Do you have any idea how sexy you are right now?”
His wife snorted. “You are crazy, Bill.”
Bill smirked. “Tell me something I don’t know.” Slipping one hand down her side, his fingers started to slowly inch her nightgown up, revealing her long legs inch by tantalizing inch. “But you, Fleur Isabelle Delacour Weasley, grow even more stunning by the day.” He held her gaze in the mirror for a long moment, then let his eyes drop lower when he pulled the flimsy material over her hips.
The hand on her stomach moved down to her bare lower belly, hovering just over the thatch of blonde curls between her thighs. “Let me show you,” he whispered, his lips at the corner of her mouth.
Fleur’s head tilted to the side, turning just enough for her to press her lips against his. “Eef you insist,” she whispered.
No further encouragement was needed. His hand slipped between her thighs, fingers parting her slick folds and slipping inside her waiting sex. She was ready for him -- she was always ready for him; it was one of the many things he loved about his wife. Bill’s fingers slipped inside her passage with ease, working in and out, around her swollen nub as his hands and lips pleasured his wife.
Her breaths were shallow, his name murmured in low tones as her hips worked against his hand. She grasped at his arm, holding onto him as he played her body the way only he could. When she came, it was with a little gasp and a surge onto her tiptoes as Fleur let her head tip back, letting the pleasure overwhelm her.
He pressed his lips against her pulse point. “Believe me now, love?”
She chuckled and shook her head slightly. “Non.” Lifting her head, she met his quizzical gaze in the mirror. “But you are welcome to try and convince me again.”
Draco Malfoy/Ginny Weasley (PG-13)
Prompt: Kiss Tomorrow Goodbye by Luke Bryan
Word Count: 525
“We don’t work.”
“We don’t.”
“You’re a pompous, overgrown man-child who doesn’t know how to compromise.”
“And you’re a shrill, overbearing witch with too many freckles, hideously bright hair, and more brothers than should be allowed.”
Heated brown eyes met cool gray ones in the mirror. “Ass.”
“Bitch.”
Ginny rolled her eyes and wrapped her dress tight around her slender frame, tying it in place beneath her breasts. “And you wonder why I’m leaving.” Part of her wished he’d chase after her - the small, childlike portion of her psyche that still believed in fairy tales and true love; knights in shining armor to rescue the fair maiden and slay dragons.
Draco was no knight. But she’d loved him, despite his many flaws, and she knew that he had loved her - or at least, he’d felt affection for her. Despite their years, she didn’t know if he knew how to love.
That they were still lovers even after their separation was a mystery to most. Ginny intended to keep it that way. Hermione was suspicious, Ron as well - though he’d have had no inkling if not for his wife.
Her ex-husband was mercifully oblivious.
She moved to find her shoes but was stopped by his sudden presence at her back. “What are you doing?” she asked, though it was quite obvious what he was doing from the way his hands circled her waist.
“You don’t have to go yet,” he said casually, pulling her against him. His lips brushed against the shell of her ear, and she shivered. Damn the man to the seven hells for knowing how to play her body like a fiddle.
“We can’t,” she breathed. “Not anymore. This is goodbye, Draco.”
“Tomorrow.” One hand found the knot holding her dress together and tugged. Without the strain, her dress fell loosely on her body, gaping between her breasts. No bra - she generally didn’t bother when she spent the night. They were either lost or ripped in their haste.
She knew she should stop him, but her body betrayed her. When his hand slid inside to cup her breast, his thumb teasing her nipple to a peak, she whispered, “Why?”
Draco’s other hand pushed at the dress. It fell to the floor with a soft ‘woosh,’ leaving her naked in front of him - again. “Because,” his lips traced down her neck, the hand on her breast alternating between soft caresses and a firm kneading, “I want to see that hair in my bed one more time. I want to hear you scream my name. I want to make you come one last time, Ginny.” His lips found her pulse point. “Let’s do what we do best.”
His hands, lips, and words pulled a moan from her lips. He would win this round - there was no point denying, just like there was no point in delaying the inevitable. In his bed, they could pretend it was all alright; that they still loved each other the way they once had. In the morning, they’d wake up and all their shared baggage would return.
Tomorrow. It could wait until tomorrow.
Harry Potter/Pansy Parkinson (NC-17)
Prompt: Urgent, on the floor sex
Word Count: 550
If someone had told Harry Potter that ten years after vanquishing the Dark Lord, he would be the head of the Auror division, he would have laughed. If that same person had also said that he’d marry and divorce his childhood sweetheart before his twenty-seventh birthday, he’d have asked if their last name was Trewlaney. And if that someone had said he’d be sleeping with his secretary, he’d have had them committed to St. Mungo’s.
Harry wasn’t laughing now.
The office door was cracked, and people could see, but Harry didn’t care. All rational thought had fled from his brain when she sashayed in, wearing that too-tight bandage dress that she knew wasn’t work appropriate -- Percy had remarked on Ministry dress code far too often in her hearing for her to claim otherwise. Pansy knew the effect she had on men.
In their (meager) defense, she had tried to shut the door. At least, that’s what he thought she was going to do when he grabbed her wrist. It was all a blur of heated kisses and rough touches, of falling to the floor together. Hands pushed and tugged at clothing, moving the pesky barriers aside.
She gasped when his fingers slid beneath her lacy knickers, finding her sex wet and waiting for him. Two fingers slipped through her heat, twisting and thrusting in a pale imitation of what he really wanted to do to her. It was wrong -- in some way, he was sure of that -- to fuck his secretary at the office; wronger still when his secretary had once tried to sell him over to his arch nemesis.
But in the lines between right and wrong, they existed in a world of gray.
Her little gasps and moans let him know his efforts were not in vain, and it filled him with a ridiculous amount of male satisfaction to see her fall apart on his hand in less than a minute. Shuddering, his last name on her lips, her grip on his shirt eased, and her hands slid down to make quick work of his trousers.
“Gods, Pansy,” he ground out when she shifted and sank down onto him, the heat of her sex clenching around him. It was automatic for his hands to find her waist, digging into her hips and the fabric bunched there.
She circled her hips. “Fuck me, Potter.” The harsh words were paired with an equally sharp kiss -- her teeth found his lower lip, tugging.
Harry didn’t need to be told twice. Rolling their joined bodies today, they gave themselves over to the desire that rode them both. It was hard and wanton; almost primal in the way her lacquered nails scratched at his back, the strength with which he thrust into her over and over and over again. When his hand reached between them to rub at her swollen nub, she pulled him over the edge with, twin cries muffled in their kiss.
“How long before the first memo arrives, do you think?” he murmured drowsily against her lips.
Pansy hummed and shifted beneath him, and damn his body if he didn’t stir in reaction. “Hmmm, five minutes?” Her eyes fluttered open, fixing him with a hooded look. “Enough time to close the door and do that again.”
Julian Vaisey/Astoria Greengrass (PG-13)
Prompt: Tailor Made by Colbie Caillat
Word Count: 545
Astoria had never thought to be here again.
Not in Venice - Merlin only knew how she loved the charming city - but here, on this balcony overlooking the Grand Canal. Here in Venice with Julian Vaisey - again. Five years ago, they’d once been on this balcony. If she had to pinpoint a moment where their first romance (or something like that) had ended, it would have been this spot.
But in the five years since, things had changed. There were no straight lines in nature, only arcs. Life had happened, and Julian had remained on the outskirts of hers - despite everything, he was constant.
Something that hadn’t changed? Her body’s reaction to his touch.
When his hands slipped over her hips, it was instinctive for hers to rest on his chest. Her head tipped back to gaze at him in the half-light spilling from the ballroom. She shivered, but it was more from his proximity rather than the cool night air that swept through the canals. Long nights alone, and her mind still imagined it was Julian who made her cry from pleasure and not her own hands. How many times had she pictured his face above her, imagined his hands on her body and his lips on her skin?
She had changed. But so had he. Fatherhood brought out an entirely different side of Julian Vaisey, adding to his enigma. His relationship with Penelope was frosty and likely always would be, but Astoria could see the love he had for his children. It was writ plain on his face - try as he might to mask it - whenever he was with them. And Merlin help her, it only made him more attractive.
It had never been like this before. She had been reluctant when he asked her to dinner again, reticent to let him back into her life. She wouldn’t open her heart to him. It had been broken too many times, and Astoria was tired of the pain.
“Say it again,” she said softly. The shadows hid his eyes from her, but she could feel the intensity of his gaze. It was a dream. She would wake up in a moment and sadly realize that this night hadn’t happened; another byproduct of her lonely heart.
Her breath hitched when his lips brushed over her ear. “I’m in love with you, Astoria Greengrass.” The words pulled another wave of shivers over her skin, prickling in awareness, “and if I’m not mistaken, you’ve fallen in love with me, too.”
Julian pulled back to look her in the eye, and she was falling. Her hands fisted in his suit jacket and pulled him down to her. Lips met lips in a heated kiss as her arms twined around his neck. Five years, heartbreak, children, and life had brought them full circle. His hands slid to the small of her back, fingertips dancing over the smooth skin bared by her low-cut dress. He could have it - her kisses, her body, her love; all of it.
There was no point in denying it. She’d tried to stop it, but three little words brought her world falling down around her. He loved her, and Merlin help her, she loved him in return.
It might have taken numerous fittings, but he was tailor made for her - and she was never letting him go.
Julian Vaisey/Reilly Chambers (R)
Prompt: Howl by Florence and the Machine
Word Count: 300
Hands ripped at clothing, all thoughts of propriety pushed to the side in their haste. It was raining in London -- it was always raining in London -- but tonight, thunder boomed and the rain poured down around them. Only the occasional flash of lightning illuminated the dark alley where the two lovers went at each other.
It was in these moments together that their shiny facades were stripped away, revealing their true selves lurking just beneath the surface. With the pull of the moon, they came together in a flash of rough kisses and rougher touches. Tenderness was ripped away as easily as her lace knickers.
Reilly’s teeth raked over Julian’s chest, pausing to bite at the skin over his heart. Thump, thump under her teeth; it would be so easy to draw blood. It would hardly take more than a tiny bit of effort to bring his lifeblood from his body, the way her nails did when they clawed at his skin. He unleashed something within her, something she worked very hard to keep hidden.
Her fingers ripped at his back when he hoisted her up, pressing her back against the rough stone wall. Julian sank into her easily -- as he had time and time before, and would time and time again after. Their coupling was brutal, each determined to make the other scream before they fell over. When his hand found her center and his teeth found her breast, Reilly came with a moan. A squeeze of her inner muscles, and her lover followed her with his own climax.
Thump, thump. Thump, thump. Two hearts beat rapidly. Two hearts beat in sync. He would let her go, and go she would -- but she would come back.
She always did.
Lysander Montague/Pansy Parkinson (PG-13)
Prompt: Siren call
Word Count: 108
A crook of her finger. That’s all it takes, and he is back where he has dreamed about -- with her. It’s almost laughable how strong his want is; when she fixes those hooded eyes of hers on him, he is drawn to her side. She will be his downfall; his redemption and his doom all in one deceivingly delicate package. It is a taking ten years in the making -- a pleasure that came so close to not happening that he is determined to make the most of every gasp, every touch, every kiss.
She is his siren. She beckons, and he cannot stay away.
Rodolphus Lestrange/Bellatrix Black (R)
Prompt: I never stopped loving you
Word Count: 492
It is the calm before the storm. An eerie silence hangs over Malfoy Manor, all inhabitants within too on edge to sleep. Their Lord paces restlessly in Lucius’s study, the rest of his closest followers scattered throughout the Wiltshire estate. His wife -- these days, Bellatrix is his ‘wife’ in name only -- is not with him; a true rarity these past few years.
No, tonight Bellatrix is with him. Her too-long nails press into his back, drawing blood beneath his robes. It is a sensation he has missed, drawing blood from one another in the throes of passion. His body is on edge. He has been denied this sensation for far too long -- his matrimonial rights with his wife. Bella hasn’t graced his bed in months, and fool that he is, Rodolphus has not dishonored her by finding pleasure elsewhere.
His hips pin her against the rough stone, and his hands are rough against her simple black dress. The bodice was torn in his haste. Her bra hangs loosely, ripped in half, and her small breasts (still as beautiful as the first time he saw them) bear red angry red marks from his teeth.
It brings back memories from the first war. Violently fucking his wife the night before a battle -- before Azkaban, before his wife’s tenuous grip on sanity shattered, before her obsession with their Lord drowned all else out. It’s fitting that their first coupling in months is in her sister’s dungeons. The dark, damp cold suits them -- as does the dried bloodstains on the stone.
Rodolphus’s teeth pull at her lip as his grip on her hips tightens. Where they once played mind games with one another, silence reigns. There is no need for words anymore. They are servants to their Lord. Neither one are in control of their own destinies anymore. Their fate will be decided tomorrow. It is as good a reason as any to fuck.
Bella’s body tightens around him, and he knows she is close. Jerking her down on him one final time, he reaches between their bodies to circle her swollen nub, and his teeth sink into the meat of her neck. As if on cue, she moans and shudders around him, and her orgasm pulls his own finish from him. Rodolphus groans and spills his seed inside his wife.
It is quiet for a long moment as their hearts slowly stop pounding. He pulls back to look at her -- beautiful Bella, even now. His eyes darken at the blood on her neck; his teeth broke the skin. The dark red liquid calls to him. Blood to blood, as dark as the vows they once took to one another.
He ducks his head and runs his tongue along the skin, licking the coppery blood from her neck. Merlin help him, he loves this -- he still loves her.
He never stopped.
Ron Weasley/Pansy Parkinson (PG-13)
Prompt: Uniform
Word Count: 504
If Pansy Parkinson had a weakness, it was for a man in a well-tailored suit.
Technically, Auror robes weren’t considered as suits, per se, but they were tailored. She recognized that some non-Ministry work had been taken. None of the other Aurors took as much care with their robes -- Auror Weasley’s eldest sister-in-law had taken her wand to them. It was lucky there was at least one Weasley who knew a thing about fashion -- even if that Weasley was only such through marriage.
Leaning back against the chaise longue, she let her gaze wander from his broad shoulders and down. He’d filled out quite nicely since school, finally gaining enough muscle to really grow into his gangly height problem. All in all, Ron Weasley was rather fit.
“Pansy?”
Blue eyes blinked, brought out of her reverie by her name. “Yes, darling?”
Ron pursed his lips. “Are you even listening to a word I’m saying?”
“Of course not.” She hardly even recalled what he’d been prattling on about -- some speech he was preparing for tomorrow’s staff meeting or something trivial. It was of no interest to her. The only thing remotely interesting was the way her lover filled out his Auror uniform.
“Then stop staring at me like I’m -- oh. Oh.” She quirked an eyebrow at him, lips curling suggestively. The blush that stained his cheeks was endearing; he was twenty-six years old and still blushed like a fourth year at his first Yule Ball whenever certain subjects arose. He took a step closer. “Pans...”
She crooked a finger at him and reached out, grasping him by the hand. “Fleur did a remarkable job with your robes,” she commented lightly. “They were practically unwearable. I must send her my compliments.”
“Oh, so it’s my robes that you’re staring at.” He laced their fingers together and smirked -- a habit he’d developed in their years together. She was a bad influence. “Good to know.”
“Well, I’d be hard pressed to say it was just your robes.” She shifted, letting one stocking-clad foot travel up the inside of his leg. Higher and higher it traveled until she brushed over the bulge in his trousers. Her eyes flashed wickedly up to his face. “It looks as if that’s not that only thing that’s hard...”
He made a strangled noise in his throat as she brushed her toes over him, back and forth, teasing. “Gods.” Ron swallowed, his stance widening in an unconscious movement. He leaned over and brought their joined hands to Pansy’s breast. She let out a small mewl of pleasure.
“I think,” she murmured, her foot leaving off it’s task to hook around his knee and draw him down to the chaise longue with her, “you’re going to be late to your meeting.”
Taking a firm grip on her hip, Ron shifted and moved above her, caging her body beneath his. Slipping his hand beneath her dress to palm her bare skin, his lips hovered just shy of a kiss.
“What meeting?”
Seamus Finnigan/Pansy Parkinson (PG-13)
Prompt: She’s as bold as a streetlight
Word Count: 437
Seamus was mad as a hatter. There was no way around it -- any other man would have long since left Pansy Parkinson in the past. She was stunning, no doubt; while she’d never lost her slightly upturned nose, the rest of her body had changed from that of a pixie-cut schoolgirl to a Playwizard pin-up girl. The jet black hair that had once framed her face was now worn in soft waves around her shoulders, curls tumbling down her back.
And across his pillow.
There was no filter between her brain and her mouth -- if she had a thought, she voiced it. Company be damned. Another man might have taken steps to avoid awkward scenarios, but Seamus... well, he’d always played with fire. And truth be told, hearing Pansy’s scathing remarks on some of their former classmates always did liven up a party.
She was pureblooded, with an old family name and the old money that went with it. He was an Irish halfblood, the son of a Cork witch and a Muggle brewer. What they’d lacked in money, they made up for with love and laughter. She was an only child -- he was the middle child in a brood of five.
Seamus preferred stout. Pansy loathed the drink. His idea of a fun night was at the pub with his best mates, drinking and betting on sport. She preferred a more genteel outing; trips to the spa with Astoria, a night at the theatre.
His girl was bold -- privately as brave as any Gryffindor he knew (not that he could ever tell her so; he liked sex too much to jeopardize his place in her bed). She’d seduced him -- not that he’d minded. He likened her to the toke he’d hit with Dean during sixth year: dark and sweet, a dangerous thing to be addicted to.
And he was addicted. Was it more or less dangerous to be addicted to a person rather than a thing? On the nights they weren’t together, he dreamed of her. Watching her face when he slipped his fingers in her wet sex, hearing her moan when he bent her over the sofa and took her from behind. The smooth pale skin waiting for him beneath her (always matching) silk lingerie, pink tipped breasts just waiting for his lips to suckle.
His Medusa. His deliverance and his undoing, all wrapped up in one Slytherin enigma. His friends said he was addle minded, crazy to stay with her.
Seamus just shrugged and smiled. They called it addiction, he called it love.
Severus Snape/Lily Evans (R)
Prompt: I have died every day waiting for you, darling, don’t be afraid...
Word Count: 486
The Three Broomsticks is not the sort of place Severus would normally patronize. It’s too busy, too full of people who might inquire about his business. The Hog’s Head is more his style, but Aberforth will give him dour looks. At least Rosmerta lets him drink for free -- sometimes -- and she doesn’t ask questions. She doesn’t have to.
The free whiskey helps.
It’s been years, but he can still see her as clearly as if it were yesterday. Twenty-one was too young to die, and she’d been a wife and mother by that point. Lily had lived a life of purpose -- with him. Severus would always hate James Potter. He was everything Severus was not. And more importantly, he got the girl.
James Potter had been there when Severus pushed Lily away, the desperate act of a desperate teen searching for belonging.
What he wouldn’t give to do it all over again.
Lily could have been his. What did he care about blood purity? He was a poor halfblood himself; he had no room to condemn such a bright, wonderful witch for something out of her control -- such as her parents. But he was weak, a coward -- and he’d thrown away the one constant in his life -- the only woman he had ever, or could ever, love -- for one madman’s depraved ideals.
He dreams of it, sometimes. When he is drunk and alone -- which happens often -- he dreams of Lily. He can still see her smile, her flaming red hair, her green eyes. He remembers the touch of her hand, always a friendly gesture from her that meant so much more to Severus. He is not inexperienced with women -- Rosmerta tends to him whenever the need for contact arises -- but it is not the same.
Rosmerta, with her blonde curls and buxom curves, is not Lily. But when he closes his eyes, he imagines her. He imagines that it’s Lily’s breasts his calloused hands caress, Lily’s lips that wrap around his aching member, Lily’s body beneath his, calling his name in pleasure.
(She knows, of course. The barkeep knows everything. But she keeps his secret).
Her son will be at school soon. Severus is torn at the thought. Part of him looks forward to seeing this child of Lily’s, the baby he has not seen since... that night. But the other part of him already hates the boy -- Harry Potter. Harry Potter who is half Lily, but he is also half James. And if he is anything like his father...
So Severus drinks Rosmerta’s free whiskey. He terrorizes his students and ignores his heart -- still broken even after ten years. He has loved Lily for as long as he has known her, and he will love her until he takes his final breath.
Scorpius Malfoy/Lily Luna Potter (PG-13)
Prompt: I keep going right back to the one thing I need to walk away from
Word Count: 526
Edmund Burke once wrote, “Those that do not know history are doomed to repeat it.”
To which Scorpius Malfoy and Lily Luna Potter replied, “Well played, Mr. Burke. Well played.”
It wasn’t as if either of them knew - but if they had, would they have stayed away? From their first introduction during Lily Luna’s fifth year, there had been an unmistakable force that pulled them together. Scorpius could joke and call it his animal magnetism all he liked, but there was more to it - it was darker, deeper, possessive.
And it felt much older than the barely of-age witch and her wizard.
(Even then, Scorpius wasn’t ‘hers.’ Not really. He was Rosie’s, and he always had been.)
Lily Luna knew it was wrong. She shouldn’t want him as much as she did. But every time she tried to walk away, to leave him to her saintlike cousin and make a new start for herself, she found herself right back at where she started: in his arms. Those stolen moments with Scorpius - from their first time together in the field behind the Burrow to yesterday’s tryst above The Leaky Cauldron - were like a drug. She was an addict.
She lived for those brief, fleeting hits. It was hard to be with him; blending into the background when a girl came from the combined Weasley-Potter family was next to impossible. But they found time, each time Lily telling herself that it was the last time.
She’d always been a terrible liar.
Scorpius’s kiss made her knees weak. The way he ran his hands over her bare skin made her shiver, her lips curling in pleasure. When he pressed his mouth to the cradle of thighs and licked right on that spot, she shrieked and writhed beneath him. He made her feel wanton, alive unlike anything she’d ever felt before. He played her body with such precision that she momentarily forgot all the reasons this was so, so wrong.
If her family knew, they’d despise her. Ostracize her.
She didn’t want to even think what Rosie would do.
The pair knew the history between their families all too well. Scorpius had been to their home enough times to know that his father and Lily’s had never been the best of friends - and that was putting it mildly. It didn’t keep them apart (after all, if the knowledge that she fucked her cousin’s boyfriend on a regular basis didn’t do it, why would ancient history?).
What Scorpius and Lily didn’t know, though, was that they were hardly the first to feel that pull.
If they’d known that once upon a time, Draco Malfoy and Ginny Weasley had succumbed to the same desires time and time again, would they have repeated the sins of their parents? If Lily knew that her boyfriend’s father used to make her mother scream in pleasure, would she have stayed away then?
Neither knew. Neither would know - Draco and Ginny guarded their secret well. And their children did the same with their own.
Stephen Cornfoot/Cassandra Montgomery (R)
Prompt: Morning sex
Word Count: 482
Being a new parent was difficult. Stephen had always wanted kids, though there was no apparent reason why. His own childhood had been full of angst and bitterness; the youngest son who could never do right by his bigoted, pureblood parents. What he had learned over the course of eighteen years at Carisbrooke all amounted to one thing: how not to raise a child.
After he’d married Cassie, they’d both assumed they would have plenty of time for that. They were both young -- well, she was younger than he was, but neither of them were approaching twilight years just yet. They could enjoy being married before they started having children.
Fate had other plans.
Stephen loved his daughter, and he knew without a doubt that he would do anything for her. He would gladly lay down his life for her, if need be. But despite the many amazing qualities his little princes possessed, she made it very difficult for Stephen to find alone time with his wife.
One of the few times they found time was early in the morning -- and that was just fine with him.
It was still dark outside, the slightest pink lightening the sky outside their bedroom. Cassie’s eyes were still shut as she just started to wake, and Stephen’s hands slid beneath her lacy nightgown to ghost over the bare skin beneath. His lips curled in a smug smirk that was entirely male when his hand slid lower -- no knickers to impede his progress. A finger slipped between golden curls and pale thighs, finding his wife already wet and waiting for him.
She sighed and shuddered when his hand played between her legs, touching and teasing while his lips suckeled her through her nightgown. Cassie’s hands gripped his arms, but the only sound that fell from her lips were breathy gasps. In the mornings, before the day truly began, she was never coherent enough for words. Just sleepy passion as they roused one another in the most pleasurable way possible.
Beneath the sheets, their hands played each others’ bodies as Stephen fit his hips to hers. A quick thrust and he was inside her, giving them what they both wanted. It never took long to finish in the mornings -- as much as both of them wished they could prolong their lovemaking, it wasn’t the time. Cassie’s body writhed beneath him, back arching when he pulled her pleasure from her with his lips, hands, and hips.
Inevitably, his own climax was only a heartbeat after hers. They would lay together in the afterglow, trading kisses and touches as the sun peaked over the horizon. The early morning post-coital haze surrounded them, engulfing them in their own little world -- perfect, quiet, theirs.
And then a cry would resonate from the nursery, and the day would begin.
Viktor Krum/Fleur Delacour (R)
Prompt: The Quidditch Calendar Affair
Word Count: 563
Viktor hadn’t wanted to do the Witch Weekly photoshoot. He didn’t like interviews, photoshoots, or anything else that required him to speak or be seen in public. However, he’d learned one thing when his professional Quidditch career began -- and that was that his agent had the last word. Not him.
So here he was, bare chested and slicked down with oil. Or at least, that’s where he had been.
Now? Now he was in the broom cupboard, buried to the hilt in Fleur Delacour.
He hadn’t seen the former Beauxbatons champion in years, not since her wedding. They’d kept in touch through letters, so he knew about her life and she knew about his. She knew the way he loathed the spotlight, that playing professional Quidditch was a double-edged sword -- he got to play the game he loved. In exchange, his entire life was lived in the public eye.
And he knew about her struggles after the war, her miscarriage. And her subsequent divorce.
What he hadn’t known about was her budding career as an editorial photographer. That was new -- quite welcome, since she was in charge of this farce.
It didn’t matter at the moment. Nothing mattered except the enticing floral scent lingering in her hair, the way she gasped and clutched at him when his hips pressed against hers. They hadn’t bothered to disrobe. Her hands had pushed his belt and trousers down around his knees, and his calloused fingers had pushed her silk knickers to the side before he was inside her slick sex.
“Mon dieu,” she moaned, tipping her head back in pleasure -- exposing her smooth neck to his wandering lips. “Veektor...”
He kissed and bit at her pulse while one hand palmed her round breast through her dress. “I haf missed you, Fleur.” His hips rolled against hers, the pleasure building. Her legs were wrapped tight around him, and the way he pressed her against the wall gave his other hand leave to find her center. One finger found her swollen nub and rubbed it teasingly, smirking when she gasped. “Vill you scream?”
“Oui, oui, ‘arder...” Her body stilled, and then Fleur cried his name when she climaxed.
Viktor grit his teeth, but the fluttering of her body was too much to resist, and he came with a groan, her name breathed against her neck as an afterthought.
One delicate hand slid through his hair. “Veektor --”
Whatever she’d been about to say was immediately cut off when the cupboard door flew open. “Miss Delacour, have you seen -- OH!”
With a growl, Viktor reached out and grabbed the doorknob. The flustered assistant at least had the good sense to jump out of the way before he slammed it shut, blocking the gawking staff from seeing anymore than they had in that split second.
Fleur chuckled. “You ‘ave always ‘ad a way weeth women, Veektor.”
His agent. That was who he would blame for this debacle -- tomorrow. When it was in The Daily Prophet’s gossip column. This was all his agent’s fault.
But for now, he just smiled and pressed a kiss to Fleur’s lips. They’d get through this forced photoshoot, and then he would take this lovely witch to dinner -- and to a proper bed
Author: Leigh, aka leigh_adams
Pairings: Bill Weasley/Fleur Delacour, Draco Malfoy/Ginny Weasley, Harry Potter/Pansy Parkinson, Julian Vaisey/Astoria Greengrass, Julian Vaisey/Reilly Chambers, Lysander Montague/Pansy Parkinson, Rodolphus Lestrange/Bellatrix Black, Ron Weasley/Pansy Parkinson, Seamus Finnigan/Pansy Parkinson, Severus Snape/Lily Evans, Scorpius Malfoy/Lily Luna Potter, Stephen Cornfoot/Cassandra Montgomery, Viktor Krum/Fleur Delacour
Rating: PG-13 through NC-17
Word Count: Between 100 and 600
Summary: Thirteen smutty drabbles for your reading pleasure.
Author's Notes: Here be my drabbles for hp_humpdrabbles' Humpathon 2012. Four weeks of smutty drabbles... yay! I'll be updating this post if I fill any more prompts as time passes. :)
Bill Weasley/Fleur Delacour (R) for kat_ducat
Draco Malfoy/Ginny Weasley (PG-13) for shy_of_reality
Harry Potter/Pansy Parkinson (NC-17) for nearlyconscious
Julian Vaisey/Astoria Greengrass (PG-13) for elle_blessing
Julian Vaisey/Reilly Chambers (R) for mugglechump
Lysander Montague/Pansy Parkinson (PG-13) for mugglechump
Rodolphus Lestrange/Bellatrix Black (R) for dallirious
Ron Weasley/Pansy Parkinson (PG-13) for marianna_merlo
Seamus Finnigan/Pansy Parkinson (PG-13) for l3petitemort
Severus Snape/Lily Evans (R) for elle_blessing
Scorpius Malfoy/Lily Luna Potter (PG-13) for elle_blessing
Stephen Cornfoot/Cassandra Montgomery (R) for mugglechump
Viktor Krum/Fleur Delacour (R) for demented_mei
Bill Weasley/Fleur Delacour (R)
Prompt: Pretty
Word Count: 530
“Pretty enough for the both of us, hmm?”
Fleur jumped in surprise at the voice behind her. Glancing up, her eyes met Bill’s in the mirror, and her nose crinkled. “Not anymore, I do not theenk. I am ‘ideous.”
Her husband quirked a brow. “Oh?” Stepping closer, he reached out and pulled her against him, his hands skimming over her bare arms. “Why do you say that, love?”
She shivered as his touch pulled gooseflesh from her skin. “Look at me,” she said. Her lips curled downwards in a pretty little pout. “I am so, so...fat.”
“What, this?” His hand slipped down to her midsection, covering the small -- barely noticeable, really -- bump that her lacy nightgown covered. “That’s not fat at all.”
“Si.” Fleur frowned at her reflection in the mirror. She was already gaining weight, and it was early still. There would be nothing but more weight gain for the next five months. By the end of it, she would be as big as a house, and Bill wouldn’t be able to look at her.
“Non.” Bill pressed his lips to her temple. “It’s not fat, ma chér, that’s our baby. There’s a distinct difference.” His teeth grazed her skin gently, lips twitching when she shivered. “Do you have any idea how sexy you are right now?”
His wife snorted. “You are crazy, Bill.”
Bill smirked. “Tell me something I don’t know.” Slipping one hand down her side, his fingers started to slowly inch her nightgown up, revealing her long legs inch by tantalizing inch. “But you, Fleur Isabelle Delacour Weasley, grow even more stunning by the day.” He held her gaze in the mirror for a long moment, then let his eyes drop lower when he pulled the flimsy material over her hips.
The hand on her stomach moved down to her bare lower belly, hovering just over the thatch of blonde curls between her thighs. “Let me show you,” he whispered, his lips at the corner of her mouth.
Fleur’s head tilted to the side, turning just enough for her to press her lips against his. “Eef you insist,” she whispered.
No further encouragement was needed. His hand slipped between her thighs, fingers parting her slick folds and slipping inside her waiting sex. She was ready for him -- she was always ready for him; it was one of the many things he loved about his wife. Bill’s fingers slipped inside her passage with ease, working in and out, around her swollen nub as his hands and lips pleasured his wife.
Her breaths were shallow, his name murmured in low tones as her hips worked against his hand. She grasped at his arm, holding onto him as he played her body the way only he could. When she came, it was with a little gasp and a surge onto her tiptoes as Fleur let her head tip back, letting the pleasure overwhelm her.
He pressed his lips against her pulse point. “Believe me now, love?”
She chuckled and shook her head slightly. “Non.” Lifting her head, she met his quizzical gaze in the mirror. “But you are welcome to try and convince me again.”
Draco Malfoy/Ginny Weasley (PG-13)
Prompt: Kiss Tomorrow Goodbye by Luke Bryan
Word Count: 525
“We don’t work.”
“We don’t.”
“You’re a pompous, overgrown man-child who doesn’t know how to compromise.”
“And you’re a shrill, overbearing witch with too many freckles, hideously bright hair, and more brothers than should be allowed.”
Heated brown eyes met cool gray ones in the mirror. “Ass.”
“Bitch.”
Ginny rolled her eyes and wrapped her dress tight around her slender frame, tying it in place beneath her breasts. “And you wonder why I’m leaving.” Part of her wished he’d chase after her - the small, childlike portion of her psyche that still believed in fairy tales and true love; knights in shining armor to rescue the fair maiden and slay dragons.
Draco was no knight. But she’d loved him, despite his many flaws, and she knew that he had loved her - or at least, he’d felt affection for her. Despite their years, she didn’t know if he knew how to love.
That they were still lovers even after their separation was a mystery to most. Ginny intended to keep it that way. Hermione was suspicious, Ron as well - though he’d have had no inkling if not for his wife.
Her ex-husband was mercifully oblivious.
She moved to find her shoes but was stopped by his sudden presence at her back. “What are you doing?” she asked, though it was quite obvious what he was doing from the way his hands circled her waist.
“You don’t have to go yet,” he said casually, pulling her against him. His lips brushed against the shell of her ear, and she shivered. Damn the man to the seven hells for knowing how to play her body like a fiddle.
“We can’t,” she breathed. “Not anymore. This is goodbye, Draco.”
“Tomorrow.” One hand found the knot holding her dress together and tugged. Without the strain, her dress fell loosely on her body, gaping between her breasts. No bra - she generally didn’t bother when she spent the night. They were either lost or ripped in their haste.
She knew she should stop him, but her body betrayed her. When his hand slid inside to cup her breast, his thumb teasing her nipple to a peak, she whispered, “Why?”
Draco’s other hand pushed at the dress. It fell to the floor with a soft ‘woosh,’ leaving her naked in front of him - again. “Because,” his lips traced down her neck, the hand on her breast alternating between soft caresses and a firm kneading, “I want to see that hair in my bed one more time. I want to hear you scream my name. I want to make you come one last time, Ginny.” His lips found her pulse point. “Let’s do what we do best.”
His hands, lips, and words pulled a moan from her lips. He would win this round - there was no point denying, just like there was no point in delaying the inevitable. In his bed, they could pretend it was all alright; that they still loved each other the way they once had. In the morning, they’d wake up and all their shared baggage would return.
Tomorrow. It could wait until tomorrow.
Harry Potter/Pansy Parkinson (NC-17)
Prompt: Urgent, on the floor sex
Word Count: 550
If someone had told Harry Potter that ten years after vanquishing the Dark Lord, he would be the head of the Auror division, he would have laughed. If that same person had also said that he’d marry and divorce his childhood sweetheart before his twenty-seventh birthday, he’d have asked if their last name was Trewlaney. And if that someone had said he’d be sleeping with his secretary, he’d have had them committed to St. Mungo’s.
Harry wasn’t laughing now.
The office door was cracked, and people could see, but Harry didn’t care. All rational thought had fled from his brain when she sashayed in, wearing that too-tight bandage dress that she knew wasn’t work appropriate -- Percy had remarked on Ministry dress code far too often in her hearing for her to claim otherwise. Pansy knew the effect she had on men.
In their (meager) defense, she had tried to shut the door. At least, that’s what he thought she was going to do when he grabbed her wrist. It was all a blur of heated kisses and rough touches, of falling to the floor together. Hands pushed and tugged at clothing, moving the pesky barriers aside.
She gasped when his fingers slid beneath her lacy knickers, finding her sex wet and waiting for him. Two fingers slipped through her heat, twisting and thrusting in a pale imitation of what he really wanted to do to her. It was wrong -- in some way, he was sure of that -- to fuck his secretary at the office; wronger still when his secretary had once tried to sell him over to his arch nemesis.
But in the lines between right and wrong, they existed in a world of gray.
Her little gasps and moans let him know his efforts were not in vain, and it filled him with a ridiculous amount of male satisfaction to see her fall apart on his hand in less than a minute. Shuddering, his last name on her lips, her grip on his shirt eased, and her hands slid down to make quick work of his trousers.
“Gods, Pansy,” he ground out when she shifted and sank down onto him, the heat of her sex clenching around him. It was automatic for his hands to find her waist, digging into her hips and the fabric bunched there.
She circled her hips. “Fuck me, Potter.” The harsh words were paired with an equally sharp kiss -- her teeth found his lower lip, tugging.
Harry didn’t need to be told twice. Rolling their joined bodies today, they gave themselves over to the desire that rode them both. It was hard and wanton; almost primal in the way her lacquered nails scratched at his back, the strength with which he thrust into her over and over and over again. When his hand reached between them to rub at her swollen nub, she pulled him over the edge with, twin cries muffled in their kiss.
“How long before the first memo arrives, do you think?” he murmured drowsily against her lips.
Pansy hummed and shifted beneath him, and damn his body if he didn’t stir in reaction. “Hmmm, five minutes?” Her eyes fluttered open, fixing him with a hooded look. “Enough time to close the door and do that again.”
Julian Vaisey/Astoria Greengrass (PG-13)
Prompt: Tailor Made by Colbie Caillat
Word Count: 545
Astoria had never thought to be here again.
Not in Venice - Merlin only knew how she loved the charming city - but here, on this balcony overlooking the Grand Canal. Here in Venice with Julian Vaisey - again. Five years ago, they’d once been on this balcony. If she had to pinpoint a moment where their first romance (or something like that) had ended, it would have been this spot.
But in the five years since, things had changed. There were no straight lines in nature, only arcs. Life had happened, and Julian had remained on the outskirts of hers - despite everything, he was constant.
Something that hadn’t changed? Her body’s reaction to his touch.
When his hands slipped over her hips, it was instinctive for hers to rest on his chest. Her head tipped back to gaze at him in the half-light spilling from the ballroom. She shivered, but it was more from his proximity rather than the cool night air that swept through the canals. Long nights alone, and her mind still imagined it was Julian who made her cry from pleasure and not her own hands. How many times had she pictured his face above her, imagined his hands on her body and his lips on her skin?
She had changed. But so had he. Fatherhood brought out an entirely different side of Julian Vaisey, adding to his enigma. His relationship with Penelope was frosty and likely always would be, but Astoria could see the love he had for his children. It was writ plain on his face - try as he might to mask it - whenever he was with them. And Merlin help her, it only made him more attractive.
It had never been like this before. She had been reluctant when he asked her to dinner again, reticent to let him back into her life. She wouldn’t open her heart to him. It had been broken too many times, and Astoria was tired of the pain.
“Say it again,” she said softly. The shadows hid his eyes from her, but she could feel the intensity of his gaze. It was a dream. She would wake up in a moment and sadly realize that this night hadn’t happened; another byproduct of her lonely heart.
Her breath hitched when his lips brushed over her ear. “I’m in love with you, Astoria Greengrass.” The words pulled another wave of shivers over her skin, prickling in awareness, “and if I’m not mistaken, you’ve fallen in love with me, too.”
Julian pulled back to look her in the eye, and she was falling. Her hands fisted in his suit jacket and pulled him down to her. Lips met lips in a heated kiss as her arms twined around his neck. Five years, heartbreak, children, and life had brought them full circle. His hands slid to the small of her back, fingertips dancing over the smooth skin bared by her low-cut dress. He could have it - her kisses, her body, her love; all of it.
There was no point in denying it. She’d tried to stop it, but three little words brought her world falling down around her. He loved her, and Merlin help her, she loved him in return.
It might have taken numerous fittings, but he was tailor made for her - and she was never letting him go.
Julian Vaisey/Reilly Chambers (R)
Prompt: Howl by Florence and the Machine
Word Count: 300
Hands ripped at clothing, all thoughts of propriety pushed to the side in their haste. It was raining in London -- it was always raining in London -- but tonight, thunder boomed and the rain poured down around them. Only the occasional flash of lightning illuminated the dark alley where the two lovers went at each other.
It was in these moments together that their shiny facades were stripped away, revealing their true selves lurking just beneath the surface. With the pull of the moon, they came together in a flash of rough kisses and rougher touches. Tenderness was ripped away as easily as her lace knickers.
Reilly’s teeth raked over Julian’s chest, pausing to bite at the skin over his heart. Thump, thump under her teeth; it would be so easy to draw blood. It would hardly take more than a tiny bit of effort to bring his lifeblood from his body, the way her nails did when they clawed at his skin. He unleashed something within her, something she worked very hard to keep hidden.
Her fingers ripped at his back when he hoisted her up, pressing her back against the rough stone wall. Julian sank into her easily -- as he had time and time before, and would time and time again after. Their coupling was brutal, each determined to make the other scream before they fell over. When his hand found her center and his teeth found her breast, Reilly came with a moan. A squeeze of her inner muscles, and her lover followed her with his own climax.
Thump, thump. Thump, thump. Two hearts beat rapidly. Two hearts beat in sync. He would let her go, and go she would -- but she would come back.
She always did.
Lysander Montague/Pansy Parkinson (PG-13)
Prompt: Siren call
Word Count: 108
A crook of her finger. That’s all it takes, and he is back where he has dreamed about -- with her. It’s almost laughable how strong his want is; when she fixes those hooded eyes of hers on him, he is drawn to her side. She will be his downfall; his redemption and his doom all in one deceivingly delicate package. It is a taking ten years in the making -- a pleasure that came so close to not happening that he is determined to make the most of every gasp, every touch, every kiss.
She is his siren. She beckons, and he cannot stay away.
Rodolphus Lestrange/Bellatrix Black (R)
Prompt: I never stopped loving you
Word Count: 492
It is the calm before the storm. An eerie silence hangs over Malfoy Manor, all inhabitants within too on edge to sleep. Their Lord paces restlessly in Lucius’s study, the rest of his closest followers scattered throughout the Wiltshire estate. His wife -- these days, Bellatrix is his ‘wife’ in name only -- is not with him; a true rarity these past few years.
No, tonight Bellatrix is with him. Her too-long nails press into his back, drawing blood beneath his robes. It is a sensation he has missed, drawing blood from one another in the throes of passion. His body is on edge. He has been denied this sensation for far too long -- his matrimonial rights with his wife. Bella hasn’t graced his bed in months, and fool that he is, Rodolphus has not dishonored her by finding pleasure elsewhere.
His hips pin her against the rough stone, and his hands are rough against her simple black dress. The bodice was torn in his haste. Her bra hangs loosely, ripped in half, and her small breasts (still as beautiful as the first time he saw them) bear red angry red marks from his teeth.
It brings back memories from the first war. Violently fucking his wife the night before a battle -- before Azkaban, before his wife’s tenuous grip on sanity shattered, before her obsession with their Lord drowned all else out. It’s fitting that their first coupling in months is in her sister’s dungeons. The dark, damp cold suits them -- as does the dried bloodstains on the stone.
Rodolphus’s teeth pull at her lip as his grip on her hips tightens. Where they once played mind games with one another, silence reigns. There is no need for words anymore. They are servants to their Lord. Neither one are in control of their own destinies anymore. Their fate will be decided tomorrow. It is as good a reason as any to fuck.
Bella’s body tightens around him, and he knows she is close. Jerking her down on him one final time, he reaches between their bodies to circle her swollen nub, and his teeth sink into the meat of her neck. As if on cue, she moans and shudders around him, and her orgasm pulls his own finish from him. Rodolphus groans and spills his seed inside his wife.
It is quiet for a long moment as their hearts slowly stop pounding. He pulls back to look at her -- beautiful Bella, even now. His eyes darken at the blood on her neck; his teeth broke the skin. The dark red liquid calls to him. Blood to blood, as dark as the vows they once took to one another.
He ducks his head and runs his tongue along the skin, licking the coppery blood from her neck. Merlin help him, he loves this -- he still loves her.
He never stopped.
Ron Weasley/Pansy Parkinson (PG-13)
Prompt: Uniform
Word Count: 504
If Pansy Parkinson had a weakness, it was for a man in a well-tailored suit.
Technically, Auror robes weren’t considered as suits, per se, but they were tailored. She recognized that some non-Ministry work had been taken. None of the other Aurors took as much care with their robes -- Auror Weasley’s eldest sister-in-law had taken her wand to them. It was lucky there was at least one Weasley who knew a thing about fashion -- even if that Weasley was only such through marriage.
Leaning back against the chaise longue, she let her gaze wander from his broad shoulders and down. He’d filled out quite nicely since school, finally gaining enough muscle to really grow into his gangly height problem. All in all, Ron Weasley was rather fit.
“Pansy?”
Blue eyes blinked, brought out of her reverie by her name. “Yes, darling?”
Ron pursed his lips. “Are you even listening to a word I’m saying?”
“Of course not.” She hardly even recalled what he’d been prattling on about -- some speech he was preparing for tomorrow’s staff meeting or something trivial. It was of no interest to her. The only thing remotely interesting was the way her lover filled out his Auror uniform.
“Then stop staring at me like I’m -- oh. Oh.” She quirked an eyebrow at him, lips curling suggestively. The blush that stained his cheeks was endearing; he was twenty-six years old and still blushed like a fourth year at his first Yule Ball whenever certain subjects arose. He took a step closer. “Pans...”
She crooked a finger at him and reached out, grasping him by the hand. “Fleur did a remarkable job with your robes,” she commented lightly. “They were practically unwearable. I must send her my compliments.”
“Oh, so it’s my robes that you’re staring at.” He laced their fingers together and smirked -- a habit he’d developed in their years together. She was a bad influence. “Good to know.”
“Well, I’d be hard pressed to say it was just your robes.” She shifted, letting one stocking-clad foot travel up the inside of his leg. Higher and higher it traveled until she brushed over the bulge in his trousers. Her eyes flashed wickedly up to his face. “It looks as if that’s not that only thing that’s hard...”
He made a strangled noise in his throat as she brushed her toes over him, back and forth, teasing. “Gods.” Ron swallowed, his stance widening in an unconscious movement. He leaned over and brought their joined hands to Pansy’s breast. She let out a small mewl of pleasure.
“I think,” she murmured, her foot leaving off it’s task to hook around his knee and draw him down to the chaise longue with her, “you’re going to be late to your meeting.”
Taking a firm grip on her hip, Ron shifted and moved above her, caging her body beneath his. Slipping his hand beneath her dress to palm her bare skin, his lips hovered just shy of a kiss.
“What meeting?”
Seamus Finnigan/Pansy Parkinson (PG-13)
Prompt: She’s as bold as a streetlight
Word Count: 437
Seamus was mad as a hatter. There was no way around it -- any other man would have long since left Pansy Parkinson in the past. She was stunning, no doubt; while she’d never lost her slightly upturned nose, the rest of her body had changed from that of a pixie-cut schoolgirl to a Playwizard pin-up girl. The jet black hair that had once framed her face was now worn in soft waves around her shoulders, curls tumbling down her back.
And across his pillow.
There was no filter between her brain and her mouth -- if she had a thought, she voiced it. Company be damned. Another man might have taken steps to avoid awkward scenarios, but Seamus... well, he’d always played with fire. And truth be told, hearing Pansy’s scathing remarks on some of their former classmates always did liven up a party.
She was pureblooded, with an old family name and the old money that went with it. He was an Irish halfblood, the son of a Cork witch and a Muggle brewer. What they’d lacked in money, they made up for with love and laughter. She was an only child -- he was the middle child in a brood of five.
Seamus preferred stout. Pansy loathed the drink. His idea of a fun night was at the pub with his best mates, drinking and betting on sport. She preferred a more genteel outing; trips to the spa with Astoria, a night at the theatre.
His girl was bold -- privately as brave as any Gryffindor he knew (not that he could ever tell her so; he liked sex too much to jeopardize his place in her bed). She’d seduced him -- not that he’d minded. He likened her to the toke he’d hit with Dean during sixth year: dark and sweet, a dangerous thing to be addicted to.
And he was addicted. Was it more or less dangerous to be addicted to a person rather than a thing? On the nights they weren’t together, he dreamed of her. Watching her face when he slipped his fingers in her wet sex, hearing her moan when he bent her over the sofa and took her from behind. The smooth pale skin waiting for him beneath her (always matching) silk lingerie, pink tipped breasts just waiting for his lips to suckle.
His Medusa. His deliverance and his undoing, all wrapped up in one Slytherin enigma. His friends said he was addle minded, crazy to stay with her.
Seamus just shrugged and smiled. They called it addiction, he called it love.
Severus Snape/Lily Evans (R)
Prompt: I have died every day waiting for you, darling, don’t be afraid...
Word Count: 486
The Three Broomsticks is not the sort of place Severus would normally patronize. It’s too busy, too full of people who might inquire about his business. The Hog’s Head is more his style, but Aberforth will give him dour looks. At least Rosmerta lets him drink for free -- sometimes -- and she doesn’t ask questions. She doesn’t have to.
The free whiskey helps.
It’s been years, but he can still see her as clearly as if it were yesterday. Twenty-one was too young to die, and she’d been a wife and mother by that point. Lily had lived a life of purpose -- with him. Severus would always hate James Potter. He was everything Severus was not. And more importantly, he got the girl.
James Potter had been there when Severus pushed Lily away, the desperate act of a desperate teen searching for belonging.
What he wouldn’t give to do it all over again.
Lily could have been his. What did he care about blood purity? He was a poor halfblood himself; he had no room to condemn such a bright, wonderful witch for something out of her control -- such as her parents. But he was weak, a coward -- and he’d thrown away the one constant in his life -- the only woman he had ever, or could ever, love -- for one madman’s depraved ideals.
He dreams of it, sometimes. When he is drunk and alone -- which happens often -- he dreams of Lily. He can still see her smile, her flaming red hair, her green eyes. He remembers the touch of her hand, always a friendly gesture from her that meant so much more to Severus. He is not inexperienced with women -- Rosmerta tends to him whenever the need for contact arises -- but it is not the same.
Rosmerta, with her blonde curls and buxom curves, is not Lily. But when he closes his eyes, he imagines her. He imagines that it’s Lily’s breasts his calloused hands caress, Lily’s lips that wrap around his aching member, Lily’s body beneath his, calling his name in pleasure.
(She knows, of course. The barkeep knows everything. But she keeps his secret).
Her son will be at school soon. Severus is torn at the thought. Part of him looks forward to seeing this child of Lily’s, the baby he has not seen since... that night. But the other part of him already hates the boy -- Harry Potter. Harry Potter who is half Lily, but he is also half James. And if he is anything like his father...
So Severus drinks Rosmerta’s free whiskey. He terrorizes his students and ignores his heart -- still broken even after ten years. He has loved Lily for as long as he has known her, and he will love her until he takes his final breath.
Scorpius Malfoy/Lily Luna Potter (PG-13)
Prompt: I keep going right back to the one thing I need to walk away from
Word Count: 526
Edmund Burke once wrote, “Those that do not know history are doomed to repeat it.”
To which Scorpius Malfoy and Lily Luna Potter replied, “Well played, Mr. Burke. Well played.”
It wasn’t as if either of them knew - but if they had, would they have stayed away? From their first introduction during Lily Luna’s fifth year, there had been an unmistakable force that pulled them together. Scorpius could joke and call it his animal magnetism all he liked, but there was more to it - it was darker, deeper, possessive.
And it felt much older than the barely of-age witch and her wizard.
(Even then, Scorpius wasn’t ‘hers.’ Not really. He was Rosie’s, and he always had been.)
Lily Luna knew it was wrong. She shouldn’t want him as much as she did. But every time she tried to walk away, to leave him to her saintlike cousin and make a new start for herself, she found herself right back at where she started: in his arms. Those stolen moments with Scorpius - from their first time together in the field behind the Burrow to yesterday’s tryst above The Leaky Cauldron - were like a drug. She was an addict.
She lived for those brief, fleeting hits. It was hard to be with him; blending into the background when a girl came from the combined Weasley-Potter family was next to impossible. But they found time, each time Lily telling herself that it was the last time.
She’d always been a terrible liar.
Scorpius’s kiss made her knees weak. The way he ran his hands over her bare skin made her shiver, her lips curling in pleasure. When he pressed his mouth to the cradle of thighs and licked right on that spot, she shrieked and writhed beneath him. He made her feel wanton, alive unlike anything she’d ever felt before. He played her body with such precision that she momentarily forgot all the reasons this was so, so wrong.
If her family knew, they’d despise her. Ostracize her.
She didn’t want to even think what Rosie would do.
The pair knew the history between their families all too well. Scorpius had been to their home enough times to know that his father and Lily’s had never been the best of friends - and that was putting it mildly. It didn’t keep them apart (after all, if the knowledge that she fucked her cousin’s boyfriend on a regular basis didn’t do it, why would ancient history?).
What Scorpius and Lily didn’t know, though, was that they were hardly the first to feel that pull.
If they’d known that once upon a time, Draco Malfoy and Ginny Weasley had succumbed to the same desires time and time again, would they have repeated the sins of their parents? If Lily knew that her boyfriend’s father used to make her mother scream in pleasure, would she have stayed away then?
Neither knew. Neither would know - Draco and Ginny guarded their secret well. And their children did the same with their own.
Stephen Cornfoot/Cassandra Montgomery (R)
Prompt: Morning sex
Word Count: 482
Being a new parent was difficult. Stephen had always wanted kids, though there was no apparent reason why. His own childhood had been full of angst and bitterness; the youngest son who could never do right by his bigoted, pureblood parents. What he had learned over the course of eighteen years at Carisbrooke all amounted to one thing: how not to raise a child.
After he’d married Cassie, they’d both assumed they would have plenty of time for that. They were both young -- well, she was younger than he was, but neither of them were approaching twilight years just yet. They could enjoy being married before they started having children.
Fate had other plans.
Stephen loved his daughter, and he knew without a doubt that he would do anything for her. He would gladly lay down his life for her, if need be. But despite the many amazing qualities his little princes possessed, she made it very difficult for Stephen to find alone time with his wife.
One of the few times they found time was early in the morning -- and that was just fine with him.
It was still dark outside, the slightest pink lightening the sky outside their bedroom. Cassie’s eyes were still shut as she just started to wake, and Stephen’s hands slid beneath her lacy nightgown to ghost over the bare skin beneath. His lips curled in a smug smirk that was entirely male when his hand slid lower -- no knickers to impede his progress. A finger slipped between golden curls and pale thighs, finding his wife already wet and waiting for him.
She sighed and shuddered when his hand played between her legs, touching and teasing while his lips suckeled her through her nightgown. Cassie’s hands gripped his arms, but the only sound that fell from her lips were breathy gasps. In the mornings, before the day truly began, she was never coherent enough for words. Just sleepy passion as they roused one another in the most pleasurable way possible.
Beneath the sheets, their hands played each others’ bodies as Stephen fit his hips to hers. A quick thrust and he was inside her, giving them what they both wanted. It never took long to finish in the mornings -- as much as both of them wished they could prolong their lovemaking, it wasn’t the time. Cassie’s body writhed beneath him, back arching when he pulled her pleasure from her with his lips, hands, and hips.
Inevitably, his own climax was only a heartbeat after hers. They would lay together in the afterglow, trading kisses and touches as the sun peaked over the horizon. The early morning post-coital haze surrounded them, engulfing them in their own little world -- perfect, quiet, theirs.
And then a cry would resonate from the nursery, and the day would begin.
Viktor Krum/Fleur Delacour (R)
Prompt: The Quidditch Calendar Affair
Word Count: 563
Viktor hadn’t wanted to do the Witch Weekly photoshoot. He didn’t like interviews, photoshoots, or anything else that required him to speak or be seen in public. However, he’d learned one thing when his professional Quidditch career began -- and that was that his agent had the last word. Not him.
So here he was, bare chested and slicked down with oil. Or at least, that’s where he had been.
Now? Now he was in the broom cupboard, buried to the hilt in Fleur Delacour.
He hadn’t seen the former Beauxbatons champion in years, not since her wedding. They’d kept in touch through letters, so he knew about her life and she knew about his. She knew the way he loathed the spotlight, that playing professional Quidditch was a double-edged sword -- he got to play the game he loved. In exchange, his entire life was lived in the public eye.
And he knew about her struggles after the war, her miscarriage. And her subsequent divorce.
What he hadn’t known about was her budding career as an editorial photographer. That was new -- quite welcome, since she was in charge of this farce.
It didn’t matter at the moment. Nothing mattered except the enticing floral scent lingering in her hair, the way she gasped and clutched at him when his hips pressed against hers. They hadn’t bothered to disrobe. Her hands had pushed his belt and trousers down around his knees, and his calloused fingers had pushed her silk knickers to the side before he was inside her slick sex.
“Mon dieu,” she moaned, tipping her head back in pleasure -- exposing her smooth neck to his wandering lips. “Veektor...”
He kissed and bit at her pulse while one hand palmed her round breast through her dress. “I haf missed you, Fleur.” His hips rolled against hers, the pleasure building. Her legs were wrapped tight around him, and the way he pressed her against the wall gave his other hand leave to find her center. One finger found her swollen nub and rubbed it teasingly, smirking when she gasped. “Vill you scream?”
“Oui, oui, ‘arder...” Her body stilled, and then Fleur cried his name when she climaxed.
Viktor grit his teeth, but the fluttering of her body was too much to resist, and he came with a groan, her name breathed against her neck as an afterthought.
One delicate hand slid through his hair. “Veektor --”
Whatever she’d been about to say was immediately cut off when the cupboard door flew open. “Miss Delacour, have you seen -- OH!”
With a growl, Viktor reached out and grabbed the doorknob. The flustered assistant at least had the good sense to jump out of the way before he slammed it shut, blocking the gawking staff from seeing anymore than they had in that split second.
Fleur chuckled. “You ‘ave always ‘ad a way weeth women, Veektor.”
His agent. That was who he would blame for this debacle -- tomorrow. When it was in The Daily Prophet’s gossip column. This was all his agent’s fault.
But for now, he just smiled and pressed a kiss to Fleur’s lips. They’d get through this forced photoshoot, and then he would take this lovely witch to dinner -- and to a proper bed