How My Favorite Slytherin Boys React To You Passing Out.

How my favorite Slytherin boys react to you passing out.

Warning: Hogwarts legacy to Harry Potter

Ft. Sebastian Sallow, Ominis Gaunt, Tom Riddle, Mattheo Riddle, Draco Malfoy, Theodore Nott, Lorenzo Berkshire.

Sebastian Sallow

“I think I’m gonna pass out.”

“Please don— BLIMEY!”

Immediately catches you a little and takes you to the hospital wing. He’s definitely most worried about you since he was scared in the back of his mind that you might have been cursed like his twin sister during an adventure.

After he found out it was cause you hadn’t eaten, he’s shoving some honeyduke sweets down your throat and meals. 3 meals per day is what he’s making sure you are eating before another adventure starts.

Ominis Gaunt

You haven’t slept much, all these adventures sure were wreaking your body. You came in the common room to rest on the couch. Not noticing that a certain gaunt had sense you, you passed out before getting to the damned couch.

He sensed you passed out and he started to feel scared. He was put away his wand and started to feel you on the floor. And when he finally got the touch of your arm, he gripped it and pulled you towards him. Setting your head in his lap as he was praying to anything, anyone for you to wake up.

So when you woke up he felt relieved but asked you to go see the nurses when you felt like you could walk.

After finding out you haven’t been getting sleep from the trials and adventures you have been going through with Sebastian.

He gave the poor sallow boy an earful of a scolding.

Mattheo Riddle

You passed out due to overheating yourself. You were studying day and night. Of course your beloved riddle was concern, so he comes into your room. When you seen him and tried to stand up, that’s when you fell like an animated cartoon.

Mattheo thought you tripped on yourself, but when you didn’t move he got worried and checked you out.

As he felt your head was burning, he unbutton your shirt and ran to the bathroom to get a cold towel. Putting it in your forehead, he waited.

Waking up to see mattheo was sure a shocker since you would’ve thought he might’ve took you to the hospital wing.

Theodore Nott

He caught you when he noticed you had gotten “dizzy” is what you said in the morning.

He knew something was off when you kept looking spaced out. So when he caught your body that was going to hit the floor, he took you to the medic wing and let the head nurse treat you.

He visits often, telling you about the classes and slight drama. And after you still recover and leave the wing, he’s treating you like you will break.

And now you got a overprotective Theodore on your side

Lorenzo Berkshire

Panic mode actived

Poor baby let out a scream which alerted a professor over and took you to the medic wing

He was anxious waiting for news on when you can be release and how the blazes did to pass out.

You passed out because you forgot to ate for the 2nd time. Prepare for this Slytherin boy to put a lot of food on your plate for weeks.

something wretched about this, something so precious about this

Pairing: Ominis Gaunt x f!MC

Word Count: 3k

Rating: E

Warnings: 18+, aged-up characters, explicit sexual content, oral sex (f receiving), PIV sex, language kink, parseltongue kink

Summary: request: "mc finds herself absolutely taken with Ominis and his parselmouth." aka mc is absolutely taken with ominis' mouth in every sense of the word

“But you don’t even understand what I’m saying,” he counters, curious. “N-no,” you whine. « I suppose it doesn’t matter, does it, sweetheart? » he hisses. « You’re a troublesome little thing, you hardly listen to me when you can understand. »

The first time you heard Ominis speak Parseltongue, you’d found it to be almost antithetical. It had sounded so bizarre coming out of his mouth, so different from the gentlemanly manner in which he most often spoke. Yet the strength of his snakelike voice sounded somehow familiar, and the way his sighing, hissing words wrapped around you felt like sinking into a warm bath.

“It worked!” you’d exclaimed, hoping your voice wasn’t trembling. “Ominis, you possess a rare ability indeed.”

Minutes later you’d writhed on the floor in unimaginable pain and all thoughts of Ominis’ potentially disreputable talent had flown from your mind. In fact, you’d been so rattled from being on the receiving end of the Cruciatus curse that it took several days for you to recall that you were no longer the sole member of your little trio with a rare gift.

A month later you’d asked Sebastian about it while you were studying for Charms, lazily levitating stacks of books while he had been pouring over Salazar Slytherin’s spellbook.

“What does being a Parselmouth mean?” you asked him curiously.

“Means you can talk to snakes,” he replied, half listening. “Understand them, too.”

You rolled your eyes. “I know that, thanks.”

Sebastian looked up from his book with a skeptical expression on his face. “Then what exactly are you asking?”

You shrug, avoiding his eyes. “I don’t know, I just… Ominis made it sound like it was a bad thing, to be known as a Parselmouth. Like it’s given him a bad reputation. Why is that?”

Carefully closing his spellbook, Sebastian sits back and considers his words carefully before continuing.

“Well, the answer to that is right in front of you,” he says, gesturing to the tattered book on the table before him. “As Ominis said, most Parselmouths are direct descendants of Salazar Slytherin, and whether it’s warranted or not, he’s a controversial figure.”

“Sure,” you agree. “But… does Ominis speak Parseltongue much? How would anyone even know?”

“I think most people just assume,” Sebastian replies with a shrug. “His brothers spoke it, and he’s told me that they speak it more regularly at his home. Many Gaunts have chosen to keep a snake rather than an owl or any sort of conventional animal.”

You nod slowly. “Have you heard him speak it before that night in the Scriptorium?”

“A handful of times,” he admits. “Sometimes he’ll slip up if he’s especially angry or frustrated. I’ve also heard him speaking it in his sleep on occasion.”

Eventually, the conversation shifts to the spellbook and you once again forget about Ominis’ rare skill – this time for nearly two years.

By your seventh year, Ominis has learned about your ancient magic abilities, and your friendship has grown from one of rueful kinship to genuine affection. Nevertheless, he still seems to keep so much of himself guarded, even as you’ve shared so many of your worries and insecurities as you’ve grown into your role as the only living Keeper of your ability.

(It doesn’t help that you’ve fallen achingly in love with him along the way.)

These days you spend most nights studying with him and Sebastian. Usually, you’re eager to soak up the years of knowledge they’d accrued before you’d started school at Hogwarts, but tonight you find yourself distracted.

“Are you listening to me?” Ominis suddenly snaps, and you glance up from where you’d been reading the same paragraph over and over.

Ominis looks annoyed, and to his point, you certainly hadn’t been listening. You’ve both been sprawled out on the floor of the Undercroft for hours now revising for Potions. Sebastian had called it a night shortly before dinner, leaving the two of you to continue pouring over theory textbooks in preparation for Professor Sharp’s famously lethal end-of-term exams.

“Y-yes, sorry,” you stutter. “What were you saying?”

In your defense, winter has arrived in the Highlands and the stone floor of Ominis’ hideaway has cooled you to the bone. The weak flame flickering beneath your shared cauldron isn’t enough to pull you out of your daydreams about a nice warm bed, some cozy blankets, and perhaps someone to share it with…

(Someone who can whisper secret serpentine words against your skin, chasing your goosebumps lower and lower beneath the covers…)

“Again?” Ominis asks, more disappointed than angry this time. “You can’t focus on my words for a full minute before slipping into some reverie?”

Merlin, if only he knew that focusing on his words wasn’t the problem at all.

“I’m sorry, Ominis,” you whine. “But it’s getting late, it’s freezing down here, and we missed dinner…”

“You said you’d help me,” he reminds you, perhaps a bit vulnerably. “The exam is tomorrow afternoon, and my Draught of Living Death is still curdling.”

You groan pathetically and rub your eyes. “Ominis, you’re a dear friend, and I simply adore you, but you’re bloody rubbish at Potions. Perhaps we should take a break for the night.”

Ominis’ jaw clenches while he stirs his (admittedly lumpy-looking) brew.

“Ominis?” you ask hesitantly. “...I apologize if I was harsh, but–”

“Don’t,” he interjects. “Just… stop talking. Clearly, you’re no longer interested in helping me, so you might as well go back to your common room for the night.”

Sighing, you shift closer to where he sits cross-legged on the stone floor and gently rest a hand on top of his knee. You know how challenging Potions has been for him, especially lately; N.E.W.T.-level draughts are challenging enough when one can confirm that the brew they’ve already spent hours preparing has progressed to the appropriate color.

“I think you need to take a break,” you say softly. “You’re making yourself too frustrated, Ominis.”

You watch as a bit of the tension he’d been carrying in his shoulders seeps away as his head hangs gently. As his fingers nervously twitch in his lap, he takes a slow, measured breath and lets his eyes fall closed.

« I need to do this correctly, even just once, » he says. « Then I’ll be able to sleep. »

You suspect he doesn’t even realize he hadn’t spoken English until you sharply pull your hand back with a gasp.

“Wh-what… did I, um,” he stammers. “I didn’t… say that the proper way, did I?”

“Well, er – you hissed it,” you say carefully. “That… that was Parseltongue again, wasn’t it?”

Ominis carefully nods. Your stomach clenches when you notice him hunch in on himself as if he’s ashamed of what he’s done.

“It’s okay!” you quickly tell him. “I, um. I haven’t heard you speak Parseltongue since fifth year, and – and I don’t understand it, obviously, b-but it’s alright if you want to use it.”

You trail off lamely and try to rest your hand on his knee once more, but he nudges it away.

“I apologize,” he says hollowly. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

A wave of nausea rolls over you as you watch him duck his face and turn away from you – not so that he can’t see you, mind, but that you won’t see him.

“Omins,” you sigh. “Please, you – you haven’t scared me, I promise you.”

“You don’t have to lie to me,” he counters in a deceptively soft voice. “I can tell, you know. Your heart is racing, you’ve gone warm all over… You want to run away. It’s only natural, when one is frightened. I would know.”

You swallow audibly and once more attempt to rest your hand on his thigh, and this time he allows you.

“I’m not scared,” you insist, and as true as your words are, you almost wish you were lying to him.

You think it’s probably less shameful than the truth, which is that Ominis’ brief Parseltongue outburst has your heart racing with desire, not fear.

“Then why…?” he asks before eventually trailing off.

“I find it fascinating,” you tell him softly as you trace your fingertips along the seam of his trousers. “It’s… compelling, Ominis. Perhaps a bit enticing.”

“Enticing?” he repeats softly. “You feel, er.. compelled by my Parseltongue?”

You shyly shrug before remembering a non-verbal answer won’t suffice. “I suppose I do.”

The both of you are silent for several long moments. The only sound that can be heard in the Undercroft is Ominis’ sickly bubbling potion, until he finally asks you, “May I kiss you?”

You hesitate for merely a beat, just to let your mind catch up, but before you can answer Ominis repeats himself in Parseltongue: « May I kiss you? »

This time, your non-verbal answer of crawling astride his lap and kissing him yourself is entirely sufficient.

Ominis moans into your mouth while you grab the lapels of his uniform shirt, brazenly rocking against his lap like one of those wanton witches in Sebastian’s rather foul romance novels. His hands settle on your hips and he helps you grind down onto him until you can feel for yourself where he’s grown hard.

“Wh-what are we doing?” he asks against your lips.

He doesn’t sound scandalized, or even hesitant – rather, he sounds like he’s asking how much you’re going to let him get away with.

“Whatever we want,” you answer him breathlessly. “Ominis, I – I’ve wanted this for so long, we’ll do whatever you want.”

« Whatever I want? » he hisses, and you shiver in his lap. « What I want is to get you on your back for me, sweet girl. »

Carefully, Ominis tips you from his lap back onto the freezing tile, but just as quickly he gently pushes your shoulders back until you’re sprawled out on some abandoned Potions notes. Your skirt falls halfway up your legs and Ominis traces his fingertips along your skin until he finds the hem.

« Spread your legs for me, my love, » he hisses, sliding his hands up the insides of your thighs. « Do you have any idea how long I’ve wanted to touch you here? »

His unseeing eyes flutter closed as his fingertips brush against the hem of your undergarments. You’re wet – you have been since he’d first slipped into those low, hissing tones of his – but now he knows it. He can feel it.

“Gods,” he groans. “You.. you really like to hear my Parseltongue this much?”

“It’s your voice,” you whimper, grinding your hips toward his teasing fingertips. “You… you sound different.”

“Tell me,” he demands. “How do I sound?”

Realizing that he likely sounds the same to his own ears even when speaking the ancient snake language, you bite your lip and force yourself to focus.

“You – you sound powerful,” you admit. “Like your voice is stronger, or… it’s like I can hear it in my whole body, not just my ears.”

Ominis wordlessly rewards you by firmly dragging his thumb down the length of your core through your panties. You melt into his touch; your skin feels as if it’s on fire now, and the very same icy stone floors you’d complained about not long ago now feel like a soothing balm against your skin.

“But you don’t even understand what I’m saying,” he counters, curious.

“N-no,” you whine.

« I suppose it doesn’t matter, does it, sweetheart? » he hisses. « You’re a troublesome little thing, you hardly listen to me when you can understand. »

You whimper and arch your back. “I m-might not understand Parseltongue, but I can tell when you’re teasing me.”

“Darling, I’ve barely begun to tease you,” he murmurs before leaning down and licking up the length of your body from your navel to the dip between your collarbones.

“Please, Ominis,” you beg.

« You’ve been distracting me all evening, » he continues. « I fully intend to have just as much fun playing with you, since you seem to enjoy driving me mad. »

While he kisses what’s sure to be an impressive bruise onto the side of your neck, Ominis slides your panties down your legs.

“I want you inside me,” you confess.

« You want the first time I take you to be on this dirty stone floor? » he asks lazily. « Are you that desperate to be fucked, sweetheart, or have I made you wait too long and driven you mad? »

You groan frustratedly as he starts to kiss his way down your body, pointedly ignoring your canting hips. “Ominis, I’m begging, please say you’ll touch me.”

Ominis presses a wet, open-mouthed kiss against your hipbone. « Don’t fret, my love. How could I refuse such a tempting offer from such a beautiful, albeit slightly mad woman? »

By the time he traces the tip of his tongue along the crease of your hip, you realize where he’s headed. An irreverent array of babble spills from your lips while you attempt to grind impossibly closer to his face, but he places his hands over your hips and keeps you firmly planted against the stone floor before he presses his tongue flat against your cunt.

If he were still speaking Parseltongue into your skin, you’d never know. Any words of praise or kindly teasing that spilled from his lips were drowned out by a litany of curses you’d never utter in front of a man like Ominis in any other setting.

“That’s it, my lovely girl,” he whispers against the inside of your thigh. « Your cunt is so wet for my tongue, and it’s even sweeter than you are. »

He’s switching between English and Parseltongue so easily that you can’t be sure he’s even doing it on purpose anymore, and you couldn’t possibly say which you prefer more. Being fully aware of every filthy word he says is a dream, but is it as delicious as not knowing what he’s saying as he utters secret confessions inches from your skin?

You don’t bother spending much time considering it while you lie back and let him lick you open. All you can think about is his tongue on your skin, pushing inside you, savoring every inch of your body while he learns you by touch and by taste.

That’s what he’s doing, after all – learning you. He’ll get you off, of course he will, but that’s not why he’s bent over between your legs with your calves thrown over his shoulder.

“Ominis,” you groan. “I need you in me, I… I need you.”

He presses a deceptively sweet kiss to your sensitive clit before he asks, “Is that so? I thought you liked my Tongue, and now it’s not enough for you?”

“Don’t tease me,” you plead. “I know you want me just as badly.”

While Ominis had been coming up for air between burying his face between his thighs, you’d been able to see just how affected he is – you aren’t alone in your eagerness, you can be sure of it.

« Right as always, you are, » he hisses. « Perhaps you don’t understand my words, but you can sense my desire, can’t you? »

He grinds his hard cock against your inner thigh to punctuate his words and you whine pathetically.

“Take me, take me, take me,” you chant while he sits back to undo his trousers and push them down just enough to free himself. You realize he intends to stay fully clothed while he takes you apart, and you shiver against the cold floor.

When he finally sinks inside, you fall helplessly silent.

Every ounce of focus you have is spent on relaxing your body, opening up for him as he buries himself inside you. He’s almost ruthless in his endeavor to fully seat himself in you despite his intimidating length. Save a few breathless not-quite-whines, you’re quiet beneath him.

« Nothing to say, darling? » he hisses at first, and then in a softer voice he asks, “Are you alright? Am I hurting you?”

“N-no, it’s good,” you moan. “Please… keep talking to me.”

“You want me to talk to you, hm?” he asks, grinding in until the flat part of his pelvis brushes against yours. « Do you need a distraction? You’re taking me so well, my angel. »

He starts to fuck you in earnest with a slow, careful rhythm to keep your bare skin from catching along the worn stones beneath your back. As he thrusts inside you, he keeps talking in that low, hissing tone. Soon you realize even his words match the rhythm of his body, rising and falling with his motions.

« Feels so good… Waited so long… I can’t stop, please don’t ask me to stop… »

His back feels feverishly warm to the touch while you drag your hands down from his shoulder blades to the back of his hips. In the years since you’d first heard the snakeline sound of Parseltongue fall from his lips, he’s grown taller and his musculature has changed into that of a lithe, well-built man. Now the strength of that voice suits the body from which it emanates, and both have combined to keep you firmly pinned to the floor beneath their might.

You cling to him as he fucks you harder. You feel so close already, tumbling toward the edge of pleasure beneath him as his serpentine words glide across your skin.

When you come around him, you hear him whisper your name in Parseltongue – it’s the same, you think, but softer, and sweeter.

« When I come inside you, » he hisses just above a whisper. « I want you to keep every last drop inside for me. Will you, my darling? »

“Ominis!” you wail.

“Fuck – fuck,” he gasps, and seconds later you feel the mess he's made inside you threaten to spill out with every slow, greedy thrust in his post-orgasmic haze.

“N-no, stop,” you whimper, and he immediately goes still.

“What is it?” he asks, his English crisp and clear.

You shift shyly beneath him and whisper, “Don’t… don’t keep going. I want to keep it inside for now, and – and when you move, it, um…”

Merlin, you don’t have the words to say you’re just as greedy as he is – you want to stay full of him, just as he’d asked in that ancient, indecipherable tongue.

Ominis presses soothing kisses to your face while you wrap your legs around his waist to hold him in place. His lips brush across your cheeks, the bridge of your nose, the curve of your jaw.

“Of course, darling,” he whispers. “I’ll stay right here.”

Then, with his lips pressed to yours, he hisses, « I’ll stay right here as long as you like. »

Sirius says house chores are a group activity

poly!marauders x fem!reader | fluff | 349 words c/w: allusion to sex

James watches in stupefied wonder as Sirius Black steps behind you with a squeeze to your waist. That’s not the wondrous part; Sirius is always grabbing your waist. The wondrous part is that he’s not camping out in the basement while the rest of you are cleaning, hoping James doesn’t drag him out by the feet to scrub the toilet.

“Can I help you with that, gorgeous?” He’s using his smooth voice- the silky, low one he deploys when he wants to get in your trousers. Thankfully, you don’t entertain him. “That’d be fantastic, Sirius. You can start with these.” You point to something in the sink- presumably a stack of dishes- and James watches, dumbfounded, as Sirius only rinses off the suds and places them on the rack dutifully.

And he’s not even wearing gloves.

“What’cha doin’ there, lovie?” It’s Remus that breaks him out of his trance, snaking an arm around his waist. “Look!” James whisper-shouts in your direction. “Pads is doing house chores!”

“And he’s not even wearing gloves!”

“I can hear you two!” Sirius throws his head with a huff, hair following with the same indignant attitude. “Honestly, you make it sound like I never do anything around here.”

“Because you don’t!”

He's offended at that one. Water sprays as he twirls to point an accusatory finger. “I absolutely do too, you lying twat.”

“Oh forgive my incompetence; how could I forget you’re the king of lifting your legs when I come by with the vacuum cleaner-”

“You never bother to wipe the bathroom mirror-”

“YOU LEAVE YOUR LONG CURLY SPIDERLINGS-” James mimics mingling legs with his fingers “-JUMPING AROUND ON THE SHOWER DOOR-”

“Y-”

He’s cut off by a mocking, high pitched screech. “HOUSE CHORES ARE FOR HOUSE ELVES; IT’S IN THE NAME-”

“Sirius, please; you’re dripping on the floor.”

“Oh, sorry dolly.” He turns back around, completely abandoning James’ yapping. A kiss to your temple before pulling another dish from your hands. “I’ll take that, thank you.”

James gapes, bewildered. “She’s completely bewitched him, that woman.”

Remus laughs. “She’s completely bewitched me too.”

masterlist

May I pleaseeee request poly!marauders x reader (gn or fem, up to you) where r and siri come home at like, 4 am from a rave (or clubing), and they are in makeup and have glitter all over them, and their exhausted and only slightly tipsy (from alchohol or drugs, up to whatever you think would be more fun to write) so they try to get cleaned up without waking up james or remus but ultimately fail?

I totally understand if you don't wanna write it 🫶

Thank you for requesting lovely!

cw: mention of alcohol

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1.1k words

When Remus wakes, he doesn’t at first know why. James is asleep next to him, snuffling softly, his cheek smushed into the pillow and drool leaking from the corner of his mouth. Remus’ fingers are woven loosely in the curls by his forehead. 

Then there’s a muffled thump from down the hall, followed by some hushed cursing, and he remembers. 

“They definitely moved the couch closer to the door to fuck with us.” Then, a moment later: “I am being quiet. Doll, you’re projecting.” 

Get a drop of alcohol in Sirius, and he becomes the worst whisperer in the world. 

Remus can hear your attempts at shushing your boyfriend as he slips out of bed. James is dead to the world, but he stretches out an arm as Remus’ fingers unwind from his hair as though feeling for where he’s gone. Glancing at the clock on his nightstand, he’s gladder than ever that he and James had begged off this particular excursion. It’s past five. 

He goes toward the light they left on for you by the door, but you and Sirius have already migrated into the kitchen. Remus props himself up on the doorframe, wrapping his arms around his middle, and allows himself to just watch the two of you for a minute. 

“Water first,” you’re saying, voice hushed far more effectively than Sirius’. You grab two glasses with extreme care from the cabinet, setting them down slowly so as not to make any noise. 

“I think this makeup is going to be crusted onto me forever,” Sirius whines. “I’ll never be able to get it all off.” 

“I don’t know if I have the energy to try,” you admit. 

You do both have an awful lot of glitter on you. What was intentional and precise when you left that evening has now traveled down onto your cheeks, leaving you lustrous and disheveled-looking. When Sirius closes his eyes, tipping his head back as he leans against the countertop, the black makeup around his eyes makes them look like glittering chasms. Remus notes that your shoulder shimmers with a similar color, like he’d laid his head on it. 

You pass Sirius a glass and hoist yourself up onto the counter, the both of you falling quiet while you drink your water. You sigh at the end of it. 

Sirius hums in response, a tired sort of smile lifting his lips. He leans his head against the side of your arm and lets his eyes fall closed again. 

“Did you have fun?” he asks, softer now than he has been since you came inside. 

“Mhm.” You set your empty glass down, using that hand to comb strands of hair away from Sirius’ face. 

Remus' heart nearly turns to mush as he watches the two of you, each clearly exhausted and yet still trying to take care of the other. You, you’ve always been open with your tenderness, but Sirius has taken years to get to where he is now. It still surprises Remus sometimes to see it, his boyfriend’s caring out from under the shroud of insouciance and joking. 

“I have an idea,” you say. Your tone is warm and lulling, not unlike your boyfriend’s. “We could take the spicy crisps into the living room, and lay on the couch to eat them.” 

Eyes still closed, Sirius smiles. “What about bed?”

“Rem won’t let us eat them in the bed.” 

Remus suppresses a chuckle. 

“I know, sweetness. I thought you were tired.” 

You sigh, long and heavy. “I am. I think I’m so tired I almost don’t care if I go to sleep. I might die if I don’t have a spicy crisp, though.” 

Sirius seems to be contemplating this when James comes up behind Remus. His hair is askew and glasses falling down the bridge of his nose, and he has the glazed-over look of someone who themselves is not quite sure if they’re awake or dreaming. 

“How wasted are they?” he asks, voice weighted with drowsiness. 

“Not very,” Remus murmurs. 

That’s when Sirius notices them. He picks his head up, nudging your knee with his elbow so you look over. 

“Oh.” You shrink a bit, expression pinching. “Sorry.” 

You so thoroughly look it that Remus can’t even feign upset. “Come to bed,” he says fondly. 

Neither of you move but Sirius opens his arms, beseeching Remus to come to him. Remus, too tired to pretend at being any less in love than he is, goes. 

“I thought you’d be in earlier,” he says into Sirius’ hair. It smells like sweat and a little bit like smoke. 

“The cabs were busier than we expected,” Sirius replies, voice even sleepier now that his face is in Remus’ neck. “We walked a while and then caught a bus once they started running.” 

Remus makes a disgruntled sound, but it’s James who says, “You should’ve called.” His voice sounds muffled, and Remus looks over to find it’s buried in your chest. You’re smiling faintly with your face turned down into his curly mop, your hands on the back of his head and his holding your thighs. “We would’ve come and got you.” 

“I wanted to,” Sirius defends himself, removing his face from Remus’ neck to cut you a teasing look. “She wouldn’t let me.” 

James lifts his head to look up at you. 

“I didn’t want to wake you,” you say, voice soft as though still trying to accommodate the sleep he really should be getting. “You both have work in the morning.” 

James groans at the reminder, hiding his face in your chest again. Remus sets a hand on top of his head, scratching his scalp consolingly. 

“You should always call,” he tells you, just for the record, but really he’s in no mood to argue. “Let’s go to bed, yeah?” 

“Yeah,” you sigh, slipping off the counter. 

James wraps his arms around your shoulders, forcing the both of you to walk with small, plodding footsteps, and Sirius also refuses to be out of Remus’ hold, clinging to his arm as you all start down the hallway. The bed is no sooner in sight that you let out a low whine. 

Sirius echoes it when you say, “We still have to take off our makeup.”

“What if,” James suggests, “you sleep now, and when Remus and I get up in an hour we can take it off for you while you stay in bed?” 

James hardly has time to let you go before Sirius is hanging off him, almost teary with gratitude. “God, I love you. That’s the best idea I ever heard.” 

My king (18+)

King Caspian x Reader

Warnings: unprotected sex, friends AND lovers?, library sex, wall sex, fluff and smut, courtier!Reader, King Caspian

(Happy hump day! Have some library smut! ❤️)

“I thought I might find you in here.”

You gasped and spun around in surprise at the sound of King Caspian’s voice behind you, the book in your hand falling to the floor with a clatter. The palace library had been silent, besides your occasional murmured readings and the swish of turning pages.

“Where else would I be?” you asked lightly, retrieving your book and placing it back on the shelf. “At the training grounds?”

“No,” Caspian chuckled, stepping forward, “I suppose I know better than to assume you’d be anywhere but here.”

“Well, you do know me well enough. “How can I help you, my king?”

You smirked as your friend and king scrunched his nose at you. Caspian had only been king for a few months, and although he’d made great progress in his role and his personal standing with the court, the mantle still felt awkward on his shoulders.

Personally, you thought that king was a rather handsome look on him.

“You know I hate it when you call me that,” he groaned.

“But I can think of a handful of occasions where I think you rather liked it,” you sassed, and you watched Caspian’s eyes darken.

Sometimes when either of you snuck into the other’s chambers in the night, it was for stress relief. Other times, it was simply to scratch an itch you couldn’t reach with your own fingers, your bodies demanding the heat of another.

You liked to think there was some degree of affection beneath it all, your trysts usually ending in soft touches or breathless laughter. Even when he growled as you cried out for your king, he always pressed soft kisses to your swollen lips in the afterglow.

“Are you saying this is such an occasion?” Caspian asked, his voice deep as he took a stalking step forward. Your cheeks immediately reddened.

“Caspian, we can’t,” you protested weakly, “someone might come in.”

“Or someone might not?” he countered smoothly, waiting to slot his lips over yours once your back was flush to the cool brick wall of the royal library.

You hummed into the kiss, sinking into the feel of him, letting your fingers curl into his hair and pulling him closer as he hiked up your skirt and hooked you leg over his hip. Goosebumps littered your skin as Caspian’s broad, calloused hands slid up the outside of your thigh, his grip strong as he held you in place.

“Also, you forget I’m king,” he murmured against your lips, his stubble scratching at your warming skin. ”My guards won’t let anyone through that door.”

Caspian’s words sent a shiver down your spine that pooled in your core. As he tugged at the strings to your undergarments, you slid a hand between you and unlaced the front of his trousers. Caspian groaned against your lips as your hand wiggled beneath the garment and cupped his bulge.

“Someone’s eager,” you teased, and Caspian just chuckled in response. The chuckle quickly cut off with a choke as you tightened your hand around his erection, the warm weight of it in your hand as you stroked it making your core clench around nothing.

“You’re playing with me,” he murmured, his kisses drifting along your jaw and down the length of your neck. Your head fell back against the wall as his strong fingers slid beneath your undergarments and between your slick folds, playfully circling your clit with a teasing lack of pressure.

“Says you,” you breathed, you hips moving against his fingers with a mind of their own.

Caspian grinned against your skin as he sped up his fingers, and you quickly felt yourself craving and chasing that familiar release in your core, the pressure growing quickly. Caspian swallowed your whines and gasps as his ministrations brought you to the edge, your hands tightening around his cock and in his hair as you shuddered against him.

He wasn’t a selfish lover, you’d learnt. Caspian would give you relief two, sometimes three times before he let you help him with his, a satisfied smile on his lips as he watched pleasure glaze over your eyes.

“Beautiful,” he breathed, and you found yourself blushing beneath his gaze, despite his thick, skilled fingers stroking your inner walls, preparing you for his length. “You’re so warm around me,” Caspian mused, attaching his lips to your neck again and sucking rosy marks into the sensitive flesh that would fade quicker than you both liked. “So welcoming for me, as always.”

“My king,” you whined, bucking your hips against his hand pointedly while freeing his cock entirely from his trousers. “We can take our time later.”

“Is that a promise?” Caspian grinned, an excited glint in his dark eyes. He slid his fingers from your heat to replace your hand with his own and lining his cock up with your slick core, pushing your undergarments to the side. He paused, waiting for you to promise before he gave in to your heat.

“Absolutely,” you breathed, sucking briefly on your swollen bottom lip. “Come to me tonight, my king.”

Caspian surged forward to capture your lips eagerly as he slid his cock into your core, morning against your lips as your walls welcomed him. He set a fast pace, eager and hungry, sliding out almost entirely on each stroke before punching forward, the base of his cock grinding against your clit deliciously. With every stroke, the fingers on your hip dug into your flesh deeper, and you couldn’t wait to inspect the inevitable bruises later in your chambers. Your fingers wound deeper into Caspian’s soft locks, feeling the push-pull of your kisses as you moved together perfectly. The slide of his tongue against yours, the weight of him pushing your warm body into the cold wall, the drag of his cock against your inner walls made your head swim as you felt that familiar pressure in your core return.

“C-Caspian, please,” you whined breathlessly between kisses, “I need t-“

“Let me feel you,” he commanded, his voice rougher than usual, your hand immediately slipping between you to rub at your clit. “I want to feel you fall apart around me. I need to feel you, my lady.”

You smashed your lips against Caspian’s at the honorific, furiously chasing your release as he forced wave after wave of pleasure through your body. It came quickly, and you sobbed his name into the silence of the library as your core clamped down around him, your orgasm racing through your body as you bucked your hips to take Caspian deeper.

“Incredible, my lady. You always feel incredible around me,” Caspian praised, dropping lazy, luxurious kisses on your lips as he slowed his hips, letting you return to your senses.

“C’mon, Caspian,” you murmured, tilting your head up to brush your lips against the corner of his lax lips. You crept a hand beneath the hem of his untucked shirt, your nails scratching at the trail of dark hair that led to his cock, feeling the muscle jump beneath your touch. “Finish in me.”

Your king fisted your hair and pulled you in for a rough kiss, speeding up his thrusts and pounding into your sensitive core a handful of times more before falling apart, and you swallowed Caspian’s shaky groan as he emptied himself inside you, his hips stilling. A satisfied shudder ran the length of your spine as you felt him flex and stiffen inside you, filling you, and you giggled as you clenched around him, milking him for all he had.

“Tease,” he growled, giving his hips an experimental jerk, and you dug your nails into his skin in retaliation for the sharp sting of pleasure that made your sensitive core twitch.

“My king,” you breathed, and you grinned in victory as Caspian buried his face in your neck in defeat with a groan. You carded your fingers through his long locks as you felt his weight relax into you, his cock in your core softening. You consoled yourself with knowing it wouldn’t be long before you felt him again. “This was new,” you mused into the quiet, Caspian simply humming in agreement. “Did you come to find me because you wanted this or because you needed me?”

“I always need you,” Caspian murmured into your skin, pressing a soft kiss just below your ear, and you rolled your eyes fondly.

“You know what I mean.”

Caspian’s chest rumbled against yours as he laughed. “I did need you for something,” he admitted, and you held back your whine at the sudden emptiness in your core as he slid free and righted himself, “but I’m afraid I can’t quite remember what it was now.”

“Pity,” you smirked, refixing your undergarments and dropping your skirts. Your eyes briefly fluttered shut at the feel of his release in your core, a drop escaping and slowly making its way down your inner thigh.

“I’m sure I’ll remember it eventually. I’ll send word once I do.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

You melted into Caspian’s touch as he cupped your cheek and placed a soft, lingering kiss on your lips.

“Until tonight, my lady.”

“Until tonight, my king,” you replied, dipping your head in a brief curtsy, smirking at the dark look in his eye.

James being a big bear of a boyfriend and always just like lifting u up so easily to hug and sit on his lap and even tho u hate when anyone else does it he’s so BEEFY that you’re fine with him doing it

Yessssss I'm not much of a physical touch person irl but James I would allow

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 847 words

Sirius is trying to follow Remus’ example and focus on the puzzle, but his eyes keep flitting up to you worriedly. You’ve monopolized the couch, laying flat with a hand cast over your eyes and your mouth pinched in obvious discomfort. He’d tried rubbing your calf and Remus had offered you tea, but they’d both given up when the attention only seemed to worsen your mood. Remus suggested they work on the puzzle while you rest (not Sirius’ favorite activity, but forced upon him because it keeps him quiet) and now they’re both simply trying not incur your wrath. 

“Quit looking at me,” you growl without opening your eyes. 

In Sirius’ case, not doing a very good job. 

“Fine, sheesh,” he says, and you press your lips together like you’re restraining yourself from snapping at him. 

You cringe when the door opens, every line of you pulling taut. James is all smiles as he tosses his gym bag to the floor with a heavy thump. “Hello, my loves!” His voice is a decibel short of booming, but it softens when he sees you on the couch. “Oh, sorry, is she napping?” 

Remus shakes his head, lips pursed as he watches your hand tighten over your eyes. “Headache,” he explains quietly. 

“Oh, I’m sorry lovie.” James reroutes from the kitchen, heading for you. Sirius tenses. “How bad is it?” 

“Prongs,” Sirius whispers urgently, “don’t—”

But James has already lifted you, one hand under your knees and another supporting your back as he moves you smoothly from your chosen position of rest and into his lap. He makes it look like nothing, which is the first offense (Sirius isn’t sure which of you he’s more jealous of), but the second is that you let him. Sirius and Remus have both looked up in alarm, waiting for a biting protest that doesn’t come. Instead, you remove your hand from your face, burying in it James’ brawny shoulder instead. 

“Bad,” you grumble, but your tone lacks the venom you’d spat at Sirius a moment before. 

James coos like he’s got a kitten in his lap instead of a viper, bringing his considerable arms around you. His palm cups the back of your neck, kneading gently at the tensed muscles there. “Where does it hurt, darling?” 

“Everywhere.” 

“By your eyes?” 

“No.” 

He hums, brows furrowing as he works steadily at your neck. You’ve gone nearly lax in his arms, trusting him to hold you up as you slump against his front. “Have you been drinking water?” 

“It’s not that.” Some of the irritation is back in your tone, Sirius notices, but it’s been markedly softened for James. “I had tons of water this morning.” 

“Probably a tension headache then, yeah?” He looks to Remus, who nods. The quiet boy looks as dumbstruck as Sirius feels. 

James moves his grip to your sides and lifts you again, rearranging his legs to get more comfortable before placing you back in his lap. He places a hand on each side of your head, thumbs pushing into your temples and rubbing in slow, soothing circles. You begin to look like you might fall asleep.

“This is so unfair,” Sirius hisses to Remus. 

“He has a power,” Remus admits weakly, “which transcends understanding.” 

“Do you want some tea?” James murmurs to you after a while. Sirius’ eyes have gotten stuck watching the movement of his forearms, and he snaps them reluctantly back up. 

You hum, uncertain but definitely considering it. Behind you, Remus throws up his hands. James sees him and smiles, shoulders shaking with quiet laughter. 

“I’m getting the sense this isn’t the first cup you’ve been offered,” he says, looking immensely entertained. 

You sigh, but even that sounds pleasurable as his big thumbs drill diligently into your temples. “Yeah, but I just wanted to be left alone.” 

Remus and Sirius exchange a look. You seem perfectly fine with company now. 

“Don’t be silly,” James chides lightly, “a warm drink will make you feel better. Remus, love, would you be so kind as to make her a cup?” 

“Sure.” His voice is gruff, but then you murmur a quiet thanks, Rem and Sirius actually sees the moment his heart turns to mush. “No problem,” he says, softer now. 

“Attagirl.” James’ hand drops to give your shoulder a squeeze, his bicep flexing slightly with the movement. Christ, Sirius might have to fake a headache later, if this is the sort of treatment those receive. “Drink your tea and then we’ll get you to bed, yeah? You can sleep the rest of this off.” 

“You know, I offered to carry her to bed earlier,” Sirius says, still slightly bitter, “and she told me very clearly to fuck off.” 

You don’t sound so much exasperated now as exhausted. “Siri, when you carrying me doesn’t involve setting me down every five steps for a break, then we’ll talk.” 

James’ laugh surprises both of you, and he apologizes hastily for jostling you, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead before resuming his ministrations. You don’t seem all that upset about it.