NOTE - So, I have recently secured a new padawan to flesh out my One-Shot ideas. And yours as well. He's still new, but talented. So, I'll be teaching him as we go. I'll give him all the details and the plot, and then Ms. Squirtle will edit it and make it juicy.
As MPT, my personal focus remains only on the series as they consume most of my time and brain cells.
Still, expect a one-shot every 2 days (Between normal series chaps). Also, I'd like it if you guys gave me One-Shot ideas I can do. Name the characters and add a prompt regarding what the quick plot would be. Something that can be written in 5k words.
Doc - https://docs.google.com/document/d/1dj8ZZbeupHlGMR3jE8YTrky9CKgifeFO23qC3yK44R0/edit?usp=sharing
A/N: This takes place over ten years after Hogwarts. Harry Potter is an adult.
12 Grimmauld Place,
The rain had been going on since before dawn. Harry could hear it against the tall windows, and the occasional heavier smack when the wind turned.
It'd been over ten years since he won the war, yet those days were still haunting him.
He'd woken with a headache behind his eyes and a throat that felt like he'd swallowed gravel, and after ten minutes of pretending otherwise, he'd fooled the Auror office, told Robards he wasn't coming in, and gone back to bed.
The house was quiet, as if it were a weekend, no Kreacher clattering or any Ministry owls tapping at the study window. Just the rain, the soft tick of the grandfather clock down the hall... and his 'maid'.
He'd found a book he'd been meaning to finish, propped himself up on the pillows, and made it roughly four pages before he heard the heels.
She always wore heels.
It was part of the costume, and the costume, he had learned, was part of the point.
Knock! Knock!
"Come in, Bella."
Bellatrix Lestrange had been arrested after the war, and that should have been the end of it.
The ministry found out that she had been brainwashed and mentally abused to become what she was at the hands of Rodolphus Lestrange.
Thus, she couldn’t be kept in Azkaban despite the horrific deeds she had committed.
The ministry wanted someone to take her in, but everyone shrugged off their responsibility, even Andromeda and Narcissa. Nobody wanted to keep Bellatrix, and they were not exactly wrong to decide so; after all, who knew when she might turn on them?
That's when they found out that she was completely subservient to a higher power, Voldemort, her master in the past.
However, when Harry Potter defeated Voldemort, that subservience shifted. Now, Bellatrix Lestrange saw only Harry Potter as her true master, someone she saw as even more powerful.
So, the Ministry ordered Harry to take Bellatrix in, and when Harry tried to refuse, they gave the excuse that it was his responsibility as the inheritor of House Black.
It'd been years since then, and Harry had tried searching for a cure, but it brought him nowhere. Before he knew it, he and Bellatrix had formed a bond... A bond that was quite immoral, yet Harry couldn’t deny he was enjoying it.
The door eased open, and Bellatrix Lestrange shouldered her way in, carrying a silver tray that was too large for her. She managed it anyway, as she always did, and she refused to let him help with the tray.
"Breakfast, Master!" Her voice was a low, deliberate purr. "I made it myself."
Harry looked up from his book and, as he always did when she came in dressed that way.
The maid uniform was her choice, down to the last button. She had Madam Malkin make it to her specifications, and Harry privately suspected the tailor had needed a strong drink afterward.
It draped off her pale shoulders, the neckline a deep scoop that revealed the swell of her breasts where they pressed against the corseted bodice. The skirt fell only a few inches down her thighs, the stiff petticoat lifting it slightly so it bounced with each step. The fishnet stockings ended in a lace band high on her thighs. The heels were black patent with an ankle buckle, and they made her hips move in a way that was hard to look away from.
Her hair was the thing, though. She'd let it grow back after Azkaban, and the long recovery that was still underway, and now it was thick, glossy, and dark, falling in curls she spent real time on. Her face, which had been gaunt and hollow for so long, had filled back in. Her lips were painted a deep red that morning.
She had done that for him. She did everything for him.
"You didn't have to cook," he said.
"I wanted to." She set the tray on the small table by the window. "You're ill. Ill masters need tending."
"It’s only a cold, Bella."
"Exactly." She turned, hands folded demurely in front of her, eyes lowered in a parody of modesty, undercut by the smile she couldn't quite suppress. "A cold. Tragic."
Harry snorted, which turned into a cough, and she watched with too much satisfaction.
"Out of bed, please, Master." She came over and lifted the quilt back for him with both hands. When he swung his legs down and stood, she steadied him with one hand on his elbow.
"There... slowly, Master."
She smelled like shampoo, the expensive jasmine one she'd picked out herself the first time she'd been well enough to go to Diagon on her own.
He remembered the day clearly. She left a terrified shop assistant and came home with six bags under her arms. She'd laughed about it for a week. Harry didn’t mind that, as he saw it as progress. At first, he even had to bathe her himself because she was just too broken, and now she bathes herself.
He followed her to the table and watched her awkwardly.
Bellatrix went to the back of the table and, all of a sudden, dropped to the carpet on her hands and knees.
She looked up at him, her hair falling over one shoulder, her eyes enormous, and a big, crazed grin spreading across her mouth, with nothing demure about it.
"Have a seat, Master."
"Bella."
"Please." Her face changed from a wild grin to a pleading one. "I've been thinking about this since I started the kettle. I can't imagine anything else. I'll be a cozy, warm seat beneath you."
Harry sighed and hesitated. He'd noticed how Bellatrix was the one who usually blurred the boundaries between them.
From cuddling to the whole course, it was her. And he always faltered against her puppy-dog eyes, her pleadings.
"I'm too heavy." He tried to reason.
"I'm stronger than I look." She giggled and swayed her hips as the uniform's skirt rode up, revealing her soft, pale thighs, the flesh he always relished touching.
But she wore nothing underneath, and he saw her shaved mons and pink folds, already slick, telling how much she was enjoying this.
"Master, please. I can take it. I know it... Please, have a seat."
He'd learned years earlier from the healers who were trying to treat her... ‘Don't provoke her ire.’ That was one instruction he had followed, and it always seemed to keep her in line and him out of trouble.
He rubbed his face and stepped around her.
And then he lowered himself, carefully, sideways along the small of her back, keeping most of his weight on his legs where they met the floor.
The sound she made was almost embarrassing.
"Ohhh, Master!" Her voice was already thick with it. "You're warm. You're so warm. I can feel you... just—eat, please, eat, let me feel you... I've been... oh, I've been good today, haven't I?"
She went on endlessly."I got up early, I made the tea the way you like, I didn't even burn the toast—"
"You always burn the toast," he murmured.
"Not today!" She giggled, giddy. "Check the toast. Check it, Master! Perfectly golden. I'm a revelation, aren't I?"
He picked up a slice of toast, which was indeed perfectly golden, and took a bite.
"Mmm," he said, deadpan. "My compliments to the chair."
She made a noise that was half a laugh and half a moan, and her hips rolled under him, once, involuntarily.
Harry couldn’t lie. He enjoyed some moments with Bellatrix, bed and outside. She was trembling under him in a way that was pleasant to feel.
But moments like these were too strange even for him to digest. He wanted to end this quickly, so he ate fast.
However, he also knew how to reward her properly.
As he ate with his left hand, he stretched his right hand sideways and reached down and found the hem of her bunched-up skirt where it had ridden up, and he slid his fingers under it.
Her ass was soft. She had put weight back on this last year, and she'd put most of it there, which he was privately very grateful for. He always felt a rush whenever he touched it. He palmed one cheek, squeezed, and felt her whole body go rigid and then melt with his touch.
"Oh~!" She mewled.
Harry slowly dragged his fingers down between her cheeks, over the tight little pucker of her ass, which made her whimper. Down further, he found her cunt already wet, hot, and swollen.
He circled her once with two fingers, slick, and then pressed his middle finger into her.
Bellatrix clenched around him in reflex, tight and greedy.
"Master—!"
"Quiet, Bella. I'm eating."
"Yes, Master, yes, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I'll be quiet, I'll be so quiet..."
She wasn’t quiet. She couldn't be. She didn't have it in her when she got like this. He curled his finger into her slowly, in time with his chewing, and she babbled into the carpet. A continuous low stream of half-sentences that he'd long since learned to tune out.
"...So good, so good, Master, thank you, thank you, oh Master!, I'll be your chair every morning, I'll be anything, I'll be the spoon, I'll be the... "
He plunged deep."Nngh~"
He pulled his finger, leaving her wanting."...The teapot. Please, another, please another finger, please, I can take it, I've been practicing."
Harry chuckled, he couldn't help it, and she made a small wounded noise at being laughed at, and he added a second finger as an apology.
Her back arched, and her hips bucked, and he had to brace one hand on the edge of the table to keep from being thrown off.
"Hold still," he said mildly, and ate another bite of toast.
"Trying, Master."
He worked his fingers in and out of her, twisting them the way she liked most, finding the spot that pulled out the best noises out of her. He didn’t even care that his digits were already soaked and gleaming with her juices.
Bellatrix’s thighs shook, and the carpet under them would certainly need cleaning later. Her moans got higher and tighter, less coherent. Nectar was already dripping from her squelching petals, running down her smooth thighs.
He drank his tea with his free hand and watched rain track down the window, and listened to the woman beneath him come undone.
"Master... Master, I'm... I'm going to—"
"Go on, then."
"Thank you!... Thank you!"
She came with her forehead pressed to the carpet and her whole body locked tight around his fingers, hips stuttering, a high, thin whine breaking out of her that dropped into a long, shuddering as she rode it out.
"Oh, Merlin~"
He kept his fingers moving, slow, gentle, letting her enjoy the delicious aftershocks. He could feel her insides suckle on his fingers, slurping his long digit like it was hungry. It kept fluttering around him as if her body didn’t want him to stop.
She was soaked. The insides of her thighs were drenched. There was a wet patch on the carpet the size of his palm.
He finished his tea.
"Good girl," he said, and pulled his fingers out of her, with a long, drawn-out squelch.
She moaned, very quietly, into the carpet.
Harry stood. His knees almost protested. He wiped his fingers on the napkin, and he looked down at her.
"On the bed, Bella."
"Yes, Master."
She didn’t get up right away. Her arms had gone jelly, and her legs had felt numb, and it took her three tries to push up onto her hands and knees, and another breath before she could get one foot under her, and she could stand.
She swayed. Her hair was in her face. Her lipstick was smudged where she'd pressed her mouth to the carpet. The skirt of the uniform was bunched around her hips, and she didn't bother to pull it down.
She walked to the bed on unsteady heels, and Harry watched her go. He thought, not for the first time, that he was probably going to hell. And honestly, he'd probably earned it.
Bellatrix climbed onto the bed on her hands and knees and then, without needing to be told, flipped herself over onto her back and scooted down until her head hung off the foot of the mattress. Her hair spilled down towards the floor.
She opened her mouth. She closed her eyes and waited.
"Master," she breathed, face upside down. "Use me. I'll make you feel... magnificent."
Harry exhaled.
He walked around to the foot of the bed, shucking his pajama bottoms as he went, kicking them aside.
His cock was already hard, had been hard since she'd first settled under him, and when he took it in his hand and stepped up to her waiting face. He watched her mouth open wider, watched her pink tongue come out, watched her smooth, pale throat work with a swallow of anticipation.
He dragged the head of his cock across her cheek, and she turned to it like a cat nuzzling for affection. He smeared precum across her lips, across her chin, across the soft skin under her jaw where her pulse was hammering.
She made a low, hungry noise. "Please~"
And he pushed the swollen crown right into her mouth.
Bellatrix took him easily. She'd practiced this, they had both practiced this; her lips closing around him, hot and wet. Her tongue flat beneath his shaft, slipping and sliding on his throbbing veins.
Harry let her suck for a few seconds, let her worship the head of his cock with her tongue, and then he put one hand flat on her doughy left breast to steady her. He pushed deeper.
Her throat was at the perfect angle and open for him, and he sank into it in one long, slow push until his balls were against her nose. He could see the shape of his flesh wand, bulging in the soft line of her gulping throat. He could feel it massaging his girth, contracting, as if trying to gulp him down whole.
He held it there for a beat. Her hands came up to clutch at his thighs, not pushing him away, just holding on. A small strangled sound vibrated around him, buzzing straight to his balls.
Then he started to move.
He wasn’t a rough man by nature. Bella had worked patiently, over a long time, to teach him how to be what she wanted in bed, and what she wanted in bed was this... To be handled, to be taken, to be 'used'.
Gluck! Gluck! Schlick!
He fucked her throat in long strokes, his balls slapping against her nose, her throat working around him on every thrust.
Spit pooled at the corners of her mouth and ran in silver trails down her cheeks into her hair. She gurgled and choked, without ever asking him to stop. Her lips kept sliding over his veins, her gullet kept sucking him as if she could never get enough.
“Ughh… Hmmm… Ah—gck!”
The sounds she made around him were filthy, wet, and delighted.
Bellatrix’s eyes rolled back. Her nails dug into his thighs hard enough to leave crescents.
Harry looked down, watching her every reaction. It should not have been as obscene as it was. He was a grown man and an Auror and an Order of Merlin First Class, and he was standing in his bedroom on a workday morning fucking a convicted Death Eater's throat while she moaned in ecstasy around him, and the world kept turning.
Maybe it was fine afterall, and he was already on the edge anyway.
"Bella—"
She gurgled in acknowledgment.
Harry finally released his hesitation in a scorching hot burst. His cock buried in her throat and his palms splayed on both her jiggling breasts, over the maid outfit, and his eyes screwed shut against the wave of it, pulse after pulse spilling straight down into her.
Bellatrix gulped, again and again, working her throat around him, swallowing down every last bit like it was the nectar of life. Her tongue swirled in wild need, her mouth suckling nonstop.
When he finally pulled back slowly, carefully, his cock sliding free in a long wet drag, her lips closed around his cockhead, and she sucked greedily once again. Milking him with determination.
Harry had to grit his teeth and pull away.
Bellatrix panted. Her chest heaved. Her face was wrecked, lipstick smeared to her ears, mascara running, spit and spill gleaming on her chin, and she was smiling as if she had just been handed every birthday present she had ever wanted.
And then she moved. She rolled over, scrambled up the bed, crawled to the headboard on her hands and knees with her skirt still flipped up over her hips and her tits half-spilling out of the bodice.
She collapsed onto the pillows with her back against the headboard and shoved the front of the uniform roughly down until her breasts were free, pale with nipples dark red and stiff. Then she planted her heels wide on the mattress, let her knees fall open, and looked at him with pleading eyes.
"Master. Won't you touch me here? I was good, wasn't I? I cooked, and... and I was your chair, and I swallowed everything, I didn't spill a drop... please, Master, please!"
Harry stood at the foot of the bed and looked at her.
He thought about Ginny, about the quiet, sensible end of things, the way they'd agreed they loved each other but weren't right for each other. He thought about the fact that he was thirty-one years old and lived alone in a house with twelve bedrooms, and the only person he came home to was the woman currently spread on his bed with his cream on her face.
Harry sighed.
He pulled his shirt off over his head and dropped it to the floor.
He liked to believe he was a good man. He knew he was.
As sinful as this was, it was actually helping Bellatrix return to normal. He didn't abuse her like her last master. He showed her pleasure and a calm, comfortable life. The only bit of pain she felt was when she willingly asked for it.
"Gentle?" he asked, because he always asked.
"No." Her voice cracked. "No. Please, not gentle. Have me. Ruin me. Master, please ruin me!"
He climbed onto the bed.
He grabbed her ankles, both of them, and he lifted them up and back until her heels pointed at the ceiling and her hips came off the mattress. He pressed forward until her knees were on either side of her own breasts, and her entire body was offered and helpless under him. The fishnets strained, leaving marks on her smooth skin.
She keened a high, broken sound, half laugh, half sob as her eyes rolled. "Aaaaaah...Yes!"
"Put it in," Harry commanded
"Yes, Master!" Bellatrix squeaked as she reached between her legs; her arms scrambling past her own folded knees, and found his cock, already hard again. She guided his swollen tip to her cunt, and she whimpered when she felt it touch.
He pushed in.
She was wet enough that he slid in to the root in one long plunge, and he felt her. The wet, tight heat of her moist walls, the small shudder that ran through her whole body, the way her cunt fluttered around him in welcome.
Harry stared down.
He could see everything from this angle. He could see his cock buried in her, could see her pussy lips splayed wide and pink and slick around his shaft. Drooling and dripping, still trying to gulp him down in little, trembling clenches.
He could see the soft little fold of her belly where her body was bent, the cloud-like soft roll of flesh that he loved... That she'd been ashamed of, once, and that he'd spent weeks patiently convincing her was perfect.
He could see her tits squashed between her own thighs, nipples hard. He could see her face, open-mouthed, flushed, tears in the corners of her eyes, looking up at him needily.
He pulled back and slammed in, and she screamed in delight.
"Aaaaaah! Harder, Master!"
So he gave her harder, snapping his hips with force.
Thud! Thud! Thud!
The bed creaked. The headboard hit the wall.
Harry braced one hand flat on the mattress by her head and the other on the back of her succulent thigh, pressing her further down, further folded in two. His hips bounced off her soft flesh, drilling in harder every time. It was a wonder how she was even breathing.
Bellatrix’s tits bounced with every thrust, and little delighted gasps punched out of her lungs each time. Her cunt squelched every time he pulled out and shoved back in, her palms locked under her knees to stretch herself further.
He watched his cock disappear into her, over and over, the pink of her cunt tight and gleaming, and he thought—
He thought about how he didn't want to sleep alone anymore.
He thought about how Grimmauld was a big house, and it echoed in the mornings. She filled it up... she filled him up, she had been filling the empty spaces in him for years without either of them admitting it.
His thought: It was a dark thing, the thing he hadn't said yet…
"Bella."
"Yes... yes... Master!"
"What if I made this... " He thrust hard, and looked down at her belly folded between them, and his voice dropped.
" ...swell."
Bellatrix’s eyes flew open, wide with utter delight.
She had the most unhinged grin, the most beautiful thing he had ever seen in a wicked way.
"Yes! Yes, Master! With pleasure! All yours, Master!... oh, my mouth, my womb, my body, it's all yours, it's all yours, give me your gift, give me your gift!. I'll love it, Master, I'll love it with my whole life, please give it to me!"
He groaned and bent forward, folding her deeper still, until he could get his mouth on her breasts. He caught one nipple between his teeth and bit.
Bellatrix wailed, her cunt clenched around him so hard he nearly came.
Harry sucked, suckled, slobbered, and bit. He lost himself in the soft heat of her perfect mounds, the salty taste of her skin, and the rocking rhythm of his own hips. He reveled in the broken cries she was making above him, begging and pleading to be his.
He kept pounding deep into her.
Plap! Plap! Plap!
"Aaaaahhh—!"
Bella shattered. She came with a strangled scream and a gush of wet nectar around him, soaking the sheets, soaking his thighs. Her whole body went rigid and then spasmed, once, twice, a third time.
Her cunt clamped down on him in tight rhythmic pulses, and she was babbling, sobbing, a jumble of 'yes' and 'master' and 'please' and 'thank you' and words that weren't quite words.
She felt it, somewhere under the haze of it, that this was what she had longed for. Her master filling her, her master 'keeping' her, her master… breeding her!
Was this not her ultimate duty? Her ultimate show of loyalty? She knew it was!
She came and came and came, and she tried to clench around him for more, and she felt his teeth on her nipple and imagined, wildly, lovingly, swelling with his child as she was blessed by his cock every day, that was a perfect life.
"Ooooh, please, please put it in me, please, please Master!"
“Ghk!” Harry finally tipped over the edge. He came hard, grunting, teeth still latched to her nipple, hips jerking against her folded body in deep, hard spasms.
And Bellatrix felt it all, the thick heat of it, the throb of his cock against her walls, the scorching burst of batter deep inside her. It filled every nook and cranny, flooding her completely. Her master pumped into her in long shuddering pulses, and each one she felt... each one throbbed, each one sprayed, filled, kissed her womb.
She was so full, so full, that when he finally started to slow, she could feel it leaking past her sensitive pussy, warm and sticky down the cleft of her ass.
"Gaaah!"
Harry groaned, letting out that last stifled breath. He pushed in one more time, deep, bottoming out, emptying the last of himself into her as he felt her stuffed cunt squelch around him with white froth. Then, he let her legs fall.
They flopped to the bed, and she lay there folded and wrecked and panting and staring up at him with wet eyes and an expression of such raw hope that it nearly broke him.
Bellatrix lifted her head. She looked down between them, where he was still buried in her, where the mess of them was just starting to seep out.
"M-Master?" she whispered with a small grin on her face.
He didn't answer. The silence stretched.
He saw her face start to fall, saw the grin on her face waver, saw her bottom lip start to tremble, saw tears gather in the corners of her eyes, and he felt, sharply and all at once, like the worst man in the world.
"C-Can I—" Her voice cracked. "Can I keep it?"
He exhaled, long and shaky.
"Keep it."
She immediately lit up.
She surged up off the pillows, sore and fucked-stupid and leaking, but she didn't care, and she flung her arms around his neck and buried her face in his shoulder and hugged him.
"I love you, Master."
He didn't answer that either, not right away.
He held her. He was aware, distantly, that he was still inside her. He was aware that he was going to have to think about what he'd just agreed to, probably for a long time, probably starting tomorrow.
He stared up at the canopy of the four-poster bed.
What am I doing?
"Uh..." he started, but before he could say anything, her mouth was on his cock, taking him soft and oversensitive into the wet heat of her mouth with a small worshipful sigh, and whatever he was about to say left his head entirely.
A/N: Don't forget to drop your One-Shot ideas in comments. My padawan says he's knowledgeable about DC and Marvel the most. And most of the Anime.
The One-Shots, since they will number 10+ a month, will be divided amongst tiers.
3$ = 3 One Shots a month5$ = 5 One Shots a month10$ = 10+ One Shots a month