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hp_bunintheoven2025-03-12 07:48 pm
themightyflynn) wrote in hp_bunintheoven2025-03-12 07:48 pm
Entry tags:
Fest Entry: A Cultivated Daffodil (Harry/Narcissa, Mature)
Title: A Cultivated Daffodil
Author:
Pairing(s): Harry/Narcissa
Prompt: H2: Harry accidentally gets his sugar mama pregnant
Summary: See prompt.
Word Count: ~720
Rating: Mature
Contains: Infidelity, brief sexual content
Notes: Thanks to D for the once over.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.
Harry has money. Even after a complete renovation of Grimmauld Place and a tidy sum earning interest in Teddy's vault, he still has an ample amount for himself. He wants for nothing.
In the material world, anyway.
So money isn't the reason he allows Narcissa Malfoy to pay for his well-appointed flat in a mixed Muggle and wizarding area of London; the same flat where the two of them now meet to carry on their affair.
She prefers not to visit Grimmauld Place and he won't set foot in Malfoy Manor.
It's not that he can't afford Twilfitt and Tatting's finest attire. In fact, clothing never interested him much before, accustomed as he was to Dudley's cast-offs.
However, when Narcissa arrives smelling of flowers with a new cashmere scarf and wraps it around his neck, all Harry's childhood feelings of neglect and loneliness are swept away. Instead, he feels loved, cherished, wanted in a way the familial affection of the Weasleys just can't match.
~*~
Their affair begins after the post-war trials, after Lucius's incarceration. Harry did try to argue in his favour just as he did with Draco and Narcissa, though perhaps his heart wasn't really in it where Lucius was concerned. Notwithstanding his testimony, Lucius's crimes are too great for the Wizengamot to ignore. He is sentenced to two years in Azkaban. More than anyone expects but far less than he deserves, in Harry's honest opinion.
Harry can't say he's broken up about it, though. Especially after Narcissa thanks him personally for his efforts for helping her family. His thighs tremble as he comes down her throat thankful for the wall behind him that keeps him from collapsing to the ground.
Sex with her is nothing like the fumbling attempts he'd made with Ginny. Neither of them had any idea what to do, how to bring each other pleasure beyond the perfunctory release. It was awkward at best and embarrassing at worst.
Narcissa, on the other hand, is experienced yet tender and warm. She seems to enjoy teaching him the ways of the world.
Harry lay between her thighs, lapping at her soft folds as her fingers ran through his hair.
"You're doing so well, darling," she murmurs, arching up encouragingly.
Harry moans as Narcissa's thighs tightens around his head, her soft whimpers sending him over the edge as well.
"Such a good boy," she coos in his ear as she strokes him back to hardness. When he sinks into her for the first time, he knows it won't be the last. Waves of pleasure wash over him as she clenches, squeezing his cock in her wet warmth.
Panting against the perfumed-skin of her neck, Harry catches his breath before slipping out and falling into a blissful slumber.
~*~
Everything in his flat now reminds Harry of Narcissa: the French wine chilling at the perfect temperature, the expensive sheets on the bed where they writhe and moan several nights a week, a silver watch, a painting of Paris, an antique Persian rug and even an elegant bone china teapot decorated with spring flowers.
The ever-expanding wardrobe is filled with silk shirts, dress robes accented in silver or gold and custom-made boots that never need polishing.
Some nights, when she's not there, Harry wraps himself in her latest gift and spends himself all-over the fabric, revelling in the soft luxury.
He never would have imagined himself as such a hedonist but then again, after his childhood, Harry thought he deserved a bit of comfort.
~*~
On one of Harry's nights alone, he's settled on the sofa, drinking a glass of wine—or perhaps most of a bottle—and imagining himself buried deep in Narcissa's wet cunt when there's a knock at his door.
He stands, light-headed, and stumbles over to open it.
And finds himself face to face with Lucius Malfoy.
The door shuts behind him and before Harry can get a word out, Malfoy says, "There was only one simple rule for carrying on this affair while I was indisposed." Malfoy narrows his eyes and curls his lip. "That Narcissa not fall pregnant."
Harry stands gobsmacked. Malfoy knew about the affair? Fuck.
"My wife is pregnant with your bastard child," Malfoy says, sneering.
"How do you kno—" Harry starts to say but Malfoy's fist to the jaw knocks him out cold.
Author:
Pairing(s): Harry/Narcissa
Prompt: H2: Harry accidentally gets his sugar mama pregnant
Summary: See prompt.
Word Count: ~720
Rating: Mature
Contains: Infidelity, brief sexual content
Notes: Thanks to D for the once over.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.
Harry has money. Even after a complete renovation of Grimmauld Place and a tidy sum earning interest in Teddy's vault, he still has an ample amount for himself. He wants for nothing.
In the material world, anyway.
So money isn't the reason he allows Narcissa Malfoy to pay for his well-appointed flat in a mixed Muggle and wizarding area of London; the same flat where the two of them now meet to carry on their affair.
She prefers not to visit Grimmauld Place and he won't set foot in Malfoy Manor.
It's not that he can't afford Twilfitt and Tatting's finest attire. In fact, clothing never interested him much before, accustomed as he was to Dudley's cast-offs.
However, when Narcissa arrives smelling of flowers with a new cashmere scarf and wraps it around his neck, all Harry's childhood feelings of neglect and loneliness are swept away. Instead, he feels loved, cherished, wanted in a way the familial affection of the Weasleys just can't match.
Their affair begins after the post-war trials, after Lucius's incarceration. Harry did try to argue in his favour just as he did with Draco and Narcissa, though perhaps his heart wasn't really in it where Lucius was concerned. Notwithstanding his testimony, Lucius's crimes are too great for the Wizengamot to ignore. He is sentenced to two years in Azkaban. More than anyone expects but far less than he deserves, in Harry's honest opinion.
Harry can't say he's broken up about it, though. Especially after Narcissa thanks him personally for his efforts for helping her family. His thighs tremble as he comes down her throat thankful for the wall behind him that keeps him from collapsing to the ground.
Sex with her is nothing like the fumbling attempts he'd made with Ginny. Neither of them had any idea what to do, how to bring each other pleasure beyond the perfunctory release. It was awkward at best and embarrassing at worst.
Narcissa, on the other hand, is experienced yet tender and warm. She seems to enjoy teaching him the ways of the world.
Harry lay between her thighs, lapping at her soft folds as her fingers ran through his hair.
"You're doing so well, darling," she murmurs, arching up encouragingly.
Harry moans as Narcissa's thighs tightens around his head, her soft whimpers sending him over the edge as well.
"Such a good boy," she coos in his ear as she strokes him back to hardness. When he sinks into her for the first time, he knows it won't be the last. Waves of pleasure wash over him as she clenches, squeezing his cock in her wet warmth.
Panting against the perfumed-skin of her neck, Harry catches his breath before slipping out and falling into a blissful slumber.
Everything in his flat now reminds Harry of Narcissa: the French wine chilling at the perfect temperature, the expensive sheets on the bed where they writhe and moan several nights a week, a silver watch, a painting of Paris, an antique Persian rug and even an elegant bone china teapot decorated with spring flowers.
The ever-expanding wardrobe is filled with silk shirts, dress robes accented in silver or gold and custom-made boots that never need polishing.
Some nights, when she's not there, Harry wraps himself in her latest gift and spends himself all-over the fabric, revelling in the soft luxury.
He never would have imagined himself as such a hedonist but then again, after his childhood, Harry thought he deserved a bit of comfort.
On one of Harry's nights alone, he's settled on the sofa, drinking a glass of wine—or perhaps most of a bottle—and imagining himself buried deep in Narcissa's wet cunt when there's a knock at his door.
He stands, light-headed, and stumbles over to open it.
And finds himself face to face with Lucius Malfoy.
The door shuts behind him and before Harry can get a word out, Malfoy says, "There was only one simple rule for carrying on this affair while I was indisposed." Malfoy narrows his eyes and curls his lip. "That Narcissa not fall pregnant."
Harry stands gobsmacked. Malfoy knew about the affair? Fuck.
"My wife is pregnant with your bastard child," Malfoy says, sneering.
"How do you kno—" Harry starts to say but Malfoy's fist to the jaw knocks him out cold.