cyan1decandy

[cyan1decandy]

The English Client — Fifteen

— PAIRING: Tom Riddle x F!Reader

— SYNOPSIS: The year is 1952. Tom is working for Borgin and Burkes. He is sent to Rome to acquire three ancient books of magic by any means necessary. One in particular proves challenging to reach, and the only path forward is through a pretty, young bookseller. A foreigner like him, she lives alone, obsessed with her work... until Tom comes into her life.

— WARNINGS: angst and fluff

— WORDCOUNT: 3.5k

— TAGLIST: @esolean @localravenclaw @slytherins-heir

I

“Riddle?”

“Yes, Mr. Oso?”

“Have you finished authenticating that copy of Colonna that came in last week?”

“I’m writing the report now, sir.”

“Well hurry up. He needs it tonight.”

Tom rolled his eyes and kept on working. The Baron’s glorified butler had caught him mid-sentence and now he barely remembered how he wanted to end it.

“What was that?”

He hadn’t said anything, but he knew it was rather what he hadn’t said.

“Yes, sir,” he hissed.

And he reminded himself for the fourteenth time to figure out an enchantment on his new fountain pen to get it to write on its own just as his quill did. The problem was that unlike a quill its more complex mechanism required there to be more steps in the enchantment, and he hadn’t even begun to figure out how to get it to reload its reservoir when it ran out — which at his rate of writing was about once every few days. He’d just about resigned himself to having to put a spell on the ink pot too.

Ambrogio was more of a slave driver than old Caractacus Burke — perhaps because rather than being an indispensable addition to the shop, Tom was a threat to him. Or so he flattered himself with thinking in his more unhappy moments.

And when his wand hand itched, he went upstairs to her.

Whatever she had been doing, she always smiled upon seeing him. Sometimes she got up and went over to fix some unnecessary thing about his tie or a stray curl of hair or rub an imaginary ink stain off his cheek. He gladly stood there and accepted being fussed over.

If she was too busy she stayed right where she was — behind her desk or up a ladder or leaning over the telephone — and Tom would just come over, place a subtle hand on an innocent part of her body, and caress her in gentle motions. Not infrequently he soothed both her and himself in this way. She always shivered at his touch and said it was because his hands were cold — and oh how he liked to leave them in her care and allow her to warm him with little rubs between her palms or, even better, up between her thighs. And when he had the good luck to catch her at work in the storage area at the back he didn’t fail to interrupt her with a kiss that lingered even longer at her throat, beneath her ear, above her chest, and straying lower. There was always a hard surface to push her up against or down on and in the dark his hands could freely stray.

He loved, if the word ever applied to him, to hear and feel it when her breath caught. Her fingers moved gently through his hair in secret moments like this, carefully so as not to give away what they had done together. She seemed to be especially fond of the hair at the nape of his neck where it was shorter and a little curled, just right for her fingers to play with. When his kisses reached her heart, falling low and deep between her breasts to mix with her perfume, he clung to her hungrily and sucked in her warmth with everything he had.

And then it was back to the bottom, down the ladder, down to hell, where the living dead was waiting for him. That is, if it was late enough for the fiend to be awake. Tom always brought with him something back to serve as an excuse.

“Jasmine tea,” he smiled. “Would you like some too?”

“No, thank you,” said Ambrogio, on the few occasions he even happened to grace Tom with a response.

Oso had his own worries, of course — with each refusal his secret was closer to being revealed.

Tom grinned. If only he knew how pointless it was to hide…

II

Activities in the under-shop began picking up imperceptively at first, then in big swaths that overwhelmed all the other work they were doing. He didn’t need to ask why. Why the Baron needed five books a day appraised just as Tom finally enchanted his fountain pen to write all on its own. Why he came wheeling down there at all hours. And why Ambrogio started working during daytime — which did not by itself cause, but was no doubt connected to, his attitude growing increasingly cantankerous.

But Tom asked anyway.

“There will be an auction next week,” said Ambrogio with an air of supreme privilege as if Tom should have been impressed, but by that point, he didn’t have it in him to fake it anymore. “Your presence will be required.”

Snacks and refreshments were to be served at midnight both before and following the auction. It didn’t escape Tom’s notice that there was also a New Moon that night, but he couldn’t decide yet whether that had any connection to the timing, or with any spells Ambrogio was casting.

He spent days carrying crates of alcohol down from upstairs and cleaning crystal glassware while Ambrogio went through the inventory once again. The room with the food was connected by two wide doors to the auction room. There were seating plans to arrange as well, and books to place in special boxes the day before the event in the section just behind the stage. The last few hours before it started were spent arranging food trays under Ambrogio’s watchful eye.

“What is this?”

“These are the canapés, sir.”

“And where are the drinks?”

“Over there?”

“Idiot. Do you not see what you did wrong?”

“Please enlighten me.”

“The canapés and the drinks should be placed side by side. They make the guests thirsty. Move them at once.”

“Right away, sir.”

“And what of the other hors d’oeuvre? Did you bring the caviar?”

“Yes.”

“And what is on the bruschette?”

“Half are with tomato and basil, the other half with prosciutto and olive oil. No garlic, sir.”

“Did I ask that, you insolent whelp? Did I?”

“No, sir.”

“How many?”

“Twenty-four of each.”

“And are the deviled eggs ready?”

“Yes, here. They’re ready for their exorcism, sir.”

“Watch that cheek, boy, or you’ll see the back of my hand. Has it occurred to your suckling brain that tonight has to be perfect?”

“Every hour, Mr. Oso.”

“Get moving and shift those drinks closer to the other table.”

III

The hall beyond the curtains filled as guests came pouring in, all of them proceeding through the trap door with complete familiarity. They arrived at different times, but steadily. Mr. Malfoy was not among them.

Two elderly Italians arrived first, a signor Luce and Verdi, one quite tall and thin but bent like a gnarled tree, the other fat with a misshapen body that looked like it was melting, both of them with grimy, flaky heads of bone-white hair. A lone figure followed them some five minutes later, and Tom could not catch his name but were it not for his resplendent suit old darkest blue with golden buttons he might have taken him for a stray — his face was blistered with red and purple sores that streaked between, across, and over his deep heavy wrinkles. Three ladies followed, middle-aged and bloated around the waist with skinny arms and clean long necks from which hung rows of pearls like nooses. Tom thought he heard Oso mutter les trois grâces beneath his breath but he was back to being as silent as the grave when he turned. His back was facing Tom as he busied himself preparing the books for presentation.

And so the group of bidders gathered, formed mainly of old people in fancy dress but a few younger ones as well, each on the arm of somebody important. Oso led the auction on his own, with Tom watching from behind the drapes which housed the books for auction, like actors waiting for their curtain call.

The view from the back was enough to put fear into anyone who stumbled in, which was probably one of the reasons why they’d gone through so much trouble to conceal it — many others came to mind, like taxation, pricing, and the source of all those books which nobody seemed to have much evidence for, in spite of Tom’s hard work of authentication. The black and white heads of the crowd bobbed in uneven waves in the flickering candlelight, framed by velvet curtains that looked like flowing blood. The ceiling was low and carved in stone, its uneven roundness looming like a shadow over this festival of wealth. And in front of it all, on a stage rimmed with blackened silver, stood the vampire in his polite black clothes, his face looking more pale and gaunt than ever, eternal, by the lectern and the pedestal on which the books sat. The scenery from Tom’s point of view was so dire and demonic that it just had to be contrived, designed that way on purpose to impress upon the bidders how secret their gathering was.

The Baron certainly seemed to have a flair for the theatrical, although it was suspicious that he was not already there. Ambrogio said he might arrive long after midnight when only a few select participants were left.

To be on the sidelines, serving no real purpose while fortunes were promised and spent, was not the punishment Ambrogio envisioned it to be. Tom was quite content to watch the spectacle and learn. He recognised a few of the books he’d recently authenticated, including one four-volume series that was to be sold in bulk. He’d placed a charm between the pages of its second volume, nothing more complex than a bundle of leaves and flower petals, dried and left there as if forgotten by passed proprietors — an exact replica of which Tom held in his pocket. It whispered to him like a living thing, echoes of old forest nymphs that spoke in ancient tongues. They were sensitive to magic and complained like children if any was hostile to them. They had complained quite virulently all day, although their little voices were easier to ignore once the auction started.

“Going once. Going twice…”

“Four million and twenty-five thousand.”

“Four million and twenty-five thousand for signor Ekatlos.”

“Four million and thirty.”

Tom stood alone all night and watched the proceedings. He paid particular attention to Ambrogio’s handling of the items, both before and after. It was a little harder to sneak up on a vampire than he expected, but he did catch a quick glance of his wand. It was a faded brown and mostly straight with long and gentle undulations.

“Quit skulking about like a land-eel. Go see to the guests, and try not to make a nuisance of yourself.”

“Yes, Mr. Oso.”

Once the bidding was announced to be over, the attendees moved in an orderly fashion into the other room where they could finally mingle and chat. They hovered around the alcohol like flies and Tom saw more than two ladies stuff napkin-wrapped hors d'oeuvre in their purses.

He’d decided to neglect his duties and go pick up his jacket when a rain of cries billowed behind his ears, speaking in old fey: “he’s killing us.” Tom turned and hurried to the back office to find Ambrogio in the middle of casting a spell. It looked like the peeling back of a veneer. Light came from the books faint enough to seem like a layer of liquid dust.

“What do you want?” Ambrogio asked without turning, his wand now out of sight.

“Noth—”

“—ing.”

Tom turned his head at the voice that had spoken beside his and was surprised to find their upstairs colleague there — his girlfriend. She looked scared and sheepish like a child caught eavesdropping. He wondered if she’d noticed the magic being lifted from the books, and he further wondered if it was the first time she’d witnessed it.

“I just wanted to see if you were done,” she said, her eyes shifting from Tom to Ambrogio.

“Not yet,” said the vampire, “but you may leave. Both of you. I’ll deal with the guests and lock up once they’re gone.”

“Alright,” she said, “t-thank you. Good night.” Her gaze turned expectantly to Tom.

“Yes, good night,” he said. “Thank you for —”

“Leave.”

IV

They managed to catch the last tram. They were the only people on it riding through the start-poxed night, and the emptiness of everything around them made it seem unreal.

“Why were you still there?” he asked.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean working at this hour.”

From the corner of his eye, he saw that little smile again.

“They want me there, just in case they need something brought downstairs.”

“But Oso is there. And now, so am I.”

“Like I said, it’s just in case…”

“You shouldn’t stay there so late.”

“Well, it’s not exactly up to you,” she said in a tone he couldn’t quite interpret.

There was accusation there, and there was tiredness, and a sense of giving up that he’d experienced more than once in his career as well. Tom couldn’t quite place why it bothered him, her working hours, or why he even cared. He just knew that he did.

“Perhaps it should be,” he said.

She chuckled and reached over to grip his chin with the tips of her fingers.

“You can’t even afford to buy one little book. You think you can afford the whole shop?”

Tom smirked bitterly. “That’s not what I meant,” he said, then quickly dipped his head and bit her fingers. “And you know it.”

“Ow! Tom!” she laughed.

“Just getting revenge for earlier.”

“Who’s the animal now…?”

V

It was around the time of Tom’s first auction that he found a place to rent. In fact it was a few days before that new moon that he moved out of the hotel. He even managed to find something within walking distance of her flat, which he was inordinately proud of. They walked home together after work and spent time in her flat until the late hours of night or even until morning.

When Tom made his evening tea he poured her a cup too, and when she had the strength left after work she’d cook them pasta or risotto. Perhaps it had been too long, but Tom could swear it tasted better than anything he’d had at Hogwarts.

And if she didn’t, Tom would cook, managing to do it at least once without a bit of magic — which he was loathe to do, and only because she was there next to him.

“We can buy something from the restaurant across the street and take it home, maybe,” she said when they were going home together late one night. “I want a pizza… Haven’t had one in ages.”

“Alright, if that’s what you want. But… what’s a pizza?”

“Oh caro bambino mio!” she laughed with delight, to Tom’s great puzzlement.

He was happy in his solitude, in his new flat away from noisy tourists or the peskiness of hotel maids, but he found some value too in spending time with her.

When they got home she’d turn on the radio or put a record on of something he scarcely recognised, like jazz music or classic symphonies by Elgar, and they would eat and drink their tiredness away. If not for her, Tom might have no idea of what happened in the world, or at least among the muggles. She was quite amused to hear his questions about what, to her, must have been obvious things, but she didn’t mock him beyond a giggle.

But more than listening to music Tom liked it when they read together. She laid her head over his lap once she got sleepy, and his fingers could get lost in her hair. More than once she had him read his books to her — quite troublesome for Tom, as it meant he could not bring his own books there and had to pretend to be interested in pedestrian muggle editions — but between his words and fingers caressing her she fell quite fast asleep. As did he, soon enough.

And then, there were yet more selfish reasons why he preferred to sleep with her. They came as a surprise even to him, but there was something… magical about falling asleep with her by his side. Like a snake on a warm rock, he basked in her body. Her palm over his chest, her head by his shoulder, their legs entangled... It was a dangerous feeling, one he could only compare to melting away and being absorbed. Total entropy.

His head would naturally gravitate to resting by her own, temple to temple, and sometimes when he woke up in the middle of the night he’d find, to his horror, his hand placed over hers, pressing it to his chest right where his heart was.

He always woke up before her, which was a bit of a bother as the duty of making breakfast fell to him. But then he’d walk back in the bedroom and find her sound asleep, her face buried in his pillow, her arms curled tight around it, and perhaps the smile that gave him was something of a consolation.

VI

The night after the auction was a little different than the rest. They were both quieter, still stressed and tired, and Oso’s horror still lingered in Tom’s mind. She collapsed with a sigh on the armchair while he put their coats away.

“I’ll make us tea,” said Tom from the hallway.

“You don’t have to…”

“No, I need it too.”

“That bad?” she said with a smile in her voice.

He didn’t want to admit just how much so — although it hadn’t all been bad. Aside from Oso’s torments, he’d learned a lot that night.

Tom cursed as he fiddled with the mechanism of her stove. Why couldn’t it just be a cauldron and flame? He hissed. If he were at his flat, he’d have it ready with a wand flick… But then he’d have to contend with the spartan furniture, the ugly cutlery, and the table that quaked whenever he put anything on it. He felt more like a person in her cosy little home, like there was more to life than drudgery.

And, if he was being honest with himself — a rarity — there was a savage charm to doing some things without magic, like folding his clothes away, polishing his shoes, or, in this case, brewing a cup of tea. A different Tom was woken then in his heart, in his mind… An equally as dark, relentless, proud young man, but with a surging self all around him filled with things he left behind when he first stepped on the Hogwarts Express, when he was Sorted, when he snuck into the Forbidden Section all those years ago. He didn’t often have cause to think about it, but he had lost unknowable parts of himself as he learned more about magic, the Gaunts, the Riddles...

The old Tom that was before that had never quite come back. At least, until he started spending time with her.

Tea was ready just as she was changing for the night. The overture from Wagner’s Parsifal was playing on the radio speckling the diaphanous dark with long tremulous notes of grief like pins and needles through the air. Her shirt was hanging off a chair, her skirt folded above it, and she had just thrown on her soft nightgown as Tom stepped through the door. He placed the tea beside her on the table and rewarded himself with a touch of her skin. His palm brushed the length of her naked back from one shoulder to another.

“Your skin is warmer now,” she smiled, turning to rest her hand over his chest.

Her eyes lingered on his for a moment as if she found relief there. Then, playfully, she started tugging on his tie. Tom smiled at her invitation, but his mind was far away. It was still in the dungeons with that book.

“Did you ever see him do that before?” he asked as she continued to undress him.

“Who?”

“Oso. That thing he was doing after the auction.”

She threw his tie over her clothes and took a sip of tea, moaning pleasurably at the taste, then returned to unbutton his shirt.

“He was getting them ready for packing, wasn’t he?”

So she hadn’t noticed anything. Not the wand and certainly not the magic. Tom was disappointed, but not surprised.

“Why?” she asked as she pulled him to the bed.

“No reason…”

He took the rest of his clothes off in silence and she went to lay down, the cup of tea held to her chest.

“I think he was doing some sort of ritual,” he finally said as he put on his pyjamas, a pale green set he’d brought over one night and had since just left there.

“It wouldn’t surprise me,” she chuckled, head leaning back both soft and heavy against the pillow. “They love to do all sorts of things like that. Rituals that have a purpose they don’t bother to tell me about. They like their secrets.”

“It certainly seems so,” he smiled, “although they’re not as good at it as they would like.”

#tom riddle angst #tom riddle fluff

[cyan1decandy]

Rain Does Not Fall on One Roof Alone

Word Count: 4k

Pairing: Ominis Gaunt x reader, Sebastian Sallow x reader

Warnings!: 18+, unprotected sex, death of a friend

Synopsis: After the death of a mutual friend, you and Ominis try to find a way to navigate life together in the aftermath.

Miniature droplets fall from their rightful place in the sky, meeting each other on the glass pane that separates you from the outside world. When they’ve gathered enough, they form together as one and trail long, squiggly lines down the length of your bedroom window. The piano downstairs hums a sad tune, perfect for accompanying the gloomy overcast of spring and the tears gathering in your eye ducts. On days like this, you can’t help but think about it all—your final battle with Ranrok, the loss of your dearest teacher, Professor Fig, and in his own stubbornness, your best friend, Sebastian Sallow.

In the months following the battle with Ranrok, Ominis remained by your side. He had been there before the battle, and now, he remained glued to you. He knew you’d fall apart on your own. Your muggle mother didn’t know Sebastian and your father had departed from your life at the age of eight.

You have no one else.

Your mother doesn’t know Ominis either, nor does she know that he apparates into your bedroom most days and nights. He simply lies beside you, cuddles against your trembling body, and wipes away tears that spawn from your nightmares of watching Sebastian being taken from your life in the worst way possible by Ranrok.

In your dreams, you warn Sebastian not to come, that even your ancient magic and practice may be no match for Ranrok’s power. You were never sure you could save him and the school. And each time, he doesn’t listen. He still stumbles into the final repository against your advice, thinking he can help. Each time his life is taken before you can react. Each time you let out an excruciating wail, flinging defensive spell after defensive spell in hopes of reaching his body in time. You want to reach him with just enough time to tell him how idiotic he is for trying to save you, to tell him that his stubbornness will bring you everlasting, excruciating pain, and lastly, to tell him that you’ve loved him from the start.

And each time, there’s never enough time.

There wasn’t enough time.

Some days you wish you’d turned him in for his uncle’s death because surely it’d be easier to see him behind the grim bars of Azkaban than to never see him again at all. You should’ve hugged him after it all. He was so scared, so shocked at what he’d done and of Anne’s reaction to it that he couldn’t process the repercussions. Ominis had known the moment you two both apparated back into the concealment of The Undercroft. He hadn’t given you much time to process it all, to help Sebastian get through it all. Ultimately, you decided that you couldn’t imagine a life where you’d have to travel to that dreadful prison to visit your best friend. He was far too young to be there, too young to have it eat him alive all alone, too young to have his life ripped away. Ominis simply agreed, though you know he only agreed because it was you making the final decision.

Ominis shuffles under the blankets beside you, bringing your attention back to present. His thick brows scrunch and fall flat, his eyelids twitch and his natural pink lips pull into a sheepish, childlike smile.

“Sebastian?” He chuckles innocently, softly in the safety of his dreams and your childhood bedroom.

Your lips quiver, nose scrunching against the burning sensation that overtakes it. It crinkles against the crocodile tears in your eyes and the loud sob that jolts Ominis from the peace of his dream.

“Y/n?” Ominis calls, his voice deep with sleepiness.

“I’m sorry for waking you. I… I—“

“Come here,” he whispers and pulls you down into his arms.

In the safeness of his arms, he pulls the blanket over your body and nestles you against his chest. You can feel the tears collecting against the softness of his t-shirt under your cheek, the feeling of his hand stroking soft passes over your curls, his voice telling you it’s okay to feel this way and that he’ll never leave your side until you tell him to.

“I can’t stop thinking about how it happened. How he was so stubborn until the end. How I had to witness it. How it still haunts me in my dreams, my nightmares…”

Ominis doesn’t say anything, but his pearlescent eyes stare straight ahead at your ceiling. You can feel his heartbeat begin to slow underneath you.

Shallow and deep.

Heartbroken.

A tear slips from the corner of his eye and disappears into the strands of his of his blonde hair.

“Try to remember him as he was during his best times. Perhaps in The Undercroft or in class. Battling together in Crossed Wands. Or when I’d met him and Anne when we were just children. Things would be so different had we not met you at all.”

You feel queasy. You’d never stopped blaming yourself for his death, but you didn’t know Ominis thought that way too.

“But had we not met you, Anne wouldn’t be cured,” he continues. “Sebastian would’ve driven himself looney searching for a cure. He wouldn’t want you to be sad. He’d want you to find happiness and be surrounded by friends and people who care for you.”

You hate that you’d rather have a cursed Anne over a dead Sebastian and for your own selfish reasons nonetheless. You hate that you’d rather search the entire Earth to find a cure with Sebastian going insane than to face the immense suffering of losing him forever.

“You’re my only friend, Ominis. The others don’t understand, they weren’t there. And what could they say besides, ‘sorry?’”

“We both lost him. Anne lost him too. And we’ve been sulking for a year now. Perhaps we should pay a visit?”

Your heart stops, stuck and frozen in time.

You both hadn’t been to the burial site since it all happened. Professor Weasley had commended Professor Fig and Sebastian on their ‘unmatched bravery and commitment’ to the school, and to you. You blamed yourself for it all, always. For the ancient magic you possess, for not saying no to Professor Fig when he accompanied you to your final battle, for not telling Sebastian how you felt earlier, and for not admitting that you wanted nothing more than to be wrapped in his arms at the end of it all.

A soft gasp slips from your lips and you hold Ominis tightly, letting out the lingering sobs the very moment you catch your breath again.

About an hour later, you find yourself walking down endless rows of gravestones. The warmth of Ominis’ soft hand in yours keeps you centered as a red light flashes at the tip of his wand—a beacon of sorts, which he used to navigate the corridors of Hogwarts, and now, the distantly familiar cemetery. Luckily, his wand remembers the way because in your own grief you’d both be lost for hours.

Ominis had asked you to help him into something nice, even asked you to tie his emerald tie to keep your mind off other things. Despite the set destination, he looked charming. His blonde hair combed back neatly and a teasing smile on his face as you sighed in frustration over the tie instead of in sorrow.

“This damned tie,” you’d muttered. “Don’t they have a spell to tie these things?”

“I’m sure you could find one in your rather extensive book collection.”

You’d scoffed at the sudden knowledge of him snooping through your room when you do finally fall asleep.

“Surely you’ll help me find one it then?” you sighed, thinking back to the time you’d first passed Ominis and Sebastian at the start of your fifth year.

Natsai had been giving you a tour when you’d spotted the duo at the base of the Defense Against the Dark Arts Tower. Sebastian had been chomping on the crispiest, crimson apple you’d ever laid eyes upon and Ominis toyed with an upside down book in his hands. You hadn’t known he was blind at the time, but it was an ongoing joke between the pair that you’d later be let in on.

“I will give it my best,” Ominis had laughed, putting an emphasis on eye-will like Sebastian would have.

You’d laughed for the first time in a year.

“Should be about here,” Ominis mutters, once again drawing your attention back to your current reality.

You stop short, your feet and heart weighing heavily on the wet grass beneath you. The soil underneath feels bouncy like walking on a trampoline. Something you were able to enjoy before you knew you possessed the power of magic, before you’d been sent away to learn how to control it. You hate to see him like this, something you can’t control—Sebastian tucked away neatly in the best coffin you and Ominis could afford, six feet under the Earth you both still tread on daily. You’d give anything to hear his laugh again, another sarcastic quip, to smell the embers of a lingering Confringo on his emerald, embroidered school robe when you’d follow him out of The Undercroft in the early mornings.

Tears flood your eyes again and deep grey clouds swim above your head, daring to squeeze out more heavy droplets. Daring to overtake you completely. But Ominis finds his way back to your side, immediately taking your hand in his again and slowly inching you closer.

He’d only stepped away for seconds.

“It’s alright, Y/n,” he whispers the moment the grave comes into view.

You have a clear view, the clearest ever. Just feet away, the headstone reads, Sebastian Sallow with a cursive epitaph engraved underneath that’s already begun to wither away from the constant rain, the general erosion of rock.

You want to cry.

You want to scream.

You want to curse Ranrok for taking the one person you loved the most away from you. Away from Ominis, and even Anne, who you know would have forgiven him with time had she not been denied the chance.

You all had been denied the chance.

And though you want to cry, nothing comes out. As if all your tears have run dry over a year of endlessly sorrow.

Ominis was right. Sebastian wouldn’t want you to be sad. He’d be happy that Ominis took you in, that you two still had each other in a world where people can become distant. He’d hate the idea of Ominis sleeping in your bed at night. Had he still been here and that was the case, he’d go on a jealous rant about how it should be him instead. You’d both laugh about it, then you’d invite both him and Ominis over for cuddles.

It should be him, but it’s not. And perhaps that means something too.

You lean onto Ominis’ right shoulder and he holds you tightly, resting his cheek against the crown of your head with a breathy sigh. You recognize it as an attempt to hold back the tears he only lets out at night, long after he thinks you’re asleep. Sometimes you pretend to be, knowing he’d say it’s nothing had he known you were actually awake. In those times, you scoot in closer and hug him a bit tighter.

You do the same now as an attempt to calm Ominis and to look away from the grave. You can’t bear the sight. You never could.

“Ominis,” you breathe, now looking over his shoulder at a plethora of unnamed graves.

There’s a chill here, but also a newfound sense of peace. These people are no longer in pain, no longer fighting the struggles of love and loss and life.

They are truly resting.

Sebastian is resting.

Sebastian is finally resting in peace.

You can feel it in the air. In the way a warm breeze sweeps over you, pulling you closer to Ominis. It whispers to you that it’s finally okay to move on, to accept that though Sebastian had been your first love, a love you only got to experience shortly, there’s much more love to be discovered.

You rub your palm over Ominis’ right shoulder, breathing in softly the moment you both gaze at each other. He looks perfect—tie still tied skillfully, his dirty blonde remaining neat, and his tears have dried as if in the same moment you both had the same realization.

“Y/n…” he starts wearily, hesitantly.

You hum in response and caress the side of his face.

“I—“

“I know, Ominis,” you finally breathe, nuzzling into him.

His brows fall in relief and in realization. A gentle smile pulls at the corners of his lips, one you haven’t seen except in glimpses throughout the year. In all the time Sebastian had been gone, Ominis had been there, even before. He’s never left your side and he never would. And you find nothing but comfort in his presence, something you’ve long craved, even before Sebastian.

“I crave you,” he says and takes a deep breath before pulling you in. “But I know I’m not him.”

You caress his other cheek, wiping his falling tears away with your thumbs before leaning in closer. His lips are right there—damp, pink and glistening even in the overcast.

“I don’t need you to be him. Just keep being Ominis.”

He chuckles nervously, “ I don’t think I could be anyone else.”

You nod softly, tears in both your eyes as he caresses the sides of your face and leans in the rest of the way.

It takes your brain seconds to realize you’re actually kissing Ominis because it simply feels like a dream, a distant one you’ve had before. Like déjà vu. But once you both deepen the kiss, you know it’s real, and it feels so right.

“We should go,” you whisper against him.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

Ominis presses back into you and you both drop your hands into each others. Within an instant, you’ve been apparated into your room, but you don’t need to pull away from Ominis’ lips to know. It’s the smell of blueberry pie slipping under the crack of your locked door and the familiarity of the mattress underneath your bodies.

You untie his tie effortlessly, then tug at the small buttons of his shirt until they come undone. You slip back from his lips, running a hand down his bare chest between you two as he sits up to kiss into your jawline. He untucks the hem of your shirt and plants his hands firmly against the bare flesh of your waist. You drop your hips completely with the overwhelming urgency to feel friction clouding your thoughts. Ominis mews softly underneath you, allowing his hands to travel further down until they’re planted firmly on your ass to guide your rocking hips back and forth. He’s never touched you this way, but it feels as if he has so many times. As if he should be more often.

He lies back as you reach for his belt and grins towards the ceiling sheepishly. You can’t get the view of him spawn out like this out of your mind, and like fuel to a fire, you both undress each other impatiently. Then, Ominis’ hands pine into your doughy flesh, caressing and rubbing all the right places as you grind against him. Part of you can’t believe the feeling of him hard against you. The other part that believes is starved for him, yearning to feel his length inside of you.

A perfect storm.

As Ominis works his briefs downward, your head begins to spin at the thought of having sex and you find yourself blurting the words before your mind can fully wrap around the thought.

“I’ve never had sex before.”

Ominis stops short, his reddened cock springing from the thin fabric simultaneously.

“Neither have I.”

You aren’t sure why you sigh in relief, but that’s how it feels when Ominis pulls you closer and takes your lips against his. He caresses the side of your neck with one hand, and with the other, he slowly glides the tip of his erection up and down your length until you both feel your petals unfold for him. A moan spills into his mouth as you take in the pleasure and mentally prepare for the pain you know is to come. But Ominis goes slowly, working the tip back and forth until you’re moaning and wet enough for his liking.

“Are you alright?” He hums against your parted lips.

“Mhm. I think I’m ready.”

He pulls you closer once more, until your bare breasts are pressed firmly against the flatness of his chest. And as he begins to press through your tightness, you bury your mouth into the crook of his neck. You feel the pressure first when he slips the head inside, his length following little by little. He lets out a soft breath at the feeling. In and back out, then in a bit further. It feels foreign, both painful and pleasantly pleasurable. And once you’re sure it’s in, he grips your hips and guides them flush to his groin.

You let out a helpless yelp. Clearly he wasn’t completely inside, but he is now.

“Still alright?”

“Mhm.” That’s all you can manage with your walls clenching around the girth stuffed inside you.

You sit up slowly, just enough to keep him stuffed inside as you do. With both legs on either side of him, you bring your palms to either side of the pillow beneath his head and begin rolling your hips back and forth. A deep groan escapes his parted lips and he keeping his hands on your hips as you ride him the only way you know how. His eyes are squeezed shut and his bottom lip is tucked between his teeth. And as much as he seems to be in heaven, he also looks as if he’s trying to concentrate on something. You don’t bother asking what, instead you come up a bit, close your eyes too and toss your head back towards the ceiling. You let all the pleasure and pulsating and your empty mind overtake you entirely.

After a minute or so, your body flushes hot and you perk up quickly. Ominis’ heavy breathing has turned into frantic pants. His grip on your hips had loosened to explore your body—your taut breasts, the hardness of your protruding nipples, the softness of your belly, the goosebumps that prickled against your arms and thighs at the bursts of sheer pleasure, but now they were tight on your hips again, almost cutting skin.

“Y-Y/n,” Ominis sputters shakily. “Think I’m going t—“

“Omi,” you interrupt in a sharp, sudden pant. You feel the very heat that’d started in your chest creep into the depths of your core. You tried to hold it back, tried to keep it at bay, but much like a tidal wave, it reappears and dares to wash over you. “Ominis!”

You mewl deeply.

You aren’t sure if he sensed it first, the tightening of your walls around him, but his nose and lips twitch violently at the feeling. He pulls you down suddenly and crashes his lips against yours wildly. His tongue presses into your mouth and you let out a loud moan against it. Trembling, you grip his bicep with your left hand and falter down to your right elbow. Your thighs shake as the violent wave overtakes you and leaves your tightening and shaking against his faltering thrusts.

Ominis’ name almost rolls off your tongue again, but with a violent hiss, he slips out of you immediately. You feel warm, sticky spurts against your thighs and lie down against his damp body. His heart is practically leaping out of his chest, the erratic beat thumping pummels against your right ear and his breathy pants fill your left.

You trace your fingertip over his left nipple and he shutters slightly, letting out a choked chuckle.

“I didn’t think I’d be able to stop,” he mutters once his heaving chest falters a bit. “You feel amazing inside.”

“Om…” you groan nervously, heat rising to your cheeks at the thought.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters softly and begins stroking your curls.

Silence falls over the room, aside from the pitter-pattering of the rain picking up on your windowpane again. You swear you hear thunder in the distance, but maybe it’s just the sound of your own heart.

“Sebastian should have been your first,” Ominis whispers out of nowhere. Your head shoots up and you give him a warning glance, and though you know he can’t see it, he must sense it. “I mean to say, he was in love with you. He’d told me once… one night after we’d snuck out of The Undercroft back to our dorms. ‘I think I’m in love with her,’ were his exact words. I can’t hold onto them anymore.”

You fight back the tears you feel forming in the ducts of your eyes and the heaviness of your weak legs.

Why would he tell you this now?

You pull your emotions together and lie against him again.

You think of Ominis.

You think of Sebastian.

You think of yourself.

“I believe you were meant to be my first,” you hum softly and trace the length of his collarbone. “With Sebastian, it would’ve been rushed, rough even. I’m happy that my first time was soft, gentle, and with someone who cares about me. Someone I love.”

Ominis’ heart skips a beat and his cheeks grow warm against your scalp.

“Perhaps it’s also time I admit that I’m in love with you.” He states it so softly that you’re sure you misheard. So, you prop yourself up to be sure.

“You’re in love with me?”

He takes in a deep breath to steady his heartbeat that’s begun to pummel in his chest again.

“I have for a long time, Y/n. From the start, though for Sebastian’s sake, I had to conceal it. I had no choice, he was my best friend.”

“We all have a choice,” you reply. “I wish I’d known sooner.”

“No,” he sighs. “It’s happened this way for a reason and it was meant to be this way. Not a second sooner.”

You take in what he says and analyze it. Had Sebastian been here, he’d fight Ominis to the death for your heart, that’s just the kind of person he was. Ultimately, it’d probably cost them their friendship or cost them yours. As for yourself, you know you wouldn’t have been able to choose between your very first love, one who’d kept you on your toes, and the boy who’d been there for you since the start, the one whose shoulder you knew you could cry on no matter how bad things got.

Ominis is right.

He’s always been right.

You cant bring yourself to say anything more and you’re sure Ominis is racking his own brain, thinking he’s chosen the wrong time to admit his love for you.

You kiss his cheek and pull your quilt up after draping your leg over him. You listen to his audible sigh of relief as you stroke your thumb against his jawline. You place a kiss there too until he gets the hint to bring his lips closer. Once he does, you caress the side of his face and press into him eagerly. And when he pulls away, you let out in a soft breath, “I love you so much, Omi.”

He straightens his head, resting it on the open palm of his right hand. His eyes are closed to the ceiling and his nose twitches softly. Your eyes follow the silent tear that slips down his face.

He smirks softly, then whispers, “I love you more than you’ll ever know. And thank you for being here through my worst times.”

With a soft smile, you both cuddle into each other. And for once, in over a year, you both fall into a deep sleep, full of nothing but happiness, with not a single tear in sight.

Please be sure to check out my other latest fics:

⚡︎ Perfect Storm (m.) - Ominis Gaunt x reader

⚡︎ Untitled (m.) - Sebastian Sallow x Ominis Gaunt x reader

⚡︎ Coffee (Love You a Latte) - Sebastian Sallow x reader

⚡︎ For You Always (m.) - Severus Snape x reader

⚡︎ HP: November Prompt Challenge (days 1-30)

~ Navi: masterlist (all fandoms)

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction, but please don’t copy! Written purely for fun :) Please only repost to other socials w/my permission and credit! Reblogging w/credit is fine. Thank you! ♡

May 2024

#ominis gaunt smut #ominis gaunt fluff #sebastian sallow angst #this was the perfect amount of sad and sweet 🥲

[cyan1decandy]

Lilies.

Warnings: Obsessed!Mattheo | Olfactophilia | Panty Sniffing | Bath Water Consumption | Mentions of Masc Masturbation | Fingering (Fem!R) | Oral (Fem!R) | Rough & Unprotected Sex | Overstimulation | Olfactophilia - sexual arousal from smells, particularly those from the body. Mattheo Riddle | Fem!Reader Authors Note: Inspired by Bridgerton and Anthony’s obsession with the way Kate smells.

Smut | Minimal Plot.

Word Count: 2.7k

Masterlist

MDNI | 18+

Have you ever loved someone so much that it made you angry? The possibility of living your everyday life becomes a figment of the past and you can not do anything without thinking of that person. You daydream about them and use them to escape into another, happier reality. However, the imagination we allow ourselves to get lost in worsens the reality that surrounds us once forced to see it for what it truly is- the truth. 

The truth is that you are not with that person. The truth is that you are alone, and that hurts. It hurts so much and you know, deep down inside, you would do anything to bring forth that reality. You would do anything to be with the person you love. It is embarrassing the things you’re willing to do to feel that love on a tangible scale as something you can grasp onto. You feel vulnerable and exposed, and it makes you want to punch your fist into a brick wall. 

That’s how Mattheo felt and he hated it. He hated the person he had become since falling in love. It was piteous and disturbing. How you ensnared this man's devotion ranged from a plethora of reasons. However, there was one thing- one reason that stood out to him the most, the way you smelled.

Scent can transform you. An aroma carries through a room- acting as a time machine, bringing you back to the memory that first introduced you to it. Sometimes these memories fade into the back of a person's mind, the blurriness of the past soon becoming clearer when looking at it through a current experience. Sometimes they remain in the forefront of one’s mind- banging against the thickness of a skull, and waiting for the opportunity to no longer be a memory. They’re waiting for the opportunity to once again become reality. 

There are moments and people that you will never forget and never let go of, even for a second. Mattheo could never stop remembering you. He could never stop remembering the floral and citrus scent that followed you everywhere you went. The sweet smell of lilies. That scent surrounded Mattheo, mostly because he made sure it did. He was insistent that every night spent together was in his dorm so that he could hold onto the scent of you even when you weren’t there. 

It was shameful the way Mattheo acted when he was alone in his room. When you leave while he’s in his slumber he’s left with no choice but to bury his head in the pillow you slept on while he thrust himself into his hand. Or maybe instead he’ll make his way toward the shower, hoping that the scent of you is still left behind. He’ll sit on top of the damp floor letting the humidity of the room thicken the sweet smell that surrounds him as he bites down on the towel you used, sucking on the remaining dampness. Oftentimes while he’s in there he’ll see a small pile of lace on the floor discarded by you before your shower. He’ll bunch the panties in his hand, feeling the fabric scratch against his face as he holds them up to his nose and deeply inhales. So shameful. So sinful.

He yearns for you. He’s hopeless for any piece of you he can grasp onto until he’s able to experience the real thing. Fucking himself into something that’ll satisfy him long enough to wait. 

The scent of you has almost disappeared from his room, erased by his body pressing up against it. He can’t smell you anymore and he feels antsy. Like an addict, he goes through his withdrawals, each second bringing him further and further to smashing his fist into that brick wall. 

Once you walk into his room his arms are wrapped around you. He feels the tension in his shoulders ease as he breathes you in walking you downward and locking the door as your back hits the hardwood. 

He needs to make sure his room is filled with you once more so he fucks you against every surface. The door, the walls, the couch, the windowsill, the bed, and anything else that needs to be drenched in you. Your sweat slips from your body as his unrelenting and erratic movements push you further and further to your breaking point. Mattheo takes you in such a way that drains every bit of energy from you- leaving you limp and breathless. After he’s done leaving your mark around his bedroom he moves on to the bathroom. One arm is wrapped around your legs while the other supports your back. You kept your eyes closed as your body leaned against him on the path to the bathroom. He placed you in the bath and brought out a new bar of potent soap that first started his obsession. 

Once he situated himself behind you, you let your back rest against his chest as he began to wash your body. Small suds slip passed Mattheo’s fingers as he runs the soap across your chest. Each swipe caused the structure of the bar to diminish and the petals inside to fall. A small reminiscence of lilies cascaded down your body and into the hot water of the bath. The scent filled the air and seeped into your skin as Mattheo continued washing away the memories you two had previously shared.

Mattheo’s fingers hung off the edges of the soap and grazed upon your skin as he slowly dragged the bar from your chest to your neck. The steam from the bath and the closeness of the man behind you made it hard for you to breathe. You could feel your heartbeat skip as he moved the soap across your skin and leaned forward to inhale the scent. 

“Lilies,”  Mattheo breathed out as he cupped his hands in the water, bringing it to your shoulders while watching the suds slip down your neck, to the swells of your breast passing over your nipples, and falling back into the water. 

You felt his cheek rest against your shoulder as he ran the tip of his nose down the side of your neck. The flatness of his tongue moved up the side before he dragged the bottom of his teeth against your ear. A sigh escaped your lips as he began to nibble on your earlobe. “S’good. You always smell so good,” he purred into your ear. Mattheo placed the bar of soap to the side as he slipped his hand under yours and brought it up to his mouth.

 He pressed his lips against your knuckles and inhaled as he dragged them across your forearm in gentle kisses. Bath time with you is one of his favorite activities so that he can immerse you once more in his favorite scent of yours. It was always so prominent during your bath. So full and so delicious. However, the scent could be stronger. It could be a lot stronger and Mattheo knew how to make that happen. It didn’t matter how many rounds you two just embarked on because he would always need another during your bath together. Just one more. 

He set your arm back in the water before gently pressing his fingers to the top of your knee. He let his touch run in patterns- the pressure drawing small circles into your skin. His hand moved to your thigh and his fingers ran up and down, up and down. He brought his hand up higher to your core each time before undoubtedly bringing it back down each time. He needed to tease you just as much as he needed to ruin you. He needed to witness and take in your distress.

Shivers ran up your spine as his fingers continued their drawings into your thigh. He pressed his face back against your neck, the slow inhale and exhale of his breath causing your muscles to twitch out of sensitivity.

He brought his fingers to your clit moving them against you as his breathing got harder. Each time your scent flowed into his senses he felt it. He felt the self-loathing create a pit in his stomach as his mind burst into a frenzy. He felt how disgraceful he truly was.

Suddenly his fingers slipped down from your clit and as he wordlessly pushed them into you and you felt yourself clench by the impact. He could only make it past the second knuckle from the walls of your cunt squeezing his digits together. 

“Listen to me,” he said, full of husk. His voice gave a peek into the fire he felt in his system. “I can make you feel so good, baby. You know that, don’t you?” 

His fingers started to knead the inside of your walls pushing further and further in as he worked you open. Before you knew it your body started to relax into his arms. As your legs twitched moving further apart he continued to slide his fingers into you. Once he was deep into your cunt he slid his fingers through your walls, letting the juices soak his digits. 

He pulled them out, the lily bath and the moistness you left shining against his fingers as he lifted them from between your legs and out of the water. The shine transferred to his face as he held his hand against it and snuffed in your scent. Your back vibrated against his chest as a profound moan escaped from the base of his throat. He wanted to live in your scent. He wanted to drench himself in it. 

He gently moved your back against the tub as he knelt in front of you. He laid his upper body into the bath feeling his sensations tingle as the aroma got closer to his face. He pressed the tip of his nose against the water, inhaling as the fallen petals surrounded him.

The front pieces of his hair became damp as he opened his mouth and sunk forward letting the floral liquid glide down his throat. He pulled back and took one more breath before diving his head into the water and between your legs. Your butt slid against the bottom of the tub as he yanked your hips forward and moved his pointed tongue over your clit repeatedly. He engulfed the aroma, pushing his face against your cunt and sending your back further into the hard tub. 

The way you tasted only drove his desire as his tongue lapped at your cunt for as long as he could. He felt his ears begin to ring and his head cloud the longer he stayed underwater, but he couldn’t stop. He would not stop. It wasn’t until he felt you yank against his hair that he accidentally sucked in a breath, sending a spurt of water into his lungs. He lifted his head and coughed out the excess water. The sound of him catching his breath mixed in with yours as you were overcome with sensitivity. “Matty…I can’t….” You breathe out, your body is exhausted from the precious time he spent on you. 

His chest heaved up and down as he aligned his face with yours and pressed his palm against your cheek. “One more,” he demanded. You whimpered as he pulled you forward positioning himself behind you. He watched as you wrapped your hands around the edge of the tub and began to lift yourself. “That’s it. Always so good to me. Always take care of me, don’t you?” he cooed. You leaned over the bathtub, your skin slipping against the smooth porcelain. Mattheo steadied you with his hands on your hips as he waited for you to get comfortable. You laid your head against the cold surface of the bathtub as your hands gripped the edge. Mattheo went slow at first. Lining himself up with you as he laid his upper body against your back, breathing you in while he slowly pushed his hard cock back into the warmth you provided. 

He pressed gentle kisses along your spine as he rubbed your side. “One more. That’s all I need,” he reassured, resting his cheek against your shoulder blade. An extended groan passed his lips as he felt his infatuation grow with each moment spent inside you. He needed you so bad every second he spent chasing after the high of you felt like a laceration against his chest. The wounds of your absences burned with the citrus of the lilies. 

His cock pushed between your folds sinking inside of you. A fullness ran through your body the deeper and deeper he went. He pressed his hips against your skin and just when you thought he’d finished he jolted forward. He pushed himself further inside of you and forced a gasp from your lips. 

“Fuck,” he hissed as he began to thrust himself into you. It was methodical. He closed his eyes as he focused on the feel of your cunt and the thickness of your scent around him. He slid out stopping at the tip before easing himself back in. He knew which angles felt the best and he knew which movements would grant him the reactions that he wanted. He ground his cock into you, his hips moving left and then right. You began to whimper and a smile reached his lips as he took in another breath of satisfaction.

“Just like that,” he groaned out as he ran his fingers through the top of your hair before latching on. He brought his arm back and you sniffled as he pulled your head up against his chest. “Wanna hear more,” he rasped as his cock continued its slow and deliberate drive into your cunt. 

“Matty…” you started to sob, feeling overwhelmed by the feeling of him inside you for the twelfth time within the last five hours. It hurt, but at the same time, you couldn’t ignore the impulse that told you to keep going. The pleasure he filled you with always dulled out any ache. It may have hurt, but it also felt undeniably good.

“You’re so pretty when you cry,” he praised. He pressed a kiss against your neck and then slowly nibbled against the skin. “And you smell…so…fucking…good,” he growled slowly increasing the pace which each thrust. The water moved between your bodies- ripping and causing the sound of splashes to invade the room. Mattheo let go of your hair and you held yourself up against the edges of the tub once more. He rested his chest against your back, moving one leg forward as he continuously stuffed his cock between your folds

You felt the weight of him pushing your chest into the rim of the rub, but you weren’t given long enough to focus on it. He buried his face into your back, breathing in as much of you as possible as he continued to jerk himself inside of you. The impressed of you infused with his as perspiration dripped from his form. “You’re so addicting,” he rasped out, his voice dropping to an octave that rendered him unrecognizable while he was positioned behind you. Mattheo. He sounded starved- possessed. 

“Too much….T’much…..” you pleaded desperate for mercy that he was unwilling to give. The water from the bath hit your body and splashed against the floor as he continued hammering his thick cock inside of you. His body quivered against yours, his muscles shaking with the sheer force of his motion.

He leaned in closer to your ear, his lips barely touching it as he spoke. “Beg me to stop,” he growled. 

Your body was shaking, overcome with pleasure as you cried out. You could feel the tip of his cock pressing against your cervix sending a wave of bliss through you each time. It might have felt like too much, but it also felt a lot better than you wanted to admit. He knew that. He knew you. He knew your body and what it could take. You weren’t even near your limit yet. “I…I…,” you cried out. “I…I can’t…”

“Beg me, baby” he demanded once more. “And I’ll stop for you.”

“...I….I don’t want you to….” You choked out resting your forehead against your knuckles as tears of ecstasy ran down your face. Your admission pushed him to a point where there was no derailing. The brutality of his cock mercilessly moving between your cunt. He lifted his body, bruising your hips as his grip was brought back to your skin. This wasn't going to stop in the bath. No, Mattheo planned on using your body all night long to get what he wanted.

“That’s what I thought.”

#mattheo riddle smut

[cyan1decandy]

(6) I n n o c e n c e L o s t

He finds her in a brothel of all places. A chance encounter, but one that will change his life – and hers – forever. – or: A story about a cowboy who falls in love with a prostitute, who happens to be so much more than that.

GENERAL TAGS: NSFW! Explicit! Size difference, age gap, slow burn romance. Cowboys, outlaws, prostitutes. Historical inaccuracy. Horses, guns, violence.

Chapter 1▫️2▫️3▫️4▫️5▫️6▫️7 ...

Chapter 6: The Flight

m!OC x f!OC -- WORDS: 6.6k -- READ ON AO3

when a girl doesn't know what's going on

Chapter 5 -- Chapter 7

6

His voice is low and quiet in the night, her mind fuzzy from sleep. “We gotta go.”

“What?” Her eyes fly open, her heart instantly hammering against her ribs. “Where? What do you mean?” She sits up, scrambles closer to him, gripping his thumb as his hand closes around hers.

He pulls her towards him, and then off the bed. He's fully dressed, while she feels the cold night air wafting over her naked body. She looks up at the large shadow in front of her, then looks around, sees the outlines of bags and pouches near the door. What's happening?

“Get dressed,” he tells her, gently holding her elbow as he watches her. “We have to hurry.” His words cause her to inhale sharply, even though there is no urgency in his voice. He's calm, surprisingly calm and patient with her, while she stands on shaking legs and wonders where left and right is, where anything is.

“I...” She looks around, wiping at her tired eyes. “My clothes are...” A memory hits her like a kick in the stomach. She gasps, pressing her free hand onto her belly, feels the slight ache, the bruise, the pain as the boot has hit her. “B-baths,” she stammers, her chest rising and falling faster, her lungs tightening. It is hard to breathe. The hand on her stomach moves up to between her breasts, clenches into a fist, urges the air to make it into her body, but she can only gasp, like a fish on land.

Ben's hands are on her upper arms, holding her as he leans closer to her. She looks up at him, helplessly, lips parted and trembling. The lines on his face are deep. He grabs her head, then pulls her against his warm chest, holds her tightly, squeezes the panic out of her. But it's only for a moment, and not nearly enough to dispel the shaking from her limbs.

He lets her go then, left to her own devices, the memory assaulting her spinning mind. Breathing is still hard, but she tries to focus on what he's doing. He rummages through the dresser, pulls out various clothes, inspects them, shakes his head, sighs, pulls out more. When he finally turns back to her, she's sunken to the edge of the bed, white-knuckling the sheets, forcing herself to breathe deeply.

He hands her some clothes, but she can barely lift her arms, let go of the bed, so he helps her dress. Gentle, his hands guiding her limbs, he pulls a thin, long-sleeved shirt over her head, carefully freeing her long hair once he's done, letting it cascade down her shoulders. The black shirt (a man's undershirt?) sits a little loose, but it covers her up completely. Rolling up the way too long sleeves, he watches her closely, and she looks back, focusing on his handsome face, the lines and creases, the beard, the shape of his lips.

When he's finished, he urges her to stand, and she does, then lifts her leg a little, one after the other, as he helps her into a pair of long-legged jeans. The waistband is wide and sits strangely high on her waist, bulging around her hips and loins. He huffs an amused little laugh and turns around, grabs a belt and snakes it through the loops, then pulls it tight around her, not too tight, but enough for it to stay above her hips. He knots the soft leather belt and tilts his head, looks down.

She does too. The pants legs are so long, she looks and feels like a child, too tiny to fit into any adult clothes. But she is an adult, isn't she? After the law? She doesn't feel like it. Ben crouches down in front of her, and she has to grab his broad shoulders to keep her balance as he starts rolling up the jeans legs until she can see her feet again. They bunch around her ankles in a thick roll.

He frowns at the sight, then sighs and unrolls them again, before he shifts on his knees and grabs a pair of scissors from the shelf behind him. Carefully cutting off the excess fabric, he nods to himself, while she watches him, still too sleepy to react, too afraid to move, too confused about what's going on. The cut hem of the jeans is rough, but it'll do.

He looks at her bare feet for a moment, mumbling: “We'll find you shoes somewhere... you gotta go without them for now...” She nods.

Finally, he stands back up, towering over her, she follows his movements, chin tilting up, eyes roaming his frame. She sees him packing the scissors into a small shoulder bag. His gaze is back on her, and he turns around to the clothes hanging from the shelf and grabs one of those button-ups, the thicker kind, it has a plaid pattern, and when he drapes it over her shoulders, slips her arms into it, it feels warm and soft. He leaves it open, unbuttoned.

“Ben?” she whispers when he's done dressing her. “What's going on?”

He looks at her, gently grabbing her small hand between his bigger ones, cradling it softly. “We have to leave. It's not safe here anymore,” he explains quietly, squeezing her hand carefully before letting go and walking towards the door.

“Is it... because of...” she stammers, watching him, gripping the wide hem of the shirt. “...what happened yesterday?” Her voice is barely audible, shaking badly, her heart throbs inside her throat, making it harder to breathe again. He looks back at her, clenching his jaw.

One stride of his long legs, and he's back in front of her, his hands grabbing her face with a force that makes her inhale sharply as he tilts her head up to meet his eyes. “You can't stay here, for multiple reasons,” he says quietly, his gaze hard, a deep crease between his thick eyebrows. “I'll explain everything later, okay? Now we really have to go.”

She stares at him, not understanding anything, but she nods into his hands, inhaling deeply, pushing the lump further down her throat by swallowing hard. Ben leans closer and presses his lips to her forehead, the warmth of his mouth, however short the touch is, leaves a pleasant feeling that slowly travels down her body.

He lets go of her and grabs the bags by the door, slinging the larger one over his shoulder before he hands a smaller one to her. She takes it, then snakes one arm through the strap and adjusts the bag hanging from her hip. Once all bags are somewhere on his body, he stops at the door, and she sees him clenching his jaw. He turns back to her and fishes something out of the front pocket of his jeans.

“Here, take this,” he says and grabs her hand, turns it palm up and places a small, long metal object on it. She frowns at it. “It's a switchblade,” he explains, taking it back to demonstrate to her what he means. His thumb pushes against the edge of the object, and it flips into a longer shape, a sharp blade snapping out of its body. A little gasp escapes her. “Just for emergencies.”

His eyes are on her as he pushes the blade back together, concealing the sharp edge, and puts it on her palm again. She stares at it, chewing on her lip, then nods. “Okay,” she whispers and slips the hidden blade into the pocket of her borrowed jeans. It feels heavy, making the pants sag a little, but the tight belt around her waist holds them up.

“Brave little girl,” he whispers suddenly, and when she looks up at him, he smiles down at her, a glint in his dark eyes. The faint hint of a dimple grazes his bearded cheek.

She feels the corners of her mouth twitching, but the moment is gone as soon as he grabs her hand and places his other one on the doorknob, unlocking it with swift fingers. There he hesitates. Nebbia watches him, his large hand warm around hers.

He looks towards the window then, his jaw working. When he lets go of her hand again, she frowns. He suddenly grabs the edges of the dresser half concealing the broken window pane and drags it over the old floorboards until it sits right in front of the door, locking them in. Her frown deepens. “What –”

With a little huff of a laugh, he grabs her wrist and pulls her towards him as he guides them towards the open window. She freezes as soon as she looks down. It's at least a ten foot drop, and the little awning below the window a slick, moss-covered ramp right into her doom. “No,” she gasps, sinking her fingernails into his arm.

He grabs her shoulders and turns her towards him. “I probably should have asked this sooner,” he mumbles before he bends down a little to meet her eye level. “Do you trust me?” he then asks, dark eyes looking at her in earnest, eyebrows raised a little.

She swallows hard, but there's no doubt in her mind. She's followed him here without hesitation, without second-guessing anything. Because it has felt right. “Yes,” she breathes. “I trust you...”

He straightens, exhaling loudly. “I don't know why you would do that, but I'm glad you do,” he says with a smirk. He squeezes her shoulder lightly, then steps past her. “I'll go first, you follow, okay?”

“O-okay,” she whispers, the mere idea of climbing out of a second-floor window into literal darkness causing shivers to rush through her small body.

And then the mountain of a man, laden with bags and pouches, squeezes himself through the open window, carefully stepping onto the little roof, leaning down to grab the edge with one hand, bending at the knees, before he takes a quick jump and vanishes into the night, out of sight, and only a soft thud is heard when he lands on the ground below.

“Come on,” she hears him hissing.

For a moment she is frozen in place, her limbs refusing to move, to follow, to jump down. She can already feel the vertigo in her mind, and she isn't even out of the window yet. And it's dark. How can her mind be afraid of this height when it can't even see the ground? Or is it because she can't see the ground that it assumes it's far deeper than it is?

“Nebbia!” His voice echoes quietly through the night and cuts through her frantic thoughts. Inhaling deeply, she lifts her leg and climbs over the low windowsill, white-knuckling the frame as she steps onto the roof. “It's easier if you sit down and slide,” Ben's voice comes through the haze inside her head.

She nods, even though he can't see her, and awkwardly squats down, her hands sliding down the old window frame, and when she feels something sharp cutting into her palm, she winces, lets go and shrieks quietly when she slides down a little, but her bare feet on the old metal panels catch her fall with a squeak. She feels her soles burning and her palm throbbing, hot blood pumping out of the cut. Trying to ignore the pain, she keeps going, inching closer to the edge in that strange crab-walk until she can see Ben standing just below her, his arms reaching towards her when he sees her.

“I'll catch you, come on,” he whispers.

She takes a shuddering breath and plops down fully, letting her legs dangle off the edge. Her hands grip around it, and the sudden sting rushing through her nerves helps in pushing her forward, literally. With a jolt she leans in, lets go and slips off the roof.

A shrill shriek escapes her as she falls freely for a fraction of a second before she feels Ben's large hands grab at her, holding her, and she lands against him with a thud, making him stumble backwards slightly. Her arms wrap around his neck as she clings to him, feet off the ground, body flat to his, heart thundering inside her chest.

He sets her down and pries her arms away from him, then hisses sharply through his teeth when he sees her bleeding hand. A grunt escapes him, but he doesn't say anything else as he holds her hand palm up in his larger one, fingers curled around it carefully, then pushes a hand into his pouch and grabs a roll of gauze, shoving it into her uninjured hand. She is still shaking from the jump, confused and in pain, but too numb to do anything, so she just watches him as he slides his hand into another bag and gets out a bottle of alcohol.

She frowns slightly when he uncorks it with his thumb and then takes a swig, the smell so familiar to her she inhales deeply, remembering the first time she's met him, a little over twenty-four hours ago. He holds the bottle to her, but she shakes her head, and he shrugs. “Put your hand on your mouth,” he tells her quietly, and she furrows her brows. “Come on, we don't have time, darling!”

Pressing her free hand to her mouth, she stares at him with wide eyes, unsure what's about to happen. He holds her injured hand tightly, then brings the alcohol closer to the deep cut. The pain throbs with every rapid heartbeat, blood gushing out in the same rhythm. She feels faint, can barely breathe through her nose. It gets worse when she feels a sudden sting, a horrible burning sensation, when Ben pours some of the liquid over her wound.

Her shriek is muffled by her hand, and she jerks her arm away, trying to break free from his grasp, but he keeps holding her hand until he's cleaned it. Her head is spinning, quiet sobs escaping her as the first tears burn their way down her cheeks. The pain subsides slowly, and she watches him wrapping the gauze around her hand, her breaths frantic and loud through her nose while she keeps her hand on her mouth.

He ties the ends together in a little bow, then cradles her hand between his larger ones, looking down at her. “Are you okay?”

She nods, slowly lowering her hand, taking deep breaths past her parted lips. “Th-thank you...”

“We haven't even left the camp yet,” he says with a sigh and a chuckle, shaking his head as he grabs her uninjured hand and gently pulls her along, pushing the half-empty bottle back into his bag as he walks. “This is going to be interesting...”

They sneak along the trees surrounding the camp, far away from the tents and wagons, keeping to the shadows. It's a moon-lit night, and she can see surprisingly far over the meadow ahead of them. He's headed for the large horse at the edge of the forest, but before they enter the little enclosure, he stops and drops her hand again.

“Stay close,” he whispers under his breath, and she nods, following him as he sneaks off towards a tent she hasn't noticed before. It holds all the saddles for the horses, halters, bridles and blankets, additional reins and stirrups, saddle bags and other horse riding equipment. He grabs a blanket, then a bridle and reins, throwing the leather straps over his shoulder, before he steps towards one of the bigger saddles that hang over long horizontal posts, and she remembers the horn she's clung to, and the slope of the seat, and how it's made her slip right between his legs, against his – “Come on!”

Clearing her throat softly, she bites her lip and follows him out of the tent as he carries the saddle along the edge of the meadow towards Thunder. The giant horse, a black shadow in the night, snorts quietly as they approach, and she watches with growing fascination how Ben throws the saddle onto his large back and expertly fixes it around the horse's body.

She wiggles her toes through the short grass of the meadow while he moves on to remove the halter from Thunder's long face to replace it with a different one. There's a little clanging sound as he pushes the metal bar of the bridle between the horse's teeth and then the rest of it over the animal's large ears, fiddling with the leather bands to make it fit perfectly. His long fingers move quick, like he's done this all his life – which he probably has. The big beast stands patiently, barely moving, and lets him work, and she keeps watching Ben as he ties the large bag and the blanket to the back of the saddle.

Once he's done, he pats the horse's neck affectionately, then moves his eyes towards her. His face is set, neutral, but a little dark, and he seems to listen to the noises of the night for a moment. It's very quiet, almost too quiet, the croaking of the frogs is muffled in the distance, the insects seem to take a chirping break, and only the wind rustles through the leaves of the nearby trees.

Then there's a different noise to their right, the snap of a branch, a little groan, leaves rustling. Ben's head snaps towards the sound, and she freezes, instinctively moving closer to him. His hand finds her waist almost as naturally. He doesn't seem to be too alarmed by it, though. Looking up at him, she sees him clenching his jaw, then meeting her gaze as he looks back. “Ready?” he whispers, and without knowing what for, she nods.

He grabs her waist, his big hands splayed along her sides, and lifts her up effortlessly, and while she holds her breath, trying to ignore the new wave of vertigo, she opens her legs mid-motion so she can sit down on the saddle with one leg on each side, the too-large jeans bunching slightly around her slim limbs. She grabs the horn, and only seconds later, Ben hoists himself up behind her, nudging his boots into the stirrups and moving his arms around her to grab the reins.

She settles between his thighs, scooting back against him, feeling his muscles flex when he spurs Thunder on, and the giant horse starts moving slowly, his hooves stomping quietly over the meadow as Ben guides him towards the edge of the forest where there's a little path leading through it. Out of camp.

Inhaling deeply, she white-knuckles the horn of the saddle, holding on desperately, even though she feels the sting of her wound through the bandage, wanting badly to hold onto Ben instead, but he rests his hands with the reins loosely on her hips, the touch warm, but not close enough, too casually, not nearly as comforting as his hand on her stomach, holding her against him. Now she has to squeeze her thighs around the horse to hold herself up and keep herself from falling off. And she already feels her legs trembling from exertion even though it has only been a few yards.

Thunder moves towards the path, and there Ben stops him with a short, gentle jolt of the reins. The horse snorts and bows his head, stomping his hooves idly. She turns her head to look over her shoulder at the big man behind her. He's tilting his head as he looks at something down in the grass. Following his gaze, she flinches when she realizes that there's a man sleeping on the ground, snoring slightly. Not the man, though, she thinks when a different face pops up in her memory, leering down at her angrily.

“That's how they got in,” Ben murmurs, and she wonders what he means. He inhales deeply, his chest moving against her back, before he fumbles with his bag and pulls out the open bottle of alcohol. He extends his arm and drops it to the man's side, it lands with a thud and falls over, spilling its contents in the dirt. “You didn't see anything, huh?” he mutters, and she sees him looking back towards the house.

When Thunder starts moving again, she grips onto his forearm, pulling it against her to steady herself. He shifts the reins into his other hand and slips his fingers over her stomach before he curls them around her waist, holding her gently against him. “Why did you leave the bottle?” she whispers as they start to traverse the narrow path through the trees.

“To be honest, I wanted to knock whoever was on guard duty tonight out with it, but that lazy bastard beat me to it, so why not leave the source for his heedlessness next to him, huh?” A deep, short laugh rumbles out of him and makes her body shake slightly as well.

“Ben, who got in?” she then asks quietly, pressing both of her hands to his forearm, feeling the muscles flex beneath his skin.

He sighs quietly. “Bad men,” he replies in a dark whisper, his thighs twitching when he spurs Thunder on to move quicker. The horse falls into a lazy trot, making them bounce slightly on the saddle. Her fingernails dig into his arm. “They were looking for –”

“Me?” she finishes in a little gasp.

“Yes,” he growls against her. “And me. That's how they've found us. Someone must have recognized me in the brothel, then put two and two together when you were gone the next morning. I was stupid,” he adds in a low hum. “I'm sorry, sweetheart.”

“Don't be, I'm glad you were, I mean, I'm glad you took me with you,” she says with a turn of her head when the wind picks up around them as the forest opens up to a wider field. The darkness is slightly denser around them now. “But I'm sorry I caused you... trouble... I... I'm sorry you had to leave your camp... for me...”

He leans closer, resting his chin on her shoulder, his rough cheek rubbing against her soft skin. “You didn't cause me any trouble, baby,” he breathes against her, tightening his grip around her middle. “We'll come back when the dust has settled.”

She shivers deeply, holding her breath as the warmth of his touch floods through her body. “S-so... where are we g-going?” she stammers, unable to move with how close he is. He keeps rubbing his face against hers, but then he leans back, the tickling sensation of his beard gone. She misses it already.

“Where our noses take us,” he says softly, brushing his lips against the back of her head before nuzzling his nose into her hair.

Another shudder crashes through her, and she nods, unable to do anything else. It's an adventure, she tells herself. Off to the unknown. At least I'm not alone...

More and more clouds push themselves in front of the moon, and suddenly the night is as dark as the last one has been, and she is once again sitting on this giant horse, flying through the darkness. Ben's grip around her is strong and comforting, and she would relax against him, if her legs weren't trembling so much from trying to hold onto Thunder's body. Somehow it has been easier to sit on him sideways, tucked between Ben's legs, instead of sitting like a man.

Also it hurts more, despite the warmth of the man behind her and his thighs caging her in. The constant up and down does weird things to her loins. Or it's the rough fabric of the jeans against her naked flesh. No underwear, remember? she thinks to herself, groaning quietly as she shifts on the saddle to find a more comfortable way of sitting.

And with the image of her naked body in mind, she suddenly realizes she has nothing, only the clothes on her body (which aren't even hers). She never owned anything, but it didn't matter, at least she's had a bed she could call her own, a constant in her life, a place to retreat.

But now she has nothing, and nothing lies ahead (or everything, if she wants to take the optimistic approach), the unknown is so much scarier than the uncertainty of which client would come to her room at night. At least it has always been the same job, the same expectations – well, before she's been promoted to full-time... whore, offering everything. Somehow she hates that word, but that is what she's been, isn't it?

The memory of Ben breaking the other man's nose because he has used that word comes back to her like the phantom pain of a boot against her stomach. She gasps, gripping Ben's arm tighter, shivering despite the many layers of clothes he's given her.

“Everything alright, sweetheart?” he says softly, leaning a little closer.

“Mhm,” she makes, biting her tongue. Her body aches at this point, her mind is spinning, every muscle tense. The rush of the horse's speed, the wind howling in her ears, her hair flapping around her, the tension in her stomach, the vertigo, the memories, the throbbing in her bandaged hand, the chafing between her legs, it's all too much, but she doesn't want to whine or complain. She never has, she's always taken life how it has come at her.

“We'll take a break soon,” he replies, gently squeezing her side. “Just a little longer, okay?”

“Okay,” she whispers, inhaling deeply, trying to focus on his warmth, on his presence behind her, on his strong legs around hers, on his – She closes her eyes with a groan, the sudden arousal not helping the burning sensation in her loins.

She still wonders why she even feels like that, why she is so attracted to him. He is so much older, so much bigger, he's a criminal wanted by the law (a murderer), but he has been nice to her, so is that enough to feel this tingling sensation every time he touches her, holds her, leans against her?

He's also your mother's ex-lover, that voice in her head reminds her. And he's probably only nice to you because of that!

Her eyes flutter open (not that it makes much of a difference in the impenetrable blackness of the night around her), her hands mindlessly rubbing over his arm. He can't be, right? Just because I'm Keira's daughter?

You've spent two nights with him now, completely naked, and he's not tried anything, have you noticed? He doesn't see you the same way you see him. Deal with it.

She swallows hard, trying to ignore the nagging voice hurling more doubts and insecurities at her. She fails miserably. A heavy feeling settles in her stomach (just below where he's holding her against himself). I'm just a kid, she thinks. That's what I am to him, right? A little creature to protect from the world, nothing more.

And maybe that is enough. That's more than she's ever had. Someone to look after her, take care of her, like a... parent? She has no idea how mothers or fathers would act around their children, she's never met any. She's always only been around the other girls, the other women. And the men that came to her didn't share their family stories either, they were too busy coming down her throat.

But does she want him to be a parent to her? No, comes the quick answer. She wants something else, she wants more, she wants to be close to him, really close, not just sleeping naked in bed together, even closer. They've met in a brothel of all places, and her expectations have been high when he's whisked her away, but the more distance they put between themselves and the house, the less he seemed to think about doing anything like that to her.

Pity.

And she starts to think the hard and lengthy girth she's feeling pressing against her ass (rubbing against her with every bounce of the horse's movements) is just the natural state of his cock (which only makes her crave it even more because that is just impressive). She should probably stop thinking these thoughts and start behaving like a normal girl her age.

But what do normal eighteen-year-olds think about in these times? Isn't that also the marrying age, the starting to think about building a family age? Or does that come later? She's never met any girls or women discussing marriage, so she has no idea. Living in a brothel surely is like living in a bubble sometimes. Has been. She's no longer there and she doesn't plan to return. Not if she can help it.

Which makes her think about the conversation she overheard this morning and Ben's mention of the bad men getting into the camp to get her. Who is after her? She is just a girl, one of many, who would have an interest in retrieving her? She's had a few clients who've been very fond of her and her skills, but would they go to such lengths to get her back?

And who owns the brothel? She always thought it was Madam Claire's business, not some person in the shadows who pulls all the strings. It is all rather mysterious, and the longer she thinks about it, the harder it becomes to think of any possible answers. And frankly, even though her thoughts have distracted her a lot, she still feels her sore butt scraping over the saddle.

She shifts again, almost loosing her balance when Thunder makes a little extra step over a root or something. A shriek leaves her, and she clutches at Ben's arm in slight panic. She feels him tugging on the reins, and the horse slows a little, before he stops altogether, bowing his massive head, causing a jerk to go through Ben's arm. “Easy, boy,” he hums at the animal. Thunder snorts. She looks around the darkness. Why did he stop?

He doesn't say anything, instead he loosens his arm from around her waist, and suddenly both of his hands are on her sides, drifting lower until he basically cups her rear. She squeaks in surprise when he lifts her up, one hand pushing under her thigh to nudge her to raise her leg. He moves her like a doll again, and she lets him, and then she sits sideways, almost on his lap now, before she slips between his legs once more, but it is much more comfortable now.

“Better?” he whispers as he leans closer, his beard tickling her cheek.

“How did you –” she starts, turning her head to him even though she can barely see him in the dark.

“You kept rubbing against my groin, darling, and probably not on purpose, right?” he says with a chuckle. She feels her cheeks warming up, happy about the darkness now. “Or did you?”

She clears her throat. “Uh, I...”

“I also assume it must be rather uncomfortable having your legs so wide open all the time, hm?” he hums provocatively into her ear. She shivers, but then she turns slightly and hits his chest with the back of her hand, staring up at him.

“Well, I never had the chance to get used to it, you've whisked me away before I got more experience on that!” she replies with a pout, her cheeks burning from the grin she tries to suppress.

His laugh is both surprised and genuine. She feels his hands on her waist again, his thumbs pressing lightly into her skin. “You'll get plenty experience with me, don't worry,” he replies quietly, leaning down again until his cheek rubs against hers, the scraping sound sending goosebumps over her limbs. Something else, hot, burning, itching, gathers right between her legs. “We'll be riding for a long time, sweetheart.”

A little sound akin to a moan escapes her. Everything he says sounds wrong to her, not wrong wrong, just... not the way he probably means it, unless he does and wants to play with her, oh he wants to play with her alright, but it makes her feel both more aroused and slightly strange, uncomfortable? Not really, just... strange. She sucks in a sharp breath and turns back, away from him, trying to ignore the way he holds her, leans against her, how he's warm, and comfortable, and... hard.

He leans back with a chuckle, letting go of her waist to snake his arms around her, grabbing the reins once more while pulling her closer to him, before he urges Thunder to move again. The horse gives a loud whinny, then falls into slow steps that quickly turn into his breakneck speed again.

She clings to Ben's arm, trying to hold on, now with both of her legs on one side. It does feel better, the strain on her muscles easing slowly. While it looks so easy for Ben to sit on Thunder's broad back, for her, it has been like doing the splits. Without underwear, in much-too-big jeans chafing her sensitive skin.

So apparently small girls like her cannot sit like a man after all. Not that she minds, actually. Sitting like this feels a lot better.

His arm is hooked around her stomach, fingers curling under her thigh to hold her steady, and it feels safer this way, too. He's closer, her shoulder blade presses into his chest, his touch is warm and comforting. And she can even lean her head back against him. Oh so much better.

They ride like this for a while, and she feels her eyelids getting heavier. The last time she fell asleep on this horse, she's woken up in a dilapidated house, surrounded by strangers. Her first (and only) day at the camp has been quite nice, actually, except for the ending of it. She refuses to remember it, but the memories still come. Breathing deeply, she forces them away and tries to focus on the woman named Genevieve, Ginny, instead, who's given her nice clothes (that she had to leave behind), who's been seemingly very happy to meet her, who knew her mother as well...

Will she see her again? Ben's said they'll return, but when? When is the dust truly settled? And will she ever be safe in that camp again, if they do return? She doesn't feel like it. Being with Ben makes her feel safe, but he can't be with her all the time, how they've proven last night...

And the second he's left her, she's been –

An angry huff escapes her. She doesn't want to think back to being manhandled out of the tub, held on the ground, forced to endure while a random stranger tried to take her from behind. She shivers at the thought. And it almost happened, too. Her first time, taken like that, a horrible, horrible thought. Stop thinking about it then! her own voice yells at her inside her head.

She swallows and squeezes her eyes shut for a moment, mindlessly rubbing Ben's arm as she holds onto him. He gives her thigh a gentle rub in return. “Almost there,” he whispers, his low voice vibrating through her body.

She nods, wondering how he can tell they're getting anywhere in this pitch-blackness. But then she notices the blue glow on the horizon, a thin strip of not-darkness creeping up the sky. Is it morning already? Probably not, but maybe it's coming closer. She looks around, noticing the shapes of trees around them on one side and a steep cliff face on the other, and straight ahead the land seems to open up more, there's more of that bluish glow, stretching all the way across the horizon.

Yet before she can focus on it, Ben turns the horse left, deeper into the forest. It's darker again, and the noises become more intense as Thunder slows down, the echo of his heavy hooves almost eerie in the dense space with all the critters scurrying out of the way, the insects chirping loudly, and the occasional howl of whatever animal lives close-by. Eventually he stops, and she squints ahead.

“We're here,” Ben says softly, slowly letting go of her and of the reins, resting his hands on his own thighs. She frowns.

It's a cabin, small, wooden, with boarded-up windows, a small porch and a roof that may be caving in at any moment. This man really seems to like the thrill of houses that are seconds away from collapsing.

“It's just for tonight,” he whispers as if reading her mind. She turns her head to him, but he already moves behind her, leaning up on the stirrup to swing his other leg over the horse's back, then jumps down with a thud of his heavy boots. Without hesitation he grabs her waist and lifts her off, and she's thankful he doesn't make her jump on her own.

She holds onto his forearms when her bare feet meet the rough forest floor, dead leaves and pine needles poking her soles. He steps back and fidgets with the bag attached to the saddle before he throws it over his shoulder, shoving the blanket into her arms as he passes her.

“Stay with Thunder,” he tells her, and she frowns as she watches him approach the old cabin, one hand on his gun holster. Her hand moves to the horse's long neck, patting him mindlessly, her fingers slipping through his long mane, while she waits for whatever comes next.

Ben gently nudges the door open with his boot, its rusty hinges squeaking in the silence of the night, before he steps past the dark threshold and vanishes out of sight. It's not silent at all, though. Nebbia feels as if every bush around them is rustling, as if all the animals of the forest are watching them.

She moves closer to the large horse, hoping he'll tell her in time if something wants to attack them. Ben's heavy footsteps are muffled inside the cabin, they stop occasionally, followed by a scraping sound as if he's moving furniture around. It takes him an awfully long time to make sure the house is unoccupied and safe.

When he finally returns, she has her arms wrapped around Thunder's large neck, savoring the horse's warmth, while she tries to keep her fears under control. Memories, the darkness, all her doubts, the nagging voices.

“Are you okay?” he asks, leaning over her to grab the reins and pull them over the horse's head. She shivers, lets go of the large animal and wraps her arms around the large man instead. He catches her with a surprised chuckle, one arm tight around her lower back as he picks her up off the ground slightly, balancing her on his hip while she lifts her legs and wraps them around him.

“Now I am,” she whispers into the crook of his neck, clinging to him like the child he probably thinks she is.

He gives a low huff, holds her close and carries her towards the cabin, pulling Thunder along. After attaching the reins to a pole next to the porch, giving the horse a reassuring pat on the neck, he then turns and enters the small house in the middle of the forest. Her eyes are closed by then as she gives into his warmth and strength, feeling safe and protected.

Chapter 5 -- Chapter 7

End notes: Now I could go on a tangent about cleaning wounds or how I only have basic (read: no) knowledge of how to saddle a horse and what all the things are called, or anything about horseback riding really, but I'll just leave this chapter sitting here like this.

(Note to myself: Remember the switchblade and the wound!)

I hope you enjoyed it. The adventure begins. The tension grows. The next chapter will finally quench the slow burn a little, but that's all I'm gonna say. Stay tuned!

Picture credits to their respective owners. I don't own anything (except the screenshot of RDR2's Shady Belle). I gathered them from all around the Internet. If you see your picture and would like to have it removed, please tell me!

Thank you for reading! Next chapter on Friday!

AO3 -- MASTERLIST -- INSPIRATION POSTS

#cowboy 🤠

[cyan1decandy]

doll.

summary: you had finally convinced Tom to take you to the Restricted Section. however, the outcome might not be something you had originally planned.

pairing: tom riddle x fem!reader

warning: 18+ smut, cockwarming, oral (m receiving), throatfucking, gagging, mentions of nausea (no actual vomiting), slight choking, orgasm denial? ignoring?? I think that’s all, if I missed anything, let me know!

wc: 3.3k

a/n: listen. listen. this man has been in my head for the last month, and recently he decided to come into my dream? that’s just rude, so that’s what you get as revenge. this fic is also a result of my pent up frustration at life rn, so do with that what you will. also, this is my first time ever writing smut and writing for tom, so pls let me know if it’s any good and if I shall continue on the path. enjoy <3

You had finally done it.

You had finally convinced Tom to take you to the Restricted Section with him. After the whole month of begging almost every day, he agreed, albeit awfully begrudgingly, but you were on cloud nine nonetheless. He told you some stuff about his late-night visits to the library from time to time, but you were always burning for more information, considering your own striving for knowledge. He always said the same thing, that he appreciated your effort, but if you could stop trying to make him abuse his Prefect’s power and possibly lose himself the position, it would make both of your lives easier. But you persevered and were finally reaping the rewards, sitting next to him at the table, with a stack of ancient books in front of you, sometime far after midnight.

What you didn’t expect, though, was how absolutely fucking irresistible he would look merely existing. The books were taken out, the first one was flipped through and now they sat on the table, long forgotten, as you just stared at Tom, almost devouring him with your eyes. To be fair, the sight of him was truly divine – his face calm and concentrated, hovering over a particular book he had been studying for the last week, distracted simply to switch to his journal and take another note. His hands resting on the table, holding a quill, scribbling down lines with his exquisite handwriting… They were sinful, those hands. You had to get ahold of at least one. His left hand was in the process of mindlessly caressing the corner of the book with his middle finger when your hand slowly creeped towards it. You lightly brushed your fingertips along the outer part of his hand. No reaction. You started drawing circles along the whole area, skimming along his wrist and thumb. Nothing. You decided to go further and began intertwining your fingers together.

Finally. A sigh.

And he didn’t even look. His hand grabbed yours and put it away, back on the table. And nothing, absolutely nothing changed about the focused expression painted on his face. That was really annoying, but also… hot, in a way? Almost as if he was playing hard to get. You were already aroused just by looking at him, but his silent rejection made you nearly desperate. Your panties were pretty much soaked, and he, quite literally, barely lifted a finger.

Before you could gain control over your hand, it moved dangerously close to his thigh. You put your hand a little above his knee and gradually advanced higher and higher up his leg. Only when you were caressing his inner thigh did you hear another sigh. Tom raised an eyebrow and turned his head a couple centimeters in your direction, his eyes still on the book.

“What?” he asked, the tone of his voice only ever so slightly irritated. His composure remained intact. He wasn’t even fazed by the fact that you were so close to grabbing him through his pants.

“You look so handsome like that, you know?”

You made your best attempt to lace your voice with saccharine seduction. Your hand kept stroking his inner thigh, inching further and further up with each stroke. The only thing he did was thoughtlessly nod, as if he forgot about your existence immediately after asking the question.

You started getting frustrated and even more turned on. You moved your chair closer to his and began caressing his shoulder, brushing your fingers along his neck when they reached it. You slowly moved down to his back and arm, your nails applying some pressure on his body so that he could feel them scratching his skin even through the fabric of his shirt. It had always been one of the rare things to grab his attention, and it worked this time as well. He sighed, closed the book with his finger between the right pages and turned his head to you. His expression was that of mild annoyance, his eyebrow raised again.

“What exactly was the reason you’d been begging me to bring you here? Would you care to remind me?”

You lowered your gaze and your hand on his shoulder stopped, but just for a second. Then you continued, thinking that there was no return at that point and at least you had a chance, now that his attention was on you.

“Knowledge,” you admitted.

“And what kind of knowledge are you trying to soak up right now?”

His eyes flicked towards your hand still massaging his shoulder. You rolled your eyes and shifted in your chair at the mention of the word “soak”. But it was time for drastic measures. You stood up to crouch next to him, so that your mouth was right at the same level as his ear. Your hand moved to his inner thigh again, traveling up to his crotch and back. You felt him harden under your touch and the mere fact brought you immense amounts of satisfaction.

“Come on, Tom, love, we both know what I want right now,” you started whispering, your lips nearly touching his ear. “You. I want you. On the table, on the floor, against the wall, it literally doesn’t matter. If you don’t take me right here, right now, I will die.”

The look on his face didn’t change in the slightest when he grabbed your throat with his right hand and guided you from his left to his front, tightly squeezed between him and the desk. You stayed in your half-crouched position, trying your hardest not to tremble in the knees. The corner of Tom’s mouth lifted ever so slightly while he silently studied your face and body. His grip on your throat tightened when he lifted up his hand, causing you to straighten your half-bent legs. He shot a commanding look at his lap and, guided by his hand, you climbed there, sitting down and sighing as you could finally relax your already aching knees. But your state of relaxation didn’t last, as he abruptly spread his legs, causing yours to shoot open as well and your ass to be left hanging in the air. In order not to fall to the ground, you had to lean back on the desk, propping your front upwards, towards him.

His hand moved from your throat to the hem of your skirt. With quick and methodic movements Tom rolled it up, tucking it behind the top part of the skirt, and spread your thighs even further with a firm press of his thumbs. You felt a heatwave of embarrassment wash over you as he evaluated the state of your panties, an amused smirk tugging the corner of his mouth. A spot of wetness was wonderfully visible and on display. His eyebrow went up and down as he looked up at you, brushing his thumb in a feather-like touch along the still covered surface of your cunt. You threw your head back, partly because you didn’t want to meet his eyes, partly because your own eyes rolled to the point you couldn’t see in front of you and you could barely hold in a moan as myriads of goosebumps spread throughout your body just from this simple touch.

“Look at me.”

Tom clearly didn’t appreciate the lack of eye contact. You clenched your jaw and looked back, met by the sheer intensity of his stare. The stare that had all the power in the world to melt you into a puddle at any given moment. He brushed his other thumb over the same place again, watching your face carefully as you tried to keep your composure. Didn’t help. Your bit your bottom lip, but a sound escaped you nonetheless. Tom’s smirk widened.

“Let’s see,” he quietly muttered, pulling your panties to the side. Your cunt was already slicked and throbbing, which was even more embarrassing, because he looked like he was an inspector evaluating the goods. The smirk faded from his lips as his fingered rubbed against your folds, barely spreading them apart and not reaching the clit to provide the much-needed sensation. You couldn’t help throwing your head back again, almost drawing blood from the pressure of your teeth against your bottom lip.

“I said. Look. At. Me.”

Tom uttered every word in a clear, emotionless voice, but it was the very thing that meant trouble. You looked back and the intensity of his stare only grew exponentially. He reached your face with his hand and grabbed your cheeks between his thumb and index finger, squeezing them, so that your lips formed into some sort of a pout.

“Don’t make me repeat myself. Keep looking until I say you can stop.”

You quickly nodded, intimidated by his frigid dominance. His hand went back to your cunt. He slid his fingers deeper between the folds, lightly brushing against the clit. Your hips jerked up as they tried to follow the path of his fingers, but his other hand held you firmly in place, not allowing a single extra bit of pleasure. He slid them back once more and then the middle one slipped inside you, up to the very base. A jolt of pleasure shook your body, as strong as the feeling of disappointment when he quickly removed the digit. You tried to whine but another look from him quickly shut you up. Tom raised his hand, rubbed his index, middle finger and thumb together and then separated; a sticky string of your wetness was a connection between them and a blatant manifestation of your arousal.

“Soaked. Just like I thought.”

The slightest hint of a smirk returned to his lips as his fingers reached your mouth.

“Open.”

Each of his words was stern, not leaving room for any disobedience. You opened your mouth and Tom pushed two fingers inside, pressing at the entrance of your throat and instantly making you gag. He kept his fingers there for a moment while you clutched the desk behind you to stop your body from shaking as you kept gagging, but not daring to push his hand away. A couple seconds later, when he saw you were on the verge of giving up, his fingers slowly traveled back out of your mouth. You tightly wrapped your lips around them and sucked your slick off, knowing that it was exactly what he wanted you to do. After leaving your mouth his fingers cupped your chin, as his thumb glided over your lips, covering them with the rest of your wetness.

“Now,” Tom leaned back on the chair, looking you up and down, his voice suddenly smooth and enticing, but his gaze still intense, “I see you are rather bored here with me, doll.”

When he said the word, you knew that the next part wouldn’t be so much for your pleasure as it would be completely for his. It wasn’t a meaningless pet-name for him, no, it held value. It meant that you would be treated exactly like a doll: mindless and limp. He saw your eyes widen at “doll” and a faint smirk was on his lips again: he was aware of the connotation and so were you.

“And to save you the trouble of a wandering mind, I am pleased to announce that I have a much better use for a doll like you.”

He waited to continue for a minute, letting you absorb the information and your thoughts fill with speculations. His hand brushed a stray hair from your forehead, him seeming just like a caring boyfriend for a moment.

“Kneel.”

You slowly stood up from his lap, feeling your stretched out limbs relax and almost fail to hold you up, and lowered down to your knees in front of him. From this point of view, he was even more attractive, compellingly so; it was worth it standing on your knees on the cold stone floor of the Restricted Section just for this sight alone. He slowly started unbuckling his belt and unzipping his pants, almost as if he wanted you to enjoy the show. You drank up every single movement of his slender fingers as he pulled down his pants and underwear just enough for his cock to bounce right out, against his lower abdomen.

“You like what you see, doll?”

You fervently nodded, your mouth salivating just at the thought of being able to suck him off right then. He saw the fire in your eyes and scoffed, shaking his head.

“It is no ordinary pleasure that I want from you now, doll.”

He beckoned you to move closer and you eagerly did, your face just mere centimeters away from his length. Your breath quickened as you thought about the implication of “no ordinary pleasure”.

“Now, give me your hands, doll.”

You lifted your hands and he wrapped his belt around them, tightening it to the point when it started to hurt and you knew it would leave deep marks on your wrists. Then, you tried to position yourself in a way that would allow your hands to support you, but you could only reach the floor with your fingertips.

Tom ran his fingers through your hair, in a touch almost gentle and soothing, and then suddenly yanked you up and forward, straight onto his cock, thrusting his whole length into your mouth, the tip reaching the very back of your throat. You lifted on your knees and violently gagged at the feeling, your hands inadvertently flying up, trying to push back, but the belt didn’t let you make any substantial impact. He held you firmly in place while you kept quivering and making gagging sounds, him clearly enjoying seeing you in this state. Slowly, you adjusted to his cock filling your whole mouth and your body went weak as you lowered back down, tears gathering in the corners of your eyes. You tried to look up with just your eyes, not being able to move your head; it hurt too much, so you lowered your gaze, the only thing in front of you being his lower abdomen. As you tried to shift in your place, you felt a whiff of the chilly library air against your soaked panties and the sensation drove you nearly through the roof.

“Now, doll, you have to stay like that while I keep going with my work. A fair warning out of the goodness of my heart: it might take a while.”

You blinked, trying to wrap your mind around the fact that this could continue for another hour or two. Your head was held back by the edge of the desk cutting into your nape, so you weren’t able to move at all. You were completely at his mercy, he could do literally whatever he wanted, but he chose not to do anything. As soon as he let go of your hair, he went straight back to his book, taking notes as if nothing had happened.

Time went by painfully slowly. The constant feeling of him in your mouth and throat overwhelmed you to the point when you started to twitch at times, shifting your weight to get any semblance of friction against your aching core. The position you were in didn’t allow that at all, your head being stuck firmly between the desk and his body. The most irritating thing about the whole ordeal was the fact that Tom ignored you completely, fully absorbed in whatever kind of studying he was doing. You tried to get his attention a couple of times by producing incoherent sounds and trying to tighten your lips around him, but you quickly understood that there was no use. You tried counting seconds and minutes, but your mind gave up when you reached fifteen. The only things you could think about were his cock and getting something, any type of pressure on your clit. Your wetness soaked through your panties and, you were pretty sure, was dripping down your thighs, creating a small puddle on the floor underneath you.

You didn’t know how much time had passed before you finally heard the book shut. You almost shuddered at the sound, your pupils dilating and your breath accelerating, probably close to the speed of light. Tom leaned on the back of the chair, looking down at you with one of his smirks of the devil himself. His hand ruffled your hair, pulling at it to slightly lift your head up and shove it back down, as if he was trying to gauge if you were still alive. At the sound of your muffled groan he raised his eyebrows, amused.

“The doll has some life left in her. What a pleasant surprise. You look perfectly splendid like that.”

You groaned again, the sound coming from somewhere inside your chest. You desperately wanted to look up, but your head was still pressed in its place. Tom scoffed, messing with your hair once again.

“The time has come for some more… customary activities of ours, don’t you think?”

As if you could answer. You tried to nod, but the edge of the desk only further cut into your nape, making you wince in pain.

“The doll seems to agree. Pleasure.”

He moved the chair a bit further from the desk. With more space you could finally properly breath, so you shifted in your place, your stiff legs aching as you had to follow the movement of the chair. Tom’s hand gripped your hair and pulled you upwards, releasing almost the entirety of his length from your mouth apart from the top. The sudden emptiness made your throat clench and you felt nausea building up rapidly, although the feeling had no time to develop as you were quickly shoved down again, your nose nearly crashing against his body. Tears gathered in your eyes sprayed all over, your lips stretched even more than they already were and you prayed the corners of your mouth wouldn’t crack. The tension building up in your core was begging to be released as you were being thrusted up and down again and again, the tip of his cock stroking the back of your throat again and again, causing you to produce the most sinful gagging sounds known to man. You tried to balance on your tied up hands, but your fingertips just barely brushed against the floor as your whole body moved in unison with your head. Tom barely made any sound, a heavy breath occasionally escaping his lips. He threw his head back, his eyes closed, while you took him whole at the mercy of his hand.

At last, you felt his thrusts speeding up, sensing his release. After a couple of especially violent ones he let out a quiet groan, and you felt his hot semen filling you up and spilling down your throat as he pressed you all the way down. Your breaths were heavy but barely audibly, his cock still stuffing your mouth to the brim. Tom heaved a deep sigh as you felt his grip on your hair loosening. You didn’t dare to move until he pulled you up, lifting your head with his finger on your chin, looking straight into your eyes. Your vision was blurry from tears, more of them running down your face and dripping down to the floor as they slid off your jawline. Your lips were swollen and you couldn’t properly close your mouth yet, panting in quick and dry breaths. Tom smirked, taking in the sight of your utter destruction.

“A broken doll. Truly a sight to behold.”

He leaned back on the chair again, pulling up his underwear and zipping the pants. Then, he bent down, taking your hands gently in his and undoing the belt. His fingers made their way across the deep red marks on your wrists, caressing them with utmost attention.

“You have been a very good doll for me tonight. Now, what do you say to spending the night in my dorm? The doll has to receive her rightful reward.”

my masterlist

#tom riddle smut #internally (s)creaming

[cyan1decandy]

The English Client — Fourteen

— PAIRING: Tom Riddle x F!Reader

— SYNOPSIS: The year is 1952. Tom is working for Borgin and Burkes. He is sent to Rome to acquire three ancient books of magic by any means necessary. One in particular proves challenging to reach, and the only path forward is through a pretty, young bookseller. A foreigner like him, she lives alone, obsessed with her work... until Tom comes into her life.

— WARNINGS: none

— WORDCOUNT: 2.3k

— TAGLIST: @esolean @localravenclaw @slytherins-heir

I

She was sitting in the armchair among a nest of laundry, talking on the phone. That naughty nightgown still had one strap sliding off her shoulder.

“I did have some fun, actually. I went to the museum yesterday,” she spoke quietly into the receiver. “You wouldn’t know it, mother… Fine, it was the Palazzo Altemps. I said the Palazzo Altemps. See? I told you you wouldn’t — With who? Oh, j-just on my own…” Her hand was tracing a nervous pattern on his jacket which hung off the armrest like a rag. “Yes, I have been eating well. Have you?”

His gaze moved around the room. He’d hardly seen any of it last night. The sparse furniture made it look more spacious than it was, but all of it was filled with something. On the little table by the armchair, where the telephone was, there was a messy pile of envelopes, two heavy books sitting on the corner just ready to fall, and a half-drunk glass of water.

“No, I don’t think I’ll be able to visit anytime soon,” she said, her voice trailing off distractedly. “Yes, work is keeping us quite busy.”

Further to the left the desk stood like a mountain range. Mounds of books, towers of empty old wine bottles topped with candles melted to various extents, and behind stacks of old notebooks bloated with her writing he spotted the hint of little picture frames and paintings.

“Who’s us? Well, er, me and Mr. Oso, of course…”

There were ink bottles too, and bottles of perfume, and a mug holding a cluster of pens. Near the scarf-shaded lamp she’d found room for a crystal vase in which Tom recognised the dry remains of the bouquet of carnations, tuberose, and oleander he’d given her two weeks before.

“You remember him, don’t you? I told you about him five times already, mother…”

The bookcase at the corner of the room, beside the radiator, was quite orderly but stuffed with books squeezed together. Some were standing and others were just piled on top. A record player sat on a footstool beside it, and on the floor was a brown-wood radio of the sort he’d seen before at Wool’s. Beside the bookcase and just as tall stood her wardrobe with its door cracked open, seemingly bursting from the inside. The sliver of a mirror reflected the morning light.

“No, not Frederico. He works in a completely different shop.”

She’d pulled his jacket over to cover her knees as she sat curled up on the armchair and started caressing it as if it were a cat. Then to his horror from between its folds or perhaps from a pocket sitting upside down his wand slipped out.

“No, he’s not my type. Mother! I just don’t like him in that way,” she sighed while picking up the wand.

She held it to the light until she figured out what it was — or what she thought it was — and then she started twirling it around her fingers. It enraged Tom somewhat that she’d play with it, but he didn’t want to alert her that he’d woken up just yet. She even dropped it a few times. When she grew tired of picking it up, she set it standing on her knee, held it up between her fingers, and began tracing up and down its length, crooked as it was, from its tip all the way down to the handle. Tom could tell when she grew angry with the conversation again when she suddenly gripped it firmly in her fist.

“Well, I’m not going to! Because I don’t want to, that’s why.” She was speaking loud enough that it really would have woken him up, but he decided to pretend a little longer. “Fine, then. Bye. Alright. Bye!”

Tom closed his eyes quickly when he saw her hanging up, and waited.

When he peeked an eye open again a few moments later she hadn’t moved, still sitting curled up with his jacket keeping her legs warm and playing with his wand. She twirled it every which way, somewhat perplexed by it, but her curiosity soon left her and she placed it back into his pocket. Tom closed his eyes again, expecting her to come to bed, but then he heard her pattering away into the kitchen, then the clinking of metal and porcelain. She was making coffee.

He opened his eyes to the bright empty room. He didn’t know how to feel that morning… The delights of last night were drowned away in a mix of anger and anguish.

She had a mother, so why was she upset?

By the sound of it their relationship was strained but maybe that was normal. Was it normal? Tom wouldn’t know, and his Slytherin classmates rarely talked of their own families except to brag when they got fancy gifts. It had always seemed like a privilege that was denied to him and there was no room left in his mind for something else — at least, not until now.

And then he started thinking… If his mother had lived would she be the same? Would she tell him where to go and what to do, and who to do it with?

His feelings were getting even more confused… There was no point in thinking about all of this. His mother died while giving birth to him, killed by the incompetence of muggles, and his father never cared enough to look for him. Tom shook his head and buried his face in the pillow.

II

A chime of porcelain announced her. Tom didn’t close his eyes anymore, he peeked through one pretending to be drowsy.

“Good morning,” she said with a soft smile. “Have you been up long?”

“Not long,” he lied. “G’morning…”

She sat beside him and placed the plate of toast and coffee on the bedside table and he wrapped an arm around her waist to pull her close. She’d thrown a silk robe over her nightgown but he could still feel her shape so clearly through it.

“I was worried I’d wake you… Mother called. She got suspicious because I was whispering.”

Tom grinned as he sat up and hugged her from behind. The back of her head was soft and warm and still fragrant with yesterday’s perfume. “So I’m your dirty secret, is that it?”

She smiled faintly. “She just wouldn’t understand.”

Tom wondered what was going on between them, and more importantly, whether it would help him complete his mission. She was, after all, still his favourite key into the Casa Ur. But there was no prodding that sore spot now…

She sipped her coffee with one hand while the other played with his messy hair.

“What time is it?” asked Tom, pulling back to sit against the pillows.

“Half past nine,” she said, her free hand moving down to pet his thigh. “The coffee’s getting cold. I made yours just the way you like it, you know…”

“I prefer tea.”

“Oh… I’ll be sure to get some. That is, if you intend to come again…”

“I do hope to come again,” he grinned, “many, many times more.” She gave him a scathing look at his naughtiness but blushed anyway. “By the way,” she said, and he could already tell she’d move the conversation to something he wouldn’t like, “what’s with that stick in your pocket?”

He froze for a moment, his fury icy cold, but then he smiled and pulled her even closer.

“You must be mistaken,” he said with a wink. “I’m just happy to see you.”

She laughed, the column of her throat arching delightfully, and when she looked at him again her eyes were shining. Tom discovered he liked to make her laugh.

“Idiot,” she said lovingly. “I meant… Oh, never mind.”

“What?”

“That thing in your pocket.”

He sighed. “So that’s what you’ve been doing while I was… recovering from indulging you last night.”

“Oh please…”

“Snooping around my things?”

“I wasn’t snooping. It just fell in my lap.”

He had to grin. Even though he knew it was the truth, it was fun to torment her. “You can’t expect me to believe you.”

“It’s true! I was sitting down and —”

“Alright, alright…”

“So… What is it?”

Tom sighed and took a big bite of his toast.

“It’s really nothing. Just a stick,” he shrugged. “Found it one morning when I was about eleven while walking through a forest. I guess I kept it as a good luck charm.”

“Oh. That’s quite sweet…”

“Yes, well, don’t let the word get out. I have my reputation.”

“I never would,” she said, scooting closer to rest her head against his shoulder.

Something heavy pulled at Tom’s heart, at both the idea of her judging him for being a wizard, and more dangerously, of her not. If she knew what he was she’d surely not be as accepting as she claimed to be. But he quickly cast the thought aside as he often did in moments of weakness such as this and distracted himself by cupping a hand over her hip.

III

The street was even uglier during the day and smelled just as bad, but they had decided to go out again and see a few more sights. Tom wasn’t too comfortable in yesterday’s clothes but a quick wash over the sink helped him greatly and a secret cast of Scourgify dealt with the rest. She, meanwhile, looked like a little forest fey in her berry-red dress and lichen-coloured coat. Her skin was radiant, her head held high, and every time she looked at him her eyes lit up with joy.

It was perhaps not the best time and place for Tom to bring up his idea of moving as they passed by the noisy bar with the overflowing trash cans, but he wanted her still addled by his charms from the night before.

“You know, I’ve been thinking…”

“Yes…?”

“Now that I have steady pay, I could move out of that dreadful hotel.”

“Yes, I suppose you could.”

“So…”

“Well, there are a lot of nice places in Rome. I’m sure you could find anything the wealthy tourists haven’t snatched up already.”

“I was thinking maybe something around here.”

“Here?!”

“Well, it would be close to you, and I thought… it might be good to have a neighbour.”

“Yes, but…” She was about as opposed to it as Tom had expected. “I don’t think you’d be happy here.”

“Why not?”

“Well, look at it!”

“So then why do you live here?”

“I can’t afford anything better, and what with work I haven’t the time to search for something new.”

“So what makes you think I could?”

She looked up at him with those disarmingly large eyes he still hadn’t gotten used to looking into. “I had the impression you’re used to better things.”

“I can assure you, I’m not. I’m really not”

“Still, I…”

“Well, it’s not up to you, is it?” he frowned.

They walked in silence the rest of the way to the tram stop, both of them thinking their own troubled thoughts. Tom didn’t even want to peer into her mind.

“I don’t think you’d be happy here,” she said as they waited by the tracks, sounding as if she finally put into words a feeling that had lingered deep.

“You think you know me better than myself?” said Tom with a half-smile.

“I don’t know,” she sighed. “I just know I want you to be happy.”

Tom had the sense that the scenery was utterly inadequate for the sort of conversation they were having, and he wanted to slap himself for not bringing it up while they were still in her flat. His arms felt empty and he wanted to fill that emptiness with her. He settled for reaching his left hand out to grip hers. Her fingers wrapped tightly around his own and for a moment that was good enough.

“Well, happily or unhappily, I’ll stay here for a while yet,” said Tom. “I can’t go back to England without Torchia, my boss would have my hide. And it’s far too expensive for me.”

“You know it already has a buyer…”

“Only all too well.”

She didn’t ask what he planned to do about it. She might have, wisely, feared the answer.

“Still, you can’t rent here. I forbid it.”

Tom smiled in his most charming way. “But if I did, I’d be so much closer to you…”

“Plan to pay me more visits, do you?”

“Yes, actually.”

IV

They decided quite out of the blue while swaying in the moving tram to visit the Parco della Caffarella and see the catacombs. There were four of them in the area: the Praetextatus Catacombs, the Catacombs of Domitilla, those of St. Callixtus, and of St. Sebastian.

Between sunken Churches, ancient tombs, buried Martyrs and old caves, they spent a lovely afternoon, and each time they climbed back out the green expanse greeted them. It wasn’t like the parks Tom knew from England. It was wild and messy and alive with trees growing as they wished and unruly hedges and little animals roaming free. He stooped to whisper to a snake while she chased a white bunny that had peeked out of its burrow. It was, all things considered, a satisfying afternoon.

They went for a late lunch after that, deciding on a place neither of them had been to before. They took a shaded table outside and ordered their favourite dishes and ate while a slow summer rain set over everything. Their feet ached and they were still sleepy after the night before but the scent of rain on stone and in the air refreshed them, and they amused themselves watching other people scramble for shelter while they sat with wine and pasta beneath a large umbrella.

#tom riddle #tom riddle fluff

[cyan1decandy]

the dance of love's sweet potion.

also available on Ao3

pairing: Sebastian Sallow x f!MC

tags: fluff, one shot, you POV, house-neutral reader, jealousy, protective

word count: 5.3k

Warnings: MAJOR HEADCANNON, the books and the potions are all in my head just for the sake of this story, characters are in their 7th year, I finally caved and wrote the cliche protective and jealous seb and i fucking love it

Summary: When a potion meant to repel backfired, it became a mishap that turned your world upside down.

Notes: I was craving some fluff, so a fluff was created ❤️

Revulsaroma is a powerful potion that demands careful handling and discretion. Designed for specific situations where deterring unwanted advances or repelling individuals is necessary, its potency requires utmost caution. Ingredients: • 3 drops of essence of skunk cabbage • 2 crushed doxy wings • 1 teaspoon of powdered Boomslang skin • 4 ounces of extract from a Devil's Snare vine • 1 pinch of powdered Basilisk fang • Hair from the person brewing the potion

You carefully traced your finger along the intricate words laid out in the book you had kept from your parents’ dusty collection on potion making and meticulously followed the instructions. Taking advantage of the quiet after hours, you used the station at potion class to get on with your mission.

You’re not a pro in potion making per se, but the way you precisely measure out ingredients, stirring the potion with such poise, you feel as skilled as Professor Sharp– if he was plagued with a horrible disease of a red-haired boy goes by the name of Leander Prewett. 

For weeks, Leander had been following you around so relentlessly and constantly asking you out. It was cute at first but now it was starting to feel like pure harassment. Despite numerous rejection, it didn't seem like he’s the type of guy who understood the concept of boundaries and your patience was wearing extremely thin. 

You remembered an old potion you once came across when you were younger– Revulsaroma, a repelling potion. You figured it was time to revisit those pages since you’re in a dire need for a solution. 

You stirred the components inside of your cauldron with a pinch of determination, distress, and a lot of rage. The earthy and putrid notes filled the air and it was probably going to stick with you for a while but you surely hoped this was going to be worth it.

When the potion finally came to completion, you carefully transferred it to a pumpkin juice bottle to trick Leander into drinking it.

“Alright, that looks good.” You sighed in relief as you put the bottle down and stared at the securely stored dark liquid with pride, knowing that soon you’d be able to take a break from the unwanted attention. At least for a while just until you could figure out a permanent way to stop him, 

You proceeded to clean up your station and returned some tools that you took from the inventory room, making sure that everything was back in its rightful spot. Because Merlin knew that you couldn’t take another chide from Professor Sharp about the importance of being responsible and organised.

Just when everything was about to be restored to its pristine state, you heard a loud retching coming from the other room. When you rushed outside, you saw your bestfriend, hands desperately grasping the edge of your station, body racked with violent gagging, and breath ragged in a grave attempt to gasp for air.

“Sebastian?” You exclaimed while rushing to his side, “Are you alright?”

“Came to—bleughh—look for you,” Sebastian managed to say in between his guttural heaves.

“What’s wrong?” Your voice trailed off when you saw your pumpkin juice bottle collapsed and empty. Right at that moment, your eyes widened at the realisation that Sebastian just drank your Revulsaroma. “No, no, no. You bloody, bloody idiot!” 

Quickly, you summoned water from an empty jar that you found nearby and gave it to Sebastian who was still fighting the disgusting taste stuck in his throat.

Gulping down the entire water in a matter of milliseconds, Sebastian attempted to catch his breath, “Your pumpkin juice— is expired, by the way.”

“Oh my God, oh my God, Sebastian!” You ran your fingers through your hair in distress. What was already a pretty stressful situation just got a whole lot worse. 

“What?” He was truly not getting your frustration. He gagged once more, recoiling whatever last bit of that disgusting liquid he's tasting.

“That’s not pumpkin juice!” You scowled and gestured abruptly.

“What is it, then? Poison?” Every muscle on his face seemed to tensed up, still.

“Why would you fucking drink that? It was meant for Leander.” You grunted.

His grimace was then taken over by disbelief for a moment, “Gods, killing Leander is a bit extreme, don’t you think? Even for me.”

“No—ugh,” You sighed heavily, feeling totally overwhelmed. Slumping on your station, you rested your head on it "This is bad. It's really bad."

“You're freaking me out. What is it?”

You lifted your head from the table, meeting his concerned gaze with a weary expression.

“It’s a potion called Revulsaroma. It is supposed to repel whoever drinks it.” You admitted.

Sebastian was still focused on getting the foul taste out of his tongue, but his eyes were quickly narrowed in the scrutiny of your last sentence, “And why exactly are you trying to repel Leander?”

Catching Sebastian's look, a twinge of guilt pricked at you. You winced inwardly, realising you'd never really spilled the beans to Sebastian about the whole Leander debacle. Partly because you didn’t want to give him the wrong idea and thinking that there was anything romantic going on between you and the Gryffindor boy. 

The line on your relationship with Sebastian had always been blurry, if you could be honest. You’re obviously friends—best friends—but at the same time, the chemistry between the two of you would be such a waste to stay as friends.

You’d occasionally exchange innocent flirting, teasing each other and bantering in a way that felt more than platonic. You couldn't deny the butterflies in your stomach that fluttered every time he smiled at you and the way you felt when he complimented you.

Things had been going very well lately, and you'd like to think you had a shot to turn it into something more.

But now, he’s consumed the one thing that was going to seal the chance you have with him. Because whatever feeling he was going to feel, the potion was supposed to make him feel it so strongly. 

The thought of losing Sebastian terrified you.

“That’s not what we’re supposed to be focusing on.” You diverted the topic and reached out to your book, checking for things to look out for. Your eyes trailed the ink that explains the detail of the potion.

You noticed Sebastian had shifted his weight from the corner of your eye, moving somewhat uncomfortable in his feet.

"But what does that mean for me?" he asked.

You sighed, trying to collect your thoughts. "According to the potion's effects, you're supposed to start feeling aversions towards me," you explained, gesturing towards the brewing cauldron with a frustrated gesture. "and I have no idea how to reverse it.”

Your voice was heavy with disappointment. The same emotion was written all over Sebastian's face. There was silence as you both processed the fact that there was no quick fix to this mess.

“So, I’m supposed to hate you? Just like that?”

“That’s kind of the whole point of the potion.”

Sebastian's eyes scanned the cluttered laboratory, a look of resignation settling over his features. "Well, this is just great," he muttered under his breath. Sebastian's complexion turned paler, a nauseous expression crossing his features, "I think I'm gonna be sick."

Sebastian stood there, his hand pressed against his stomach, unsure if the wave of nausea washing over him was solely due to the potion's effects or the unsettling thought of hating you.

But then he felt his body teetering on the brink of collapse. You grappled his arm to provide support but his condition worsened in an instant and he started to fall backwards. Using every ounce of your strength, you were struggling to keep him upright because damn this boy was heavy. And when his weight eventually bore you down, you lowered him down gently.

There was no response even after you called out his name and shook his body. His breathing was laboured and you were panicking. You didn’t know the potion would be this strong.

Spotting a group of students who were passing by outside of the classroom, you called out to them for assistance. Sebastian was then taken to the infirmary and was given proper treatment by Nurse Blainey.

You had to awkwardly explain what caused the brunette to lose his consciousness. Given the fact that you were practising and using potions for non-study purposes, disciplinary action was necessary and you were required to attend detention tomorrow.

When you returned to your room that night, all you did was shift around in your bed. Spending the entire night thinking about Sebastian and how he will wake up in the morning hating you.

But for now, all you could do was wait.

 - 

When the sun rose, you were quick to get back on your feet and head towards the infirmary to check on Sebastian before breakfast started. But to your surprise, he was no longer there. Nurse Blainey said he woke up all energetic and there were no signs of any disturbance so she allowed him to get on with school.

You were slightly relieved to know that Sebastian was feeling better. Although the question of his feelings towards you remained unknown.

So you ventured on, heading to the Great Hall for breakfast. Moving along with a crowd of students who were also making their way to the venue you suddenly bumped into someone.

“Oh, sorry.” You glanced up to see it was no other than Sebastian, “Hey, I was looking for you.”

You’ve caused some traffic considering you abruptly stopped in the middle of a walkaway crowd. Some were bumping into you and muttered under their breaths in annoyance. It was a horrible time to be upsetting people—hungry and grumpy people.

So Sebastian dragged you away from the crowd. You were caught a little bit off guard at the sudden tug on your elbow. Your feet were almost stumbling around trying to catch up to Sebastian’s pace.

“Are you insane?” Was the first thing he said when you found a quiet little corner away from the bustling people.

Your stomach clenched. 

This was it. 

The memories you shared for the past two years dramatically flashed before your eyes— the adventures, the late night studies, the stupid unfunny jokes he made but you laughed at them anyway— fuck. 

This was it.. he hated you.

“Why would you tell Nurse Blainey the truth about everything?” He sounded quite aggravated. Unexpectedly, it was not for the reason you thought it would be— albeit he should be angry towards you for no reason at all considering the potion.

Your mouth gaped open but you were struggling to find the words. 

"You could've just said it was a bad batch for our assignment," He explained. "You didn't have to get detention for it."

“What?” You finally managed to sputter out.

“Blainey said she gave you detention.” He added, “I feel bad.”

You can’t feel bad for someone you hate unless they fall into lava and viciously die or something. Because to feel bad meant having empathy, and to feel empathy meant he cared, which meant he didn’t hate you and the potion never worked.

Right?

“So you don’t hate me?” You asked carefully.

His tensed brows gradually softened as realisation dawned on him. He was so focused on you that he never really thought of what the potion was supposed to make him feel.

“I don’t, actually.” He sounded relieved and as were you upon hearing his confirmation, “I guess the potion never worked after all.”

Relief washed over you like a cool breeze on a hot day. Though you started wondering if the potion didn’t work on Sebastian, it might’ve not worked on Leander either. Which meant you were back to square one, trying to figure out how to deal with his annoying arse. 

But it was a problem you didn’t want to think about too much at the moment. You were just glad your friendship with Sebastian remained intact despite the unfortunate mishap.

“So what did Blainey assign you to do?”

“She said Scribner has been fussing over some organising issues.” You grumbled, “She told me to give her some assistance after classes.”

“Yikes.” Sebastian said, “I’m sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry.” You retorted, “Are you really feeling alright?”

“As normal as I can be.” He smiled reassuringly, “Though, you still haven’t told me why you were trying to repel Leander.”

“He just..” You hesitated for a moment,  annoys me.” 

Technically, you didn’t lie. Leander’s entire antics had been nothing but annoying to you. Sebastian only pursed his lips and nodded. Be that as it may, his eyes were looking at you rather dubiously. But he didn’t pry further.

–

After breakfast, you had some time to kill before class started. You found yourself seeking solace in the quiet lounge area near the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. With a book on Revulsaroma in hand, you sought answers in its pages that you might have missed. It explained further about its history and the past research on this potion. As you delved deeper, a particular section caught your eye that described a crucial detail—

The Revulsaroma potion's effectiveness in repelling a drinker is contingent upon the absence of strong positive emotions towards the potion-maker. If the drinker harbours genuine affection for the potion-maker, the potion's repelling properties may be nullified or significantly weakened. This phenomenon is attributed to the potent influence of positive emotions, which can act as a counterforce against the potion's intended repulsion.

Before you could dwell on it further, Leander plopped beside you out of nowhere and casually draped his arm around your shoulder, interrupting your thoughts.

“Good morning, beautiful.” He greeted you with a smile so charming if he wasn’t so pushy about it you could see yourself giving in to his cheesy escapades. You subtly shifted away from the sudden proximity, hoping he would take the hint some time.

“Good morning, Leander.” You replied politely.

He seemed to be undeterred by your subtle attempt because he leaned in closer, “So, I was thinking, with the weather getting nicer and all, let’s take a trip around the highlands.” He sounded so enthusiastic for a suggestion that’s so inappropriate, “We could explore the beautiful scenery. My family has this cosy little cottage just outside of Keenbridge that we can use. What do you think?”

You scrunched up your nose because it sounded bloody ridiculous, “A bit intimate, don’t you think?”

“What’s wrong with a little bit of intimacy?”

“Nothing wrong with it, of course. If you’re a couple.”

“Oh, come on. You’ll love it.” Leander’s enthusiasm didn’t waver, if anything he sounded even more excited. 

“It’s too much—”

He interrupted you with a tone so persuasive, “Okay fine, how about just a simple Hogsmeade date, then?”

You sighed at his persistence. It’s really getting too much. 

“Leander, it’s really sweet but—”

Suddenly, your conversation was interrupted by a looming shadow casted over the both of you. Glancing up, you saw Sebastian standing there with an uncharacteristically serious expression.

“I’m going to count to three, Prewett, and you are going to stand up and get your arse the fuck out of here.”  He demanded.

“What are you going to do about it if I don’t?” He was annoyed  by Sebastian's sudden intervention.

The brunette’s gaze was focused on the way Leander had his arms wrapped around your shoulder and the way his hand was caressing your arm at the same time. Then he stared dead into Leander's eyes, “You don’t want to find out.”

Somehow you found yourself caught in the middle of the sudden hostility. 

“Sebastian.” You warned him softly.

“Ignore him.” Leander didn't care for the threat. But Sebastian wasn’t having it and when Leander was ready to ignore him and continue his conversation with you, Sebastian grabbed him by his collar that it forced Leander to stand up, and he dragged the red haired boy away and slammed his back into a nearby pillar.

“I told you to fucking stand up and get out of here.” Sebastian scowled.

“Get your filthy hands off of me.” Leander attempted to shrug off Sebastian’s grip but it only grew tighter.

“Then you better get yours away from her.” His voice was so low and menacing. You had no idea what possessed him, because as aggressive as Sebastian could get he wouldn’t be so quick to resort to anything so recklessly physical unless it’s necessary— at least not anymore.

“Are you both out of your minds?” You stood beside the conflicting boys, “Stop being children or you will get into trouble.” The confrontation was drawing more attention from onlookers, and you could sense the tension rising. 

A crowd started gathering around to see what the fuss was about. Students nearby paused and turned their heads, curious about the commotion. Whispers and side conversations began to buzz through the group as they watched the confrontation unfold.

You felt a bit awkward with the sudden attention. The whole thing was getting more dramatic than you'd anticipated, and you just wanted to find a way to sort it out before it got worse.

“What is your problem, Sallow?” 

“You are the problem, Prewett. Can’t you take the hint?”

“It’s none of your business.” The Gryffindor boy was defensive— as anyone would be if someone just randomly shoved you into the wall and told you what to do. 

“It becomes my business when you decide to harass her.”

“You are making a scene. Stop it.” You warned them, hoping they would steer away from the conflict. But they were still too busy with each other.

“Trying to be a big hero, aren’t you? Protecting her?” Leander was clearly taunting him. Sebastian wouldn’t usually allow himself to be bothered by whatever nonsense Leander would do. But this time was different,  “She doesn’t need you. She can make her own decision.”

“And she did, when she said no.” Sebastian retorted sharply, “So back off.”

“If you are so worried about me taking her out then you should’ve asked her first. Don’t come here and act all heroic because you missed your chance.” Leander fired back, “If you weren’t such a coward—-”

There went the last cell of Sebastian’s brain that allowed him to think rationally when he decided to punch Leander in the face, sending the red-haired boy stumbling and his nose bleeding. 

“Sebastian!” You stepped in between them, trying to push Sebastian back behind the line he just crossed. His eyes were glaring and breaths were rather ragged from the anger, “What the fuck are you doing?”

After being punched unexpectedly, Leander's pride and dignity were hurt. He wouldn't tolerate being attacked without retaliating. He mustered all of his anger and frustration to punch Sebastian with all of his force. 

But before he could, Sebastian struck again, landing a second punch on his face. Leander stumbled backwards again, but this time he was quicker to get back on his feet and lunged forward, swinging his fists wildly. 

Sebastian was able to dodge a few of his blows, but Leander managed to land a couple of powerful punches on Sebastian's cheek. 

Sebastian stepped back, his face red from pain and anger. Now the two of them had no choice but to fight, and you had no choice but to look for some help. Luckily, it wasn’t long for you to reach Professor Hecat, because when you returned to the brawl, Leander was already pinned to the floor with Sebastian on top of him, landing more punches.

Professor Hecat swiftly casted a spell that immediately shoved both of them away from each other. 

The two boys stood there with battered faces and were later sent to the same detention as you.

You had no desire in conversing with idiots, so when the three of you shared the space on one of the library aisle, organising books, you gave all your might to ignore them, especially Sebastian.

You thought he’d left his impetuous behaviour back in the catacombs two years ago, but clearly you were wrong. The way you aggressively shoved books into places allowed Sebastian to notice that you were furious.

“I know you’re angry at me.” He said, breaking the silence.

“Oh really? Didn’t think you’d notice. I was being subtle.” You replied sarcastically.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know what had gotten into me.” His voice was soft but outright, “You know I don't fight muggle-style.”

You remained cold. There was nothing about his apology that made you feel better. So you continued to ignore him and he tried to speak up again.

“Can we talk?” He pleaded but you ignored him. You picked up a stack of books and moved to the next aisle to shelve them in their proper places.

Sebastian followed you behind, not backing down, “I’m really, really, sorry.”

He seemed genuinely apologetic, but you were reluctant to give in. After all, his actions had caused this entire mess and resulted in the two boys getting detention.

You didn’t want to argue with him, but you couldn’t resist making a point.

“Tell that to Leander and his broken nose.”

Sebastian let out a scoff, “I’m not sorry about that.”

“Seriously Sebastian? You hit him first. He just reacted.” You turned to face him this time.

"He was harassing you," Sebastian defended himself, "I had to do something."

"Did you have to punch him in the face? Repeatedly?”

“Why are you defending him?” His tone was rising, "What do you expect me to do? Just stand by and let him flirt with you?"

“What is so wrong with that?”

“Because—” Then he stopped himself. Eyes flustered and flicked between yours like he was trying to gather his own thoughts. Then he let out a frustrated sigh,  “Leander is a self-oriented, self-indulgent, arrogant, selfish, insufferable jerk.”

You shook your head in disbelief and stared dead at him in the eye, “Well, right now it sounds like you were just describing yourself, Sebastian.”

Before you could say anything else, you left him alone in the aisle and this time he didn’t follow you.

—

It was Saturday morning, and while you had no classes to attend, you were still stuck with detention for a portion of the day. Not only did this eat into your weekend leisure time, but you also had to spend it without talking to Sebastian.

You sighed as you placed books somewhere in the corner of the library right where they belonged. 

Couldn’t help but think that spending your weekend somewhere in the castle, perhaps the undercroft, reading books and being alone together with Sebastian was where you belonged. 

Time sure felt lonely without his presence.

Then as if he could read your mind from miles away he showed up, “Do you like Leander?”

Shocked and confused by the sudden question you turned to find Sebastian standing at the end of the aisle.

His face was a patchwork of bruises and cuts, a visible reminder of the fight he had gotten into with Leander. A purplish bruise marred his cheek, and a small cut above his eyebrow was still fresh. Despite his battered appearance, his eyes were focused intently on you, filled with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat.

“What?” You asked.

“I spent the entire night thinking about you. I thought maybe you like Leander, because why did you defend him so much yesterday?” He rambled.

You opened your mouth to say something but Sebastian wasn’t finished.

“But then I thought, if you liked him, why did you want to repel him with the potion?” He continued, “And why did you reject him when he asked you out? Five times, over the past month.”

You opened your mouth again, but this time every single word you have learned seemed to have fallen over your head because not a single thing came to your mind.

There were two things that surprised you.

One, Sebastian spent the entire night thinking about you.

Two, Sebastian knew that Leander had been asking you out.

And your brain did not know which one to stress about first.

“You knew about Leander?” You finally said.

“We share every class everyday. You don’t think I’d notice?” He replied with another question, “He wasn’t subtle about it either. Was I not supposed to know?”

You fell quiet, unsure of what to say next. The more you opened your mouth, the more you found yourself with nothing to say. 

Sebastian waited for your response, but when it did not come, he continued, “Why did you keep rejecting him?”

You shrugged, slightly flustered, “Simply because I don’t want to go out with him.”

“Why did you not tell me about him, then?”

“It wasn’t worth mentioning,” you replied, avoiding his gaze.

“You’re kidding me, right?” Sebastian stared at you, as if he couldn’t believe your answer.

“It was pointless,” Your tone was rising slightly, “It’s not like I would ever date Leander. I wasn’t even giving him a second thought. So It doesn’t matter.”

Sebastian was silent for a beat before he spoke again. “It matters to me.”

Your pulse raced, and the air suddenly felt tighter.

Sebastian was staring at you, his eyes intent and penetrating. The silence stretched on, and you had to force yourself to look him in the eye

“Everything about you matters to me. You’re my best friend. We’re supposed to share everything, right?” He added, “Isn’t that what best friends do?”

As you stood there, guilt was eating you inside out. Your decision to leave him in the dark unexpectedly hurt him more than you thought. The look in his eyes was so unfamiliar you couldn’t pinpoint his emotion.

He took a step closer.

“Why do you care so much? It’s just Leander.”

“Don’t you get it?” He said softly, “It’s not about Leander. It’s about the fact that he’s been asking you out, flirting with you relentlessly, being so close with you.. in a way that is supposed to be only for me.”

You stood there, stunned. His words hit you like a bolt of lightning, and you felt a mix of shock and confusion wash over you.

Sebastian took another step towards you, his gaze steady and unbreaking, and it was piercing through your soul.

“It’s supposed to be just for me” He repeated the phrase as if he was talking to himself. The look in his eyes was intense, and you could feel how important this was to him.

A moment passed until you realised that you should respond. The longer you stayed silent, the worse it felt. So you spoke up, “Are you jealous?”

“Yes.” He simply replied.

His response set your body ablaze. You could feel your heart pounding in your throat.

“I was supposed to hate you, but instead I woke up that morning in the infirmary and I couldn’t be more sure that I am utterly and completely in love with you.” His voice dropped, “And when I saw you with Leander and hearing all the things that he said, I meant it when I told you I had no idea what had gotten into me but all I knew was every single cell in my body was on fire.”

You thought for sure your heart would explode as all of this sunk in. You had expected anything but a confession. Your heart was beating so fast and hard that you had to concentrate on breathing, or else it felt like you couldn't breathe.

“I spent the entire night thinking about all of the time we've spent.” He added, “I can't stop thinking about the sound of your laughter. The way you'd still genuinely laugh at the most unfunny joke I would tell. Or how your usual bright eyes would fall into a deep immersion when you read. And the way your delicate finger hovers over the edge of a page, turning it over.”

A smile tugged on the corner of Sebastian's lips as he recalled every little detail about you that only he would care about. The beat of your heart went faster with each syllable that came out of his mouth and every nerve in your body was shaking.

“I always wonder how the touch of those fingertips would feel on my skin,” There were so many things he wanted to say to you. Every detail of you that made him so desperately in love, “and how perfect your fingers would be intertwining with mine.”

For a moment, you were one-hundred percent sure this was all a dream. Because everything around you seemed so blurry and all of the sudden everything felt surreal. But when Sebastian took another step closer, and another until he was close enough to grab your hands and intertwine your fingers together, the haze dissipated. The way his touch alerted every single nerve in your body, you knew that this was real— he was real and he was in love with you.

The two of you stood there, inches apart, staring at each other with your emotions overflowing.

“We belong together.” You could see that his intensity and raw emotion was getting the better of him. His words were coming out quick and sudden, “I should’ve asked you out long before Leander did. Just another stupid mistake I made.”

He inched closer and closer until you felt Sebastian's breath on your lips, and your body trembled in anticipation. You took a deep breath and let yourself fall into the moment.

“You could’ve been too late, you know?” You whispered.

“Am I?”

You shook your head and smiled against his lips, “No, you’re not. I’ve been stupidly waiting for you.”

Sebastian's voice was soft and tender as he spoke again, “I’m glad we’re both stupid enough, then. And for many other things that make me glad you're finally mine."

“Even the potion?” You smirked.

“Especially the damn potion.” A smile spread across Sebastian's face.

Your breaths were laced with desire, and your thoughts went to the first kiss between the two of you were going to share. It felt surreal to have arrived at this moment that you had both anticipated for so long.

Your lips were close enough to touch. Your hearts were beating so loudly. And in this moment, it felt like a moment out of time.

When his lips met yours, the world seemed to melt away and everything else faded into the background. It was everything it had built up to be—hot and passionate and exciting.

You kissed him deeply and all was right with the world. Sebastian's hands wrapped around your back, and yours around his neck. 

Your senses were all focused on Sebastian, on the kiss and the way he made you feel. This was what you had been waiting for, and it was everything you dreamed of and more.

When you pulled away, your eyes were locked and you found yourselves smiling uncontrollably. There was nothing left to feel awkward or unsure of, and it felt as if a weight had been lifted.

Sebastian brushed his fingers through your hair. You were finally getting your happiness.

"I love you," He whispered against your lips.

“I love you, too.” you replied softly, brushing your noses together.

You spent the rest of the day making out in the deepest corner of the library, neglecting your detention. And when Madam Scribner found the two of you some time later, all dishevelled, you were granted another detention time.

But neither of you cared. Because it was all worth it.

In an extremely rare case, the Revulsaroma potion could have an unprecedented effect, completely opposite to its intended repelling nature. Rather than nullifying or weakening, the potion might paradoxically amplify and reinforce any existing strong positive feelings that the drinker harboured towards the potion-maker. Due to genuine and deep-seated love for the maker, the drinker might experience a surge of intense emotions that can be both overwhelming and consuming, such as, jealousy, protectiveness, and overwhelming affection.

#sebastian sallow fluff #i loved this sm 🥹

[cyan1decandy]

Short story under the break. 🔞

Don’t Tempt Me (AO3)

Sebastian Sallow x FOC smut, first time, masturbation, bondage, unprotected. ~4,990 words

“Why would I listen to someone so ignorant?” Sebastian’s angry voice echoed off the stone walls of the Undercroft. 

It seemed to her as though the word “ignorant” repeated over and over, each time it caused a new crack in her heart to form. It’s not as though she didn’t know Sebastian was brash, rash, and sometimes crass. She’d heard his sharpened tongue against Ominis when he didn’t get his way. And she’d heard him cut down his opponents, like Leander Prewett, without a wand. She’d even seen first hand how he’d pout and stomp off when his emotions got the better off him, which was far more often than not. But never had his words or actions wounded her so deeply. 

In the few months she’d known, and unfortunately grown to love Sebastian, her patience for his petulance ran deep. This time, though, he’d gone too far.  He’d taken her ability to think and do for herself and called it into question.  With one word, he implied that she’d act carelessly with not only her life, but his and Anne’s and everyone else that she loved. No, this time she couldn’t turn the other cheek. 

As soon as the word left his lips, Sebastian regretted it, but his pride wouldn’t let him admit his mistake nor gravel for forgiveness. So they stood toe to toe, stared at each other, both unwilling and unable to speak. 

Her chin quivered and her eyes filled with tears, but she held it all back. Over her dead body would she let Sebastian see the pain he’d caused her. 

Within a blink, her entire demeanor shifted, but Sebastian couldn’t put his finger on exactly what changed. He thought maybe her back stiffened and straightened, and that maybe her mouth seemed a little more puckered than it had moments ago, and her eyes were definitely no longer wet looking, but instead they looked dark and cloudy and perhaps a bit more tense. All he knew for certain was that the air around her was no longer laden with pain but was fraught with a quietly controlled rage. 

Without a thought to do so, moving purely on instinct of preservation, Sebastian took a shaky step back. Oh, but quick as she was, she caught the movement and even quicker still drew her wand to cast Levioso under her breath before Sebastian even processed her movement. 

A quick swish of her wand sent Sebastian to the opposite side of the Undercroft, sure not to slam him into the wall. Angry as she was, she couldn’t bear to cause him harm. 

Sebastian opened his mouth, presumably to make some excuse or demand to be put down, but she would have none of it. “Shut up!”  With another flick of her wrist she conjured a bed and let him drop onto it. 

Again, before he could speak to defend his heinous words, she cast Incarcerous, thick ropes wrapped around Sebastian’s wrists and ankles then anchored him to the bed. In shock from her bold actions, Sebastian lost all thought. 

Content that Sebastian wouldn’t go anywhere, she stashed her wand, placed her hands on her hips, and glared. “That was cruel and unnecessary.”

Too scared to rile her up anymore, Sebastian, wisely, kept his mouth shut. 

She plopped herself on the footboard of the bed and stared at Sebastian for several long moments, contemplating what to do now that she had control over him. When Sebastian felt he may go mad, she finally spoke. “I want to play a game.”  

Sebastian’s teeth clacked together as he clenched his jaw to keep from saying anything.  As irritated as he was, he knew he’d say something else to anger the witch beside him.  He also knew he didn’t want to anger her further.

“A game a truth.”  She hopped off the bed to stand by Sebastian’s head.  She softly caressed a finger along his cheek to his chin then conjured a small knife. 

Fear flashed in Sebastian’s eyes. Though they’d only known each other a few months, Sebastian had grown to trust her more than anyone, even more than Ominis and Anne. He spent more time in her company than all others put together. He relied on her much more than he allowed himself to admit; he relied on her for more than a dueling partner, more than a researcher and explorer, more than a confidant. He longed for her all the time and was painfully desperate for her to agree with him and see him and accept him as he was. 

Through all his time spent with her, he never feared her. In fact, he knew he should, he’d seen her wield magic like none other and take lives with barely a blink. In reality, shameful as he was to admit it, watching her aroused him more than anything else ever had. So fear had never been a feeling he related to her until that moment. Tied up, helpless, a pissed off and powerful witch holding a knife in front of his face, fear was thick in his throat. He realized it was also a powerful aphrodisiac. He figured he best keep that thought to himself lest he lose his favorite body part. 

Regardless of the fear, Sebastian listened intently to her. “I’ll ask you a question and you’ll answer. Truthfully, of course.”  She drew the tip of the blade down the same path on his cheek her finger had earlier. “Don’t think I won’t know a lie.”  She took a deep breath and turned her back on him. “If you tell the truth, I’ll do something I think you’ll like. For most quesetions, you only need to give me a ‘yes’ or ‘no’, but if you give me more, I’ll give you more. If you lie…” she trailed off with a shrug. “I don’t think you’ll like it.  Shall we give it a go?”

Dumbly, Sebastian only nodded. 

“What’s your name?”  She smirked when Sebastian’s furrowed his eyebrows. 

He cleared his throat, still nervous, scared, and much more aroused than he’d care to admit. To anyone.  Ever. “Se-Sebastian Samuel S-S-Sallow.”

She bit her lip to hide her grin. “Good boy.”  She lifted her knife to his throat which made him squirm uneasily. 

Instead of injuring to the poor boy, she carefully used the sharpened blade to slice the buttons off his shirt, leaving his toned chest on display. 

“Next question.”  She retreated back to sit on the footboard so Sebastian could see her clearly.  “Do you think I’m pretty?”

Of course, they’d flirted, nearly constantly. She suspected he might have feelings of some kind for her. She noticed how different he treated her compared to the other girls and she’d caught him staring a few times, but that didn’t mean he found her attractive or that he wanted anything romantically. She found she didn’t care any longer about embarrassment or propriety or any other such nonsense. She was angry and she wanted answers. 

Sebastian floundered because he wasn’t above embarrassment and had hardly admitted his attraction of her to himself let alone admit it to her. But he wasn’t keen to find out what punishment she had in mind either; and if undressing him was a reward, how far would she take it? 

His determination to see the game through loosened his tongue. “I don’t think you are merely pretty. I think you are the most magnificent, exquisite creature I’ve ever seen.”  

As they stared at me each other, her gaze unreadable, he heard his heartbeat thrum faster and faster. 

Deliberately, painstakingly slow, and without severing eye contact, she undid the knot on the tie of her school uniform then let it fall to the floor. But she wasn’t finished rewarding Sebastian for the truth she knew had been difficult for him to admit. She had never felt so brave or so bold and thought she quite enjoyed the different emotions that flit through his unwavering stare. So Sebastian’s real reward had not been the removal of her tie, but the removal of her blouse. Each button she gently pushed through its corresponding hole with graceful movements until that too joined the tie on the cold floor. 

She had some vague plan of what her end goal was, as long as Sebastian answered the way she hoped, but she hadn’t realized that she’d be affected. She anticipated nerves, but not how brazen Sebastian’s gawking would make her. She watched as any fear left in him evaporated with each new visible piece of her corset. His eyes widened, his breath hitched then doubled, his tongue peeked out to lick his dry lips, and his hips shifted restlessly. 

Her cheeks reddened before she could even ask the next tawdry question, but Sebastian hadn’t noticed her brilliant blush. He was much too focused on the undergarments he’d only imagined. She took a deep, cleansing breath. “Do you ever…do you touch yourself?”

All Sebastian could do was nod, his brain still focused on the pale skin he’d never seen before. 

Under his intense focus, she loosened the strings on her corset and let that join her growing pile of clothing. 

The satin combination she wore under her corset didn’t hide much, the shape of her round, perky breasts obvious as well as the darkened blush of her nipples. 

Sebastian tried to stifle a whimper but was unsuccessful. How many times had he imagined what her body would look like? Not once had he come close to how glorious she was. She practically preened under his attention, having never felt so desired or beautiful in her life. 

She tried to climb off the bed as gracefully as possible, but even on a good day she was clumsier than most, so she stumbled, but caught herself before making too much a fool of herself. Then her skirt dropped, leaving her in just her combination.

If she’d enjoyed Sebastian whimpering, it was nothing compared to the deep, desperate moan that he mindlessly let out as he tugged on his restraints and raised his hips to find any stimulation. 

Emboldened by his obvious delight, she lightly ran her hand up his leg from his ankle to the waistband on his breeches. Each hiss between his teeth made her heart quicken. She danced her fingers across his bare chest, stopping briefly to scratch a nail across his nipple. 

“Ugh, fuck,” Sebastian cursed under his breath, a hot arrow of arousal pierced through his abdomen and traveled down his groin. “Please.”

She traced his lips, enjoying the way his hot breath fanned across her fingertips. “‘Please’, what?”

He tugged on the ropes around his wrists again, clearly frustrated. He tried to string words together but could barely make separate sounds. 

She pressed her nose against his neck. “Do you ever think of me when you touch yourself?”  Her lips brushed the shell of his ear with each word. 

Sebastian nodded. “Every fu-fucking day. You’re all I think about. I think you’d jinx me if you knew everything.”

She giggled, quietly then kissed his cheek. She took her wand out and whispered a quick Evanesco to make his breeches disappear. “Tell me what you think about?”

Sebastian shook his head, fear returning to his eyes. “I can’t. I can’t tell you those things. Please don’t make me.”

She pouted then pressed a soft kiss to the center of his chest. “If you tell me, I might do it.”

He bit the inside of his cheek, weighing his options, with some difficulty. All he could really focus on was her scent and the way her lips felt and how incredible she looked. So, instead of really thinking about what he should or shouldn’t say, he blurted out the first words that traipsed through his mind. “I want to see you and taste you and ruin you for anyone else.”

She quickly dropped her combination, putting herself on full display for Sebastian for the first time. 

The only sound heard through the Undercroft was Sebastian’s heavy breathing. “Sweet, Merlin.”

She traced her curves, her fingers dragged Sebastian’s eyes along the route. “Have you seen a woman before?”

He shook his head, his eyes still lingering on her delicate form. “Not real-not in real life. I’ve seen pictures in books and literature.”  He returned his eyes to hers. “Let me touch you, please.”  He struggled against the ropes that kept him on the bed. “Please, I’ll do anything.”  His voice had taken on a desperate tone, a bit whiny and higher pitched than normal and it caused her to rub her thighs together for relief. 

She pressed two fingers against his lips and he snuck his tongue out for a lick which made her smile before she returned to her spot on the footboard. “So you’ve never touched anyone?”

Sebastian shook his head again, his gaze glued to her fingers that trailed up her calf and over her thigh. If any blood had been left in his brain, he may have been embarrassed to admit that not only had he not touched a woman, he’d never even kissed anyone. Slowly she spread her legs as Sebastian continued speaking. “I was too focused on school work and then finding a cure to care about that.”

She hummed in response and opened her legs further to give a better view of what Sebastian actually wanted to see. She dipped her fingers between her legs then raised them so Sebastian could see how wet she was. He strained to get closer to her, focused solely on sucking her juices off her own fingers. Frustrated he couldn’t reach her, he flopped back onto the bed with a pathetic groan. “Please.”

“Please?”  She slid her hand between her legs again and spread herself open, giving Sebastian a clear view of how wet she’d become. 

He arched his back, another tortured groan left his throat. “Fucking Merlin, please. All I want is you. You’re all I’ve ever wanted. Give me what I need or stop fucking torturing me, damn it!”

She thrilled at his impatience and borderline anger. Watching him break might very well have become her favorite activity. Of all the times he lashed out, it had never been from need and it made her feel powerful. 

She languidly slid her fingers inside her core, dropped her head back, and sighed in pleasure. This wasn’t the first time she’d imagined Sebastian in her place, but it was the first time she’d gotten so close to coming in such a short time frame. She knew how to curl her fingers for the most pleasure, how to get herself to completion quickly, but it had to be Sebastian’s eyes on her and his raspy grunts that got her so close, so quickly this time. 

With great effort, she lifted her head and watched Sebastian, but he was transfixed by her hand. She could see the bulge between his legs twitch and a large wet spot already formed.  “Tell me, am I ignorant?”

He shook his head, his rapid panting reminding her of a bitch in heat. 

“Then why say it?”  She pulled her fingers from between her legs with a whimper and crawled up Sebastian’s body, settling herself on his waist, covering all her interesting bits with her arms and legs. 

She thought she saw shame flash in his eyes, but that couldn’t be right. 

Sebastian clenched his jaw and looked away. “You hurt me.”

She snorted, positive Sebastian had fed her a line to manipulate her some more.  But when his cheeks reddened, she realized he’d been honest. “By befriending Lodgok? How did that hurt you?”

Sebastian turned his head away from her completely and shut his eyes. “From the moment you bested me at dueling, I’ve been willing, hell, eager even, to do anything you want. When you said you wanted to get advice from a goblin instead of trusting me I felt betrayed, like I wasn’t as important to you as you are to me. I wouldn’t think twice if you asked me not to speak to someone.”

She hummed, thoughtfully. “Sebastian, look at me.”  She patiently waited until his deep brown eyes met hers. “Until proven otherwise, I give everyone the benefit of the doubt. I may not give private information and I may take more precautions, but I refuse to hate someone because of their race. Hate breeds evil. 

“Besides, we need answers for a lot of questions,” she continued. “I’m going to get information wherever I can and make educated decisions based on that. I think it’s ignorant not to consider every course of action.”

She pressed her chest against his. “I want you.”  Her lips dragged along his jaw. She tried to reign in her delight when he hissed in her ear at her wetness that dripped onto his stomach. “But I won’t have you if you treat me like this. You either trust me the way I trust you and don’t put me down when we disagree or we go our own ways.”

“No!”  Sebastian jolted so quickly he nearly bucked her off his chest. “I’m sorry, I am. I’ll try to be better. I need you.”

She let her lips linger against his, but didn’t fully close the distance. “You need me to help you with your search.”

He shook his head. “I need you. Please, let me have you.”

She wet her fingers between her legs then raised them to Sebastian’s lips. “You said you wanted a taste.” 

His face twisted in something similar to pain before he captured her fingers between his lips. He licked and sucked her fingers clean, moaning from her intoxicating flavor. 

She pulled her fingers from his mouth but before he could object, she attached her mouth to his and shifted her hips against him, pulling a long, low groan out of him. 

Sebastian rutted up into her and yanked harshly at his ties, desperate for any relief. “Fucking shit, let me go.” 

Instead of obeying his weak commands, she licked his neck and sunk her teeth into his collarbone. 

He cursed his appreciation then attempted to nip at her lips but she pulled away. 

“Why are you tormenting me,” he whined, thrusting against, mindlessly seeking friction. 

She rolled her hips over his, sighing when his rigid length rubbed her throbbing clit. Her teeth snapped at his earlobe. “This was never meant to be a reward, Sebastian.  I am thoroughly displeased with you.”

His eyes widened, lips parted, breath hitched as he realized he was at her mercy and she was still angry. He watched as she slid down his body, nipping his nipples, stomach, and hips along the way. She made his boxers disappear with a flick of her wrist and a quiet word. Sebastian gasped in shock and relief. 

She bit her lip and looked at him beneath her lashes. “I’ve never done this.”

“Good.”  Sebastian’s chest almost puffed up with pride knowing he’d be her first.  He offered her a smirk despite his precarious position. He bit his cheek again to keep from begging anymore. 

She didn’t know what to do, so she did what she wanted. She traced the thick veins of his cock with her tongue, wrapped her lips around the sensitive head and sucked. She attempted to fit as much of him down her throat as she could but gagged and coughed around his girth causing him to curse and buck his hips. 

She gripped his thigh with one hand to steady herself and wrapped her other fist around the base of his cock. She pumped him with the same slow pace she bobbed her head up and down his length.  

She stopped her actions when she felt the muscles in Sebastian’s thighs twitch.  “Don’t come,” she whispered, then went back to work on pleasuring him. 

“What?” Sebastian stared at her wide eyed, positive he didn’t hear her correctly. But then she sucked hard, making him forget everything as he flexed his hips in an attempt to get deeper down her throat. He dug his fingernails into his palms to distract him enough to stave off his orgasm. 

Sebastian tried to distract himself but nothing could successfully make him focus on anything but the wet heat of her mouth, the way her tongue felt sliding against his length, and the tightness of her throat. Warmth started in his abdomen and spread, causing his muscles to tense and his balls to tighten. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. I can’t. I’m going to-fuck, please let me come.” His back arched off the bed and he bit his bottom lip in a final attempt to not come. 

Instead of allowing him his pleasure, she pulled herself off him suddenly, strings of spit and precum connecting her to him, then sat back against the footboard. 

Sebastian stared at her, the sight of his precum dripping off her chin nearly enough to push him clean over the edge. But his shock at her abandonment kept him in check. 

She grinned, meekly, then practically ignored him as she pleasured herself. She roughly plucked her nipples and plunged her fingers into her, quickly finding that sensitive spot deep inside her. She tried to ignore the squelching noises her body made, slightly embarrassed, but she soon found that with each sound, Sebastian whined and rutted and that made her forget any uncertainty. 

Not able to reach very easily, her position made her uncomfortable; so she shifted onto her belly, angling her ass to face Sebastian, offering him a perfect view of her decadent parts. She sighed and moaned, whimpered Sebastian’s name, gasped how badly she wished it were him touching her. 

Sebastian growled, nearly delirious with lust. “Drop the charm and I’ll do whatever you want.”  He licked his lips, almost able to taste her arousal in the air around him. “Please, I promise. I won’t stop until you can’t remember your name. Just let me go, let me touch you.” 

She ignored him and continued using her middle finger to massage deep inside and her thumb on her clit. Her moans grew louder and louder the closer she got to her release, she clutched the bedding tightly in her fist, her muscles tensing then releasing suddenly, warmth and light flooding her as her inner muscles clenched and tightened around her fingers and her toes curled. She whimpered as she pulled her fingers from her body then rested her head on the bed while she caught her breath. 

Sebastian watched her muscles clench as her arousal dripped onto the blankets beneath her. He’s never been so hard. His cock twitched, precum pooled on his stomach, his head buzzed with dizziness. 

When she regained function of her limbs, she climbed back on Sebastian’s lap and rubbed her wet sex along his length. His head pushed against the pillows as the friction sent a jolt of pleasure throughout his entire body. 

She laid kisses to his cheeks, chin, and lips. “You have two choices. I can let you go.”  She sank her teeth into his jaw, making him yelp.  “Or I can fuck you.”

Sebastian tried not to react, but couldn’t stop his deep inhale. “Is that a real question?”

She tilted her head, furrowed her brows, and pursed her lips, then nodded. 

He tried to catch his breath, but didn’t feel any more in control. “I want you. All of you. Now.  I’ll take you anyway you want.  I can’t wait any longer.”

Sebastian was barely finished speaking before she began lowering herself onto him. Having never been with anyone, it hurt for a few moments. She settled on his lap to wait for the pain to pass. Sebastian shook with the effort it took to not move. 

Finally, she lifted herself off, then slid down, only a slight sting remained and she loved how full she felt. Instead of lifting almost completely off him again, she leaned forward, chest to chest, and circled her hips over his. The movement caused the head of his cock to rub against her sweet spot and his pubic bone to stimulate her clit. 

The movement wasn’t intense enough to make Sebastian come, but it didn’t stop him from trying to get free of his bonds. He wanted to touch her, feel her skin, bury his fingers in her hair or mouth or body. His entire body ached with the need to feel her finally and to claim her. Because she was his now, there was no arguing that. He tugged and pleaded and huffed in her ear for release. He’d gladly lick the floor if she wanted. Anything to be free.

His pleas all went ignored as she continued rocking against him in a way that pushed her ever closer to another orgasm. Just as her body released all the tension again, she crashed her lips to his, catching his moans from her body pulsing and clutching at him. 

At the same moment she muttered a counter charm to Sebastian’s bindings. As soon as he felt them loosen, he wrapped his arms around her tightly and flipped them so he was finally on top, making decisions, controlling. He wrapped his hand around her neck, not to hurt her or cut off her breathing, but to keep her controlled. 

There was so much he wanted to do to her. He knew they’d have time eventually, but it didn’t register. He needed everything and he needed it right then. He kept himself nestled between her legs as he drew one pert nipple into his mouth and rolled the other between his fingers. She felt and tasted even better than he’d imagined. 

Sebastian threw her legs over his arms and pressed his thighs against hers, his weight keeping her bent  for his access. He easily slid inside her and they both sighed into each other’s mouths. Even though his arms ached from being tied up, he held himself above her.  He pressed his forehead to hers and moved in and out of her body slowly, establishing not just a physical connection. “You’re mine,” he panted between thrusts. 

She sighed and nodded. “And you’re mine.”

His answering smile stole her breath and before she could catch it, he picked up his pace, the wet sounds of their bodies coming together and the slapping of his skin against her the soundtrack to their carnal activities. 

He hit new, deeper areas inside her in that position, but she was sore from the first time and didn’t think she’d be able to come again before Sebastian finished. 

He broke eye contact when he felt the beginning of his release. He didn’t want to come, he didn’t want it to end. With great effort, he kept his orgasm at bay. His arms shook, his tempo faltered, he sucked a mark into the pale, pristine skin of her chest, and entwined their fingers so tightly it hurt them both. 

Sebastian hissed between his teeth.  “Not yet, not yet, no,” he kept mumbling under his breath. 

But she heard him so she grabbed his face and licked his bottom lip. “Come for me, please.”  The shock of her words caused him to pause his movements.  “I want to feel you fill me up.”

Sebastian, overwhelmed by her words, collapsed on top of her so he could use his hands to grab her face and kiss her. He groaned as their tongues met and tangled together. He pressed one last chaste kiss to her lips when he broke away. “Fucking hell, you really are mine.”

Instead of a reply, she shifted her hips to make him resume his rhythm. Which he did, and gave even more. It didn’t take long for him to come, the relief after holding back for so long caught him off guard. He stuttered a string of vulgarities and slammed his closed fist into the headboard, leaving a cracked dent, the pleasure so hot he was positive he’d burned up, so intense he went blind, deaf, and dumb. 

Sebastian didn’t know if he’d actually passed out, but when he could finally focus on anything beyond the seemingly interminable ecstasy, he still shook and twitched, but he also felt her hands in his hair and tracing circles on his back, whispering sweet words of affirmation. At least he assumed they were affirmations based on her tone, he couldn’t actually decipher the words. 

He lifted his head to kiss her, now that he could whenever he wanted he didn’t think he’d ever stop. She giggled and wiped some drool off the corner of his mouth. He’d have been embarrassed if he hadn’t been so blissed out of his mind. 

Sebastian, not wanting to crush the girl that for some reason chose him, begrudgingly pulled himself from her tight, warm body and laid next to her, his head on her chest so he could hear her heartbeat. 

She continued brushing her fingers through his hair and he traced random patterns along every bit of skin he could reach. 

She gently tugged his hair, causing him to look up at her with a raised eyebrow. “What did we learn today,” she asked. 

He grinned, lazily, contentedly. “That you’re even more incredible than I’d first thought?”

“Obviously.”  She kissed his nose. “But, also, don’t call me ignorant unless you want me to tie you up and wreck you.”

A full, happy laugh burst from him then he kissed her cheek and clasped their hands together. “Yes, right. So, I should call you ignorant every day?”

Playfully, she shoved at him and tried to get out of the bed, but he pulled her back against him. She squealed and giggled and nuzzled his face into her hair. “Never again. You’re the brightest, singularly amazing witch I’ve met.”

She squirmed closer against Sebastian. “That’s right.  Next time may not be so fun. I could use whips and chains.”

He pressed his growing erection against her back and pretended to bite her shoulder. “Don’t tempt me.”

#sebastian sallow smut #sebastian tied up? #yes please 🥵

[cyan1decandy]

Ahhh I have all my certifications now. Half the stress is over

#cc speaks

[cyan1decandy]

Lust Potion - Ominis Gaunt X F!MC

🔥 NSFW 🔞 MDNI

So sorry this is late but oh well, I’m having a rough week ✌🏻

Warnings: lust potion, dry humping, oral sex, uncut, pubic hair, unprotected p-in-v, choking (not breathplay, just restricting blood flow for a head rush), creampie

1.8k words

Ominis head swiveled when the clang of the Undercroft clock startled him from dragging his wand across the page of his book. His head tilted with confusion when a muffled whimper and uneven footsteps met his ears.

Was it her? Was she hurt? He quickly set aside his book and jumped to his feet, calling out her name worriedly. “Are you alright? Are you hurt?”

Another muffled whimper met his ears and he heard her slump to the floor. He was sure it was her now as he rushed to her side, using his wand first to assess her and then dropping his wand and letting his hands roam her to check for an injury.

Her body shuddered under his touch as she moaned, pushing against him and arching into his touch. He pulled his hands back like they were on fire, she certainly wasn’t acting right.

He tried pulling his hands back but she whimpered, crawling for his touch again, moaning and whimpering incoherently. He put his hands on her again, just on her arms and a full body shudder accompanied goose bumps across her skin. “W-what’s going on with you? I-I need you to tell me what’s wrong…”

She swallowed thickly, opening her mouth and panting slightly. “I-I’ve ingested a…a lust potion. P-please don’t stop touching me. M-my skin is on fire but your touch feels soooo good. Please…”

His eyes widened in shock and she moaned as she moved to push against his touch. He shyly squoze her arm and a long breathless moan slipped past her lips.

His own arousal swelled to life, unable to ignore the keening of the woman in front of him. She must have spotted it immediately as she reached forward to cup his erection in her lust heated palms.

A sharp inhale through teeth echoed as he moved back away from her touch. She whined at the loss, trying to move closer. “D-don’t stop, please…I can’t tell you what this feels like but you make it stop, please Ominis!”

He hesitated, heat flushing his cheeks as he moved to lean back against a stone pillar, a look of shock and embarrassment evident on his usually somber features. “W-we shouldn’t be alone right now…y-you may make a choice you regret later and I don’t think I have the will to stop you.”

She moved quickly, crawling into his lap and straddling him. She ground herself against him and his arms wrapped instinctively around her, head tilting back against the pillar.

She moaned, one hand coming to rest on his chest while her other braced on the pillar behind him. She ground herself into him, breath coming out in hot puffs against his neck. “C-can’t stop. Won’t regret. Just…please.”

The fight drained out of him at that moment, the long drags of her warm panty clad center against his trousers had him swallowing back a groan. She left him no choice as she rode the ridge of his erection through his trousers.

Whimpering moans and sobs of pleasure tore through her as she panted and moved her hips faster, legs struggling for purchase on the stone. He danced between bliss and utter embarrassment, if she kept going he’d be making quite a mess. “C-careful…you’re going to…”

She moaned, the hand on his chest sliding down to fight with the button of his trousers. He swallowed hard, his brain trying to play the gentlemen and urge her away from making this choice while in such a state but his body craved her almost as much as she craved him.

One hand still wrapped around her, holding her waist. His free hand met her wrist, trying to still the hand pulling his zipper down. “Y-you don’t know what you’re about to do…this is all the lust potion controlling you, think about the consequences!”

She moaned, still grinding on his thigh as she fought to overpower him. With a defeated noise he let her hand go and she whimpered, pulling his erection free of the last of its confines. “Ominis please. I know what I’m doing…”

He groaned, cheeks tinting pink as he felt the cool stale air of the undercroft meet his exposed erection. Her eyes widened, and she practically licked her lips. “H-have you ever gotten a blowjob, Ominis?”

He made a choked sound, head still tipped back, hand losing its grip on her as she slid down, laying over his legs, her warm breath ghosting over his exposed cock. “Gods…n-no. You shouldn’t. Just take what you need an-oh, fuck!”

He fights the urge to jerk his hips up when her silky wet tongue slid up the length of him. His cock throbbed under her tongue and a broken moan erupted out of him. “Great Merlin, your mouth is so warm.”

He heard a teasing giggle and his heart began to pound in time with the throbbing of his erection. She continued licking from base to tip, slowly and carefully sliding his foreskin down and exposing the glans of his head. “Fuck, fuck, fuck! Careful! Th-that’s so sensitive!”

She moaned, taking his sensitive head in her mouth, sucking gently. His hips lifted, palms planted firmly on the floor. Her mouth felt too fucking good and it was taking everything within him to not burst on the spot.

She bobbed her head slowly, taking more and more each time her head sank and her hips ground down against the thick texture of his trousers. He was red in the face, bucking and squirming as he desperately fough the rising heat inside his abdomen. “S-stop! I-I can’t take anymore!”

She hummed, pulling off of him with a pop and admiring the hard pulsing pink tip of him. She sat up, sliding back up where her soaked panties slid against his cock and he groaned deeply. “Holy shit you’re soaked…”

She placed her hand on the pillar behind him. Her other hand slid between them to peel her underwear to the side so she could drag her slit across his cock again. His back arched off the pillar and his hands moved to her hips almost immediately. He fought between the desire to pull her closer or push her away. “Gods you’re so warm there!”

She moaned, the lust taking over her again as she ground down on his cock. His erection twitched and she moaned into his ear, settling herself against his body. “I-I need to feel you inside. Need you to put it in. I-it hurts deep inside…Ominis.”

Her keening sent his head spinning and he reached between them, sliding his sensitive head over her slit. He groaned and her body shuddered against his chest, his other hand guided her hips down as gasps and moans fell from his lips as inch by inch he slid deeper into her. “Oh great Merlin you’re so tight.”

She was moving her hips, barely sliding but him being seated deep inside of her and the texture of his coarse pubic hair had her clenching around him needily. “Yes! Yes! Please! I’m so close!”

He flushed, shocked she was getting so loud as he reached up to place a palm over her mouth but when his fingers ghosted over her throat a sound akin to a sob left her throat and he decided to gently squeeze at the column of her throat.

He could feel her soaking wet cunt gripping him harder and he shivered in pleasure, fighting the urge to fall apart on the spot. He could feel her breathing and swallowing beneath his fingers and that mixed with the heady scent of her arousal between their bodies had him groaning.

He gave the sides of her neck a harder squeeze and her body jolted to a stop. Her pussy gets impossibly tight around him and for a moment he’s afraid he’s going to cum. Instead the sound of what he’s almost certain is her cumming stops him and he releases the hold on her throat, allowing the blood to flow freely again and give her a head rush.

She's gasping and moaning, riding the waves of her orgasm by slowly rocking her hips. He takes deep slow breaths, trying his best to ebb his pleasure down to a manageable level. “D-do you feel better now?”

He felt her nod against his throat and he allowed himself to relax a bit, bringing his hand up to caress her back gently. He tried to focus his attention on soothing her trembling body but found himself distracted by the fact he’s still buried deeply inside of her.

His cock involuntarily twitched inside of her and guilt filled him when she whimpered. She sits back, pulling away from his arms, he can hear the guilt in her voice and he instantly feels awful. “O-oh gods…you didn’t…oh fuck I’m sorry.”

He was already shaking his head, trying to stop her from feeling guilty. That was the last thing he wanted. After all he’d done his best to avoid finishing for fear it would make her feel used or taken advantage of. “N-no! It’s not like that! You weren’t in the right state of mind and I didn’t want to use your body like that without you being…fully aware of what that means…”

She was silent from where she sat in his lap and the silence between them stretched on. “You thought…what?! N-no I wanted you to enjoy it to! O-or else that’s just me using you. Oh Merlin…”

He pulled her back against him, smoothing her hair in a soothing manner. “Hey it’s okay. I enjoyed it, seriously. You feel absolutely incredible. I enjoyed what we did, darling.”

She hummed, rolling her hips against him causing him to inhale sharply. He’s still hard as stone and it’s driving him absolutely wild when she rocks her hips. “Shit…does this mean you want to…continue?”

She nodded against his neck and he groaned, letting her roll her hips, one hand on the globe of her ass where the fabric of her skirt is bunched and the other wrapped around her protectively.

Her head is tucked against his neck and the small whimpers and moans she was letting out were making his head spin again. “Gods…I-I won’t last long like this…”

She encouraged him, rolling her hips faster while she whispered naughty encouragement against his neck. Her pussy still spasming around him had stars sparking across the darkness. “Oh fuck, yes. Just like that! I-I’m so fucking close.”

His fingers splayed over the fabrics still wrapped around her body. He focused on the textures and the scent of her perfume and their arousal mixed together. The feeling of her breathing ghosting across his skin did the trick and he held her in place so he could thrust up into her, instincts causing him to hold her hips down so she wouldn’t let a drop escape.

He shuddered violently, the feeling of her going limp in his arms and letting him climax into her body only added to the experience. She was whimpering quietly as aftershocks wrecked him.

After he calmed down, finally loosening his vice grip on her hips she sat up and he could tell she was smiling. “Hey.” He let out a much less shaky breath. “Hey.”

#ominis gaunt smut #omg 👀

[cyan1decandy]

Who prays for Satan? - Priest!Tom Riddle (smut)

This isn't our usual dark!Tom, he's still fucked up, but not as dark as the other priest fics. Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated! Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: Priest Riddle is the reader's theology professor, a man she has always found herself interested in, but things escalate when she joins his church for her internship.

Warnings: 18+, smut, piv, guided masturbation (f), spanking, forced confession, smut in a church/in a confessional, choking, degrading, unaddressed age gap, power play, professor x student, religious connotations

Pairing: Priest!Prof!Tom Riddle x fem!student!reader (about 3k words)

"Please remember that you only have time until Friday to tell me, where you will do your internship. Have a good week, and don’t forget the essays, please.” The sounds of students hastily rising to their feet echoed through the room, but while some were desperate to leave, getting away from the professor who looked like God’s finest creation, but spoke like the Devil himself, others were desperate to catch his attention with bland questions he found himself annoyed by. 

“(Y/n), do you have a moment?” His voice drew her closer, past the group of students who looked at her with hate swimming in their pupils. She didn’t look at them as she walked past them, coming to a halt in front of the tall man with a soft smile glued to her lips. “Walk with me.”

Neither of them spared the others another glance as he strode out in the hallway, expecting her to follow him. It wasn’t the first class of his (y/n) was visiting, and it probably wouldn’t be the last, as she found herself awfully drawn towards the priest, who had taken on a few theology classes at their university. Something about him was different. Something she couldn’t let go of, no matter how hard she tried to. 

“I knew you’d turn in your essay days before the others would even begin writing it, but I was pleasantly surprised by your work this week. It was smart of you to use the famous Mark Twain quote: “But who prays for Satan? Who, in eighteen centuries, has had the common humanity to pray for the one sinner that needed it most?” It always stuck with me.”

“Thank you, Professor Riddle. You once told me how much you think of this quote, so it only felt right to use it for this week’s focus on sinning.” The throaty chuckle rumbling through him left her feeling surprised, not used to seeing him this giddy. His smile didn’t waver, not as they came to a halt in front of his office, not as he guided her inside, not as they plopped down on their designated seats. 

“Your essay isn’t the reason for this chat, though. I was thinking of what you said to me, and I decided that you can join my church for your internship. But I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t tell others I’m allowing you to do this, I never give out internships, and I’m only taking you on because I know how dedicated and smart you are.” Heat rose in her system, crawling up her throat to force (y/n) to avert her gaze. She had been desperate to find a church to join, not wanting to spend her internship as a simple office help, she needed practice, something to help her figure out what she actually wanted to do with her life.

“I highly appreciate this, thank you, professor. I promise, I won’t make you regret your choice.” Her eyes flickered back to his piercing ones, instantly sucked into his mesmerizing grasp. He was like a siren, luring her into his trap to feast on her darkening thoughts – thoughts she hadn’t been able to shake ever since meeting the tall priest. 

“I know you won’t, (y/n). You will start Sunday morning to join me for the first service of the day, and then we can go through your task for the upcoming two weeks.” 

……

“Professor?” Her voice hallowed through the empty church. It was still dark out, an early morning she had struggled to adjust to, and yet her nerves had managed to get her out of bed, finding her way towards these holy halls. Her sneakers met the ground as (y/n) walked up to the altar, letting her fingertips dance over the cold marble, appreciating the grounding sensation she was instantly taken over by. 

“You’re early.” Professor Riddle's raspy voice made her jump, she had been too distracted by her surroundings to hear him approach, slowly turning towards him with wide eyes. He was wearing his black signature suit, paired with the white collar she’d see in her darkest moments, making heat pool between her thighs. 

(Y/n) clawed her fingernails into her palms to rip herself out of the hazy fog calling for her, needing to stay focused before she could do or say something that would end her internship right there and then. 

“I thought you may need some help preparing for the service.” A sickly sweet smile tugged on her lips, forcing his teeth to rot from the mere possibility of tasting her. He took a step towards her, with his hands clamped together behind his back, giving him an extra authoritarian touch. But while her body screamed at her to take a step back, to find shelter behind the altar, her mind murmured to (y/n) to hold still, not daring to give in to his intimidation scheme. 

“I certainly appreciate your help, (y/n). I knew it was the right choice to pick you for this internship.” He towered over her, staring down at her with his gaze reminding her of a snake, ready to pounce, to sink its poisonous teeth into her quivering body. At that very moment, she was Eve, tempted by the eternal sin, and he was her downfall. She stood closer to him than ever before, front about to touch his, seeking the warmth he emanated in a place as cold as this church. 

“So, what should I do?” (Y/n) needed to get away from him, no longer trusting herself with ignoring the shameless whispers ringing in her ears. But the tall man didn’t back off, he kept watching her with that smirk that told her he knew exactly what she found herself bothered by. A losing game (y/n) had never been destined to win, burning out like a cigarette setting a petrol station ablaze, destined to burn to the ground. 

“Why don’t you choose this morning’s prayers?” He reached for the Bible resting on the altar, way too close to her. His front brushed hers as he leaned forward, reaching for the leather-bound book before pushing it into (y/n)’s grasp. Their eyes kept holding contact, even as his hand disappeared inside the pocket of his jacket, pulling free a black rosary. “Oh, before I forget. Here, I want you to have this.” 

(Y/n) didn’t get any time to react or to ask questions as he pushed the rosary over her head to let it rest on her chest. His hand kept holding onto the dangling cross, while his eyes flickered back to her confused ones. “They will know you belong to me, wear it whenever you are working here.”

……

Her eyes were focused on the bright laptop screen as she was typing away her notes for this day, promising to give them to Professor Riddle before leaving. Even though her thoughts were still all over the place, (y/n) found herself growing more comfortable around the tall man most students were scared of. He treated her kindly, and yet something was hiding behind his words and expressions she couldn’t pinpoint. 

“Are you done with your notes?” Professor Riddle’s voice filled his office as he stepped inside. (Y/n) didn’t lift her gaze at first, hastily trying to type the last sentence before she gave in and dared to look at him. 

“Just finished, should I print them?” He didn’t reply to her question, eyes fully focused on her upper body, trying to locate the missing rosary. With her breath hitched in her chest, (y/n) watched him approach, rounding the desk to find his way towards her. (Y/n) struggled to breathe as the scent of his expensive cologne clashed against her frame, forcing her to get lost in his darkening eyes. 

“Where is the rosary?” She knew that she had forgotten it at home this very morning, too tired to care about any rules and regulations, but her hand still snapped up to her chest, trying to find the missing piece.

“I’m sorry, I forgot it at home.” He didn’t give in to the soft smile (y/n) shot him, didn’t pick up on the exhaustion dripping from her words, solemnly focused on the way she had gone against his rules. His tongue kissed his teeth before he took a step back and stretched his ringed hand out for her to take. “Where are we going?”

“I wanted to go over this with you tomorrow, but it seems like tonight is the perfect time to do so.” (Y/n) was led out of his office and down the hallway towards the dark nave. They walked up to the confessional, and as he opened one door for her, he shot her a look that made her tremble, letting any protests die on the tip of her tongue. 

“Have you ever confessed before, (y/n)?” She was engulfed by darkness, and could barely see her own hands, let alone the man who was sitting close to her, behind the wooden construction keeping them apart. The scent of incense hung in the air, sticking to her like a second layer of skin, a reminder of their sacred surroundings.

“No, professor.” (Y/n) had been addressing him as “Professor” for the past days, not daring to use any other title, let alone his first name. But the second she used this very title to address him, (y/n) could tell that it would be the last time she’d call him that tonight, a shift was happening, something she was now taken over by. 

“It’s Priest Riddle to you.” The barely audible gasp clawing through (y/n) left him chuckling, followed by the sound of him shifting around on the bench, making himself comfortable as she grew more tense. “You sinned, you went against my rules. I must punish you for that, (y/n).”

“Punish me?” She hated that his words pushed excitement through her, forcing her to sit even straighter as if he could see her. Her fingertips began to tingle, her legs were quivering, unable to hold still as something she had only dreamt of slowly began to unfold right at that very moment. 

“Honesty will be the price of your foolishness, (y/n). I notice the way you look at me, how you seem to long for something you aren’t allowed to even reach for. Tell me, (y/n), what is it you so desperately seem to want?” Embarrassment flushed through her, followed by anger she couldn’t shake. How dare he ask something like this? How dare he try to embarrass her for a simple mistake? She should have left the confessional, stormed out of the church, and reported the man for overstepping. And yet she didn’t, already stuck in the trap he had laid out for her months ago.

“I don’t know.” It was the truth. She didn’t know what she wanted from him if she was merely longing for his touch, or if something even more desperate was guiding her on. She didn’t know if she wanted a simple taste, or to be swallowed wholly by him. She simply didn’t know. 

“How far are you willing to go, (y/n)?” Her mouth felt dry, unable to swallow as his words began to sink in. (Y/n) was grateful that he couldn’t see her, the way her pupils were dilated by the lust flushing through her, the goosebumps covering every visible part of her body as if she was engulfed by an icy wind. 

“Farther than I should.” A part of her expected him to break the spell they were now connected by, to pull her out of the confessional and scold her for giving in this easily. But the priest didn’t move, and neither did (y/n). 

“Spread your legs, I want you to touch yourself like I bet you keep imagining me doing.” With her heart in her throat, (y/n)’s hand disappeared beneath her skirt, slowly pushing her damp panties aside. A soft moan clawed through the student, grateful that the others had left the church hours ago. “Good girl, fuck yourself with your fingers.”

Another moan left (y/n) as she pushed two fingers into her tightness, spreading her walls as if she was preparing herself for his cock, desperate to take every inch. She kept moaning for him, choking on her sounds that grew heavier with every passing moment. 

“I can hear how wet you are, I bet you taste so sweet, like the forbidden fruit.” His words guided her on, ringing in her ears as if the Devil was calling for her, wandering through the darkness to reach his open arms, getting lost in his sweet promises. “I should imprint my palm on your skin for going against my rules. You promised you wouldn’t disappoint me, didn’t you?”

“I’m sorry.” Her needy whimpers left the priest chuckling, sounds that almost managed to drown out the ones clawing through (y/n). 

“I’m sure you are, (y/n). Stop touching yourself.” It pained her to pull her hand away, she had been close to giving in, ready to call out his name as her orgasm clashed through her, seconds before she could have reached paradise. The sounds of Priest Riddle leaving his side of the confessional echoed through the evening, followed by the sounds of him opening her side and stepping into the small space. 

She was pulled to her feet and tugged in for a kiss that left her moaning. (Y/n)’s arms found their way around Priest Riddle's neck, trying to pull the tall man even closer as if she were addicted to him. He broke the kiss to turn her around, pressing (y/n)’s front against the wooden wall separating both sides of the confessional. His ringed hands felt cold against her body as he shuffled her skirt up to her waist, letting her panties drop to the ground seconds later.

“I hope you prepared yourself enough for this punishment.” His ringed hand came down on her behind, forcing a yelp out of (y/n) who pressed herself further against the cold wood. Pain stretched itself through her, an unfamiliar kind of pain that made her ache for more. Once again, his palm met her warm skin, knowing that she’d struggle with sitting for the next few days. “I can’t wait to finally fuck you, make you pay for all these times I felt your eyes on me like a needy whore who doesn’t know when to stop.”

(Y/n) couldn’t protest, she couldn’t speak up to beg him for any kindness he wouldn’t offer. Only as she felt him pull away for a moment did (y/n) allow herself to breathe, blinking away the tears that had welled up in her eyes. 

“What do you want, (y/n)? And don’t feed me another lie. I want your honesty.” Chills ran down her spine at his dangerous tone, shaking through (y/n) like an earthquake set on ripping her off her feet. She had to deeply inhale, had to heavily swallow before she managed to put her longings into words, needing to break out of his trap. 

“I want your cock, fuck me, please, Priest Riddle.” A satisfied hum left the man, followed by the sounds of him ripping open a condom, prepared for his very punishment. It didn’t take long until she felt him at her entrance, slowly pushing into (y/n) with a heavy groan that dripped with need and lust clawing through him.

It felt as if they had been created for his moment only, bodies made to fit. 

“I should tell you to never sin again, to stay true to your promises. But you’ve turned me into a sinner as well, no promise could keep me from you any longer.” His words left her gasping, walls clenching around this twitching cock. He fucked her with urgency, set on proving to (y/n) and to himself that she was his, his to guide, his to punish. 

“You take my cock so well, I bet you dreamt of being fucked by me in a holy place, didn’t you?” His warm breath clashed against her tingling skin as he spoke his words, drawing a heavy sob out of (y/n) as she lost her grip on their surroundings. Tom’s hand moved like a snake, slithering back up to her throat to hold onto her, letting go of a raspy, “Speak when I ask you to.” 

“Yes, I did. I dreamt of it.” It was a simple reply, yet it was just enough to make the priest hum in approval. He twitched inside of her as he could tell that they both were ready to let go with their hearts pounding and their limbs aching. (Y/n) struggled to breathe on as he tightened his grip on her throat, forcing her head to rest against his broad chest. The priest stared down at (y/n), her lighthouse in the darkest nights, the burning bush to rely on. An anchor of safety. 

“Let go, (y/n), be honest once again.” She came with a gasp, with her eyes squeezed shut and her lips parted. A sight so ethereal, the priest followed her moments later, letting his teeth graze his lower lip to draw some blood. He pulled out of her all too quickly, to turn her back towards him with his bloody lip finding hers, “Now you’re truly mine, bound my blood.” 

And who was she to deny a sinner a wish this pure? At least it was on them to pray for Satan that night, since God no longer would pick up on their calls. 

#tom riddle smut #god damn that was hot #all the religious imagery is just #*chef's kiss*

[cyan1decandy]

Sebastian x Reader: come one, come all (One Shot)

Plot: Five years after graduating, two kindred spirits are finally getting married and their friends reminisce on their brilliant histories.

or, Lucas Brattleby interviews their friends on their memories and opinions of the future Mr. and Mrs. Sallow as a little gift for the couple.

Tags: None, fluff, overuse of the name Merlin, mentions of slight torture (hexes), lowkey bullying, lowkey codependency if you squint, obsessive behavior (but it's okay cause theyre in love), cursing, Lucas lowkey has a crush on Sebastian lol

[A/N: A line from this story is not made by me, "I would follow him to hell but I wish he wouldn't go there" so to whoever wrote that first just know your quote is the inspiration for this story!!]

“What is this again?”

The brat, Lucas Brattleby, had grown obscenely taller the last time Imelda had seen him, which was about 3 years ago when he was a rookie reporter covering her latest game. She heard he is now a publisher in his own right but didn’t seem to brush off that annoying lint in his voice back when he was still a Gryffindor matching illegal unsanctioned duels in the Clock Tower.

“A small gift of mine for the couple,” he grinned (still as irritating, she’s seen that grin enough times before she got her ass handed to her so forgive her for not being enamored), pushing the pen (recorder?) to her that she reflexively pushed him by his face. “Sorry.”

“And why should I do this?”

“Oh come on, Imelda. It’s just harmless questions to take us back down memory lane. It’ll be played at the reception and I promise I’ll send you everything before I finalize it just so you can make sure –”

“Alright!” She stopped walking, rolling her eyes when Lucas quickly assembled his camera, even quickly conjuring a chair and putting it at the center of the frame. Clearly, he knew she could change her mind at any moment.

“My lady,” he bowed dramatically, pointing a palm to the seat.

“Don’t call me that. You have 10 minutes before warm-ups start.” Lucas raised both of his hands in the air before quickly running behind the camera and clicking the button to start recording.

“I’ll be out of here in 5.” Lucas flipped a paper in front of him. “Let’s start with your name, a little something about yourself and where did you meet them.”

She took a deep breath, putting on the poker face she usually plasters on her face when talking to the media before her many games instinctively. “Imelda Reyes, Vice-Captain of Puddlemere United, and I had the misfortune of being in the same boat as Sebastian Sallow during our first year. She, however, was a little late to the party and wreaked havoc on my life when I was a fifth year.”

Lucas was meticulously writing notes in his fancy notebook.

“What’s the fondest memory you have of the couple?”

She scoffed, not even needing to think about it. “Sebastian? Definitely when he caught a bludger … with his face.” The memory of the cry he emitted pulled a real smile on Imelda’s face. “We almost lost and I would’ve killed him for it but oh was it glorious.”

He remembers this game.

“Didn’t he fall off his broom midair?”

Imelda waved a nonchalant hand in front of her face. “That girlfriend of his caught him with an Arresto Momentum so no harm done – well, except the crooked nose he sported for a week.”

Lucas chuckled with her, “And for the future Mrs. Sallow?”

“Nothing much, most conversation we’ve had was her beating me – beating me in a race, beating me in a duel, Merlin, she even beat me with the class ranking on her first year in Hogwarts. I had a five-year head start how was that possible?!”

Lucas smiled, reading that as bitter her words were she truly held no grudge over it. He was caught off guard, however, when Imelda suddenly had a small, serene smile on her face, her voice when she spoke softer. “She was … it was like I was always chasing after her. We all were, Sebastian always first in the race but … it was fun. I had fun. She made Hogwarts fun. A true competition, yknow? Didn’t have much at that point in my life.”

“Competition?”

“A friend.”

Lucas couldn’t help but be surprised – not everyone can be considered as Imelda Reyes’ friend as picky as she is, though he quickly fixed his face when she shot him a look that told him not to probe. “Did you ever think they would both get married?”

Imelda scoffed out a laugh, crossing her arms. “I knew the only way they wouldn’t get married is if Sallow got assassinated by one of her many admirers and even then I wouldn’t put it past him to somehow turn into an Inferi just so he can still be the one to marry her. I’m honestly surprised he held on for this long, pretty sure he would’ve popped the question the moment we graduated.”

“Technically, he did. They just decided to get married this year.”

That one made her laugh out loud, shaking her head at her old friend’s antics. Of course, she knew those two would get married, basically tied to the hip, always getting in and out of trouble with each other and for each other. Bloody hell, they’d been married since fifth-year and just didn’t know it.

“Typical Sallow,” she caught herself. “Well, Sallows now, Merlin help us all.”

Lucas rechecked everything on his notes, making sure to mark any and all important details of the words his enchanted pen has written for him as he spoke with his former Senior, Garreth Weasley, who was once a thorn on the side of Professor Sharp but was now a renowned Potions Master actively getting scouted by Hogwarts, his blends sought upon by the most respectable wizards and witches all over the world.

“Did I think they would get married? Mate, Sebastian almost bit my head off when I tried to ask her if she would like to be partners for one potion class. One! And we were sitting next to each other! I’m sorry if I thought I was being friendly?!”

Lucas has heard and has unfortunately been a victim of Sebastian’s … tendencies. You, despite being the top duelist in Hogwarts was always, more often than not, partnered with Sebastian in every duel. The one time Lucas had agreed in a quiet solo duel without letting Sebastian know his senior had caught him on his way to his potion's class and nailed him to the wall by his cloak while threatening him to never let it happen again or he will turn him into a pretty outline in the walls of Hogwarts with Bombarda.

He thinks that was the closest thing he had been to peeing his pants.

“Yeah, Sebastian doesn’t have the best track record with friendly males around his girlfriend.”

“They weren’t even courting by then how would I bloody know that –”

“Ready, Poppy?”

Surprisingly, the sweet woman in front of him has been the most difficult to track down. Amongst their mutual friends she was the one he had no idea where to start, especially after his only lead, her grandmother, had no other information to give him aside that the last she heard Sweet Poppy was down South Clagmar Coast ‘doing Merlin knows what’.

Thankfully, the citizens of Cragcroft were a bit more helpful and he was able to send her an owl about his little project.

“Where should we start?”

Lucas made sure she was framed perfectly in the shot before nodding to himself. “Nothing complicated Poppy, just first impressions or any memory you have of the young couple.”

She pursed her lips in thought, nodding to herself, “The two of them have always been terrifyingly intimidating, especially for someone like me. Seemed to just attract attention and trouble on their own – I mean, killing a troll in Hogsmeade on the first day – just a bunch of troublemakers they were. Brilliant troublemakers – which only made them scarier in my eyes.”

Lucas nodded in total agreement but he couldn’t help but squint at her.

“You aren’t exactly innocent, Ms. Hid-a-Hippogriff.”

Her eyes widened, blushing at the accusation. “In my defense, future Mrs. Sallow helped me take care of Highwing.”

Poppy recounted the memories with a smile on her face.  Her dainty smile grew bigger as she recapped happy memories she had with her classmates.

“But they’ve always been lovely. Lovely people and an even lovelier couple. Sebastian has always been bright and charming and surprisingly kind for a Slytherin and she … she’s always been unapologetic of who she was. It also meant she never judged anybody for who they are either.”

The woman paused, the smile on her face remained frozen as if she was in deep reflection.

“A true friend – one of the truest I had.”

Lucas was never in their circle, hell, aside from each other and maybe Ominis nobody was truly ever in their innermost circle despite their popularity. At every explosive trouble the two were always caught in he couldn’t help but wonder just what they get up to when they weren’t caught. Even back then he knew he would’ve risked his life and followed them no question asked if it meant his young self got to go to one of their death-defying adventures with them.

But being two years younger was a barrier he could never overcome.

It is refreshing to hear of stories from their friend’s perspective and not in passing in the Central Hall in Hogwarts where it’s all half-true, fabricated, or painfully hyperbolic. Maybe that’s why he had thought to do this, a reporter’s disease of needing to know the truth, the dark side of the coin they hid with their secrets and anonymities passed only in hushed whispers and clandestine meetings with each other.

“Are you excited about the wedding?”

Poppy nodded eagerly. “Oh, I’m extremely happy for my friends! It’s not every day two souls find each other and just not let go. I’m glad they didn’t. After all they’ve been through, they deserve to have each other.”

He couldn’t have agreed more.

“That they do.”

Mr. Lucas Brattleby,

I have received your owl, unfortunately, I will not be able to go back there till the night before the wedding as I still have a business to wrap up here in America. For the questions you sent, I shall send this Howler and you may record it.

I have nothing good to say about Mr. Sebastian Sallow, that boy had done nothing but torment me in my youth. It’s a bloody miracle he had managed to snag the Hero of Hogwarts as his girlfriend – terrible lack of judgment on her part I must say, we all have our flaws – much less agree to be his wife. If there’s one good thing he did do, it was willingly become a lowly servant to such a lovely witch. Least he could do, really.

However, despite their blatant differences and unfortunate similarities I, for one, knew immediately that not even Death could sever such a connection – not if Sebastian Sallow had anything to say about it, and trust me I speak from experience. They’ve fought through detentions, goblins, dark wizards, and a damned troll – I’m sure marriage will be a breeze in a park.

Well, if I’m wrong, then let the future Mrs. Sallow know I would be more than willing to offer a comforting shoulder.

Leander Prewitt Department of International Magical Cooperation

PS. To my darling wife Leonora, light of my life, the last part was a joke and If I somehow disappear it was Sebastian Sallow who did it.

“They give Sebastian too much credit when my dear friend was equally as obsessed about him. Do you remember Allia?”

Lucas snapped his fingers when he finally put a face to the name he hadn’t heard in a while but made sure to look around lest one of the younger students managed to hear such … delicate matters in the DADA classroom. “Didn’t she transfer during your 6th year? Something about personal … complications?”

Natty laughed out loud, doubling over with tears in her eyes. “Oh, that excuse was all thanks to Ominis swinging around his name. Our dear witch hexed poor Allia while she was asleep for trying to poison Sebastian with Amortentia! Sneaked straight into the Ravenclaw tower and cursed her to grow the features of a rat every time she even thought about Sebastian! The only way Ominis could convince our friend to take back the curse and avoid expulsion was at the condition of her transferring and never letting the couple see even her shadow again.”

He never even noticed that his jaw was hanging off his face.

“Oh, if everyone only knew that fights I had prevented if a Junior so much as fluttered their lashes at Sebastian,” she shook her head, still laughing to herself.

Now all the pieces he hadn’t realized were part of the same puzzle clicked on his head. The flat smile on her face that never quite reached her eyes every time they were surrounded by strangers, the grip she always held on Sebastian’s arms no matter where they were going, the ‘promise ring’ Sebastian also wore when traditionally it was just the girl who had it, and the absolute absence of Sebastian’s name when girls talked about boys they fancied in the common room when he was undoubtedly better looking than most students in Hogwarts.

“A jealous witch she was, thinks she’s good at hiding it,” Natty chuckled.

Lucas realized in horror that she had scared off the entire female student body.

“But by the gods was she better at hexes.”

When Lucas had heard that Ominis Gaunt had been working closely with the Minister for Magic and was undoubtedly being groomed to be his successor, he wasn’t exactly surprised. Everyone knew he would be someone important someday so Lucas had damn near lost all hope as he sent an owl to the man.

When he received a reply in a fortnight brought by a regal-looking owl, Lucas thought he must have some soft spot for his fellow alumni. But it would seem the man just had a lot to let out of his chest.

“Oh, the stories I could tell! If I had a knut for every time I had to rescue one of those idiots out of a horrific situation they found themselves in I would be richer than the Blacks!”

He’d never seen his hair this undone in the 7 years they had been on the same campus. Maybe Lucas was just that good of a journalist or maybe it was the half-empty bottle of expensive whiskey that was the reason for his loose lips.

“I mean, Sebastian was bad enough, but once he found someone who would willingly dive with him to whatever dangerous expeditions he found interest in and I was outnumbered it was a bloody nightmare.”

For the first time in his life, he felt pity for the man. It was never really a secret why Sebastian didn’t serve half the detention he deserved nor why neither of them had ever been expelled when a trail of evidence led to the both of them red-handed and always at the scene of the crime. But he has to give it to Ominis … a lesser man would’ve cracked at their mischiefs.

“And Sebastian … everybody knows he would’ve willing let himself be target practice for all sorts of curses if she had asked.”

Lucas can’t even defend his childhood hero. Especially, of the things he had learned from his previous subjects. It would seem even the mightiest of men would always buckle in the face of their true love.

“I-I’m sure they’ve done the same for you,” Lucas winced.

“Oh, they better, with the flaming hoops I had to jump through to make sure we graduated alive,” Ominis waved him off indifferently. “They are my best friends. I would follow them to hell but I just wish they would stop going there for one damn semester.”

Lucas snickered, unfortunately unable to hold it in with just how stressed the memory of the mischiefs his favorite couple got up to has brought Ominis. He was sure the older man would choke him but he just sighed out a laugh until the two of them were laughing to each other.

“I guess they have always been the perfect person for each other.”

Ominis nodded, leaning his head on his fist. “Yeah …”

He threw Lucas a look.

“Do you think they won’t make me their children’s godfather if I begged?”

Lucas bit his lips. “My money is on the eldest getting named after you so …”

Ominis groaned.

Lucas refilled his glass.

#sebastian sallow fluff #this was such a cute idea 🥺

[cyan1decandy]

The English Client — Thirteen

— PAIRING: Tom Riddle x F!Reader

— SYNOPSIS: The year is 1952. Tom is working for Borgin and Burkes. He is sent to Rome to acquire three ancient books of magic by any means necessary. One in particular proves challenging to reach, and the only path forward is through a pretty, young bookseller. A foreigner like him, she lives alone, obsessed with her work... until Tom comes into her life.

— WARNINGS: smut, masturbation, dirty talk, fingering, oral (f receiving)

— WORDCOUNT: 2k

— TAGLIST: @esolean @localravenclaw @slytherins-heir

I

She leaned back on her elbows for a moment, then they gave up and she crashed upon the bed sated and giddy. Fire licked across her skin from her thighs up past her tummy to nestle in her heart. Every breath was sweet and the naked darkness was the finest cover. She smiled, a little love-drunk, as she let her mind swim in the feeling for a little longer. Tom was sitting on the floor just at her feet, his cold hands rubbing up and down her ankles. She could feel his gaze slide over her but she no longer felt ashamed or shy. She just enjoyed knowing him there. Opening her eyes slightly and looking down at him, she smiled at the sight of his pale face in the darkness, his messy hair, his smile. He looked so smug… The bastard.

“Happy?” she quietly asked.

“Not as happy as you,” he said with a cocked brow.

“That’s… undeniably true,” she purred, and rubbed a teasing foot over the bulge in his trousers.

Tom hissed and gripped her ankle tighter. “Don’t play with me.”

“Alright,” she said, grinning lazily, and with a silky motion that was unlike any she’d been capable of before she pulled her legs up and curled up on the bed, laying on her side before him. “Play with yourself, then.”

He glared at her a moment as if unsure, distrusting, and… afraid? Tom was harder to read than the maiden text of a palimpsest, she hated that about him. And loved him a little for it too…

“Come on,” she pleaded. “I want to see.”

He huffed and it came out like a whine from his strained throat. But he didn’t need much encouragement, he was aching for it, even she could tell. His thin white hands undid his trousers quickly and, with his eyes still fixed on her, rolled them down his hips. He pulled his cock out while still kneeling on the floor before her. She bit her lip as she watched him, blood rushing once again to fill her face. Hurriedly she stretched to untie the belt from around her legs, pulled her panties off, then sat upright to watch him. Tom unbuttoned his shirt with one hand while the other kept tugging at his shaft, his lips closed tightly, in control.

She could hear the wetness as it coated his fingers, his thighs, and lower, could almost see beneath his fist a hint of that plush sac that hung low and full beneath him. Above, on every downward stroke, the pink head peeked out and she so ached to kiss it… It drooled over his fingers, a clear lick of slick sliding down and shining in the low light like a tear. Tom moaned deep in his throat and moved the other hand beneath him, cupping himself. He closed his eyes, back straightened, chest peeking in a straight white line from behind his opened shirt, shiny with sweat… He was so beautiful.

She braced her hands upon the bed and with a rush of courage parted her legs. Her breasts were cold, her nipples peaking, the shift just a pool at her waist, and between her thighs she let him see the swollen, blushing mess he’d made. Tom’s eyes opened, smouldering.

“Wider,” he hissed.

She smiled and obeyed him, leaning back braced on her arms to show him everything. Her heart fluttered and she moaned when she felt her wet lips parting, plush and sticky and so very warm. Her wetness trickled, cooling on the angles between her thighs and torso.

“Tom,” she whispered, arcing her back, presenting herself as if his look could touch her. “I want your cum, right here… between my legs…”

He glared up at her from beneath his ruffled hair, his lips so tight they were an angry line. “Oh, you pretend to be a good girl,” he chuckled from behind clenched teeth. “But you’re very naughty, aren’t you?”

“Yes…”

“Is this what you’re thinking of, hm? When you’re pretending to work?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know…”

He held back a laugh as if he really did know.

“You’re insufferable,” she huffed.

“You love it.”

She smiled tenderly at him. “Come on, Tom, let me see what it’s like… Do it, then I’ll kiss you.”

“Promises, promises…”

He cupped his sac with one hand while the other one moved faster, noisier, flicking beads of precum all over his lower stomach. She squirmed on the bed and heard him moan when, with an inner tickle, a fresh sliver of desire started dripping out of her. The hand that was playing with his sac faltered and with a pained sound he tilted his head back. The long line of his neck arched like a beam of light in the dark.

His hand stilled then his hips started to thrust, and with some effort, he opened his eyes again to look at her. With his gaze fixed upon her slit, still pulsing and leaking and winking at him, Tom gently leaned forward and rested his head on her thigh. She inhaled through her teeth. He was so cold against her skin… But his dark eyes were like two burning coals.

“Do you like it?” she teasingly asked.

He nodded, looking thirsty and hungry and hurt.

“Then kiss it.”

He looked into her eyes then, his face as pale and motionless as a mask but managing a glare.

“Kiss it nicely,” she said again, a cruel smile on her lips.

To help him, she tilted her hips a little higher and brought one shaky hand down to her lips. She pressed the pillowy flesh aside, not that he needed it, and showed him more of her. Her clit was sticking out from its hood, still hard and throbbing.

“If I’m not a good girl, then maybe you can be a good boy instead...”

Tom smirked and took a deep breath in, licking his lips as his gaze turned back down to her softest parts. He teased her a little, pretending to dip his head for a kiss, then pulling back.

“You’re evil,” she groaned.

He chuckled. “You have no idea.”

But then he lowered his head and she felt his lips against her. “Aaah! T-tom… Yes, right there…”

She could feel his cheek against her fingers and the rapid shifting of his shoulder on her leg as he rubbed his cock for her. He groaned but his lips pulled her nub between them, giving it a few quick suckling kisses.

“Tom,” she whispered, her head falling back in another lustful daze. “So good…”

He laughed between her legs but didn’t have any smart comments this time. Instead, his upper lip caught her clit beneath it and he slid his tongue below to lap at her throbbing hole.

She mewled in pleasure, her core clenching almost painfully as he dragged his tongue up slowly, then let it fall back down against to clean her. His moans and breathy cries cut his attention short, and with a few more sharp, hard jerks, he finished. Tom buried his cries into her thigh, biting at it loosely.

“Let me feel it,” she asked, her fingers moving to brush through his dark hair. “I want to feel it on my skin, please, Tom…”

With a parting kiss, he hurried to his feet, standing a little shaky, and dirtied her thighs with the last of his cum as it dripped out. His tip was an angry purple by now, peeking out from the soft skin around it that was as pale as all the rest of him. His fist was resting at the root, squeezing, holding it for her. Her eyes went wide at the sight of that small hole at his tip, flexing in its own way to spew his seed out in slow splutters. It landed on her inner thighs and from there dripped down to the floor.

“What a good boy,” she whispered, speaking without even thinking. “You were such a good boy for me, Tom…”

A choked little sound came out of him that almost didn’t seem like him — the part of him he’s shown to her so far. Did Tom have a thing for being praised? Perhaps.

“There’s so much of it,” she smiled, looking — without minding one bit about the mess — at the amount that had plopped onto the floor.

She traced a finger on her thigh, drawing small white circles while Tom caught his breath above her, fist still firm but all forgotten at his root. She looked up at him, her smile widening into a grin, and leaned forward to kiss a bead of sweat off of his stomach. Tom groaned and she felt his muscles tense.

“Do you want more?” he asked cockily.

“Hmm… Not right now.”

He smiled but didn’t hide that he was a little disappointed. It wasn’t lost on her. She reached up to take his hand and held it gently then slowly pulled him down onto the bed with her. With a light bounce, Tom fell onto the mattress limply, his chest heaving up and down just as hers was earlier. As he settled on her bed she got up quickly and before he could ask where she went he heard a click, and the room went dark. She’d just gone to turn the lamp off.

Tom curled up on his side, too lazy to even pull his trousers up. He licked the taste of her off his lips again and sighed, tired and content. From somewhere out there in the dark, she giggled as she approached the bed. Then he felt her breath upon his lower back and barely had time to react before he felt the quick and gentle peck of a kiss on the flesh of his behind.

“What are you doing?” he turned, feeling somewhat scandalised.

“Sorry,” she giggled, sounding not sorry at all. “Couldn’t help it. It’s so round.”

“You’re an animal… Get in bed.”

As silent as a ghost, she slid in beside him, crossing him to get to the other side that faced the wall. She kissed his cheek and tugged the shirt off him, and then his trousers too. Tom groaned but moved to help, rolling onto his back. Then, with still shaking hands, she pulled the straps back up her shoulders and dragged the duvet up.

“So you’ll stay with me tonight?” she gently said, nuzzling his shoulder.

“I guess I can’t refuse you anything,” he said, smiling tiredly.

She grinned and kissed him on the lips, a little peck to wish him sweet dreams, and tucked them both in for the night.

II

Tom dreamed about her. He must have been because he was hearing her voice in his sleep. She was telling him she would come back with him to England — which was strange, as he had never asked her to as far as he remembered — and asked if he’d finished killing him — which he instinctively knew meant the Baron — and then giggled at something that he said — a reaction which made him inexplicably happy.

His eyes opened and it was around now, when he took in her bedroom awash in morning light, that he realised she was talking, but not to him.

Tom was curled up beneath her floral, fluffy duvet in only his white undershirt and trunks. Her bed was soft and there were pillows aplenty, but the duvet was not wide enough for both of them. They had to cuddle… She must have pulled his socks off too at some point because his feet were cold where they stuck out at the bottom.

And he’d been so warm last night… He remembered fragments of it. Her hot cheek on his chest, her arms around him, her breath and her lashes and her soft hair tickling his skin. She’d thrown one leg over both of his and had one hand playing in his hair. She seemed to like it… He was already planning how to style it, just to please her more.

Tom had clung to her embarrassingly tightly, like a child with a favourite toy. His last thought before he fell asleep was that he could feel the smile on her lips.

Without turning his head, his eyes found her.

#tom riddle smut #i'm sorry i don't have words this time #brain is caught in graduation thina but cjuejfjeht #i loved it #*things

[cyan1decandy]

Saturn of ULTRA - Prologue

Plot summary: When a futuristic Hogwarts is constructed after a massive catastrophe, a new threat to wizard-kind emerges in the wake of such advancement. An unlikely pairing must work together to prevent history from repeating itself.

Tags: Hogwarts AU (canon divergence) | friends to lovers | aged-up characters (7th year) | NSFW content (magical violence, smut, language)

Waking with senses so ill-equipped ought to be outlawed. Incandescent lamplight induced squints and her eyes squeezed shut, annoyingly so after having been closed for so long. Her sense of sight shook the dust from misuse, eyelids dry and stinging as she strained to make sense of colours, disconnected from dreams, and, albeit reluctantly, reattached firmly to reality and the demands of the present.

She was horizontal, thank Merlin; standing was a language she lost to lack of use, especially if she didn’t have legs. Did she? Was she still human?

Her toes could curl, and the blankets shifted over her limbs, temporarily relieving her delusions. Remarkably, her joints did not crack from fusion, though atrophy had done a number on her.

Seconds passed as she gathered her bearings again, or at least enough to look around a second time, inhaling sharply when she met a pair of brown eyes wide as saucers.

“You’re awake!” cried a familiar voice, familiar despite the haze of memory that nearly failed her thrice. Female and soft, she combed through her mental faculties to place a voice to a face, and, once fully visible, a face to a name.

It all connected at once. “Poppy?” She croaked, the sound a hollow wrack, coughs immediately following suit.

"Yes, yes it's me!" Poppy's joy manifested in a giddy seat-bounce in the armchair at the bedside, radiating relief. "Can you sit upright? Shall I ring for a nurse?" But before her bedridden friend could manage a partial response, she was calling for one anyway, unwilling to leave risk to chance on this momentous occasion.

The waking girl found her voice again with an air of confusion. “A nurse?”

Small, spry hands grasped hers then, and with a feeble sense of self, she was soon sitting upright with pillows to prop, blinking snapshots of her surroundings as if to process them slower than experiencing the now at full speed. Sense began to manifest then, as she recognized lying in a hospital bed, all manner of potion stores lining the nearby shelf, the black chalkboard enchanted to mark up a real-time display of her vital signs, arcing and dipping with her rapid heart rate.

Abruptly, the nurse on staff was erased with a sponge, one Miss Ophelia Derby replaced with the healer taking over, Miss Nova Fenwick. 

A proper lot to digest awaited as she looked to Poppy for a slice of normalcy. With her, fresh memories of feeding mooncalves and scritching baby snidgets under their beaks soothed her brain ache, a small respite; call it intuition, but an inkling writhed in her unfed gut that the situation outside her bubble of awareness was grim.

As if to cram the notion deeper, Poppy’s subtle glance shift from eyes to throat fisted her self-consciousness, and so she felt about her face, noting all the important bits and bobs were still there, though something felt different…

Fingertips brushed the slip of fresh, sensitive skin, where it connected to the jagged, familiar skin of her neck. She followed it, from her earlobe to the hollow of her clavicle, scrunching her neck in an attempt to see it despite being physically unable to contort in such a manner.

The attending healer politely rapped her knuckles on the open door, asking if all was well before her eyes flared wide with the shock of finding her previously comatose patient sitting up and fully conscious. She spun on her heels, plaited hair whipping with the abrupt motion as she hurried off to hail a doctor. 

Alone with Poppy once again, the burden of her two most prominent, must-be-spoken words fell on her shoulders. “What happened?”

The weight of the question buckled then, as Poppy’s chest swelled with the kind of inhale only meant to precede difficult conversations. She let it out unbearably slow and prepared the words that would provide clarity. From her solemn expression, she wasn’t exactly eager to know.

And so, Poppy told her dear friend about the night that everything fell apart.

A Ravenclaw through and through, her pursuit of knowledge knew nary a bound.

But this was information she ought not to have asked for.

Though her wand rested in her lap again, the hawthorn conduit pristine save for a small scorch mark on the hilt, she felt as if the ancient magic in her had somehow perished. The news that Poppy shared had been so devastating, so life-shattering that she wasn’t keen on the next steps, the what-nows unspoken for the time being, almost in mourning. She was left with this lead ball of news in her gut, liable to pull her down with it as it sunk.

Hogwarts was destroyed.

Once Ranrok accessed the final repository beneath the school, a chain of events followed in deliberate, gutwrenching succession. 

First, her ancient magic amplified the effects of the repository. In Poppy’s words, it was like a magnifying glass held beneath a blinding ray of sunshine at high noon.

Second, when Ranrok was defeated, the magic was rendered unstable, and despite the ancient magic wielder containing it within a vessel as a source of rest, it remained hostile, churning continuously in the moments following, the volatile power fermenting in its own subatomic mass.

Then third, terribly so, the unbridled magic began to spread outward and up, pulverizing the very foundational bricks of the castle like shale rock beneath boots. Luckily, the professors were able to evacuate the school grounds exceptionally fast, with Aurors arriving on the scene to assist, but there was nothing that could be done to preserve or save Hogwarts. The clock face was first to fall, followed by the west tower, the Ravenclaw and Astronomy towers crumbling simultaneously, and then one by one, history, stories, and an era in itself were laid to rest in ruin.

That was in February. Seven months ago.

And the descendant of ancient magic had slept ever since. “Well, the muggle term is 'medically-induced coma,’ but that sounds awfully bleak,” Poppy sighed. 

She cried through her physical exam, tears ceasing only while being coached through learning to walk again, but as soon as her personal effects had been returned to her on the day she was discharged, they sprang forth with renewed agony, facing the outside world without knowing what came next, as if the pages of a book she was halfway through reading were promptly torn out, the ending lost for good.

And to add more fuel to the flames of guilt consuming her insides, she learned her advisor and mentor over the past six months had perished along with the castle as well. 

Professor Fig deserved far, far better, she thought, watching the valleys and hills of the highlands pass by in a blur of evergreen beneath the setting sun, as the Hogwarts Express rolled smoothly along the tracks en route to… well, whatever it was now.

Of course, they’d rebuilt the castle, she thought when Poppy went on to explain the aftermath. Students and staff banded together to erect a replica of the fortress they adored, though the unfettered magic, left floating about, anchored to the school grounds from the repository had… altered it, as time passed. When prompted for further explanation, Poppy refused to elaborate and remained blatantly cryptic, advising her to “keep an open mind.”

She ruminated endlessly in the weeks leading up to the start of term, during her physical rehabilitation appointments scheduled alongside the magic refresher compendium that Professor Sharp had oweled to her over the summer. “Seventh year awaits,” he wrote, each flourish of his rushed penmanship as punctuated as his tenor drawl, “see to it that you maintain your upward trajectory.”

Despite everything, the wielder of ancient magic felt wholly useless to the cause. Ever the diligent friend, her Hufflepuff companion provided reassurance, reminding her that she was bedridden and healing for the heftier half of a year. “Everyone is eager to see you again,” she added affectionately. “Especially a certain redhead.”

Garreth. 

Bloody hell.

He was the first of whom she asked Poppy for updates about, steering the topic of conversation back to brighter prospects. Before Hogwarts was felled, before Ranrok and his arsehat loyalists encroached beneath their sacred place of study, Garreth had gone ahead and topped off the culmination of months spent flirting back and forth, their friendship toeing the line marking uncharted territory, with an admission of his feelings that left her chest tight and her center of gravity knocked clean off its axis.

And despite being deemed one of the brightest witches of her time, she hadn’t a clue how to react before mumbling a pathetic, “I need to think about it,” scrambling off to anxiously breathe into her bed linens. 

Award-winning, frustrating, remarkable display of utter stupidity, that was.

She wouldn’t have the gall to approach him now and ask him to backtrack his feelings, months later, without a responding peep bridging the gap with a swell of awkwardness. 

A Ravenclaw through and through, yes, but she was certainly dimwitted to matters of the heart.

Commotion in the adjacent booths tugged her from the self-flagellation stewing in her feelings. She poked her head out of the lonely compartment, curiously eavesdropping on a swath of fourth years discussing some sort of ward approaching. “Once the train passes through, it’ll light right up! My uncle helped with the redesign, incredible what that magic has done…”

“Quite right, I’m excited to see it happen.”

It only prompted more questions, of which she was about to pose to the younger students, when the train slowed considerably in its locomotions. 

The voice of the stately conductor echoed through the corridor then, announcing to a chorus of animated titters and chatting. “Attention, students! We are now passing through the school ground wards, so you will notice some changes occur. Please remain seated, and ensure your personal effects are tidied, packed, and ready for arrival.”

Everything began to change in rapid succession, and she was wholly unprepared.

The first thing she noticed was how dark it became, all at once, without the ebb from daylight to night.

Then, immediately after, the train compartment transformed from the timeless warmth of woodgrain and upholstery, to sleek metal fabrication and dazzling light fixtures that glowed an otherworldly shade of teal.

The scenery outside her window drastically altered before her eyes, as the Hogwarts Express slowed in its approach of the train station.

And when Hogwarts Castle appeared in the distance, alight with fluorescent saturation, electric in its very existence, she was left in gobsmacked awe.

Thank you to @wedonthaveawhile for letting me 'borrow' her OC Nova from her story, The Serpents Hold 🤍 you are a total peach and I LOVE YOU

#garreth weasley

[cyan1decandy]

lorenzo berkshire • run.

summary: how do you define the man who embodies contradiction? a loaded gun wrapped in sunshine, a bloodhound cloaked in golden fur, a cheeky wink masking a deadly glare?

after some pushing, you realize you’ve always known exactly what kind of man Lorenzo Berkshire is. and perhaps, you also realize, he’s the most dangerous kind of all.

word count: 5.9k

warnings: forced proximity trope, SMUT, multiple orgasm, teasing, PIV, fingering, a chase through the forest, jealousy (slight weaponizing of mattheo), established boundaries entirely consensual, dark!enzoberkshire (meh), left the door open for a part two considering i never elaborate on where they’re going.

Lorenzo Berkshire. He is what he is, until he isn't.

Growing up, you always held your perceptions of Berkshire close. A sweet boy with a puppy dog stare, eyes like liquid amber holding the gentle warmth of a summer's dawn. Innocent lad with a cheeky smile that radiated like sunlight on a dew-kissed meadow--simply too damn nice for his own good. A walking ray of sunshine, wouldn't harm a fly with a feather.

He was what he was, until he wasn't.

You're not entirely certain when the switch flipped, when he chose to reveal his true self to the school and no longer cared to conceal it. You suspect it was around fifth year, perhaps during one of the winter months. You recall hearing it before seeing it, albeit faintly—the rush of footsteps, the sound of flesh meeting stone, the sickening thud of fist against face.

And when your eyes finally caught up to your ears, you recall yourself silently thanking the stars for the gracious gift of karma, and you'll never forget the silent exchange you shared with Berkshire as he was finally pulled, nay dragged, up and away from your cheating, scumbag ex.

He is what he is, until he isn't.

From this, the question still stood to linger: what precisely is Lorenzo Berkshire? These days, if anyone is to know, it should be you. You've spent ample time in close quarters with him, enough to dare attempt an answer. Moments etched in memory, his breath warm against your neck, his fingers tracing the contours of your skin, his lips mapping the crease of your thighs; among others. You suspect that, more than anyone else, you could provide a solid insight into the truth of this enigmatic man.

And yet, the answer eludes description.

How does one configure the blueprint of a man who embodies contradiction—a loaded gun wrapped in sunshine, a bloodhound cloaked in golden fur, a cheeky wink masking a deadly glare? He defies categorization, existing at the intersection of light and shadow, warmth and danger, innocence and intensity.

Understanding Lorenzo Berkshire, in his entirety, would mean subjecting yourself to the dualities of his nature—standing in both the path of his aggression and the shelter of his protection. It necessitates penetrating beneath his skin to fathom the intricacies of his design and ascending above to attain a panoramic view.

It entails becoming his adversary before earning the privilege of his friendship, which is precisely where you falter—because how do you become an enemy to a man who's already been silently protecting you for years? Who not only touches but worships you with reverence? Who smiles like sin as he kneels before your altar? Who, despite any provocation that may test his patience, has never and would never suggest severing ties?

Perhaps, you decide, the closest you can get is by first figuring out how to get under his skin.

——

"Enz," the word's a hiss, slipping through breathless cords. "You're moving too fast."

Enzo's response is terse, a nod accompanied by a faint smirk that dances across his lips before he continues on, unabated.

"Noted." The word carries zero sincerity.

You fight a groan, frustration simmering beneath your skin. Yes, you anticipated his lacklustre response, yet it did little to quell the mounting annoyance within you, creeping toward heights of Everest.

"Enz--where are we even going?"

It's pathetic really, your vocal inflection. A half-assed plea for a response you know you won't receive. He must detect it too, for all he offers in acknowledgment is a dry chuckle, effortlessly shoving a branch aside as he ducks beneath it. You groan, audibly this time, the chill wind cutting through you like a knife.

"Enzo," you beseech him, again, your voice a breeze lost in the vastness of the night, "please just slow your pace...talk to m-"

With clear reluctance Enzo pauses, abruptly, as though someone poured cement into his shoes. He casts a glance over his shoulder at you, his gaze piercing through the darkness like a beacon--brief and pulsing. You hardly have time to meet his eyes before he's moving again.

"We can't afford to slow down," is all he offers as he resumes his long strides. "Not now."

The urge to strangle him swells within you like a tidal wave, threatening to engulf your sanity whole. How you curse the moment you offered to accompany him on this perilous journey. How you yearn to be back in the safety of your bed, cocooned in the warmth of the castle walls, far from the chaos that ensues when you entangle yourself with Slytherin boys and their penchant for trouble. Yet here you are, a prisoner of your own folly. By this point you're certain you'll never learn.

You huff your frustration. "Gods, Enzo."

Without giving him time to deflect, you quicken your steps and reach out, grasping his wrist, instantly acknowledging the tension in his skin beneath your touch. Then, in an instant, two eyes the colour of burnt honey pivot to lock onto yours, and you see it--that ferocity. Bees buzzing with anger at the sight of their spoil. It's there. It's always there.

He is what he is--

"We've been walking for fucking ever." As you exhale, the air swallows your breath. "I'm not going to help you if you won't reason with me. If you don't tell me where the hell we're going."

"Your word was given, angel," it's short, cautiously curt, but it's enough. His tone a velvet glove masking the steel beneath. "Wasn't it?"

"My word was given, but it was also contingent on trust." You survey your surroundings. Trees, bush, and Merlin knows what else. Your shoulders slouch. "And right now, that's in short supply."

He blinks, eyes floating up and over your head, a glimpse as fleeting as twilight, before returning to meet your own. You see it again, swirling in his irises, though it's softened slightly by something you perceive as guilt. The winds howl, sucking air thin as the tension thickens, congealing in your throat.

"You know I'd never endanger you."

--until he isn't.

There's a waver in your gaze, torn between the desire to hold his sight and the temptation to descend on his lips. You don't miss the purity in his tone, a sweetness that saturates the honey in his eyes and leaves nothing but pure sugar lingering on your tongue. So saccharine it makes your teeth ache, yet you find yourself craving more.

At any other moment, you'd believe him. Now, far within the depths of the forbidden forest, the circumstances allude it.

"You doubt me," his voice cuts through the silence like a blade through silk. He couldn't miss your hesitation in a dream. You feel his skin turn to ice beneath your touch. "Since when?"

Doubting Enzo feels foreign, a betrayal of self. It's no secret that the man is troublesome, usually up to no good--but you've always known, even as his teeth graze your pulse and his hands encircle your throat, that the last thing he'd ever do is hurt you. This isn't your character. Tonight's different, and you know he senses it.

"Since you started coming out here in the middle of the night," your voice is a whisper, releasing his wrist before you could feel the inevitable leap of his pulse. "Since I had to bribe Mattheo with damn near half my worth to get him to tell me why."

One thing for certain about Lorenzo Berkshire, it's that he should come with a warning. A word of advice not to be deceived by his soft appearance. All puppy cuddles with sharply fangs oozing venom. A caution to approach with the wariness reserved for handling hazardous materials. An infomercial on how his embrace is as deceiving as it is lethal, a trap set with a smile and an eager wag of the tail.

Except, now, there was no smile. No wag. Just the trap.

"You bribed Mattheo." He repeated, his voice a low rumble like distant thunder, entirely disregarding the beginning portion of your statement. "And just what exactly did you have to offer to loosen his tongue?"

A lightbulb burst to life in your brain. A waking sun. A brazen flame. The answer, so glaringly obvious in retrospect, had been within reach all along. What rouses a dormant dragon from slumber? What pokes a sleeping bear to wake? It is the threat to their belongings—the primal instinct to protect what is theirs at all costs. To perceive any potential threat and squash it at it source.

This was your moment.

You could insinuate that you tempted Mattheo with your own tongue in exchange, perhaps alongside the opportunity to mark your knees with bruises. You could say you offered your body, your dignity, anything that might garner a reaction. Of course, the truth was far more mundane; it only took a meagre 30 galleons and a pinky promise to loosen Mattheo's lips. And he didn't even tell you anything worth knowing.

But if you aimed to stoke the fires of Lorenzo Berkshire's wrath and draw his fury upon yourself, this appeared to be the sole route remaining. For throughout all the years of knowing him, the one consistent trigger that never failed to ignite his fury was any hint of a threat...against you.

But before you could comprehend the lapse in your response, Enzo stepped closer, your name hissed through clenched teeth. "What'd you give him?"

Your heart thrashed like a caged animal. The wind billowing through the depleted space between your bodies, tousling his hair in the night. Did the forest always sound like this? Didn't he just say you couldn't afford to slow down?

Your gaze meets the air over his shoulder. "You're deflecting my question."

"And you, mine," another step forward, and you take one back. You can't help but notice his fingers twitch at his sides. "Why?"

Have you added astuteness to your Enzo observation list? If not, it must be at the top. He's always been a master at unmasking your bluffs with a single, cutting retort, dripping from the teeth with condescension.

Your eye twitches. "You're just full of questions tonight, aren't you?"

He doesn't find your deflection half as amusing as you do. "Only because I'm being met with evasive answers.”

"Huh." You cock an eyebrow, crossing your arms over your chest. "Nosey and entitled."

"Hm," he cracks a grin at that. Purely to spite you, you're sure. Purely to make your pulse skyrocket. "I prefer curious and expectant."

"Quite a pair of traits." Tension thickens in your throat. You force yourself to swallow it. "You know what they say about curiosity, don't you?"

His grin widens. "I'm certain you'll enlighten me."

You peer at him, your eyes searching for warmth in the dim of the forest but finding none, like bees seeking nectar in barren fields. You square your shoulders, trying your damnedest to ignore the distant howling sounds coming from the forests depths.

"It's a tale as old as time, Enz, I'm sure you've heard it." A branch snaps underfoot, the sound jolting you back to reality, but you swallow the instinctual yelp that threatens to escape your lips. "Curiosity killed the cat."

Before you can even process it, Enzo moves with lightning speed, seizing your wrist just as you reel from the inevitable impact of your back colliding with an ancient oak behind you. Pulling you into him, his face moves dangerously close to yours, your eyes converging, honey pouring over your skin, sucking you in like quicksand.

"You know there's another part to it, don't you?" his voice cuts through the air like a dagger, sharp and precise. He waits for you to settle before he continues. "Curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back."

That bastard.

"It doesn't matter what I gave him," you force yourself out of hesitation, your voice steady despite the rapid beating of your heart, the tingling sting on your spine. "I'm still here with you, aren't I?"

His silence is telling. Bottomless pits pin you down, an anvil in influence alone.

And then he breaks it. "It matters to me."

"Why?" you press, your curiosity piqued by his insistence. You're trying to drag this on for as long as you can but his intensity has you stumbling. Words flow like water. "Who cares, really? I mean-"

"Because," he slices your sentence in two. The latter dying from lack of purpose.

Your lips thin to a pursed line. You blink up at him through lidded eyes, mouth opening to speak but nothing comes out as he leans in closer, so close you can practically taste his breath. He'd never been possessive before, not like this. But perhaps you never gave him a reason to be. You've always been his, unquestioned, unsanctioned. Despite the lack of title. You know he’s only acting this way because you’re deflecting. Your heart barrels into your throat, desperate to claw its way out.

"Because I said so," he continues, his grip on your wrist tightening with each passing moment, his nails leaving indentations in the bark beside your head. "Because, whatever dept you owe him, I'll help you absolve it. Professionally."

A sickening grin creeps across your lips, and his eyes are glued to it. You're skinned raw under his gaze, his pupils so piercing you feel them in the marrow of your bones. You observe the subtle flicker of his tongue, moistening his lips as he gleams down at you--your saviour from above, your dormant dragon, your slumbering bear.

He is what he is.

"I don't need your saving, Enzo," your voice is a breath, as soft as a phoenix feather. As flaming as one too. "I need your honesty."

"My honesty." He repeats as he leans in closer, his hand shifting to gently tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. You shudder under his possession, his lips grazing against your jaw like fire and ice, simultaneously scorching and soothing. "I'll give you my honesty, angel."

You sigh as you hear the unctuous in that tone. You know he isn't going to give you what you're asking for, but he'll give you enough to quench your thirst. Classic fucking Berkshire. He releases his grip on your wrist, replacing it with a firm hold on your hip, anchoring you to reality.

"My honesty is I knew you'd try to come tonight, and I only let you because at least here, at my side, I can protect you." Warm lips brush feather-light against your lobe. "My honesty, is if Riddle puts a fucking hand on you, we're going to have a problem."

As the last few words spill from his lips, you feel as though you've got a sugar high, his words oozing with saccharine sweetness, like indulging in a bowl of chocolates or sipping from a concentrated cauldron of peach juice. They have a cloying effect, threatening to rot your teeth and stain your tongue. Just like his eyes.

And it's right then, that you come to a startling realization. You've always known exactly what kind of man Lorenzo Berkshire is. He's not one to overwhelm with his presence, but rather a relentless force, a perpetual energy that never fades. A silent protector, yet also a silent aggressor. He's a master of masking his anger, of controlling it with a precision that borders on chilling, only bringing it out to protect what's his.

Perhaps, you realize, he's the most dangerous kind of man of all.

"Always acting as my shield," you can barely get the words out, your voice soft and reverent, as though speaking in prayer. "My silent knight."

"Mm." Enzo's lips curve into a sardonic smile against your temple. "Only fitting for an angel."

His hands roam up your hips with a possessive urgency, pulling you closer to him until there's barely an inch of space between your bodies. His face buries into your hair, his breath stirring the strands as he holds you close, fingers digging into your waist.

"I know you didn't offer him what's mine," it's not a question, but a statement of absolute conviction, spoken with the confidence of a seer who reads the future unraveling before them. "I know I fuck you too good for that."

"You're right, Enz," you concede, lids fluttering shut, folding faster than a lawn chair in tornado season. How could you not, when he's exerting this kind of influence over you? "I didn't."

You still had no idea why the two of you were out here. And at this point, it was hardly an afterthought.

"Then what's your play here, angel," he growls through a groan, a ferocious intensity ignited in the way he's squeezing you, pressing your hips back against the tree. "What the fuck are you trying to do to me."

Your lips part, poised to release the words swirling within your mind, when a sound pricks your ears. Not a sound of your own making. Something distant, yet distinct.

In an instant, your eyes snap open, but the darkness shrouds any clear view, offering only faint glimpses of looming branches and rustling leaves. Enzo remains oblivious, seemingly consumed by the frustrated desire you've so eagerly drawn from him.

Your fingers dig into his shoulders, a futile attempt to push him back. "Enzo—"

"Are you trying to test me, angel?" Deep as the forest depths. As dark as them, too. His hands leave your hips and find your wrists, pinning them back against the bark above your head. "Make me jealous, yeah?"

There's another sound, now, drawing closer. You blink up at the complicated man before you, fluttering eyelashes fanning the crease of your lid. Bark burns into your skin as his intensity increases, body sweating under the heat of his eyes as they drip down at you, fever rising by the second— fear and arousal mingling as one.

"Enz-" you hardly have time to breathe before his lips are on your neck, and he's sucking. Hard. "Fuck."

Adrenaline surges you, rushing your lungs with rapid breath, sparks of lust snapping over your skin. Enzo has vanished, replaced by a storm cloud brewing with ominous intent, his once collected demeanour now a loaded gun with a cocked trigger. He was primed to annihilate, eager to erupt. You cursed yourself for pushing him to this brink, at this precise moment, as an impending threat loomed closer with unmistakable certainty.

A gasp escaped your lips as Enzo's teeth sank into your neck, branding you with purple pleasured marks of his possession.

"Enzo, damn it-" your voice is ragged, his lips trailing to the other side of your throat, the hold on your wrist growing tighter. You had to warn him. You didn't want him to stop. Your thoughts jumbled, your brain grappling with what to articulate first, settling on the throbbing pain in your wrists. "Gentle—"

Enzo groans against your neck, rolling his hips into you, fucking fire over every available expanse of flesh.

"Gentle." His breath tickles your neck, your thighs trembling, seeking friction as your hips move in rhythm with his. "I'll fuck you right here against this tree and the last fucking thing I'll be is gentle." A plea balloons in you, knocking teeth, choking. He senses it--a grin crawling across his lips in response. "That's what you wanted after all, isn't it angel?"

Nothing could stop the moan from fleeing your lips as he smirks against your pulse. Not even Merlin himself. Gripping the back of your head, Enzo crashes his lips to yours--hurried and unrelenting, the plush entirety soft and sweet and insatiable against your own. As quick as a lightening strike, you're drowning in his sugar, another realization settling on you like an encroaching dawn just how much of a taste you've developed for it. For him.

Then, he pulls away, breathing a command against your lips. "Run."

Your gut bottoms out--fear instantly drawn to the forefront of your ignorantly blissed brain--and before you can catch your breath or summon your stamina or attempt to direct some blood flow from your cunt back up to your head he's already propelling you forward, dragging you through the forest with a grip that could crush steel. Roots and branches blur past, the forest a chaotic whirlwind of greens and browns below your feet.

And it feels like hours, perhaps even years of running and dodging before Enzo finally slows his pace. You're both panting, gasping, chests heaving, but his urgency perseveres, gaze scanning the clearing as if in search of something, and then you see it, too—an old greenhouse tucked behind a few large trees, clearly abandoned.

Before you can process it, he's already on the move again, dragging you toward it.

He whips open the door and practically hurls you inside—the aged wood creaking on rusty hinges as it swings wide. His eyes, sharp as flint, dart back to survey the clearing you just fled from, and whatever he sees there seems to set his nerves on edge because before you can even blink he's striding toward you, his grip resuming its vice around your wrist as he pulls you toward a small supply closet.

You feel like a ragdoll. It's starting to get real fucking old. "Enzo-"

The words dissolve on your tongue when in an instant you find yourself inside the minuscule expanse of the closet, shelves stacked with gardening supplies, Enzo's breath pouring over the back of your neck, his body so fucking close to yours you can't take a breath without touching him. Reaching over you, he shuts the door and locks the two of you inside, engulfing you in a darkness so thick you can almost feel it clinging to your skin.

Then, there's silence, and suddenly you're aware of every inch of your existence, from the breath leaving your lungs to the sweat crawling behind your knees. Enzo shifts, as if uncomfortable, his crotch pressed firm against your ass and you can almost taste the intensity radiating from his eyes as his hands grip your waist, pulling you back against him with a force that makes breathing normally a distant dream.

"Poachers." He mutters against your neck.

Your heart hammers in your chest as you process his words, the gravity of the situation settling over you like a suffocating blanket. Poachers. You try to steady your breathing, but it's like trying to contain a storm within a teacup.

Your throats arid. "What do we do?"

You shift to adjust your stance, the sensation of Enzo's erratic exhales against your neck making your entire body tingle--and at your movements, he huffs, his grip on your waist tightening, his fingers pressing into your skin with an urgency that matches the pounding of your heart.

"We wait." He murmurs, his voice rough, like gravel underfoot. "Stop moving."

You need to shut up, but you can't. "And if they come in here? If they find u-"

Enzo's hand clamps over your mouth, silencing your words with a firm yet gentle grip, embodying the duality of his character. Strong yet soft. Cold yet warm. Your pulse quickens, your body reacting instinctively to his touch. Only Lorenzo Berkshire could evoke such contradictory sensations, stirring arousal in the face of danger.

"Shh," he cooes against your ear, his breath warm against your skin. "Trust me."

Lungs hitching, you nod, though the gesture is barely perceptible beneath his palm. He doesn't free your mouth, however, instead choosing to tease your earlobe with his teeth, his free hand on your abdomen, holding you tight against him.

"You can do that, right, angel?" his tone as soft as feathers, a gentle coaxing that wraps around you like a warm blanket. "You trust me."

There's that inflection again. As right as rain. You know he's fully fucking aware that the way he's speaking to you is calming you down, just as he knows you trust him implicitly. You wouldn't have been out here in the first place if you didn't.

And just as you go to nod, to give him the best answer you can provide to his non-question, his lips descend, claiming your pulse, his grip over your mouth intensifying as he attacks it--slow and silent and determined, your back arching and your lids fluttering in response.

"Mhm, you know I've got you," his free hand trails up your stomach, slowing just as his thumb reaches the underwire of your bra. "Always have."

In defiance of your good judgment, you clench, a shiver of longing fluttering over you. You groan against his hand, his growing desire pushing against your ass as evident and desperate as his movements. Darkness cloaks the closet, stealing your sense of sight yet all the others are overwhelmed by him. He's all-consuming, everywhere, everything—

"But this," five poised fingers start to glide down your stomach, his lips shifting back to your ear. "Is what you get for testing me."

Your skin jumps at the caress of his fingers tracing deceptively timid over your hips, thighs, like he hasn't done this before, like it's care and not punishment. His favourite oxymoron: the gentlest torture, the cruelest succour. You shudder, arching into him, searching for friction, and he tsks you, shaking his head.

"You wanted gentle, didn't you, angel?" The tease in his tone makes you want to choke him. Sort of makes you want him to choke you, too. "Consider this my version of it. Be good."

His fingers slither under the band of your leggings, a slow, torturous crawl toward the epicenter of your longing. Your hands grasp for purchase in the darkness, but there's nothing substantial to hold onto, just like the ephemeral sensation of his touch. He's both intimidating and unnervingly gentle, leading you to the brink of ruin with calculated precision.

You whimper under his palm, hips jerking toward his touch, desperate for more, but it only causes him to go slower. He coos another command to be quiet, a teasing taunt dripping with wicked delight, and you can practically feel the satisfaction pouring from his lips. He's laser-focused on unraveling you, on making you utterly undone before giving you what you crave most.

When his index finger grazes over your clit, you audibly groan, head falling back against his shoulder.

"You can't rush penance, angel," his mouth opens in a smile against your ear, though it feels more like barred teeth. That smile is as much deadly as it is pretty. "Let it simmer."

Every nerve in your body is on high alert, trembling with the intensity of his touch. You're swallowing air with a moan stuck in your throat; too dry, you realize, and feel like you're choking when he starts to move lower, two fingers shifting your panties to the side and slicking through your folds.

"So wet." He's barely audible now, even as he's breathing the words into your eardrums. "Mm, so fucking wet."

Before you can prepare for it, those same two fingers inch inside you, and curl. Your eyes roll, his palm pulling your head back tight against his shoulder as he slowly finger fucks deep into you--in and out in perfect rhythm, the sloppy sounds emanating from your cunt filling the dark, steaming space and making your skin prickle with hot shame—you're fucking dripping for him.

He growls, low in his chest, and instinctively your legs spread wider, inviting him deeper, inviting him to inebriate you further. You're caught in the perfect balance of his contradiction, teetering on the edge between disciple and devil. He worships you in one breath and ruins you in the next. A wolf in sheep's clothing.

"Mine." Is all he mutters, before there's a sound outside the door, and you both freeze.

Footsteps.

Almost immediately, you're ripped from the derogatory haze you'd just found yourself in—your body stiffens, tension coiling through your limbs like icy tendrils, turning your blood to frost. Enzo's fingers slow, though they remain inside you, adjusting ever-so-slightly to avoid the slick sounds your cunt makes every time he moves. You feel his teeth tease your ear, his silent way of telling you to calm down. That he's got you.

The footsteps draw closer, and there's no mistaking it—someone, most definitely multiple someone's, are lurking just outside the door—in search, of you.

But before you can even entertain the thought, before it has a chance to sink in and settle in the recesses of your mind, Enzo crooks his fingers against a spot that sends sparks flying behind your eyelids, his thumb applying just enough pressure to your clit to send you hurtling into a realm of sensation he introduces you to regularly, but not one you were prepared to face in this moment, under these circumstances.

You grit your teeth, the urge to scream clawing at the back of your throat like a caged animal desperate for freedom. Enzo is ruthless, merciless, driving you to the very edge and daring you to jump--driving you to the edge of sanity and forcing you to suppress the tidal wave of pleasure threatening to consume you whole.

The footsteps grow louder, veer closer, before they slow. Before they stop.

It's cataclysmic, catastrophic—a blaze raging in an open battlefield, a hellfire during open warfare. You hardly have a second to comprehend the sheer insanity of what you're engaged in before Enzo's pace intensifies and he yanks your head back against his shoulder with even more force, to the point you're certain the back of your skull will leave an indent on his skin.

His lips brush against your ear, practically daring you to cum— daring you to keep resisting.

"It's clear," a voice rings out, neither yours nor Enzo's. Footsteps pick back up and draw further away. "Let's move out."

And then, it's over. A weight lifts off your shoulders, a tidal wave crashing over you. Your body erupts, convulses, squeezing around Enzo's fingers and trembling against him as your climax charges through you like a raging bull, unstoppable and overwhelming.

You scream behind his palm, knees threatening to give out from under you, the gates of heaven themselves coming into clear fucking view.

"Good girl." He husks in your ear, working you through your high, his chest rising and falling against your back, the hunger evident in his words. "My little angel was so fucking good...I think she deserves a reward, doesn't she?"

You nod, the fervent desire for more evident in the desperate plea that crawls past your lips, only to be muffled by his palm. Enzo's groan reverberates against your ear, his erection painfully hard against your ass. With a swift motion, he withdraws his hand from your lips, unlocking the door and shoving it open, propelling you forward with a commanding grip on your hips.

He wastes no time in pushing you up against an old wooden table, the rough surface biting into your skin as he yanks your leggings down your thighs. His hand finds its way into your hair, gripping a fistful and pulling your head back toward his mouth, his lips hungry and insistent against your own. Meanwhile, his free hand works quickly to undo his belt, his urgency evident as he prepares to take what he desires.

"Did you like that, angel?" He breathes against your panting mouth, his eyes barely open, his belt hitting the ground at his feet. "You like what I fucking did to you?"

"Yes—" you're choked by a gasp as he slicks his length between your thighs. "Gods-fuck, yes!"

"Yeah, you did. Fuck, I should have edged you, I shouldn't have let you cum," his voice is wanton, despite himself. You're not even sure if he knows what he's saying. "But I can't fucking help myself. I fucking love ruining you."

He positions himself at your entrance, the tension in the air thick as molasses. With a single swift motion, he plunges into you, a symphony of pleasure and pain ripping through you as he fills you completely in one long, deep thrust. You gasp, your nails digging into the wooden surface beneath you as his grip in your hair tightens, the other latched onto your hip to hold you steady.

"Fuck, you feel so good," he groans, breath hot on your jawline. His hand shifts to grasp your jaw, pulling your lips back to his. "Always so fucking tight for me."

You can only whimper in response, his pace ruthless, and unhinged and unpredictable as always. His fervour is all the reminder of how you got here in the first place; the teeth, the force, the grip on your waist. There's a rough sound he makes in your mouth that you taste more than you hear.

He is what he is, until he isn't. Until he's someone else completely.

You're clutching at the desk and screaming into his mouth as his fingers find your clit again and amidst the onslaught you're hit by the realization that this man is everything—simultaneously overwhelming and subtle, too much yet not enough. He's a feeling that engulfs you, swallowing you whole until it fills your lungs, leaving you choking on the intensity of it all. Your lips move against his in perfect synchrony, your eyelashes fluttering with each powerful smack of his hips as he drives himself deep inside you, over and over and over again.

"Enz—" you sob through the kiss but he doesn't give you enough air to do it.

He pushes harder, a rasp at the back of his throat, some carnal thing. When he withdraws his lips from yours, his brows are furrowed in concentration. There's a fine lustre of sweat on his forehead, stray strands pulled across gleaming honeyed eyes.

"Cum," you swear it's a plea. You hear the desperation as much as you feel it. "Cum for me."

Your head lulls back as shocks of pleasure course through your body, the coil snapped, addled through the ecstasy, barely conscious of the way his panted breaths hitch at the sight of you in his hands, soft-eyed and puddled for him, broken by his touch, stripped of all structure just to be held up by his own. The sight and feel of you erupting sends him over the edge, his groan rumbling against your temple.

"Fucking hell—" his hips stutter, his breath does too, his lashes fanning as he pours his cum deep inside you. "Fuck."

You sink against him as he finally comes to a slow, thighs numb and wet, one hand slipping dumbly from the desk and running up through your hair, pushing sticky strands back from your forehead. The second orgasm is an aftershock of the first, it takes forever to recover from it, and before you can even register the movements Enzo has already pulled out, done up his pants and is helping you pull yours back up your still-trembling thighs.

As you turn to face him, he pulls you in. You kiss lazily and softly. The room feels sheeted in static. The electricity lingers on both of you.

When he pulls back, you let the first thing in your mind slip past your teeth. "You're unbelievable, Enzo."

He smirks, wetting his lips before leaning down and planting a small peck on the top of your head. "I'm yours, angel."

Lorenzo Berkshire is what he is, and what he is, is yours.

#lorenzo berkshire smut

[cyan1decandy]

(5) I n n o c e n c e L o s t

He finds her in a brothel of all places. A chance encounter, but one that will change his life – and hers – forever. – or: A story about a cowboy who falls in love with a prostitute, who happens to be so much more than that.

GENERAL TAGS: NSFW! Explicit! Size difference, age gap, slow burn romance. Cowboys, outlaws, prostitutes. Historical inaccuracy. Horses, guns, violence.

Chapter 5: The Doubts

m!OC x f!OC -- WORDS: 5.3k -- READ ON AO3

when a man questions everything

Chapter 4 -- Chapter 6

5

It's been one of the stupidest ideas he's ever had. Taking her away, bringing her here, leaving her alone. Exposing her to the real world. All on a whim and a warm sensation in his stomach.

Now the anger sits like a burning stone in his guts, barely contained, but he refrains, for her sake, as he holds her in his arms, this tiny body pressed to his, curled up on his lap, feet tugged beneath his thigh, knees poking his side, arms in a chokehold around his neck, breasts squished between them. She's shivering, sobbing quietly, hot tears dripping down his neck.

He can't believe he left her. He should have known better.

His exhale is rough, making strands of her hair fly. His arms tighten around her small frame, his large hands splayed on her cold skin. He's going to kill whoever touched her, whoever tried to – A grunt escapes him, and he buries his face in her hair, holding down the rage that's threatening to consume him.

The image of her lying on the ground like that, left behind by whoever he's scared away, has burnt itself into his brain. He's heard the muffled scream over the bubbling of the creek, he's rushed back, hearing her call his name in nothing but sheer panic, and in his own panic, he didn't see who fled the scene, it was too dark, his senses clouded by his own fear. Of losing her. Of not being able to protect her.

And he has failed her.

He may have prevented worse, but she has still been assaulted, in the camp he has thought was safe for her, but he should have known better. These other men, except Mitch, shouldn't be around a young girl like her. None of them. Especially Steve. But Ben has been blinded by how the other women of the camp dealt with the degenerates, how they've accepted that Steve had changed (or so they'd hoped).

Was it Bill? Was it revenge for the broken nose? Joe for being told to shut up? Or Bob, avenging his friends? Was it Ben's own fault for bringing someone this young (and beautiful) into their camp? A former prostitute who may never be able to get rid of that stigma? Keira's kid...

Something hot curls inside his stomach, hot and heavy, lurching upwards like bile, burning at the edge of his throat, forming a lump, making it hard to breathe. He holds her closer, pressing his face into her hair and neck, trying to breathe her in, feel her warmth, soak up her tears. “I'm so sorry, baby,” he growls hoarsely, pressing his eyes shut to keep the burning down.

Her hands move into his hair, gently up the curve of his head, pressing into his scalp, her sobs have gone quiet, her chest no longer rising and falling rapidly against him. Her shaking breath hot on his neck, trembling lips so close to his own rapid pulse. “Not your fault,” she mumbles into him, a soft hum against his skin.

A groan escapes him, and he slowly loosens his tight embrace around her, gently placing his large hands on her upper arms, pulling her back to look at her. Her fingers slip from his hair, resting on his shoulders as she looks at him with reddened eyes, glistening, wide. Long lashes clumped and wet. Cheeks splotched with red. Lips, full lips, parted and trembling.

He wants to grab her face and press his mouth to hers, kiss the sorrow away, distract her from the raging turmoil inside her pure soul. But he only looks at her, his eyebrows furrowed, forehead creased, lips tight. Her trembling fingers ghost over his neck, fingertips touching his jaw, as if she tries to ease the tension in his face – when it should be him who should ease her tension.

“Tell me what you saw,” he says darkly, his voice a low rumble in his throat.

She swallows, licking her lips, her fingers rubbing over his bearded cheeks as she stares at his mouth instead of his eyes. “I... I don't know, it was dark, I saw a face, but I can't remember... can't...” Her voice breaks as a sudden sob emerges from her quivering lips.

He inhales sharply and pulls her back against his chest, his large hand splayed on her bare back, warm and reassuring. A shudder rushes through her. “Anything?” he mutters into her hair.

“No,” she croaks. “M'sorry...”

“Don't apologize,” he growls, moving his hand up her neck and into her hair, feeling the soft strands gliding between his calloused fingers. “It's okay...” It's not okay. He has to find the bastard who did this...

While his mind starts imagining all the possible ways of how to punish and destroy (and kill) her attacker, Nebbia shifts on his lap, her knees slipping on either side of his hips while she leans against him, and it's when she winces that the fantasy of skinning the fucker alive dissipates from behind his eyelids.

“You're hurt,” he groans quietly. It's not a question this time. “Let me see you.”

She leans back, biting her lip, raising one hand to wipe at her eyes. His hands are on her upper arms as he pushes her gently off his thighs, making her stand on trembling limbs. She's so tiny as she stands before him, completely naked, nestled between his legs, her arms raised instinctively to cover her chest, shoulders slumped.

“Let me see you,” he repeats softly, watching her closely. “Please.”

She takes a shuddering breath and lowers her arms, clenching her hands to fists at her side. His eyes start their journey over her slender body. There are a few scratches on her cheek (he raises a hand and traces his finger over them carefully), her lips are a little swollen (his thumb presses against her bottom lip), a bit of dirt is caked to her chin (he scratches it off with his fingernail).

Moving her hair aside, he lets his hand wander over her shoulder and down her arm, long fingers sliding over her delicate skin. She shivers, but doesn't move, lets him touch and see her. His eyes wander over the small mounds of her breasts, there's a bit of mud between them. He reaches up, but hesitates, looking into her face, waiting for confirmation. Her chin jerks into a nod.

Gently he moves his palm into the valley between them, rubbing at the dirt, then slowly, carefully, almost hesitantly, puts his large hands over her small breasts, feels their warmth, their weight, their texture, feels her nipples harden under the touch, poking against his palms. He gives them a gentle squeeze, nothing more, then brushes the earth off her skin, and moves on, reluctantly.

His hands slide along her sides, into the dip of her waist, following the swell of her hips, down the length of her legs, fingers brushing over the creases between her rear and the back of her thighs. He sees goosebumps rippling over her skin in the wake of his touches. She stands perfectly still, watching him with bated breath. His eyes wander towards the small patch of hair between her legs, the gentle slope of her mound, vanishing out of sight.

“Can I... see?” he whispers barely audible, his voice a low hum in the air, his hands on her thighs, thumbs nudging them apart slightly. She hesitates, her hands relaxing at her sides before she puts them on his forearms, applying enough pressure to show him that she allows it. She opens her legs only a little, but enough for him to see the rest of the swell of her mound, her soft pink skin, seemingly untouched. “Did... did he touch you... here?” he croaks out, his thumbs inching closer to her sex.

“No,” she whispers. “Not... with his hands...”

Something hot rushes through his gut. He clenches his jaw, closes his eyes for a moment. Her hands tighten around his forearms, pulling at them. Slowly, he looks up at her, meeting her gaze. Her eyes are clearer now, lips no longer trembling, cheeks still flushed a deep red.

He exhales loudly through his nose and looks back down, his eyes skimming over her front. “Turn around,” he then mutters, and slowly, she complies, shuffling in front of him until he can see her backside – and the bright red hand print on her ass cheek. A hiss escapes him, that hot thing inside him growing, convulsing. A curse slips off his tongue. He's trembling in pure rage at the sight, at the image of how she got this mark. Remembers the muffled scream he's heard. I'm gonna kill that bastard!

Carefully, to stop the shaking, he places his hands on her hips, thumbs tracing the curves over her rear, gently trailing the edges of her red skin. She winces slightly, and he takes his hand away, his eyes wandering up the gentle curve of her spine to her long hair falling over her shoulder, covering her shoulder blades. He pushes it away, and pulls in a sharp breath through his teeth.

Another red mark between her delicate shoulder blades, almost completely recognizable as a boot print, wider front, narrower heel, there's even a little cut from where the spurs dug into her soft skin. That fucking bastard. His breath is quickening, shaking badly, his hands grip her waist and pull her towards him before he presses his face into her back, inhaling the sweet scent of her skin, the warmth, the innocence.

Closing his eyes, he fights the anger boiling within. His arms snake around her body, pressed to her flat stomach, holding her tightly. He feels her hands rubbing over his rough skin, how she breathes deep, moving against him with every rise and fall of her chest, quiver of her belly.

After a moment of silence (while his mind draws up more scenarios of possible punishment), he inhales deeply and gently pulls her back onto his thigh, careful not to put her weight on the tight, possibly burning skin of her ass cheek. She turns and leans her shoulder against his chest, looking up at him, her bottom lip pulled between her teeth.

Ben leans down and presses his lips to her forehead, taking another deep breath, inhaling her scent, filling his lungs with her sweetness instead of the suffocating heat of the anger radiating through his body. He cages her in gently, one arm loose around her side, one hand resting on her leg. He wants to tell her that he'll avenge her, do horrible things to the man that assaulted her, but he doesn't want to scare her, disturb her even more.

So he just watches her, hoping to give her reassuring looks instead of dark stares of doom. He can't really control the deepening of the creases on his face, the furrowing of his brows. The longer he looks at her soft face, her innocent eyes, her delicate body, trying not to think of the tainted spots, the slower his heart's beating in his chest. The calmer he becomes.

“Are you tired?” he utters in a deep grumble. Her eyes wander over his face before she nods.

He nods as well, slowly moving to stand up, get ready for bed, when her hand closes around his wrist. “Can I be on top tonight?” Her voice is soft, barely audible, and it immediately makes his heart beat way faster again. Even more so when he notices the deep blush on her cheeks, the slight twinkle in her eyes.

Hazy memories of warm, soft skin fill his mind, a steady heartbeat against his ear, the gentle rise and fall of a chest, nimble fingers digging into his hair, massaging his scalp, as he falls asleep on top of her small body, pushing her into the bed.

“Anything you want, sweetheart,” he gives his affirmation with a low hum of his voice, a soft smile creeping up on his lips.

It is completely dark now as he lies in bed, flat on his back, staring at the ceiling. Nebbia's slender frame lies right on top of him, stretched on her stomach, face buried in his neck, arms cradling his head, legs tucked between his own, breathing softly, sleeping deeply. He feels his cock throbbing beneath her, pressed against her stomach, warm and cozy (and hardening), and every little twitch of her body only excites him more.

His hands rest on her lower back, tempted to slip lower and grab onto her plump ass cheeks, but every time he wants to move them, the image of the hand print on her soft skin comes back like a stab to his side, and he only groans softly and eventually moves his hands up her back and curls them around her shoulders.

She's insisted for him to sleep naked – well, she hasn't objected when he has stripped in front of her, only blushed a little more, but once he laid down on his bed, she hasn't hesitated long before she has climbed over him and onto him, pressing her soft skin against his hard body. He is surprised how open she is, how easy it is for her to be naked around him, to just enjoy the other's warmth without making it sexual. Something that's quite new to him.

He's noticed fairly soon that she seems to seek him out whenever she can, always staying close, close enough to touch, always looking at him, watching him. They've only spent one night and one day together, with emphasis on together, at all times (except that horrible one time he's left her alone).

It's strange to think he was practically a loner before he met her, preferred to roam the wild on his own, with only Thunder keeping him company (if there weren't any heists or robberies to execute, of course). Now he needs to constantly see her, touch her, have her near him, just as much as she needs him, apparently. Protecting her has become the most important thing. Even more so now that he's failed her once.

It will never happen again.

It may be even stranger that despite having her naked body lying on top of his, the urge to do unspeakable things to her is barely there (of course it is still there because he can't really control the reactions of his body, the warming of his guts, the twitching of his cock, the itching of his fingers, he's only a man after all), but a shift has happened, from wanting to grab her and dominate her, to hold her and show her that he is more than a big strong man. That men can be more...

More than the monster who almost –

Inhaling sharply, he shifts slightly beneath her, his hands rubbing along her slender shoulders. A little breath escapes her, hot against his neck. He tries to relax, shut off his spinning mind, but it's harder than usual. There's a bottle of Bourbon on the dresser by the bed, if only he could reach it, drink the thundering thoughts away.

But he doesn't want to move, doesn't want to wake the sleeping girl on top of him. So he focuses on her, on the soft noises she makes, the little shivers rushing through her limbs, how deep she breathes, her chest pressing into his, her stomach moving against his dick. How warm she is, warm and soft and so frail and fragile. Needs to be protected. Taught about the cruel world he dragged her into.

And the cycle repeats itself...

A sigh breaks out of him, and he can't stop it. His heart feels heavy with emotions, with fear and doubt and... affection. He's never felt this sober before, this clear, and he hates it. He doesn't want to question himself, not now, not ever. But those are the loudest thoughts. The doubts.

What are you doing? Why is she here? Why did you bring her? Is it just because she looks like Keira? Keira, who broke your heart, who left you to rot in that cell, destined to be hanged, if it wasn't for Mitch breaking you out? If anything, why are you torturing yourself with the memory of Keira that comes up every fucking time you look at this girl? What the fuck are you doing?

What will you do with her? What were you thinking? Promising her a better life, when your own is just as unstable as the flow of clients stumbling into the brothel you saved her from. You can't protect her forever, you failed her once already, in this very camp, the one you thought was safe! Turned your back and bam, the next horny bastard was onto her.

A bastard you cannot kill because he is part of the fucking group.

Breathing hard, he squeezes his eyes shut, trying to force the voices down. His hands slip from her warm body and clench into the sheets of the bed, knuckles turning white, the tension in his arms so bad he's shaking. His heart beats faster, the anger sitting in his gut like burning coals.

Suddenly there are soft little hands on his hard face, hesitant fingers dragging over his beard, the scraping sound causing his eyes to flutter open. Nebbia looks at him, leaning slightly over him, holding his cheeks as she tilts her head, eyes small from sleep, lips parted slightly, face flushed.

“Ben? What's wrong?” she whispers, her voice like a soft little hum in the air, a buzzing in the atmosphere. He closes his eyes again, focusing on it, on her touches, on her breathing, how close she is. How warm.

“Nothing,” he growls from deep within his throat. She exhales loudly against his cheek as she rubs her face against his beard. The warmth of her breath is right there on his dry lips. He's tempted to lick them, then lick hers, kiss her deeply, pull her closer, roll her over, sink himself into her –

“You seem so tense, are you not comfortable?” she breathes against him, the hum vibrating through his head, disrupting his intrusive thoughts.

“I'm fine, darling,” he whispers back, opening his eyes. Unclenching his hands from around the sheets, he flexes them, then brings them back to rest on her body, and she shivers when he does. One lies heavy and wide on her lower back, just in the dip of her spine, the other moves up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear before he gently caresses her cheek with the back of his finger. “What about you?”

Her eyes are on him in the semi-darkness of the room. She inhales deeply, nuzzling her nose against his cheek. “I'm... better,” she says softly, her fingers tracing along his jawline. He watches her closely, his jaw clenching when she touches it. “Ben?”

“Hm?” he hums deeply, his hand slipping along the back of her neck up into her soft hair.

“Why do I feel so safe with you?”

The question makes him pause, stops the whirling thoughts immediately. He tilts his head slightly to better look at her, before a dry laugh escapes him. “You tell me, kid!”

She scrunches her nose at the name and raises an eyebrow. “I mean it,” she says quietly, her small hand resting on his shoulder as she leans up a little. “You look... so intimidating, you're big and tall and strong, and... I am not, and yet I feel... comfortable with you. I mean look at us! Second night in a row, lying together like this!” she adds, waving her hand around. “I've never slept naked before, and most definitely never shared a bed with a man, whilst being naked!”

He chuckles slightly, watching her as she speaks, her voice a gentle murmur despite the excited, almost outraged tone in it. A warm feeling floods his insides. His hand moves up to cup her face, his thumb wiping at her warm cheek. It feels familiar. Comfortable, like she said. Strangely so. Is it just because she is Keira's kid? Does the connection come from that? Or is there something else?

Has it really been twenty years since he last saw Keira? Or less?

His eyes grow a littler harder as he looks at the girl lying on top of him, at her small, round face with those big green eyes, now almost black in the darkness, the high cheekbones, and her long wavy hair falling over her shoulders as she leans on her elbows to look back at him. The shape of her lips, the arch of her eyebrows, the soft baby hairs at her temple. His fingertips trace her features, taking them in.

She looks like Keira. She is beautiful. Because she looks like Keira?

A soft smile grows on those full lips when his thumb wipes at the corner of her mouth, and he notices something else. Something Keira didn't have. A barely there dimple in her cheek as the smile gets a little wider. He frowns slightly, tracing the little indent, while something cold creeps down his spine.

The strangely familiar dimple disappears under his finger as the smile vanishes from her lips. “What is it?” she whispers.

“Huh?” he grumbles and blinks, clearing his throat. “Uh, nothing,” he says quickly, lowering his hand to let it rest next to his body. His other hand is still on her lower back, warm and mindlessly caressing her soft skin.

He should stop. Right now.

Nebbia looks at him curiously while she shifts on top of him, her stomach pressed against his (unfortunately still hard) cock. Stop. Oblivious to his thoughts (and arousal), she keeps squirming, rubbing against him until she leans on her elbows, one on either side of his head, her fingertips brushing along his temples as she slides them deeper into his hair.

“Penny for your thoughts?” she whispers, her face closer to his now, her breath ghosting his lips, her eyes boring into his.

Ben only shakes his head slightly, sighs. “No thoughts, just tired,” he replies in a low hum.

She keeps looking at him, her fingers mindlessly massaging his scalp. He closes his eyes, leans into the touch. Relaxes. Doesn't think about that stupid dimple. Breathes deeply.

The bed creaks slightly when she moves again, shuffling down until she rests her head on his collarbone, one hand still buried in his messy hair. He feels the other rubbing up and down his chest before she slowly settles down, stops moving, stops grinding against him, and it's only her soft weight on him, barely there but still noticeable, warm and comfortable, enticing.

He shouldn't be thinking like that. But he can't help it. It feels too good. She feels too good. And he wants more...

But for now he is content with just lying beneath her, giving her the comfort she needs, enjoying the fact that she feels safe with him, despite barely knowing him. Despite knowing what he told her about himself. Despite everything.

There is a creak. A quiet noise in the silent night, amidst the chirping insects and croaking frogs, the bristle of the wind in the trees, the occasional hoot of an owl. The creak of a floorboard. Right outside his door.

He's barely slept anyway, but it still startles him awake. Inhaling deeply, he realizes the girl has changed positions and is now lying curled up against his side, just a heap of limbs and long hair, snuggled tightly against him, a small hand resting on his hipbone.

It feels wrong to move away, wrong to let her hand slide down his skin until it plops onto the sheets, but he has to move. Quickly. He gets out of bed, as quiet as he can, and taps towards the door. The creak beneath his own foot is almost as loud as a gunshot. He freezes, and there's a faint echo on the other side of the wall.

His heart is racing inside his chest. A shiver rushes down his spine. Something is off.

This was not the creak of someone walking by, trying to get back to their room. This is someone sneaking around, trying not to make any sound. And none of the people living in this house are very considerate when it comes to making noises. This feels like danger.

Without moving his feet, he reaches his hand out to the doorknob, holding his breath, listening. He sees Nebbia out of the corner of his eye, moving slightly, pulling her knees firmer against her chest, smacking her lips quietly. If she wouldn't be here, he'd grab his gun and barge through the door, scaring whoever creeps through the house away or stop them with a quick shot between their eyebrows. He wouldn't hesitate.

But now he does. He can't harm her, give no one the chance to harm her. His fingers stretch more, and with a little jolt of his body, he presses the knob in, locking the door. Not a second later, he sees it rattling slightly, the attempt of a turn. Someone's clearly there, and someone wants to get into his room specifically.

His hands are itching. For violence. Whoever dares to disturb him in the middle of the night has it coming. But he stands still, every muscle in his body tense, waiting, listening. Through the broken window comes a soft breeze, chilling his bones, raising the hairs on his arms. Then he hears it: footsteps, outside, shuffling through the dry grass.

He tenses even more, his hands clenched to fists, his eyes wandering from the window to the door back to the girl on the bed. His mind is racing. Mitch's words come back to him. ...if you bring any of those people here, if you bring trouble to us... Fuck.

They found him. Her. How is that even possible? No one has seen them escape, it's been the middle of the night. But someone must have recognized him before, drunk at the bar, asking for their newest... has seen him walking up the stairs, to her.

It's been a whole day since he left with her. Since her room has become vacant. Someone must have put two and two together. Fuck. Stupidest idea ever! He clenches his jaw, listens, looks around, waits. It's quiet, too quiet. He is so tense.

The sudden creak of the floorboards outside his room startles him, makes him move, create a creak of his own. The footsteps outside stop as well. The tension is weighing him down immensely. Nebbia coos softly in her sleep. He looks towards her, his heart hammering against his ribs, his fists tight. Whoever is in the hallway outside is leaving, a quiet noise in the silence of the night.

The stairs squeak, the hinges of the front door moan, then nothing. Outside it's quiet, too, only the insects, frogs, the wind.

Scouts, he thinks frantically, listening closely. And they've found him. But is a closed door evidence enough that he has the girl? That she's here with him? It's their only hint. He went into her room and now her room is empty. It's too obvious to hope those idiot henchmen won't put two and two together.

He walks towards the window, looking down, sees nothing, hears nothing. His mind is spinning out of control. He has to leave. Can't endanger the others. His people aren't the faint of heart, they can fight back, but what for? So he can have this girl here with him? (Keira's kid.) Is it worth it, risking an assault on their camp? Because of one girl?

It would be for him, but the others won't see it like that. Mitch is already pissed. And he is too, at himself. For not thinking straight. Bringing her here. Taking her away from them. He should have known their greedy fingers would span this far.

He turns away with a sigh, looking back at the sleeping girl on his bed, curled up, sleeping softly. Her face is hidden under her hair, her body coiled up, knees pulled up to her chin, arms around them, spine bent in a delicate arch. Even in the darkness he can see the slightly different colored hand print on her round ass cheek. Anger flashes within him.

That decides it. They're leaving. She can't stay here, among predators, and he won't let her go back to that brothel, exposing her to even more predators. Inhaling deeply, he starts dressing, quickly, quietly, giving her some more minutes of peaceful sleep. Once he's done, he packs the essentials, some provisions, ammunition, a spare gun, then grabs the duffel bag from under his bed, checks the contents.

He has to be prepared, and he has no idea if they'll return here. Or where they'll even go. But preparation is key, so he nods at the state of the rifle and the shotgun, the pack of arrows and the bow he's carved last summer. It's his hunting gear, and it can't be bad to have this with him, knowing he'll be the hunted now.

Adding a few more shirts and pants, he stuffs the bag and throws it gently towards the door, then fills his pouch with some of the trinkets on his shelves. Lighters, razors, the pack of coffee. He hesitates as his fingers close around the bottle of Bourbon, but then he packs it as well. The nights might get cold. He even grabs another one from inside his dresser.

It takes him only a few minutes to pack, and when he's done, he slowly walks to the bed, puts a knee on it and leans down, his hand extended towards the sleeping form of the girl.

She shifts slightly, smacking her lips again, so peaceful, so innocent. His fingers slide over her hip, up her side, brushing her hair out of her face. She doesn't deserve this life, running away, hiding, afraid to be found, but they have no choice. He gently grabs her upper arm and shakes her a little.

“Sweetheart, wake up,” he whispers into the night. She stirs, issuing a quiet groan, loosening the grip on her knees, unfolds slowly in front of him. Her eyelids flutter before she opens one eye and peeks up at him, licking her lips.

“Ben?” she mumbles, her voice heavy with sleep.

“Come on, get up, darling,” he says softly, brushing his hand down her arm and grabbing her hand. “We gotta go.”

That wakes her. Her eyes fly open, and she stares at him, her lips parted. “What?”

Chapter 4 -- Chapter 6

End notes: So, doorknobs, right? Lemme just say: I am not American and all my knowledge of American culture (and things) comes from TV, movies, internet videos. I have never used an American doorknob in my life, our doors have handles that you push down to open a door and a key in a lock beneath it to lock the door, but if my “research” is correct, American doorknobs have a “button” in the knob that locks the door, but I do realize that might have been a newer invention and they also just had locks and keys in the Western times, so, this might be a very historically inaccurate thing, but I've warned you about that in the tags, just wanted to point it out myself.

Hmm, sorry to take from the suspense and drama of this chapter with something as irrelevant as doorknobs. Oh well.

So, to bring you back: Danger is afoot! Will they manage to escape? And what's up with Ben's revelation of how long it's been since he last saw Keira, Nebbia's mother? Uh oh...

Picture credits to their respective owners. I don't own anything. I gathered these from all around the Internet. If you see your picture and would like to have it removed, please tell me!

Thank you for reading! Next chapter on Friday!

AO3 -- MASTERLIST -- INSPIRATION POSTS

#cowboy 🤠

[cyan1decandy]

It’s the astronomical/brain empty anon hello again Applin. I have been craving. Angst and a grovel. I’ve reread Ignorant and Crucio like a million times. And my brain finally decided to brain. And mid type, it’s decided to jumble so bear with me. But would love snot rag (affectionate) Sebastian once again speaking before he thinks and doing/saying something that pisses MC off and she’s finally hit her limit with him and basically says she’s fed up and just ices him out. And maybe he needs a nudge from someone to get his head out of his ass bc to be fair MC did always come running before but now she’s made herself extremely scarce. And Seb realizing all that MC has put up with and done for him. And just. Good begging. On his knees. Maybe I’ve been watching the S3 Bridgerton promo too much but I just. Need it. Ok thanks lybye

Admittedly, I have yet to jump on the Bridgerton wagon. That said, I love a remorseful Sebastian sticking his foot in his mouth.

I made him slightly less sobbing sappy pathetic and more... dumbass. I hope that's okay!

Thank you so much for sharing your idea and allowing me to write it, Anon! I hope you enjoy!

Word Count ~4700

When Hell Freezes Over

Annoying.

Another rude fucking word, spilling from his lips without a thought like they always did.

For someone as sharp as Sebastian liked to believe he was, he now wondered how he was so irreparably stupid when it came to her.

Eyes widening in genuine hurt and her lips parted with surprise, he braced himself for the inevitable backlash of her usual sharp retort when he stuck his foot in his mouth.

It never came.

Rather than an insult in-kind or a scolding, she delivered a far worse reaction - she cried. Mouth snapping shut and silencing any of her typical replies, the corners turned down and wavered. At first, Sebastian thought she was about to hit him with an especially heinous insult in retaliation, but the tears welling up in the corners of her eyes told a starkly different tale - and made his gut churn.

Merlin, he wished she'd just strike him.

Anything but whatever this fresh new hell was.

Before he could even wrap his head around her uncharacteristically emotional response long enough to grasp that maybe, perhaps, just possibly he should probably consider apologizing, she spun on her heel and darted out of the icy courtyard where they'd had their spat.

Or rather, miserable falling out, as Sebastian was now realizing with sinking dread.

So, he stood in the courtyard, trying to rationalize the irrational. Surely, hers was an overreaction. A feminine mood swing, maybe. He tracked her cycles to tell when he ought to walk on eggshells - unbeknownst to his friend, of course. This was close enough to her monthly for her to be more sensitive. He'd learned the practice from living with an ornery sister for so many years, and it had served him well.

Thus, Sebastian ultimately reasoned that she'd simply get over it, brushing aside his temporary guilt over a minor slip of the tongue, and strolled off to find Ominis, a slightly less prickly companion to whom he could vent.

Or so he thought.

-

“You said what to her?” Ominis asked, regarding his friend in disbelief.

Sebastian sighed and groaned, frustrated that his oldest friend was already veering dangerously close to siding with a hormonal witch. Pacing the length of the Undercroft, he felt himself getting riled again.

When didn't she and Ominis gang up on him, though? He should have known better - should have sought out Brattleby or someone more appeasing. For a boy who was blind, Ominis certainly could still deliver a positively venomous look.

“What? It wasn't even that bad. I only called her annoying - which she was! Asking me something like that when she knows I'm in the thick of studying for NEWTs! She interrupted my reading for something so trivial!” Sebastian defended himself, staunchly in support of his actions after spending the afternoon mulling over it.

He would apologize when hell froze over.

Even if Ominis dispproved, even if she didn't speak to him for days - actually, that might even be preferable considering it would give him silence to study.

She'd already sapped his study hour earlier by badgering him about some silly -

“It's not just a dance, you imbecile. It's the Yule Ball!” Ominis cut through his thoughts, exasperated.

“It's a dance! A bunch of our vapid classmates wasting a night twirling around, lining Gladrags’ pockets for their formal wear, draining away precious time right before our exams!” Surely Ominis could see reason when he reminded him for the umpteenth time of their impending future-altering tests. “And she's just been going on and on about what her dress color will be, and how she prefers dittany to roses, and how she's been practicing dancing with the other giggling fools.”

Finally, Ominis had seen reason, considering he stood there, slack-jawed and speechless.

Surely it was because he now knew how oh so very wrong he was.

“I mean this with every disrespect, but for all your studying, you are, undoubtedly, the most wildly impressive buffoon I have ever deigned to know.” Ominis eventually said dryly.

Sebastian's prior gloating demeanor vanished.

“Pardon?” He asked, dumbstruck.

“Rub just two of your braincells together for a moment, Sebastian, I implore you.” Ominis said, approaching and resting his hands on Sebastian's shoulders with an almost pitying look.

“I think I'm offended, but continue.” He replied hesitantly.

“Why, do you reckon, a witch would tell someone incessantly about her favorite flower, her dress colors, and ask if you're planning to attend the ball with anyone? Why do you think that is?” Ominis led, tone condescending.

Sebastian scoffed, “Well because she's-”

“I swear on my Aunt Noctua's bones. If you say it's because she's a daft girl excited about a frilly dress, I will personally put you six feet under with your uncle.”

“Piss off, I wasn't.” Sebastian pouted.

He would never call her daft.

He was going to say silly.

But that was beside the point.

“Because she's excited and wants to chatter on about it? That doesn't mean I'm obligated to humor her antics. She has plenty of friends who are attending.” Sebastian said curtly, already annoyed again by the topic. 

These were precious study hours thrown away, all for the sake of some ridiculous dance he was not even attending. The Library would be empty that night - the concentration he could devote to classwork before the holidays…

“Who's she going with, Sebastian? Who is escorting her to this cursed ball?” 

That stopped his thoughts dead in their tracks.

Who in the hell was taking her? And why did the mere notion of it irk him.

“She didn't say.” He answered slowly.

Or maybe she had, he had tuned out much of her noise when she got started, honestly. Not that he'd admit as much even under threat of death.

“That's because she's not accepted a date. Have you failed to notice the scores of dates she's been offered and subsequently turned down since the announcement of the event?” 

Once more, Sebastian scoffed, amused. It was good that she turned down her suitors. Who was worthy of keeping her on their arm for an evening? Pathetic of them to try.

“I'm proud of her for keeping her standards.” 

“Her standards are apparently so rock bottom they sink deeper than the middle of the Black Lake.” Ominis quipped back without missing a beat.

Sebastian arched a brow and frowned. “Why do I keep getting the impression these remarks of yours are pointed?” 

“Because they are! I'm amazed you've been able to pick up on that and not the witch practically tugging at your robes all month, pleading with you to ask her to a damned ball!” 

Eyes widening, Ominis's raised voice caught him off guard before the words fully set in. There was simply no way. She was always so blunt with whatever she wanted - surely she'd have asked him herself if that was the case.

But, the snippets of one-sided conversations over the past few weeks she'd had with him about the ball rushed to mind. All her suggestions to go shopping for her dress in Hogsmeade together, requests for him to help her practice her dancing since her partners thus far had only been the other girls, and the incredibly loaded statements about how all the boys seemed to be asking their intended with increasingly romantic gestures like enchanted paper roses that sang poetry.

He'd simply assumed she was being chatty.

“I'm an ass.” Sebastian admitted blandly.

“I wish I could come and watch you prostrate yourself, but I am already promised to my own date this evening. Come find me if you need help reversing any of her jinxes.”

With that, Ominis saw himself out.

He'd be lucky if she spared him enough attention to cast a spell his way. 

-

The sanctuary of her dormitory saw an unwelcome intrusion in the form of a Howler.

Of all fucking things.

After what Sebastian had said to her, she expected he'd sulk and pout a bit at her reaction for a few days and then offer his usual half-hearted apologize in which he wasn't actually apologizing. 

The thought only made her seethe.

Certainly, she'd been sad, of course. When he dared to call her annoying simply for expressing excitement over the ball. Dense as Sebastian was when it came to courtship or picking up on any social cue really, she hadn't factored in that he might insult her over the course of her attempts.

No, in all her carefully executed plans of badgering him to death over the ball, smacking him across the face with hints rather than subtly dropping them, she imagined he might take some time to get it. Hell, the possibility of needing to simply push a bouquet into his hands with a written script of what she wanted him to ask popped into mind more than once.

But, for all the wide range of ways she expected things to go, having him call her annoying when she was already strung so tightly spending every waking moment hoping he would show the slightest interest - that stung. More than it should have. 

Rationally, she knew Sebastian wasn't at fault for the well of heartache she felt. While he shouldn't have called her any sort of name, she knew he hadn't technically turned her down.

Hell, he didn't even know she was asking.

She knew this.

But it still hurt.

And then, as she mulled over it more, she grew angry with him for being such a -

“Useless, thick, bastard! I'll kill him!” She seethed, staring at the shreds of the Howler on her once-tidy dormitory floor.

Stop sulking like a child and come to the courtyard. Now. 

Ordering her around, sending her a Howler, demanding she leave the cocoon of blankets and cup of tea she'd just brewed to come find him again in the freezing fucking courtyard?

Oh, she'd find him, alright. Find him and shove that Howler up his ass where his head was apparently firmly situated. Anyone possessing even the slightest amount of functioning gray matter might have sent poetry, or flowers, or, Merlin-forbid, an apology.

Not Sebastian Sallow, though. It was a wonder she wanted to be his date in the first place.

And yet, inexplicably and despite all her venomous swearing, she still yanked on her boots and winter cloak to stalk back down to the courtyard.

-

What awaited her was not at all what she anticipated. No smug Slytherin boy with his arms crossed, foot tapping impatiently. 

No one at all.

The courtyard was empty.

“I'm certain he said now.” She muttered, spinning around to try and catch sight of the top of his messy, brown hair or the corner of his green robes.

Nothing.

She'd give him five minutes. After that? Sebastian could look forward to far worse than a Howler in his near future.

Sure enough, however, the front door of the castle slammed open, and heavy footsteps approached. All her prior indignant fury dissipated in lieu of a sudden and unexpected wave of shyness at the thought of facing him after her earlier outburst.

She kept her back turned, pretending to be very interested in the frozen fountain, so absorbed in its stillness that surely she couldn't have heard him approach.

Someone cleared their throat from right behind her, though, and she startled - not by their proximity, but because it did not sound like Sebastian.

And it wasn't.

She turned and was greeted by a boy she recognized vaguely as a Ravenclaw student the year below her, regarding her with a nervous smile and a hand outstretched with roses.

“Um, hello…?” She couldn't help the frown etching its way onto her features, baffled by the unexpected display, a twinge of guilt eating at her when his smile faltered a bit at her cool reception.

“I've been working up the nerve to speak to you, actually. You're always surrounded by friends, and when I saw you leave the castle alone just now, I figured - to hell with it and took a chance.” He stuttered out, trying to maintain what little composure he still owned.

With sinking dread, she knew what was coming. It had been happening all too often lately. The roses, the anxious energy rolling off him, ambushing her when she was alone. Her dormitory was filled with chocolates and flowers and sappy poetry at present, all from peers unlucky enough to pay her any attention.

As much as she loathed seeing their confidence crumble, she also wasn't about to lead anyone on. Even if Sebastian wouldn't take her, she wasn't about to go with anyone else. She'd simply spend the evening in Hogsmeade.

Just let him down easy - encourage him to sweep a girl off her feet who'd appreciate the effort.

So, she opened her mouth to do just that.

“Rather audacious to offer a witch well out of your league, her most hated flower.” 

She clamped her mouth shut and scowled as the boy went pale, both turning to look at the third participant to their private conversation.

Sebastian, leaning against the fountain, observing the pair with a smirk, seemed wholly unbothered by the fact he was the sole cause for the younger boy looking positively nauseated.

“I-I swear I didn't know you hated roses. I would never have -”

“Run along. You should be studying.” Sebastian encouraged lazily, showing him away with a dismissive flick of his hand.

The scathing glare she shot Sebastian while the pitiful boy did, in fact, leave with his tail between his legs, did little to wipe off his grin. In fact, it only widened when she scolded him.

“You have some nerve accusing anyone of insulting me, considering how fluent you are in it.” She said dryly. “You'd better have a damn good reason for dragging me out here.”

“You came of your own accord - I hardly dragged you. Don't be dramatic.” Sebastian replied, rubbing it in further that she stupidly came running like a cruppy the moment he beckoned, despite wanting to gut him.

If he called for her solely to gloat and mock her further, she wasn't about to stand and take it. 

“My bed is far more tempting than freezing my ass off out here with someone who hasn't had a kind word for me all day.”

She turned to leave, but as expected, Sebastian reached out to grab her by the shoulder and pull her back.

It was a game they both were familiar with by now - he'd piss her off, she'd pretend to leave, and he'd coax her back in. As always, she simply sighed and let him steer her.

“Now, now - let's not be hasty. I've come with a peace offering!” He said easily, pulling an envelope out of his robe pocket.

She eyed it warily - it looked suspiciously similar to the rude and loud message he'd sent, still in tatters in her dorm.

“This isn't another Howler, is it?” She asked slowly, holding her hand out hesitantly but still not quite taking it - treating it like the paper might bite.

Sebastian laughed and shook his head. “Not quite - but close.” 

Annoyingly cryptic, as always.

She sighed and finally looked up from the letter to him and was taken by surprise - despite the unflappable demeanor he was trying his best to exude, Sebastian’s freckled cheeks were a bit too flushed, his expression nervous.

So he did feel bad.

That boded well for the letter at least - perhaps he'd written the apology he was too proud to deliver through spoken words?

With a sigh, she snatched the letter from him to open it.

But the moment it touched her hand, she no longer held parchment - rather, it was a delicate arrangement of purple and green.

“Dittany blooms?” She asked, cocking her head to the side and admiring them.

“You said they're your favorite.” He answered, though a bit uncertain.

Despite her reluctance to let Sebastian worm his way back into her good graces, she'd be hard-pressed to remain displeased when gifted her favorite flowers. Particularly when he was so uncharacteristically nervous about the exchange.

That didn't mean she wouldn't make him squirm a little.

“Is that a question, or are you positive these are my favorite?” She shot back sharply, fixing her gaze on him.

Squirm he did, shifting from one foot to the other while he pondered his answer. Sebastian looked less and less confident in his gift when she still refused to smile.

Merlin, it took everything in her to fight back the blush at having received her most loved plant from Sebastian Sallow himself - even harder to resist the corners of her mouth threatening to turn up the way he stumbled over himself the longer she held out.

Oh, how adorable he was when he actually stuttered after his obnoxious, arrogant display.

“I-I’m sure. They're your favorite because they're useful and your favorite colors - you hate roses because they're cliché, lilies because they're flashy, and wildflowers because they make you sneeze.” He rattled off diligently, clearly surprising even himself by how much he recalled. 

“Oh? So you were listening. Even though I was annoying?” She needled, unable to repress the light, teasing smile on her lips.

Sebastian groaned, having the decency to look ashamed, and gave her those sad mooncalf eyes that always rendered her spineless in the face of any of his transgressions.

“You are never annoying.” He said and backtracked at her withering glare. “I'll concede that I do still think this Yule Ball is annoying, however. But I failed to take into account that it is important to you.”

“And? So what if it's important to me?” She pressed, holding the bundle of herbs a bit tighter.

There was an unmistakably electric air of anticipation now. She'd been asked to this damn ball nearly a dozen times already, and it was obvious what was transpiring. But to actually be there, in the moment she'd been pining for, Sebastian with her favorite flowers in hand and that look on his face.

Not the charmingly boyish look of someone asking a girl out, mind. But rather of someone fighting the most difficult struggle of their life against their pride, knowing he'd have to admit he was wrong. His discomfort pleased her far more than flowers.

“And if it's important to you…” He began, paused, then sighed in resignation. “Then it's important to me. Now, will you please continue talking my ear off about this damn ball and rehash all the little details of your frilly dress and preferred dance so that I can get this right? I'd very much like to take you.”

His face, now gloriously red, made the moment that much better. Always so smug and nonchalant, Sebastian had successfully been reduced to a bashful, reluctant mess.

Still, she could milk it a little more.

“Oh my - damn ball? Frilly dress? Don't sound so enthusiastic, or I may very well swoon.” She said dryly, trying to look unimpressed.

Her heart was hammering.

Sebastian took the bait, though, and balked at her. “You're really not going to make this easy on me, are you?” 

“I've put in weeks of effort, I think you owe it to me to swallow your pride for two seconds.” She laughed lightly, rolling her eyes. “Come on - say it right, or I'm not forgiving you.”

Sebastian whined, and the pout on his face already had her won over. It was a weak ultimatum, considering she'd already long since forgiven him. 

“Fine.” Jaw tight, fists clenched, he inhaled deeply and muttered the question she'd been hoping to hear from him all month. “Will you go to the Yule Ball with me?” 

She smiled brightly, the most saccharine look on her face she could muster, before giving her short reply of, “No.”

Sebastian gaped, mouth opening and closing a few times as he nearly stumbled back in surprise.

“No? What do you mean, no? You've been harping on me all this time, flirting, getting all worked up, and now that I'm finally asking, you reject me?” 

“I'm still mad at you.” She said simply with a grin, admonishing him like a child. “You were cruel to me. Don't you know by now what you say to a friend you hurt?”

The colorful array of curses he muttered under his breath had her laughing wholeheartedly, but her laugh fell short when he stepped forward and grabbed her by the chin to look up at him. Her mouth went dry - gods, he looked good pissed off.

This had to be quite the struggle for him to choke out the words. 

What a treat.

Sebastian started, stopped, and started again thrice more before finally settling on careful words.

“I'm sorry, alright? I really am. Not just for brushing you off, but for calling you annoying. You are anything but, and I should be - no, I am incredibly lucky that you are my friend. And hopefully my date?” Sebastian said begrudgingly, reciting it as if he were  giving an apology to a prickly professor.

“Better.” She replied playfully. “Why the change of heart? A few hours ago, I could scarcely get a syllable out of you.”

“Oh, come on. I know you're not unaware of how…”

“How…?” She arched a brow, biting her lip to keep from laughing. This was such a nice change of pace from how she'd been practically throwing herself at him for the span of a month.

“How pretty you are, of course.” He blurted out, face positively on fire. “And I realized that top marks aren't the only thing I'd like to secure for the future.”

Reaching her hand up to delicately rest on his, still cupping her face, she replied, “So you're saying you'd like to secure me for the future, are you?”

Once more, Sebastian's inner turmoil over wearing his vulnerability on his sleeve reared its head comically, and he groaned before nodding. It was so hard to notice the winter chill when heat radiated from him in waves as it was.

“Truthfully?” He began reluctantly, as if she were asking him the impossible. “I always just assumed that I had. I realize now that was stupid, and I'm going to remedy that immediately by showering you with attention until you're sick of me.”

“Impossible. But do go on.”

“Well…” He let his hands drop down into a curiously familiar position - one the taller girls had taken with her during their impromptu dormitory lessons. “How about a dance, first of all.”

He slowly brought her into step, treading the iced-over stone walkway carefully. It was a very poor rendition of a dance, and he'd clearly not practiced a day in his life, but she melted all the same and laughed lightly, allowing him to lead. Sebastian laughed as well, not-at-all embarrassed by his two left feet, and instead reveling in how it made her smile all the more genuine.

As he fumbled the steps to their silent song, he continued speaking into her ear, telling her a secret even though no one else was around to hear them.

“We’ll start with practicing our dancing like you've been asking - clearly, you're in need of some tutoring.” He teased, drawing another giggle from her lips and heat to her cheeks.

“I strongly suspect I am not the issue in this pairing.” She chided, narrowly dodging his foot as it came down far too close to crushing her own.

Sebastian arched a brow and smirked before pushing her into a twirl with no warning, and she slipped with an undignified squawk.

He caught her though, just as she knew he'd planned, and simply dipped her down before yanking her back up unceremoniously.

“A voice as delicate and feminine as a bloody diricawl.” He taunted, tugging her against him before she could swat him for the insult, and brought them into a lazy sway while he continued pinning her to his chest in an embrace. “Ah, ah, ah - I'm not finished.”

“Not finished insulting me, or…?” She asked wryly, trying not to let her voice crack from nerves, or he'd mock that as well.

This rare proximity, as much as she wanted it, was such a drastic and startling shift that there was little she could do to prepare her composure. The scent of his musky cologne overwhelmed her senses as much as his warmth, and his pounding heartbeat spoke once more to the fact that Sebastian was nowhere near as collected as his outward demeanor would have her believe.

“Well, that I'm never finished with. But I'm not finished making the past month up to you. I'd like to dance with you as often as you'll allow.” He continued, tightening his hold. “I want to take you to Hogsmeade and watch you try on dresses - mostly to make fun of how absurd the especially tulle-heavy ones look, but also to tell you you're radiant regardless.”

Her breath hitched, and she buried her face in the crook of his neck in a bid to stave off some of the embarrassment of receiving such brazen compliments. 

Of course, he didn't let up there.

“Don't think you're getting out of telling me how charming I look in dress robes, either. I expect you to lay it on especially thick.”

“And what if I don't? What if I spend the whole week being stubbornly spiteful and refusing you, and I wait until the day of the ball to even say yes?” She challenged, pulling back to glare up at him despite her blazing face.

Sebastian looked down at her thoughtfully, not entirely surprised by her pigheadedness in the face of the flirtation she'd so desperately desired.

“You'll say yes today. I'm not worried.” He said, and if she didn't know better, she'd guess Sebastian really was quite confident in her acceptance.

Her rebuttal caught in her throat when Sebastian stopped playfully dancing with her and slipped his hand up and around the back of her head. Without warning, he firmly planted a kiss square on her lips, eliciting a surprised squeak from her.

Those damn smirking lips of his, plush and warm despite the chill air, melded against hers and she had no choice but to settle in and kiss him back - not that she really wanted to do anything else. With a sigh, she relaxed in his hold and let her own hands travel hesitantly to the front of his cloak. 

Before she could deepen the kiss, play out all the silly classroom daydreams she'd had about this precise moment, he nipped her bottom lip hard enough to draw an indignant -

“Hey!” 

As he licked the spot and then pulled away grinning impishly.

“Merlin, you're a dog. What the hell was that for?” She sputtered, swiping at her mouth with the back of her hand, blushing all the way to the tips of her ears.

He was more like a cat, purring and letting you rub its belly until it decided it would rather get its kicks clawing, she mused, annoyed.

Sebastian shot her a lopsided grin, looking quite pleased with himself. “Well, I got the distinct impression you'd have kept that up all night if I let you, and I'd hate for the surprise I left in your dorm to wither.” 

“What surprise?” She asked dumbly, still reeling from the sudden kiss and abrupt halt.

“I'll let you go see it if you just say yes.” He encouraged, nudging her.

“Say yes…?” Once more, she floundered for her thoughts and shook her head to clear it before realizing what he meant before answering impatiently. “Oh, fine. Yes, you already knew I was going to the Yule Ball with you - don't look so bloody smug!” 

She smacked him on the head with her bouquet of dittany, earning another, slightly longer kiss before he sent her back to her dorm to receive his surprise.

Her three befuddled roommates who greeted her outside were her first clue Sebastian was up to his usual mischief, but the dragon's hoard of dittany blooms practically spilling out the door the moment she opened it brought with them another wave of mortification.

He had quite literally filled the entire room with the purple herb, and each and every damn one was tied with an enchanted note which sang a horrid, sappy poem.

The din was enough to draw the other girls out of their room to marvel and whisper.

She was going to pay Gladrags to fit Sebastian into the most atrocious dress robes available.

And then probably tear them off him before the Ball was even over.

#sebastian sallow angst #sebastian sallow fluff