#sswallow;fanfics

[sebastianswallows]

The English Client — Eight

— 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: 2.8k

— TAGLIST: @esolean @localravenclaw @slytherins-heir

I

It had been several days since she’d introduced Tom to the Baron. Perhaps a full week already passed. In truth, she stopped keeping count.

She had waited outside the Baron’s office for him, and pretended it was just to make sure he didn’t lose his way on his way back to the hotel, but selfishly she was curious to know how their meeting had gone. Did the Baron like the books? Did he like Tom? Did Tom like him? The latter was unlikely. Only special personalities ever did, and her new friend was neither bootlicker nor snob.

But Tom was frustratingly silent on their way back to the station, and no gentle prodding from her would nudge a hint of what had happened. His body was stiff and straight as if in a march, and his gaze was focused on the road ahead. He spared her only a few, rather shy glances now and then, as if he had just taken something from her. There would be no further trade, she understood that much…

She hadn’t seen him since.

The old routine of life that she fell back into suddenly no longer satisfied. She frustrated herself by thinking of him now and then, his face appearing to her for an instant, and then she would start wondering where he was, what he was doing, was he thinking of her, would he ever come back… For all she knew, he had left for England already, and then she would become spontaneously angry and afraid, and her handling of the books would roughen, and her steps would sound quite loud, and nothing would taste good to her anymore.

But all it would take to lift her spirits was the chiming of the bell — was that Tom? — before she saw it was just Sister Silvia or another flock of tourists. Oh. Buongiorno.

She was stocking the shelves at the far end of the shop one morning when the bell ran once again, and through the silence, she heard steady footsteps, firm and prim and strong. She descended and went to them, and when she saw a dark head of hair and a tight lean torso in a plain white shirt, her heart trilled. She smiled as she approached him, faster, faster, and called out a bright ‘hello’. But then the young man turned and broke the spell.

“B-buongiorno,” she mumbled, stopping to a halt. “Posso aiutarla?”

“Oui, er… Si. Cercando un libro di… Torchia?” he said in lightly accented Italian. Was he French? “Quello nella vetrina.”

“Certamente. E come si chiama, signore?”

“Clement Merle,” he said with a smooth rolling of the tongue. “Piacere, signorina.”

Whatever faint smile she had faded. She realised with horror that she would have to tell the Baron about this, and suddenly everything felt quite cold. She forced a grin and nodded, and invited Clement further inside.

II

Tom did not particularly enjoy the taste of coffee, even after having to inflict it on himself these past few weeks for the sake of fitting in. It was a muggle drink and made him somewhat restless when he drank too much of it.

But now that he had started partaking of it on an almost daily basis, he recognised in it a certain quality. It, unlike tea, did not remind him of Mrs. Cole, nor any of the other ladies at the orphanage. Combined, they must’ve drank the Empire’s supply of the stuff while he was there, and to this day he couldn’t bring himself to touch certain varieties, like the Ceylon they favoured.

But he was here now, just another dark-haired man sipping from a little cup throughout the hour while he sat outside and pretended to read a newspaper…

The whole day, he hadn’t ventured anywhere outside of the hotel. He ordered breakfast in his room and spent most of the morning reading. Later, he had lunch at the restaurant downstairs and let the hours drain away at the bar. He hadn’t brought any books with him, they were too important — especially the ones that screamed when opened.

People came and went, and between lunch and dinnertime, he was propositioned on at least four occasions. It was hard to tell with foreign women… They were either too overt, too subtle, or both. But it reminded him, in a manner that made a chill slink down his spine and rise up in his stomach, of the Baron: that same narcissism and pride. As for the attention of the women, that reminded him of England, and his extra-contractual work for Burke. Depravity, fel need, and the loneliness of witches.

Perhaps it was their wealth that he resented, or their looks that he despised, women married for their money with the grit to bear a loveless match… Tom humiliated himself for them, swallowed his own pride, and touched, when it came down to it, their most guarded parts. But no matter what deluded charms they exercised, they never entered through his blood, his eyes, his mouth, to reach him, and Tom could not imagine any of the women he had met so far as able to, through their lips or tender touch, incite his soul to plummet to the level of the body, nor bring his body to the dark heights of his soul.

And of course, how could they? Women who had never worked a day in their lives, women who slept on treasures they neither valued nor truly recognised. Selfish creatures suffering vainly in their little cages, whose ignorance and cowardice enticed him to the brink of murder. No, now that he was away from England and free from Burke and Borgin’s demands, he would not subject himself to any more of that.

“Signor Riddle?”

He nearly jumped from his seat as he heard the clerk call for him from the entrance.

“Si?” he asked, turning around. This was the same prick who recommended that horrible restaurant to him. His eyes narrowed.

“Ah, telephone for you. Cabine two.”

“Grazie,” he muttered.

Tom left the newspaper and his cold coffee behind and walked out to the little chamber on the other side of the hotel where the phone booths were.

“Ahem, yes? Tom Riddle speaking.”

“Tom? Oh, hello! I was afraid you wouldn’t be in…”

It was her.

“Yes, took a break from sight-seeing,” he answered, casually leaning against the booth. “It’s good to hear from you again. Everything alright?”

“Of course, of course it is.”

“Really? You sound a little… nervous.” It was hard to keep the smile from his voice.

“No, everything’s fine,” she said quietly. “I just called because… because…”

Tom held the phone to his ear tightly. She sounded like she was going to cry any minute.

“Because I was wondering whether you’d be able to stop by the shop anytime soon.”

“I’d be glad to,” said Tom, summoning a tone of innocent confusion. “But what’s this about?”

“The… the Baron has reconsidered your offer.”

“He’ll trade the books?”

“I don’t know about that,” she said, the connection wavering. “I just know he wants to talk to you. He’d like to make an offer.”

“Very well. When?”

“When can you come?”

“Today.”

“Oh, that’s… That would be perfect,” she said excitedly.

“Good,” Tom smiled. “You close at half past five, yes? I can come then.”

“Thank you so much, Tom. I’ll be waiting for you inside. Bring the books with you, just in case.”

“I will,” he said. “Goodbye for now.”

“Bye…”

III

He arrived there a little early and waited for a while. He hadn’t expected to see a dark little car parked beside the shop, but at least it confirmed what he already suspected. The Baron was inside.

From the outside, the place seemed closed for the day save for a faint little light coming from a corner of the room. He knocked on the door and, as he waited for somebody to answer, he looked in through the window. There was no sign of Clement anywhere, but that volume of Torchia — the bait they set for him — was gone.

It didn’t matter what happened to Clement, of course, because Tom had been at the hotel all day which all the staff there could attest to. It might have been a little callous, sacrificing him like that, but at least it took suspicion away from him. That, and the monogrammed Swiss knife he’d left under the table. Oh well. Clement had been annoying anyway.

Like a light in the darkness, she came into view.

“Tom!” he heard her say from the other side. She rushed to open the door, her smile shaky and wide. “You came…”

“I said I would, didn’t I?” he grinned cockily as he took his coat off. “So, how have you been?”

Silent as he stepped through, she locked up again behind him, then took his coat and hung it up on the rack behind the door. There was a haunted look in her eyes that wished to say so much.

“Fine, just fine. And how are you?”

“Good,” Tom nodded. He looked down at her figure — fetching as always but closed off, tight, her legs stiff and her hands ruddy as if she’d rubbed them raw in icy water.

“Enough with the pleasantries, I haven’t got all night!” came a familiar voice from the next room.

“Si, signore.”

“Venite qui!”

With an apologetic sigh, she showed him through.

“I’ve been well, by the way,” Tom said to her. “I did so much sightseeing this past week that it was nice to rest for a few days.”

“I honestly thought you’d returned to England by now.”

“Oh, I’m in no hurry to do that.”

“And your employer?”

“Is far away. Just the way I like it,” he winked. He knew she felt the same.

She gave him a knowing smile, then stood aside as she invited him into the last room.

The Baron was there, seated in his bulky wheelchair by the table. He was smoking his pipe, or rather chewing on it, as he levelled a thick scowl at Tom. The dark surrounded them. The only point of light was a faint lamp glowing before the Baron.

“Mr. Riddle,” he said. His expression was unchanged as Tom stepped through as if he were talking to a projection in his mind and not a person right before him. “It seems we were destined to meet again.”

“And I thought you willingly invited me,” he smiled.

“I asked you to come here. I haven’t invited you to anything yet.”

Tom shrugged and looked around, pretending to be less familiar with this room than he really was.

“I must say, Baron, being called on such short notice, so suddenly and rushed… It seems, if I can afford to say so, quite unlike you.”

The old man took another puff and clenched his jaw in thought, the loose teeth creaking in his mouth.

“This place will be of interest to you, I can assure you,” he said.

“So, should I give you the books now, or…?”

The Baron and the girl behind him exchanged a look. She closed the door behind them, then moved to the left. Tom turned his head and followed her shadowed silhouette.

She bent and pulled the carpet neatly by the edge, skirt tightening enticingly around her thighs, then knelt. He couldn’t see just what she was doing, but he could hear the click of a metallic lock, and when she stepped over to the side he could see an entrance where that trapdoor was, a gaping doorway in the floor. The jaundiced light fell over a few wooden steps that descended into darkness.

Tom looked at her. She seemed quite… apprehensive, as if afraid, but proud as well to share a secret part of her with him. Tom considered using Legilimency on her to see if he was in any danger — they had probably killed Clement, after all — but he did not yet know what magical defences this place had, and now that he was so close to penetrating their little group it would have been foolish to gamble.

“Join me downstairs,” the Baron said, and as if summoned she hurried to his side to help roll him forward. “I have something to show you.”

She avoided Tom’s gaze as she walked past, and stopped at the trapdoor. The railings on its side hooked neatly underneath the wheelchair and, carefully held by his clerk, he descended. Tom followed close behind.

The steps went on for quite a while, and soon the light from upstairs vanished. He held on to the same railings as he went down step by step, further into darkness and unknown alike. He smelled wood and dirt, and the dry chill that came with old stonework.

After a while, he heard a shuffling and squeaking of wheels, which meant they’d reached the floor. Someone flipped a switch, and light pooled underneath. Tom squinted for a moment, then continued his descent. He could estimate they were some two stories deep.

A shadow began climbing toward him. He slowed his steps and, once she reached him, touched her arm. She stopped and only then looked into his eyes, their bodies were closer now than ever.

“Where does this lead?” he whispered.

“Just follow the Baron,” she said with a weak smile in an air of surrender. “I’ll be with you shortly. I just need to close the door behind us.”

“Nobody else is coming, the shop is locked up,” he scoffed.

“It’s the rule,” she said, shrugging her arm out of his grasp and climbing onward.

IV

The Baron was waiting at the bottom and began rolling away when Tom arrived. He took a moment to look around him, but there was nothing remarkable to see. Merely an empty corridor of smooth cement, and a few electric fixtures on the walls, small lightbulbs the size of candle flames. There wasn’t even anything on the ground, although judging by the fading on the edges Tom could guess a carpet had been there not long ago.

After a few moments of walking in silence, the Baron spoke again.

“I have something for you to evaluate tonight.”

“Something?”

“A few books,” he said. “What exactly is your profession in England?”

“I serve my employer as both sales clerk and purchasing agent.”

“For how long?”

“Seven years, sir.”

“That’s not a lot,” said the old man, “for them to trust you with an international assignment like this.”

“It seems they are satisfied with my work so far.”

The Baron hummed, and Tom could tell he was trying to seem less impressed than he was. Typical of men like that, to downplay the achievements of others. A bully’s attitude. Tom could not — and indeed refused to — say that he knew muggles well, but he knew arrogance, and pride, and stuck up aristocracy.

With a prim clipping of the heels, they were joined again by his assistant. Her hands went immediately to the handles of the wheelchair and she began to help the Baron forward.

“Where’s halfway there,” she said, a little out of breath.

“Hurry up, then, before he leaves.”

Tom cocked a brow, wondering who they were referring to.

“So, how do you feel?” she asked him in a quieter voice.

“I should be asking you that,” said Tom.

“Oh, I’m fine…”

It sounded like the sort of ‘fine’ that women often gave when they had something else to say. Her large eyes, her tight closed lips, the whole nervous energy of her that night disturbed him. He liked her better up a ladder, picking dusty volumes off high shelves, her body held up in the air just by one little foot and a few fingers. Or poured over a hot desk, her breath suspended as she wrote, ink pen poised between her fingers much like a witch’s wand. Not… this. This servitude. It made bile rise up in Tom’s throat. For a moment, he imagined their places switched, then realised it would have made no difference — he was the same with Burke as she was with the Baron. He put aside this notion before it made him angry too.

They were finally approaching something different than grey walls and naked lightbulbs. Tom could see thick red drapery and lamps, and the hint of doorways further on. A single blade of light cut across the floor, shivering with hints of a figure moving on the inside.

“Now, Mr. Riddle,” said the Baron, “we’ll see if you’re worthy of carrying those books with you, and of carrying yet more.”

Tom’s left hand secured the strap of the messenger bag around his shoulder, and his left hovered at his pocket, near his wand. That had sounded an awful lot like a threat.

#Tom Riddle #Tom Riddle x reader #Tom Riddle x OC #Tom Riddle fanfiction #harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #sswallow;fanfics #sswallow;made a thing #fanfic;englishclient

[sebastianswallows]

The Little Death — 2. A dream of life

— PAIRING: Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x Bene Gesserit!Reader

— SYNOPSIS: A Bene Gesserit gets left behind in the Arrakeen palace. When Feyd becomes the Planetary Governor, he finds her there in hiding. The Harkonnens don't traditionally keep them as truthsayers or concubines like other Houses do, but Feyd might have a use for her. After all, he's never had a Bene Gesserit of his own before.

— WARNINGS: a bit of voyeurism

— WORDCOUNT: 2.4k

— TAGLIST: @elf-punk

The best art imitates life in a compelling way. If it imitates a dream, it must be a dream of life. — Darwi Odrade

She confessed with regret that she did not, in fact, have one of those pain boxes. A Gom Jabbar was available in the palace and in fact was in the Harkonnen's possession as far as she knew, but that was just a poisoned needle tipped with meta-cyanide. What he was after was the… active part of the humanity test. That was only at the disposal of those sisters qualified to carry it out.

She was certain Feyd would do away with her once she explained how and why she didn’t have what he was after and prepared herself internally for death. But it never came. He paused in thought and nodded, and his cool eyes moved away from her with a shadow of sadness to them. Then he turned around, his broad shoulders clad in black exposed to her, and walked toward the table.

“You will come with me.”

He picked up a shigawire reel and shoved it in a compartment of his suit, a small pocket at the side of his chest, then walked right by her on his way out of the room. She followed obediently.

The palace was quiet, free of the usual fuss that filled it during the day — servants scrambling, scraping like traumatised automatons just trying to survive — but as they walked past the way she came she heard a violent sound from the direction where her old room was. They’re destroying my things, she realised.

Her eyes turned to Feyd-Rautha’s back once more, the smooth black of his clothes and white of his skin, and she wondered what plans he had for her. Would he be more subtle with his killing than his brother was, or… more creative? Would she be able to use the stunning word and paralyse him in time to get away? Would she have to kill him instead?

“Am I going too fast for you?” he asked over his shoulder. It was not an honest question, as she could tell from the smile in his voice.

“No?”

“Funny. I can hear you breathing.”

She bit her lip and glared at the back of his head.

They passed from the most shadowed places of the palace into the well-lit ones where snow-white lamps hung in the air. There were more guards in this area too, and she gradually realised they weren’t going to the prisons. They were going to his quarters.

“After you,” he said, stopping in front of a jaundiced pair of double doors guarded on each side by armed guards as still as statues.

She looked up at him warily as she stepped forward. He was still smiling in that cocky, boyish way, but something was incongruent. His awkward pose — not quite facing her, not quite to the side — the bent of his back as if he tried to make himself seem shorter, his arms somewhat aimless at his sides… He was trying to be polite and he didn’t know how.

She stepped inside. His room was nothing like what she imagined. The natural pale yellow of the Arrakeen stone gave it a softness that was at odds with the black linens on the massive bed. Moonlight streamed from the twin window slits on the opposite wall, and on the smooth tables lay an array of little boxes, pots, and cases left half-opened. There was a scent of ink there that cut through the modest smell of disinfectant. He’d only just moved in… He hadn’t had a chance to make the place his own yet.

As she analysed these new surroundings, Feyd stepped in and the doors closed behind them, leaving them alone. The palace seemed all the more distant now.

“My lord na-Baron?”

“Hm?” he muttered as he walked right past her, going to place something inside a drawer by the bed — the shigawire reel.

“W-what… what would you have me do?”

“You can do whatever you like.”

Her eyes slid toward the door. “Can I leave?”

She didn’t expect him to say ‘yes’, but she expected even less what he said next.

“Leave?” he chuckled, looking at her over his shoulder. “Where would you go? You’re my Bene Gesserit now.”

And he continued preparing himself for the night as if it was the most normal of circumstances. A part of her, the most human part, felt offended, but from the periphery of her mind, her training whispered to her what was really going on.

Feyd-Rautha kept his back turned and his attention on the objects in his possession — diskettes of reports he sorted for later reading, the daggers at his belt, the signet ring around his finger — and he spoke to her most dismissively and distantly. He was treating her like a stray cat he had just found and brought into his bedroom. Now he was letting her explore her new home, but he still did not dare to look at her directly, to watch her as openly as he desired. In his every move, however casual, there was nervous self-awareness. Completely opposite to how confident he’d been before he met her.

She’d served the Fenrings before, and the Atreides after them, but until now she had never quite felt owned. Still, if it was a kitten the Harkonnen wanted, that was what she would provide.

Without addressing him, she stepped sideways and turned, letting her posture loosen. Her head tilted back in a light stretch to relieve the tension of expecting death. She moved in a wide arch, slow steps, small sounds, while her fingers traced the surface of the wall for no reason in particular, just to absorb its texture.

“Why do you want me?” she asked in a low and silky voice. Seduction seldom failed with arrogant young men.

“I told you,” answered Feyd rather too quickly, his head bowed as he pretended to clean one of his blades.

“You’ve never had a Bene Gesserit of your own…”

“And it’s about time to have one.”

“Would the Baron approve?”

“It doesn’t matter,” he said, finally looking up at her. He smiled at the sight of her slinking across the room, dark dress trailing behind her. “Things can change, even in House Harkonnen.”

She paused mid-step to smile back at him. “Changes awaken something in us…”

He gave a noncommital hum and started walking to her, his head tilted in a thoughtful way.

“What sort of things do they teach you?” he asked. “At your… Bene Gesserit school?”

“Many things,” she said with an inviting tone. “Control of the self, the mind, the body… Understanding of history. Political strategy.”

Feyd came to a stop before her, a trepidation into his step. He walked until he cornered her in a darkened divot of the room. Standing a full head taller, he looked down into her eyes.

“What do you want to know?” she whispered.

He frowned, that strange smooth brow ridge wrinkling quite innocently, and his eyes betrayed transparent thoughts. He didn’t know what he wanted to know, but he knew he wanted something.

“What does… a Bene Gesserit do?”

“That depends on what our master wishes.”

“But what do you usually do?”

“We teach. We advise. When asked, we serve.”

“Did Paul Atreides have one?”

“Yes. His mother, Lady Jessica.”

The hints of jealousy were faint. There wasn’t much to envy in the dead… But he looked at her with that strange look in his eyes again, that speck of a little boy lost, and something in her instinctively wanted to cup his cheek, to pet him, and hold him close. She did not doubt that something inside of him wanted it too, and her body was just responding to the subconscious observation.

“Can you kill?” he asked.

“If I have to.”

“And have you?”

“Not yet.”

“In that way, I’m better than you, Bene Gesserit,” he chuckled.

And suddenly, his hand came up to grip the back of her neck. She was startled by how quick the movement was, how his body gave no tells that he would make it. A true predator. He pulled her closer, strong fingers tightening against her nape, pressing her against him. Beneath his armour, the plates of his body were strong. Every feminine part of her responded with a cascade of lust — not at the hidden hint of beauty but at the symbol of his pride. He wasn’t just a pampered princeling living through his allotted years of beauty. He brought his body to the peak of its potential. The motion pulled the veil off her head, and his eyes went to her soft mane of hair. His grip stayed firm, but his gaze traversed this new part of her as if it were a landscape, with hills and dales and quiet streams, all flowing down.

“Na-Baron,” she whispered, hand coming up to grip his wrist.

“Shut up,” he said, blue eyes still focused on her hair. “Go to sleep.” And then he let her go.

He turned from her and walked away with the energy of someone ready to run off — but there was nowhere for him to go, and his steps slowed. She watched him as she rubbed the sore back of her neck, watched how his head bowed for a moment as if he’d just woken up, how he walked toward the large square bed, how he started taking his clothes off…

He was a strange sight indeed. A broken psyche that reflected the duality present in his features — cold and frightful, soft and gentle, brutal but not so much from the absence of affection as from the presence of cruelty on top.

“Where shall I sleep?”

“Hm? Oh…” He looked around as if only just considering that fact. “Whenever you like,” he said, giving up quickly on thinking about it. “But here, in this room. You don’t get out of my sight, little witch. Not until I decide I can trust you.”

He pulled the layers of clothes off. First the armour on his back and shoulders, then the belt around his hips, and the second skin of the black suit that hugged his body.

“And… what shall I wear to bed?”

He paused and turned to look at her. His chest was as white as his face, but strong and chiselled, far less delicate. It shone with the sweat of a long day beneath the yellow light.

“Wear?” he rasped, his lips twisted in a quizzical smile. “Why should you wear anything?”

She settled for sleeping in a chair in a corner of the room. Feyd had gone to sleep completely naked, and he’d not been shy of parading his body around. She watched without fear, without shame, taking note of all the ways his muscles worked, the stretch and give of the skin, the scent of sweat, of blood.

Noting how much he seemed to like her hair, she did not cover it again, and after he fell asleep she quietly took the top layer of her clothing off. The Harkonnens were used to having their servants quite exposed, but she was not about to give him cause to think that that was what she was. If she wanted to survive, she had to walk the tightrope of perception. She had to be above him, as well as below. A knowledgeable Bene Gesserit sister, with all the guileless charm of a kitten.

She remained in her shift, a long grey piece held up by two thin straps, and used her dress as a blanket. She did now sleep but instead pretended to as she entered a state of Prajna meditation.

The secret pathways out of the room became known to her, faint currents invisible to the conscious mind. A spy hole existed in the western wall, covered on both sides by thin material. To the north, a doorway with no handle led into another room. Beyond it, sounds of restless sleeping. Three figures — feminine? Outside, the guards stood watch, but one was close to sleeping.

She was almost at the point where exhaustion caught up with her too, and like a slow receding wave her meditation ended. Her body lay relaxed and limp, head resting on her shoulder, hands folded. But with the last thread of her extended senses, she caught the taste of struggle in the room. Rapid heartbeat, frantic breathing, shifting eyes behind closed lids. Feyd-Rautha was dreaming.

Soundlessly, she slid off the chair and left her dress on it. The floor beneath her naked feet was cold as ice, it made her want to shiver, but she maintained control of every muscle as she walked toward the bed. Feyd’s body was twisted in the silken sheets, twitching, tense. Jolts disturbed his restful state as if in his mind he tried to get away from something. She could almost see the phantom trace of touches on his skin.

He slept on his front, arms thrown above his head, legs spread. His tossing made the sheets slip off his back to reveal a taut, tense expanse that ended in soft cheeks. Beneath them, the faintest hint of hairless, purpling swells and a limp length. He was so vulnerable…

As she got closer, she could hear him mutter words in a foreign language. Was that what they spoke on Giedi Prime? She could make out influences of galactic language all the way to those of the old Earth, but it was just enough to only guess what he was saying. The tone, nevertheless, was clear. He’s afraid, she thought.

She crouched at the edge of the bed where his naked foot hung off the side, her brow crested with worry. He was dangerous, she dared not touch him, and however much she wanted to wake him as a simple human kindness she wanted even more to see where his nightmares led.

With a long and frightful wail muffled by the pillows, Feyd dragged his strong beautiful body upwards, curling like a snake. He pulled his knees up to his chest and started shaking. Every now and then, his foot would kick. The sign of running in a dream. The whiteness of his body, pure and pale as chalk, the hairlessness of even his masculine parts, it made him look so fragile, so defenceless. A fascinating specimen. To think, the step just before the Kwisatz Haderach would look like that...

She let her body fall down to the floor and propped herself against the mattress, her cheek upon the bed. And she watched him, following the shadow of his dreams, for as long as the night went.

#Feyd #Feyd Rautha Harkonnen #Feyd Rautha #Dune #Dune part 2 #Dune fanfiction #Dune imagine #Feyd Rautha x reader #Feyd x reader #Feyd Rautha fanfic #Feyd Rautha imagine #sswallow;fanfics #sswallow;made a thing #fanfic;littledeath

[sebastianswallows]

The Little Death — 1. Captive of your desires

— PAIRING: Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x Bene Gesserit!Reader

— SYNOPSIS: A Bene Gesserit gets left behind in the Arrakeen palace. When Feyd becomes the Planetary Governor, he finds her there in hiding. The Harkonnens don't traditionally keep them as truthsayers or concubines like other Houses do, but Feyd might have a use for her. After all, he's never had a Bene Gesserit of his own before.

— WARNINGS: choking and death threats

— WORDCOUNT: 2.2k

— A/N: I couldn't resist. I had to write more for him. Reader, I love him. This fic might go a little wild, because I want to play into this naughty boy's love for pain. Expect some subby Feyd, some inkpies, generally a messed up dynamic with an equally messed up reader. Hope you enjoy, my lovelies! 🖤

Seek freedom and become captive of your desires. Seek discipline and find your liberty. — Bene Gesserit Coda

House Harkonnen fell upon Arrakis like a hammer — with a deafening crash and destructive reverberation. After the palace was ransacked and the most important figures murdered, their bodies piled high and set alight, the stragglers were hunted through the streets and homes of Arrakeen. There was a week of slaughter. By the end, nothing moved. All spice production had ceased. Then the violence left the city and spread out into the desert, and the whole hemisphere of the planet was captured.

Arrakeen sat near the northern pole, on thick bedrock surrounded by natural fortifications that protected it from worm attacks. It was a difficult place to escape from. Those who remained were understood to be loyal to the Harkonnens, or at least indifferent to who held the power. The Atreides rule had been brief enough to not have garnered that many supporters. Only the rumour of their goodness and grace had been planted, and the Harkonnens returned before those could take root.

There can be said to have been a second Harkonnen takeover once Feyd-Rautha arrived. The Baron’s youngest nephew. Word was spread — or rather, been carefully planted — that he was the kinder, gentler of the Harkonnen brothers. The people greeted him like a saviour. Inside the palace, the atmosphere was more subdued.

It was a stark contrast to the transition from when Rabban came to power. No mass killings, no ransacking of rooms, just an orderly takeover through which the cold and calculating presence of Feyd-Rautha flowed. Furniture was rearranged. Staff was brought in from Giedi Prime. Brand new equipment arrived, especially for the spice harvesters.

The message was clear. The new planetary governor was thorough and exacting. Most of those in the palace breathed a sigh of relief, but there was at least one breath that stuttered.

She was there at his arrival, watching from a distance together with the throng of Arrakeen locals, Fremen and others, who gathered to see the procession. It was early in the morning, just before sunrise. He walked differently than other Harkonnen she’d seen. Rabban stomped through like a bull. The servants grovelled. The Baron was so fat he had to be suspended in the air. But this one, this one strolled through with confidence. Sleek and slender, he was beautiful in an inhuman way. That much she could make out from a distance.

He struck out at Fremen sietches on his very first day, using artillery fire and on-the-ground troops. An old way of doing things, but effective. It painted the new governor as precise, determined, and strangely honourable, and then word spread around the palace that he’d struck his own brother to the ground and made him kiss his feet. The word ‘humiliation’ was uttered. The news sewed a sliver of hope in the hearts of the longsuffering palace staff.

She had evaded close contact with the Harkonnens until then. It only made sense, as she was in hiding, slipping through the cracks of their negligence until she could procure safe passage off-planet, but that was getting more difficult by the day. What they lacked in caution, they made up for in paranoia, and all comings and goings were kept behind esoteric layers of bureaucracy. She was in the process of making contact with a smuggler when Feyd-Rautha gained governorship of the planet, and all her hopes were dashed.

It was the evening of his second day on the planet when she was called. The servant that summoned her looked at her like she was an apparition — which, in a way, she was. She had managed to remain undetected, keeping herself busy, staying out of sight, acting like she was meant to be there. She’d become part of the scenery and could dispel suspicion if anyone got too close. Her Bene Gesserit training was good for that if nothing else. But there was no escaping this. Somebody had finally found her and knew exactly where she was.

She followed the servant — a heavily armed pasty-white figure, crooked and willowy — to the chamber door of what she knew to be the largest office of the governor. He opened it for her, pushed her in, and locked the door behind her.

Like a tiny sun, a glowglobe floated through the room, its light falling on the smooth black surfaces of the furniture and the pale stone of the walls. She folded her hands before her, hidden by the long sleeves of her dress, and followed what the light revealed. The room was large and windowless, stripped bare of any useless item. The table was empty, the chairs were in their place, and upon the plinths set in the corners, no potted plants or works of art stood. Only one thing moved there, together with the light. Feyd-Rautha paced slowly, quietly, on the other side of the room.

“My lord na-Baron,” she said in a smooth and submissive voice. Her knees bent in a slight curtsy — respectful, but not too much. “You summoned me.”

She wore a garb that didn’t belong to any particular function. The long black dress would have fit just as well in the kitchens as in the cleaning staff, and the head covering was suited for the Arrakis weather, worn by any female. All of those with hair, anyway. The light material bent around her, giving her a slightly oval shape, soft and harmless. But when she looked up and caught the na-Baron’s gaze, he would have seen a sharper look there than that of any servant.

His eyes were cunning too. They looked upon her knowingly and with amusement, a strange manner for a Harkonnen.

“Who are you?” he asked with a playful squint.

His voice scratched across her skin like kitten claws. He didn’t sound the way he looked, and she admitted it surprised her. His tone, nevertheless, was gentle. Deceitfully kind. He could kill me in an instant, she thought, and take pleasure from it.

“My lord, I —”

“You were not on Rabban’s stafflist. I know that, because he didn’t have one. And you’re not on mine, because I didn’t ask for you. We have as of today an account of all the palace workers, but the list comes up with one extra room unaccounted for.”

Nights in Arrakeen were cold, but her skin just turned colder. What rotten luck, to be in the palace right when they decided to actually investigate who worked there and did what. It’s my own fault, she said to herself. I relied on their incompetence for far too long. Now I pay the price. So be it.

“I have been a servant in this palace for many years, my lord na-Baron,” she said with a slow bow of her head. “And I wish to serve you as well.”

“Is that so?” he purred, coming closer. His steps were lazy, but the pace was measured. He had more control over his body than his playful swagger let on. “Many years, you say? You worked for the Atreides, then?”

“And for Count Fenring before them.”

He stopped. She looked up at him from underneath her lashes and smiled in quiet satisfaction. Lady Fenring was a skilled Bene Gesserit sister and had lived in Arrakeen with her husband for many years before the Atreides decided on it for their capital. She was the most logical choice as a secret envoy to the Harkonnen heir. And if Feyd-Rautha met her, it could only mean one thing.

Uroshnor, she thought. He’s likely been imprinted with the usual prana-bindu phrase. It would stun him, if only for a moment. But long enough… It didn’t provide her a means of escape, but it gave her hope. It gave her room for manoeuvre.

“I am not a spy,” she said, straightening her back.

“Of course, a spy would say that.”

“You may test me in any way you wish,” she said with a playful chuckle.

Feyd’s eyes darkened at her proposition, a smile bending his full lips as he stepped closer. Oh, he could think of many ways to test her…

“What are you, then?” he asked, his voice scratching low and close as he stopped close enough to touch.

She could see now that his eyes were a clear blue. Not the sort of blue brought on by long-term spice exposure, that dark electric shade, but blue like water, like the sky, like a shard of ice. His jawline was firm — that of a biter. But his lips were pillow-soft and curled around the edges in a smile that wouldn’t go away. Lips made for laughing, made for kissing, made for love. He’s such a delicate boy. The thought ran through her mind before she realised.

“I served the Lady Fenring as a housekeeper,” she said.

“Lies.”

“My lord?”

“You’re one of them, aren’t you? A damn witch.”

She remained completely still, her eyes locked on his. He was trying to dominate her with a hard incessant glare, but she held his gaze merely for the pleasure of it. What a comforting colour they were on such a harsh planet… No matter the malice behind them.

“You’re a Bene Gesserit. I’ve met your kind before,” he continued, looking down her body in a cruel, suggestive way. “You hold yourselves the way no other women do.”

“Perpans not like Harkonnen women.”

He chuckled, the sound scraping up his slender neck. “All women in the known universe are the same, given the right circumstances.”

“But not the Bene Gesserit.”

“Yes, not you,” he sighed, head tilting as if his mind was trying to escape a painful memory.

His eyes stayed upon her figure, trailing down the contours of her dress. Then he reached out a hand and touched it, his fingers tracing a silky pleat so lightly that it barely moved. She felt it still, the slight disturbance his caresses caused, but willed her body to stay motionless. There was no trace of aggression in him now.

“Why are you still here?” he asked.

“You have not dismissed me, my lord na-Baron.”

He chuckled faintly. “I mean on Arrakis.”

“I wish to remain in the palace.”

“Why?”

“The deserts are harsh.”

“Many prefer that to serving a Harkonnen.”

“One master is as good as another.”

“I’m sure it must’ve felt like that to you,” he said, looking her in the eye again. His fingers left her dress and went to rest upon the hilt of a dagger at his belt. “So I take it you were one of Lady Fenring’s servants. A… fellow sister, would you call it?”

“I was part of her staff, yes.”

“And you didn’t leave with her and the Count when the Atreides came?”

“I remained behind to assist with training their staff,” she said with a bow of her head. Even now she retained a certain respect for that dead House.

“And Lady Fenring,” he hissed, the name dripping from his mouth like poison, “she never wanted to retrieve you?”

“I believe they think me dead.”

“Yes, she is not the sentimental sort,” he chuckled, and his cold gaze caught hers.

A dangerous thought was taking root behind those eyes, she could see it germinating. She waited, reading his body, scanning the minute changes in his expression, and tried to determine what went on behind that pallid mask.

There was envy there, and regret, and longing. The Harkonnens never kept Bene Gesserit truthsayers, nor were there any among the Baron’s concubines — all of them were young boys anyway. They were unique among the Great Houses in that way, and although she knew that Feyd’s mother had been a Bene Gesserit herself, he probably didn’t know what it was like to be raised by one. Why else would he be looking at her now as if he wanted to peel her clothes away, and then her skin, and reach toward her heart and grab it?

“How can I help my na-Baron?” she asked, her voice a whisper, her gaze a caress.

“By not getting above yourself,” he rasped with the air of slapping her offer away.

Her heart stuttered in her chest and she bowed her head to hide her terror. Did I read him wrongly? she thought to herself. I must not fear.

“House Harkonnen has no use for witches,” said Feyd.

She felt his strong hand grip her shoulder, slipping past the veil to curl around her neck. He stayed there, holding her in a half-choke just firm enough to feel her heartbeat in the palm of his hand.

“I ought to kill you,” he said sweetly, “and feed you to my darlings.”

Her lips parted, swelling slightly, and she felt her face go pale. The little death takes on a whole new meaning, she thought with grim amusement.

“But I do want to know one thing…”

“Yes, my na-Baron?” she asked in a shaky voice.

He breathed in sharply at the sound of it. He liked it. When she looked up into his eyes again, the grip around her throat felt not so much murderous anymore as it did greedy, possessive.

“I want to know… Do you have one of those pain boxes too?”

#Feyd #Feyd Rautha Harkonnen #Feyd Rautha #Dune #Dune part 2 #Dune fanfiction #Dune imagine #Feyd Rautha x reader #Feyd x reader #Feyd Rautha fanfic #Feyd Rautha imagine #sswallow;fanfics #sswallow;made a thing #fanfic;littledeath

[sebastianswallows]

The Little Death — 4. The best of all possible worlds

— PAIRING: Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x Bene Gesserit!Reader

— SYNOPSIS: A Bene Gesserit gets left behind in the Arrakeen palace. When Feyd becomes the Planetary Governor, he finds her there in hiding. The Harkonnens don't traditionally keep them as truthsayers or concubines like other Houses do, but Feyd might have a use for her. After all, he's never had a Bene Gesserit of his own before.

— WARNINGS: smut, wet and messy oral sex (m receiving and regretting it), femdom, sub!Feyd, a bit of cock and ball torture, begging, cumplay, choking, somewhat noncon, BGSM (Bene Gesserit Sado Masochism)

— WORDCOUNT: 2.7k

— TAGLIST: @elf-punk @lowlyloved @pomtherine​ @localravenclaw

Humans are born with a susceptibility to that most persistent and debilitating disease of intellect: self-deception. The best of all possible worlds and the worst get their dramatic colouration from it.

— Bene Gesserit Coda

Feyd was breathless. Kneeling before him, as wild and soft as the dust clouds of Arrakis, was a girl with his blood on her lips. She worked his armour off as swiftly as if she herself had worn it and left him naked on the bed while she tugged his boots and trousers off. Her gaze lingered for a moment on his cock, her attention and the cold air of the room kissing its surface. It twitched, yearning for something, straining up toward her with shyness. Her lips curled deliciously before she looked into his eyes again. Feyd swallowed the knot in his throat and moaned.

Her palm travelled up his arm with, deceitfully gentle, caressing the pain that still travelled through it, while her tongue lapped at the wound on his hand. Her eyes, shadowed by dark lashes, looked up into his own, and his heart stuttered. At that moment, he could ask for nothing more from his witch.

He raised a hand to cup her cheek and for a moment felt the way the muscles in her jaw worked as she licked him — an intoxicating feeling — but then she grabbed his wrist and pushed it away from her. It surprised him, angered him, and delighted him… Unlike the other Bene Gesserit he’d met, she did not use her voice to control him, she just used her body. A warrior in her own right.

“Is this your Gom Jabbar,” he giggled between hisses of pain. “Is this your box? That pretty mouth?”

She smiled around his flesh and lifted herself on her knees, slinking up toward him.

“Would you like it to be?”

Feyd looked into her eyes and saw in them everything he wanted to see. All of her attention was on him. Her every breath was breathed for him. He’d never felt more alive than in that moment.

“Yes.”

She smiled and lowered her lips to his chest. Between his legs, he could feel her hands go to her belt, uncoiling it, then heard the soft thud as her dress pooled at her feet. He started breathing faster, excited at the prospect of seeing all of her, but she just pushed him lower, lower on the bed, and crawled above him. Her lips caressed his skin, her tongue teased it, and when she moved her attention to the divot at the centre of his chest he felt her suckle on the drops of sweat there.

“Dirty witch,” he purred.

“Dirty master.”

Feyd let his head lean back and chuckled. She flattened her tongue on his skin, dragging it up to his neck, and lapped against the beating of his pulse.

“Water is precious on Arrakis,” she whispered. “It is life itself.”

He shivered, hands fisting in the sheets with pleasant memories. Each time he took a life in the arena, he took somebody’s soul, consumed it just as surely as his darlings fed on flesh. And here she was, asking to do the same.

“Will you let me take it?” she purred. “Will you let me take your life, your water?”

He grinned a black-mouthed smile as he looked down at her, and found her gaze there, waiting.

“If you can manage,” he said with a cocked brow.

She smiled at him then, an unusual sight — hardly anyone smiled at a Harkonnen — and dipped down to kiss him. Her lips were dry but sweet, and gentler than anything he’d felt before or could remember. He frowned at being treated with such caring — as if she felt something for him. And then her kiss turned to a bite and her teeth sunk in his lower lip.

“Ow,” Feyd giggled, his arms coming up to hold her.

Her hands went gently to his shoulders. From there, they travelled the smooth path of his arms until she caught his wrists and, with unusually firm pressure, she set them right above his head. He felt her body, slick as a snake, settling down on him, her hot and naked skin rubbing against his in a way that made him wince. Her hair, like a curtain, fell down around his face, and for a moment Feyd was lost in the world she made for him. He looked at the shadows that fell around them both, at her smiling face in the centre, and he could easily imagine they were the only people in the universe.

She slinked in that feline way of hers — of all Bene Gesserits perhaps — and brushed her lips against his own on her way down. He reached up for another kiss but was too slow to catch it. Her mouth settled on his clavicle and bit down hard, then she bit and kissed and licked her way down until she reached his heart. It pounded against his ribs, trying to reach toward her. She trembled, her breath tickling his chest, and with a choked little moan, she caught his nipple in her mouth.

Feyd arched his back, groaning, and tried to lift his arms, but she had locked her grip on them in such a way that he found moving impossible. Her teeth closed around his small excited bud. The open kiss of her mouth surrounded the assault, and her tongue was there to lap at the tip of it while her teeth held it still.

“Harder,” he moaned — and she obeyed him. “Ah! Hahaha!” His cheeks hurt from how widely he was smiling. He couldn’t have even answered why. “Harder, witch. My darlings can do better than that.”

She released his arms but he didn’t even have a chance to move them before she slapped his face again. Feyd gasped, his head whipped to the left as pain sang up and down his cheek. She had hit him so hard that his teeth dug into his lip.

“You don’t talk of other women when you are with me,” she said, staring down at him as she straddled his waist. Her hair fell around her figure, veiling not much at all. Above his hardening cock, he could sense the barest hint of her, warm and dripping. “Do you understand?”

“No. Best teach me again,” he grinned. “Ah!”

She slapped him on the other side and let her weight down on him. Feyd didn’t even have a chance to get angry with her because now those soft feminine parts were caressing his cock while his whole face ached. He felt himself getting harder, manhood poking at the soft cleft of her ass. But she straddled him as if he were an object, a pillow she used for her pleasure.

“You’re insufferable,” she hissed, gripping his neck and leaning in. With a rolling of her hips that made him groan, she whispered, “A violent little whore, with a sensitive little cock.”

“Who are you calling little, woman?” he growled.

She chuckled. “We’ll see about that.”

Her nails scraped down his skin, leaving painful little welts behind, as she slinked down to her knees. Before Feyd could raise himself on his elbows, she dug her nails into his thigh and, with cloying slowness, her other hand curled around his cock.

Feyd looked down at her between his parted legs, excited to see her face so close to it, her mouth teasingly opened. She licked her lips and looked up into his eyes as her grip tightened, and for a moment she seemed afraid.

Her cheek rested on his other thigh, close to where it met his hip, and she moved her fist higher up his shaft.

“Softer,” Feyd rasped. “Don’t hold it so tight, you —”

“You need a firm grip,” she purred, “my lord na-Baron.”

With lidded eyes, she took in his expanse of body. His strong and hairless thighs, the sweat that gathered at the crux of them, the hint of his round cheeks beneath, and in her grip, her prize.

“You’re blushing,” she chuckled with an innocent smile. “You are so pale, but the tip is turning rosy. So beautiful. So cute...”

He wanted to growl. Nobody referred to him that way, even if it was true, but he couldn’t bring himself to care with her hands all over him. Hot breath tickled at his skin, making him all the more aware of where her attention was focused. She licked her lips as her hand roughly tugged upward. When she reached his head she pressed her thumb against his hole.

Feyd whimpered when he felt his cock weep a little drop for her, and from the way she looked, he almost expected her to kiss it. Her eyes travelled his length while her other hand uncurled its claws from him, leaving little half-moon shapes in pink and red. She brought it below, to where his heavy sac was hanging.

“You’d better not —” he started, but cut himself off with a trembling gasp when she brushed her tongue across his tip.

She looked into his eyes as he held himself up shakily, his arms braced on the bed behind him, but then her lids fell down in something almost serene as she let her lips cover his crown. Her fist held him firmly, too firmly, so hard that the blood couldn’t flow, but he could still feel her. Her mouth was warm and wetter than anything else on that planet, and the curtain of her hair covered almost all of her. Strands stuck to his sweaty thighs. Beneath, her fingers brushed against his sac in a light petting, feeling just the surface of his softest skin. It made his legs tremble. Feyd tried to raise his hips, to push himself into her, but she braced her arms above his thighs and held him down. He groaned, upset, incensed, and petulant.

Her grip went lower, all the way down to his root, pulling his pale skin out of the way. Her lips followed, taking more of him into her mouth. Her soft tongue lapped at the exposed and tender tip, and then she kissed it. One caress of her lips bled into the other as if she couldn’t get enough, and then she started nursing herself on it, suckling the wetness from his cock in a way that felt both careless and needy.

“Is that the water you want?” he rasped with a breathless chuckle. “Hm? That’s what you need?”

She only sucked harder, and her fingers cupped his balls. Feyd dragged in a sharp breath through his teeth as he started feeling himself throbbing. He whined, trying to thrust his hips upward. Whenever he tried, she pressed down against his hips and swallowed more of him, squeezing his length, pressing it against the roof of her mouth in a way that made him surrender. Suddenly, he felt the barest hint of teeth and panicked, but then her fingers caressed his churning sac in such a way that made him want to cry.

It was a remarkable contrast, one worthy of the sunset skies of Giedi Prime. Her mouth suckled harshly on his cock, teeth scraping against his skin while her lips kissed around it and her fist held him tight. Below, her fingers played with his heavily hanging balls, caressing them as if she held in her hand an animal she wanted to tame, and all the while his legs were spread by her body, trapping him in some way, rendering him more exposed than he had felt since… since…

“S-stop,” he muttered.

She didn’t. Her lips pulled away, exposing more of her teeth to the delicate skin of his cock, and with each drag upwards it scraped against him. Feyd cried out in a weak wavering voice that didn’t sound like him at all and his head fell back against his shoulders. He was throbbing so hard his cock was kicking in her mouth, but she moved as if she didn’t notice it. As if she didn’t care. She sucked the taste off him and squeezed the head so roughly he thought she just might rip it off.

“Oh fuck!” Feyd moaned, all the Harkonnen coarseness gone out of his voice to be replaced by a sound of smooth and deeply boyish silk. “Fuck, stop, stop, please…”

She swallowed more of him, drool dripping all around him, and between his legs, her claws started to close dangerously around his balls. The air was filled with sticky sounds and moaning, and the harsh breaths Feyd struggled with.

“I can’t,” he gasped. “I can’t keep going if you —”

With a purr at his sweet pleading, she sunk a little lower until her lips encircled halfway down his cock, and there she held him, still and quiet in her mouth. She scraped her nails against his tender sac, holding the swollen globes in her palm and, with a peaceful sigh, she pulled away from his stomach, holding his member firmly in her mouth as she rested her cheek against his thigh. She looked into his eyes with something of a challenge while she tugged on him with long, hard suckles. Feyd couldn’t help but look back at her lovely face and shudder.

His legs spread wider to accommodate her and across his chest, he felt her fingers trailing up toward his neck until she grasped it. Feyd bit his lip and moaned as she started squeezing harder — around his manhood, around his sac, around his neck to cut his breath off — and he couldn’t hold it anymore.

“That feels… Oh! Y-you’re going to m-make me cum,” he whimpered, his voice sounding low and sad.

His hips thrust upward, his whole body yearning for her, wanting nothing more than to be in her, but she stayed steadily on him as if they were one. Her face rested peacefully against his thigh, lips nursing on his leaking, throbbing cock, and with one more encouraging brush of her nails against his tensing balls she got him to spill into her mouth.

“Aaah! Oh fuck, fuck, fuck —”

Feyd’s whole body trembled, his arms no longer worked, and through the haze of pleasure he felt her hand squeeze even tighter around his throat. He fell back on the bed, head thrashing back and forth, while his balls pushed his seed up the pulsing column of his manhood and straight into her mouth. With a moan at every jet of cum, she pulled it out of him until he was too sensitive and raw and licks of flame replaced the pleasure.

“Stop,” he moaned, “please stop…”

She let go of his throat at first, then she released his sac but kept her fingers there to brush against it, tickling its underside in a way that made his hips jump. Finally, she dragged her mouth off of his cock, all in one long parting suck that ended with a kiss.

With heavy breaths that filled the air around them, Feyd looked down at her — a living storm, a mess. Her cheeks were blushing, her lashes matted with tears, her hair was a damp mess that stuck to her, and her lips… her lips were stained just slightly black. With an imperious stare that suited her, and a little smile, she raised herself on steady arms until she hovered at his stomach, and shamelessly she let his cum spill from her mouth.

“W-what are you —”

She hadn’t swallowed a drop of it. His seed pooled across his stomach, warm from being held so long inside his balls and then inside her mouth, but quickly chilling, stinging where it hit the open scratches. He looked up at her with a hint of anger first, then sadness. Was he not good enough for her?

Silkily, she brushed her hand through the mess she’d just made, painting his own stomach with his cum, and had the nerve to look quite pleased with the result.

“I t-thought… I thought you wanted my w-water,” he stuttered, cocking a brow weakly at her.

She smiled, resting her soft tired head against her shoulder, and played in the mess of cum and sweat upon his tensing stomach.

“I think it looks better on you,” she said, “my lord na-Baron.”

#Feyd #Feyd Rautha Harkonnen #Feyd Rautha #Dune #Dune part 2 #Dune fanfiction #Dune imagine #Feyd Rautha x reader #Feyd x reader #Feyd Rautha fanfic #Feyd Rautha imagine #Feyd Rautha smut #sswallow;fanfics #sswallow;made a thing #fanfic;littledeath

[sebastianswallows]

The Little Death — 5. Patterned behaviour

— PAIRING: Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x Bene Gesserit!Reader

— SYNOPSIS: A Bene Gesserit gets left behind in the Arrakeen palace. When Feyd becomes the Planetary Governor, he finds her there in hiding. The Harkonnens don't traditionally keep them as truthsayers or concubines like other Houses do, but Feyd might have a use for her. After all, he's never had a Bene Gesserit of his own before.

— WARNINGS: none

— WORDCOUNT: 2.1k

— TAGLIST: @elf-punk @lowlyloved @pomtherine @slytherins-heir @babyofneptune @localravenclaw

Give me the judgment of balanced minds in preference to laws every time. Codes and manuals create patterned behaviour. All patterned behaviour tends to go unquestioned, gathering destructive momentum. — Darwi Odrade

It was easy to fall to the bed afterwards, as if she belonged there. Because she did now. Feyd was still catching his breath when she curled up beside him, her knees brushing against his hip, their sweat soaking into the bedsheets. A Fremen would’ve been outraged at the sight.

“Cruel witch,” he rasped.

“What was so cruel?” she asked, trailing a finger through the inky mess on his stomach. “You enjoyed it, didn’t you?”

He slapped her hand out of the way — but there was not so much aggression in the move as there was a certain vulnerability, like an animal slapping at his master’s hand. Feyd heaved himself upward to get out of the bed, but she placed her hand on his chest and pushed him down again.

“Where are you going?”

“To wash myself.”

“Why?” she said, her touch softening into a gentle caress across the muscles on his chest. “I like you this way…”

“Filthy woman,” he laughed, eyes crinkling at the corners.

She couldn’t help herself and smiled. Even with his frightful black teeth — which in Harkonnen culture, she had read, was supposed to be quite attractive — his boyish nature came through to show something sweet and vulnerable. What a brilliant plan it had been to give him governorship over Arrakis… After Rabban, Feyd must have appeared to the natives like a heavenly angel. She reached up and caressed his soft cheek, his hard jawline, tracing the edge of his generous lips.

“Sleep, my na-Baron,” she said, laying down beside him, holding his gaze. “You will dream of pleasant things tonight.”

“Is that a promise?” he grinned.

She knew he was making light of his nightmares, and in a way dismissing them entirely. There might come a time when they would have to address them directly — if he was serious about wanting her to serve him as his Bene Gesserit, and if she didn’t escape first — but clearly it was not tonight.

Under her soft caresses, Feyd fell asleep quite fast. She followed, slipping first into a meditation, and then into the land of dreams. And even in her sleep, the only thing she felt, and saw, and tasted, was his body.

When she woke up the next morning, she noticed she’d been moved. She was higher on the bed now, laying against the multitude of pillows, and all covered up. Feyd was sitting on the edge, getting ready.

“You were cold,” he said without even turning. His hearing was better than she thought… “And, for that matter, so was I.”

“You tucked me in?” she smiled. “How sweet of you…”

“None of that,” he said roughly, turning to level a cold stare at her. “You did a very naughty thing last night. We’re going to have to… discuss it. But not right now.”

She swallowed the knot in her throat and nodded, but deep down she was already preparing for how to turn things to her favour next. He loves pain, she told herself. That is his lever. Use it.

As he continued to get dressed, she watched him. He wasn’t very good at it — probably was used to servants helping him, and they weren’t here right now — but he knew well enough how to put his armour on. She was almost tempted to help him, but then she remembered that she was supposed to have a different purpose.

“I suppose I should get dressed as well,” she said as she slinked off the bed.

“Why is that?”

“I serve you now. I should be there with you. To advise you.”

“Advise me?” he chuckled. “What do you know of military strategy?”

More than you, she thought, but she wasn’t even sure that was completely true. It was a mystery to her, what Harkonnens taught their young.

“I know Arrakis,” she said, coming to sit beside him. They cut a striking picture, him in his black armour and her in her naked skin, both looking equally confident. “And perhaps, my lord na-Baron, you can learn more about what a Bene Gesserit can do.”

“Or what she can’t do,” he muttered. But there was already a surrender in his gaze. He had decided to bring her along, now he only had to decide how to admit it. “No talking about me,” he pointed out. “To anyone.”

“Of course.”

“And no bragging about… about —”

“I wouldn’t dare.”

He chuckled. “I’ve heard that one before. I didn’t believe it back then, either.”

She didn’t miss the strange glances the other servants gave as she passed by, close behind Feyd-Rautha. They had breakfast together in a lavish dining hall, one with a long, black table and lights suspended high above. She’d never seen this room before…

His brother, Rabban, wasn’t there, and neither was the Baron.

“Do you always eat alone, my lord?” she asked him, sitting somewhere in the centre of the table, a respectable number of seats away, while Feyd sat at the head.

“Depends on what I’m eating,” he answered with a grin. “Besides, I’m not alone today, am I?”

“No,” she smiled. “You are not.”

He didn’t speak for the rest of the meal. He ate, in fact, in a hurry, eyeing her critically every now and then, judging her for how slowly she was chewing. And when he finished, he got up without even considering her presence. He paused in the doorway as he heard her scrambling to get up and follow, and bowed his head — he was suddenly regretful. Another habit of eating alone was, perhaps, his lack of consideration for others. He’d completely forgotten her by the time he finished breakfast…

She joined at his side without complaint, happy to already be doing her service: teaching him healthy new habits. Feyd looked at her quietly for a moment, and then they left together.

The day was spent in a strategy meeting, which he started without giving the time to any of his generals to question why she was there. The sight of a Bene Gesserit among the Harkonnen must’ve been rare indeed — or even that of a woman who wasn’t a slave or a serving girl.

They spoke their jagged language, and in phrases that were blissfully short. It was easy enough for her to understand even without a full vocabulary.

“Push them to the edge,” said Feyd as he stood above the map, fiddling with a neat little blade in his hands, a shiny thing of white silver. “The worms will finish what the storms do not.”

“Yes, sir, na-Baron.”

“Search scouting parties up ahead before you send in more harvesters. And I want a map of the richest spice fields by tomorrow morning.”

“Er, yes, yes sir.”

She eyed all the proceedings in silence, and in the mist of fear and anxiety, the other men completely forgot her. Their minds were so easy to read, their emotions so clear on their faces, on their hands, in the way they held themselves… And in their centre, Feyd, speaking to them as if they were Ixian automatons without any thought or feeling.

She waited for the meeting to be over before she finally joined his side and spoke.

“That was productive.”

“Was it?” he sighed, bracing his arms against the table. The door closed with finality behind his frightened generals. “I didn’t know you spoke our language,” he noted with a cocked brow.

“I am learning,” she smiled.

“Rabban left me a complete mess. It will take months to undo it.”

“Years. And you don’t have as much time as you think.”

“Really? Well, speak plainly, now.”

She turned, leaning lightly against the table so that she could better look at him. He was less sure of himself now than he had been around his men…

“If you push the Fremen too hard, they could go south. It is out of reach for us, out of control.”

“Nothing survives out there.”

“How do you know, if nobody’s ever been there but Fremen?”

He bit his lip and frowned, but didn’t disagree. “And you would do, what?”

“Relax the attacks. Give them a false sense of security. Bait them into —”

“Into exposing themselves…”

“Exactly.”

“But these savages won’t do that. They know we’ve got superior firepower. Their strength lies in their secret tactics.”

She shrugged. “You have a point…”

“But if… if we had to approach this like a fight between a stronger man and a weaker man…” he said, thinking out loud as he began to pace.

She looked at him and said nothing, letting the ideas germinate in his head.

“It’s late, it’s hot,” he sighed. “I’ll think about it more tomorrow.”

“Yes, my lord na-Baron. You still haven’t even had lunch.”

“I’ll have dinner. We’ll have dinner.”

“Another thing though… That map you requested.”

“What about it?”

“The spice fields on Arrakis are highly changeable and depend on many variables. It can take days for someone to calculate their frequency. Less if you had a Mentat. Or a thinking machine…”

Feyd chuckled. “Worried? Since when do you care about the fate of my men?”

“I don’t care about his fate. I care about whether he provides you with false information just to save his neck.”

“Hm… I’ll see what he brings me tomorrow,” he smirked, looking pointedly at her, “and maybe have you look at it.”

She paused, already unhappy with the charge she was given. Mathematical calculations were not her strong suit, but she understood she needed to submit to Feyd’s testing if she expected to be kept around.

“Yes, my lord,” she said with a light bow.

“Now, then. Let’s eat.”

She could already tell that his habits were changing. He watched her more closely and was clearly thinking about her, considering her from every angle. Although Feyd-Rautha made no effort to hide what he was feeling, she found it hard to pinpoint just what was going through his head that evening.

She met his gaze with more confidence than she felt but allowed him to watch her openly too, letting him enjoy the moments of peace between them. He seemed to only like speaking to her when the servants left the room.

“You like to watch, don’t you?” he asked, leaning back against his tall, elegant seat.

“I believe you’ve been doing the watching, my na-Baron,” she smirked.

“No, no, you know what I mean… I mean throughout the day. Us. All of us. You’re learning our language now? You’re studying our strategies. You think, you don’t speak…” he listed, his cold eyes set on her as their meals waited untouched before them. “Until my generals have gone…”

“Of course. I would not have them think your orders can be questioned.”

“Even though you question them.”

“That’s only for you to know,” she smiled.

Feyd smiled back. He suspected her of many things — both past and future betrayals — but in that moment, he appreciated her.

“Are you trying to learn more about me, my na-Baron?”

“Why not? You’re learning about us.”

“I think you’ll find me less inscrutable. If you wish to know something, simply ask.”

Feyd nodded and turned his attention to his plate at last. He cut into the meat, he moved the garnishings around, but before he could bring it to his lips he set the fork down loudly and looked up at her again.

“Why did you do that to me last night?” he quickly asked.

“Because you liked it.”

“Don’t play dumb with me. You’re not as good at it as you think. How did you know I would like it?”

She set her knife and fork down too, and let her wrists rest upon the table. He was pulling her into something she wasn’t sure she wanted to confess, and she knew she couldn’t get him to forget it without using those Bene Gesserit tricks he hated so much. Perhaps there was a way to still turn this around in her favour…

“I merely recognised what I knew so well,” she answered quietly, her voice floating through the penumbra toward him.

“And where did you recognise it from?”

“From myself.”

Feyd leaned back again, his lips pulled into a grin. There was doubt in his eyes, but the rest of him seemed so intrigued, so glad about this new development, that she could almost guess what he was going to say next.

He’ll want to see it, she thought. He’ll want to see me like that. Exposed. Vulnerable before him.

“Show me,” he said, confirming everything.

#Feyd #Feyd Rautha Harkonnen #Feyd Rautha #Dune #Dune part 2 #Dune fanfiction #Dune imagine #Feyd Rautha x reader #Feyd x reader #Feyd Rautha fanfic #Feyd Rautha imagine #sswallow;fanfics #sswallow;made a thing #fanfic;littledeath

[sebastianswallows]

The Little Death — 3. Strengthen what they would prohibit

— PAIRING: Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x Bene Gesserit!Reader

— SYNOPSIS: A Bene Gesserit gets left behind in the Arrakeen palace. When Feyd becomes the Planetary Governor, he finds her there in hiding. The Harkonnens don't traditionally keep them as truthsayers or concubines like other Houses do, but Feyd might have a use for her. After all, he's never had a Bene Gesserit of his own before.

— WARNINGS: just a bit of smut

— WORDCOUNT: 2k

— TAGLIST: @elf-punk @lowlyloved @pomtherine​ @localravenclaw​

Laws to suppress tend to strengthen what they would prohibit. — Bene Gesserit Coda

Sleeping was sweet. At some point indistinguishable from oblivion she became aware of not being aware of being asleep, but she wasn’t ready to wake up yet. The tendrils of her mind touched only shyly the membrane on the other side of which reality was waiting. And even though her feet were cold and her head felt heavy, she felt as though she was floating in the air, held by some invisible force in perfect safety.

A sense of urgency tugged at her, and with reluctance she let herself be pulled. Gradually she realised that her neck hurt from the awkward pose she’d fallen asleep in. That she was sitting on the floor, her legs curled under her and stiff. That his hands were feeling up her body.

Her eyes opened to the sight of her new master sitting on his knees before her. Feyd was still completely naked, and his body dared to have a rosy flush from sleep across his pale white skin. He held a knife to her, slicing through her shift to part it from her body, smiling as if he was opening a gift. He paused at her chest and slid his hand across her skin — the one that wasn’t holding the blade, mercifully — and gently cupped her breast, holding it in such a way that her nipple was caught between his index and his thumb. A practised hand. She reacted before her body rebelled and responded to him.

“Get off of me,” she hissed, and in one motion she slapped his groping hand away and gripped the knife out of the other.

He looked at her in excitement for a moment, or perhaps his mind had not caught up to things and was still tasting her body. She flung the blade away before she could find out which. Feyd pouted like a spoiled brat.

“Yesterday, you agreed that —”

“I’m a Bene Gesserit, not a concubine,” she said as she pulled the tatters of the shift around her and moved further away.

Feyd was still processing the novel information that there was a difference when he got up to his feet. She busied herself with her ruined clothes and tried to ignore that his cock was right in front of her. He looked down and seemed a few times to want to say something, or ask, but then his mind was made up and he walked right past her. Oh, he just went to pick up his blade.

She took this opening to move away and gathered up her clothes.

“Won’t you dress me?” he asked, turning to her with a puzzled expression.

“No,” she said, plain as can be, and slipped into the washroom. She only caught him muttering something about her being useless as she shut the door.

He was gone by the time she came out again.

It crossed her mind that she might have hurt his feelings. After all, he can’t have been used to women slapping his attention away like that. He’d even been fairly considerate, for a Harkonnen. No blood drawn.

But in hindsight, she recognised her instincts were correct. She was the kind of toy he’d never had before. Nobody had ever treated him that way, and now he was going to spend the whole day trying to understand his own emotions, spilling his poison on the other staff no doubt.

She walked through the palace with newfound confidence, and even when eyes turned to her, followed her quick steps and the flowing of her gown, nobody dared question her. Quite efficient in communications, these Harkonnen. They already know who I am, she thought with reserved admiration.

Her first stop was the laundry to replace her ruined clothes and get a couple more. She would need them, living with Feyd-Rautha, it seemed. She ate later, quickly and in the most unassuming part of the canteen. Arrakeen gruel with a Harkonnen twist, dry and oily with a sprinkling of melange on top. It stuck in her throat and there was only cactus juice to wash it down with.

It was only during her noon meditations, on a lonely rock outside the southern wing, that the impact of everything that happened finally came upon her. She shivered terribly, felt tears bead at the corners of her eyes, and breathed deeply to steady her pulse. Fear had passed through her, and death, and she was still left standing. It was a very precise part she had to play, and for all her training and prescience, the spice could only show her certain futures.

Rejecting his touches had been the right choice. Refusing to look at his body had been the right choice too. She teased both him and herself, and the natural energies that flowed between men and women would do half the work for her, especially with such an excitable specimen as Feyd-Rautha to work with. Now all she needed to do was reward him.

She thought back to his nightmares, those twitches and struggles in the dark, alone, and she remembered the instincts of her body: to hold him, to comfort him, to feel his naked skin on hers and let them melt into each other. She smiled, thankful for the infinite genetic wisdom, guiding her path through this most dangerous of circumstances, because now she knew exactly what Feyd wanted.

“Terra firma,” she said to herself. “Something firm and unyielding. Capable of giving him both punishment and pleasure.”

She waited for him in his chambers by the window, sewing that morning’s ruined shift. Her mind was split between that task and meditation, letting her consciousness drift through the environment, expanding to the outer halls. There was a slight commotion in the hidden room next door, and she felt the unmistakable presence of Feyd there. He wasn’t alone. But he felt happy, confident, but with some restraint still in his manner. She could hardly grasp the threads of his thoughts before he moved too far away from her senses.

He entered the room not long after, stopping in the doorway when he saw her there.

She held his gaze, allowing her eyes to say nothing while his told her everything. He was apprehensive, excited, fearful, and fought against an inner urge to see in her a motherly figure — after all, she’d chosen to be seen sitting quietly in the pale light sewing quite on purpose. Her lips were set in a line that wasn’t yet a smile.

He shut the door behind him with finality and walked toward her.

“I hope you had a good day, my lord na-Baron,” she said, getting up to her feet to lightly bow.

“We started harvesting the spice again today,” said Feyd. “The first batches have already started filling the silos.”

He wanted to be praised…

“A great achievement. Your uncle must be pleased,” she smiled.

“Well, he’s always been easy to satisfy.”

Feyd stopped before her and shamelessly looked down her figure. He smelled of sand and sunlight, and a hint of cinnamon. She could almost feel the warmth radiating from his suit. Without asking, he reached for her hand that held the needle and let his finger trace its length. It fell off the sharp tip without breaking his skin.

“Fixing what I broke this morning?” he chuckled.

“Yes. I have the impression there will be many more mornings like that.”

“Not if you do as I say,” he rasped.

“I can not sleep naked as you do. The nights in Arrakeen are too cold.”

“Funny,” he said with a playful tilt of his head and a smile. “You didn’t seem to mind seeing me. Yet I can’t see you?”

She hardened her expression deliberately, chastisement evident in her every muscle. “No,” she answered.

He nodded and tried in other ways to seem indifferent, but he couldn’t hold it up for long. He gripped her sewing hand again, but this time harder, and without giving her the option to protest, he tore the shift from her hands and threw it down behind her.

“If you live to serve,” he hissed, “you serve.”

“That’s not what —”

“I don’t care.”

“You should.”

She didn’t stop him from unlacing her dress, although her every muscle shouted at her to. His fingers were more careful than she thought, and he made short work of it. Then, without daring to look into her eyes, he grabbed her shoulders and turned her around. He wanted to take her black veil off by himself… Of course.

He felt at first how it was held — pinned within her hair from both sides. As gently as a bard unboxing his instrument, he uncovered her, letting the veil fall to the floor, then his hands went to her shoulders and pushed the dress down her limp arms. It went down to her waist where a narrow belt held it.

She was surprised to feel a touch upon her back, careful and precise, but harsh. If she focused, she could almost hear his heartbeat, hear his breathing, see behind her closed eyelids the expression on his face. His presence was as intense as when she’d first seen him take his first steps on Arrakis. He was not someone who liked to be ignored.

She turned to find him smiling, and couldn’t help a shiver of pleasure to find him happy from so small a thing. She realised then that what he’d been enjoying was the way tendrils of her hair fell on her skin. She held his gaze and, as if it meant nothing to her, took out the pins that kept it all together. It fell in waves around her shoulders and framed her breasts in teasing curtains, her hardened nipples just barely peeking through.

Feyd drew a sharp inhale and smiled as if he’d just received a present. Even his eyes looked innocent for a moment as if all power and control were drained from him, rendered unnecessary, because he’d just gotten everything he wanted. And then she slapped him in the face.

It was probably the hardest hit she’d ever given, and it still wasn’t enough to move him. He didn’t even waver on his feet. But his expression fell from pampered to petulant. It took a moment for his anger to be summoned up, and he flashed his black teeth at the sensation, cupping his cheek to soak the feeling in. He blinked and frowned at her — confused, perhaps, as to why she didn’t seem afraid, or why she dared to do it in the first place. But she saw in his expression a similar sort of thing to what passed across the eyes of sisters who accessed genetic memories. In his case, it was probably half-forgotten recollections from his childhood.

“You want it harder?” she asked with a deliberately indifferent tone.

Feyd didn’t waste a single breath. He gripped her throat and started squeezing, but she was unshakable now. Beneath his skin, she knew, her slap still sang throughout his blood. She stood before him half-naked, and he was the vulnerable one.

She slid her hands out of the sleeves of her dress and gripped his wrist — not to push it away, but to hold it — and dipped her head to bite into the flesh between his fingers. Feyd breathed in but let her do it, a shiver of pleasure running up his arm. He moaned, and immediately she felt his blood against her tongue. Pretending to enjoy it, she closed her eyes and drank it down. Then, with a kittenish lick at his wound in parting, she raised her head and started walking.

“You say I’m here to serve,” she whispered, pushing him toward the bed. “I know just how you want it.”

She brought him to the edge of the mattress and kneeled, forcing him to sit down. He did it as if mesmerised. As reward, she kissed him where his skin was bleeding, then sank her teeth in it again.

#Feyd #Feyd Rautha Harkonnen #Feyd Rautha #Dune #Dune part 2 #Dune fanfiction #Dune imagine #Feyd Rautha x reader #Feyd x reader #Feyd Rautha fanfic #Feyd Rautha imagine #sswallow;fanfics #sswallow;made a thing #fanfic;littledeath

[sebastianswallows]

— A/N: I saw this post by @ominisallow​​ and was hit by so many soft and tender *★°*feelings*°★* that I had to write it down 😭 sweetest beby snek

— Synopsis: Ominis teaching the main character how to read braille by tenderly placing his hand atop theirs to guide them while reading aloud.

— Wordcount: ~ 800 words of fluff

— Pairing: Ominis Gaunt x F!MC

“How do you do it?” she asked, after countless minutes of staring at his hands.

“Do what?” said Ominis, fingers not even pausing on the page.

“Read like that,” she said as she scooted closer to him on the floor of the common room, where they sat before the fire. There was just a small and dimming flame left in the late night hours, and there was no one else around but them.

“I suppose the same way you do,” he smiled. “I perceive the symbols on the page and interpret them as letters.”

“You know what I mean,” said the new 5th-year with a tone that carried on it her sardonic smile.

“I don’t, really,” said Ominis serenely. “I have nothing to compare it to, you know.”

He’d stopped reading entirely. By now, he felt her by his side, her shoulder warmth-to-fleshy-warmth with his. Their robes were sprawled over the sofa at their back, and the shirts, white and starched, were paper-thin across their bodies. He only had to straighten his back a little to feel her right against his bony shoulder.

“I mean…” he added quickly, suddenly worried — frantically, irrationally — that he’d hurt her feelings, “I know in theory that you see the words written down and that they have a certain shape and that you need light to do it, but I suppose that’s as strange to me as my manner of reading is to you.”

“So,” she started cautiously, “each of those bumps is a letter?”

“Some are, others are in combination, yes,” he nodded.

Ominis allowed himself a smile at having found something to entice her, she who had learned everything so quickly and uncovered so many mysteries, and hoped she didn’t catch his grin — but she probably did, damned light, damned fireplace heating up his cheeks, damn…

“Can you show me?”

“W-what?”

If his grip had been lighter, he might have dropped the book when he felt that pressure, like a shiver on the page, as she touched it — then the deathly stillness of the book again as she let go of it as if burned.

“I mean — if you don’t mind. I wouldn’t want to —”

“No, it’s —”

“— to offend or —”

“It’s not, it’s —”

Ominis laughed stupidly at her shyness, at his, and as he turned his head toward where her small voice came from froze at feeling her so close, her little panicked breaths fanning on his lips.

“It’s no trouble at all,” he finished in a quiet voice. “I-I’ll show you, if you want.”

Without asking, his left hand let the book cover fall over his lap as it went in search of hers, feeling in the dark, across her bended knee, over the dip of the skirt between her legs, until it found her hand — dry, cold, a little shaky — and embraced it awkwardly in his own. She let him pull it back toward the book and, with like mind, they leaned into one another all at once to rest the book between them. Ominis took her right hand in his own and felt around her fingers until he caught the index.

“You can do it with one finger,” he whispered, facing ahead into nothing but feeling her cheek so close to his by now, “but it’s easier with two.” He caught the brief chuckle she gave at hearing that and blushed all the way to his ears for some reason.

“So, erm…” she started, fingers faltering on the page beneath his, “what does this say?”

“Oh,” said Ominis, “right, that’s…” He slipped his index between hers and her middle finger to rub it left and right over the text. “That says: A common — and — recommended — charm — for silencing — both beasts — and beings — is —”

“Silencio,”she finished, a smile shining through her voice. “Oh but this is so hard…” she complained, starting over at the top of the page and Ominis, without a thought as to why, letting his hand be carried with hers. “How can you tell which letter is which?”

“You learn it, of course, with practice,” he smiled. “See, this is A, this little dot here…”

“And I guess these must be C…”

“Only these two,” he continued, holding her finger between his own and pressing it into the page, “at the top, here.”

“And this is O?”

“It is. And this…”

They carried on like that, hand in hand, until they’d read the whole page through, and fell more lazily into each other, a sleepy tangle of elbows and knees and soft hair ruffled together, while the fire died and left them both in darkness, smiling with eyes closed while they read — Ominis from the book, her tracing each letter to the cadence of his soft and gentle voice.

#Ominis Gaunt #Hogwarts Legacy #ominis gaunt imagine #Hogwarts Legacy imagine #Ominis Gaunt x Reader #Ominis Gaunt x MC #Ominis Gaunt fluff #Hogwarts Legacy MC #sswallow;made a thing #sswallow;fanfics

[sebastianswallows]

Dreamed of you

— PAIRING: Feyd-Rautha x F!Reader

— SYNOPSIS: A Bene Gesserit sister is sent to kill Feyd. She hesitates as she watches him sleep, all the way until he wakes up and catches her.

— WARNINGS: none, just reader simping for one cute boy

— WORDCOUNT: 1k

— A/N: First of all, this isn't necessarily movie!Feyd, it's more based on the books, but I love him in all his forms. I wrote this in a bout of madness this evening, and it's just a love letter to how beautiful and soft and sad Feyd canonically is. That is all.

A shadow in the corner moved. The door shut behind her with a hiss. Outside, the chanting of his name resounded like a distant wave. Feyd. A myriad of emotions raged inside the way that sylphic syllable was said. So mangled and intense were they that she could hardly tell, even after weeks of being on Giedi Prime, if the feeling in their voices was that of fear, or love.

He had won another battle in the arena tonight. Half-fight, half-play, all a spectacle of violence kept elegant and grim with the flourished motions of his blades in inky black and white. The celebrations were kept modest afterwards. This was no birthday.

His chambers smelled of sweet sweat and bitter blood. It filled her lungs as soon as she stepped in. He slept now, quietly, in a surprisingly small bed. As she approached him, dagger in hand, she realised it was not so small — he just took little space on it.

He slept huddled to one side, his body curled within the black sheets as if he were in a womb.

The na-Baron was an arresting sight, like a work of art left interrupted. His marble-white arms hugged a pillow to his chest, and from beneath a curve of silk draped over him, the corner of a knee peeked through. The soft line of his eyes revealed a dour bend in sleep, delicate dark lashes resting like butterfly wings on his cheeks. His full lips, decadent and lustful, were pulled into a pout. She wondered what he was dreaming of.

Beneath this impressive amalgam of his features, from the dainty to the sultry to the broad shoulders and strong arms, he was just a little boy. Motherless and far from home, preyed on by his uncle, worshipped by a distant crowd. Useless, now that the Atreides line had ended and a child had been secured from him by Lady Fenring.

The Kwisatz Haderach would have to be reached through other means, and from a bloodline less volatile than that of the Harkonnens. They had proved uncooperative, hostile — the Baron, his nephews, even Lady Jessica. Born to be an asset, they made themselves a threat. That was why Feyd-Rautha had to die.

She stood over his black bed.

The guards outside were dealt with, the courtiers were asleep, and the drunk and maddened crowd outside would not realise what happened until it was too late. This was the result of years of planning, months of preparation, and weeks spent on that polluted planet pretending to be one of the new interrogation trainers.

Torturing was not her forté, but there were worse fates than cutting men’s tendons clean or gouging out their eyeballs. All the “noble” prisoners were already long dead before she got there. Failed Harkonnens was all that was left. And all men bled the same.

She stood over his black bed with a knife.

“He must die,” she thought to herself, an angry frown blooming on her brow. Her body was already rebelling. “The Reverend Mother demands it. He must die.”

She stood over his black bed with a knife. And faltered.

The blade shone silver in the low electric light, hanging like a teardrop from her fist. Her body refused to move.

Should she really kill him now? Perhaps she should wait for him to turn on his back. What would it hurt to look at him a second more, just another, and another…? He was a good fighter, no matter the arrangements of the arena. Would it not be ignoble to slay him this way? Generations of genetic planning had culminated in him, and to let it all go now...

Her mind’s motions, the fleshy resistance, it all came to nothing in an instant, blown away like snowflakes on the sand. There was a change in the air all around them, a stillness where unconsciousness was before, a presence, like a horn blown through a storm in the lighthouses of old, sounds swallowed by sounds, an impact of cells in the air blooming into a single point of light. Feyd-Rautha opened his eyes.

She only caught the hint of an impish smile before she backed away as quickly as an indrawn breath. Her back hit the door and her hand scrambled for the handle, but he was upon her with the same speed he applied in his gladiatorial fights.

How could she have missed the signs that he had woken? Had his breathing even changed?

“Got you now,” he purred against her cheek, “Bene Gesserit.”

She bit back a scream, her skull pressed against the metal door, and with clenched teeth, she began a sharp command — the Voice. But her anger overwhelmed her and Feyd’s lips swallowed the words she hadn’t even finished speaking.

“Let me g—”

He kissed her like a lover. There was a passion in him that his ostentations of brutality had not yet killed and she found herself moaning, instinctively pleased with the full and masculine presence that swallowed her being — as if it wasn’t a murderer who had caught her just now.

His breathing was steady, as if he had planned all of that. From beyond the thick folds of her dress, she could feel his naked flesh. They clung to him, her clothes, as if they wanted to embrace him. His left hand held her fist, the blade trapped within their entangled grip. The other held her jaw, tilting her face high enough for his lips.

“I knew you’d come,” he breathed, pausing to rest his mouth on hers. She could taste ink on her tongue — the final traces from the coating on his teeth. “I dreamed of you.”

So that was how he knew. That was why he pouted in his sleep.

“Will you kill me?” he whispered.

She could feel it on her cheeks when that boyish smile of his grew.

“I have to,” she said, and her own voice betrayed her, sounding terribly broken.

“Try,” Feyd grinned.

#Feyd-Rautha #Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen #Feyd-Rautha x reader #Feyd x reader #Dune #Dune part 2 #Feyd oneshot #Dune imagine #Feyd-Rautha imagine #sswallow;fanfics #sswallow;made a thing #can't remember the last time I wrote something so short #I just really wanted to get it done tonight #I love him so much I'm unwell #Feyd #feyd rautha x reader #feyd rautha harkonnen #feyd x reader #feyd rautha #feyd rautha imagine

[sebastianswallows]

It's not like any other love | S.S. | Part 1

— PAIRING: dark!Sebastian Sallow x F!MC

— SYNOPSIS: In order to cast an unforgivable curse, you have to mean it. So how does Sebastian make himself want to hurt the girl he’s been harbouring a huge crush on?

— WARNINGS: angst, jealousy, unrequited love (or is it?), hurt/comfort, abstractly violent imagery, suggestive wand-work, and just an unfun time in the catacombs with Sebby and Omi and the MC that’s caught between them.

— WORDCOUNT: 1.3k

— A/N: Not beta read (except by remus-levioso 🙏 tysm) or existing with any sense or purpose. I just wanted to write something for this little troublemaker and I couldn’t stop thinking about how Sebby could hurt MC when he only seems to have positive feelings about her. I started to think about how he could hype himself up to wanting to hurt her, and just went down a rabbit hole of angst. Spoilers for the game, obvi. I hope you enjoy this, my lovelies 💞

“It won’t work unless you really mean it,” said Ominis, or something along those lines… Sebastian was already a wreck of fidgeting and frets as he stood in front of that door of marbled horror, watching from the corner of his eye while his new friend tried to get Ominis to cast the unforgivable. He didn’t want to think that they were doomed to die here, even with Noctua Gaunt’s skeleton beside him — he couldn’t accept it. Sebastian would batter his head against this problem, like he had done with every other one before it, and prevail.

He tapped his foot on the floor and slid a glance to Ominis again. As expected, he was shaking his head “no” and physically distancing himself from the new fifth year. Coward, Sebastian thought before he could stop himself — because it wasn’t fair, he reasoned, to hold it against Ominis after what he’d been through with his family. He promised himself he’d understand his friend, would sympathise, would listen… But what a coward.

“Ominis won’t cast it,” said the girl once she was by his side again. “What do we do now?”

And that’s how it started.

Sebastian was soon placed in the uncomfortable position of having to give free rein to those parts of himself he had, especially as of late, try to restrain. He was striving to be softer, gentler, more understanding — for Anne’s sake if not his own, and Ominis seemed to appreciate it too, and it wouldn’t do to scare off their new friend either. How sad, then, that casting the curse meant that Sebastian had to dig up all those freshly buried feelings that caused him so much regret — and all of them about the girl before him.

He prepared to cast the curse. In his mind, with one quick force of will, memories of recent days were summoned to the surface.

First, he brought up that spark of envy from when she first defeated him, at the duel in Professor Hecat’s class — the twinge of shame as well, because he liked it, because he wasn’t even mad that she had bested him, because she was genuinely better. Better than him? Hatred, jealousy, resentment.

Second, their meeting in the Charms class — which didn’t happen because she sat next to a Gryffindor and why? Why? Did she think him not good enough to sit with?! He’d joked to Ominis about casting Accio on people, certain that his blind friend wouldn’t know who he was looking at, but from Ominis’ suggestive retort — “Well, you’d be using it on clothing to be precise, Sebastian.” — he couldn’t be too sure of that. And how cruel of Ominis, if he said it on purpose, to make him think of summoning the clothes off her, pulling her toward him, landing her naked and helpless, in his arms… Resentment, longing, complete and utter despair.

Third, the Library. After he offered to show her the forbidden section, after he waited for her by the stairs for hours like a lovestruck puppy, after he protected her and took detention for her… all she had to say was “thanks”? He’d never felt so stupid as when he realised he expected far too much for far too little — because the only thing he really had to offer to her was himself, his knowledge, his skills, his sacrifice. Was he just not chivalrous enough? Was he not impressive enough? Was he just not… enough, at all? Despair, shame, crippling self-pity.

But she was enough for him — or so it seemed to his stupid smitten head, his roiling heart, his swirling dreams at night like so many teasing mermaids tucked behind their algae in the lake, like her in her forbidden bedroom up the stairs that slid beneath his feet — after just a couple of duels and a nighttime escapade among his favourite books and a trip to Hogsmeade to the flutter of lacewing flies (and the thumping of trolls). Sebastian couldn’t remember the last time he was so smitten so quickly and he wasn’t even sorry, he gladly shared every secret with her one by one just to see the sparkle in her eyes and would go into the deepest dungeon with her just to show off and he caught himself saying the stupidest most barefaced lies just to see her smile.

But no, she was impressed with Ominis, and his ability to talk to snakes, his sad past, his Undercrof… What a fool. Ominis wouldn’t be the least bit interested, he was too caught up in himself, too distant, too troubled — and in his more humane moments, Sebastian felt sorry for him, which perfectly counterbalanced the moments when he wished he’d been born in Ominis’ stead and had parents that taught him forbidden spells and told him all the time about his great lineage descending straight from Salazar himself. Oh. Of course she’d like Ominis better. Ominis, tragic and handsome and kind, who knew all the darkest curses and a catalogue of hexes and worse, who would rather die than hurt her. Well, Sebastian could do better than that, at least — he’d hurt her eagerly.

She wanted to learn the curse, she said. So he taught her. He showed her the motion, took her cold and clammy hand in his and guided her wand from behind, whispered the curse in her ear until he was satisfied she did it right —

“You need to say it as your wand descends.”

“Now?”

“No, start from higher. Like this, arm bent… Toward me. Closer.”

“Now?”

“Yes. Like cutting through flesh. Strong, forward motion.”

“Like this?”

“Just like that. Perfect, you’re perfect. I love teaching you curses, you’re so good… so good at it. Now, say it as I told you to.”

— and then, once she was ready, Sebastian took his place before her.

For once, Sebastian forgot how he felt about himself, and focused his emotions — mixed and myriad and primal — on her. It was, unsurprisingly, very easy. With the warm and soapy scent from behind her little ear and the tickle of her hair against his lips still fresh, he said it. The curse was tinged with his resentment for her, his jealousy of her, his yearning and hatred and want.

The flash of red moved in such a way as to cleave her open, as if he could, with a bolt of light, break her apart and peel her ribs away one at a time until he could get right to her heart, cup it in his hands, and steal it away.

What a piercing cry she gave, high and frail and consummately feminine. From the side of his senses, Sebastian could tell even Ominis was shaking, there in his corner where he cowered from the act. He could hardly blame his friend, it made his skin shiver too to get her to sound like that, to bring her to her knees, to make her moan and tremble with the aftershocks of pain. He’d admired her before, but now he just desired her — she’d never looked softer, more mortal, more fleeting, her skin drained of all colour as blood rushed away to escape the pain, her bones looking delightfully breakable, her chest heaving with sinking breaths that choked her and strangled her from within and left her dizzy. Sebastian was by her side as soon as the curse was over, equal parts fascinated and contrite, hands burning with the desire to just hold her.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

Part of him hoped more than anything that she was, that she forgave him, that she understood he had to do it. But another part wanted to see her scarred and ruined and at his mercy, his to nurture back to health, his to sustain, his to hold.

She got up before he even got to touch her, his hand left hovering in the air just above where she shoulder had been, and beside them the door of muted screams melted away, revealing the Scriptorium.

#Sebastian Sallow #Hogwarts Legacy #Sebastian Sallow imagine #sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian sallow x mc #Ominis Gaunt #Sebastian Sallow fanfiction #Ominis Gaunt fanfiction #I just love dark!Seb and the idea that he's jealous of Ominis I don't know I'm a sucker for this sort of thing and I'm not sorry #fanfic;any other love #sswallow;made a thing #sswallow;fanfics

[sebastianswallows]

— PAIRING: Sebastian Sallow x F!Reader

— SYNOPSIS: Sebastian is a purveyor of forbidden artefacts, a dark arts researcher, and a curse-breaker for hire. Ominis, desperate to save him from himself, hires Reader in secret to persuade him, by any means necessary, to leave his illegal activities behind.

— WARNINGS: angst, fluff, smut

— STATUS: complete

⸻ AO3 • MAIN TAG

CHAPTERS:

Chapter 1 • Chapter 2 • Chapter 3 • Chapter 4 • Chapter 5 • Chapter 6 • Chapter 7 • Chapter 8 • Chapter 9 • Chapter 10 • Chapter 11 • Chapter 12 • Chapter 13 • Chapter 14 • Chapter 15 • Chapter 16 • Chapter 17 • Chapter 18 • Chapter 19 • Chapter 20 • Chapter 21 • Chapter 22 • Chapter 23 • Chapter 24 • Chapter 25 • Chapter 26 • Chapter 27 • Chapter 28 • Chapter 29 • Chapter 30

#just putting this here because I think I reached some link limit on my main masterlist lol #so I'll be splitting up the bigger fics into their own mini-masterlists #ignore this the fic has been completed for a long time #Sebastian Sallow #Hogwarts Legacy #Sebastian Sallow imagine #Sebastian Sallow x reader #Sebastian Sallow x MC #Sebastian Sallow fanfiction #sswallow;made a thing #sswallow;fanfics #fanfic;danger and delight

[sebastianswallows]

Ardour — Chapter 3

— PAIRING: professor!Tom Riddle x Reader

— SYNOPSIS: Tom got what he wanted, he is the Hogwarts DADA professor. It's more tedious than he envisioned, but his day gets interesting when his favourite student comes to him for help after she is hit with a strong aphrodisiac.

— WARNINGS: smut, angst, hurt/cumfort, cunnilingus, Tom spilling in his pants like a teenager, sweet dirty talk, age difference (she is in 7th year), sex pollen, hints of incest (reader is a distant relative Gaunt, to give Tom something to find palatable about her, ok? I know, but... just go with it)

— WORDCOUNT: 5.2k

— A/N: Welcome to the last chapter of this fic! It is just 5k words of Professor Tom pleasuring his favourite student with his mouth. Enjoy! ✨

Tom gripped her by the waist and pushed her higher on the sofa. Her neck rested on the armrest now and she was perhaps less comfortable than before, but it gave Tom the space he needed. He went back to his tie and yanked it off, then his hands moved to unbutton his shirt, all the while keeping his eyes on her. Adara was breathing in a tired sort of way, somewhat stilted and pained. Tom, however, had begun to pant a little more as he faced the reality of what he was about to do — what he had chosen to do.

“Don’t worry, Miss Gaunt,” he said quietly to his student, adopting the most comforting voice he was capable of. “I’ll make you all better… I’ll clean you up. I…”

He, what? He wasn’t sure if he could say it.

And as he hastily unbuttoned his shirt, shoving one small irritating button out of its hole at a time, Adara looked at him with such open vulnerability… Her eyes did more to expose her than her parted legs and raised-up ruffled skirt. There was nothing hidden there, nothing left he hadn’t seen, hadn’t felt, hadn’t touched… His mind brushed against the surface of her own and shivered, recoiling almost, at the unfamiliar sense of trust.

She trusted him completely. And for some reason, Tom found that quite beautiful. It was a rare thing to see, especially from one of his students, and he couldn’t help but feel proud, maybe even a bit sentimental… Adara has allowed him to put his hands on the most intimate parts of her body, to see her and caress her and soothe her little heart — she was allowing him to take care of her, which was something he’d never really had. He’d always had to fight for everything he got, whether it was through coercion or lies or pure raw magical power, and yet here she was, opening herself up to him completely... When else would this ever happen again? Would it ever happen again?

Tom was lost in thought as he looked into her eyes, having almost forgotten about that small treasure between her legs — the chains of silvery essence that dripped from her, the velvet folds that pulsed and clenched, and the little pearl that gently throbbed above them… Almost.

With a hurried movement, he pulled his shirt off, yanked it angrily off his arm when it got tangled for a second, and threw it to the floor. With a bit more calm, he placed his hands over Adara’s thighs and caressed her skin as he leaned forward. His eyes fixed on her tired ones, Tom eased himself back a little, making himself comfortable, and gentled the girl open.

“Professor,” she whined, her neck tilting away from the hard armrest to rest against the back of the sofa.

“Shhh… It’s almost over,” he whispered. “I just need to… clean you up a bit… Will you let me?”

“B-but…”

“You said it still hurts, didn’t you?” he asked with a cocked brow.

“Y-yes, but why —”

“Let me do this,” he whispered hotly, sounding somewhat impatient now, and he knew how that tone of voice frightened her. It was almost as if she were back in his classroom, talking back to him, being argumentative and disobedient… She quieted immediately.

He smiled boyishly at her frightened little frown, but he had no intention of really hurting her, or even of speaking to her harshly. If she only knew the caring he felt for her deep down… She was his student, his best, his favourite, and beyond satisfying this newly acknowledged hunger for her, Tom wanted to see her healthy, happy, and safe. And the fact that they were, however distantly, related, both belonging to the doomed and disgraced House of Gaunt, only soothed his callousness further. The attention and affection that he’d always longed for, for himself, he could at least give to her… It was the closest he could come to feeling it himself — although by this point Tom was certain that, should he ask, she’d gladly reciprocate. At least, he hoped so.

She looked at him with a warm and tender gaze while her breathing grew more frantic. Seeing her professor’s lean, pale body was probably the last thing she ever expected, even in such a situation… He’d always been so proper, so composed, faultless as an unspoiled field of snow, cold purity as far as the eye could see — though clothed, consistently, in black. And so she blushed now not only from her own situation and the lingering effects of the Ardour Fly, but also from just seeing his naked arms — lean but fit, a young scholar’s arms — and when she dared trail her gaze upwards, his shoulders, his sharp clavicles, his chest… Pale and broad and smooth and dusted lightly with little black hairs that contrasted so sweetly with those two tight buds of dusky pink. On the side of his torso, on the right, she could spot a couple of little moles too. She wanted to kiss them, and closed her eyes tightly as the desire struck. She felt more shy at seeing him than she did at being seen herself.

Tom kissed the top of her knee and held his lips there for a moment, closing his eyes as he breathed in her skin. She winced, and by his waist, he could feel her feet flexing.

“Professor,” she whispered — not asking for anything, not asking anything, just saying it… acknowledging him, letting him know how thoroughly he consumed her senses.

He smiled and moved his lips lower, to the inside of her knee and her inner thigh and lower, more and more quickly, until his mouth was right above her tense stomach.

“How do you feel?” he asked quietly, his eyes still closed.

“Hurts,” she whined, her hips twisting.

He gripped her waist and held her still while he lowered his mouth and kissed the smooth skin there. “I’ll make it better,” he spoke against her lower tummy. “I promise.”

He didn’t know where that came from. Tom never promised anything, not sincerely anyway… But he meant it this time.

She whined at the feeling of his lips right above her aching womb, and gasped when he went lower. He kissed the softness of her mound, her girlish curls tickling his nose, and then his lips moved to her inner thigh, right next to where she hurt the most…

It was completely damp, slathered in her essence and her sweat, spread out in careless little splashes from when his fingers worked on her before. He kissed it off of her, the warm breath drying her a bit, before he moved to the other thigh and did the same. Above, he could hear Adara whimpering, wincing in discomfort… This didn’t soothe her needs, and if anything it only teased her further, but Tom wanted to do it, he wanted to lick her clean, just like he promised.

“Be still now,” he said in an oddly gentle voice. “This is good for you… This is what you need. I need to clean you, right here...”

Of course, why he had to do it with his mouth was something he didn’t feel like explaining right now, and Adara was too shy to ask — and too aroused, if she was being honest.

The sight of her favourite Professor’s dark head held between her thighs, his elegant pale hands holding her hips down in something that was half-clutch half-caress, his broad lean masculine back, and the feeling of his mouth lavishing her skin, it took her out of her mind, out of her body, and up into a vaporous experience where she was keenly aware only of herself, and of him… The rest of the world no longer existed. She felt herself being drunk up by him, mind and soul, just like her skin was nipped between his lips.

She felt like she was relaxed and tense all at once, her hips canting desperately into him, her legs trembling by his flexing jaw, hands restless as they switched from gripping the sides of the sofa to fisting at her chest…

And then he gripped her hips more tightly, pinning her down, and his kisses travelled inward.

Professor Riddle said nothing as he trailed his lips toward her folds, but he could feel himself breathing more deeply, and distantly was aware of his student breathing harder too. In the quiet of his office, he could almost hear her heart thumping — or was that his own?

She smelled more sweetly than he thought, and was so warm, still so dangerously warm from the effects of the Ardour fly… and throbbing. Beneath his desire to taste her, he pitied her. How much pain she must’ve still been in…

“There, there,” he gentled her, his whisper seeping into her core.

“Sir…?!”

“Don’t be scared,” he smiled, looking up into her eyes and swallowing the knot in his throat, swallowing the scent and taste of her that had gathered on his tongue. “I’ll take care of you, my good girl…”

And with a deep inhale, Tom stretched up a bit and placed a second kiss on the top of her soft mound. He lingered there a second longer than he meant to, distracting her a little while he spread her legs the slightest bit. Then, he leaned back down and closed his eyes, his head tilting slightly, and pressed a kiss right at her core. She was sweet, but beneath that, there was the lingering taste of Ardour Fly, like ginger and cinnamon.

He kissed her swollen folds as if they were her lips. It was loving and gentle, a caress, a pampering of her most sensitive and delicate parts... She moaned in a complaining sort of way, her thighs tensing, tickling his cheeks, but he wouldn’t move any faster. He was going to help her, clean her of the Ardour Fly, but he wanted to do it on his terms.

He took his time with her, his mouth teasingly still against her while her sensitive parts throbbed. They moved in their rhythmic way against his lips as if they were trying to kiss him back, to tease and tempt and coax him to pay them more attention… Tom smiled against her, and he gave it. His lips slowly opened wider, kissing her more fully, then wider still, trying to see if he could pull her fully in his mouth. He moaned against her taste and at the trickle of wetness she surrendered to him.

Holding his mouth open against her, he let his tongue slip out and briefly touched her little hole. Tom felt her jump and heard her gasp at the sensation, and he couldn’t help but chuckle smugly.

“Professor!” she moaned, her back stretching in a tense arch as her head fell limply back.

“Be good for me,” he groaned against her. “Keep your legs spread while I continue your treatment…”

She whined in complaint, but he felt her legs relaxing slightly, drawing further from his cheeks.

Tom sighed with satisfaction and eased his hands away from her hips, down the inside of her thighs, forcing her to spread a little wider as his face settled more closely to her core. With a greedy suckle, he pulled her lower lips into his mouth and held them there, letting their warmth sink into him. The taste of her flushed skin coated his tongue until there was no other taste in the world he could remember, and lightly, so lightly he was not sure she even felt it, he let his tongue slip to her little hole again.

But she did feel it — he could tell that she was shaking, her breaths coming in panicked panting heaves as he licked more and more, deeper into the place where she was hurting.

Without even a thought to the Ardour Fly anymore, Tom swallowed her down ravenously before he pulled his head away, letting her folds gradually slip from out of the tight hold of his mouth, and then lowered himself again, this time to lap on either side of them. He moaned as he cleaned up his good girl, drinking in every bit of her essence he could find, every drop of sweat, everything that wasn’t the darling taste of her skin.

Carefully, his hands went lower down her thighs until he could pull her lips apart with his thumbs, exposing her fully to him. Tom looked down at the maddening, his cheek resting on her right thigh. She was still so red… Her hole clutched at nothing and her little pearl throbbed.

He knew the feeling, or some equivalent to it, as in his trousers he felt ready to burst out of his skin. The whole of his loins felt wet with sweat and his pathetic seepings of desire. His manhood was fully hard and contorted in the tight confines of his clothes. Surreptitiously, he let himself rest more firmly down on it as he lay on his front on the sofa, groaning to himself.

Keeping her spread open, Tom leaned forward again and lapped right at her entrance.

“Aaaaahhh!”

“Still hurts, doesn’t it?” he sighed, speaking quietly. “It still needs something…”

“P-p-prof—”

“You’ve got a lot of that wicked powder here, don’t you?” asked Tom, looking up at her flushed face with a twinkle in his eye. “In this little place right here…?”

She bit her lip and nodded, forcing her legs to relax around her professor once more.

Tom smiled and licked his lips, then focused his dark eyes on her core again and spread her wider. It made the throbbing of her nub all the more visible as its little head was pulled out of its protective hood. The entrance to her body opened the slightest bit, a fat little dollop already waiting to flow out of it from the other side. Tom groaned and leaned in again.

The air around them was filled with sticky sounds, the clinks of wet kisses and the greedy lap-lap-lapping of his tongue. She moaned loudly, and Tom moaned with her. Adara blushed for a moment, thinking that he might have been making fun of her — but when she caught her breath and listened, she thought he sounded, if anything, hungry… and pained…

“Professor,” she sighed, one brave hand going down to cover his broad palm over her inner thigh.

Tom caressed her little fingers with his thumb while he kept tending to her with his mouth. He was still trying to remain gentle and cautious with his student, but the longer it went on, the harder it was for him to contain his own need. Her essence would not stop flowing, and he wanted all of it, wanted to taste every drop of it, wanted to drink from her until she fainted in his arms... He took a moment to look up at Adara's face, taking in her expression of confused pleasure, and then he quickly lowered his head again.

“Aaaahhh!” she gasped, her back arching sharply.

"Shhh... shhh... I need to focus, my dearest one," he whispered. "I promised to take care of you… Let me do it. Let me care for you..."

He was still being slow and cautious with her, and very, very thorough, leaving no bit of her skin without a suckling kiss or lick, but his groans had taken on a rougher, firmer tone. She could tell that he meant it, and she did her best to relax and let him do what needed to be done. She wanted him to take care of her, to make everything right, and yet the sensations she was feeling were becoming unbearably intense.

This was nothing like his fingers, which had been so firm, so sure, so precise in a devastating way… No, this was all fluid flesh and velvet dragging on velvet and the strong smooth muscle of his tongue, an organ she so often respected when he spoke during class, was driving her insane in a way she never thought possible. The whole sensation was like being made love to by a sentient body of water, or a flowing chaotic thing like a flame made flesh, and yet it was like none of those things… It was like nothing else in the world, and all she could do was stay still, be good for him, spread her legs, and let him hear her pleasured moans.

“Sir, that’s… It feels like… like…”

“Like what?”

The question came out slightly muffled, as Tom had let her folds slip from between his thumbs to come down back around his own. His mouth was buried as deeply into her slit as it could be.

“Aaah… it… mmm… there’s…”

“What is it?” asked Tom, breathing hotly over her clenching little hole. “What more do you need?”

His dark eyes trailed up to hers, and although her mouth was slack and her head hung dazedly to the side, he could read the desire in her eyes… His wet and plush lips, slightly bruised from how much he had worked on her, curled into a tilted smile.

“Oh I know what my good girl needs,” he chuckled.

His thumbs pressed softly into her folds, testing their plushness, making a bit more wetness seep out in a slick trickle down her slit.

“This little part wants some attention too, doesn’t it?” he asked as he let his breath fan over her nub. “I’m right. No? Aren’t I right? But… that wouldn’t do,” he teased. “I’m here to clean you up, my favourite, not to give pleasure to your naughtiest parts…”

She whined like a kitten denied of her treat, and Tom had to chuckle at it.

He brought his lips to the hard little point, closing them around the edges of its protective hood in a soft kiss, light and careful and affectionate. His hips ground against the sofa once again, easing the pain in his groin, and he groaned against her. Above, she gave a shivering moan at the sensation, and then he fixed his lips around her pearl more firmly.

He sucked it between his lips with almost punishing greed, causing her legs to shiver and wild little rasps to leave her throat as she thrashed helplessly. Without even thinking, Tom pressed his tongue forward and, as his suckles pulled the tip more firmly out of its hood, he rubbed the very tip of his tongue against it.

“Aaaaah— Professor! Too much, too much!”

Tom’s smirk tickled her right thigh, and he kept tending to her, nursing on her most delicate point. Her hips, in an effort to shake him off, moved up and down as much as he allowed her, but it was no use. He held her hip firmly with his left hand and with his right he held her thigh, letting his thumb rest against her hole. The canting of her hips made her rub the tight entrance on it, dripping against and around it, while Tom kept his lips stubbornly on her nub.

“Sir! Professor! Please!”

Her begging only made him more hungry. Tom heaved and frowned, his kiss getting messier, his mouth opening occasionally around as much of her as he could grasp between his lips, before closing on her nub again and pulling on it tightly. When he had it fixed and at his mercy, his tongue flicked it up and down, making it as erect as it could be…

Her pleas were a mess of sounds by now, and her hands gripped her throat and hair as she arched. The office became filled with her cries of pleasure and the damp sounds made by his mouth.

When he began to feel more loving, he relaxed his lips around her, cradling her sensitive flesh within him. He let his tongue drag slowly, slowly up from her flexing hole up the underside of her pearl, and ending the journey with a suckling kiss. He did it again, encouraged by her long and wailing moan, letting his tongue linger on the very underside of it this time, curling right beneath her tender tip, pressing against it for as long as he could while she thrashed and cried, and when he could no longer hold it, he closed in with another kiss.

Tom tilted his head to the left and he kissed her nub as gently as he’d kissed her hole before, just like he wanted to kiss her mouth. It was a slow and deep caress coloured by his own deep moans.

Slowly, and then all of a sudden, he felt her thighs begin to shake. Her whimpers were sounding stilted, muffled, and when he looked up Tom saw that she was covering her mouth with both hands. Her fingers were wet with tears and her eyes were tightly shut. Her whole body shivered, but especially her stomach and her legs. With a fresh rush of greed, he moved his hands around her waist in such a way that tilted her lightly upwards.

He held her like a chalice, and holding her so bowed his head to deliver a long, lingering, deep kiss. Her shivers slightly abated, as if her every muscle held its breath in sympathy with him.

His loins meanwhile were pressed against the sofa almost painfully and he held himself still while he swallowed everything she had to give — her wetness that wouldn’t stop gushing, her moans that escaped even the hard clutch of her hands, and the sweet, sweet, taste of her skin completely rid of the sharpness of the Ardour Fly — and then in a sharp throb that made Tom wail into her girlhood, he felt himself pulse once, twice, and release into his pants. It was a long and arduous spill that left him feeling muggy, his skin both hot and cold with the feel of his essence finally released from his long-suffering sac. Still, humiliating as it was for him to reach the peak of pleasure from just a loving kiss of her entrance, it was better this way — the aphrodisiac, as he lapped it off of her, had begun for several moments to affect him as well, but satisfying his desires sated it.

He breathed in and out slowly as he calmed himself, his eyes closed, and he kept his mouth on her. With his tongue, he lapped from her seeping hole, so ravenous and lonely, all the way to her hard little point that he’d tortured with too much attention. It made her jump again.

“Prof—!”

“That’s it, good girl,” he moaned, barely lifting his mouth from her.

“Aaah! Oh, that’s…!”

“Good girl, do it, do it for me…”

She could scarcely hear what he was saying beneath her frantic moans, but somehow, she felt it.

Tom switched from lapping at her to pulling her with harsh suckles into his mouth, then licking her again, and again, and on and on — until she gave one high scream and clenched.

“Aaaaahhh! Aaah… aaahh… P-profes— Sir—”

“There you go, my favourite,” he moaned, sighing against her painfully tight entrance. His mouth seemed constantly undecided between kissing it as it throbbed and kissing her swollen folds and her nub and every other little spot between them. He lavished all the love he had on her, scraping every corner of his withered heart for a sliver of something good and pure to offer her — and, for an instant, he felt worthy enough to do it.

“There’s my good girl… So nice,” he said before another kiss, “so sweet… Does that feel good?” he asked gently. “Hm? Did that make you feel good?”

Adara groaned and shivered as her body lost all tension and all strength, falling to rest in a puddle on the sofa. This last one took every last ounce of strength in her… But at least now, the Ardour Fly was sated. She could feel its effects draining from her with every lingering pulsation of her girlhood, and her every next breath was one of deep relief.

“Sir,” she whispered tremblingly, “that’s… yes, so… so good,” she moaned, her eyes looking hazily down at her professor.

Tom smiled a genuinely happy, proud smile. To ease her down, and soothe the discomfort from his own embarrassingly soaked loins, he indulged and nursed himself a moment longer on her pearl. He swallowed mouthfuls of her taste until she whined a bit louder, clearly too sensitive to take it anymore. He sighed, and let her go. His hands eased off her hips, grip loosening into a caress, a petting of her sides that trailed up and down from her thighs to her ribs.

“How do you feel?” he asked, gazing down at her with somewhat of a dazed look too. Raising his front off the sofa, he felt the sweat that had gathered on his chest begin to cool.

“Good,” she whispered, looking up at him sleepily.

“Good,” he said, smiling a little brighter.

He cupped her torso with his left palm and reached his right hand up to her face, wiping a few stray tears away with his thumb. Her legs were limp around him and her face was still blooming with a blush, but aside from that and the lethargy of after-pleasure, she seemed completely healthy… Back to normal.

And of course, with that came the inevitable humiliation. Adara looked down at herself and clumsily tried to cover her waist again with her skirt, slipping shy looks up at her professor. Tom chuckled and busied himself brushing a few stray hairs from her forehead.

“I, erm… T-thank you, s-sir, it’s…”

She felt so ashamed so could nearly cry. Professor Riddle didn’t seem to mind, but he sympathised with her anyway.

“I’ll… I’ll let you catch your breath,” he said quietly, easing himself off the sofa and wiping her wetness off his chin.

“T-thanks,” she said, both hands tucking the skirt between her thighs and staying there. With a groan, she curled her knees up and let her legs fall to the right, while her chest moved up and down with panting breaths that eased and eased the more her body cooled.

She looked up at the ceiling, then chanced a glance at her professor. He had picked up his shirt off the floor and drowsily threw it back on. She caught the barest hint of sweat pooled in the lower dip of his back before it was covered up, and her face burned again. As if feeling her gaze, Tom looked over his shoulder, catching her right before she turned her head away again.

“I have to go to my quarters and… wash up a bit,” he said. What he meant was that he intended to get a new change of clothes and maybe squeeze his manhood of whatever was left, because a quick rub against the cushions had been perfunctory at best. “But before that, I will get you a glass of water. You must be quite… dehydrated,” he smirked, his fixed on hers before he walked away to do just that.

With less of a steady hand than he wished, Tom poured her a tall glass of water and came back to kneel by the sofa and help her drink it. She grumbled, but he insisted on holding her head steady while he tipped the glass to her lips. Nobody had ever really done a thing like that for him, he realised now — perhaps only a nurse in the infirmary when he caught a cold in his second year. Maybe for that reason he especially liked doing it for her.

“Do you feel well now?” he asked with a concerned frown, all hints of teasing gone. He placed the back of his hand lightly to her forehead.

“Yes,” she said, looking up into her professor’s dark eyes. “T-thank you. That was… What you did w-was —”

“Not as great of a sacrifice as you’re trying to tell me it was,” he said with a cool smile. “Don’t concern yourself with it, Miss Gaunt. We won’t think of it again.” And he knew he didn’t have to tell her not to speak of it, especially. “In fact, if you want, I can… I could…”

“What?” she asked, curious to see her professor stutter for once.

Tom sighed and looked with quiet resolve into her eyes. “I could Obliviate you.”

“No!” she said, somewhat too quickly. “No… I don’t want you to.”

He seemed surprised, but happy with her answer. “Very well,” he smiled, her thumb caressing her cheek once more, just briefly, just for a moment — what a brave girl his favourite was, what a darling delicious girl — and then he caught himself and took his hand away as if he had no right to touch her, as if he hadn’t been touching her for more than an hour.

“When you’re feeling up to it, I suggest you get back to your dorm,” he said, getting briskly up again. “You’ve already missed dinner.”

Adara nodded and drank a bit more water, and waited for him to back to his quarters for that ‘washing up’ he mentioned before she gathered the courage to try to sit. It was a bit of a challenge. All her muscles ached, their energy burned away in so many shivers, but gradually she could stand up again.

With one last blush, she picked up her discarded panties from the floor, where they had become a bit entwined with her professor’s tie.

She put them on, revoltingly wet as they were, righted her hair and her clothes as much as she could, and walked to the desk to where Professor Riddle now stood, drinking a glass of firewhisky.

“I’ll leave now, Sir,” she said to his back. “T-thank you again, I—”

“Don’t mention it,” he said.

“I… I’d like to repay you one day, if I can,” she offered, looking at his ruffled dark hair with pleading eyes.

“Don’t,” he chuckled.

He put his glass down with a sigh and turned around. He looked at her… seeming not at all angry, and not remotely as cold as he usually was. In fact, the only thing he looked like was tired… and a little fond.

“You have nothing to thank me for,” he smiled. “I just hope… I just hope you’re alright now.”

She nodded.

Tom looked like he wanted to say something, something more, more than this tepid formality he forced himself to exchange with her. He wanted to tell her she was beautiful, he wanted to tell her they shared the same blood, he wanted to tell her he would like nothing better than to be her escape from her horrible side of the family, to offer her comfort, to offer her care… But as much of a selfish, needy, villain that he was, he wasn’t that.

“I’ll see you in class next week.”

And that would be the end of it.

#Tom Riddle #Tom Riddle fanfiction #Tom Riddle imagine #Tom Riddle x Reader #Tom Riddle x OC #Harry Potter #Harry Potter fic #sswallow;fanfics #sswallow;made a thing #fanfic;ardour #Tom Riddle smut

[sebastianswallows]

Beautiful memories — Chapter 1

— PAIRING: Sebastian Sallow x F!MC (aged up)

— SYNOPSIS: Sebastian is sentenced to Azkaban for six months. When he is released, he finds MC is expecting a child, and is filled with anger and jealousy and confusion. He just doesn't know the child is his yet.

— WARNINGS: angst, just a lot of angst (eventually there will be fluff and smut, but in later chapters)

— WORDCOUNT: 2.7k

— A/N: This fic is for a prompt by @pugsnotdrugs92, and I was also asked to write a similar fic by at least one anon.

Sadly, since she gave me that prompt, Pugs has deleted her blog. I have just learned this tonight and I am... pretty damn upset, I'll say that (not at her of course 💗, but at what caused it).

I will just say that if you get hate from anyone, block them, block indiscriminately until you have peace. I hope that Pugs (and anyone who deleted their blog as part of this mess) will make an account on this hellsite again one day <3

Anyway! On with the fic. Hope you enjoy it, my dears 🌺

Nobody had any idea who turned Sebastian in. It came so unexpectedly that they almost didn’t believe it when he happened. After all, it had been two years since Solomon’s death, and everyone in Feldcroft believed he died in his sleep.

“I know it isn’t me,” she said tearfully to Ominis one day, “and I know it isn’t you.”

“And it wasn’t Anne either,” said Ominis with a shake of his head.

“Are you sure? She still isn’t speaking to Sebastian.”

“She protected him this whole time, why would she report him to the ministry now? She might not forgive Sebastian, but she wouldn’t do this to him…”

Their suspicions fell on Leander, or the goblins, or any number of rivals Sebastian had made, but none of their suspects were likely to even know the truth about what happened that day in the catacomb. It therefore stood to reason that someone had overheard them speaking about it at some point, but that did little to narrow it down — for all they knew, one of the portraits had heard them and reported it to the Headmaster.

Ultimately, it didn’t matter who told the Aurors about it. The trio rushed through their N.E.W.T.S. half-heartedly, with Sebastian unsurprisingly scoring lower than he ever had, and in their spare time they spoke of nothing but the upcoming trial.

They’d even arranged for a solicitor for Sebastian, and visited him via floo in London, but he only spoke to his client in private. And every time Sebastian walked out of the wizard’s office, he looked more discouraged than the last.

The trial took place during summer, right after their 7th year ended. Both she and Ominis attended it every day. Imelda came sometimes as well, and Poppy, and Lucan — even Garreth attended on two occasions. He’d never liked Sebastian much, but he seemed to put aside his feelings throughout all of this.

“They don’t mean to send him there, do they?” he whispered as they sat outside the courtroom one sweltering afternoon.

“Where else?” said Imelda. “They closed all the other wizarding prisons centuries ago.”

“But he’s supposed to have done it while he was still a student…”

“What d’you expect? That they’ll give him detention for murder?”

“No, but…”

“You don’t think he really did it, do you, Imelda?” asked Poppy, leaning over Garreth.

“He didn’t,” said Ominis without even glancing their way.

“That’s right,” she said from beside Ominis. “Sebastian’s done nothing wrong.”

The trial went badly almost from the start. The judge was a grey old wizard in a funny wig, and there was no jury to speak of. He seemed to treat the death of a former Auror, even one of such ill repute as Solomon, quite seriously. The Prosecution leaned into that every chance they got.

Anne was called to give testimony in the first week, and she confessed under oath what she had found when she reached the catacombs, which was enough to shock the court. Sebastian’s friends took courage from the fact that she had not actually seen what killed Solomon, but it was only a matter of the judge drawing a line between a quick succession of events.

Ominis was called to the stand as well, but lied shamelessly. Even the threat of Veritaserum from the Prosecution didn’t sway him. He knew none of them would dare submit a Gaunt to that — a rare occasion of his family name amounting to something. However, him being Sebastian’s oldest friend cast doubt upon his entire deposition…

And then, she was called to give testimony as well. Unlike Ominis, she was not sure she could afford to lie, but nothing could get her to betray Sebastian.

All that she could remember was that Solomon attacked the both of them, and both she and Sebastian felt quite threatened by him, and then somehow, between the flying curses and roving Inferi, Uncle Solomon fell dead. But that happened, after all, more than two years ago, Your Honour, and it was in a dark and gloomy cave — and oh, what were they doing there? Objection. Relevance?

Ominis and the others congratulated her on well she held her own, but deep down, she felt like she had let her best friend down — her statement didn’t put the blame on Sebastian, but neither did it exonerate him.

By the time the trial was approaching the end, their former classmates had stopped coming, and only she and Ominis were left.

“He looks so —”

“I know,” said Ominis, not wanting to hear her describe him. This was on the last day, and the judge would give the verdict.

Guilty. Six months in Azkaban.

The courtroom reverberated with murmurs from the crowd — some in approval, others in outrage.

It was a horrible sentence to hear, but it was not as bad as their worst fears — people were often given life imprisonment for the Unforgivables. Fortunately, in Sebastian’s case, there was not enough conclusive evidence either way. Still, if they were to appeal, it would take longer than six months to even have a new judge assigned to the case, so they were left with no choice but to accept it.

As the Aurors led Sebastian away, she and Ominis stood together and called out useless encouragements to their friend, telling him to have courage, to be strong, have faith that he would soon be free, but he went with the guards without looking back at them…

Most of their former classmates were shocked but seemed to think the six-month sentence would pass quickly. They knew Azkaban was pretty horrible and could remember a few things from their DADA class, but none of them was truly educated on the nature of Dementors. Ominis was. He’d been in their presence when he and his father went to visit an uncle of his who’d been sentenced for murdering a muggle. He claimed it was the worst experience he’d ever had in his life — worse than Crucio, in its own way. He still remembered how the despair lingered inside him for days.

And as time passed, she became aware of something lingering within herself as well…

By the fourth month, she had to use concealment charms around her waist when she went out in public. Ominis figured it out on his own — it was probably that echolocation spell he used to get around. He’d merely been suspicious at first, but by the fifth month…

“Can anyone else see?!”

“No, and they won’t if you just stop —”

“But this could ruin your reputation!”

“Don’t you think I know that?!”

“I can’t believe you! How c—”

“Ominis, shut up,” she hissed.

“But you —”

“It’s Sebastian’s!”

“… Oh. I suppose that makes it better, then.”

From then on, Ominis supported her and helped her in any way he could — which admittedly wasn’t much, as he was still getting used to living on his own after being freed from his family’s clutches. And either way, the first few months were gentle enough on her that she could cope well enough on her own. The only help she needed was preparing her small flat to host two people — and eventually three — which meant some creative furniture transfiguration to fit everything in too small a space.

Christmas arrived in the meanwhile, then the New Year. They had tried writing to him every month by then, but the authorities kept sending their letters back — none were allowed for fear of concealed enchantments, they said, and no visitations were allowed either for lower-class prisoners. It broke her heart to know him all alone throughout those rotten months and all through the holidays. Neither she nor Ominis found it in them to celebrate anything that year…

Sebastian was released in February. They wouldn’t be allowed on the island of Azkaban, but they could see him at the Ministry, where he would be transported before he was officially freed.

She and Ominis got there at sunrise, and waited for hours.

Sebastian’s assigned solicitor couldn’t be there, as he had another case, but he sent a house elf to sign the release form in his name. Anne hadn’t come either, but that was hardly a surprise…

The two of them sat alone in a busy hallway, watching witches and wizards pass through — some going in, some going out — until finally, late in the afternoon, the Auror at the front desk told them that inmate Sallow would be arriving within minutes.

“Here, here, they said this will be the exit,” she said, pulling on Ominis’ sleeve.

Two large wooden doors lay open out of which a long dark hallway extended like a neck, and on either side were doors being shut and open of ministry workers travelling through. There was constantly a small crowd of people darkening that space even further.

“I think that’s him,” she said, standing on the tips of her toes when she spotted a dark ruffled head of hair.

“Alright, stay calm,” said Ominis, taking her hand to settle her. Since he’d realised that she was pregnant, he was instinctively more protective.

“Oh, it is! It is him!” she said with tears in her happy voice.

Sebastian was led out of one of those side doors — dressed in a grey and black prisoner’s uniform, his hands and feet chained, terribly thin and tired and bent at the back, and looking as if he hadn’t slept for days…

“Sebastian!” she called out, waving to him with the hand that wasn’t in Ominis’ grasp. “Over here!”

He looked up slowly, as if doubting that he’d heard his name called. His eyes searched blearily through the crowd ahead, not really focusing anywhere, but then they fell on her. She grinned brightly when she caught his gaze.

“Y-you came?” he said, looking at the two of them like they were a dream come true.

“Of course,” she said.

“Surely you didn’t expect anything else,” grinned Ominis.

“I… I need to go somewhere, they’re taking me to… to…” He didn’t have time to explain before Aurors led him around the corner and to another room, for processing.

“We’ll be here,” she called out after him, “we’ll wait for you!”

“How does he look?” whispered Ominis. “He sounded quite weak.”

“He looks… the way he sounded,” she said, “but he’ll be alright… He has to be. We’ll make sure of it.”

Less than thirty minutes later, Sebastian stepped back outside. He was now dressed the way he was when they arrested him: a faded green sweater and black trousers with worn old leather shoes. The clothes hung on his lanky frame, his face was all angles and shadows, and he looked as if he hadn’t had a wash in the whole six months. He was, of course, without his wand as well — they’d broken that after his sentencing.

But there was a still little light still left in his eyes, and it shone when he saw his friends again. He called out her name and Ominis’, and walked toward them with feeble brisk steps.

“I can’t believe it,” he grinned weakly, his steps growing bolder the closer he got to his friends. “I never thought —”

But then he noticed their joined hands, and her swollen stomach, and it nearly stopped him in his tracks. He only caught the sight for a second before she let go of Ominis and rushed to embrace him.

“Seb,” she cried out as she jumped into his arms. She clung to his neck like a lifeline. “I’ve missed you so much…”

“I’ve… missed you too,” he said, his voice low and uncertain.

She buried her face in his neck while Sebastian’s eyes fell to Ominis — who embraced him too from the other side in an uncharacteristic display of affection, before he stood back timidly.

“How… erm, how are you?” he asked with a nervous smile, feeling more happy than he cared to admit, and relieved to have his friend back in one piece.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” said Sebastian. Gently, he dropped the girl from his arms and slowly pulled away.

“Of course,” she said, wiping her tears and stepping back, but keeping his hand clasped in hers. “You don’t have to. You don’t have to say anything. We just came to take you home. It’s alright now… You’re free, you’re finally back. We’ve missed you so much…”

“Home?” said Sebastian, looking between her and Ominis coolly. “Whose home is that?”

“Well… whichever one you want,” she said. “Yours or mine or…”

“I don’t think I’m ready to see Feldcroft again,” said Sebastian. “But I wouldn’t want to… impose on either of you.”

“What?” frowned Ominis. “Don’t be stup— I mean, don’t worry about that, Sebastian.”

“Oh, is there something to worry about?” he asked.

“Well —”

“We don’t need to discuss that —”

“— here.”

“— now.”

“… I see.”

“Don’t concern yourself with anything,” she smiled, stepping up to him again and embracing him loosely. “Let’s leave this horrible place first…”

They made their way out of the ministry building and through the cold London streets toward Diagon Alley, and his friends talked to him excitedly about the things that had happened: what their former classmates were doing, what they knew about Anne, even the latest Quidditch matches.

They probably felt less cheerful than they seemed, but their enthusiasm was overflowing as they prattled on about all the normal things people their age should care about, almost as if nothing bad had happened at all. They laughed, and smiled, and rubbed his back, and all the while there was in Sebastian’s gait much of the same imprisoned and defeated look as there had been when he was led out of the courtroom at his sentencing.

“We wrote to you while you were there,” she said as they approached the Leaky Cauldron.

“But the damned guards never delivered them,” said Ominis.

Sebastian listened in silence, and they tacitly agreed it was because of what he had been through. He would open up to both of them in time, they were certain…

They decided to have lunch at the Cauldron since neither of them had eaten anything since morning — and they didn’t even wish to think of the food in Azkaban. They ordered sausages and eggs and mashed potatoes and a great big serving of pickled pumpkin.

Sebastian ate the least out of the three of them — and what he didn’t finish, she devoured. Ominis hid his chuckle behind a cough, while Sebastian could barely look at her. If she noticed it, she didn’t say. She just kept smiling and laughing along with Ominis…

More than ever in Azkaban, he wished he could dig a hole for himself through which to disappear. The Leaky Cauldron was noisy and crowded, the smell of food made his stomach turn, and every scrape of a chair was like a scratch across his brain. Even sitting down was uncomfortable, his muscles too thin and his back too weak to hold him. He moved uncomfortably from one position to another, and let his friends prattle on to fill the emptiness between them.

After almost an hour, they decided to leave, and Sebastian nodded in agreement.

“I’m seeing someone at the ministry next Wednesday about a position,” said Ominis as they walked toward the fireplace. “But I can stop by afterwards if that’s alright.”

“Of course,” she said. “You’re always welcome, you know that.”

“Do you have enough chocolate at home? I can bring some more.”

“Shelves full of it,” she laughed. “But more is always a good idea. I suspect we’ll need it.”

“Well, I’ll bid you two goodbye for now, then,” said Ominis as he waved them off, blissfully oblivious to what was going through Sebastian’s mind.

“Goodbye,” she said with a tearful smile, letting go of Sebastian for a brief while to hug their friend once more.

“I’ll let you know before I arrive on Wednesday.”

“Not to worry, Ominis. We’ll be alright… Everything will be alright now.”

“I hope so…”

“And good luck with your interview!”

“Thank you… Although I’m not sure I want it.”

“Thank you, Ominis,” said Sebastian tiredly. “For… everything.”

“Don’t be silly,” he smiled. “I’m glad to have you back. We both are. Just focus on getting well again…”

Sebastian nodded, not feeling that any of their kind words were true. He disappeared in the green flames with her, wishing for once to not appear on the other end.

#Sebastian Sallow #Ominis Gaunt #hl #Sebastian Sallow fanfiction #Sebastian Sallow imagine #Sebastian Sallow x MC #Sebastian Sallow x reader #pugsnotdrugs92 #I miss you 😭 #sswallow;made a thing #sswallow;fanfics #fanfic;memories

[sebastianswallows]

A new family — Chapter 1

— PAIRING: dark!Ominis Gaunt x F!MC

— SYNOPSIS: Ominis gets tired of his family and how miserable life is with them after he graduates. So he follows Sebastian's example for once, and kills them in cold blood. Now that he has the mansion to himself, he discovers he would still like to have a family, but one of his own making.

— WARNINGS: angst, culminating in murder

— WORDCOUNT: 2.1k

— A/N: Following A Different Kind of Key, I got a prompt for breeding kink with Ominis. I decided to combine this with a fic idea I had included in a poll a few months ago, which was that Ominis kills his parents in revenge, and begins to appreciate the dark arts. I don't know yet how many chapters this will have, but get ready for a dark and manipulative Ominis, and smut 💕 Enjoy, my dears!

It wasn’t like Ominis to say Sebastian inspired him. But that was, in a strange twist of events, what ended up happening.

The day Solomon died changed everything between the four friends involved with it. Sebastian and Anne’s uncle was gone, Sebastian was the one who killed him and Anne was left distraught, their fifth-year-friend was there when it all happened, and Ominis was left feeling like the earth was pulled from underneath him, not knowing where he’ll land. During the following days, Anne buried Solomon and ran. He knew where she was, but was sworn to secrecy never to reveal it to anyone, particularly not to Sebastian. It was a difficult request, but Ominis expected it to be made easier by Sebastian’s inevitable indictment for murder, which was bound to come any day now — right?

Their friend, who even witnessed the murder, refused to turn him in. That left the weight of the choice to Ominis, but he was easily swayed. Why lose two friends when he’s already lost one? So he said nothing…

During the months that followed, the weight of all that happened hung over them like a sword, like a noose ready to drop, like a tipping avalanche. Yet nothing happened. They entered the sixth year, and then the seventh. Anne healed from the curse’s influence — it turned out that Rookwood was the real culprit — and Sebastian graduated from Hogwarts — with the commendations of all their professors — and it had almost escaped Ominis how surreal the whole thing was, but sometimes he reminded himself that Sebastian had gotten away with murder.

It was a struggle to push down just how impressed he was. Sebastian had gotten practically everything he wanted: Anne was cured, Solomon was out of the way in a permanent fashion, and their mutual friend, well, she was under Sebastian’s sway now as much as he was under hers. Complicity did that…

It wasn’t fair. His best friend had a brilliant career ahead of him in whatever field he chose, he had every opportunity now to look for his sister again, and his perfidious little friendship was blooming into a romance day by day — meanwhile, what did Ominis have to look forward to? A return to his parents’ clutches and some arranged incestuous marriage, no doubt.

It wasn’t fair. All his other classmates were cheerful to be done with school, optimistic, hopeful, happy. They had jobs and girlfriends and some were even due to marry. And Sebastian, disgustingly, behaved as if nothing had happened in fifth year, as if he wasn’t a murderer.

It wasn’t fair.

Ominis rode in the cabin with his two friends on the train back to London, where Sebastian was excited to go and apply for a position with Borgin and Burkes.

“You know you’d do better in the ministry…” their friend told him, the smile in her voice teasing but sweet.

“Funny,” chuckled Sebastian.

“You’re still afraid of them?” she goaded.

“I think they should be afraid of me,” said Sebastian quietly, leaning toward her over Ominis. “The score is still one-nill last I checked.”

“Yes, but they don’t know that,” she said, leaning toward him too so that they now hovered somewhere around Ominis’ chest.

“And I plan to keep it that way,” said Sebastian.

“Excuse me,” said Ominis, pretending not to know they were there and getting up briskly enough to knock them back.

“Omi—!”

“Hey, watch it!”

He grabbed his wand and went out of cabin, shutting the door behind him. He pretended to go to the restroom, and pretended to use it for the next 15 minutes, and pretended not to hold back tears of jealousy.

Things only got worse once he arrived home. His parents did not exactly welcome him with open arms, although he had excelled in his NEWTs and was among the best students of his year. No, they behaved as if he’d just been done with a silly distraction, that filthy school that took in mudbloods, and his filthy friends from lowborn families, and now his real life started, said his father, and the fun was over.

He lasted two weeks until he murdered them.

He considered doing it in their sleep, but he wanted them awake. It was the evening of the 17th of July, and it rained and hailed all throughout supper. Ominis pretended to retreat early for the night, leaving them all together in the dining room, tired and mellow with firewhisky.

The doors shut on their own as if by a gust of wind. The chandeliers and fireplace were frozen with a spell. And the dining room was plunged into utter darkness.

A decanter was knocked to the floor and his father was cursing, and his mother called out from the top of her lungs for the elves, but Ominis had sent them away. His sister was rambling something about the house being haunted. They were learning now what it was like for him, what it had always been like for him, although he didn’t imagine they could appreciate it. He cast off the disillusionment spell, he didn’t need it anymore, and summoned all their wands to him wordlessly. Disarmed and scared and in the dark, he picked them off one by one.

First, his sister. He surprised himself by not shaking at all as he did it. In fact, he had never been more calm — was this how Sebastian had felt?

Their mother became noticeably quiet when she saw the brief green light and heard a body fall, but it took a while until she found her, feeling around on the floor. She barely said her daughter’s name in anguish before Ominis killed her too.

His father was left, and by then he’d begun to suspect, calling his name and prowling through the pitch black in that lumbering way he did. Ominis allowed him to hear his footsteps coming closer.

“I know it’s you, you little rat,” spat Gaunt Senior, facing him but standing still. “I heard you say it.”

“And you’ll hear it again,” said Ominis coolly, “right before you drop dead.”

“If only your brother were h—”

“Avada kedavra.”

The flash of green enveloped his body as it collapsed to the floor, and then it was gone, and it was dark again.

Not that Ominis noticed a difference. All he knew now was quiet, and peace, and loneliness. He finally had a life work looking forward to.

The first order of business was to get rid of the bodies, which he accomplished by turning them into teacups and finding a place for them in the glass cabinet in the living room. Brushing his finger across one, he thought it felt different from normal porcelain — a bit more rough, less cold, like bone — but their shape and weight were otherwise quite perfect. He smiled as he put them away.

The next issue was what to do with his brother… Marvolo lived somewhere in London, and he had enough friends there already that his absence would be noted. And he would not come back to the Gaunt manor just because Ominis called. Even if he did, he’d inquire as to what happened to their parents.

Which brought him to the last and final point: how to explain their absence.

He spent the next hour packing their wands, their cloaks, a cauldron, a few ingredients, and a sacrificial dagger, and then he went off into the nearby woods. They sometimes went there to perform spells that called for incantations and ritual sacrifice of the local fauna, often not returning until morning, stinking of wet dirt and blood. He could say a spell went wrong, an animal attacked, and there was no trace left of them but a few less-than-savoury items.

It was quite a trek to make all on his own, even levitating the items behind him, which often snagged in the low branches and the weeds. When he thought he was far enough, he planted the cauldron in the middle of a clearing and stuck the dagger in the earth, scattering the other items all around in what might be a convincing pattern should anyone come look.

Morning found him in his bed, alone and dirty, but content.

Ominis smiled and turned on his back, and listened: quiet. No screaming, no fights, no one ordering him around, no threats of violence, no curses, nothing.

It took about twenty minutes for that to start to bother him.

His fingers toyed with the wand which rested on his stomach, and he thought about all the times he’d judged Sebastian for using the Unforgivables. A part of him still found it abhorrent, because Sebastian was never in such a situation as he had been with his family. However bad Solomon was, he wasn’t like the Gaunts. Meanwhile, another part whispered that he should feel ashamed.

“But I don’t,” he said to himself, speaking with nobody else to hear. “I’m not. I’m not sorry.”

And he wasn’t, for many days to come. When the house elves returned from the prolonged shopping trip Ominis had sent them on, he told him the same lie he had prepared — Mister Gaunt had gone with his family in the woods to perform a ritual but hadn’t yet returned, and Ominis was worried, oh but no need for the elves to go, they needed to tend to the house — and went through the coming days just as he normally would, and soon forgot he’d ever had a family at all. And yet the house seemed larger than before, and behind each corner he still suspected some malevolent force, within each sound a muttered curse or insult, and although he knew them to be safely dead, transfigured in the cabinet, he had moments in the night when he thought they had returned to take revenge.

It wore away at him, and he knew he had to resolve it with a change in circumstance: either he moved away, or he made the house livable again. He didn’t consider even for a second to write to his brother Marvolo, but he considered asking for Sebastian to visit together with their friend — until his thoughts settled strictly on her.

On a whim, he wrote to her, and her alone. The owl took a few days to return, and it brought to him a strangely mournful and yet exciting message.

Ominis had inquired about her health — she was well — and her search for work — not so well — and Sebastian.

“It pains me to say this,” she wrote, “but I do not know. Sebastian has been sent to recover something (I know not what) for Mr Burke. Part of his training, he said. As if he weren’t experienced enough in these sorts of things. I told him, as I’m sure you would have as well, that Mr Burke was only going to take advantage of him and gain a dangerous item at no personal cost, and is only using Sebastian’s goodwill and enthusiasm. He did not take it well and has yet to speak to me since. He said I called him ‘naive’, but I did nothing of the sort.”

Ominis chuckled as his wand vocalised the letter. It was blatant she did think Sebastian naive, just as it was blatantly true that he was.

“To be perfectly honest, I haven’t had a good night’s sleep since, for various reasons,” she continued, “but I find my worries and upsets dwindle into something perhaps similar to what you felt at Hogwarts when Sebastian would get involved in these sort of reckless things — frustration.”

Ominis’ smile broadened. Her clear longing for Sebastian, her worry for his safety, her shameless affection, did not serve him — but frustration, he could work with. He picked up his dictation quill and a piece of parchment and sat down at his desk to write.

“My dear,” he started, “I am first of all happy to hear you are well and healthy, in spite of everything else seemingly falling apart around you. I am sorry, although not surprised, to hear about the novel way Sebastian has found to make a nuisance of himself. You have my full sympathies.

You have also, if you will not find it too forward, my invitation to join me at my parents’ mansion. I think it would be good for you. It is in a quiet and undisturbed area, close to London but surrounded by ancient woods. Without my family present, as they currently are — and we can discuss this too once you arrive — it is a most calming and comforting place, which sounds like just the sort of thing you need at present. You are welcome to stay for the remainder of the summer. It might help you find some balance in your life, perhaps even give you new energies to pursue employment — or other means of occupying yourself.

Please find the address enclosed.

Yours devotedly,

Ominis

P.S.: If indeed he does return in the interim, make no mention of this to Sebastian.”

#Ominis Gaunt #sebastian sallow #hl #Ominis Gaunt fanfiction #ominis gaunt imagine #Hogwarts Legacy imagine #Ominis Gaunt x Reader #Ominis Gaunt x MC #Hogwarts Legacy MC #sswallow;made a thing #sswallow;fanfics #sswallow;a new family

[sebastianswallows]

Beautiful memories — Chapter 2

— PAIRING: Sebastian Sallow x F!MC (aged up)

— SYNOPSIS: Sebastian is sentenced to Azkaban for six months. When he is released, he finds MC is expecting a child, and is filled with anger and jealousy and confusion. He just doesn't know the child is his yet.

— WARNINGS: angst, then a lot of fluff

— WORDCOUNT: 2.1k

— A/N: Here's part 2 of the fic requested by my dear @pugsnotdrugs92 💕 I expect the next chapter will be the last (and it will be the one with the smutt). Enjoy, my dears! 😘

— TAGGING: @rbdiggory @sammysgirl1997

The house she rented was near London, on the outer edges. Looking out the window, Sebastian could see empty dirt fields all around, land prepared for more construction, and to the side toward the south plumes of chimney smoke coming from the city. The grey skies were turning red with sunset.

A couple of lamps turned on behind him in the room, he could see their glow reflected in the window. Cutting through them, a shadow approached. She hugged him from behind.

“I must’ve told you a hundred times today,” she said with her cheek pressed against his back, “but I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too,” he said.

It was true. He’d missed her every day, and every memory of her the Dementors pulled out was like a splinter chipped off of his heart. But since learning of her… situation, he no longer knew what he felt. Was it hatred? Was it rage? Was there even a feeling left inside of him for her, or was the hatred and the rage all for himself?

“Come on,” she said with a calm and loving voice, blissfully ignorant of the storm raging inside him, “let’s give you a little wash.”

She had him sit on the sofa in front of the lit fireplace, and one by one the space before him filled with bowls of water pitchers and little mounds of towels. He wasn’t sure how he looked anymore, he’d only caught the faintest reflection of himself in the window, but he imagined it wasn’t good. His hair felt matted, his skin crusted with dirt, and he didn’t even want to look at all the bruises anymore…

After she placed everything she needed, she brought him chocolate to eat, and on the table next to him she placed a steaming cup of hot cocoa. Sebastian smiled as he picked up a little chocolate square and let melt on his tongue. He remembered reading about this remedy against Dementors in his third year. How long ago that was…

While he ate the sweets, she tended to him. She took his jacket off, his boots, his tie and vest and shirt, and limb by limb she scraped the dirt away, while his feet rested in warm salt water. She had the nerve to blush when she cleaned down his chest, her hands moving slow and enticing. When she reached his thighs, she worked down each one with both hands, sneaking glances up at him through her long lashes.

Sebastian swallowed the knot in his throat, but he no longer had it in him to be aroused at the sight. At least, not yet. The picture of her at his feet, his naked skin beneath her hands — bruised and bony as he was — was soiled by the thought of what Ominis would think if he saw this…

The next hour was spent cleaning the wounds on his wrists and ankles, applying salves wherever she found the smallest scrape or bruise, and then washing his hair. She placed a basin on a table behind the sofa and had him lean back, close his eyes, and gave him a bit more chocolate. Her fingers soothed his nerves as they massaged his scalp, lathering him slowly, untangling the knots made across so many restless nights… She rinsed the foam out, and then lathered his hair again until she was satisfied that he was clean. He was covered in a blanket by now, feet warming by the fire.

Once he was dry, she brought new clothes out for him — just a comfortable pair of nightclothes to start.

Sebastian let her dress him, but stayed silent the whole while. Unnaturally silent.

“How do you feel?” she asked with an encouraging smile as she rubbed the towel against his still-damp hair.

He avoided the question. “I should be asking you that.”

“Oh?” she giggled. “How so?”

“How far along?” he asked brusquely, not even looking at her.

“Six months,” she said with a sad smile, her hands threading gently through his hair.

Sebastian nodded and was quiet for long moments while the feelings he’d kept trying to hold back bubbled to the surface. Then, all of a sudden, he got up and walked all the way around the sofa. He started to pace up and down the centre of the room.

It wasn’t exactly unexpected… What did he, a convicted murderer with a broken wand, have to offer somebody like her? And who else to take her from him than Ominis — wealthier, more handsome, well-connected, kind and gentle and always far more level-headed than he ever was.

He should be happy for her, if he loved her. But he couldn’t manage it.

“I’d like to go,” he said, looking aimlessly around, everywhere but at her.

“What? Why?”

“I can’t stay here…”

“But —”

“I can’t.”

“Sebas—”

“It was difficult enough,” he started, “to be in there, wondering about you all the time, doubting whether… whether you would even want to speak to me after everything. But to see… to see you and…”

“And what?” she asked tearfully.

Sebastian took a deep breath in, then out. His swallowed thoughts and feelings poured out of him faster than he could control them.

“Every good memory I ever had was drained out of me, every day, every day,” he mumbled, “but however bad it was, I still thought… I still had… you.”

“Sebastian,” she whispered, approaching him slowly, “what are you talking about? You do have me, you do.”

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, working up the courage to say it. The chime of her steps on the wooden floor rang like a death knell in his ears.

“Seeing you and Ominis today…” he spat, sounding exactly as angry and betrayed and lonely as he felt, “was worse than any thoughts the Dementors put in my head.”

She stood there quietly and listened in a state of shock. Nothing he was saying made sense. Wasn’t he happy to see his friends? Was this an effect of his imprisonment? Would it go away with time? He sounded jealous, but he couldn't be. Nothing had changed between the three of them since they were at Hogwarts — nothing aside from…

“I should have known,” he continued, shaking his head as if he could get rid of the awful thoughts, “I should have known when you were always at the trial together, always whispering to each other…”

“Sebastian,” she said, speaking more sharply than she meant to, “whatever you think happened between me and Ominis, it didn’t.”

He looked down at her, his eyes dull and bleary but full of anger.

She met his gaze and held it gently, and reached out to take his hand. “Is this what you’re worried about?” she asked as she placed his palm on her lightly swollen stomach. “Because this is ours.”

She said it as if it had been the most obvious thing, but it struck Sebastian like a revelation. Suddenly, he looked at her as if she were a new person, and as if he were new as well. His frown relaxed and his lips lost their tension and the brown in his eyes turned sweet again from the smoulder that was there before.

“W-what?”

“That night after they announced your trial… Remember?” she said with a shy smile, blushing a little. “It’s ours. I was never involved with Ominis, we’re friends, like we’ve always been… It’s you I love, you I want, you I’ve been carrying this for.”

Sebastian swallowed the knot in his throat and looked down at her body, his hand still on her stomach. He nearly had forgotten… How could he? How could he? After years of circling around each other that night of finally confessing, finally accepting their love… It had meant everything to him, and if only for a moment it eclipsed his past sins and the looming trial and made everything fade into nothingness. Showing his love for her had been the sweetest moment of his life… So, how could he have forgotten it?

“The Dementors,” she frowned, answering it for him. “They steal happy memories, that is what they feed on.”

“I suppose they must’ve had a feast with that,” he said with a hoarse chuckle.

“My poor darling,” she whispered, her hand going up to cup his cheek. She knew she couldn’t begin to understand what had been done to him. Even seeing it unfold distraught her...

Sebastian, meanwhile, was fixated, fascinated, his hand warming on her tummy. “Mine,” he muttered, his hand caressing the expanse of her little swell. “W-wow…”

He was just beginning to understand what it meant: how wrong he’d been about her, about Ominis too, and about himself… And how beautiful of a future they had together now.

It also made him realise how horrible he’d been to her so far.

“I’m sorry,” he said briskly, looking into her eyes again.

“Why?” she frowned.

“For doubting you. For being ungrateful, most of all…”

“Oh Seb,” she sighed, and in the same breath reached up to hug him. “I’m sorry I didn’t explain it at first,” she whispered. “I know I should have. I just… felt so uncomfortable about it, so —”

“Ashamed?”

“Yes,” she mumbled.

His arms tightened around her back. “We’re both ashamed then. And we both shouldn’t be.”

She laughed a little. “I suppose so…”

Sebastian leaned back enough to look into her eyes again and his right hand cupped her cheek. With a trembling thumb, he wiped away a little tear that beaded at her lashes.

“And I’ve been letting you fuss over me all day,” he smiled sadly, wanting to sink into the ground with guilt.

“Don’t be silly,” she chuckled. “I’ve been alright… It’s you I’m worried about.”

“There’s nothing to worry about anymore.”

He knew it wasn’t really true, he knew he was still troubled and far from the man she used to know, but he was determined — especially now — to put Azkaban and all its woes behind him.

She hugged him loosely at the hips and smiled up at him, drinking in the beautiful sight of her Sebastian with finally a little bit of hope in his eyes.

“So what do you think?” she grinned. “Will you let me take care of you now?”

“I should be taking care of you. I did this to you, after all,” he said with a cocked brow. His hands slid down her neck and to her shoulders before settling around her waist, and all the while he looked her up and down suggestively.

She blushed at the shamelessness of him. “How about we take care of each other?” she chuckled.

“Well, you’ve already taken care of me enough for today,” he said, leaning in to kiss her forehead. “I think it’s my turn now.”

She giggled and shook her head, but found her heart fluttering excitedly, just like it used to when they were still at Hogwarts, young and careless and in love… Of course, they were still quite young, and very much in love. They just needed to work on being careless again.

“And how do you propose to do that?” she whispered.

His arms wrapped around her waist more tightly and he tucked her head beneath his chin.

“That’s exactly how,” he said dreamily. “I’m going to propose.”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

She pulled away enough to look at him. She could tell that he was being serious.

“You don’t expect I’ll let you go on this way, will you?” he said. His gaze was playful but with a serious edge beneath it. “We shall have to marry soon. This month. This week, if possible... Then we can go somewhere nice and quiet for a while, so neither your family nor any of our friends will be able to tell the months…”

“Seb, you’re not ready yet…”

“What am I, one of Garreth’s potions? I’m ready when I say I am.”

She laughed in spite of herself.

“So, what do you say?” he grinned.

And he pulled himself away from her, and held her hands in his, and with a surety that he had until now thought lost to him forever he got down on one knee.

“Will you marry me?”

She didn’t even need to think about it. “Yes. I will. I love you.”

Sebastian’s smile was so big and broad that it hurt his cheeks. It was so nice to have a dream come true every now and then… It felt like he’d been given a new life, a new soul that wasn’t tarnished, a fresh heart to love her with. His arms curled around her waist and he rested his weary head against her stomach, his eyes closed, and his ear to the little life inside her.

“I love you too,” he whispered. “Both of you.”

He heard and felt her giggle, and then her hands came down to his ruffled head. She covered him like a star-speckled and cloud-soft firmament, and he’d never felt more safe.

#Sebastian Sallow #hl #Sebastian Sallow fanfiction #Sebastian Sallow imagine #Sebastian Sallow x MC #Sebastian Sallow x reader #pugsnotdrugs92 #still missed <3 #sswallow;made a thing #sswallow;fanfics #fanfic;memories

[sebastianswallows]

hello!! i started reading dangerous and delightful and i am so hooked on it LOL. i love how you write sebastian sm. i saw one of the tags was breeding kink 👀👀 and so i was hoping (if you are taking requests) if you would be able to put a little fic together for that? i don’t think i can wait for it to happen in the story and need something to satiate that thought now LOL

Alright so, this was a hard one 😂 But I finally have it for you, nonny. I'm sorry it took so long!

As I mentioned in that little preview snippet I posted the other day, I had a conflict on whether to write this as con or noncon, and ended up going with noncon cause it just... fits. And you said in another ask that you don't mind, so... I'm hoping it's all satisfactory 👀

Anyway, here goes! Probably the filthiest thing I've written for this fandom yet.

— PAIRING: Sebastian Sallow x F!Reader (characters are aged up)

— WARNINGS: smut, angst, noncon, vaginal penetration, breeding kink, size kink (Seb is a big boy), creampie, cunnilingus, dirty talk, a bit of bondage, wet & messy, manhandling, fingering

— WORDCOUNT: 12k (yes it's long af)

He kissed her. It was gentle, but his big broad hands held her face still and she couldn’t get away. She muttered into the kiss — in surprise, outrage, shyness — but wouldn’t know what to say even if she were allowed to speak. Sebastian’s soft lips caressed hers until he noticed that she wouldn’t stop struggling, and then he kissed her harder. He wrapped his arms around her waist, pulled her body flush against his, and kept pressing himself into her — his chest, his legs, his mouth, even his breath that fanned hot and fast against her cheek. She moaned and mumbled and scratched her little nails against his shoulders, but it did nothing to stop him.

When he got tired of her trying to dislodge him, he parted his mouth from hers, frowned at her for a few frantic heartbeats, then lept down for another kiss while walking the two of them forward until her back was against the wall. The glance he’d caught of her face — shocked and a little tearful — broke his heart, but Sebastian was determined to see this through.

He could hear her try to say his name, all muffled into the kiss, but he couldn’t stop, he wouldn’t stop, until she gave up and submitted. His hands moved down to her hips to hold them in something between a tight grip and a caress — he wanted to caress her, wanted to love her, to show her how much he loved her… And if she wouldn’t have it willingly, he would have to make her take it.

He swallowed her gasp when, with a sudden jolt, he pulled her away from the wall and started walking her backwards to the bed. Finally able to move her head back, she dislodged herself from his kiss and started begging him.

“Please, Sebastian, you don’t ha—”

But then he leaned in to kiss her again, because he didn’t want to hear it.

The bed was narrow and quite old, as good as he could afford while in the middle of his research. The mattress sagged a little and the pillows were thin, the sheets a muddled brown with an ugly leafy pattern. He felt sorry that this was where it would happen… He’d imagined it many times, with her, and it was always somewhere better, something soft and clean and bright, something she deserved.

“Sebastian,” she gasped when he grabbed her by the upper arms and pushed her down.

Holding onto her with one arm in a bruising grip, he summoned his wand from the desk — a trick he’d learned from Ominis — and used it to undress her.

“Divesto!” he cast, and in the blink of an eye, all her clothes fell off her body and pooled around her ankles. Even her shoes were taken off her feet.

She yelped and tried to cover herself quickly. Sebastian used the moment to push her further on the bed and plant a knee between her legs. He kissed and kissed her as he laid her back against the pillows, his hands shakily caressing the body that he had only now just scarcely caught a glimpse of, but had so often dreamed about.

The high bone of a hip tickled a line across his palm as he trailed his hand upward, while the other held her right thigh apart. He felt over the smooth plane of her stomach, so tense, so warm, so soft, still dimpled with traces of her corset… Her hands gripped at his sleeves strongly enough that he thought she might tear them open — but then she grabbed his wrist with both of them when his right hand reached her breast. He cupped her while he sighed into her mouth, his face tense with pleasure, lips never ceasing to press his love into her mouth through gentle, tender, patient kisses. Nervously, he brushed a thumb upwards and caught the round little tip. He flicked it back and forth until it hardened, and then, like a loving peck, took it between three fingers and pulled at it a little. Against his mouth, he could hear her whining, pleading, stealing every breath she could against his frantic kisses in an attempt to say something that, she hoped, might stop him.

Her heart was nearly beating out of her chest — from the fear, the humiliation, the sheer shock of what he was doing — and her breath felt frozen in her throat. And only minutes ago, she had been so happy to see Sebastian…

He’d invited her over at around 8 o’clock, offering to have dinner together and saying that he needed her help with it — and she understood instantly what he referred to. She knew something of the nature of his research from what he’d told her through the past few months.

Sebastian had been searching for something he’d read about in a book recently translated from ancient Greek — a Casket of All, or Casket of Plenty, or something like that. It was said to be a container of modest size, probably a box or an urn, that, once opened, would grant the owner their every desire. But it had to be opened with a key, and when last she spoke with Sebastian, the only clue he had was the cryptic translation of a line that said the key ‘would already be in the owner’s possession’.

It was the sort of research that he needed wealthy sponsors for, people connected to the sort of wizards that could lead him in the right direction. He had considered the Notts and the Malfoys, among other even more nefarious sorts. It didn’t help that Ominis absolutely refused to introduce him to the wealthy pure-bloods he knew. In the end, Sebastian spent months ingratiating himself with the Lestranges by tutoring their eldest son, Cyrille, in the dark arts. It was perhaps as harrowing of an experience for the boy as it was for Sebastian, who had never had a particularly good relationship with teachers and found it even more awful to become one himself.

She, however, was very much amused. And whenever they went out together, be it for a picnic or for lunch at the Leaky Cauldron, he complained and complained for hours how impossible it was to get little master Cyrille Lestrange to remember basic wand movements. It was supremely funny, in a way she couldn’t explain, to see Sebastian so frustrated with a child.

And after finally learning from Mr Lestrange where the Casket of All was, he travelled to it. She never quite found out where he went, but judging by the duration of the journey there and back, she estimated it was somewhere in Southern France or Spain.

Back in England, researching how to open the thing seemed to take even longer, and she saw Sebastian less and less often as he immersed himself in interpreting old texts and ancient poems. On the rare occasions that he would let her help, they’d spend all day and night and until morning lost together, going down a rabbit hole of synonyms for “opening” and “cleave” and “pour” — because it was obvious, as soon as Sebastian inspected the item, that the Casket was not opened by any conventional key. It had only a little orifice at the top, just large enough to let… something in.

And the meaning of ‘the owner already having the key’ had still evaded him the last time they saw each other — when she fell asleep over his chest on this very bed, his warm hand cupping her shoulder, his chest pillowing her cheek, her legs thrown over his… She’d woken up a little embarrassed and dazed, but Sebastian just smiled, so warm and tender, and brushed his finger over the indent left on her cheek from the fold in his shirt.

She hadn’t suspected anything untoward when she knocked on his door today. He’d smiled upon seeing her and let her in — looking tired but bright-eyed, as he often did lately — and nothing was different about the room except for a few more melted candles than the week before… He offered to take her out to dinner and asked if they should deal with the Caskey before or after.

“After, of course,” she’d said as she took her coat off. “I can’t wait to hear what you’ve learned about it.”

His smile had been stilted and sad… Sebastian rarely had sad smiles. That should have been the first hint that something was wrong.

The second hint came when he told her that the key to opening the Caskset of Plenty was proof of consummate love… in liquid form.

It took a few awkward glances from Sebastian and a few more questions from her to drag it out of him that they had to make love. He’d invited her to his home that evening to make love. And the combined release of their pleasure, as he so delicately put it, once poured into that opening no wider than a child’s pinky, would open the Casket. He’d already prepared a vial for it, she saw it laying, nice and corked, on his bedside table.

She refused, of course. It was absolutely outrageous and insulting. Never mind that she’d been in love with him for years. Never mind that she counted the days until she could see him again. Never mind that her whole body flushed at the briefest idea of his naked body over hers. And now, his clothes were unbearably thick beneath her hands…

“Seb—” she muttered when she got the chance to, once his kiss let her breathe for one moment.

He only took a moment to catch his own heaving breath, and stared down at her with haunted brown eyes while his hands stilled on her body.

His room was cold and she trembled, but his hands were so warm… One on her breast — holding it, cupping it, caressing it with teasing flicks that drove her mad — the other at her thigh. And Sebastian kept looking into her eyes, only her eyes, pleading with her in his own silent way... Accept it. Take it. Take me. He leaned down again, slower this time, and kissed her once again.

He kissed her like he loved her mouth, like he loved her taste, like he wanted to take her breath inside of him and live off of it forever. His kiss spoke silently to her, telling her how dear she was to him, how badly he wanted her, how he had thought about this and dreamed about this for so long… It wasn’t even about the Casket anymore, if it had ever been.

She trembled beneath all that tenderness, overwhelmed by an intensity of emotion that had never been directed at her before — not by Sebastian, not by anyone. It was dizzying to feel so afraid, so exposed and vulnerable, but it was twice as dizzying to feel so deeply desired.

And then a shock went through her body and all her thoughts evaporated from her mind, when the hand at her thigh moved.

He still thumbed at the stiff little pebble of her breast, while his other hand caressed, slowly and almost shyly, the full length of her slit — up and down, up and down, over the surface of those plump folds in search of… something.

Sebastian gasped into her mouth when he found it, that little pearl she had, hidden in her intimate places.

She cried out into his mouth when his finger started rubbing at her nub at the same rhythm with which he teased her breast. Her back arched traitorously into his grip and her legs tensed on the bed, scrambling to get away from him.

But there was nowhere to go.

He held her legs down with his own, kneeling above them in a careful way so as not to hurt her, and he let as much of his weight as he safely could onto her torso.

She could only shake her head away from his kiss, leaving him to press his lips into her neck and down, down, down to her clavicle while she pleaded with him and insulted him in turn.

“Damn it, Sebas— STOP! You’re a m-monster! No, not— not like this!”

He answered by nibbling harder on her collarbone, all the while rubbing those two sensitive points on her body — making her burn from one teased little tip to the other, from beneath her legs all the way to her heart, making her sweat and drip over his sheets and writhe beneath him — until the heat began to spread in every little part of her body as if he’d cast some strange spell on her.

“It will be alright,” he whispered against her chest, his lips trailing messily toward her breast. “It will be good, you’ll see…”

“To hell with you!”

“I love you.”

“Get someone else for your stupid experiment!”

“I don’t love anyone else.”

She took in panicked breaths that shook her, and as long as she had strength she scrambled for some hope of freedom, but eventually, under the pressing weight of him, her legs stopped squirming. His breath fanned over her breast and she felt the heat of his face on her skin, so close…

“You don’t love me either,” she whispered tearfully, staring absently at the desk. The setting sun cast flaming blades over it, and over that terrifying Casket.

Sebastian sighed and took her nub into his mouth, still flicking the other. She trembled and cried out while he pressed her sensitive point between his tongue and the roof of his mouth, his lips opening in wider, wetter kisses as he tried to take as much of her flesh within him as he could.

Her nails left his clothes to dig into his scalp and try to pull him off that way. He moaned when she tugged at his hair — first in pleasure, then in pain.

“Stop thinking!” he growled, finally releasing her from his mouth. “Stop thinking and just let yourself be loved for once!”

He pressed his mouth to hers, as if afraid of what she had to say, kissing her breathless before raising himself to look at her again. His eyes were wild, but there was a certain innocence there that seemed out of place. With a look that was a mix of desire and fear, Sebastian brought his hands up to cup her cheeks and brushed her tears away. If being gentle and loving with her didn’t work, perhaps frightening her would…

“Do you understand what I will do to you?” he whispered. “Do you understand what I will do to you if you won’t be mine?”

She whimpered and bit her lip, too scared to even beg to be let go anymore, too limp to fight.

Seeing that she was quiet and scared, he signed and kissed her once again, slower this time, a languorous drip of love, love, love from dry lips onto a sweet surrendered mouth.

He let go of her cheek for a moment, and she was afraid that he would touch her body again — but it was even worse: he reached for his wand. Her eyes went wide; he was a talented wizard who knew more curses than she knew spells, he could force her to submit to his will in horrifying ways…

But instead of pointing some cruel hex at her, he only pointed it at himself.

“Divesto,” he whispered, and his clothes fell all around them. He brushed them aside with another wave of his wand like a soft gust of wind, and then he laid the wand somewhere out of sight, beneath the bed.

She couldn’t even remember where hers was anymore; probably in her coat pocket.

Her trembling was even stronger now as he looked down at her, and she looked down at him, at what parts of his naked body she could see pressed parallel to her. Sebastian caressed her cheek and smiled down at her fondly while her eyes drank him in — round shoulders, tapered waist, and a sprinkle of brown hair and freckles all across his strong, broad chest. She blushed fiercely just at the sight of his skin against hers, let alone the intoxicating feeling of it, the intense intimacy of the moment. His legs felt warmer as they laid across her own, his hips narrow and straight above her softer ones, and against her stomach, she felt…

“Don’t worry,” he whispered, his smile dampening to something even gentler. “Don’t worry, not yet…”

His hands took hold of hers and pressed them down beside her head while he gentled her with kisses — from her lips to her chin and her cheeks, trailing upwards to her forehead and around her hairline, each kiss more patient and innocent than the last.

“You don’t have to worry about anything while I’m with you,” he whispered into her hair, breathing her in deeply. “I’ll protect you from everything.”

“Will you protect me from yourself?” she hissed bitterly against his neck.

Sebastian chuckled and leaned close enough to kiss her lips once more, his mouth just resting against hers. “What do you mean, darling?” And at her tummy, she felt his manhood laying heavier, pressing into her soft flesh. “I’m protecting you from myself right now,” he murmured into her mouth.

She whimpered unhappily into his kiss, her eyes squeezed shut in a stubborn frown, but Sebastian chuckled, and caressed her again, and started kissing from her mouth back down again while his hands both slid down from her wrists, her arms, her shoulders, to her chest. He held the birdcage of her ribs between his hands while his lips declared his affections in little pecks and licks and nibbles that went down, down like waterdrops, until his mouth hovered over her heart. He could nakedly see the thin bones moving up and down with the flutter of the heart beneath.

“Just let yourself be loved,” he whispered against the core of her chest, “let yourself be loved by me.”

Above, he heard her whimpering unhappily again, but she had no words left to say to him. She had surrendered with her mind and body, although not with her heart — not yet.

“If I could only make you see how much I care for you,” he sighed, lips kissing gently down her torso, “how much I want with you… have wanted you… and for how long…”

He kissed her stomach now, hands coming down to hold her hips. Sebastian’s eyes slid up to hers for a moment and saw there a more urgent kind of fear, like an animal in a trap — the same wide look, the same fear and hatred, the need to escape, to escape him.

There was a tension in her stillness now that he had not felt before. He almost warned her not to do something foolish, but thought better of it. While holding her gaze, his hand left her hip to slide beneath the bed, and almost as soon as he held his wand again he pointed it at her arms, binding them with a red length of summoned rope.

“Wh—?!”

She was at once surprised and angry with him, looking from her bound wrists back down to him, his face so close to a place where she was so vulnerable.

“I want everything with you,” he said as he held her gaze — scared, furious, and desolate — in his — resolute and fierce.

He scarcely finished saying it before he kissed her, right on her lower stomach — right where her womb was. His eyes were closed in a serene, dreamy way. He opened them again and looked right up at her, and kissed a little to the left, and then a little to the right, roughly where her ovaries would be. It was such an unassuming part of her body, but he knew how special it really was — as magical as any enchanted Casket, as capable of creating wonders inside of itself, and all the more deserving of his desire and greed and possessiveness. Sebastian worshipped this part of her while he took in deep breaths, filling his lungs with her scent just like he filled his mouth with her taste. He wanted all of her to be in him, just like he wished for all of him to be in her.

She frowned as she looked down at him in fear and somewhat confusion — did she really not understand, or did she just not want to understand? Did it, perhaps, not cross her mind why he liked this part of her so much? Why it meant so much to him? Why he lusted over it?

Sebastian parted from her lower stomach with a teasing lick and moved himself a little lower. Her eyes broadened in shock, but he continued to kiss her, more and more intensely.

“I love you,” he said again, “I love you,” as if he was finally telling her some long-held secret, a secret he could no longer keep to himself.

“Seb—”

He kissed her mound. Her legs twitched and she kicked him in the ribs, but it was dull enough that it didn’t even hurt him.

“STOP!” she cried.

He smirked and opened his mouth for a wider kiss before shifting even lower... He held her legs now with his arms, elbows at her knees, palms holding down her thighs. His lower body was almost completely off the bed, but the discomfort hardly mattered.

With a whimper of desire, Sebastian held her thighs apart with his thumbs and gazed at her, right at her. He felt his eyes go dark, lidded in a satisfied way at this sign of his conquest. He could look at the most shameful parts of her, and she couldn’t stop him. And she was so beautiful, so fragile looking, so maddeningly enticing. It made his stomach twitch and his manhood stiffen and his mouth water.

“Please, stop!” she begged, “d-don’t! Let me go!”

“Stop what?” he asked, a small smile playing on his lips.

He continued to hold her, looking at her directly, making up for all the nights he merely dreamed of having a glimpse of this part of her.

“What are you so afraid of?” he asked.

She wouldn’t answer, her lips stuck in a shocked, revolted, angry gasp, words so jumbled in her throat that they got stuck there. Sebastian frowned at her silence, and instead leaned still closer, looking down at the thing that he wanted so badly. He had never seen something that could make him feel this way, that could drive him so wild in a way that he would do anything to obtain it. He wasn't ashamed of himself in this moment, not anymore — not ashamed of what he wanted, or what he was willing to do to get it.

He held her down more firmly and pressed his lips against her folds. She yelped and pleaded with him more, but Sebastian barely heard it. Her legs struggled in his grip and he could feel the bed jolting slightly as she tried to tug her arms free, but he only kissed her womanhood more passionately, pressing into her, dipping his tongue between them to lap at her little hole. She was wet against her tongue, and only got wetter as he serviced her.

To say he was desperate would be an understatement - he needed, wanted, craved her flesh and he had to have it. So, when she started to beg and plead with him, it did not make him stop, but it did fill him with a deep, all-encompassing anger. He pulled his mouth away from her for a moment, his words a mixture of affection and anger.

“Shut up,” he hissed. “Do you want me to tie your legs down as well?”

She breathed frantically as she stared into his eyes.

“Please, Sebastian,” she whispered tearfully. “Don’t do this to me… Don’t do this to us… We had — we were —”

“We were nothing,” he said lowly. “Platonic, touchless, kissless lovers pretending to be friends, while we were neither one. I want us to be something. I want us to be both. I want us to be everything.”

“No, no, you just want to open that damn —”

“That’s not what it is!” he growled, his hands becoming tighter on her thighs.

He took a deep breath, his eyes softening, and then he kissed her lower lips again. Surprisingly, or perhaps not, it calmed him down — as if her taste was all he needed for a bit of happiness to bloom in his heart.

“It’s not about my research. It’s not about the Casket, not really,” he sighed against her delicate entrance. “I want us to be everything together. I want to have everything… with you.”

A plea got stuck in her throat as he dipped his head again and lapped at her greedily, and instead of saying whatever it was she was about to say — denials, rejections, refusals — she moaned. His thumb left her soft inner thigh to rub her pearl while he dipped his tongue inside of her.

“Sebastian!”

He let his groans of pleasure sink into her. She dripped on his tongue as her body welcomed him, opening itself up to him. His thumb flicked her little nub in brutal little motions while he fixed his lips around her core and lapped at her insides. She was so warm and frail there, and tasted so sweet, so raw… Sebastian moaned deep in his throat, his breath coming out in heavy pants that drove the scent of her womanhood up to his head and drowned him.

Slowly, the jerking of the bed stopped as she relented, her wrists laying still in their bindings. Her legs around him also lay now sapless, soft and cold on either side of his chest. Sebastian sighed and finished his tending of her with one last, long, deep kiss the sticky sound of which resounded in the room. He lifted himself from her on his elbows and licked his lips.

“So beautiful,” he sighed, his thumb pleasuring her slowly, coaxing her entrance into rhythmic clenches. “And still so tight…”

Sebastian gazed up at her. She looked ravaged. Her flushed face was damp with tears and her hair had fallen from its elaborate bun into a hazy mane that framed her face, sticking to the sweat on her forehead or streaking across his pillow softly.

“Every time I look at you,” he whispered, “I fall in love again…”

“Don’t say that,” she groaned, shaking her head. “Don’t say you—”

“I love you,” he insisted, swallowing the taste of her. “I love you…” And his thumb started flicking her nub again while the index of the other hand tickled a path up her thigh to poke at her entrance.

“Don’t!”

He looked at her intensely, breathless, watching every frown and tensing of her face while his finger eased itself past her hole.

“I have to, my beloved,” he whispered tenderly.

He pressed in almost shyly, then retreated, then pressed in deeper, making her moan. Her hips twitched beneath him, trying to buck him off. To soothe her, he flicked her nub a little faster.

“Shhh… shhh… there there,” he gentled her. “I just want to feel what you’re like inside…”

His thumb eased off her pearl and Sebastian leaned closer instead, touching it with his tongue for the first time. She yelped and her hips twitched, but he held her down firmly while working his finger deeper, deeper, a little bit deeper inside with each thrust. With a dark look in his eyes as he gazed up at her and a cheeky smirk, Sebastian curled his tongue beneath her nub and just let it rest there, holding that very sensitised part of her on the soft, warm, wet cushion of his flesh. He heard her moan loudly, her back arching — was this her surrender? — and she twitched on his tongue. He closed his lips around her hot little button and suckled on it.

“It’s too much,” she whispered, head thrashing left and right, hands twisting senselessly into the rope. “Sebastian, it’s… too much…”

He chuckled and sucked her deeper into his mouth without mercy. While she was distracted by this, he removed his index finger from inside her and moved it to part one of her plump folds, holding her open as he placed in its stead his thicker middle finger at her hole. Rubbing back and forth he opened her up a little more, a little more each time, making her more pliant, more wet for him. Her juices dripped out of her around his knuckles, dirtying her upper thighs.

She clenched when he reached all the way inside. Her whimpers were drowned out by Sebastian’s hungry moan when he felt the end of her on the tip of his finger.

“Aaah! Stop it!” she hissed through her teeth.

Her legs struggled out of his grasp and kicked until he caught one of them in his hand. He held her by the knee, close to his neck, forcing her open while he ate at her, licking and sucking and teasing her with kisses from her nub to her hole where his finger kept stretching her. He parted from her with a suckling pull at her folds that nearly hurt, then began kissing her inner thigh while he thrust his finger faster and faster, preparing her for what he was about to do.

“Why is it so difficult for you to accept being loved?” asked Sebastian, looking into her eyes. It didn’t even sound like a tease, it sounded as if he was… sad for her, and genuinely curious to know the answer. “You’re not afraid of me,” he sighed, shaking his head slightly, “not really… You’re afraid of being vulnerable. With me...”

She frowned at him angrily, and he could tell she was gritting her teeth from the clench of her jaw, but her eyes were so fearful and tender, spilling over with tears.

“You’re afraid of what will happen, aren’t you? When you allow yourself to be loved…”

She hissed a curse at him and tried to struggle more, turning her head away into her upper arm and hiding her face in it.

“What are you afraid of?” he asked, easing a second finger into her.

She ignored his question and gasped at being so stretched, her back arching sharply. His fingers were thick and strong, those two already larger than three of hers together.

“Are you afraid I’ll hurt you?” he asked lowly, his eyes never leaving her face even as she tried to hide it. “I won’t,” he growled. “I’m working right now to make sure I won’t hurt you.”

And he shoved his fingers deeper, working them faster into her channel, making her leak into his palm and filling the air around them with humiliating sounds. Her thighs trembled and she moaned, her voice hoarse and breathless. When Sebastian decided to cruelly curl his fingers and press against the soft spot above her entrance, she cried out.

“Sebastian!”

“I’m right here,” he whispered, kissing her thigh while his fingers worked her faster and faster. “I won’t hurt you. I won’t leave you,” he promised.

“Sebastian, s-stop,” she mumbled, “I can’t… I can’t…”

“Can’t what, hmm?” he teased, letting his tongue dip a little lower and rest against her button. With every canting of her hips, she rubbed herself against him.

“Seb—!”

He smiled and lowered his lips to her nub again and kissed it lovingly, reverently, while he thrust his fingers into her harder, louder, messier — until he felt her start to clench. She screamed and thrashed, begging him to stop. Her leg nearly slid out of his grip, but he kept his mouth on her and pleasured her until it ended. It hadn’t quite been an orgasm, more the beginning of one, a shock of pleasure that had taken her over for a few moments and scared her.

Sebastian moaned against her hot little flesh and carefully pulled his fingers out. Almost immediately, he wrapped his hand over his manhood, slathering it with her juices, squeezing it to temper himself. It had been hard this whole time, tickling his stomach, drooling all over itself with how much he desired her.

She relaxed, her tearful wet face falling away from the crook of her arm to look down at him. Her gaze was so hazy he wasn’t sure she knew what she was looking at. Sebastian slowly made his way up the bed, arms pressing down on the bed on either side of her, his eyes never leaving hers.

“Don’t…”

“Don’t what?” he whispered hotly.

She bit her lip and took in deep, shaky breaths.

“Don’t what?” he said again. By this time, he was right above her, his lips hovering over her own. “What, darling?” he sighed, looking at her with nothing but love. His hands caressed her arms, rubbing them up and down. “How about we set you free, hmm?”

With a brush of his arm, the summoned tethers fell away. He caressed the soreness out of her wrists while he balanced himself above her, his knees on either side of her waist. Between them, his shaft twitched anxiously. His sac slotted itself right at the dip of her core. He smiled to himself at how warm and welcoming she felt down there, so wet he could feel her dampening him.

“W-will you let me go now?” she asked in a small voice.

Sebastian chuckled and shook his head. “Oh, that wasn’t enough.”

She groaned and began panting again, her body going from hot to cold with fear. Her arms slipped from Sebastian’s gentle massage and went up to his chest, trying at the same time to push him away and scratch him. His skin was tough, but he still hissed sharply when her little nails left pink welts on his skin.

“That’s it,” he growled, grabbing her wrists and holding them up. “Be good, now,” he said firmly, struggling with her on the bed, “be good for me…”

She grit her teeth at him and fought him all the way, her body weak and cold but more lively now that it was no longer dazed with pleasure. But she was no match for Sebastian, who was so much bigger and stronger, a dangerous man even without his wand. He held her wrists together and pushed her back on the bed, laying on top of her with all his weight.

“Let me go, please!”

“It’s alright,” he hissed, holding her wrists to her chest with one hand and brushing the hair from her forehead with the other. “It won’t be so bad, you’ll see…”

“Let me go, Sebas—!”

He kissed her into silence, swallowing her angry moans while he moved his legs between hers. His knees edged her thighs apart, and then he caressed down her side with his right hand until he reached her knee. He lifted it slightly so that he could fit even closer to her, and wrapped her leg around his waist, holding it there until he finished kissing her.

“I do love you, even when it doesn’t sound like it,” he sighed.

She frowned at him, but then she jumped in a little shock when she felt something hard and smooth against her core. Her lips parted, and she was ready to beg again — for a delay, for him to change his mind, for anything — but he kissed her again.

Sebastian closed his eyes as he drank in the sweet taste of her lips, dry and salty with tears as they were, swallowing her moans and pleas while he tried to find her hole. His hand left her leg to grab hold of himself and steady his twitching shaft.

“S-stop,” she muttered against his lips as she barely managed to twist her head away.

Sebastian’s mouth parted from her with a gasp when he felt her at his tip.

“It will be alright,” he whispered, his eyes aimed between their bodies. He couldn’t see much, but his heart thumped in his chest at the sight of his manhood, thick and throbbing, resting right at her entrance. “You’ll see, everything will be good…”

She didn’t seem to believe him, and instead struggled more and cried, and tried to pull herself away from him.

“Shhh…” he gentled her, frowning in his own kind of suffering as he eased the tip inside.

She cried and struggled in his grasp, screaming to be let go, crying again, thrashing on the bed, but Sebastian’s grip was strong even while he was so deliciously distracted.

“There you go,” he whispered, his head tilted back in pleasure as he felt her, he felt himself entering her. “There you go, that’s my good… good girl,” he moaned, biting his lip.

Sebastian let himself lay more heavily on top of her, curling his large body over hers. His forehead was braced against the pillow a little to the side so he could keep kissing her cheek while he worked to get as much of himself into her body as he could before he had to still himself. She was in pain, and as much as he wanted to take her, he had to wait.

She swallowed in greedy, deep breaths, the skin of her chest meeting Sebastian’s, parting in sweaty pulls after they stuck together. Her core still pulsed, struggling to contain the length that forced it open — and he'd barely shoved the whole head in.

They breathed together for long moments, her wincing occasionally, him moaning, both of their bodies aching for the other in ways that were obvious to the two of them -- she leaked around him, he leaked inside of her, easing the passage, helping her stretch, and their whole bodies were aflame even while so exposed in the cold air of the room. All the while, their hearts beat together, side by side.

Sebastian tried to slip a little more inside of her, pressing forward with his hips. His fist still held his member at her hole, keeping it steady as he pushed inside. He moaned and bit his lip at the warmth that met him.

“Aaah!” she cried, gritting her teeth as he conquered a little more of her. “S-seb—!”

“That’s it,” he cooed, “that’s it, my beautiful girl, my love…”

He was relentless, and didn't stop until the whole head of his manhood slipped inside. Around his waist, he felt her legs tense for a moment, and then give up.

Feeling her so limp around him, Sebastian let go of her wrists and braced himself above her on his arms, his face right above hers pressing gentle kisses that swallowed each wince of pain. His member was securely in her core, fighting against the tight clenches of her channel.

“Open your secret place to me,” he breathed, his brown eyes pleadingly looking into hers. “Let me come inside of you…”

“No,” she hissed. She shook her head weakly, although she didn’t even remove her hands from where they rested above her head, where he had placed them.

Sebastian groaned and leaned down to take a tight little bud in his mouth, and she moaned. He smirked against her skin — he knew she’d like that. He suckled on it while he gently thrust his hips, feeling himself dripping into her, his shaft pulsing, trying everything to ease his taking of her. He switched to the other breast, holding her puckered flesh gently between his teeth to lave at it with his tongue. It made her a bit more wet, but hardly relaxed her core. She winced every time he tried to reach deeper inside.

“Try to relax, my darling,” he sighed, lifting himself off of her.

With a soft look at her, Sebastian eased out — what a shock the cold of the room was after having been inside her — and slid once more down to her waist. She hardly had a chance to glance down at him when he took hold of her thighs and placed his mouth at her core again.

“What are you—!”

He started lapping at her hole again, but so much more passionately this time, tongue slipping from the bottom of her slit to deep inside her hole and flicking upward before going down again, lashing her womanhood with quick, maddening strokes again and again and again until he felt her begin to pulse.

She moaned and wailed in pleasure, confused about what he was doing but too dazed to care.

When he thought he pleasured her enough that she was more relaxed, he raised himself, gripped her hips, and shoved his manhood into her once again. It went in a little deeper this time. Sebastian moaned and shivered when he felt her juices dripping down his shaft all the way to the nest of dark hair at his base, like she was slobbering all over him.

His arms tensed holding him above her, but she felt so good around him, softer and wetter and just as feverishly warm, hotter and hotter the deeper into her body that he reached. He grinned as he looked down at her.

“That’s it, there you go,” he whispered smugly.

He let himself lean down with one elbow bent around her head, cupping her gently, the other holding him at an angle so as not to lay too heavily on her. And as he worked his way inside her, thrust by small thrust, he pecked little kisses on her lips.

“Seb-bastian,” she gasped, looking tearfully into his eyes. “I… I…”

“What is it, my darling?” he whispered, his thumb reaching down to smooth her tense brow. “Hmm? What is happening? Do you like it?”

“It… mmmm…” She bit her lip and frowned, closing herself off to him again.

“What?” he asked again, “What is it? What do you feel? What am I making you feel?” he murmured, rubbing the tip of his nose against hers.

She winced and turned away, her forehead set in a frown and her lips parted as she breathed out heavily. “H-hurts,” she whimpered.

He couldn’t resist her, couldn’t resist wanting to comfort her. Sebastian groaned and stopped thrusting, letting his manhood just rest inside her. His thumb kept brushing against her hairline, trying to soothe her, and he kissed gently all over her cheek. With a steady sigh, he slid his hand down her body, caressing her soft stomach on its way, and quickly found that erect button above her entrance.

“Ah!” she yelped, her hips canting upward at his touch.

He smirked and kissed the corner of her mouth and began rubbing her pearl in tight circles. With satisfaction, he felt her begin to shiver in the same pleasant way she did when he was licking her. His hot chest rested over hers, rough hair rubbing her already tight and tender buds as they breathed in heavily together. And then he started rubbing her button faster, flicking it messily until she could no longer swallow her moans down and she pulsed and throbbed — and that’s when he tried again to shove himself deeper inside of her.

“—bastian!”

“Yes?” he chuckled teasingly against the corner of her mouth.

“No, t-that’s… aaah, too much,” she said, her back arching.

“What is it, my beauty?” he asked sweetly. “Hmm? What is it?”

“I… I… mmm…”

She closed her eyes and bit her lip, her head facing away again. Sebastian quieted his moans by kissing her neck, taking greedy mouthfuls of her flesh, but trying not to bite too hard.

“What are we doing? You and I?” he asked hotly, his closed eyes resting in the dip above her shoulders. “Tell me… Tell me what I’m doing to you…”

“Y-you’re…”

“Yes…”

“You’re… t-taking me,” she whispered with a choked little sob — and maybe it was wishful thinking, but he thought she sounded pleasured by it.

He chuckled and reached up to kiss her lips, his fingers brushing her forehead gently.

“What am I doing, darling?” he asked again with fake innocence.

“You’re taking me,” she said quietly.

“And what are we doing together? What is it called?”

She whimpered, and he could hear her biting her lip. She couldn’t say it.

“Are we making love? Is that it, my darling?” he moaned.

“Sebastian…” she whispered, her voice full of defeat.

“I’m taking you,” he moaned. “And you’re taking me. Right here,” he moaned. “Right inside this little body…”

Sebastian looked down at her warmly and pressed his cheek against hers, rubbing her tears away with his skin while he kept pressing deeper.

“Right inside this naughty little hole that isn't used to being opened like this, is it? It's not used to it, is that right, my girl?”

He felt, more than heard, a moan bubble up her throat, and the movement of her head could have been a shiver, or it could have been a nod… Sebastian was entranced by the sight of her trying to take him, forced to submit to him, accepting — finally accepting — a bit of the pleasure he had to give her. But it wasn't enough for her, he could tell it wasn't nearly enough... It was his fault, he'd forced her, he'd scared her.

His finger had eased at her pearl, allowing her to focus just on the feeling of his length inside her, but she only clenched tighter — either from pain or fear or something else, he couldn’t tell. She was so tight now he could hardly move. Sebastian sighed.

“Let’s try it a little differently, my love,” he said, parting from her with one little kiss on her lips.

Slowly, carefully, he pulled his member out and lifted his sweaty body off hers for a moment. She breathed in deeply in relief, but then he cupped her hips and motioned her over, onto her front.

“W-what is this?” she asked in a tired voice.

“Something that might help you,” he smiled.

Sebastian brushed her hair away from the nape of her neck and kissed her skin while his fingers pet her sides. The bed felt worse this way, its rough springs almost digging through his flimsy mattress, but perhaps if she didn’t see him she might feel less nervous about the whole thing, and her body could accept him.

It was easy to move her, she hardly put up any resistance anymore. Sebastian set her on her knees and eased her down, holding her carefully and shushing her, until her chest lay flush against his pillow — and how delighted he was going to be from now on to rest his face on the pillow that her breasts had rubbed against. With his knees set on either side of her, he held his shaft in his hand and led it to her entrance again.

“Easy there, my love,” he cooed when he heard her wincing.

“Not again,” she whined, her hands clutching at the pillow in angry little fists.

“It will be alright…”

“No,” she complained, “I don’t want it… I don’t…”

It was harder to work his tip inside her this time, her hole opening and closing in such strong clenches that it got Sebastian to grit his teeth in frustration.

“You need to relax,” he said, one hand caressing her ribs, her chest, slipping down to cup her breast and hold it warmly.

She shook her head, forehead pressed into the pillow.

Hurriedly, almost angrily, Sebastian let her go and slid down the bed again, a growl crawling its way up his chest. While holding her hip with one sweaty palm and her ankle with the other, so that she wouldn’t kick him, he brought his face to her womanhood from behind. He stared at her clenching little hole, all red and sore and a little puffy, all his frustrations melting away at the sight. He brought his mouth down onto her again.

She yelped, she screamed, she twisted to look back at him in outrage, but he held her tightly and kept her there, to lick her pain again. It was quite different from his angle, but she felt that much more at his mercy this way, and Sebastian closed his eyes in delight. His tongue first came across her hard little nub then pet its way up it, as it were, from its plush hood to the erect tip and quickly falling into her throbbing hole. He curled his tongue until it met the edge of her entrance and he held it there, pushed in a little, easing it with loving and gentle licks, showing it how much he adored this part of her. He licked and licked and filled the air around them with messy, sticky sounds that scandalised her, but made her drip shamefully much on his tongue… Sebastian smirked and kept lapping and sucking, moaning right against her folds.

“You're so much sweeter when you're sore down here, did you know that?” he teased, speaking right against her most vulnerable place as he held her down, forced her still for him to pleasure. “You're dripping down my tongue... down my throat,” he moaned. “Like you're drooling from this little mouth,” Sebastian chuckled.

Vaguely, he could see that she had covered her head with both her arms while she moaned, hiding herself away from what he made her feel. He groaned as he laved at her.

When he felt satisfied that her womanhood was wet enough and pliant and sufficiently convinced of how much he cared for it, he got up on his knees again and settled firmly behind her. His member rested right between her folds, tapping against them — tensing up with every lustful twitch, then pulled back down by how heavy it was.

“Is it better now?” he whispered in her ear, penetrating her slowly.

She gasped and wailed into the pillow when the tip entered her again. She felt so exposed in this humiliating position, so vulnerable… It made her throb.

“Is it?” Sebastian asked again, his hot breath right against her neck. “Is it good for you like this?”

Steadily, holding himself to her hole, he pushed and pushed and groaned and pressed deeper until he was halfway in again, and then he rested his sweaty forehead on her back. His trembling hands gripped her around her waist as he steadied himself. Then, slowly, he moved one palm upwards to cup her breast before he began to pump his length inside of her.

“Mmm… that’s it,” he moaned, “you do feel better like this, don’t you?”

She said nothing, burying her tears in his pillow, together with her moans and whimpers and every embarrassing sound — both of pleasure and of shame. Sebastian was so hot against her back, his body broad and heavy and so firm, his skin tough but smooth, chest rough with hair, stomach flexing with each thrust, and the base of his manhood — so rugged it rubbed against her rear a little sore in a… not altogether unpleasant way, she blushed to admit.

Her traitorous womanhood opened for him, clenching hard then parting like a greedy mouth, and all it wanted was him — his shaft, thick and hot, leaking a sticky trail inside her with each shove. She felt him so deep she could almost taste him on her tongue.

When she started panting, rendered breathless from what he was doing to her, she tilted her head to the side — and now there was nothing left to hold back her moans.

“S—e—bas… aaah…”

“That’s it, my sweetheart,” he groaned.

His hand at her breast plucked her erect little bud, teasingly, moving sometimes to the other to not let it get too lonely, while around her waist his arm held her firmly against his front — as if he was constantly afraid that she could escape him.

“My darling, my lovely girl, my heart,” he rambled, pressing hisses against her shoulders and her neck and wherever on her back that he could reach, “my love, my one, my only…”

He groaned from the bottom of his chest when, with one long and stubborn thrust, he reached all the way inside her. She cried out and nearly burst into tears at the sensation.

“Sebastian!”

“Oh f— that’s…”

“Seb— it’s too deep!”

“Shhh, shhh,” he whispered against her hair, “easy… easy, that’s… oh, that’s… damn, that almost hurts me too, it’s so tight,” he laughed madly.

He stilled inside her, giving them both time to adjust, and slowly, she relaxed. It was as if the pain had pierced her and through her and left her behind with nothing but a feeling of... overwhelming fullness. She lay quite sapless on the bed, her hips held up only by his grasp around her middle. As Sebastian eased himself out a bit, she felt her core cling so tightly to his shaft that she nearly panicked for a moment, but then he shoved back in, and she sighed in relief and pleasure. It now almost felt like home to have him there… and she hated that she felt that way.

“Sebastian,” she groaned, pleading for… for something, she didn’t know what.

He cooed in a deep and breathless way, his lips against her ruffled hair, and he started to thrust slowly in and out. The hand around her waist relaxed enough for him to slip his finger lower, back on her abused nub, rubbing it again. Her hips jerked and she whined, but that didn’t stop him — just like nothing else did.

“You’re getting wetter for me,” he whispered hotly, “I can feel it… can feel it against… against my skin…”

With each thrust inwards, his heavy sac pressed against her folds. They throbbed right against it, kissing it in greeting. And then, he pressed himself even deeper, pushing her down, shoving her almost completely prone.

“My lovely girl,” he sighed, finally giving up on holding her upwards and letting her lay on her front while he pounded her into the bed. “My girl, all wet for me… taking me…”

Her blushing, tearful face was buried in the pillow again.

“Taking me while I’m taking you, isn’t that right?” he chuckled, resting his forehead on the nape of her neck.

Both his hands slid up her chest, each cupping a breast and holding it, letting her flesh rest in his hands while he shoved himself inside of her, pushing the breath out of her, harder and harder the more his manhood loosened her up. Every clenching of her was battered away, her channel opened up forcefully and held that way by his sheer girth. The heft and curve of his shaft aimed always his thrusts always slightly lower, against the soft spot above her entrance that made her way to cry.

“Seb—!” she gasped suddenly, raising her head from the pillow when the head of his member brushed against it.

“Yes? Is that good?” he moaned, hissing his way down her neck. “Is that good, my heart? Right there?” he teased, starting to deliberately beat away at that tender spot.

“Aaah! S-stop!”

“I don’t think so,” he groaned, “I’ll keep doing this to you until you give me what I want.”

“Please, Seb…”

“Until you give me what I want... and what you want to... Admit it... Admit it...”

“You’re mad,” she spat, sounding angry but being genuinely more afraid than anything.

She had never felt such an intensity of feeling aimed at her before, and it drove her to distraction that it would be kind and playful and bookish Sebastian who would give this to her.

But he didn’t seem to take kindly to the insult. With a growl through clenched teeth, he took his hands away from her breasts, one threading through her hair — gently, but threateningly — the other going to her stomach. She wasn’t sure what he wanted to do there, but then she felt it — he pressed slightly on her lower tummy, and right against her flesh, he felt himself.

“Do you realise how deep I am inside you?” he whispered angrily in her ear. “Do you understand… how much I love you? How much I… I want to be inside of you… With you…”

She tried to hide her face into her shoulders, her hands coming up to cover her head.

“And this is how you speak to me?” he continued. “Do you feel nothing for me?”

She didn’t wish to tell him yes — partly because she was afraid of how he would react, and partly because it wasn’t true. She did love him, had loved him for years, but this was not the sort of way she’d wished to be joined with him.

“Seb, you’re scaring me,” she whimpered.

He sighed and forced himself to ease his grip, softened as he usually was whenever she showed even a bit of vulnerability. But his thrusts only got harder, and his grip against her lower stomach stayed. He felt his tip press against her and into the cup of his hand with each pumping of his hips.

Beneath Sebastian’s lustful moans and the creaking of the bed, she could hear the humiliating sound of his flesh slapping into hers — his sac, churning with cum and dripping with her juices and his sweat, his hips, his thighs... She could smell his body too, salty and sweet and very distinctly sultry, devastatingly virile and male.

“I… I’m so…” he groaned nonsensically into her hair, “I could finish in you right now,” he threatened. She clenched at the promise. “Won’t you do it too, darling?” he murmured. “Please, I… I need it…”

“Never,” she bit back, and all around his shaft, he could feel her tightening rebelliously. She didn’t wish to be part of his experiment at all.

“I need it,” he said again, “more than you know… Come on, my love, my heart… I know you need it too. Tell me,” he panted, “how do you want to be pleasured?”

She kept quiet. Only little whimpers were pushed out of her by his heavy, deep thrusts.

“What do you need to make this little hole flutter for me?” he whispered.

Her legs tensed and her womb clenched. At her stomach, she felt his fingers begin to stroke a little up and down — stroking the head of his manhood with every inward thrust.

“What do you need? You need my love?” he said, kissing behind her ear. “My hatred?” he added, kissing her neck this time. “Anything… anything…”

“I want nothing from you,” she whimpered.

“You want my seed?” he asked — and that was it.

He felt her body clench, her little hole bubbling with cream in the areas where there was enough space for it to leak around him.

“Oh is that it?” he chuckled breathlessly, teasing her with a lick at the nape of her neck. “You want it? Hm? You want my seed inside this” — and he shoved especially hard — “little hole?”

“Sebas—!”

“You want me to make you pregnant?”

“Sebastian!”

“Want someone to breed you, is that it?”

She began struggling in his grasp, a last attempt to get away, because she knew what was coming. Sebastian wrapped his arms around her waist, holding her against his thrusts that wouldn’t, wouldn’t stop. If anything, he started battering at her womanhood even harder now, sliding wetly in and out in spite of how much tighter she got.

“Oh, but my girl is naughty, isn’t she?” he growled with a wide grin.

When she kicked a little higher with her left leg, he grabbed that too and hugged it to her chest, opening her up helplessly as he claimed her.

Her hands held onto the pillow now no longer as a distraction, but out of need to hold onto something. She wailed and buried her high, frail cries into it.

“Let me love you,” he begged roughly as he shoved himself into her, his thick manhood scraping against her tender, clenching walls in a way that made her scream. “Come on, let me love you… Let me feed this little hole,” he hissed. “It’s been so lonely, hasn’t it? Nobody’s loved you before, have they?”

“Bastard!” came her muffled, angry cry.

“No, darling,” he sighed, pressing deep, deep into her and holding there, pushing her higher on the bed with the force of it, making her legs shake. His tip had reached her cervix. “No, darling, you love me,” he whispered right in her ear. “Like I love you. Do you feel that?” he asked, his hips holding his manhood deep and then thrusting a little more. “You feel your thick little lips down there kissing my balls?”

“Seb—!”

“I certainly feel it,” he moaned, grinding into her while he let his forehead rest against her back.

His arms tightened around her waist with her leg still trapped there, her hole stretched more vulnerably open than it had ever been.

“Feel it warm and wet, dripping all over it, drooling over me… You’ve been as desperate as I, haven’t you? So lonely… so unloved… You’ll never be unloved again,” he promised hotly, and then resumed his thrusts, but this time slow, tempered, hard, deep, battering against her cervix every time.

“Your womb will be full of my seed,” he breathed against her skin. “I’ll force it into you, you’ll have no choice, I promise that,” he whispered. “Hold you opened up, make your beautiful body swallow it…”

She whimpered and tried to crawl away before she realised there was nowhere to go. And behind her, Sebastian kept thrusting that shaft into her swollen channel, her muscles too weak to clench against his penetration anymore. She felt conquered and completely helpless.

“I’ll do it as often as you need it,” he said with a sweet, warm sigh, “I’ll make you all warm inside… Keep you safe. Keep you full of me…”

His thrusts started getting faster, less deep now but almost angry, almost desperate, and she wailed at the sensation because he rubbed against her spot with every thrust and it felt good, she hated how good it felt.

“And then it will take, won’t it? It will have to… I’ll breed you, I’ll get you pregnant… And everyone will see what I did to you,” he growled.

“Sebastian, please,” she moaned weakly, no longer having the strength to pretend he didn’t make her feel good. “Please, I… I need…” Her tearful eyes looked into his, dark brown and hazy, over her sweaty shoulder.

“Shhh, I know, I know, darling… ” he cooed. “Release for me, my love,” he whispered, his full lips coming to rest near hers. “Release for me, and I’ll release for you, alright?”

“Aaah…”

“It’s alright,” he said gently, kissing her. “It’s alright… stop thinking… Stop being afraid…” he coaxed. “Just let me love you, let me love you, take it… take it from me…”

She whimpered, and burst into tears. Her body shook in his grip, trembling not only from his powerful thrusts but from the pleasure that licked its way from her womanhood all through her chest and her limbs and her heart and her head… Sebastian’s hands around her tightened, and her hip almost hurt from how sharply her leg was held against her chest, but her core had never felt more satisfied, more perfectly content, more cared for and loved and wanted. He fed his manhood to it, and she was forced to take it, and she wanted — she realised with shame — she wanted his seed.

“Seb-bastian,” she sighed, sounding genuinely pleasured for the first time, completely surrendered to the pleasure both her body and his were giving her.

“That’s it,” he whispered encouragingly. Around her waist, she could feel his thumbs brush against whatever skin of hers he could reach to pet her, even as he held her flush against his chest and he thrust rough and hard down into her. “That’s it, my heart, there you are… I’ll give it to you, but you have to take it, alright?”

“Yes,” she whimpered, not knowing really what he was saying anymore, “yes, I… I…”

“You’ll have to take it, sweetheart, right in this tight, hot, secret little place of yours…”

“Sebastian!”

“I’m here,” he smiled, kissing her again on the lips — briefly, as each of his thrusts jolted her away from the reach of his mouth. “I’m here with you. I love you. I love you more than any—”

“Aaaah!”

“Oh, is that it, darling?”

“Aah! —bastian!”

“Is that it? Is your womb opening up for me?”

“Seb—! I feel… aaah…”

“Too much, my darling?” he grinned.

She nodded, eyes closed, mouth open in one long moan.

“I feel the little throat you have inside opening up for me?” he groaned, the head of his shaft pounding at her cervix. “Think I can get it inside?”

“No!” she cried.

He chuckled and kissed her forehead, not wanting to hurt her, and knowing how small she was compared to him, but he teased her anyway but pressing deeper, aiming for that flexing opening. He bit his lip when he felt the tip of his member get lightly pinched by it.

She scrambled uselessly beneath him, her back arching into his sweaty chest, hips canting, and Sebastian kept thrusting into her. The little pearl that he’d teased earlier so much peeked out with interest, and his sac now met its tiny kiss each time it swung forward.

“Too much!” she wailed, her body tensing and relaxing and tensing again in the grip of some unfathomable wave of pleasure. “No more… no more, please!”

“Take it,” he groaned, “good girl, take it…”

And then that wave of pleasure crashed into her, and she screamed. Sebastian cried out too, a low and pained sound. He stilled his thrusts when he felt her core tighten around him. It gripped him as if she was going to swallow him whole, as if she wanted to drink everything he had to give — and he gave it to her, because at that very moment, his orgasm hit too, and his sac churned painfully and pushed his seed out of him in wave after thick, thick wave.

“Aaah! Oh f— my darling,” he moaned, hips twitching into her reflexively now, “my dearest… my love, my… ohh…”

He pressed grateful kisses into her neck and moaned out every endearment he could think of, and her name, and his promises to take care of her, to give her everything she deserved, to love her until the day he died…

She mewled weakly, too tired to cry out, too tired even to open her eyes. Her body had never gone through anything like that before, and as her pulses quieted and her core relaxed, Sebastian eased himself as deeply into her as he could. She could feel his seed pooling at the end of her, warm and heavy. Finally, he released her leg and let her relax fully on the bed, his own body laying for a moment on hers before he slid to the side, sapless.

She could feel and hear his heaving breath against her back, and beneath it, the frantic beating of her heart.

Sebastian kissed her shoulder one last time before he moved away, seemingly to get up. She then realised he had only retrieved that vial.

With great gentleness and care, he bent down to her core and stroked her lower back. She barely had the chance to look down at him, frowning, when she was struck by the humiliating feeling of his release and hers dripping out of her in big, pearly gushes.

“Oh,” she groaned, hiding her face away.

She didn’t see, but she could hear Sebastian chuckle.

“I know this part is a little awkward,” he said. “It… it isn’t how I wanted to end this, but…”

He stopped there, saying nothing else while he collected what he needed.

She sighed and pushed her sweaty face away from the pillow when she felt him part from her, his caressing hand stroking her leg gently one more time before he got up. She had new cause to blush when she peeked at his naked behind, firm and shining with sweat, and the length that could be seen swinging between his legs — still a little hard, still wet, tip blushing a raw, delicious colour. She felt sure a similar colour was blooming at her ravaged core, and she hid her face into the pillow again.

Sebastian’s hands were shaking. His sweaty skin felt the chill of the room more keenly now, especially after his chest had been so wonderfully warm from rubbing against her. He still had so much excitement and pleasure coursing through his veins that made him almost unsteady on his feet… But he had to see if this would work, he had to try to open the Casket.

He put one hand on its side and held the vial aloft with the other, its mouth poised just above the little orifice that would take the ‘key’.

He bit his lip to try and steady himself, and tilted the vial… The content was white and syrupy, and he blushed at seeing it. He had to wait for it to drip out… Once it reached the edge of the glass, it fell quickly, pulled down by its own heaviness right into the hole.

Sebastian held his breath as he waited, fearful for a moment that it had all gone wrong, that he’d been misled, that this had all been a terrible mistake… But not even a few seconds later, something happened. He felt a little tremor against his hand, as if something moved inside the Casket, and he pushed against the lid. Where many times before it had stood as firm as if the whole thing were one solid piece, this time, the lid slide away without resistance.

His eyes widened, and he started in quiet wonder at the open relic.

“Did it work?” she asked from the bed, her voice sleepy but still slightly interested.

Sebastian laughed, not able to take his eyes away from the inside of the Casket. It was supposed to provide its owner with whatever they needed at the time, and it certainly did that… Inside of it were two silver bands, one slightly smaller than the other, plain and unadorned, of exquisite purity: two engagement rings.

“It… it did,” said Sebastian with a bright smile.

Still, he wasn’t sure now was the right time to ask her… He felt a bit monstrous after what he'd done, and worse still for not regretting it. He was lucky that he got her to feel pleasure, to accept what he was doing, that he found the key to her lust — but it could just as easily have been the end of everything between the two of them, and he didn't know what he would have done if he'd lost her. How close he had come to that, due to his own mad desire for her, scared some sense into him now after everything was done. So he took the rings out of the Casket, quickly opened a little drawer on the side of his desk, and placed them inside.

He then walked back to the bed and joined her, squeezing himself beside her on the narrow mattress. She was hiding her face again, leaving him only her neck and shoulders to kiss.

“I apologise,” he sighed.

She mumbled.

“Do you hate me an awful lot?” he whispered with his lips against her nape. “You can tell me honestly…”

She said nothing.

“I did apologise, but I’m not sorry, just so you know,” he continued, his hand brushing the hair away from her shoulder in slow, long caresses. “I’m sorry it happened like this, but… I honestly can’t find it in me to regret it. I’ve wanted you for… a long, long time. I hope you know that. And it pained me how… how you always held yourself away.”

“Stop,” she whimpered, still facing away from him.

He leaned over and kissed her cheek, the little of it that he could reach.

“I meant it, you know,” he whispered at the corner of her mouth. “I’d want nothing more than for us to have children together…”

“Sebastian, that’s—”

“I know you might not want it with me, or not at all, but… but I want it, I want it because it would be with you. But only with you.”

He sunk his face into her neck, hiding away from her rejection, hiding away from himself, but wanting all the while nothing other than to sink inside of her in every way — with his body, with his mind, with his heart. The sheets were a mess around them, half-fallen to the floor, and both she and Sebastian were sweaty and cold and messy with each other, and it was uncomfortable for both of them to lay that way together on a hard and narrow bed… But there was no safer, sweeter, better place in the world for Sebastian — nor for her, she quietly realised.

He wrapped his arm around her waist and curled his body around her from behind, seeking comfort in her. He had thought, those past few months, that he would get everything he wanted once he opened the Casket, but now he knew he could only find what he wanted in her.

She breathed deeply, accepting his embrace, and not knowing… what to say, how to confess to him what she, too, felt, even though she burned deeply with the need for him to know her, really know her, and how profound her love for him was. She lay quietly in his arms, her chest moving steadily up and down. And then, before he knew it, her hand came to rest on top of his own. Against the back of her neck, she felt Sebastian smile brightly, and she couldn’t help but smile too.

#sswallow;answers #Sebastian Sallow #hl #Sebastian Sallow fanfiction #Sebastian Sallow imagine #Sebastian Sallow smut #Sebastian Sallow x reader #Sebastian Sallow x MC #sswallow;made a thing #sswallow;fanfics

[sebastianswallows]

Hello! Could I offer you a prompt? I often see fics about Ominis experiencing sight for the first time, but how about Slytherin!MC being the one afflicted with a temporary blindness, and now having to rely on Ominis for guidance, 'seeing' the world from his perspective? Maybe as a result of some unruly student's potion experiment? Thank you for your time and work!

Hello, nonny!

Thank you so much for an Ominis prompt! I love to write about this sweetest boy. And sorry this took so long, my dear 💚

Oh my though, I guess I don't read fics with him often enough, because I haven't noticed that many where he experiences sight. Not sure how I'd feel about those, because it... takes away from his character, sort of. I don't know.

Anyway! I have a fluffy little fic for you 😘 Hope you enjoy it!

I wrote it that it was all Garreth's fault, because of course.

— PAIRING: Ominis Gaunt x F!MC

— WARNINGS: none

— WORDCOUNT: 3.8k

She cursed Garreth all the way to the Hospital Wing. The classroom was left in deathly silence after the Gryffindoor’s latest experiment had literally exploded in her face. Professor Sharp seemed… worried, but not very shocked. Clearly, things like that had happened before — especially since Garreth had started studying at Hogwarts. For his part, the boy seemed horribly contrite, or so he sounded as he fretted over her. She suspected at least half of his regret was due to the inevitably harsh detention he had to look forward to — perhaps something even worse, if the damage to her eyes proved permanent.

As she made her way through the castle, leaning on Sebastian and Natty — who both insisted to go with her, the sweethearts — she could think of nothing else. She couldn’t see anything. The last thing she had seen was Garreth’s smouldering cauldron where he was pointing out the way a particular piece of snail shell was melting, and then a great big flash of green, then blackness. She had thought for a moment that she’d fainted, but then she realised her eyes were open. By the time they reached the Nurse, her heart was still pounding at such a frantic rate she thought she was going to be sick.

“Well, she’s blind alright,” said Nurse Blainey after performing a few charms.

“What did you think? That I was lying?!”

“I will wring Garreth’s scrawny little nec—”

“Watch your tongue, Mr Sallow.”

“Can you fix it?” asked Natty in the most politely-frustrated voice she’d ever heard.

There followed a long discussion about what had caused it, which required them to bring Professor Sharp there — who, to his shame, hadn’t exactly been aware of what his students were doing — then Garreth — who also wasn’t sure what had happened with his potion, but he could at least list the ingredients he’d used.

All the while, she waited there in silence, hearing voices all around, footsteps echoing close and far, and tense, worried conversations. The Nurse had placed her in one of the beds in the corner while they decided what to do with her. Natty and Sebastian stayed by her side, quarrelling over what potions they could brew to cure her until she had to tell them to shut up.

By the time classes were done for the day, the Nurse had reached the conclusion that Garreth’s failed experiment, while exceedingly dangerous, would not affect her sight for long. Only a few weeks.

“A few weeks?!”

“Yes, two or three. Four if you’re unlucky.” She could hear the woman shrug.

“What am I supposed to do for three weeks? How can I study? How—”

“If I’m not mistaken, you’re not our only blind student. I’m sure Mr Gaunt can be of some help to you during this time.”

She recoiled at hearing it. “I don’t want to be a burden to—”

“Nonsense,” said Sebastian from somewhere behind her. “Ominis would do it happily!”

“I would,” said the boy. A pause followed as everyone else realised he’d entered the room. From the sound of it, he was standing a few feet in front of her.

The Nurse was happy with this arrangement, which meant fewer responsibilities for her. Professor Sharp breathed a sigh of relief, after which he promised to write to her parents and inform them. Sebastian and Natty, meanwhile, were disgustingly supportive, trying all the while to cheer her up. She shunned all of them, and would only go back to the Common Room with Ominis.

“Do you wish to have dinner first?” he asked quietly as they walked out of the Hospital Wing arm in arm.

“I’m not hungry,” she mumbled. “…Wait, are you?”

Ominis chuckled. “Could send Sebastian out to the kitchens to bring us something… He would do it. Careful, stairs.”

They went down step-by-step, and all through the castle, and after what felt like too long they finally made it to the Slytherin Common Room. She knew she was slowing them down, and Ominis didn’t deny it, but he was supportive the whole way — and not in that fretful, exaggerated, compensatory way Sebastian and Natty were, and not in the anxious manner of Garreth…

If Ominis was worried about her condition, he didn’t show it. As cool and calm as the lake, as sturdy as the rock Hogwarts was built on, he was by her side from the first moment.

The first order of business, while Sebastian fetched them a late dinner, was for her to learn the echolocation spell Ominis used to walk around.

“No, don’t hold it pointing down,” he said as he guided her hand. “Straight forward is better.”

“But what if I stumble onto something?”

“The spell will detect it in time.”

“Well I’m not feeling anything yet…”

“Just… try to cast it harder.”

“Cast it harder? You’re terrible at teaching spells. I want Sebastian back.”

“Yes, well, Sebastian can’t cast it,” mumbled Ominis.

“What can’t I cast?” asked the boy as he dashed into the Common Room.

She could already smell ham and cheese and the salty-sweet aroma of cold sausages. Two plates clinked as Sebastian placed them on the table by the fireplace, where she and Ominis were standing.

“My echolocation spell.”

“Ah yes, can’t cast that,” he said, followed by the soft floof of him plopping on the sofa.

They didn’t make much progress on that first night. His wand was far more accustomed to performing it than hers — but the promise of being able to learn it helped her sleep that night, after an hour or so of crying in fear and anger.

Waking up the next day was disorienting. She felt herself wake, she felt her eyes open, but not seeing anything seemed so… unreal. She nearly panicked all over again. Being in the dungeons, there was no sunlight to feel on her skin to let her know whether it was even morning, but then she heard the other girls shuffling around the room.

Imelda led her to the washroom, and later helped her dress — and for once, she didn’t have a snarky thing to say.

“Must be quite a nightmare,” the girl commented in what she perhaps imagined to be a sympathetic tone. “Can’t imagine flying in this state…”

“Yes, well, thanks Imelda, neither can I…”

She was relieved to hear Ominis’ voice again when she came downstairs.

“Over here!”

“How did you know it was me?” she asked, arms stretched in front of her in what she was sure must’ve been comical.

“You have a distinctive magical echo.”

“Do I…?”

“And Sebastian told me.”

“Morning,” the boy grinned from behind his friend.

Still, Ominis must certainly have been good at detecting where she was, because she felt his hand cup hers within seconds.

“How do you do that?” she asked.

“Just followed the sound of your voice,” he smiled.

“It all sounds the same to me…”

“You might think it does now, but eventually you’ll find it’s easy to tell distance by sound… The whole castle has very good acoustics for this sort of thing, in fact.”

“You make it seem so easy,” she smiled, her eyes tearing up at the sheer scope of all she had to learn to just survive the next few weeks.

“I promise you’ll find it easy too,” said Ominis, placing his warm hand on top of hers as she held his arm. “Open fields, now that can be an issue. But inside, here? You’ll get used to it in no time.”

Sebastian followed them for breakfast, but walked at a bit of a distance, letting Ominis explain things. Going to the Great Hall was a bit faster today than going to the dungeons had been the day before. She walked a bit more confidently already…

Breakfast was spent learning more about judging distance by sound.

“Here, now you try,” said Ominis, handing her a jug of pumpkin juice and an empty glass.

He’d just demonstrated how easily she could guess when a cup was close to filling by the sound the liquid made as it was poured — from a deep sound to a high one. She filled it just the right amount.

“That’s very good!”

“Really?” she grinned.

Feeling around the plate with the cutlery was done easily enough, but finding out what each pile of food held relied more on her sense of smell…

“Ah, I… wouldn’t recommend that.”

“What did I just pick up in my spoon?”

“What does it smell like to you?” asked Ominis with a little smile.

“Mashed potatoes…?”

“Well, I just hope you like parsnip porridge.”

And getting food onto her plate presented another difficulty… A few sausages rolled away before she gave up and picked them up with her hands rather than the fork, her knife kept slipping and clanging loudly on the plate whenever she cut into something, and her fingers landed in mustard sauce more than once.

After a little trial and error and a bit more cursing, she finally managed to get something she really liked. She moaned with pleasure, but it was cut short by Sebastian’s giggling.

“Whot?” she asked with her mouth full.

“Nothing,” he said with an obvious smile.

“What did you take?” asked Ominis curiously.

“It’s a seed cake,” she said defensively. “Just a little syrupy, that’s all.”

Sebastian laughed into his fist.

“What?”

“Nothing!” he said again. “Just… always thought you hated spotted dick.”

“Ewww!”

By the time breakfast was over, she was more angry than upset. Ominis considered it an improvement — at least she wasn’t on the verge of crying anymore. He supported her elbow with his hand as they walked out together. When the sounds of students passing by got louder, he felt her clinging to him more.

“Don’t be nervous…”

“Oh,” she said, her hand relaxing, “sorry.”

“It’s not just that,” he chuckled. “I could hear your breathing pick up, and your footsteps too, as if you were stomping on the ground.”

“It’s that obvious?!”

“It is,” he nodded. “For instance, how do you think I feel now?”

She sighed, feeling completely at sea as they walked together to class, in a direction she couldn’t tell, surrounded by noisy students — and Ominis was testing her.

“I don’t know… Calm, I suppose.”

“Why is that?”

“Your voice is low, and your arm is steady, and… and I can hear you smiling when you speak.”

“That’s quite good,” he chuckled.

What Ominis didn’t say was that he also felt worried about her, and worried about how useful he could be in these following weeks, how good of a guide or a teacher… He thought that it was obvious from his clipped tone and his lingering silences, but was glad to be proven wrong.

The first class of the day was, predictably, horrible. They had Charms, and the girl could scarcely follow the instructions on wand movements, had no idea whether the egg she was given had been shrunken and enlarged according to instructions, and was left feeling around for it awkwardly in order to tell where it was.

“How do you even know where to point your wand?” she sighed frustratedly.

“That’s where the echolocation spell will come in useful,” said Ominis from beside her. “It’s not just the direction, but the depth as well, how far something is from you.”

“We have to practice that more,” she grumbled, waving her wand uselessly. “Undercroft, after class.”

They ended up spending every break in their schedule that day in their secret room, with Ominis placing random obstacles in front of her while she tried and tried and… finally succeeded in making her wand cast the spell. It was just before they had to go to dinner.

“I did it!”

“Not bad,” said the boy — and she could hear his voice approaching, could hear his steps resounding in tighter and tighter echoes. “The cast is still pretty weak though…” She could tell he had his hand in front of her wand, judging the strength of the pulse for himself.

“It’s such a strange sensation… I can feel the shape of your hand in mine, through the wand, but it’s…”

“It’s a bit blurred, isn’t it?” he smiled.

“Yes, as if… as if through a fog.”

“Well, I’ve never seen fog,” Ominis chuckled, “but I’ll take your word for it.”

They went to dinner together and this time she walked on her own, holding her own wand in front. She grinned at being able to sense Ominis’ own echolocation spell, like rings on the face of a lake meeting each other.

“Can you feel people’s features with this spell?” she asked quietly as they entered the Great Hall.

“Not particularly… The size of someone, perhaps, but it is not so fine as to tell you what somebody looks like.”

“Can you tell the difference between, for instance, Sebastian and Garreth?”

“Naturally,” he laughed. “Garreth smells of toxic fumes. Sebastian smells of Confringo.”

Although that dinner was still speckled with splashes of sauce and spilt pumpkin juice, each meal got easier as the week progressed. Her echolocation spell, as well, got stronger. She wasn’t exactly confident enough to run through Hogwarts’ halls, but she found it easier to avoid running into people — and not get bumped into either, as her hearing became better at picking up all motions around her.

Attending class was easier too. She soon learned how to take notes on her own, although she wasn’t sure when she’d get the chance to read them. Ominis taught her a neat trick of holding onto the inkwell and use her fingers to precisely dip her quill in it. To tell whether she’d taken enough ink, she could test it on her finger first and see if the tip felt wet.

“You’re sure you don’t want a self-writing quill?” he asked.

“I want it,” she said, but first I want to do this on my own.

Ominis smiled. “And keep track of the parchment too. Find something as a placeholder for where you left off. Don’t want to write on top of what you’ve already written.”

With his guidance, she mastered a fairly simple system of holding onto the parchment with one hand, finger poised on her last line, and then cupping the inkwell with the other before dipping her quill.

What she still had trouble with well into the second week was spellcasting.

“How… just… how?” she hissed, smacking her wand up and down during a particularly troublesome Transfigurations class.

She heard a subtle laugh, and knew that it was Ominis. “Having trouble?”

“How am I expected to transform this damned ferret into a feather duster when the damned thing keeps moving?!”

Ominis had mastered the spell quickly, she thought, as she could hear no more animal squeaks from his side. About half the class had finished, judging by the mix of sounds from satisfied students and ferret trills.

She felt a warmth approach her from the side. Ominis took gentle hold of her wrist.

“Here,” he said, “maintain the location spell, and do the motions of the transfiguration spell from your wrist.”

She tried it a few times, his hand constantly around her wrist.

“Listen to where the animal is too, don’t lose track of him in case he runs away.”

She grit her teeth and frowned, ready to give up, but with Ominis’s help, she finally managed to do it just before the class was done.

“Bloody annoying,” she sighed, dropping her wand to the desk and wiping her sweaty palm on her robes. “Thank you, Ominis,” she mumbled. “Doubt I could’ve done it without you…”

“You could have,” she heard him smile. “Just would’ve taken you longer.”

To help calm her nerves, the boy suggested they go for a walk around the lake.

They walked and walked until the sun set. They could feel it as the air cooled all around them, as the evening grew loud with nightbirds, as the grounds became silent with all the other students gone inside the castle…

It felt strange to walk beside Ominis like that, without a word, without a touch, only the quiet sound of his footsteps in the grass. The water of the lake lapped on the shore beside them in lazy little waves, stirred perhaps by the creatures underneath or the light breeze. It set her senses on fire to feel how different it was to have that large, cold body of water on one side, and the warm shape of Ominis on the other — because she could feel it, could feel every detail. Even the wet earth underfoot and the grass, the dead leaves and dry branches, they all had a scent of their own that filled her mind more than the mere image of them ever could. Although she missed her sight very much, she could not deny that she felt more connected to everything around her in this way…

Her hand reached out and took Ominis’s arm — his right one, where he held his wand. Not even needing to ask, he switched it to the other hand and held her palm in his.

“Is something wrong?” he asked, but from his tone, she could tell he wasn’t worried.

“No,” she said. “Just wanted to feel your hand.”

“Well, there it is,” he chuckled. “Bit clammy… Sorry about that. Always gets that way when I hold my wand too long.”

“Mine too,” she smiled.

Their fingers interlinked as they kept their slow walk around the edge of the Black Lake. A thought kept swirling in her head, and she was torn between giving voice to it or keeping it to herself. She didn’t know if Ominis could tell, but —

“What’s on your mind?”

— of course he could.

“How did you know?”

“I swear I can hear you thinking sometimes. It’s the same with Sebastian.”

She laughed, but said nothing.

“So?” he asked again. “What is it?”

Her hand tightened slightly around his. “I was wondering if you might seem to the touch the same way you look. The face, I mean, and all that…”

“Ah,” he said, his tone teetering somewhere between amused and nervous, “you want to try to… ‘see me’ with your hands?”

“Could I?” she asked, her face turning slightly toward him as if she could better detect how he was reacting to all of this.

“Only if I could do the same,” said Ominis with a tight smile.

They reached as far around the lake as the grounds permitted and sat together on one large, smooth rock. Beneath them, they could hear the lapping of the water, quiet and gentle, and owls hooting far off in the woods. It felt almost as if she were floating on air, cross-legged, far from the ground, with nothing surrounding her but the cool night.

They tucked their wands in their pockets and fiddled their thumbs, both too timid to start.

“Well, you asked,” said Ominis after a prolonged nibbling of his lips, “so you go first.”

“Alright,” she sighed, her mouth pulled up into a nervous smile.

She stretched her hands before her gently and was almost startled when they reached his chest. His school uniform was much like hers, a little rough, but well tended to. Moving upwards, she reached his neck, and quickly skipped it until she felt the smooth line of his jaw with both her hands. For no reason at all, her eyes closed. Perhaps it felt more peaceful that way…

His chin was delicate and pointed, leading up in soft angles to his ears. Moving inward, her thumbs traced his high cheekbones, his temples, his arched brows, then dipped delicately over his eyes — his were closed as well. She smiled as she tickled the surface of her fingers with his long lashes.

“Well?” asked Ominis. “Is there a resemblance?”

“I think so,” she smiled. “You look the way you feel.”

“Oddly poetic of you,” he chuckled.

Her hands slid slowly down his face, framing his slightly long nose, falling then to his lips, soft and full. She gasped at feeling them, noting things she never realised before: how delicate they were, how defined, and slightly dry… She traced down to his chin again when she felt them part.

“Yes, I suppose that’s you,” she joked. Her giggles filled the tense air around them. She could feel him smile against her fingertips.

“My turn now,” said Ominis.

She squeezed her hands in her lap as she waited, and then the boy surprised her by cupping her face and slowly bringing them together, covering her like a mask.

He felt her from chin to forehead, taking in the full plains of her features, before he began to touch them each in part. He brushed her eyebrows upward, traced the shape of her eyes, ran his finger delicately down her nose to the tip, and brushed his thumb against her lips while his other hand caressed a broad path from her forehead to her jaw. She felt very thoroughly known after this…

They walked back to the castle in silence, hand-in-hand. As they did, she noticed in herself a feeling of… peace, of not caring anymore that she couldn’t see. She missed the colours of everything around, of course, the beams of light, the peaceful glow of the Slytherin dorms, the star-filled sky at night, but she didn’t feel like she lacked anything anymore.

That made it all the more shocking when, three and a half weeks into her blindness, she began to see vague shapes of light. Ominis’ thin face bloomed into a smile when she told him. She could see it in spite of the cloudiness of her vision.

She still used the echolocation spell to get around, and breakfast became easier, but the blending of shapes and colours so overwhelmed her senses that often she would close her eyes when she wished to concentrate.

It was probably for the best, as she fell behind on her coursework and had never gotten to practice reading Braille with Ominis. Her notes, she now could tell, were atrocious, and her fingers were horribly stained even now.

As the days passed, her vision gradually improved, and by the end of the fourth week, she was almost back to normal. Her eyes teared, unused to all the details.

“Come now, no need to cry over it,” said Ominis with an awkward laugh. They were returning from another visit to the Hospital Wing, where the Nurse had checked her progress.

“I’m not crying,” she sniffled. “How could you tell, anyway?”

“You mean aside from your voice being all choked up and your breathing irregular? Just a lucky guess.”

“I’m just feeling… too much, I think.”

Ominis took her hand in his. “I know,” he said with a small smile. “I’ll miss it too.”

And she didn’t need to ask what he meant.

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