Okay But The Symbolism Behind Removing His Face Paints I'm So Normal About This I—

okay but the symbolism behind removing his face paints i'm so normal about this i—

Camellia: Copia x f!reader - Chapter 5

Camellia: n. - A flower which symbolizes a deep desire or longing.

Summary: When it rains, it pours, but the drops wash away the uncertainty swimming in your mind.

Word count: 4.4k

A/N: Thank you all for your patience!! I usually try to keep updates going every 10 days or so, but this one's a little late, so I apologize. Thank you so much for reading, and I hope you enjoy this chapter!! <3 If you want to be added to the taglist, let me know!!

Warnings: possible descriptions of anxiety, you and Copia being idiots, mutual pining.

AO3 / Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4

You hadn’t known it was supposed to rain this morning. But now that you tilt your face up towards the gray-blanketed sky, you remember that it had been rather dark when you and Copia stepped out of the kitchens. The breeze around you feels sharp and the birds have gone quiet since you emerged from the flower labyrinth. The leaves—small and sparse after having just budded for spring—turn over to reveal their pale undersides. A sure sign of a rainstorm.

As you hold your finger in front of your face to observe the rain drop that had landed on your nose, another falls on the top of your head. Beside you, Copia also lifts his head to look at the sky. He squints and flinches a bit when a drop lands in the middle of his forehead. “Ah, cazzo,” he mumbles, and uses his free hand to swipe it off. The raindrops are fat and heavy, and they scatter the tiny stones of the gravel path under your shoes when they fall.

Another drop lands on your shoulder. “Should we go inside?” you ask. Immediately you realize that it is a stupid question. Of course you should go inside, crétin. It’s about to rain and you have no idea how long you’ve been outside for.

That nagging thought tugs at the back of your awareness. The thought that you shouldn’t be taking up so much of Copia’s—Papa’s—time. He’s a busy man, and he probably doesn’t have time to walk the entire garden path during working hours.

But… he had offered. And if you could, you’d walk the entire loop just to spend more time talking with him.

“Yes… that is probably a good idea,” Copia answers with a small smile.

He doesn’t want to go inside. He wants to keep holding your hand, keep walking on the secluded garden path until the sun goes down and it grows too cold to stay outside. And even then, he wants to take you back to his office, light a fire, and share a kettle of tea with you and talk some more. Maybe kiss you once or twice, if you’d be willing. Satan knows he would be.

But you can’t spend what could very well be your last full day at the Abbey just killing time. He knows he should take you back and walk with you to the library. Copia knows he should encourage you to keep trying with Elizabeth’s diary until Sister Imperator is literally pushing you out the door, but he wants more time. He needs more time with you. This can’t be over yet, it can’t. It hasn’t even started, this thing that exists between you.

The trees begin to shift a little more, a soft whooshing sound blowing with the breeze as the leaves and coniferous needles brush together.

You blink once, twice, and then it’s pouring.

“Diable ci-dessous!” you curse, swiping your free hand over your face as if that would help keep the water out of your eyes. The rain very quickly soaks through your habit and the wind bites at your skin.

Copia squeezes your hand. “Sorella, come, come!” He tugs you into a run along the path. The gravel crunches and moves under your feet, making you both stumble every few steps. Your hands clutch together like a lifeline.

Through the sound of the ever-growing rainstorm, you can hear the shouts of Siblings working in the garden who had also been caught in the weather. You can’t discern any words. The wind and the rain and the sound of your soaked shoes drowns out anything else, except for the bright laughter bubbling up from the man beside you.

The rain falls in sheets, and you find yourself laughing with Copia. It’s ridiculous, this situation you’ve found yourself in. Like the sky had heard you speak to each other about your less-than-ideal childhoods, and decided to provide you with the clouds over your heads in a more literal sense.

It takes you a moment to realize that Copia isn’t leading you back up the path towards the Abbey. You’re still running on the gravel past the greenhouses, which are teeming with Siblings hiding from the storm. Looking up through rain-soaked lashes you see the approaching silhouette of the tiny, sort-of-abandoned chapel in the far corner of the Abbey grounds. You can’t make out any details through the rain except for the small spire with its inverted cross.

Your heart jumps at the thought of being cooped up in the small space with Copia until the rain subsides.

“Here!” Copia calls. He surges forward to the door of the chapel and almost loses your hand in the process. It takes him two tries before he can shoulder the door open, and then he’s practically dragging you over the threshold. His leather gloves are soaked and slippery, but his grip on you tightens until you’re both inside and safe from the rain. He closes the door behind you and it slams against the threshold with a creak and a loud rap of the ancient brass knocker.

Then, you’re alone. It’s quiet inside the chapel, save for the storm pelting against the old, warped panels of stained glass along the side walls and the frantic beating of your heart in your ears.

You wonder why a chapel has a knocker.

You also wonder why such a pretty, quaint little chapel isn’t used anymore. The inside is lined with dark wood pews on either side of a carpeted aisle. The door is made of the same wood, as is the modest pulpit stationed at the front of the room. It stands on a raised platform, and behind it is another, higher platform with what looks to be a long table sheathed in a black cloth which reaches down to the floor. On either side of the pulpit are elaborate iron candelabras empty of any candles.

The windows on either side of the chapel aren’t elaborate like that of the main Abbey. They each depict a single inverted cross of clear glass, with red stained glass filling the negative space of the arched windows. The walls are thick and built of stone, and each window lines up with a pew. Several books, which you infer are unholy prayer or hymn books, are perched on each windowsill, and you’re very suddenly reminded of Marseille. The stone walls, the tall, narrow windows, the old wood, the books on the sill.

For a moment, you’re home and you’re very near to tears.

“Cara,” Copia says softly from behind you. In your reverie you’d turned around to take in every little detail and your back is now facing him. His hand still holds yours, although you’re sure the soggy leather must be making your (and his) fingertips prune.

Copia had watched you, watched your eyes flit around the chapel as you turned on the spot. He remembers what you told him about your home and realizes that this little building must remind you of it. He had watched your face alight in unrealized comfort and he had watched as your eyes grew glassy when you made the connection. He calls out to you. Cara, he says, and he means it. You are dear to him and it surprises him just how quickly you’d managed to become that way.

You turn back to him, trying very hard not to let the tears building in the corners of your eyes slip down your already-wet cheeks. But then you see his face. Oh, your poor Papa, his face.

One might think, for a Ministry with worldwide influence and many, many resources, they might be able to afford waterproof, smudge-proof paints for their esteemed leader, but they hadn’t.

“Oh, no,” you giggle. It bubbles up in your chest and escapes your lips without your intent. And then your giggle turns into a rather unattractive snort and a full laugh, because your poor Papa looks like Hell. His paints are running down his face and dripping onto his leather vest. The black rings around his eyes have been tracked down his cheeks so that he looks like an overdramatic actress with terrible mascara. The pigment on his lips and beside his mouth have smudged so badly with the rain that he looks as if he’d drank a gallon of black paint. The white paint has almost completely run off, except for where it settles in the creases beside his mouth and between his brows.

All together, he looks like a rather soggy zebra.

Copia pouts at you. “What?”

You wish you had a mirror to show him. Part of you feels horrible for laughing at Papa, but you know that the man behind the paint will also find it rather funny. Slightly embarrassing at worst. “Your–” you try to stifle your giggles. “Your paints, they’re…”

Copia’s eyes widen in realization. “They’re… not waterproof, no,” he says flatly. “Satana, devo sembrare uno stupido.”

He peels his sodden gloves off his hands and stuffs them in the front pocket of his pants. He swipes a finger under his eye and brings it back to find that his fingertip is gray and patchy.

“No, you don’t look like an idiot,” you try to soothe him, although you’re still slightly laughing. “You simply… look like a man who was caught in a rainstorm with a full face of paints.” “Sì, so, like an idiot.”

Copia begins trying to wipe his face with his sleeve. It does nothing to actually remove the paint, instead just smudging around his damp skin. Though, you’re beginning to see that his cheeks burn a pretty red through the streaks of whitish-gray paint, and his ears are nearly completely red. You guess that his face might feel just as hot as your own.

He huffs in frustration, flicking his wet sleeve and causing water droplets to smack against the stone floor. “Dannazione,” he mutters to himself. “Shitty paints making me look like a…”

You remove your veil and bandeau—which are nearly plastered to your head from the torrential downpour—and wring them out. “Sit,” you command gently. Gesturing to one of the pews nearby, you fold your veil into a neat square.

When Copia continues mumbling to himself and fruitlessly wiping his face, you reach out and tug his sleeve away. “Copia,” you say again, “Asseyez-vous.”

Copia reluctantly obeys. He knows his face is completely red now, for multiple reasons. It’s cold, for one—the rain had felt like tiny daggers of ice even through his shirt, and now that the two of you are in a drafty little chapel with soaked clothes, the air feels even colder. He’d also made a complete and total ass of himself, thanks to the rain. He’d spent so long this morning leaning against his mirror, going over and over the black paints to make sure each line was crisp and clean and perfect in the off-chance he might see you today. It had made him late arriving at his office, but it had led him to bump into you just minutes after his paints had dried, which is when they look their best, in his opinion.

But the primary reason his face is practically glowing is because you’d commanded him in French. The language sounds sinful on your tongue. And spoken in that gentle but insistent tone… oh, he could come apart from just your words. You could string him along forever if you only speak like that.

He sits on the edge of a pew with a sigh. Copia knows he’s being ridiculous—it’s only paint—but he’d spent an embarrassingly long time on it in the hopes it might impress you, and here he is, looking like an idiot.

You approach him. You’re taller than him like this, so he has to tilt his face up to meet your eyes. Before you can overthink, before you can begin to question yourself, you gently reach out to place a finger under his chin and lift his head up a bit more. “Let me,” you say, almost a whisper. Your finger remains on his chin, keeping his head in place as you place your damp veil against his brow and begin to wipe.

Surprisingly, the fabric of your veil is much more effective than his shirt, and the paint comes off easily. “Oh,” you say, lifting your brows in mild surprise. “It’s working.”

You notice that Copia’s eyes slid closed at some point. “It feels nice,” he tells you softly.

“It’s French,” you say with a little huff of laughter, which Copia echoes.

Yes, he had meant that the fabric of your veil feels nice against his skin. But mostly he had meant that your finger gently tipping his head back feels like so much, all at once, and he doesn’t have words for any of it. It feels like it belongs there. He wants to touch you back, but where? And would you be okay with it, his hands on your hips or your waist or the backs of your thighs?

So, he settles for shutting his eyes and clenching his hands on his knees to resist pulling you closer. You’re standing between his knees, which are spread wide enough to accommodate you without touching the sides of your legs.

He wants something. Something innocent, not presumptuous, because he really doesn’t know how you feel about him at all. He lets his legs fall closed a bit more, until the bends of his knees just barely brush against your legs. His pants and your habit are absolutely soaked but he can feel the warmth of your skin through the fabric, and oh, he’d never guess that leg-to-leg contact could feel so intimate.

Copia opens his eyes when you gently drag your finger over his hairline to brush back the hair stuck to his forehead. You’re so focused on your task, as you always are. Your hands are cold and gentle as you wipe away his ruined paints. He wants to take your hands and kiss every finger until they’re warm again.

Slowly, carefully, you uncover new expanses of Copia’s face with each pass of your veil. You press a little firmer into the lines along his forehead and between his brows to completely clear his skin. His eyes are closed again, and you’re partially grateful because if he had looked at you like that any longer, you might have leaned down and kissed him. His freckled cheeks or his strong nose or his lips, you don’t know.

Somewhere between wiping the paint from his mustache and chuffing your veil under his chin, you begin to shake.

“Tesoro.”

“Hm?”

“You are cold,” Copia says, his voice barely above a whisper. You can feel his warm breath on your fingers as you drag your paint-ruined veil over a spot of white you’d missed.

“I’m alright,” you say. It’s partially true. Yes, you’re cold, but you don’t want to think about it or else you’ll really be cold and there’s nothing here to warm you up. Realistically you know it’s your habit; it’s soaked through and so are your socks and shoes. But it’s also the realization coursing through you that you have feelings for this man.

Lucifer, they had developed quickly. It had been so easy for him to push past the barriers you’d set up around your heart and mind. He’d just walked right in, lit a cozy fire within your soul and asked you to call him Copia. And you let him. He’s carving a place in your life that you’d gladly have him occupy, and it scares you.

He makes you forget why you try not to get attached. He looks at you and you forget the pain of leaving everything behind when you were eleven, which you are deathly afraid of having to do again.

You’re brought out of your thoughts when Copia’s ungloved hand gently takes yours. You cringe at how clammy your hands must be compared to his warm ones, but you don’t pull away. “Sathanas, tesoro, your hands are like ice,” he says. His other hand comes atop yours to sandwich it between his own.

You feel like you need to run. Your heart kicks against your sternum as your eyes meet his own.

Copia’s face is bare now. His freckles stretch across his cheeks and over the bridge of his nose, with a few scattered on his forehead and chin. You want to rip your hand out from between his own and tumble out the door into the rain. You want to bring him closer and trace little patterns into his freckles. Satan, you don’t know what you want.

You want to protect yourself from hurting again.

Copia, on the other hand, knows exactly what he wants. But he can practically see your mind working, churning back and forth between whatever turmoil is going on inside your head. As he sits in front of you, he can see the exact moment when you begin to panic. He can feel your hand begin to shake in his. He knows you’re not blind, or ignorant. He knows that you both know there is something happening, that it has been happening since you met, that it’s big. And he knows you’re scared of it, what it could become, what it could mean. Darling, he knows.

So, he stays silent. If he says anything or does anything, you’ll flee. This thing between the two of you is delicate, so delicate and new and foreign that any sudden movement will shatter the careful balance you hold in the little chapel. Anything but silence will cave the roof in and drench you all over again. Copia stays silent and holds your hand through your own tempest, and lets your eyes explore his face in search of answers he hopes you’ll find.

“I don’t want to go,” you whisper after another moment. “I want to stay and figure it out.”

Copia doesn’t know if you’re talking about Elizabeth’s diary, or this thing between you and him, or both. Honestly, neither do you.

He squeezes your hand tenderly. “Let’s get you back to the Abbey then, eh?”

“It’s—” your eyes dart to a window, “it’s still pouring, Copia.” Copia simply smiles at you, leaning in as if to tell you a secret. “What’s a little rain going to do, cara? Ruin my paints?”

~~~

By the time you make it back up the hill, to your dorm, to the shower, and into dry clothes, the lunch hour is long gone. You hadn’t realized how long you’d spent with Copia that morning. It had been just past nine when you left Sister Imperator’s office, and now it is well past two in the afternoon. Somehow it felt like only minutes had passed in the cozy little chapel, and in that chapel you made the terrifying realization that no matter how long you spend with him, it will never be enough.

You can’t think about that right now.

Right now, you need to get to the restricted room. You’re halfway out the door of your temporary dormitory, slipping on your only spare pair of shoes as you desperately hold onto the idea you had when you and Copia were about halfway up the hill.

With your shoes already soaked through, you and Copia had struggled to find traction on the sodden grass. With each step you found yourself slipping backwards, hands flying through the air until you regained your balance, or until Copia firmly grasped it in his own and didn’t let go. The two of you trekked your way up the hill, slipping and sliding and giggling at the absurdity of it all. Your hand would find his own whenever it would slip from his grasp, like they were magnetized. It felt natural, seeking his hand. Even if it was only for balance.

As you slowly made your way up the hill, soaked and shivering, one thought prevailed in your mind. You only have today, you kept thinking. If you don’t figure out the diary, you’ll only have today.

It was true of two situations. You have one word of the diary—Today—and you have only today if you can’t decipher the rest.

You took a step forward, and slid back slightly. Copia’s hand steadied you.

Only today. Elizabeth. Today. Copia. Today.

Today.

You’d stopped completely, just standing in the near-freezing rain. Copia had looked back at you like you were insane (which you might be), and tugged on your hand again. “What is it?” He’d shouted over the rain.

You’d begun to climb the hill with a renewed vigor. “Today!”

Copia had no idea what you’d meant by today, but he couldn’t question it when you were pulling him up the hill. It was like you’d suddenly found your footing in the wet grass, and he was glad of it. His shoes were completely drenched and he was shivering nearly as violently as you were. He didn’t need to understand what you were talking about right now. All that mattered was getting you (and himself) out of the cold. He can ask you later.

Later, he’d thought. Would there be a later?

Yes, there would. As he watched you climb the hill towards the kitchen door, still clinging to his hand and helping him up, he’d decided there would be a later. Sister Imperator may control every other aspect of the Abbey and his life, but not this one. Not you.

The Siblings working in the kitchen had looked at the two of you like you were crazy when you burst through the door, sopping wet and dripping onto the tile. Perhaps it was a mix of confusion and surprise—you’d wager that none of them had seen Copia without his paints before. You feel immensely privileged that you’d been the first, that you’d been the one to take them off. You’d been the one to strip away Papa.

“Eh,” Copia had said, looking back and forth between you and the Brother who had smiled at you earlier, “We— I— sorry. We’ll be going, yes—”

He’d grabbed your hand again and pulled you through the kitchens the way you came that morning. Once you both had stepped out into the refectory, which was thankfully empty at this time of day, Copia stopped again. The sounds of his ruffled shirt and your habit dripping on the floor echoed in the large room. “Be honest with me, cara. How bad is it?”

You’d struggled to hold in a laugh. “It’s… not as bad as you think,” you’d told him. In truth, it wasn’t. But you realized then that you’d missed a spot of paint in his hairline, which now trailed down his forehead in a distinct white line. Without thinking twice, you reached up to swipe it away with your thumb. “I can’t imagine I look any better.”

Copia huffed a laugh through his nose. “We… should probably go get cleaned up,” he’d said. “I wouldn’t want you to catch a cold.”

“You either, Papa,” you said, and Copia had mourned the loss of his name on your lips. He understands—within the walls of the Abbey, he is Papa and you are Sorella. But perhaps he could make an exception for you.

You and Copia had parted ways then, to wash up and resume your duties. All the way back to your dorm and through the time it took to shower and change, you’d recited the word today in your head like a prayer. Even now, as you quickly walk through the corridors on the path you've taken every day for the past week, you repeat today, today, today as if you would lose the thought if you didn’t.

If Elizabeth is the key to the first word, perhaps today is the key to the second. Two steps forward, one step back. The hill in the rain. You must look back before you can forge ahead.

With practiced ease, you open the diary’s lockbox and place it onto your usual desk. Having donned the pristine white gloves again, you unfold the linen and the gold embossment on the cover catches your eye. You smile. Soon, you promise to Elizabeth, you will live again in these pages.

The familiar string of letters greets you as you open to the first page of writing. You write the sequence again on a blank sheet in your notebook, the letters flowing from your pen with ease after having written them hundreds of times already.

LzlhelzhkxbgwfqmnJkcfolBfbalBoiovtsheq.

You already know that the first five letters translate to today, so you cross them out. Underneath the next letters, you write hodie again and again, as you’d done with the word Elizabeth the first time. Your hands are shaking. Please, please, please…

You trace your finger over the letter grid, quickly mapping each letter of the cipher to its partner in the key. L of the cipher and the H of the key map to an E on the grid. You jot down a messy E. Z of the cipher, o of the key, l on the grid. And so on, until you’re confident you’ve found the next word when the deciphered letters stop making sense.

The second word in the line reads electus. Chosen.

Without translating the whole sentence, hodie electus could mean a number of things. Word order does not matter in Latin—hodie could be the subject of the sentence, or the object, or an arbitrary time frame.

Your heart is beating hard in your ears. You continue, using electus as the new cipher key.

The next word is sum. The Latin word for self, or I.

Hodie electus sum. Today I was chosen.

Sweet Satan, you think. Your breath comes shallow and quick. Holy Hell, I’ve figured it out.

You continue, your hands flying back and forth between the corresponding letters of each new key and the grid, double and triple checking to make sure you map the correct letters. Your head feels light, your chest heavy. Like if you dared to look away from the diary or your notebook or the grid, you’d find that you were wrong. You must translate this first sentence before it shifts and your idea doesn’t fit anymore.

It’s easy to find where the first sentence ends, because it is isolated in its own paragraph in the diary. That also tells you that it’s an important statement; important enough to be separate from the rest of the text, which is a continuous flow of letters down the page.

The final word of the cipher confirms your suspicions that Elizabeth wanted to keep her diary a secret for a long time. The final word deciphers as Papae, the Latin possessive form of Papa.

Hodie electus sum ut Primus Motor Papae.

Today I was chosen to be Papa’s Prime Mover.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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ghost fic recs ghost band the band ghost copia x reader papa emeritus iv x reader papa emeritus x reader copia x f!reader

In the Sheets | Azriel x reader

Summary: To put it in SJM's words: Azriel is a freak *wink wink nudge nudge* and his mate is a lucky lucky girl

A/N: This is honest-to-god faerie p0rn and it gets progressively worse. It's filth. No plot whatsoever. Don't come at me, I'm ovulating and have therefore decided to dump all the smut into one glorious fic. You're welcome.

(public service announcement: the smut does NOT contain degradation and/or the daddy kink because I don't roll that way and therefore our girl Y/N doesn't either)

Word count: 3506

Warnings: SMUT (18+!!!) it's nothing hardcore, just a lot of it, so (respectfully) fuck off if you're under 18

"So, enough with the chitchat," Mor proclaimed as she set her empty glass down on the table harder than necessary and proceeded to lean forward as though scheming. "You've been mated to Azriel for over a year now, and so far, I've been patient with you." Y/N blinked slowly, and Mor made a sound that immediately disproved her previous claim of patience. "What's it like?"

Feyre giggled from where she dipped into her third drink of the night, but Nesta sat quietly, a look of mild interest in her eyes as she locked them on Y/N.

An uncertain expression had entered the face of Azriel’s mate. "What's what like?"

Mor huffed. "What's he like. Azriel. The sex." Her eyes seemed aflame with a mixture of wine and the warm glow of Rita's faelights as she stared at her friend as though expecting her to sprout horns any moment now. "Is it good?"

Feyre sighed, though she couldn't quite keep the amusement from bleeding into her words. "Mor, that's an incredibly invasive question."

"And also unnecessary," Nesta added, her voice calm as she stirred the very tip of her finger around the clear contents of her glass. "We didn't see them for almost six months when their bond snapped. Of course it's good."

"But I'm so curious." Y/N smiled into her drink at the deep sigh Mor exhaled. "It's Azriel. The man's been a mystery for more than 500 years and now we finally have an agent on the inside."

"An agent?" Feyre asked, wrinkling her nose.

"Oh, you know what I mean." Mor waved a dismissive hand, her eyes never leaving Y/N. "I desperately need some details."

"Arch your back for me."

The soft fabric of the sheets brushed against her skin as Y/N stretched out her arms and let her body glide to the mattress in a slow arch from where she kneeled before him. She could feel the rough skin of scarred hands on her, broad palms pushing down the length of her back to follow the curve of her spine before retreating to hold her hips as though they'd been carved from the most precious of gems.

Her cheek lay pressed to the pillow, her hands twisted into the sheets, and when she felt featherlight kisses on the base of her spine, her back arched further down.

"You're so beautiful like this," Azriel breathed into her skin as his knee appeared between her legs to nudge them further apart. She felt him then, hard and heavy against her centre, and she shivered when he pushed forward to run his length through her folds once, twice, three times.

She sighed his name, closing her eyes at the heavy drag of him against the most sensitive part of her body, and when he finally nudged at her entrance, she did her best not to thrust her hips backwards.

Azriel hooked his hands into the flesh of her ass, grip firm enough to leave red marks, firm enough to sting in just the right way, and when he loosened his right hand, she knew what was to come.

His palm made sharp contact with her skin, and she couldn't help the quiet moan that passed her lips when he repeated it and her body gave a slight jolt.

He gripped her tighter then, pulling her apart. His voice was quiet when he spoke, deep enough to fog her mind with his words.

"Ready for me, my love?"

She was certain he felt her overwhelming need for him pulsing through the bond, because the breathless "yes" had barely just left her lips when he buried himself to the hilt with a single long thrust. She curled her fingers harder into the sheets and the moan that tore through her had Azriel's hands on her tighten even further.

As he ground into her with one harsh snap of his hips after the other, and as she moaned her pleasure into the pillows, she relished in the thought of finding his fingerprints glowing on her skin later.

"Don't close your eyes. Look at us."

When she pulled open her eyes, the world lay on its side and the picture that revealed itself to her brought heat to even the last inch of her body.

She'd been wondering why Azriel had relocated the huge, golden mirror that Feyre and Rhys had gifted them for Solstice, but as her gaze caught on the delicate golden edges now, she understood.

She caught her own gaze, and the version of her that was caught inside that magnificent mirror seemed delighted at the fact. She lay on her back, her head turned to the side, her legs wrapped around Azriel while he kept his own face buried in the side of her neck she couldn't see.

She licked her lips at the image. At the sinful roll of Azriel's hips, burying himself again and again in slow thrusts that had her mind swim. At the way majestic wings flared behind him as his hand held her thigh and his chest rubbed against hers with each move.

Her stomach gave a delicious pull when Azriel lifted his head to meet her eyes in the mirror, his own gaze darkened with hunger, his pupils blown wide.

"Look at you," he murmured, his lips close enough for her to feel them move against her cheek. "See how beautiful you look when you take me?"

He punctuated his words with a harder thrust, and her lips fell open at the jolt her mirrored counterpart gave, at the sounds she made, and the way Azriel's hips met hers again and again. The way each muscle in his legs, in his back, in his arms worked beneath tanned skin, it was ... breath-taking.

"Look at this," he now all but whispered as he hooked his hand beneath her knee to lift her leg higher and press it further towards her chest. She dug her nails into the skin of his shoulders at the change in depth, and when Azriel angled his hips slightly to the side, she could see the way his thick length glided in and out of her. He glistened with her arousal, his movements smooth, and she whimpered at the sight of his intrusion.

Azriel lowered his mouth back to her neck and drew her skin between his teeth.

"Keep watching, my love," he murmured into her, and as his hips snapped firmer against her, she didn’t take her eyes off the mirror once.

"You're in no position to tease, baby. Remember that."

A shiver ran through her body at the lips that hovered just barely above her breast. His low words washed over her nipple in warm puffs of air, and her thighs pressed together tightly in an attempt to create some friction.

"Azriel," she whispered, a plea evident in the way she spoke his name. She lifted her chest, but Azriel mirrored her movements and lifted his head a bit further, always keeping the distance between his lips and her skin.

She pulled on her restraints, but the shadows that kept her wrists locked to the pillow above her head didn't budge.

Azriel hummed, his wings tucked in closely, his eyes never leaving her face. He was careful not to touch her, his arms digging into the mattress on either side of her shoulders to keep his body hovering over her.

"Yes, my love?"

She couldn't keep the grin from her face as she sent all her desire shooting across the bond, accompanied with echoes of her moans, and flickering sensations of the pleasure she knew Azriel could draw from her.

When he shuddered against her, he finally lowered his mouth to the soft flesh of her breast, though it was only to give a sharp pinch of his teeth that had her jolt.

"Touch me," she pleaded.

A corner of his lips curled into a smile, and she watched closely as he lifted a hand only to weave his fingers through her hair.

She gave a frustrated huff. "Not like that."

Azriel tilted his head, and when he didn't say anything, she knew that he was waiting for her to specify.

"I want your tongue on me," she said, her voice breathless. Tension reached to her very fingertips as Azriel finally lowered his face far enough for his tongue to dart out and kitten-lick her nipple.

Her eyes fluttered at the sight, a full-body-shiver rolling through her at the brief, wet touch.

"Gods, you're such a fucking tease, I swear to—"

A grin flashed, and then finally, finally Azriel lowered his mouth to her breast, licking, and biting, and sucking her until her head swam and her arms shook from his mouth alone.

"Do you want me to fuck you, my love?" he hummed against her, his eyes locked with hers as he once again bit the sensitive skin of her breast, and, Cauldron, the image was sinful. Dark strands of hair fell into his face, his sole attention on her.

"Yes—Gods, yes."

She could only just refrain from whining when Azriel sat back on his feet and took all the warmth with him. He tilted his head as he trailed his eyes along her bare body.

"Open your legs for me, then."

"Come with me."

She hadn't heard him approach, the room filled with noise as the crowd of court visitors chatted and drank its way through the evening. She felt fingertips trail down the back of her arm until his hand found hers and he interlocked their fingers. Goosebumps arose in his wake.

"What's wrong?" she asked, having heard the urgency in his tone. When she turned, however, Azriel's heavy-lidded gaze told her the purpose of his proposal.

She smiled and put down her glass to lift her now free hand to cup his face, her thumb running along a sharp cheekbone. "Now?"

Azriel's eyes fluttered at her touch and when she let her thumb slip lower to trail along the curved lines of his lips, he pressed a kiss to the pad of her finger.

"What brought this on?"

"Have you taken a look in the mirror lately?" She noted a spark in Azriel's eyes, his hand tightening in hers. "As breath-taking as it is, I've spent the majority of the night going through all the ways I could get that dress off you as soon as possible."

It was true, the seamstresses of Velaris had outdone themselves this time. Heavy, flowing fabric bunching at her hips, a plunging neckline, a tall slit up the side for her leg to see daylight. The entire thing had been covered in diamonds barely big enough to see, though certainly big enough to catch the light and sparkle as though she'd been clothed in the night sky itself.

She couldn't help the grin that tugged the corners of her lips higher. "Careful. You'll make a girl blush."

The grin on Azriel's face mirrored hers, and when she turned to steer for the exit, she kept his hand in a firm grip.

They’d barely managed to find an empty office—Rhysand’s empty office, to be exact—before Azriel’s hands were on her.

"I changed my mind," he all but growled against her lips as he backed her towards the desk in the middle of the room. "Keep it on."

Her hands made quick work of his pants, her breathing already laboured when Azriel lifted her onto the sturdy wooden desktop and pried her legs open wide enough to step between her thighs. Nimble fingers bunched the fabric of her dress on her hip, and suddenly he was pushing into her, his groan as sinful as the shudder that ran through his wings.

“Fuck.” He buried his nose in her hair, his raspy tone enough to have her moan as he cursed softly. “I love being inside you.”

All she could do was hold on to his shoulders, her lips whispering delicious moans right into the shell of his ear as he took her for all she was, the desk creaking beneath her with each of his pounding thrusts.

She noticed then that they hadn't closed the door all the way, and when Azriel shifted a wing just an inch to the left, her eyes locked on the wide-eyed form of a faerie standing in the gap of the door.

Y/N didn't know her, but judging by her golden-blue attire she was one of the Summer Court's emissaries.

The unknown faerie stood stock still, her lips slightly agape as she held Y/N's gaze, and when Azriel lay more power into his thrusts and pounded into his mate with the wet slap of skin on skin, Y/N's nails dug a bit deeper into his shoulder, her moans reaching a higher pitch, turning pleading.

The faerie seemed to recoil, though there was no denying the heat that had entered her expression as she watched.

Azriel sensed her then, too, though he didn't turn to throw a glance over his shoulder, but instead lowered his forehead to Y/N's, his eyes on her as he slowed his thrusts to a deep grind.

"It seems we have an audience, my love," he spoke softly enough so that only she could hear. He lifted a hand to thread his fingers through her hair, his grip tightening to angle her head back far enough to meet her gaze. "Shall we put on our best show?"

She grinned, digging her teeth into her bottom lip as she tried to urge him deeper with her heels in his lower back.

"Can't leave them hanging now, can we?"

She caught the flash of a grin before Azriel pulled out of her. She barely had enough time to register the loss when he thrust back in to the hilt, and her body jerked with the sudden intrusion.

"Fuck," she cursed, breathless as she tightened her legs around him, doing her best to brace herself against the harsh snap of his hips. "Fuck, Azriel—ah."

Azriel kept an arm tightly looped around her waist, his free hand lifting her thigh higher, his hips relentless. He buried his face in her neck then, his grunts turning into groans, and as Y/N held the gaze of the faerie in the hallway, he ground against her hard enough to have her toes curl with pleasure that wiped every thought of the stranger from her mind.

"Feels good, doesn't it?"

Her chest was heaving in the dim light of their bedroom, Azriel’s arms wound tightly around her waist as she leaned back against his chest. She could feel the scruff of his chin against her temple, his lips so close to her ear that she shivered with every word he spoke in that low tone of his.

She moaned softly, her head lolling back onto his shoulder, her eyes falling closed.

“No, no,” Azriel tutted quietly, one of his arms loosening its grip for his fingers to take gentle hold of her jaw and direct her gaze back down towards her centre. “Look at them go,” he sounded mesmerised as he spoke, his every word dripping with desire. “Look at the way they feast on you.”

Her lids were heavy as she followed the direction of his gaze. Her knees were bent, her thighs held open by Azriel’s legs, baring her to the room and the shadows he’d unleashed upon her.

Shadowy tendrils brushed along her inner thighs before gliding against her very centre, teasing with cool sensations and barely-there touches, licking at her skin, sinking into her.

It was driving her crazy.

“Azriel,” she breathed, her head heavy with desire, her skin burning, longing to be touched properly. “Azriel stop teasing. Please.”

She felt his teeth on her earlobe then, dragging her skin between warm lips. “What was that?”

She writhed against him, the urge to snap her legs closed overwhelming at the gentle teasing of his shadows.

“You just want to hear me beg,” she huffed, turning her head enough to catch his gaze. And true enough, Azriel’s eyes were shining with anticipation, a small smirk edged into his features.

“I would enjoy that, yes.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, lips tightly sealed, but when she felt one of his shadows curl into her, she couldn’t help the breathy moan that broke from her throat. Everything they did, every kiss of her skin, it all felt good—good enough to drive her crazy with it. But it all felt like the ghost of a touch, not the real deal, and certainly not enough.

“Fuck me, then,” she gasped, breathless. “I’ll beg all you want if you just fuck me.”

Azriel leaned down to kiss her then, the hand he didn’t keep wrapped around her waist slipping down to cup her breast. When he pulled back, he tracked half-lidded eyes down her face, a contemplative hum resonating in his chest.

Her body tensed when new shadows joined and Azriel chuckled into the shell of her ear.

“Just a little while longer, I think.”

"I wanna go again."

A tired laugh fell from her lips, her eyes closed as she kept her cheek pressed into the soft pillow, her arms wrapped around it. She could feel his fingertips trailing along the length of her spine and all the way down to her tailbone before returning to the back of her neck. She shivered.

"I can't," she breathed into the pillow. "I don't have another one in me."

She could feel his smile across the bond, could hear it in his voice when he spoke, his tone quiet, his words soft.

"I don't think that's true, my love."

A comfortable shiver shook her body when his lips appeared at her temple, breathing featherlight kisses along her cheekbone, and down towards her jaw.

She hummed, hugging the pillow tighter at the tingling his kisses left in their wake.

"How are you still going?"

"They call it frenzy for a reason."

She forced her eyes open at that—just a crack, just enough to see Azriel's smirk. "The frenzy lasts three weeks. We've been mated for a year."

He leaned down to kiss her then. It was slow, lazy, innocent, but she felt his palm flatten against her back, his warmth washing over her as he urged closer.

"I don't feel like it ever stopped," he breathed against her. "I spend every minute of every day wanting you, longing for you, aching for you."

She met his kiss firmer then, turning into his embrace until he pulled her close enough for her to feel his heartbeat against her own.

Azriel turned to his back, wincing a bit when he rearranged his wings beneath him. In truth, he was just as sore as she was—every inch of him aching with hours and hours spent loving, and fucking, and writhing in pleasure. It was the good kind of ache though. The kind he'd do anything to never lose.

She lay on top of him now, her arms wrapped around his neck, and Azriel's hands slipped to her thighs to pull her legs apart for a knee to rest on either side of his hips.

She urged closer, wanting to feel every bit of his warmth, wanting to chase away every bit of air left between them.

“I’m really sensitive,” she spoke against his lips, her eyes closed, her words barely above a whisper.

Azriel stroked his palms along her back. “I’ll be gentle.”

She couldn't help the gasp that left her when he slid into her, intruding her tender flesh with a single push to glide smoothly against the slick mess they'd left between her thighs. She dug her fingers into his skin and Azriel soothed his palms across the globes of her ass, cautious in the way he moved her against him.

It was lazy, slow, his strokes barely enough to call them that, but neither of them needed more. Sensitive from countless rounds and orgasms, she tightened around him just a few grinding thrusts later, her moans closer to whines as she buried her face in his neck and panted softly against his skin.

She shook against him, her body quaking with an orgasm, her low moans muffled against him, and when Azriel joined her, he gritted his teeth as a wave of pleasure crashed into him and he pressed their hips together with a raspy groan to crack through his throat.

"Fuck," he hissed, letting his head plop back into the pillow, his arms now moving to circle her waist.

Silence enveloped them for a while, only the sounds of their breathing mixing.

"I won't be able to walk tomorrow," she finally hummed against his neck, and Azriel smiled as he ran his finger through her hair.

"I shall carry you then, my love."

"Hello?" Mor waved her hand before Y/N's eyes, causing the faerie to flinch.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I was just ... thinking."

It was Feyre who grinned at her now. "I bet."

Tags

fanfiction acotar azriel fic recs azriel shadowsinger azriel x reader azriel acotar

6K notes View Post

star-reaper

4 months ago

new obsession omfg

Cheirophilia - Sebastian Sallow x Female!Reader

Summary: Following the summer leading up to your seventh year, you return to Hogwarts to discover that Sebastian has undergone changes that greatly appeal to the eye. Your eye, to be specific. There’s no easy way to tell the man you’ve been dating for two years that your attention has been fixed on a part of him otherwise deemed normal, but after a while, you’re forced to face the truth of the matter.

Alternatively summarized as you have a hand kink and Sebastian Sallow has extremely nice hands.

Word Count: 10.7k

Warnings: 18+, aged up characters, explicit sexual content, hand kink, size difference

Full fic can be found here on Ao3 (with more diverse tags)

You had to be losing your mind. That was the only plausible explanation for the wild, unrestrained thoughts that had been plaguing your brain for the last week every time you so much as glanced at Sebastian. Yes, he was attractive. He was charming and confident, and quite frankly he was the epitome of male perfection as far as you were concerned. Not a day went by where you didn’t consider yourself lucky to be able to call him yours, and you knew he was just as enamored with you.

But your newfound infatuation with his hands had started relatively recently, and you had no clue what to make of it.

Sebastian was touchy to begin with, and he always had been. From casually brushing shoulders with you in the Great Hall during mealtimes, to tucking your hair behind your ears at night– the man was constantly finding ways to be closer to you, and your appreciation for his efforts knew no bounds. It made you feel treasured, wanted, revered, and a slew of other things that made your heart swell with affection. Maybe you could attribute your blatant ogling of his appendages to that, or maybe you had just finally started to notice after your Divination class last week.

Professor Onai, for all her outlandish preachings on clairvoyance, had taken a more mundane approach in teaching her students ‘fortune telling’ a few days ago. “Palm reading,” she had said, “is a delicate and fixed art. It can be as vague as it can be accurate, and it takes an expertly trained eye to decipher the true meaning behind the grooves in one’s hand.”

You were far from an expert in anything relating to Divination, but you did have an eye for nice things, and Merlin– were Sebastian’s hands exquisite. They were nearly twice the size of yours and covered in calluses, a lingering sign of the grueling physical labor he’d done over the summer in Feldcroft. His fingers weren’t as dainty as Ominis’, but they were long, thick, and lined with pulsing veins that stretched across the backs of his hands and coiled around his toned forearms. As you’d traced the lines on his palm with your fingers, he’d shivered at the featherlight feeling and chuckled at the deferential way you seemed to commit every part of the appendage to memory.

You didn’t even want to begin to recount the way your heart had hammered in your chest when it had been his turn to read your palm. Maintaining your composure had taken every ounce of willpower in your body.

Since then, your mind had wandered an unhealthy amount.

By some miracle, Sebastian hadn’t noticed your unwavering eye contact with his hands yet. The two of you had been kept preoccupied with the mountains of classwork that came with the start of the new school year, and as a result, your only opportunities to spend time with him had been during mealtimes. Today was different, however, because Lucan had finally set up the first Crossed Wands match of the season. You and Sebastian were both participating, and your boyfriend was all too eager to jump back into dueling after the summer months spent away.

Your eyes scanned him dutifully from across the room, watching with rapt interest as he chatted with Brattleby about the upcoming fight. Sebastian had grown considerably since your fifth-year, virtually towering over Lucan as he looked down at the curly haired Gryffindor. The latter had gone through a growth spurt of his own, but it was easy to overlook him when he was standing next to your boyfriend. Sebastian was big; broad shouldered with long, powerful legs and thick wrists that complimented his massive, mouthwatering hands.

Said hands were fidgeting with the cuffs of his shirt as he rolled them up, nodding down at Lucan as he replied to something the younger boy had said. You didn’t know what they were discussing, and quite frankly, you didn’t care. His deft fingers adjusted his uniform as he prepared for your duo’s duel, and instead of following suit, you were unabashedly studying his every move. That is, until a voice from your left drew your attention.

“Did something happen over summer?”

You startled easily, warranting an eye roll from Imelda as she crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back against the wall. It was a rarity to find her in the Crossed Wands courtyard, but you knew she had been hounding members of the Quidditch team to prepare for trial runs and scrimmages, and Sebastian factored into that assortment of people. Schooling your nerves the best you could, you started to shed your robe in an effort to simultaneously get ready for the duel and distract from the metaphorical eye candy across the room.

“What do you mean,” you asked vaguely, keeping your eyes pointed at the floor as you moved.

Imelda was having none of it– clearly smarter than you deigned to give her credit for. “Don’t play coy with me. You’re always checking Sallow out, but since we’ve been back it’s ten times worse. Did he sprout a second cock or something?”

You damn near choked on your own tongue as you whipped around to glare at her. “Do you have to be so crass all the time?”

She waved you off, “Yes, I do. Who else would rile you up this way if not myself? Now answer the question.”

Heaving a deep sigh, you draped your robe over a stack of crates and began to gather your hair back into a loose braid as you muttered, “No, nothing happened over summer.”

“But something is going on. Come on,” she implored with a taunting tone, her brown eyes glimmering with amusement. “At least tell me if it’s something bad.”

“It’s not bad,” you relented. “It’s– I’m not sure what it is, to be honest. We haven’t even done anything since we’ve been back, we’ve been too busy. But…”

You trailed off, staring at the wall behind Imelda as you brought your hair over your shoulder to finish off the plait. She waited patiently, however, all too eager to get the inside scoop on your love life. “But?”

“I don’t know– have you ever found yourself focused on other body parts? Like, really random parts of another person?”

The Quidditch captain’s face shifted into a confused expression as she chanced a look at Sebastian, evidently trying to figure out what on Godric’s green Earth you were referring to. “Uh, no? If you’re talking about his feet though then I’m going to ask that you forget I even brought this up–”

“No!” You blurted loudly, drawing the attention of a handful of students in the courtyard, Sebastian included. He cocked a brow at you from across the room, and you flashed him a bashful smile in silent reply before mouthing a timid ‘sorry’. Imelda snickered under her breath when you turned back to her, a deep scowl settling on your face. “Dammit, not his fucking feet. I’m talking about his hands. He has really nice hands– I never noticed before.”

“You’re telling me you’ve had your knickers in a twist for the last week and a half because of Sallow’s hands?”

To say Imelda looked dumbstruck would be an understatement, and you suddenly felt incredibly stupid for having said anything at all. You kept your eyes downcast as you tossed your braided hair over your shoulder and slid your wand free from its holster, doing your best to ignore the woman’s burning stare. “Nevermind– forget I mentioned it.”

“I doubt I could even if I wanted to, but for the sake of your dignity I’ll go grab a seat and let you get your head in the game.” You felt your cheeks heat up instantly in response to her snide comment, and you lifted your eyes in time to watch Imelda turn towards the far corner of the room with a smile on her face. She paused before taking off, murmuring over her shoulder, “Make sure you’re paying attention to your opponents and not Sallow’s hands.”

Sweet Merlin… you should have kept your big mouth shut.

***

As it turned out, your head was so far out of the game that it became collateral in the midst of your duo’s duel.

It was your own fault, really. Despite doing your best to focus on the task at hand, your eyes had continually wandered over to Sebastian, tracking his movements as he fired spell after spell in retaliation against your opponents. He had always been exceptionally graceful while fighting– be it in Crossed Wands or in the Highlands at your side– and his sudden growth spurt over summer had only added to his preexisting agility. It was all too easy for you to get absorbed in his fluid movements as he ducked and rolled, then blocked and countered every attack with astonishing finesse.

Unfortunately, that meant you were left wholly unprepared for the Depulso charm that sent you careening across the room into a stack of crates. Your head had been positively spinning as you pushed yourself up onto your elbows, but your vision cleared in time to watch as Sebastian abandoned the duel entirely to hurry over to where you lay prone against the broken wood. Lucan had shouted something about the match being called off, but you could hardly pay any attention to his words with Sebastian fretting over you, mere inches from your face.

“Merlin’s bloody balls, what the hell happened?” The brunet hadn’t even given you ample time to reply before he had hoisted you up in his strong, capable arms to carry you to the Hospital Wing.

That was how you’d ended up where you were now; laid out in an uncomfortable hospital bed with Nurse Blainey hovering too close for comfort while your boyfriend sat beside you with his arms crossed stiffly over his chest. His expression was virtually unreadable, but you weren’t able to focus on him for long without your head pounding in silent protest.

“Drink this,” Nurse Blainey dutifully instructed, thrusting a vial of Wiggenweld in front of you as she scanned your bandaged temple. “It will help with the swelling and the gods-awful headache I’m sure you’re sporting. My diagnostic spells came back negative for any internal injuries, but that doesn’t mean you can rush back to your foolhardy dueling club. A concussion is a concussion, no matter how small.”

Your tongue felt like lead in your mouth so you nodded in response instead of speaking– only to instantly regret the movement. Sharp, concentrated pain shot through your head, and you took it as a sign to carefully knock back the contents of the potion she’d given you. A soothing warmth overtook you in a split second, and the throbbing in your skull lessened considerably, prompting you to relax against the pillows situated behind you as your eyelids fluttered. Evidently pleased with your subdued demeanor, Nurse Blainey jotted something down on the clipboard that had been tucked under her arm before turning to Sebastian.

“I trust that you’ll ensure she actually takes it easy for the next few days, Mr. Sallow?”

Your eyes cracked open in time to watch Sebastian’s gaze flicker to yours, and the muscle in his jaw ticked as his attention zero’d in on the thick bandage that now adorned your head. “Of course. She’ll be a model patient for as long as needed.”

Satisfied with his agreement, Nurse Blainey pivoted on her heel and strode to the back end of the room, leaving you and Sebastian alone in a tense silence.

Heaving a heavy sigh, you gathered your hands in your lap and let your head tip back against the bed frame, wanting nothing more than for the ground to open up and swallow you whole. All of this because you couldn’t stop ogling your boyfriend for a measly twenty minutes when it mattered most… it was an embarrassing and stupid mistake to acknowledge. Moreover, you’d basically ruined the first Crossed Wands duel of the season– something you knew had to be bothering Sebastian, given his competitive nature.

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled half-heartedly. “I should have been paying closer attention.”

Sebastian scoffed to your left, and when you peered at him through the corner of your eye, his head looked like it was on the verge of imploding. “Are you seriously apologizing for getting a concussion right now?”

There was no stopping the frown that spread across your face, and you nervously started picking at your cuticles as your mouth opened, shut, then opened again. “Yes– I mean– no. I’m sorry that the match got canceled because of me. You were probably excited to get back into Crossed Wands and I just… messed it up. I wasn’t thinking clearly out there.”

“Obviously,” Sebastian countered easily, the amused glimmer in his eyes vanishing before you could take proper note of it. “You’re never one to let your mind wander when you fight, but you have to know I’m not mad about the duel. I was worried about you– I don’t think you realize how terrifying it is to see you of all people bleeding.”

You gaze fell to your lap as you pursed your lips and lifted your hand to the bandage taped to your temple, trying and failing to recall if you’d actually bled at all. It was all something of a blur if you were being honest. When you looked up at Sebastian once more, he had sat forward in his seat and was reaching towards you, wearing an expression that was equal parts concerned and curious. With your brain still muddled, all you could really do was stare wide-eyed at the nearing culprit of your misfortune; his Merlin-be-damned hands. Those long, flexing digits came to gently stroke the side of your cheek, turning your head to the side briefly to allow him a good look at your patched up face, and as Sebastian tsk’d disapprovingly, you were fighting back a slew of unholy thoughts that had no business arising in the midst of such a tender moment.

The side of his mouth quirked up as he thought back to your debacle in the clock tower courtyard. “Did your inability to ‘think clearly’ have anything to do with whatever you and Imelda were talking about earlier?”

Being reminded of your discussion with the Slytherin woman at such an inopportune time caused your face to flush a deep red, and you nervously clasped your boyfriend’s larger hand in your notably smaller one and drew it into your lap. You gently thumbed over the veins on the back of his hand, taking note of the constellation of freckles that ran up his wrist and forearm, and you saw Sebastian tilt his head to the side as he let you fondle the limb.

“Maybe…” you drawled lazily. Perhaps you would chalk it up to your concussion later on, or perhaps you just wanted to get your insane obsession off your chest. Regardless of the why, you steeled your nerves and swallowed thickly before muttering, “You have really nice hands.”

Silence. Sebastian said nothing– and that was considerably worse than him saying something– anything. Your brows slammed down just as you lifted your head to gauge his reaction, only to discover a bewildered smile plastered on his smarmy face.

“…I think you hit your head harder than I thought. Should I call Nurse Blainey back over here?”

Ah. He thought you were delusional. Brilliant.

Letting go of him as though his skin were heated metal, you sighed and sat forward to swing your legs over the edge of the bed, shivering slightly when Sebastian placed his hand on your hip to steady you. His face conveyed genuine apprehension as he asked, “Are you sure you should be trying to move right now?”

Part of you was thankful he hadn’t taken your confession seriously, but another stronger part of you was annoyed that you had said anything to begin with. Here was Sebastian, acting chivalrous and doting on you in the wake of you flying face first into a crate, and all you cared to think about was having his hands on you. On your bare skin, between your legs, around your neck…

Something was definitely wrong with you.

“I’m alright– stop worrying. I promise I won’t overdo it. At this point I just want to eat and go to sleep.” Thankfully he made no move to stop you when you stood yourself up on shaky legs, instead placing that damnable hand on the small of your back to help you keep your balance. You closed your eyes momentarily to will away the vile, uncouth thoughts that seemed to run rampant in your concussed skull, but if the way his fingers tensed against you was any indication, Sebastian clearly thought your brief pause was due to your injury.

“Fine,” he bit out, sounding all too displeased with your stubbornness. “Food, then straight to your dorm. But if I think for even a second you can’t manage, I’m carrying you to bed myself.”

It hurt to do it, but your eye roll was heavily warranted. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, dad.”

As the two of you walked from the Hospital Wing to the Great Hall, you realized just how serious Sebastian was about his promise to Nurse Blainey. His hands were constantly hovering at your side, ready to catch you at a moment's notice in the event you required the help, which you fortunately weren’t in need of. You didn’t think you could take any more coddling– or any more… hands-on-torment, so to speak.

Ominis joined the two of you for lunch shortly after you’d arrived, and you were unsurprised to discover that he was very much aware of your blunder in Crossed Wands earlier. He made sure you were in good spirits and feeling alright before he began nagging you in typical Ominis fashion.

“Honestly, a Depulso charm?” He chastised you further, resting his chin on his palm as his other hand came to tap absentmindedly against the surface of the table. “I would have expected something like Bombarda to finally end your win-streak, not a paltry Force spell.”

“That’s what happens when you get complacent,” Sebastian added helpfully, skewering yet another sausage from the platter in front of you. He had to have inhaled four of the blasted things already. Those deep brown eyes of his darkened as they shifted to the injury on your temple, and if he deposited his food on his plate a little more aggressively than normal, you certainly didn’t say anything about it. “She’s just lucky things didn’t end up worse.”

Ominis hummed in agreement and looked in your direction. “Yes, do make sure you’re not breaking your fall with your face anymore. I would like to think the three of us will graduate in one piece together, but between the two of you and your extracurriculars, my hopes are lessening by the day.”

“Ha ha, very funny,” came your monotonous reply. “Thanks for the words of encouragement, guys. You really know how to make a girl feel better about getting launched into a bunch of boxes.”

“Well it was quite the spectacle. I’m sure you’ll be the talk of the school for at least a few days, so get used to it.”

You didn’t even need to turn around to know Imelda stood directly behind you, presumably with her hands on her hips and a wicked smile stretching from ear to ear. She was exactly who you didn’t want to deal with right about now– especially considering she was the only living soul privy to your innermost thoughts regarding Sebastian– but she had no qualms about sidling up beside you and making herself comfortable at the table. Her face swam into your peripheral vision as she inquisitively scanned the side of your head now decked out in thick gauze and tape. “So, what’s the verdict? Brain hemorrhage? Cracked skull? Memory loss?”

“Concussion,” Sebastian answered around a mouthful of food. He fixed you with a stern look as though to remind you, “She’s been instructed to take it easy for a few days which means no broom trials, Reyes. Don’t even think about dragging her off the castle grounds.”

The Quidditch captain’s hands shot up in mock surrender, her expression the picture of innocence as she shifted back a little in her seat. “Wouldn’t dream of it. I take it that means you’ll be out of class for the foreseeable future?”

You answered swiftly this time around, lest your boyfriend deign to speak on your behalf once again. You’d hurt your head, not your mouth. “For today at least, yeah. I doubt I’d be much good in Transfiguration with a splitting headache.”

If you were only allowed one word to describe the look that overtook Imelda’s face, that word would be trouble. Her tawny eyes crinkled at their corners as a mischievous glint twinkled within them, and you could practically see her gearing up to say something you knew would piss you off. She folded her hands neatly over one another atop the table and leaned sideways on her elbow to shoot you a conniving look, and you couldn’t help but stiffen as a wave of apprehension crept up your spine.

“Well let me know if you need a hand getting notes for the day. Though I’m sure Sallow would be more than happy to assist. Isn’t that right, Sebastian?”

The emphasis she placed on the word didn’t escape you, and judging by the confused expressions on both Ominis’ and Sebastian’s faces, they didn’t miss it either. It took unwavering focus to maintain your composure and not react, and you prayed to whatever higher power existed that your cheeks weren’t as rouge as they felt. You sighed softly and glanced at the brunet through your lashes, all too aware of the puzzled look he now bore. “How about it?” You opted to simply play along for the time being in a bid to hide the true meaning behind Imelda’s telling comment. “Can you bring me the notes later?”

Sebastian nodded slowly, his gaze shifting between you and Imelda for a long moment before he set his fork down and ran his long, dexterous fingers through his hair. Your eyes tracked the movement against your will, which only seemed to intensify the curious glimmer in his dark eyes, and when he flashed you that sinful Sallow smirk you were all too familiar with, you swallowed nervously.

Surely Imelda hadn’t just helped him put two and two together, right?

“Am I missing something here?” Ominis chimed in from across the table, a scowl tugging at the corners of his lips.

“No, no,” Imelda said, the words dripping with false dismissal. The urge to throttle her was intense. “I was just implying that our dear friend here is bound to be a handful for the next few days, so she’ll need help. Let me know if I can do anything, although I’m sure you’d much rather have Sebastian be the one to–”

She was cut off by the booming slap of your hands against the tabletop as you clambered to your feet, desperate to escape her pointed comments and Sebastian’s prying stare. “Will do!” you exclaimed with too much bite. You lowered your voice and did your best to keep your tone even, “I’m sure I’ll manage, but I can’t be bothered to figure it all out right now. I’ll just– I’ll see you guys later.”

You didn’t dare look back as you swung your legs over the bench and took off towards the massive double doors. At this point, you were wishing that your collision with the crates had put you in a coma. Maybe then you could have avoided Imelda’s inevitable pestering, but even then you were positive your nuisance of a friend would have found a way to taunt you in your dreams. This was something you were going to have to acknowledge with Sebastian sooner or later, but until that day came you would do everything in your power to avoid any more awkward run-ins with Imelda. At least when Sebastian was with you, you reasoned. For now, you needed to get away from the general public and sleep on your deranged thoughts before anything else embarrassing could happen.

Apparently the universe had other plans for you, however. You recognized Sebastian’s heavy footsteps running up behind you without even checking to be certain, and even though you wanted nothing more than to fall into bed and sleep the remainder of the day away, when his large hand came to coil around your bicep to halt you in your tracks, you let him.

“Hey, are you alright?” His eyes softened as they took in your miserable appearance, but all you could pay attention to was the feeling of his thumb caressing the back of your arm as he held you in place. “I’m sorry if I upset you– I didn’t realize Imelda was trying to poke bruises, otherwise I would have told her to leave as soon as she came over.”

Shaking your head absently, you stared over Sebastian’s shoulder and directed your next words towards the wall, because that was infinitely easier than eye contact at the present moment. “I’m not upset, you don’t have to apologize. She’s just… a lot to handle right now.”

“I’ll say,” he concurred easily, moving his head so it was in your line of sight– only to furrow his brow when you ducked your chin to avoid looking at him. His jaw clenched and his hand around your arm tightened, if only briefly, and then he was tugging you along after him. “Come on, I’ll walk you to your dorm.”

***

He knew.

He had to know.

It was the only plausible explanation you could come up with to give reason to Sebastian’s over-exaggerated use of his hands for the last three days. At first you hadn’t thought much of it; you still had a staring problem and Sebastian still had really nice hands, but the difference in the last seventy-two hours was apparent. It was as though your boyfriend was modeling his hands for you, constantly finding ways to dangle the appendages right under your nose and simultaneously letting his touch linger against your skin for far longer than normal. It was driving you insane, and you were positive he was doing it intentionally.

Realistically it had started the day after your botched Crossed Wands duel. You, Ominis, and Sebastian had been sitting in the Library to study and work on assignments, your motley trio focused intently on your individual work for the bulk of the afternoon. Ominis was using his dictation quill to take notes, his foggy blue eyes narrowed in concentration while he muttered softly under his breath. Sebastian skimmed his own Herbology textbook with hooded eyes, the book propped against the knee he had crossed over his other leg, and his laid back posture coupled with the way his fingers idly played with the hair around his temples was enough to leave you entranced. Once he had taken notice of your staring, however, he’d smirked to himself and made a show of licking his finger to turn the page over, maintaining eye contact with you the entire time.

You didn’t need a mirror to know you’d flushed beet red at the suggestive act.

The day after that, the two of you had been in Defense Against the Dark Arts class. Sebastian had been asked to demonstrate the proper wand movement for Confringo by Professor Hecat, and shortly thereafter she had asked another student, Hector Jenkins, to take point across from your boyfriend for a friendly duel. Naturally you were prohibited from participating without Nurse Blainey’s go-ahead, so you’d stood at the back of the crowd and looked on ahead with rapt interest, eager to watch Sebastian make short work of his opponent, because of course he would. Chocolate brown eyes had met yours from across the room, and the movement that followed was subtle but obvious– at least, to you it was.

As Professor Hecat droned on and reminded her students of the rules that went hand-in-hand with dueling in class, Sebastian fondled his wand. Quite literally. His nimble fingers had run along the wood, stroking the handle with such a light touch that his pinky had remained elevated the entire time. His thumb and index finger came to pinch at the tip softly before skimming down towards the checkered handle, and he made a dramatic show of wrapping each one of his fingers around the base before deftly angling the thin wood at you.

Your breath had caught in your throat at the brazen motion, and Sebastian shamelessly winked at you before settling into the usual, confident persona he embodied while fighting.

To say you’d become a ball of nerves afterwards would be a monumental understatement. You wound up leaning back against the wall with your ankles crossed to ease the rampant ache that had settled between your legs, doing your best to not look like you were going into an animalistic heat, which was easier said than done.

Later on during dinner in the Great Hall, you found yourself seated next to Sebastian and across from Ominis, as per usual. The evening had started out much the same as always; with the three of you discussing the events of the day and planning for the upcoming weekend. The only difference was your boyfriend had seemingly taken it upon himself to distract you from the conversation entirely, covertly placing his hand on your thigh beneath the table to run the damn thing up and down your leg. Every time he reached your knee, he would steadily drag his palm higher up, teasing you with an occasional squeeze the closer he got to your center. Since you didn’t want to clue Ominis in on his best friend’s antics you were forced to keep your lips firmly sealed– left with no choice but to silently endure your boyfriend’s unique form of torture.

As Ominis idly discussed wanting to escape to The Three Broomsticks on Saturday, Sebastian’s grip on your leg tightened while he sat forward to spoon a serving of the night’s dessert onto his plate; a colorful fruit tart with a healthy dollop of whipped cream slapped on top. You swallowed thickly as he delicately skewered a strawberry with his fork and brought it to his lips, pausing to reply to Ominis before popping it in his mouth.

“I’m game, better to go now before Quidditch practice starts again. Merlin only knows how many trials Imelda intends on cramming into my weekends before long.”

Ominis snorted and set his cutlery down on his plate, “You say that as though she’s doing it to spite you and you alone. In case you’ve forgotten, there’s six other people to account for on the team, and not all of them were blessed with the free time to practice over summer like you.”

Sebastian side-eyed you briefly, and the corner of his mouth quirked up into a condescending grin. “That has a whole lot of nothing to do with me and everything to do with them being lazy. But my point still stands– that woman lives to invade my free time, so butterbeers this weekend sounds like a solid plan. What do you say, darling?”

The brunet chose that exact moment to sensually take the strawberry between his teeth and pull it free from the fork prongs, smiling wickedly at you all the while. A tiny bit of the whipped cream had stayed behind on his bottom lip, but before you could point it out to him or wipe it away yourself, Sebastian did exactly that, drawing his finger into his mouth to suck deviously at the remnants. Your eyes were wider than saucers as you watched his tongue lave over the pad of his thumb and forefinger, and the telling squeeze he bestowed upon your thigh immediately afterwards all but confirmed your fears.

He absolutely fucking knew.

***

“I think there’s something on your mind,” Sebastian said from beside you. “Something that’s been on your mind for a while now. Care to share?”

The two of you were on your way to the Room of Requirement, having just left the Hospital Wing after Nurse Blainey had summoned you there to evaluate your recovery progress following your mentally arduous week. She’d been all too pleased when Sebastian told her you had adhered to her guidelines to the letter– minimizing your physical activity and resting at every opportune moment, much to your boyfriend’s credit. After a few diagnostic scans, mobility trials, and a never ending list of questions designed to test your memory, she had deemed you fit to return to your usual activities– though not before making you swear to stay out of her sight for the rest of the year.

Affectionately, of course.

Sebastian’s comment reeled you back to the present moment, however, and you shot him a stern look out of the corner of your eye as you ascended the spiral staircase within the Astronomy Tower. “Unless you’re referring to how stunned I’ve been thanks to your obscene behavior this week, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He skipped ahead of you until he reached the top landing, spinning on his heel to face you as you breezed past him without so much as a second glance. “Oh, but I think you do. Surely you know why I’ve been behaving so ‘obscenely’. You’re the one who gave me the idea after all.”

Keeping your expression schooled was difficult, but you managed. As the wall concealing the door to the Room of Requirement began to shift and change, you were all too aware of Sebastian sidling up next to you so he could run the tips of his fingers up your arm and over your shoulder, sending shiver-inducing chills down your spine. The gesture was intimate and suggestive, and you sighed softly as you stepped out of his reach to make for the fully formed entryway in front of you– not particularly keen on putting on a show for any students that potentially milled about the tower.

You made it three steps inside the room before Sebastian grabbed you by your shoulder and spun you sideways, swiftly and effortlessly guiding you backwards until your back collided with the wall, and the startled gasp that ripped from your chest seemed to ignite a spark of interest in your boyfriend’s eyes. The hand he had on you traveled up along the smooth skin of your neck until he had a loose grip on your chin, and the sinful way his thumb trailed over your bottom lip spoke volumes about his intentions.

“Do I need to coax the truth out of you, or can you be a good girl and say what it is you want?” His other hand slipped beneath the fabric of your blouse, his touch blazing and leaving you hot with want the higher up your torso it traveled. The tantalizing feeling of his blunt nails scraping along the plane of your stomach had your muscles clenching and your breath hitching, and Sebastian dipped his head lower so he was directly in your line of sight. You knew he saw your rampant need for him reflected in your eyes when his pupils dilated, and he moved his thumb away from your lip to caress your cheekbone as you stared wide-eyed up at him. He cocked his head to the side as he goaded you further, “Come on, darling. You’ve never had a problem with saying what’s on your mind before, why switch up on me now?”

“Because it–” you started to say, cutting off mid-explanation when Sebastian curled his long fingers around your waist to press against your ribs in a way that nullified all coherent thought. His domineering presence over you left you nearly breathless.

He smirked, all too aware of the effect he currently had on you. “It what?”

Merlin, he was doing you in with barely any effort. Reducing you to nothing at the hands of his… well, hands. You were pathetic. He waited for your response though, his fingers dancing up your side promisingly while you worked to formulate a sentence. “I-It’s ridiculous,” you stammered out. “It’s embarrassing…”

The hand he’d tenderly ghosted across your cheek slipped behind your head, and his fingers tangled in your hair at the back of your skull to tug gently. The motion forced you to crane your chin up to follow Sebastian’s unwavering gaze, and his lips were close enough to yours that you felt his airy chuckle fan across your nose. “I already know what it is and I can tell you this much; you and I have very different definitions of what qualifies as ‘embarrassing’, darling.” His head dipped into the crook of your neck so he could better bestow wet, open mouthed kisses against your thundering pulse, and your stomach flipped at the sordid sounds he made as he went. “Come on, say it,” he implored you, his voice like velvet. “It’s only us here– tell me what you want.”

“I…” you began, shuddering immediately after when Sebastian nipped at the spit-slick skin of your throat. Finding the words was only going to get increasingly difficult from here on out, you wagered. “I want your hands on me. I haven’t been able to get the thought out of my mind since school started.”

As though to punctuate his retort, Sebastian’s hold on your hair and your waist intensified, and a barely there squeak weaseled its way past your lips as he pulled away from your throat to fix you with a heated look. “My hands are already on you, sweetheart. Tell me why, use your big girl voice.”

Bastard. Your eyes sharpened in response to his quip, and your palms came to rest flat against the larger man’s chest before you dug your nails into the fabric of his shirt. “Because you really do have very nice hands. Because the mere idea of having them on me does things to me that I can’t begin to describe. And because I’m asking you nicely,” you purred the last bit to the best of your ability, relishing in the insatiable, hungry look that crossed Sebastian’s face at your tone. “Touch me, Sebastian. I want you– all of you. Please?”

As soon as Sebastian’s lips captured yours, your inhibitions ceased to exist. All you could taste, smell, feel, and hear was him, and judging by the demanding way he pulled you flush against him by your waist, that was exactly what he was going for. You keened needily as his nails dug into your sensitive skin and the fingers buried in your hair wound tight around the strands, and your boyfriend eagerly bit at your lips before backing away just enough to stare at you through his hooded, lust-dark eyes.

“Keep talking to me like that and I’ll do anything you want,” he groaned, utterly captivated by the sight of you so wound up. You caved to his ministrations completely then, your stomach flipping over on itself when his chest pressed against yours and sealed you more firmly to the wall. His groin followed soon after– the long, hard length of him tangible through his trousers as he leaned into your spread legs further– and your own hands finally came to grasp at his shoulders when he rolled his hips against yours fervently.

“Touch me,” you implored him, the request practically a whisper as it fell from your lips. “Your hands– please, Sebastian.”

A pleased sound snaked its way through Sebastian’s clenched teeth as he obliged you instantly, releasing your waist and hair to run his hands down your torso before delving beneath your shirt. The rough, chill-inducing feeling of his calloused palms trailing against the bare skin of your stomach had you moaning in earnest, and your head tipped back against the wall with a thunk as he cupped your breasts in those heavenly hands you’d grown to adore so much. Sebastian took full advantage of your submissive position and buried his head in the exposed crook of your neck, his warm breath fanning across your skin as he murmured, “You sound incredible when you beg, darling. So fucking perfect– gods.”

No words came to you to formulate a reply, especially when your boyfriend’s tongue darted out of his mouth to lave down the slender column of your throat, the biting sting of his teeth on your shoulder following soon after. Your next breath caught in your chest when Sebastian ground his stiffening cock against you once more, and his airy chuckle against you was seductive and ripe with promise. Those nimble fingers of his clawed gently over the rounded tops of your breasts before pinching your hardened nipples, and that was what finally pulled coherent English from your lips.

“Fuck,” you groaned, unaware of just how much the brunet adored the needy timbre to your voice.

Sebastian’s hands left your body for the briefest of moments to push himself off the wall, then took you by the hand to guide you towards the small bedroom tucked away in the back of the Room of Requirement. Between the two of you, your combined excitement was palpable– thick enough to cut with a knife– and as soon as you made it through the threshold of the door, he was back on you in a heartbeat. It was all a flurry of lips, teeth, and tongue as he steered you backwards towards the spacious bed, those magnificent hands of his holding your hips steady with firm reassurance.

Once the backs of your calves connected with the mattress, Sebastian pulled away from your mouth with a wicked smirk, giving you a playful shove that sent you sprawling back on the bed with a startled yelp. It hardly mattered, though. Not when the man before you began undoing the buttons on his own shirt, exposing the tanned, freckled expanse of his toned chest. Not when he shrugged the attire off his sculpted shoulders and lowered himself to his knees so he could peer at you over your bent knees. Nothing else mattered aside from him.

“You know,” he started to say as his hands reappeared on your hips, tugging at the waistline of your trousers so they started to slide over your hip bones. “You’ve inadvertently given me lots of new ideas.”

A shiver coursed its way down your spine at the suggestive tone he spoke the words with, amplified tenfold by the unrepentant fantasies that flickered through your mind. “Oh really?”

“Really,” he agreed simply. The corner of his mouth twitched upwards and he gestured wordlessly for you to lift your hips so he could slide your pants down your outstretched legs. You obeyed, if only to get a move on with things so you could see the new ‘ideas’ Sebastian had apparently come up with. Dark, eager eyes met yours as he dropped your clothing to the floor, and then Sebastian asked, “Do you trust me?”

Without missing a beat, you murmured, “Always.”

Not another word was uttered, and you watched through hooded eyes as Sebastian prowled up the edge of the mattress to crawl over your prone form. Amusement seemingly glimmered in his lust-laden gaze as he set to expertly unbuttoning your shirt with his adroit digits, revealing inch after inch of your flushed torso, and goosebumps broke out over your stomach in the wake of Sebastian’s knuckles brushing against your heated flesh.

He didn’t bother removing your blouse fully, opting to instead flick the sides of the undone top outward to let them hang disheveled against your sides. The shallow, anticipatory breaths you let loose was the only sound you made as the freckled man above you gathered your wrists in one of his larger hands to pin them above your head, and the entire time he worked to restrain your arms, his eye contact with you remained unwavering. Warriness and excitement alike pooled in the lower pit of your gut, mixing with the telltale ache between your legs that fueled the heat that slithered through your veins.

Sebastian’s free hand came to touch you then, starting at the swell of your breasts before he gently thumbed over the peak of one of your nipples. The sensation had you sucking in a breath loud enough to make your boyfriend pause– only for him to repeat the motion a second time. “You’re rather pent up, aren’t you?”

Despite yourself, you narrowed your eyes in response to his taunting and rolled your head to the side in an attempt to hide the blush you knew spread across your cheeks. “Shut up…”

The hand on your breast flew to your face, gripping your chin and turning your head back so you were forced to meet his penetrating stare. “Come on, be honest,” he goaded you further. “You missed me. Say it.”

“Of course I missed you,” you relented quickly. “I didn’t see you for two months.”

That damnable smirk of his made its grand reappearance, and you hated how much you loved the sight of it. “You managed well enough last summer. Or were you lying through your teeth about handling the distance ‘easily’ on your travels?”

Your fingers twitched in his unrelenting hold, the urge to crane your neck away again taking over, but you were forced to keep your eyes trained on his. “I wasn’t lying then, but I still missed you.”

The way his head tilted to the side curiously reminded you of an animal attempting to get a better look at their prey. “So why the sudden change?”

Chewing your lip thoughtfully for a moment, you decided to voice your inner thoughts regardless of how bashful the idea made you feel. “Because you changed. You’re… bigger.”

Your drab attempt at an explanation didn’t escape Sebastian, but that amusement still glinted in his eyes as he released your chin and trailed his hand down your torso towards your aching center. “Bigger, huh? Care to elaborate?”

Skillful fingers slipped under the cotton of your undergarments, already damp with arousal, and you mewled softly when one of his digits slid through your wet folds before pressing down on your clit with delectable pressure. It nearly derailed your train of thought entirely, but Sebastian helpfully pulled away and snickered when your disappointed sigh slipped through your clenched teeth. “Dammit–”

“You talk,” he fucking purred down at you, looking far too smug for your liking, “and I work. Sound like a fair trade?”

His offer was emphasized by one of his fingers probing at your slick entrance, further enticing you to oblige his request. When you angled your hips to meet the feeling, he pulled back swiftly, quirking a brow at you with a knowing look.

Bastard, you thought.

Fine.

“Y-You’re bigger,” you started to say. “More muscular than before, and I think you grew a couple inches.”

Sebastian’s hand resumed its teasing exploration of your center once more, gingerly inserting his middle finger inside of you as his thumb took to rubbing titillating circles against your clit. The flutter of your eyelids brought a coy smile to the brunet’s face, and his hold on your wrists tightened a fraction as he increased the intensity of his movements. He mockingly said, “You like having a big, strong boyfriend or something? The scandal.”

You barely registered the gibe– not with his thumb slowly working over your clit in time with his finger. It damn near voided all of your brain’s function. All you cared to focus on was the bliss that came with finally having his hands on you. “Yes,” you groaned with blatant need. “I love it– I love it so much– you’re perfect, Sebastian.”

Spurred on by your praise, Sebastian leaned down to mouth wetly at your throat, biting and sucking at whatever smooth skin he found as he pumped his finger in and out of your wet heat steadily. Your head rolled to the side to allow him easier access as he presumably worked a bruise into your flesh, and you relished in the knowledge that he was rebranding you as his after the summer months spent apart. A guttural moan spilled from your mouth as he laved his tongue over the mark and covertly slipped a second finger inside your cunt, crooking the digits up to reach a depth you could never hope to when you were pleasuring yourself.

He took it slow, half for your sake and half for his own, but as Sebastian scissored his fingers and upped his tempo, he could see how you fell apart for him. You struggled to breathe, your every exhale colored with a panted, needy little sound while your thighs twitched and tensed on either side of his arm. When he shifted his fingers up just slightly, your entire body shuddered as your back arched off the bed and you choked on a breathy whine. You were so sensitive, so incredibly vocal, and it was driving him crazy.

Sebastian’s size allowed him to stretch over the majority of your upper body easily, his hold on your arms still firm as he dipped his head lower to lick his way down to your breasts. Ever so gently, he took one of your nipples between his teeth and clamped down with a cautious amount of pressure, increasing the pace of his fingers when he heard your breath hitch in your throat. You could feel his lips stretch into a smile against your chest as your heart rate sped up and your hips involuntarily bucked up into his hand in search of more friction– more of him.

“Merlin–” you writhed atop the sheets as that familiar ache took root in your gut, your finish approaching dangerously fast as Sebastian pressed the palm of his hand against your clit and somehow managed to pump his digits deeper inside of you. “Fuck, fuck!”

He pulled away from your torso to watch you with rapt interest, a flicker of something primal flashing in his brown eyes as he observed your features pinching together with obvious focus as you chased the euphoria he bestowed upon you. “You’re close, aren’t you? I can feel it… I never thought just my hands could do it for you like this, sweetheart. Consider me pleasantly surprised.”

His words meant nothing to you– not right now. Your climax was so close, so painfully close that all you cared to focus on was the steady rhythm of Sebastian’s fingers and his strength holding your wrists down to the bed. Brainlessly, you rolled your head to the side as Sebastian worked you towards the edge, only to blink blearily up at him when he released your wrists to grab the underside of your jaw and force your eyes back on him.

“Look at me while you come on my fingers. I want to see every second of it.”

Who were you to say no?

Your release was akin to a tidal wave– crashing over you violently and stealing your breath as you tried your hardest to keep your eyes open and glued to Sebastian. Mouth falling open around an airy moan, your boyfriend continued to finger-fuck you through your orgasm as he captured your lips in a desperate, lethal kiss. “That’s it,” he groaned into your parted lips. “Good girl.”

The brunet had the good grace to slide his fingers out slowly while he pulled away, laughing softly at the slight jolt your body gave when his palm grazed over your bundle of nerves once more. Dazed and twitching beneath him, you didn’t notice he’d brought his hand to his mouth until it was inches from your face, and the stars clouding your vision cleared just in time to watch him take the two fingers that had previously been inside of you between his lips.

“I– what are you doing?” Your incredulous tone didn’t deter Sebastian in the slightest, and he smirked around his fingers before pulling them out of his mouth with an audible wet sound.

“Tasting you,” he said casually, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. Then with a wink he added, “You’re very sweet.” Nearly all the blood in your body rushed to your cheeks in that instant, warming your face as your mouth fell open in silent shock. It was balmy– completely and utterly bewildering. Yet you couldn’t help but find the brazen move equally… arousing.

You’d officially lost your mind.

In a flash, he lowered his hand closer to your own open mouth, shoving the fingers past your lips and grinning when you squealed with indignant surprise. There was nowhere for you to go– nowhere for you to turn your head to escape the taste of yourself on his digits– and so you were left with no choice but to allow Sebastian to run his fingers along your tongue. The added knowledge that you found his hands so alluring only made the whole spectacle more intimate, and before you could stop yourself, you found yourself sucking shamelessly at his skin, working your tongue over his knuckles as you stared up at him with unrestrained desire.

“Gods,” he muttered, swallowing thickly before pulling his fingers free from your mouth. His voice was shaky, and you dimly registered that your eager submission had gotten to him.

You licked the remnants of yourself from your lips as Sebastian shuffled back to the edge of the bed, standing straight to hastily undo his trousers and shove the material down his long, toned legs. Numbly, you followed suit, sitting up shakily to shrug off your now wrinkled blouse and toss it aside to join the growing pile of clothing at your boyfriend’s feet.

Nude as the day he was born, Sebastian confidently stared down at you and took in the full picture of you before him with an animalistic hunger shining in his eyes. His chestnut hair was unruly and curled wildly in every direction, the breaths he hurriedly sucked down causing his shapely chest to rise and fall in a way that dragged your attention to his strong, capable body. You drank in the sight of his tan, freckled skin, your wide eyes roving lower and lower until they landed on his hard cock arching proudly against his taut stomach.

Maybe you were imagining things, but you could have sworn that was bigger too.

When your eyes jumped back to Sebastian’s, you were positive he knew exactly what you’d been thinking, if his wolfish grin was anything to go by. “See something you like?”

“Please fuck me,” you groaned, too turned on by the sight of him alone to be embarassed about how desperate you sounded.

Sebastian effortlessly crawled back onto the bed and settled over you, pulling you into another intoxicating kiss as he slipped between your spread thighs and rolled his hips, grinding his achingly hard cock against your slit with a dizzying sort of precision. You couldn’t help but moan into the kiss, your eyes squeezing closed before you tilted your head back and arched up against him. “F-Fuck, you’re so hard,” you gasped, loosely hooking your legs around Sebastian’s hips.

Groaning his agreement, Sebastian nipped at the side of your jaw and murmured, “You have no idea… want you bad.” He nuzzled your ear for a moment, humming at the way you shivered under him, then mouthed his way down your throat with hot, wet kisses that pulled a slew of tiny noises out of you as he rocked his hips again.

Before you could wrap your arms around his shoulders like you’d planned, Sebastian was sitting back on his heels to manhandle you exactly where he wanted you. Those big hands of his grabbed you by your waist, hauling you down the bed like you weighed nothing so your rear was balanced over the tops of his knees and he was perfectly aligned with your slick entrance. The way he easily moved you around spoke volumes of the physical labor he’d done over the summer, slaving away the muggle way to restore his Uncle’s former home for the two of you to use after graduation. Every stone moved, every log chopped, and every wheelbarrow trundled was cataloged within the corded muscles that lined his body.

If you weren’t already head over heels for the man, you were certain you would be deemed grossly smitten.

Sebastian’s hands slid from your waist to your thighs to better hold you in place as he bumped the tip of his cock against you, and your breath stuttered in your chest at the first steady roll of his hips, the head sliding home easily into your slick, tight, and warm heat. Your name fell from your lover’s lips in the form of a ragged moan, fingers digging into your legs as he rocked his hips slowly, feeling for any tension or resistance. Everything he’d done to soothe you, however, had paid off, and he found that once he pressed in more firmly, you took him perfectly, letting him slide deeper with every short thrust.

He really had gotten bigger.

“I could tell you thought so,” Sebastian said around a laugh. Had you said that out loud? “Your eyes just about bugged out of your head when you looked earlier.”

Embarrassed for the nth time in the last week, you looked away from him and quietly grumbled under your breath, “Whatever… don’t let it get to your head. Your ego is big enough as it is.”

“It’s not the only thing that’s big apparently,” he countered easily. As though to punctuate the statement, Sebastian pulled his hips back once more before spearing into you with brutal efficiency, and the gasp that ripped from your throat then was followed by a breathless sound that bordered on a wail.

It was so thick– Sebastian’s cock– and it filled you up and spread you open so incredibly, but it was the angle that was really rendering you incapable of thought. With your hips elevated, the blunt head brushed past your sweet spot with every dragging thrust, re-lighting that fire in your blood that threatened to set you ablaze. You wanted more, but you were almost afraid of how good it would feel, how high it would take you. Sebastian was all around you, with his hands gripping your thighs, deep inside you, stirring you up and coaxing brainless whimpers out of you, not bothering to hold back for your sake– and thank the gods for that.

A meek keening sound arose from your throat as you gasped Sebastian’s name, and the brunet responded with a rough growl, stroking your thighs tenderly before abandoning one of them to place his hand on the lower part of your stomach. He pressed down with his fingers splayed against your skin, thrusting into you deeper so you could really feel every long, delectable inch of him within you, and the added pressure made your head spin and your walls clamp down on him.

“Oh, fuck–” you moaned wantonly, arching your spine as much as you were able in a bid to feel as much as possible. Sebastian responded by moving his grip on your thigh to your waist, fucking into you harder until all you were capable of doing was whining for more with your eyes unfocused. Rational thought was gone– you were losing your mind with the way Sebastian was pounding into you now, that fire spreading through you– but you had quickly stopped being afraid of the feeling. The hotter you got, the more Sebastian’s perfect aim drove you higher until you were arching and pleading, noisy and half-coherent as overwhelmed tears filled your eyes.

When you finally caught hold of words beyond brainless, wavering cries, you threw your head back with a gasping whine to loudly beg, “Sebastian, please, please–”

“F-Fuck,” he stuttered out, moaning desperately into the empty air before he rasped, “You like it that much, darling? Want more?”

“Yes!” You clawed mindlessly at the hand he had clamped against your waist, urging him to use the damn thing in the way you had dreamt of every night since returning to school. Ever the fast learner, Sebastian obliged you mercifully and let go of your waist, leaving you to hook your legs around his hips as he brought his hands to your throat to pull you onto his cock harder and faster, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room and muddling your brain further.

“You look so perfect with my hands around your neck, darling.” Sebastian growled out in-between bestial grunts. “So pretty, so eager. Is it good?”

He wasn’t choking the life out of you by any means, but the pressure he applied on either side of your neck added a sort of high that left your tongue useless in your mouth. You could hardly formulate words, much less a full sentence, but you still managed to stammer out a raspy, “Y-Yes, fuck–”

You were fairly certain you were drooling all over yourself, but you couldn’t find the willpower to care. There were too many sensations to keep track of, and through the haze of it all, your climax came into sight. Your hand came to grasp at one of the ones Sebastian had secured around your throat while the other fisted in the sheets, squeezing as hard as you could as you rutted back against his hips the best you could. It wasn’t doing much as far as you were concerned, but Sebastian evidently appreciated your attempt as he groaned roughly, letting his head hang between his shoulders as he began pumping his hips faster.

“Shit– I’m close, I’m so close–”

Beyond your moans of encouragement, there wasn’t much else you could say. Sebastian took your motivating sounds in stride though, keeping one hand clamped around your neck securely as the other flew down to your clit, instantaneously rubbing urgent little circles around the nub in a bid to take you with him over the edge. Your voice was already raspy but so much louder and needier than Sebastian’s short moans of your name, and his half-baked praises and pleas intermingled with the distant banging of the headboard against the stone wall. Even through all that– through the spiking volume of your pleasure and the blinding need devouring you both– all Sebastian saw was you, and all you saw was ecstasy.

When you finally came you wailed, long and loud as your hands clung to the sheets beneath you and Sebastian’s thick wrist alike, the latter of which knew better than to stop now. Your muscles tensed dangerously tight, your toes curling hard and your nails scraping fresh tracks down Sebastian’s forearm hard enough to leave welts, and your boyfriend was already holding on by a thread by the time your cunt clamped down tight around him. It was almost too hard to move, but there was just enough give that your climax peaked impossibly further and Sebastian fell right after you, crying your name over and over with the rough, faltering tempo of his hips.

The two of you were hardly aware of anything as you both slowed down and came off of that high, but you eventually blinked the fog from your mind and came to realize Sebastian had long since abandoned his hold on your throat in favor of laying across your prone form, lightly peppering kisses against your collarbone as he sucked down breaths to catch his breath. The stinging twitch of uncoiling muscles and the swelling bites and scratches only served to bring you both back to reality in slow, leisurely time with one another, and at the end of it all it was Sebastian who found his voice first, murmuring yet another snide comment into the crook of your shoulder.

“Should I start wearing gloves now?”

Still breathless and spent from the last hour– hell, the entirety of the last week– your delirious laughter was uncontrollable as you realized and quickly accepted that the truth was now out there, and your boyfriend was more than ready to take full advantage of that. “I don’t think gloves will help, honestly.”

The remainder of the school year would end up being a testament to just how true that claim actually was, you guessed. Your boyfriend, on the other hand, would most certainly enjoy every second of it.

Tags

hogwarts legacy sebastian sallow harry potter fic recs hogwarts legacy fanfic sebastian sallow x reader sebastian sallow x you sebastian sallow x female!reader

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star-reaper

2 months ago

Thunderbolts* movie gonna start out with Bucky on the phone watching shit go down and being like "Yeah, I'm gonna have to call you back." Not revealing who he was on the phone with.

The movie plot happens, then with the final end scene Bucky finally gets his phone back out and makes a call and it's like:

"Hey, babe, sorry about that. Shit got crazy."

No response, explosions, gunshots, screaming in the background.

"Sam?"

*Sam's voice, maybe even a cut to him instead of just phone call* "We're gonna need some help! It's fucking Doomsday over here!"

Marvel theme song. Roll credits.

Tags

reblog bucky barnes sam wilson sambucky thunderbolts avengers doomsday thunderbolts* 2025

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star-reaper

1 year ago

hi, gorgeous. currently daydreaming about steve’s innocent, shy girl climbing on top of him while he’s in a chair and she’s ready to ride him but his huge hands settle on her hips to stop her and she’s looking at him all confused and ready to do her part but he just says “just sit here and look pretty for me,” before he begins to absolutely pound into her, one hand on her hips and the other holding her jaw to make her look at him. he’s just praising the hell out of his little angel baby for taking him so good because he’s just so big. the mental image of his furrowed brows and clenched jaw as he watches her completely melt on his lap from pleasure has me clutching my peARLS

– sittin’ pretty

U KNOW WHAT!! UR THE DEVIL! THE DEVIL!! anyways this request had me feral the moment i started writing it… it gets a little soft at the end tho fem!reader, light choking, hella praise kink, what the request says basically <3 and around 1.7k MDNI this entire blog is 18+

Hi, Gorgeous. Currently Daydreaming About Steve’s Innocent, Shy Girl Climbing On Top Of Him While He’s

It’s hard to press down your shyness as you tug the tight elastic of your underwear down your calves. They pool at your ankles. You step out of them and resist the urge to cave in and cover yourself.

“C’mon, c’mere sweet girl,” Steve says softly, his hands smoothing over the top of his tan hairy thighs. He pats them to urge you over.

Everything feels a bit stilted as you tiptoe over to the big comfy armchair he’s seated on, with his thighs parted. You can feel a surge of slick between your thighs at the sight of his aching cock, the head all pink and drippy just for you. It lies back against his happy trail, the vein on the side prominent.

Steve offers you his hand, palm up. You take it and let your knees gently find either side of his hips, hovering hesitantly above him. Heat swirls between you, mixing with the fog of lust that emanates heavily from Steve. His adoring face gazes up at you, but his are eyes dark in a way that makes your tummy twist up.

“Hi, pretty.” He murmurs, guiding your face down for a kiss. You sigh into it sweetly, hands gripping his shoulders.

“Hi.” You whisper back, against his lips. His kiss and reverent gaze give you courage, leaning back to plant one hand on his knee. Your other hand reaches between your two bodies and curls around his throbbing cock. It’s warm and hard, twitching at the sudden stimulation. Steve hisses lowly, his tummy flexing as pleasure jolts through him.

Even though you’re shy, that doesn’t mean you’re not impatient. Today, there will be no working him up til he’s begging to be inside you, no matter how much you desperately want to. Instead, you waste no time, tilting your hips forward to let the head of his cock catch against your entrance in a way that makes you moan. Your thighs ache a little with the slow pace you lower yourself — but Steve’s cock is always a stretch.

It stings, just the slightest, but enough to make you revel in it. You sink down, hand shifting forward to hold his hip to prop yourself up, and your eyes flutter shut in pure ecstasy as his hard cock stretches you open— unaware of how Steve fights to keep his eyes open, drinking in every minuscule expression on your face.

“That’s it, honey,” He coos, sweeping his hand up your hip to tug you down an inch more. You mewl, body shuddering as you clench around him. It feels fucking mind-melting how good he feels filling you up. “That’sssss it.”

You’re whimpering by the time he’s fully hilted in you, your thighs pressed down against his own. Steve’s panting a bit, hairy chest rising and falling as he struggles to keep himself in control. You’re so wet, so warm, and god, you’re still so shy even when you’re sitting on his cock — averting your eyes even as your tight little hole clenches around him. When did he get so lucky?

Try as you might, there’s not stopping the pitiful gasp that comes out when you lift yourself back up, his cock gliding almost all the way out of your cunt. You can feel the mess you’re already making on him, can already feel the subtle ache in your thighs but none of it deviates you from your plan. You’re going to ride your boyfriend like there’s no fucking tomorrow.

But right as you prep yourself to sink back down, Steve’s hands stop you, shooting out to grab you by the hips. You pause. Shyness creeps back in.

“Wha…? Is something wrong?” You ask.

Steve’s quick to comfort, one of his hands reaching up to cup your cheek. “Hey, hey, everything’s fine. I just—“ He shift his hips up a bit and you shiver, eyes fluttering closed without thinking. When you open them again, he’s grinning.

“I just want you to sit here and look pretty for me, hm?” He leans up to kiss your cheek and it makes you entirely too distracted for what happens.

His tummy clenches, muscles tightening, as his hips suddenly snap up, thrusting his cock back deep into you. You squeal.

“Steve!” Your hands propel forward, grasping his shoulders, but he doesn’t pause. His hands on your hips tighten as he holds you in place, drilling up into your wet cunt, hard and fast. Pleasure dribbles through your core, hot and melty. His thighs slap against your own, causing them to buckle and you sink down a little lower — only forcing his cock deeper inside you.

You whine, all of a sudden overwhelmed, and tuck your face away— all too aware of how every time he fucks up into you, you make a needy little uh.

And, well, that just won’t do. With one hand keeping your hips secure, his other wanders up, creeping in around your neck. Even as he fucks you roughly, his touch is still gentle. His big hands can stretch across the expanse of your jaw— and he uses it to coax your head up. You’re already looking teary eyed, warm enough in the face that he can feel it with his hand, all from how much you’re enjoying it. Steve loves it.

“Baby,” He manages to rasp out sweetly. You gasp, hiccupy and high pitched, embarrassed by the wet squelchy noises he’s fucking out of your cunt. “Look at you, my baby. Doing so good for me, huh? Taking it so well, angel.”

You lean into the hand around your throat further, letting him curl his fingers around it a bit tighter. One of your hands flies up to grasp his wrist, needing, craving the connection.

“Steve,” you cry, delirious from the pleasure. His cock fills you over and over, unravelling you from the inside. “Steve,” You repeat his name uselessly, mouth hanging open as a whiney moan takes over.

“I know, I know.” He coos, sweet as he can be while ruining you on his cock. He’s got a furrow in his brow, his jaw set, perfect brown eyes searching your face— always looking for which button to press next, which way to make it better for you. God, you love him.

“So fucking good, isn’t it angel?” He grunts. “Perfect fuckin’ cunt, just made to take my cock, isn’t she?”

“Yes!” you keen, the words tearing from your mouth. “Yes, yes, yes, fuck,” Pathetic whimpery noises flow out freely, your grip around his wrist tightening as you feel heat gather low in your tummy.

“G-God, fuck,” Steve groans, the first hint of desperation leaking into his words. His hand around your throat tightens in the slightest, a soft pressure that has your head spinning. “Can fucking feel you getting close.”

His words make you moan, your thighs slipping further down — your hand shoots out to brace against the arm of the chair, desperate to keep him going, to reach your peak.

“Your—“ A whimper slips into his voice. “Fuck. Your pussy gets all tight when she wants to cum— y’wanna cum?”

You’re nodding along before he’s even finished his sentence. With how hard he’s fucking you, hips thrusting up against yours, it’s a wonder he can even see it. You whimper out a “Yes.” just in case.

“I know you do.” He groans loudly. “Deserve to, too. You’ve been so good, so fucking good, yeah?”

His hand holding your hip slips forward, snaking towards your clit and pleasure twists the coil in your tummy up tighter and tighter. His rough thumb pushes against it, sloppy but effective. You wail.

“Y’deserve to cream all over my cock like a good girl, don’t you?” He rasps, throat a bit wrecked from every sweet sultry noise thats passes his lips.

You’re not even sure if it’s words coming out your mouth anymore, just a whiney mess of yes’s tangled up in your moans. Steve whines, the rhythm of his strokes beginning to falter as his own orgasm begins to rear up. You whine and your hips move on their own accord— bouncing down on his cock to meet his thrusts midway.

“Yes, yes, fuck, you’re so good, y’look fucking perfect bouncing on my cock,” Steve rambles, that perfect pussy-drunk expression beginning to take over him. His moans turn to whines and with one desperate whimper of your name, you topple like a house of cards.

Pleasure unravels you. Your hips stutter and drop down, trying to cram every inch of Steve into you as you can, while your other hand claws weakly at his tummy. Heat scorches every nerve inside you, delicious and overwhelming all at once.

The scratch of your nails, the clench of your wet cunt, the pitiful crying noise you make, all of it sets Steve off — his back arching and hips bucking up, trying to get more of your hot, wet pussy. His face screws up, a high whine tearing out his throat as his hands grapple to circle around your back, trying to get you closer.

It’s a sweat press of skin, chest to chest. You twitch and moan, face tucked away safely in his neck, as Steve lets all his noises out into the curve of your own. It’s deeply intimate — enough to make your shyness peek back up when Steve digs his face out after a minute of laboured breathing. His face is pink, his expression blissful.

“You,” He huffs tiredly, eyes scanning your face worriedly. “You okay? Wasn’t too rough?”

You melt a bit, a breathy laugh escaping you. “Yeah, I’m okay.” You chuckle. Nerves rear their ugly head within you before you can flatten them. “Was I— that was good?” You check.

Steve laughs softly, nuzzling in closer to you. He smells fantastic. You can’t help how you mirror him, nosing along his cheek, letting your eyes slip shut.

“Baby, I think you melted my brain.” He says, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

Tags

steve harrington fic recs steve harrington x reader steve harrington smut

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star-reaper

1 year ago

awwwwwww

You’re still my winner

Tags

reblog papa emeritus iv the band ghost papa emeritus iii papa copia papa terzo the band ghost fanart

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star-reaper

4 months ago

The Promise of Tomorrow - Sebastian Sallow x Female! Reader

Summary: “As utterly ravishing as you are in that dress,” he whispered against your lips in-between kisses, “I can’t deny that I would much rather see it on the floor.”

A laugh bubbled past your lips despite yourself, and you let your palms trail down Sebastian’s sides until you reached his waist. You hooked your fingers through his belt loops, tugging his lower half flush against you, and his hands fell away from your face to brace against the wall behind you, effectively caging you between him and the cobblestone at your back. “Have some things planned, do you?”

Alternatively summarized as you and Sebastian attending the Yule Ball together before he whisks you away to the Room of Requirement to do exactly what you might think.

Word Count: 7.4k

Warnings: 18+, aged up characters, explicit sexual content, Garreth wearing Aunt Tessie's robes

This was HEAVILY inspired by @sallowly 's Yule Ball animation which can be found here ! The dress/Sebastian's suit are directly referenced from her work. I'm eternally grateful for being given the chance to build off of her creation ♡

The full fic can also be found here on Ao3 as per usual

“What in Merlin’s name are you wearing?”

Sebastian gaped openly at Garreth, internally fighting the laugh that threatened to spill forth from his mouth despite his best efforts to smother it. The Gryffindor was decked out in quite possibly the most atrocious set of dress robes he’d ever seen, and judging by the look on the red-head’s face, he knew it too. It was frilly and lined with lace, and the material looked like a curtain that had been snagged off a window and stitched into something resembling clothes.

Garreth’s face contorted into a pained expression, chancing a look down at himself and curling his hands into loose fists. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“I’m sure you don’t,” Sebastian remarked, lifting his glass to his lips in a bid to hide his growing smile. “Can I guess? Please let me guess–”

“No,” came his flat reply.

“What is it?” Ominis asked curiously, turning away from the long table of finger foods to join in the conversation. Unlike Weasley, he looked like the epitome of poised finesse in his dark, tailored suit. “Whatever it is, it smells old.”

“Oh, it looks old too. Seriously, where on Earth did you find such an antique?” Sebastian teased, and Garreth’s eyes made a full trip around their sockets before he waved off the jab.

“Ha ha, very funny. If you must know, these have been in the Weasley family for years–”

“Clearly.”

“Oh would you shut up? I get it, believe me, I know. My mother wouldn’t let me get away with not wearing them though, she kept pestering me about ‘tradition’ and a bunch of other pointless nonsense. I was fighting a losing battle trying to convince her otherwise.”

Ominis chuckled softly under his breath and twirled his wand idly between his fingers, “And you didn’t think to just change into something more fitting of the nineteenth century because…” he trailed off, the question hanging silently in the air.

Garreth grumpily shoved his hands in his pockets and frowned, looking over his shoulder towards the massive entryway leading into the Great Hall. Professor Weasley was standing watch, ushering students in with practiced ease, and when she caught sight of her nephew staring, her smile was enough to give away precisely why the Gryffindor had been forced to endure his family's horrendous dress code. “My aunt would rat me out in a second if I did. Look, can we just forget about the hideous outfit already? I need a drink.”

Sebastian had half a mind to offer Garreth the stolen flask of Firewhiskey tucked away in his suit, but he was honestly more inclined to save it for himself. Unbeknownst to his friends, he was wound tighter than a spring, the anticipation coursing through his veins causing him to shake his leg to dispel the nervous jitters he’d been dealing with since arriving. While he’d gone on plenty of dates with you in the last few years, this would be the first time the two of you attended something so formal as a couple. Asking you to the Yule Ball had nearly put him in the ground with how anxious he’d been– but attending the dance together was a completely different story.

He wanted the night to go perfectly.

His expectations were driving him up the damn wall. If there was one thing Sebastian hated more than anything, it was surprises, and that’s exactly what tonight was. One giant, looming unknown that had him thinking circles around himself. Dancing wasn’t the issue– he was great at that. It wasn’t even the hundreds of prying eyes that would be glued to you both when you eventually arrived, because he was more than used to the attention that came with dating the Hero of Hogwarts.

No, Sebastian was simply nervous to finally put his long awaited plan into action.

Everything was already set up in the Room of Requirement for later, so all he had to do was make it through the bulk of the evening without combusting or making a fool of himself. He could do that… right?

“Your nerves are showing, Sebastian,” Garreth teased as he leaned over the endless selection of food and drinks. His green eyes were crinkled in amusement as he observed the nonstop tapping of the brunet’s foot, and Ominis hummed in agreement.

“I’ve been listening to him fidget for the last twenty minutes. I don’t know why girls take so long to get ready– I’m tempted to go and find his date so he’ll finally relax.”

Garreth laughed, and in the split second following, Sebastian saw his eyes land on something over his shoulder and widen comically. “No need for that… damn.”

Nothing could have prepared Sebastian for the sight that graced him when he turned around.

There you were, looking equal parts ethereal and powerful. Your dress was like nothing he had ever seen before; it was the darkest, most striking shade of black, rippling around your legs as though it were made of liquid as you strode through the arched doorway with your head held high. Embroidered down the side and along the strapless neckline were tiny gold leaves that reflected against the candles floating overhead, giving you a regal appearance that put even Ominis to shame. Maybe it was a trick of the light, but Sebastian swore that as you walked further into the room, some of the leaves from your dress trailed behind you and dissipated into shimmering dust.

You twisted your hands together nervously as your eyes scanned the massive crowd, searching for the one person who could make existing in such an overwhelming environment bearable. Sebastian’s legs started to move of their own accord, carrying him away from the table and closer to you at the same time your neck swiveled in his direction, and the way your entire face lit up when you spotted him imbued him with the confidence that he’d been lacking minutes prior.

Everything else was muted during those tentative seconds it took him to reach you, and once he came to stop in front of you with his drink still loosely gripped in his hand, it was as if no one else existed within the cavernous ballroom– only the two of you. For a moment, all he could do was stare with his mouth hanging open like a fish. The flush that spread across your cheeks had his heart doing acrobatics in his chest, and he swallowed around the lump in his throat before setting his glass down on an empty platter floating by.

“Hi,” you said meekly, flashing him an easy smile in an attempt to conceal your timorous demeanor. He didn’t need to know that you’d spent five minutes outside with Poppy talking you off the metaphorical ledge and fanning you frantically with her hands.

“Hey,” he replied, instantly cringing at the dry greeting. He quickly added, “I don’t think words can do you justice, if I’m being honest. You look otherworldly, darling.”

Sebastian’s words did wonders to school your nerves, a wave of warmth settling over you like a blanket. The soft smile that spread across your plush lips made his heart flip in his chest, and when he held out his hand for you to take, the tension in your shoulders slipped away. “Thank you, you look rather dashing yourself. Green continues to be your color,” you mused as your palm met his upturned one, intertwining your fingers through his longer ones easily.

He steered you into the room, heading for Ominis and Garreth again to give you time to get settled before the dancing started. When your eyes fell on Weasley, Sebastian watched as your brows shot halfway up your forehead, and he could hear the laughter in your voice when you asked, “Oh gods, what is he wearing?”

“Don’t bring it up. Something about ‘tradition’ I think, but he’s well aware that he looks like a decorative rug.”

You had to hide your smirk behind your free hand as you approached the two men. Garreth’s grin was blinding as he raised his glass to you in silent greeting, and Ominis must have heard you walking up, because he turned fully to face you with his kind eyes crinkled at their corners.

“I obviously can’t say for certain, but if Sebastian’s inability to form words when you walked in was anything to go by, you must look beautiful.” The blond had a tiny Cauldron Cake pinched between his skinny fingers, and he popped it into his mouth without a second thought as a blush crept up your cheeks.

“Thank you, Ominis, you do too.”

“I look beautiful?” He mumbled around his mouthful, and the sound of his muffled teasing contrasting with his neat appearance made you chuckle.

You swatted his shoulder playfully and shook your head, “You know what I mean.” When your gaze shifted to Garreth, he seemed to hold his breath expectantly. “You too, Garreth. Pink looks good on you.”

The red-head rolled his eyes playfully, but he was still grinning from ear to ear. “I’ve been told that lying gives you wrinkles, but I appreciate the sentiment.”

He lifted his glass to his lips at the same time the enchanted orchestra in the corner ceased playing. Hundreds of heads swiveled towards the front of the room as Professor Black made his way to the podium, looking all too irritated to have to entertain students during the weekend instead of… actually, you had no clue what Professor Black did in his spare time.

Probably kick Puffskeins and style his mustache.

“Welcome all, to this year’s Yule Ball. I see the festivities are in full swing already, but I’d like to remind everyone that standard school rules are still meant to be followed even on a night such as this one. That means no floozy behavior, no consumption of beverages not otherwise provided for you, and for the love of Merlin– no smoking of Mallowsweet in school corridors. That has become a rampant issue that I would prefer to not have to deal with on top of everything else.”

As the Headmaster continued monologuing, you managed to tune out the remainder of his warnings in favor of ogling Sebastian. Your hands were still intertwined, and he had tugged you closer to him so your arms were brushing against one another in his subtle attempts to get closer to you. He really did look striking in his dark green suit; it was the first time you’d been privy to seeing him so dressed up, and you bit your lip hungrily as potent, lustful thoughts filled your mind. It wasn’t until the room was full of thunderous applause that you realized the introductions were finished and your boyfriend was side-eyeing you as you blatantly stared at him.

“Something on your mind?” He whispered the question directly against your ear, sending shivers down your spine and making your toes curl in your heels.

Your hand in his tightened a fraction, and you cocked a brow slyly as your lips curled into a feline smile. “A few things, yes.”

“Anything I’d like to know about?”

“I’m sure you would, but there’s a time and a place. Don’t they say patience is a virtue?”

Sebastian hummed, trailing his thumb sensually along your knuckles as he smirked wickedly against your temple. “I find it to be more of a nuisance, but I suppose it would be a waste not to make the most of you in that dress. Would you care to dance?”

The Slytherin’s heart damn near hammered straight out of his sternum when you turned to stare affectionately up at him, the mixture of your love and desire so palpable in the air that he swore he could cut through it with a Diffindo charm. “I thought you’d never ask.”

—

You didn’t think you’d ever felt so weightless in your life.

Sebastian’s hand clasped in yours was like an anchor, keeping you grounded to the present moment as he tugged you along behind him up the winding staircase leading to the Astronomy Wing. He was moving fast– clearly eager to show you the ‘surprise’ he had waiting for you there– but he had the good grace to stay mindful of your dress and your inability to move as quickly as he could. The two of you had been sneakily stealing sips of his Firewhiskey throughout the night, so the faint buzz you had going was enough to make you slow down and consider every movement carefully as you ascended the steps.

When you reached the top landing, the brunet’s neck craned sideways to cast an exhilarated look your way, his excitement a tangible entity that had butterflies erupting in your stomach. All through the night, Sebastian’s eyes and hands had been stealing telling glances and coy touches as he twirled you across the ballroom. You knew there had been hundreds of eyes on you at one point; the charmed, gold leaves around the lower lining of your gown had fallen away in trails of sunset colored sparkles that were bound to draw attention as you’d danced. But none of it had mattered– not with Sebastian gazing longingly at you like you were the only thing that existed.

He was doing so now, and you found yourself burying your general dislike of surprises for the sake of the evening. Anything Sebastian had planned for you was something you were sure to love, you were already certain of it.

When the two of you reached the empty wall across from the familiar troll tapestry, Sebastian swiftly pulled you ahead of him and spun you around– more shimmering leaves wisping off of your dress as your back made contact with the cool stone behind it. You barely had time to register the brazen move before your boyfriend’s lips connected with yours, and then his broad hands were sliding up your neck to cup your face and tilt your head back to deepen the kiss impossibly further. He swallowed your startled gasp instantaneously, brushing his thumbs along your cheekbones so tenderly that it made your heart fucking ache.

Merlin– sometimes your love for Sebastian overwhelmed you.

“As utterly ravishing as you are in that dress,” he whispered against your lips in-between kisses, “I can’t deny that I would much rather see it on the floor.”

“Of course,” he replied with that renowned Sallow-swagger that made you melt. “But not before you get to appreciate all of my hard work.”

You hummed thoughtfully as you leaned forward to kiss him again, breathing in his intoxicating scent of cedar and something akin to old books. His tongue slipped in your mouth easily, tangling with your own so fluidly that you suddenly found yourself all too eager to discover what he had in store for you. Sebastian let you drink in your fill of him, groaning softly when you shifted your hips to grind lazily against his steadily growing erection, and then he was pulling back with a heated look in his eyes.

“Riveting as this is, I don’t feel particularly keen on taking you in the middle of the hallway.”

On cue, you felt the wall against your back begin to change. The cool stone morphed into smooth wood, and the massive entryway to the Room of Requirement revealed itself as Sebastian seemingly gazed into your very soul. “No public canoodling? Your surprise must be quite something, then.”

For the first time since finding him in the Great Hall, Sebastian looked nervous. He stepped back and rubbed his neck sheepishly, giving you a half-grin that you could have honestly mistaken for a grimace. “I certainly hope so… come on.”

He extended his hand once again and you took it graciously, moving off the door to make room for him to push it open. The brunet ushered you in, letting you enter ahead of him, and you barely made it three steps inside before you were halting completely. Your eyes widened and your mouth fell open in silent shock as you took in the magical sight before you.

The Room was full of floating candles like the ones in the Great Hall, only these ones flickered with deep blue flames that seemed to cast the space in what you could only describe as pure moonlight. The ambiance had been changed as well, working in tandem with the romantic lighting so flawlessly that you were certain you had to be staring at a painting. You made a mental note to remember to thank Deek for his evident assistance. Bright red petals had been strewn across the floor, paving a rather telling path towards the slightly ajar bedroom door on the opposite side of the chamber. What was inside, you didn’t know– but the contrasting red glow from within had your mind flooding with unrestrained fantasies that made your stomach flip.

Your legs carried you deeper into the room as you took in every unique change to your secret space, and all the while, Sebastian watched you virtually glide across the floor. The enchanted leaves running down your dress added a new degree of magic to the whole scene; the trail of gold flakes that evaporated into sparkling dust made you look like some sort of enchantress that had snuck onto the school grounds, and he found himself following you across the petals towards the bedroom in a trance.

Sebastian had seriously outdone himself. You had no words.

Pushing the door open revealed more floating candles– the normal colored ones– and an amorous display that made your breath catch in your throat. He’d replaced the usual bed linens with silky, red sheets that reflected the candlelight beautifully. You spotted a bottle of wine perched between two glasses on the nightstand, and situated behind it all was a fresh bouquet of roses that left a distinctly floral scent in the air.

A large part of you wanted to cry from the affection that flooded your brain, but you willed away the urge in favor of turning around to face Sebastian.

He was leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed– a hungry, almost insatiable look spreading across his features. Those lust-dark eyes of his were scanning you up and down like you were a whole meal, and given the set-up in the room, you were willing to wager a guess that his mentality was exactly that. The warm lighting in the bedroom bathed him in a seductive glow, and as handsome as he looked in his suit, you suddenly wanted him out of it. Pronto.

“You’re speechless,” he observed, sounding almost timid as he spoke the words.

“That’s a word for it.”

“Good speechless or bad speechless?”

You gave him a nonplussed blink before your brows slammed down, “Why in Merlin’s name would it be bad speechless?”

Your ability to read Sebastian like a damn book allowed you to see the cracks in his confident facade as he dug the toe of his shoe into the stone floor. He shrugged, “I’m not sure. Maybe because I snuck in here and changed everything around. Although Deek did help some, so I guess I’m not solely to blame.”

There were no thoughts in your head other than the rapacious desire to be close to him, and your heels echoed off the bedroom walls as you strode over to him in the doorway to yank him down to your level. You all but slammed your mouths together, stealing his breath with the intensity of your ministrations, and the action left little room for doubt. Sebastian returned the kiss with equal fervor, winding his arms around you to crush you against his front as you bit and licked at his soft, freckled lips.

“You ought to stoke that confidence some more, because this is quite possibly the sweetest thing you’ve ever done for me.” Your praises did wonders to soothe his frayed nerves, seeing as you felt him relax under your touch as you sensually dragged your hands up to grip his strong shoulders.

He chuckled proudly, pulling away to stare anticipatorily down at you with a smug look on his face. That was an expression you were all too familiar with. “You should know that where you’re concerned, I’m a split-second confidence kind of guy. The things you do to me and you don’t even know it…” he trailed off in a gravelly voice, and you shivered as you felt his palms begin skirting down your lower back to play with the zipper of your gown.

“Oh really?” Your voice was airy, and your fingers dug into the smooth material of his blazer as you worked to maintain your composure. “Care to enlighten me?”

Sebastian tilted his head to the side curiously before leaning down to brush a tiny kiss over the tip of your nose, “I’d much rather show you. What do you say? You want to let me take care of you, darling?”

Your breath caught in your throat, rendering your tongue a useless paperweight in your mouth as it failed to form words, so you nodded excitedly instead and noted how Sebastian growled in response. Any awkwardness or uncertainty fell away when he claimed your lips again in a wet, needy frenzy, swallowing your surprised mewl as he walked you backwards towards the spacious bed. You felt his fingers return to your zipper and gently tug it down as the backs of your knees made contact with the mattress, and his hand on your hip kept you steady as his arm dropped ever-so-slightly to part the fabric of your dress. The velvety attire slipped down your body and pooled around your ankles instantly– a plume of gold sparkles erupting from it as it hit the floor.

Sebastian broke the kiss to look down at you, his long, dark lashes fanning out across his cheeks as he took in your nearly bare form from head to toe. You followed the tight bob of his adam’s apple as his chocolate brown eyes roved over your breasts before they returned to your face, and then he was gingerly pushing you down onto the bed.

As you scooted higher up the sheets, Sebastian’s gaze stayed glued to you while he shed his jacket, tossing it haphazardly to the side so he could begin undoing the buttons of his shirt. You watched him unblinkingly as he undressed– shamelessly licking your lips when his top fell open and revealed the taut plane of his stomach— and the fuzzy trail of hair leading beneath his trousers had your knees clenching together in anticipation. With his button-up discarded, all that remained were the pants, and he elected to take his time undoing his belt with calculated movements as his eyes bored into yours.

“I’ve been thinking about this all night,” he admitted, and the metal clink of the buckle falling away punctuated the statement. “Gods– I was ready to leave the second you walked in, you have no fucking idea.”

You shuddered from the intensity of his words, boldly dragging one of your hands down between your legs to feel the wetness that had begun to saturate your undergarments. The sight of you touching yourself sent Sebastian into overdrive– and he wasted little time in shoving his trousers down and kicking them aside so he was donned in nothing but his briefs. His arousal was straining against the thin cotton– so much so that it had to be bordering on painful– but he made no signs of discomfort as he seductively started to crawl up the bed towards you.

As soon as Sebastian was within reach, you abandoned your soaked nether region to curl your fingers around his neck and pull him towards you, kissing him desperately. You ran your hands down his freckled chest, then wrapped your arms around his midsection to ghost the tips of your fingers along his spine. The shiver it elicited from him had heat pooling in your gut, and your need for him started to shift into something even more ravenous.

Sebastian dropped himself down onto his elbows to minimize the space between the two of you as your tongues tangled, and as he settled his lower half against yours, he ground his straining member against your clothed cunt. He groaned unabashedly, the sound low in his throat, and your lips took to wandering along his jaw, down his throat, before settling against the curve of his shoulder to sink your teeth into the soft flesh.

“Fuck– I can feel how wet you are already. How badly do you want it? Tell me,” he implored you, his eyes fluttering shut when you laved your tongue over the light imprint of your teeth. “Talk to me, darling, please.”

Merlin, his voice alone was doing things to you that rendered your vocal chords useless. You tried speaking anyway. “P-Please,” you rasped out against his spit-slick skin. “Please Sebastian, I need you– I’ve needed you all night–”

“All night, huh? What exactly were you thinking about while we were on the dance floor, hm? What filthy thoughts are swimming around in that pretty little head of yours?”

The way Sebastian was rutting against you– tempting you with every snap of his hips– was driving you absolutely crazy with lust, and your head fell away from his shoulder against the sheets with a low moan as your nails raked down his sides. To your dismay, however, he ceased his movements to sit up and plant his hands on your wiggling hips, pinning you down in place. His toned arms flexed as he applied a fair amount of pressure in a bid to still your writhing against the silky covers, and you bit your lip in blatant frustration, narrowing your eyes dangerously.

“Don’t look at me like that, I asked you a question. Tell me what you want– what you’ve apparently been craving all night. You can do that for me, can’t you?”

Leave it to Sebastian to still find a way to make you beg for his cock. The nerve. You scowled up at him, “You’re really going to make me say it?”

He had the audacity to laugh at your impatience. “I would make you scream it if I wasn’t trying so hard to be nice.”

You had half a mind to taunt him further and clarify that really– this was him being nice? But then one of his hands fell away from your waist to trail closer to your drenched underwear until he had the pad of his thumb planted directly against your clit. That was the extent of his mercy, though. He made no move to provide you with any friction or stimulation– he simply stared at you expectantly.

Dammit.

Your hips twitched, unconsciously seeking the reprieve his fingers could offer you. It mattered little though; his strength kept you pinned firmly in place. “I-I want you to fuck me,” you mumbled, cheeks heating with slight embarrassment.

“Anyone could fuck you, sweetheart. You need to be more specific,” he fucking purred the statement, making your head spin and your inhibitions fly out the damn window.

“You,” came your wheezed response. “I want you– I want your cock, Sebastian, all I need is you. Please fuck me, I only want you, please.”

The sight of you flushed and panting, bathed in warm candlelight as your hands fisted ardently in the sheets, drove all of Sebastian’s blood straight to his cock. It twitched enthusiastically within the confines of his briefs.

You felt the pressure from his arm let up at the same time he removed his thumb from your aching center. Impatient didn’t even begin to cover how you were feeling, but you were all too pleased when his fingers finally pinched the fabric of your panties to tug the material down your bent legs.

Shaking his head in near disbelief, Sebastian groaned, “You sound like a fucking dream begging for it, darling. I’ll give it to you, I promise.”

His words soothed you, but you still tensed a little when you felt the tip of his finger slip inside your overwhelmingly wet heat. You sighed and spread your legs further to accommodate Sebastian’s kneeled position, and he took to trailing his free hand over your hip bones, then up your torso to squeeze at your breasts as he willed you to relax for him. Releasing your vice grip on the sheets, you wrapped your hand around Sebastian’s thick wrist while he toyed with your sensitive nipples– effectively losing yourself to the euphoric sensation until he was knuckle-deep in your clenching walls.

A keening sound resonated from deep in your chest as you rocked back onto Sebastian’s finger, testing the feeling, and you bit your lip hard at the rumbling groan your boyfriend gave in response. He leaned down to pepper kisses along your shoulder, sucking at your collarbone and gently nipping at your neck, and when he thrusted his finger minutely and curled it towards your stomach, you shuddered and dug your nails into his forearm.

“Come on,” you whined, bucking your hips more insistently in response to his painfully slow pace. The brunet nodded, pumping his finger deeper, and he couldn’t stop the moan that tumbled from his mouth at how fucking tight you were.

Sebastian worked you with the single digit for a moment before tentatively adding a second, his blood igniting in his veins at the airy gasp you let slip. Your name fell from his lips like a plea, and when he leaned up slightly to gauge your expression, the half-hooded look you bore was enough to make his stomach drop. “Gods, you’re perfect,” he virtually whispered.

By the time you were amply prepared for him, your hands had abandoned the sheets and his wrist to clutch tightly at his shoulders, your sounds growing desperate and needy. Sebastian continued to spread and twist his fingers, trying to map out precisely where to aim to reduce you to gasping screams just as he’d promised. You were beyond jittery, though, winding your fingers into his curly brown locs to tug his face towards yours and glare openly at him. “I’m about to jump your bones,” you growled, rolling your hips against Sebastian’s fingers urgently. “Come on, Sebastian, let me– fuck–”

Sebastian grinned wildly at the way your back arched clean off the sheets, the tight gasp you pulled into your lungs imbuing him with a need for you that rivaled his need to breathe. Without missing a beat, he withdrew his fingers and frantically set to peeling his briefs away to free himself from the restrictive material. His girth arched proudly against his stomach, swollen and red and so fucking tantalizing. Your eyes devoured him greedily as he tossed the pre-cum stained attire over his shoulder, and then he was crawling over you once again with an animalistic hunger reflecting in his eyes.

Hooking your legs around his waist, Sebastian braced his arms on either side of your head, gazing at you longingly as the head of his leaking cock brushed against your slick entrance. It took an insane amount of effort for you not to nudge him forward with your heels– forcing yourself to remain pliant as he pressed into you at an achingly slow pace. Your eyes rolled shut at the feeling of being breached, savaging your lower lip with your teeth as inch after inch of Sebastian’s incredible cock entered you. A contented whine weaseled its way from his throat as he bottomed out, and you cracked your bleary eyes open to find the freckled man staring at you with the ghost of a smile on his lips.

“W-What?” You muttered, trailing your hands up his muscular biceps before interlacing your fingers together around his neck. “Don’t make me beg again, I already said please.”

“I was just enjoying the face you were making,” he said with a smirk, grinding his hips enough to have you trembling and arching. “Like you were trying really hard to hold back. It’s hot as hell.”

You fought a smile, tugging him down by his neck to capture his lips in yet another dizzying kiss. Sebastian bit and licked at your mouth with reckless abandon as he swallowed the sounds his efforts pulled from you, and he sighed before pulling away to brush a few strands of hair off of your forehead. He thrusted suddenly into you– catching you off guard– and your breath hitched at the same time your head fell back, effectively killing the remainder of Sebastian’s patience.

Dropping one of his hands to your waist, Sebastian withdrew his throbbing member enough so that when he snapped his hips forward, you were jolted up the bed slightly. “Ah–” your sharp cry reverberated off the bedroom walls, and his hold on you instantly became possessive.

Grasping onto you like his life depended on it, Sebastian dug his feet into the bed to lend some force to his thrusts as he worked himself into an even tempo. It felt mind-numbingly wonderful to finally be encased in your warm walls after day-dreaming about it all night. His mouth fell open with a shaky groan when he pressed his balls against your raised ass, the friction doing you both a slew of favors, and his vision flashed a brilliant white when he felt you clench around his cock and suck him in even deeper.

“Oh fuck– fucking hell–” Sebastian grit through clenched teeth, pushing himself up fully so he was no longer hunched over you. You unhooked your ankles from around him so he could maneuver your legs over his bent ones, gripping your thighs with a bruising strength that made your mouth dry up in a heartbeat. He had a perfect view of you laid bare under him this way, and he shamelessly watched as his cock glistened with your slick when he pulled out right before plunging back in.

Your spine rounded, a guttural moan ripping its way from your chest as Sebastian picked up his pace while simultaneously pulling you down onto his quick thrusts. It was pure rapture having his hands on you– demandingly shifting you around to steal his pleasure from your tight heat as he sought out the deepest parts of you. At one point, he released his hold on one of your legs to plant his broad hand on top of your stomach, relishing in how he could feel his cock each time he slid home. It was addicting– you were addicting— and the thought lit a fire in his very soul.

“S-Sebastian,” you whined, gathering the silky sheets in your clenched fists as wave after wave of sheer pleasure washed over you. With your legs held in the brunet’s strong grip, he had the freedom to fuck harder into your slick folds, pulling noisy cries of his name and desperate pleas for more from your kiss-swollen lips. Your voice was loud in the humid room, your moans echoing off the walls around the two of you– and when Sebastian bucked harder so the sound of skin slapping against skin filled the space– you gasped frantically and writhed beneath him. He had to be hitting a good spot.

“You’re stunning, darling– so fucking good to me–” Sebastian managed to grunt out, pounding his cock into you with temerity that made your looming finish all the more potent. “Fuck, you feel incredible.”

“Right there, S-Sebastian, fuck me right there, gods–”

The muscles in your stomach were tensing, and you were honestly shaking from the vigor of his thrusts. Sebastian groaned, the sound of your pleading little whimpers driving him mad with undiluted need, and he watched you blearily try to figure out what was going on as he hoisted your legs up and threw them over his shoulders. He moved over you, bending you in half at the same time he rammed his thick cock back into your cunt, and you were hardly given the space to breathe before your boyfriend was fucking you hard— his hips bucking rough and deep and so fucking good that you were left mewling and grasping helplessly at the sheets.

Sebastian pinned you to the bed and fucked himself into you, his own moans dripping loud from his lips as his hands tangled in your hair and tightened around the strands. The sting was delicious and left you with no choice but to allow your lover to pull you closer to him while he filled you up over and over. He drank in the sounds you made as your back arched off the sheets the best it could under his added weight, your thighs shaking and muscles tensing until you were barely holding on.

“Like that– fuck, Sebastian, just like that, I’m gonna come–”

Unable to give a more coherent response than a gasping whine, Sebastian dug his nails into your scalp and was rewarded with the sweet sound of you wailing his name as you came violently, riding your hips down into his as much as you could. Your hands flew to his back to rake angry red welts down his sides, and Sebastian let your legs fall from his shoulders so he could wrap his arms around you and bury his face into the crook of your neck. He sank his teeth into the sweaty skin as he gave you the last of his deep, quick thrusts before he was coming inside— your name tumbling over his lips like a mantra as he fell into bliss.

By the time Sebastian was anything approaching coherent, you were still shaking under him, your legs wrapped tight around his waist. “Fuck,” he murmured into the hollow of your throat, untangling his hands from your hair and smoothing the mussed locs down.

Sebastian pulled out with a small groan– your hips seemingly lifting to chase the marvelous feeling of being filled– but then he was planting his elbows on either side of you to brace himself as he kissed you breathlessly. You melted under him, curling around him ardently when he finally let himself tip sideways beside you. His chest was heaving with the deep breaths he sucked into his lungs, and you happily nestled your head atop his shoulder as your hands took to tracing invisible shapes and patterns along the taut expanse of his stomach.

You dozed off sometime after Sebastian had started murmuring sweet nothings in your ear, and when you awoke a few hours later, you were still draped over him, his fingers idly trailing up the shallow dip of your spine. Stretching the best you could without disturbing the peaceful vibe, you craned your neck to look up at Sebastian sleepily, and his eyes crinkled at their corners as he smiled down at you.

“Good morning, beautiful.”

“Mmph,” you grunted, voice thick with sleep. “Is it morning already? You should have woken me up.”

He shrugged and glanced at the open bedroom door, noting the lack of sunlight streaming in through the skylight. “Early morning, but not daylight hours quite yet. I figured you needed the rest.”

Humming appreciatively, you closed the minuscule space between the two of you to kiss him gently, and he sighed against your lips as his hands roved up your back once more to play with your hair at the nape of your neck. Everything about the moment was pure, and you found it all too easy to get lost in the sensations dancing over your still-sensitive body.

Sebastian broke away first, gazing at you strangely before he abandoned your hair to reach for the nightstand. “I was going to do this earlier before everything, but I uh… got distracted.”

You couldn’t hide the flush that crept up your cheeks at the reminder. “Hm, I wonder why,” you teased. “Do what, though?”

He finally found whatever he’d been rifling around for blindly and met your inquisitive stare, swallowing nervously. “I’ve been thinking about what’s going to happen after we graduate. I’m sure you have your own ideas, but I just thought– well, I’d obviously like to stay together. I can’t imagine not having you beside me, but that being said, I’ll respect whatever you decide, even if it isn’t what I want to hear.”

Your stomach flipped over on itself, and your eyes went wider than saucers when Sebastian revealed a small, velvet box gripped tight in his hand. Pushing yourself off of him, he flicked the lid open with trembling fingers, and your gasp was drowned out by the hammering of your heart in your ears.

Inside was a thin, gold band adorned with a tiny, emerald gemstone that sparkled brilliantly under the flickering candlelight. Your mouth fell open as the implications of the ring bore down on you, and when you looked back at Sebastian, his eyes were scanning your face to gauge your expression.

“Is that…?”

“It’s only a posy ring, but I thought that it might make the next few months easier to anticipate. You’re my whole world, darling. I can’t fathom parting ways after everything we’ve been through, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t hope you felt the same.”

Warm, fat tears welled in your eyes then, blurring your vision before they were streaking down your cheeks without restraint. His anxiety leading up to arriving in the Room of Requirement suddenly made a lot more sense to you, and you realized that he’d planned all of this well in advance. How long had he been waiting to ask you? How long had he held onto the ring in the hopes that you would say yes?

He still looked nervous, but it was drowned out by the complete adoration that glimmered in his dark eyes.

“Yes,” you choked out, somewhere in-between sobbing and laughing as you sat up fully. “Yes, Sebastian– of course I feel the same.”

Sebastian’s smile was blinding, and he plucked the ring from the box and slowly slid it on your extended finger, both of your hands shaking with barely contained excitement. It fit perfectly, and you gave yourself all of two seconds to admire the look and the feeling of it on your hand before you had flipped yourself to the side to straddle him. Your hands cradled his cheeks as you dipped your head lower to kiss him over and over, his soft laughter warming your heart and filling you with a sense of contentment you hadn’t known existed until now.

“I love you, Sebastian. I’ll travel to the ends of the Earth with you, never doubt that. My future is your future– my heart has always belonged to you– of course I’ll stay with you. Whatever is to come, facing it with you is all I want.”

You didn’t think you’d ever seen him look so elated in all your time knowing him. His face lit up vibrantly at your declaration, and in a flash he had wrapped his arms around you to flip you back over so he was situated on top of you, gazing down at you with his hands running down your bare sides.

He assaulted the entirety of your face with fervent kisses, laughing softly under his breath as you returned his affections with equal force. “I love you so much, darling. You’re my everything, I wouldn’t change a damned thing about the past knowing that it landed me here with you. I love you, I love you, I love you.”

The remainder of the night was spent with the two of you beneath the silk sheets, the promise of tomorrow suddenly all the more exciting to imagine now that you knew Sebastian would be with you for the rest of your life. Posy ring or not, you’d already known that only death could take you from him– and even then you were certain you would find a way to keep loving him long after you were gone.

Neither one of you would have it any other way.

Tags

hogwarts legacy sebastian sallow fic recs hogwarts legacy fanfic sebastian sallow x reader sebastian sallow x you sebastian sallow smut sebastian sallow oneshot sebastian sallow x female! reader

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star-reaper

3 months ago

THIS WAS SO GOOD I DEVOURED IT

Sex | Sebastian Sallow x Reader

This fucking song and this fucking idea have been floating around in my head for months and I think I just gotta get it out before I go NUTS!!! I hope y'all enjoy.

This is... not very plot driven tbh, just pretty much longing and smut.

Words: ~9,200

Tags: Shameless Smut, Modern AU, Plus/Mid-Size Reader, Reader Insert, Female MC, No Y/N, Post-Hogwarts, Chonky Seb Supremacy, Angst, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Longing and Pining

The walk to the car is excruciating.

And it’s not because of the crowd, not because of the neon-lit chaos of the parking lot, or because people are weaving between cars, shouting to their friends, the leftover adrenaline from the concert still pulsing through everyone’s veins.

It’s excruciating because of you.

Because you’re tipsy and giggling, clinging to Sebastian’s wrist as you stumble over the uneven pavement in those ridiculous platform heels that you insisted on wearing even though you knew you’d be walking half a mile back to the car.

Because your top is tight—way too tight—clinging in ways that make his pulse skip, the fabric stretching over curves that he’s spent ten fucking years trying not to stare at.

Because your jeans are hugging your thighs like they were painted onto you, and he’s trying so goddamn hard not to think about how good they look, how good you look, how much better you’d look without them.

And then there's your makeup—the dark, sultry eyeshadow, the perfectly lined eyes, the lipstick that started out precise but is now just slightly smudged from sweat, from drinking, from running your tongue over your lips all night.

It’s killing him.

You laugh suddenly, squeezing his arm as you stumble again.

“God, my feet hurt,” you whine dramatically, pressing your forehead against his bicep like the weight of your suffering is too much to bear. “Why the fuck did I wear these?”

Sebastian snorts, steadying you easily. “I asked the same thing when I picked you up, love.”

You lift your head, squinting up at him, cheeks flushed from the alcohol, the heat, the pure, unfiltered joy of the night.

“They make me taller,” you say, lifting one foot and wiggling it mid-air for emphasis before dropping it back down with a clunk.

Sebastian shakes his head, amused but also distracted, too fucking aware of you tonight.

“You’re still short,” he mutters.

Your mouth drops open in mock offence and you shove him, but your balance is shit, so you just end up gripping his arm harder, your nails pressing into his skin.

Sebastian swallows. He feels everything—your warmth, your weight against him, the way your fingers curl slightly against his forearm, the way your perfume is mixing with the sweat on your skin, and fuck—

He clenches his jaw. Keeps walking.

You don’t let go.

“That was such a good show,” you murmur, your breath warm against his shoulder.

Sebastian swallows. Nods. “Yeah.”

Then you tilt your head up at him, narrowing your eyes.

“You’re being so quiet,” you tease, squeezing his arm. “Did you not have fun? You didn’t even get a single drink.”

Sebastian exhales sharply through his nose, smirking just enough to cover the fact that his pulse is pounding.

“Yeah, well. One of us had to drive.”

You laugh, nudging your hip against his.

“Responsible and sexy,” you tease. “God, you really are the whole package, aren't you?”

His throat goes dry.

You always do this when you're tipsy. You get flirty, bolder than usual, pushing boundaries you'll never fully cross. You say things, teasing, reckless things, that curl around his ribs and settle deep into the spaces between them. Things that would mean everything if he thought, even for a second, that you meant them.

But you don't. You never do. By morning, it'll be like it never happened.

You'll wake up, groggy and hungover, your memories softened at the edges, and everything you said, every look and every touch, will be reduce to a joke, and Sebastian will have to pretend it didn't mean anything to him either, just like he always does.

He knows this.

But tonight? Tonight, it’s harder to keep his head on straight.

Because you look like this. Because your boyfriend isn’t here. Because your fingers are wrapped around his arm, and your perfume is still lingering in his lungs, and you keep staring up at him like you’re waiting for him to say something. Like you’re daring him to say something.

Sebastian forces out a low chuckle, looking away.

“Let’s get you in the car, trouble.”

He unlocks it with a quick flick of his keys, grateful for the distraction, for something to do with his hands other than wrap them around your waist and haul you up against him.

He slides into the driver’s seat and barely gets the door shut before you’re groaning dramatically and stretching out.

“Oh my god,” you sigh, reaching down with clumsy fingers to unbuckle your heels. “I swear to Merlin, I think my feet are broken.”

Sebastian smirks, watching as you yank them off one by one, dropping them onto the floor with two loud, echoing clunks.

“Told you,” he mutters, reaching for his seatbelt.

“I don’t need your attitude right now,” you huff, kicking your feet up onto the dashboard before twisting to face him.

Then, before he can even register what’s happening, you shift—leaning over the center console, stretching yourself across his lap like you belong there.

His entire body locks up.

Fuck.

Your hair spills over his legs, soft waves spread over denim, the warmth of you pressed against him. You twist a little, adjusting yourself, completely oblivious to how every tiny shift of your body is undoing him.

Sebastian exhales sharply through his nose, staring straight ahead, gripping the wheel like it’s the only thing tethering him to sanity.

“You comfortable?” he mutters.

You hum, smiling lazily, your cheek resting on his thigh.

“Mhm.”

His pulse jumps at the sound, but you’re not even thinking about it, are you? You’re not thinking about what it means, or about how he can feel the heat of your body through his jeans, how desperately he’s trying not to not get hard right now, how much he wants—

He exhales sharply, tilts his head back against the headrest, and fights the urge to slam his fist against the dashboard.

This is going to kill me.

Sebastian puts the car in drive.

Your place is only twenty minutes out of town. All Sebastian has to do is survive you laying across his lap and not get pulled over for the blatant seat belt violation happening right now. Simple.

Except it’s not.

Because every time he shifts gears, he feels you. And every time he exhales, he catches the scent of your shampoo, and because your breath is warm through his jeans, your fingers idly tracing along his thigh like this is just something you do, something normal, something casual, something it absolutely isn’t.

Then you start talking, and part one of his mission—survive you being in his lap—becomes infinitely harder.

“You ever think about your exes?”

Your voice is light, teasing, and the question comes out of nowhere.

Sebastian’s grip tightens on the wheel. “Like who?” he mutters.

You hum, fingertips still lazily dragging patterns over his thigh.

“Emilia?” you guess. “Or what about… what was her name? Harper?”

Sebastian scoffs, his pulse pounding. “Not even a little."

You grin like you don’t believe him. “Not even for the—"

“Don’t.”

You huff a dramatic sigh. “Sebastian, it’s okay if you still think about them.”

“I don’t.”

That’s the truth.

Because he doesn’t think about Emilia. Or Harper. Or any of them. Not when every girl he’s ever been with has only been a placeholder for the one person he can’t fucking have.

You hum. "I miss some of mine."

Sebastian exhales sharply, jaw flexing.

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

He should not be listening to this, but you keep talking, your voice low, thoughtful, the alcohol making you too loose, too honest.

“I mean, not them, really,” you continue. “Just, like… the sex.”

Sebastian almost veers off the fucking road.

He physically has to adjust his grip on the wheel, blinking hard against the heat that flares in his gut, against the way his brain immediately starts supplying images he shouldn’t be thinking about.

You miss the sex. Not the relationship. Not the romance.

The sex.

“You literally have a boyfriend,” he grinds out, his voice tight.

He hears you exhale, feels you shift slightly in his lap. “So what?”

Sebastian finally glances down at you, just for a second, just to make sure he actually heard you right. Because you can’t be serious.

But you are.

You’re staring at him, lips parted, the distant glow of headlights and streetlamps casting golden light over your face.

Sebastian lets out a short, humorless laugh. “'So what'?” he repeats, shaking his head. “Jesus, you really are drunk.”

You make a small, amused noise, your fingers tapping idly against your thigh.

“I’m not that drunk,” you murmur.

Sebastian exhales sharply through his nose. “Yeah?” he mutters. “Could’ve fooled me.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes. “I just meant that some of my exes have been better in bed than him, that's all."

Sebastian hums noncommittally, keeping his eyes on the road, but his grip on the wheel is tight. Because what the fuck is he supposed to do with that information?

On one hand—good. He’d never liked your boyfriend anyway. The guy was mediocre at best, the kind of safe, boring choice you made when you were trying to convince yourself you wanted stability instead of passion. On the other—

Sebastian doesn’t exactly want to hear about how great some other guy’s dick was.

But the damage is already done. Because now, he’s thinking about it. Thinking about you with them, thinking about the ones who were better, wondering what made them better.

Was it how they touched you? How they talked to you? Was it the way they knew exactly how to pull you apart, how to ruin you? Was it—

The sensible thing to do is change the subject. Ignore it. Pretend you never said it and focus on not losing his goddamn mind while you’re still draped across him, still warm against his lap, still too close.

But then—because he’s a fucking idiot—the words slip out before he can stop them.

“Who was best?”

You stretch a little, completely oblivious to the way every tiny movement of yours is sending heat pooling in his gut.

“Well,” you muse, eyes glinting with something dangerous, “do you want, like, a ranked list? Or just an all-time favorite?”

Sebastian exhales sharply through his nose. “You know what? Forget I asked.”

“No, no,” you tease, scooting up slightly. “You asked. You wanna know.”

I really fucking don’t.

But he stays silent. Because some stupid, masochistic part of him actually does.

You pretend to think for a moment, eyes flicking to the windshield, lips curving in a way that’s going to fucking kill him.

“Probably Caleb,” you finally say, voice thoughtful, casual, like you’re discussing a meal you once had instead of someone who used to fuck you.

Sebastian hates how his stomach twists.

“Caleb,” he repeats, expression unreadable.

“Yeah.”

Sebastian shifts his grip on the wheel, fighting the urge to roll his shoulders, shake off the tension creeping up his spine.

He remembers Caleb.

Tall. Broad-shouldered. Stupid fit. A Muggle who played rugby at Uni. Arsehole.

He also remembers how pissed he was when you first started seeing him, how much he fucking hated the way Caleb used to pull you into his lap at parties like he owned you.

Sebastian clears his throat. “Huh.”

You grin, shifting again, your hand brushing against Sebastian's arm now. “He was good."

"Why?"

The question slips out before he can stop it and you smirk, and Sebastian knows—he knows—he’s about to regret asking.

“He was just…” you hum, tilting your head like you’re choosing your words carefully. “He was… I don’t know. Rough, I guess? He liked taking control. Giving orders. That kind of thing.”

Sebastian grips the wheel so hard it might snap in half.

Because now he’s picturing it. Picturing you, pressed down against a bed, hips pinned, whimpering, gasping, hands gripping sheets, your voice breathy as you—

Stop.

Sebastian's jaw locks, his pulse hammering at his throat. “I didn’t need that image, thanks."

You laugh softly. "Why not? I thought maybe you wanted to take notes."

He laughs, low and dry, shaking his head. “In your dreams.”

Your smirk widens. “Mm. Definitely in my dreams."

Sebastian nearly groans.

Because fuck you for saying that. For laughing softly, for dragging your fingers against his stomach as you shift again, like you can’t stop pressing yourself against him. For smirking when you say it, for the way your voice dips, lower, softer, like you’re confessing something, like you’re actually being honest.

Sebastian holds in a sigh. He is not playing this game.

Because you’re drunk, and you’re not thinking about what you’re saying, and in the morning, you won’t remember how you said it, how your voice curled around the words like you meant them, and because your fucking boyfriend is waiting for you to get home.

So he laughs, low, dry, dismissive.

“Sure,” he mutters. “That’s a nice little fantasy you got there.”

“You’re such a dick,” you say, still amused.

Sebastian hums, flicking the turn signal as he veers onto the quiet stretch of road leading out of town.

Eight more minutes.

Just eight more minutes and he can drop you off. He can shake off the feeling of your fingers grazing his stomach through his t-shirt and of your weight pressing against his lap like it’s the most normal fucking thing in the world.

Eight more minutes and this night will be over.

Then you speak again.

"...Have you ever thought about it?"

“Thought about what?”

You grin, and it’s slow, lazy, dangerous.

“Us,” you say simply.

Sebastian stiffens.

Has he thought about it?

Fuck, he’s spent years trying not to think about it.

Not to think about you pressed beneath him, his hands gripping your waist, his mouth dragging over your skin, your voice breathy in his ear. Not to think about the way you’d sound, the way you’d fall apart, the way you’d look wrecked and flushed and fucking perfect. Not to think about how you’d feel under his hands, under his mouth, how you’d—

Sebastian shoves the thought away violently.

Exhales.

He's not about to tell you that.

“No.”

You laugh softly. Sebastian’s jaw tenses. And then you sit up, just a little, your breath warm against his neck.

“I have,” you say.

Sebastian stops breathing, his pulse slamming against his ribs as he flicks his gaze toward you—just for a second, just long enough to see the way you’re looking at him.

You’re not laughing now. There’s no teasing smirk, no smugness either.

Sebastian swallows hard, forcing his eyes back to the road, trying to think, trying to process, trying to decide if this is real or just another one of your drunken, fleeting moments that won’t mean a damn thing in the morning.

Then your hands move, fingers dragging down his chest, slow, deliberate, your touch featherlight but undeniable.

Sebastian grits his teeth, forcing himself to focus, forcing himself to keep the car steady, forcing himself to—

Your fingertips graze the waistband of his jeans, hooking slightly under the hem, and that’s it.

Sebastian's hand shoots out, gripping your wrist, stopping you.

The car is silent. Just the hum of the engine. Just the sound of both of you breathing hard.

He exhales, slow, controlled. But when he speaks, his voice is wrecked.

“Don’t.”

A pause.

"Why not?"

"Because you don't mean it," he mutters, voice rough, like he’s forcing the words out through sheer willpower.

"...What if I do mean it?"

Sebastian slams on the brakes. The car jerks to a stop, tires skidding slightly on the empty country road, the sudden silence deafening.

He stares at you, his pulse hammering, his breath coming too short, too fast.

"Are you fucking with me?"

"Do I look like I’m fucking with you?"

Sebastian exhales hard through his nose.

Yes. No. Maybe. Fuck if he knows.

Because this is what you do.

You flirt. You tease. You get close, just close enough to ruin him, and then you pull away like it never meant anything at all. And right now, you’re still in his lap with your fingers still hooked in his jeans and your breath hot against his neck, and this... this is dangerous. If you’re joking, if this is just another round of you pushing boundaries you never actually mean to cross, it will break him.

Sebastian tightens his grip on your wrist just for a second—just long enough to make sure you’re listening, really fucking listening.

“This isn’t a joke,” he says, voice rough, uneven. “This isn’t a game, it's not—”

"Sebastian."

Suddenly, you don’t seem drunk at all.

The teasing lilt in your voice disappears, evaporating into the thick silence between you. There’s no lazy amusement, no coy smirk tugging at the corner of your lips, no playful glint in your eyes like there always is when you push him just to see how far he’ll let you go. It’s all gone.

Instead, you are sharp, your gaze cutting through the dim light of the car, slicing right into him.

Sebastian feels the shift like a physical thing, like the weight of something heavy pressing down on his chest. His grip tightens on the wheel out of instinct, like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded, but it does nothing to steady him.

Because suddenly, you are steady.

You pull back just slightly, just enough to give him an out, to give him space, but you don’t really go anywhere. You are still there, your body still warm on his, your breathing still uneven, just like his. You simply leave just enough distance between you for him to feel it, the unbearable stretch of space that’s always existed, the one he has spent years pretending doesn’t hurt.

For a moment, you just look at him.

Sebastian sees the hesitation in your expression, the flicker of uncertainty in the way your mouth parts slightly, like you’re on the verge of speaking but don’t quite know how. You look like you’re standing at the edge of something dangerous, like you’re deciding whether to step back or let yourself fall.

Then, you inhale. Slow, measured, determined. And you let it all out.

"I’ve always imagined it was you," you say, voice quiet but unwavering, like you've already made peace with the confession before it even leaves your lips. "Every single time I’ve had sex since I lost my virginity, I’ve imagined it was you."

Sebastian’s stomach plummets, and for a split second, he genuinely wonders if he’s actually dead. If he crashed the fucking car and this is what the afterlife feels like—sitting in the driver’s seat with his best friend sprawled across his lap, admitting the thing he has spent years torturing himself over.

You keep going.

"If hell is real, I’m fucking damned," you huff a laugh, your voice coming out rough, frayed at the edges, "because I’ve touched myself to you more than any reasonable amount."

Sebastian makes a wrecked sound in the back of his throat, one that he barely recognizes as his own. His hands clench into fists at his sides, fingers twitching like they don’t know what to do with themselves. Because what the fuck is he supposed to do with this With you?

You're rewriting everything, burning down every carefully constructed wall he has built to keep himself from wanting you too much.

And then you land the final fucking blow.

"You want the truth? I’ve been in love with you since we were fifteen," you whisper. "And I want nothing more than for you to take me home at least one fucking time."

Sebastian’s body locks up. His vision tilts. Everything inside him goes too tight, too hot, too overwhelming. His fingers are trembling. His pulse is out of control. His mouth is dry.

No, this isn't a game, or some some drunken, fleeting moment. This isn’t a joke.

This is real.

And he doesn’t know how to breathe.

You let out a short, humorless laugh, shaking your head. "And I get it if you don’t feel the same," you say, voice softer now, almost like you don’t want to say it, almost like the idea is too painful, "if that’s why you’re acting like this, then I get it."

You laugh again, except this time it’s self-deprecating and bitter. "I mean, for fuck’s sake," you mutter. "I’ve got a boyfriend anyway. This is so fucked up, I know. I just, I don’t know what happened. But something inside me snapped and I can’t hold back any longer."

Sebastian’s jaw tightens. Because yeah, this is so fucking fucked up. And yeah, you do have a boyfriend and he is literally waiting at home for you right now. But Sebastian doesn’t have it in him to care.

Because you love him.

For ten years, he’s wanted this. Ten fucking years of pretending, of ignoring, of pushing it down so deep it nearly killed him. Every drunken flirtation, every lingering touch, every fucking time you smiled at him with that look in your eyes that made him wonder if you wanted it too, and now he knows you did. Knows you do.

And you—

Fuck, you think he doesn’t feel the same?!

"Just forget I said anything," you mumble. "Seriously. I don’t know what I was thinking, I—"

Before you can talk yourself further into this spiral, Sebastian's hand shoots out, gripping your wrist.

You freeze.

He exhales sharply through his nose, his grip tight, his pulse racing, erratic, wild. Then, his voice low, rough, wrecked beyond repair—

"I've been in love with you since we were fifteen, too."

Your lips part, barely breathing, completely still, like you’re trying to process the weight of those words, like you’ve lived in a reality where that wasn’t true for so long that you don’t know how to exist in one where it is.

And then your face crumbles.

"Sebastian," you whisper, voice breaking, shattered.

And that’s it. That’s fucking it.

Sebastian crushes his mouth against yours.

It’s not slow. It’s not careful. It’s ten years of frustration, ten years of jealousy, of biting his tongue, of pretending he didn’t want you, and ten years of believing he could never have you—all of it, all at once, breaking loose, crashing down.

And you kiss him back.

Hard.

Desperate.

Your hands grip his shoulders, his jaw, fisting into his hair as you pull him closer, closer, like you need this just as badly as he does, like you’re starving for him.

Sebastian groans into your mouth, swallowing the sound of you gasping against his lips, swallowing everything he’s ever wanted from you.

His mouth moves to your jaw, trailing down your neck, sucking a dark, bruising mark against your pulse point just to hear you whimper.

"Tell me again," he growls against your skin, voice rough, demanding.

Your nails dig into his arms, your breath uneven, panting.

"Tell me again how you've thought about me," he mutters, dragging his lips up to your ear. "How you imagined it was me," he rasps, fingers slipping under the hem of your top, gripping your bare waist.

You let out a soft, broken whimper, your fingers curling into his hair and pulling. He grips your jaw, tilting your head so you have no choice but to look at him.

Your lips part, eyes glassy, dark, and fucking desperate. "I imagined you every time."

Sebastian throws the car into reverse.

Because he’s not taking you back to your pathetic excuse of a boyfriend. Not when you’ve spent the entire night driving him insane, not when you're touching him, teasing him, whispering in his ear about the exes you never actually wanted because they weren't him.

Not when you just told him you’ve loved him for a decade.

No, he’s taking you home, and the second he gets you there, he’s going to ruin you.

You blink at him, dazed, lips kiss-bitten and swollen, still straddling his lap.

“Where are we going?” you ask breathlessly.

Sebastian’s grip tightens on your waist as he turns the wheel.

“My place."

Your eyes darken, and then your hands are everywhere—fisting into his hair, sliding down his chest, curling under the hem of his t-shirt like you need to feel his skin and touch as much of him as possible.

You trail hot, open-mouthed kisses down his jaw, your breath warm, wrecked, and he groans, tipping his head back slightly as your teeth graze his throat.

“Fuck,” he mutters, barely able to focus on the road as your hands wander lower.

You shift in his lap, your thighs spreading over him, and Sebastian hisses, cursing under his breath as you press down against him, rolling your hips just slightly.

And then your hands move lower.

Your fingers trace the waistband of his jeans, toying with the button, flicking it open. His hips jerk up instinctively and your laugh is breathy, lips grazing against his jaw.

“You drive too well for someone getting felt up,” you murmur against his skin, your voice all smug amusement and heat and fucking destruction as you drag a hand over the bulge in his jeans.

Sebastian groans, a deep, wrecked sound in his throat, his hips jerking into your palm despite himself.

“Fuck, don’t—”

“Don’t what?”

Sebastian slams his fist against the steering wheel, jaw clenched, desperate to focus, desperate to not lose his mind completely.

"If you keep doing that," he growls, low, warning, "I'm gonna pull over and fuck you in this car."

Your breath catches. Sebastian watches as your pupils blow wide, lips parting slightly, grip on him tightening.

His cock twitches in his jeans.

Jesus fucking Christ.

The drive to his place is the longest fifteen minutes of his fucking life. By the time he pulls into his driveway, he’s barely holding himself together.

His jeans are too tight, his body is on fire, his pulse is a reckless, unforgiving thing pounding against his skin, and you—you are still in his lap, still pressed against him, still dragging your lips over his jaw, still palming over him, still teasing, still ruining him.

Sebastian barely gets the car into park before he’s gripping your hips, hauling you against him, mouthing at your throat like he’s starved for it.

You gasp, fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, rocking your hips over his lap like you’re hellbent on making him suffer.

And he lets you. For ten long fucking seconds, he lets you.

Lets you grind down on him, lets you drag your nails over his scalp, lets you press hot, open-mouthed kisses against his jaw, lets you whisper his name against his lips, against his skin, against his fucking soul.

Then—

“Inside,” he mutters, voice rough, strained beyond repair.

You blink at him, dazed, breath uneven and wanting. And fuck, he’s never wanted anything more than this. More than you.

The second he pulls you out of the car, you laugh, breathless, fingers gripping his shirt, swaying slightly in his grasp.

Sebastian catches you easily, one arm sliding low over your waist, his palm pressing into the soft curve of your hip, and fuck, he loves the way you feel against him, like you were meant to be there.

You tilt your head back, looking at him through half-lidded, dark-lashed eyes, “You gonna fuck me out here?” you murmur, smirking as you lean up, breath warm against his throat.

Sebastian groans, his hands tightening on you. “Don’t tempt me.”

You giggle, bright and shameless, dragging your nails down his chest, lower, lower, until he’s grabbing your wrist and tugging you along.

The second the front door closes, Sebastian is on you.

His hands in your hair, his mouth crashing against yours, his hips pressing you against the door as he kisses you so hard it knocks the breath from your lungs.

And you moan into it, fisting your hands in his shirt, dragging him closer, biting at his lower lip.

Sebastian growls, pressing into you, his knee slipping between your thighs, forcing them apart.

You let out a whimper, grinding down against him, your fingers tugging at the hem of his t-shirt, pushing it up, trying to get it off.

Sebastian laughs, breathless, rough, dragging his lips down your jaw, sucking another mark onto your throat just to hear you gasp.

“You’re impatient, aren’t you?”

You huff, rolling your hips against his thigh, lips curled into something dark, something smug, something absolutely fucking ruinous.

“You’ve made me wait a decade, Sebastian.”

Sebastian’s grip tightens. and then he’s lifting you, hands firm under your thighs, carrying you through the house like he’s done this a hundred times before, like deep down he’s always known exactly where this was going to end.

You laugh again, thrilled, breathless, arms wrapped tight around his neck as he kicks open his bedroom door and drops you onto the bed.

Sebastian stands at the edge of it, looking down at you—panting, flushed, wild-eyed, ruined before he’s even touched you properly.

You smirk.

“You just gonna stand there, Sallow?”

Sebastian smiles, dark and dangerous. Then he’s crawling over you, one knee pressing between your thighs, his hands bracketing your face, his lips ghosting over yours, teasing, testing, torturing.

His voice is low, a promise, a warning.

“Not a fucking chance.”

He takes your mouth again, swallowing your breathy little gasps as he kisses you deep, slow at first, dragging his tongue against yours, learning the taste of you, the heat of you, memorizing this moment in case the world ends tomorrow and this is all he ever gets.

And you fucking moan.

Loud and wrecked and needy, and it does something to him, something devastating, something that makes him tilt his hips down, pressing into you properly, rolling against you in a way that makes you gasp against his lips.

“Fuck, Sebastian—”

His fingers work automatically, popping the button of your jeans, sliding the zipper down, tugging the fabric past your hips—revealing more, more, more.

Sebastian has seen you a thousand times—in every possible way, in every possible light.

Drunk off your ass at parties, laughing with your head thrown back, cheeks flushed, eyeliner smudged from the heat of the room. Half-asleep, curled up in the passenger seat of his car, your fingers twitching as you dream. Post-workout, sweaty and flushed, hair stuck to your forehead, chest rising and falling as you try to catch your breath. Dressed to the nines for some god-awful date with some guy who wasn’t him, your perfume lingering in his car long after he dropped you off.

And yet, he’s never seen you like this.

Laid out in his bed, your lips swollen, your chest rising and falling in quick, uneven breaths, your jeans halfway down your legs beneath his hands, the anticipation humming between you so thick it feels like drowning.

You’re reaching for your top, fingers curling around the hem, ready to peel it off—not that it ever hid much anyway.

Sebastian should help you. He should be the one ripping that top off, the one dragging it up and over your head with shaking fingers and an aching hunger that’s been simmering under his skin for years.

But he doesn’t. He just watches as you pull it up slowly, revealing more, more, more.

His mouth goes dry.

Sebastian can’t stop looking.

You are a masterpiece.

Soft and plush, all curves and warmth, the kind of body meant to be touched, gripped, worshiped. The gentle rise and fall of your breath makes your stomach shift beneath the dim bedroom light, and fuck, he wants to put his hands there, feel the way your skin gives under his palms, kiss every inch of it. Your thighs—thick, full, fucking perfect—press against his thigh, and he thinks about spreading them, about feeling them squeeze around his waist, about sinking his teeth into them just to hear the way you’d gasp. Your hips, generous, tempting, made for his hands, make his fingers dig into the sheets, because all he can think about is gripping them, holding you down, guiding you. Your breasts, full and heavy, barely contained by the sheer lace of your bra, stretch against the fabric, making his vision tilt, his pulse hammer, his restraint fucking snap.

And then there’s everything else—the parts of you that make his chest ache, make his stomach tighten, make him wonder how the fuck he’s supposed to survive this. The stretch marks that paint your skin in soft, pale ribbons, evidence of time, of change, of life of a body that has existed beside him for years, growing, shifting, becoming something that was always beautiful but now feels like it was made for him. The softness that wasn’t there when you were younger, but grew with you, grew beside him, shaped by late-night drive-thrus, three too many beers, appetizers you never hesitated to share with him, the comfort of knowing you never had to shrink yourself. The dimples, the dips, the folds where your skin creases when you move, the evidence of a life fully lived, of a body that has only ever been yours—until now. Until him.

And you—you’re wearing a matching set. Black lace. Thin straps. Delicate details that don’t really hide a damn thing.

"Look at you," Sebastian says breathlessly, fingers tracing along the edge of your underwear, teasing. "Dressed up all pretty. You knew, didn’t you?"

You hum, lazily smug, shifting your hips just slightly, just enough to make his brain fucking short-circuit.

"Maybe," you murmur, biting your lip. "Maybe I wanted to be prepared."

Sebastian’s breath stutters, something deep, something dangerous curling in his gut, something possessive and wrecking and unbearable, because fuck—

Prepared? Did you know you were confessing him tonight? Did you get dressed for this moment? Or is he just filling your boyfriend's shoes?

His stomach twists, the thought curdling in his chest, bitter and raw, but then—

Does it matter? Because you're his now.

Sebastian leans in, pressing his mouth to the soft swell of your stomach, dragging his lips along your skin, his fingers curling into your thighs, his breath hot, his hands desperate.

“God, you have no fucking idea how much I love your body, do you?"

You make a wrecked little sound, your hands tangling in his hair, pulling.

Sebastian grins against your skin, dark and dangerous, pressing his lips lower, biting, sucking, making sure he leaves marks, making sure you feel exactly how much he’s wanted this.

You shift beneath him, breathless, giggling as your fingers find the hem of his shirt.

"Only fair," you murmur, tugging at the fabric, your voice teasing, expectant.

Sebastian huffs out a breathless laugh, shaking his head, but he lets you drag it up, lets you peel it off him, lets you look.

Because of course you should get to look.

He just wasn’t expecting to care so fucking much.

Call him arrogant, but he’s always known he’s good-looking. It’s never been a secret.

The wrong women (everyone but you) have always flocked to him like moths to a flame, drawn to the sharpness of his jaw, the cut of his smirk, the way he carries himself with an easy confidence that makes it seem like he never second-guesses a damn thing.

But this? This is different.

Sebastian never had trouble maintaining a trim figure back at Hogwarts, never gave it much thought beyond Quidditch and dueling and running from the consequences of his own goddamn actions. But adulthood claimed him differently, and that Sallow metabolism slowed to a crawl.

Sebastian is not lean.

And normally? That doesn’t bother him. Normally? He doesn’t care.

But right now, under your hands, under your gaze, in his bed—he does.

Because you’ve always been the most stunning fucking person he’s ever known. Because you could have anyone, and you always did.

Rugby players. Duellists. Healers who spend their breaks lifting weights instead of eating lunch. The kind of men who look like they were chiseled out of stone, sculpted into something untouchable, untouchable except for you—because you’ve had them.

Those were your exes.

And now here Sebastian is, broader, heavier in places they weren’t, softer in places they weren’t. Because he’s never been the type to count macros or meal prep or wake up at the ass crack of dawn to run five miles before work.

He’s still strong, sure—Auror training keeps him fit. But he’s also a man who doesn’t think twice about splitting a second plate of chips with you at dinner, who always finishes your leftovers because “wasting food is a crime”, who drinks pints after work without a second thought, who fills out his shirts more than he used to, who carries weight in his chest, his stomach, his thighs.

And now, here he is—bare in front of you. And you’re staring.

Sebastian wants to say something. Wants to make a joke, wants to shift your focus, wants to ignore the way something unsteady coils in his gut when your gaze drags over him—

Then you breathe out, soft, awed, wrecked.

"Fuck."

Sebastian freezes.

Your hands reach out, palms flattening against his chest, sliding over his skin, tracing down his stomach, your fingers pressing into the flesh there—

"You’re so fucking hot, Sebastian," you murmur, breathless, desperate, like you’re telling him the most obvious thing in the world.

He swallows, something rough and wrecked and disbelieving curling in his chest. "Yeah?"

You hum, dragging your hands back up his chest, your fingers tracing the freckles there, the muscle, the places where he’s softer than he used to be, pressing your lips just below his collarbone.

"Always have been," you hum. "But it's been really fucking unbearable the last few years."

Sebastian laughs, breathless, disbelieving, staring down at you like you just told him the sky is green, like you just shattered some fundamental truth about the universe.

Because fuck off—you’re serious? The last few years?

Oh. Oh. you have a thing for him like this—not when he was lean, not when he was a wiry, arrogant little shit back at Hogwarts, but now. Now, when he’s bigger, broader, heavier.

Something dark, something deeply satisfied, something possessive coils in his chest.

“Oh,” he smirks, his voice low, rough with amusement, with understanding, with something sharp and teasing. “So this is what you’re into?”

You blink up at him, your hands still roaming his chest, and fuck, you look ruined.

Sebastian lets out another low, rough chuckle, dragging his fingers down your body, spreading his weight over you, pinning you to the bed. He grabs your wrists, pressing them above your head, trapping them against the pillows.

“You mean to tell me,” he murmurs, lips hovering just above yours, teasing, testing, “that while you were off fucking all those blokes—”

You inhale sharply, your lips parting, your body arching subtly under him.

“—those assholes with their six-pack abs, the dueling champions, professional fucking athletes—”

You whimper softly, and fuck, he feels it. Feels the way your body reacts to him—not to them, not to some long-lost ex, not to your boyfriend, but to him, to his voice, to his weight pressing you into the mattress.

His grin turns wicked.

“You were picturing this?” he teases, his grip tightening just enough to make you shiver. "Me? All soft and heavy and fucking desperate for you?"

Your breath stutters, your thighs twitching against his hips.

Sebastian chuckles, dragging his lips back up to your ear, smirking when he feels the shiver that runs through you.

"And here I was, thinking I let myself go," he mutters.

Your breath hitches, but before you can say anything, he’s pressing a hot, open-mouthed kiss to your throat, sucking a mark there, then another, and another, branding you, making sure you remember this, making sure you feel it.

Your wrists twitch in his grip, but he doesn’t let you move.

Sebastian fucking loves it. Loves the way you squirm, the way your lips part, the way your chest rises and falls in uneven little breaths, the way you’re looking up at him like you don’t even know how to handle what’s happening to you right now.

His smirk deepens. “Tell me, love,” he murmurs, dragging his lips down your jaw, his teeth grazing your throat, “if this is what you wanted all along, why the fuck did you waste all that time with them?"

Your lips part, your expression flickering between dazed, ruined, and incredulous. And then you scoff.

"Because you weren’t fucking me, Sallow."

Sebastian freezes for a beat. Then two.

Then he laughs—low, rough, something almost mean curling at the edges of it. "No," he murmurs, dragging his lips down your throat, grazing his teeth against your pulse. "I wasn’t. But I am now."

You shudder beneath him, your body arching against his in some helpless, desperate little movement that goes straight to his cock.

"Impatient, are we?" he murmurs, smirking against your skin.

You huff a breathless laugh, hips shifting beneath him, fingers flexing in his grip. "You’ve made me wait ten years. Figure it out."

"You're not the only one who waited, you know—"

Sebastian barely gets the words out before you tug your hands free, fingers reaching for his jeans, already undone from your teasing in the car. And he should be savoring this—should be dragging this out, making you beg for it, for him, for all of it—but you're already shoving his jeans past his hips, and he loses the ability to think entirely.

Then your hand slips beneath the waistband of his briefs, and Sebastian’s entire body tenses, his breath catching as your fingers curl around the length of him, teasing, testing.

“Christ,” he exhales, shuddering, his forehead dropping to yours.

Your eyes flick up to his, and the way you look at him—blown pupils, parted lips, your expression equal parts fascinated and utterly fucking desperate—it makes his cock twitch in your grasp.

He can’t fucking handle this.

His fingers tighten on your thighs, his jaw clenching, his entire body burning with the effort it’s taking not to lose himself completely.

Sebastian grabs your wrist, halting your movements, his grip firm but gentle.

Your brows lift slightly, breathless.

“Seb?”

His smirk is wicked, possessive, completely wrecked. He leans down, dragging his nose along the curve of your jaw, his lips brushing your ear.

"If we're going to do anything," Sebastian exhales sharply. "We might as well fuck. Otherwise, this'll be over before it even starts."

“Oh,” you breathe, dragging your nails lightly down his stomach.

"We've waited ten years for this," he murmurs, dragging his tongue along your skin, feeling the way you shudder. His voice drops lower, rougher, teasing. "So let's make it worth our while."

Your breath catches, your nails pressing into his skin as you tip your head back against the pillow, blinking up at him like you’re still trying to process this moment—this night, this reality where you’re here beneath him, breathless and wanting, where he’s finally allowed to touch you like this.

And then you grin, a little dazed, a little breathless, completely wrecked already, and say:

“Holy shit, we’re actually about to fuck.”

You both freeze, eyes locking, and then you both start laughing, some combination of nerves and disbelief and a decade of waiting for this exact moment finally crashing down at once.

“God,” Sebastian mutters, shaking his head as he presses his forehead against yours, still grinning, still feeling that wrecked, desperate thing curling low in his stomach. “That’s what you have to say right now?”

You giggle, your fingers smoothing over his shoulders, down his chest. “I mean—come on, this is so surreal.”

Sebastian scoffs, nipping at your jaw, pressing a rough, open-mouthed kiss to your throat, humming when you shiver beneath him.

“Oh, I’ll make it real, love, don’t worry.”

And then he’s moving again, hands everywhere, fingers slipping beneath the lace of your bra, under the waistband of your thong, tugging the fabric down your shoulders.

His breath hitches as your breasts spill free, full and heavy and perfect, your soft curves shifting beneath him, and he can’t stop staring. He feels greedy, like he needs both hands, both lips, every fucking inch of him touching every fucking inch of you.

His fingers brush over the swell of them, thumbing over one hardened nipple, and you let out a soft, breathy little sound that nearly kills him on the spot.

And then your eyes flick down, your breath catching, because he’s still in his briefs, but they’re pointless at this point, and you can see exactly how fucking gone he is for you already.

Your lips part, eyes widening slightly, voice soft, awed, wrecked—

“Oh, fuck.”

Sebastian snaps his gaze up to you, brows lifting.

“What?”

You swallow, blinking at his broad chest, his stomach, his cock aching against the fabric.

“Just trying to wrap my head around the fact that my best friend is secretly built like a fucking god,” you say, laughing breathlessly, teasing, and yet completely, unabashedly honest.

Sebastian laughs, shaking his head like he can’t believe you. “Oh, I’ll remember that,” he says, voice thick with amusement, with something darker curling at the edges. “Next time you decide to insult me, I’ll remind you that you said that.”

You grin, tilting your head back against the pillow, watching him through half-lidded eyes.

“I mean,” you hum, dragging your nails lightly down his chest, “the evidence is pretty overwhelming.”

Sebastian groans, dropping his forehead to your shoulder for a second. "And here I thought you preferred the blokes built like Roman statues." He hums, dragging his lips lower, pressing open, slow kisses over your collarbone, between the swell of your breasts. “Should’ve known better, huh?” he murmurs, teasing, grinning against your skin. "Turns out my best mate likes them thick."

You huff a laugh, but it breaks into a whimper when he finally closes his lips around one pert, sensitive nipple, sucking, dragging his tongue over it, groaning when your back arches beautifully into him.

"Apparently," You mutter breathlessly, "You do too."

“Fuck yeah, I do,” he mutters, smirking, tracing the soft curve of your hip, gripping, kneading. “I've always known that. You've been ruining my life with it for years."

You meet his eyes, and your mouth curves into something downright sinful. “Yeah? So why the hell didn’t you do something about it sooner?”

Sebastian barely gets a breath in before you’re pushing him back, shifting your weight, twisting your body beneath him until he’s the one sinking against the headboard, his back hitting the pillows.

He exhales sharply, blown, wrecked, barely processing how fast you move—or the fact that you just fucking flipped him like that.

"Bossy little thing," he mutters, grinning, but his voice is hoarse, completely fucking ruined.

You straddle his thighs, pressing your hands into his chest, pinning him down like you’re making sure he doesn’t move.

And fuck. Sebastian just lets you. Lets you crawl over him, lets you drag your lips down his chest, his stomach, kissing and teasing and taking your fucking time.

He groans, his head tipping back, his hands twitching at his sides because he wants to touch you, wants to grip your hips, drag you back over him, but he doesn’t want to stop you, doesn’t want to break whatever the fuck this is.

His breath stutters when you press a slow, deliberate kiss over the curve of his hip, your fingers hooking into the waistband of his briefs, tugging, teasing.

Sebastian curses under his breath, his jaw clenched tight, his entire body drawn so tight with tension he thinks he might actually fucking die.

"Jesus," he mutters, his hands flexing at his sides.

You hum against his skin, dragging your nails over his stomach, over his thighs, soaking in the way his muscles twitch beneath you.

And then you drag his briefs down, past his hips, past his thighs, down enough to free him.

Sebastian groans, eyes slamming shut, jaw clenching as the cool air hits him, as he feels the weight of himself resting heavy against his stomach, already aching, already dripping for you.

And you just fucking stare, mouth parting slightly, eyes dragging down the length of him, slow, heavy-lidded, like you’re trying to process what you’re looking at.

Sebastian cracks one eye open, breath ragged, and he can’t help but smirk. His voice comes out low, rough, teasing—

“What is it?" He grins, tilting his head, watching the way your gaze flicks over him, the way you press your thighs together.

You exhale sharply, blinking like you need a second to find words.

“Oh, fuck.”

Sebastian laughs, full and deep, completely and utterly smug.

"Shit," you mutter, shaking your head slightly, still staring, like you're recalibrating your entire fucking world.

Sebastian grins, dragging a lazy hand down his stomach, wrapping his fingers loosely around himself, stroking once, slow, teasing.

"See something you like, sweetheart?" he murmurs, voice thick with wolfish amusement.

You snap your gaze up to his, glaring. "Fuck off." But your voice is breathless, wanting, wrecked.

Sebastian chuckles, tilting his head back, completely in love with the fact that you are absolutely, completely undone over him.

Then— then you lick your lips, and Sebastian stops fucking breathing.

You lean down, hands gripping his thighs as your tongue flicks over the head of his cock, licking up the sticky precum already there, your lips barely grazing the sensitive tip.

“Fuck,” Sebastian groans, his hands flying to your hair, fingers tightening, but you’re not done yet.

You swirl your tongue over him again, slow, deliberate, your nails dragging over his skin, and then—then you start mouthing off.

Because of course you do.

"You could have had me ten years ago, Sebastian," you murmur, voice low, teasing, sinful, your breath hot against his skin.

Sebastian grits his teeth, jaw clenching. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," you hum, pressing one last, teasing kiss to the sensitive tip before dragging your gaze up to his face, smirking. "How the fuck could you be so blind to the fact I've been in love with you this whole time?"

Sebastian groans, fingers tugging at your hair, his body trembling with restraint.

"You’re talking a lot of shit for someone who’s got my cock in their mouth," he growls.

You laugh, fucking laugh, your tongue flicking over him again. "You really can’t take a little criticism, can you?"

Sebastian snaps.

"Alright," he mutters, voice low, rough, wrecked. "That’s enough."

Before you can get another word out, his hands are on you, gripping your hips, flipping you back beneath him.

You gasp, laughing breathlessly, but it’s cut off when he pins you down, his full weight pressing you into the mattress, his hand wrapping around your throat, just enough pressure to make your breath hitch. Then—just to make sure you never forget who you belong to—

He spreads your legs, dragging his fingers down your stomach, between your thighs, feeling the heat of you, the slick, messy proof of how long you’ve needed this.

"Christ," he mutters, running his fingers through the wetness, spreading it over you, teasing you.

Your hips jerk into his touch, desperate, wanting, already completely undone. Sebastian grins, dark and satisfied, watching you unravel beneath him.

"Messy thing," he murmurs, pressing his forehead against yours as he drags his fingers up to himself, coating his cock in your wetness.

You practically purr beneath him, your thighs trembling against his hips, the heat of you slick and fucking ready for him.

This is it. Finally.

His fingers curl into the sheets beside your head, his cock dragging through the wet mess between your thighs, teasing, aligning, his vision tunneling, his entire existence narrowing down to the feeling of you, of finally having you—

And then your hand comes up. Soft. Trembling. Pressing against his cheek.

His gaze flickers down to yours. Sebastian stalls instantly. His brain short-circuits, muscles locking tight, because he knows that look.

He knows it in his bones.

Knows it in the way your fingers tremble against his cheek, in the way your lips part like you’re about to say something but don’t know how.

Shit. Wait. Are you having second thoughts? Are you saying no?

Sebastian’s stomach drops, panic flaring as he searches your expression, trying to push past the fog of lust, of need, of desperation—

But it’s not hesitation he finds. It’s something soft, something raw and pleading, and he feels it deep in his chest, where everything soft and aching for you lives.

“Sebastian,” you whisper, barely a breath, and fuck, his chest aches.

“What is it?” His voice is rough, hoarse, aching with restraint.

“If... if this is just for tonight,” you whisper, your voice small, fragile, like you’re saying it through the lump in your throat, “If this is just—if we’re just gonna wake up tomorrow and pretend it never happened, then I—” you pause, your voice breaking slightly. "I need you to tell me now."

And that—

That fucking shatters him. How can you not see it? The way he worships you, the way he’s been yours since he was fifteen fucking years old?

He exhales sharply, his grip tightening on your hip. “Are you out of your fucking mind?” he tips your chin up, forcing you to see him, forcing you to understand. “You think I could have you like this and then just go back to how things were?”

Sebastian shakes his head, dragging his thumb over your cheek, over your lips, his brows pulling together.

“I’m not built like that, love.”

Your throat bobs, your breath shaky, uneven, your body still trembling beneath him.

He swallows, something breaking open inside his chest. “I’ve wanted you for nearly half my life,” he murmurs, pressing his lips against your temple, against your jaw, against the curve of your throat. “You really think I’d just let you go after this?”

A breathless, almost helpless noise escapes you, your fingers curling into his hair, gripping, holding on to him like you don’t know what else to do with yourself.

Sebastian groans, pressing more of his weight down into you, anchoring you, grounding you, making sure you fucking feel him.

"You’re mine," he breathes against your lips, possessive, reverent, certain in a way that leaves no room for doubt. "You're fucking mine, and I’m yours, and I don’t care how fucking long it took us to get here—I’m not fucking going anywhere. You understand?"

Your lips part, eyes flickering between his, something desperate and so fucking relieved blooming across your face.

"Thank fuck."

Then you pull him down to you, crashing your mouth against his, kissing him like he just fucking saved you. It's messy, all tongue and teeth and years of wanting, and his hands move without thinking—gripping, claiming, spreading you open for him

You whimper into his mouth when he grinds against you, his cock dragging through the wet mess between your thighs, slick and aching and so fucking ready for him.

You shift beneath him, thighs trembling, reaching down between your bodies, lining him up yourself, guiding him right where you need him.

Sebastian chokes on a breath, his head dropping to your shoulder, his fingers digging into your hips.

"Shit," he groans, voice breaking.

He can feel you, feel the heat of you, the wetness of you, and his brain blanks.

He’s done for.

Because this isn’t just sex.

This is everything.

This is forever.

Tags

fanfiction hogwarts legacy sebastian sallow x mc sebastian sallow fic recs sebastian sallow x reader sebastian sallow x you sebastian sallow smut

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star-reaper

1 year ago

Hi, I'm MJ! She/her, '03 baby, Aquarius—

MDNI

Navigation — Updated 9/27/24

— About this Blog

— Fanfiction

MARVEL

Bucky Barnes x Reader: Through Sea Mist and Shadows (Series) ONGOING

SUPERNATURAL

Dean Winchester x Reader: Anniversary (One-shot)

ARCANE

Silco x Reader: I Trust You (One-shot)

HOGWARTS LEGACY

Sebastian Sallow x Reader: Winter Warmth (Drabble)

Tags

fanfiction bucky barnes x reader stranger things arcane acotar hogwarts legacy harry potter eddie munson x reader fic recs marvel x reader original writing supernatural x reader na'vi navigation character x reader x Reader fanfiction steve harrington x reader sebastian sallow x reader

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star-reaper

2 years ago

Through Sea Mist and Shadows (One) Bucky Barnes x Reader

series masterlist

monday, march 12th, 7:02am;

The blare of the ship's horn and the sickly distinct smell of the fishing docks is what clicks everything back into place. Your head, which had previously been bobbing along to the music in your headphones, raises to attention as you observe your surroundings. There aren't many aboard the small ferry - deemed the Wayfarer, it's name written in faded cerulean paint along its side - and yet the quiet crowd shuffles slowly together towards the gangway to depart, seemingly in a rush. An older couple chatters amongst themselves, something about the Island's declining economy and you immediately tune it out, uninterested.

As you gather your belongings you begin to wonder what your mother will say when you wash up on her doorstep, the same mortifying 'what-if?' scenarios swirling around in your head that you've been thinking about since you first made the decision to move back home. You can't shake the anticipation of a fight, butting heads with your mother as you always had (hence the distance for the many, many years). And honestly, you can't blame her either. Your decision to move across the country with your father after the divorce cut her deep, and over and over again as you continued to keep your distance throughout your young adult-hood.

You sigh aloud, honestly, what were you thinking? Showing up unannounced with the intention to stay indefinitely, despite the fact that you hadn't properly spoken in years.

Change is hard. The divorce was hard. It was a long time coming, and you've never resented either of your parents for their parting, only the alienation, the fighting, the uncivil manner in which they handled their parting. Your mother had always been stubborn, and harsh, and she always knew what to say to hurt someone without the punch. She was a force to be reckoned with and she loved fiercely and protectively. You never hated your mother, you love her truly, but getting away from her when you were a teen was the only thing you naively wanted for yourself back then. So, when your father asked for custody and proposed moving out to the West Coast, you took it as your ticket out.

You've matured since then. You're still angry deep down, for the way things went, for the way both of your parents made you feel. For the decisions that were made for you under the guise that you were the one making the choice at only fourteen years old. You shouldn't have been making the choice between two parents, and they should never had made you feel like you had to pick one or the other.

But it was a double-edged sword, because on the other hand, the time you spent in California gave you your passion. Art. You picked up painting and you never put it down. The local artists in the city were lovely, and smart, and welcoming, and full of inspiration. You spent every weekend in local galleries and did all sorts of workshops and then even got accepted to college and majored in Fine Art Education. In the past three years you had opened your own gallery which you taught community classes out of and sold your own work. It was enough to support you and it was fulfilling. You had found your purpose. And you had found the best of friends. Your heart ached to leave them behind.

As much as you loved the home you had made for yourself, there was still something missing. Home-cooked meals, the smell of the earth and the cold ocean waves on your ankles, perhaps the hands of a lover or the embrace of your mother, your old mare and the prickle of hay in your clothes. With each fleeting moment you can't help but catch yourself thinking more and more of your home by the docks. The crunch of gravel roads under worn tires, and the incessant screeching of the gulls. Of course, you still spoke to your mother over the years, but the conversation lacked emotion, and trust. You talked about nothing and told her about recent projects. Asked how the horses were doing and bantered about trivial matters. Still, the calls were few and far between.

You hadn't told anyone you were coming home. After the incident you quietly ended your lease on your gallery space, found a young college student to take up your quaint apartment, sold your car, sold all your belongings, and bought a one way plane ticket to Maine all in a fortnight.

As you stand from your seat and make your way to the exit of the ferry you wonder if showing up unannounced was a bit too impulsive, after all.

Too late to worry about it now.

You thank the deck hand as you pass by, who tips his hat in response with a kind smile. With your two suitcases and side bag all packed to the brim with the rest of your belongings, you step off the platform and let the breeze take you. The dock is just how you left it, the weathered wooden boards creaking under your weight, rusted nails poking through every few steps. Inside of your ribs there's a bird, fluttering frantically against your heart with nerves. The nostalgia is almost too much to bear, hands sticky with sweat as you grip your cases.

You remember the way instinctively, you could do it blindfolded if you had to even after all the years passed. You pass the small downtown square, a common ground sitting pretty in the center of the old-timey buildings with windows thrown open and crooked signs. Everything looks exactly the same save for a few extra cracks in the cobblestone and a business or two no longer flourishing, the mossy roofing sloping downwards a bit in the center. You take a left at the old red post office and the out-of-order telephone booth (it hadn't been used in the past twenty years anyway) and a right at the second dirt path.

After the clearing, is home. The tall grass sways with the ocean breeze, the white fences surrounding the pastures chipped from the weather. The big eight stall barn sits at the top of the drive in all its glory, the sliding door pushed halfway open to reveal the aged wood and stacks of bales inside.

The house stands still proudly on the hill just behind the barn, a fresh coat of paint on the wrap around porch but the screens in the front window still ripped and threadbare. You make your way up the front steps before dropping all your belongings at a heap by the door.

Before you can raise you hand to knock the screen door is thrown open haphazardly.

The older woman's face is painted in an expression of bewilderment. "What on God's green Earth are you doing here?" She asks in a rush, gathering you up in her arms in a crushing hug. She smells of lemongrass and vanilla, the scent of the hand soap at the kitchen sink and her perfume mingling. It's distinctly home.

You chuckle nervously, "Surprise?" you say, hugging her back.

Your mother smiles happily, pulling back to take a good look at you while rubbing your shoulders lovingly. There's a twinge of worry lingering in her eyes and you take a deep breath to prepare yourself to explain and break the news.

"I'm sorry, I know I should've called first but I just . . . I didn't know how to tell you and I was afraid you would tell me not to come."

She nods, but there are more questions swimming in her irises, "I would never tell you not to come." she says stiffly.

You resist the urge to retort, eye twitching, you have before is what you really want to say. Instead you take a deep breath and practically feel the words come to fruition on the tip of your tongue and suddenly your eyes are welling up with tears instead and theres a tight ball in your throat.

Your mother senses your hesitation and gathers your bags in her hands and urges you inside with her free arm at your back.

You're standing in your old living room now and the walls and crashing in on you like the tides and you can't stop the flow of tears down your cheeks and you have half the sense to be mortified by your slew of emotions. You had planned on keeping it together, but there are old pictures still hanging on the walls and its the same sofa your mother has had your whole childhood and the carpet is still stained in that one corner from your late dog and it smells like home everywhere.

"Talk to me," your mother pleads, "Whats going on?"

"Dad's dead." You sob, "I didn't even know he was sick. He refused treatment and didn't tell anyone and he passed three weeks ago. He'd been sick for months apparently."

The older woman shakes her head sorrowfully, her own eyes growing watery as well, "I'm so sorry you had to go through that alone. I know how close you were with your father." She says, rubbing your back soothingly. "The funeral?"

"It's passed. I'm sorry I didn't tell you."

She only nods her head, understanding albeit still clearly upset. She knows she wouldn't have been welcome anyway. She sighs and swipes the back of her hand across her cheek. "If you want to talk about it I'm happy to listen. But I know you prefer not to."

You nod, "Thanks, Mom."

"Let me get some sheets cleaned for you, I haven't touched your bedroom since you were last here. I'm sorry it's probably a mess, I can help you clean up later." She says, moving towards the stairs leading to the bedrooms. "How long will you be staying?"

"Oh," you bite your lip hard, sniffling, "I, um, I sold everything. I'm not going back to California." you wring your hands tight at your lap, nervous.

But your mother smiles happily, although she turns away in attempt to hide her joy in such a sorrowful moment. You catch it anyway. A twinge of worry still lingers in her eyes, pulling gently on her crow's feet. She nods without hesitation and offers to take one of your bags up.

You sigh shakily as you crash upon the plush corduroy sofa cushions and put your head in your hands. The worst of it was over, and it was easy. Perhaps preparing yourself for the worst scenario was the key.

"Do you need to eat? Anything at all?" Your mother shouts down from the staircase. You can hear her starting the washer, the metal door clanging loudly as it locks shut. You decline, though you know you should eat soon. The nerves haven't quite run off yet and you're not so sure you're ready to put anything in your stomach yet for fear of it coming right back up.

"Bucky is stopping by to drop off eggs and a load of grain for the horses in a bit, he'd be happy to see you."

Your eyebrows furrow in confusion, "Bucky? New farmhand?"

You mother chuckles as she makes her way back downstairs, "Sorry, James. He goes by Bucky now, I didn't realize you hadn't kept in contact with him either."

Your head cocks to the side— James. You hadn't heard that name in a long time, not that you had forgotten— you could never. But you would've thought he'd have been long gone off this island and had never looked back.

"He helps out a lot, painted the porch for me earlier this week when we had a rare, sunny day. The boy's a saint, I couldn't do all this work around here without him and his sister. I don't think he ever really recovered from combat though."

"Combat?" You exclaim, since when did he join the military?

"Honestly," Your mother chides, "You've missed so much around here, you've got to catch up!" she says, but there's a lightness to it and you can't hep but crack a smile. "Go on upstairs, you can bring the rest of your things up. Just push whatever is in there out into the hallway we can put it in the attic when we get to it."

You nod, thanking her again before making your way up the creaky narrow stair well to your old bedroom.

The door to your room swings open with a creak, revealing old boxes and crates of miscellaneous items and old broken furniture that looks like it hasn't been used in decades. Your old books sit in a pile on the nightstand and haphazardly in the old painted bookshelf. There are glow stars still stuck to the ceiling and a few stray ones on the walls, accompanied with an array of old posters and stickers and photos pinned to the surface with clear thumbtacks. The baby blue curtains are faded from the sun as is the thick quilt spread out on the bed from the big bay window.

"I'm sorry it's a mess, things started to accumulate in here since the room wasn't being used. Maybe Bucky won't mind helping us move everything to the attic before he leaves. The sheets will be done before noon." Your mother says gently, shrugging.

You thank her and the older woman turns to leave, a gentle hand resting upon your wrist and a soft smile in her wake. "Come down for breakfast please? I won't make you talk about anything." She says softly over her shoulder. "Its just good to have you back."

You nod, you figure it's the last thing you could do thing for her at this point.

"I think it's good to be back, too." You reply.

You sit in the old wooden chair propped up next to your desk, surveying the room around you. You make a mental note to remove those monstrosities on the walls as soon as possible, maybe throw them up in the attic with the rest of the junk. If you're planning on staying for the foreseeable future, you'd like to not live in a literal time capsule from your childhood. An old mug of cheap paintbrushes and broken pencils sits on the corner of the desk, along with a torn up eraser and an old peppermint candy that has probably been there for at least six years. The bed still adorns an old quilt set with yellow flowers and green vines, stitched with a thick yarn at the seams where you had accidentally torn it on the old wooden bed frame. A glance at the empty vase on the windowsill and you find your mind wandering to a certain James Barnes, or 'Bucky' now you suppose. Boyish hands holding yours and fresh bouquets from his mother's garden. The vase has never been empty for so long, you think sadly.

You remember a time when things were simpler, spent side by side with your best friend no matter the location. The boy was always sweet, doting, thoughtful. You wonder how you could've possibly gone so long without hearing from him, hell, you would be lying if you said you hadn't at least thought about him (like, everyday). Your heart aches for him, even if just for the quiet moments between the two of you when you were both naive, and young, and it was the world against you both. You hope with a sad smile that he hadn't been too lonely.

Perhaps he had a girl now, maybe he too left for college, or maybe the military was his ticket out but you did wonder how that came to be. And why he had returned here after. Suddenly, you feel terribly guilty, selfish even. You left someone truly important to you behind and on such poor terms. You never even called, texted, tried to reach out. God, the stupid things you do when you're only a teen. You can only hope he'd forgive you now that you were both grown— and hopefully less stupid.

You try to picture what he would look like now, and if he would be as handsome as you'd imagined he'd grown up to be. You grin at the idea. Perhaps his dark hair would have grown out or he'd have it cut short in a military fashion. If his steel blue eyes had darkened as he aged or if his face would be littered with freckles from the sun. Had he grown into those gangly long limbs and that boyish frame?

With a sigh, you push yourself up and throw open the window, letting the fresh morning air pour into the bedroom as you begin the task at hand: sorting through all this junk.

It's nearly noon when you finish putting away your belongings, getting rid of the dust, and making the bed with fresh, new sheets and a pretty, pin-striped comforter. You'd even taken a few trips to the attic yourself with the things she didn't need. Your mother had brought breakfast to you when she had seen how caught up you had gotten in the mess. But, the room felt big and spacious compared to what it once was, despite recalling that you used to complain about having no space when you were young.

It felt good to have an almost fresh start yet in a place so familiar.

Lost in thought, the deep growl of a truck climbing up the driveway rustles you from your mind. You rise to the large window and peer out at the sage green vehicle. It has a lovely vintage charm to it, and its frame is well cared for a free of rust, the tires are worn but the rims are sparkling silver, glinting even in the overcast. New lumber sticks out of the bed of it, harnessed together with a thick rope tied in a sailors knot and besides it are three bags of feed and a milk crate of eggs wrapped in a linen cloth. You can hear your mother calling out from the porch below her and its with sudden clarity that the anxiety you had forgotten about comes reeling back to your chest.

James.

And suddenly you feels like a teen again, rushing to check your appearance in the mirror and then pushing your fly-aways back from your face with shaking hands. You don't know why it matters to you even after all the time you've been away, honestly, it's laughable. But you can't stop worrying. What if he has absolutely no desire to see him after what happened the last time you were in town? Or what if he's disappointed by how you look? Or he's married?

You're slightly horrified by the realization, and even more horrified that it matters to you. Get over yourself! You want to scream. Honestly, what if he's ugly now? You have no idea!

You dig your nails into the wood of your dresser before turning on your heels and shaking the thoughts from your head. You're bounding down the steps before you can think any harder about it and when you finally throw open the front door you're nearly knocked back as soon as you lay eyes on him.

The first thing you notice is how tall he's gotten, and broad. He's shutting the driver's side door and walking around his truck, rolling up the sleeves of his henley when he stops in his tracks, eyes locked onto yours in shock.

It feels like a million moments pass and you're sure that you're oogling him disrespectfully and you're sure he knows. His eyes are bluer than they've ever been but not in that shockingly icey, cold way, but in the way that the ocean swirls and mingles with the cliffs, in that deep, dark, beautiful blue of the sea at nightfall, and the dark blue of the sky just before the last of the golden sunset falls away to the night. His hair is long, falling in cascades of ink just above his shoulders, some pieces cut short to frame his chiseled face, the lightest speckling of facial hair growing at his jaw. He raises an arm to fasten the baseball cap on his head before flashing that award winning smile, just the way he always used to.

He looks strong, and grown, and gorgeous. Healthy. And it's everything you could've wished for him.

You actually don't notice the glint of black metal at his left arm, not until you watch him deliberately hike his sleeves back down and cover it just as soon as you saw it. It's casual, but you do notice.

"Hi, James." You greet once he finally reaches within distance, your voice breathy and you almost shy away at how desperate it must've sounded. His hands are tucked into the pockets of his jeans, the fabric wrinkled and faded at the knees from wear.

He gazes at you curiously, those damned blue eyes glinting.

"It's Bucky now," your mother scoffs teasingly, "I already told her, you know she never listens!" she says to Bucky, laughing.

"No, thats okay, I'll allow it." He says, cheekily, "Hey, doll."

Doll. That was new. A wonderful and enticing new that lingered a little bit too long in your mind— seriously, had you been reduced to mush from a simple smile and a set of lovely blue eyes? Yes

"Right! I'm sorry, I forgot. It'll take some getting used to, I guess." You reply apologetically.

Your mother pulls open the screen door, "Let me grab that cash for you, Bucky. I'll be right back." she says, and when she's disappeared within the house he turns to you again.

"It's okay, I don't mind the way it sounds when you say it." He grins again, "'James' I mean."

You smile back shyly, unsure what to say back, but honored honestly.

"Anyway, you've been well?" He asks, stepping up to the edge of the porch and leaning against the railing.

"Yes," You nod, "yeah. I've been - well a lot has happened, I can't believe it's been so long since I've spoken to you. There's so much to tell you." You say.

"Yeah? I can't wait to hear all about it." He's so sickly sweet. He should be angry with you, anything but this.

"Well, what about you, how have you been? You look - well, you look good." You say, fighting back the blush you can only imagine with great disdain is creeping onto her face. "This is new", you point to the mechanical hand sticking out of his sleeve. You hope it's not too sore of a subject.

"It's been good." He answers quickly, "Missed having you around, for sure." He raises his metal arm sheepishly, "And this . . . this is just a little work-in-progress. A friend and I are working on furthering prosthetics in our free time. She's a goddamn genius, you wouldn't believe it."

You guess that he must have lost his arm in combat, and you're sure it probably is a sore subject, so you don't ask anything more. But you do marvel in the engineering of the device— well, what you can see of it.

Your mom comes back out with an envelope of money and hands it to Bucky, who thanks her generously, telling her it really isn't necessary.

"Oh, and those boxes too, do you want him to help you bring them up to the attic?" She asks, turning towards you.

You shake your head, he's clearly done plenty around here in the time you were gone, "I can handle it, it's okay. I don't want to bother you with it."

Bucky smirks, raising an eyebrow, "I'll head up there now, I got it." and he's already ascending up the front steps.

"Hey! No really, you do enough, I can take care of it!" You're calling after him but he's already bounding up the steps two at a time like its his own home, and you suppose, it really is. Some things never change.

"Thank you!" Your mother calls out to him, before turning to the barn and making her way up the gravel path, making it your problem.

You're chasing after him with a wide smile but he's already grabbing boxes and on his way to the attic before you can stop him, so you grab a box of your own and figure next best is to do it together.

It does go faster that way and you both fall into rhythm quicker than you had expected. That awkward tension leaves your body and you're left with a comfortable, pleasant hum of energy.

"Will I catch you later?" He's asking, tilting his head to your level.

"Yeah, I'll be here."

"I have my dad's boat now. We could take it out together while you're home? Catch up."

You smile again, and you can't think back to a time where you've smiled so much for such a silly, simple little reason. "I would love that, James."

Bucky heads back outside soon after to drop off the rest of the things he had for your mother and promises to say goodbye before he leaves.

You decide to pad over to the barn where you mother is, to see what she's up to before you tackle another project.

You make it barely a step into the old wooden building before she's cornering you.

"You're still in love with him." She states.

Your jaw drops incredulously, "I'm not in love with him! He's my childhood best friend." you counter, bewildered. "We haven't even talked in like, six years!"

"Right. He just happens to be entirely gorgeous now, that's all." Your eyes widen impossibly more and you have to bite your lip not to laugh aloud at your mother's brazen accusations.

"Shh! He's still here you know!"

"Did they not have any good looking boys in California?"

"They had plenty, thank you very much. Now leave it be." You're trying to hide it but you are smiling. Your mother knows you want her to can it, and so for once, she does, but theres a silent promise in her eyes that she will bring it up again.

You're glad she had stopped talking about it when she had, Bucky ducks his head into the barn just after and waves, bidding goodbye and saying thank you again to your mother, which she only deflects with her own thanks.

And then he's gone, the scent of pine wood and cinnamon left lingering in his tracks.

written 5/3/23 rewritten 5/22/25

Tags

marvel sebastian stan bucky barnes bucky barnes x reader avengers james bucky barnes winter soldier artist!reader james bucky buchanan barnes bucky fanfic bucky barnes x female reader bucky barnes x f!reader bucky barnes series lumberjack!bucky through sea mist and shadow

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