If I can ever get videos to load, I’ll add those, until then I hope this kind of makes sense.
Not sure if there’s an easier way to do this, but this is how I made a master page to all my stuff.
Every single link is a separate post, so it’s a little tedious but it does the trick.
Step 1:
Firstly, I made my master list page, I added the pictures I wanted, the breaks, the list of specific things I wanted to link to.
If your master list page has your art or writing right there, you can link it directly to that work.
Step 2:
If you’re like me and want your master page to organize more, then you need to make a page for that. For example, my main master page has links to separate categories-templates, multiples chapter, short stories, headcanons, art, music playlists, and my favorites. Each of those categories is a separate post.
Step 3:
Then in those posts is where I linked the specific art, post, or link to the writing.
For example, under templates I have spells, nsfw alphabet (with two links under it), Hogwarts house bingo, wizarding world alphabet (with 2 links under it), couple profile, student profile, instagrid, random headcanons, and student ids. Each link takes you directly to the art.
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For my chapter stories and short stories I did make an extra post page with the links to the specific chapters I’ve posted, and that’s just doing step 3 again as many times as necessary.
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The way to link a page to the heading is by going to the page that you want linked-that you want it to go to- at the top right corner are 3 dots, click on that and you can ‘copy link’. Go back to the master page where you want it labeled or linked from. Highlight the text you want used as the link. Tap on the highlighted bit and there should be a little picture of two chain links 🔗 connecting. Click that and paste the link that you copied then press done. Now that text should take you to the post or website that has your work.
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As you continue to make things you can ‘edit’ (It’s the little pencil in the bottom right corner) the master list page or sub list page.
Then you can pin your master list page so it’s always the first post seen. Click on the 3 dots in the top right corner and click ‘pin’.
So, I'm still working on this project in the background - got hung up on a chapter today, though, and ended up getting into a discussion that inspired the following one-shot.
VERY IMPORTANT NOTE: If you have any issue with Judeo-Christian Scripture being quoted during sex (by an Episcopal priest no less), then do us all a favor and stop here. If you don't - don't whine about it. I'll no sympathy; you have been warned. There are those who would consider the following the HEIGHT of sacrilege, blasphemy, and heresy. I happen to not and I have the graduate degree to argue it (that is not an invitation, just a declaration of authority).
For those who aren't going to run for the hills clutching your pearls...this is for you. This is a love letter to all of us who have ever been hurt by the Christian Church's "traditional" (it isn't) doctrines on sexuality. Healthy, consensual love is holy. Full stop.
The following is a MAJOR canon divergent modern-military-AU for Hogwarts Legacy featuring priest!Sebastian (Episcopal, not Catholic)
AO3: link
Summary: In the dead of night, on a magical Navy base and chapel, Lt. Sebastian Sallow and his bonded subordinate find themselves drawn into a shared rite of healing, worship, and transgression. What begins as a modified Vespers turns into a sacred liturgy of the body.
Rating: NSFW🔥| Pairing: Sebastian x MC | WC: 7,714
Spice: 🌶︎🌶︎🌶︎🌶︎/5
Triggers/Tags: Navy/military AU; military kink; priest kink; officer x enlisted (US Navy); forbidden romance; religious erotica; theological smut; sacred/profane tension; erotic ritual; prayer kink; inappropriate use of holy oil; sex as a sacrament; body worship; power imbalance; D/s; light BDSM; breathplay; sexual tension; trauma-bonded couple; inappropriate use of Judeo-Christian Scripture; anal fingering; cunniliingus; kissing; female orgasm; priest!Sebastian
She came into the sanctuary right on time; Sebastian turned his head slightly to call over his shoulder, but didn’t move otherwise:
“Lock the door,” he paused, then added with a hint of dryness, “Hermetically.”
Her breath hitched - they’d been doing this long enough now for her to know that when he told her to hermetically seal a door, he was up to something that he didn’t want interrupted without giving them the time to thoroughly hide what it was they’d been up to. Hermetically sealed anything couldn’t be unlocked with a wave of a wand or variations of Alohomora. It took intent, time, and specifically trained knowledge to undo.
Especially his hermetic seals. The ones he’d taught her.
While he waited, he went over “the plan” in his head. She’d recently confided some things to him - events, words, attitudes, social expectations both civilian and military that had wounded her. From what he understood of things as a man and a very outside observer (if not unwitting perpetrator himself), Thalia was far from the only woman with such stories to share. But it wasn’t his place to save every woman hurt by the very faith he himself represented.
It was, however, his place to save her. He made it so.
Her footsteps echoed through the modest chapel as she came up the aisle between the pews. He had pulled an old prayer bench out from the sacristy and set it up at the front of the sanctuary, right in the middle of the aisle, facing the pulpit and the nature-based spiritual mural that RP2 Sweeting had recently painted there with PO1 Thakkar’s help. He was kneeling on the faded, padded kneeler, arms braced on the short, angled shelf at the top - just about chest height, with a little raised ridge where one could rest a book or papers while they meditated. When Sebastian heard her stop just behind him and slightly to his left, he pushed himself off the shelf and leaned back to make space between it and his body.
It wasn’t much of a space, but that was rather the point.
“Come here,” he finally turned to her, solemn but not unkind, and gestured for her to step into the space he’d created.
Thalia gave him a look that clearly asked “what the hell are you up to? but out loud she murmured a quiet, “Yes, sir.”
Dominance - at least, not an overt kind - was not the point of the evening’s exercise, but having her call him “sir” in these private moments never failed to make his cock twitch. Sebastian pointedly ignored its eagerness, however, and put a steadying hand on her hip as she scooted - a little awkwardly - between him and the prayer bench shelf as instructed. She didn’t say anything, but her lips were pursed in a visible attempt to keep herself from asking questions, and her storm-gray gaze was perplexed. Sebastian just shuffled back a bit, until his knees hovered on the very edge of the kneeler; the tips of his boots pressed into the hard tile beneath them to steady himself.
“Lean against the shelf,” he murmured, with another guiding touch to both her hips.
Thalia settled back, and her breath hitched when she realized what it did to her posture. It reclined her just slightly, her elbows braced on the top edge of the shelf, and the angle at which the shelf had been built pushed her hips out forward at the level of his face. She widened her stance, now straddling the kneeler herself, her boots braced on either side of it to steady herself.
She was presented, and she knew it. A blush crept up from beneath the round collar of her undershirt.
“What are we doing, sir?” she finally asked, that husky voice of hers low and faintly breathless.
“Vespers,” he said as if it should be obvious.
Her eyebrows rose, a wry, slightly mischievous look settling into her face as she peered down at him. “I didn’t know you observed the Litany of the Hours, sir.”
Sebastian hummed noncommittally in the back of his throat as he looked her over - not sexually, not yet, but in an assessing manner, thoughtful. “When I can, I do.”
“So prayer. We’re praying?” One eyebrow arched further toward her hairline, eyes playful.
“Vespers involves a bit more than that, but yes. Essentially.”
“I’m a Methodist, sir. We don’t usually do this sort of thing. What, exactly, is involved in Vespers?”
Sebastian slid his hands over her thighs, listened to her breath hitch again, then said with a hint of a smile in his voice as he eyed her waist around the level of her belt, hidden beneath her uniform jacket, “Vespers usually includes some Psalms, a hymn or two, maybe a canticle.” He glanced up at her and explained, “Songs or poetic passages from the Scriptures.” Then he continued, “Intercessions - prayers on behalf of others. Vespers,” he let the word roll off of his tongue, “focuses on thanksgiving for the day and preparation for the night.”
“I see,” Thalia murmured, a little waver in her voice as he stroked her thighs with firm passes of his hands. “And you need my help with this, because…?”
“Not help,” Sebastian murmured as he finally leaned forward and slid a hand around the curve of her jaw. “Participation.”
“Oh,” she breathed against his lips as he tilted his head slightly and rubbed his nose against hers. “Again, sir, I’m a Methodist. I have no idea -”
“Shh now, RP1,” he chided her softly. “Just be present.”
He kissed her then - soft, fleeting, chaste. He could tell from the way her body tensed against his, the way she briefly chased his mouth as he pulled back, that she wanted more. He said nothing, explained even less; Sebastian just raised his hands between them. As he began to unbutton her uniform jacket, he spoke, quiet, rhythmic, reverent.
This was worship, after all.
Thalia
When he said that there were Biblical songs and poetry involved in Vespers, Thalia had not expected murmured quotes from The Song of Solomon. He pulled back just far enough to get his hands in between them and orient himself to the line of her buttons beneath the fold of dig-cam-patterned fabric that hid them from view. Then he was back at her mouth, his lips brushing hers softly as he whispered -
“Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth: for thy love is better than wine.”
He licked her bottom lip, and she opened her mouth to him without hesitation, eager for something she did understand and know - his tongue and teeth and toe-curling kisses. She realized with a soft moan that his mouth tasted like wine - red, full-bodied, a bit tart like cherries. Definitely not Communion wine, but the fact that he’d imbibed even a single drop of alcohol while still in uniform told her he had whatever this was had been planned down to the details. He meant to say that line, and he meant for her to taste that wine, and sweet baby Jesus this was already more than she knew how to handle.
“Thy name is as ointment poured forth, Thalia,” he continued, his words mere breath against her lips, and she whimpered at the sound of her name - not RP1, not Glynn. Thalia. “The king hath brought thee into his chambers…”
Her jacket was open now; he drew it slowly down her arms, pulled it off of her, and tossed it to some point behind him without ever once turning away from her. She didn’t bother following its trajectory, either; her eyes were riveted to his, her bottom lip caught between her teeth as he slowly smoothed his hands over the front of her. Her hips jerked when his palms passed over her breasts and down her stomach; she thought she might expire from how slowly he pulled the hem of her undershirt up from beneath the waistband of her pants.
“As the apple tree among the trees of the wood, so is my beloved,” he continued - softly, slowly, deliberately, his brown eyes never once looking down. He knew her body well enough by now to navigate it without looking, and fuck, Thalia’s knees trembled from the thought. “I sat down under her shadow with great delight, and her fruit was sweet to my taste.”
He slid both his hands beneath her cotton shirt and cupped her breasts; the light squeeze of his fingers left little doubt about what “fruit” he meant. Thalia swallowed a breathy little moan and lifted her arms to assist him in pulling her undershirt off. It quickly joined her jacket. No sooner had it left her body, however, than he was leaning forward and kissing the hollow of her throat.
“She brought me to the banqueting house, and her banner over me was love,” he murmured into her skin, each word punctuated by a breath, a lick, a kiss.
Thalia gripped the edge of the fucking prayer bench shelf beneath her for all she was worth.
“My beloved is mine, and I am hers: she feedeth among the lilies,” he continued - she knew this particular passage well enough to know he had amended it somewhat for the situation, and now she had to wonder if he’d written this entire thing out like a damn liturgy.
Now was not the time to ask, though; not only was her tongue permanently stuck to the roof of her mouth in shock, but the moment was reverent and hushed. This was, in fact, worship, and the floor, so to speak, was his and his alone. As he’d said before, her role was to simply be present. To take what was offered, and to receive his adoration. Thalia couldn’t figure out if this was holy or unholy, or if it even mattered.
“Until the day break, and the shadows flee away, turn, my beloved, and be thou like a roe or a young hart upon the mountains of Bether.”
He reached around her, leaned in, and licked her neck while he undid her navy-blue-and-green-laced bra with practiced fingers. Sebastian didn’t move away, though, as he pulled it off of her and made it disappear into the gathering darkness behind him. He continued to kiss and nibble the side of her neck, his hands anchored now on her bare ribs, his thumbs brushing the underside of her breasts with lazy strokes that had her panting. Her nipples scraped against the slightly rough fabric of his jacket as he shifted further into her, his mouth open and aimed for her ear. Thalia moaned before she could stop herself; she bit her lip immediately, and he changed course to nuzzle her cheek.
“Good girl,” he whispered, and good God, the only thing keeping her up was her grip on the shelf and his body against hers, because her knees did indeed give out at that. “Make a joyful noise unto the Lord.”
She made a sound like all the breath had just been punched out of her. This man, his blasphemy, his absolute and utterly inappropriate ability to turn Scripture on its damn head - to make it erotic - was her undoing. But she’d care about the spiritual ramifications later. Right now, all that mattered was that her earlobe was between his teeth and his fingers had risen to loosen her hair from its tight regulation bun.
“Behold, thou art fair, my love; behold, thou art fair; thou hast doves’ eyes within thy locks,” he hummed into her ear as her hair fell down. He ran his fingers through the thick strands, gently working out the occasional knot as he continued: “Thy hair is as a flock of goats, that appear from mount Gilead.”
Then his mouth was back at the corner of hers, and a thumb came between them. He breathed into her mouth as she obeyed the silent command in the press of his thumb against her bottom lip and opened up to him.
“Thy teeth are like a flock of sheep that are even shorn…” That fucking thumb pressed over the ridge of her front teeth as it slipped inside her mouth. “Thy lips are like a thread of scarlet,” he softly kissed the corner of her mouth. “And thy speech is comely.”
He stroked her tongue with the calloused pad of his thumb and stumbled over his next words when she closed her mouth around him and sucked. “Thy temples are like a piece of a pomegranate within thy locks.”
His lips moved upward as he kissed her forehead - the sweetness of the gesture mixed with the vulgarity of his thumb in her mouth, with the way she obediently licked and sucked at it like it was his cock. She couldn’t feel if he was hard; because of their current position, his hips were down between her parted legs. But she was soaking wet already without him having yet touched her below the belt, so she couldn’t imagine that he was any less affected.
He did sound breathless, his words a bit shaky, his breath a bit ragged. But Chaplain Sallow was anything if not disciplined, and he just kept going. How he could quote obscure passages of the Bible while fucking unmaking her was more than Thalia could wrap her brain around in the moment. His mouth was back at her throat, and she whimpered beneath the scrape of his teeth over her collarbones.
“Thy neck is as a tower of ivory…”
He followed the slide of his words with his tongue - wet, firm, supple - down the front of her throat, the thumb still inside her mouth and the hand cupped around her jaw having tilted her face up toward the ceiling. Thalia closed her eyes, utterly overwhelmed; she was trembling now, wholly in this moment, in this worship, in this officer kneeling at her feet and quoting ancient pornography against her skin.
“Thy two breasts are like two young roes that are twins, which feed among the lilies.”
That wicked mouth continued over her collarbones, over her tattooed brambles and flowers, and down across the swell of her right breast. Thalia’s chest was heaving at this point, and if her thighs hadn’t been parted around his hips, she’d have been rubbing them together in order to relieve the pressure, the tension, building up within her.
“Until the day break, and the shadows flee away, I will get me to the mountain of myrrh,” he kissed her right nipple; sucked it into his mouth and laved it with his tongue.
Slow, deliberate, worshipful, and a moan fell out of Thalia’s mouth that was so obscene, she blushed. Sebastian didn’t seem to care; he didn’t even look up. He just let go of her nipple with a soft, wet pop, then turned his attention to her left.
“And to the hill of frankincense,” he whispered against the side of it before dragging his tongue over that nipple and latching around it with his lips.
Thalia began to squirm, overwrought with sensation, with the moment. He played with her other nipple while he sucked - rolls and pinches between his thumb and forefinger that grew gradually rougher in time with his mouth. He bit her - not hard, but enough to shock her, to make her squeak - and then twisted her nipple and pulled up. Again, not so cruel as to genuinely hurt, but enough to make her knees tremble, her back arch, her cunt clench, and her mouth drop open in a sharp little wail.
He followed that with a sharp slap against her right breast, his fingers catching against the nipple he’d just pulled. Thalia’s hips ground themselves against his chest, her shame burned to ash in the fire of his desire; she moaned freely, her head dropping back, exposing her throat, her eyes rolling to the back of her head as he sucked hard on her left nipple. It finally popped free with another vulgar, wet sound; he covered those wet, aching, peaked nipples with the heat of his palms and ground the heel of his hands into her breasts - kneading, cupping, rubbing - as she groaned, helpless and undone, and rocked her hips against him in a desperate bid for release.
“Thou art all fair, my love; there is no spot in thee,” he whispered, utterly, genuinely, truly reverent.
Thalia forced her eyes open, forced herself to look back down at him, to meet his eyes. She could feel him watching her as he massaged her breasts into an erogenous zone she’d never known could be so deliciously overstimulated. Sure enough, their eyes met, and she shuddered beneath the almost-physical touch of it; his pupils were blown wide in lust, the brown of his irises darkened and drunk on the sight in front of him, on her.
“Thine eyes like the fishpools in Heshbon…”
All right, not the most flattering comparison in a modern context; he paused, the edges of his lips curling up for a moment, as if he read that thought on her face and acknowledged it. And yet, he continued, undeterred -
“This thy stature is like to a palm tree, and thy breasts to clusters of grapes.”
Those fucking massive, rough, calloused hands of his slid to the sides of her breasts, down her ribs to her waist, then back up to brush the underside of them again. He slid one hand to the space just above them, where her inked dogwood bloomed, and the invisible tattoos on his knuckles began to glow as her own magical tattoo flared to life beneath his touch. It had been this way since she’d channeled his magic through her mantle that first day they’d reunited in the waters of the harbor - Thalia shuddered beneath the sensuous unfurling and opening of her tattoo against her skin, beneath the heat of his hand and the holy warmth that sank into her chest. Then he pressed down, fingers spread wide between her collarbones and breasts, until she had to arch her back against the prayer bench shelf, until she had to rise up onto the tips of her boots to keep her balance. Her hips jutted outward at an obscene angle, against his chest, the metal of her belt just scraping against his Adam’s apple as he followed her back.
“I said, I will go up to the palm tree, I will take hold of the boughs thereof…”
He followed the vines of her tattoo with his other hand along the line of her right shoulder. Then down over her biceps, fingers lingering to feel, to admire the line of her muscle there, then slowly, achingly, down her forearm. He cupped her hand briefly in his, pressed his thumb to the center of her palm, and rolled it in a firm little circle that had her gasping at how good a simple touch like that could feel.
Then he lifted the hand at the center of her chest and tangled it in her hair. He leaned forward even further, his chest pressing her hips and lower back firmly against that damn shelf. She arched beneath him, a half-naked offering, wide-eyed and panting, mouth open and thighs trembling against his torso. He brought his mouth to hers, and his words slipped between her lips.
“And the roof of thy mouth like the best wine, that goeth down sweetly for my beloved, flowing gently over lips and teeth.”
He hooked a thumb over her teeth for a second time and pulled her mouth open, gently, but firmly. Then he spit - his aim just so, so that it landed on the inside of her lip and slid over her teeth and tongue just like he’d fucking said. Thalia whimpered helplessly at the shocking, filthy dominance of it - no one had ever spit into her mouth. He unhooked his thumb, and the deceptively gentle press of fingers to the underside of her jaw told her exactly what he wanted. She felt her cheeks burn bright as she reminded herself that he’d come in her mouth multiple times so far, so what was a little spit? Kissing was, quite literally, referred to as swapping spit, so...
She closed her mouth and swallowed, her core tightening sharply at the filth of it, no matter the justification she gave herself. He dropped his gaze and stroked his fingers over her throat as she swallowed, and God above, she just wanted him to stop with this drawn-out foreplay and take her. Hard, preferably - right over the Communion railing behind her, or the pew behind him, or on the fucking floor, she didn’t care...
He wrapped his fingers around her throat and kissed her. The kiss was long, and filthy, and fevered, and unholy. He claimed her, touched every part of her mouth he’d named - the roof of it, her teeth, their tongues tangling as he mimicked the thrust and slide of sex. He tightened his grip on her neck by slow, insidious increments, until she was panting into his mouth, her own slack, her eyes unfocused, her body flushed and hot all over. And all the while, he took with tongue and teeth, forcing her to share his breath.
Just when she thought she might pass out, he loosened his fingers, softened his lips, and drew back. She was still trying to collect her awareness when she felt cool air brush her breasts. Thalia managed, somehow, to get her elbows back against the shelf and brace herself. She pushed herself up, just enough to lower her hips and straighten out the arch of her back. She watched, still somewhat dazed, as he leaned back on his heels and guided her left boot to rest on his thigh.
“How beautiful are thy feet with shoes, O prince’s daughter,” he murmured as laces came apart, boots came off, and socks vanished.
Then his hands were at her belt, pulling the tongue through the toothless catch. He unbuttoned her pants, his fingers dragging, catching, pushing lightly against her core. Thalia groaned as he hooked his fingers into the waistband of her uniform pants and panties and pulled them both down in one go. Soft touches at her ankles encouraged her to step out of them, and then they too were gone, tossed at just enough of an angle to catch on the seat of the pew behind him and hang there, her green lace-edged boy shorts bright and unholy against the faded crimson of the bench’s padding.
She sensed him shift, heard a bottle open, and looked down just in time to see him rubbing his hands together; the smell of frankincense wafted up as he began to rub her legs in long, deep, moan-inducing strokes.
“The joints of thy thighs are like jewels, the work of a master craftsman.”
He massaged the back of her knees as he said that, and holy hell, Thalia had never realized how fucking sensitive she was there. He leaned forward as his hands drifted up the back of her thigh and over the curve of her ass.
“Thy navel is like a round goblet, which wanteth not liquor,” he said as he kissed it, as his oiled fingers delved between her cheeks, as his fingers circled and rubbed her entrance. “Thy belly is as an heap of wheat set about with lilies.” He nuzzled her lower stomach, her hips, the circumference of her softly rounded belly.
“I sleep, but my heart waketh: it is the voice of my beloved that knocketh, saying, Open to me…” He pushed a finger slowly, gently into her, and Thalia cried out in a mixture of sensation and shock - he hadn’t done this to her before. “For my head is filled with dew, and my locks with the drops of the night,” he quoted against the top of her pelvis as his finger filled her and began to thrust. “I rose up to open to my beloved” - Thalia, desperate, shouted his name and threaded her fingers desperately through the short hair on the top of his bowed head - “and my hands dripped with myrrh, and my fingers with sweet smelling myrrh, upon the handles of the lock.”
He was working her over in long, curling thrusts that touched her in a place she’d always been taught to consider dirty; he touched her as reverently there as he had any other part of her body so far. He nosed the line of her trimmed curls in the front and worked her slowly, thoroughly in the back, one hand cupping a cheek to steady her, the other working her poor hips into an unholy rhythm.
“I opened to my beloved” - he nosed apart her fucking soaked labia at precisely the moment he worked a second finger into her, and Thalia damn near came on the spot. “A garden inclosed is my spouse—”
And she knew that was just a turn of phrase, a quote, an impartial bit of Scripture written about another woman millennia before this moment and place. But she couldn’t help the way her heart stuttered, the way she moaned, the way her hands gentled against the back of his head at the sound of those two words - “my spouse.”
“She is a spring shut up, a fountain sealed,” his voice was growing increasingly muffled as he burrowed between her legs, but the words were still clear enough, and their meaning even more. “Thy plants are an orchard of pomegranates, with pleasant fruits; camphire, with spikenard…” He licked her - just a brush of the tip of his tongue over her clit, a tasting, teasing gesture - before he withdrew and continued over her low, chest-deep whine: “Awake, O north wind; and come, thou south; blow upon my garden, that the spices thereof may flow out.”
And like everything else so far, the damn man took the words literally. He breathed against her - open-mouthed and hot - and Thalia swore that she did, in fact, blossom beneath that breath. She was so wet, so fucking wet, and swollen, and so very, very ready for the pleasure she hoped like hell he was about to give her. He breathed again - breathed her in, nose shamelessly buried, mouth open and tongue hovering just. His low groan of appreciation made her clutch the shelf again, legs trembling, heart full to bursting. He lingered there, in the scent of her, his fingers still working her from behind and forcing her hips to roll against his face when she might have otherwise been too self-conscious to do so.
“Let my beloved come into his garden,” he said so softly, so tenderly - “and eat his pleasant fruits.”
And eat he did, while leaving no doubt in Thalia’s mind that he did, in fact, consider her cunt “his pleasant fruits.”
The sounds he made turned her on even more than his fucking talented tongue - he groaned and hummed and gasped and even slurped. He drank her down, nose and mouth buried shamelessly into her, his tongue licking and burrowing and curling and stroking. He licked into her, opened her up with his tongue while the hard ridge of his nose bumped up against her clit in a delicious dichotomy of sensations - soft, slick, unforgiving, firm. His fingers, still buried and burrowing in her, urged her to ride his face. Thalia resisted at first, but when he sucked her clit into his mouth for the first time, she gave up all pretense of decorum and grabbed the back of his head. She arched her back of her own accord, pushing her hips out even further against his mouth, and held him in place.
Her chaplain. Her commanding officer. RP1 Thalia Glynn ground her cunt into his eager mouth, moved her own self against his tongue, threw her head back, and didn’t give a damn about the rank on his collar. If anything, the thought of it made her even more feral, more demanding.
Outside this chapel, outside this moment of time, he commanded her, told her what to do, entrusted his life to her hands in exchange for her obedience. He was not for her pleasure - and in fact, the very thought was enough to get them both metaphorically hung, careers ruined and their names smeared in shame. But for now, while he groaned and sucked and feasted on her, Thalia didn’t fucking care.
Because this was worth it - this worship, this benediction, this absolute Garden of Eden. Here, the snake ate the apple; here, Eve reveled in every thick swallow that came from below her.
She came from the thought, from the sound, from the sensation and delight. She clenched down on his fingers and howled, thighs shaking against his shoulders, and fingers locking him in place as she bucked and writhed over and over and over again. He didn’t even fight her; he simply gentled the strokes of his tongue and his hand, slowly reduced the number of fingers inside her until there was only one, and licked her through her orgasm, mouth open hungrily over her, throat vibrating with a groan. She finally had to flatten the heels of her hands against his forehead and push him away with a breathless half-laugh, half-moan.
Sebastian always had to get the last fucking word in, even if it wasn’t a word at all. He ran his tongue through her slit one last time - a firm, claiming lick from bottom to top - and stroked her one last time with a calculated curl of his last remaining finger before finally pulling it free of her body. He lifted his head, his mouth and chin and even cheeks wet and obscene and glistening in the soft candlelight around them. He caught her eye and held it as he whispered, voice still thick with her come and taste:
“My beloved is gone down into his garden, to the beds of spices, to feed in the gardens, and to gather lilies.”
He leaned forward, and she made a little noise of refusal, her hands reaching out to push him away - she was too overstimulated for any more of his attention. He just grabbed her wrists and gently pulled her arms apart; he leaned forward until his forehead rested against her, and he kissed his words into the bottom of her belly, where she might one day swell with growing life:
“I am my beloved’s, and my beloved is mine: he feedeth among the lilies.”
She hoped it was his if that day ever came. His seed that took root inside her. His child, his claim, his tether to her. It was not, Thalia realized with a soft exhalation of breath and an even softer shudder beneath his lips, a frightening or repulsive thought.
She had it so, so bad for a man she wasn’t supposed to want at all.
She said nothing at all - she was still too out of breath to speak, too scrambled still to even think - as he leaned back on his heels and shrugged out of his own uniform jacket and undershirt. God, he was hot - naked from the belt up, candlelight flickering across every dip and ridge of muscle, tattooed and scarred, a five-o’clock shadow darkening his jaw and thick hair sprawling across his chest, his dog tags nestled in the center of it. He held her gaze as he opened his belt, his pants, and shifted only enough so he could pull his cock out.
It was thick and hard, veins bulging, head swollen a deep red, his slit leaking profusely. Thalia moaned softly at the sight of it - God, she loved his fucking cock.
She didn’t fight him, didn’t hesitate, as he slowly pulled her down. There was a momentary awkwardness - the angle wasn’t exactly optimal the way he was kneeling - but after some murmured instructions and soft huffs of wry, breathless laughter, she was seated fully on his cock. They both groaned as she sank down over him, as he parted her and slid in deep. He pulled her legs over his thighs, and she locked her ankles behind him as he supported her with a powerful arm beneath her ass and the other across her middle back. She rolled her hips, misinterpreting his intent, and he slapped her - lazy, but with enough of a flick of his wrist for there to be a whisper of a sting.
“Just sit here like a good girl,” he murmured.
She clenched around him at that, and his voice broke, stuttered, for several seconds before he gathered himself with a steadying breath and another warning swat against her ass cheek.
“Let us pray.”
Oh God…they weren’t done yet?
He pulled her tight against him, dragged his hand up her spine to cradle the back of her neck, and silently guided her to bury her face against the side of his neck.
They breathed for a few seconds, just like that - her perched on his thighs, him still kneeling, her full, so fucking full, and him wrapped around her like a fucking prayer shawl. His cock twitched; her cunt throbbed in answer, and they moaned in unison.
Then he brushed his lips against the line of her shoulder pressed into him, stroked his fingers down her spine, and began.
Sebastian
How did one pray like this?
Sebastian almost altered his plan, almost stopped himself short of what most would certainly consider blasphemy. It was almost too much, even for him…but then he took a deep breath, reminded himself that if David could get away with writing Psalms that literally cursed God out, then he could surely be forgiven for thanking God for the woman in whom he was buried balls-deep.
His voice wavered at first, uncertain; he whispered in the beginning, against her skin, as if he could hide the sacrilege in her bone and blood. Her cunt pulsed and fluttered and throbbed around him, her body trembled from staying still when all she wanted was to rock her hips and take him…his mouth was still wet from her cunt, the taste of her still coating his tongue…
And he opened those come-slicked lips and prayed.
“Thank you, Lord -” she whimpered against his neck, a shudder passing through her - “for this day, for this hour, for this woman in my arms, on my cock.”
Thalia made a little choking sort of sound against his neck and abruptly threw her arms around him, her fingers pressing into his back as his were into hers. Well. He was committed now.
“Thank you for her strength, for her intelligence, for her clever mouth and wit.” Gods, he throbbed; he turned his head just enough so he could whisper into her ear. “Thank you for her obedience - for taking my orders so well, for going about her duties so willingly, with a cheerful spirit.”
He paused, then added with a low hum of a laugh, “Most of the time, anyway.”
She whimpered at that - not the reaction he would have expected, but by this point, he figured she was all but gone. He smiled, in spite of himself, at the thought.
“Thank you for all the ways she pleases me, as a sailor and a woman,” he hiccupped a bit when she trembled over him, her body coiled tight, so fucking tight. “You made her to fit me, Lord, to take me,” his voice lowered into a growl as she drenched him, “to feel so perfect in my arms, against my body, around me.”
He let the fingers of one hand drift down her spine, one vertebra at a time, until he reached the tattoo at the base of it - a snake’s coiled, skeletal spinal column, woven in an ouroboros with brambled vines, a moth with folded wings perched, not pierced, on one long thorn in the center of the design, pointed up toward her shoulders. It was delicate and sensual - a design of life and death and magic inked above a spot on her body that even the Celts, his own ancestors, had associated with sexuality and desire. He stroked it - knew without looking where that moth hovered, where the morning glory buds along her vines were curled tightly shut. It responded to his touch, and he felt the moth open its wings with a flutter, felt those buds bloom open, felt her gasp and gush around him.
“Thank you,” he continued, “for her magic - for its power, its beauty, its selflessness. Thank you for the bond you have given us, for the way she can channel my own power without thought, for the way she is always watchful. Thank you,” he kissed the shell of her ear, “for her vigilance, for the ways she protects me, the ways she gives without any thought of reward.”
She was shaking, nearly undone, her hips still - bless her, so obediently still - but her body shook with the severity of what it cost her.
“Thank you,” he said breathlessly, barely daring to speak his next words aloud, “for her body, for her mouth, her breasts, her ass, her cunt. Thank you for how tight it is” - he began to growl again, his voice rough against her hair - “how wet and hot. Thank you for her desire, for her sexuality, for her pleasure. Gift me with an open and generous heart, Lord, so that I might give back to her tenfold what she gives to me - laughter, companionship, protection, obedience, pleasure.”
“I think he’s answered that part well enough,” she moaned into his clavicle.
Sebastian huffed in amused acknowledgment but continued, undeterred.
“Watch over us this night, Lord, as we fuck -” he rocked his hips up, just once, and she bit his shoulder hard to keep from crying out.
He grunted and pressed a hand hard against the bottom of her back, over her tattoo, to keep her from rocking in kind. Only he was allowed to change the pace, to break the tension, to change the rules. Her cunt wept, soaking his opened pants beneath her.
“As we make love,” he added more softly, with a brush of hair behind her ear and a gentle kiss to her shoulder; she finally loosened her jaw and licked the skin she’d undoubtedly broken in apology. “Bless our passion, Lord. May it be a pleasing offering unto you, a rite of thanksgiving for the bodies you have given us, for the desire you created, for the gift of pleasure you commanded us to never hide beneath a bushel.”
He buried his nose in her reddish-brown hair and breathed deep the scent of her - sweat, and salt, and musk, and sex, and vanilla, and amber.
“Bless each emptying of myself into her -” they both groaned at the boldness of that - “bless her every cry of pleasure, her every orgasm, her every sigh and invocation of your name.” She snorted at that, and he felt her smile against his skin. “Bless my every taking of her, bless our union -”
“And maybe don’t let us be fruitful and multiply just yet,” she mumbled, and it was his turn to snort and smile against her throat.
“Thank you,” he said as solemnly as he could, “for the brilliant, if terrifying, mind you’ve given HM1 - for his excellent knack with potions and even better discretion.”
She shook her head against his shoulder and muttered something that sounded very much like, “I can’t believe I’m laughing while you pray while sitting on your damn cock.”
“Thank you for humor, and laughter, and humanness,” he forced himself to ignore her impertinence, though his lips twitched and he knew she would hear the smile in his voice. “For you alone of all gods have been fully human, fully flesh. You know what it is to be us. You know of desire, and love, and passion, and temptation.”
He nipped her where her shoulder met her neck - they had to be careful about leaving marks where they could be seen, so he didn’t bite like she had. But he was satisfied with the low moan and the shiver around his cock.
“We thank you for all of these things - for each other, for our bodies, for our love -” she made a little noise almost like a sob; her arms tightened around him, fingernails digging crescents into his back. “For all things spoken and unspoken, we thank you, Lord. Amen.”
“Amen,” she mumbled, no doubt in sheer reflex. There was a pause, then an impertinent little, “You made that prayer long as fuck on purpose, didn’t you?”
He smacked her ass - good and proper, an imprint of his hand glowing on her skin as she yelped and jerked instinctively. That caused both of them to groan, then.
“Please just fuck me, sir, please,” Thalia groaned against his sweaty neck.
There was a slight pause, then she started to lick him - her hips still, such a good girl - but clearly showing her desperation in other ways that he hadn’t explicitly forbidden.
“We’re not done yet,” he said calmly, wickedly.
She whined. “I hate you.”
“Look at me,” he whispered, then waited for her to grab his shoulders, steady herself, then lean back just enough to meet his gaze.
That shifted her weight and pressure on his lap, and they were both breathing heavily by the time she’d adjusted herself. His cock twitched hard, and he swore he felt himself leaking inside her. She was so fucking wet, though, that it could have very well been her. She was making a fucking mess of his pants.
He kept that one arm steady beneath her ass, but cupped her cheek with the other. Sebastian looked her straight in the eye and watched the emotions chase themselves through her gorgeous, Veil-shaded eyes.
“Set me as a seal upon thine heart, as a seal upon thine arm,” he whispered, reverence returning. “For love is strong as death; jealousy is cruel as the grave: the coals thereof are coals of fire, which hath a most vehement flame.”
She sucked in a breath. This was the first time he’d uttered the word out loud to her - love.
“Many waters cannot quench love, neither can the floods drown it.”
Her eyes grew soft, and just a little wet. Thalia tried to turn her face, but he wouldn’t let her.
“What’s gotten into you tonight, sir?” she tried to deflect with humor.
He answered solemnly, hand still firm around her cheek and the side of her jaw.
“Our faith has brought great evil into this world when it was meant to do the very opposite.” He leaned into her, his mouth at the corner of hers once again, his nose rubbing gently against hers. “It has been used to fill you with shame for a body and its desires - both of which are God-given. You deserve to be worshipped, honored, revered, Thalia,” he said as earnestly, as genuinely as he could. “Like most things, Christianity took hold of sexuality and made it sinful when the God we say we follow never once said it was. He protected women, ate with prostitutes, made ‘fallen women’ his disciples while they were drawing water from wells. Men who came after our God Incarnate changed the rules, twisted the truth, blasphemed the sacred when they turned sex into something evil just so they could have power over others.” He kissed her - chaste, soft, lingering. “You shared your shame with me, Thalia. So I decided to consecrate it, to show you that yes, even for us, sex is a sacrament.”
“You’re a sap, sir,” her tone was just this side of sharp, but her eyes shimmered. Her face fell just a bit, her gaze sliding away from his as she added, “We shouldn’t be doing this.”
“I don’t fucking care,” Sebastian said firmly - he wasn’t having this argument right now.
He rocked his hips up to distract her - or perhaps to remind her of where she was, of what was inside her, of what still lay ahead of her into the earliest hours of the morning he could manage. She moaned at his abrupt bottoming out. Those little hands around his shoulders tightened, her body clenched around him, and she trembled one last time as she breathed in deep, steady -
“Then for the love of God Almighty -”
He had her bent over the pew behind him before she could even finish her sentence, shrieking in a mixture of delight and desire as her hair dangled to the floor and he pinned her hips to the curved back of the bench. He slammed as hard as he could into her exactly twice, and she splintered apart - screaming his name and God’s to the rafters as she made a mess of his dick and her thighs, as she tasted heaven and fell even further from grace.
He fucked her through it with hard, punishing thrusts. He’d been gentle; he’d been reverent. Now that the blessings were over, the prayers and the liturgy passed, it was time to take what was his. To claim her, to hold her, to love her through her orgasm -
Again.
And again.
And one more time.
Until she was pliant and soft, until their ranks had been forgotten on the floor, and they themselves were ruined for each other.
The night ended with her sprawled on top of him on the cot he kept in his office - barely big enough for him and not at all for two. But they’d slept like this before, and they’d sleep like it again. Alarms were set for a good hour before the rest of the base woke up, so they could go their separate ways like nothing had happened. The thought tasted sour in the back of his mouth.
But that…that was a few hours away yet. For now...
Sebastian wrapped her up in his arms and a blanket and kissed her as she fell asleep, warm, sated, come still sticky between her legs and against his thighs.
Some would call this sin. But he knew better; he’d shown her better. This was love - earnest and true and, if it hadn’t been for man-made rules and regulations, quite honestly healthy.
And love like that…
Well…that was always holy in the eyes of a God whose name was, itself: Love.
An earth sign, Taurus is the second zodiac sign and is represented by a bull. It’s related to the Greek myth of Zeus becoming a bull to abduct Europa. They are practical, reliable, devoted, stable, but also possessive, and stubborn. They have a talent for making long term goals and making money. Because of their long term mind set they make great friends and partners.
They are extremely sensual and value pleasurable senses. They need to feel safe in their environment. Many of their friendships begin in childhood and last into adulthood and they value the closeness of their family. They work hard and love money and prioritive those.
Famous Taurus: Adele, George Clooney, The Queen of England, Dwayne Johnson, Kelly Clarkson
Haleigha wakes up early the next morning, excited to start her day. She took great care in picking out her outfits and makeup regime for the first week of classes. There aren’t a whole lot of choices when it comes to the mandatory uniforms, but she did what she could. A tartan skirt that reaches just below her knees, a plain white button shirt with the sleeves rolled up because it’s a bit warm, a matching necktie, and of course her house robe. Her natural waves pinned perfectly off her face with a few rebellious wisps fluttering out and just the lightest hint of eye shadow to make her eyes pop just a little more.
Poppy watches her get ready, she’s already been up for an hour by the time Haleigha woke. Poppy kicks her feet back and forth on her bed. “Are you happy to be back here?”
Haleigha pauses doing her makeup so she doesn’t poke herself in the eye. “Very. I wasn’t happy we had to leave in the first place and I’m happier than ever to be away from Ilvermorny.”
“It sounded like you liked Ilvermorny,” Poppy replies.
Haleigha sighs then faces Poppy. “I liked the school and my teachers and some of the people, but,” she trails off and sighs again. “I broke up with my boyfriend shortly before summer vacation and I’m relieved to be away from that.”
Poppy shifts onto her belly, giving Haleigha all her attention. “What happened?”
Haleigha rolls her eyes, but not in a mean way towards Poppy, in exasperation at her own situation. “I caught Marcus cheating then found out he’d been cheating almost the entire time we’d been together.” Poppy gasps, her jaw dropping. “I know. He acted like I was crazy because I expected monogamy.”
“Did he say that?”
“Basically,” Haleigha huffs. “He said, ‘did you expect one woman to be able to satisfy me forever’. I almost cursed him into the next state.”
Poppy turns her nose up. “What an ass.”
Haleigha returns her attention to the mirror. “So now I hate boys, use them for my satisfaction then move on. I don’t need messy feelings.”
“Isn’t that what Marcus did to you?”
“I don’t plan on engaging in anything serious and I plan to disclose my intentions. I don’t actually want to hurt anyone, I just want to have my needs met without my heart getting broken.”
Poppy pouts, empathizing with Haleigha’s pain. “Do you still love him?”
Haleigha snorts. “Honestly I don’t think I ever loved him. I thought I did, but looking back I didn’t even enjoy being around him. I’d want to be with my friends instead, it was just….easy. And I think if I ever fall in love I don’t want easy. I want everything, even the messy parts.” She smiles to herself as she dabs on some lip color. “Especially the messy parts.”
Poppy chuckles. “As long as you don’t try to add Omi to your list of broken hearts, I wish you well.”
Haleigha stares at Poppy in disbelief. “First of all, I really don’t want to cause anyone pain, especially not a friend. Secondly, that boy is blind and I still saw how he looked at you. Even if I wanted him, I’m positive he wouldn’t notice my existence.”
Haleigha giggles. “Let’s go. If I’m late to meet Anne, she’ll have my head.”
They both grab their belongings and quietly slip into the common room, careful not to wake anyone else. On the way to the Great Hall, Haleigha continues their chat. “How long have you and Ominis been together?”
“Almost a year, but we were practically together long before that,” she starts. “We always connected pretty easily and of course I’ve been smitten from the start, but I was too shy and he was too opposed to subjecting anyone to the Gaunt family. In 4th year we were partnered in Potions. He is absolute rubbish at Potions. I think even if he could see, he’d still be terrible. So after that I continued helping him in Potions and he’d help me in Charms. I could never get the correct motions.
“Then we started spending more and more time together. Sometime in 5th year he asked if he could see me. I had no idea what he meant, but I wasn’t about to tell him no. Then he spent the next hour mapping my face. After that we spent most of our spare time together and that’s when Anne and I really became friends. Just before Halloween, 6th year, he told me he loved me and didn’t want anyone else to have a chance until he’d attempted to woo me.” She giggles. “I told him he’d wooed me long before then.”
Haleigha chortles. “I cannot imagine the heir of Slytherin being so mushy.”
Poppy locks her arm with Haleigha. “He is, too. It’s so soft.”
“I’m sure you’re the only one he’s soft with,” Haleigha lays her head on Poppy’s shoulders. “He seems particularly rigid.”
Poppy snorts and buries her head in her hands. “He is, especially when it concerns Sebastian. That boy exasperates Omi to no end.”
Haleigha purses her lips in thought. “A pain, is he?”
“Much more willing to break the rules to suit his purposes.” Poppy grins. “I adore Sebastian. It’s just between all the girls he scorns and all the sneaking around at night he does, Omi is left to bail him out a lot.”
“Why doesn’t he just stop helping Sebastian?” Haleigha asks, quietly, lowering her voice as they enter a busier part of the castle.
Poppy tilts her head towards Haleigha. “Sebastian never asks for Omi’s help. He just can’t stand the thought of Sebastian getting expelled. Sebastian doesn’t mean to get into trouble, he’s just mischievous and not careful enough to cover his tracks. Without Sebastian, Omi would’ve been miserable here. Being an heir of Slytherin doesn’t impress the other students much and being blind only made it worse. Sebastian established his skill and quick temper pretty quickly. No one would dare mess with Omi because he was Sebastian’s friend. Since then, Omi has founded his own reputation of not taking rubbish from others, but he does it in a much more reserved way. I don’t think anyone would’ve noticed had Sebastian not befriended him to begin with.”
Haleigha grins, fondly. “Sounds like best friends.”
“They are.”
“Even when we were young, I remember Sebastian causing trouble. His parents gave him the space to learn safely by his own mistakes, then promptly lectured him on why when he’d finally admit he suffered enough.”
Poppy stops and looks at Haleigha with wide eyes. “I’ve never heard about their parents. Neither of them ever speak about them. It’s just a fact that they live with their uncle.”
Haleigha sighs. “I wasn’t here when they died, I only met Solomon once when he came to visit Arenshire for All Hallow’s Eve one year. I’ve never been a fan, but Anne loves him so I keep those opinions to myself.”
“Why?” Poppy asks as they enter the Great Hall.
“Why don’t I like him or why don’t I ever say what I think?”
“Both.”
Haleigha glances around the Great Hall to make sure Anne isn’t around yet. “I don’t know to be honest. I just immediately didn’t like him when we met and I refused to go within arms length of him. So I can’t tell Anne I can’t stand her uncle when I have no real reason to. I sound insane.”
Poppy looks at her hands. “I think instinct and insanity get confused a lot.”
Before either can say anything else, Anne throws open the doors to the Great Hall and bounds for both Hufflepuffs, giving them both a hug that’s a little too tight. But they both soak it up.
“I literally could not sleep last night,” Anne practically vibrates. “I have so many plans. Once you get a little more settled, we have to go to Hogsmeade. You haven’t had butterbeer in years, it’s time you have.”
Haleigha lets out one small shout of excitement. “Agreed. Absolutely. I may not even care about getting settled.”
“Yes!” Anne pulls her schedule out from her bag. “Firstly, what made you so late?”
“It was a nightmare.” Haleigha groans and buries her face in her hands, fear shaking her frame. “Our carriage was overtaken by a dragon. Not sure how it happened, but the coachman got us in it’s migration path. Obviously, the dragon attacked from there. The coachman and Professor Fig’s friend didn’t make it and we were a little lost. But he got us here.”
Anne and Poppy stare at Haleigha in horror and amazement, respectively. Anne shrieks, “I could’ve lost you before I even got you back.” At the same time, Poppy leans forward and gasps, “What was it like being so close to a dragon?”
Both Haleigha and Anne look at Poppy like she’s mad. Poppy smacks her lips and crosses her arms. “What? She’s clearly ok.”
Then all three break into a fits of laughter. When they’ve calmed down, Anne unfolds her wrinkled and torn parchment with her schedule. “We need to figure out classes and see if you have any with us.”
Poppy lays her own schedule on the table. “We have Beasts and Charms together and I know Omi is in our Charms class, too.”
“Excellent,” Anne mumbles as she looks over everyone’s schedule. “Looks like we’ve all got Transfiguration together too.” She looks closer at Haleigha’s schedule. “How come you don’t have History?”
“I’m special,” she grins with a chuckle. “I tested out of it because the curriculum at Ilvermorny was a little ahead.”
Anne shakes her head. “Not fair.” She’s quiet for a moment. “Oh! You have Herbology with Bash. Even though it isn’t required for all 7th years, he enjoys it for some reason.”
“Hey!” Haleigha snaps, playfully. “Plants are awesome and necessary. Maybe if you respected them a little more you could grow one.”
Anne rolls her eyes. “You have Potions with Bash and I and I think you have Defense with Bash and Om.”
Haleigha grins happily. “So I have at least one of you in all my classes.”
Anne pouts. “I only have 2 with you.”
“Well you can come have sleep overs in our room to make up for that, ok?” Haleigha offers.
Anne rolls her eyes with a huff. “Fine, I guess that’ll work.”
The Great Hall begins to fill up quickly with students looking for nourishment before classes begin. Anne drags both of the others to the Slytherin table. “We can sit wherever we want for breakfast, since there are more Slytherins in our group than Hufflepuffs, you can sit at the Slytherin table.”
“Kind of bossy, isn’t she?” Haleigha pretends to whisper to Poppy, making sure she’s actually loud enough for Anne to hear.
The girls sit down and save two seats for the boys then chat and giggle until food shows up on the tables.
It’s at that moment, the two Slytherin boys reach the Great Hall. “It’s too early for this. I don’t need breakfast,” Sebastian whines at Ominis.
“What you need is a proper sleep schedule, but since that isn’t going to happen anytime soon, you should at least get some energy. Besides, the girls are waiting for us.” Ominis shoves Sebastian toward the open doors of the Great Hall.
Sebastian groans. “They’re always waiting for us. I could’ve gotten another hour of sleep.”
Ominis stops pushing him. “You have Dark Arts in 45 minutes.”
“I said what I said.” Sebastian yawns as he stumbles toward the Great Hall. But then he spots Haleigha sitting at the Slytherin table. Somehow she looks even more alluring than the previous night and when she laughs, Sebastian’s entire brain shuts down. Ominis still urging him forward mixed with his inattentiveness to anything but the new Hufflepuff causes him to walk into the door that isn’t open. He groans loudly in pain, cussing under his breath. “I knew I should’ve stayed in bed.”
“Stop being a baby.” Ominis grinds out then leaves Sebastian to fend for himself, too eager to say good morning to Poppy.
The only seat open is across from Haleigha, which is fine. He can keep his head down and not stare, it’s fine, he’s fine.
He exaggeratedly drops his head onto his crossed arms with a dramatic sigh, refusing to look at anyone. But then he feels fingers on his forehead, sliding into his hair. He jerks back, unwilling to think too much about how good that felt.
“Oh,” Haleigha’s eyes widen. “I- are you ok?”
“I’m fine,” Sebastian snaps.
She tilts her head and reaches toward his forehead. “You’ve got a red mark.”
He pushes her hand away. “I said I’m fine.” He dares to lift his eyes and immediately regrets it. Haleigha’s eyes look watery and her chin quivers just the tiniest bit. Not only is Sebastian on edge due to Haleigha’s stunning presence, but now he feels like a complete git. “Damn, I’m sorry.”
She closes her eyes as she takes in a deep breath. Then she stands with her bag, her breakfast left unfinished. “It’s fine,” she snipes then stomps out of the Great Hall.
Sebastian chances a glance at his friends only to find each of them staring at him with disapproval. Too stubborn to admit he should apologize, he loads his plate with food and begins to shovel it into his mouth. He can feel the judgmental stares from everyone, but it’s the knowledge that he hurt Haleigha’s feelings that actually gnaws at his insides. “Dammit,” he grumbles and shoves his plate away from him hard enough for it to tumble off the table.
He curses at himself again, but stands up, ignoring how Poppy asks Ominis what his problem is. He doesn’t want to, but he needs to find Haleigha and apologize, for his own sanity. He anticipates she went back to her common room, but he finds her just down the hall, sitting on the floor. He cautiously stands next to her. He has a sister, he knows how feral women can be.
Haleigha glances to the boots next to her. She doesn’t need to look up to know it’s Sebastian. His scent is all around her, citrus and pine and water with something singed just underneath it all. She turns her head away from him. “I don’t know how to get back to my room.”
Sebastian sighs as he slides down the wall to sit next to her. “I am sorry.”
“You are an ass,” she mumbles in retaliation.
He smirks. “There is an argument for that.”
She sighs but relents and turns to him. She doesn’t notice the way he swallows thickly when their eyes meet. “I just wanted to make sure you were ok.”
“I know. I am.” He rests his head against the wall, keeping his eyes on her. “I’m heinous in the mornings.”
“Clearly.”
Sebastian stands and offers her a hand even though he thinks that’s a bad idea. Considering his skin tingles and heat gathers in his abdomen when she clasps his hand, he’s right and admonishes himself. “Let me walk you to your first class.”
Haleigha pulls out her schedule. “I think it’s the same for both of us.” She hands him the bit of parchment.
He grins outwardly, but groans inwardly. The last thing he wants is more time with a girl he has no business finding attractive.
“So it seems.” He takes her bag, because at the end of the day, he is a gentleman, after all.
Sebastian is a womanizer whose twin has begged him to keep his hands off her best friend. Haleigha is on the rampage after a devastating break up and moving across the world. She wants him to be the one to make her forget, he realizes she’s the only one that can make him feel.
divider by @cafekitsune
Chapter 1- I Got Rammie, Rammie, Rammie
Chapter 2- Friends
Sebastian is a womanizer whose twin has begged him to keep his hands off her best friend. Haleigha is on the rampage after a devastating break up and moving across the world. She wants him to be the one to make her forget, he realizes she’s the only one that can make him feel.
divider by @cafekitsune
Chapter 1- I Got Rammie, Rammie, Rammie
“Ugh, Sebastian!” Anne growls under her breath, already beyond irritated with her twin.
Without glancing up from his book, he smacks his lips. “What did I do this time?”
“Where did you put my wand?” Her voice raises in pitch with each syllable.
He slowly brings his book down to his lap and looks up. “You mean the one on your chest?”
Anne glares at him and mumbles a curse under her breath. “You could help, you know.”
“I could,” he replies coolly, returning his attention to his book. “But I’ve already completed all my chores and have my bags packed and ready by the door. Now, I believe it’s in my best interest to stay away from you.”
Once again, she glares and curses before stomping away to complete her tasks.
“Why are you so uptight anyway?” Sebastian calls.
“I haven’t seen Haleigha since we were 9. I’m nervous we won’t get along as well together.” Anne flits from one side of the house to the other, mentally checking off her list of things to pack.
Sebastian watches as she looks around, confused, then grabs the stack of quills on the table and holds them up for her. “I definitely think you’re overthinking this. You two were inseparable when we lived in Aranshire and you’ve posted weekly since. I see no way that you’ll not be inseparable again.”
Anne turns to him, her hands on her hips, a sneer on her face. “I see one very large, arrogant, and obnoxious reason we may not stay friends.”
Sebastian sighs, dramatically and slides his glasses to the top of his head, mussing his already disheveled hair. “I already told you a million times that I’d stay away from her.”
Anne relaxes minutely, crossing her arms over her chest instead of the stiff hands on her hips. “You’ve said that before. And we both know there are very few girls that will speak to me anymore.”
He snorts. “If sleeping with your brother and him never calling keeps you from having friends, perhaps they’re not good enough to be friends with anyway.”
“Or perhaps you’re just a numpty and being related to you is a curse.” She snipes.
He stares at her blankly just before the corner of his mouth twitches. “There’s an argument for that.” He closes his book, takes his glasses off his head to place beside his book, and walks to Anne, gripping her shoulders. “I promise I will not ruin your friendship with Haleigha. I won’t even glance at her.” He grabs the overflowing chest behind Anne to carry to the door. “What does she look like so I know who to stay away from?”
Anne shrugs then grabs another case of hers. “We never sent photos, I haven’t a clue. But I’m sure I’ll know her. She’s the same girl she was 8 years ago.”
“Not helpful. I can’t even remember what she looked like then.” He leans his shoulder against the doorframe while Anne gathers a few more bags. “Will she be meeting us on the platform or train?”
Anne shoves a large bag into Sebastian’s arms. “Neither. She’s being escorted in early since she’s never been to Hogwarts nor is she a first year.”
Sebastian hums in acknowledgement. Just as he’s about to reply to Anne, their uncle, Solomon, stomps up the walk. “Let’s go,” he yanks the collar of Sebastian’s shirt. Once Anne is out of earshot, Solomon pushes Sebastian against the frame of the door. “You won’t be getting into trouble this year, right?”
Sebastian bites the inside of his cheek hard enough for a metallic taste to slide along his tongue. “I can’t make any promises,” he whispers, his lip curling. “Wouldn’t want to disappoint you twice as much.”
“You’re a real piece of work.” Solomon bites back through his teeth.
Sebastian sighs as he scoops up his own belongings. “So I’ve been told,” he mumbles too low for anyone to hear.
He grinds his teeth when Solomon jokes with Anne and picks up her smallest bag. Not that Sebastian is jealous or wants any relationship with his uncle, because he doesn’t. He just can’t stand his uncle; he can’t stand how Solomon smells like Scotch every morning, or how smiles for the world, convinces them all he’s a hero auror but saves his anger for Sebastian, and he really can’t stand how Solomon degrades his father then compares Sebastian to him.
But, Sebastian will be on his own soon enough. So he takes the jabs and the hits and the little cuts to his self esteem for Anne’s sake, to keep the peace, because fighting back isn’t worth the pain he’d receive for it.
As soon as they’re on the train, away from Solomon’s heavy judgement, Sebastian finds a private car and drops into one of the seats. He can feel a headache beginning behind his eyes. Since that’s the last thing he needs tonight, he closes his eyes and prays for some blessed silence.
But he must have truly pissed off someone in another life, because that’s the moment that his best friend, Ominis, smoothly slips into the car with his overly energetic girlfriend, Poppy. Sebastian groans internally. Not that he doesn’t like Poppy, he does, very much. She’s one of the only girls in the school that’s earned his respect and holds her own against him and his band of Slytherins. Just not right this moment.
No one would ever know, though. He plasters on a smile and gives Poppy a warm hug and Ominis a pat on the back. “How was your holiday?” Sebastian asks them both as he sits back down.
Although Ominis usually spends the break from school with Sebastian’s family, this summer he joined Poppy on trip to Paris to study magical creatures. It was a once in a lifetime opportunity that their Beasts professor, Howin, set up for her. Ominis had been able to wave around the Gaunt family name to go with her. He’s happy for Ominis, Poppy warms him in a way no one ever has; but he’s jealous. He’ll never mutter any of this out loud, but he is. He doesn’t want Ominis for himself, he doesn’t even want to have the burden of a relationship, but without a buffer, Solomon was harsher than he’d ever been; which made for a very miserable holiday for Sebastian.
Before Poppy can begin her story, Anne comes into the car, arms packed with treats and drinks. She practically throws it at Sebastian in lieu of gently setting it down so she can wrap Poppy in a huge hug. She pushes Poppy’s cheeks together then kisses all over her face. “Ohg, I missed you.”
Poppy giggles and stumbles, launching both of them onto the seat next to Sebastian. He does his best not to seem irritated, and with how excited the girls are to see each other they don’t notice. Ominis does, though. He silently kicks Sebastian’s foot and raises an eyebrow.
“Just a small headache,” he whispers so the girls don’t hear. Both of them will throw a fuss if they hear he isn’t feeling his best, he doesn’t want that from either of them.
Once the girls finally stop squealing, Anne dolls out the snacks and Poppy regales everyone with tales from the last few months. Sebastian is barely paying attention. What he’d really like is a quiet room with a warm body under him, but that won’t be happening for at least a few hours.
They finally make it to their final stop and everyone clambers into the thestral drawn carriages. One thestral paws repeatedly at the dirt and snorts at Sebastian as he walks by. Sebastian scoffs, “I don’t like you, either,” and quickly moves on to the next carriage that doesn’t have such an ornery guide.
Despite his irritation and his headache, Sebastian relaxes immensely upon seeing the castle. It’s warm, safe, and familiar; it’s home and lets that knowledge sweep over him.
Soft whispers of a dragon attack of a ministry member filter through the Great Hall. By the time the rumor reaches Sebastian he hears that a whole thunder of dragons attacked the Ministry of Magic, not a sole survivor. While he does find a dragon attack strange, he doesn’t believe all the stories everyone is spreading.
All the students file in, leaving the first years to get sorted into their houses. Anne frantically pats Sebastian’s hand over and over. “I don’t see Haleigha. She should’ve been here by now.”
Sebastian pats Anne’s hand to soothe her. “Maybe she’s already been sorted and she’s not in Slytherin.” He tips his head toward the other tables.
Ominis snorts. “There are a few good witches and wizards in those other houses.” His deadpan humor flies entirely over Anne’s head, she’s too worried to laugh at a poor excuse for a joke.
“I still don’t see her,” Anne grumbles then tries to subtly check the other tables without making a scene.
“Maybe the dragon got her,” Imelda pipes in, entirely unhelpful.
Anne’s eyes nearly bug out of her head, both Ominis and Sebastian give Imelda looks that could kill an ordinary witch. But, Imelda doesn’t believe herself to be an ordinary witch, so she shrugs off their glares in lieu of watching the sorting ceremony.
Samantha Dale manages to catch Sebastian’s eye and silently signals to meet her back at the Great Hall after curfew. Sebastian smirks and nods once. At least he’ll be able to relax a bit soon.
The sorting ceremony is nearly finished when a pleasant shiver runs down the length of Sebastian’s spine, causing him to move his gaze from the front of the room to the doors opening. No one else has caught onto the intrusion, but Sebastian is suddenly keenly aware of the commotion.
A sprout of a girl steps into the room with Professor Fig, the professor of Magical Theory. She’s trying to stay hidden behind the good professor, but it’s no use. It wouldn’t have mattered anyway, Sebastian saw enough.
His heart jumped into his throat then stopped dead, his lungs seized, his mouth went dry. That’s not to mention the more obscene reaction happening between his legs. He drops his head into his hands, mortified. He hasn’t had an uncalled for reaction like this for years, he always has control over himself. He hadn’t even started having dirty thoughts of her, yet. But it’s like his body was keenly aware of something his mind wasn’t picking up.
Sebastian had never seen the girl before, he didn’t think, but she looked older than any first year. He bit his lip as he leaned over the table a little to get a better view. Bonnie lass, is the only thought that could take hold. She was clearly petite, but even through her wrinkled robes her curves could be seen. He couldn’t decide what color hair she had, since it seemed like every color shimmered through her locks. He even thought the sticks and leaves in her hair were charming. He leans closer to the door to see better, getting in Anne’s space.
Anne shoves at his shoulder. “Get tae,” she huffs, but then turns to see what Sebastian is looking at and she has to clap her hand over her mouth to keep from wailing. She does wave maniacally, though. “Bash, Haleigha’s here.” She slaps his shoulder with one hand while continuing to wave at her friend.
Sebastian chokes on his tongue. “What?” He still can’t take his eyes off her and when she finally looks at Anne, her blue eyes practically glow in the light, causing Sebastian’s heart in gallop at what he’s sure is an unhealthy pace.
“That’s Haleigha, dummy.” Anne replies much too loudly, causing several people to turn their attention to the girl coming in.
Immediately Haleigha’s cheeks turn bright red and she covers her face with her hands.
Cute, Sebastian thinks, then mentally recoils. He doesn’t think girls are cute. Or charming. Or devastatingly gorgeous.
Fig escorts Haleigha to the front of the Great Hall, whispers a few things to Headmistress Weasley and Headmaster Black, then finds his seat, leaving Haleigha on display.
Black opens his mouth to speak, but Weasley gives him a terrifying glare before turning her attention to Haleigha. “No worries, now, dear. Come sit.”
Haleigha tilts her head while analyzing the hat. Of course, she knew of the sorting hat. She had spent the first 9 years of her life in Scotland with all the other mini witches and wizards, but having spent all her schooling days at Ilvermorny, she’s Leary and overwhelmed.
Professor Weasley offers her a soft smile and pats the stool. Haleigha takes a deep breath, sits, and waits.
‘Hm,’ a low voice hums in her head. ‘Quite a bit older than the rest, but not new to our world. We’re a long way from America. Brave, you are, for starting over and determined to prove your place. Sharp mind with a gentle heart. Your friend is a Slytherin, but as much as you want to be with her, you want to do the work and make your own friends. You wouldn’t mind continuing your mother’s legacy in Hufflepuff, which is good since your heart does, in fact, belong in’, “Hufflepuff!”
The yellow and black table jumps up with cheers and praise and welcoming hugs. A girl that looks about her age, grabs her hand. “I’m Poppy. Anne is one of my closest friends, she hasn’t stopped talking about your arrival.”
Haleigha trails behind Poppy in a daze. “You know me?”
Poppy offers a warm smile. “I know your name and they did announce it to everyone.”
Haleigha rolls her eyes. “Of course.”
Once the sorting ceremony is completely finished and all announcements have been made, including finally reinstating Quidditch, the feast appears on the tables and Haleigha stares in amazement. “It was never like this.”
Poppy chuckles. “It is a bit indulgent.” She reaches for the platter of meat. “You eat meat or no?”
Haleigha nods, “I definitely do.”
Poppy places a thick slice of beef on Haleigha’s plate. “The roast is the best. I’m always craving it.” Haleigha thanks her and tries to decide what other food she wants, while Poppy continues. “What’s Ilvermorny like? Do they have houses?”
Haleigha’s eyes light up. “They do, I was in Wampus, but I think ‘houses’ is where the similarities end. Ilvermorny is not this grand and not just the castle, in general, it’s not over the top and lavish. It doesn’t feel like old magic, like Hogwarts does.”
Poppy continues to ask a few more questions about Haleigha’s old school, while Anne pulls Sebastian by his collar to join her in bombarding Haleigha.
The two Hufflepuffs are laughing amongst themselves when Anne taps Haleigha’s shoulder.
Immediately Haleigha jumps up, tripping on the bench only slightly, and throws her arms around Anne. “I missed you,” she mumbles into Anne’s neck.
“I’m so happy we get to spend our last year together.” Anne vibrates with excitement. “We’re required to go to our rooms after this for classes tomorrow, but if you meet me here early, I’ll help you figure out where everything is.”
Poppy yips happily. “I’ll make sure she’s here and is taken care of tonight…”
Poppy continues to talk, but it all fades to a quiet din to Haleigha. She finally notices the other Sallow twin, standing behind Anne looking painfully bored. All she wants is to hug Sebastian, the memory of his warmth and playfulness something she always held onto. So, she indulges, pushing past Anne and jumping into Sebastian’s arms.
He’s caught off guard, having spent the whole feast determinedly not looking in Haleigha’s direction. Even still, he catches her easily to keep her from falling.
“Sebastian,” she says quietly, a teasing light in her eye. “Remember me?”
He clenches his teeth for just a moment, catching any reaction he may have had to the way his name sounds on her lips. He smirks, coolly and confidently replies. “Of course, who would forget you?”
Haleigha shakes out her hair and it wafts into Sebastian’s face, the subtle scent of apples, books, and fire catches him off guard and her soft, little giggle makes all the progress Sebastian’s done to tame himself obsolete. “You’re such a liar. Good news is, I won’t let you forget me ever again.”
He gently places her back on solid ground, mildly desperate to get away from her. “What fool would be able to forget you?”
She laughs at his self deprecation and gently shoves his arm. “The biggest fool of all, obviously.”
Sebastian swallows, thickly, his throat far too dry and scratchy. He likes being the reason she laughed far too much. “Obviously.” He takes a step back, then stops to look at Haleigha again. “Just so we’re clear, I never forgot you, I just didn’t recognize you.”
“I’ll forgive you this time, Sallow. A lot can happen in 8 years.” She presses her lips into a small smile then turns her back to him completely to continue talking to Poppy and Anne.
Sebastian walks back to the Slytherin table, far more moody than when he’d left. Damn, I’m in a rammie.
👀A - Attractive - what do they find attractive about their partner?
Sebastian’s a complete sucker for you, everything draws him in and distracts him. One of his favorite things you do is duel, even if you don’t like it, you’re good at it, and it never ceases to amaze him.
👣B - Body - what is their favourite part of their partner’s body?
Sebastian’s favorite part of you is the crook of your neck, your pulse point. He nuzzles in whenever you hug and gets a deep catch of your scent, all of that together makes him feel very comfortable and safe and the longer he’s allowed to stay there the longer he feels loved.
🫂C - Cuddle - how do they like to cuddle?
Full body cuddles. Doesn’t necessarily matter if he’s on top crushing you or if you’re on top or side by side as long as you’re touching everywhere possible and limbs are probably intertwined. The boy is starved for affection and once he gets a true taste, he can’t get enough. He’s shameless. Cuddles aren’t just for bedtime as far as he’s concerned. Class lecture? His lap is free. Meal time? He’ll happily feed you. Dueling? He’s got two hands…ok, maybe he’ll let you go for dueling.
📅D - Dates - what does their ideal date look like?
He likes being active and he’s mischievous, so exploring somewhere restricted is always a good day to him. But so is reading passages of each other’s favorite books by the fireplace. Depends on his mood, how much time you’ve had together recently, and the weather.
🟰E - Equal - are they the dominant one in the relationship, or rather passive?
He’s not passive, but he doesn’t want you to be passive either. He also loves a good argument and making up. (🔞 In the bedroom he tends to be more D, but toes the switch line for whatever your needs are.)
🥊F - Fight - would they find it easy to forgive their partner? how are they fighting?
He’s hot headed and doesn’t think nearly quick enough for his words. He also misunderstands easily and before figuring out what was meant, jumps to the worst conclusion. But he’s learned that he needs a lot of forgiveness so maybe he should forgive a lot. There are a few things he won’t forgive. Abuse of any kind done to anyone or anything. Any harm done to those closest to him.
🎁G - Gifts - how do they feel about gift giving? what are their habits when it comes to this?
He loves getting and giving, but having grown up more meager, it isn’t usually his first thought. Does begin to pick up wildflowers and potion ingredients randomly as he explores.
🤝H - Holding Hands - when / how do they like to hold hands?
Death grip. All the time. Everywhere.
🩹I - Injury ( how would they act if their partner got hurt? )
Depends on the injury and on how you act. If you act a little dramatic to get attention but it was clearly nothing serious and no one did it to you, he’d play along.
If it was serious, no matter how you acted he’d be a bit of a wreck, seeking aid immediately and doing whatever he could to fix it. You are either his last or almost last remaining family and he’s had to watch everyone die and suffer. It brings out his trauma response. He can’t lose you. He can’t.
And if someone else hurt you-they better watch their backs. Sebastian will not hesitate to use an Unforgiveable to avenge his love even if he’s put the Dark Arts behind him. If they somehow managed to survive, they’d beg for death.
😤J - Jealousy - do they get jealous easily? how do they deal with it?
A bit. Especially if you give attention to another man. He struggles with being deserving of your love. He thinks you can do better and will one day realize that. So yeah, he can get a bit jealous, but he doesn’t tend to act petty about it. Much.
💋K - Kisses - how do they like to kiss their partner?
His favorite are the long slow ones where he can taste each part of your mouth. But every kind has a time and place and he’ll take any kiss at any time.
💕L - Love Language - what’s their love language?
Physical touch. Nothing else to say. Physical touch.
🌞M - Mornings - how are mornings spent with them?
Usually sleeping. He’s a night owl and doesn’t like to get woken up early. If he is woken up, he stays in bed as long as possible.
🌜N - Nights - how are nights spent with them?
Reading, cuddling, being intimate, sometimes exploring. It’s when he likes being the most active.
🔓O - Open - when would they start revealing things about themselves? how would they do it?
Before he even begins courting. He feels so comfortable around you he spills more secrets than he means to.
🤗P - PDA - how comfortable are they with pda?
Very. Loves it. Loves showing off his love. Doesn’t care if he makes anyone annoyed or if he’ll get in trouble.
🤪Q - Quirk - what is a random ability that helps the relationship?
His charm makes it difficult to stay angry at him for too long. But that’s also annoying because sometimes you want to stay mad.
🌹R - Romance - how romantic are they? cliche or creative?
Not overly too much of anything. He enjoys doting, just because he thinks you deserve it, but he doesn’t try to be romantic. He does things because he’s thinking of you or wants to keep you safe.
🔐S - Security - how protective are they?
Very. Overly. Stifling. But after losing his entire family and himself for a while, it’s understandable.
🎙️T - Talking - what do they like to talk about?
Everything. He’s very cerebral. Sometimes he’ll just drop random facts: “did you know lemons float but limes sink?” “The lead roof of St. Paul’s Cathedral melted during the Great Fire of London causing a molten river.”
💭U - Understanding - how well do they know their partner?
He knows you better than he knows anyone else. He strives to know all he can and he puts that knowledge to practical use. He doesn’t always understand your reasoning, but he learns to trust you.
📣V - Vaunt - what are they proud of? do they like to show their partner off?
Sebastian thinks you are incredible, he is proud of all your accomplishments, probably even more so than you are. Not only he is proud of who you are, but he loves showing you off on his arm.
🧩W - Whole - would they feel incomplete without their partner?
Before meeting you, he hadn’t realized he was missing anything, other than his parents and his sick twin. Once he met you, he knew nearly immediately you’d be his, there was no other option. He wasn’t in love, although you were by far the most enchanting person he’d ever seen. He just knew, so once he’d officially locked you in, he became well aware of what complete and incomplete felt like.
💘X - XOXO - are they affectionate?
Sebastian’s affection can sometimes be suffocating. He lacks personal space when comes to you and when he’s having a particularly bad day or feeling lonely or guilty or missing his family he’s even more affectionate.
☹️Y - Yearning - how well do they cope when they’re separated from their partner?
Sebastian can usually cope decently well for a few hours, a day of school with meeting for lunch. Much longer than that and the intrusive thoughts start. He can usually keep his anxieties tamed for another day before he has to find you, or at the very least hear from you.
The older he gets, the better he gets at handling his fear of losing you. Still, if for any reason you two can’t spend the night together, he asks you keep him updated.
If you become pregnant, he rarely lets you out of his sight unless completely necessary. It gets to the point that you go to the bathroom just to have some peace.
💤Z - Zzz - what are some sleeping habits of theirs?
He’s a terrible sleeper. He usually reads until well into the morning. Once he decides to go to sleep and his head hits the pillow, he’s falls asleep almost immediately, is a bear to wake up.
He usually doesn’t need more than a handful of hours of sleep to be rested if given the chance to sleep as long as he wants.
Unless he’s having nightmares, he sleeps soundly and deeply.
He’s hot, whether anyone is next to him or not, he heats up. He won’t sweat, but he warms up anyone in bed with him.
He doesn’t usually like too many covers unless he’s sick. He hates pajamas but has learned to use them because of roommates, but he will sleep with as little clothing as possible.
divider by @cafekitsune
Blank:
🥰Fluff Alphabet🥰
👀A - Attractive - what do they find attractive about their partner?
👣B - Body - what is their favourite part of their partner’s body?
🫂C - Cuddle - how do they like to cuddle?
📅D - Dates - what does their ideal date look like?
🟰E - Equal - are they the dominant one in the relationship, or rather passive?
🥊F - Fight - would they find it easy to forgive their partner? how are they fighting?
🎁G - Gifts - how do they feel about gift giving? what are their habits when it comes to this?
🤝H - Holding Hands - when / how do they like to hold hands?
🩹I - Injury ( how would they act if their partner got hurt? )
😤J - Jealousy - do they get jealous easily? how do they deal with it?
💋K - Kisses - how do they like to kiss their partner?
💕L - Love Language - what’s their love language?
🌞M - Mornings - how are mornings spent with them?
🌜N - Nights - how are nights spent with them?
🔓O - Open - when would they start revealing things about themselves? how would they do it?
🤗P - PDA - how comfortable are they with pda?
🤪Q - Quirk - what is a random ability that helps the relationship?
🌹R - Romance - how romantic are they? cliche or creative?
🔐S - Security - how protective are they?
🎙️T - Talking - what do they like to talk about?
💭U - Understanding - how well do they know their partner?
📣V - Vaunt - what are they proud of? do they like to show their partner off?
🧩W - Whole - would they feel incomplete without their partner?
💘X - XOXO - are they affectionate?
☹️Y - Yearning - how well do they cope when they’re separated from their partner?
💤Z - Zzz - what are some sleeping habits of theirs?
I think I’m going to throw up. I’ve never been so nervous in my life. In reality, I’m not sure I’ve ever actually been nervous at all. But in this moment, my entire life is in the hands of a stunning little witch.
Loving her has been the easiest thing I’ve ever done, the best thing I’ve ever done. I knew she was different the moment I saw her storm into the Great Hall like a hurricane. I knew I was her the moment she dropped me on my arse without breaking a sweat in our first class together. I knew she loved me just as fiercely as I loved her the moment she kept my darkest secret.
I knew Anne and Ominis were displeased with me, to say the least. But this girl fought tooth and nail to keep me from Azkaban. Not only did I love her irrevocably, I owed her every breath I took. She’s also the catalyst for my reconciliation with Anne. She is everything.
I told her the day Anne’s curse was lifted that I was going to take her on a proper date, and not in catacombs with undead crawling around us.
She merely smirked at me, flipped her hair, and said, “you better.”
I fumbled through our relationship, not from nerves but sheer stupidity. I kept my foot firmly lodged in my mouth and my knees bruised from my constant groveling. I truly can’t believe her patience, she’s a saint. And maybe mildly masochistic.
Even the night I asked her to formerly and legally tie her life to mine, my nerves weren’t this out of control.
This moment is the culmination of everything and she has all the power. If she wanted to ruin me, now would be the perfect moment.
I pull at my necktie, unable to breathe, a cold sweat dampening my hair line.
Ominis lets himself into my room without knocking or any notice. “We’re ready for you.”
I nod but don’t move. I’m frozen, paralyzed by a stifling fear that I won’t be enough. My veins feel like ice has been pumped into them and a dread fills my chest.
Ominis smacks my back hard. “Stop. She chose you. Don’t sabotage yourself now.”
I nod again, dumbly. “Yes, she’s choosing to give herself to me. She’s not running.”
Ominis guides me to the front of the church. She insisted on a church and I can’t refuse her anything.
It feels like I’m waiting forever and the irrational fear that she’s figured out that I’m the worst choice she could make begins to make another appearance.
The moment before I run down the aisle in panic, I see her. Her beautiful smile, her bright eyes filled with love, her obvious excitement. I feel a weight lifted off my chest and close my eyes in relief.
I open them, not to find my blushing bride joyfully coming to me, but covered in blood and gore, her stare filled with hate. I turn to Ominis to check if he’s seeing this, but he’s glaring at me with a sadistic smile I’ve never seen on him. I look to Anne, but she’s not there. At all. Solomon is, though, pointing his wand at me. “Anne is dead because of you, you couldn’t let it go.”
I stumble back a bit but gentle hands grab my biceps. “What is it,” Ominis’s cool, calm, level headed voice whispers.
I prepare to scream at him. How can he not realize that none of this is ok? Before I can utter a sound, I see his worried expression. Then look to Solomon, but Anne is there giving me an annoyed expression. Finally I look back at my anchor and she’s there, just as lovely as always, not a drop of blood marring her pure dress.
“Nothing. Nothing,” I mumble to Ominis. I try to choke back the lingering fear. That was entirely unwelcome.
I’m shaking as my beloved reaches me. Her smile soft and slightly mocking. “Were you off dueling, darling?” She sasses me as she fixes the tie I’d loosened earlier.
“Not today, love. You’re my sole focus. Perhaps, tomorrow?” I link our fingers.
She blushes fiercely, that’s just a beautiful shade on her cheeks. “We might be otherwise preoccupied.”
I throw my head back and laugh, I don’t care about the ogling guests or the impatient pastor glaring. This is our day, it will be done in our way. “Preoccupied with you sounds far better than any duel.”
She bats her pretty eyes at me and looks at me coyly from under her lashes. Are we married yet? The desire to claim her as mine is quickly turning into a distracting need.
The ceremony is relatively quick. I’ve nearly forgotten that unnerving vision from before, until I lean in to kiss my new wife and blood trickles down her chin. I shake my head to rid myself of that sight and everything is right again.
The moment we step out of the chapel, I’m dragging her behind the building to apparate her to a small little house near Hogwarts.
“Sebastian,” she scolds. “What are you doing?”
I smirk at her. “Giving you a gift then claiming what’s mine.”
Her cheeks again flush that color I love. “W-what gift?”
I wave my hands to the cottage. “Anne and I sold the Feldcroft home. You and I can begin our life here.”
Her jaw drops and eyes widen. “You bought me a house?”
I grin, pleased by her reaction. “I couldn’t let my new wife sleep outside.”
She sputters a little then throws her arms around me.
I pick her up to take her into our new home and she squeals in delight. “Welcome home, my love.”
As soon as we step into the house, a chilling wind slams the door and thunder rumbles while freezing rain pours and the windows frost over.
“What the…?” I glance out the window. It had just been beautiful, sunny, and warm. Now it’s so cold I can feel it seep in through the closed window.
“Sebastian?” My wife’s sultry voice brings my attention back to her. “We have a party to get to.”
I grin wolfishly at her. “My love, the party will have to wait.” I stalk after her. She steps back pretending to be fearful. “You have something I want.”
“What’s that, darling?” She tilts her head as she eyes me.
I undo my tie but keep it around my neck. I softly trail my fingers down her cheek. “Your innocence. We won’t be leaving this house until you are officially mine.”
We never actually make it to the party, which is just fine by me. I have my favorite person with me, why would I want to waste precious moments with her on anyone else?
Occasionally through out the evening, a draft from the outside would come in and chill me so deeply I couldn’t move. It never lasted as my wife was much more interesting than some strange, dreary weather.
I’ve got her wrapped tightly in my arms, so I waken when she slips out of the bed.
The cold slips in, freezing the air in the bedroom. I attempt to light a fire but a wind tamps it out just as my wife comes back. She stands next to me, so I look up her soft, curves to find her sneering at me.
“Whatever made you think you were worth my time?” Her voice is hard, disconnected, her eyes emotionless as she slits her own throat.
I stand so quickly I get dizzy and trip as I pull her into my arms. But instead of the horror of being covered in her blood, her sweet giggles fill my ear. “Darling, what’s gotten into you?”
I lean back so I can properly see her. Her look of love, patience, and desire is back and her throat is as pristine as always. “I…thought I saw something.”
“Silly boy.” She presses her lips to mine and urges me back to bed. “There’s plenty you can see.”
I growl quietly as I crawl over her body. “Love, are you sure?” I press a kiss to her jaw. “Are you not sore?”
She threads her fingers in my hair and arches against me. “Slightly, but not enough to turn you away.”
I swallow thickly then claim her lips.
Even though the heat of our bodies feels like an inferno, I suddenly feel a chill run down my spine and not in a good way.
I look down at my wife only to find I’m somehow alone. I flip onto my butt to scan the bedroom, only we’re not in our bedroom. We’re in the catacombs.
Inferi swarm me. I stumble to my feet so I can grab my wand, my sole concern protecting my wife. Except I don’t see her anywhere. What I do see turns me colder than even the strange weather.
Anne, pale, thin, shambling on decaying legs. I’m completely immobilized. This isn’t possible. I can’t move, so when Anne swipes at me, deep gashes appear on my cheek. Warm sticky blood leaks down my cheek and neck. The pain pulls me out of my shock enough to dodge another inferius beside me.
My lungs burn from the inability to breathe and the smoke from the fire. I hold my breath and pinch my eyes shut, praying that I’ll be back in bed with my wife, not in this hellscape.
But I am still here, the angry gurgling from the inferi getting closer again. An ear splitting scream forces me into motion and I finally start blasting these inferi to a permanent death. Not the Anne inferius, not that one.
I make it to my wife, inferi cover her, clawing at her, no matter how many times I cast confringo it doesn’t do anything. I resort to throwing them off her. It’s too late, there’s a gaping wound in her neck spurting blood. I press my hands over the wound with one hand while I struggle to grab my wand to cast a healing spell.
She opens and closes her mouth as if she’s trying to say something to me.
“Stay with me, ok, I’ll fix you.” I sob.
She weakly grabs for my arm and motions for me to come closer. I brush some hair out of her face. She scratches at my chest. “I…” blood dribbles from her lips, but she doesn’t seem to care. “I should’ve…turned…” She takes a deep, shuddering, painful breath, straining to tell me this important message. “You in.”
I couldn’t have heard her correctly. My heart cracks at the thought that she could regret me. Before I can say anything else or confirm what she meant a bright green light flashes by my head. The light in my love’s eyes is immediately extinguished.
“This is your fault,” a familiar threatening voice says. Solomon glares at me. “Look around at the mess you’ve made.”
Ice crackles along the catacomb walls, the cold soaking in so deep I can barely move. Everywhere I look, I see the bodies of the people I love, cold and lifeless. My parents, Anne, Ominis, my love.
I need to wake up. I need this to end. I rub the heels of my palms into my eyes, praying this ends.
I feel even more cold, but I force my eyes open. And I am no longer in the catacombs. I am somewhere far worse. I know that this is my reality. Not the catacombs, not my wedding, this. This endless nothingness. My only reprieve the dreams my mind tries to convince me are real.
Cold stabs at the back of my neck. I know what I’m going to see before I look. Deformed, disembodied, damned. Creatures with a bottomless appetite for human souls. Tattered scraps of what may have once been a soul.
Bitter tears pour down my face. Not for where I am but for what I could’ve had. That’s my favorite dream, even though the dementors ruined it this time with their starving presence. I try to stay in that dream as long as possible before the dementors taint it with nightmares.
The reality isn’t much better. No, my love didn’t turn me in, she begged Anne and Ominis to spare me, she even came to my hearing.
No amount of begging changed my sister’s mind. She turned me in and didn’t cast a glance at me as they carried me to Azkaban. Ominis didn’t even come.
No matter how long I dream, I always come back to this. I only wish for one thing, in this reality or my imagined reality. I long for a kiss. Any kiss to end this.
Chapter 52 is here or under the cut. Appreciate some feedback.
Haleigha and I planned our presentation on the Imperius Curse as well as possible. We decided to enact a quick play to demonstrate what overcoming the curse may look like and then a detailed presentation of the steps needed to fortify our minds.
Hecat calls us first and my palms begin to sweat. Haleigha said she wanted to pretend to go under the curse. We both decided I wouldn’t tell her what I planned on making her do, for a more realistic performance. I promised I wouldn’t ask her to do something embarrassing, but otherwise she said she didn’t care. I still haven’t a clue what I’m going to have her do and I’ve got mere seconds to figure it out.
Haleigha explains what the Imperius Curse is, what it does, and how to tell if anyone is under the curse. “It’s very difficult to tell. If the curse is cast properly, there aren’t any visible tells. Only a suspicion if someone is acting unlike themselves. Sometimes if the curse is done poorly or someone is resisting, there’s a slight glaze to their eyes. Even that isn’t a guarantee. If you’re suspicious that someone may be under it, it’s best to tell someone. Make sure to pay attention to the people closest to you and learning how to fight the curse yourselves is the greatest weapon against it.”
She glances at me. I think I’m supposed to say something but my head is entirely empty.
Haleigha’s lips purse then she turns back to the class. “Since we can’t cast the curse, we’re going to act out how someone may react when under it, how someone may fight it, then explain the process.” She looks at me again, eyes wide and questioning.
As soon as I raise my wand, she relaxes slightly, which is the opposite reaction she should have, even if she knows I would never hurt her. “Imperio.” I make the right movements but don’t put any meaning behind my words. Immediately, she relaxes visibly for the class, but I can see the vibrant spark in her eye, the tell that my girl is still lucid.
A chair dragging harshly against the floor steals my attention. Garreth is standing, leaning over his desk like he’s about to leap over it, his hands placed firmly on top, a sneer clear on his face.
His reaction raises my hackles. Does he really think I’d do something to hurt her? Damn barbarian. His possessive stance and the reminder of his not so thinly veiled threat at the beginning of this assignment turn me petty.
I know exactly what I’m going to make her do. I should feel bad. This only proves I’m a cad that never deserved her to begin with. “Kiss me,” I whisper, but at least half the class hears me because they gasp and whisper.
Haleigha, a masterful actress, doesn’t pay them any attention and only briefly glares at me before she pulls my tie from the vest of my uniform. My mouth goes dry and I shift from foot to foot, never wavering our eye contact. Is she actually going to do this? I wouldn’t blame her if she slapped me, even I know I’m crossing a line. In actuality, I’ve taken a running leap over a line, the line, all the lines.
My breath becomes ragged when I grasp her waist in my hands. I slowly lean down, terrified that she’ll pull away, but just as unnerved that she’ll kiss me in front of her current boyfriend. She pushes herself up on the tips of her toes and I hear an angry growl from across the room. I know it’s Garreth but I’ve got the most lovely woman in my hands; he gets absolutely none of my attention.
We’re so close, her breath washes over my lips, making me pull her closer to me. I lift one hand from her waist to brush hair away from her face and cup her cheek.
It’s a soft kiss, but it can’t be described as a small kiss. Almost immediately her tongue brushes my bottom lip and I’m done for. I pull her closer still and her hands go to my hair. There’s a slight hum of voices but none of that matters when I can taste Haleigha on my tongue.
A sharp, violent tug separates us and Hecat’s displeased eyes meet mine. “Is kissing your partner really apart of your presentation?”
I look at Haleigha, lips slightly swollen, eyes full of unshed tears, her hands covering her face. The look that Garreth is giving both Haleigha and me makes me hate myself just a little more. Of course I want to kiss her and of course I want to rub it in Garreth’s face, but why do I keep hurting this beautiful, innocent woman?
“Actually, it is.” I speak loudly enough for the whole class to hear but I look at Hecat because I can’t stand the judgement in my classmates eyes or the pain in Haleigha’s. “I had to make her do something that she would absolutely loathe, to show how much control the Imperius Curse has over someone.”
Hecat raises an eyebrow, clearly not completely believing my story, but not willing to call me out either. “Proceed.”
I make eye contact with Haleigha, she’s stopped crying even though her face is still red. She slowly walks to me and manages to sidestep Garreth as he reaches for her.
“Professor,” Garreth snaps. “Shouldn’t you put a stop to this? It’s inappropriate.”
Hecat looks bored with Garreth. “This is their presentation, Master Weasley. If you and Master Prewitt have to kiss for your presentation, I’ll allow that, as well.”
The entire class snickers as both Garreth and Leander blush profusely.
Once Haleigha stands directly in front of me, I hold her face in my hands and try to portray with my eyes how sorry I am for being so selfish. I don’t know if she gets the message or not.
I take a deep breath. “Kiss me,” I whisper. I know she can’t, but damn, I’m desperate for her to kiss me again.
Her fingers inch up my chest, her breath is choppy as she rises to her toes again. I lean in, my mouth watering for another taste. I dip my head as I tilt hers up to mine and slot my lips against hers, so close, with every breath we take our lips graze just slightly. She tightens her fists in my vest and pulls me minutely closer and I’m prepared for her to actually kiss me again, even though she’ll have no excuse because this time she’s supposed to fight Imperio, she whimpers so quietly I know I’m the only one that heard, then she shoves me away from her as hard as she can. I’m so lost in her eyes and our almost kiss that I’m unprepared for her strength and stumble into a desk, the corner jabbing my thigh so hard I hiss.
Haleigha’s eyes turn remorseful, but just as she takes a step towards me, Garreth pulls her into his arms. Watching him pat her head and ask if she’s ok, as if I’d actually cast an Unforgiveable on her, is even more painful than the desk. Then I remember I have, in fact, cast multiple curses on her and part of me wishes she would just run away from me with Garreth.
Garreth doesn’t let Haleigha out of his hold for the remainder of class, so I finish explaining how Haleigha and I built huge walls to protect our minds from a curse like this, similar yet entirely different from Occlumency.
Hecat awards us an A on the spot for all our hard work and doesn’t call me back when I walk out of class before it ends.
The following week I don’t know exactly what to do with myself. I’ve been spending so much time with Haleigha that now, without her, I’m lost.
I’m laying in my bed on a Saturday afternoon, when Ominis comes into our room. I don’t think he’d been expecting me. “I thought you’d be with Haleigha.”
I sigh, heavily. “Our project is over.”
“Come on.” He pulls me up by my sweater. “A bunch of us are going to play Summoner’s Court.”
I shuffle my boots behind him. “I don’t want to play Summoner’s Court.” Merlin’s beard, I sound like a whiny toddler.
“Quit acting petulent,” he demands.
I grumble under my breath, but graciously he ignores me.
After losing three games in a row, I want to give up. I’m not having fun and I seem to be taking away everyone else’s fun as well.
Ominis snorts to himself. “You’ll be on your way soon.”
I don’t have long to wonder why he said that because a little butterfly made of paper lands on my shoulder.
If you are free, come to my Room.
-H
I almost don’t go because I’m positive she didn’t mean this note for me, but on the off chance she did, I say farewell to everyone I’ve been playing Summoner’s Court with and make my way to Haleigha’s Room. I happen to pass Garreth racing brooms with Imelda and Everette. I can feel a hole being burned into my back.
When I get to the Room, Haleigha is playing a game of keep away with Jack by levitating a shiny, silver ball just out of his reach. Jack notices me at once and claws his way up to sit on my shoulder where he chitters. I don’t speak niffler, but he seems annoyed with Haleigha, who’s trying to hide her laughter.
I accio the ball away from Haleigha, catch it, and offer it to Jack. He takes it from me, puts it in his pouch, then runs back down my body to, I can only assume, tell Haleigha how unhappy he is with her before running to his nest.
Haleigha glares at me. “Traitor.”
I chuckle and offer my hand to help her off the ground, which she takes. “Did you mean that note for me?”
She looks terribly offended. “Do you really think I would mistakenly send a note meant for someone else to you?” She clutches her heart, dramatically. “You wound me, Sebastian.”
“My apologies.” I bend my head in a sort of bow, then raise my eyes to hers with a grin that she returns with a beautiful smile. “Why did you ask for me?”
She sighs. “I wanted company.”
“Why not your boyfriend?” I don’t mean to fill the last word with as much hate as I do.
Haleigha looks away from me and bites her lip before answering. “I adore Garreth, I do.” She says this a lot. I’m beginning to wonder if it’s the truth or if she’s trying to make herself believe it. “He’s sweet and fun, but sometimes I need both quiet and company. He’s not very good for both.”
I try not to laugh at her. “But I am? Constantly moving, always getting you into trouble, forever frustrating you.”
“You can be quiet and even though we do tend to find ourselves in unsanctioned places, you are capable of relaxing.” She sits at the table where her chess set sits. “Play with me?”
“Of course.” I cast a spell to start her phonograph. “Is music quiet enough?”
She doesn’t bother to answer me and instead moves her king side knight to 3F.
I’m sure we play for hours, but it feels like she beats me within minutes.
I cast reparo on her board, then brush some of her hair behind her ear. “Nicely done.” I don’t want to leave her yet, but I realize she may be ready to reunite with her real life. “Are you ready for me to leave? I can get Garreth…”
“Are you so tired of me,” she pouts.
I answer her honestly. “I’ll never tire of you, kitten.”
“You can do whatever you want, I want to start this new book I purchased.” She waves said book before me then trots off to the hidden spot behind one of her vivariums where she likes to read.
Of course I follow her, I’d follow her anywhere. Besides, now I want to know what book she plans to read. I ask as such while I peruse her shelves for something to read myself. I grab a random book off her shelf that the title has faded from the spine. I crack it open, and it naturally flips to a page. Between the pages are pressed leaves from the lacewing fly bush. Are these the same ones I gave to her on our first trip to Hogsmeade? A gentle warmth spreads through me at the thought, so I gently close the book and place it where I found it.
“The Adventures of Tom Sawyer,” she tells me what she’s reading. “Have you read it?”
I grab ‘The Raven and Other Poems’ by Edgar Allan Poe off her shelf then go sit next to her. “I have, actually. I quite enjoyed it. Felt a sort of kinship with his friend, Huckleberry Finn.”
“I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.” She opens the book, making it clear it’s time for me to stop talking so she can read.
She throws a blanket over both of us, scootches up close to me, and pulls over a foot stool for both of us.
I’m well passed ‘The Raven’ by the time I feel Haleigha rest her head on my shoulder and I’m in the middle of ‘Tamerlane’ when ‘Tom Sawyer’ falls to the floor. I check on Haleigha to make sure she’s ok, which she is, she’s merely fallen asleep. I move closer so I can rest her head in my lap and continue reading. Once I finish my book of poems, I accio Haleigha’s book from the floor, and levitate it so I can read and play with Haleigha’s hair at the same time.
This is the most at peace I think I’ve ever been. I’m not afraid of my uncle or Anne’s curse or goblins; I’m relaxed, at ease, and enjoying these quiet moments.
Haleigha wakes up just in time for curfew, so I make sure she gets to her room safely. “Thank you for spending the day with me,” I whisper, still not quite ready to leave her.
“I guess I got used to spending all my time with you.” She plays with my fingers while she speaks, refusing eye contact. “I didn’t know what to do with myself.”
“I know the feeling.”
Her cheeks turn the sweetest shade of pink. “Good night, Sebastian.”
I brush the apple of her cheek with my thumb. I take in every bit of her. She doesn’t have nearly as many freckles as I do, but a few spatter her nose and cheeks and it seems as if she’s gotten a couple more. There’s a particular one at the top of her lip that I desperately want to kiss. But, instead, I do the right thing and pull away from her. “Good night, kitten.”
❤️ Headcanons for my Sebastian-
My take on his personality, job, love language, things like that.
Divider by @firefly-graphics
-Sebastian is incredibly insecure. His confidence is mostly an act so people can’t see how desperate he really is for love and affection. He tried not to let his uncle’s constant ridicule affect him, but it does. He thinks he’s an annoyance and terrified that the people he loves will realize how useless he is.
-He is fluent in several languages including Latin and Scottish Gaelic. His Father would speak Scots around the house all the time, so after he died it was a comfort to Sebastian but Solomon hated it and beat it out of him. Even though he can still understand and speak it, he rarely does because it causes trauma flashbacks. But when he’s very comfortable and relaxed or completely out of control it’ll slip out.
-He’s all or nothing with everything. Either you’re his friend or you’re not. Either he puts effort into his classes or he doesn’t try at all. Either he is all in in a relationship or he doesn’t bother. He doesn’t do anything halfway. It’s level:obsession or not on his radar.
👓Looks (How he looks as an adult):
Tall, about 6 feet.
Refuses to grow a beard after he tried it once and swore he saw Solomon in the mirror.
Broad from playing quidditch and dueling.
Cursebreaker-leather trench coat, collar up, dueling gloves, hair very similar to Hogwarts days.
Professor/research-suspenders, sweaters, glasses, hair barely taken care of or rarely cut, he’s much more focused on classes or researching to care much about his hair.
💼Job (What they want to be when they grow up/what they are when they grow up):
Sebastian has no desire whatsoever to be an auror. All it does is remind him of his uncle and his own failures.
If Anne gets cured, he’d take that adventurous side and delve deeper into curse breaking. It would satisfy his need for adventure, mischief, curiosity, and dueling.
Regardless if Anne is cured, Sebastian will end up as a researcher or a professor. His love of books and need for stability overriding anything else, especially if he has children. He won’t want to continue living hazardously.
🏠Home (what kind of home they have):
Regardless of how much money he makes with his SO, he doesn’t long for a huge mansion. He’d like something outside a hamlet with a little more land. He enjoys manual labor and would like a small farm with animals. Location itself doesn’t matter much, as long as it isn’t Feldcroft. He’ll follow his SO anywhere.
🧹Household Chores (What they enjoy doing around the house and what they hate):
Loathes🤬-
Dishes, please for Slytherin’s sake he will do any other chore 100 times if he just doesn’t have to do this one.
Loves🤩-
Outdoor work, manual labor of all kinds, farming, wood working, animal care.
Fixing things.
Sweeping, he doesn’t know why, he just does.
Lukewarm🌡️-
cooking, he’s good at it but he doesn’t get enjoyment from it.
Cleaning after meals, putting away food.
Cleaning the house.
🩵Possible Patronus (Different possible Patronus forms):
I think everybody has the possibility for different Patronuses depending on what has happened in their lives up until that point. These are Patronuses that I think would all potentially fit Sebastian, some just might be better under different circumstances. My own personal headcanon, specifically in my story, his Patronus would be a Hebridean Dragon.
I also believe with how obsessive and addictive his personality is, he’d be one whose Patronus would change after falling in love. So ultimately his Patronus is what his love’s animagus/Patronus is.
Black Bear- Common traits seen in black bears are cleverness, resourcefulness, adaptability, protectiveness, gentleness, and many are free spirited. Black bears are often seen as frightening and dangerous, but in reality tend to have a very sweet side that they try to keep hidden.
Dragon- Passion, ambition, instinct, impulsive, fury, power, and dominance are main traits of a dragon and they’re often associated with fire. They can be temperamental and impulsive, but that’s what causes them to be fearful and respected. Dragons are fiercely protective and strong. They will face any challenge, even if violence is necessary. They have good instincts, rarely regretting their decisions, and tend to keep their emotions encased tightly which could make them seem cold. They are natural leaders that don’t tend to back down when challenged. They have a strong sense of their own morals and stand firm in their convictions.
Fox- Cunning, resourceful, intelligent, (can be) manipulative, charming, and a bit of a trickster are the most commonly seen traits in foxes. Although, independent at heart, foxes are social creatures. They are playful, mischievous, brilliantly charismatic, able to speak to any and everyone and seamlessly blend in and adapt to any conversation or environment. They’re also very unlikely to sacrifice their personal beliefs for any reason.
Irish Wolfhound- They’re traits are power, swiftness, gentleness, reliability, intelligence, and a wee bit of dopiness. They are often associated with hunting, guarding, and the after-life. They are seen as an imposing force and can be extremely aggressive, especially when protecting loved ones. Underneath all that fierceness is sweetness and a deep loyalty.
Runespoor- Intelligent, ferocious thinkers, cunning, resourceful, and complex. The runespoor is a three headed serpent, each head having a different purpose. Looking at the snake, from left to right, the planner, the dreamer, the critic. Together, they use their wits to outsmart enemies and sense danger from far away.
Often the critic will hiss continuously, causing the other two heads to attack and bite the third head off. Shortly after the runespoor would die. This symbolizes life, not all plans lead to good outcomes, not all dreams should be dreamt. The critic is needed to be kept on the right path and grow. All three heads are needed to live and work together. The wizard or witch that learns to thrive with their critic becomes wise and brings greatness to their name.
Vulture- Traits of a vulture are intelligence, adaptability, acceptance, resourcefulness, and dominance. Being a carrion bird, vultures are extremely efficient and are able to utilize the barest of materials. They are unafraid and unapologetic of who they are. They also tend to be willing to get their hands dirty and do what few others are willing.
❤️ Love Languages-
-He’s very needy, he needs constant reminders of love from the people closest to him. He’s starved for love and doesn’t try to hide it.
-He’s terrified of losing the people he cares about. His boggart is related to this.
-Physical touch is his main love language to give and receive love. He’s constantly touching the people he loves. Hugs, rough housing, gentle pats, high fives for anyone celebrating. He sometimes has trouble respecting personal boundaries because of his need to constantly touch. For his s/o his touching is even more free. Holding hands, arm around shoulders while walking, carrying them around playfully, stroking their legs or back in classes together. After having been abused by his uncle for years, erasing the bad physical touch with good is important to him. His abuse is also why he’ll never raise a hand to someone he loves and why he’s slow to physical violence even though he’s strong. Striking him is one of the most painful things his s/o could do to him.
-Words of affirmation are his second most common way to show love. He loves encouraging his friends and s/o. He knows how damaging hurtful words are and tries to lift up those around him. He’s also quick to speak without thinking and says things he regrets when he’s angry or hurt.
-He loves presents. Gifts aren’t his main love language but he acts like a little boy whenever he gets a gift. It’s because he didn’t receive many when he was younger. His parents died before he could remember getting many and Solomon never put effort into it. So a thoughtful gift makes him giddy. Giving gifts doesn’t come quite as naturally and he won’t get someone a gift unless they’re incredibly important to him. He didn’t grow up with a lot of money so he doesn’t automatically think of gifts for others. That’s not to say he doesn’t, picking wildflowers or drawing a picture or even playing them a song he learned just for them are more often than not gifts he’d give.
-Quality time with his friends and s/o comes naturally since he’s an extrovert. Growing up around introverts he always felt like he was annoying the people around him, so when someone makes it clear they like his company it’s makes him feel more secure. He doesn’t have to do anything, just being around someone reading quietly or working on different projects is enough.
-Acts of service aren’t something he pays much attention to. He’d rather do work, chores, and responsibilities himself than have help from others. He is happy to help others but it’s more because he doesn’t like being bored than consciously doing something out of love.
🐍MBTI/Alignment
-There’s plenty of controversy over this but in my headcanon he’s an ENTP-A, the debater. (Other debaters include Weird Al, Adam Savage, Mark Twain, Tom Hanks, Thomas Edison, Captain Jack Sparrow, Tyrion Lannister, the Joker, Jim Halpert, Dr. Emmett Brown)
-Extrovert or introvert-Extrovert. He loves being around others and gets energy from their energy. When he’s alone for too long he’s gets stuck inside his head and tends to overthink or lose track of time. He enjoys group activities and team sports. His charm and charisma draw people to him.
-Observant or intuition-Intuition. He’s very open minded and non judgmental. He accepts everyone until they give him a reason not to (like pure blood status). Whether or not he agrees with your life style, he’s very much “to each their own”, he’s not in any position to determine how others should live. He’s very curious and mischievous, not afraid to break rules if it gets him what he thinks he should have. He also doesn’t believe anything should be not allowed if it doesn’t cause direct harm. Knowledge is power.
-Thinking or feeling. Thinking. As far as Anne is concerned, he’s become desperate and has let his feelings overpower him, but as a general rule he thinks things through, and is aware of consequences. He enjoys learning about everything. He has a distinct moral code from years of taking in knowledge and doesn’t tend to waver from it. He enjoys deep conversation and difficult questions and will often take an opposite views for the sake of getting more insight into an idea or person.
-Judging or perceiving. Perceiving. He can go with the flow and doesn’t need lists or schedules, which can be bad because he may wait until the last minute to finish something unintentionally. He likes learning other views and lifestyles. While he doesn’t mind making plans, he also doesn’t mind if plans change.
-Assertive or turbulent. Assertive. He’s very confident and doesn’t hesitate to go after what he wants. He also determined and doesn’t stop until he’s accomplished his goal.
-He’s always yearning for more information, curious to a fault. That’s part of the reason Dark Arts intrigues him, it was off limits and he couldn’t fathom how any knowledge could be bad. He’s a quick thinker, always on his toes, can shift focus from one thing to the next.
-He can be argumentative, arguing for the sake of arguing. If he feels strongly, he can become insensitive to other views and defends his thoughts to the point of being cruel. Even though he can think quickly, he finds it hard to focus on any one thing for any long period of time. He gets bored easily and fidgets constantly.
-Sebastian enjoys active time together. Exploring caves, flying to new areas, sneaking into forbidden areas, finding hidden corridors and rooms. But he also enjoys sitting and having deep conversations next to a roaring fire, cuddles under a blanket, with a mug of butterbeer. He’s passionate and eager and willing to learn. He takes guidance well and yearns to show his s/o how they’ve improved his life.
-Unless he feels like a situation is life or death, he enjoys being tested and pushed. He wants friends and partners that will call him out and challenge him. He rarely admits failure or that he’s wrong, but if he’s been bested he isn’t ashamed to admit it.
-His alignment is Neutral (undecided) to Chaotic Neutral (free spirit). He isn’t as concerned with good over evil as much as he is personal liberty. He can be unpredictable, but he isn’t random. He has distinct reasons for all his actions; most of those reasons are connected to his own moral code and what suits him best. His seemingly irrational jump into fighting goblins isn’t irrational, it’s from his desire to heal his sister and fear that he’s out of time.
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Here is an empty 'template' if anyone wants to do the same headcanons for their characters.
💼Job (What they want to be when they grow up/what they are when they grow up)-
🏠Home (what kind of home they have)-
👓Looks (How they look as an adult)-
🧹Household Chores (What they enjoy doing around the house and what they hate)-
Loathes🤬-
Loves🤩-
Lukewarm🌡️-
🩵Possible Patronus (Different possible Patronus forms)-
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A Dance of Serpents & Surrender:
Ch. 1 - The Collar
This is rough...sooooooo very, very rough. But I'm excited to share, so here it is, before I go pass out. I'll revisit this later today and make it pretty. But in the meantime...enjoy. This is my first real stab at a truly dark romance; we'll see how it goes.
Chapter Rating: M
Crime boss Sebastian | 15-years-later | This one's dark & dirty, folks
@scoldingdarjeeling and @fortheloveof--sebastian - here's to the two of you enablers. (I say with great affection)
Gone was the wild girl with the sparkling eyes and the electric fingers, who always seemed to have hay in her messy hair and dirt across her nose. The face that gazed back at Kelys Penhaligon was a pale mockery of that once-youthful fire; it felt like no amount of cosmetics or magic could fully erase the dark circles below her eyes, or breathe life into the darker, duller sheen of her dirty-blonde hair.
She wasn’t ill - far from it. But at thirty-five, the ache of losses and the weight of unwanted responsibilities had muted much of her vibrancy. Unfortunately, life had recently thrust upon her the ultimate combination of grief and inheritance, and tonight she was supposed to formally present herself to British wizarding society as the last remaining heir of a Pureblood family that could trace its heritage all the way back to the ancient days of Hadrian and Londinium. Kelys frowned faintly at the demure pink tint that had just been applied to her lips - she would have preferred a bolder hint of carmine, but Tibby absolutely, positively wouldn’t hear of it.
“It simply won’t do, Miss!”
Kelys refused to be called “Mistress” by her inherited House Elves. It was requiring some adjustment on the part of all the newly-freed Elves - who she insisted on calling her staff - but Tibby had taken hold of it with delight.
Tibby had also embraced her newly-given freedom and the implicit permission to speak her mind. She had been fairly bursting at the seams with opinions in the last six months - it had delighted, bemused, and annoyed Kelys in equal measure.
“Miss is wearing Penhaligon purple tonight! Red will clash! Miss must trust Tibby! Tibby dressed Mistress Morwenna for her Presentation to Society, and Mistress Elys for her wedding day!”
Kelys had reluctantly conceded that yes, perhaps Tibby knew what she was talking about. But that didn’t stop the young witch from wishing that she could just be bold for once in her adult life - bold like she’d been at Hogwarts, when she’d learned fiery curses from a dark-haired boy with matching flames in his eyes. When she’d run about the Highlands with a Hufflepuff girl of no social standing; when she’d stood bravely next to a Gryffindor who found Hogwarts as new and strange as she did; when she’d dared to call the youngest son of her family’s ancestral rivals her friend; when she’d stoutly defended a Ravenclaw boy who preferred the stars to earthly adventures.
When she’d worn green and silver, and a batty old professor with wisp-white hair had been more dear to her than her own father.
How she missed the simplicity of those days, before the Professor had died, before the fire in dark eyes had gone out, before she’d understood how some choices never felt right even when they were.
“Miss Kelys has a gift!” Tibby broke apart Kelys’s bittersweet reminiscing with a well-timed re-entry.
The House Elf’s bare feet whispered across the thick Persian rug that stretched the entire length of Kelys’s generously-sized bedroom. She clutched a slim, emerald-green box in her hands that was tied both lengthwise and widthwise with a thick silver ribbon tied neatly at its center. Tibby presented it to Kelys with a perplexed look on her wide, angular face.
“What’s the matter, Tibby?” Kelys respected House Elf intuition and stopped herself just short of brushing her fingers against the box.
“The man who brought it insisted that Miss wear it tonight and that Tibby tell Miss so. Tibby tried to explain to him that Miss does not want any gifts from gentlemen callers until after the ball. But he would not listen to Tibby.”
“Did he get mean?” Kelys sat up straighter on her vanity’s low, padded stool.
She wouldn’t tolerate cruelty, rudeness, or unkindness toward her staff.
“No,” Tibby drew the word out; the thoughtful expression on her face reassured Kelys that the Elf did so because she was trying to decide for herself if she’d considered the man mean, not because she was trying to appease “her Miss”. “He was just very -” she hesitated, clearly struggling to find the right word. “Pushy,” she decided. “He was very pushy.”
“Hmm.” Kelys eyed the box.
She was tempted to tell Tibby to go and put it on her sitting room table until she felt like dealing with it tomorrow. But there was something about the obvious Slytherin colors of the box and ribbon that drew her curiosity. Kelys sighed to herself as she took the “gift” from Tibby’s raised palms - she never could pass up a curiosity.
Wary of enchantments, however, she glanced over and down at Tibby before setting it along the edge of her vanity. “Did you have Tamsyn check it for charms, jinxes, or curses?”
Tamsyn was the one human she had in her employ - a bright young witch who had served as her personal assistant for the last six months. With Kelys now stepping up into the role society and adoption had chosen for her, Tamsyn had refused to hear of anyone else being Kelys’ bodyguard - so now she was in charge of what presently passed as the Penhaligon estate’s security, in addition to being Kelys’s walking, talking, breathing appointment book.
Tibby’s ears waggled in time with her vigorous nod. “And Tibby is able to do the same! The box has been checked twice. No charms, jinxes, or curses, Miss.”
“Hmm,” Kelys hummed softly to herself for a second time and brushed her fingers gently across the glittering ribbon. “I suppose sometimes a gift is just a gift.” She plucked at the bow and asked Tibby in distracted curiosity, “What did the gentleman look like?”
“He was blind -”
Kelys’s fingers froze.
“- And he had blond hair -”
“Very fair skin?” Kelys interrupted, her heart starting to pound.
“Yes,” Tibby chirped. “And his wand was…strange.”
The ghost of a smile brushed the corners of Kelys’s lips. “He uses it to see for him - after a fashion, anyway.”
“Does Miss know him?” it was Tibby’s turn to be curious, her big round eyes turned up toward Kelys’s face without fear of reprisal or correction.
“Oh yes,” Kelys huffed something that could barely be called a laugh, though her chest warmed with the name that rolled across her tongue. “Ominis Gaunt. We went to school together. I haven’t seen him in years,” she huffed again and shook her head. “He should have announced himself - he could have brought me this himself.”
“Is he a friend of Miss?” Tibby asked, a bit more cautiously this time.
“Once,” Kelys pulled the bow loose and gently brushed the ribbon off of the box. “I haven’t spoken to him in years, though. Not since -” She stopped herself short and shook her head. She gave Tibby a rueful side-ways glance. “Well, it doesn’t matter much now, I suppose. Please tell Tamsyn that if he comes again tonight, he’s to be let in, even without an invitation.”
Tibby nodded solemnly. “Yes, Miss.”
Kelys lifted the box lid and…just stopped and stared. The Elf stood up on her tip-toes to see what lay within it, clearly concerned by her employer’s reaction. After a moment’s careful consideration, Tibby said softly -
“It is quite beautiful, Miss.”
“It is,” Kelys murmured in distracted agreement.
Resting against plush midnight velvet was a slender, beautifully crafted choker of exquisite white gold - so delicate and finely wrought that it seemed spun from moonlight itself. The choker shimmered subtly under the warm glow of the nearby candlelight, its surface engraved with a graceful tangle of willow leaves, intertwined and elegantly etched. The patterns were so meticulously rendered that they appeared almost alive, as though a gentle breeze might stir the delicate silver branches into motion.
Embedded along the delicate curves of the choker were tiny amethysts - exquisite gems that glimmered softly, their hues shifting gently from pale lilac to deep royal purple as she moved the box slightly in her hands. She instinctively knew, even without testing it, that these subtle shifts in color were no mere trick of the light. Magic whispered from the gems, gentle yet insistent, resonating quietly with something deep within her.
Her fingertips hovered just above the choker for a heartbeat, hesitant yet irresistibly drawn, as she traced the fine lines of silver and gemstone without yet daring to touch it. A subtle heat radiated from the metal - an intimate, enchanted warmth. Yet the presence of the whispering magic didn’t alarm her; it felt like a caress and not even the focusing of her Ancient Magic upon it could reveal anything sinister emanating from it.
Whoever had sent this to her knew her family crest and colors - willow and amethyst. It would perfectly match the dress laid out behind her, on the top of her bed’s feather duvet. They also knew not only about her one highborn Pureblood weakness - jewelry - but about her preference for a simple, elegant choker over any other kind of necklace.
Kelys stared at that simple, but stunning choker, and felt known. There was no question about it - she had to wear it.
She couldn’t help the genuine smile that finally brightened her face and lifted her lips. Tongues would no doubt wag the second it became known that Kelys Penhaligon wore a piece of jewelry gifted to her by a Gaunt. Her father and mother would surely roll over in their graves if they were able to see such blatant disregard for their family’s centuries-old feud from the Other Side.
She sighed softly, happily.
Ominis had always known how to make her smile.
Her late grandmother’s lavish ballroom dripped with opulence - crystal chandeliers spaced evenly throughout the spacious room glittered in shades of ice, amber, and crimson in the flickering candlelight that tipped their long and elegantly curved arms. Enormous porcelain vases dotted throughout the room fairly burst with the brightest blooms - peonies, roses, orchids, pussy willows, and gladiolas - enchanted to flower despite the chilly October night outside the floor-to-ceiling mullioned windows. Tables along one wall groaned with seven different kinds of punch, a riotous display of brightly decorated petit fours, a world tour’s worth of cheeses, and a seemingly inexhaustible array of other delicacies that could be nibbled discreetly throughout the night. Silk dresses and enchanted embroideries glittered throughout, brilliant contrasts to the understated elegance of black tailored jackets and sharply pressed trousers.
The cream of the Pureblood crop mingled and mixed - Blacks, Rosiers, Malfoys, Lestranges, Burkes, Selwyns and Yaxleys. An undercurrent of tension ebbed and waned, as Kelys had resolutely invited witches and wizards from the Houses known to clash with her family’s more ambiguous morality - Shacklebolts and Abbots, the odd Longbottom, and one brightly-haired Prewitt. But so far, everyone had behaved themselves - even Draven Malfoy and Garreth Weasley, who had loathed each other from their schoolboy days. The only Pureblood family absent from the festivities was the Gaunts - and no matter how often Kelys swept her eyes hopefully over the colorful gathering, she didn’t once spot that distinctive ash-blond hair or opalescent eyes.
She touched a lace-gloved hand to her throat as she took a breather from dancing in a quiet corner between the far end of the dessert table and a cluster of riotously leafy planters. She took a sip of her berry-red punch and nearly choked on it when a voice whispered against her ear -
“Hiding, princess?”
Kelys would have frozen to the spot if she hadn’t been coughing for air. No one - absolutely no one - had ever dared to call her princess.
Except for Sebastian fucking Sallow.
Her breath and dignity barely gathered, Kelys forced herself to turn slowly around to face the man she only remembered as a boy. And then she froze, face red and neck flushed from more than coughing after one sweep of her eyes over her decidedly uninvited guest.
He was tall, broad, and broody, with those same tousled curls and burning brown eyes that she remembered from their youth. Same freckled face, same knowing smirk, same insufferable sense of slyness about him. There was a scar through his left eyebrow that hadn’t been there before, but her eyes got caught on the newness of the beard - just thick enough to not be considered scruff, and neatly trimmed along his upper lip and jawline. Sebastian Sallow with a beard was…was…a bit of a revelation, really.
Kelys couldn’t squash the thought fast enough - Merlin, he’s handsome. And he surely read it in her eyes, because that wicked mouth of his curled up like the devil’s bow on one side.
“Miss me?” he purred.
The sound of his voice seemed to jolt her out of her momentary lapse of vapid fawning. Kelys pressed her lips together, straightened her shoulders, and lifted her chin with all the haughty dignity that she had learned from her Grandmama Morwenna.
“If you don’t want to cause a scene, Mr. Sallow, you’ll kindly remove yourself from this estate.”
“Is that any way to greet an old school friend, Miss Penhaligon?” he countered smoothly - and damn, now that he’d strung together more than two words, she couldn’t help noticing that his voice had deepened.
A lot.
Oh dear.
“You, sir, were not invited to this party,” she snapped - more irritated at herself than at him, for the moment.
Sebastian clicked his tongue and set the empty glass in his hand down on the table next to them. “And see, I’ve been spending the better part of a day trying to figure out why that is.”
“For starters,” Kelys said tartly, “you’re a criminal.” She paused for effect, then added with sweet, sweet venom, “And I’m not just talking about dear old Uncle Solomon.”
The look he gave her wiped what faint smugness had crept into her face right off of her lips. It was dark and unsettling, like a moor on a moonless night. It was cutting in its intensity, too, and one look into his eyes told her that the flame that had been in them as a boy had turned into an inferno. Sebastian Sallow was all grown up - and Kelys wasn’t sure that she liked what she saw after all.
His response, however, was measured and smooth - like silk over sharpened steel. “I’d show a little more gratitude to the man who single handedly doubled your grandparents’ wealth.” He lifted his gaze and jerked his chin toward the swirling dance floor behind her. “Your wealth, now.”
Kelys felt her cheeks pale. “What?”
The smile he gave her was serpentine. “Oh, don’t act coy, princess. I haven’t forgotten our late-night conversations in the Slytherin common room - your family is as morally ambiguous as they come. Playing both sides against the middle is a time-honored Penhaligon tradition,” he leaned down to bring his face closer to his; his breath smelled of whiskey and cinnamon. “Your inheritance comes as much from legitimate gains as it does the black market.” He paused, then hummed thoughtfully, his nostrils flaring wide as if scenting her. “And ever since I took over the artifacts trade, the black market became far more profitable for your grandparents than not.”
Kelys stared at him, the punch glass of heavy cut crystal still clutched in one raised hand. As startling as finding Sebastian at her first public event as the sole Penhaligon heir was, she knew she shouldn’t have been surprised. Her grandmother had been a Burke before marrying Jago Penhaligon - she had made her name in the trade of artifacts both benign and malevolent. Her grandfather had made his wealth from the maritime shipping lanes, and when he’d made the middle daughter of the House of Burke his bride, his ships began to carry artifacts both legal and illegal. Smuggling, he’d laughed heartily around more than one holiday table, was a Cornish tradition, after all.
And in the last ten years, one name, and one name alone had become synonymous with the British artifacts trade - Sebastian Sallow. Kelys hadn’t yet figured out how he’d weaseled out of Azkaban - really, she didn’t want to know. By the time his name had come across her grandmother’s lips - to her mingled horror and shock at the time - she’d known the Sebastian she’d fallen for as a girl no longer existed. He was the king of shadows, a powerful force in wizarding Britain's criminal underbelly, lord of a faction that had risen out of the closes and back alleys of Edinburgh to dominate the entirety of the dark artifacts and magical smuggling scene from London, to Cardiff, to Dublin and Belfast, and back to Edinburgh itself. She’d kept her distance from him - but it would seem her reluctant ascension to the head of her grandparents’ shipping-and-artifact dynasty had put their paths in an inevitable collision.
Fifteen years had changed so much, and most of it wasn’t for the better. For him or for her.
“What are you doing here?” She decided to try a different angle of protest.
He didn’t answer her, his eyes sliding over her half-bared shoulder instead. He straightened abruptly, then grabbed her elbow.
“Shall we dance?”
He phrased it as a question, but his body language told her it wasn’t a request. She was normally faster on the uptake, but having a ghost from her past emerge from the shadows without warning behind her at her own party had taken Kelys Penhaligon just a bit off her center. So before she could catch up with what was happening, he had already swept her onto the dance floor. His hands were huge - the one at his waist spanned the generous curve of her hip as if it had been made to fit in the hollow of his palm, while her own fingers barely made it around the width of the hand that clutched them.
Dancing had been ingrained in her since she could walk, so the move of her free hand to his shoulder was automatic. But damn if she didn’t notice the second her palm settled against the solid curve of muscle and bone that he was powerfully built beneath that impeccably tailored black suit of his. Heat radiated off of his body and they were entirely too close for comfort, Kelys thought as he spun her confidently through the other couples dancing around them. It had been entirely too long since she’d had a man in her bed, too, because while her brain tried to sternly inform her body that it had no business reacting to the likes of Sebastian Sallow, her body tingled in anticipation for something she was not going to allow it.
Ever.
Not from this wizard, at least.
“I must say, Kelys, that you look stunning tonight.”
Curse him. Curse him and the damn broom he came in on.
She struggled to keep her gaze dispassionate as she glanced over him again. This time, her eyes caught on his waistcoat.
His purple waistcoat - the same rich plum hue as her dress, and subtly embroidered with willow leaves, just like her damn dress. She almost asked why on earth he was wearing Penhaligon willows, when the answer bubbled up from the depths of her memories. Sallow, he’d once told her with a half-shy grin, was another name for willow. At the time, she’d naively wondered if it was a sign of some romantic fate…and even now, she did have to wonder at the serendipity of it all.
Two willows. One weeping; one sallow.
She forced her eyes up from the center of his plum waistcoat; it was satin, from the way it caught in the candlelight above and around them. Kelys took a moment to eye the rest of his ensemble - his evening tailcoat was made from midnight-black wool and impeccably tailored to accentuate the width of his shoulders and the narrowness of his waist. His dress shirt was crisp and brilliantly white; its stiff-winged collar, however, fell just short of hiding the stark, sharp lines of the tattoo beneath the left side of his jaw. The mark of Azkaban, clear as day for all to see; Kelys raised her gray eyes up to his face and caught him watching her, his own eyes glittering with that dark fire of theirs. A faint smile touched the corners of his lips and she knew he was enjoying this.
That one little mar along his neck fairly screamed to the heavens the truth of the matter, the truth of Sebastian - the heir of the Penhaligon fortune was dancing with a known criminal. A criminal, she mused dryly, who likely had fingers in damn near every pocket in the crowd. Including hers, as he had so uncomfortably declared.
That was the first thing she was going to have the accountants look into come morning. She was not going to owe the Lord of The Reliquary a single pence, or sickle, or thrice-damn penny. Whatever choices her morally dubious grandparents had made, she was determined to do the opposite.
Ominis Gaunt had taught her that she could rise above the reputation of her family. She intended, now more than ever, to do exactly that.
And speaking of Ominis… Kelys tried to catch a glimpse of smooth pale skin and a red-tipped wand among those who gathered along the edge of the dance floor. The choker he had gifted her lay warm against her throat, its gentle enchantment the only thing keeping her from hyperventilating in Sebastian’s grasp.
“Looking for someone?” the devil dipped his head and murmured against her cheek.
Damn him and his cinnamon scent.
She loved cinnamon. Adored it. Found its warmth comforting and calming - two things she hadn’t ever associated with Sebastian Sallow, even on his best days.
“If I am,” she refused to look at him. “It’s none of your business.”
“Oh, I think it is,” he chuckled - the darkness of it slipped down her spine like the gentle slide of ghostly fingers.
Kelys’s brow knitted together in a frown - that drew her attention back to his face and its stupid beard. “No aspect of my life is any of your concern, Mr. Sallow,” she said firmly.
Sebastian just hummed, the sound of it deep and resonate at the base of his throat. Then he shook her ivory tower to its very foundations with just one honest sentence.
“You know, Kels,” he’d been watching the party from above her head and slowly, deliberately lowered his gaze until it tangled with hers. Her chest tightened at the sound of her old nickname on his tongue - how dare he remind her of simpler days and happier times? “You’re the only woman I’ve ever kissed.”
She nearly stumbled over his feet in surprise. “Come again?”
Candlelight glinted in his eyes as he drew her smoothly toward the edge of the dancefloor, toward the back by the tables, where their entire conversation had begun. “You heard me quite well,” he said softly, dangerously.
She couldn’t help a soft scoff of breath, or the way her eyes traced the width of his shoulders. “I have a very hard time believing that, Mr. Sallow.”
Kelys was surprised he hadn’t tried correcting her yet. He dared to call her “Kels” - a most familiar name and one that had been shared only between her, him, and Ominis - and she insisted on the strictest formality in naming him. It was obvious why - she wanted to keep him at arms length, wanted to keep a wall of manners between them, wanted to remind him that he was not her equal. But if anything, calling him “Mr. Sallow” just seemed to keep that infuriating ghost of a smirk flitting about his lips.
“Oh, I’ve had plenty of women in my bed over the years -”
She flushed at his indecent boldness.
“- but I’ve never kissed a single one.”
“Why in Merlin’s good name are you telling me this?” Kelys tried to smother the inexorable pull toward him with a heavy dose of exasperation.
They had stopped dancing, but he still gripped her waist and she still had her hand on his shoulder. He had his back to the dance floor and with her own back toward those leafy vases, she felt hidden - like there was only the two of them in a room of soft shadows and even softer candlelight. It was intimate, this moment - and it made her uncomfortable.
And yet…she did not take her hand off of his shoulder. Instead, she watched with an indecent interest as his eyes lingered on her mouth, then slid over her chin and down to consider the delicate choker clasped snug around her throat. He finally lifted the hand at her waist and brushed a finger along the curve of skin-warmed gems.
She should have batted it away.
But she didn’t.
“I knew my collar would look good on you,” he inhaled deeply then, as if to calm himself; a Scottish brogue curled faintly beneath the crisp enunciation of his English and good heavens Kelyn didn’t know he’d had that in him.
It almost distracted her from the implications of his words.
Almost.
“I beg your pardon?” she couldn’t bring herself to speak above a wavering, incredulous whisper.
Sebastian’s smile was straight and white against the dark frame of his beard. There was an adder’s tongue inside his mouth, no doubt about it, and the poison of his words sank into her soul.
“My collar,” he traced a finger below it, directly against her skin - it took every ounce of Kelys’s discipline to not shudder. “You like it?”
For just a moment, she imagined something vulnerable in his question, in his gaze. But then anger welled up within her and she finally pulled her hand away from his shoulders to bat at his at her throat.
“Ominis -” she started, but he cut her off with a sharp look and even sharper snap.
“Was doing as he was told.”
That revelation shook her to her core almost as badly as his claiming ownership over the choker she had thought so gorgeous and generous.
“Ominis…works for you?” Kelys abandoned all dignity and gaped up at him.
Those powerful shoulders rolled in a falsely nonchalant shrug. “Has for years.”
“He…he would never -” she sputtered.
Sebastian cut her off again. “There are a great many things about Ominis Gaunt that you don’t know about, my dear.” Those fingers at her throat grew bolder and drifted down across the curves of her collarbones.
Kelys was too stunned to stop him. She could only stand there and stare as Sebastian Sallow slowly stripped away the last remnants of her innocence.
“But I didn’t come here to talk about another man,” he continued, his voice as soft, as gentle as his fingers, which were now tracing the low, heart-shaped curve of her dress just above her breasts. “I came to talk about the woman who’s always been mine, and what I might do to convince her of that.”
His fingers lingered in the hollow of her neckline, just above and between the gentle rising and falling of her chest. Kelys knew she should push his hand away - should slap him for his audacity. But Merlin’s breath it had been at least two years since she’d known the touch of a man and damn her if she hadn’t dreamed on occasion over the past decade and half of this man’s touch.
She’d had a silly school-girl crush on Sebastian, fueled by the rush of dueling him - dueling beside him - and too many long, lingering nights sprawled on the couches of the Slytherin common room sharing secrets between them. But inspite of his descent into a madness that neither she nor Ominis had been willing to follow, the intimacy of those nights and the shared thrill of illicit adventures had led to a number of memorable - if tentative - kisses and cautious touches. Then it had all gone to shit and a year later she’d burst into tears in front of her entire class when the scent of cinnamon and cedar had wafted up from her Amortentia potion.
Kelys had wondered over the years if she’d still smell him in Amortentia. She’d been too afraid to find out…but now she had a sinking suspicion that she just might.
Then she gathered up her wits and took one decisive step away from him and his conniving touch.
“I am not, never have been, and never will be yours, Mr. Sallow.”
He just hummed, seemingly unbothered by her resistance. His hand fell to his side - though he still grasped her hand with the other.
“Two willows,” he said so softly, so cruelly. “One weeping, one sallow.”
“The coincidence of our names does not give you the right to…to…” Kelys fumbled over the word, but damn if it wasn’t the right one for the gleam in his eye, “...to claim me.”
“Perhaps not,” his words cut deep, “but I’d say that the fact that thoughts of you were the only things that kept me sane in Azkaban just might.”
Kelys froze. He…he couldn’t possibly mean that.
“A pity, then,” she hissed back, her heart breaking open in her throat, “that I have never been enough to keep you out of the Dark.”
“Who says you haven’t?” he murmured.
She would have believed him, if it hadn’t been for the flash of fiendfyre in his eyes and the subtle-sly curve of his mouth.
“Please leave, Mr. Sallow.”
Kelys couldn’t bring herself to say anything further. She yanked her hand out of his, gathered her skirts, spun about on her heel, and didn’t give a damn if her fleeing toward the gardens sacrificed the last of her dignity. She thought she caught Garreth Weasley step out of somewhere and square up against Sebastian; she thought she heard her former friend and Slytherin snort and laugh in Weasley’s face.
But she didn’t dare linger to see Garreth’s ill-advised attempt at chivalry play out. She fled from her own party, cheeks and chest a-flame. She didn’t stop until the cold October night cooled her confusion and a fat full moon hung gold and heavy in the sky above her. Kelys’s breath puffed in the air in front of her as she made a beeline for the lakeside gazebo on the far end of the property. The estate’s boundaries were more narrow than wide, so it wasn’t all that far from the manor’s warm lights - she could still hear the orchestra playing, in fact, if somewhat faintly, as she stepped up beneath the whitewashed wooden cupola above her.
She shivered, the thin satin and silk of her gown hardly appropriate in the brisk autumn evening. But she’d be damned if she went back into the manor any time. She needed air, space, a few precious minutes to think straight, because it had been impossible with the smell of whiskey and smoke up her nose. Kelys reached up with shaking hands and smoothed back the small, fine hairs that had come loose during the heat of their dance. She felt unraveled.
He was insane. He had to be. Contrary to his claim, Azkban had clearly addled his brain. Either that, or the power he wielded as the head of Britian’s most powerful crime syndicate had gone to his head. Kelys snorted at the thought - both were likely. Sebastian’d always had a fragile ego, and neither Azkaban nor unfettered power were likely to improve it.
She took several deep breaths as she stared across the lake without noting a damn thing bout it. Her heart had just settled when the snap of a twig sent her spinning around - and damn-near face-first into a purple waistcoat.
“Leave, Sebastian!” she shouted, her control eroded by his inexhaustible audacity and the several hundred yards between them and the nearest ears besides their own.
Kelys put both hands flat on his chest and pushed. She might as well have shoved a wall, for all the good it did her.
“Why do you never listen?” her voice rose in steady increments as her fingers curled into fists and she pounded against his solid muscle. “You are an absolute idiot who chose power at all costs over Anne, over Ominis, over m-me!”
Her voice broke and she snapped her mouth shut so hard her teeth clicked. She wouldn’t cry in front of him. She wouldn’t. Kelys flung her hands behind her neck, her fingers searching frantically for the choker’s clasp.
“Get it off of me! Get it off of me right now, Sebastian Sallow, or -”
A hand grabbed her chin and froze her with a single firm touch. He forced her to look up at him, then, and the raw desire in his eyes nearly made her squeak.
“Or you’ll what, Miss Penhaligon?” he lowered his mouth and purred against her lips.
Kelys swore she could feel her heartbeat in her ears. She tried not to gape, tried not to meet his predatory gaze with wide eyes, but he had caught her so completely off-guard that for a moment, she floundered.
But only for a moment.
Then she bared her teeth at him and snarled. “Or I’ll turn you into a goddamn chicken.”
“Showing me those little fangs of yours is only making me harder.” His words were so unexpected, so crude, that she could only make a series of sputtering sounds utterly insufficient for conveying the depth of her outrage. Then he continued, that smile flashing even in the darkness, “Your magic is instinctive. If you really wanted to turn me into a chicken, you’d have done so already.”
“So help me, I will hike up this skirt -”
Oh. She shouldn’t have said that. That damn smile widened like the chasms of Tartarus itself. She meant that she’d pull up her dress so she could yank her wand from the holster strapped to her thigh, but Sebastian didn’t let her get that far.
“I wasn’t planning to cross that boundary tonight, princess, but if that’s what you want -”
He took one step toward her - still holding onto her chin - and Kelys took one hasty step back. They did that twice, until the gazebo post pushing into her back put an end to any further retreat. Sebastian pressed his advantage, until their thighs brushed and she felt the half-hard truth of his claim.
“You’re not telling me no,” he whispered against her cheek.
“I shouldn’t have to,” Kelys tried, so very, very hard, to cling to her Pureblood haughtiness.
To no avail, alas. Sebastian had called the Heir of bloody Slytherin his friend for four years before ever meeting her. He was impervious to aristocratic airs.
“Hmmm,” they were so close she could feel his hum roll through his chest. “You really should.”
“Why?” she blurted out as his mouth came dangerously close to hers. “Why now? Why tonight? Why…” she managed to get her hands between them enough to gesture, “This? I don’t know when you got out of Azkaban and I don’t want to know. But it been at least ten years since I first heard Grandmama say your name without ever once hearing it from me, so you’ve had a damn decade, Sebastian Sallow, to do whatever,” she sputtered inchoherently for a moment, “this is.”
He paused, his posture suddenly thoughtful. He titled his head slightly to the side, the moonlight strong enough to filter beneath the roof of the gazebo and glint against his ruffled hair. “You didn’t need me until now.”
Kelys blinked, utterly flummoxed. “Need you?” she snorted softly. “Why on earth would I need you now?”
“That is a pit of vipers in there,” Sebastian jerked his head back to indicate the manor, where her guest were - presumably - still dancing across her floor and eating her food. “And you need someone who can control them.”
“I can control what happens in my life just fine without -”
“Can you now?” His tendency of cutting her off was starting to piss her off. “And when Draven Malfoy comes knocking? Or when dear old Headmaster Black starts sizing you up for Phineas junior? Or when one rich prat or another takes it into his head to connive behind your back and sully your name? What then, princess?” Sebastian’s voice hardened. “You’ve run wild across the Highlands for years, Kels. You don’t know a damn thing about politics or your fellow Purebloods. They will eat you alive.”
“And you won’t?”
Again. The wrong thing to say. Sebastian chuckled.
“I’ll at least make you scream my name when I do.”
Sweet Merlin, that shouldn’t have made her clench.
“You’re a pig,” she said flatly. “A dog. A damn snake yourself.”
“Kels?”
“What?”
“As much as I enjoy some good verbal foreplay, I need you to decide whether or not you’re going to let me kiss you, so I can go on about my night.”
“An absolute weasel,” she hissed.
He moved his mouth closer, until his breath was all she could feel and his lips brushed against hers, just above where his thumb pressed against her bottom lip. There was a heartbeat, then two, and damn her, she didn’t stop him.
She should have. She really, really should have.
But she should have been a damn Ravenclaw for as much as she let curiosity guide her bad decisions. Two years. Two full years and not a single man had looked at her sideways, and now she had one literally breathing down her neck.
A neck he’d graced with his fucking collar.
That was the lost coherent thought she had, before Sebastian yanked her chin toward him to close the distance, and her mouth was filled with the taste of cinnamon and whiskey.
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