a rough sort of poetry

indigo. xxix. scream with me over marcus and oliver. (blog title courtesy of oliverwvvd <3) ~yeh this blog has some NSFW btw~ This is a side blog!! My main is *here*

[jester-nonconforming]

People still tend to lump JK Rowling in with the category of ~problematic artists~ and I need everyone to understand that is not the problem with her. She is not comparable to anyone who wrote a piece of fiction you hate, or someone who made rude comments in 2015 and has since learned better.

She is far more like Elon Musk. She is a radicalized person with an extreme amount of social and financial power, and for YEARS she has been using that power to try to influence her government into hurting vulnerable people, on purpose. And she has succeeded. THAT is the problem with her, and THAT is why spending money on her books is so dangerous, not because her books aged badly.

Critiquing her work is fine, of course (I personally was never a fan so I really don’t care) but you NEED to understand that fiction is not the main issue here. And I truly think acting like she’s the same as the rest of any giant list of ~problematic creators of the week~ waters down how dangerous she is.

[decadent-trans-girl]

[casceth]

i have to reblog this again because i go insane when people act like the problem with her is "its cringe for adults to like kids media" or like "the books sucked anyways" like those are completely irrelevant and try to shift the blame and focus from the active harm. even the fact the books also have bioessentialism and antisemitism is a whole different conversation

[stuckinapril]

Has anyone figured out what’s so viscerally wrong with this woman yet

[stuckinapril]

She’s so one dimensionally evil you guys 😭😭 how is she real

[glittergoon]

We cannot let this wretched, wicked billionaire prevail. Here are a few UK-based organizations I found online that work to support our transgender brothers and sisters.

Galop

Charity supporting “LGBT+ people who have experienced abuse and violence.” Also offers support to friends, family, and professionals.

Support services include emotional and medical support, help navigating the criminal justice system, and information on emergency housing

Gender Identity Research & Education Society (GIRES)

“UK-wide organisation whose purpose is to improve the lives of trans and gender diverse people of all ages, including those who are non-binary and non-gender.”

Maintains a directory of regional groups.

Mermaids

Charity that “supports transgender, non-binary and gender-diverse children and young people, as well as their families and professionals involved in their care.”

Runs regional support groups.

TransActual UK,

A “national, trans led and run organisation focused specifically on working for trans adults in the UK” with a focus on advocating for and empowering trans people in the areas of healthcare and legal protections.

[socialistexan]

I think people let JK Rowling's transphobia define her too much, we need to acknowledge her other aspects.

She's also a racist, antisemitic, and a Holocaust denier, we can't forget that!

[mxrcusflint]

hot off the press - flint & wood, a two part interview 

click for hd + read in full on ao3

[mxrcusflint]

marcus, god of war

[thyrell]

just heard the most beautiful sentence at work

[thyrell]

"a 'hogwart house'? what the hell is that?"

[captaindibbzy]

[crushribbons]

𝕙𝕠𝕟𝕖𝕪𝕤𝕦𝕔𝕜𝕝𝕖

summary: Poppy Sweeting is a little naïve in all the right ways.

cw: 4.2k words, fluff, friends to lovers (i have a problem), smut (18+ ONLY), f/f sex, oral sex, i used a second-person POV bc there would be a lot of shes and hers getting mixed up LOL, fem reader

a/n: i may have a thing for girls who ramble and care about stuff :') also i know panties weren't invented yet shut up she's sexy! happy pride month xx laney

The early September sunshine was warm on your neck as you raced down the Hogwarts lawn to the lake. Steep downward steps carried your legs faster than your body, and you fell flat on your face when your shoe caught on a loose stone hidden on the bottom step. “Ack!” Your arms flailed wildly, attempting to break the fall. Your face got there first.

“Are you alright?” squealed the girl you were in such a hurry to meet. Poppy Sweeting hopped up from her position lounging by the side of the lake and ran over to check on you.

You stood and brushed off your robes nonchalantly. “I actually needed that. Nurse Blainey told me to add more gravel to my diet.” While you cleaned the dirt from your forehead and hoped the bruise you could feel blossoming around your nose wasn’t too horrible, you searched around for the leather traveling bag you’d been holding. It remained unscathed on the bottom step where you’d dropped it. Poppy giggled.

“There’s less dangerous ways to go about that, you know.” Her voice–Merlin. It had a light rasp and a musical quality that sounded like the windchimes that hung outside the Beasts classroom–coincidentally the first place you’d laid eyes on the most beautiful girl you’d ever seen. 

“I brought you something,” you began, trying to open the clasp of the bag without sustaining another injury in front of her. “She made me work for her.” You reached inside the bag and rummaged around for a moment before your hand magically summoned a little squeaking ball of fur into itself. “Ah, here we are.”

You held out the pink and purple puffskein to Poppy, whose face transformed into a ray of sunlight. “You DIDN’T! Look at her coloring! Oh, thank you, she’s so beautiful, I love her, I love her, I love her!” she cried in pure delight as she held the disoriented puffball to her cheek and spun around with her. 

One hundred thousand, you decided in that instant. You would catch approximately one hundred thousand puffskeins if it meant you got even a tenth of that reaction from her in the future. She looked happy enough to burst into one of her spirited rants about the properties of puffskein fur and how a well-cared for Puff could actually be used for levitating properties if you overfed it just the right amount, and God, you hoped she would. 

The two of you walked over to the secluded spot that Poppy had laid out a pale blue blanket over. The grass was soft beneath your knees as you knelt next to her and watched her fuss over her new pet and the air smelled like honeysuckle. Or was it…

“You smell so good,” you breathed, forgetting yourself entirely. “I mean, is that a new soap or..?” You prayed that your lecherous remark had come off as a friendly compliment, but Poppy wasn’t paying attention yet.

“How about Alberta? Hm? What do you think?” she asked the puffskein, tickling it’s belly with her pinky finger. “Is that your name?” 

You could have watched her for hours. The clear day offered a breeze that was wafting her short black hair around her shoulders and occasionally causing pieces to get stuck in her mouth. She spit them out without ever turning her attention from the beast, making an adorable “pthhbt!” noise when she did so. You realized you should probably be looking at and thinking about something other than your best friend. 

“So,” you grinned, as Poppy finally set Alberta down in her lap to stroke her coat. “Anything amazing happen over your summer? I can’t believe it’s our last year already.” A bitter lilt had found its way into your last words. 

Graduation. Sure, it meant the beginning of the rest of your lives, but would it also mean the end of seeing Poppy? You were friends, of course, but friends met up once or twice a year in Hogsmeade to rehash old school days then went back to their separate lives. You were excited for what the future and adulthood held. You were terrified they wouldn’t hold her.

Poppy shrugged. “Nothing spectacular! Gran’s doing well, and I got to see–OH.” 

Her story slamming to a dead halt made you look up, and you saw that her mouth was open in a perfect “O” and her eyes were glittering like the surface of the lake as it rippled and undulated in the wake of the giant squid swimming laps. “You will never guess who asked me to go get a butterbeer with them. The second I walked through the castle doors today, no less.”

Your stomach twisted into a Celtic knot of green, writhing, jealousy. It wasn’t as if you could get upset; you’d had two years now to do the same as whatever Lothario she seemed bursting with excitement over. The only thing stopping you was, well…

“Who?” you asked through a tight-lipped smile, trying to pretend you were interested in this juicy bit of gossip. 

“Imelda.”

If the giant squid had suddenly risen up out of the water and performed the climax to Carmen, you doubted you would have been more stunned. “Wh-uh, well, uh…huh, I, uh. Hm.” You searched the empty expanse of your mind for a single word. “Wow.”

“I know!” Poppy giggled again, placing her hand over her full lips as she did so. “Who would have thought she was so soft for me, deep down.” 

Hearing the words “soft for me” fall from precious, pure, and innocent Poppy Sweeting’s lips made your head spin like a top. You inwardly bemoaned your filth-ridden mind and tried to shake it straight as you made sense of the whole situation playing out in front of you. “So…” you started, slowly, not trusting the words to come out of you in the correct order, or frankly, language. “Are you going to go with her?” Poppy’s expression fell a bit, and she looked down at the grass.

“I dunno,” she said. She started ripping up chunks of grass and casting the blades into the breeze so they floated away. A nervous habit of hers, you knew. “I mean, well. She’s a girl.”

And there it was. Your heart was a blackened lump as it sunk to the bottom of your feet. “Sure.”

Poppy was sweet. Poppy was kind. Poppy rambled when she got excited, and Poppy was the only person you’d ever pictured being by your side after you left Hogwarts. Doing what, it didn’t matter in the slightest to you. As long as she was there and she was happy, you would be happy. But Poppy had been raised by a witch with traditional values, and part of her values included explaining to Poppy that one day she would meet a wonderful wizard and fall in love, and that was the only possible happy ending for her storybook. Gran wasn’t hateful, if anything quite the opposite, but she hadn’t taken the time away from her beasts to explain the more delicate natures of love and sex.

You could still remember the time in fifth year Poppy had found you in the library studying and pulled a chair up, dropping down in it to announce somewhat loudly and without a trace of shame, “Did you know that two witches could technically have sex without a wizard being involved?” Her expression had been completely serious. You had glanced down at the book you had been reading to see if it happened to contain the correct thing to say in this instance. Potions and their Properties had stared blankly back at you. 

“I mean, I suppose she’s pretty,” Poppy was musing, jerking you back to the present. “I like her enough, but she’s a bit mean sometimes.” Her brow furrowed and she looked up at you. “Plus, I’m not sure if I could kiss another girl. I don’t know if I’d enjoy it.”

Your gaze was fixed on Gryffindor tower. You were almost certain it was tall enough for the fall to kill you. 

“Have you ever kissed one?”

Blood rushed into your cheeks and you struggled to find words. Or rather, you struggled with the idea of telling the truth or not. The truth was that no, you hadn’t kissed another witch; the only kiss you had experienced was a reluctant and simpering one with Leander at a New Year’s celebration in the Three Broomsticks as the clock struck midnight. It wasn’t nice for anyone involved. But you were absolutely sure you would enjoy it if you got to kiss the girl you dreamed about nightly. However, if you told her that you hadn’t, the conversation would most likely be tabled in favor of discussing Alberta’s family backstory (Poppy had to assign a fictitious past to all her pets) and you’d lose the opportunity to execute the horrible plan that had just formed in your mind.

You were awful. Awful. If you opened your mouth and said what you were going to say, it would be a gigantic breach of Poppy’s trust, and her naïveté was something delicate that you never wanted to take advantage of. If you did this, it would be unforgivable.

“Yes,” you said and shrugged. It was surprising how easily the lie wormed its way out of you. “Once. I fooled around with an older Hufflepuff up in the Astronomy tower after a party. She was lovely and the firewhiskey made it seem like a wonderful idea.” Oh, you absolute wretch. Adding elaborate detail to the lie now.

Poppy’s eyes were wide as a mooncalf’s. “Really?” she breathed. She was studying you with rapt devotion, like you were a creature that she’d never encountered before. If you hadn’t been betraying her trust completely, you would have been swooning.

“Mmhmm.” You decided to cut it there and hope that this conveniently graduated Hufflepuff girl never got brought up again. “So, who knows? I say give Imelda a chance.” Poppy chewed her bottom lip, its pinkness giving way to white as she contemplated your idiotic suggestion. Give her a chance? You’d just blown the perfect opportunity to help your dear friend with a tough situation by snogging her senseless. As friends do.

“Maybe I will…” She seemed to have more to say, but she trailed off and looked out over the lake once more. Hogwarts loomed over the both of you, and it suddenly felt like the end of your seventh year couldn’t come fast enough. If Poppy did enjoy her little date with Imelda, you’d have to watch the two of them walking to breakfast together, watch Imelda tuck the strands of Poppy’s hair that always distracted her during Charms class behind her ear for her. The thought made you want to be sick all over the blanket you both sat on.

Poppy cleared her throat, once more rousing you from your sullen fantasies. “What if…if it’s not too strange…” Your heart plummeted backwards up from your feet to your throat and started hammering there. Was she really going to suggest…? 

It was her turn to blush now as she yanked three more handfuls of grass out. “Come on,” she muttered, too embarrassed to meet your eyes. “What if we tried it?”

You tried your absolute best to not jump up and start doing Garreth Weasley’s Quidditch victory dance, which involved a lot of gyrating and hip thrusting. You smiled. “Well, alright, Pop, anything for you. It’s fine with me. It could be useful, right?” Alright, calm down, your brain hushed. You’ve sold it, now shut up and kiss her.

“Alright,” she agreed, starting to look excited. “Maybe this will be fun!” It wasn’t the exact conditions that you’d one day hoped to kiss her under, but it maybe being fun was as good a reason as any for you. 

You cleared your throat a little and scooted across the blanket until your knees were touching. The sun, which had been high in the sky when you met up with her, now hung lazily around the three o’clock position, and shadows were being thrown across Poppy’s face by the oak tree you sat beneath. They speckled across her nose like the freckles you spent hours daydreaming of.

“Just a friendly kiss, right?” Poppy asked, and she leaned forward until your noses were touching.

How was this happening, especially so soon after you’d put your entire foot in your mouth with that Hufflepuff girl nonsense. “Of course,” you murmured. Your eyes fell from her ash blue ones to her lips, pink and perfect and then they were pressed against yours. 

You couldn’t help it. A soft moan tumbled from your mouth to hers as you brought your hands up to her hair and wove your fingers against her head. Her lips tasted like every delicious summer fruit you could think of, and you confirmed that the wonderful honeysuckle smell was indeed her hair. The two of you kissed and twisted your heads to slot lips closer for several seconds before Poppy pulled away and her huge eyes stared back at you. You could tell you were panting, but nothing in the world mattered to you anymore. Only kissing her did.

“Oh…wow,” she said. You opened your mouth to brush the entire ordeal off as a nice neighborly favor and hopefully save whatever of your dignity you hadn’t left in her mouth when she launched herself forward and kissed you again, much harder this time. You rocked back on your heels as your hands steadied her by the waist. What? What was happening? Your brain chased answers while your tongue chased hers and you felt her thin frame quiver under your fingertips. “Wow,” she moaned again, breaking just for a second to catch air. You whined at the loss of her lips. “You kiss wonderfully.” A hysterical little laugh bubbled up from her chest and you tugged her back to your mouth. As long as she wasn’t actively shoving you away, you were going to spend the rest of your days kissing this woman. 

It was her turn to thread her hands into your hair, and she actually pulled the locks with a sharp tug. “Pop!” You shrieked in indignation, but she just giggled herself giddy and moved her kisses to your jawline. You wanted to remain indignant, but truth be told, the hair tug had sent a shockwave to your core and you felt wetness pooling between your legs. “Poppy,” you panted again, trying to break her concentration, but she was determined to kiss the entire length of your neck, it appeared, and you lost the will to even try and stop her. But decency won out, and you pulled her by her chin back to eye-level and said, “Do you want to keep doing this? I mean, are we going to talk ab–”

“No,” she huffed, cutting you off with several small pecks. “No, let’s just…Merlin! I enjoy kissing girls!” The statement was just sweet enough and just funny enough and just Poppy enough to make the both of you dissolve into laughter. You laughed for several seconds before you sobered up from the high of her body pressed into yours and you wondered if you should keep at this. Your hands were still holding her waist, and hers were wrapped lightly around your neck. “I know kissing Imelda won’t be like this. This, this is…” She grabbed your bottom lip in her teeth and pulled it, relinquishing it with a pop! Gods, was this the same Poppy Sweeting who asked Sebastian Sallow what he meant by saying he’d like to take her for a ride on his broomstick, because “Sebastian, we’re in Hogsmeade. We can’t fly here!”?

You nodded. You’d agree to signing up for NEWT level Arithmancy at this point. Anything to keep her in your arms.

“Lay down,” you whispered, and she complied instantly, pulling you down with her into a mind-decimating snog that had you instinctively shedding your house robes and swinging your leg over her waist to hover above her. Frenzied lust was making the decisions for you at this point. Poppy wasn’t protesting, or pointing out the fact that this was still technically her first girl kiss; on the contrary, she was unclasping her own robes and shimmying them out from under her, then yanking you back down. 

“Hey, Pop?” Poppy replied with an unintelligible string of “mmmm”s that, judging by the way she was moving her hands down your back to your backside, seemed more like moans.

“Did you know two witches can have sex without a wizard even–”

“Shut it!” she cried, her voice raising in adorable anger. You’d teased her lightly in the wake of that question years ago, and how could you not bring it up in such a perfect moment as this? She ran her fingers down the back of your skirt, then, using her fingernails in a delicious scrape that made every nerve in your body dance, and pulled it up over your ass. Her nails dug into the soft flesh there and you groaned before moving your knee in between her legs. 

“Aaah!” Poppy gasped in sheer delight as her core bumped against your knee and she realized that you were pleasuring her. Your kisses grew sloppier as she began shamelessly grinding on your leg. Her thigh-length skirt was impeding the process, so you flipped it up as she had done yours and saw…You closed your eyes and said a quick prayer of thanksgiving. Merlin, she was wearing white lace panties. And–

“Fuuuuck,” you whined, your finger ghosting over the embroidered poppy at the top of them. “You’re so fucking sweet, Sweeting!” 

But Poppy had devolved into a needy mess by now. She was barely holding onto her composure as she demanded, “Please, please! Show me how to do this, I want this, puh-leeease, I want this!” You’d never seen Poppy demand anything in her life, let alone sex. You couldn’t have imagined the sight being as perfect as it was. Her cheeks flushed, hair splayed out behind her on the blanket, her chest rising and falling rapidly as a dark, wet spot on her panties rubbed against your leg. Then her words really registered in your lust-addled mind. 

Show me how to do this.

Fuck. 

The last thing on Earth you wanted was for this to end, but the one remaining shred of decency that hadn’t escaped when her underwear was exposed forced you to choke out, “Ok, wait.” Poppy wanted to do nothing of the sort.

“Talk later, do this now,” she breathed, attempting to pull you back into a kiss, but you climbed off her fully and sat back on your heels. She pulled herself to a half-sitting position and pouted with swollen lips, “What? What’s wrong?” 

You swallowed. Your throat was dry as sand as you attempted to get the words out. Everything had been going so well, like a dream you never wanted to wake up from. But your idiotic lie had come back to bite you, and you had to come clean now.

“I’ve, uh…I’m sorry, Pop. I lied.” You couldn’t meet her eyes and looked instead at the bald patches of grass where she’d earlier done her gardening work. “I’ve never done this before. I’m so, so sorry, but when you asked, I thought maybe–and I’ve wanted this for ages, to be honest, so I made up that stupid story about the older girl and—when really, I only wanted to kiss you but now I’ve gone and–well, you never want to see me again, I’m sure of it, so I’ll keep out of your way, and again, I’m so sorry, I–”

Poppy’s laugh went from a low chuckle to ultrasonic. It was so intense and so overwhelming, no sound was issuing forth from her mouth. She clambered onto all fours and promptly fell over again, doubled over from the apparent hilarity of it all. Your brow furrowed.

“Poppy.”

She was still beside herself, her normal giggle replaced with a raucous hysterical belly-laugh that was shaking her entire body. “You thought–” She gasped between breaths, but then laughter overtook her once more. If you hadn’t been so dreadfully nervous that you were about to lose the love and the great friend of your life, you would have almost been annoyed. 

When she finally managed to sit up and form a few sentences, they were, “You colossal git! Oh, really, there was not actually a suave older witch who showed you how to explore a woman’s body?” Poppy clasped her hands on either side of her head in mock shock. “I can’t believe this. You’ve utterly betrayed my trust.”

You sputtered. “What? Well, haven’t I?” Poppy descended into laughter again.

“Of COURSE not! Come now, you bellend! I knew you were lying the second you opened your mouth! As if I wouldn’t have heard about this little Astronomy tower encounter the second after it happened? Please. I had to hear about Leander Prewett missing your lips entirely for a month after it happened.” You gaped at her. 

“Then why–?”

“Because!” Poppy threw her hands in the air and smiled at you, prettier than a sunset. “I wanted this, too. I didn’t know what to say.” She reached for one of your hands and took it in her own. “You are everything to me, darling. You’re my best friend and confidant, and you make me feel strong and beautiful, and like I can do anything.”

“Well, you can do anything,” you whispered, smiling now too. She waved off your sentiment and continued,

“Not to mention, my God. Your ass is downright heavenly!” Your jaw dropped at precious little Poppy Sweeting’s words. All this time, you’d been being ogled, even as you were ogling?

It seemed you were an oblivious pair, well-suited to each other.

A thought occurred to you. “So, Imelda…?” 

Poppy blushed, bashful at the extent of her own deception. “Er, no. She did not ask me to get a butterbeer.” She leaned forward and kissed the tip of your nose, twisting a strand of your hair around her finger at the same time. “But you get jealous easily.”

“Fucking hell, Poppy!” You were writhing under your best friend, whose second and third fingers were currently sunk knuckle-deep inside you, curling up into a spot that made your view of the top of Poppy’s four-poster swim. You clutched the sheets beneath you until your knuckles were white, her fingers pushing in and out in the most perfect way you could imagine. 

“Am I doing alright?” She purred, knowing full well the answer. 

After the feelings between you were confessed, you’d been unable to stop from stripping one another bare and fucking repeatedly behind the gigantic oak tree at the edge of the lake. Her body was everything you’d dreamed and more. Small but perky breasts that you were addicted to kissing, grabbing, and biting at every available opportunity, long legs that kept pulling you in for a snog when you were trying to finger her, and her tongue…fuck, that tongue. When she’d first dropped herself between your legs and looked at your drenched cunt, she’d murmured, “Well, here we go!” and bumped her nose against your clit, causing a twisted cry to fly from your throat. 

You’d both quickly figured out the pros and cons of two witches having sex; one of the pros was that Poppy was a tease of a top, on the rare occasion she did not feel like fulfilling her duties as resident princess of the pillows. They were precisely no cons. You ate her out a minimum of once a day, sometimes twice if you could manage to pull her away from the beast paddock long enough. Her taste was sweeter than anything at Honeydukes, and you were surely addicted to it. Even after two months, you couldn’t get enough.

You two were currently wrapped up and sweating in her bedsheets and praying that no one would notice a lock charm on the Hufflepuff girl dormitories in the middle of an unseasonably warm November afternoon. 

“Come for me, baby,” she giggled. She fucked her fingers in and out three times in rapid succession then slowed her pace greatly, causing you to thrash and whine with want. 

“T-tease!” You choked out.

“Only a tease if I don’t make you come,” she reprimanded, and as she continued moving her fingers, brought the heel of her hand up to rub against your clit. Stars sparked in your eyes and you screamed, pleading with her for release. She bumped and ground against your clit repeatedly until–

“Shit, baby, Poppyyy, I’m–!” Your orgasm crashed over you. A tidal wave would have been gentler. Poppy kept moving her fingers gently, a self-satisfied smile that she always wore when she got you to scream playing across her lips.

She collapsed next to you, watching your chest heave with the effort of catching your breath and coming back to Earth. Gods, this woman was so much more of a minx than she had ever seemed to be. “Hey,” she said softly as you panted. “My gran wants to know if I’m coming home for Christmas.” You sat up on one elbow. “Oh? Are you?”

Poppy chewed her lip, and you could tell she wished she had a handful of grass to rip up right about now. “I’d like to,” she began, “but I really only want to go if–”

“I’d love to, Pop.” And her face broke into that honeysuckle-sweet beaming smile that made you want to keep it in place forever.

masterlist

[flintwoodandco]

[strogfrog]

[crushribbons]

𝓋𝑜𝓌

summary: Ominis Gaunt never makes promises he can't keep.

cw: 4k words, angst, SMUT (18+ ONLY), arranged marriage, technically cheating ig but not really, penetrative sex, fingering, vv small breeding kink, horrible family dynamics, fem reader. request

a/n: for jas 🤍 xx laney

Her eyes kept drifting over to him across the crowded room. Dozens of people flitted through the restaurant, stopping in front of her table to congratulate her and make her stomach churn with nerves, but there was only one man that she truly wanted to talk to.

He hadn’t come over to the happy couple yet, too absorbed in stirring his untouched drink with the tip of his finger. His lips were pursed like he’d just smelled something unpleasant. Blonde hair swept away from his face carefully, he looked every bit like the sophisticate he was known to be.

But she knew so much more of Ominis Gaunt.

“You’re my everything. The air in my lungs. I need you.”

“Ominis, please, we can’t!”

“You don’t want me to?”

“On the contrary. I want you far too much.”

Someone was talking to her, but her thoughts were a loud rush in her ears and she just smiled up at the buxom, middle-aged woman that was telling her and her betrothed how wonderful the look of young love was. The betrothed in question cleared his throat and gave a thin smile that was more grimace. His back was stiffly upright. 

As the woman drifted away, he turned to the girl to his left. “How much longer do I have to put up with this awfulness?” he asked, grit in his jaw. 

“Why ask me? Your father is the one who insisted on throwing a party and inviting the entire town, Louis,” she muttered back over the top of her water glass. Louis’ mouth did not soften. 

Power, status, and money, disgusting globs of money awaited her after her marriage to this man, and she was trapped, forced to take all of it and wanting none of it. It felt like a slap in the face to those less-privileged for her to be turning her nose up at the comfort and luxury she would enjoy as a Nott, and the guilt wracked her day and night. 

When her father had first told her that he would be offering her hand to the oldest Nott boy, she had wept. 

“You’ll be taken care of forever, my dear,” her father had cooed, attempting parental concern for her for the first time since her birth by patting her on the back. His hand hardly making contact with her, he coughed awkwardly and continued, “You’ll never want for anything.”

“I don’t want anything, father, except for the chance to pick the person I spend the rest of my life with myself!” she had cried.

She remembered the rest all too vividly: attending a dinner party whose purpose, she had been told, was mere “introductions”, and by the end of the night she had been engaged to the man across the table from her who was gripping his knife and fork and glaring at her as if she’d sabotaged the rest of his life on purpose. Since then, they’d spoken no more than eight words to each other (A squeak of “Lovely dinner” from her on the night of their engagement, and a brusque “You ought to have worn white” from him when she arrived at his manor in a somber black dress to have their marital portrait painted) and when she’d been instructed to arrive at the London restaurant they were currently seated at for a party celebrating their betrothal, she’d cried once more.

When she was a young girl, she used to picture the man she would one day marry. He was always fuzzy, nebulous. Kind, of course, and willing to give her the world. Perhaps an artist or some otherwise creatively-inclined profession. Tall and handsome, but his features never swam into focus when she imagined walking down the aisle of a church to him. 

Then, when she was fifteen, she’d met Ominis Gaunt, and the face at the front of the church became perfectly distinct. The demure Slytherin had taken some time to open up to her, but before their sixth year at Hogwarts was over, they were so enamored with one another that she sometimes had to look back at the unclear idea she’d had of love and laugh. It was always Ominis, forever.

Until it wasn’t.

At seventeen, she’d come home to her parents’ estate for the Christmas holiday with stars in her eyes and declared, “I’m in love, and we’re going to get married one day.”

“Really, dear? To whom?” Her mother had absently inquired. The glass of sherry in her hand lolled dangerously from side to side, but she didn’t seem to notice. When she’d told them about Ominis, her father, who until this point had remained silent and uninterested, had guffawed without looking up from the newspaper on his lap and said, “The Gaunts’ sightless little rat? I should like to see you try. That family has gone to the dogs.” Rage boiled up inside her and she opened her mouth to shout, but father had merely held up a hand. “You’re to be married to a strong family when you come of age, and I won’t hear another word about this silly idea of romance you’ve cooked up in your head.”

Since then, there had been a complete moratorium on the topic of Ominis or, indeed, the entire Gaunt family in her household. It killed her very gradually, in ways she didn’t notice until it was too late. She smiled less and less often. The things she used to look forward to, like quiet walks and pumpkin juice and pressing flowers, now seemed as gray as everything else in her life. 

After she left Hogwarts for good, they saw each other as often as they could believably make trips to Hogsmeade to meet up. Nervous glances over her shoulder had become a regular part of being with Ominis, but her passion for him outweighed any fear.

Sirona Ryan had become very adept at noticing dust on the bar when certain members of two of the most prominent families in the British wizarding world would dart, breathless, into her inn and throw several more Galleons than necessary down, pleading silently with her for discretion as they took the room key she handed them.

Ominis’ panting ran endlessly around his lover’s mind as she watched people celebrate the end of their relationship. 

“Come on, darling, come for me.” “C-can’t–S’too good, Om.”

“No, let me hear it, please. Don’t hold back. It’s all I get to bring home with me.”

The crooked and bent elder Mr. Nott was rising to his feet and knocking the side of his champagne glass with a butter knife. “Excuse me,” he thundered out, his gruff voice making the chattering guests and party-goers at their own tables turn their heads to look at him. “I’d like to say a few words in honor of my son, on this, the night before his wedding.”

Ice clawed up the inside of her body, frozen talons digging into her organs and causing fear to flood her throat. Her breath began coming in short, labored gasps. “What does he mean, the night before?” she hissed to Louis, who ignored her. 

Louis wasn’t physically cruel to her, but he made sure to keep her apprised of how unhappy he was with their union. As if she felt any differently.

“To see two great families come together like this,” the elder Nott blustered, “is truly a gift. Not only to us, but to the rest of the wizarding community…” 

She didn’t hear a word of the rest of his slimy posturing. The only word ringing around her ears was wedding, wedding, wedding. She’d been told that there would be a long engagement period to Louis, long enough to plaster their union in the Daily Prophet and throw several redundant parties so that everyone in the country was aware of just how much money her family and the Notts really had. 

But here she was, two weeks after meeting her frigid fiancé, learning that the glass of water in her hand would be her last as a free woman, and everything inside her was screaming for her to get out. How could they deceive her like this? Not only to be forced into a marriage, but blindsided by the actual wedding before she even had a chance to…

To what? she wondered frantically. To tell Ominis she loved him? He already knew a hundred times over, but as she looked across the room to him, she saw the same hard lines carved into his face that were always present when they had to discuss her betrothal.

“Do you hate me for it?” “Hate you? How could I?” A pause, and a bitter expression settled on his lips. “I hate him.”

“I hate him, too, but I can’t do anything to stop this.”

“We could run.”

“Be serious, Ominis.”

“I am.” She felt his hands close over hers and looked down at them. His were covered in scars and burns, faded and gray with age but still a part of him forever. 

“They’d kill you.”

“I’ll be dying either way, my heart.”

Her body ached for Ominis as she watched his jaw tighten further and further with every word Thelonius Nott said. She couldn’t believe he had come to this event. He’d been invited, of course, as had his entire family, but she had hoped for his sake that he would stay away and not have to endure this with her.

When the patriarch lifted his champagne (“To my son,” he said fondly, not sparing a glance at his future daughter-in-law) and commanded the rest of the room to do so, a hundred glasses flew into the air. 

Ninety-nine, at least.

She hoped no one would notice the younger Gaunt boy abstaining from the toast, but at the same time, she preened inwardly. Ominis may have been soft-spoken and calculating in what he chose to say, but his actions always broadcasted his feelings. 

“Excuse me,” she muttered suddenly, surprising Louis and herself by pushing her chair back and standing up. The rest of the party had gone back to their dessert, so hardly any notice was paid to her as she wove through the tables, save for a few well-wishes tossed at her that she returned with a weak smile. As she passed the Gaunt table, where Ominis’ parents and brothers were talking in low tones, she threw a glance back at the head table that she’d been at, making sure no one could see what she did next.

She tripped, just a quick, stuttered movement orchestrated by stepping on the train of her dress, and grabbed onto Ominis’ chair for support

“Are you alright?” squawked a man behind her that she’d bumped slightly. Before the Gaunts could look up from their plates and notice her standing there, she ran a finger subtly up the back of Ominis’ neck and twirled the small curl of hair on his nape around, just once. It took less than a second, but Ominis stiffened immediately, his breath cutting out and his fork falling to his plate with a clatter.

“Please,” she whimpered under her breath, quiet enough so that no one but him heard her. 

She felt him before she saw him.

“Om–” He cut her off and pressed her to the brick wall of the alley behind the restaurant, where she’d fled after stopping at his table. She hoped he’d had the good sense to wait a few beats before following her, but she also knew the effect that her touch had on him. She’d been rubbing his neck like that since they were sixteen, a silent way to let him know that she was next to him, with him, there for him. 

It didn’t hurt that it also drove him wild. 

She knew it was a horrible idea. Sneaking out of her engagement party to fuck another man when her fiancé’s family had people killed for much less, but her mind was such a whirlwind of fear and anxiety and the only thing she wanted was the feel of Ominis’ mouth against hers. Her constant, her grounding.

“Don’t do this,” he was moaning into her lips, grinding his hips against hers as she clutched at his suit like she would float away if she didn’t. “I’ll never stop needing you, so please–” “I don’t want to!” she gasped. Tears were pooling in her eyes, and she was grateful for a moment that Ominis could not see them. “More than anything, I want to be with you, you know that.”

“Then let me take you away from here.” Ominis felt around the back of her dress to determine how best to remove it. She swatted his hands away and took his face in her hands. Words wouldn’t come to her. All she wanted was to look at him like this, desperate and frazzled, his perfect silver hair already tousled. His pale eyes saw her in a way no sighted person ever had.

She pulled him into a kiss, softer and sweeter than before, and he groaned and pulled his fingers through her hair, inadvertently combing it, and she hiccuped a small giggle. 

“You can’t help but take care of me, can you, Mr. Gaunt?” 

“I can’t, Mrs. Gaunt.”

Hearing the title fall from his lips made her heart soar and plummet in the same breath. 

“Don’t say that,” she pleaded as he began kissing his way down her neck to the top of her cleavage. They’d talked about marriage, of course they had, but that had been lifetimes ago, when they were happy young things who didn’t know what cruelty life had in store for them. She’d even once filled a piece of parchment with the words “Madame Gaunt” in elegant flourishes, and when Ominis had found it in her school bag, he hadn’t stopped smiling for a week. After he’d finished teasing her, naturally.

“I won’t call you anything else,” he promised stubbornly. 

A shriek of laughter came from inside the restaurant, followed by a tinkle of broken glass. The noise shattered their isolated little bubble and they both stared at the back door they’d used to enter the alley. “They’ll notice me gone,” she whispered, feeling suddenly small underneath Ominis’ tall, lean body. “Or someone will walk out here and find us and–”

Ominis never gave her orders, preferring instead to worship the ground she walked on, but as he knelt down to grasp the hem of her dress, he said, “Stop it. Be quiet. If this is my last night with you, I won’t let anyone take it away from me.” He pulled the dress up so it bunched around her waist and slithered one hand inside her undergarments, and any protestations that she might have made fell off her lips, dead. 

His long fingers slid on top of her clit and rubbed them like he had all the leisure time in the world. Her core flooded, soaked after mere seconds with him, and the feeling made Ominis’ head drop to rest against her forehead. 

“Let me ask you once more,” he breathed.

“No.”

“Please.”

“Ominis, they–” Her words were cut off as he pushed two fingers inside her and pumped slowly.

“Let me ask,” he said again, and this time, it was not a request.

Pleasure was wringing her out and weakening the little resolve she had. “Ask me,” she consented with a whimper.

“Run away with me. I’ll take you anywhere you want to go, show you anything you want to see, and we’ll be together.”

It wasn’t the first time he’d asked her. It wasn’t the second; in fact, she’d lost count of how many times he had begged and pleaded with her to flee their lives and go somewhere where they could live as they wanted. It had become his way of saying “I love you.” 

It was everything she wanted, and she would never do it. She still remembered when her father had found her holding a letter from Ominis and ripped it out of her grasp. 

“If I see you anywhere near that boy or having anything to do with him, I’ll kill him,” he had growled as he ripped Ominis’ words to shreds and threw them into the fireplace. “And Thelonius Nott will do a lot worse, you can count on that.”

“Ominis, I can’t, I just can’t,” she sobbed, half in anguish and half in pleasure as he continued fucking her with his fingers and mouthing along her flushed neck. “I swear, I want nothing more, but I won’t put you in danger.” His hand slowed, but he said nothing. The white heat twisting itself in a coil in her stomach threatened to unravel and she whimpered. 

“I don’t care about any of that,” Ominis said. He pulled out of her and stuck the two fingers covered in her wetness into her mouth. Her own taste against her tongue made her moan shamelessly, and Ominis drank the sound down like the finest wine. He pulled her into another kiss, and she felt his erection grind against her core. A sudden thought floated into her lust-hazy head and she pushed hard against his shoulders to stop his kiss. 

“You know, I don’t know much about Louis Nott, but I know how he likes his women,” she said, gritting her jaw in annoyance at her intended.

She could tell that her lover bristled at the mention of Nott, but he raised his eyebrows. “And how does he like them?”

“Thirty galleons for the night.” He sucked in a breath that might have been a laugh in any other situation. “Darling, I may have to read vows that someone else wrote tomorrow,” she continued, nerves making her shake slightly, “But let me make my own now, please.” Ominis furrowed his brow. 

She took a deep breath. Ominis’ face was still there, in that church in her mind, but that church was now a brick-paved alleyway behind a restaurant in Diagon Alley. The only guests were a few curious rodents that kept their distance and the only decor were some potholes filled with water from the rain that afternoon and a streetlamp whose flame spluttered feebly every few seconds. 

And it was perfect. 

Taking his hands in hers, she took a deep breath and released it. “Ominis Gaunt, I will love you with everything inside me until the day I leave this earth to meet you again in heaven.” Ominis was silent, or maybe speechless. “And…” 

She took his right hand by the wrist and pressed it against her heart, which was hammering wildly. “No other man will ever have my body. It’s yours.”

“It’s yours,” Ominis replied, and the simple statement made her choke. It wasn’t true, never had been. Since birth, she’d been used as cannon fodder in her family’s war for power. For anyone to give her autonomy felt like being a timid, scared little bird released from its cage for the first time. She leaned in to kiss him, but he sensed her nearness and held a hand in front of his lips that hers landed against, and she gave a small grunt of frustration. 

“My turn now,” he whispered. He bit his lip, pulling it through his teeth for a long second as he considered something. Then, in one fluid motion, he pressed her back against the wall, pulled her underwear down her waist, pulled his aching and dripping cock from his trousers, and grabbed at her thighs. With a little yelp, she realized what he was doing and accommodated him, wrapping her legs around his waist. His hard cock pressed at her entrance and the two panted with desperation for a moment. Ominis seemed to be fighting the urge to fuck her before he got his words out. 

“You are my heart. Every day, when I wake up, I thank the gods for giving me you, and then I curse them for taking you away.” She couldn’t make a sound, wound too tightly by the desire to feel him inside her. “There is nothing in this world that could keep me away from you, except at your word.” His cadence was that of a prayer, and as she was considering what he said, he pushed his cock into her, holding her ass to guide himself inside, and the two moaned in mutual pleasure. He was so thick, so full inside her, and when he began moving, bouncing her back against the wall with one hand braced up beside her glistening face, her mouth fell open. 

“Fuck, darling,” she cried. “I–fuck, I love you so much.” 

The extraordinarily touch-sensitive Ominis couldn’t continue his vows for a long while, clearly too caught up in the feeling of her cunt wrapped around him. His mouth was agape as well, and his cloudy eyes were wild and frantic. He fucked her slow, then fast, then slow again, dragging himself in and out in agonizing torture and muttering in drunken reverence about how tight she was.

“Even if I never see you again, not an ounce of my love will be found missing,” he swore through his teeth once he was able to speak again. “And if you ever crave the freedom they all deny you, I will give it to you in an instant. We’ll run, anywhere, and we’ll do it hand-in-hand, my heart.” His thrusts were losing rhythm, the extra flood of slick from her core making him slip out of her a few times, but he righted himself and tried to give her everything he was promising. The feeling of slamming down on his cock was enough to drive her senseless. The muted sounds of their fucking filled the alleyway and echoed off the damp brick wall.

He reached down between their intertwined, sweating bodies and pressed one torturing finger against her clit as he muttered, “My fucking perfect wife.” An orgasm tore through her like a wildfire and she screamed, so hard that Ominis shoved his extra hand into her mouth so she could bite it and silence herself. He supported her with just his hips as he rubbed her clit gently through the blaze. Her teeth were still sunk in his hand when he came with a groan and a sigh, thrusting his load languidly inside her. 

If she’d been able to notice anything, she might have noticed that it seemed Ominis was more than usually determined to fuck every drop into her and make sure it stayed there. After several minutes of panting and murmured kisses and affection while Ominis leaned against her, he pulled off and out of her, and she slumped to the ground before he caught her, his own legs looking slightly wobbly, as well. He felt her dress and hair, smoothing any wrinkles and knots his fingers found.

“You really won’t sleep with him?” he asked her in a small voice she’d never heard before, and her eyes flew to his to see a vulnerable and heartbroken Ominis she wasn’t familiar with. 

It was a very easy promise to make. “As long as I have any say in it,” she whispered back, pressing their foreheads together once more and drawing a tiny, hopeful smirk to his lips. “I don’t think it will be much of a problem, though.”

“Oh? Why is that?”

“I charge thirty-five galleons for the night.” She held out an open palm and tapped him in the chest with it so he knew that she was waiting for payment. Ominis actually laughed, and the sound bolstered her. The prospect of walking down the aisle to meet Louis tomorrow seemed significantly less terrifying now.

“We ought to get you back inside,” he said, but before she could agree and wonder at how long the two had been gone, Ominis had scooped her into his arms, ignoring her cry and giggle, and drew an invisible line on the ground with his toe.

“What’s that?” she asked.

“The doorstep,” he replied simply, and carried her over it.

masterlist

[crushribbons]

Totally adore your work. Birdie was too good. I have to request anything jealous, pining seb in your style 🥹 pretty, pretty pls, gah

omg please don't enable me like thiiiisss (always enable me like this ily xx) NSFW (18+ onlyyyy)

--

"Prewett. Who is that witch over there, at the Minister's table?"

Prewett turned his head over his shoulder. "The one on his left?"

"Don't look right at her," Sebastian grumbled, reaching across the expanse of white linen between Leander and him and pulling his co-worker back to face him by the jacket. The witch glanced up and caught sight of the commotion at the table in front of hers. Her brow furrowed. "Fuck, she's beautiful."

A middle-aged witch seated to his right gave a disapproving "tsk!" and Sebastian rolled his eyes. He couldn't countenance the Ministry holding these infernal luncheons in the poshest London restaurants at all, let alone being forced to attend them and sit amongst people he avoided like the plague in the hallways. His stiff collar, that Anne had insisted on starching for the occasion, dug into the bottom of his chin. Prewett suppressed a chuckle at Sebastian's rudeness.

"That's his daughter, Sallow, didn't you know? There's a fun Sunday evening dinner for you." A shudder passed through Sebastian at the thought of making niceties with the oaf he technically worked for, as the Minister rarely deigned to dirty his fingernails down in the R.C.M.C. and thought its employees less-deserving of Ministry resources than the stiff-necked desk jockies of other departments. But for her...For her, he thought, he could choke down a dry pot roast and smile whenever he needed to. She had resumed her conversation with the woman across from her, and her laughter was sweeter than the perfumed air wafting through the restaurant.

Images of what he'd like to do to her, preferably on top of her father's ostentatious desk, flashed through his mind and he smirked despite himself. He could almost hear her moans, greedy, and feel her claw into his neck. The impropriety of his thoughts sent a guilty flush through him when he stared at the picture-perfect socialite with a smile on her face and a...

Goddamned diamond on her finger.

When she lifted her left hand to fan herself after a particularly joyous peal of laughter, Sebastian's knuckles whitened around his knife. That jealous streak, that'll be the death of you one day, his sister's voice echoed in his head. Pain shot up his temple as he ground his teeth together. She was spoken for? Taken from him as soon as he'd found her?

The man on the other side of her then put his arm around the back of her chair and leaned too close to her, sullying her with his proximity, and whispered something in her ear that made her giggle behind the hand that covered her mouth. The diamond sparkled when the sunlight hit it. Sebastian wasn't listening to a word that Prewett prattled at him. She should be blushing pink like that for him, for him alone, crying out his name as he brought her to the brink of tears as many times as he could with just his tongue.

That should be his diamond on her finger, his thumb running across the back of her hand, his mouth planting deliberate pecks of affection across her cherubic cheeks. He imagined asking her to be his while he fucked her, and she responded with much more enthusiasm than the demure ascent she'd no doubt given to the sap draped over her: Yes, yes, yes!

Her eyes fell on him, and he straightened immediately. He wanted her to find him acceptable, attractive, anything for her to toss a careless smile in his direction. She lingered, just for a moment, regarding him over the top of her glass. Sebastian couldn't have pulled himself away from her gaze if he had tried.

It was probably his imagination; it was growing more and more treacherous by the second, but he could have sworn that he saw her glance to either side to ensure no one was looking then mouth to him,

"Cloakroom. Now."

The words "Excuse me" weren't even out of Sebastian's mouth before he had risen to his feet with a clatter of silver and porcelain and begun making his way towards the mercifully unattended cloakroom.

[devourflintwood]

My ass can’t wait till October so here’s FlintWood in their Halloween customes

[crushribbons]

𝖇𝖎𝖗𝖉𝖎𝖊, 𝖕𝖙. 𝖎𝖎𝖎

summary: Sebastian Sallow is an unusually skilled legilimens, it turns out. (series masterlist)

cw: 5.3k words, S M U T (18+ ONLY), implications of dub-con!, on that inception-type shit, penetrative sex, oral sex (f receiving), sebastian sallow i know the little shit you are, fem/afab reader. requests open

a/n: alexa play it ain't over by the black keys cuz.........xx laney

There was nothing else to be done.

At least, that was what Sebastian told himself. It had reached a point of total hopelessness.

There was nothing else to do except take her to bed.

He was already being driven mad by love and lust in equal measure when he ran into her outside the prefects’ bathroom, and the sight of her exposed, flushed chest when her dressing gown slipped down had sent him over the edge. Barreling along the corridor after she ran away from him with a cry of disgust and frustration, he hoped against all hope that his pajama pants weren’t putting his achingly hard cock on too much of a display. He pressed his towel over his waist and sprinted past the fifth year that was lamely scolding him for not heading back to his dormitory at this hour. 

The library wasn’t open to the general student populous at night, per se, but Sebastian had always found limitations like timetables and hours of operation to be, well, limiting. He cast the charm for disillusionment over himself and strode past the two prefects who were flirting in front of the quietly splashing fountain.

He’d clocked the book that he snuck out of the library with only minutes later’s existence a few months earlier, on another nighttime venture through the Restricted Section. While running his fingertips idly across the spines that made up the Legilimency section, the shining foil on one tome had made his hand freeze. Legilimency and the Dreamer: Infiltrating the Sleeping Mind, for the Beginner. 

When he’d first seen it, a pang of guilt and shame had shot through Sebastian as his mind immediately conjured up one perfect use for the lessons taught in that book. At the time he’d fled the library to stop himself from picking it up, proud of himself for exhibiting self-control and respecting the friend that plagued his own dreams. He had resolved with solid determination to never remove that book from the library or read its contents.

But then she’d gone and worn that dressing gown. 

Faded, old cotton sliding off her perfect, porcelain-smooth shoulders while he gaped at her newly-exposed chest; the encounter hadn’t gone quite as he would have liked, but it was still causing blood to rush southward in his body as he exited the library wing and wove downstairs to the Slytherin dormitories, the book heavy under his arm. He tried to hide the title with his sleeve. The common room was blissfully empty, save for a few stragglers hunched over parchment and scribbling the tips of their quill down to the blunt. He ran up the stairs, pushing the door to his shared bedroom open quietly so as not to disturb anyone that was already asleep. The only sound was soft breathing, sighing, and snores, so he exhaled a small puff of relief and stowed his towel back in his trunk.

Curtains slid shut around his four-poster bed, Sebastian relaxed against his satin pillowcase, propping himself up on his elbows. The dormitory was darker than usual, as the moon that always filtered in through the windows was obscured by clouds tonight, so he muttered, “Lumos!” and opened the book that he’d expressly told himself he should never pick up. It would be wrong. She can’t control what happens in a dream. It’s a violation of trust. I should wait until the perfect moment and just tell her. I should not read this book.

But, there really was nothing else to be done.

Sebastian had to have her, he was sure of it, or he’d die. Until their awkward, semi-nude encounter in the Slytherin corridor, he had never seriously considered anything happening between them. But since then, she’d been behaving strangely around him. Ominis was convinced that she was attracted to Sebastian, but the latter knew better than that. 

“She’s just embarrassed about seeing me in a towel,” he told Ominis as the two brushed their teeth two mornings after the incident. “You should have seen how she laughed at me.”

Ominis leaned over the sink and spat toothpaste into it. “Sure she wasn’t all…flustered about it?”

“Flustered?”

“You know how girls get.”

“You sure you do?”

The next time he saw her, Sebastian was quick to joke about the situation and set everything as usual once more. When she wiggled her eyebrows at him while Amit Thakkar burst into an unnecessarily-lengthy explanation of Gamp’s laws of transfiguration, he thought she seemed grateful for the normalcy between them. Grateful, and beautiful. 

Fuck. It appeared his crush wasn’t going to be tempered by mere humiliation.

And now, the sight of her sweet skin peaking out at him as she blushed so prettily had pushed him to the brink. If he’d been struggling to be near her the past few weeks, it was nothing compared to the raging maelstrom of sexual tension he’d been weathering since passing her in the hall. He was taking her to bed. One way or another. 

Lust flooded his brain as he flipped through the pages of Legilimency and the Dreamer. The book was dry and dull, and Sebastian felt his eyes drifting closed even in the wake of his impure thoughts. History and theory, two of his greatest adversaries, were abundant throughout the first few chapters, and he had almost given up, when his eyes fell upon the title of chapter five: Entering the Sub-conscious.

When planning a sub-conscious infiltration, it is important to understand first whether or not you have been given consent by the sleeping party.

Sebastian swallowed, guilt thick in his throat.

"If you have obtained consent, then you are ready to follow the simple guidelines outlined here to decipher and demystify the nightmares of your clients. First, and most crucially, your subject must be sleeping in a place they find comfortable. This author recommends conducting a legilimency session from the safety of the dreamer’s own bedroom."

He thought of her, sound asleep by now in her dormitory, that same angelic expression she’d had on her face when she slept on his shoulder through an entire Transfiguration class in place. She smiled, just a hint of a smirk, when she slept. 

"Next, physical contact with the dreamer will aid you in your attempt to penetrate their thoughts. The sleeping mind, though at rest, utilizes just as many defensive tactics as the awake. If a session must be conducted remotely, a physical token of the dreamer’s or portrait of them can act as an acceptable substitute. The legilimens may still encounter difficulty, however."

Well, he certainly did not have a portrait of his desired stuffed into his trunk. Sebastian glanced bleakly at the sheets around him, hoping a sock or shoe of hers would appear by magic. No such luck. He almost returned to reading when he remembered what was currently sitting in the drawer of his bed-side table, tucked with care into an empty chocolate frog box. Sticking his head out of the curtains for a moment, he rummaged around in the drawer until he felt the box and pulled it open to reveal the tiny note she’d sent him by owl on the night the entire fiasco began. 

A little birdie told me he liked cherry tart, so I saved him some. I’ll bring it to you in a bit. 

He closed his fist around the parchment and shut himself up in his bed once more. Birdie. He couldn’t bear to hear her call him that anymore. Not when the only way he could fall asleep now was to wrap his hand around his cock and huff her name under his breath. Not when all his dreams lately ended with her weeping out the nickname he used to love as she came undone around him. Not when–He realized as he leaned back over the book that he was panting a little. In anticipation or triumph, he wasn’t sure.

"It is important to note that, just as a legilimens can manipulate the content of the dream they enter, so, too, can they manipulate their own appearance. Consider taking a form or otherwise altering your appearance in a way that will put the sleeping subject at ease. If the sub-conscious detects an unfriendly presence, it may block itself from you entirely. When you are ready to begin your dive into the sub-conscious, situate yourself somewhere comfortable and close your eyes, picturing the face of the dreamer and pointing your wand at them (or at the object you are using in place of physical contact).*"

The asterisk at the end of the sentence drew Sebastian’s eye to the bottom of the page, where the author had left an aside:

"Author’s note: As already discussed at length here, legilimency is a difficult and fickle art for most to grasp. Without a natural proclivity for it, the aspiring legilimens may find themselves frustrated by lack of progress. Use consistent practice to improve your infiltration and dream-deciphering skills."

 He laid down in his bed, pointed his wand at the little scrap of paper pinched in his fingers, and said “Legilimens.” His eyes flew shut of their own accord and the image of her face swam before him, all watercolors and sparkling eyes and sunlight filtered in through stained glass. Even through his intense concentration, Sebastian couldn’t help the small smirk that pursed his lips.

There’s natural proclivity for you, you ancient dust trap.

She was sleeping in her bed, just as he’d pictured, but her expression as he watched her, seemingly through a thick, glass porthole in the ceiling above her, shifted to one of anxiety as she thrashed gently side to side. The sheets were twisting around her limbs and sweat was beginning to glisten on her forehead. He desperately wanted to leap into bed next to her and wake her, smoothing hair off her hot face and kissing her awake from the nightmare. This would have to do, for now. 

He watched her for a few more seconds, then remembered what he was supposed to be doing. The physics of the whole situation threw him off as he tried to get his bearings. He felt like he was moving through cold water trying to reach her, and just as he figured out how to put one foot in front of the other, that foot tripped him up and he fell forward. He clenched his teeth and tried to stick out his arms against the stone floor, but instead, he found himself tumbling head over heels through a massive void. Just as he started to panic about what he’d gotten himself into with this idea, his feet hit solid ground once more. Though not quite stone…and not quite ground.

Sebastian looked at his surroundings. It was some sort of corridor; all he could make out were several dozen imposing doors and the faint swirl of smoke or steam that seemed to enshroud everything. Could this really be her dream? He had been anticipating something light and peaceful, perhaps her sitting in a field surrounded by friendly kneazles (her preferred way to die, she had told him many times). This setting looked far more nightmarish.

“Shit shit shit,” he muttered to himself, his voice reaching his ears, wobbly and distorted, after several seconds. He was still stuck in the thick fog of her subconscious. Regret that he hadn’t read more of the book before attempting this little nighttime visit was clawing at his ankles nervously. What had it said? 

Suddenly, the witch of his wildest dreams dashed right in front of him, ignoring him entirely and sprinting at top speed but pausing briefly at every other door to yank it open, taking note of its contents, and wailing in despair. 

“Oh, no, no, no, no,” she was moaning in terror, her dressing gown flowing behind her as she checked two more doors. The thin linen of her nightgown underneath the robe was sticking to her sweaty torso and showing far too much skin, even through the dark haze of fog obscuring Sebastian’s sight. He watched her mutter “Late! Late! I’m going to be late!” under her breath in a frenzy, and he couldn’t help but chuckle just a little at the sight. What was that Muggle book she’d read to him by the lake that one afternoon? Something about a little white rabbit that was always running late? The comparison was too perfect. 

The white nightgown disappeared around a corner, and Sebastian remembered with a jolt that he was supposed to be following her. He glanced around himself one more time and determined that he needed to be more focused. He pressed his bare feet hard against the ground and his fingertips against the wall, grounding himself, and everything came into much sharper focus as he took a deep breath. Her subconscious let its guard down with noticeable haste, accommodating him with torches along the wall that lit the corridor and banished the fog away. If he hadn’t known better, he could have been in any secret passageway that Hogwarts had to offer.  

He took off down the hall after her, his limbs no longer encumbered by the heaviness that had impeded them before. At the end of the hall before he could turn the corner, he came upon a huge, ornate mirror hung on the wall. It was scratched and spotted with age, but he could very clearly make out his own face, pale and desperate, chest heaving. A line from his guidebook poked at him: “Just as a legilimens can manipulate the content of the dream they enter, so, too, can they manipulate their own appearance.”

Put her at ease, put her mind at ease, he thought, What would she li– 

Then he remembered, with almost a shout of triumph, her expression when he’d come back to school after the summer holidays at the beginning of seventh year. Living at Feldcroft alone during the summer made Sebastian prioritize the work of the estate over his own physical needs, and he’d forgotten to attend to a fairly large physical need before returning to Hogwarts. On their first evening back, his sweet witch had greeted him in the Great Hall with her mouth agape and eyes raking over his entire head. “What?” he’d asked hesitantly, running a hand through his hair. “Is there a grindylow hanging off my back?”

“Mm-um, no,” she replied. Her voice was a croak. “Your hair just looks…different.” 

Sebastian swore. “I forgot to cut it before leaving! Shit! I always try to make sure it’s clean cut before school.” He knew he must have looked crazy, disheveled, unkempt, but he couldn’t understand why her eyes were still the size of the dinner plates on the long tables behind them.

“It–you shouldn’t, um, it–it looks really good, Seb,” she had rasped.

It looks really good, Seb.

With a smirk, he looked back in the mirror on the wall and saw that his hair was now just as it had been that very enlightening day, waves turning into full curls around his temples and brushing the bottom of his neck. He couldn’t even deny the little prick of ego that told him he did look really good. Perhaps he’d lose his shears after this. Some of the color was returning to his face, too, as he set off after her with more confidence this time. 

When he next caught sight of her, she was pulling open yet another door, and he ran forward to try and catch up with her, but felt his heart drop when she smiled in relief and entered the room. “Wait–!” He reached out a hand, but he was still several lengths down the hall from her, and the door was quickly shutting behind her. In one last blind attempt to not lose her, he dove forward and, carried by the illogical nature of her dreamstate, landed directly behind her and wrapped his outstretched hand around her ankle.

“It’s me!” He tried to say, but his mouth wasn’t producing any sound. His vision swam and the torches behind them flickered low, threatening to blow out. She was scared. He tried again to reassure her, to relinquish her ankle and stand, but he was frozen, paralyzed by her mental defenses. Recalling the earlier technique that freed him, Sebastian pressed his face against the ground and breathed deeply, righting himself. The torches blazed back to their full flame. 

Before he could do more than shakily climb to his knees, still using her ankle as support, the two of them were thrust backwards, away from the open door and hurled down the hallway they’d just run down. She shrieked and clawed at the ground while Sebastian tried frantically to yell her name to calm her, though he was close to a panic attack himself. Her subconscious must not have been completely fooled by the “friendly presence” of the unexpectedly skilled legilimens visiting it for the evening.

Finally, they slowed and slid to a halt, but when Sebastian looked up to take in their surroundings, he found them no longer in the torch-lit corridor, but in…

Fuck, Sallow, come on. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to visualize any other setting than his own bedroom at Feldcroft. She had never seen it for herself before, and would surely be suspicious if it suddenly made an appearance in her dreams. Perhaps the hair had been a bad idea. 

But then he saw that she was still heaving shallow breaths, hunched over on the floor, and he ran to her. Kneeling in front of her and grabbing her face in his hands, he cooed, “Hey, hey, it’s alright, love, it’s alright! You’re safe, I’m here, everything’s alright!” He’d never meant for all of this to scare and stress her so badly. It was supposed to be a tranquil dream that he infiltrated, one so lovely and bubbly that the mere suggestion of a fuck from her dashing friend would be enough to send her into fits of rapture. Clearly, she was carrying some sort of tension with her throughout the day, if her dreams drifted to such harrowing places at night. 

“B-birdie?” she sniffed as she gazed up at him, properly realizing who her captor/savior was for the first time. 

“Yeah, it’s me, baby, you’re okay,” he murmured, smoothing a thumb over her cheek and catching the tear that hung there and wishing his cock hadn’t stiffened. She dug her fingers into his pajama shirt and tried to gain control of her breathing. She looked so tiny, so fucking vulnerable, that he couldn’t believe he’d ever thought about–

She launched herself fully into his arms and kissed him. Sebastian’s eyes flew open and took in the Slytherin Quidditch team poster that he had stuck to the top of his canopy in second year. “Fuck!” he yelled, and one of his roommates snorted in their sleep, disgruntled. The shock had shot him straight out of her dream and back to the real world. Before he shut his eyes once more, he cast silencio over his bed, lest he wake up and scream again. 

When he next opened his eyes, she was still kissing him. Oh, what a lovely night to discover that he had impeccable legilimency skills. 

He recovered himself by pressing a hand into the stone of Feldcroft’s floors, and he felt everything sharpen and come into clearer focus again, including the little sounds she was making as she licked his bottom lip. 

“Oh, God, sweetheart,” Sebastian groaned, taking her face in his hands again and making sure her lips stayed pressed against his forever. It was every bit of the heaven he had envisioned. Three years of pining after this woman had set a lot of expectations in his head that he was sure were unrealistic. But she felt just as good, hell, fucking better than he had ever imagined.

He stopped caring about maintaining his composure when her wandering hands slid down his front and came to rest on top of his painful erection. “Fuck, wanted this for ages, fuckin’ love you,” he grunted, embarrassment a distant memory. Why had it been so awful that she’d seen him close to naked? As she unbuttoned his shirt and shoved it off his shoulders, he found that he couldn’t recall. Seemed like she wanted to see him naked very badly, now.

Apparently, she did, because his clothes were inexplicably gone before she’d even reached the last button. “I like dream you,” he muttered as he laid her back against the ground and slotted one of his now-bare knees against her hot core. “She doesn’t make fun of me so much.” He looked down at her, panting beneath him and begging him with her eyes to take care of her. She didn’t seem to be able to hear him very well, the ends of her eyebrows drawing together in confusion as she watched his mouth move. Oh, well. She was enjoying herself and he didn’t have to worry about making a fool of himself anymore than he already had. 

The dressing gown that had set him off just hours ago was wrapped tight around her waist, taunting him. Sebastian did what he’d wanted to do right there outside the prefects’ bathroom and ripped it and the nightgown away from her body. They seemed to dissolve into steam or otherwise drift off her skin as he drug his fingertips down her now exposed form, which writhed with want for him. 

Without a natural proclivity for it, the aspiring legilimens may find themselves frustrated by lack of progress.

Sebastian was grinning when he pulled her legs up, tossed one over each shoulder, and dove into her cunt with his tongue. She gave a positively sinful moan and wrapped her fingers in his newly-long hair. When she felt the extra length sliding through her hands, she gasped, “Oh, fuck, I love your long hair!” He bumped and rubbed her clit with his nose in response, somewhat to elicit another pornographic cry from her and somewhat to hide the idiotic grin that hung on his face, covered with her own wetness. Her taste was so perfect on his tongue, he thought he might weep.

“You taste so divine, I knew it. Better than any fucking tart.” He hoped she hadn’t clocked the “I knew it.” Given that her only response was to wiggle her hips further up his shoulders so his face was pressed more flush against her cunt, he figured that she hadn’t. The image of her, sweet and thoughtful, holding the cherry tart for him outside his dormitory, popped into his head as he ate her out. Merlin’s fucking beard, do I adore this woman, he thought happily.

“You–” She was attempting to choke words out of her mouth as it lolled open with stupid pleasure. “You kn-knew it?” Sebastian only hummed and licked his tongue in a circle in response, which made her back arch. “Was…Is little birdie that curious about me?”

“Fuck, I love it when you call me that,” he growled, enjoying the relief of unloading all his secrets to her in this isolated setting. He’d thought about getting her in his own bed more times than he could count, but it had never gone this well, even in his fantasies.

After he’d made her scream his name three times using just his tongue, he lifted her off the ground and threw her onto his bed gingerly. He climbed on top of her while she reached and whined for him, throwing a leg over either side of her waist and wondering vaguely if her physical form was reacting to this dream as excitedly as her dream one was. Then he realized that he had no idea what his own sleeping body was doing in the boys’ dorm, and was very glad for the silencing charm he’d hastily thrown up.

The sheer weight of sinking into her made Sebastian’s head sag, dropping it onto her shoulder. “Oh, goddamn,” he whimpered. His cool exterior fell away as desperation took over and he whined through the feeling of dragging his cock back out of her. She wrapped her legs around his waist tight, locking him in and making him falter a little bit. His arms on either side of her shoulders held him up, and he noticed with a momentary sheepishness that they looked a bit more muscular than they might have looked outside of the dream. Anything in the name of her comfort, he thought to himself, and a devilish little “Ha!” slipped out of him as he began moving inside her again.

He took his time. It was a dream, he figured, so there were no real-world deadlines to be concerned about while he languidly fucked her. She occasionally would dig her nails into his back and demand he go faster, but he hushed her each time and focused on the way her mouth fell open a little each time his cock brushed her limit. After a few minutes (hours?) however, he found himself unable to maintain his lazy pace, his own needs creeping up on him with wicked subtlety.

“G-God,” she hiccupped when he began thrusting hard and fast.

“No, sweetheart, it’s Seb,” he grinned. 

He leaned down and licked a hot trail from her collarbone up behind her ear and she moaned, a portrait of prettiness and pleasure. Her tits bounced with each thrust and he found himself staring unabashedly at them. She was too drunk on him to even try and cover herself from his gaze, but from the way she was ogling his naked body, he figured that she was alright with a little peeping.

She hiccupped again and huffed a piece of hair that had fallen in her eyes out of the way. “No–ah!” Her hands flew to his triceps and clutched them for dear life as he drove into her steadily. “Nuh-uh. M’birdie,” she slurred. Her face and body were drenched with sweat, as was his, and a drop fell from the tip of his nose and landed on her breasts. “Dirty birdie.”

Her giggle changed course and melted into a moan as he groaned and picked up his pace even more, chasing their highs for the both of them. “Shit, baby, come for me! I’m all fucking yours,” he cried over the sound of their hips slapping against each other repeatedly. She shrieked and threw a hand out, searching for something to grasp onto, but found nothing solid. Then her fingers closed around his run-down antique headboard, and he committed the image to memory like it was a religious rite. Inane syllables were trickling out of her mouth, but for the most part, she’d been struck dumb. Sebastian indulged in the trickle of pride that ran through him at the sight. 

But he hadn’t gotten what he wanted yet, not really. The image that had been plaguing him since he first started harboring this nasty crush on his dear friend. The one that got him dangerously aroused if he even dared think about it. And if this was going to be their only sexual encounter (and there was no doubt in his lovesick mind that it would be), he wasn’t leaving without witnessing it firsthand.

So, just to be safe, he begged for it.

“Let me see you cry when you come real pretty, please? Hm?” He fucked her as hard as he could, and her body shook. Tears were welling up in her eyes. “Come on, I’ll be a good little birdie, I swear.” 

Her tight walls clamped around him, hard, and he gave a strangled yell, his eyes squeezing shut. 

When he opened them, the blasted, poxy, stupid, goddamn Quidditch poster was staring at him, instead of the flushed and fucked-out witch that he wished were still underneath him. He was on his back, panting like he’d just run the length of the castle, the note from her still clutched in his sweaty palm and the heavy legilimency book still open atop his stomach. Exhaustion dug its claws into his racing mind. He hadn’t realized how draining legilimency would be, even if the screwing hadn’t required any real effort. 

Probably should have read one more chapter. He yawned and fell into the first dreamless sleep he’d had in months.

The following morning, he plodded into the Great Hall for breakfast feeling like his legs were made of tar. The few hours of sleep he’d gotten after his little legilimency practice session had not been nearly enough to refresh him, and after he’d woken up, he found the imagery from the dream playing on a permanent loop in his mind. Sebastian realized, as he ascended the stairs from the Slytherin dormitory with a sinking sense of dread, that the dream had been a horrible idea. He knew how perfect she felt now, and nothing would ever compare, he was sure of it. And if she was as happy with the experience as she had seemed to be…

But then, he argued with himself as he poured a cup of coffee from the hog’s head pitcher on the dining table, maybe none of it had stuck for her. Maybe she had awoken to no memory of the previous night’s dream, and the idea of hooking up with him hadn’t taken root quite the way he’d hoped. 

Sebastian was still lost in his own brooding thoughts when someone sat across the table from him. He grunted wordlessly at who he could only assume was Ominis, his eyes still out of focus and staring out the window as he thought hard. 

“Morning,” came a squeak back, and Sebastian almost fell out of his seat when he realized it was not, in fact, Ominis sitting across from him. It was her. 

She looked awful, even through his lovestruck gaze. Her eyes were bleary, dark bags underneath them that indicated a fitful night of sleeping, and her skin was an ashen shade of its normal color. Her hair hung undone around her shoulders. Even her tie was tied incorrectly and wasn’t even underneath her shirt collar.

“Did you…not sleep well?” Sebastian asked, looking anywhere except at her. The eggs and toast on his plate were extremely interesting today. When she didn’t respond, he chanced a glance up at her. Her brow was furrowed.

“Yeah, I think I just had a bad–” Her eyes suddenly widened and her entire face, neck, and hands turned bright red. Sebastian’s insides contorted, nerves on fire. 

“Bad dream? What about?” He cocked his head to one side and tried to play as stupid as he felt. Could she tell? Did she know? How could she? If she’d enjoyed the dream, why did she look ready to jump from the Astronomy tower?

She was stammering. “Oh, er, no…it wasn’t…I mean bad isn’t–just kind of…weird, I think.” Then she finally broke eye contact with him and looked down at her empty plate. “And a little inappropriate,” she muttered.

“Yeah?” Sebastian thought his heart might give out. He darted his tongue out to lick his dry lips. “Inappropriate how?” 

She scowled at him and didn’t answer. He decided to push the enormous amount of luck he’d been granted the past two days.

Sebastian leaned forward, a conspiratorial grin tugging at his lips despite himself. “Come on, tell me! I won’t ask anymore questions. I promise, I’ll be such a good little bir–” “GoodBYE!” she cried, and leapt up from the bench as if she’d been hit with a blast of icy wind. 

Really must write the boring old git who wrote that book a nice thank you letter, Sebastian mused, spreading jam on a piece of toast and sinking his teeth into it as he watched her tear out of the Great Hall with one last glance back at him.

pt. 4

masterlist

[crushribbons]

btw when i talk about long hair seb just know it’s this hair

[mxrcusflint]

love a lil hyper-masculine character that's emotionally repressed with a bucket of trauma to spin a whole fandom around

[crushribbons]

please for the love of all things good if you could write a smut abt bestfriend!sebastian where he sneaks into our dorm room in the middle of the night (for the 5th time that week) because he can’t sleep 🙏 thank you in advance

ohhhh so you speak my love language helllll yeahhhh

(went a slightly dif direction teehee xx 18+ ONLY!)

---

"Is this going to be an every night type of thing?"

"Mm, yeah, every night that your feet are this warm."

Sebastian's own feet (or rather, icicles) slid under hers and she hissed and tried to yank the duvet away from him. He whined, cuddling closer to her and setting her skin on fire in the process.

She stammered, "B-back off, you hog," and Sebastian wrapped his arms tighter. His frame tucked so neatly around her, she hated how natural it felt. He was so fucking cold--why was sweat beading across her chest?

He was humming under his breath. "Hogwarts, Hogwarts, hoggy warty Hogwarts! Teach us something, please."

"Don't," she groaned. "It'll be in my head all week."

Silence settled between them. The room felt heavy and still, and she was keenly aware of how her heart would thump every time Sebastian shifted around. Her owl sighed a wispy trill. She strained her ears towards the door, hoping to determine whether those were footsteps shifting around downstairs. Sebastian sensed her train of thought.

"Your parents went to bed ages ago."

"They still might have heard the door."

"We are twenty-one years old," Sebastian laughed, husky, in her ear. Fuck. "And your mother seems to think we ought to be wed to one another or some similar type of nonsense."

Words, her brain urged her. Say words. Now!

"She just loves having company for the holidays. She'd want me to marry a grindylow if it told her that her apple crumble was scrumptious."

A huff of air from Sebastian's nose hit the back of her neck, and she didn't need to see her own reflection to know she was bright red. She wished on every star that she could make out through the gauzy curtains that he had worn a shirt to bed. He didn't seem nearly as affected as she was.

How much longer could they toe this line? Seeing each other almost every day after work, visiting each other's family homes for the holidays, falling asleep at each other's flats and, as a result, far too often, crawling into the same bed with the sometimes muttered excuse, "Warmer this way."

All he had to do was say the word, any word, and she'd make this whole thing a lot less...friendly.

"What are these garments you adorn yourself in, m'lady?" Sebastian grumbled as he felt the foreign material at her hips between his fingertips. She swallowed back the moan that rose in her throat. Silly, getting this hot and bothered over a little physical contact. Then his hands were sliding down her hips inquisitively and the moan slipped out without warning. She scrambled to recover.

"Silk," she replied, her voice raspy.

"Too fancy for me," Sebastian sighed, and he let his body crumple completely into hers, and it was heaven and bliss, and Sebastian had finally warmed up so she let herself melt into him. Everything was blurring pleasantly around the edges of her vision: the room, the outline of the sleeping tawny owl by the window, the boundary between her and her dear, best friend Sebastian, who at that very moment was snaking one hand away from her waist and pressing it down between his hips and the curve of her ass.

"What are you doing?" she asked, and when Sebastian tsk'ed in annoyance, she realized exactly what he was doing and humiliation flushed her cheeks.

He tried to pull away from her a few inches, and she whined, "Hey--you're just getting all warm!" but she felt him shake his head. She rolled over to face him and he closed his eyes when she raised an eyebrow at him.

"I'm, uh." He squeezed his eyes tight shut, then dared to open one and peek at her. "I'm sorry. I kinda got..." He gestured down to his free hand, which was currently doing its best to conceal...

Her cunt throbbed, wetness pooling. He was hard, and the hand pressing his erection down couldn't cover it entirely. She felt her lip slide between her teeth. Sebastian's chest, splattered with freckles and a light layer of chestnut hair, was rising and falling too fast. They locked eyes.

"Should we?" He didn't finish the question. He didn't have to.

Should we? she thought. She didn't care.

They fucked, slow and tender and hot and fast, until the orangey glow of dawn kissed the room. When she rolled her head to the side, hair mussed all over her pillow, and saw the tiny light filtering through the window, she laughed to herself, but it was pathetically choked off when Sebastian's nose pushed against her clit in perfect little circles. Her hips arched and she used the handful of wavy hair in her hand to pull him deeper into her. He chuckled into her pussy, and the feeling of his smile pressed against her weeping heat had her riding his face until she eeked out a broken, "Fuck, Seb, baby!"

He shushed her, although his face was still buried inside her, occupied with cleaning every last drop from between her legs.

"Have you got one more for me, darling?" he purred over her fevered panting.

"N-no! I d--!" Sebastian covered her protestations with a sloppy kiss, lips still covered in her, and her body suddenly found the wherewithal to endure one more mind-bending orgasm. She moaned and pressed her chest to his and he laughed again.

His cock slipped in easily this time. The first two, three? Merlin, four? times, his size had been almost too much for her. But a groaned, "Fuck, so tight for me, just like I always dreamed..." was what ultimately pushed her to the edge the first time.

What pushed her to the edge this time were the desperate, rough thrusts he fucked up into her with, and the gleam in his eye as he panted, "You'll be lucky if I don't keep you in this fucking bed all day, shit! I'm...f--fuck, I'm coming!" He grabbed her hips and pumped once, twice, three more times.

"In-inside me," was all she could get out before her body hummed with a high-frequency, white-hot pressure, and she collapsed onto Sebastian's chest. He held her tight while he filled her up, and afterwards did not pull himself out while they caught their breath.

"Hey," Sebastian said suddenly, breaking the hazy quiet that had settled around their intertwined bodies.

"Mm?"

She felt him smile to himself. "Nothing."

[iamnmbr3]

[iamnmbr3]

the 'power the dark lord knows not' is the wrath of a quidditch captain who realizes his star seeker is being endangered and worse, distracted

[mxrcusflint]

it takes two to make an accident.

flint x wood, rival gangs au

[devourflintwood]

Sleep over at Oliver’s house because i said so