#reader from legacy

[alarwynnwhispers]

🧡 ᴜɴᴘʟᴀɴɴᴇᴅ — ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 40: ᴛʜᴇ ꜰɪɴɪꜱʜ ʟɪɴᴇ 🧡

ꜰ1 x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ʟᴀɴᴅᴏ ɴᴏʀʀɪꜱ ᴀᴜ | ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ + ᴅʀᴀᴍᴀ

⚠️ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ:

ᴍᴇᴅɪᴄᴀʟ ᴇᴍᴇʀɢᴇɴᴄʏ ɪɴᴠᴏʟᴠɪɴɢ ᴇᴀʀʟʏ ʟᴀʙᴏʀ ᴀɴᴅ ɴᴇᴀʀ-ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ ᴄᴏᴍᴘʟɪᴄᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱ

ᴘʀᴇɢɴᴀɴᴄʏ ᴄᴏᴍᴘʟɪᴄᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ʜɪɢʜ ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ ᴛᴇɴꜱɪᴏɴ ʀᴇʟᴀᴛᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴄʜɪʟᴅʙɪʀᴛʜ

ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏꜰ ʟɪꜰᴇ-ᴏʀ-ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ ᴅᴇᴄɪꜱɪᴏɴꜱ ᴅᴜʀɪɴɢ ᴇᴍᴇʀɢᴇɴᴄʏ ᴅᴇʟɪᴠᴇʀʏ

ɴɪᴄᴜ (ɴᴇᴏɴᴀᴛᴀʟ ɪɴᴛᴇɴꜱɪᴠᴇ ᴄᴀʀᴇ ᴜɴɪᴛ) ꜱᴇᴛᴛɪɴɢ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴘʀᴇᴍᴀᴛᴜʀᴇ ᴛᴡɪɴꜱ

ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ ʙʀᴇᴀᴋᴅᴏᴡɴꜱ, ᴘᴀɴɪᴄ, ᴀɴᴅ ꜰᴇᴀʀ ᴏꜰ ɪɴꜰᴀɴᴛ ʟᴏꜱꜱ

ʜᴏꜱᴘɪᴛᴀʟ ʀᴇᴄᴏᴠᴇʀʏ ᴀɴᴅ ᴘᴏꜱᴛᴘᴀʀᴛᴜᴍ ᴘʜʏꜱɪᴄᴀʟ/ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ ᴛʀᴀᴜᴍᴀ

ᴍᴀᴛᴜʀᴇ ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ ᴛʜᴇᴍᴇꜱ: ʀᴇᴄᴏɴᴄɪʟɪᴀᴛɪᴏɴ, ꜰᴀᴍɪʟɪᴀʟ ᴀᴄᴄᴇᴘᴛᴀɴᴄᴇ, ʙᴜɪʟᴅɪɴɢ ᴛʀᴜꜱᴛ ᴀꜰᴛᴇʀ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛʙʀᴇᴀᴋ

ᴍɪʟᴅ ᴄᴏᴍᴇᴅɪᴄ ʀᴇʟɪᴇꜰ ɪɴ ʜᴏꜱᴘɪᴛᴀʟ ꜱᴇᴛᴛɪɴɢ (ɴᴜʀꜱᴇ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴀᴄᴛɪᴏɴ)

ᴘᴜʙʟɪᴄ ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ ᴅɪꜱᴘʟᴀʏ ɪɴ ꜰʀᴏɴᴛ ᴏꜰ ɢʟᴏʙᴀʟ ᴍᴇᴅɪᴀ (ᴘɪᴛ ʟᴀɴᴇ ᴋɪꜱꜱ, ʀᴀᴄᴇ ᴡɪɴ ᴄᴇʟᴇʙʀᴀᴛɪᴏɴ)

ᴛʜᴇᴍᴇꜱ ᴏꜰ ʟᴇɢᴀᴄʏ, ɴᴀᴍᴇꜱᴀᴋᴇ ᴍᴇᴀɴɪɴɢ, ᴀɴᴅ ɪᴅᴇɴᴛɪᴛʏ

ᴅɪꜱᴄᴜꜱꜱɪᴏɴ ᴏꜰ ᴛʀᴀᴅɪᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ ᴄᴜʟᴛᴜʀᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴄʟᴀꜱꜱ ᴅɪᴠɪᴅᴇ, ɢᴇɴᴛʟʏ ᴇxᴘʟᴏʀᴇᴅ ᴛʜʀᴏᴜɢʜ ʜᴜᴍᴏʀ

ɪɴᴛɪᴍᴀᴛᴇ ʀᴇᴄᴏɴɴᴇᴄᴛɪᴏɴ (ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ + ʟɪɢʜᴛ ᴘʜʏꜱɪᴄᴀʟ ɪɴᴛɪᴍᴀᴄʏ)

ꜰᴏʀᴍᴜʟᴀ 1 ʀᴀᴄᴇ ᴅᴇᴘɪᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ɪɴᴄʟᴜᴅɪɴɢ ᴛᴇɴꜱɪᴏɴ, ꜱᴛʀᴀᴛᴇɢʏ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ ꜱᴛᴀᴋᴇꜱ

She hadn’t been sleeping. Not really.

Singapore was supposed to be her refuge, her family’s home, a quiet fortress away from the cameras, the whispers, and the damage already done. But as the days stretched on, the weight of everything she’d been carrying, physically, emotionally, and now publicly, became too much.

The media storm. The strained silence. The chaos of loving someone who lived at 300 km/h.

And then Lando arrived.

He came without warning, having slipped away before the press could guess. He said nothing at first, just walked into her room and pulled her into the tightest hug she'd ever felt. And for a moment, she thought she'd be okay.

But that night, as they sat in her room, quiet but together, he noticed it. Her skin, ghost-pale under the moonlight. The slight tremble in her hands. The way her breaths shortened even when she wasn’t speaking.

“Love?” he’d asked, voice tense. “You alright?”

She tried to nod.

And then she collapsed on her bed.

The drive to their family hospital was a blur. She barely remembered Lando shouting for help, her father barking orders into his phone, the sirens blaring somewhere in the distance. Her body had given out, and so had her silence.

Stress. Overwhelming, suffocating, all-consuming stress.

That’s what had sent her into early labor.

The sharp scent of antiseptic and the blinding white lights were the first things she noticed before the pain.

A tearing, burning sensation tore through her side, and (Y/n) gasped, instinctively reaching down, only to feel flatness. Nothing. No taut skin. No roundness. No babies.

Just emptiness.

Her blood ran cold.

Panic surged up her spine. Her mouth opened, but no sound came out. Then she heard it, the rustle of fabric, the hurried scraping of a chair, and the unmistakable voice she knew better than her own breath.

“Love—hey, hey, it’s okay.” Lando was beside her in an instant, fingers trembling as they cupped her cheek. “It’s okay. You’re awake. You’re okay.”

Tears welled in her eyes. “Where—” she couldn’t even say it. “Where are they?”

Lando swallowed hard. His own eyes glistened.

“They’re okay,” he whispered. “They’re perfect. Two little champions.”

She collapsed into him with a choked sob, her arms gripping his shirt. “I thought I lost them—I thought—”

“I know.” He kissed her temple, again and again. “I know. I was scared too.”

But he didn’t tell her everything. Not yet. Not how close it had been. Not how a blur of red had flooded the room in the delivery suite, or how their OB-GYN had turned to him, blood on her gloves and terror in her eyes.

“We’re losing her. I need to know now, Lando. The babies or (Y/n)? If it comes to that.”

He’d stood frozen.

But he didn’t have time to answer. Alarms went off. The team had moved fast. And by some miracle, they saved all three.

Now, he just held her, breathing in the scent of her skin, her hair, the warmth of her pulse. She was alive.

Their children were alive.

“You scared the hell out of me,” he murmured. “But you're here. You're still here.”

She closed her eyes, finally letting the weight of the last few days catch up with her. “I want to see them.”

“You will. Soon. They’re just getting a little stronger in the NICU.” He smiled. “You made two very stubborn little babies. I wonder where they got that from.”

She snorted lightly, voice hoarse. “Definitely from you.”

He kissed her, soft and slow, then deeper, as if he couldn’t help it. As if just knowing she was alive wasn’t enough, he needed to feel it. She leaned into it, desperate to forget the cold and fear and blood.

That was, until a nurse walked in with a tablet in hand.

“Oh my God—uh—” the nurse stammered, then quickly turned around. “Sorry! Sorry! I thought—well—not that!”

Lando didn’t move, his head pressed to (Y/n)’s shoulder as he exhaled a groan. “This hospital has no boundaries.”

The nurse popped her head back in sheepishly. “Sorry, I left the chart in here earlier and—oh my God, are you serious again?!”

(Y/n) buried her face in Lando’s neck, her laugh dry and mortified.

“Could you maybe not try to traumatize me again while I’m doing my job?” the nurse scolded, her tone snapping back to professionalism. “This is still a hospital room, not the Four Seasons!”

Lando threw his head back and laughed, a real, belly-deep laugh that felt like sunlight after a storm. “Okay, okay, you win.”

“You’re lucky you didn’t pull any stitches,” she muttered, grabbing the chart and slamming the door shut behind her.

Once they were alone again, Lando leaned in, grinning. “You really are rich rich, huh? I should’ve known.”

She blinked. “What?”

“The nurses here were talking,” he said with a teasing smirk. “Old money. Security detail outside. I saw your family bring a literal handwritten letter on parchment for you yesterday.”

She rolled her eyes. “It’s just tradition.”

“It’s terrifying,” he said affectionly. “But also… hot.”

(Y/n) swatted him with a pillow, and for a moment, they were just them again.

No drama. No headlines. Just two messy people who somehow made it.

Three days later, they were cleared to see the twins.

Lando wheeled her into the NICU, his hands careful and slow, as if he were rolling the most fragile thing in the world.

And then, they saw them.

Wrapped in matching soft blue and cream swaddles, tiny fists in the air like miniature fighters, their twins lay side by side in a softly humming incubator.

(Y/n) burst into tears the moment she laid eyes on them.

“Oh my God,” she breathed. “They’re real.”

Lando reached down and gently stroked one of the babies’ impossibly small hands.

“I didn’t know I could love anything this much,” he said softly. “I didn’t know I could love anyone this much.”

She reached over and gently brushed her knuckle across the second baby's cheek. “Did you… have names in mind?”

Lando hesitated, then smiled. “Actually… yeah.”

He pointed to the first boy. “That one’s Leo.”

Then to the second. “And that little rebel… he’s Anders.”

She blinked. Then blinked again.

“Leo and Anders…” she whispered, heart stuttering.

“They’re both from my name,” Lando explained quietly. “L-A-N-D-O. I just wanted them to carry a part of me… but be their own people too.”

Tears returned to her eyes. “It’s perfect.”

He kissed her temple. “They’re perfect.”

Two weeks passed in a quiet, hazy rhythm of healing and night feeds and whispered lullabies.

But time marched on. And the Belgian Grand Prix was fast approaching.

Lando didn’t want to leave, but (Y/n) insisted.

“We’ll be in Belgium watching,” she said. “Go do what you do best. And don’t crash.”

He smirked. “I only crash when you’re watching.”

“That’s not funny.”

He kissed her. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” she whispered. “Now go win. For them.”

Belgium Grand Prix, Spa-Francorchamps

The engines roared like thunder through the Ardennes.

It was damp, the track slick with fresh rain, but Lando was sharp, focused. Every corner, every apex, every overtake, he carved through like a man who had come through fire and still chose to believe in light.

In the pit lane, (Y/n) stood with Carla and Amara, her arms wrapped around Leo and Anders in a double sling. Despite the fatigue in her eyes, she radiated grace.

Carla handed her a tissue. “Crying already?”

“Shut up,” (Y/n) whispered. “He’s leading.”

“Lap 42,” Amara said. “This is it.”

And it was.

As Lando crossed the finish line, the roar of the McLaren garage exploded. P1.

He screamed into the radio. “That one, was for them. All three of them.”

He didn’t go to the podium right away. He ran straight down pit lane, helmet off, fireproofs half-zipped, wild and breathless, toward the three people who changed his life.

(Y/n) stepped forward, and in front of the cameras, the teams, and the roaring crowd, he kissed her like he’d waited forever.

Their sons, nestled between them, began to stir.

“I love you,” he whispered, pressing his forehead to hers. “Always.”

𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘶𝘯 𝘥𝘪𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘚𝘱𝘢 𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘻𝘰𝘯, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘥. 𝘕𝘰𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘴𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦, 𝘰𝘳 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘰𝘴, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘺. 𝘓𝘰𝘷𝘦, 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘴𝘩 𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦, 𝘸𝘢𝘴𝘯'𝘵 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘨𝘰𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵, 𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘥 𝘳𝘶𝘯𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨.

📝 Note from the Author 12th day on Tumblr. Final post. Last lap. And guess what? I laughed and cried while writing this. That’s balance, baby.

This finale has it all, melodrama, early labor chaos, crying nurses, rich girl one-liners, NICU tears, name reveals, Spa domination, and of course, Lando going full feral husband with zero regard for hospital protocol. 🏁🍼

Leo and Anders Norris. Tell me that’s not legacy material.

To everyone who stayed through every post, reblog, scream-in-the-tags moment, you didn’t just read this story. You carried it with me. You loved (Y/n) and Lando through their most fragile, chaotic, and powerful moments. For that, I’m endlessly grateful.

And here’s a fun little confession: the very beginning and this ending? Inspired by a Min Yoongi fanfic I read way back. HAHAHA. But everything in between, the drama, the heartbreak, the feral Lando, the legacy twins? That was all mine. Straight from my heart to yours.

If this story made you laugh, cry, or text your best friend at 3 a.m. with “WHY DID HE NAME THE BABY ANDERS?!”, drop a 🧡, 🏎️, or 👶 in the replies.

This was the ride of a lifetime. And I’m so damn glad you were on it with me.

With love, me 🧡(your author, holding twins while yelling “P1, BABY!!”)

[myokk]

clumsy

pairing: Sebastian Sallow x f!MC

word count: 9,1k

summary: sebastian is clumsy

cw: fluff, mutual pining, idiots in love, two really stubborn idiots in love to be exact, sir cadogan guest appearance, anne and imelda are the gremlin best friends every girl needs, smut (18+ ONLY), oral (f. recieving)

a/n: or: two stubborn brats make things more difficult than they have to be. I've been working on this for a MONTH more or less, ever since I drew the sketch that inspired it🫶 (I'm the world's slowest writer)

The first time Sebastian Sallow interacted with her after the fateful events of their fifth year, he fell for her.

Quite literally.

Maybe fell on her is more aptly put - Sebastian Sallow is not one to mince his words or say what he doesn't mean, after all. But, in the years to come, he always insists that he fell in love in that moment.

It was inexplicable. One moment, he was walking around, perfectly content with his loveless, boring life, and the next, his every waking moment was painful. Nobody had ever told Sebastian that being in love would physically pain or consume him so.

It all started like this: one moment, he's walking (well, striding) to Crossed Wands. Fine, he's running. Running late already, for the first meet-up of his last year. But - he isn't to blame for being late. He needed to check on something in the library - during his Transfiguration lesson, he had a hunch about something Professor Weasley had said in passing, and of course he had to go and check to see if he was right before he could even think about besting Leander in the inaugural duel of the Crossed Wands season but now, with how late he is - how many minutes ago had it started? - oh, Merlin, it's already been ten whole minutes and what if they've started without him (not that he can blame them) and -

Sebastian is abruptly pulled out of his thoughts when he collides with a strange obstruction in his way. He was just checking his father's old pocket watch, had only looked away for a split second and he could have sworn that, unless he was mistaken (which he never is), there wasn't a statue in the middle of the suspension bridge. And yet, he has run headfirst into something or someone, and now they are both flying through the air, books whirling around them in a flurry of pages and Sebastian unconsciously puts his arms out to grab her before they hit the ground and now he's holding her tight against him and they land with a loud, ungraceful thud, but at least she's not hurt.

Sebastian shakes his head to clear it after the impact that - miraculously - doesn't seem to have been as bad as it could have been, all things considered, and -

He freezes.

What has he done?

He's pressed up against the most impossibly lovely person he has ever seen quite possibly in his life, holding her tightly in his arms as she glares up at him in indignation, a faint flush spreading across her cheeks, making her face glow. Is this what the muggles mean when they say that they were struck by Cupid's arrow? Her hands scrabble uselessly at his chest as she tries to extricate herself from his grip. It's useless. Sebastian is completely frozen in place as he stares down at her, and he can feel his own face heating up at his inability to get off her. What's wrong with him?

"Sebastian," she repeats, and this time her voice registers in his brain. He realizes she has been talking to him this whole time, and as he stares at her face without comprehending - he couldn't have a coherent thought right now even if he wanted to - he sees her eyes dart quickly down, looking at where their bodies meet before she brings them back to his face, a deeper blush coming over her. "You -"

Oh, Merlin. It's her. He blinks and it's like the fog has cleared from his mind - almost, but-not-quite - and he realizes who he has unceremoniously crashed to the ground with him. The spines of the textbooks they are lying on top of dig into the arm that's pinned under her body and his other hand...he realizes (to his almost-horror) that to any students or professors walking by, it would seem as if they were caught up in quite the scandalous extra-curricular activity because his other hand is actively caressing her breast. Well, that's how it would look to any passerby, anyways.

Because there is no way he would be caught dead in such a compromising position with her.

The two of them haven't spoken since the events of their fifth year - the Year-That-Shall-Not-Be-Remembered-or-Acknowledged - and he had been perfectly content with his plan to continue this strange sort of ignoring that they had played all last year. Both of them pretending that they hadn't become impossibly close after only knowing each other for a few months - a closeness that he had gone and ruined by not knowing when to quit. All he had known to do back then was push push push because why couldn't she see things the way he had? The betrayal he had felt when she had gone behind his back to find her own way to cure his sister, and that one stupid word uttered in the heat of the moment, had caused an irreparable rift in their relationship and he would not allow himself to think about how much he missed her. Still misses her.

Just like he will not think about the fact that she is pressed beneath him in a compromising position, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she glares up at him in indignation. He continues to stare at her. Maybe his mouth is agape. She's stopped trying to get out of his grip and is resting her hands on his chest, seemingly waiting for an opportunity to push him off of her.

"Sebastian. Your hand," she repeats. "You're -"

Finally his idiot brain decides to wake up and Sebastian realizes with horror just how aroused he is at the moment and how did he never see her like this before? He gets up in a flash, pushing her back against the pile of books they're lying on top of, wondering if he can subtly adjust his robes without her realizing and then he makes the very grave mistake of looking down at her and she's still very much red-faced, propping herself up by her elbows and she looks so disheveled and lovely lying on top of the pile of books.

His idiot brain has now woken up completely, and how is it possible for one hormonal, eighteen-year-old wizard to be so embarrassed? He knocked her to the ground, pushed her further back in the books in his desperate attempt to get away from her, and now all he can think about is how to hide his arousal. Shameful, really. Sebastian quickly crouches down to help her pick up all of the books but she shoves him away and glares at him with an annoyance that he's never seen before.

"I can do it myself, thank you very much," she says with a huff, gathering everything they spilled up into her arms. She grabs the book Sebastian is holding out of his hands and he inhales sharply at the touch of her fingers grazing his.

Did someone - Garreth, maybe - spike his pumpkin juice with Amortentia during lunch? It's the only explanation he can think of as he stares blankly down at her. How else would he find her so beautiful, so breathtaking, when the last time they had interacted, Ominis and Anne had had to act as intermediaries for the two of them?

"Well," she says finally, slinging her school bag over her shoulder once all of her books have been unceremoniously shoved inside of it, "it's been...nice seeing you again, Sallow. I hope you had a good summer holiday."

And with that, she quickly turns and walks away in the direction she had been coming from, leaving a very confused Sebastian behind. He watches her as she walks away and her long, swishing braid is the last thing he sees before the door closes behind her at the far end of the bridge.

Eventually, he gathers his wits and wanders away.

He does not go to the first Crossed Wands meeting that afternoon after all.

She has not had a full-night's sleep since he somehow cursed her mind and her thoughts a week ago, and she can feel herself slowly slipping into insanity. A curse is the only answer that makes sense, the only thing that gives a conceivable answer to all the wicked dreams she has been having since that moment, dreams that cause her to wake up sweaty and breathless and needing him in the middle of the night in a way she has never felt before. She has been an absolute mess, a disastrous version of her normally quite put-together self, and she is not happy about it.

He's sitting next to her now - they were partnered up by the evil Professor Onai in their first NEWT Divination class of the year - and she's holding herself rigidly, arms tight across her chest, in an attempt to not accidentally touch him. Lately, every single time they make fleeting eye contact across the table during breakfast, or when they pass each other in the hallways, a shiver runs down her spine at the unfamiliar look in his eyes and she has to avert her eyes before it's too much.

Divination has never been a favorite subject of hers - too impermeable for her tastes. She is only taking it at the NEWT level because, during her career counseling with Professor Ronen at the end of her fifth year, he had said that if she wanted to be an Unspeakable she couldn't just work with logic (a preposterous thought, but as a sixteen-year-old she hadn't seen any recourse in arguing with the Ministry's requirements). She supposedly needs to get comfortable with the intangible as well. It doesn't mean she has to enjoy it, though: she doesn't, and never will. The Divination classroom is dark and stuffy, tucked away in one of the highest towers of the castle, and the nauseating smell of incense always coats her nasal cavities long after the class has finished. She finds her thoughts getting muddled in the haze of candle smoke and swirling orbs on the shelves around her - magic somehow always feels thicker up here - and the presence of a certain someone whose knees keep brushing hers under the tiny table they're sharing, a certain someone who has - improbably, inconceivably, impossibly - hit a growth spurt that summer and now towers over her and had encompassed her completely when he knocked her to the ground, isn't helping her concentration at -

"This week, we are going to review everything we learned together last year," Professor Onai says, after the class had rearranged itself based on her instructions. Sebastian shoots a look at her as she shakes her head in an attempt to clear it and sits up straighter. She hopes that Onai's lecture will help her concentrate and clear her mind a bit. If she has something to focus on, to try and think of and remember, it will be better than him. Anything would be better than Sebastian. Onai gives an appraising look to each table before continuing her speech. "As your NEWTs are at the end of the year, we need to make sure you are as prepared as possible. Open your books to page two-hundred and thirty. Today we're going to review the art of palmistry. I should hope that you do not need the aid of your textbook to help interpret the lines in your partner's palm but in the case that you do -"

She chances a glance at Sebastian before getting out her copy of Divining the Undivinable from her bag and wishes she hadn't. He looks uncomfortably big sitting on the tiny tea chair across from her, barely any hints of the boy who had completely swept her away two years ago visible on the sharper planes of his face. When had he - had they - grown up?

Sebastian Sallow was - is - charming, and that had been her downfall. She had successfully avoided his charms the year before, and she wasn't going to let that happen this year, no matter how much her body rebelled against her mind and resolve. Because, as she reminds herself, Sebastian Sallow is also manipulative, and cold-hearted, and selfish.

"Well," she says archly, opening her book. She will not look at him. "I suppose I am still quite ignorant of the practice of Divination, so do forgive me if I have to double-check my readings in the textbook."

He says her name as she opens the book, and she ignores him. He says her name again. She continues to ignore him. He grabs the book from her hands and puts it the correct way for her. She was looking at it upside-down. Her cheeks heat up and she continues flipping through the pages, as if nothing has happened. She finds page two-hundred and thirty. She pretends to be interested in what she sees.

(Divination is unfortunately not interesting.)

Oh, fine.

"Do you want to start, or should I?"

These are the first words she has voluntarily spoken to him - not including the events of last week, which do not count as they were most decidedly not voluntary - since he called her ignorant a year and a half ago. He somehow looks surprised to see that she has addressed him, and for some reason this fills her with rage and a strange sort of confidence. Why shouldn't she be able to talk to him?

"Here," she says, putting her hand out towards him, palm up, ignoring the strange fluttering feeling in her chest when he gently grabs it with one of his. Sebastian looks up at her, waiting for her to continue speaking, and were she not looking at him so intently she would have easily missed the bob of his throat as he swallows nervously. "Show me how it's done."

Her breath catches in her throat at the small, mischievous smirk he shoots to her before he bends over her hand and gently starts tracing the lines on her palm with the fingers of the hand that's not holding hers in place. His touch is feather-light and somehow soft, despite the roughness of his fingers as they drag over her palm. Every nerve in her body seems to have moved to wherever he touches and all of the bravado and anger she had just felt is quickly melting away. When she finally finds her voice, she hates how soft and breathy it sounds. She can't look away from the sight of his larger hands caressing hers.

"Well? What do you see? Do you remember the different lines? Because I -"

She falters. The murmurs of their classmates blend together in the background and the dim lights of the candles...the hazy, thick atmosphere and his proximity and the barely there touches of his rough fingertips on her sensitive palm are altogether too overwhelming and she needs to get out of there. She's supposed to be angry with him. Furious, even. Holding this grudge has been the only way she has been able to have any sort of power over him this past year, and yet...all she can think about at the moment are the sinful dreams she's been having lately where he presses her against a wall, desperately kissing her lips, her neck - even she knows that there has to be more to it - but what?

Sebastian blinks as she snatches her hand away like it's been burned and - oh, Merlin - she shoves the textbook back into her schoolbag and almost knocks the candle on the table over and wouldn't it be awful if she had started a fire? But she can't think about any of that now in her haste to just get out of the claustrophobic Divination tower.

Vaguely, she can hear Professor Onai asking her if everything is fine and she's not sure but she thinks she mumbles something about needing to go to the Hospital Wing - that's a good enough excuse to leave, isn't it? - but then she hears his voice, deep and cutting through the fog in her mind -

"Don't worry, I'll take her and make sure she gets there fine." A muffled response from their professor and then his voice, just as clear as before. "No, I don't know what happened..."

She hears him calling her name as she flees down the spiral staircase, almost tripping over her feet in her rush to get away from him, but he catches up quickly, reaching out to grab her arm in an attempt to slow her down. She stops running immediately - she supposes her traitorous body wants to see what he has to say, or maybe it just wants to bask in his intoxicating proximity. He crowds her space, and she sees that unfamiliar look in his eyes again. So very different from the cold disdain she had seen the last time she had been this close to him, during the argument that had ended their friendship.

"Let go of me," she whispers, but there's no conviction in her voice as she gazes into his deep, brown eyes. He can tell she doesn't mean it and doesn't make any move to listen to her. Why can't she hold on to the rage? A muggle quote about anger floats through her mind: Holding on to anger is like drinking poison and expecting the other person to die. What a sweet poison her anger at Sebastian had been, while it lasted. She tries telling herself that he must still feel the same as the evening he had called her ignorant (ignoring the small voice in her head that reminded her of the letters of apology he had sent (that she had burned without reading), the times he had tried to get Anne or Ominis involved and apologize for him) - because why couldn't he just tell her himself? Maybe she had shut down any and all attempts he had made to repair the rift that he had caused in the first place, but she had been right to be so angry with him.

But oh, Merlin, he's getting closer to her, and she can now clearly see the freckles dusting his cheeks and nose and forehead and then before she knows it, his hand is sliding up her arm, leaving goosebumps everywhere he touches and then he's caressing her jaw with his rough thumb and he pauses. Her eyelids flutter closed as her head tilts towards him - she couldn't stop herself even if she wanted to (what does she want?). She can feel his warm breath ghosting over her lips and she has the improbable, ridiculous thought - how is he remembering to breathe? - before he speaks. His lips brush against hers with every soft word and a deep shiver runs through her body.

"I," she hears him say, his voice so, so low, "haven't been able to think since last week."

That's all she needs to hear, the brush of his bottom lip against hers all she needs to feel, to push her into closing what minuscule distance there is between them and then his lips are on hers and it's better than anything she's been imagining. His mouth is soft against hers, insistent, and her hands go up to grip the collar of his plaid jacket to make sure he doesn't go away or disappear on her.

She knows she's behaving wantonly, snogging Sebastian Sallow in the middle of the hallway where anyone could come across them, but third period has only just started and besides, she has had a week of restless nights being tortured by thoughts of him. A week of a few hours of sleep found here and there. Just one kiss should be enough to help her get over these strange feelings, right? She only feels like this because having him lie on top of her after he crashed into her - that satisfying weight of him - the friction of his thumb brushing against her nipple - had made her realize just how stupid she had been, holding this grudge against him for -

She whimpers in protest but it quickly turns into a moan as his mouth moves away from hers and down to her neck. He pulls at her tight collar desperately - she hears some seams ripping - to give him better access to it, and she finds herself arching her back and pushing her body closer to his as he nuzzles her neck with his nose before giving it open, sloppy kisses. When he hears her, he moves back to kissing her, greedily capturing every breathy moan that comes out of her mouth, but the noises coming from him are matching hers, and at the sound she feels an unfamiliar clenching deep in her stomach. Her fingers come up to his hair, going through the silky curls over and over - how are they as soft as his lips? - and he slowly pushes her back until she's sandwiched between his warm body and the cold stone of the wall behind her.

He lets out a low, frantic growl as a hand goes to grip the back of her head, holding her in place as he slants his mouth over hers. He tastes like cinnamon and...like something forbidden. What has gotten into her? She hates him, and yet...

They have abandoned any pretense of propriety - had they ever even been trying? - by this point. His tongue swipes across her lips and then she is completely lost to him, to every sensation of his mouth, and tongue, on hers. His large hands - the wicked hands that had been caressing her palm and had caused this whole mess in the first place - have moved to her waist and are pulling her even closer to him. When he pulls away briefly, she whines in protest, opening her eyes to glare at him. The sight of him, flushed and breathless, his eyes wide and pupils dilated - must match her own appearance because she sees the same hunger she feels in his eyes. She has never seen Sebastian Sallow so disheveled, but she finds she quite likes it and tugs on his curls with a whine. He obliges eagerly, bringing his mouth back to hers.

She's pressed as tightly against him as she can possibly be, and yet it still isn't enough. Her back arches once again, trying to find something, and then he slots one of his knees between her legs. She moans at the friction caused by his movements, can feel an unfamiliar slickness forming at the juncture between her legs, and this seems to spur him on further as his kisses get more desperate and sloppy. She moves against his leg, trying to relieve some of her discomfort, gasping into his mouth, when -

They freeze. Even if they are fully, completely, absorbed by...whatever this is, they can't ignore the strange, metallic clanking sound coming from their left. Sebastian pulls his head back from her slowly, reluctantly, breathing heavily, and looks over to see what the noise is. She wants to, but all of a sudden the horrifying reality of what they've been doing sinks in and oh god what if the noise is a person? Someone who has now seen her in what might possibly be the most mortifying moment of her life - desperately snogging Sebastian Sallow - and she finds she can't look over. She tucks her head into his neck to hide her face as she listens.

"I demand that you get away from her at once, you knave! Cease your attack!"

The voice sounds vaguely familiar, but she's certain that it doesn't belong to any of her classmates. He almost sounds...medieval, but -

"I made haste when I heard sounds of distress coming from down the hallway," the voice continues, "and it appears I have arrived not a moment too soon!"

She brings her head away from Sebastian's shoulder but still refuses to look over at whoever is speaking, instead choosing to stare at Sebastian's face. He's still deliciously flushed from their snogging, still breathing heavily, but now he looks terribly confused. His brows are furrowed, mouth opening and closing as he tries to come up with a response to the outrage currently being directed at him.

The unknown man is continuing his diatribe, almost not even stopping to breathe as he gets more and more worked up, and she hears some more clanking as he reaches a particularly exciting moment in his rant. Sebastian looks increasingly confused, but still shields her with his body, not moving away from her at all despite the accusations.

Her curiosity gets the better of her and she peeks over to see who it is.

The man who has been reprimanding Sebastian so boldly is none other than Sir Cadogan. Although she's never interacted with him directly, she often hears him yelling at his pony as she passes his portrait on her way to Divination. The knight is standing between two witches having tea, who are glaring at him quite angrily as he gesticulates wildly - every movement of his sword comes dangerously close to their display of cakes and sandwiches and it looks like he has already broken some plates. His armor is ill-fitting and loose on him, which explains the terrible noise.

"You rascally knave! I assure you that you do not want to find out what will happen to you if you do not unhand the fair maiden."

He brandishes his sword again, and the woman closest to him quickly snatches her tea cup away to save it from being broken as well. "Come now, Sir Cadogan," she says, exasperated. "Can't you see that these two are in love?"

The other woman joins her protests, nodding vigorously. "Yes, exactly that. Leave them be!"

"Nonsense," he exclaims. "I too have succumbed to my baser instincts on occasion and I can assure you that this is decidedly not what is occurring."

As Sir Cadogan continues to alternate between lecturing her and Sebastian, and directing his two attention to the ladies who are defending them, she looks back to the boy in question. Sebastian is looking down at her, a bemused smile on his lips and she feels a twinge in her chest. His face is still so close to hers that if she wants to, they could be snogging again with barely any effort and her eyes briefly flicker down to his tempting mouth before going back to his eyes, but...

What had gotten into her? What is she doing?

He had somehow managed to manipulate her again, because there is no way that this situation could have happened otherwise. All of a sudden, the anger she's been feeling for the past year and a half - that had left for a brief, blissful moment - surges again, and she pushes Sebastian away from her with as much force as she can muster. She almost feels bad as the happiness in his face turns to confusion, then frustration as he realizes she's getting away from him.

"Stay away from me," she hisses, picking up her discarded schoolbag from its spot on the ground. As she stalks down the hall, she can hear Sir Cadogan cheering on her bravery over the ringing in her ears.

She has a lot of thinking to do.

Sebastian Sallow's List of Priorities (in no particular order):

Figure out what the hell I'm going to do when I graduate;

Figure out how the hell I'm going to finish this bloody Charms essay before tomorrow; and

Figure out what the hell is going on between us

Sebastian sits in an undisturbed corner of the library - nobody ever comes to this table because it's tucked away between shelves of incredibly dense magical theory books - and is twirling his quill in his fingers, watching the ink splatter on the list he spent his precious time writing instead of the Charms essay he should be working on. He's far away from the first-years who like to congregate by the windows and watch the leaves fall softly to the ground rather than study for their classes. He's made especially sure that he is far, far away from her.

It's not his choice, mind you, but he needs to be a gentleman about these things. If she needs some time and space to figure out that she's as crazy for him as he is her, fine. But even Sebastian Sallow's patience runs thin, and he's not sure how much longer he can give her to come to her senses before he snaps and takes matters into his own hands. If things were up to him, the two of them would be sitting far too close together now in this secluded corner, and maybe he would need to put a hand over her mouth to ensure her complete silence as he runs a hand up her thigh.

Now that he knows what delicious sounds can come out of her mouth - sounds that he caused - he's been having a hard time concentrating on, well, anything. Sebastian surreptitiously glances across the library to where she's sitting and studying with his sister and Imelda. Ever since the events after their Divination class, Sir Cadogan has taken it upon himself to follow Sebastian around the halls of the castle, tripping through frames and disrupting their inhabitants as he lectures Sebastian on love. The tea party women had managed to convince the knight that he had disrupted an amorous exchange, and Sebastian fervently wishes they hadn't.

The whole school is abuzz with rumors about who it could be. Nobody has even come close so far with their guesses, but Anne and Imelda are having too much fun teasing him about it. Somehow, she has managed to avoid suspicion - he wonders how this is even possible, since she's never been able to hide what she's thinking. He makes eye contact with her - has she been staring at him this whole time? - and she flushes before looking over to Imelda, who's laughing too loudly at something Anne's just said. Sebastian can't tear his eyes away from her profile, his eyes following the curve of her eyebrow, the slight upturn of her lips as she smiles at her friends, her eyes as they dart back to him, her cheeks as she turns an even darker shade of red as she realizes he's still watching her. She tucks a lock of hair behind her ear, and rests her chin on her hand as she tries to look absorbed in what Anne is saying to her.

Sebastian wonders if she's thought about him as much as he's thought about her. Judging by how she had snogged him back, he's positive that she feels the same way, but then he remembers how she had looked at him before she fled, and he's not so sure. He sighs as he looks back to his list, bringing his quill back to the third item and ripping the paper as he crosses it out again. His mind has been going in circles since that moment and he doesn't know what to think. He slowly puts everything into his schoolbag before heading out of the library for yet another freezing cold shower that hopefully tempers his now-permanent state of arousal whenever she's around.

He doesn't notice her eyes following him as he walks out of the library.

He doesn't hear her hurried excuse to Anne and Imelda as she shoves her things into her bag and rushes to follow him.

He doesn't hear her light footsteps as she gets closer to him.

When she puts a hand out to touch his arm as he waits for the moving staircase to stop, with a soft, "Sebastian" accompanying it, he nearly jumps out of his skin. He was so absorbed with thoughts of her, that to see her standing at his side, closer than she had been since they kissed was almost his snapping point.

"Can we talk?" she asks, looking almost embarrassed as she avoids his eyes. She instead looks determinedly at his collar. He thinks she probably notices that he swallows nervously before acquiescing, but she says nothing as she turns and starts hurrying away from him without waiting to see if he follows her.

She must know that he would follow her anywhere at this point.

They weave through hallways - Sebastian vaguely wonders where exactly they're going - before reaching a little alcove, hidden by a suit of armor. She looks around before pulling him into it. It's almost curfew and the halls are never that busy when the weather is as beautiful as it has been these days - the end of September seems to be clinging on to the summer for as long as possible.

Her lips are on his before he can even ask her what she needed to talk with him about, hungry and desperate. Sebastian is too stunned to pull away - not that he would actually want to. Her arms wrap around his neck, keeping Sebastian close, slender fingers sliding through his hair.

"What," she says breathlessly between kisses - almost not even moving her mouth away from his enough to be able to enunciate properly, "are you doing to me? I haven't been able to think for the last month."

Sebastian smiles into her mouth, wondering if she knows that she's repeating the very thing he told her two weeks ago. Maybe she has been thinking of him all this time - he almost hopes that she's been suffering as much as he has. Instead of responding, he moves a hand to cup her jaw, deepening the kiss. His other hand moves to her waist, gripping it tightly, pulling her flush against his body and she gasps into his mouth. He slowly moves her closer to the window alcove behind them, snogging her senseless the whole time. She moans into his mouth which just spurs him on further - her skirt rides up to her hips as Sebastian trails a hand up her stockinged thigh and they both gasp when his hand reaches skin. Her skin is so, so soft and her breathing gets faster as he continues to caress her inner thigh, closer to the bend between her thigh and her center. Sebastian wonders if she's ever been touched there before by someone else and jealousy flares up inside of him at the thought.

In one swift move, he scoops her up and places her so that she's sitting on the window-ledge, the dusky light of the sunset illuminating her from behind and making her wispy flyaway hairs a golden halo around her. Sebastian's breath catches in his throat - has he ever seen anything so beautiful as her in that moment? - she's staring up at him, her fingers playing with the hair at the nape of his neck, her breathing shallow and anticipation in her eyes. "You're," he starts saying and his throat goes dry. He brings a hand up to tuck the errant lock of hair - the one she had tucked earlier in the library - behind her ear and she leans her head into his touch, closing her eyes briefly before looking up at him again with wide eyes. "You're perfect."

She smiles faintly and pulls his head back down towards hers and now she's brushing her lips against his, teasing him, before it's too much and he grips the back of her head, holding her in place as he crushes his mouth against hers in a bruising kiss. Her knees are on either side of his waist, and she desperately grinds her core against his throbbing erection and they both groan at the friction. Sebastian moves his hands down to her thighs again as he kisses her, slowly caressing his way up and pushing her skirt up further until it's completely bunched around her waist. She gasps into his mouth at his first tentative touch after he pushes aside her undergarments. Sebastian swipes a finger up her slit, through the slick that coats it, and then he starts circling her clit with slow, even strokes. She shivers against him - at his touch - clinging tightly to his shoulders and gasping into his mouth as he continues.

Every little noise coming out of her mouth, feeling how wet she is, how the slickness keeps growing growing growing makes Sebastian hungry for more - it isn't enough -

Slowly - so slowly - he wants to savor this moment - he lowers himself until he's kneeling between her legs and he looks up at her. Her face is deliciously flushed, all swollen lips and hair in a wild cloud around her face and all she can do is stare down at him. Her chest is heaving and she tries to close her legs - hide what is exposed to him - but he holds her thighs firmly in place on either side of his head. He turns his head and kisses her inner thigh, maintaining eye contact as he swipes his tongue across where he's just kissed, moving closer towards her slick center.

"Oh," she breathes, not-quite-a-word, not-quite-a-gasp, when his mouth reaches her center and hovers over it, lips slowly teasing her the way she had just teased him. Sebastian tentatively runs his tongue up her slit; the loud moan she lets out when he reaches her clit makes him stay there, applying light and not-so-light pressure in equal measure.

Her hands are scrabbling at his hair, digging into his scalp, ruining his earlier attempts to make it look presentable, hopefully attractive, for her these days. She's pushing his head deeper into the space between her legs, starting to rock herself slightly on his mouth, and Sebastian is happy to oblige. He eagerly laps up her slit, and the obscene wet noises as he continues combined with her whimpers and barely-spoken profanities "oh-yes-fuck-yes-there-please-" are making him hard beyond belief. He's straining against his trousers, begging to be let free. Without moving his face from her, he unbuttons his trousers and starts palming himself, using the slickness weeping out of the tip as lubrication.

She's abandoned all control at this point, grinding herself into his face as he laps her up, and it's driving him wild - knowing that he's doing this to her - causing her to be so undone. Normally she's so poised and aloof, never letting any real emotion flicker across her face, so to see her so desperate and needy and wanting him so -

Sebastian's gasping into her, tongue deep inside of her, "ohmygod" he hears her whisper, her hips driving into his face when she shudders and goes still, pulsing around the tongue that's deep inside of it. He slows down, smiling as he continues to run his tongue up her slit until she's responsive again. He kisses her inner thigh and hears her moan before getting up, caressing a finger down her love-struck face and leaning his head down to kiss her deeply. With his other hand he's still touching himself - the thought that she can taste herself on his tongue driving him crazy - and he starts rubbing its blunt head against her swollen clit. She takes it out of his hand- he groans at the feeling of her soft hands (the hands he had held a week ago in Divination and pictured doing this exact thing) tentatively caressing his length before she begins to slide it up and down her slit, coating it in her wetness.

Sebastian has surrendered all control to her - resting his hands on either side of her hips on the windowsill, tucking his head into the crook of her neck and thrusting with her movements as he loses himself in the sensation of sliding through her slick folds. He can feel his release building building building, and when he finally comes, all over her perfect, pink center, it feels like a finally.

Sebastian feels so, so heavy as he pulls his head away from her shoulder, as if he could fall into a blissful sleep right there, in the little window alcove where they've hidden themselves away. The sun has now set completely and they're in shadow as they stare at each other, the sound of their ragged breathing filling the tiny space.

"Sebastian, I..."

She's staring at him with an unfathomable expression on her face, still holding him in her hand, her other hand playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. They look down and he feels his face heat up even more at the mess he's made - he quickly pulls out his wand and cleans her up, before looking back at her, giving her a wry smile as he buttons up his pants and helps her off the ledge. "What did you want to talk to me about, again?"

She gives a slight shake of her head and looks away, but she can't hide the small smile that's growing on her face just like she can't help her eyes that keep wandering over to his. He knows the growing smile on his face matches hers - did that really just happen? She reaches over to lace her fingers through his as they walk around the suit of armor. "I - it's not important."

"Come on," he says, not being able to resist the opportunity to tease her - he's somehow managed to break through the barriers she's set up around her, and he's not about to let the opportunity slide. "Surely that's not what you had in mind when you..."

Sebastian trails off as he sees the expression in her face turn to one of horror - he didn't think his teasing was that bad, was it? - but she's also pulling her hand out of his like she's been burned and -

He follows her gaze, to where it's fixed at the end of the hallway and he knows that once again his face mimics hers. He will never live this down.

Standing at the end of the hallway and looking like two cats who've just found a huge dish of milk, are his sister and Imelda.

Misery.

Complete and utter misery are what she's feeling, if she has to put it into words, which she does. Writing things down always helps her out, helps her organize her thoughts into some sort of order. Except...this time around, it's not really helping. She can't seem to make any sense of her feelings for Sebastian.

She looks over the muddled mess of words she's written down - stream of consciousness, incomprehensible babble - and sighs. She's been dreaming of falling in love since she was a young girl - Jane Austen will do that to you - and can't believe that now that she's had her opportunity, it has to go and be with Sebastian Sallow. Because it has to be love, hasn't it?

There can be no other explanation for the painful way her stomach twists itself up whenever she catches a glimpse of him these days, the way he's consuming her every thought - even when she's dreaming she can't escape him. She can't get the sight of his tousled curls between her legs, his mischievous, warm brown eyes looking up at her as she had the most mind-numbing, toe-curling orgasm of her life - none of the times she's touched herself have ever come close to the sensations he managed to evoke.

Every time she's walking through the hallways between classes and hears his loud voice as he jokes with Garreth, or Ominis, about quidditch or Merlin-knows-what her eyes snap to his face as if he were the sun, and she a sunflower searching for its warmth. And he is most decidedly not the sun. He has the tendency to snort when he laughs, and he laughs too much, especially at his own jokes. Sometimes he talks while he eats. He always twirls his quill between his long fingers in the most annoying way, splattering ink onto any parchment unfortunate to be caught underneath. But he also...

He also always goes out of his way to prepare Ominis's Potions ingredients (why Ominis decided to take and was accepted into NEWT level is a mystery to everyone), occasionally stops to play a round of gobstones with Zenobia when he has the time. Sebastian can often be found in his favorite armchair in the Slytherin common room, resting his face on his hand as he idly flips through the pages of some book, looking altogether too handsome as he does so. And when he stretches and yawns at the end of every Arithmancy lesson - like he is now - his shirt lifts up a bit and she can see a tan sliver of his stomach and -

Snapping in front of her: she blinks and looks over: when she sees it's Imelda her face immediately turns beet red and she grabs the paper she's been doodling on and rips it to shreds as fast as she can.

"Are you fantasizing about a certain annoying someone?" Imelda asks with a wicked grin, dramatically looking over her shoulder at the certain someone in question. He's still stretching, blinking sleepily; when he notices the two girls watching him he flushes deeply. Her stomach twinges again at the sight of him noticing her - has he thought about her since that moment as much as she has? What would she do if he had? Or...if he hadn't? - and she focuses instead on the paper she is currently destroying.

"Imelda," she hisses, glaring at her best friend, "stop."

Imelda does not stop.

Imelda doesn't stop during their walk to Herbology, and she does not stop as they set up their planting stations, and she most certainly does not stop as they mutter charms over their plants.

Ever since she experienced the most wonderful moment in her whole life, followed by the most mortifying, Anne and Imelda have not stopped pestering her about it. They've finally solved the 'Sir Cadogan Puzzle' - I knew it was you all along, claims Anne - but if they truly knew what had happened between her and Sebastian, she's afraid the two of them would simply combust. She loves them dearly, but they never know when to stop, and they've been pushing and poking and prodding her for more information the whole week. She has managed to remain tight-lipped and, she hopes, mysterious about the whole thing, but she's getting tired of the teasing.

"Really," Anne says, wiping her forehead and leaving a trail of dirt behind, "if you would only talk to him, I would stop bothering you. Promise."

"Yes," chimes in Imelda, on her other side, wrestling the leaves of her own plant into submission. "You know, after we saw the two of you holding hands and looking at each other with stars in your eyes, I'm really starting to doubt that you hate him as much as you claim."

"Were the two of you snogging in secret all of last year too? Because, I'm starting to get annoyed thinking of all the times I had to talk to my brother for you because of your stubborn pride."

Does she still hate him? She certainly thinks she should, but then her thoughts get terribly confusing as she continues to think about him, and she realizes all of her old hatred has long since faded. Anne has forgiven her brother, Ominis has forgiven him, and all that remains is her.

They should talk, but she doesn't know what to say.

She's afraid that maybe the man she's been inventing in her mind this past month is simply a figment of her imagination - a fictitious being created by an accumulation of stolen glances when he doesn't know she's watching, someone who all of their classmates seem to like, someone who is very different from the fifteen-year-old boy she had that terrible argument with all that time ago. Maybe he doesn't actually exist.

She would be crushed if he's hiding the fact that he still holds on to that desperate darkness that had driven him to save Anne by any means necessary.

And so she keeps her space. She watches him from afar, feeling the hatred slowly melt off of her, falling more in love every day, but too cowardly to make the next move.

Anne and Imelda continue bantering on either side of her, not noticing - or, more likely, not caring - that she isn't participating.

Sebastian's hands are sweating. He wipes them on the inside of his robes as he glances at the girl next to him. She's holding herself rigidly, but she did this to herself, sitting next to him at dinner as she had.

Well, sitting next to him hadn't been completely her idea if he's being honest. He'd been having dinner with Anne, and the two of them were dying of laughter as she recounted seeing Duncan Hobhouse get tormented by Peeves earlier that day. One moment, Anne had been demonstrating what she had seen using her potatoes and green beans as props, and the next, a particularly evil grin had lit up her face as she pushed her plate away with gusto and jumped to her feet, calling her over.

"It would be such a shame for these potatoes to go to waste, seeing as I have a very important meeting to attend," Anne had said, after pushing her friend into the very tight space at Sebastian's side. "Never mind the mess, I can assure you I didn't actually eat the food..."

And with that, Anne had flounced away, Imelda on her arm, the two girls cackling to each other as they snuck wicked glances over their shoulders at the couple.

A couple who is now steadfastly avoiding each other and trying their hardest not to even brush elbows. Sebastian is altogether too aware of her presence, has been for the better part of a month, and his patience is dangerously close to snapping. He keeps getting maddeningly close to finally getting her to open up to him - had actually achieved it for a few blissful moments - just to have it be taken away again. It's almost embarrassing how many times he's thought about their encounter. She had been everything he'd been dreaming about and more - soft, responsive, just as desperate as him - so why has she been avoiding him so thoroughly?

Yes, he's caught her staring at him more times than he can count, with that same unfathomable expression she had before, almost dreamy - wistful - could it be love? But he knows that it's preposterous, wishful thinking on his part. If it were love - if she felt the same crazy, tumultuous emotions that he was feeling constantly - she wouldn't be so cold towards him. Even if she was staring at him more than ever before.

He doesn't notice as she slips a folded paper into the book sitting next to his plate, but he does notice that she sits next to him for barely five minutes, not even touching the food that Anne has so graciously left her, before she gets up and slips away without so much as speaking a single word to him, or even looking in his direction at all.

Sebastian's sitting in a nearly empty common room after curfew, flipping through his book as he normally does this time of day, when she sees him pause.

Although she's been waiting for this moment, watching him from the corner she's tucked herself away in, she feels ready to pass out from nerves. Her heart's ready to burst out of her chest as she watches him curiously pick up the letter she slipped in his book earlier, brow furrowed. She wrings her hands nervously as she watches him read the letter and flip over the page to see if there's more, and then he goes back to read it again from the beginning.

She wasn't expecting him to read it a second time, let alone a third time, still with an inscrutable expression on his face. Maybe she should have positioned herself closer so she could see every emotion flickering through his face as he reads - she's too far away to see anything and she curses her lack of foresight. If she moves now, he'll see her, and she doesn't even know what she was thinking when she wrote the letter, when she managed to convince Anne to help her get close to Sebastian earlier that night during supper, when she moved herself to sit in this corner just so she could watch him find and read the -

"Hello."

She nearly jumps out of her skin with a muffled shriek at the sound of his voice so close to her. Why does she feel almost guilty when she looks up at him? She's so, so afraid.

Emotions have never come easily to her. Showing them is something she's not sure will ever come naturally - Anne and Imelda can laugh and shout without a care in the world, but she always holds herself back. Hides a small part of herself away, that only she knows about. Baring herself completely to Sebastian in the letter she feverishly wrote the day before was like ripping out a part of her soul and giving it to him to keep. Once the words were written down, there was no way to take them back, not that she wants to.

But what if he rejects her?

Her eyes get hot and tears cloud her vision as she stares up at him, still wringing her hands together over and over, feeling like she's positively going to burst with the force of the emotions roiling around inside of her. Why did she think this would be a good idea?

Now he's kneeling in front of her, holding her hands in his bigger, rougher ones - reminiscent of that fateful day so long ago in Divination when he had flustered her so - and a thumb is gently wiping away the big, fat tears she didn't even realize were rolling down her cheeks and she lifts her face from watching their intertwined hands and gazes tremulously into his eyes.

They are so, so gentle and warm and full of love, but the emotions are still too much for her and she can't stop crying for some unfathomable reason, so the kiss they share is wet and lovely and full of incredulous laughter.

"I love you too," he whispers between kisses, over and over again, until the words almost lose meaning - but these words could never lose their meaning when they come from him.

  In the years to come, they always bicker about who was the first to say it. Sebastian says that writing doesn't count - that his words are the ones that decide who is the victor in this small argument - but she always just smiles at his insistence, knowing that he's kept her letter tucked inside whatever book he's reading since it first fell onto his lap.

[that-foul-legacy-lover]

*puts all my problems in a box and locks it* okay so Melusine Creator going for their first flight huh.

despite the little wings on your back, you can't fly yourself- they're too tiny, mostly there for balance and to flutter and twitch whenever you're curious or startled. you almost don't notice them at first when you first awaken, too busy examining your new mittens and tail in shock. Foul Legacy pokes them occasionally, trilling in curiosity- they're not quite like his wings. they're squishier, not as delicate, but less functional. a Melusine's domain is the sea, after all. you're not supposed to fly in the first place.

but as the Creator, shouldn't you be able to see the entire world?

Foul Legacy certainly thinks so. he ambles over to you, gently nudging his head against your back, urging you outside. not around people, of course. just somewhere quiet where you can see the sky, his claws wrapping gingerly around your waist. Legacy waits a few minutes until you nod in agreement so he can scoop you into his arms, spreading his glittering gossamer wings and taking flight, soaring up, up, up until Fontaine is more a smear of blue and green than a grand city.

Teyvat is even more beautiful from the air, clouds brushing your bloopy antennae and Legacy's arms holding you securely. you gasp in delight, the useless, lovely, wonderful wings on your back flapping a few times, and Legacy merely rumbles with a proud nod, giving you a small, protective squeeze.

it's beautiful, in the image of its maker.

[antiquarianfics]

MC: Sebastian asked me out!

Imelda: I’m sor-

Ominis, whispering: They’re happy.

Imelda: Oh, yay!

[thenerdykneazle]

To Hold

A Sequel to "Her Touch"

Summary: Ominis's wedding night with his new wife.

Ominis Gaunt x F!MC

Warnings: the mildest of hand kinks, kissing, a surprising amount of schoolwork, stressing about exams, failure to communicate

Word count: 6463

Ominis never got to see you walk down the aisle. He will never know just how radiant you looked in your dress or the expression that was on your face as you stood opposite him. He had never loathed his blindness more. He wanted to take in the sight of you and tell you how beautiful you looked and have it mean something – even if you assured him that it meant the world to you whenever he said you were beautiful.

Ominis would, however, always remember the feeling of your hands in his as you both said your vows. They were warm, soft, and sure as your fingers entwined with his. Kissing you for the first time as his wife had been dizzying – even though he had been unable to stop smiling long enough to do it properly. He remedied that when he finally brought you home, though.

He carried you across the threshold and down a well-memorised path to his bedroom – well, your shared bedroom now. In the preceding weeks, he had practised walking the route from the door to the bed hundreds of times without his wand guiding him. Sebastian had caught him at it once, and Ominis’s face was positively flaming as he tried to explain himself. It was worth it, though, because carrying you to the bed went flawlessly.

Ominis had got a good feel for your dress at the reception. He had been utterly incapable of keeping his hands off of you. He had felt how the gown lay tight to your waist before blooming into full skirts that fanned out into him as you danced together. He had played with the layers of ruffles on your elbow-length sleeves as you two made the rounds greeting your guests. He had even discovered the way the low neckline left your collar bones exposed. You ended up having to heal a mark he had left just above one of them after sneaking you away from the festivities for a few minutes.

After all that, Ominis felt he had fully appreciated the garment. Now he was eager to get it off you. First, though, he slipped off his shoes and sat behind you on the bed as he carefully helped you undo the intricate plaited chignon Natty had styled for you. When your hair finally fell loose around your shoulders, Ominis buried his fingers in the roots, massaging the tips of his fingers along your scalp.

You hummed with pleasure as you let your head fall back on his shoulder. “That feels exquisite, love,” you said.

Ominis kept one hand tangled in your hair while the other swept your locks back from your neck. He lowered his lips to the delicate skin and kissed a path from up near your jaw down to where your dress began on your shoulder.

“I assure you that you feel even better, darling,” he muttered against your skin before placing an open-mouthed kiss to your shoulder. “So soft.” He nuzzled into you. “So delicious.” He licked a slow line out until the sleeve of your dress stopped him.

You moaned softly, twisting your head to give him more space as he traced up the length of your neck with his tongue. Your skin was salty from the hours you had spent dancing and celebrating with your friends and family. Ominis felt like he could devour you as he sucked a mark into the skin behind your ear. He was determined to savour you, though.

You reached back to curl your fingers in his hair as Ominis nuzzled your jaw, trailing up and down it with the flat of his nose as he breathed you in. Another hum rumbled through your chest. Ominis wished he could capture the sound and replay it each night, letting the echo of your contentment lull him to sleep.

Bringing his free hand up to your jaw, Ominis turned your face to bring your lips to his. He moaned into your mouth as your lips interlocked. He continued to massage your scalp with the other hand before tugging the silky locks into his fist as he nipped hungrily at your bottom lip.

Ominis was confident about this part. He had done it with you often. Too often, probably, and it was only by some mercy of Merlin that he had made it to your wedding night without taking things too far.

You rested your hand on his thigh, and Ominis became keenly aware of how hard his heart was beating. You two had, as a rule, generally kept hands above the waist on each other – especially when kissing. Ominis had an additional pair of rather prominent restricted zones on you, whereas you had the benefit of being able to rest your hands on his chest whenever you liked.

Ominis had to be diligent about not letting his hands stray where they should not. Even resting one on your knee had become too tempting the stronger his affections for you had grown. That did not mean the odd slip never happened – though, not nearly as often as Ominis had wanted them to. Still, he was far from used to having the warmth of your hand so close to his more intimate parts. Your hand ran up and down the inside of his thigh, making more and more heat pool low in his abdomen with every upward stroke. His anticipation at feeling your hand on his length built to bursting.

He got so worked up he had to pull back to gasp in more oxygen before he fell faint. He rested his forehead on yours.

“I love you,” he said, breathing the words out onto your lips.

“I love you, too,” you confessed. Ominis could hear the earnestness in your voice, and it made his heart sing.

A smile broke out on his face. “I can’t believe you’re really my wife,” he said, damn near giddy. It was an odd feeling juxtaposed with the extent of his arousal, but it also felt right. You made him incomprehensibly happy. You also stoked desire in him until he teetered on the brink of madness. Your engagement – the longest months of his life to date – had him rapidly oscillating between both states. It was fitting that they should merge in this moment.

You lifted your hand to stroke your thumb over his cheek. “From now until forever,” you replied. Then, you teasingly added, “So, I hope you’re not having second thoughts.”

“Never,” he vowed earnestly before reconnecting your lips to seal it.

You shifted on the bed, twisting around to face Ominis until you suddenly fell into him with a yelp, knocking him back on the bed as his hands flew up to hold your arms steady.

“Are you all right?” he asked, both worried and confused.

“Yes, sorry. I just got a bit tangled up in these skirts,” you said, chuckling. “Could you, um, maybe help me out of my dress?”

Ominis felt his cheeks warm. For as excited as he was to get you out of your clothes, actually doing it somewhat terrified him. All of that was completely new for him. He had no experience to go off of, and he could not exactly learn from pictures. There was no one he would rather figure things out with, but he worried about being….well, bad at things.

You two had discussed things a few times after your engagement. Ominis had received a general education about sexual matters in his latter teens, but it had been more confusing than anything. After your engagement, you had taken the time to explain your anatomy to him: how it was structured and how it responded when you were aroused. It made a lot more sense than his previous instruction had.

He had gone into the talk rather mortified. He felt he ought to have already known more than he did – after all, you already knew the basics about him without needing him to elaborate. But you were patient with him, and he quickly discovered that discussing your body was rather erotic. You two broke the discussion up into several brief conversations to avoid them getting too heated.

Ominis had additionally been rather nervous about being physically disappointing. Again, he had no frame of reference for what was normal. He feared damning you to a life of dissatisfaction. You assured him that would not be a problem, but he was unconvinced. It culminated in him, with your consent, showing himself to you after you had been snogging in his – now your – living room.

“Oh,” you had gasped.

His whole face, neck, and chest had burst into flaming heat. You had not sounded disappointed, exactly, but it was far from the reaction he had expected. “What? What’s wrong?” he asked, panicked.

“Nothing!” you insisted quickly. “It’s just…much prettier than I’d expected.”

He fought the urge to roll his eyes. “I want your honest opinion,” he said.

“I am being honest!” you replied defensively. “People talk about male anatomy rather disparagingly, and the illustrations aren’t exactly flattering. I just didn’t expect to find you so…aesthetic.”

Ominis felt on top of the world.

“I…” You cleared your throat. “You should probably put it away now.”

Ominis might have been embarrassed all over again if not for the fact that he could hear your arousal in your voice. He was very glad you knew what he looked like. Still, he had the good sense not to ask to feel you in return. There would have been no chance he kept control of his passions if he had.

Now, on your wedding night, he would finally get to feel you. Every inch of you.

Ominis stood from the bed and held a hand out to help you up, as well. He unlaced your gown, and he heard the rustle of the fabric as you stepped out of it. You stepped back in front of him in just a chemise. He could tell as his hands came to rest on your hips.

You helped him out of his robes in return. Then, you carefully removed his braces from the front of his trousers. Your hands grazed his lower abdomen as you unfastened the straps, sending heat pulsing through him. He had to fight the urge to abandon restraint as you began slowly, maddeningly unbuttoning his shirt.

Ominis let his hands roam up to your waist and over your ribs. He slid his left arm around your back while his right hand skated forward in a familiar path under your breasts. Then, it deviated from the usual course, instead traveling upward into previously forbidden terrain. His hand grazed the underside of your breast before gliding up the valley between them. He bit back a groan. Just your barest contours made him feverish. Your hands fisted into his unbuttoned shirt, signalling that he was not the only one affected by his exploration.

“Ominis,” you keened as his fingers stretched out across the centre of your chest and up toward your collar bones before dragging back down the plane of your sternum.

He needed to get you out of that chemise.

Ominis gripped the garment at your thighs, and you let him pull it over your head. His heart was pumping adrenaline through him now, burning desire coursing alongside it.

He shrugged off his shirt before pulling you to him, your bare chests pressed together as he kissed you breathless. He had never felt the heat of your skin sinking so deeply into him before. He felt like the two of you might very well melt into one at any moment. In a way, he supposed you already had when you vowed your lives – yourselves – to each other.

Ominis could not stand being apart from you any longer.

He walked you back toward the bed, laying you back properly before climbing in after you.

He hovered over you with his hands on either side of your head and one knee between your legs before he leant down to reconnect your lips.

His tongue teased yours as it surged desperately into his mouth. Your hands tangled in his hair, wrapping locks around your fingers, stinging his scalp once more as you scrambled for purchase. It was a pleasant sensation, heightened by your passion for him. You were arching up towards him, eager for every extra bit of connection you could gain. He found your desire for him addictive. He had never imagined someone would want him so fervently – and he had certain never thought it would be someone he so ardently yearned for himself.

You pulled back suddenly, and for a horrible moment Ominis feared he had hurt you.

“Wait. I want to see you,” you said, gripping the waistband of his trousers.

Ominis hesitated. “You can see me all at once, but it takes me time to feel things out. Let me catch up,” he said before nuzzling the tip of his nose against yours.

“I suppose that's fair,” you replied, though you did not seem wholly enthused by the idea.

Ominis chuckled. “Patience, love,” he said, shifting his weight onto one arm so he could run his free hand down your arm until he laced his fingers with yours. He brought your hand up to his lips and pressed a kiss against the back of it. “I’ll make it worth it.”

He was not sure where his sudden boldness had come from to make such promises. It had his desired effect, though, as you let out a soft, needy whimper.

Ominis raised your hand to his lips and kissed each of your knuckles in turn before opening your hand to kiss the pads of your fingers as well. He wanted to feel every part of you on his lips. When he reached your thumb, he took the whole of it into his mouth, pressing his tongue flat against it to taste you.

You let out a moan that made arousal jolt through him as your free hand reached up and grasped onto his other forearm as if to steady yourself. The muscles were already taught as it bared his weight, but he found himself tensing them further in response to your touch. Flexing, if he were honest with himself.

Sliding your thumb out slowly from his mouth, Ominis hummed in approval. Every part of you was so utterly perfect to him, down to the smallest of details. He kissed your wrist next before meticulously making his way up your arm, pouring his adoration into every reverent press of his lips on your silken skin. Again, he felt a spike of need urging him to ravish you. But, again, he resisted. He had implored you for patience, and he would exercise his own in kind.

As he continued his path upward, one of your hands gripped his shoulder, while the other tangled in his hair. You began to squirm as Ominis kissed across your collar bone. When he reached your throat, he switched tack and licked up it to your pulse underneath your jaw. You clung to him as he sucked against the delicate skin there.

“Oh,” you breathed out in a needy whine. It made Ominis throb with arousal, and he regretted not divesting himself of his trousers earlier.

Ignoring the constricting fabric, he began teasing his hand just under the swell of your breasts. He allowed himself to graze their edges as he passed beneath and between them. It was even more maddening to feel their curves without the fabric separating him from you. He was testing his own patience, trying to ease into things. Trying to make it good for you.

“Touch me, Ominis,” you begged, voice cracking and desperate as you continued to writhe under his attentions.

He groaned at the sound – at how much you needed him. He slid his hand up over the mound of your breast, filling his palm with the soft flesh. He squeezed, massaging his fingers into you as he felt the weight in his hand. So full. So supple. And now his.

Ominis withdrew his hand partially to allow the tips of his fingers tease your nipple, circling over it lightly until it stiffened under his touch. Ominis licked his lips before dipping his head on instinct, anchoring his hand on your waist as he leant down. He took the bud between his lips, letting his tongue flick out to meet it.

He moaned as he tasted you. Your breaths turned to quick pants, and your hand gripped tighter in his hair, making his scalp burn at the roots. But Ominis only grew more fervent as he suckled at your breast. He could have easily spent the whole night mapping each one out with his tongue.

Or he might have, anyway, until he caught the scent of your arousal. It was heady and sweet. He had caught hints of it on a few rare occasions after particularly heated snogging sessions. He had to fight hard in those moments to resist seeking out its source. It was intoxicating – arousing. Downright mesmerising. He would probably smell it in his amortentia.

The tension in Ominis’s neck strained as he forced himself not to immediately bury himself between your thighs. He rested his forehead on your breastbone as he panted from the effort of restraining himself. He groaned as your nails dragged across his scalp.

Your fist closed tight in his hair as his hand slid down your stomach to your core, his middle and ring fingers gently parting your folds. Your tender flesh was hot and slick on his fingers, and he could not help but think of how incredible you would feel on his cock. You moaned as he stoked languidly along your slit. Ominis pressed a kiss to your sternum in gratitude – he loved the noises you made for him. Only for him. He did not get to see you naked, but there were other aspects of you that would be his alone – the feeling of your breasts, your core, your skin; the scent and taste of your arousal; and the sounds of your pleasure.

“Gods, that feels so good!” you groaned.

“Yeah?” Ominis asked before he could stop himself. He cursed his insecurity. He should be confident. Assertive.

“Mhmm,” you assured him. Even that sounded needy, and it barely counted as a word.

“You feel divine, darling,” he told you. “You’re so wet for me. You’ve been as anxious for tonight as I have, haven’t you?”

You just whimpered in response.

Ominis shifted so he could lie pressed beside you as he continued his ministrations, mapping out your sex with each stroke. He felt along each of the soft inner lips you had described to him. He found your entrance, letting just the tip of his middle finger dip inside. It made your breath hitch, though Ominis was not totally sure if it was a good reaction or a bad one. Either way, he pulled back and continued up to the bundle of nerves at the apex of your centre. He rubbed light circles over it, gliding easily with the slick of your arousal.

Your hips arched up into his hand.

“Is this right?” he asked, wanting to ensure he was properly following the guidance you had given him in your discussions.

“Just a little to my left,” you replied breathily.

Ominis shifted his hand, and you gasped. Before he could ask if it was in pain or pleasure, you let out a wanton moan.

“Merlin,” you said, the word slipping out on your exhale.

Ominis could feel your body growing tense. He would have assumed he had done something wrong if he had not learnt from some of his own research that it was common as a woman’s body was increasingly stimulated. It made sense to him. His own body had done similarly on the occasions when he had touched himself, and Ominis felt a deep satisfaction that he was able to build the pleasure within you that way.

His own senses were being overwhelmed. The scent of your arousal was heavy in the air as he coaxed more of it from you with each pass over your swollen little bud. Your flesh was slick and velvety on his fingers. Your breathing had turned to panting, interrupted only by the whimpers and moans that escaped your lips, as your body wound tight with pleasure. He pressed his aching length against your thigh in a bid for some relief.

“I want you so badly, darling,” he admitted. “I want to be inside you. Fill you up with me.”

Your hips began to cant against his hand as your breaths became rapid. He wondered if you were imagining meeting his thrusts as he slid into you. He was certainly imagining it as he rutted against your thigh.

Ominis tried to kiss you, suddenly desperate for the contact, but his lips landed on your jaw becuase your head was turned aside. You quickly turned back to meet his lips, moaning into the kiss as he kept rubbing your clit – rather urgently now, in fact.

“Ominis! Oh! Don’t stop!” you panted as your thighs trembled. “S-so good! Gods, I love you! I–”

Your body began to spasm as the sound of your moans filled the room. Ominis’s desire hit a new peak as he both heard and felt your orgasm – one he had given you. Your body practically convulsed, down to the little muscles spasming under his fingers. He kissed you hard as he did his best to keep up his ministrations. He moaned as your tongue slid desperately into his mouth. Harsh puffs of air from your nostrils hit his cheek until you had to break the kiss to drag in deeper breaths, panting as you came down from your high.

“That was so beautiful, love,” Ominis said, nuzzling into the crook of your neck. He could feel your pulse racing.

“That was…You are…” you tried between gasps. “I love you.”

Ominis smiled against your collar bone. “I love you, too.”

Having caught your breath, you pulled him into a kiss. Your lips locked with his before beginning to wander across his face to every spot you knew he loved.

His ears were especially sensitive. Aside from his wand, they were his best way to take in information about the world beyond his immediate reach. He was protective of them, too. His governess had boxed his ears once, and he had collapsed to the ground in a sobbing heap. His mother had frequently dragged him around by them, unperturbed by his wails of pain. Ominis tensed up whenever someone else touched his ears. But you were always so gentle with them – with all of him, really. You trailed your tongue from the angle of his jaw up to lightly trace the edge of his earlobe. You grasped it delicately between your lips, and Ominis moaned out as you tugged it ever-so-slightly, sending a wave of pleasure through him like a burst of magic.

“I love when you moan for me, Ominis,” you said in a low voice.

The feeling was decidedly mutual. And hearing you say his name in that sultry tone – gods.

Your hand dragged down Ominis’s chest and over his abdomen, and his pulse quickened the lower you went. The light scratch of your nails against his skin sent gooseflesh pricking up across his torso and down his arms. All the while, your hand kept moving down toward the painfully tight bulge in his trousers. Ominis felt feverish with the need for you to touch him – and to touch you again.

You stilled just as the heel of your hand reached the top of his trousers. On the verge of combusting, his breaths came out in rough pants. He could not hold back his moan as your hand twisted around and down to cup over his erection. His own hand immediately found its way back to your centre, returning the favour.

Your palm was hot against him as you massaged him over his trousers, greatly relieving the ache that had been building as his body strained eagerly towards you. Even warmer was the heat of your folds as they moulded around his fingers. A cold sweat broke out on his neck as he imagined that warmth wrapped around his length. As he slid his middle finger into you, the fantasy became all the more vivid. You were hot and tight and–

“So wet for me,” Ominis muttered aloud.

You moaned in agreement as he pumped his finger languidly in and out of you. Your hand came up to clamp his shoulder as you rocked your hips in sync with his movements. Soon, your other hand began massaging him again. It was almost overwhelming to think of being inside you. He quickly began to have a very real fear that he was going to climax before he was even naked let alone making love to you.

It had happened once before, shortly after you had gotten engaged. He had walked you home after an evening at the Sallows’. He had gone inside for just a moment to bid you goodnight. He had placed a sweet, chaste kiss to your lips.

He could hear the smile in your voice as you said, “I can’t wait until we don’t have to say goodbye at night anymore.”

Ominis’s heart had filled to bursting. “Soon, darling,” he had promised.

You had stepped forwards and wrapped your arms around his middle as you rested your head on his shoulder. In a soft, sweet voice you said, “I’ll miss you.”

Ominis held you tight against him, savouring the fleeting moments of contact before he would have to leave. You nuzzled into his neck, the tip of your nose grazing the sensitive spot under his ear. His blood had begun to heat, having your body pressed to his and your breath fanning over his neck as you clung to him. He tilted his head down and found your lips, just brushing his against them as he knew stealing another kiss would be asking for trouble. His resolve crumbled almost instantly when you tilted up to meet him, and he captured your lips in a heated kiss.

The kiss quickly turned to snogging, which resulted in pinning you back against the door he should have long-since left through. One of your hands tangled in his hair as the other traced along his collar bones, which made him realise you had undone the top button of his shirt somehow. Only your shoulder blades touched the door as you arched into him. One of Ominis’s hands wandered down from your hip to grasp your bum and pull your hips further into his own.

He felt feral – utterly out of control – as he rutted against you while snogging you against a door. The pressure and friction clouded his mind in a haze of lust. It was ecstasy. He knew it was wrong. Gods, he knew your parents were sleeping a floor away and liable to catch the two of you. But he could not stop. Not when you seemed just as eager as he was. Not when you held him close and moaned and rocked against him in equal measure. Not when sparks of pleasure zipped up with spine at every thrust, every moan, every tug of his hair.

Keeping his grip on your round bum, his other hand had wandered up your ribs until his thumb could swipe along them just under your bust. Your breath hitched at the contact. When he – probably accidentally – grazed the underside of your breast, another moan escaped your lips. Ominis took the liberty of sliding his hand up to grasp you fully, and he was rewarded with your increased fervour as you canted your hips against him. He could feel through the scant layers of your casual dress, that his length was at your centre. You were utterly lost in the pleasure of him, and Ominis was in you, as well.

Declarations began to spill from your lips.

“I love you.”

“You feel so good.”

“Gods, I love to feel you against me.”

In turn, Ominis professed his own love, praised your curves, and revelled in the feeling of you. Hearing your words of praise made his actions all the more desperate. He knew he would be touching himself to the thought of them as soon as he got home. Or, he would have, if you had not said what you did next.

“Merlin, Ominis! I want to feel you inside me. I want to make love to you.”

Having already been teetering close to the edge, your words pushed him over. His orgasm crashed into him like running into a brick wall, knocking the air from his lungs as it caught him off guard. His muscles grew rigid as he continued thrusting against you, pulse after pulse releasing from him in vain within the confines of his trousers.

When the blinding pleasure faded, the shame and mortification quickly replaced it. He immediately started stammering an apology. You assured him that you were not upset. Further, you claimed to find it arousing. Though, with the haze of lust sufficiently broken, you both agreed it would be for the best that you did not carry on any further. Ominis was still embarrassed, but a shred of his dignity was retained with your gracious response to the situation.

He went on to recall your words every occasion he touched himself, and he found them no less effective than they had been that night. Having you want him was a high better than he could imagine any potion giving him.

Now, on your wedding night and with his desire for you overwhelming him, he worried the same might happen again.

“I think I’ve been very patient,” you said, voice husky, as your fingers traced the outline of him straining against his placket. “Gods, I want to see you. I want to lie with my husband.”

Even if Ominis would have had objections, they would not have stood a chance against that. He could not stop the groan that ripped from his chest. Though, fortunately, he was able to hold off his climax.

He kissed you firmly before agreeing that he was ready. After, rather regretfully, sliding his finger back out of you, he stood up to rip down his trousers and undergarments. Quickly rejoining you in bed, he covered your body with his own, kissing your neck as your heat sank into his skin. He relished the feeling of your body on his, free of barriers. It felt intimate even without the upcoming union of your bodies. It felt right being together, uninhibited. Like you both were made for it.

Ominis’s breath hitch when you reached between your bodies to take hold of him. He was flooded with desire as you slid your hand up and down his length. He already felt like he would die if you ever stopped touching him, and then you whispered a lubrication charm that multiplied his pleasure. That sent him into a state of utter bliss that had your name tumbling from his lips.

“Ready, love?” you asked.

That was a loaded question. Ominis was beyond ready. He had wanted you so badly for so long, and it only got worse each day he fell more in love with you. But he was also terrified – of hurting you, of disappointing you, of embarrassing himself. In that sense, he would never be ready. But with his wife underneath him, stroking him into delirium, there was nothing he wanted more than to make love to you.

“As long as you are, darling,” Ominis replied, trying to keep the nerves out of his voice.

“Gods, yes!” you groaned out in a breathy tone. “Ominis, please…”

He did not need further encouragement. After replacing your hold on him, he lined himself up at your entrance with only a slight readjustment needed. He edged forward cautiously, feeling the strain of his control. A part of him desperately wanted to ravage you – a part ruled by carnal desire that had long whispered in his ear to toss propriety aside and throw you into his bed. In truth, he was fairly certain he would give in to his baser instincts one day, but not this day. It would be a future day when both of you had the experience to experiment safely. Right now, he needed restraint. He wanted to be close and make love to you and make you feel good.

Ominis shuddered as his head sank into the warmth of your core. Slowly, he pressed deeper and deeper until he was fully sheathed within you.

It was better than he had expected. Better than he had imagined. He felt your muscles contract around him, squeezing with a maddening pressure that made him want to promise you anything as long as you let him stay inside you.

You let out a sharp breath.

A bolt of panic shot up Ominis’s spine. “Are you all right?”

“Yes,” you assured him, seeming sincere. “I just…I feel so full.”

“Sorry,” he replied reflexively.

“No,” you said. “It’s good, but…I…could you move?”

Ominis was about to ask where you wanted him to move to when he caught your meaning. He had been motionless, just buried inside you – you needed him to move. He withdrew carefully before sliding back inside.

A truly obscene moan left your lips, and sweat began to bead on Ominis’s back as he held himself steady. He repeated the motions, setting a gentle rhythm pumping into you. Every press inside brought the sweet embrace of your walls around him. Every pull back created a glorious friction as your body clung to him like it was fighting to keep you two joined together.

Ominis rested his forehead on yours. “You feel incredible, darling.”

You whimpered at his words before capturing his lips in a kiss.

Gods, he wanted to come. The thought of spilling inside you was doing nothing to help him avoid doing so prematurely.

You began to meet his thrusts, and Ominis increased his pace incrementally. You were panting and moaning underneath him while your centre pulsed once around him. He thought of the spasm of your muscles under his fingertips and was filled with a sudden urge to feel you orgasm around him. It had always been his goal, however lofty it seemed, to have you climax first. He wanted this to be good for you. He wanted to pleasure you. But now he was doubly motivated as he craved the sensation of your muscles pulsing around him over and over.

Shifting his weight onto his left arm, Ominis freed his right hand to stimulate you. He made steady circles around your clitoris with his thumb. You lost sync with his thrusts as your legs trembled in response. Ominis’s teeth sank into his lip as he tried to stem his own arousal at making you lose control that way. You were a fearsome warrior – able to command a whole battlefield with ease – and yet under his touch you ceded authority over yourself.

You were practically writhing. “Fuck, j-just like that!”

The smell of sex was heavy in the air, a mix of sweat and arousal. Ominis could taste the salt on your skin as he trailed open-mouthed kisses across your collar bone. Your nails scraped down his back as you clung to him. He could feel your muscles drawing tight as you edged closer and closer to your breaking point. He felt his own pressure within, building higher and higher until he felt like he was trying to hold back an explosion. His bollocks felt heavy even as they drew tight to his body. His length throbbed with need, too swollen to be sustainable for long.

He moaned out your name. He was losing coherence with every thrust as he fought to hold back. His face was buried in the crook of your neck, his heavy breaths panting across your sweat-slicked skin. The muscles in his neck were strained tight and threatened to snap. “Please,” he begged. “Please, come for me. I need to feel it, darling. Please. You feel so good. Want you to feel good. I can’t–I’m so close. Please.”

Somewhere on the edge of his consciousness, Ominis realised you had stopped breathing. You had drawn so tight it was difficult to keep thrusting back inside. The vice-grip as he buried into you was a siren coaxing his release. Blinding pleasure was just a moment away if he let himself succumb. But he held on. And it was well worth it.

Your breaths came out in rapid, staccato puffs as Ominis felt you contract around him. Waves seemed to pulse down your whole body as shudders wracked through you. Your cries of ecstasy, even more than being buried in you, shattered the mental dam he had built to contain his own release. You were falling apart under his touch. You were in rapture because of him, and you were so beautiful when you hit your peak. Your pleasure seemed to multiply his own, and it overwhelmed him as each of his thrusts was paired with a throb of his length that spilled more of him inside of you.

He rode out both of your highs until the fog of his mind began to clear and the exhaustion set in. He kissed you passionately – in love, in thanks, in reverence – before peppering kisses across your cheeks, nose, eyelids, shoulders �� wherever he could reach. Your hands stroked lightly up and down the length of his back, soothing the abrasions your nails had left. Only after his body had calmed down enough for his length to go soft, he finally pulled out.

Ominis collapsed to his side before wrapping you up in his arms. You wiggled to fit your back against his chest, aligning your bodies until there was not even an inch of space left between you. He pressed kisses into your shoulder as he held you tighter to him. With his arm wedged underneath you, his hand slid down until his palm rested flush to you, low on your abdomen. His other hand slid down your arm until his fingers laced with yours as he entwined your legs too, seeking to unite your bodies in as close an approximation of the intimacy he had just experienced with you as he could manage. You exchanged whispers of your love for each other, and it was not long before sleep claimed Ominis as he lay entangled with his wife – the woman who had stolen his heart with just a simple touch, and who he now got to hold for the rest of his days.

[happilychee]

how fairy tail takes care of you when you're sick

cw: descriptions of being sick

I have covid and I wanted to cheer myself up :(

♡ it's a normal day at the fairy tail guild. the job board is crowded with papers, drinks and food are flowing, someone's starting a fight (natsu), and the air is filled with lively chatter. there's only one thing off: you're not there.

♡ gray is the first one to notice. he's at a table with lucy, cana, and erza. he and erza just got back from a stealth mission that paid them well, and he's looking forward to relaxing. except... "where's [name]?" he asks. lucy furrows her brow. "they weren't in yesterday... should we check on them?" gray nods, and the four of them leave the guild hall.

♡ you feel like someone threw you through a wall. your nose is clogged, feeling stuffy and congested. your throat itches and every time you cough it feels like you're hacking away at your lungs. there's a building pressure in your head, a pulsing pain that signals the onset of a migraine. you think that you'd be able to handle the usual symptoms of a cold, except for the burning aches in your lower back. your coughs shake your entire body as your muscles scream in protest, and you curse whatever virus decided to infect you.

♡ you manage to get yourself out of bed and into your kitchen, hoping to make yourself some rice or hot tea with honey. instead, you start seeing black spots swim across your vision, and the world starts tilting like you're swaying on the prow of a ship. you lower yourself onto the cool tile floor, relishing in the soothing temperature against your burning skin. you're so out of it that you don't register the knocks at your door turning into insistent bangs.

♡ finding you half passed out on your kitchen floor was not on gray's to-do list for the day. his worried hands hover over your shivering form, unsure what to check first. erza settles the matter by scooping you into her arms, Requiping out of her armor as she carries you to the couch.

♡ gray takes charge of the kitchen, your favorite recipes coming to mind. he settles on a warm and hearty soup, sure to soothe your hunger and your aches. he starts chopping vegetables, turns on the stove, and soon enough, the kitchen is filled with a delicious and appetizing aroma.

♡ erza is the one who takes your temperature, gets you back to enough coherency to explain your symptoms, and then finds the right medicine for you. she props your back up with pillows, tucks a blanket around you, and feeds you the disgusting cold medicine that porlyusica and wendy swear by.

♡ cana would love to help you and take care of you, except lucy looks pale as a sheet and a little green. she helps the blonde sit at the kitchen table, patting her arm soothingly. lucy mumbles that her mom passed from an illness, and seeing you so sick makes bad memories come back. cana soothes her, reassuring her that you'll be fine. lucy only relents when your eyes crack open, and you direct a gooey smile at her.

♡ you fade in and out of consciousness, snippets of sound and touch registering in your brain. someone is petting your hair while singing, their soft hands braiding and unbraiding your locks. a hand trails over your back, warm and calloused fingers digging into the knots in your shoulders. you purr under the sensation, leaning into the comforting touch. a soft arm, usually covered in armor, wraps around you to sit you up as a chilly hand brings a spoonful of something warm and delicious to your chapped lips. cold bangles brush against your skin as someone lifts you up, carrying you to the land of dreams.

♡ when you regain consciousness, your friends don't let you lift a single finger. gray cooks every meal for you with cana as his sous chef, erza is on top of your medication, natsu distracts you by telling silly stories, and wendy casts pain-relieving spells to help you recover faster. lucy refuses to leave your side until you're fully healed, so she's always fluffing your pillows, bringing you hot tea with honey, and feeding you snacks. the only time she calms down is when you ask her to read for you. her calming voice lulls you in and out of sleep as you listen to her read about a fairy tale princess's adventure.

♡ levy drops off books at your place so you can occupy your mind. most are either your favorites or her recommendations, but gajeel manages to sneak in a spicy book or two, which has you laughing so hard you start coughing.

♡ mira cooks up a storm in the guild hall, partially out of a desire to help you and partially out of worry. there's enough soup to feed fairy tail ten times over, and she insists that half of it be sent to you. lisanna ans juvia also stop by with some homemade baked goods. juvia gives you a steaming hot loaf of banana bread, some cookies and muffins, and a bunch of pastry buns. "it's just a cold, you didn't have to do all this." you try to reason, but no one listens to you when you look nauseous and your shoulders are shaking.

♡ there's someone at your place every day while you're recovering. it could be natsu and happy raiding your pantry and making a mess, it could be lucy and gray cleaning up their mess while erza yells at them, it could be wendy with balms and salves and a story to tell you, it could be the strauss siblings with more food and cheer than you'd ever seen before, it could be juvia with gajeel, lily, and a basket of your favorite buns. point being, fairy tail doesn't take their eyes off you for a moment while you're under the weather.

♡ when you feel well enough to come to the guild hall, everyone starts cheering. laxus fires up the grill, mira pours drinks in a flurry, and cana drags you into some drinking game. the entire guild hall roars to life, partying the night away, because what better reason is there to celebrate than the return of a dear friend?

[lord-squiggletits]

I think the key component to my personal reading of post-Delphi Pharma is that he's trying to be a horrible person on purpose. Not "on purpose" in the way that people have free will to exercise their own choices, but in that Pharma's "mad doctor" persona is a performance he puts on to deliberately embrace how much everyone else hates him. Basically, if people already think you're a "bad Autobot" and a horrible doctor who just kills his patients for fun, why try to prove otherwise to people who have already made up their minds about you? Just fully embrace the fact that people see you as an asshole. Don't try to change their minds. Don't plead for their forgiveness or understanding. Just stop caring. If you're going to be remembered as a monster, you might as well be a memorable monster, and eke as much pleasure and hedonism as you can out of it before karma catches up to you and you inevitably crash and burn.

I mean, I guess you could just go the route of "Oh, Pharma was always a fucked up creepy guy and Delphi was just him taking the mask off," but I really don't like that interpretation because, for one, it feels really wrong to take a character like Pharma becoming evil under duress and going, "Oh well clearly he did the things he did because he was evil all along," as if somehow Pharma breaking under blackmail/torture/threat of horrible death was a sign of him having poor moral character. As opposed to, you know, suffering under the very real threat of horrible death for himself and everyone he cares about while being manipulated by a guy who specializes in psychological torture.

The second reason is that it just doesn't make sense to write Pharma as having been evil all along. I mean...

Occam's Razor says that the best argument is the one with the simplest explanation. Doesn't it make way more sense to take Pharma's appearances in flashbacks, his friendship with Ratchet, his stunning medical accomplishments, and the few we see of him speaking kindly/sympathetically (or in the least charitable interpretation, at least professionally) towards his patients and conclude "This guy was just a normal person, if exceptionally talented." Taking all of these flashback appearances at face value and assuming Pharma was being genuine/honest is a way simpler and more logical explanation than trying to argue that Pharma for the past 4 million years was just faking being a good doctor/person. I mean, it's possible within the realm of headcanon, but the fact is Pharma's appearances in the story are so brief that there simply wasn't room in the story for there to be some sort of secret conspiracy/hidden manipulation behind why Pharma acted the way he did in the past.

I just can't help but look at things like Pharma's friendship with Ratchet (himself a good person and usually a fine judge of character) and the fact that even post-Delphi, pretty much every single mention of Pharma comes with some mention of "He was a good doctor for most of his life" or "He was making major headways in research [before he started killing patients]" which implies that even the Autobots themselves see Pharma's villainy as a recent turn in his life compared to how for "most of his life" he "used to be" a good doctor.

And although Pharma doesn't know this, we as the readers (and even other characters like Rung) know about Aequitas technology and the fact that it actually works, so... if Pharma really was an unrepentant murderer, why couldn't he get through the forcefield too? The Aequitas forcefield doesn't require that a person be completely morally pure and free of wrongdoing or else how could Tyrest get through, just that they feel a sense of inner peace and lack feelings of guilt. Pharma has murdered and tortured people by this point, and put on quite a campy and theatrical show of how much he sees it as a fun game, so why then can he not get through?

It circles back to my headcanon at the start of this post that the "mad doctor" persona is just that-- a persona. Delphi/post-Delphi Pharma's laughing madman personality is just so far removed from every flashback we saw of him and everything we can infer based on how other people see/saw him before that, to me, the mad doctor act is (at least in large part, if not fully) a persona that Pharma puts on to put his villainy in the forefront.

To avoid an overly simplistic/ableist take, I don't think Tarn tortured Pharma into turning crazy. To me, it's more like the constant pressure of death by horrific torture, the feeling of martyrdom as Pharma kept secret that he was the only one standing between Delphi and annihilation, the physical isolation of Messatine as well as the emotional separation from Ratchet, being forced to violate his medical oaths (pretty much the only thing Pharma's entire life has been about), etc. All of that combined traumatized Pharma to the point that the only way he could avoid cracking was to just stop caring about all of it. Because at least then, even if he's still murdering patients to save Delphi from a group of sadistic freaks, Pharma doesn't have to feel guilty and sick about doing it. As opposed to the alternatives, which were probably either going off the deep end and killing himself to escape, or confessing to what he did and getting jailed for it.

In that light, Pharma becoming a mad doctor makes sense. It avoids the bad writing tropes of "oh this character who was good his entire life was actually just evil and really good at hiding it" as well as "oh he got tortured and went crazy that's why he's so random and silly and killing people, he's crazy" and instead frames Pharma's evil as something he was forced into, to the point where in order to avoid a full psychological breakdown and keep defending Delphi, he just had to stop caring about the sanctity of life or about what other people might think of him.

Then, of course, the actual Delphi episode happens, and Pharma's own lifelong best friend Ratchet basically spits in his face and sees him as nothing more than a crazy murderer who went rogue from being a good Autobot. Then Pharma gets his hands cut off and left to die on Messatine. At that point, Pharma has not only been mentally/emotionally broken into losing his feelings of compassion, he's received the message loud and clear: He is alone. Everyone hates him. Not even his own best friend likes him any more. No one even cared enough about him to check if he actually died or not. He will only ever be remembered as a doctor who went insane and killed his patients.

So in the light of 1. Having all of your redeeming qualities be squeezed out of you one by one for the sake of survival and 2. Having your reputation and all of your positive relationships be destroyed and 3. People only know/care about you as "that doctor who became evil and killed his patients" rather than the millions of years of good service that came before.

What else is there to do but internalize the fact that you'll forever be seen as a monster and a freak, and embrace it? People already see you as a murderer for that blackmail deal you did, so why not become an actual murderer and just start killing people on a whim? People already see you as an irredeemable monster who puts a stain on the Autobot name, so why beg for their forgiveness when you could just shun them back? You've already become a murderer, a traitor, and a horrible doctor, so what's a few more evil acts added to the pile? It's not like anyone will ever forgive you or love you ever again.

Why care? Why try to hold on to your principles of compassion, kindness, medical ethics, when an entire lifetime of being a good person did nothing to save you from blackmail and then abandonment? Why put yourself through the emotional agony of feeling lonely, guilty, miserable, when you could just... stop caring, and not hurt any more?

[sssatorus]

through the static

pairing: satoru gojo x fem!reader. warnings: jjk manga spoilers (hidden inventory arc), rest to be added tags: friends to lovers, mutual pining, slow burn (IM SERIOUS), clan politics, forbidden relationship, eventual smut (i will tag the chapter)

you arrive at jujutsu high with no knowledge on how to wield the strange cursed energy within you - and a magnetic pull that disrupts everything satoru gojo thought he understood. as your powers intertwine, the truth of your past begins to surface, you realize that your connection goes deeper than either of you expected.

read on ao3 ✨

chapter one: first harmonics

chapter two: field lines

chapter three: phase shift

[5sospenguinqueen]

Ominis: MC... I'm scared

MC: Why, Omi?

Ominis: There’s a really ugly monster under my bed...

Leander (on the bottom bunk, holding back tears): Honestly, Ominis? Fuck you.

Leander: Wait, you can’t even see!

[slavhew]

friend bought me the first 3 games for my birthday and i finally played them... if u love point and click games and the intersection of the ghost/detective genres go play Blackwell by @wadjeteye games now!!

[alarwynnwhispers]

🧡 ᴜɴᴘʟᴀɴɴᴇᴅ — ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 39: ʙᴇꜰᴏʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴏᴏʀ ᴏᴘᴇɴꜱ 🧡

ꜰ1 x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ʟᴀɴᴅᴏ ɴᴏʀʀɪꜱ ᴀᴜ | ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ + ᴅʀᴀᴍᴀ

⚠️ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ:

ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ ᴀꜰᴛᴇʀᴍᴀᴛʜ ᴀɴᴅ ᴀɴxɪᴇᴛʏ ᴛɪᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ɪɴᴄᴏɴꜱɪꜱᴛᴇɴᴛ ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴜɴɪᴄᴀᴛɪᴏɴ

ꜱᴜᴅᴅᴇɴ ʜᴀʟᴛ ɪɴ ᴀ ꜱᴏᴜʀᴄᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴄᴏᴍꜰᴏʀᴛ ᴀɴᴅ ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ ᴛᴇᴛʜᴇʀ (ɴᴏᴛᴇʙᴏᴏᴋ ᴇɴᴛʀɪᴇꜱ)

ꜱᴜʙᴛʟᴇ ꜱɪɢɴꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴅᴇᴘʀᴇꜱꜱɪᴠᴇ ʀᴜᴍɪɴᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴀɴᴅ ᴏᴠᴇʀᴛʜɪɴᴋɪɴɢ

ʀᴇᴛᴜʀɴ ᴏꜰ ᴀɴ ᴇꜱᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇᴅ ᴘᴀʀᴛɴᴇʀ

ᴄᴏᴍᴘʟᴇx ꜰᴀᴍɪʟʏ ᴅʏɴᴀᴍɪᴄꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ᴇxᴘᴇᴄᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱ (ɪɴᴄʟᴜᴅɪɴɢ ᴄᴜʟᴛᴜʀᴀʟ/ᴄʟᴀꜱꜱ ɴᴜᴀɴᴄᴇ)

ʀᴀᴡ ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ ᴄᴏɴꜰᴇꜱꜱɪᴏɴ ᴀɴᴅ ꜰᴇᴀʀ ᴏꜰ ʀᴇᴊᴇᴄᴛɪᴏɴ

ꜱɪʟᴇɴᴛ ꜰᴏʀɢɪᴠᴇɴᴇꜱꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ꜰɪʀꜱᴛ ꜱᴛᴇᴘꜱ ᴛᴏᴡᴀʀᴅ ʀᴇᴄᴏɴᴄɪʟɪᴀᴛɪᴏɴ

ᴘʀᴇɢɴᴀɴᴄʏ-ʀᴇʟᴀᴛᴇᴅ ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ ᴠᴜʟɴᴇʀᴀʙɪʟɪᴛʏ

Qᴜɪᴇᴛ ɪɴᴛɪᴍᴀᴄʏ ᴛʜʀᴏᴜɢʜ ᴘʜʏꜱɪᴄᴀʟ ᴄʟᴏꜱᴇɴᴇꜱꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ꜰᴀᴍɪʟɪᴀʟ ꜱᴇᴛᴛɪɴɢ

ᴛʜᴇᴍᴇꜱ ᴏꜰ ʀᴇᴅᴇᴍᴘᴛɪᴏɴ, ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ ʀᴇᴘᴀɪʀ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴄʜᴏᴏꜱɪɴɢ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ᴅᴇꜱᴘɪᴛᴇ ᴘᴀꜱᴛ ᴘᴀɪɴ

The notebook entries stopped on July 7.

(Y/n) noticed the absence immediately. That morning, she sat by the window of her childhood room, one carved from cool marble and colonial wood, where even the ceiling fan creaked with memory. The air smelled like fresh sampaguita. The tea at her side rested on a silver coaster engraved with her family crest.

The previous entry was dated the day before, and it had ended more quietly than usual.

July 7 – I’ve been wondering if you’ll let me read this to you one day. Or maybe you’ll read it aloud to me. Either way, I’ll wait. Even if it takes a lifetime.

She closed the book and looked out at the overcast Singapore sky, heart too heavy to settle. Part of her had grown used to the rhythm, one entry a day, like a heartbeat tethering her to something that still held meaning. When it stopped, she didn’t know whether to feel disappointed or… worried.

She told herself not to overthink.

But then Alaric came in, holding out her phone with an unread notification.

Amara: You might want to check the airport arrivals today.

(Y/n)’s brows furrowed.

And then she saw it.

Lando.

At Changi Airport.

No grand entrance. No bodyguards. No PR team. Just a hoodie pulled low over his head, a suitcase rolling behind him, and tired eyes beneath a McLaren cap. Someone had taken a quick photo. It had already gone viral on Formula 1 fan accounts with captions like:

“LN4 in Singapore?! Is it true what we think it is?” “Is the redemption arc beginning??”

Her hand trembled.

He was here.

She wasn’t ready.

But the twins kicked again, and something in her chest bloomed, painful, warm, electric.

Lando stood outside her family’s home for almost twenty minutes.

He stood beneath the ornate archway, where manicured bougainvillea spilled down white-washed stone. The wrought-iron gates had been left ajar, though the guards at the front knew exactly who he was. They had nodded respectfully but made no move to let him in without permission.

He clutched the notebook tighter.

Sweat clung to his neck, not from the heat, but from nerves. Everything about this house, the scale, the carved capiz shell windows, the polished balete wood floors, reminded him how little he truly knew about the world she came from. She wasn’t just beautiful or kind. She was from legacy. Lineage. Old money and deep roots.

And he’d broken her heart.

But then the door opened.

It wasn’t (Y/n). It was Alaric.

They stared at each other in silence for a moment.

“You flew here?” Alaric asked, arms crossed but not cold.

“I did.”

“You didn’t tell her?”

“No.”

Alaric exhaled and stepped aside. “You better not make her cry again.”

“I don’t plan to.”

Lando stepped inside, removing his shoes at the door. The entrance opened into a grand foyer, oil paintings of ancestors, pearl-inlaid furniture, and a chandelier that looked older than McLaren itself.

Everything smelled like home, lemongrass, ginger, faint traces of baby powder. He swallowed hard.

Her mother peeked from the kitchen, eyebrows rising in disbelief before she slowly nodded once and returned to slicing mangoes. Even her quiet approval felt weighted with centuries of unspoken tradition.

He made his way down the hallway, heartbeat thunderous.

And then he saw her.

(Y/n) stood barefoot in the doorway to her room, wearing one of his old shirts, hands resting protectively over her swollen belly. Her hair was slightly damp, her eyes red-rimmed but clear.

She didn’t speak.

He didn’t either.

He just stepped forward and held out the notebook.

“I didn’t know how to talk to you,” he whispered. “So I wrote. Every day. But nothing on paper compares to hearing you breathe right now.”

She blinked back tears. “Why now?”

“Because I couldn’t take being far anymore. Because I’m still stupid in love with you. Because I want to be here for everything, the kicks, the cravings, the late nights, all of it.”

His voice cracked.

“I don’t care if you slam the door in my face after this. I just needed to try. One last time.”

Silence.

(Y/n) reached out and took the notebook from his hand.

Then, quietly, she stepped aside.

And let him in.

Later that evening, the house felt still.

Lando sat on the floor beside her bed, one hand gently resting against her stomach. He was crying softly, not with regret anymore, but with overwhelming gratitude.

“I missed you,” she said at last.

He looked up, eyes glassy. “I don’t deserve you.”

She smiled through tears. “Then spend the rest of your life proving me wrong.”

He kissed her belly, and the twins kicked again, twice this time.

“I think they missed you too,” she whispered.

The world wouldn’t stop talking. There would still be press, scrutiny, gossip, and doubt.

But here, in this quiet room, beneath a spinning fan and fading sky, there was peace.

There was family.

And there was love.

To be continued... 🧡

🧡 ᴜɴᴘʟᴀɴɴᴇᴅ — ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 40: ᴛʜᴇ ꜰɪɴɪꜱʜ ʟɪɴᴇ 🧡

📝 Note from the Author: Sixth post for today, and we’re nearly at the end, Alarwynnites. Can you feel it? That aching, nervous, beautiful stillness before the storm breaks or the sun finally rises?

Today’s chapter is the arrival. The stillness before the door opens. The moment you hold your breath, wondering if love will walk in, or walk away.

Lando came not with flowers, but with pages. With proof. With trembling hands and a whispered plea. And (Y/n)? She let him in, not just into her home, but into a moment they’ll never forget.

If this chapter made your heart pound or your eyes sting, leave a ✈️ or 📓 in the replies. We’re almost home now.

With love, me 🧡

[myokk]

WIP day💓

Thank you so much for the tags @sage-pages @okeydokeylackey @amethystandemma 🥹🫰

I honestly WASNT going to post any wips bc you are all BLEEDING ME DRY !!!! But actually you know what? I do have a few more😌

“I,” he says again, looking down at her, his warm breath fanning across her face, “cant get you out of my damn mind. You’re always there, and it’s…”

She feels his words tremble down her face, slide down her neck; she shivers. In fear? In anticipation? Heat pools deep in her stomach at their intense eye contact, at the fact his mouth is mere inches from hers, the fact that he’s looking at her like that.

Like he wants to devour her.

And then a really fast sketch thst I think I will color digitally🙏

Sebastian doesn’t get any studying done really bc she’s actually so annoying and needy🤭

No pressure tags🫶🫶🫶 @anto-pops @starry-slithers @bassicallymaestra @holdmymallowsweet @morelikeravenbore @gothic-lottie @writing-intheundercroft @rosehp @ravenwind-75 and genuinely anyone else who wants to share wip!! But this has been going around way too much these days so i understand if there aren’t any wips to share at the moment😆

[that-foul-legacy-lover]

*puts down some SAGAU fluff* come here i have a tasty meal for you :)

Childe often goes to the city to pick up supplies, as you can't wander into a crowd without getting accused of impersonation- he's seen the scars etched over your skin, the lines of starry blood from blades and burns. so even with the cloth mask you always wear, he doesn't push you to venture into any big cities or villages. you are the Creator, after all, and Childe- Ajax- wants you to be as happy as possible. besides, it's always the perfect opportunity to catch wind of any news floating around, both from his subordinates and chatter on the street. the Eleventh Harbinger is oddly quiet nowadays, completing his work in silence and deep thought, yet the agents of the Fatui swear they can see a faint sparkle in his deep blue eyes.

it's during one of his outings that Ajax notices that he has a shadow- a small, fuzzy shadow, a kitten trotting after him as he goes around doing his weekly errands. the tiny thing is determined keep following him, even though one of his steps is practically an entire journey to it, and after the kitten trails after him to every shop he visits, Ajax simply scoops it up in one hand and carries it with him. it clambers onto his shoulder and makes itself comfortable, periodically mewing and nudging his cheek. Foul Legacy is going mad trying to stay silent in the back of Ajax's head, trilling and chirping in delight at the new adorable friend.

you're equally as delighted when Ajax brings the kitten home, gasping and reaching out as he gently sets it in your hands- and just in time, as Foul Legacy takes over their shared body, nuzzling up to you and chittering very quietly so he doesn't scare the cat. he watches your every move and reaction, the warm smile on your face after all that you've suffered making his heart melt. your newfound friend meows, high pitched and squeaky, kneading biscuits against your scarred palms as Legacy gently pulls you into his lap and purrs deeply along with the tiny kitten's buzzing.

the Creator, an Abyssal monster, and their fluffy companion- now all you need to do is think of a name.

[antiquarianfics]

MC: Sebastian and I don’t have pet names for one another.

Imelda: What’s another word for “dad”?

MC, confused: Daddy?

Sebastian: Yeah, MC?

Imelda: Don’t lie to my face ever again.

[anto-pops]

The Serpent's Paramour CH 20 - Sebastian Sallow x Female!Reader

Summary: Christmas in Uganda proves to be a joyous affair that you know you'll remember for the rest of your life for a multitude of reasons. When you're finally able to succeed in your wandless magic lessons the next day, you're not sure what to blame. Was it the celebratory break that led to the breakthrough, or Sebastian Sallow?

Word Count: 6.8k

Warnings: 18+, aged up characters, drinking, explicit sexual content, fluffy smut, smut with feelings, minor injuries

New chapter is up on Ao3, as per usual :))

Dinner was as grand an affair as it could be. 

Candles flickered at the table, fleeting sunlight streamed through the windows, and between the six of you, you managed to kill three bottles of wine before the lamb roast had even been picked clean. Laughter and the occasional snide comment filled the dining room, and Anne had nearly choked on a potato cube when Ominis tossed a rib bone at Devlin. Your head was light, and your heart as full as your stomach. 

It still twanged in a peculiar way when you let yourself remember what Sebastian had said to you. 

“In another life, maybe. One where I haven’t doomed myself by making so many mistakes.” 

He wasn’t doomed. He couldn’t honestly believe that. But his unwillingness to broach the subject with you in the kitchen afterwards told you that in some sad, unwavering way, he did. Nothing you said could penetrate the invisible walls that had shot up around him in the wake of the discussion, so eventually, you gave up trying. 

Dwelling on such somber thoughts wasn’t the goal of tonight. It was Christmas, and by Merlin, you were going to celebrate accordingly. 

Together, you and Natty had cleared the table of all the empty dishes, setting them aside to clean them later. Next on the agenda was presents, and you were beyond excited about it.

Anne’s animal charms were the first to be passed out. Natty had received a giraffe, Ominis a hawke, Devlin a snake, and Sebastian a bear. When the shorter woman had handed you yours, you’d beamed at it before exclaiming, “It’s a cat!” 

“It’s a Black-Footed Cat,” Anne corrected you with a grin. “The stall owner told me all about them. Apparently they’re talented predators with the highest hunt success rate in the feline family. They’re tiny but ridiculously deadly.” 

You balked at the woman for a moment before looking back at the cute, whittled charm in your palm. Was she saying you were small and deadly? Was that a compliment? The eager twinkle in her eyes told you that it was, so you curled your fingers over the pendant and thanked her despite your bewilderment. Sebastian failed to stifle his laugh from beside you, and you caught him covering his mouth as he eyed your closed hand tellingly, far too amused by his sister’s unspoken implications. 

Ominis had gone next, giving Natty and Anne their gifts first before leaning across the table to hand you yours. The last thing you had expected was for him to give you anything, so your fingers had trembled slightly as you accepted the messily wrapped present with a watery smile. Anne had gotten a portable painting kit– no bigger than a small book– with a few pallets of watercolors lining the side along with a tiny brush. Natty’s gift was much simpler; a small, woven wicker egg with an intricate gazelle design stitched across the surface. 

Your gift had turned out to be a bag of sorts, but not a snakeskin one like you had joked about. It was made of treated leather and embroidered with the same kinds of shapes and symbols that covered the tapestries in the upstairs bedrooms, and the long strap would prove to be perfect for wearing across your body. 

“You can enchant it to fit more of your things,” Ominis suggested once the rustling of the paper wrapping had ceased. “Coats and books. Since you’re always on the move, it might be useful.” 

It most certainly would be. You were grinning from ear to ear as you gently thumbed over the stitching, relishing in the feel of the leather beneath your fingers. “Thank you, Ominis. It’s perfect.” 

He grunted in acknowledgement, settling back in his seat with his arms loosely hanging from the armrests. The Auror might have been a man of few words in moments like this, but his posture communicated his innermost feelings well enough. He was pleased that you approved. 

Which just made you all the more excited to pass out your gift haul for everyone. 

Ominis thumbed over the bolo tie you’d gotten him, his features pinching as he tried and failed to figure out what he was holding. You’d explained its purpose to him quickly, at which point Anne leaned over to enthusiastically point at the emblem situated above the two strings. “This part– it looks like it’s made of snakeskin.” 

The blond sighed, “Of course it is.” 

“It’s not ugly,” she urged quickly. “I’ll help you put it on later.” 

Natty got a gazelle figurine that was large enough for her to place on a shelf beside the couch, her hand affectionately tracing over the carved horns before falling back to her side. “It is lovely, thank you.” 

Anne had received a beaded necklace that looked similar to the item you wore beneath your blouse, only hers was meant to go around her neck. Green, orange, and red balls made up the length of the jewelry, the colors bright and matching her equally vibrant personality. When it was Devlin’s turn to get into his gift, you’d waited with bated breath for him to hold up the new hat, and once he did, you were overcome with giddiness when you caught sight of the approving glint in his eyes. 

“Alright, I’ll admit it. You’ve got good taste, kid.” Devlin ran his fingers along the rim of the wide brimmed hat, taking in every facet of the new headwear and paying close attention to the divot that ran along the top. Much, much more flattering than the rounded, bulbous bowler hat you had yearned to burn for months now. “I’m not throwing my old one out, though.” 

You narrowed your eyes at him challengingly. You would take matters into your own hands if you had to. 

Sebastian had accepted his gift from you with a gentle smile, thumbing open the leather journal and conjuring up a quill to write his first entry in under thirty seconds. It included the date, the location, and a neatly scrawled Merry Christmas right underneath it. Though it was a subdued reaction, he had placed his hand on your knee beneath the table and squeezed reassuringly, the action promising a more in-depth means of thanking you later, which you were immensely nervous about. 

The six of you polished off your wine at the table together, easy conversation flowing all the while. It wasn’t until Natty glanced at the clock and saw that it was after ten that she stood from her seat to excuse herself to bed, promising to be up bright and early to pick up your training in the morning. Anne and Ominis followed soon after, and then it was just you, Sebastian, and Devlin in the dining room. 

“D’you really think you’ll be able to get the hang of this whole…” Devlin waved his hands around for emphasis, wiggling his fingers as he squinted at you. “Y’know. Wandless casting thing before we have to leave?” Merlin, was he actually drunk? His blue eyes were red-rimmed thanks to all the wine he’d indulged in, but it was his slurred speech more than anything that  was giving him away. 

“She’ll do it,” Sebastian answered for you. His hand had never left your leg after you’d given him his gift, and his thumb traced soothing circles against your thigh. “In fact, I’d love to come watch tomorrow morning. Maybe I can give you some pointers.” 

Your brows climbed up your forehead incredulously. “What do you know about wandless magic?” 

“Zilch. But I can still be your motivational presence on the sidelines, can’t I?” 

He could. He could also prove to be a monumental distraction and finally cause you to launch that damn rock through a window. “Hm… I’ll think about it.” 

Devlin slapped his hands on the table roughly, jostling the empty glasses as he blearily rose to his feet with a throaty groan. “Well, I’m beat. Can’t ‘member the last time I drank this much and I’m seein’ double. If ya hear a loud bang and find me on the floor, just leave me there.” 

Snatching his new gift from the table, Devlin shakily perched it on top of the bowler hat he still had on, stacking the headwear in an incredibly childish manner before wobbling out of the dining room and disappearing around the corner. His footsteps were loud and uneven as he ascended the stairs, but there wasn’t much you could do to help him. Sleeping off the wine would ultimately be the best cure. 

“Which room is he going into?” you found yourself asking after the sound of Devlin’s stumbling had disappeared. 

“I have no idea.” 

You stood from your seat at the same time you clasped Sebastian’s hand in yours, tugging him to his feet so the two of you could make your way upstairs and see whether or not Devlin was slumped over the steps passed out. Thankfully he wasn’t, and upon entering Sebastian’s room, you were pleased to discover that the Ashwinder had in fact gone to sleep in the room you’d pawned off on him the night prior. 

The door had barely shut behind Sebastian before he was pulling you backwards. He masterfully kept you from stumbling as he pinned you against the door, the momentum from your body hitting it propelling it shut all the way, and then his lips were on yours, swallowing your startled gasp with abrupt fervor. He kept his fingers laced with yours as his other hand began to explore the clothed regions of your body. He squeezed your shoulder before trailing the appendage down your bicep, then across your chest, then over your breasts. If his knee hadn’t been wedged between your thighs, you were positive you would have collapsed from the sheer devotion he kissed you with. 

The wet feeling of his tongue trailing along your bottom lip made you mewl, and the sharp sting of his teeth biting down made you moan. It was ravenous. It was intense. The power of his kisses muddled your brain and made you dizzy with want. The hand on your chest trailed lower, then lower, before grazing over the hidden item you wore beneath your blouse. His fingers skimmed over the area curiously, and with herculean effort, Sebastian pulled away from your lips, looking for all intents and purposes like he had been struck by lightning. 

His lips were swollen and his cheeks were flushed when he asked, “What is this?” 

You almost couldn’t will your tongue to form a response. Not when he was looking down at you like you were the most precious thing he’d ever set his sights on. But then you remembered that the whole reason you were wearing the beads was for him, so you freed your hands from his to plant them against his shoulders and gently push him away. “It’s kind of your other Christmas present.” 

“I get two?” he teased, throwing his hand over his heart theatrically. “Don’t tell me I’m special?” 

With a heavy eye roll, you shoved at his chest harder. “Go sit down, Mister Special. I’ll show you.” 

Like an obedient puppy, Sebastian crossed the room to sit patiently on his bed. His expression was the picture of innocence, but his body language conveyed just how wound up he was at the prospect of a second gift hidden under your clothes. Bouncing his knee, he watched you intently as you planted yourself in front of him, your hands shaking slightly when you reached for the hem of your blouse. It was yanked over your head quickly– because you knew if you dragged it out, you might end up with cold feet– and as the flimsy material was dropped to the floor, Sebastian’s eyes went dark. 

The waist beads were snug above your hips, the thread tied in a way that allowed them to droop just enough so that they weren’t constricting you uncomfortably. Beads made of ivory and wood spanned the length of the jewelry, the colors alternating between deep brown and pearly white. It still made you flush to recall what Natty had told you they symbolized, but your nerves were secondary to your affection for Sebastian, so you ignored how anxious you felt standing before him topless in favor of gauging his reaction. 

His breathing was shallow, and his pupils were blown so wide that only a sliver of his dark brown irises were visible. The way his hands twitched told you that he wanted to reach out and touch the accessory, so you siddled forward more in silent invitation. The feeling of his fingers fanning out against your waist was like a brand, his burning skin leaving goosebumps in their wake, and it took him a long time to tear his eyes away from your torso to meet your probing gaze. 

“I take it you couldn’t find a ribbon?” 

“Nope. These are waist beads. They’re the next best thing.” 

“Waist beads?” 

Between Natty’s brief description and the stall vendor’s helpful, impromptu lesson, you knew enough to explain the item to Sebastian. “Out here, they’re more of a cultural accessory. A woman wears them when she comes of age, and to… um… signify other things.” 

That wicked glimmer returned to his eyes, and Sebastian sensually slipped the tips of his fingers under the beads, dragging his blunt nails along your skin. “What kinds of things?” 

“Femininity,” your abdominal muscles tensed as Sebastian toyed with the strand, his face so close to your belly button that you were quickly losing your inhibitions. “Or… for fertility. They can be associated with intimacy. For sex.” 

The shudder that ran down Sebastian’s spine shook the bed, and an almost choked groan sounded from his throat. His hands slipped around to the sides of your waist so he could pull you closer, his chin stabbing into your stomach when he peered up at you with ardent longing etched across his freckled features. “And you bought these for me? You’re wearing them for me, even knowing what they mean?” 

Merlin, his voice sounded hoarse. The way his eyes were glazed over was far too enticing, and you nodded before lifting your hands to rake through hair on the sides of his head. “It’s no ribbon, and the idea is I leave them on, so no ‘unwrapping’. But yeah, I thought of you when I saw them. It doesn’t have to mean all of that stuff though– they can just be a pretty accessory for you to ogle if you’d prefer.” 

“I think I prefer the cultural relevance, actually.” 

You silently thanked the gods, because you did too. “I know we’re kind of in the middle of a possible disaster right now. We don’t know what’s going to happen when we go back home, or how anything will work out. But I want to stay with you, too. Life was rather dull before you dragged me into this mess, and in a weird way, I’ve grown to love it. I don’t want to move on from it. I don’t want to move on from you. If you’ll have me, I’m yours to keep.” 

There were few people in the world that could sneak up on you. At least, you liked to think so. Always looking over your shoulder had granted you something of a sixth sense, and despite evidence to the contrary, you were usually prepared to counter anyone that tried to get the jump on you. 

Sebastian, though? He moved so fast that you had no time to track him. You heard the wind whoosh past your ears when he switched places with you, your body weightless for all of a second before you were laid out on the bed staring up at him in shock. The longing on his face had been replaced by carnal desire, his shaggy curls framing his animalistic eyes in a way that made your stomach flip. He braced one hand beside your head so the other could fondle the beads some more, and his voice was husky when he whispered, “Say it again.”

“Which part?” 

“That last bit,” he gritted through his teeth, the rest of his resolve hanging by a flimsy thread. “I want to hear you say it again. Please?” 

“I’m yours,” you proclaimed evenly, reaching up to caress the side of his face. “I’m yours, Sebastian. And you’re mine.” 

He dexterously peeled your hand away from his cheek to thread his fingers with yours, then pinned the appendage beside your head so he could lean down to kiss you again. “Mine,” he rasped, and oh, gods, the way his voice rumbled. “All mine.” 

You could only sigh in ecstasy when his lips trailed away from your mouth to brush against your jaw, then your ear, before finally settling on your neck. His teeth nipped at your pulse lightly, almost teasingly, before he did it a second time with added zeal. His process of marking your skin left you panting and keening desperately, your hips shifting on the bed in search of his, because you wanted nothing more than to feel his weight settle over you the way it had the night before. He was annoyingly preoccupied, however, and ignored your writhing in favor of sucking at the sensitive skin of your throat. 

“Sebastian,” you whispered, but the brunet only hummed in acknowledgement, squeezing your hand for added measure. His hot, wet tongue laved over the bruise with enough pressure to make your head spin, and you squirmed beneath him and lifted your leg to hook it around his waist. “Sebastian, please. I want to feel you– I want you inside.”

Almost instantly, he groaned, hips shifting down to grind his clothed cock against your quickly dampening center. When he lifted his head to look back at you, there was an unquenchable thirst fueling his lust-dark stare, and it seemed like no matter how many gulps of air he sucked down, he couldn’t catch his breath. “Are you trying to finish me off?” 

“N-No,” came your airy reply, your mouth hanging open at the sight of him so thoroughly wound up. “I’m trying to get you to leave my poor neck alone. I can’t exactly cover those bites up with scarves while we’re here– it’s too hot.”

“Then drink some Wiggenweld afterwards. Just– fuck– you can’t say something like that and not expect me to finish in my pants.” 

“Then finish in me instead. Please, Sebastian, I want you–”

He didn’t let you voice the rest of the statement. He didn’t even let you think. Before you knew it, his mouth was on yours again, a throaty growl reverberating deep in his chest as he squeezed your pinned hand with bone-crushing strength. You matched his intensity in a heartbeat– well past the point of caring about how desperate your behavior made you seem. When you tugged your hand out from under Sebastian’s, you were able to use the leg around his waist to your advantage, pulling him against the mattress before rolling him sideways so you were straddling his lap. He went down without much of a fight, blinking up at you with warring looks of awe and hunger, and when his hands flew up to start touching the waist beads again, you laughed breathlessly and let him. 

“Did you really mean all of those things you said?” Sebastian asked after a few seconds of sexually charged silence, his eyes falling to where your center pressed against the twitching length of him. “About staying with me when all of this is over?” 

“Of course. I wouldn’t lie about that.” 

“And the beads?”

“I didn’t lie about what they meant, either.” 

His pupils were blown wide when he looked back at you, his fingers digging into the skin of your hips. “But fertility? You get what that means, right?” 

Dryly, you replied, “I know what the definition of fertility is, Sebastian. I’m not saying ‘let’s make babies’ right this second. Maybe you don’t want that– maybe I don’t want that. We’re young, and we don’t know where the hell we’re going to find ourselves when all of this is over. But that has nothing to do with me wanting to stay with you. That has nothing to do with right now, in this moment.” 

Sebastian looked unbelievably vulnerable beneath the dim light of the lanterns. His eyes were like shimmering, black buttons, his lips parting around shaky, uncertain exhales. After staring up at you in wonder for a couple of seconds, his hands skimmed down the clothed tops of your bent legs, urging you with his touch when he asked, “Say it again?” 

This time, you knew precisely what he wanted to hear. “I’m yours.” 

Everything after that was a blur of tongue, teeth, fingers, and other far more desirable parts. Sebastian had somehow managed to rid himself of his clothing from underneath you before eagerly helping you remove your linen pants. All of the attire pooled together in a messy pile somewhere in the corner, and then you were back in his lap, your knees situated on either side of his hips. Those strong arms that never failed to make you feel safe were wrapped around you tightly, holding you flush to him as you shamelessly ground down against his erect, throbbing cock. The slide was a unique kind of torture for the two of you; addicting in how lush and wet it was while simultaneously driving you both mad with desire. 

You had half a mind to stop your mindless humping and move things along, especially since you had begged for exactly that not five minutes earlier. But Sebastian was deriving his own enjoyment from your breasts, his face buried between them, his tongue darting out to lick at the hardened peaks in a sinful act of worship. It wasn’t like you could go anywhere with his arms holding you in place– not that you wanted to– but it didn’t escape your notice that you had crawled on top of him to take control of the moment, and yet here you were, being fondled and held like you were nothing more than a doll. 

The next time your hips ground against Sebastian’s, there was enough space between your bodies for you to reach down and wrap your fingers around his shaft. He shivered and groaned when you took him in your hand, his mouth tethered to your nipples by a string of saliva that snapped when he looked up at you desperately. 

You would never forget that look, you were sure of it. “You’re mine, too,” you whispered, leaning in so close to his face that you could see your own reflection in his eyes. 

“Yes,” his arms slid down your sides so he could dig his nails into the small of your back, another shudder rolling over him when you thumbed gently at the tip of his cock. “I’m yours– all yours, princess.” 

That was the last coherent thing he said before a cacophony of sordid sounds spilled from his swollen lips, all of them in response to the way you stroked him. The angle was only a little strange since you were practically on top of him, but then you closed the distance so you could kiss him again, and any doubts about what you were doing evaporated. Sebastian’s hips rocked up into your touch of their own accord as hot, panted breaths fanned across your mouth, his breathing hitching in his chest every time you thumbed over the leaking tip. It was only once you started twisting your wrist over the head that he broke away from your lips, gasping at the same time his nails scratched deliciously against your lower back. 

“Gods– please, princess. I can’t take it anymore.” 

There was nothing you could say– no taunts or jokes or remarks– because you felt the same exact way. Without a word to him, you sat up on your knees, keeping his shaft in your hand so you could guide it towards your sopping wet core, and the first brush of the head against your slick folds prompted Sebastian to take over. His arms tightened around you again, pulling you back down into his lap as every last, delectable inch of his cock was swiftly stuffed inside of you. Your head fell back as a guttural moan was promptly ripped from your throat, and Sebastian’s own choked moans were muffled against your chest as he buried his face into your breasts again. 

“F-Fuck,” your nails dug into the back of his neck as you addressed the ceiling. “Feels… a lot deeper than before…” 

Sebastian made a noise at the back of his throat before looking up at you, and you angled your head towards him to find a brilliant, inextinguishable flame burning behind his irises. “You fit me like a fucking glove, princess. I’ll never get sick of it. I swear, I’ll live every second of my life craving this until the day I die.” 

While this was far from the first time the two of you had done this dance, something about this time had it feeling like the first. Maybe it was because of all the feelings the two of you had acknowledged and accepted over the course of your stay, or maybe it was just because things were still so fresh. Whatever the reason was, you couldn’t help but feel like something about today had changed you on a molecular level– irreversibly so. 

Your fingers carded up his neck to bury themselves in his unruly hair, and then you leaned down so you could press your forehead into the crook of his shoulder. That familiar, marvelous scent of cedar wood and parchment was there to greet you along with something else. Something muskier– manlier– was lurking beneath the surface, and it set your blood alight. 

“You’re mine, princess,” you heard Sebastian mutter, his voice directly above your ear. “All mine.” 

His legs tensed beneath you as you started to rock your hips across his lap, flagrantly deriving obscene amounts of pleasure from the friction alone. “I’m yours,” you whispered hoarsely. “All yours.” 

Sebastian’s strength had never been something you questioned. He had thrown a chair at a wall with enough force to splinter it apart as though it had been made of glass, which was as terrifying as it was enticing. You loved his strength. You loved how protected his physicality made you feel. You especially loved it now, because despite your seated position in his lap, he was still able to prop one of his arms behind himself for support as he started to thrust up into you. His other arm held you firmly to his chest, keeping you steady as the tip of his cock brushed against the innermost parts of yourself, and you were left gasping into the crook of his neck. 

You couldn’t bring yourself to be embarrassed by how wet you sounded. The squelching sound of wet skin hammering against wet skin fueled the fire in your veins and made your fingers tighten around Sebastian’s hair. Desperate for more, you managed to will your legs into action so you could grind down into every pump of his hips. The depths he managed to reach made you whine breathlessly, your mouth hanging open as you gasped against his hot, clammy skin. Sebastian’s hand on your back shifted so he had the waist beads coiled around his fingers, and his head dipped so he could huskily murmur in your ear, “Look at me.” 

It was difficult to do it, but you lifted your head from its hiding place and fixed your eyes on his. Those chocolate brown orbs contained a multitude of emotions, and upon seeing your flushed, fucked-out expression, they narrowed. Sebastian’s pace turned frantic, your grating cry tearing through the air like a whip as your hands yanked harder on his hair. His heels dug into the mattress to lend his hammering thrusts more power, the searing tip of his cock kissing against that magical spot that reduced you to a moaning, spasming pile of limbs. 

“S-Sebastian– gods, Sebastian– I love you.” Stammering brainlessly, you tried and failed to move in tandem with him, your legs burning from exertion and leaving you to hold on for dear life. “I love you. I love you and I want you a-and–” 

Sebastian groaned, the sound loud and drawn out as his fingers wound themselves tighter around the beads. “This is going to end–” he grunted around a powerful thrust, “–a lot faster if you keep saying stuff like that.” 

“Please, please, please.” You had no fucking clue what you were even begging for, but the needy timbre to your voice finally prompted Sebastian to flip the two of you over. His cock stayed sheathed in your tightening walls the entire time, and the second your back hit the bed, he was moving again– faster, harder, barely in control of himself as he chased the euphoric release dangling ahead of him. Something that sounded eerily similar to the bedframe cracking reached your ears, but you were too far gone to take proper note of it. You were so close to falling over the edge it was starting to hurt. You released his hair to rake your nails over his shoulders, leaving bright, stinging welts behind that made him gasp and shudder. 

“Say it again,” he implored you with a strained, guttural tone. “Say it again, princess.” 

You’d recite the alphabet backwards if he asked, you were certain. “I’m yours,” you whimpered. “All yours, Sebastian. Please, I’m close– I’m so close–” 

“Go on, princess. Let go. I’ve got you, I’ve got you.” 

Your release was violent and left your entire body quaking in earnest. Your legs tensed, your stomach rolled, your eyes crossed, and your mouth fell open around a choked moan that derailed Sebastian’s pace completely. He silenced your senseless noises with his mouth, tangling his tongue with yours as his grip on your waist turned bruising. When you wrapped your arms around his neck to hold him closer, you could feel the way his back trembled, and when he finally came, it was accompanied by a growl, a shiver, and a telling warmth filling you. 

You remained coiled around him long after he had come down from the post-coital high. Little by little, Sebastian inched out of your sensitive walls so he could collapse beside you, your unrelenting hold on his neck leaving his face a hairs-width away from yours, but you didn’t care in the slightest. The two of you stared blearily at one another while Sebastian’s hands took to fondling the waist beads once again, his touch reverent and all-consuming. 

“Maybe these things are better than a ribbon,” he eventually murmured with a smirk, breaking the silence of the room. 

“Maybe?” 

“Okay, they’re definitely better than a ribbon.” A shadow of vulnerability passed over his face then, and you instinctively withdrew a hand to trace along the line of freckles that decorated his nose. “Do you really want to stay with me when this is all over?” 

Smiling softly, you cupped the side of his cheek and leaned over, pressing a tender kiss to his full, soft lips. He followed you as you started to pull away, almost reluctant to break apart, but he managed to do so and was met with your reassuring gaze. “Yes. I really want to stay with you. Is that a problem?” 

The logical answer was yes, it was. There was a mile long list of reasons why it was a foolish decision, but you mentally burned that list to cinders. All of the unknowns were something to deal with another day. Today was Christmas, and being happily wrapped around Sebastian, basking in the warmth of his smile and the safety of his embrace, was the only thing you cared about. 

The smile he flashed you was blinding. Dazzling, even. A lifetime of seeing it would never be enough, and you found yourself laughing when he reached out to pull you on top of him. “Nope. Not a problem at all. Especially not if every night is spent like this.” 

You affectionately flicked his forehead, your nose crinkling when you felt his cock twitching back to life against your thigh. “You’re still thinking with the wrong head.” 

“Maybe. But it’s a head that knows what it wants.” The kiss he gave you then melted you to your core, your body molding to his all too willingly when he started to trace sensual shapes along your back with the tips of his fingers. If it were possible for something as simple as a kiss to bring about world peace, you knew Sebastian’s would do the trick. His eyes were glowing when you broke apart, a pretty flush coloring his skin from his ears all the way down to his chest. “I think we might have broken the bed a little. What do you say we see if we can destroy it?” 

—

The rock was floating. 

It was actually floating. Not soaring through the air uncontrollably, not rolling around on the ground like a leaf in the wind. It was honest to the gods hovering in place, no more than four feet off the ground. 

You were too stunned to move. More importantly, you were afraid that if you so much as blinked it would be over. Eyes straining, your outstretched hand shook minutely, the adrenaline that coursed through your veins ruining your attempts at standing stiller than a statue, but it hardly mattered. The stone remained where it was, and in your peripheral vision, you saw Natty and Sebastian both gaping in awe.��

“You did it!” Natty exclaimed, bouncing in place beside the bench she frequently occupied. Her voice acted as a blade that sliced through the invisible tether keeping the rock afloat, and it fell back into the dirt with a muffled thump, prompting your shoulders to sag dejectedly. “You got it to float! This is wonderful!” 

“And it only took…” Sebastian began counting off using his fingers, furrowing his brows until he reached the allotted number of tries it had taken today. Prick. “Seven attempts. That’s a far cry from the first day. Well done, princess.” 

“But how do I get it to keep floating?” The fact that it had taken little more than Natty’s excited shriek to break your focus left you disappointed. 

“One step at a time, my friend.” Natty strode towards you, her limp a tad more pronounced today in the wake of all the walking she had done at the market yesterday. Her hand landed on your shoulder to give it a reassuring squeeze. “It might not seem like much, but this is a big improvement. Do not overlook what you have accomplished so far– you can only get better from here.” 

Heaving a heavy sigh, you nodded. “I know. I just… I want to get to the good stuff. Confringo, Diffindo… we only have five days left, and it took two for me to get to this point.” 

“Well, if you can repeat whatever thought process helped you levitate the rock, then we can try moving on to other spells.” Natty’s hand left your shoulder to tap thoughtfully against her lips, “The key is intention; so long as you are sure of your actions and confident in your movements, it should be fine.” 

“Really?” The excitement in your voice was palpable, and Sebastian snickered when you balled your hands up and started bouncing much like Natty had. “Thank you! I just want to try. I want to see if it’s any easier casting spells I use more frequently.” 

Sebastian sat down on the bench, bracing his hands behind him so he could lean back and straighten his legs in front of him. “The fact that you’re implying you use the Blasting Curse on a regular basis scares me a little.” 

“Says the man who taught it to me.” It was petulant and immature, but you stuck your tongue out at him for extra measure. His eyes crinkled at their corners, his heels rocking against the dirt in amusement. “What can I cast it on?” 

Natty looked around the courtyard for a moment before her gaze settled on a potted plant that had no doubt seen better days. The branches were bare and brittle, the leaves that had once covered them sitting in a dense pile on top of the dry soil that filled the container. “I suppose there is no reviving this one. It should be fine.” 

You made a mental note to buy Natty an entire assortment of pots for her garden before you left. With enthusiasm fueling your movements, you spread your feet apart and lifted your hand once more, letting your mind go blank as you focused wholly on the shriveled plant. Confringo had once been your favorite spell for a multitude of reasons, so the thought of casting it without a wand didn’t make you feel uncertain in the slightest.

Your brain– much to your dismay– chose the exact moment you began to carve the sharp ‘Z’ shape into the air to imbue you with the memory of Sebastian standing behind you in the Undercroft. His hands on your shoulders, his voice in your ear, calm and controlled as he told you how to cast the Curse with far more intimacy than had been necessary. It was hard to pinpoint if that had been the event that sparked your crush on him all those years ago, but you did know one thing; you had been grossly smitten with him after that. 

You already knew you had fucked up. Your mind was the farthest thing from blank. Thinking of Sebastian had snowballed into remembering how he’d held you in his lap while you rode his brains out the night before. Your voice was tight and shaky when you said, “Confringo,” and instead of seeing a ball of fire shoot from your fingers towards the plant, the fire erupted on your hand. 

Directly on your skin. You were on fire. 

Your pained yelp echoed throughout the courtyard at the same time Natty yelled something in her native language and a string of eclectic curses tore from Sebastian. Waving your hand around didn’t help much in your attempts to extinguish the fire– in fact, it only aided the flames in catching higher up your arm, the sleeve of your blouse igniting suddenly and painfully. Just as panic started to set in, Sebastian materialized at your side and grabbed you by your elbow, and he shouted something that triggered a stream of water to flow from the tip of his wand that you were just now realizing was pointed at your hand. 

With the flames doused, you were left to bask in the stinging aftermath of what you’d done. Nasty, pustuling blisters covered the entirety of your hand, the skin red and raw in the areas where the fire had first formed. Your fingers were stiff– and you damn well kept them that way, because trying to curl them imbued you with pain so sharp, it made your vision flash white. 

“Fucking hell, princess,” Sebastian sounded completely bewildered, his eyes wide with fright as he took in the sight of your charred, blistering hand. “Gods. That looks ten different kinds of bad. Are you alright?” 

“No,” you croaked, and you meant it. It hurt. A lot. The physical pain coupled with the rampant wave of shame that washed over you made your lip curl, and you swore under your breath. “Dammit. I almost had it.” 

“I won’t even dignify that with a response,” he deadpanned, loosening his grip on your elbow as he turned to Natty, who looked more stressed than you’d ever seen her. “Break?” 

She nodded stiffly, her back ramrod straight as she agreed, “Break.” 

Without either one of them asking for your input, you were steered towards the front door of the house by Sebastian. You couldn’t even bring yourself to object. One, because your hand really fucking hurt. If you managed to make it out of the whole ordeal sans a scar, you would be impressed. 

Reason number two had everything to do with your own self-criticisms. If this was the sort of thing that you were met with every time you tried to cast without your wand, what hope did you have? Would you ever succeed? Would it even make a difference to continue trying? 

One of the blisters abruptly popped and made you hiss, which only spurred Sebastian onward faster. 

Alright. You would berate yourself for your monumental failure later. Right now, you were of the mind that you needed to set a record for most Wiggenweld ever consumed in under a minute.

[serpentsillusion]

I had to see it, and now so do all of you. 😂🤣 (not sorry)

Hogwarts Legacy boys ✨as women✨

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MioCreate/Picsart was used